#literally like. word for word of dreams had words

[justwonder113]

Han drunkenly confessing to you

Inspired by this ask

Summary: When Chan calls you at 2 am to pick up drunk han because he is asking for you the last thing you expect is for Han to confess his love for you. warnings: CHAOS! Idiots to lovers, (Both reader and Han(mostly Han) are idiots.) Reader is gender neutral. Cursing to no one's surprise. Kissing. Han being somewhat drunk. Teensy tiny amount of angst. Reader almost having a mental breakdown from all the chaos. Somewhat proofread. let me know if I missed anything A/N- Happy new year lovelies! I wish you all the best! Please take care of yourselves and drink lot's of water. Thank you all for all the love and support you have given me, it really means a lot to me. Word count- 2.4 k

Masterlist

If you like my work you can buy me coffee🩷

You know how people put most bizarre things in their resumes? Like stuff they only did once and they wrote it down like they had some kind of PhD in that field? Well next time you if you decided to change jobs or just apply to a new one you would write down that you had an experience and could deal with being friends with Han Fucking Jisung! That is if he survived this day. Because what do you mean you were heading out to get his drunk ass home because this grown ass man was actually crying and asking for you in the damn club at two fucking am! You were so beating his ass once he got sober.

You were seeing such a great dream too. You and Han were actually together and didn’t have this weird ass relationship you two had right now where there were no literal boundaries and you didn’t have to question every day If he was returning the feelings or if you were delusional and he was just extra friendly and overall simply comfortable with you. He was quite touchy and flirty with boys too after all. So you could imagine how much headache this could bring in.

 Anyway, to stop with your let’s just say unfortunate love life and get to the point you were pissed. You really were looking forward after a shitty week sleeping in and actually resting. That’s why you didn’t go to the club with the boys in the first place. How much did he actually drink to be actually crying and asking for you? What was he, a toddler asking for his mommy? Or better yet what was up with you being actually in love with this man?

The club was quite crowded for 2 am. The neon lights of reds blues and greens kept flashing rhythmically. The shouts of laughter and the hum of conversation mixed with the music creating a bit of chaos but well it was a normal atmosphere for a club. As soon as you walked in the smell of cocktails mixed with perfume and sweat of the crowd immediately hit you. It was a bit headache inducing but it was tolerable, as long as you left soon. You started searching for your friends with your eyes which was quite hard at first the crowd really kept shifting and mingling with each other. People really looked like they were having time of their life and you, with the, I just woke up and I’m mad as hell face, surely sticked out like a sore thumb.

Thankfully you found the boys quickly. It wasn’t hard giving they were loudest in the whole establishment as always. They were by the entrance and thankfully everyone looking ready to leave.

As for the man child who was the main reason you were here in the first place, he was clinging to Minho yapping about something. He wasn’t crying now but his eyes really looked puffy and red. Honestly how much did he drink? Others looked normal. Well tired like they were already hungover but still normal. Minho really looked like he was seconds away from smacking him. Yes smacking him, he even managed to rile Minho up. God, what a lightweight.

Han must have noticed you because one second you were looking at his face light up and him call you baby on top of his lungs and the next second he was basically on top of you. He literally hugged you witch such force it was a miracle you were standing on your feet and didn’t fall over.

“Han be careful!” You hear Chan warn him, he sounded tired.

“I’m fine.” You mustered to croak out once Han let go a bit to check if you were fine, he still returned to hugging you but at least you could breathe now. He really must have missed you. God you really wanted to kiss him. All your anger and grumpiness immediately flew out the window. Good for him he was so cute or else you would have smacked his head for bringing you here. “How are you Hannie? A little birdie told me you were asking for me.”

Han looked at you with his wide boba eyes, his lips jutted out in the cutest pout ever. “Better now that you’re here. They are literally so mean baby, I’m glad you’re here. You’re my favorite.”- Han whined out and hugged you again. You looked at others who looked so done, only Minho looked bemused, he held his phone up and recorded Han whine to you. You looked at him with raised eyebrow as you patted Han’s back to calm him down.

Minho only shrugged, “I’m showing this to him when he asks me for something. You’re in charge now since you’re his favorite.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Babe we both know that your softie ass is immediately going to cave in and do what he wants anyway.”

Minho glared at you, unamused by your comment but you didn’t really pay any mind to it, you had your attention to Han who stopped hugging you and went to Felix instead. He looked like he was about to start crying again any second now.

“Hannie baby what’s wrong?”

“You hate me!” His bold statement was followed by the most dramatic sob and collective sighs of being done from his friends.

“Why would you think that?” You were genuinely so confused. You had no idea what you did wrong.

Han glared at you for a second and returned to hugging Felix who was barely holding his laughter in. Not much to your surprise he quickly gave in. “You called Minho babe. You’re basically replacing me, you really must hate me.”

What now? You couldn’t help but blink in confusion because what the fuck was up with that logic. You really looked at him with a deadpan expression before the realization of what he said really dawned on you.

You tried, you really tried to hold your face together and not just burst out laughing, but you’re only just a human after all.

With the most teasing voice and biggest smile ever you used the chance to tease him, because let’s be real, pouty and sulky Han is the cutest Han. “Are you jealous baby?”

Han gasped and let go of Felix, he actually looked at you like he was mad now. Mad and maybe seconds away from crying which harshly puled on your heartstrings.

“I am! I’ve been in love with you for years and you’re calling Minho babe here!” He yelled and stormed off outside the club leaving you there shocked not knowing what to do. The boys also looked like they didn’t know what to do, only Minho was laughing his ass off and Hyunjin also looked like he was barely holding in his laughter in.

So he was jealous.

Oh.

Oh.

He said he loved you.

Han Jisung said he loved you.

The Han Jisung loved you.

He returned your feelings.

The boy you had been in love with for ages loved you back.

“HAN JISUNG GET YOUR ASS HERE!” You yelled as you chased after him. All seven of the boys cheering after you and encouraging you to get him. You would get to them later.

Thankfully he hadn’t gotten far, it might have taken you a second or two to let everything sink in. Han was closeby sitting on the sidewalk, pretty tears running down his rosy cheeks, what a silly boy, he even forgot to bring his jacket. You sat close to him thinking for a second of what to say to him, while also trying to warm him with your body head. He looked cold.

“If you want to tease me please go inside. I already feel like shit.” His voice was so raw and he looked so pained. It really hurt to see him like this. He sighed. “I need a minute okay? I will be fine I’m not that drunk anymore.” He took a pause. “I mean how can I be after the shit I said, God I am stupid!” You watched a tear run down his face. Before you could even realize what you were doing you reached and gently brushed away the tear. Han looked at you with tearful eyes.

“Maybe but who am I to judge? I mean, I didn’t even realize that my best friend, the man I had been in love with for god knows how long actually returns my feelings.”

God you said it. You actually admitted your feelings.

A pause.

Oh no, was he regretting it?

Was it something he just said because he was drunk?

You were startled out of your thoughts when Han literally slapped both of his cheeks. His skin immediately flushed angry red.

“What the fuck are they putting in these drinks? Actually making me hallucinate and shit.” Was he for real? You couldn’t hold yourself back so you smacked his arm.

Ignoring his whining you quickly got up and started to yell. “Han Jisung I did not just say I’m in love with you for you to think this is some kind of fucking hallucination! Do you know how much courage it takes to actually admit your feelings?” Han looked at you with wide eyes for a second then quickly got up too almost losing his balance for a second.

“Wait are you for real? You love me? You mean it?” - He asked with trembling voice.

You couldn’t believe your ears. “Of course I mean it? How can I joke about something like that?”

A second passed then two.

“Dude are you kidding me? How are you in love with me. Do you have no standards? You’re like a fucking deity, someone people should fucking worship the fuck you mean you love me? Raise your standards!”

God you needed to be paid for this shit but no amount would be enough. This whole situation made you want to pull your hair out one by one, or maybe scream on top of your lungs, or maybe actually hit him because what the fuck was this?

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” You actually couldn’t help but yell, you didn’t give a crap that you were in the middle of street and it was 2 am and maybe some people were actually asleep.

“NO?”

“I WILL ACTUALLY BEAT YOUR ASS!” You took a deep breath. You reminded yourself that he was somewhat drunk. You needed to stay calm for your own sanity at least. “Han when people tell you that they love you back you at least should be grateful that they return your feelings. The last thing you want to do is to tell them to raise their standards. Because frankly all I wanted to kiss you but now all I’m thinking about is how to hold back and not to beat your ass! You’re literally perfect what the fuck are you on about?”

You watched as the biggest grin appeared on his face. It was like his whole mood shifted. “You want to kiss me?” Okay you really wanted to hit your head against a wall now.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of this whole situation. “Do you only hear what you want to hear?”

Jisung, still grinning got closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Maybe.” -he mused. “All I heard is that you want to kiss me. And I have wanted to know what it is like to kiss you since I met you. You don’t know how irresistible you are.” His voice was so sweet and tender your heart was going crazy. And it didn’t help when he leaned in and put his forehead against yours.

“I could say the same to you dumbass.” You sighed against his lips. When did he even get so close?

“Can I kiss you?” Han asked as his gaze kept shifting from your lips to your eyes.

Feeling impatient to actually answer you grabbed him by his cheeks and finally connected your lips.

Kissing him was so much better than you could have thought. His lips were cold and chapped but they felt so nice as they moved against yours. You couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure. You didn’t know who deepened the kiss but soon your tongue met his and you almost melted. He tasted so sweet. You could even taste fruity cocktails he must have had earlier on his lips. But there was something more, something purely just Han, which made you fall in love with him even deeper if it was possible. You could already feel yourself getting addicted to kissing him.

Soon you had to lean back for some air, seeing Han whine and actually chase after your lips made you smile, your heart feeling whole. You didn’t even remember why you were mad earlier. You just gazed at him lovingly his arms tight around you as your hands were still on his cheeks. His cheeks felt so warm against your cold hands, it must’ve still stung from his slap. You tried to soothe it as you gently caressed his skin. Loving how he leaned into the touch. Shaking your head a bit. Not in a million years could you imagine something like this could happen to you. Life sure is full of mysteries.

You two were brought back to reality by cheers and hollers of your forgotten friends. Oops? You immediately covered your face leaning into the hug more to hide, unable to look any of them in the eyes, feeling beyond embarrassed. Han chuckled and hugged you closer.

“This had to be one of the most painful confessions I have ever seen.” Seungmin deadpanned as others kept clapping and cheering for you.

“Like you had seen a lot of them.” Minho quipped back quickly.

“At least they finally got it over with.” Hyunjin chipped in.

“Tell me about it, it was painful to watch them.” Now it was Innie’s time to say something. Did they all have to say something?

“Oh by the way I recorded all of this, I’m playing this at your wedding.” Felix waved his phone.

Chan grinned. “Or we can show it to their children in the future.” He teased as Changbin cackled like a possessed witch.

God you were so done with these clowns.

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated^^

If you like my work you can buy me coffee🩷

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght @notastraykid (If you want to be added to my taglist feel free to tell me^^)

[makeitmakesomesense]

Let It Glow

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Day 1: I've merged a lovely request from an anon with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for 1st of January, which is 'glow'.

.

Sometimes, people sneak up on you. 

Literally and figuratively. 

.

When Natasha first met you, she was scared. 

She’d returned from a mission to the Compound. Her limbs were heavy with exhaustion. She knew that everyone was meant to be away. Even Wanda, still training to be a full time Avenger, had been called out on an unexpected mission.

Natasha was completely alone.

She walked to the kitchen. There was a pot of pasta boiling on the stovetop.

Natasha went very still.

There was a clatter from the pantry and Natasha’s attention snapped to the door. She thought about danger and home invasion. She remembered the very likely possibility that a teammate’s plans had changed.

A stranger walked out of the pantry, caught sight of her and dropped a can of tomatoes on their foot. 

For the first time in Natasha’s life. She didn’t react.

She felt her heart thud and her limbs tense. She watched you pick up the dented can, obviously flustered.

‘Sorry.’ You hurried, brushing a piece of hair from your face. ‘I’m friend Wanda.’ 

Natasha barely registered the mistake. She stared at your eyes and tried to remember what she normally said when she met someone new. 

You blinked and gave an awkward laugh. ‘I mean, I’m Wanda’s friend.’

Natasha hesitated and then cleared her throat. ‘Hello. I’m Natasha Romanoff.’

She watched your eyes widen at the name. Abruptly, Natasha felt like an alien. 

You swallowed nervously. 

A strange want filled Natasha’s chest. It tasted bad like wasted hope always does. 

‘I think there’ll be extra.’ You nodded down at the pasta. ‘I always make too much.’ 

You glanced up hopefully and met her eyes. The strange want in Natasha’s chest roared. 

‘Do you want some?’

All Natasha could do was nod. 

.

That night lying in her bed, Natasha thought of all the things she didn’t say. She thought about your eyes and the overcooked pasta. She worried that she was letting herself hope again. 

.

.

The second time Wanda welcomed you into the Compound. You asked awkwardly if Natasha was away on a mission.

Wanda’s eyebrow raised curiously.

‘Shut up.’ You huffed, realising how obvious you’d been.

‘I didn’t know you were a fan.’

‘Shut up.’

Wanda’s mind whirred with ideas she didn’t share. She tried to seem nonchalant.

You could tell anyway. 

‘Shut up.’ You told her again.

. 

You didn’t enjoy having a crush on Natasha Romanoff. It was embarrassing enough that Wanda knew. 

The whole thing was making you feel crazy. 

You could tell Wanda was setting up opportunities for you and Natasha to cross paths.

She was regularly inviting you to spend time at the Compound. She was always asking you to grab something from another room. Natasha always seemed to be right around the corner. 

You tried to be cool about it. You did understand that it was funny. 

It was silly for you to have a crush on Natasha. 

It was painful and it was ridiculous. Like an impossible thing that you can’t help dreaming about.

The joke was starting to make your chest hurt. After a while, you stopped wanting to play along.

.

Sometimes, people sneak up on you. 

Literally and figuratively. 

.

Natasha’s hands touched your back lightly as she walked up behind you. 

‘I haven’t seen you in a while.’ You heard the smile in her voice. ‘How are you?’

You swallowed down the truthful answers to everything. 

Bad. Terrible. You haven’t seen me because I’m trying to avoid you. 

Your heart weighed heavy in your chest. 

‘I’m fine.’ You tried to keep your tone light as you turned to her. ‘I guess I’ve just been busy.’

Natasha watched you. You felt yourself tense. You glanced away. 

Natasha’s smile faded. 

‘Right.’ She murmured quietly. She took a step back. Her hands found her pockets. Her lips pressed together. 

She knew. You were sure. She could tell that you liked her. 

You stared at the ground.

‘I should go.’ Natasha spoke quietly. You only nodded.

.

The next time Wanda invited you over to the Compound. You declined. You invited her to the cinema that afternoon instead. 

You were relieved when she said yes.

.

.

Wanda had never invited Natasha to the cinema before. When she asked, Natasha’s first concern was that Wanda was trying to make her feel better. 

Wanda had clearly become your best friend. She must have been told all about the strange, clingy Avenger that often forgot how to speak.

.

You waited patiently in the cinema lobby, stare focused on the main entrance. 

You’d arrived a little earlier on purpose. You’d bought the tickets already. You shifted from foot to foot absentmindedly. 

You glanced at your phone, wondering if Wanda had left a text about being late.

You heard a throat clear behind you and your chest tightened with dread. 

Natasha and Wanda stood behind you. They'd clearly come through the side door.

Natasha faltered when your gaze met. Nausea filled her expression.

This was hell.

Wanda hesitated. A pleased, almost smug, expression dropped from her face and for a moment she looked confused. The silence was awkward. You could feel her staring at you with a sudden, concerned focus that she’d never had before. 

You swallowed with worry when you saw her eyes begin to glow. It only lasted a split second. Abruptly, she switched her focus to Natasha. 

Natasha met her glowing stare with a resigned look of embarrassment. Her fists clenched inside her jacket pockets. 

.

Wanda’s eyes returned to normal and for a moment she looked between you two. Her eyes swam with sympathy and you were sure she knew now all about your impossible dream. 

Her mouth twisted with something like pity and she touched Natasha’s shoulder. Natasha’s jaw tightened. She radiated with a fragile tension.

‘You are both so stupid.’ Wanda said matter of factly.

You watched dumbly as she lifted the paper cinema tickets from your hand.

‘If you could see a movie with anyone in the world, who would you pick?’ She asked suddenly. 

Your eyes moved to Natasha automatically. Natasha's gaze was already on you. 

‘So stupid.’ Wanda commented again. 

You didn’t look away from Natasha. 

You let Wanda slip one ticket back into your hand and the other into Natasha’s pocket. 

Wanda walked away and didn't look back.

Natasha’s eyes flickered with a thousand emotions. 

Then, she smiled.

She reached out and offered you her hand. 

You took it and realised you could have impossible things.

.

Natasha watched the movie with an unseeing gaze. The screen glowed with a story she didn’t care to remember. She was too focused on her own.

She fought to keep her smile small, even though her cheeks were starting to hurt.

You fidgeted in your seat and unexpectedly your hand brushed hers. Sparks ran along Natasha's skin. She reached out and found your hand properly in the dark. Her fingers traced the ridges of your knuckles.

Natasha thought about your eyes and the roaring in her chest.

She closed her eyes and smiled wider. The pain in her cheeks made her happy.

.

.

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

.

[shuastar]

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .5 (JWW)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 19k (holy shit im so sorry) warnings: cursing, angst (but also fluff!!), battle scene (blood and vomit and wounds) ᴀ/ɴ: when i tell you guys that i'm so sorry for the wait, i am SO SORRY for the wait. i think i had like thirteen different deadlines for myself for intertwined but i missed literally every single one how tf;; but it's finally out!!! consider this my very late christmas and new years present for you!! <3 anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ

Wonwoo 

Wonwoo’s Capital estate felt colder in the middle of the winter flurry that sprinkled and twirled white onto the dead grass. His study, usually emblazoned with a warm, crackling fire, though not in use for a while, felt colder under the hiding moon and howling winds outside. A scratchy record player hummed a soft classical piano into the room ��� his desperate attempt to fill the lonely, crushing silence of his estate. 

The study is deathly quiet, save for the faint crackle of the dying fireplace fire, struggling to warm the cold, expansive room. Wonwoo sits at his desk, head bowed and the heels of his palms digging into his eyes. His desk is perpendicular to the empty fireplace, the firewood only holding a couple of smouldering embers of a day-old flame. He stares listlessly at the black ink of the reports on his desk and suddenly, the stack of reports fixated on the edge of his desk seem much more towering than he remembered them to be before he left his estate for the palace. His fingers rest idly, blankly, on the edge of the thick report in front of him, unmoving, as if the words and the numbers on the paper would magically disappear if he rubbed on them hard enough. He sighs as the habitual late-night thoughts creep up and teeths in his brain, eager to divulge more of his darker secrets – more of his deepest desires. 

“Fuck,” he whispers into the dimly-lit room, dropping his head into his hands. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his hair sticks up from the hour he spent pulling at it not even minutes prior. He wishes he could do something, say something, transform into something other than Archduke Jeon. Will she accept him then? When he is free of duties he apparently instinctively places higher than the love of his life? Than the one person he is willing to give all of his heart to? Or maybe she would be willing to let him back into her life, into her heart, when he finally comes to terms with his instinctual hierarchy of values?

A sudden rap against the wood of his study door snaps him out of his dejected self-deprecation. 

“Who is it?” he croaks, head still buried in his palms. 

There is no response except for a drawn-out sigh and the creak of an opening door, followed by the pitter-patter of slippered footsteps. The familiar clang of metal on metal gave away the mystery person’s identity before Wonwoo even raised his head. 

“What do you want, Soonyoung?” he mumbles into his hands, eyes closing. He wishes he could fall asleep better. He wishes he could slip into any bed and fall asleep like a newborn baby – maybe wake up with no dreams, no cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Instead, he finds himself, increasingly, these days, being held back from sleep because of her. Because every time he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is your bright smile and all he can hear is the repeat of your laughter that had charmed him and refused to let him go. 

He hears the long scrape of a chair against the cold wooden floor as Soonyoung pulls the chair in front of his desk back, slipping into the seat. There is a small slap against the wood as he plops a folder down onto Wonwoo’s desk. The sound borders on giving Wonwoo a blistering headache. Really, he couldn’t do any more reports or numbers or letters or words or anything but her. 

“I’ve been going over the training reports,” Soonyoung begins, opening the folder and sifting through the pile of papers haphazardly stacked against each other, “and, you know, I think if we get Seungcheol to double the training hours for Wednesday and Friday so that we can actually get the mana drills in…” 

Nothing registers for Wonwoo. It’s as if Soonyoung’s every word slips in through one ear and flows out the other – as if his words are like slippery butter or oil, flowing through his thin neural membrane, and lodging itself in absolutely nothing. 

“-And so, if we can-” 

Soonyoung suddenly stops mid-sentence, cutting himself off. His eyebrows furrow and he leans forward, head tilting in an amusing angle to stare directly up at Wonwoo’s bowed face. Wonwoo doesn’t even move, eyes just closing as Soonyoung pokes his head. 

“You’re unusually depressing tonight. You alright?” he asks. And although his words are laced with a soft sort of teasing, Wonwoo can pick out the concern weaved through Soonyoung’s tone. Soonyoung shuts the folder at Wonwoo’s lack of response. “I can tell you that you’ve looked better.” 

Wonwoo finally lets out a sigh – a long, deep, rib-trembling, bone-shaking sigh. He knows he’s looked better. Hell, he’s felt better. His hand traces a faint line on his desk’s polished surface, decorated with grooves of a frustrated youth trying to manage an abandoned estate after parents’ death. He lets out one slow breath – one that seems to carry a little more weight and hold a little more space than the room itself. It’s heavy as it escapes his mouth. 

“What do you want, Soonyoung?” His words leave harsher than he honestly wants them to. But it conveys his ignorance in full respect. 

Soonyoung frowns, crossing his arms. “What I want is to know why you look like you haven’t slept in four days.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Mind your own business,” he mutters under his breath, huffing. He knows Soonyoung won’t back down but he wishes he would. “Don’t you have training plans to detail?” 

Soonyoung shakes his head, gathering up the papers and the folder in one swift motion. Everything ends up on the floor by Wonwoo’s desk in the next second and Soonyoung leans forward, poking Wonwoo’s bicep, straining against his white shirt. 

“Training plans can wait,” Soonyoung hums. When he receives yet another silent response, Soonyoung leans back, gaze softening. “Come on. Stop acting like you’re fine when you very clearly aren’t, Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo briefly looks up and he can feel the dryness in his eyes from the number of sleepless days. “I’m completely fine,” he retorts, but his words don’t hold enough power in them. Well, at least not as much as he would like. “Detail the plans, Soonyoung,” he orders, voice hoarse and thick with a lack of sleep. 

Soonyoung suddenly laughs, but it’s ironic and broken off. “You’re funny if you think I don’t know you better than that,” he clicks his tongue, “Come on, Wonwoo. Spill.” 

Wonwoo can’t help but crack a small ironic smile at how Soonyoung’s words feel more like an order than his. But, in all honesty, he doesn’t want to broach the topic – the topic that has his mind decrescendo into a flurry of disconnected thoughts. The topic that jams a thick round stone into the only opening of his throat and squeezes at the columns of his tear ducts to force out the salty tears from the corners of his eyes. 

Wonwoo speaks up, fingers tightly fisting on top of his desk, “I personally think we should get the cavalry-” 

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Soonyoung huffs, crossing his arms across his rippling chest. To anyone else, it would’ve seemed like a threat (to bash their heads in), but Wonwoo simply presses his lips together, opting to scribble his signature down onto one of the reports in front of him. 

“Wonwoo, come on. Don’t think that I haven’t realized you’ve been sulking for this entire weekend,” Soonyoung tuts, wagging his finger in Wonwoo’s tight face. “More than usual, too,” he adds as an afterthought. 

Wonwoo is quiet. He would tell Soonyoung everything if he knew how to phrase it better. Of course he would! Soonyoung is one of the closest friends he has ever had. Soonyoung has seen him hit himself with his own sword during a late-night knight training session and he’s seen him moon and fawn and coddle you when you were still “undisclosed” when attending the Academy. And now-

Shit, don’t fucking cry. 

And now, he guesses, Soonyoung was also about to see him cry, if he could correlate the exponential thickness of his throat and burning of his eyes to the oncoming onslaught of tears that he could predict. That and another depressingly self-deprecating monologue about how he fucked up. And it wasn’t even funny because it was true. Truly depressing. Truly, and perfectly, distressing, especially to him. Especially to his love for you. It was amusing, really, to realize that you’ve such an impact on him even after three years of forced distance. Distance brings fondness, at least for him. He wasn’t too sure of you, seeing as how you had yelled at him in the gardens a couple of days back. 

Soonyoung is still quiet, simply waiting for Wonwoo to speak up, which is a new development. Soonyoung maintaining his silence, of course, not Wonwoo speaking up. 

“I’ve ruined everything.” Wonwoo can feel his jaw tighten at his own words, hands stilling completely on top of the thick piece of parchment. He swallows hard, his already-too-tight throat constricting around the words that he had long-since become accustomed to. 

Soonyoung furrows his brows, tilting his head as his concern visibly deepens. “Everything? What do you mean?” 

Wonwoo finally fully looks up, and this time, his eyes sting not from his chronic insomnia but from the blockage of emotions that threaten to rise up and overflow over any opening of his face. Soonyoung almost jolts, as if the raw pain in Wonwoo’s eyes was too much to bear at once. 

“Everything,” Wonwoo breathes, as if he’s whispering a curse into the silent room. His eyes burn even more and he just knows that they are an inhuman shade of red. He doesn’t want to cry. Especially not in front of Soonyoung. “It’s gone. With her – Y/n, I mean,” he concludes hoarsely. By your name, he feels as though he is forcing every syllable out of his mouth with the effort it takes for something to push a horseless carriage uphill. 

“Wait,” Soonyoung rushes to interrupt, leaning forward, “I thought you talked to her? I thought-”

Wonwoo cuts him off with a bitter gasp of a laugh. “I did talk to her,” he admits, voice cracked and words heavy with an unfamiliar sort of defeat, “It doesn’t matter. I told her everything, Soonyoung. I laid my fucking heart in front of her because I thought she would- I felt that if she could just understand my part, my rationale, even, I could have even a sliver of a chance to win her back. But I don’t-” Wonwoo breaks off. He can’t bear to continue. Not when every word he utters feels like a self-inflicted blow of pain – a dig of a sharp, serrated knife that comes in the form of harshly-spoken, hastily-drawn words. “She doesn’t feel the same. Or couldn’t – can’t, I guess. I don’t even know.” His half-monologue ends with a rather anti-climactic flourish and every passing second of silence that treats his words as something to be examined, the more he wants to drink and drink and drink until he passes out. Metaphorically. 

Soonyoung is silent for a time (much help), until he finally uncrosses his legs and drums his fingers on his knee. “Are you sure, though?” he swallows at Wonwoo’s look, his arms flying up in defense. “I’m saying, she hasn’t exactly ever been the type to-” 

“-She looked at me,” Wonwoo cut Soonyoung off, voice tight as his vocal cords forced the words out of his larynx, “like I was the last thing she ever wanted to deal with. Like I had ruined her life by telling her how I felt. Like I was-” 

“-Wonwoo,” Soonyoung sighs, shaking his head as his fingers stilled on his knee. Wonwoo wants to snap at his friend, tell him how he doesn’t understand, how he would never fully understand the underlying torment of having to live with the knowledge that your-

“Wonwoo, what exactly did she say?” Soonyoung asks, eyebrows furrowed and now leaning against the desk.

Good question, Wonwoo thinks to himself. He recounts the words you had thrown at him, desperate for him to leave your life. The words that had sawed through his heartstrings and clipped off the tendons of his sculpted body and had knocked out the bricks of his well-crafted walls one by one, until he was left bare – in all of his diminishing glory – in front of you. Left bare in front of you and shivering in fear, lest you actually let him go. 

Soonyoung waits patiently for his response. 

Wonwoo finally relents – lets everything go, if only for a moment. “She said to give up on us,” he murmurs, “She said she doesn’t know if she can do it again, that she wants to forget us, that she wants me to stop.” He lets out a puff of apathetic laughter – frigid, detached, bittersweet. “She says that I’m being selfish, Soonyoung,” he finally spits, trying to swallow the thick ball down his unrelenting throat that constricts tighter every second. His hands shake on the desk and he can feel the tears start to gather again in the corners of his eyes. “I was stupid,” he laughs, “I was stupid to think she would– that anything I said would fix my mistakes. That it would return us to…” Wonwoo trails off, eyes misting over as he spots a picture frame, free of any dust, placed on the corner of his desk, “... normal,” he whispers. The word seems final, like he doesn’t expect anything else. 

Soonyoung is quiet as he processes Wonwoo’s speech before opening his mouth. 

“I think she just needs time, Wonwoo. She’s just scared. I know her, maybe better than you do, now. Whatever you guys had, yeah, sure, it’s over. But this? What you want it to be, that isn’t. Not unless you let it be.” Soonyoung’s voice is steady and confident. So much so that it almost makes Wonwoo believe his words. 

“It’s not about giving up,” Wonwoo counters, and he can feel himself choke up. He can feel the words he’s trying to say, die in his narrowed throat. “It’s about–” he clears his throat, eyes burning and ears ringing, “-- about knowing when I can never be what she wants me to be,” he breathes, lips curling into a bitter smile and eyes blinking rapidly as if to clear them of the tears that threaten to fall. 

“Wonwoo…” 

Wonwoo turns, facing Soonyoung fully now. He can feel the desperate helplessness rip through his entire body. “How,” he whispers, and it feels more like a statement than anything, “am I supposed to continue on with my life when it means absolutely nothing,” he laughs. His head drops and there is a beat of silence before a small plop is heard. Wonwoo sniffs, tears tracing their unfamiliar tracks down his cheeks. “When I can’t live without her again?” His fist suddenly slams against the desk as a sob wracks through him. “I can’t do this anymore, Soonyoung. I need her by my side again.” 

Soonyoung’s warm comforting hand finds its place on Wonwoo’s shoulder, slowly patting it. If he is shocked at his friend’s sudden outburst, he doesn’t show it. “I know, I know. And she needs you by her side, Woo.” Soonyoung lets out a soft laugh at Wonwoo’s sniffles and trembling shoulders, which earns him a weak shove of annoyance from Wonwoo, making him stumble back with a louder laugh. “Come on, man. It’s going to be fine. If there’s anything I’ve learned from sending her letters, which you didn’t do–”

Wonwoo cuts him off with a loud groan, voice watered down with his dwindling tears.

Soonyoung grins, slapping his friend on the back. “-- Y/n hasn’t given up on you, no matter what she says. If anything, she wants to be with you as much as you do. You just have to–” 

A sudden knock startles both men into confused silence. 

Wonwoo’s brows furrow as he and Soonyoung share a look. 

Soonyoung gives him a sideways glance and Wonwoo shrugs, wiping at his eyes as he slowly stands up. 

“Who is it?” he calls, voice now void of any evidence of tears. His deep tenor carries across his study and through his door. 

It is quiet for a second before a rushed voice replies – breathless and pitched. 

“Your grace, I am a messenger from the palace! His majesty has sent an urgent message with me. I am to return with your consent by daybreak!” 

“From the king?” Wonwoo muses, pushing out from behind his desk. 

Soonyoung whistles, brows rising, “Urgent, huh?” 

Whatever this is, it isn’t something he wants to deal with tonight, is all he knows. Not any night, really, but especially not after the emotional blockade he just experienced. 

“God,” Wonwoo mumbles, sinking into one of the couches, “Just fucking tell him to leave it at the door. I’ll look at it tomorrow,” he mumbles in the general vicinity of Soonyoung. 

“I-”

Knock, knock. 

“Your grace,” the messenger again, pressing from the other side of the door. The urgency in his voice is unmistakable. “His Majesty has stressed that this requires your immediate attention.” 

Soonyoung shoots Wonwoo a pointed look, which Wonwoo shrugs off. 

“Are you gonna get that?” Soonyoung huffs, fingers drumming on the wooden surface of Wonwoo’s desk. 

Wonwoo lets out a loud groan, head dropping on the back of his couch. “No.” 

Knock, knock, knock, knock. 

Now it sounds much more urgent – like Seungcheol will have the messenger’s head if he didn’t have an answer by daybreak. 

“Your grace, I beg your pardon, but this is really of the utmost importance!” 

“I think this is really important, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung echoes, brows rising at the desperate knocks on the door. 

Wonwoo huffs. He stands, reaching for his discarded robe that sits next to him. As he shrugs on his robe, Soonyoung trails behind him and situates himself against Wonwoo’s desk.

“You can enter,” Soonyoung calls out lazily, earning a well-timed glare from Wonwoo, who is half-way through pushing his arm through the sleeve of his robe. 

“Who’s the duke here again?” Wonwoo mutters as the door creaks open, presenting a messenger. 

Soonyoung shoots him a cheeky grin, arms crossing as he leans back against the edge of the desk. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” 

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Do it with your knights, not with my guests, dumb–”

“--I apologize for my late interruption, your grace!” The messenger greets, bowing deep at his hips, hand resting on his chest. His pale face is ruddy, with splotches of red and pink stark against his skin, from the cold outside. 

Wonwoo blinks. Had the Capital messengers always been this enthusiastic with their greetings? 

“His Majesty insisted this matter could not wait,” is said quieter, with much less enthusiasm.

“Yes, well…” Wonwoo trails off, noticing the envelope the messenger grips in his hand. He clears his throat. “What is it that His Majesty deemed appropriate to send at this hour?” Really, if it was Seungcheol, it would probably be an invitation to a ball of some sorts. But the way Soonyoung stares at the envelope, the way the messenger quivers under his stare, hints at something more. And it makes his stomach churn. It makes his eyes dart from Soonyoung to the envelope to the messenger in a fast triangle, brows furrowing as the messenger stumbles over his words. 

“Your grace, I apologize for disturbing you but I was ordered to deliver this message directly,” the messenger repeats, hands trembling. 

Wonwoo sighs, his patience already thinning. “Deliver the message, then leave,” he says, voice flat and uninterested. Really, he could think of thirteen other things he could be doing right about now. 

From behind him, Soonyoung stifles a laugh. 

However, the messenger hesitates, clearly unnerved by Wonwoo’s piercing words. “I- I apologize, but His Majesty has requested a response by tonight.”

“Tonight?” Wonwoo’s brow furrows and he hears Soonyoung push off of the desk, footsteps light against the wood as he pads over to him. “His Majesty is well aware that my estate takes at least three hours from the palace. Surely whatever this is can wait until sun-up.” He gestures towards the crinkled envelope in the messenger’s hand. “Let me see it and you may return to the palace. I will send a message to His Majesty if I see fit.” 

The messenger hands over the letter, hands shaking. Wonwoo can feel Soonyoung’s peeping eyes stare at the envelope in his hands as he breaks the wax seal with a sharp flick. 

“What is this about anyways?” Soonyoung suddenly asks, admittedly too bored of waiting for Wonwoo to unfold the parchment out of the envelope in silence. 

“I-”

“-Quiet,” Wonwoo cuts off both the messenger and Soonyoung with his snapped word. As his eyes scan the unfolded parchment, inked with delicate cursive, his jaw tightens with every line. 

This is ridiculous. 

Wonwoo can physically feel the world around him crumble. He can feel the blood draining from his face and his teeth grinding together. 

He can’t do this. 

He can’t fucking do this. 

Not again. Not after everything. 

“What? What is it?” Soonyoung asks, stepping closer to try to read the letter. 

Wonwoo allows Soonyoung to read perhaps one word before the parchment is fisted into a ball in his hand. The thick paper folds surprisingly well under his grip. He tosses the ball onto his desk, followed by the envelope. 

“He’s summoning me north,” he says. The words feel like a punch to his gut as he utters them outloud. It’s one thing to read them and another to confirm them from your own mouth. There is not even room to argue. It’s the king, for fuck’s sake. He can’t argue. What Seungcheol says, goes. And he must know. Of course he knows – about you, about him, about them. So why? Why, why, why, why, fucking why? 

“Again?” Soonyoung frowns. Even he looks disappointed. 

Wonwoo wants to laugh. He wants to rip apart the note and throw it into his dwindling fireplace. He wants to strangle the messenger until this ghastly note disappears itself. He wants to laugh and cry and scream and throw up all at the same time because why. Why was it that every time he tries to right things, tries to make an effort, tries to keep things in the status quo, something comes up to ruin it? To shred it into the tiniest, microscopic pieces and dump it onto the floor for him to clean up? 

“Wonwoo?” 

“Yes,” Wonwoo replies, word clipped. “There’s a threat. He’s most generously decided that I’m the one to handle it.” 

Soonyoung leans against one of the high-backed couches, arms crossed. “He has other commanders. I can go by myself. Why you?” 

“Because it always has to be me,” Wonwoo mutters bitterly, a frustrated hand running through his hair. He turns to the messenger and he can’t help how tense he sounds. Not when he feels like there is a rope that is slowly choking him. “Tell His Majesty I will respond in the morning. You can leave with my answer then.” 

In any other situation, the speed in which the messenger’s eyes widen would be comical. Wonwoo’s too immersed in his own mind to notice. “But your grace–!”

“--I don’t care,” Wonwoo interrupts. His voice rises unconsciously. “I’ve had enough for one fucking evening. Stay in the guest quarters if you must, but you will leave with my response tomorrow at first light.” Then, almost as an habitual ironic afterthought, “Dismissed.” 

The messenger, though Wonwoo can see the hesitation in his eyes, nods at his command. He bows hastily, back-stepping out of the room. “As you wish, your grace.” 

The door clicks shut behind him. 

Wonwoo leans against his desk heavily, fingers fisted atop the dark polished wood. The room is silent, save for the dying fire and Wonwoo’s sharp exhales that sound more like sobs than sighs. 

Soonyoung sucks in a breath. “Seungcheol really knows how to pick his moments and stun a man.” 

Wonwoo laughs. It’s bitter – so much so that it almost startles him. “That–” he chuckles, gesturing vaguely at the door as his frustrations spills over into his words, “is the exact fucking problem he has. He doesn’t pick and choose, he creates them whenever it’s fucking convenient for him,” he hisses, eyes closing. He can’t do this tonight. If he thinks about this for one more second, he feels as though he’ll snap. 

Soonyoung sighs. “You’re mad.” 

Wonwoo’s eyes snap open, head tilting almost psychopathically as his brows furrow. “Of course, I’m mad!” he snaps. His hand comes down against his desk in a loud echoing slap! and he pushes himself off his desk, starting a pace back and forth. “Every time– every single fucking time – I try to focus on my life, my choices, my–” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening at the name that dies in his throat, “He pulls me back in like I’m some sort of pawn. If it’s not the north, it’s the title. If not the title, then the crown. If not the crown, then some other fucking thing in the nation that I frankly don’t give a clown’s ass about! It’s always something.” 

Soonyoung runs a hand through his hair like he’s debating on whether to indulge Wonwoo in his rant. He indulges: “You have to understand, though, Seungcheol’s a king. His priorities are to the kingdom. He can’t help that.” 

Wonwoo comes to a skidding stop, turning on his friend with a piercing glare that makes Soonyoung regret what he says almost immediately. “And me? What about what’s best for me? For her? If Seungcheol’s all happy-go-lucky brother-figure in her life, why doesn’t he think about her?” His voice drops to a bitter mutter as he continues, unaware of how disheveled he looks with red eyes and fly-away hair. “He doesn’t care. He never has.” 

“You know that’s not true.” 

Wonwoo scoffs. It’s loud and echoes through the room. He wants to cry. He wants to sit on the floor and hug his knees to himself and just cry. Not go to war. Not fight in battles that were frankly not his to begin with. “Isn’t it?” he breathes, opening his arms wide. “He sends me off to fight in his battles while he plays Society host. He tears me away from everything I’ve ever wanted, cared about, and I just take it. Like some rich owner’s lap dog, expected to just smile and bow and salute and say Yes, your majesty, like I’m worth only what my fucking sword has to offer!” Wonwoo’s voice is tense with emotion as he all but yells the last few words out. He can feel the hot tears down his cheeks again and he hates it. He hates it and hates it with all his heart. His shoulders heave and shake as he catches his breath. He finds himself face-to-face with the stones of his fireplace mantel. His fingers grip the edges like he is steadying himself. “I’m so fucking sick of this,” he whispers, words barely audible. But it echoes. It echoes the loudest. 

Soonyoung crosses the room, a warm hand on his shoulders, grounding him. “Wonwoo,” he starts, and Wonwoo just knows he’s going to say something smart and understanding and reasonable, “If you’re this angry, tell him. Don’t just sit here and brood in your self-pity. You’re first and foremost his friend, not his servant. Seungcheol’ll listen if you-” 

“-- Would he?” Wonwoo interrupts, facing Soonyoung. He takes in how Soonyoung’s eyes rake over his face, taking in the tears, the blushed cheeks, the bite of his lip. “ It feels like all I ever do is follow orders. A sword to wield, an archduke to parade, an asset to marry off. And then a friend, in some cases.” 

He knows, he’s being too harsh. He’s known Seungcheol for at least twenty years. It’s not like this is old news. He knows Seungcheol’s duty to the country will always override anything. Even his love for Mingyu, his own brother. And he knows it’s not done maliciously, especially not to people in his circle. But sometimes – sometimes – his words feel like a snow storm just ripped through your entire life and uprooted every single memory from the malleable ground. 

“You’re more than that.” 

“I know.” 

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.” 

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, instead turning back towards the dying flame. 

“It feels like time’s always fleeing, Soon,” Wonwoo whispers, forehead meeting the cool stones of the mantel. The childhood nickname is nostalgic on his tongue. “I need more.”

“Then start chasing it. If you need more, start chasing for more.”

------------------------------

There is a profound feeling of desperation and sadness in a leaving dawn, Wonwoo decides. The dawn of today feels too cruel – a biting cold that settles too deep in his chest. It feels heavier than the steam of his breath in the cold morning air and heavier than the icy icicles and thick sheen of snow that clung to the cobblestones and the rooftop gargoyles. Around him, horses hoof at the stones beneath their feet. Perhaps they are as desperate as him to not leave the safety, the warmth, the longing of the Capital. Or maybe they’re just hungry. Either way, Wonwoo feels a pang of relation (though short-lived when his horse nudges against him), with the horses. 

Clangs of metal fill the royal courtyard as the royal knights, under the command of Soonyoung (really, if not for his uniform, no one would guess for him to be the Commander-in-Chief), and the Northern Knights, under the command of himself, busy themselves with the final preparations. Soonyoung loiters by his side, already mounted on his horse and (im)patiently waiting for his subordinates to finish tightening useless straps on their horses’ harness. But even Wonwoo could see how his usually cheerful nature is subdued. 

Time seems to slow as the sun rolls along its usual path along its sky route, painting even the shadows of the royal courtyard a magnificent display of golds, reds, and oranges. The knights grunt as they mount their horses and some clamber onto military carriages that hold supplies for the next who-knows-how-long stay in the North. 

Soonyoung yells something out from next to him. 

The horses jostle and neigh before the first line starts to trot across the courtyard and out the wrought-iron gates of the palace. 

But Wonwoo couldn't move. 

He sits rigidly on his horse, gaze locked in on the silent castle and its closed wooden doors, guarded by no one at this hour. It’s always the same, he thinks. Every time he thinks he can finally stay, every time he promises to stay, every time he thinks he can finally put her first, duty to the crown always tears him away. Far away. To the North, far away. And the ending is always the same. She’ll get a letter from either him or Soonyoung (whoever's letter reaches her first), and she will have to stay alone, frightfully along, battling something he was unable to help with again, as he fought to the inch of his death in some random Northern county to protect an inconsequential-yet-tremendous border. 

His fists clench tighter around the reins as her words, her face, her trembling bottom lip fills his mind. 

You just leave, Wonwoo. Again and again. 

And he had shaken his head no. He had promised her, with tears and determination in his eyes, that he would stay. 

No. No, you have to believe me, I won’t. 

Yet here he was, ironically. 

Yet here he was, breaking that promise like the others he had broken (unknowingly) before it. And it wasn’t even the leaving part. It was the inevitable cyclical nature of hope and heartbreak of your relationship. Every chance he had with you seemed somehow destined to crumble and shatter under the weight of some other letter or some ill-fated re-commission into the battle fields he had thought he had left behind the prior campaign. 

And he just couldn’t fucking escape. 

He wonders, briefly, if you were even at the palace. He wonders if the messenger is currently running through the palace hallways, trying to locate your room to deliver his letter. He wonders if it was enough – his explanation, of course. His futile attempt at explaining  his situation, his rise to duty (again) and how if it weren’t for the official commission, he would have never left. His futile attempt at convincing her that he would stay had ended the same too, though. He wonders if she had ever sat in her sitting room, against that windowsill by her fireplace, quietly hoping for his return from this godforsaken battlefield. 

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung calls softly. It breaks the suffocating quiet. “We have to go.” He says it more as an order. 

An unamused laugh escapes Wonwoo’s mouth. He can’t help it. This entire situation feels like a series of dreadfully unfortunate events on his part. 

“I can’t,” he whispers, voice barely audible to even his own ears. He is rigid on his horse and his hands seem frozen in place on the reins. The leather of his gloves creak under the strain as his fists tighten. He feels his horse shift from foot to foot, sensing his unease. 

Soonyoung turns his horse to face him. His brows are furrowed and there is a brief pang of guilt in the shallow part of Wonwoo’s heart at the concern written all over his friend’s face. 

“What do you mean ‘you can’t?’” Soonyoung asks, blinking. “You have to. You don’t have a choice.” 

Wonwoo’s jaw clenches and his eyes squeeze shut. His words feel like they are forced out of his throat, “Don’t tell me things I already know,” he mutters. He swallows. He can feel the uncomfortable ball of frustration that he seems to be increasingly familiar with at the back of his throat. Jesus. “I promised her, Soonyoung,” he spits out, and he can feel his emotions (in the form of reluctant tears) rise up to the surface, “I promised her I wouldn’t leave again.” He heaves out a sigh that sounds like it is ripped from his lungs. “I promised. She had my word.” 

Soonyoung’s reply didn't come immediately. Quite frankly, Wonwoo did not need it to come immediately. The weight of his friend’s silence was heavy enough. Enough for Wonwoo to know what Soonyoung would say. 

“I’m so fucking delusional to think-” Wonwoo cuts himself off as his throat tightens. If he continues, he knows that he’s going to cry – dissolve into a mess of tears again. Except this time, it would be exponentially more embarrassing to shed a few tears in front of five thousand of his men. But his eyes linger on the castle doors. As if his sheer force of will could make her appear on the palace steps, waiting for him in the cold as the snow flurried down around him and his knights. As if just simply staring at the wooden door in front of him could move her from her slumber and into his arms so that he could say one last goodbye before he breaks her heart again. Just like he always does. 

Please come out. 

His eyes widen just a fraction as the door creaks open. 

His face drops when it is only a messenger, a bag slung over his thick coat and still in the process of pulling his hat down over his mess of hair. 

The gates shut tight behind him. The castle is silent once again. 

There is a sound of horse hooves behind him and Wonwoo knows his men are getting increasingly restless. They don’t want to ride up north any more than he does. Some of them have wives, most of them have more tethering responsibilities like sisters, brothers, parents, and family businesses. 

He wants to laugh at himself. It took only one month and two weeks in the Capital for him to forget this feeling of helplessness when he left – when he left you behind. It was like he was twenty one again, leaving for the first time, not knowing he wouldn’t step foot back into the protected walls of Society for three years. Not knowing that he wouldn’t see your face again for another tormenting three years. He wishes you could come out. He wishes he could stay a little longer – just until the sun is fully in the sky and the church towers blare their bells. But dawn is a picky little thing, and the glowing orb in the sky has already raced past his time of leave. 

“Sir.” A knight. “Your grace, we need to leave now in order to make it on time to the northern camp. It’s already past dawn, sir,” he states. 

Wonwoo sighs, loosening the grip he had on his reins. “I know, Lim, I know.” 

“C’mon, Wonwoo. Let’s head out,” Soonyoung says softly, handing him a fur hat with a grin that doesn’t really reach his eyes. Wonwoo cracks a smile, though shaky, as he pulls it on. 

With a shaky breath, the winter wind whistling in his ears, Wonwoo tugs his reins, turning his horse towards the open gates. 

“Let’s go.” 

It’s not an order. Rather, it’s more of a statement – something that he convinces himself he should be doing: following orders. It is his duty. The longer he waits in the falling snow for someone who he knows will not magically appear, the longer the road to the north becomes. As his men start trotting out of the palace gates, his body jerks as his horse follows suit, leading him (unwillingly) further away from the palace. 

Soonyoung sighs from next to him. “You’re not leaving because you want to. Y/n knows the kind of man – the kind of person you are. She’ll understand.” His words, supposed to be comforting, only leave Wonwoo with a heavier heart. He wishes he could argue against Soonyoung’s words. Tell him that he’s not sure if she would understand after everything he forced her to endure by herself. He had failed her so many times – to stay, to protect, to shield her – that every time he tried to find a way to fix everything, the world found some threshold way to pull him away. 

As their horses move through the gates and the iron-wrought lock clicks in place, Soonyoung gives him a sideways glance that Wonwoo pretends he doesn’t see. 

“What are you thinking about?” comes Soonyoung’s question. 

“Nothing,” is Wonwoo’s one-word answer that he knows Soonyoung won’t believe. 

And he doesn’t. 

“Liar,” Soonyoung laughs as they pick up the pace, now galloping against the snow-covered road that leads to the edges of the capital and into the north. The sound of hooves against the well-paved Capital roads ring in their ears and their coats fly behind them as the snow falls faster in harder flurries. 

Wonwoo’s eyes sting. First from the wind rushing into them. And then from the ache in his chest that swelled until it felt unbearable. His breath hitches with every gallop and thud of his horse’s hooves against the road that slowly turns more worn and uneven. With every shaking breath he inhales and as the cold whipped at his eyes and cheeks and nose, his vision went blurry. Blurry and blurry and blurry until his breaths suddenly come out in hitched sobs and his cheeks are wet and warm with salty tears. He wills it to stop as he brushes a furious hand over his eyes. From the corner of his eye, he can see Soonyoung stare at him as they race across the outskirts of the Capital. 

“You okay?” Soonyoung’s voice cuts through everything – his thoughts, the wind, his tears. 

Wonwoo nods, blinking back the rest of his tears that threaten to fall. “Fine.” 

Soonyoung’s shrug is followed by a sigh, “Whatever you say, man. Just don’t fall off your horse.” 

“Fucking face forward.” 

Soonyoung’s laugh, head tilted back and teeth shining, brings a smile, though reluctant to his own lips. And for a second, he has hope that when he returns, they will be okay. 

------------------------------

The sound Wonwoo hates the most is the sound of ripping flesh. The sound of burning buildings. The sound of destruction that surrounds and encaptures the air around the event. It brings forward a devastation that people would think impossible until they lay eyes on it themselves. A sound that even he thought was impossible until his third day in the military campaign, three-ish years ago, fighting not far from this very battleground. A sound that would haunt him even in his sleep, paired with the blur-inducing image of a knight under his command, crumpled to the ground, a glinting spearhead shining from the small of his back and blood slowly pooling out of his mouth: instant death. 

The smell Wonwoo hates the most is the smell of blood-curdling iron. The bitter smell of warm blood that pools with mines of iron that hit the inside of his nose with a sharp knife. The smell of sharp blood that hits the inside of his nose and pokes and prods his malleable brain. That assaults his eyes that have seen things worse than a simple wound. But it’s a gushing wound. A gushing, tearing, irony wound that he sees in front of him. And he can feel the gag and bile rise to his mouth, which he swallows back down in a desperate attempt to seem calm. 

And imagine his own surprise when, suddenly, he hears the haunting sound of ripping flesh and smells the overwhelming odor of warm blood hit his senses, followed by a searing, blinding, sharp pain in his shoulder. 

The battlefield is chaos. Not only this one, but all and every one he has been to. In this one, the snow is almost blinding and the clash of steel and courageous men fill everyone’s ears. Wonwoo can barely feel the cold. This is the final battle. If he wins, there is no more war. At least, not supposed to be. If he wins, there is no more fighting the nation’s battles. If he wins– 

Suddenly, everything moves in slow motion: like he is watching himself from another screen or like he is reading a book about himself. 

The sharp whistle of something cutting through the air is his single warning. It gloats past his ear like a little child who stole your candy without you realising. The next warning is not as much of a warning as it is a promise. A promise of something akin to death? 

Wonwoo turns, but – ah – too late. The pain he expects – more painful than he thought, actually – erupts in a flowering and deep maroon bloom in his shoulder as the weapon (a spear, he finds) strikes. It’s his fault, he guesses, that he had chosen today to be the day he forgoes armor. He’s always worked better without armor. His weakness, he realizes, a little too late. 

The spear lodges itself in his shoulder with a sickening force. His breath hitches, eyes blurring over as the shock of the weapon’s blow steals his balance. He staggers as he feels his flesh rip and the iron assault his nose. One of his hands instinctively goes up and grips the shaft of the spear. 

God…

His legs give out and he finds himself kneeled over, sword embedded in the ground and a long ass spear sticking out of his shoulder. At least it wasn’t his right one. 

“Wonwoo!” 

Y/n? 

Ah, no. 

He can very clearly, at least, see Soonyoung running through the clamor and chaos of the remaining bits and pieces of a retreating force (when had they started winning?). Soonyoung sounds awfully panicked and concerned as the knight fully jumps off his horse and starts sprinting the rest of the way to Wonwoo. There is a momentary pang of fulfillment – because who wouldn’t want their best friend running to their side in a time of need – before the sharper pain of the goddamn spear claws its way into his nerve endings. 

“Wonwoo! You-” 

Wonwoo’s eyes widen as Soonyoung leans over him. In an almost habitual instinct, his right arm shoots out, the flat edge of his sword meeting another metal. At the sudden attack, Soonyoung whips around, sword already in hand, and makes quick work of the rest of the problem. 

The man is dead on the ground in ten seconds flat. 

Wonwoo chuckles, every breath bringing tears to his eyes. The pain is sharper now as cries and shouts of victory fill up the barren, frozen, bloody valley. He goes to rise but immediately sways on his feet. His vision swims dangerously and the edges of his world suddenly darken. 

“Wonwoo, fuck, what happened to you?” Soonyoung rushes out and Wonwoo isn’t too sure if it’s the effect of the blood loss, the cold, or the spear sticking out of his shoulder, but his ears ring and he can barely decipher what Soonyoung says. 

“You’re funny,” Wonwoo laughs out, stumbling into Soonyoung’s steadying hands that make quick work of inspecting his body. 

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Soonyoung mutters (Wonwoo thinks it’s mostly to himself), as he sharply whistles for his horse. “Why is the fact that you look whiter than snow and have a fucking spear sticking out of your shoulder funny?” 

Wonwoo accepts Soonyoung’s slinging of his good arm over his shoulder, dragging him over to his horse that had come to a light trot in front of them. 

Wonwoo clenches down on his teeth so hard he thinks they’ll break when Soonyoung helps him onto the horse. For a second, he thinks he’s going to black out. If someone had ever told him getting hurt would hurt this bad, he would’ve never become a knight. God. 

“Is the spearhead through the back?” Wonwoo asks instead, and at his own words, he’s instantly much more aware of the long stick poking out the front of his shoulder. 

Soonyoung hitches himself up behind him. “Yeah. Don’t talk.”

“Ha!” Wonwoo laughs (or tries to). But it’s empty. He can feel the bile rise in his throat again. He doesn’t have the strength to swallow it down this time. The horse whinnies and neighs as he throws up onto the right, his shoulder throbbing at another beat to his slowly slowing heart. He can’t help the tears that flow down his cheeks and the remnants of his undigested breakfast make its way up from his stomach and into the open. He can’t help the choked gasps and groans of pain either. Neither can he do anything when he feels Soonyoung’s warm hand on his back, right under the wound, and a foreign pressure against the wound itself – like someone had grabbed the spearhead. 

A grunt of exertion and the same tearing of flesh. 

A clatter of metal and wood. 

A shout of pain (from his part not anything else). 

A gush of blood that coats the back of the horse and dribbles to the ground. 

And then a blinding pressure against the wound. 

“Stay awake!” Soonyoung yells right in his ear. Wonwoo feels a sharp slap against his cheek but his eyes are fluttering shut. Soonyoung should’ve never pulled out that goddamn spear. 

“You-” Another shout of paint interrupts Wonwoo’s own words as the horse starts accelerating into a gallop and Soonyoung applies more pressure against the wound. “Fuck, take it easy.” 

Wonwoo’s head lolls against Soonyoung's shoulder. And he realizes that this is the first time he’s ridden side-saddle. It’s exceptionally uncomfortable, and not just because he’s gushing blood. 

“Shut the fuck up. You’re losing blood.” Soonyoung’s words sound so much like an order it actually makes him shut up. 

He barely registers Soonyoung’s yell to return back to main camps and someone to ride ahead of them to notify the medics of the wounded. He also barely registers someone coming up behind him and tightly wrapping his shoulder until he feels the blood slow to an occasional dribble. Perhaps the cold helps clot his blood. He doesn’t really know. 

He and Soonyoung have already been riding for at least five minutes before he actually realizes that the horse has started moving again. And when he does, each bump and gallop on a different leg jolts pain up his body and into his shoulder. He can’t imagine what he looks like now – bloody, teary, gasping oxygen into his lungs as he leans against his best friend who holds him close to his chest. It’s a weird feeling. 

“Tell her…” Wonwoo gasps, the words leaving him before he can think them through, “I didn’t mean…” another gasp, “to leave.” His voice breaks at the end when the horse suddenly jumps over a fallen tree. 

“You tell her yourself,” Soonyoung snaps. Wonwoo’s unsure if he’s angry at him, at the horse, or at his wound. Perhaps all three? 

As the ride lengthened, the packed snow slowing the horse down, Wonwoo’s breaths turn more shallow and uneven, and he knows Soonyoung can feel his warm, wet, sticky blood seeping through his gloves. 

“Hah,” Wonwoo swallows but his mouth feels disgustingly dry, “Y/n,” he mutters, “should’ve stayed… should’ve–” his voice fades out, replacing itself with a broken mumble of words even he cannot make out. 

“Stop fucking talking,” Soonyoung hisses and Wonwoo can clearly hear the tremble of worry in his friend’s voice. Soonyoung’s grip around him tightens. It’s rather comforting to know at least one person doesn’t want him to kneel over and die. 

But for some reason, his lips cannot make out anything else except her name – like a prayer. Or a plea of some sorts. Like some lifeline that tethers him to the current world. “Y/n… doesn’t know… I–” a pained groan interrupts him again and he feels the tether slowly loosen in his grasp.

The next time he regains consciousness, they’ve arrived at main camp, medics crowding Soonyoung’s horse as Soonyoung tries to help lower Wonwoo onto some sort of stretcher cot thing. He feels the burning sensation of the rubbing alcohol against his wound as the medics clean his wound. 

“...not taken out the spear, Sir!” 

“I-!” 

“-See?” Wonwoo laughs, face scrunching in pain and eyes screwing closed as the rubbing alcohol meets his shoulder again. “Told you it was a bad fucking idea. Now I’m gonna die and–”

“--Okay! When I told you to shut the fuck up, I meant for you to shut the fuck up entirely. Not only when you please, smartass!” Soonyoung snaps, and Wonwoo doesn’t even mind his friend’s raised voice. He deserves it, anyways. 

Wonwoo opens his mouth to retaliate, only for a scream of pain to be ripped from the confines of his throat when the medics pour something all over his wound and turn him to the side. Wonwoo’s breaths come out in desperate pants and he feels his heart start to race when his vision quickly closes around the world, blackening the edges of his sight too quickly for his liking. 

And before he can even say anything, he finds his eyes fluttering shut and his body going limp, followed by a prick in his arm that barely registers. Well, compared to the gaping hole in his shoulder anyway.

Soonyoung

War camps are usually grim. More when people lose, but it’s grim. The scent of iron and burning wood always lingers in the cold air and the sterile odors of rubbing alcohol and medical ointment always burns itself into the grooves of your brain by the end of the campaign. And you have to enter a war campaign, yes, with hope, but you also have to brace yourself for the worst. Like losing family. Or friends, for that matter. Except, when that time actually comes, or when you think that time will come, you’re never ready. Of course you aren’t. Because who’s ready to see their best friend fall to his knees with a giant fucking spear lodged in his shoulder. 

God, when Soonyoung first saw Wonwoo stumble and fall, he had thought the spear had hit Wonwoo’s chest. Or some more important organ in his body. He saw Wonwoo’s life flash before his eyes. 

It’s a dangerous combination: worry, concern, and panic. It muddles your brain and makes you do stupid things like pull the said spear out of your best friend’s shoulder to leave a huge gaping wound and then get berated over the entire action when you reach the medical tents at main camp because apparently you’re not supposed to do that? 

But still. 

The medical tent is, unusually, quite empty. Empty, considering all the casualties the order had this time around. God, right. The casualty reports. He had completely forgotten in the midst of this mess.

“Sir, will you be glaring over our shoulders the entire night?” Yewon asks. Her pretty brown eyes flutter up to Soonyoung as her hands still over Wonwoo’s open wound, half-stitched. The other medics nod in support of her question. 

“I was not glaring,” is his reply. His arms cross as he leans against a pillar. To the right of him is the stainless steel medical trolley containing the rubbing alcohol bottles, some weird-smelling dark ointment, surgical thread and needles, and Wonwoo’s dark red bandages that were only thirty minutes old.

Yewon laughs. If she wasn’t working in this campaign, Soonyoung would have thought of courting her, except she was working in this campaign and she was conveniently working directly under him. All the more reason to start glaring.  

“Sir, quite frankly, you’re making the newer nurses nervous.” 

“Not you?”

“No, definitely not.”

“Then, not my fault if they can’t work under pressure.” 

“Not pressure, Sir, but constant scrutiny?” 

“Same thing.” 

“Definitely not–”

A groan coming from Wonwoo’s mouth cut them both off. Yewon glances at Soonyoung like he had something to do with Wonwoo waking up earlier than planned from his herb-anesthesia-induced slumber. Soonyoung shrugs, instead moving closer to Wonwoo.

He looks bad. He doesn’t think he’s seen Wonwoo this bad since the one Knighting Duel when Wonwoo got dagger-stabbed in his thigh. But even that was just a nick to him. This wound has his hair matted with cold sweat and head lolled to the side. His lips move in unfamiliar words. 

“Y/n.” 

Soonyoung scoffs, “For God’s sake, Wonwoo.” 

He repeats her name, voice hoarse and weak. The sound is so quiet Soonyoung almost doesn’t register it, but by Wonwoo’s third repetition, Soonyoung knows everyone has heard. 

Yewon clears her throat, diverting her gaze, “He’s delirious. It’s common with wounds like this. He’ll be in and out for a while.” 

As if his utter infatuation with y/n is a common herb-induced delusion. Ha.

Soonyoung decides not to comment on Yewon’s words, instead brows furrowing. He nods, dragging a chair over to Wonwoo’s cot to actually hear the broken words slipping from his delirious friend who is hopelessly in love. It’s a surprisingly good combination, deliriousness and being in love. 

“She hates me,” Wonwoo slurs, face twisting with pain. Soonyoung tongues the inside of his cheek as Wonwoo’s fingers twitch weakly against the blanket. “I promised,” Wonwoo gasps, “swear I didn’t mean to leave her.” 

Soonyoung can feel his chest tightening. It hurts him more, Soonyoung thinks, that Wonwoo’s relationship with Y/n had always been a relationship that was meant to be but just started at the wrong time. Soonyoung knew. Of course he did. He had grown up in the Capital with the royal family and the high classes of Society. He had attended the National Academy with Wonwoo, Joshua, Mingyu, and Y/n. He had been one of the only people who had seen firsthand how Y/n and Wonwoo’s relationship had blossomed, only to fracture, shatter, stumble under the weight of everlasting duty and simple circumstance. And now, hearing Wonwoo talk only about the woman he had always loved was almost too much to bear. For the first time in his life, Soonyoung felt something akin to pity for his best friend. 

“She hates me.” 

Soonyoung scoffs, leaning back against his chair. “You’re an idiot, Wonwoo,” he mutters, though it’s more to himself than anything. 

Wonwoo’s head turns slightly to the side as if he’s looking for something. 

Ah. 

Someone. 

Wonwoo’s brows furrow and his voice cracks at the pain of the slight movement. “Will she take me back?” he whispers, eyes fluttering open just briefly. They’re glassy and unfocused, staring into the depths of the flapping canvas of the tent. “Soonie,” he mumbles, and Soonyoung sits up at the nickname, “do you think…” a gasp of breath, “she’ll forgive me?” 

Soonyoung doesn’t answer immediately. He can’t. His throat tightens. For a moment, there is nothing he knows to say. He had seen Y/n’s heartbreak, her anger directed at both herself and Wonwoo, and her attempts to move on. He had been the one who had sent her letters of the three year war campaign and Wonwoo’s condition – though she never asked for it – every week. But he had also seen Wonwoo’s side. He had seen his midnight insomniac strolls, no matter how cold the weather was. He had seen Wonwoo’s body-wracking sobs as he woke up from a nightmare of losing his parents all over again. He had seen Wonwoo’s decision to never move on from his childhood love and how he had tried everything to return to the Capital. Soonyoung was the recipient of Wonwoo’s late night musings of perhaps living with Y/n in his Capital estate in the future and helping her tend to the garden and buying her whatever she wants. 

“She’s mad,” Wonwoo rasps (as if he knew what Y/n is feeling at the very moment), and Soonyoung bites his lip at the tears pooling in his friend’s eyes. “She should be.” Wonwoo’s voice breaks and he turns his head away, body trembling under the layers of blanket. Soonyoung isn’t too sure if it’s from the pain or from the cold. “I just keep leaving,” Wonwoo mumbles, eyes squeezing tight, “I always leave.” 

Soonyoung sighs, leaning forward to grasp his friend’s hand that twitches on top of his stomach. “Wonwoo,” he says softly, squeezing Wonwoo’s hand, “Stop tearing yourself apart. Your first thought when you’re near-death should be more about staying alive for her rather than if she’s mad at you for leaving. Focus on surviving. I swear she’ll be furious if you croak.” 

But true to Wonwoo fashion, he doesn’t seem to hear Soonyoung’s words. “I’ll write her. Tell her,” Wonwoo lets out a low groan of pain. Maybe the herbs were wearing off? “I’m sorry. So so so sorry,” he murmurs, the words slurring together. Soonyoung can only watch as a single tear traces down a track from the corner of Wonwoo’s eyes, down to his cheek, before rolling into the pillow. 

Soonyoung clenches his jaw. It’s not every day you see your best friend cry. Except, he will say, he had seen Wonwoo cry more in the span of the past two months than in the three years he was with Wonwoo during the war campaign. Soonyoung grips the edge of the cot. “You’re not dying, okay?” He says. He hopes it’s firm enough to snap Wonwoo out of whatever self-deprecating shithole he’s floundered himself into. “You’re not dying. You’ve got too many fucking problems to fix. If you want to apologize, Y/n’ll hear your apology from your own goddamn lips.” 

Soonyoung almost laughs when Wonwoo doesn’t respond, his body, Soonyoung guesses, finally succumbing to the pull of sheer exhaustion and pain. Soonyoung watches as Wonwoo’s chest slows to a steady rise and fall, though it remains obviously shallow, and his face relaxes into an uneasy sort of calm. 

Slowly, Soonyoung rises from his seat, pulling one of Wonwoo’s blankets further up his naked chest until it sits right below his wound. If Wonwoo returns to the Capital injured and sick, he would never hear the end of it from Y/n. 

“Sir?” 

Soonyoung turns, coming face-to-face with Yewon, who looks more exhausted than she did a while ago. That’s what war does, he guesses. 

“Keep him alive,” Soonyoung orders, voice harsher than he intends. But Yewon, nor the other medics, flinch. “I don’t give a flying fuck what it takes. Keep that man alive.” 

He doesn’t stay to hear any of the medics’ responses, instead stepping outside the sterile-smelling tent. When the cold air blasts his face, he exhales. It’s heavy and thick in his chest. 

His fingers drum on his thigh as the sudden memories of Y/n crying during one of his visits to the Capital flood his mind. He laughs to himself at the memory. The week before, he had written to Y/n (well, to Seungcheol, but it had happened that Y/n had also read it), that Wonwoo had sustained a large gash while fighting further up north near the border, and that he had to get stitches for his wound. He was basically asking if Wonwoo could return to the Capital for a proper medical check. Technically, if Soonyoung was honest, the gash wasn’t bad. Wonwoo had barely lost significant blood and he was fine. More than fine, actually, since that day, he had been out fighting with the rest of the knights, but Wonwoo seemed so miserable without the Capital (read: Y/n), that Soonyoung either needed to send him back to the city or make him shut up. 

He distinctly remembers Y/n running up to him with tears in his eyes, asking if Wonwoo was okay, if he was alive. He also distinctly remembers her forcing out a sigh of relief with the words “I don’t know what I would’ve done if things went wrong,” leaving her mouth. 

Soonyoung had never experienced love like that, but if whatever between Y/n and Wonwoo wasn’t the purest sort of love, he wasn’t sure what to base “love” off of. He had firsthand seen how her eyes softened when she spoke of Wonwoo. Even after everything. 

So, Soonyoung didn’t have the heart to tell Y/n about this yet. Not until he was sure Wonwoo would make it conscious and upright to the Capital. But one thing was distinctly clear: if Wonwoo had been fighting for anyone, it wasn’t for the nation or his Archduke title. 

It was for her. Her and her only. 

y/n

“My lady! My lady!” 

You turn from your seat at the windowsill, watching the snow fall in flurries to cover your garden. Nai comes running into your room, and when you see the waving letter in her hands, your heart thumps to a halting stop in your chest. Your blink rapidly. 

“Nai?”

You stand, dusting off your dress in faux calm. You feel your heart start hammering in your chest when Nai hands you the letter and you read the address. 

Kwon Soonyoung

Commander of the Royal Knights

“It’s a letter, my lady, from the battlefields. It just arrived,” Nai huffs, out of breath, certainly, from running up the estate stairs. 

You bite your lip and you can feel the familiar tightness start in your throat again. “What-” your voice cracks, “what is it about?” 

Nai shakes her head, pushing the letter further into your hands. “No idea, your grace. Perhaps it is encouraging news?” 

You hesitate to open the letter. There are the remnants of tears left in your eyes from the morning. This is the first correspondence of any sorts your had received since Wonwoo had up and fucking left for the northern war. And you had thought that he would write to you at least. That he would have written because you had finally gotten around to thinking that you could start with him again – that you were finally okay with his situation (not really, but still). That he would at least have the decency to let you know of the circumstances of this prolonged battle. That he would view you with enough dignity to even simply send someone over to express his feelings. Something that would clarify things for you. But of course. This was Wonwoo. He always got up and left without any prior notice. 

Your finger slides under the envelope flap, tearing it open. 

You suck in a breath at the first few sentences. 

“Wonwoo…” you whisper. 

It’s like your world is spinning. It’s like all the blood slowly drains out of your face and goes to power your heart that thuds dangerously fast in the confines of your chest. You feel your fingers curl in, wrinkling the crip parchment, dotted with ink stains. You feel the tightness in your chest and the thick ball in your throat. You don’t know what to say. What to think. The words written in Soonyoung’s familiar messy scrawl blink back up at you, unwavering and unrelenting. 

Y/n,

I hope you are doing well. My plan was not to notify you regarding this, but Wonwoo insisted. You know how he is…

He took a spear through the shoulder in the final battle. He’ll recover (medics approve!), but he’s been muttering delirious sentences at me and anyone who thinks to change his bandages. Every other word out of his mouth is your name. “Is she angry, Soonyoung? Will she forgive me, Soonyoung? What if I died, Soonyoung?” Seriously, someone needs to shut him up (I’ve tried). 

Anyways, I thought it would be best for you to hear about his current state from me rather than from the Society rumor mills. Don’t worry, y/n. But I will be frank with you. He’s lost a lot of blood and he’s exhausted from everything. We’re trying to either get a Capital medic up north or go back down to the Capital ourselves, but the roads are icy and I barely had enough of a melting window to send this letter.

You should know this though: he didn’t want to leave. He made me promise to tell you that. Whatever you think of him, whatever he’s done to make you believe he doesn’t care, you’re wrong. I’ve never seen a man so willing to leave the battlefield—not for his title, not for his honor—but for the chance to go back to you.

He’s stubborn as hell, and sometimes he makes decisions that would test the patience of a saint (you <3), but he’s fighting for more than simple duty. He’s fighting to survive so he can stand in front of you again and beg for the chance he thinks he doesn’t deserve.

So if you’re still angry, yell at him. If you’re still hurt, let him know. But please, don’t let him wonder if you hate him. It’s killing him more than the damn spear did.

Love, Soonyoung

You gasp in a breath, the letter falling to the ground. You barely register Nai picking it up and leading you over to your bed, sitting you down. You barely register her handing you a cup of water and forcing you to drink it. You can’t register anything. Not when–

“How deadly is a spear to the shoulder, Nai?” you ask. Your voice is high pitched and hysterical and it sounds muted and faraway to your ears. 

Fuck, he can’t die. 

Nai blinks. “A spear to the shoulder? Well, it depends on how big the wound is, my lady. The bigger the wound, the greater the chance of blood loss.” 

You swallow, breaths coming out in shallow exhales. Soonyoung told you Wonwoo was fine. He was fine. He was fine. He was fine. 

But why is there a gnawing sensation in your gut? Then why is there a sinking feeling in your gut that’s telling you he’s not? That Soonyoung was simply lying for your sake? What if Wonwoo was actually near-death? What if he was– 

“_-if that person doesn’t receive proper medical procedures?” 

Nai furrows her brows. “My lady, the war campaign’s medics are–”

“--That’s not my question, Nai!” You snap, head turning to your maid. Your eyes brim with tears as you trace over the words in your brain. 

He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s lost a lot of–

“--Well, they would need a blood transfusion. Only Capital doctors are certified for that procedure, my lady.” 

You’re quiet. Pros and cons. 

Don’t let him wonder if you hate him. It’s killing him more than that damn spear is.

There are only two pros on your list. 

Wonwoo lives.

He doesn’t think that you hate him. 

But those are two pros enough to convince yourself. The next few words out of your mouth are rushed and panicked. 

“I’m going. North, I’m leaving North,” you gasp, shooting out of your seat. You stumble over to your closet, throwing the door open and walking in, desperately digging through your countless dresses for something fur-lined. Something warm. 

Nai runs behind you. “My lady? North? Whatever for? It’s cold! You’ll fall sick!” She fusses with the corset back of your lounge dress, undoing it to help you into a new one even through her words. 

You shake your head, snatching the thickest cloak you see and slipping into your riding boots. “Send the estate’s medics up to the northern camp,” you order, clipping the cloak shut by your chest. You pull the thick hood over your head, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. You shove the crumpled letter into the cloak pocket. “I don’t give a shit if it’s icy. They will be there by noon tomorrow. Pack with them enough food and any medical equipment they need.” 

You walk out of the closet after snagging a pair of hunting daggers decorating your dresser surface. 

“My lady!” Nai yells, running after you. She grabs your wrist, halting you. “My lady, you cannot go up north by yourself!” 

You shake her off. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until you feel Nai’s hands steadying yours. “Then send an estate knight with me. I don’t care. I’m going up north right now.” 

Nai huffs, her grip on your hand loosening enough for you to pull it out. You turn on your heels and walk down the hall. Nai follows. 

“My lady, Archduke Jeon will be okay,” Nai hums, a comforting hand placing itself on your shoulder. You shrug her off. “Heading to the north may only make things worse, my lady. The archduke–”

“--He thinks I hate him, Nai!” you cry, whipping around. You feel tears poke at your waterline and your shaking hands hit your chest in frustration. “He thinks I hate him! Soonyoung just told me that they need Capital doctors. If you think I have enough self-pity to stay in the Capital while frankly, the one person I have ever loved may just as well die thinking that I hate him, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” 

When you feel the tears stream down your face, Nai pulls you into a tight embrace. It’s comforting. But only for a moment, before Soonyoung’s words replay in your head. 

“Nai, I have to,” you whisper, voice thick with tears. You don’t know what you would do if Wonwoo leaves thinking you hate him. You’ve never hated him. Ever. Not when he left you alone to go play with Mingyu and Seungcheol when you were younger, not when he didn’t kiss the back of your hand during your debutante, and definitely not when he left you to go fight the nation’s war. You’ve never hated him. Resented him? Yes, perhaps. Frustrated at him for always leaving? Yes. Betrayed that he could never tell you why? Yes, definitely. But hated him? Never. And you were going to first burn your estate than let him think that you’ve ever hated him. 

“Then take a knight, at least.” 

“I don’t care who you send behind me for protection. I’m leaving.” 

Nai presses a pouch into your hands with a knowing look. “I know, my lady. These are silver coins for emergencies. Please be careful. The journey to the north is at least four hours.” 

“That’s why I need to go now.” 

Nai purses her lips but nods, stepping away from you. You give her a tight, wavering smile. 

“I’ll be okay, Nai.” 

Nai nods, bowing deeply, before letting you turn away and run down the rest of the hall and out into the courtyard. 

Your fingers clench the clasp of your cloak and your eyes squeeze shut for a split second, trying to blink back the tears. 

He’ll be okay. 

He’ll be okay. 

He’s okay. 

When you arrive at the entrance courtyard, your mare greets you, pawing the ground with her hooves. You waste no time with formalities towards the two guards flanking your sides, instead choosing to haul yourself up the horse and tug the reins, swallowing the lump down your throat as a strong wind whistles through the treetops. 

“My lady, are you sure–” Jedediah Kim speaks up, only to cut himself off when you avert your teary gaze to him. 

“--I need to,” is your simple response, voice shaking with not only tears but also with some emotion that is harder to place. Jedidiah holds his tongue, opting to just nod and share a look with Jay Lim who flanks your other side. 

“Your wish is my command,” he murmurs. The words are simple. They are words you’ve heard thousands of times before in your life, yet now, facing the brutal, windy, icy journey that you knew lay ahead, it seemed more as a pledge of loyalty, of unfailing servanthood than anything.

“Let’s go,” you whisper, but it carries. It whistles through the slanting morning sunlight and the brittle bones of the trees littering your courtyard. It swims through the canvases of the road laying before you and you mumble out a small prayer to any deity who will listen. Anyone who could let you know how he really was. 

The moment you pass into the arched entrance of the Northern Forest – a place you vaguely remember passing through when you were seven, riding a carriage up to your grandfather’s Northern estate – you’re hit with the extent of how bad your idea is. Not the motive behind it, of course. And nothing can stop you from getting to Wonwoo by evening, but you hadn’t expected a snowstorm to greet you on the doorsteps of the northern camp. The snowflakes border dangerously on small balls of hail and the winds tear through the rather flimsy excuse for a cloak you have on. 

“Your grace!” Jedediah’s voice breaks through the whipping whistling winds. Just barely.

You give yourself a second to glance back at him, whose horse can barely keep up the same pace as yours, before you return to look straight ahead. 

“Your grace, we are literally riding into a snowstorm!” Jedediah yells. His voice is muffled by the winds and the snow. 

As if you don’t know. 

“I am well aware!” You yell back, pulling your cloak tighter around your body as you lower yourself closer to the back of your horse. Maybe it’s a placebo effect, but you swear it’s less windy this way. Or maybe the four-hour ride was finally catching up to you in the form of hysteria or something. 

You swear you can’t feel your legs. If you hadn’t been glancing down every ten minutes at your feet, you could swear that your legs fell off three kilometers back. Your fingers feel frozen on the thick reins, unmoving except for the occasional squeeze or pull to veer your mare back in the right direction. And you definitely can’t feel your face, especially not with the wind heading straight-on to you, threatening to pull your hood up and over your head. But everything pales in comparison to your windward thoughts, spider webbing this way and that, never settling on an idea for more than one minute, lest it turns into a reality. 

You think you’ve gone through at least thirty one scenarios of finding Wonwoo half-dead on in the medical tent. And don’t get started on the other fifty four possible scenes of your entrance into the camp and then finding Wonwoo half dead in the medical tent. 

And it feels like you go through hundreds of these scenarios – quite schizophrenic – before you see the clearing used for the northern camp. It’s almost idyllic how the snow suddenly lulls into a softer blanket of white, unlike the harsh gusts of ice and frigid wind just minutes before, as you approach the clearing, hooves heavy against the frozen forest ground. The knights’ forms are mere shadows against the snowy white background of the otherwise-beautiful landscape behind the main camp. As your mare slows to a fast trot, the cacophony of the snowstorm that had assaulted your ears slowly changes into a mix and a mingle of bustling knights and occasional laughter. Along the camp’s perimeter is a line of crude barricades, most likely to keep away the snow piling too much, and the grounds are surprisingly empty and crowded at the same time, with knights rolling up spare tents and packing up unused or too well-used armory into wagons. At least half of them are visibly injured, with either crutches, arm slings, or bandaged heads (something you only heard of back in the Capital), and almost every one of them turn to look at you as you pull your mare to a sudden stop, simply and cleanly ignoring Jedediah’s hurried calls after you as you step down from the saddle, swallowing down the dryness of your throat. 

It’s a weird feeling because you were sure you could face all of this when you left your estate five hours ago. Now, you are standing in the entrance of the Northern camp, underdressed for the snowstorm that had been billowing outside ten mere minutes ago, hair wild from the wind, eyes colored red from the tears you had unknowingly shed, and body trembling – from the cold, the shock, the exhaustion, you aren’t too sure. 

You see their mouths moving before you hear the whispers as you stagger your way into the camp. The snow crunches under your feet and you offhandedly register Jedediah’s complaints of riding in the snow for five hours straight, and you minutely register the flakes of snow that decorate your hair. But nothing – nothing – pales in comparison to the thundering of your heart that has been transported generously to your brain, thrumming a melodramatic, syncopathic, urgent beat against the very fibers of your being. 

As you move into the camp, crossing the perimeter line, you glance around frantically. You can’t see him. At least, not from your current vantage point. You can feel the stares of everyone drilling holes into your head and if you were in any other mental state, you would have questioned why no one stopped you from entering yet. Each crunch of the snow underfoot is then drowned out by either the bustling of the camp or the chattering of your teeth that you don’t know is even happening until you clench your jaw and suddenly a noise stops. You feel high-strung. So high-strung to the point that you feel like if you don’t see Wonwoo in the next ten minutes, you might as well sit down and start crying. 

You’re so out of it that you don’t even notice the figure watching from the outskirts of camp until he starts jogging towards you, voice sharp with surprise and not-that-hidden accusation. 

“Y/n?” 

You whip your head – which grants you five seconds of almost complete blackness as your world spins, and you regret not taking your iron supplements like Nai had suggested – and come face-to-face with a brow-furrowed Soonyoung. His grip is firm against your shaking shoulders and he’s tense with some sort of anticipation and concern. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Soonyoung hisses, eyes frantic as they glance behind the two of you. His tongue darts out in between his pursed lips. “Do you have any idea how dangerous–” 

You have no mind to stand and listen to him tell you to ‘go home.’ 

“Where’s Wonwoo?” you interrupt, voice hoarse and trembling, Your words break off at the end and even you are surprised at how distraught you sound. You barely give Soonyoung a glance, eyes wild as you try to look over his shoulder to search the camp. 

Soonyoung visibly freezes, his grip loosening on your arm. “That’s why you’re here?” he scoffs, running a stressed hand through his hair. “Y/n, I didn’t send you that letter for you to come running up to a battlefield because you–” 

“--Soonyoung!” You snap, eyes locking with his. And maybe it’s the way you’re gasping for breath, or the godforsaken snowflakes in your hair, or your wild eyes, or maybe your rumpled clothing, but Soonyoung shuts up, glancing at you and then further behind you, where you can hear the rolling of a familiar carriage. “Soonyoung, where is Wonwoo?” At this point, you’re on the verge of begging your old friend. You’re desperate. You need to see him. You need to look him in the eyes and hold his face in your hands and tell him you’re sorry. Because God forbid if this shit happens again and all that you come to is a cold, lifeless body. 

“...he’s in the middle,” Soonyoung whispers, swallowing as you push past him, stumbling through and over the barricades and the strewn battle items. 

The knights glance your way, their movements slowing as you push past anything or anyone in your way, flatly ignoring the looks and calls of confusion, concern, and your name. 

You almost stumble to the ground when you finally see him – tall and resolute in the midst of everything. The snow falls in gentle flurries around him as he speaks with three other knights, gesturing vaguely towards the group of boxes on the other side of the camp. His back is towards you, his focus obviously on the knights speaking to him, but when all three of their eyes widen almost comically and they mumble something about a woman behind him, he turns. 

His eyes meet yours. You see his entire body freeze, his clipboard slipping out of his grasp and sinking into the snow-covered ground. 

And it’s as if something in you breaks entirely. A dam or a wall of some sorts. Something that had been the sole energizer behind your five hour ride into the northern territories, through a snowstorm, and now, here, in the middle of a military camp, completely powers off, leaving you standing along, cold, exhausted, and on the verge of tears, like you have been since the third hour on horseback. A sigh of relief is punched out of you. Relief that Wonwoo’s alive. That he is walking. That you can tell him without having to lean over his cold body and cry a river. 

Your legs give out, your knees hitting the cold snow. 

Wonwoo’s eyes snap open. “Y/n!” His voice rings out as he rushes to your side, knees also hitting the snow with a hard thud. His hands hover around your shoulders and waist, as if he’s unsure if he can touch you or bring you into an embrace, but the look on his face is unmistakable. His eyes are blown wide with alarm and you can see the deep dark circles under his eyes even through your slowly blurring vision. 

Wonwoo swallows, “What- what are you doing here? Are you hurt? Are- are you okay? What–” 

“--How could you?” you choke out, your voice shaking as your tears that had been gathering for hours finally decide to spill over, marking their tracks down your cheeks, chin, and onto the snow. 

Your words make Wonwoo tense up, his hands freezing from their hovering near your face. “Y/n…” For a second, he looks so pained you want to just bring him into your arms and tell him everything. Just let him encircle you in his familiar warmth and bask in the safety of his arms. 

“You left me,” you whisper, voice aghast with some sort of panicked grief, “Fucking again.” 

The guilt that flashes across his exhausted face is instant and dreadfully sharp. “I never– I didn’t want to leave –” 

“--Shut up!” You cry out, burying your face in your shaking palms, tears now drenching your icy face. “Just– Wonwoo, just shut up!” 

Wonwoo flinches as though your words had physically struck him, browning knitting together in ill-concealed anguish. “Y/n, listen, please, I didn’t have a choice–” 

“--You always say that!” You sob, your voice rising to a level of hysteria you personally thought was incapable. You don’t mean it to slip in, but there is a bitter undertone to your words. “Every time, Wonwoo, it’s the same fucking excuse. I didn’t have a choice. I had to leave. Do you really think that makes it hurt less?” You gasp, wiping your eyes, streaming with tears, to tearfully look up at Wonwoo, who stares at you with reddening eyes and a parted mouth. “Do you think that makes it okay?” 

Wonwoo shakes his head, his fingers curling around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face. “Y/n, I was trying to protect–”

“--Protect me?” you snap, bitterness imbued into every letter of your words. “Explain to me how leaving without a word is protecting me. How breaking every promise you ever made is protecting me,” you force out, angrily wiping away your tears. You barely even notice the stares from the knights around you. You shove a finger into Wonwoo’s chest. “Do you know what’s it’s like to wait for someone, not knowing if they’ll ever come back? If they even made it out of the first week alive? To love someone who keeps walking away?” 

Wonwoo suddenly grasps your hands, pulling them to his chest, laying them flat against his beating heart. “I didn’t want to leave,” he whispers, voice breaking. 

“But you did!” you yell, and you feel a fresh onslaught of tears in your eyes. “You did! You left and I-” you gasp in a breath, one hand clutching your chest and another gripping Wonwoo’s cloak, “I couldn’t breathe, Wonwoo. Every time I heard– heard your name, I thought–” you heaved, “thought you were dead!” Sobs wrack your shaking body as you clutch the furs of his cloak like it is the only thing grounding you to the present. “Do you even care? Do you understand what it feel like to lose someone over and over and over again?” 

“Y/n–” 

“--I can’t do this,” you cry, shaking your head as tears blur your already-clouded vision. “Wonwoo, I can't keep loving someone who always ends up leaving! Everyone I love leaves. My mom, my dad, my grandmother – they left. And just when I think I can finally at least have you by my side, you–” a bitter laugh escapes you, scratching blood down your throat, “you’re just like them. Always leaving, always running, always breaking your promises of staying.”

“I’m not–” Wonwoo’s voice trembles as he reaches for your hands again, only to have you pull away. 

“You are!! You left, Wonwoo. You left and you didn’t even think to say goodbye. How could you do that to me? How could you do that to me!” You’re left gasping for breath – mind reeling and throat constricting, and vision blurring out of control. Everything’s too much. You shouldn’t have come to the North. You should’ve–

“I can’t, Wonwoo,” It seems as though your mouth works separately from your mind, “I can’t keep waiting for you to come back, wondering if the next time I wake up to the news of your departure will be the last. I can’t go through that again. I can’t–” 

"Y/n, please, please just give me a chance--"

"--I can't, Wonwoo, i don't know how--"

"--Y/n, please, you-- you're everything to--"

It’s as if the walls to your own brain are closing in on you. All your thoughts are racing and your pulse quickens with every breath you take. It doesn’t take long before the confession is forced – squeezed – out of your entire being.

“--I love you,” you choke out, the broken confession falling from your lips like your salty tears fall from your chin. 

Wonwoo stares at you, stunned, like you just told him something extraordinary.

“I love you so much it feel like I’m breaking,” you say, your voice trembling as the sobs escape uncontrollably, staring dead-straight into Wonwoo’s eyes, “Like I’m tearing apart at the seams because of much you worry me and stress me out and make me cry and leave me waiting for years—” your hands reach up to him shakily, clinging to his cloak, “I hate it. I hate how much I love you because it hurts so much. It hurts, Wonwoo, it hurts.” You finish with another sob, head bowing as your forehead meets his chest. You feel his breath coming out in small stunned sighs against your hair. His hands hover as though his touch will make you rescind all your words.

His voice cracks as he whispers, “What did you say?” 

You look up, blinking as your lips tremble, tears trickling down your cheeks. “I love you.” You glance down before laughing mirthlessly, “I love you almost too much.” 

For a moment, Wonwoo is quiet. So is the camp and the rest of the world. Then, almost rushed, you feel a warm hand against your frigid cheek and a sudden swipe against your cheekbones. Next thing you know, Wonwoo’s lips are crashing into yours, molding shape against your plush lips. Your eyes are wide before another hand, though less confident, sneaks down to your waist, pulling you flush to him, chest to chest. His grip is tight against your clothes, against your frigid skin, as if a grip any looser will make you run away. He holds you like you’re fragile – like any stronger and you’ll break. Like letting go will shatter him. But his kiss is intense, strong, deep, as if he is pouring out his entire soul into a single kiss. When your eyes flutter closed, he breaks apart, and you see a single streak of a tear down his cheek. 

“Say it again,” he breathes, forehead meeting yours. 

Your mind is hazy from the kiss, and your fingers rise to brush against your lips. But your tongue moves with no wait for your brain. “I love you.” 

Wonwoo swallows and he lets out a small laugh, and with every passing millisecond that he holds you and brushes his thumb against your cheek, his smile grows with his laughter. “God,” Wonwoo mumbles, pulling you into his arms in a tight embrace, ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder. “God, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,”  Wonwoo rushes out, a hand threading through your hair. You can feel a couple of tears that drop onto your cloak but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s right in front of you, mumbling nonsensical I love yous into your hair. 

Wonwoo pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, tears filling his exhausted eyes. 

You chew the inside of your cheek, bringing your hands up to his face. There is a sharp pang of guilt as you watch tears slip down Wonwoo’s smooth face. “Don’t cry,” you whisper, gently brushing the tears off his face with shaking hands. You try to steady your fingers, at least, but it feels like your adrenaline has finally worn off and you can distinctly feel the icy cold seep into your bones. Every bite and sting of the wind is sharper than you remember it to be and the flurries of snow around you land on your skin with a frigid sort of burn. 

Wonwoo is quiet before stands quickly, pulling you up to your feet, which you do, save for the slight stumble. 

“What-”

“-You’re freezing, Y/n,” He states, holding you at arms-length to glance up and down your body. You see his eyes narrow as you tremble, eyes blinking rapidly to drive away the blurriness. 

He suddenly reaches for the clasp of his cloak with his good arm, reaching behind him to shrug off his cloak. His good arm fumbles as he drapes it over your shoulders, movements stiff but deliberate. When he tries to adjust how the cloak sat on your shoulders, you see his eyebrows furrow as if he’s in pain before it disappears behind his focused expression. 

“Won–”

Wonwoo turns away, pointing to the first knight he sees with an air of command, “Get the fire going in my tent,” he orders, tone regaining its commanding edge. “Now.” 

The knight, rather shocked at the sudden singling-out, glances around himself before he salutes, rushing off into the biggest tent. 

Wonwoo’s arm snakes around your waist, pulling you tight against him as he motions Soonyoung over. “Take over here,” he hums, expression softening slightly, “Finish the preparations. We’re still leaving as planned.” 

Sonyoung raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And what do you want me to do with this half-assed packing, huh?” he glances between the two of you with twitching lips, “Magic it into completion?” When you roll your eyes, Soonyoung sticks a tongue out at you childishly. 

“Just handle it,” Wonwoo mutters, patience obviously thinning as he glances back at you, tucked into his side, head resting against his chest. “I’m taking her into the tent. She’s freezing out here.” 

Soonyoung shrugs, picking up Wonwoo’s dropped ledger from the snow. He tuts when some of the ink is smudged from the snow. “Fine, go be in love,”  he sighs, gazing off to the side as if he is reminiscing about some old love of his (which never ever happened). 

You smile, genuinely, at his words. A feeling that you’re not used to creeps up your throat. It threatens to make itself known when Wonwoo pulls you closer — as if you could get any closer to him — and pokes at your eyes. 

“Come on, let’s go inside. You’re shivering.” 

It takes you a moment to register in your dulled head that Wonwoo is talking to you and not some other knight or even Soonyoung. You would have swayed on your feet if it isn’t for Wonwoo’s tight hold on your waist. Everything feels a little hazy and you don’t know if its the exhaustion or if its the cold that lulling your brain to sleep. 

“Y-yeah,” you mumble, looking down at the ground as Wonwoo just gives you a soft glance, leading you to the direction of his tent, away from all the knights and the bustle of the packing. 

You can see Wonwoo glance down at you at least twice every five seconds, as if he’s making sure if you’re really there, and you feel a pang of guilt — or regret, maybe? You didn’t completely think through your course of action when you had deceided that you needed to go up north. It didn’t really occur to you at the time that maybe Wonwoo would already be swamped with responsibilities bigger than you (like organizing the knights), until now. And seeing Wonwoo try to hide his every wince of pain when he even just moves his shoulder to better grasp your waist, basically holding you up as you stumble through the thick snow. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, palms digging into your eyes. When you remove them, black charcoal from your waterline follows, smudged and thick. “I’m sorry for coming, I didn’t really think through the—“

”—Don’t say that,” Wonwoo interrupts, his eyes sharp, even through the exhaustion and the pain lingering and floating in his orbs. He looks almost pained at your words and you mentally hit yourself at the constant distress you cause this man. “Don’t say that, Y/n, please. You— To me, you being here means more than everything. The only thing,” Wonwoo gives you a heartwarming smile, glasses fogging up as his puffs of breath hit the surface, “you shouldn’t be doing is staying out in this cold.” He lifts up the tent flap, ushering you in before closing it behind him. 

The first thing you notice about his tent is that it’s warm. It’s warm and toasty, thanks to the fire that’s blazing in the makeshift fireplace. The second thing is the sheer amount of nothing in his tent. It’s spacious, but only because the room contains nothing but a single cot, a desk, a chair, sheepskin rugs, and a random table in the middle of the room. As Wonwoo sits you down on his chair, pushing you closer to the fireplace, you notice the stacks of papers that line his desk, just waiting for him to come back and finish signing them off. You also notice the stiffness in his shoulder and how he works to minimize any movement in it. 

“Wonwoo–”

“--Here,” Wonwoo interrupts, flapping a thick fur blanket over your shoulder. You don’t miss the way he bites back a hiss of pain at the sudden movement. He gives you a smile, though thinner than last time. 

You shake your head, gently grasping his wrist, stopping him from moving his arm. “Wonwoo,” you repeat, firmer than before. He finally holds your stare, eyes flickering from your forehead to your eyes to your lips and then back up. 

He hums in response, kneeling in front of you so that he’s eye-level and not towering above you. He maneuvers his hands so that your hands rest in his. You feel his thumb gently smooth over your knuckles, calloused palms so warm under your touch. He looks at you like you hung up the stars and briefly, you wonder how you never saw the love in his eyes. 

“I brought my doctors,” you murmur, one hand going up to trace your fingers along his sharp jaw. You cup his cheek, fingers brushing against his pale skin, still slightly cold from the outside air. Your gaze flits down to his shoulder, bandages obvious under the thin tunic he has on. The stain of red clearly disrupting the sterile white has you worrying. “You need Capital medics, not just ones from the war camp.” 

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow, a hand going up to cover yours on his cheek. “Who told you that? I’m–”

“--Soonyoung did,” you state over his words, quieting him, “and don’t tell me you’re fine because there is no way your stubborn ass actually rested.” You give him a knowing glance and he glances away, murmuring something about being busy helping his knights pack and filling out paperwork. 

When you don’t respond, Wonwoo sighs, leaning into your touch. “You didn’t have to.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I know. But I needed to.” 

Wonwoo gives you a confused look, blinking as if to tell you to continue. 

You bite your lip as you feel another rush of tears. “I–” your voice cracks, “I thought you were going to die before I told you the truth,” you whisper, feeling a stray tear drop from the corner of your eye. It feels refreshing, almost, to get it off your chest – to let someone else into your fiercely-guarded heart that was once (and still is) his. 

Wonwoo is quiet, studying your features as if looking for more unsaid feelings – things you’ve kept to yourself for these long years. When he deems it enough, he catches you off-guard, turning his head to leave a long kiss on the inside of your wrist, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments. 

Then, without moving, he murmurs into your palm, “Y/n,” his voice trembles at the last syllable of your name, “I’ve been in love with you for so long I don’t even remember what it feels like to not love you.” 

Your breath hitches and your heart pounds in your chest as his words wash over you like a tidal wave. Over and over again until every other sound surrounding the two of you sounds like meaningless white noise. Wonwoo says something, you know because you see his lips moving, but everything after his confession is a blur. It’s mere ringing in your ears compared to the soft words he had just murmured into your palm like agave honey down your throat. 

“...I know I’ve hurt you,” Wonwoo suddenly says, snapping you out of your daze, “I know I’ve made mistakes that I can never make up for. But if you can forgive me–” he cuts himself off, shaking his head, pulling your hand down into your lap, “--no, if you can even just let me try to– I swear to you, I will never leave you again.” He sounds breathless after the last word, like it took all the oxygen in his lungs to convince you of this fact. 

You don’t even realize you’re crying again until you feel Wonwoo’s fingers brush the tears off your face. 

“Never ever?” You ask, voice quiet and tinged with an edge of teasing. You fiddle with the silver ring that encircles his pinky. 

“Never ever,” he confirms, brushing the last of your tears off of your wet cheeks. He laughs as you blush under his touch, cheeks heating to a dusty pink. 

You sniffle, rubbing at your eyes. You pull your hands out of his grasp, instead trapping his face in between your palms. Wonwoo’s eyes widen a bit at your sudden actions. 

“You’re going to get that shoulder looked at when my doctors arrive,” you state. You want your words to sound firm, but it actually comes out more as a meek order than a non-negotiable sentence. 

But still, Wonwoo nods, a small smile gracing his lips. Your heart thuds in your chest. 

Fuck, if you knew battling this whole thing straight-on would make him smile so much, you would’ve done it sooner.

“Promise,” you add, holding up your pinky. 

Wonwoo links his pinky with yours, twisting so that your thumbs stamp together. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you by your hand, his good arm going to steady your waist when you suddenly jolt forward from the momentum. His hand cups your cheek (and you pretend to not notice his grimace of pain), as he leans in, a grin dancing on his lips. 

“I promise,” he whispers, his breath hot on your lips, before his lips meet yours. Softly as first, then with some growing carnal intensity that steals your breath from your poor lungs. It’s as if he is pouring all of his emotions into the kiss, the sincerity, the love, the truth. He mumbles something against your lips as he pulls back, but it’s lost in the pounding of your heart and the small embarrassing gasps you let out when he pulls you to stand, his lips now trailing soft kisses down the column of your throat. You hope, with eyes squeezed shut, that he can’t feel your erratic pulse under the thin skin of your neck. 

When he teasingly bites, right above your collarbone, you jolt, hands finding purchase higher on his chest. The movement has him wincing, face suddenly buried in the crook of your neck as he turns away from you, arms stiffening around your waist. 

You freeze, eyes blown wide open as Wonwoo lets out a soft noise. 

“I’m so– so sorry,” you gasp, unsure of what to do as Wonwoo just stands there, breathing heavily, a pained grunt escaping him. “Are–” you try to pull away, “Are you okay?” When Wonwoo doesn’t respond, your brows furrow, shifting so that your arms wrap around his waist, leaning so that your head rests against his chest. You can faintly hear his heartbeat from where your ear presses against his chest, and Wonwoo seems to relax a smidge under your embrace. “I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, feeling Wonwoo breathe a sigh into your hair. 

“I’m fine,” he replies after a beat of silence, save for the crackling of the fire. His voice is tight but not angry. “Don’t be sorry, ‘s not your fault,” he murmurs. 

You beg to differ. But you decide to keep your arguments to yourself, at least when he’s injured. 

“You need to rest,” you hum, eyes closing as his good arm goes up, fingers threading through your hair. 

“Later,” he rebuts, pressing a soft kiss on your temple. “Need to help with the packing.” 

You click your tongue. “A normal person wouldn’t even be out of bed in a week with a puncture wound as bad as yours.” 

You can feel Wonwoo’s lips curve into a smile against your temple. “Are you calling me abnormal?” 

“No, I’m calling you not self-responsible,” you huff. “Have you ever stopped to consider what would happen if you actually ripped your stitches open and your wound got infected? How are you even walking around? Don’t you feel the–”

“--Y/n–”

“--No, listen to me. You can’t just jump right into your duties after you were stabbed within an inch of your life–”

“-- Y/n–” 

“--Wonwoo. I asked the doctors before and they said–”

“--Love,” Wonwoo laughs, his head tipping back ever so slightly. His glasses slide low on his nose. But it’s the pet name that makes you actually shut up. 

You blink up at him, mouth slightly parted as he gives you a quick peck on the lips, the tips of his ears blushing red as you stare at him. It’s like your heart just stops for a second. But Wonwoo acts like everything is as it was. 

“You’re adorable,” Wonwoo chuckles, giving your forehead a peck as well. His injured arm’s hand sits low on your hip. 

“W-what?” 

Wonwoo gives you a cheeky grin, pinching your hip. “I’ll rest after I finish these reports, yeah? Just thirty minutes.” 

You nod, but your mind is still reeling from what he had called you before (Love!!!!!). “O-okay. That’s fine. But you have to.” 

Wonwoo just hums in response, gently adjusting his cloak that is on your shoulders. He looks down at you for a moment, meeting your eyes, before swooping in to steal another kiss, lips stretched in a grin as he whispers, “I love you. More than you know,” against your lips, and he smoothens your hair with such care and utter love that it’s hard not to believe him. 

Your eyes flutter shut and you reach up to cup his jaw, rising to your tip-toes to kiss him back. Wonwoo gently pulls your head back as he leans down, tongue swiping over your bottom lip with such practiced ease it almost makes you jealous of anyone he ever kissed before you. 

You detach with a gasp, out of breath and cheeks definitely a dark pink. Wonwoo’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, the edge of his mouth lifting as he thumbs your bottom lip, pulling the flesh down and swiping over your kiss-bitten lips with a laugh. 

“Sorry,” he grins, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Can’t help myself.” He curls a finger around your hair, lightly pulling on it with a teasing sort of smile. 

You let out a laugh of disbelief, burying your face in his muscled chest, face heating at his words. 

“So crude,” you mumble, but it’s not without a smile. Your cheeks hurt from how much you are smiling, arms returning to their place around Wonwoo’s waist. 

When you glance up, you feel your breath hitch. Wonwoo looks down at you with such an infatuated look in his eyes it churns your stomach. You feel tears prick at your eyes and you quickly go back to hide your face in his chest, lest he sees your watering eyes. But of course, it’s Wonwoo.

“Hm?” He gently goes to lift your head, but you shake your head no, holding him tighter, like you’re subconsciously afraid that if you let go, he’ll collapse. “Love, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice ever-so gentle. 

“Nothing,” you mumble, cheek pressed up against his chest. “Just,” you fist his tunic, feeling a tear slide down your aching cheeks, “it feels good to tell you– cathartic, I guess – that I love you.” Your cheeks burn at your confession, your voice trailing off into a meek whisper by the end of your hastily put-together sentence. 

Wonwoo just kisses the top of your head, gently peeling you from his chest with minimal resistance from you. “You know, right?” 

“Know what?” 

“That I love you, angel, more than anything.” 

His forehead rests against yours and the last word is a faint whisper against your lips but it rings clear in your ears. Internally, you hit yourself over the head because how could you ever have doubted this man – though battle-worn and sometimes clueless – and his love for you. 

And for the first time in years, you felt comfort in letting yourself believe him. 

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @venuszaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

[mikashisus]

GET HIM BACK : 03. pack it up, scene squad

cws: f slur, derogatory words

masterlist | prev. | next

notes: a lot of shit happened to me recently so ive got the motivation for this fic back 😎 creds to the stellaronhvnters for the alpha wolf jokes, they've been making them sm that i literally had a dream i howled like a wolf 😭...... also i’d like to clarify that im gay, so i WILL be including the same jokes my friends and i make irl. feel free to send in a req for my 500 event!!

taglist — ! @vxnuslogy @ughscara @scarasbaby @aries-afk @wystiix @keiiqq @grimreapersscythe @yourfavoritefreakyhan @3lectraheart @yuyuumi @lxkeeeee @sketcheeee @eternitywaveshello @aethenawhosp @coorwe @yukari1k @ashyiiy @bananasquash @darling-eos @kunikuzushis-darling @jiminscarmex @https-sourlimes @starlisposts @dumbkid4ever @minhosprettywife @xxvoidgrangerxx @fandomfan-102 @ivana013-blog @cherrybb-ily @siomairice135 @gabirii @angelkazusstuff @shadowdarkleonidascrusade @vi0let-writes @lxry-chxn @achy-boo @whose-lozerrr @aether-darling @tamikahoshiko @azuresaqua @illu-fu @kascar-chronicle

[devondespresso]

This Comfort

T | 4.5k words | Stobissy (Platonic stobin x Chrissy) | canon divergent season 4 rewrite, pre-relationship, hurt/comfort, happy ending, weird-as-shit stobin | cws: referenced eating disorder, implied depression, implied suicidal ideation, referenced drugs

happy holidays @stellarspecter !!! hows it feel to be THE reason i like this rarepair so much that i had to hold myself back from trying to do a whole chrissy lives s4 rewrite? I tried to be subtle but i also just HAD to reread your stuff while brainstorming this, hope you like it!!! 💕💕💕

<< dividers by @/saradika-graphics >>

Chrissy kind of wants to cry. 

Her body always seems to want to do that at the first hint of peace she can find. In a bathroom stall, at the rotting picnic table behind the school, and now in the basement at Nancy Wheeler’s house, surrounded by still, sleeping bodies. She can’t help but find their presence soothing, even if their warmth doesn’t reach the cold vinyl of her sleeping bag, even if the gentle rhythm of their breathing can’t be heard over the sound of Olivia Newton-John’s voice clogging her ears.

Would the song even work if she got sick of hearing it so much? Can any song keep her safe if she keeps associating music with life-or-death?

Chrissy’s supposed to be sleeping, or supposed to be trying, at least. But she can’t hear the huffs, can’t feel any warmth, can’t even smell over the stench of highschool boy’s body spray— so Chrissy doesn’t try to sleep, even if she has a comparatively easy song to fall asleep to. She just watches, still as if she were out like they are, watching those tiny movements in the bodies around her.

Chests rise and fall slowly, languid unlike any other moment from the day. Some people twitch or stir—just barely—as their bodies dream, hopefully of something far removed from everything that’s happening now. It’s only half the room in her line of sight, but something about watching even just a part of the life around her makes it easier to feel the rest of it there.

It’s nice. Really nice, compared to the past twenty-four hours. And for some twisted reason, that makes tears prick at Chrissy’s eyes.

Her song starts again, a rhythmic melody that had made her sway in her seat the first dozen times she listened to it today. A melody that somehow—even after literal hours of hearing it over and over and over and over and over—still takes her to a time unblemished enough to keep her from letting Vecna end it all.

The beginning instruments all cut off so Olivia can start singing, new instruments coming in to replace them, but they’re not the same. Chrissy swallows, but a tear still falls, tickling her skin down towards her ear before it stops, falling and soaking into the flattened pillow that smells like the same musty body spray as the rest of this cruddy basement.

“Chrissy,” a voice whispers from behind her, said like it isn’t the first time they’ve called, barely audible over her music. Chrissy pushes up slightly, just enough to look behind her, to find Steve sitting up and keeping watch on the couch, leaning towards Chrissy as much as he can with Robin sleeping on his lap. His eyes stay focused on her through the dark, looking maybe for rolled back eyes or waiting for her to start muttering in tongues, but Chrissy only looks back and waits.

“You okay?” he whispers through the dark, again just barely loud enough. Chrissy nods to him, and turns down her music a notch or two.

Steve keeps looking like she never responded. Maybe—hopefully—because it's too dark to see and not because he expects a different answer with enough waiting. Chrissy swallows a lump in her throat, and answers again.

“I'm okay.”

Steve hears her—he has to—but he keeps looking at her that same way. Attentive, and a little on edge.

Chrissy slides one side of her headphones off her ear so she can hear her own whispers.

“I’m fine, I promise.” She says, loud enough that he has to hear her—or believe her—yet still low enough to mask the way her throat tightens around the words.

Steve hums, a soft thing that blends with the sounds of the room, but Chrissy can make it out.

“Come up here.” He whispers, nodding over to the small sliver of couch left next to him, just big enough to fit her. Or, big enough if she were like Robin and could just half-lay on pretty people without feeling electricity seize her body from head to toe. Chrissy opens her mouth to politely decline and save both of them the awkwardness, but Steve picks that moment to look away—look down to Robin—and lift her ever so slightly, ever so gently, to scoot them over and make the space next to him more comfortable.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Chrissy whispers but finds herself getting up anyway, padding over quietly as Steve settles, Robin slumping back down onto his lap without stirring.

“It’s no big deal,” He mutters, a soft smile pulling at his lips, still looking down at Robin, “She sleeps like the dead like this.”

Chrissy hums, and Steve looks up.

“Or– like a baby, I guess is a better word for it right now.”

“It’s fine.” Chrissy insists, taking a seat next to him, settling into the corner with a respectable distance between them– a distance that the rest of her doesn’t seem to pick up on, unfortunately, but respectable at the very least.

Steve hums and watches her, trying to do it subtly out of the corner of his eye, but even just a day around the real Steve is enough for her to know what worry looks like on him.

Fortunately for her, he doesn’t push. And when Chrissy busies herself with getting comfortable in her new couch corner, Steve looks away, absently combing through Robin’s hair as he plays casual.

“Rough sleeping with music always in your ears?” Steve asks, a lightness of humor there that she wishes was the only thing tied to that question.

“Not too bad, actually.” she says, pairing it with a little smile and hoping it’ll convince them both that she’s alright. “Especially out of all the other songs from Grease. The walkman itself is probably more annoying.”

“Yeah, my ears do not envy you there.” Steve huffs, smiling a little, making Chrissy’s smile come a little easier before they both run out of things to say and the levity falls off both their faces. Chrissy’s dropping faster with no eyes on her to keep up the charade for, while Steve’s falls slowly, slips into neutral as he gets caught up in thought once again.

Chrissy gets to keep a few moments to herself before she catches Steve glancing at her again through the corner of her eye. She pretends not to notice, holds her neutrality for a few nauseating seconds before she sighs, closing her eyes and drawing her knees to her chest in a way that turns the subtle glance into full-force attention.

“Do you think…” She starts, but finds the words stopping before they can get out of her head. Does he think she’ll die? Obviously he’s not going to tell her if he does.

“Eh, sometimes.” Steve answers, shrugging lightly in a way that's playful but not flippant enough to derail the conversation.

Chrissy huffs from the tinge of amusement, then tries again.

“Have you wondered what would happen if we got tired of our songs?” 

“Not yet, to be honest. But I figure we’d try to find new ones.” He says, quick enough that it feels like a simple answer to him. But even still he considers it, even if it’s just to show her he’s taking her worries seriously. “I mean, if the whole point is picking a song that reminds you about what’s good in life, I’d figure there’s got to be at least a decent handful of them that’d work.”

Chrissy hums, resting her head onto her knees as she considers. It feels like a simple enough thing, just find songs that remind you of good things, but as she combs through the library in her head, she’s not sure she has as many of those as the others do. Or at the very least, not ones that haven't been sullied by other memories or the things she’s learned since then. Birthday parties with a Chrissy that didn’t think twice about what was in those cakes, sleepovers with girls that had a lot more to say in the halls than they did in their bedrooms. She should count herself lucky that out of all the songs she had loved, she still had one of her favorites.

Though she supposes she should also count herself lucky for even being alive right now. If circumstances were different, she might’ve genuinely felt it.

“To be honest, I’m more worried about how Max doesn’t seem bothered by listening to the same thing nonstop.” Steve chimes in again, that sweet little note of humor back, and though it still makes her smile—truly smile, at both the humor and the intent behind it—it can’t fully lift her out of the headspace she keeps crawling into.

Still Chrissy hums along with him, the sweetness she puts into her voice just as erosive as the added sugars she keeps an eye out for.

“The magic of a really good artist, I guess.”

“Maybe. Though I know I’d still get tired of it no matter who’s voice I’m blasting.” Steve replies, tone light as if he didn’t notice how fake her tone was, and just that thought grants Chrissy an ounce of real levity.

“Even Freddie Mercury.” Chrissy asks with teasing scrutiny.

“I plead the fifth.” Steve smiles mischievously, and when Chrissy raises a suspicious eyebrow at him, he lets out a small but genuine laugh that Chrissy wants to mirror desperately.

Steve hushes himself quickly enough, but Robin still stirs in his lap, groaning and tucking her face down into the denim of Steve’s jeans as if they were somehow comfortable enough to put her back to sleep. But then again, Chrissy figures they don’t have to be, as Steve’s hand finds it’s way back to her hair again, carding his fingers gently and intentionally as Robin stills and soon returns to slow, sedated breathing.

Steve sighs, not tense or aggravated, just restful, like the mood of before was so calm that any change in it counted as disturbance. And then within seconds, he’s back, glancing once over to Chrissy again before looking back at Robin as he continues.

“Rob’s probably the type to be fine listening to most of her music over and over.” He hums, “Not that she needs it. The second she even thought that music might be it she shoved all the tapes she could find into her bag—including our manager’s, actually—”

“Your manager’s?”

“Yeah, Keith’s in for a bit of a surprise soon.” Steve laughs again, “Point is, though,” Steve looks back at her with a new, almost concerning level of sincerity once again veiled as small-talk. “Robin has a pretty good stash of other music in her bag and I’ve got a handful in the glovebox, too, so if you want to pick a couple backups to keep on you…” He shrugs instead of finishing with any extra nod to the favor he’s offering, and Chrissy’s conscience appreciates the discretion.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” she mutters, figuring at the very least that it wouldn’t hurt to look, maybe pick a couple that’d sound nice, even if she doubts anything from after 79’ would spark any good memories, the thought itself is sweet enough to make her sincerely grateful. “Thank you.”

“‘Course. It’s all up to you, just know it's an option.”

Chrissy hums and nods, not really wanting to continue the conversation but also lacking anything else to start talking about next.

Really, she only gets a few seconds to think about it before Steve’s glancing her way again, eyes lingering to study her and somehow sneaking inside towards the softest parts of her, all right under her nose.

“You’re doing good, y’know?” Steve says, quiet as anything else they’ve said tonight, but Chrissy finds it deafening. “This shit sucks… so much. But your still here, still sticking together, still keeping up with the kids—which, believe me, is a feat in of itself.” He huffs to himself, before glancing back to Chrissy with raw compassion. “I know all of it’s… smothering, almost. Too big and too stressful, but you’re doing great, alright? And we’re gonna make it work out.”

He’s lying, obviously, Chrissy hasn’t done jack-shit and Steve just wants to make her feel better– so Chrissy nods—on reflex, almost—because she knows to take a compliment—to take comfort—when it's being given to her. She knows so she nods and tries to just take Steve’s words with a polite smile and a polite nod but–

Her eyes water and tears fall too fast, too many goddamned tears coming and spillingout and she tries—God, she tries— to keep them back and to smile and show him it worked, shes good now, thank you—but she’s failing, failing miserably, so she falls back on breathing– breathing normally and praying he can’t see her crying through the dark–

“Chrissy, I mean it.” Steve says, with the softness of sincerity that—regardless of whether she believes him or not—breaks through the last of her defenses, letting a small, pitiful sound choke its way out of her throat.

“Chris–”

Chrissy stands—giving up on looking okay in favor of being quiet—and wipes her face, looking around for the bathroom door that Nancy said would be down here.

“Chrissy, hey–” Steve whispers, a hand finding her arm gently—not grabbing, just touching—and while it tempts her so heavily, instinct leads her away.

“It’s fine– don’t wake Robin–” Chrissy chokes on her own words and aborts, going towards the bathroom, ignoring Steve trying to whisper-call after her, ignoring how he whispers to himself before the couch squeaks, ignoring his footsteps coming up until they’re right behind her– and Chrissy stops and flings around and–

Turning catches Steve off guard—enough to stop him a foot or so away—and makes him retract an outstretched arm.

“Chrissy, it’s okay.” Steve insists, struggling for words to say next and doing nothing to keep it from taking over his face. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Stop.” Chrissy says– tries to say, even though it comes out wet and weak and crackly– “You’re fine, I promise–”

It doesn’t sound final but it’s all Chrissy can get out—is all that she really needs to. Tears keep coming like she’s a broken faucet and Steve’s still standing there—already knows she’s crying and isn’t going to ignore it—so she just covers her face with her hands, cold fingers cooling unruly flames of embarrassment, and tries catching her breath.

“Wha’s…?” 

Chrissy doesn’t try to recognise the voice, just jolts up at the new sound and finds Robin up and walking towards them, going slow and rubbing her face like a rough morning.

“Rob, now’s not–”

“Are you crying?” Robin says as she drops her hand and gets a barely decent look at Chrissy, voice sounding suddenly wide awake, face skipping confusion and going straight to concern as she turns to check Steve next, “Are you– no, no you're– ok, good, so–” She turns back to Chrissy within another blink. “Are you okay? Or– no, stupid question.”

“No,” Chrissy says, but then Robin’s eyes flash with guilt, “No, no, I– not stupid question, I’m okay, I promise, I–”

“That’s debatable.” Steve interrupts, as kindly as he probably can.

“I am.” Chrissy says before heaving a massive breath and pushing her hands across her face again, all to get herself in any way capable of explaining, “It’s not your fault– or yours, or anyones! I’m not mad or sad or upset or anything– I’m just crying!” Chrissy pauses for another breath, then finishes—with more control than before— “Just crying. And crying in front of people is embarrassing, so…”

Steve and Robin both stay silent, gears turning trying to figure out what to say or do next, and while Chrissy does feel a little bad, a small part of her says they were asking for it.

“I cry a lot.” Robin says, in what seems like a reflex at first, but she keeps going even after she seems to realize what she’s saying, “I cry all the time, like, constantly– or not actually really that frequently but when I do it’s like an absolute behemoth amount of crying, and I love crying– or well, maybe not– no actually I do, if I need to cry then I love to cry, just get it all out, y’know? And this whole thing—the end-of-the-world monster crisis thing—is like a really good reason to need to cry, the most understandable reason to cry—even Steve's cried about it!” 

“Yes!” Steve confirms immediately, like he either somehow forgot or the detail didn't occur to him.

“And last time– okay I didn't really cry during it much last time because it felt like there was so much going on like all the time but the second we got Steve a hospital room and I could sit down next to him, I started bawling, like really ugly snotty sobbing, and I cried for, like, three hours straight and one of the nurses kept bringing me water so I wouldn't dehydrate and die because I actually could not stop crying and I didn’t even feel that sad, y’know? I had been way more upset in the middle of the whole thing but I didn’t cry once—”

“Just peed your pants a little.” Steve mutters, catching Chrissy off-guard and making Robin fling immediately over to wack his arm.

“You–” Robin says, pointing at him and scrambling for words, “And you shit your pants twenty minutes in!”

“I what?” Steve whisper-laughs, bordering on a dangerous volume again.

“Yeah, you shit yourself and you smelled so bad–” Robin starts breaking into giggles and struggling to keep her volume down, so Steve somehow decides that covering her mouth with his hand would help. It does, kinda, in that it muffles her laughs until she gets them under control and starts swatting him away.

They collect themselves together, clearly trying to keep attuned to Chrissy without directing the full force of attention on her, but as they both try to manage each other’s clumsiness Chrissy feels the pressure of conversation ease and is just left with Robin’s words and the care that both of them were trying to show. Chrissy wipes her face even though new tears still fall, and steels herself with another breath that finally comes easier than the last.

“Robin.” Chrissy says.

Robin stops, and before Chrissy can chicken out she dives forward and takes Robin into a hug.

Robin’s clearly caught off guard but recovers quickly and wraps her arms around Chrissy tight, leaning in with a cheek pressed into her hair, holding her immediately. Chrissy sobs a little for no good reason but Robin doesn’t let go, doesn’t ask again, just keeps holding on.

Instead of waiting ages for her tears to stop, Chrissy just lets go when her crying quiets down and she no longer feels the need to hide from the people holding her. Chrissy loosens her grip and Robin lets go right after, leaning back to check on her, breaking into a sweet, lopsided grin.

Another hand falls carefully onto her back, and when Chrissy turns around and finds Steve still there quietly trying to check in too, Chrissy lunges forward a second time. Steve holds her tight like Robin did– possibly even tighter as his shoulders curl around her frame, like she’s being tucked inside his chest, safe away from harm.

Chrissy kind of hates pulling away, but by the way both Steve and Robin stay close after letting go, Chrissy gets the feeling that it won’t be hard to get more of that affection from them.

“You ready to go back to the couch?” Robin asks.

Chrissy nods.

“Awesome,” Robin says, taking her hand and leading the way back eagerly, “Cause, like, I don’t know about you but I would love to be sleeping right now– and I don’t regret waking up, obviously, totally a good reason to wake up, I just also love getting a full night’s sleep–”

“Aw, poor Robin, not being asleep right now.” Steve teases, getting quieter as they get to the couch but still being loud enough to annoy Robin.

“Aw, poor Stevie, was already awake when things started happening and only had to wake up once in the middle of the night.” Robin whines back, taking a spot in the corner of the couch and pulling Chrissy down to sit with her.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re so funny, Robbie.” Steve smiles, not making a move to sit down with them. “Where’d you put your bag?”

“Why?”

“Wanna look at the tapes you have.”

“Steve, you don’t have to.” Chrissy 

“‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, I just want to listen to– uh… Bowie. Obviously.”

Chrissy huffs, torn between the guilt of a favor and a rush of amusement, but couldn’t help but play along.

“And not your manager’s stellar music taste?”

“Steve!” Robin hissed, “You told her?”

“Yeah, what’s she gonna do? Keith’s gonna know.”

“We don’t know for sure!”

“Yeah we do, his walkman’s basically glued to him.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Not with you cause he likes you, but on a Tuesday close with me and I’d be lucky if he heard me dying.”

“Oh, I think he hears you just fine.” Robin laughs.

Steve sighs with a quick eye-roll before gesturing back to the room.

“Bag. Where?”

“Behind the trunk under the staircase.” 

Steve looks at her incredulously but goes to find it, repeating her interesting choice of hiding place under his breath as he goes.

“Did something happen to your other tape?” Robin asks, turning and hitting her with the full force of her concern—and while Chrissy appreciates it, a lot, she needs to look away to relieve some of the pressure and calm some of the heat that hits her cheeks.

“No, no, it’s working fine, I just, uh… was worried I was going to get sick of listening to it all the time.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Robin nods and the intensity of her worry lessens considerably, replaced instead by an almost frantic kind of ramble, “Good as in, like, y’know, that it’s not broken and you’re just being extra cautious, I mean–”

“Yeah, it’s good.” Chrissy smiles, cherishing the way Robin smiles with relief as she realizes she’s being understood.

Robin’s eyes flick slightly to something behind Chrissy so she turns around, catching Steve as he gives a note to a recently awoken Nancy Wheeler and starts finding his way back to the couch around the minefield of sleeping teenagers on the floor. He stops right in front of the couch—in front of Chrissy—and kneels down to open the bag between them for her to see.

“Let Nance know about the new plan.” He mutters, probably softer than he has to, “If by some chance something does happen, she’ll know to try your old tape first.”

Chrissy looks up at his eyes for a moment before turning them down into the bag, impressively full of cassettes, some loose, some in their cases, but almost all of them well-loved. Chrissy reaches in and starts looking through the ones on top, some obviously Steve’s, some obviously Robin’s, some probably Keith’s, and a good many that have to be for both of them. She searches through them blankly for a few minutes before Steve and Robin try helping with suggestions.

“I think some of The Go-Go’s are in there.”

“Steve had ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’.”

“There’s definitely some Cyndi Lauper.”

“What was your old song again?” Robin asks.

“‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’. From Grease.”

Robin hums and stares into the bag. After a second, she starts picking handfuls of them out, picking each one intentionally but still grabbing more than enough for Chrissy to choose from until one catches her eye.

“Wait, wait, wait–”

Robin freezes, looking back to Chrissy with her arms still shoved in her bag, unmoving. Chrissy reaches over and picks up a tape that had already made it to Robin’s lap: a standard-looking cassette without its case and a couple of attempts at hearts drawn on it. It wasn’t the only cassette to have cute drawings—far from it—but it was the first one she saw with wonky hearts scribbled out then copied right next to it, like someone tried, failed, and then was told to bring their failure back instead of hiding it away.

She checks the other side. “Time After Time” by Cyndi Lauper.

“Steve gave that to me ages ago.” Robin hums, and Chrissy smiles, looking over at the other cassettes with little drawings on them.

“Was it the first one?”

“Second, technically, didn’t draw on Total Eclipse of the Heart until later.”

Chrissy nods, then looks up to Robin again.

“Would you mind…?”

“Oh, yeah, totally. I mean go for it. Worst case scenario: I’m still in touch with my dealer.” Robin jokes, making Steve snort as he stands and drops the bag over by the end of the couch.

Robin gets comfortable as Chrissy goes ahead and switches the tapes in her walkman, going to set her old one on a table nearby. When she turns back around, Robin is laying down on the couch, making grabby hands up towards Steve until he finishes his headcount and turns back around.

“What?” He laughs.

“Get over here, it’s my turn to be big.”

“Hm, if I have to.” Steve laughs and goes to settle with her before pausing and looking back over to Chrissy.

“You want on the couch, too?”

Chrissy goes over towards them and Steve smiles, taking that as her answer.

“We can leave you a spot if you want, or…”

Chrissy flushes but pointedly doesn’t take the offer for the separate spot on the couch, and luckily, Steve and Robin both figure out the answer without her having to say it.

Robin lays on her back half-propped up while Steve basically lays on top of her, spooning but with the little spoon on the verge of crushing the big spoon, but they seem more than content with it, Robin hugging Steve almost like a teddy bear. Steve gives Chrissy the go-ahead, so with her walkman in hand, she carefully takes the spot between him and the back of the couch. She brings the headphones up to her ears just as an arm comes around her back, the new melody fitting the new warmth she’s feeling deep down perfectly.

Chrissy lets one of her hands find Robin’s above her across the polo shirt pillow connecting them. Both the bodies laying with her relax, shifting slightly to get comfortable in their strange arrangement on the cramped couch, but the one thing that stays perfectly consistent is the slow rise and fall beneath her, the feather-light puffs tickling her hair, and the warmth of life enveloping her.

Chrissy knows it’s not perfect. The next few days will be far, far from kind to them. She knows that even when she wakes from this nightmare, she’ll just be stuck right back where she was before, working her ass off at cheer practice during the day and then begging their drug dealer for ketamine at night. The thought will probably never leave her mind.

But right now, Chrissy enjoys the new music playing in her ears, the familiar song with a man and a woman’s voices that feel uniquely alive right now, warm and safe and real.

If you’re lost,

You can look

And you will find me,

Time after time.

If you fall, 

I will catch you.

I’ll be waiting,

Time after time.

Chrissy falls asleep. No dreams, no Vecna, just sleep.

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving: Part 6

Rating: Not safe for work in the way that Simon is literally not safe in the workplace.

Warnings: War, artillery

Summary: Who could possibly be calling you after months of silence? HMMM

Notes: It’s small because I’m still digesting Christmas dinner x

Word Count: 755

ao3 link

Who the fuck was calling you at such an ungodly hour?

You were still recovering from the deathly hangover you’d incurred from New Year’s Eve, as well as the truly horrifying amount of cheese, chocolate, and meats you’d ingested over the holiday period, having taken to bed at tea time, when you were woken by the buzzing of your phone, and that god awful ring tone one of your colleagues had snuck onto your phone. You really needed to turn it off; a meowed classic Nokia ringtone was funny for all of five seconds, but now it was nails on chalkboard.

It would go to voicemail if it was important, and nobody in your family was dying or pregnant, so you decided you could ignore it, clicking the lock button to reject it.

You should have known it wouldn’t have worked.

As soon as you’d rejected the call, it started up again, buzzing relentlessly under your pillow. Clearly, whoever was on the other end wasn’t deterred by the idea of waking you from peaceful slumber. Prick.

Resigned to your fate, you grabbed your phone from under your pillow, squinting at the number suspiciously. You didn’t recognise it. If it was spam, you might have to go on a murder mission.

“Hello?”

“Evenin’”

“Evening?” You looked at your phone,

“It’s four in the bloody morning!”

“I do apologise. Didn’t have a chance to ring you earlier.

Hm. That voice was increasingly familiar. That Mancunian accent, the gruff, blunt tone.

“Cunt.”

“Aye.”

Yeah, it was him. You hadn’t thought about him in a while. Well, that was a lie. You thought about him every time you opened your wallet and saw his ID card next to your bank cards. He just wasn’t as present, was no longer the monster hiding in your cupboards or under your bed. You didn’t look over your shoulder for his bulky figure or try to spot his car on the street. It had been a good month or two of peace, until now.

“Still alive then?”

“So far.”

You wondered where in the world he was. British military did seem to find themselves sticking their noses into a lot of things that weren’t at all their business. You knew he wouldn’t tell you where he was, he couldn’t.

“Where are you?”

He just sighed on the other end of the line. That was followed by a loud boom, powerful enough that it made the audio coming from your phone go tinny and weird, and then, a loud metal clunk.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“What does it sound like?”

“Fucking scary is what it sounds like! Why are you calling me in the middle of a damn battlefield? Shouldn’t you be in a fucking bunker or something where there’s a) no signal, and b) actual safety?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a blade if I cowered in a bunker would I?”

Typical.

“My God, why, why are you calling me?”

“Just wanted to wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year.”

The man was fucking insane.

“Right. Sure. Thank you. And merry Christmas and happy new year to you as well. Now will you focus on the not dying please?”

“Sentimental?”

“Fuck off.”

“Aye, figured you were. I’ll be back in one piece.”

“Joy.”

“Aye, miss you too.”

The man missed you? Were you dreaming? You sat up in bed, staring at your phone, bewildered. There was only one possible answer.

“Are you drunk ?”

“Mm. Little.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“They do good beer here. S’nice.”

“Simon, don’t-“ there were too many things that you didn’t want him to do. “Just, don’t be a dick, alright?”

“Tall order. I’ll do my best.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, flopping back on your pillows.

“I’m going back to sleep. Don’t die.”

“Aye ma’am.”

The call beeped, ending what had been perhaps the strangest conversation of your life. Ghost really knew how to make an entrance back into your head. Already, you were obsessing. Where was he? Was he safe? Well, you already knew he wasn’t. But how unsafe was it? What were the statistics, the deaths? It bothered you that you couldn’t find out. At least there was one thing you could google.

It took some time for your search engine to realise that you didn’t want information on knife blades, the blades from the elder scrolls, or various football teams, with you having to specify ‘who are the blades army uk’ before you finally got your answer.

The SAS.

Good fucking God .

[iid-smile]

☆★☆ (UN)LUCKY SYNDROME !!

★ CONTENT — yukimiya kenyu x manager!gn!reader, fluff, pre relationship, university au, the reader got stood up on a date (not by him), awkward confession

☆ WORD COUNT — 0.7k

★ 1K EVENT !! — kart no. 3 ★

half time.

while everyone else headed elsewhere to refresh, yukimiya went straight over to you. you wish sometimes you'd be able to talk to him about matters outside of football, but alas, you're the team's manager and you don't share any classes.

it was only an innocent chat; something about his performance on the pitch lacking. sure, it was noticeable, but you wouldn't tell him that. he's a passionate player, strove on by the single dream of being the best striker. you wouldn't want to be the person who accidentally crushes his hopes and wishes.

but soon, things started to shift.

you had mutual friends and are closely acquainted with each other, so luckily it wasn't all that awkward having some more casual chit-chat. what was bad was how quickly some secrets spread; not that this particular one was secret, but you'd rather it had not ended up in his hands of all people.

the infamous tale of how you got stood up on a date.

it was recent too! everyone in your friend circle was excited for you, considering it was your first date this year, but no good news came out of it.

"i heard he didn't show up?" great way to start things off, yukimiya.

"yeah, but it's fine, really. i get it, exams and all. not the best idea going to a bar in the middle of the night."

"you could've just asked me to go with you instead, even if it was late." so he's playing this game, huh? the "i know he doesn't like me, but why does it feel like he's flirting?" game.

"i appreciate it, but..." you fiddle idly with the pen in your hands, trying not to freak out and say the wrong thing. "i'm sure you wouldn't want to either way. you're out of my league." the smile on your face quickly vanishes. ah... that was a slip of the tongue.

"i'm sure i would take you out." he casually says as if it's the most normal thing ever. in fact, it doesn't even look like he's realised what he's said — or what you've said — just staring out into the field as he takes a swig of water from his bottle.

at first, it skims over your head. he would take you out? funny joke. he's literally a model and a top player for the university across all sports. or would be a (not so) funny joke if he was actually laughing.

...or maybe he wasn't kidding? it didn't even sound like he was talking about when you got stood up.

as the weight of his words sinks in, your head turns slowly toward him, eyes wide with dawning realisation. "...what?" you’re more than taken aback by this entire conversation, wondering how your voice managed to emerge at all amid the shock, rather than just a mere whisper.

he takes a moment of silence, letting the tension hang in the air. then, he slides his glasses off, the movement almost effortlessly captivating. as his fingers weave through his damp locks, his eyebrows furrowing before he finally responds to you. "what?" his eyes move towards your figure, but it's not like he could see you all that well.

midway through putting his glasses back on, he manages to catch your flustered and slightly disturbed expression through his lens. his gaze flutters around in thought, confused by your confusion, but only seconds later did it finally register what he said to you.

"oh."

"..."

"..."

"well, i messed that up..."

and you both stayed there in silence. awkward... awkward! what were you supposed to say now? there's no way you could just move on from such a comment.

out of nowhere, yukimiya breaks the silence, his voice wavering with uncertainty this time. "can i still take you on that date, or...?"

"i mean, yeah! yeah, of course." you answer almost too quickly. the manager side of you can't help but be a little evil. "if..."

"if?"

"if you score a goal for me."

a spark of surprise flickers in his eyes as he processes the unexpected preposition. a playful smirk slowly spreads across his lips, hinting at a mix of amusement and intrigue. "i'll take that challenge."

he didn't score a single goal. you still went on a date after that match anyway, so you're both winners in this situation.

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Been a while hasn’t it? I don’t know if you’re still posting for the prompt list but if you are could you indulge a Marko fan and do #16 with him please?

Oh my god, I am so sorry to let this request go unanswered for so long. I'm so sorry for the wait and a happy new year!!! (Seriously, it's been months since you asked this, and I just completely forgot - so sorry!) But yes, I can absolutely make this - I hope you like it!

16. "Come in, please. I'm mad at you, but I don't want you to burn to crisp."

------------------------------

A sigh escaped me as I laid down on the flat roof of my shed, staring up at the night sky. It was a clear night, and not only could I see the stars and the moon brightly, and if I really stared, I swore I could see an actual nebula. I smiled.

Next to me, a little less relaxed than I by the sight of it, laid my boyfriend. It wasn't that he didn't like stargazing - after all, he had suggested this. He tried his best to relax and to enjoy the night, but I noticed how tense he was. I sat up as I looked at him.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"You look constipated."

"No I don't."

I gave Marko a look that clearly said 'yes, you do', but didn't say anything. "You know that if you're bothered by something you can tell me, right?"

"Babe," he sat up now too, "there's nothing wrong. I'm just hungry."

"We can order some food-"

"Not that kind of hungry."

"Oh." I swallowed, nodding as I was thinking. It had been a short while since he told me what he was, and if I was being honest, it was a difficult thing to wrap my head around. The guy I liked was undead. At least a hundred years old. Somehow, I was still more grown up than him, and it made me wonder if maybe that was a problem sometimes? Not just a night owl by choice, but by natural force.

Needless to say, it was quite a shock to experience that he was, in fact, a vampire. Even though I had managed to wrap my head around the many aspects of his vampiric life, the blood drinking - arguably the main part of his life since it was his literal life source - was one I still felt a little uncomfortable with.

Maybe it was because I knew he'd hunt people like me. Because I knew he'd flirt with them before killing them. Maybe it was because I couldn't fathom the thought of drinking blood. And maybe it was because I was a little scared. Because what if he bit me too? And i hated myself for thinking that because I knew he would never hurt me. I also hated myself for thinking that because a part of me, deep down, hidden far away, found that thought to be incredibly hot.

"If you need to hunt, then-" I was about to say something else but Marko interrupted me.

"I'll be back soon, babe."

With those words he left, and as I saw him fly off, I climbed down the roof, cursing myself for not getting a ladder while climbing up there, and went inside my house. I barely greeted my house mates as I walked past them to my room, locking the door behind me as I entered. There, on the bed laid his jacket. He had dropped it off inside earlier this evening when he found himself bothered by the heat, but now, all alone and quite frankly missing him sinc the left so suddenly, I was beyond glad he left it here.

I changed into my pyjamas, just a tanktop and some shorts, and slid the jacket on. The sleeves were a bit too large for me, but the softness was ever so surprising. The coat was heavy, as i had expected. Marko had added so many layers of patches, chains, and decorations that it almost started to feel like a weighted blanket. I smiled as I pulled the jacket close, laying down on my bed.

It didn't take long before I drifted off to sleep, dreaming a wonderful dream. My window was slowly pushed open, a gloved hand wrapping itself around the windowsill as a figure pulled himself up. Marko climbed in, vamped out but clean from all blood. He smiled at my sleeping form, walking closer and closer until he sat on the edge of the bed. There he leaned over me, leaving a trail of kisses down my cheek and neck, his fangs softly grazing my thin skin.

I shuddered.

I woke up with a quiet groan, feeling another added weight on top of me. Marko was giving me a soft kiss in my neck, and once he realised I was awake, he began to kiss me for real, kissing my lips and deepening the kiss.

I didn't mind, we had talked about this before and I had told him that kisses were fine. I quite liked waking up to soft kisses, but tonight, something seemed different. The kisses were more urgent and more forceful. As I tried to ask him what was wrong, he shut me up immediately, his mouth trailing down my face to my neck and there-

I yelped out in pain as I felt two fangs enter my neck.

He bit me.

He didn't listen when I called his name, didn't react when I tried to pull him off, or when I pulled him by his hair. Only when I slapped him when he didn't react for the fourth time did he look up, his expression frozen in horror.

"Why the fuck did you bite me?!"

"I don't know, I-"

"Forget it," I hissed, glaring at him. I had been clear about this from the very beginning. No biting. "I don't want to see you here again. Get out."

He didn't respond, he just stared at me.

"Get out!"

He disappeared as if he had never even been there, everything still remaining the exact same. I sat up, tears welling up in my eyes. I shook his jacket off, laying it on my desk chair, and went to my window to lock it.

Before going back to bed, I made a small detour to my bathroom, a small space that held the only mirror I owned. I looked into it and saw two puncture marks on my neck. I inspected them closer and saw to my relief that they weren't deep. Still, I thought quietly as I laid back down and pulled the covers over me, he bit me.

A week passed before I saw him again. An agonisingly long week in which I wasn't sure about him, about me or the relationship that the two of us had. I couldn't help but still feeling angry, and little betrayed even. I had trusted him not to do this and yet here somehow did.

I woke up one early morning by the sound of rocks hitting my window. As i lazily opened my eyes I heard the first birds of the day starting their songs, and walked to my window with a slight surprised look. There, outside, standing in the shadows was Marko.

I unlocked my window - the first time that week - and looked at him. I then looked at the sky and realised that the sun was really close to rising.

"Marko, come on!"

"What?!" He called back, not coming any closer.

"Come in, please. I'm mad at you, but I don't want you to burn to crisp."

In less than half a second, he stood in front of me within my room. I quickly closed the window again and pulled the curtains shut.

"What were you doing out so late? You could have burnt!"

"I needed to know you were alright."

"You bit me!"

Marko nodded, looking rather shamefully down to the ground. "I'm sorry it happened."

"Why did it happen?"

"I just fed and -"

"What, you wanted some desert?"

"No! Yes, no," he shook his head, "I wanted to wake you, to spend some more time with you."

"So?" I shrugged. "I don't bite you when I need attention."

"I know! But - I haven't been totally forthcoming to you."

"About what?"

"About what you are to me."

"I thought we were a thing," I sat down on my bed, looking at him. He nodded, so thankfully that wasn't it.

"We are. But-"

I froze. He couldn't be serious. A 'but' in a relationship talk was always a bad thing. Always.

"But what?"

"We're more than that."

I stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"What are we then?"

"You are my mate," he said, leaving no room to argue, "and when I came back and saw you asleep with my jacket on, instinct took over. I needed to make you mine."

I sighed, realising that he really had no ill intentions and was instead acting upon someone vampiric urges. I looked at him, realising how bad he must have felt that it happened. How glad I was that he found his way back here now that the sun was rising outside. He came back. He came to me for safety.

So I looked at him, pulling him closer when I smiled at him.

"You don't need to bite me to know that I'm yours."

[sillystarwrites]

You ever play Hell Divers? If not how would the TADC cast react to a reader who is super willing to get whatever objective they're given done....no matter the cost, which includes running into danger without a care in the world, getting ragdolled or hurt but still willing to do Caines assignment and overall being a super loyal idiot.

A/N: no clue what helldivers is but I LOVEEE this idea!!!!!! :D

Type: I’ll add this later I’m tired

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🎩Caine🎩

☆He’s overjoyed, honestly

☆ having someone, ANYONE enjoy his adventures is a dream come true

☆ especially after ep 3

☆ he probably begins to make more dangerous/risky adventures, taking note that you seem to enjoy the risk

☆ he literally doesn’t realize how dangerous it is for you and the others

☆ you can’t exactly get hurt, but you’re probably hella sore and in pain from the adventures 

☆ mans does not care, as long as somebody has fun he’s HERE FOR IT!!!

☆ loves you tho, your feedback is the first (and only) he goes for after adventures cause you’re the only one w/ good feedback

☆ anyway you’re his bestie. Can’t speak for you, but you are to him

♟️Kinger♟️

☆ typically he never pays too much mind to it, but he’s never seen someone so dedicated 

☆ sure, when he first entered, he tried to get the adventures done too, but not to this point

☆ he’s especially concerned when you immediately bolt in after him to get gangles mask in the mildenhall manor

☆ you barely even care, or notice Angel and the other freaks, dragging him along quickly.

☆ tried to warn you about the hall but you immediately ran down…and got possessed

☆ it was horrifying, to say the least

☆ he had to beat you with the gun, but at least the possessor was gone

☆ you barely even took a break, about to run down to try again and he forced you to sit

☆ when he tells you about Queenie, you’re empathetic but then immediately are like “okay but we gotta go, cmon.”

☆ he’s a bit…hurt, to say the least, but understands. He also wants to leave as soon as possible

☆ when you two make it back, you realize you somehow forgot Gangle’s mask.

☆ you attempt to find a way back to get it, but Caine brings you all back before that can happen

💜Jax💜

☆ he thinks it’s funny to be honest

☆ you get easily frustrated too, so he’s gonna bother you the WHOLEEEEE time if he can

☆ but you also just carried him like a briefcase on one adventure, just to annoy him back 

☆ he made gangle drive on the candy canyon adventure because he knew you’d want to

☆ gangle would’ve handed it over to when you protested, but Jax stopped that from happening 

☆ he couldn’t bug you as much as he’d liked to at Spudsy’s since the, y’know, ‘employee training’

☆ but he tried to anyway, you just shooed him off

☆ he was almost impressed by your work ethic.

☆ key word almost, because it mostly pissed him off

☆ anyway, seeing you go so far as to somehow injure yourself on adventures was hilarious to him

☆ all he had to do was convince you it’d help, and you’d do it

☆ even if it accidentally hurt the others

☆ he’s also really annoyed how you’re basically Caine’s favorite 

☆ like really?

☆ he’d poke at you about it though, just to annoy you

☆ but maybe sometimes he does get worried after adventures when you don’t even stay for whatever reward there could be

☆ he’d never admit that he’s worried, but you get the point 

🧸Ragatha🧸

☆ do something barely even risky and watch her PANIC

☆ she is worried from the get-go

☆ like during the gloink adventure, did she literally watch you try and wrestle a goddamn gloink WTH

☆ or in the candy kingdom, where you’re ready to jump into the chocolate 

☆ she has to hold you back A LOT

☆ like a lot a lot

☆ you also insisted on taking care of her during the spudsy’s adventure

☆ you did crash out at a customer so you still got a B+ though

☆ anyway, she does appreciate that you try your best on every adventure

☆ she hates that you put yourself at risk though

☆ she checks on you a lot, especially after the mildenhall manor adventure 

☆ she’s seen you get overly beat up in other adventures a lot, which always scares her

🎡Pomni🎡

☆ you scare her, honestly 

☆ she can’t tell if you’re so dead-set because you mess with people, or because you’re just determined 

☆ either way, it’s concerning

☆ despite the few adventures she’s been on, she’s seen how risky you can get

☆ she doesn’t like it at all

☆ you also seem to get really competitive, so she doesn’t get in the way

☆ when you’re not on adventures, you seem nice, but she’s still a bit scared of you

☆ you’re hyper and a go-getter, neither of which she feels that comfortable around

☆ once again, not that she doesn’t like you, just she’s really intimidated 

☆ I feel like someone like reader would just be desperate to escape, thinking if they tried hard enough they’d be free. Maybe they’re just so desperate and scared it’s the only way they can think of

☆ if Pomni is met with this revelation, she’d try to help in some way

☆ even if it’s not much, she could talk with Gummigoo, Kinger, and tried with Gangle, so the least she can do is try for you too

☆ even after the talk, you’re still just as persistent and idiotic, but at least she tried

🔶Zooble🔶

☆ deadass, they hate you

☆ they think you’re a total suck-up to Caine

☆ on the few adventures they were forced on, they’ve seen you get thrown, kicked, or flung a few dozen times

☆ they tried not to laugh

☆ key word tried!!!!

☆ they still don’t like how peppy you get, dragging them with

☆ they’ve lost more limbs than they can count

☆ they think it’s cool that you’re so dedicated, but oh my lorddd does it irritate them

☆ they still don’t like you

☆ you seem to try your best, but that’s too much

☆ they just don’t like you

☆ what’s the point of trying so hard if you’re just gonna get so injured?

☆ it’s annoying.

🎭Gangle🎭

☆ honestly, you scare her

☆ you remind her of Jax, just a bit less ill intented

☆ she mainly appreciates you during the spudsy’s episode, as you’re not violently dead set on doing…whatever

☆ during the mildenhall manor adventure, she is also a bit amused at your dedication to getting her mask, but more worried than anything.

☆ like Pomni, she’s not exactly comfy around you, but doesn’t hate you either.

☆ in your fits of bolting after the goal, you have probably tripped on her several times and broke her mask on accident 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: sorry that it’s so short, and this took so long 😭 I’m really tired rn

[doubledeadstudio]

Finally got the courage to ask a question (Happy New Years Eve/ Day whenever you see this) but just a general question

What was the creative process of making Reanimated Heart, Another Rose in his Garden and Pygmalion’s Folly? What was the inspiration behind those three games? What was your favorite one to work on? Do you plan to make new games in the future?

Happy New Year to you too, anon! I love questions like these. The development and creative process is something I'm very passionate about.

Creative Process? Inspiration? (Just shoving both of this in one, long discussion about how these things came to be)

Okay, you guys will probably think I'm an insane person, so let me explain how I got started on them...

I first started with RH (of course) when my friend Tay told me about this game she was playing where a character really resembled Crux (it was Markus from Red Embrace: Hollywood). And I played it because of that, and I was like, damn??? He really does? And I was on the path of my artist journey that I was like looking at the game assets and the dialogue and stuff where I was like... Wait, I can do that. I can write like this. I can draw everything. Who's stopping me? I had a dream with the tree, and I started writing dialogue in "hypothetical" VN scenarios, and I was like... okay, fuck it, I already got disowned by my family and I wanna kill myself, I've got nothing left to lose.

So I started pre-development for Reanimated Heart and wrote like about 20,000+ words, made sprites and backgrounds, spent an ungodly amount of money for music and fonts and did research, and released the Prologue on itch. It ended up kind of a flop? And I was honestly so mad for years LMFAO, but I kept at it because I liked making it. And then a fan, Ashe, contacted me out of nowhere and suggested I improve my socials. (Thanks Ashe.)

All in all, I think that, if RH never gathered attention... I would still be making it, but releases would've been shorter and weirder, and it wouldn't have the level of polish it does now because "nobody's playing this shit anyway." But having a fandom motivates me to push past my comfort, and inspires me to do releases semi-regularly. So, thank you guys for the support. :>

Anyway, enough RH rambling. Another Rose happened because a couple of members in the chat (I remember Maz and Chat in particular) kept joking about Omegaverse and I've never like... consumed any Omegaverse before, and I literally had no fucking clue what it was other than mpreg and werewolves. And I was like drinking that day and I got intrigued. And I kept thinking about the scenarios and became like ACTUALLY invested, but I didn't know anything about it still, so I kept asking Maz about it and she really helped hash out the "lore" and gave me really good scene suggestions. I honestly think Another Rose is the most indulgent of all my games because...

First of all, it's just straight porn. Second, aside from the quality of the work, I don't think about the audience, at all. There's only a price point to it but it's basically like a smut novel with some path deviations (that also just read to different porn)? Third, I'm like... I'm not going to lie, obsessed with my husband's OC Mars. And it's funny af to me how people ended up disliking him, because this whole game was like just my personal (smutty) love letter to how much I love that godawful man.

For Pygmalion's Folly... There had been long discussions in my server about murdersims. I'll be honest, I didn't get them at first, but I think Adri framed it in a way that I understood it, which was like... it was a morbid fascination to how bad things can get in situations like that. So I ended up playing the first BTDs and obsessively finished TPOF to the point I was having dreams about it, and I'm not going to lie, I had a dream! Again!! And it was Florentin killing the MC over and over. I woke up in a haze and wrote like the first 3000 words of the game in a frenzy with just 2 hours of sleep, and I was like, okay. This is getting made for sure. And because Adri was the avid murdersim fan, I consulted with them about the game, and they were the one that suggested the stats system, as well as some scenarios for endings.

So I guess tl;dr I cannot explain how I make games to you guys because they just kind of form when I'm drunk or get prophetic dreams.

Favorite to Work On?

Honestly, I loved working on all of them equally, believe it or not. (I equally also hate all of them when I'm crunching for the release. /jk)

The thing about these characters is that they're all OCs that are near and dear to my heart, ones that I've had for YEARS (I've had Vin for 12 years, can you imagine that?), and seeing all of them in action excites me so much.

I love that I got to make Abel the protag and I love that I got to put him in fun, sexual situations. I love that I managed to show off Florentin's special powers, and draw amazing grisly CGs with him. I love that Black, Vin and Crux are different, romanceable characters, that you can go to their houses, that you can see CGs with them, that you can follow their character development and be invested in their secrets, that they even have awesome voice actors that bring them to life!

And I love that so many of you also love them too, and write fic of them and draw them... Honestly, that's already my dream, and I'm so happy about it.

New Games in the Future?

Absolutely, yes! I got the VN dev bug and you guys will have to chase me out of here, LMAO.

But this year, considering how busy I'd be... I'd say probably not in case something really pushes me to make something (like, I had an idea I can't stop thinking about). My top priority right now is Reanimated Heart's Chapter 1 finale, and I have some free DLC I'm thinking of adding for Another Rose and Pygmalion's Folly, so those will probably get prioritized first.

[bau-babes]

Let Your Warm Hands Break Right Through

This entire thing is fan service and I am said fan 😝. I blame my current hyper fixation with Smallville and ovulation week. I hope y’all enjoy!

WARNING:explicit sexual content, not proof read

“So if we carry the one here and make sure to show every step of the equation we should have no problem passing this final exam!” Reader says to Clark as they finally finish their last study question.

“That was literally the longest i’ve ever studied, I don’t even know what time it is.” Clark chuckled and looked down at his watch, his face fell as he realized it was already twelve o’clock at night. “You really should get home Reader it’s already twelve.”

You look to the window to see the expected dark night sky, but what you didn’t expect was the heavy rain fall and wind blowing every which way. “Oh my god! I can’t drive in this! I gotta call my dad I don’t know how i’m gonna get home.”

“It’ll be fine Reader just use the house phone and if I need to drive you I will.” You looked over at Clark and smiled his warm, kind eyes meeting yours. Every memory of your friendship started rushing back to you in that moment, you fought off the urge to hold the eye contact reminding yourself you’ve learned to suppress these feelings long ago and turn to dial your house number. “Hey dad, Clark and I got caught up studying and lost track of time, do you want me to just drive back home or crash here for the night because of the storm? Ok, Ok yeah, alright I’ll see you tomorrow, love you, bye.” Clark studied your mannerisms as you twirled the phone wire in your fingers, feeling his cheeks flush he couldn’t help but imagine what else your fingers have good use for.

“Well, I guess you’re stuck with me for the night Clark!” He chuckled snapping out of the trance you have him in so often lately, no matter what he can’t get every little detail of you out of his head but he knows if he said anything he could ruin your entire friendship. “Oh you know I’d never mind that.” You smirk at the smallest indication of flirting Clark lets slip, dreaming of a world where Clark Kent would even give you the time of day romantically.

“So i’ll sleep on the couch?” In a moment of pure strength and/or stupidity Clark can’t help but blurt out “No! Just sleep in my bed, no big deal i’ll sleep on the floor for the night.”

Your heart skipped a beat hearing those words. Did this mean something? Of course not, he’s your best friend, and come on now he likes girls like Lana, not a girl like you with round cheeks and an even curvier body. “Are you sure Clark? I don’t want to make you sleep on the floor that’s mean!” He takes a step forward and grasps at your shoulders looking at you deeply, a sincere look in his eyes. “I promise, I have no problem with sleeping on the floor, especially if it means you’ll be comfortable.” You smiled dipping your head to the ground unable to look into the blue eyes you knew were following your every movement and reaction. “That’s very sweet Clark, thank you.” “Of course Reader, anything for you.”

Those words rang in your ears, would he do anything for me? Would he if he knew how I really felt?

You both make your way up the stairs climbing each step until you stand inside Clark’s bedroom realizing another of the many dilemmas you’ve had tonight. “Umm… Clark do you have anything I could wear to bed?” your face fell as your mind raced with insecurity, you’ve seen this scene play out so many times, a boy giving the girl he likes clothes to wear that fit her five sizes too big. But that’s not what this is, you’re not that girl for him and his clothes definitely aren’t going to fit you like they would any other girl. “Oh yeah of course hold on a second.” He rummages through his dresser and you catch a glimpse of his biceps as he works his way through each drawer. “This should work.” He holds out his hand which carries a hoodie and plaid pajama pants. You reach for the clothes scared of what the outcome will be, but all of that falls away the second you feel the heat of his hand grazing yours. “Alright turn around Clark.” “yes ma’am”

He stares at the door hearing the shuffling of clothes behind him. He can’t help but let his mind wander to what the sight behind him must be, how beautiful the curves of your body look when they’re not covered by a sweater or a pair of jeans.His mind wanders further through his imagination to what would be underneath everything you’re wearing but he quickly refocuses his attention when he hears your voice from behind him. “Ok Mr.gentleman, you can turn back around.” His eyes rake the image of you in his clothes through his mind, wishing this moment, this entire night, could last forever. “You comfy?” He mentally facepalmed as those words left his mouth Really that’s the best you could think of Clark… “Yeah! Thanks so much again these are really comfortable.” you were so happy, realizing that his tall frame and broad shoulders caused his clothes to run bigger than you would expect, conveniently engulfing your body with a slightly oversized look.

You handed Clark the blanket at the foot of his bed and a pillow and got under the covers. “Good night Clark.” “Good night Reader.” He responded back with the slight twang of want in his voice, like there’s something he wasn’t saying. You flipped the light switch off and tossed and turned for a few minutes as the wind howled and the rain pounded against the window pane. Out of nowhere you see a huge lighting strike and quickly hear the loud thunder that followed, leaving the entire farm in complete darkness. “Shoot the power must of went out from the storm, you doing ok?” Clark said from the floor where he laid next to you. You spoke with a shake in your voice suddenly feeling a chill. “Yeah i’m ok, just feeling cold that’s all.” Clark heard the chatter of your teeth and spoke again. “Yeah the heater probably blew from the storm it’s ok i’ll ask my dad to look at it in the morning.” There was a long beat of silence until you spoke again, contemplating if the comment you were about to make would be too forward. “Clark, i’m cold so you must be freezing on the floor, just come sleep in the bed with me I don’t mind.” He was shocked by your words trying to piece together his own response. “You sure?”

“Of course Clark, you said it yourself you’d do anything for me, I feel the exact same it’s really no big deal.” He stood up and you could see his broad shoulders under the tight t-shirt he was wearing to bed. Scooting over you open the blanket to him and he crawls under placing the pillow under his head and spreading the blanket he had been sleeping with on the floor over both of your bodies. “Sorry it’s a bit of a tight fit.” You said trying to break the awkward silence you had never felt with him before. “it’s just for the night don’t worry too much over it.” Clark spoke so nonchalantly you began to be solidified in the fact he could never feel the same about you. That was however until he spoke again ten minutes later.

Hearing the chattering of your teeth and the slight shake of your body he spoke up. “You know we could cuddle… if you want obviously, I just noticed you were shaking is all, no pressure.” You chuckled to yourself at the dorky Clark you knew peaking back through making all of your nerves over sharing a bed with your crush melt away. “I have to be honest i’ve never cuddled with anyone before, but if it’ll make me warm I don’t mind.” You say lying straight through your teeth, you’ve wanted this for so long your body already begins to heat with anticipation, the thought of Clark’s body pressed against yours already giving you a rush throughout your limbs. He scooted closer and closer to you as you felt your heart rate skyrocket. “Is it ok if I show you how I usually do it?” The statement made you sad knowing that he had done this with other girls before, but you pushed past the thought and spoke up. “yeah, whatever’s comfortable for you, you’re the expert here.” He laughed and opened his arms. “Scoot really close to me, I know you usually like to sleep on your side so this’ll be comfortable,do you want to be the little spoon?” Your face flushed at the comment and you thanked God that the lights had gone out long ago. “Sure…i’ll be the little spoon.” He took your body and guided it next to his placing both of you on your sides, as he did this he pulled you closer almost effortlessly and began to wrap his arm around your body. You sank into the feeling of him pressed so closely to you and became entranced by it until you felt his arm wrap around your waist and fall to your stomach, palm flat against it. “Is everything ok did I make you feel uncomfortable? I could go back to the floor if you want! I-“ “No Clark! It’s fine, I just-“ The room felt silent and Clark spoke again, this time you became hyper aware of how close he was to you, how you could hear him whisper into your ear as he spoke. “Please Reader, you can tell me anything, you know that” He was so anxious thinking he let his emotions get the best of him as he waited for your response. “It’s just-Ididn’twantyoutofeelmystomachok?” It took Clark a moment to make out what you said but his heart broke when he heard you say it. “Reader, can I tell you something?”

The room stood still, Clark’s heart started racing more than he had heard yours race before. He gathered his words knowing there was no taking this back, here goes nothing… “I- I think you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever met and I know you don’t think about yourself that way but I do everything about you is so perfect to me and I don’t know how you can’t see it everytime I see you I just fall deeper and deeper in love with you and I don’t even know what to do with that at this point but I can’t have you lay here thinking you’re ugly because you’re the farthest thing from it.” He rambled for what felt like an hour to him, but a millisecond to you. You processed everything quickly needing more details, thinking this was some sick dream your mind conjured up. “You love me?” were the only words to fall from your lips. “Of course I do Reader, why else would I insist to study with just you, or make you sleep in my bed, or make sure to give you my favorite pair of pajamas? I’ve loved you for a very long time and I just couldn’t have you thinking I look at you with anything but admiration.”

“Clark, i’ve loved you for so long, I just don’t understand… why me? Why now?” Clark couldn’t believe what you had just said as he kept rambling in response to your questions. “You’re the most amazing person I know, you’re so kind, and smart, and loving, and everything about you from your head to your feet drives me crazy. I just- I couldn’t tell you because I was too scared, but having you here in my bed, feeling you against me, made me realize there was no better moment than right now. And don’t think I forgot what you said by the way, I think you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever met and I’m going to prove that to you some way, somehow.” “Oh Clark-“ You spoke but he cut you off as he bluntly said “Can I kiss you? Please-“ The heat rose through your body again stronger and more rapidly as your heart rate rose even more than before. “Yes Clark, please i’ve wanted this for so long” He cupped your cheeks and pulled you towards him, lips slack with his as you felt the warmth of him all over you, the kiss was slow and sensual tasting him and feeling as though you were breathing him in completely. “Can I show you how you make me feel?” Your mind raced as he spoke those words. “Please Clark, it’s all I want.” he couldn’t believe this was real and decided to ride this high for as long as possible. taking your hand with his he traveled it down his body, under the covers, and to the large bulge present in his pants. “Clark I-“ He wined as he spoke “Please Reader you’re all I think about, I need you. You’re so beautiful.”

“Clark- i’ve never- i’ve never done this before. I don’t know what to do-“ He was so close to you and his hand interlocked with yours, “I can show you.” all you could muster up the courage to say was “ Please Clark, I want to learn.” He guided your hand under his boxers moving it up and down his impressive length. “Just move slowly up and down.” You continued the steady motion and then asked, “Please can I take it out I wanna see it.” Clark was engulfed in pleasure as he spoke again “Of course baby, anything you want.” You moved the blanket and his cock sprung from his pajama bottoms, he moved his hand with yours guiding it up and down the shaft. His breath grew shaky and you spoke once again, riding off the high of his pleasure. “Can I- can I lick it?” His eyes widened and head reeled with excitement but he quickly took the situation into account as he spoke to you. “You don’t have to do that, I know a lot of girls think that you have to do that but you don’t, I just want you to be comfortable.” “Clark, I may not have done this before but I know what I want, please let me do this for you.” He grew more shocked and turned on and quickly said “Oh- ok yeah please, taste me baby please” You knew you wouldn’t be able to take him fully in your mouth so you decided to gently start with sucking just the tip.As you did you looked up at him for comfort and approval, you locked eyes with him and let out a chuckle sending his head backwards in an open mouthed moan. “GOD, you don’t know how long i’ve wanted this oh my lord please keep going.” You licked and sucked his cock for a few seconds more but when you decided to lick up the long vein on the under side of his cock he lost it, letting out whimpers of your name as he came in your hand. “OH MY GOD you’re incredible, please kiss me again.” You sat up and began to kiss him more feverishly, mindlessly rocking your hips against his knee, still not sitting fully out of insecurity. He pulled away from the kiss and began to kiss down your neck and he made his way to your ear moving your hair out of the way. He spoke in a deep whisper, a voice you had never heard before slipped from his lips. “come on baby ride my thigh I wanna see the way you make yourself feel good.” He saw the hesitation in your face and pulled farther away for a moment. “Clark I want to, I REALLY want to but I don’t think it’ll be comfortable for you. I’m just too heavy.” He began to get angry now, cursing every bully, magazine, or friend that ever made you feel this way about yourself. “Stop talking like that or i’m gonna have to show you just how sexy you are.”

Your mind raced thinking of the possibilities and a smirk found its way to your lips. “Clark, please show me, I want to know.” He laughed knowing the game you were playing, the witty girl he had known all these years finally peaking through her insecurity and self doubt. He flipped you over effortlessly and you yelped with shock and confusion littering your face. He kissed your lips softly and began raking in the look of your body as he did earlier in the night now finally achieving his long awaited fantasies. He kissed down your body over every part you had commented on over the years, the jaw you said was too soft, the collarbones you were sad never showed, the stomach you thought was too prominent, the legs you always complained never had a gap between eachother, until he reached your mound. He moved even slower now meeting your eyes as he took his time exploring you. “Please Clark-“ You spoke with a moan rising from the depths of your throat. “I know baby, I know just wanna take this slow with you, okay?” You nodded your head furiously waiting for the inevitable next step. He parted your lips with the tips of his fingers still locking eyes with you as he let an exploratory finger find its way inside of you. He began to move his hand back and forth feeling for the soft spongy walls within, looking at every twitch and reaction littered across your face. He then began moving his head closer and closer as you bit your lip with this new found feeling, not knowing what was to come next. He couldn’t resist anymore as he dove into you licking a stripe all the way up to your clit circling it with his tongue as you reveled in the new sensations. He continued his newfound favorite act and looked back into your eyes with mischief you were confused by this but didn’t pay it any mind as you were too engulfed in the new found pleasure.

This was until Clark hugged your legs and flipped you over until you were hovering over his mouth. “I want you to ride my face baby, don’t hold back it’s all i’ve been thinking about lately.” OH so THIS is what he meant when he said he was going to show you how sexy you are. Your mind tried to catch up with your senses but you longed for his tongue on you again. You began to sink down slowly and shyly, scared of hurting him. He began licking into your pussy again until he noticed how far away you were. “If we’re gonna do this then we’re gonna do this right. I already told you that.” He parted your legs even more than they already are and pulled you down onto his mouth by your waist. Your head fell back and any bit of insecurity fell with it. you looked down to see his eyes happier than they had ever been before and you began to unravel your inhibitions, rocking back and forth against his mouth. As you got closer he let go of you with a loud pop lifting you effortlessly as you whined wanting the sensation back again. “Go crazy baby rock into me, use me please I want you to feel good, this is all for you.” He pulled you down once again and started speeding up his movements you began to rock back even more feverishly, focusing on Clark and his eyes closed in his own pleasure you reached forward feeling the build up reach its peak with in your stomach and tangle your fingers in his messy hair, with this he lets out a long moan sending vibrations up your spine and causing the band in your stomach to snap. Catching your breath as you came down from the high you rolled off of him laying under the covers once again. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything too wrapped up in your own little world. You found your way back to him and cuddled into his chest once again getting comfortable. With a chuckle he spoke out loud “That was one hell of a way to warm up huh?” You laughed hearing this dorky personality shining through the man who just made you fall in love with him all over again. You cleared your throat to speak, “Yeah, we might have to try something else though… I’m starting to feel a little chilly again.”

[lululawrence]

lululawrence's fics posted in 2024

Master Fic Masterpost | Previous Years' Masterposts | Buy me a Coffee?

I'm Praying (that you don't burn out or fade away) (75k) featuring artwork by @moon-sun-thyme - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Harry and Louis are literal stars who have known they were soulmates from their creation eons ago, however when Louis came to Earth to start the next phase of their fated future, he forgot everything. Even Harry.

I Can Only Hold You (9k) - Jordan North/Louis Tomlinson

When Louis learns Jordan is close to falling into depri, he rushes over to help. What follows is so much more than either of them planned for.

You Just Be Yourself (13k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Five times Harry's daughter claims Louis as her mother, and one time Louis claims them both as his too.

Listening to Intuition (5k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Louis has a good grasp of his own identity and how all the pieces of him fit together in his life as a queer man in a committed relationship with his partner. Or so he thinks until his favorite aroace TikTok creator shows him another possibility he may have previously overlooked.

Following the Good Vibes (6k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

When Zayn rescues a stranger named Harry from an awkward plane ride beside a total dick, he doesn't think much of it. Harry has the chance to pay it forward on a later flight, and in doing so he just might set into motion pieces that will determine the path his future takes.

Come and See My Dreams (3k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

In a world where alphas traditionally built nests as part of the courting rituals for their omegas and rarely outside of that, Louis felt drawn to nest for his best friend from the time he was young.

Now, it was finally time to present the nest to Harry.

a moon, a rainbow, and a carnation (9k) - Oscar Isaac/Pedro Pascal/Louis Tomlinson

Five times Louis, Pedro, and Oscar have incredible chemistry and the one time they finally admit to the feelings.

'Cause What I Want Came True (2k) - Diego Luna/Louis Tomlinson

Diego had been… unexpected. From the moment that Louis had walked into the coffee shop and seen him sitting there, he was surprised. He’d known Diego was attractive, the few photos he had shared on the dating app had made that clear, but there was something about seeing him in person that made him feel… more.

(Whoops) Here We Go Again (4k) - Oscar Isaac/Louis Tomlinson

The one where Louis and Oscar have been seeing each other regularly on the elevator at work for almost nine months. Maybe it’s time for something to finally happen between them.

Duck Crossing (3k) - Diego Luna/Louis Tomlinson

“So, what exactly are we doing?”

Diego’s brows rose in surprise at the same time Louis started hearing what sounded like quacking. “You don’t know?”

Louis scrunched his nose a bit and looked over towards where the quacking seemed to be getting louder. “I don’t. My sister sent me to the discord without explaining what was so special about the town’s ducks, and when I went to ask about it, I somehow got roped into helping you here tonight instead, so…”

Diego laughed before he looked up and down the road, where several cars were still making their way around. “This is going to be fun for you, then.”

I'm the Big Fish (6k) - Pedro Pascal/Louis Tomlinson

After an awkward moment at a party he wasn't actually invited to, Louis keeps running into the incredibly attractive Pedro Pascal. Somehow, it's Pedro who manages to keep making a fool of himself, causing Louis to grow increasingly more confused at his behavior while also feeling more drawn to him. Maybe someday they'll be able to manage a moment that doesn't end in one of them feeling the need to run from the room in order to escape the other.

All the Words We Don't Want to Hear (666) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Louis turned off the tv and took a few deep breaths. He should never have allowed himself to watch a show detailing an ongoing serial murder investigation when he was home alone at night. His imagination was getting the best of him and causing him to get worked up over nothing.

…Right?

Harry's Halloween Husband Haul (666) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Harry's voice drifted in through the closet door.

“I saw a girl make a video showing her boyfriend haul, so I thought I’d make a Halloween Edition husband haul! So here’s mine…”

You Should Be Here With Me (34k) - Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

The festive period is a traditionally hectic one in the world of Premier League football, and this year is no different. A lot is riding on how Manchester United is able to come through the fixtures in the coming weeks.

Louis and his teammates know all too well the pressure that is on their shoulders. They need to prove, not just to fans of the club but the entire league, that they still have what it takes to be a team worthy of fighting for the top of the table.

Throw in the fact that Louis is all too aware that he's not getting any younger in a profession that demands your peak physical fitness year round and the incredibly fit Harry Styles, who is part of the club's social media team, and this year's festive period might just be the most important one yet.

[shadowqueenjude]

HAPPY NEW YEAR FOR ME FINALLY!!!

I joined Tumblr October 2023, so this is my first whole year on Tumblr! I’ve made so many friends; to each of my mutuals, I love you so much!

Special shout outs:

1) @sonics-atelier my wife my queen, who is the perfect combination of sweet and sassy, you may have literally saved my life this year. It wasn’t a good year for me, but I survived because I had someone like you for a friend. You always indulge all my headcanons and were the first fan of my writing ❤️ily always

2) @decadentpostnacho the last part of our trio, you are absolutely incredible and your snarkiness and support has given me life this past year. I am still in awe of the art you made me for my birthday, and I love love LOVE your Lucien takes❤️❤️

3) @positivelyruined my bestie, my incredible author friend, I’m so glad I discovered you this year! Your ability to calm me down in any situation and your support through my various breakdowns about my father warmed my heart. I was unbelievably touched that you offered to drive all the way to Texas to pick me up🥹 Your writing is chef’s kiss, and you’re doing ACOTAR justice!

4) @kateprincessofbluewhales my first mutual on tumblr, my tumblr aunt, she is so iconic. She has some of the strangest takes, which made me a lot more comfortable sharing my own takes. Don’t let her pessimism or snarkiness fool you: she is very kind and her words of advice have given me the courage to keep going.

5) @yennas-stuff you’re so precious! and such a chill guy haha. When I was hella bored after my exam, I dmed yenna and she responded immediately (even though she probably should’ve been sleeping) and we roasted Azriel together for an hour! She’s so approachable and a breath of fresh air in an incredibly toxic fandom :)

6) @littlefireling my secret santa, I cannot express enough how happy your gift made me. The moodboard was EVERYTHING i had dreamed, and I can’t believe you commissioned art just for me!!

7) @acourtofthought I’ve always loved your amazing in-depth analyses of SJM books, and your posts single-handedly inspired me to become a hardcore Elucien! People always come after you, yet you’re always so classy yet so savage with your comebacks! On top of that, you’re such a great person to talk to! I’m glad this fandom brought us together:)

[kookoomyboy]

lovetrack

⊂❀⊃ pairing : jungkook x oc

⊂❀⊃ genre : racer!jk, fluff

⊂❀⊃ wc: 1491

⊂❀⊃ summary : drabble | he picks up a fight with a fellow racer so you calm him down in your way

⊂❀⊃ a/n : racer jungkook. yes that's the note.

< jjk titles,,> ♡ kookoomyboy ®

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

Eyes squinting at the sunlight passing through the glass windows of your penthouse, you pour a glass of water to calm your racing heart from the morning jog you just went on. The cold water made your insides churn into a pleasant soothing feeling, as you proceeded upstairs to the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend of 4 years. You and Jungkook were in stark contrast, considering the both of your personalities. You were a normal student, back in uni when you both met, while Jungkook was a sweet, bubbly guy who absolutely adored sport activities and had a large circle of friends. Basically, a social butterfly. As they say, opposites attract, and that’s exactly how your little gray dreams fluttered with colors spread by the love you held for each other.

Life could probably be described with the seven lettered word they used for the absolute, beautiful version of things; perfect. There are slight ups and downs, but nothing affects your relationship with him. Your gaze lands on his figure sprawled out, lying on the bed like a king claiming absolute authority over a territory, and you let your prince have a cozy sleeping time, because no one would have the littlest of interest in waking him up, if they saw that face of his, looking so soft and squishy, pressed against the cotton cushion.

Slowly placing your hands on his shampooed, scented and thus soft brown hair locks, you curled and uncurled the strands between those slender fingers of yours with an eye smile and fondness. Jungkook fluttered open his eyes and immediately looked up at you, finding your hands massaging his scalp and radiating a small morning smile at you, rasping a “good morning.” 

“Good morning, kook, don’t you have practice today, I’m afraid it’s time for you to wake up.” Jungkook was a bike racer, which was his biggest dream. He loved how at each acceleration, he could cut through the wind, moving forward. There’ll be a sense of victory that would rush through his spine, it’s his favorite. 

“Right missy, I’ll get ready in a few and we’ll go together today.” He sprang out of the bed and walked towards you, placing a small smooch on your forehead and picked up his racing suit and spare shirt, before heading towards the shower. You erupted into an endearing chuckle while hearing him singing at the top of his lungs inside, enjoying himself to the core.

“Right, now where’s the person who literally jumped out of the bed like a spring, this man’s unbelievable, really.” You glanced at the watch for the nth time, while minutes pass like usual, your boyfriend is still not ready to leave.

“I’m sorry, let’s go, shall we?” He didn’t seem in a rush at all, rather he took his time twirling his keys and adjusting his jacket.

His words halted seeing you, all dressed up and ready for office. Even though it's just formal attire, he found it, straight up hot. Glancing at your figure, back turned towards him as you skimmed through your phone, scrunched up face, probably mad at him. He places his lips, wet from the fresh shower, onto your nape as you shudder, eyes wide at the tenderly powerful electric feeling that crawled upon you, like it was about to suck you up in its vortex. The damn vortex of his touch.

You just hummed, taking in the feeling, before turning to him, your free hand caressing his chest. "Jeon, this isn't the time." 

"Oh baby, Trust me, any time feels right if it's you. I don't give a fuck about anything when you feel so good."

He just

Made you feel tons of things in interesting places, under broad daylight.

"Let's just… go. We're late see ! It's always the same when I leave with you !" You sulked, the intimate atmosphere immediately changing into a giggly one. 

“Darling, we aren’t late. Don’t sulk, you don’t look cute.” He wrapped his hands around your waist and looked down at you, as a gentle slap landed on his chest.

“You don’t look cool like this. Get on, we’ve no time to waste.” You scolded, as he climbed on in one swift move, starting the vehicle and zooming out of the compound and towards the place where he practices with fellow racers.

“Wait, Jungkook, you didn’t drop me off, why’re you taking me with you?” You were confused as he usually drops you off first. 

“It’s too early, Y/N, you’d be bored going so early and sitting idle. Let’s have a small date before work today, since you sulked early in the morning.”

“You’re such a rebel, Koo.”

“This is not rebelling ! this is pure love” He joked as you shared a hearty laugh together, before getting off the bike and walking towards the track.

“I’ll sit there and watch you, you can’t slack off with practice especially when you have a match abroad.” You patted his shoulder, nudging him to leave, but your loverman wouldn’t budge. He simply hugged you, but just then, a group of men who you guessed to be his fellow racers approached you, as he broke the hug and smiled awkwardly at them. And just then, someone among those men caught your attention, immediately realizing who he was. You had that time back at uni when a guy tried to use, and take advantage of you. Jungkook did keep you protected and away from such bad influences, but you weren’t over that trauma for quite a while, before being back to normal.

You felt heavily uncomfortable and disgusted to be in the same place with such a man with low dignity and Jungkook read your mind, and felt your hands clutching the strap of the sling bag you wore tighter.

"Uh, hi guys, this is Y/N, my girlfriend I just bought her here since we had some spare time but she's running late ! So see you after I drop her off !" He said everything in a hurry and started pulling you out of the place when that very man you were despising, Jack, stopped him, and you could see Jungkook's jaw clench at his audacity.

"Move, Jack." He harshly spat at the latter, but Jack curved his lips into a sly smile, gaze shifting towards you.

"Oh look who do we have here? Jungkook's "girlfriend" cut the crap guys, we know you both might not even be in a legitimate relationship right–" 

Before he could stoop any lower than he already is with his words, Jungkook left your hand and launched towards Jack, and landed a punch right on his nose, eyes and then mouth, brutally beating up to the point he would've fainted, but you somehow managed to separate the both of them while the rest of the guys didn't even make an effort to end the fight.

Jungkook was fuming in pure anger, his eyes bloodshot and ears flaming red. He was about to punch the hell out of Jack again, when you suddenly pulled out a small box from your leather, white bag and put it around his fingers.

He didn't seem to notice at first, caught up in the anger, but slowly realization started hitting him. It was a proposal. 

The other racers present there were already gone with Jack, reading the situation, if Jack's going to linger around any longer, he might not see daylight ever again.

"Y/N… this." He was flabbergasted to say the least, seeing you smile a little.

"This proposal would probably go down in history as one of the most eventful ever. But I'd like to ask you this, will you marry me, Jeon Jungkook?" You asked as your hands were intertwined with his as he nodded umpteen number of times  still not believing his ears.

"I love this bold girl of mine, I will be the luckiest man to be with you, protect you from these kind of men and make sure their mouth wouldn't utter a word against you, and eyes never would look at you in an disrespectful way." He placed his cherry lips on yours, tenderly whispering sweet nothings in between before pulling out.

"You've done a lot for me, made me the happiest and been with me through thick and thin, now let me protect you too, Jungkook. "

[notmuchofatail]

Gregory hummed softly, his gaze slipping back forward as he raised his brows gently. He wasn't surprised to hear that from this stranger, of course. Most people did come in to town with that same attitude, and it wasn't anything he wouldn't expect of someone who looked the way Jack did. Not that Gregory was judging a book by their cover - Gregory certainly looked like he fit right in next to this man, clearly. He hid his expression behind a sip of his drink, mulling over the words with another shrug of his shoulders. "True - but not nearly as bad as when demons broke out all across town." Gregory pointed out, his gaze shifting back towards the other man. "They had to scrub blood out of the sidewalks days after." Another sip of his drink, glancing down at it distastefully. "Ah - or the time a group of vampires poisoned and sacrificed a bunch of people to try and break the town's protections. Or when a vampire compelled a bunch of people to harm people and destroy property." He listed off, rubbing lightly at his wrist. "Mm. Don't forget the minor zombie apocalypse. The time where flowers sprouted up and started telling everyone's secrets to the town. Or when the forest encroached more than a few times and tried to kill people. Freak multiple foot snowstorms that melt the next morning. When everyone turned into animals or could only communicate by singing. The time people were forced to raise these creepy fluffy baby alien things and would literally make people go ballistic if you tried to stop them. Ah and the dreams. The shared dreams - very pop culture. Hunger Games, Titanic, Harry Potter, warrior Cats. Pirates. You know - the town has a range. It really can be anything."

@the-pumpkin-king-lament

Sweet Libations || OPEN

[oceans-beloved]

Meme dump yayyy🥳✨️

(off to make more now muhahaha >:3)