#it feels like an eternity since this song came out

[planetherk]

OFF LIMITS

in which Seonghwa cant get enough of Mingi's little sister

park seonghwa x fem!reader (third person)

tw: smut, 18+, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (angel, baby), seonghwa wants her sooo bad, fem user, forbidden love, reader is 18, minors dni, non idol au

my seonghwa fever is getting worse, especially after the lemon drop mv...

wc: 5,7k

There were a few unspoken rules in the Song household. One: never blast loud music after midnight. Two: Mingi gets control of the aux in the car—no arguments. And three, the most sacred of them all—Park Seonghwa was strictly, eternally, absolutely off limits. At least, that’s what Mingi always said to his little sister.

She was eighteen now. Legally an adult. Technically allowed to vote, sign her own documents, and finally order iced Americanos without her brother making a face like she’d committed treason. But in Mingi’s eyes, she was still that tiny girl who used to follow him around the neighborhood in mismatched socks and two pigtails, trailing behind him like a puppy. That made things complicated. Because Park Seonghwa had been Mingi’s best friend since middle school.

And she had had a hopeless, fluttery, chest-squeezing crush on him for exactly that long.

She still remembered the first time she met him. She was ten, a little shy and quiet, peeking around the corner to spy on the tall, handsome boy who’d come over to play video games with Mingi. He had this soft, almost angelic face—kind eyes, a gentle smile—and he’d said hi to her in that voice that made her ears warm.

Now, eight years later, nothing had changed. At least not for her.

Well, okay, maybe some things had changed. Like how she had grown into herself—still sweet, still a little shy around new people, but prettier than she gave herself credit for. Polite to a fault, soft-spoken, and with a kind of delicate presence that people tended to notice without her even trying. But when it came to Seonghwa, she still turned to jelly.

He was in his last year of university and still best friends with her brother. He came over often, flopping down on the couch like he lived there, teasing Mingi with that lazy grin and tousled black hair that made her want to run into a hole and never come back out.

Because it wasn’t just a schoolgirl crush anymore. It was deeper now. Softer. The way he’d pass her a mug of hot chocolate without being asked. The way he’d say, “You look good,” in passing like it was just a fact. And the way his eyes would sometimes linger—just a second too long—when she smiled at him. But he never acted on it. Never crossed that line. Never let himself.

Because she was Mingi’s little sister. And Mingi would absolutely commit murder if he ever found out his best friend looked at her that way.

But what she didn’t know—what anyone couldn’t know—was that Seonghwa was already halfway in too deep.

He didn’t remember when it started, exactly. Maybe it was that day last winter when he found her asleep on the couch, curled up like a kitten, a book fallen across her chest. Or maybe it was the way her laugh lit up the whole room when she finally let herself be comfortable. But now it was impossible to ignore. The softness in her gaze, the subtle scent of her shampoo when she brushed past him, the way she chewed her lip when she was nervous—

He was screwed.

And yet, he kept showing up. Kept pretending he didn’t feel it. Kept pushing it down, like some heavy weight pressing into his ribs. Because her brother trusted him.

So when Mingi decided to throw another party, his excuse being halloween, claiming it would be the only thing to cure his boredom, Seonghwa, being the good friend he is, immediately offered to help.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

Upstairs, some hours before the party, she was putting the final touches on her costume. The bathroom was small and a little stuffy from the heat of her hair curler and the flurry of makeup she had been working on for the last half hour. The mirror was fogged at the corners, the counter a mess of brushes, glitter, and tiny containers. She tugged at the hem of her dress — if you could even call it that. It was small, shorter than she expected when she ordered it, and so delicate it almost looked like it would dissolve if someone touched it. White lace clung to her body in all the right — or wrong — places, little sparkles catching the bathroom light. She wore thigh-high white stockings, thin and lacy too, giving her an almost sinful kind of sweetness. Her angel costume. And she definitely didn’t wear it for him.

And when Seonghwa saw her, he almost lost it.

She looks so... fucking perfect.

He couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding in again—this time even more intense than any other time. He was dangerously close to forgetting all the reasons why he should stay away. She was beautiful, radiant, flawless in every sense, and she seemed so completely out of reach.

I can't keep doing this, he thought, trying desperately to distance himself from his own feelings. She’s not mine. She never will be. But that didn’t stop the ache in his chest, the tension that was still building between them. His jaw clenched as he crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze never straying from her. She would be the death of him.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

The party was in full swing now—noisy, wild, and exactly the chaos Mingi had wanted.

The bass from the DJ's massive speakers made the floor vibrate under their feet, lights flashing between red, blue, and green, giving the whole house an almost surreal, dreamlike feeling. People were packed shoulder to shoulder, drinks in hand, some dancing in the living room, some gathered in the kitchen, shouting conversations over the heavy beat. Mingi had somehow managed to turn the whole place into a mini nightclub, and it was obvious the college crowd was loving it.

She was somewhere near the middle of it all, surrounded by her friends, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol she’d been sipping—sweet drinks that went down like water—and her smile was bright, a little looser than usual. Her friends were dressed just as cute as she was—some in sparkly tops and tiny skirts, others in barely-there witch costumes—but none of them even touched the way she looked tonight. She stood out like a soft, shining light in the middle of it all—her white lacy dress and wings making her look almost untouchable.

And college boys, already buzzed and confident from their drinks, had been flocking around her friendgroup like moths to a flame. She didn’t mind the attention, exactly—she giggled when they flirted, batted her lashes once or twice—but even as she joked around and clinked red plastic cups with strangers, her mind kept wandering back to one person. Seonghwa.

Her eyes flickered to him without meaning to, seeking him out instinctively. And there he was—standing across the room by the makeshift bar Mingi had set up in the corner, leaning against the counter, a cup in his hand, casually talking to San over the thundering music.

He looked so good like this. Relaxed but sharp, his costume fitting him too well, his slicked-back hair and intense gaze making him look even hotter than she remembered from earlier. The blood spatter on his shirt and collarbone only added to it somehow. And the worst part was that his eyes never left hers the whole night. Even while he nodded at something San was saying, Seonghwa’s eyes barely left her body. His gaze was heavy, following her every move—the way she leaned into her friends, the way she laughed, the way her dress clung to her hips when she shifted.

It was killing him. Absolutely fucking killing him.

He took a sip from his cup, pretending to be nonchalant, but inside, he was a mess. Every inch of him was taut, straining not to walk over there, grab her, and make it clear to every other guy that she wasn’t available—even if she technically was. Next to him, San caught the direction of his gaze easily, even through the haze of music and lights. He smirked, nudging Seonghwa’s side with his elbow. "You're so fucking screwed," San shouted over the bass, laughing as Seonghwa shot him a quick, warning look.

Seonghwa scowled, tilting his head like he hadn’t heard right. "What?"

San only laughed harder. "You’re not even hiding it, hyung. You keep staring at her like you’re two seconds from dragging her upstairs. Mingi’s little sister," he added pointedly. "You’re dead if you even think about it."

Seonghwa barked out a low, humorless laugh and shook his head, forcing himself to act normal. "You’re drunk," he lied easily, taking another sip of his drink. "I’m not staring at her."

San arched a brow, clearly not buying it. "Sure, man. Whatever you say."

Seonghwa didn’t argue further. There was no point. He knew it was dangerous. He knew it was wrong. But fuck if he could help himself.

He watched as some college guy with too much confidence leaned too close to her, making her laugh again, and his jaw tightened painfully.

Stay cool, he told himself. Stay fucking cool.

He couldn’t act on it. He wouldn’t. No matter how badly he wanted her—how badly he wanted to be the only one making her laugh like that. Because San was right. If Mingi even suspected how Seonghwa felt about his little sister… He’d kill him. And worse, he would deserve it. He was supposed to protect her. Not fantasize about bending her over the nearest surface.

Still, even as he told himself all these rational things, his eyes refused to leave her, drawn back to her like she was the only real thing in the entire crowded house.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

As a few hours passed, he music was deafening, drinks had been flowing like water, and she was officially gone. She was a giggling mess, her cheeks flushed pink, her hair a little tousled from dancing and moving around so much. Her angel wings were slightly crooked on her back, but she didn’t seem to care. She and her friends had been dancing non-stop earlier, but now they were getting bored — the DJ had switched to some slow, repetitive beats that weren't nearly as fun, and she pouted, dramatically whining over the music.

"I need to fix this," she slurred to her friends, determination flashing in her tipsy eyes.

She spun around, trying to find Mingi — he was the host after all, he could tell the DJ to change it — but in the packed, sweaty crowd, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Still, she was stubborn, stumbling a little as she weaved through bodies, her drink almost tipping over.

That’s when she bumped right into someone’s solid chest.

And of course it was fucking Seonghwa.

He turned instantly at the light shove, his hand shooting out to steady her by her hips without even thinking. And when he saw her—her wide, glazed eyes, her little pout, the way she swayed slightly on her heels—his whole demeanor shifted. He went so soft for her.

"Hey," he said, lowering his head closer so she could hear over the heavy bass. "You okay, angel?"

She giggled at the nickname, swaying again. "M'fine!" she chirped, nodding too hard.

Seonghwa didn’t look convinced. He kept one hand lightly on her waist just to make sure she didn’t topple over again. She leaned closer, getting on her tiptoes slightly to speak near his ear.

"I needa... change the music," she explained seriously, her words a little jumbled, her breath warm against his skin. "It's boring now. We need, like—" she hiccupped cutely, frowning, "I don’t know… some spanish songs."

Seonghwa chuckled lowly, heart squeezing at how adorable she was like this — so determined and tipsy and so irresistible. "Alright, alright," he murmured, giving her waist a gentle squeeze. "Let’s fix it."

Without giving her a chance to get lost again, he grabbed her hand — her tiny fingers slotting against his — and started leading her toward the DJ booth, parting the crowd easily with his larger frame. She stumbled after him, wings bobbing slightly behind her, her grip tight and trusting in his hand.

When they got to the DJ, Seonghwa stood right next to her, close enough that her shoulder brushed his chest every time she shifted. He watched, amused and fond, as she leaned into the DJ’s ear, pleading cutely for "some spanish songs, pleaseeee." The DJ laughed and gave her a thumbs up, scrolling quickly through his playlist.

He couldn't take his eyes off her.

The way her dress clung to her curves, the way her makeup glittered under the flashing lights, the way her lips curved into that triumphant little smile when the opening beats of Chantaje came blasting through the speakers.

Before he could even react, she turned back to him, beaming up at him, her eyes sparkling.

"Come dance with me," she said, grabbing his hand again, tugging him toward the middle of the floor.

Seonghwa didn’t even hesitate. "Yeah," he said, his voice low and sure. "I’ll dance with you."

At first, it was innocent enough. They laughed, moved together easily to the upbeat song, spinning and hopping around like idiots. She threw her arms up, her wings bouncing with her movements, and Seonghwa couldn't stop smiling, completely charmed. But as the music shifted into a slower, heavier bass beat—more sultry, more rhythmic—their movements began to change too.

Still tipsy and emboldened, she moved closer. Her body brushed against his. Then pressed. Her hips started swaying in a slow, hypnotic way that made Seonghwa’s throat go dry.

He didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.

His hands found her waist again, holding her there gently, but firmly.

She looked up at him through her lashes, all coy and mischievous, her body rolling to the beat, her ass brushing against his hips as she moved. Seonghwa sucked in a breath, sharp and strained, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist.

She’s drunk, his brain screamed. She doesn’t mean it.

But another, darker part of him, the part that had been craving her for months now, whispered: She wants you.

Her scent was dizzying — sweet perfume and vanilla and alcohol — and she felt so fucking good against him he thought he might actually lose his mind.

The music throbbed around them, but all he could focus on was the way she was moving — for him, against him — her laughter, the way her hips fit so perfectly against his. She wasn’t even aware of what she was doing to him, and it made it even worse. Seonghwa dipped his head closer to hers, fighting every instinct to not pull her even tighter.

Seonghwa was rock hard at this point, the front of his pants unbearably tight, every brush of her hips against his enough to make his hands twitch at his sides. He tried—God, he tried—to keep himself in check. To tell himself she was just drunk and having fun. That she didn’t mean it. That it didn’t mean anything.

But when the girl leaned her body back more fully against him, her ass pressing flush against his aching cock through the thin lace of her dress and hispants, Seonghwa’s self-control cracked.

His hands shot to her waist—gripping it tight—and for a second, he just held her there, breathing hard against the back of her head. And when she kept moving—kept grinding against him like she had no idea what she was doing to him—his hands slid lower, gripping her hips, his thumbs dangerously close to the curve of her ass.

"Stop," he rasped into her ear, barely audible over the music, but his hands betrayed him, tightening almost possessively.

But she only laughed, soft and tipsy, and turned around in his hold—tilting her head up, eyes gleaming. And without thinking, without caring, Seonghwa crushed his mouth to hers.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was desperate.

Months and months of pent-up longing exploded between them. She gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head while the other stayed firm on her waist, holding her tight against his body so she could feel exactly what she was doing to him.

Their kiss was messy, needy — all teeth and tongues and muffled moans. Her hands fisted the front of his bloody costume, pulling him closer, and he deepened the kiss, tilting her head back just to taste more of her.

She was kissing him back like she wanted him, like she needed him just as badly.

He wanted to lift her up and fuck her right there against the wall. He wanted to tear that little dress off her and worship every inch of her body like he’d dreamed about so many nights. He wanted her.

But reality crashed back into him like a cold slap.

She was drunk. She wasn’t thinking clearly. He couldn’t take advantage of her. Not like this. Never like this.

Breaking the kiss felt like ripping his own heart out of his chest. He pulled back sharply, panting hard, staring at her swollen lips, her half-lidded, dazed eyes.

“Come on,” he muttered hoarsely, grabbing her hand again before he did something even worse. “We need to get you some water.”

She pouted, confused and frustrated, but she let him tug her through the crowd.

Seonghwa barely noticed the people around them. His brain was a haze of her and you fucking idiot, get it together. He dragged her into the kitchen — blessedly quieter — and let go of her hand only to grab a bottle of water off the counter.

“Here,” he said, shoving it into her hands. His voice was still rough, his heart hammering against his ribs.

She blinked at him, still looking a little dazed, her lips parted and he groaned internally and pushed the bottle closer. “Drink, angel,” he said more gently. “You need to sober up.”

Obediently, she brought the bottle to her lips, taking small sips at first, then longer gulps.

Seonghwa leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as if that could somehow cage the overwhelming need clawing inside him. She looked like sin itself, standing there in that tiny white dress, her wings slightly crooked, her cheeks flushed from alcohol and dancing, her lips still red and kiss-swollen from him.

He closed his eyes briefly, breathing deep through his nose. He needed to get a fucking grip. Because if he didn’t he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself a second time.

"Slow down, angel," he murmured when she tried to chug the rest of the bottle, stepping closer and curling his fingers gently around her wrist. His touch was careful this time. Controlled.

She looked up at him, cheeks puffed slightly from drinking too fast, and giggled. he smiled despite himself, soft and fond, smoothing a stray piece of hair from her face. And when she lifted her head to look at him after some minutes, her big eyes soft and a bit clearer, her mouth parting slightly like she wanted to say something he snapped.

He dropped the water bottle onto the counter with a dull clatter and stepped right into her space. She barely had time to gasp before he was cupping her jaw and crashing his mouth onto hers again.

This time, there was no hesitation. Just pure, desperate need.

She kissed him back immediately, almost hungrily, her hands flying up to fist the front of his shirt. Seonghwa groaned deep in his chest, kissing her harder, pushing her backward until her hips bumped against the counter. He didn’t even stop to give her a second to breathe.

His hands roamed greedily — one tangled in her soft hair, the other sliding down her back, gripping her ass through the scandalously short lace dress. She made a little needy sound against his mouth when he squeezed, and he swallowed it down like a man starved. Her dress was so fucking thin. Seonghwa could feel the heat of her skin right through it. He broke the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, to her neck, sucking gently at her pulse point.

She whimpered, arching into him, her nails scraping lightly at his chest, and it drove him wild.

"You have no idea," he muttered against her skin, voice rough and wrecked, "no fucking idea how long I've wanted this."

She shivered under him, her hands moving up, framing his face, pulling him back up to her mouth. He kissed her like he was claiming her, like he needed her more than he needed air. She whimpered again when his hands slipped down to her thighs, squeezing and lifting her effortlessly onto the counter. Her wings shifted and rustled behind her, but neither of them cared.

From this angle, she was so perfect—sitting pretty in her tiny white dress and lace stockings, flushed and panting, her thighs spreading naturally for him.

Seonghwa's hand slid up one of her bare thighs, fingertips brushing along the edge of her stockings, feeling the slight bump where lace met soft skin.

He pulled back just barely, breathing heavily, forehead resting against hers.

"You’re dangerous," he rasped, his voice almost trembling with how much he was holding back. "So fucking dangerous, angel."

He kissed her again, rougher this time, swallowing her little gasps, his hands greedy, sliding up under her skirt now, feeling the heat of her bare thighs. She moaned into his mouth, shifting closer, her legs wrapping around his waist without even thinking. Seonghwa was losing it. She was so warm, so soft, so fucking willing. It took everything inside him not to rip that little dress right off her body. Not to drop to his knees and worship her the way she deserved.

When he finally broke away again, panting, he rested his forehead against hers, trying to calm down, but it was useless.

"I need to get you alone," he whispered hoarsely, voice wrecked with want.

She giggled breathlessly against his lips, her fingers still playing with the collar of his costume.

"Then take me," she whispered back, mischief glinting in her pretty eyes.

Seonghwa growled low in his throat, already spinning plans in his mind— how to get her upstairs, how to lock the door, how to finally, finally touch every inch of her he’d been dreaming about. He was going to make her his. And he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop him. He slipped his hands under her thighs, lifting her off the counter like she weighed nothing. she gasped and clutched his shoulders, giggling quietly as he carried her across the kitchen.

He kept her close against his chest, weaving through the crowd carefully, taking a side route avoiding the main hallway, avoiding Mingi, avoiding any possible disaster.

All that existed for him right now was her. He was so fucking hard it hurt.

They made it upstairs somehow, slipping into her room, and the second the door closed, Seonghwa pinned her against it. His mouth was back on hers before either of them could breathe, his hands greedy, roaming everywhere at once down her sides, over her hips, squeezing her ass with both hands and pressing her harder against the door.

She moaned sweetly against his mouth, rolling her hips up into him without shame, feeling how desperate he was for her.

"Hwa—" she whimpered, tugging at his hair, kissing him back with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

"You’re driving me fucking crazy," Seonghwa growled against her lips, grinding into her, making her feel just how hard he was.

He kissed down her neck hungrily, sucking a dark mark just under her jawline where her brother wouldn’t see it later. His hands slid up her thighs, under the barely-there lace of her dress, until his fingers brushed between her legs. And he froze.

"Fuck," he rasped, pulling back just enough to look down at her, his hand still pressed firmly against the heat between her thighs. She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"You’re killing me, angel," he muttered, voice wrecked, eyes dark and hungry.

She giggled softly, slightly drunk on the way he touched her, on the way he looked at her like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

"I wanted to be good for you," she whispered, biting her lip.

Seonghwa almost lost it right there.

Instead, he dropped to his knees in front of her, pulling her thighs apart with his large hands. She gasped, blushing fiercely, her wings trembling slightly behind her as she steadied herself against the door. He kissed the inside of her thigh first, slow and deliberate, making her shiver. Then higher. And higher. Until he was mouthing at the place she was already slick and needy for him, her sweet little wet pussy dragging a moan from her lips.

"Seonghwa—!" she gasped, her fingers burying themselves in his hair.

He groaned against her, the taste of her driving him wild, and he started working her open with slow, lazy licks, like he had all the time in the world to devour her. She whimpered and bucked her hips, desperate, but he kept her pinned, spreading her thighs wider, feasting on her like he was starving. Oh, she tasted so sweet. So fucking sweet.

When he finally slipped a finger inside her — slow, careful —she gasped again, her whole body trembling against the door. "So perfect," he muttered against her, curling his finger just right, making her sob. "So fucking sweet."

He kept going, slow and relentless, adding another finger, his mouth still working her, until she was writhing, tugging his hair, sobbing his name over and over. It didn’t take long.

She came with a loud, breathy cry, her thighs shaking around his shoulders, and Seonghwa grinned against her, helping her ride it out with slow, gentle kisses.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

He stood up again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and kissed her hard — letting her taste herself on his tongue.

She was dazed, breathing hard, clinging to his shirt.

"Bed," he rasped against her lips. "Now."

She stumbled backward, letting her wings fall off as she crawled onto the bed, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. He stripped his shirt off, not caring about the costume anymore, revealing a lean, sculpted body that made her mouth go dry. He crawled onto the bed after her, catching her mouth in another hot, desperate kiss, grinding against her slowly.

She could feel him now — hot, thick, pressing against her — and she whined softly, squirming beneath him.

"You want me?" he murmured, kissing down her neck, nipping at her collarbone. "Tell me, angel."

"Please," she whimpered, arching into him. "Hwa, please..."

He groaned, his last bit of control slipping. He yanked her dress up, and his fingers found her nipples, hardened by the cold of the room. He started pinching them, taking one in his mouth and started sucking, leaving her a moaning, desperate mess. When he was satisfied, he pushed her thighs apart, and finally — finally — slid inside her in one long, slow thrust.

Both of them moaned at the feeling, Seonghwa clenching his jaw, trying not to come instantly at how tight and warm she was, and she was moaning, her nails raking down his back. He stayed still for a moment, breathing heavily into her neck.

"So perfect," he whispered again, almost reverently. "So fucking tight for me."

Then he started moving. At first his thrusts were slow, deep, that had her gasping and clinging to him, then faster, rougher, pounding into her, making her cry out with every stroke.

Their bodies moved together like they were made for each other, sweaty and desperate, moaning each other's names like prayers. She wrapped her legs around him tighter, pulling him deeper, and Seonghwa buried his face in her neck, losing himself completely.

"You’re mine," he growled into her skin, thrusting harder. "You hear me, angel? Mine."

"Yours," she gasped back, barely able to breathe, barely able to think — all she could feel was him, everywhere, overwhelming and perfect.

It didn’t take long before she was tipping over the edge again, sobbing his name as she came around him, and the feeling of her clenching so tightly around him pushed Seonghwa right over the edge too. He groaned brokenly against her throat, hips stuttering, spilling deep inside her.  They stayed tangled together afterward — sweaty, trembling, kissing each other slowly, lazily, like they never wanted it to end.

Seonghwa brushed a strand of hair from her face, kissing her forehead gently. "My angel," he whispered. She just smiled up at him, dazed and happy, and tugged him down into another kiss. The room was thick with heat, the faint pulse of the party's bass still thudding distantly through the walls. But here, in the dim light of her bedroom, nothing else existed except them.

She was sprawled beneath him, flushed and beautiful, her body still trembling slightly from the aftershocks. He hovered over her, breathing hard, his skin slick with sweat, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead. He kissed her again, slow at first, savoring it, then deeper, hungrier, his hand sliding down her side, squeezing her hip.

And she whimpered softly against his mouth, her body already arching back into him, wanting more.

"You’re killing me," Seonghwa muttered, voice low and wrecked. "You’re so fucking addictive."

Before she could say anything, he was kissing down her neck again, nipping her skin, sucking another dark mark just above her breast. His hand slid between her legs finding her still slick and sensitive and he groaned deeply.

"So wet for me still," he breathed, dragging his fingers slowly through her folds, teasing her.

She gasped, clenching the sheets, her thighs already falling open for him.

"You want more, angel?" he asked, kissing lower, his mouth now between her tits again, as he loved how soft and plump they were.

"Yeah," she breathed out, desperate. Seonghwa chuckled darkly against her skin — then without warning, he grabbed her thighs and flipped her over onto her stomach.

The girl yelped in surprise, giggling, but the giggle turned into a moan when Seonghwa dragged her hips up, forcing her to kneel on shaky legs while her chest stayed pressed to the mattress.

"Fuck," Seonghwa hissed under his breath, just looking at her flushed skin, the glitter of her stockings, the soft curve of her ass presented perfectly for him. He ran his hands slowly down her back, over the swell of her hips, squeezing her roughly. Then he leaned in and bit the inside of her thigh, making her whimper.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, lining himself up again — teasing her, rubbing the thick head of his cock through her wetness but not pushing in yet.

"Hwa, please—" she whined, pushing back against him needily.

"Patience," he smirked, slapping her ass lightly, making her jump.

She whined again, trying to push her ass back, to grind on him, to feel something, but he was having none of it. He slapped the soft flesh of her ass, which turned into a pale red color, which made her cry out but stay still. Then, with one slow, brutal thrust — he pushed back inside her, burying himself to the hilt.

"oh my god," she gasped, clawing at the sheets.

Seonghwa groaned low in his chest, gripping her hips tight as he started moving, setting a hard, punishing rhythm that had the bed creaking under them. The filthy sounds of skin slapping skin, her whimpering, his grunts, was obscene, and he loved every second of it.

"Look at you," he panted, slamming into her harder. "So needy for me. So perfect."

She could barely answer — all she could do was moan, her body completely at his mercy, so cock drunk.

Seonghwa reached forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her up so her back was flush against his chest. She gasped, the new angle making him hit even deeper, her legs shaking uncontrollably. He kissed along her shoulder, murmuring filth into her ear between his deep thrusts.

"Feel how deep I am, angel? You’re made for me. Fuck, I could live inside you."

She sobbed his name, her nails digging into his arms, and he slammed against her skin.

"You’re mine," he whispered roughly. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to have you."

"Only you," she whimpered, clenching around him, and Seonghwa cursed under his breath, his rhythm faltering from how fucking good she felt. He slid a hand down between her thighs, rubbing tight, fast circles over her swollen clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge again.

"Come for me," he growled into her ear, thrusting harder. "Come all over my cock, angel. Let go for me."

It didn’t take long. With a loud, broken cry, she shattered again, her whole body convulsing, squeezing him so tight he almost blacked out. Seonghwa cursed, slamming into her a few more times before spilling deep inside her again with a low, wrecked groan.

They collapsed onto the bed together, panting, sweaty, trembling.

He kissed her shoulder softly, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her against him protectively.

"Fuck," he muttered, pressing his forehead against her back. "I’m never gonna get enough of you."

She giggled weakly, turning in his arms to face him, her cheeks still flushed.

"This will be our little secret, okay? We can’t have anyone knowing baby. Especially your brother." He said as he slowly slid out of her, looking at the mess they both made.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

YOU'RE TOO SWEET FOR ME

(young) Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Sypnosis: Opposites attract, but Aaron reasons that it doesn't mean the magnets should connect. Just because he's in love with you doesn't mean he has to admit it. WARNING: Angst. A/N: inspired by the song Too Sweet by Hozier

From the moment Aaron Hotchner met you, he knew you'd be the death of him.

Your bright aura. Your friendly personality. Your witty jokes. Your everything. You.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't drawn to you like everybody else. In fact, he was probably one of the willing victims of your sweetness.

The two of you joined the academy at the same time. Compared to Aaron, you were the one he would call a magnet. You had everyone attracted to you like a moth to a flame, and all you had to do was smile.

Finding out that you both got a position at the Behavioral Analysis Unit gave him such a euphoric daze. Aaron thought he was just happy that he got the job he wanted. But if he had to admit, seeing you was one of the reasons that it felt right.

"Good morning, Hotch!" You came in like the morning sun, filled with energy and blinding light. You slumped on your swivel chair with a chuckle, "Y'know, smiling a little bit won't kill you. How are we supposed to recruit more people to the team if you're frowning all the time?" You coaxed with a playful grin, easing onto your desk that sat across from him.

You were the first person to ever call him Hotch, getting the idea on accident over a cup of coffee. You were in the middle of bringing his mug in the name of being a kind teammate when you rattled on a simple, "Be careful, it's hotch!" followed by bursting out of laughter after the innocent mistake.

And since then, you couldn't call him anything else. Aaron wasn't thinking of correcting you anytime soon. After all, you two have been working together for the past five years, contributing to the continuous development of the BAU.

One other thing...

Aaron Hotchner has been in love with you for years, and kept it buried in the deepest corner of his heart.

Why?

He thought of many things.

First, your coffee order. He took his coffee straight black. The bitterness kept him awake enough to function. You, however, had some step-by-step concoction that kept you insanely energized for the day.

Second, your bedtime. He stays up as late as he could. The silence brought him peace as he listened to his pen scribble on his action report. You, however, slept as early as eight in the evening or as soon as you were allowed.

Aaron wouldn't hesitate to say more, but it'd take him an eternity.

He knew so much about you that someone might render him a creep had he mentioned it to anyone else but himself.

Because one thing Aaron Hotchner knew well was you.

And he knew you'd change in an instant if someone asked you to.

Aaron couldn't possibly have you do such a horrible thing.

The world needed your brightness. Aaron convinced himself that the world needed you more than he could ever do.

You were too good for him, too sweet.

So, why ruin the incredible person you are?

His love for you could be treated with constant denial, but whatever damage he could do to your bright spark would be a crime.

Loving you was a crime.

"I got it!" You erupted in the bullpen, jumping like a three-year-old child. Your vision caught Aaron, who had just walked in. You snatched him into a tight hug as you continued to bounce on your feet.

Aaron couldn't stop his lips from curving, melting into a puddle as he felt your arms wrap around him. His body stood frozen, but his heart was beating so loud he was afraid you could hear it.

Jason Gideon came out of his office to see the commotion, David Rossi right behind him. The two founding fathers of the unit curiously wondered what may have made them stop in the middle of a chess game.

"What's the jumping for?" David had his eyebrows knitted but was enjoying the way you celebrated with joy.

Another reason why Aaron couldn't possibly admit his feelings for you. You were contagious. Your glee always affected everyone, influencing an individual with the tiniest sound of your giggles.

You retracted away from Aaron, facing David. "I got the position in Interpol!" You exclaimed with pride, gasping for air after your prior actions.

Jason and David raised their eyebrows, accordingly giving you a congratulatory embrace. You felt their happiness for you in every bone they had almost crushed. Still, you paid no mind. The news made you feel elated, fueling you with a sense of fulfillment.

"It'd be different to not have you here, but I'm proud of you. Interpol would be glad to have you." Jason remarked with a satisfying nod. "You ready to move to Washington?"

"Even better," You bit your lower lip from excitement, "I'm going to France!" You clasped your mouth with both your hands, containing your squeals behind it.

Aaron heard his entire heart shatter into pieces as your triumph echoed on the walls of the bullpen. Everything became a blur and muffled.

Years of keeping his feelings a secret was no easy task, but at least he got to see your sweet smile each day. He couldn't imagine his life without listening to your random fits of laughter.

How was he going to survive a day without your daily reminder that he was human and not some poker-faced mannequin?

Who would complain about his bitter taste for coffee?

Where would he look when he needed a source of hope in the form of a warm smile?

What would he do without you in his life..?

But you just looked so proud, so excited, so... happy.

So, Aaron Hotchner put up a brave face and soft smile, "Congratulations."

[prettyliittleviolets]

˗ˏˋ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ♫ ˚. ⋆

⋆ ｡˚ remmick x reader ˚｡ ⋆

INTRODUCTION

NOTES remmick x fem reader. 1920s jazz club au. non canon plotline. reader’s race and features not specified. no use of y/n. possibly ooc remmick. pathetic remmick. slight sub remmick. slight dom reader. slow burn. pining. remmick is a man who yearns. eventual smut. full length fic, multiple parts.

WARNINGS touches of angst maybe?

SEE ALSO moodboards.

1921, new orleans, louisiana.

it had been years since he felt at home somewhere. immortality came with cost, surely, even if he never asked for it. for remmick, it happened to be a suffocating feeling of isolation, no matter where he went, no matter who he surrounded himself with. the place he had once called home so dearly had grown cold and lonely, and he was filled with a sense of loss he didn't know how to comprehend. However, He was sure this feeling was temporary, a circumstance of chance. That if he moved somewhere new, a blank slate, he could recreate the community he once had.

new orleans was nothing like he had ever expected. it was a vibrant, busy city – full of life and mystery, where every street corner seemed to hum with music. he was drawn into its allure, the place buzzing with something that made him feel more alive than he had in ages. but, it was also dangerous. the people were attentive, skeptical, and he had to remain vigilant – careful about when he fed, who he was around, what wandering eyes might see. it was as if the city itself was taunting him, a phantom promise of what he had spent centuries searching out.

quiet, reserved, and rather lonely, remmick had started to frequent a late night jazz club in town – one of the only places where people were too occupied to note his presence. the atmosphere was soothing: the low clamor of conversations and rich, vibrant music – much akin to the folk songs he held so deeply in his heart. the club was grounding for him; it provided a vibrant beam of life in his dreary eternity, and satiated the desperate longing for a community he hadn't had for centuries. despite this, he kept to himself while he was there: careful not to interact with anyone too much, careful not to reveal himself too much, and careful not to get too close to anyone, physically or elsewise.

that was, until recently. he was walking down the quiet town street, his only company the occasional weary traveler or giggling group of tipsy young women, approaching the club he had almost grown comfortable in – but something was different. a shift in the air, maybe; or, if he listened closer, a distinct, sharp new voice accompanying the ever-familiar jazz music. he enters, as he always does, but the change in atmosphere has sent his head reeling, a sensation he just can’t seem to control. he sits closer to the stage than he usually does, abandoning his secluded seat in the corner for something hauntingly more vulnerable. he watches you a little too intently, drawn not only to your honey-sweet voice, but everything that radiates off of you: charisma, warmth, charm, and a scent so enveloping he can't think straight. still too reserved to do much of anything, he returns to the club like it’s a ritual, desperate to catch a glimpse of your presence again, even from afar. obsessive doesn't suit him quite right – intoxicated. he is wine-drink on your being, and far too shy to do anything but watch, utterly enthralled.

that won’t stop you, though. nothing much ever has, and nothing much will – not even the way his eyes glint in a way all too animalistic. not even the fact that when he bites down on his lip, a nervous habit, you've noticed, his too-sharp canines poke out ever so slightly. not even how he shies away from every interaction, every word, every touch; as if he’s scared you’ll see too much. or, maybe he’s scared that you’ll break him into pieces he can’t put back together. maybe you will.

© PRETTYLITTLEVIOLETS

[bbokicidal]

Marriage? Marriage. | Maknae Line! SKZ [OT8]

Genre : Fluff Warnings : None Pairing : Maknae Line SKZ x Fem!Reader

Notes : Ever wondered what your wedding would be like with SKZ? How they would propose? What their tux/outfit would look like? Your ring? The venue? Well I've got it all right here! (Completely w/ photo references!)

Other Notes : This is just how i picture things going down/looking. If you disagree or have other opinions, that's totally fine! But please don't go in the comments complaining it isn't how you pictured it. If you don't like it, scroll past. Thank you!

Jisung

The Proposal : Jisung is the one to make a big spectacle of it, creating an entire song to ask you to marry him in front of the guys. He does it at the venue for their concert during soundcheck so it's a little more personal, wanting you to be there for what he's calling 'practice' so you can hear and critique his new song. Or that's what he says - it's really just a massive proposal. He even gets Chan and Minho to run down the stage throwing flower petals in the air while he sings.

The Venue : Nothing too fancy. He wants it to be personal between just your families (and the guys, of course.) So he chooses a smaller venue with plenty of floral decorations to satisfy the both of you. He lets you pick out the colors however, agreeing that a nice muted purple would be a good mix between casual and elegant.

First Look : Oh, he bawls. He's on his knees the moment he turns around, tears streaking down round cheeks and hands covering his mouth in admiration. You have to cup his face and pull him up - but the photographer gets a perfect picture of you two kissing while Jisung bawls his eyeballs out at how beautiful you look.

His Best Man : Minho. (We all saw that coming.)

Felix

The Proposal : Felix takes you to his childhood home to do it. It's bigger than expected (because he came from a pretty well off family,) and still as wonderful as he remembers growing up. His family tags along to witness it all, but they aren't even aware of the proposal and his sisters are screaming before you are when they see him get down on one knee. Very romantic, very wholesome - biggest ring you've ever seen.

The Venue : Massive venue, very fairytale-esque. He wants it to be grand, as perfect as you are. He falls in love with the ballroom feel of the venue and his mind is made up the moment he steps inside to check it out for the first time. "It's perfect," He'll nod, later admiring how it looks with all of the decorations the two of you had picked out. The theme comes out to a soft pale blue and white.

First Look : He doesn't want to do a first look, but he lets the guys go and see you. His heart slams in his chest the moment Chris comes back with rosy cheeks, exclaiming how beautiful you looked and how Felix had gotten oh-so lucky to be with you. Of course, he tears up a bit and maybe bawls a little when he sees you walking down the aisle.

His Best Man : Jisung.

Seungmin

The Proposal : He's the one to do it on stage. Unexpected, right? He wants to make it memorable for everyone - especially you. He'll ask you to come out, take your hand the moment you enter the stage and then walk with you to the middle to give the most heartwarming and sincere speak you've heard since their Maniac tour. "I said once that I didn't believe in the word 'forever,' but... in this moment, I want to believe I'll be with you for eternity."

The Venue : Also something bigger. Plenty of room to hold many guests but not as grand of a venue as Felix's pick. It's outdoors, for one, the theme of the wedding a warm green with pale pinks and roses speckled in for accent. He lets you do most of the decorating because he trusts you with it, but he will give you his input if you ask for it. However, his favorite thing about the venue has to be the archway he'll marry you under.

First Look : Oh he's getting a first look. He's a bit impatient the day of and asks to see you as soon as possible, only to be met with your arms wrapping around him from behind. He'll sink into your embrace before turning to look at you, backing away only so he can take in the full view. He'll even ask you to do a little spin, holding your hand with care and smiling at how beautiful you are.

His Best Man : Jeongin.

Jeongin

The Proposal : It just sort of... falls out of his mouth. You're having dinner with the group out at a nicer restaurant and he's sitting at your side, seeming a bit distracted and distant. Lost in thought, he snaps back into his own mind before murmuring a soft, "Do you want to get married?" as he looks over. It catches you by surprise, especially when he pulls a velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring. He couldn't find the perfect way to do it, and he grew impatient with himself - so he just asked.

The Venue : He lets you pick it out, with you settling on a smaller church that gave the most basic, traditional wedding possible - which is how he preferred it, if he were honest. He liked how it felt normal, like he was just another person existing in the universe. Nothing too special, nothing too grand. Just... normal and perfect for you two.

First Look : His first look is during pictures, and as he sees you coming up to him he's all full of giggles and bouncy excitement. He turns away to whisper to Seungmin how he's not sure how he bagged such a baddie, before turning back to gather himself and hold your hands while telling you how beautiful you are. Absolute menace even during his own wedding but he's doing his best.

His Best Man : Technically? Seungmin. But he gives each member of the group a special Boutonniere because in his mind, they're all the best. He wants all of his hyungs involved in his wedding.

[starmocha]

be my eternity, say my name [Caleb/Reader ★ 2725 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] The secrets only you and Caleb would ever know. A/N: ;~; I've been working on this on-and-off since January. I'm so happy it's finally done. Title is referencing a verse in two TXT’s songs, Deja Vu and Run Away (9와 4분의 3 승강장에서 너를 기다려), but for this fic, I drew more inspiration from Deja Vu (I will probably write something using Run Away in the future, because I have ideas, hehe) @deepspacenova I'm also tagging you because this is one of the Caleb song-inspired fics I mentioned to you last night <33333 Tag list:@solifloris @natimiles @callilypso @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @miudle @alfredosaws @nezuswritingdesk @valkyyriia @yourlocalcatscammer @qyuin 【 request to be added 】

It was a secret.

That you fell for Caleb first.

You couldn’t explain when it had happened, when you finally saw him in a different light, knowing he was someone much more precious than a mere friend. You knew, though, that since that one afternoon long ago when you both came into each other’s lives, you took his hand and never wished to let it go ever.

(I’m Caleb. I’ll always be by your side.)

It was a secret.

In the dark of nights, under thick cover, your hand wandered, slipping in between your legs, driving into your folds, curling just so as your thumb brushed over that sensitive clit as you thought about him just a few doors away asleep in his own bed, unaware of the shameful act you had submitted yourself to, unable to ignore the desires to have him unconditionally, claim him solely for yourself.

All of those close instances, seemingly innocent in the way his body hovered so close to yours, or the way sometimes his arm would wrap around your waist when he teased you, unaware of the effect it was having on you. He never knew how the warmth of his breath teasing against your neck would have your heart skipping several beats faster, how there would be a tightening in your belly when he loomed near you, or the way how sometimes when your playfighting would lead to you tumbled atop him, so close to him physically and yet you felt the vast distance from his heart.

You fantasized of his large hands behind you, resting on the small of your back, his eyes locked with yours, searching almost desperately for permission, an invitation to cross this invisible line between you both. You thought of his lips, seeing the way they trembled, see his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, looking like a man starved, salivating at the sight of the glorious indulgence before him. You thought of treading first, stealing his lips experimentally, swallowing his surprised gasps as you grinded down on him, feeling his growing arousal brushing against your own.

You imagined his restraints broken, picturing him yielding to temptation, his hands fumbling over your body, his hips thrusting up, needing to feel you through the clothed barriers between you both. Your name spilt from those lips, the rasp in his voice more noticeable as he groaned in pleasure, growing more and more delirious as this lust heightened between the two of you.

You panted harder. You wanted his calloused hands on your smooth skin, trailing over secret places he had never known until this moment. You wanted to discover together with him all of the places on both of your bodies that would have you buckling, your toes curling, a hungry desperation for more and more.

You quickened your pace, fingers rushing as you imagined how he would have you come undone fully clothed on top of him, hearing that sweet, sweet voice of his urging you, praising you, coaxing you until you were trembling and crying against him.

Just a little bit more.

So close. So, so close.

Almost there.

With a few more rushed strokes and you were crying out your orgasm, his heavenly name spilling from your lips. For several minutes, you lay in bed, panting and shaken by the pleasure you had just experienced. There wasn’t much thought left in your head, a sudden wave of drowsiness seeming to wash over you.

You sighed.

When you stared at your hand, chest still heaving from the adrenaline, you wondered what it would be like to be filled by him. You couldn’t seem to stop imagining his body against you, wanting to be pinned underneath him, trapped beneath the heavy weight of him, his forearms resting on either side of your head and his face so close to yours, and those soulful eyes imploring you to want him, need him in a way only lovers would ever know.

Your breathing grew shaky again. You wondered how big he was, wondered how well your body could take him. You couldn’t help but imagined this time his hands just gripping your thighs, prying them apart, letting him see just how wet and willing you were for him. That burning need to stretch around him stirred within you again, your hips unwittingly squirming, feeling nothing but also everything.

Inadvertently, you moaned his name again, your body writhing beneath the sheets, the ache inside you renewed. You tossed and turned, your face buried into your pillow to muffle the way you cried out his name over and over again, feeling like you were humping against nothing, your fingers barely able to satisfy you, not like how you knew his own could.

Caleb’s long, thick fingers filling you, thrusting in and out as he made sure you would be ready to take more of him later. You clenched, voice strangled, as you cried harder, feeling your climax approaching again.

“Caleb… Caleb… please… please… Caleb…!”

There was a noise outside your room. You froze in that instance just as your second climax arrived and you bit down on your lip to stifle your moans. Someone was in the hallway. Was it your grandmother…  or was it Caleb? You didn’t know, too scared to even peek at the shadow beneath the crack in the door. Stay silent, you ordered yourself, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle any sounds that could slip through. You could still feel the lingering shocks of pleasure coursing through your body.

You squeezed your eyes shut, curling up under the cover. Even after it was safe to stir again, you stayed still.

You almost wished it was Caleb who came into the room to check in on you. You almost wished he would discover the dirty secrets you kept from him, the way you pleasured yourself many nights thinking of him. You wondered how he would react seeing you in your bed with reddened cheeks flushed hot and fingers wet with your own arousal from the way you shamelessly touched yourself to dirty fantasies of him. You wondered if it would destroy your precious relationship with him, or just maybe, he felt the same.

Maybe he also felt the same about you. Maybe he had his own dirty secrets. Maybe he also carried lewd thoughts in his mind, thinking of you in ways he probably shouldn’t.

If he did, you couldn’t wait to uncover them, wanting his secrets exposed to you alone and yours to him.

(Mornin’, pipsqueak, did you sleep well?

…You could say that.

What is that supposed to mean—never mind, we’re going to be late for school. Hurry up and eat.)

It was a secret that you made the first move.

If there was ever a forbidden line between the two of you, you crossed it without a care, unable to ignore the growing feelings and desires within you. You could never entertain the idea that Caleb would be with anyone but you. He was yours from the beginning and you wanted him to the very end.

One warm afternoon, he was napping on the couch, a book facedown on his chest. You knelt on the floor next to him, drawn to how handsome he looked, peacefully slumbering away like an angel of God seeking respite for just one instance. Such long lashes, you admired with slight envy before smiling as you looked at his lips. They were just barely parted, his breathing soft and slow.

You swallowed, suddenly nervous, before you leaned in, pressing your lips to his, light and a little awkward, but that immediate tingle you felt was already an exhilarating rush that chased away your earlier coyness.

He stirred, but before you could pull away, his hand was behind your head, keeping you in place to your shock. He didn’t say anything, but you felt him kissing you back, and you yielded to him, savoring this moment like a sweet forbidden fruit you had shamelessly coveted.

When he opened his eyes, beautiful pools of violet stared back at you in relief. You smiled back, thinking you could drown in them forever if he would let you. His book dropped to the floor with a dull thud and you were dragged on top of him in seconds. You stared down at his smiling face, a warmth spreading over your cheeks, suddenly coy again now that it was apparent his feelings were identical to yours.

One hand reached up to cradle your cheek, your own two hands covered his as you gazed down with fondness in silent understanding.

The house was empty. It was just the two of you, in your own little world, your own little Eden.

Just like how it had always been, it seemed.

(Mm, are you… are you sure?

Never been surer in my life, Caleb… You?

If I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up.)

It was a secret how soft Caleb’s lips were, how quickly addicted you became, wanting and needing all of his kisses, wanting to greedily pocket them all for yourself. The short, fleeting ones, just barely there, stolen lips in passing when no one could see, or passed off as just a trick of the mind. The long, drawn-out kisses, both your feelings poured out in intense sessions that would leave you breathless but unable—unwilling—to stop, always yearning for more.

Fast, messy kisses, rushed with frantic hands grabbing at one another, bodies pressed together in secrecy, hidden away in dark corners or under covers.

The way he would kiss you all over. Gentle, tender forehead kisses. Playful pecks on the tip of your nose. Sweet, chaste cheek kisses. He would get bolder, kissing along down your neck, in the crook, along your shoulders, leaving not a spot untouched by his lips.

He would be more sensual, worshipping you all over. Down your chest, leaving you gasping and squirming against him, trapped beneath him in surrender.

Such lascivious kisses he would leave along the inside of your thighs. Heavenly lips seeking your intimate area, a secret place only he would ever know as he hungrily tasted you, devouring like a man starved and worshipping like a sinner seeking salvation.

Caleb was always smart, so it didn’t take him long to learn your body, discovering all of the ways he could make you cum for him. He could be the sweetest man when he wanted to be, but those little moments when he was just a little more taunting in his words and in his ministrations had a way of driving you wild, finding him even more desirable than you thought was possible.

(Ah… Caleb… I’m going to… ah… wa-wait…

Cum for me, my pretty girl.

Oh, fu—)

It was a secret how delicious you tasted afterwards on his lips.

(So pretty. So, so fucking pretty like this.)

It was a secret how warm Caleb’s mouth felt around your nipple, how the way his tongue swirled over the sensitive nub had you bucking shamelessly against him, his hands automatically forced to grip your hips to keep you in place on his lap. Even when your small hand grabbed at his hair, tugging and whining, he suckled harder on one nipple while he let one hand squeezed and groped your other breast, kneading the soft, supple mound with experimental strength, relishing in the way that you gasped out his name and how under your skirt, he could feel your panties getting damped, the soaked fabric brushing over his thigh had his mind racing, growing delirious with ideas of what he could do to you.

It wasn’t just the mere imaginary ideas of what he could do to you that had him going wild, but the very knowledge that you would willingly let him had him hardening, his control and self-restraints weakening as all he wanted to do was give in to his desires—give in to you.

(You make such pretty sounds. Is it only for me?

D-don’t tease me… Ah…!

I’m not teasing. I want to hear more.

Ca-Caleb!)

It was a secret how Caleb pressed you into his mattress, how you always and willingly spread your legs for him. This was always where he was meant to be, between your legs, his body looming above yours. No matter how many times he had taken you, it always felt like the first.

With Caleb, everything always felt like the first time, as if you and he were always restarting from the beginning, never letting the story of you and him end.

(Already this wet? I haven’t even done anything yet. Naughty, naughty.

I… I… can’t help it… you…

Tell me. Tell me how I make you feel.

Caleb…! Ah…!

Tell me. Did you get excited—thinking about my cock pounding this needy pussy?

Wai-don—yes!

Do you always think about me like that? Answer me.

…Yes…

Louder.

Yes! Yes, yes, Caleb, always!

Ah—oh fuck—)

It was a secret how you always would come so sweetly around him, muffled moans suppressed under his large hand, under his intense smoldering amethyst eyes before they closed as he filled you full with thick, heavy spurts of his seed, his own groans stifled, burying deep into your shoulder.

(Shh, we don’t want anyone hearing us, alright?

…Mmph…

I’ll spoil you next time. I want you to scream my name next time.)

It was a secret how many times Caleb had filled you. How full you felt as your belly bulged, the sight always clouding his mind with dark lust, the need to always keep you like this, completely ruined by him, made for him.

He kept you flushed to him, your body heat exchanged and shared. He kissed you soundly as he softened inside of you, but he showed no sense of urgency about parting, still wanting to stay buried in your warmth. He seemed reluctant to break the kiss, the sounds of both of your heavy breathing filled the room as he gazed down at you, wanting to keep you locked within his gravity.

(It’s like you were made for me. All mine.

And you for me?

Right. Yours. I’m all yours. No one else’s. Yours.)

It was a secret how you dreamed of a life of just you and him, hidden away in a paradise of your own making. There would be no sorrow, no anguish, or judgment from others. You dreamed of long summer days, basking in the day’s warmth with his fingers intermingled with yours.

You dreamed of laying on green grass, him on top of you with the blue heavens above as witnesses of your love for him, and within his vibrant violet eyes, there was a promise of eternity, his life was yours—was only ever yours and no one else’s.

(Pipsqueak… go to sleep.

No… I want to keep watching you.

Silly girl… You can watch me tomorrow.

I want to watch you now. And I’ll watch you tomorrow, too. Caleb…

Hmm… So greedy.

Only when it comes to you.

…

…Caleb?

I feel the same. I want to keep you all to myself. Forever mine.)

It was a secret.

That you and Caleb belonged together.

The world would never understand.

A bond this sacred was meant to last for eternity, your souls bounded together long ago when you took his hand first but he was the one to hold on tight, promising himself to you for all of your lives together.

(Caleb… I—

Wait—let me… just let me…)

Such heavenly secrets stayed hidden away from nonbelievers.

No one would ever know of him the way you did, just as he had uncovered all of your secrets, stealing them away to be his and his alone.

His hand on your cheek, eyes always finding yours, you knew already the words that were to come, but you waited in anticipation with bated breath.

In the next instance, his sweet smile filled your vision and you were pulled back into his orbit, locked within his embrace. When you looked up, his warm breath intermingled with your own, your heart beating quietly for him. He cradled your cheek, guiding your lips to his, and he breathed a secret to you, a promise of eternity only for you.

(I love you. I’ll always be by your side.)

[calif0rnia-lovers]

safe place.

an: ngl, I wanted to hug jude & bukayo through the screen when England lost😔

requested: I remember seeing that Jude said his mom helps him when he gets "too low with the lows or too high with the highs." Can you do a fic where his gf is that way?

pairing: jude bellingham x black!reader

series: lyrically inspired tales.

if my heart aches, you breathe with me at my pace.

song: safe place by ruthanne

warnings: this is most definitely not edited lol.

The stadium lights had dimmed, and the roar of the crowd had faded into a distant memory, replaced by a haunting silence. Jude Bellingham sat in the quiet of his hotel room, the weight of the Euro final's loss pressing heavily on his shoulders. Exhaustion seeped into his bones—physically, mentally, and emotionally he was tapped. The missed shot that could have changed everything replayed in his mind, a tormenting loop of what-ifs and if-onlys.

He felt utterly drained, each breath a reminder of the effort he had poured into the match. The worst part about losing was feeling like he was at his lowest, despite all the hard work and dedication he had poured in for his country. The memory of the silver medal being draped over his shoulder, the relentless flashes of cameras, and the disappointed faces of fans loomed over him like a dark cloud. He had tried to keep his head up, stopping to hug each of his teammates, whispering words of encouragement, but it still hurt like hell. He had forced a brave face, stifling the sting in his eyes, reassuring his family and friends that he was alright. Keeping up the front until he reached his room had been a monumental task, and now, alone in the dim light, the facade crumbled.

He stared blankly at the wall, the ache of disappointment settling deep within his chest. Hours seemed to drag by, each minute stretching into an eternity. His phone was on Do Not Disturb. Although he knew the messages were meant with the best intentions, Jude wasn’t ready to read the encouraging texts sent to him. He hadn't spoken to anyone since the bus doors closed, needing space to process the defeat alone. The team’s efforts, the dreams of a nation, all seemed to hang on that one moment when his shot had veered just slightly off course.

A knock at the door broke through his reverie. Jude ignored it at first, unwilling to face anyone. If he didn’t call out, whoever it was would go away. But then it came again. 

A single knock, followed by three softer knocks, a distinct rhythm that was all too familiar. It was a special knock. Your special knock, a signal that meant more than words ever could. It prompted him to rise from the bed and cross the room.

Your interaction at the stadium was still a blur. A rushed kiss against his lips, nose, and forehead, a whispered “I love you so much,” was all he could receive before he was moving through the line of friends and family. In the few short hours that had passed, you had showered and changed.

When he opened the door, Jude found you standing there with your travel backpack pressed against your chest.

Jude paused to take you in, grounding himself by focusing on your familiar features. It was a routine he had built over the last six months of your relationship, a way to find solace in the midst of chaos. His eyes passed over your smooth, deep brown skin, which seemed to glow softly in the dim light. He traced the contours of your face, from your cheekbones to your lips that carried a gentle, reassuring smile. The sight of it relaxed the furrow of his brow.

Your eyes, warm and filled with understanding, were his favorite feature. They held a depth of emotion and wisdom that made him feel seen and understood. Your lashes framed them perfectly, long and curled, adding to the natural beauty that always took his breath away. His gaze traveled up to the soft curls, pineappled at the top of your head, his hand instinctively reaching forward.

As he studied you, taking in every detail—his touch tracing the curve of your jaw before settling against your cheek—he felt a sense of peace wash over him.

"Hi," you greeted softly, your voice a balm to his battered spirit.

Jude managed a weak smile, the corners of his lips lifting. "Hey," he replied, his voice rough.

You stepped inside, Jude’s hand instinctively settling on your hips as the door closed.

The scent of lavender and chamomile wafted from the bag you carried, filling the room with a calming aroma. It was a scent that lingered on the sheets of each hotel room Jude stayed in, his bedroom at home, and even in his shirts and jerseys. He associated it with you, and only you—a fragrance that instantly brought relaxation and comfort. Whenever you couldn't make it to his games, Jude would find the aromatherapy tucked away in his bag, a thoughtful gesture that made him feel close to you even when apart.

“My flight leaves at 9:30 tomorrow,” you began as you unzipped the bag. Gathering what you needed, you started towards the bathroom. “So, I’ll probably leave here at 7. I’m sure traffic is going to be insane.”

Jude listened to your voice, the calm cadence soothing his frayed nerves. You didn’t expect a response; you knew him well enough to understand that after a loss, he needed time to recover. So, you verbally went through your travel plans. The turnaround was quick, but you needed to report to work. While slightly annoying, the plan was simple: report home, get back to work, and into your routine. Jude would soon follow.

As you focused on starting the bath, Jude began to look through the items you bought. His hand paused on something small and familiar, tucked beneath his favorite snacks—a stuffed lion. He picked it up, a wave of bittersweet memories washing over him. The lion had a soft, golden mane and big, friendly eyes. Stitched into the pad of its right paw was a heart. Jude remembered the day he won it for you at the Ice Palace, the way your face had lit up with joy, your smile so wide and genuine it had made his heart swell.

"My lion," you’d giggled, hugging the plush toy tightly before wrapping your arms around his neck, your laughter ringing in his ears. “I can keep him with me when you’re away.”

You paused in the bathroom doorway, watching him hold the stuffed lion. "That always makes me feel better when we're apart," you said softly, a smile finding your lips as the shared memory hung between the two of you.

You began to take out and explain the things you had brought to cheer him up—a selection of his favorite snacks, your iPad full of movies, and some comforting toiletries. "I brought these because I thought they might help you relax. And I know how much you love Shawshank Redemption. So...being the gracious, loving girlfriend I am, I will sit through it for the hundredth time. But, only if you promise to share your sour st-"

You were mid-sentence when he moved towards you, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind. For a moment, you stayed that way, the warmth of his embrace speaking louder than words. Jude buried his face in your shoulder, his breath hitching as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.

You could feel the tremors in his body, his grip tightening as if you were his anchor in the storm of his emotions.

"It's okay," you whispered, turning to face him, the warmth of your palms against his cheeks lifting his eyes to yours. "You gave it everything you had, and that's all anyone can ask for. I'm so proud of you, Jude. You’ve come so far, and this is just a moment in your journey. It's okay to feel hurt and disappointed, but remember that you are stronger than this. Everything happens exactly when it's meant to."

Finally, the dam broke, and Jude rested against you, the tears he’d managed to keep at bay all night came pouring out. He remained pressed against you until the stress of the past few months drained his eyes dry. He allowed you to lead him to the bathroom, welcoming the warm, fragrant steam filled the room, creating a cocoon of comfort. 

He allowed you to help him undress, your movements tender and deliberate, as if you were peeling away not just his clothes but also the layers of his hurt.

"Let's get you in," you murmured softly, as his lips brushed against yours, guiding him into the tub. Jude eased himself into the warm water, letting out a deep sigh as the heat began to soothe his aching muscles and weary mind.

You stepped back to gather the other things you had brought, but Jude's hand gently traced soothing circles into your thigh as you stood by the tub. The simple touch spoke volumes, a silent plea for your presence, for you to stay close.

Jude leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he let the warmth of the bath wash over him. The exhaustion and frustration that had gripped him began to loosen, replaced by a growing sense of peace. He listened as you moved around the room, lighting a few candles and setting out the items you had brought—a fluffy towel, his favorite shampoo, and a soft robe for when he got out. 

You joined Jude in the tub, settling behind him. He welcomed the loofah against his skin, the gentle, rhythmic motion of your hands soothing his frayed nerves. You massaged his shoulders, careful with the one that had been previously injured, as he rested back against you. His hand found its place on his leg, grounding him as he watched the movie playing on the tablet propped nearby.

Your touch worked magic, and you could feel his body gradually relaxing. The tension that had coiled within him slowly unwound, and he seemed to be coming back to himself. The voice in his head, the one that echoed with doubt and personal criticism, grew quieter with each passing moment. Each gentle kiss you pressed against his skin, each laugh you shared from the film, chipped away at the walls of his frustration.

By the time most of the bubbles had dissipated, Jude was completely relaxed. His gratefulness showed in the way he gently squeezed your thigh and the soft kisses he brushed against your knuckles. The warmth of the water, combined with your presence, created a cocoon of comfort and safety. 

He tilted his head back slightly, letting it rest against your shoulder, eyes half-closed in contentment. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, fingers tracing small circles on his chest. "You don’t have to," you replied softly. "I’m here, always."

Jude sighed, a deep, contented breath that seemed to release the last of his lingering tension. He turned his head slightly to kiss your forehead, a silent thank you for being his anchor in the storm. The doubts that had plagued him earlier were now a distant memory.

The kiss he left against your lips was soft, almost sloppy. The physical and mental strain he's been under from Real Madrid and the Euros suddenly registering. His body begging for sleep.

"Let's get you outta here," you giggled. "I don't think I can carry you to bed if you fall asleep."

You press against the corner of his mouth, the action stopping the closing of his heavy eyelids. "Come on, Jude."

"Mmm...hold up..." Jude mumbled, eyes drifting shut as your lips brushed against his. Brow arching, his smirk prompting your eyes to roll. "...I'm not even tired."

"Uh-huh," stifling your giggle, you watch as Jude nods. His heavy eyes blinking before dropping down to your smile.

"'m not," he mumbled, his kiss missing your lips and settling on your chin.

A series of soft and light kiss lingered against your jaw, drifting to your shoulder. As much as he tried to fight off the comfortable sleeping tugging at him, Jude couldn't resist. By the time he reached your lips, a tired and goofy smile stretched across Jude's lips.

"Alright," he relented. "Let's go, but we gonna finish this in the morning."

"I'm sure we will," you smiled.

You place a final kiss against his lips. The brushing of your nose against his pulling out the smile that left you the victim of constant butterflies and euphoria. Before Jude knew it, the words slipped out.

"I love you," he murmured, the words hanging in the air between you like a delicate promise. "Thanks for this."

The words halted your movement of slipping from beneath him, your eyes widening slightly in surprise. It was the first time he had said it aloud. You had never pressured him for those words, knowing that he showed his love in countless other ways. Just as you did for him.

"I love you too, Jude," you replied as his lips found your forehead.

Letting his lips pass over your nose, Jude pushed himself.

[afterglowsainz]

guilty as sin? | oscar piastri

summary: you and oscar can't be together, but that doesn't stop either of you from wanting each other

warnings: drinking, mentions of masturbation

word count: 2k

a/n: this song is my hyperfixation rn! also, i don't write smut (which is not what this is) but i had to include the last part of the fic, the nature of the song forced me to!

everyone and their mother knew that you and oscar liked each other, but things were never that simple between the two of you.

oscar being an f1 driver for mclaren in his second year and you being a pr manager for f1, dating within the workplace was a complete no; besides the fact that it just made things more complicated than they had to be, it was also forbidden by your boss. that and also the fact that the two of you were too proud to be the first one to give in, so neither of you did. it was a bit immature, sure, but it was what it was.

so since you couldn’t be together, the only way to fight the feeling was simply date other people, and you both did that well. for oscar it was easy because he usually just went back to his ex, which made you extremely jealous because she was the only woman you thought you couldn’t compare to, they had years of history, and you were the relatively new girl, how could you stand up against her? easy, you couldn’t, or so you thought. finding someone for you wasn’t hard either, unlike oscar, you didn’t date the same person the whole time because you didn’t have an ex, so you just picked a boy of the month and made oscar jealous, which was quite easy because oscar got jealous of every guy who even looked at your direction.

at this moment, at the after-party of the miami grand prix, it was one of those rare moments where none of you were dating and you were both single, but still, not together. you had to admit you’ve been drinking shots of vodka since you arrived at the place and haven’t stopped since, which made you a bit tipsy but not drunk. you were on your way out of the bathroom when you accidentally slipped on a wet patch at the club’s floor and you had to lean on the person closest to avoid falling.

“oh.” a small shocked sound came out of you. “sorry, i’m sorry.” you apologized to the person next to you, who put his arms around your waist to avoid you from falling.

“it’s okay.” you hear your favorite voice in the world and look up to see his face close to you.

“hey.” you smile.

“hello.” he answers with his beloved australian accent.

“didn’t see you there.” you look at your surroundings, the bathroom was in the dark side of the club and not many people were around

“yeah, i was hiding.” he admits. you nod in understanding.

“alone?” you arch your brow after not seeing any of his friends nearby.

“i just need a second.”

you nod again. oscar can get overwhelmed very easily so you knew what he needed.

“have you been drinking?” he asks now. you avoid his eyes, focusing on the people dancing in front of you.

“yeah.” you admit. “that’s not why i almost fell though, the floor is wet.” he chuckles and nods with a smile. “have you?”

“just a little, not much.” you turn to look at him and it was now him who was avoiding your gaze. “where’s your boyfriend?” he asks.

right. you forgot to tell oscar that you broke up with the last guy you were seeing. it was stupid, really, you just didn’t like the way he dressed, he wore skinny jeans and hoodies most of the time and that irritated you for some reason. he was also not oscar.

“we’re not together anymore.” you say waiting for a reaction which you get.

“oh?” he asks, arching his brow and looking back at you. his expression however, stays the same.

a scary thought crosses your mind and you feel sick almost thinking of it, but now that you thought of it you can’t forget it, so you just ask.

“did you get back with lily?” you wait for what it feels like an eternity for his answer, but it only really takes him about three seconds to respond.

“no, we’re not together.”

you felt like breathing out all the air in your lungs in relief, but you didn’t out of respect.

“nice.” you say instead, which earns oscar another chuckle.

“yeah.” he says simply.

you stand by each other in silence, just watching the people around you not having a single care in the world. like it was a gravitational force pulling you to him, you started getting closer and closer until your hands were touching each other. you were feeling bold that night, bold enough to maybe make the first move. when you felt his finger rubbing against your hands you snap your head to look at him, but before you could talk you hear a male voice interrupting you.

“y/n”. they called you.

at lightning speed, oscar gets away from you and you feel like punching the person who interrupted you. when you turn you see the face of one of your best friends who also happens to work in formula 1.

“just wanted to make sure everything was okay.” he says. “you left a few minutes ago.”

you smile at him like you internally didn’t want to kill him.

“all good.” you answer. “just catching up with oscar here.” you tilted your head towards the australian until your friend finally noticed him.

he looks a bit shocked when he realizes he interrupted you.

“hi mate, how are you?” he asks him, a bit shy, trying to play it cool. oscar just smiles slightly at him.

“all good.” he looks at your friend and then back to you. “well i should get back with them.” he tilts his head towards lando and some of the other drivers.

you couldn’t think of anything fast enough to make him stay, so you just nodded. he said his goodbyes and left you two alone.

“mate!” you finally recriminate your friend and playfully slapped his arm.

the laugh that erupted from him was a mix between amusement and regret.

“i’m sorry!” he apologized, taking you back towards your other friends through the club. “i didn’t know you were together, we were actually worried.”

“that’s fine.” you respond while rolling your eyes. “let’s just drink.”

you spent the next hour forgetting about the world around you and just drinking and dancing with your friends like it was the last night on earth. it was also pretty fair to say that you were already drunk at this point. not embarrassingly drunk, you could still stand on your feet and have a conversation without dragging your words, but you were definitely beyond the point of being sober.

“i have to go to the bathroom again.” you screamed at the ear of your friend and she nodded in understanding.

“do you want me to go with you?” she screamed back at you. you shook your head.

“i won’t take long.” she just nodded and let you go.

this time you weren’t planning on taking as long as it took you last time, you just wanted to go back to your friends as soon as possible to continue having fun. but just like the first time, the only person in the world that you wanted to be with was right there again, next to the bathroom exit and somehow hiding in the shadows, but this time you saw him.

“oscar!” you screamed over the music.

he snaps his head towards your face, always finding you in a room full of people. a smirk appears on his face as you approach him and you can tell by the look of him that he has also been drinking more.

“thought i wouldn’t see you for the rest of the night.” he whispers once you’re close enough.

you take your time to answer, just taking him in.

“hiding again?” you ask.

“too many shots.” he says. “needed to take a minute.”

you bite your lip shamelessly and he notices it, immediately wishing it was his instead. 

“oscar.” you smile and whisper his name.

“y/n.” he whispers back, his eyes fixated on your lips.

you mimic him and lower your eyes to his lips as well. since you were drunk and every ounce of shame left your body long ago, you’re bold enough to touch his chest, your hands traveling all the way to the back of his neck, pulling yourself closer to him.

“oscar.” you whisper again, touching his cheeks, just wanting to feel him. “oscar.”

you felt his arms wrapping around your waist, bringing you as close to him as possible. your face inches away from his.

“y/n.” he whispers again.

you think that is gonna happen, it’s definitely gonna happen right here right now, but everything comes crumbling down when you feel a different pair of arms pulling you away from your waist.

“hey, there you are!” someone exclaims and the connection between you and oscar immediately breaks. “sorry mate, she gets touchy when she’s drunk.” the voice says and you instantly recognize it as one of the friends you came with.

“i’m not drunk!” you defend yourself, facing him with a frown on your face for ruining the moment.

“right.” he says incredulously. “she’s touchy all the time.” this was now directed at oscar.

you felt like screaming at the top of your lungs for having your moment with oscar ruined for the second time in the night, but you controlled yourself, allowing your friend to grab your back and direct you to your friends.

“bye, oscar.” you whisper, waving your hand slightly.

he doesn’t answer back, but you can see the strained smile on his face and the nod he gives you. when you’re far enough, you look at your friend with impotence.

“what the hell was that?” you yell. “didn’t you see i was busy?”

“that was me saving your ass.” he says without major emotion. “you were about to kiss oscar drunk and you and i both know that’s impossible.”

you sighed and crossed your arms like a little girl throwing a tantrum. working in formula 1 was hard, and trying to date in it was even harder, almost impossible.

“is it ever going to be easy?” you ask no one in particular, but your friend answers anyway.

“well, it’s you and oscar, so probably not.” you think about it for a few seconds until he interrupts your train of thought. “come on, we were leaving already.” he says.

you follow your friends to the exit of the club and get into the first uber that’s taking you back to the hotel. the trip doesn’t take long and you just chat with your friend for most of it. once in the hotel you say goodbye to everyone and go up to your room, trying to catch some sleep. 

it shouldn’t be hard to fall asleep considering that you’ve been working all day and you just spend hours at the club, however, there was one thing at the back of your mind that didn’t let you rest. you couldn’t shake the feeling of oscar’s hands in your body back at the club, almost cornering him into the wall, the two of you just feeling each other. you were frustrated for sure, tossing and turning in bed for an hour straight until you couldn’t fight the feeling anymore. 

you bit your lip for a moment, thinking if this was actually appropriate, but soon enough the intrusive thoughts took over your mind and you just think fuck it. 

you touch yourself that night with only one person in your mind, wishing it was him that was making you feel good, knowing that he would make you feel even better; you screamed his name when you climaxed. before you can think of what you just did you decide to go to bed as soon as possible, finally feeling tired enough to sleep.

ten minutes after you went to bed, you missed oscar’s text asking you if you were still awake, which he deleted five minutes after you didn’t answer him.

[ordinary-barbie]

slide tackling my mind.

frat!rafe x black!fem!reader

summary: when Ruthie makes a quip about your relationship with Rafe, it sends you into a spiral of doubt. Luckily, Rafe is there to reassure you through it all.

tags: language, pet names ("babe" and "baby"), reader is insecure and has anxiety, implications of racism, allusions to sex but no smut, no usage of y/n, Ruthie kinda sucks

word count: 2.6k

note: title from the song "slide tackle" by Japanese Breakfast!

It was the most wonderful time of the year. No, not Christmas—college spring break. This semester had been a bit hectic, and you were ready to have no responsibilities or obligations except relaxing on the beach with your gorgeous boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Sometimes, you still couldn't believe this was your life—it's like you'd won the lottery. And you had Sofia, your best friend and freshman year roomie, to thank for that. She'd taken you to your fair share of frat parties last year, but one particular bash last semester changed everything. Sofia had played matchmaker, orchestrating a meeting between you and Rafe Cameron, and the rest was history. (You really needed to send her a gift basket with your eternal gratitude.)

You inhaled deeply, letting the smell of the salty beach air fill your nostrils. You'd only been in St. Petersburg for a few hours but had already been endeared by the place. It was gorgeous—you could look at that beautiful beachfront view forever.

"Nice view. The girl looking at it is even prettier, though." You smiled, turning to face Rafe. His blonde buzzcut glinted in the evening sun, and his ocean blue eyes shone with affection for you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him and tenderly kissing your forehead.

"Thinking we should all check out the boardwalk before dinner," Rafe said. "You down?"

Unfortunately, you and Rafe didn't have paradise all to yourselves. Rafe had invited Sofia and her boyfriend, Dylan, as well as his two best friends, Topper and Kelce, which was fine—you especially had a soft spot for Kelce's girlfriend, Aimee, who was in the same sorority as Sofia. The one issue was Topper's girlfriend, Ruthie, who went to Duke but would be joining you all since her school had spring break at the same time as UNC.

Ruthie hadn't said or done anything to you to cause the uneasiness you felt around her, but you could just tell she didn't like you for some reason. She never talked to you or made you feel included in group convos. Anxiety swirled in your gut, making you wonder if you'd slighted her in some way. But for Rafe's sake, you planned to squash down your feelings and act like it didn't fill you with dread to be in close living quarters with Ruthie for a week.

"That sounds great!" you chirped, hoping your performance was convincing. Rafe smiled softly, pecking you on the cheek before returning into the house.

-

"That food was literally so good—I think if I eat another bite, I'll explode," you joked, rubbing your stomach satisfiedly.

After taking a little stroll down the boardwalk (and stopping to take copious photos), your group decided to eat at a cute waterfront restaurant for dinner. Rafe insisted on paying for you, so you indulged, especially when it came to dessert—you'd had a key lime pie that made you want to get down on one knee and propose marriage.

Aimee and Sofia giggled, agreeing with you. Ruthie smiled thinly before returning to her phone. You pretended that her reaction wasn't a blow to your self-confidence.

"We should go back to the beach and watch the sunset!" Sofia suggested. "I've heard the sunsets here are so beautiful."

Aimee squealed, clapping her hands together. "Ok, yes! We defo have to get some sunset pics!"

"Ames, does everything you do have to be documented for the gram?" you joked.

Aimee playfully rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You're gonna take sunset pics too, don't even lie." You snorted. Guilty as charged.

You looked down at your phone for a second, checking your notifications and responding to some texts. When you looked back up, you could feel the intensity of Ruthie's gaze, like she was sizing you up. Suddenly, you felt like a zoo animal being kept behind bars for Ruthie to gawk at.

Rafe squeezed your knee under the table as he chatted with Topper, snapping you out of your anxious thoughts. You leaned into your boyfriend, nuzzling his neck and inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne. You appreciated Rafe for bringing you momentary comfort.

-

Sofia was right—the sunset was absolutely breathtaking. The sky was a swirl of vibrant colors: pinks, oranges, yellows, and reds. You snapped an aesthetic pic for your Instagram stories and took group shots with Sofia and Aimee. Ruthie was content to lay out on the beach, taking selfies in her bikini.

You allowed yourself to feel content—and then the shrieking started. Sofia and Aimee ran into some of their sorority sisters and got wrapped up chatting with them and taking pictures with their massive sorority flag. The boys were clowning around in the water, leaving you and Ruthie alone. And as usual, she was staring.

"Can I help you?" you asked jokingly, hoping to lighten the lingering tension in the air.

Ruthe jumped, startled that you'd actually spoken to her. She quickly regained her composure, flipping her hair and pursing her lips together. "I just think it's interesting that Rafe is dating you. You're just...different from the other girls he's dated before. You don't really seem like his type."

Ruthie had grown up with Rafe in the Outer Banks, so you knew she'd seen her share of past girlfriends. You had an idea of what she meant: you weren't blonde or blue-eyed; you couldn't be mistaken for a Hadid or a Jenner sister.

"Oh, because I'm not white?" you quipped, raising an eyebrow. You weren't stupid—you knew that you didn't exactly fit into Rafe's world. It was one thing for Rafe to date someone who wasn't in Greek life, but the fact that you were also a Black woman? You knew that raised some eyebrows, but hearing Ruthie say the quiet part out loud stung.

Ruthie froze for a second, then smirked. "I'm just surprised he's stayed with you this long. I honestly thought Rafe was going through a phase."

You bristled. A phase. As if Rafe was just dating you to seem quirky and different and piss off his parents. As if you were some kind of experiment.

Your lip wobbled, but you refused to let Ruthie see you cry and pick on you for being weak. "Fuck you, Ruthie."

"Wow, real classy," Ruthie snarked.

You rolled your eyes, already so over this conversation. Ruthie snorted, returning to her phone, and you did the same, aimlessly scrolling through Instagram to distract yourself. However, your mind couldn't help but fixate on what Ruthie had said and how small it made you feel. You thought you were over the insecurity you felt about dating Rafe. His friends seemed to like you, especially Topper and Kelce. But Ruthie managed to cut deep without saying much at all.

You wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. Your brain was buzzing with a litany of negative thoughts, and there was suddenly a dull ache in your chest.

Sofia and Aimee returned, arm in arm, blissfully unaware of the shit that just went down. You plastered on a smile, trying to push those pesky feelings to the furthest corners of your mind.

It wasn't enough, though. You weren't enough. And the more you dwelled on what Ruthie had said, the more you started to believe her.

-

You found yourself pulling away from Rafe. You shrugged off his arm when he tried to put it around you after coming out of the water and then continued to stay distant on the ride back to the beach house. Now it was bedtime, and you were lying in bed, staring off into space while Rafe scrolled through TikTok next to you.

You hated seeing how Rafe's face fell as you continuously rejected his attempts at affection. But that nagging critical voice in your head just wouldn't shut up. Your self-doubt was a mosquito, constantly buzzing buzzing buzzing in your ears. You sniffled, finally succumbing to your sadness and letting the tears fall.

"Baby, please talk to me," Rafe pleaded, gently tugging at the covers draped over your body. "Did I do something wrong?"

You slowly sat up in bed, wiping your eyes before turning to face Rafe. "I don't think we're a good fit for each other," you said, the words feeling bitter on your tongue.

Rafe let out a nervous laugh, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "What are you talking about, baby?"

You wrapped your arms around your body self-consciously. "I'm not the kind of girl you should be with. You need a rich blonde sorority girl who would look great on your arm at the country club. Someone nice, who isn't a fucking anxious mess all the time." You were rambling now, your shaky attempt to self-sabotage this relationship. Not that you deserved it, anyway.

Rafe's jaw ticked. "No," he simply replied.

"No?" you echoed. "But Rafe, I'm—"

"I don't want those other girls!" Rafe interrupted, firmly shaking his head. "Been there, fuckin' done that. I like you, all right?"

You scoffed, refusing to believe him. "Ruthie said I'm not your usual type. That you're just in a phase. And she's right, Rafe. Guys like you don't go for girls like me."

"Ruthie said that?" Rafe's eyes blazed with anger. "What the actual fuck."

"But she's right, though," you repeated. "I’m not like the other girls you’ve dated before—I’ve seen your Instagram. Honestly, I’m just waiting for the rug to be pulled from under me and this to all be revealed as some practical joke.”

You forced out a chuckle, but Rafe wasn't laughing. He said your name sternly, beckoning you to come closer. You sat in his lap and let him wrap his arms around you.

“Ruthie doesn’t know shit,” he said bluntly. “I care about you—a lot. You’re amazing. Honestly, I don’t think I deserve you! Fuck whatever she said to you. This isn’t a fucking phase. You’re it for me, baby.”

Rafe's words tugged at your heartstrings. He was looking at you so tenderly; it silenced the whispers of self-doubt, making them disappear into the ether. You suddenly felt so much lighter, and your lips curled into a small smile.

Rafe smiled warmly at you, taking your hand and rubbing small circles on the back of it with his thumb. You loved it when he did this—it was always so soothing and grounding and got you out of your head.

"Ruthie's a cunt," you muttered, eliciting a chuckle from Rafe.

"I honestly don't know what Top sees in her," Rafe admitted.

You shrugged. "She's hot, and Topper is...Topper."

Rafe wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your neck. "You're hotter. And much more fun to be around."

You giggled, and Rafe looked at you like you hung the moon in the sky. "I love your laugh, baby."

"Yeah? What else do you like about me?" you asked, a playful glint in your eye.

Rafe started kissing every part of you that was in reach—your cheeks, your neck, even your nose. "So much. Gonna have to write a fuckin' book about it," he murmured, running his hands up and down your body.

You gasped, feeling Rafe's bulge pressing against you. "Rafe, you're hard."

Rafe chuckled, nipping at your neck. "'Course I'm hard. I have a hot girl in my lap."

"Well, let's do something about that then," you teased, fiddling with the elastic of his sweatpants.

Rafe growled, pinning you to the bed. "Gonna fuck you so good tonight, baby."

He kissed down your body, making you moan with pleasure. Normally, you'd be more self-conscious about being vocal in bed with other people around, but fuck it. Your hot boyfriend was about to rail you, and you didn't care who knew about it.

-

Topper and Kelce snickered as you and Rafe entered the kitchen the next morning, while Sofia's boyfriend covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. "Y'all have a good time last night?" Topper teasingly questioned.

"Oh, we had a great time," Rafe said, smirking widely. You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to hide your grin.

"I guess some people forgot that their room is right next to me and Topper," Ruthie snarked. "Maybe turn down the porn star noises a bit next time, ___."

"A pleasure to see you as always, Ruthie," you deadpanned, making a beeline for the box of donuts on the kitchen island.

Rafe cleared his throat, glancing at Topper. "Hey Top, can we talk in private for a sec?"

"Sure, man," Topper said, following Rafe out of the kitchen.

Sofie and Aimee joined you at the kitchen island, grabbing some donuts—though they seemed hungrier for gossip. "What's going on with you and Ruthie?" Sofia whispered. "That's the first time I've heard y'all talk to each other, like, ever."

You sighed, getting into what went down on the beach last night. Aimee's jaw dropped open, while Sofia was seething.

"I'm about to throw hands," Sofia muttered, staring daggers at Ruthie, who was absorbed with her phone yet again. "Nobody talks to my bestie like that!"

You laughed, shaking her head. "You're not throwing hands, Sof."

Sofia turned back to you, softening her gaze. "It's just so fucked up that someone would go out of their way to belittle you like that. You are a total catch, and Rafe thinks so too. Who cares what she thinks?"

You felt a warm feeling in your chest at Sofia's words. You were so lucky to have such a supportive friend in your corner, and honestly didn't know what you'd do without this girl in your life.

Your ears perked up when you heard Rafe and Topper return to the kitchen. Topper went up to Ruthie, a stony expression on his face. "Ruthie. Let's go outside—we need to talk."

Ruthie looked up from her phone, furrowing her brow but following Topper outside anyway.

"Rafe...what did you say to him?" you cautiously asked your boyfriend.

Rafe shrugged. "Basically told him his girlfriend was being a bitch to you."

You felt your cheeks grow hot. "Rafe, you didn't have to do that—"

"Yes, I did," Rafe said firmly. "I had to stick up for my girl."

"Simp!" Kelce jeered.

Rafe flipped Kelce off before wrapping his arms around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck to inhale your scent.

Suddenly, the front door opened with a bang, and Ruthie stormed up the stairs, looking livid.

"Shit, what happened out there?" Rafe asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Told her I didn't like the way she was speaking to ____ and that we should break up," Topper casually replied.

"Thank fuck," Rafe muttered.

"Aw, Top. You'd really blow up your entire relationship for me?" you quipped, dramatically putting your hand on your heart.

"You're my best friend's girl," Topper responded, shrugging his shoulders. "And you're my friend."

You launched yourself into Topper's arms, giving him a bear hug. "Thanks, Top."

Topper chuckled, patting your back. "Don't mention it."

Ruthie stomped down the stairs, leaving the house without a second glance at anyone else.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out!" Aimee called after her.

-

With Ruthie gone, you felt like you could finally breathe easily. After breakfast, you and the rest of the gang headed back to the beach to relax. You took a book out of your bag, a cozy little romance novel, while Rafe laid next to you, getting a tan.

"Lemme put some sunscreen on you," Rafe said, already rummaging through your bag for the bottle.

"You just want an excuse to put your hands all over me, you perv," you accused, arching an eyebrow.

"I can't believe you think so little of me. I just want to make sure your skin is protected from the sun...and I want an excuse to put my hands all over you."

You snorted, putting your book down and lying on your stomach. As Rafe gently caressed your body and rubbed in the sunscreen, you felt totally content. You wanted to bottle this moment up—just you and Rafe, in your own little world, enjoying each other's company.

You belonged at his side, and vice versa, no matter what anyone else thought.

[urcoolgf]

could we get more singer reader n drew, i loveee them

OF COURSE! i love them as well, such a healthy dynamic. i figured the best way to go about this would be to just continue where the last one left off! hope you enjoy :)

p.s. i can definitely do like a progression of drew and reader’s relationship in accordance with some ariana albums just lmk! i would love to do stuff with dangerous woman, positions, and eternal sunshine as well

YOUR SOUL IS THE SAME INSIDE

pairing. bf¡drew && singer¡reader

content. fluff

summary. ever since you && drew started dating, you've been more inspired than ever, so—before your newest album drops—you wanna give your boyfriend a sneak peak (based on 'blazed’ by ariana grande)

“so…,” a breathless laugh escaped you before continuing, “wanna hear some more?”

“c’mon baby, you already know my answer,” drew smirked, moving back to put his arm around your shoulders to listen to the next track you played.

track 2. title: ‘blazed’.

—

your relationship with drew hadn’t been accepted by the public at first. you had both received odd ‘threats’ from crazy fans who believed neither of you deserved the other. it was weird, but luckily you and drew were used to the spotlight, and it hadn’t really phased either of you. you were happy, and that’s what was important.

as you pressed play on the next song you wanted drew to listen to, you felt a slight pride. this album was basically your baby, and the fact drew reacted so positively about the first song made you optimistic for the rest of your songs.

an upbeat tempo followed by a man’s voice began banging through the speakers of the studio. drew immediately started bopping his head to the rhythm.

i can’t believe that you’re here

i can’t believe it’s happening

what are the odds that you’d appear?

the universe, so vast to me

seven billion is on the earth

coulda been anywhere, but you’re here with me

should i play lotto? what’s it worth?

i must be on, so clear to me

drew’s eyes narrowed as he took in all the details, a slight smirk on his face. this was a different vibe from the song you previously played, but had the same message. the jazzy beat almost distracted drew from the lyrics—almost.

like the last time, drew didn’t speak. you had to go off of facial expressions to try and read his thoughts. although based on his grin, it seemed the reaction was positive once again. you were just staring at him again, not wanting to miss even the slightest change in demeanor from him.

as the song continued, he looked at you more frequently. his normal position was to stare at the ground, as if he couldn’t have any other distractions long factors present while he listened. there were just certain parts he couldn’t help but turn to you just to show the love behind his eyes.

look at you, love, you are the same

you have a light you cannot hide

yes, you may have a different face

but your soul is the same inside

i don’t care who is listening

‘cause they be makin’ fun of this on tv

they wouldn’t laugh if they were inside my past life

with you, and they were me

drew couldn’t help the low chuckle that escaped his lips. the fact you wrote about the criticism with such a humorous tone made him love you even more. you didn’t care what people thought—you just cared about him, and it was evident in the music you created.

his fingers began tapping along with the beat against your shoulder. his warm touch comforting, and encouraging—you could tell he actually liked it. the chorus came in one last time to close out the song. drew even began mouthing the words—that he had apparently already memorized—and your heart swelled. he was your world, and the fact he was just as proud of your work as you were made you feel like the luckiest girl ever.

once i have you

i will never let you, never let you

once i have you

i will never let you, never let you go (shawty, you can get blazed, blazed)

ah-ha, never let you, never let you go away, bae

never let you, never let you go, aye

never let you, never let you go, hey

never let you…

the instrumentals faded out, along with your adlibs, and drew was officially excited for this album. the level of mastery behind everything you created never failed to blow his mind. this is exactly what you were meant to do, and he thought it was beautiful that you could share it—not only with him—but with the world.

just thinking of it made drew’s eyes well—just a bit, okay—as he turned to face you once again. his hands found the sides of your arms and just shook you in excitement, your giggles filling the space.

“baby! it’s amazing—literally so good. the fact you wrote these masterpieces about me?! i mean—it honored. it’s incredible, i feel so lucky,”

“well, that’s what happens when you treat a popstar right,” you laughed. you were obviously joking, but he really did treat you better than anyone before. you didn’t think anyone could ever treat you better than drew. the thought quickly escaped you once you felt drew’s warm lips against yours. he crashed into you with a passion you’d never quite felt before.

you leaned into the kiss, manicured nails finding their way to his neck. when you finally pulled back, he looked like a puppy—eyes wide, looking at you like you held the key to the universe, like you could do anything, and he would think it was everything.

his love was all-consuming, you didn’t even know how to express it. the songs didn’t even do justice, but of course they were as close as you were gonna get. you didn’t think he could even imagine how much you loved him. it startled you—how much you had let him in over just six months, but you couldn’t imagine not loving him. it was like a second nature, it came as naturally to you as the notes you sang.

“‘m gonna marry you one day, y’know that?,” he smiled, a boyish smile that made it feel real. his hands on either side of your face, making you face him so you really heard him.

“really?,” your eyes pricked with tears, but they were happy tears—something you didn’t experience a lot before drew.

“mark my words, y/n. gonna make you my wife, gonna spend the rest of my life with you. whether you like it, or not, you’re stuck with me,” his laugh was inspiration enough—you could write a whole other album right then and there just based on his laugh alone.

“oh, don’t worry. i’m gonna absolutely love being stuck with you,” you said before giving him a quick kiss.

an: slightly shorter one, but i think we all know where this is heading next…

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[seneon]

OF ART & SWORD ──── samurai¡ touya × geisha¡ reader.

about. oh but to love a woman who is already married to art. set in edo period, rural japan! au. romance. mentions of alcohol and suggestive content ( very short & uncompleted sex scene, it's intimately beautiful ) wc of 4300+

notes. the long awaited fic that's been sitting in here for months LOL. these rural jp themes & titles are based on research. anyways, no grunge dabi content this week.

SUNDAY NIGHTS were the only night that all the well respected samurai of the shogun had all for themselves. the gruesome days of protecting, engaging in battle, and training during the day were seemingly like a preview of what hell is like.

during this one night where they are granted freedom to sprawl all around the kingdom, many of the samurai's loyal warriors are seen in brothels. they engage in nothing but sugar-coated conversations with the women there and the next thing their bodies entwine.

tonight, the elite men all decided to spend their nights watching performances led by the women from the best okiya in the entire city. tonight is the night of artistry.

it is hard to tell if the samurai were here for art or not, since they all knew that a specific tayū of eternal beauty resides in this okiya. a woman who married the concept of art and ingrained it all throughout her soul.

the highest ranking of geisha which stands on par with those beautiful oiran of pleasure, you, a tayū. a woman of art and a woman who never fails to shine a sort of hopeful light around her customers.

the calmest of turquoise eyes watched as the said tayū danced above the little stage.

your arm ever so elegantly tracing the strings in the air as your fingers dipped in the invisible waters. occasionally, you would turn around, your feet carrying you so lightly it looked as if you were dancing in heaven's clouds.

it sucked the samurai’s soul in a captivating trance as you danced to the shamisen’s tunes that your maiko played. your movements were so fluid that it reminded the samurai with pure snowy hair of the calmest waters of a lake.

he couldn't take his eyes off you, even when the performances were finished and all the geisha in the okiya surrounded themselves among the samurai men, mingling around for a little fellowship.

he swore he was the chosen one the moment you choose to offer him your attention, sitting at the empty spot beside him.

“good evening, sir. is it alright if i serve you tea?”

hell. your voice sounded like those heavenly angels who sang melodic songs. your words so smooth it simply rolled off your tongue. it is enough to make the samurai's heart race with your voice.

and gosh. has he ever seen such beautiful eyes before? those eyes that draw him close so that he can drown in an unending pool of your gaze. they were so kind that it taints his heart with the purest of colours.

he simply nods, never a verbal man. either way, he couldn't force a single word out of his throat with the way that his insides are all over the place.

you simply smiled and poured him tea, as you said you would. you only poured tea for him, never one for yourself. that made him want to push a few words out, a little distracted from his feelings.

“pour for yourself,” the samurai murmured, avoiding your gaze as you said a simple all right before pouring an empty little cup of tea for yourself.

“i’ve never seen you here before.”

“that's because i never came here before,” he replied almost immediately to your words as he took a sip of his tea. “those men have been here several times though.”

you glanced over him before focusing your gaze back on him. “yes, i know them. but i don't know you. what is your name?”

his turquoise eyes flickered to your face as you asked him for his name. it seems like common courtesy for a pretty geisha to ask for her customer's name so that she will appreciate and remember the faces of those who pay attention to the artistry of the geisha.

“it's todoroki tōya.”

tōya's name rolls down your tongue like a prayer.

ONE MONTH of knowing you and that is all it took for the elite samurai todoroki tōya to start sponsoring you. he is the only man capable of such riches and wealth and the only one whose patronage was accepted by you.

tōya's comrades were surprised. they did not see it coming— how he is such an aloof soldier yet was noticed by the most beautiful woman of the geisha world.

now, the samurai with hair as white as the winter snow sat on the tatami mat, watching as you executed solo performances for him and him alone, a way to show gratitude to your danna.

he watched as the fan in your hand flew in the air, your fingers skillfully performing tricks with such a nimble little thing. even with a tool used in your dancing, he was impressed by your skills.

“how'd you do that? the fan thing,” tōya asks as you continue to swing your arm elegantly in the air, following the nonexistent music which only plays in your ear and yours alone.

“i simply throw it in the air and hope to catch it the right way,” you replied, giving him a slower demonstration of the skill as you saw tōya tilted his head in confusion. you chuckled before your movements came to halt.

“there is no way you just hope to catch it the right way. there has to be a skill. just like samurai with their blades and kenjutsu.”

you sauntered over to the man before setting your fan aside and taking a seat opposite of him.

“but there is. when you have a skill, you hope to make the best out of it. you believe in the skill which you've perfected. that is hope. when i perform, i hope for the best. when i hope and believe in that light, then i can perform perfectly while holding onto that simple little light that lives within me.”

gosh, even your words sound like sweet honey that drowns itself into the back of his mind. the way you perceive a word as simple as hope has him listening intently, even if he isn't really into that kind of overwhelming genre.

by now, you already know he isn't a man of many words but just a few. you do almost all the talking, filling the air with your heavenly voice that tōya loves to listen to every time he murders his free time basking in your calming presence.

being with you simply makes him forget about all the samurai work that he has. in your presence, he forgets how to wield a blade, how to lead an army, how to fight for this country because all he could think of was how to hold your hands, how to lead you into his embrace, and how to fight for you.

it's pathetic to him how he forgets that he is a samurai, yet an elite one, whenever he's with you. and sometimes, he forgets what he wants to say and ends up uttering the utmost outrageous thoughts of his.

“you are my hope, y/n.”

THE MOON GLEAMED, like a massive white bone china plate, hanging high up on night heavens. its silver glows illuminated on the skin of a figure slowly and elegantly moving her arms in the air, forming a magical aura all around her. your hair danced along the cold winds accompanied by the soft waves of the lake.

you slowly moved, following the tunes that the earthly nature offered up to you as a gift for entertaining them with your dancing. to dance freely and to have no other soul tear your confidence away is such longing peace that you have been looking for this whole time.

when have you ever danced like this all alone without having to worry about anything at all? without the eyes of men burning their gazes into your soul.

you felt so free, telling your okasan that you wanted to take a nightly walk through town but here you are, all alone by a lake where the moon favours your absolute beauty.

there were extremely faint sways of the roots that danced in joy at the performance you are giving them, serving mother nature with your grace.

now it is tōya's turn to lay his eyes on your dancing figure. you slowly spun around, arms moving in the most graceful and beautiful manner he has ever seen. he doesn't know what to think or feel at that moment where he hides behind a tree to watch you twirl like a soft and light leaf which is being carried by the wind.

the samurai watched in absolute awe, unknowingly admiring such beauty that unfolds right before him from a distance.

turquoise eyes usually resting and pupils never forming into a lovely circle of whatsoever, they widened just a little bit, giving the samurai some emotions that perfectly portrayed his features. his lips parted a little, letting the cold mountain air kiss his lips dry.

if there was a way to keep his lips moist, it would be to have his lips on yours.

wait—

what was the samurai's most elite samurai, todoroki tōya, thinking..? to have his lips on yours? to keep his lips moist? to kiss you...?

tōya blushed. his cheeks grew a field of red roses, freshly bloomed and ready to decorate the rest of his face deep red. he covered his cheeks so quickly that the sound of a slap echoed through the night.

shit.

the sound has caught your attention. you have ceased dancing, now looking at the direction the odd sound came from. tōya completely hid himself behind the tree, hands still covering his mouth. a smile crept up your cheeks when you saw the beautiful white hair that immediately strikes out from the greeneries.

there was an incredible silence for a long moment, before a shuffle was heard.

"let's dance," you whispered into his ears, fingers gently wrapping themselves onto the hands of the flustered samurai as you pulled him along with you to lead him around the lake where you danced for nature.

tōya simply let you do as you wished, not uttering a word of disagreement to your offer or even shaking his hands free from your grasp. you have him cornered and wrapped under your pretty fingers. you made todoroki tōya all flustered and shy.

what could be a greater achievement than that?

when you took tōya's calloused hands and went for a run under the moonlight, he couldn't help but feel secure with a strong sense of comfort. love and affection began to brew inside of him from the moment your smile influenced him to curve the corners of his lips upwards too.

EIGHT DAYS AND STILL COUNTING, yet you've never felt much more empty and lonely with the lack of tōya's presence.

he has gone away to fight with the rest of the king's army of samurai, soldiers, and warriors. all courageous men who have pledged their utmost loyalty to the king and the kingdom.

eight days is excruciating for you, even if you tell yourself otherwise. tōya has been visiting you a lot more often than ever, and suddenly he gets drafted to lead an army after his long hiatus.

and pray tell, there was never a night where you wouldn't gaze out at the moon from your room just to wonder if he's also gazing at the same moon you set your sights upon.

you wish that the moon would convey a message to him through your eyes and thoughts that the moon hears. anything would be fine. would be better if you received some sort of message through the stars about the young samurai.

another eight lonely days and nights of engaging and socialising with the townspeople passed in long dreadful hours. in total, it has been sixteen days. mere two weeks and two days where you last heard the voice of the well respected samurai and ever since you saw his ocean eyes.

and here you were, eyes slightly widened at the sight of the said samurai you missed so much. tōya's eyes gazed into yours as you felt your breath being brought to an end at that moment.

like a sculpture, a smile slowly carved upwards of his cheeks, your own heart fluttering at the sight of your beloved danna. your widened eyes melted like ice-cream, softening at his little smile before you walked to him at the entrance of your okiya.

“welcome back, tōya-san.”

“hello to my favourite lady, y/n-san,” tōya did a little bow before chuckling to himself. he then handed out a small bouquet of peonies that was hiding behind him, awaiting to be presented to a lady.

“i never forgot about you,” said the samurai as he looked at the pretty pink peonies that made him smile. “in fact, i’ve always been thinking about you. on the battlefield, when i rested, even the moments where i cleaned my blade free from the stains of the dead.”

tōya's description has your face twisting into an indescribable facial expression, the silence you emit so deafening it makes his lips pursed in awkwardness at your odd reaction.

“sorry, i didn't mean to uh, say the last part.”

“no no, it's fine. surely you don't think of me when you see blood, do you?” you raised a brow.

his fingers moved up to scratch his cheeks. “of course not. what i meant to say is, i can't keep you out of my mind.”

and it makes you chuckle before you take the bouquet into your hands to sniff the peonies because you couldn't get him out of your mind too.

“i’m glad you're safe and sound. unharmed and untouched, tōya-san.”

you really thought he wasn't coming back.

THE CONSUMPTION OF ALCOHOL makes every other night spent differently with tōya. the finest sake ran down your throat like how it was when tōya poured you a small cup. the flavour of alcohol is so fruity and floral it messes with your mind almost immediately after consuming a few cups.

as tayū, your alcohol tolerance is so high that you could drink as many jugs as you wish. it definitely surpasses the level that your patron has.

for some odd reason, tonight the universe declares your alcohol tolerance to sink into merely nothing more than a low, innocent, maiko who awaits her turn for alcohol consumption.

neither of you knew what time it is. it's somewhere around 21:38. you think. the candles looked way too funny to read. by the time the candle runs out, your time with your danna should be over. but it seems that your candle still has a long way to go.

your mind wandered off somewhere to the dreamland where only the best possible outcomes happen in there and never in reality. all while tōya takes unending sips of the liquid that has already drugged his mind with ecstasy.

he fixed his vision onto you where you sat so elegantly and so poised, the cup in your hand as your hands rested on your lap. your eyes are half-lidded and lazy.

noticing your flushed cheeks— your pretty lips that were covered in a light layer of squeezed rose petals from the west. the sake left a trail of dripped liquid at the corner of your mouth and he so itches to clean it up for you.

so when his proximity with yours closes and he nears you, his nose so close to your face when he exhales you could feel it fanning your cheeks.

you glanced at him just a little bit, eyes locking onto his own and seeking for anything in them just to be pulled into an ocean that you start to drown in.

the tension is thick— one could probably cut it with a katana and it will not break. perhaps a lance could pierce through the broadness of the air. either way, the tension between you and the samurai is so heavy that it makes you forget how to think for a moment when tōya's lips gently touch your own.

he does it so slowly and carefully, pulling away to look at your pretty features, as if he's drinking every one of them sip by sip. then his fingers moved to graze your cheeks. slowly and carefully, he holds your face and cups it, not wanting to break you as if you are just like a fragile porcelain doll.

“you're so beautiful...” tōya whispers and your heart flutters. each day you hear the same thing over and over again by every soul you set your sights on. but when tōya says it, it becomes new and unspoken words to you.

truly, it makes your stomach flutter with how many butterflies that trashed around at his praise.

“c-can i kiss you again..?” asked the samurai and you nodded like a fool, pressing your lips onto his before he could.

you shouldn't be kissing your patron, your danna. hell, you shouldn't be kissing any customers at all. but you're here, drowning in the ecstasy of his lips and the way his hands feel on you.

the taste of alcohol on tōya's lips is so divine that it heats you up along with the kiss that grew more intense as the candlelight softly burned in the far background.

committing a crime against the rules and laws of the artistic world, you paid no mind to it. no rules or regulations exist to you in this moment where you back softly hits the wooden ground and tōya crawls above you to trail his lips down down your jawline and to your neck.

alcohol is forgotten, rules ceased to exist, and kisses marked your neck where kimono collars could cover them the next day.

tōya pays his mind in remembrance that you are still a geisha, still the daughter of art and servant of beauty. that much he wants to keep, although he isn't sure how much longer he could keep himself off you.

while he kisses your neck and marks them with bites that reeks of pure love, his fingers move to loosen the obi that holds your kimono in place.

once they've come undone, you could feel his hands peeled your garment off your shoulders as his kisses on your neck came to a halt.

your breathing is all hitched and messed up, letting the samurai undress you bare underneath him while his drunken turquoise eyes gazed at your body.

no words were uttered, just his lips that tells you how much he appreciates you whole. they drive down to your neck and shoulder, before going lower to your chest, stomach, and he pulls up to look at you before it could go any lower.

“why'd you stop…?” you whispered, your eyes looked up at him and your lips slightly curled in a pout, never wanting his sweet kisses to stop any sooner.

“as much as i want to do this, you could lose your career,” he answers and rests his hands on your cheek. “i don't want that to happen.”

“but tōya-san, i want you. i don't care about being a geisha if it means i could be with you. besides, you could just buy me.”

his cheeks grew a field of roses at your words as he remained silent for a moment. “then i’ll proceed with the transaction later. you're all right with that?”

you nodded. “more than all right,” your affirmative whisper has tōya pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth, giving it a few chaste kisses while his fingers hooked at the band of your undergarment before slowly pulling it down, his own breath growing shaky.

just a few more moments later and his tongue is buried deep inside you after the work of his coated fingers of your slick. his hands kept your thighs opened while you gripped on his precious white hair as he pleasures you with his tongue.

the candle still looks like it has hours to go, which is perfect and foreseen of this moment where you revel in ecstasy.

and when he pushes in and out of you while letting out praises and affirmations through his lips, you feel nothing but the deepening love for elite samurai tōya todoroki.

you don't want to continue being a geisha tayū anymore.

OKASAN SITS YOU DOWN. she's brushing your hair like any mother would. so sweetly and filled with so much affection in the brushing, her hands felt like mother's love to you.

she starts off the conversation with a simple update on the okiya and how business is going. it's progressing well, she tells you, and thanks you because of the successful business. then she mentions about your maiko and her coming of age.

your precious maiko which you've seen grown up into a beautiful young woman. she's now read to take the next step from apprenticeship to the real thing, to be formed into a geisha. and if heaven allows, your maiko would take your place as tayū. hereditary, it seems.

“you’ve given your innocence to the samurai?” okasan asked softly as you visibly tensed, causing the older woman to rest her hand on your shoulder. “do not fear, i am not angry.”

you nodded in response as you could hear the woman practically smiling through her gentle voice, hands lifting your shoulders to resume the brushing of hair.

“was he any good? i don't want my girls to give their purity to men who isn't of art.”

a firm blush painted your cheeks a bloody hue before you fidgeted with the hem of your kimono sleeves.

“he's… tōya-san’s really gentle. considerate too. he kept asking permission and fearing my career more than i did.”

the woman hummed in response. “that's really great. and what do you feel about it?”

“what do i feel about it ..? like, him being gentle and considerate?”

“yes. had he made it an honourable and unforgettable experience for you? did his kindness touched your heart?”

you thought for a moment. “to answer all your questions at once, yes. to be honest… i don't want to entertain anyone else other than him.”

“negative, y/n, negative. you do not just entertain people, especially the samurai. you share and show people your art. and you are art.”

okasan takes a ribbon to tie a low ponytail to your hair after brushing. once she tightens the knot, she takes a seat opposite of you and looks into your eyes.

“you mean a lot to the samurai. there's a look of love in his eyes whenever you are around. the same goes the other way with you. but remember, y/n. you are a tayū, highest of the geishas. you are tied to art, not to a man. and to be tied to a man, you must cut ties with art.”

so the next time tōya came to visit the okiya, you have already cut the ribbon that ties you and art together. however, when the samurai came, he's brought many things to the okiya with him. all gifts, for the women of the okiya, your okasan, your maiko. and of course, to you, the woman he kneeled on one knee to propose to.

THREE YEARS LATER and the geishas of the okiya where you once worked at are all gathered in the living room of the todoroki mansion.

your maiko— now a beautiful young tayū, carried your two-year old child around, swaying back and forth while singing the tunes she'd used to play on her shamisen for your performances.

okasan and the other geisha speaks to rei and fuyumi, the mother and elder sister of your beloved samurai, as you're in the kitchen with tōya, preparing food for the big company.

“tōya, no, put the onions in! not shallots!” your mouth filled with the unagi you just made, tasting it before your exclaims reaches your husbands ears.

“sorry! i can't tell the difference,” your husband grumbled in annoyance and held up an onion and shallot for you. “which is which, love?”

“onion’s that, shallot’s the other one,” you pointed as you told him, swallowing the unagi before beaming in satisfaction. “perfection.”

the samurai lets out a little scoff at you before turning back to the cutting board and knife, beginning the slicing of onion. “how can you tell the difference anyways?”

“my dear, i've been cooking all my life. it's easy once you get used to it,” you went to him and peeked over his shoulders, smiling at how skillfully he cuts the onions.

“is this you when you went to war three years ago and thought about me in the middle of the battlefield?”

tōya flushes red at that memory and cut the onions even faster, earning a “ah— slow down!” from you, before a chuckle emitted.

“not like i didn't think of you all the time back then,” he murmurs and slides all the onions into a bowl, handing them to you once he's done. “y/n, you've always plagued my mind like an artwork i could never forget.”

“i’m just very artistic, aren't i?” you pressed a soft and chaste kiss on his cheeks, a few cuts visible from his recent mission with the shogun.

“yeah yeah, so very artistic until i fell in love with a merely unforgettable art,” he leans down to kiss your lips instead.

“eww! get a room, nee-san!” your apprentice calls out before your child attempts to follow her in her coos.

“just showing love to my favourite lady,” tōya pulls away and pecks a kiss onto your forehead. “let’s continue cooking, yeah? i love you, my favourite lady of art.”

TAGGING ★ @seumyo @solvisun @syverse @lezviie @sanariafr @bbluefllame @onlyyemanii

© SENEON 2025 ♱ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[spanktony]

prologue. | WHERE DO YOU SLEEP? — YU JIMIN.

𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀 — y/n, a rising music producer, has built her dream career while keeping her personal life under wraps. karina, aespa’s leader, is preparing for a huge comeback with a mini album produced and written by the one and only y/n.

karina knows this is the opportunity of a lifetime, and she has to nail it. the only problem is, she may be a bit distracted by her producer.

something about their connection feels different—like maybe it's worth the risk of prying eyes. but how much will they give up to chase after what they want?

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — none.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 — 1.3k

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲— dude, i've been writing this series like crazy to the point im almost finished. and i HATE the first 3-4 chapters because they're kinda boring bruh. but happy new years guys! enjoy!

taglist — open!

series masterlist. main masterlist. next.

the first few months back in seoul were nice.

actually, more than nice, it was everything you hoped for after being on the road bouncing from city to city.

you had just gotten off a mini u.s. tour, with a big emphasis on mini because it was only around seven cities in total. but even that small stretch was a whirlwind of airport terminals, crowded venues, and late nights in hotel rooms that all started to blend together.

you had missed seoul, specifically your grandmother's house, because that is where most of your childhood memories took place.

born in new york, you were adopted by two of the kindest people you'd ever known. your parents met in the city, fell in love, and decided to start a family through adoption. your mom, who was korean, made sure you spent every summer in seoul with your grandma so you could stay connected to your roots—learning the language and culture firsthand.

it was her way of preserving what mattered, and you were grateful for it. those summers with your grandma was something you'd cling onto till eternity.

your parents did an amazing job of raising you—big props to them.

now, at 22, you were five years into your career in music. producer, singer-songwriter, performer—if it involved music, you were all in.

things had moved fast: two grammys out of the four nominations, three spotify 1 billion streams plaques that all hung proudly in your studio, and countless music festivals under your belt. you had done everything, from coachella to lollapalooza to bonnaroo and a slew of others.

though you were proud of all you'd achieved, the constant performing was beginning to take its toll. you needed a break from the spotlight, from the endless cycle of promotions and tours. you loved the hell out of your fans, but man you were tired.

so, when you told your management you wanted to step back from performing and focus on writing and producing, they were hesitant. they had their plans for you, but they knew better than to argue when you were so adamant. they respected your decision, and now here you were, doing exactly what you wanted. helping others create music, being behind the scenes rather than on stage, where you could breathe easier.

after months of your team sending your demos out to various artists, you finally got a callback from smtown. saying you were nervous was an understatement. the nerves had settled in your chest and stayed there, a heavy weight that didn't want to go away.

you had written this demo with a friend a few months ago, and it was one of your favorites. it was a little different from the usual songs you produced, and it was a risk. but when the call came, your team couldn't have been more supportive. you were excited but terrified at the same time.

that brings you to today, a month later, sitting in the lobby of the smtown building.

your legs bounced uncontrollably as you stared at the clock on the wall, counting down the minutes until the meeting started. you were early—not too early—but the wait was killing you. the lobby was quiet, which was unusual since the building was constantly buzzing with artists coming and going. the company was big on privacy, though. they always tried to make sure no one was photographed, and you respected them for it.

your manager sat beside you, cool as always, one hand scrolling through his phone while the other rested casually on his knee. you had known him since you were 19, fresh to the music scene and pretty much a mess. he was assigned to keep your career on track, and while he took his job seriously, he didn’t have the whole uptight vibe that most other people in the industry did. he was cool, collected, and a little sassy, which you appreciated more than you'd like to admit.

"seriously, can you stop moving so much?" he said, not even looking up from his phone. "you're making me dizzy just watching you."

"i'm just... excited," you mumbled, forcing yourself to sit still. "i can't help it."

he rolled his eyes dramatically and shook his head. "excited? you look like you're about to pass out. you do know that they already liked your song, right? they called us in."

"yeah, i know," you replied, trying to shake the jitters. "but, you know... they could change their minds. or something."

"or something," he mimicked. a glare shot his way, one that he didn't seem to mind at all. he was used to your glares. he had dealt with them for the last three years, after all. "please. just relax, okay? i'm sure it'll go well."

you nodded, taking a deep breath.

glancing down at your phone to see your mom's text, smiling to yourself. she always knows how to make you feel at home, even from halfway across the world.

mom ❤️: tell your dad that he's too old for tiktok. he keeps trying to dance.

you snicker. a response from your father quickly comes, adding another grey bubble to your screen from your family's group chat.

dad 💙: tell your mom to mind her own business and to get off my phone!

you slip your phone back into your pocket as your manager taps your shoulder, his hand lingering on your shoulder before he gestures for you to follow him.

you rise from the seat, following behind him as another figure begins leading him. lots of leading. so many twists and turns. and then an elevator, which the three of you step into, where you immediately blow a quick raspberry, the sound loud and a little childish. the corners of your mouth twitch as you try to stifle a laugh.

you glance up at your manager, who doesn't seem to mind the odd noise at all—he's used to you and your little ways. when you look at the other man, he looks surprised but intrigued. you think he's trying not to laugh as well.

stepping off the elevator and rounding a corner of the building, you pull the brim of your hat down a bit more with your right hand, hoping to cover a little more of your face. it's a nervous habit that's stuck with you since the beginning of your career.

your manager, walking just ahead, casts a quick glance back at you. his expression is neutral, but there's a certain glint in his eyes that tells you he's as excited as you are, if not more. the other man—a member of the smtown staff, you assume—keeps pace, a very fast pace, as he's much taller than either of you.

curse tall people and their long legs.

the three of you finally stop outside a room marked 115.

your manager turns to look at you, a smile on his face.

"this is it," he says. "are you ready?"

silence.

karina's eyes are unfocused, staring after your footsteps that are moving further and further away. it's an early morning, and the group has been called into the company's building for an important meeting revolving around their upcoming comeback. it had been a long couple of months since their last project, and everyone was eager to dive into new material.

the sound of her manager's voice, calling her name, pulls her out of her reverie.

"karina?"

she blinks, her gaze snapping back toward the voice that is holding the boardrooms' main door open, awaiting her entrance. karina blinks a few more times, her eyes refocusing as she shakes off the lingering thoughts of the stranger she had just seen.

she's usually good at recognizing people in this building, but she doesn't know who the person is. the black new york yankees hat was pulled so low over their face that she couldn't make out any features.

"karina," her manager calls again, a little louder.

"yes, sorry, i'm coming."

she steps into the boardroom, a small room with a long, sleek table and a whiteboard at the front of the room. several of her fellow members are already seated at the table, along with their managers and a couple of other staff members.

series masterlist. main masterlist. next.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Genshin Impact) Lisa, Eula, Yae, Shenhe, Chiori, Rosaria, Navia, and Furina's S/O feeling insecure

No one requested this, just writing away some blues tonight since I can't sleep. Totally unrelated, Just Give Me A Reason is a really good song.

Lisa immediately noticed something was bothering S/O.

The way their hands fidgeted on the teacup, staring out into space with their brows creased.

(Lisa) "...S/O?"

She gently calls out to them, snapping them out of whatever they were thinking about as they blinked a few times in surprise.

(Lisa) "Is something the matter?"

S/O gave a smile, one she immediately knew was forced.

(S/O) "Ah, it's nothing.-"

Their expression vanished the moment they saw how concerned Lisa was getting. There was no point in lying to her, was it?

S/O sighed as their fingers resumed rapidly tapping against the side of the cup, struggling to look her in the eyes.

(S/O) "This is going to sound really dumb but...I've just been thinking lately. You...still love me right?""

Lisa's back straightens at their words, where was this going?

S/O shook their head in a slight panic as they realized how their words came across.

(S/O) "I-It's nothing you've done, I promise! I just...I'm just worried that I'm not good enough. And that...you'll leave me because of it."

Lisa for her part remains silent for a moment. Not because she didn't know what to say, it was the opposite.

She was just relieved that it wasn't something more serious. But regardless, Lisa's arms reach over the table and hover over their hands before gently squeezing them.

(Lisa) "S/O, you've always been perfect for me. Whatever thoughts you have right now, don't listen to them."

Her smile and soothing voice makes S/O thankfully relax, with them meeting her gaze.

(Lisa) "Of course I still love you. I always will."

Lisa gets up from her seat to embrace S/O, letting them take a second to let their emotions out.

(S/O) "Lisa-"

(Lisa) "It's okay. Take as long as you need."

Eula is completely stunned when she hears S/O voice their thoughts.

Leave them?

Eula's mouth opens to immediately rebuke that, but quickly silences herself.

Truth be told, she felt that fear herself. The fact that S/O chose to love a Lawrence was a fact she still struggled to fully comprehend.

S/O was the first person to show her true love, and it felt like a knife to her heart to hear them think so little of themselves.

Instead, Eula's palm slowly caresses their cheek, letting their head rest into it.

And with a voice that grows softer by the second, she takes a deep breath and replies:

(Eula) "You mean more to me than anything I could ever say or do, S/O. Don't ever think that you're not good enough for me, because there's no one else I'd rather have."

(S/O) "...Thank you, Eula."

Once she sees that smile she loves, she gives one herself, not being able to help the teasing that follows up.

(Eula) "Remember, our feud is for the long-haul. Don't think that you can escape it that easily."

(Eula) "Hah, of course..."

Yae exhales deeply, processing S/O's words as her ears uncharacteristically twitch for a split second.

A soft chuckle from Yae is the sound S/O hears, making them turn their gaze from the ground to her.

(Yae) "Frankly, I thought when you began that sentence, it would be far worse."

For once, there's no sign of a mischievous smile or anything resembling that she'd tease them.

Yae gives a soft kiss to their forehead before taking their head to rest on her chest in an intimate hug.

(Yae) "I certainly hope you'd know by now, S/O. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't be here right now."

(S/O) "...S-Sorry, Miko.-"

She cuts them off by squeezing them tighter, her voice still as affectionate.

(Yae) "Don't apologize. Just remember that even if you doubt yourself, that I won't."

S/O pulls away after a small eternity, with Yae's expression going back to normal.

(Yae) "Good, that's the face I like to see."

Shenhe is terribly confused.

Why on earth would she ever leave without a good reason to?

(Shenhe) "You don't have to worry about something like that, S/O."

Abandon the person who made her feel human again, to feel love when she thought it was completely gone?

She would have to go completely insane to do that.

(S/O) "I-I know...It's not fair to you at all and-"

Shenhe instantly hugs them tightly, her face and voice not fluctuating all that much despite the strength that held S/O.

(Shenhe) "I am still struggling with emotions, but I know the feelings I have for you are real."

She's put at ease when S/O hugs her back. Thank the Archons she was saying her piece correctly.

(Shenhe) "I'm sorry that I have ever made you doubt me, but I love you, S/O."

(S/O) "I'm...I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

Neither of them move out of each other's arms for a long while.

Chiori sighs before she speaks up in her usual stoic tone. Though this time, there's a hint of kindness in it.

(Chiori) "Well, you're right about sounding dumb."

...Wait, shit that's not what she meant-

(Chiori) "I mean, you know I'm not the type to beat around the bush. If I wanted to leave, I'd have done it. I'm still here, aren't I?"

...Chiori shakes her head, mostly at herself. Even at times like these, she still can't help her choice of words.

This time, she moves to give them a tight hug, wiping away the tears forming at the edge of their eyes.

Chiori feels their heartbeat, giving her time to think of a way to not sound like a bitch.

(Chiori) "Too direct right now, aren't I? Then how about this, my feelings for you haven't changed, and they won't."

She hears S/O give a small chuckle, making her a little more at ease.

(S/O) "You have such a way with words, Chiori."

(Chiori) "Remember, you chose me...And I chose you, S/O."

Rosaria is silent, much of her actions mimicking S/O's.

She didn't look them in the eyes as she took her time, coming up with a response in her head.

Once she glanced at S/O and saw how uncomfortable they had become, she figured out what to say.

(S/O) "I shouldn't have brought this up, sorr-"

(Rosaria) "I'm glad you did, S/O...If anything, I feel like I haven't been there for you enough."

And she was proven right, seeing how they were tonight.

Rosaria hesitates before letting her hands hold S/O's, closing her eyes.

(Rosaria) "I know I'm not here a lot of nights to reassure you, and I know I'm really bad at this kinda stuff..."

Instead of saying anything, she gets up to kiss them, hoping that gets the message across.

(Rosaria) "...Don't worry about me leaving, that's not happening."

She makes it a mental note to come home sooner than usual now, if at the very least to wipe any tears S/O may have away.

Navia thoughtfully listens to S/O's troubles.

Her expression is completely serious, not saying anything until they finished their sentence.

Her first instinct is to wrap her arms around them and tell them that it's okay, but she knew what they really needed.

(Navia) "S/O. I don't think I could imagine my life with anyone else. And I never want anyone but you."

Seeing them relax got her to do so as well, Navia leaning in to kiss the top of their hand.

(Navia) "Don't ever be afraid to tell me these kinds of things. I'll make sure that you won't think that way about yourself ever again."

Now, she allows herself to give them a bone-crushing hug, making her giggle.

(S/O) "Thank you, Navia..."

(Navia) "It's what your wonderful girlfriend is here for, right?"

To brighten their mood, she puts her hat on them, before tilting it down and giving a cheeky smile.

Honestly? Furina completely understood the feeling, more than S/O could ever know.

She was so afraid that the people of Fontaine or that those closest to her would leave upon knowing what she was really like.

Centuries of feeling that she wasn't good enough for anyone ate away at her every night.

So to hear S/O voice the same words, thinking they weren't good enough for her?

The person who loved her despite everything? That broke her heart.

Furina's arms wrapped around their back before her head rested on their shoulders, hugging them tighter than she ever had before.

(Furina) "...Thank you for telling me, S/O."

She had no room to tell them that they shouldn't think this way about themselves. After all, she was still struggling with the very thing plaguing their mind.

(Furina) "I'll love you, no matter what you think. Because you'd do the same for me."

[accio-victuuri]

「 I AM NOT HERE 」 clowning post part iv. aka the main candy compilation now that we have the whole song. here’s part one & two & three for reference which are very short ones.

before we dive into the cpns, i wanna congratulate yibo for another exceptional song! the lyrics are so good and his voice??? his voice??? you all know the part i’m talking about— it’s singer yibo!

let’s start with this ⬆️⬆️⬆️ i think the side by side photo is self explanatory. you have xz drawing the mountains and yibo integrating himself into it and became the mountain himself. i like this whole concept of him being in nature, being all around this person even if he is not there physically as himself. this is so special too considering we always clown about them loving camping & hiking — and other outdoorsy stuff. it may be that nature reminds yibo of those happy times they spend together exploring that environment.

now let’s move on to a very yizhan-y interpretation of the song…

1. some fans have pointed out that it’s 2000 days since the 12.28 tencent starlight awards where they were together. it was post-cql and them going into new roles — a start of well, more complicated times, but they had each other. i don’t really believe too much in these anniversary cpns but i will just leave this here.

2. comparing the water theme & mountains from xz’s photoshoot before that had us all going 🥵🥵🥵, it matches the imagery from yibo’s song.

3. the official description of the song provided by music platforms gave a solid perspective of what it is all about & it’s not far off what we think it is when the teaser/s came out.

“I" is rooted in this land, connected by veins, and time and space are close to each other. "I" live in symbiosis with the mountain, breathe with you, and experience the ups and downs of life. We go through the ups and downs with all things, so the green mountains are flat, and "I" is always present.

I am here, a dialogue with the world. I AM NOT HERE, but I will always be there. This is what "I’m here" is all about. So darling, DON'T BE CRYING, Because this song is a symphony between you and me.

Let me just sit and think about this. It’s such a beautiful meaning. Their love goes beyond the romantic and it’s real. You can see it all around you.

4. Time to dissect the first half of the lyrics 🎶

Many years later // Where will I turn back and look? // Holding flowers I've never seen before // Facing toward you

this reminds us of their first meeting in the field of flowers. out of all the things he can start with, why this? also the graphics for xz’s album is an eternal flower. if we look at it further, it’s more than the literal sense too. the flower he hasn’t seen is this new feeling and having this one person that is became so important to him. the first line is also telling, cause it’s like he is looking back at that moment, many years later, out of all his time, that time is what he wants to recall.

Waving my hand // Don't stay on the lonely island // I'll become a small boat to take you to find the oasis

we knew of this line already and it’s still so romantic. it’s this person who is alone but wyb wants to take him away and help him find that oasis. oftentimes, people tend to have that selfish type of love where they want the other to be isolated. but yibo is not like that. he wants to take the person outside, see the world and fins that happiness together. and him being a small boat is too cute! like he knows he is not that strong but he will do his best to make a difference in his (xz) life and give him freedom & happiness.

My heart enters the mountains / My body sinks into the sea / All to reunite with you and return

the integration of himself with nature. how he has to sink into the sea so he can reunite with that person.

5. second part of the lyrics 🙌🏼. just a disclaimer that he had someone working with him to create this song and the lyrics, but that doesn’t mean he had 0 input. we all know how yibo is at this point and something as personal as his year-end song definitely had his approval with every line.

Falling, scattering into dust

And then being reborn

Pointing at the fireworks

in the sky, never fading

Are you there?

You just need not cry

You just need to bloom

And I will never leave

Don't be crying x 3

You don't need to wait

I'm here

I'm here

Don't be crying

i am weak for that first line, the thought of scattering into dust and being reborn. that’s some eternal love right there! we have reincarnation cpn at some point in the fandom so that feeds into that. the idea of yibo believing in that kind of love, never ending, not even in death makes me feel some type of way 🥹🥹🥹

next up is the imagery of fireworks. something he seems to be fond off per that video ybo shared before. also connect that to when xz was watching the fireworks during shooting wrap.

then it moves into him telling the person to not cry, you just need to bloom and he will never leave. I have explained the very real cpn about this whole crying thing before and it’s such a sweet sentiment! it’s a simple and honest promise, i will not make you cry. you just have to do what you want. yibo is there and will support xz as he succeeds (blooms).

and the last part is the nail in the coffin. you don’t need to wait, i’m here.

well who do we know at some point said that waiting is romantic?

hmmmmm. xiao zhan 🥰🥰🥰🥰

waiting. this word is very charming, it encourages people to expect. if you told me, someone is waiting for me, i would feel very moved. whether it’s my parents, or my lover, i feel that “waiting” is a very romantic word; to have something beautiful in the future waiting.

so this is yibo’s answer. you don’t have to. I’m here.

I hope everyone is having a fun weekend right now! listening to this new song, watching ETU and later follow yibo along at an event 🥂

-END

[milkbobatyun]

goodnight, my love

pairing: arlecchino x gn!reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: the battle has been fought and won, it's time to go celebrate with her loved ones. yet, they've all fallen into eternal sleep

word count: 962

a/n: if you can't tell by this, oml arlecchino has me in a choke hold. so sad i didn't get her when i was trying to pull for her :< n e ways, i've literally been wanting to write for her for ages, hope yall enjoy !

the world around you was a choking mixture of debris and ash, smoke rising from where the house of the hearth stood. from where you lay, you could see flashes of red, and the deadly song of metal screeching against each other in a fight to death echoed through the hallways.

the mournful wind groaned through the hallways, brushing the wounds on your back with their frigid fingers.

the sun was beginning to set, its warm rays gliding down your body, as the cool night air crept in. the stars were visible from a gaping hole in the roof where you lay, looking down on you in pity.

a fiery beam shot up from the ground, the grumble and creak of the house collapsing rang out far and wide, a mournful final groan before its fall. peruere had won.

that thought alone brought a smile to your face. she was going to be a great king.

the coldness of the night seeped under your clothing, the blood coating your clothes made you shiver. clervie couldn’t stand beside peruere and watch her succeed, but you were more selfish. you wanted to stand beside her, comfort her in times of need, when she felt weak. but now, you could only pray to the archons that you could see her one last time.

from afar, you heard the familiar sound of heels, clacking along. a sound you had long since memorised. it was her. gripping a nearby rock, you tapped a much-used code against the hard floor. flashes of memories were brought back.

huddling together under the blankets, clervie cheekily warming her cold feet on you, as peruere gently scolding the two of you, love evident in her tone. listening to peruere read the two of you stories from the books in the library, your sanction in a cutthroat house. sliding your desserts to clervie, knowing her love of all things sweet.

the rhythmic steps came closer, rapid and in time with your heartbeat, running towards you. 

peruere burst around the corner, holding her breath, hoping it was you. panting and with sweat beading on her forehead, she dropped to her knees in front of your form, sprawled on the cold stone floor.

“[name],” she breathed, relief evident in her voice. “you’re alive.”

she cradled you in her arms, as though you were a treasured, porcelain doll, easily broken by a careless bump. a faint smile was on her face. she was glad, you were still alive.

you reached up, fingers brushing against the cuts on her cheek and forehead.

“you’re injured.” you point out, a sad pout on your face. “i’m feeling a little tired, but once i take a quick nap, we’ll go find clervie. she’ll help patch you up.”

peruere’s smile dropped, confusion creasing her features.

“love…” peruere’s voice was a sad whisper. “clervie… she didn’t make it.”

your mind felt foggy, your breaths becoming fast and shallow. perhaps the battle took its toll on you.

“no,” you insisted, shaking your head. “she’s right there, watching us.”

peruere turns to where your finger points, but no one is there.

“this isn’t funny anymore, [name].” peruere scolds, fear saturating her tone. it reflected in her unique pupils. she’s scared. “it isn’t the time for jokes.”

you blink owlishly up at her, looking like a lost puppy. the cold of the night is creeping into your bones and you start shivering, teeth chattering.

peruere reaches up to remove her coat, but her eyes are drawn to her hands. they’re dyed red, a deep, scarlet red. a crimson she’s familiar with. blood. you’re bleeding. it had been pooling underneath you, turning into a large puddle, painting the floor into a macabre canvas.

the world was spinning, darkness creeping across your vision like ivy. your eyelids were weighed down by lead, your panting harsh and fast.

you rest your icy hand on peruere’s soft cheek, its warmth seeping into your skin. with all your remaining strength, you flash her a cheery smile.

peruere’s breath hitched. she had seen that smile countless times.

when her and clervie surprised you on your birthday. when you woke up during your fever and saw peruere’s face hovering over you, peering down in concern. when she had praised your drawings. you beamed as though she had promised to give you the world.

her lips quivered, she couldn’t return your smile. crystalline tears pooled in her eyes, glistening under the moonshine.

with a trembling hand, you wiped at the droplets that escaped, your touch ghosting against her skin.

“don’t cry, peruere.” you comforted her, sadness clouding your eyes, water misting your vision. “it’ll make me sad, i won’t be there to wipe your tears anymore.”

“i’m just going to take a quick nap.” you promised, snuggling deep into peruere’s warmth. “i’ll wait for you in celestia.”

peruere watched you as you closed your eyes, a serene smile on your face. you looked as though you were deep in peaceful sleep.

your hand slid down her face, though she clutched it close, longing to feel your touch once more. turning your hand over, peruere placed a final, lingering kiss in the palm of your hand. 

maybe if she prayed hard enough to celestia, you would wake up again, call her name so sweetly, laugh together with her.

unshed tears clung to her lashes, hanging onto them as desperately as she cradled you in her embrace, hands sticky with your blood. she refused to let you go, even as the world around her burned.

celestia was too cruel, taking away clervie, her best friend and you, the one she loved, her whole world, whom she would burn the world for, all in one night. 

that night, arlecchino had lost her home and her family.

taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[aryxchse]

GIRLY I GOT YOU WITH THE LEO FICS!!!!

A fic about leo taking care of fem!reader while she's on her period and he's her portable heater

Maybe with a little NSFW if you're comfy of course 💙🤭

I LOVE YOU BESTIE💙

shark week. | leo valdez x fem! reader

a / n ; omg this is like- so genius?? girl ur my savior fr love u too 🫶🏻🫶🏻

warnings ; period, a cute leo who's too hot to handle, cramps, cursing, not proofreaded and i probably have grammar mistakes, reader a little drooling over leo, shirtless leo, vs vs.

"fuckin' hell." you whined, hugging your stomach.

you were at bunker 9, in leo's bed, but without leo. and you were on your period, not a good match.

the pain made you turn into a ball of whining mess, tossing and turning around in the bed. you already take a medicine and even vent to infirmary for this, but will shooted you out saying 'it's no big deal.'

"hurry up leo," you murmured. he was taking a shower when you arrived, which he still was. taking the grease out of his body must be hard for him.

after what felt like an eternity, leo got out from the shower with only a towel hanging lowly around his hips. he thought no one would be at his room, so he was comfortable.

he hummed a spanish song while entering his room, shaking the water of his head before yelping when he saw you.

"what in the hades- y/n! baby, you scared the shit outta me," he panted, a hand on his chest. you managed to both drool and laugh at his scared and naked self.

"sorry," you murmured, hugging your belly more. "jus' needed you but you were showering."

his confused face immediatly left itself to a soft and worried one. he excused to dress and he was fast as light about it. when he came back, with no shirt and sweatpants, you cursed internally.

"scooch over pretty," he said, voice low. you did what he said and opened a spot next you in his bed. he happily pulled you into him and nuzzled his nose in your hair. "what happened?" he asked.

"shark week." you said, snuggling him more. the natural heat of his body made you instantly relaxed, and he seemed to get that too. he pouted, playing with your hair. "poor girl." he said, his other hand finding a way into your shirt and caressing your back.

you only whined when another pain hit you, it made your head burry into his neck more. he put the hand on your hair down to your stomach, making the place warm up. "is this better?" he asked gently, making you even warmer.

"mhm." you answered. he smiled to himself and put the blanket on top of only you, since he was burning hot. he caressed the every skin he could touch with his hot fingers, and at that moment, his powers didn't seem like a curse anymore.

"don't worry pretty, i'm gonna make you feel better." he whispered, kissing on top of your head.

the start is a little rushed can u tell???

[enjakey]

Echoes Where You Stood- teaser

READ FULL FIC: HERE ‼️‼️

Pairing: Heeseung!ghost x painter!fem!reader. Stray Kids’ Hyunjin mentioned (he’s actually a big part of the story)

Heeseung is a ghost. He used to be human- but now he’s a ghost. It was as simple as that. His life… the lack of it, was stagnant. And he was trapped- he was trapped in the house that killed him in flames. And he was forced to live out eternity. Until Y/N came along with her mundane routines and beige paintings.

Mentions of death, fires, depression, loneliness, etc. (teaser- 4K words)

Heeseung had been dead for longer than he cared to remember- or, perhaps, it was longer that he had the ability to remember. He didn’t know anymore, he never really figured out how to navigate this other realm- the other side, the third dimension. He didn’t even know what to call it and he didn’t know what role he played- or what role he had to play. He just knew that he was stuck in the house on top of the hill, haunting its walls. Or was it the other way around? Perhaps the house was haunting him.

For years, maybe decades, Heeseung spent the remainder of his existence watching time pass around him while he seemed like he was frozen. Because he didn’t age, he looked twenty-two since the time his body shifted into this dimension. Nor was he able to touch anything, his body would simply pass through walls without any effort, his fingers plummeting into objects he’d want to pick up but forget he couldn’t. His voice went unheard, drowning in silence, as though physics didn’t exist in the dimension he was suspended in. He screamed, he screamed a lot, in fact. And he could hear himself, his voice ringing in his head, shaking in his throat. But it felt like no one, not even the air, could ever hear him. He used to talk to himself, mumbling nonsense to keep his mind occupied- but eventually, he stopped speaking all together.

Heeseung couldn’t remember the last time he heard his own voice. Which was unfortunate because he’d always been told he had a beautiful voice- he was a great singer. He used to be a great entertainer.

That is, until the fire. Heeseung remembered it as clear as a sunny day- fire cracking against the house, engulfing him, taking away everything from him- the brothers, the music, the joy, the life. Sometimes, when Heeseung was staring out the window and pondering at the Willow tree, he would see flashes of that fire, its cresendo peaking into the night sky as screams of torture echoed in the smoke. He was surprised the Willow hadn’t been taken in that fire. He liked to think that it was protected by some sort of magic… magic that couldn’t protect him and his brothers. 

Heeseung tried not to think about the fire as much, but he didn’t have to try for the memories to simply come to him. He couldn’t experience sensations anymore, but sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he could still taste the burn on his tongue, still feel the heat on his skin, still smell the burn of wood which somehow never seemed to go away. And during times like this, he would try forcing those memories away, displacing those grotesque, dismal images with softer, fuzzier images.

His piano, also burnt in the fire, came to his mind a lot. His piano was the center of happiness for him and his brothers for as long as he could remember- since the day he learnt to play it to the day they’d been engulfed by flames. Everyday, they would gather around him as he played and they would giggle, dance, hum along and make up lyrics along the way. Heeseung could still move his fingers to mimic the tunes of his songs, the cold of the piano tiles under his fingertips. 

He didn’t know when everything went wrong. His entire life, he’d been living in that house on top of the hill. He didn’t know how he ended up there, he just knew that it was his life and it was how it was going to stay. And for the most part, he liked it. A lot of his memories consister of him playing with the other six boys in the house, laughing and running along the grass of the hill, blowing the feathers of dandelions, and tripping over shoelaces until Warden would ring the bell and they had to run back inside. They never questioned it- her. They never disobeyed her. 

Warden raised them well. The aged woman taught them language, skill, gave them education and promised to keep them safe from the horrors of the outside world. And Heeseung supposed that was what she had been doing the whole time. They were fed food that wasn’t cooked by her, had been given a pill to have after every meal to boost their immune system and were given books, toys and music to entertain themselves. They had expensive clothes stitched for them, they were taught how to act, how to dance, how to perfect their pitches. 

Life was simple, really. Especially if it was Warden taking care of them.

That is, until Jake started asking questions. Jake was the curious type, always looking out the window to examine the outside world, always touching things he wasn’t supposed to, always probing around the house when Warden was asleep. He’d gotten in trouble a lot- he used to be scolded, beaten with a stick to the palm, sent to detention in his room when it was play time. But he never seemed to learn- to question and to discover were innate qualities of his that no one could control.

They’d tried coaxing him to stop his behaviour. Jungwon, especially, had even warned him about their lack of knowledge about Warden and what she would do to them when her patience broke. And Jake would apologise every time and would, inevitably, get in trouble again. Sometimes, he was scolded for stepping out the door when he wasn’t supposed to. Other times, he was punished for entering the basement without Warden’s knowledge. But mostly, it was his questions- his annoying, pesky questions. “What? Why? Who?How?” Warden hated being asked questions- Jake never seemed to learn his lesson.

And as they grew older, Jake grew smarter. He was the smartest out of all of them, he could solve puzzles and math problems in a blink of an eye and he always won games that required mental work. So, during lunch, when they were alone, the question he asked didn’t come to a surprise for anyone- if anything, his question instilled fear in them.

“Have you guys ever wondered if Warden is lying to us?”

Sunoo let out the loudest gasp known to man-kind. It was the loudest Heeseung had heard him gasp at the time, his eyes blowing as wide as saucers, parted lips hidden behind his hands. “How can you ask that?”

Perhaps, things started spiralling the day Jake asked that question. A seed of suspicion had planted in their heads. Warden realised. Everything burned down in flames, literally and figuratively. Heeseung couldn’t really pinpoint all the events that lead to their deaths- he still didn’t know how the fire even started. He was convinced it was a mistake, a freak accident- an argument, fleeing from punishment, tripping over a candle, pulling down a curtain in the process.

When Heeseung woke up as a spirit, the house had burnt to char. That was all that remained. He didn’t know where the bodies of his brothers were, he didn’t know where Warden ended up. In fact, for all that he knew, they could have still been alive- perhaps relocated somewhere. Maybe Heeseung was the only one that didn’t survive. 

But then, a few days later, days where Heeseung had just stared at the remains of the house, unmoving from his position, a truck had pulled up the hill. From the truck emerged a large group of men, all who had dove into reconstructing the house. And Heeseung watched them, these old, burley men that carried bricks, wooden slabs and iron to rebuild the house on top of the hill and everyday, he would anticipate what would happen after it was finished. Would Warden bring everyone back? Were they all alive? Would they look for Heeseung’s remains?

But nothing of the sort happened. Heeseung was undeniably dead. His brothers were undeniably dead. Warden was undeniably dead. He figured it out from a conversation he overheard between two men while the construction was still happening. 

“It was a candle fire,” a man said while mixing cement. “Everyone died, one the spot.”

“How many people?”

“Eight,” the cement-mixing-man scoffed. “Big houses come with big tragedies, I guess.”

When the house was fully constructed again and when a man who claimed to be Warden’s brother showed up to oversee finishing of the house, Heeseung wondered how the contents of the basement somehow stayed intact. Warden’s brother personally arranged the place. He placed cardboard boxes along newly made shelves, framed partially charred pictures of him and his brothers and repainted the walls.

And after that day, after the basement was locked and all the doors were shut, no one came back for more years than Heeseung could count. And Heeseung, the ghost of him, whatever that was left of him, didn’t leave the walls of the house on top of the hill. And honestly, he had never really tried. The town down below continued to bustle and days continued to turn into nights and he discovered more about his abilities- or rather, his lack of- as a spirit. 

Heeseung really didn’t have any entertainment apart from himself. It was miserable, really. During the first few days of his death, when he tried pulling at books and exploring the cardboard boxes in the basement, he would break down in tears at the fact that he’d simply passed through the items- like he was some sort of hologram. He simply ceased to feel- physically, at least. He didn’t know what hunger was, what pain was, what a headache felt like. He would miss it sometimes- he missed what made him human. But he could still feel his heart, the ache, the yearning, the loneliness and, sometimes, happiness. Heeseung was the happiest when it rained. Once, he even stepped out of the house and allowed himself to drench in it- and he wondered if anyone could see him. But he already knew the answer to that.

As a ghost, he could walk through walls. That was pretty much all he could do. And occasionally, he could control the wind enough to cause the slamming of the door. And sometimes, during certain times of the day, he could touch water. He knew this because one day, when it was thundering and pouring rain, Heeseung stretched his hand out of the window and he felt it- the heavy fall of a droplet of water on his palm, the way the weight of it made his palm sink down slightly. He remembered smiling that way. It was the fact that a force other than himself that made his presence move.

Beds and chairs were tricky situations. Because if he didn’t put effort in hovering, he would probably sink into the mattresses and cushions too. Most nights, he would hover in his bed and try to sleep- but apparently, sleep wasn’t actually sleep as a ghost. It was just shut-eye, but he was wide awake, aware of every movement of every atom around him. He was able to sit in wooden chairs, not the cushioned ones. So when he needed to, he’d drag the rickety wooden chair with him- he would either sit near the window and watch the world outside change or he would sit in front of the door, waiting for it to open- but he didn’t really know who he was waiting for.

Until one day, the door really did open.

It was Warden’s brother again. He was a tall man, his hair greying in streaks now. And he brought along another man with him, a man who called himself a house broker- best one in the province, at that. Heeseung didn’t know what it meant. But Warden’s brother said something about renting and leasing. Heeseung didn’t know what that meant either.

As days passed, the house broker kept coming back. Sometimes it was a few times a week, other times it was once every couple of months. And with him would always be a stranger, different strangers every time. Sometimes it was a couple, other times it was a family. But everytime, they would decline the house, saying it was too isolated and… eerie. Heeseung wondered if they could feel his presence. Who else could be making the house eerie?

The house broker stopped showing up for a while. Heeseung assumed that his hunt for a renter had ceased. But one day, a large truck pulled up the hill and a group of men lugged furniture and suitcases into the house. It wasn’t repainted because the woman who was going to live in it didn’t care enough for it. She just made sure the air cooling and washrooms were working. 

Heeseung watched everything unfold- the woman, who’s name was Y/N, apparently, signed sheets of paper that the house broker gave her. And he watched as the furniture was moved around, as the bed was set in the room that was previously Warden’s, as the old piano was lined with more books and paintings that he’d never seen. 

And he felt the shift Y/N brought with her- the air around him had physically shifted. The house felt different when she moved in. She moved around the house like a living thing- cooking, painting and breathing life into the emptiness it held for so long. She made the walls less suffocating, less barren. And though she was alone, the walls of the house soaked in the new memories she brought with her- memories that were soft, mundane, peaceful.

Most days, when she wasn’t painting, Y/N spent her time reading. She would sit in the old piano room on her favourite cushioned chair, languidly flipping through pages with her head nuzzled into the cushion. And during moments like these, Heeseung tried keeping his distance, afraid that he might shift something and scare her away. But the more she read, the curiouser he got. And slowly, he’d started decreasing the distance between them until one day, he was leaning over her shoulder and reading her book with her.

She never felt a thing. In her mind, she was still alone.

And so, Heeseung started hovering over her more often. He would sit on the kitchen counter while she cooked, hover over her shoulder while she read, crouch beside her while she watched a movie on her laptop (whatever that was) and would follow her around the house while she blasted music. The movies and music were… interesting. Back when he was alive- he couldn’t remember how many years ago that was- entertainment didn’t look and sound like that.

Eventually, he integrated himself into her life itself. He would watch her paint, examine the way her brush swirled over empty canvases to bring to life the world around her. He would watch her walk into the town below through the window and keep an eye on how she interacted with other humans. He would watch her sleep, eat, drink water- he had her schedule memorised, soon enough.

A man called Hyunjin came over every weekend. He was the baker’s grandson, apparently. He brought with him fresh food and groceries that Y/N would indulge herself in. And the pair would talk a lot, about random things. They would cook together, he would help her run errands together and they would sometimes, very rarely and occasionally, watch movies. And the pair laughed a lot, over random jokes Heeseung couldn’t understand. He realised that he liked hearing her laugh- the soft, high pitched giggles she exhumed around Hyunjin or when she was watching something funny or reading something stupid. And Heeseung would grow glum over the realisation that he probably could never make her laugh like her company did- the way Hyunjin, books and movies could.

For the first time, Heeseung felt the weight of isolation. It came with a realisation that he couldn’t be seen or heard or felt by the girl he was basically living with- he was dead, she was alive. And automatically, they were worlds apart. But then, in the back of his mind, there was the faintest trace of something new. A connection, maybe. Or just the strange, impossible hope that this time, maybe- just maybe- someone would see him, even if only for a moment.

But she didn’t. Months had passed and nothing had changed- she was still living her mundane, artist life. Heeseung was still following her. And she continued cooking, continued painting, reading, took up new hobbies like knitting, sewing, journaling and pottery (she bought a cheap set online) which allowed her collection of coffee mugs to grow. And every Sunday, Hyunjin would come and they would sit, talk and laugh. 

Things didn’t seem like they would change. And Heeseung didn’t know exactly how much time had passed. Because, for the first time, he truly felt like a ghost as Y/N passed through him and lived her life. 

Y/N let Hyunjin see her paintings for the first time. Heeseung didn’t realise how private she was about her work and he almost felt guilty for watching her paint, to experience her artwork before she allowed anyone else to. But he watched the way Hyunjin examined her art, leaning closer to the large canvas that were painted in spectrums of beiges and blues, his fingers wrapped around his chin in thought. 

“You’re starting to see them,” he said. And Heeseung swore he felt his dead heart skip a beat.

Hyunjin apparently meant it as a joke. He didn’t see or realise the weight his words had on Y/N- or Heeseung, for that matter. Because after Hyunjin left, Y/N crouched in front of her paintings and frantically looked through her paintings to find what Hyunjin was talking about. And she saw it- the faint shadow of umbrellas in the background, seven heads of hair camouflage against the silhouette of the house on top of the hill, the faint curves of a back disappearing behind walls, a blurry photograph of a group of boys that was never hung on the wall- but it was in Y/N’s painting.

She saw it. And Heeseung saw it too. And his hope returned- that someone, Y/N, would see him, could communicate with him and save him from his misery. 

For the next few days, Heeseung tried getting her to notice him. And it started with small things- slamming the doors closed, tipping utensils off the table, flickering the lights (which took a lot of effort). But Y/N never noticed it. She’d simply chalk it up to the wind, her own clumsiness or the poor wiring of the house. She’d shrug everything off and simply move on with her day. He saw it, she would literally shrug her shoulders and walk away and continue whatever she was doing at that moment- reading, painting, flipping the pages of her book, stirring her coffee. 

It was fucking insatiable.

Heeseung even screamed into her face once while she was cooking. He got in front of her face and yelled as loud as he possibly could- his cheeks turned red, his eyes watered, his hands balled into fists and the vein in his forehead bulged. But Y/N couldn't hear him. She simply passed through him, holding a plate of warm dinner with a smile on her face. And that was the first time in a long time that Heeseung heard his voice- his voice in that ugly, violent and desperate tone. 

And he kept trying. He kept repeating the same things- slamming doors, falling utensils, flickering lights, screaming into her face- but nothing seemed to work. And a lot of nights, he would watch Y/N fall asleep while he prayed that whatever he was trying to do would finally work- that one day, she would see him, hear him and talk to him. That she could save him from… Well, Heeseung didn’t know what he wanted to be saved from, what he wanted to escape from.

On a rainy Thursday morning, Y/N started a new painting. Heeseung didn’t know where this unlimited supply of paint and canvases were coming from, but she seemed to blow through a lot of them- unfinished, unsatisfactory, unresolved. This new painting she started had a beige background, just like all her other paintings did. And when she started painting the details, he couldn’t tell where she was going with it- and by the looks of it, he didn't think Y/N knew what she was doing either. He knew because of the way her brows dropped. It was the same expression she had when she was reading a complicated recipe for food, when she was using a screwdriver to fix her bed frame or when she was figuring out the water system of the house. And he watched her as she painted, his arms crossed as he leaned against a wall. Her arms eventually stroked with paint, her hair tied in a bun with a brush, another brush held tightly in her fingers as she pressed the paint into the canvas.

After a few hours, when the rain got heavier and the thunder got louder, something seemed to take shape. It was a silhouette- a man with broad shoulders, a skinny and tall frame, a looming shadow of grey surrounding him. It wasn’t detailed yet, it was barely a shadow. The silhouette didn’t have a face yet, didn’t have a personality yet- but Heeseung saw it, his arms still crossed, and suddenly, he felt breathless.

Because the man she was painting was undeniably Heeseung. He was sure of it- it resembled him in all the ways that it mattered. It was the future- the angle of the shoulders, the arch of the neck, the way the arms hung heavy at the sides- it was him.

It was him.

She was painting him.

Unknowingly and unconsciously, the strokes of her brush formed what made the essence of Heeseung, the echo of who he was. And he wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean. Was she dreaming of him? Was she seeing visions? Was she conjuring him up in her head? Was this good or bad? Heeseung didn’t know anymore. 

He gasped- soft and under his breath, easily drowned out by the sound of the rain. He couldn’t even hear it himself. 

But she turned… slowly. Her face, caught in that fragile space between curiosity and confusion, twisted. Her brows furrowed, her lips parted. Her entire body stiffened like she had just walked into a room that wasn’t empty anymore. Her eyes- wide, dark, blinking too fast- locked onto him, and her mouth opened but no words came out- it was just air, just fear. Her features contorted like something inside her had collapsed- eyebrows pulled together so tightly it almost looked like pain, eyes glossed over in disbelief, and her lower lip trembling in a way that made Heeseung take a step back. She could see him. She saw him. And for a second- just one, delicate, unbearable second- they stared at each other like the rules of the world had stopped applying.

And then she screamed. A raw, guttural sound tore out of her.

It wasn’t a startled scream. It was visceral, the kind that clawed its way out of the chest because no other part of the body could contain it. She screamed like she’d seen a ghost and maybe that’s exactly what she had done. She screamed and backed into the table, brushes clattering to the floor, and she blinked- once, twice, three times- and suddenly something shifted. 

The room changed. Her face changed. The scream died but the panic didn’t. Her breathing turned ragged, shallow, chest rising and falling too fast as her eyes scanned the room with a kind of wild urgency. And Heeseung stood there, shaking his head, mouthing “no, no, no, please no, don’t-” but she couldn’t see him anymore. She was looking through him, not at him. And she looked scared in a different way now- not of him, but of the absence of him. Like she had just seen something she wasn’t supposed to see, and now it was gone. Like she was searching for a spider she’d seen crawling across her bed but couldn’t find anymore.

But Heeseung was right there, in front of her, desperately shaking his hands at her, eyes wide and unwavering. “Oh my god,” she mumbled, over and over again, hands in her hair, fingers tangling like she needed something to hold onto but couldn’t find it. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” She stumbled toward the door, her movements jerky, uncoordinated, one hand fumbling for her phone, the other gripping the door handle like it was the only real thing in the world. And then she was gone. The door slammed shut behind her with the kind of finality that made the walls tremble. Heeseung was left standing in the quiet aftermath, the painting still wet behind him, the shape of him still staring back in half-formed silence.