#i just ignore their content and their characters

[runariya]

Touch the Sky (m.)

summary: You turn Jungkook’s military life upside down, and his heart along with it. pairing: idol!Jungkook x f!reader genre: idolverse, military-verse, S2L, fluff, smut rating: 18+, MDNI! warnings: allusion to minor assault, foul language, getting tasered (third party), fluff, JK's smitten, fluff, catcalling, protective JK, vomiting, aaaaaand fluff, explicit sexual content, oral (f. + m. receiving), protected sex, multiple f.orgasms, multiple (2) positions, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 9.6k

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

It’s getting annoying.

Annoying to the point where Jungkook can’t focus on his workout routine properly, and he reckons his comrades feel the same. They’ve felt it since the day you arrived, silently sitting in the corner of the gym every day, watching, assessing, scribbling on your tablet, keeping a straight face no matter what.

He’d seen it coming, though. One day, as usual, you entered the gym five minutes on the dot after training started, bowing to no one in particular but everyone at once. Your gaze bored literal holes into everyone present, like always, and it was only a matter of time before someone snapped. 

Bong was the first, and last, not a week ago, when he saw red. He stormed straight over to you, cornered you, and demanded to know what the hell you wanted and who you were. Jungkook had half a mind to intervene, to de-escalate the situation because, well, frankly, you were, are, just a tiny, petite woman, probably just doing your job. And Bong? Bong was, is, 250lbs of pure muscle and testosterone.

But Jungkook hadn’t even had time to make the decision to walk over before you, without batting an eyelash, tasered poor Bong to the ground and resumed your notes right after, as if nothing had even happened.

But still, after a whole week has passed since then, it’s still annoying. You’re still annoying.

“Chill out, Jaykay.” Jimin, who’s letting his hands hover over the bench press in case Jungkook can’t keep the weight lifted any longer, though that would never happen, grins down at him.

“I am chill.”

Well, maybe he’s not. Not when he’s clenching his jaw so hard he reckons his teeth are seconds away from shattering, though not because of the weight, that’s for sure.

“Ignore her.”

“Who?”

And while Jungkook knows exactly who Jimin’s talking about, and also knows that, yes, he’s definitely aggravated by your stares at this point, he can’t do shit about it. He needs to remind himself that you’re just a woman. Clearly not part of the military, because you don’t greet anyone the way soldiers or others are obliged to, yet you’re still too involved to be here without someone escorting you out.

He can’t fucking think when you’re around. Not that there’s much thinking involved in working out, lifting weights isn’t exactly a task that requires brainpower, but your stares, whenever they find his form, which he can feel on his skin as soon as they land, fuck him up to the point where they make him forget whether he’s supposed to inhale or exhale, leaving him out of breath too soon and causing his muscles to ache like never before.

At this point, he’s sure you could be labelled as part of the gym’s inventory. Not just because you’re as silent as the equipment, if that’s even possible, but also because, if he’s honest, he can’t imagine this place without you anymore. It drives him insane, especially when all he wants to do is walk over and make you talk. Get a reaction out of you, any reaction, really. Maybe even choke you while his di—

His dumbbell freezes mid-push, his eyes incredulously wide at his own thoughts, as Jimin’s leaning over him, face split in half by the most insufferable, knowing grin Jungkook has ever seen.

“Thinking thoughts?”

“Shut the fuck—”

But as if the day couldn’t get any worse, Kang, the base commander, strides into the room, causing everyone, including Jungkook, to put their equipment away. In seconds, they’re standing stiff, saluting and reciprocating the greeting in unison: “Dan-gyeol. (Unity)”

“Resume.”

But nobody processes the command, too confused by the sight of someone in such a high position here.

Much to everyone’s surprise too, if that’s even possible, Kang turns to you. Again, he salutes, which causes you to rise gracefully from the bench and bow silently, as you always do.

Jungkook can’t tear his eyes away, not when your angelic face remains unmoving, nodding to whatever the commander is saying. And even though he’d love to strain his ears, play mouse just this once, to get a clue about what makes you so special, he knows he has to follow orders and resume his training.

While Jungkook stays silent like everyone else, he can’t stop his eyes from drifting to you again and again, like some pathetic little boy checking if his crush is flirting with someone else.

Stop.

A crush? No. He doesn’t do crushes. How absurd.

Though as your mesmerising eyes briefly glance his way, his heart flips him the metaphorical middle finger by rocketing straight out of his throat.

And Jungkook realises now, that he is doomed.

Fuck. 

You’re late.

You’re never late, so why are you late this time?

Jungkook doesn’t know, and somehow he doesn’t want to know. Not because he kind of has a bad feeling about it, but because he refuses to acknowledge the possibility that you might not come back ever again. It would make sense, in a way, seeing as Kang came by the last time Jungkook saw you.

It doesn’t help that Jimin’s being a little shit too, unable to keep his mouth shut about Jungkook glancing one too many times towards the gym door.

“One more.” Well, at least Jungkook can pay him back by pushing him just a tiny bit over his limit.

“I can’t,” Jimin groans, clearly struggling to lift the dumbbell one more time. His arms are shaking, and his face is so red that even Jungkook fears he might burst a vein in his eye.

“You can, and you will, hyung.” He didn’t mean to let his frustration out on Jimin, but who can fault him?

He’s what now? 27 years old? Struggling with his emotions, no, scratch that, his hormones over a woman he hasn’t even spoken to once in weeks? He doesn’t even know your name, so why on earth are his hormones going haywire?

Jungkook can’t tell. Just like he can’t tell how many days have passed or how many are left in his military service. But he knows exactly how many times he’s seen you. God, he wants to roll his eyes at himself, at the way he’s acting like a teenager, when he never even got the chance to be one in the first place.

Maybe that’s the problem. He never had the opportunity to experience this kind of infatuation. His busy schedule and the ever-present gold-diggers demanding too much of him didn’t leave space for what others felt years ago.

But when the door finally creaks open, all those thoughts vanish.

And while everyone startles into saluting position, Kang enters the room first, it’s Jungkook’s eyes, though, that can’t look away from your petite form trailing behind Kang, bowing the second you both stand before the soldiers.

“Dan-gyeol.”

“Dan-gyeol,” everyone answers in unison.

You’re so pretty again, your hair styled perfectly, shimmering healthily under the fluorescent lights. Jungkook’s mind starts spinning in circles, stopping only occasionally as he notices new details about you he hadn’t before. Like how your left shoulder hangs slightly lower, probably from carrying your bag on that side. Or the faint tremble in your hands around your tablet. He’s not sure if that’s always been there or if his gut feeling was right all along.

“Private Song Bong. Private Jeon Jungkook. Step forward.”

Jungkook doesn’t like this, not when he can’t even grasp what he might have done wrong for him and Bong to be singled out. Maybe you snitched on Bong for cornering you. Though, to be fair, you tasered him, but still that obviously wouldn’t end well for Bong. Maybe Jungkook’s stares weren’t appropriate. Maybe he’s screwed up too and can’t do anything about the punishment he’ll get for just looking.

“Private Bong, your recent actions are unacceptable. Attempting to assault an outsider, especially a woman, not only violates military code but also brings disgrace to this unit. Your conduct has revealed major deficiencies in character, and as a result, you are hereby removed from your current duties in supply inventory management. Effective immediately, you will be assigned to latrine duty for the next month. Consider this your opportunity to reflect on what it means to uphold the standards of this base and the military as a whole. Dismissed.”

And while Bong doesn’t protest but just steps back in line, Jungkook’s hands turn cold, his eyes switching between Commander Kang and you as he waits for a verdict he doesn’t even know the cause of, all while you’re staring blankly somewhere behind him and the other soldiers.

“Private Jeon.” Jungkook can’t help but gulp violently, though he tries to keep his face as stoic as he was taught. “Your exemplary conduct, unwavering character, and outstanding mental and physical strength have not gone unnoticed. As of today, you are relieved of your current duties in the kitchen and reassigned to the elite training programme for aspiring jet fighter pilots within the special forces. You will accompany me and Doctor ___ immediately to commence your training. This is an extraordinary opportunity, and I trust you will continue to excel and bring honour to this unit. Congratulations, Private Jeon.”

Muscles stiff, Jungkook salutes on instinct. “Chungseong! (Loyalty) I will do my best, sir!”

“Resume.”

It doesn’t take long until Jungkook follows you and Commander Kang out of the gym as everyone resumes their training, his footsteps echoing awkwardly in the corridor, making him too aware of the way only his trainers squeak against the polished floor, but he pushes the thought aside. 

This is big. Special Forces. 

Something he’s dreamed about but always was told was off the table because of his tattoos. And yet, he’s somehow being escorted to God-knows-where in a wing of the base he’s never even seen before.

Excitement rushes through him, but right underneath it is curiosity he can’t seem to shake. What’s your deal? Who even are you? You’re not military, your lack of a formal greeting protocol and Kang calling you an ‘outsider’ made that clear, but you’ve been given more authority than most. He steals a glance at you, walking slightly ahead of him, your posture as stiff as ever, and not to mention, your face betraying nothing. 

Kang stops outside a door and gestures for Jungkook to enter. “Private Jeon, step inside. You’ll be assessed for your new gear.”

Jungkook nods and salutes. “Yes, sir.” He hesitates briefly though, eyes flickering towards you, but you don’t even glance his way. Instead, you stay behind with Kang as he steps through the door.

Inside, another soldier is already waiting, a no-bullshit guy who doesn’t bother with introductions. There’s a computer, several measuring devices, and a distinct lack of comfort in the room as the soldier gestures for Jungkook to strip, and Jungkook just blinks.

“Boxers too, or…?”

“Keep those on,” the guy replies dryly. “We’re not running that kind of experiment.”

Jungkook huffs a small laugh, trying to shake off the awkwardness. He pulls off his shirt, then his joggers, tossing them onto a nearby bench as the soldier starts rattling off instructions, explaining how he’ll be measured, weighed, and fitted for his uniform and jet fighter suit. Jungkook nods along, though half of his brain is still stuck outside the room, wondering what the hell you and Kang are talking about.

The weighing and measuring process is straightforward enough, albeit a little dehumanising. He stands still as the soldier adjusts tools around him, scribbling numbers into a notepad. Jungkook’s not shy about his body, he’s worked hard for it, but something about the clinical nature of it all makes him feel strangely vulnerable and small. 

“Alright, time for the cardio resting point assessment,” the soldier wheels a heart monitor over. “I’ll wire you up, then you’ll run in place for a few minutes. Clear?”

“Clear.”

Wires are attached to his chest, and the beeping of the monitor fills the room as Jungkook begins jogging lightly. The rhythm is soothing at first, his heart beating steadily as he focuses on the mirror in front of him, zoning out slightly, until the door creaks open behind him.

You step inside.

Jungkook’s whole body tenses, and he nearly trips over his own feet, though no one seems to notice. Through the mirror, he watches you position yourself against the wall at the back of the room. You don’t say a word, just stand there, observing him. And then, God help him just this once, your gaze starts travelling. From his legs to his torso, slow and methodical, like you’re evaluating him for parts. Jungkook knows it shouldn’t bother him, telling himself it’s probably part of your job or whatever. But it does bother him, and not in the way it should.

He tries to focus on his jogging, but his eyes keep darting to the mirror, catching glimpses of you studying him. When your gaze finally reaches his face, his heart skips a beat. Literally. And the monitor beeps erratically, the soldier frowning beside him. 

“Hold up. Your heart rate’s spiking.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to protest, but you beat him to it. “It’s a malfunction,” you state smoothly, your voice soft and oh-so melodic, like fucking wind chimes he dreamed about. “He’s fine. Look at his form. Textbook. His fitness levels are well above average.”

It’s the first time Jungkook has heard you speak, a compliment at that too, and it knocks the remaining brain cells out of his skull, causing him to stumble slightly, catching himself just in time, but the damage is done. His cheeks burn as he wills his heart to calm the fuck down. What is he, a schoolboy? So embarrassing, Jeon. Get a grip. 

“Malfunction, huh?” the soldier mutters, glancing between the monitor and Jungkook. He doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs and waves Jungkook off the machine. “Alright, you’re good. Get dressed and head to the next station.”

Jungkook nods stiffly, pulling the wires off his heaving chest and grabbing his clothes. You step out of the room before he finishes dressing, which is probably a good thing because he’s pretty sure his face is still bright red.

When he emerges, you’re waiting for him, tablet in hand and Kang thankfully gone.

“This way,” you gesture with your slender hand, not even looking at him. Your voice is still echoing in his head, soft and almost surreal to the point he debates if he’s locked in a dream. Still, Jungkook trails after you like a puppy, cursing himself for how ridiculous he feels and acts. 

The next stop is a classroom-like space, though it’s more high-tech than any classroom Jungkook’s ever seen. Screens cover the walls, displaying schematics of fighter jets, and a stern-looking instructor stands at the front. You guide Jungkook to a seat near the centre, then take a spot near the back, again, silently observing. Of. Course.

The lesson begins, and Jungkook tries his best to focus as the instructor dives into the basics of jet fighter operation, rattling off jargon that makes Jungkook’s head spin even more. He nods along, taking mental notes, but it’s hard to concentrate when he can feel your eyes on him. Not in a direct, obvious way, but more like a gentle and subtle pressure, nagging at his consciousness. 

He sneaks a glance back at you, and sure enough, you’re watching him. Your tablet rests on your lap, stylus poised, and you’re scribbling something down without even looking down. About him, probably, surely. 

What are you writing? Does it matter that his leg bounced when the instructor mentioned G-forces? Or that his jaw ticked ever so slightly when he brought up emergency landings? What could you possibly be noting down about him that’s worth recording?

He catches himself zoning out and forces his attention back to the lesson. The instructor is explaining the mechanics of takeoff, and Jungkook tries to visualise it in his head. Still, his thoughts wander, looping back to you every time.

It’s stupid, really. He barely knows you. But still, he’s completely fixated. Maybe it’s because you’re different. Everyone else on this base is easy to figure out, soldiers, commanders, all operating within the same rigid system. But you? You’re an anomaly. And Jungkook has always been drawn to puzzles.

The lesson drags on, and Jungkook keeps stealing glances back at you. Each time, you’re scribbling something new, your expression as blank as ever and he wonders if you’re even capable of smiling. What would it look like? Would your face brighten like the sun itself, your eyes crinkling at the corners? Would your lips—

Nope. Stop. Not going there.

By the time the lesson ends, Jungkook’s brain feels fried. The instructor dismisses him with a curt nod, and he gathers his things, well, more so himself, glancing back to see if you’re leaving too. But you’re still seated, tapping away on your tablet. He hesitates, unsure if he’s supposed to wait for you or move on.

“You’re dismissed, Private Jeon,” you say without looking up.

Right. Of course you knew he was waiting for you, even without seeing him. He mutters a quick, “Yes, ma’am,” salutes and hurries out of the room, feeling like a complete idiot.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to expect when you appear at the door of his barracks the next morning. All he knows is that you’re there, standing stiff as a post, clutching your ever-present tablet to your chest like it’s a lifeline.

There’s something different about you today, though, something in the way your shoulders seem too tense, your hands gripping the tablet so tightly that your tiny knuckles turn bright white. And that’s when he spots it, the taser, hidden neatly between the edge of the tablet and your chest. 

He’s not sure why it surprises him. You’ve made it clear that you’re not above using it when necessary, R.I.P. Bong’s dignity, but something about the way you hold it now, fingers trembling slightly, makes him pause.

You’re nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Private Jeon,” you greet, not quite meeting his gaze. Your voice is the same soft, melodic tone as yesterday, but there’s a barely audible hitch in it that he doesn’t miss. “Follow me.”

Jungkook doesn’t question it, just grabs his cap and falls into step behind you. He’s curious, of course, curiosity seems to be his default setting when it comes to you, but he keeps quiet, sensing that whatever’s going on, you’re not in the mood for him to voice his usual internal debates about your role on this base. Still, he can’t help but notice the way your eyes dart around the hallway, scanning every corner like you’re expecting trouble.

And, surprise, it doesn’t take long for said trouble to find you.

As you lead him through the barracks, a group of soldiers loitering by the common area turns their attention your way. The first mocking whistle cuts through the otherwise silent area, followed by a low murmur of suggestive comments that make Jungkook’s temper flare. You don’t react, not a single flinch, not even a glance in their direction, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the way your eyes turn a bit frantic, your pace quickening just enough to be noticeable.

The second whistle is louder, accompanied by a snide, “Oi, sweetheart, where’s the taser today?” and Jungkook feels something too hot coil in his chest.

Protective instincts kick in before he can stop himself, and he steps closer to you, his broad frame forming a shield between you and the others. He doesn’t say a word, he knows he doesn’t need to, his evil glare, honed from years of performance and discipline, says enough. The soldiers falter, their smirks fading under his gaze, and Jungkook takes a grim sort of satisfaction in the way they quickly turn back to their conversation.

You don’t say anything, but he can tell you’ve noticed. Your pace slows just slightly, and for the rest of the walk, the tension in your shoulders eases a fraction with each step. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make Jungkook feel like he’s done something right.

Finally, you stop outside a plain white door and push it open, gesturing for him to enter first. Jungkook steps inside, taking in the small, functional office. It’s sparsely decorated, just a desk, a chair, and a curtained-off area in the corner that seems to serve as a makeshift changing room or whatever. You follow him in, shutting the door behind you, and hand him what looks like a folded jet suit.

“This is your new gear,” you hold it out to him, again not meeting his eyes. “Try it on.”

Jungkook takes the suit, the smooth, high-tech fabric cool against his hands even where you were holding it seconds ago. “Here?” he asks dumbly, glancing around. He’s not shy, exactly, but stripping down in front of you doesn’t sit right with him. 

You raise an eyebrow, the faintest hint of exasperation creeping into your expression. “There’s a changing area,” you nod towards the curtain. “Use it.”

“Right. Of course.” Jungkook wants to slap himself twice for good measure, just because he saw that area himself.

Quickly, he ducks behind the curtain, grateful for the small reprieve. As he pulls off his uniform and steps into the jet suit, he can’t help but wonder why you seem so tense today. It’s not just the soldiers’ comments, he’s seen you handle far worse without batting an eye. No, this is something deeper, something that has your hands shaking and your voice just a touch too steady.

By the time he finishes zipping up the suit, he’s more confused than ever. He steps out from behind the curtain, and you turn to face him, your eyes flicking over him in a quick, professional assessment.

“How does it feel?”

Jungkook shrugs, rolling his shoulders. “Tight, but not uncomfortable.”

You nod, stepping closer to adjust a strap on his arm. Jungkook swears he stops breathing for a moment, the proximity doing things to his heart rate that he’d rather not admit, thankful he’s not connected to the heart monitor this time.

He watches you as you work, the way your brow furrows slightly in concentration, the soft brush of your fingers against his sleeve. And then it happens!

Your mouth twitches. Just the faintest hint of a smile, barely there and gone in an instant, but Jungkook sees it. And it wrecks him.

Oh, he’s done for. Absolutely done for. That tiny twitch of your lips? It’s enough to send his brain spiralling into a mess of thoughts he has no business thinking.

You’re human. You can smile.

He doesn’t know why that thought hits him so hard, but it does. You’ve always been so composed, so insanely unreadable, that seeing even the smallest crack in your armour feels monumental. He wants to see it again, wants to say something clever or stupid or anything, really, to make it happen, but the words stick in his throat.

“Good fit,” you agree, stepping back. “You’ll need to wear it during all training exercises from now on.”

Jungkook nods, trying to focus on your words instead of the way his heart is doing somersaults. “Understood.”

You turn away, picking up your tablet, and Jungkook’s eyes follow you. He notices the way your hands are still trembling slightly, the way you keep glancing at the door as if expecting someone to barge in. And suddenly, it clicks.

You’re scared. Not of him, he’s pretty sure you’re incapable of fearing him, even if you probably should be after the way he’s been staring, but of the soldiers. Of this place. Of what your job forces you to do.

He remembers the way Bong looked at you after the taser incident, the barely concealed fury in his eyes. You’re not just some outsider; you’re a decision-maker. You hold people’s futures in your hands, and not everyone takes that well.

Jungkook feels a pang of compassion, realising how isolating that must be. No wonder you keep everyone at arm’s length, crafting an untouchable facade day in and day out.  

“Is that all for today?” he tries, his voice softer than he intends, though he can’t help himself. 

You glance at him, surprised, as if you weren’t expecting him to speak. “For now,” your tone’s still cautious but Jungkook now understands. “There’s a briefing tomorrow morning. Be on time.”

Jungkook nods, but he doesn’t move to leave. He hesitates, debating whether to say what’s on his mind, but the words tumble out before he can stop them.

“For what it’s worth,” he starts, meeting your gaze, “you’re doing a good job.”

Your hands and eyes still slightly, and for a moment, you just stare at him. Then, without a word, you turn back to your tablet, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the way your grip on it loosens, doesn’t miss the way your lips twitch again, just a little.

As he leaves your office, he can’t help but smile to himself too. Maybe he’s starting to figure you out, and he’s down bad for it. 

The day after, you've brought Jungkook before the g-force machine, all sleek steel and imposing mechanics, like something out of a crazed sci-fi movie. Jungkook stares at it, his confidence wobbling slightly for the first time since he started his military service. He’s usually game for anything, but this? This looks like a whole different beast.

The control panel operator, a man who introduces himself simply as Sergeant Kim, gestures for Jungkook to step forward. “We’ll be running a standard g-force tolerance test today,” he explains calmly, though Jungkook's anything but. “You’ll be in the centrifuge, and it’ll spin progressively faster. The goal is to sustain 9 Gs. You’ll need to practice the anti-G straining manoeuvre, tensing your leg and abdominal muscles to keep blood flow to your brain. And don’t forget to inhale sharply every five seconds to stabilise.”

Jungkook nods, trying to keep his nerves in check. He knows what’s coming, he’s read about it, watched the videos instructed. But none of that preparation stops his palms from sweating as he climbs into the contraption.

As he settles into the cockpit-like seat, strapping himself in, he sneaks a glance at you before the door closes in his face. You’re standing off to the side with your tablet, your face, as always, composed, but there’s something in your eyes, noticeable even in this distance. Concern? Maybe curiosity? That ridiculous thought makes his poor heart do a little flip.

“Private Jeon, are you ready?” Sergeant Kim’s voice crackles through the comms.

“Ready,” Jungkook replies, his voice steadier than he actually feels.

The machine comes to life shortly after, and Jungkook grips the armrests as the centrifuge begins its slow but steady rotation. At first, it’s almost pleasant, like being on an amusement park ride. But then the speed picks up, and the pressure in his chest starts to build.

“Three Gs,” Kim announces. “Remember to breathe, sharp inhales every five seconds. And start engaging those muscles.”

Jungkook complies, tightening his legs and core as instructed. He inhales sharply, counting in his head to five, then inhales again. It’s manageable, for now.

“Six Gs.”

Now it’s not so manageable. The weight on his chest feels like someone’s parked a truck on him, and his vision starts to darken at the edges, fearing he might loose consciousness any second. It’s getting impossible to breathe, but he forces himself to stick to the rhythm. Inhale, hold for five, inhale and repeat.

“Good. Keep it up, Private. We’re going to eight Gs.”

Eight Gs feels like he’s being flattened by the universe. Every muscle in his body screams as he fights to keep the blood from pooling in his legs. His fingers dig into the armrests even more, not the least bit fazed bye the prospect of pulling a nail, and he can barely hear Kim over the deafening roaring of his blood in his ears.

“Nine Gs,” Kim announces, and Jungkook swears he’s going to pass out. His breaths are shallow now, too shallow, the strain overwhelming. He forgets to inhale on time, and suddenly the world starts to go black.

“Jungkook, inhale.”

It’s your voice. Clear, steady, crackling through the comms like a lifeline he needed. His body reacts before his brain does, taking in a sharp, desperate breath. The darkness recedes, and somehow, miraculously, he holds on.

“Test complete,” Kim announces, the centrifuge slowing with each spin until it stops and Jungkook’s free to leave this deathtrap. “Well done, Private Jeon.”

Jungkook can barely process the words. His body feels like jelly, and his mind is a swimmy, disoriented mess. But he hears the applause from Kim and a few blurred others in the control room. Then you step closer, your voice soft as you search his eyes, “Congratulations, Private Jeon. You did it.”

He manages a weak smile, the sound of your approval somehow wiggling through the fog in his head. And then, he remembers, because protocol demands it, he salutes sluggishly to Commander Kang, who’s watching from the observation deck.

“Impressive, Private Jeon,” Kang confirms with a nod.

Jungkook barely registers the compliment. All he knows is that his heart is racing, not from the test, but from the way your eyes linger on him for just a second longer, a little softer than usual. 

“Follow me,” you instruct him after bowing to the observation deck, gesturing for Jungkook to come with you.

He stumbles after you, his legs and mind feeling like rubber, partly from the adrenaline, partly from the fact that you just saved his ass in there. You lead him back to your office without a word and when you shut the door behind you, Jungkook finally lets himself relax. Well, until you grab a bin from under your desk and thrust it into his hands.

“Uh, what’s this for?” he asks, confused.

“You’re running on adrenaline,” you explain, your tone matter-of-factly but laced with humour. “It’s going to crash. Give it a few seconds.”

“I think I’m fine—”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m going to count down from five. Trust me.”

He blinks at you but nods, too dazed to argue.

“Five,” you begin, calm, expectant.

“Four.”

His stomach flips.

“Three.”

His head feels too light, almost floaty.

“Two.”

His vision tilts.

“One.”

And then it hits. A wave of nausea so intense that he doesn’t even have time to protest before he’s heaving into the bin.

You’re by his side in an instant, one hand on his back, the other steadying his hand over the bin. “There you go,” you coo softly, your touch surprisingly soothing. “Just let it out.”

Jungkook hates this, hates feeling weak, hates the thought of you seeing him like this. But your voice is so calm, so reassuring, that he can’t bring himself to care as much as he normally would.

When it’s over, he slumps back into the chair you pull up for him, wiping his mouth with the tissue you hand him. “That… was brutal,” he mutters, his voice hoarse from all the heaving.

You smile, the first real smile this time. “Welcome to special forces training.”

Jungkook laughs weakly, shaking his head. “Is it always like this?”

“Not always,” you muse, though your tone’s too teasing for his liking. “Sometimes it’s worse.”

He groans, but there’s no real heat behind it. Despite everything, he feels better. Like he’s actually flying. Like he’s touching the sky. And he knows it’s not just the fading adrenaline talking. It’s you.

You, with your stoic face and calming voice. You, who stepped in when he needed it most. You, who smiled at him like he wasn’t just another soldier to be measured and assessed.

As he gazes into your smiling face, still feeling like crap but somehow grateful for it, a realisation forces down on him like 9 G.

He’s truly falling for you.

Jungkook stands in the hallway outside your office, his hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly as if he’s shielding himself from the possibility of rejection before it’s even happened. His thoughts are a mess ever since he first saw you, an ongoing tug-of-war between his nerves and his determination. He paces a little, then stops, running a hand through his short hair, the frustration about its length momentarily distracting him but not for long enough. 

“Get a grip man,” he mutters under his breath but his nerves, nor his heart, won’t calm down.

It’s been weeks since you started working together more closely, weeks of seeing the real you, the quiet strength behind your professional mask, the flashes of humour you try to hide, the empathy you can’t quite suppress even when you think no one’s watching. He’s caught himself admiring you more times than he can count, and now it’s all he thinks about.

But this isn’t just a crush, he tells himself. This is so much more. You’re different. Special. And he knows he can’t let this opportunity slip by, not when he might regret it for the rest of his life.

Of course, there’s the little matter of protocol, of the fact that you hold a position of authority in a place where strict boundaries are enforced. But you're not exactly part of the military, and Jungkook knows his service is limited too. If he doesn’t act now, he might never get another chance.

But what if you say no? His brain goes into overdrive, showing him a list of reasons why this could go horribly wrong. He imagines you laughing at him, rejecting him outright, maybe even avoiding him after this. Maybe even snitching on him, causing his removal from the special forces and being assigned to latrine duty permanently. 

Then he shakes his head. No. Stop overthinking. He’s Jeon Jungkook. An idol. A soldier. He’s faced grueling special forces training, survived G-forces that would knock most people out, and tackled challenges that seemed impossible. Surely asking you out can’t be harder than that.

“Just do it,” he preps himself, and before he can second-guess himself again, he steps up to your door and knocks.

“Come in,” your voice calls from inside, calm, angelic, and professional as always.

Jungkook takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, straightening his shoulders for some much needed confidence. 

You’re seated at your desk, as usual, your tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. And as you glance up, clearly surprised to see him, you set the tablet and coffee down. “Private Jeon. What can I do for you?”

He hesitates for a split second, then, after an internal nod, takes his chances. “I wanted to ask you something.”

You nod, waiting expectantly. “Go on.”

Jungkook shifts on his feet, his nerves bubbling up again, but he forces himself to push through. “I was wondering if you’d… like to go out with me sometime.”

You cock a brow, and for a brief moment, he sees the cracks in your mask, the genuine surprise, the uncertainty. But then it’s back, your professional demeanour snapping into place like a rubber band.

“I appreciate the… sentiment,” you try carefully, “but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jungkook doesn’t back down. “Why not?”

You sigh, standing up but toying with the things scattered on your desk. “Because it’s unprofessional. And temporary. My contract here has an end date, Private Jeon. I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Exactly,” he counters, stepping closer. “That’s why I can’t let this go. I don’t want to regret not saying anything.”

You shake your head, moving towards the door. “It’s not that simple. You don’t understand—”

“I do,” Jungkook interrupts, maybe too desperate but he doesn’t care. “My service ends too. This isn’t temporary for me.”

That makes you pause, your hand hovering over the doorknob. “What are you saying?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, his heart pounding so violently he can’t even hear his own voice. “I’m saying, I don’t want to date just for the sake of it. I date for the future, not just the moment.”

You turn to face him fully now, your expression conflicted, mask slipping just a bit. “Do you even realise what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” he confirms without hesitation. “I know exactly what I’m saying. And I know it sounds crazy, but I’m serious about this. About you.”

Your eyes search his face, looking for… what? Truth? Sincerity? Whatever it is, he hopes you find it, because he’s never been more honest in his life.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, though your voice lacks conviction.

“Maybe,” Jungkook admits with a small smile. “But that doesn’t make it any less real.”

You sigh, glancing away, clearly wrestling with yourself. For a long moment, the room is silent except for the faint buzz of the air conditioning, but then, eventually, you look back at him.

“Alright,” you sigh finally, holding one slender finger up. “One chance. But if this doesn’t work, we go back to normal. Agreed?”

Jungkook grins, his heart soaring. “Agreed.”

You nod, reaching for the door. “Good. Now get out of my office before I change my mind.”

He chuckles, saluting playfully. “Yes, ma’am.”

As you leave with that tiny smile of yours, Jungkook stays behind for a moment, letting the reality of what just happened sink in. Then, unable to contain his excitement, he pumps his fist in the air, a triumphant smile lighting up his face.

“Fuck yeah,” he cheers quietly, still grinning like the fool he is. 

Life's good as Jungkook lies sprawled on your bed, head propped on your favourite pillow as the opening credits of some drama flicker on the TV screen. The colourful glow of the screen illuminates your beautiful face as you settle beside him, legs tucked under the shared blanket as you lie down with your head on his chest. It’s quiet, comfortable, the kind of peaceful he’s come to associate with you, and his mind drifts back to the first date that really started it all.

He still can’t believe you said yes. The memory of that first date plays in his head like a highlight reel, vivid and heartwarming to its core. You’d chosen a small, unassuming café, your idea, of course, something low-key, hidden even, and away from the base and any other prying eyes.

Jungkook had been nervous in a way he hadn’t been since debut, trying too hard to appear relaxed even if he was anything but. But you’d arrived looking effortlessly stunning in a casual outfit that still screamed you from miles away, smiling shyly as if you weren’t used to being off-duty.

From the moment you sat across from him, every doubt he ever had melted away. Conversation natural, only punctuated by your quick wit and his occasional stumbles when your laughter made him forget whatever point he was trying to make, he fell faster and harder.

By the end of the evening, he’d been so sure of one thing: you were the girl of his dreams. Not the fantasy he’d had growing up, full of vague ideals and superficial notions, but the ultimate, real thing. Someone who made him feel seen, loved, and inexplicably lighter all at once.

And he’d been right. You didn’t just help him fly in the military; you helped him soar emotionally too. For someone who’s spent years chasing perfection and pushing limits, you make him feel like it’s okay to just be. That’s why he can’t stop himself from smiling as he watches you now, your focus on the screen but your hand resting comfortably over his heart like it belongs there.

He’s been thinking about the future more often lately, imagining what it might look like when his service ends and he’s back to being “Jungkook of BTS”. The idea doesn’t scare him the way it might have before, but instead, it excites him, because he can picture you there with him, cheering him and the other members on, teasing him when he’s too nervous or too sure of himself, and being the calm to his chaotic lifestyle. 

Jungkook can see late nights at home, your laughter not only ringing in your shared space but his heart too, and maybe someday a little one running around. Maybe even two. Or three. The thought makes his soul sing, and he has to shake his head to stop himself from grinning too widely.

The days following that first date weren’t much different on the surface. Everything on base stayed the same, orders were followed, routines were maintained, but the stolen moments with you were like a secret sea in the desert. Whenever you were alone, professionalism would snap away, and you’d be kissing and giggling like teenagers sneaking behind the school. 

Jungkook’s favourite memory is when you’d pulled him into a supply closet under the pretense of finding something and kissed him until he couldn’t think straight, only for both of you to dissolve into laughter when someone, well, commander Kang walked past, oblivious.

And now, here he is with you, on his day off, not with his family or the boys but with you, learning more about you in your own space. 

Your apartment is a reflection of you, organised yet cosy, filled with small details that hint at your interests. He’s noticed the stack of random books on your desk, the playlist of songs you probably don’t realise he’s memorised by now, and the way your kitchen counter has an odd mix of military-grade efficiency and homely touches like the mismatched mugs.

You shift beside him, breaking him out of his thoughts. “You’re staring,” you state without looking away from the screen.

He chuckles softly. “Can’t help it. You’re prettier than the drama.”

You’d roll your eyes if you were the type for that, but you’ve told him it’s something you detest to your core. To you, it means not taking the other person seriously and visually dismissing them, something you find deeply disrespectful. So, you just smile that unique smile of yours, nudging him with your shoulder. “Focus. You might miss something important.”

“Doubt it,” he teases. “It’s just another love triangle, isn’t it?”

“It’s about more than that,” you argue, turning your head to him now with mock indignation. “There’s depth here. Themes of loyalty, sacrifice, and the human condition.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “And yet, the lead guy’s about to confess his undying love in the middle of a crowded park. Very original.”

“Alright, Mr. Cynic,” you pout, sitting up straighter. “You’ve got a point there.”

Jungkook cocks a brow at you, nibbling on his lip as he contemplates your words and decides to backtrack a bit. “What’s wrong with a public proposal? It’s romantic.”

“You’re right, it’s cliché.”

“Not if it’s done right.”

You scoff. “There’s no ‘right’ way to embarrass someone in front of a hundred strangers.”

Jungkook grins, sensing a debate. “Okay, hear me out. A public proposal is the ultimate love confession. It’s like shouting to the world, ‘This is my person, and I’m not afraid to show it’. It’s bold, it’s heartfelt, and it’s memorable.”

“It’s pressure,” you counter. “And what if the answer’s no? You’ve just humiliated both of you for no reason.”

“But what if the answer’s yes?” he leans closer, willing his eyes to gleam a bit more for you to fall into his trap. “Then you’ve just created a moment neither of you will ever forget.”

You tilt your head, considering him, eyes switching between his and his lips. “You’re really into this idea, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip for good measure. “Not saying I’d do it, but I get the appeal.”

“You’d definitely do it,” you reply, smirking now, transfixed by his lips like he is by yours. “You’re exactly the type to go all out with a flash mob or something ridiculous.”

He laughs, raising his eyes to yours and his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, you got me. But only if I knew the person would say yes.”

“Safe bet,” you muse.

“Always,” Jungkook agrees softly. He’s looking at you in that way that makes your cheeks heat up, but he senses immediately that you refuse to let him win this round.

“Well,” you continue, turning back to the screen, “good thing I’ll never have to worry about it. I prefer my proposals private, thank you very much.”

“We’ll see,” he murmurs under his breath, grinning when you shoot him a playful glare.

While you’re both silently watching the last minutes of the drama, Jungkook can’t help but picture his future with you, stuck on the image of you in a white dress, of you carrying his children. It’s absurd this early in your relationship, but seeing as he’s had a dry spell for the last few years and you’re now lying beside him, he can’t do anything about the blood rushing to certain parts of his body.

Your body’s so warm against his, leg leisurely draped over his, tiny hand mindlessly tracing his pecs and abs, that it takes all his willpower to stop his cock from twitching even more.

Do you feel the same? You haven’t been intimate up to this point, though your chemistry is undeniable, the pull he feels surely not one-sided. As he strains his neck just a little, trying to sneak a peek at your face, he sees you biting your lips with hooded eyes. Then he feels your thigh clench ever so slightly against his, and he knows you’re struggling too, causing his heart to start beating a little faster, his cock to grow a little harder.

Jungkook lets his free hand wander to yours on his chest, caressing his way up your arm until he reaches your jaw, tilting your head to press the most tender kiss he’s ever shared with you onto your plush lips. He lets himself savour your taste, gently pushing you fully on top of him, hands settling on your ass cheeks as he gets lost in you.

There’s no hesitation in the way you grind your clothed cunt against him, no restraint in the feathery moans that echo from your lips to his. If there’s something Jungkook could wish for, it would be to make love to you seven days a week for the rest of his life.

Your name leaves his parted lips in a husky breath as you trail open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and neck, his hands sliding up under your shirt, pulling it off and discarding it somewhere on the bed.

Jungkook takes a moment to drink you in, just a short while, before grabbing you tenderly by the neck, pulling you down, and capturing your lips again as he rolls you both over, his shirt gone not long after.

Every time your eyes meet his, peeking through your thick lashes, his heart flips, reminding him how deeply you’ve ingrained yourself in him. Even though he wants to have every inch of you, touch every millimetre of your smooth skin, he settles for your lips for now.

Trousers off, you both help each other out of your underwear with tender touches, staying close, connected by shared breath, unable to separate even for a second. Jungkook’s so smitten, it should be embarrassing, but it’s anything but, not when your eyes mirror exactly what he’s feeling.

Helping you lie down on the mattress, Jungkook kisses his way down your body, over the valley of your breasts to your most sensitive spot, letting his nose brush over your clit, Jungkook takes a whiff, then licks the first stripe up your slit. The taste of you is the best he’s ever had, leaving every favourite food of his far behind as he gets lost between your legs.

Moan after breathy moan fills the room, each one enchanting, making him unable to stop, unable to slow down as he dives deeper, pushing his tongue further into your hot, fluttering walls, wanting more, needing more.

When your delicate fingers brush over his head, gently pressing him closer as your hips lift and stutter with your first orgasm, Jungkook feels like the luckiest man in the universe, lapping up your release like the dessert it is.

He doesn’t mind that his face is smeared with your juices, doesn’t care that he’s out of breath. Fingers caressing your sides, kneading your breasts lightly before settling his elbows beside your head, he kisses your dry lips and sucking your tongue.

He’s rather surprised that, despite your obviously petite frame, you’re able to twist your thighs against his body and send him falling over, straddled by you so quickly he gets a brief whiplash.

Jungkook would have never thought of you as dominant in bed, but as he gazes at you, absolutely fascinated to the point of shock, it becomes clear to him very quickly that you’re not dominant at all, but just intent on making him feel good as well.

The beautiful smile he’s learned to love from the bottom of his heart doesn’t compare to the light, shy blush coating your cheeks, your hands trailing along his body as you slowly lean down to kiss the shock off his face. He’s been kissed before, though nothing compares to this, nothing compares to your kisses, filled to the brim with adoration he can only drown in.

It overwhelms him; you overwhelm him in the best way possible, and he needs to speak his mind, needs to let you know, because he’s done wasting time when it comes to you.

Lifting your head, dwarfed in the size of his hands, he locks eyes with your glassy ones, letting his tattooed thumb trail over your rosy cheekbone as he confesses, “I love you.”

It should have felt difficult to voice, to admit, but he doesn’t feel scared, doesn’t fear rejection even for a split second. And when your eyes light up even more, brighter than when you were coming undone minutes ago, Jungkook knows he’s finally found peace.

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

Sealed by a kiss, he presses your small frame against his, not caring that the head of his cock gets squished between your bodies. Eventually, you break free, just a little, making him feel cold in an instant even though you’re still here, still touching.

“Let me make you feel good,” you husk against his pec, toying with your tongue on his nipple, sucking, blowing, circling it until you’re satisfied with the soft moans escaping Jungkook’s lips and his hips buckling instinctively.

Never has he felt this cared for, never has anyone given him this attention, this love, and he reckons he’s nowhere near done falling deeper in love with you. Especially as you slowly crawl back, inch by inch, your warm hands trailing along his body, your mouth imprinting the feeling of your lips on his skin to the point where he’ll never be able to forget.

When you take, or rather, try to take his big cock into your hand, your eyes glittering in wonder as you realise you need both hands to even come close to giving him proper satisfaction, Jungkook thinks he might unload right there and then. But he forces his orgasm down, forces himself to let it drag out even if it takes hours, just to enjoy this moment.

“Oh god,” you moan almost inaudibly around his cock as you first take him into your mouth, eyes rolling back as if his precum tastes like pure honey, making him twitch against your throat.

And while he knows you don’t like to roll your eyes at him, in this moment, seeing this sight of you, Jungkook would take any eye roll like a trophy. Saliva doesn’t take long to drip down, coating not only his cock but your hands too, pooling at the base of his cock and balls as you give him your all.

Feeling higher than he’s ever felt before, his hands tangle at the back of your head, pushing just a bit more but never too much, your moans around his cock vibrating in sync with his own. And while he desperately wants to finish, wants to let go and bask in everything you are, he knows he needs to fully connect with you.

So, it’s the only sane action that he gently removes your head from him, lips leaving his cock with a satisfied pop. You’re undeniably beautiful, you always were, but seeing your glassy, slightly fucked-out eyes, lips beautifully swollen, and a light sheen of sweat coating your entire body, you look like a fairy granting him his last wish.

“Come here,” Jungkook guides you to him, and you fall into his arms as if compelled by a spell, though he reckons he’s just the same.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t know how to not kiss you stupid, or kiss himself stupid, but he doesn’t seem to have the will to question it any longer. Especially when your hand leaves his short hair, aimlessly reaching for the nightstand and conjuring a condom from the top drawer.

Jungkook takes the cue, blindly accepting the condom from your tender fingers, only checking briefly that it’s the right size, he rolls you both over, rips the packet open, and in no time secures the latex around his still-leaking cock. As your hands caress his arms and abs, your eyes locked onto his, it’s not the sight of your naked body beneath him that makes him want to cry. No, it’s your ethereal face and the look in your eyes that undoes him so gracefully. 

“Jungkook?” Your voice is as soft as ever, no tremble present, which makes him so proud. Proud that he’s obviously made you feel absolutely safe, safe in the way you make him feel too.

“Yes, love?”

The nickname makes you smile lovingly, clearly even more whipped for him as you suppress a giggle.

“I really love you,” you breathe, mesmerised to the point where Jungkook’s almost afraid you’re more in love with him than he is with you. Not that it matters, if he’s being honest.

“I love you more.”

The twitch of your brow makes him snicker, causing you to giggle as well. Jungkook captures your lips with a broad smile of his own, aligning his cock with your tiny hole, he pushes his hips in soft, careful rhythms until he’s fully nestled in your warmth. And as you, after a short breath, start to buck your hips against him, it’s his sign to get going, stroking his cock repeatedly against your tight walls. The wet squelches and your tiny cries of ecstasy are music to his ears, heart, and soul.

“Ah, Jungkook, god, there.”

He feels it, doesn’t need you to tell him. He can feel your walls clamp down on him. Still, he keeps going, needs to, both for your sake and his own.

“Come for me, love. Show me how good I make you feel,” he grunts in your ear, drowning in the scent of your hair as he keeps his pace strong and steady.

When you shatter beneath him, nails digging into the strained muscles of his back, Jungkook keeps going. He focuses, restrains himself, riding out your orgasm until your grip loosens around his frame.

“More?” he kisses our lips briefly, though they’re now only loosely parted.

“Yes.”

The moan that escapes your mouth is rather forced, but your eyes are still hungry.

So, Jungkook slips out, settling beside you and gently turning you onto your side as well, pulling you back against his chest. Lifting your leg over his, he pushes his cock back inside you from behind, thrusting into your dripping cunt without mercy while his hand finds your neck and jaw, tilting your head slightly so he can pamper you with kisses.

“Jungk-o-o-o-k,” you mewl as his other hand trails down to your clit, circling it in perfect rhythm with his thrusts.

“Yeah? Feels good?”

“So good. So good, Jungkook.”

And he feels the same, fantastic even, savouring every moment as he gradually builds his own orgasm.

“One more, love, hm?”

Jungkook drinks in the sight of you, your tits bouncing lightly, your eyes rolling back every few seconds, your tiny hands gripping his veiny arm, nails digging into his tattoos as you moan over and over again.

“Yes,” you cry, and that’s all it takes for him to let himself go too, letting his mind and body rise higher as he flies over the clouds with you right by his side.

“Fuck, ___, love, fuck,” he pants. Your walls haven’t stopped spasming around him for minutes, and his thrusts turn erratic as you both come together in a grand finale, gripping each other like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded on Earth.

The orgasm lasts far longer than Jungkook ever expected, though he wouldn’t trade even a second of it, not when you’re this perfect and he feels the same for you.

But eventually, even though he’s touched the sky with you, you both have to come back down. And as reluctant as he is to pull out, getting rid of the condom right after, it’s you he turns to, and always will.

Especially when the giggles you let out as he carries you to the shower are everything he needs for the rest of his life and beyond.

a/n 2: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀 If you liked what you read, pls consider buying me a ☕️ Ko-fi.com/runariya 💕

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permanent taglist: @runariyaluvr , @closer-to-jungkook , @dreamcatcherluvr , @blueofocean, @https-mei, @xsyruhh , @nemelkawar , @joonlover1207 , @elinaki92

[killerelysia]

Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader! (Part 2!)

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!

Words:9000

Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)

Summary: You’ve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Sol’s world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands him—better than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesn’t know it yet.. You're his and he's yours...

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.

Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.

Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.

Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.

Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.

Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.

Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, The relationship presented here between sol and reader is extremely toxic!! In no way, Just because I'm writing doesn't mean I support this kind of toxicity. Note, It's okay to like sol if you know the flaws and don't be a blind eye on them! Again, I don't support his actions etc! If you hate sol ignore this.

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee.

DAY 1: The Beloved

“I will not accept one paragraph! I need two whole pages filled with words. Everyone got that?”

The teacher’s voice grated on your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Not that the assignment was hard—you could churn out two pages in your sleep if you wanted to. Writing wasn’t the issue. No, the real problem was the waste.

Two pages of meaningless drivel on some boring topic when you could be filling those pages with him. Words dedicated to Sol, the way his green-streaked hair falls just so, the sharpness of his jawline, the way he speaks as if he’s barely trying and yet every word hooks you like a line to the heart. Two pages about Sol? Easy. Two pages about anything else? Insulting.

You shift in your seat, feeling the familiar burn in your chest. It’s not anger exactly—it’s this gnawing, this aching thing that starts deep inside you every time someone pulls your focus away from him.

And your journal. Oh, your journal. You’d filled its pages with his name, over and over again. Sketches of him, even ones of the two of you together—his hand in yours, his lips grazing your cheek. Perfect. You flip it closed quickly, sliding it under your textbook as a passing student glances your way. No one gets to see those. They wouldn’t understand.

You glance at the clock. The rooftop. You’re running out of time. You bite your lip and glance at the book again. Just one more sketch… no, focus!

The doodle of you and Sol holding hands stares back at you. It’s so cute, you can’t help the small giggle bubbling in your throat. What would he think if he saw this? Would he call it pathetic or perfect? Would he notice the details? The way I drew him smiling?

The smile falters. No.

Not yet. He doesn’t get to see this yet—not until it’s perfect. Not until you are perfect.

With a deep breath, you slam the book shut and stand, forcing the manic swirl of thoughts into a neat little box in the back of your mind. Control. Stay calm. Don’t let anyone see.

There’s plenty of time to admire him later. For now, you’ll play along, just like always.

But inside, your thoughts swirled, chaotic and relentless. You could feel the edges of your obsession creeping in, clawing at your composure.

Why Sol? Why does he get to me like this? Is it his smile? The way his voice sounds like music when he talks to Hyugo about me? Maybe it’s his obesseion Or maybe it’s because I’m just...

You paused, staring blankly at the paper in front of you. Messed up. Rotten. Broken. No wonder I’m drawn to him. He’s the only one who makes me feel like I could be fixed.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No time for self-pity. You had to get to the rooftop soon, and you couldn’t go up there acting like some lovesick fool.

Standing up from your seat, you were about to grab your bag when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you saw Brittney—the Chipette—no, Crowe’s friend. Her. You pause, giving her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s trying to talk to you, pretend to be friendly. It must be Crowe’s idea. Of course, it is. Brittney doesn’t do anything without some ulterior motive, right? Sharp tongue wrapped in hard words. But… maybe she’s different. she’s kind. Sometimes, she actually tries. It's just she's bad at talking.

A fallen angel in disguise.

You tilt your head slightly, watching her fumble. She doesn’t know how to approach you. Does she think I’m some kid who needs to be scolded? Her nervous glance tell you that. She’s probably going to say something about how wrong it is to obsess over Sol. Does she know? She doesn't know. No one knows.

And Sol isn’t a “kid.” He’s perfect. He’s 6’ of celestial art, every inch of him carved like he was meant to be worshipped, adored. He’s everything. You feel your pulse quicken just thinking about him.

“Hey, you’re going to lunch with us, right?” Brittney starts, pulling you back. “I mean, you should. I don’t usually see you in the cafeteria nowadays, so you must not be eating properly…”

You blink at her. Lunch? The cafeteria? You don’t go there anymore. Not since Sol.

Because Sol hates it. He hates the noise.

He didn’t say it outright, of course. He doesn’t have to. You know it. You feel it in the way he moves, in the small looks he gives the space, in the way he brushes off people there. It’s loud. It’s annoying. He doesn’t like it. So you don’t like it either.

It’s one of the small ways you show your love for him, even if he doesn’t know. Even if no one knows. You don’t need their approval. You don’t need their judgment. You learned to cook, after all! Sol likes to cook too. Isn’t that just fate? It’s like the universe tying you together, thread by thread.

You learned to decorate your food everyday so when he sees he can smile. You made sure to change your wallpaper to a pumpkin so when he might try to check, he will think you like them..

Its all for him..

You always come early, leave your food on your spot on the rooftop so you can watch him later. Just watch. When he’s with Hyugo, you catch glimpses of their meals. Sol always seems to cook for him.

Sol cooks for Hyugo…

Your chest twists. Your grip tightens on your bag.

You wonder when it’ll be you. When will it be you he cooks for? When will you be the one he eats with, laughs with, looks at? Domestic, happy, married—together, forever.

"We will be a happy family together, right Sol? Don't we be together forever...?"

The thought makes your stomach flutter, your lips twitch into an almost-smile. You’re almost dizzy with it. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Wouldn’t that be just right? Sol and you, a home, no one else, just the two of you…

Your breath catches. Stop. Not here. Not in front of her. Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it—

“Hello? You okay?” Brittney’s voice pulls you back.

You blink. Smile. Tilt your head like nothing’s wrong. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you can still feel that wild, spiraling need thrumming in your chest.

Sol would be proud of how well you can hide it. Don’t you think?

You were about to refuse politely, maybe even brush her off, but then Brittney added something that made your blood freeze.

"How can you keep up with classes looking like that? You look like you haven't slept in months. You almost look like a crazed person."

Excuse me?

The words hit like a slap, a harsh reminder of how others saw you. You felt your skin flush, the urge to lash out simmering beneath the surface. No one, no one, was supposed to notice that. Not her. Not anyone. She didn’t know what you were really up to—how could she?

But you caught yourself, staring at her without blinking, trying to suppress the bitter taste in your mouth. You had to hold it together. She was just… clueless. Clueless in the same way everyone else was. She didn't know what you did, how you spent your nights, how you fed your obsession, how you kept everything in line. To her, you were just the weird, sleep-deprived kid who could barely hold it together in class.

You blinked slowly, trying to keep your expression neutral. Don’t let her see how much her words hurt. No one was supposed to see that. You felt a little… off, but you didn’t let it show. You were in control, at least, on the outside.

She realized, too late, that she'd crossed a line. The awkwardness in the air was thick, and you could almost see the regret flicker behind her eyes. Maybe she felt sorry for you? But no, it wasn’t pity. It was something else. Something… less clean.

In truth, you felt a small pang of something almost like guilt. It was strange. You felt… bad for her? You knew Brittney had no idea what she was stepping into. How could she? She wasn’t part of this world you had so carefully constructed, a world that only you understood. She was just someone who thought she was being kind, trying to make conversation.

You sighed softly, resisting the urge to show any emotion. She didn’t deserve to feel bad about it. No, she didn’t deserve that.

"That's really insensitive of you! Imagine if someone else told you about how you look," Crowe’s voice cuts through, a protector once again.

You glance at Brittney. Ugh, such a showoff, trying to play the hero. You barely let it phase you, though. You’re above this.

"Brittney’s just trying, Crowe, I don’t really take offense,” you say, smiling sweetly, but it’s more for your own benefit than anyone else’s.

Crowe looks at you, clearly taken aback. Oh, poor Crowe, so clueless. He thought you’d be hurt? You almost giggle at his innocence.

“Well, you’re the one who insisted on me initiating talk. If you really want to rescue them, there are better ways to be their prince charming, Crowe.” You throw a playful smirk his way. This game’s so easy. He’s trying so hard… for what?

You snicker, watching his face twist in confusion. God, he’s like a lost child when their momma takes away their candy. It’s almost adorable…

"You could’ve done it more nicely, you know. A simple invite would’ve sufficed,” he murmur, you still have the sweet smile plastered across your face. He’s pushing so hard for attention. What’s he trying to prove? You don’t need more friends. Friends are just competition… people getting in the way of your Sol. It's a distraction.

You glance over at the three people you know in the circle—one of them, Subaru. The thought of him nearly makes your stomach churn. Such a fool. You shake your head.

Love is what makes a Subaru a Subaru

You choke on your own thoughts, trying to push the smile from your face. Shut up, Y/n. Just shut up for a second. That quote doesn't deserve Geo

“Damn Brit, you sure are bad at socializing! Hey, Geo! Looks like you’ve got competition!” Deryl’s voice cuts in, a stupid grin spreading across his face.

Brittney’s face turns red. You feel your lips curl into a soft, dangerous smile. Time to save the poor thing.

"At least she tries something," you say, cutting into the moment. "Unlike Mr. Scaramoose over here… Mister Deryl Helianth. It’s okay…"

Deryl’s eyes widen. "You know my full government name?!?" The jock is practically bouncing with excitement. How cute. He thinks it matters.

You smile sweetly. "No, not at all." You really didn’t need to know anything about him. You’ve just been collecting information on everyone. Your eyes flick over to the name data you’ve carefully pulled from the class roster. But Sol’s name isn’t on there… why isn’t his name listed? The thought itches at the back of your mind. I’ll check the Art class today.

Sigh…

"They must have gotten it from the student council. You helped me a lot that day, Y/n. Thanks," Crowe says with a soft smile. Oh, how genuine. How sweet.

But you did it for yourself, didn’t you? You did it to make sure you knew everything about him. To see if Sol was in the same room. Same class..

Any class...

Crowe’s obliviousness is almost painful, but you don’t let it show.

You shake the thought away. Sol, Sol, Sol. There you go again, thinking about him. You feel a silly, wild smile threatening to take over your face. Great job, Y/n. You almost look like a crazy person again.

“Shut the fuck up, Deryl!” Brittney screeches, saving you from your own spiraling thoughts.

You sigh in relief. Finally, a distraction.

While they bicker, you look at Geo, sticking your tongue out. You know it’ll annoy him, and that’s just too fun to pass up. His angry gaze snaps to you. You flash him your sweetest, most angelic smile in return.

Oh, Geo… you think, enjoying his discomfort just a little too much. You turn your gaze to the meek girl beside Brittney, Jess, who’s been silent the whole time. Poor thing. Probably doesn’t even realize how much you hate her existence.

“Sorry,” He says putting on a sympathetic voice. “They’re kind of a rowdy bunch, huh?”

Crowe laughs, scratching the back of his head. “You’re the most normal person I know, Y/n.”

Normal? Oh, if only you knew. If only he could see the things you hide. The way your mind swirls with dark thoughts. The plans you’ve already made.

"Normal?" You smile sweetly again. "Yeah, sure!"

Normal? Sure, if that’s what they want to think. But behind those eyes of yours, it's a whole different story. Behind those closed doors, in the stillness of your room, you sit there, mapping out every move Sol makes. Watching. Waiting. Planning.

You’ve got this figured out. It’s mutual craziness, isn’t it? Stalking is just a step closer to true love, right? After all, Sol’s already there, watching you too.

Crowe introduces Jess to you, and you can’t help but pinch her cheek. Just like Sol would. Your heart skips a beat at the thought, the way you’d touch Sol the same way, so tenderly, so possessively.

You smile, your eyes glazing over, lost in the fantasy.

"Thank Beyonce," you think, when Brittney screams again, snapping you out of your daydream.

"Are you coming with us or what?" Brittney asks, her voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts.

Geo and Deryl exchange whispers. You don’t hear the words, but the feeling between them is thick, charged. Geo glances at you, his eyes narrowing, an intensity behind them that makes your stomach twist in knots.

You just smile and shrug. “I’m not coming. I’ve got to do something about the assignment.”

Crowe furrows his brows, unsure. “Are you sure?”

Geo pushes him out of the way, throwing a glance at you. His eyes are cold, pissed off. But why? Why would he be mad?

You don’t care. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want to see how the show plays out today, just like yesterday. Like the day before. And so on.”

You giggle, the insanity behind your eyes barely concealed. “Thanks, George of the Jungle!”

Geo hisses under his breath, storming off. Good riddance.

Finally, you’re alone, the game once again in your hands.

You approached the usual vent that led to the rooftop, your thoughts on the familiar, quiet solitude awaiting you there. You needed it more than ever. But as you got closer, your heart sank. The vent… it was blocked. A large metal panel, freshly installed, covered the usual opening.

You froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief, your mind racing. No, no, no… This was your only escape. Your only way to break free from the suffocating weight of everything. You reached forward, pressing your hand against the cool metal, but it didn’t budge. It felt like the world itself was closing in around you.

Your gaze shot over to the construction worker nearby, the one handling some tools by the wall. You quickly approached him, a sense of urgency bubbling in your chest. "Hey, what's going on with the vent?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He looked up, wiping his brow before answering. “Oh, that? A tall student, Subaru, complained about the vents being damaged. The university decided to get it fixed right away. They’re installing some new system to keep people from sneaking up through there. Too many people have been climbing in and out, I guess. They said it needed to be blocked off.”

Your blood ran cold as the realization hit you like a sledgehammer. Subaru. That tall, irritating… Scaramouche wannabe.

Damn it.

You almost couldn't breathe, the frustration building inside you so quickly it hurt. You clenched your fists so tightly, your nails dug into your palm. It was him. That bastard had complained about the vents just to block your access. He knew! He knew how much you relied on that small escape, that bit of freedom. And now it was gone—ruined because of his petty complaint.

“Wait," you snapped, your voice dangerously low, "Can you fix it? Please. I need to get through." You could feel the heat rising to your face, a mix of anger and panic. You had to get up there. You had to see Sol. There was no other way.

The construction worker shook his head. “Sorry, kid. They’ve already decided to seal it up. The system’s being locked down. No going through there anymore. If it's rooftop just use the damned stairs. Even then, kids are not gonna listen. Even grownups like you are idiotic."

But you use it for...Rooftop so they can't see

Your world tilted, your vision narrowing. No… no! You could feel your chest tightening, the walls closing in. You were so close. You were this close to seeing him, to feeling something again, but now it was slipping through your fingers.

Geo, that fucking prick! Your heart raced with frustration, your mind spinning. Why did he have to ruin everything?

You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, the urge to scream rising inside you. It wasn’t fair. You couldn’t even reach Sol now, because that damn fool had gotten in the way. You paced in front of the blocked vent, your mind unraveling. You tried to breathe, tried to think of something—anything—but all that came to mind was the surge of anger that made your head spin.

You turned away abruptly, fist clenched tightly at your side, barely holding back the raw frustration that threatened to burst out of you. "Fucking bitch," you muttered under your breath. You didn’t even realize the words had escaped until they echoed through the air.

You cursed under your breath again, letting the anger rage inside you like a storm, unable to quell it. All that rage, all that tension was boiling over, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

You stood there, Your fingers trembled as you tried to think of another way. The stairs, you thought. The staircase that led to the rooftop—it was a long shot, but maybe you could get up there without anyone noticing.

You glanced around, hoping no one was watching. The stairway to the other side of the rooftop was a bit more hidden, so if you were careful, maybe—just maybe—you could sneak your way up without anyone spotting you. Your mind raced, trying to calculate the risks. There was a chance they’d notice you going up, but you didn’t care. You had to see him today. It wasn’t a choice anymore—it was an obsession, a need, a desperate craving.

You made your way toward the stairwell, a strange mix of hope and anxiety flooding your chest. Just be quiet, don’t get spotted… you repeated to yourself like a mantra.

But the moment you stepped into the stairwell, you felt something shift inside of you. What if they catch you? What if they find out? The thought of someone seeing you make your way to the rooftop, of someone witnessing you sneak away like this, made your stomach churn. The fear crawled up your spine, but you couldn’t stop now. You had to do this for yourself.

You tried to silence the little voice that whispered doubts in your ear. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about being caught.

But the stairs—the stairs were the wrong ones. You turned the corner too fast, your heart pounding louder with every step. You’d entered the wrong pair of stairs, a different exit leading to an entirely different side of the building. A side where the students could see you—where he could see you. The panic rose in your throat. No, no, no… You cursed under your breath.

The walls felt like they were closing in around you. Your hands gripped the railing tightly, trying to steady yourself as your chest tightened with dread. It’s too much. It’s too risky. You’ll be caught.

The weight of it all hit you then, the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. Sol… you can’t even see him anymore. You’re losing everything.

A soft sob escaped your lips, quickly smothered by the desperate need to control yourself. You wiped your eyes, but they wouldn’t stop, your tears betraying you. Why was it so hard? Why did everything feel like it was slipping through your fingers?

You felt small, insignificant, lost in a world that was spinning too fast. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t you just have a simple moment with him? To see his face, to be near him, to exist in his world for just a little while.

Your breath hitched again, sobbing softly to yourself, trying to stifle the noise. You hated how weak you felt, how exposed you were. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be crying over something so ridiculous, over something you couldn’t control. But in that moment, you didn’t care. You just wanted to see him.

You needed him.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? you thought bitterly, wiping your nose as you swallowed the lump in your throat. Why did it have to be so complicated? Every day felt like a fight—a fight against yourself, against your own cravings, against everything pulling you toward him.

The sobs were quiet, but they felt so loud in the silence of the stairwell. You felt pathetic—helpless, even. But there was no turning back now. You had to get to the roof. You had to see him.

You blinked hard, forcing your tears to stop. It was time to take action. Be sneaky, be careful. You can do this.

You wiped your face, sucked in a breath, and kept climbing the stairs, hoping that just one more turn would lead you to him.

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling as you reached the rooftop, your breath shaky and uneven. The cool breeze barely brushed your face, but the overwhelming sense of sadness flooded your chest, crushing it under its weight.

Sol… Sol… where are you? Your heart hammered painfully in your chest as you looked around, searching desperately. But the rooftop was empty. No sign of him. Not a shadow, not a glimpse.

You felt a sob tear through your chest, the tears flowing freely as your eyes glazed over with an almost feverish kind of longing. Why isn't he here? you thought with a sort of irrational desperation. But deep down, you knew. It wasn’t about finding him here on the rooftop. It was about needing him so badly that it felt like your insides were turning to ash.

Your vision blurred with the endless cascade of tears, and your head dropped, defeated. A few soft sobs escaped you, echoing in the emptiness. Why did it hurt so much? You didn’t care that the tears were endless, that the ache in your heart was growing. It felt both agonizing and strangely satisfying.

Your eyes were wide, lovesick and sad, the desperation leaking out of every pore. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from spinning. I need him… I need him so badly… It hurt, but the hurt was like some sick form of comfort. Every pang of longing, every tear that slipped from your eyes only added to the twisted ache that thrummed in your chest.

You wiped your face, but it didn’t matter. The tears kept coming, flowing out like some uncontrollable river.

Sol… you whispered softly to yourself, your voice trembling.

You felt so small, so lost in this need for him, yet at the same time, you felt alive. Alive in a way that only came with this kind of madness. This kind of longing.

And it felt so good.

A high, sick laugh that made your stomach churn. You couldn’t even believe it yourself, but there it was—uncontrollable and desperate.

"Ha…ha…haha…" you whispered to yourself, almost crazed with it, your tears mixing with your laughter in a strange, disorienting way. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. But it felt right. It felt like it made sense in some deranged, twisted way.

And still, you looked around, trying to get a glimpse, even just a hint of him. But there was nothing. The emptiness was deafening.

.

You felt a sob tear through your chest, the tears flowing freely as your eyes glazed over with an almost feverish kind of longing. Why isn't he here? you thought with a sort of irrational desperation. But deep down, you knew. It wasn’t about finding him here on the rooftop. It was about needing him so badly that it felt like your insides were turning to ash.

Your vision blurred with the endless cascade of tears, and your head dropped, defeated. A few soft sobs escaped you, echoing in the emptiness. Why did it hurt so much? You didn’t care that the tears were endless, that the ache in your heart was growing. It felt both agonizing and strangely satisfying.

Your eyes were wide, lovesick and sad, the desperation leaking out of every pore. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from spinning. I need him… I need him so badly… It hurt, but the hurt was like some sick form of comfort. Every pang of longing, every tear that slipped from your eyes only added to the twisted ache that thrummed in your chest.

You wiped your face, but it didn’t matter. The tears kept coming, flowing out like some uncontrollable river.

Sol… you whispered softly to yourself, your voice trembling.

You felt so small, so lost in this need for him, yet at the same time, you felt alive. Alive in a way that only came with this kind of madness. This kind of longing.

And it felt so good.

The rooftop’s chill stung your tear-soaked cheeks, and you were ready to leave with a heavy heart when an unfamiliar voice caught your attention. It wasn’t Sol’s—no, you’d know his voice anywhere—but someone else entirely. You walked fo the sound of the voice cautiously, you spotted Hyugo.

He stood a few steps away, holding a phone to his ear, speaking in a language you couldn’t quite identify. His tone was firm, measured, but whatever he was saying wasn’t your concern. You were only focused on how this wasn’t Sol.

Still, you watched for a moment longer, curiosity briefly flickering through your sadness. You took a step back, intending to leave unnoticed. But just as you turned, a hand clamped down on your shoulder, freezing you in place. Your heart jumped to your throat as you felt his breath near your neck and something cold—too cold—pressed against your skin.

A knife.

"Who are you? Speak, unless you want to get yourself into big trouble," Hyugo said lowly, his voice sharp and unforgiving.

"I’m—uh, Y/n L/n of class 4-B! Please don’t kill me!" you stammered, panic slipping through every word. You couldn’t help but hope—no, pray—that he’d recognize your name as someone Sol would vouch for, even if it was just in your own delusional mind.

The grip on your shoulder slackened slightly. Relief bloomed in your chest, though it was short-lived as Hyugo shifted, striking a pose that reminded you of Sherlock Holmes—a pose you knew he adored. You’d overheard him ranting about it to Sol once, and that memory made you laugh internally. Sol’s pained expression had been adorable.

But now wasn’t the time for that. You were trapped here, and Hyugo seemed more amused than threatening at this point. His eyes narrowed as he muttered, “Y/n L/n… Why does that sound familiar? Class 4-B too…”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Probably because you won’t stop teasing Sol about me.”

Foolishly, you threw a punch in frustration, aiming for his smug face. Hyugo caught your fist with ease, still holding that ridiculous Sherlock pose. The corner of his lips twitched in amusement as he tightened his grip on your hand, making you wince.

"Sol, save me from this bitch," your thoughts screamed as you glared at Hyugo, who seemed all too entertained by your antics.

Hyugo clapped his hands together in mock prayer, bowing with theatrical flourish. “I remember now! What impeccable timing, Y/n!” he said, his voice dripping with faux gratitude.

You stared blankly. What was he doing?

“I need your help,” he continued, straightening up dramatically. “You see, I have a familial emergency and can’t attend my next class. I promised my partner I’d be there, though, and since you’re from the same class… could you take over for me?”

You blinked, incredulous. “What kind of person are you? You just threatened me with a knife, and now you’re asking for favors? What are you, some yakuza kid?”

Hyugo’s smug smile faltered for a moment before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh,” he muttered, fixing his posture. Then, as if nothing happened, he threw you a wink and a thumbs up. “The name’s Hyugo Sugimoto! From class 4-A!” he declared proudly. “But I take mixed classes with Mister Allan to catch up on some, uh… subjects I missed last year.”

You folded your arms, unimpressed. His attempt at charm wasn’t working, especially when he pulled out his knife again, dangling it casually. “It’s for self-defense,” he explained, launching into an unnecessary monologue. You stopped listening entirely, your mind already halfway to its breaking point.

But then, something in his tone shifted. The goofy grin fell from his face, replaced by a much more serious expression.

“Do you have friends, Y/n?”

You recoiled slightly, the question catching you off guard. “Yes, I do,” you shot back defensively.

Hyugo tilted his head. “Yeah, but don’t you ever feel like… you’re doing too much for them?”

The words struck a chord, silencing you. Was he talking about Sol? Your chest tightened, but you refused to let it show.

“He’s not the best guy out there,” Hyugo said, and you winced. You knew Sol wasn’t perfect. His methods were unconventional, his actions borderline obsessive—but that was fine. You loved him. You understood him. Your relationship thrived on the kind of chaos no one else could grasp.

“But you…” Hyugo continued, his gaze unwavering. “Maybe you’ll be the one who understands him.”

Your breath hitched. “I do,” you murmured, so quietly you weren’t sure he even heard.

You smiled faintly, a flicker of something almost kind crossing his face. “I’m sure Solivan Brugmansia appreciates what you do.”

The mention of Sol’s full name sent your heart racing. You froze, staring at Hyugo, trying to process the weight of his words.

Hyugo clapped his hands suddenly, breaking the tension. “So please, be his partner in Art Appreciation!” he pleaded, his dramatic energy returning full force. “He needs someone who gets him! He needs someone like you!"

Your mind spiraled. Was the next class Sol’s? Could it really be? Your lips parted in shock, but before you could speak, Hyugo’s expression darkened. “Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Did you just say his name?”

You blinked, regaining some composure. “What? No. You misheard me,” you said, feigning calmness. Manipulation came naturally to you, and you knew how to keep your face unreadable. “I never opened my mouth."

It was weird.

Hyugo dropped to his knees in a dramatic, pleading pose, resembling a pitiful clown more than the dangerous man who had just threatened you moments ago. His serious tone dissolved into a mess of blubbering theatrics.

“Please! I’m begging you! Be his partner!” he wailed, hands clasped as if in prayer.

“Alright, alright! I’ll do it! Just get the hell up already!” you snapped, exasperated.

Hyugo’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “You mean it? Thank you, Y/n! I knew you were the right person for this!” He shot up, nearly knocking you over in his enthusiasm.

“His name is Sol! Solivan Brugmansia! Don’t worry, you won’t miss him!” he said brightly, grinning ear to ear.

Your heart stopped. Sol. It was Sol. A jolt of electricity shot through you like the world had just revealed a cosmic secret. This was how you were going to meet him for the first time? Your head spun, and you couldn’t decide if you wanted to scream, laugh, or cry.

Without waiting for a reaction, Hyugo gave you a firm pat on the shoulder, his demeanor softening just enough to catch you off guard. “Crying doesn’t suit people like you, Y/n,” he said, his voice oddly sincere. Then, just as suddenly, he turned on his heel and sprinted off, leaving you stunned in the middle of the rooftop.

Your thoughts swirled, tangled in emotions you couldn’t even name.

You felt the tears still clinging to your cheeks, but instead of sadness, an uncontrollable smile spread across your face. The weight of earlier despair evaporated as Hyugo's words echoed in your mind. Solivan Brugmansia… you’ll be his partner…

Your heart leaped as you imagined him, the way his name rolled off your tongue like a song written just for you. “Ahhh… Sol!” you squealed softly, bouncing in place like an overjoyed child. You hugged yourself, spinning in a circle with daydreams overtaking reality.

This was better than any rooftop sighting—this was fate pulling the strings of your love story! Your knees wobbled as you imagined what it would be like sitting beside him, sharing notes, the way his hand might brush yours while pointing at something in a textbook. Your daydreams spiraled into a symphony of possibilities, each one sweeter than the last.

You clutched your chest dramatically, the hopeless romantic in you fully awakened. “He’s perfect,” you murmured, giggling as your face burned with a lovesick blush. You jumped again, unable to stop yourself from squealing, “I love him!”

Lost in your swirling thoughts, you didn’t even notice the bell ringing in the distance.

There's still. Time. I'll head to Library...For.. Maybe assignment.

You stepped into the library, the comforting mix of coffee and aged books wrapping around you like a soft blanket. Normally, this was your safe haven—a place to sketch and dream without interruption. Your perfect little corner, tucked away from prying eyes, was waiting.

But today… everything shattered the moment you saw him.

Your heart came to a screeching halt, and your lungs forgot how to breathe. There, sitting at one of the tables, completely absorbed in his book, was him. Solivan Brugmansia.

Your legs locked in place, and every gear in your brain shifted into overdrive. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think—just stare. His long fingers lightly turned the page, the soft motion oddly captivating. His sharp jawline framed his face, leading up to cheekbones so defined they looked like they were carved from marble. His dark, slightly wavy hair fell messily over his forehead, catching the faint sunlight streaming through the window.

His lashes were long, casting delicate shadows over his cheeks as his eyes—those intense, unique hues you couldn't forget—traveled across the words in his book. The air around him felt magnetic, an invisible force pulling you closer, drowning you in admiration. His lips moved faintly as if he were silently mouthing the words, and you almost melted on the spot.

It hit you all over again. This is him. This is Sol.

You felt like a mess—your clothes felt wrong, your hair felt wrong, you felt wrong. Why now?! Why does he have to look like an angel when I look like this? You were so close to running out, but your feet stayed planted, refusing to move.

You drank in every detail, heart hammering like a lovesick fool. The way his shoulders leaned slightly forward as he read, his posture casual but refined. The faint scuff on the corner of his book as if he had been reading it everywhere. Even the small crease in his brow hinted at his concentration.

Your fingers itched for your sketchbook. You wanted to draw him again, every line and curve, as if your pencil could capture even a fraction of what made him so perfect. But then your gaze shifted—there were other students around, eyes occasionally darting toward him. Of course, you thought bitterly. How could they not?

The idea of pulling out your sketchbook felt risky, almost too obvious. And yet the urge to immortalize this moment, this sight of him, was clawing at your chest.

You swallowed hard, stepping back toward the corner, hoping he wouldn’t notice your frantic gaze. But even as you moved, your eyes refused to leave him. So close, yet so far... you thought, feeling every bit the love-drunk, hopeless fool you were.

Oh, how my heart shivers, lovesick and wild, Caught in your gaze, like a star-struck child. Your eyes, deep constellations, chart the skies, Pulling me closer with each soft sunrise. Your hair, dark rivers where the moonlight dips, Your name a melody upon my lips. I see you in whispers, in shadows, in dreams, A presence that wraps me in love’s silent screams.

You took a steadying breath, willing yourself to act composed, to not let your trembling hands or lovesick expression give you away. Solivan Brugmansia—your Sol—was sitting in your seat. That sacred corner, your little world, now graced by his presence. The thought made your pulse race, equal parts thrill and terror.

You couldn’t help it; your eyes roamed over him, absorbing every detail like a parched soul drinking in the rain. His hair caught the faint library light, the strands gleaming like silk. His posture was casual but poised, one hand flipping through a book while the other rested lazily on the table—oh, that hand, the one you’d heard was hurt recently. He punched a guy for you.

You bit your lip, an involuntary whimper catching in your throat at the thought of his pain.

He hadn’t noticed you at first, but your dazed stare must have drawn him in. Slowly, his gaze lifted, those striking heterochromatic eyes locking onto yours. The air felt electric, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

“...?” His expression was unreadable, but the subtle furrow of his brows suggested mild curiosity—or was that amusement? You couldn’t tell. Either way, it made your knees weak.

“You’re, um... in my seat,” you managed, the words stumbling over each other like a desperate escape. “Can I have it back, Mr. Solivan Brugmansia...? Also, I, uh, heard about your hand. Are you okay? I hope you’re not overdoing it. And, uh, your partner—”

You froze mid-ramble as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He looked surprised for a brief second—had you actually caught him off guard? But just as quickly, his expression smoothed into that same cold, enigmatic mask. It was like looking at a wall of ice with flames just barely flickering underneath.

“You... know my name?” he asked, his voice a soft drawl, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Control, maybe? Suspicion? Whatever it was, it sent a shiver down your spine.

You exhaled, trying to suppress the ridiculous giddiness that threatened to bubble over. Stay cool, stay cool, you reminded yourself, even as your heartbeat rivaled a drumline.

“I know your name because Hyugo told me. He said you needed a partner in art class,” you began, keeping your tone casual, though you were certain your cheeks were giving you away. “And one time, when I went to the nurse, she mentioned feeling bad about a student named Solivan who’d been injured. That’s you, isn’t it?”

His eyes widened for the briefest moment, and then he averted them, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of his book. Was that... a blush? You almost squealed internally, but you swallowed it down like a pro. He didn’t respond, clearly not used to being read so easily.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to something soft and steady. “I was worried when she said that,” you admitted. “But hey, a student is a student. Don’t overthink it. Now... can I please have my seat back?”

For a second, you thought he might actually listen. His eyes flicked to yours, a rare vulnerability peeking through before it was swallowed up by his usual mask. But instead of moving, he arched an eyebrow, glanced under the desk, and then back at you.

“I don’t see your name on it,” he said flatly, his expression neutral as he turned back to his book like you weren’t standing there, brimming with barely-contained exasperation.

You blinked. Oh, hell no.

Your jaw clenched, and a vein in your forehead might’ve popped. What was this guy’s deal?! Soulmate or not, your seat was sacred. You puffed your cheeks in frustration, unintentionally looking like the most adorably indignant person in the room. Not that Sol noticed—he was already back to reading.

Unbelievable, you thought, your inner monologue screaming .

"So cute..." It was silent but you heard it/\.

Your whole system short-circuited. Did you just hear that? Did he really say that? If it were possible to combust on the spot, you'd already be a pile of ashes.

HE CALLED YOU CUTE?!!?

Your brain spiraled into chaos. Your inner monologue devolved into nothing but incomprehensible shrieks: "IDIOEYDOWEOHCOWEODHEHUFEWFE8FR80EG8YE!!!!" Words were officially out of service, leaving you stranded in a whirlpool of overwhelming emotions.

He was blushing too, barely visible but undeniably there. His cheeks held a faint dusting of pink, and his lips curled into a barely-there smile—just enough to devastate your heart completely. How could someone be so effortlessly adorable and infuriating at the same time? Someone save you from this man, please!

But wait—did he notice your cheeks puffing up in anger? Was that why he smiled? No, no, no. If being an angry little cutie made him smile, then you’d be doomed to accidentally fuel his amusement for eternity. Yet the thought of making him smile set off a whole new wave of screaming in your head. Wahhh, he's so cute! Why does he have to be like this?

You couldn’t decide if you were furious or lovesick. One thing was certain—you were absolutely doomed.

Sol tilted his head, a sly smirk playing at his lips. "Tell you what," he drawled, looking entirely too smug for his own good, "you get me a cup of coffee, and I'll give you your seat back."

You froze. Was he serious? Coffee? For a seat? You locked eyes with him, giving him your best unimpressed glare. So what?!?! You don’t just barter seating arrangements with caffeine!

But before you could even voice your protest, your brain betrayed you.

He’ll drink it... That means he’ll touch the cup... Oh no, oh no, OH NO.

Your inner monologue kicked into overdrive, spiraling faster than you could keep up. "AN EMPTY CUP HE TOUCHES WILL BE MY SHRINE!!! I’LL FRAME IT. PUT IT IN A GLASS CASE. AHHHH!!!" You were practically vibrating with joy.

And then it hit you. Wait. Wait. I know his favorite drink. Latte. You knew it because you may or may not have totally-not-suspiciously stalked him during lunch breaks, one time even spying on him while he hung out on the rooftop. It’s fine. It’s research. You’re not weird at all.

Your face lit up with an almost chipmunk-like grin, your mood swinging like a pendulum.

It’s okay. You’re buying him his favorite coffee. Totally normal. Not because you’re secretly losing your mind over his cute smirk or planning to preserve the cup for eternity or anything. Yep. Totally normal.

Sol's silence was maddening, and you were done with his smug attitude. Crossing your arms, you let out a huff, glaring down at him as he coolly flipped another page in his book, pretending you weren’t there.

"Do I look like a servant to you!? Just move already!" you snapped, trying to keep your frustration in check. He barely glanced at you, letting out a tired sigh before returning to his novel.

Oh, no. That was not the reaction you wanted. You wanted him to look at you—to really see you.

Fine. Two could play this game.

Without a second thought, you stomped around to his side, his gaze flickering up just slightly to follow your movements. He was clearly unimpressed. That was fine; you had something planned. Gripping the back of the chair he was sitting on, you gave it a firm pull, causing him to wobble precariously.

“Whoa, what the hell—” His voice cut off as you smirked, satisfied with his startled reaction.

Before he could reprimand you for your actions, you cut him off, effectively shocking him into silence. By settling yourself on top of his lap.

He froze instantly, his book forgotten, his breath catching in his throat. He swore to whatever god looking down on him right now to take him. His ears were burning red, his entire body tensed under you, and yet… he didn’t move to push you off.

You, on the other hand, acted as if nothing was amiss, casually pulling your bag onto the desk as if this was just another day. But inside, your thoughts were spiraling out of control. Your love-struck gaze lingered on him as you rested comfortably, your heart pounding in time with the storm of emotions threatening to spill out.

What are you, Solivan...? you wanted to ask, your fingers itching to reach out and touch him. Why does everything feel so good when you’re near me? Is this how you feel when I’m around? Why are you making me feel like this?

You bit back a grin, feigning indifference even as your cheeks warmed. Sitting on him like this… felt normal, almost natural. You weren’t even processing the fact that you were quite literally perched on the lap of the boy you’d been stalking—er, admiring—for weeks now.

Sol, on the other hand, looked like he was about to combust. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure where to go. His mind raced with a mix of flustered panic and something darker—something possessive. His beloved was teasing him, and every ounce of self-control he had was being tested.

For now, he stayed silent, his face flushed and his heart hammering so loudly that he was sure you could hear it. But the way your smug expression softened with the barest hint of affection made his resolve waver.

You had no idea what you were doing to him.

Sol’s heartbeat quickened, a low curse escaping his lips as he tried—and failed—to compose himself. Meanwhile, you continued your work as if nothing had happened, utterly unfazed by the situation. Or at least, that’s what you wanted him to believe.

Oh, sweet, naive you—you couldn’t help yourself. With a small tilt of your head, you gave him a quick glance, the corners of your lips curving into a subtle, teasing smile.

It was driving him insane.

Inside, though, you were a chaotic mess. YOUR ASS IS ON HIS LAP?! HOLY SHET! You could barely hold back the urge to laugh or scream—or maybe both. What’s worse, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that a few students were starting to notice. Some rolled their eyes at the scene, while others moved away entirely. Sol must look like a total pervert with his flushed face and the way he seemed frozen in place.

His cheeks burned an even deeper red. The sheer embarrassment almost had him wishing for the ground to swallow him whole. But despite it all, his gaze lingered on you, his chest tightening at how adorably unbothered you looked, simply focusing on your work. He couldn’t see the lovestruck expression on your face, though—thank god. You were practically drooling as you scribbled away, overwhelmed by the proximity and the faint scent of his cologne.

Sol inhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. It was no use fighting it. It’s my lucky day, he thought with a bitter sweetness. My pumpkin— No, no, that sounded weird. My beloved—better—is sitting on me. This is fine.

Gathering what was left of his composure, he hesitated before placing his arm next to yours on the desk, trying to act like this was completely normal. He stared down at the pages of his book, though none of the words made sense anymore. You had completely fried his brain.

You, meanwhile, decided to make yourself more comfortable. A subtle shift in your seat elicited a low groan from him, one that sent a shiver up your spine. It was clear you were doing this on purpose, and the realization made his jaw clench. You bit your lip to suppress a grin, your thoughts wandering to the way his lips looked. Soft, kissable, and so, so tempting.

Your heart thudded at the thought.

A minute passed, the tension slowly dissipating, but your heart was still racing. You could almost taste the calm, but it wasn't the peaceful kind. Not when Sol was so close.

He muttered something under his breath, and you perked up, curious. “Seldom we find,” he quoted. You tilted your head, watching him closely. Was he really interested? His voice sounded serious, focused.

You gave him space to read the rest of the stanza, allowing the silence to linger, but inside, you were buzzing.

"Half an idea in the Profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once..."

You couldn’t help but lean in a little closer, your eyes flicking to him as he was so absorbed in his book. Could you feed him this poem, like feeding him words? No. You were supposed to focus, act normal. But it didn’t matter because he was so... charming. And it wasn’t just the poem—it was him. The way his voice softened when he read, the intensity in his eyes. God, you wanted to be the one to impress him.

His eyes didn’t stray from the page as he continued. “As easily as through as Naples bonnet—An Enigma by Edgar Allan Poe, huh? Not a bad choice."

A small smile tugged at your lips. Does he like poems too, or is it just him?

You could practically feel his presence wrapping around you, the air thickening as you tried to focus on the text. But the more you looked at him, the more the words blurred. You felt drawn to him, closer and closer...

"Do you know this poem has a puzzle?" he asked suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts.

"What...?" You blinked, unsure at first.

He smiled—God, that smile—and pointed at the first line, then the second. "Yes, a puzzle. This is one of the few works of his that I find quite charming..."

Charming? He's the one who's charming, you thought as you looked at him. You could barely keep your thoughts in check, wanting to record everything about him. This was... this was it. He was it.

You stared at the poem again, pretending to think. The truth was, you were just trying to keep yourself from throwing yourself into him completely. You needed a reason to stay calm. But his finger was still so close, his breath just slightly grazing your ear as he leaned in to guide you.

“Is it Sarah Anna Lewis?” you whispered, not wanting to say the wrong answer.

The shock on his face was enough to send a thrill down your spine, but he recovered quickly, sighing in defeat. “You got it right,” he whispered back, the words almost sinking into your skin.

Your heart fluttered wildly, as if you'd just won a game... his game.

You were... so happy. You couldn't hold back the soft giggle that bubbled up, your pride shining through. Your smile grew, unable to hide how pleased you were.

"I deserve another pat!" you exclaimed, pride spilling from you. "I got it right, yeah?"

Sol chuckled, but it was a hesitant sound—something almost shy. His hand brushed against your head again, giving you another gentle pat. And fuck, you couldn't help but close your eyes and savor the moment. You were addicted to the way he touched you. You’d never get enough.

"Just happy to see someone likes his poems, or at least deciphers them," he murmured.

I like you, you wanted to say. I like you so much...

But you couldn’t. Instead, your body betrayed you. As you leaned forward in excitement, you accidentally pressed your front against his chest, causing him to freeze.

Shit.

Before you could even process it, his hand shot out to grab your waist, holding you in place. Your heart skipped a beat as the room felt too small, as if everything around you was fading except for the pressure of your bodies being too close. You didn’t even care that it looked like two lovers in a moment.

Two lovers... just like in the novels.

You looked up, ready to joke about the situation, but his relaxed posture had vanished. Sol was tense, his face flushed a shade of red you had never seen before. He was literally trembling now, his eyes wide as dinner plates. His breath quickened, and before you knew it, he was leaning forward and gently—gently—placing you back down on the table.

"I’m sorry! I forgot I was sitting on you!" You scrambled to get off him, your hands shaky from the sudden shift in the situation.

But the truth was—you loved it.

You giggled, a deep, warm feeling spreading in your chest as you realized how easy it was to fluster him. But as soon as your feet hit the ground, you saw it—Sol was already up, clutching his book like it was his lifeline.

Without a word, he hurried to the exit, his pace like that of a speed walker, trying to escape from what you both just created.

And you, standing there with a blush on your face and your heart still racing, knew one thing for sure:

You trudged down the hall, your footsteps slow and reluctant. Sol was just ahead, but there was a slight distraction—Crowe. Damn it, you thought. You didn’t need this right now. Sol was slipping away, and you needed to be with him.

But then, you saw Brittney—her uniform a disaster. It was a mess of ketchup, mustard, and oil, a perfect blend of clumsy chaos. Jess was trying to help, but nothing seemed to work. What did happen? You were so relieved you hadn’t been involved in that mess. The last thing you wanted was to be caught up in that.

"Y/n! I was about to check up on you, how are you feeling?" Crowe’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you tried to keep your frustration in check.

"Good, better..." you muttered, though your mind was still on Sol. You couldn’t care less about the unfolding drama; it sounded ridiculous, but you had to admit—it was probably fun. Geo wasn’t around, thank God.

Then there was Brittney’s confused face, looking at you as you handed her the key to your locker.

“I have some fresh button-down shirts. You can wear one of them—or just keep it. I didn’t even get them properly, but I got both male and female sizes... You can have the female one. Just give the key to Crowe. I’m heading somewhere.”

She looked at you quizzically, but you didn’t have the patience. “Move, Ichabod...” You practically hissed the words, a tone of warning in your voice. You didn’t have time to explain further.

Crowe seemed taken aback, his expression faltering. “Where...?”

You didn’t answer directly. You just felt this desperate need to be elsewhere, away from everything, toward Sol.

And then you were gone.

Crowe stood there, confused, staring after you as you ran. “What am I doing wrong...?” he murmured to himself, probably wondering why you were so distant.

You didn’t care about that, though. Sol was what mattered.

And there he was, rushing toward the restroom. Your heart skipped a beat—Oh no. You couldn’t follow him there. That restroom? It was infamous. You'd heard the rumors. It wasn’t the place to go if you wanted to avoid strange giggling. But the pull to be close to him was strong, almost overwhelming.

You had no choice but to head to your next class. You could still feel the electricity in the air as you walked, a tight knot in your chest. You took your usual seat and pulled out your journal, your fingers grazing the pages. But then—Stop. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t draw. You wanted to, but everything felt... alive in a different way.

You stepped into the classroom once again, your eyes scanning the room. There, at the back, was the tuft of black hair with striking green highlights—Solivan Brugmansia. It was him. But... was he always there? How had you missed him before? You’d never noticed his presence in the past. Was it always this obvious? Had you really been so blind to his existence?

The realization hit you like a wave. You couldn't believe you'd overlooked him all this time. Solivan... Sol... He was always there, sitting at the back, focused on his own world. You had never seen him, and yet now, it felt like you were noticing everything about him. How had you been so unaware?

Your heart raced. Thank gods you were here now. You could hardly keep your eyes off him. You moved to the seat directly in front of him, pulling the chair close and sitting down. Your gaze was fixed on him. There was a grace to the way he drew, a certain elegance in the movement of his hand. His pencil glided across the page effortlessly, each stroke precise, as if it was second nature. You couldn’t help but lean closer, your curiosity getting the better of you.

You had to know—what was he drawing? You craned your neck just enough to catch a glimpse of the paper.

you leaned over to get a closer look at his drawing, you suddenly caught Sol’s attention. His pencil froze mid-motion, and his wide, startled eyes snapped up to meet yours. His face turned an instant shade of red, and before you could even react, he quickly slammed the book shut with a soft thud. He glanced away, clearly flustered, his cheeks burning from the unexpected attention.

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, but you quickly tried to smooth over the awkwardness. “I’m sorry, it’s me from the library... I hope we can get along,” you said, your voice softer than usual, almost a little nervous. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted not sounding more casual about it.

He kept his gaze down, still blushing furiously, and didn’t say anything for a moment. He just turned away slightly, his fingers gripping his book tighter as if trying to hide behind it. You could almost feel the heat radiating from his face.

Not wanting to make it more awkward, you hurried back to your seat, but you could feel his eyes following you. As you settled in, you risked a glance at him, only to find that he was already staring at you. Both of you yelped in surprise, quickly turning your heads in the opposite direction, your faces burning in sync. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, neither of you daring to meet the other’s gaze for more than a split second. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach and the heat of embarrassment prickling your skin.

This... was going to be interesting.

This is rushed im sorrry! Its a small fic so! dw ill update it!

[dissapointu]

You are extremely cool, I am impressed by your works, really, your content is amazing. If you don mind (ignore that if you do) I would love to read about arcane characters who found out that their s/o are self harming. English is not my native language, so sorry if I wrote something wrong. And thank you again for your content, it’s healing me

Thank you so much for your kind words—they mean the world to me, truly. I’m so honored that my writing can bring you even a little bit of comfort. You’re so brave for sharing this request, and I want you to know I’m writing this with as much care and as I can. You’re never alone, and you deserve all the support, love, and healing in the world.

Jinx

Jinx has lived through her own struggles, so when she finds out, it hits her hard.

• At first, she’d be shocked, maybe even a little panicked. “Wait, wait… you’re serious? You’re really feeling this way?”

• But once it sinks in, her protective side takes over. She’d grab your hands, look you in the eyes, and say something like, “You don’t have to hurt yourself, okay? I’m here. Always. You can tell me anything.”

• Jinx might struggle to find the right words, but she’d pour her energy into reminding you how much you mean to her, distracting you with her chaotic ideas or working on projects together to keep your mind busy.

• “You’re stuck with me, got it? No matter what.”

Vi

Vi would feel a gut punch of worry and guilt when she finds out, blaming herself for not noticing sooner.

• She’d approach you carefully, her usual confidence softened by concern. “Hey, I know something’s going on. You can talk to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

• When you open up, she’d immediately pull you into a hug, holding you tightly like she could shield you from your pain. “I don’t care how bad it gets. You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m with you.”

• Vi would try to help in her practical, straightforward way—whether that’s sitting with you during hard times, helping you find support, or just being a safe space for you to vent.

• “You’re strong. And on the days you don’t feel strong, I’ll be strong enough for both of us.”

Sevika

Sevika might not know how to respond at first, but underneath her tough exterior, she’d be deeply shaken and determined to support you.

• She’d bring it up gently, her voice calm but serious. “I’ve noticed… some things. You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

• Once you told her, she’d listen carefully, nodding as she processes what you’re saying. “Alright. Thanks for telling me. You don’t have to do this alone anymore. I’ve got you.”

• Sevika would be protective in her own quiet way, always keeping an eye on you without making you feel overwhelmed. She’d remind you of your strength, even when you couldn’t see it yourself.

• “You’re tougher than whatever’s weighing you down. And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.”

Silco

Silco would approach the situation with a calm intensity, his protective instincts kicking in immediately.

• He’d carefully bring it up when you seemed open to talking, his voice low but steady. “I’ve seen the marks. Let me help you.”

• When you open up, he’d listen without interruption, his expression serious but full of quiet care. “The weight you carry is yours, but you don’t have to carry it alone. You are far more than this pain.”

• Silco would offer practical help, ensuring you have resources or someone to talk to. He’d remind you of your worth with every gesture and word, showing you that he sees you as more than your struggles.

Vander

Vander would be heartbroken when he finds out, but he’d immediately focus on making you feel safe and supported.

• He’d sit you down somewhere quiet, his voice soft but firm. “Hey, I’ve noticed some things that worry me. Can we talk?”

• When you open up, he’d pull you into a warm, protective hug, whispering, “You don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here, no matter what.”

• Vander would be the type to check in regularly, always making sure you feel loved and valued. He’d remind you of all the reasons he admires you, even on days when you struggle to see them yourself.

Ekko

Ekko would be hit hard when he finds out, but he’d channel his feelings into being the best support system he could be.

• He’d approach you gently, finding the right moment to say, “Hey, I noticed some stuff, and I just wanna make sure you’re okay. You know you can tell me anything, right?”

• When you open up, he’d nod, taking it all in with quiet understanding. “Thanks for trusting me. I know it’s not easy.”

• Ekko would find little ways to lift you up—whether it’s spending time with you, leaving you encouraging notes, or reminding you of all the things he loves about you.

• “You’ve got me, okay? We’re in this together.”

Jayce

Jayce would be deeply concerned but determined to be there for you in every way possible.

• He’d sit you down gently and say, “I’ve noticed something… and I just want to make sure you’re alright. Can we talk about it?”

• When you open up, he’d listen carefully, his hands holding yours tightly. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’ll do whatever it takes to help you.”

• Jayce would be all about finding solutions, whether that’s helping you access resources, supporting you in your healing, or just being a steady presence in your life.

Viktor

Viktor would be quietly devastated when he finds out, but his empathy would shine through.

• He’d bring it up carefully, his voice soft but full of concern. “I’ve noticed some things, and… I just want to make sure you’re alright. Can you talk to me?”

• When you open up, he’d listen with his full attention, nodding as he processes everything. “Thank you for telling me. I know it’s not easy.”

• Viktor would find thoughtful ways to support you, whether it’s leaving you encouraging words, sharing quiet moments with you, or reminding you that he sees you as more than your pain.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn would approach the situation with grace and quiet strength.

• She’d gently sit you down and say, “I’ve noticed some things that worry me. You don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready, but I’m here.”

• When you open up, she’d take your hand and say softly, “You’re so important to me, and I want to help in any way I can. You’re not alone.”

• Caitlyn would make sure you feel supported without overwhelming you, always reminding you of how much she admires and cares for you.

Mel Medarda

Mel would be deeply empathetic and immediately focused on supporting you in a way that feels meaningful.

• She’d approach you gently but directly, saying, “I’ve noticed something… and I want to help. Can we talk?”

• When you open up, she’d listen carefully, her expression soft but serious. “You are worth every bit of effort and care, and I’ll remind you of that as often as you need.”

• Mel would be the type to help you find resources or create a support system, always making sure you know you’re loved and valued.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa would approach the situation with quiet strength and determination.

• She’d bring it up directly but with care, saying, “You’ve been carrying this alone for too long. Let me help.”

• When you open up, she’d nod seriously and say, “You are stronger than this pain, and I’ll stand by you every step of the way.”

• Ambessa would be fiercely protective, always reminding you of your worth and showing you that you’re never alone in this battle.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie would be soft and empathetic, immediately focusing on making you feel safe.

• She’d sit with you quietly and say, “I noticed some things, and I just want to make sure you’re okay. Can we talk?”

• When you open up, she’d hold your hands tightly and say, “Thank you for telling me. I’m here, always.”

• Maddie would be the type to check in with you often, reminding you through little actions and words that you’re loved and never alone.

Lest

Lest would be heartbroken but gentle and supportive when she finds out.

• She’d approach you with quiet care, saying, “I noticed something, and I just want to make sure you’re okay. Can we talk?”

• When you open up, she’d listen attentively and say softly, “Thank you for trusting me. You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”

• Lest would make sure you always felt loved and valued, reminding you that you mean so much to her.

[wonustars]

In Front of Me (2)

cause i was blind to see that you were right in front of me ₊˚

⊹ pairing: jeon wonwoo x f.reader ⊹ genre: bestfriends to (?), angst, smut (R: 18+ mdni) ⊹ wordcount: 40.6k (part 1: here) (part 2)

⊹ summary: jeon wonwoo has spent most of his adolesence and early adult hood unable to understand why he can't seem to stay in a relationship for more than a few months. as his best friend, you allowed him to vent about his worries without judgment. so what if you're in love with him? your friendship with wonwoo meant more to you than having your feelings reciprocated. that is until you hit your breaking point, while wonwoo finally realizes what has been in front of him this whole time.

⊹ tags: non-idol!au, uni!au, unrequited love (for the most part), pining, toxic!wonwoo, toxic!reader, both in wonwoo and readers pov, questionable protagonists, mentions of other svt members, happy ending (?), emotionally constipated characters (wonwoo), flashbacks, slight seokmin x reader, a lot of emotions thrown everywhere. (smut and content warnings under the cut)

⊹ note: here is pt.2 i hope you like how this ended :) thank you for reading ♡ please leave a reblog, comment, or ask with your thoughts, i appreciate u !

⊹ masterlist, fic playlist.

⊹ smut tags: dry humping, kissing, fingering, penetrative sex, corruption kink, degradation, dom!wonwoo, brat!reader, virgin!reader,oral (f. receiving), creampie, exhibitionsm (?), slightly perv!wonwoo undertones, petnames (reader: darling, baby) (wonwoo: baby), big dick wonwoo, riding, headlock (this is a warning actly). ⊹ warnings: alcohol, reader is downbad for wonwoo, stalking, slut-shaming, evasions of privacy, if i missed anything lmk! cuz ik i did i just can't think of what hehe :p

act two, self control.

chapter one, before the fight. 

The booth you sat in was far too cramped for your liking, yet there was a sense of relief that washed over you. Raval had been a go-to hang-out spot after all the tireless hours spent studying during the weekdays. The atmosphere was lively, your friends’ laughter drowning out most of your thoughts. 

Tonight also marked the first time in your life that you could fully enjoy a night out with your friends. Without Wonwoo’s presence clouding your worries. 

Despite his obvious plea for attention, you felt like you could finally breathe. The adjustment and decision to flat-out ignore him was difficult, but thanks to Seokmin it had become a little easier to bear over time. This past week was filled with more joy than you’ve had in a long time. And Seokmin had been extremely doting towards you throughout it all. 

“Babe, can you pass the pistachios please?” Jun pouts, his cheeks red from his third glass of beer. 

“Did you need me to peel them for you, baby?” June coos, lips curling into a cutesy tone. 

With a quizzical expression, Mingyu turns to Kalia, trying not to laugh at the other couple's foolishness. The two share a look before Kalia fake gags, causing Mingyu to burst out laughing. It had almost gone unnoticed until Mingyu broke out into a fit of giggles, June glaring at him with an unamused expression. 

Watching the whole scene unfold had you smiling to yourself, wondering if there would ever be a time when you got to have these cheesy moments with someone the way your friends did. 

“Oh please, Kalia. You act like I didn’t see you and Mingyu practically eating each other's faces off in the library yesterday, ” June huffs, shooting daggers at the both of them while peeling away the pistachio shells for her drunken boyfriend. 

“Hey! You said that no one would catch us.” Kalia slaps the back of Mingyu’s head, causing him to wince. 

“First of all ouch, second of all, I didn’t know that anyone would go that far back into the library!” Mingyu defends himself.

“Actually, the two of us were trying to do the same thing, but we saw you and dipped,” Jun confesses in his drunken state, while he munches on the pistachios June had been feeding him.

“Ha! Take that June, you're just as bad as us, if not worse,” Kalia gibes, sticking her tongue out at June. 

“Actually, all of you are equally as corny, end of discussion,” Leigh chirps, his eyes rolling as Lynne, his twin sister, cackles beside him. Both evidently fed up with the ‘who’s the cheesier couple’ argument. 

Amidst all the bickering, you take a sip of your drink, eyes glimmering with admiration. It seemed so simple for your friends to find someone who truly loved them, and wasn’t afraid to show it. 

Wonwoo had been at the forefront of your mind for so long that you had denied yourself anyone else. You had been so set on making Wonwoo your end goal when you could’ve found someone who would’ve treated you better. Reminders of all your missed opportunities left a bitter taste in your mouth, the alcohol on your tongue sweet in comparison.

“Something on your mind?” Lynne breaks you out of your thoughts. 

With your glass pushed down onto the sticky bar table, you give her a crooked smile that feels less disingenuous than the previous smiles you have been producing these past few months. 

“Kinda wondering when I’ll have something like those goofballs over there,” you chuckle bitterly, head motioning to the two girls fake arguing while their boyfriends sat there cluelessly. 

“I thought you were dating Wownoo?” Lynne asks, and you couldn’t help but laugh at your pitiful situation. 

His face flashes briefly within your mind, and you’d almost forgotten that you had chosen not to speak to him, for how long? You weren’t sure. It could be days or months, or until you’ve finally healed from your one-sided heartbreak. 

“No… no. He and I were just close friends,” your tone is melancholic. Lynne’s worry is transparent as she squeezes your shoulder. 

Desolation filled your senses regardless of the bar patrons' exuberant chatter. Your group of friends were all in their own worlds while you were troubled and inattentive. There was guilt gnawing at your insides. You didn’t want this to be one of those talks where you delve into the intricacies of your peculiar friendship with Wonwoo. 

“And that's okay, too. I'm not sure what happened, but he’s an idiot if he can’t see what's right in front of him,” she affirmed as you sat there, relieved that she didn’t press the situation further. 

“Tell me about it, it feels like everyone's been saying the same thing,” you mutter. 

Overhearing your conversation, Lynne’s twin brother couldn’t help but jump in, “Wonwoo’s a dumbass.” 

Lynne gives him a pointed look, but can’t help but laugh at her brother's antics.  Feathery giggles leave your throat too, finding Leigh’s unexpected declaration amusing. 

“Sorry, I had to put my two cents in, he kinda sucks! As a friend he’s okay I guess, but as a boyfriend, girl, you’re better off without him,” Leigh puts his hands up in defence, but there was truth behind his statement. 

“True, I’ve seen what he’s done to some of the girls on campus, total—,” Lynne begins, only for her sentence to be cut off. 

“Red flag,” Leigh finishes Lynne’s proclamation. 

Twin telepathy, you assumed.

“Hey, I’ll cheers to that,” you shook your head with a chuckle, taking three shot glasses before topping them up with a bottle of tequila Mingyu had bought for the table. 

“What! You guys are taking shots without us?” Jun whined before filling his glass with liquor. 

The whole table's attention is on the three of you now, joining in on the rounds of shots going around. The clangour of glassware chimes throughout the carved-out space of the bar you and your friends had claimed for the night. 

“Wonwoo’s an asshole!” Leigh blurted out loud before throwing back the alcohol in his cup. 

There's a moment of silence amongst the rest of your friends at the table, before they all burst out laughing before repeating Leigh’s words. 

“Wonwoo’s an asshole!” They all say wholeheartedly in unison. 

The gleam in everyone’s eyes caused warmth to swell all over your body. Nothing could compare to moments like these, and you desperately hoped that the night wouldn’t end. The reassurance that your friends had given you should’ve been worth the pain of cutting Wonwoo off. Praying that their effort to cheer you up wouldn’t be wasted on foolish decisions you desperately wanted to make; the yearning for Wonwoo has only skyrocketed and it frightens you to the core.

 No matter how distracted you attempt to make yourself, he still floods your every waking thought. 

two. 

 Since your decision to ignore Wonwoo, Seokmin has been coming over to your place a lot more often. You can’t recollect when it started to happen, but you're not opposed to his company. It’s quite the opposite actually; if anything he’s made your days a lot brighter, keeping you distracted from your urge to text Wonwoo. 

The time you spent with Seokmin mostly consisted of him trying to get you to finish the whole Harry Potter series with him. When you told him you’ve never seen the movies before, he had a comical look of shock painted over his face. Hands slapped against his cheeks, eyes wide they almost popped out of the sockets, type of comical. 

“Not even the first movie?! Not even on Halloween during elementary school?” Seokmin gasps, hands on your shoulders, trying to gauge what you did and didn’t know about the infamous films. 

“Yes! Not even when I was a kid, is it bad that I haven’t watched it?” 

“It's not just bad, this is almost criminal,” Seokmin sighs, feigning distraught. 

You chortle at his remark, baffled by how seriously passionate he is about Harry Potter, which ended almost ten years ago, you might add. 

“Well, there’s only one thing we can do,” he shakes his head, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. We’re going to binge-watch this thing until you're caught up.” 

“What? Isn’t that a bit much? There are like a bajillion movies,” you exasperate. 

Not wanting to hear another complaint from you, Seokmin shushes you dramatically. His pointer finger was in front of your lips before you could get another word in. 

“I'll get the snacks. You sit here and get comfy because you’re in for a ride,” Seokmin asserts before standing to grab food and drinks from your kitchen. 

An audible sigh leaves your lips, arms crossed as you pull the blanket over yourself to “get comfy” just as Seokmin wanted. 

A few minutes passed before Seokmin returned to the living room, a bowl of microwave popcorn perched on his side and two cans of soda cradled in his other arm. 

“You left your phone on the counter, by the way,” He mentions before placing it on the coffee table. 

“Oh! Thanks, I didn’t even realize,” you smile, shifting to make room for him on the couch. 

“You ready for the greatest movie experience ever?” Seokmin beamed, plopping back into his seat beside you. 

“Sure, but we can only watch the first two,” you bargained with him, knowing that if he had it his way, you two would be up till sunrise. 

Seokmin rolled his eyes jokingly, pretending to be annoyed with your lack of enthusiasm. Despite his antics, he agrees with your compromise. The movie begins to play and you let yourself relax in his presence. A bowl of popcorn is shared between you two while he wraps his hand over your shoulder. Not used to the proximity between you and him, you're thankful the increased volume drowned out the pitter-patter of your heartbeat. 

…

“Well that was a lot better than I expected,” you admit. 

Although you were uncertain about watching the movies at first, you had acknowledged the hype around the Harry Potter franchise. Seokmin had caught all your facial expressions while watching, peering over to catch your reactions during all the major plot points. You had been so obviously absorbed in it that you didn’t realize he had been staring.

“I told you! It just gets better from here. The Goblet of Fire is my favourite, you’ll love it,” Seokmin marvels, wanting to indulge in his interests with you. 

“Tom Riddle is kinda cute, I won’t lie.” 

“But he’s evil…and you know he gets ugly anyways. He’s literally Voldemort!” Seokmin disputed with a stare of mild disgust. 

“Yeah, I know, but there’s a bunch of attractive villains, like Killmonger from Black Panther,” you shrug, but Seokmin looks at you like you had just insulted his entire bloodline with your statement. 

Giggling, you didn’t expect him to take your opinions so seriously. 

“Fine. I won't say anything else. You go take your shower, and I’ll clean up,” he ushers you toward your room while holding the empty bowl in his hands. 

“How did you know that I was gonna take a shower?” you ask with curiosity. 

“I’ve known you for so long, you always take a shower before bed,” Seokmin explained nonchalantly.  

Heat radiated off your face, and your timid expression would’ve been visible if Seokmin’s back wasn’t facing you. You hadn’t realized how well Seokmin knew you.

“Thanks for cleaning up, I won’t be long,” you give him a smile of gratitude before heading over to your bathroom. 

The more time you spend with Seokmin, the more you regret falling for Wonwoo. Seokmin is kind and doting, and he never causes you to feel any worry. He is the prime example of home, reminiscent of a warm fire while snuggled up on the couch with a pile of blankets.

 Seokmin feels safe. The safe choice, the smart choice. 

Unfortunately, you were too foolish to have known sooner. Your irrevocable love for Wonwoo overshadowed all the possibilities of being with Seokmin. 

A knock on your front door brings you out of your spiralling thoughts. But before you head over to open the door, Seokmin beats you to it. 

“Minnie? Is someone at the door?” you call out from your bathroom, not bothering to leave. 

“Yeah! Your neighbour just needed to borrow something,” Seokmin half yelled from where he stood. 

There was a moment of doubt in your mind, why would your neighbour want to borrow something so late into the night? Instead of investigating further, you leave it to Seokmin to help them, too tired to talk to anyone else for the rest of the evening. 

“Okay!” is all you say. 

You turn on the shower, allowing the steam to congregate and relax your senses. As you step in, you grant the warm water the ability to wash away your conflicting thoughts about both Seokmin and Wonwoo. 

after the fight. 

“It’s time for you to go. I’m tired, Wonwoo.”

The bile in your throat stings, the corner of your eyes wet with tears. You didn’t expect Wonwoo to burst in here accusing you of things you wouldn’t dare do. There’s a familiar hollow feeling in your chest as you recollect how much of your heart you laid bare for him to witness. 

Had you known that ignoring him would lead to an outburst of unrelenting anger, you wouldn’t have done so in the first place. Even when this cologne hangs in the still air of your apartment, you yearn for his presence. Even when you unleashed your fury at him, kicking him out with no remorse, you still yearn for his touch. 

There hadn’t been many fights between the two of you, only enough to count on one hand. It would be petty arguments over stupid things. Arguments that would lead to one of you apologizing before the day was over. This fight seems different. It can’t be resolved with a quick ‘I’m sorry’. 

Defeated and tired, you move to your bed. Your phone sits atop the dresser. Curious and wishing for Wonwoo to just return and apologize, you click his contact. You almost feel like you are in some fever dream, the words ‘you’ve blocked this number’ staring back at you in flashing red. 

Horrified by the sight of your phone screen, you don’t remember blocking him in the first place. Wracking your brain, you’re trying to think of all the instances where you had been drunk or high enough to even do so, but nothing comes to mind. If you didn’t block him, then who did? 

You unblock his contact as quickly as possible, not wanting to create even more distance between you, although it might be too late to rectify the situation. A few messages were sent shortly after the fight had gone down. 

[2:55 a.m.]  [wons <3: idk if you’ll receive this but i’m sorry darling. i mean it.] [wons <3: i didn’t mean what i said earlier. i was just so angry. when ure ready to talk, lmk.]

Wonwoo’s text brings a swell of comfort within you. As much as you hate what he did, you could never bring yourself to hate him. 

three.

“You know, I’m kinda glad you’re here,” you professed. 

The harrowed walls of your home became a lot more bearable now that you had someone other than yourself inside them. The entire place felt far too big for you, especially because you tend to sit alone with your thoughts too often. 

Seokmin coming over to hang out was not part of your initial plan. But his unannounced visit wasn’t unwelcomed either. He was extremely talented in distracting you with his sporadic outbursts of energy and laughter. Seokmin made you feel quaint, almost as if he could be the ‘someone’ after everything you had been through with Wonwoo. 

With crescent-shaped eyes that appeared when his smile broadened, Seokmin wrapped his arm tautly against your shoulder. 

“I honestly just came over to check on how you were doing, after everything that happened, but I don’t mind staying for a while, I’d do anything if you asked.” 

“Are you flirting with me, Lee Seokmin?” 

Seokmin threw his head back with a hearty contagious laugh. Before you knew it, you were laughing along with him. 

The voice in the back of your head hissed symphonies of how easier your life would’ve been if you had just fallen in love with Seokmin instead. No matter how many times you tried to unearth a flaw of his, nothing comes to mind. There were so many signs leading you toward him, and how perfect he would be for you. But your heart still belongs elsewhere, even after what has been said and done. 

Seokmin’s eyes dimmed, “Would it be so bad if I was?” 

Taken aback by his words, your mouth opens and closes, trying to figure out whether he’s joking or genuine about his statement. 

“I-I guess not,” you mumble, watching the way his gaze shifts from your eyes down to your lips. 

Holding your breath, you can’t deny the tension that the two of you had created. Bodies practically meshed together on the couch, you weren’t sure how you ended up in this position but if Seokmin was the answer to distracting you from the fight with Wonwoo, who were you to deny him? 

“I really want to kiss you,” Seokmin confesses. 

“I wouldn’t stop you if you did.” 

Seokmin didn’t need much convincing after what you had professed. Swinging your legs over his lap, he grapples you into a position that has you straddling his thighs. The swiftness of his movements almost caused a yelp to leap out of your throat, but he steadied you before you could let out another noise.

With the faintest of touch, Seokmin places his lips over yours. Ever so cautious, ever so careful, he clearly wants to savour the moment. Despite his heedfulness, you were the exact opposite. You want it to be fast, you want him to be rough. 

There’s deliberate fervour behind your actions, causing Seokmin to groan in surprise. Rough palms gripping your waist, he matches your energy. The world sinks into a deep void along with the cruel songstress who refused to let you neglect your feelings for Wonwoo. 

Even though you have the desire to prolong your make-out with Seokmin, your phone buzzes against the plush cushions of your couch. Practically jumping out of his lap, you unlock your phone as if you weren’t just making out with Seokmin, to discover yet another text from Wonwoo. 

Every time his contact appears on your screen, your heart can’t help but skip a beat. It angers you how easily enraptured you are by something so minuscule. Even after you had kicked him out of your house that night, you can’t deny his diligence and how desperate he is for forgiveness. 

You almost wanted to curse him out for his audacity, but the other half wanted to give in and let him explain. Eyes glued to his messages, you find yourself reading them over and over again, your heart swollen with an aching desire to talk to him again. 

[11:09 p.m.]  [wons <3: hi. ik ur still mad but let me make it up to you. please?]  [wons <3: i don’t know what i have to do to make u forgive me but just know i don’t want us to end on this note.]  [wons <3: please darling, u mean so much to me, i don’t wanna lose u.]  [wons <3: i can’t stand this. please, just give me a chance to make things right] 

Only a fool would be swooning over his visible cry out for attention, and a fool you were.  Wonwoo’s claws have sunk so deep into you, that you can’t even kiss someone without him interrupting. It's like he knew what you were doing without even seeing you. 

“I thought you blocked him?” the inflection of disappointment apparent in Seokmin’s voice. 

Plopping your phone back down on the sofa, your brain finally registers the words that Seokmin had just uttered. You know for a fact that it wasn’t you who blocked his contact, but how the hell did Seokmin know?

 Unless he was the one to do so… 

A moment of realization struck you like a bolt of lightning, and the confusion finally cleared by the slip of Seokmin’s tongue. Why would he block Wonwoo’s contact on your phone? 

Attempting to recall when and where this could’ve happened, you remember the day you left your phone on the kitchen counter during the Harry Potter movie marathon. The burn at the back of your throat intensified as awareness sunk into your whole being. Seokmin was under the guise of a doting friend while you were in your feelings for Wonwoo. Pretending to be your knight in shining armour while you were in a vulnerable state. How could you be so naive? 

Wonwoo had been trying to tell you the truth, but you foolishly snubbed all his warnings out of anger. 

Nauseous and betrayed, you didn’t know that Seokmin would turn out to be the one to manipulate you, to sway your opinions to gain your time and affection. You’re so shaken up from your revelation that you almost forget who exactly is sitting right in front of you. 

“I’m really sorry Seokmin, but that kiss. I wasn’t thinking straight,” you attempt to act calm, not wanting to escalate the situation. 

“It’s okay, I understand. It's only been a week,” he shrugs with a rueful demeanour, “You’re still in love with him and there's not a lot I can do to change your mind.” 

“You’re right, there isn’t,” you reply with certainty. “I've been in love with him for years, and that’s not going to change for a while.” 

“I just want you to know I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

“I can’t do that to you knowing I still love him,” you disclose and hurt flashes across Seokmin’s eyes. 

“I understand.” 

“I hope so, considering you had gone on my phone behind my back and blocked his contact.” 

Shock is the best way to describe Seokmin’s reaction. He probably hadn’t realized that you figured out where his true intentions lie. But now that it’s out in the open, you can’t help but stand your ground. 

Seokmin doesn’t deserve to be in your presence right now, especially after he took advantage of your vulnerability. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Seokmin tries to respond nonchalantly, but his eyes frantically avoid your gaze. 

“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” you grit, your knuckles were straining from how hard you gripped onto your phone. Displacing your anger before it was shot full throttle and onto Seokmin’s face.

“Fine. You caught me. But there wasn’t any other way for you to forget him if you kept in contact with him. Even if you weren’t explicitly answering his texts.” 

Standing up and stalking over to your door, you open it to usher Seokmin out of the home. 

“That’s for me to decide. Not you. Now please leave.” 

Without much defiance, Seokmin leaves, evidently hurt by your anger towards him. The frown on his face deepened while he grabbed all his things, and walked out your door.

 As he leaves, he utters his last words, clearly miffed by your decision to kick him out. 

“I may be in love with you just as much as you are with Wonwoo, but at least I’m not dumb enough to go back to someone who obviously doesn’t give a shit about me. Your life will get easier when you stop being an idiot and start seeing how bad he is for you.” 

… 

The unsavoury memories of earlier had you deep in thought, especially after the statement Seokmin had made. He was supposed to be your safe space, but he ruined it with his need to cut Wonwoo out of your life for you. Yet there was clear wisdom to what he had said. Wonwoo only complicated your life and feelings further.  

Everything would be so simple if it were Seokmin instead, and you acknowledge that. But your heart didn’t seek out his touch the way it did with Wonwoo. 

 Seokmin let his feelings get in the way of what could’ve been the start of something good. If only he hadn’t done what he did, maybe if he had just given you more time to heal, things between the two of you would be different. Although the friendship with Seokmin had turned sour, he still deserves someone who would love him unconditionally, it just wasn’t you. 

 Wonwoo was the person you truly wanted, and although the break and argument between you two were enlightening, you cannot deny how right he is about Seokmin. 

You also cannot deny how much you still miss him. 

Can’t Get You.

chapter one. 

“I gave up so much for you, Wonwoo. I lost so much of myself trying to please you. But I give up. I was drowning in my love for you.” 

You are an enigma inside Wonwoo’s mind, and it was the first time in a while that he had experienced deep regret and grief. Forcing himself into your home to accuse you all because of his resentment towards Seokmin, he couldn’t have been less irrational. And now he had to face the consequences of his actions.  

Sleepless night after sleepless night, he had no way to make up for what he had done to you. Years of cluelessly assuming that you only ever saw him as a friend, of using you as a crutch for his anguish. He had been so unfair, and there's a sense of exasperation he cannot disenthrall. 

Wonwoo is supposed to be your friend as much as you were his, but he dared to treat you as his therapist, his support system. If he hadn’t been so blind to your feelings, none of this would’ve happened. Maybe he would’ve been able to reciprocate your feelings earlier if he had known that you were in love with him this whole time. 

The buzz of a notification illuminates his dim bedroom, the light of his screen creating shadows that harboured his contrition. He had half the mind to answer, but after what he had said to you that day, he knew it wasn’t going to be you. 

Wonwoo decided to take a look anyway. 

[12:09 a.m.] 

[darling <3: you were right about seokmin]

[darling <3: that doesn’t mean i forgive u. i just thot id let u know]

With his heartbeat hammering inside his chest, Wonwoo couldn’t contain his elation. It’s been so long since he’d seen your name on his phone screen, and despite the context not being ideal, he decided to look at the brighter side. 

Although he’s not sure what had gone down between you and Seokmin, Wonwoo couldn’t find it in himself to care. All he knows is that he was right to warn you, and he has a chance to have you all for himself once again. Without the worry of Seokmin interrupting his plans.

[12:10 a.m.] 

[wons <3: i’ve missed you, darling] 

[wons <3: i know i’ve been a bad friend in the past, but i want to show u that i can change. please]

[wons <3: i promise, i'm going to be better]

Desperation was never Wonwoo’s thing, but if it meant having you in his arms once again, then nothing else matters. If he’s perceived as pathetic for trying to gain your trust again, then so be it. 

Eyes glued to his phone screen, he observes how your grey chat bubble appears and disappears again. The anticipation of what you’re going to say next has Wonwoo on the edge of his bed, wishing he could just peer into your mind, to catch a mere glimpse into what you’re thinking. 

[12:14 a.m.] [darling <3: 👍] 

There’s an immediate drop in Wonwoo’s smile, he’s never experienced you acting indifferent towards him. The feeling is so foreign he has no choice but to find some way to get rid of it. You had given a sliver of hope just by texting him, and that was all he needed. Wonwoo is your best friend, he knows you better than anyone, he knows you better than Seokmin. 

Apathetic towards the lengths he may have to go to to bring you back into his life, Wonwoo is determined to make you forgive him. Even if it meant abandoning his pride or his ego, he didn’t care anymore. Everything else is meaningless if you’re not his. 

two. 

The next time Wonwoo is forced to be in a room with Seokmin is the day Jeonghan decides to have an impromptu study session in the library. Unbeknownst to him, the person he has grown to hate would be there too. The tension was increasingly palpable to the point that both Jeonghan and Leigh found it difficult to focus on their work. 

“Why are you here?” Wonwoo queried with a scrutinizing gaze. 

The sound of uncomfortable shuffling is pronounced within the long pause of Seokmin and Wonwoo’s staredown. And Jeonghan gives Leigh a look of curiosity with a hint of confusion. They were obviously under the impression that the two of them were good friends, especially because no one had a clue about what happened between them. 

“Jeonghan invited me to study, why? Is it illegal for me to be here?” Seokmin quipped, evidently unamused by Wonwoo’s presence. 

Wonwoo scoffs, chair legs scraping against the hardwood as he takes his seat. 

“It should be.” 

Seokmin huffs before crossing his arms over his chest, taking a guarded stance. Various textbooks cluttered around the table, long forgotten in favour of watching Seokmin and Wonwoo bicker. 

“What’s up with those two?” Jeonghan whispers in Leigh’s ear, which the latter only shrugs in response. 

Wonwoo and Seokmin were lost in their world of conflict, and neither paid attention to their two observers. They were both ready to pull out bowls of popcorn amid their studying, which seemed more entertaining than whatever they were reading earlier. 

“Not sure. I bet you ten dollars it has something to do with you know who…,” Leigh whispers back, obviously amused by his friends' clear disdain for each other. 

“I’ll bet you ten dollars and a kiss Wonwoo did something to piss off Seokmin,” Jeonghan challenges his deal. 

Leigh giggles at how Jeonghan takes every opportunity to flirt with him but agrees to his wager anyway. 

“What does a kiss have to do with any of this?” 

“Nothing, I just wanted to give you one,” Jeonghan shrugs. 

Their conversation is cut off by Seokmin’s need to curse out Wonwoo, standing up from the table only to poke his finger into the elder's chest. 

“I hope you know that if you pursue her, you’ll only end up hurting her,” Seokmin accused, causing Wonwoo to flare with outrage.

Wonwoo isn’t pleased by Seokmin’s intrepid need to provoke him. From what you texted him the other day, it’s unmistakably clear that he has the upper hand. This means that Seokmin’s vexation is only a projection of the fact that his plan has gone awry. 

“Maybe if you hadn’t been such a manipulative bitch, she wouldn’t have come back running to me,” Wonwoo smirks, the realization in Seokmin’s eyes is nothing but confirmation that he struck a nerve. 

Seokmin is left baffled by Wonwoo’s statement, “You seriously cannot be talking right now.”

“Oh, but I am. I may have done wrong before, but at least I know how to get her back,” Wonwoo retorted.  

Thankfully, the library wasn’t traditional in the sense that students had to be quiet while using the space. Most passersby' barely batted an eyelash as the two men were raised from their seats while in a heated argument. 

The bitter taste in Wonwoo’s mouth only intensified the more time he wasted quarrelling with Seokmin. There are better things he can do with his time, like finding a way for you to forgive him. But he can’t help that every time he lays eyes on Seokmin, the only thing he can think of doing is socking his so-called friend in the face. 

“We’ll see who she ends up with in the end, and I’ll make sure it isn’t you,” Wonwoo finalizes. 

Deciding that he is done exchanging words with Seokmin, he leaves before he wastes any more of his time. The bag hooked on his shoulder was still unopened since their fight started before he could even retrieve his things. Harsh footsteps echo throughout the bustling library, and Wonwoo makes it his mission to find you. To have you in his hold before Seokmin could even think of getting near you. 

…

Three o’clock. On Wednesdays, your anthropology lecture always ends at three o’clock. Wonwoo knew you wouldn’t be pleased to see him inside the arts building, waiting right outside the lecture hall. But he had to take his chance, or else Seokmin might find a way to weasel into your life once again. Just the thought of it made Wonwoo’s ears flare red. No one deserves to have you as much as he did. 

The rush of students begins to trickle into the hallway, and he spots the top of your head before you stray too far away. With a shout of your name, he watches as you try to find the voice that has been calling out for you. 

Suddenly, the world around Wonwoo lacks colour as his gaze sets upon you. Standing there, you shine brightly, and Wonwoo couldn’t care less how stupid he looked while trying to gain your attention. The people around him are nothing but blockages that stop him from being able to grab onto you. Your expression is filled with curiosity as he waves his hand, beckoning you closer to him. Despite the obvious conflicting thoughts that are running through your head, Wonwoo knows you won’t be able to resist him. 

As you near, Wonwoo almost sighs with content, hearing your voice for the first time since that night. 

“What are you doing here?” 

The two of you wedged into one of the corners, waiting for the crowd to thin out. Grabbing your wrist, Wonwoo pulls you against him. Your back is flush with the wall; the rest of the students push past the both of you to get to their next class or to go home. 

“Wanted to be the one to give you a ride home,” Wonwoo mutters truthfully, but he knows that’s not why you’re asking. 

He watches the way you gulp, trying not to get caught up in the heat of his body. You’re so close to him that if he makes one slight movement he could end up kissing you. The feathery breath you let out almost causes Wonwoo to forget what he’s meant to be doing. Enamoured by your soft pink lips and how the heat on your cheeks intensifies with each passing moment. He simply can’t take his eyes off you. 

It seems as though you're making Wonwoo fall for you without even realizing it. 

The delightful scrunch in your brow only leaves him tingling, satisfied with the fact that you two are in such proximity after everything that happened. Although Wonwoo knows he has a long way to go to gain your forgiveness, he allows himself to enjoy the smaller moments with you while he can. 

“I can walk,” you retort, recoiling out of his grasp before walking over to the exit. 

“Walking is fine too,” Wonwoo attested, catching up with your fast pace. 

“Alone,” you reiterate. 

Wonwoo is amused by your direct attempt to get him to leave you alone. He almost laughs, you should know him well enough by now. What Wonwoo wants, he gets, it doesn’t matter if you’re mad at him. He’s confident enough in himself to know that he’s capable of making you fall for him all over again. 

If there’s one thing Wonwoo is unmistakably good at, it’s the chase. 

With his experience, it doesn’t take much for you to be perched right back into his palm. You’re a woman after all. The only difference between you and everyone else is that Wonwoo can envision a future with you in it, which has always been hard for him to do. But with you, Wonwoo can only wish that he could live till he’s a thousand if it meant that he could spend the rest of that time with you. 

“Please darling, let me take you home,” Wonwoo begs, his slender fingers grasped against your wrist. “You’re probably tired from walking around campus all day.” 

He could practically see the way the gears were turning in your head like you couldn’t decipher his underlying motives, and he couldn’t help but grin at your obvious overthinking.

“Fine, but you’re giving me a ride. That’s it.” 

The smile on Wonwoo’s face widens as you try to act uninterested, but he knows deep down your resolve is beginning to weaken.  

three. 

Wonwoo can only surmise that his plan has been taking effect. Not only have you been less reluctant to agree to him giving you a ride to and from school, but you’ve also been replying to his texts more frequently. Albeit they haven’t been the same long and sporadic messages you used to send, Wonwoo can’t seem to complain.

[5:05 p.m.]  [wons <3: u got home alright darling?] [darling <3: u drove me home.] [wons <3: ik. but i still wanna ask] [darling <3: i should be asking u that] [darling <3: not that i care tho] [wons <3: sure u dont]  [darling <3: i don't! now bye i have to study for my quiz tmrw]  [wons <3: okayy wtv helps u sleep at night 😆]  [wons <3: dont study too hard. ill pick u up tmrw at the same time ok?]  [darling <3: 👍] 

Smiling like a kid on Christmas, Wonwoo can’t help but feel the rush of butterflies flutter in his stomach. He can tell you’re trying to put on a detached facade, but your caring nature seems to be slipping through the cracks. 

His plan to slowly reinstate himself into your life seems to be working. Even though he understands it won’t happen overnight, Wonwoo doesn’t mind waiting for you to forgive him. At least he knows that he’s one step closer than Seokmin ever will be. 

…

“Good morning,” Wonwoo greets you, moving to the side to open the door. 

As you slip into the passenger seat, he realizes how much he misses you sitting beside him. You were always in your world while he drove, staring at the window reading all the signs along the way, or humming softly to the lyrics of the current song playing. 

“Morning,” you mumble back, settling into your spot. 

It’s that time of the year when all the leaves start to fall off the branches. The pavement was littered with hues of brown, red, and yellow. Wonwoo loved autumn the most out of all the seasons. It reminded him of the smell of cinnamon and warm cups of tea. Most importantly, it was autumn when he first met you. 

“You ready for your quiz?” Wonwoo decides to fill the silence. 

As you turn your body, you give him a soft smile, and he knows with that expression, that you probably didn’t get much studying done the night before. He chuckles at your meek countenance, you’ve always been the type to procrastinate. 

“I know that look. Don’t worry, you’re the smartest person I know,” Wonwoo reassures you. 

The right hand he had gripping the steering wheel strays from its place, seeking your hold. Allowing himself to take a glance at you before interlocking his fingers with yours, rubbing soothing circles along your delicate skin. Sensing you freeze upon his touch, Wonwoo’s hands almost break out in a sweat, hoping you won’t pull away. And surprisingly, you don't. 

Both of you returned to a relaxed state, and he’s overjoyed that you’ve decided to allow him to touch you again. Even if it’s something as innocent as hand-holding on the way to school. Wonwoo squeezes your hand tighter, reminding himself that you’re still beside him. That you chose to be with him. 

It wasn’t long before the campus university was in Wonwoo’s view. Pulling into his parking spot, he does so without letting go of your hand once. Even when turning the gear shift into park, his hold on you has yet to be relinquished. 

There’s a pause of silence that Wonwoo decides to break. 

“I know it’s not going to be easy to forgive me, I’ve done so many things that, if I was in your position, wouldn’t have let slide. But I’m asking for a chance, just one chance to show you that I can be better,” Wonwoo confesses. 

He observes that way you take time to think, his thumb continuing to rub mindless circles into your skin. Wonwoo didn’t think he’d be so nervous to hear what you had to say, or if you would say anything at all. 

“Just be patient with me, okay?” is the only thing you end up saying. 

To Wonwoo, that’s a win. You didn’t deny his request for forgiveness, and that can only mean one thing. His plan is working just as he’d hoped. 

“Take all the time you need, darling. I just want to be close to you again,” Wonwoo reassures you, his voice stable and comforting. He searches your eyes for even an ounce of unease. 

Nodding your head, you finally loosen your hand from Wonwoo’s. As you step out of the car you leave with one final remark. 

“I'll see you after class okay?” 

That was all the assurance that Wonwoo needed. He’s convinced that he’s a step in the right direction. You’ve fallen for him once again, perhaps not fully, but soon enough you’ll be back to where the two of you had left off. 

… 

When Wonwoo gets to see you again, it’s to drop off your cognitive psych textbook. By the time he realized it was on the floor bed of his car, it was already too late to give it back to you.

As he returns to the same long hallway, he nears your apartment with a sense of unease. Flashbacks of what happened the last time he even stepped foot into the building flood his memories. Wonwoo had no reason to be nervous, especially because you’ve become more lenient about him seeing you again. But this is different, he can’t help but wonder if you’re over that night, or you’re just allowing him to enter your life again because it was easier. 

The sound of him knocking on the door reverberates through the empty hallway, and a chill shoots down his spine. Why is he so nervous? He’s been here more times than he could count, and above all that he’s only here to return your textbook. 

From the other side of the door, he can faintly hear your footsteps as you make your way over. A hand clasped around the thick spine of your book, he grips it harder as he awaits your arrival. 

“Hi?” you greet him with a puzzled expression. 

The breath in Wonwoo's throat evaporates into thin air, his eyes glued to the curve of your body. It’s the same sleep set you wore the night he saw Seokmin leave your apartment. Trapped in his mind, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander. Plush thighs hugged tightly by your shorts, no bra in sight, allowing your nipples to outline the satin. With a tense gulp, he knows he can’t stay for long. 

“H-hey, uh, you forgot your textbook in my car,” Wonwoo stutters, eyes raking over your figure. 

What the hell? Wonwoo’s seen you in everything under the sun, including a bathing suit. But why does this damn sleep set have him tripping over his words? 

Before he can say anything more, you move forward to grab the book from his hands. Your hair flows over your shoulder while the strap of your tank top slips down. 

Shoulders stiffening at the sight, Wonwoo really can’t stay. He might even combust into a million pieces before he can get to his car. 

“Thanks.” 

“It’s really no problem, sorry I’m here so late. You’re—” his words are cut off by your unexpected proposition.  

“You wanna come in? I’m making some tea.” 

Wonwoo is completely fucked, though he doesn’t stop himself from entering your home. 

As you turn around, Wonwoo almost lets out a strained groan. He had been lucky enough to cover it up with a cough. You shoot him a confused look over your shoulder, and he mumbles a curt “It’s nothing” before you can question him further. 

The scent of peppermint tea engulfs his senses, your favourite. It was your routine to drink a cup of tea before bed, but peppermint has always been your go-to. He only knew this because his mom always made sure to send you boxes of a loose-leaf version from your hometown. You didn’t drink any other kind. 

There’s a sway in your hips as you move over to the kitchen counter and Wonwoo’s lost in a hypnotic state. Taking a seat at the island, he watches as you grab two of the coffee mugs from your cupboard. As you move to reach for the glassware, he observes the way your shorts ride up, giving him a direct view of the curve of your ass. He felt like a pervert for staring but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. 

“Here, let me get them for you,” Wonwoo offers, moving behind you to retrieve the two mugs. His body is perfectly aligned with yours, he can feel you stiffen against him. 

A rough palm is placed delicately against the exposed skin of your waist. You’re so warm. Wonwoo’s brain short circuits and he almost forgets what he’s actually meant to do. He holds you tighter against him while the handles of the cups are hooked against his fingers. With as much delicateness as possible, he situates the mugs against the granite. 

The soft “thank you” that left your lips was almost too faint for either of you to hear, but due to the stillness in the atmosphere, Wonwoo heard you loud and clear. 

With reluctance, Wonwoo leaves his spot behind you to return to his seat. He continues to watch you as you prepare the tea, and he’s never been more mesmerized in his life. It was almost criminal how closely he examined your actions, but you had become so captivating. It would be rude to deny the pleasure of being able to see you again. 

“This one’s for you,” you mutter, setting the mug in front of his person. 

“Thanks.” 

A comfortable silence blankets the two of you. Your hand around your cup, savouring the tea while you scroll aimlessly on your phone. Wonwoo allows his thoughts to wander. It almost felt sinful to be inside your apartment once again, compelling him to apologize once more. 

“I know I've already said it before but, I hope you know I’m not going to let this second chance be taken for granted. What I did was wrong, and I was so angry and confused that I didn’t even think about what I was saying.” 

Looking up from your phone, a frown is apparent on your angelic face. But you don’t say anything, allowing him to continue with his admission of guilt. 

“There are so many things I could’ve done differently, but I let my anger get the best of me. You’re the most important person in my life and I don’t want to let you go. I know I’m terrible at showing how much I care but I want you to know that deep down inside of me my love for you is there. You’re my greatest friend and I was a dumbass for not treating you that way earlier on.” 

There’s a pregnant pause in the air before you respond. Wonwoo’s nerves are spiking, but he waits diligently for your reply. 

“I understand that you’re sorry. And I wish that things had gone differently. I’m sure that night was a lot for both of us. Seokmin wasn’t the person I thought he was, and it sucks that you were right but I wanna move forward. It just felt so wrong for you to assume that I was with him in that way. It hurt and it was insulting for you to talk to me that way.” 

The words that had been brewing in his mind were lost as he continued to listen to you. 

“What’s even funnier is that me and Seokmin kissed a couple of days after our fight. I’m not even sure why I did that, but I regret it. I probably just wanted to get my mind off you and all the other stuff. Honestly, I was so naive, I didn’t think Seokmin would go to such cruel lengths to manipulate me.” 

“I want to forgive you. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you either. Seokmin had put it in my head to just cut you off, and it almost felt wrong but I listened anyway. I should’ve known why he had convinced me to do all those things. I was so stupid to believe him. But I do want to fix us, I just need time.” 

To hear you talk about what Seokmin did to you, and to also find out that you two had kissed made Wonwoo’s insides churn. He felt sick at the thought of the two of you, but why? You’re his friend, he shouldn’t care about the fact that you and Seokmin shared an intimate moment. Wonwoo should only care about the fact that both he and Seokmin hurt you.

“Darling, I’m so sorry. I wish there were more ways I could show you how apologetic I am. I promise I'm going to do better.” 

There’s a glazed look over your eyes, and Wonwoo’s chest almost collapses into itself. The subtle pout on your lips causes a sigh to leave his lips. 

Standing up, he walks over to you, cooing as he deluges you into his hold. Strong arms pull you into his chest, the faint weeping coming from you almost kills him. He hates to see you sad, and what he hates even more is that he’s the one behind most of your pain. 

“I’m not going anywhere from now on. So please darling, don’t push me away anymore. I’m gonna do everything I can to show you how important you are to me,” He whispers in your ear as he runs a hand down your hair. 

Wonwoo knows how much you love it when he does that. It always calmed you down on the days you couldn’t regulate your emotions. 

Sensitive to the sad things in life yet ardent towards the things you are passionate about. You have always been a softer soul, a soul that feels everything without a care in the world. At the same time, you are a whirlwind of emotions, and different colours of sensibilities, it’s your greatest strength but also your weakness. Wonwoo admires that about you. Never afraid to feel, never afraid to wear your heart on your sleeve. Everything he isn't. 

That night, Wonwoo vowed to be a better person for you. He also promised he’d never let someone like Seokmin take advantage of your kindness again. 

four. 

Despite Wonwoo’s desire to submerge his feelings into a deep void, he can’t seem to dismiss the fact that he’s slowly falling for you. It didn’t start when you had begun to ignore him, nor did it start when you decided to search for comfort in another. 

Seeking a piece of you in everyone he’s been with. It's always been in a subconscious manner, but the more he looks back on all his relationships, he’s started to realize that the one thing that was missing was you.

Falling in love with you was gradual. 

In the same way, the tides along the shore would slowly pull the sand back into the ocean. In the same way, the seasons changed from summer to winter. Wonwoo’s love for you is like autumn leaves. Shades of green morph into the familiar, comforting, yellow, red, and brown. Their descent from their branches slowed, dwindling with the breeze before they ultimately hit the ground. Before he knew it, autumn had begun. 

Before he knew it, he was in love. 

Everything over the past month had just been a wake-up call. Slowly rising from an insomnious state, he began to find clarity in his past actions, in his reasons for wondering why none of the relationships worked out in his favour. No one understood him the way you did, and no one understood you the way he did. And he had been foolish enough to not act upon those realizations sooner.  

… 

Wonwoo ached to see you again. To be close to you, with your scent filling his nostrils, your warmth engulfing him, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Yet he sat in the library trying to make sense of his pending assignment. Mingyu sits across from him, looking close to slamming his forehead with his textbook. 

Wonwoo couldn’t care less about regression to the mean or whatever it is his statistics professor is trying to teach him. Every second that passed his mind would end up wandering to thoughts of you. That night in your apartment, the whiff of peppermint tea, your arms around him as he held you close. Desperation is a dangerous emotion, for it only made him want to close his laptop and rush to your side. 

Why didn’t he just fess up about his feelings for you right then and there? He could’ve done it, but his intuition stopped him. From the start of you finally letting him back into your life, neither of you brought up your confession of being in love with him. The prospect of him even acknowledging the subject has Wonwoo believing it wouldn’t end the way he hopes. 

Attempting to suppress his curious thoughts, he’s afraid of you denying everything you disclosed to him that night. He didn’t want you to renounce your declaration of love under the guise of anger or the heat of the moment. The only thing he wanted from you now was the truth. 

“Well, you look a lot better than you did last time we were here,” Mingyu speaks up. 

Taken out of his trance, Wonwoo lifts his head from the screen of his laptop. An involuntary chuckle erupts from his chest. Despite his muddled thoughts, Mingyu is right. He looks and feels a lot better than he did before. 

“A lot of shit happened, but yeah, I guess you can say that.” 

“Hmm, let me guess. You two made up?” Mingyu doesn’t beat around the bush. 

Wonwoo is aware that Mingyu’s probably only asking to remedy his curiosity, or so he could update Kalia about the situation, but he doesn’t care. If anything, he wants everyone to know that he won you over instead of Seokmin. 

“Yeah, kinda? I don’t know. I’m trying my best to be better for her though,” Wonwoo lets out a half-hearted sigh. 

Mingyu looked at him with curiosity, and Wonwoo knew that expression a little too well. It was the ‘since when were you the type of person to change for a girl’ look. His friend didn’t have to say much for him to understand what Mingyu was attempting to convey. 

“You’re serious?” Mingyu presses, a lilt of doubt in his tone of voice. 

“Yeah, I'm serious. Never been more serious in my life,” Wonwoo scoffs, he already knows where this conversation is heading. 

Mingyu didn’t seem to buy it though, eyes rolling as he leaned back in his chair. Wonwoo crosses his arms defensively, it is typical for Mingyu to wonder where his true intentions lie. His track record wasn’t the best when it came to girls, unlike Mr. Perfect across from him. 

Mingyu knew how to deal with relationships, he’s practically married to Kalia at this point. 

Wonwoo, on the other hand, tended to obsess for a few months before inevitably breaking things off. It’s practically second nature for him to do so, but this is different. It's you. And Wonwoo knew that meant more to him despite his old habits. 

“Be for real man, I know you. Are you sure this isn’t the same as the last hundred times you’ve liked someone?” 

“Like? I don’t just like her. I’m in love with her.” 

Mingyu’s eyes go wide, Wonwoo has never dropped the L–word on his friend before. Not about Haein, or any of the other girls he’s dated. 

“Woah. That's different,” Mingyu lets out a low-whistle. 

“That's what I mean. We’re not talking about just some other girl who I find interesting. This is my best friend,” Wonwoo continues to defend himself. 

It felt weird to say those words out loud for someone else to hear, but Mingyu was the only person Wonwoo didn’t feel insecure talking to despite the fact he practically criticized him during the last study session. Wonwoo needs to let his feelings out into the world, and Mingyu is willing to listen. 

“Okay, you’ve convinced me, but you better not fuck it up. I won’t punch you but I know Kalia would,” Mingyu shrugs, and he’s right. Kalia would beat him up. 

Wonwoo snorts at Mingyu’s remark, “Your girlfriend is scary.” 

“She is. Just don’t be a dumbass and she won’t kill you. You know how much Kalia cares about her.” 

“Seems like everyone does. Seokmin cares a little too much,” Wonwoo huffs, thinking back to what you had told him the last time he saw you. 

“Ah. I heard about that,” Mingyu smirks. 

Wonwoo could feel the hairs on the back of his neck starting to stick up. He didn’t particularly like the idea of you and Seokmin together. In all honesty, he doesn’t even want to see him within a hundred feet of your person. Wonwoo had half the mind to beat him to a pulp for how he hurt you, and he’s sure that Seokmin feels the same way about him. The only difference was that you had a clear choice, and Wonwoo came out on top. 

“I can’t believe him actually. He’s dead to me,” Wonwoo scowls, hating the bitter taste Seokmin’s name leaves on his tongue. 

“Dude… Seokmin is still our friend,” Mingyu attempts to mediate, like the soft-hearted man he is, but Wonwoo doesn’t care. 

“No. He’s your friend. What he did is fucked up, even for me. His dumbass is not stepping a foot near her, not if I have any say in the matter.” 

Hot on his heels, Wonwoo packs his belongings and exits the library with flames blazing his trail. Mingyu still sits there dumbfounded, recovering from the shock of his friend's crass declaration. 

five. 

[12:11 p.m.] [wons <3: meet me at our spot? i have a surprise :)]

Pacing back and forth, Wonwoo waits for you at the aforementioned spot. It’s a hidden corner on campus you two found in your first year. There were multiple wooden picnic tables scattered around the lawn of green grass, but no one seemed to come to this side of the university. It had been an alcove of secludedness for the two of you since that day. Wonwoo had spent most of his lunch breaks eating here with you when the crowds of students got too overwhelming. 

Deciding it wasn’t doing him any good walking back and forth like a madman, he takes a seat at the table you both claimed for yourselves. Even with the abundance of available picnic tables, neither of you ever sat anywhere else. The table’s location had always been perfect. Right under a large oak tree that had just the right amount of shade yet a prime amount of sunlight. The leaves had already shed, and there was no protection from the rays, but Wonwoo settled in his unassigned seat anyway. 

Inspecting the food he bought you, he made sure that it was still warm enough for you to eat. Two grilled pork banh mi’s with extra pickled vegetables wrapped securely within the plastic bag, your favourite. 

Wonwoo had no reason to buy it for you, other than the fact that as he was leaving the library in a sour mood, he was able to snag the last two from the dining hall. Thinking about the look you would have on your face once you got here made him smile to himself. So without a second thought, he paid for the sandwiches before sending you a text. 

“So what's the surprise?” 

Ears perking, Wonwoo whips his head over in the direction of your sweet voice. Skin glowing in the sunlight, he admires you with a lopsided smile. You look so good today, almost too good. The black skirt you wore flounced with each step you took, while your cardigan hung low on your shoulders. 

He wishes he could have you only for himself, finding it unfair that everyone else in the whole damn world got to admire how gorgeous you are, including himself. Wonwoo doesn’t get tired of looking at you, it’s like a breath of fresh air each time. 

“Hi, darling. There were only two left,” he nudged his head, motioning to the plastic bag that you are very familiar with. 

With glowing eyes, you let out a squeal of delight. Wonwoo knew he did something right for once. 

“Oh my god. How did you know I was craving these today? I was thinking about it all morning,” you gush, rushing over to open the bag that held your most prized possession.

“I didn’t, but I know you’d never say no to your favourite,” he chuckles. 

You didn’t even get to take a proper seat before diving into the banh mi. 

“I forgot to pack a lunch today,” you bubbled, mouth still half full with food. 

Wonwoo continues to grin, pleased with himself that something small like this brings you so much happiness. Tutting, he jokingly scolds you, wiping the cilantro that stuck to your cheek. 

“You shouldn’t talk when your mouth is full darling, you’ll choke.” 

Rolling your eyes at him, you swallow your food and take a sip of water before continuing with the conversation. 

“I woke up late today and forgot to make something for lunch, so thank you for this, I was starving,” you beam up at him, sitting cross-legged on the bench. 

“It’s a good thing I’m here then, right?” He chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, not wanting it to get in the way of your eating. 

“Yeah I guess you’re right,” you mumble before taking another bite. “Fuck this is so good right now, you don’t even know.” 

Wonwoo hums, amused with your reaction before unwrapping his sandwich. Admiring his view of you, he continues to listen to you talk about how you’re absolutely in the trenches for your next cognitive psychology midterm. 

“I’m so screwed. I can’t seem to properly memorize the theories, especially the one about Piaget’s stages. It keeps getting mixed up in my head,” you mutter in between bites. 

“I wish I could help, but you're the psych major,” Wonwoo shrugs, bemused at how your cheeks resemble those of a hamster. 

“True. Enough about school, my head hurts just thinking about it,” you sigh. 

“Alright. No school. Do you have plans for the weekend, at least?” Wonwoo asks. 

Your eyes lit up at his question, and you were ready to divulge what you had going on for the end of the week. Midterms were only a few days away, and everyone was so high-strung about them. Wonwoo knew you just wanted it to be over. You’ve always been the type to hate preparing for exams. 

“Well, June, Lynne, Leigh, and I are hitting up Raval on Friday. We wanted to celebrate the start of the mid-term break,” you explain. “You can join us if you want.” 

Before either you or Wonwoo could get another word in, his phone rings obnoxiously on the table. His mom’s caller ID flashes across his screen before he accepts the call, propping it up so the both of you are within the camera lens. 

“Hi mama!” you wave excitedly, Wonwoo’s mom smiling back at you. 

There wasn’t much he was grateful for in life, but the fact that you and his mom were so close was one of those things. 

“Hey ma, what’s up?” Wonwoo greets her, the grin on his face widening. 

“Hi, my babies. I just wanted to say hi!” His mom waves her hand at the camera, trying to stay in the frame. 

“Dear, did you get your box of peppermint tea?” she asks you, Wonwoo’s gaze returning to your beautiful smile. No words could explain the happiness he felt seeing you talk to his mom. 

“Yes mama, I did, thank you so much! I’ve been drinking it every night,” you assure her, sending her flying kisses through the phone. 

“Wonwoo, treat her well while you guys are away, got it? I just wanted to check on you both real quick,” his mom chattered through the speaker. 

“Yes, ma, I know. We’re eating lunch, but I’ll call you when I get home. Love you,” Wonwoo feigns annoyance but still tells her he loves her. 

“Bye, mama! Love you,” you bid her farewell, the call beeping indicating that Wonwoo had hung up. 

For the rest of Wonwoo’s lunch break, the two of you ate your banh mi in comfortable silence. There was a silent agreement of eating and just enjoying the view of the secret spot that Wonwoo shares with you. With everyone else gone, it was perfect. 

If Wonwoo could have any superpower in the world, it would be able to stop time. He yearns for this moment to last forever. Enjoying your company in a secluded part of campus, where there’s no one to bother you, no one to question your friendship.   

He longs for more days with you like this, away from the noise, away from distractions that cause his attention to stray away from who he cares about. He only needs one thing in his life to truly feel fulfilled, and it's you.  

act three, Hold Me by the Heart. 

chapter one. 

Despite the reconciliation between you and Wonwoo, you still find yourself doubting his actions. Did he want to change for the sake of your friendship? Or was he only putting effort knowing you had almost slipped through his fingertips? 

Warmth enveloped you every time he was around, every time he gave you small words of affirmation. Even with all these signs of growth from him, you still had that vexing churn in your gut. 

That swirl of intuition felt like you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. As much as you hate not being able to trust your best friend completely, apprehension continues to gnaw at your insides. 

“Hey? You still in there?” June interrupts your train of thought, waving her hand in front of your gaze. 

“I thought you and Wonwoo made up?” She continued to press for answers, which was typical of her. 

“We did,” you sigh, taking a sip of your Long Island iced tea. 

“Then why the long face?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just thinking too hard,” you chuckle, although there’s no humour behind it. 

June mirrors your expression, frowning alongside you as she pats your back, trying to get you out of your forlorn state. 

“That calls for another drink!” She attempts to lighten the mood, her pointer fingers poking at your smile lines, forcing a grin to grace your lips. 

Rolling your eyes at her, you agree to her proposition. Not wanting to waste your weekend on immutable thoughts of Wonwoo. He’s the only person who could make you sit around a room full of people and still feel like something, or rather, someone, was missing. 

In the back of your mind, you wonder if he remembers the confession you accidentally spilled during your fight. In the midst of all the anger, the pent-up frustration, you deliberate whether he still remembers the fleeting “I love you” that left your trembling lips that night. 

Before you could blink, June was already back in her seat. A tray of shot glasses filled with brown liquor. There was enough for everyone to take at least two. Although you know it’s not a good idea to get drunk with the negative thoughts floating within your mind, you choose to ignore your rationality for one night. 

“Wonwoo still may be an asshole, but if he makes you happy, who am I to judge?” Leigh speaks up from his seat, knocking back the shot glass till it’s empty. 

A small giggle leaves your lips, duplicating his actions and swallowing the alcohol in one go. 

“So what is the deal with you and Wonwoo now? I feel like every time I see you, he’s right behind you like some kind of brooding bodyguard,” Lynne queries, ready for you to fess up. 

The breath you take in is sharp, not knowing where to even start. The past month has gone by in a blur, too many events happening in such a short amount of time. You couldn’t even process it properly yourself, let alone recite all that has gone down to your friends. 

“Well, I may have texted him after that incident with Seokmin. And after that, it just snowballed. He started driving me to school again, eating lunch with me, apologizing every chance he got. I-I don’t even know anymore,” you inhale, not realizing that you have barely taken a chance to breathe. 

“Interesting…” Lynne mumbles, tapping on her chin as if she is deep in thought. 

“He’s just become more considerate. I don’t know why he’s decided to change, but I can’t complain because I can see the change,” you continue, defending him. After all, you knew your friends didn’t see him in a particularly positive light. 

There was a pause in the air, everyone sitting at the table still processing your defence. Even if they still hate him, you don’t really care. Yes, you care for their opinions, and you cherish their affection for you, but Wonwoo deserves a second chance in your eyes. 

“I mean… Isn’t the reason he’s even acting like this because he hated seeing you with Seokmin?” Leigh disputes, and you frown. 

There’s truth behind his statement. Wonwoo only noticed your absence because you had started hanging out with Seokmin more. But it worked in your favour, so can you even be mad? 

“Maybe. Honestly, I don’t think I care about his reasons. He's trying and that’s all that should matter, right?” you mutter, taking another shot from the tray. 

The looks on your friends’ faces say more about what they want to say to you than their words ever could. You’re disregarding Wonwoo’s toxic behaviour in hopes that this new chapter with him is more than just some facade. 

“Oh, that’s not…” Leigh whispers under his breath but doesn’t say more. 

They know they can’t change your mind. 

[11:17 p.m.]  [wons <3: still out with your friends?] 

Your screen's brightness illuminates the bar's dim lighting, bringing everyone's attention to the bubble with Wonwoo’s name clearly on display. 

“Speaking of the devil,” Lynne shakes her head as she nurses the drink in her hand. 

[11:18 p.m.] [darling <3: yeahh, we’ll probably head home after a few rounds, why?]  [wons <3: jw. have fun darling]  [darling <3: thx! ]

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’d rather we drink till I forget everything from midterms instead of talking about Wonwoo,” June pipes up, disrupting the silence that had enveloped your group. 

As she calls for someone to bring more shots to your table, you quietly smile to yourself. Wonwoo usually was not one to text first, but it’s different now. Even if everyone else can’t stand him, you can’t help but feel the exact opposite. 

There’s a hum of agreement, and everything becomes a blur after that. The constant flow of alcohol forces you to focus on what’s in front of you. Wandering thoughts of Wonwoo are brought to a halt as you feel yourself slipping into a drunken state. 

… 

“Jun! My boyfriend is here!” June exclaims, practically walking sideways outside of Raval. It’s deep into the night at this point and your friend decided that the best person to call was her boyfriend. 

As she sways on the sidewalk, your two other friends hold you up in an attempt to keep you from falling face-first into the cement. Despite how late it was, there were still cars bustling past on the street. Jun’s car idling as he tries his best to help his girlfriend into the passenger side. 

The university town is still alive with students entering and exiting outside of the bars and restaurants as everyone celebrates the end of the week. You can only wish for Wonwoo to be here with you, but you knew he wasn’t the type to go to bars this late, opting to stay up playing League on his computer instead. 

“Hey babe, if you want, you can call Wonwoo to come pick you up,” Lynne speaks to you soothingly, obviously not as intoxicated as you are. “You’ve been mumbling his name for like ten minutes now.” 

“Wonwoo? Is he here?” 

“No. But I’m going to call him so he can get you,” she gives you a tight smile.

Pulling out your phone from her purse, and bringing the screen to your face. You widen your eyes, moving your head closer to the camera. A lopsided smile sneaks its way onto your lips as it unlocks. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea? She’s fucking gone,” Leigh chastises his sister. 

Lynne gives him an exasperated look, shrugging her shoulders. Her brother rolls his eyes in return, both defeated. They know they can’t stop you from wanting Wonwoo, plus he’s the only one who knows the code to your apartment. You’re too drunk to even unlock your phone, let alone press buttons on the keypad of your door lock. 

Hell, you can’t even stand without falling aimlessly to the ground. 

“Wonwoo? It’s Lynne. Can you come to Raval?” you barely register your friend's voice, looking off into the distance. Hoping that Wonwoo would magically appear any second from now. 

The call is dropped and they manoeuvre you onto the bench outside the entrance of the bar. Head flopping onto Leigh’s shoulder, you close your eyes. Maybe the next time you open them, Wonwoo will be standing right in front of you. 

What felt like seconds were actually ten minutes to your slightly more sober friends. Jun and June waiting diligently beside their car waiting for Wonwoo to finally arrive as the other two are constantly trying to keep you upright. 

When they agreed to have a few more shots, they didn’t expect you to take another five along with two more long islands. Regretful for their lack of heed, they had forgotten how much of a lightweight you are. 

“Oh! Fucking finally, I swear he drives like a Grandpa,” Leigh scoffs, seeing Wonwoo’s car pull up behind Jun’s. 

“Where is she?” Wonwoo's voice bellows, and it’s as if he’s near. 

With your eyes still sealed shut, you mumble incoherently to Leigh, “It’s like he’s right here. Am I that drunk that I’m imagining things?” 

“Oh my god… take her home please,” Leigh doesn’t answer your question and you’re slightly offended. 

“Hey!” you pout, finally opening your eyes as you feel someone tug you away from your source of heat. 

Strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, a broad chest is the only thing within your line of sight. 

“Excuse me! I’m waiting for my Wonwoo to come and pick me up,” you squeak, slapping the chest of whoever is trying to take you away from your friends. 

There’s a collective groan behind you. 

“She’s wasted.” Lynne sighs to her brother while he nods in agreement.

“Your Wonwoo?” A familiar voice has you stopping in your tracks. 

Looking up at the once faceless person who was dragging you away, you find yourself face to face with the man you had been yearning for all night. 

“Woah. You look just like him,” bemused with the stranger in front of you. 

Squinting your eyes, your palm traces along his structured jaw. The tips of your finger poking at his cheek affirm your suspicions. He felt very real under your touch. Every line and freckle is scarily alike to your Wonwoo. 

“Like who?” 

“My Wonwoo.” 

The man’s chuckle vibrates deeply against your side. The same side where he has you pinned to his chest. A smug expression is plastered on his face as he watches you with intrigue. 

“I believe there’s only one Wonwoo,” he argues. 

“I disagree,” you huff as he pats your head, ushering you to his car.

 Unsure of why you’re even following some random is beyond you at that moment. All you could think about is texting Wonwoo once you’re safely tucked into bed. 

“Thanks for giving me a call, she hasn’t been answering her phone,” Wonwoo bids farewell to your friends as they start to pile into Jun’s car. 

“At least you can see why she hasn’t been texting you back. We might’ve given her too much to drink,” Lynne shakes her head as she chuckles at your drunken state. 

“If my opinion matters, I think I had the perfect amount,” you butt in, wanting your friends to know that you can still kind of register what they’re saying. 

“Right…” Leigh speaks up. “Anyway, we’re going to leave now that you’re here. Make sure she gets home safe!” 

“Will do,” Wonwoo promises, waving them off as Jun drives away. 

Glowering, you take a second look at him. How weird is it that a Wonwoo look-alike exists?  

The street lights that line the sidewalk cause your vision to go in and out periodically. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought that the man in front of you was the real deal. But you did know better, and you would’ve recognized your Wonwoo from a mile away. 

“I think it’s time that we get you home,” Wonwoo smirks down at you, reaffirming the grip he has on your waist. 

“How do you know where I live?” You interrogate him, finding it weird that this man would have your address in the first place. 

“That’s a secret that will be revealed later, darling,” He teases, opening the door to his car so you can take a seat. 

Once he’s on the driver's side, Wonwoo adjusts your seatbelt so it’s not uncomfortable during the ride. The warmth of his arm brings you to snuggle against it, looking up at him with a coy smile. 

“You know, for a fake Wonwoo, you’re pretty cute.” 

“Fake Wonwoo?” 

“Yeah, real Wonwoo wouldn’t come all this way just to pick me up,” you sigh, pulling away from his warmth to stare out the window dramatically. 

“I think he would.” 

Laughing at his statement you roll your eyes. The person in front of you didn’t know your best friend like you did. 

“How would you know?” You bite back. If anyone could win the ‘I know Wonwoo more than you’ contest, it's you. 

“That’s also a secret.” 

Slouching back into your seat you huff out a breath of air once again, “Why do you have to have so many secrets?” 

“Because.” 

“It’s a secret?” you counter. You had a feeling that would be his answer anyway. 

“See? You’re finally getting it,” he gives you a cheesy smile, pinching your cheek. 

Slapping his hand away, you’re offended at how endeared he is with you. The only thing on your mind was the softness of your comforter and the warm mint tea that you knew you were going to have later. 

“Just take me home,” you sneer, shifting your whole body away from the driver’s side. Thighs pressed against the door, your brattiness starting to peek through your insobriety. 

“Hey, hey, don’t be like that,” Wonwoo pouts, lip jutting out as his eyes sparkle under the city lights. 

You don’t budge, body firmly pressed against the plastic of the car door. Arms crossed as you feign annoyance at him. 

“You know, I get really scared driving at night. I think I need you to hold my hand.” 

With a sense of reluctance, you offer your hand to him. Unsure of what has you agreeing to his request, you can’t say no to someone so handsome. Wonwoo interlaces his fingers with yours, and it surprises you how well your palm fits into his, allowing him to rest your intertwined hands on your lap.  

The ride back to your apartment is peaceful for the most part. The wistful city lights calm the drumming beat of your heart. Everything moves past in a blur; you can’t help but admire the cars driving past, time slowing down with the music lulling through the radio speakers. 

Serenity is the best way to describe the time you spend sitting next to Wonwoo on the drive towards your place. 

“I wonder if the real Wonwoo is thinking about me right now,” you mumble, still staring out the window. 

Wonwoo’s hand still entwined with yours, he hums along with the music, the other one on the steering wheel. Initially, you thought he didn’t hear what you had said, but he ended up replying to you. 

“I know he is.” 

Turning in your seat, you look at him, analyzing his side profile as he stares ahead. There’s yet another frown that settles into the fine line of your face, how could he possibly know whether or not Wonwoo is thinking about you? 

“You don’t know that,” you speak with a sour tone. 

“I do though,” he counters with a glance towards you. 

“How?” 

Disgruntled at his amusement, you know he’s just going to say it’s another one of his secrets, which you’re starting to get sick and tired of. Why can’t he just tell you? It’s not like you’ll see him after today. 

“Nevermind. You’re just going to say it’s a secret,” you grumble but still hold onto his hand. 

For whatever reason, you become engrossed in the view of your hands linked together. His slender fingers and clean nails had you intrigued. You had a feeling that you looked silly just staring at his hand in yours, but there was no helping it. 

Fake Wonwoo has nice hands. 

“You have pretty hands,” you tell him, no filter left within you due to your lack of sobriety. 

“Thank you,” he grins, tightening his grasp on you. 

The drive felt longer than you’re used to, but you decided to blame everything on the alcohol. 

“Are we almost there yet?” 

“Yes darling, just a few more minutes,” he answers you, rubbing small circles on the side of your thumb.

Another five minutes felt more like a year, but you couldn’t complain. Your seat was comfortable, the heater was at the right temperature and Wonwoo’s hold brought you solace. 

“We’re here. I’m gonna help you out okay? So just sit pretty and I’ll get you,” Wonwoo explains, and your cheeks burn from his indirect compliment. 

“Okay.” 

A few seconds pass and the door opens, his tall figure slouching down to grab you by your waist. He circles behind your back before leaning over to undo the seatbelt. It was almost too affectionate for a stranger, but something inside you had you leaning your head against his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry about walking. I’ll carry you.” 

You don’t respond to him, instead, you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and hold onto him even tighter. Breathing in his cologne, you smell the familiar scent of Wonwoo’s cologne. Your olfactory senses take in the aroma of rose and pear. 

Lazy Sunday Morning. It was your favourite out of all the perfumes he owns. 

Closing your eyes, you allow Wonwoo to carry you inside your apartment. The sound of buttons beeping at the front of the entrance, and the warmth of his body, almost entranced you into a slumber. But you didn’t want the fantasy to end, you didn’t want this version of Wonwoo to slip out of your grasp. 

Nose nuzzling into the dip between his neck and shoulder, you make yourself comfortable as he stands inside the elevator, you in his arms, waiting to ascend to your floor.

The beeping sound returns as Wonwoo opens the front door that leads to your home. There’s a sense of wonder: Would this be what it would be like if Wonwoo were finally yours? 

Would he carry you to bed when you were too tired to stand? Hold your hand in his during every car ride? The thought of those things happening seemed like it would only be possible in some made-up faraway land. 

“Darling, we’re home,” Wonwoo’s baritone voice brings you out of your half-awake dream. 

We’re home. How bittersweet it sounds coming from the lips of someone who isn’t yours. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anything for you.” 

The mattress sinks a tad as you feel yourself being placed into the warmth of your comforter. Your arms don’t let go of your hold on Wonwoo’s shoulders. As you stare into his eyes, the dim lighting of your bedside lamp aids in resurfacing a sense of clarity within you. 

“Will you finally tell me your secrets?” You whisper, even though there is no reason to. 

“Only if you tell me yours.” 

There's a pause. No one dares to speak as you two continue to look at each other in silence. All that is left unspoken can be seen through his eyes, you wanted to ask. Every particle inside you just wanted to know whether there was a chance he felt the same way you did. 

“Come and lay beside me?” You request, tone laced with reticence. 

“Anything for you,” he repeats once again. 

Lowering his body onto yours, arms still circling his shoulders, he shifts a little so that your hands are still on him. The two of you face each other while the atmosphere is left unwavering. 

What you thought would be better left unsaid takes permanent residence at the forefront of your mind. Why do you want to tell this version of Wonwoo your deepest most kept secrets all of a sudden? 

Perhaps you thought that if you admitted anything now, it’ll be forgotten in the morning. It was safe with this fantasy Wonwoo who had no real attachment to the one who lives in your reality. But the effects of all those shots have started to wear off, and you’re left with a very real version of the person you’re irrevocably in love with. 

“You have to go first,” you speak in a hushed tone. 

Wonwoo’s arms grip your waist tighter, pulling you into his chest. The arms that are linked behind his neck do the same, holding him taut against you. You don’t want him to leave. You don’t want this form of Wonwoo to disappear before your eyes. 

“Well, I didn’t think it would take you this long to realize but, I am the real Wonwoo,” his chuckle is deep, the glint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. 

“I think I did. I just didn’t want this dream to end,” you smile bitterly. 

“But it’s not a dream? I’m here with you, and I’m very real.” 

Burying your face into his sweater, you sigh harshly. This is where it ends. 

“I’m sorry. It was probably such a nuisance having to pick me up just for me to spew out nonsense in return,” You’re embarrassed, hiding your face even further into his chest. 

“Will you please look at me?” Wonwoo asks, his voice low, “You’ll never be a nuisance to me.” 

  His hand comes up to your head, fingers carding down your hair. Staring deeply into your eyes, you can feel his sincerity. The breath in your throat is caught and you’re unable to conjure up a reply. 

“I know that old version of me is stuck in your mind, but I don’t want to be like that anymore. I’m willing to pick you up, no matter the distance. I wish you knew that sooner,” he vows, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to convey his feelings to you. 

“I’ll tell you my secret since you told me yours. I don’t think I would be able to say this while I’m sober,” you begin to lay your heart out bare for him. 

Taking a moment to think about how you want to word your confession, you grasp the hand that’s cradling your head. Intertwining your fingers with his once again, you stare at Wonwoo like he’s the answer to all your problems. 

The siren-like voice that sings within your heart is finally able to release itself from the prison your brain had placed it in. All you’ve wanted from Wonwoo was for him to love you, and on the off chance he feels the same way, then you’re willing to take the plunge into the deep waters of the unknown. 

“I don’t know if you remember me telling you, that time during our fight. I was–I am in love with you. I know you don’t feel the same way, I understand, but I don’t think I can be friends with you after this.” 

“Real or fake, whatever you are or whatever this moment is. I’m still in love with you. I hate that I can’t tell you this without feeling scared or ashamed. I’ve loved you since the moment you came into class with your big nerdy glasses. I’ve loved you since you came back for a senior year when you had everyone’s attention on you. And I’ve loved you even when you were in love with someone else.” 

Taking a breath, you stop your tangent for a moment before beginning again. 

“I’ve loved you during everything we’ve been through together. Even when I chose to ignore you, I woke up every morning with you still on my mind. It was hard, and I don’t know why I couldn’t let go of my feelings for you but a part of me was always hoping that one day you would feel the same way.”  

It’s done. There was nothing you could do to backtrack on your words. No time machine to take away your confession and erase it from his memory. Your heart felt free for the first time in years, and the weight on your shoulders lightened exponentially. 

Wonwoo doesn’t dare speak, and your pulse quickens from his prolonged silence. The mere seconds that passed felt like an eternity, and that was enough to bring you out of your drunken state. 

“Will you still love me tomorrow? When it's morning, and you’re sober. Will I still be the one you love?” Wonwoo's voice is timbre, barely loud enough to hear over your beating heart. 

“Yes. Even when you weren’t around. Even when you weren’t available, I still loved you,” you admit to him. 

The fingers that were laced with yours move to your jaw, Wonwoo’s palm tracing every outline of your face. The rough skin from his thumb contrasts the softness of your cheek. Memorizing every line and wrinkle, he continues to caress you, as if he was communicating with his touch. 

“If you didn’t want me tomorrow, you’d still be the person I wake up thinking about.  I hated not knowing whether you meant what you said,” he pauses, clarifying his jumble of words, “the night we fought, I mean. Because I heard you, even when I was blinded with jealousy and anger. I had hoped you meant what you confessed to me that night.” 

The sinking feeling in your stomach doesn’t subside. There hadn’t been a day in all the years you’ve known your best friend where you thought you would hear him reciprocate the feelings you were holding deep down inside you.

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m in love with you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize that it was you all along. I don’t know why I never admitted it to myself, but you’ve been in front of me this whole time.” 

The pad of Wonwoo’s thumb shadows over your bottom lip, your breath hitching under his touch. With soft eyes and an even softer touch, Wonwoo couldn’t take his hands off you. There was no lewd denotation behind his actions, just wanting to feel his skin against yours. 

“I feel so much regret because you were always the one person I truly wanted and I never acted on those instincts,” Wonwoo confided, the weight of his words seeping into you with a profound sense of awareness. 

“I’m yours, Wonwoo. That will never change,” you speak frankly. 

“Just promise me you’ll love me tomorrow too,” he chokes out. 

“I’ll love you even if there is no tomorrow.” 

chapter two, the first day of junior year. 

Before the age of sixteen, everything was a blur. Your routine was mundane, with average grades, average parents, and an even more average love life. Before the age of sixteen, there were no particular moments in all your years worth noting. It wasn’t until you met Wonwoo on the first day of eleventh grade. 

Once you laid your eyes on him, you saw the potential of a new friendship. However, your teenage self didn’t realize how deep-rooted Wonwoo would become in your life from that day forward. 

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you. Wonwoo right?” You greeted, your figure looming over Wonwoo who was sitting at the picnic table in the school's courtyard. 

The September sun shone bright, blinding Wonwoo as he placed a hand over his eyes to get a better look at the stranger in front of him. 

You explicitly remembered him eating lunch alone while playing Super Smash Bros on his Nintendo Switch. His black hair was long and covered his forehead, glasses were thick and large-framed. Wonwoo was a breath of fresh air from the other boys at your school. Unlike the rest of them, he was more reserved and didn’t talk much. His silence intrigued you. 

“Hi?” he replied as a confused frown graced his lips before he returned to his game.

Deciding to ignore his introverted personality, you introduce yourself. You take out your lunch box, unveiling the spam musubi you prepared the night before. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” you ask him even though you’ve already begun unpacking the food from your bag. 

“Well, I guess it’s okay,” he shrugged, interested in everything but the person sitting beside him. 

Peering closer at his screen, you watched with intent. The two characters fighting on a floating stage, Wonwoo spamming buttons with expertise. You’ve played Super Smash Bros before, but you weren’t as good as him. 

“Are you playing Smash Bros? You’re really good,” you mumbled, taking a bite of your food. 

“Thanks.” 

Miffed by his lack of speech, you continued to watch him play, his triangle kimbap left ignored as he focused on winning. 

“You can do multiplayer with this right? Can I play too?” you asked him, observing his gameplay over his shoulder. 

He shoots you a quirked eyebrow before returning his attention to his screen. Three to zero. You found Wonwoo to be an expert compared to your novice skills. 

“You know how to play?” Wonwoo stared at you in disbelief. 

“Duh! Sometimes Seokmin brings his switch for spare period. I only play Cloud or Bayonetta though,” you explained. 

Wonwoo looked impressed with your knowledge of the characters. He shrugged his shoulders before setting up his switch into a two-player mode. Handing you the red switch controller, you shook your head in refusal. 

“Nope. I can only play with the blue controller.” 

“Huh? How does that even make sense?” He scoffed but gave you the blue one anyway. 

Taking the controller from his hands, you gave him a grateful smile. 

“Blue is my favourite colour,” you told him, bumping your shoulder with his. 

Wonwoo is confused by your outward personality, unsure of how to react to you being so comfortable with someone you had just met, but he didn’t complain. It was his first day at a new school and it wouldn’t be so bad making a new friend as soon as possible. 

The player screen lit up and you quickly decided on Cloud, while Wonwoo opted to play Kirby. Smart, you thought. If played correctly, Kirby can easily absorb the abilities of his opponents. 

With a randomly chosen stage, the game commenced. It didn’t take long for Wonwoo to win. He was more experienced than you were, but you had fun nonetheless. 

“You’re terrible at this,” He chuckles, looking at you with a cat-like smile. 

The smitten grin on your face was difficult to hide as you stared back into his eyes. Something shifted in you that day, and it marked the first time you saw Wonwoo in a romantic light. Call it cliche for falling for him so quickly, but you couldn’t help it, you were only human after all. 

“I never said I was good,” you shrugged, feigning innocence. 

“I guess you’re right.” 

“Can we play again tomorrow?” 

“Sure,” Wonwoo nodded his head, placing down his switch to get back to his food. 

Enraptured by him from that moment on, you found yourself hopelessly wishing to become closer to Wonwoo. If there was one sure thing about you, it was persistence. From that day forward, you didn’t leave Wonwoo’s side, spending your lunch under the autumn sun and playing games on his switch. 

… 

october of junior year. 

[10:00 p.m]  [you: did you finish ur hw? :D] [wonwoo: yes. did u?] [you: nope :( it was hurting my brain so im watching nana]  [wonwoo: nana?] [wonwoo: never heard of it]  [you: omg…] [you: it’s the best anime ever!!]  [wonwoo: i didn’t know u liked anime] [you: uve got a lot to learn abt me wons] [wonwoo: wons?] [you: my nickname for u obvs hehe]  [*you changed wonwoo’s nickname to wons*]  [wons: ok]  [you: u should watch it. It WILL change your life]  [wons: ok, maybe later. gotta go to bed. see u tmrw]  [you: ok grandpa :p see u tmrw!!] [you: bring ur switch!]  [wons: sure. bye.] 

��

“Wonwoo! Wait up for me,” you hollered, waving your hand in the air even though his back was facing towards you. 

Turning around, Wonwoo stared blankly as you ran up to him. Halting his steps, he waited for you to catch up. The backpack you were wearing flops up and down as you picked up your speed. 

The weather was colder now, and the leaves morphed into deeper shades of yellow and red. Wind whistling as you finally reached where he stood, you gave him a bright smile, so bright that it offset the gloomy sky. 

“Morning,” he greeted you. 

Air knocked out of your chest, and you folded over with your hands on your knees, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. Wonwoo grasped your elbow to help, but this didn’t help your already out-of-breath state. His touch caused sparks to erupt under your skin. Luckily, the commotion caused by your run concealed your nerves. 

“Why didn’t you tell me we lived on the same street?” you heaved while Wonwoo used his grip to help you stand straight.

“How was I supposed to know?” he rebutted. 

Rolling your eyes at him, you knew he was right. But if you had known sooner, you could’ve spent your previous mornings walking with him to school. 

“Can we walk to school together from now on then?” you batted your eyelashes at him, shooting him a sweet smile. 

“I don’t mind,” he shrugged his shoulders again. 

You’ve found Wonwoo to be quite nonchalant, his reactions never more than a distant stare, a chuckle, or a shoulder shrug, no in between. Wonwoo’s lack of care for anything and everything is what endeared you the most. Despite his standoffish personality, you knew there was more to him deep down. He didn’t talk much, but his actions spoke louder than his words did. 

… 

november of junior year.

Thanks to your English teacher, Mr. Park, you and Wonwoo have been paired up for your biology project. Not only did that mean you would get to spend more time with Wonwoo but it also meant you secured a good grade for the assignment. 

Science in general has never been your strong suit, but whenever you asked Wonwoo to explain the concepts to you, everything somehow made sense. 

The walk to his house was nerve-wracking. It was the first time going over to a boy’s place, and the fact that it was Wonwoo made you even more anxious. He didn’t talk much about his family unless you asked. The only thing you knew was that he had an older brother named Seongho. 

“Ma! I’m home,” Wonwoo greeted his mother, and you're taken aback by how loud his voice got. 

Due to his introverted personality, Wonwoo didn’t talk at school unless spoken to, and it was exciting to finally see him in a setting where he was comfortable. 

His mom poked her head out from the kitchen and gave you both a warm smile. Patting her hands off the apron, she immediately pulled you into a hug. She smelt like lavender and vanilla, giving off a homey aroma. 

“Wonwoo! You didn’t tell me you got a girlfriend,” she exclaimed, pinching her son’s cheek. 

Wonwoos's face flared red, and he retracted from his mother's touch. “She’s not my girlfriend. We have a project to work on.” 

“Oops! Sorry. You two had better get to work then. I’ll call you when the food is ready. You’ll stay for dinner, right dear?” She beamed down at you. 

“If you and Wonwoo don’t mind, then I can,” you grinned at her while Wonwoo was urging you upstairs. 

“Of course, I don’t mind. It’s nice to see my little Wonwoo making friends at his new school,” she cooed at her son, which had him rolling his eyes. 

“Mom, I’m sixteen,” Wonwoo groaned, discreetly stepping towards the direction of his room. 

“Thanks, Mrs. Jeon!” you responded as Wonwoo dragged you by the wrist, hauling you along with him. 

His fingers are wrapped around your forearm, trying to get you away from his Mom as fast as he could. 

The moment you stepped into his room, you found it cleaner than an average teenage boy’s would be. Your eyes panned over his space, spotting the gaming pc in the corner. Marvelling at the RGB lighting, you gasped at the clicky-ness of the keyboard. 

“Woah… this is so cool!” you gushed, tapping random keys to feel the switches underneath. 

“I guess,” Wonwoo muttered, shutting the door behind him. 

The closed door muffled any sound from outside his room, and you were left alone with Wonwoo and the silence he brought along with him. 

“Your mom is really nice,” you chirped. 

Wonwoo responded with a shrug of his shoulders. Classic. Instead of saying anything more, he took the poster board out of his bag and placed it on his bed. 

“We should get started,” Wonwoo said firmly. 

You could only sigh at how serious he was about school. Of course, you knew the importance of diligence when it comes to projects and assignments, but you felt that this was the perfect time to learn more about your new friend. 

Sitting beside him on his bed, you crossed your legs and took the large biology textbook out of the bag alongside your laptop. 

“Inherited genes and Sickle-cell anemia, sounds boring,” you huffed. 

Wonwoo ignored your statement and grabbed the textbook from you to look up information that would help with your project. 

“Don’t you think we’re working on this too early? We have like…two weeks,” you whined. 

“The sooner we get this over with the better,” he nipped, flipping the pages without a single glance over at you. 

The brightness of your laptop illuminated Wonwoo’s dim room. Aside from the computer and his bedside lamp, the rest of his lights were off. Opening up the doc, you couldn’t help but sneak glances over at him. 

Wonwoo fixed his glasses, pushing the frames up his tall nose. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring. There was something about him that made him undeniably handsome, your teenage brain couldn’t comprehend it. 

“Y’know Mr. Park is pretty chill. We don’t have to do this all in one night.” 

“I know,” Wonwoo muttered, still reading the textbook, looking for information to cite for your project. 

Wonwoo could feel your eyes focused on him, but he ignored them, pretending to read the words on the page instead. Wonwoo didn’t mind that you had a habit of staring at him, but he didn’t know how to spark conversation. You were quite talkative, so he decided that it was better for you to take the lead. 

Putting up with his adamance, the two of you worked on your project for a good hour before you decided that the words "sickle cell" and "genes" were hurting your eyes. 

“Can we take a break, it feels like my brain is going to pop out of my skull,” you sighed, flopping against his mattress. 

Wonwoo shot you a scolding expression but gave in to your wishes. And like a lightbulb had gone off in your head, you quickly got back up. Furiously typing on your laptop, you go onto the illegal site where you had NANA bookmarked. 

“How about we watch an episode? You haven’t started it yet right?” you enquired, looking at him with the biggest grin on your face. 

“I haven’t, no,” he answered you. 

With a squeal, you clicked on the first episode while making yourself comfortable. Wonwoo moved next to you, and excitement coursed through your veins. His warmth radiated off him, and the feeling of him sitting so close made butterflies erupt within you. 

Despite Wonwoo’s reluctance to take a break from schoolwork, you found him genuinely interested in the show. Nothing could compare to the feeling of sitting in silence with him, just enjoying his presence as NANA played on your laptop. 

For the rest of your self-declared break, you and Wonwoo got through the first two episodes. 

There was a part of you that wondered if he could hear how fast your heart was racing, being that close to him. But you felt daring in that moment, allowing yourself to rest your head against his shoulder. Wonwoo stiffened slightly at your proximity but didn’t budge. If anything, he relaxed further. So you stayed in that position, if he could hear your thumping pulse, you didn’t care. 

“Well, what do you think?” you looked up at him, curious about his first impression. 

“It’s good. Nana seems very naive though,” he disclosed, pushing his glasses up once again. 

“Hmm, interesting. The plot gets better the more you watch, so I hope you’ll give it a chance,” you gave him a shy smile which he returned. 

Any other person probably would’ve refused to watch this show with you. Knowing Wonwoo, he was more into shounen than shoujo or slice of life. Yet, he spent an hour watching an anime that was out of his usual genre. It made you feel safe. Safe enough to talk about your interests without worrying whether or not he’d find you bothersome. 

“Sure. I think I liked it enough to watch on my own,” he admitted. 

“Wait. Really?” you gasped, shocked that he enjoyed it. 

“Yeah. At least then we have more to talk about,” he specified.

The smile on your face broadened, and you leaned into him even more as you both stared ahead, starting the third episode. Once again, he didn’t stop you. Instead, Wonwoo wrapped his arm around your shoulder pulling you closer to him. 

“You’re a good friend Wons,” you confirmed. 

“And you’re my only friend,” he confessed, patting your shoulder. 

“Don't worry. I’ll always be your friend,” you mumbled before staring deeply into his eyes. 

Wonwoo chuckled at your words, nodding his head in agreement. 

“I feel like I should be the one saying that,” he mused, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin. 

“It’s okay. I’m glad I decided to sit next to you on the first day of school,” you laughed, reminiscing about that warm September day. 

“I’m glad too.” 

After that day, Wonwoo had become more comfortable with talking to you about the things he didn’t share with others. He made you feel special. Although you had close friends like Seokmin and Mingyu during your first two years in high school, there were parts about yourself that you knew you couldn’t unveil to them. 

It wasn’t that they were judgmental or bad friends; Wonwoo just brought out something different in you. Although it took a while to break him out of his shell, he continued to reveal more about himself the more time you spent with him. 

The closeness that you two shared that night in his bedroom, watching NANA on your laptop sparked a flame inside you. Wonwoo took over every crevice of your mind, his scent, his touch, even if it was a mere hand on your shoulders, you didn’t want to go a day without him. Life was meaningless before you met Wonwoo, a blur of memories you couldn’t pinpoint. Now that he was with you, you didn’t want to ever go back to a time when he was not by your side. 

chapter three, present time. 

Sunlight pours through your curtains, hitting your eyes with a blinding sheen. The ache of last night's decisions trickles down your head and into the tense muscles of your shoulders. You can only curse your past self for drinking way more than your limit allows. 

Whatever had happened last night felt straight out of a movie, especially because it had caused you to dream about Wonwoo finally being yours. As you recollect the memories of yesterday, the pang in your heart intensifies. 

The oddly vivid visions of you and Wonwoo cuddling under blankets leave a bitter taste in your mouth. It felt so real you could almost smell the faint lingering scent of his cologne on your sheets. But alas, it was just another drunken fantasy you wish you could live in. 

“I’ll love you even if there is no tomorrow.”

You almost scoff at how cheesy you sounded in your dream. What kind of fool speaks this articulate after countless shots of tequila? 

The sounds of pots clanging brings you out of your thoughts, and you practically jump off your mattress and run to the entrance of your room. Placing an ear against the thick wood, you listen carefully for signs of an intruder. There’s a grunt that resounds through your apartment and has sirens blaring in your mind. You must’ve been very drunk last night, and stupid enough to leave your door unlocked. 

There was nothing in your bedroom that could be of use to you in a situation like this. Except for the dildo that June gifted you for your birthday last year. With a defeated sigh, you decided that it was needed during this life-or-death situation. Opening up your drawer you carefully take out the pink sparkly dildo that was still left in its packaging, gripping it tightly as you burst through the door. 

Screaming, you lunge towards the intruder’s large frame with your eyes shut tight, smacking him repeatedly with the phallic piece of plastic. 

“Get out! You freak! Get out!” You shriek, hitting his back with a large thump. 

The intruder groans in pain, the sound of his discomfort all too familiar. Halting your assault on his naked back, you open your eyes. Only for your sight to befall an extremely muscular and shirtless Wonwoo. 

“Ow! What the fuck?” Wonwoo grunts, turning around to see your smaller frame gripping a bright pink dildo. 

His eyes widen with recognition, adjusting his glasses, he chuckles at you and your dishevelled state. The sex toy in your hand falls to the ground as you stare at him with an expression filled with not only pure shock but horror. 

Never in your life did you think that Wonwoo would be the one standing shirtless in your kitchen. The idea of someone breaking into your house seems more plausible than whatever is happening before your eyes right now. 

“I’m tryna make you breakfast, and this is how you repay me?” Wonwoo laughs, grabbing the toy from your kitchen floor and placing it down on the counter. 

“I-Uhm. It’s a gift! Yeah,” you stutter, “June gave me it last year as a gift. It’s unused, I promise.” 

Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow at you, stepping forward, crowding you with his large chest. The counter hits your back and you find yourself caged between the granite and Wonwoo’s naked upper half. 

“So you used it to hit me instead?” Wonwoo deducts, his palms gripping the counter so you have nowhere left to run. 

Despite the awkward situation you put yourself in, your mind is elsewhere now that Wonwoo has you in his hold. The words that you want to come out of your mouth are clogged with Wonwoo’s bare chest, the only thing you’re able to focus on. 

“W-well, I thought you were breaking in so,” you start but Wonwoo cuts you off. 

“Do you not remember what happened last night, darling?” He asks you, and the breath in your throat is caught. 

“Last night? I-I thought that was a dream,” you mutter, still staring deeply into his eyes. 

Sighing, Wonwoo pushes the loose strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek. His thumb moves languidly against your skin while you lean into his touch even more. 

“No. It wasn’t a dream. I told you I loved you last night and I meant it,” he clarifies, earnest with his confession. 

“I love you too,” the words spill out of your mouth effortlessly, like you were meant to tell him all along. 

Grinning down at you, Wonwoo places a gentle kiss on your lips. His large hands cupping your face as he does so. 

Pulling back he smiles at you once again, satisfied with the one little peck that he had given you. But you can’t help but pout. You wanted more from him, but there was a lot to address than just the feelings you two shared last night. 

Like the dildo suctioned to your counter, for example. 

“Why are you shirtless?” you ask, starting with the first thing in front of you. 

“Because darling, you’re wearing my shirt,” answering nonchalantly as he turns back to hand you a plate of eggs and bacon. 

Oh, right. You look down at the white shirt that’s draped over your frame. Dumbfounded, you mumble a quick thanks before nibbling on the food he gave you. 

Wonwoo grips your hand, pulling you to sit down on the couch with him. You weren’t sure what else to say, opting to focus on the food in front of you instead. If there was something Wonwoo wanted to mention, you gave him the time to do so. 

“You probably don’t remember me helping you get ready for bed. You were kinda out of it once we got home,” he explains. 

With your legs crossed on the sofa, you nod, processing the information before waiting for him to continue. 

Wiping the corner of your mouth, Wonwoo’s lips are upturned into a fond smile. Your cheeks grow hot as he continues to stare. 

“Whatever happened last night wasn’t a dream. I do love you, I mean it. I want to be yours if you’ll give me a chance,” he professes. 

All while you’re sitting there eating strips of bacon and a couple of eggs. You had been mistaken to think that last night was some fever dream because this moment is more fitting. 

For anyone else, eating while Wonwoo is admitting his love for you would be odd, and out of the ordinary. But this felt natural somehow like a different version of you in some other universe has already experienced it. 

“I just want to be yours, Wonwoo.” you sigh, placing your plate on the coffee table. 

Inching closer to him, you place yourself on his lap, your hands circling his broad shoulders. Your head makes itself at home in the dip between his shoulder and neck as you breathe in his cologne. 

Lazy Sunday Morning. Your favourite. 

“I’ve always just wanted to be yours,” your voice is meek, muffled from hiding your face against his skin. 

Wonwoo’s hand rubs up and down the expanse of your back, and you relax under his touch. Completely disarmed under the daze of your subsiding headache and the steady inhale and exhale of his breath. 

Nothing else in the world matters to you when you’re in his hold. Outside disruptions are muted, the only thing that can be heard is your heart pounding within the confines of your chest. 

Pulling back from where your head was resting, you drink in Wonwoo’s every feature. The ones that you’ve memorized and the ones you’ve missed from never being this close to him. You want to know all of him, want to feel and see all of him. 

With the most delicate of motions, you place your lips over his. There’s a ruggedness to his skin, yet he feels so gentle against you all at the same time. The softness of love that you’ve never experienced before. There haven’t been many instances where you’ve got to kiss someone so deeply, yet it’s the least of your worries. All that matters to you now is Wonwoo. 

He tightens his grip on your waist, pulling you closer to him, which almost seemed impossible. But he makes it happen anyway, clutching onto you like his life depended on it. 

“Wonwoo.” Pulling away, you whimper breathlessly, wanting more and more of him. 

The sweet sounds that erupt from you cause a groan to leave his throat, crashing his lips against yours once again. The tenderness that was evident before is overtaken by the heat of lust. Like tides to an ocean, Wonwoo kisses you with full force, and you don’t care if you can barely breathe or if your heart is suddenly going into overdrive. You’d rather suffocate in his grasp than go another minute without him all over you. 

“You’re fucking perfect, darling,” Wonwoo whispers in your ear, his lips trailing down your cheek and down to your neck. 

Your head lolls with pleasure, feeling him press hot kisses against your scorching skin. Tiny licks here and there that force your eyes to roll back, you find purchase in his black locks, tugging at them in an attempt to ground yourself. 

“Be my girlfriend. Be mine, please,” Wonwoo speaks in hushed tones, his lips searing against the shell of your ear. 

You moan out, nodding your head as his hand moves down to squeeze the meat of your ass. He pulls you right onto his hardening length, your sleep shorts leaving nothing up to the imagination. The hands he has placed on your bottom forces you to drag your hips back and forth against his clothed dick. 

“Yes, I want it so bad. I wanna be yours, forever,” you sigh, mustering up enough brainpower to answer him.

Before you two could get any further the shrill of a ringtone brings you out of your lustful state. Wonwoo refuses to let you go, instead, he keeps you firmly on his lap while he answers the phone. 

You can’t help but giggle at how frustrated he looks. Eyebrows furrowed with a disappointed frown on his swollen lips. He’s still hard against you, and the thought of teasing him while he’s speaking to someone over the phone seems like a brilliant idea. 

“What do you want, Jeonghan?” Wonwoo grumbles, his hand moving under your shorts to squeeze you properly. 

While his hand massages into the fat, you kiss up his neck while rubbing yourself against his clothed cock. His voice becomes strained, attempting to cover up the sounds of pleasure he’s emitting with a cough. 

“What? You had to call me just for that?” Wonwoo seethes, yet he continues to play with your ass as he takes his call. As if you’re some type of stress ball to relieve his vexation. 

“No. She’s right beside me,” he mumbles and you perk up now that his attention is back on you. 

Grabbing the phone that he’s holding, you greet Jeonghan through the speaker. 

“Hi Hannie!” 

“Hi, beautiful. Are you down to go to my place tonight? Everyone’s coming over,” Jeonghan explains, his voice like honey. 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes at the pet names, clearly unamused by his friend's flirty personality. Without a second to waste, he dives into the skin at the base of your neck, trickling down to your exposed shoulder where the collar of his shirt fails to cover. 

“O-of course! We’ll see you later, okay?” you stutter, unable to focus with Wonwoo all over you. 

“Got it! Don’t be late, love you!” He says his goodbyes before hanging up. 

“Love you too!”

Wonwoo stops in his tracks, his eyes piercing into yours, deadly and swirling with desire. The phone in your hand is discarded somewhere on the floor before he grabs your face, pinching you with his thumb and index finger. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve baby, teasing me like that. Telling Jeonghan you love him,” Wonwoo spits, but there's amusement behind his serious tone. 

“M’sorry, I’ll make it up to you later, okay? I want to get ready for Jeonghan’s thing,” you smile at him cheekily as you release yourself from his hold. 

“Oh I’m sure you will,” he huffs, but lets you go anyway.

Acting unaffected, you get up from his lap, running to the bathroom to start a shower while you leave Wonwoo hot and bothered on the couch. You can’t help but giggle to yourself, excited for whatever awaits you later on. 

The pain and undeniable suffering you had gone through seemed like a memory of the past. The years of yearning for your best friend are nothing but another fever dream. At least you wish it was all a dream, but now that you have Wonwoo in this reality, you don’t want to let him go. 

It's almost laughable how quickly things can change overnight, it felt like yesterday you were crying yourself to sleep over Wonwoo not reciprocating your feelings, and now you have him shirtless on the couch after a very hot make-out session. 

This must be what your heart was telling you all along. This must be what was beyond the dark water of the unknown. You’re thankful you took the plunge because the risk of unveiling your true feelings has given you something undeniably saccharine in return. 

Kiss it Better. 

chapter one.

When Wonwoo met you for the first time, he couldn’t help but find you annoying. You had a habit of sticking to his side when he chose to spend time alone, but in hindsight, it brought him more joy than annoyance. 

He had always been a shy kid and preferred to sit alone at lunch playing games or reading. But when you came into his life, he realized that some company isn’t so bad after all. 

Now that he’s older, and the two of you have grown together, he wouldn’t replace your presence for anyone else. There was something about your personality that made him feel comfortable. It wasn’t long before Wonwoo found a home within you, from your bright smile to your incessant need to play Super Smash Bros each lunch period. He’s thankful he had decided to let the walls he built up come down for the sake of your friendship.

… 

It wasn’t long before the two of you arrived at Jeonghan’s apartment. The door was left unlocked for others to come and go as they pleased. Music was blasting from his surround-sound speakers. Wonwoo wasn’t sure how his friend was able to get away from noise complaints, but he decided that it wasn’t any of his business. 

The only thing he was looking forward to was the look on Seokmin’s face once he saw that you were finally his. 

Wonwoo didn’t care that it was selfish of him to arrive with you draped on his arm; he wanted everyone to know that you were off limits. He simply couldn’t wait to see the reactions that would erupt from his friends once he disclosed that he’d claimed his mark on you. 

“Wonwoo!” Jeonghan calls out for him, standing by the island pouring drinks for him and Seungcheol. 

His attention diverges, stalking over to his friends with your hand clasped in his. The small action doesn’t go unnoticed as he watches Jeonghan briefly glance over to your intertwined hands. 

The pride brewing in his chest swells, you look irresistible and he knows what awaits him later on when you two get home. But he can indulge in his fantasy later, for now, he’ll settle for admiring your beauty in a more discreet way. Which wasn’t all that methodical in retrospect, because he can’t take his eyes off you. 

Your skirt is short and the frilly lace top you’re wearing shows off your cleavage tastefully. If Wonwoo had it his way, he wouldn’t have let you out of your apartment till the sun was up the next morning. 

“Hello, beautiful. You look amazing,” Jeonghan greets you, forcing you to take your hand out of his grasp to hug your extremely flirtatious friend.

The absence of your touch irked him, but he let you go, not wanting to startle the rest of the group with his growing possessiveness. 

“Thank you, Hannie,” your voice muffles from being engulfed in Jeonghan’s arms. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Wonwoo gripes, clearly bothered with the way his friend is holding you. 

“You’re no fun,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes, before whispering something incoherent in your ear, causing a giggle to erupt from your sweet lips. 

Jeonghan lets go of you anyway, giving into Wonwoo’s sour attitude. 

“You guys just got here! Don’t tell me you’re going to be grumpy the whole time,” Jeonghan teases. 

 “I’m not grumpy, you just have grabby hands and I don’t need you all over my girlfriend for the rest of the night,” Wonwoo grumbles bitterly, taking ahold of your wrist to pull you closer to him. 

He sees the way you roll your eyes, but deep down he knows you enjoy how commanding he can become, especially with you. 

“Girlfriend huh? That’s a big word for you,” Jeonghan laughs while raising his eyebrows. 

“Jeonghan!” you gasp, amusement sparkling in your eyes. 

Wonwoo gives the two of you an irritated look before pulling you away to greet the rest of your friends. You don’t protest the way he handles you and he takes note of that. Who knew you could be so pliant, even in social situations? 

“You don’t have to worry about Jeonghan baby, you know how he is,” you murmur to him, shooting him a reassuring smile. 

“I’m not worried about him, darling,” he huffs. Jeonghan is the least of his worries. 

After what happened between you two this morning, Wonwoo can’t help but want you all for himself. God forbid you let Seokmin touch you the way he did. The mere thought of it made him feel sick. 

He understands that he shouldn’t have thoughts about you with other people, especially because he knows you haven’t dated anyone officially before. But now that you’re his, he has to make sure it stays that way.

“Okay, but still. Just relax, I'm not going anywhere,” you reassure him. 

Your gentle words and the soft squeeze you give him allow him to chill out a little more. He couldn’t help but be on high alert after what Seokmin put you through, after what he put you through. 

Wonwoo has the constant reminder that you’re both here for a good time, and even though he might not be able to hold himself back once his eyes are set on Seokmin, he continues to obey your wishes. 

Disappointment proceeds him as he feels you leave his side. Wonwoo lets go of you, allowing you to grab drinks from Jeonghan’s bar. Instead of wandering around like a loner, he sits on the couch, patiently waiting for your return. 

“Hey, Wonwoo? Do you remember me?” a girl’s voice brings him out of his thoughts. 

Turning to the person who forces themselves into the seat next to him, he frowns at her. She didn’t illuminate the room the way you did, and her voice was unpleasant to his ears. 

“No. Sorry,” he kept his response curt, not wanting to entertain the faceless stranger who was attempting to flirt with him. 

“It’s me? Josh’s friend. We met at Seokmin’s place last time,” she continued to press, and Wonwoo could feel his ears growing hot with annoyance. 

“Oh, right.”  

A hand is placed on his shoulder and he flinches away, he doesn’t want anyone but you touching him. It almost makes him want to throw up. 

“I have a girlfriend,” he quips, not wanting to prolong the interaction any longer. 

The girl beside him cackles, and Wonwoo really can’t stand the sound of her voice. 

“That’s never stopped me,” her voice lowers an octave in an attempt to sound seductive but Wonwoo feels nothing but repulsed by her very being. 

He moves further away from her, evidently angry with the way she’s coming onto him. Cursing at himself inside his mind, he should’ve never flirted with her to begin with. The puzzle pieces start to slowly align as he remembers that night at Seokmin’s place. It was that night that you went home without him, and the realization hit him like a truck. 

A part of him always wondered what moment had been your breaking point, and there she was, sitting right beside him. 

“I really don’t care,” Wonwoo doesn’t spare another glance, escaping her suffocating presence to search for you. 

Stopping in his tracks, he watches as Seokmin comes up to you, clearly apprehensive as you search Jeonghan’s fridge for a spare Diet Coke. The music is blaring, and the sheer volume of the speakers drowns out Seokmin’s voice. 

He watches as you start to notice that someone is talking to you, trying to get your attention. Wonwoo can see the pained expression in your eyes, and he can’t even blame you. Seokmin was your friend before he even met you, and he can’t even fathom the pain you’re feeling from losing someone so close to you. 

Sure, he understands the depth of your relationship with Seokmin, but that doesn’t stop the fury that is forcing its way through his veins. Smoke practically comes out of his nose and ears as he watches everything unfold before his very eyes. 

Seokmin is visibly trying to reason with you, his lips moving at lightning speed as you stand there holding your drink close to your chest. Every bone in Wonwoo’s body wants to go up to you and snatch you away as fast as possible. But he can’t help but relish in the sight of Seokmin so desperate for your attention. It’s satisfying to see your reactions morph from sorrow to anger the longer you’re frozen in your place. 

The second he sees tears beginning to well up in your eyes is the moment Wonwoo finally decides to take action. 

Marching up to you, he pulls you by the waist until you are glued to him. With a firm hand, he squeezes you tightly, staking his claim in front of Seokmin. 

“I’m sorr—,” the words Seokmin so desperately wants to say are cut off by Wonwoo’s presence. 

Wonwoo’s lips press into a thin line, gazing down at him with nothing but a look of disgust, and also triumph. Seokmin seems to realize he’s lost because he steps back slowly, shaking his head as his shoulders slouch with defeat. 

Wonwoo has won, and Seokmin can’t do anything to get in his way anymore. 

“I don’t know why you think you’re allowed to talk to her, but you should leave her alone from now on,” Wonwoo seethes, gaze unwavering. 

“Whatever man,” is all Seokmin can say before retreating into the crowd. 

Wonwoo turns you slightly, hand placed delicately on your cheek, scanning your features to make sure that you’re alright. 

“You okay darling?” he asks, before pecking your lips. 

“I’m okay. I don’t wanna be here anymore, can we go home?” you squeak, your voice faltering. 

Wonwoo hates to see you affected by someone so unimportant like Seokmin. 

He doesn’t think for another second before agreeing with your request. Bidding Jeonghan farewell while holding tightly onto your hand. Before either of you knew it, you were out the door and on the way back home. 

The unsavoury moments that happened while at Jeonghan’s place are gone with the wind as Wonwoo speeds down the road and back to your apartment. 

“Thank you for earlier, I was so in shock I couldn’t even move or speak,” you mutter, grabbing his palm and placing it on your cheek. 

Wonwoo feels your warmth and glances at you pouting as you stare out at the empty road. 

“It’s alright darling, you’re here now, that asshole is not going anywhere near you anymore,” Wonwoo reassures you as he takes your hand in his, giving you a comforting squeeze in an attempt to soothe the thoughts he knows are running through your head. 

The moment Wonwoo reaches your building, he quickly parks the car before running to the passenger side to open your door. His hand is out in front of him for you to hold while you take a step, doing everything he can to distract you from what happened.

Once the front door of your apartment closes behind him, you turn around with a cheeky smile. It almost gives him whiplash at how quickly your mood changes. 

“I didn’t peg you as the possessive type,” you remark, eyes glinting against the dim lighting of your living room lamp. 

“I'm not. But it’s different with you, darling,” he admits. 

Wonwoo rarely felt jealousy in his previous relationships, he knew he was in control either way. Although he knows how much you love him, he still finds himself peeved when someone other than him is close to you. There's a fire within him that he couldn’t extinguish, one that only you could put out. 

“You gonna give me what you promised earlier,” Wonwoo’s voice lowers an octave, crowding your smaller frame. 

He towers over you while watching the way your eyes shine over with intrigue. The image of you moaning for him is a vision he can’t erase from his mind, a vision he wishes he could replay over and over. 

“Depends. Were you jealous about Seokmin coming up to me?” you press, slender fingers tracing circles into his chest. 

Your touch felt like a crackling fire under his skin, Wonwoo’s thoughts were depleted of anything that could distract his awakening need to ravish you. 

“I think you know the answer to that already.”

Stepping closer to you, he places both his hands on your waist, pulling you in until you’re flush against him. His breath trails against your skin as he breathes you in, wanting to memorize the sweet notes of your perfume. The smell of lemon blossom and amber engulfs his senses. 

Amyris Femme. His favourite. 

You have always known how much he loves the smell of it on you. It’s simply addictive and intoxicating. Everything about you is always so sweet, from your honeyed eyes to your heavenly voice, the moans you exude dripping in sugar. From head to toe, you are everything Wonwoo’s ever wanted to indulge in, wanting to experience the high of you with all seven senses. 

He’s convinced that some higher power has sculpted you into everything he’s ever asked for. The universe had known all his preferences, and all his interests and bottled them up into one person. You. 

You. You. You. 

His.

 His darling.  

Cradling your cheek, he presses his lips against yours, truly savouring every brush of skin against yours. Drinking in your sweet scent through his taste and sense of smell. The longer the two of you stand there and make out, the more passionate it becomes. 

Wonwoo pushes himself against you even further, until he’s sure you can feel his already hardening length grow between you. 

You own him in so many ways, in ways you probably wouldn’t be able to comprehend. From his heart to his very soul, he’s yours. And he wants to show you how much of an effect you have on him. Wonwoo wants to show you how crazy you make him. 

Taking the lead, Wonwoo doesn’t relinquish his hold on you as you two slowly move to your bedroom. Opening the door while he leaves wet kisses up and down your neck with the goal of leaving marks against your delicate skin. 

“Wonwoo,” you sigh, your smaller hands gripping his biceps as he lays you down on the bed. 

Wonwoo doesn’t rush, taking his time to strip you of your clothes. His hands breeze against the bare skin of your stomach, pulling up your top along the way. Eyes zeroing in on the black lace that’s clad against your breasts, he can feel the drool starting to pool in his mouth. 

Your skirt is next, and with a hawk eye, he watches the way you lift your hips as he brings down the one thing that's obstructing him from completely devouring you. 

“Please, I wanna go faster,” you whine, squirming under his touch. 

Wonwoo refuses, he needs this moment to seep into his brain until it’s all he can see when his eyes are closed. The desperation emitting from you is almost tangible, but he can’t bring himself to waste a precious second. 

One leg after the other, and finally you’re bare, partially exposed under his body. 

Ready. Waiting. 

“I wanna savour you, darling,” Wonwoo’s baritone voice reverberates against the four walls that enclose the both of you. 

You sigh with annoyance and it only intrigues Wonwoo further. He never thought your brattiness would translate to the bedroom. How naive of him to think otherwise. Excitement courses through his veins, imagining all the fun he’s about to have with you. 

“Just fuck me please, I wanna feel you inside me,” you whisper in his ear, bringing him closer to you. 

“Holy shit, you can’t talk like that or I’ll have to give you what you want.” He groans, hooked on how sexy you sound. 

The cheeky smile you give him returns, and he’s bewitched by your beautiful features. Fully naked before him except for your bra and panties. 

Pinning you against the bed, Wonwoo regains control over his thoughts, the same thoughts that are screaming at him to take you in one go. He rebukes those sentiments, he knows what he wants. 

He knows what you need. 

“But I wanna know what it’s like. I know you wanna fuck me, so just do it.” 

Wonwoo almost loses his vision with the mere utterance of your words. How much of a nymph do you become once you’re horny? Something about the way you speak is so saccharine, putting him in a trance. You could force him into murdering someone with that tone, and he would do it with a smile on his face.

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that, baby,” his voice strains, the control he once had starting to lose itself within your lustful gaze. 

Thinking of ways to stop you from saying anything more, he rips your panties off in one go. Nimble fingers graze against your plush thighs, squeezing and pinching where he can. 

The whimper you let out is nothing but music to his ears. Seeing you desperate for his touch causes him to focus on his end goal. He wants you to unravel before him, deflowering you till you’re fucked out and panting his name. 

As he spreads your legs, he can’t help but allow his nose to trail against your inner thighs, inhaling the scent of your body emitted under the heat of his touch. He doesn’t stop until he’s at the apex of your sex, glasses fogged while the bridge of his nose is rubbing against your skin. 

Wonwoo finally allows himself to dive in. Ripping the frames off his face, teasing your folds with wet, hot kisses. He repeats his actions till you're moaning deliriously under him. 

“W-Wonwoo, please, fuck,” you cry out while he watches your hole clenching around nothing. 

One of the hands that was holding your thighs down moves to your entrance, teasing you before he slowly inserts a finger inside you. Your head hits the pillows while your eyes are screwed shut, and Wonwoo relishes in your pleasure. 

“God you’re so fucking tight, so wet,” Wonwoo mutters before licking at your clit. 

Nothing is more euphoric than hearing you struggle to contain yourself. His boner getting harder to ignore as the juices from your pussy squelch with every thrust of his finger. 

“Is that what you do when you touch yourself? Using your fingers to fuck this tiny hole?” He asks even though he knows you won’t be able to answer. 

You’re too busy twitching from his hands on you, gripping onto the sheets to the point the threads look like they’re about to tear. 

Wonwoo takes your silence as an answer before fully engulfing your cunt in his mouth. Practically making out with your pussy lips, he licks and rubs your sensitive heat till you writhe against him. 

“You taste so good darling,” he mutters before taking a deep inhale of your musk, “no one’s ever touched you like this huh?” 

“N-no. Just you,” you squeak. 

“Good girl.” 

Hooking your legs over his shoulders, his free hand moves up your body till he’s able to grope at your breasts. The feeling of the lace covering your pert nipples motivates him to make you cum faster. 

Your body vibrates within his hold while he resumes eating you out. Dipping his tongue into your entrance as his thumb goes to rub your clit in sharp circles. He can feel your abdomen retract from his actions. You're close. 

It’s only a matter of time before your juices begin to pour out of your pussy, flooding his mouth with sweet nectar. Wonwoo fully believes he could get drunk from the taste of your cum, the liquid gold dripping down his chin as he slurps and nips at your puffy bundle of nerves. 

“This pussy is mine,” he concludes, slapping your dripping core. 

Eyes drunk with lust, he smiles up at you. A smirk filled with pride as you’re left twitching against the mattress. Hair displaced against the pillowcases, skin glistening under the nebulous light of your lamp. 

Your room is filled with the aroma of sex and sweat, your chest heaving up and down as you come down from your high. Wonwoo’s length straining against his pants, he can’t neglect his need to fuck you for any second longer. 

Laying there, winded from your orgasm, he lets you watch him as he removes the clothes covering his body until there’s nothing left. Wonwoo’s abs and muscular arms flex as he releases himself from his tight pants. He clasps his palm around his cock, rubbing himself while staring down at your fucked out state. Grunts erupt from his throat while he rubs the bead of pre cum dripping down his tip. 

You stare at him, eyes lidded, before sitting up to take off your last piece of clothing. Your breasts bounce as you release them from the confines of your bra. The tip of your fingers graze your nipples, playing with them while Wonwoo stands over you, stroking himself. 

He’s so in deep, it’s the first time in a long time that he’s felt like he’s about to combust in seconds. He hasn’t even been inside of you yet, but he knows he could cum untouched at just the sight of you playing with yourself in front of him. 

“Will you fuck me now? Wanna feel you cum inside me,” you plead with doe eyes, your other hand coming down to your heat. 

He watches you insert a finger in yourself, pumping in and out, matching the rhythm of his movements. 

Before you can let out another sound of delight, Wonwoo halts whatever he’s doing to flip you around. With you on your stomach, he focuses all his attention on your plump ass. Groping you with rough palms, and your hips fly off the bed to give him better access. 

Retracting his hand, he comes down to you even harder. The slap on your skin echoes throughout your room. You squeak but he can see the juices starting to gush out of your pussy. 

Fuck, Wownoo is obsessed. Obsessed with your neediness, obsessed with the way your ass jiggles with every strike he lands on you. He simply can’t wait to be inside you, engulfed in the heat of your tight walls. 

“Hngh, Wonwoo!” you almost scream, your voice becoming nasally every time he hits you. 

The hand marks on your soft skin drive him crazy, and he knows that if he doesn’t fuck you soon, he’ll cum prematurely. 

“What a needy little thing. You want it that bad huh?” he taunts, spreading your ass cheeks, watching the wetness drip down to your thighs. 

“Please, take me please,” you continue to beg, your voice level as you stare at him over your shoulder. 

Your hips cant back and forth, waving your tight pussy in front of him. Enticing him to fuck you. 

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” Wonwoo grunts, slapping your sopping hole. 

Jerking forward, you let out a salacious moan, eyebrows furrowing as you slump back down onto the bed. 

“I’m being so patient, baby. Just stick your cock in me please,” you fuss, lifting your hips again. 

Wonwoo sighs, turning you over once again so you’re on your back. 

“You’re lucky I love you,” he grunts, grabbing your legs and pulling you towards him. 

Sitting on his haunches, he spreads you out, getting the perfect view of your glistening entrance. Taking his dick in his hand, he rubs the tip against your folds. You match his thrusts, moving up as he envelopes the underside of his length between your soaking lips. The sounds emitting from your bodies connecting is sinful and Wonwoo’s jaw goes slack, finally feeling your heat against his manhood. 

“God, this pussy.” 

“Wonwoo, fuck me,” you whimper, grabbing his biceps to pull him against you. 

Engulfing you into a heated kiss, he continues to slide his cock along your slit. The sheer wetness of your pussy lubricates him enough to move with a rushed pace. He’s not even inside you yet and he’s already starting to feel that knot form in his lower stomach. 

“You gonna be a good girl? Show me how bad you want this cock inside you?” he whispers, lips brushing along your own. 

“Yes. fuck yes,” you pant breathlessly. 

Slotting his arm between the two of you, he finally aligns his length with your entrance. He can feel you trying to get him inside you, thrusting up slightly to try and catch the tip so it pushes into your awaiting heat. 

But before you can get away with your tricks, he slaps your thighs. Wonwoo’s large hand presses you down firmly before you can get any further. 

“Liar. You said you were gonna be a good girl,” he spits, “don’t get impatient or I'm gonna leave you lying here without cumming again.” 

You pout at his words. Your cheeks are hot, and your eyes are teary. The things you make him feel, it’s unmatched. 

“Gonna breed this little cunt till you're stuffed full,” he groans, finally inserting his dick inside your heat. 

The gasp you let out is high-pitched. And Wonwoo’s head falls against the space within the dip of your shoulder. His hands are firm against your waist, thrusting into you until he’s fully sheathed in your pussy. Being inside you was like dipping into molten lava, the heat of your cunt enveloping him with such a tight grip he almost faints upon entering you.  

“How are you so tight?” Wonwoo curses. “You feel so good, baby.” 

He didn’t expect you to be gripping his cock like this. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. Your pussy is made for him with how snugly he fits inside you. 

“It’s so big, fuck!” you moan, breathing heavily. 

Wonwoo doesn’t give you enough time to adjust to his length, even though he should. Blinded by searing hot pleasure, he begins to pound in and out of you. Skin slapping as his thrusts become erratic. With eyes rolling to the back of your head, you pull at his strands of hair and he groans at the pain that mixes with the high your cunt gives him. 

At that moment, Wonwoo concludes that he doesn’t want anyone but you. For as long as he can, he wants to be the only one to fuck you, to give you orgasm after orgasm. Until you're spent and in and out of consciousness, he wants to be the only one who can make you feel this way. 

As if a curse is placed on him, your phone buzzes against your nightstand. Seokmin’s contact is on clear display for both of you to see. Wonwoo ceases his movements, sitting up and grabbing your phone from the nightstand. 

“Answer it,” he speaks firmly. 

“What?” 

“You heard me. Answer it and show him I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.” 

There’s a flash of panic in your eyes, but Wonwoo knows you’ll obey his wishes anyway. He knows how deeply you’ve fallen for him. You can’t refuse him despite the compromising circumstances, and he’ll continue to use it to his advantage. 

Length still buried to the hilt inside you, you swipe at your phone to answer. Wonwoo presses the speaker button before resuming his rushed pace. Bullying your hole while you attempt to at least seem coherent enough to answer Seokmin. 

“Seokmin?” You whisper, trying your best to conceal the moans that are threatening to slip past your lips. 

“Hey. I just wanted to call and say sorry about earlier. That was stupid of me—,” Seokmin attempts to get his apology in but he’s cut off by your moans. 

Wonwoo slaps your clit while thrusting inside you, his length enveloped in your velvety walls. 

“You okay?” Seokmin asks you, and Wonwoo’s satisfied by the scene in front of him. 

You’re flustered and trying your best not to reveal that you’re being fucked hard by your boyfriend, while your ex-friend is trying to reconnect with you. Key word, trying. 

“Tell him you don’t want to ever see him again,” Wonwoo grunts out as he continues to fill you up deliciously, thrusting inside you hard enough that Seokmin could probably hear it over the phone. 

“Fuck! Wonwoo! ‘M sorry Seokmin, but I don’t want you to talk to me anymore. Please, don’t contact me again.” Whimpers escape your lips and Seokmin stutters over the speaker. 

Wonwoo knows that Seokmin is aware of what’s happening on your side of the phone call. The line goes dead the moment you utter your last words to him. 

“Bet you liked that huh? You like it when I show everyone that you’re mine?” Wonwoo emphasizes while he continues to push past your entrance. 

“Yes. Shit,” you mewl out, clenching your walls against his thick cock. 

The ridges of your pussy massage Wonwoo in the most perfect way. Throwing his head back the slightest bit, he watches how his dick moves in and out of you. The creamy ring of your mixed juices pooling at the end of his hardness only arouses him further. 

“You gonna let me cum inside you?” Wonwoo questions, not to ask, but to make sure you’re prepared to feel his seed seeping into you. 

“Mhm. I wanna feel you fill me up,” you let out a breathy moan. 

Tossing you onto your stomach, Wonwoo pulls out and grapples you into the position he wants you in. Clutching onto your hips, he sits on his heels while forcing you onto his thighs. Your back against his chest, head lazing back onto his shoulder while Wonwoo’s muscular bicep wraps around your neck, placing you into a headlock. 

Entering your abused cunt once again, he assaults your pussy with enough force and strength to send you into another dimension. Wonwoo bounces you on his cock and you’re screaming his name at this point. His balls slap against your ass cheeks, while the juices from your hole drip down and onto his thighs. 

“I-I’m gonna cum,” you wail, your walls spasming. 

Wonwoo's balls retract while your pussy pulsates, your cum coating his dick. He pumps into you one more time until his sticky release fills your walls. The flood of semen overflowing while his red tip kisses your cervix, holding you firmly in place as he continues to cum inside you. 

“Hmph, it’s so good. Your cock feels so good,” your words are slurred as Wonwoo releases you from the headlock. 

Body slumping over, you push your ass in the air, giving Wonwoo the most delectable view of his cum overflowing past the lips of your bruised cunt. The thick white substance comes out in globs as you lay down with your legs spread. 

Wonwoo can feel the twitch in his cock, almost coming back to life as he watches your little pussy push out his cum. 

“You were so good darling, so good for me,” he mutters, kissing your temple as you lay there spent and exhausted. 

“Fucking love you and your big cock,” you mutter, turning around to kiss him passionately. 

Pride blooms within his chest, knowing he was your first. The elation Wonwoo feels is comparable to when you confessed your love for him. 

He’s finally won. You’re his, and he can’t wait to show you how much he loves you every chance he gets. Not only by fucking your brains out but also with dates and random acts of affection. He can’t wait to show you off, to let the world know that you’re his best friend and girlfriend. 

“Gonna clean you up okay? Then we can take a shower,” he imparts, wrapping you up in your blankets so you don’t get cold. 

“Wonwoo?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

“I love you,” you call out, smiling at him lazily, your eyes tired but full of fondness. 

“I love you, too.” 

…

Wonwoo woke up that morning feeling refreshed. The sunlight beaming down on him through your curtains. Your nude body is pressing into him. He loves how he can observe you so closely, taking note of every line and freckle on your skin. The rays of the sun hit you, causing your skin to glow beautifully. Your breath steady as you sleep peacefully, curled against his side. 

Wonwoo doesn’t know how long he was lying there admiring you and how gorgeous you are, but his excitement spiked when you began to stir. 

“Good morning darling,” he whispers wistfully in your ear. 

The smile that tugs along your lips makes his heart flutter, and he swears he’s never felt this whole in so long. He can’t remember the last time he felt happiness in its true form. The closest thing that made him experience this type of joy was that night in his bedroom watching NANA with you when you two were still in high school. 

“Morning,” your voice is sickly sweet, enough to have him grinning at such early hours in the day. 

Shifting from your spot, you prop yourself up using your forearms, hair moves swiftly with your movements.

“Sleep well?” 

There’s a shy smile on your face, eyes twinkling with the sunlight, and Wonwoo can only presume that it was you recollecting the memories of last night. 

“The best,” you mumble, leaning in to peck his lips. 

What was meant to be an innocent peck turns into something more heated. Wonwoo grabs you so you’re sitting on his lap, a squeak erupting from your throat as he manhandles you. 

“Wonwoo!” you yelp, slapping his bare chest. 

He doesn’t respond to your dumbstruck reaction, instead, he continues to kiss you, harder than before. That morning he woke up a victim to morning wood, and the only way he could even fathom relieving himself was to fuck you senseless. 

The angle he has you in is sinful, your bare cunt rubbing against his length, his hands firm on your hips, rubbing your folds against the underside of his cock. 

Your head is thrown back, submitting to the pleasure that Wonwoo continues to give you. Removing his hands, he lets you move on your own accord while he focuses on your breasts. His large hands squeeze the flesh, pinching your nipples till your eyebrows are strewn tight. 

“Oh fuck…,” your voice trails, your head coming down, entranced by how Wonwoo’s hardness slides between your pussy lips. 

Wonwoo groans, trying his best not to cum from how wet you’ve become from a little bit of foreplay. It almost feels like he’s still dreaming, watching your hips sway against him. The fuzzy feeling in his brain doesn’t cease, the same fuzziness he felt last night while you were under him, screaming his name. 

“You like that, huh?” He mutters against your skin, trailing kisses all over your chest. 

The same hands that were fondling your round breasts come down to your ass, lifting you. There is a whine that leaves you, and Wonwoo can feel your disappointment from the loss of contact. 

The whine you let out dies quickly as Wonwoo forces you down on his erect cock, pushing your hips till you’ve fit the whole thing inside you. The breath is knocked out of his throat as your warm walls welcome him back into your heat. Being inside you is life-changing, his hand dull in comparison to the feeling your tight hole gives him. 

“So big,” is all you can say. 

“Wanna see you ride me, baby,” he breathes out, trying to centre himself so he doesn’t spurt his cum inside you before you even get to move. 

Your fingers dig into the skin on his shoulders, and slowly, you lift yourself off him before slamming back down. Wonwoo grunts at your speed, not expecting you to use so much force. 

“Shit. Slow down darling,” he sputters, trying to control the way you're bouncing furiously on him. 

“I don’t wanna, it feels too good,” you pout, staring down at him with the most lewd expression. 

Your jaw goes slack, panting for him like a dog in heat. He can feel your walls clench with each stride you take and the words he had on the tip of his tongue evaporate into thin air. He knows if he allows you to continue he won’t be able to savour you on top of him. 

Instead of flipping you on your back, Wonwoo’s arms wrap around you, bringing you close to his chest. His feet are planted firmly against the mattress, he holds you tightly before fucking up into your delicious cunt. 

“This pussy is fucking mine,” he growls, emphasizing his words with each thrust. 

“Baby, I-I can’t, I wanna cum,” you sob, tears of pleasure running down your cheeks. 

“Cum for me darling, give it to me,” and as if on command, you do exactly that. 

Wonwoo’s palms drift to your ass, spreading your cheeks, squeezing them tight as he forces you to match his pace. Almost blinded by the sheer pleasure, he pumps into you a few more times before his semen floods your insides, thick and warm, it mixes with the nectar dripping from your heat. As he releases, he keeps his hands firmly on your waist, plugging you to ensure none of his cum spills out. 

The two of you lay like that for a while, catching your breath after Wonwoo had fucked your brains out. Again. In all honesty, he’s convinced that he’ll never get tired of fucking you. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow,” you sigh, voice muffled as you rest along the slope of his shoulder. 

“So we can’t go again?” Wonwoo asks, feigning innocence, “Hey! Ow!” 

The playful slap you give him on his bicep stings as he chuckles at your wordless response. 

“No more,” you refuse his request. 

“Oh, Wonwoo! You’re so big!” he imitates your voice from earlier, teasing you until you beg him to stop. 

Propping yourself up, his flaccid cock slips out of you, the cum spilling onto his abdomen. 

“You fucker!” you hit his chest again and Wonwoo erupts into a fit of laughter. 

“Oh baby, this pussy is mine.” Your voice lowered in multiple octaves, copying the words he spoke out of lust, “Not so funny now, is it?” 

Wonwoo continues to crack up at your embarrassed state, eyes turning to slits as he tries to calm himself down. 

“Actually, it’s pretty funny,” he attests, grabbing your chin to kiss your cheek. 

“Fine. I won’t say anything while we’re doing it anymore.” You complain, but he knows you secretly love it. 

Wonwoo quirks an eyebrow up at you, in love with your playful side. Still sitting on his lap naked while you’re bickering with him is just as hot as you riding him with your boobs in his face. 

“That wouldn’t stop me,” he shrugs, pretending to act nonchalant. 

The best part of fucking you is how vocal you are, and it drives him insane. 

“Whatever you horny loser,” you roll your eyes. 

Grabbing your arms he pulls you down against him again, kissing your neck, and he can feel you relax under his touch. 

“Says the one who has a massive dildo in their drawer,” he whispers in your ear before falling back onto the mattress, chuckling at your dumbfounded state. 

“I’ve already told you! It was a gift from June and it's unused,” you huff, emphasizing the word unused. 

“Sure it is,” he drawls, not convinced. 

“I'm serious! I literally took it out of the box before beating you with it.” 

“Whatever you say, darling,” he snickers before enveloping you in his arms, “let’s use it next time, yeah?” 

For the rest of the day, you both lay there, talking about the most random things after a long but steamy shower. With fresh sheets on the bed, the atmosphere is filled with nothing but warmth and utter joy. 

This past month or two has been a whirlwind of realizations. Realizations that have shifted the world around him into something beautiful. If someone had told him at the beginning of the school year that he would find a new meaning of love in you, he would’ve laughed with disbelief. But now that you’re here, sitting beside him with the most angelic smile on your face, he recognizes just how much comfort a single person can bring. Not even the fresh air that breezed through his fingers or the scent of the salty water misting its way onto the shore while he visited his hometown could outweigh the feeling of tranquillity that he got when he was with you.

Even though he regrets not confronting his feelings for you sooner, he can’t find a reason to complain. Everything had fallen into place, and for the first time since he was seventeen, he realized that the one person he was searching for was in front of him this whole time. 

epilogue. 

freshman year of university. 

[8:56 p.m.]  [you: raval tonite w junepi and the others?]  [wons <3: yeah but can we leave early? i wanna play league after :)]  [you: is this u tryna get out of drinking by being my dd?]  [wons <3: maybe] [you: fineee but we leave at 12] [wons <3: anything for u darling]  [you: darling?]  [wons <3: u like it?]  [you: yes!! its cute hehe]  [wonwoo has changed your nickname to “darling <3”] 

the end.

⊹ a/n: thank you for reading this story! this thing is my baby and i would love to hear your thoughts :) i appreciate everyone who took their time reading it because i poured my whole heart into it :") thank you again and see you in the next fic ♡ please rmbr to reblog and share your thoughts :3 it motivates me to continue writing stories like these for u ♡

[sam-out-of-energy]

I'm back writing more fic for kefs mecha jazz AU but as texaid has taken over me as of currrent thats what im writin! Just some silly guys and some silly tings, vortex being a weird character yanno :D i went for a bit of a spooky vibe but lmk what ya'll think

Tw for gore i guess? Its not that detailed, but just in case

-------

First Aid- er, Felix, didn't even bother to ask how he'd gotten here. So much had happened since that faithful day he'd been assigned to clean the mecha- er- to clean Vortex.

Thats what this thing liked to call itself apparently. Felix had taken into habit to ignore the text on screens flashing in his face, but when he'd done that the thing had started speaking in his head instead.

So they communicated through screens.

"Dance with me First Aid" it asked, over and over and over again.

When they were deployed, Felix did his darndest to avoid touching the controls. And he didn't have to try too hard as this mecha would move and control itself just fine, slicing and dicing enemies left to right with it's blades.

Felix was a silent observer to the mechas insane violence, but something about it kept him watching. Maybe it was the numbness he already felt towards corpses, but his morbid curiosity peaked whenever he watched Vortex through Vortex's eyes.

Vortex would tease Felix to its hearts content (did it even have a heart? Something equivalent to that anyway), asking him if he was "enjoying the show", wiggling the controls in front of Felix like holding a bone up to a dog.

Felix knew better than to fall for tricks. He knew that every other pilot who had come before him had perished way earlier just by merely pressing one button. He was not about to face the same fate.

Not...until today.

He hadn't had time to think of another solution.

An enemy had caught them unarmed and for the first time ever, knocked Vortex down. No, not even knocked, slammed Vortex down. Hard enough for Felix to feel it.

Sytems fried, a loud buzzing in the back of his head and now, Felix staring up at an alien being, holding a sword over his- Vortex's- their head.

Felix had called for his mecha to wake, but when there wasn't a single stirr in Vortex's body, he'd been forced to grab the controls himself, catching the enemy by suprise and stabbing Vortex's blade through its chest.

The mecha rose at First Aids command. Felix felt his face lift to a grin, something stirring within himself he'd not felt before.

"Haha! Yes!" He squealed almost unintentionally before lifting the blade and pointing it up at the remaining enemies.

"Let's dance!!"

-

Felix sat at the controls. He'd driven the other all the way back to base before he'd shut down the power and just...sat for a while. He'd maybe felt a bit too connected to the mecha. The blood and gore in Vortex's hands had felt so real...too real for Felix's comfort.

He'd sat for long enough before realizing that Vortex stirred. He heard the buzz of systems coming online, the growl of an engine.

"Vortex?" He mumbled, catching himself out of his own daze of thoughts.

Then, the head shook, twisting violently enough to send Felix, unstrapped, falling and tumbling out of his seat.

He sat up quickly. He felt eyes watching him, coldness falling upon the cockpit and then...something dripped on him.

Felix looked up, before looking back to the maw of the beast (the entrance hatch). He saw blood, dripping and soon cascading down from under panels and cracks.

He felt his gut stirr as he quickly rose to his feet, stumbling when he saw blood cover the floor.

"What the fuck-"

He quickly became keenly aware of the space he was now trapped in. The dangerously sharp blades of the fans stirring on the walls, ones he'd picked plenty of fingers out of. The sharp edges of the panels on the roof, somehow able to catch guts, flesh and viscera hanging off the edges.

The floor of the cockpit, now seemingly flooding with blood, staining Felix's suit.

"I'm...sorry? Vortex. I'm sorry." He found himself suddenly speaking. Perhaps it was fright that had forced him to stand still, not sure if the visceral bits of skin and body parts he saw on the walls were real or not.

What the hell?! This thing itself had been begging him to use the controls! Now it was..punishing him for it?

Panic settled in Felix's mind without him even thinking too hard. He had to run, he had to escape.

And that he..tried. Bright red screens watched First Aid back further and further from the entrance, pressing against the wall of the cockpit. No way he could get out the right way, he'd be crushed before he could get through one hatch.

Felix suddenly felt a sharp pain. He twisted and jumped back from the wall, looking down to see what looked like some sort of hook that had sprung out and stabbed into his thigh. (A gap in between his armour).

He let out a painsoaked grunt, pressing a palm over the bleeding spot (He wasnt sure if it was his own blood or not).

A thought came to him. The only other route of escape. Felix limped to the control panel and almost found himself gagging at a pair of hands, torn from the wrists, hanging off of it, rigor mortis the only thing keeping them gripping to the edge of the panel. Everything stank of blood and rust.

He pressed the emergency exit button and turned when he saw a hatch open at the back.

Upon approaching, Felix found that it was just a...chute. An opening at the back of the head that slid down and then opened at the bottom to reveal a fall that was...god knows how long. Vortex was tall.

Felix bit the bullet, grabbing onto the small nooks and cracks inside the chute before starting to climb.

He'd managed to descend about halfway before realizing what kind of a situation he'd just put himself in. Like a prey animal running into a corner, driving itself into the worst possible situation out of sheer panic to escape. The predator had only needed to watch and wait.

Felix let out a stressed "No!" When he saw the hatch below slam shut. The slam of a hatch above made him lose his grip and fall down.

-

It was pitch black, the only illumination inside the escape chute being the small red LEDs lining its walls.

Felix's heart beat louder than the entire mecha. He felt his pulse rush, cold sweat coming down his back.

"Vortex, please"

He called out.

Ch-THUNK!

A hatch slammed shut above him.

Felix's eyes widened at the imminent danger approaching.

Ch-THUNK!

"Vortex" he choked up. He didn't want to die like this. God help the poor sap who would have to dig his crushed and dismantled corpse out of the mechas escape chute.

Ch-THUNK!

Ch-THUNK!

CH-THUNK!

"Vortex!!" He screamed one last time.

It was silent. Felix found himself screaming for a lot longer than he thought.

He

He wasn't dead?

His eyes opened. He was still in darkness, pressed back as down as he could be, against the emergency chute. One last hatch closed barely above his head, upon trying to lift himself, he'd bumped his helmet into it.

Felix then found that he was falling in the blink of an eye as the chute opened again. He couldn't muster out anymore screams, landing on something before he had time to process that he'd fallen in the first place.

A hand. A giant mechanical hand, slowly lifting and bringing him up to a terrifyingly familiar face and then to a dearly familiar scaffolding.

Felix took no hesitation to jump off the hand and land on the scaffolding, stumbling and turning to look back at the giant mecha infront of him.

He panted, falling to his knees when he caught solid ground, watching the bright red glow of the mechas visor.

He turned down to feel his body, his hands trembling from the afterburn of adrenaline. He took off his helmet to feel the cool air brushing over all his senses.

He was alive. His thigh was hurting, but he was alive.

Felix heard a thunk, lifting his head to see that the visor had dimmed. Inside, a bright red glow of a tv screen.

"Did you enjoy it"

it asked, the words read out by a voice inside Felix's head for him. Then the text changed and so did the voices tone, from a mechanical one to sounding more....amused.

"See you tomorrow, First Aid"

[plethorawrites]

"Haven't I given enough?"

Character: Jason Todd x Reader

Content: Hurt with comfort

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: First post?!? I've written a few of these and published them anonymously on AO3 but figured I'd give it a shot on here as well.

Jason was troubled. It was a label that others had branded him with, but one he never tried to deny either. He thought it was true. He was screwed up, his body marked by years of scars and his mind equally as traumatized with the kind of scars you couldn’t see but definitely knew were there. It didn’t mean he couldn’t be kind or gentle, especially to you, but sometimes, the only way he really knew how to cope was through doing something physical.

At first, that was running, or hitting something. Even going to the salvage yard outside of town to scream for a while. That’s what he had always done when things got really bad. Then, slowly he realized you’d be there and you could take him. Literally. You could tolerate him fucking all his stress out through you. Using you.

Sometimes he felt bad about it, but you always seemed so sure that it was okay. That even if he happened to leave bruises (like he usually did) they never hurt too bad. You enjoyed too, so he kept doing it. Not often, just on the particularly bad nights.

Nights like the one he just had.

When he slammed the door shut behind him all the lights were off in the apartment and he was worried you might have been asleep. He really hated the idea of waking you up, but God, he was so...unexplainably upset. Angry, frustrated, sad in ways his mind couldn’t quite comprehend.

His mind was a mess and to be completely honest, he was so worked up he couldn’t figure out what to do. Kicking something, screaming, maybe crying. No, definitely not crying. Even if he could feel a few tears pricking in the back of his eyes he choked them down, refuses to let them fall. Instead, he walked towards the bedroom, just hoping you were still awake.

You were, of course. But even if you had been asleep, the door slamming would have woken you up.

He pushed the door open and his expression immediately softened upon seeing you, sitting up in bed, wearing one of his shirts.

“You’re home late,” you remarked, closing your—his—book and setting it on the nightstand. “Did something happen?”

He knew you knew something was wrong. You could always tell. But you were too nice to outright tell him how shitty he looked and instead sat up even further, causing some of your hair to fall over your shoulder, grazing your collarbone.

“Nothing I want to talk about,” Jason replied. He hated talking about his feelings in general, but would do it occasionally, under the right circumstances. These were not them.

He kicked his shoes off by the bedroom door and started pulling his clothes off as he walked towards the bed, dropping his gloves on the floor alongside his pants and the rest of his things. He could see the shift in your demeanor; you knew what he wanted. To forget, to let you take away all of his anger and pain so he didn’t have to deal with it for the night. He wanted to get lost in you and forget about how bad everything hurt. Physically and emotionally.

He sat on the bed, instantly reaching for your face, pulling you towards him, kissing you harshly. His teeth scraped yours, noses bumping against each other as the tightness of his shoulder’s coiled further, the action seeming to make things worse. Still, he didn’t stop.

Jason pressed his other hand to the back of your head, pushing himself further into you as your hands instinctively began to roam his abdomen. “Bad night?” you mumbled just before he bit down on your lip, tearing a bit of skin.

“Bad night,” he responded succinctly, grabbing your waist, squeezing it tightly. His head was a jumble of loud thoughts, for some reason harder to ignore than usual but he kept trying.

Reaching for the bottom of your shirt, he pulled it up over your head you let him. To his dismay, you had a bra on under it, and panties too.

Wrapping your arms around his neck as he laid you down on the pillows, his body pressing into yours firmly as your lips locked again for a moment. Jason kissed down your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin eliciting a gasp.

For a split-second, the voices were quiet. They always were when he heard you moaning and whimpering or saying his name over and over. The pain always stayed though, but usually he could tolerate it if he just focused on the motions, on pushing you as deep into the mattress as possible, on rutting his hip into yours until he physically ached from something other than sore bones and old scars.

His hands groped the soft flesh of your waist and hips as he tugged at the top of your underwear, his hand slipping inside.

Jason froze.

His hand still in your underwear, his lips paused against your neck, breathing heavily as the heavy silence made his ears ring.

That had never happened before. Ever. But in that moment, he couldn’t think, couldn’t move.

He couldn’t do this with you, not tonight.

Quickly, he removed his hand, pushing himself off you until he was sitting up. He couldn’t breathe. The room suddenly felt a lot smaller than he always remembered it being. Had it always been so cramped? Or this hot, for that matter. Did you turn the heater up tonight?

Jason swallowed, his throat feeling dry and heart hammering in his chest. “I- I’m sorry,” he apologized as he got up. “I need to get some water.”

“Wait a minute-” you sat up as quickly as he had, grabbing his wrist. You knew he could easily pull away, but he didn’t. He didn’t turn to face you either, though. “What’s wrong?”

Jason’s chest heaved as he tried to breathe, it felt tight, it ached. He hated it. “I just can’t do that tonight,” he managed to say.

He remained—mostly—calm as he kept his eyes glued to the floor. He hated to envision the look on your face. Was it confusion? Was it anger? Something worse, like pity? He didn’t know which of those options seemed preferable.

“Okay,” you agreed easily, tugging on his wrist lightly. “We don’t have to do anything,” you assured him. “Just come lay down.”

He shook his head, swallowing again, his heart still thumping rapidly. “No- no I have stuff to do, I—”

“Jay,” you said calmly, the sound of his voice soothing him slightly. “You’ve been working all night and it’s late. Just lay down.”

Jason bit the inside of his cheek as he stared at the ground. He could feel it, the tears pricking in his eyes again. It had been like that all night and each time he kept pushing them down and now he heard your voice, so gentle and sweet and it made them reappear again.

He took a deep breath. You wouldn’t let this go. If he left the room, you’d follow him and stand with him in the kitchen while he drank his water. He didn’t want that. He wanted this day to be over as soon as humanly possible.

But... “I’m not tired,” was all that came out of his mouth.

Exhaling, Jason turned around, barely able to look at you. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you with your haired messed up and your neck covered in two or three small bruises on your neck, your chest falling and rising as you caught your breath as well.

Should he hand your shirt back? Apologize again? Leave?

Before he could decide, you were sitting up onto your knees, reaching for him, trying to pull him back towards the bed. Back towards you. He reluctantly let himself be moved, taking a heavy step closer, then another. He sat back down, his gaze falling to the blanket.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, even though you both knew it was futile. He shook his head, his jaw clenched tightly to remind himself to keep it together. At least in front of you. You held his hand, your thumb swiping over the back of his knuckle as you nodded slowly, taking your other hand and placing it on his shoulder. “Just lay down,” you suggested.

Jason nodded and tried to move to his side of the bed, but you wouldn’t let go of his hand. Instead, you gently pulled him forward, laying back down, insisting he follow. He hovered above you, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to hurt you.

“Lay down,” you repeated gently, your eyes softening even more.

“I don’t wanna crush you,” Jason confessed.

“You won’t,” you assured him.

He hesitantly lowered himself down, pressing more and more of his body weight against you. He could feel the mattress dipping as he did. He’d pushed you into it plenty of times, but not like this.

With his entire body weight on top of you, he exhaled, propping his chin on your chest, staring at you for a few seconds, not quite sure where else to look or what else to do with his hands or legs.

You fixed that.

Jason could feel you tangle your legs with his, wrapping your arms around him, one of your hands finding the locks of his hair to fuss with while the other traced random shapes on his shoulder.

Suddenly, the heat from before that felt like it was suffocating him evaporated, replaced by the warmth of your bare skin against him. He carefully wrapped his arms around you. He’d sure they would go numb soon, after all his entire weight, plus yours were laying on top of them now that they were under your back.

He wondered if that was uncomfortable for you, if maybe he should pull them away and just with them by his sides but before he could ask your hand was tugging at his hair, gently pressing his face into your neck. Not to kiss or mark it. Just to lay there, to breathe you in and hold you.

“I’ve got you,” you promised him, running your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly.

Jason nuzzled your neck slightly, inhaling deeply, the scent of you filling his senses. Before he knew what was happening, the tears in his eyes started to fall without warning.

He didn’t have the chance to fight them at first, a few dampening your neck, but the second he realized what was happening he pulled away, pressing his forehead against the valley of your breasts while taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. “Sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. The sound was so pathetic it made him hate himself even more.

You shushed him gently, still playing with his hair as your other hand laid flat on his back. “It’s okay,” you assured. “You’re okay.”

That was the final straw, the supportive tone of your voice broke the dam he had built and his tears started to fall as he shook his head. “I’m not okay,” he confessed, his words spoken into your skin. “Nothing is okay.”

Your heart broke for him, feeling his grip on you tighten even more. You let your hand fall from his hair, wrapping around him, trying to pull him closer or at the very least keep him from leaving like you knew he was contemplating doing.

What could you say that would help? Nothing seemed good enough, so you just let him bury his face in your chest, holding him as he shook from the tears, muttering apologies and words of self-deprecation.

“I’m right here,” you swore. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. Not to me.”

Each word you spoke was like a dagger to his chest, the soft reassurance and whispered praise mixed with how firm your grip on him was made his chest swell as all the pain he refused to let himself feel hit him all at once with an overwhelming force.

Jason hated the burning in his chest, the sting in his eyes, the weakness he felt. Most of all, he hated feeling all of this in front of you. But more than that, he refused to pull away or deprive himself of your touch. He needed it to damn badly. It was the only thing keeping him afloat most days.

“It hurts,” he told you. “So badly. All the time.”

Your arms tightened around him again as you tried to keep yourself from crying with him, the sound of his sobs escaping making your heart hurt more with each failed attempt to make himself stop.

“Let it,” you breathed, resting your jaw on the top of his head as he hid his face in your breasts. “Just for tonight.”

Feeling the pain seemed like a foreign concept to him, but you made it sound so appealing, to just let himself feel weak. Just this once. Just for tonight. He could do that. The only reason why was because you were holding him, comforting him as the pain in his chest grew and grew until he was nearly hyperventilating.

Once again, you were shushing him, your hand softly stroking his hair. “Breathe,” you murmured, inhaling deeply, hoping he could feel it while laying on you. “I know it’s hard, I know it hurts. Just breathe.”

Jason sniffled, taking a shaky breath, timing it at the same time as your own deep inhale and holding a few seconds like you did before exhaling.

“Again,” you whispered, your nails trailing up and down his spine in a soothing motion. He listened and you could feel his body calming down just a little. “Just like that.”

His continued to cry, this time much softer. Like a residual that he needed to get out. Your skin now wet with his tears, but it didn’t matter much.

You placed a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you,” came out in a small whisper as you nuzzled the dark locks of his hair. “So much.”

Jason sniffled again, lifting his head to look at you. He was ashamed to. He felt weak and pathetic and hated to think of you seeing him like that, but he needed to say something and he needed to see your dace when he did.

You could see the redness in his eyes, a stark contrast to the dark purple circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. His nightmares had been particularly bad lately, no doubt contributing to the mountain of problems that led to his breakdown.

“I don’t know how you can love me when I’m this messed up,” he confessed, his voice sounding vulnerable and raw from crying.

You pushed the white streak in his hair away from his face, gently running the back of your knuckles over his cheek. “Everyone is messed up, baby,” you told him quietly. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Jason’s hands had gone numb underneath your back, so he couldn’t feel them, but he was fairly certain he was trying to squeeze you harder. That’s what he thought he’d be doing, at least.

He dropped his head, kissing the middle of your clavicle where your collarbones met. Just once. Softly. He could the salt from his tears on your skin and it made them prick in his eyes again. He didn’t fight them as hard this time.

Laying his head in between your breasts, he inhaled and exhaled, closing his eyes. Another tear rolled down his cheek and he let it, choosing to instead focusing on the feeling of your skin. Your bare stomach against his, your arms around him, your nails scratching his scalp and back.

This wasn’t what he wanted when came home tonight. But falling asleep in your arms, using your chest as a pillow, listening the sound of your heartbeat and feeling the steady rhythm of your breathing was so much better.

[yaut-jaknowit]

Y'know what? I think it'd be funny as hell if a human farmer (y/n) befriended a xenomorph. And it acts like a cute, drooling, ..alien dog. And their male Yautja parter tolerates the Xeno while in front or near his human mate. But when y/n disappears. They both are just at each other's throats?

If that's okay, also I love your writing! And I cannot wait to see more! And I hope you have a lovely day/night

Lost Dog

Character: Con'tei (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader with Xeno

Word Count: 1784

Summary: As a farmer on a planet not many know, you live your life contently. Waking up early to go out into the fields and work. It's just yourself and your mate, Con'tei. Until a special alien shows up and worms its way into your soft heart instantly.

Author Note: This is such a funny idea.

Masterlist

Ao3

Ever since that day you stumbled upon an injured Xenomorph, it’s been attached to your hip. Since that same day, Con’tei has wanted nothing more than to tear the alien apart. No matter how many times you asked him to at least be civil with the thing. The Yautja has his own thoughts of the Xenomorph. That being having its head upon his wall. Specifically above the bed. Its nonexistent, lifeless eyes peering down at you. Con’tei was sure to let you of every detail to paint a picture inside of your mind. Every time.

When the Xeno looked up at you, guts nearly splattered across the edge of your corn field, you had fallen. Though it has no eyes, you felt compelled to help it back to your dwelling. Con’tei had been off on a hunt and left you enough time to patch up the creature. Until the Yautja returned and smelled the scent of a hard meat on the property. It took lots of sweet talking to get the male to calm down and listening to your voice.

Finally, Con’tei was able to think clearly after he saw you were okay. No injuries. No smell of blood. Not even fear in the air. The Yautja was more than confused on the what, why, and how. That only grew worse when he only had to take step to the side.

There in the bath tub of the dwelling sat the observing hard meat, just peering at him. You physically had to wrap your arms around Con’tei’s thin waist and pull the newly blooded away.

Worst of all, the xeno morph lept out of the tub when it saw the struggle. Its instincts flaring to life. It thought you were fighting the enemy and rushed out to help. Water dripped down its black, scared hide. Sharp silver teeth were bared at Con’tei. Its long, black tail whipped side to side.

A yelp slipped from your lips. Con’tei pushed you off of him a bit too harsh and lunged at the creature. You fell down to the ground and landed wrong on your wrist.

The two clash for a second when your sharp cry sounded an alarm. Each held onto the other, ready to draw blood. They whipped their heads over to your lying, prone form. One pushed at the other and nearly climbed over each other.

Con’tei reaches you first and kneels down at your side. But, he’s shoved off to the side by a black, skeleton hand. A deep bellow tumbled out of his chest as he reared back up to kill the hard meat somehow in your shared home.

It’s your crying that breaks the two of them up again. They separate once more to rush to your aid. For the moment, they were able to ignore the other. Con’tei’s dark orange hands touches at your hands. One was pinned to your chest by the other. Pain radiating from one. A deep purr vibrated from the Yautja in a comforting manner. His bright yellow eyes scanned over the rest of you. The only thing that was of concern was the wrist you were clutching onto.

Across from you, the xenomorph was whining and nudging its elongated head against your cheek. The move didn’t go unnoticed by Con’tei who snarled and scooped you away from the creature. This nearly became a tug-of-war match until you shouted, “stop it!” Each alien stilled.

“Stop fighting, please! I’m in pain and you’re only making it worse.” Con’tei whimpered and bowed his head in a manner that resembled a kicked puppy. “And you’re not making it any better by flailing around.” The xeno lowered its own head, tail dropping to the ground.

“Now, please, put me down. I think I just pulled a muscle in my wrist no thanks to the two of you,” you snapped at the two of them. The anger mostly coming from the pain sprouting from your throbbing wrist.

One look in your heat gaze had the Yautja listening to you. Your feet gingerly touched the ground. Con’tei was hesitant to let go of you at first. His gaze couldn’t stop flickering towards the creature he was sworn to kill. His muscles twitched as he fought every single cell in his body not to leap over you and slaughter it where it stood.

Instantly, you turned towards Con’tei and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Hey! Look at me, sir,” you demanded. The burnt orange Yautja had to drag his gaze off of the xeno. You had just turned your back to it with little care of your safety. “I know you are freaking internally and externally but let me explain.”

He bristled. Of course, you better explain in why in Cetanu’s name is there a hard meat in your home. And why was is following you around? Why was is it protecting you? His first thought was dismissed when smelled no change to your body. It hadn’t implanted anything into you. Con’tei snorted and crossed his arms.

You couldn’t help the sigh, shoulders sagging a little. “Okay, I deserved that.” Con’tei could agree with that. “But, you must see it from my side. I was working the field when I stumbled across this poor thing, all injured and begging for help.” He was ready to shake some sense into you. “I took it home and nursed it back to health. Now, its like a dog! It follows around and helps me around the house and even in the field.”

His anger flooded back to Con’tei’s mind and nearly blinded him. How could the one person he loves in the universe say such stupidity in the moment? He knew you were smarter than this. Yet, here you were proving him wrong with each word that falls out of your mouth.

The xeno made its point by coming up behind you and nuzzling its ugly face into the crook of your neck. His muscles flexed. “And why do you have it our home? Why isn’t it dead?” Injured, you should’ve had little trouble by exterminating the cursed thing. Why did your heart have to be so big? Why did your luck have to be so terrible?

Your face soured. You stepped back and patted the top of the xenomorph’s smooth, shiny head. It gave a chuff and rubbed against you some more. “Because, it was injured! I had to save it. I wasn’t going to let it die! What kind of person do you take me for to leave an injured creature for dead?” By Paya’s name, if he didn’t love you so much. He desperately wanted to shake some sense into you. Maybe rattle the thought of care for it out of your head.

“Exactly why it should be dead. You had a chance to kill it. Why didn’t you take it?” His hunter mind couldn’t grasp the thought process of your ooman brain.

Those were the wrong words to say.

“I told you! It was injured and I’m not like you. It looked so sad and pathetic. Now, look at it! It’s like a puppy I’ve always wanted. A very…” you trailed off to glance over your shoulder. “A very big, scary puppy who would protect me!”

There was truth to your words. Clearly, it was willing to protect you from someone who could easily kill it. But to leave it to live, Con’tei couldn’t let himself live with that knowledge. Even if it showed compliancy to you at the moment, who knows when its baser instincts kick in and slaughter you or use your body for a host.

Con’tei huffed and narrowed his bright eyes on you. “I said no.” The Yautja was still young and recently gained his clan marking during his chiva against these blasted creatures.

The way your brows jumped at his denial; then, your gaze darkened. Con’tei felt a drop of fear fall into the pit of his stomach. “No? Well, mister, it’s not up to you. You go off on these hunts all by yourself for a week or so. I’m left all alone!” You turned your head and nuzzled against the unforgiving, smooth surface of the xenomorph’s cheek. “What happens if something attacks our home? I can’t protect it to save my life. With it, I could at least stand a chance.”

What were you thinking?! After everything he’s told you about his near failure during his chiva, you had wished for the hard meat to stay. You go against his direct order to protect you keep it!

Yet… the truth behind your words sunk deep into the soft tissue of his brain. The knowledge this planet held many dangers while you sit at home, unprotected and weaponless, churned his stomach. Con’tei gritted his mandibles and looked over your shoulder. The creature had its face turned towards him, chin resting on your shoulder.

He tried to think of ways to convince you. Maybe, he’ll spend what little credits he had to get you a creature to protect you. Something he could train from a young age. Something that wasn’t a hard meat that could tear out your throat in a instant.

When his gaze returned to you, his stubbornness finally cracked. A groan sounded from him. “Little one, I swear…” he trailed off then let his shoulders sag. “Alright, alright. Fine. But, you must have it trained. A collar will be put on it. It will send an electric shock through its body, immobilizing it should it turn on you. I’m warning you, my mate.”

All of his stories he’s told you were fresh in your mind. His near defeat of his own life by these creatures. But, the loneness of sitting in an empty house made life difficult.

A squeal pierced the air. Your arms snatched around his waist. Con’tei jolted at first then let himself settle in your embrace before his own arms return the motion. The hunt had been long and made him long for this affection with you this entire time. What is he going to do with his little ooman who has him wrapped around their tiny pinkie finger?

With a sigh, he lets you go.

“Okay, you two be good then. I’ve gotta go clean up the bathroom!” You blew each of them a kiss before skipping towards the bathroom. The door was closed behind you to clean up the mess the xenomorph had left behind in his wake of protection.

Both of the alien’s watched as the door closed behind you. Then, they snapped their heads towards the other. A second paused the still air. Each lunged at the other in a clash of fangs, claws, and snarls.

[dilemmars]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“ DIE WITH A SMILE. ”⠀⠀───⠀⠀arcane.

⠀⠀𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾.⠀( the base violence necessary for change , 9.3k words. )⠀by dilemmars.

1.⠀⠀ PAIRING⠀⠀:⠀⠀violet x f!reader.

2.⠀⠀GENRES⠀⠀:⠀⠀based on the storyline and universe of arcane ( league of legends tv show )⠀; first love trope, started dating recently, stablished relationship, exes to lovers. basically you and vi were dating before the start of the story, then got separated.

3.⠀⠀WARNINGS⠀⠀:⠀⠀i will add the warnings that the tv show has: slight presence of sex and nudity, foul language, alcohol, drugs and tobacco. moderate scenes of fear and terror. high content of violence and gore. in this third chapter, there's a lot going on. mentions of death, injuries, prostitution, blood, fights, and a brief suicidal thought at the end. please do not read if you're uncomfortable with it.

4.⠀⠀AUTHOR 'S NOTE⠀⠀:⠀⠀third chapter out! i'm so sorry thta it took me another full day to post a new chapter. i haven't even watched act 3 yet because i lit have no time, but i managed to finish this. it is very sad. i'm sorry about that too. but next chapter will be slightly more relaxed, with less drama, i promise. happy sunday 🤍

5.⠀⠀IMPORTANT⠀⠀:⠀⠀this is a work of fiction. i do not own arcane or any content produced or owned bychristian linke, alex yee, riot games or netflix. all rights belong to netflix and the writers of arcane. all plot events and character developments that are not related to the main character's story belong to the writers and creators of the series.

It's hard to know what your last breath will be, but sometimes you can feel the moment lurking, like a shadow looming over you, icy and heavy. Crouched on that rooftop, the air had a strange edge to it, as if each breath cut inside. The mist rising from the streets scratched at your throat, but it wasn't just mist. It was the weight of the inevitable.

You paused, frowning, as the usual swaying of the wooden sign of Benzo's caused your gaze to wander towards the entrance of the shop. And before you could comprehend what was happening, the scream came as a jolt, tearing through the silence of the night. It was as if the sound pierced your skin, sinking into your flesh, clinging to your bones. The kind of scream you can't help but hear, a gasp ripped from a throat. A hopeless, desperate voice that forces you to imagine the pain behind it. One last breath, and a body slumped to the ground.

And then, you caught a glimpse of him. A blurred figure, moving with a ferocity that seemed unnatural, unloading a punch on another uniformed officer, the glare of his gaze utterly animalistic. You cowered over the edge of the building, struggling not to look away, and flinched at the brutality of the pounding. The Enforcers all looked the same, with the metal mask and the blue cap, but the creature that had attacked them was familiar. It seemed less human with every movement, a mass of disfigured flesh and purplish meandering veins, but the curve of its chin, the soft wave of its hair... you had been so close to its face that you had come to memorise it.

Deckard. You recognised the sharp turn of his movements, accentuated in that state. You had felt his violence in your own skin, you knew it. Altered into a violent beast, he still retained some of that cruel strength, no doubt hindered by the way his body had grown and deformed. You saw him ignore the authoritative warning of a third Enforcer, and approach her at superhuman speed. In the blink of an eye, the police collapsed at his feet, like a drunk by a tavern door. Her blood spilled down the wall of the tent, sloshing everywhere, and you followed it with your eyes as it slid between the stones, thick, after Deckard had torn her flesh to the bone.

The force of his attack hit you like a shot in your chest, and you clutched at the concrete beneath your hands as if you could somehow anchor yourself to the past. There was silence in the weathered street. You could only hear your ragged breathing, quickening under your skin, and Deckard's silent footsteps as he disappeared. Night had fallen on Zaun like a blanket on your bed, and you felt it on your shoulders, suffocating you. You looked down again, where the rickety bodies of the agents lay like broken dolls on the pavement, their stiff fingers still gripping their pistols, and you could faintly distinguish the movement of someone approaching them in the shadows.

Measuring his pace, as if calculating every step he took, a fourth Enforcer approached the bodies of the fallen agents, his service gun in his hand, and he hesitated. For a moment you wanted to say something to him, to warn him perhaps, that there was a beast loose in the darkness, tell him to run away while he could, but a movement in the dusk stopped you. He was not alone. Behind him, shoulder to shoulder at the entrance to the shop, two frozen figures watched the scene. You felt a knot in your chest as you recognised them: Vander and Benzo. Their stances looked sharp, like a taut bow about to shoot an arrow, ready to defend themselves if necessary.

You leaned forward, caught between the urge to descend and the helplessness of knowing you could do nothing from up there, but something stopped you. You saw something dancing in the fog, the soft walk of a distorted silhouette slowly approaching from the other side of the street. You tried to suppress the shiver that ran down your spine, a shiver that was not only cold, but that also contained more than just that, the fear locked in your ribcage, rising up to feel it pulsing in your throat.

And then, the glow of embers in the night: a kaleidoscope of shadows and flames, pierced by a scar, so different from its twin that they looked like the eyes of two different people. The face, sharp, pale, and an imperturbable pace, so sure of himself that the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet.

‘Silco?’ Benzo, hesitant, confused at first, turned rabid as he brandished the old silver candlestick in the direction of the unknown man. ‘You animal,’ he said, coming closer, stumbling, ’go crawl back into whatever hole you came out of.’

You couldn't see the venomous smile that tugged at Silco's thin lips, but you did hear the desperate tone torn from Vander's throat as he raised his hands towards his friend, cuffed, useless, trying to prevent the inevitable, ‘Benzo, stay back!’

‘You never did know when to walk away,’ Silco's voice, velvety, echoed down the street, emptying the silence, and your heart stopped inside your chest as Benzo tried to pounce on him.

The motion was too fast for the human eye. One instant, Benzo had raged forward, steadfast, defying the impassive man of mist. The next, Deckard's raw strength had brought Benzo down in a bundle of violet swirls, the body of the one who had cared for you since you were a child lying lifeless on the ground. The creaking of his bones echoed wet and dry at the same time, like tree branches snapping under too much weight, the blood surging beneath his shoulders, as if fleeing from the veins it was ceasing to flow through.

From the rooftop, it all seemed painfully distant. You brought a trembling hand to your mouth, a scream dying in your throat, watching Deckard keep his hand on Benzo's neck. His crooked fingers seemed to tingle from feeling the violence of death again, waiting, hovering over Benzo to check that he was gone, and you heard Vander's torn whimper, his legs buckling under his weight, under the weight of loss.

‘Stubborn to the end,’ muttered Silco, relishing each word with reverence.

But then the Enforcer left standing dropped his arms, defeated, betrayed, half-face covered by the mask they wore so as not to breathe Zaun's toxic air, and questioned Silco angrily, ‘What the hell have you done? This wasn't the deal!’

The echo of his words expanded, vibrating inside your head as if searching for a place to linger, and you stood still, watching from the shadows as that chilling scene unfolded, kneeling on the edge of the building, utterly overwhelmed.

‘Deal's changed.’

Silco's words reverberated on the cobblestone floor of the poorly lit street, ringing in your ears, as you tried to clear your mind. You took a breath of air, which cut, cold, down your throat, and looked down. You could still hear his voice, ominously calm and low, and the clink of coins clattering on the floor. A deal. Between the topside and the underground. You frowned, realising that there were no fire stairs on that front, and accentuated your frown as you tried to understand why someone from Zaun would want to ally himself with an Enforcer, of all people.

Before you could even try to slide down the wall, however, leaping from window to window as you had done in the past, you heard Deckard's heavy footsteps on the cobblestone floor, and you raised your head. He was slowly approaching Vander, with no sign of a reaction from the owner of The Last Drop, letting out a low growl as the beast finally took up a position in front of him. His arm swung once like the pendulum of an old clock, and the punch blew against Vander's face with a low, muffled thud, causing him to stagger under its weight.

Your throat closed as you watched him anchor his legs to the ground to keep from falling. You saw him drop his shoulders, defeated, as if he had forgotten his own strength, and he stood just as still as you did whilst Deckard shoved his hand through Vander's hair, grabbing him violently and pulling him to the ground. You watched him, because you were unable to do anything else, as if fear had slid liquid across your skin until it solidified around your ankles, the monstrous creature dragging Vander across the ground. 

It was the certainty. Vander, who had picked you up off the street at your weakest moment, who had taught you how to defend yourself, who had shown you the resilience that characterised him like a class while learning how to make Powder's favourite juice, had been reduced to a shadow of his former self by a punch. What could you have done to stop it? To stand between Vander and the one who had abused you as much as he had wanted? To face Deckard's vicious eyes once more, risking losing him all the same?

It wouldn't have helped.

You watched them walk, Silco's figure turning away from the chaos of shadows and death he left behind him, while Deckard followed close behind, gripping Vander's hair with a bruising strength. Your fingers itched. You had braided that hair many times, elaborate and funny designs as you grew up, but those hands were treating it cruelly, a monster freed of any kind of sentience. And it hurt. Watching them disappear into the fog, the Enforcer staggering down the street to the other side, it stung like an open wound. You bit your cheek, holding back the tears that threatened to slide down your skin, and felt the blood on your tongue like a foul aftertaste.

And then you heard it. The cry, choked and broken, that pierced your chest like a sharp knife. You stood up, waking the legs that had felt numb against the concrete edge of the rooftop, and moved on instinct, ignoring the insignificant discomfort of your ankle every time you leaned on it.

It was Vi. You slid across the roof, your feet seeking support on the nearest window ledge, hanging on to it to climb down to the next, and continued descending. You followed the heartbreaking sound of Vi's voice, drowning out her own sobs, and swallowed all the emotions you didn't want to feel, focused on finding your girlfriend. The polish of your nails peeled as you buried your fingers in joints between bricks, clinging to them to keep from falling to the ground, and you closed your eyes tightly before you took the last leap, placing most of your weight on your good foot as you landed on the ground.

You rose to your feet, a shiver running through your skin, as you heard the piercing cry of frustration, and turned to face it with a jolt. It had come from Benzo's shop. Had she been there all that time? You frowned, restless, and turned towards the massacre, clenching your jaw and staring straight ahead. You had to get Vi out of there. That was your priority. You couldn't afford to look at the ground, to collapse. Every breath you took, the air sounded slightly ragged, as if you were about to scream but held back, and you clenched your hands into fists as you dodged the bodies sprawled on the floor.

Your first step into Benzo's shop was hesitant, like an unconfident fawn's. You didn't want to think that it was the first time you would enter the place knowing that its owner would never come back to wait for you behind the counter, but the certainty came back to you again and again, as if brought by the tide. There was almost no light, the little oil lamps that were scattered around the shelves were off, as if they held a mourning you had not yet faced, and the darkness brought with it a feeling of coldness that dug into your bones.

‘Vi,’ you whispered, your choked voice faintly spilling across the room. ‘Vi!’ you repeated, louder.

You heard your name, low, dazed, almost vanishing into thin air, and tried to follow it. It was the storage room. She had been locked in the storeroom.

‘Wait!’ you said, rushing to the counter, ‘I'll get you out!’

You tried to piece together what had happened, your hand searching in the gloom for the spare key Benzo always kept in the wooden drawers. It was in Vi's nature to have tried to fix everything herself. It was inherent in her, to carry as much of the burden as possible so that her siblings —and even you, if you got into trouble— wouldn't have to suffer the consequences. You didn't know how she could have warned the Enforcers, but you knew they had come to Benzo's shop for her. You knew it as clearly as you knew you would have done the same for her if it had happened.

But if Vander had shown up, it was also because he had discovered her. And if he had been wearing the handcuffs, it had been him who had locked her in the storeroom. To stop her from doing another stupid thing. Maybe Vander wasn't her biological father, but a strained smile tugged at your lips at the thought that they were more alike than they allowed themselves to think they were.

When your fingertips brushed against the metal frame of the key, you grabbed onto it, running the few meters between the countertop and the door behind which Vi stood. Your hands trembled as you slid it into its lock, holding your breath as you tried a second time, and you turned it on its axis twice, as you had done so many times in the past, pulling the heavy door off its hinges so that you could wrap your arms around Vi's body.

She clung to you tightly, choking her sobs in the crook of your neck, and the silence grew heavy around you, empty of hope. You felt Vi's hands squeeze your shirt, squeezing your body against hers, her warm tears sliding down your skin. You looked up at the ceiling, letting out a shaky sigh between your lips, and ran your hand up her back until it was tangled in her hair. Her shoulders shook under your touch to the rhythm of her own sobs, and you stayed still beside her for as long as she needed, allowing her to collapse.

‘Did you see what happened?’ you finally murmured against her hair, as her breathing slowly regulated.

‘Not much,’ she replied, her voice broken by tears, pulling away from you to rub her hands across her face. ‘Did you?’

‘It was Benzo...’ you began, and you hated the way you faltered before continuing. ‘They killed Benzo. And the Enforcers, some of them...’

‘And Vander?’

‘He's alive,’ you said, sliding your hand down his arm. ‘They took him.’

And your breath hitched as you realised.

He was alive. They had taken him, but he was still alive. Your mind was scrambling, trying to plan an impulse that came to you like a tug at your heart, watching the tears glisten on Vi's freckled cheeks. You couldn't let her lose someone else. Piltover had taken enough from her. Vander was still alive, you told yourself. He was still breathing, his chest was rising and falling, even if he hadn't had the strength to rise and confront them. He was alive, and you still had a chance to fight for him.

Your face took on a more worried tinge, ‘We need to find out where they've taken him.’

Vi looked up at you, her unfocused eyes darting across your face, but she nodded.

‘I know where,’ muttered a voice behind you. You turned abruptly, brow furrowed in distrust, and felt the pain wither against your ribcage. Ekko.

Little Ekko, never as small as he looked at that moment, his shoulders slumped forward and his crystallised gaze fixed on you. You took a step forward, ready to take him in your arms, but it was he who crossed the distance between you, taking refuge in your embrace. The pained expression on his face melted into tears as you snaked your hands around his back, and your own lump in your throat threatened to unravel as you felt him cry against your chest.

‘They killed him,’ he murmured, over and over against your skin, choking back his own tears.

‘I know, kid,’ you replied, unable to understand what you were supposed to do at that moment. You felt the warmth of unshed drops in your own eyes, and fought against them, burying your face in his hair as you felt one slide down your cheek. ‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry.’

‘We'll get them, Ekko,’ Vi promised, resting one hand on your back, stroking you comfortingly, and another on the boy's shoulder.

He parted slowly, rubbing his hand over his cheeks as Vi had done a few minutes before, and looked at the two of you, trying to gather the energy to speak. You couldn't stop to think what it must have felt like, watching Benzo die like that and still finding the strength to follow the perpetrators, the murderers, just so you could have a glimmer of hope of getting Vander back. He had been very brave.

‘It should be quick,’ you said, cradling his face in your hand, the pain shining in your gaze. ‘An hour and a half, maybe, tops two hours.’ You slid your gaze slightly to Vi, who was watching you with her brows furrowed in a helpless gesture, and added, ‘If we're not back then, please, go to my Mom's, yeah?’

Your mother would know what to do. She always did. She would take care of Ekko.

‘But...,’ he stammered, and you decided to ignore the way his chin began to tremble again, new tears gathering in his almond-shaped dark eyes.

‘No buts, Ekko,’ you replied, interrupting him gently. You took a breath of air, tangling your fingers in his short pale hair, pulling him to your body, and held him tightly in your arms. ‘I need you to be safe, please,’ you implored.

‘I don't want to lose you,’ he murmured against the fabric of your shirt, and you felt every movement of his lips, your own face struggling not to cry. 

You looked up, blinking back tears, sighing the lump in your throat, ‘You won't,’ you told him, stroking his white curls, ‘you have my word. I'll come back in one piece.’

You forced yourself to pull away from him, your hands on his shoulders, and slid your thumb over his cheeks to wipe away the strands of tears that had leaked from his eyes, trying to muster the courage to flash a crooked smile. It wasn't easy, but you couldn't afford to look weak. Not in front of him, not when he needed you more than ever.

‘Besides,’ you whispered, unbuttoning your waistcoat, holding the pocket watch between your fingers, resting it against his chest in a graceful motion, ‘who's going to look after my watch while I'm gone?’

‘Are you going to let me keep it?’ he asked, cupping it in his two hands as if it were a treasure. He slid his fingertips over the silver curve of its circumference, over the twelve chipped numbers you had drawn above it - all Roman numerals - and looked up at you.

‘Forever,’ you promised, nodding solemnly.

He pounced on you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and you melted into his embrace with closed eyes, memorising every detail. Vi joined in a sigh, wrapping her strong arms around you, and for a moment you remained buried under your own skin, wishing that it was all a nightmare and that when you opened your eyes, the rapid breathing, tears and screams were just part of yet another of your childish games.

Reality was far crueler than a kid's imagination.

You felt Vi's hand intertwined with yours like a shackle pulling you back to consciousness, the faint discomfort of your ankle keeping you sane as she led you to The Last Drop. You hadn't exchanged a word since you had left Ekko in the same room of broken glass you had fled from that morning, hidden in the rafters of the ceiling, and both of remained trapped in your minds, thoughts running at too much speed.

It was difficult to face such a situation. As inhabitants of Zaun, loss was part of your DNA. You came into the world crying for the loss of your future, a future that had been taken from you at the founding of the city, and you mourned the violence that you would inevitably encounter, ever-present in the streets of the underground. Vi had endured the death of her biological parents, as had Powder and the rest of the Vander children, and you had been born without knowing who your father was, growing up surrounded by brutality.

You didn't know what your girlfriend was thinking, but you tried to remember if you'd ever spent enough time in the docks to have been able to investigate the large building that loomed over the water, as if it were floating. Ekko had claimed to see the man of mist and Deckard disappear within its tall brick walls, but had refused to come any closer. You had left a soft kiss on his forehead as a farewell, and in a glance you and Vi had known what to do.

Vander had trained you for such a moment. He had spent years teaching you how to defend yourselves, practising boxing with you, training you to take care of your own. You had always assumed it would be complicated, any fight was. But as much as Vander had been a proponent of using violence, in his past, you had also learned peace. It was clear that Silco would not accept a dialogue, a bargain of any kind. He had negotiated with that Enforcer for Vander. Vander had been his target.

The importance of acting was to do it right. And if you sneaked in and out, as you'd done so many times before to get some food, you'd all sleep on the top floor of The Last Drop that night, listening to Vander's snoring, the sheets moving every time Powder rolled over in her bed, and Vi's body warm against yours.

The bar was dead silent when you slipped in through the back door, and you assumed Vander would have closed up before he went to find Vi. You waited a few moments for her as she went inside to fetch the gauntlets Vander always kept hanging over the counter, and slipped down the stairs to the small room in the basement of the building when she returned with a shake of her head. Someone had taken them.

‘Vi?’ uttered Claggor, turning to you as she opened the door. He added your name, avoiding the hint of a question. You tried to force a smile as you realised that they had always assumed that if one of you was there, the other would appear shortly after.

Vi came down the stairs two at a time, ignoring the two boys, and slid her eyes around the room, searching for the gauntlets, ‘Where are the...?’

You sat on one of the steps, listening to the soft thump of Powder's body as she pounced on her older sister, and pulled your trousers up to your knee, untying your laces at full speed. Whenever Vi was set on something, she acted on instinct and with great speed. You didn't know if she would look for something more —except perhaps other weapons— but you delegated finding them to her. You had little time to slow down the way your ankle was going to worsen its condition irremediably in the remainder of the night.

Nor did you have much more strength than she did to explain what had happened.

You pulled off the bandages you carried in your pocket, resting them on the old wood of the stairs, as you heard Vi's quickened breathing echo through the room, pulling your injured foot up a step to remove your boot. You looked up when you heard Mylo protest, ‘Hey, those are Vander's,’ he said, grabbing Vi by the wrist. ‘Slow down. What is going on?’

‘Benzo's dead,’ she muttered, and you closed your eyes for a moment, before continuing to untie the tight knot in your shoes. 

‘Dead?’ Claggor repeated, and you wondered if you were better off waiting outside. You removed your sock, shook your head, took a breath of air, and picked up the bandages, placing your foot on the knee of your other leg.

‘They took Vander.’

‘Who took Vander?’ added Claggor, as you began to wrap the bandage around your ankle, taut, inflexible on your skin, tense enough so that when you came back your joints wouldn't resent it. You did it angrily, trying to bury all the emotions you had managed to control so far.

‘I don't know,’ you heard Vi reply, and her voice sounded slightly closer as she turned to include you in the conversation, ’we're gonna help him.’

‘We're going with you,’ Mylo replied, almost as if he was hurt that it hadn't occurred to you earlier.

You put your sock back on when the bandages felt like a second skin over your foot, and tied your boots tightly. A bloody sprain wasn't going to stop you from rescuing Vander. It wasn't going to stop you from bringing him back, safely, home. You weren't going to let it. You looked up, sighing, and tried to intervene.

‘Whatever killed Benzo...’ you said, and your breath caught in your throat.

‘It was nothing like I've ever seen,’ Vi continued, and her voice trembled as much as yours. ‘It tore him apart.’

You saw the way her shoulders tensed before even the first sob slipped from her mouth, but you didn't have a chance to approach her before her brothers, who embraced her warmly, all united by stubbornness and impotence. Vi put her hands to her face, covering the obstinate tears she did not want to let fall down her cheeks, and you knew she had come to the same conclusion as you. They were both going to want to go with you, and you were going to need their help, no matter how much Vi wanted to keep them safe.

‘You're not doing this alone,’ Claggor stated, determined.

‘He's our father too,’ Mylo added, his hand tracing circles on Vi's back. ’Do we know where they took him?’

‘Ekko followed them,’ you interjected, clearing your throat as Vi stowed what her brothers had left on the table in one of the backpacks you always left lying around. ‘The old cannery next to the docks. He said...’

You looked up from the backpack, calming yourself once you realised it had been the boys who had taken the gauntlets, but the muscles in your back tensed again as you noticed Powder standing in front of you, a look of determination on her face, and a suitcase in her hands. Of course she wanted to go with you too.

Vi turned to you as she heard you hesitate, and exhaled an exhausted sigh at the sight of her sister.

‘I need you to sit this one out, Powder,’ she asked, approaching her.

‘What?’ her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and your heart crumpled in your chest. Ekko had been easier to convince because he had seen what had happened. He was shocked, willing to wait for you to return. But Powder had always followed his sister's example, longing for a chance to show her worth and to stop being treated like a child.

‘You're not coming,’ and Powder's expression was worse than if she'd received a slap in the face.

‘I'm not afraid,’ she replied, desperate within the quietness of her response.

You couldn't intervene on this occasion. Nor were Mylo and Claggor going to. It went beyond their sense of responsibility, this was a blood sister fight to see which of the two would get their way. And the older one always had the upper hand.

‘It's too dangerous,’ Vi added, and you didn't have to see the gleam in her eye to know that she needed Powder to listen to her, to understand why she was asking so much of her.

‘But families stick together,’ Powder continued, accentuating his frown, ’you said it yourself.’

‘I know what I said...’

‘I want to fight,’ she announced, and the freckles creased on her cheeks as she looked up, raging, at Vi. ‘I can help.’

‘You're not ready,’ Vi replied, and her sharp tone cut over Powder's determination, shattering what hope remained. You saw how Vi held her breath for a moment, regretting her choice of words, and tried to correct them in a whisper. ‘You're all I have left,’ she said, resting the palm of her hand against Powder's cheek. ‘I can't lose you.’

‘Here,’ you uttered, in a soft, conciliatory tone, approaching them with one of the flares you had in a box under the stairs. It was a blue smoke one, a symbol you had talked about more than once with Powder, making jokes about the colour of her hair.

Vi took it gently from your hands, handing it to her little sister, ‘If they come for you, take this and run,’ she whispered, her gaze locked on Powder's pale pink eyes. ‘Wherever you are, light it up and I'll find you.’

Eyes shining, you almost couldn't hear the last words, a gentle ‘I promise’ murmured against Powder's face as she leaned down to rest her forehead against her sister's, memorising the warmth of her body before parting. You turned, beckoning Mylo and Claggor up the stairs, and you followed, leaving the sisters a few more seconds together.

The mood seemed somewhat subdued, Mylo's mouth closed in an altogether uncharacteristic muteness, and you peeled back your lips to make some comment to cheer them. The words died in your throat when you reached the landing, suddenly surrounded by Claggor's arms, and you held your breath in surprise.

‘I'm sorry,’ he said, and Mylo repeated it, both of them hugging you.

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself a moment of weakness, and let out a choked sob against Claggor's shoulder, still feeling the lump in your throat.

‘It's not your fault,’ you murmured back, ’it's not.’

‘It's not yours either,’ Vi uttered, and you turned your face towards her, who had just appeared through the door.

You tried to curl your lips into a grateful smile, your eyelids quivering to keep from shedding a tear, ‘I know.’

But it wasn't true, because you could never find out what would have happened if you had come down from that rooftop before Silco appeared, if you had warned the Enforcers of Deckard's presence. It was already in the past, you had lost your opportunity. Maybe, if you had confronted them while Vander and Benzo were still conscious, everything would be fine. Maybe your presence would had led them to fight back. And that was something Vi didn't know either.

You trailed behind, but kept pace as Vi led you through the crooked streets of Zaun, turning corners and ignoring drunken men, towards the city borders. The docks were not a highly desirable place, though one to which Madam sent many prostitutes on the days of disembarkation. Most traders transacted goods with the topside, and its bright and shiny harbours, but those who dealt in coal and alcohol had to make a stop at the Lanes, and the black market in its streets.

That building, however, looked even darker in the moonlight, the mist rising from the water creating a cloak of eerie mystery around it. You walked around its perimeter in a couple of minutes, trying to figure out which entrance was the most secluded but best accessible, and it was your keen eye that located an open window on the first floor. You climbed onto Claggor's shoulders, a rope at your shoulder, and clung tightly to one of the pipes, checking with a smirk that it would be able to support your weight.

Of the four of you, you were the best at climbing. You were elusive, small and slender for your age, even more so than the children of Zaun, no doubt a consequence of the fact that on many days your mother had been unable to offer you food to put in your mouth. The need to hide had made you learn to duck between the rooftops of the city, and though Vi was better at leaping from building to building, you were certainly the sneakiest of the bunch.

You even seemed to glide along the facades, you'd been told, clawing at bricks and picking out which spots on the wall were best to rest your limbs on, as you were doing at the moment. You panted as you managed to get your arm over the window sill, sliding your leg over so that you could slide into the building, and held your breath as you glanced down the dark corridor. No one seemed to be there. You grabbed the coiled rope you had slung over your shoulder and began to drag it down the window, waiting for Vi's two tugs before you crouched on the floor and braced your feet against the wall.

You held on, with the rope wrapped around your waist and tugging at it while the others climbed, and left it hidden under the window once everyone had climbed up. In case any guards found it, they wouldn't know where to start looking, and you doubted you would need it to escape. Vander was too heavy and too weakened to get out the way you had come in.

You scanned the corridors of the warehouse, rusty platforms stacked in a narrow space, and hurried to take up position behind Claggor, the four of you forming a line with Vi in front and Mylo last, slouching forward under the riveted iron pipe railings. Vi signalled to you when she realised that there was a poorly lit room on the upper floor, and you all hurried up the stairs, still crouching. 

When you reached the other side of the corridor, Vi leaned forward, peering quickly, and turned to you with a triumphant smile, voicelessly pronouncing that Vander was there. You rested a hand on Claggor's shoulder as you felt Mylo's on your waist, and you advanced at a rapid pace until you reached the room, where Vander sat, defeated, in a big iron chair, all his limbs imprisoned by metal straps, fastened by padlocks.

You saw him spit blood, his broad chest straining to breathe out a hoarse cough, and he whispered a soft ‘Vi,’ his unfocused eyes closing as he felt his eldest daughter's arms slipping around his shoulders in a hug. His tone became more urgent as he realised you were really there, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘We're breaking you out,’ Vi explained, as you picked up the backpack she had left on the ground.

You opened it, kneeling on the ground, and pulled out the lock-picking device you had built for Mylo. It didn't always work, but it was the best you had. ‘Mylo,’ you called, and tossed the gadget to him.

‘On it!’

You turned towards the door, rising to your feet to check that no one was coming in, your fingers tingling to check the time on a watch you no longer had, but you froze when you heard Vander's husky voice.

‘How... how did you get in?’ he said, stuttering hurriedly over the words that were building up in his mouth. ‘There's guards everywhere.’

Oh God. Of course it had been a trap. 

‘It was easy,’ you heard Vi reply, her tone losing its strength as the realisation dawned on her. ‘We found an open window and...’

You rushed over to the backpack, hastily pulling out the weapons that Claggor and Mylo had gathered, as you saw Claggor's figure hurrying to grab his favourite dagger, trying to release one of Vander's wrists from its prison. The man made eye contact with you, Vi stepping behind you to watch the door, and you held back a sob as you heard Vander again, ‘You have to get out. Now.’

No. You weren't going to leave him again. You weren't going to fail at the same task twice. There had to be time, you could do it. Silco's men probably hadn't even realised you were in yet, you had a chance, you could....

But you heard a clap reverberate through the warehouse, soft and dangerous, and your breath caught in your throat.

Silco.

‘Welcome,’ he murmured, his voice flowing like a river down its course, the sound of his rhythmic clapping coming hopelessly closer to you, ‘you have my congratulations,’ you tried to ignore it, to keep the memory of his tone from bringing back the vision of Benzo's body falling to the ground, but it came to you with the force of a storm, leaving you breathless, ‘but i'm afraid this will be a very short reunion.’

You refused to turn toward him, your hands instinctively gripping Vander's gauntlets, and Vi positioned herself at your side, shooting a defiant glare at the man of mist as she held out her arms for you to place Vander's weapons on her.

‘Have you heard the rumours?’ he added, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, ‘Vander the coward fled town with his children. And they were never seen again.’

You finished knotting the second gauntlet to your girlfriend's wrist, the straps stiff but comfortable on her pale skin, and exchanged a glance with her. You were going to make it. You rested your hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly, and she gave you a fragile but sincere smile, real, just for you. Vi was the best at boxing. You took a quick glance back, your gaze hardening as you saw that Silco was surrounded by his followers, a bunch of buff men and women, all of them ready to fight. You sighed, determined. If there was anyone who could take on a man two heads taller, and visibly stronger, it was her.

You moved your hand up to the nape of her neck, stroking the lower part of her hair, and closed your eyes as you rested your forehead on his. It was a good-luck caress, a wish to go home, a temporary goodbye. She took a breath of air, parting from you reluctantly, as she always did, and positioned herself at your back. You saw the way Claggor's dagger broke from too much pressure, and heard Vi's first step toward the door.

‘Claggor, see if you can find another way out of here,’ you ordered him, rotating your shoulders. You saw him nod, watching out of the corner of your eye as Mylo wrestled with the device in the lock on Vander's right leg. Claggor nodded. Vander looked at you, concerned.

‘You don't have to do this,’ he said, but you knew he was talking to Vi.

‘Yes I do,’ she replied, determined, resolved.

Your priority was to get Vander out of there, to get everyone home safely. You ignored Vander's strangled gasp as Vi's quickened footsteps echoed over the metal lattice floor of the corridor, and you brought your hands to your head, grabbing the two long metal bobby pins you wore in your hair, both sharp and U-shaped. You crouched down next to Vander's other leg, and picked up the padlock. Inventions were your thing, you had to figure out how to open it.

You looked over your shoulder when you heard a thud behind you, momentarily startled, but smiled as you saw Vi, exultant in the middle of the bridge, and in the floor the body of the giant tattooed man you had seen when you turned around. That was your girl. You inserted one of the hairpins into the lock hole, noticing how Vander relaxed minimally against the seat as he saw that his daughter was perfectly capable, and then turned the other, recreating the teeth of a key. You imagined the mechanism under the padlock's metal cover, turning its gears to loosen.

Everything was going to be all right.

‘Mylo,’ you heard Vander, and saw out of the corner of your eye that Mylo had slipped the device to the floor. ‘You can do this.’

You looked over at Claggor, your fingers struggling against the lock, and saw that he had found a crack in the wall. There were enough tools in the backpack for him to open a hole. Perfect. You took a breath of air, forcing your wrist to turn the downward facing bobby pin all the way around, and the locking bow opened with a soft snap. You removed the hairpins, withdrawing the lock, and Vander rested his leg on the ground.

‘We're gonna get you out,’ you murmured, crouching down next to Mylo. ‘Hey, Myls,’ you said, laying your hands on top of his, helping him move them nimbly, ‘big breath.’

You felt him inhaling briefly, closing his eyes to feel the gears of the device against his palm, and you exchanged a glance as the smooth sound was repeated, releasing Vander's other leg.

‘We got this,’ he whispered, more encouraged.

‘Of course we do,’ you replied, placing a hand on Vander's knee to pull yourself to your feet.

Vi's soft panting continued to echo off the walls of the warehouse, to the rhythm of the punches of her gauntlet-covered fists as they impacted against the bodies of Silco's minions, and you looked back once more. Vi was rising against a bare-chested man, her shoulders tense, turned so that she could deliver another blow.

You focused on the lock on Vander's wrist as Mylo did the same on the other side of the chair, holding your hairpins tightly, moving your hands as fast as you could. You listened to your heart pounding in your ears, for a moment drowning out all sound from outside, like every time you secluded yourself in your studio, until you heard the first howl.

It reverberated in your mind, emptying it of all thought, like a shadow stretching over you. Deckard. You turned, eyes widening in horror, the mass of flesh that was the boy who had once abused you looming over Vi, and for a moment your heart stopped in your chest. In the darkness, you were only able to make out the fluorescent violet color of his veins, Vi's light pink hair, facing each other. You had seen what Deckard was capable of. You weren't going to let Vi end up like Benzo and those Enforcers.

‘Mylo, hurry,’ Vander pleaded, as you twisted the hairpins urgently, releasing the lock as soon as it gave way.

You turned toward the backpack, watching in horror as Vi leapt toward Deckard, and grabbed the first thing you saw. A piece of pipe, thin and hard against your hand, long enough that you could strike without getting too close. It wasn't a sword, but it would have to do. You looked up, checking that Claggor had already begun removing bricks from the wall, and advanced toward the deck, ignoring the way Deckard had grabbed Vi by the neck.

‘Silco, let her go!’ shouted Vander, slamming his free hand on the armrest of his chair. ‘This is between you and me!’

‘You had your chance,’ Silco replied, not even flinching.

Vi coughed, a choked, desperate sound, followed by a scraped gasp in her throat, seeking oxygen, and you slid onto the metal walkway. Deckard was barely aware that you had moved behind him, too focused on snatching every last breath of air from your girlfriend's lungs, and he dropped her against the ground as you jumped, unloading the pipe against his skull with all the force you had.

Deckard grumbled, an anguished scream spilling from his mouth, and you let go of the pipe, running to Vi. You slung one of her arms over your shoulders, one of yours around her waist, and carried her back to the room where Vander was, panting, the pain in your ankle beginning to awaken. You gritted your teeth, leaving Vi on the floor, leaning against the wall, and charged over to the sliding iron door, doing your best to close it. When you felt the door slam as it hit the wall, blocking Deckard's access, you pushed past the latch, collapsing against the floor, your shoulder pressed up to the door, just in case.

“You did good,” Vander whispered, looking at you, at Vi, his gaze clouded with admiration.

You merely nodded, exhausted, as Claggor continued to throw bricks, opening a large hole in the wall. You felt light, despite your tiredness, and leaned your head against the door. Mylo was struggling with the last lock, but you knew he was going to make it. You allowed yourself to close your eyes for a heartbeat, sighing, a moment of quiet before the first bang came. It echoed through the room, metallic and dry, and you felt it coursing through your body. Deckard was trying to reach you all.

You watched as Vi sat up, the one fist that still retained a gauntlet resting on the ground to stand, and tried to crawl to sit beside you, her chest rising and falling at full speed. There was only waiting, you knew. A slow, agonizing wait, until the boys were done with their part of the mission. You felt Vi lean her head on your shoulder, your bodies moving in time to Deckard's pounding, straining against the door to try and hold on as long as it took, and you clenched your jaw.

You were going to make it. A knock, a furtive glance at Mylo, and you heard the soft sound of the lock being released. You were going to make it. One punch, your shoulders tensed, and Vander was finally free. You. Were. Going. To. Make. It. One punch. A gentle squeeze on Vi's free hand. And Claggor finished tore a hole in the wall. You stood up, advancing forward, and then, just silence.

Suddenly, an explosion. You stopped, alert, your eyes wide, and turned to Vi. She had the same terrified expression on her face, one hand resting on the door to pull herself to her feet. You listened carefully over your ragged breathing, your ankle throbbing, your throat dry. Another explosion, closer this time. You turned to Vander, frowning, looking at him as if he could have some kind of answer. He extended his hand toward you, gesturing for Vi to hurry towards them.

A third explosion, and the world around you ceased to exist.

The crackling of the fire, soft and malleable in your ears, was what greeted you when you woke up. Your mouth felt dry, ragged, as if you had swallowed dust, but you opened it anyway, taking in a big breath of air. The oxygen burned your tongue, your eyes still closed, and you tried to move your hands, but you were unable to. You were caught.

The weight of certainty hovered over your ribcage, imprisoning it against the ground, and you moved your head on the cement beneath you, the ground warm against your forehead. You breathed in a second time, your respiration becoming more erratic, and then it hit you. Ashes. There were ashes everywhere, flames eating up the space in the room as if to make you disappear.

You opened your eyes, hearing a faint cough somewhere, and tried to focus your gaze on some point, but you saw only shadows and fire, dancing over you, coming closer, taunting you, and then going away again. You turned your head, looking for some familiar figure, Vander's comforting gaze in the darkness, Vi's soothing touch on your skin, but you were alone. You clenched your jaw, trying to fight against the stone that held you prisoner on the ground, but you found it impossible.

And then, a cry. In a déjà vu, you stirred again under your stone prison, turning toward the desperate sound of Vi's voice. You couldn't see her, but you knew she was there. Your chest was beginning to ache under the weight of the stone, each time managing to breathe less and less air, but you gritted your teeth, struggling, and managed to get a hand out. You mumbled your girlfriend's name, calling her name amidst the chaos, and sobbed when you got no response.

It seemed like the end. You felt dirty, drenched in sweat, stiff under the night of Zaun, and you were unable to perceive your legs, dumb under the stone. They were bricks, probably. Or the roof, perhaps. Snippets of the explosion came back to your memory, the dull sound against your ears, the brutality of the shockwave, and you looked straight ahead again. Vi was there, somewhere, and you had to get to her.

You fought against the cement block above you, trying to move it with your hips, with your arms, doing everything you could to get out of there, until you heard your name. In a wail, low and desperate, to your right. You turned, ignoring the laceration from the edge of the stone on your torso, and saw her. Her clear, frightened gaze, calling for you, the desperate gesture of her body. She was trapped under the metal door.

A growl, a large, dark silhouette in the smoke, and pounding. But you ignored them. You tried to turn a little more, struggling to reach Vi, your fingernails clawing at the ground and the ashes under your hand, dragging you towards her. Then the floor began to shake under your fingers, the ringing in your ears intensifying. The door imprisoning Vi flew off, and she crawled over to you, her hand outstretched in search of yours.

You stretched out your arm to reach for her, flinching as you heard a pained shout from Vander, extending your fingers, reaching out as far as you could for her, but before you could finally touch her fingers, a monstrous figure loomed over both of you, snarling, and grabbed Vi's body, leaping out of the building.

Your hand fell to the ground, defeated, and the walls that were left standing shook with the force of another explosion. You closed your eyes, stubborn, and shook yourself. You had to get to Vi. You had to find her, and Vander, and together you would search for Mylo and Claggor. You would return home. Nothing would have been in vain.

The flames crackled louder around you, almost warning you that getting up was a bad idea, but you ignored them. You weren't going to listen to them. You rested one hand on the ground, the other pulling the stone above you. You weren't strong enough to be able to lift it, but maybe you could wriggle out from under it. You were good at crawling, you could do it. You heard a cry of pain, distant but sharp against your chest, wholly yours. Your shoulder began to burn.

The first drop landed on your cheek. For a moment you thought it was blood, thick and dark against your skin, but then another fell on your chest, light and cool, and a next, and a next. Rain. It was raining. Water, cold and clear, that made the fire sizzle around you. You breathed a sigh of relief as you rested your shoulder on the ground, the dust and rain soothing the burns that threatened to sear your flesh, and leaned forward again. One arm in front of the other, ignoring the pain, pulling yourself back up as you fell to the ground, slowly and achingly moving forward.

Your legs wobbled as you tried to stand up. The bandages on your ankle were soaked in blood, which slid down from your thigh, staining everything in its path. Your torso was bruised, throbbing against your hand, and your ears were ringing. You leaned against the stone that had been above you, towering over it, and blinked, sliding your gaze around the room.

And then you saw them, Mylo and Claggor. Buried under the pieces of ceiling that had collapsed on top of you, motionless, drained of blood. Your breath caught in your throat, and you took a step toward them, a sob piercing your throat. There was nothing to be done, you knew. Still you knelt beside them, stroking Claggor's face, running your mangled fingers through Mylo's hair. You couldn't leave them. They were your family, you had to take care of them.

Powder's desperate scream echoed across the starry sky of Zaun, and your heart pulled forward in your ribs, your head turning toward the giant gap in the wall. Powder. She was supposed to be safe, in The Last Drop. She wasn't supposed to see any of this. She was supposed to wait for you to come back, in a couple of hours, and hold each other, perhaps commenting on it all as a successful anecdote. Mourning Benzo, honoring his memory.

Powder wasn't supposed to be there.

You rose to your feet once more, brow furrowed in concentration, gritting your teeth as you braced your injured leg on the floor, crawling, leaning against the walls to get out of there. You walked the metal corridors of the deserted building, of the cemetery of concrete and fire, descending the stairs one at a time, holding back the screams of pain that threatened to spill out of your mouth. You had to get to her, protect her, look for Vi, find Vander. Together you'd be okay. You always had been. You could make it through, with Ekko, with your mother's help. You would make it. You could fix it.

The night air greeted you like a slap in the face, the empty street echoing your footsteps. No one was there. You had heard Powder, you were sure. But she wasn't there. In a haze of light and shadow, you saw a body on the ground. Everything was gone, but there was another corpse right in front of you. You approached slowly, limping, gasping for breath, until you were able to recognize his face.

It was not Deckard, as you had wished. It was Vander's bruised and deformed face, turned into a monstrous beast, the violet blood spilled under his body. You put a hand to your mouth, falling to your knees beside him, collapsing. And the lump in your throat finally burst, a scream leaving your mouth, resting your forehead on his chest. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

You looked up, the loneliness caressing an uneasy shiver across your skin, and stared before you, seeing nothing.

Sometimes your last breath doesn't belong to you. It is stolen, ripped away by others with firm and merciless hands. One second, one heartbeat, one desperate look. One second, one heartbeat, and life leaves your eyes. Other times you hold your breath, the emptiness opening in your chest, deepening as you try to contain it. You tell yourself it's the end, that you need it to be. But it isn't. You end up breathing. You let the oxygen invade you again, even though it feels like a weight on your chest. You keep breathing, even though you wish you weren't.

⠀⠀𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍.⠀( send an ask or comment under the series to be part of it , just if you're going to interact with it ━reblogging with feedback. )⠀@im-just-a-simp-le-whore , @celestialzdiviner , @corpsebridenightamare , @louissst28 , @astr1dblogs , @notsolarry , @starlostastronaut , @yoonkinii , @padsfirewhisky , @luvrluvrr , @ssqra , @darkmoonchic , @urlocalsabito , @spicetouched , @astrxwitch , @deadlynightshadebylana , @bachirastoe , @pickmmeup , @your-scarlett-world

ㅤㅤ© dilemmars ★ do not copy, translate, repost or share this work as yours on other platforms ! consider leaving a comment or reblogging.

[eliossun]

LAST SHOT - ego death

synopsis : interning at a random ship in space sounds like a great idea for your paper. don't you think? part -> 2 | other chapters -> 1 3 ?

characters : anya, swansea, daisuke, curly, jimmy, gn!reader (daisuke x reader implied)

content : continuation of part 1! i suggest you to read part 1 first, but if you're insistent, you can read this as a stand alone! descriptions of panicking, minor character death, the birthday party (pre crash), and . jimmy. ew

wc : 4.6k+

before you read, reader is : cold, non expressive, and the worst crime of all, a psychology major...

i tried to stick to canon interpretation as much as possible, but i put in some hcs about anya's background ^^; it's only mentioned in one part of this story, but if that bothers you, you can skip! it's not that imp in this chapter !!

- today, you weren’t woken up by your body alarm.

- normally, you would wake up earlier than everyone else, and by the time you folded your ‘bed’ properly by the door, anya’s also awake. that’s how you get to greet each other first at the start of every day. (which daisuke tries to do, but you could tell that he’s going to ignore his alarm for the first few minutes .. as usual.)

- instead, footsteps wake you up. 

- they get closer, and closer, and -

“why the fuck are you sleeping in the hallways again?”

your eyes blink open, slowly. it’s been a few hours after curfew. even with that much sleep in your system - not an ounce of sleep seeped into your body, actually - you manage to seem completely awake at the voice; like you were expecting it.

because you were. you’re surprised it took this long for him to approach you.

peering up at the figure, you find your co-pilot standing before you, looming.

“you have a bed, don’t you? why don’t you use it?”

it’s a valid question. but you can’t just say that he was the reason directly, right? no, he would throw a tantrum. you’re not afraid of what will happen to you - you’re an intern, after all. but the fate of possibly being stuck with an angry manchild for the next few months was in your hands. 

so for now, you hold his glare. 

“was i bothering you?”

if your tone was too sharp, you could just excuse it for the ‘sleepiness’. 

he seems to get that you wouldn’t falter that easily. if he answered anything remote to a yes or a no - he knows that you would just push further.

“you’re going to make more work for anya.” 

so , he diverts the conversation. 

it’s a smart tactic, and you would enjoy conversations like these with your friends. but this man before you is not a friend; you hold nothing but wariness for him. he’s trying to get a reaction out of you, and you’re not going to provide that.

“i think i can take care of myself well enough.”

you look at him, up - then down after you say those words. 

‘unlike you.’

his scowl only got worse, and by now, you’re already all cozied up, and ready to fall back asleep - even if it was only for show. you take a last peek at him, before ending the conversation.

“night.”

after a few moments, you can hear his footsteps getting further away, and you inwardly sigh.

you don’t dream that night. 

but you fall asleep with a smile on your face, and to you, that’s good enough.

- after that little confrontation of yours, jimmy has not held back in his hostility against you.

- instead of bringing down people in your presence, he had opted to bring you down as well during your psych tests.

- you don’t respond, and maintain your usual attitude when it comes to processing his psych tests.

- however, around others, he simply stares daggers into you. there is no bark; nor bite.

- he’s not scared of what others might do once they know - just.. mildly unconvinced - or so he thinks. that’s your hypothesis.

- because, what would the crew do if they knew that one of their members was being bullied only because they were resting unusually, bothering no one, and doing no harm?

- you hold it above his head every single moment; wordlessly.

- and you both know it.

- you win for the moment. but you’ll still have to watch out for him.

- nowadays, your routine.. has changed a bit. 

- unlike before, you’d wake up an hour earlier than the crew, fold your blankets, place them in the room, and then check on your supplies. 

- the bag filled with airtight seal snacks, still very abundant due to your careful rationing, check.

-your already half-filled journal, filled with months worth of research and journaling, check.

- your thrifted power banks (they are a bit more drained than you expected), check.

- your ds with additional stickers on it (mainly from daisuke, but you managed to get one from swansea. it’s a warning label for one of his tools..), check

- your taser and gun (never used, and hidden for safety), check..

- and your emotional support mp3. 

- you stare at this particular item often.

- it contained the ambiance that came from your favourite part of town. your local cafe, the buzz of the aircon in your apartment, the library, and the rain. and not to mention, your favourite books. it’s perfect.

- now to think of it, you really do miss the rain. 

- the closest you got to rain here was.. the showers. pretty sad.

- after doing your item checkup, you head towards the lounge with anya right after you’ve showered.

- the communal shower is more private now, thanks to you placing an occupied and not occupied sign - right on the small window on the bathroom door. (why was that there, anyway?)

- you both eat breakfast; then either relax there, or you’d immediately go to the medical bay. sometimes, if you had time, you’d play games with anya and daisuke until it’s time to start your day. the latter is increasingly more rare occasion by the day, though.

- sometimes curly comes in right after you and anya. sometimes, it’s daisuke who comes in, pleading for you to play with him before the day starts..

 - and on very rare occasions, swansea comes in first. 

- before doing anything, he visits the coffee machine and grabs a can of.. whatever’s available, at this point.

- .. now you’ve nearly ran out of coffee. 

- you think that’s horrifying. a whole vending machine’s worth of coffee.. 

- but to be fair, you have done the same in exam seasons. and you’re not quite dead yet, so..

- eh. maybe you shouldn’t be too worried.

- your daily work includes: learning as much as you could from anya, writing down your conclusions/observations in your journal (for academic purposes), and checking on medical supplies. 

- most of the time, people who come in request for medicine, or have sustained some cuts/bruises. people rarely get sick, and when they do, you’ve tried your best to stop them from working. it’s dangerous to work whilst sick, especially considering that everyone’s job is pretty .. dangerous.

- think about it. if you had to work as a mechanic whilst you’re sick, what are the chances of damaging the ship? and if you were piloting while you’re sick.. the ship might crash.

- you don’t want to entertain the possibilities, so you end up forcing them to their rooms.

- at the end of the day, you take another shower, before changing into another set of pony express uniform. 

- you’re starting to get tired of looking at the same yellow and reds. perhaps you could’ve brought more personal clothing.. 

- after lounging in the living room (what daisuke likes to call it), you pull your blankets out once again, and sleep.

- that has been your routine for these past few months.

- it’s not that bad. surface wise - it’s not as bad as your daily life before the internship.

- but mentally? this is challenging. 

- you’re starting to miss grass, of all things. grass. 

- that green weed that grows from the ground- the dirt? yeah. you’re starting to miss that.

- you realise you’ve taken a lot of things for granted whilst you were in this metal hunk. 

- that includes the sun.

- recalling this all just as you’re about to eat dinner made you suddenly miss the moon too.

- as you open the door, it revealed the entire crew already seated, and you were the last person to join dinner.

- your seat is empty, in the middle of anya and curly.

- your eyes linger on the group, laughing together on the dining table. 

- as you were observing the whole crew from afar, daisuke manages to spot you, and then calls you over. 

- anya sends you a smile as she looks in your direction as well. curly follows after, sending you a smile, swansea nods at you. 

- your chest felt warm that night.

- .. maybe you really should treasure these moments more as well.

- there is one extra addition to your bi-daily tasks.

- laundry with daisuke. 

- or laundai… can you guess who made that pun?

- every three to four days, you meet up with him in front of the laundry room, basket of laundry in your arms, and his own laundry in his. 

- it’s not that he’s incapable of doing it - but he insists that you do it together on the day of the detergent accident. ever since then, you’ve been accompanying him.

- you try to spot if he adds too much or too little detergent, taught him which buttons to press on what occasions, and you also teach him how to pick up his laundry quickly.

- sometimes you do machine maintenance.. removing the tray at the bottom and washing the insides of the machine.

- while the laundry runs, you often just sit there together. seeing the laundry tumble, soap and water mixing together. 

- one time, he asked to go on a surfing trip with you. he made a comparison between the two of you and the clothes in the machine. 

- you pointed out that the clothes are, quite literally, drowning in water. 

- he immediately counters you - by saying that he meant the bubbles looked fun - and continues to try and convince you, saying that he’ll teach you how to surf

- .. that conversation ended with you saying maybe. 

- he cheers, and you were only able to sigh (fondly).

- he talks a lot, and you try to incorporate enough words in between your listening. 

- you talk about all sorts of things. how your day was, how you missed the sun (this topic was brought up by you), the amazement you held for the crew for working here for so long.

- daisuke also talks about the little things as well. how he learnt how to fix the pipes today, how he saved the last time you gave him sunshine - the candy - and ate two today, and how he managed to draw swansea properly today.

- the last one was a slip up, and you can watch his expression grow hesitant when you asked if he draws

- although shy, he shows you his notes- and by extension- his doodles.

- one time you saw him drawing the entire crew, live, whilst you were doing laundry. and somehow, he managed to get the courage to ask you to model for him. (mainly just staying still as you look down at your hands, to replicate the look you had when you were doing your journal)

- you roll your eyes at his request -not to belittle it, but to laugh at the cheesiness of it all - and whilst doing so, a small smile was painted on your lips.

you could feel your lips quirking up at the shy tone of his voice, your eyes looking at him with a fond crease subconciously.

"you could draw me, sure."

"wait, do that again."

daisuke watches you eagerly, a certain shine of disbelief in his eyes as you tilt your head at him, face now back to your usual expression.

"do what?"

he stares at you for a beat. then by the next, his face has already turned away from you, his eyes tightly shut and his hands clenched in front of him in faux defeat.

"noooo.. i can't believe i didn't get a picture of that- man!"

his mumble doesn't get unheard.

"get a picture of what?"

and as soon as you asked that question, his head is facing back in your direction, smiling and giving you a thumbs up.

"nothing!"

you hum in amusement.

"alright."

another smile slips by your lips. and this time, he exclaims, slamming his clipboard (for his drawings) down.

"you just smiled again!"

"i did?"

he continues to pester you to smile once more, and you kept on insisting that you had no idea what he was talking about.

- you had fun playing dumb in front of him, and him getting all frustrated. he looks like an angry puppy, which turned into .. a begging puppy?

- you watch as he pulls his puppy eyes on you, to no avail.

- but you somehow still remember the look on his face. the way his lips were downturned into a small pout and his eyes were wide open, peering at you. it's.. cute. to a certain extent.

- you eventually went back to drawing, and he offered you a little sticky note with a small doodle of him encouraging you on it.

- you still keep the note to this day. he's incredibly endearing sometimes.

- on a few occasion he doesn’t talk at all, but that’s pretty rare.

- the last time he remained silent for the entire session was when you brought your journal along for the wait.

- you had already recorded the past month’s results, and the day you set for data analysis lined up with laundry day. 

- so you brought the book with you, and you kept your eyes on the book the entire time. 

- you did the laundry with one hand, essentially. you only looked up from your book to respond to daisuke, or to check on his laundry. 

- the silence only comes to your attention at the end of your laundry session. 

- the machine often plays a tune once it’s done with it’s job - when it doesn’t, you’d slap the lid, and then it plays the song.

- and usually, it’s accompanied by daisuke’s own hum of the tune.

- at first, you didn’t even realise that he didn’t follow along with the melody. but after a moment, you felt something was off.

- your eyes flicker towards his direction, and you see him napping. 

- he’s snoozing away, hugging his own laundry basket. 

- and he looks.. peaceful.

- this wouldn’t be the first time you saw him asleep. the first time was when you brought him to his room after game night. the second time was when you spotted him on the sofa, napping the evening away on the same day swansea was sick - and this.. would be the third.

- your fingers subconsciously reach out to brush his hair back. you stopped once you realised what you were going to do - your hand inches away from his face.

- dropping your hand back onto your lap, you sigh again. it’s an action you find yourself doing more often.

- you try to focus on your research again, flicking to the next page - your eyes following the lines you’ve written before.

- so you both sit there, his soft breaths filling in the air every now and then, and the flicks of pages accompanying them right after.

- he wakes up sooner than you expected, and you briefly suffer the wrath of the sleepy daisuke.

- half-asleep gibberish about you not waiting for him, and leaving him in the laundry room alone. (while you were right there)

- it takes a few minutes before he falls back asleep, this time, on your shoulder.

- you really hoped he really would’ve truly woken up, even if it did mean sitting through more of his sleep induced rants. 

- .. now you’ll have to stay in this room, in the same position - your shoulders possibly freezing up at this rate - and .. perhaps also face swansea’s wrath later for keeping his intern for too long.

- oh well. 

- you’ll face it later. 

- for now, you’ll just continue reviewing your data… with a snoozing mechanic intern on your shoulder.

- the other day, curly went by your office. 

- it’s odd enough for him to approach you first before you call him for evaluation.

- but it wasn’t psych eval day; and you watch as he enters the medical bay warily, avoiding your gaze after a brief moment of your eyes meeting.

- you could already feel like it would be a long session. or at least, a heavy one. 

- so you place down your clipboard, and instead focus entirely on him.

- he struggles to get a word out other than “hi, sorry for bothering you, do you mind if i.. talk to you as a patient?”

- so you wait. your eyes remain glued at him, and he takes a few breaths in; then out. and it repeats, over and over again.

- the machine buzzes beneath your feet. it’s louder in the silence.

- so are your breaths. and so is his.

- and finally, the silent tempo is broken by a sigh.

“the crew is getting laid off,”

the words are spoken in a low mumble, so soft that you wouldn’t hear them if you weren’t paying attention. but you did hear anyway.

he looks visible distressed; hands messing his own hair up, his fingers fidget more, and eyebags looking heavier than usual. he refuses to look you in the eyes. 

this would be the first time you’ve seen him like this. it’s been sixteen minutes since he came in, and this was the first words that he said, aside from the greeting he gave you.

he's waiting for something. your breath faltering, or perhaps your expression dropping. you can tell by the way he looks at you. 

he seems guilty. 

“.. i just talked with jimmy. before the news, about how i felt stuck in this job.”

he takes a heavy drag of air into his lungs.

“i didn’t mean to.. i didn’t know that this would happen. he’s going to think that i had involvement in this.”

“but you know you don’t.”

your eyes continue to pick up on the little quirks on his body. his faster way of speaking - the way he tumbles over his sentences. and it also explains why he wasn’t seen at the lounge for the past couple of days.

these are behaviours that distressed individuals display. you remember this clearly in a textbook you had reviewed previously.

for the first time, in the past nineteen minutes, he looks up at you. 

“will you let his beliefs prevail over your own?”

you continue to stare at him, he stares back.

after a brief moment of strength, he seems to give up. his body falls back into himself - his body fully leaned back onto the chair.

“.. i don’t know.”

he takes another deep breath in, and you can feel your eyebrows temporarily furrow.

“his views matter to me. so does everyone else’s views. i can’t discount their thoughts about this.”

“but you can discount your own?”

your question rings in the room. this time, he doesn’t dare to hold your gaze anymore.

“you’re not at fault here. you want everyone to win in this situation, and that’s impossible.”

you tap your finger on the table, producing a stable rhythm on the table.

“there is nothing you can do to change this outcome anymore.”

you close your eyes, and your finger comes to a stop.

“...the best you could do now is to not let others write your narrative for you. help others write their own narrative as well.”

you watch as he sinks deeper into his seat.

“...you’re right.”

and this is as far as you can go. 

you can’t help with anything more as a faux therapist.

you’re not qualified for it either. the best you could do is to make him understand that it isn’t his fault, and no, he should not be carrying this burden, nor allowing people to blame him either.

you know he knows this. but does he understand it?

so all you can do is wait; wait until he does.

the blonde man lifts himself up from the seat in front of you, taking a deep breath as he walks around the medical bay.

his eyes are closed, before he attempts to harden himself again. 

he sends a smile at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“..sorry for coming out of the blue. i’m not sure what made me do that.“

he even tries to throw in a chuckle, but it just sounds dry. you send him a sour expression.

another exhale sounds in the room; and this time, the sigh didn’t come from him. 

“.. you can do this, curly. don’t doubt yourself either.”

you meet his eyes for the final time. 

this time; he’s completely defeated. no longer is he standing before you as captain, but as a man, grieving for his friends’ futures. for the stable future that they might’ve once believed in. that man sends a weak nod in your direction.

“.. i’ll try.”

the male leaves with a small thank you, and silence follows after.

your eyes are trained at the false sky as the door shuts in on itself. your calm demeanour slowly unfolds on the wooden desk, your head now buried in your arms. 

.. now that his burdens are shared with you, what should you do?

- everyone knows by now that your work with anya in the medical bay are split into two.

- anya with physical injuries, and you.. working on psych tests. 

- you don’t want to say that you work with mental injuries just yet. that’s a horrifying thought. you’re seriously not qualified yet.

- hell, you probably didn’t give proper treatment towards curly that other time.. you don't think you're quite ready to become a therapist yet. that's one thing you've learnt in this internship.

- but point is, you’ve barely dealt with physical injuries prior to this.

- why are you bringing this up? well..

- anya got sick.

- it’s a fever and flu of some sort. you say it’s the airconditioning in her room, and she denies it - saying that it was fine last night. 

- then you suggest that it might be her habit of waking up way too early, and this time, she agrees that it could’ve been what played part in making her sick.

- she laughs when you sigh; mostly due to the fact that she knew you were joking.

- you’ve been helping her do mundane stuff. examples were.. bringing a basin of water of warm water and a small towel for baths, medicine and food prepared for her, and making sure she gets enough entertainment whilst also making sure she slept enough.

- you would really prefer if you could’ve just cared for her in her room…

- but she refused - and instead, remains at the medical bay. she wants to be prepared if anyone’s injured, she says, while she looks like she's dying. (you’re exaggerating)

- but since that’s the only way she would allow you to help her, you comply.

- she often sleeps hunched over the desk. that’s why you brought one of the pillows from the lounge to her. 

- she seemed concerned once she saw the pillow, and you get why - safety reasons, germs, etc. - but you promised that you would wash the entire pillow after it gets in and out of the medical bay.

- it was her time to sigh at your expense. you let out a huff of defeat.

- having a sibling-like relationship with anya meant that she kept you close enough to watch over you, but not close enough to know her.

- only throughout the course of nursing her back to health, do you get to hear more about her life.

- she wanted to pursue nursing due to her mother’s poor health throughout her entire life. 

- her father was the only source of income, and almost saw his wife as a burden.

- living with her older and younger sisters, she had tried to make sure that the two were alright as well, whilst taking care of her mother. this managed to affect her grades.

- miraculously, her mother’s condition got better after some time, and the burden on her older sister’s duties got better.

- but this meant arguments got worse. so she left, leaving her younger sister in her older sister’s care. 

- she promised to take care of her mother when she got older. but after a year she left home, her mother tragically died due to a heart attack.

- that’s how she told you that she never had anyone to care for her like this, ever since she moved and got a job in the city.

- before you knew it, you had something in your eye.

“..are you crying?”

you sniffle, looking away from her - a poor attempt of hiding away your .. emotional state.

“.. no.”

your voice gives it away. damnit.

- she only laughs at your attempts, before convincing you that it was alright now. she’s still alive. and you can only cry more.

- you compose yourself, before handing her another cup of water, and a replacement towel for her forehead. 

- she thanks you quite a lot during the entirety of it. you try to assure that she was welcome to ask for your help.

- but when swansea comes in with a particularly nasty cut - daisuke trailing behind the old man, panicking - you nearly panic as well.

- you try your best to stay calm, following what you’ve learnt from your mentor.

- disinfectant. don’t touch the wound with alcohol. clean the surroundings, and then secure the wrap with bandages. make sure that you handle it properly. 

- before you knew it, you were done.

- it’s not as good as anya’s, but you think you did well with the bandages. 

- swansea thanks you, and daisuke gives you two thumbs ups. it’s hard to not reciprocate his energy, so you give him one as well.

- anya, on the other hand, stares at you wide-eyed. 

you tilt your head at her expression.

“.. did i do something wrong?”

her expression doesn’t look like a dangerous expression - just more towards shock, and perhaps, something else.

“i didn’t know you improved so much..”

ah. she still remembers, it seems..

at the first day, she asked how much knowledge you had about first aid. and you responded by showing her what you’d do when you had a cut. it’s safe to say that you made.. leaps of improvement. 

“yeah. i’ve been paying close attention to you.”

you watch as she realises what she did.

“i.. taught you that..”

you nod in response.

“yeah. you did.”

she smiles at you, and now, it was her who had tears in her eyes.

- you tried your best to comfort her after that. 

- you used your newfound knowledge - that she likes tea - and brought her a cup.

- perhaps, due to the exhaustion, she immediately went to sleep an hour after she downed the tea.

- you made sure she was alright, before continuing your writing on the journal.

- you were informed of a communal birthday party (how cheap is the pony express?), and this time, you were celebrating curly's birthday. 

- everyone's wearing party hats - striped yellow and red, the same colours of your uniform.

- you’re seriously getting sick of seeing it.

- not sure why no one bothered observing and memorising the codes. but you did. and so, you baked the cake beforehand.

- daisuke practically wails at you, asking why you never told him that you knew the pass to the sweetener all this time. basically, putting on a dramatic show.

- you stare back at him, deadpan. the both of you know why you didn’t reveal it to him.

- he only grins once he got caught. you sigh.

- so, that didn’t go well.

- you surprised curly, but it seems like today was the day he decided to break the news to the members about the disbandment. he was told to wait until you were closer to the destination of the delivery but..

- you suppose this would be the best outcome, if you only had curly’s emotional state in mind.

- swansea makes a bitter joke, anya looks increasingly worried, and daisuke’s silent, unable to say anything in this situation.

- and jimmy…

“..so i guess you got what you wanted.”

jimmy laughs bitterly, his hands on the table.

“without the guilt.”

you watch as curly attempts to explain himself.

“jim.. if i had known..”

a poor explanation it was. you could only watch as the brown-haired man grows more agitated.

“i can go back to my, how’d you put it? “struggle of a life?””

the room is slowly growing more heavy at his words. 

he’s clearly talking about a previous conversation with curly. but at the same time.. he’s wording it particularly. sure, you weren’t there when the conversation happened, but you think you get the gist of what jimmy’s trying to do at the moment - and it’s starting to affect others in the room as well.

“sounds like you’re blaming him for this, jimmy.”

so you try to diffuse whatever he’s planning.

his furrowed eyes snap at you, and he immediately explodes.

“what would you fucking know, huh?”

his hands slam at the table, shaking the cutlery on the surface, and it becomes evident that he doesn’t care about the things that could break at this very moment. he’s only interested in expressing his own anger.

so, you conclude that you were right. he’s releasing his anger by picking arguments, instead of thinking rationally, disregarding curly’s emotion, and how it might cause misunderstandings.

you should’ve expected this much from him.

you decide to retort, tone calm as you speak.

“i know that this should be blamed on management. not the man whose a small cog in the machine right now.”

he only looks angrier after being presented with sound logic.

“oh, please, cut your poetic crap. you come out of this unscathed. you don’t have any rights to talk.”

at this point, you’re just more tired than confused. 

“and you have the right to blame someone that isn’t at fault? who gave you the right to do that?”

you slowly unfold your arms, staring at him, before scanning at the others.

they all have different expressions, and you could feel how heavy the atmosphere is. to think that someone like him could cause this much trouble.. 

you look at the perpetrator one last time, as you add in a final comment.

“stop trying to twist reality to your own narrative.”

with that, you could see him seething in his seat. 

his eyes are sharp on you, and you’d continue this little staring competition if you were any less sane. so for now, you place your party hat down on the table, and remove yourself from the conversation.

“i think everyone needs time to process this. so i’ll leave first. goodnight.”

those were your final words, before you stood up from your chair, and left the table.

- after you left, daisuke followed after. then anya, and then swansea.

- everyone’s hat remains at the table, either upright or simply discarded on the wooden surface.

- safe to say, you all agreed that time was the solution for the short while, and you can’t be more proud of them for having some sort of sanity - unlike a certain brunette. 

- but you could only watch as the door closes on you, with curly and jimmy sitting alone on the table.

- you just hope he doesn’t dig a deeper hole for himself. it would make your efforts of redirecting his anger towards you pointless.

- alas, you don’t have power over him.

- you can lead someone to water, but you can’t make them drink, after all.

i did NOT proofread this. oh man. ill edit it later on.. perhaps...maybe.

i also did not know what possessed me when i was writing this. jimmy feels really ooc but maybe it's because no one has tried to put that man in his place LOL.. only swansea did at the end (by attempting to kill him. valid btw)

hopefully i managed to flesh out each character's relationship with reader enough in this chapter .. i didn't get to write swansea in but tried my best to slip him in the details.. will focus on it next chap!

thank you so much for the support for this as well! i appreciate it tons!

extra notes: i'd like to think that the cake was stored in the fridge.. and eaten the next morning (although with a somber mood)

sun & moon dividers by : @/saradika nighttime screen & the lounge visuals from mouthwashing

[wasabiburger]

This is why I enjoy introducing people to Dungeon Crawl Classics level 0 funnels. Getting tired and uncomfortable with frontier justice? Well how about you try some ethical, locally sourced mob justice!

Jokes aside, I do think this falls into that issue that exists across entertainment mediums that I find really frustrating. People get defensive about others criticizing content they enjoy for some of the things that might be interesting to consider such as how a specific dumb "turn your brain off" action movie sure seems to still have an insane amount of scenes making the military look cool. Does it mean you're not allowed to enjoy it? No, and you can continue not analyzing or looking into why and how those scenes exist.

I get that there is a time and place to bring up aspects of media that might make the people engaging in media with you uncomfortable but I think a big reason these aspects don't get addressed as much is purely because the defensiveness and discomfort often seems to take priority as socially acceptable with statements "it's not that big of a deal" or "well I guess I can't enjoy anything" and "yeah well x media you like does that too" instead of discussing it (again, within whatever space and time isn't just somebody ignoring all social cues completely).

You're allowed to just kill orcs and take their gold and not think about it and just have a lot of fun without that being mutually exclusive with thinking about the story, world and characters in this medium you engage with for 4 hours every Friday night.

So there is a pretty clear shift in playstyle between TSR D&D and WotC D&D: for better and for worse, D&D 3e introduced the idea of encounter balance, de-emphasized mechanics that had previously encouraged the GM to think of the monsters as real living creatures (reaction rolls, morale, etc.), and it had the effect of making D&D a much more combat-focused game. D&D has always been a game that's opinionated about combat, it's basically the most expressive and detailed form of play regardless of edition, but combat in the TSR editions was not exactly zoomed in and tactical. The WotC editions purposefully made combat zoomed in, granular, and tactical.

And this has had an effect on playstyle: since combat is now the main form of player expression what players actually want is for their characters to get into combat. Because combat is the most fun part of the game. But the game has also changed from the largely amoral dungeon-crawling game into a game of fantasy heroics (even though a lot of the trappings of the amoral dungeon-crawling still remain, which contributes to the dissonance), so you can't just have the player characters going into combat for the sake of it. That would frame the player characters as kind of Fucked Up, and we can't have that in our supposedly heroic fantasy.

What you end up with is a variety of contrivances like "they're bandits," "they're cultists," or, my all-time favorite, "they attacked first" to make the action seem morally justifiable, even though gameplay is still motivated by a desire to fight. The monsters fight to the death and, importantly, can often not be reasoned and negotiated with, partly because combat is supposed to be the fun, engaging part everyone is here to do, but also because if they actually acted like reasonable people it could cause dissonance with the whole "the player characters are the goodest heroes."

As my friend @tenleaguesbeneath once called it: what is actually going on is that the player characters are hunting people and monsters who have been programmed to fight to the death and never negotiate for sport, while justifying it as self-defence.

It's a simple power fantasy, and I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Sometimes you want to play a morally uncomplicated game about killing guys with cool magic swords. But I think it's also fun to think about what the specific types of monsters players end up fighting reveals about Society the invisible, unexamined ideology lying under the surface that the designers of even modern D&D have failed to examine. And to me it often reads like a frontier justice fantasy. None of that is to detract from anyone's joy of the game, and for me it's just fun to think about and post about this stuff while Still Enjoying the Game, but if someone expressing that opinion makes you feel uncomfortable, why? That's pretty silly imo.

[kirkodiletears]

I wanted to answer this question: (it's only a speculation)

"How intense is Luo Binghe love for the original Shen jiu and why is he so damn fixitated him for is it his looks or personality lol ? I'v read so many fics of Shen yuan identity reveal with Luo binghe and the peaklords that always ended positively but do you think it'd be the same in the canonverse? Like if Shen yuan were to reveal he wasn't the original would they react positively or negatively?"

I think 1st thing he feel in love was SJ's looks

"Shang Qinghua: “What was your first impression of the other person?”

 

Luo Binghe continued to reminisce and lightly said: “An aloof and remote, distant and untouchable immortal.”

then he started to do anything to gain SJ's attention/favor... He befriended with SJ's favorite disciple NYY, even if she always got him in trouble, then after he was pushed down to the abyss he realized that SJ would never return his feelings so he decided to destroy him, meanwhile he started to cope with it and started to pretend that SJ was a scum villain who couldn't love anyone but himself (that's probably why he never seen SJ's memories even if he was able to do so) and when YQY died he and SJ's reaction finally shattered his illusions...

Well, in my opinion, you pretty much nailed it. Especially keeping in mind the original intentions of Airplane to write PIDW as a yaoi novel with SJ (SQQ) and LBH as a OTP.

P.S.: Apparently I better quote the text of SVSSS, chapter 81 to be precise, to avoid ignorant comments. There's a huge misunderstanding going on in the English-speaking segment, probably dew to an English translation of SVSSS. Some readers are mislead by two quotes, that they take as a contradictory, which in truth, they are NOT.

The first one is from a Chapter "The story begins". It is the last chapter of the novel, after this the extras start. And this particular chapter is a culmination: this is where the truth is reveled. Like in a detective story, where we finally find out, who the killer is. This meant to become a real "bomb", that makes a reader go WOOOW!!! And this is THE KEY for understanding the whole story: the plot and the characters, especially Luo Bing-mei (and Luo Bing-ge). And speaks about the intentions of the Airplane. (original scrapped outline(c))

The second quote on the other hand speaks of an EXISTING PIDW. (original outline(c))

The first quote, from the final chapter:

Shen Qingqiu looked him up and down. “You don’t look crushed at all after all this foolish messing around ended up completely changing your own novel.”

Shang Qinghua said, “You can’t say it like that ah. Maybe you think it’s just all foolish messing around that isn’t worth a damn, but for Bing-ge, your foolish messing around is probably the meaning of this entire world.”

... holy s***, Great God Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky was able to say something like that?!

Shen Qingqiu was terrified. “F***. You didn’t turn back into the original character, did you?”

Shang Qinghua said seriously, “Don’t be like that. I’m also a young person with literary ideals. Of course, I have my own reflections and emotions.”

Shen Qingqiu laughed coldly. “What literary ideals? How come all I saw in the original work was shameless fanservice?” Not to mention his hand speed that could produce ten thousand words a day, and the courage to even occasionally explode with twenty thousand. If he didn’t have such equipment, there was no way 《Proud Immortal Demon Way》 would have been able to hold out before it was serialized!

Shang Qinghua spread his hands. “You think that I always wrote shameless content that lacked any integrity from the very start? I’ve also written belles-lettres4 before, but they were all unpopular, so I had no choice but to go down a path that catered to the masses. It must be said that writing novels is a very lonely undertaking. Rather than writing a stallion male protagonist who’ll be stereotypical in the end, it’s more in line with my philosophy for writing to create the current Bing-ge━this kind of weirdo male protagonist whose character is a bit more complicated, has contradictions and conflicts, and has a rough destiny.”

Shen Qingqiu concluded, “So, your philosophy for writing is to write about gay guys?”

Shang Qinghua: “Do you look down upon gay male protagonists? Works of art and artists all like to create gay guys. Belles-lettres favors gays, do you know that?”

He waved his arms wildly and passionately. “Cucumber Bro, if the System hadn’t chosen you, this faithful die-hard reader, perhaps the plot wouldn’t have deviated so thoroughly, thoroughly to the point that it deviated all the way back to my original scrapped outline. Even though the me back in reality━who couldn’t endure the loneliness and was under financial pressure━chose to finish writing 《Proud Immortal Demon Way》 according to other people’s preferences and what they found cool... now, all thanks to you, essentially everything that I wanted to write has already unfolded in front of my eyes. Cucumber Bro!”

He patted Shen Qingqiu’s shoulders with deep sentiment and solemnity. “You... are the chosen one; as for my career, I have no more regrets!”

... why did it sound like the System and this world were both products of Shang Qinghua’s resentment over scrapping that outline and going with what was mainstream?

Shen Qingqiu, who shamefully became this kind of “chosen one”: “Who’s your faithful die-hard reader?”

Shang Qinghua waved his hand and one-sidedly declared his victory. “I’m not going to talk to you; you’re an anti-fan.”

Shen Qingqiu was about to say, “I’m only an anti, not a fan!” when he suddenly heard Shang Qinghua starting crooning something like, “Emotions are warm, kindness hard to bear, lips moving together, desires turning the evening to the next morning, never resting from dawn to dusk.” The crucial point was that melody, which sounded extremely familiar to the point that it made Shen Qingqiu’s hands and teeth itch. He pointed at him and said, “Shang Qinghua, what are you singing?”

Shang Qinghua continued to croon. “The warmth of emotions makes gratitude hard to bear. Lips to lips, locked in a kiss. Let this night linger ‘til tomorrow’s dawn. Day after day, night after night; never to end. Will tomorrow be another today? When ‘til Zheng Yang reaches its zenith? As Zheng Yang ascends, the voice of Autumn stirs. A sheathless Xiu Ya, a spurt of cold nectar. Tragic pleas amidst choked sobs, thus in vain; for he rises again5...”

Shen Qingqiu was in disbelief. “F*** you—why don’t you just try and sing another line?”

Shang Qinghua said, “Great Lord Shen, why aren’t you listening to what I’m saying? You must never go around casually f***ing people. Bing-ge will go crazy. I’m telling you, this Resentment of Chunshan is equivalent to Shi Ba Mo6. You two are the legendary national homos, do you understand? I have no problems with you shutting me up, but ultimately it’s useless. You can’t possibly make all the countless people in the world shut up...”

The second quote, from the extras: "

System: 【Basic accomplishment of《Proud Immortal Demon Way》’s original outline, slight deviation of romance plot, objective accomplished. Function to return to original world download complete. Activate return home sequence?】

Basic accomplishment of the original outline, that he agreed with, all the holes which needed to be filled were filled. But, this “slight deviation of romance plot” isn’t quite right. Bing-ge is gay no━how can you say this is a “slight deviation”? Ay okay, okay. In fact, in his original outline, Bing-ge didn’t have a romance plot; he was doomed to fade away, alone and unaging forever. If you insist on adding a plotline, that’s whatever, but he’s wasted this many words… you mean he can return to his original world?!?!"

The second quote is very poorly translated into English. What it actually means, is that Bing-ge does not have ANY SIGNIFICANT RELATIONSHIP, LOVE. Nothing to do with he amount of partners he fucks. And yes - the ending for the tyrant he became in PIDW is not happy in a slightest. This is how his relationship with the harem is described by the PIDW reader's forum in the novel:

"Airplane really doesn’t know how to write romance plotlines, best if he just doesn’t. I feel like Luo Binghe doesn’t have feelings for any of his wives, he just wants to use them. And I can’t see any of those women with real moving emotion for him. "

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 09

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

NOAH

If that punching bag could speak, it would beg for mercy. Sweat heated my skin, and with every punch against the rubbery surface, an overstrained grunt sliced through the air.

"I think that's enough for today, Noah," someone said from a distance, but my focus was locked on the back-and-forth motion of my clenched fists, ignoring how they throbbed painfully with each strike.

This was the only way to unload everything consuming me without smashing my head into some random passerby while walking down the street.

The past few days couldn’t have been more hellish. I couldn’t write, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and all I was left with was being forced to see that woman at every rehearsal and act like she didn’t exist.

Impossible when she was everywhere.

"I just said it seems like enough for today, Noah!" The same voice broke the short space between me and the punching bag as it pulled me away from it. "What the hell is wrong with you today? You seem like you're on another planet!"

The trainer stood in front of me, arms crossed, while I slid down the wall until I sat on the floor. My chest heaved uncontrollably as I stared at his calves through the strands of sweat-soaked hair hanging over my face.

Training at night was good; I liked the empty gym, especially when I used it as an escape.

"My head's full of crap, that's all," I spat, removing the wraps around my fists.

"Anything I can help with?"

"Only if you can hit me hard enough to induce permanent amnesia," I tried to joke, but my voice came out more morbid than anything else.

"Actually... I might be able to do that!" The tall, bald man with bulging veins on his temples shrugged. "But forgetting, even temporarily, won't make your crap disappear."

"And who said I want anything resolved? The sooner everything goes to hell, the better."

I definitely didn’t mean to be so harsh, but it came out automatically, and he should ignore it. My good moods were so rare that, to him, this probably felt like just another normal day.

"It might be a relief for a while, but the body reacts differently than your mind. Even if your mind didn’t remember anything, you'd live with the feeling that something’s missing every time it relives memories, habits, interests, and tastes," he added. "Like when you touch an object and your body reacts instantly, or when you visit a place and your insides speak for themselves."

What utter nonsense, for God’s sake.

"Got it," I said, giving him a thumbs-up with a straight smile, as if that load of crap actually made sense.

"Fine, fine, call me crazy, Mr. Know-It-All!" He rolled his eyes, turning his back. My gaze swept the room, watching as he picked up gloves and bags scattered on the floor, placing them on the shelves.

Leaving the gym, I regretted not grabbing a jacket earlier as the wind hit me on the street. Walking to the parking lot, I unlocked the car with a click, and before getting in, I heard a brief cluster of voices in the distance. Turning around, I saw a group of four girls bundled up in band hoodies, phones in hand.

I couldn’t explain why, but a discomfort seemed to envelop me as they approached, realizing I wasn’t about to flee.

“Noah, would you mind taking a picture with us?” asked the tallest girl, her short hair tucked behind her ears.

Well, maybe there was no harm in that.

“Of course! Let’s do it!” I forced a brief smile as they gathered around me.

A guy passing through the parking lot helped take the photo, and I held the smile until he finished.

“Thank you so much, Noah. I hope you’re doing okay!” said another girl with colorful streaks in her hair, stepping aside.

“I am, thanks for asking.”

I just wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t that I hated my fans or anything. In fact, I’d always been able to separate those who genuinely appreciated the band’s work respectfully from those who felt entitled to my personal life, as if it didn’t belong to me or as if I wasn’t an adult capable of handling my own decisions.

But I couldn’t deny that most of the time, I wished to be a voice without a face. I loved writing music, I loved singing, and I never doubted it was for me since the first time I did it. I just wasn’t so sure that back then, I’d also wanted everything that came with it.

The way I felt uneasy in most recent social interactions made it clear how I felt.

“We just wanted to let you know that no matter what happened, we’re on your side. Always!” she emphasized, and my brows furrowed as my expression darkened.

“What are you talking about?”

“It was on a news channel—speculations that the Bad Omens vocalist’s overdose was her ex-boyfriend’s fault.” The information came with a phone placed in my hand. “They dug up videos of you two arguing at the festival, and now they’re blaming you.”

“They’re piecing together moments from shows where things seemed tense and comparing how she’s been since your breakup,” added a redheaded girl, taking the phone from my hand. “But we’re rallying in your defense. We know she was always the problem, and we won’t let her fans drag your name like that.”

Every misfortune seemed to fall short of what I deserved.

“Look, I’m sure you all have better things to do than worry about this,” I assured them, stepping back closer to the car. “I don’t need lawyers for the internet court. Take care.”

With a final fake smile, my eyes narrowed as I turned my back on them and got in the car. Before starting the engine, I still caught one last complaint.

“It’s incredible how he defends that girl even in the middle of this circus. I don’t understand what the hell she has!” she fumed, stomping her feet and crossing her arms.

That was an excellent question.

I was far too focused on the traffic, humming Sicko Mode by Travis Scott, tapping my fingers to the beat on the steering wheel. I couldn’t help swaying in a little dance as if nothing was wrong. The sunlight was strong, so I pulled my sunglasses from my hair to better see the road.

For a fleeting moment of distraction, I glanced in the rearview mirror, and a chilling sensation washed over me for no reason. Behind my car, a dark-windowed SUV waited at the same red light. There was no reason for concern—I knew cars like that were common around here.

But the unease grew, gnawing at me, as I decided to test my suspicion when the light turned green. Casually, I turned the first corner to shake it off, but it didn’t take long for the driver of the SUV to appear on the narrow street, blatantly trailing me.

I pressed the gas pedal moderately, and the bastard matched my pace. He didn’t seem intent on cutting me off, maintaining a safe distance—just enough to let me know he was there, aiming to unsettle me.

I tried to keep control, ignoring my sweaty hands gripping the steering wheel, my gaze fixed on the mirror. Accelerating down the second avenue, I ran a red light, weaving through the crossing traffic to shake the pursuer, my pulse racing in rhythm with the car’s speed.

No time to think. I veered sharply into the opposite lane, narrowly avoiding a collision with another vehicle that slammed on its brakes. The blaring horn couldn’t even dampen the sinister adrenaline coursing through my veins, heating my blood alongside my labored breathing.

I yanked the wheel, swerving into the first open alley I spotted, slowing just enough to notice the SUV caught in the chaos I’d caused at the intersection, freezing the traffic behind it.

But what the hell was that?

After another meeting in the office, everyone was ready to leave. I was really determined to keep my promise when I said she had died to me yesterday.

Today, I only thought about her three thousand times.

When I passed through the door, I saw that she was right behind me, and it was incredible how every time things were tense between us, she somehow managed to look six times more stunning, as if just to provoke me.

The funniest part was that she didn’t have to try very hard to do it.

“Are you okay?” My steps instinctively halted when I heard her voice. “You seemed agitated when you got to the meeting, and…”

If I were speaking to her, I would’ve surely said that a big part of my irritation came from people spreading lies about us online again and some lunatic racing me on the road just a few minutes earlier.

“I really wanted to talk to you about something,” she insisted, gently touching my back, which I quickly pulled away from. Her fingers carried electricity, and just the slightest contact with my skin was enough to turn my brain into useless mush.

But I wasn’t about to break the silence game.

“Noah?” Gerard poked his head out of the room, interrupting the moment. “Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.”

Relieved, I exhaled deeply, keeping my back turned to her as I walked into the room. I hated the smell of cigars and strong alcohol that filled the place, and I couldn’t stop glaring disgustedly at the leather furniture, worried the scent would stick to me.

“Just seeing the number of attendees in today’s meeting told me your conversation didn’t go well, did it?”

“Did you call me here to talk about work, or are you looking to catch up on gossip? I’m sure any website could keep you more updated than I could,” I retorted as I slouched in the chair, legs spread, letting my head fall to the side.

Fortunately, I wasn’t very expressive.

“I called you because I care about you two, and of course, this news shook me—not just because it’s a sad decision coming from someone young like her…” Gerard paused dramatically, and I raised a single eyebrow. “But because I’m worried about you in all of this.”

Fascinating.

“It happened exactly as I imagined. There’s no way she could’ve handled another wave of hate after all these months being labeled as problematic. Noah, I knew she’d eventually find a way to drag you into it, to share the blame!”

“I don’t follow the news, so I’m out of the loop,” I lied shamelessly.

“So you haven’t noticed she hasn’t defended you or denied anything being said about you? Noah…” He took a deep breath, clasping his hands with a thick gold ring on his ring finger over the messy desk. “I’ve been your age, and I know what love does to people, especially when it’s one-sided.”

Nothing annoyed me more than people circling endlessly around a topic instead of just saying it outright. We weren’t at a lecture or a sermon, and outside this place, dragging things out made no sense.

It was impossible not to stare at him with more disinterest as I rested my hand on my chin.

“I know you probably think this is all nonsense, but I can’t let you forget what happened the last time an issue between you two crossed personal boundaries and hurt the band,” he stressed, drawing a line on the desk. “I took the hit, and you… well, no need to comment—just search your name online.”

“Every day revisiting the same topic. Don’t you have a new, important agenda to make my visit worthwhile?”

“This will remain the topic until you stop behaving like you’re ready to throw it all away for that disturbed girl again!” He finally bared his claws. “Are you going to tell me you didn’t, even for a second, think it was betrayal for her to throw you to the wolves and save her own skin?”

I’d reached my limit for the day, clearing my throat into my fist before standing and stretching my back. Slowly, I leaned over the desk, bringing my face close to his while locking eyes and moistening my lips with my tongue.

“Gerard, dear…” I whispered so softly it almost sounded like a song. “You can take my band, my money, my rights, my songs, even the damn socks I sell. But my personal life? That’s still none of your damn business!”

“It becomes my business when she manipulates every thought in your head and keeps you from doing your job!”

“As you’ve noticed, we’re no longer together. She made her choice yesterday, and now our relationship is purely professional. I couldn’t care less about what she does from now on, as long as it means she sings properly and does her job!” I declared. “Now, please stop bothering me with things that aren’t my responsibility or interest. I’ll keep ensuring my part is done.”

A strangely triumphant smile formed on his lips, and I watched as Gerard nodded slowly.

“Perfect!” he exclaimed, giving two light pats to my cheek. “I knew I could count on you!”

Breathing outside that room again felt like being reborn, if such a thing was possible. The entire way out of the office, I tried to push his words out of my head, though they carried a shred of truth.

I couldn’t forget that when everything fell on her shoulders, I had the same reaction, if not worse, staying silent, waiting for the chaos to subside. But it never did, and now it made sense for her to use a winning hand against me.

She knew I couldn’t do anything on my own, and that gave her free rein to do whatever she wanted. But it was undeniable how bitter it tasted to feel like a stepping stone for her unstable ego.

Outside, I paused at the entrance as rain washed over the dry, empty streets of the city. It wasn’t heavy, but the few drops that hit my face were cold and powerful enough to conjure a mirage before my eyes.

Ahead on the road, there was nothing but trees past the shoulder. In the middle of the asphalt, two people—a couple—smiled as they ran, chasing each other like there was no fear of tomorrow. They danced even without music, and it seemed like the first time the boy had ever felt truly happy about something. He looked free.

Shaking my head to push away the revisited memory, I headed toward the studio, which wasn’t far. Outside, amid the laughter and the sound of guitar riffs, there she was, her voice like a spell capable of putting me in an automatic trance every time I heard it.

Passing through the gate slowly, I walked toward the back of the vast yard. She and my friends were gathered, Jolly and she doing a duet—more precisely, a cover of Decode. Even as they seemed to be having fun, she didn’t go off-key once.

The raspiness of her voice, the beginnings of delirium watching her sit there smiling between verses on a bench with the microphone in hand—it took me back to the bar’s back room, watching her sing in absolute silence. There was no technique, no production, no effect—nothing could compete with the absurd talent I desperately wished the world would know.

The same place where I first saw her and swore I’d never seen anything like it, the same place where I fell hopelessly in love with the insane woman who had a desperation for life, for proving how free she was, enough to infect me with the same poison.

I hated her.

I hated her so much.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ;

[estellan0vella]

Sunshine's Guide To Murder│Lee Minho

Chapter Twenty Eight: I Bite SS: 18 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 3.2K Content Warnings: talks of murder, talks of blunt force trauma, Minho butt hunter mentions, Previous Next Masterlist

The living room is bathed in the warm, amber glow of the setting sun. Dust motes drift lazily through the air, catching the light filtering through the partially drawn curtains. Hayun, Jisung, Minho, Felix, and Jeongin are sprawled across the couches. The coffee table is a war zone of empty snack bowls, discarded honey butter chip bags, and soju bottles in various stages of emptiness.

Hayun’s legs are stretched out across Minho’s lap on the loveseat, and he’s absentmindedly massaging her ankle while sipping from his soju bottle. His fingers press into the arch of her foot, eliciting the occasional involuntary sigh from her. The faint hum of TikTok videos plays from her phone, the screen illuminating her face in the dim room.

Jeongin leans forward in the armchair, tapping his fingers on the neck of his soju bottle, his expression one of barely contained excitement. “Hyunjin’s supposed to be here soon. The second he gets here, we’re updating the murder board. I’ve got markers, post-its, magnets. All the fucking works.”

Jisung groans dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “Dude, we’re supposed to be chilling, not solving crimes right now. You’re, like, aggressively obsessive about that board.”

Jeongin shrugs, unabashed, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Well, someone’s gotta keep this shit together. If it were up to someone, we’d all be sitting here watching Levi Ackerman edits and eating expired ramen.”

At the mention of Levi Ackerman, all eyes swivel toward Hayun. She’s curled up on her side, completely engrossed in her phone. She doesn’t even glance up, her thumb scrolling as Levi slices through Titans in slow motion, his signature scowl practically radiating from the tiny screen.

Minho leans over, peeking at her phone with a raised eyebrow. “Seriously? Isn’t that guy, like 5’3” or some shit?”

Hayun finally tears her gaze away from her phone, her expression filled with righteous indignation. “Yeah, and?”

Minho smirks, leaning back against the loveseat. “Just saying, he’s not exactly intimidating. I could probably punt him across a field.”

Hayun scoffs, sitting up straighter, her tone dripping with mockery as she shows Minho her screen. “But could you look this good doing it?”

Minho narrows his eyes at her, and Felix nearly chokes on his drink, laughing. “Oh, she got you there,” Felix says, pointing at Minho with his bottle. “Levi might be short, but he’s got should have been the main character energy. You? You’re just the funny best friend.”

“Wow,” Minho mutters, holding a hand to his chest as if physically wounded. “The fucking disrespect in this house.”

Jisung jumps in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “It’s not disrespect if it’s true, dude. Levi’s untouchable.”

Hayun smirks, leaning into the banter. “Exactly. Levi Ackerman came first. Sorry, Minho.”

The room erupts in laughter, and Minho throws his hands in the air, his smirk still lingering despite the ribbing. “You’re all traitors. Every single one of you.”

Jisung, emboldened by the chaos, sits up straighter, pointing a finger at Minho. “She can have a 2D boyfriend and a 3D one, but let’s be real, you two haven’t even put a label on it yet.”

Minho’s smirk falters slightly, his eyes narrowing as he shifts his attention to Jisung. “And have you put a label on it with Hyunjin? Or are you still just stuttering every time he calls you cute?”

The jab lands perfectly. Jisung freezes, his soju bottle halfway to his mouth. He glances around the room as if searching for an escape route. “Oh, wow, look at that! Is that a crack in the paint? Someone should definitely fix that.”

Jeongin leans back in his chair, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “You’re deflecting. That’s a classic guilty move, Ji.”

Felix nudges Jisung with his elbow, laughing. “Spill it, dude. Did you make out with him or what?”

Jisung glares at Felix, taking a long swig of soju before muttering, “You’re all fucking annoying. Maybe back off and focus on Hayun and Minho’s ‘will-they-won’t-they’ bullshit.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, leaning back into the loveseat as he rests his arm casually along the back, just behind Hayun’s shoulders. “There’s no mystery. I’m clearly her favourite.”

Hayun, without missing a beat, takes a sip of her soju and deadpans, “Right after Levi Ackerman.”

The room explodes into laughter again, and Minho throws his head back with a groan. “You wound me, princess,” he says, clutching his chest in mock agony.

Jisung is doubled over, laughing so hard tears are forming in his eyes. “She said what she said! You’re runner-up, my guy. You’ve been bested by a fucking anime character.”

Felix raises his bottle in a faux toast, his voice filled with mock solemnity. “To Minho: second place to a fictional character who’s shorter than most children.”

Jeongin chimes in, grinning. “Levi’s got that energy, though. Can’t compete with that.”

Minho flips them all off, shaking his head. “Fuck all of you. I’m done. You’re all banned from my car, my house, and my life.”

Hayun, still grinning, raises her glass and clinks it against his bottle. “Cheers to that, second place.”

Minho glares at her, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward, betraying his amusement. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The front door swings open, and Hyunjin strolls in with Chan, Changbin, and Seungmin trailing behind. Hyunjin doesn’t waste time, flopping onto the couch like it’s his own place. He pulls a bottle of soju from his tote bag.

“So,” Hyunjin starts, taking a swig before leaning back dramatically. “Yeji had severe blunt force trauma like I said in the group chat. The hit came from someone around her height, but that doesn’t narrow it down much. You know, heels, platforms, the whole deal.”

He pauses for effect, watching as the group leans in. “The weapon was cylindrical, like a pole or something. The dead person doctor wasn’t sure.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, resting his hand casually on Hayun’s shin as she reclines beside him on the loveseat. “And the guy just told you all of this? Just handed over the autopsy details?”

Hyunjin grins, his confidence borderline obnoxious. “Yeah. A sucker for crocodile tears. I pulled out my best ‘poor grieving cousin’ act. Flawless, if I do say so myself.”

Chan shakes his head, rubbing his temples. “You’re ridiculous.”

Hayun shifts, her legs still draped over Minho’s lap, and leans forward slightly. “Cylindrical, like a pole or-” Her voice trails off as her eyes lock onto the murder board. “A police baton.”

The room stills. Jeongin grabs a marker and strides to the board, scrawling “#1 Suspect” under Mr. Shin’s picture with bold strokes. The tension in the room tightens, like a noose around the group’s collective theory.

Jisung raises his bottle in a mock toast. “Honestly, we should digitize this board at this point. Easier to keep track of all the crazy shit we’ve been uncovering.”

Jeongin smirks, twirling the marker between his fingers. “Already done. It’s on my laptop, saved on two separate flash drives, just in case.”

Hayun nods approvingly. “See, this is why you’re the brains of the operation.”

Felix laughs, clinking his bottle against Jeongin’s. “And the most paranoid.”

Hayun, Jisung, Felix, and Jeongin all move to stand in the middle of the living room, passing the marker between them like they’re brainstorming for a high-stakes exam.

Jisung tosses the marker to Hayun. “Maybe Mr. Shin followed Yeji when she went to check on the body?”

Hayun catches it effortlessly, spinning it between her fingers. “What if he found out the truth? Ryujin killed Yuna, and Yeji stashed the body. He could’ve snapped.”

Felix grabs the marker mid-air. “But he didn’t kill Ryujin.”

Jeongin snatches it next, tapping it against his palm as he speaks. “Maybe he’s spacing it out. Put some time between the murders. Less obvious. Or maybe because he already lost one daughter and doesn't want to lose a second"

Felix nods thoughtfully, handing the marker back to Jisung. “Or what if Ryujin gave him some half-truth? Like, she wasn’t entirely sure about the plan she made with Yunnie to frame Mingi.”

Hayun narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. “So she gets ahead of it, tells her dad what Mingi did to her and how Yuna was involved.”

Jeongin adds, “Then she spins it so Yeji’s the villain. Says Yeji killed Yuna and forced Ryujin to stay quiet. Mr. Shin flips, makes Yeji take him to Yuna’s body, and then BAM!” He claps his hands for emphasis. “Smacks her over the head, she dies, and he dumps her in the tank.”

The four of them stop, staring at the board as though waiting for it to confirm their theory. The room feels electric with energy, theories bouncing off the walls.

From the corner of the room, Minho leans back, watching them with a bemused expression. Chan nudges him, gesturing at the chaos. “Is this… normal?”

Minho smirks, resting a hand on Hayun’s abandoned bottle of soju. “Completely. It’s how they think. They bounce ideas off each other until something sticks.”

Felix tosses the marker back to Hayun. “Ryujin didn’t know where Yeji hid Yuna’s body, right?”

Hayun nods, pacing slightly as she speaks. “Not until the news broke. Yeji was the only one who knew.”

Jisung catches the marker from her, spinning it dramatically. “Then Mr. Shin had to follow Yeji. Or maybe Ryujin told him Yeji was involved.”

Felix snatches it from Jisung with a quick grab. “What if he held Yeji at gunpoint? Forced her to take him to the body?”

Jeongin grabs the marker next, his voice cutting through the rising tension. “So we all agree? We're investigating Mr Shin?"

There’s a pause as the room collectively breathes in. Then, all at once, everyone says, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Hayun grabs another bottle of soju from the crate near the couch, twisting the cap off. She drops back onto the loveseat, and Minho immediately wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her snugly into his side. She lets out a soft sigh, resting her head on his chest as she takes a sip of her drink.

Jisung, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his own bottle in hand, frowns thoughtfully. “Wait. How the fuck do we even go about investigating a police officer? Like, what’s the play here?”

Everyone falls silent for a moment, glancing around at each other like someone’s supposed to have a genius idea locked and loaded.

Seungmin finally breaks the silence with a deadpan expression. “Apparently, the jury’s out on that one.”

Chan leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and shrugs. “Anyone got any ideas? Even bad ones. At this point, I’ll take literally anything.”

That’s all the encouragement Jisung, Hyunjin, and Changbin need. They light up like Christmas trees, clearly ready to share the absolute worst plans possible.

Jisung lifts his bottle in mock seriousness. “Okay, hear me out: we tunnel into the police station. Like, fucking gopher style. Steal his files, then scurry back out before anyone notices.”

Hayun raises her hand lazily from her spot against Minho. “Claustrophobic, so I’m out.”

Minho chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Smart move.”

Hyunjin sits up straighter, his face deadly serious. “Alright, my turn. I could seduce him.”

Felix squints at him. “He’s straight, though, right?”

Hyunjin shrugs dramatically, a smirk playing on his lips. “You don’t know until you know.”

Felix takes a slow sip of his soju, nodding in reluctant agreement. “That is… more than fair, actually.”

Changbin claps his hands together. “We fake reports of gas leaks in his neighbourhood. Say he needs to evacuate his house for safety.”

Jeongin blinks at him, his voice dry as the Sahara. “He’s a fucking police officer. He can check that shit.”

Hayun snorts softly against Minho’s chest, her shoulders shaking with quiet laughter.

Jisung, undeterred, raises his bottle like he’s making a toast. “We could kidnap him!”

Hyunjin jumps in immediately, smacking Jisung’s hand in a high five. “And torture him for answers!”

Minho groans loudly, staring at them like they’ve grown second heads. “They just need to hurry the fuck up and either fuck or get together or something.”

Hayun nods sagely, tipping her bottle toward Jisung and Hyunjin. “Agreed. It’s painful to watch.”

Jisung turns to Chan with a mock gasp after hearing Chan mutter about a lack of brain cells. “Excuse you! Hyunjin, Changbin and I are professional theorists, okay?”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Theorists of what? Dumbass ideas?”

Jisung smirks. “Creative solutions.”

Hyunjin leans into the bit, flipping his hair dramatically. “Visionaries, if you will.”

Chan groans, running a hand down his face. “Why the fuck did I agree to come here tonight?”

“Because you love us,” Hayun says sweetly, raising her bottle in a toast to him.

Chan mutters something unintelligible into his drink, but his smirk gives him away.

Seungmin rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “We’re doomed.”

The house is steeped in a drunken warmth when the group finally winds down from their chaotic night. Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Minho, and Seungmin have all decided to crash at the house, their earlier drinking rendering driving an impossibility.

Jeongin pulls Chan upstairs toward his bedroom with an easy grin, Chan following with his own subtle smirk. The two disappear into Jeongin’s room, the door clicking shut behind them without a word to the others.

Meanwhile, Felix drags a massive air mattress out of the airing cupboard, huffing as he unfolds it in the middle of the living room. “Help me with this shit,” he says, nudging Changbin with his foot.

“I’m not the one who owns it,” Changbin grumbles, but he helps anyway, rolling it flat as Hyunjin tosses some pillows and blankets onto it. Seungmin simply sits on the couch, sipping water and watching the chaos unfold with a faintly amused expression.

Once the mattress is ready, the three of them settle onto it, Hyunjin taking the middle and sprawling out dramatically. “Room for one more?” he jokes, earning himself an eye roll from Seungmin and a snort from Changbin.

“You’ll be lucky if we don’t smother you in your sleep,” Seungmin mutters, lying on his side and pulling a blanket over himself.

“Love you too,” Hyunjin chirps, before flopping onto his back with a satisfied sigh.

Felix heads into his room, mumbling something about needing to scroll through TikTok to relax. Jisung waves lazily before heading to his room, shutting the door behind him. Minho and Hayun linger in the hallway for a moment before Minho follows her into her bedroom.

Inside, Hayun flicks on her bedside lamp, the soft yellow glow washing over the room. She peels off her oversized jumper, revealing a black lace bralette and black yoga shorts beneath. Her fluffy Hufflepuff socks stay firmly in place, adding a touch of cosy absurdity to her otherwise sleek look.

Minho leans back against her door, watching her with a small smirk. “You really commit to the aesthetic, huh?” he teases, nodding toward the socks.

“Comfort first, Minho,” she retorts, tossing her jumper into the corner. “Unless you want to lecture me about dressing up to match my pyjamas.”

“Never,” Minho says with a grin as he pulls off his hoodie, followed by his t-shirt.

His toned torso gleams faintly in the dim light, and he doesn’t miss the way Hayun’s eyes flick over him before she quickly looks away. He chuckles quietly, stepping out of his cargo trousers until he’s down to his boxers.

Hayun climbs onto her bed, watching as Minho joins her. She stretches out, letting out a small groan. “Soju makes me so fucking tired,” she murmurs, her voice soft and lazy.

Minho nods as he pulls the blankets over both of them. “Yeah, it’s like a whole-body shutdown,” he agrees, lying on his side and curling around her. His chest presses flush against her back as he wraps an arm around her waist. The warmth of his body radiates through her, making her sigh softly.

Hayun’s voice is muffled against her pillow as she speaks. “Reckon Hyunjin will end up in Jisung’s bed?”

Minho snorts. “Probably. Those two are a disaster waiting to happen. You know something?”

The room falls into a still, golden glow as the faint sounds of the house settling outside Hayun’s door fade into silence. Minho shifts slightly, the playful ease he carried all night giving way to something softer, more serious. His arm tightens just slightly around her waist, pulling her closer as his breath brushes the back of her neck.

“You know…” His voice is low, almost hesitant, the weight of unspoken thoughts threading through his tone. “I never followed through on that text I sent after Mr. Han pulled his abduction bullshit.”

Hayun turns her head toward him, her curiosity piqued despite the quiet comfort of their position. Her voice is soft, teasing, but there’s a flicker of something earnest beneath it. “The one where you said you’d kill me and then kiss me for making you worry?”

Minho exhales a quiet laugh, his lips quirking in a faint smile that she can feel more than see. “Yeah, that one.” His tone softens, carrying a quiet intensity. “The killing part? Not as appealing.”

She smiles, her voice steady but laced with a playful edge. “And the kissing part?”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. The air between them grows heavier, the unspoken tension building as his fingers trail absently against the curve of her hip. Then he shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he’s hovering just slightly over her. The dim light catches the flicker of emotion in his eyes, his expression unreadable but intent.

Minho’s gaze locks onto hers, the room shrinking until it feels like they’re the only two people in the world. The space between them hums with anticipation, every second stretching out like an eternity.

“Sounds fucking divine,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a deeper, huskier register as he leans down, closing the distance.

When their lips meet, it’s soft at first but it deepens quickly. His hand cups her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture so gentle it makes her heart stutter. Hayun’s fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly as she tilts her head, pulling him closer. The kiss grows more deliberate, the world outside dissolving as they lose themselves in each other.

Minho’s lips move against hers like he’s memorizing the moment, his other hand pressing lightly against her waist to keep her grounded. Hayun feels a warmth spreading through her chest, a quiet intensity that’s equal parts comfort and fire. She’s not used to this. To letting herself be vulnerable, to feeling safe. But in Minho’s arms, it feels right.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against hers, his breaths coming a little quicker. His dark eyes flicker open, meeting hers with a small smile that softens the edges of his usual confidence.

“Well fuck,” he whispers, his voice rough around the edges. “Should’ve done that sooner.”

Hayun’s fingers linger in his hair, her lips still tingling. She chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Yeah. Took you long enough.”

Minho’s grin widens, a playful glint returning to his gaze. “Guess I was waiting for the right moment.”

He shifts back down, lying behind her once more and wrapping his arm around her waist again. His chest presses firmly against her back, his thumb resuming its soothing circles against her hip.

“You’re such a sap,” Hayun murmurs, her voice teasing but tinged with affection.

“And you fucking love it,” he fires back, his tone light but confident.

She smiles, her hand coming to rest on top of his where it lies against her stomach. She doesn’t say anything, but the small, contented sigh that escapes her lips says everything she doesn’t.

“Goodnight, princess,” Minho whispers, his voice a quiet murmur against her ear.

Hayun shifts slightly, leaning back into him. “Goodnight, Minho,” she replies, her voice soft and filled with a contentment she hasn’t felt in a long time.

As the room falls into silence, the gentle rhythm of their breathing syncs, the warmth of his body a steady presence at her back. Outside, the world keeps spinning, but here, wrapped in Minho’s arms, everything feels still, safe, and undeniably theirs.

Taglist: @hityoulikebahng @drewsandsebastianswife @fackeraccount @lily-loves-kpop @stilldontknowhoiam

@ziggy1221 @justaspoonofjam @tr-mha-fan @candycurshidkwhatthehell

@heeseungspookie @smigcrazy @skzstannie @nightmarenyxx @beaann

[twrk11]

hello ,, hehe ,, i just came across ur acc and i love how you write for towa ,, is it okay if i ask for nsfw headcanons for taiga fico leo sho ren haku and jin (am more hoping for taiga leo haku and ren if you only write a specific amount of chars) , where mc is like real submissive for them in front of others, but in closed doors mc is dom hevfhbenfbeneb (⁠๑⁠♡⁠⌓⁠♡⁠๑⁠) ♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡ feel free to ignore if it makes u uncomfy 🩷

NSFW Tokyo Debunker Headcanons & short fic | 18+

Characters : Taiga, Leo, Ren, Haku

Hello anon!! Glad you’re here ☺️!! Thanks so much for liking the Towa fic, I feel honored! I really did like this idea, I hope I fulfilled it the way you wanted!! This is personally my first time ever doing an ask so thank you for this!

I originally was going to do all the ones you mentioned but.. I ended up having too much fun. Took me a while to write all that I wanted! Perhaps i’ll revisit and do the other three?

(Apologies if some are longer than others! ~ 😢)

Content : All is of course consensual! No mention of readers gender, Smut, mentions of oral, riding, pegging, sex, begging, mention of a collar, brat, sub!characters, dom!reader, punishment, humiliation, bondage

words: 1415

Read under cut!

Taiga

-Definitely confused him the first time !

-You were so cute sitting on his lap at the poker table.. How did he end up fucked out of his mind?

-You were such a good submissive kitty.. He couldn’t help but think about pounding you until you were sobbing on how good it felt.

-He wants you to do it more though. He loves seeing you bounce on his cock. You’re so.. Eager,

-Don’t tease him, he will be angry and give you the nastiest glare he can muster (If he’s not fucked out)

-Grunts for sure, might be able to squeeze a whimper out every so often.

-If you don’t restrain him, he will claw and scratch at you.

-.. put a collar on him. Might piss him off but he’d also make such a cute kitty~!

-don’t get too close to his mouth, he might bite. He’s feisty.

“Gghh-“ He’d grunt, his brows furrowed. He’d jerk his hands, god those handcuffs pissed him off to no end. He’d glare at you, purposefully trying to rut his hips up into you harshly. He wanted to be in control! God- but when you slapped him when he did so.. he couldn’t lie, his cock twitched and throbbed. He wouldn’t warn you if he was about to cum, I’m .. quite frankly not so sure he could. But he certainly has tell tale signs!

“Mh~” A small whimper escaped his throat. Oh he might burst-!

“Go on.. you can cum~” you’d coo, gently running your hands on his chest.

He’d erupt immediately, his eyes shut as he couldn’t help the whines. His hands would shake, then he’d open his eyes, too dazed to even think.

Leo

-You were submissive in public—! It was perfect for his social media!!

-When you showed up in his videos and acted the way you did- you were so cute..

-It had helped fuel any of his fans desires at the thought of Leo being dominant. Really brought in the views!

-… how did he end up eating you out/sucking your dick with you calling him a good boy?

-either way.. he’s a brat. So fucking annoying

-He’d threaten to blackmail you.

-watch out, he miiiight try to spit on you.

-Just show him his place, might take a bit but he will eventually be broken down and a sobby mess for you~!

-He’d be so good at begging, and he loves to, even if he doesn’t wanna admit it

-He loves being restrained, please do so.. He wants to feel helpless.

-He’s loud.. like.. really.. really loud.. Moaning, whining, whimpering.

-He’d try to be quiet but eventually he can’t contain it—! You might have to help shut him up if he’s too loud..? Or you could let him be.. it’d humiliate him with how loud he is.

-Oh.. he’d hate to admit he loves being humiliated.

-Ride him, peg him/fuck him, he honestly loves it all, anything to get him a mess.

“F-Fuck-! M-Mmh~” He sobbed, he tried to not jerk his hips. Aahh.. but he couldn’t help it-! It felt like he had no control- over the situation or his body. Who would’ve thought you’d make him the pillow princess?

“I-Im gonna cum~!” He cried, he came immediately as soon as the words fell from his mouth.

.. Did you allow him to cum..? I don’t recall you ever did..? Don’t forget to punish him— Otherwise he will think he can do whatever he wants!

Ren

-He honestly quite liked how submissive you were in public. It made you so easy to tease and .. he’s mean.

-He got a real kick out of making fun of you!

-You were so agreeable and did whatever he asked, download a game and enter the referral code? You did it in a heartbeat! You were so eager to please!!

-.. Now he has to beg.. Fuck- he didn’t want to do that. That’s.. humiliating.

-Expect back talk. He’s definitely a brat.

-.. He will end up begging. And eventually he will be no stranger to it. The words really just can’t seem to help themselves other than to tumble out of his mouth.

-Oh he’s a whiner. He whimpers sooooo good.

-Please don’t restrain him— He NEEDS to grab onto something to keep him grounded.

-Whether that’s you or the sheets doesn’t matter he needs something, anything.

-(though I do believe he wouldn’t like touching much during sex just based on how he acts- I do think he has certain times and parts of the body he’s happy to have contact with. Does that make sense?)

-He definitely is a crier, it feels just too good.. he can’t help it.

“Fuck no! I’m not begging for you-“ .. Or so, that’s what he claimed. Slap him around a bit, toy a bit with his nipples. Oh, of course his nipples are sensitive. He’d shiver- it felt so so good-

“Why’d you stop..?” His voice was out of breath. His cock was so tight against his pants, this is not fair- Why were you playing games right now?

“Beg. You want more?” You’d demand, but would be met with a scoff. Didn’t he already tell you he’s not doing that? Who even put you in char- his cheek stung. His nipples hardened, as he felt his cock dribble out precum. No way he just got turned on from you slapping him— right? .. Tease his nipples a bit more, punish him until he finally begs. He’ll eventually learn that begging can get him everywhere!

“P-please~ C-cum-“ He can barely speak, just hiccup and sob words out, with his hands moving between gripping the sheets and your waist. His tears slowly slide down his cheeks- he’s so needy.. and once given permission he really can’t hold back anymore.

“Mm-mh~! M-MC-!” He sobbed your name as he came- his voice cracking.

Haku

-Oh you were just adorable when you reacted to his flirting.

-He really loved to tease you! He couldn’t help but imagine how you’d be in bed.

-He was so forward, and you were shy, obviously flustered easily. How could you not be submissive?

-.. Well.

-He was sorely mistaken, hm?

-He couldn’t help but love the view of you riding/fucking/pegging him, but goodness, his neck throbbed with all the times you bit him—!!

-He moans for sure, he’s quite loud too. Grunts and whines every now and then.

-He’d still tease you, he can’t help but be oh so forward with you.

-If he’s fucked out, he can’t help but look at you with a dazed expression- mumbling out how much he wants more.

-He’d LOVE to run his hands all over your body, he wants to connect with you in whatever way he can.

-He really wishes he could ravage you- you’d be so so cute.. Ah but your expression now.. He can’t deny how it makes his dick throb and ooze out pre-cum.

-He’s well behaved! But he will for sure be a bit of a brat. He can’t let you have it too easy can he? Though.. he’d happily do whatever you want, he just wants to satisfy you!

-He’s a massive slut, please make him cum over and over again. He doesn’t care if he’s overstimulated, he needs more. He’s insatiable.

-Loves praise! He craves knowing if he’s a good boy.

-Can’t help but love degradation as well, makes him feel so dirty. He really just wants to be your bitch.

“O-oh fuck— MC-“ He moaned as his lids seemed to flutter shut. You rolled your hips, just the way he liked. He let his hands roam over your body, gently caressing it .

“Please go faster baby- Mmh~” He slightly whined. He wanted you to use him- if it made you happy please do so. He really truly just wanted to be your whore.

“Yeah? Like that? Such a slut, begging for more. Mm- You’re such a good boy for me.” You whispered in his ear as you sped up, causing him to shiver and his cock twitch. When your hand wrapped around his neck and gently applied pressure, mixed with the soreness of all the hickeys littering his skin, he couldn’t help cum.

“F-fuck~! MC-! D-don’t stop please—“ He cried out- he needed more. Just truly drain him dry, he’d cum for you as much as you like.

[tightjeansjavi]

Et Auream - Act IV : Villain & Violent

A/N: this chapter is solely focused around Marcus and his deeply rooted trauma that I feel is not only important to his character, but also sets the tone for how he will act for the rest of the story. Before you read, please heed the warnings and remember that I am not responsible for the content that you choose to consume.

word count: 4.8k

Summary: Marcus is unaware at how much time has passed since his first meeting with Aurelia, and in his vulnerable state of mind, memories of his past begin to resurface. Pairing | Marcus Acacius x f!oc Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! This chapter includes SA of a minor, loss of virginity, pedophilia, child murder, child abuse, child prostitution, enslavement, canon typical violence, alcohol consumption, mentions of whores, graphic depictions of violence, PTSD, trauma responses, hazing, minor character death, language, +18 minors dni! series master list

The Ludus Magnus

Marcus had no concept of how much time had passed since the night he first met Aurelia. It could have been days, weeks, months—for all he knew, which wasn’t much to begin with. The only time he was able to gaze upon the sun, and feel its warmth, was when he was in the Colosseum, and the only way he knew it was nightfall was through the sliver of moonlight that would trickle in through the cracks in the ceiling of his cell.

A small solace, a shred of comfort that was snuffed out when the evening hours would manifest clouds to cast shadows over the moon. He was used to the darkness, to the feeling of loneliness consuming him, and then she came into his orbit. And while their acquaintance was brief, he could not tear his thoughts from her even if he tried. 

“Rise and shine, scum,” Cato said from the other side of the iron bars. He wore a sneer on his face, and his tone was anything but kind. 

Marcus gave little regard to Cato and his distaste towards him. His mind was too preoccupied. He wordlessly rose to his feet, ignoring the dull strain in his back from sitting against the stonewall through the night. The lacerations along his shoulders and back had healed significantly, and there was no longer an uncomfortable sting when he would brush against a wall, or endure the weight of his armor. The freshly healed skin was just another testament that Aurelia’s existence wasn’t something he had conjured during his vulnerable hours. Infection did not spread through his body, and she was the reason he was still breathing, after all. 

The next time I am graced in her presence, I will ask her where she learned the ways of a medicus. 

“You look like shit, Acacius,” Cato pointed out with a wry grin. He unlocked the cell door, keys jingling before the door swung open against the wall. 

Marcus only grunted in response, still paying no mind to him. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited patiently for his ankles to be unshackled from the wall so that he could move somewhat freely. 

“Gone mute again, have we?” Cato said with a teasing hum. He walked into the small space, crouching down beneath Marcus’s feet and slipped a smaller shaped key into one of the locks. “You know, if it were up to me, I’d keep you chained here for eternity.” 

another wordless grunt slipped past Marcus’s lips,  his nostrils flared slightly. 

“Pinched a nerve, did I?” Cato cackled and twisted the key to the left, engaging the unlocking mechanism within it to release. 

“I can’t quite wrap my head around why the emperor's find you to be so…valuable,” Cato continued. “Why allow a traitor to live to see another day is beyond me,” he scoffed and unlocked his other ankle before rising to his full height. 

Marcus uncrossed his arms, holding his wrists out in front of him, waiting for the cold touch of iron to encase his skin, wordlessly. 

“It’s foolish, if you’d ask me,” Cato scoffed and placed the iron cuffs around Marcus’s wrists, securing them as tight as he saw fit. It was enough for Marcus to tense his jaw slightly from the sudden pressure. 

“Consider yourself lucky that you have never faced me in the arena, Cato. I’d drive my sword through that gaping mouth of yours in a heartbeat,” Marcus muttered under his breath. 

“I don’t doubt that for a moment, scum. Too bad you’ll never have the chance,” he bit.

“Nothing is permanent, Acacius. Remember that.” Geta’s charged words echoed in his mind. 

“Get moving, Acacius. We don’t have all morning, unless you want to miss out on breakfast,” Cato chimed in his ear. He moved alongside him, giving him a firm shove towards the opening of the cell. 

Marcus’s feet moved at their own accord, and the low growl of his stomach guided the way. The other cells had since been emptied, leading him to believe that he had already missed out on breakfast after all. 

Boisterous chatter could be heard down the narrow corridor and with another firm shove to his back, he was met with the many faces of the other gladiators scarfing down their piss-poor excuse of a meal. 

No one acknowledged him as he took an empty seat at the lengthy table. a clay bowl, containing mashed barley, beans and mixed grains was thrusted in front of him. His stomach growled, but he did not reach for the bowl immediately. 

He stared into the gray hues of nothingness, brows furrowed and lips pursed. A sour feeling washed over him, and his fists clenched so tightly, his knuckles turned stark white. It was happening again, the memories—

“What is all of that ruckus?!” Crassus, Marcus's Dominus, yelled into the thick night. The air was tinged in the stench of copper; bloodshed and the mortal cries of one of his boys meeting their brutal end. 

The grouping of boys, huddled around the fire quickly dispersed, revealing the violence that had ensued. The earth was soaked in rich crimson that flowed like the river of Tiberius. In the center lay one of the boys—what remained of him, and Marcus had fallen to his knees. His eyes were wild, his face stained in blood, his body shaking—trembling with unbridled rage that Crassus himself had never witnessed from him. 

“My, my,” he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You have been holding out on us, Acacius.” 

Marcus snapped his head in the direction of Crasuss’s voice. His grip around the hilt of his sword did not falter, nor loosen. His facial expression turned from anger to confusion when he tore his gaze from his Dominus and looked down at the boy's corpse. His chest rose and fell rapidly, lips parting at the gruesome sight of the boy’s mangled face, and empty eye sockets staring up at him. 

“Peace, Acacius.” Crassus took a cautious step towards him, and the rest of the boys huddled behind him; they too were frightened.

Marcus stumbled to his feet, movements uncoordinated, knees shaky and unbalanced. His sword, dripping in congealed blood and flesh tissue hung heavy at his side. 

“Drop the sword, boy,” Crassus said sternly. 

“He killed him,” one of the boys whispered. 

“No, he—annihilated him,” another chimed in. 

“The sword, Acacius. Drop it.” Crassus was becoming impatient. 

Marcus’s bloodstained knuckles tightened reflexively around the hilt. His death grip was the only tangible feeling that was keeping him grounded, but the gravity of his actions began to sink into his conscience. 

“He’ll kill us all,” another boy shuddered, his voice trembling, and the rest murmured in agreement.

“Acacius, you are testing my patience, boy. I will ask this of you one last time. Drop the fucking—” 

His grip suddenly loosened and the sword fell to the sand with a dull thud as Marcus stumbled back, turning to flee, but a calloused hand reached out, gripping  his armpit and stalled his movements. He cried out, crying for his mother, for anyone—but no one came to his aid. His body went lax in Crassuss’s grip, slumping in his arms, finally. A well-known pressure point was activated with a firm hand and forced Marcus into an unconscious state. 

None of the boys moved from their protective huddle when their Dominus addressed them directly, “Clean up this mess,” he barked out an order with a pointed glare in their direction. 

They scattered like flies being swatted at and he let out a huff, lifting the dead weight of Marcus into his arms. 

When Marcus awoke, hours later, he was in an unfamiliar room. He shot up in a daze, eyes wide and stricken with confusion. He whipped his head around frantically for any sign as to how he ended up there. 

“Peace, Acacius,” a familiar voice addressed him from the opposite end of the expansive room. Crassuss’s back was facing him, and it appeared that he was writing something on parchment before he turned around in his chair, clasping his hands against his chest. 

Marcus struggled to form words, his mouth opened and closed but no sounds came out. He warily glanced down at the blanket that draped his body before he grasped its unfamiliar softness in his palms and threw it off in a haste. 

Crassus sighed through his nose, standing to his full height. “I need you to relax, boy. You aren’t in any danger, I assure you.” 

Marcus did not trust him, and why should he? He had no reason to. “Why am I here?” 

Crassus ignored his question and walked towards him. His footsteps were cautious, but determined. “Do you remember what happened?” 

Marcus shook his head and glanced down at his hands briefly. His knuckles were still stained in blood, although dry now. “Whose—whose blood is this?” his voice trembled. 

“Ah, so you don’t remember anything? How…fascinating,” Crassus mused. “I have trained many boys to become fierce gladiators, Acacius, but you, now—there’s something special about you.”

“Special?” Marcus echoed with uncertainty. 

“Indeed,” Crassus continued. “Your rage. What was it fueled by? A dozen boys, just outside these walls, are fearing for their lives because of you, and that very rage that you displayed.” 

Marcus’s face constricted as he racked through his brain for the answers to what took place hours ago. “Is…he dead?” 

Crassuss’s lips tightened into a thin line and he crossed his arms over his chest with a pointed look that had Marcus curling in on himself. 

“I-I-I didn’t mean to—I swear! I never intended to kill him, Dominus.” 

“No?” The question was rhetorical. “His face isn’t recognizable, Acacius. You gouged his eyes out as if you were scooping yolks from an egg. I’ve never seen so much blood spilled from one body.” 

Marcus winced from his words and he turned his chin into his shoulder out of shame and guilt. His hands wrung nervously in his lap. 

“Do not hide your face from me, Acacius. You have nothing to feel shame for. I imagine he deserved it. In fact, I’d go as far to say that you were merciful.” 

“I am not violent, Dominus. It is not in my blood,” Marcus bit back, feeling as if he were a cornered beast that had been prodded with a spear one too many times. 

“Oh,” he sighed. “But you are. Detest it all you wish, but your violent heart will only lead you to greatness. The false lions will torment you no longer, Acacius. Not when they fear for their own eyes to be gouged from their sockets,” he stopped at the foot of the bed, offering Marcus his bejeweled hand. “Let us get you cleaned up.” 

Marcus eyed his outstretched hand warily from where he sat. The same hand that would beat him repeatedly for insubordination, was now being offered for a different reason. He wasn’t sure what to make of it—any of it, really. He wished that his mother was there so that he may confide in her during his times of peril. He yearned for her motherly embrace, her soft-spoken words. 

“Take my hand, Acacius,” Crassus commanded. 

With reluctance, Marcus raised his own hand. His fingers visibly trembled, but Crassus paid no mind to his apprehension as he lifted him from the bed with little resistance. 

The tepid water acted as little comfort for Marcus, who sat on his knees along the tub. He quickly washed the dried blood from his hands and between the crevices of his knuckles under the watchful eye of Crassus. 

“Get all the way in, boy.” his tone was clipped, and the cold sound of it caused Marcus to flinch. 

“I—I don’t want to,” he whispered in a pathetic plea. 

“Didn’t ask what you wanted, now did I?” 

“No, Dominus,” he said defeatedly. His hands shakily moved towards the hem of his tattered tunic, hesitating before he slowly lifted it over his head and shoulders. His muscles had not yet formed, and his posture was rigid and sheltered. 

“All of it, Acacius,” he sounded annoyed, and his patience was wearing thinner by the second. 

Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and blindly reached for the loose knot of his subligaculum. When he pulled the knot free, he hastily climbed into the tub, nearly falling face first because he was so afraid. 

Water splashed along the rim of the tub, turning a deeper shade of pink from the remnants of blood being washed away. He instinctively wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them protectively to his chest. 

Crassus stalked around the tub and crouched down so he was more level with Marcus. His hand reached towards his face, knuckles brushing the softness of his cheek where crusted blood still remained. “ever had anyone tell you that you have a pretty face, boy?” he sneered. 

Marcus shied from his unwanted touch, gnawing on the inside of his cheek to distract himself. He kept his eyes focused on the end of the tub. 

“I thought so,” Crassus said with a hum. “not only is it a pretty face, but a fuckable one, too. I imagine you could easily pocket extra coin with a face like that.” 

“I…don’t understand what you’re saying, Dominus,” Marcus whispered with uncertainty. What was he insinuating? His crude choice of words fell foreign to his innocent ears. 

“Ah, a virgin too? I have plenty of clientele that would gladly pay generously to lie with the likes of you, pretty boy.” 

“Acacius?” 

Marcus blinked rapidly, eyes darting to his left and then his right. He had been clenching his fists so tightly, that his blunt nails had left angry red marks in his palms. 

“Acacius.” The familiar voice to his left broke through the blockage in his brain. Cinna, a fellow gladiator, was the only one left at the table outside of Marcus. His eyes were as blue as the sea, or the sky on a clear day. It was a stark, yet beautiful contrast against his dark complexion. 

Marcus swallowed the heavy lump in his throat and finally released the tension in his fists. The bowl of porridge in front of him remained untouched and had since gone cold. 

“Are you quite alright, Acacius? You have yet to touch your food.” Cinna sounded genuinely worried. 

“I’m fine, Cinna,” he released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and rose from the table. 

“You should really—”

“I said,” Marcus enunciated. “that I was fine.” Despite the empty feeling in his stomach, and the unease in his mind, he stalked off to the armory to get suited up for another grueling training session. Perhaps during that time he could clear his mind, finally. That, of course, was wishful thinking on his part. 

 When the iron cuffs around his wrists were removed, he flexed his fingers at his sides, tapping them against the hem of his tunic. His armor was soon fastened, and a sword was thrust into his hands. He tested the weight of it in his palm, like he always did, but something felt off when he stared at his reflection in the steel. Empty eye sockets stared back at him, and his palms felt clammy. He blinked as hard as he could before opening his eyes again and his normal reflection returned. 

“Get moving, Acacius. You’re already late as it is,” the armorer muttered. 

When Marcus stepped into the arena, he expected to be greeted by the sun, but instead was met with a gray, cold sky with clouds stretching to the heavens for miles. His sword fell heavy at his side, and when he looked up at the emperor’s viewing platform, he could make out the faces of Geta and Caracalla staring back at him. 

Geta gave him a curt nod of acknowledgement, and tipped the rim of his chalice in his direction before his attention was stolen by a feminine hand wrapping around his bicep and pulling him back down to his throne. 

The rest of gladiators had already begun to spar, their swords of steel clashing loudly. Marcus stood there, dumbly. His jaw ticked, and his ears were ringing. He was not focused, and when Cinna’s familiar hand clasped around his shoulder, he whipped around in confusion. His eyes were wide when they landed upon striking blue ones. 

“You are not well today, Acacius,” Cinna said in a low soft tone. 

“I—I’m fine,” Marcus insisted and brushed his hand from his shoulder. 

“Where are we going, Dominus? The hour is late, and I am quite tired,” Marcus trailed behind Crassus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“We are going to meet some of my very good friends, Acacius. You’ll be my cup bearer for the evening,” Crassus stated plainly, and he did not slow his steps so Marcus could keep up with his pace. Marcus frowned at this and took longer strides so he could keep up with him. He opened his mouth to argue that his sleep was more important, but one sharp look over Crassus’s shoulder had him swallowing his words just as quickly as they had manifested. 

“You’ll be on your best behavior, Acacius. Wouldn’t want to upset me, now would we?” 

“No, Dominus,” Marcus whispered and absentmindedly scratched at his arm. He looked over his shoulder, towards the distant flickering lights of the villa before facing forward. He kicked at a stray rock with the toe of his sandals, but Crassus did not notice, nor care. 

At the entrance to the town's brothel, Marcus was involuntarily glued to Crassus’s side. There was an array of people filtering in and out of the bustling establishment, and Marcus’s curiosity was getting the better of him as he looked up in wonder at each passing face. 

“You will speak only when spoken to, boy. Do you understand?” Crassus addressed him sternly. 

“Yes, Dominus.” 

His arm was tugged roughly inside and although it was too dim to see much of anything, he heard a plethora of sounds. To his innocent ears, he believed that people were wailing in pain and anguish, but one glimpse of bare skin on flesh moving rhythmically behind a sheer curtain had his cheeks burning from the sight. He looked up at his Dominus, expectantly, hoping that he would have the answers, but Crassus continued to drag him along with little regard. 

“How old is he?” a woman, twice Marcus’s age asked from her makeshift throne of pillows. Her eyes were enticing, and her movements fluid when she rose from her lax position. 

“Thirteen,” Crassus said with a grin. 

“A virgin, yes?” her question left a sour taste in Marcus's mouth, but he didn't dare speak up.

Crassus nodded and released his firm grip on Marcus’s arm finally. 

“I expect you’ll pay well for him. He is well mannered and docile, as long as he’s nowhere near a sword,” he chuckled. 

She simply smiled and reached for her chalice of wine on the nearby table, snatching it up with ease. She approached Marcus who was wringing his hands together nervously. She came to a halt in front of him, crouching down so she was more level and brought the rim of the chalice to her painted lips. “You do have quite a pretty face.” 

“T-thank…you?” Marcus wanted to be polite as his mother raised him to be. He eyed the contents of her chalice suspiciously, and his nose turned up from the nauseating sweet aroma that emitted from it. 

She looked up towards Crassus, her smile turning into a knowing, wry grin. “Payment is on the table, Crassus. Half to start, and the rest to follow…depending on how your boy performs.” 

“Oh, he will perform to your standards, Domina Vinicia, I am certain of this.” 

“Good.” her grin stretched across her lips and she took another sip of her wine before offering it to Marcus. “Ever had wine before, boy?” 

Marcus shook his head and took a step back, but Crassus’s hand was there to stop him and instead nudged him forward. 

“No, I have not,” he answered quietly. 

“Well, tonight will be a night of many firsts for you,” Vinicia said with certainty in her saccharine tone and she nudged the glass into his hands. He stared down into the reflection of claret, contemplating his decision for a moment before hesitantly bringing the rim to his lips. The small, meager sip he took turned into a larger one when Vinicia used the bridge of her pointer finger to tip the bottom of the chalice forwards, forcing Marcus to drink more of the scarlet liquid. 

He sputtered frantically, his eyes blurring with tears as he tried his best to quickly clear his airway, but most of the wine had ended up down the front of his tunic. He profusely apologized for creating such a mess, in fear that he would be punished. 

Vinicia’s cat-like grin did not falter, and she brought her hand to rest against his jaw, ceasing his movements when she brushed away a stray drop of wine from his lips. Marcus let out a sound of protest, but his words were muffled when her painted lips pressed softly to his. 

“Crassus,” she said suddenly and pulled back slowly from Marcus’s bewildered face, “you have yet to disappoint me, friend.” 

“W-w-wait—” Marcus tried to interject, but Vicinia was already rising to her feet and pulling him further into the room. “What do you call this one?” 

“Acacius.” 

“Acacius,” she echoed.

Marcus looked back at his Dominus, digging his heels into the intricate rug beneath his feet, but Crassus did not move from his spot to help him. 

“Peace, Acacius. There is nothing for you to fear,” Vicinia said sweetly from above. Her grip on his arm was far gentler than Crassus’s had been. The last thing Marcus saw before multiple pairs of hands, both calloused and soft, reached out from the darkness, was Crassus disappearing behind the door. 

Their voices were soft in his ears like a soothing lullaby. Their hands, feminine and masculine, pulled him further into the darkness. They were not like monsters that lingered in his nightmares, with sharpened claws and long, narrow teeth. He could not see their eyes, but their teeth gleamed through the darkness, stained in claret. Their breath on his skin reeked of sweet wine, and he hated the stench of it. 

“Peace, pretty boy. We’ll take good care of you.” 

Caracalla, grinning from ear to ear, was acutely tuned into what was taking place in the arena below. His brother, too distracted by his current vice, had not noticed Marcus’s distress, but the younger emperor took notice of it immediately. “Brother,” Caracalla said in a sickly, sing-songy tone. “Leave me be, Caracalla,” Geta clipped back, his words muffled as his lips were pressed against the juncture of the whore’s neck. Her nimble fingers threaded through the back of his brassy curls, giggling wildly when his teeth scraped her pulse point. Caracalla released an annoyed huff through his nose before he rose to his full height. His own whore was disinterested in the gladiators training, and she was far too busy observing her cuticles to notice that he was no longer at her side. He took a few confident steps to overlook the balcony, resting his gold-clad forearms against the stone railing. He peered down at the arena, paying no mind to a scuffle that broke out between four gladiators that had taken the training session a little too seriously.

“What a bunch of animals…” he chuckled in amusement to himself and raised his chalice of wine to his lips, taking a generous sip. He smacked his lips together and looked over in the direction of his praetorians standing by and awaiting his command. He contemplated his next decision only fleetingly and pushed his weight off of the railing, spinning around to face his guards directly. The glint in his eye was enough for them to read and understand what he would ask of them next, and they followed him wordlessly to the hidden stairwell behind the entrance of the viewing platform. Caracalla strolled right past his brother without the eldest emperor catching wind of his departure. Marcus and Cinna were still engaged in an intense conversation, and Marcus’s sword had yet to leave his side. His attention was drawn to the sudden circling of praetorians entering the arena. The sudden intrusion caught the attention of the rest of the gladiators who laid their swords down as quickly as they had been raised. Every one of them bowed in Caracalla’s presence, all but Marcus. Marcus could feel every hair on the back of his neck stand up when the group of praetorians parted in the middle revealing a smirking Caracalla to his eyes. He took a step back, fingers flexing along the hilt of his sword. “Acacius,” Caracalla said in an authoritative tone, his eyes filled with mirth. “Has my brother not yet taught you respect in the presence of your emperor?” he cocked a brow. Marcus’s lip curled upwards into a snarl, but despite his defiance, he reluctantly bowed. “That is better,” Caracalla chuckled and took a step towards him, stopping just under a foot away from him. “However, I'd much prefer you on your knees.” he snapped his fingers once, and two praetorians approached Marcus immediately. In truth, Marcus was not looking for a fight and had already begun to lower himself towards the ground when two pairs of hands forcefully shoved him down. His sword was wretched from his hand and tossed out of his reach. “You look quenched with thirst, Acacius,” Caracalla said with a wry grin. “How about some wine?” “I am not thirsty, your highness,” Marcus responded through gritted teeth. “No?” Caracalla walked closer, till he was towering above him. He raised his chalice of wine above his head and tipped it forwards, dumping the remaining contents directly over Marcus's head. Scarlet droplets coated Marcus’s cropped hair, dripped down the sides of his face, over his lips, neck and the crevices of his armor. The second he tasted the all too familiar sweetness on his tongue, he panicked. The stench was overwhelming and sent Marcus writhing in the praetorian's restraints. He yelled wildly, thrashing like a fish tangled in a fishing net, or a helpless rodent entangled in the coils of a snake.

Caracalla had not been expecting such a visceral reaction, that even he was left feeling stunned at the sight of Marcus reacting in such a crazed manner. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the viewing platform to already find his brother staring back at him in bewilderment. Caracalla snapped his fingers once more and the Praetorians released their hold on Marcus, but the damage was already done. “What is the meaning of this?!” Geta’s voice boomed through the arena, echoing loudly in Marcus’s ringing ears. He was no longer thrashing wildly, but his breaths were coming out in rapid puffs and a layer of perspiration coated his face and neck. “Just having a bit of fun is all, brother,” Caracalla responded with a biting grin. He crossed his arms over his chest at his brother’s fury-filled approach. When Geta was within arms reach of his kin, he raised his hand towards the heavens as if he was about to strike Caracalla’s painted cheek, but he refrained, remembering the role he had to play. “Get him some water!” He barked out an order to his own praetorians that stood in a protective circle around him. “Who would have thought that the ever-so great and brave Acacius could break so easily,”  Caracalla said in amusement under his breath. He brought his hands to rest behind his back, his smirk only intensifying when he locked eyes with a trembling, terrified Marcus. Geta shook his head, biting the soft flesh of his cheek to keep himself from stooping to his brother’s level. He crouched down in the sand so he was more level with him. The other gladiators, except Cinna, had dispersed. “Don’t fucking touch me,” Marcus said in a biting tone, barring his teeth. He reeked of wine, sweat and something– “Gods!” Caracalla cackled. “He’s pissed himself!” His jeering laugh sent Marcus’s cheeks burning, turning as scarlet as the droplets of wine that speckled his skin. “Cinna, is it?” Geta said suddenly, peering up at the man standing nearby. “Y-yes, your highness,” Cinna stuttered out, quickly bowing.

Geta nodded, turning his attention to his guards. “You will escort Acacaius and Cinna to the thermae. Allow them as much time as needed, and leave them both in privacy. He has been humiliated enough.”

“Yes, Caesar,” they responded in unison.

Caracalla pursed his lips into a tight line, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at his brother’s softness. He turned his nose up in disgust at the stench of urine permeating the air. “Fucking freak,” He said under his breath, loud enough for Marcus to hear it. He turned swiftly on his heel and walked away from the scene as if it never happened. His praetorians trailed behind him obediently.

Marcus did not utter a cry of protest when the two guards on either side of him suddenly lifted him from the sand. Geta gave him a reassuring nod, one that was met with a blank stare of confusion. 

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[m4rs-ex3]

(even louder) trailer screaming part 2

the adrenaline i've had all day is making me crash hard so i'm tired so idk if i'll actually be screaming louder but like. internally i am

well starting off strong

oh fucking boy

first i'm gonna say i love the way he said "however ~vile~" like slay

and then i know that like. this feels like such an obvious/lame explanation but i do not believe this is "real". like of course there's the fact that the cube. yknow. isn't like that in real life that's just how it looks in his fever dream. a lame ass reason for sure but honestly my real reason for not believing this is that there's no way they'd put THIS reveal in the trailer. there's a distinctly lower number of new clips in this trailer then there has been for seasons past, which could be them building hype for the end of the arc(s), but still i have a feeling that there's only so much they were willing to put out (which excites me btw), so i doubt this would be one of those things, yk? i don't know anything ok im tired

could be another dream, could be hallucinations, could be anything

i do find it incredibly interesting that he's clearly in a xadian forest surrounded by giant mushrooms tho (zubeia?)

i will say this i believe

fuck she relapsed. but. b-ut also..ooo..w..

iiiiiiiiiii

we're all fairly certain that's human aaravos (which didn't even occur to me until i read one of the comments that shows you how observatory i am) and............... well i suppose it was inevitable. i've personally never really thirsted for aaravos; of course i get it but just can't relate. and now.............. oh my god this is the hottest person i have ever seen in my life. i've been awoogaing from the minute i saw him and damnit you can't make me stop

considering the following shot (also because it makes sense) that this is the spell that brought back all the spirits, but it makes me question the shot of aaravos standing in the valley of the graves cackling as the spirits surround him, because that just gives me very "mwuahaha we've just unleashed them" so idk. this is me trying to convince myself that that's not actually aaravos so i can drool over him without a little shame

ohoho this is exciting and fucking petrifying. that is a freeze spell if i've ever seen one, so it seems we have soren, TERRY !!, and allen rushing to presumably stop them, and then aanya kneeling over lujanne's body!!! yippee!

may i just say that the location zip zapping is hurting my brain. like callum and rayla both go from the nexus to katolis and everyone in katolis goes to the banther lodge and then callum ends up in a random xadian forest but also akiyu's grotto for some reason meanwhile rayla goes to the silvergrove but she also ends up in lux aurea with soren and coruvs who were with ez and aanya in the crystal cavern but ez and aanya were also at the valley of the graves but soren and aanya are also at the nexus where claudia and aaravos and terry are but before/after that they were/are first at the valley of the graves and also a xadian forest but then terry was in a different seemingly not-xadian forest and i need to lie down

in addition to the Cave Fuckers we also keep seeing this mf with BAT WINGS??? HELLO????

ok i know i sound like an edgy middle schooler but i'm sorry this is the most exciting shot in the trailer for me. what can i say blood excites me. my favorite characters covered in blood? even better. short king ram with that sickass head tilt? fucking hell to the fucking yeah (i'm choosing to ignore the way he literally went rawr XD immediately after)

this is another one where there's so much to process like as aforementioned we're in a xadian forest and terry's here looking perfectly content so assuming that he is abandoning ship (which is supported by the nexus shot) this is before that??

also as aforementioned callum in akiyu's grotto which is SO out of left field but whatever

and akiyu is also here. on the ground perhaps. good sign

this is irrelevant but. look at that lil face. hehe

ALSO AA IM STUPID AND AM ONLY JUST NOW REALIZING THIS BUT THE FIRE IS CLAUDIA'S YOU CAN SEE FROM THE BG OF HER DRAGON TRANSFORMATION SHE DEF THERE TOO AAKSDHFKJAHSKJDFHIASDHFLJKHSDKLFHKJSAHDLFK IM FO FUCKING EXCITED YOU HAVE NO IDEA HWO LONG AND HOW BADLY IVE NEEDE A PROPER CALLUM V CLAUDIA SHOW DOEWN EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

also it's giving