#like if i dont know how or why or when to do something i just ask. but a lot of people will just NOT DO IT. WHICH IS BAD IN HEALTHCARE.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

LONG POST upcoming…if u see this & decide not to read my review (i dont blame u, shes LONG), at least take this message: DO YOURSELF ONE AND READ THIS MASTERPIECE. IVE NEVER FELT THIS PASSIONATELY ABOUT A FIC BEFORE PLS PLS PLS PLS!

ronnie…..ronnie oh my love………im gonna spam text u after this in both agony & pure joy because this is truly one of the best things i’ve ever read on this godforsaken app….i told myself i wouldnt be super active while im on vacation but 1) couldnt help myself i had this fic on fhe back of my mind ever since it was posted and 2) i cant beat jet lag so here we are but at what cost??? BC I AM IN TEARS RN RONNIE. I AM IN LITERAL TEARS BC OF THIS AND YOU AND HEESEUNG AND THE WAY THEY FELL IN LOVE OH MY GOD. i have screenshots of lines i absolutely loved bc i truly am so overwhelmed by it all.

i genuinely felt like i was watching a romcom with how detailed everything was and the pacing was incredible. idk how you did it but you made the three years of their friendship go by in such a satisfying way that didnt feel too rushed at all and i could feel exactly how close they were and their relationship.

“It feels surreal, how easy this is, how natural. And yet, when you look at him, really look at him, you realize this was never sudden at all. This wasn't a moment. This was a lifetime in the making.” I CRODE RONNIE. I CRODE !!!!!!!!! I HAVE LITERAL TEARS STREAMING DOWN MY FACE RN LIKE A MAN POSSESSED.

“But I still feel like I'm standing in that damn Halloween party with you, waiting for something to happen." the way you used the waiting room metaphor & motif throughout genuinely made me want to scream because I LOVE WHEN WRITERS WRITE.

and then….when THE scene happens — i dont even want to call it smut bc the word smut is too harsh to me for what that scene deserves. that scene deserves to be written on hand-made paper straight from the scrolls of greece with ink dipped in gold and announced to the crowds like a message from the gods above because it made me feel so many emotions i didnt even know i could feel while reading…ronnie it was SO beautiful and SO HOT AT THE SAME TIME. the hand holding my phone went numb bc the other was covering my hand in shock (and to keep myself from squealing) thats how good it was.

this post has gotten so out of hand im gonna continue raving to you over text you’re gonna get so tired of me. i cant believe you had this up your sleeve all along and decided to just drop it and change my life just like that ronnie. why would u want to ruin me like this. i thought we were friends (you’re my favorite person on this planet rn)

this has everything i ever need in a fic ever—the pining, the bits of jealousy, the humor, the almost maybe moments, the falling in love slowly, the realizations, the love and then the ~loving~, waiting room you will never be forgotten (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

WAITING ROOM ──★ ˙

꒰ ‎﹒ pairing: heeseung x fem!reader ... ﹒ friends to lovers, fluff ... ﹒ w/c: 21k synopsis: for three years, you and heeseung have hovered between friendship and something more—stolen glances, late-night car rides, hands brushing under tables. but when the waiting finally ends, you realize you were never just friends to begin with. ꒰ ‎﹒ warnings: smut, mdni! explicit sexual content, petnames, unprotected sex (dont do it!!!!) not proofread 💿 % (◠﹏◠ ✿) #nowplaying: waiting room - phoebe bridgers

Three years ago, you met Heeseung at a Halloween party. And, in a way, he never really left.

You remember the night in sharp, neon clarity, the kind that only exists in memories warped by time and too many cheap drinks. The bass of the music was rattling against the walls, distorting into something unrecognizable by the time it reached your ears. The air was thick, humid with the breath of a hundred strangers crammed into an apartment too small to hold them. It smelled like spilled alcohol, synthetic fog from a cheap smoke machine, and the faintest trace of cinnamon, probably from some idiot who thought Fireball was a good idea.

You were standing in the kitchen, gripping a plastic cup half-full of something blue and questionably sweet, when you felt it. The warmth of someone moving too close. The press of a shoulder against yours. And then—disaster.

A smear of green, across your arm, your ribs, your stomach.

You stared at it, confused. It looked like paint. Wet, sticky, and clinging to the fabric of your skeleton costume like it belonged there. You blinked once, twice, before dragging your gaze upward, locking eyes with the culprit.

“Oh, shit.”

He was green. No, really, he was covered in it, from his jawline to his collarbone, down his arms, streaked across his hands. He was, in fact, one of the Ninja Turtles.

“Are you radioactive?” you asked, because that felt like a genuine concern at this point.

Heeseung—though you didn’t know his name yet—blinked at you, then looked down at his own arm as if just realizing that, yeah, maybe painting his entire body for a costume wasn’t the best idea. “I, uh—fuck, I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think what?” you repeated, glancing down at your once-pristine skeleton costume. “That maybe body paint takes a while to dry?”

“No, see, I thought it was dry. I waited, like, an hour before putting the costume on.” He sounded both defensive and regretful, like someone who had just now realized the full extent of their mistake.

You sighed, poking at the stain. “Well, congrats. You’ve officially made me the first skeleton in history to die of green slime exposure.”

He let out a breath of laughter, then scratched the back of his neck—a habit you’d later come to recognize as his go-to nervous tic. “On the bright side… at least now you match me?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“Not even a little.”

A slow grin spread across his face, lopsided and teasing. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

And he did.

That was the beginning of it, you suppose. A stupid mistake, an even stupider conversation, and a boy painted green who somehow managed to wedge himself into your life like he belonged there. You didn’t know then that he’d become your best friend. That in three years, you’d be sitting next to him in a car at two in the morning, singing along to songs you didn't really know. That you’d learn the exact way he liked his coffee, the rhythm of his breath when he fell asleep next to you on your couch, the way he always looked at you like he was on the verge of saying something important but never quite did.

No, back then, all you knew was that he was an idiot. And that, somehow, against all odds—you kind of liked him anyway. But you and Heeseung became friends by accident.

It wasn’t an immediate thing, not like some cosmic force snapped its fingers and tied the two of you together. No, it was slower than that, more like a series of small collisions, a gradual intertwining of orbits. And most of it had to do with Yunjin.

You and Yunjin had been friends since the beginning of college. One of those friendships that happens fast, like flipping a switch. One day, you were just two people forced into the same group project, and the next, you were sneaking snacks into late-night study sessions, texting each other memes at 3 a.m., and laughing until your stomach hurt over things that weren’t even that funny. She was the kind of person you felt like you had known forever, even though it had only been a few years.

But somehow, despite all that time, you had never actually registered who she lived with. You knew she had a roommate—she’d mentioned him in passing a few times, usually accompanied by an exasperated sigh or an eye roll—but you had never put much thought into it. The guy could’ve been a faceless NPC for all you cared. Just a background character in the world of Yunjin’s apartment. Until one fateful Tuesday afternoon.

You had gone over to Yunjin’s place to work on a mind-numbing, soul-draining research paper, and the two of you were sitting cross-legged on her living room floor. The atmosphere was calm, quiet—at least, until the front door swung open with the force of someone dramatically entering a scene in a sitcom.

“YUNJIN,” a voice rang through the apartment, loud and excited. “I JUST BOUGHT ZELDA: BREATH OF THE WILD. I NEED TO PLAY IT IMMEDIATELY.”

You barely had time to process before the source of the chaos came bounding into the room. A guy, slightly breathless from what must have been a very passionate journey home, clutching a Nintendo Switch game case like it was the most important thing in the world.

And he was green.

Well, not literally—he wasn’t still covered in body paint—but your brain made the connection instantly. The excitement, the unfiltered enthusiasm, the slight air of someone who had been making questionable life decisions since birth.

It clicked.

“Oh my god,” you blurted. “You’re the Ninja Turtle guy.”

Heeseung froze mid-step, eyes flickering to you like he was only now realizing there was another person in the room. For a second, he just stared, lips parted in muted shock, like you had just caught him committing a crime.

Then, in a tone that was both confused and slightly mortified, he said, “Oh. Uh. Yeah. That’s me.”

You squinted at him, taking in the full picture—the messy hair, the slightly wrinkled hoodie, the expression of someone who had absolutely not been expecting to relive his Halloween mistakes today. Then, you turned to Yunjin.

“You live with the Ninja Turtle guy?”

Yunjin, who had been watching this interaction unfold with barely concealed amusement, grinned. “I guess.”

Heeseung cleared his throat, regaining some of his composure. “For the record, my name is Heeseung.”

“Really?” you said, nodding slowly. ��I thought your name was Donatello”

He looked mildly offended. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “I feel like I at least deserve to know which turtle was responsible for my suffering. I thought it was Donatello.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes but played along. “Leonardo. Sunghoon was Raphael, Beomgyu was Michelangelo, and Jake was Donatello.”

You considered this for a second, then turned back to Yunjin. “I can’t believe you live with Leonardo.”

Yunjin, deadpan, replied, “Trust me, I can’t either.”

And that was the second collision.

You didn’t know it then, but this was how it would always be with Heeseung—dramatic entrances, loud declarations, and an energy that burst into the room like an unexpected firework. You had met him twice now, and both times, he had been the human embodiment of chaos. But for some reason, that chaos felt a little less like a background character now. And after that day, Heeseung stopped being just Yunjin’s roommate.

You started seeing him everywhere. Not because you were seeking him out—not at first, anyway—but because he had a tendency to appear in your life like some kind of recurring side character in a sitcom. You’d be minding your own business in Yunjin’s apartment, and he’d burst through the door, ranting about how someone stole his favorite study spot in the library. You’d go to grab coffee before class, and there he’d be, dramatically arguing with the barista about why oat milk was a scam. He just kept showing up, like the universe had decided that, for better or worse, he was part of your story now.

And then, you found out you had a class together. It wasn’t a real class. Not in the sense that it required effort or critical thinking. It was one of those ridiculous elective courses that the university offered purely to fill up credit requirements—something slapped onto the catalog as an afterthought, designed for students who were too lazy or too exhausted to take anything serious.

You had signed up for it without even reading the description, choosing it solely because it fit into your schedule and had a reputation for being an easy A. Heeseung, apparently, had done the same.

That was how the two of you ended up in "The Philosophy of Memes and Internet Culture."

The class was exactly as stupid as it sounded. The professor was a guy in his late 40s who still said things like “epic fail” unironically. The syllabus included assignments like “analyzing the impact of Vine on modern humor” and “writing a 500-word essay on the evolution of the Rickroll.” It was the kind of class that could only exist in a university desperate to appear progressive and relevant, and you were 90% sure the school administration had no idea it was happening.

It was, in short, the best class either of you had ever taken.

You and Heeseung immediately became the worst students in the room. Not because you weren’t paying attention, but because you were paying attention too much—finding everything so absurdly hilarious that neither of you could take it seriously. Every lecture felt like a fever dream. Every assignment was an excuse to see how much nonsense you could get away with before the professor caught on.

And then, of course, came the group project. It was a simple assignment: pick a meme, trace its origins, and present its cultural impact. Most people chose something predictable—Doge, Grumpy Cat, Distracted Boyfriend.

You and Heeseung, however, chose Shrek. More specifically, you chose Shrek’s cultural legacy as an ironic meme figure.

It was supposed to be a joke. A way to entertain yourselves in a class that was already ridiculous. But the further you got into your research, the more serious it became.

Somewhere along the way, you and Heeseung stopped just pretending to care and actually started caring. You spent hours deep-diving into obscure Shrek forums, analyzing the rise of “Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life” discourse, debating whether or not the character’s internet resurgence was fueled by genuine appreciation or detached irony. You became scholars of the Shrek Renaissance.

The night before your presentation, you were in Yunjin’s apartment, sitting on the floor with your laptops open, surrounded by a mess of half-empty snack bags and unfinished slides. The clock blinked 2:37 AM, and neither of you had any business still being awake.

Heeseung was slouched against the couch, staring at his screen with the expression of a man who had seen too much. “I think I know too much about Shrek,” he said, voice hollow.

You let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah. We flew too close to the sun on this one.” There was a beat of silence.

Then, Heeseung slowly turned his laptop around, revealing a slide titled ‘Shrek and the Post-Ironic Era of Internet Humor: A Critical Analysis.’ And for some reason, that was it. That was the moment you broke.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that you had just spent the past three hours watching deep-fried Shrek memes with Gregorian chants in the background. Maybe it was just the sheer, stupid absurdity of the entire situation. But suddenly, you were laughing.

Not just laughing—cackling. The kind of breathless, full-body laughter that made your stomach hurt. That made you feel like you were going to die right there on Yunjin’s living room floor, lost to the void of Shrek academia.

And Heeseung—poor, equally sleep-deprived Heeseung—was right there with you. He doubled over, gasping for air, his head nearly colliding with your shoulder as he choked out, “We’re never recovering from this.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You turned to him, trying to catch your breath, and found him already looking at you. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his cheeks flushed from laughter, his whole body still shaking slightly from the aftermath. And for a moment—just a moment—you thought, this is nice.

Not just the laughing. Not just the inside jokes and the chaos.

But him.

You pushed the thought away before it could settle.

Because, at the end of the day, Heeseung was your friend. Your dumbass friend who still had green body paint under his fingernails two weeks after Halloween. Who got irrationally angry at mobile game ads. Who had just spent the last six hours dissecting Shrek memes with you like it was a matter of academic integrity.

And that was all he was.

Right?

Heeseung, on the other hand, wasn’t sure when it started. That feeling.

That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling. The one that sat quietly in the back of his mind, like a notification he refused to check. Like a waiting room. A vague, almost imperceptible awareness that he enjoyed your company a little too much—that your laugh had started to feel like background music in his life, something he didn’t know he needed until it was gone.

Not that it meant anything. Obviously.

He liked lots of people. He was a social guy. He made friends easily, enjoyed being around them, and—despite Yunjin’s many accusations—was not emotionally repressed. He just… liked the things you liked. That was normal.

It was normal that he started watching that terrible reality show you always talked about, even though he swore he hated it. It was normal that he got a random impulse to buy you a weirdly specific snack he saw at the store because “it just screamed your vibe.” It was normal that he sent you voice notes every time he saw something even remotely related to Shrek, even months after your presentation.

That was just friendship. Which was why, as a friend, he invited you to an arcade.

It was one of those places that felt like it had been stuck in time since the 90s—neon lights, sticky floors, a vague smell of burnt popcorn in the air. The kind of place that probably hadn’t passed a health inspection in years, but had an undeniable charm to it. You were too good at skee-ball.

It was honestly annoying. Heeseung had challenged you three times, and each time, you had obliterated him without breaking a sweat. It wasn’t even close. “You’re cheating,” he accused, arms crossed as he watched you land another perfect shot.

You grinned, tossing the last ball effortlessly. “You’re just mad because you suck.”

“I don’t suck,” he argued. “This game is just—rigged. The physics are all off.”

“Oh my god. Did you just say ‘the physics are off’ in a skee-ball game?”

“Yes,” he said, completely serious. “I am a man of logic and reason.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Sure. Okay. Man of logic and reason. If you’re so smart, let’s see how well you do at Dance Dance Revolution.”

Heeseung froze. “I—uh—what?”

“Come on,” you said, already dragging him toward the machine. “Let’s see those skills.”

Here was the thing about Heeseung: he was good at a lot of things. He could play video games for hours without blinking. He could talk his way out of almost any bad situation. He could even recite the entire “All Star” lyrics from memory.

But he could not dance. At all. And that became painfully clear the second the game started.

Heeseung missed every step. Every single one. While you moved effortlessly, barely even glancing at the screen, he was flailing. His feet weren’t in sync with his brain. His arms kept jerking awkwardly, and he could hear you laughing beside him, and somehow, that made it worse.

By the time the game ended, Heeseung was defeated. He doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping dramatically. “I think I died,” he announced.

You patted his back. “You fought bravely.”

He looked up at you then, about to retort, but the words got lost somewhere in his throat. Because you were smiling at him—really smiling. Your eyes were crinkled at the edges, your face still flushed from laughing. The neon lights flickered against your skin, casting everything in shades of blue and pink, making you look—

Well. Heeseung swallowed. That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling? Yeah. It was there.

But you were just his friend.

So, when Beomgyu casually mentioned, in the most offhanded, unbothered way possible, that he thought you were cute, Heeseung should’ve just let it go. But he didn’t.

“You think she’s what?”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Cute. You know, in a hot way.”

Heeseung felt something in his chest twist. It was irrational. Objectively, completely irrational. Because, yeah, you were cute. That wasn’t news to him. He had eyes. He was aware. He had just… never thought about the fact that other people might also be aware.

Heeseung almost laughed. It was a knee-jerk reaction, the kind of dry, disbelieving scoff that came when someone said something so absurd it didn’t even process at first. But then, Beomgyu kept talking.

“I was thinking of asking her out.”

And Heeseung felt it. That twist, low and tight, in the pit of his stomach.

He blinked at Beomgyu, waiting for the usual rush of banter to kick in, for the easy teasing to roll off his tongue. But for some reason, his mouth felt dry. Beomgyu liked you. Beomgyu thought you were cute. Beomgyu wanted to date you.

It wasn’t that wild of a concept. People liked you all the time. You were funny and charming in that effortlessly chaotic way, the kind of person who made friends in the span of a single conversation. It made sense that Beomgyu, out of all people, would look at you and go, Yeah, she’s my type.

And it wasn’t like Heeseung had a say in the matter. So he shrugged, leaning back against the couch, and said, “Yeah, good for you, man. Good for you”

And that should’ve been the end of it. Except. Beomgyu actually did ask you out. And the worst part? You said yes.

At first, Heeseung didn’t think much of it. He was fine. It was fine.

So what if you had gone out with Beomgyu last Friday and came back looking kind of flushed, kind of happy? So what if, the next time he saw you, you had that soft, secretive look in your eyes, the one that said you were thinking about something that made your stomach twist in the good way?

So what. You weren’t dating. You weren’t his. And he sure as hell wasn’t jealous. Except then it wasn’t just one date. Because you went out again. And again. And again. And suddenly, Beomgyu wasn’t just one of Heeseung’s friends anymore—he was the guy you were seeing. And that, for some reason, was so much worse.

The thing about Beomgyu was that he was annoying. Like, Heeseung had always known this, but now, for the first time in his life, it felt personal. “Dude,” Beomgyu groaned, stretching his arms behind his head as they sat in their usual spot in the campus lounge. “Y/N is so fun, bro. Like, actually so fun.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s, like… different.” Heeseung made a face. “No, I’m serious,” Beomgyu whined. “She’s not like other girls.”

I’m gonna walk into traffic, Heeseung thought.

“No, like—” Beomgyu hesitated, looking off into the distance. “She’s just cool, you know?”

And Heeseung didn’t know why that pissed him off. Maybe because he knew that already. He had always known that. He had known it before Beomgyu, before any of these dates, before whatever the hell this was.

He had known it since the night he met you. Since the moment you called him Donatello when he was, in fact, Leonardo. Since the first time you said his name with that teasing edge, like you were permanently in on some joke he didn’t even realize he was making.

So, yeah. Maybe he didn’t like hearing Beomgyu say it like he had discovered it first.

But whatever. Heeseung let it go. Because it wasn’t like this was going to last forever. And then, it didn’t.

One day, you walked into Yunjin’s apartment, kicked your shoes off in a way that sent one flying across the room, and threw yourself onto the couch with all the weight of someone carrying a great and terrible burden.

Heeseung, sitting on the floor, scrolled mindlessly through his phone, pretending he hadn’t immediately noticed you. But then, you sighed. A deep, world-weary, existentially exhausted sigh.

Yunjin looked up from where she was painting her nails. “Jesus,” she muttered. “What.”

You groaned, stuffing your face into a pillow. “I think I’m over it.”

Heeseung’s thumb froze mid-scroll. Casual. He had to be casual. So, without looking up, he mumbled, “Over what?”

Another dramatic sigh. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life itself. “Beomgyu.”

Heeseung blinked. Okay.

Yunjin, who had been the biggest advocate of this whole thing, frowned. “Wait, what do you mean? You were literally texting him heart emojis yesterday.”

“I don’t know.” You stretched out your legs like the weight of your own existence was exhausting you. “I just… don’t feel like it anymore.”

Yunjin gave you a look. “Like, what? He’s a hobby you got bored of?”

“No! It’s just—” You hesitated, pressing your lips together. “Like, I liked the idea of him. And at first, it was fun. But then, the more time we spent together, the more I realized… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

You exhaled, shutting your eyes. “I feel like I was trying to make myself like him the way I was supposed to. But it just wasn’t working.”

And that was when Heeseung’s grip on his phone tightened. He forced himself to keep his face neutral, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “The way you were supposed to?”

You turned your head towards him. “Yeah. Like, Beomgyu is great, okay? He’s funny, and he’s cute, and he’s nice, and I should like him.” You paused, expression softening. “But every time he kissed me, I just…”

You trailed off, lost in thought. Heeseung swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why.

Yunjin made a gagging noise. “Okay, ew. Please don’t get all sentimental about kissing Beomgyu on my couch.”

You laughed, pushing her half-heartedly with your foot. “I’m just saying—it’s not clicking. You ever get that? Like, you try to like someone, but no matter how much you do, it just doesn’t fit?”

And the way you looked at Heeseung when you asked that—like you expected him to understand—made something in his chest tighten. Because yeah. He knew exactly what that felt like. He just… couldn’t say it.

So he swallowed, rolling his shoulders back, and forced a small smirk. “Damn,” he said, voice light. “Tough loss for Beomgyu.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah.” Then, a pause. “Guess I’m single again.”

Something in Heeseung’s chest lurched. But he just nodded, keeping his expression neutral, easy, unfazed. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like it didn’t change everything.

A few weeks later, Heeseung showed up at your apartment. It was raining that day.

Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but in that soft, half-hearted drizzle that made everything look just a little bit duller. The sky was gray, the streets were damp, and Heeseung had definitely stepped into at least two puddles on his way up to your place.

Which, in his opinion, was already way too much effort just to fix your stupid kitchen cabinet.

“Okay, I just wanna say,” he announced as soon as you let him in, dragging his slightly-wet socks across your floor, “I don’t know how the hell you managed to completely detach a cabinet door, but honestly? I’m kind of impressed.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside to let him in. “Are you gonna help me or are you gonna make fun of me?”

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna make fun of you.” He grinned, toeing off his shoes before making his way to your kitchen. “But I’ll fix it after.”

You followed behind him, crossing your arms as you watched him inspect the broken cabinet. It wasn’t like you had meant to break it. You had simply been existing in your own kitchen, minding your own business, when the handle somehow got caught on the sleeve of your hoodie—one tug too strong, and suddenly the door was in your hands instead of on its hinges.

“I literally don’t understand how this happened,” Heeseung muttered, crouching down to assess the damage.

“Okay, handyman,” you shot back. “Can you fix it or not?”

Heeseung snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, let me just—” He held out a hand. “Pass me my phone.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“My hands are kinda full,” he said, nodding towards the cabinet door that he was currently balancing on one knee. “Look up how to fix this real quick.”

You huffed but grabbed his phone from the counter, unlocking it without thinking as you leaned against the kitchen island. You didn’t love the idea of looking up a YouTube tutorial like some kind of DIY newbie, but considering that Heeseung was already physically here fixing your problem for you, you figured you could at least meet him halfway.

So, with one hand holding his phone, you typed "how to reattach cabinet door" into the search bar—

And then, your thumb froze. Because right there, at the top of the screen, was a notification. A message. From Chaewon. Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know who Chaewon was. Of course, you did. You weren’t stupid. Chaewon was his ex.

The one he never really talked about. The one who had, at one point, been a name you’d only heard in passing, just a piece of his past that you had no real reason to care about. Except… you did.

Because now, here she was. On his screen. Texting him. And suddenly, you felt fucking ridiculous. Because why were you even reacting like this? It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend. It wasn’t like he owed you an explanation. So, then… why did it feel like this?

You forced yourself to look away from the message, pressing the YouTube link on the screen as if nothing had happened. But something had. Because when Heeseung glanced at you, waiting for your next words, you just… couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your voice didn’t sound normal. “It says you need a screwdriver.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow at your abrupt shift in tone, but he didn’t question it. “Okay,” he said slowly, getting up to grab one from his bag.

You took the moment to shove his phone back onto the counter, clenching your jaw as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. It was fine. You were fine.

“Hey.” His voice cut through the air, slightly muffled as he rummaged through his bag. “Can you hold this while I—”

“No, it’s fine.” The words came out too fast, too stiff.

And Heeseung noticed. He glanced at you, pausing with the screwdriver halfway in his grip. “You good?”

You forced out a laugh. “Yeah. Why?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head. “You just got all weird all of a sudden.”

“I didn’t.”

“You definitely did.”

You exhaled sharply, schooling your expression into something that wasn’t betrayal or insecurity or whatever dumb thing was currently buzzing inside your head. “I’m just tired.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Heeseung didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t push. He just hummed under his breath, turning back to the cabinet as he started working again.

And maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was irrational. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The notification. The name. The way your stomach had twisted on instinct before you even had a chance to tell yourself it didn’t matter.

Because maybe… Maybe it did.

The next time you’re at Yunjin’s apartment, Heeseung isn’t there.

It’s not intentional, not entirely. Maybe there’s a small, petty part of you that’s relieved when Yunjin mentions he’s out, like the universe decided to grant you a break from the exhausting push and pull of whatever this thing is between you. But mostly, you’re just here because you always are.

There’s an old episode of some dating reality show playing in the background, and Yunjin barely glances at it as she paints her toenails a shade of red so deep it’s almost brown. You pick at the hem of your sleeve, casual, too casual, before finally asking, “Does Heeseung still see Chaewon?”

Yunjin snorts, like it’s the dumbest thing she’s heard all day. “God, I hope not.”

Something in your stomach untwists just slightly, but you don’t let the relief settle. You just raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What happened with them, anyway?”

Yunjin pauses, her brush hovering mid-air. She gives you a look. The kind that says she sees through you. The kind that makes your skin prickle with the discomfort of being known. But then she sighs, leans back against the couch, and says, “They burned out.”

You blink. “That’s it?”

Yunjin tilts her head. “You ever leave a candle burning too long?” She dips the brush back into the bottle, shaking her head. “They were good until they weren’t. And when they weren’t, it was obvious. Chaewon got tired of waiting for him to catch up.”

You frown. “Catch up?”

Yunjin shrugs. “She loved him first. And she wanted him to love her back just as fast, just as much. But Heeseung…” She sighs, blowing lightly on her nails. “Heeseung takes his time. He doesn’t fall in love all at once, he kind of… eases into it. Like the dumbass that he is.”

Your chest tightens.

Because you think about the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. About the way he always notices when you’re cold before you even say anything. And then you think about the way he doesn’t say anything. About the way he’s always on the edge of something, always almost.

Yunjin is watching you. You can feel it. And you know, you just know, she’s about to say something that’s going to ruin you.

So you get up, stretch your arms above your head like you can shake the weight of this conversation off your skin. “Right. Well. That was fun. Thanks for the gossip.”

Yunjin smirks. “You’re so fucking obvious.” You ignore her, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. But before you can shove it in your mouth, she says, “Heeseung’s not stupid, you know. He just doesn’t like to move until he’s sure.”

You pause. And because you’re you, and because this is Heeseung, and because everything about this whole thing is a goddamn waiting game— You pretend you don’t hear her.

And then it’s 2:14 a.m. when your phone buzzes.

You’re half-asleep, curled up in bed, the glow of your screen slicing through the darkness. You squint at it, groggy, before reading the message.

heeseung: you awake? heeseung: also. do u want mcdonalds

You blink. Then again. You type out a response with fingers that still feel half-dead from sleep.

you: is that even a question heeseung: valid. be outside in 10

And just like that, you’re stepping into your slides, and slipping out the door like this is the most normal thing in the world. Because with Heeseung, it kind of is.

The streetlights cast long, tired shadows across the pavement, and the air is that weird mix of crisp and stale that only exists at this hour, like the city itself is pausing, caught between the last breath of night and the first inhale of morning.

Heeseung’s car rolls up exactly nine minutes later, music already playing low through the speakers. When you slide into the passenger seat, he barely even looks at you before reaching into the back and tossing you his hoodie.

“You’re gonna get cold,” he says simply.

You huff, but you put it on. It smells like him—faint detergent, something vaguely woody, and the unmistakable scent of McDonald’s fries from however many late-night runs have preceded this one.

Heeseung pulls out onto the street, the familiar hum of the engine settling between you. He’s got one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, and there’s a soft shadow of exhaustion under his eyes, but he still looks… at ease.

It’s quiet for a while. Comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn’t feel like it needs filling.

Then, as he turns onto the main road, he says, “You ever think about how weird time is?”

You glance at him. “That’s an insane way to start a conversation.”

“I’m serious,” he laughs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Like, right now. It’s 2:30 a.m. for us, but somewhere else, it’s a normal afternoon. Someone’s getting lunch, someone’s going to work. And here we are, about to eat McNuggets in a parking lot.”

You hum. “I feel like this is your way of convincing me that time isn’t real.”

He nods solemnly. “Nothing is real.”

“Except McNuggets.”

“Exactly.”

A beat passes, the soft rumble of the tires against the road the only sound for a moment. Then, quieter, more thoughtful, Heeseung asks, “Where do you think you’ll be in a year?”

The question catches you off guard. You tilt your head, thinking. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I have plans, but… life never really goes how you expect it to, does it?”

Heeseung exhales a small laugh. “No. It really doesn’t.”

You hesitate before adding, “Where do you think you’ll be?”

He takes a moment. His grip on the steering wheel tightens just slightly, like he’s holding onto the words before letting them go. “I don’t know either.” He pauses, then glances at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I just hope I’m somewhere that still feels like home.”

You feel something shift. A small, almost imperceptible weight settling between the two of you.

And maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s the fact that your brain isn’t fully awake yet. Or maybe it’s just him—this version of Heeseung that only exists at 2:30 a.m., the one who speaks in half-truths and unspoken things. But you suddenly feel like you understand exactly what he means.

The McDonald’s drive-thru is basically empty when you pull in. The girl at the window looks like she hates her job, and Heeseung, being Heeseung, makes it his personal mission to get her to smile.

“Are McFlurries still a scam?” he asks solemnly.

The girl raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You mean, is the machine broken?”

“Yeah.”

“Obviously.”

Heeseung sighs. “I knew it. A tragedy, really.”

Her lips twitch—just barely—but he sees it. He shoots you a triumphant look as he pulls forward.

With the food secured, he parks in a near-empty lot. There’s something about eating fast food in a car past midnight that makes it taste ten times better—something about the way the city is so still, like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you and the glow of the dashboard lights.

For a while, you just eat in silence, the occasional rustle of a fry bag or the quiet click of a sauce container the only noise. Then Heeseung says, “If you could live in any movie, which one would it be?”

You think for a moment. “Probably something stupid and fun. Like… a rom-com where everything works out in the end.”

Heeseung snorts. “Yeah? You want to be the main character that badly?”

“Obviously.”

He grins, dipping a fry into his BBQ sauce. “You’d be the chaotic best friend, though.”

You throw a fry at him. He catches it in his mouth.

“What about you?” you ask, popping a nugget into your mouth.

Heeseung leans back against the seat, thinking. “I don’t know. Something small. Quiet. One of those movies where nothing really happens, but it still makes you feel something.”

You tilt your head. “Like a waiting room.”

Heeseung turns to you. “What?”

“A waiting room,” you say, like it’s obvious. “That’s what those movies feel like. Like something is about to happen, but you don’t know what, and maybe it’s okay if nothing does.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then he smiles. And it’s not his usual grin, not the teasing, lopsided smirk. It’s something smaller, softer. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Like a waiting room.”

Neither of you say anything after that. The city hums in the background, neon lights bleeding into the darkness, the last remnants of fries sitting forgotten between you.

And then, a party. Not the kind you remember from three years ago, not the one where you met a boy covered in green body paint who changed your life without even meaning to. But still, a party. The music is just as loud, the air just as thick with heat and laughter, the night just as full of things waiting to happen.

You’re not sure why you came. Yunjin had begged, of course, had stood in your doorway with her most dramatic expression, wailing about how you never do anything fun anymore. But even then, you could have said no. You could have curled up in your apartment, wrapped yourself in something soft and safe, ignored the way your stomach flipped when you thought, what if Heeseung is there?

But you didn’t.

And now, you’re here, standing in the middle of someone’s too-small living room, holding a lukewarm drink, feeling like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. And then, you hear your name.

It cuts through the music, through the laughter, through the static in your brain. It pulls you toward the kitchen, toward the familiar lilt of a voice you know better than your own. And there he is. Heeseung.

Standing in front of the fridge, cracking open a beer, wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans that hang just right. His hair is a little messy, his eyes a little bright, and when he sees you, he grins—that same lopsided, teasing, dangerous smile.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he says, raising his drink in a mock toast.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of whatever’s in your cup. "Don’t make a big deal out of it."

Heeseung hums, leaning against the counter. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

But he’s looking at you like it is a big deal. Like maybe he’s been waiting for you all night. Like maybe he always is.

Hours pass, the party moves around you—people spilling in and out of rooms, music shifting from one song to the next—but you and Heeseung stay where you are, orbiting around each other.

At some point, someone suggests a game. Cards, or maybe something more ridiculous—something designed to make people confess things they wouldn’t say otherwise. You should say no. You should step away before you find yourself caught in something you can’t get out of.

But you don’t. You sit next to Heeseung on the floor, close enough that your knees touch. The game starts, questions fly, people laugh. And then—

Jake turns to you. "Alright, Y/N. Who was your first college crush?"

You blink. "What?"

The group whoops in unison. Jungwon throws an arm around your shoulder. "Come on, don’t be shy."

Your throat goes dry. Your eyes flicker to Heeseung, just for a second, but it’s enough. His smirk twitches—just barely, just enough to be noticeable—and suddenly, you know you have to get out of this.

You clear your throat, reaching for your drink. "I think I’ve blocked it out," you lie.

A chorus of boos erupts, but the game moves on. The moment passes. But beside you, Heeseung is watching you, his fingers tapping against his knee, like he’s putting something together. You pretend not to notice.

Later, when the party has blurred into something soft and distant, when most people are drunk or half-asleep, when the night has stretched itself out into something too fragile to hold forever, Heeseung finds you on the balcony.

You’re leaning against the railing, breathing in the cool air, staring out at the city lights. "You hiding from me?"

You don’t turn around. "You think everything’s about you, don’t you?"

He laughs—soft, amused, something warm threading through the sound. "It usually is."

You roll your eyes, but then he’s beside you, resting his forearms on the railing, close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through the night air.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The music inside is muffled now, the party nothing more than background noise. The city stretches out before you, endless and alive, full of people who have no idea that this moment is happening.

And then, quietly, Heeseung asks, "You really don’t remember your first college crush?"

Your fingers tighten slightly around the railing. You exhale. "I remember."

A pause. "Yeah?"

You glance at him. He’s watching you, expression unreadable, something deep and knowing in his eyes. You swallow. "Yeah."

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, and for a second, you think—Is he going to ask? Does he already know? But he doesn’t.

He just nods, looking back at the skyline, and says, "Me too."

And somehow, that’s worse. Because you think—no, you know—that he’s not talking about some early college memory, some long-forgotten infatuation.

He’s talking about you.

And for the first time, you wonder if this thing between you—this waiting, this almost, this three years of something unspoken—has been more obvious than you thought. You wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one waiting.

One month later. The thing about time is that it moves whether you’re ready or not. It stretches, it folds, it carries you forward even when you feel like you’re standing still.

And ever since the party, things with Heeseung have been… different. Not in an obvious way. Not in the way that people would notice, not in the way that Yunjin would tease you about over breakfast. But in the small things.

In the way his eyes linger just a little too long. In the way your stomach flips when he says your name. In the way every conversation feels like it’s balancing on the edge of something you can’t name.

Because you and Heeseung have always been close, always been drawn together like something written into the universe itself. But now? Now, it feels different. Like someone turned up the volume on something you didn’t even realize was playing in the background.

And the worst part? Neither of you are talking about it.

Instead, you’re doing what you do best—pretending. Pretending that nothing is different, that things are still light and easy, that three years of something unspoken aren’t finally starting to spill over the edges.

Until one day, when you’re sitting on Yunjin’s couch, your phone rings. It’s your mother. You hesitate before answering, already bracing yourself for whatever she’s about to say.

And the moment you put your phone down, you groan, collapsing onto the couch, like the weight of the conversation is physically pressing down on you. Heeseung and Yunjin are both looking at you expectantly, their attention fully on you in a way that makes you regret opening your mouth at all. But it’s too late now, so you just exhale, pressing your fingers against your temples before muttering, "My mom called."

Yunjin snorts. "Yeah, we got that much. What did she want?"

You roll your eyes, but the annoyance in your chest is directed at yourself more than anything else. "There’s a wedding. My cousin’s. Next weekend."

Heeseung, who had been absentmindedly rolling a bottle cap between his fingers, finally glances up, eyes curious. "You going?"

"Yeah." You sigh again. "Didn’t really have a choice. If I said no, she would’ve found a way to guilt-trip me into oblivion."

Yunjin grins knowingly. "Classic mom move."

You hum in agreement, then hesitate, picking at the hem of your sleeve. "And then she made it weird," you mutter.

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly on the couch so he’s facing you more fully. "How weird?"

You pause for a second, then groan, throwing your head back. "She brought up the fact that I’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything."

Yunjin cackles. She actually leans forward, hands on her knees, cackling. "Oh my God," she wheezes. "That’s so embarrassing for you."

You glare. "Thank you, Yunjin, for your endless support."

But Heeseung doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease. He just tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression. "She said that?"

You nod, rubbing your temples. "Yeah. She was all, ‘You can bring someone, you know,’ and then just immediately went for the ‘You’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything,’ like I don’t already know that."

Yunjin wipes a fake tear from her eye, still far too entertained. "Damn. She really called you out like that."

"Okay," you deadpan, "I think we’ve established that this is humiliating for me. Can we move on?"

But Yunjin grins, her eyes practically glowing with mischief, and that’s when you know you should have never said anything at all. "Well," she says, stretching out the word, "if it bothers you that much… you could always bring Heeseung."

Silence.

You feel it immediately—the way the air shifts, the way your stomach twists, the way your breath catches for just a second too long. You don’t look at Heeseung. You can’t.

Instead, you scoff, shoving her shoulder. "Oh my God, shut up."

"I’m serious!" she laughs. "It makes sense, doesn’t it? You need a date. Heeseung’s around."

Heeseung is silent. And that—that’s what makes your chest tighten. Because Heeseung is never silent.

You finally force yourself to glance at him, just a flicker, just to see how he’s reacting to this. And when you do, you find him already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his fingers stilling where they had been absently playing with the bottle cap.

Something tightens in your throat. Because it’s one thing to laugh it off. It’s one thing to pretend this isn’t something charged, something delicate, something that feels like standing on the edge of something too big to name.

But Heeseung isn’t laughing.

When you open the door on the wedding day, Heeseung is already leaning against his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, looking entirely too good for someone who is supposed to be doing you a favor. His hair is neat but still has that slight, careless tousle to it, his sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms, and his black dress shirt is criminally well-fitted.

You try very hard not to notice any of that. But Heeseung is looking at you like you just stopped time.

It’s not obvious—he doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t let his jaw drop like some kind of movie cliché—but his fingers twitch slightly where they’re resting in his pockets, and his throat bobs as he swallows. His eyes move over you in a way that isn’t just admiration but something deeper, something heavier, something that makes your chest feel too tight.

You pretend not to notice that, either. Instead, you lift an eyebrow, shifting your weight onto one foot. "You gonna open the door for me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Heeseung blinks, snapping out of it. He clears his throat, pushing off the car, his usual smirk creeping back into place. "Right, yeah. My bad."

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm anyway. The ride starts out easy. The hum of the road fills the space between you, the occasional comment about the directions or a song playing on the radio breaking the silence.

"You, uh," Heeseung starts, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "You sure your mom’s gonna be cool with me coming?"

You blink. "What? Yeah, of course. I already told her."

He raises an eyebrow. "You told her?"

"Yeah," you say, adjusting the hem of your dress. "I mean, I talk about you all the time, so it’s not like it’s weird or anything."

Silence. You don’t notice it at first, but when you glance over, Heeseung is staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel a little tighter than before.

And the thing is—Heeseung is not someone who gets flustered easily. He doesn’t trip over his words, doesn’t get all weird when people talk about him. But now, he’s sitting there, completely silent, like his brain just blue-screened.

Because you talk about him all the time. To your mom. His ears burn at the thought.

Because it’s one thing to be close. It’s one thing to be your best friend, to be the person you go to for late-night McDonald’s runs and life-altering conversations on balconies. But it’s another thing entirely to know that he exists in your life even when he’s not there.

That when you’re on the phone with your mom, when you’re recounting your day, when you’re talking about the people who matter—he’s there. And it’s so stupid how much that does to him.

He coughs, forcing himself to sound normal. "Oh. Cool. Yeah. That’s cool."

You snort. "I told her you’re my friend, and that’s it."

Heeseung hums, tapping his fingers on the wheel again. "Yeah. Right."

But for some reason, the word friend doesn’t sit right in his mouth.

The wedding is beautiful. Not in the over-the-top, fairytale kind of way, but in the way that feels real. The ceremony is held outdoors, the late afternoon light draping everything in gold, the air carrying the soft hum of laughter and clinking glasses. There are flowers on every table, music drifting lazily through the air, and a warmth that lingers beneath the chatter of distant relatives catching up.

And you almost forget that you’re here with Heeseung. Almost. Except—you can feel him.

You can feel him next to you at the table, the warmth of his presence settling into your skin. You can feel the way his hand brushes against yours when he reaches for something, the way his eyes flicker toward you when he hears you laugh.

And the worst part is that he looks good as hell.

It’s almost unfair, the way he carries himself. The way his sleeves are still rolled up, the way his shirt is slightly undone at the collar, the way he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, watching everything unfold like he belongs here.

And for the first time in a long time you don’t know where you stand with him.

Because this is Heeseung. The boy who sends you Shrek memes at 2 a.m. The boy who once argued with a barista about oat milk for a full five minutes. The boy who makes you laugh until you can’t breathe.

But right now? Right now, he’s something else, too. Something that makes your stomach flip. Something that makes you forget how to breathe.

The music shifts. It’s not immediate—not some grand, dramatic moment where the world slows down—but you feel it.

The moment the first notes of the song drift through the air, you feel it in your chest. Like something tightening. Like something pulling at a thread you don’t want to unravel. Because you know this song. Of course you know this song. And so does he.

You don’t even have to look at Heeseung to know he recognizes it too. That he knows exactly what’s playing, that he knows how much you love her, that he knows you’ve played this song before—in his car, in your apartment, in the quiet spaces between friendship and something else.

You know he knows. And yet, he still turns to you, his voice a low murmur beneath the hum of conversation. “Phoebe Bridgers,” he says.

You swallow. “Yeah.” Heeseung hums, watching you carefully. His fingers drum lightly against the table, slow and steady, in time with the beat of the song. Then, after a second—

"You should dance with me."

You blink. You blink again. Your stomach twists. “What?”

Heeseung shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything. “You love this song.”

Which—okay. That’s true. But this is not a song you dance to. This is a song you listen to alone, in your room, in the quiet, when it’s too late and you’re too restless and you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about.

This is not a wedding song. And yet, Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like this is a dare, like he’s waiting for you to say no, to call him out, to pull away before it’s too late.

And yet, his hand is outstretched, waiting, patient, warm. And yet— You take it. You don’t think, you just do it, just let yourself be pulled. And Heeseung holds you like he’s afraid to press too hard.

One hand on your waist. The other clasping yours loosely, like he’s letting you decide how close to be. Like he’s still waiting for you to laugh and push him away and say, ‘This is so stupid’.

But you don’t. You just breathe. You just exist here, in this moment, with him.

If you were a waiting room, I would never see a doctor I would sit there with my first-aid kit and bleed

Your throat tightens. Because God, this song.

Because you know every lyric by heart, because you know what it means, because there’s something about it that always makes you feel like you’re standing in the middle of something you’ll never quite have.

And now, here you are, dancing to it with him.

Heeseung exhales softly, tilting his head toward you. “You ever think about that?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

His fingers twitch slightly against your waist. “How music reminds you of people.”

Your stomach flips. Because of course you do. Of course, you think about it. Of course, this song, this moment, this whole damn night is going to be tied to him now, forever, no matter what happens after.

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I think about it.”

Heeseung hums, like that makes sense. Like he already knew what you were going to say. Then—

"Does this song remind you of me?"

Your breath catches. The air between you thickens.

Because that shouldn’t be a question. Because he already knows the answer. Because you’re standing here with him, swaying to a song that makes your chest ache, and you know, you know he hears the lyrics just as clearly as you do.

I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to sound normal. “Maybe.”

His lips twitch. “Maybe?”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Heeseung laughs, soft, breathless. And God, you hate him.

You hate the way he makes everything feel like a game, like he’s always hovering right at the edge of something and waiting for you to push him over. You hate that it’s working.

And when broken bodies are washed ashore—who am I to ask for more?

You shiver. Because this is the part of the song that gets to you every time. Because who are you to ask for more?

Who are you to ask for something that maybe, just maybe, was never meant to be yours? But then Heeseung, of all people, says “I think this song reminds me of you, too.”

Your heart stops. You look at him, and he’s already looking at you, and suddenly this doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.

This doesn’t feel like something you can laugh off. Because Heeseung is serious.

Because his hand is still on your waist, his fingers still brushing against the fabric of your dress, his breath still warm against your cheek, and you don’t know how to go back from this. You don’t know if you want to.

Heeseung shifts slightly, his grip tightening for just a second. “You ever think about it?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

Heeseung hesitates, his eyes flickering over your face. His jaw tightens—just barely.

"Us."

Your stomach drops.

Because he says it so simply, like it’s nothing, like it’s a passing thought, like he hasn’t just destroyed your entire world in one syllable. Us. The word sits heavy in the air between you, impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you didn’t hear.

Heeseung doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, doesn’t do anything to make this easier for you. He just keeps holding you, keeps swaying with you, keeps waiting—like he has all the time in the world.

You want to say something.

You want to throw your head back and laugh it off, tell him he’s being ridiculous, tell him to stop playing with you. You want to scoff and roll your eyes and pretend that the thought of you and Heeseung has never crossed your mind, that it hasn’t been haunting you for years, that it hasn’t been living under your skin since the first time he looked at you like you were something worth remembering.

But you can’t. Because this is Heeseung. Because he knows you too well, because he’d hear the lie in your voice, because there is nowhere left to hide when he’s looking at you like this.

So instead, you stall. You breathe in, slow and careful, and say, "What about us?"

It’s a cheap move. A pathetic attempt at deflection. And Heeseung knows it.

He exhales, the ghost of a laugh slipping past his lips, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your waist. "You know what I mean."

You glance down at your hands, the way your fingers are still laced together with his, the way your other hand rests so easily on his shoulder, like this is something you’ve done a thousand times before. And maybe you have.

Maybe you and Heeseung have always been dancing around each other like this. Maybe you’ve just never let yourself notice. The song keeps playing, keeps taunting you, keeps threading its meaning between your ribs, pulling you closer and closer to something you don’t know how to name.

I wanna make you drive all night just because I said, maybe you should come over

You let out a slow breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. "We’re friends, Heeseung."

He hums. "Yeah. We are."

But he doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t move away, doesn’t drop his hand from your waist, doesn’t step back into the safe distance you’re used to. He stays. And that’s the part that gets you.

Because if he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t be holding you like this. If he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place.

You glance up at him again, searching, waiting for him to say something else, to give you an out, to change the subject, to laugh and let it go. But he doesn’t. He just watches you. And suddenly, you feel exposed in a way you never have before.

Like every late-night conversation, every half-smile, every almost has been leading here, to this moment, to this song, to this feeling that you don’t know how to escape. You force yourself to swallow.

"Why are you asking me this?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, considering you, considering his words.

"Because I think about it, too."

Your breath catches in your throat. Your fingers tighten against his shoulder. Your heart slams against your ribs.

You feel like the whole world has shrunk down to just this. To the space between your bodies, to the way he’s looking at you, to the fact that he thinks about it, too.

Heeseung’s fingers twitch slightly against yours, but he doesn’t let go. He’s watching you with this careful intensity, like he’s waiting for something, like he’s giving you the chance to decide what happens next.

And that’s the problem.

Because you don’t know what happens next.

Because you’ve spent years existing in this strange, untouchable place with him, in this in-between, in this waiting room of a relationship that never moves forward but never lets you leave either.

And now, suddenly, here you are. Standing on the edge of something irreversible.

She'll be the best you ever had if you let her

Your heart stumbles. Because this song knows too much.

Because this song feels too much like the two of you, like something ripped from your ribs and put into lyrics, like a truth you weren’t ready to confront. And maybe—just maybe—Heeseung feels it, too.

Because he leans in. Just a little. Just enough.

Not enough to cross the line, not enough to destroy the thing you’ve built, but enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, enough that the scent of him—clean soap, something faintly woodsy, something entirely him—wraps around you.

Enough that you could close the distance if you wanted to. And God, you do.

But you don’t. Because you’re afraid. Because you don’t know what happens when you let this become real.

Because Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like he could ruin you if he wanted to, like he’s giving you the chance to ruin him first.

I know it's for the better

You exhale, too shaky, too uneven. And Heeseung notices.

His gaze flickers, barely, to your lips, to the space between you, to the way you haven’t moved away from him yet. And then his jaw clenches.

Like he’s just realized how close you are. Like he’s just realized this is about to happen if neither of you stop it. And that’s the thing, neither of you stop it.

Not immediately. Not when his fingers tighten slightly on your waist. Not when your grip on his shoulder trembles just a little. Not when the air between you stretches so thin it might snap in half.

Not until you hear, Know it’s for the better…

The song starts to fade. The moment fractures. And just like that, you both pull away.

Not much. Just an inch, a breath, a single second too late. But it’s enough.

Enough for reality to settle back in. Enough for the noise of the wedding to come rushing back, for the chatter and laughter and clinking glasses to remind you where you are, who you are, what you almost did.

And Heeseung, he knows it, too. You see it in the way his throat bobs, in the way he blinks hard, in the way he forces himself to take a step back, to drop his hand from your waist, to roll his shoulders like he can shake off whatever just happened between you.

The song ends. And neither of you say a word.

And three months later, silence.

At first, it’s subtle—just a missed text here, a conversation that doesn’t last as long as it used to, an inside joke that no longer lands the way it should. But then it becomes something else. Something colder. Something that feels less like a pause and more like a choice.

And that’s what happened to you and Heeseung.

You didn’t stop talking completely. That would have been too obvious, too final, too much like admitting that something had shifted beyond repair. You still sent the occasional meme, still ran into each other at Yunjin’s, still had conversations that skimmed the surface of what they used to be.

But it was different. The late-night McDonald’s runs stopped. The effortless teasing felt strained. The ease of being around each other—the one thing you never questioned—was suddenly gone.

Neither of you did anything about it. You let it happen. Because it was easier that way.

Because acknowledging it meant admitting that something had changed, that you had gotten too close, that something had almost happened that night at the wedding. And you weren’t ready to admit that.

You weren’t ready to ask if Heeseung had almost kissed you, or if you had almost kissed him, or if you had both just been caught in some stupid, fleeting moment that meant nothing at all. So, you didn’t.

And now, three months later, all that’s left is silence.

The rain comes down in sheets, heavy and relentless, drumming against the windows of your apartment. You sit curled up on your couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone abandoned on the coffee table. The storm had rolled in an hour ago, sudden and unforgiving, and now the whole city feels swallowed by it, the streetlights barely visible through the downpour.

Then, there’s a knock at your door. You weren’t expecting anyone. It’s too late, too stormy, too much of a nothing kind of night for visitors.

But something in you knows—before you even open the door, before you even take that first breath—that it’s him.

And it is. It’s Heeseung.

Standing in your doorway, soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead, breathing unevenly like he just ran here.

You freeze. "Heeseung?"

His eyes flicker over your face, searching, desperate, wild in a way you’ve never seen before. His clothes are damp, sticking to his frame, his hands clenched at his sides. But it’s his expression that gets you.

Like something is breaking inside of him. Like something has already broken.

“I can’t—” His voice catches, hoarse and raw, and then he shakes his head, like words are failing him, like they’re too small for what he’s trying to say.

Your heart is pounding. “Heeseung, what are you—”

"I can’t stop thinking about you."

The words crash into you like a wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare.

Heeseung swallows hard, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it, like he’s trying to find a way to make you understand.

"I’ve tried," he continues, voice shaking. "I really, really tried. But you’re always there. You’re in every song I hear, in every dumb inside joke, in every single thing that happens to me. I see something stupid and my first thought is always, ‘Y/N would think that’s hilarious.’ I go to text you and then I stop because I don’t know if I’m supposed to anymore. I—"

He lets out a sharp, frustrated laugh, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “I thought if I just gave it time, it would go away. I thought I could just—move past it. But I still feel like I’m standing in that damn Halloween party with you, waiting for something to happen.”

Your throat is tight. “Heeseung—”

“I miss you,” he interrupts, pushing forward, stepping into your space like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door on him if he doesn’t. "I miss you so much it’s making me lose my goddamn mind."

Your pulse is roaring in your ears. You should say something. You should do something. But you can’t. You just stand there, staring at him, your body frozen in place. And Heeseung just keeps talking.

"I don’t know how to be your friend anymore," he admits, wrecked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to sit next to you and act like I don’t want more. I don’t know how to look at you and pretend that you’re not the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about before I fall asleep. I don’t know how to listen to that fucking song without remembering the way you looked at me that night."

The air is too thick. Your vision is blurring.

Heeseung breathes out a shaky, desperate laugh, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "And the worst part?" He meets your eyes, and it destroys you. "I don’t think I want to stop thinking about you."

And that’s it.

That’s what breaks you. That’s what makes you move.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.

You step forward, grab the front of his stupid wet shirt, and kiss him.

The storm rages outside. And for the first time in three years, neither of you pull away.

The moment your lips crash into his, Heeseung stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but then he’s pulling you closer, like he’s been waiting for this forever.

His hands cup your face, fingers threading into your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he lets go. And you grip the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you standing, like if you let go, the moment might shatter around you.

Heeseung sighs into the kiss, like he’s relieved, like this is something he’s needed more than breathing itself. He tilts his head, deepening it, and you melt into him, the heat of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.

It’s surreal, familiar and foreign all at once, like stepping into a dream you’ve had before but never been able to hold onto. Because this is Heeseung. The boy who has always been by your side, the boy who has spent years making you laugh until your stomach hurts, the boy who has always been a constant in your life.

But now, he’s something else too. Now, he’s the only thing you can feel. And that’s the strangest part, how utterly consuming this is. Because your brain is struggling to keep up, still caught in the absurdity of it—Heeseung is kissing me, I’m kissing Heeseung, this is happening, this is happening.

And then he moves forward, stepping into the apartment fully, finally, his hands still tangled in your hair, still refusing to let you go. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound almost lost beneath the roar of the storm outside.

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. His lips find yours again, his hands skimming over your waist, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he spent pretending he didn’t want this. And you can’t breathe. Because this isn’t like any kiss you’ve ever had before.

You’ve kissed people you liked. You’ve kissed people you thought you could love. But you have never, never felt this. This heat, this ache, this impossible, indescribable pull. Like your entire life has been leading up to this moment.

Like every other kiss you’ve had before this was just a poor imitation of what it was supposed to feel like. And that’s terrifying. Because how do you go back after this? How do you pretend this doesn’t mean something?

Heeseung exhales against your lips, his breath uneven, his fingers tightening just slightly against your waist. Like he’s thinking the same thing, like he’s struggling just as much as you are to make sense of this.

You should stop. You should pull away, take a breath, process. But you can’t.

Because he tilts his head, kisses you deeper, and suddenly, you’re walking backward without realizing it, your body moving on instinct, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you steady. Heeseung follows, one hand sliding down to rest against the small of your back, guiding you without thinking, without hesitation.

Your legs hit the couch. You stumble slightly, your balance faltering for the first time, and Heeseung, on pure reflex, catches you. His hands tighten instantly, pulling you against him, steadying you before you can fall.

But the movement leaves zero space between you. You can feel everything, his chest rising and falling against yours, the heat radiating off of him, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they’re curled into the fabric of your shirt.

His breath brushes against your lips, his nose bumping against yours as you both hover, just for a moment, just long enough to realize how close you are, just long enough to make it worse.

Before you can stop yourself, before you can think, you kiss him again. This time, it’s slower. This time, it’s deeper. This time, it’s not about the rush, the adrenaline, the storm raging outside. This time, it’s about everything else.

About the way his hands move carefully now, like he’s trying to remember every single detail, about the way he tilts his head slightly to fit his mouth against yours like he’s done this a thousand times in his head, about the way he lets out a soft, wrecked sound when you slide your fingers up into his still-damp hair. And you’re drowning in him.

You fall back onto the couch, pulling him with you, and he follows without hesitation, bracing himself with one hand on the cushion beside you, the other still gripping your waist, his fingers trembling just slightly against your skin.

His lips leave yours only for a second, just long enough for him to breathe, just long enough for his eyes to flicker over your face, like he’s trying to memorize you at this moment.

And then, so softly you almost don’t hear it—

“Tell me you want this.”

Your breath catches. Because God, you do. You do. You always have. So you don’t say anything. You just pull him down and kiss him again.

The weight of him settles over you, his body pressed against yours, his hands everywhere and nowhere at once—on your waist, your ribs, twitching like he doesn’t know where to hold you first, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you long enough to decide.

It's overwhelming. His warmth, his scent, the soft, unsteady breaths he exhales between kisses, the way his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt just slightly, just enough to brush against bare skin. It’s careful. Hesitant. Like he’s testing something fragile.

Heeseung groans softly, his grip tightening, his lips parting against yours in a way that sends a full-body shiver down your spine. His hands move up your sides, down to your hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes like he wants to commit this exact moment to memory. You arch just slightly, chasing his warmth, and the movement makes Heeseung suck in a sharp breath, his forehead pressing briefly against yours.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

You laugh, breathless, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder. “That’s dramatic.”

His lips graze yours again, barely there, just enough to drive you insane. “You have no idea.”

And you could stay here forever—wrapped up in him, in his weight, in the way his lips brush over your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he’s learning you one kiss at a time.

He shifts just slightly, pressing more of his weight into you, his thigh slipping between yours, and your breath catches. Heeseung notices immediately. You feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his grip on your waist tightens, in the way he exhales shakily against your cheek.

You don’t move. He doesn’t move. The air changes. Slows. Thickens. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore. Suddenly, it’s so much more than that. It’s every feeling you’ve been ignoring, every second of the past three years, every single moment leading up to this one catching up to you all at once.

And Heeseung feels it too. Because he pulls back, just a little, just enough to look at you properly, his expression wrecked. His fingers brush against your cheek, light, careful, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. Like he’s scared of what happens if you don’t.

You stare up at him, breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears, and— God, he’s beautiful.

His hair is still damp from the rain, strands falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look softer. His lips are kiss-bruised, parted slightly as he catches his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

You exhale slowly, one hand sliding down his chest, feeling the way his heart slams against his ribs, and he shudders. You know what this means. You know there’s no going back after this. So you whisper—soft, shaky, everything all at once—

"Heeseung."

And that’s all it takes.

Heeseung exhales—a shaky, uneven breath, like he’s barely holding himself together. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on your waist, his body still hovering over yours. Then, softly, barely above a whisper—

"Say my name again."

Your stomach flips. You don’t, not at first. Because you feel lightheaded, because this is Heeseung, because what the hell is happening right now?

But Heeseung isn’t impatient. He doesn’t push. He just watches you, his gaze flickering over your face—your lips, your eyes, the way your breath catches in your throat. And then, carefully, deliberately, he grabs your wrist.

Your breath hitches as he lifts your hand, as he guides it slowly, until your palm is pressed flat against his chest. You can feel it. His heartbeat. It’s slamming against his ribs, too fast, too unsteady, completely out of control.

You stare at your hand, at where it rests over his racing pulse, at the way his skin burns beneath your touch. Heeseung swallows hard.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his voice low, rough, wrecked.

And you do, because it’s all you can feel, because it’s like his entire body is responding to you, and you nod, your fingers twitching slightly against his shirt.

Heeseung lets out a breath like he’s relieved, like he needed you to know this, to feel this, to understand what you do to him. Then, slowly, carefully, giving you every chance to stop him, he leans down, brushing his lips against the curve of your jaw. You suck in a breath, your eyes fluttering shut as he moves lower, pressing the softest, slowest kiss to the side of your neck. Your fingers curl against his shoulders, your pulse hammering beneath your skin, and he feels it.

“Heeseung,” you breathe, and it’s embarrassing how it comes out, a little too soft, a little too needy, like you’re already losing yourself in him.

He shudders, letting out a sharp breath. “Fuck—”

Then, his teeth graze your pulse point, and you gasp, back arching instinctively into him. Your hips shift beneath his, your hands moving without thinking, fingers grasping at the hem of his hoodie, your skin itching for more of him, more warmth, more of everything.

Heeseung lets you. He lets you push the fabric up, lets you brush your fingers over the bare skin of his stomach, lets you feel the way his muscles tense under your touch. He exhales a groan, head dropping to your shoulder like you’ve just taken the breath right out of him.

He murmurs your name, voice strangled, his fingers digging into your waist as if you’ve completely unraveled him. You suck in a breath, your hands still fisting his hoodie.

“I want to hear you,” he admits, so quietly, like he almost wasn’t planning to say it out loud. “I want to—”

He cuts himself off with another soft groan as you push the hoodie all the way up, your fingers skimming over his bare chest before you finally tug it over his head. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you barely register it.

Because Heeseung is above you, half-naked, breathing heavy, flushed, and looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that exists. You don’t know what to do with yourself. So you just stare up at him, breathless, waiting. And then, finally, you whisper—

"Heeseung, tell me what you want."

Heeseung exhales sharply, his breath warm against your skin, his fingers still pressing into your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, steady himself, like he’s trying not to lose his mind completely.

His hand slides up, fingertips grazing your ribs, slow and deliberate, and you shudder beneath him. His thumb brushes the fabric of your shirt, his touch gentle but knowing, and he meets your eyes, and God, he looks ruined.

"I want—" He starts, but then he laughs breathlessly, shaking his head like he can’t believe himself, like this is too much, like you are too much. His hands are still moving, still exploring, still teasing at the fabric of your shirt, still making your body burn in ways you’ve never felt before. "I want all of you."

Your stomach flips. Because he’s not even touching you properly, and yet it’s the way he says it, the weight of his voice, the truth in it, that makes your pulse stutter.

And then, before you can respond, before you can tease him for how wrecked he sounds, his hands move, slow and deliberate. Fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up, knuckles skimming over your stomach, over your ribs, over every single inch of skin he reveals as he goes.

Your breath stutters, your body arching up into his touch. His jaw clenches, his lips part, and then he’s leaning down, pressing his mouth to your collarbone, trailing featherlight, open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he slowly tugs your shirt over your head.

And then, finally, your shirt joins his hoodie on the floor. And suddenly, you’re both bare and breathless, staring at each other like you don’t know what to do next, even though you both know exactly what’s about to happen.

"Heeseung," you whisper, and his eyes flicker, dark, burning, like your voice alone is enough to unravel him.

"You’re not making this easy," he murmurs, his fingers skimming up your sides, his thumb brushing along your ribs, his body pressing down just slightly, just enough to feel how perfectly he fits against you.

Your breath catches. "Good."

And that ruins him. Heeseung groans, low and deep, and then he’s leaning down again, lips trailing along your jaw, down your neck, to your collarbone, soft, open-mouthed kisses, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every single second. His voice is strained, thick with something raw, something undeniable.

"You feel so good."

You whimper at his words, your nails digging into his shoulders, and Heeseung reacts immediately, his hips pressing down, his body slotting perfectly against yours, his breath catching as he feels you, all of you, right there beneath him.

"Shit," he mutters, his head dropping to your shoulder, his hands gripping your waist like he needs something to hold onto. You’re both breathless now, bodies pressed so close there’s no space left between you, every single movement sending heat crashing through your veins. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this."

Your heart stumbles. Because neither of you were supposed to say it. Neither of you were supposed to acknowledge it. But now—it’s out there. And there’s no taking it back.

And then Heeseung looks at you, really looks at you. His eyes, dark and hooded with something deeper than just desire, trace every inch of your face, your parted lips, the flush spreading down your neck, the way your chest rises and falls, rapid and uneven beneath him.

“You’re…” He swallows hard, his voice thick with something close to reverence. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

His hands move lower, squeezing your thighs before dragging up again, pushing your legs further apart beneath him. Heeseung exhales sharply, his pupils blown wide as he takes in the way you look beneath him, flushed, needy, completely and utterly his for the taking.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, thick with barely restrained need. “You’re perfect.”

His mouth finds your collarbone, lips hot and insistent as he moves lower, tasting, worshiping. His tongue flicks over the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly before he sucks, leaving a mark. His fingers dig into your skin as he rolls his hips down against yours, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. He watches, fascinated, as your body reacts to his, as your fingers clutch at his arms, as your lips part with another breathy whimper that shoots straight through his bloodstream.

“You like that?” he murmurs, dragging his lips up to your ear, his voice nothing but a low rasp. “Like feeling me this close?” You nod, but it’s not enough. Heeseung needs to hear you say it. “Tell me,” he demands, his fingers tightening just enough to make you squirm.

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a breath.

Heeseung smirks against your skin, the sound of your desperation fueling the heat building between you. “Good.” His lips trail back down, kissing, tasting, exploring every inch of you. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Heeseung hovers over you, his breath warm against your skin as his hands trail lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your pants. His fingers toy with the fabric at your hips, teasing. His voice, when he speaks, is deep and laced with restraint.

“Can I take these off?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the sight of him like this—his lips swollen, his gaze dark with barely contained desire, sends a shiver down your spine. Your stomach tightens, heat curling low in your belly as you whisper, “Yes.”

And the second the word leaves your lips, Heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back this whole time. His hands move with deliberate slowness, sliding under the waistband, his fingers warm and firm against your hips as he starts to pull your pants down.

His hands guide your pants lower until they slip past your thighs, pooling somewhere near your ankles, and he takes his time, his lips pressing slow, reverent kisses along the soft skin of your lower belly, just above the edge of your underwear.

He groans against your skin, his voice husky. “You have no idea how good you look right now.”

His hands splay over your thighs, his lips follow the same path, pressing kisses, biting gently, dragging his tongue across the warmth of your skin as he moves lower. You let out a shaky breath as he spreads your legs just a little more, his fingers gripping, massaging, his lips marking every inch of your inner thighs as he inches closer to where you need him most.

Heeseung hums against your skin, his breath hot, teasing. “So soft,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration, with hunger. His hands squeeze your thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to make you arch slightly. “So perfect.”

His lips brush dangerously close to the edge of your underwear, his nose nuzzling against the sensitive skin just beside it, inhaling deeply like he wants to drown in you. His grip tightens. His lips part, and he looks up at you.

The sight of him between your legs, hair messy, lips swollen, his dark eyes filled with something you can’t quite name—it’s almost too much.

His voice is thick, teasing but affectionate. “You’re shaking,” he notes, his thumb brushing the inside of your thigh in slow, soothing circles.

Your breath catches. “Because of you.”

Heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping tighter, his lips trailing higher again, back to your hip, back to your stomach, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin there. “You have no idea how much I love hearing that,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly, he starts to move up. His fingers slide up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, like he needs to feel every part of you, like he’s grounding himself in your presence. He exhales sharply, his forehead resting against yours for the briefest second, like he’s gathering himself, like he’s trying to hold back.

“I need to taste you,” he murmurs, his voice nothing but a raw, desperate rasp. “Please.”

Your breath stutters, your fingers gripping onto his arms, feeling the tension coiled tight beneath his skin. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself, but the truth is, you want this just as much.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmurs.

Your pulse is a pounding rhythm against your ribs, your whole body thrumming with heat, but somehow, you manage to find your voice.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want it. I want you.”

Heeseung groans, his grip tightening for just a second before he’s moving again, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His hands slide back down your body, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

And then he’s sinking back down between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands parting your legs with a reverence that makes your head spin.

Heeseung grips the hem of your underwear between his fingers, his breathing ragged, his hands slightly trembling as he looks up at you. His eyes search yours, dark and full of something raw. “Can I?” His voice is hushed, reverent, like a prayer whispered into the silence.

Your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, as you nod. “Yes,” you murmur.

Heeseung exhales, almost like he’s relieved, like he was afraid you’d stop him. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he slides the fabric down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin as he does, his touch both featherlight and electric.

And then he sees you. His breath catches in his throat, his hands tightening slightly around your thighs as he takes you in. His gaze, hooded and heavy with admiration, rakes over you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory, like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his voice almost disbelieving.

The way he’s looking at your body, so intense, so completely captivated, sends a flush of heat racing up your spine. Your instincts kick in, your legs twitching slightly as the urge to close them overtakes you. But Heeseung doesn’t let you.

His hands move quickly, firm but gentle as he grips your thighs, keeping you open for him. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Your breath hitches, your whole body thrumming under his touch. Heeseung leans in, lips ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath hot against your already burning skin. He looks up at you again, his eyes locking onto yours, and what he says next sends a sharp pulse of anticipation straight through your core.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promises, his voice low, edged with something sinful. “So good that you’ll never forget me.”

And then he dips down. The first press of his mouth against your clit is enough to steal the air from your lungs. Warm, wet, hungry—Heeseung doesn’t just touch, he devours. His tongue moves slow at first, tasting you, savoring every single reaction you give him.

You gasp, arching against him, your body already trembling from the sheer intensity of his touch. Heeseung groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, sending shockwaves up your spine. His grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he keeps you exactly where he wants you.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your heat. “Just like I knew you would.”

Your moans come freely now, breathy, desperate, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as Heeseung works you open with his mouth. He hums against you, pleased, lost in you, whispering praise between every stroke of his tongue. “So good for me.” Kiss. “So fucking perfect.” Lick. “You’re mine.” Suck.

And when you whimper his name, broken and pleading, Heeseung only grips your thighs tighter and pulls you even closer, determined to ruin you completely.

Heeseung groans against you, the vibrations sending a shiver up your spine as he keeps his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking, licking, savoring you like he’s starving. Then, slowly, he moves one hand between your legs, his fingers tracing a teasing path through your slick folds. You shudder, your hips instinctively bucking at the sensation, and Heeseung chuckles, a low, rough sound against your skin.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before glancing up at you through dark lashes. “So fucking perfect.”

And then he presses a finger inside you. The stretch is slow, deliberate, his touch both gentle and utterly devastating as he sinks into your heat. You gasp sharply, your walls fluttering around him, and Heeseung groans, low and guttural.

“Fuck,” he hisses, watching the way you take him in. His finger curls inside you, testing, feeling. “You’re so tight, baby.”

The words send another wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening at the sheer hunger in his voice. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he eases his finger in deeper as he continues working you open, his tongue never once leaving your clit. Your back arches, your fingers tangling in his hair, and Heeseung groans again, the sound muffled as he devours you, the heat of his mouth sending you spiraling closer to the edge.

“Heeseung—” His name slips from your lips, breathless, desperate.

Heeseung growls against you, deep and possessive, and you swear you can feel the sound reverberate through your entire body. His grip tightens, his pace quickens, his finger thrusting deeper, curling, coaxing pleasure out of you with every calculated stroke.

And then he adds a second finger. Your body tenses, the stretch just enough to make you whimper, and Heeseung groans at the way you clench around him.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, his voice thick, raspy, dripping with admiration. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His lips wrap around your clit again, sucking hard, and your body seizes, heat curling so tight inside you that you can’t hold back any longer. Heeseung feels it, and he sucks harder, pumps his fingers deeper, his other hand pressing down on your stomach to keep you still as your moans turn into cries, your body trembling beneath him.

“Cum for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “Let me feel it.”

And you do. The pleasure slams into you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your body locks up, your thighs trembling around his head. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking, keeps sucking, drawing every last drop of pleasure from you as you fall apart beneath him.

Your body shudders, aftershocks rippling through you, and Heeseung finally slows, his touch turning soft, reverent, as he presses one last lingering kiss to your sensitive clit before pulling back.

He looks up at you then, his lips glistening, his pupils blown wide, his breath ragged. And then he smirks, his voice low and utterly wrecked.

“Told you I’d make you feel good.”

You smile softly, but before you can even reach for him, he moves, fast, precise. A startled gasp escapes your lips as he manhandles you, lifting you effortlessly off the couch, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, his hands gripping your thighs with a possessiveness that sends a shiver through your entire body. His hold on you is strong, unwavering, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

You cling to him, your arms locking around his shoulders as he carries you with ease, moving through the dimly lit apartment. Your lips find his neck, tasting the warmth of his skin, inhaling his scent. The closeness, the heat between your bodies, makes you whimper softly against his throat.

And Heeseung groans. A low, deep sound that rumbles in his chest as he grips you tighter, his pace quickening like he’s growing just as desperate as you are.

Because this isn’t just anyone. This is Heeseung.

The boy who has been stitched into your life for years, who has laughed with you, argued with you, known you in ways no one else has. This is the person you love most in the world—and you’re finally having him like this for the first time. The thought makes you cling to him even harder, your lips trailing messily along his jaw, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, needing more, needing all of him.

When Heeseung reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He kneels onto the bed with you still wrapped around him, letting your back sink into the soft mattress as he gently lays you down, his body hovering over yours.

His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he looks down at you, his gaze deep, searching. His Bambi-like eyes, so wide, so full of something tender, something real, hold you in place more than his body ever could.

His hands, still gripping your thighs, slowly loosen, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your skin. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s realizing, holy shit, this is happening.

And then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches for his belt. The soft sound of the buckle unfastening fills the space between you, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric as he pushes his pants down, revealing his bare skin, the strong lines of his toned body, every inch of him that you’ve never seen before but already crave more than anything.

You exhale sharply, your eyes dragging over him, admiring the way the soft glow of your bedroom light casts shadows over his sculpted stomach, the definition in his arms, the sharp cut of his hips. He’s breathtaking. And every second that passes, the ache inside you grows, the need twisting tighter and tighter.

You swallow hard, your voice soft but certain when you finally whisper, “I didn’t know I needed you this much until now.”

Heeseung stills. For a moment, his breath catches, his fingers twitching where they rest against your skin. The flush that spreads across his cheeks, blooming down his neck, his lips part slightly, his eyes flickering between yours, something breaking, something giving way inside him.

Then he looks down at you again. And this time, his gaze is molten. Dark, intense, filled with something raw and unfiltered as he leans down, his lips hovering just above yours.

“I think,” he whispers, his voice low, breathless, “I’ve always needed you like this.”

And then he kisses you. Deep, slow, pouring everything into it, every ounce of longing, every unsaid word, every moment spent waiting for this. His hands roam, tracing the curves of your body, feeling, memorizing.

The moment you feel him, thick and hard against your aching core, you let out a soft, needy moan against his lips. Heeseung still has his underwear on, but the heat of him, the way his hips press down, grinding slowly against you, makes your body arch instinctively, chasing the friction.

Heeseung groans into the kiss, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against your lips. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, before he soothes the sting with a slow, lingering kiss.

Your hands wander, trailing down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the firm ridges of his toned stomach, lower, until your fingers reach the waistband of his underwear.

Your breathing is ragged, your body thrumming with anticipation as you whisper, “Please, take this off.”

Heeseung curses under his breath, his body tensing above you. He doesn’t want to tease you, doesn’t want to drag this out. He wants you just as much, he needs you just as badly. Without hesitation, he pushes his underwear down, freeing himself completely. The air between you thickens, the weight of the moment settling in as his bare body hovers over yours, his skin flushed, his muscles taut with restraint.

You lean in, hands splaying across his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath. Your fingers trace every inch of him, his collarbones, the defined lines of his stomach, the dip of his lower abdomen, moving lower. But before you can go further, Heeseung catches your wrist. His grip is firm but gentle, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark and searching as he looks at you.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I need to ask you…” He swallows hard, his thumb brushing slow circles against your wrist, like he’s grounding himself in your touch. “Are you totally sure?”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice. His expression—so open, so vulnerable—makes your heart clench.

“Because once this happens,” he continues, his forehead nearly touching yours, “I’m not ever letting you go.”

And there it is. The unspoken truth, finally laid bare between you. This isn’t just a night of pleasure. This isn’t just a long-overdue release. This is everything.

Your lips part, your throat tightening with emotion, and for a second, you can only stare at him, overwhelmed by how much he means to you, how deeply you feel this. Then you whisper, with more certainty than you’ve ever had about anything in your life:

“I’ve never been so sure about something before.”

The moment the words leave your lips, something shifts in Heeseung. His entire body tenses for a beat, then he exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, like he’s just now letting himself believe this is real.

And then he kisses you. It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s hungry, possessive, filled with all the pent-up emotions neither of you ever dared to voice until now.

His hands slide up your arms, capturing your wrists, pinning them above your head as he presses you deeper into the mattress. His body presses against yours, skin to skin, warmth melting into warmth.

And then you feel it, the tip of his cock, hot and heavy, pressing against your entrance, so achingly close. Heeseung breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath uneven. He looks down between you, his jaw clenched, his grip tightening just slightly on your wrists as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for all his life.

His voice is nothing but a hushed rasp when he says: “Tell me if it hurts.”

Heeseung lets go of your wrists, his hands sliding down your body with a deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring the feeling of your skin beneath his palms. His fingers find your hips, gripping them gently before one hand moves lower, wrapping around the base of his cock.

He watches you carefully, his gaze dark, hungry, yet filled with something soft, something almost reverent, as he presses the tip against your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he rolls his hips slightly, dragging himself against your slick folds, teasing, his length brushing against your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation sends a shiver through you, a breathless whimper escaping your lips as your fingers dig into his biceps, your body tensing in anticipation.

Heeseung groans, his grip tightening around himself as he watches the way your body reacts to him. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice wrecked. “You’re so wet… so fucking perfect for me.”

Your nails sink deeper into his skin as he finally begins to press inside, the stretch slow and steady, filling you inch by inch. The feeling is overwhelming, him, thick and hot, splitting you open so exquisitely that all you can do is moan softly against his shoulder, your body trembling beneath him.

Heeseung curses under his breath, his forehead dropping to the crook of your neck as he stills, letting you adjust. His hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing over your ribs, your waist, gripping you firmly like he’s afraid to let go.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “So fucking good, baby.”

His words send another rush of heat straight through your core, and you can’t help the way your hips shift slightly, taking him even deeper. Heeseung groans at the feeling, his lips parting against your skin.

He lifts his head, searching your face, his eyes filled with both need and restraint. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing softly over your hip. “Can I move?”

You nod quickly, breathless, your fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms, his shoulders, needing him closer. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

Heeseung exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hips as he begins to move, rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts. Your breath stutters, a moan slipping from your lips, and Heeseung loses it.

His movements quicken, his hips snapping against yours, his grip turning bruising as he holds you in place, thrusting deeper, harder. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving, and with every stroke, he sinks further into you, like he’s trying to become a part of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice rough against your skin. “You’re taking me so fucking well. So perfect for me.”

His lips find your jawline, tracing a path down your neck, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin before he sucks, leaving a mark, claiming you in every way possible. Your moans grow louder, your body arching against him, and Heeseung groans, loving the way you respond to him, the way you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His lips travel lower, over your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts. He kisses, licks, nips, worshiping every inch of you as he keeps thrusting into you, each movement deep and unrelenting.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice wrecked, possessive. “Only mine.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he pounds into you, his pace growing desperate, wild, his body completely losing control in you. And all the while, he praises you. “Tighter than I ever imagined.” Thrust “So fucking beautiful.” Kiss “You feel like heaven, baby.” Groan.

His words, his touch, his everything push you closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as the pleasure coils tightly inside you, ready to snap. And Heeseung feels it. He knows you’re close. And he’s not stopping until he sends you over the edge.

Your body trembles beneath him, pleasure curling tight inside you, hot and overwhelming. Your fingers cling desperately to his skin, your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to ground yourself against the way he moves, deep, unrelenting, perfect.

“Heeseung—” Your voice is breathless, wrecked. Your nails dig into his back as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. “God, you feel so good.”

Heeseung groans at your words, his hips stuttering for just a second before he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he rasps, voice dripping with praise, with something darker, something possessive.

And that’s when you snap. The coil inside you tightens dangerously, winding so tight you know you’re seconds from breaking. But you don’t want to break, not yet.

So, with the last shred of control you have left, you grab Heeseung by the side of his neck, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair, holding him in place. “Let me ride you,” you plead, your voice thick with desperation. “Please.”

Heeseung growls. A deep, guttural sound that sends a shiver through your entire body. His fingers dig into your hips, his thrusts faltering for a moment as your request sinks in. Then, he moves. In one smooth motion, Heeseung shifts, rolling over and pulling you with him. The world tilts, and suddenly, you’re on top, straddling him, his cock still buried deep inside you.

A sharp, choked moan leaves your lips as you feel him fully, the angle changing, the sensation making your entire body tremble.

“Fuck,” Heeseung groans beneath you, his hands flying to your waist, holding you steady as his eyes drag over your body, your heaving chest, the flush painting your skin, the way you’re clenching around him, barely able to contain yourself.

His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire expression wrecked with need. “You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent.

His hands move, Heeseung slides them up your torso, fingers splaying across your ribs before catching your breasts in both hands, squeezing, worshiping. His thumbs flick over your nipples, and the sensation sends another jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you whimper.

“You’re so delicious,” he groans, his thumbs circling your hardened peaks, his hips rolling up slightly into you, making you gasp.

Your head tilts back, your hands bracing against his chest, your body arching into his touch. The heat between you is unbearable, your body already on the edge, but you refuse to let this end too soon.

You start to move, slowly at first, rolling your hips in a deliberate, teasing rhythm, feeling every inch of him stretch and fill you completely. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, pleasure pooling deep in your stomach as you watch Heeseung’s reaction.

Heeseung groans, his grip on your thighs tightening, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s trying to ground himself, trying not to lose control too soon. His head tilts back for a moment, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths as he tries to contain himself.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw clenching as his eyes squeeze shut, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His hands flex on your thighs, squeezing, like he’s trying to hold back, like the feeling of you around him is too much.

But then he opens his eyes, and the second his gaze locks onto you, dark and hooded with raw, unfiltered hunger, your whole body burns. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, sweat glistening along his collarbones as he watches you move above him, taking him so perfectly, so effortlessly.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he groans, his voice rough, biting down his lips, barely above a whisper. “Just like that, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you, making you clench tighter around him. Heeseung feels it, and his breath hitches, his fingers twitching against your skin.

One of his hands moves from your thigh, sliding up your body, tracing along your stomach, your ribs, before finding the back of your neck. He grips you there, firm but gentle, and pulls you down until your foreheads almost touch, your breath mingling with his.

His other hand stays on your thigh, stroking, soothing, before he snaps. A deep growl rumbles in his chest, and he picks up the pace, his hips rolling up to meet yours, his hands guiding your movements. The pleasure intensifies, your thighs burning with the effort, but Heeseung doesn’t let you slow down.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping hard, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he takes control. And then he slams into you. A sharp, broken moan escapes your lips as he thrusts up, driving deeper, harder, filling you so completely that you swear you might lose your mind.

“That’s it,” he groans, his grip unrelenting as he pounds into you, chasing the feeling of you wrapped so perfectly around him. “Take it, baby. Take all of me.”

His voice, deep, rough, dripping with praise, sends you spiraling, pleasure building, your body trembling under his relentless pace. His mouth finds your jaw, then your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your sweat, and then his teeth graze your pulse point, his lips closing around it as he sucks.

Your fingers claw at his shoulders, your body arching against his, your moans coming faster, higher, completely overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you.

Heeseung doesn’t slow down. His thrusts stay deep, hard, relentless, his grip unyielding as he drives into you, chasing the pleasure building between you both. His hands remain at the back of your neck, keeping you close, keeping you exactly where he wants you, his breath hot against your skin.

He groans, voice wrecked, rough. “Fuck—baby, you feel so good. So fucking perfect.”

His words send another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your thighs tighten around his hips. You’re close, you can feel yourself unraveling, your body tightening as the coil inside you threatens to snap. And Heeseung knows. He feels it.

His fingers tighten against your skin, his movements growing desperate, erratic, as his own release begins creeping up on him. His forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven, his voice nothing but a strained rasp.

“Cum for me again, baby,” he pleads, his words like fire against your skin. “Let it go.”

The command, the way his voice drips with authority and adoration, is what finally undoes you. A sharp, broken moan rips from your throat as your body tenses, pleasure surging through you like wildfire. Your walls clench around him, pulsing, milking him, and Heeseung loses it.

A deep, guttural groan escapes his lips as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep, his entire body shuddering as he lets go, his release spilling into you. The pleasure crashes over both of you at once, your moans mixing together, filling the room, raw and unrestrained.

And then, stillness.

Your body, still trembling, collapses against his chest, your forehead pressing into the slick heat of his skin. Your breaths are ragged, uneven, matching his as he tries to catch his pace, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

Neither of you speak for a long moment, the silence filled only with the sounds of your slowing breaths, your racing heartbeats.

Heeseung moves his hands, still firm but now gentle, slide down to your lower back, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles against your damp skin. His touch is tender, reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again, like he can’t believe this moment is real.

His lips brush against your hair, barely a whisper of a kiss, before he exhales shakily. And then, he murmurs—soft, breathless, like a vow.

“I’m never letting you go.”

Your chest tightens at the raw emotion in his voice. His arms wrap tighter around you, holding you impossibly close, his hands never stopping their slow caresses against your back. His lips press against the top of your head, again and again, each kiss softer than the last.

“Never,” he whispers. “Never, never, never…”

His words sink into your skin, into your bones, into you. And as you melt further into his embrace, letting the warmth of him envelop you completely, you realize: You never want him to let go.

You slowly lift your head, your breath still uneven, your body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure.

You meet his eyes, his Bambi-like, doe eyes, wide and full of something so deep, so undeniable, it makes your chest tighten. They glimmer under the dim light of your bedroom, reflecting every unspoken word, every silent confession hanging thick in the space between you.

You let out a breathy, almost disbelieving smile, your gaze sweeping over his face, his flushed cheeks, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the soft sheen of sweat on his skin. He looks wrecked. He looks perfect.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

Heeseung mirrors your smile, soft and hazy, his expression filled with something tender, something so Heeseung that it makes warmth flood your entire body. His hands find your face, large and warm, his knuckles grazing your cheeks in slow, delicate strokes, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

You lean into his touch, nuzzling against his palm, and the way he exhales, soft, shaky, like he’s feeling everything too, sends a shiver down your spine.

Then, barely above a whisper, you say, “I…”

And suddenly, you stop yourself.

Because the weight of what you were about to say hits you all at once.

Your lips part slightly, your throat tightening. The words are right there, sitting heavy on your tongue, aching to spill out. But there’s fear too, fear of what this means, fear of how much this changes everything.

Heeseung notices. His fingers pause against your cheek, his brows twitching just slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes like he’s searching, trying to read you.

But then, he smiles. Soft, knowing, patient. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch featherlight, his voice a quiet murmur in the space between you.

“I know,” he whispers.

Your breath catches. Because you believe him.

Heeseung has always known you better than anyone, always understood you in ways that no one else could. And right now, in this moment, with the way he’s holding you, looking at you, you realize you don’t have to say it.

Because he already knows.

Heeseung leans in, his nose brushing against yours, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting, giving you the choice. And when you press your lips to his in the softest, most deliberate kiss, you’re telling him everything you couldn’t say in words.

Heeseung sighs into the kiss, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against his warmth, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.

And when you finally pull away, when you rest your forehead against his and breathe him in, you realize: You were never afraid of loving Heeseung.

You were afraid of admitting that you always have.

But now, with his arms around you, his lips brushing against your temple, his heartbeat syncing with yours, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

Because he’s never letting you go.

And neither are you.

That’s why he stays at your house the next day. And the day after that. And for the few days that follow, until time becomes a blur and neither of you think to question it.

Because how could he leave, how could either of you go back to a world where you weren’t tangled up in each other like this?

The first morning, you wake up wrapped in Heeseung’s arms, your head tucked against his chest, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soft, lazy circles against your back. Neither of you move for a long time. Neither of you want to.

His lips press into your hair, a silent good morning, and you melt into him because it feels natural, because this is Heeseung, your best friend, the boy who has always been a constant, and yet, now, everything is different.

And it’s better. He doesn’t leave. You don’t ask him to.

Instead, you spend the morning like you have a thousand times before: lounging on the couch, talking about nothing, watching movies you’ve seen a hundred times. Except now, there’s a new rhythm, an unspoken understanding.

His fingers brush yours absentmindedly. His arm finds its way around your waist without hesitation. His lips press against your temple between conversations like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because maybe, it is.

The second night, he kisses you in the kitchen while you’re making dinner, stealing a taste of the sauce on your lips, grinning when you roll your eyes. The third night, you fall asleep with your fingers intertwined, his breath warm against your neck, his hand resting over your heart like he’s afraid you might slip away in the night. By the fourth day, he’s using your shampoo, leaving his clothes in your drawers, stealing your socks because he swears they’re more comfortable than his own.

By the fifth, you don’t even realize he never went home. Because this is home now. Not the walls. Not the bed. But this. Him. You. Together.

One night, a week after everything changed, you find yourselves in your living room, curled up against each other, laughter spilling into the quiet air.

It feels surreal, how easy this is, how natural. And yet, when you look at him, really look at him, you realize this was never sudden at all. This wasn’t a moment. This was a lifetime in the making.

It was in the late-night phone calls when you both should’ve been asleep. It was in the way he always kept your favorite snacks in his kitchen without thinking. It was in the stolen glances, the inside jokes, the nights spent shoulder to shoulder, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of something more. It was in every single thing before this.

And now that the truth is out in the open, now that you know, you don’t ever want to live in a world where you don’t wake up next to Heeseung. And it doesn’t feel real.

Not because you don’t want it to be—but because it still catches you off guard. The quiet way Heeseung reaches for your hand without thinking. The way his presence in your space isn’t something fleeting, but something constant. Something permanent.

It’s been two weeks since everything changed, and somehow, the world didn’t shift to match it. The sun still rises the same way. Your friends still send memes in the group chat. Life moves on, but now, there’s this.

This is Heeseung pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder when he wakes up before you. This is him playing with your fingers absentmindedly when you’re watching something together. This is the way he still teases you the same, still makes fun of you the same, but now he kisses you after like he can’t help it.

Yunjin is the only one who knows.

She had her suspicions, she always had her suspicions, but it became painfully obvious the moment you showed up at her place wearing a hoodie that was at least two sizes too big, one she distinctly remembered seeing Heeseung wear last week.

Which is why, at her birthday party, there’s this lingering tension in the air. It’s subtle, the way you and Heeseung hesitate just slightly when you’re around the others, the way you don’t know if you’re supposed to act like you always have or like something’s changed.

Because something has changed. But the world doesn’t know yet.

You and Heeseung sit at the dining table, pretending everything is normal, pretending that you’re not constantly aware of the warmth of his body next to yours, the way his knee brushes yours every time he shifts.

And then, under the table, he takes your hand. It’s subtle, careful, the warmth of his palm slipping against yours, his fingers threading through yours in a way that makes your stomach flip. Heeseung doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge it, just holds your hand beneath the table, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Finally,” Sunghoon mutters, watching Heeseung with a knowing smirk.

Heeseung freezes. You both turn to see Sunghoon leaning against the chair next to him, arms crossed, eyes flickering down to where your hands are intertwined beneath the table.

“I was wondering when you were gonna stop being a coward,” Sunghoon teases, nudging Heeseung’s foot under the table. “Took you long enough, man.”

Heeseung groans, dropping his head back against the chair. “Jesus, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon just grins, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Nah, I’m happy for you guys. But also, I knew you two had something going on.” He points a lazy finger at you. “Your whole ‘we’re just friends’ thing was so fake.”

The table erupts in laughter, and you sigh, shaking your head. But then, Heeseung squeezes your hand, and when you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. Soft. Quiet. Certain. And you realize, this feels right. Being here. Being together. Being this.

The night winds down. People leave. And you end up in Heeseung’s car, the windows slightly fogged from the cold air outside. The soft strum of Waiting Room fills the quiet, the melancholic chords settling deep into your chest.

You watch Heeseung, his hands gripping the wheel loosely, his face relaxed, bathed in the glow of the streetlights.

“Wanna go to McDonald’s?”

You blink. “What?”

Heeseung smirks, eyes flickering to you before turning back to the road. “You heard me.”

A beat of silence. You laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

You order fries and ice cream and talk about the dumbest things. about how Niki's new girlfriend is the worst, about how Jay got too drunk, about how Jake still doesn’t know how to properly pour a drink.

But somewhere between the laughter, somewhere between the way Heeseung licks salt off his fingers and tosses fries into your mouth, somewhere between the way you lean against his shoulder in the drive-thru line.

Heeseung sighs. And then—

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You still. Your fingers tighten slightly around your drink, your breath catching at the quiet, vulnerable way he says it. And when you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, soft, so soft, his gaze deep, searching.

Your chest tightens. “Heeseung…”

He smiles, a little shy, a little unsure. Then, he reaches out, sliding his fingers over yours, his thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I just—” He swallows, then exhales. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Your breath catches. And in that moment, in the soft hum of the radio, in the glow of the streetlights, in the taste of salt and ice cream and the warmth of Heeseung’s fingers against yours, you know.

“I thought maybe it would go away,” he continues, his lips quirking slightly, like he’s laughing at himself. “Like—it’s just Y/N, right? My best friend.”

You hold your breath, watching him, the streetlights casting soft shadows across his face, making his eyes look even softer, warmer.

“But then,” Heeseung shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Every time I thought I had it under control, you’d do something stupid, like wear my hoodie and refuse to give it back, or make me watch Shrek 2 for the tenth time, or grab my hand in a crowded room like it was nothing.” He swallows, his voice dropping to something even softer. “And I’d realize—I was never going to stop feeling this way.”

Your chest tightens. Because it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? The quiet kind of love. The kind that slips into the cracks of everyday moments, unnoticed until one day, it’s too big to ignore.

You feel the words sitting heavy in your throat, pressing against your ribs, and when you finally speak, your voice is barely a whisper.

“Heeseung.” He looks at you, his brows lifting slightly, like he’s bracing himself. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, then squeeze his hand. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time, too.”

The tension in his shoulders dissolves instantly. His lips part, his eyes searching yours like he wants to make sure he really heard you right.

And then, he smiles. Not the teasing kind, not the smirk he throws at you when he’s making fun of you, but something real. Something deep. The kind of smile that says, I know. I knew before you even said it.

You shift closer, your forehead brushing against his, the warmth of his breath mixing with yours. “I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it,” you murmur. “But I do now.”

Heeseung hums, tilting his head slightly. “You sure?”

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Good.” He squeezes your hand, his nose nudging against yours. “Because I would’ve had to spend another three years waiting for you to catch up, and I don’t think I could survive that.”

You groan, shoving his shoulder lightly, and he chuckles, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you in, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

And just like that, it’s easy again. The way you tease each other, the way you fit against him, the way you fall back into the rhythm of your friendship except now there’s no pretending.

Now it’s all out in the open. And it’s better.

As Heeseung drives you home, the song still playing softly in the background, your mind drifts back. To three years ago. To that stupid Halloween party where you met, you in your skeleton costume, him in that ridiculous Ninja Turtle onesie.

To the late nights spent working on that Shrek project, arguing about PowerPoint transitions like it was life or death, only to laugh until your sides hurt. To the wedding where he spun you around on the dance floor, looking at you like he already knew, like he was just waiting for you to catch up. To every car ride, every inside joke, every time you almost realized what he meant to you.

Your fingers tighten around his, and Heeseung glances at you, his eyes flickering between you and the road.

“What?” he asks, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too. “Nothing.”

Because you understand now. Because Waiting Room plays softly in the background, and the lyrics echo in your chest—know it’s for the better.

You do. You know now that keeping Heeseung in your life like this, is the best thing you’ll ever do.

And when Heeseung looks at you, his grip on your hand tightening like he knows too, you realize.

For you, it was worth waiting.

my masterlist 🧦 ☆★ // previous fic

author's note: hey guys! this is my first long fic about heeseung, the first one i've ever written, and i hope you liked it! i know 21k+ words is a lot, but i had so much fun writing it. thank you for reading! <3

[kenmaspuddinghair]

Honorably discharged partially disabled Simon part 6

this one ends much more happily, a little over 1k words

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

Your house felt packed, once the doctor left again you called Price even though it was past midnight, and so he came over, followed closely by Soap and Gaz. Right now you were rewarming some muffins you had made the previous day for them to snack on, and grabbing them some water. They were all quietly talking, surrounding Simon's bed. Once you got in between all of them, you whispered “here’s some food and water, cause I can tell you two were drinking earlier” the last part directed to Soap and Gaz who had in fact been at a bar just a few hours ago. 

After a few minutes you kicked the other boys out, telling them if they really wanted they could sleep on the couch, and of course they wanted to stay close to their lieutenant. You walked back into Simon’s room, silently sitting yourself right next to him under the covers, “to think you were in so much pain just because I wasn’t sitting next to you, it’s wild Simon” after almost an hour you and the doctor finally figured out why Simon was in so much pain, since you had been staying in his room the past few nights, you kept it to a temperature you liked which was colder than normal, and apparently Simon had also been experiencing excessive sweating which to him seemed normal, he was a big guy who worked out often of course he sweats a lot, but last night in a already warm room it got to much, intensifying the pain. Every night Simon would also feel an odd stinging sensation in his legs before he fell asleep which he would ignore, because whenever he pulled you onto him, your weight acted as pressure against it relieving the pain he wasn't even fully aware of yet. 

Now, do to these new symptoms changes had to be made, the doctor was prescribing medicine, specifically Nortriptyline, most over the counter pain relief dont work when it comes to nerve damage, along with that the doctor recommended Simon wears a leg wrap when he goes to sleep or on days that are particularly tough. He also recommended you apply for a blue badge (UK equivalent of a handicap placard for your car) which can take up to 3 months. Although you would still consider it very early to be regularly sleeping next to your partner, it made Simon so much more comfortable, and you could monitor him every night, because a small part of you was worried to leave Simon alone at night, not wanting him to experience that kind of pain again.

Simon woke up right at five, and based on all the noise from your living room, which is what truly woke you up, the other guys were also up. So you helped Simon up and into the dining room even though he grumbled about not needing help the whole time, although he made no moves to remove your hands from his biceps and chest. There you were tiredly cooking breakfast for the 4 giant men in your house, just utterly confused how they could be so energetic and talkative after just waking up. Breakfast went smoothly, the other guys started packing up talking about how they needed to get back on base, Simon had been fine both physically and emotionally even while they talked about work, but it was one passing comment Gaz made right before he left that Simon silently reacted to “ya know lieutenant, we always joked about starting and leaving the military after ya, never would I ever ‘ave thought you'd be first to leave the job” he was silent, none of them knew the comment had affected him, but you saw the way he shifted, the way he was a little more quiet after that. 

Once they all made their way out, you went and sat next to Simon on the sofa “Simon, you okay?” he just brushed you off looking the other muttering something about being totally fine, now of course you weren't going to take the answer, so you moved to his other side where he was already looking, but that didn't work he just looked away again, so you did the next best thing. You sat straight on Simon's lap, staring right into his eyes as they grew wide. “Now Simon, are you okay not being on duty any more?” Simon let out a deep sigh knowing he couldn't keep ignoring you  “Gaz is right, I never planned to leave, I've got nothing to do with my life, and if you weren't m’nurse i'd be completely lost” you cupped Simon’s face forcing him to look you back in the eyes “Simon, i'm not just your nurse, i'm also your girlfriend, well future wife as you put it” that comment brought a smile back to his face “which means you already have one thing to look forward to, I’m sure I can help you find another” Simon just pulled you into him, bearing his face into your neck, just so happy with his choice.

You guys spent the rest of the relaxing and trying to find a hobby Simon would like, it was now almost dinner time, and you guys had nothing. You were worried about this but Simon didn't seem to mind that you guys haven't found anything, just happy he got to spend the whole day talking and laughing with ‘his girl’ when he got a call from Soap, “hey this is gonna sound weird but, ya want a dog” Simon was genuinely so confused, and shocked he didn't have an answer, you walked over putting the phone on speaker before asking Soap to repeat himself “I know it's random, but we got a military dog that needs to retire but doesn't have an owner, so I thought id ask if ya wanted a buddy, y’know” you were just as shocked as Simon, but you saw an opportunity, so you convinced Simon to accept, and tomorrow morning a new dog would be dropped of right into Simon's lap. 

tags- @piconico17 @just-lilita @madsdawson @silversfavfics @enfppuff @solazoro @sirbonesly @roastyyytoastyyy @the-disaster-in-waiting @lonjitas @squishytap @gays6968 @sunndust @dreamland08 @sweetpeakarolinaaa @marcysbear @alfiestreacle @bxm-2121@goldyghoul  @itsanemu0101 @wolverineswaifu @crempuffie @ohdrey89 @cucurucho-amargo @avalkyrieofparis @castellomargot @cmbghost @strawberrygato @blueladys-world @goodsoup19 @pinkylouise @creepzeyecandy @tessakate @identity2212 @callmytherapistplease-blog @witchblossoms @carolb111  @iiriam  @berryjuicyy @bmtillerbabe @stoned-anime-babe @junitries @harrysthiccthighss @lucienofthelakes @urmomsgirlfriend1 @rexythebitch @milanriol @cryingpages

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

hi ms raven :D i was playing through vil's dream in book 7 and i was wondering if you could explain a little more about his character? i remember struggling to understand his motivs leading up to his overblot. the current understanding i have now is that vil wants to be the best or the most beautiful but is constantly getting blocked by neige probably because hes not perfect and it makes others lean towards him and want to support him while vil has reached a level where hes seemingly flawless on the outside making it hard for people to get close to him the way they do with neige? does he crave the validation from others and is that why there was an emphasis on him declaring that he himself is the most beautiful like in b6 and b7? i dont think i really understand him enough and its just been on my mind for a while now TT

I think Vil's got one of those backstories and motives that's easy to misunderstand if skimmed. This can lead to misinterpretations where fans assume he's vain and only seeking to take Neige down for shallow attention. It's a lot more complex than that!

The first thing to note about Vil is that he is a child star. His father, Eric Venue, is also a very successful celebrity, but the public does not know about their familial relationship. Vil has worked very hard to achieve his level of stardom all on his own, without relying on nepotism or riding on the coattails of his father. However, that also means that Vil was under an intense amount of pressure and scrutiny since a young age, and that can really mess with one's self-perception.

Since the start of his career, Vil has only ever been casted in villain roles. His post-OB flashback shows Vil asking his dad "Why do I keep getting picked to play the bad guy? Do I really look that mean?"

And though his father reassures him and calls him cute and charming, the vast majority of other people Vil interacts with judge him and assign labels to him. Children Vil's age "hold [him] accountable for work(s) of fiction", equating him playing villainous roles on TV to him actually being a villainous person off-set.

Similar things occur in his professional life. Film crew members praise Neige for his friendliness and wholesome vibe, but also express that Vil is just too perfect and hard for audiences to relate to, so Vil apparently isn't suitable to play the hero.

So on one hand, you have Vil's peers, who assume that he must be an awful person, just like all the characters he plays. Then you have Vil's colleagues, who put him on a pedestal, calling him "special" but also saying he's not relatable. Both viewpoints isolate and dehumanize him. They indirectly tell Vil--a young, impressionable kid--that he's not capable of goodness or of being a normal person. You also have to keep in mind that because Vil always has eyes on him, he has to maintain a cool, mature, and perfectly curated public image. He has had to grow up extremely fast in order to handle himself in the entertainment industry. That's an INTENSE amount of pressure to be under. So how does Vil react to all this pressure? By pushing himself to work even harder to prove everyone wrong. "I would do anything to be beautiful. The most rigorous training. The most tedious hair and skin care regimens. I would shy away from none of it."

At this juncture, I'd like to point out a vital area where Vil's story and that of Snow White weave together. In Snow White, physical beauty is used as shorthand to indicate the goodness of a character. Snow White is pure, beautiful, and innocent because she has a good heart. The Evil Queen is more accurately depicted in her hag form because of how her jealousy twists her into something hideous. When Vil speaks of beauty, it's also in a similar context. He's using "beauty" as a metaphor for "goodness", hence why he fixates on Neige being the "fairest one of all". Neige is the one always playing the hero, and he is also the one the internet considers the most beautiful--so if Vil can become the most beautiful, then surely he, too, can be a hero.

If beauty = goodness, then the opposite is also true to book 5 Vil: ugliness = villainy. And if he is always assigned the villain again and again and again, then its telling Vil that he's “ugly”, that he is a bad person and can never be anything but that.

Not only that, but Vil's worries about permanently being labelled a villain relates back to how his peers and colleagues perceive him. "[...] villains never stay on stage for the whole play. Once their role is finished, all they do is watch from the shadows as the happy ending plays out. [...] All I want is to stay on stage until the end of the show." Vil wants what has always been denied to him: the ability to stand on stage and take a bow with the other actors, to be treated like a normal person that's a part of the group, to have that humanity handed back to him. Why should he be the only one languishing backstage while Neige and other heroes get to soak up that spotlight? He wants to be a part of it, too. He wants to be included.

Let's get back into book 5, present day, now. Vil spends much of this book driving his teammates VERY hard to achieve his vision. To this end, he is imposing harsh restrictions on them, such as new diets, new skincare, new practice routines, and more. This of course garners many protests, but Vil insists on having his way and admonishes those who complain. In these moments, Vil is very much acting like a "villain"--but to him, it's all worth it, because he wants to win against Neige fair and square, earning that victory through his own efforts. "[...] I have no interest in spells that fade when the clock chimes midnight. What I seek is genuine, authentic aesthetic perfection."

Recall that I said earlier that beauty is used as a shorthand for goodness. Because Vil is stating that he wants to win fairly, he is attempting to demonstrate his own beauty--his own goodness--in this bid to triumph over his rival.

But what ends up happening? Vil sees Neige's practice performance and realizes right away that NRC is destined to lose. He tries to take matters into his own hands by cursing a bottle of apple juice and offering it to Neige. While book 5 is vague about what the consequences of drinking that cursed juice would have been, book 7 implies the worst--that Vil had intended to kill Neige with it. Vil went against his own principles (which he stated earlier in book 5) and used a dirty tactic to get Neige out of his way. He can only win if he harms others in the process. I would argue that what triggers Vil to snap and OB isn't his failure to poison Neige (although that's certainly a part of it), but rather Vil realizing he just... proved what everyone has always said about him right. That he's rotten to the core (ie "ugly") and will never be anything else but a villain.

Vil fixates on the eyes of his teammates, perceiving them to be staring at him and judging the moral ugliness of his actions. Like in his childhood, he derives much of his image from public feedback--from the eyes on him. "Please. Don't look at me... Don't look at me with those eyes! Why? I wanted to be the fairest one of all, so why am I so... so... ugly? Ugly?! UGLY?!"

Kalim and Rook try to reassure Vil and remind him that Neige didn't get hurt, so it's okay. But Vil only gets more upset and continues to berate himself. "What does it matter who forgives me?! I can't... I can't forgive myself!" This makes sense for Vil, who is a character that has consistently held the people around him, as well as himself, to high standards. He has betrayed himself, and he is ashamed of how ugly his envy has made him.

After Vil's OB, Rook pretty succinctly states why Vil fails to be "beautiful": because he doesn't believe in himself. Throughout his entire life, Vil has been relying on the words of others to affirm his identity as someone "beautiful", as a "good" person. You can even argue that Vil being so strict with himself is to earn the approval of others, to be seen as the "most beautiful". But Vil never truly believed he was "beautiful" ("good"), and that lack of confidence is ironically what is keeping him from realizing his full potential. "Nobody should believe in your beauty more than you yourself [...] No amount of validation from the rest of the world will ever leave you fulfilled. Even if you wind up old, emaciated, grimy, and stooped over... If you were to truly believe that you are the fairest of all despite that, even the Magic Mirror of legend wouldn't contest your claim. The strength and pride to believe in yourself is what marks the true fairest one of all. Roi du Poison. Fair Vil. I implore you to believe in yourself more than anyone else. Beauty is always with you. At this exact moment, you are the fairest one of all."

In book 6, we get to see how far Vil's character has progressed. When Idia taunts Pomefiore, calling them "wannabe heroes", Vil responds with, "You know, I've always wanted to be cast as a hero, just once. But there are no heroes or villains here. This time I'll be the one who stays on stage till the very end!" He now disregards the notion of labels and is only committed to being the one that puts an end to Idia's machinations.

This point is even further driven home when we see old!Vil, the result of him diving into Tartarus to pull Idia out. Though his dorm members are shocked to see their glamourous leader in this state, Vil laughs it off and announces, without hesitation: "Even though I'm grimy, withered, and emaciated... At this exact moment, I am the fairest one of all." This parallels the words Rook imparted onto him at the end of book 5. ("Even if you wind up old, emaciated, grimy, and stooped over... [...] At this exact moment, you are the fairest one of all.")

It's a complete reversal of Vil OBing. Back in book 5, Vil went mad because he realized his jealous actions made him hideous (even if he still physically looks young and conventionally attractive). But now, in book 6, Vil is content in knowing that his heroic actions make him absolutely beautiful (even if he stands there, old and grey). It doesn't matter what he looks like on the outside, or what other people think of him--because Vil has learned to love himself and to stay true to his principles.

He is deserving of standing on that stage with everyone else. He is human, like everyone else. He’s not THE Vil Schoenheit anymore, he’s… just Vil. This also shows in vulnerable moments late game, like him squealing from excitement at the end of book 6 or screaming in fear in book 7. He still has the image of a celebrity to maintain, but he’s now allowing himself to be less of that “perfect” person, at least around his peers. I believe this is what Vil’s dream in book 7 reinforces. I won't get into the details of that dream, since I assume you've played it + it would just repeat what I've already gone over in this post. That’s honestly what most (if not all) of the book 7 dreams do, try to summarize their personal issues, how the dream attempts to placate them with convenient falsehoods, and then have the dreamers confront those falsehoods with what they’ve learned through their own arcs.

[gottencents]

4 Your Eyez Only - Jennie Kim

love hangover masterlist. main masterlist

paring. katseye!oc x jennie

synopsis. After falling asleep mid-Weverse Live, Tatum unintentionally exposes that they’ve been at Jennie’s house the whole time, sending fans into a frenzy

Tatum had sworn she wouldn’t fall asleep.

It had started out as a chill, late-night Weverse Live—just them chatting with fans, answering questions, and vibing to music. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But the exhaustion from weeks of packed schedules had finally caught up to her. Her responses had started getting slower, her blinks longer, her voice softer.

Until, eventually, her head lolled slightly to the side, her breathing evened out, and just like that— shewere out cold, live in front of thousands of fans.

At first, fans in the chat weren’t sure if she were joking.

— “HELLO??? DID SHE JUST FALL ASLEEP?”

— “nah no way she messing with us”

— “wait the breathing looks too real omg”

— “y’all… I think she actually asleep”

Minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty.

And Tatum did not wake up.

More viewers started flooding in as word spread across social media—Tatum from KATSEYE just knocked out mid-Weverse Live and no one knows what to do.

Fans were panicking, but also losing their minds at how ridiculous the situation was.

— “so we’re just sitting here. watching them sleep. this is our life now.”

— “someone call her members pls”

— “this is so unserious what if she wake up and see 50k ppl staring at her”

— “wait… where are her members???”

That was when the speculation started.

KATSEYE’s dorm in L.A. was usually lively—if Tatum had fallen asleep, someone should’ve found them by now. But there were no sounds of other members in the background. No Daniella or Manon barging in to mess with them. No Lara making fun of them in the comments.

Nothing.

Fans began to wonder—where exactly was Tatum right now?

And then, just as the chat was spiraling into full detective mode, movement appeared in the background.

A familiar figure stepped into frame, walking toward the couch.

Jennie.

Fans collectively lost their minds.

— “WAIT. WAIT. WAIT.”

— “JENNIE KIM???”

— “WHY IS SHE THERE???”

— “I THOUGHT TATUM WAS AT THE KATSEYE DORM??? EXPLAIN.”

— “ARE THEY ACTUALLY AT JENNIE’S HOUSE???”

Jennie, completely unaware of the chaos she had just caused, crouched down next to Tatum and nudged her shoulder. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Tatum, wake up. You’re still live.”

Tatum barely stirred, mumbling something incoherent before shifting deeper into the cushions.

Jennie sighed, shaking her head with an affectionate smile. That was so typical of her.

Meanwhile, the chat was in absolute flames.

— “WHY IS SHE SO SOFT WITH THEM STOP”

— “IS THIS A CONFIRMATION OR??????”

— “TATUM WAKE UP YOU’RE MISSING HISTORY”

— “ok but this means they were at Jennie’s house this whole time”

Jennie glanced at the screen and finally realized what was happening. Her eyes slightly widened as she read the comments.

“Oh,” she muttered, realizing no one was supposed to know where Tatum had been streaming from. She blinked at the phone for a second, then cleared her throat. “Uh… surprise?”

The chat exploded.

— “HELPPPP SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY”

— “SURPRISE???? JENNIE BE SO FOR REAL RN”

— “THEY’RE DEFINITELY TOGETHER I DONT CARE”

— “so no one was gonna tell us they’ve been at her house this whole time?”

Jennie quickly decided to just ignore the speculations for now. Instead, she turned her attention back to Tatum, sighing as she grabbed the throw blanket from the back of the couch.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she muttered, draping it over them.

Tatum let out a content sigh in her sleep, snuggling deeper into the warmth. Jennie hesitated for a moment, then—without thinking—reached out and brushed a few strands of hair away from tatum face.

The chat?

Utterly feral.

— “OH. OH MY GOD.”

— “DID SHE JUST??? STROKE THEIR HAIR???”

— “THIS FEELS ILLEGAL TO WITNESS”

— “THE WAY SHE’S LOOKING AT THEM???? STOP.”

Jennie, completely oblivious to how down bad fans were, turned back to the camera. “Alright,” she said softly. “Looks like that’s it for tonight. Thanks for keeping them company, but I think it’s time to end the live.”

She reached for the phone, but paused as she read one last comment.

— “PLS TUCK THEM IN PROPERLY WE NEED CLOSURE”

Jennie chuckled, shaking her head. “Fine, fine. But only because you asked nicely.”

Gently, she adjusted the blanket, making sure Tatum was warm and comfortable. Then, as a final touch, she murmured, “Goodnight, dummy,” and—without even realizing the damage she was about to cause—pressed a light kiss to their forehead.

The moment she ended the live, Twitter broke.

taglist [OPEN] : @multiliker @goofymickeyr @yuyuy90 @hydrardz @wtfisthisnoclueman @reiiaokii @somedaydream @yjiminswallet @inejghafawifesblog @jaythegirlkisser @xochitlisbest @1800hotnfunn @awkwardtoafault @linnnsworld

[k-aemi]

yo hiori ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a little blood wont hurt right?

smut, period, blood play(?), dub/non, none of my work are proofread.

yo hiori would definitely love the sight of your blood on his cock. just seeing the red stain on his dick turns him on more and his thrive to continue. if you were to protest a bit, he wouldnt force but convince you into it. "cmon baby, sex helps the cramps yknow.." rubbing that stomach of yours.

you tried to push him off but he insists. telling you to trust him and only the "tip" would be inserted. but can you really trust him? this man has a thing for crippled girls that cant escape from him. "but hurts too much.." youd grumbled.

"see? my dick will help okay? just the tip, yeah baby?" hed grind against your ass, feeling his bulge prodding at you. hes your boyfriend, so he wouldnt go beyond the boundary right? just the tip he said, yeah! just that...

"but my blood-" he shushed you. "'s okay baby, i bet your blood will make my dick look super pretty." he cooed you as he settled in between your legs, taking his hardened cock out to rub on your panties as he held it. seeing his cock head in and out as your panties wettened by the second.

you dont know this but hiori perhaps love the smell of your period blood mixed with your pussy juices. he doesnt know why but it has this musty skin smell that gets him thriving for more. he loves sniffing your panties inhaling that sweet nectar scent of yours. how could he only just put the tip in?

"'kay baby ready?" he slides his cock against your slit and you give a meek nod. you werent expecting him to insert it in, you just barely moved your head..."oh fuck...baby your pussy feels great..." he wasnt sure if it was because you were on your period, but it felt fucking great to him. whimpers elicit from your mouth as you clench your pillow.

"baby can i put more in...? please, feels too good." he didnt even get your permission yet and hes pushing more of his cock in! "w-wait yo...ah" you breathed out as the cramps were still present. "s-shit..." he shuttered. hiori wasnt that thick, but sure was lengthy. reached the deepest parts of you.

pulling out was probably his favorite sight, he got to see the blood coated on his dick, and it spurred something inside of him, like this desire to do oh so many things to you. "look baby, all your bloods on me." he grinned, starting his rough pace.

"w-wait yo-! you said just the tip.." you whimpered as tears peaked from the corner of your eyes, biting the pillow that laid below you. "but baby you feel so good, your cramps g'na go away soon ok? just let me have this..." he growled as he continued to look below him, blood mixed with your juices squishing out your tight hole, he cant hide that smirked of his.

you muffle your cries otherwise the neighbors downstairs will complain probably, youd hate the thought of knowing others you and your boyfriend have sex mostly every week...but the way he pounds into you, you cant contain them as shrieks spilled from your throat. your body tenses when you feel his thumb rub circles on your clit. you were on edge, your orgasm coming in soon.

"baby you tightened up, g'na cum?" he has that dumb innocent smile on him as hes pounding you so rough. skin slapping skin filling the room. you cant even give him an answer as your juices gush out, on his cock and sheets. red staining both.

hiori can only fasten his pace as he loses his rhythm, signaling his end. pulling out and jerking himself before he spill his hot liquid on your stomach and pussy. he sighs and admires the mess upon him. he falls next to you, wrapping his arm around you. "feel better?" he kissed you. but theres no response, he looks over to you and perhaps it was too much, you ended up passing out.

hi. back again(kinda). pls request :>

divider creds: cafekitsune, anitalenia

[alicentsgf]

I think sometimes people misunderstand Shaunas relationship to violence and butchery. I've said before I dont think Shauna enjoys the violence of it and people have pushed back on that and I get why but I just want to explain what I mean.

I think the important aspect to remember is Shaunas attraction is primarily to power and control. She has always wanted to control and manipulate, she just doesnt know how to achieve it half the time, so when Coach Ben hands her the knife to butcher the stag she does get a thrill from it. Dead things cant fight back, she has power here, i guess in that way she enjoys the violence in it. Its also the fact she suddenly has a skill the others dont. Something to feel wanted and important in. Heres something she can manipulate physically the way she feels jackie manipulates her mentally. Its an outlet. Its fulfilling. And its not really the violence and blood she enjoys, its the security of having a domain thats hers to control.

Then, slowly but surely, it becomes a burden. She has to ration the food and as the winter goes on every week the rations get smaller and smaller. Now shes not so much the "badass" feeding them like Jackie dubbed her, shes the person disappointing them as she hands them some dried up, meager strips of bear meat.

What comes next is even worse. The most fucking awful burden, and theres no sense of control anymore at all. Butchering javi doesnt make her feel powerful, she's shaking, tear tracks down her cheeks, absolutely helpless. This is pure desperation, they're all depending on her. She feels compelled to do this because they need it and she has always wanted to be needed. Maybe even looked at like a hero or a martyr. To be admired. She shoulders the burden because shes the only one who can and she hopes when this over they'll look at her and see what shes sacrificed for them. Then maybe she'll regain that brief sense of control she once felt.

Except thats not how it happens. The burden she takes on is so heavy, piled on top of everything else shes lost, and it crushes her. Now none of the others can even bear to look at her. Shes something ugly now. They cant acknowledge what she did without acknowledging the part they played too. Shauna gifted them that ability to look away, and now they're trampling all over her grief and pain, thanking the wilderness for the sacrifices shes made; Jackie, Javi, her baby. Now the job that once made her feel powerful makes her feel weak at best and sickens her at worst, makes her feel worthless, so she lashes out at Nat. Nat who Shauna sees as always getting the glory of the kill without the hard work of the butchering. Its irrational but thats always been Shauna. In her misplaced hatred she wants to tear Nat down so badly. She needs to see Nat, so steadfast in her goodness, broken like this too so she can stop feeling so guilty about what shes become. Desperate to not feel so alone in it. She needs someone who will look her in the eyes and understand her, even if they don't like what they see.

So its never been the actual blood and guts Shauna finds enjoyment in. She doesn't jump at the chance to commit violence herself unless its an impulse, lashing out in rage or desperation. She gets far more enjoyment from coercing others; trying to manipulate Nat into shooting Coach Ben, handing the knife to Melissa to cut his tendon, punishing Nat by forcing her to be the butcher. Shauna hands off these roles easily because the more visceral side of violence is just a means to an end for her. What she really enjoys is power, control, manipulating others into violence because she feels so deeply isolated being the only one who had to feel Javis freezing skin and cold blood under her fingertips.

As an adult she kills the rabbit in the garden and yet again this is out of a need for control, frustrated by it damaging her flowers, frustrated by the lack of control she feels in her own home with her own family. So unseen and underappreciated once again. Its a messed up coping mechanism she just cant shake. But then she cries when Lottie tells her she doesnt have to kill the goat. Theres nothing to gain from it, and shes so tired of killing innocent things. Violence for violences sake is not who she is, it never was, shes just forever grasping desperately at power because deep down she feels so utterly helpless. Everything shes ever wanted she seems to come so close to having when it slides through her fingers; Jackie, her baby boy, an ivy league education, a relationship with her daughter, a way of reliving her lost youth. But no matter how hard she tries to control the situation, to control herself, she never can. She is all impulse, self-destruction and repression. What she wants most has always been the very antithesis of who she is.

So its always been about control for Shauna because shes never truly had it. Its more important to her than anything, especially in the teen timeline. The wilderness is not a place she can afford to be helpless in. Jackie was helpless, Javi was helpless, her baby was helpless. Its why we see her choosing to be angry and cruel. She has to choose it, because if she doesnt she will feel it anyway, and if she fights against the rage and pain and it wins (which it would), then shes not in control at all.

[byoldervine]

so is there a reason you dont respond to dms orrrrrr

Okay you probably didn’t mean to open the floodgates but I need to VENT about this and an anon ask is there perfect excuse to do that without calling any particular individual out, which I do not intend to do

I have exactly one person in my DMs that isn’t someone asking me to commission them, and we only had a brief exchange a few months ago. For the most part I don’t respond since it always seems to follow a formula

Pretty much all my DMs start with someone saying “Hi” with no further context or elaboration, and from that alone I know where this is going but also don’t want to just make an assumption and come off as rude, so I respond in kind. The response is usually “How are you” or something like that; a pleasantry that doesn’t really do much to explain what’s up. So again, I just respond in kind. About 95% of the time they just respond with an “I’m good thanks” and, once again, nothing else

I don’t know how common this is outside of people asking you to commission them, but I honestly don’t like when people DM you but still somehow expect you to make the effort to start the conversation. I don’t know why you’re here, you came to me; what do you want me to say at this point? Maybe I’m just too antisocial to realise this isn’t abnormal behaviour and I’m just being rude, but it really winds me up tbh

And more annoying, when done in this context at least, is when they start asking further questions and trying to start a conversation - still without explaining why they’re actually messaging. Not because I don’t want that, but because, when it’s done to get commissions, it feels kinda manipulative to me, but at the same time it always makes me doubt myself; on the off chance this actually is someone wanting to talk and be friends, I don’t want to shut them down and be rude about it. So I’ll usually answer a question or two to see if it actually goes anywhere, but it of course never does

I end up asking “Is there any particular reason you wanted to DM me?” and the response still never gets straight into it; it’s almost always something like “Do you like art?” or “I see you like drawing” or things like that, like they’re looking for a prompt to continue. Again, no clue why this is. At this point I’m just dreading it because I know what’s coming but at the same time I think stuff like “What if they’re just wanting tips? What if they’re just a bit awkward? What if I assume and it’s wrong and I look like a presumptuous asshat?”, so I usually just go “Yeah?” instead

And THEN they finally mention that they do commissions, and I’m pissed off at myself for getting to this point again. I end up saying something like “Thank you, but I really enjoy creating my own artwork and so I’m not looking to commission others for it. Best of luck though”

The best response I can hope for is just a “No worries” or something, or even to just get no response at all. But the vast majority of the time, it’s something like “Oh, okay then…” or “Are you sure? I do X Y Z, you should look at my posts” or even “That’s fine I guess, I just wasn’t making enough money off of commissions this month so I needed to go around and ask”. Things that feel a little bit passive-aggressive or pushy to me. Though I also get ‘lovely’ messages like “I see you’re drawing X, I can help make it better”, which even I can’t excuse as anything but

So at this point, I don’t typically respond to DMs that don’t explain why they’re messaging. I’m more than happy to chat with people and make friends, but too many people do it just to get the commissions and then ghost when I don’t bite. It really upset me the first few times because I thought I was about to make some artist/writer friends, only to find out that they only wanted business from me and they weren’t going to talk again if I didn’t give them that

Please don’t let this deter anyone from reaching out and DMing with the intention of just having a chat; I would be more than happy for it. I just wanna know upfront what you’re looking for rather than getting a sinking feeling when I see that dreaded “Hi” pop up again

[lanadoeswriting]

STALKER HCS

you just dont know it yet but you love me and i love you the same.

pairings: stalker!charlie slimecicle x reader

tw: HEAVY stalking, mdni, nsfw mentions and implied nsfw

a/n: hey so ive mentioned wanting to right this for a while and let me tell you this is one of my favourite headcanons to write because its just SO FUN, and ive gotten back into writing lately so that also cool i guess. i plan on writing more drabbles over the next few weeks so im very excited to be writing those!!

he doesn't even try to leave his own clothes for you to mix up with your own, he doesnt want to wait for that. why would he?

while your sleeping he might just change you into one of his shirts that look similar to yours, he just loves watching you wake up all disoriented and completely oblivious to the fact that you are wearing his clothing.

he prefers to watch you during the day, likes seeing you move around and do your daily life while he watches from afar, memorizing every single detail he can find about his one true love.

charlie befriends everyone in your local area, or places he knows that you go to and plants cameras in those areas so he can watch you everywhere and get away with it.

he just likes to fuck with you and it honestly turns him on so much and deals with it in your closet, he just cant stop himself.

he buys duplicates of things you own, so he can take them and swap it with the one he bought. just so he can have something that smells like you that he knows has been in your vicinity.

and he uses it for good sometimes, like if you are coming back from your job and he notices your in a bad mood, he would swap out your sheets and covers and clean up your place a bit.

of course he'd take the used sheets (because they just smell like you) and keep them for a bit until he wants to get more.

he does it in hopes that you would feel better and more relaxed, maybe even willing to put on a little show for him through the cameras in your room, even if you are totally unaware.

he uses your own phone and cameras to take pictures of you while you are doing anything and leaving them for you to find in your camera roll or gallery as a little surprise.

not before printing or making a copy of the photo for his own keepsakes, he needs it for his collections.

he sneaks in when you are showering sometimes, just to hear the water running in the shower. just imagining what you look like with the water hitting your skin, he just needs to be close to you with only that thin shower curtain between you.

he tries to contain himself, try to stop himself from going to far but its so hard. how can he get the best he can see of you when you arent there? hes too far gone at this point, stopping isn't an option for now.

[teddykaczynski]

getting lunch w my mom and she says that to get hired in my new area i might have to shave and conform to societys standards somewhat. and i was like yeah youre right ive been thinking about that. but i tell her how in the knowledge and people ive known, like butch/gnc lesbians try to get hired and arent successful and then are told to conform like wear makeup and pencil skirts and do so and go to interviews and have even less success bc its so inauthentic its not right and the interviewer can tell something isnt right. and then when they go back to the slacks they have more success. we talk more about it and uhhh

i reacted really strongly to the whole conversation and started shaking and i was saying how while i understand culture and reality the idea of shaving my face every day or even every week makes me want to kill myself more than the reasons i told my mom i was suicidal a few months ago and thats why i needed to move in.

she asks me if i dont think people should be trans. i cant remember how it got to this point but i tell her no not exactly i just dont think it matters. or changes anything. like. hormones and surgeries cant make anyone into an entire different thing.

at this point im really shaking and i start talking to my mom about the cotton ceiling and how much it as an idea has hurt me and how i didnt know that homosexuality was a real thing i had no real conception of same-sex-only-attraction until i was 20 bc men online had abused me to the point that i thought it was a sin to not be attracted to them. i tell my mom about how for decades men have invaded lesbian spaces and how bad it is and how a few months ago i went to a dyke arm wrestling night and of course a fucking man with long hair won. i hate swearing around my mom i try not to but i ended up saying to her “the fucking crossdressers and the agps and all the shittiness”

we talk more about my beard and shes like “you know, you could shave it and see it as a step to getting what you want. shaving temporarily doesnt have to mean you betrayed feminism or your cause. it can be a means to an end. i dont think of myself as having short hair, i think of myself as having shoulder length hair but i had to cut it this short to let the gray in and get rid of dye damaged ends,”

my mom and i also talked a bit about how… shaving is an artificial choice. im like if i woke up on a deserted island with no razor i would look like this *points at face* and shes like well if you woke up on a deserted island you would be wearing leaves not a shirt and im like exactly mom! this shirt is a choice i made! its not inherent to my flesh. the way hair is.

[kellynickelsgirl00]

A Chibs "Filip" Telford and OC Plus Size Reader smut fic (based title off the U2 song) fic between chapters smut and fluff mostly smut )

Taglist: @youngadult9016 @tommyflanaganfan-blog @ravennaortiz @etclouie @privatetruths @theoutsiders25 @tinyshyteacup @secretlysamcro @mrstelford

ALL I Want is You

(Chibs X Plus Size Reader smut)

Sighing you pick up the phone and chibs sniffing alittle and trying to calm your breathing as you hear the phone dialing " hello" he answers half asleep considering it's late and you hiccup and try not to start crying again " Chibs it's me can you come pick me up please I know you had a date with Jarry but I need you to pick me up" your voice shakes and you sigh and start crying again" the bars closing and I need a ride home the guy split " you mumble and huff" just wanna go home I didn't want to ride with a stranger " you cry and he's stumbling around panting put of breath alittle " sure angel I'll be right there just stay there ok" he says softly and sweet still sleepy

About 20 minutes later you see and hear his car pull up and sigh and immediately relax and hug him so tight as he gets out " thank you I know you told Jarry you wanted to have the apartment to yourself but I didn't have anyone else to call" you mumbke and look down wiping your eyes " what do you mean I never said you had to leave for the night for me and Jarry ' he looks at you confused and wipes your cheeks and rubs them gently" what's going on Lass you've been so distant lately " he hugs you again pulling you closer running his hands over your soft wider hips and pulls you closer and you sigh and pull away" what do you mean I'm distant you have your girlfriend now thats why we don't do anything at all anymore " you sigh" thats why I'm out here getting hit on and left before I can even get to the guys place and laid " you say pissed and back " she's made It very clear I'm not welcome in the apartment anymore when she's there or around even though I'm your roommate " you sigh and walk over opening your day" just take me home please I'm sure she's real happy I called and I'll hear all about it before you wake up in the morning ' you growl ans huff annoyed trying to open the door but he pulls you back and grips your hand " she's not my girlfriend and definitely not anymore after tonight it's over" he says pissed and open the door for you closinf it walking to the other side .

"Why now why is it over because me that just makes her hate me and push at me even more don't make it about me now" you glare at him" don't ruin something jusf because me don't act like you care or still have feelings for me "" you say pissed and alottle louder" I waited and waited and flirted and moved in and cooked and snuggled and more thinking I was close and closer to getting you to ask me out or better yet maybe we were just going straight to relationship without you even asking since you made it clear and stopped everyone that talked to me and flirted for 7 FUCKING YEARS" You yell pissed pushing at him" but why would you she's gorgeous she's skinny she's perfect for you just how you like them just like Fiona " you mumble and kick the floor hitting the dash getting quite and he sighs running his hands through his hair " you don't know what yer talkin about y/n she's not my girlfriend we aren't a couple " he sighs and huffs" FILIP I DONT FUCKING CARE!" You scream" just for fuck sake take me home i don't fuckin care what you do who or what you fuck " you say throwing your purse in the floor and he growls pissed pulling away and driving off.

Throwing his keys on the table you shove and storm past him before you see her and have to hear about it and chibs grabs your arms pushing you agaisng the wall" we aren't even close to done" he looks down at you speaking lowly and his voice thicker and raspy, you shiver and look up at him blushing alittle and try to stay pissed as you glare ip at him" don't wanna get caught by the sheriff maybe we should talk after princess Jarry leaves" you stare up at him not backing down" she's not here so we're gonna talk now " he pulls away and throws his kute on the couch" she's not coming here again she pushed too much and wanted too much I'm not gonna be a criminal dating a sheriff " he sits fown and looks up" is this why you've been sleeping around with any guy that crosses your path' he asks lighting a cigarette " yep just being a filthy crow eater as Jarry said" you walk back to your room slamming the door and thinking it's over undressing trying to find pj's and the door slams open" quit walking away from me " he growls and looks you up and down as he backs you into a corner " what you jealous someone's fucking me after 7 years of not fucking shit from you" you push him back in just your bra ans panties " someone's gotta have the balls ans im not waiting anymore " you scream and push him baxk onto the wall" I WAITED FOR YOU" You scream and smaxk at his chest and smacking him lightly staring to cry trying so hard not to" I thought we were something already so when I saw Jarry forgive me but my stupid little pathetic heart broke a fuckin heart I gave to you BEFORE I HAD FEELINGS FOR YOU" you smack him and instantly regret it touching his cheek lightly " sorry " you whisper " sorry they're just stupid feelings they'll go away like yours " you mumble sad and feel so bad " please leave me alone I can't talk anymore tonight I'm so exhausted just let me sleep " you say so numb and sit down sighing " go please " your voice breaks and his face softens " please Filip just let me sleep I can't do this right now I don't have anywhere else to go" you cry pushing him out the door lightly " please ill leave tomorrow I'm sorry I'm sorry I hit you" you hiccup and shut the door sobbing softly but loud enough he hears it..

1 week later:

Tensions have been high ever since that night you never did finish the talk and chibs kept making himself busy with work so you just let it go; cleaning the house in just a reaper shirt and some old boxers you have music blasting and don't hear chibs pull up and come in. You jump feeling him spin you around to face him still in his kute and leathers and you blush looking up at him nervously inches from his lips and you're about to say something but are cut off feeling his lips on yours, moaning into the kiss you grip the sides of his kute pulling him closer as he effortlessly picks you up laying you on the table ibfront of him making you gasp pulling away blushing looking at him as you pant " shut up" he mumbles brushing his lips agaisnt yours " my turn to talk" he growls and grips your hips pulling you to the edge of the table kissing you hungrily growling and panting lifting and gripping your thick thighs wrapping them around his waist as he goes to take off the jacket and the gun holster " no please leave it on' you mumbke agaisnt his lips moaning so softly looking up through your eyelashes " leave the gloves on too" you smirk and bite your lip feeling alittle more confident undoing his belt and pants " let me finish my argument I've been holding this in for years " you pant and bite his bottom lip smirking up at him as you slide your hand into his pants gripping him and stroking him slowly and lazily sitting up more and walking him back to the couch " sit " you smirk and pull your hand out licking the precum off your palm pulling his pants down as you sink to your knees " let me get you relaxed before you talk" you look up at him so sweet licking your lios as you stroke him" dreamed of this " you bite your lip and slowly start sucking and kissing and licking the tip so softly anf innocent never taking your eyes off his.

You moan and whimper gaging lightly as you take his thick cock in your mouth tearing up as you look back up at him moving alittle faster as you stroke what you can't fit in your mouth as he growls and moans lowly gripping your hair in his gloved hand slowly moving his hips with you as he watches in awe and so so lazily his eyes almost closed as his head falls back and his mouth hangs open grunting and growling as you start getting sloppier and louder as you gag and drool taking him deeper and he whimpers so softly and lowly you almost don't hear it and you smirk and tighten your throat looking up at him drooling and smirking around him" fuckin Jesus Christ princess " he pants and growls his accent deeper and thicker " perfect little angel " he strokes your cheek witb his leather gloved thumb as he slowly holds and pushes you down deeper and growls so loud and deep twitching in your throat " are you gonna swallow princess " he smirks and grips your chin bucking making you gag more as he smirks layinf his back" such a good little lass" he taps your cheeks and pulls you off smirking " as much as I wanna cum in that sweet soft mouth of yours I wanna fuck my point across to you" he pulls you up and smaxks your ass " strip" he smirks and his hands grope and grip all over your hips and ass kissing youe stomach through your shirt. He growls and impatiently starts sliding your shorts down rubbing and gripping your thighs as he looks up and kisses yoir stomach slowly sliding the shirt up and you shake your head pushing It down shy ans blush looking at him so innocent and nervous " can we leave it on" you whisper shy and shake your head and straddle him making out with him as you grind and rub agaisnt the tip whimpering so needy and desperate kissing and sucking at chibs neck leaving little marks " please please I need you chibs " you moan so softly anf innocent making him growl and grope at anything he can grip and he growls and rips the shirt open staring at you looking you up and down as he kisses and sucks on your chest and leaves little hickeys all over your tits and neck panting and gripping our hips grinding you against his tip as he growls and lays you down on the couch" chibs are you sure " you blush covering yourself alittle looking up at him blushing alittle and he chuckles.

Chibs sits up and puls you back in his lap kissing you softer with so much love making you melt into him" please let me do this before I mess up ans almost lose you again Lass I cant lose you " chibs whispers leaning in giving your lips little kisses " I've loved you since I met you when you were just lost and in either the wrong place at the wrong time or the right place " he jokes and kisses your nose " please please let me finish this I have 7 years to catch up on and this us gonna be a long marathon " he chuckles joking and you melt kissing him softly laying back looking up at him spreading your legs showing him everything blushing more and rubbing yourself as you look at him bitinf your lip moaning and whinning ' come here Filip " you moan softly and wrap your legs back around his waist " I knoe this is a romantic moment " you kiss chibs moaning and panting " but as many times as I've seen you come home dressed like this I need you to fuck me like it's your last night alive " you panf and moan softly scratching at his baxk through the leather jacket " so fuckin hot chibs " you whimper and can't stop looking at him fresh off a run sweaty smelling of smoke ans leather witb his guns on and holstered " fuck me pleasw ' you whine pulling him down kissinf him as you grip the baxk of his neck and chibs moans ans smirks pushinf the tip in so slowly growlinf and panting intk the kiss pulling away looking down as he pushes deeper ' mmn fuck lass you're perfect made just for me " he growls against your ear and your neck smirking and chuckling as he thrusts so hard all the way in growling and you gasp grippinf the straps of his holsters guns still in them and you smirk" mm fuck you're so big Filip" you whimper as your eyes roll back along with your head " mmm please move Filip fuck me don't make me beg " you buck your hips pulsing around him to tease him qnd ger him going " don't hold back fuck your stress away I'm all yours to use " you moan breathy and lay back onnthe couch sliding your. Hands up his hips and up his stomach qnd scrathinf at his sides ans happy trail " mmm fuck baby " you whimper biting your lip and roll your hips slowly against him" oh my god " you whimper and breathe so shakey " please I need you to fuck me till I can't walk I need it "you groab and arch as he watches and touches you all over with his gloves making yoi shiver and your nipples harden under his gloved palm" choke me "you pant and pulse so tight jusr from his touches " and smack me" you whimper shivering and grip his hips and pull him down " come on I won't break I've wanted you to fuck me everyday every way possible " you moan and kiss him softly and suck on his tongue lightly before pulling away and he growls and grips your chin with his gloved hand makinc you smirk as he starts fucking into you as hard and deep as he can grunting and growling sliding his hand to your neck" new a pretty sweet thing like you would be a dirty girl' he growls in your ear with his accent thicker and starts to speed up.

Gasping you grip the couch arching and pushing against him moaninf his name so loud sure the neighbors can hear and you lean into his touch taking his thumb into your mouth succking and licking the leather whimpering and getting so tight around him pulsing tighter getting closer and closer" mmm oh Filip please please oh god " you gasp moaninf as you drool and suck on his thumb looking at him trying to keep your eyes from crossing as he brushes and pounds into your sweet spot '" so close aren't you love ' he growls ans grunts sliding his hand. Away from your mouth and rubs. Your clit. With the same thumb you sucked and growls' squeezing me so tight such a good girl ' he moan sofflt in your ear sucking on your neck goinf faster and harder hitting your spot more and more as he rubs your clit faster grunting and panting in your ear as you feel his hips get sloppier with each thrust " please daddy please " we mumble and whimper so softly not thinking he heard and he groans ans growls speddinf up even more making you gasp getting so tigbt he can barely move " say it again say it " he growls and grips your chin forcing your eyes to him as you smirk" Filip" you moan and whimper so innocent gasping and sxratching at. His hips as he slams into you and he growls ans taps your cheeks with a smack not a hard one a light one enough to get attention and you gasp. And moan screaming what he wanted to hear so bad as you squeal and shake squirting and moaning " DADDY!!" You cry out shaking so hard so sensitive trying to close your legs and push him ans hus hand away and he chuckles growling" stay stil baby girl " he growls pinning your hands pounding into you as. Hard as he's ever fucked any girl " mine ye say it " he grunts and twitches against your spot growlinf and. Bucking harder gripping your neck" say yer mine lass, who's yer daddy" he growls so low in your ear grunting and biting yoir neck as he squeezes tighter around your neck " y y yours Filip you're daddy" you gasp ans shake ans squeeze him so tight so sensitive from coming qnd he growls ans grunts pushing as deep as he can cumming right into you panting and lazily kissing your neck qnd shoulders " good girl'"he pants twitching and softening inside you panting " so the whole kute and gloves and hostler does it for ye" he smirks cocky and rolls off. You lighting a cigarette " so all those times I saw you starinf was thay what you wanted '" he smirks blowing the smoke up" A Good Glasgowenian humpin" he chuckles voice low and gruff " all you had to so was ask daddy" he winks and kisses you softly and cocky.

THE END!!!

[maiyz]

yuji birthday special

in which: happy birthdah yuji! stop being an ungrateful little BRAT.

warning: yuji would NOT act like this i just need more angst…

pairing: yuji x reader angst

w.c: 1k masterlist

you werent sure why you cared so much.

yuji had plenty of people celebrating his birthday. nobara had planned something chaotic like smashing his head into the cake (how rude!), megumi was reluctantly going along with gojos idea to suprise him. yuji had all the attention in the world by people who openly cared about him, people who didnt hesitate to tell him how much he meant to them.

and yet there you stood by his desk before class, a small gift and your hands, hesitating.

you knew yuji wasnt the type to expect extravagant gifts, but that only made it harder. you had but more thought into this than you care to admit, a keychain from the movie he loves and a simple note you debated writing at least 10 times before settling on just ‘happy birthday, itadori!’ with small doodles scattered.

it was casual, but your hands still felt a little clammy as you set it down.

you then turned quickly, slipping back to your seat before anyone else arrived, heart thudding against your ribs.

maybe he wouldnt even realize it was from you. that would be best actually.

You weren’t used to standing out. You never had the confidence Nobara did, nor the easy charm Gojo carried. You were quiet, comfortable with just being there. It wasn’t that Yuji ever overlooked you—he was too kind for that—but you were sure you didn’t stand out to him in any significant way.

you dont like standing out, you never had the confidence nobara did, nor the charm gojo has. you were quiet. comfortable with just being there. it wasnt that yuji ever overlooked you— he was too kind for that—but you were sure you didnt stand out to him in any significant way.

you told yourself that “he wouldnt care” and that “you just want to see him smile.” that part true although you hoped that yuji would care.

yuji walked in with megumi and nobara trailed behind, his gaze looked at the small package on the desk, head tilting before grabbing it. “oh yn! you got me something?”

you held your breath, trying to distract yourself by glancing anywhere else, but your heart wouldn’t stop racing.

“can i open it?”

you mumbled a yes.

yuji unwrapped the gift quickly, his usual energetic self. he pulled out the keychain first, his eyes lighting up with a spark of recognition.

you couldn’t help but feel a small flutter of hope. But as he continued to inspect it, his expression shifted slightly. he looked up at you, a small frown tugging at his lips.

“hey, this is cool,” yuji said, his voice friendly, but there was something almost apologetic about his tone.

“i didn’t expect a keychain, but it’s really thoughtful. I guess I thought maybe something bigger, you know? maybe that what i get for opening megumis and gojo sensei gift first”

he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, trying to explain himself before getting slapped by nobara.

“why are city people so ungrateful! i think its cute yn!” nobara says.

“i didnt mean it like that it just came out wrong! im just really bad at accepting gifts, i feel like i dont deserve them” yuji says.

“when youre bad at accepting gifts, you dont say ‘i thought it would be bigger meh meh meh’ you say ‘thanks!’” nobara defends you.

“im sorry! i didnt mean to be ungrateful yn!!” yuji pleas.

“i didn’t mean to disappoint you,” you stammered, not sure if your voice was even steady enough to be heard.

you wished you could melt into the floor and disappear. yuji glanced up, his eyes softening when he realized how nervous you were.

“it just came out wrong! its really cute, yn.” yuji apologized repeatedly, though it didn’t do much to ease your anxiety.

when class ended, you slowly packed out while the other 1st years quickly departures to the field.

yuji stayed behind slightly, having to clip the keychain onto the strap of his bag.

he gave you a quick look before saying “thanks for the gift, anyways i have to catch up with them. see you later yn!”

you saw him turn and leave, and it felt depressing. the thoughtful gift you had chosen, a small sign of your feelings, was received with a lack of indifference.

you couldnt understand why it stung so deeply. its not like you thought he would be head over heels for the present—it was merely a birthday gesture—but the sense of disappointment lingered around you.

you told yourself that it didnt matter. that yuji was a good person and probably didn’t mean to make you feel this way. but the quiet ache inside you wouldnt go away.

later that evening in bed you think about every second, the silence in the room interrupted by the clicking of a clock.

you repeat the events today in your head over and over, it wasnt that yuji meant to hurt you, you know he didnt. but something about the way he reacted hurt you emotionally.

you had hoped he would see it for what it was—a small gesture of appreciation, a way of showing that you cared. although being compared to gojos gift he was indifferent.

you clenched the blanket in your hands, the weight of the disappointment settling heavy in your chest.

maybe i expected too much

you stared at the dark ceiling, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between you. you had tried so hard to show him you cared, and yet, it felt like you were invisible.

GAH YUJI WOULDNT DO THIS

[linkneol091]

Sk8 ova runt bc even tho I dont talk abt this anime a lot, I still love it : under the cut bc spoilers

He is silly, I think he might be my fav along with Miya

1) THE RENGA PIGGYBACK SCENE? WITH RAINBOW SHOWWING UP AFTER THE RAIN? EVEN NATURE KNOWS WHAT YOU ARE

2) stsly their interactions are so wholesome

3) Miya being the best character, like, it is so obvious that he is awkward with friendship ( like genuine friendship), and even tho he can act superior it is very obvious that mentally he is still a child

4) Miya and Reki’s sis interactions isn’t something that I’ve expected, but know that I think about it, they clearly like each other and that is probably a s2 foreshadowing bc sis also learned how to skate at the end of sk8 so yeah

5) When Reki said that him, Langa, Kojiro and Kaworu should play karuta ( is that how it pronounced in English?) I got hooked up bc I would watch that

6) Matchablossom. Thats all

7) Not all. I was being sillay

Like, it is so obvious that they don’t mind communicating like normal people and they even go to the same places and have similar goals ( like at the end when they both ended up at the same skateboard shop), but fckers dont wanna admit bc of how prideful both of them are and how they dont want to admit losing to each other and being vulnerable like bro you go to the same trips, constantly walk together and say that you hate each other? Ok gayasses

Also they annoyed the HECK out of their school, like, them throwing things at each other including chairs and tables mid class and no one bats an eye

8) Did Kaworu do an Akira slide reference when running?

9) Them meeting young Reki and unnamed friend INSANE FANSERVICE

Also them saying that kids fight at the most stupid things while they cant stop fighting over ANYTHING

10) Kaworu saying that he is being bored and wants to do something serious. Hit a personal spot

Also thats when Kojiro acts seriously and actually agrees with him and they communicate? They can do it, and they do when situation becomes serious for some reason. Sillys

11) Adam is a freak.

12) Also just now noticed Adam having the same va as Dio Brando oooooh

13) Tadashi is so me I wish I could sleep until 4 pm “cries”

14) Why are they showing off Adams naked ahh body?

15) Shadow is silly he deserves love

Also him shifting between his creepy and silly modes is so smooth and doesn’t feel out of his character

16) also the final song! Not a dnd fan, but I liked how it was sung by Rekis Miyas and Langas VA’s !

Thats basically all if you read this far sorry for my horrible limited English have a great day

[evanesceki]

۶ৎ⋆˚࿔ pairing: euijoo x f!reader , non idol au ۶ৎ⋆˚࿔ genre: fluff , teensy bit of angst, ꨄ︎ cw: "sweetheart" "angel" "love" js kisses - lowercase intended. -

love was the strangest thing, you never quite understood what it meant to love. let alone to be loved.

when you met euijoo, your preception of love changed entirely. there was no doubt in your mind that you loved euijoo, yet sometimes the thought of not deserving him ran across your mind. it was funny, he was beloved by so many, and you were just... kind of there. an odd pairing, indeed, but it never seemed to bother euijoo. but there you sat, worry written all over your face as euijoo laid in your lap.

"sweetheart? why do you look anxious?" he got up to face you directly, staring into your eyes, searching for an answer to your worries. "its nothing, joo. nothing to worry your head about." you smile back at him, reassuringly. euijoo didn't buy it, he had known you long enough to know you only made that face when something was really bothering you. "angel, tell me, whats wrong?" by this point euijoo had you in his lap, brushing your hair ever so gently. "well, sometimes I think that i dont deserve you. i know its funny to ponder on weird stuff like this, but i dont know. i cant help but think about it." as you ranted, you couldn't help flush pink seeing euijoos intense stare at you.

"angel, trust me, if anyone is deserving of my love, it is you. nobody could love me better than you, i hope you know that. you're the best thing to ever have happened to me." his words touched your heart, bring tears to you're eyes. the dread and guilt you had felt for weeks finally dissipated. you smiled, caressing his cheek with your thumb, "god, I could just kiss you right now.." euijoo smiled, "so why don't you?" a smile on your face was all he needed to know to kiss you, his hand grabbing your waist to pull you in deeper. as the two of you embraced, the sunset shined on your faces, showing the happiness in your hearts.

isa note: ima be astronomically fr yall I had no clue how to end this one... i tried </3 I haven't written in what feels like forever, n with spring break coming next week I hope to write my smau ( finally.. ) + fluff is so hard to write like I was STRUGGLING bc I'm still young so writing descriptive actions during the kissy or fluffy moments feels so weird(?) to me😭 LIKEE I grew up reading crackfics n goofy shi I barely read the toothrotting fluff</3 also... 'crescent moons wish' euijoo makes me do things that cannot be said or else your girl will be on the news as a wanted criminal<3 ☺️

[winters-on-the-wing]

Oh what you said responding to the ask about transphobia/bigotry I've been looking for the right way to describe it: hard to romanticize! Thats like the foundation of this fandom it seems. Everything is whitewashed and stripped down to its bare bones to be the most relatable and palatable shit! Complexity for this fandom is babying regulus and feeling bad because his brother (rightfully so) left home. Like cmon are we not capable of being deeper than that. We base everything on the most bland tropes like brother's best friend and grump x sunshine! Truly moving and deep literature explores people in 3d not the 2d shells of people that can be described in singular words/attributes that bastardize them and make them walking caricatures of people (eg; Marlene = lesbian, Mary = pretty, James = sunshine, remus = wolf, and so on) the best art isn't easily palatable! The movies that leave you feeling ill or uncomfortable (in the good way) for lack of a better word are usually some of the best films. I feel like even aside from the racism, sexism and other problems of that sort, this fandom just lacks depth? We gave ourselves full creative power over these characters and bastardized them and it makes me so sad. There are so many smart and deep people in this fandom and I wish their analysis and ideas about the fabdom were he more popular ones instead of the ones that are easy to romanticize. Let's see conflict, not everyone has to be friends, people can be complex and not completely bad or good. Make them have complicated relationships outside of ships. What are the odds of about 13 people (the most popular characters) ALL finding their soul mates in highschool??? Like u can have sm fun exploring these characters but noooooooo. Ok sry for rambling, I'm a yapper. I'll stfu now

no. don’t stfu. never stfu.

you are absolutely right and you really boiled down something i’ve always been frustrated with.

i’m an actor. it’s my JOB to take characters from text, to see words on paper, usually ONLY dialogue and stage directions, and create a person, a fully fleshed person with wants and goals and fears and a soul. it’s my job to use the clues that the canon text provides and make the character pop out of the page, to make them compelling, to make them HUMAN.

if it’s not human, who the fuck cares? i know i sure dont.

i don’t want to read about plastic robots as they go through all the tired, stale tropes. grumpy x sunshine, enemies to lovers, best friends brother. it’s all the same. it’s a formula. it’s spoon feeding. i’m not trying to hate on people who enjoy it but i just can’t imagine being satisfied with that. the barest touch of the surface level when there’s so much if you go deeper. so much more HUMANITY. so much more meaning.

i need grit. i need people with palpable flaws, people who don’t always get what they want falling into their laps when they want it, people who are IN THE WRONG. people who think bad things and do bad things and regret it, people who do bad things and don’t regret it. people who exist messily. people who make me uncomfortable to read about because they’re so like me and i have to face the fact that i’m not perfect.

i don’t want a perfect romanticized story where the little white boy gets rescued by the big muscular casanova. i don’t want a robotic generated formula where the perfectly placed lesbian couple get just enough sentences to be seen so that the author can feel progressive and inclusive and then the lesbians get shoved off and forgotten about forever.

what happened to authenticity? what happened to bringing a piece of your soul to the art you create?

again i’m not trying to tell people how to enjoy fandom. do what you want.

it just personally saddens me how hard it is to find work with that human spark in it. the spark of curiosity, of intrigue, of going deeper than the bare surface level. i love art that makes me think. why does nobody THINK while creating anymore? sometimes i just feel so alone in this, surrounded by plastic when i want to read and write and engage with work that was written with a beating heart so palpable that it can be heard between every word.

i wish fanfics and headcanons and concepts that were created with thought were more popular than they are, instead of the same bland thing being shoved down my throat every second of the day. i constantly get hated on in this fandom for thinking differently than everyone else, but why is individuality an enemy? im starting to think that i get hated on in this fandom for THINKING, period.

does that make sense?

maybe i’m pretentious. it’s highly likely i’m pretentious.

[girlnadian]

evilkenfies collaring dubiously in the same verse as corruption begins with the mouth. you could consider it canon or you could consider it not canon. i dont know. i just like writing these dynamics </3

obligatory consent issues / "evilfies is a creep" warning

732 words // divider

Wifies is so, so touchy. Ken flinches every time Wifies pets at his ears, no matter how much he tries not to, and amusement lights up Wifies' eyes every time in a way that makes Ken's skin crawl. If Ken said he hates it here, it would be the understatement of the century, but he would remind himself in the same breath that he doesn't have a choice.

His Wifies is safe. That's all that matters. Ken is allowed to check on him once a day—not talk, but he's safe. Ken knows it's calculated: every time he sees his Wifies, he loses whatever budding will he had to resist. It's mechanical, like repowering a redstone signal. He doesn't care; it's working.

It's directly after these visits that the other Wifies gets bold. Ken remembers why he's here and becomes pliant, if only briefly. Wifies puts his hand on Ken's lower back and leads him into his office, and Ken goes without the usual tensed-up shoulders and folded-back ears. Ken should know something is coming. The collar Wifies pulls out still nearly makes him choke.

"You can't be serious," Ken says. His voice rises a pitch, almost cracking. Wifies smiles.

"I am," he laughs. "Why wouldn't I put a collar on my cat?"

Ken feels heat rising to his cheeks in anger and humiliation and what he hopes is nothing else. He– he's dealt with people like this, before, and maybe he should have expected it. It happens when you're a hybrid, and it happens to cats especially, but he didn't think…

It's a deep, pretty purple leather, like the color of Wifies' headband. The iconic yin-yang hangs as a charm on the front, and it's so degrading to even think about. Ken has been suffocated by those colors ever since he got to the factory. The room he sleeps in is a lifeless gray and the covers he sleeps under are that same violet, but he's been spared it on his own person until now.

Ken has given a lot for this. He doesn't know how much he has left in him. Wifies clicks his tongue and steps forward.

Ken locks up. "I can't–"

Wifies says, "I'll do it for you." as if that's at all the problem, but Ken squeezes his eyes shut and fights down the growl in his throat as Wifies' hands encircle his neck. He feels cold, and he doesn't know if it's the collar or Wifies' hands.

"There," Wifies murmurs, right into Ken's ear. He's done, but he doesn't so much as lean back. "Is that so bad?"

It is. It feels like lead against his neck—Ken feels like his stomach is vibrating. It feels worse than every restraint he's ever been in and every set of iron bars he's ever been trapped behind combined. It's worse than just being trapped, it's being owned. It is a horrible, horrible revulsion against everything Ken has even been and ever stood for. Ken has no idea how he stands there without slitting his own throat—his claws twitch like he means to—but he stands there and shakes and sweats until Wifies hums and takes a step back. Still, Ken doesn't open his eyes. He is keenly aware of every individual organ in his body, and the fact that if he meets Wifies' eyes right now, he will throw up.

A finger hooks under the collar. Ken intakes a struggling breath.

"I should get you some new clothes," Wifies muses. Ken doesn't even process it. It's hard to imagine feeling worse than he does right now, but being stripped (figuratively and literally) would probably do it. "You'll get used to it."

Wifies leans in to kiss him, then, and at least that's a familiar hell. He knows to open his mouth so Wifies can lick over his fangs, and to push his tongue forward because Wifies likes the rough texture of it. The surface-level pain is a welcome relief, so much so that Ken chases it. He lets Wifies huff a laugh into his mouth and grab his waist to lead him back until Ken bumps into the unforgiving wood of Wifies' desk.

He will have plenty of time to tear his own skin off about it later—they both know Ken isn't going anywhere. For now, his mind is dreadfully, uncharacteristically, blessedly blank as Wifies lays him out on the wood.

[artsymeeshee]

Second-guessing