#it barely even feels real like i just made it all up

[henry7931]

Chase:

Today is a really weird day and I didn’t know how I would feel about coming over to my best friend Bryce’s house especially after the incident.

Bryce and I have been friends for over 12 years now and him and I have always been a couple of scrawny gay nerds. We both love Minecraft legend of Zelda, just about every video game you can think of and one way we really bonded was figuring out that we are both gay.

Now for years, I’ve always known that Bryce had a crush on me. For me it was never that I didn’t like Bryce or I was never interested, but I never wanted to ruin the friendship. But then you have Walker is older brother. Walker is a few years older than us. He’s super handsome, athletic, charming, he could basically date anyone he laid his eyes on.

The truth is Walker was my sexual awakening for years. I’ve stayed at their house and spent the night and it wouldn’t be uncommon to see Walker come out and nothing but basketball shorts hell I don’t even think he would wear underwear sometimes.

I can remember the way seeing him made me blush, and I tried my hardest not to stare at him. I don’t know if Walker could tell that I was checking him out. Or maybe Walker was just used to people checking him out shouldn’t be any surprise that his little brother‘s gay friend had his eyes glued to him.

And somehow he continues to keep getting hotter and hotter and hotter…

So several weeks ago, Bryce and Walker’s family went on vacation to some tropical island. And something very strange happened while touring an old temple. How Bryce explained it to me was that they had a sign up that specifically said, “ please do not touch artifact.”

Bryce can be such a stickler for rules and I can almost see it in my head. It all went down. Bryce told Walker not to touch it. Walker likes to get on Bryce‘s nerves Walker reaches for it and then shit got real quick. Because Walker and Bryce have now switched bodies.

When Bryce was explaining all this to me, I really thought it was bullshit. I mean, who would believe that that sounds like something from a movie and yet even hearing Walker‘s voice, I can tell just by the tone that it’s Bryce.

So today is the first day that I have seen Bryce since he swapped bodies with Walker. And that’s why I feel all kinds of weird.

Now Bryce and I have stayed with each other like 1 million times and it’s really not unusual for us to be basically naked around each other. OK maybe not completely naked but like at least in her underwear.

And I have tried really, really hard to make him feel comfortable and I think I’m doing a really good job but having him standing in front of me in just his brother’s boxers is driving me a bit insane.

I’m sitting on Bryce‘s bed and walks back into his room just to ask me if I wanted anything from downstairs like something to drink or maybe a snack. I can barely get out the words because I can’t stop staring at the chiseled God in front of me.

“ chase you’re staying the night right?,” he asked me.

“ oh yeah, of course I’m staying the night as long as that’s OK.”

“ yeah man of course it’s okay! You know it’s okay man. No one cares you stay the night. You’re like basically family sides. My brother isn’t going to be home tonight. He’s wanted a lot of space since the whole. I’ve got his body thing. And both my parents are out of town so it’s just gonna be us,” he says with a side smirk.

“ well if it’s just us what do you wanna get into tonight?,” I say trying to make conversation.

I’m holding my eye contact directly at his face and I try my hardest not to look anywhere else, but he takes his hand and start scratching his balls and I can almost feel my whole cock twitch.

“ I mean since everybody’s not here tonight, we can always break into my parents liquor cabinet, whoop whoop!”

You know I am probably the most innocent 18 year-old alive, I don’t wanna attend parties nor do I really sneak around my parents but I feel like alcohol sounds like a great idea right now. I mean it I might be able to calm down a bit.

“Hell yeah! That’s sounds fun!,” I say with some enthusiasm.

“Bet! Be right back!”

I hear as heavy feet running down the stairs and all I can do is try to think of something that would totally turn me off like anything taxes, my grandparents, just something…

And yet all I can think about is how hot it would be if I could suck on his toes. I’ve had a thing for feet a while now and it’s taking me a little bit to accept it and a part of that I blame Walker for him because he has some sexy ass feet.

I can remember clearly the smell of his feet after he would finish football practice and he would pull off his shoes. Shit! Fuck! I’m so hard right now. I feel like I’m gonna have to sneak away and beat one out in the bathroom just to clear my head.

And then here comes Bryce with two glasses in his hand and a bottle of wine for the both of us just super eager.

I reposition myself to where I’m laying flat on my stomach so he doesn’t notice.

Bryce hops on to the bed with me and try’s his hardest to navigate a wine opener.

“Geez, I have no clue what I’m doing here…”

I eventually take it and started twisting in. I try to pull it out but struggle.

“Here since you now have all of the muscles.”

He rolls his eyes at me and tugs it out.

“Success!”

“Good team work there he-man,” I say playfully.

Bryce’s pours both of us a glass and at first I thought it tasted awful. But the second glass… now I see why people like it. I feel so warm inside and relaxed.

We both lay back in his bed.

“Is it super weird for you?,” I ask him.

“What?”

“You know… being in your Walkers body.”

“Um… yes. Yes and no I guess. I feel like everything has just moved so quick since the trip. I feel very different in public, like I’m so much more noticed. girls hit on me… so do guys. It’s a lot to take in especially since you and my family are the only ones who know about it.”

“What about Walker’s girlfriend?”

“Oh he broke up with her, thought it would be less weird. Although he had to do it over text because I refused to call or see her in person.”

“Damn! That’s crazy.”

“Yeah but she was like his girlfriend for the month, nothing serious.”

Of course…

“So is this pretty permanent?”

“Yeah I think so, unless you know of any other magic objects than can reverse it haha.”

“No, not off of the top of my head,”I say jokingly.

“Well… that answers your question. This is my body now. This is the new me I guess,” he says looking his muscles over.

I look them over as well and then my eyes draw this briefs… he’s got a hard on…

Bryce catches my eyes and says, “you wanna touch it?”

“What?!?”

“Come on Chase… don’t play games with me. I know you and I know you’ve had the hots for this body. I’ve known for years now.”

I take a deep breath… I feel my nervous all over again.

“It’s okay, I know you like this body. It’s my body now. And I want you to touch my massive dick.”

“But Bryce!”

“Shhh! Chase I’ve had a crush on you for years and I know you would never fool around with me. And now I have the body you’ve been lusting for years now. TOUCH MY MASSIVE DICK PLEASE!”

“Fuck, okay.”

I start touching it from the outside and it does feel huge!

“You know I love you Bryce, you’re the most important person to me. I just never wanted us to loose our friendship. It’s why I never tried anything with you.”

“I know. And listen I know you weren’t trying to go after my brother. I know what he looks like. Everyone does. But now I have the body and the personality so, I’m giving you no choice but to date me. Got it?”

“Ugh fine,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Now can you do me a favor?”

“Sure!”

“Can I see your feet?” he says to me.

Wow! Wasn’t expecting that!

“Wait why?”

“I hope you don’t think this is weird but I have a thing for them.”

“Shut up! So do I!”

“You do?!?”

“Yeah especially…,” I eye down to his feet and wiggles his toes.

“Oh my god! This is about to be a wild night!”

“Wait, can I kiss you?”

“Please!”

Part 2 Coming…

[see-arcane]

You know the one good thing about being a pessimist?

It feels great to be proven wrong.

Bravo, Bobby Egg.

I was so happily surprised by this. This film went through a fantastic puberty between the leaked script and the screen. The main points to note:

-No, Ellen is not hot for Count Orlok. She and Thomas are 110% in love. There are even certain Harker-flavored quotes thrown in to prove as much. (Details under the cut.)

-Count Orlok is a terrifying bastard and a half. Significantly more imposing than classic Orlok’s spindly rigor mortis-stiff figure and only wearing a sliver of Dracula’s performative charm. He is a Devil-Death archetype playing a monster who operates in deceit and contracts to wring out what he wants. That and a lot of corpses.

-This film is so beautiful. No gothic touch is skipped.

In sum, I more than like this film. I love it. It isn’t perfect, because no film can be, but damn. I am so proud of this nightmare you made, Bobby Egg.

SPOILERS FOR Nosferatu (2024) BELOW

-Getting some cons out of the way. There are points where a few of the actors lean maybe a bit too heavy on the ham-and-cheese in their deliveries (I’ll not blame the kids, they’re very young, but yeesh. That’s some cartoon acting.)

Yes, the g-slur is still used; though while I wish it hadn’t appeared in Eggers’ script at all, it does make sense within the context of the setting, i.e. Thomas and the Innkeeper probably only having the one word they know, same as in Dracula. And yes, naked teenage girl-on-a-horse does happen for the vampire hunt scene. Whee.

-Now, an early pro: Eggers nixed the ‘hot teen girl tries to pickpocket Thomas’ bit, and the ‘land of phantoms and thieves’ line never happens. All that happens after Thomas wakes in the inn—post witnessing the vampire slaying in the local graveyard, mud on his shoes to prove it was real—is he discovers himself utterly alone. No people, no horse. Cue the long walk.

-Ellen doing the ‘Come to me,’ bit early on is her in adolescence. It’s revealed that her Weird Girl elements have been turned up to 11, tragic lonely past included (replete with dad threatening to send her to a madhouse), and her prayer was just for company. The psychic ping was picked up by Orlok, who took advantage, turning an isolated and desperate barely-more-than-a-kid’s wish into a ‘covenant.’

-Thomas was met not long after this, cue them being genuinely in love <3

-Knock Does Not Jerk Off On Screen. If he does, his back is to us, and Little Knock is covered with some occult tablet or suchlike while he’s doing his ritual business. Also he kills a guy in his cell. Using his teeth.

-Castle time! Thomas is greeted by a driverless carriage at a crossroads and seems to be hypnotized into stepping in. A lot of things Thomas does once in Orlok’s territory seem to very clearly have psychic puppet strings attached. That and some increasing terror on Thomas’ part. There is no warm Dracula-style welcome from Orlok when he arrives, but a terse and strange leading to the dinner table where paperwork is demanded.

- We get a glimpse of this version of the Count’s ego. Thomas calls him sir. Orlok demands Thomas address him as my lord. And then we get the bread cutting scene. Thomas’ thumb bleeds. Orlok get far too interested. His voice, a very guttural and rasping bass, turns into something closer to an animal trilling and growling. Thomas is paralyzed beside the fire; cut away as Orlok closes in.

-Ellen and Anna Harding have a bit of a Mina and Lucy deal going on at the beach. It’s sweet <3 (Prepare for pain </3)

 - Orlok starts getting tricky. He 1) borrows (steals) Ellen’s locket from Thomas and 2) Tricks Thomas into signing a contract to ‘sell’ Ellen/break their marriage via a strange contract in a language Thomas can’t read, with Orlok using the prop of some gold to imply that this is merely a document in ~his native language~ to complete the property sale. Thomas signs, less for the gold than to be gone from the castle and back to Ellen…only for Orlok to insist Thomas is not well. He must stay the night.

- No mind games here. Just Thomas pleading to leave and Orlok’s parting word being that he will stay, and that he will obey his orders.

-Orlok has already chomped Thomas on the tiddy as of last night. Next night, after Thomas almost lands a blow on him in the coffin—Orlok sleeps with his Orcock out in the box, by the way, alongside several rats—Orlok wills Thomas to unlock the door he shut between them. Cue Thomas being tranced onto the bed, pounced on, and basically dry-humped by Orlok as he drinks Thomas all but dry. Thomas is left that way, only to be woken by Orlok’s wolves—he has those too!—and go clambering out the window, dropping to the river below.

-Orlok makes Ellen’s life hell. Holy fuck. The 1838 quality ‘medicine’ definitely doesn’t help—corsets for correcting posture, draining blood because there’s too much in there, binding to the bedposts to stop sleepwalking, general drugging etc etc—but FUCK. Lily-Rose Depp did a great and terrible job of reproducing shaking fits and some of the faces and sounds she made had me thinking I might choke on my own tongue. And for all the sexually provocative poses/noises that happen, every time she comes out of it it’s clear that she hates this. It’s on par with psychic rape.

-The only times we see Ellen respond positively~ to Orlok’s dream-advances is when she’s telling Thomas about the ‘marrying Death’ dream where everyone died and she was deliriously happy and then the infamous trailer line about Thomas not being able to satisfy her as Orlok can~~~

Well guess what.

Guess fucking what.

That was Orlok leaning on her brain. The same way he did to Thomas when, eventually, after the nuns rescue him and pray the plague/vampirism out and he makes it home while half-dead, he lays in bed with Ellen and gets a panic attack combined with Orlok’s image being grafted over Ellen’s face…

…a reverse of the illusion Orlok gave him in the castle, with Thomas imagining it was Ellen on top of him instead. The effect terrifies Thomas all over again and he unwittingly tosses Ellen away, I can't breathe, get off of me, get off!

-Orlok does his murder snacking. Knock, who escaped, offers to find and kill Thomas to please the Count, literally on his hands and knees. Orlok calls him a dog and backhands him, insisting Ellen must be given, not stolen.

-Orlok has already visited Ellen by this time. He presses her to keep her deal with him. She tells him, flat out, I abhor you. In response, Orlok grabs her and chucks her like a ragdoll in a rage. He fumes, telling her he will give her three nights to pledge herself to him, and in the meantime he will start killing. (RIP to Anna and her little girls, the latter of whom ORLOK KILLS IN FRONT OF HER, EATING THEIR THROATS OUT AS SHE ENTERS THEIR ROOM.)

-Before all that, he spins bullshit about Thomas ~selling her to him for mere gold~. A technical truth that Ellen, mid-Orlok spell, spits back at Thomas amid a rage, along with details that are likewise based in only a granule of reality; but which Orlok did not mention in their scene together. Things like Thomas being weak and childish, that he ‘fell into Orlok’s arms like a fainting woman.’ Interesting choice of spin there, Orlok. But whatever.

This all culminates in what is either reality or a dream or a blend of both as Thomas makes sudden desperate love to her, Ellen weirdly heady about it, telling him yes yes yes they will show Orlok their love. Cue her snapping back to full cognizance (awake? dreaming?) as her eyes and mouth spurt blood in a vision. She collapses in fear and tears as Thomas holds her. AND THEN:

-Ellen. Drops. The I am unclean line. She wants Thomas away from her, she is not worthy, she puts him in danger.

-Thomas goes full Jonathan and clings to her. Nonsense. I love you. I love you. I love you.

-V i n d i c a t i o n

-Anyway.

-Dafoe-Von Franz-Van Helsing is a kooky science occultist. Finds a book that Knock had which fills the role of highlighting Orlok as Solomonari (hey, Scholomance shout out!) and Knock as a would-be beneficiary. Also includes the ‘maiden offers her body and blood to the monster to kill it via sunrise’ bit.

-While he reads this, he does NOT actually spell any of these details out to Ellen when they have their secret mini talk about tricking Thomas into hunting for the coffin with him and Sievers. He gives her a big ~you're the only one who can save us magic maiden martyr~ pep talk, but that's it. Meanwhile, Ellen was already preparing to offer herself to save Thomas and whoever’s left in Wisborg. Not the same kind of agency as the original, but still better than I was expecting.

-Harding, Thomas’ rich friend whose wife and children got drinked to death, dies of plague in the family tomb. They burn the bodies.

-In the ruin Orlok bought, cue the iron stake slamming down as they open the coffin..! But whoops. Knock’s in the box, not Orlok. Von Franz says Ellen offering herself is the only way~ Thomas doesn’t waste time throttling him, just makes a run for their home.

-Too late, of course. Orlok is there (with a very cool homage to the original stalking shadow silhouette routine) and Ellen welcomes him. While they are both naked in bed and it’s implied that they are/or intend to have sex, the bulk of the scene centers on Orlok taking Ellen’s blood from her breast. No clear shot of the Orcock on screen for that bit—Bobby Egg saved that pleasure for the Count flashing Thomas at the castle.

-Orlok’s death throes. Are so. Fucking. Cool. Definitely up there with one of the best vampiric demises I’ve ever seen on film. No spoilers there. You’ve got to see it.

-Heartbreak o’ Clock as Thomas bursts in just as Orlok has died and as Ellen is dying under him. There’s time for them to hold hands. And then she’s gone.

-We close on Von Franz popping up with some poetic soliloquy shit and a bunch of lilacs. The final beat is an overhead shot of Ellen, the Maiden, laying under the now-skeletal Orlok, as Death. Looks almost like a painting. Unlike the implication in the leaked script, she does not look happy/at peace. Simply asleep. The End.

-Other important notes:

1) Orlok has a little combover’s worth of hair on top and mighty and powerful ‘stache. Not Dracula-white, but it is there. Finally.

 2) The guy who plays Dr. Sievers has Alan Rickman’s voice. If he isn’t in opera, he should be.

3) I was too late to get a popcorn coffin box. I shall be in mourning until the New Year.

4) Bobby Egg if you can give me one more gift, let it be a deleted scene of Thomas beating Von Franz over the head with the iron stake, please and thank you <3

[leftoverghosts]

'til death

art donaldson x cheating wife reader. mentioned you x pat.

"I don’t think I could survive seeing you with someone else."

warnings: nsfw!!! some curse words. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. dom art. smut. art is a munch. finger in butt. cheating reader. more gross than i usually write. not beta read.

nori says: please!! please!! read my warnings! xoxo. i have a few more asks to get through for my xmas game! but besides those (and ones pending from sof) i am closing it!! thank you so much for playing!!! here is a little gift of what i would have selected!

word count: 1,400~

"Tennis Legend Art Donaldson’s Wife Seen Kissing Mysterious Man."

The title elicits a scoff from you, while Art's teary eyes gaze at you as if you've castrated him.

Yes, you kissed Patrick. Yes, things went further than just a kiss. But for some asinine, no-name fucking blogger on Instagram to refer to you as "Art Donaldson's wife" is the real travesty here. That's libel, that's slander.

Your knee throbs with pain.

"Why didn’t you tell me Patrick was in town?" Art weeps, and you drag your eyes back to his face before cringing.

Martyr, martyr, martyr. It’s his favorite role. You want him to be angry, to be calculating like he used to be. You want him to manipulate his way back into your good graces.

"Art," you sigh, "ask me what you really want to know."

“Did you fuck him?” He asks it almost as soon as you finish speaking.

"Twice." You shrug, wanting to wound, longing for the real him to shred through the flesh of the docile facade he's hiding behind and fight with you.

He sucks in a breath, fingers drumming against the table before he...smirks?

"I don’t think I could survive seeing you with someone else. Especially not him.”

“You’re barely surviving as is, Art. Sometimes I feel like if it weren't for your blinking, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between you and a doll. I have to sit you here, change your expression there. Fuck. Who are you?"

He blinks at you. "I am who you made me."

"I want you to be who you used to be."

"If I change, will that make you stop seeing Patrick?"

You pause, confused. "Patrick doesn’t matter to me. He's not the man I chose to marry. But when I'm with him, I can pretend it's the real you again. I like the familiarity of it, like we're back in that hotel room and he fucking listens. Having to explain this is beneath me.”

"Mhmm," Art takes a moment to process your words before getting up and walking around the table to stand beside you. He hovers over you, waiting for you to face him, and when you do, his hand is in your hair, yanking.

Art pulls you out of the chair with little effort. It crashes to the ground with a loud clatter before he kicks it aside. He steps behind you, needing even less effort to press the side of your face against the table's wood grain. His hand grips the back of your neck, firmly holding you in place.

"You don't just want me to listen, you want me to fucking snap, don't you baby? It's not like you to work backwards.” he sneers. “And if anything is beneath you, it’s still sneaking off with Patrick Zweig in your thirties. He’s ranked two hundred,” your skirt is pushed up to your hips, “and seventy fucking fifth.”

Art rarely curses, but you've pushed him over the edge and caused him to reveal that he's been keeping track of Patrick's rank.

This was what you wanted all along.

You start to complain when he rips your expensive pantyhose, but Art silences you with two quick slaps on your ass and rips enough of your underwear to have access to you.

“Shut the fuck up. You’ll use my Amex to buy new ones anyway.” He lets go of your neck and swipes his pointer and middle finger across your wet center like a credit card, squeezing your labia and working at your clit. You can't see his smirk but you can feel it. “Don’t you have any self worth? Or are you that bored with the life I bankroll for you?”

When you don’t answer, he pauses, peering down at you as he restrains himself. His expression is tinged with fear when your eyes meet, as if questioning whether he’s gone too far. Consent has always been important to him; even after five years of marriage, he never touches you without asking for permission.

“I’m okay, Art. You’re doing well.” You reassure him, not lifting up from the table, but turned on by how quickly the apprehension in his eyes transforms into lust.

"Okay." He nods and drops to his knees, "open your legs for me, baby." You oblige eagerly, yearning for his touch. His strong hands grip your soft flesh, spreading you open before him. Your heart races with anticipation as you feel his hot breath against your most intimate area. He teases you with a long, slow lick, his tongue warm and wet as it glides from your clit to your asshole.

A moan escapes your lips as he begins to work you over with his mouth. Art points his tongue and probes at your ass, prodding and swirling around the rim. He alternates between flicking his tongue rapidly across your hole and pressing it inside you, wiggling it deeper.

You're drunk on the vulgar slurping sounds as he laps at you, greedy and insatiable. He sucks and nibbles at your rim, taking you apart piece by piece.

He pulls back to spit thick gobs of saliva over your fluttering hole, the crude act making you clench and shiver. Rivulets run down your crack and over your thighs. He dives back in, sealing his mouth over your entrance and sucking hard, his tongue writhing against your walls.

You cry out and push your ass back into his face, desperate for more. Art’s hands grip your hips as he tongue-fucks your hole with abandon, plunging in and out, swirling around your rim. He devours your ass like a man who has been starved for days, moaning with pure bliss at the taste of you.

Your thighs begin to tremble, overwhelmed by the unrelenting pleasure and his grip is hard enough to bruise as he feasts on you, giving both your holes the attention they crave. He knows just how to please you, taking care of your every need before indulging in his own desires.

You would laugh at how even in his dominant role, he still prioritizes your pleasure first, but the sensations are too exquisite to do anything but feel.

Art works you over with his tongue, bringing you to a shuddering climax before standing and shifting his sweatpants down to free his throbbing erection. He fucks into you and one hand grips your ass cheek while his thumb circles and probes your puckered entrance, slipping inside to the first knuckle.

"Does Patrick fuck you like this?" Art pants heavily as he thrusts into your slick heat. "You think he could afford a woman like you? The jewelry you're wearing right now costs more than that piece of shit's entire car. And he thinks he can put his hands on what belongs to me? Fucking tell me."

"No, never!" You babble incoherently, grasping at the table for purchase as the dual stimulation threatens to overwhelm you. The sensations aren’t new, but this tension is. "I only keep him around because I miss you so much, Art. It's always been you."

“Lying. Fucking. Whore.” he grits out, each word punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips and a twist of his thumb buried in your ass. "You miss someone you were trying to get rid of? But you'll never be rid of me. 'Til death do us part, say it!"

“Til’ death, baby.” You eagerly agree, tears flowing from your eyes pool on the table under your cheek. It feels like a baptism, like you’re coming back to your religion.

“Cum for me. Slut.” He dribbles a little more spit down onto his thumb and quickens the pace of thrusting it in and out of your asshole, matching the rhythm of his cock inside your pussy. “Show me what you did for him in that cheap hotel room.”

He's always vocal during sex, but the degrading words are hitting you in all the right places. Your legs start to tremble and you tighten around him, signs that you're close to orgasm. Just as you think you're about to come, he pulls away, stroking himself until he finishes and ejaculates all over your backside and legs.

“What the hell, Art?” You whine, turning to glare at him. But he shoves the same thumb into your mouth and when you recoil, he laughs. His expression is deadly serious.

"If I catch you with Patrick again, I'll divorce you. Don't test me."

[thef1diary]

How would dirtbag!danny react to you sending him some risqué photos 😏

— that is a dangerous game, nonnie 👀 I’m imagining him miles away, where he can’t come over right away so he’ll have to make do with the photos you sent him, after degrading you on a call that is. 18+ content below

Your phone buzzed almost immediately after you sent the picture—a few sultry shots of you sprawled on your bed, wearing the tiniest scrap of lingerie you owned. The text was simple, just a playful “Thinking of you ;)”, but you knew exactly what you were doing.

Daniel’s reply came in fast.

Holy shit, sweetheart

Another buzz.

You really wanna do this to me right now?

And then your phone rang. You barely had time to speak before his voice came through the line, low and rough. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You smirked, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. “Am I?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he said, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “Sitting there looking like that, knowing damn well I can’t touch you. You’re cruel, you know that?”

The sound of him shifting—the rustle of fabric—caught your attention, and your breath hitched.

“Bet you’re feeling real proud of yourself, huh?” he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. “Sending me photos like that and leaving me sitting here hard as a fucking rock. You’re lucky I’m not there, or I’d have you on your knees, choking on my cock until you’re begging for mercy.”

Your smirk deepened as his words poured through the line, every filthy syllable winding you tighter. You shifted on the bed, your thighs clenching instinctively, and you couldn’t help but tease him back.

“Oh, is that right?” you murmured, dragging your fingers along the edge of your lace panties. “All worked up just from a picture? Thought you could handle me better than this, Danny.”

He let out a low, mocking laugh, the sound rough and filled with promise. “Sweetheart, if I was there, you wouldn’t even have time to be a smartass. I’d already have my hand wrapped around that pretty little throat of yours, reminding you exactly who’s in charge.”

You let out a shaky breath, his words igniting something deep inside you. “Big talk for someone miles away. What are you gonna do about it?”

“Oh, you think distance is gonna stop me?” His voice dropped even lower, laced with that dangerous edge that always made your knees weak. “Sweetheart, I don’t need to be there to control you. You’re mine, remember? And you’re gonna do exactly what I say, no questions asked.”

Your breath caught, a mix of anticipation and defiance bubbling in your chest. “And if I don’t?”

“Oh, you will,” he shot back smoothly. “Because you know what happens when you don’t listen. And after these little photos, you’re already in trouble.”

The casual threat sent a shiver down your spine. “Trouble?” you repeated, feigning innocence.

“You think I wouldn’t notice the time? Sending me that when you know damn well I’m busy?” he asked. “That’s gonna cost you. Next time I see you, I’m gonna put you over my knee and spank you until that ass is covered with my fucking handprints. Then, maybe you’ll think twice before teasing me like this.”

You swallowed hard, the image vivid in your mind, and let out a shaky, “Danny…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said smugly. “Now, here’s what you’re gonna do. Slide those panties off—slowly. I want you completely bare for me. Then, I want you to touch yourself, but don’t you dare cum. You’re gonna edge yourself for me, sweetheart, keep yourself nice and ready for when I get there.”

You hesitated for a second, the teasing smile on your face faltering. “And if I don’t?”

His laugh was dark, almost amused. “If you don’t? I’ll make you regret it. I’ll tie you up and make you watch me get myself off instead of giving you what you’re begging for.”

The thought sent a rush of heat through you, and you found yourself complying, your fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties. “Happy now?” you murmured, your voice breathless.

“Not yet,” he said, his tone sharp. “I want proof. Send me a video—of those pretty little fingers working. Let me hear you whine for me, say my name like you mean it. But don’t even think about cumming. That’s for me to decide, not you.”

You bit your lip, already feeling the ache building as your fingers brushed over your slick heat. “You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“And you love it,” he shot back. “Now be a good girl and show me exactly how much.”

He ended the call and with a shaky breath, you propped your phone up and hit record, knowing full well that this little game was far from over—and the consequences would be everything he promised and more.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[clesired]

𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 | 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a fred x slytherin!reader? someone who’s an introvert but opposites attract?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! everyone knows opposites attract, how could you forget!?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! light!angst ( like really light, reader gets into her head a bit but nothing drastic ), fluff, introverted slytherin fem!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 1.3k words!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by the feeling of a warm hand rubbing your side.

You look down at your boyfriend, who’s already looking up at you with a small smile as he pulls you closer to his chest.

“You alright, love?” He asks quietly, his question only for you to hear, and you feel a wave of affection for your sweet boy wash over you.

He can get a bit rowdier when he’s with his friends. Louder—but he always lowers his voice when he’s checking in on you in group settings, knowing it would only make you feel bad if attention was brought to it.

It’s no secret that you tend to keep to yourself, but ever since you and Fred became official—you’ve made it a point to put yourself out there more.

Admittedly, you two are polar opposites personality wise. Where Fred thrives in groups and socializing, pulling out laughter and smiles with ease—you thrive in more quiet, solitary spaces with a decided lack of too many people.

Seeing as you always avoided your housemates—the other Slytherins just too nasty for you to tolerate for longer than necessary; your first real taste of being part of a friend group was with the Gryffindors.

And it’s been great—truly. You genuinely enjoy spending time with all of them. But sometimes, you still find yourself getting a bit overwhelmed.

It’s just not in your nature to be around lots of people for extended periods of time and when your social battery is low—it’s low.

Fred knows this, which is why he’s always checking in, and you swear you fall in love with him a little more each time he does it.

“I’m okay, Freddie.” You respond, your voice equally as quiet, as your left hand comes up to fiddle with the neck of his shirt.

Truthfully, you feel yourself running out of energy to keep up with the rambunctious group of lions, but you don’t want to be the reason Fred has to leave his friends. You know he’s having a good time.

George and Lee are locked in on an intense round of Wizard’s Chess, Alicia narrating the game flawlessly as Angelina whispers to George on where he should move his pieces. And upon realizing what the two are doing, Lee recruits Katie to help him, insisting that if George is going to cheat, then so is he.

As they continue to play—throwing playful jabs at each other all the while, Fred’s eyes fall down to where you’re fiddling with his shirt.

He knows what that means. Your hands can never stay still when you’re either nervous or overwhelmed, a habit he’s sure you don’t even realize you do most of the time.

He grabs your hand gently, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss before caressing the back of your hand with his thumb.

He looks over to his twin and his friends and smiles. “Alright mates, my lovely witch and I are gonna call it a night.” He announces as he gently pats your hip before picking you up and placing you on your feet in front of him.

The boys playfully boo while the girls laugh and wave at the two of you.

Katie focuses on you and winks. “Thanks for getting rid of one of the stooges for us, Y/N.”

Angelina nods in agreement, jumping in. “Real life saver, you.”

“Hopefully the other two follow suit.” Alicia smirks.

You four share a laugh while the boys look at you in mock outrage.

Fred stands up and wraps his arms around your waist from behind as he smirks at the girls. “Hopefully not.”

He just barely manages to shield both you and himself from the pillow that gets thrown at his head as George places a hand over his heart. “Betrayed by my own twin!”

“I see where I stand.” Lee huffs as he makes a show of turning away from Fred.

You smile at their antics, the guilt over taking Fred from them easing a little at their playful reactions.

“Goodnight, guys.” You bid them goodbye as Fred gently leads you up to his dorm, the last sound you hear from the common room being their loud choruses of goodnights in response back.

Moments later, you two curl up in his bed, curtains drawn closed and a silencio casted with a simple flick of the wrist as you two settle into the pillows and sheets.

He kisses the top of your head gently as he pulls you into his chest, hand moving to trace up and down your spine soothingly as he slips it beneath your top.

You sigh softly in content, already feeling better now that you’re not surrounded by all the loud chatter of the common room.

“You know you can always tell me when you want to leave, love. You don’t have to force yourself to stay with our friends any longer than you want to be.” He says softly.

His use of the word ‘our’ makes you feel all warm inside as you nuzzle into his neck. “I know you enjoy spending time with them. I don’t wanna get in the way of that.” You explain quietly.

He squeezes you tighter, then, as he kisses the top of your head once more. “I enjoy spending time with you.” He shoots back, his gentle ministrations on your back not letting up.

“I spend all day with my friends. Quidditch, classes, meals…but I don’t get you to myself nearly as often as I’d like.” He taps your nose gently, smiling when you only scrunch it in response.

His arm falls to your waist once more as he resumes tracing shapes into your back. “You could never ‘get in the way,’ silly girl.”

You blush softly, hands moving to fiddle with the neck of his shirt once more. “I guess I’m just a little afraid you’re gonna grow tired of it one day. You’re such a people’s person and I’m—you know…not.” Your voice turns a little deprecating as you speak.

He’s having none of that, as he uses his finger to tilt your chin up, forcing you to hold eye contact with him as he speaks.

“Now listen here, miss. I don’t care about any of that. If anything—I love you more because of it. You keep me balanced.” He says strongly, cupping your face gently.

“Haven’t you ever heard that saying? Opposites attract, love. That’s us. We make each other better. Nuanced, as your brilliant brain would say. Encourage each other to step out of our comfort zones and try new things.” He gently caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Do you resent me for pushing you to hang out with our friends?” He asks, and the question is so absurd you can’t help but rear back a little.

“Exactly.” He says, and that brings you up short.

You breathe out a small laugh, dropping your head to his chest. You can’t argue with that and he knows it.

“Okay, okay, you make some good points.” You admit, pulling back to look down at his face as you smile.

He raises a brow, smirking cockily. “When do I not?”

Before you can respond, he quickly tacks on, “Don’t answer that.”

You laugh once more, a little louder this time, before you lean down and press a gentle kiss into his lips.

He kisses you back eagerly, tugging you even closer to his chest if possible, hands gripping at your waist tightly.

When you pull away, your smile is wide. “I love you so much.” You whisper softly, and he pecks your lips once more before nuzzling his face into your neck and inhaling your scent contentedly.

“And I love you.” He says equally as soft, eyes closing as he relaxes further into the bed, still holding you to his body.

You two are polar opposites personality wise, and you couldn’t be happier.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! may this kind of love find me, honestly. i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©clesired - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

[pixie-felix]

a/n: this fic has nothing to do with food.

why yes I did make these GIFs especially for this fic thank you for noticing

Something to read while we're waiting for the results of the no thoughts/hard thoughts poll. If you want a soundtrack, Hey Daddy (Daddy's Home) by Usher fits pretty well (no daddy kink in the fic though).

Smut under the cut, minors dni.

comfort eating.

You’d been staring at this damn code for so long you might’ve burned it into your eyeballs. Somewhere, in the distance, you’re vaguely aware of the apartment door opening and closing, and someone calling out that they're home.

But by now you’re so obsessed with trying to find whatever formatting fuck up you made, that even the metallic jingle of keys falling into the “let’s-not-lose-this-shit” bowl doesn’t bring you back into the real world.

It’s not until your laptop physically moves out of your hands that you realise. Chan is home.

Sitting on his heels in front of you, he gently picks the computer up off your lap, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding. One workaholic recognises another.

“Is everything backed up?” He too knows the pain of a well meaning friend trying to help by tidying up, and accidentally erasing hours of hard work.

“Cloud and hard drive. And external hard drive. Possibly tattooed on my retinas also." He nods and carefully sets it on the side table, snorting quietly when you get to the part about your eyeballs. The little crease between his brows remains though.

“You told me you were going to take today off…”

You'd only meant to do a few lines of code, just to check for errors and maybe add a function or two. And yet here you are, sitting in the exact same spot from this morning, neck and shoulders aching from being hunched over your laptop for…

7 hours.

Chan rests his chin on your knees, head tilted to the side as he looks up at you like a lost puppy.

“Baby…”

No. Wait. Puppies don't sound like that. Or look at you like that. Or rub soothing, promising circles with their thumbs on the bare skin of your calves.

You're suddenly very aware still in your pajamas. If you can call it that. Really it's just one of Chan's old t-shirts, the fabric worn soft, always smelling like him even though you slept in it- and not much else.

Yeah, Chan's definitely not giving you puppy eyes.

The wolf is here tonight.

And he wants to play. You can tell from the subtle smirk that quirks the corner of his mouth when you audibly swallow.

“How… how was work?”

“Long. Busy. Tiring.” He punctuates his sentences with slow kisses on your knees, the closed mouth kind that still manage to feel anything but chaste. “Jisung dyed his hair blue. Felix's is no longer blond. Hyunjin cut all his hair off. Someone said something about a kiwi fruit and now the stylists are all freaking out.”

His tone is light, almost absent minded, but his touch has progressed from soothing circles to something a little firmer, a little more… demanding. And as his hands slowly creep up your legs, you're fairly certain you know what he wants.

“Chan…”

“Yes, baby?” His lips stretch into something that could almost pass for an innocent smile, if it wasn't for the fact his fingers have worked their way up to the hem of his t-shirt, slowly teasing the fabric further up your legs.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Well…” his fingers sweep under the fabric, inching closer and closer to where arousal is bubbling in your belly, still carefully punctuating his words with kisses on your skin, “I figured, since we're both so... stressed…” his fingers finally brush against your panties and you shiver. “I could help you relax a little.”

“Wh-what a-about you?”

He’s tracing, teasing along the edges of your underwear, watching you bite your lip to keep your cool. He likes it when you try to stay quiet. It makes it so much more satisfying when you start crying his name like it's the only word you know.

And then the bastard licks up your thigh, tugging your panties down and saying the magic words:

“I thought I'd indulge in a little comfort eating.”

You didn't make it to the bedroom. You barely made it off the sofa. Instead, Chan just yanked you forward, laid back on the rug, and now you're riding his face in the middle of the living room. Making the kinds of noises you thought only existed in hardcore porn.

His arms are locked around your legs, holding you in place as he grinds you up and down on his tongue. Your hands are twisted into his hair, partly for balance, partly as an anchor… but mostly because when you tug on it Chan moans into your cunt and that feels so good.

He's already tongued you through one orgasm, licking you out like you are his favourite candy. He's so drunk on your pussy that he's murmuring the kind of filth that would usually make him blush -m’ baby tastes so GOOD, w’nna drown in thi’s pussy- though his words are almost completely obscured by the wet, sloppy sounds of him giving you the messiest head you've had in months.

It is amazing, and it's incredible, and Chan is clearly having the time of his life as another orgasm coils in your belly, ready to spring. But he's playing games with you now, teasing you with the gentlest flicks of his tongue, keeping that high juuuust out of reach.

Really, it's his fault that you can't help but yank his hair a little harder, grind down on his face harder, and then you're out of control, jerking your hips back and forth on his face until it hits.

And oh boy how it hits, gushing all over Chan's face, ripping all your dignity away as you buck your hips into his tongue, chasing the high rushing through you from your head to your toes.

You don't always squirt, but Chan loves it when you do.

His moans almost drown out yours, so loud he's practically shouting, definitely disturbing the neighbours with the string of enthusiastic cuss words and filth pouring off his tongue (that's right baby, cum on my face, fucking drown me in your cunt, jesus fucking christ-)

It takes you a minute to come back to yourself, Chan still desperately eating you out, working his tongue all over you like he's trying to lick you clean.

But the more he uses his tongue the wetter you get, the more your hips shake, and the closer you are to another orgasm.

One you're not sure you can handle.

You try to lift up a little, give him space to breathe, and your man straight up growls at you, yanking you back down on his face and sucking on you harsh enough to make you yelp. Reminding you who is in charge, he grazes your clit with just the gentlest scrape of his teeth...

And that orgasm you weren't ready for? Hits you like a railway train. You're aching and overstimulated and absolutely powerless to do anything other than thrash around and cry as Chan keeps sucking on your goddamned clit like the devil himself couldn't stop him.

You might've blacked out for a second. Or three.

It's only when you finally come to a gasping, shuddering stop that Chan finally gives you the two gentle taps on your ass that mean you can get off his face now (safewords aren't really an option when your mouth is full).

Except you're so worn out from relentless overstimulation that it's less of a dismount and more just you collapsing in a graceless heap, legs shaking and thighs aching from being held apart for so long.

Boneless and pliant, it's no effort at all for Chan to scoop you up into his arms and carry you princess style to your shared bedroom. You're barely awake as he tucks you into bed and crawls in beside you, nuzzling your hair as you curl up into his chest.

You've almost asleep when a Very Important Thought occurs

“Channie…”

“Yeah baby?”

“You didn't get to cum. Don't you need to cum? Y’wanna blowjob or sumthin’?”

Chan huffs a quiet laugh into your hair. You're so cute when your words are all sleep slurred.

“I already got what I wanted.”

You’re mumbling something about not playin' fair and don't w’nna be selfish, but you're practically unconscious anyway so he just kisses the top of your head and pulls you closer into his chest.

“You can make it up to me in the morning, if it bothers you so much.”

*It turns out that you will in fact, not be making it up to Chan in the morning. Because when he finds all the carpet burn on your knees, he has a minor breakdown and refuses to let you do anything all day.

Urgh, I feel like this is way, way too short, too rushed, and just generally had the potential to be so much better 😂😭 But I wanted to get it it out of my drafts before it gets lost in the poll fics. I wrote this on my phone, so it's probably riddled with spelling and formatting errors 😂 please forgive me. It's hard to write when the house is full and privacy is limited. Just 3 more days until the No Thoughts/Hard Thoughts closes 👀 thank you to everyone that's voted or shown interest, I hope my writing doesn't let you down.

p.s. I was gonna start this fic with the following GIF but not everyone wants a giggle with their word🍤 so that wouldn't have been very cash money of me.

m.list

hard thoughts poll

tagslist is open

[anamina0]

Echoes

Part I , Part II , Part III , Part IV, Part V ,Part VI

Warning/themes : slight smut, eating out , submissive Vi? fluff, mentions of death, breakup, a lot of angst

Word count : 5.2k

The sunlight peeked through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Soft beams of light brushed against your eyelids, urging you to wake, though the true warmth came from the arm draped around your waist. Vi’s arm. Her touch radiated a soothing heat that sent shivers up your spine, a perfect contradiction—toughness softened by care. You stirred slightly, careful not to disturb her as you let yourself savor the moment. Slowly turning to face her, your gaze fell on her features. Relaxed, unguarded. Her usually sharp eyes were hidden behind thick lashes, her expression softened by sleep. She was stunning like this—her wild strength quieted in a way only you got to see. A tender smile tugged at your lips as flashes of last night filled your mind. It had been perfect, raw, and real. It had reminded you what safety felt like in another person’s arms. And yet, beneath that warmth, there was the weight of your secret. Was it selfish to want to stay? To hold onto this joy you’d found? Maybe. But after everything, didn’t you deserve this? The guilt crept back in anyway. You knew the clock was ticking. You’d either have to tell her the truth… or walk away before the truth could destroy her. Lost in thought, your fingers brushed gently over her cheek, tracing her jawline. She stirred at your touch, shifting closer, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Her lashes fluttered, and when her eyes opened, the sight of you brought a smile to her face.

“Morning, stranger,” you teased softly, the words almost catching in your throat as her sleepy gaze pulled you in.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice husky and warm, making your heart stutter. She tightened her hold on you, pulling you closer, skin against skin.

You felt a rush of heat as your bare body pressed against hers, every inch of her setting you alight in ways that should’ve been illegal. Still, you fought to keep your head clear, though it wasn’t easy when Vi was looking at you like that—like you were the only thing in the world.

“How’d you sleep?” you asked, your voice soft but unsteady.

Her grin was lazy as she tilted her head into the pillow, never taking her eyes off you. “Like a rock. Haven’t felt this peaceful in… forever.” She wasn’t shy about her feelings, and that honesty made something ache in you.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “Yeah. Me too,” you whispered.

Her lips curved slightly as you leaned closer, pressing your nose to hers in a playful touch. She chuckled quietly, her fingers brushing along your spine. This was everything, you thought, in that moment.

No. You couldn’t lose this. You wouldn’t. You’d figure out what to do about your secret later. But for now, you pressed another kiss to her lips and let yourself sink deeper into this fragile happiness, as if it could last forever.

The words slipped out before you could stop them. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, the sound barely cutting through the gentle rush of the shower’s water. You hesitated, searching for the right way to explain yourself. “For earlier... I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

Vi’s hands, which had been tracing lazy patterns on your hips, stilled. She tilted her head, her eyes searching your face as if to make sense of what you were saying. You felt the heat of her gaze even through the cascade of water dripping down your skin.

“I just... I didn’t know how to bring you into it,” you continued, swallowing hard. “I needed to handle it on my own. I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring you, or worse, that I didn’t want you.” Your voice cracked on the last part, the vulnerability in your words catching up to you. You looked up into her eyes, feeling that all-too-familiar lump rise in your throat. “The truth is...” Your fingers brushed against her face, sweeping wet strands of pink hair away from her eyes. “Every second I spent without you, you were all I could think about. All I wanted was to be here—with you.”

Her expression softened, the tension in her shoulders melting away like ice thawing under the sun. She let out a soft exhale, like she had been holding her breath without realizing it.

“I understand,” she finally said, her voice low but steady. “Sometimes, you gotta chase your own monsters. But,” she added, her tone firmer now, “if we’re doing this, I need you to know you don’t have to fight them alone. You have me now. You’re not alone anymore.”

She pressed a kiss to your forehead, warm and grounding. The gesture made your chest ache, equal parts love and guilt.

“I know,” you whispered. “I'll tell you once I sort things out. I promise.” The words spilled from your lips, a promise that felt like both a lifeline and a noose.

Vi studied you for a moment longer, as if gauging whether or not to believe you. Then, her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “Good,” she murmured, brushing her nose against yours before planting a soft kiss on your lips. Then she stepped back slightly, her hands trailing over your waist. “I’m starving,” she said with a playful grin, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she looked at you.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Shower first,” you countered, grabbing the edge of the blanket you had draped around you. Before you could fully wrap yourself, Vi’s hand shot out, tugging the fabric loose. Her grin widened as she let her eyes roam over your bare body without shame.

“You don’t need that in the shower,” she teased, her voice dropping slightly.

“Asshole,” you muttered, turning your back to her, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. You felt her gaze linger on you, heavy and unyielding as you stepped into the shower.

The water was hot, almost scalding, but the sensation was drowned out the moment Vi slipped in behind you. Her body pressed firmly against yours, her hands finding your waist again as her lips began trailing soft kisses along the curve of your neck.

“Vi,” you whispered, your voice shaky but steady enough to be a warning.

She hummed against your skin, her grip tightening as she murmured, “Just let me.”

You reached for the soap, a playful smirk curving your lips. “Let me help,” you said, turning around to face her.

Her lips quirked up, but she didn’t argue, placing her hands on the wall of the shower and letting you take the lead. You ran the soap along her shoulders first, marveling at the strength beneath her skin. As your hands traveled lower, they lingered over her tattoos, tracing each intricate line with quiet admiration.

“You’re beautiful,” you said softly, almost absentmindedly, your fingers moving down to the small of her back.

Vi glanced over her shoulder, the smile on her lips softer this time. “You’re just saying that because I’m naked,” she teased.

You laughed quietly, but your reply was earnest. “No, Vi. I mean it.”

Your arms slipped around her, drawing her closer as you lathered the soap along her collarbone and shoulders. The water rinsed away the suds, leaving nothing but her soft skin beneath your touch. Standing on your toes, you pressed a kiss to her neck, your lips finding that spot just beneath her jaw that made her shiver. Her breathing hitched when your hands moved lower, brushing over her breasts. You massaged her gently, your thumb circling her nipple. A low sound escaped her lips, barely audible over the shower’s steady . Without breaking the rhythm of your movements, your hand slipped between her thighs. She gasped, her hips instinctively shifting forward as your fingers glided through her wetness. You found her clit easily, the slick heat of her core guiding you, and began to massage slow circles that had her trembling against you.

“Fuck,” she moaned, her voice deep and raspy. One of her hands braced against the shower wall, while the other reached back, gripping your hip for support.

Her breathing grew heavier as you continued, her moans growing louder with every movement of your hand. When you leaned up to whisper in her ear, your voice was a husky murmur. “Let me taste you.”

She looked at you, her lips crashing against yours in a kiss that was as much a “yes” as it was an invitation to take everything she was willing to give. Your heart pounded as you sank to your knees, the water cascading over both of you as your lips trailed down her stomach. She watched you, her darkened gaze heavy with desire, her chest rising and falling rapidly as anticipation built. Your tongue slid over her wetness, slow and deliberate, drawing out each movement as if savoring her taste. Vi's head tilted back against the tiled wall of the shower, and a soft groan escaped her lips. The water poured over her skin, mingling with the heat that radiated from her, steam filling the space around you. Her fingers tangled in your damp hair, tugging just enough to show she wanted more-no, needed more.

"You're driving me crazy," she whispered, her voice strained with desire, thick and breathless. That was all the encouragement you needed. Your hands gripped her thighs, firm yet soft, pulling her closer as you explored her with your tongue, dipping lower, deeper, tasting her as she came undone above you. Every moan, every quiet whimper from her made your pulse race, igniting a fire in your chest that only she co rause.

"Fuck," she groaned, her hips instinctively grinding toward your mouth, "Don't stop."

You hummed against her, the vibration making her shiver. You took your time, letting your tongue trace every sensitive spot, every inch of her that made her shudder. You wanted her to know that she wasn't just safe with you - but utterly worshipped. One of your hands moved from her thigh, finding her clit with practiced precision. The light brush of your fingers against her was enough to make her legs tremble. She pressed a hand harder against the wall to steady herself, her breathing uneven. Her wetness dripped onto your tongue as you worked her over, the taste of her more intoxicating with every stroke, every flick, every press , she was delicious. Your fingers picked up pace, moving against her clit in time with the thrusts of your tongue. Vi's body started to tense, her moans turning louder, rawer, echoing in the small space.

"Right there," she gasped, voice breaking. Her free hand gripped tighter in your hair, the pressure grounding you, urging you on. "Oh my god-, right there." Her hips bucked against your face as she lost control, her entire body trembling under the build-up of tension. She was close-you could feel it in the way she started to unravel, her muscles tightening beneath your hands.

"Look at you," you whispered against her, your voice low and teasing but filled with admiration. "You're so perfect when you let go for me."

That seemed to push her over the edge. Her legs nearly buckled as the first wave hit, her back arching, her breaths shallow and uneven. "Oh shit— oh fuck," she moaned, louder now, fully giving in to the pleasure you'd built up inside her. You didn't stop, riding the crest of her orgasm with her, tongue still teasing, fingers still massaging until she was trembling, her body wracked with wave after wave. Her cries became softer but no less intense, her hand pulling you closer as if afraid you'd stop too soon.

Finally, she let out a shuddering breath, her body slumping against the wall, spent but glowing. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, and when her gaze met yours, it was soft, filled with something beyond lust-something raw and tender.

You stood, kissing her stomach, her collarbone, her lips, until you were face to face again, her arms instinctively wrapping around your waist.

She chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. " You might've ruined me for breakfast."

You laughed, the sound filling the steam-heavy shower, your foreheads resting together as the water poured around you. For now, it felt like the outside world couldn't touch you. Only Vi mattered, only this.

And maybe, just for a little longer, you'd let yourself believe it could stay that way.

“Are you sure that’s the right way to do it?” you giggled softly, watching Vi wrestle with something unfamiliar in the kitchen. Her sleeves were rolled up, her brows furrowed in the most endearing concentration.

“Shhh, don’t underestimate my abilities,” she shot back with a grin, deflecting your playful jab as she kept working.

“Okay, my bad,” you surrendered, sliding into the chair by the counter, eyes trailing her every movement. “But… I still think I’m the better cook,” you teased with a smirk, unable to resist.

Vi paused just briefly, arching a brow in mock disdain. “Well, yeah,” she fired back, the sarcasm rich in her voice. “I didn’t exactly hone my culinary skills in prison. So, let me enjoy the process, alright?”

Her words hit a nerve you weren’t ready for. Your laughter faltered for just a moment as your gaze softened. Vi hadn’t noticed, not yet. She was too focused on stirring, measuring, creating—perhaps even distracting herself. But you noticed. You always did. She was just 14, torn from everything she knew and locked away in a cold, unfeeling cell for eight years. Eight years of surviving when most people would’ve shattered under the weight of it all. And yet… here she was, standing before you, kind, patient, a walking testament to everything she could’ve lost but somehow chose to preserve. How? How did she do it? You swallowed hard, caught in the swirling storm of your thoughts.

“Hey…” her voice broke through the haze. She wasn’t looking at you yet, but she must have felt your silence hanging too heavy. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie. “I just—” You hesitated, biting your lip. You weren’t sure why you let yourself ask, but once the words started tumbling out, you couldn’t stop them. “How was it? Being in prison for so long, and so young? I mean, you don’t have to answer—”

Vi’s hands froze over the pan for just a moment before she sucked in a quiet breath and forced her focus back on the food. “It was… horrible,” she admitted softly. “When I first got there, I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I was scared. Really scared. But I couldn’t show it. You can’t, you know?” She paused, stirring again with a kind of restless energy. “I don’t even know how I got through eight years. Maybe hope? I think there was this… tiny sliver of hope that Powder was still out there. That kept me going. I’d lie awake every night thinking about her.”

Your chest tightened. Hope. How much of it still lingered inside her, after all that time? Her hope was rooted in the past. In something you now knew. Something you hid.

“Powder is your sister, right?” The question left your lips so quietly, you weren’t sure if it had been meant for her or just the silence hanging between you both.

“She was…” Vi answered, the weight of those words palpable as they fell from her lips. Her breath caught briefly before she pushed through it, masking her hurt with a deep inhale. But you could feel it. You could always feel it with her, the kind of pain that lingered even in the moments she tried to tuck it away. And guilt slammed into you like a tidal wave. You shouldn’t have asked. How could you look at her and listen to the ache in her voice, knowing what you knew? Knowing that her sister wasn’t a ghost but a nightmare waiting just around the corner? You were selfish. Keeping this from her—keeping secrets so you could hold on to this, to her—was cruel in ways you didn’t know how to face.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the words tumbling out before you could think to stop them.

“For what?” she asked, glancing at you, that teasing spark back as her fingers brushed against your cheek, grounding you. You hated how much comfort her touch brought you, how undeserving you felt of it.

“For what happened to you,” you lied again, hiding the truth behind an apology that wasn’t fully yours to give.

Vi’s smile returned, a small one that didn’t reach her eyes this time. She let it slide, wordlessly plating the food she’d prepared and handing a dish to you. “I really hope this won’t kill you,” she quipped with an almost-laugh, always using humor to keep herself afloat. “I kinda like having you around.”

“Kinda?” you scoffed, lightly smacking her shoulder, feeling the warmth in her laugh as it echoed in the kitchen.

Sitting down at the table, the two of you found a kind of peace again, talking about everything and nothing. You looked at her as she spoke, losing yourself in the familiarity of it. This felt right. Safe. It felt like something you hadn’t had in a long, long time. Home.

“Wait—” You paused mid-bite, narrowing your eyes playfully. “This… actually isn’t that bad.”

“I’ll take that as a—”

But whatever she was about to say never came, cut off by the sudden, sharp knock at the door. You froze. She did too.

“Waiting for someone?” Vi asked cautiously, setting her fork down and standing to her feet.

“No,” you whispered, confused, heart pounding for reasons you didn’t yet understand.

The second knock came faster, louder this time. You stood, glancing at Vi as she moved to follow you. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to stop, to leave it, to turn back. But you didn’t. With shaking fingers, you undid the lock and opened the door.You froze. Air left your lungs like you’d been struck.

“Hey,” a voice rasped, rough around the edges and too real to belong to any memory.

Your world tilted. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. The figure standing before you—this couldn’t be.

Ellie. You couldn’t speak. You just stood there, frozen in the doorway, staring at her like she was a ghost brought to life. But she wasn’t a ghost. She was real. Too real. You could see the way her short auburn hair was tied into a half-bun, the strands still messy, like she hadn’t slept. You saw the faint freckles splattered across her face, the ones you used to know so well, the ones you’d trace absentmindedly on quiet nights. Her green eyes—they were different now. Duller, somehow. A little harder. But they were still hers.Ellie was right there, standing only a few feet away, and it felt like the air had been punched out of you.

“Y/N…” Her voice cracked as she said your name, breaking the thick, suffocating silence that hung in the doorway. She took a tentative step forward like she didn’t know whether to reach for you or run from the look on your face. Vi shifted behind you, her presence a steady weight, but Ellie didn’t acknowledge her. It was like you were the only person she saw. Your body moved before you even registered it. You stepped back—one, two, three steps—putting more distance between you and her as though the space would shield you from the overwhelming wave of emotions surging inside you. Anger rose to the surface, burning hotter than the shock. Anger so fierce it drowned out everything else.How dare she? How dare she show up here? After all this time. After what she did. After you clawed your way out of the wreckage she left behind and built a life—your life. How could she think she had the right to show up and tear it all apart? Again.

“Get out,” you hissed, the words sharp and raw as they escaped your throat. You could feel your composure slipping through your fingers like sand. “I’m not going to say it again.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you took a step forward this time, closing the distance just enough to let her know you meant every word.

Ellie didn’t flinch. Not really. But you saw her swallow hard, her jaw tightening before her lips parted, trembling. “I will,” she said quickly, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “I promise, okay? I’ll leave. Just… just let me talk to you first.”

The bitter laugh that broke from your chest surprised even you. “A promise?” you spat, the word dripping with venom. “Are you serious, Ellie? We both know your promises mean nothing. So save it. Get the fuck out of here. I have nothing to say to you, and I sure as hell don’t want to hear anything from you.”

Vi’s voice, calm but firm, cut through the tense air behind you. “You heard her.” She leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, though there was nothing casual about the way her sharp gaze lingered on Ellie.

Ellie’s eyes flicked toward her for the first time, her brows furrowing in irritation at being interrupted. Her tone turned cold, defensive. “I’m not talking to you,” she hissed back before her focus snapped back to you. It softened instantly, a desperate edge creeping into her voice as she took another cautious step closer. “Y/N, please. You can kick me out. Yell at me. Hit me if you want—I deserve it. I know that. I know I do. But please, just give me five minutes. Just let me talk to you. Alone.”

The last word was added with a pointed look toward Vi, her jaw tightening. She wasn’t just asking. She was begging.

•• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• ••

It was the middle of the night when the quiet creak from outside the room pulled you from your sleep. At first, you thought it was nothing—maybe the house settling, or the wind brushing against the windows. But then you noticed it: the faint glow of light coming from the living room, spilling in through the half-opened door. You blinked a few times, trying to clear the sleep from your eyes, before instinctively reaching for Ellie beside you. Your hand hit an empty mattress. Her side of the bed was cold.

Your heart sank as unease crept in, but you still didn’t fully understand. Not yet. You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your face as you forced yourself out of bed.

“Ellie?” you called softly, your voice husky with sleep, barely cutting through the stillness of the room.

Through the crack in the door, you saw her silhouette—frozen in the middle of the living room like she’d been caught. She wasn’t supposed to be there, and something about the way she stood, stiff and hesitant, made your stomach churn.

“What’s going on?” you asked quietly, stepping closer, your bare feet soft against the floor.

She turned slowly to face you, and the moment her eyes locked with yours, it hit you like a punch to the chest. You didn’t even need her to say it. Her expression told you everything. She was holding a backpack.

“Ellie…” The word was barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of sudden, overwhelming dread. “No.” Your voice was firmer this time as you took a step closer. Your heart was already breaking before you could even piece it all together. “No,” you repeated, your tone trembling. “No, you’re not doing this.”

She exhaled shakily, her chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. She looked like she wanted to say something—needed to—but nothing came out. Instead, she reached up, gently catching your hand as it brushed over her freckled cheek. She didn’t lean into it like she always did.

“Y/N, please… don’t,” she whispered, pulling your hand away. Her touch was cold, distant. Not the warmth you were used to. She stepped back, putting more space between the two of you.

“Don’t?” Your voice cracked as you felt the first tear slip down your cheek. You couldn’t keep up with what was happening. Why was this happening? You hadn’t fought. There wasn’t a single warning sign. Nothing. “Ellie,” you pleaded, desperate, your voice shaking harder now. “What’s going on? What did I do? Why—why are you doing this?”

She avoided your eyes, her lips trembling, but her face was set, as if forcing herself to stay strong. “We both know this won’t work for long,” she mumbled, her voice breaking with quiet resignation. “It’s better if it ends now.”

It was like someone had sucked all the air out of the room.

“Bullshit,” you snapped through the tears now falling freely down your face. Your hands trembled as you reached for her again, desperate to close the gap between you. “What are you even talking about? We’re happy, Ellie! We’re happy! I’m happy!”

She flinched slightly at the words, her breath hitching like you’d hit her, but she didn’t back down. Her silence was deafening.

You stepped closer, your voice softening, barely audible. “I love you.”

She froze, her jaw tightening, but her gaze still wouldn’t meet yours. The silence that followed was heavier than anything you’d ever felt. Like the walls were caving in around you, crushing you under their weight. When she finally spoke, it was barely a whisper, her words shaky and raw. “I’m sorry.”

Then she turned away.

“No—wait,” you stammered, stumbling forward, but she was already at the door. Her fingers brushed against the handle, the finality of it hitting you like a freight train. “Ellie, don’t do this! Please!”

She opened the door without looking back, her shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. For a split second, you thought she might stop, might turn around and take it all back. But she didn’t. She stepped through the doorway and disappeared into the night. The cold air rushed in, filling the empty space she left behind, and all you could do was collapse where you stood. The door creaked as it swung shut, but the sound barely registered over the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

She was gone.

•• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• •• ••

Flashbacks clouded your mind, consuming every ounce of rationality you could muster. After everything, after all she had done to you—she had the audacity to show up here? At your door? She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve even a shred of your attention. The wounds she left on you ran too deep to forgive, too raw to ignore. You had given her everything, laid yourself bare, handed her your love and trust on a silver platter. And she had tossed it aside, left you shattered and hollow, forcing you to pick up the broken pieces of yourself. And now, here she was, standing there like a ghost refusing to fade.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you,” you hissed, your voice trembling with rage. You tried to keep your composure, but it cracked like glass under the weight of your pain. “I’m serious, Ellie. Whatever it is, I’m not fucking interested. Now turn around and get the hell out of here. You’re good at that, after all.” You weren’t even trying to hide the venom in your words, wanting—no, needing—to hurt her as much as she’d hurt you. Her head dropped, her eyes casting downward, and you could see it—her desperation. Her body language betrayed her, as if her entire being was begging you to let her in, to give her a chance to speak. Her green eyes glistened under the dim light, heavy with the weight of emotions she couldn’t say aloud. It reminded you of yourself… the last time you had seen her, the last time you had begged. But this wasn’t then. You weren’t the same person anymore.

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice shaking but resolute. “I need to talk to you.” Her tone was raw, yet the stubbornness in her words was unyielding. Of course, it was Ellie—she was the most determined, most maddeningly persistent person you had ever known. That much hadn’t changed.

“And I told you I’m not fucking interested,” you snapped, crossing your arms tightly across your chest like a shield. “Whatever it is, save it. It doesn’t matter to me. You don’t matter to me—not anymore.”

Ellie flinched at your words, like they had physically struck her. She stood there, chewing on her bottom lip, clearly searching for something—anything—to make you listen.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said quietly but firmly. “You can kick me out right now if you want, Y/N, but I’ll just stand outside your door all night if that’s what it takes. I’ll stay until you talk to me.”

Your laugh came out sharp, bitter. “What a fucking joke.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm, but you felt your resolve begin to crack, your chest tightening. “Talk about what, huh? About how you left without saying a damn word? About how you ripped me apart and didn’t even look back?” You could feel the floodgate threatening to open, so you took a deep breath and steadied yourself, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. Ellie stepped forward, her lips parting like she was about to say something, but Vi’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

“Are you deaf?” Vi said coldly, her tone filled with threat and unwavering loyalty. “She wants you to leave. Get lost.”

Ellie’s gaze snapped toward Vi, and her defensiveness flared immediately. “I’m not talking to you, punk,” she hissed, her voice low and edged with irritation.You stepped between them, placing a firm hand on Vi’s shoulder before she could move forward. Vi looked at you, her fists clenched tightly, ready to defend you at any cost. But she stopped, catching the stern warning in your eyes. “She’s not worth it, Vi,” you murmured, lowering your voice.

Ellie’s eyes darted between the two of you, and you could see it—jealousy flaring in her expression, sharp and sudden. Her jaw clenched, the familiar tension flickering across her face. But she didn’t address it, didn’t ask. Instead, her focus locked onto you.

“Look, Ellie,” you said, your voice low but unwavering, a finality edging each word. “I’m serious. I don’t want you here—not a second more. Whatever you have to say, you can save it for someone else. I don’t—”

“It’s your brother, Y/N,” she blurted, her voice cutting through your words. Her desperation cracked through the tension like lightning.

You froze. The air shifted.

“What…?” The word barely came out, caught somewhere between disbelief and dread.

Her gaze softened, the storm of emotions still swirling in her green eyes. “It’s your brother,” she repeated, steadier now. “Faye… she found him.”

Your heart stopped, the room spinning as the weight of her words crashed down on you.

Author's note : I'm so sorry for delay but I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Ellie finally shows up! What do you think , what is going to happen? Do you like how story is going so far? I really appreciate your feedback so don't be shy to share it with me!

This is my little Christmas gift for my readers. Marry Christmas everyone, I hope you're having a good one!

Thank you !!

[seungkw1]

safe haven — ljh

♡ pairing: neighbor!jihoon x fem!reader ♡ theme: fluff, hurt/comfort ♡ wc: 3.9k ♡ warnings: post-breakup dynamics, cheating (from ex), swearing, mentions of food ♡ a/n: written as part of the Winter with You collab put on by @camandemstudios - make sure to check out the full collab masterlist here!! give all these talented writers some love <3 and big thanks to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading!!

As if your fiancé leaving you for another woman wasn’t enough to make this the shittiest week of your life, now you’ve managed to lock yourself out of your house during an incoming blizzard. At least your next-door neighbor is home, and he’s kind enough to offer you shelter from the storm. You barely know Jihoon, only having spoken to him a few times - but soon, you discover you have more in common than you initially thought.

Five days ago, you made the innocent mistake of picking up your fiancé’s phone when you thought it was yours. You noticed immediately when you saw the lock screen - it was a photo of you and him from last December, posed in front of a Christmas tree, taken minutes after he proposed. In it, you’re smiling ear to ear, enthusiastically showing off the beautiful engagement ring he bought you. The photo has been his wallpaper ever since. “You look so happy,” he told you a couple months ago. “I can’t bring myself to change it.”

You go to set the phone back down, but a notification catches your eye. You take a closer look, discovering a string of WhatsApp messages, all from somebody named Kelsey. 

Huh, that’s weird, you think to yourself. I didn’t know he even used WhatsApp. 

Normally, you’d think nothing of it - but something feels off. You hesitate for a moment. You know each other’s passcodes for the sake of convenience; you’ve never felt the need to go through his phone, and you feel bad about even thinking about doing it. But, your gut is telling you to investigate.

You input the password and open the message thread. You’re not quite sure what you’re even looking for, but two seconds of scrolling tells you all you need to know. Dumbfounded, you read the particular message three more times before it sinks in: 

Can’t wait for our vacation next week baby, I really need to get away from all of this right now. 

Your stomach lurches as if you’ve just been punched in the gut. He told you he was going on a business trip next week. He told you that months ago. 

Get away from ‘all of this’? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Does he mean… me???

Blood rushes through your ears as you read through the never-ending series of sexts, nudes, notes more romantic than anything he’s ever said to you before, an entire paper trail of all the times and locations of the evident affair - until you feel like you’re going to be sick. 

No, it’s not real. It can’t be. There’s no way…

Paralyzed, you stand there in disbelief, but as several more minutes of scrolling pass, it becomes clear that this is actually happening. Tears start to well in your eyes, but you quickly bottle it up, converting the energy into anger instead. You take the phone and march into his office to confront him - ready to shut him down when he tries to deny it. 

But, he doesn’t even try to deny it. He doesn’t even care.

“Well, it’s about time you found out anyway,” he tells you nonchalantly.

“Our wedding is in three months!! How fucking long were you going to wait to tell me??”

“I was gonna tell you soon, I just needed it to be the right time.”

“The right time??!! When is there a right time to dump your fiancé???”

“Listen, y/n-”

“Don’t tell me to fucking listen!!” you raise your voice at him. “In fact, don’t say anything else. Get the fuck out of my house.”

“You can’t tell me to get out, this is my house too,” he replies, with the sheer audacity to have a tone of annoyance in his voice.

“It’s MY name on the fucking papers. Get. Out.”

And so, he left. Didn’t even give you his set of keys back. Didn’t even say goodbye.

Now, you sit here parked in your driveway, the howling of harsh winter winds whistling over the melancholy tune playing loudly from the car radio. The volume is cranked all the way up, but despite your best efforts to drown out the outside world, the sharp whooshing sounds persist. Looks like the incoming storm is going to be as bad as predicted - if not worse. The blustering begins to jostle the whole vehicle. You stare aimlessly out the front windshield, watching chunks of snow flying erratically through the air as the winds pick up further. With a sigh, you turn the ignition off, the engine and radio going silent. If you're going to sit around moping, might as well do it inside where it's warm. You reach for the garage door remote clipped on the visor above you, but your hand only hits the soft padding. Right, you think to yourself, still gotta get that one replaced too. 

You drag yourself out of your car, hastily throwing your coat on and stumbling through the wind toward your front door. Flipping through your keys, something feels off. You look down, assuming your frozen fingers are just too stiff to pick out the correct one. You stare at the collection for several seconds, but your house key is not there. 

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself in confusion. Then, a horrible realization sets in: you never put your new key on the keyring after getting your locks changed. 

You brace yourself against the wind, trudging through the pile of snow accumulating in your front yard. As you reach the window, you lean over the bushes, peering through the partially-shut blinds into your kitchen to see a set of gold keys, sitting upon the center of the countertop. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Your stupid ex-fiancé isn’t even around anymore and he’s still finding new ways to make your life miserable. If he had just returned your damn keys, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

Tears start welling in your eyes - and this time, you surrender. The droplets begin to freeze on your face almost instantly, but you let yourself cry. After several minutes, you’re feeling slightly better - but you’re getting quite cold. You decide to head back to your car, at least turn the heat on while you try and figure out what to do, no need to stand here and get frostbite-

“Um, excuse me…”

You jump at the sound of the voice coming from behind you, whipping your head around to see a very bundled up man. You can’t see much of his face, but he looks to be in his late-twenties, with dark hair peeking out from under a thick beanie. It takes you a moment, but you realize it’s your next-door neighbor, Jihoon, whom you've met approximately once.

“I just wanted to check if you were okay,” he says loudly, doing his best to speak over the noisy wind. “You’ve been standing out here for a while.”

“Oh,” you reply, also speaking up. You wipe the tears off your cheeks with the back of your gloves. “Um, I’m kind of locked out of my house.”

“Is the lock frozen?”

“No- well actually, I don’t know, it might be, but I don’t have my key,” you explain, gesturing through the window. “It’s in there.”

“How did you manage to do that?” he inquires, not being condescending, but genuinely asking.

“The front door locks behind you when you leave.” 

“Ohhh. Well that’s no good.” He pauses for a moment, looking at you curiously, before continuing.

“Um, well I know you don't know me very well, but if you need a place to wait while you call somebody you are welcome to come in,” he tilts his head toward his house. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, but it’s really dangerous to be out in this storm.”

Normally, you’d be standoffish to a man you barely know inviting you into his house - but, something about him tells you you can trust him. He looks and sounds sincere, and you really don’t have anywhere else to go. Plus, you’re fucking freezing. You nod at him.

“I would really appreciate that,” you shout over the wind. He nods back, gesturing for you to follow along. He walks with you to his front door, the both of you taking large steps to trek through the several inches of snow that has already accumulated. He turns the knob and ushers you inside, following quickly and shutting the door behind him. 

The sounds of the howling wind abruptly stop, the door creating a barricade between you and the heavy winter storm. Your ears ring slightly, but as you adjust to the quietness of indoors you pick up on a familiar tune playing from the other room. 

“Is that En Bateau I hear?” you ask as you unlace your boots. 

He’s in the middle of unwrapping his scarf from around his head, but he perks up at your question. “Yeah! You know Petite Suite?” 

“It’s one of my favorites,” you reply warmly as you take off your coat. You try to avoid letting the jacket’s heavy dusting of snow fall to the floor, without success. 

“Dammit, I got your floor all wet,” you inform him with a sigh. You realize you’re shivering - the house is warm, comfortably so, but standing out in the cold for however long you were out there certainly chilled you to your bones. He takes your coat from your hands, shaking off the rest of the snow before putting it on a hanger for you.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he tells you, grabbing a neatly folded towel from the closet and mopping up the mess. “There’s some blankets on the couch, you should warm yourself up.” 

The prospect of a nice cozy blanket sends you speedwalking into the living room. You spot the stack of blankets, also neatly folded, and grab the thickest one you see - it’s plush and velvety, dark red in color, and gigantic. You wrap the soft fleece around your whole body, plopping cross-legged onto the couch, practically turning yourself into a cocoon. Immediately you start to warm up, your poor frozen extremities finally relieved of the painful cold. As you defrost, your brain begins to work again, processing your surroundings. Though you’ve never been inside, your neighbor’s abode feels very homely - the decor is largely cream-colored, accented with warm earth tones, doused in low lighting sourced from a few lamps placed strategically around the room. Though a plain, warm white, the walls are flourished tastefully with various unique artworks - nothing you recognize, but all very pleasing to the eye. Not that your ex was a slob, but you’ve never known a man to be so neat and tasteful. Refreshing, you think to yourself.

You hear soft footsteps from behind you as Jihoon enters the room. You turn to see him bearing a glass of water, a piping hot mug, and a small metal tin. 

“I don’t know if you like tea,” he starts as he sets the beverages on the coffee table’s coasters. “But I thought you might want something warm to drink.”

“Tea sounds great, thank you so much,” you reply as you wiggle your arms out of the tangle of blanket surrounding you. Reaching for the tin, you pull out a bag of Earl Grey and place it in the mug to steep.

“It’s y/n, right?” he asks as he sits in a nearby armchair.

“That’s me,” you reply. “And you’re Jihoon, yes?”

He nods to confirm. “I know we met once a while ago,” he adds, “but I wasn’t sure if you remembered.”

"Of course I remember, I accidentally stole your packages,” you say with a laugh. “I felt bad about that for months.”

“No harm done, it was an honest mistake,” he replies with a calm smile. 

The tea is nowhere near ready, but you take a sip anyway. The hot liquid sends a wave of warmth through your whole body, making you instantly feel much better. Now that you’re not freezing and in tears, you can finally think straight, and you remember why you’re here in the first place.

“I should call the locksmith, god knows how long it’s gonna take them to get here in this storm,” you state as you look around for your phone, but it’s nowhere to be seen. 

“Oh, I think my phone is still in my bag.”

You start to get up, but Jihoon is faster.

“Here, I’ll grab it for you.”

He disappears from the room in an instant, returning a few moments later with your bag in hand. Thanking him politely, you rummage around for your phone until you find it. You open Google and type locksmith into the search, calling the first one you see with good reviews. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, due to the storm we aren’t able to send anyone out until tomorrow.”

You try another one, but it’s the same story. A third one, no luck either. Nobody is able to come out until tomorrow morning. Dejected, you go ahead and schedule an appointment for 7am the next day. You do your best to remain calm, but you’re too exhausted to hold in your tears.

“I don’t know what to do,” you say to Jihoon, burying your face with your hands.

“Hey,” he replies softly. “It’s gonna be okay. You can stay here as long as you need.” 

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you sigh.

“You’re not,” he assures you. “I promise. You’re welcome to take the guest room.”

“Are you sure?” you say with a sniffle, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Of course,” he nods. 

“Thank you so much,” you tell him sincerely. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem at all,” he says with a soft smile. “Also, are you hungry? I have some leftover stew I was going to heat up, if you’d like some.”

You didn’t even realize that you were hungry, but the mention of food makes your stomach rumble. 

“That sounds amazing,” you reply. 

Jihoon spends a few minutes in the kitchen, returning with two steaming bowls of a hearty-looking beef stew. 

“This is delicious,” you remark as you scoop another chunk of potato into your mouth. “I’m gonna need your recipe.”

“Oh, thank you,” Jihoon replies humbly. “I’m glad you like it.”

Several moments of silence pass between you two as you enjoy the meal, the music of Debussy’s piano filling the room in lieu of conversation. But instead of it being awkward, you feel peaceful, replenished from the food and the warmth of Jihoon’s home.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he eventually turns to ask you. “I like having something on while I eat, but if not it’s okay.”

“Sounds good to me,” you reply. “What are you watching right now?”

“Oh, um, I like… anime,” he says sheepishly, turning slightly pink with embarrassment. “But we definitely don’t have to watch that. What do you like?”

“Have you seen The Great British Bake Off?” you respond. “It’s on Netflix.”

“Never heard of it,” he admits, but he already has the tv remote in hand, opening the app.

“I haven’t seen the new season yet, if you want to start there.”

“Will I understand it if I haven’t seen the other seasons?” he inquires, causing you to giggle.

“It’s a reality show, each season is different,” you fill him in, proceeding to explain the premise. He listens earnestly, but his facial expression tells you he is skeptical. 

“It’s really good, I promise!” you assure him.

“I don’t really get it,” he admits with a confused look on his face. “But if you say it’s good, I’ll take your word for it.”

He puts on the first episode, letting you explain the different challenges to him. About halfway through the episode, he turns to you.

“So… what exactly do they win?”

“A cake stand,” you answer. The look of bewilderment on his face makes you laugh again.

“So they don’t even get any money from it??”

“Nope,” you reply, cozying up under the blanket again. “That’s why it’s so wholesome.”

“Ah, okay,” he says, still unsure about the whole thing. But by the end of the first episode, he’s hooked.

“How do they do that??” he remarks at each contestant’s fanciful cake in the final challenge, his eyes glued to the tv. As soon as the credits start to roll, he clicks the Next Episode button.

“See? I told you it was good,” you say with a sleepy smile. The combination of the satisfying dinner, the warmth of the blanket, and the relaxing nature of the show is quickly making your eyelids turn heavy. You lean your head against the back of the couch, determined not to doze off - but within a few minutes, you are fast asleep.

The soft light of early dawn glows through your closed eyelids as you begin to awaken. You’re so warm and comfortable that you don’t even bother opening your eyes - instead you just lay there, relaxing under the blankets. As your brain slowly wakes, last night’s events start to register in your mind - you grimace as you recall the bitter cold of being stuck outside your own house, having a breakdown, feeling utterly helpless until-

Your eyes pop open. Sleepily adjusting to the morning light filtering in through the windows, you see that you’re still in Jihoon’s house, on the couch. You turn your face to see a pillow underneath your head that wasn’t there previously, and an extra knit blanket draped over the red fleece one that was already wrapped around you. Jihoon is nowhere in sight, presumably still asleep. You wonder what time it is - when suddenly you remember the locksmith appointment you made for 7am. Panicked, you bolt upright, searching for your phone amidst the blankets, until you spot it laying upon the coffee table, plugged into a charger that isn’t yours. You snatch it up, your heart sinking when you see the time: 7:34am.

“SHIT,” you grumble to yourself. You hurriedly unravel yourself from the tangle of blankets - it’s still warm in his house, but a chill hits you in the absence of the cozy covers. Sitting fully upright, you feel your feet bump something as they touch the carpet. Looking down, you spot a pair of slippers - light beige in color, women’s, brand new with the tags still on. For a moment you feel a bit weird about putting them on (Why does he have these, anyway?), but you’re cold, and at this point you don’t care. You slip them on, the comfort of the fluffy interior immediately making you  glad you did. They feel high quality - luxurious even, and now you feel nice and toasty. Rising from the couch, you grab the top blanket and wrap it around you. The inviting scent of coffee suddenly hits you - you follow it into the kitchen, where Jihoon stands before a brewing coffee pot. Noticing you have entered the room, he turns to greet you.

“Good morning,” he says warmly. He wears a pair of plaid pajama pants, seemingly with a matching top underneath a dark fleece quarter-zip. You note that he also has slippers on, not too dissimilar from the ones currently on your feet. As the coffee finishes brewing, he grabs two mugs, gesturing to you with one. 

“Would you like some coffee?”

“I’d love some,” you answer. He takes the pot and pours the piping hot beverage into your mug.

“Cream and sugar?” 

“Yes, please.”

He fixes your drink and hands you the steaming mug. You take a small, careful sip, your insides instantly warmed by the smooth brew.

“Delicious, thank you,” you tell him, taking another generous sip.

“Of course,” he nods.

“Guess I missed the locksmith,” you say with a sigh. “I should’ve thought to set an alarm before I passed out.”

He turns, reaching for something on the counter. Turning back, he extends his hand to you, your keys laying in his palm.

“Already taken care of,” he says with a smile.

“How did you…” Your words trail off as you take the keys, your fingertips lightly grazing his warm skin. 

“I met the locksmith and explained the situation,” he explains. “He picked the lock in like, one minute.” He gives you an apologetic look as he continues. “I’m sorry I went into your house without asking you first, I felt bad, but I didn’t want to have to wake you and drag you out into the cold.”

“Don’t apologize,” you reply, shaking your head quickly. “I really really appreciate it.”

“I’m glad I could help,” he tells you with a soft smile.

“Thank you for the pillow too,” you add. “And the slippers, glad you had these laying around,” you say with a grin. His smile fades slightly, glancing away for a moment. 

“They were supposed to be a gift,” he says as he looks at you again. “But I didn’t need them anymore. You can keep them.” He smiles, but despite trying to hide it, his tone is tinged with sadness.

“Oh,” you say softly. “You sure?”

He hesitates slightly, unsure whether to tell you.

“They were for my girlfriend, but she left me a couple weeks ago,” he admits. He looks down at his coffee, stirring it aimlessly with the spoon. A pang of sympathy hits you. 

“I’m sorry,” you say gently. “I unfortunately can relate. My fiancé left me five days ago, for another woman.”

He perks his head up slightly in surprise. “Oh wow, what an awful week this must be. I’m sorry, too.”

“Yeah, quite honestly, it fucking sucks,” you say, staring off into space a bit. 

“I was about to propose,” he adds, unsure exactly why he’s telling you this. But you both are feeling a newfound, unspoken kinship in your aligned misfortunes. “But one day she just told me she didn’t love me anymore.”

“Jesus, that’s terrible, I’m so sorry,” you empathize. “I found out my fiancé was cheating on me and confronted him. He didn’t even give a shit so I kicked him out, haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

“Wow,” Jihoon says with wide eyes. He lets out a sigh. “I had already bought a ring, too. She didn’t know, but I had the whole proposal planned out.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “I guess it’s for the better that she left before I even bothered.”

“Yeah, doesn’t make it any less painful though.”

“Definitely not. And I wasn’t even able to return the ring.” He laughs, letting out an incredulous huff. 

“Oh my god,” you react in bewilderment. 

“It’s alright,” he says calmly. “Maybe I’ll be able to use it someday.”

His eyes linger on you slightly too long as the words roll off his tongue. The moment is brief, fleeting - but it’s enough for you to notice. 

“Would you like any more coffee?” he asks before you can fully process anything, nudging the pot in your direction.

“I’m alright, thank you,” you reply, finishing the last bit in your mug. 

“Here, I’ll take it.” 

“I better get going, now that I can actually get into my house,” you announce with a smile. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“You weren’t a bother at all,” he assures you. “But I’m sure you’re dying to go home.”

Jihoon walks to his entryway. He gathers your things for you, taking your coat from the closet and helping you into it.

“I truly can’t thank you enough,” you tell him sincerely. “You really saved my ass.”

He smiles at you. “You’re very welcome. It was nice to finally properly meet you, y/n.”

He hands you something as he opens the door for you. You take it - it’s a blue sticky note, with his name and phone number written neatly on it.

“You can always call me if you need anything at all.”

“Thank you,” you smile warmly, folding the note and tucking it safely into your pocket. “I will.”

[ducktoo]

Who…are you?

LE SSERAFIM’s Chaewon x Reader

Note: dw…it gets weird at the end lol. It's a long ride as well so get comfortable.

And this will be my final fic of 2024! Thank you everyone for liking my stuff and happy holidays! Will be back for more in mid January!

(this is too lethal-)

The sound of the door slamming shut reverberates through the apartment, rattling the picture frames on the walls. You stare at it for a long moment, your jaw tight and your hands clenching into fists at your sides. Another fight. Another evening ruined.

The quiet that follows is suffocating, a stark contrast to the venomous words Chaewon had thrown at you just minutes ago. You drag yourself to the kitchen, barely registering the cold plates of food still waiting on the counter. The dinner you had spent hours making feels like a cruel joke now. You don’t have the appetite to eat it, let alone the energy to put it away.

This is how it’s been lately. Chaewon’s words, once playful and teasing, have turned into weapons. The sharp remarks and biting sarcasm that used to make you laugh now cut you to the core. She gets angry over the smallest things, and somehow, you always end up being the target.

It wasn’t always this way—or at least, it didn’t feel like it.

You think back to a week ago, when Chaewon had been in one of her moods. You had been trying to fix the kitchen faucet, fumbling with the wrench and getting water sprayed in your face. Chaewon had walked in, leaning casually against the doorframe with that signature smirk on her face.

“Wow,” she had said, crossing her arms. “Didn’t know I was dating a plumber-in-training. Or are you auditioning for a clown role with that water trick?”

You’d forced a laugh, wiping your face with your sleeve. “Very funny, Chae. Want to help?”

She had scoffed, walking over and peering down at the mess you’d made. “Help? Why would I do that when watching you flounder is so much more entertaining?”

You had shot her a look, and she had just grinned, flicking water at you before sauntering off.

Then there was the time she’d decided to pick on your cooking.

You’d spent hours trying to make her favourite spicy rice cakes from scratch, wanting to surprise her after a long day. She had walked into the kitchen, sniffing the air dramatically.

“What’s that smell?” she had asked, wrinkling her nose. “Did something die in here?”

You’d frowned, gesturing to the pot. “It’s tteokbokki. I thought you’d like it.”

She’d leaned over the pot, taking a cautious sniff before pulling back like it had personally offended her. “Are you sure? Because it looks like a science experiment gone wrong.”

You’d tried to laugh it off, but the sting of her words had lingered long after she’d gone back to scrolling on her phone.

The teasing wasn’t just verbal, either. Chaewon had a knack for finding your weak spots and exploiting them with surgical precision. Like the time you’d tripped over the rug in the living room and spilled coffee all over your work papers.

“Nice one, Y/N,” she had said from the couch, barely looking up. “Maybe next time, try walking like a normal human instead of whatever that was.”

“I could use some help cleaning this up,” you’d said, your voice strained as you crouched to pick up the soggy papers.

She had glanced at you over the rim of her coffee mug, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Or you could just not trip next time. Problem solved.”

Despite all of it, you stayed. You told yourself it was just her personality—that she didn’t mean to hurt you. You convinced yourself that the moments of warmth, rare as they were, made up for the constant jabs. Like when she’d fallen asleep on your shoulder during a movie, her hand unconsciously clutching yours. Or the one time she’d hugged you after you’d had a particularly bad day, whispering, “I’m here,” so softly it almost didn’t feel real.

But those moments were becoming fewer and farther between, buried under the weight of her sharp words and cold demeanour.

The hours tick by as you sit at the dining table, staring at nothing. You don’t even hear the buzz of your phone at first. When it vibrates again, more insistent this time, you snap out of your daze and pick it up. The caller ID shows Kazuha’s name.

“Hello?” Your voice cracks, still hoarse from the argument.

“Y/N,” Kazuha’s voice is urgent, tinged with panic. “You need to come to the hospital. It’s Chaewon.”

Your heart stops. “What happened?”

“She got into an accident. Just… get here as fast as you can.”

-

The hospital is a blur of sterile white walls and harsh fluorescent lights. The antiseptic smell fills your nostrils as you rush through the corridors, searching for the right room. Your chest feels tight, your breaths shallow. Kazuha meets you outside, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly.

“She’s stable,” Kazuha says quickly, trying to reassure you. “But she hit her head pretty hard. The doctors are saying she might have some memory loss.”

“Memory…loss?” The words barely register as you push past her and into the room.

Chaewon lies on the bed, her face pale and peaceful in a way that feels wrong. A bandage is wrapped around her head, a stark white contrast against her dark hair. You approach her slowly, your steps hesitant.

“Chae?” you whisper, sitting down beside her. Her lashes flutter, and she stirs slightly before her eyes open. Relief floods through you as you lean closer.

“You’re awake,” you say, your voice trembling. “Thank god. You’re okay.”

Her eyes blink slowly, focusing on you. For a moment, it feels like everything will be fine. But then her brow furrows, and she tilts her head slightly.

“Who… are you?” she asks, her voice soft but filled with confusion.

You blink, frozen in place. Her words echo in your mind: Who… are you?

Kazuha places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Y/N, let’s step outside for a moment. The doctor wants to talk to you.”

Your gaze lingers on Chaewon’s confused expression, and you force a shaky smile. “I’ll be right back,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

She nods faintly, though you can tell she’s unsure why you’re even here. Her eyes flicker to Kazuha for a brief moment before she leans back against the pillows, exhaustion taking over.

Once you’re out in the hallway, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The doctor approaches, a clipboard in hand and a calm but professional demeanour.

“You must be Y/N,” he says. “I’m Dr. Park. I’ve been handling Ms. Kim's case.”

"Ah yea, evening Doc." You nod, gripping the hem of your shirt nervously. “What’s… what’s wrong with her? Is she going to be okay?”

“She’s stable,” he reassures you, glancing at his notes. “But as you might have guessed, the head trauma has caused some memory loss. From our initial tests, it appears she’s unable to recall the past two years.”

“T-two years?” You repeat, your voice trembling. You glance through the small window into her room, watching as Chaewon lies there, her face serene and unaware.

Dr. Park nods. “This type of retrograde amnesia isn’t uncommon in cases like hers. The memories she’s lost may come back over time, or they might not. For now, it’s best not to push her to remember. Stress could make her condition worse.”

“Does she know… does she know anything about me?” you ask hesitantly.

The doctor hesitates. “She remembers people and events prior to the memory gap clearly. But anyone she’s met in the last two years, including you… I’m afraid you’ll be a stranger to her.”

His words hit you harder than you expect, but you nod, trying to keep your expression neutral. “So, what should I do? How do I… help her?”

“Take things slow,” he advises. “Reintroduce yourself as someone here to support her. Let her regain her sense of normalcy first. The rest will come with time, if it’s meant to.”

You thank him quietly, your mind racing. A strange mix of relief and uncertainty bubbles within you. She doesn’t remember the fights, the sharp words, the constant tension—but she also doesn’t remember the good moments, the times when you thought there was still hope.

A part of you feels like this is a reset button, a rare chance to start over. But another part can’t shake the hollow ache of being erased from her life so completely.

You take a steadying breath before walking back into the room. Chaewon’s eyes flit to you as you enter, her expression unreadable.

“Hey,” you say softly, pulling a chair closer to her bedside.

She tilts her head, studying you carefully. “You… You’re Kazuha’s friend, right?”

You glance at Kazuha, who gives you a subtle nod of encouragement from the doorway. Turning back to Chaewon, you force a small smile. “Yeah. I’m just… here to help however I can.”

Chaewon seems to accept this, though the skepticism in her eyes remains. “Thanks, I guess,” she mutters, her voice laced with tiredness.

As she closes her eyes to rest, you lean back in the chair, letting out a slow breath. A small part of you feels lighter than you have in months. No arguments, no cutting remarks—just quiet. Peaceful, even.

But as you watch her, the weight of her blank stare still lingers in your chest. The person you love doesn’t know who you are. And yet, you can’t help but think: maybe this is a chance to show her a version of yourself she could love all over again.

For now, you let the hope settle, hidden behind the mask of quiet sadness you wear for her sake.

-

The week passes in a blur. Chaewon’s recovery is faster than anyone expected. Physically, she’s almost back to normal, but the gap in her memory remains. You watch her adjust to this new reality, navigating her day-to-day life with a mix of determination and frustration.

True to the doctor’s advice, you’ve been patient, reintroducing yourself as a supportive figure in her life without overwhelming her. She accepts your presence without question—polite, a little guarded, but far removed from the sharp-tongued firecracker you’ve known for so long.

Her management team decided it would be best for Chaewon to ease back into her idol activities gradually. You accompany her, not as her partner, but as someone who can help with her day-to-day needs. Kazuha and Sakura are visibly relieved to have you there, knowing how well you understand Chaewon’s habits.

On set, Chaewon is a model of professionalism. She’s diligent, respectful, and surprisingly soft-spoken. When she doesn’t understand something—a choreography move, a filming cue—she asks politely instead of figuring it out on her own like she used to.

“It’s weird,” she admits to you one evening, fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt. “I don’t remember the last two years, but I still know all the lyrics and choreography. It’s like muscle memory, I guess.”

You smile faintly from where you’re sitting across the room. “That’s a good thing, right? At least it’s one less thing to stress about.”

She nods, her brows furrowing. “I guess. But it feels like I’m walking into someone else’s life. Like, who was I? Was I…” She pauses, searching for the right words. “Was I any good at it?”

You hesitate, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest. She was more than good—she was extraordinary. But her fiery ambition often bled into her personal life, creating the tension that had defined your relationship. Now, all you see is a softer, more vulnerable Chaewon.

“You were great,” you say finally. “Still are.”

Her lips twitch into a small smile, and for once, there’s no sharp remark to follow it.

You’re there in the background, watching as she joined with her members, laughs softly at their jokes, and engages with fans with genuine warmth. It’s such a far cry from the Chaewon who used to tease you mercilessly or snap when she was stressed.

-

At first, it’s disorienting.

One afternoon, as you help her organize a stack of photo cards at a fan sign event, she flashes you a small, almost shy smile.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, her tone devoid of the usual edge you once expected.

You nearly drop the cards. “No problem,” you manage, your voice awkward.

She doesn’t seem to notice, already turning back to greet the next fan with her signature smile.

Another day at their practice room, you accompany her under the pretence of helping her settle back in. The truth is, you just want to see this new side of her in action.

Chaewon seems… different. Lighter. She laughs with her members more, her usual sharp edge replaced by something softer. You watch from the corner of the practice room as she playfully ruffles Eunchae’s hair, earning a squeal of protest from the younger girl.

“Unnie, stop!” Eunchae whines, swatting Chaewon’s hand away.

Chaewon grins, her eyes crinkling in that familiar way that always made your heart skip a beat. “What? I’m just making sure our maknae looks her best.”

The rest of the group chuckles, and you find yourself smiling too. It’s a scene you’d rarely witnessed before, where Chaewon seems completely at ease with herself and those around her.

During their lunch break, Kazuha sits beside you, nudging your shoulder. “You’ve been staring at her a lot.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Have I…?”

Kazuha smirks. “Yeah. You look like you’re seeing a whole new Chaewon.”

You glance at Chaewon, who’s currently chatting animatedly with Sakura and Yunjin. “Maybe I am,” you admit quietly.

Kazuha’s expression softens. “It’s good, right? This version of her?”

You nod. “Yeah. It’s… it’s really good.”

-

By the end of the week, you’re starting to notice the cracks in your own resolve.

You don’t miss the fights—not the arguments or the hurtful words or the way she could turn a perfectly fine evening into a battlefield. What you do miss is the spark.

Chaewon’s teasing, for all its rough edges, had always carried a certain energy. There was a wit to her remarks, a confidence that made everything she said hit just the right spot between infuriating and endearing. You used to catch her smirking at you when she thought you weren’t looking, as if she enjoyed seeing how far she could push your buttons.

Now, she’s… gentle. Easy to be around. And yet, you find yourself yearning for the banter, the fire that kept you on your toes.

It’s a strange contradiction. You enjoy this new version of her, free from the biting remarks and the heavy tension that used to hang between you. But in quiet moments, when she’s busy scrolling through her phone or practicing her vocals, you find yourself wondering if she’d ever smirk at you again.

One evening, after a particularly long day of rehearsals, you’re both sitting in her apartment. Chaewon is sprawled out on the couch, her hair still damp from a quick shower. You’re at the kitchen counter, making tea.

“Y/N,” she calls out suddenly, her voice soft but clear.

You glance over. “Yeah?”

“Why do you always help me?” she asks, her tone genuinely curious.

You pause, gripping the handle of the kettle. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, sitting up. “You don’t owe me anything. But you’re always here, even when I forget things or need help with stupid stuff. It’s… nice, but I don’t get it.”

Her words catch you off guard. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

“I just… care,” you say finally, avoiding her gaze. “I’m here because I want to be, not because I have to be.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. When you glance at her, she’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite place—curiosity mixed with something softer, almost vulnerable.

“Thanks,” she says again, quieter this time.

You nod, busying yourself with the tea to hide the lump forming in your throat.

Later that night, as you lie awake on the couch, you can’t help but reflect on how far things have come—and how much has changed.

This new Chaewon is someone you could fall for all over again. She’s kinder, gentler, more open in ways you never expected. But there’s a part of you that aches for the old Chaewon too—the one who used to challenge you, frustrate you, and make you laugh in ways no one else could.

It’s a bittersweet thought, knowing you may never get her back the way she was. But as you close your eyes, you remind yourself that this is a new beginning, a chance to love her for who she is now, not who she used to be.

And as you began to fall asleep, you can’t help but wonder how long this fragile peace will last.

-

The days slip by in a strange rhythm, where you’re never quite sure who you’ll see when you look at Chaewon.

At times, it’s like she’s still the same—sweet, easy-going, even a little shy around you. But other times, the fire you remember from before flares up unexpectedly, like a switch flipping.

You’ve gotten used to the gentle, more compliant Chaewon, the one who asks you for help with every little thing. But when her old personality slips through—when she’s sharp, playful, and downright teasing—it’s like the rug gets pulled out from under you.

One morning, you’re getting ready to leave the apartment. Chaewon is sitting on the couch, fiddling with her phone. You make your way toward the door, your keys in hand.

“Hey,” she says, her voice low and almost playful.

You stop and turn, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Her eyes glint mischievously as she leans back on the couch, crossing her arms. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re all flustered.”

Your stomach does a nervous flip. “What are you talking about?” You laugh awkwardly, glancing away.

She smirks, the old Chaewon you’ve missed suddenly making an appearance. “The way you get all nervous around me when I say things like that. It’s cute. I think I might start teasing you more.”

Your heart races, half amused and half unsettled. “Chae…” You try to act annoyed, but your tone betrays you. “You don’t even remember me. What do you mean by that?”

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with something you can’t quite read. “Maybe I don’t remember all the details, but I remember you. The guy who’s always around, always hovering, always trying to help. How could I forget you?”

Your breath catches, a flutter of hope igniting in your chest. But before you can respond, she bursts out laughing. “Just kidding, Y/N. But seriously, don’t you get it? You’re like an open book. So easy to tease.”

It feels like an old routine—one you know well. You grin despite yourself, but the warmth in your chest quickly fades into the familiar uncertainty. Was this just a moment of her old self slipping through, or was it something more?

She gets up, not waiting for an answer, her usual carefree confidence taking over once again. “You should get going. I don’t want you to be late.”

And just like that, the teasing fades, and she’s back to the softer version of herself. You stand there, still feeling the aftershock of the teasing and the warmth from that brief return to the Chaewon you used to know.

-

Later that week, you’re both at a recording studio for LE SSERAFIM’s comeback preparations.

Chaewon is focused on the choreography, her movements deliberate but careful. You’re sitting in the corner of the room, watching her with a quiet sense of pride, when she suddenly stumbles over a step, losing her balance for a moment.

You instinctively stand up, ready to rush over, but she waves you off with a dismissive hand. “I’m fine,” she mutters, brushing her hair out of her face. “Don’t act like you’re my manager or something.”

Your jaw tightens, the familiar spark of annoyance bubbling up inside you. “Chae, I’m just trying to help.”

She glances up at you, her expression sharp, almost a little… cruel. “Stop acting like I need you to. I’m perfectly capable of doing things on my own.”

You freeze. This is the Chaewon you remember—the one who never asked for help, the one who got irritated when anyone tried to make things easier for her.

For a moment, you forget that she doesn’t remember everything, and your heart sinks. You had hoped this version of her was gone, that the softer, gentler Chaewon would be the one to stay. But here she is, slipping back into her old self, the one who pushed you away when you tried to get close.

“Okay,” you say quietly, masking the hurt in your voice. “I’ll stay out of your way then.”

You sit back down, your hands resting in your lap as the silence stretches between you. Chaewon doesn’t say anything more, but there’s a tension in the air that wasn’t there before.

-

Over the next few days, these shifts continue. Sometimes, she’s the easy-going Chaewon you’ve gotten used to—polite, soft-spoken, even a little shy in her interactions with you. Other times, she snaps, teasing you with a bite in her words that leaves you reeling, or she’ll shut down, acting distant and cold.

You can’t predict when the old Chaewon will emerge, and it’s disorienting. It’s like she’s two people, and you’re not sure which one you’re going to face each day.

But then, one evening, she surprises you again.

You’re sitting on the couch together, both too tired to say much after a long day of practice. The quiet isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy.

Chaewon’s smile widens, but it’s different this time—not as teasing or sharp. It’s softer, almost tender, like she’s rediscovering something she once knew. She leans back against the couch, her gaze drifting to the ceiling, her thoughts seemingly miles away.

“I think I’m starting to remember more,” she says, her voice almost inaudible.

You freeze, a flutter of hope stirring in your chest. “Remember more?”

She looks at you, a faint smile still tugging at her lips. “Yeah. The old me. The one who used to—” Her words trail off, as if she’s still piecing things together in her mind. “Maybe I was a little too much sometimes… difficult. But I think I’m figuring out who I really am now.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. There’s something almost melancholic in the way she speaks, a quiet acknowledgment of her past, yet also a sense of self-awareness in the present.

You stay silent, watching her closely. There’s no sharp retort, no teasing grin to follow. For a moment, you just exist in this space, caught between who Chaewon was and who she’s becoming.

For a while, neither of you speaks. But you know—no matter which version of her you get, the part of her that’s still here, right now, is still the Chaewon you care about. Maybe it’s not the same, and maybe it never will be, but that doesn’t make it any less real. And for now, that’s enough.

-

It starts innocently enough—a rare free day where you and Chaewon decide to hang out in your apartment. She’s lounging on the couch, scrolling through her phone, while you’re in the kitchen attempting to make lunch. Everything is blissfully normal until you hear her gasp dramatically.

“YAAAA!” she shouts, the intensity of her voice startling you so much that you nearly drop the spatula.

“What? What happened?” you ask, rushing into the living room, half-expecting to see something catastrophic.

Chaewon’s eyes narrow as she points accusingly at you with her phone. “How could you?”

You blink, utterly confused. “How could I… what?”

Her face twists in mock devastation as she waves her phone like it’s evidence in a court case. “I was looking through old photos, and you were smiling way too much in the pictures we took during my memory loss phase.”

You stare at her, waiting for the punchline, but she looks genuinely offended. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” she says, sitting up and glaring at you, “that you clearly liked her more than me. Admit it!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. “Chae, you are her. It’s literally still you.”

“But it’s not me!” she insists, crossing her arms and pouting. “That version of me was sweet and soft and totally not me. You liked her better because she wasn’t mean to you, didn’t she?”

“I—what?” you stammer, completely thrown off. “No! I mean, she was nice, sure, but I didn’t like her better! It’s the same person, Chae!”

“Liar!” she exclaims, standing up and stomping over to you. “You probably enjoyed having her dote on you, didn’t you? Bet you didn’t even miss the real me at all!”

You take a cautious step back, holding your hands up defensively. “I did miss you! And I didn’t cheat on you with... you! That doesn’t even make sense!”

Chaewon huffs, her jealousy reaching peak absurdity. “Oh, it makes perfect sense. I leave for a few weeks mentally, and you’re out here having the time of your life with some soft, clingy version of me. Unbelievable!”

She pokes your chest, her expression a mix of irritation and… something else. “Admit it! You liked how she was all shy and asked for help, didn’t you? Bet you enjoyed being the big, helpful boyfriend for once instead of dealing with me!”

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. The whole situation is so ridiculous you can’t take it seriously anymore.

“Chaewon, do you hear yourself right now? You’re jealous of yourself.”

Her cheeks flush, and she smacks your arm. “Don’t laugh! This is serious! I’m trying to have a heartfelt moment here.”

“Heartfelt?” you repeat between laughs. “You’re accusing me of emotionally cheating on you with another version of you. That’s not heartfelt—that’s a sitcom plot!”

Chaewon’s pout deepens, but there’s a hint of a smile threatening to break through her faux anger. “Well… maybe I’m a little jealous, okay? You didn’t seem to miss me as much as I thought you would.”

You sigh, shaking your head in exasperation. “Chaewon, I missed you every single day. The real you.”

Her glare falters, but she doesn’t back down. Instead, she crosses her arms and looks away, pouting. “You’re just saying that to get out of trouble.”

You take a cautious step closer, tilting your head to catch her eye. “Trouble for what? Loving my girlfriend, no matter which version of her I get?”

She glances at you, her pout softening slightly. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she mutters under her breath.

Just as you’re about to breathe a sigh of relief, she surprises you by grabbing your shirt and pulling you down to her level. Her lips crash against yours in a kiss so sudden and intense that your brain short-circuits.

When she finally pulls away, she’s still glaring, but there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “That’s so you don’t forget who you really belong to.”

Before you can respond, she kisses you again, her hands tangling in your hair as if staking her claim. “Chae—”

“Shut up,” she murmurs against your lips. “I’m still mad.”

You can’t help but laugh, your hands settling on her waist. “You don’t seem that mad to me.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she warns, but there’s no real heat in her voice.

By the time she lets you go, you’re both out of breath, and the tension has melted away entirely. She steps back, her arms still crossed, but there’s a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“So,” you say, trying to catch your breath, “are we good now? Or should I prepare for another interrogation about cheating on you with… you?”

She rolls her eyes but leans into your chest, her head resting against you. “We’re good. But if I ever catch you looking at ‘soft Chaewon’ like that again, we’re going to have words.”

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her. “Noted. But for the record, I love you—sharp edges and all.”

She looks up at you, her smile softening. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, no matter which version of me shows up.”

Maybe you’ve been accused of cheating, maybe it’s all completely ridiculous, but in that moment, you can’t help but love her even more—especially when she’s acting like her old, impossible self.

You could probably get used to this Chaewon too.

[malk1ns]

i read a fic recently with rookie sid and 2010 geno and i’ve been thinking of that a lot so… for your prompt maybe baby sid being enamored by an older geno? nsfw or pg is up to you :P merry christmas to you too btw!!

ok so once upon a time i wrote this fic which is pretty much exactly that premise! and i really loved writing it and it's still one of my personal favorites of mine, so i'm going to take your prompt and use it as an excuse to write a wee little follow-up, from sid's point of view...no smut or anything in this one, just a cranky 22 year old with a massive (reciprocated) crush on his captain. you'll have to read the first one for this to make sense!

Sid thought it would get easier when his dad retired.

Well, really, he expected that after a couple of months he wouldn't feel so desperate for Geno all the time. Not that he wouldn't still want him, of course not, Geno was the defining catalyst of Sid's sexual awakening and the star of 90% of his fantasies from adolescence onwards, but Sid thought that maybe after the first few times, when Geno didn't get sick of him or tell him they needed to stop, he'd be able to be a little more mature about the whole thing.

As it happens, though, he spent the rest of his rookie year in single-minded pursuit of two things: 100 points, and Geno's dick.

It's a good thing he had his dad's example to make sure he stayed focused on his game. If his work ethic and internal motivation weren't already firmly ingrained, Sid might have let his head be turned so far by getting what he wanted after so much time that he let his game slip.

Geno probably wouldn't have let that happen, though. He takes hockey more seriously than Sid does, even, and for as much time as they spent sneaking around to be together, Sid thinks they probably doubled that in extra ice time after practice, practicing one-timers and head-fakes and set plays to try out on the man advantage.

Sid's dad was always there too, is the thing. Sid lives at home still, his mom won't let him buy his own place until he signs his first real contract and isn't blowing an entire season's worth of income on a house, and Sid very quickly ran out of reasons to get his dad to head home early and let Geno drive him back. It made the time with Geno he managed to steal all the better.

Sid, maybe stupidly, thought that once his rookie year was over, when his dad officially retired and wasn't on the team anymore, he'd have a little more separation from his parents at the rink.

His dad barely stayed retired two months before his mom practically pushed him out the door directly into the goalie development role the Penguins offered him, though, and Sid's sophomore season starts the same way his rookie year did—sitting in the passenger seat of his Dad's truck, glaring out the window on the way to practice.

He must be making quite a face, because Geno's already there and half-changed into his gear when Sid walks into the locker room, and when he sees Sid's expression he does that thing with his jaw where he's trying not to laugh out loud.

Sid only scowls harder. Even Geno in his hockey pants and nothing else isn't enough to cheer him up.

It ends up turning out okay, though. Sid's mom stops asking so many questions about where he's going at night when his dad isn't around to give her the exact run-down of official team activities. Sid isn't sharing a hotel room on roadies anymore, so if he sneaks out after curfew and tiptoes down the hall to Geno's room, there's nobody to tattle, and no chance that he'll run into his dad out looking for the ice machine. And his dad gets so wrapped up in working with the goalies that they never finish practice at the same time, so if Sid makes some vague excuse about reviewing tape with the power play unit and he'll catch a ride, his dad waves him off without protest.

His schedule opens up, just like that. And Geno's more than happy to fill his time, tumbling Sid into bed and blowing his mind at every available opportunity. Their first California road trip, the one with built-in off-days for recreation, had been a revelation—after figuring out that yes, Geno really can eat someone out until they cry, Sid spent their beach day so distracted he was forced out of the volleyball game for bringing his team down.

There's a contract waiting for him on July 1, Sid knows. Pat hasn't sent him the details yet, but Sid knows it's good, something that will set him up for life pretty much, with signing bonuses to protect his earnings in case of another lockout and full trade protection as soon as he's eligible.

He's already talked to the realtor most of the guys use. She'd offered a few options in Cranberry, close to the practice facilities and where he grew up, but Sid told her he wants to get a little distance from his folks, somewhere he can set up his own house and not have his mom tempted to walk down the block and redecorate every other week.

And if the neighborhood he told her to focus on is Geno's, well, Sid's favorite breakfast place is there too, and he's always liked older parts of the city, with big trees and historic homes.

The fact that he could be within a ten-minute drive of Geno's house is just an extra perk.

[gpcwsl]

Warnings: Not read through properly, kissing, cheesy.

Leah Williamson x Walsh!Reader: Crossed Lines.

MasterList

Keira Walsh and Leah Williamson had been inseparable since childhood. From kicking a ball around their local park to dominating on the pitch for club and country, they shared a bond that was unbreakable. Leah cherished Keira as a best friend, but there was one secret she kept locked away—her feelings for Keira younger sister, Y/n Walsh.

Y/n had always been in and out of their lives, busy with her own career and ambitions. Though she wasn’t in the football world like Keira and Leah, her visits home were always filled with warmth and laughter. Leah had fallen for Y/n years ago—the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, her sharp wit, and her unwavering support for Keira and Leah’s football dreams. But Leah had never dared to admit it, not to Keira, and certainly not to Y/n.

One evening, after a hard training session, Keira invited Leah over for a casual family dinner. Leah hesitated but agreed. It had been a while since she’d seen Y/n, and the thought of her made Leah’s heart race in a way she couldn’t quite control.

The Walsh household was lively, as always. Y/n greeted Leah with a warm hug, her familiar scent making Leah’s head spin. Throughout the meal, Leah found herself stealing glances at Y/n, who seemed to catch her eye more than once. Keira, oblivious, was busy recounting training antics, while Y/n quietly observed Leah, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

Later that evening, as Y/n disappeared upstairs to grab some old photographs, Leah found herself alone with Y/n in the cozy living room. The air was charged with a quiet tension.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Y/n said, her voice soft as she sat next to Leah on the couch. “Not like you.”

Leah hesitated, her pulse quickening. “Just tired, I guess.”

Y/n tilted her head, studying Leah intently. “You sure that’s all?”

Leah opened her mouth to reply but stopped when she saw the way Y/n was looking at her—curious, almost knowing. The vulnerability Leah had kept hidden threatened to spill over.

“I…” Leah started, then shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Y/n placed a hand on Leah’s, the touch warm and grounding. “Leah, you’re one of the strongest people I know, but you don’t have to keep everything bottled up. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Leah looked into Y/n’s eyes, searching for any sign that this could go wrong. But all she saw was kindness and a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name.

“It’s you,” Leah whispered, barely audible. “It’s always been you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly before softening. “Leah…”

Before she could say more, the sound of Keira’s footsteps echoed down the hall. Leah pulled her hand away, her heart pounding as Keira entered the room with a stack of photos.

“What did I miss?” Keira asked cheerfully, oblivious to the charged moment she had interrupted.

“Nothing,” Leah and Y/n said in unison, though their shared glance told a different story.

As the night wore on, Leah couldn’t help but wonder if the spark she saw in Y/n eyes was real. Maybe, just maybe, her secret wasn’t so one-sided after all.

A week had passed since that fateful dinner, but Leah couldn’t stop replaying the moment in her head—Y/n’s hand on hers, the way her name sounded on Y/n’s lips, and that fleeting look in her eyes. It was enough to make her hope, but the doubt was just as loud.

One evening, Keira invited Leah over again, this time for a movie night. Leah hesitated, worried about facing Y/n again, but Keira’s persistence was hard to resist.

When Leah arrived, the house was quieter than usual. Keira greeted her with a grin, but before Leah could ask where everyone else was, Keira waved her off.

“Mum’s out with friends, and Y/n’s upstairs. She might join us later,” Keira said, already plopping onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

Leah nodded, sitting beside her, but she couldn’t focus on the movie. She was hyperaware of Y/n’s presence just a floor above them. About an hour in, Keira’s phone buzzed, and she groaned.

“It’s Lucy. She’s got some crisis about her boots again,” Keira muttered, standing up. “I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t go anywhere!”

Leah chuckled as Keira disappeared, but the quiet that followed was suffocating. Before she could sink further into her thoughts, she heard footsteps behind her.

Turning, she found Y/n standing in the doorway, her hair loose and a soft cardigan draped over her shoulders.

“Hey,” Y/n said, her voice gentle. “Mind if I join?”

Leah’s heart skipped a beat. “Of course not.”

Y/n sat down beside her, closer than Leah expected, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the movie playing in the background. But Leah wasn’t paying attention. All she could think about was how close Y/n was, the warmth radiating from her body.

“Leah,” Y/n said softly, breaking the silence. “About the other night…”

Leah froze, her stomach flipping. She turned to Y/n, who was already looking at her, her eyes unreadable but intense.

“You caught me off guard,” Y/n continued, her voice steady but laced with something deeper. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Leah’s breath hitched. “I—Y/n, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” Y/n interrupted, her hand finding Leah’s again. “Don’t apologize.”

Leah’s eyes searched Y/n’s face, and what she saw made her chest ache—hope, curiosity, and a vulnerability that mirrored her own.

“Say it again,” Y/n whispered, her voice barely audible.

Leah swallowed hard. “It’s you, Y/n. It’s always been you.”

Y/n’s lips parted, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, Y/n leaned in, her breath warm against Leah’s skin. Leah closed the distance, their lips meeting in a kiss that was soft and tentative at first, but quickly deepened as the weight of years of unspoken feelings spilled over.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other, both breathing heavily.

“Y/n,” Leah whispered, her voice trembling.

Y/n smiled, her eyes shining with something Leah had only dreamed of. “I think I’ve been waiting for this just as long as you have.”

Before Leah could respond, Keira’s voice echoed from the hallway. “I’m back! What did I miss?”

They quickly pulled apart, sharing a conspiratorial smile before turning back to the movie. But the spark between them was undeniable, and Leah knew that this was only the beginning.

[airenyah]

A LOOK AT STYLE'S JOURNEY | Ep 5

(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep4)

Airenyah is back, bringing you even more rambles about Style Sattawat Chayakorn than ever before. This meta series might just end up becoming my magnum opus.

Alright, here we go. So, in episode 3 we saw Style starting to develop positive feelings for Fadel. He tries to bond with Fadel, tries to engage him in amiable conversations, and also starts to get suspicious of as well as curious about Fadel and his life and develops an interest in learning more about this man and all he's made up of, an interest that is entirely separately from Kant's mission and the deal with the car.

In episode 4 this trend continues and we follow Style as these positive feelings slowly develop into actual, genuine romantic feelings. Style goes from simply just liking Fadel to like liking Fadel.

Now in episode 5 we get to watch Style slowly, yet rapidly fall in love with Fadel as he grapples with the fact that the man he's falling in love with regularly kills people.

And ohhhh boy, what a ride it is. I've written over 12k words for this meta and yet I still feel like there are so many aspects that I still didn't manage to get into or that I only barely scratched the surface of. Not to mention that there are some scenes (especially the first sauna scene) where I feel like every time I watch it, every time I replay the scene I'm getting something else out of it. I swear, the amount of times I've written and rewritten whole sections... No, truly, at this point I feel like I hate more or less everything that I wrote. I apologize in advance for the mess you are about to read. And let me tell you, no matter how detailed you think this meta is? It in no way reflects all my thoughts and feelings that I have about this episode and about my boy Style Sattawat.

Either way, enjoy!

Pronoun Situation: Just assume Fadel and Style use the rude guu/mueng pronouns with each other unless I explicitly state otherwise.

To recap: Style has started to develop genuine feelings for Fadel and is over the moon that Fadel actually agreed to be his boyfriend. His joy is soon punched out of him as he learns of Fadel's real profession. Style unexpectedly meets Fadel at the gym and runs off in a panic, unable to deal with the situation and absolutely terrified.

No. 1: Sauna The Sequel

Let me just say straight away that I'm gonna be looking at this scene running on the assumption that this is happening on the same day as when Style ran away from Fadel at the work-out bench last episode, because Fadel says: "You seem strange today." If the scene from last episode had happened on a different day, I think he would have said "recently" or "these days" or something along those lines instead. Anyway, let's start.

They're at the gym and apparently they both like going to the sauna after a good work-out, because just like in episode 2 they have their next run-in in the sauna after parting at the weightlifting bench. This time it's Style, though, who arrives at the sauna first and he sits there, still in distress, but already a lot calmer than he was at the work-out bench.

When I first watched this scene I was thinking to myself how fun it was to watch Style be very scared of Fadel after we got multiple explicit references of Style decidedly not being scared of Fadel. Now on second look, though, I don't think he's actually as scared as I had first thought. In their last scene together, the scene by the work-out bench, yeah, Style was absolutely terrified and fighting for his life. But instead of a ruthless killer, Style experienced kindness and care, experienced Fadel being a sweet boyfriend. Unable to reconcile these two conflicting perspectives on Fadel, Style made an escape. Now he's sitting in the sauna contemplating everything, trying to figure out how to deal with and/or get out of this mess. Fadel enters the sauna and while Style still looks a little surprised and startled, it doesn't put him into a panic again. As has been pointed out by @secriden and I have also already discussed in my ep4 meta, in episode 4 Style went to the gym during day time, likely in order to avoid Fadel who explicitly mentioned in episode 2 that he prefers to go to the gym at night. But then Fadel shows up anyway and Style, who hadn't been expecting that and as a result hadn't been mentally prepared for a run-in with Fadel, panics completely. Now, however, sitting in the sauna he is well aware that Fadel is around. This might also be a reason as to why Style's heart isn't stopping the way it did back at the work-out bench.

Fadel sits down next to Style and Style moves away, putting more distance between them. What's funny, though, is that despite Style's apparent discomfort at touching Fadel or being anywhere close to him, he still keeps his hand near Fadel, touching him anyway.

[pls scroll back up to the title pic if you wanna see it, i've reached image limit 😭😭😭]

Now we could call that unclean acting, because if Style really is that uncomfortable with the thought of being close to or touching Fadel aka a Known Killer, then he should be making sure to keep each and every single body part away from Fadel, including his hands. Meaning, he should really be yanking that hand away from Fadel. Or what we could do instead, what's even more fun actually, is that we could interpret this as Style not actually being that uncomfortable with the thought of touching Fadel despite his rational mind telling him he should be. His rational mind might be telling him that he should keep his distance from Fadel if he wants to stay alive, but his hand betrays him, exposes his true desire of wanting Fadel anyway. Style is conflicted, but he is not disgusted by Fadel and now after Fadel has been nothing but a sweet boyfriend to him and Style has calmed down a bit from his earlier panic, he also no longer feels as threatened by Fadel's presence and his touch.

Style is still extremely nervous, though, because the knowledge of Fadel killing people is still at the forefront of his mind, but Fadel's presence and Fadel himself don't terrify him as much anymore. This emotional change also shows in his voice: Earlier at the work-out bench he was hesitating to answer every time Fadel said something to him only to hurriedly blurt out his replies a moment later. Now in the sauna, while Style still hesitates and blurts out his answers, they're not as rushed anymore and he's also more talkative again, engages in the conversation more than he did earlier. What's more, at the work-out bench Style barely dared to look at Fadel and when he did look at him, he only threw quick glances at him before turning his eyes away again. In the sauna Style starts out avoiding eye contact with Fadel at first, but as soon as Fadel opens the conversation, Style can (mostly) look him in the eye again.

Fadel calls out Style's uncharacteristic behavior and Style quickly comes up with excuses. Unlike back at the work-out bench, where his voice was full of panic and terror, he now sounds more appeasing, in an attempt to calm Fadel's worries and suspicions. There is a lot of awkwardness when Style claims "I’m fine. I’m just not used to this", there's even a sort of urgency to it like please believe me, please believe me, please stop asking. Fadel stares at him skeptically, so Style elaborates: "It’s usually me running after you, but now you’re with me."

By the way, since I know so many people are liking the Thai language tidbits, this line here:

It’s usually me running after you, but now you’re with me.

More literally is:

Usually I'm after you, but now you're after me. ปกติกูก็ตามมึงแล้วมึงตามกูบ้างแล้วอ่ะ [bpòk-gà-dtì - guu - gôr - dtaam - mueng - láew - mueng - dtaam - guu - bâang - láew - àh] usually - I - follow - you - and - you - follow - I/me - some - already - [particle]

Style actually manages to find his sincerity for this specific lie, but Fadel is already onto him and asks if Style has suddenly changed his mind after all. Style looks away awkwardly, but also lost in thought a little as he thinks about how this is exactly what happened after he found out the truth. It's not like he can just say this, though. Imagine that. Sorry, I don't want you as my boyfriend after all because I don't feel comfortable dating someone who could potentially murder me. And as I mentioned in my ep4 meta, I do think Style is lowkey terrified that Fadel will kill him if Style breaks up with him right after Fadel finally started opening up to him which he knows was a big step for Fadel. But then Fadel says "I don’t mind [breaking up], you know? I don’t like you that much. I’ll get over it." Style looks away, sighs and gets lost in thought. It's a messy situation to be in, even if Fadel won't immediately be killing him over a break-up after all.

When Style fails to answer Fadel stands up in order to leave. This brings life back to Style and he hurriedly holds Fadel back, asking him to wait with the most puppy eyes:

Yeah, I just had to spend one of the only 30 images per post on the puppy eyes, I mean just look at him!!

Anyway, Style looks at Fadel with puppy eyes, and there is so much uncertainty and hesitation and doubt in them. There is also fear, but to me it doesn't look like he's afraid of Fadel specifically, it looks more like he's anxious and worried about the whole situation in general. It looks like Style wants something, but hasn't quite figured out what exactly it is that he wants. He is feeling many emotions at once, has many conflicting feelings at once. When Fadel asks Style if he's sure, I'm struggling so hard to pinpoint/name the many different emotions that Style is feeling in that moment. All I can think of looking at Style's face is: help.

The boy is overwhelmed. He wants to be far away from Fadel, but he also doesn't want him to leave, wants to dump him, but he can't and also kind of maybe deep down perhaps doesn't even really want to, has something on his mind that desperately wants out, but that he must keep inside under any circumstance.

Fadel asks Style if he's intimidated by him and I just wish the English subs had kept the word "scared" just like the Thai lines kept the word กลัว [gluua], because it's such a nice callback to episode 4 where Style enters the greenhouse, yelling "You think I'm scared of you?" (or "But I ain't scared of you!", as the English subs put it). Now Style is getting thrown that question right back at himself. Style has proven time and time again that he isn't scared of Fadel, but this time when he says "I'm not scared of you" it's a lie. Fadel skeptically raises an eyebrow at him. Style comes up with another excuse. "I just can’t believe my persistence actually worked." It definitely is an excuse, but I think that Style is telling the truth here, that he really is surprised that he managed to actually get Fadel to open up to him. I think he truly wasn't expecting it. Now there is also little bit of amusement as he finishes the sentence. As much as he does not want to be around a killer, it doesn't change the fact that he really did enjoy getting on Fadel's nerves. But that little smile fades very quickly as he looks at Fadel in anxious anticipation. And Fadel? Fadel goes with it and throws him a challenge. Style's persistence didn't work. They're on trial. Style still has to put more effort in. Style raises his eyebrows at Fadel like Bitch what did you just say to me????

Fadel did it. He's awakened Style's competitive side. Style completely forgets any qualms he initially had about getting close to Fadel and starts getting handsy with him. But Fadel interrupts Style's seduction and asks to go to Style's garage. However, Style hasn't forgotten about Fadel's secret job enough to happily welcome him home, so he declines. He's definitely horny now, though, and suggests staying in the sauna instead to do the deed and get it over with. As I said in my ep4 meta, Style only gets handsy with Fadel when he's genuinely trying to get into Fadel's pants or under his towel. This is why I think that despite Style's initial apprehensions surrounding Fadel and his secret job, Style absolutely would have hooked-up with Fadel right there and then if Fadel had let him. But Fadel doesn't, he insists on going to the garage instead. Fadel's secret job is fully back on Style's mind again. Style sits back again, sighing as he tenses up again a little. He's clearly not as uncomfortable and nervous around Fadel anymore as he was at the beginning of the scene, but he certainly doesn't feel great about letting a killer into his home. He throws Fadel a look, and I do think Style is a little scared again, but I feel like Style is less scared of Fadel himself and more scared about what might happen if he lets a hitman in, scared not just of what might happen to himself but scared of potentially also putting his dad in danger or giving away any information that could be useful to Fadel in the future in case Fadel does decide to murder him if Style gets too annoying or if Fadel finds out all the secrets Style's been keeping.

Now, guys, let me tell you I spent a whole day writing and thinking about this scene and honestly, I struggled sooo so much. Even as I've finished writing this part I'm still not happy at all with what I put down. There is just so much going on inside of Style and it turned out to be extremely difficult to name and to pinpoint every single emotion because I felt like any time I replayed a shot I was seeing a new aspect and there were so many times where I was feeling an emotion but I just couldn't find the right word to describe it no matter how much I clicked my way through different words and synonyms on Google. But maybe that's kind of the point. Style is feeling many different things, a lot of the emotions that are also contradicting each other, his rational mind is fighting against his heart and it's all so overwhelming in a way you can't really put into words.

No. 2: Date Night

They're on their little go-kart date and Style is having so much fun that he's completely forgotten to be uncomfortable around Fadel, laughing the brightest laughter as he zooms around the track with Fadel. Ever since Style found out that Fadel kills people professionally, Fadel has never once made him feel threatened and unsafe in his actions apart from what was in Style's head at the time. Fadel isn't a ruthless murderer, not to him, not towards Style, and it has Style relax again, has him laugh without any apprehensions. Style is finally able to let go of his worries again and to simply just enjoy the time with his new boyfriend.

A little language note here, this:

It’s just a fluke.

More literally is:

You beat me just this one time. ชนะกูแค่ครั้งเดียวเนี่ย [chá-ná - guu - kaê - kráng - diiao - nîia] beat, defeat - I/me - just, only - time - only, sole - [particle]

Style has let down his defenses so much that he immediately engages in a personal conversation when Fadel starts asking questions and shares without any hesitations. Both we, the audience, as well as Fadel learn that Style lost his mother. This makes me especially happy, because I wrote this in my ep3 meta about the conversation when Fadel drags Style into the storage room:

I do think there's some truth to it when Style says "I have my own problems. You’re not the only one" but whatever problems in life Style currently has (especially if there's anything connected to loss and grief), these problem's really aren't at the forefront of his mind right now.

I had a feeling these lines would come back and that they might be connected to loss, since that's the theme of the support group and at the time of writing I even contemplated the fact there might even be something in Style's past. I almost added a little sentence or two about how if Style also lost someone it has probably been long enough since then that now he's able to be unserious at a group meeting for grief without thinking about it even for a second.

Style brags about winning a competition and Fadel says he knows. The pleased smile is wiped off of Style's face as he suddenly remembers Fadel's real job. Style is starting to feel a little threatened again, a little scared. When he asks "How'd you know that?" it's almost an attack. Fadel shouldn't know this. Why does he know this? Did he do some snooping around? Why would Fadel need to snoop around? Is Style the next target? Does Fadel have a reason to kill him? But Fadel explains he saw it online. Yeah, okay. That makes sense in this day and age. Style lets it go but is still on guard. He doesn't quite trust Fadel.

Fadel continues asking questions. "You said you liked me from the moment you saw me. What did you like about me?" But the thing is, that was a lie. Style did not, in fact, like Fadel from the first time they met. He needs to come up with a believable reason. "I liked the feeling of chasing after you." I do think he genuinely did have fun chasing Fadel, bugging him, which is why he manages to say it with enough sincerity for Fadel to believe it. Style can't fool me, though, because while his words aren't exactly performative like other times when he's being insincere (as discussed in my ep4 meta), his demeanor is still a bit too "loud" for me to fully believe it. Just that one sentence, though, because I absolutely do believe him when he says he likes to win. We literally just saw his behavior when he won their race. Or back in the sauna when he immediately tried to seduce Fadel after Fadel reminded him that they were on trial. Besides, Style likes attention and I'm sure coming out first place in a competition gives him plenty of attention. And as he says, it gives him adrenaline so he's also just having plain fun with it. Fadel is amused and asks "So you only hit on me for the thrill of it?" Style feels called out, because he did hit on Fadel for ulterior motives. Style can't exactly admit that, though, so he quickly deflects: "It's not like that. I like how you look, too." Style then lists more reasons why he's interested in Fadel and I think that what he says next is 100% true: "I like that you’re so different from me. It’s an opportunity to learn, and it’s an experience, you know?" I think this is something he started appreciating about Fadel at the latest over the course of episode 3 where he started to get more interested about Fadel and his lore.

One thing I want to point out: There is less space between them by the end of the scene than there was by the end of the scene. They got closer throughout the scene, not just in the literal sense as in closer with their bodies but also figuratively they got closer in their relationship. It's as Style said: they can get to know each other when they are boyfriends. And getting to know each other is exactly what they're doing here, and they will get to know each other even more as the episode progresses.

Style might be a competitive guy, but the thing is, so is Fadel. Which we, of course, are already well aware of. After all, we did just watch these two have stand-offs with neither of them willing to back down for 4 episodes straight gay. But Fadel lets him know anyway: "The game isn’t over. A guy like me doesn’t know how to accept defeat." It's a threat, but not a dangerous one, no, it's more of a flirty challenge. At the same time, Fadel is being 100% serious when he warns that he won't accept defeat. It's like he's saying No matter how hard you try to fully win me over, I'll never open up to you completely. They'll come back to this topic again later in the episode, when Fadel tells Style he's at 80%.

Fadel drives off and Style watches him pensively. I think by now he's really lost his (immediate) fear about Fadel working as a hitman. I find his expression in this shot here especially interesting:

He look sad more than anything. He was already starting to like Fadel in the previous episode (here are the receipts), but now that he's starting to spend more time with Fadel where Fadel is not just constantly pushing him away and putting him down but is actively engaging with him and they're having serious conversations, now Style is really starting to like him. But unfortunately the situation had to get super messed up and there doesn't seem a way to get out of it that doesn't end in hurt or pain. And unfortunately, he can't exactly talk about his problems with his new boyfriend either. But the show must go on. Life must go on. Because life never stops. So Style gets on his feet, hypes himself up a little, and gets into his go-kart to follow Fadel.

No. 3: Choices Were Made

Where earlier in the sauna Style tensed up at the thought of taking Fadel to his place, after their happy little go-kart date all those fears and worries that Style had had initially went right out of the window. Fadel has been nothing but nice and sweet to him and Style has by now realized he's got nothing to be afraid of. Fadel is not a danger to him specifically (yet?).

Fadel starts asking more questions and we, together with Fadel learn more about Style's relationship with his dad. We also learn that Style likes to choose his own partners himself. This is in line with what I said in my ep3 meta:

For Style, sex isn't just sex and I think as impulsive as he can be he still makes very deliberate decisions about who he actually sleeps with.

Now I'm thinking this extends to who he actually dates, too. Style wants to make the choice of who he is with himself. Which is kinda ironic, considering he himself didn't actually choose Fadel. Unless you count Style's choice to agree to Kant's deal. But Fadel has no idea about any of this. So he walks up to Style, hugs him and asks "And you chose me?" Ah, well, no. Not exactly. Style doesn't answer Fadel's question but instead goes "You wanna do it here?"

Honestly, even though Style's question was probably a convenient way of getting out of having to answer Fadel's question, I think Style's had this question on his mind from the second he felt Fadel's arms around him. After all Fadel did suggest going to the garage instead when Style tried to seduce him in the sauna and I'm sure Style had a flashback to that when Fadel went and hugged him.

Pronoun side note: Fadel changes from the rude guu pronoun to the polite phom pronoun in their little role play when he says "My car broke down." They don't use any pronouns for the rest of their exchange.

Now this is the first time they're having sex as official boyfriends and while in a way the scene is similar to the scene in the storage room, it's also very different. Just like in the storage room, Fadel is the one to initiate the kissing and Fadel is the one taking off Style's shirt (or at least one layer of it, that we see). While the tempo in the storage room was fast and rushed, Fadel now takes his time and everything he does is much more deliberate. Fadel is now actively enjoying what he is doing, lets himself enjoy it. And just like in the storage room, Style lets Fadel control the situation while he waits to see where this is going (it leads to role play, apparently). And yet, Style isn't passive the way he was in the storage room, no, this time they are on a much more equal level. This time it's much more of a mutual conversation. We see this in their little role play where Style actively engages (a dialogue requires two people or else it'd be a monologue) and the way Style also initiates a kiss instead of letting Fadel do all the work himself. Style is no longer a passive part in this. He actively teases Fadel from the start by not properly kissing him back right away and also actively seeks out Fadel's vicinity and physical touch. We see it in the way he actively nuzzle's into Fadel's shoulder:

They are both enjoying this, and they are also actively letting themselves enjoy it. Together.

The lighting is also starting to change: in the storage room, everything was blue and cold. In the greenhouse, there is less light in the scene in general, and while the light that is there is still blue, the darkness gives off a feeling of protection. They can confess to their mutual budding feelings in the safety of the shadows, hidden away where no one can see them. Now in the garage, there is still so much blue going on in addition to bright white lights from inside the shelves. They are still surrounded by the cold, but they themselves are bathed in yellow and red light.

They are slowly making progress, slowly coming out of the cold, distant lighting, slowly stepping into the warmth. However, they still have a way to go.

No. 4: Sharing Is Caring

Side note, since I was just talking about the lighting: I can't help but notice how the cold white light that was inside the shelves earlier is now much less prominent right next to Fadel. Instead we get yellow and red car parts. Fadel is sitting right by the warmth (the warmth that Style was giving him in this scene, perhaps?).

Where in the go-kart date scene Fadel was the one asking all the personal questions, here in the garage it's now Style's turn. And Style finally asks about the scar and I'm glad we're starting to talk about it because I've been dying to know. Fadel says it was an accident and Style wants to know the details. Fadel says it's an occupational hazard, which, gee thanks I could have guessed as much. And I'm sure so could Style. Fadel in addition also asks why Style would want to know that and Style says "I want to know more about you." Style was already starting to care last episode, but back then what he cared about was mostly Fadel's actions and how they affected him himself and his feelings. We could even go as far back as episode 3 and say that Style was starting to get curious about Fadel and his story all the way back then, even. This time it's different, though. This time it's not that he wants to know just to satisfy his curiosity about this strange, closed-off man or because he doesn't like "being kept in the dark". This time it's not that he cares because of how Fadel and his words/actions directly affect Style himself. No, this time he genuinely wants to get to know Fadel better. He cares because he is starting to worry about him. This time it's not all about Style himself, but this time it's all about Fadel instead.

Style is starting to care, is starting to care so much about Fadel himself now. But unlike Style, Fadel doesn't voluntarily give up information about himself, which Style notes and then asks more questions: "Why do you go [to the Rise Up group]?" Fadel doesn't say a word and Style doesn't pressure him any further. He stays quiet, watches Fadel, and patiently waits for him to come to a decision. A full 10 seconds later Fadel does share: "I lost my parents." Style stares at him in shock. He hadn't been expecting that. But this is something he can relate to, even if he lost just one parent and not both of them. Style offers Fadel a metaphorical shoulder to cry on, creates a safe space for Fadel in which he invites him to share more details. Once again Style doesn't pressure Fadel, he just looks at Fadel encouragingly but leaves the choice to share entirely up to him. This time it takes Fadel 13 seconds to respond, but respond he does: "My parents were murdered."

Fun fact, Style is actually fully aware that Fadel's parents were murdered by gunshot specifically because Fadel explicitly tells him:

พ่อแม่กูโดนยิงตายเนี่ย [pôr-mâe - guu - dohn ying dtaai - niîa] parents - I/my - be shot to death - [particle]

When Style hears this he realizes two things:

Fadel has fucked up trauma.

This is a conversation he probably shouldn't have started, a topic he probably shouldn't have brought up.

The conversation took an unexpected dark turn and Style doesn't want to pressure Fadel any further, so he is quick to change the topic to something more bright. "You had any lovers before?" Love can't be too heavy of a topic, right? Right?? But we saw the flashbacks of Fadel dancing with someone in episode 3. And we heard Keen make a reference to someone important in Fadel's life who suddenly disappeared. Speaking of...

Remember how in my ep3 meta I was wondering if Style had heard that specific comment since we weren't shown the exact point of Style walking in on them? I guess now have confirmation that Style did not in fact hear that comment. Unless of course Style asked that specific question to subtly try and find out more backstory on that too (Oh god, Style, how I am begging you keep asking! I too need to know!!). Although, the way he was rushing to change the topic to something happier didn't seem like he was thinking too hard about his question. But then again, he did also tilt his head a little when Fadel said no, he doesn't have an ex, and I can't tell if Style tilts his head because he really has no idea and simply just doesn't believe that a guy like Fadel has never dated anyone or if he tilts his head because he knows Fadel is lying. Aghhh, gdi, I'm still none the wiser.

Anyway, so Fadel says no (bro. my dude. who was that man in the flashback, then 🤨) and explains "My life isn’t exactly easy. I don’t want to drag anyone along with me."

Actually, for the second sentence he really says:

And besides, I also don't want to cause trouble to anyone. แล้วอีกอย่างกูไม่อยากทำให้ใครเดือดร้อนด้วย [láew - ìig yàang - guu - mâi - yâak - tam hâi - krai - dèuuat rón - dûuay] and - one more thing - i - not - want - to cause - anyone - be in trouble - also

Style blinks. He cracks just the tiniest and briefest smile.

(In case you don't see it, here have a slowed down version of just the grin. Check the corner of his mouth: )

Hah. Got him. "Is owning a burger joint so difficult that you can’t date?"

I wasn't sure before if Style knew what he was doing when he asked the ex-lover question, but with this question now he definitely knows exactly what he's doing. Fadel comes up with a reply, but his word choice is still sus, so Style asks a follow-up question. Personally, I think that Style started asking question in the hopes of Fadel accidentally spilling the truth himself. Because if that happened, then that would be at least one secret off Style's back. He wouldn't have to pretend to Not Know and it would probably also lessen his anxieties about Fadel's occupation because at least he would also be able to openly talk about it and his fears with him. I think at this point Style has fully realized that Fadel isn't killing him any time soon, that his own life isn't in immediate danger just because he hangs out with Fadel and does things that boyfriends do with him. He is back to being as fearless as he was before The Reveal.

So Style asks a follow-up question, hoping that maybe Fadel will slip-up even more. But Fadel comes up with a bullshit story and Style just listens to it, nodding like yeah sure whatever you say baby. It quickly becomes clear to him that he won't be getting the truth out of Fadel's mouth for now. I feel like I haven't seen enough of the story yet to really confirm this for myself, but I wonder if during this conversation Style also realizes (or at least starts to suspect) that deep down Fadel isn't actually too fond of his killer job. Because when Style says "Maybe you just need to find something else to do. Do something that allows you to love without risking your loved ones." it just sounds too much like what he's ACTUALLY saying is:

Well, if you don't like being a "burger joint owner" (assassin), if being a "burger joint owner" (assassin) is making your life THAT difficult and depressing, then why don't you just quit being a "burger joint owner" (assassin) and find a new job that makes you happier and your life easier? Perhaps even a job where you don't have to worry about me your loved ones being safe?

After this deep talk where Fadel finally opens up to him about personal things, Style's panic has vanished completely. Instead, it has all been replaced with worry, worry about Fadel and his well-being specifically. And Style is also well aware of this development as we'll see later in the episode when Style tells Kant "I'm beginning to worry about him now." Style is still scared for his own life, but now it's not because he's terrified about Fadel killing him but more so because he doesn't want to become collateral damage if (when) he stays in a relationship with Fadel. I think this is another subtext of when Style says "Do something that allows you to love without risking your loved ones". He's not just making it about Fadel and his loved ones but he's also specifically referring to his own safety, too. Do something that allows you to be with me specifically where I don't have to worry about my own safety and potential death.

Style smiles innocently and cutely at Fadel (and I cry bc that exact smile is Dunk's inner Daonuea coming out) but before the conversation can go any further or they can get any cuter, Kant interrupts. Fadel is irritated and Kant's unexpected visit is an inconvenience to Style too, but Kant has some pressing matters to discuss, so they walk off to discuss them in private.

No. 5: Conflicted

Kant is in panic because Bison seems to be going ballistic on Kant's old hook-up with murder being a potential outcome. This has Style very concerned. He doesn't really care about Kant's old hook-up but he is very worried about his best friend. As much as Style likes helping people and as loyal of a friend he is, he really doesn't wanna help if helping Kant means Kant's potential death. Kant tries to talk Style into helping anyway, but Style is done: "I had nothing to do with this. You dragged me along." Style is very much not cool with having been involved in this without his consent. And now he's got another problem that makes the whole situation even more tricky for him:

By the way, I have a bad feeling about Fadel. He scares me. But I like his rough romantic side.

And at this point I really need to share Style's actual words:

And another thing, I don't know how I feel about Fadel. แล้วอีกอย่างนะกูรู้สึกยังไงกับไอ้ฟาเดลก็ไม่รู้ว่ะ [láew - ìig yàang - ná - guu - rúu-sèuk - yang-ngai - gàp - âi - Fadel - gôr - mâi - rúu - wâ] and - one more thing - [particle] - I - feel - how - with - [rude prefix] - Fadel - not - know - [particle]

He makes me feel scared. มันทำให้กูรู้สึกกลัว [man - tam hâi - guu - rúu-sèuk - gluua] he - to cause - I - feel - scared, fear

But I like his rough romantic side. แต่กูชอบมุมโรแมนติกเถื่อนๆของมันเว้ย [dtàe - guu - chôp - mum - roh-maen-dtìk - tèuuan tèuuan - kŏng man - wóiie] but - I - like - angle - romantic - rough - (of) his - [particle]

I put all of Style's lines mostly for completion, but really the language note is mostly about the very first line. Style doesn't say he has a bad feeling about Fadel, no, he says he feels conflicted about Fadel. Because on the one hand he's scared and on the other hand he really also likes him. When Style says Fadel makes him feel scared, I don't quite believe him, because apart from the sauna and that one short moment at the go-kart track absolutely nothing in his behavior has screamed I am scared, on the contrary. I think this is his rational mind telling him that logically he should be scared because Fadel fucking kills people fighting against his heart that is slowly getting to know the Fadel that's behind those thick high walls and that realizes that Fadel isn't that bad of a person after all. What's more, ever since they started dating, none of Fadel's actions or behaviors have put Style into immediate danger. In fact, Fadel has been nothing but a sweet, hot boyfriend to him. Style doesn't know how to feel about Fadel, because he's getting conflicting messages and can't figure out whether he should best follow his mind or his heart.

But Kant currently doesn't have time for Style's love life. Someone else's life is potentially at stake. So Kant responds: "This ain’t no time to confess your weird feelings." Or what he actually says is:

This is not the time to confess your love. ไม่ใช่เวลามาสารภาพรักไงล่ะ [mâi châi - weh-la - ma - săa-rá-pâap - rák - ngai - lâ] not - time - come - confess - love - [particle] - [particle]

I just wanted to note that Kant says nothing about "weird": Kant is not being judgy about Style's feelings specifically, he's only judgy about Style's sense of timing. Okay, carry on.

Anyway, Kant suggests asking Fadel for help.

No. 6: Boyfriend Card

Fadel, predictably, is not happy about this turn of events. But Style is now helping his friend after all, and so he pulls the boyfriend card: "You’re my boyfriend, you know? If you like me at all, you have to help my friend." It works. Fadel agrees to help. Kant calls him "Brother-in-Law". Style is very hyped at Kant's sass and praises him. Fadel chats with Bison on the phone and learns enough info for Kant to know exactly where Bison is at. Kant runs off. Style watches him leave wide-eyed, then turns to Fadel and excitedly goes "Wow. I hope you’re not the jealous type like your brother is." Fadel tells him "If you mean well, then you have nothing to worry about." But then he also speaks out a warning:

But if you’re just leading me on, or trying to get something out of me, you’re in for some serious bruises.

Dare I say this is foreshadowing for when Fadel finds out about the real reason why Style was hitting on him? And I have a feeling Style gets that memo too. Uncharacteristically, he stays quiet.

Pronoun side note: Kant uses the polite phom/khun pronouns for Fadel while Fadel uses the rude guu/mueng pronouns for Kant and I think that's hilarious, actually.

No. 7: Falling

Kant updates Style on the James situation but Style stays optimistic. Kant really doesn't share this view and reminds him that Bison is a hitman. Style gets stressed and also a bit irritated at Kant and shoots a reminder back: "I was sleeping with his brother last night all because you asked me to, didn’t I?" (he says, as if Kant ordered him to hook up with Fadel in the garage 🤭) Style hates that he is in this mess when he never even asked to be in this mess in the first place.

Kant says he doesn't want anyone else risking their lives (bro. maybe you should have thought of that before you got your bestie involved or at least asked him for his consent, don't you think 🤨) and that he has to get this job done. Style looks downwards, troubled and in thought. He sits down and it's time for another confession:

Come to think of it. How would I even get through this? I compromised my whole body, and if we’re being honest, I’ve already compromised half of my heart, too. I’m beginning to worry about him now.

This has Kant alarmed. "Don’t fall in love with him at all costs." But it's already too late. Style is already falling, and he's falling fast. And deep down he knows it, too.

Style points out that Kant isn't exactly doing any better either. Kant sighs and says he wants to end things quickly and then foretells what their happy ending is going to be: "Once those two get arrested, we walk free."

But Style stares gloomily into the air and gives a near invisible head shake, almost as if he disagrees with Kant's words, as if to say But that's not what MY happy ending looks like.

Then he stands up swearing and says: "Hope it ends before either one of us kicks the bucket. I shouldn’t have put my heart on the line for this." He wants to get out of that mess asap and preferably alive (and with his heart fully intact). Kant has another mission for him.

No. 8: Can I Have This Dance

Yeah no I don't have anything to say about this scene except: this is a boy in love.

And also, not to brag but @titkos--sideblog and I called the butt grab(s) before the show had even started airing, including the exact episode number (episode 4 counts too because we did get the one wide shot in the greenhouse with Fadel's hands on Style's ass!!):

Okay, no, I lied. Now that I'm done awww-ing about how fucking cute this whole scene is, I do have something to say after all:

Once again, there is not a single ounce of fear anywhere to be found in Style, no matter how stressed he gets whenever Kant brings up that Fadel and Bison are hitmen. On the contrary, Style is completely at ease. He's shamelessly teasing Fadel, shamelessly flirting with him, and also being silly without a second thought. I was actually talking to @secriden in our DMs and I just wanted to share something she said to me because she really hit the nail on the head:

[Style] makes it clear that he wants Fadel to participate and frames his case as being about his need for an "F" for his "S" so the 'embarrassing cheesiness' is all on Style's behest. When he makes Fadel dance with him, he reminds Fadel that he's already seen a far more embarrassing dance and found it incredibly hot and then starts being overthetop and ridiculous so that even if Fadel starts dancing with him its not going to be more embarrassing and silly than what Style is doing.

I absolutely agree. This whole scene is Style trying his best to get Fadel out of his shell, to get Fadel to loosen up a little. We've already seen Style attempting to do this in episode 2 when he shows up in Fadel's kitchen with an order and pretends to be a commentator on a cooking competition or in episode 3 at the heavy metal bar when he invites Fadel to dance with him, to scream and to basically let loose with him. Except back then Fadel stubbornly refused to engage. Where Style failed in episode 3, he now as Fadel's official boyfriend succeeds. This time around Fadel does dance with Style, albeit tentatively, and even ends up having a little bit of fun.

No. 9: Percentages

They're sitting at the table watching Kant and Bison be cute and Style makes a comment about how they look good together. Fadel informs him that even if he tolerates Kant now, he still doesn't trust him and Style squints his eyes a little at him in a way that I can't find the proper words to describe.

It's almost inquisitive. Style knows full well that Kant absolutely has ulterior motives, more ulterior motives even than Style himself has. Style knows full well that Fadel absolutely has legitimate reasons to distrust Kant, knows exactly that Fadel's bad feeling about Kant is entirely on point. The way Style squints at him looks as though he's curious about why Fadel doesn't trust Kant. What is Kant doing, what in Kant's behavior is giving it away that Kant's not exactly trustworthy?

Fadel elaborates that a guy like him doesn’t go trusting someone 100%. Style looks almost a little guilty when he looks down at table for a moment as he goes "Oh?" Then he asks "Not even me?" and it's just a little bit too "loud" again to be entirely genuine. Style knows exactly that he doesn't really deserve Fadel's full trust because he, too, is hiding secrets from Fadel. And I think he tries to play it off and deflect from it in an Whaaat, you don't even fully trust ME, your very own BOYFRIEND? When CLEARLY as your boyfriend I am entitled to 100% of your trust? sort of way. But Fadel didn't come to play around. He retaliates with "You’re at 80% at best." Which, by the way, in Thai goes something like:

Someone like you? Only gets 80. อย่างมึงนะได้แค่80 [yàang - mueng - ná - dâai - kâe - bpàet sìp] like - you - [particle] - receive - only - 80

Style throws him a look that again I find really hard to describe:

He looks a bit judgmental that Fadel really dared to be this harsh to his very own boyfriend, but at the same time he knows that Fadel is absolutely spot on with that judgment. And I think he is also kind of disappointed, because he does very much want those full 100%.

More serious now, Fadel continues: "I feel like you’re hiding something from me in the rest 20%". From the tone of Style's voice when he says "What are you talking about?" I feel like this isn't at all about him deflecting Fadel's completely spot on statement but more about Style complaining that Fadel won't play along properly. Style is frustrated, but almost in a pouty way. When he asks "What do I have to do to gain your complete trust?" I think it's still part of the little game that he's started, but now there is a sort of urgency to his voice that exposes him. Style needs an answer to this question, because it's important for him to get those 100%. Style really wants Fadel to be able to fully trust him. Style might still be keeping secrets from Fadel but nevertheless he wants to do everything he can to "be worthy of Fadel's trust" (words stolen from @secriden's meta), despite the lies he has to keep up for now. What's more, Style went all in the moment he and Fadel became official and the "all in" includes trust as well. It's either all or nothing for Style.

Fadel doesn't answer immediately. Similarly to their deep talk in the garage, Style patiently waits for Fadel to speak rather than to press him for an answer. And 7 seconds later Fadel drops: "It'll never happen."

So far this conversation has been mostly lighthearted but at this point the mood suddenly changes. Fadel announces there will never be a day where he'll fully trust Style and Style sighs, a little dejected.

No matter how hard Style tries, there will never be a day where he'll be able to make up for all the secrets he's been keeping and for all the lies he has to tell, all the lies he's already told, and all the lies he'll be forced to tell in the future. Because let's be real, at this point? Style is keeping up the charades mostly for the sake of Kant (and maybe a little bit for the sake of his own safety). As many people have already pointed out, Style is the type of person where what you see is what you get. And I think Style struggles with the fact that he can't be fully honest with Fadel. And he knows it's going to hurt both of them when Fadel finds out that he was right in not fully trusting Style. And there is nothing he can do about it, no matter how much he tries to be as open and transparent with Fadel as possible to soften the blow.

Fadel elaborates and as Style listens to Fadel's explanation, the good mood that was there on Style's face earlier is replaced by a very serious expression.

I think he's probably wondering where Fadel got this outlook on life from. By now Style has learned that Fadel has gone through quite some shit in his time. I think he realizes that there's a chance that Fadel's distrust in people is connected to another "My parents were shot" story or that it could also be connected to Fadel's scar. This interpretation gets pretty much confirmed at the end of the episode, when Style tells Fadel that he'll be his 100% one day and goes to kiss Fadel's scar immediately after, as if to say I know whatever scarred you took away your ability to trust people but I'll be the one to do you right.

The conversation is taking a heavy turn, but the bar is no place to discuss such topics, so Style dismisses Fadel's words and changes the topic like he did back at the garage. He invites Fadel to come on stage and sing. Fadel refuses. Style reminds him that there is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about since there's only drunk people here, but Fadel still doesn't want to. Style pulls him on stage anyway and whipped boyfriend that he is, Fadel follows him after all and engages in the social interaction.

But then Kant gets a phone call and suddenly has to run. I absolutely cannot tell if Style is fully aware of what Kant is planning to do or not. In their last one on one scene, Kant announced that he had a plan, but didn't exactly elaborate on it, just told Style to make sure Fadel stayed by his side the entire time. Of course Kant might have told him off-screen, but there is also a chance that Style only knows as much as the audience knows. Either way, Style doesn't feel great about it. When Style asks if he should come too, his voice might just be the most serious and worried we've ever heard it throughout the series so far. But Kant refuses and runs off by himself. Fadel walks over to Bison to make a comment to him while Style stands behind them, looking worried. When he sits at the table with Fadel and Bison later waiting for Kant he is uncharacteristically quiet and still, except for that one time where he tries to get Bison to stay a little longer. But when that doesn't work he just sits there and stares at Bison wordlessly. Even Style's aura is suddenly very quiet.

Pronoun side note: When they met in episode 2, Style and Bison where using the polite khun/phom with each other. In this scene all three of them were using only the rude guu/mueng pronouns when talking to each other.

No. 10: Look They've Made It Onto A Bed

Okay, so this is gonna mess with my usual formatting of going chronologically, but please bear with me as I take a look at the actual sex before I get into the dialogue.

Everything about this is warm, so warm and soft with the red/yellow/orange tones and they've finally made it onto a bed. I've seen posts joking about getting them a bed for the sake of their backs, but I think it was a very deliberate choice that up until now they were never anywhere near a bed. Your bed is one of the most intimate places you have, it's where you sleep and are at your most vulnerable to outside danger. Up until now, Fadel and Style couldn't be on a bed yet, their relationship wasn't ready for that yet. And I think it's so significant that the first time they are sleeping with each other on an actual bed happens after Style knows the truth about Fadel. It's such a stark contrast to the beginning of the episode where Style asked to hook up in a public sauna and get it over with because he was just so very uncomfortable about bringing Fadel home. But now at the end of the episode Fadel is right here in Style's bed. Style knows the truth, knows Fadel kills people and he still brought him into his home, his own room, his very own bed. Style knows the truth and yet Style has fully let Fadel into his life. (Like, 100% you could say...)

This scene also parallels the storage room hook-up, but now the places are switched. In fact, this scene is the complete opposite of everything that happened in the storage room. Let's take a look.

As many people pointed out after episode 3, Fadel was more or less worshiping Style's body back then. Now it's Style's turn to worship Fadel's body. Back in the storage room, everything was rushed because Fadel was running on anger and sexual frustration. Style now in turn moves very slowly and everything he does, he does very deliberately and with intention. There is so much tenderness and care in every single one of Style's touches. Where the storage room sex was first and foremost led by anger, mutual annoyance, and physical attraction, instead it is now led by love and the emotional bond that they've started to build up over the episode. Actually, @secriden has written a beautiful post comparing these two scenes with each other.

If you remember, @clemelntine noted what we can learn about Style's and Fadel's desires in their respective fantasies. In my ep3 and my ep4 meta I added on to this thought and discussed at length how in Style's fantasy he barely stopped searching for eye contact and how the emotional component was very important to Style and how he was getting next to no eye contact in the storage room scene (where emotionally they weren't on the same page at all) and how he was slowly getting more of it in the greenhouse (where they were finally starting to come together emotionally). Now in Style's bed? Style finally gets what he desires. Fadel barely stops looking at him, hardly ever takes his eyes off of him. He even lifts his head to watch Style as he moves to kiss Fadel's scar or to kiss his upper body a little later on.

Of course, for Fadel specifically part of that is also because he is still on guard around Style, can't fully let go yet, can't fully trust Style yet (more on the topic of trust in a bit). Which is why it's so beautiful that when Fadel does take his eyes off of Style it's when he finally lets himself fall into it a little. Fadel may break eye contact, but it's not because he's avoiding Style's eyes and closing himself off again, no, it's because Fadel is finally starting to let go a little, is giving up just a little bit of control to Style, letting him do as he pleases the way Style has let Fadel do as he pleased back in the storage room.

I also find it interesting that there is no background music at all throughout the entire scene (that is from the moment Style takes his shirt off right at the beginning before the dialogue even starts) because it makes the scene feel even more intimate and raw, almost as if we, the audience, shouldn't even be here. In the storage room, in the woods, and in the garage, every single time there was music playing while they were going at it. This here in the bedroom is the most intimate sex they've had so far, and it is stripped bare of any background music (remember the word "bare", it will come back later). There are no distractions, that is no music to hide behind, it's just them and their feelings on full display. Here in Style's own room, Style is laying himself bare for Fadel completely and this is underlined by the lack of music. The music won't come back until the end to lead us into the end credits, and when the music does come back, it's none other than Style's, I mean Dunk's OST song for the show.

No. 11: Bare Bodies and Open Hearts

Now that we've looked at the sex itself, let's take examine the dialogue and the context in which the sex scene is happening in.

The double date night is over and I'm assuming Kant probably texted Style telling him he was all good, because considering how concerned we left Style last time we saw him, I think he would have had his mind somewhere else most of the time during this scene rather than focusing entirely on Fadel if he didn't know his best friend was safe. Anyway. I'm just gonna run with that this is what happened and that's why Style is all relaxed and without worries again.

Actually, before I get into anything else I wanna talk about these specific lines because both the English translation as well as the original Thai lines have me insane for different reasons:

F: Like I said, no one can truly lay themselves bare for someone. [...] S: Will you lay yourself bare for me?

Let's start with what has me insane about the Thai lines first. But first a little recap: In my ep3 meta and my ep4 meta I mentioned the word เปิดใจ [bpèrt jai]. If you're new here or simply just forgot, this is a word that means something like "open up to something/someone" or "giving something a chance". This word consists of the words "(to) open" (เปิด [bpèrt]) and "heart, mind" (ใจ [jai]), so literally translated it makes "to open one's heart".

Now, Style was using this word in episode 3 after Fadel presented him with a burger when he asked "Are you finally folding?" (literally: "You've opened your heart to me now, right?"). If we remember, the burger was the first time Fadel reached out to Style first and did something nice for him (unless we count Fadel dropping off the car at Style's garage in ep1, although that only came about as a consequence of the crash, or there was also that time Fadel ambushed Style in the locker room, but he didn't exactly have nice intentions about it). Anyway, that was the first time Fadel was properly connecting with Style in a friendly way and of his own accord, a significant moment.

In episode 4 we get this word again during the "be my boyfriend" conversation when Style says "I’m 100% in. It’s your turn to let me in a little bit" (literally: "I've opened my heart to you 100% already. Only you remain. How much will you open your heart to me?") Again, this is a significant moment, because right after those lines is when Fadel finally agrees to be Style's boyfriend.

And in both scenes I just really really liked the image of Fadel, who has closed off his heart so deeply and securely behind thick high walls, being asked to open up the way to his heart.

Right now you're probably assuming that in Thai they're using the word เปิดใจ [bpèrt jai] again. No. Actually, they are not. But!! They are using the word เปิด [bpèrt] and I think it works enough for a callback to that imagery and specifically to those lines from the "be my boyfriend" scene:

F: Like I said, we aren't 100% open with others. อย่างที่กูบอกอ่ะ คนเราไม่เปิดกับคนอื่น 100% หรอก [yàang - tîi - guu - bòk - àh • kon rao - mâi - bpèrt - gàp - kon èun - rói bper-sen -ròk] way - that - I - say - [particle] • people, we - not - open - with - others - 100% - [particle] [...] S: Can you open up for me? มึงเปิดให้กู้ได้มั้ยล่ะ [mueng - bpèrt - hâi - guu - dâai - mái - lâ] you - open - for - I/me - be able to - ? - [particle]

And it just makes me a little bit insane for multiple reasons: first of all, we continue with that imagery, that theme of Fadel opening up to Style. And second of all, there's also been a running theme about percentages. The theme of opening up and the theme of percentages are tightly connected:

It starts in the "be my boyfriend" scene where Style tells Fadel "I've opened my heart to you 100% already." All the doors to Style's heart are wide open for Fadel to enter as he pleases. But at the time Fadel's heart is still closed to Style. So Style tells him that it's Fadel's turn now and asks him: "How much will you open your heart to me?" How many doors to his heart will Fadel open for Style? What is the percentage of his heart that Fadel is willing to grant Style access to?

And then earlier in the scene at the bar Fadel says "Someone like you only gets 80%". Somehow this feels kind of like an answer to Style's question of "How much will you open your heart to me?" And yes, the conversation at the bar is about trust and not their hearts, but Style made it about their relationship when he asked "Not even me? (Not even your boyfriend?)" and Fadel also brings up love later when he says "No matter how much you love someone". The heart is also involved in a relationship. And what kind of relationship is it when your heart isn't fully in it or you don't fully trust your partner? And I think this is also part of the reason why it's so important for Style to reach those 100%. He wants both of them to put 100% of their hearts and 100% of their trust in this relationship. He wants this to be an equal relationship.

And here and now in the bedroom Style asks again: "Can you open up to me?" But Fadel can't just yet. Because Fadel doesn't believe he can. So Style declares: "One day, I’ll be your 100%." One day he will show Fadel that it is possible for him to trust someone completely. One day he will have 100% of Fadel's trust. One day he will have 100% of Fadel's heart. And he will get there. Because he is persistent. And because Fadel already has 100% of Style's heart and Style's trust. It's only fair for Style to get 100% in return.

So. This is the reason why the Thai lines make me feel insane. Now on to the English translation which adds additional imagery, which as a whole makes me feel even more insane.

Let me just start out with a reminder that at the bowling alley Fadel vehemently refused to wear the stupid shirt and then announced that he was taking it off as soon as they were done when he did agree to wear it after all. And now let me just point out that Fadel is still wearing that very same stupid shirt in during this scene in Style's bedroom. In fact, it's Style who loses the shirt first. Anyway.

In English Fadel says "No one can truly lay themselves bare for someone." But Style already has. For Fadel's whole entire line we linger on a shot of Style's bare body:

Fadel says "No one can truly lay themselves bare for someone" to Style who is literally bare before him. Style is living proof of the contrary of Fadel's beliefs. They continue their conversation and then Style asks "Will you lay yourself bare for me?" to Fadel, who is still fully clothed and very much not bare. And again, their conversation continues until Style declares "One day, I’ll be your 100%." And right after that Style pulls up Fadel's shirt. And how much does he pull it up?

That's right. He lays bare roughly 80% of Fadel's upper body (if we don't count the back of the shirt that didn't go up bc Joong is lying on it). He lays bare those 80% that Fadel told Style that he had. A little later Style pulls up the shirt even more for better access to the nipples but Fadel never fully loses his shirt the way Style has (who literally starts out the scene by immediately taking his shirt off, baring himself to Fadel first thing with no inhibitions). Until the end of the episode Fadel never loses the shirt 100% because he is not yet ready for that, not yet ready to lay himself bare for Style. Not yet ready for Style to uncover 100% of him. And Style respects that, no matter how much he might have complained at the bar. He never tries to remove more of the shirt than those 80% that he was granted.

Sorry. I need a moment.

Okay, now that we have this imagery and those themes out of the way, let's go through the scene the way I usually do. So this episode we started their story with Style feeling very uncomfortable at the thought of bringing Fadel, a Known Killer, to his home and we end the episode with Fadel right there in Style's room, in Style's bed. Style and Fadel have spent the entire episode sharing personal things and getting to know each other better and also on a bit of a deeper level and now that they're in private away from the others, Style opens up about something that has been on his mind all episode: "It feels so weird every time I’m with you. Sometimes you make me feel so scared, and sometimes you make me feel so safe."

Style is very much not scared of Fadel in this moment. In fact, most of his behavior and his actions surrounding Fadel this episode weren't the behavior and the actions of a scared man, especially when he was interacting with Fadel directly (apart from the very first scene in the sauna when the initial shock hadn't worn off yet). I think Style is still thinking of his mind vs. heart conflict when he says "sometimes you make me feel scared and sometimes you make me feel safe", but deep down he has already decided.

But Fadel doesn't know any of this. Fadel has no idea of the internal battle that Style has been fighting all episode, trying to reconcile the image of the ruthless killer with the man he's falling in love with. So Fadel tells him that it would be good for Style to be a little scared of him and repeats his point from back at the bar about (in)complete trust. And then he speaks out a warning: "The real me might be scarier than you think." But Style isn't scared. Because Style already knows that. Style already knows the truth.

However, Style mostly knows it in theory. He did get to see some of Fadel's real him in action when he took on 3 men by himself and also got to experience some of Fadel's violence on his own body. But the thing is, no matter how much he isn't scared of Fadel despite Knowing the Truth in theory, now matter how lowkey (highkey) hot he found Fadel take out three whole men, actually witnessing Fadel actively kill someone in practice might still be traumatizing no matter how much he thinks he is mentally prepared for it, so I do think Fadel kinda has a point with his warning. But I'm not sure Style has thought this far ahead already. I think in this episode he was mostly preoccupied with worrying about his own life, his own safety and with coming to terms that he was falling in love with a murderer in the first place.

Throughout the entire episode Fadel has never really given Style a reason to be scared of him. Instead, Fadel has spent quality time with Style, has engaged in conversation more than ever before, has asked him personal questions about his life and has even shared a little bit about his own life, which wasn't much but it was a start. They've had serious talks, sexy talks, fun talks, they were silly together and laughed together and they sat on the floor and shared pain together. Fadel didn't even get murderous over a potential break-up in the very beginning when Style was still nervous around him. Style spent the entire episode falling in love with Fadel, despite knowing about his occupation. "Can you open up for me? / Will you lay yourself bare for me?" Style responds to Fadel's warning. It's encouragement in several ways. It's encouragement for Fadel to try to learn that he can in fact trust someone (Style) 100%, that he can in fact be fully open with someone (Style). And it's encouragement for Fadel to tell Style his secret. Style needs Fadel to open up, to admit the truth himself first. Style needs it, so that they can openly talk about it without having to dance around the subject and talk in metaphors. He needs it so that there will be one less thing that he is lying about, so that he'll be one step closer to being able to be 100% honest with Fadel. And it has to be Fadel specifically who says it first so that Style can just run with it, because if Fadel finds out that Style was already in the know then both Kant and his mission as well as the 80% trust that Fadel has granted Style are on the line.

"I promise that no matter who you are, I’ll still like you." And there it is. Style's decision. His mind and his heart were fighting a battle and his heart won. Rationally he knows Fadel is dangerous and that he should stay away from him if he values his own life, but the heart wants what the heart wants. And even though it's not exactly like he can just say I know what you are and I fell in love anyway, I want to be with you despite it all, he still tries to get the message across.

Fadel doesn't believe his promise, though. "Words are cheap. I’ll do that when you’re ready. You can judge, then." Again, I think Fadel has a point. Fadel's response works whether Fadel is aware that Style knows or not. Because yes, Style may say he'll like Fadel no matter his occupation, but Style still hasn't seen the killer in action. Fadel's words mean Decide whether you still like me or not only when you find out my real occupation before you promise anything as much as they mean Decide whether you still like me or not once you've actually seen me murder someone in front of you before you promise anything. Style has already made a decision about the former, but he is yet to make a decision about the latter.

But in reality he has already made a choice and he is set on it: "One day, I’ll be your 100%." He wants Fadel's full trust and he wants Fadel's full heart. He will show Fadel that he will stay by his side and that Fadel's trust in him will be worth it. He will show Fadel that the mortifying ordeal of Being Known™ is not as scary as it seems. He means it when he says he'll like Fadel no matter what. Because now he already cares and worries about him much more deeply than he could ever have anticipated. Assassin be damned. He can get over it. And also, Fadel being dangerous is really fucking hot. "I just hope you don’t get any new scars."

I've already made a post about it, but I just want to point out: Fadel's scar is positioned right above his heart. I do very much wonder if the scar is related to the guy Fadel danced with in the flashback. Is he the reason why Fadel doesn't trust anyone 100%? Did whatever happened with that guy not just metaphorically leave a scar on Fadel's heart but also physically? Either way, we know how it's going to end:

Style's love is going to heal Fadel's scarred heart.

[thebigqueer]

"Pretty Blue" - Caitvi - One-Shot

Summary: fluffy one-shot of drunk caitvi. there's no real story its just them being drunk and fluffy. Word Count: 2938 Notes: TWs for alcohol and slightly sensual content (but nothing sexual). also i know the ending is really abrupt but again this was more of a drabble vibe than an actual story so thats why its abrupt Read on AO3

“Cait!” Vi calls. When Cait doesn’t respond the first time, Vi says her name again and turns her gaze over to the bed. Cait’s lying on her back, facing the ceiling with her eye closed and her hair splayed out around her like a halo. When she still doesn’t answer, Vi decides it’s time to say, “Caitlyn,” because Caitlyn is her business name, and Vi means serious fucking business right now. 

This does the trick. Cait’s head tilts towards her, a frown pinching her eyebrows. When she spots Vi, she sits up. “What are you doing with that?”

Vi grins at her and pulls the cloak tighter around her. “I’m wearing your dumb cape.” She twirls around once, and the cape follows her movements, drifting around her. The lights of Cait’s room blend around her as she spins, and the floor underneath tilts before she finds her balance again, and she feels so free. She loves Cait’s bedroom.

When the world stills again, she hides her face behind the collar of the cloak and looks at Cait through her lashes. “Look at meee,” Vi taunts, now with an exaggerated attempt at Cait’s accent. “I’m a decorated officer. Commander Kiramman is my name. Caitlyn fucking Kiramman.” Vi snorts and pulls her face out of the cloak. She spreads her arms out, admiring the golden design in the light. “It’s snug in here. No wonder you liked it so much.” 

“I didn’t,” Cait mutters, watching Vi. “I wanted to burn it.” 

“Nooo,” Vi says, twirling around in it again. Her vision tips, but she doesn’t mind. She feels too important and shiny and warm to care. “You look so fucking good, though. You look like a candle. A really hot candle. I’d let you burn me.” 

Cait shakes her head, but a small, hazy smile slips over her. “Can you come back? I’m starting to fall asleep.” Vi starts stepping forward with a new fervor, but then Cait puts her hand out. “Without that thing. I don’t want to look at it.” 

Vi scoffs and wraps herself further into the cloak. “No way you’re telling me what to do. I’m Commander Kiramman. No one tells Commander Kiramman what to fucking do.” 

“If you’re Commander Kiramman, what does that make me?”

“You’re just a cupcake.” 

“Just a cupcake?”

“You’re the cupcake.” Vi grins. “You’re all the cupcakes in the world.” She starts stepping forward again, but something catches on her foot, and all of a sudden the world tumbles over her, mixes into a whirlwind of blue and orange and green and violet. Then an ache erupts in the heels of her hands, and when she looks up, she finds herself level with the floor. 

A twinkling sound echoes around her, and Vi’s heart soars at the realization that it’s giggles. She made Caitlyn Kiramman giggle. The thought makes her smile, because she loves to hear Caitlyn Kiramman giggle. She starts to lift herself up into a sitting position, and as she does, a weight on her back starts to slide off, too. 

Then a pair of feet block her line of vision, and she looks up to see Caitlyn Kiramman looking down at her. The golden lights of her bedroom arc around her like a halo, and Vi thinks that’s kind of fitting. She is an angel. 

A smile crawls over Vi. “You’re so fucking tall.” 

Cait laughs again, and the sound of it makes Vi’s heart flutter because she loves hearing her laugh. She sits down on her knees and reaches around Vi, and the weight that was on Vi’s back climbs away as Cait drags a blue cloak off her and tosses it to the side. Was Vi wearing that? No wonder her back felt so heavy. 

Cait turns her gaze back to Vi again, and a new giddiness bubbles in Vi’s chest. Something tugs at her jaw, and then her head is being tilted up, and suddenly Vi can barely even see the rest of the surroundings; only Cait fills her line of sight. Her good eye glows green in the soft golden lighting of her room, and the scar on her other one flashes, and her hair swings down her shoulders, so soft and perfect and beautiful.

Vi’s smile melts even wider, and she finds herself crawling forward on her hands as Caitlyn pulls. “Wow,” she breathes. “You’re hot.” 

Cait smiles, and the pressure on Vi’s jaw intensifies. She can feel the insides of her cheeks sinking into her teeth, and it makes her heart full. “You’re precious when you’re drunk,” Cait says, her voice echoing around Vi’s eyes. 

As Cait leans forward with the prettiest smile in the world, Vi reaches and pulls her along into her lap. Her arms rest against Cait’s waist, and she can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her nightshirt. Something falls out of Vi’s chest, something airy and soft, and Vi realizes she’s laughing. “Who says I’m drunk?”

Caitlyn fixes her with a raised eyebrow, and the sight makes Vi’s stomach flutter. An audible sigh floats out of her, and she eases herself backward. She feels like she’s on a cloud. Except when she twists her head to the side, she realizes it’s just Cait’s bed cushioning her head. Cait has a really soft fucking bed.

“I say you’re drunk,” Cait says, and then she tilts her head a little, and a new ray of light shines right past her, and Vi’s heart swells. Her mouth falls open because, wow, Cait is so fucking pretty. She’s so pretty that Vi wants to bite a pillow. 

So Vi tugs Cait forward, pulls her closer so that she can feel her chest pressing into her own. And not only is she fucking pretty, but she’s fucking warm. Of course she is. And also she smells like violets. She smells so good. Vi wants to lick her, and that want turns into Vi kissing her, and she can feel Caitlyn’s arms tighten around the back of her neck, feels her hands fluttering through her hair, and she tugs Caitlyn even closer. Maybe if Vi tries hard enough, she can tattoo Cait into her skin. 

Vi pulls back to meet Cait’s eyes, and huff of amusement falls out of her. “I’m drunk on love,” she says, tucking a piece of hair behind Cait’s ear, and then something catches her eyes: the cuff piercing. She leans forward and gently touches it. When did she get that? Then she meets Cait’s eye again, and she doesn’t even remember what she was looking at. “Because I fucking love you.” 

Cait’s cheeks flush softly, and Vi touches them. She wants to soak in her heat under her fingertips. Vi drags her knees in and Cait leans back against her thighs. Her legs embrace Vi’s waist, and Vi feels so happy because she loves to be between Caitlyn Kiramman’s legs. Her legs are so fucking cool. Vi runs a hand over Cait’s thigh, soaks in the goosebumps on her skin, the growing hair trying to poke out. Vi knows Cait likes to shave her legs; she says it gives her an excuse to stay in the bath longer. Vi hopes she lets her be the one to shave it next time. Then she’ll give her a real reason to stay in the bath longer. 

Vi presses a kiss to her knee, then leans her head against it as she looks back up at Cait, and a brand new smile warms her. “Are you not drunk? Last I checked, you were a fucking lightweight.”

“Which means I know my limits.”

Vi scoffs. “Okay, Commander Cupcake. Who was the one ranting about the difference between a blimp and an airship fifteen minutes ago?” 

Cait tugs on Vi’s bottom lip, and the touch steals Vi’s breath from her. Her grip on Cait’s thigh tightens. “Remind me, who just fell over on my cape?”

“You did. Remember, I’m you. I’m Caitlyn Kiramman.” 

“Which means I’m also Caitlyn Kiramman.”

“No, you’re Cupcake.” Vi tugs Caitlyn’s finger from her lip and kisses it, then holds it gently between her teeth. Caitlyn giggles as she licks it, and Vi is so fucking happy right now. She loves feeling Caitlyn on her, loves tasting her, loves being surrounded by only her. 

Vi leans forward again, this time to kiss her on the mouth, but the momentum sends her head spinning and instead she lands against Caitlyn’s shoulder. 

“Myyyyy bad,” Vi murmurs into her shoulder. She should really lift her head, but Cait is so warm and soft, and she smells so good. She presses a kiss to Cait’s shoulder, but now, even so still in Caitlyn’s embrace, the world starts tilting under her, and she closes her eyes. “Ohhhh.” 

The hands in Vi’s hair start crawling away, onto her shoulders, and it tickles. Vi can’t help giggling, and the sound of her own giggles makes the color behind her eyelids spin in this really ugly combination of red and green and blue. Then, for a brief moment, she’s floating, before something soft hits the back of her neck again. When she opens her eyes, she’s staring up at the ceiling, the drapes of Cait’s bed posts fluttering overhead.

She doesn’t move her head, but something makes her gaze flick down, and she finds herself staring at Cait through her lashes. Caitlyn fucking Kiramman. Most beautiful girl in the whole world. A smile slips over her and she closes her eyes again. 

“Vi?” Cait’s voice calls, and it’s enough to bring Vi to open her eyes again. Her face is blurry, but Vi thinks she can see a smile on her. Except it looks strange. Not totally happy. Why doesn't Cait look happy? Tears spring into Vi’s eyes. She just wants to see Cait happy.

“Are you alright?” Cait’s voice rings around Vi’s head, but this time it feels something closer to gongs the way it reverberates through Vi’s skull. And Vi fucking loves Cait’s voice, maybe even secretly gets turned on any time she just says a word in that posh little accent, but this just feels downright uncomfortable.

“Yeahhhh,” Vi says, closing her eyes again. “I’m fiiiiine. But I think I should just keep my head here for a little bit.” 

Cait scoffs. “And you said you weren’t drunk.” 

Vi hums, but she doesn’t feel like answering. She just wants to feel Cait breathe against her. A pair of hands crawls over her face, warm and slightly calloused, and a smile tugs at Vi’s lips. She wonders how she even got here, with the hottest girl in the world on her lap, breathing through the alcohol buzzing in their bodies. 

“My head feels funny,” Vi sighs. Her words bounce around her ears. “Can you kiss me?”

A beat of silence passes before Cait speaks. “How is me kissing you going to help you?” But Vi can feel her voice on her lips anyway, so close she can almost taste her words. 

“You solve all my problems,” says Vi. “All of the world’s problems could be solved by a kiss from Caitlyn Kiramman. Commander Cupcake.” 

Cait snorts. “If only it were that easy.” Then her lips brush against Vi’s, not quite a kiss just yet, but Vi can still feel the smile against her lips. “But I do like solving your problems.” 

Then she catches Vi’s lips in her own, and Vi’s heart explodes. 

Cait’s thumbs press under Vi’s chin, tilt her head further back, and Vi can feel her tongue against hers, warm and soft and familiar. A desperate frown pinches Vi’s brows, and she brings a hand to the back of Cait’s head, trying to pull her in deeper, trying to swallow her whole. 

As if in response, Cait drags one hand down, painful and deliberate as she pulls it over Vi’s neck, down her chest, teases the hem of Vi’s shirt. Her fingers feel like matches dragging down Vi, as if she’s looking for something to ignite her fire.

“Fuck,” Vi mutters. It’s kind of embarrassing how turned on she is; Cait’s barely even done anything. But also Cait is just amazing, and anything she does drives Vi crazy, drunk or not. 

Cait huffs a laugh against Vi’s lips, and then a hand slips under Vi’s shirt. Vi’s neck arches further at the feel of her fingertips against her stomach, against her sternum. She feels like a painting, the way Cait’s hands brush over her, carving over the lines of her body. But then she presses a hand against Vi’s breast, and at first Vi doesn’t mind; she welcomes the pressure building at the pit of her stomach. But the second time Cait does it, the ugly red and green and blue colors behind Vi’s eyes come back, and the dizziness in her head feels a little worse. She sighs and then, slowly, painfully, she pulls Cait’s hand out. 

“Sorry,” she mutters. “Is it okay if we just… hold each other?”

Vi’s eyes open, if only to stop the ugly colors, and she meets Cait’s gaze. Through the haze building up in her vision, Cait’s eye is a star in Vi’s focus. It’s a pretty blue, prettier and bluer than the one behind Vi’s eyelids. She can’t tell if Cait’s smiling or frowning, but when Cait leans forward and presses a kiss to Vi’s forehead, a wave of relief falls over her. “Of course,” Cait says. Then, almost nervously, she adds, “Sorry. I got carried away.”

For some reason, the nervousness in her voice makes Vi’s chest ache. She made Cait feel bad. She hates making Cait feel bad. An ache presses against Vi’s throat, and she tries to swallow it away.

A thumb brushes against her cheek, and Cait says, “Why are you crying?”

Vi says, “I made you sad,” and she’s surprised at how badly it hurts to talk. She can barely get a word over the lump in her throat. 

“You didn’t.” Cait smiles at her now, a soft and warm smile, and Vi’s heart swells at the sight. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“I love secrets.” 

Cait brushes a thumb against Vi’s lip, then leans forward and presses her face into Vi’s neck. Her hair tickles Vi’s shoulder, and Vi leans her head on top of Cait’s. Cait’s arms wrap around her waist now, and Vi runs her fingers through the back of Cait’s hair. It’s so soft. It's so pretty.

“You make me so happy,” Cait says into her shoulder, and Vi shivers at the heat of her words. “Every time I have to go to some meeting without you, that’s what makes me sad. I only like the meetings where I can go with you. I love hearing you tell the council to go fuck themselves when they say something you don’t like.”

“They deserve it.” 

“They do.” Then Cait pulls away and gazes at Vi, and the way she watches Vi, it makes her head spin in a really good way. “I love you.”

Vi’s chin trembles. Caitlyn Kiramman loves her. Vi closes her eyes and sighs, and Cait kisses her shoulder. “You’re such a fucking cupcake,” Vi mutters. “You’re too sweet.” Then a grin creeps over Vi. “You want to know a secret?”

“Always.”

Vi presses her cheek to the side of Cait’s head. “I think I’m drunk,” she whispers. 

“That wasn’t a secret. Your head is rolling all over the place.” 

“That explains why I’m so dizzy.” 

Cait snorts, then she places her hands on either side of Vi’s face, and the grin on Vi’s face grows wider now. She loves feeling Cait on her. “Maybe it’s time to go to bed.” 

Vi nods, but now that Cait’s mentioned the prospect of having to stand up and move, her head starts to feel heavy again. Cait shifts against Vi, but Vi doesn’t want to get up, so she just tugs on Cait’s waist. “Wait. Not yet.” Before Cait can respond, she presses Cait’s body into hers, and Cait relaxes. “Give me a minute. I just want you right now.”

Cait sighs against Vi, but she gives her a minute anyway. More than a minute. Five minutes. And with each passing second, Vi’s head grows a little bit heavier. 

The ugly red and green and brown burst in Vi’s eyes again, and she frowns. Suddenly Cait’s breathing feels too loud against her, her skin too hot. But Vi doesn’t want to let go, not yet. 

Cait sits up, and the movement makes Vi feel even hotter. She kind of wants to peel her skin off. 

“Vi?” 

“I’m okayyy,” Vi says, but her words feel kind of like cotton in her mouth now. The ground tilts a little too much, and she presses the back of her hand to her eyes. She waits a moment, trying to will the world to stop moving. But it doesn’t. The ground starts pressing a little too hard into her right leg now, and with a start, she realizes that she’s tilted over slightly.

Her head falls back against the bed and even though it’s so soft, her skull pulses and the colors behind her eyes burst in an ugly brown. “Ohhh,” she groans. “I think that last shot was a bad idea.” 

A curtain of cold falls over Vi, and when she opens her eyes, she finds Cait standing over her. Even through her haze, she can see something soft and loving in her features, and Vi wants to smile, but the colors around her are starting to twist.

Cait holds her hand out. “Bathroom?”

Vi nods. “Bathroom.” 

[miss-tc-nova]

With Reckless Choices - Leona Kingscholar x Reader Pt 10

Happy Starlight everyone! My gift to you! We're gonna switch POVs for this one. I just wanted to show a bit of how Leona's handling things.

Premise: Leona after the break up

Words: 729

Music Inspirations: Monsters - All Time Low Feat. Demi Lovato & blackbear

~~~Vices~~~

               Leona glares at the ceiling, his empty chest keeping the lion from escaping the waking world. Cold morning light rains through the window onto his lonely bed. A savanna breeze whispers through, bringing with it hints of the world he never wants to see again.

               Nothing has been the same since the event that led to the biggest blowup of his life. He finds no light anymore and barely finds the motivation to even breathe. Even the naps he used to escape the world bring him no solace. Instead, the world just passes by as he confines himself to his room waiting for the moment all this pain will finally end. Having tasted life, he finds no reason to go on without.

               A jingle pricks at his ear. Lazily, his head lolls to look at the device he’s surprised still has any battery left. Reaching out, his hand acts without his head’s permission.

               That’s Ruggie. Heaven knows how he’s still on the team with how much practice he’s missed.

               Still…

               How dare his heart still hope.

               It’s been nearly a full year since he last saw his love—on the day of the Briar Prince’s wedding. He made the mistake of thinking he found someone that genuinely cared about him. He thought that, for once, he would be the first pick. Leona Kingscholar had fallen so deeply in love that it blinded him to the real world and now he’s paying the price. Reality firmly put him back in his place and snubbed him for even daring to think he could be happy.

               But no, he never had a chance. Instead he was insulted, screamed at, and told to stay away. Right in his face, his heart was torn to pieces and stamped into the ground even though he wore a snarl the entire time. Leona was never meant to win. Especially against that damn dragon. 

               Despite all the pain it caused him, Leona kept his mouth shut about what happened. He could’ve spilled the truth and thrown the illustrious Draconias under the bus for all the heartache caused. Yet every time he so much as considered revenge, his heart quashed the idea. He couldn’t bring himself to destroy their reputation, all because of his stupid feelings. No matter how he cursed himself, there was no changing his decision.

               To make matters worse, his family insists on trying to help him through a problem they’re grasping at straws to understand. He wants none of it and acknowledges no effort—hell, he barely even acknowledges their existence anymore. Leaving his room is a rare occurrence, so they often sit with him. Sometimes they have their own conversations or talk to him without answers, sometimes they simply sit in silence as they go about their own tasks, but the worst of all is when they turn on the television. Oftentimes, it’s his nephew watching some silly show. However, Falena and his wife like to watch the news. The news is always filled with ridiculous stories that are easy to ignore. It’s the ones that mention the Draconias that always stab at his chest. Where they were seen dining, where their honeymoon had been, the event they attended, what they were wearing. Of course he can’t help peeking at the screen when that happens, but even just hearing about them brings fresh lashings against his wavering stability.

               Those are the nights the sand grates against his skin. He doesn’t know any other way to drown out the grief.

               “Unca Leo! Unca Leo!”

               His door bursts open without even a knock. The mattress shifts beneath the excited jumping of the cub despite the lack of response from the elder prince.

               “Guess what?!”

               The family chamberlain is quick to follow.

               “Prince Cheka! Don’t bother your uncle!”

               That does nothing to deter the young lion from shaking his family by the shoulder.

               “Papa says we’re going to a birthday in Briar Valley!”

               Leona’s body tenses.

               No.

               “Cheka!”

               Faster than he has in a long time, the elder lion reaches for his phone. Scrolling through messages he shamefully re-reads, he feels the vice in his chest. His grip creaks around the device as his hand shakes.

               No.

               He knows better. He knows he shouldn’t. But he’s so pathetically helpless.

               “When are we leaving?”

               Fuck.

~~~~~

Part 11 (Coming Soon)

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[callme-holly]

Hi

I was summoned by your post :)

Uhm some really domestic fluff with Darry? Like, decorating the tree together, or helping make Christmas dinner

Or I feel like Darry would secretly save up for something Reader is fixated on for a Christmas gift and just sneak it into their stocking or whatever when they're dead asleep

'𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 [𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚/𝐧 : probably wont post over christmas but enjoy y'all <33

The air was filled with the scent of cinnamon and ginger, no doubt from the candle burning away on the coffee table, giving the house a warm festive feel, and a Christmas tree occupied the corner of the living room, standing tall and bare. Darry had insisted on going and getting one; it’s what his parents would have done after all, and who were you to tell him no? Besides, it looked nice, and it would look even better once it was decked out in lights and ornaments.

“It’s gonna look real pretty.” Darry hums, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind, his chin resting on top of your shoulder, lips brushing the side of your neck. You don’t have to look to know he’s smiling softly. “I got the old decorations from the basement. They should last us this year.” 

You turn around in his embrace to wrap your own arms around his neck, looking up at him with soft, gentle eyes. “You’re not letting the boy help out?” 

He scoffs, shaking his head lightly. “You know how that went last year.” 

And, yeah, you do. Last year's decorations, despite being equally as beautiful, had been nothing short of disastrous, with mistletoe over every doorway and tinsel in every corner of every room. It took you multiple days to untangle the mess the brothers had made, and Darry vowed to never let them anywhere near the festive decor again. 

“Well,” you drawl, your hand cupping the back of his head, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Guess that leaves me and you in charge then.” Darry grins, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of your jaw. 

“Guess so,” He breathes against your skin, making your pulse quicken before he pulls away fully, turning to the box sitting precariously on the coffee table. 

It's packed full of all sorts of Christmas things: ornaments, candles, stockings, lights, the dreaded tinsel... There’s so much that you're unsure on where to even start, dragging out a roll of fairy lights that usually drape around the branches of the tree. 

 Darry looks over at you expectantly, raising an eyebrow as a low chuckle leaves him. “Give me those. You always end up making the knots worse.” You open your mouth, probably to protest, but he holds up a finger to forestall you, instead snatching the lights from your grip and working them back into their string-like form with large, clumsy hands. 

It's hard not to admire him when he's like this, his brow furrowed in concertration. His hair falls over his forehead in dark waves, and you resist the urge to push the strands back into place as he looks up at you with a triumphant grin. “There. All fixed… Now we just need to wrap them ‘round the tree.” 

Now it’s your turn to raise a brow. “I think I can manage that bit just fine.” You tease, taking the lights once more, knowing that it’d only end up messy if you let Darry help out.

It takes a little longer than you’d like to admit and a fair amount of frustration on your part to get everything perfectly in place, but soon enough, the tree is twinkling in the dim living room, decked out in ornaments and red ribbons. 

You smile proudly, taking a step back to admire your work, and Darry lets out a small huff of laughter, shaking his head. “We did pretty good, huh?” 

“Best job in town,” you respond, grinning at him before moving forward to wrap your arms around him, resting your cheek against his chest. He makes a soft noise in response, tilting his head down to plant a light kiss onto the crown of your head, holding you as close as humanly possible. You melt slightly against him, content to stand there for a while.

“Merry Christmas, Darry.” You whisper softly, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. He doesn't reply right away, seeming to ponder something for a second before responding.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but it carries it’s usual warmth, and right there, under the glittering lights of the tree, you don’t think there’s anywhere else you’d rather be.

[nostalgiclittlespace]

Little!Vaggie and Caregiver!Husk?

Vaggie's been having a really bad day and regresses from the stress and bad emotions. Husk notices and looks after her like a papa cat would do with their kitten

SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC. DNI IF NSFW, KINK, PROSHIP, OR SIMILAR. DO NOT REPOST TO OTHER SITES.

Title: Moth, or kitten?

Word count: 1385

Pairing: Caregiver!Husk & Little!Vaggie

TW: Brief references to alcohol

Description: After Vaggie doesn’t make an appearance for dinner, Husk is a little concerned. Can he help his little feel better?

Vaggie lied on the floor of her play tent.  She wasn’t really sure why she had slipped today, but…

Everything felt like too much.

Even the basic things–getting out of bed, forcing some food down her throat at breakfast time, dragging the motions of showering and getting dressed…

It was just too much.

Stupid brain, Vaggie thought, trying her best not to start crying.  These were basic needs that everyone should be able to accomplish–the bare minimum.  And there really wasn’t anything in particular that was upsetting her; there weren't any major issues, so why were they crying like a baby?

She should be finding Husk right now, Vaggie knew that.  The Caregiver had made it abundantly clear that he wanted to supervise her whenever she regressed.  But she couldn’t bring herself to leave her sanctuary, where her blankets and stuffies created a shield that reality couldn’t break.

Husk shouldn’t have to deal with me anyway, Vaggie thought, hugging her stuffed dinosaur tighter.  I’m a big kid, I can take care of myself.

Desperate for a distraction, Vaggie tried focusing on her tablet’s screen, which was currently playing an episode of My Melody.  Don’t cry, don’t cry, Vaggie repeated to herself.  She hated crying.  Crying was bad; it made her throat tighten, her head pound, and no one was here to help if she started to panic.  

  So she pretended none of it was real.

***

It was dinner time.  Alastor had just finished making po boy sandwiches, with Niffty speedily dishing it up and dashing the bowls to the table.  The others filed in one-by-one, from Charlie to Husk, all of whom seemed pleasantly appetized by the aromas emitting from the steaming meal.

Husk, gazed upon the table as he moved to sit down.  Surprisingly, there was one seat empty.  Vaggie’s.  It was rare for the moth to skip meals.  As much as she distrusted Alastor, even she couldn’t deny his cooking was delicious.

“Has anyone seen Vaggie?” Husk inquired.

“I texted her to come down; she didn’t answer,” Angel shrugged.

“And I checked her room to tell everyone it was supper time!” Niffty chimed in.  “She wasn’t there though.”

Husk nodded, before abandoning his plate.  His instincts told him to find the moth; she had to be in some kind of distress to skip mealtime with the Hazbin Hotel’s residents.  But where was she, and why?

“I’ll be back; I’ll see if I can find her,” he excused himself.

With that, Husk retreated from the dining room, heading for the staircase.  If Vaggie wasn’t in her room…and she wasn’t responding to messages…and she hadn’t been flying for the kitchen the moment the smell of roast beef and shrimp had drifted through the air…

The cat had a hunch.  

Instead of going to Vaggie and Charlie’s penthouse, he headed for his own room.  The moth had a tendency to hide there when she got overwhelmed, and especially if she did not wish to be found. 

When he arrived inside his bedroom, his sharp gaze swept the room for disturbances.  It was as calm as ever; the usual mess of a couple empty bottles, cards, and clothes littered the floor (the room used to be a disaster zone, he’s certainly done better of keeping it clean since Vaggie starting spending time here).  No unusual sounds or other disturbances disrupted it….

Then he spotted it.

Vaggie’s play tent in the corner of the room was closed, tied off with the velcro straps from the inside.

Husk sighed softly, making his footsteps obvious (as not to startle her) as he approached the teepee.  He could hear slow, heavy breathing from the other side, and the occasional rustling confirmed his theory.  

Husk knelt down to the floor, sitting outside the tent.  Dutifully, he knocked on the hardwood boards.  True, he could have simply pulled the tent flaps open, but he had manners, thank you very much.  If Vaggie wanted to be left alone as her hiding place suggested, he wouldn’t disrupt.

“Vags, you’re missing dinner.  You want to come down and eat?” Husk’s deep voice inquired as softly as he could.

A short puff of breath, then a soft, “...no.”

“Do you want me to bring you some?  You can eat here if you don’t want to come down.”

“...No.”

Husk paused for a few seconds, considering his options and the situation.   Vaggie wanted to be alone, she was refusing to eat, and she didn’t seem inclined to talk either.  Chances were, something had triggered her earlier, something that caused her to slip into headspace and shutdown. 

 He could leave her alone as she wished…but would that really be the most helpful thing?  The thought of leaving her unattended with her misery sounded wrong; his instincts imploring him to find the root of the problem and solve it.  And leaving her to neglect her needs was the very opposite of the job he had signed up for.  

“Can I come in there with you?” Husk suggested.

There was a brief hesitation and then a fumbling of the tent flaps before the fabric doors opened.  Inside, Vaggie was surrounded by stuffed animals and blankets.  Her tablet played a cartoon, which she seemed to stare at dazedly.  There was also a stack of crayons and coloring books which lay untouched.

Carefully, as to not disturb the sanctuary’s order, Husk crawled inside.  The tent was cramped, but not so much that it was uncomfortable.  Vaggie scooted over to make room, hugging her stuffed animals to her chest.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” Husk inquired, sitting cross-legged beside her. 

Vaggie shrugged, burying their face into their stuffed animal's fur.  Though her face was half hidden, Husk could tell she was lying.

“Whatever’s bothering you, I’d be happy to help,” the Caregiver prompted, hoping to encourage some real response.  “I just don’t know what you need right now.”

Vaggie stared down, refusing to meet his eyes as she rocked in place.  A self soothing motion, Husk noted.  However, the additional notice of distress did little to actually explain what was wrong.

“Bad day.  Dunno why?” she mumbled.  

“Sorry to hear that, bug,” Husk replied, keeping his voice even and soft.  “How about we start with taking care of you?  Have you had anything to eat?”

Vaggie shook her head.

“How about a bottle?”

A nod.

“Some snuggles?”

Another nod.  

The responses weren’t much but they were enough to encourage Husk.  If Vaggie was responding, even nonverbally, then it was a positive sign.  She likely wouldn’t resist caregiving.

Gentle and precise, Husk gathered the moth in his arms and carried her out of her play tent, her tablet also tucked under his arm.  He thanked his past self for having the idea to keep some of Vaggie’s gear, including her bottles, in his room.  His minifridge, which had once been exclusively inebriating drinks, was now stocked with protein-enriched formula that would make a suitable meal for his Little one.

Feeling Vaggie’s arms wrapped around him tightly, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her on the bed alone.  He gave her a soft, comforting squeeze as his wings shifted to wrap around her like a blanket.  With a soft pur, he rested his cheek on the top of her head.

As much as he hated his demon form, he couldn’t deny its uses in instances such as these.  He had never been the parental type while alive, but his distinctly cat-like instincts at least made him adequate.  He would live with this form, perhaps even grow to be thankful for it as long as it helped Vaggie.

Soon, the bottle was filled and heated, and the two made it to Husk’s bed.  Snuggled up to her Caregiver’s side, Vaggie mumbled a few words behind her bottle, but otherwise seemed content.  Husk kept her close, nudging her with his furry cheek if she became fussy.   The sunset outside, the stars gradually appeared, and the two were left to themselves.

The peacefulness calmed them both, Vaggie returning to her usual little self.  Soft, unintelligible mumbles became clearer as she rambled to Husk about her day, the drawing she was working on, the cartoon she wanted to watch—absolutely anything that came to her mind.  Husk nodded along, enjoying every word, knowing them to be sure signs Vaggie was feeling better.