#i will make that tag take off if it's the last thing i do

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak into the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"But if they don't manage to kill her... her punishment for me will be worse." "Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

[crowley-winter-boots]

I would like to add my own take to some of these/further expand on what you have written.

Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls:

I've literally walked out of stores in the mall with unpayed items. Check for the chunky plastic white tags on it, or a silver sticker with a black dot: these will set off alarms when you leave the door and they are very difficult, if not impossible to take off without getting caught by employees. Supermarkets are more iffy, I've never stolen anything from one, but they have more cameras there. Small stores in malls typically don't, at least not any I can see, which I'm fairly certain it is illegal for stores to have hidden cameras. Wear baggy hoodies, you can slip something in your sleeve quickly. Basketball shorts, parachute pants, other bottoms with large pockets are great for slipping something in unnoticed. Also, DO NOT dwell on something too hard. It will make it more likely to get caught- act natural. A lot of people go into the mall just to browse, so it's perfectly normal to walk out without having bought a single thing.

Put stickers everywhere:

It is incredibly easy to make your own stickers. It is better if you have some artistic ability so you're able to format the sticker sheets properly, but it's fine if you don't have those skills. It's like a jigsaw puzzle, you'll have to rotate the images in weird angles and look for patterns of where one nook fits into one cranny. Repeating patterns are good, too. You just need sticker paper, a printer, and an app that you can import photos into and create the sticker sheets: I personally use Procreate, but that's because I use it for artwork and it was the easiest option on hand for me, personally. Ibis Paint X is free, a bit difficult to import photos in my opinion, but it works. I'm sure Word could work as well, though not as well. The less white space, the better, but make sure to leave enough room between each sticker as to have even borders all around. A common mistake I made when I first started making stickers was that I would accidentally overlap some stickers or make them touching.

Learn how to sew:

Here is a punk fashion tip: USE DENTAL FLOSS. I know, it sounds weird, but it's a great option. Cheaper than thread, you can buy it in bigger quantities, it lasts longer, it's sturdier, and overall just a really good option.

Furthermore, since I mentioned a punk fashion tip, I want to add my own way to protest here, as well as other DIY things you can do.

Battle vests/jackets are excellent. I'm making one, as well as my own patches to add to it. DO NOT put political statements or LGBT-oriented things on the back: this can, and will, put you in danger. Not only will you not see someone coming at you, but if someone sees it from the front, they are less likely to actually harm you since you can see them coming. There are some other punk DIY clothing you can make, including crust pants and just homemade patches to add onto something else. You also don't have to fit the "punk aesthetic" to be a punk: it's an ideology.

Some more punk fashion tips: You CAN paint on clothes and fabrics. Just add equal parts fabric softener to equal parts acrylic paints. This will prevent the paint from getting crunchy, make it last longer, prevent it from chipping, allow it to stretch with the fabric, and make it machine washable. You can also make homemade pins: acrylic paint, bottle caps, soda tabs, safety pins, modge podge, and a lot of hot glue. Put the safety pin through the soda tab, and glue the soda tab down with hot glue. Drown that shit in it- may seem unnecessary, but hot glue is stubborn with metal and does not want to stick. Do this BEFORE YOU PAINT, I made the mistake and everything peeled off because it warmed up and stuck to my table. When you're done painting, seal it with Modge Podge: it's a type of glue-like substance that seals paint, makes it shiny, prevents it from chipping and peeling, and makes it last longer.

Engage in art

Art does NOT have to be good. Art is about having fun and expressing yourself. It takes YEARS to become good at it, but even then there is always room to improve. Don't downplay your own efforts because someone else has skills you don't yet have. Get creative. Bring out those cheap art supplies extended family bought you on a whim when you were in grade school. Cut things up and glue them where they don't belong. Spill coffee on it, crumple the paper, and destroy it before using it as your canvas.

Be loud and obnoxious

This is one I'm adding in here myself. The right wants to claim queer people are shoving their agenda down their throats, but then wave MAGA flags and ask for heterosexual pride month? Wave those flags of yours, wear way too many (stolen, or DIY ofc) pins of pride flags and pronouns. Wear pride flags like capes. Dye your hair crazy colours, put on crazy makeup just to go out to the store. Being visible not only pisses off people that don't want to see us, but it also helps other people feel seen and safer. THIS CAN BE DANGEROUS. Like I said with the battle vests, YOU CAN GET ATTACKED.

I've been wearing my transgender pride flag to school. Pride flags are banned from being hung up, but nothing in the dress code prohibits it. This weekend, I will paint "WE THE PEOPLE" on the back of it. Teachers have pulled me aside only on the second day of wearing it, asking why. I've been called an "it" (doesn't misgender me anyway, I use it/its so jokes on them), someone (pitifully) attempted to throw food at me, people have been shouting "what the fuck" and "is that a trans flag?" in the halls, people have been sideyeing and staring at me. There have been good reactions too, of course, but I'm sharing my bad reactions to further imply doing this can be dangerous. I live in central Texas, for reference.

The negative reactions, since they have not directly harmed me, I choose to find funny. I laugh it off. I want people to see that being trans isn't something that can't be erased from existence. I want them to see people like me are not going anywhere.

Survive and be safe

Another personal addition- but DO NOT give up. I know that things are bad, and that things will get worse. But living is one of the things you can do to stick it to them. Listen to "Famous Last Words - My Chemical Romance", that song can probably explain this as well. Do not stop fighting, and do not stop living. Be safe, don't put yourself in unnecessary danger in this fight, because it's going to be a big one. Make sure your mental health is good, and if it's not do what you can to improve on it. Don't let the government tell you that you don't have a place here; because you do. Fuck the government. Queer people have existed since before the Ancient Greeks, it's visible in nature all around. Lions and hens have been known for transitioning to male without actually having the male reproductive systems. Penguins and walruses have been known for homosexual relationships. America is built upon immigrants- the original Americans ARE immigrants because they came from Europe to colonize these lands. America wouldn't exist without immigrants.

I hope the expansion on what Kurohe had written is alright/helps out! Be safe out there and be yourself. Don't water yourselves down for the sake of people who don't want to see you thrive.

Things you can do to actively participate in the revolution

Here's the list !

I know some of those will look really silly, i promise they are not. And obviously, this is not a checklist, you don't have to do everything. But they're steps that you can absolutely take if you wish to, and they WILL help.

(i am continually correcting things when people point out mistakes. Thanks everyone for your help)

(under the cut !)

1) Let's start off with a very easy one you can do right now: stop using Chrome. It's a google owned browser, and it sents all of your data towards it. Mozilla is a very good replacement, but almost anything will do, really. We revolting against capitalism as a whole, and this is a good first step

Also, resign your amazon prime subscription.

2) Start stealing things from supermarkets and malls. I am not kidding. Little things, that aren't really monitored: a can of food, a lighter, a pair of socks. Condiments are particularly easy to hide in bags or pockets. Steal hygiene products, steal food.

Remember that you should have access to those for free, and you don't because a few rich guys don't want you to.

Additional tip: train station stores are very easy to steal from, because they're so busy. But don't put yourself in danger. Check beforehand if they check bags at checkout, look out for employees that might notice what you're doing. Don't be reckless.

(edit: this used to also say airports, but i've been told it's way too high risk as it's considered a federal crime. Thanks for letting me know)

3) In the same line, if you see someone stealing anything from a big store, no you didn't.

4) I know a lot of people are scared of disrespecting rules. By fear of being caught, or by guilt. My advice is: start disrespecting stupid, meaningless rules. I don't have specific exemples, but you'll encounter them and wonder why you're doing that. Stop doing it. This will train you to be able to disobey autority way easier.

5) Put stickers everywhere. If you already have them, go ham. Especially on public property (lamposts are amazing). If you don't, buy them from artists or independant stores, not big brands. If you cannot afford them, remember that you can simply write stuff on an A4 paper and plaster it to walls. Or even post its !

6) Carry a sharpie with you at all time, the big black ones. If you see propaganda, scribble it out. Keep a look out for terfs stickers, maga posters, etc. Also good for getting rid of transphobic and sexist stuff written on public restroom stalls !

8) Learn how to sew. I know, that sounds dumb ! But i promise you, not only will it be amazing to trade with other people ("i'll sew back ur shirt and in exchange, you give me a can of peaches !"), corporations also haaaate when you know how to fix your clothes. Because they want you to buy more. You'll spend a lot less money if you know how to fix em

7) Buy locally. This means going to the market or small stores, and thrifting your clothes. If you can't for money or accessibility reasons, try trading with your friends, family and neighbours. Get communication going in your circles, and you'll realise there are a lot of things that you can simply trade with or buy from people around you. Like a jar of jam against some eggs, or a pair of socks for a t-shirt you don't wear anymore !

9) If you have the space and the money, grow your own food, and share it or sell it around you. Be careful, some assholes will call the FDA on you. Do that with people you trust.

Additional tip: growing vegetables and fruits can be a real nightmare. You can absolutely start by just growing some basil or mint :)

10) Organise. Join leftist groups online, even if it's just to see what's being said, you don't even need to interact. Follow creators, repost and share their content. By doing that, you'll stay informed on group movements like strikes, protests and boycotts, which you can then participate in. It's very important you're connected to other ppl and the movements that are started !

11) Unionize. I'm very sorry I don't know the exact way unions work in the US, but if you can, join one. They will help you in times of needs, especially if you're a student or a worker. If you're not sure how to do that, absolutely ask around to people you know are very active politically, around you or online. People will help.

12) Stay. Informed. Follow independant papers and news outlet. If you can afford it, give them a dollar or two. They are fighting everyday for access to unbiased information for all, and sadly, their independance means that they rely almost entirely on donations and people simply engaging with what they put out.

If you can't access those: do not get your news from TV. Ever. Or anywhere else that has been bought by the far right. Sadly, the majority of TV channels are just the worst.

13) Share that information. Talk to those you trust and who are ready to listen to you, and tell them about what's happening. Get angry with them. Revolution stems from people coming together and realising that they're being used and profited off of. Share videos and posts relating to politics, especially informative videos.

And, most importantly: fact check. All of the time.

14) Go to protests ! If you've never been, i know it can be scary. But you can stay in the middle (don't go all the way to the front, that's where stuff can get heated) and scream and walk with everyone else. You'll meet people who, like you, want things to change. Capitalism wants you to stay as unconnected to others as possible, and that's a great way to fight that.

Sometimes, there are sites that have a planning for all protests happening in a city. Look up if one exists for yours

15) Create and strenghten community. I know i really struggled with this one, because it's so vague. But here's a few places you can start:

-Go and introduce yourself to your neighbours, if you deem it safe. Give them a little gift if you can afford it, like a pack of pasta.

-Make new friends, even if they aren't deep friendships. You need connections. Online or irl, both are fine- don't stay isolated.

-If you already have community, go check on them right now. Ask your friends how they're doing, and if they need anything- ask how they're being impacted by what's happening right now politically.

16) Look for ways to fuck over the institutions in easy ways. One example that went around tumblr a lot is letting dandelions grow in your backyard, because landlords fucking hate it. If you work in retail or fast food, cheat. Accidentally forget to scan the diapers. Put in 7 nuggets instead of 6.

17) Engage in art. MAKE art. Music, shitty paint drawings, craft, anything as long as you're being creative. Share it. If you feel like you can't do that, then support artists. Make a point to look up cool illustrations, and new music. Go to the cinema.

(edit: been told that it's very risky for walmart workers to not scan things, so beware.)

If you're an artist currently in an underpaid office job, please, by the love of god, be creative during office hours. You're underpaid, they do not deserve your full time and attention. Take 30 minutes to write that snippet you've been thinking about.

(and actually, if you're underpaid at all: do the minimum required. So that you can't be fired, but that's it. Any more effort is not worth it. Companies will never be thankful for what you do.)

18) Look up books that your state banned, and go read them. You can get them secondhand, or as pdfs online. (if anyone needs ressources, i will glady look for and share them.)

19) Seek education. There's a lot of youtube channels out there talking about educational subjects in a fun way. Some things the rich assholes who run the country specifically don't want you to learn more about are: biology, history and archeology, social and economic sciences. GO LEARN ABOUT THOSE.

And, actually, read books in general if you can. Yes, fanfics count !

The people in power don't want you to be educated. It's why they eviscerated the education system.

20) PIRATE. I cannot stress this enough, anything you can pirate (that isn't from small, indie creators, except if you absolutely can't afford it) do it. Download music illegally, torrent movies and games. If you want access to academical studies and papers, some writers will give them to you for free if you email them about it. There are also ways to go around paywalls.

21) Don't fall for the traps of "progressive brands". Lately, i've seen a lot of praise for Ben and Jerry's for openly supporting lgbtq rights and being globally anti-trump. They are still a brand. Avoid buying from any big names when you can. That being said, if you have to, check beforehand which ones and what their history is. Some are more evil than others.

Additional tip: a lot of brands you see in stores are actually owned by bigger brands. One prime example of this is Nestle, who are fucking evil, but they own a shitload of other big names. Be careful what you buy.

22) I hate to say this, but be prepared to defend yourself. Revolutions are never peaceful. You will get in danger. If you can, get in ok physical shape. If you can't, buy a gun. (Remember Alabama has a 99% acceptation rate, you can get one in 10 minutes.) I hate firearms, but the enemy will have them too. Arm yourself.

If none of those are available options to you, please, make sure you have someone around you that will be able to protect you, or a place where you can be safe. Whether you are disabled, a minor, or anything else. Don't put yourself in more danger than is necessary.

23) Last but not least, be kind. When someone cuts off a woman speaking, interrupt and give her the floor back. Shame those who think it's right to say bigoted shit in public. Listen to those around you. If you can't act, then remember to always have empathy for the homeless, for drug users, for immigrants. Understand they are people just like you. You are not immune to propaganda and prejudice, no matter who you are. Always question yourself and your biases.

(if you've read this far, please repost. We need this to reach as many people as possible)

I want to remind you that you're not alone. I know things seem hopeless, but the simple fact that you're reading this is proof it's not. I don't live in the US, but i'm supporting you as best i can from where i am, and sending you strenght.

If you have any questions, do ask away. I'll end on this image that's very dear to me:

[cheers-to-you-th]

Don't Play Games (my heart is too fragile)

Pairing: Streamer!Seungcheol x Reader

Genre: Fluff, smut !MDNI!, s2f2l (kinda)

Tags: Fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, smut, Streamer!AU, former college classmate!Seungcheol, very short period of angst, slow burn

WC: 21k

Summary: Getting addicted to watching hot men play video games was definitely not on your year's bingo card. Getting addicted to watching Choi Seungcheol of all people? The idea would have been laughable.

Warnings: Smut, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected sex (they’re dumb, you shouldn’t be: wrap it before you tap it), pet names (princess), bigdick!Seungcheol, praise, some angst, lmk if I missed anything

taglist: @christinewithluv @cherry-zip @orngejuic @duckieo

The first time you stumbled upon Seungcheol's stream, it was an accident, a shocking one at that. It was just another boring day at work, your normal podcasts weren't doing it for you- listening about murders while writing a report on "harassment" between two employees who were simply arguing gave you some ideas that would not be very HR Manager of you- so you instead decide to go on twitch, your coworker had once told you it was perfect background noise.

You clicked on the first stream in the gaming category: Val w/coups by 'everyone_woo'. The stream had opened and the face of your old college classmate filled your screen and you nearly got whiplash from the double take you did.

Apparently the aforementioned "Coups" was the former infamous president of Chi Beta Zeta, Choi Seungcheol. It makes sense, you suppose- that they'd be friends- having been in the same frat, but the idea of shy Wonwoo from Engineering and not-so-shy Seungcheol, your fellow Communications major, was a little off-putting. That is, until you remember the other thing they had in common along with the rest of CBZ: sex.

Rumors constantly circulated: who Seungcheol brought upstairs at the last party, what girl Wonwoo was seen dragging into the supply closet near the library; although you were never a part of the rumors they spread like wildfire.

You shoved those thoughts aside as you finished the report, and when the rest of the day went by quicker than normal, you reminded yourself to thank Jeonghan later.

(And you definitely maybe went home and looked up "S.coups" on your computer before deciding his gravelly voice would be your new favorite white noise machine.)

Soon enough listening to him had become a habit; you were working? He was raging over a new fps he was trying; you were cleaning the house? He and Wonwoo were trying a new game pre-release. 

—

On Wednesdays you, Minghao, and Jeonghan have a tradition: the three of you meet at a whole-in-the-wall cafe to gossip catch up with each other outside of work-talk.  It started back in college, an agreement to always meet in the middle of the week for a break from everything—stress, assignments, life. Even now, years later, with jobs and responsibilities pulling you in different directions, Wednesdays remained sacred.

Today the three of you find yourselves in the same dimly lit restaurant you’ve all sworn by for years. It’s not anything fancy, but its quiet, comfortable, and, most importantly, they have a bartender who never questions the amount of time you all spend loitering at a table long after the food is gone.

Minghao is already there when you arrive, scrolling through his phone with the slight air of disinterest he always carried. Jeonghan shows up moments later, his usual carefree smile in place as he slid into the seat across from you.

“You’re late,” you tease, setting down your bag.

Jeonghan waves a hand dismissively. “Traffic.”

Minghao snorts, locking his phone. “We chose this place because it’s closer to your office so you can walk here.”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan says, grinning. “Too many people in my way.”

You roll your eyes but let it slide, already used to his antics. The three of you order your usuals, conversation flowing easily between catching up on work drama and not-work drama. It’s comfortable, familiar.

Then, as if on cue, Jeonghan’s eyes gleam with mischief, and you know what is coming before he even opens his mouth. “So,” he starts, resting his chin on his hand, “how’s our favorite Twitch streamer?”

You groan. “We’re not doing this.”

“Oh, we absolutely are,” Jeonghan counters. “Minghao, did you know our dear friend here has been religiously listening to Choi Seungcheol rage at video games?”

Minghao raises a brow, intrigued. “Seungcheol? That Seungcheol?”

You huff, sinking into your seat. “It’s just background noise. I put it on while I work.”

Jeonghan’s smirk widens at your dismissal. “Sure. Background noise. Because out of all the streams in the world, you just happened to choose your old college classmate’s?”

Minghao, ever observant, takes a sip of his drink before adding, “You know, he mentioned you a couple times.”

You blink. “What?”

Jeonghan nods enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. Back in CBZ, there was a few months where all he could talk about was you. He thought you were cute and would get really annoyed when you brushed him off. It was super funny seeing him finally get rejected, even if it was just because you were too oblivious to notice him flirting with you.”

“Dense,” Minghao supplies. “That was the word he used.”

You roll your eyes at them, “I wasn’t dense or oblivious, I don’t even remember talking to him for more than ten seconds. I was too focused on trying to graduate, plus he wasn’t my type.”

“Suuuuuure.” Jeonghan leers, “That’s why you listen to his voice on a daily basis now. Regret some things?”

You don’t roll your eyes at him, focusing intently on your drink as you swirl the liquid in your glass. “Whatever, I just thought it was more interesting to listen to someone I kind of knew instead of some random person.”

Jeonghan and Minghao exchange a look that makes it clear this conversation is far from over, but, mercifully, they let it go—for now.

—

A week later they grill you about Seungcheol one more time before finally deciding to let it go, thinking finally you can live in peace. 

That’s why you’re almost having a heart attack as you exit the elevator to see the very man of your dreams standing outside the apartment adjacent to yours, moving boxes in hand. Frozen, you stand there gawking looking at him. As if he can feel your gaze, Seungcheol looks over at you and raises an eyebrow in question, looking borderline nervous and irritated. It broke whatever trance you were in as you introduced yourself (trying your best not to stutter) as a former classmate. He visibly relaxed at that while his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Professor Han’s class, right? We had a study group together one time.” You nod, thinking back to how girls had glared at you during class for daring to be randomly grouped with Seungcheol. The session had gone by quickly, slipping your mind until now.

“Uh, yeah, for midterms practice I think. I’m surprised you remember.” Your response has a smile pulling at the corners of his (annoyingly perfect) lips.

“Hard to forget such a pretty face.”

His words cause your eyes to roll, some things never change you suppose. You hum in response, “Except when I first came up here and you looked like I had insulted your entire bloodline or something.” 

Seungcheol’s smile, you decide, is your favorite sight. His eyes crinkle at the sides, the cutest dimples form on his cheeks when his lips curl upwards, a chuckle escaping them. “Sorry, I just thought- it doesn’t matter. It was really good seeing you again though.” A matching smile on your face, you offer to help him with any boxes but he only shakes his head.

“I was taught to never let a lady carry her own things, carrying mine? Unheard of. Although if you want to cheer me on I wouldn’t mind seeing your face more.” He winks and you just shake your head, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks. You respond with something about outdated views before excusing yourself to the safety of your apartment, taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart.

—

Over the next few weeks, the two bump into each other frequently; exiting your apartments, entering the complex; each time briefly chatting before going your separate ways. Some nights you would get a notification about a stream, only to hear him talking through your bedroom wall. Part of you felt bad watching him play, guilt gnawing away at your thoughts and distracting you. 

It’s fine you tell yourself as you write the marketing team’s monthly performance report.

It’s fine you delude yourself as you hand said report to your deskmate, Minghao, to review.

It’s fi-shit you finally are snapped out of your denial when Minghao hands your report back covered in red pen marks and shame. He says your name with concern lacing his voice, “Have you been doing okay? You seem kind of… off and I’ve never seen this kind of work from you before.” 

You shake your head, burying your face in your hands, “Sorry Hao, it’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

He just tilts his head and tells you that, if you ever need to talk, he’s here. That was the downside of working with your best friend– you could never hide anything from him. Normally you’d take him up on the offer- tell him your woes and such- if it wasn’t so goddamn embarrassing. You brush him off before taking a deep breath and steel yourself as you weigh your options. You could either tell Seungcheol that you watch his streams or stop watching them altogether, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be inflating his ego anymore (at least that’s the reason you tell yourself, it’s definitely not that you don’t want him to feel uncomfortable around you).

The rest of the day goes by at a torturing pace, no commentary in the background to make time fly quicker. By the time you get on the bus, you’re half-asleep, and then you’re full asleep, head lulled to the side, bouncing uncomfortably on the window, not that you notice. 

“..am? Ma’am this is the last stop. You need to get off now.” The driver of the bus stands in front of you while you rub the sleep out of your eyes and look around. Taking note of the darkness outside the window and unfamiliar street, you sigh and lean your head against the window again, flinching at your slightly bruised head. 

Could this day get any fucking better.

You apologize to the driver, who just looks at you with pity, and get off the bus, gauging your surroundings and sighing, breath fogging in front of you. Your bus stop is one of the last ones, meaning after a second you realize where you are and groan, pulling out your phone to call a car. Except of-fucking-course your phone is dead. It’s late, the watch on your wrist reading 11:56 (thank god at least something of yours is working) and look around one more time, hoping a taxi would drive by and save you from the cold night. Shoulders slumped in resignation, you start walking towards your apartment, it’s only a few blocks away, a maybe twenty minute walk, as long as your notoriously shitty sense of direction screws you over, which it does. By the time you reach your building you’re shivering, nose and fingers red as you reach into your bag for your keys. 

Keys.

Keys.

Keys that you remember setting on your desk at work but don’t remember picking up. You want to scream. And cry. Mostly cry, if you’re gonna be honest because now your shitty day turned into an even shittier night. Morning, you realize as your watch now reads 12:34. A shaky laugh escapes your lips as you slump down next to the apartment complex’s glass door that seems to taunt you, as if it's rubbing in your face how close relief is and how unreachable. 

You feel your throat start to tighten and tears begin to well in your eyes.

“Y/n?” 

You think you’re starting to go insane from the cold until a warm hand lands on your shoulder, a shadow crouching in front of you. Looking up hesitantly, you come face to face with your new neighbor, plastic bag in hand from what you assume to be a late-night snack run. The tears in your eyes start to fall as you begin to sob, if you were in your right mind this would be the most embarrassing moment of your life, but right now you’re cold and hungry and scared and this man appeared like an angel sent from heaven just to help you.

“Oh my god, you’re freezing. What are you even- nevermind that come on.” Seungcheol’s arms wrap around you as he helps you up, getting into the building with his keys and walking with you to the elevator. When it starts to ascend, Seungcheol sets his bag on the ground and takes his jacket off, wrapping it around you. You don’t even have the strength to argue with him, all of it spent on the tears that now slowed to a stop as you look down at your feet, shame starting to kick in. You don’t want to imagine the look on his face right now, knowing it’ll be the same pitying glances you’ve received all day. 

The elevator dings as it arrives on the correct floor. Your feet start moving, muscle memory kicking in until you’re at your door, realizing you still don’t have your keys. When an arm once again wraps around you, you don’t even protest, allowing Seungcheol to guide you into his apartment, where he sets blankets and pillows on his couch. When you move to lay on it, he stops you.

“What are you doing? I’m sleeping on the couch, you can take my bed.” The words seemingly bring you out of the numb trance-like state you’d been in ever since you stopped crying. 

“I- what?! No, oh my god Seungcheol no, I couldn’t- I mean you’re already doing so much for me and-” A warm hand cups touches your forehead, promptly cutting off your rambling as your frantic eyes meet Seungcheol’s warm gaze. Fuck he shouldn’t look at you like that. 

“No offense Y/n but you look like you’re on the verge of hypothermia, you need the bed more than I do.” His hand moves from your cheek to pat the top of your head as you huff, letting Seungcheol guide you to his room where. You can’t help but feel guilty as you watch him rummage through his closet before emerging with a victorious smile and a large T-shirt. 

“Wear this- before you argue,” He cuts off your protests before they can even start, “think of it as me not wanting dirty clothes on my bed and, as much as I would love to see it, you are way too cold to be sleeping in panties tonight.” 

Your face flushes as you grab the shirt he holds out to you, avoiding his gaze. “Thank you Seungcheol. Really. I’m sorry that you have to do this, but I really do appreciate it.” Glancing up at him, you watch as his teasing smirk melts into something different, softer.

“Don’t apologize. I’ll always be here if you need help with something, what are neighbors for?” walking towards the door, Seungcheol looks back at you one more time, “I normally wouldn’t let you sleep without at least having a warm bath to stop a cold, but I think you’d pass out in the shower if I tried. Get a good night’s rest, yeah? I’ll see you in the morning.” And even after he leaves the room, his warmth stays, the soft gaze he’d given you burned into your eyelids as you drift to sleep.

—

The scent of coffee and bacon wakes you from deep sleep. For a second, you're disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings causing a brief panic before switching to embarrassment as memories of last night flood back. You're in Seungcheol's bed, wrapped in his sheets that smell faintly of pinewood and something uniquely him.

Sunlight streams through gaps in the curtains, painting stripes across the room. You stretch away the ache in your muscles from the cold and stress of yesterday, tugging the oversized shirt Seungcheol lent you down as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Your bare feet hit cool hardwood, as you shuffle towards the bedroom door, following the enticing smell of breakfast. In the kitchen, Seungcheol stands at the stove, his broad back to you.

As you approach, Seungcheol turns, spatula in hand, and flashes you a heart-stopping smile. "Morning. How are you feeling?"

You run a hand through your sleep-mussed hair, suddenly self-conscious. "Better, thanks to you. I can't believe that happened."

"Hey, don’t worry about it," he chuckles. "I figured you could use the rest. Coffee?"

You nod gratefully while he pours you a steaming mug. Seungcheol plates up eggs, bacon, and toast. The domesticity of the scene isn't lost to you - here you are, in his clothes, sharing breakfast in his kitchen. It feels dangerously intimate.

"Thanks," you murmur, accepting the plate he hands you. "You really didn't have to do all this."

Seungcheol waves off your gratitude as he settles across from you at the small kitchen table. "It's no trouble. Besides, I couldn't let you face the day on an empty stomach after last night."

You take a bite of the perfectly crispy bacon, trying not to moan at how good it tastes. As you eat in companionable silence, you can't help but sneak glances at Seungcheol. His hair is slightly mussed from sleep, a slight sleepy haze in his eyes. He looks softer like this, less like the polished streamer and more like the boy you’d seen in college.

"So," he says after a while, setting down his mug. "Want to tell me what happened last night?"

You hesitate, your fork hovering over your plate. What were you supposed to say? That you had been thinking of him non-stop for the last 24 hours? That you were a mess whose sense of direction was almost as bad as your work-life balance? That you'd been caught in what was arguably one of your worst moments, by none other than the main cause of your original turmoil?

He seems to sense your internal conflict because he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His tone softens, playful but not prying. "You don’t have to, y'know. I just figured you might want to talk about it. Seems like you had a long day, I won’t judge."

You sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion creep back in. "It’s not even that interesting," you start, avoiding his eyes. " It was just... one thing after another. Fell asleep on the bus, could’t call a taxi caus’ my phone died, forgot my keys at work; Honestly, the world was conspiring against me the whole day, I swear."

Seungcheol hums thoughtfully, swirling the last of his coffee in his mug. "Sounds rough. No one likes walking around in the freezing cold with no way to get inside. It was a good thing I went out when I did, maybe it’s a sign I should take more midnight snack runs."

You laugh softly and promptly ignore the stuttering of your heart, "Hopefully it won’t happen again," you admit. "And… either way it’s not exactly something I want to bother you with."

He raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "You weren’t a bother at all. Besides, I think helping you out is the bare minimum of what neighbors should do, don’t you?"

Neighbor. The word feels heavier than it should, he’s right; all you are to him is a neighbor, nothing more nothing less. You try to play off the feeling of your heart dropping into your shoes, shaking your head with a small laugh. "I have to admit, I’d never have guessed you were the knight-in-shining-armour type. At-night-in-UnderArmour maybe, but this is unexpected"

Seungcheol grins, his dimples flashing. "Hey now, don’t let the frat guy rep fool you. I’ve always been nice."

You laugh at that, the tension in your chest loosening. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

As he rinses the dishes, you take a moment to look around his apartment. It’s cozy, a mix of modern furniture and personal touches—a stack of books on the coffee table, a framed photo of what looks like his old frat brothers on a shelf, and a ridiculous number of gaming peripherals on his desk. It suits him, you think, the same way his easy smile and annoyingly perfect hair suit him.

"So," Seungcheol says, drying his hands before turning to face you. "Any plans today? Or are you planning to crash and catch up on sleep?"

"Work," you groan, already dreading the thought of going back to the office. "I have to deal with a report I butchered yesterday."

"Rough," he says, leaning against the counter. "Tell you what—after work, if you’re up for it, I’ll make dinner. Consider it part two of my neighborly duties."

The offer catches you off guard, but you manage to nod despite the sudden flutter in your stomach. "You don’t have to keep feeding me, you know."

Seungcheol just shrugs, a teasing glint in his eye. "I know. But I want to. Plus, you owe me. You cried on my shirt last night, remember?"

Your jaw drops, heat rushing to your face as you groan. "I did not—!"

"You totally did," he interrupts with a laugh, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. "It’s okay, though. It’s a good story."

"You’d better not go spreading this around mister." you say, pointing a warning finger at him. But the smile tugging at your lips betrays you, and Seungcheol just grins wider.

"Hmm I make no promises madam."

As you gather your things and prepare to face the day, Seungcheol’s warm gaze and easy laughter lingers in your mind, making you feel giddy and guilty at the same time. And as you step out of his apartment, you realize you’re already looking forward to the evening.

—

The day drags on slower than you’d like, each hour feeling like an eternity between the mountain of emails, the endless meetings, and the painstakingly slow process of fixing your stupid report.

By the time you get back to your apartment (with your keys this time, thank god), exhaustion is settled deep in your bones. You drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes, barely making it to the couch before collapsing in a heap. The thought of getting up, even to change out of your work clothes, feels like an impossible task.

A soft knock at your door jolts you out of your half-asleep state. For a split second, you consider ignoring it, but then you remember Seungcheol’s offer(demand?) from this morning. With a groan, you drag yourself up and shuffle to the door, opening it to find him standing there, a grin on his face and a grocery bag in hand.

"Thought you might be too tired to make it over," he says, holding up the bag. "So, I figured I’d bring the dinner to you."

You blink at him, caught off guard. "You… didn’t have to do that," you mumble, though the smell wafting from the bag has your stomach growling in protest.

He laughs, brushing past you into the apartment. "I know. But you seemed like you had a long day, and I wasn’t about to let you skip a proper meal. Plus, I’m not sure I trust you to make anything edible in your state."

"Hey!" you protest, following him into the kitchen. "I’m perfectly capable of cooking, thank you very much."

He raises an eyebrow, eyes scanning your kitchen clearly unconvinced. "Sure you are. When was the last time you had something that wasn’t instant ramen or takeout?"

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your tongue because… well, the empty takeout boxes in your kitchen speak enough. Instead, you cross your arms and huff. "Fine. You win. But only because I’m too tired to argue."

"Glad we’re on the same page," he says, already unpacking the bag and setting up in your kitchen like he owns the place. You watch as he moves with practiced ease, pulling out ingredients and utensils like he’s done this a million times before.

It’s oddly comforting, watching him work. The kitchen feels warmer, cozier, with him in it. You find yourself leaning against the counter, a small smile tugging at your lips as he chats about his day—about how his coworker accidentally sent an email to the entire company, or how he nearly slipped on ice outside his building.

Before you know it, the smell of something delicious fills the air, and your stomach growls loudly, earning a laugh from Seungcheol.

"I guess you’re hungry," he teases, sliding a plate in front of you. 

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your grin as you pick up your fork. "If this is bad, I’m never letting you live it down."

He smirks, leaning against the counter as he watches you take your first bite. The flavors hit your tongue, and you can’t help the satisfied hum that escapes you.

"Okay, fine," you admit, reluctantly. "This is… not bad."

"Sure, not bad. Dare you say good?" he says, his grin widening. "You’re welcome, by the way."

The two of you eat together, the conversation flowing easily. It’s light and playful, with just the right amount of teasing to keep you on your toes. By the time the plates are empty, you realize you’re smiling more than you have in days.

As he helps you clean up, you find yourself glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. There’s something about the way he moves, the way he laughs, that makes your chest feel a little too tight and your thoughts a little too scattered.

"Thanks for this," you say softly as he dries the last plate. "I really needed it."

He looks at you, his expression softening. "Anytime," he says simply. "That’s what neighbors are for, right?"

Neighbor. There it is again, that word. But this time, it doesn’t feel as heavy. Because maybe, just maybe, it’s not about what you are to each other now, but about what you could be.

—

A few days pass in a blurry haze. Seungcheol’s number was now saved in your phone, his occasional texts making you more giddy than you’d like to admit. The two of you occasionally see each other in the hallway, tonight he knocks on your door with food in hand, claiming he made too much and offering you some. You invite him in to share the meal (you’re just being a good neighbor), laughing and joking around as if it was the most natural thing in the world. And honestly, it kind of was. 

Seungcheol insists on brewing you a cup of tea before he leaves, claiming it’s the perfect way to wind down after a long day. You let him, mostly because you’re too tired to argue but also because, well… It's nice having him here.

He chats while the kettle heats up, leaning casually against the counter like he belongs in your kitchen. The way he speaks, the rhythm of his voice, fills the quiet space in a way that feels natural—like he’s not just filling silence but adding something to it.

When he hands you the steaming mug, his fingers brush yours briefly, and you try not to overthink the spark of warmth that lingers long after he pulls away.

"So, any big plans tomorrow?" he asks, settling into a chair at your kitchen table. It feels oddly domestic, like this is something the two of you do all the time. You shake your head, cradling the mug in your hands. "Just work. Again. Though I’m praying for fewer disasters this time."

He chuckles, resting his chin in his hand as he looks at you. "Sounds like you could use a break. Maybe take the weekend off, do something fun."

You snort softly. “Like what, go clubbing or something? Not really my vibe."

"Doesn’t have to be that extreme," he says, grinning. "It could be something simple. A walk in the park, binge-watching a terrible reality show, or trying out that café down the street you keep mentioning but never go to."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Are you suggesting I take myself on a date?"

"Hey, self-care is important," he says with a shrug, though the teasing glint in his eye suggests he’s enjoying himself. "But if you need a plus-one, I might be available."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you’re not entirely sure how to respond. Is he joking? Probably. But there’s a softness in his expression that makes you wonder if there’s more to it than that.

"I’ll think about it," you say finally, trying to sound casual. "But don’t get your hopes up, Cheol. I’m not easy to impress."

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. "So it’s Cheol now, huh? Don’t apologize- I like it." he once again practically reads your thoughts, “And here, once you’re done thinking, let me know, yeah? Or in case you get locked out again.” Seungcheol slides over his phone with a new contact open as you roll your eyes, typing your number in anyways.

It’s late by the time he finally leaves, the mug you used now washed and drying on the counter. As you close the door behind him, your apartment feels quieter than it did before. Not in a bad way— the kind of quiet that lets you think. You find yourself replaying the evening in your head: his laugh, the way he somehow managed to turn your chaotic kitchen into a space that felt warm and inviting, the way his gaze didn’t leave you once when the two of you talked.

Shaking your head, you force yourself to focus on getting ready for bed. It’s nothing, you tell yourself. He’s probably just trying to make some new friends in the neighborhood.

But as you crawl under the covers, your mind drifts back to his earlier word, "If you need a plus-one, I might be available." The thought lingers, a soft thread of warmth that wraps around your chest as you grab your phone, typing a message before you can change your mind. Your fingers hover over the screen for a moment before you close your eyes and press send.

You: So how about that date?

The text felt heavier as the three little dots that blink back at you in reply. You hold your breath, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

When his text pops up on your phone, a shy smile automatically spreads across your face as you read it.

Seungcheol: How about Saturday?

Seungcheol: I’ll plan it—just be ready by 10.

The squeal you let out could rival one of a teenage girl on her first date as you kick your feet giddily in bed. Fuck, you were already down so bad. When you hear a chuckle through the wall your phone drops to the floor with a thud as it buzzes again..

Seungcheol: Careful, I might start to hope you’re looking forward to seeing me

This arrogant correct motherfucker. Your fingers type a quick response, trying to save whatever dignity you have left.

You: Saw a spider

You: Anyways where should I meet you?

His response makes your eyes roll with endearment annoyance.

Seungcheol: I think your memories are getting mixed up, spider was what everyone called Hoshi, not me. And no spoilers, just dress comfortably.

—

Two days later, Saturday morning rolls around, and you’re standing in front of your mirror, staring at your outfit for the third time. He said casual, so why are you frantically searching for the perfect attire? 

It’s fine, you think, not over the top. He doesn’t know what your closet looks like anyways, for all he knows you always wear this kind of clothes.

Your cozy beige sweater is paired with jeans and ankle boots, casual but still nice. Your makeup is light, natural. 

A knock on your door makes your heart jolt. Grabbing your bag, you take a steadying breath before opening it.

Seungcheol stands there, hands casually tucked in his jacket pocket, a grin already spreading across his face. His eyes flick up and down your body once, twice, hitching in some areas before finally settling on your eyes.

“You-” He clears his throat, “You look really good.” His eyes flick away from yours briefly, you swear you hear him mutter something along the lines of too good but it must be your imagination, flustered by how the man in front of you seems almost shy.

“Thanks,” you reply, giving him a similar once over to the one he’d subjected you to earlier. 

Black cargo pants with a dark denim jacket (that somehow looks warm) over a white graphic T. The outfit might look sloppy on someone else, but Seungcheol makes it look like he should be on a runway, the clothes draping over him perfectly as though everything was custom-made for him. 

“You don’t look half bad yourself.”

“You really are hard to impress huh?” he teases. “Lucky for you I’m always happy to deliver. Ready to go?”

The two of you walk to the parking outside as you chat, getting into his annoyingly nice car. You can’t help but wonder where he’s taking you as the roads out the window blur. No matter how hard you try to pry the information out of him, he doesn’t budge. A lesson in patience, he tells you. When the car finally stops, you look around, surprised– an amusement park.

“Seriously?” you ask, poorly trying to hide your smile as you stare at him.

“What? Too childish for you princess?” he says with a sly grin. You just hum in faux indignation, giving up on any attempt at hiding your smile.

The park is alive with bright lights, lively music; the smell of popcorn and funnel cakes wafting through the chilly air. You wander through the attractions, playing a few games and riding the tamer rides to start. At one of the stands, Seungcheol picks up two pairs of animal ears, holding them where you can’t see. 

“Pick a side.” he states with a sparkle in his eyes, hands behind his back.

You roll your eyes at his antics and do as he asks.

“Good choice,” he said, handing you a pair of floppy bunny ears, putting the other set- wolf ears- on his own head. “How do I look?”

You snort. “Ridiculous.”

“Come on princess, I think yours suit you perfectly,” he teased, tugging gently on one of the ears now perched on your head. He drags you over to one of the photo-booths scattered around the park and pulls you inside as you laugh.

His arm is wrapped around you, who instinctively leans into his shoulder as the screen counts down. After some more silly shots, the last timer runs on the screen. The two of you are posing when you impulsively turn your head and press a kiss to his cheek as the flash goes off. Before you can try and see Seungcheols expression you quickly get out of the booth, crouching down to wait for the photos to print. A shadow surrounds you but you ignore it, grabbing the two photo stips and standing up, actively avoiding looking at the man behind you until you feel strong arms circle around your waist.

“Don’t get shy on me now, princess.” Seungcheol’s voice is low and quiet, his breath tickling you neck. He gently turns you around in his arms, forcing you to face him. When you do, you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips.

His eyebrows raise, expression soft and questioning as you raise your hand to his cheek. “You’ve uh.. Got a little something on here.” Before you can wipe off the lipstick mark a hand grabbing your wrist stops you. Seungcheol just hums, the smile on his face growing as he responds. “Leave it there, I like it.”

You look away, flustered, “It might stain.”

His smile only grows further as his hands squeeze your waist reassuringly, “Even better.”

A few more hours fly by in a blur of laughter, shared glances, and the occasional screaming as you ride a roller coaster. As the day winds down, Seungcheol leads you toward the Ferris wheel.

“Ending with a Ferris wheel ride at sunset huh?” you tease with a smirk. “Classic.”

He chuckles. “You’re smiling, so I think it’s worth being cheesy.”

Your face flushes as you step into the car with him, the soft glow of the park lights casting everything in a dreamy haze. As the wheel lifts you higher, you take in the moment—simple, sweet, and perfect.

The car sways gently as it begins to ascend, the world growing smaller beneath your feet. Seungcheol leans back in the seat across from you, his arm casually draped across the edge, as though the intimacy of the situation didn’t seem to bother him at all. Meanwhile, your heart is racing, the memories of the day making it difficult to keep your composure as you keep your eyes trained on the park as it gets smaller and smaller.

“Nice view,” the man across from you murmurs. When you sneak a glance at him, his eyes aren���t on the horizon—they’re focused on you, his soft expression making your breath hitch.

You bite the inside of your cheek, turning to face the window again. “Yeah, it’s beautiful,” you agree, your voice coming out shakier than intended. The warmth of the sunset casts a golden glow across the park below, lights beginning to twinkle as the day faded.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Seungcheol shift slightly closer. “You’ve been smiling all day,” he comments. “Do I get some credit for that, or was it just the funnel cakes?”

You laugh, turning back to meet his gaze. “Oh definitely the funnel cake, But you’re decent company too, I guess.”

He grins, leaning forward just slightly. “Decent? Come on, you can do better than that.”

You raise a brow, trying to hold your ground despite how his closeness makes you feel like melting into the seat. “Don’t push your luck.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the distant hum of the park and the creak of the Ferris wheel as it carries you higher. His expression softens, and he tilts his head slightly, as though weighing his next words carefully. “You know,” he starts, his voice low, “I wasn’t kidding when I said I hoped you were looking forward to seeing me.”

Your breath catches, and you search his face for any trace of teasing, but his expression is nothing but sincerity with a tinge of nervousness. “Maybe I was,” you admit quietly.

His smile widens, dimples returning with full force as the confidence that had momentarily wavered in his eyes returns. “I’m glad. Maybe I was hoping to see you too.”

The car comes to a stop at the top of the wheel, leaving the two of you suspended in the sky. The view is breathtaking, but all you can focus on is the way Seungcheol’s eyes shine, on the curve of his nose, where your lips are stamped on his cheek, how soft and welcoming his own lips look. His fingers brush your own and your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice smooth and steady, as if sensing your hesitation.

You nod, your gaze flicking between his eyes and the hand now gently covering yours. “Yeah. Just… you make me nervous.” As soon as the words leave your mouth you want to jump out of the ferris wheel.

He chuckles softly, the sound halting your thoughts. “Ditto.” he remarks and you swear your heart stops as he leans closer, his voice barely above a whisper. His face is inches from yours, the space between you charged with tension. You could feel the warmth of his breath mixing with your own, the weight of his presence grounding you and making your head spin all at once.

And then, as though the universe decided it hated you, the car jolts slightly, the Ferris wheel beginning its descent. The tension clears, and you both laugh as it dissolves into something softer and more familiar. When you both reach the ground, Seungcheol offers you a hand as you step out of the gondola, not letting go until the two of you reach his car. 

Seungcheol opens the passenger door for you, his hand lingering on the frame as you step in. He waits until you’re settled, closing the door with a gentle thud before walking around to the driver’s side. As he slides into the seat, the soft click of the doors locking echoes in the quiet night.

The drive home is comfortable, the radio humming a mellow tune as the city lights streak past the windows. Neither of you speak much, but for once you don’t mind the silence, it’s comfortable, as if the events of the day are still settling in your minds. 

When the two of you finally arrive at your adjacent apartments, he turns to look at you.

“So,” he begins, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt, “did I live up to your standards of being ���decent company’?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a grin. “I guess you weren’t terrible,” you reply, feigning nonchalance.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he leans against the wall. “I’ll take it. Progress is progress.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward—it’s heavy with the weight of the day, the laughter, the quiet moments, and the words that neither of you seems quite ready to say.

“Well,” you finally say, your hand moving to the door handle, “thanks for today. I really needed it.”

Seungcheol doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out the photo strip from earlier at the amusement park. He holds it out to you, his fingers brushing yours when you take it.

You glance down at the photos—the silly poses, the bunny ears, the surprised look on his face as you kissed his cheek—and your chest tightens in the best way possible. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice almost lost in the stillness.

When you look back up, he’s watching you, his expression unreadable. He shifts, fingers lightly grazing yours.

“Hey,” he says quietly, his voice steadier than you feel. “If you’re up for it… we should do this again sometime.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, all you can do is nod. “Yeah,” you manage, your voice soft. “I’d like that too.”

His smile grows, and for a split second, you think he might lean in, but instead, he squeezes your hand gently before pulling back. “Get some rest.” he says, his tone light but his eyes lingering on yours.

As you open your door, the apartment inside feels emptier than normal. You pause, glancing back at Seungcheol.

“Text me when you’re free,” he says, his grin now fully teasing. “Or, you know, just knock on the wall or something.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you softly close the door. Your heart races as you lean against it, the photo strip still clutched in your hand. You glance down at the images, your smile widening as you run your thumb over the glossy surface.

You were screwed—completely and utterly fucked—but for the first time in a long while, you didn’t mind one bit.

—

Jeonghan is late again, you’d think he’d learn to use his time better on Wednesdays but some things never change, you suppose. You sit across from Hao, sipping on your coffee as he eyes you suspiciously.

“So,” he begins, placing his tea on the table, his voice carrying that signature teasing lilt. “You went on a date.”

You nearly choke, coughing into your hand as you set your drink down. “Excuse me? How do you know that?”

He just smirks, leaning back in his chair with an air of triumph. “I was just guessing but you just confirmed it.”

Your jaw drops at his audacity. “That’s not fair—you tricked me!”

“Hardly,” he replies, stirring his tea with mock innocence. “You’re just too easy to read. So was it good?”

Before you can fire back, a familiar voice cuts in, smooth and teasing. “What’s this about a date?”

You turn to see Jeonghan strolling toward your table, his blazer slung over one shoulder and his hair annoyingly perfect, as if he’d stepped out of a magazine, not his office. He grins as he pulls out a chair to join you.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, sinking into your seat. “Now it’s both of you.”

Jeonghan raises a brow, clearly delighted. “Both of us? This sounds like a story. Go on, I’m listening.”

Minghao smirks, pointing at you with his spoon. “She went on a date.”

“Stop saying it like that,” you shoot back, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jeonghan’s eyes light up as he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Ooh, let me guess, the new neighbor you told us about?”

You sigh, knowing you’re outnumbered. “Okay, okay fine. Yes, with the neighbor, and it was nice. That’s all you’re getting.”

“Nice?” Jeonghan repeats, feigning disappointment. “That’s all? Come on, you can do better than that. You haven’t been on a date in god-knows how long and all you can say is ‘nice’?”

“Why are you even here?” you snap, though you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped through.

Minghao tilts his head thoughtfully. “Was it ‘okay’ good or ‘planning another date’ good?”

“I’m betting it’s the second one.” Jeonghan said, his voice lilting. 

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. “Why do I tell either of you anything?”

Jeonghan flashes his signature cheshire smile, nudging your arm. “Because we’re your favorite. Now, come on. Was there a spark? A magical moment? Did you trip over something and land in his arms? Don’t leave us hanging.”

“Nothing like that, you dork.” you respond, trying to hide your smile but failing miserably. “It was just... fun. Exciting. Better than I thought it would be.” Jeonghan and Minghao exchange a look, one of those silent, unspoken conversations that only the three of you could understand.

“Definitely planning date two,” Minghao says, deadpan.

You groan again, but the warmth of their teasing—playful and supportive—makes it impossible to be annoyed. “I hate you guys,” you mumble, though your laugh gives you away.

“And yet,” Jeonghan teases, raising an imaginary glass, “you keep us around. To your nice, hot neighbor for finally getting you out of your apartment!”

Minghao raises his tea to join in. “Cheers to that.”

Rolling your eyes, you clink your mug against theirs. “You’re both insufferable.”

“For sure,” Minghao says with a smile, “that’s why you love us.”

—

Weeks pass in a blur of updating your nosy friends and texting Seungcheol, soon enough you find yourself looking forward to his messages, giddy feelings replaced with warmth and comfort. The banter is light but always at the edge of something more lingering between every word.

Cheol: So u finally going to admit that you miss me?You: I don’t wanna lie to you Cheol.Cheol: You say that now, but wait until this weekend. You’ll be begging for more.You: Oh? What if I have plans this weekend? You know, being busy and all that.Cheol: Then I guess I’ll have to cancel my dinner reservations :(You: We can't have that can we?

The next message is an address and the words: 7pm

Saturday evening comes faster than you expected, and when you glance at the clock, the realization hits that you’re running behind. You rush to get ready, a mix of excitement and nerves churning in your stomach as you pick out an outfit matching the nice restaurant Seungcheol had sent you. You want to show him a side of yourself that’s more than you coming home or leaving for work.

You choose a dark red dress that hugs your curves in all the right places. The neckline dips just low enough, an elegant slit running up the side. Paired with black heels and a sleek necklace dangling almost dangerously low, it feels just right. You spend a little extra time on makeup, defining each feature and topping it off with a red lip that matches your dress. By the time you’re finished, you feel more confident than you have in a while.

A knock at your door sends a rush of adrenaline through your veins.You check the mirror one last time before stepping toward the door, trying to keep your composure.

When the door opens Seungcheol just stands there for a second, his eyes scanning you from head to toe. The intensity of the gaze almost has you feeling self-conscious, until you see the way his eyes take on a slightly glazed quality instead of the usual teasing glint.

“Damn,” he finally breathes out, his voice low and shaky. “You look… wow.”

You bite back your smile, feeling your cheeks heat up at his gaze. “Thanks,” you say, trying to act nonchalant, but failing miserably.

He steps closer, his gaze still lingering on you, and you can almost feel magnetic pull in the space between you. “I… ” His eyes flick down to your heels and then back up to your face, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “I might need to take a second to adjust.”

You chuckle, feeling the warmth of his hands burning your hips through the fabric of your dress, “Well, would you look at that? Choi Seungcheol is actually tongue-tied.”

Seungcheol’s grin widens, “How could I not be speechless when you look like that?”, he asks before taking your hand and leading you to his car. The ride is short, but this time, it feels different. The air between you is thick with anticipation, neither of you speaking much—words feel unnecessary when the moment speaks for itself.

When you arrive at the restaurant, the valet greets Seungcheol like an old friend, and you can’t help but notice the way he carries himself—confident, composed, like he belongs in this world. He guides you through the entrance, a small smile on his face as gently takes your hand.

The restaurant has an air of quiet elegance, the kind that feels effortlessly luxurious. The lighting is soft, casting a golden glow on the crisp white table-cloths, the flickering candlelight adding a comforting warmth. The faint murmur of conversation fills the background, but you feel as if the two of you are in your own little world.

Seungcheol pulls your chair out for you as you sit, and you can't help but feel a little overwhelmed by how natural he makes everything feel, despite the grandeur of the setting. You settle into your seat, your hand instinctively resting on the edge of the table, your fingers brushing the silverware as you glance around. The atmosphere is luxurious, yes, but there’s something reassuring about the way Seungcheol carries himself, like he’s right at home here.

Once the menus are set in front of you, Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate. He scans the offerings with a casual air but glances over at you as you study the menu in your hands. "Don't let the fancy setting fool you. The food here is surprisingly good. I’ve been here more than once.” he says, his voice smooth and low, the confidence he carries in all things evident in the casual mention.

You chuckle, glancing up at him. “Take a lot of your dates here, do you?”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow, that signature smirk tugging at his lips. “Only one.” 

You can’t help the shy smile that spreads across your face, “Who would have known you’re secretly a softy.”

He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. “I’ve got layers, princess. Lots of layers.”

The way he says it, so effortlessly confident, causes your stomach to flutter a lot little. You take a sip of your water, trying not to let him see how much he’s affecting you. “I’m sure. I bet you’re the life of the party at places like this.”

Seungcheol smirks and leans back in his chair, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I can be. But I also know when to appreciate the quiet nights. Sometimes it’s better to enjoy the little things.” His gaze shifts to meet yours then, a quiet intensity in his eyes. It’s a subtle change, but one that makes your heart race.

You swallow, suddenly acutely aware of his gaze. You glance at the menu again, though you haven’t truly registered anything on it. “I’ll take your word for it,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady.

When the waiter returns to take your order, Seungcheol speaks for both of you, his choices seemingly effortless. You take the time to fully appreciate the man in front of you; the way his red tie is the same hue as your dress, how his white button up stretches across his chest giving an outline of a fit physique further supported in the way his sleeves strain against his arms. 

Seungcheol clears his throat, and you realize you’ve been caught red-handed, so you decide to just shrug because yeah, he’s hot. There’s something more serious about the way Seungcheol watches you now, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck, the way the candlelight plays in your hair. It’s as if the energy in the room has shifted, becoming a little more personal.

“I have to admit,” he says after a long pause, his voice softer than before, “I’m having a really good time.”

You laugh, but it’s not from nervousness. It’s a genuine sound. “You’ve been teasing me nonstop for days. I’d hope you at least had a good time after all that hard work.”

His lips curve into that familiar teasing smile. “I’ve been doing more than teasing. You just don’t realize it yet.” He tilts his head slightly. “I’m glad you came, though. Really.”

The words, simple as they are, catch you off guard. It’s one thing for him to be flirty, but for him to show this side of him, this quiet sincerity... you weren’t prepared for it.

Before you can respond, the drinks arrive—a crisp white wine for you, a rich red for him. The clink of glass as it’s set on the table draws you back into the moment. Seungcheol raises his glass, his eyes locked on yours. "To good company," he says, his tone earnest but playful.

You smile and clink your glass against his, the material cool against your fingers. “To good company,” you repeat, your voice just as soft.

The conversation flows easy after that, not forced, but natural. He talks about his favorite restaurants, his travels, and how he’s surprisingly fond of quiet nights. You find yourself opening up more than you intended, sharing stories about your childhood, what drives you, what you love most about your work. He listens intently, his gaze never wavering, his attention fully on you. As if every word matters to him, every sentence is important.

It’s hard not to notice how his gaze shifts from playful to something more thoughtful as you speak, his eyes locking on yours with an unreadable emotion that makes your breath catch every time. You don’t want to admit it, but his attention feels like a constant pull on your thoughts, something that you can’t seem to escape.

When your meal arrives, the soft clink of silverware against the fine china is the only sound for a moment. You both pause, then Seungcheol leans back slightly, eyeing your plate with a mischievous grin. “You’re not going to finish that, are you?” he teases. “I’ll be happy to help.”

You raise an eyebrow, shooting him a playful glance. “I think I’ll manage just fine.”

The two of you laugh easily over the shared dish, the comfortable intimacy of it all settling around you like a familiar blanket. It’s rare to feel so at ease with someone in this kind of setting, but with Seungcheol, it’s effortless.

At some point during dessert, Seungcheol reaches across the table and gently runs his thumb along your hand. The motion is slow, deliberate, and for the first time, he’s not teasing. His touch is softer, and his eyes��god those eyes—hold a sincerity that has you feeling like you’re the only person in the room–in the whole world even.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me tonight.”

You hum, feeling a flutter deep in your chest. “So you’ve mentioned.” 

After a moment you respond again, “I am too.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, the tension between you now wrapping around your mind and dulling the outside world. The soft clink of glasses, the quiet hum of the restaurant, the distant murmur of conversations... it all fades into the background.

Finally, after a long moment of simply looking at each other, Seungcheol stands and walks around to your side of the table, offering his hand. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low but steady.

By the time you’re at the door to your apartment, the tension between the two of you is almost suffocating. You invite him inside, and Seungcheol takes a deep breath, “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back.”

And when you lean close to his ear and tell him then don’t, it’s like floodgates open. Seungcheol shuts the door behind him, crowding you against it as he leans close to you, hands finding your hips and breath warm against your ear. “Do you even know what you’ve been doing to me all night?” he asks, voice so low it's almost a growl.

You smile, hands trailing up his torso to wrap around his neck, “I guess I clean up well.”

Seungcheol chuckles darkly, experimentally squeezing your hips,  “Too bad I’m gonna get you all dirty again.”

When he tilts your chin up to meet his lips, you expect the kiss to be hungry, as desperate as he has you feeling, instead Seungcheol kisses you slowly, tenderly with a sweetness rivaling ambrosia. Your arms wind themselves around his neck, pressing yourself harder against him as if even a second apart would be painful because, quite frankly, that’s how kissing him felt. He takes his time to savor each brush of your lips on his, each sigh that you breathe into his mouth.

Seungcheol looks absolutely ruined. His pupils are blown out, hair messy with your hands in it and red lipstick smeared on his swollen lips. You’re sure you don’t look much different, as the two of you crash back together at the same time. This kiss is how you expected the first to be, hungry, desperate, and hard.

Even when your lungs burn for air your lips chase after him when he separates from you, pupils blown out, hair messy, your lipstick smeared across his mouth, Seungcheol looks absolutely ruined. 

The only thing you can hear is breathlessness before you’re tangling your fingers into his hair to crash your lips together again. Seungcheol presses into even more, hands pushing against your door as he intoxicates you once more. The kiss isn’t soft this time, lust taking over and pulling the two of you into each other. His hand moves to your jaw, switching the angle and taking away any last bit of brain function you have because even when kissing you with such passion Seungcheol still isn’t rough with you. He kisses you with a confidence and control that has you whimpering into his lips.

The sound clearly affects him, his tongue prodding at your lips and a small breath leaving him when you open your mouth further. He starts exploring your mouth as his hands move to explore your body, sliding up and down your waist to your thighs, where he squeezes before lifting you up seemingly effortlessly. 

“Your room?” Seungcheol murmurs into your mouth. You break apart from him once again, hands on either side of his face, forehead resting against his. “Same layout as your apartment.” You recall, resuming the kiss once more as he carries you over to your bed, gently setting you down on the edge.

He drinks the breathy sound that leaves your mouth when his fingers find the zipper on your back, slowly drawing it down and caressing each new plane of skin revealed to him. You lift your hips, helping him get the dress fully off your body and thrown somewhere on the floor. You try to pull him in closer to you but Seungcheol is frozen. You wiggle impatiently and he just shakes his head at you, a breathy laugh leaving his kiss swollen lips.

“Be patient baby, let me appreciate you, fuck.” The last word comes from a deep place in his chest, an almost guttural sound as his hands gently trace up your legs, hips, waist, settling just below your dark red lace bra that matches your now discarded dress. He looks at you with an awe equal to that of meeting a deity, as if he’d never seen anything more captivating and never will in this lifetime. His gaze makes you flush because you’re just you, sure you put on a pretty matching set but even then you didn’t think he’d be this into it. You apparently verbalize your thoughts unintentionally because Seungcheol looks up at you once more, this time gaze filled with disbelief.

“Just you? Just you? God, you really don’t know how beautiful you are, do you, princess?” The nickname causes a shiver to go down your spine, his hands gently as they move behind you, unclipping your bra. “So perfect, so pretty for me.” His words are accompanied by his hands slowly massaging your now bare chest before he dives into you, mouth ravishing every inch on your skin as he pulls sounds from you. Your fingers find their way to his hair, tugging when he nips at your skin. After thoroughly stealing your breath his lips start making their way down to where you need him most. His nose presses against your core causing an embarrassingly depraved whimper to leave you.

“Fuck princess, you’re so ready for me,” he says as he pulls your panties away from your body, holding them up for you to see the ruined fabric. You don’t have time to think about them as he starts to leave hot open mouthed kisses on your inner thigh before dipping his tongue ever so slightly into your weeping hole. Your hands tug slightly on his hair and seemingly break whatever resolve he has as he starts to devour you. He knows exactly when to slow down, licking your cunt up and sucking in ways that have your head spinning. Your insides clench around nothing, leaking arousal as his lips wrap around your clit. He drinks all of your juices, his tongue collecting your wetness like water. 

When he focuses his tongue on your hole, prodding timidly inside you as your walls beg to be stretched, your hands tug harshly at his hair, making him moan right into your cunt, as if he’s enjoying the pull of his hair as you use him for your pleasure. Your orgasm approaches at the speed of light, quicker than you’d ever thought a man could pull from you.

You spasm with each swipe of his tongue that gets faster as he notices how close you are. When he decides to focus on teasing your clit, something snaps in you and you come undone on his tongue. 

He practically makes out with your cunt, stretching out your orgasm and making your legs tremble at his sides. You can feel the big smirk across his lips through your pleasure-induced haze. He doesn’t move away even when you start to feel over stimulated, you tug on his hair.

“You can give me one more, right princess?” He looks like something straight out of a porno, mouth covered in you, hair messy between your fingers, how could you possibly resist such a sight, especially when his finger runs up and down your entrance teasingly.

“Please” is all you have to say before he disappears once more between your legs. His fingers start to stretch out your walls, tongue lapping up any juices that escape. The pounding of his fingers inside you drag you close to the edge faster than before, and when his fingers graze one spot you’re seeing stars.

“There, right there fuck Cheol please–” your words get cut off by a breathy moan as he sucks on your clit, vision going blurry as you come on his fingers. When you’re coming down from the high, you watch as he takes said fingers and licks them clean with a groan, “You might just be my new favorite meal, princess.”

Your eyes roll at the comments as you shakily climb to your knees, earning a raised eyebrow from Cheol as you grab his shirt to pull him towards you, “You’re looking way too clothed to be saying that right now.” You mutter, making quick work of his buttons. His laugh turns into a groan when you press a kiss to his neck, sliding his shirt off of him and running your hands across the expanse of his torso. His muscles are firm and defined, and you don’t resist the urge to bend over and softly bite his chest, reveling in the choked sound he makes. His hands grab your head, pulling you into a wet kiss as you pull at his pants and boxers, sliding them down his legs to free his hard cock. As you look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, long, thick, deliciously curved, this man will be the end of you. 

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips. A whimper escapes you, and Seungcheol hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, princess. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he thrusts his hips up, causing your movements to stutter as you gag. “You can take a bit more, yeah?” his question ends with a groan, his fingers tightening on your hair. 

You lower your head further in response, taking in another more of him. His hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair.

“Fuck, just like that baby, want you to choke on it,” his voice is gravely and low, the sound going straight to your core. The tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and your eyes start to water. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure.

“Fuck my throat,” you beg ask, “Please”

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips as he guides himself into your mouth, smirking at how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “Well since you asked so nicely.”

You whimper around him, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. Suddenly he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with a sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. He crashes his lips to yours in response before pulling away suddenly.

His eyes widen as he looks around, suddenly looking frantic, “Shit, condoms. Stay here, I’ll quickly get dressed and run to my–”

“Are you clean?”

Seungcheol’s eyes go wide at your suggestion before slowly nodding, “I got tested last month, you’re not suggesting…” His voice trails off.

Have you ever let anyone hit it raw? Absolutely not. Did you have the patience for him to go to his apartment and grab condoms? Also absolutely not.

“I’m on birth control, clean, and way too fucking horny for you to be anywhere except inside me.” You state blankly. He shakes his head in astonishment before climbing on top of you, kissing you once more. 

“God, you’re perfect.” he sighs, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks at you one more time for approval. “Ready?”

“Please— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head slides inside you, eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. He barely pulls out before fucking into you with a little more force.  “Shit, you’re so tight, fuck.”

“Cheol please,” you gasp, not quite sure what you're asking for when you latch onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. You’ve never felt this full in your life as Seungcheol waits for you to adjust, pussy spasming around him in ways that make his eyes roll back. When you give him the okay he pulls out slowly, so you can feel every vein as it drags on your walls before he fucks back into you.

His pace starts to get faster and the sounds from both of you sound straight from a porno, but you don’t care because all you can think about is how good his dick feels inside you, how full you feel. From this position, you can see the way his face contorts in pleasure, brows furrowed and bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips and sucks hard. “Fuck princess, you’re so perfect shit– pretty pussy made for me, huh?”

“For you,” you pant, thoughts reduced to just the feeling of him inside you. “All for you Cheol.”

His mouth curves into a soft smile as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Seugcheol’s hand slides down to grasp your hip, squeezing the soft skin and pulling you harder against him, impossibly closer. 

“You’re perfect princess, my perfect pretty baby,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he repeats, more to himself than to you, voice strained as he tries to hold himself back, chasing your release before his own.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening, and you’re sure you look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, but the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Cheol, I’m—” 

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you baby, let go for me. I’ll take care of you,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall (thank god his room is the only one next to yours). Your body obeys him, a gast tearing through you as you moan Seungcheols name like a prayer. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, his expression as wrecked as you feel. “Tell me where—.”

“Inside.”

“Shit, are you sure?”

“Fill me up Cheol, please. Want it so bad.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. He buries himself inside you, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls. He ruts against you, his body trembling against yours before he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms and kissing you gently. You almost cry when he slips out of you, hating the feeling of being empty as he finds your bathroom and returns with a towel to clean you up, eventually lulling you to sleep.

—

The first thing you register when you wake up is warmth— you soft sheets tangled around your limbs, the lingering scent of cologne woven into the fabric. The second thing is weight, the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek, an arm draped around your waist, fingers splayed possessively over your hip.

Your eyes flutter open, and for a moment, you’re disoriented. The golden morning light filters through the curtains, casting lazy patterns across the room, but it takes another second for reality to catch up.

Seungcheol.

His presence is unmistakable, the solid warmth of him anchoring you even before you tilt your head up to look at him. His face is relaxed in sleep, soft in a way you don’t think you’ve seen before. His lashes rest against his cheeks, lips slightly parted, one hand still gripping your waist as if unconsciously keeping you close .

You take a slow breath, careful not to wake him just yet, allowing yourself the luxury of watching him like this. The confidence he always carries, the sharp smirks and teasing remarks—none of it is present in this moment. Right now, he’s just Seungcheol.

Your fingers move instinctively, tracing the curve of his nose, the contour of his lips. His grip on your waist tightens slightly in response, and you hear the low, raspy sound of his voice.

“Mmm.” A deep inhale, then a groggy mumble. “It’s too early.”

You laugh softly, then for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing, the quiet of the morning stretching between you. His fingers skim along your spine absentmindedly, tracing patterns into your skin. It’s dangerously intimate, this kind of quiet closeness, and you find yourself holding your breath as you wait for him to say something.

When he finally does, his voice is softer than before. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod against him. “Yeah. You?”

His thumb brushes over your hip, slow and deliberate. “Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

There’s something unspoken in his words, something that lingers between the two of you, but neither of you address it. Not yet. Instead, you stay like this for a while longer, wrapped in each other. Eventually, though, reality has to creep back in. You sigh, shifting slightly. “We should probably get up.”

Seungcheol groans dramatically, pulling you tighter against him. “Or we could just stay like this.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest again, this time with more force. “You have things to do, and I—”

“—have to stay here and cuddle me,” he finishes smoothly, peeking one eye open again and giving you a peck on the lips. “Sounds like the perfect plan, right?”

You roll your eyes but don’t immediately pull away, allowing yourself one more stolen moment of peace before finally sitting up. Seungcheol watches you, his gaze heavy-lidded, filled with something you can’t quite name. Then, just as you’re about to move off the bed, his hand catches your wrist, stopping you.

You glance back at him, and his expression is unreadable for a beat before he smirks, tugging you down just enough to brush his lips against yours.

“Morning,” he murmurs, and it feels dangerously close to something more.

You swallow, the weight of the moment settling over you, but instead of overthinking it, you smile. “Morning.”

—

A week later you find yourself lying in the same bed, missing the man who had laid with you. The two of you haven’t seen each other since—your schedules never quite aligning—but the texts haven’t stopped. If anything, they’ve only gotten more frequent and flirtatious.

Cheol: You avoiding me or just giving me time to miss you? You: Are those the only options? Cheol: Unless you’d rather admit you can’t stop thinking about me. You: You’re so full of yourself. Cheol: And you love it.

You hate how much you do love it.

You turn and nearly walk into two people standing in the hallway.

“Whoa—careful,” a deep voice says as a steady hand catches your elbow.

It’s Seungcheol. Of course, it’s Seungcheol. He’s standing in front of you, that familiar grin spreading across his face. Standing next to him is a man you instantly recognize—Wonwoo. His calm, sharp features are exactly as you remember, though he seems a little more refined since college. You school your expression, feigning polite curiosity.

“Hey,” you manage, adjusting your grip on the bag.

“Hey yourself,” Seungcheol says, his grin widening. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Uh, I live here,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the sudden thumping in your chest.

Wonwoo clears his throat, glancing between the two of you. “Cheol, are you going to introduce me, or should I do it myself?”

“Right.” Seungcheol gestures toward him. “This is Wonwoo—friend, buddy, compadre, if you will, and frequent pain in my ass. Wonwoo, this is…” He pauses, “Her.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow but extends a hand to you. “Nice to meet you, ‘Her.’ Or, nice to see you again, I guess.”

You laugh, shaking his hand. “Nice to see you too. I’d remind you of my real name, but apparently Seungcheol forgot it.”

“Hardly, you’re the only thing he’s been talking about recently. You were friends with Kwan’, right? I think I crashed your study sessions a few times.”

The mention of Seungkwan brings a smile to your face, he’s now roommates with Jeonghan, even though he’s grown so much since you first met him the younger boy will always have a special place in your heart, “Yeah probably, he always had someone tagging along with him. That kid was a real social butterfly.” Wonwoo opens his mouth to respond but Seungcheol cuts him off.

“Yeah, great, glad you guys are close.” Seungcheol crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head as he studies you. ”Small world and such.”

Your stomach twists slightly, but you keep your expression neutral. “Yeah, crazy coincidence. It’s almost like we went to the same school.” you say sarcastically, “So, what games will you be playing today?” 

Seungcheol narrows his eyes at you, “Who said anything about playing games?”

You swear your heart stops at that moment.

“Oh-uh,” Think, think, think, “Well the walls don’t do a very good job at masking your swearing at night, just assumed that’s what was going on.” 

Wonwoo, ever the observant one, stays quiet, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—like he’s connecting dots that you’d rather he didn’t.

“Sure,” Seungcheol responds, still watching you closely. “Anyways, we should get going.”

You nod, stepping back toward your door. “Yeah, it was nice seeing you both. I should put these away before they melt.”

“Uh huh,” Seungcheol mutters, stepping aside. Wonwoo simply nods politely, his expression calm but unreadable.

Once inside your apartment, you set the groceries down with a sigh, your mind racing. You didn’t slip up that bad, right? At least you had covered your mistake pretty well? Still, there was something about the way Seungcheol looked at you– like he was trying to piece together a puzzle– that left a sinking feeling in your stomach.

—

Another few days pass before you hear from Seungcheol outside of the usual teasing texts. You’re curled up on your couch when your phone buzzes.

Cheol: So, are you going to keep eavesdropping through the walls, or are you finally going to come over and play?

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

You: Who says I want to play?

Cheol: You wound me. But fine, if you’re too scared to lose, I understand.

You: Oh, please. Like you could actually beat me at anything.

Cheol: Prove it. Tonight. My place.

You hesitate for a moment. It’s one thing to comment on him playing games, but actually playing with him? You can’t be sure you won’t slip up again. But then again, you can’t let him think you’re scared.

You: Fine. What time?

Cheol: 8. Wonwoo will be there. And a few others. Don’t be late.

You stare at your screen for a moment before shaking your head. There’s no way this is a good idea, but you’re already getting up to change.

—

At 8:03, you knock on Seungcheol’s door. He opens it almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for you.

“You’re late,” he says, pouting slightly.

“It’s literally been three minutes, you big baby.”

“Three minutes too long.” He steps aside, letting you in. “Come on, the others are already here.”

His apartment is warm and filled with an easy kind of chaos. Wonwoo is lounging on the couch, a controller in hand, looking perfectly unbothered as he glances up at you. “She showed.”

“She did,” Seungcheol confirms, closing the door behind you.

At the other end of the room, four other guys are gathered, already deep into conversation. Seungcheol gestures toward them. “These are the guys. That’s Jihoon—" he points to the one sitting cross-legged on the floor, focused on a laptop. Jihoon barely glances up, offering only a short nod. “Vernon—” the boy next to Jihoon gives a small wave, expression relaxed. “Mingyu—” the tall one grins and throws an arm around Seungcheol’s shoulder. “And Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung—who you recognize from random campus events back in college—immediately brightens. “Wait, I know you! You were friends with Seungkwan, right?”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah, that was me.”

“Small world, huh?”

Seungcheol claps his hands together. “Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, let’s get down to business.”

“Games,” Mingyu supplies helpfully.

“Winning,” Seungcheol corrects, looking directly at you.

You raise an eyebrow. “You wish.”

He grins. “We’ll see.”

—

The first game is an intense round of Mario Kart, and to no one’s surprise, Wonwoo dominates. “You guys suck,” he mutters as he crosses the finish line first yet again (as if you and Seungcheol weren’t on his tail the whole time).

“Okay, okay,” Seungcheol says, waving a hand. “Let’s switch it up. How about teams?”

You find yourself paired with Jihoon, who simply shrugs. “You ready?”

You smirk. “Let’s kick some ass.”

“Hell yeah.”

The match starts, and it’s immediately clear that Seungcheol is more competitive than he let on. The room is filled with laughter, shouts of victory, and groans of defeat. Soonyoung nearly falls off the couch at one point, yelling dramatically when your car pulls ahead of him.

Through it all, you feel yourself relaxing, the nervous energy from earlier fading away. When you glance at Seungcheol, he’s already watching you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he grins again.

—

As the night stretches on, the games gradually give way to easy conversation and laughter, drinks appearing in everyone's hands. Mingyu pours shots for everyone, insisting on a toast to new friends, while Soonyoung—already a little tipsy—challenges Jihoon to a battle of wits (which mostly consists of Jihoon sighing heavily while Soonyoung rambles on).

You find yourself nestled into the couch, comfortably warm from the drinks, the buzz of conversation wrapping around you. Seungcheol drops down next to you, draping an arm along the back of the couch. “Having fun?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.

You let out a quiet laugh. “Guess you’re not as unbearable as I thought.”

“High praise.” He grins, taking a sip from his glass.

Eventually, the night winds down, one by one, the others heading out or claiming their spots to crash for the night. You stretch, standing up to grab your things. Seungcheol watches you with an amused glint in his eyes. “Need someone to walk you home?”

You raise an eyebrow, a huffed laugh leaving you. “What, for the whole two feet I need to walk?”

“Exactly,” he says, standing up and smirking. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you in the five steps it takes to get there.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips as he walks you to your door anyways. As you turn the key to your apartment, you look back at him, maybe it’s the alcohol in your system, or maybe it’s the confidence from meeting his friends that has you leaning up to place a soft kiss on his lips, “Goodnight, gamer boy.”

You realize your mistake the next morning, hoping he didn’t.

—

Still, life goes on, months pass by with you and Seungcheol seeing each other but never giving what you have a label. Your affection for the man starts to pile more by the day along with your guilt, feeling as if you’re betraying him with every brush of your skin on his. Tonight you’re curled up comfortably by his side, his TV playing some rom-com in the background as the two of you feast on fried chicken and soju, a perfect evening. You don’t know when your conversation became talking about your childhood, but you don’t care as Seungcheol tells you a story of the messes he got into with his older brother.

“You’ve always been a trouble-maker haven’t you?” you exclaim, kissing the tip of his nose. He giggles, humming in response and you admire the way it makes his face light up, warming your heart. Everything is so perfect, the way his arms wrap around you, the way the alcohol makes your brain slightly fuzzy. How he presses kisses all over your face as you laugh, finally getting a real kiss pressed to your lips as he lays you down on his couch. Sweet, gentle, and full of an emotion you don’t want to name. When he pulls back the same emotion fills his eyes.

“I really like you, you know?” he says shyly. You nod in response, smiling up at him. “We should make things official then, yeah?” You’re about to nod when the guilt you’ve been suppressing comes back stronger than ever, “I- I’m sorry.” You tell him. Before he can question you further, you stand up, rathering your stuff, “I’m really sorry Cheol.” You say once again before leaving his apartment, too drunk and too scared to face him.

The next day, as much as you try to avoid him, you run into Seungcheol in the hallway and he stops you. His teeth worry at his bottom lip, brow furrowed, “We need to talk about last night. Did I do something? I thought we– I thought things were going well but– just.. Tell me what I can do. Please?”

His words shatter any resolve you had to keep things from him.

“I know you stream.” the words fall from your mouth and make the man in front of you go ridged, “I mean, I’ve watched you a few times– more than a few– I found you a few months before you moved in and didn’t really know what to do.” You wring your hands together, too nervous to look him in the eye.

A few moments pass before he replies, “So what, you just planned on never telling me? Even after we started hanging out? After we… after everything?” His voice sounds defeated, broken. You shake your head but no sound comes out of your mouth. What could you say? Had you ever planned on telling him? You never knew things would get this far, if you did would you have told him sooner. You can feel Seungcheols heavy gaze on you, prompting you to speak, “I— I don’t know Cheol. I’m really sorry I just- I don’t know.”

He nods in response, and you can practically feel your heart drop, “Give me some time.” Is all he says before walking away, leaving you feeling empty.

Another week passes without a word from Seungcheol. Then another. Guilt is eating you from the inside, you don’t know what Seungcheol is thinking, if he’ll ever talk to you again. You can’t say you’d blame him if he didn’t. Once again at work you start slipping up, eventually Minghao decides that enough is enough. 

“Spill, now.” He says when you take your usual seat across from him. You try to convince him to wait until Jeonghan arrives but he’s firm in his insistence.

“Tell me what's going on, from the beginning. No lies, no excuses, no ‘I’ll figure it out on my own’ bullshit.” And so you do. You start from the beginning, Jeonghan's recommendation, the comfort it had brought you until your new neighbor appeared, the dates, the late-nights, the avoidance. You spill your guts out and Minghao listens. When you finish your tangent he just shakes his head.

“I know I’m an idiot Hao, but what was I supposed to do?” You defend yourself, from what exactly, you aren’t sure. Your throat starts to tighten and Minghao places his hand atop yours on the table, “Hey, it’s going to be okay. You’re overthinking it.” He talks the panic out of you like he has so many times before, guides your breathing and soothes your nerves.

“Just because you’re an idiot doesn’t mean you can’t fix things.” His statement makes you laugh, his hand squeezing yours reassuringly. “Trust me, I’m sure you and your little gamer boy can work things out. Just tell him the truth, the same way you just told it to me.” You nod in response. The rest of the break the two of you talk like you always do, laughing and jabbing your coworkers as Minghao just rolls his eyes at you. 

“Y/n?”

Your name from across the room breaks the comfortable bubble you’d been in with your friend. Seungcheol stands a few feet away from your table, betrayal evident in his eyes. You stand up to go towards him, but his scoff makes you stop in your tracks. He turns on his heel and walks out.

“What are you doing? Go after him, dumbass.” Broken out of your trance you hurry out the door, ignoring how the cold wind bites at your skin, your jacket left behind you. Seungcheol’s back is towards you as you chase after him, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face you.

“Wait a second, I-” 

You’re cut off when he yanks his arm from your grip. Your chest aches when you see the look in his eyes. It’s unfamiliar, the face of the man you once found comfort in contorted into something else, something that scared you.

“Don’t start with me Y/n,” his tone is harsh, cutting through the cold air straight into your chest, “I trusted you, you know that? I really trusted you, I thought- it doesn’t even matter because you turned out to be the same as everyone else. This is all, what, some sort of twisted game? You wanted to get into my life and have a piece of me like every other crazy bitch that watches me, right? Well congradu-fucking-lations, you win. Your sick game is over now.” His eyes looked at you, filled with anger, betrayal, hatred, “And to think, after I started to believe that maybe, just maybe you had a reason to lie to me, that you actually cared about me, I see you with another guy. You can’t even go one week without finding a new boy-toy to play with, can you? You’re just another attention-seeking whore.” 

His words hit you like a slap in the face. Here you are, freezing your ass off to try and explain yourself all for what? Finally all the emotions that have been boiling under the surface start to bubble over, “Excuse me?” Your voice comes out dangerously calm, seemingly stopping Seungcheol’s next sentence. 

“First of all,” you clarify, “you’re the one who moved in next to me, let's not get things twisted. And yeah, I didn’t tell you I knew who you were, you wanna know why? Because the first time I saw you it looked like you were about to have a nervous breakdown because I recognized you. Of fucking course I said I knew you from college, I wasn’t about to make you more uncomfortable than you already were! I haven’t watched a single video since that day out of respect for you and your privacy. You are the one who kept talking to me, you are the one who asked me out, you are the one who kept doing things that would make it impossible for me to not start falling for you. A whore? I’ve been so worried about you that I make stupid mistakes in the simplest fucking tasks at work and my coworkers started to get worried, my friends started to get worried. So I finally tell them what's going on and when they convince me to come clean and explain everything to you, you decide to jump to conclusions. You can say whatever you want, Choi Seungcheol, but don’t you dare think for a second that I don’t care about you.” Hot tears stream down your face, but you don’t care, the words come pouring out from you, and you watch as Seungcheols expression morphs from anger, looking away before you can see what it turns into. His hand reaches out for yours but you pull away, not looking at him because you know if you do it’ll change your mind. “I hope you can find an attention-seeking whore to play with Seungcheol because I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

When you return to the cafe, Minghao doesn’t scold you for letting your emotions control you, offering instead to cover for you so you could go home but you refuse. Because what is home, you think, without Seungcheol. 

You stay at Jeonghans for the next few days, calling out sick from work to instead watch dramas with Seungkwan. He doesn’t question your sudden appearance, nor the tears that fall whenever the drama leads would interact, which you’re thankful for. He gives you a steady shoulder to cry on and a reliable source of laughter to cheer you up. The two of you are currently huddled under a blanket, watching as Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams run towards each other in the rain. Your hands are holding his tightly under the blanket as you both squeal when they kiss. When the movie ends tears stream down both of your faces and Seungkwan bumps your shoulder lightly, “Whatever you’re going through must be serious, you never cry during The Notebook.” 

You roll your eyes at his statement, laughing along with him as you turn the T.V. off. He turns to face you, suddenly serious and you know what's coming.

“You’re not kicking me out, are you?” The smile accompanying your joke doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and Seungkwan notices with a sigh.

“You know I would never, but you also know you can’t avoid going back forever. Eventually you’ll need to go back to your apartment.” He gives a pointed look at your too-big hoodie and sweats courtesy of Jeonghan. “Listen Y/n, you know I love you but–”

“I know Kwan’, I know. I’m just scared. Even if I know you’re right. I don’t think I’m ready to face him yet.” You cut him off, tears welling in your eyes once more. Seungkwan clasps your hands in his.

“Remember my senior year when I had a mental breakdown and called you at ass-O’-clock in the morning?” You nod, the memory vague but there. He continues, “I went over to your house and told you I was scared, that suddenly everything felt so real with job applications, interviews, and graduation getting closer. I didn’t know what to do, I wasn’t ready to be an adult yet and suddenly life was being shoved in my face and I didn’t know how to cope. Do you remember what you said to me?” A small smile forms on your face among the tears, Seungkwan giving you a reassuring one in response.

 “There are some things you’ll never be ready for, but the clock still ticks and the Earth still spins, no matter how terrified you are. You just have to do it scared.”��

You recite the words with him, words your parents had told you when you were eighteen and unprepared for college life, words you lived by since then, that had gotten you through your darkest times and happiest moments. Words that you had somehow lost in the chaos of adulting. 

You wipe your face on your sleeve, small laughs replacing your sobs as you look at your lap, “Thanks Kwan.” 

You don’t need to say anything else, he knows, like he always does. Like all of your friends always do because at the end of the day no matter how tough things get you will always have an amazing support system full of amazing friends. No man could change that, no amount of distance could break the bond your little entourage have. Because they, you realize, are home.

Seungkwan wraps you in a warm embrace as you tear up some more, not sad this time. The two of you rock back and forth for a while before pulling away and making eye contact. 

“Tomorrow?”

“Can’t we wait until the weekend?”

“Fine, you stubborn pain in the ass. Saturday. Morning.”

You groan in response but don’t bother to hide the smile on your lips.

—

Saturday morning comes faster than you’d like. The moment your eyes flutter open, reality crashes into you like a wave, heavy and unrelenting. For a fleeting moment, you consider burying yourself deeper into the blankets, pretending that you could stay in Jeonghan’s guest room forever. But Seungkwan’s words from the night before echo in your mind. You just have to do it scared.

With a deep breath, you push yourself out of bed. Jeonghan is already in the kitchen, sipping his coffee with an all-knowing smirk when you walk in. "So, today’s the big day, huh?"

You roll your eyes, reaching for the mug he’s already set out for you. “You act like I’m about to get married.”

“Considering the dramatics, it might as well be.”

You groan, dropping your head onto the counter. “Can you not?”

Jeonghan chuckles, patting the top of your head before walking away. “Just rip the bandaid off, Y/n. You’ll feel better once you do.”

You’re not sure about that, but you know he’s right.

By the time you reach your apartment complex, your heart is pounding so loudly that you can hear it in your ears. The familiar hallway feels foreign, your feet carrying you toward your door on autopilot. You turn the key in your apartment door, the familiar creak of the hinges sounding louder than usual in the quiet hallway. The space is just as you left it—dim, still, and eerily empty. It feels foreign, like you don’t quite belong here anymore. Maybe because, for the past few days, you didn’t. With a heavy sigh, you drop your bag by the door and toe off your shoes, making your way to the couch. The exhaustion from carrying the weight of everything settles into your bones. You lean back, eyes fluttering shut, trying to steady your breathing.

It takes a few days for you to settle back into your apartment. At first, everything feels too quiet. You find yourself reaching for your phone to text Seungcheol before remembering the way things ended. You distract yourself with work, with cleaning, with anything to keep your mind from wandering to the ache in your chest. But no matter how much you try to push it down, it lingers.

—

You haven’t seen him since that night. You don’t expect to. Instead you go back to how things had been before he moved in, ignoring the ache in your chest whenever you hear him through your thin apartment walls. 

Some nights, you lie awake, staring at the photo you had taken with him on your first date, wishing to go back in time. You listen to the faint sounds of his life bleeding through the walls, wondering if he does the same, or if he threw the picture away all together. The murmur of his voice on the phone, the clink of dishes in the sink, the low hum of his TV. It’s almost cruel how easily he seems to slip back into routine while you feel like you’re unraveling. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That you’ll get used to it. But the silence in your own apartment is deafening, and the space he left behind feels colder than it should.

You start wearing headphones more often. It helps, a little. Drowns out the ghost of his presence. Keeps you from wondering if he ever pauses, mid-conversation, mid-laugh, mid-breath, thinking about you. You don’t let yourself hope.

But late one night, when you’re standing at your sink rinsing out a mug, you hear it—your name. Soft, hesitant. Muffled by the wall but unmistakable. Your breath catches, fingers tightening around the ceramic. You wait, straining to hear more. A part of you wants to move closer, to press your ear against the wall, to pretend that he’s just on the other side, that nothing has changed. But then you hear footsteps, the creak of his door opening.

And then nothing.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You tell yourself it was nothing.

But you don’t wear your headphones that night.

—

The next morning, you wake up with the imprint of your phone against your cheek, the playlist you put on last night long finished. Your first thought is that you dreamed it—his voice, his hesitation. That your mind is just playing tricks on you because it wants so badly to believe he still thinks about you.

But then, as you move through your morning routine, you catch yourself hesitating near the front door. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the weight in your chest, the feeling of stepping into the world once again without him waiting to greet you. You push the feelings aside.

When you finally open the door, you nearly step on something– small and familiar, sitting right in the center of your doorstep.

Your scarf.

You freeze. Your fingers twitch at your sides.

The scarf you’d left at his place weeks ago, back when you still had a place there too. It’s neatly folded, like he took care with it, but there’s no note, no explanation. Just the scarf. You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the fabric as you pick it up. It still smells like his apartment, like the faint trace of his cologne, like something that used to feel like home.

You stand there too long, cold air slipping into your apartment through the open door, numbing your fingers, your face. Your mind races with all the possibilities—did he find it by accident? Did he mean to leave it for you himself? Did he hesitate, just like you are now?

You don’t know what to do with it.

So you do what you always do—you tuck it away, shove it into the depths of your closet like you can bury the feelings that come with it.

But that night, when you curl into bed, your hand drifts toward the closet door. Before you can stop yourself, you pull the scarf back out. Hold it in your lap. Press it between your fingers. Like maybe, if you close your eyes, you can pretend—for just a little while—that you never had lied to him in the first place.

—

The scarf stays on your nightstand after that. You don’t wear it. You don’t even move it. But you don’t put it back in the closet, either.

It’s stupid, you tell yourself. It’s just fabric. Just something that happened to be left behind. He probably didn’t think twice about it. He was just returning something that wasn’t his, nothing more.

You keep going to work, settling disputes with coworkers who seem to have nothing better to do than fight (you ignore the way you almost reach for your phone to listen to Seungcheols voice as you work).

You keep meeting Jeonghan and Minghao on Wednesdays, occasionally Seungkwan joins the three of you (you ignore the way they glance at you with pity).

Everything is where it’s supposed to be (you ignore how everything you do feels like it’s missing something).

It’s late, and you’re lying in bed, not really asleep, not really awake. The walls between your apartments have always been thin—thin enough that sometimes you can catch pieces of his voice, low and tired, when he’s on the phone late at night.

But this time, there’s no conversation. Just footsteps. The sound of a drawer opening, then closing. A pause. And then, so quiet you almost miss it—your name.

Your stomach twists.

You tell yourself it was just in your imagination, don’t let yourself dwell on why he might have said that because he didn’t (you ignore how you know that’s a lie).

The next morning, you wake up feeling like you never really slept at all. Your body is heavy, your mind clouded with something you don’t want to name. You go about your day like normal—like nothing happened. Like you didn’t hear him say your name. Like it didn’t send a crack through the carefully constructed distance you’ve been trying to build.

But it lingers.

You don’t mean to, but you start listening to him more. Not on purpose—at least, that’s what you tell yourself—but your ears tune in anyway. You notice the little things: the way he moves around his apartment, the late nights he stays up, the mornings he leaves just a little later than he used to.

And then one evening, when you step out of your apartment to grab something from the corner store, you nearly run into him.

You freeze.

So does he.

For a moment, neither of you speak. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t been sleeping well either. Like maybe he’s been feeling the same weight pressing down on him. Your throat is tight. You should say something. You should walk away.

But then his gaze flickers, just briefly, to your door. To you.

When he starts to turn around Seungkwan’s reminder rings in your head.

Do it scared. 

And before you can stop yourself, before you can think better of it, his name slips past your lips, “Seungcheol.”

His breath catches.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, “We should talk.”

Seungcheol freezes, hand hovering above his door knob for a second before dropping to his side. When he looks up at you his eyes are full of so many emotions it makes your heart ache; shame, regret, hurt, hesitation. It almost makes you change your mind, but then you see it, the tiniest sliver of hope behind his gaze, that helps you keep going, inviting him into your apartment. He hesitates before entering, you walk in after him, closing the door.

Seungcheol doesn’t sit, so you don’t either. Instead, you stand near the couch, gripping your hands together to keep them from shaking. It’s silent for a moment, you aren’t used to his presence anymore.

“I meant what I said before,” you begin hesitantly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

His gaze flickers with something unreadable. He responds softly, voice sounding almost broken, “Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

You exhale, the numbed frustration and regret rising again in your chest. “At first I thought it wasn’t important, you were just my neighbor, and you looked nervous when we first met so I figured you’d rather stay anonymous. But then we started to get to know each other and suddenly I was keeping a huge secret and I didn’t know what to do. I-,” You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and stop your rambling, “I was scared. I didn’t want to ruin whatever this was—whatever we were. I thought if I told you the truth, you’d push me away.” You let out a small, humorless laugh. “Looks like I managed to do that anyway.”

Seungcheol sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “You should’ve given me the chance to decide how I felt about it instead of lying to me.”

You nod slowly, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. “I know,” you whisper. “I should’ve told you the truth. I should have done so many things differently, but I didn’t, and I hurt you.” You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his eyes even though it makes your stomach twist. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Seungcheol looks at you, nodding, “Me too. For what I said.”

“Don’t worry, I get it, you had every right to be mad.” You protest. 

He flinches, shaking his head. “Not like that.” His hands ball into fists at his sides before he sighs, running one through his hair. “Yeah, you should have told me. And yeah, it hurt. But what I said to you?” His jaw clenches. “That wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve that.” His voice is thick with guilt, his brows furrowed in frustration—at himself, not at you as he looks away. “Did you- when we would be together who were you thinking of?”

You tilt your head in confusion, so he elaborates, “I guess what I’m asking is if you just thought of me as S.coups, if you thought it was just another game.” When he meets your gaze once more it’s as if all the confidence was drained from him, he looked unsure, raw vulnerability in the way he bites his lip and wrings his hands together. 

“It was never a game, not for me at least. To me you’ve always been Seungcheol, even when you first moved in, I didn’t really think about your job other than being worried that I would make you uncomfortable by knowing. Even when I’d watch you play, when you were having fun you were Seungcheol playing games like you used to during class. On days you didn’t seem as into it you were Seungcheol doing your job.”

You hear Seungcheol inhale sharply as you continue, “Back then and now you mean so much to me, I never meant to hurt you, but I did. And I don’t expect you to forgive me just because I apologized. If you still hate me that fi–”

You’re cut off by lips on yours, gentle and nervous until you kiss back. After so long it feels like the world finally clicks into place, a hand sliding into yours gently as your tears mix with his.

When you separate Seungcheol’s hand grips yours tightly, eyes still closed as if he’s scared you’ll be gone when he opens them. “I don’t hate you, Y/n.” His voice is softer now, barely a whisper. “I never did.” This time you lean into him, pressing your lips together once more. His free hand moves to cradle your face, yours lightly gripping the front of his shirt. Muttered ‘I missed you’s are scattered between kisses as you make your way to the couch, placing yourself on Seungcheol’s lap when he sits. Neither of you can help the tears on your faces. 

After who-knows-how-long you’re still in Seungcheol’s embrace, his strong arms wrapped around you, drawing slow patterns on your back as the two of you sway back and forth gently. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, a quiet rhythm that makes you feel like you can finally breathe easy. You don’t know how long you sit there, tangled together on your couch, his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go. Maybe he is. Maybe you are too.

“Thank you. For coming back.” Seungcheol murmurs into your hair. His voice is soft, careful, like he’s afraid of saying too much, of pushing too hard.

You shift slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes are still damp, lashes clumped together, and the sight of it twists something in your chest. “Always,” you whisper. “I’ll be here as long as you still want me.”

His breath shudders as he exhales. “I do.” He presses his forehead against yours, voice thick with emotion. “Always did, always will.”

You close your eyes, soaking in the warmth of him, the weight of his hands resting at your waist, grounding you. “No more hiding. No more running.” you say softly.

Seungcheol nods, his grip tightening like he’s holding onto something fragile. “No more running,” he agrees. For a while, neither of you speak. You just exist in the quiet, in the warmth of each other, letting the weight of everything settle. Eventually, Seungcheol chuckles, breath fanning against your cheek. “I don’t want to move,” he admits.

You smile, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Then don’t.”

His lips twitch into a grin. “You’ll let me stay?”

You pretend to consider it, tilting your head. “Depends. Are you planning on stealing all the blankets again?”

Seungcheol laughs, the sound vibrating against your skin. “No promises.”

You sigh dramatically. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

His arms tighten around you, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I can let go just yet.”

Neither do you.

—

“You ready to lose again?” Seungcheol asks, raising an eyebrow, the usual playful confidence in his voice.

You roll your eyes, scoffing. “In your dreams, Cheol.”

It’s silly, how normal it is, how easy it was to slip into the rhythm of this again. Your friends around you in his apartment, all laughing and having fun.

"Hoshi, I’m going to kick your ass!" Seungkwan yells from across the room, his voice high-pitched with mock frustration.

"You've got a lot of nerve talking, considering you're in last place," Soonyoung teases back, his grin wide and infectious.

"I can’t believe we’re playing this game again," Mingyu groans dramatically, even though he’s clearly enjoying himself despite the complaints.

"You’re just mad because I hit you with a shell. Like this," Jihoon shoots another shell at Mingyu’s cart, the corner of his lips curving upward as he hears Mingyu’s swears.

Seungcheol laughs, his usual confidence shining through as he skillfully handles his character. Every now and then, his hand would brush yours, and in those moments, it felt like time had slowed just enough for you to savor the simple joy of being surrounded by friends—by family.

"You’re about to lose!" Jeonghan said, voice full of amusement as he leaned over to look at the screen.

Seungcheol shot him a mock glare. "You’re not even playing."

But despite the teasing, the tension was long gone. No more waiting for the right moment to speak, no more hiding. It isn’t perfect—nothing ever is—but it's real. And that's enough.

You lean back against the couch, your head resting against Seungcheol’s shoulder as you pull into fourth place with a groan.

Seungcheol leans in, nudging your shoulder lightly with his. “So, when do you plan on winning?” he teases, his grin wider than before.

You glare at him, but the corners of your mouth betray you, lifting into a smile you can’t fight. “I’ll win when I’m good and ready, it’s not my fault my boyfriend is a professional.” you reply, your voice playful as you pout at the man in front of you. He laughs and presses a kiss to your lips, “Boyfriend, huh? You’re trying to use my weaknesses against me aren’t you?” You look up at him with the best innocent face you can manage, “That depends, my dear, is it working?”

“Maybe.”

“Ugh, get a room, you two.” Seungkwan’s complaints cause a wave of laughter as Seungcheol just pulls you closer into his side, sticking his tongue out at the younger boy. The teasing continues for a while longer, but you can feel how the warmth in the room isn’t just coming from the shared space or the game. It’s the laughter, the familiarity, and that makes a smile spread onto your lips. No distance, no walls. Just warmth, joy, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who cared. People who you knew would be by your side through thick and thin because the clocks still tick and the Earth still spins, time moves forward with them by your side to move with it.

A/N: Wooo she’s finally done!! Thx @orngejuic for being my beta reader ilysm.

[elryuse]

Press Record

Julie X Male Reader

Tags : Record Sex, Naughty, Romance, Obsession, Cowgirl, Sweaty

Words : 2,813 Words

This Fic Is Dedicated to My Friend @Pizza_anon. Thanks once again For the Commission My Friend. I hope You Guys enjoyed it.

The first time Julie glanced my way, I felt it like a jolt of electricity. Her green eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto mine across the crowded dining hall. For a split second, her infectious smile flickered, replaced by something darker, more predatory. I should’ve looked away, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. That was my first mistake.

“You’re new, right?” she said, sliding into the seat across from me like she owned it. Her voice was low, teasing, and carried an edge that made my stomach twist. “I’m Julie. You’ve probably heard of me.”

I had. Everyone had. Julie wasn’t just a name; she was a reputation. The girl you didn’t cross, the girl who could turn your life into a minefield with a single smirk. But up close, she was magnetic—her messy dark hair, the way she leaned forward like she was about to share a secret, the faint scent of cherry lip gloss that made my pulse quicken.

“Yeah,” I managed, my voice steady despite the knot in my chest. “I’ve heard.”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “Good. Then you know not to waste my time.”

She stayed for exactly three minutes, just long enough to leave me flustered and confused, before disappearing back into the crowd. But that was just the beginning. Julie had a way of inserting herself into my life, like a storm I didn’t see coming. She’d show up at parties, corner me in hallways, and text me at random hours with messages that ranged from ”You’re cute when you’re nervous” to ”Don’t make me come find you.”

And then there was the night at her friend’s party. The night she pulled me into a bedroom, locked the door, and whispered, “Let’s film it,” like it was the most natural thing in the world. My heart raced, my hands trembled, and I should’ve said no. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because when Julie looked at me like that, with those piercing eyes and that devilish smile, I wasn’t just a target—I was something she wanted. And that was all it took.

Now, we’re alone in my dorm room, the air thick with tension. My roommate’s out for the evening, and Julie’s perched on the edge of my bed, her legs crossed, toe tapping idly against the floor. She’s wearing a leather jacket that’s too big for her, making her look smaller, more vulnerable. But I know better. Julie’s always in control.

“Let me film you,” she says, her voice low and steady, devoid of the teasing tone she usually uses. This isn’t a joke anymore. It’s a demand.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Julie…”

“Don’t ‘Julie’ me,” she interrupts, leaning forward so her face is inches from mine. Her breath is warm against my skin, and I can smell the faint hint of coffee on her lips. “You know you want to. You always do.”

“It’s not just about what I want,” I try, but she cuts me off with a sharp laugh.

“Bullshit. It’s always about what you want. You just won’t admit it.” Her hand finds my thigh, her fingers digging in just enough to make me wince. “You like it when I push you. You like it when I take control. Don’t act like you don’t.”

I want to argue, to tell her she’s wrong, but the words catch in my throat. Because she’s not wrong. Not even close. There’s something about Julie—the way she challenges me, the way she makes me feel alive in a way no one else ever has—that I can’t resist. It’s dangerous, intoxicating, and I know it’s going to end badly. But right now, I don’t care.

“Fine,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “But just this once.”

Her smirk returns, and she pulls her phone from her pocket, setting it up on the dresser with the camera angled perfectly. “That’s what you said last time,” she teases, sliding her jacket off and tossing it to the floor. “And the time before that.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I watch as she climbs onto the bed, straddling my lap with practiced ease. Her hands find my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin as she leans in close, her lips brushing against my ear. “Let’s see how loud I can make you,” she whispers, her breath hot against my skin.

And then she’s kissing me, hard and demanding, her tongue sliding against mine as her hips grind against me. I lose myself in the sensation, my hands gripping her waist as she takes control, her movements confident and relentless. I can feel the heat building between us, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it’s almost unbearable.

“Julie,” I groan, my hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. She responds with a low hum, her nails dragging down my chest as she breaks the kiss, her eyes locking onto mine.

“Say it,” she demands, her voice rough with desire. “Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” I breathe, my heart pounding in my chest. “I want you.”

Her smile is wicked, triumphant, and she leans in to kiss me again, her hands tangling in my hair as she moves against me. The sound of our breathing fills the room, mingling with the soft creak of the bedsprings as she takes what she wants, leaving me helpless to resist.

And then she pulls back, her eyes glittering with mischief as she glances at the camera. “Let’s give them something to talk about,” she says, her voice dripping with satisfaction. Before I can respond, she’s moving again, her hips grinding against mine in a way that makes my breath catch.

“Julie,” I gasp, my hands tightening on her hips as I feel myself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until I’m on the edge. She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give me a moment to catch my breath, and I know she’s not going to stop until she gets what she wants.

“That’s it,” she purrs, her voice low and sultry as she leans in close, her lips brushing against mine. “Let me see you come undone.”

I don’t last much longer after that. The tension snaps, and I’m lost in the sensation, my hands gripping her hips as I spill inside her. She doesn’t stop, her movements slowing but not stopping as she rides out the aftershocks, her eyes locked on mine.

“Good boy,” she whispers, her voice soft and satisfied as she leans in to kiss me. But before I can respond, she’s pulling away, reaching for the camera and turning it off. “Now,” she says, her smirk returning, “let’s see who’s brave enough to ask what happened tonight.”

I watch as she slips her jacket back on, her movements casual and unhurried, like we didn’t just… like this wasn’t… I shake my head, trying to clear the fog in my mind, but Julie’s already at the door, her hand on the knob.

“Same time next week?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that’s equal parts sweet and dangerous.

I don’t answer. I don’t need to. Because we both know I’ll be here just waiting for her. And she’d love that more than anything…. “You’re not that hard to figure out,” she smirks, turning the door open and walking out with not a care in the world.

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving me alone in the silence of the dorm room. My heart was still racing, my mind a chaotic swirl of desire, guilt, and something dangerously close to obsession. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know how to feel. All I knew was that Julie had left her mark on me—again—and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to scrub it away.

The next week passed in a blur. I tried to focus on classes, on friends, on anything other than the promise of her return. But it was no use. Everywhere I looked, I saw her—her smirk, her eyes, her lips. She haunted me, even when she wasn’t there. And then, just like she said, she came.

It was late. The dorm room was dark, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside the window. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall, when the door flew open without warning. Julie stood in the doorway, her hair a mess, her eyes red and puffy. She looked wild, unpredictable, and more dangerous than ever. I froze, unsure of what to say, but before I could even think to ask what was wrong, she was on me.

“He fucking cheated on me,” she spat, her voice shaking with anger as she slammed the door shut behind her. “That piece of shit had the nerve to lie to my face, and I believed him. I actually fucking believed him.” Her hands were trembling, her chest heaving with every breath. She looked broken, but also furious—like a wounded animal ready to lash out.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t even have time to process what was happening before she was in my face, her hands gripping the front of my shirt. “Do you know how that feels?” she demanded, her voice rising. “To give someone everything and have them throw it back in your face like it’s nothing?”

“Julie—” I started, but she cut me off.

“No. Don’t talk. Don’t say a fucking word.” Her eyes burned into mine, and for a moment, I thought she was going to hit me. Instead, she kissed me. Hard. Her lips crashed against mine, desperate and angry and raw. I could taste the salt of her tears, the bitter tang of her rage. She wasn’t asking for comfort. She was taking what she needed.

Her hands were everywhere—pulling at my clothes, clawing at my skin. I didn’t resist. I didn’t want to. There was something electric about her in that moment, something that made me forget everything except the feel of her body against mine. She pushed me back onto the bed, climbing on top of me with a ferocity that took my breath away.

“You’re going to make me forget him,” she said, her voice low and trembling. “You’re going to make me forget everything.”

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. She was a storm, and I was caught in her chaos. Her hands tugged at the waistband of my pants, and within seconds, they were on the floor. She didn’t bother with finesse or foreplay. She was too angry, too desperate. She straddled me, her thighs pressing against my hips, and I could feel how wet she was through the thin fabric of her skirt.

“Julie—” I started again, but she didn’t let me finish.

“Shut up,” she growled, her hands gripping my shoulders so tightly it hurt. “You don’t get to talk. You don’t get to think. You’re just going to take it.”

And then she was on me, sliding down onto me with a gasp that sounded more like a cry of pain than pleasure. She didn’t stop, didn’t pause, didn’t give either of us time to adjust. She just moved, her hips grinding against mine in a rhythm that was as punishing as it was intoxicating. She was fucking me, but it didn’t feel like sex. It felt like revenge.

Her nails dug into my chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was crying again, but I couldn’t tell if it was from anger or pain or something else entirely. Her body tightened around me, and I could feel every shudder, every tremor, every flicker of emotion that she was trying to drown out.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’re fucking mine.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t even think. I just let her take what she needed, gave her what I could. Her body was slick with sweat, her skin hot against mine. The air in the room was thick, heavy, charged with raw, unspoken emotion. She leaned forward, her lips brushing against my ear, and I could feel her breath, warm and shaky.

“I hate him,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I hate him so much.”

And then she was coming, her body tightening around me in a way that made my vision blur. I followed her over the edge, unable to hold back any longer. She collapsed on top of me, her breathing ragged, her forehead pressed against my chest. For a moment, neither of us moved. I wasn’t sure if it was over, or if this was just another pause in the storm.

She lifted her head, her eyes meeting mine, and for the first time since she’d walked in, she looked vulnerable. “Don’t ever lie to me,” she said, her voice soft but deadly serious. “Don’t ever fucking lie to me.”

I nodded, unsure of what else to do. She stared at me for a moment longer, her eyes searching mine, and then she leaned in and kissed me. It was softer this time, slower, but there was still an edge to it—a reminder that she was in control, that she always would be.

“Good boy,” she whispered against my lips, and then she was pulling away, her body slipping off mine. She reached for her skirt, pulling it back on with quick, practiced movements. She didn’t look at me as she dressed, her face a mask of determination.

“Julie—” I started, but she cut me off with a sharp look.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice cold. “Just don’t.”

And then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving me alone in the silence once again. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my body still humming with the memory of her. I didn’t know what had just happened, or what it meant. All I knew was that Julie had blown through my life like a hurricane, leaving destruction in her wake, and I was already craving the next storm.

The first time she left, I thought it was over.

The second time, I knew better.

Julie had always been like this-hot, cold, here, gone. She never stuck around long enough to let things settle, never gave me a chance to ask what any of this meant. Maybe that's why I let it happen. Because I knew if I tried to hold onto her, she'd slip right through my fingers.

But she kept coming back.

The first time was a week after that night. My phone lit up at 2 a.m. with a single message.

Unlock your door.

And like an idiot, I did.

She didn't say a word when she slipped inside.

Just pulled me into her, fingers curling in my hair, mouth already on mine like she'd been starving for it. She never let me ask questions, never let me talk about what we were doing. She took what she wanted, and I let her.

It became a pattern.

Julie would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, and just when I started to think maybe I was finally free of her, she'd find her way back. A text. A knock on my door. A hand on my wrist when she caught me in the hallway between classes, her grip just tight enough to let me know she still had a hold on me.

And every time, I let her in.

Every time, I let her ruin me a little more.

But something was different now.

The first time she left, I thought she was running from me. Now, I wasn't so sure.

She started lingering after.

Not much-just a few minutes longer, just long enough to catch her watching me when she thought I wasn't looking. Just long enough to notice the way she hesitated before pulling her clothes back on, like she wanted to say something but didn't know how.

Just long enough for me to start wondering if maybe, just maybe, she was getting addicted, too.

Then one night, everything changed.

I wasn't expecting her. It had been two weeks since I'd last seen her, and I was finally starting to believe she was done with me for good. And then, out of nowhere, she was at my door, pounding so hard it made the walls shake.

When I opened it, she pushed past me without a word, her hair a mess, her hands trembling.

"Julie-"

"Shut up," she muttered, her voice unsteady. "Just -just let me stay."

And for the first time, she didn't touch me.

She didn't rip my clothes off, didn't press her lips to my skin. She just climbed into my bed, curled into herself, and closed her eyes.

And I knew, then and there, that I wasn't the only one craving the next storm.

She was, too.

And maybe-just maybe-this time, she was afraid of it.

[sotwk]

Not A Bad Thing (Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader)

Inspired by the song lyric: "Don’t act like it’s a bad thing to fall in love with me." Not a Bad Thing by Justin Timberlake

Word count: 1.7 k Genre tags: romance, hurt/comfort, love confession, pining, idiots in love, friends to lovers Rating: Teen Content Warnings: Brief mentions of implied abuse. Tons of sap with a side of cheese. It's indulgent, okay? ;) To Read on AO3: LINK

Not A Bad Thing

Bucky Barnes x Reader

“May I come in?” he asked with gentility borne from manners of a bygone era. On top of that, he observed the etiquette of the digital age, and texted you that morning to ask first whether he could drop by for a visit. 

Maybe saying yes had been a mistake. Maybe you should have heeded logic instead of gut reaction. But after last night, your mind remained too cloudy to process logic.

The vibe between you was suffocating as you settled into the living room, even with the TV on in the background to drown out the silence. As though this was your first time alone in a room together. Never mind the many all-nighters spent hanging out over boxes of Thai takeout, you pounding out thesis edits on your laptop while he snorted and guffawed at his latest survival show binge--a ritual developed over the course of a year that finally helped you cross the finish line to your Master’s. If only you had discovered sooner that the solution to your crippling focus and anxiety issues lived just two floors above you. 

“I want to make sure you're okay,” Bucky finally said. Never one to hedge around a difficult conversation, one of the most refreshing things about his friendship. As he studied your face for answers his eyes were soft, not judging. Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but duck behind the rumpled curtains of your unbound hair.

“I’m fine.” You inhaled a bracing breath and tugged the cuff of your sweater past your wrist. “It’ll be fine.” You’ve been repeating that to yourself all day, and were just about convinced of it. 

“It will be,” Bucky agreed. “As long as that asshole doesn’t show his face around here.”

You straightened up abruptly. “Don’t say that--”

“I’m serious. If I run into him in this building again, or see him within a hundred feet of you, there will definitely be a problem.” You saw his gloved hand clench into a fist, and a conflicting mix of worry and satisfaction swirled in you. Preston had threatened to do the same to your oblivious neighbor multiple times, never realizing that it didn’t matter that he was a taller and bigger man and a self-crowned Alpha who always got his way. Bucky would have him eating carpet before he could take a swing. 

“He’s not worth getting yourself into trouble over.” 

“He’s not. But you are.” His calm tone was cracking, his demeanor darkening with each word. “He owes you an apology. He should be on his knees begging for forgiveness he doesn’t even deserve to get.”

“It was an argument.” You tugged on your sleeve again. “A bad one, the worst one. But the last one. He and I are done.”

Bucky said your name, sternly but gently, spoken in a way that seemed to pry off the shield you had flung up to keep him from the truth. Your pulse quickening, you dropped your gaze to the floor. “I don’t know how much you heard last night--”

“I heard all of it--and more,” he said. “I know last night was one of many. I know how he’s been treating you for weeks now. I hate myself for never saying a word about it.”

The admission should not have shocked you. Superhuman hearing would pick up regular conversations from the next building over, much less a couple of floors away, and Preston had taken to unloading his frustrations at increasingly high volume on his more recent visits.

“The way he spoke to you, the things he called you--” Bucky stopped short, his jaw tight with rage that he needed a moment to tamp back down.

Bitch. Whore. Despite the sting of Preston’s words, you felt a wash of relief that your now ex-boyfriend had taken off before Bucky appeared at your door last night to check on you. You wondered at the restraint it had taken your friend to hold off as long as he did, and to let you turn him away, if he truly had overheard everything. 

Because of the other half of the story. The other things that Preston and you were yelling at each other about; the primary cause of all those escalating fights. 

“It was my fault.” The statement jumped from your mouth, escaping you in your weakness.  “He--he was already drunk and upset, and I made him even angrier. He was SO angry…”

You sniffled and pressed the heels of your palms against your welling eyes. Suddenly Bucky was crouched right in front of you, clasping two hands around your forearm. His ungloved thumb brushed lightly, but purposefully, over the bruised muscle underneath your sweater. He knew. Of course he did.

“Don’t put this on yourself,” he said. “Nothing excuses his behavior. Not even…”  There was a pause, only for the second it took him to push through his hesitation.  “....not even if the things he said are true.”

Your whole body stiffened in flight response, and when you pulled your arm away, he released his grip, again proving he was the exact opposite of Preston. Again demonstrating exactly how he had stolen your heart away from the guy you’d been with since high school, with you barely noticing.

“You did nothing wrong,” Bucky continued. “Neither did I.  But I wanted to… I…” He laid his hand briefly over his mouth, a half-hearted attempt to stuff back in the cat already out of the bag. “I was tempted to. So, so badly. Even just to say something.” 

“You wanted to warn me about him,” you said miserably. 

Bucky shook his head. “I clocked his jealousy the day I met him, but I couldn’t blame him for that. Any guy with a brain should be scared of losing you. But after a while, I started to realize he did have a serious reason to worry.”

Realizing where this was heading, you felt a nauseating twist in your stomach. “I can explain. It--I didn’t mean to--” You bolted to your feet and stepped around him, propelled by the need to run from your own embarrassment. You moved as far away from him as possible before the wall stopped you.

Where should you start apologizing for this mess?  For calling on him regularly to spend late nights, sometimes overnight, at your apartment, appointing him your “study buddy” as though you were some middle-schooler? For declaring him your “good luck charm”, making him feel obligated to keep coming? For ignoring the fact that you’d been spending far more time with the handsome neighbor than your own boyfriend, maybe as a subconscious retaliation for said boyfriend always choosing the company of his Goldman-Sachs colleagues over yours, while simultaneously accusing your grad studies of eating into “his” time? Or perhaps, the cherry on top that sent Preston over the edge: inviting Bucky to join last night’s celebration for the completion of your thesis, “just for the pre-dinner drinks”.

“The only thing I want to know is whether any of the stuff that guy went on like a lunatic about is true. Was he right?” Bucky pointed to you, then himself, in a back and forth gesture. “You and me…do you… are we--”

“Wait, wait.” He threw up both hands. “Don’t answer. If I make one more dumb mistake, I’d be just as much of a pig as he is.”

He strode forward, and there was just something in his approach that not only kept you from skittering away, but drew you in. Even as you stared at the toes of your socks, you shuffled a few steps closer.

“If you hadn't kept asking me to come over and keep you company, I would have found some way, any excuse, to invite myself,” he said. “The nights I've spent with you have given me peace I haven't felt in a hundred years. I was never going to give that up.”

As soon as he was close enough, he reached for your hand. Slowly, making sure you showed no resistance. The touch of his bare hand against yours for the first time sent tears flooding from your eyes, now that you could accept the fact that you've been so hungry for it this whole time. 

“I should have said something the minute I saw things weren't right between you two. I knew you were too good for him, but I was a coward. I didn't know if I could handle not being able to convince you to choose me instead. I didn't want to risk losing you as a friend, even though I always wanted to be more. And have more of us, more of you.”

“Bucky.” Your voice was so small and tight in your throat you could barely hear yourself. “You're the one who's too good for me.”

He snorted. “No offense, but that's the biggest load of crock I've ever heard.”

“I handled everything wrong! I used you, I used Preston…”

“What else is a man supposed to do but make himself useful to the woman he loves?!” he exclaimed suddenly. “How else will you decide which one is worth your time?”

“But Preston--’”

“...he hurt you when he thought he might be losing you.” Bucky said. “While it killed me everyday to know you were with him. But if he’s what you wanted, I was willing to take what little piece of you I could have.”

“That's what drove him crazy,” you whispered. “He noticed you weren't holding just a little piece of me.”

His tense expression broke into a grin, and when you glanced up at the right time to see it, his gaze locked onto yours. You sniffed, swept your free hand over your splotchy cheeks, and smiled back.

“God…” he muttered, sliding his hand from your wrist up to your elbow, tugging you a bit closer. “You’re so beautiful.” For a second, he looked embarrassed. “Sorry. There’s a lot of things I’ve been holding back from telling you, and now the dam’s finally burst.”

“A lot of things?” Your hand ascended his shoulder to curl around the collar of his jacket. “Funny, I have only one thing to say.”

“I’m listening.” The arm he wrapped around your waist was impossibly gentle for something made of literal steel.

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” This close to yours, his eyes were strikingly blue with intensity. “That makes you happy?”

“You’ve always made me happy.”

What little space remained between you disappeared in the circle of his arms, and he paused long enough to chuckle against the corner of your mouth. “And to think I’m finally just getting started.”

Want more Bucky? SotWK's MCU Masterlist

[adieutristana]

Hi! Can you make arcane characters x reader who is afraid of touch?

of course! thank you for the request <3

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn

summary; arcane women with a girlfriend who is afraid of touch.

tags/warnings; hurt/comfort, (vague) mentions of past trauma, fluff, mentions of poor mental health

men dni.

jinx;

✧.* jinx is pretty understanding when it comes to fear of being touched. she is as well, for the most part. when it comes to a relationship, i think jinx would be incredibly touchy, but if you tell her that you're afraid and/or uncomfortable she'll give you the space that you need. yes, jinx enjoys physical touch, but she doesn't want to overstep any boundaries.

✧.* jinx will probably resort to words to show her love instead, though she's not the best with them. saying sweet things like "i missed ya, trinket! i've got something to show ya, yeah?" or "oh gods, you just look so pretty, it's impossible!"

✧.* jinx is the textbook definition of clingy. look up the word in a dictionary, and her face will be underneath. so she won't physically hang off your arm if you're afraid of touch, but she'll still follow closely behind you like some kind of lost puppy. it's endearing, honestly. jinx just needs to be close to you somehow at all times.

✧.* the closeness reassures her. she's used to everyone she lets in, everyone she cares about dying. so to share that proximity with you and have the reassurance that you're here, alive, with her, it means a lot more than jinx thinks you'll ever understand.

✧.* like i said, jinx is the same way to an extent. touch-starved, but also won't let anyone close enough to touch her. so when she met you, let you in and began to trust you, part of jinx did expect that touch. you're in a relationship, after all. but once you explain to her, she understands wholeheartedly!

✧.* also constantly showing her love through gifts and grandiose gestures. makeshift firework shows that are a fire waiting to happen? yep! music boxes that play your favorite songs (although slightly out of tune)? also yes! tagging walls in the undercity with your initials together in hearts! you bet! jinx will go above and beyond, she doesn't want to scare you off by doing something she knows you're afraid of

✧.* on the off chance you do let her touch you she'll be making sure you're alright, but also very very happy for those little moments.

✧.* pressing soft kisses to your cheeks while whispering, "you okay, sweetness?"

✧.* jinx doesn't really question you on these things, she just lets it be. if you say you're afraid of touch, then so be it. not a problem for her.

✧.* "come with me!" she'd say, using her hand to wave you over. "what's this about, jinx?" you'd ask, quirking an eyebrow. jinx would be giggling all the way, shaking her head and nearly skipping towards her destination. "don't worry about it, toots! you'll love it, i promise!"

✧.* knowing jinx, she's probably dragging you to the last drop after hours so she can show you how she decorated it just for you (don't question how she managed to pull that off), or she's taking you to her hideout to show you some of the gifts she made you. she's just so excitable around you, she can't help it

vi;

✧.* vi is a little confused at first i think, but that's just because of her need for communication and specifics. like yes, you're afraid of touch, but what kind of touch?

✧.* she has a loooot of questions. she's not trying to pry at all, genuinely just trying to understand you and where you're coming from better. is it alright if she hugs you every now and then? can she hold your hand? what don't you want her to do? do you need her to ask to touch you, or not touch you at all?

✧.* literally just doing everything in her power to not scare you off. vi has a good thing going with you, something real. the last thing that she wants is to fuck it up because she couldn't keep her hands off of you

✧.* vi is sooo so good with her words, though. a master at sweet talking you to show her adoration.

✧.* "you look so beautiful right now, y'know that? i mean- you always do, but gods, right now..." or something along the lines of, "look at you, all focused and stuff. you always amaze me, cupcake."

✧.* one of her defaults is that it's a trauma response, mostly because she knows that's most of where her sister's fear of touch comes from. she'll try to approach the subject delicately, letting you know that if you need to talk about anything she's here and she only wants to help. it can come off as slightly patronizing without her meaning to, so it really all depends on how you take it.

✧.* if it is a response, then fine, vi wants to help and support you the best she can. if not, then she backs off still, settling for just doing you favors and vocalizing her love for you

✧.* she will not let you do a damn thing if you're in a domestic situation. vi is so loving and attentive. she will handle the cooking, cleaning, laundry, all that... you just rest!!

✧.* honest to gods, vi is just such a sweetheart. literally whatever makes you happiest and most comfortable is done without question by her.

✧.* on the off-chance that your girlfriend does scare you or accidentally crosses a line, she'll be profusely apologizing. asking if there's anything she can do to make it up to you, this is the absolute last thing she wants.. if you need space, you've got it. need words of reassurance? consider it done. literally anything.

✧.* generally, i'd think vi is touchy but not enough that this would be a problem. she's versatile, she can show her love in a lot of ways!

✧.* "mm.. i'll do your laundry for you tonight. give you some time off." "vi, that's not necessary-" "shh. it's done. see? i'm already on my way, getting your laundry..."

mel;

✧.* honestly a bit confused at first. mel has grown up around war, tragedy, and despair, but she hasn't met many people who are just downright afraid of being touched- even in the midst of chaos.

✧.* she probably immediately goes to thinking it's because of something that's happened, though, only because of the war and tragedy that she's seen. she hasn't seen fear of touch in particular, but mel has seen a lot of things affect a lot of people in different ways. if it is, then she wants to support you, of course. if not, she still will do her best to show her appreciation for you in other ways.

✧.* mel is easily one of the most devoted and gentle lovers ever, and she has so many tricks up her sleeve when it comes to affection. we've already established that she'd be spoiling you constantly, but she'd also be using her words so well. i also think mel might be the type to write you poetry, honestly. is she the best writer? probably not. but damn, she pours her heart into it.

✧.* "hey, darling. i wrote something else for you, see?" she'd say while holding up another slip of paper, just to add to the collection of your endless others. "written just for my dearest girl."

✧.* mel is just so attentive. she'll probably be a bit protective, especially in public. even if it's just a stranger innocently tapping you on the shoulder to ask for directions to the station, she doesn't want you to get scared.

✧.* "aht- i'll handle that. directions, yeah? you'll go straight here, then take a left, and another left right past the council building." all before someone can touch you.

✧.* if you do allow any kind of touch later on, mel will tread lightly. it's not that she thinks you can't handle yourself or you're fragile, but she just wouldn't be able to live with herself if she scared you off somehow or hurt you.

✧.* light caresses to your cheeks, gentle hugs, guiding you by the small of your back, her head on your shoulder or lap. always so careful, but so sweet and loving

✧.* of course mel will have a lot of questions initially, but it's only because of her need for connection and understanding. she doesn't mean to push or prod, she just wants to understand her lover better and know exactly what is and isn't okay. what will make you most comfortable being with her, that's all that she wants

✧.* hands-down the best at comforting you if you do happen to get scared by touch, though it's usually not at her own hands.

✧.* "hey. hey, tell me what happened. i'm right here, you're alright." she'd say, her voice low and soothing. "nothing's gonna hurt you, nothing's gonna touch you. at least not while i'm here. just let me make things better."

sevika;

✧.* i don't think you'd really need to have a conversation with sevika about it. she's intuitive. the first time you flinched from her touch, trying to wrap an arm around your waist, she knew something was up and she backed off. she wouldn't ask, wouldn't push for more information than you're comfortable giving her. something in her tells her that it's a sensitive topic, and asking might make things worse.

✧.* if you want to talk to her about it, the floor is open. you know that she'll listen, she always does. but until then, she won't pry.

✧.* if you do decide to have that conversation with sevika, she'll take in and cling onto every last word. we've established time and time again how loyal and devoted she is, how she'll do anything just to make sure you're content. she'd listen attentively, taking note of every little thing that you say scares you, of every shift in tone of your voice.

✧.* "i... thank you for telling me this." she'd whisper, her eyes locked with yours. "you know you don't have to hide a thing from me, yeah? but i won't ask for more than you wanna tell me, either. just don't hold out on me, dove."

✧.* besides, sevika has a lot of other ways she can show her love to you. that connection can be achieved through other means! late night talks, bringing you to play games of blackjack and poker with her, etc.

✧.* that's actually one of her favorite ways to have fun with you: gambling! as odd as it may sound, it's one of her favorite pastimes, and getting you involved in her world is a big deal for sevika. someone who famously doesn't let anyone in. so for her to play games alongside you when she's typically merciless, giving you tips for your own hand, it's a big deal.

✧.* if you do allow sevika to touch you, it'll be fleeting and soft. almost as if she's afraid. it's only because she wants to ensure your comfort and sanctuary, really.

✧.* light kisses to your jawline as she whispers things like, "look at you, so beautiful," or "my sweet girl, you look tired. let's turn in, hm? i can hold you. or not. your call, dove..."

✧.* like she doesn't need to be told twice that you're afraid. sevika is very good with respect, very good with communication and laying off. she loves you, she doesn't want to make you afraid or uncomfortable at all if she can help it.

✧.* super protective in public, though. if anyone tries to touch you at all, even if just to push past you in a crowded place, she's immediately pushing them away from you and telling them off.

✧.* "hey. you lay off her, ya hear? thought we learned as kids to keep our hands to ourselves."

caitlyn;

✧.* i think caitlyn would also catch on pretty quickly. she'd ask just to be sure, but she's a smart woman. she can take hints, put pieces together, figure things out. the first time you inched away from her touch was coincidence, the second time was anything but.

✧.* naturally, cait brought it up with you when she got a moment that was just you and her. she tries to approach the subject with caution and care, as she doesn't want to scare you off or seem like she's aiming to force information out of you. but she loves you, and she worries.

✧.* "you can tell me things, love. i promise, i won't get angry. whatever it is, you can tell me."

✧.* she's understanding once you do tell her! she's been raised knowing devastation and war, though her upbringing is privileged. she still knows about trauma, about fear, about phobias, all that kind of thing. even if it's just a thing of general anxiety and you not wanting to let people in that way. she won't take it personally, she knows that this is just something innate within some people

✧.* caitlyn will likely resort to her words and acts of service instead. she's constantly doing things for you, trying to make your life easier in any way that she can. if there's some housework you need done, consider it taken care of. if you're feeling hungry, she's cooking your favorite without a second thought.

✧.* she might accidentally touch you without thinking- like a brush against your back or a grasp of your hand, but she immediately pulls back and apologizes the second she realizes what she's doing. she gets the hang of it rather quickly, but she's used to showing physical affection to her family and friends.

✧.* she still loves sharing a bed with you at night, but cait makes it abundantly clear that she doesn't expect you to cuddle up to her, and she won't hold you unless you ask her to. she's perfectly happy having you next to her, just your presence soothes her to sleep.

✧.* "shh... just sleep, dear. i'll be right here. you always look so peaceful when you're at rest, it's beautiful."

✧.* cait is honestly just so sweet and understanding, she'll do anything and everything in her power to make sure that you're at ease!

[amoristt]

euclid

「 ✦kang dae-ho/reader ✦ 」 ・❥・he chokes you for the first time tags: smut MDNI // afab! reader, choking, pwp oneshot, unprotected, rough kinda?? for daeho's standards im sure

a/n: tiny little thang i had to to write bc i couldnt get this out of my head and its eating me alive !!!!!! word count: 1.2k

・❥・ you’re alive- perfect underneath him. a squirming, moaning, mess of a thing dragging your nails down the flexing muscles of his back and pressing your thighs to either side of his hips. warm and soft, every last part of you, down to your very DNA. built for him and the curve of his cock, eager to take it when he’s sliding against your gummy walls and finding the very essence of you against the tips of his fingers. he’s mapping out the shape of you, he’s finding every curve and every valley, remembering outline and the heave in your chest. nothing goes to waste. nothing goes unexplored, all appreciated, all a prayer from within the temple. 

Dae-ho is burning alive. every sound you make is fodder for the incineration he’s scorching in. the bed is creaking with the intensity how he takes you, the wooden frame knocking off the wall in thumps until he has to shush it- reaches up and grasping the frame until every knock is bouncing off his white knuckles. his other hand runs paths over your breast, your collarbone. grazes just below your jaw, and you’re already tilting your head back to bare it. 

the moment his grasp rests on your throat, you’re watching him through the thick fog in your eyes, equal parts lust and anticipation. pulse as quick as a rabbits- beat, beat, beating from underneath his broad hand. vibrating notes of fervor rumbling from your throat into your lips, into his waiting ears with every snap of his hips into yours. 

the clutch of your jugular in his hold does not come naturally to him. he lingers until you place your hand over his, puffy lower lip caught between your teeth in a hunger so true it flashes it’s great maws and swallows his whole right then, right there. he digs his fingers into that endless drum of blood pumping flush through your body and then he sees it- the shift in you. excitement into gratification, eyes losing their focus. he loves when he can see himself within the mirrors of your pupils, but he can’t deny how he’s transfixed to watch you lose yourself. feeling, seeing, experiencing nothing except elated bliss. your legs wrap around his waist, heels driving into his lower back. 

you want this. by the look of you, you need this. evident when you clutch the top of his hand with your own and look up from heavy lashes and urge him to press harder, to squeeze tighter. he ruts into you and hit’s something good, something that makes you arch your back and toss your head into the pillow with a wailing cry on your lips. 

“please,” you manage, struggling to get anything out except wanton moans with the way he drives himself within you. your fingers twisting into the bedsheets, your legs shaking around him, there’s something like tension growing within his gut.

he hears the exact moment your breath cuts short around his grip. rough inhales bottlenecked into wheezes, chirpy mewls snuffed out into rasping gasps for air. you don’t leave the spotlight of his eyes, you never do, but more so now than ever. watches the way your eyes slip shut, feels the way your toes curl, shivers when he takes your smile. smiling, and constricting around his cock so much so that he feels like his own breath is trapping within the confines of his lungs. his knuckles have gone numb between the bedframe and the plaster wall, forgotten by the raging sea of your sex, all things loud and urgent, smearing over his thighs with every clap of his skin meeting yours. 

you’re gripping his biceps and his forearms and anywhere else you can get purchase on, nails digging into his skin in the most delightful of ways. he lets up his grip, listens to you suck in wet, rapid breaths before he traps it in your throat all over again. keens, cries, all rewards you sing for him strangled out. a rush of something infects his body and runs it’s course into the burrow of his brain- this sense of power that’s making him lose himself in your heat. the ability to choose when you breathe, when you don’t, watching you split apart at the seams until you’re nothing but red faced and drooling under his grasp. tightening around his shaft like a vice, begging to keep him there forever. he doesn’t realize you’re cumming until your walls are fluttering around him in waves of euphoria. he can damn near see the stars behind your eyes.

that tension in his belly is growing into something he can’t hold back, pleasure so palpable it could be touched, dragging all the composure out of his body. you’re still gripping him so fucking tight it’s making it hard to breathe, in the throes of your orgasm, unknowingly dragging him to the very edge of that precipice himself. he’s driving you up the bed, pressing you into the mattress with the weight of his body. 

he slams into you once, twice, three times, and then the festering tension within him breaks into this overwhelming wash of intoxicating bliss. finds the very depths of you and the thrill of your walls sucking him in when he can’t help but let go. it’s not his intention to bury himself sound against your cervix when he cums, but he does anyways, in thick spurts of pearly white that's filling you to the brim. his hand leaves your throat in favor of bracing himself on the pillow beside your head, and you suck in ragged breaths. he’d think you were pain if not for the dazed, lopsided grin on your face, spent and fucked.

properly satisfied.

it takes all the power in dae-ho’s body to not crush you when he collapses over your form. he’s leaning on his elbows, your legs still loose around his waist, panting in your neck. pulling out is his least favorite part of sex with you. it’s lonely outside of your body, too uncomfortably cold to bear at times. you don’t speak at first, nails idly dragging up and down his spine under goosebumps form in their wakes. 

“was that,” he has to collect himself, searching for the words. “...was that good?”

“that was amazing, yeah.” you giggle at the waver in his tone and place a chaste kiss to his shoulder. your voice is honey sweet in his ears.

“i didnt hurt you?”

“stop worrying about that. you wont hurt me.”

“i always worry.” 

“i know.”

your fingers are dancing through his hair, melts all else away except for you. his lips find your neck, placing kisses to the sore skin, as if apologizing to the very marks themselves before he rolls to his side. 

Not a second goes by wasted before he’s wrapping his arms around your form, yearning for that warmth to be all over him once more. he pulls your back against his broad chest and buries his face in your hair, and you, you mold into him seamlessly, two conjoined souls, lost on where one ends and the other begins.

[honeyedfate]

kiss her you fool | 심재윤

pairing. jake sim x idol!gf!reader

as if accidentally convincing both of your fans on several occasions that you two hate each other wasn’t enough, jake had to go ahead and mumble some sleepily ambiguous words on a weverse live and involve the whole internet. to salvage whatever shreds are left of the plan, you are to attend a baseball game together.

genre. fluff

a/n. the third & last part to loverboy is here!! sorry for the wait i wrote 4 different drafts until i settled on this one lol enjoy!! xx

[ › first part ] [ › second part ]

jake is a chill guy. he’s cool-headed, efficient, steady under pressure, always on the side of healthy optimism. that’s the story he sells to others—and to himself. but deep down, he knows he might be a bit of a fraud. worse, he can feel it.

his hands are drenched in sweat as they clench and unclench inside his pockets, chasing an old gum wrapper around to distract himself. the tag of his shirt pokes at his neck, making him want to barbarically tear off his clothes in front of thousands of baseball fans.

but instead, he dutifully follows you through row upon row of seats and keeps his gaze on the back of your head.

so, yes. jake is a very chill guy.

you keep glancing back at him, the lower half of your face obscured by a black mask. still, he knows you’re flashing him reassuring smiles, and he feels bad for how nervous he is. if he’s not staring at you, his eyes are darting around, scanning his surroundings like one of the baseball players warming up in the field might suddenly climb the walls and come for him.

“i think these are it,” you say, glancing at your tickets before sliding them into your back pocket.

jake wordlessly takes the seat next to you, adjusting his cap to shield as much of his face as possible. he knows it’s futile—staying hidden is the exact opposite of why he’s here, but habits die screaming, or something like that.

his shoulders tense for a split second at the touch of your hand on his thigh, and guilt gnaws at him when you pull away almost instantly. he meets your eyes and musters a smile. not that you can see it beneath his matching mask.

“we can leave any time,” you say in a soft tone, looking at him from under your lashes. “i don’t care what the plan is. if you’re uncomfortable, we can ditch this whole thing and get ramen at cu.”

jake’s heart swells, wanting nothing more than to do exactly that, but he knows it’s his fault you’re in this situation in the first place. well, for the most part. he can’t tell you that, though. he knows you will just dispute it until he starts believing it himself, and that would only prove to him once again that his backbone inevitably snaps in the face of a pretty girl.

no matter that it’s his pretty girl, and he’d do anything for you anyway. breaking his spine included. the fact remains—he ran his mouth on live, so now he’s got to face the consequences. 

swallowing the lump in his throat, he shakes his head and threads his fingers through yours, tucking both hands into the pocket of his jacket.

jake grins. “no, this is fun.” you send him a flat look, but he just nods towards the field. “i’ve never been to a baseball game. now we can take it off our bucket list.”

“sure,” you say, sounding wryly amused. “we don’t have a bucket list but at least now we’ve got something to cross off. i’ve also always wanted to be on the kiss cam. guess it’s our lucky day.”

“lucky us,” jake says, his lips curling as he feels your hand squeeze his. he casts a glance around, then leans forward, swiftly pulling both of your masks down with one hand. it’s a brief kiss, just a soft peck that’s a bit inconvenient since both of you are wearing hats, forcing him to tilt his head. but when he pulls back, he sees the way you’re chasing after his lips, eyes still closed, and goes just a little insane.

you look entirely too pretty to leave it at just one kiss. you deserve all the kisses in the world, actually, so he captures your lips again, tasting the cherry gloss he bought you last week because he likes it a little too much. it’s the same one you wore on your first date together.

jake’s lips brush against yours once more, deeper and a bit slower this time as if savouring the moment. you sigh into the kiss and pull back to catch your breath, your lips lingering just above his. your eyes are still closed, but jake doesn’t mind one bit, taking the moment to let his gaze wander over every single feature of yours that he knows by heart. and would you look at that? suddenly, he couldn’t care less that he’s sitting in a huge stadium.

you tear your gaze away from his lopsided grin. “let’s save some of this for later, yeah?” you say, and jake is not ashamed of the groan rumbling in the back of his throat as he hides his face in the crook of your shoulder. how else is a man supposed to act when your lips look so plumb and kissable, and your voice sounds like that? hopeless.

you’re looking at him, a smile tugging at your lips when you notice an older lady a few rows down elbowing the person next to her, gesturing not-so-subtly at the two of you. under your breath, you mumble, “the ahjummas down there are looking at us.” 

jake leans back, glancing at them from the corner of his eye before lifting a shoulder in a half-shrug. “can you blame them? we’re not exactly hard to look at.”

“your modesty astonishes me,” you say, sounding unimpressed.

jake raises an eyebrow and leans forward on his knees, a smirk tugging at his lips. “we’d make beautiful babies, and you know it.”

you snort, shaking your head. “that’s what ni-ki said this morning. something about sacrificing himself for his future nephews and nieces because at least he knows they’ll be cute. i’m still not sure what he meant by that.”

jake cocks his head and pokes your side when you playfully mirror him. “he came down this morning when yuki was talking to us in the kitchen,” jake says, shifting in his seat.

he grimaces as he remembers the conversation with jungwon who was basically a zombie at that hour after having to stay up late as a consequence of jake’s faux pas on weverse. “ni-ki said he was going to take care of this for us. i didn’t know what he meant at first, but then sunghoon sent me a screenshot of what ni-ki posted on weverse. it was a selfie of him, facing the other way so his left side was showing.”

“wait, seriously?” your eyebrows shoot up, and jake nods, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“yep. he called himself a martyr in the group chat. said he was taking one for the team.”

you gasp dramatically, holding a hand to your chest. “a martyr? for us? what’s next, a shrine in the dorm?”

jake laughs, clearly entertained by your idea. “i mean, we could probably arrange one. heeseung’s room is big enough to fit ten.”

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “that’s… actually true. but did it work?”

jake bites his lip, glancing at his phone. “i haven’t checked yet, but sunoo sent me a text earlier. apparently, engenes are seeing right through it.”

“what are they saying?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“they’re saying belift gave up ni-ki for damage control,” jake chuckles.

before you can say anything in response, your phone vibrates, the sudden buzz pulling your attention away. you reach for it, ignoring jake’s whiny protests as you untangle your hand from his. “hello?”

jake pouts and scoots closer, pressing his ear against the backside of your phone. you roll your eyes and click the side button to turn the volume up, letting him hear the voice on the other end, your manager’s. “…are you in your seats?”

you hum and nod, nearly knocking jake’s hat off with the movement. “yea, we’re here. we got here a bit early, so there are still a few empty seats. but the game should be starting soon. what’s up? did something happen?”

“well,” your manager says, her tone uncertain, and jake’s heart drops. “about half an hour ago, minjun posted the dance challenge you and jake filmed for their tiktok. it…er, seemed to stir up a bit more of a reaction than we expected…again.”

you exchange a confused glance with jake. nothing about the videos seemed off—he’d double-checked, paranoid he might’ve accidentally done something ridiculous again, like giving you a lap dance or declaring his undying love on camera.

filming those two dance challenges had already been an ordeal. the pr team was relentless, adamant on pushing you and jake to drop as many microscopic hints as possible to suggest something was going on between you two, but it was so painfully awkward that you ended up with enough unusable footage to last a month.

jake had been a giggling mess the entire time, finding it all so silly, like he was on some overly scripted dating show. you, on the other hand, couldn’t stop tripping over your own feet, bumping into him more times than he could count. at least you managed to do it on beat.

regardless, even though filming the final video had been a struggle, it was ready to go. jake had made sure of that.

it was just another dance challenge, he thinks to himself, trying to push aside the unease creeping up. whatever’s going on now, it’s gotta be grey sweater guy’s fault.

“what do you mean?” your voice brings him back, your curiosity clear. “we didn’t do anything…right?”

“well,” your manager says again, clearing her throat. “since we couldn’t really get any dance footage of you acting like, you know, an actual couple—” 

jake snorts.

“—minjun ended up keeping the last few seconds of a video when he posted it to the enhypen tiktok page. he didn’t give us a heads-up before doing it.”

your eyes widen as you send a quick look in jake’s way. “is he going to get in trouble?” you say into the phone, and jake pulls a funny face. is that what he was supposed to feel? concern? apparently, he likes the guy even less than he thought.

“that’s the thing,” your manager goes on. “everyone seems to like it?” she sounds quite surprised about it herself, and jake has to strain his neck to make sure he heard correctly. 

“everyone?” he echoes in disbelief, and you nudge him when he inches impossibly closer, practically climbing onto your lap.

“what do you mean everyone?” you ask as jake moves back a little. “what were we doing?”

your manager lets out a long sigh, as if hoping you wouldn’t ask. “after you left for the game, minju and some of the others decided to go through the videos again, hoping to find something a bit more exciting. they ended up finding one where you two were dancing really well—everything was clean, no one was falling or laughing, and the chemistry wasn’t too forced.”

she pauses, and you can hear her shifting slightly. “but then, right at the end, you trip over your feet and… well, you kind of just leave the frame.”

jake frowns, meeting your puzzled gaze. you had filmed so many different versions, they have all blended into a nightmarish concoction of blurred memories, making it hard to recall which one she means. “i leave the frame and then what?”

the silence stretches on for a beat, and jake feels a spark of irritation bubbling up at the theatrics. horrified, he starts to wonder if he’s accidentally flashed the whole world and didn’t even realise.

“the entire thing only lasts two seconds, but you stumble, jake rushes after you, and you both end up out of frame—but we can still see part of it because of the mirrors. jake has his arms around you as you both tumble to the floor, laughing.” she says in a matter-of-fact tone, then adds quietly, “minjun removed the music at the end, so you can hear the laughter.”

jake doesn’t even know how to respond. sure, the company can post whatever they want of him, but they usually don’t. there’s an unspoken rule of decency and respect among the team, and he’s at least asked before anything goes up. this? this is just wrong.

he doesn’t realise that you’re voicing his exact thoughts into the phone until a loud cheer ripples through the crowd. a woman he’s seen on tv before appears on the big screen over the baseball field. she’s offering some welcoming words, and jake figures the match must be starting soon.

“—he’s lucky people are receiving it well, but he has to know that it’s not okay to just post that without our knowledge or consent,” you say, your voice tinged with more disappointment than frustration.

“i know, trust me. yuki and i made sure any future genius moves from him go through us—and you two—first. i know you're not mad, just…" she sighs, papers shuffling. “look, almost 80% of the comments are positive, calling you a cute, good-looking couple and all that. the rest are either in denial or upset, but it doesn’t matter. more people are for it than against it, so just enjoy the game. you don’t have to go through with what we discussed if you don’t want to. things are looking good, y/n.”

jake doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the conversation, having heard enough. he leans back, resting a hand on the back of your seat and absentmindedly draws circles onto your skin.

you mutter something into the phone and end the call, melting into jake’s side with a sigh. he coos, pulling you closer, and presses a kiss to the top of your hat while humming. “you know what?” he says quietly.

“what?” your voice is muffled as you rub a hand over your face, looking up at him.

he grins. "at least they’re also calling us a cute and good-looking couple. ni-ki will be a proud uncle to our gorgeous kids.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding your face in his chest and, at once, jake finds it hard to be bothered by anything happening on the internet or even outside this stadium. he has you in his arms and the rest of the afternoon off to enjoy a baseball game. what concerns could he possibly have?

soon after, the players file out onto the field, and the match begins. both of you end up having a lot more fun than expected, and jake briefly leaves to go grab some food and drinks.

he’s walking back up the stairs, looking for you and not even avoiding eye contact with people around like he did before. right now, he’s just a guy hugging two cups of soda and a pile of snacks to his chest, wandering the rows in search of his girlfriend. 

he must look as lost as he feels because someone suddenly taps him on the arm. looking down, he sees the two older women from before. they’re grinning up at him, and jake hesitantly returns the smile, realising a moment too late that they can’t see it due to his mask. 

“you’re three rows up, darling,” the woman on the left with the big, blue-framed glasses says, nodding over her shoulder and vaguely gesturing to where you’re sitting. his face lights up when your eyes meet, and you raise a hand to wave at him. he thanks them and makes to walk up the stairs when she stops him, placing a hand on his arm.

a small voice in the back of his head screams ‘stranger danger’ in capital letters at him, but he brushes it aside, trying to figure out what she could possibly want and whether that might be his kidney or one of the napkins he’s holding.

“you have a very beautiful girlfriend,” she says in that ambiguous, sage voice that the elderly have, and he’s caught off guard. not due to the voice, of course, but the mention of you. jake blinks, processing her words before nodding slowly.

“she’s not, erm, i mean, of course, she’s—”

the woman in the green cardigan laughs delightfully, eyes twinkling with amusement. “sweetie, breathe. we’re not the cia. you can talk about your girlfriend. in fact, you should. it keeps you both young.”

jake is too stunned to muster a reply. he eyes them carefully, wondering if this is a weird interaction or if he’s just never talked about you to anyone before. a second later, he realises—he really hasn’t. not to a stranger, not to anyone.

the thought repeats in his head, looping like a broken record. he’s never talked about you to anyone. and yet, it feels like praises about you live right on the tip of his tongue, like they’ve always been there, just waiting for an opening. so he tries it out. “her heart is even more beautiful,” he says shyly, testing the words, rolling them over like he’s trying to get a feel for them. “which is near impossible but she somehow makes it work.”

it feels weird, to be honest. like he’s revealing a well-buried national secret and endangering the country. the two women share a meaningful glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. his stomach twists. jake’s gaze flickers toward you, and an overwhelming wave of emotions crashes over him.

it’s more obvious now than ever. jake is stupidly in love with you. so much so that he has made an utter fool of himself time and time again in the name of keeping you a secret. like love could be something silent, something that exists in the shadows without growing restless. like it wouldn’t claw at the walls of his chest, begging to be let out.

he truly did think loving you quietly would make him feel better about everything. safer. less exposed. but now, faced with the weight of his own realisation, he sees how wrong he’d been. what was the point of all that caution if it only made him feel like this—like he’s been holding his breath for months, maybe even years?

now, he’s given the chance to do the complete opposite. and for the first time, he wants to take it. he wants to love you loudly, unapologetically. because it’s what you deserve. because it’s what he wants.

he exhales, glancing back at you. you’re focused on your phone, scrolling through something with a tiny crease between your brows. probably checking the responses to the tiktok, probably making sure minjun hasn’t ruined both your careers. always so careful, so thoughtful.

“she’s… incredible,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can second-guess them. but they feel right, sitting on his tongue like they belong there. he doesn’t need to say more than that. doesn’t need to explain how you always make people feel comfortable, how you remember the smallest details about everyone you meet, how you laugh with your whole body like it’s the first time you’ve ever found something funny.

the women smile knowingly, and jake lets out a soft breath, something inside him settling.

“i’m very lucky.”

“she’s lucky, too,” the green cardigan woman says, her voice warm. “treat each other well, yes? a love like yours is rare. don’t do it the dishonour of keeping it in the shadows.”

jake lets out a small, breathy laugh, caught somewhere between flustered and amused. he ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck, then nods—not just out of politeness, but because he hears her. really hears her.

the woman gives his arm a gentle pat before turning back to her friend, their conversation shifting elsewhere. jake exhales, then moves, crossing the distance between you in quick strides, taking the steps two at a time.

“should i be jealous?” you greet him with a teasing smile, taking the snacks from his arms.

he snorts. “they were just being nice. said you’re beautiful, by the way, and something about…” he hesitates, eyes flicking toward the field. “well, just… nice things.”

you watch him for a second, noticing the shift in his expression. but you don’t press, just shrugging it off and pulling down one side of your mask to take a bite of your corndog. your gaze drifts back to the cheer team as they work the crowd, the energy in the stadium picking up.

jake tries to focus, eyes darting to the blur of blue as cheerleaders and fans break into coordinated moves. but his mind keeps wandering back to what he’d just been told. normally, he’s not one to easily take anyone’s word as gospel, but this time, he can’t help it. it’s not just that he agrees—it’s the fact that he’s surprised by how much he does.

didn’t he spend all week trying to wrestle with this? he doesn’t want to put his relationship on display for everyone to pick apart—that’s the last thing he wants. but now, sitting here with you by his side in jamsil baseball stadium, he can’t shake the feeling that it doesn’t matter.

he glances at you, completely unaware of his thoughts, and all he sees is his person. someone he never doubts. someone who loves him, and someone he loves in return. does anything else even matter?

occupied by his thoughts, jake doesn’t realise what’s happening around him until the clapping starts. he blinks, surprised, as you turn to face him, bright-eyed and joining in with the crowd. he looks around, confused for a moment, until his gaze lands on the jumbotron. instead of the game, it now shows a couple in the stands, both wearing the rival team’s merch. the man leans in and gives the woman a sweet kiss on the lips. her face turns red, and the crowd erupts in cheers.

it’s the kiss cam, jake realises, and reflexively claps with everyone else as the woman shyly hides her face behind his shoulder. the excitement echoes through the stadium, the chant growing louder.

he can’t help but smile as he watches them, their laughter infectious. “they’re adorable,” you comment, gaze still fixed ahead, oblivious to his smile. jake’s chest tightens, but the feeling isn’t quite discomfort. more like the recognition of something he hadn’t known he’d been longing for. something he now sees clearly.

your mask is hanging off your ear as you absentmindedly sip on your drink, and jake is so glad to see your lips again. it’s like running into an old friend he’s missed. sometimes, it feels like he spends more time missing them than actually getting to kiss them.

he’s about to reply when you suddenly choke, your back straightening in surprise. out of the corner of his eye, he sees people turning their heads, and even though the music is still blasting through the speakers, he’s sure he hears gasps rippling through the crowd.

without thinking, he shifts his attention away from you and glances up at the jumbotron for confirmation—and there it is. the two of you, front and centre, framed in a pink, sparkling heart.

his eyes flick to you as you glance around, your expression a mix of confusion and discomfort. it’s strange to see you so flustered when you’re usually the calm, collected one, especially in situations like this. but here you are, shifting awkwardly under the attention.

a voice from the crowd calls out, “kiss her, you fool!” followed by the sound of cameras clicking as everyone starts pulling out their phones. more voices join in, chanting in unison, and jake can see the tension in your body. you look uncomfortable, clearly not used to this sort of attention, and it’s hard to ignore.

he feels a wave of protectiveness, wanting to ease the situation and make you feel comfortable. seeing you out of your element like this—normally the one who knows how to handle everything—hits him differently. he’s already made up his mind, though.

this whole thing had been part of the plan from the start, and he’s not going to let it stress you out any longer. he wants to kiss you, right here, right now, because it feels right. it’s not about the spectacle, it’s about showing you how much he’s proud to have you by his side.

plus, you have quite literally already told him three times how being on the kiss cam was something you’ve always wanted to do before the game had even begun.

jake huffs a quiet laugh, his body moving on its own as he shifts in his seat. his gaze locks with yours, and he can’t help but grin at the sight of your panicked smile.

“guess we’re famous now?” you quip nervously, trying to make light of the situation. jake tries hard not to laugh, but the sound of it escapes before he can stop it.

he pulls down his mask, the crowd’s excitement swelling around you both.

he leans in, lowering his voice so only you can hear him. “what do you say?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “can i kiss you?”

he can see you thinking it over, your brows furrowing as nervousness peels away and you weigh your options. he already knows what you’ll say, but he still gives you the space to respond.

“we don’t have to do this, jake,” you whisper, the soft tone in your voice trying to make sure he’s comfortable too, even with thousands of eyes on you.

he smiles, the tenderness in your voice unfailingly melting him even more. “we don’t,” he agrees with a small shake of his head. “but i’ve never not wanted to kiss you, and i’m not starting now.”

your lips part slightly, eyes flickering up to his. the shift is almost imperceptible, but you feel it—his sudden insistence, the way he’s making this moment so much more than just a joke. the kiss cam, the crowd, all of it suddenly feels like less of a spectacle and more like something personal. something you didn’t expect but, deep down, have always wanted.

it’s strange, this feeling, and for a second, you almost don’t know what to do with it. the uncertainty that used to cling to you in moments like this is fading, replaced by something that feels surprisingly soft, sure. jake’s not just trying to make a spectacle of you; he’s actually trying to share this with you, to let you know that this is something he wants too.

your heart skips a beat. there’s no need for words, but you’re caught in the moment. a quiet nod is all you can muster, small but certain. “okay.”

his smile spreads before he even realises it. jake leans in, movements slow but purposeful, drawing it out just a moment longer. the kiss is tender, soft at first—he feels your breath mingle with his, the warmth of you close, the way you fit against him. it’s not rushed, not for the camera. it’s real. it’s something he’s wanted to do for so long, but this—this feels more like an act of love than just a kiss on a jumbotron.

you smile into it, and jake can’t help but grin too, the way your happiness settles deep in his chest. he knows the crowd is cheering, but all he can hear is the soft, breathy sound you make, the one that means you’re happy. the one that makes everything inside him flutter.

when he pulls away, the roar of the stadium hits him like a wave, but it feels distant, almost muted. you tuck yourself into his side, the sound of your laugh soft and light. there’s no turning back now. the world can know, and in this moment, jake couldn’t care less.

‘operation: no hate, just date’ has done its job.

he presses a quick, sneaky kiss to your temple, his grin still lingering, all warmth and love. he wraps his arm around you, pulling you just a little closer, the moment between the two of you nothing but pure joy.

alright. maybe jake is not the chill guy he thought he was. but in this moment, he doesn’t need to be.

all he’s ever wanted to be was a lover boy, and now it feels like he’s finally on the right track.

taglist: @jakeslvt @username-111222333444555 @pjselee

[jetii]

Warm

Pairing: Echo x fem!Reader

Words: 10,262

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends with benefits to lovers, fluff, slight hurt/comfort, first date cuteness, accidental love confessions, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral (m recieving), fingering, dirty talk, creampie, inappropriate use of scomp, very loving soft sex actually

Summary: For the first time since the Republic fell, you and Echo find yourself on Pabu with nothing to do but relax, and you're determined to make the most of it. You just have to convince Echo.

A/N: I said this was pwp but I lied, the plot got me girl. This is some of the sweetest smut I have ever written. Echo deserves nothing less.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

"What are you doing?"

You barely pause to look up as you shove another bottle of sunscreen in your bag, casting Echo a wry smile. 

"We're going to the beach, so I'm making sure we're stocked up on sunscreen." You give the bottle in your hand a little shake, as if to illustrate your point. Echo's eyes flick down to it, then back to you, and he crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his weight and making the muscles there ripple distractingly. But you're not going to let him derail you.

"And... why are we going to the beach?" he asks, his tone bemused. You frown at him.

"We're supposed to be taking a break, right?" you ask. "And it's a beautiful day. I figured that we could enjoy it."

The two of you had arrived on Pabu last night, after what had seemed like the longest journey of your life. The moment you'd finally docked, you'd immediately felt the tension in your body start to bleed away, and it only took a few more minutes for Echo to follow suit, his shoulders relaxing and his expression going soft as the two of you walked down the streets toward where the rest of the Batch had made their home.

Now, the two of you are in the kitchen, with its cramped counters and low ceiling and ancient appliances, and for the first time in weeks, neither of you have anything to do. It's a strange feeling. You've been here for less than a day, but already you can feel the weight of all the work and stress and anxiety slowly lifting off your shoulders, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Echo, however, does not look particularly pleased at the prospect of having some time to himself. You know he'd rather be working, or training, or just about anything else, really. It's the exact opposite of what you're hoping for.

"Come on," you coax him, "don't you want to have a little fun? You deserve it."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you see him glance out the window toward the beach.

"I don't... think that's a good idea," he says, his voice hesitant. "It's— we're here because—"

"I know why we're here," you cut in. You set down the sunscreen, crossing your arms and leveling him with a look. "And I'm not asking you to swim, or even go near the water. Just sit in the sand, maybe enjoy the sun for a few minutes. I'm sure there's a place to get a decent cup of caf nearby, or maybe one of those little pastry things you like."

He's still looking skeptical, and you know you need to change tactics, so you step closer to him and slide your arms around his neck, tilting your head back and smiling at him coyly. His gaze drops down to your mouth, then flickers back up, and the corner of his lips tugs upward.

"I mean, if you're too scared to come outside with me..."

Echo scoffs, the sound almost offended. He pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist, and his voice is a low rumble in your ear.

"You really think that'll work on me?"

"No, not at all," you say with a smirk. You press a kiss to the spot just below his jaw, and he shivers, his fingers flexing against your back. "But I did just get a new swimsuit, and I thought maybe you'd want to see me in it."

The reaction is immediate. You feel Echo's whole body go rigid, his grip tightening around you, and you bite back a smile, trying not to laugh. You look up to see his ears are tinged red, and his eyes are fixed firmly on a point over your shoulder.

"Really?" he says, his voice strained, and you nod.

"Mhm."

You can see him considering it, and when you tilt your head a little more, leaning closer and making sure his attention stays fixed on you, you spot the exact moment his resistance breaks.

"I think you'll like it,” you continue. You're grinning now, knowing that you've already won. "But I guess if you're not interested, I can go to the beach by myself. I'm sure plenty of people will appreciate it."

You step away from him, already starting toward the bedroom the two of you had shared the night before. Before you can get more than a couple steps, though, Echo's arm shoots out, wrapping around your waist and hauling you back against him. You turn to find him smiling down at you, his eyes dancing with amusement, and he leans in, brushing his nose against yours.

"That's not going to happen," he murmurs. He leans in and kisses you, and for a moment, all the stress and tension seems to melt out of his body. He pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours and letting out a little sigh. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to get a little fresh air. But if I get sand in my joints, I'm not going to be happy."

You smile triumphantly and lean forward to peck him on the cheek.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," you murmur, and his ears turn bright red. You grin and duck out of his grasp before he can reply, and Echo lets out a little huff as you head for the stairs, tossing a "get your sunscreen, you're going to burn!" over your shoulder.

When you return a few minutes later, your new swimsuit snugly in place under your clothes, Echo is standing in the doorway, and you stop, staring at him. He's wearing a pair of board shorts, a navy-blue color with a white stripe along each side. They fall a couple inches above his knees, and his broad chest is bare, his skin glowing in the sunlight. You've seen him shirtless plenty of times, but there's something about him wearing these casual clothes, something about the way he looks, relaxed and at ease and not quite as tense, that makes your heart do a funny little flip in your chest.

"Is this okay?" he asks, and you realize you've been staring at him. He has a button down shirt in his hand in an obnoxious floral pattern, one you know he got from one of the boys as a joke. You hadn't expected him to actually wear it, but it makes you smile to think that he's actually embracing the beach-vacation vibe.

"You look good," you say, and your voice comes out a little bit breathy. You clear your throat and try again. "I mean, it's fine. You look fine. Great. I'm—we should go."

You can't read the expression on his face, but his lips are twitching as he tugs the shirt on over his shoulders, and you grab the bag of supplies before turning toward the door.

"Come on," you say, jerking your head for him to follow. "Let's get out of here."

He follows you out, and you can feel his eyes on you the entire time, his gaze lingering on the skin that's visible between the bottom of your cropped shirt and the top of your shorts. When you catch his eye, he grins, not even trying to hide the fact that he's ogling you.

"Shut up," you mutter, but he only grins wider.

The two of you have never done anything like this before. There'd been a couple nights, during the brief respites the two of you had gotten on different missions, where you'd both gone out and had a little fun, but that had always ended the same way, with you heading back to one of your rooms or to a secluded corner and spending the rest of the night wrapped up in each other.

But this, the two of you wandering down the streets together, stopping at a café to get something to eat, laughing and joking together like a real couple... it's nice. Really nice.

You can feel Echo relaxing the longer the two of you walk, and he doesn't hesitate before ordering a caff for the two of you, getting yours the way you like it without having to ask. He holds the door open for you and pays for both of your meals, and by the time the two of you are walking down the beach toward the spot you'd had in mind, his arm slung over your shoulders, you're practically beaming.

The spot is far enough away from the main strip of shops and restaurants to avoid most of the foot traffic, but not so far away that the two of you will have to walk for miles to get back. It's quiet, with most people including the rest of the Batch at work or school or who knows where, and the sound of the waves is soothing.

Still, Echo stays close, his arm hovering near you as if he expects you to suddenly collapse, and he tenses a little whenever someone passes. When the two of you finally reach your spot, he pulls away, turning his back to you while you lay out the blanket.

"Checking for traps?" you ask dryly, and he shrugs, not looking at you.

"Or enemies," he says, and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, right."

"Just because we haven't seen any doesn't mean they're not out there," he argues, and you can tell he's about to launch into a full-blown speech, so you reach out and wrap your hand around his wrist, tugging him down to the blanket.

"We're fine," you say. "Really. It's the middle of the day, and I don't think any undercover Imperials are going to try and jump us in the middle of a public beach."

"You never know," he says, and the look on his face tells you he's completely serious. "It wouldn't be the first time."

You roll your eyes and settle down on the blanket, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Well, I'm sure I'll be safe with a big, strong ARC trooper protecting me," you tease, and his expression turns sour. You wink, and his scowl deepens.

"Ha ha," he says, not looking amused.

"I'm kidding," you say, nudging him with your shoulder. You tilt your head, and Echo's eyes are drawn to the long line of your neck. "Let's just... try and forget about that, okay? Let's pretend, for just a little while, that we're normal. We're just a normal couple, and we're having a normal date. Okay?"

He's still frowning, his brow furrowed, but after a moment, he sighs, his shoulders slumping a little.

"Okay," he mutters. "I can do that."

You smile, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, and Echo turns, his mouth finding yours. His hand comes up, his thumb brushing across your cheek, and he pulls you closer, kissing you softly.

You let yourself sink into it, the sound of the ocean and the feeling of the sun on your skin making everything feel a little bit like a dream.

When you break apart, he's smiling, and some of the tension has finally melted from his body.

"So," you say, grinning, "what do you think? About this normal-couple-on-a-date thing?"

"I think... I could get used to it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners, and the sight of him, relaxed and smiling and looking happier than you've seen him in weeks, sends a flood of warmth through your chest. "It's kind of nice, actually."

"Good," you say. "Now take off your shirt. You're going to need a little sunscreen."

Echo's eyebrows lift. “What?”

"Come on," you wheedle, shaking the bottle at him. "Don't worry, I'll help."

"That's not—" he begins, but he doesn't seem to be able to find the words to finish. Finally, he sighs and shrugs out of his shirt, folding it and placing it on the blanket. Before he can say anything else, you move behind him, squeezing a generous amount of the lotion into your hands and rubbing them together.

"I'm going to start with your back," you tell him. You smooth your hands over his shoulders, feeling the soft skin beneath your palms, and his muscles flex beneath your touch. You move your hands over his broad back, covering every inch of exposed skin, and Echo groans as you hit a knot just below his shoulder blade.

"Right there?"

"Yeah," he says. He's practically melting under your touch, and you keep working, kneading your thumbs into the spot. "Force, that feels good."

You don't answer, focusing instead on getting the last bit of sunscreen in his skin. After a moment, he seems to gather himself, and you see him glance at the bottle, his brow furrowing.

"Why do I need sunscreen?" he asks.

"To keep you from burning."

He looks confused.

"You have sensitive skin, remember? And we've been traveling a lot lately, which means you haven't gotten much time in the sun. You don't want to burn."

Echo opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already climbing into his lap, your hands skimming over his shoulders.

"I should get your front, too," you murmur, and his eyes darken. His hand finds your hip, his scomp skimming up your back, and he's looking up at you, his expression open and vulnerable. You can feel the warmth of him through your clothes, and a familiar heat starts to coil in your stomach.

"You're distracting me," he mutters, his gaze flickering down to your lips.

"Is it working?"

"Yes."

You smirk and lean in, brushing a kiss against his mouth before smearing a line of sunscreen down the bridge of his nose. He yel and you pull back, laughing as his face scrunches up in distaste.

"What—"

"That's what you get," you say, grinning. "Come on, let's get the rest of you covered."

Echo grumbles a little but settles back against the blanket. You're thorough, taking care to spread the lotion across his arms and legs, over his broad chest, and down the smooth planes of his stomach. He's warm and pliant under your touch, letting out little noises of contentment whenever you find a particularly tight spot. By the time you've covered the last inch of skin, he looks thoroughly relaxed.

"There," you say, smiling at him. You run your hand down his side, and Echo shudders. "All done."

"Thanks," he says. He opens his eyes, squinting against the sunlight, and frowns. You’re already standing up, dusting sand off your legs, and you see him tense.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

You pause, your hands on the hem of your shirt.

"What does it look like I’m doing?”

He pushes himself up onto his elbows.

"It looks like you're taking off your clothes."

"I am."

You strip off your shirt, and you toss it over his head, smiling as he pulls it away. He freezes, staring at the scrap of fabric in his hand, and his eyes drop to your chest.

"This is..."

"I told you I had a new swimsuit," you remind him as you drop your shorts and step out of them, "and now you get to see it."

He looks like his brain is short circuiting, and his gaze rakes across your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin and the tiny bits of fabric covering the parts that aren't. You grin and turn around, slowly bending over to pick up the discarded shorts. You look back over your shoulder and his eyes are wide, and he swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

"See something you like?"

"Uh huh," he says faintly. He licks his lips and tries to drag his eyes up, but they're fixed firmly on the swell of your ass, the way the fabric hugs the curve of it and leaves the skin exposed. His mouth opens, and you know he's trying to find the words, but instead, all that comes out is a faint croak.

"Good," you say. "I'm glad."

You grab the bottle of sunscreen and settle down on the blanket.

"I'm going to need a little help, though," you say. "I can't get my back."

You tilt your head back and Echo nods, the motion slow and almost hypnotized. He stands, crossing the blanket and kneeling down behind you. He waits for you to dispense some into his hand, and his fingers trail across the nape of your neck as he smooths the lotion over your skin. His touch is warm, and gentle, and the feeling sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

It’s rare for the two of you to have this much time alone together, and you can't help but let yourself enjoy it, leaning into his touch. You're not even trying to tease him, but his breath still catches every time his hands sweep lower, his fingers tracing along the waistband of your swimsuit. He takes his time, making sure that not a single inch of skin is left uncovered, and by the time he's done, the tension between the two of you is practically crackling.

He sits back, his hand still lingering on the small of your back, and the two of you are quiet. He's staring at you, and there's something different about the way he's looking at you, something almost... reverent.

You've always known he wants you, have been able to read it on his face and in his touch, but this, the way he's staring at you now, is more than that. It's desire, yes, but there's something deeper, something softer and sweeter, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

The two of you haven't done anything like this before. Even your previous trysts had been frantic and rushed, a matter of stolen moments in darkened rooms and shadowy corners. But here, the two of you are exposed, out in the open where anyone could see, and yet the thought doesn't fill you with dread or worry. It's thrilling, in a way, and the fact that Echo doesn't seem to care either way just adds to it.

But despite that, neither of you make a move. You sit there, both of you watching each other, and you know that if you gave the slightest indication, he'd pounce, and the two of you would be wrapped up in each other, just like all those times before. But for the first time, you don't want that. You want him to stay just like this, watching you, and for you to watch him in turn.

So, instead, you reach out and brush your thumb over his bottom lip, and he sighs, his eyelids fluttering closed. He's warm under your touch, his lips slightly chapped from the wind, and he leans into you, pressing a kiss to your palm. His scomp skims up your back, the metal warm from the sun, and he pulls you close.

You press yourself against his chest, tucking your head into the space between his neck and shoulder, and his arm comes around to wrap around your waist, holding you there.

It's peaceful, the two of you sitting together like that. It feels normal, and right, and the feeling that settles over you is warm and comfortable, like being wrapped up in a blanket. It's perfect, and you never want it to end.

But, like all good things, it eventually has to, and Echo's comm chirps. The noise seems to echo across the sand, shattering the fragile bubble of peace the two of you have found. He pulls away, digging through the pockets of his shorts, and he swears under his breath.

“Rex,” he says as he holds up the comm. You nod, and he activates it, and the captain's voice crackles through.

"Echo, I just sent over some new intel. Can you check it out? It might be a lead on the ship."

"Yeah, of course," Echo replies, though his tone is a little hesitant. He glances over at you, his brows drawing together, and you force a smile, ignoring the way your heart has plummeted into the pit of your stomach.

"Duty calls," you say, trying for levity.

Echo hesitates, glancing at the comm and back at you, and he lets out a sigh.

“Everything okay?” Rex asks.

Echo doesn't answer, not looking away from you. You give him a reassuring smile, and his expression clears, his mouth twitching a little as if he's thinking.

"Everything's fine," he says finally. “I'm a little busy right now, but I'll look over the intel and get back to you later."

There’s a moment of silence, and you hold your breath, wondering if Rex will call him out. But instead, he laughs.

"Busy, huh?"

Echo rolls his eyes.

"Yeah," he says. He shifts, pulling you closer, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Something like that."

"All right, fine," Rex says, and he sounds amused. "Glad you’re enjoying your vacation."

"I'm— yeah. Thanks, Rex."

"Bye, Rex," you add, leaning closer and raising your voice a little. Echo smirks, and he cuts the transmission.

"So," you say, "you're just going to ignore the fact that we got called in for work, huh?"

"No," Echo replies, looking defensive. He sets the comm aside, reaching out to take your hand. "We're on a break. They can handle things without us for a day or two."

You smile at him, and he brushes his thumb over your knuckles, his eyes soft.

"Who are you and what have you done with Echo?" you tease. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head, but when Echo's grip on your hand tightens, you freeze, a jolt running down your spine.

He scowls, his mouth twisting, and his eyes flicker away from you, looking out across the water. His hand falls away from yours, and his shoulders slump, the easy happiness that had surrounded him moments ago bleeding away.

"Don't say that," he mutters.

"What? Why not?"

"I just..."

He looks frustrated, and a little lost, and you wait, giving him time to find the words. His mouth is open, but he closes it, letting out a harsh sigh through his nose. His brow furrows, and he stares down at his lap, his jaw clenched tight.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, your hand finding his. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No, I—" he stops, closing his eyes. "I know."

He takes a deep breath, his hand turning to lace his fingers through yours.

"I'm tired," he says finally, his voice small. "I'm tired of... not getting to be with you, because we're always running, or on a mission, or just never in the same place. We never get a chance to be alone, and it's..."

His brow furrows, and his lips press together, as if he's frustrated.

"It's not enough," he says, and there's a note of finality to it, like the decision has been made. "And I'm done with it. So unless the galaxy is literally ending, I'm not leaving until we've had a chance to enjoy ourselves a little."

"And what if the galaxy is ending?"

"Then I'm sure Rex and the rest of the boys will take care of it," Echo says. He grins at you, looking proud of himself, and you laugh, shaking your head. "Until then, I'm staying here with you. And," he adds, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the side of your jaw, "you can distract me from thinking about work, if you want."

You lean into him, letting him press another kiss to your neck.

"Hmm," you murmur, pretending to think. "I guess I could do that. After all, we are supposed to be on a date."

"Exactly," he says. He smiles against your skin, and the feeling makes you shiver. "Come on, we can't let the day go to waste."

"I mean, there is one thing we can do," you say, grinning mischievously.

Echo's eyes darken, and his voice is a low rumble.

"What's that?"

You smile and stand, reaching down and tugging him up.

"Swim!"

He groans, and you laugh, ducking out of his grasp and darting for the waves. He's faster, though, and he catches you easily, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you off the ground.

"Echo!" you yelp. You can hear the waves lapping against the shore, and you struggle in his grip. "Don't you dare! Don't you—"

"Sorry," he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic, and you shriek as he tosses you into the surf. You land with a splash, the cool water enveloping you, and you break the surface, pushing the wet strands of hair out of your face.

Echo is watching you, looking smug, and you glare at him.

"What's the matter?" he asks, feigning innocence. "Not having fun?"

You splutter a little, wiping the water from your eyes, and you launch yourself at him. You can't actually pick him up, and he doesn't fall, but the move does throw him off balance, and he stumbles backward, almost falling into the water. You laugh and try to shove him again, but his arm comes around your waist, holding you steady.

"Is that how it's going to be?"

You grin, and the two of you wrestle, the sounds of your laughter carrying over the waves.

"Oh, no, please!" Echo yelps. He tries to fend you off, and you laugh, ducking around his arms and splashing water up at him. "Mercy!"

"Never," you declare. You grab his shoulders, and he lets you push him under the waves. He comes up sputtering, and his arm comes around your waist, dragging you down with him.

You both surface, and Echo is laughing, the sound loud and free and happier than you've ever heard him. It sends a surge of warmth through your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you're leaning in and kissing him.

Echo kisses you back, his hands finding your waist. He's warm against you, even with the cool water lapping around your bodies, and his lips are soft and gentle. It's the opposite of the way you usually kiss him, all tongue and teeth and bruising hands, and it makes your chest ache, makes the longing that's always present whenever he's around swell a little bigger.

He must feel it too, because his grip on you tightens, and he hauls you closer, the two of you clinging to each other like your life depends on it.

When you break apart, he doesn't let go, and neither do you. The two of you stand there for a long time, breathing in sync, and for a moment, everything seems to slow. There's no war, no missions, no responsibilities or tasks. There's just you and him and the feeling of the ocean around you, the two of you pressed so close together it's hard to tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

“So,” he starts, his forehead pressing against yours. “What else do normal couples do on dates, anyway?"

You grin and step back, taking his hand.

"Come on, I'll show you."

And you do. The two of you spend the afternoon walking along the beach, collecting shells and talking, and occasionally, the two of you find yourselves making out like a couple of teenagers, hands roaming over each other and mouths moving frantically together. It's not until the sun is beginning to set that the two of you finally wander back up the hill to the house, and by the time you're back in the kitchen, Echo has you pinned against the counter, his mouth hot and demanding against yours.

"We're supposed to be getting ready for dinner," you mumble, even as you tilt your head, giving him better access to your neck.

"Fuck dinner," Echo growls. He nips at the skin just below your ear, and you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you."

You're both still wet from the water, and you can feel him, hot and hard and pressing insistently against your hip. Your own desire surges, and suddenly the thought of a crowded restaurant or a stuffy dining room is the last thing you want.

"I've got a better idea," you murmur, and he groans against your neck.

"Tell me," he breathes, and the feeling of his breath against your skin makes you shiver.

"Shower," you manage. The word has barely left your lips before he's pulling away, tugging you after him as he heads for the stairs.

The two of you don't make it far, and neither of you seems to care. As soon as the door to the bedroom is closed behind him, he's crowding you up against it, his hands sliding under your shirt and his mouth hot on yours. You can feel him, hard and insistent against you, and he groans, grinding his hips against you.

"Gods, I missed this," he pants. He nips at your ear, his teeth scraping across the skin. "Missed you. Missed touching you and kissing you and—"

"Shower," you repeat, gasping as he bites down on your shoulder. "Now.”

"Whatever you want," he mumbles.

He pulls back, and the two of you race down the hall, stripping out of your clothes as you go. He's in the fresher before you, the water already on, and by the time you step in behind him, he's got his back pressed to the tile, his cock hard and heavy between his legs.

You step inside, the water cascading down around the two of you, and Echo's gaze drops, raking over your body. You can see him, taking in the way the water streams over your skin, and the way his eyes darken sends a thrill through you.

You don't bother teasing him. Instead, you push him up against the wall, dropping to your knees and pressing a line of kisses down his stomach. His hand drops to your hair, tangling in the wet strands, and he lets out a choked moan.

"This is a date, right?" you ask, smiling innocently up at him. He nods, his gaze fixed firmly on you, and his grip on your hair tightens. "Good. I've always wanted to give someone a blowjob on a first date."

"Oh, fuck," he moans, and his head thumps back against the wall.

You take him into your mouth, and his fingers tighten in your hair. You look up at him, watching as his expression twists, his brow furrowing and his jaw clenching, and the sight sends a thrill through you.

Echo isn't big on talking during sex. Most of the time, it's just groans and whines, with the occasional curse or muttered endearment. But now, his words seem to be spilling from his lips, the filthiest things you've ever heard pouring out as you suck and lick and take him deeper into your mouth.

"Yes, just like that," he groans, his hips jerking a little. His scomp slides up the wall, searching for purchase, and the sound of the metal scraping against the tile sends a rush of heat through you. "Your mouth is so good, sweetheart. So perfect. Fuck, I can't wait to get inside you."

His fingers are tangled in your hair, not pulling or tugging, just holding you in place. You're practically dripping, and you can feel your cunt clench, the ache in your core growing with every filthy thing that falls from his lips.

"Look at you," he mutters, his voice ragged. His eyes are fixed on the spot where his cock disappears into your mouth, and you hum, the vibrations making him shiver. "Gorgeous. Look so good on your knees for me."

You keep going, working him over until his voice is cracking, his words dissolving into incoherent moans and gasps.

"Fuck," he hisses, his hips stuttering a little. He's close, you can tell, his muscles trembling and his breathing ragged. "Stop. Need— want to—"

He tugs at your hair, trying to pull you off, and you ignore him, keeping up the pace. His words dissolve into a string of curses, and you look up at him, blinking innocently and hollowing your cheeks.

That's all it takes.

"Shit," he manages. "I'm— I'm gonna—"

His cock twitches, and his eyes squeeze shut, his face twisting as he comes, his mouth falling open. He shudders, and you swallow, keeping your eyes on him as his chest heaves, his muscles quivering.

You keep going until he's trembling, his hand pushing weakly at your head, and you let him slide from your lips, sitting back on your heels and grinning up at him. He's slumped against the wall, looking absolutely wrecked, and you smirk, reaching for the bottle of shampoo and standing up.

"Feel good?" you ask, and he nods, his eyes glazed and his lips parted.

"So good," he mumbles. "Need a minute."

"Take your time," you say, stepping around him and putting a generous amount of shampoo in your hands. You work it into your hair, feeling him watching you, and you smile to yourself, humming as you wash the salt from your skin.

"You're evil," he murmurs. He presses up behind you, his mouth dropping to the side of your neck.

"I think the term you're looking for is generous," you tease.

"That, too."

He kisses the spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing against the skin. His hand finds your waist, and his scomp slides up your arm, tugging your hand away from your hair.

"Let me," he murmurs, and you nod. He gently works the suds out, his hand running through your hair and sending pleasant shivers down your spine. His scomp slides down, brushing over the side of your breast, and his other hand joins, the water raining down on the two of you.

"You're beautiful," he says, and you turn your head, looking back at him. He's watching you, his expression open and unguarded, and there's a look in his eyes that makes your breath catch in your throat. "I'm so lucky."

"Echo," you start, but the words die on your lips as his scomp skims lower, brushing against your hip and slipping between your legs. The tip finds your clit, and you gasp, arching back against him.

"So beautiful," he repeats. He rubs tight circles over your clit, his scomp moving slowly, almost lazily, and you lean back, resting your head on his shoulder. His arm comes around your waist, and his hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing against the nipple. "You're amazing, sweetheart. I love watching you."

You moan and turn your head to press your mouth against his. He kisses you, his hand cupping your jaw, and you gasp as his scomp moves a little faster.

"I love the noises you make," he murmurs. He nips at the corner of your jaw, his tongue darting out to soothe the sting. "Love the way you taste, the way you feel."

He's everywhere, his lips pressing against the side of your neck, his hand sliding down your stomach and between your legs, his fingers brushing against where you're aching for him. He presses them into you, and his thumb replaces his scomp, the tip  tracing patterns over your thigh as his fingers curl, finding that spot inside of you that makes you shudder.

"Echo," you gasp, the sound practically a sob. You reach back, grabbing onto his neck, and he hums, his arm tightening around you.

"I love being inside you," he says, and his voice is ragged, the sound sending a pulse of heat through you. His cock is hard again, pressing insistently against your ass, and his hips grind forward, the feeling of his body against yours sending a rush of warmth through you.

"Want that," you gasp. "Want you."

"You have me," he murmurs. He adds a third finger, and you whine, your nails digging into his neck.

"Not enough."

He grins against your skin, and the motion makes something inside you snap. You're suddenly desperate for him, for the feeling of him filling you up and driving away the ache that's been building for weeks. You try and turn, but his arm keeps you in place, and he chuckles, his thumb moving a little faster.

"Wait," he says.

"Echo, please," you beg, and he groans, his teeth grazing over your skin.

"Patience," he murmurs. "You can wait a little longer."

He presses his lips to the side of your neck, and his fingers work, curling and thrusting and making your whole body go tight. His arm is solid around you, holding you in place, and the thought of him, surrounding you, pinning you to the spot and taking what he wants, sends a rush of heat through you.

"Please," you whisper, and his fingers twist, his thumb moving faster. "I'm gonna—"

"Yeah," he breathes. "That's it. Come for me, sweetheart. Let me see you."

The sound of his voice, the feeling of his fingers moving inside you and his cock pressed against you is too much. You break, coming with a loud cry, and he keeps going, working you through it. Your body goes limp, and Echo holds you, keeping his fingers buried inside you and his scomp drawing tight circles over your clit. You whimper and try to push him away, the sensations too much, but he doesn't stop, not until a second wave hits and you're writhing, clinging to him for dear life.

By the time he finally pulls away, your legs are trembling, and you're panting, slumped against him and unable to do anything but whimper as he turns the water off and steps out of the shower.

You don't register him drying you off or lifting you and carrying you down the hall, and it's not until the door to the bedroom closes behind him that your brain finally clears enough to form coherent thoughts.

"Echo," you say.

He looks down at you, smiling softly, and he kisses you, the press of his lips warm and gentle. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. He lays you down on the bed, his eyes drinking in every inch of you, and it's so tender, so sweet that the emotion wells up, filling your chest until you're sure it will burst.

It's only been a few weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. The longing, the worry, the fear... it's been eating away at you, and being here with him, like this, makes the stress and anxiety from the past month melt away, leaving you feeling more at peace than you have in weeks.

He's always been the calm in the storm. You've lost track of the number of times you've lain awake at night, wondering if this was the last time, if this would be the one where something went wrong and neither of you came home. He's always been there, a solid presence, an unwavering support, and the thought of losing him is almost too much to bear.

But here, in this moment, there's nothing but the two of you. There's no war, or missions, or fighting or running. It's just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, safe and warm and together.

And in that moment, you're so happy, you think your heart might explode.

He lays down next to you, his hand finding your waist, and you kiss him, your hands cupping his jaw and stubble scraping across your palms. It's gentle and unhurried, the two of you taking the time to relearn each other. The feeling of his mouth against yours, his skin under your hands, his body pressed against you is almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clinging to him, holding him as close as you can and trying to commit the feeling to memory.

It's not until he rolls on top of you that the slow, lazy pace breaks.

You gasp, his mouth hot and demanding against yours, and his cock presses insistently against your thigh. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans, grinding his hips down.

"Want you," you manage. Your hands run over his back, sliding down and gripping his ass.

"You have me," he says, his voice rough. He kisses down your neck, nipping and biting at the soft skin.

"Inside," you gasp, and he moans, his mouth dropping lower, his lips moving over the swell of your breasts.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I want that."

"Come on," you say, pushing at his shoulders. He sits up and kneels between your legs, and he reaches down, stroking his cock and giving it a firm squeeze. He looks massive from this angle, his broad chest and shoulders towering over you, and the sight makes something clench deep in your core.

"I don't want to rush," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to the apex of your thighs. "Want to take my time."

You sit up, and his hand finds your waist, pulling you forward and into his lap. Your arms wind around his neck, and his scomp slides up the length of your back, pressing you closer.

"We have time," you tell him, and his eyes are dark and soft and full of a tenderness that makes your heart flutter.

"Yeah," he says. "We do."

You press a kiss to his cheek, and his hand drops between the two of you, gripping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. His mouth finds yours as the thick head slides into you, and it's slow, so agonizingly slow, you're sure he's trying to drive you insane.

You don't remember him being this big.

You know that's ridiculous, that of course he's still the same size, but the thought has a whimper falling from your lips. You try and grind down, needing more, but his arm comes around, pinning you to his chest, and he shakes his head.

"You're killing me," you mutter, and his teeth flash in the fading sunlight, his eyes dancing.

"I can stop," he teases.

"Don't you dare," you say, and he chuckles, pressing another kiss to your lips.

He keeps going, the steady, agonizing pressure of his cock pushing inside making your whole body go tense. You can feel the way he's stretching you open, the way your body has to make room for him, and the thought makes your mind blank, the ache in your core growing.

By the time he's finally, finally all the way inside, the two of you are breathing heavily. He’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been, and the stretch is just shy of painful. It makes your hips jerk a little, and Echo lets out a moan, his hand finding your hip and his fingers digging into the soft skin.

"You're perfect," he mumbles, and you laugh, the sound turning into a moan as he grinds his hips up, pushing a little deeper.

You cling to him, his arms coming around you and pulling you closer. His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you wrap your legs around his waist, letting him pull you closer, as close as possible. The two of you stay like that, holding each other and letting the sensation wash over you.

Eventually, the pressure becomes too much, and you start to squirm, shifting and rocking your hips. Echo takes the hint and starts to move, and the first slow, lazy thrust makes the both of you moan.

He starts a rhythm, and it's like the entire galaxy has narrowed down to just the two of you. Nothing else matters, just the feeling of his cock sliding into you, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the feeling of his heartbeat against your skin.

You know how much he loves being inside you. He's always told you, whispered it against the skin of your neck, moaned it in the dead of night, panted it while you rode him, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. He never seems to tire of it, always desperate to get as deep as possible, and sometimes, you've wondered if there's a part of him that's afraid this will be the last time.

But he's never done it like this.

He's never held you in his arms and pressed kisses to your skin, his hand and scomp running reverently over every inch of your body. He's never taken his time, his hips rocking forward in a steady, measured rhythm, his mouth finding yours again and again. He's never let himself drown in the feeling of it, his eyes half-closed and his face twisted in an expression of pure bliss.

He's never made love to you before.

You've never put a name to it, the way the two of you are together. You've always been careful not to call it anything, knowing that doing so would cross a line neither of you wanted to. It's dangerous, the sort of thing that can break hearts and destroy lives, and you'd both known it. So you'd never said it, never acknowledged it, and had kept it to yourselves, locked away where no one else could ever see.

But now, with his arms wrapped around you, his touch tender and his mouth soft against yours, there's no other word for it. It's the only explanation for the feeling, the one that's welling up inside of you and threatening to swallow you whole, and the realization sends a thrill through you, settling in the pit of your stomach and burning like a sun.

He's making love to you.

You hold him closer, your hand gripping the back of his neck, and his lips find yours, warm and soft. He doesn't say anything, his gaze fixed firmly on your face, and his brow is furrowed, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning.

"So beautiful," he mumbles. His hand runs over your waist, squeezing lightly, and he lets out a shaky breath. "I love this. Love you."

Your breath catches, and for a second, it feels like the world stops. The only sound is his breathing, the only feeling is his hand on your skin, and the only thing that exists is him.

"Echo," you whisper, and his name is a question, the only thing you can manage.

He doesn't seem to hear you, or maybe he doesn't understand.

"Love seeing you like this," he mumbles, his gaze flitting over your face. "Love touching you, love being with you. I don't—"

He breaks off, and his head drops, his nose brushing against your jaw. His breathing is ragged, and his grip on you tightens, and something tells you he didn't mean to say that, didn't mean for those words to fall from his lips.

His hips slow, and he holds you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck and taking a deep, shuddering breath. You can feel him, his entire body trembling, and you pull him closer, your fingers cradling the back of his head and holding him against you.

"It's okay," you say softly, pressing a kiss to his temple.

His scomp skims down your back, the metal still warm from the sun and the warm water. It's a tender gesture, and the fact that he's using it to hold you, instead of his hand, is a testament to how far the two of you have come.

"I love this," he murmurs, and you know what he means.

He doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to go back to the war and the fighting and the constant struggle. He wants to stay, with you, just like this, forever. And as much as you want that, the two of you both know it's not an option.

"Me too," you murmur.

"I wish..."

"Yeah," you breathe. "Me too."

"I love you," he says again.

You swallow, and there's a lump in your throat, a feeling that seems to settle over you, making your skin feel warm and your pulse thrum. You're not sure what it is, but you know that this, whatever it is, is important, that it means something, and the sudden urge to run from it, to shove it down and push it away, is strong. But Echo’s always been there for you, a steady, unwavering presence, and even though you're terrified, the knowledge that he's here, that he won't leave, settles something in you, and the feeling starts to shift.

Instead of the warmth, it's like a fire, burning away the anxiety and the fear, and the knowledge that comes with it makes you feel lighter than you have in months. You're not sure what it means, or what you'll do with it, but there's a sense of comfort in it, and the smile that stretches across your face is genuine.

"I love you, too," you say.

He makes a strangled noise, and his grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into the skin.

"I love you," he repeats, the words falling from his lips. "Force, I love you. So much. I love you."

He says it over and over, the words spilling out of him. He's still hard inside you, and the feeling sends a bolt of heat through you, your cunt clenching around him. He gasps, his hips grinding forward, and he moans, the sound muffled against your skin.

"Please," you whimper, your nails scraping against the back of his neck.

"Anything," he gasps, and his hips start to move, slow and steady.

It's not frenzied, or frantic, and it doesn't need to be. You have time, all the time in the world, and for once, neither of you are trying to race the clock. He's gentle, his movements languid and unhurried, every thrust like a wave, pulling you deeper and deeper.

He's murmuring the whole time, his voice low and rough, the words tumbling from his lips. He's talking about everything, about the way he feels about you, about the things he wants, the places he wants to take you. It's filthy, and sweet, and so perfect, and you let the words wash over you, reveling in the feeling of him inside you and the way his voice makes your stomach clench.

"Echo," you whine, your thighs tightening around his waist. "Close."

"I've got you," he murmurs. His hand slips between the two of you, his thumb finding the swollen, slippery bud of your clit, rubbing slow circles over it. "That's it, sweetheart. Come for me."

The pleasure builds, slowly and steadily, until you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel. It's intense and intimate, Echo's eyes fixed firmly on your face, his lips parted in awe. You feel open, exposed, vulnerable, and the only thing that makes it bearable is the fact that he's right there with you, his expression twisted and his muscles trembling, his control slipping more and more with each passing second.

"Please," you beg, and his hips speed up, his rhythm faltering as he starts to lose his grip.

"Come for me," he gasps. "Let go. I'll take care of you."

And you do, his words sending a flood of warmth through you, spreading out until you can feel it everywhere, in every part of your body. Your cunt pulses, clenching around him, and Echo groans, his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth dropping open.

"Fuck," he chokes out. He doesn't slow, doesn't stop, just keeps fucking you through it, and you're shaking, clinging to him and shuddering as the pleasure keeps building. "Shit, sweetheart. You feel so good."

"Love the way you feel," you manage, your voice hoarse and strained. "So full. Love your cock, love you."

He curses, his hips jerking, and his scomp digs into the skin of your back, holding you tighter. His hand leaves your clit, and he grabs your thigh, wrapping his arm around your leg and hiking it higher. The angle changes, and he hits something inside of you that makes you sob, his hips snapping forward.

"Again," he grunts.

You nod, the feeling so intense that you can't manage words. You're practically sobbing, the sounds falling from your lips without thought, and Echo's gaze is fixed on you, his expression hungry and awestruck.

"Fuck," he growls, his thrusts getting more and more erratic. "Come on, sweetheart. Want to feel you. Wanna watch you come. Gonna fill you up. Make you mine."

It's filthy, the things he's saying, and you're lost in him, his hand gripping your waist and his scomp pressed into the small of your back. His gaze is burning, and it feels like the room is spinning, like the world is coming apart at the seams and there's nothing left but the two of you, moving together.

"I can't—"

"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. He's shaking, and you know he's close. "One more. Come on."

You can feel the tears sliding down your cheeks, and his eyes are wide, his expression stunned.

"Please," you gasp. "Echo, please."

"Fuck," he breathes.

It's like a switch has been flipped, and the slow, steady pace falls apart, his thrusts hard and fast. He surges forward, your back hitting the bed, and his scomp slides under your back, lifting you off the mattress.

It's too much, the new angle and the way he's staring at you, and a sob breaks from your throat, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Gorgeous," he breathes. "You're perfect. I love you."

There's a moment, a heartbeat where it seems like everything is suspended. His eyes are wide, and he looks almost... shocked, as if he can't believe what's happening, and something tells you that it's not just about this, about the two of you. It's bigger, somehow, deeper and more profound and the feeling that washes over you is pure, unadulterated joy.

And you can see it on his face, in the way his eyes widen and his mouth drops open. He looks like he's about to burst, and it's so raw, so perfect, and the realization hits you like a blaster bolt.

He's happy.

He's the happiest you've ever seen him, and the fact that it's because of you is overwhelming.

"Love you," he murmurs, and it's the last thing either of you say before the feeling crashes over the two of you.

You cry out, and the dam breaks. The pleasure rushes through you, hot and cold, and the waves break, sweeping over the both of you and carrying you away.

You come with a choked gasp, his name on your lips and his fingers digging into the skin of your thigh. His hips snap forward, and he grinds into you, his face twisting and a loud moan falling from his mouth at the way your body pulls him in, squeezing and pulsing around him.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes.

You cling to him, your eyes fixed on his face. He's beautiful like this, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed, his expression twisted into an expression of pure ecstasy. He holds himself there, buried to the hilt inside you as he starts to come, the first pulse of heat making you whimper.

You can feel his cock twitch, and his brow furrows, a broken sob falling from his lips. His grip on your thigh tightens, and his hips start to stutter, grinding into you and filling you up, his come dripping from you. He lets out another choked noise, and he falls forward, his weight settling on top of you and his mouth finding yours.

"So perfect," he pants, his hips rocking forward a few more times, his movements lazy and slow.

You can't respond, still gasping for air, and you can feel the way he's twitching, the way his body is shaking. It feels like forever before the feeling finally fades and Echo pulls back slightly, mindful of his weight. You can feel him dripping from where the two of you are connected, and you bite your lip, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Hi," you whisper, and he laughs, the sound breathless and a little giddy.

"Hi," he replies, grinning.

Echo's chest is heaving, his muscles quivering, and he looks absolutely wrecked. He's staring at you, his lips parted and his eyes wide, and he's looking at you the way people look at the sun after they've spent too long in the dark, like he's seeing something for the first time and never wants to look away.

"I love watching you," he says, his voice raw and hoarse. "Wish you could see yourself."

"Yeah?"

He nods and reaches up, brushing a strand of damp hair out of your face.

"So gorgeous," he murmurs. "Perfect. Wish I could stay inside you forever."

You hum, and his gaze drops, watching as he finally slides out, a trickle of his release following. He swallows, and he reaches down, his thumb slipping between your folds.

"Echo," you whine, your hips jerking a little.

"Gonna miss that," he mumbles, his tone almost dreamy.

"We've got a few days," you remind him. "And I'm not done with you yet."

He grins, and it's so boyish, so genuine and unguarded, that you find yourself reaching for him. Your hands slide up his chest, over the broad expanse of his shoulders and his neck, and your fingers brush over the spot just below his ear, tracing the edge of his jaw.

Echo leans into your touch, his eyes closing, and his head turns, his lips pressing against the inside of your wrist. You shiver and lean forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. He wrinkles it, his eyes still closed, and you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," you say, and he cracks one eye open, looking suspicious.

"You're laughing," he accuses.

"Because you're adorable."

His lips part, and his eyebrows rise. He doesn't say anything, but his face flushes, his cheeks going pink, and you grin.

"That's the last word I'd use to describe myself," he mutters. “Especially when I’m still inside you.”

"I think I'm the best judge of that," you point out, and he smirks, his eyes glinting.

"Well, if that's the case, I'd have to say the same about you," he teases, and he leans forward, nipping at the soft skin just below your ear. You yelp, and he chuckles, pressing another kiss to your shoulder before he pulls away, searching for his pants.

"Where are you going?" you whine.

"To order food," he says. He tugs his pants on, and the sight of him, completely naked except for the loose fitting black cargo pants, is enough to make your mouth water. "I'm starving, and if I'm going to keep this up, I'm gonna need my strength."

"You mean it?" you ask.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Did you really think I'd pass up the opportunity to have sex with the woman I love all day? In an actual bed? With an actual door that locks?"

Your heart flutters, and you grin.

"No, but I'm still glad to hear it."

"Good," he says. He walks back over, leaning down and kissing you, his lips warm and his stubble scraping against your skin.

"Order some food," you murmur, and he nods. "And maybe a bottle of wine."

"Whatever you want," he says. He steps away, and his gaze flits over you, taking in the way you're sprawled across the bed, still naked and covered in sweat and your combined release. He swallows and shakes his head, backing toward the door.

"I'll be back soon," he promises. He points a finger at you. "Don't move."

You give him a salute, and he grins, his eyes dancing.

"I love you," he says, and it's so easy, the words falling from his lips like they've always been there.

"I love you," you tell him, and the smile he gives you is enough to light up the entire room.

The door closes behind him, and you collapse back onto the pillows, closing your eyes and letting yourself revel in the feeling of the bed beneath you, the cool air drifting over your heated skin, and the lingering ache between your thighs.

This isn't how you imagined this week would go. You'd thought that it would be a brief respite, a chance to relax before heading back to the fight. You'd expected a week of stress and anxiety, of wondering if it would be the last one, and whether or not you'd get to spend any of it with the man we’re falling for despite your better judgement.

Instead, you're here, lying in a bed, in a place where there's no war and no missions and no responsibilities. For the first time in months, there's no one depending on you, no one waiting for you to save them, and no one demanding things from you that you're not sure you can give.

It's peaceful, and it's perfect, and the thought that Echo, the man who's seen and experienced more than anyone should ever have to, feels the same makes you smile.

For the first time since the war started, everything is good.

You let your eyes fall closed, and the sound of the waves is soothing, the faint noise carrying up the hill.

In the end, it's not the ocean or the house or the fact that for once, you have nothing to do.

It's him.

Echo.

He's the reason this feels like home.

And in the end, you know that's the only thing that really matters.

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@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

[steveseddie]

‘cause it’s you and me

rating: g | cw: none | wc: 1,9 k | tags: eddie lives, hospitals and injury recovery, steve has a crush, he also knows how to play guitar, fluff

written for @steddielovemonth day one | You and Me by Lifehouse & the quote “every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know how much time he’s spent on the chair that is next to Eddie’s hospital bed.

Too long probably, if the recurrent pain on his back means anything. But not even that is enough to prevent Steve from staying glued to that chair, neither are the doctor’s mean looks or Robin’s insistence about him getting proper sleep or meals for that matter. Steve only leaves the chair when he has a shift or when he wants Wayne to have time alone with his nephew or when the nurses wheel Eddie away for surgery or tests or physical therapy. That’s it.

It makes the months that Eddie spends recovering blur together. Sometimes, Steve even forgets what day it is, only managing to keep track of it by the nurse’s schedule or depending on who shows up to visit Eddie. The kids and Wayne and Robin all come on different days, effectively balancing keeping their friend company with their everyday lives.

All of them except Steve.

Ever since Spring Break, it’s been Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Find Eddie. Get Eddie’s heart beating again. Drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. Pray that Eddie makes it out of surgery. Wait for Eddie to wake up. Comfort Eddie when he’s in pain. Take Eddie’s mind off of the murder charges that haven’t been dropped yet or the loss of their trailer or the long hours of physical therapy ahead of him. Listen to Eddie ramble on the days that he feels better about books and music and Dungeons and Dragons. Watch Eddie sleep and only then try to get a little sleep himself.

The last one might sound a little creepy but Steve thinks it’s justified considering he still can’t forget how Eddie looked when they found him– pale, bloody, dead. Watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly but steadily is the only thing that calms Steve enough for him to doze off in that damn uncomfortable chair.

Only at some point it stops being entirely about making sure that Eddie is alive– the staring. Suddenly, Steve can’t keep his eyes off of Eddie at all times.

Steve stares at his face while Eddie reads a book to him out loud and forgets to pay attention to what he’s saying. He stares at Eddie’s hands while he explains something to the kids and completely miss a question from Henderson. He stares at his mouth while Eddie slurps the extra jello cup that Robin sneaked in past the nurses and blush when she catches him and smirks knowingly at him.

It takes Steve some time to figure out why he looks at Eddie so much, obvious as it is, and when he finally does he actually leaves his chair and heads to the bathroom for a proper floor freak out.

He just doesn’t know what to do with these feelings for Eddie or where to go from there so he just– doesn’t do anything.

And things stay the same.

Except for the way Eddie keeps getting better.

The doctors are so optimistic that they announce that Eddie might get to go home soon. They have him doing laps around the hospital and start slowly tapering off his pain meds and encouraging him to pick back up things he used to do like writing and playing guitar to work on his dexterity, they said.

It’s why Eddie starts writing down plans and ideas for future dork campaigns again and why Wayne brings his sweetheart to the hospital.

(Eddie almost cried when he saw it, making grabby hands and hugging it against his chest with a happy sigh.

“I swear you’re happier to see that thing more than you’ve ever been to see me,” Steve muttered through pursed lips.

“Steve, don’t call her a thing! She can hear you!” Eddie protested, appalled. Which wasn’t a no but at least later he tells Steve that there’s enough room in his heart for two sweethearts.)

It’s not like Eddie goes back to being a rock god on the guitar right away and his writing is intelligible more often than not, but none of that stops him. He keeps trying, keeps practicing, and Steve loves him more and more for it.

Yes. Love. The first time the word pops up in Steve’s head it leads to yet another bathroom floor freak out but once he realizes it, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting it out several times a day.

He’s doing it right now while watching Eddie excitedly write down a D&D character sheet for him with his tongue poking out adorably between his lips, tempting Steve to lean in and kiss them. So when a nurse interrupts them to take Eddie away for some test, he appreciates the short break.

When he’s alone, Steve reaches for the notebook that Eddie left on the bed. It’s off limits for any of the kids, but Eddie has let Steve peek at it before. He doesn’t think he’ll mind.

He reads his character sheet, recognizing some of the nerdy words while others fly completely over his head. Then he leafs lazily through pages of notes and doodles until he pauses at what looks like an unfinished song, fragments of lyrics and melodies written messily over the page.

Steve sends a sidelong glance to Eddie’s guitar where it’s leaning against the wall.

He’s never told anyone but he took some guitar lessons back when he started high school, hoping that playing an instrument would help get him girls. He knows how to read music and can fumble his way through a few simple songs, but he never made it past that. It seemed useless when he already had Nancy, and then when he didn’t have her anymore, he had the kids and the Upside Down and playing guitar didn’t seem like a useful skill to have when fighting monsters.

He chuckles. “Guess I was wrong,” he mutters to himself, thinking about Eddie saving the world with a Metallica song of all things.

Without giving it much thought, Steve stands up and carefully grabs the guitar, bringing it back with him to the chair and resting it on his leg, Eddie’s notebook open on the bed in front of him.

He clumsily places his fingers on the fretboard and tries to play the melody that Eddie wrote down. He messes up a few notes, but for someone who hasn’t touched a guitar in years he thinks he plays it decently enough. Eddie would surely do a better job, but it still doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe he can ask Eddie for help to improve and–

“What are you doing?” Eddie’s voice breaks through the melody. His fingers slip and the guitar makes a loud, screechy sound that makes Steve wince.

He whirls around and finds Eddie staring at him from the door, his face unreadable.

Steve gulps, his cheeks pinking up at being caught. “Playing guitar?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Since when do you know how?”

“I– uh, I took lessons years ago but I stopped,” he says, tripping on his words. “I– I found your– your song and I was trying to play it–”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the notebook on the bed. Steve winces again, worrying that Eddie will get mad because he went through his things or because he touched his sweetheart.

“That sounds nothing like what I wrote.”

Or because he butchered his song.

Steve blushes brighter, reaching for the notebook and fumbling to close it. “Sorry, I– it’s been a while and I was never that good to begin with.”

With three long strides –and a lot less limping than a month ago, Steve proudly notices– Eddie reaches his side and snatches the notebook from Steve’s hands.

“Give me that!” He says, flopping down on the bed and flicking furiously through the pages, his face pinched.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry, I– I didn’t think you’d be mad–”

“You bet I’m mad!” Eddie says with a huff, patting the bed sheets, trying to find something.

Steve shrinks down on the chair. “I– I think I’m gonna go–” he says, pushing himself to his feet. Better to leave now before Eddie finds whatever he’s looking for and throws it at his head.

“Aha!” Eddie gasps, holding up his pen. Then he notices Steve standing awkwardly and frowns at him. “Wait, what? No, stay. Play it again.”

Steve blinks down at him. “What?”

“The song!” Eddie urges him but his voice is soft, gentle. “Play it again, Stevie, please.”

Stevie. Please. He’s not mad.

“What?”

Eddie heaves out a sigh, but it comes across as fond. “Dude, I’ve been trying to figure out the right melody for that song for like, half a year!” He says, shaking his notebook aggressively. A few pages fall off, but he pays them no mind. “But I just couldn’t get it fucking right, there was always something missing! And it was whatever you were doing when I walked in!”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Not at you, Stevie, no,” Eddie chuckles. “Just mad that it was you who figured it out with your secret magic guitar skills and not me.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he can’t help but let out a chuckle himself. “So you want me to do it again?”

Eddie nods enthusiastically and that’s enough to make Steve flop back down on the chair, propping the guitar on his legs and doing his best to play the song like he did before.

He must get it right because Eddie lets out an adorable squeal before using his pen to cross out something and write down whatever Steve accidentally came up with.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to dedicate this song to you now as a thank you,” Eddie says, grinning so wide at his notebook that it shows off his dimples.

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. It feels hot to the touch, probably from the pet name. “Too bad it’s a love song,” he jokes weakly, even if he wants nothing more than for Eddie’s words to be about him.

Eddie glances up, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I know,” he says softly, his eyes flickering nervously over Steve’s face.

Oh. Oh.

Stomach fluttering with butterflies, Steve stands up, grabbing the guitar by its neck to prop it up against the wall.

“Uh, you– are you leaving?” Eddie asks, chewing anxiously on his pen as he watches Steve move around silently. Little does he know that his heart is currently screaming at him to gently tackle Eddie into the bed.

But first–

“Just making sure your guitar is safe before I go over there and kiss you, Eds,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up when Eddie squeaks again, his eyes widening.

“Oh, o–okay. That’s smart. Yup,” he stammers out, his voice an octave higher, his cheeks pinking up. “Does that mean you also–”

“Feel that way about you?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to Eddie, who nods expectantly. Steve reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, Eddie, I do.”

When Steve leans in and finally, finally kisses him, Eddie lets his notebook fall to the floor so he can grab Steve’s shoulders. The urgency to write down that perfect melody now replaced by an urgency for Steve.

But it doesn’t matter, Steve thinks that melody is now seared into both of their memories forever, as is their first kiss. The first of many.

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ LET ME TREAT YOU ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || 박종성 x fem!reader || drabble

— KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO series

summary: jay was a giver, he always has been. so when your darling boyfriend decided to treat you with his new pay check, you were as grateful as always, but you soon decide that there were more important things than a new pair of jeans

genres: fluff, romance, non-idol!jay x non-idol!reader, est. relationship

warnings: attempts at humour, the smallest hint of angst, potential to feel guilt bcs jay is too good for this world

[archive]

“I might try this one on too.”

Jay smiled, gesturing for you to let him hold the jeans.

His first pay check had just arrived and your boyfriend had surprised you with a trip to the mall and a nice lunch.

You felt like you’d already splurged enough on the delicious affogato at the cafe but Jay had insisted that you both treat yourselves to some new clothes. And you desperately wanted a new pair of jeans.

“Jay, I swear, it’s impossible to find one that fits exactly the way I want.” You had about four different styles of denim pants hung over one arm as you sifted through the hangers for more options.

Jay was designated with the task to keep track of which jeans seemed closest to your desired style.

You had your back turned to him but you could still hear your boyfriend sigh a little, leaning against the wall as you continued your hunt.

“Love,” he called out, “how about you start trying some of these and see if we can eliminate some options.”

You waved a hand as a gesture for him to wait a second. “I just need one more!”

Jay scoffed a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Mhm.”

more under cut !!

After staying silent for a few moments, Jay cleared his throat. “If these jeans fit anything like the ones you’re wearing right now, then I guess it’ll be worth it.”

You gasped, flicking your head to the side, “Park Jongseong!”

Heart racing at the sound of his laughter, you turned away hastily to grab the last pair of jeans in your size before rushing off to the trials rooms.

“Goddamn, slow down.” Jay followed behind you, his long strides helping him catch up in no time.

A smirk creeped onto your face and you shook your head involuntarily at the way Jay pulled you closer by your waist, walking in tandem as you reached the last stall.

“Here.” He handed you the pile you considered ‘Pile 1’ aka the jeans that you were hoping and praying would fit you because they looked perfect. He proceeded to take ‘Pile 2’ off your hands. “Gimme those, and I’ll be right here if you need me.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thanks baby,” you whispered, before sliding the curtain shut.

Out of the four jeans you’d brought into the trail room, three fit you quite nicely, but one in particular, was perfect. So much so that you couldn’t help but poke your head out (followed by a quick laugh at Jay’s startled expression) before asking him to come inside.

“So, what do you think?”

Jay dropped the jeans he was holding onto the trail room seat, his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated between you and your reflection in the mirror.

You turned a couple times to glance at yourself, extremely satisfied with the way they fit.

“You look great,” Jay smiled, his eyes closing slightly into half mooned crescents. “You definitely need to get these.”

You brushed your hair back, sighing from the relief of finally finding a new pair of jeans and not having to wear the same two pieces you had for years. “How much is it?” You asked aloud, turning back to let Jay check the tag.

You watched his face as the sound of cardboard brushing against his fingertips filled the small room. His expression was pretty unmoving, a simple jut of his lower lip followed by a nod.

“It’s good, totally fits the budget.”

You frowned, “Okay… What is it, though?”

“Uh…”

You twisted around to check the tag yourself before feeling your jaw drop. “What?”

Jay stepped forward, his hands enveloping yours, making you let go of the price tag as he turned you back around to face your guys’ reflection. “Don’t worry about it.”

You blinked at his nonchalance, “Jay, it’s not within our budget, it is our budget.”

“You know I can afford it,” he reasoned.

“That’s not the point!”

“Love-”

You look away from the mirror, facing your boyfriend and resting your hands against his chest. “Jay, this is your first proper pay check, this isn’t an internship anymore, you deserve this money.”

“I know that.” Jay leaned a little closer, “But I want to spend it on you.”

You pursed your lips. On the one hand, you really wanted these jeans, but agreeing to spend that much money on them — regardless of the fact that quality denim is an investment — it wasn’t fair to Jay and therefore, went against everything that you stood for.

“I’m not doing it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I don’t need these. I want them, but I can — no, I will find a more affordable price.”

Jay opened his mouth to interject, only to be silence by your soft palm against his lips.

Your voice was just a whisper, “I don’t want you to convince me. You already give me so much, Jay. We can buy me some nice jeans another time, just enjoy the money you earned for yourself, please.”

Jay’s eyes darted back and forth between yours, you could feel the gentle smile of his lips against your palm before you removed it.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you closer and kissing you tenderly. “I’m not exactly happy with this,” his words came out muffled between your kisses, “But just know that I will be spoiling you soon.”

“How about you let me pick out some clothes for you and we’ll call it even?” You slid your arms around his neck.

Jay smirked. “That’s not even in any way.”

“You’ll get a hot new outfit.”

“Tempting.” He leaned forward, nudging your noses together.

a.n: second instalment of the ‘kiss me don’t say no’ drabble series !! trust cute bf jay to want to treat you when he should be the one getting special treatment :(

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf

2025 © yourislandgirl

[tr4gictea]

Hallo!! can I req a lyney, kaveh and haitham x reader (again..) with reader who constantly overworks and ends up sleeping t theirb desk? I loved the last rain fic u rote RAHHHH thank you sm!!

Overworked!Teen!Reader+Lyney,Kaveh,&Alhaitham

❥Masterlist

Tags: fluff, overworked reader, no beta we die like men,

Including: Lyney, Kaveh, & Alhaitham

word count: 3k words

A/n: Hi! thank you for the request @cheri-2047! Heyyy... how yall doing... I'm back and I am going to post constantly. And one announcement at the end of the story!

Also, state if you want your fic to be written in a platonic or romantic manner or I will choose for you. This is very much a threat >:D (JKJK(kinda(not really(but please write what the intentions you want(this is for your enjoyment and my piece of mind that i made something you wanted(I love you <3))))))

Alhaitham

Art: @ Ahiii7 on twitter

You stare at the clock in the corner of the desk, the hand is slowly creeping towards midnight. The library was empty except for you, your desk was scattered full of textbooks, essay guides, and empty cups of coffee. Your tired eyes gaze over the essay structure, ensuring that every comma, period, and word is perfect. This essay had to be perfect.

You rub your eyes feeling tiredness wash over you but you can't stop now. Your hand was starting to cramp up from how much you were writing but you had to keep going. You can't stop. Not now. This Akademiya application essay is too important. If you don't get into the akademiya now that will throw off your whole plan of becoming the youngest person to join Spantamad in the akademiya's history.

Getting into Spantamad at such a young age would prove your capable. Your parents expect nothing less from you, you've always been told you have what it takes. But was that true? Do you really have what it takes to get into one of the best schools in teyvat?

You push those thoughts aside. No, you have to be perfect. You continue to scratch away at the essay on your desk annotating notes you hadn't noticed before. When suddenly a bolt of pain is sent through your hand, making you drop the pen and grip your hand in pain.

You begin to massage your hand, and you allow yourself to sink into your chair. Your eyelids felt so heavy, that all you want to do is rest and be done with this essay. Maybe you can take a quick nap, just to so you can get some energy. You set the timer beside you to 30 minutes so it wouldn't be too long of a nap. It couldn't hurt to take one break, could it?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Alhaitham was always the first person to enter the akademiya. Even before he became the acting grand sage he was always the first person to enter those doors. He has a set-in-stone plan that he has put together for himself to follow. Even if one thing is off, his whole day feels like a mess.

First, he wakes up before the sun rises and has a short 3-mile run, he then gets ready for his day while Kaveh is talking his ear off about something. When he arrived at the school he'd enjoyed the silence of an empty place.

That's why when he hears a loud beeping coming from inside the library he is immediately ticked off. He marches his way into the library prepared to kick some student out. His 10 minutes of silence in the halls have been ruined by some student thinking there someone special to be able to leave that noise going and no think that he's- Oh wait, it's you.

When the acting grand sage turns the corner, he is met with the sight of you sleeping on a library desk filled with stacks of books and cups of what looked like coffee. He turned the alarm on your desk off with a small tap. Your face was scrunched into an angry face and you were mumbling something in your sleep.

He hated to admit but it was kind of, cute.

He looked at the papers in front of you, they were submission essays to the Akademiya. Each one was different from the last. Touching on a different subject in each essay he read. He's seen these essays before, you showed them to him so he could check if there were any mistakes. He had told you they were fine but you somehow managed to find the smallest mistakes a re-write the whole essay again. You've been overworking yourself too much lately and it was not good for someone of your age.

"(Y/n), (Y/n)?" Your breathing was slow and it looked like you were deep in sleep. You were probably up for a while if you are still in the N3 stage of sleep. He would take you into his office so you could get some rest away from others' eyes.

He draped his cape over you carefully picked you up and carried you to the elevator up to his office. He figured it would be less embarrassing for you to be asleep in front of a bunch of college students.

He placed you on a couch he had placed in his office a couple months ago. Alhaitham looked down at you on the couch and saw your smile soften.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your eyes began to slowly blink open, the soft fabric underneath your body was comforting compared to that hardwood desk. You hugged the pillow next to your head allowin- wait.

You blink your eyes open at the sudden realization that you aren't at your desk anymore. Your body shoots up from its resting position and looks around the new area. Your eyes adjusted to the new lighting and a blur of what looked like an office came into view. It looked like Alhaitham's office.

"Hm? You're up," You turned your head to see Alhaitham at his desk writing down something on a stack of papers. "I've prepared a cup of chamomile tea for you." He gestures to a cup of tea on a side table beside you.

You thanked him and took the tea off the table, it was warm to the touch and wasn't too hot at all. "How long was I out for?"

"10 hours and 46 minutes," He responds. You hum in response and go back to your tea. "You know, you shouldn't be overworking yourself like this."

"I know, I just... need everything to be perfect." you sigh and hug your knees close to your chest.

"Perfection is something even the greatest scholars have never achieved, and you will never reach it either," His reply felt cold but warm at the same time. You could tell he was trying to give some type of comfort in his own weird way.

"But, if it's not perfect, what's the point?" How am I supposed to be the person that everyone thinks I am?

"In truth, people want something real. Something that reflects your thoughts, your ideals, and personality." He looks up from his work and gives you a small smile. "You are a very sharp and determined person, I know you are more than capable of writing this without having to work yourself to death." Were those words of comfort? From Alhaitham?! The most unloving man alive?!? And with a smile that wasn't condescending?!?!

"Who are you and what have you done with the Acting Grand Sage?"

His smile falters into his condescending smirk. "I let you sleep in my office and this is the thanks I get? Ungrateful." He rolls his eyes playfully.

"Words of comfort from you are odd." You chuckle.

"Hm?" He raised his eyebrow at you, "I do not know what you mean? I am always comforting,"

"Okay then name one time in the past week that you comforted someone."

He pulled his arm under his chin and thought long and hard about it. "Ah yes, I gave Layla notes on her thesis and told her it was average enough to get an 'A'. "

"You didn't actually say that to her, did you?" Your mouth agape at this man's lack of social skills.

"No, I didn't say it to her," He pauses for a moment. "I wrote it on the front of her essay." The scholar answered with a straight look on his face.

"Dude..."

Lyney

Art: @ m_iothle on twitter

"Fuck..." You sigh as you let yourself fall onto the ground. You are currently atop a roof in the Court of Fontaine looking into the window of a Fontainian official's house. You had been tasked, by Father, to gather as much information as you could about the man as you could.

The dim light inside the home and the moon are the only things illuminating your surroundings as you adjust your position. You take out a notebook and start flipping through weeks of information on this guy. Every detail mattered — what this guy ate, who he spoke to, what time he went to bed — it all mattered.

Reading through you could see patterns forming, patterns that could be this man's downfall. But the job was taking its toll. You barely slept for weeks, surviving off caffeine, small sandwiches, and will. Though your senses have been sharpened through harsh training you find yourself having trouble keeping yourself upright.

"Just one more hour..." You mumble as you try to fight off sleep, your words echo in your head as you scribble down more notes in your journal. Minutes blurred into another as your eyes grew heavier, you fought the sleep, shifting into other positions, but your body had other plans.

And just like that — they were out.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Lyney grumbled, tapping his foot on the floor as he waited for you to return from your mission to give him a briefing. His teeth shuddered as a cold breeze hit him. Lyney had been waiting up to an hour for you to show up but to no avail had he seen any sight of you.

You've been late to meetings, but never more than 10 minutes. An annoyed expression spread across his face as he realized he would have to come find you himself. About half an hour later Lyney found you knocked out on the roof across from the target.

"Hmm, aren't they adorable?" Lyney hums to themselves as they smile down at they're sleeping, sibling. He scans over your face taking note of your eye bags and unkept hair. Your notebook dangles loosely from your fingertips, he bends down and plucks it from your hands. You've been neglecting to take care of yourself and from the looks of it, you fell asleep on the job. Well we can't have that, can we?

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

A loud crack jolted you from your sleeping position. You sprung yourself up from your relaxed position — ready to fight whoever shot at you. But to your surprise, you only find Lyney with a straight face and his eyes showing no emotions for you to read.

"L-lyney?!" You blurt out, "What are you-, wait! Is it check-in time already?!" You say in a panic suddenly remembering the meeting.

"Yes, my dear sibling it is far past the time we agreed on," He grumbled. "And not only have I found you asleep on the job, you have also left yourself open to attacks."

I scoffed at his words "I'm hidden, the target has no idea I'm here."

"Hm," He hummed then lunged at you, he grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back. "Even if you are hidden that does not make you invisible — you are still open to attacks."

You struggle against his hold, every time you try to pull yourself out of his grip Lyney twists your arm causing pain throughout your body. "Well, I just woke up and you're stronger than me."

"Is that the excuse we should carve into your grave then?"

You stop struggling for a second taking in his words. Your body was noticeably sluggish, normally when someone had you in this position you could easily twist your way out of it. But your exhaustion had cost you some of your strength — which left you helpless under Lyney.

The magician loosens his grip and lets you move away from him. "Y/n, I get it, this is your first mission and you want to do your best. But this is not the mission you should lose sleep over."

"I know... but I want to make Father proud and give me more missions in the future—,"

"— And they will, but at this rate, you'll burn yourself out." A pang of frustration and concern twisted in his chest. "If you go about every mission like this then you'll end up hating the idea of getting sent out on the field."

You keep your head low feeling a twinge of shame for overworking yourself. Lyney lets out a sigh and places a hand on your head, "You did great work today Y/n, you should be proud."

A smile threatens to appear on your face as he praises you, "But the next time Father sends you on a mission I hope that you will remember to take care of yourself. Got it." It sounded like he was more demanding of you than asking.

"Yes sir!" you say, excited about the prospect of getting a second mission.

"Good, now head back to the house and get some rest," He turns away from you and starts flipping through your notebook. "I'll take care of the rest."

Kaveh

Art: @ m_iothle on twitter

Who says that kids can't handle pressure? Because they obviously haven't met you! The demanding life of owning a restaurant is tough on your parents; so you're here to lighten their load. Do they need more utensils? You'll buy some! Short staffed? Pfft easy, you'll jump in! Crippling debt from when your father started the business? Take it out of your own pocket! When people ask you about the pressure, what pressure? Pressure is for non-achievers who are too scared to get what's needed to be done.

You live and breathe by this mantra; it's all that keeps you in business and out of the streets. You work hard as your parents' underpaid accountant. The idea of the business clasping caused you to work long work hours well into the night, such as this night.

The evening moonlight shows through the window, casting on your face. The dinner rush has started, and the sound of utensils hitting plates runs through your ears. Your parents are running from kitchen to table carrying heavy trays of food and empty plates. You can see tired lines itching onto their faces as they tirelessly work.

The restaurant work had also taken a toll on you — causing you sleepless nights wondering if you were gonna have a home the next day. All you could do was adjust your parent's budgeting to something more sustainable.

You are currently seated at the bar working out the details of next month's budgeting plans. You rub your temple to try and soothe your nerves. You look at every cent of money that goes in and out of this place. Every little dollar counts.

The rent is due soon. The money was looking scarce. The price of tomatoes is getting higher, so we might need to push more egg-related dishes to customers. Maybe you could switch to a cheaper brand. Looking over the spreadsheet it didn't seem like your parent's restaurant had much time left. Maybe —

Your head snapped forward, then snapped back up.

No. You have to stay awake.

You blicked rapidly and chugged down half a hot coffee to keep you from falling asleep. You needed to figure out how to save the business. If the restaurant went down then your parent's dreams would go down. This place wasn't just a job for them but also their home, literally. Your father never looked happier when he was in the kitchen even with bags forming under his eyes. Your mother thrived on making recipes for others to try. And you lived here — it offered such a warm and inviting atmosphere that you loved.

So you pressed on, even as your eyes grew heavy and your head dropped...... SLAM!

A cup slamming on the table jerking you up right from your half-sleeping state. You look up to see a slightly drunk architect sitting next to you. You recognized the man as Kaveh, the famous architect who often came down to your parents' restaurant to drink his sorrows away. You two frequently chatted when he came around and considered each other as kind of friends.

He had a joyful expression on his face and looked to be celebrating something by himself. This is odd for him as when he comes in he's often here to yap on about some horrible client he's has.

You are unsure of when he got there in the short time you rested your eyes but it was probably a little while ago. You look at the clock across from you, it reads 11:36 PM. Fuck, you let yourself relax and wasted an hour and a half. You groggily stretched out your arms and lazily picked up the pencil to continue your work.

"Late night?" Kaveh says facing his body toward you.

You fidget with a strand of your hair. "Something like that." You huff out.

"You don't look that great," He said trying to put it as nicely as possible.

"I'm fine," You brush him off as you take a sip of your now cold coffee. His eyes scan over the mess of papers surrounding you and frowns.

"Y/n, I get you're trying to help your parents but — you can't do that if you're dead on your feet."

You let out a small chuckle "Those are some wise words for a drunkard."

He chuckled nervously, remembering a certain sage who spoke those words to him "Yeah, they're technically not my words but they helped me when I was working myself to death."

"Well, I don't really have a choice," You mutter. "If I don't fix this budget then—,"

Kaveh stops you with a hand to your face. "The restaurant will not shut down if you rest during the night." He furrows his eyebrows. "This restaurant is your parent's responsibility — not yours."

The architect reaches for the paper in front of you and carefully stacks them together. "Now, you go rest for however much you need to and come back when you have energy?"

You wait a beat before responding, one night's rest couldn't hurt? "Alright," You sigh in defeat as you push yourself off the high stool.

The numbers could wait — just a little while.

For my announcement, I will not be as genshin-focused from now on. I will still post genshin things if you request it but I will be trying to focus on other fandoms like MHA/JJK/Demon Slayer. This is mostly because I have not been enjoying genshin anymore and it's gotten kinda stale in terms of everything. So if you have any requests I will do them but other than that I'm not writing genshin. (also, yes true meaning will continue but it will end at Fontaine because I don't wanna write Natlan #ProudNatlanStoryQuestHater)

More Genshin Impact Stories *ੈ✩‧₊˚

More Alhaitham Stories ˚ ༘ ୭ ˚. More Lyney Stories ₊˚.༄ More Kaveh Stories ˚ ༘ ୭ ˚.

REMEMBER TO SMASH THAT LIKE BUTTON, OBLITERATE THAT FOLLOW BUTTON AND, REQUEST FOR A SHOUT-OUT IN MY NEXT VIDEO 🗣🗣🗣🔥🔥🔥

[phosphns]

✩ . . . PARAMOUR!CHRIS HEADCANONS

paramour!chris who is your boyfriend’s best friend but, god, he’s so fine.

paramour!chris who couldn’t take his eyes off of you the first time your boyfriend introduced you to him.

“so you’re tyler’s girlfriend, huh?” he said, eyeing you up and down as he bit his bottom lip. “mhm,” you confirmed. “daamn, ‘didn’t think he could pull a chick this fine”

paramour!chris who instantly loved how you reacted to his cheeky comments whenever your boyfriend wasn’t around, all flustered and embarrassed.

paramour!chris who hates to see you acting so couple-y, planning dates and cuddling right next to him. the worst part? he couldn’t do anything about it.

paramour!chris who always finds a way to be near you. whether it’s during group hangouts or offering to help you with something — he’s always lingering a little too close, making your heart race.

paramour!chris who will casually ask about your relationship, like if he wanted to check in, be aware of any little cracks in your perfect relationship.

paramour!chris who tries to feel guilty after your first kiss, but can’t. it all feels too right for him, like it was inevitable. he knows it’s wrong tho, and he does feel bad for putting you in so many troubles.

“what… what did we just- chris, we shouldn’t have-” you chocked out. “we shouldn’t have, but we had-” he answered, looking at you right in your eyes. “w-what are we gonna do?” , “we’ll figure it out. just stay quiet and go back to him” he said, watching you go back to him, like you would always do.

paramour!chris who has promised he’d talk to you, to say that he couldn’t bear it anymore and that he would’ve back off, because it wasn’t fair to you — but he’s cut off by your lips on his.

“listen — i.. i really have a thing for you. here, i admitted it. i can’t even see you with him, but for your sake, i’ll back off. i can’t-” he started, fidgeting with his fingers nervously. you didn’t give him the chance to finish, your lips were on his in the blink of an eye, just as you’d wanted since you stepped into the room.

paramour!chris who can’t back off now — not after you kissed him like he was the one and the only. he will stare at you way more than before, stealing touches and making comments. you’d return them, brushing it off when your boyfriend asked if something was up.

paramour!chris who fucks you for the first time when your boyfriend was away, visiting his family for the easter holidays. you pretended to be sick, just for him to ask chris to look after you. what better opportunity?

paramour!chris who degrades you during the act. he’ll remind you of how much of a slut you are, fucking your boyfriend’s best friend, just because he knows that if he praised you, it’d feel too real and too wrong — well, for you.

“you’re gonna take it all.. aren’t ya? good fuckin’ slut,” he pounded into you with brutality, his hands firm on your hips. “mphh — c-chris… i’m c-close” you murmured in a barely audible voice. your skins beat against each other in a delicious but yet rough way. “yeah? well, you’re not cummin’ yet. turn around.”

paramour!chris who stares at you sleeping after, peacefully in his bed, wishing that it was the normality, you falling asleep in his arms and waking up without any rush.

paramour!chris who makes sure to leave cute dresses, bunch of your favorite flowers and risky notes in your room before every hang-out — with your boyfriend there too.

“hey baby… is this dress new? it’s cute — never seen that tho,” your boyfriend asks, eyeing your little pink dress you had put on — as the note requested. “uhm — yeah! yeah it’s new, i bought it last week,” you stammered nervously, feeling chris’ eyes on your back.

yaps. send requests&asks in for this au! i’m sooo excited i love em

tags. @ultrviolenxe

[lilgarbitch]

For Better Or For Worse - Noah Sebastian

Beside You Pt. 2

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: more angst<3

Word Count: 1.2k

Author’s Note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @chey-h @badomensgoodomens @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @enemiestolovershoe @blade-dressed-in-red @xmads-omensx @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare

Y/N

It’s been about three years since that day, give or take. All I know is that time has passed and I’ve lost track. Things have changed, yet stayed the exact same. The pain has eased with time, but the love has yet to die. I’m still living in the old house, just changing as much of the interior as I could without feeling like I’ve lost too much. Because what else will be left when the hurt is gone? I now have a bed and sheets that have never touched his skin. A couch that didn’t home one or more of the boys in a time of need. The sad yellowing walls are now a light grey, with no sign of smoke stains or holes from bad decisions. Even I’ve changed. My hair is different, I’ve retired piercings, gotten new tattoos, and even changed my style. Things were different. Yet everytime I glanced into a room, I could see the memories replaying in my head like an old movie. Everytime I see the unclosed hole of my lip piercing, I’m reminded of Noah joining me for a last minute, impulsive decision. Everyday, I debate covering the tattoo that we got together when Nick started apprenticing, but then I see a photo of him on stage, singing with his arm raised, and I see that he still has his too. 

He’s changed too. Not to the point of losing recognition, but enough that I can tell he’s getting healthier out there. His voice has grown, his hair is shorter and choppy, and he’s fit into himself better than he ever has before. I don’t mean to look at pictures of him and the boys, but I could never unfollow their accounts. I could never pretend that my love died that day like they have. It’s an internal battle everytime I see him, debating if him leaving me behind was really what he needed to do.

But I know it wasn’t. Because in the days where I really miss him and really want to feel the grief of the past, I listen to their new music. It’s not hard to understand where the lyrics come from. I’ve known Noah for too long to ignore how he portrays his emotion through his music. But what I don’t understand is why. Why sing of regret? Why put yourself through all of this pain and misery when we could have lived a different way? Every time his voice rings through my home, all I can ask is would you have been there when I came home? Could you not have held on to another day, just for us to be together? I could have easily joined you in your journey, nothing else more important to me than you, so why make the decision for me? Especially when all it resulted in was the two of us living in regret? 

His regret being leaving. Of stupidly deciding that I was better off without him, even after years of me trying to prove that nothing could be worse than not having him by my side. Our lives may have never stopped that day, but I know, at least for me, that my will to try and make life worth living was gone the second he drove off. 

That leads to my regret. The regret of holding on for so long. To still be holding on. To the hope that one day, things can be okay again. Because I’m terrified. Terrified I’ll never see him again. Terrified that, one day, I’ll accept never seeing him again. Terrified that I won’t be okay again unless he comes back. Terrified that no matter the outcome, I won’t be happy again. And those are the days that I’ve lived for the past few years. In fear of losing someone I already lost. Because there was a day where I allowed him to pull me out of a dark and lonely place, only to allow him to push me back in, and still forgive him in hopes he’ll pull me out again. 

Noah

The days have become grueling again. I shoved my emotions into lyrics, pouring my rage and guilt into melodies, and it was a simple distraction…until tour started. And every song was another reminder of her. I didn’t even think. I was so focused on using my music as an outlet that I forgot it could bite me in the ass. That I’d be forced to travel back to Virginia, and sing these lyrics under the same sky. One we’d both be staring up at together again. 

I was more than grateful that Sumerian Records was able to get us an opening spot for Attila’s tour, but that meant within a month, I’d be back in Richmond and close to her again. Each night of the tour so far was painful, just counting down the seconds until the next day, because it was another day closer to home. And I don’t mean the home I grew up in, but the person I left behind. 

I had the whole world in my hands, and with one stupid decision, I gave it all away. What did I even think I would save? Life without her has been miserable. I thought I was helping both of us by leaving, but with every free moment I got over the last three years, all I could do was wish it was filled with her presence. I could’ve made it work, I just didn’t want to try. And I knew her long enough to know that she would’ve made it the easiest thing in the world. So this was my burden to take. Because I’m the only one to blame. I kept telling myself that she was so much better off without me. With nothing but the memories of my face. But now I know that, even if she was doing better, I wasn’t. Because I have no use now that she’s gone. 

I have no way of knowing how to deal with this. I knew better than anyone else that the decisions I made ruined things, but I couldn’t handle being back there and not trying. I knew the chances of me absolutely fucking everything up again by simply showing my face, but the risk was worth it. I couldn’t have a chance like this and not take it. I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least see if there was a possibility to have her again. This could either destroy both of us completely, or finally be a second chance at being happy again. I had to take it. I had to do this, because I was running out of faith. 

TO BE CONTINUED

[noblehouseofgay]

Marauders Fandom Red Flags

So in my time here (almost a year wow), I've gotten more familiar with this fandom than any other. And I love it here- but there's some issues I've seen. So- this is my list of red flags. Some are personal, some are simple fandom etiquette. Read at your own risk

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

1. Hating on ships/characters too much. If you follow me yk I will post my dislike from time to time, but people who almost exclusively post that are just annoying. Find something you enjoy instead. There's enough hatred in the world, is this really how you wanna spend time?

2. "I hate jegulus but their writers are so good" no. Fuck off. You don't deserve our work if you hate what we write about.

3. Openly bashing/rating/etc fics and other works. People do this for free. If you don't like it keep it private. I've read several fics I've disliked and I only tell my friends, if even then.

4. Liking only straight ships and canon ships. This is just a personal ick. And most of the time it feels a bit homophobic that in a fandom full of mostly queer ships- you only like the straight ones. Kinda weird man

5. Sending anon hate is RARELY okay. I say rarely because I've experienced a few instances where I'll defend it, but over a character? Or s ship? Especially when you call someone a fascist over it. Seriously? Fuck off. There's actually fucking fascists taking over and you're calling out people who like a gay ship? Yikes

6. Being rude under someone's post because you don't like it. Fuck that. I get even I've gotten a little worked up before but I do try to contain myself. I've since chosen to block tags and blogs I don't like. It's much better on my sanity. The block button is free, use it.

7. If you don't like any of the marauders era girls. Ick. What the fuck? They don't have to be your favorites, but they deserve appreciation. They're great characters when they're written well.

8. Let trans people headcannon characters as trans. This fandom is practically founded on saying fuck you to JK. Let us claim these characters in our eyes. Trans regulus means a lot to me. You don't have to like it, but you can simply let me enjoy it.

9. Similar to the last one, but if you say shit like "they cant all be gay" then you're fucking stupid. Shut the fuck up. For one it was the seventies, for two queer people tend to flock together so it makes perfect sense most of the group would be queer. And again- our whole thing is shitting on the terf. Make them queer. Spit on everything she stands for.

10. And last but not least- jegulus hate. There I said it. The amount of hate is ridiculous. You don't have to like it, but attacking us for it is actually insane.

[semperama]

Several Sentence Sunday

@playinginthunderstorms tagged me in several share-a-snippet day things in the past few weeks, and so have other people probably, and I never had anything to share, but TODAY I HAVE WRITTEN WORDS!! MANY WORDS!! I might even actually finish the Will Fic either tonight or tomorrow!!! Yay!!!! Here's a little bit:

He gets on the highway going north. Oregon might be nice, the gray and the gloom, the constant drizzle. He’s seen pictures of the coast with its jagged rocks and choppy surf and thinks that would suit him, now, more than sun and palm trees. Or maybe he’ll keep going all the way to Canada. He’d probably need to get recertified to be a firefighter up there, but that might be nice, to earn it again. To put in the work and prove to himself he can still do something right. He makes it twenty miles before he swerves across two lanes of traffic to take the next exit and turn around, his heart pounding, his hands sweaty on the steering wheel. He just—he can’t do it. The last words Eddie said to him were tainted with anger, and Buck couldn’t even look him in the eye. That can’t be the way this ends. It’ll fucking kill him, if that’s his last memory of their time together. He’ll go back and sleep off this awful, sucking despair, and in the morning he’ll go back to Eddie’s and apologize, help him pack up his life, help him sell his house. He’ll hug him goodbye, face tucked into his neck so he can imprint the way he smells into his brain forever. And then he’ll watch him drive away. What was he thinking, trying to change this fundamental truth? Buck can’t be the one to leave. He’s meant to be the one left behind.

Tagging @wildehacked, @sonofatoasterwaffle, @wimbledon2008, @sibylsleaves