#not that i care enough to do anything about it

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ we're doing better ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ your husband has finally been honest with you, but what now?┊3.0k words; prt one (here)

contains: his pov, lots of perspective and lore, love at first sight, happy ending where the reader forgives him, note that sociopathic/psychopathic behavior has no known cure & that this is unrealistic fiction, he can’t be fixed but he can be here <3

➤ author's note: the long-awaited & heavily-requested part two!! the ending is sucky because i didn’t plan to write a part two and because i personally wouldn’t have forgiven him, but lots of you guys seemed to want to. i wanted to write something exploring their relationship, so i hope this is received well & that you guys will enjoy!

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning” were the last words you said to him before rushing out the door and disappearing to your mother’s house. that was last night, but it was now early evening with the sun finishing its descent over the horizon and you were nowhere to be seen. he briefly wondered if you were also watching it from wherever you were like he was through the window, knowing that you adored the beautiful array of colors blending into each other and always pointed it out when you were with him. he never cared for it himself and took the sight for granted until you came along. now he’s aching for your presence asking him if he thought it was pretty when you were always the prettiest sight in his eyes with the orange light reflecting on you.

his hand was itching to call you or send a text, but he decided against it. you needed your space, especially after that fateful conversation which left him with regret weighing heavy on his chest. he wasn’t sure what the regret stemmed from, if it was regret from not trying harder to keep his secret, if it was from not being more careful to hide his tracks from seong gi-hun, if it was from attempting to build a normal life, or if it was leading the type of life had in the first place. it was a mix of everything, and he hated the feeling of it.

gong ji-cheol never regretted anything in his life. he didn’t regret spending his days getting a sadistic kick out of playing judge and jury to people he viewed as worthless trash when they lost against him, whether it was slapping people he was recruiting into games they would inevitably die in or spending his free time messing around with homeless people. he didn’t regret getting tangled up with the mysterious oh il-nam and the activities occurring on that island, starting as a guard and working his way up to a salesman. he didn’t regret firing a gun on his own father in cold blood when he unknowingly begged his own flesh and blood to spare him.

he’s a man who was steadfast and stubborn when it came to his fucked-up morals and ideals, always believing from a young age that it made him better than others. there was never a reason for him to change as he got older when he found himself working for a hidden organization that introduced him to the addicting taste of death, paid well, and protected him from the law if the unlikely situation of getting caught by authorities for his crimes ever happened. he never cared to do the right thing was doing wrong was just so much more suited to him, never minding the strict set of rules he had to adhere to as long as he was allowed to freely exercise his psychopathic tendencies without trouble following him. it made him feel like a god at times who was so high above normal people if he ignored that he was still an employee with a boss.

and now he’s sitting in the living room, disheveled and staring at the floor waiting for your return like a dog awaiting its master.

he couldn’t even be mad at you for storming out like that. he’s surprised about how mellow your reaction was to learning the truth of his occupation and how dirty the cash he used to spoil you was, how you didn’t scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and how you didn’t call the police— or maybe you had already called them at some point today and his friends in higher places were working to keep him safe. more than anything, he misses you, filled with a feeling of longing he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.

at first, he was only trying to look normal. the people around him started to wonder why a man as tall and handsome as he with money that flowed in like water from an unknown source he kept secret was still single. when people wonder, they start to become nosy. he couldn’t have that if he wanted to keep up the lifestyle he had, so he started searching for someone suited to be his wife. 

to others, he seemed incredibly picky, never reaching out for a second date even once or even bothering to send a polite text saying he didn’t feel a connection. to him, he didn’t think he was picky enough. despite carefully combing through his options and sometimes even hiring private investigators to stalk them if needed, there was always something he missed which was a dealbreaker for him in a relationship: ignorance and stupidity, improper table manners when he reserved at a fine restaurant, running more than fifteen minutes late without traffic in the way, and most importantly for him, asking too many prying personal questions which weren’t relevant on the first date. yes, he understands that first dates are all about getting to know each other, no, he doesn’t find it necessary to talk about stupid things. although he would rather not say anything at all, he’s very particular about how quickly he shares information about himself with others and gets ticked off by anyone who tries too hard to learn more about it (he won’t admit it, but he also gets a bit threatened by it).

by the time the day his first date with you rolled around, he was ready for it to be his last before he lived out his life alone as originally planned. he lost his faith that he would find someone who lived up to his lofty expectations and received news that oh il-nam was dead. the next games were canceled to mourn the loss of the founder, and part of ji-cheol wondered if he should cancel the date as well to take the time to pay his respects. he didn’t think you would be the one and believed there wouldn’t be any difference whether or not he actually showed up.

yet there was something in him that refused to pick up the phone and make up an excuse. it was indescribable like a higher power making sure that he followed the path intended for him. he told himself it was nothing but not wanting to be rude when it was only half an hour before the arranged time and because he didn’t want to pay the cancellation fee, nothing more nothing less. he never cared before if he was thought of as rude to people he didn’t intend to keep in his life for long, and he had enough money to buy the entire place if he wanted to.

so what was his problem all of a sudden?

you showed up perfectly on time, a few seconds before the clock struck, looking beautiful. it’s not a word he uses often. pretty, maybe, but not beautiful, yet it was the first word that crossed his mind when you introduced yourself. he found himself enamored by your presence and everything about it from how you carried yourself to the subtle glitter eyeshadow that made your eyes sparkle to the dainty jewelry hanging around your neck, so enamored that he forgot to accept your outstretched hand and to get up to pull out your seat for you at first.

more than easy on the eyes, dressed appropriately, good table manners, well-educated, never pressing too hard on matters he clearly didn’t want to talk about, you were quickly checking off everything on his list as his partner— although what he was really looking for was to draw away suspicions and your likable personality made you perfect for the job, he could even see you as a companion. even if you were visibly nervous, he didn’t mind, your timidness was adorable actually, akin to a little bunny being fed by his hand.

when he finally got home, he realized he was still smiling when he’s usually constantly reminding himself to do so. he also realized that he lost track of time and came back a whopping two hours later than he expected.

it was history from there, gong ji-cheol, a man who saw other humans as unequal trash, had succumbed to love at first sight, which baffled him.

it made him remember a scene from his childhood, one where he asked his mother why she remained married to his deadbeat father after another night of him not showing up in favor of gambling and drinking instead of spending it with his own family. she embraced him with tears, once again reminding him of her own tale of love at first sight, and also telling him that when you’re so deep in love like she was, you’re willing to forgive them for anything.

he thought she was stupid for that. now he knows he’s truly just like his mother just like everyone said.

you were shy in the first steps of the relationship, quickly realizing that you had become a glorified sugar baby of sorts. he didn’t know how to express his affection through words nor did he have the extra time to spend with you during that time of the year, so he spoiled you with lavish gifts and wealth beyond your wildest dreams. any debts you might have were paid off, one of the nicest condos in korea was bought for you to move in together, your parent's retirement was paid off in full to allow them to stop working, and any other money-related issues were quickly covered by him. you could even quit your job if you wanted to, but you didn’t want to become too dependent on him and wouldn’t know what to do with all the extra time in your day.

it soon became clear there was a boundary not to be crossed, which was not to dig too much into his personal life. if he gave you a curt, general answer to your question, you were not to say anything more about the matter. no one you spoke to about this thought this was too strange, even when you were preparing to get married, because what was there to worry your pretty head about? you love him and he loves you, he was treating you better than a queen, and his wealth spread into your circle of people you cared about with friends getting luxury perfumes and parents getting first-class tickets to wherever they wanted. in a way, they didn’t want to ask any more questions if it meant angering him and possibly not having these things anymore.

you never liked it, but he never cared about it. they were just trivial things and he was perfectly fine with sharing what he had, or at least, that’s what he told you. it was mainly to ensure he was well-liked among them and no one would ever try to come between you.

the only people who ever did were a few snakes parading as your friends trying to steal him away from you, trying to seduce him, and getting too close for his comfort. you were too sweet to notice and always forgave it if you did, but he noticed their lingering eyes and was disgusted. it was the one time he allowed his mask to slip, calling them out for being human garbage with a polite smile on his face as they gasped in shock. if they tried to cry to you about how awful he was to them, he simply told you the truth and encouraged you to cut them off which you always did.

the garden he carefully cultivated of a normal domestic life was flourishing. you were so captivated by the colorful flowers he planted and the butterflies pollinating them that you didn’t notice how dirty his gloved hands were when ripping out anything that didn’t belong like weeds trying to sprout through the soil. he was always sure to take them off and discard them afterward, never daring to touch you with the sins of his life outside of you.

then you fell pregnant after months of trying, and while he was overjoyed at first with renovations in mind to turn one of the extra rooms into a nursery, there was an unease in him wondering if the child would turn out like him: a remorseless psychopath who would one day kill his own father as he did his. he would later by a few books about parenting, hoping that he could prevent that type of future.

time flew by and he hadn’t killed anyone in a while although he was still complicit in hundreds of deaths a year. his violent urges slowly calmed and his hand was only raised during ddakji matches, but even then, they were more gentle than before (which meant that they still stung and made their face swell up, but it was an improvement when in the past, he would sometimes hit them so hard that they could taste blood on their tongue). 

the effects of being a husband and soon-to-be father were changing who he was at his very core, but it didn’t change everything he’s already done.

he was stupid to think he could have such a picture-perfect life with the woman he loved after everything. for someone who meticulously plans out things down to each syllable of the words he spoke, he didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do once he was found out.

the law couldn’t touch him, but he didn’t care about the law, he cared about you and your unborn child. 

he ran his hand through his messy dark locks, sighing in frustration trying to think of a solution as he dug around the kitchen until he fished out an entire bottle of wine. he could manipulate himself out of this situation as he had done countless times before, he’s a snake with a forked silver tongue who could easily get his way just by flickering it, but the thought of lying to you again broke his once unfeeling heart. it would never be the same way again with your relationship tainted with distrust. the truth would have to come out eventually.

oh god, but what would he do without you? 

before he could begin to spiral for the fourth time that day about what would happen if you left him, the familiar sound of a keypad being pressed and the front door being unlocked. he froze in place, not expecting you to come back at that very moment— but he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. he wasn’t sure of anything, simply staring at you when you caught him hunched over the counter drinking straight from a bottle of wine and looking like a child whose mom just caught him sneaking a snack at two in the morning.

“oh god, i leave for a day and you’re already a wreck, what happened to the ji-cheol who’s always put together even when it’s raining?” you approached him casually, reaching up to mess around with his hair until he looked more like his usual self. there was an air of awkwardness you tried to hide and was successful for the most part, but he could read you easier than a book. you were nervous around him now, acting with slight fear and carefulness like you were inching around a predator, and even flinched when he hugged you to feel your presence and breathe in your scent. 

you hugged him back after a moment, looking up at him with your voice shaking, “if it’s really… that… then i understand it would be dangerous for you to tell me, so i won’t ask any more questions… i don’t… i don’t want to leave you and leave our child fatherless…”

if you were any other person in the world, he would have smirked at the fact that he didn’t need to bother trying to manipulate you into staying with him. he would have relished his control over you and how you came back in the end, free to continue killing and asking people to play a game with him to satisfy his sadistic desires. 

but you weren’t any other person in the world, you were his wife.

“you really forgive me? after knowing all that?”

“i guess love really does let you look past everything no matter how bad… at least you didn’t cheat on me as my friends suggested, that would be the real unforgivable offense…”

the topic of his occupation never came up again, but he made the choice to resign on account of it no longer fitting with his current lifestyle. the current frontman, who was an old friend of his, looked upon him fondly for his loyalty, thanked him for his service, and was even kind enough to use his connections to find him a new place to work. it was boring by his standards, but it paid well and wasn’t illegal, so he persevered. he now has plenty of things to tell you about his workplace, from the annoying co-worker who keeps showing him the most random unfunny things on the internet to how the coffee shop downstairs wasn’t half bad. mundane things that made you grin when he told you about his day, which was all that mattered to him.

you soon gave birth to a healthy baby girl with his eyes and your smile. the world became a lot brighter, even with all the sleepless nights of her crying and learning how to change diapers. she was a little joy born out of his love for you. 

finally, you’re both doing better, and he no longer has to hide himself away from you.

tag list!! @tric0rd / @solatiiium / @iloveragdollcats / @sugaremedy / @pear-1206 / @orangutanjazz / @boowiththegoo / @knoepfl / @miaasmf / @queenjang21 / @larissa-slays69 / @munch3025 / @qrstarz / @capital-koreasofia / @swiftieee4lifeee / @liliylikescats / @maryyyswift / @vaenys2 / @bane-y-zane / @dynaloy / @chunkzdeluluwife / @everyonelovestay / @tomhollandtoothbrush

there will not be a part three, thank you for reading!!

[peachesofteal]

more pizza girl

You're fucked.

It's the only way to explain how you feel, standing in the store, staring at bottles of liquor, wine, beer. You don't even know if this is the appropriate thing to do, but you've always seen it in shows, movies, so it must be, right?

You should have said no to this whole thing, should have told them you're busy, or you're working, or you had plans, but for some reason, you just knew they'd see through it. They'd call your bluff.

So here you were, staring at a rack of wine, trying to pick something to take to their house for dinner.

Even the thought is a marvel. You're not a complete shut in, you visit the few friends you have on occasion, your family, attend work functions, but this is different.

You know it is.

"Excuse me?" A petite old lady chirps at your shoulder, and you turn. "Do you need help?"

"Oh, um... no."

"You sure? It's just you've been standing here for almost thirty minutes." Fuck. 

"I'm fine." It comes out more assertive than you would have liked, and she backs away without another word. Great. 

You choose a six pack and book it out of there.

Their place is cozy. Not too small, not too big, clean and organized, orderly.

Except for the dog.

He's massive. 

And slobbery.

And... not for you.

Simon realizes immediately, and herds him away behind a baby gate, where he promptly slumps to the floor and closes his eyes, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth.

"He's..."

"Ye dinnae have to say cute. We know he's not."

"He's a mutt," Simon tells you, placing a bowl of something hot on the table, "but he's ours. Rescued him an' everything. Never liked pets but... found him on the street an' for some reason couldn't leave him behind."

"That's so sweet." He shrugs, Johnny rolls his eyes.

"Didnae tell me a thing. Just came home with a giant slobbering bear." You eye the table and it's three chairs, suddenly overflowing with anxiety. Which one should you pick? Which ones are theirs? Do they sit next to each other? Doesn't someone always sit at the head of the table? "Take a seat wherever," Johnny coaxes but you remain frozen, avoiding their eyes.

A hand folds over your shoulder with gentle, careful pressure, and warmth. "This one." Simon urges you towards the one in the middle, and you relax, grateful.

"Sorry." You mumble, but Johnny reaches across the table and squeezes your hand.

"Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry for. We're really happy you came."

"I... I'm glad I came too." The admission tries to stick in your throat before you force it free, and they reward you with soft smiles.

"Let's eat then."

Dinner passes in a breeze. It's so easy to sit with them, be around them. Involved in their conversation but comfortable enough to bow out of it too, and just listen. They're very good at navigating it, knowing when to stop and go, when to ask you something, and when to move on.

"If you want to stay for a bit, we were thinking about watching a movie. Afraid we're not really exciting." Simon calls over his shoulder, unfolding his glasses and slipping them on his face.

"Oh." Just do it, do it, do it- "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah but no... nothing scary. I can't do those." Johnny jerks his head towards the couch.

"Nothin' scary."

Simon doesn't give you the opportunity to stress over the seating arrangement this time, and points immediately to the left side of the couch. "The button down on the side will extend the footrest, and it can lean all the way back."

"Wow." Johnny settles on the other side, and Simon takes up an overstuffed armchair to your right.

Lots of distance. You kind of feel sad about it.

Your eyelids start to droop after an hour, and no matter how hard you fight it, you're in a losing battle. "I think I should go home." You mumble, and Simon pauses the screen.

"You alright?"

"I'm falling asleep." You don't make any moves to get up, instead curling in closer, tucking your hands under your cheek. The room is warm, the couch is soft, and the dog is snoring, which is comforting, in a weird way. "Should call an uber."

"We'll drive ye."

"No, no... I'm-" you yawn. You don't want to move, and when no one says anything, you let your eyes close for a few minutes. Just a few minutes.

In the dark, who knows what time or how many minutes or hours later, a blanket is tucked around your shoulders, shoes slipped off your feet, and someone strokes your cheek, trailing up over your forehead and away, lingering briefly.

"Sleep tight sweet girl."

[zhelin-thames]

The Joker was ranting again, his shrill laughter echoing off the walls of the Justice League’s holding cells. Danny Fenton—or as they knew him, the Ghost King—leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a scowl etched on his face. The tension in the room was palpable, the League standing by in case the infamous clown decided to get creative. But Danny wasn’t worried. He’d dealt with worse.

“You think you’re so scary, huh?” Danny muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. The Joker’s grin faltered for a split second before he burst into laughter again, clearly unfazed—or pretending to be. Danny rolled his eyes. “Pathetic. You’re just loud and messy. Real fear doesn’t need a laugh track.”

The room went silent. Superman shifted uncomfortably, glancing between Danny and the Joker. Batman’s eyes narrowed, taking in the Ghost King’s uncharacteristic venom.

It wasn’t that Danny was usually chatty during these encounters, but his utter disdain for the Joker—his unwillingness to engage in anything more than curt dismissal—was becoming a pattern. Everyone noticed it, and no one dared ask. The Joker, for his part, didn’t push further. Something in Danny’s glowing green eyes made even him hesitate.

But when Jonathan Crane—the Scarecrow—was brought in a few weeks later, the mood shifted entirely.

Crane was quiet as he was escorted into a separate cell, his lanky frame hunched but his eyes sharp, calculating. The League had just wrapped up an exhausting mission to stop one of his fear toxin rampages, and they were still on edge. Crane didn’t bother with his usual monologues, which was unusual enough to make everyone uneasy.

Except Danny.

As soon as Danny saw Crane, he snorted. Loudly. The kind of derisive snort that made Wonder Woman glance his way in confusion. “This guy?” Danny said, pointing at Crane with his thumb. “Seriously?”

Crane’s head tilted ever so slightly, his curiosity piqued. “The Ghost King,” he said, his voice low and rasping. “A being of great power and…fear. How delightful.”

“Don’t,” Danny interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, I���ve heard it before. And honestly? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Crane blinked, caught off guard. “Embarrassing myself?”

Danny sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I get it. You’re all about fear. Big bad Scarecrow, master of terror, blah blah blah. But do you even know what fear is? Real fear? Because from where I’m standing, you’re just a guy with some glorified bug spray.”

The room went dead silent. Flash stifled a laugh. Batman’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering between Danny and Crane. The Scarecrow, however, didn’t seem angry. If anything, he looked…intrigued.

“And what,” Crane asked slowly, “would you consider real fear, Your Highness?”

Danny’s eyes glowed brighter, his voice dropping an octave. “Real fear is the kind that makes your soul ache. It’s the kind of fear that lingers in the dark corners of your mind, whispering that you’re not enough, that you’ll never be enough. It’s watching everything you love slip away and knowing you can’t stop it. It’s the void staring back at you and realizing it doesn’t care.”

He leaned forward, his face inches from the glass separating them. “Your little toxins? They’re cheap tricks. Flashy illusions. A waste of potential. You could actually do something with all your knowledge, but instead, you play Halloween in Gotham like some knockoff horror movie villain.”

Crane didn’t reply immediately. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. The others stared at Danny, half-impressed, half-confused. Even Batman’s ever-stoic expression had a flicker of something resembling surprise.

Finally, Crane chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted. “But fear, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps one day, you’ll see the artistry in my work.”

Danny scoffed again, turning to leave. “Don’t hold your breath, Doc. You’d pass out before you made anything actually scary.”

As Danny walked away, Superman stepped up beside him, lowering his voice. “You’ve faced worse, haven’t you?”

Danny shrugged. “I’ve been worse. That guy? He’s just a waste of scary.”

Superman frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Danny smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Stick around, Big Blue. Maybe one day I’ll show you.”

[tender-rosiey]

WE’VE SEEN SUKUNA WITH A SHY DAUGHTER, BUT WHAT ABOUT..SUKUNA WITH AN EXTROVERTED ENERGETIC HUMOROUS DAUGHTER⁉️⁉️

mischief reign — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: I HEAR YOU ANON

sukuna, the king of curses, master of terror and destruction, sits cross-legged on his throne with a look of pure exasperation carved into his features.

his crimson eyes follow the whirlwind of energy that is your daughter as she darts across the room.

“stop running, d/n,” sukuna orders, his voice heavy with authority. “you’ll trip over your own feet and break your neck. then what will you do?”

d/n skids to a halt in the middle of the hall, her little arms spread wide for balance.

her grin is as wide as her father’s, though hers is filled with boundless mischief rather than malice.

“then you’ll fix me!” she chirps without a second of hesitation, twirling on one foot.

sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “you’re too much like your mother.”

“is that supposed to be an insult?” you call out, stepping into the room with a knowing smile.

sukuna’s gaze flicks to you, and though his expression doesn’t soften, you can tell he’s relieved by your presence.

“it’s a warning,” he retorts. “one is enough. two of you? that’s a curse even I don’t deserve.”

d/n bounds over to you, her tiny hands clutching at your robes as she peers up at you with wide, excited eyes.

“mama, did you see me? I ran so fast! like this—zoom!” she dashes in a quick circle around you, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process.

“I saw,” you reply with a laugh, steadying her before she topples over. “but your father’s right. you’ll hurt yourself if you’re not careful.”

she pouts up at you, her brows furrowing in an uncanny imitation of sukuna. “papa’s always telling me to stop. he’s so grumpy!”

“because you don’t listen,” sukuna snaps, his tone sharp but not unkind.

“because you’re always grumpy!” d/n shoots back, sticking her tongue out at him.

the audacity of her response earns a low growl from sukuna. “insolent brat,” he mutters.

you stifle a laugh, knowing better than to let sukuna see you encouraging her sass. d/n, on the other hand, has no such reservations.

she scrambles up the steps to his throne, plopping herself down beside him with all the confidence of someone who knows they’re untouchable.

“why don’t you smile more, papa?” she asks, leaning her chin on her tiny hands as she gazes up at him.

sukuna stares at her like she’s just suggested he grow a third ear. “I don’t smile because I have to deal with you,” he replies flatly.

“you’re so mean!” d/n huffs, crossing her arms. “mama, tell him he’s mean!”

you step closer, your hands resting on your hips as you give sukuna an amused look. “you are so mean, sukuna.”

“I will show you mean later,” sukuna counters, eyes focused on you before they narrow as he turns to look at your daughter. “the world isn’t soft and kind. you might as well learn that now, you brat.”

d/n puffs out her cheeks in defiance. “but the world isn’t just mean either! there’s fun and happy things too! like flowers, and festivals, and—” she pauses, a sly grin creeping onto her face. “—frowny grumpy old men like you!”

sukuna’s eye twitches, his patience visibly wearing thin. “old?” he echoes, his tone dangerously low. “do you have a death wish, child?”

“maybe!” d/n chirps, completely unfazed.

the sheer audacity of her response leaves sukuna momentarily speechless, and you have to turn away to hide your laughter.

“d/n,” you say gently, crouching down to her level. “why don’t we give your father a break? he’s had a long day.”

“but he doesn’t do anything!” she protests, pointing an accusing finger at sukuna.

the cursed king leans forward, his crimson gaze locking onto hers with a dangerous gleam. “do you want to find out what I can do, little girl?”

“sure!” d/n replies brightly, hopping off the throne and striking a playful fighting stance. “let’s see what you’ve got, old man!”

sukuna’s lips curl into a predatory grin, and for a moment, you think he might actually take her up on the challenge.

but then he leans back with a huff, crossing all four of his arms.

“you’re not worth the effort,” he declares.

d/n pouts, clearly disappointed. “you’re no fun,” she grumbles, flopping onto the floor dramatically.

“and you’re exhausting,” sukuna fires back.

you step between them, shaking your head with a fond smile. “

“alright, that’s enough. d/n, why don’t you help me in the garden?”

“but I don’t wanna leave papa!” d/n whines, clinging to one of sukuna’s lower arms. “he’s fun to tease!”

sukuna pries her off with minimal effort, holding her at arm’s length like a particularly annoying kitten.

“I don’t need your help to be teased,” he growls. “I’ve got your mother for that.”

you chuckle, reaching out to take d/n from him. “come on, troublemaker. let’s go pick some flowers for your father. maybe that’ll cheer him up.”

“good luck,” d/n mutters, allowing herself to be led away. “papa doesn’t like anything.”

“except for you,” you murmur under your breath, glancing back at sukuna.

his eyes meet yours, and though his expression remains unreadable, there’s a flicker of something softer in his gaze.

as you and d/n move toward the door, sukuna’s voice follows you, low and gruff. "you're both in the same lump to me," he says.

your eyes widen slightly at the admission. your raise your head to look at him, suddenly right in front of you. you’re about to respond.

but without waiting for a reply, sukuna lightly bumps his shoulder against yours as he passes, the motion almost casual but undeniably intentional.

his gaze never wavers from the throne, but you catch the small, reluctant smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips.

"don't forget that.”

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[edward-munson]

never have i ever

Summary: You're playing the game "Never have I ever" at Dustin's birthday party and it surprises you when Eddie reveals a secret of his personal life.

Warning: 18+ MDNI, masturbation, oral (m receiving)

Word count: 3.1k

You're only at this party because it's Dusin Henderson's 18th birthday. He thinks he's old enough to drink, so he makes sure all of his friends are drinking too. Except, he's only adept at drinking beer. Not like you, though. You like anything strong. You can drink beer, cocktails, tequila, anything alcoholic.

As you sip on your piña colada, one made especially by Jonathan, you watch as the younger boys play D&D at the bar. On the other side of the table, Eddie is smoking weed with his friends as they watch their friends playing. You try not to be obvious with your glances that are being directed at the metalhead, but you might be failing doing so because of the drinks you had.

Steve is trying to get your attention as he talks about his date, and Robin can't seem to listen to him because she's too busy checking Vickie out. They've been going on dates, but she's too invested and doesn't hide it. He's babbling and rambling, not hiding his excitement, and you feel bad you're not exactly listening to him.

The Hideout was rented just for Dustin's birthday, so you're allowed to listen to whatever you guys felt like. You and your friends are old enough to drink, and you're all taking care of the younger group in front of you. Will doesn't drink and Eleven isn't fond of it. Max is the one along with Mike who likes to try on cocktails and Jonathan makes sure he adds enough ounces of alcohol.

"Okay, you know what? If they're going to play a boring game, let's just play our own game!" Robin says as soon as Steve shuts his mouth

You both ask her what game it is and she seems excited about it. "Never have I ever"

Steve rolls his eyes and mumbles something and you just snort.

It's not like it's a forbidden game, but it sure can be fun.

She gathers every adult, including Eddie, who clearly couldn't be bothered by the idea. His friends decided to stay and watch the youngsters playing. As you all sit around a bigger table, Robin and Nancy spread shot glasses to each one of you, placing a good amount of tequila on each glass.

You don't protest, you like the idea of playing something like that. And it's funny how some of them, like Eddie and Steve, look like they're afraid of doing it.

You nudge the curly haired man beside you and whisper "You seem pretty worried"

He nudges you back and mocks you, shaking his head softly "Nah, just not the biggest fan of these games"

"Okay! Listen. I'll start and the round goes on to the right. Don't bullshit us and don't be soft" Robin shouts from the other side of the table, preparing herself before starting it.

They're all telling off things based on their own experiences, until Argyle decides to be the greatest menace ever. He started saying specific stuff that weren't related to him, rather to find out if people have ever done anything. The tequila shots were smaller so you all wouldn't die from alcohol poisoning.

You started to feel giddy, your cheeks were burning red and every time Eddie would bump his arm against yours, you would feel squirmy in your seat.

"Never have I ever been given a blowjob" Jonathan said and the guys took their shots. Argyle wouldn't stop laughing at this point, but mostly because he was drunk and high on weed.

It took a few seconds for you all to notice the fact that Eddie didn't take his shot and all eyes were pointed at him. He was leaning against his chair with a bandana over his head, so he wouldn't feel hot from drinking. His t-shirt was wet from the drink he missed and spilled over it. From your point of view, he looked hot as fuck.

"What? Yeah, I've never been sucked before and I'm not ashamed. I've barely hooked up with girls before" He seemed unbothered from saying the truth and it took them by surprise.

At least Steve and Jonathan were. Argyle, not so much. They've been friends for a while and they've shared experiences before. Meaning they didn't have many, but the fact no one ever wanted to give Eddie a blowjob seemed kinda off to you somehow.

"Huh, it's their loss" You murmured but loud enough for him to hear you

"What's that?" He rested his elbow over the table and leaned his head against his hand, having your full attention.

Eddie was holding a smug on his face and his lips were curved upwards. He pretended he didn't listen to you, but he knows what he heard.

"Uh– I mean" You blew through your closed mouth, trying to disguise your temptation of complimenting him. "Ah, they're all just stupid for not doing that"

"Really?" He pushes, biting his inner lower lip as he still muses towards you.

As you cross your arms in front of you, Eddie laughs at the way you react to his teasing and sits back straight on his chair. The game doesn't take too long to end, especially when Nancy says she's feeling kind of sick, and Vickie is about to throw up on the table.

You all scatter around, getting up and collecting the shot glasses. You don't feel sick, but you sure feel funny and like you're about to float from the amount of tequila you just had.

As soon as you turn on your heels to go back to the table, Eddie is standing there in front of you, holding a bottle of water. He's still wearing the bandana and it makes him look gorgeous from how the lights are hitting him. Without his bangs, you can see him more clearly. How his eyes are blown from the weed he smoked, the way his eyebrows are perfectly shaped, just like the shape of his plump lips.

You don't think he wouldn't notice, but he tilted his head to the side and gave you a sided smile. The kind of smile you give someone when you're about to mess with them, when you want to taunt them.

"Why are you looking at me that way, sunshine? Something wrong with my face?"

He follows you as you start to walk towards the table and you shake your head, hiding your thoughts as you drink your water. Eddie doesn't even let you sit without pulling a chair for you. He sits next to you, facing you. He crosses his arms and slumps back.

When he does that, your eyes literally drop a few inches to watch how he just sits there with his legs spread open, almost an invitation to what you've been thinking about.

You almost choke on the water from drinking it too fast. He takes the bottle off your hand and closes it, keeping his previous demeanor.

"Okay, now you're just acting weird. What the hell happened?" He sounds a little concerned, but the fact he's sitting like that in front of you doesn't help it.

You shrug, taking a deep breath. You cross your legs and lick your lips playfully before opening your mouth to speak. This small action sends a shock wave through his own body but it lasts a fraction of time.

You pull your chair closer to his, your legs standing in the middle of his. Eddie shifts his eyes to your legs and the way you are looking at him.

"You wouldn't wanna know what it's like to get a blowjob, Eddie?" You try not to sound like you're enticing him, or even provoking him. But the context says otherwise.

He laughs nervously, diverting his eyes from you. He looks at the ceiling and sighs. You see him taking a deep breath, looking back at you.

"What is this conversation about, really? None of the girls I've gone out with would wanna suck a freak off. They just wanted to hook up because I'm sort of famous in town. And I've had sex like two times. So really, don't bother with the subject"

He played defensive, like he was offended. You didn't intend to sound as if you're joking and making fun of him for not having much sex.

"No– Eddie, I'm not trying to make fun of you. You're such a grumpy little man! Come here" You quickly get up and pull him by his hand, following to the back of the bar.

You knew the whole place. You've been at the bar a hundred times and he talked about the back of the bar where he and his band use as backstage. They had set up a few furniture including one couch.

One you pushed him to after you closed the door and locked it. He looked at you terrified but amused at the same time, because he had no idea what was happening.

You sat beside him, resting your arm on the back of the couch. His brows were furrowed and when you noticed how pretty his lips were you couldn't hold it back.

"We're friends, right? You trust me?" You ask, your voice a little shy and your tone a little lower.

He nodded and tilted his head, again. "Yeah, sunshine. If we weren't, you know I wouldn't let you fucking kidnap me and bring me here" He jokes.

It's the way he calls you sunshine. The way he looks tenderly at his friends and how he treats everyone. It's so fucking cute. It's not even the alcohol talking and you know that.

You also know sometimes he throws glances at you, but you know he wouldn't do shit about that. He's too afraid of committing, too afraid of being heartbroken. He just doesn't know what he's actually missing.

And then you laugh like you're embarrassed, your head is hanging low because you can't seem to face him right now. But he pinches your chin carefully, looking right at you. His fingertips aren't that soft and you know it's from playing guitar. They also smell like smoke.

"What is it?" He asks again, pleading chocolate brown eyes staring into your soul. You look back at him and move your face until you're just a few inches away from him. "Oh?"

At first, he seems confused and kind of lost. But it's only a matter of seconds until he's the one taking you in and kissing you softly. He tastes like tequila and cherry from the gum he was chewing. It's intoxicating, it's a mix of feelings for you. He's still holding your chin. He uses the other one as leverage and holds your neck. You're anxious to taste him, literally.

The euphoria hits you like a train wreck when he lets you pull his hair a bit. He tries not to gasp from the touch, and he instinctively bites a small bit of your lower lip. It sends you to a frenzy and your other hand flies up to his crotch. Obviously, he's hard. Not just from the touch, but from the kiss. From how you hold his hair.

Eddie never had a girl hold his hair like that, he barely had a girl that interested in him. And he likes the feeling of being desired, it's different. And knowing you, he feels like he can trust you.

So he lets you touch him. Both your mouths never leave, only adding more fuel to his fire. You notice his behavior and try to unzip his jeans without being concerned about breaking the kiss.

He helps you out lifting his hips so you can get rid of it, trying to focus on kissing him and touching him. You love the feeling of having someone this horny for you. You feel his hardness grow through the fabric and you can feel the dampness already.

"You're so hard for me, Eds" You whisper hovering your lips over Eddie's and he grunts in response.

Your little evil laugh makes him more turned on for you, and his first instinct is to pull your hair, but not with force. He pulls you back a little, enough for him to have a look at you, the way you stare back at him with lust in your eyes.

"You're so gorgeous" He mumbles, his eyes sparkly. When you grip his hard cock tight, he hisses at the touch and closes his eyes forcefully.

He's still holding your hair and when you do that again, he grips it tighter. He's playing your game. Only he's the one getting something out of it. At least today.

You hold his underwear and pull it down, watching as his dick springs free from the fabric. Red tip, already leaking and begging for more of your attention. Eddie doesn't let go of you, only enough for you to start sliding down the couch, kneeling in front of him. You look at him before looking at his cock, it's trimmed and it looks gorgeous. It's already begging for your attention.

The alcohol in your system seems to evaporate immediately. Eddie glances down at you with concerned eyes, like he's afraid you won't do it. But you glance up and nod, reassuring him you will do it, smiling just before you start giving him the pleasure he deserves.

You lick a stripe through his shaft, tasting him for the first time. He didn't know the feeling until then, and it made him pulse like he never did before. One hand holding your hair back and the other one gripping tightly on the edge of the couch.

Your tongue savors his precum until you reach the tip and give it a small kiss. You look at him again, he's trying to hold back his whimpers. You know it's hard for him to handle the touch as it is his first time. Usually something this provocative causes a man to last only a few minutes.

But you take your time, taking his cock inside your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. It's not your first time, so you don't gag anymore.

You bob your head up and down a few times, sucking him and the liquid coming off of him. You use one hand to grip his balls, and the other one you leave resting over his stomach. He seems to love it.

He watches you carefully, he looks at how your tongue roams up and down his length, reaching the tip again, swallowing thickly. You feel it pulsing every now and then, precum spreading all over it until you suck it in again.

"Jesus fuck" Eddie moans. He lets out a loud, unsteady breath. His hand is gripping your hair carefully and if you didn't know any better, he's just being gentle when you know he would pull it harder. He was almost melting from the feeling of your mouth. 

You take him back and forth, rolling your tongue around it. You lick his cock down and reach his balls, sucking it until your mouth is full and he struggles to keep his eyes open because he wants to watch it all.

You hold his shaft with your delicate hand and pump him, your mouth helping out with the job. You sank back down lower, taking every inch of him, looking up at him. Your lips slid perfectly around his skin and it made him even harder. He starts to buckle his hip when he glances at you, seeing lust in your eyes again.

Your eyes are blown from pleasure and Eddie wonders if you’re feeling the heat between your legs as well. He wants to know if your pussy is wet from doing all this with him and he can’t help but thrust against your mouth. He starts slowly, until you’re feeling comfortable having his entire length in the back of your throat. 

Eddie watches when you let him fuck your mouth mercilessly, feeling his tip hitting your throat. He can't hold back his grunts, letting his head fall back to the couch. His eyes are now closed and he's in a bliss of pleasure.

The quiet room is filled with the sound of his cock in your mouth, Eddie moaning huskily and you whimpering from your own pleasure. No one cares you're both there, no one even knows you're there. He holds your head and hits his length in a perfect spot that makes him shiver.

He stops his thrusts because he wants you to finish for him. You grip the base of his cock and grip it tightly, letting the blood rush to the tip, and you suck him hard. You hollow your cheeks and suck him hard enough for him to feel lightheaded.

“Godfuckingdamn” Eddie pleads.

It's how it makes his heartbeat fasten quickly and his cock is almost exploding from the pleasure. You know he's going to cum because his legs start to falter and shake. His hand is gripping your hair tighter than before and he's buckling his hips upwards.

It comes with the loudest grunt he lets out. He fills in your mouth and the warm liquid washes over your throat as you swallow all of it. His dick pulses incessantly and you don't let go of him for a second.

Eddie feels kind of drained, but in a very good way. He's still on a high, but he feels relieved. His entire body is shaking, his legs are weak and his hands fall on top of the couch. You take the last bit of his cum and let go of him.

You think it's cute to see his cheeks flushed, painted in red. He's breathing heavily and you can't quite describe how hot he looks right now. His dick is still a little hardened but less than before. You get yourself up and help him get his pants done and sit back on the couch.

Eddie looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's seen. And it's not just because of what happened. He likes the thought of kissing you, of having you blowing him. He kissed you without any hesitation, tasting a bit of himself in your mouth.

"That was mind-blowing" He heaves, resting his forehead against yours and you laugh softly.

"You wanna go back to the party?" You ask, getting up from the couch, ready to open the door. But he pulls you back and holds your hand.

He shakes his head, showing off a little bit of shyness in his features. "I wanna take you home and kindly fuck you"

It makes you laugh at how much he can still manage to be such a gentleman when saying something dirty. But you agree to that and you both leave, driving to his apartment.

[4linos]

they call you clingy pt. 2

ot8 x fem!reader

genre: slight angst. hurt/comfort. fluff. (mostly) happy endings.

wc: 8916

(read they call you clingy pt. 1 first)

bang chan

When Chan returned home later that night, he was overwhelmed with guilt. He expected to be greeted with a warm embrace, maybe even a soft joke about how awkward he had been earlier. But when he entered your shared bedroom, he was greeted with silence. The lights were dark, and you sat on the edge of the bed, back to him. "Y/N?" He called out quietly, almost pleading.

You did not respond.

Chan's heart fell as he got closer, but you flinched when you felt him behind you. He stood there for a while, unsure of what to do, before finally speaking, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say what I said. It was a terrible joke. Please… please look at me.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to see the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes were red and swollen, and your expression was tight, like you were holding everything in. The sight broke him, and he stepped forward, kneeling in front of you, trying to meet your gaze.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N. I was frustrated, and I let it all out in the worst way. I’m so sorry, I should’ve never said that. You’re not clingy. I don’t think that at all. I was wrong. I never should’ve made you feel that way.”

You shook your head slowly, your voice cold. “No, you meant it. I heard the way you said it. You don’t want me around. You think I’m suffocating you.”

“I don’t,” Chan whispered urgently, his hands reaching out to touch yours, but you pulled them away. “I don’t think that. I swear. I don’t want you to think that at all. I just… I don’t know what came over me.”

But you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to believe him, but the words still stung too much. The way he had looked at you with indifference, how he dismissed your presence like it was something burdensome. It wasn’t just the words it was the way it made you feel so small, like you weren’t wanted.

You stood up suddenly, avoiding his touch. “I just need some space, Chan. Please. Just leave me alone tonight.”

Chan flinched, but he didn’t argue. He nodded, his heart breaking as he quietly walked out of the room. He knew he had crossed a line, and the weight of that reality hit him hard. He didn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning on the couch, feeling the distance between you both like a wall that couldn’t be scaled.

The next morning, Chan woke up early, with his mind still filled with guilt. He'd apologized the night before, but he knew it wasn't enough. He needed to express how sorry he was and how much he cared. He crept quietly into the kitchen and began preparing breakfast, hoping to get it right for once. When the smell of pancakes and coffee filled the apartment, he returned to your bedroom, gently knocked on the door before opening it slightly.

You sat on the side of the bed, looking out the window. Your back was still turned to him, but when you heard him enter, you had stayed still.

Chan took a deep breath, his voice soft. “I made breakfast… for us. Please, can we just eat together? I want to talk.”

You didn't say anything at first, but eventually nodded and stood up, following him into the kitchen. You both sat silently, the tension hanging between you like a cloud. Chan pushed the dish of pancakes toward you, his hands shaking slightly. He took a breath and spoke again, his voice full of earnestness.

"You were not clinging, Y/N. I was wrong. You aren't suffocating me. I adore having you around; I always do. I… I'm not sure why I said that. My frustration clouded my judgment, and I hurt you. I'm really sorry."

You didn’t answer right away, but the tightness in your chest slowly loosened. You looked up at him, seeing the genuine regret in his eyes. His usual bravado was gone, replaced by a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

You sighed softly, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “It just hurt, Chan. I… I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re never a burden,” he said quietly. “You’re my partner. I want you to be with me. Always. You nodded, the words finally sinking in. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “No, I deserve it. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you both ate in silence, the unspoken understanding between you filling the room with a quiet comfort. The hurt was still there, but you knew you could heal it together.

lee know

The warmth from the burns on your leg persisted, but the coldness in your chest stung the most. You sat on the edge of the bed, carefully placing a cold compress against your skin, hoping that the discomfort sting would ease.

Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what had just transpired in the kitchen. Minho, your Minho, had yelled at you, and the words cut worse than anything physical could. You couldn't understand how it had come to this.

You had tried so hard to help, to lighten his burden, but instead you had made matters worse. The kitchen was a wreck, your leg was on fire, and your heart felt like it had been ripped open by the very person who had always made you feel safe. You wanted to believe it was just a moment of frustration, something that could be forgiven, but the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

When Minho’s voice called from the living room, it felt like the world’s weight pressed on your chest. “Hey... can we talk?" He sounded tired, but there was an undertone of hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d even listen.

You didn’t respond, hoping the silence would send the message you weren’t ready to face him just yet. But moments later, the sound of his footsteps in the hall brought you back to reality, and before you could register, he was standing in the doorway of your bedroom.

His expression shifted from confusion to panic when he saw you sitting there, the cold compress against your leg, and your tear-streaked face. His eyes widened, a rush of guilt flooding over him.

"What... what happened?" His voice was quieter and more uncertain now. He took a step forward, peering down at the reddening skin on your leg. "I—oh God, did you burn yourself?" His eyes scanned yours for a response, his hand quivering slightly as he reached out to touch your leg. You didn't say anything. You couldn’t find the words. The burn hurt badly, but the heaviness of his words in the kitchen made it intolerable.

Minho's hands shook as he gently led you to lie down on the bed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" His voice cracked slightly as he rubbed a cool cloth on the burns, the chill alleviating the sting slightly.

You finally let yourself to cry, tears rocking your chest and the emotional weight coming down on you. You didn't understand how much you were holding back until the tears started pouring freely. "I-I'm sorry for the soup," you said through sobbing. "I didn't mean to ruin everything. "I just... wanted to help."

Minho's face softened, expressing regret and disbelief. He wiped your tears away with his thumb, his voice barely audible. "Stop. I don't care about the soup. Not when you're hurt. "Why didn't you tell me you were in pain?"

His words felt like a balm to your wounded heart, but they didn’t erase the ache. You buried your face in his chest as he leaned down to kiss your forehead gently, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. You don’t deserve that... you never deserve that.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten even more. You clung to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his torso, needing his warmth, his presence. “Minho... I just—everything went wrong today. And then you... you made me feel like I was a burden.” Your voice trembled, and the weight of your emotions finally broke free.

Minho’s arms tightened around you as he whispered into your hair, “I never meant to make you feel that way. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. But you are not a burden. You never will be. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You could feel his hands softly comb through your hair, comforting you as you kept crying into him. The tears weren't simply over the soup, the burn, or the day's failures. It was all about trying to keep things together, to be strong, and not show how overwhelmed you were. And everything came tumbling down in his arms. "I should have been there for you today." "I should have seen how much you were struggling," Minho said, his voice thick with regret. "I'm not upset at you. I should never have said that. I'm so sorry."

You nodded into his chest, the tears slowly subsiding as his comforting words washed over you. Despite everything, despite the mess and the hurt, there was still love between you two, even if it was lost in the chaos for a moment.

“I love you,” Minho whispered, his hand gently wiping away the last of your tears. “Please, forgive me.”

You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes. There was nothing but tenderness there now, no trace of the frustration that had clouded his expression before. “I love you too,” you said, your voice still shaky, but steadying. “I know you didn’t mean it. I just... I just had such a bad day. Everything went wrong, and I was just trying to fix it... and I ended up making it worse.”

Minho kissed your forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment. “You don’t have to fix everything. You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here. Let me help you.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief settle over you as his arms wrapped around you again. “I’m sorry, too,” you whispered, hugging him tighter. “I just... I wanted to help you. To make it better. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

“I know,” Minho whispered back. “And you didn’t make it worse. I promise.”

As the silence between you two grew, the storm within you began to calm. It wasn't entirely mended yet, but for the first time that day, you felt like you weren't going through it alone. You felt at ease in his embrace, and you gradually began to hope that things can get better again.

changbin

Changbin's breath came out in weak, raspy gasps as he stood there watching you walk away. Every instinct in his body shouted for him to go after you, to draw you back and explain himself, but something in the air held him still. The severity of his own words resonated in his thoughts, a jarring reminder of the damage he had just done. You were hurt. And now, so was he.

He watched as your form disappeared through the exit, the door closing softly behind you. The gym suddenly felt suffocating. The weight of his own anger and frustration, which he had not yet fully comprehended, seemed to settle in his chest like a stone. He turned over, and his face flushed, his head dizzy with regret. He never wanted to make you feel like this, never wanted you to feel like a burden. His mind was spinning with confusion, but one thing was painfully clear: he had messed up. Badly.

He stood there for a long time, eyes fixed on the door, as if begging you to return, but he knew it was pointless. He had said too much. The damage was done.

You'd never felt smaller than you did at that time. Changbin's words felt like a hefty blow to the chest, knocking the air out of you. You weren't expecting him to snap. Sure, he'd been distant before, but this was different. The sharpness in his voice, the way he stared at you with irritation and anger, hurt in ways you couldn't articulate.

You didn’t know how long you had been walking for when you found yourself in the parking lot, your car now looming in front of you like a silent reminder of what had just transpired. You stood there for a moment, your hands trembling as you fumbled to unlock the door. The cold night air bit at your skin, but the chill in your chest felt much worse.

Why was he so angry?

You understood that sometimes people needed space, but you had no idea that your presence, which you expected to bring you closer, would make him feel overwhelmed. The realization hit you hard: He had been letting you to follow him about because he didn't know how to express his need for space. And, in the end, when he exploded, it broke the fragile link you had formed with him.

Your eyes stung with the promise of tears, but you pushed them away. You weren't sure if you were ready to let them fall yet.

You got in the car and drove aimlessly at first, wanting to get away and clear your mind. The drive seemed to go on forever, but you couldn't escape the agony in your chest. You eventually pulled over onto a quiet street and parked. You allowed the silence to settle in, the only sound being the faint hum of your car's engine.

Your phone buzzed, and you looked at it nervously. It was a message from Changbin. Your finger hovered over the screen, unsure whether to open it or not. But the yearning for an explanation, some attempt to make sense of it all, was overwhelming. So you opened it.

Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted. Can we please talk?

You bit your lip, your eyes scanning the words over and over. His apology felt sincere, but it didn’t erase the sting of what he had said. How could it? And yet, a part of you still wanted to hear him out, to understand where he was coming from, even if it hurt.

You debated texting him back. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to hold onto the distance you felt was needed right now. Another part wanted to reach out, to explain that you weren’t trying to smother him, that you just wanted to be close.

Instead of responding, you did the one thing you never thought you’d do: you called him.

The phone rang a few times before he answered. “Y/N?” His voice was soft, hesitant, almost nervous.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Can we talk?”

A long silence passed. You could hear him take a deep breath on the other end. “Yeah. I think we need to.”

-

Back at the gym, Changbin had barely managed to collect himself before his phone buzzed in his hand. When he saw your name on the screen, he almost couldn’t believe it. He had messed up so badly, and yet, you were still willing to talk to him. His heart beat faster as he swiped to answer, his voice coming out quieter than he intended.

“Y/N?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t imagining this.

“I… I’m still upset, Bin,” you said, your voice shaky. “I don’t know what to think. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was invading your space. I just… I wanted to be close to you.”

“I know,” he whispered, guilt flooding his chest. “I should’ve told you sooner. It’s not your fault. I don’t want you to feel like that… like I’m pushing you away. But I just… the gym was the one place where I could just be by myself, clear my head. And when I didn’t have that anymore… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I didn’t know. I thought… I thought you’d like it. That maybe it would be something we could do together.”

“I do like spending time with you,” he said, his voice steady now, more sincere. “I really do. But I didn’t realize how much I was taking it out on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I’m sorry for how I said it. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. You’re not a burden to me, Y/N. You’re the last person I want to hurt.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “I just wanted to be close to you. I didn’t realize I was making you feel suffocated.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I know. And I should’ve communicated better. I just didn’t know how.”

“I understand,” you replied softly. “I just… I need a little time. To process this.”

Changbin’s heart sank, but he understood. “Yeah. I get that. Take the time you need. But please know I’m here. I don’t want to lose you over something that should’ve been a misunderstanding.”

You inhaled deeply, feeling the weight of the conversation. It wasn’t fixed, not yet, but you could feel the tension easing a little, the sharp edges of the pain starting to soften.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “We’ll talk more when I’m ready.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Changbin replied, his voice full of warmth despite the distance between you. “I’ll be here.”

The call ended, leaving a quiet, uneasy space between you two. You were unsure where this would lead or what would happen next. But perhaps, just maybe, you can find your way back together.

hyunjin

The next morning, you woke to a cloud of confusion still hanging over you. Hyunjin's remark from last night, as well as the way he pushed you away, played on an unending loop in your memory. The hurt was still fresh, but you were beginning to wonder why. Why had everything changed so dramatically? Why had Hyunjin, who you had always trusted, suddenly become distant?

You'd barely slept, your mind knotted in a web of despair, confusion, and betrayal. Everything seemed odd as you tried to get through the day. The calm hum of your daily routine had been replaced by a heavy silence in your chest. Your phone remained silent, and you weren't sure if that was a relief or something else entirely. You couldn’t decide whether to hope Hyunjin would reach out to explain himself or whether it was better to just forget it all.

But then, in the late afternoon, your phone buzzed. It was a text from him.

Hyunjin: Can we talk? I need to explain.

Your stomach twisted, both nervous and cautious. You stared at the message, weighing the possibility of opening the door to this conversation. You didn’t know if you were ready to hear whatever he had to say. Still, part of you needed answers, even if they were painful.

After a few moments of hesitation, you typed back.

You: Where?

Hyunjin: Meet me at the park in 30 minutes. Please.

You took a deep breath and, despite everything, found yourself getting ready to meet him. Part of you was angry, but there was another part, the part that still missed him, that needed to understand. You had always believed in the strength of your friendship. You didn’t want to just throw that away without knowing what had really happened.

When you arrived at the park, the air felt cool against your skin, and the trees around you swayed gently in the breeze. The park was quiet, mostly empty, with only a few scattered joggers. You found him near a bench, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, his posture tense. He stood as soon as he saw you, but neither of you moved closer at first. There was an awkwardness between you two that felt thick enough to cut.

“Hyunjin,” you said softly, your voice almost faltering. "You wanted to talk?"

He nodded but didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, staring at you as if he wasn’t sure how to start. Finally, after a long pause, he exhaled sharply and took a step closer.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice low and unsure. "I know I hurt you last night, and I—I need you to know that wasn’t my intention. I’ve been… I’ve been a mess, and I didn’t know how to handle it. I don’t know how to deal with these feelings.”

You furrowed your brows, the confusion growing. “Feelings? What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin seemed to hesitate, as if he was unsure whether to voice the words out. But after a moment, he added, his voice breaking slightly: "I—I like you. More than just a friend. I had for a while, but I wasn't sure how to deal with it. So I tried pushing you away. I figured if I detached myself from you, it would go away. That I could let go of these feelings."

The words struck you like a thunderclap. For a while, you just stood there, your mind spinning, trying to make sense of what he had just revealed. Hyunjin... liked you? Was it why he had been so distant? All the time you'd spent wondering what had changed, what had gone wrong… it was this?

He looked at you, his eyes full of vulnerability, guilt, and something else that you couldn’t quite name. “I didn’t know how to deal with it, and I thought… if I pushed you away, I could just forget. But the more I tried to ignore it, the worse it got. And last night, I just… I didn’t know how to act around you anymore. So I lashed out. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

You stood there, silently absorbing his words. The knot in your chest relaxed, but it was replaced by something else: a rush of feelings you couldn't quite describe.

You had no idea how to handle this revelation. You had been wondering what had happened to your friendship, why things seemed so tense, and now it all made sense. But it was overwhelming. You never saw it coming.

"I don't know what to say," you confessed gently. "I did not..." I didn't realize you felt that way. All I saw was you slipping away, and I wondered if I had done something wrong. I didn't realize it was about this."

“I should have told you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I was so afraid of ruining everything, of losing our friendship. But instead, I ended up pushing you away. I thought if I could stop being close to you, I could stop feeling this way. I was wrong."

You felt a mixture of emotions rise up relief, anger, sadness, confusion. But beneath it all, there was something else: you understood now. He had been trying to protect himself, even if it meant hurting you in the process. It didn’t make his actions right, but it made them a little easier to comprehend.

“So what now?” you asked, your voice softer than before.

Hyunjin took a step closer, his gaze intense. "I don’t expect things to go back to how they were immediately. I don’t know how to fix this. But I want to try. I want to be honest with you now. If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. But I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. I couldn’t let you think you didn’t matter."

You paused for a long moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Part of you still felt hurt, but another part of you your heart, maybe was softening. You had always cared about him. The idea of more than just friendship… it was a lot to process, but you realized that in some way, you were willing to listen, to figure out what this meant for the two of you.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t care. I do. I care a lot. We just need time. To figure this out.”

Hyunjin nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet hope. “I’ll give you time. I won’t push you. I just needed to say it. To be honest.”

The two of you stood there for a while, neither of you moving, but there was a shift a change in the air. For the first time in weeks, it felt like there might be a way forward. Maybe it wasn’t simple, maybe it wasn’t easy, but at least you had the truth. And that, you realized, was enough to begin again.

HAN

The silence lingered for what seemed like hours, the kind of silence that enveloped you both like a thick cloud. You hadn't moved, still curled on the bed, eyes locked on the wall, as if it might give some answers. You couldn't get the idea that something inside of him had permanently shifted, that whatever had cracked tonight had been building up for a time and was now beyond your control.

Jisung said nothing, did not try to pull you closer, nor did he give his usual soothing words of regret. But he had not left either. His presence next to you, despite its normal comfort, suddenly felt like a distant recollection, a piece of him that had vanished.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you heard him shift on the bed beside you. His voice was barely a whisper, but you could tell he was struggling, his words thick with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and you could hear the weight of the apology, like he had been holding it back for so long it had become a raw, painful thing.

You stayed silent, not sure what to say. He had hurt you, and though you wanted to forgive him, you couldn’t shake the sting of his words. His harshness had cut deeper than anything he’d said before, and you weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion of the day, or something more, something that had been building up between you two for a while.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N,” he continued, his voice shaky, as if the apology itself had become difficult to express. “I’m just… I’m just tired. I don’t know how to deal with everything. But that doesn’t excuse how I snapped at you. You don’t deserve that. You never do.”

You eventually allowed yourself to turn towards him, your gaze scanning his face, and you saw the weakness there, the same vulnerability you had always seen beneath his normal confidence. His fists were clasped in his lap, and his shoulders bowed, as if he were bracing for the impending storm.

"You are not a burden, Y/N." "You're not clingy," he continued quietly, his voice much lower now, as if the apology was gradually peeling away the layers of irritation and hurt. "I just.. I'm not always sure how to let you in. I am so overwhelmed that instead of accepting your help, I push you away."

Your heart squeezed. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was battling with himself, trying to figure out how to make it right without knowing how.

“I’ve been so used to dealing with everything on my own,” he continued, looking at the floor as if he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. “I didn’t want to burden you with my problems. I didn’t want you to see me as weak. But instead, I ended up hurting you.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and it took everything in you not to reach out and wrap your arms around him. You knew he had been struggling, you knew it. But hearing him admit that he had been keeping things from you, afraid of showing his true self, only made the ache in your chest grow.

“I don’t think you’re weak,” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. “I think you're strong. But you don’t have to do everything by yourself, Jisung. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

He shook his head, eventually meeting your eyes. His eyes were filled with sadness, but there was also a quiet desperation in them, as if he didn't know how to mend the rift between you two.

“I just... I'm so sorry. I don't know how to ask for help," he said, his voice full with sorrow. "But when you try to help me, I... I push you away because I'm not sure how to let you in. But you aren't a burden, Y/N. You have never been one. I just didn't know how to handle anything on my own, so I ended up pushing you away when all you wanted was to be there for me."

The honesty in his words was almost too much to bear. You had always known Jisung to be someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, someone who could make light of even the darkest situations. But now, seeing him like this, so raw and open, made your chest tighten.

“I don’t want you to push me away anymore,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to help you. But I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out.”

Jisung's lips twitched, as if he wanted to say more but couldn't find the right words. Instead, he simply nodded, the impact of his quiet screaming loudly. He didn't need to say anything else because you could feel the pain in his chest and all the frustration he'd been carrying around for too long.

For a long time, the two of you merely sat there, your quiet now distinct. It wasn't the crushing stillness of earlier, but one filled with empathy, even if neither of you understood exactly how to mend anything.

After a while, Jisung reached out, his hand hesitating before softly stroking your arm. The warmth of his fingers across your skin brought back memories of how simple things had been between you two. He didn't say anything unnecessary, but you could sense his apology in the way he held his hand there, letting you know he was sincerely sorry.

"I'll try to do better," he answered simply and softly. "I will try to let you in more. I do not want to push you away anymore."

You nodded, your heart still heavy but not as broken as it had been moments ago. “I just want to be there for you, Jisung,” you said softly. “I don’t want you to have to go through everything alone.”

The quiet stretched again, but this time, it felt different. It felt like a beginning. Neither of you knew how to fix everything right away, but you both knew that you wanted to try. And sometimes, that was enough.

Jisung shifted closer, his hand still resting on your arm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you didn’t feel so distant from each other. There were still things left unsaid, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were both here, both willing to try again.

felix

The hours passed by in agonizing silence, the kind that made everything seem more impossible than it actually was and stretched and clawed at your thoughts. Nothing could take away the icy emptiness that had descended between you and Felix, even as you lay there, wrapped up inside yourself, listening to the gentle buzz of the night.

When the world got too much, he would wrap up with you and reassure you with soft touches and quiet words. You recalled the warmth you had previously enjoyed. Now, it felt like a lifetime ago. His distance was more than just physical; it was something that made your chest hurt since you didn't know how to make it better.

But as much as you wanted to lie there, to let the hurt consume you, you couldn't. You couldn't just wait and wonder if things would somehow improve on their own. You were the kind of person who needed closure, who needed to understand what was happening. And right now, Felix was slipping through your fingers, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

You sat up, wiping at your tear-streaked face, and glanced towards the living room. The faint glow from the TV still flickered through the hallway, casting a cold light on the darkness of the apartment. You could feel the weight of the choice pressing down on you: Should you leave him be, give him the space he seemed to want, or should you push through, confront him, and demand answers?

You hesitated for quite some time. But then you made a decision. You needed answers. You needed to understand why the person you loved had abruptly shifted into someone you didn't recognize. You moved along the hallway, the apartment's silence more oppressive than before.

Felix kept his position on the couch, his eyes looking blankly at the TV, his posture tight and walled off. You stayed there for a moment, studying him, trying to determine whether he noticed your presence.

His eyes didn’t leave the screen. His face remained unreadable.

"Felix," you said again, your voice steady but laced with emotion. This time, there was no hesitation in your tone, no softness. You needed him to hear you.

He didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the tension in the room shift slightly, as if he knew you were waiting for him to say something. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter than before.

“I told you I don’t want to talk,” he said, almost in a whisper. But this time, the words weren’t as sharp. There was something else in his voice, something you hadn’t heard before. It wasn’t anger, but a deep exhaustion, a weariness that seemed to go beyond just physical fatigue.

You didn’t take a step back this time. Instead, you closed the distance between you, sitting on the arm of the couch, your hand brushing lightly against his. It was small, a gesture that once would have meant nothing, but now it felt like everything. You needed him to know you were still here, that you hadn’t given up.

“Felix,” you repeated, softer this time, your voice trembling with vulnerability. “I know something’s bothering you. And I get it. You don’t have to talk right now, if you’re not ready. But I need to know—am I the problem?”

When you asked the question, his head snapped towards you, his eyes wide with amazement, as if he had never considered it before. For a brief moment, his gaze softened, and you thought you caught a glimpse of the old Felix, the one who used to share everything with you, the one who would always turn to you when the world got too much.

"Of course not," he said gently, his voice husky. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with his palms before running them through his hair. "You aren't the problem. "I just...I’m a mess right now, okay? I did not mean to push you away. I didn't know how to deal with it, and I thought if I could draw back, maybe it would get better.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time in what felt like days, you understood. Felix had always been the strong one, the person who seemed so capable of handling everything on his own. But now you saw how much he was struggling beneath the surface, how much he had been hiding.

"You don’t have to carry it all alone," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "Felix, we’ve always been a team. You can lean on me. You don’t have to push me away just because you’re having a hard time."

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze flickering to the floor, then back up to you. The tension in his shoulders finally seemed to ease, and he let out a long breath. It was as though a weight was slowly lifting, and for the first time in days, you saw a glimpse of the Felix you had known and loved.

“I’m scared,” he admitted softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m scared of being a burden. I’m scared that if I show you how much I’m struggling, you’ll leave. I’m scared you won’t love me if I’m not always the one who has everything together.”

The rawness of his confession hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you just sat there, your heart aching for him. You had always known Felix to be strong, but in this moment, you realized just how vulnerable he was beneath it all, and how much he had been carrying alone.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me, Felix,” you said, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “I love you, all of you—the good, the bad, and everything in between. You don’t have to be anything but yourself.”

Felix finally looked at you, his eyes wide, his expression almost disbelieving. The walls that had been built up around him seemed to crack ever so slightly, and you could see the relief in his eyes. He swallowed hard, then reached out, taking your hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his grip tightening around your fingers. “I’ve been pushing you away for no reason. I was just so scared.”

You shook your head gently, squeezing his hand. “It’s okay, Felix. You don’t have to be scared. We’ll get through this together.”

For a minute, you just stood there, the two of you having an unsaid understanding. There was still a lot to sort out, and the path ahead would be difficult, but you knew that if you were both ready to try, you could do it.

As Felix drew in closer, resting his forehead against yours, you felt the warmth of his presence return, as well as the relief that you hadn't lost him despite everything. Not yet.

And for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to believe that things could be better.

seungmin

The morning light filtered softly through the kitchen windows, casting a dull glow over the room. Seungmin walked in, a faint sigh escaping his lips as he poured himself a cup of coffee, his mind still half-occupied by the rehearsals and everything waiting for him outside the walls of this apartment. But as he sat down at the breakfast table, he was immediately hit with an unexpected shift in the air.

There was no cheerful greeting from you, no attempt to share a quiet moment together before the day began. Instead, you sat across from him, silently eating your breakfast, your gaze fixed on the plate in front of you. Usually, you’d be making something small, even if it was just a quick toast or coffee, a gesture that made mornings feel connected. But today, the stillness felt suffocating.

Seungmin frowned, the weight of the silence pressing down on him. He didn’t quite understand why you weren’t speaking, but he knew something wasn’t right. He set his cup down, meeting your eyes for the briefest of moments before his voice broke through the quiet.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone a bit strained, not sure if he was even ready to hear the answer.

You did not respond immediately away, keeping your gaze fixed on your food and your jaw tight as if the words you wanted to say were locked between your teeth. But they didn't come, and your silence spoke louder than any argument. Seungmin waited, his patience dwindling as time passed.

Finally, you scoffed, making a little but harsh sound that seemed to cut through the air, and you stood up from the table, pushing your chair back with an audible scrape.

"I don’t know, Seungmin," you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration, barely holding back the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Maybe I’m just tired of feeling like I don’t matter to you."

He blinked, taken aback by the intensity of your words. Before he could respond, you stormed off, the door to the bedroom slamming shut behind you with a force that rattled the still air. Seungmin sat there, the taste of the bitter coffee suddenly unfamiliar in his mouth, his mind spinning. He hadn’t expected this. Not after everything that had happened last night.

The rest of the day felt like a blur. He went through the motions work, meetings, rehearsals but your words lingered in his mind, a constant hum of unease. By the time he returned home that evening, the tension was unbearable. He hesitated by the front door, unsure of what to expect. Normally, he would have found you sitting on the couch, or you would have greeted him with a small smile, asking about his day. But tonight, there was only silence.

He walked into the apartment, his footsteps faltering slightly as he noticed you in the corner of the living room, avoiding his gaze completely. You sat curled up on the couch, eyes fixed on the television but not really seeing anything at all. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of you, and the hollow feeling in his chest deepened.

"Can we talk?" he asked carefully, his voice laced with concern. His eyes searched yours for any sign that you were ready to listen.

You didn't respond immediately, your body rigid and remote. His heart fell as he saw the look on your face, as if a part of you had closed off, trapped behind a door he couldn't open. "Please," he said, getting closer. "I don't know what's going on, but..." "I can't fix this unless you tell me."

You snapped your head up, your eyes burning with a mix of pain and frustration. Your voice was more emotional than usual. "You don't get it, do you, Seungmin?" You stood up abruptly, raising your voice with each word. "I have tried. I've been trying for days to get you to come see me and realize that something is wrong! But all you have done is brush me off, make me feel like I’m too much for you, like I’m just… clingy."

His eyes widened in realization, the words you had uttered earlier in the morning returning to him with a crushing force. He had no idea it had gotten this bad, nor did he realize how much his words had hurt you until now. And it stung when the weight of his own stupidity fell on him. You carried on, your voice cracking as you talked.

"You've been really distant, Seungmin. And when I try to talk to you or look for your attention, you just push me away. You make me feel as though I am a burden. And I can't keep pretending that I don't feel it.”

Seungmin opened his mouth, but no words came out. He stood there, completely stunned, his chest tightening with regret. He had been so wrapped up in his own stress and exhaustion, so focused on his own battles, that he hadn’t realized how far apart you had grown, how much pain you had been quietly carrying.

He swallowed hard, stepping closer, his voice small now, barely a whisper. "I never meant to make you feel that way. I… I didn’t realize how much my actions were hurting you."

But your anger had already started to bubble back up. You shook your head, arms crossed tightly against your chest. "How could you not realize, Seungmin? How could you not see how much I’m struggling with this? I needed you, but you’ve been so… so cold." You paused, your breath shallow. "I needed you to care. To see me."

The words stung like salt in an open wound, but Seungmin couldn’t deny the truth in them. His heart clenched, and without thinking, he moved toward you, pulling you into his arms before you could step away.

"I’m so sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I didn’t mean to make you feel invisible, or like you were too much. I’ve been so caught up in everything that I forgot to see you, to notice what I was doing to us." He held you tighter, his grip desperate now, like he was trying to hold onto something he feared was slipping away. "Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose you."

Your body trembled against him, but for the first time in what felt like ages, you didn’t pull away. You rested your forehead against his chest, letting out a shaky breath, your emotions swirling but slowly softening under his touch.

"I just need you to be present, Seungmin," you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. "I need to know that you’re here with me. That I matter to you."

"I hear you," he whispered softly, gently touching your face and lifting your head to meet his gaze. His embrace was raw and vulnerable in a way you had not seen before. "I hear you, and I promise to do better." I will make you feel seen. I will make sure you understand how much you mean to me."

You nodded softly, your heart aching but glad for his genuine remarks. The path to healing would take time, but for the first time in a long time, you felt confident that he would accompany you on it.

I.N

The next day, Jeongin arrived at your apartment, his normal bright smile on his face as he walked through the door. It was as if yesterday had never happened. His aura was light and carefree, as if he hadn't just disrupted the peace you had previously enjoyed in your relationship.

You, on the other hand, were still reeling from his cold demeanor the night before. The hurt persisted, and you couldn't shake the weight of his words. Stop being so clingy. It wasn't the first time someone had made you feel small, but it hurt more than you expected, especially coming from him.

You didn't answer as usual, and you didn't greet him with the warmth he had grown to expect. Instead, you kept your distance by giving him short, clipped answers. You preoccupied yourself with little things in the apartment, refusing to make eye contact in the hopes that the stillness would bridge the gap between you. The tension in the room, however, was palpable.

Jeongin didn't seem to notice right away. He went about his usual business, jokingly discussing his day and laughing as if everything was alright. When he reached for your hand, you automatically pushed it away, indicating that something was wrong. His smile faltered, and the warmth in his eyes was gradually replaced by confusion.

"Hey," he said, voice soft, the smile still not fully gone but now laced with a hint of concern. "What's wrong?"

You looked up at him, saw the real confusion in his eyes, and almost let it go. Almost let go of your pain for his smile, for the Jeongin you adored. But the words you'd been keeping in all day sprang to the surface. "What was that yesterday?" You snapped, your voice filled with emotion. The anger, hurt, and confusion you'd been harboring all night had finally bubbled over. "You were an entirely different person. One minute you were fine the next you were pushing me away, telling me I was too clingy. What was that?"

Jeongin blinked, taken aback by your strong tone, his eyes wide as if he had not expected such an outburst. His posture tensed, and for a brief period, you could see the walls he had built to protect himself from whatever discomfort was brewing inside. But that didn't erase the fact that his actions had harmed you more than he knew.

"If you want to act like that, maybe we should just break up," you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, a mix of hurt and frustration in your voice. "I don't want to be with someone who suddenly treats me like I'm a burden just because they're worried about what others think.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Jeongin’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing as if the idea of you breaking up was the last thing he expected. His eyes softened slightly, and his voice became almost breathless as he spoke, not quite believing what you’d just said.

“Wait… what?” His voice wavered, the hurt in his eyes clear now. "No, no, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to hurt you."

You crossed your arms, feeling the burn of frustration building again. You needed answers. “Then what was it, Jeongin? Why did you act like that? I thought we were fine, but now… now I don’t know where I stand with you.”

He exhaled shakily, his hands running through his hair as he paced for a moment, clearly struggling to find the right words. After a beat of silence, he stopped in front of you, meeting your eyes, this time with a vulnerability that was both unexpected and painfully familiar.

“I… I love you," he began, his voice steady but filled with an edge of fear. "I love you so much, but I was afraid… I was afraid that if we showed too much PDA, the members would tease me relentlessly. They’re always joking about stuff like that, and I didn’t want them to make fun of me, of us."

The explanation hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, stunned. Was this actually the reason? Was he so concerned about what his members thought that he distanced himself from you, his girlfriend, in front of them? You struggled to wrap your head around it.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" The question fell out of your mouth before you could think. The thought of it twisted something inside you, the possibility that he might consider you as something to hide rather than something to be proud of.

Jeongin’s face immediately morphed into one of panic, as if the very suggestion cut him deeper than anything you could have said. “No! God, no. I would never—” He stepped forward, his hands reaching for you, but you instinctively took a small step back. He stopped, his hands falling to his sides, the hurt in his eyes obvious now.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his confession hanging between you two. "I never meant for you to feel like that. I just… I just didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t want the members to think I was soft or that I couldn’t keep my cool. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. I’m sorry for pushing you away, for making you feel like I didn’t care about you."

His words were a mix of regret and sincerity, and as he spoke, you could feel the depth of his struggle, the dread of being judged and ridiculed that kept him from completely being himself with you. It wasn't that he didn't love you; it was just that he hadn't understood how to balance his feelings with the demands of his life.

You stood there, silent for a moment, contemplating what he had just said. Your heart was still raw, but you could see remorse in his eyes and feel it in the way he stood, as if he was waiting for you to decide what to do next.

Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter than before, but the hurt remained beneath the surface. "I don't care what others say, Jeongin. I care about us. I want to be able to express my love for you without having to worry about what others might say."

He nodded quickly, his stare focused, and took a slight step toward you. "I promise I won't do it again. I will never make you feel that you are too much, or that I am embarrassed by you. You are more than just someone I care about; you are someone I am proud of. And I will do better. I will."

You held onto his gaze, seeing the honesty in his eyes and sensing the truth in his words. It was not a simple fix. There was work to be done and trust to be rebuilt, but you could tell right away that he was eager to give it his all.

"I just need you to be honest with me," you muttered, feeling the tension between you begin to ease. "That's all I want."

Jeongin's expression softened as he made one final step forward, closing the gap between you. His hands met yours, and his contact was warm and grounded. "I'm here. I'm actually here. And I will make sure you never feel that way again."

//

(❌ proofread)

masterlist.

[therightbeaches]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 ⋆ 𝐚. 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

synopsis: following a near-encounter with death, your not-quite-boyfriend slash boss takes it upon himself to take care of you. [5.7k] contents: fem!bau!reader, reader was mentioned to be hurt but no gory descriptions about what happened, but theres semi-graphic (?) descriptions of hypothetical injury, first kiss, soft hotch, this is fully self-indulgent fluff (forgive me) a/n: i've never written for criminal minds before and i am rather nervous so please dont criticize too harshly :') + i tried to not make him too ooc (not sure how well that worked out.) i also beg for one-shot requests because i love writing them :p reblogs and comments are more than appreciated ♡ i hope you enjoy!

Sense by sense you come to.

Taste. On your tongue lingers the metallic taste of blood. It coats your throat thick like petroleum jelly. The aftertaste of artificial sweetener. Saccharine.

Smell. It’s sterile, alcohol swabs. Dully sweet like laundry. Coffee and creamer. So good and warm it’s nauseating.

Hearing. Steady beeping somewhere from your right. The rustle of fabric. Birdsong bleeds through thick walls. A phone rings, shrill and stark amongst the dull hustle and bustle outside of your room, and a woman speaks unintelligibly.

Touch. A pinprick tag itches against the back of your neck. Scratchy cotton sheets and a gauzy blanket and a too-flat pillow. Then a slow-burning hurt that climbs through your limbs like being devoured by flame, and you think that if you didn’t already meet your end then this must be what it’s like.

Your eyes blink open. The fluorescent lights above are too bright for you to see anything. Metal clinks as someone opens the curtains, then, Aaron’s face comes into your view in a hazy blur. He has a big bandage on his left cheek and prominent dark circles but otherwise looks well enough.

“Hello,” he says, and a warm paper cup of coffee is pushed into your stiff hands. “How do you feel?”

“Bad.”

“I know. I’m sorry. How much does it hurt?”

“Um... a six and a half. I mostly feel really out of it.”

“They’ve given you as much painkillers as they can. I bet that the brain fog will lift once you have something solid to eat.”

You push yourself up slowly as he edges into focus. In one hand he has a black duffel bag with your old shirt’s dirty sleeve hanging out of the zipper top, white fabric stained rust-brown with dirt and old blood. In the other, a thick manila folder with a seal adorning the front and his pen shoved into the crease.

There’s a strange silence then; strange within itself and strange in the fact that, with him, silence is never strange. His lips twitch downwards: he can feel it too. Then he inhales sharply as though it stings to speak.

“You were more than brave out there. You saved Julia’s life.”

“Thank you. That’s what I wanted to do.”

Your tone must not be convincing enough because he puts the bag down and curls his fingers around the half-rails of your bed, reinforces the idea with a pointed look and sighs, “I’m being serious. We wouldn’t have made it in time to help her without your courage.”

“Thank you,” you say again, milder this time.

He doesn’t say anything further. He doesn’t need to. The sort of unspoken communication that blossoms with time and effort; he looks out for you, and in turn you look out for him. It’s the same for the rest of the team, of course, but it’s no coincidence that you’re the one he always picks to watch his six in the field. And, again, he needn’t speak for you to know. Perhaps born from the innate desire to wane the burn of vulnerability; words stamped across his skin invisible to the untrained eye.

It’s different this time, though. He’s leaving not because he wants to — rather, he has to, stolen away from you as you were him by your profession (a whole thirty-six hours he had to spend without you around to nag him, what a tragedy it was!) You’d expected him to come just to leave since the moment you saw him, but perhaps foolishly, you’d clung to a shard of hope that’d cut up and bloodied your palms. You rub them together self-consciously.

He waves the folder in the air unenthusiastically and, despite him knowing you’ve already put the pieces together, voices it anyway.

“I can’t really stay for long,” he says simply.

“Where are you going?”

A prompt, disguised by niceties in typical fashion, though entirely unnecessary with him: when will I be able to see you again?

He sucks on his teeth and flips the folder open. “Albany. I think a day or two at most and we’ll be back.” He spares the details of the case lest you worry yourself to your grave. Your recent brush with death has already been nearly too much for the team to handle.

You don’t mean to slip into the habit of doubting him, not Aaron, who knows better than to lie to you because always he’ll splinter, crack, then crumble into a fine powder under the weight of your gaze. He’s smart, so smart, and so perceptive and by God if you know anything, you know him — down to the lines of his fingerprints and each individual eyelash across his waterlines, and you know now that something is troubling him.

“What is it?” you ask.

His brows crease in the center like you’ve said something offensive. “What is what?”

“You’re sulking.”

“I’m not,” he says, sounding like he’s sulking.

He knows something that you don’t and he doesn’t want to tell you — evident through the bob of his Adam’s apple with a thick swallow, the whitening of his knuckles around the bed’s guard rails. You give your cup a perfunctory squeeze and the plastic lid pops off and skitters to the ground.

There’s another silence wherein you wait, he waits too, staring at you dumbly. An eternity passes till he brushes his thumb over the length of your forearm, elbow to wrist, then traces the ridges of your knuckles before letting his arm drop limply to his side. He looks around to make sure nobody is within earshot and draws the blue privacy curtains around your bed to enforce extra precaution.

“I was just worried,” he finally says, his voice lowered. “I still am, honestly. You know, seeing you like… this.” Like, sick and weak, strung up with IVs like a puppet and unable to move without strain. “And I don’t want to leave you,” he adds as an afterthought.

In the presence of other agents, doctors, strangers, he’s a professional. He knows how to keep things curt and platonic, but when it’s just you and him, I missed you, I was worried about you, I need you around, I can’t lose you.

The way he speaks to you makes you feel something. He worries about you every moment you’re on the field. He frets over you when you’re ill, misses you when you’re apart, thinks about you all the time. Long ago you’d passed the threshold between mere team members to friends, and now, you’re touching base with what’s next. Beyond friends. Borderline lovers. Whatever that could mean for you. And the vulnerability in his voice strikes you, making him sound so small, so pained by your pain.

“You don’t need to worry,” you say, hoping to soothe his qualms. “I feel alright.”

“I can’t help it. I thought... I don’t know what I thought.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” is your light response, then a switch of the topic, and you ask again, “Will you tell me about the case?”

He puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, then it moves to push your hair out of your eyes. Lingers in a soft caress on your cheek and your palm fits over the back of it when you lift your hand to cover his.

“Like I said, I think it’ll only be a couple days. Don’t stress yourself out over it. I want you to focus on getting better, alright?”

“Can you call me?” you ask.

“Every chance I get.”

And, trapped in the makeshift prison of your hospital bed, you can only croak out a weak goodbye that scratches your throat as you watch him leave.

⊹₊ 𐙚

It’s been a week since they discharged you from the hospital, assigned a lot of rest and fluids. Seldom a word from Aaron, though, and you, too, are beginning to fret just like he had over you. Your cuticles are peeled from existence, you’ve bit your nails too short and raw and red, your lips are chapped to the point your mouth tastes of metal more often than not.

Penelope has been more than kind and has kept you company in your too-empty apartment, even bringing over the case file and a grainy image of the evidence board sent over by the rest of the team for your viewing pleasure. You didn’t have much of value to add and ended up feeling more useless than you were to begin with.

Now, your gaze is trained on the toes of your too-big socks. A seam is misaligned along the top and the heel has pulled up to the back of your ankle. And you think of him. He’s all you can think about as of late. Feels something like nausea crawling up your throat to think of something happening to him.

Nervous. On edge. Sick with worry. He said one or two days. It’s been six and counting, who knows what could have happened to him out there, he was being secretive about it and he’s never secretive with you. Not you, why wouldn’t he tell you what was happening? Why wouldn’t he let on any details about the case? What if he’d anticipated getting hurt or —

You don’t dare entertain the thought. The only reason you’d imagined it up in the first place is because it happened to you. In the end, you’re still very much human no matter how much bureaucratic authority you have. That’s to say, you’re very much flesh and blood and bone, and from the safety of your apartment Aaron is even more so when he’s out on the field. Flesh can be cut, torn apart, blood can spill unstoppably like a faucet, bone can shatter into a million unfixable pieces. A bulletproof vest will do nothing against a knife jammed into his neck or a shotgun to the back of his head. You shudder and tug at your socks to un-bunch them from your heels.

In the middle of your bout of overthinking, the lock on your door clicks and turns and it swings open with a quiet creak. Aaron stands in the doorway, backlit by the dingy lights outside, akin to an angel with the cast of his hair and the contours of his face dipped in shadow.

“Hello? Honey, I have something for you,” is the first thing he says, the silhouette of his arm twisted to hide something behind his back. From his other hand dangles his go-bag, which falls to the floor of your living room with a dull thud. He peels out of his jacket and tosses it over the back of a chair.

The relief chokes you. Strangles you till you’re blue in the face. You’re struck speechless and can only watch as he pushes the door closed behind him and tosses the keys into the catchall on the hall table, toes off his shoes, then comes over to sit with you on the couch. Plastic crinkles behind his back as he moves closer.

“I’ve got something,” he says again. “A present for you.”

“Aaron-”

“Before you say I didn’t need to, I wanted to,” he interjects, waving a hand to stop you. “I saw them while I was out and thought of you.”

“The anticipation is killing me.”

All turbulent emotions vanish like morning dew on a sunny afternoon, your heart thrumming hard against the confinement of your ribs. You let yourself think it’s only because you’re just excited to see him in good spirits, certainly not because he places a hand on your knee and squeezes lightly, or looks at you with poorly-concealed adoration in his gaze, or the knowledge of the fact he thinks of you often enough to go out of his way to get you something nice.

From behind his back, he produces a bouquet of pink roses wrapped neatly in a matching shade of cellophane with a flourish and you nearly fall to the ground. He’s brought you flowers. Roses. He saw roses while he was out and they made him think of you, and that thought alone nearly has you knocked out cold.

You’re able to mutter his name before you reach for his shoulders for a hug, and he lets out a small huff as he’s pushed down to lay back on the couch with your arms around him.

“Consider this my apology for being too busy to call,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you say, breathless. “Consider your apology accepted.”

His free hand rubs up and down your back, lingering flush to the space between your shoulder blades to press you close to his chest. “How have you been?”

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah? Has Garcia been taking good care of you?”

You nod into his shoulder. “You know her.”

“That I do. Do you have a vase that I can put your flowers in?”

“There’s one in the kitchen cabinet.”

But he doesn’t yet stand to retrieve it, too engrossed in the warmth of your hug. This is not how a boss acts with his subordinate. Not even how a friend would act. If he were just a friend he wouldn’t come to you first, because your space is his space, and he wouldn’t have brought you a really nice bouquet, and he wouldn’t find such comfort in your embrace and the smell of your perfume that he goes slack under you. Him and you, always, together.

A moment passes and he shifts out from beneath you. You watch him get up with remorse, his hand holding onto yours till the distance draws his fingers away.

“You know,” he begins, rummaging around in your cabinets to find the aforementioned vase, “I’ve been honing in on my cooking skills.”

“That so?” you ask from the sofa, jelly-limbed with your neck craned to watch him.

“I can make stir fry if you want dinner.” His arm retracts from the cabinet, hand around the neck of your vase.

So he cooks for you. Insists upon it, even. Even though the hospital cleared you fine to go home and you feel more or less well, he insists on taking care of you. You let him. Maybe for his peace of mind. A chance to take care of you just like you’ve taken care of him countless times before. You won’t pretend to not like having him dote on you.

The roses sit between you, lit by warm candlelight because the overhead light buzzes too loud and the bulb flickers when you turn it on. It’s sweet and it’s romantic, shit, you really shouldn’t be getting so personally involved with your boss. The no-fraternization rules implemented by the Bureau higher-ups have been hammered into your skull since the day you joined, yet just look at you. Too late for go-backs now.

Over the table, you say, “You can stay the night, if you want to.”

It’s not that you’re implying anything because you’re not, voice void of sexual innuendo. He doesn’t seem to take it in such a way anyway. His gaze meets yours and he draws closer with a hand curled like a cage atop yours.

“I will,” he replies. “If you want me to.”

“I do.”

He’s slept over before a secret half-a-dozen or so times, mostly on the couch. Only in your bed once. That one time was after you’d came home from a particularly bad case, and it was the second time you’d seen him as upset as he was. Beaten black and blue, scraped up worse than he’s ever been on the job. You’d diligently cleaned his wounds up (always too proud to sit in the back of an ambulance and let a professional take care of it), sat with him until he fell asleep, then you never spoke of it again.

Tonight he sleeps beside you. Blissfully unaware to the way you stare at his profile — the line of his nose, the mess of his hair where it’s fallen over his forehead, the way the light catches on his fluttering lashes and turns them a pale blue. The back of your knuckles run against his cheekbone. Tender, soft, so unlike most anything else he knows now.

He’s beautiful. All of you belongs to him.

You stir to Aaron’s heavy arm draped across your abdomen and crack one eye open to see him staring at you. The room is warm, sunshine spilling over his back to paint him shining gold, and the tip his of nose presses against your neck when he sees you’re awake. He must’ve gotten up before you woke because you can smell fresh-cut grass from the open window and the scent of coffee brewing floats in from the kitchen, and from outside you can hear the humming drone of a lawnmower, the song of morning birds chirping.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks, more a murmur than anything.

You shake your head no. A part of you — the small part that yearned for his care and attention long before now — is awestruck. You’ve got Aaron in your bed, the same Aaron who bleeds and hurts and fights beside you, the man who hadn’t wanted you on the team in the first place, and he’s touching you like you’re made of glass.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“I’m okay for now,” you reply.

“Are you sure, honey? I can cut up some fruit for you. You could do with some vitamins… maybe some sun, too.” Mournfully, he gets up from bed, leaving you with only the warmth of the sheets where he lay just a moment ago. You watch, blinking slow, breathing slow.

“I’m really fine,” you insist meekly, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

With hands planted on either side of your head, he leans back over you in bed, brows pulled in concern like you’re still bedridden in the hospital. His thumb ghosts over the delicate skin of your undereye, then lower, feather-light down the slope of your jaw and to where your collarbone peeks out from the neck of your shirt.

“I’ll bring you a bowl,” he says, disregarding the rejection.

And then he kisses you before he leaves to the kitchen. Nothing full-fledged, only a brief press of his lips to your cheek, but it renders a swell in your gut, too hot beneath your quilt, breathless like your heart is going to rip straight out of your chest and chase him down to kiss him again. The print of his lips burns white-hot. A brand on your skin.

He pauses in the threshold of your bedroom and looks back. “I’m sorry if that was… weird.”

“No! No, it wasn’t weird. I liked it, actually.”

“Oh, okay.”

Aaron fusses over you incessantly the entire day, from cutting your fruit up to holding your hand to help you to the couch, despite your insistence that you’re fully recovered. He isn’t so used to putting his feelings so brashly on display, but you’ve been walking this tightrope between friends and more for a while and it’s no secret he wants it. Wants you. Wants whatever you may have to offer. No matter if you’re well or not, he’ll want you.

“Thank you,” you say over lunch, picking idly at the tangerine he’d peeled for you. “For staying with me, I mean.”

He lifts his head. He’s opened the window above your sink, citing the lovely weather and your need for sunshine as his reasons for letting the bugs in, and it makes his eyes shine from his seat facing the sun.

You’re like a vampire, he had said. Don’t get me wrong, definitely a beautiful and kind one, but fresh air will do you good, then he’d laughed as he stood in the spill of warmth exuding from the open window.

In his hand is the other half of the tangerine, which he assiduously peels the spongy pith from and discards in a small heap atop your dining table.

“I hope you know that I don’t mind.” Aaron breathes out and hands you two slices stripped of their white viscera. “I like taking care of you. Every so often someone get hurts on the field and it never gets more comfortable to deal with. It makes me feel… good to be here with you.”

“That’s really nice of you to say.”

“It’s only the truth.”

You’ve been better for the greater part of a week and no longer need babying like you did at the start, you think, but withhold on commenting for fear that he thinks you don’t like having him around. You more than like it, really, and you like it even more when he leans over the table enticingly.

He’s smiling widely when he speaks. “And the company is the best part.”

“Even if the company is a vampire?” You touch the side of his throat, flush over his jugular where a vampire might bite. His heart thrums hard beneath the pads of your fingers when you push down with the faintest pressure.

“Even so.”

⊹₊ 𐙚

“Can I see you in my office? There’s something that I want to talk to you about.”

You stand from your desk. Aaron — rather, Hotch, because you’re at work — has been staring at you through his window the entire morning like a reverse-scenario zoo animal in an enclosure. It’s been unsettling to feel someone’s eyes on you perpetually but you let it slide because you know he’s just worried. He made it very clear that he didn’t want you coming back to the office so soon, for worry you might bump a fading bruise on the exceedingly dangerous desks in the bullpen or injure your back further by sitting in the expensive, cushy roller chair.

It’s an overcast Monday in light of your sunny weekend. Aaron had messaged you at five-thirty in the morning, insisted heavily that if you intended on coming in today then it had better be with a warm coat on. You’d come to a tentative middle ground via a knit sweater that he likes because Emily runs cold and makes sure the whole office knows it (Seriously, you can’t remember the last time she’d allowed it to be less than the low eighties, and most of the team would rather bear the heat than listen to her gripe about how cold it is. Today, it’s freezing. The heat is broken and you figure you’ll have to deal with it once she comes in.)

He’s waiting for you when you step in and close the door behind you, drawing the blinds. “How are you?”

“I’m well. I’d be better if you’d stayed home to rest.”

“I promise I’m recovered enough for desk work, Aaron.”

He grumbles with no real upset and beckons for you to come around the other side of his desk. When you do and lean back with palms braced over the lip, a broad hand slips around your waist to touch your back. He drops it quickly. So unprofessional, you might tease, if you weren’t so pleased with the fact that he’s unabashedly touching you at work.

Something in the air has shifted. Following the night you spent together, it’s as if the spark between you has turned into a real firecracker, a sparkling dazzle of neon color and fizzling light. He’d left Saturday afternoon after a lot of coaxing that you’d be alright alone, made you promise you’d eat real food and not just cereal and frozen pizza and TV dinners. Most importantly, he wouldn’t leave without kissing you silly all over your cheeks and forehead and jaw. And when you’d anticipated the killing blow and closed your eyes and parted your lips, he’d bid you goodbye with an affectionate pat to your shoulder.

It was cruel, but you don’t mind waiting for a real kiss. The riper the fruit, the sweeter the juice, isn’t that what they say? This thing, for lack of a better word, with Aaron being as discernible as it is, is still relatively new. Not to mention he’s navigating romance for the first time again after Haley, so you’re more than willing to take it slow with him.

“What did you do over the rest of the weekend?” he asks conversationally.

“You know, the ushe.” You tuck your cold hands between your knees, press your lips together like you’re really devastated by the answer you’d come up with. “I laid around feeling sorry for myself, missing you…” you trail off, wistful.

“You poor thing,” Aaron responds sympathetically. “What can I do?”

You lean forward with a mock show of great sadness, though not without an underlying coquettish, hopeful demeanor. “The only thing that would make it all better is dinner later tonight with someone special.”

“What a coincidence. I was just thinking of asking my own someone special if she wanted to get takeout and spend the night at mine after work.”

It’s awful, the way he’s staring at you and beaming. Like you’re the one who hung all the stars in the sky, crafted the constellations just for him; like you control the tide of the ocean and the spin of the Earth; like you’re the light that makes the moon glow. Makes you want to grab him by his hand and bring him back to your place and never let him leave the comfort of your apartment. Keep him safe and warm and content.

You settle instead on smoothing his lapels down. He isn’t propositioning you when he asks you to stay over — never would he be so blatant, and you don’t think you’re quite involved enough yet for such a risqué offer to be on the table (though the notion has you imagining a torturous handful of things that you wouldn’t dream of telling him about.)

“Tell you what,” he begins. He moves his chair to be positioned in front of you. You have to look directly down to see him face-to-face. “We’ll pick up some dinner and we can watch whatever movie you like. Do you have your go-bag?”

“I do... and if I want to watch Mean Girls?”

“I’ll watch anything you want,” he supplies.

“Oh, how sweet are you?”

“Don’t tell anyone. My professional reputation would be ruined.”

Truth be told, there is a prominent lack of ‘professional reputation’ in Aaron’s department, at least within the team. He can pretend as much as he likes for as long as he likes but it’s their specialty to sniff out lies, pick up on secret cues, and of course they notice when he comes into the office with two cups of coffee instead of one, when he holds your hand to help you up the steps of the jet. You’ve received enough conspiratorial looks to know that they know.

You don’t suppose Aaron is your boyfriend. Your relationship with him is a nuanced thing. Becoming the brunt of office gossip is one thing, jeopardizing your careers is another — Strauss has her suspicions and there’s been, well… talk that stokes the (albeit small) kindling flame. It comes down to having a discussion that will remain on the back burner until the both of you can sit down and discuss the professional implications and the other difficult things that Aaron doesn’t want to talk about.

Dark has long since encompassed the Bureau by the time that he decides to be done working. You’ve been waiting on the couch in his office for the better part of the day, his suit jacket draped over your legs fashioned into an impromptu blanket. And then there’s the shuffling of loose-leaf paper shoved into folders, the scratch of his chair’s wheels as he pushes it in.

The toes of his shiny oxfords come into view and a kind hand pushes a loose lock of hair out of your face. “Are you ready?”

He wedges his hand beneath the small of your back to get you up. You’re tired from your day and limp when he encourages you to sit, but ultimately allow him to prop you up against the back of the couch. You take his hand to stand up when he offers it to you.

One and a half years ago, he wouldn’t dream of holding your hand. Wouldn’t even sit next to you in the conference room or on the jet, in fact. But Aaron didn’t really start liking liking you until eight months ago and didn’t tell you for even longer. It took him a long while to gather the courage to come out and just say it like any normal adult with feelings might do.

If you told your former self you’d wind up holding hands with Unit Chief SSA Aaron Hotchner, going home to eat dinner with him and sleep in his bed, you’d have laughed in your own face. The most you’d ever let yourself indulge in such a fantasy prior to his grandiose confession of more than friendly feelings was maybe, just maybe, in an alternate timeline you’d met Aaron under different circumstances and it would have been history.

But you have him in this timeline. You have him picking up your dinner, driving you to his house, crouching down in front of you to undo the buckles keeping the straps of your kitten heels fastened around your ankles. He rubs your calf after tucking your shoes away before he stands and walks to the kitchen.

“What a long day,” he comments. He loosens the knot of his tie and looks over at you over his shoulder. “For you especially, I imagine. Does it get tiring, laying on the couch in my office?”

“Mhm,” you hum agreeably. “A very long day of very grueling paperwork. My boss can’t stop assigning me more and more when there are other agents who could share the workload.”

You know Aaron is smiling, even as he’s faced with his back to you. It’s clear in his voice. “Maybe your boss just thinks you’re very diligent and produce quality work.”

“That sounds to me a lot like favoritism, Hotchner.” You saunter up behind him, draping your arms around his waist. He tears apart the plastic bag holding your food then separates portions onto two ceramic plates.

“Uh-huh,” he says wryly. “You see, honey, favoritism would be more like if I let a member of my team quote unquote lay down to rest her eyes on my sofa instead of doing her work like I very kindly asked — oh wait, doesn’t that sound familiar?”

“So I am your favorite? Ooh, how scandalous. Imagine if word got out that you were picking favorites.”

“I must be doing something wrong if you have to ask.” Aaron turns and puts a hand on the back of your neck, scoffs, shakes his head good-naturedly. This mood he’s in, playful, teasing, is so rare, and you love it. “Do you ever see me letting Morgan take a nap during work hours?”

“Derek will nap regardless if you let him or not.”

(This is true. You’d caught him sleeping in the conference room once. He’d made you swear not to tell Aaron in exchange for vending machine money — and who were you to deny such a generous offer? Your silence was easily bought via chocolate bars.)

“In that case, I might have to give him a stern talking to.” His expression is grim.

“Oh, please don’t. He gave me money to buy candy from the machines if I swore not to tell you.”

Aaron is delighted by this answer. “But you’re telling me anyway?”

“Does that make me a bad friend?” you ask morosely.

“No, no. You’re the best friend. And an even better subordinate for ratting him out… it’s good to know where your loyalty lies.”

He’s laughing when he says it and then he isn’t laughing a mere moment later. Rather, he’s leaning in on a whim, eyes fluttering shut, a hand over the back of your neck, thumbs a whisper against the curve of your cheek. There’s a perceptible flash that travels like lighting up your spine — he’s going to kiss you for real this time, you know he is, and it’s something you’ve wanted for who-knows how long and it’s finally yours to have. To keep. And it’s not just about the kiss, is it? It’s about Aaron, like it most always is, and you thank your lucky stars one by one to have found a man like him and to be able to keep him.

But it’s over nearly as soon as it began. How torturous for it to end so quickly when you’ve dreamt of kissing him day and night. It’s only right for you to go for another and another and another, and yes, juice is always sweeter when the fruit has had time to ripen.

[shieldfoss]

Healthcare is bad in different countries for different reasons. I don't think I know any country where "we have a free market in health care" is part of the problem.

In America, fundamentally it's bad because they don't train enough doctors. No combination of cash payment, insurance, or government programs, can buy healthcare from a doctor that doesn't exist, and any solution that doesn't start with "train more doctors" just moves the limited doctor time around, rather than actually fixing anything. There are other defects, but "not enough doctors" is the original sin of the system.

In Denmark, fundamentally it's bad because the government mandates ever increasing amounts of paperwork, taking time away from actually helping people + also the government taxes me to fund all that paperwork so I don't have money to pay a doctor separately from the more-paperwork-than-healthcare system. I waited 1½ years for a specialist not because there aren't enough (though there aren't) but rather because the government only budgets for 3 days of work from that specialist. That specialist could work 2 more days every week without interfering with their weekend but they'd be working for free, so they don't. There are other defects, but "the government prevents healthcare" is the original sin of the system.

In the UK (Insert ignorant spiel about the NHS, I have no idea why the NHS is bad. They claim to be underfunded but are they too underfunded to provide the necessary healthcare, or are they too underfunded to do a bunch of unnecessary busywork and provide healthcare at the same time? Or are they not underfunded and just lying about it? Some fourth problem? I have no idea.)

But I don't think I know any country where "we have a free market in health care" is part of the problem, and while that isn't the same as "the problem is that our healthcare is socialized," it sure does rhyme.

Non-healthcare thoughts under the cut

This is another one of those situations where I think something like "I can understand why you think the government should help. This seems like the worst way to do it though."

It goes something like...

"There's a distinct lack of X consumption in our country. Let's solve it by:"

People who can afford X use as much X as they need. We need a government program that pays for poorer people's X.

It is currently illegal to make and sell X. Let's change that.

It is currently illegal to make and sell X. Obviously we could never let X be created outside of our control, let's have a government program to create and distribute X to people who can convince us they need it.

It is currently legal to create and sell X, but people can't afford it. Let's use the government to pay the X creators to create more X and sell it at a reduced price (or free)

If people can't afford something as basic as X, I bet there's a lot of stuff they can't afford, or other stuff that's even more important to them than X. Any program we create to manage X specifically will maybe solve the X problem, but is that even the most important problem to solve? We don't know people's lives. We should give people money, not X, and if X is their most important problem, that'll solve the X problem for them - and if they have worse problems than "not enough X" we'll have helped them even more than just giving them X.

Not solving it. Fuck'em.

People disagree with us, they think they use enough X. Make it illegal to not use X - the X creators will make more X if they have a guaranteed customer base.

These bullets aren't in any particular order, Some of them are clearly worse than others, but governments tend to reach for those worse solutions first!

As a politician, just like all the other amoral psychopaths, you will of course favor a solution that gives you and your supporters more power, like creating a new government agency and staffing it with your allies so you can pay your allies with the public's money.

As a voter, please stop voting for people who do that.

As a politician, just like all the other narcissists, you will of course favor a solution that gives you good headlines, like a program to pay for people's X.

As a voter, please stop voting for people who do that.

As a politician, just like all the other amoral psychopaths you will of course favor a system that keeps the price of X high for your allies in the X industry.

As a voter, please stop voting for people who do that.

As a politician, just like all the other narcissists, you will of course favor whatever solution just gives you a gut feeling of righteousness without worrying about whether you are actually helping.

As a voter, please stop voting for people who do that.

The government has certain advantages when it comes to solving coordination problems, and certain inherent inefficiencies. If you have a coordination problem, you can solve it (inefficiently) with the government. If you have any other type of problem, involving the government will not bring its coordinating advantage but will bring its inefficiency. Please stop trying, and please stop reelecting politicians who have done that, or promise to do it in the future.

Sometimes I see people from countries with public healthcare systems post videos that are like “This is the reality of socialized medicine. I had to wait in the ER with my sick baby for 4 hours.” “I had to wait 8 months to see a specialist. That’s egregious.” or “They didn’t have a bed for my loved one in mental health treatment.” and it’s like. Come to America babygirl. You can experience all of this and have your insurance deny it and pay thousands and thousands of dollars for it. Like I know healthcare systems in countries with public health can be bad but when I see someone imply they’re bad because the healthcare is universal, I want to jump through the screen and put my elbow on their throat. “The NHS is deeply flawed, therefore we should abolish it and go back to private healthcare. That will definitely make healthcare in this country better!” I am going to Kill You.

[noodlemoondle]

You Always Come First

(No matter how upset I am)

Zayne x Reader

summary: you and zayne have a small spat over you neglecting your health. as a result of it, you decide to sleep on the couch, not wanting to bother/upset him even further. randomly waking up in the night, you notice you’re no longer alone on the couch and do everything you can to get the doctor back in bed before he’s sore for his shift tomorrow.

tags: not proofread!, hurt/comfort? (i didn’t rlly include the hurt part of it so im not too sure), fluff, literal sleeping together, caring n sweet zayne (when is he not), self indulgent per usual

a/n: bro tumblr is REALLY testing my patience. why is it so dumb with everything i try to post. it’s literally why i haven’t posted a fic in a while. i can’t take this much longer i may crash out soon. anyway, as always hope u enjoy! (⁎˃ᴗ˂⁎)

side tangent: i actually have been so obsessed with caleb. it’s actually a problem. i have been loyal to zayne this entire time and i’ve been playing since release, but caleb is REALLY testing it. lord i’m a sucker for the protective n caring childhood friends to lovers trope (¯―¯٥) (id expect a caleb fic soon tbh if tumblr wants to stop hating me and making my life so difficult)

the fight was stupid. you were neglecting your health once again not taking your medicine, not resting, and ignoring doctors specific orders. zayne often could never say no to you, he always spoiled you and gave into any of your requests. the only time he was stern and stubborn was when it involved your health, that he doesn’t and will never budge on. you often lacked care for your health, pushing it to the back burners of your mind and often calling zayne dramatic saying “you knew yourself and your limits”. something zayne wasn’t particularly fond of. he confronted you about your recent negligence of your health and both of your stubbornness in your beliefs led to an argument.

it’s been an hour or 2 since it ended though. zayne left to your shared bedroom, most likely to do some work, while you stayed out in the living area, trying to distract yourself from the anger turning to sadness and guilt in your heart. you ended up deciding to just sleep on the couch tonight not wanting to bother him after an argument. you grabbed an extra pillow and thin blanket from a nearby closet and put on a random show so you wouldn’t have to fall asleep listening to your own thoughts. soon enough you were able to relax and fall into a slumber.

you don’t know how long it’s been since you fell asleep. you hear the tv still on as you slowly wake and become aware of your surroundings. once you can see clearly, that’s when you realize you were laying on top of zayne previously using his chest as a pillow unbeknownst to you. he has been peacefully sleeping on the couch with you for who knows how long. as you sat up in a panic you also notice a thicker, softer blanket, one you have preference for, falling off of your shoulders. instantly guilt is washed over you as you look at zayne, who is a somewhat light sleeper, somehow still deep in his sleep. you swallow quickly as you build confidence to wake him up.

you lean closer to his face which was awkwardly propped up by the couch’s arm rest, a position that you couldn’t imagine to be anywhere near comfortable. you lightly tap his shoulder and call his name trying to wake him up. soon enough he does, opening his eyes to see you staring back at him, the faintest smile appears on his face at the sight, almost forgetting of the spat you two shared earlier. before he could even say anything you scold him:

“why are you here? i was sleeping on the couch tonight. you have work early in the morning go back to bed and go to sleep.”

“couldn’t have you sore in the morning” he answers calmly releasing a small yawn in the process.

“neither can you! you have a long shift starting early tomorrow. i’ll be fine just go back to bed.” you quickly rebutted trying to push him off the couch, something that you didn’t have the strength to do, but nevertheless you persisted.

“i can get through a shift with an achy neck, however you can not.” he replies as he softly grabs your hands that are trying to shove him away back to bed.

“i know i’ll be fine. i’ll live to see another day. now go back to bed already!” you say. your voice getting louder as you’re starting to get frustrated trying to break out of his soft grasp.

“will you be joining me?” he asks softly not letting go of your wrists that keep trying to fight against him.

“no, i’m sleeping on the couch!” your voice raising above the tv still playing in the back illuminating the room.

“then it seems like i shall too” he states as he frees your wrists and pushes you back onto his chest, laying the blanket over you both.

before you can even think of a response zayne wraps his arms around your torso and closes his eyes to fall asleep once again, to which you quickly flick his chest to wake him back up. he opens his eyes again and looks down at you with an unamused expression.

“why won’t you just let me sleep here alone?” you ask in a tone he can’t quite place, nevertheless he can hear the slight amount sorrow that came along with it.

“i already told you, i can’t have you go into work tomorrow with a sore neck and back.” he says closing his eyes again despite your wishes against it.

“if you don’t wish to be with me tonight then i’ll sleep on the couch and you can take the bed” he continues. his arms involuntarily tighten ever so slightly around you showing how much he doesn’t want that.

“but i also told you!!! you can’t sleep on the couch, you have a few surgeries to complete, and you have to be in your best shape to do so.” you try to push up against his arms wrapped around you, another pointless action.

zayne sighs and opens his eyes again to look at you before speaking.

“well then you have two options. one, we both move over to the bed to sleep. or two, i sleep here and you sleep over in the room. my job isn’t physically taxing compared to yours, im not allowing you to go in if you don’t have a proper rest.”

he looks tired. you study his features before you respond to him. taking a moment to look at the eyebags under his eyes and a slight frustration growing in his face from this back and forth.

you sigh before answering “then to the bed we go”

a soft smile appears on zaynes face as he begins to get up. his neck slightly sore, but he wouldn’t reveal that to you. although it’s against your wishes, he lifts you up having you hold the blanket and pillow as he carries you back to bed.

he sets you down on your side of the bed, thinking you won’t necessarily want to be close with him tonight. not before tucking you in and kissing the top of your head whispering his love and goodnight wishes. as he gets into bed you turn to face him. once he fully lays down you scootch closer to him and grab onto the hem of his shirt. he instantly understands what you want and pulls you towards him, pressing you to his side as he wraps his arms around you.

he kisses your forehead once more and whispers

“we will continue our discussion after work tomorrow. goodnight, i love you.”

too tired to argue with him anymore you just nod your head against him replying quietly mouth squished against him making your words barely audible.

“goodnight, love you too”

[thiefcatmoth]

pac: how do people around you see you?

general reading. pick a pile, listening to your intuition. if nothing resonates, leave this pac behind.

pile 1

soft and sharp, warm and cold, changeable, but combining opposites so harmoniously. you have the ability to hide secrets inside and surprise others with little unusual bits of your personality. you have an inner stability, the ability to accept the twists of fate and use them to your advantage. people think that in feelings you give yourself to the bottom, both good and bad. some people find you too authoritarian, but you have a natural ability to make (or advise) others to do what you need or want. despite the general impression, some see your fragile spiritual core, and some may even say that you give them your light. even if you do not plan to illuminate someone's life, it happens on its own. many people do not strive to see beyond the facade that you have erected and may not realize that you can hide wisdom, knowledge, depth of words behind jokes and light-mindedness, a mask that you deliberately put up for others.

pile 2

others see you as a loyal, hardworking person, although not without a hint of something… gloomy? not hostility, but something dark or gloomy. you work even when obstacles arise, your persistence is admired by others, maybe even became an example or a source of inspiration for someone. at the same time, a special feminine energy emanates from you - cool, fresh, even a little youthful. energy that attracts, like a flower in the morning dew, but not everyone likes it. in general, you give the impression of someone who is difficult to gain trust, you don't let everyone in your inner circle, some think that you are too difficult to find the keys to. I think they just do not realize that you choose people based on your emotions and your inner circle is so important to you in order to develop, learn and work on yourself.

pile 3

some people think that you are capable of doing anything with your own hands. every little bit of what you do - art, handmade, cooking, whatever - has a special uniqueness, everything is a meaningful masterpiece. people see great wisdom in you, even when your words are not liked or seem poisonous. in addition, you know how to use all your knowledge for good. some people think that you are overprotective? the energy of excessive care, maybe even an attempt to prove that your views on everyday life and the material world are the most correct. someone may think that you were greatly influenced by your ancestors, and that is why your advice, even when you talk about something modern, can be perceived as outdated, similar to ancient wisdom. they are never devoid of meaning. few will be able to understand that helping others and caring that you do is not your favorite thing or a way to show yourself. these are just intuitive actions.

pile 4

the energy of an intelligent but closed person. clearly with a mind of your own, with clear internal and external boundaries. do you like black humor or sarcasm? or maybe there are notes of healthy cynicism in you? people sense that there is a storm of energy hidden inside you, it seems to them that your inner strength and impulses are more than enough for your desires and goals. for the sake of your goals, you can be assertive, choose smart paths and apply your efforts correctly. but others think that you are too free with your time, as if you own it. and some catch too many flirting signals. there is something in your behavior that reminds them of a socialite. to someone you may even seem frivolous in those moments when you deviate from your mask and image. someone notices that you often change your habits, style, lifestyle, and not everyone will understand that this is not a burden, not forced. you are able to adapt to any physical changes, from food and apartment to clothes, workouts and weight. it's like you are changing subtly every day. just don't pay attention if someone ignorantly considers it insignificant.

thanks for the reading!

dividers by @strangergraphics-archive, all images are not mine

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Unfortunately it's the Daily who broke this story, so I'm torn between "this is a rightwing gossip rag known for wholesale lying" and "the thing is this does track with my knowledge of detainee culture in usa prisons and detention centers"

Like, the history of political prisoners includes a GREAT DEAL of documented resistance from within prisons by the people suffering detention. It is both a way of asserting power in a system that severely restricts individual and communal autonomy, and a way of performing activism and advocacy from within authoritarian suppression.

The message of ensuring a political prisoner is well-groomed and styled is two-fold: 1) ensure they are able to show up in court with as much visibly communicated shared humanity with the "jury of peers" as possible, thus reducing the risk of state neglect and abuses influencing jury opinion on the prisoner, and 2) communicate clearly to everyone within the judicial system that powerful underground systems of solidarity and care have their eyes firmly trained on this person's well-being, and anything that happens to them will be taken as a severe act of aggression against that system of solidarity and care.

This may feel conspiracy minded, but it's important to remember that while we rarely hear about prison riots on the outside, every prison protest from the famous and historic Attica Uprisings to the recent Uprisings in North Carolina after they were abandoned in a flooded and lethal prison during Hurricane Helene in 2024 is an extension of this internal system of care. The battles fought are intentional and based in the risk/reward calculations of allowing a certain precedent to be set by hegemonic forces/systems.

It would not be an acceptable precedent for them to kill or harm Mangione in prison, nor to railroad his trial. People in a prison may not have much control over what happens to Mangione once he leaves the facility they know how to navigate. But they can certainly send a message to the outside world "if you harm this man, you invite a war"

Regardless of whether Mangione is guilty, innocent, convicted, pardoned, declared innocent, whatever, he is a political and politicized prisoner. That makes him an effective method of access and communication to the outside world. And that makes him someone worth protecting even on top of everything else that may already motivate his fellow prisoners to look out for him.

Basically: I'm not sure if the fade specifically is that message (although several former inmates/inmate activists online have disclosed they believe it IS), but it's clear that message is being communicated intentionally all the same.

I do think it's particularly interesting to me that people may have been imagining a world in which it would ever be realistic for prisoners to assault or harm Mangione. Regardless of HOW they communicated it, this message of solidarity from prisoners is both expected by anyone involved in prison resistance, and was practically announced to the whole world on live news by the detainees in Mangione's facility some time ago

"Luigi's conditions suck" is a very clear intro to "and we're angry enough about it to make sure the whole world can hear us"

If anyone is finding themselves surprised by these ideas or curious to understand better why people are talking about this and why they're making the assertions they do, I highly recommend reading some examples of prison letters and texts written by historic political prisoners and civil rights leaders. Letter from a Birmingham Jail is one of the most famous of these, but there are TONS and they're really fascinating insights into the complex community organizing of prison resistance. Angela Davis wrote prolifically in prison, including her work "If They Come in the Morning" and others. The Marshall Project also receives and directs letters from prisoners by the thousands and have collected some of the themes in the writing they receive from every day prisoners here, you'll find a lot of overlap.

Former prisoners & COs reveal that Luigi's new look was likely done by fellow inmates & is a symbol to show that they support & protect him.🥺🥺 ❤️ Huge blow to all the haters who for weeks have been fantasizing about Luigi getting assaulted in prison. lol

[wondergirlsthings]

Beachside Boundaries

Lando Norris x Reader

The sun was blazing, the waves crashing gently onto the shore as you settled into your spot on the beach. It was the perfect day for relaxation—a break from the hustle and chaos of the F1 season. You were with Lando and a group of friends on a private stretch of beach, enjoying some well-earned downtime.

You smoothed down your bikini, a vibrant blue two-piece you’d been saving for a day like this. It fit perfectly and brought out the color of your eyes, which Lando had already complimented earlier in the day. As you made your way toward the shoreline to dip your toes in the water, you heard laughter behind you.

“Y/N, you’re turning heads today,” one of the guys in your group called out teasingly. You glanced back and grinned, brushing it off as lighthearted fun.

But when your eyes met Lando’s, his usual playful demeanor was replaced by something else—his brows furrowed slightly, his jaw tense. He was watching you intently from his spot under the beach umbrella, his hand gripping the armrest of his chair.

You shrugged it off at first, thinking he was just tired. But as the day went on, his mood seemed to sour more and more. By the time you walked back up from the water, drying your hair with a towel, he was already on his feet.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?” he asked, his voice calm but tinged with tension.

You raised an eyebrow, confused. “Sure. What’s up?”

He gestured for you to follow him a few steps away from the group. Once you were alone, he crossed his arms over his chest, avoiding your eyes for a moment before speaking.

“Do you have to wear that bikini?”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me? What’s wrong with my bikini?”

“It’s… nothing’s wrong with it,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “You look amazing, Y/N. You always do. But…” He trailed off, glancing back toward the group. “You’ve seen the way they’re looking at you.”

You tilted your head, trying to process his words. “Lando, are you seriously upset because people are looking at me?”

He sighed, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m not upset, I’m just… I don’t like it. You’re mine, Y/N, and I hate the idea of anyone else thinking they can…” He gestured vaguely, unable to find the right words.

“Lando,” you said softly, stepping closer to him. “I’m yours. You don’t have to worry about anyone else. I only care about what you think.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, but he still looked unconvinced. “I know that, but it’s hard not to feel protective. You’re gorgeous, and I can’t stand the idea of someone else staring at you like that.”

You placed your hands on his chest, looking up at him with a reassuring smile. “You don’t need to be jealous, Lando. I love you, and nothing’s going to change that. Besides, it’s just a bikini. It doesn’t mean anything more than me enjoying the sunshine.”

He let out a small laugh, finally meeting your eyes. “You’re right. I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?”

“A little,” you teased, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek. “But I kind of like it when you’re protective. Just don’t go overboard, okay?”

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. “I’ll try. But if anyone gets too close, I’m not above reminding them you’re taken.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fair enough. Now, come back to the group and stop sulking. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

With a sheepish grin, Lando followed you back to the beach chairs. His jealousy might have been a bit over the top, but you knew it came from a place of love. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

[umamaki]

THE SWEETHEART GRIP

one way soldiers kept their loved ones close during battle was by inserting a photo of them under a clear grip of either plexiglass or acrylic on their pistols. this is known as the sweetheart grip.

l&ds sylus x reader

me finding out about anything: how can i make this about love and deepspace... and yes i am american. yes i still don't respect anyone involved in or supporting the military leave me alone.

divider

So... Sylus definitely has a sweetheart grip of you. On all of his guns, actually. And you're not even aware of it.

They're all his favorite photos of you. Pictures of you on dates, selfies you've posted on social media, polaroids he's taken of you after sex.

He's insanely adept at weapons assembly so of coursee all his stuff is custom. Takes them apart, adds tributes of you, puts them back together.

You know he STAYS strapped. Always has a gun on him, always has a piece of you with him. As if your souls are not literally bound together. Whatever. He needs a physical reminder I guess. Can't go anywhere without some sort of keepsake. Keeps him sane.

Likes keeping his weapons clean; never lets your image get bloody, wet, scratched, foggy. Carries around a cloth to wipe away at any imperfections. Would never ruin your picture like that. Spends a modest chunk of his day making sure they're clean to his liking. It's so canon, have you seen this man during the in-game study and work feature even??!

Looks at your pretty picture all the time. Whips out his gun as if it’s his phone. Professional meetings, philanthropy galas, you name it. Intimidates everyone around him in doing so, thinking he's gonna shoot them—not that they would say that to his face—but no. He simply misses your cute face. Just wants a reminder of who's waiting at home for him.

Looks at your picture while he aims his gun at someone's head. Asks himself if this is what you would want. Shoots them anyways lol. Uses his palm to cover your photo as he pulls the trigger, careful to not taint your darling image with his enemy's blood.

You're bound to find out. He doesn't hide the fact from you, doesn't flaunt it either, so it's a while before you do end up finding your face staring back at you whilst looking through his armory.

"Sylus, what is this?" You ask, holding up the pistol so he can see.

"It's you, do you like it?"

"Well yes, I can see that it's me. Why is my face on your gun? And why am I naked in this one?"

"Technically your face is on all of my guns, sweetheart. That one's just my favorite." As if it's the most obvious fact in the world.

"... You did this yourself?"

"Absolutely. Do you not like it?"

"It's not that, but..." he waits, then the last thing he would expect you to say comes from your mouth, "...can you do this to my guns?"

He laughs, booming and robust, "why? You want my nudes on your guns? You must like me a lot, huh?"

It's enough for you to give him a slap on his bicep. "Fine. Nevermind. Don't know why I even asked."

He's still laughing as he pulls you into his body. He tickles your stomach, turning your pout into your own set of giggles, "I'm teasing, sweetheart. You can use as many nudes of me as you want. Shall we begin now?"

He jolts his hips up to your body, catching you off guard. He's noticeably hard now, tent in his pants evident. You get the hint.

“Why wait when we’re already here?”

“That’s the spirit, sweetheart.”

[syoddeye]

What if Simon goes back fo rhis card, but she won't give it back unless he tries again?

prev.

"sound it out, big fella."

simon huffs and glares at the barback in the corner of his eye. the man's pretending not to listen, working a damp cloth over a two-top that's already shining.

the place isn't even open yet. the door's propped ajar with a brick, and it's hours before service starts. he came early on purpose, figuring he could grab his card and go. maybe avoid this exact interaction. but no. here you are, dangling it in front of him.

he could take it. just lean over the counter, swipe it out of your hand, maybe get a handful of your hip and a squeeze in the process. but no, you had to go and get cute about it.

"'and it over."

"nice try. you know i mean whatever line you were going to feed me the other night."

"wasn't gonna feed you a line."

"no? then what the fuck was that? a disappearing act?" you lean forward on the counter, elbows resting on the wood, fists tucked under your chin. it makes you look pixieish, face tilted up, playing at innocence, but the glint in your eyes says otherwise. you're enjoying this. "performance anxiety?"

a lick of heat lashes over the back of his neck and curls around his throat until he swallows. "slip of the tongue."

your mouth takes on a shape he'd find annoying on any other face. you tilt your head, and he swears he can almost see a spade tail swishing behind you.

"right. so then what was the plan?"

"there was no plan."

"mm," you hum, skeptical, dragging it out. "and that's why you've sat closer each time you come in? that wasn't you working up the nerve?"

he could lock a single hand around both of your wrists, hoist them above your head, reclaim his card, and get a good long look down your top. easily. he must harbor some kind of masochistic streak to keep talking. it grinds his teeth.

"no, and you're gettin' on my last nerve—"

"i bet i am," you cut in, cheerful and unbothered. "so why don't i make this easier for everyone, and…"

you pull back, then rise onto your toes, leaning over the bar to reach him. he watches, fingers twitching, as you slide the card into the front pocket of his shirt and pat it twice.

"there's a note taped to the back," you smile, wicked and triumphant. "my number. call it. unless you'd like to run for it again."

simon remains frozen for a beat, your hand lingering just long enough to burn its shape into his chest. his jaw flexes, gears gumming up in his head.

you pull back, light on your feet like you haven't just tucked a grenade into his shirt. that teasing gleam in your eyes, daring, like you're so sure he won't do something. a baited hook, glaring and obvious, as if you don't care he's big enough to snap the line.

he exhales hard through his nose. "you're a pain in the arse."

you grin, wide and unrepentant, backing away with your hands in your apron. "you'll get over it. or not. but you'll call me first."

he watches you retreat through the door to the back, disappearing before he can think of anything clever to say. his mind wiped. instead, he stands there, stuck.

the barback clears his throat, breaking the silence with a nervous chuckle. "she got you, mate."

simon cuts him a look harsh enough to make the man flinch, but he doesn't say a word. he turns on his heel and strides out, letting the door slam against the brick.

later, in the quiet of his flat, he studies the note like it might combust. he twists the corner, staring hard at your name and number. been ages since he got one. longer since he called a bird up.

he doesn't care. shouldn't care. but you've got an attitude, quick and cutting. poking the bear, prodding the bull. testing to see how far he'll let you go. mouthy.

he wants to see what you can do with it.

[hasufin]

I guess what I keep thinking about is, there's this apartment building in downtown DC.

(And, I'm gonna be honest, I haven't been down that way in well over ten years, so maaaybe it's been cleared up, but this is still valid)

Anyway, there's this apartment building in DC. I think a 16-unit building. Anyway, when I was last by there, it had been vacant for 13 years. It was in apparently good shape, and in a pretty desirable part of town. BUT it was jointly owned by two brothers, who live in Manhattan, and hate each other. They cannot agree on what to do with this building they inherited, and they would rather do nothing than come to any sort of compromise.

DC has a law, that any building which is vacant for ten years reverts to the city. It's a sensible law. But whenever DC made any rumblings toward enforcing the law, these two brothers, who have zero intention of ever doing anything with the building, would file some legal notice to reset the clock. And this perfectly desirable building, in a gentrifying part of town, sits vacant, because two rich assholes would rather cut off their noses to spite their faces, and they have enough money they can do that; and to hell with anyone who might want to make decent use of residential space in a tight market.

And that's where we are in a LOT of cities. You've got so very many vacant properties being held by rich people who are causing rents and home costs to spiral out of control, all while our urban landscapes languish.

And yes, you hear about bad actors who find a clever way to steal someone's retirement property. But these laws can be powerful tools to force the rich and powerful to actually care about our communities, or at least stop holding us back due to their own greed or spite.

[hongcherry]

pretty please (stain me red) || c.sc [2][m]

It's the night of your boyfriend's company award banquet and all you want to do is support him, but slurs from an attendee and your self-doubts begin to taint the night. Seungcheol offers to distract your mind in a way he's been wanting to do ever since he saw you getting ready earlier.

🍒 Pairing: businessWorker!Seungcheol x fashionDesigner!Reader (f) [Pretty Please couple] 🍒 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+)/Smut/Established relationship 🍒 Word Count: 3.7k 🍒 Warnings: Nicknames (Cherry, baby), dirty talk, breast play, spanking, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (be safe and stay educated!), rough sex, oral (m. rec)/face fucking, messy sex (!!!), gagging, squirting, cheol really likes reader's lipstick…, ultra soft ending 🍒 Author's Note: I didn't want you guys to wait too long so here's part two! And thanks again to @lovetaroandtaemin for beta'ing this! ♥️ You da best! Also, this has very minimal plot so if you just wanna read this part, go ahead 😉

pretty please masterpost | seventeen masterlist | main masterlist

part one

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

Seungcheol’s kiss is as desperate as a man seeking warmth after falling into a frozen lake.

“You looked so pretty tonight,” he mumbles into the kiss, walking you slowly backward from the door to his bedroom.

You smile and squeeze his shoulder blades in response.

The second he had stepped into his apartment, he had locked the door, tossed his keys in the bowl, and then hungrily captured your lips with his. You barely had enough time to set down his award on the entry table.

“The prettiest in the room,” he continues.

“Cheol,” you whine against his lips.

He chuckles and pulls away. His lips are slightly tinted from your red lipstick, which makes your desire grow. It’s a sight you never knew you needed.

“What? You don’t agree?” He smiles and cocks an eyebrow.

You bite your lower lip and shrug, not really agreeing but knowing Seungcheol won’t like your answer. And he doesn’t.

He tsks at you then leans down and lifts you over his shoulder. You gasp as your world gets turned upside down. Your hands land on his plush ass.

“Cheol! A warning next time?!” you huff halfheartedly.

He laughs and walks to his bedroom.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks, patting your ass on the way.

When you enter his bedroom, you expect him to toss you on the mattress, however, he walks past it and enters the bathroom instead. With careful hands, he lowers you to the floor facing him.

“What are we doing in here?” you ponder.

He pushes down the strap of your purse to grab it. You watch confused as he rummages through its contents.

“Did you leave something in there?” you ask even though you don’t recall holding anything for him. 

Seungcheol doesn’t answer and instead, lifts up your lipstick tube.

“Put this on,” he instructs.

Furrowing your brows more, you tilt your head.

“I’m already wearing it,” you say.

He hums and removes the cap.

“It’s faded,” he explains.

“Are we going out again?” you question and slowly take the lipstick from him.

“Just humor me, baby,” he says, grabbing your hips and spinning you to look into the mirror.

You give Seungcheol another puzzled look as you begin leaning over the counter slightly to reapply the makeup. Meanwhile, Seungcheol presses against your backside, making you feel his faint hard-on. He watches with rapt attention as you glide the product across your lips. Once done, you hold the tube up for Seungcheol to cap. He does so, then sets it off to the side.

“Want to tell me what this is about?” you ask.

He smiles, a hint of mischief in his expression. He cups your face with one hand and rubs his thumb against your cheek lovingly. 

He leans in to talk lowly in your ear, “Remember when I said your makeup was gonna be ruined tonight? I wasn’t lying, Cherry.”

Then his thumb glides against your lower lip, smearing your lipstick across your cheek. Your mouth parts in surprise.

“That’s just the start,” he says, then turns your face to kiss you roughly. Seungcheol glides his hand from your cheek down the column of your neck to squeeze your breast. His other hand soon joins in massaging your chest. His strong hands feel good on your soft breasts.

Seungcheol continues to kiss you as he reaches beneath the top of your dress to feel you directly. His fingers pinch and roll your nipples, causing your needy moan to get lost in his mouth.

You reach a hand back and start rubbing him through his suit slacks. Seungcheol nips at your lips in response, hips bucking into your palm. You can feel him get harder the more you rub and squeeze his clothed cock.

By the time he finally pulls away, you’re panting like a dog. He just smiles at you—lips redder from your lipstick—and adjusts the top of your dress so your breasts are exposed. He gives them one hard squeeze before moving your hand to rest on the counter.  

Seungcheol trails his hands up your arms and then down your back. He stops at your lower back and gently pushes you down. When you’re at the angle he wants, he trails one hand down to your ass while the other holds your waist. He gives your cheek one rough squeeze then smacks it.

You gasp as you’re jerked forward.

“You have no idea how badly I wanted to drag you into the bathroom and have my way with you,” he sighs. He reels his hand back and smacks your other cheek.

You bite back a moan and press your palms on the counter. The thought had crossed your mind too, but you resisted the desire. It wouldn’t have been an appropriate time.

“You know how many people stared at you tonight?” he wonders.

You shake your head. Sure, you had noticed two or three, but you didn’t consider that abnormal. People have been staring at you for years. You’ve gotten used to ignoring them—for the most part.

“It’s a good thing that event was for work,” he says, slapping your ass once more before grabbing your hips to pull you against him. His hips grind ever so slightly against your ass, pushing his growing erection into you.

You hold back the noises you want to make and stare at him through the mirror with want.

Seungcheol leans over and kisses the back of your head. As he trails the kisses down, he starts gathering up your dress. He slides the bunched-up fabric just above your ass. There’s no doubt he can see how wet your panties are.

He holds the dress up with one hand while the other glides between your legs. He slips his fingers beneath the dampened material and circles your entrance.

“I love how you’re already so wet, baby,” he says. “We’ve barely done anything.”

You hum and push your hips back for more. 

Seungcheol smiles, sliding one finger in as he leans over to connect your lips. You whine into the kiss.

Seungcheol pumps his finger a few times before adding another. He moves a little faster than he normally does at the start.

“Even if I wasn’t touching you, I can just hear how wet you are for me,” he mumbles against your lips. “Listen.”

His fingers slide in and out faster; the squelching gets louder. Embarrassment rises in your chest, but you also can’t help feeling turned on more by the sound. 

You moan and squeeze your legs together. Your hangs between your arms as Seungcheol switches movements back and forth, stretching your walls.

“Shit, Cheol,” you whimper.

Seungcheol retracts his hand and gives your ass another slap. The arousal on his hand leaves a wet spot on your cheek.

“I need to fuck you,” he nearly growls and quickly undoes the top of his suit pants. He slides them down enough to free his thick cock, rubs the tip along your slit, then slowly eases in.

You cry out as your eyes roll back, hips raising to meet him better. The slight pain from his cock stretching your hole makes you want to push him away, but you stay still because you know the pleasure will come soon. 

Seungcheol cups your neck and pulls you back so he can see you.

“Squeezing around me so good like always,” he groans in your ear as he bottoms out. He gives one shallow, rough thrust that makes you gasp.

“Do I feel good, Cherry?” he asks and rubs his thumb along your neck.

“Y-Yes,” you stutter.

“Have you been imagining this moment all night like I have? My cock buried in your sweet pussy?” he questions. You feel him twitch inside you. You like how just the thought of you can turn him on.

“Yes,” you repeat.

“Good.”

Seungcheol slides his hands down your sides and stops on your hips. He slowly pulls out halfway before slamming inside.

Your mouth falls open.

He does this two more times then picks up his pace and swiftly glides his cock in and out. He uses your hips as leverage, shoving you back as he thrusts forward. His big cock strokes your walls so perfectly that any thought besides Seungcheol fades away. Your focus is solely on how he feels between your legs.

“Nearly three hours of torture,” he huffs while still fucking you from behind. “Having to be near you and not able to touch you like I wanted to. All those eyes on you didn’t help.”

“Sounds miserable,” you mockingly say with a smile.

Seungcheol shoves his hips against yours and digs his fingers into your skin. Your smile disappears.

“Oh, you liked that?” he asks. “Were you hoping you’d drive me wild enough to fuck you in the bathroom?”

You bite your lip and push back against him.

“Naughty fucking girl,” he nearly growls. He slides out nearly fully and shoves his hips against yours harshly—trapping you between the counter and his big body. You try not to moan but fail.

“Wanted my cock that bad, huh? How about you show me that.”

Seungcheol pulls out, grabs your hand, and then the lipstick again. He tugs you from the bathroom into his bedroom. You follow on wobbly legs, forcing yourself to stay upright so you don’t fall.

He stops in front of his full-length mirror and undresses you; however, he leaves your heels on. Once you’re bare, he then lowers you to the floor. Your bodies are sideways to the mirror.

“Put it on,” he says and hands you the lipstick.

You don’t question him this time and turn to face the mirror, swiftly swiping on another layer. You cap and toss it to the side.

During that time, Seungcheol removes his clothes.

“Good,” he hums. “Now, show me.”

You almost deny his request, but decide against it. You’ve been just as eager as him. 

You shuffle closer, taking his heavy cock in your hand and silently marveling at his size. You lean in and kiss his shaft softly. When you pull away, there’s a red stain in the shape of your mouth. There’s something about it that makes your heart flutter.

“Fuck,” Seungcheol whispers above you.

Your eyes flicker up to see his mouth open as he stares down at the mark you put on him. That gives your confidence a boost, so you lean in and kiss his cock again.

“All mine?” you ask with a pretty smile.

“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles and sweeps your hair from your face. He cups the nape of your neck and slowly pulls you closer to his crotch. “It’s all fucking yours.”

Your smile widens. You pepper more kisses along his shaft until it’s covered with red. It’s a sight you store in your memory bank.

Seungcheol brushes his tip against your lips, and you give it a sweet kiss. He curses again, guiding you in more.

You smile and part your lips so his cock slides into your mouth. You can taste your arousal, which makes you squeeze your legs together. One hand raises to stroke what’s not in your mouth while the other rests on his muscular thigh.

You bob your head steadily, eyes drifting close as you focus on sucking his cock. Your tongue cups the underside of his shaft as you glide your head up and down.

Seungcheol’s breathing gets heavier as he cards his fingers through your hair. His hips buck to push deeper into your mouth, causing you to gag. Seungcheol moans and does it again.

Your hand on his thigh squeezes his muscles.

Seungcheol pulls away to let you breathe. He raises your chin to see you better and gives you a smile.

“You doing good, Cherry?” he asks, voice a little gruff.

You nod, pumping his cock with your hands as you catch your breath.

Seungcheol reaches down and wipes at the small string of salvia from your lips. You figure he’s smudged more of your lipstick as well.

“Can I fuck this pretty mouth?” he questions.

“Please,” you beg and kiss his shaft again.

He chuckles and shifts his hips to rub his cock along your lips.

“Using your manners like my good little baby,” he coos. “But you can do better.”

He moves away, making you frown. When you try to grab him, he simply holds you back.

“Cheol,” you whine.

“I know, baby,” he says with a faux pout. “You want my cock so bad, but I want to hear you ask for it.”

You huff and glare up at him.

He smirks, bringing a hand down and stroking his cock. Your eyes drop to watch him pleasure himself. While you love the sight, you want it to be your mouth around his thick dick and not his hand. 

“Fuck my mouth,” you mumble.

He chuckles and shakes his head, still pumping his cock leisurely.

“My pretty girl can do better than that, hm?” he taunts.

He moves closer and taps his tip against your mouth. Your lips part invitingly, but he doesn’t slide in. Instead, he traces your mouth slowly.

“I’m waiting, Cherry,” he says and gives your mouth another tap.

You swallow your pride and lock eyes with him.

“Pretty please, fuck my mouth, Cheol,” you say.

He smirks and pushes his tip against your lips to part them.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, then pushes his cock deep into your mouth.

Your eyes widen and your hands fly up to his thighs again, gagging. You didn’t expect him to go so far so fast. 

Seungcheol eases on his depth, barely hitting the back of your throat. He does this a few times so you’re used to it, then he pulls out.

“Relax and breathe through your nose,” he reminds you. “Tap my thigh if it’s too much.”

“Okay,” you reply.

When he smiles, it’s softer than before. He quickly leans down to kiss you. You follow him in a daze afterward, which makes him laugh and give you another kiss.

“Want your mouth for something else, Cherry,” he chuckles.

You bite your lip and nod. You sit back down, opening your mouth for him.

“Poor baby. Is this how badly you wanted me?” he questions, suppressing his moan. “You’re just willing to sit here with your mouth open, ready for my dick?”

He tilts his head and stares at you. He doesn't move or touch you; he simply admires. The more he waits, the more self-conscious you become. You begin to close your mouth and turn away, but Seungcheol quickly reaches out. He grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks enough to stop you. 

“Keep that mouth open, Cherry,” he murmurs. “Nice and wide to fit my cock.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Seungcheol’s always been a talker during intimate times, but something about him tonight is another level. And damn, does it make you wetter. 

Once you do as you’re told, he slides between your lips again with a deep groan. His hands move to rest on your head.

He starts slowly, gradually getting deeper until your nose is against his pelvis. You hollow your mouth and force your breaths through your nostrils.

He stays still for a moment, petting your head softly. Then after a few more seconds, he starts thrusting. His grip on your hair gets rougher as he picks up his pace.

The sound of him pumping his cock in your wet mouth and your occasional gags fill the bedroom. It makes your arousal pool between your legs.

He continues for a few more hard thrusts then suddenly pulls out to give you a break. You gasp and take a big gulp of oxygen.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Look at you.”

He angles your head toward the mirror. Spit falls from your open mouth, sliding between your breasts, while tears stream down your cheeks. Your red lipstick has smeared more from the last time you’ve seen yourself. You look like an absolute mess. Meanwhile, Seungcheol looks breathtaking with his partially damp hair sticking to his forehead and a coat of sweat covering his wide, fit chest.

Seungcheol slips his tip in your mouth, pushing it against the inside of your cheek so it pokes out. He keeps your head still so you can see yourself.

“So fucking beautiful,” he hums. He slides the tip across the inside of your cheek until it slips from your mouth with a pop. He pats your face with his cock, wetting the area with your drool.

“My messy baby,” he continues, then pushes his tip in and along your cheek again. “So pretty with my cock stuffing your holes.”

You whine at his words, shifting on the floor and staring at his cock in your mouth.

“You like that, Cherry? Hm? My cock fucking whichever holes I want?”

You hum, mind hazy and only filled with lust and desire. You’d probably give him lip if you were clear-minded.

He chuckles and turns your face from the mirror to his body. He pushes his cock deeper without warning, causing you to sputter. His hips snap against your face, throaty moans slipping from his mouth as he fucks you quickly. You can feel spit accumulate around your lips and dribble down.

Your throat and legs are beginning to ache, but you can’t focus on that due to Seungcheol using your mouth harshly.

“’M close, baby,” he grunts and grips your head. He starts guiding your head as he slams his hips forward. You squeeze your eyes shut and drop your hands from his thighs, body weak.

After a few fast thrusts, he pulls out as cum spurts from his cock. Seungcheol grips your chin to keep your mouth open. A glob of spit falls from your mouth as Seungcheol pumps his cock empty. Cum lands in your mouth and on your cheeks—only adding to your messy and ruined face.

“Fucking hell,” he shudders, breathing heavily. He falls to his knees and pulls your face toward his in a heated kiss—obviously not caring that some of his cum is still on your tongue. This kiss is sloppy and wet and full of love.

“So so good to me,” he mumbles between kisses. “Let me be good to you.”

He sits you down in front of the mirror, resting behind you. He spreads your legs and circles your clit quickly. Your hips jerk at his already-bruising touch.

His other hand gathers up the salvia that trailed down your body and spreads it across your skin and up to your chest. His hand gropes your breast roughly, pushing it up and kneading it.

His fingers on your clit trail down and push two fingers in.

“Cheol,” you gasp and jump in his hold.

Seungcheol pumps his fingers fast in your dripping pussy. Squelching sounds instantly fill in the room. You squirm and throw your head back against his body.

“No, baby; watch yourself,” he says and moves his hand that was on your breast to angle your head.

Your eyes fall on his hand between your legs. He adds another finger and increases his speed. It feels so naughty to watch him stretch you out with his fingers.

Seungcheol nudges your head to tilt to the side as he latches his mouth to your neck. He nips at the skin and sucks, eyes unwavering from your wet cunt covering his hand in your arousal. You’re so focused on his hands that you don’t even think to tell him no hickeys.

Seungcheol trails his other hand to circle your clit, causing you to shriek and shut your legs. He wastes no time in pulling them apart and hooking them over his so you can’t move. He resumes fingering your cunt and rubbing your clit roughly, getting you closer to your high quickly.

Your body begins to shake as your whimpers get louder and more frequent.

“Let go for me, Cherry,” he murmurs against your neck.

Your hands grip his biceps as you buck your hips and let the rope in your tummy snap. You’re crying out and Seungcheol’s moaning as you squirt. He continues to rub your pussy roughly, making the liquid spray in different directions. It covers the mirror in front of you and the inside of your thighs.

“Cheol, Cheol, Cheol,” you whine hurriedly, hips stuttering as your orgasm courses through you.

“Fuck, baby,” he marvels with a low groan, slowing his hand and moving his other to press you against him. He gently glides his fingers through your soaked folds, causing you to buck your hips and whimper.

He spreads your pussy lips to see your fluttering hole.

“Have you ever done that before?” he questions and slips one finger inside. You gasp and squirm again. He grins and removes his finger. He rubs his hand along your thigh, making your skin shine as he spreads your wetness.

You shake your head, slumping your body on his chest and hiding your face against one of his arms.

He chuckles softly and carefully unhooks your legs. He adjusts you so you’re sitting sideways in front of him then he gives you a gentle kiss.

“Don’t be shy,” he says and cups your face with both hands. “It was really hot.”

”R-Really?”

He nods and kisses your lips once more. “I want to see if I can make you do it again.”

Not sure what to say, you nod and tuck your chin, leaning against his chest. He laughs and wraps his arms around your body.

He gently rocks you back and forth, letting you both take a breather from everything that just happened.

Seungcheol’s about to stand up when you lift your head. Your eyes are a little glossy.

You’re not sure what causes it. Perhaps it’s from all the released chemicals coursing through your body, but something in your heart snaps. Emotions you’ve pushed down break through their barriers and you’re over your head with a multitude of feelings.

Trust. Affection. Love.

It’s the first time you’ve allowed yourself to actually feel what’s deep in your heart. 

You know you need to say it.

“I love you, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol inhales a sharp breath. His body melts and his eyes soften. You know Seungcheol already knows this, but this is the first time you’ve initiated saying it. It’s rare for you to even say it at all.

Seungcheol squeezes you tightly and kisses you with so much passion, it makes your head dizzy.

When he pulls away, he looks over the moon with his big dimpled smile.

“I love you too, Cherry. So much.”

Taglist: @christinewithluv, @lockburn-castle, @maknae00, @morklee02, @kittyhui, @aeerio, @cherrylovescheol, @toplinehyunjin, @verogonewild, @ellllsia, @gyuguys

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