#shes like “its not supposed to do that”

[thankskenpenders]

Thoughts on two specific areas of the writing in Sonic X Shadow Generations

The best new 3D Sonic game in over a decade (or even two, depending on who you ask) dropped late last year. And I didn't write anything about it! Sometimes life happens. Well, I've finally sat down to finish Shadow Generations, and by now everyone has already been singing its praises for three months. This is the rare instance where the entire Sonic fandom, and even mainstream reviewers, are in agreement on something. The level design is the best it's been in a long, long time and the cool factor is off the charts, embracing Sonic's peak cringe era in an incredibly confident way. It's great. If you're even reading this post, you probably don't need me to tell you that. So I won't!

No, what I'm really interested in here is the writing. Because this is me we're talking about. But I actually don't want to talk about the main narrative of Shadow Generations, which is really solid little story about Black Doom trying to mold Shadow into his perfect soldier. No, I'd like to zero in on two other aspects of the writing here: the revisions made to Sonic Generations, and Gerald Robotnik's unlockable journal.

The updated Sonic Generations script

The new package mostly presents Sonic Generations how you remember it. There are some tweaks, but it's not a major overhaul. Graphically, I don't think the game has been touched much, if at all. I certainly can't notice any difference without a side-by-side comparison, despite playing it on a PS5. The most notable update is that the game's script has been rewritten by Ian Flynn.

Naturally, this caught my attention. Generations always had a nothingburger story, so with Ian rewriting Pontac and Graff's lame dialogue there was nowhere to go but up. (I don't like to pin the blame for those games' stories entirely on them, as a ton of it was dictated to them by Sonic Team, but, well, I don't think they're very good dialogue writers.) But it's less a complete rewrite and more like Ian was brought on as a script doctor for some minor touch ups here and there. Many lines of dialogue are completely identical to how they were originally written in 2011, and many others only have slight wording changes. Ian was clearly not allowed to request additional scenes or extend the ones that already existed. He has to match the original beat for beat so that they can reuse 99% of the cutscene animations. Don't expect it to be a whole new experience compared to the original.

Still, I think the new script is an improvement, albeit a minor one. Various things have been tweaked to maintain characterization consistency. Cream calls Sonic "Mr. Sonic" instead of just "Sonic." Instead of calling Sonic "buddy," Rouge uses the pet name "Blue," like she tends to do in things like the IDW comics. Espio doesn't have to remind you in the dialogue that he's a ninja, and he no longer has a line making it sound like he has some kind of soul reading power. I also like that Modern Sonic now actually has responses to what his friends say when he rescues them, rather than being silent like Classic Sonic. They won't blow you away, but they make Sonic feel a little more engaged with everything.

In general, the altered dialogue just seems tighter to me, and some of the more childish or trite wording of Pontac and Graff's script has been altered. Here, let's actually make a direct comparison, just because this stuff is interesting to me as a writer. Here's a couple lines from after the Egg Dragoon fight late in the game, in the original script:

Modern Eggman: Ooooh... I can't believe this! I was supposed to beat you this time. Modern Sonic: Aw, I'm sorry! I didn't get that memo. I beat you every time! [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat this guy every time. It's like it's our job or something!

This is a simple exchange. Eggman is mad that he lost. Sonic is unflappably confident because he always beats Eggman, and he explains this to his younger self. But the wording here isn't particularly good. Eggman's simple and direct wording makes him come off like a little kid who's mad because his older brother beat him at Mario Kart, rather than a mad scientist who just had his plans foiled. It's making light of the situation.

And I've never liked Sonic saying "It's like it's our job or something!" That doesn't feel like a thing Sonic would say, it feels like a thing an outside observer would say about Sonic. This is a frequent problem with so-called "MCU dialogue," where quips meant to echo the commentary of a casual, somewhat disinterested audience are inserted into the story itself so that the writers can be like "See? We get it. We're genre-savvy, too!" It also just reminds me of bad Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric lines like "Rings! It's like they're made for me!"

And then here's Ian's rewrite:

Modern Eggman: I recalibrated everything! This was supposed to be my time! Modern Sonic: Oh, please, keep dreamin', Egg-head. I beat you every time. [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat him every time. Our score card's flawless.

Eggman's still mad about his defeat, but the line "I recalibrated everything!" makes it more specific. He put all this work into the engineering side of his latest scheme and got tunnel vision, thinking if he got his creations just right there'd be no way he could lose. "This was supposed to be my time!" also turns it into a time travel pun, which is a bonus. He's still pitching a fit over losing, but it feels more like Eggman pitching a fit, rather than sounding childish.

And then instead of saying that beating Eggman is "like his job or something," Sonic says he's got a flawless score card against Eggman. He doesn't take Eggman seriously as a threat—at least, not to his face. He acts like it's all a game. But he conveys this in a way that feels truer to the character, rather than feeling like the words of a real world observer poking fun at the tropes of the Sonic series.

Is this amazing, A+ dialogue that blows me away? No. Again, it's not a completely different scene from the one we already had. Ian had to fit the beats of what was already there. He couldn't go all out and write an all new story confirming his longstanding headcanon that the Time Eater is a remnant of Solaris or whatever. But the wording here makes the existing story land a little better and feel truer to the characters in subtle ways.

But to me, the main change is that the Sonics and Tailses seem to have a more solid understanding of what's going on with the timeline and the Time Eater, compared to how idiotic they sometimes seemed in the original game. Which is good! No more standing outside Green Hill and wondering why it seems so familiar. Thank god. As part of this, yes, there are a few more references to past games in the dialogue, like Sonic briefly being confused about the fact that they're time traveling without the Time Stones, or South Island and Westside Island being acknowledged as the normal locations of Green Hill and Chemical Plant. Yes, ha ha, insert joke about how Ian loves references here. Look, it's Sonic fucking Generations. It's a game built entirely out of nostalgic references. Just own it! And, again, in this instance Sonic and Tails come off as less stupid when they make it clear that they do, in fact, remember their adventures from presumably less than a year ago in-universe.

Eggman, too, seems to have a better understanding of the powers he's toying with. Where in the original vesion his focus was simply on going back in time to undo his previous defeats and he seemed kind of oblivious to how much the Time Eater was actually fucking up the universe, here Eggman says he wants to use the Time Eater to give himself complete control over the entire timeline. Eggman also makes way fewer references to his own failures and shortcomings. Of course he won't admit that Sonic has defeated him time and time again. To him, he's never truly lost—Sonic just keeps delaying the inevitable total victory for the Eggman Empire.

So, yes. The new Sonic Generations script is better. It won't blow anyone away, but it's better than it was. It's been elevated from "kinda lame" to "fine." No, if you really wanna see Ian flex his ability to breathe new life into old Sonic stories, look no further than...

Gerald Robotnik's Journal

Hoo boy.

The story of what happened aboard the ARK has always been... a bit confusing, to say the least. Fans with encyclopedic knowledge of the script for every route of Shadow '05 may disagree, but it's the truth. We've had all the pieces to understand the story for a long time now, but that info was given to us out of order by a pair of unreliable narrators—Gerald, who became a vengeful lunatic shortly before his death, and Shadow, who was subjected to multiple rounds of amnesia and altered memories. Some of the ambiguity left by Sonic Adventure 2 was cleared up in Shadow '05, but that game also retconned in a bunch of new elements to Shadow's backstory (aliens!) that lead to further confusion. Not to mention the fact that that game had multiple routes and only revealed the truth about Shadow if you sat on the ultimate final boss battle for WAY longer than the fight would normally last. Or the fact that Sonic X made its own tweaks in its telling of the story. Or the fact that none of these things ever had the best English translations. I can't blame anyone who hasn't played those games in two decades for not remembering the truth about these characters and getting some details mixed up.

What we needed was something to piece together all of the info we have into one coherent backstory, told in chronological order. And thanks to Shadow Generations, we have that, in the form of an official journal tying together what we knew from Sonic Adventure 2, Shadow '05, and Sonic Battle into the tragic tale of Gerald's rise and fall.

Ian Flynn was the perfect man for the job here as the guy who started his career by tidying up the mess that was the first 159 issues if Archie Sonic. This is what he excels at: taking disparate bits of weird Sonic lore from multiple different sources, boiling them down to their most interesting elements, and connecting it together in a way that will make the audience see the dramatic potential he's always known was there. Rather than feeling like a cynical exercise in franchise building, going back and explaining things that never needed explaining so that people can add more bullet points to the wiki, he puts a new spin on things that retroactively enriches those past stories. The story here means something to the characters involved and gives us a better understanding of them as people, rather than as plot devices to motivate Shadow.

(And, of course, Ian didn't do this journal alone. He wrote the story, but I also have to give a huge shout out to Evan Stanley, who made the final product. All of her handwritten journal entries, sketches, and "photos" included throughout. The physical damage done to the journal over the course of 50 tumultuous years, passing from Gerald to Eggman to a certain special someone at GUN. The way Gerald's handwriting gets less and less legible as his mental state declines. So much love was put into what could have been a mere text dump in a menu, and it really elevates it to the next level. Congrats on officially getting hired by Sega, Evan, you've sure as hell earned it!)

The main idea the journal conveys is that Gerald was under a lot of pressure from a lot of different parties—GUN, the President, his colleagues aboard the ARK, Black Doom, even his own family—and boy did it get to him. The known incidents aboard the ARK mentioned in previous games are put together here to form a story where everything slowly spirals out of control as Gerald keeps compromising his morals to further his research, thinking he'll eventually find some way out of all this because he's a genius. I won't recap that whole story here (if you haven't already played the game and read the journal entries, I would highly recommend at least reading it on the Sonic wiki), but I'd like to highlight my favorite elements of the story, as Ian tells it here.

1) The Eclipse Cannon

Here's something that never quite made sense in Sonic Adventure 2: why does the ARK have a laser that can blow up the Earth built into it? It was supposed to be a peaceful research colony. Sure, Gerald went crazy and swore revenge on the Earth, but, like... when did he have an opportunity to go back up to the ARK and modify it? Did he have someone else do it? How? The ARK was raided by GUN and shut down! And then they arrested him, held him in prison for an unclear period of time, and executed him by firing squad when he was no longer useful! It doesn't add up. Shadow 'the Hedgehog '05 would give its own answer by introducing the Black Arms and saying that the Eclipse Cannon was always supposed to be a secret trump card against the Black Comet. But, like... we know that's kind of a bullshit answer, right? You don't need enough power to blow up a whole planet just to destroy a comet.

Well, the new journal retains what we already knew, but it paints a much more complete picture.

See, long before Gerald ever made a Faustian bargain with Black Doom, he had already made one with an even greater evil: the military. GUN gave Gerald much of the funding for the ARK, Gerald's personal utopian research station in space, but it didn't take long for GUN to start pressuring him to design them weapons. Gerald tried to get GUN off his back by personally contacting the President of the United Federation, and the President gave him an alternative: how about, instead, you just use your genius brain to figure out the secret to immortality for us, so our soldiers can be immortal? Gerald was initially sickened by the notion and found it completely absurd, like chasing a shadow... but given no other option, the sarcastically named Project Shadow soon began in earnest. (Maria would later put a more positive spin on the name after Shadow's awakening, pointing out that a Shadow can show us the direction of the light, like she says in the game itself.)

Of course, this search for the ultimate life form didn't go very well, and without any results on that front GUN kept hounding him for weapons. Gerald would throw them a bone here and there to get them off his back. His research on Chaos resulted in the Artifical Chaos prototypes, which he worried would be used for warfare but could at least theoretically be used for search and rescue missions in floods, in his mind. But that wasn't enough. So he gave them Chaos Drives to power their mechs. And that still wasn't enough. He's got Emerl. He'll give them Emerl. They're not impressed by Emerl. They'll shut the whole ARK down if Gerald doesn't give them something big.

Fine! GUN wants something big? Gerald builds a huge fucking laser cannon into the ARK. However, as a middle finger to GUN, Gerald makes it so powerful that it would destroy the Earth if it was ever fired at any target on its surface. In other words, GUN now has their ultimate weapon of mass destruction, fulfilling his contract, but they can never actually use it. Oh, the delicious irony. (And also Shadow will blow up the Black Comet with it in 50 years yada yada yada.) Is this perhaps extremely shortsighted and naive of Gerald, to believe that such a weapon would never actually be used just because of the risk? Of course. But hey, that's Gerald for you. And I love this as an answer.

(Also, this, uh, kinda echoes something from real life! Remember the bit in Oppenheimer where he says all nuclear war will become unthinkable, and Edward Teller responds "until somebody builds a bigger bomb"? Yeah, Teller went on to conceptualize a superweapon codenamed Project Sundial that would have been able to kill all life on the planet, as the ultimate deterrent for war. This was never made for obvious reasons, but hey, there's a basis for this sort of thinking outside of heightened sci-fi! There's a whole Kurzgesagt video about this if you're interested.)

2) The Biolizard

The Biolizard is, of course, brought up as the initial failed prototype of the ultimate life form, from before Gerald met Black Doom. We don't really learn all that much about it that we didn't already know, but I just love the way it's framed in the story.

As you can see above, we actually get to see a picture of Maria holding up the cute little salamander that would end up mutating into the Biolizard through Gerald's experiments. (Researchers want to figure out how to replicate salamanders' regenerative abilities for humans in real life, too, so this was a natural starting point for the project.) And then, after it grows to a monstrous size and goes out of control, Gerald has to lock it away in an unused sector of the ARK. He needs to keep the poor thing alive for his research into harnessing Chaos Energy, building life support systems directly into it, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Maria what happened. So it just becomes this first dark secret weighing on his conscience. The Biolizard becomes Gerald's Tell-Tale Heart beating beneath the floorboards of the ARK. I love that.

3) Lost Impact was the breaking point for the ARK

Remember the level Lost Impact in Shadow '05? The flashback level on the hero path where Shadow is running around fighting Artificial Chaos enemies on the ARK 50 years ago? Yeah, that wasn't just a random incident. That was important, as we now know due to its placement on the timeline.

See, Emerl's rampage aboard the ARK that was chronicled in Sonic Battle and Dark Beginnings set off a domino effect. Emerl riled up the Artificial Chaos, causing Gerald to lose control of them. They became violent, and so Shadow had to stop them, as depicted in Lost Impact. The thing is, that incident sent an SOS signal to GUN telling them that shit was going down on the ARK. Gerald didsn't fully understand the trouble he was in and assumed that he'd simply be reprimanded by the higher ups, or maybe face legal action. But, well... the next time he heard from GUN, armed troopers were raiding the ARK.

So Lost Impact was the straw that broke the camel's back. I just really like that detail.

4) Maria

And, of course, there's Maria herself. Maria has often been more of a symbol than a character, this perfect embodiment of everything that's good and pure in this world who gets killed to motivate Shadow and Gerald's revenge plots. But I really like the wrinkles this journal adds to her and Gerald's story, and their relationship. This is the most fleshed out they've ever felt.

For one, the journal leans into the idea of Maria's intellectual potential. The rest of the Robotnik family is all geniuses, after all, and she was proving to be a really bright kid. She excelled in her studies on the ARK, and she even helped design Shadow's jet skates and inhibitor rings. When Maria died, the world didn't just lose a symbolic personification of purity. She genuinely could have been a hugely influential scientist who did so much good for the world. That's what Gerald wanted for her. But we'll never know, because GUN killed her.

Speaking of her family, their presence isn't just mentioned for the sake of fleshing out the Robotnik family tree. It's mentioned that as Gerald struggled to find a cure for Maria's illness through his genetic research, he faced mounting pressure from his family. They didn't want Maria to be up on the ARK forever. They wanted Gerald to hurry up and find a damn cure, or otherwise just send her back home to Earth so she could be with her family again. She'd been up on the ARK for so long that Gerald's coworkers started thinking that she had been born up there. Eventually she gains a baby sister on Earth who she's never met. A rift forms between Gerald's two sons, and he's unable to really deal with it because he's so consumed by his work. There's this sense that the family is falling apart, and that everyone is dreading the possibility that Gerald will never find a cure and that Maria will just spend her final years up in space and die far away from her family, because Gerald just couldn't let go. If that happens, it'll break the whole family. But he can't stop now. So he just keeps working. Curing Maria is the only way to win his family back, in his eyes. It can't all be for nothing.

But my favorite detail regarding Maria is this one paragraph:

Maria is growing into a lovely young woman. It breaks my heart that someone as bright and energetic as her is diminished by disease. There are no visible effects, and I've caught my fellow researchers muttering to each other, doubting her illness. It is infuriating. I find all my reason and restraint vanishes when she's slighted.

This is SUCH a great addition to the story! It's always been true that Maria doesn't really seem all that ill, just looking at her in cutscenes. With this one little comment, Ian flips that issue on its head and turns it into a story about invisible disability. She doesn't act like she's in chronic pain, so she must not be, everyone thinks. And this really, really gets to Gerald, as does the pressure from his family. He's dedicating his whole LIFE to saving her, and they think she's faking it?! It's such a small addition, never referenced elsewhere in the journal, but it adds so much flavor to the story, as does the implied family drama. It grounds Gerald and Maria and makes them feel more like real human beings, rather than being pure archetypes. It's just enough info to let my imagination run wild filling in the blanks.

You also get the feeling that Maria being such a walking ray of sunshine was the only real source of joy Gerald had left in his life before Shadow was awakened, and the only thing keeping him from snapping under pressure sooner. All this stuff just keeps piling on, everything's spiraling out of control, but at least Maria is keeping her chin up, right? It makes so much sense that losing her would make him go off the deep end when it's framed like this.

It's just... man, I never thought I'd care so much about Gerald and Maria. But that's the Ian Flynn touch. After years of less than stellar Sonic writing that seemed to be embarrassed of itself, I'm so happy to have new games coming out that fully embrace the history of the series like this, making its world feel so rich and real instead of just serving as an excuse for a string of platforming levels. I don't even like Shadow '05, but I'll be damned if Ian and the rest of Sonic Team didn't make something amazing by "yes, and"-ing Shadow's cringe past here. Sonic has truly reached levels of "we're so back" never thought possible.

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"You're gonna go far"

okay yall this is chapter one! if it sucks or doesn't make sense pls don't hate. might take it down later if i decide i hate it. likes, comments, and reblogs encourage me!!!I brainstormed this pretty fast so it might be messy.

lmk if there's any plot holes! This is the week following the failed patrol and Tiffany taking reader's credit. About 6 to 7 months after Tiffany moved in.

The first day after the incident, you had stayed in your room, nursing the bitter sting of betrayal. You couldn’t even remember the last time they’d acknowledged your existence. Tiffany, of course, was the shining star of the household. While you were holed up in your bedroom, processing the snakebite that had changed everything, Tiffany was out there, winning their favor with her charm, her sweet smiles, and her sugar-coated lies. You spent all night aching and feeling your bones shattering in your skin, feeling your skin peel off, and your teeth sharpen and make your mouth bleed.

The day started with her knocking on your door, her voice dripping with fake concern.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, stepping inside without waiting for permission. “I heard what happened last night... but don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just walk it off, right? Just a snake bite! You weren't even supposed to be on patrol, Dad said that you can't be part of the team. You're not skilled enough.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. How could you? It wasn’t a matter of walking it off. The venom inside you had begun to manifest, the snake-like power curling through your veins, but Tiffany's words twisted the knife further. You could see the smug look in her eyes as she added, “It’s okay. I’m here now. I know you’re upset, but let’s just move past it. You need some tough love”

You didn’t know what to expect when the transformation took hold that night. One minute, you were trying to cry yourself to sleep the next—your skin tingled, muscles shifting, twisting beneath the surface. The bite on your neck from the damn snake burned like fire, but something deeper, something inside you, urged you to embrace it. Again you felt your mouth burn, your body tingle, your skin shed and a searing pain from the waist down.

As you lay flat against the wall, your hands pressed against the cool surface you couldn’t help but grin, pain was better than numbness. You weren’t just Bruce Wayne's outcast daughter, nor were you the wannabe batgirl, as Stephanie liked to call you, you were something else now, something powerful.

The first time you ejected venom from your fingertips, you almost dropped your phone in surprise. It was cold, sharp, and terrifying in its power. It didn’t make sense. You could feel the agility coursing through you, every muscle in your body aligning with the new capabilities as if your very bones were made for this transformation. This wasn’t you anymore.

The idea of getting even, of showing them all that you weren’t weak or invisible, had always been a fantasy. But now, it didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt real, solid in a way that left you trembling. You weren’t just going to prove them wrong. You were going to become something they could never ignore again. And they would never see it coming.

But what now? The Batfamily—Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, all of them—had given you nothing but pain and neglect for years. They didn’t understand you, didn’t care to. They couldn’t see past their perfect image of family long enough to see you. Now, with this power, you didn’t need them. You never did.

Except… there was Tiffany.

She was their new perfect darling, their shining star. Every time she took a step into their world, they’d fawn over her, ruffle her hair, praise her as though she could do no wrong. You had tried to be perfect for them, but perfection never got you what you wanted. It never got you love. It never got you acceptance.

She was a liar, a fraud, and she’d ruined your life. You'd tried to warn them, tried to tell them what she really was—what she was doing behind their backs. But they chose to believe her over you. They always did.

So it was time for them to learn. To know what you were capable of.

You wouldn’t hurt them but you would make them understand. You would show them your worth, show them what they had turned their backs on. No more hiding. No more being invisible. You’d be the storm they couldn’t control, the one they couldn’t ignore.

One by one, you would take back everything that was stolen from you.

The next day Bruce didn’t even acknowledge you when he passed you in the hallway. You wanted to tell him about the snake, about the strange scary things going on in your body, of the violent thoughts running through your mind but the words died in your throat in fear of ridicule. You stood there, heart racing, desperately hoping he’d say something, anything, just a hint of recognition. But he didn’t. Tiffany was at his side, her arm linked through his as they strolled past you. She was chattering on about some trivial matter, and you could feel the coldness in Bruce's demeanor. No eye contact. No words. Nothing.

It was as if you weren’t there. It hurt, more than you could have imagined. And yet it wasn't anything new.

Alfred, the one person who might’ve shown you compassion, didn’t even make you breakfast. You waited in the kitchen, hoping for something—anything. But no, Tiffany had already filled the void with her charming demeanor, sitting at the table with Alfred, chatting about some charity event.

You stood there, waiting. Watching. Silent.

Eventually, you turned and left. Alfred hadn't even looked up when you walked out.

Damian.

Your little brother who you tried so hard to bond withhad taken to sneering at you when you crossed paths with more anomosity than usual. His usual arrogance and distaste for you had only intensified. You had caught him once, whispering something to Tiffany about how "pathetic" you were. “Father’s blood runs through me, not through you,” he had muttered under his breath. You had to fight the overwhelming urge to break down right then and there. The venom inside you seemed to thrum in response, as if it recognized the cruel words, feeding off them.

Later, you overheard him tell Tiffany, “You’re far more worthy of being in this family than she’ll ever be.”

Jason, who you once thought of as a brother, the only one who could’ve understood you, had turned his back completely. You had tried to reach out to him and tell him of the pains at night, to apologize for whatever wrongs you’d committed, but all he did was glare at you. A snide comment about how “you wouldn’t know what it means to feel pain” and then he walked away, his back to you as he followed Tiffany down the stairs.

Your heart shattered.

Tim was... absent, but his absence was worse than anything. He made no effort to reach out, barely acknowledging you when you passed by. When you tried to speak with him, to ask how his day had gone, he merely gave you a dismissive shrug and muttered something about needing to “work.” Tiffany, on the other hand, always had time for him. She seemed to be everything you were not—everything they wanted. She was their perfect daughter, their perfect sibling. She was the one who belonged.

You tried to slip into the shadows, but the truth was, you felt like you were already invisible.

You and Duke used to be friends when he first came, till he realized Stephanie was much cooler than you. Maybe you could hang with them in the cave, maybe they could help figure out what was happening to you. Maybe even talk to Barbra and Cassandra!

The Batcave was eerily quiet when you worked up the nerve to enter. You were sitting at a workstation, trying to work up the courage to talk to any of your siblings but your thoughts kept drifting. Tiffany had completely woven herself into the fabric of the team, and everyone else, even Duke, seemed content to ignore you.

You and Duke had once been close. He’d been one of the few people who had ever tried to make you feel like you belonged in the manor. You remembered the late-night conversations, sharing stories and laughter, plotting out plans for how you could prove your worth to the family. But now, every time you glanced in his direction, there was nothing but distance and confusion.

you could feel his presence across the room. He and Tiffany were standing by one of the equipment stations, speaking in hushed tones. You tried to ignore them. It hurt too much to look at Duke, to see how easily he had fallen under Tiffany's spell, how effortless it was for him to ignore you now.

Tiffany was front and center, as usual. Her presence always seemed to command attention, like a star that everyone gravitated toward. You had grown used to the way they all fawned over her, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

“Duke, you’re up next,” Tiffany called out, a smile playing at her lips. Her voice was sweet, but you could hear the subtle edge beneath it. A tone that made your blood boil. She wasn’t just charming them, she was playing them.

“You know, I’d never say no to a challenge, Tiff.” he said, his voice almost affectionate.

“You’re the best, Duke,” Tiffany purred, clearly pleased.

You glanced at Barbara, hoping for something—a glance, a small acknowledgment—but her eyes were glued to her computer screen. She might as well have been miles away.

Cassandra, as usual, was focused on her training. She hadn’t ever shown interest in you, and today was no different. Her sharp gaze didn’t waver from the sparring targets she was working through, ignoring you entirely.

You sighed, not wanting to add to the already uncomfortable tension in the air. The weight of it was overwhelming. But you couldn’t help but overhear the rest of Duke and Tiffany’s conversation.

“I’m telling you, Duke,” Tiffany was saying with a laugh, “you’ve got this in the bag. You’ve been training for years, they’re never going to see it coming.”

Duke chuckled, clearly reveling in her praise. “Yeah, but I’m still not sure I trust the plan,” he said, glancing at the others. “You really think it’ll work?”

Tiffany’s smile was cold and calculating. “Trust me, it will. I’ve been working on it for weeks, and with your skills, we’ll have it done in no time. Just follow my lead.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking up, even if you weren’t sure why you were still trying. You knew they didn’t care, but some part of you still clung to hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d listen. You and Duke were friends, he wouldn't ignore you. You didn't want Tiffany to pressure him into a plan he wasn't sure of.

“Tiffany, why don’t you give Duke some space?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “He might want to work out his own plan, you know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, Duke’s expression darkened, and so did everyone else's. Even Barbra glanced at you.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Tiffany asked, her tone laced with mock sweetness. “I didn’t realize you had any input. I guess it’s cute that you think Duke needs your help.”

Duke’s eyes narrowed. “I’m good, [Y/N]. Really. Tiffany’s got this. Don’t you have some... other place to be?”

Your mouth burned and your bones ached, since when did Duke treat you like this? What right did he have? You were friends, friends aren't mean to friends.

Your fists clench, "Excuse me? What's that supposed to mean?" You spit out, unusually angry and brave.

His eyes softened for a second but then Duke looked up at you, his gaze colder than you remembered. “It’s not personal, okay? It’s just… you don’t really fit in with the rest of us."

The words felt like a slap in the face. Tiffany was the one with the skills. Tiffany was the one who was flawless. Tiffany was the one who didn’t need to try. Tiffany fit in.

You wanted to scream, to demand an explanation for why you were being discarded like this. You tried, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you silent. Duke wasn’t the person you had once leaned on. He wasn't your friend anymore. you could feel the deep divide between you both now, a gap named betrayal.

Before you could respond, Stephanie, who had been standing off to the side, stepped forward. “Come on, (Y/N), don’t waste our time. If you don’t have anything useful to add, just leave. You’ll be better off on your own.”

Your eyes snapped to her. Of all people, you didn’t expect Stephanie to be so blunt. But here she was, her arms crossed and her eyes not even looking in your direction as she spoke.

Tiffany shot Stephanie a glance of approval. “Exactly, Steph. They’ll just slow us down. Maybe you should go back to the kitchen and bake something.”

The words were meant to belittle you, to remind you of the one thing they knew you were good at, baking, and nothing more. You felt your fists clench, the sting of her words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit.

Duke’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. His silence spoke volumes. You could feel the finality of it, the way the space between you both had grown too big to bridge.

“You don’t have to listen to them,” Tiffany continued, her voice smooth, "You’re not part of the team. Just let it go. It’s better for everyone.”

Tiffany’s manipulation was sickening. But what hurt the most was that Duke was going along with it. He had always been the one person who had made you feel like you mattered in this cold, detached family. And now? He was treating you like you were nothing. He had chosen her over you. The reality of it hit you like a t train.

“Fine,” you muttered, swallowing the lump in your throat, ignoring the burning of your eyes and the hole in your chest.

Without another word, you turned on your heel and walked out of the Batcave, the cold stares of Tiffany, Duke, Stephanie and Cassandra burning into your back. no matter how hard you had tried, how many times you had bent over backwards to prove your worth, it would never be enough for them.

The final blow came that night on the 7th night after the incident and the day after Duke's betrayal.

Tiffany had won. You could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice. She won their trust, their love. Now, she was going to make sure you were out of the picture for good.

You overheard Bruce and Tiffany speaking in his study, a room you were never allowed to enter.

“I think it’s for the best,” Tiffany said, her voice sweet, almost too sweet. “She’s so... incompetent. Maybe a change of scenery will help her grow.”

“Maybe,” Bruce replied, his voice cold, indifferent. “But it’ll also keep her away from Gotham for a while. From the family.”

“It’ll be better for everyone,” Tiffany continued. “She’s been so distant lately, and honestly, I don’t think she fits in here. She doesn’t belong.”

“I’ll have Alfred make the arrangements tomorrow,” Bruce said, his tone final. “It’ll be good for her. A change of pace. A chance to learn discipline.”

And just like that, your life as you knew it ended.

You would be sent away to a boarding school in New York City. They didn’t even give you the courtesy of telling you themselves. Tiffany had already manipulated the situation, convinced them that it was for the best. That you didn’t belong. That you needed to be removed from the family.

Later That Night

You sat in your room, fists clenched, eyes burning with tears you refused to shed. You could hear Tiffany’s laughter echoing in the halls as she paraded through the manor, a crown on her head that wasn’t hers.

You weren’t going to cry. Not anymore. You weren’t going to beg for their attention. For their love. No. You had something far more dangerous now. Something that didn’t need them. Something that would show them all just how wrong they were. The venom in your veins burned brighter now. You could feel it coiling around your bones like a living, breathing thing. You would prove them all wrong. You would go to New York and never look back.

Ok I tried my best guys be nice! I just had so many ideas and didn't know how to execute them! Send in asks! I wanted to get the plot moving tbh

[tarotsoul]

ghost in the wind — part three

summary: as feelings progress and truths unfold, you're left with a decision that could end your entire existence as you know it. the mother has a path for every soul, perhaps this was where yours was supposed to end.

warnings: swearing, mentions and brief descriptions of sexual abuse, consensual sexual themes, mentions of death and suicide.

word count: 5.8k

series masterlist

Feyre Archeron could never begin to imagine the pain and horror her older cousin had faced in the mortal lands. Rhysand hadn’t shared that image, hadn’t shared the memories he’d witnessed when he took some of that pain away from you. 

She didn’t need her mate to share those visuals. Not when she felt every ounce of anguish through their bond. And every day since then, she had not been able to forget it. 

Another two weeks had passed since your arrival, three in total of your being in the Night Court, and you were finally beginning to work through your trauma. 

The offer had been there to find your own place of residence, to have that independence if you so wished. But after speaking with Feyre and Rhysand, after learning it was in fact Nesta who had imposed the leave Y/N be rule… you realised just how much you loved living in the House with your family. 

Your friends. 

So when you’d finally accepted Mor’s desperate pleas to take you shopping and fill your empty wardrobe…

“You’re going to need another dresser.” 

You blinked, taking in the mess around you. Your entire closet was stuffed to the brim with dresses, blouses, sweaters, coats…

And the pile on your bed…there was no chance of those articles of clothing fitting in the closet too. Nesta was right, you definitely needed another dresser. 

“Rhys is going to lose his shit when he finds out how much we spent.” 

Your eyes widened at Nesta’s words, not quite picking up the teasing tone she spoke in. Mor shot her a look and threw a sweater at her face. 

“She’s kidding,” Mor reassured. “My dear cousin has more money than sense. This won’t have even made a dent in his wealth.” 

A relief, but that guilt began to creep its way into the pit of your stomach nonetheless. You were ashamed to admit that while you had fun shopping with Mor and your cousin, you hadn’t even taken a moment to realise how much everything had cost. 

Nesta threw herself onto your bed, right on top of the throng of clothes you needed to find a place for. “I’m thinking we raid Rhys’ wine cellar tonight…”

A gleaming smile radiated off Mor’s face in agreeance and they both turned to you with upraised brows, expectant. 

You pursed your lips, an apologetic smile on your face. “I told Rhys and Feyre that I’d babysit Nyx tonight.” 

Nesta huffed and threw herself back on the mattress again, clothes bouncing and crinkling as she did so. Mor raised another brow, as if that wasn’t a good enough excuse. 

“So? I’ve gotten drunk while watching Nyx loads of times.” 

Nesta seethed at her. “One, that’s my nephew and I never want to hear you doing that again. And two, Y/N’s tolerance to alcohol won’t be as strong as ours. Two glasses and she’d be borderline incapacitated.”

Despite the slight insult, a laugh bubbled up your throat at just how right she was. Because you’d never even drank a sip of wine in your life, and Nesta knew that. 

“I’m surprised you don’t have plans with Azriel…” 

Mor was prying, you knew that. But you had no control over the heat that made its way across your neck and face. 

“We’re just friends.” It wasn’t a lie. You’d spent a lot of time together the past couple of weeks, and he was one of the only people you felt truly comfortable around. 

Mor gave you a knowing look. “Mhm, tell that to his shadows.” 

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nesta scoffed, sitting up again. “Az’s shadows are basically an extension of himself.”

Mor hummed. “They don’t do anything unless Azriel commands it. Or sometimes, they’ll do something based on his emotions or thoughts. They’re so friendly with you because Azriel likes you.” 

Your cheeks burned. You hadn’t realised his shadows touching you was a product of Azriel’s emotions. And the more you thought about it, there hadn’t been a time since you met him that they hadn’t touched you in some way. 

You didn’t say that, though. No. Azriel clearly had no qualms about other people noticing, but that did not mean you were willing to gossip about it. 

You did not need to allow silly fantasies to root their way in your mind. Azriel was your friend. And you were okay with him only wanting you as such. 

Within an hour, Mor had disappeared to tend to her own duties and just as Nesta was about to leave for hers, she grabbed your wrist and motioned for you to look at her. 

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

She didn’t need to say anything more. Those words were enough—more than enough. She saw you, she recognised everything you had been through and everything you did every day to overcome it. 

I’m proud of you. 

The last and only person to have ever told you that was your mother. 

And because you saw her too, because you remembered fhe young mortal woman she was before her own struggles of turning Fae and adjusting to her new lifestyle, you found yourself saying, “I’m proud of you, too, Ness.”

Nyx had been wonderful to look after that night. 

You’d gotten all the cuddles and boyish giggles, the beautiful little smiles and a few stinky diapers to go with it. You loved every moment with the little babe, and when Rhys and Feyre returned from their night off early in the morning, you offered to sit with him again whenever they needed it. 

But despite how fulfilling and wonderful it had been, it had also hurt. You wondered if you’d ever be blessed with the opportunity to carry and birth your own child. Wondered if you’d ever even find someone to want you in that way. 

Especially within Prythian. 

It was another late night for you, though your reading sessions had taken you from the lounge to the library. And you no longer spent them alone. 

Azriel sat on the couch opposite you, his nose deep in a book as you watched him. In the past week, you’d spent a lot of time together. It ranged from walks into the city to sitting and reading in the library until early hours of the morning. 

You’d grown accustomed to his presence, his scent often able to calm any anxiety or qualms you felt. He had noticed, of course, he wasn’t a Spymaster for nothing. But Azriel did not mention the change in you whenever he was around. 

He basked in it, in the way you appeared so much more comfortable with him. You weren’t afraid to speak up, to ask questions or acknowledge whatever was on your mind. 

You were coming out of your shell and it warmed Azriel’s heart to know that he was somewhat of the cause for it. 

“What does salacious mean?”

Azriel blinked repeatedly as your voice broke him from his thoughts. Salacious? His throat tightened. You’d often ask for definitions of things you were unsure on, sometimes even asking how to pronounce words you had never come across. 

But salacious? 

“Are you reading Nesta’s romance novels?” He quirked a brow. 

Your lips involuntarily pouted at him, your own brows furrowing just slightly as you rested the open book back into your blanket-covered lap. “Yes. Why?”

Anxiety creeped its way into your stomach, rooting deep into your flesh from the inside out. Reminders of how this used to go flashed through your mind and suddenly, it felt like you were back in the village, back in the mortal lands and living with Rafe. 

A tendril of darkness peaked at the corner of your vision and you focussed on it, watching it slowly dance across your knuckles and weave between your fingers in a calming manner. 

Shadows. Azriel. Library. Velaris. Safe. 

And just like that, the anxiety un-clawed its roots and crept away. 

Azriel nodded ever so slightly to the book, knowing exactly what had just happened with you but acting as if he didn’t. “Salacious means…having inappropriate interest in sexual matters.”

There was no hiding the heat on your cheeks—the way it burned your soft skin. You tore your gaze from his as quickly as you could, unable to contain your slight shame and embarrassment. 

But Azriel did not mind one bit. 

Azriel had secrets. He supposed that being the Night Court’s Spymaster, it was to be expected. But these secrets were different from the others, something he kept locked tight in his mind for the past month. 

And it wasn’t the secrets that had him moving closer and spending all of his time in the lower level of the House. No. That was very much you and your presence and whatever it was in your soul that called out to his. 

He couldn’t stay away—though, it wasn’t like he even tried—for that pull was far too strong for even his willpower. 

He had suspicions. Suspicions of a golden thread that started in his chest and ended in yours. He knew it was far fetched, knew he was only hurting himself by entertaining the complete insanity of the idea. 

You were human. Mortal. And mortals didn’t have mates. He told himself so every day, and right after, like clockwork, he countered his own sound advice with the one thing that had been troubling him the most.

Because what mortal could plant and bloom a patch of tulips with nothing more than a thought and a touch. What mortal could speak so clearly to the earth and create life right before another���s eyes. 

Despite the possible threat that could pose for his court and his family, Azriel had kept that tidbit of information to himself. Just for now. Just until he could make sense of it. Then, and only then, would he bring that information to light. 

Because Azriel did not feel any ounce of danger or ill intent from you. He did not feel anything but warmth and intrigue and that godforsaken sensation when you grew excitable over something. 

He couldn’t take that from you. Not when you were finally coming out of your shell, finally talking and laughing and going as far as joining him and Cassian for training twice a week. 

“If sex makes you uncomfortable, there are other romance novels without that.”

Heat warmed your skin again. Shadows dared to intertwine with your fingers. 

“No, it’s not that.” You played with his shadows, allowing them to caress your skin. “Sex doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I’ve just never had a good enough experience to understand much.”

He didn’t push, didn’t ask further questions. You wouldn’t be embarrassed for this, for something that was not your fault. You wouldn’t cower anymore, hide what you felt or thought. No longer would there be repercussions for speaking your mind. 

So you spoke again. 

“Rafe was the only person I’d ever…it’s just different to read it, to have it described as something enjoyable.”

Azriel’s knuckles turned white. Something enjoyable. He’d never experienced it to be anything but. His soul almost cleaved in two at the thought of what you’d endured. 

Azriel dared to glance at you again. “Sex with the right person can be very enjoyable. It should be nothing but beautiful.”

He stiffened then, blood thumping in his ears. His shadows stilled, noticing the shift in your scent just as their master had. Sweet, all consuming arousal, and Azriel did not miss the way your thighs pressed together in impulse. 

He swallowed thickly. 

You broke his gaze, your own heart thumping sporadically as you stared at the pages on your lap. You couldn’t help your mind wandering to thoughts of him, of experiencing that with him. You knew it was wrong. So, so wrong. 

“The thought of being intimate like that with someone new…” You couldn’t find the words to express the fear and anxiety that came with that thought.

Azriel listened intently, breathing deeply. 

“I want to experience life the way it should be experienced. Not the way others have pushed it upon me.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his book on his knee. “You control your life now, nobody else. If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.”

You wondered then if he could see into your mind as Rhysand could. If he could feel that shift in the air. If he could smell it on you. That want and desire. You would not apologise for it. Not anymore. 

“But if it feels wrong, is that not my guts way of warning me?” You countered. 

Azriel smiled, just barely. His knuckles still white. “It’s your guts way of protecting you. Because you’ve never experienced anything beyond what others bestowed upon you.”

Gods above. 

An ache fluttered in your chest, just above your breast and you absentmindedly rubbed at it, disrupting the neckline of your shirt. Azriel’s eyes squinted at the exposed skin, at the mark that adored your flesh. 

“Are you hurt?” His tone was primal, protective. 

You paused your movements, following his gaze. “Oh, no.” You pulled your shirt a little lower. “Just a birthmark.”

He needed to compose himself, needed to stop allowing his mind to wander about other areas of your concealed skin. He felt like nothing more than a big brute. 

Your soft, airy giggle woke him from his daze and he looked over to find tendrils of darkness caressing any inch of your skin that they could. Gods, if he didn’t have a leash on his emotions around you, how could he control his damned shadows. 

“It’s like they have a mind of their own.”

They didn’t. But he couldn’t correct you. Not without exposing the fact that they only fed off their masters emotions and desires. Not without exposing the fact that Azriel wished he was the one touching your skin and not his shadows. 

He swallowed again, throat dry. 

“Nesta told me that they’re an extension of yourself. That they only act if you will it.” You didn’t know why you said it, why you thought you had the right to speak that truth. 

But you would not apologise, even as Azriel remained silent for a few moments. Partly out of shock, partly in awe. But that was another thing he would not speak aloud. 

“Sometimes they can act on behalf of my emotions. My desires and wants.”

You dared to meet his honey eyes. “And that’s what you want?” You were breathless, a feeling in your stomach that you’d never once experienced before. “You want to touch me?” 

Neither of you knew where this confidence had come from, but Azriel did not question it and you did not apologise. 

He shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t repeat the words that echoed in his mind and soul and body. But, Gods…he could not seem to regain any semblance of control when he stared into your eyes. He could not lie to you, could not hide what he felt. 

“I want to do a lot of things.” The admittance was barely audible, nothing more than a breath he’d been holding but you heard it all the same. As though you’d demanded the words out of him. 

You couldn’t look away, even if you tried. Your entire being was encapsulated by him. Your chest heaved, legs ached. The shadows slowly left your shoulders and neck, returning to their previous position at your fingers. 

“But above all, I want you to be comfortable. Happy.” 

Something compelled you to stand, the shadows seemingly guiding you to their master as your book toppled to the couch. He watched with a hungry gaze, one full of faltering self-control. 

If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.

Take it. 

Take it. 

“I’m comfortable with you.” 

The shadows moved like a breeze between you both, tugging you closer and closer. Nothing else mattered, not in that moment. Not when your soul felt like it was singing, like it was exactly where it longed to be. 

Azriel stood slowly, towering above you once at his full height. You strained your neck to meet his gaze and he bent his to come closer. You could feel his breath dance with yours, could feel his hard chest press upon your soft one. 

No part of you felt nervous, no part of you felt unworthy. 

But Azriel…he didn’t know what to do. For weeks he’d been dreaming of this moment, dreaming of the taste of your lips, the touch of your skin. He slowly raised a scarred hand to caress your warm cheek, and you didn’t cower or shy away from his touch. 

A test, perhaps. To see if you really could handle the intimacy of another male so soon after what you’d endured. You didn’t falter, didn’t break his gaze. He wanted you, more than he ever wanted anything else before. 

“What you went through…”

“I don’t want to talk about what I went through,” you cut him off. “That was then, this is now. I don’t want to live in the past.”

Take it.

Take it. 

Your lips…so close to touching his. 

The shadows swirled in delight, excitement.

Azriel knew this wouldn’t be just a kiss. This wouldn’t be meaningless. He felt it, in every part of him, he felt the way your entire being sang to his. He wanted to lay his soul bare before you. 

He itched to brush your hair behind your ear, to hold you and taste you. But Rhysand’s voice echoed through his mind, beckoning him for his assistance. He closed his eyes, huffed out a breath.

“Rhys is calling for me.” 

Azriel stepped away, removed his palm from your skin. You swallowed, stepping back and letting your eyes fixate on the rug beneath your feet. He cleared his throat, struggling to reign in those shadows of his. 

“I’ll come to you tonight…we can talk then.”

But had Azriel waited just a few moments longer, had he given into the urge to brush your hair from your face, he would’ve noticed the slight point that had formed at the top of your ears. 

Azriel didn’t meet you in your chambers that night. And you didn’t see him the next morning. Or the day after that. 

Cassian had mentioned that Rhys sent him on a mission. That he would be back in a few days. 

But something was wrong, you could feel it in every inch of your body. An ache that only got worse with every passing moment. You tried to ignore it, tried to relax in a hot bath with soothing lavender oils. Nothing relieved the pain. Nothing soothed the ache.

And when you left your bathroom and found your once round ears now pointed, and a trail of tulips following in your wake, your legs carried you toward the kitchen before you had a moment to consider it. Cassian and Nesta sat at the table, giggling over their breakfast when you stumbled toward them. 

“What’s happening?” Your panicked tone caught their attention, eyes wide as they stood and took in what lay before them. 

From the stone ground, moss and grass and flowers bloomed as though you stood in the middle of a field. Daisies and buttercups sprouted in your hair, roots of trees tangling around your limbs. 

Everything was so loud yet muffled. Like every word was screamed in your ear but somehow underwater as Cassian called out frantically to Rhysand. Neither of them went near you, even when Rhys flew through the open balcony doors, Feyre in tow. 

They looked at you with nothing less than concern and fear. 

“What in the Gods is happening to me?!” You demanded. 

Rhysand held Feyre back as she attempted to near you, his gaze locked on you as he assessed the situation. But it wasn’t the flowers or grass or roots that he watched. It was you, and the way your crescent-moon birthmark glowed something violet. 

Rhys had known, had suspected something lay dormant within you. From that moment he entered your mind, when he gazed upon that luscious field that seemed to call to you with promises of something new. 

He’d never witnessed such before. Not in the most powerful of Fae had he ever stumbled across that. 

With a very careful step forward, his gaze demanded yours. Feyre had told him of your mother, of her death and your marriage to Rafe. And his voice was soft when he finally asked the question that had been on his mind ever since. 

“What happened the night your mother died?” 

The world went still, cold. Feyre whirled to him in protest. 

“Rhys—“

“—it was a house fire.” 

All eyes turned to you, to the patches of bloom that haltered their growth. 

Rhysand took another step closer. “Where were you?” 

“I—“

A heat unlike any other licked at your skin, waking you from your peaceful slumber. A heat so unwelcomed that you bolted upright in a sheen of your own sweat. 

You could hear the wood of your cottage crackling under a burning flame, and smoke quickly infiltrated your room. You coughed, attempting to swat it away as you squinted in the darkness. 

“Mama!?” You called out, panic stricken in your voice and body. 

Fear began to cripple you, began to take away any sense of self preservation. You couldn’t leave your bed. Your door now engulfed in flames, you screamed. 

“Help! Someone, please help!”

No one was coming. This was the end. You couldn’t move, couldn’t get to your beloved mother. A shrill cry, unlike anything you’d ever heard before, split your heart in two. 

A scream of pure agony and fear tore through your throat, your eyes clenched shut as you gave your body over to the fire. 

Only the next breath you breathed was clean and cold. And your sheets were no longer beneath you, no. Now you laid on the rich soil outside of your home, your fingers rooting themselves into the dirt. 

You screamed and sobbed, unable to do anything but watch as the fire claimed your home and your mother. 

You were sobbing, collapsed to the ground as you struggled to breathe at the memory. 

Rhysand dared another step closer, kneeling before you now and his eyes held such sorrow, such remorse. 

“Y/N…” he spoke softly. “Was your mother ever accused of being a witch?” 

Nesta seethed, threatening. “Rhysand, that’s—“

“How do you know that?” Everything felt very, very still. No one should have known that. No one of these lands should have known that. 

Rhys didn’t answer your question. And despite the sound of large wings breezing through the sky, you did not look away from the High Lord. Not even as Azriel rushed into the House and his heart sunk at what he bore. 

“The day I entered your mind and took some of your pain away, I felt something. Something within you that I have never, in my 500 years of life, felt before.”

Azriel took a step closer. He should have said something when he first noticed the flowers. Because now, whatever power you had…it was consuming you. 

“I’d like to try something,” Rhysand proposed. 

You struggled to keep your breathing even. “What is it?” 

Another step closer, a warm hand on yours. 

“I’d like to enter your mind as far back as it will allow me. Just to see if I can find something.”

Violet eyes watched yours. “Find what?”

He squeezed your hand in reassurance. “Something to make sense of this.”

A moment of pause, to take in your surroundings. The flowers and soil had sprouted to cover the entire expanse of the lounge floor, your friends and cousins standing just beyond the brush of it. 

Eyes flickered to something hazel. Azriel. He stood in the soil, flora coating his ankles and he struggled to keep a tight leash on the shadows that fought to reach you. 

You looked back at Rhysand. 

“Will it hurt?” 

He shook his head. “No, not if you don’t resist.” 

That suddenly sounded an awful lot like your past. Memories of Rafe pinning you to the bed—scolding, reprimanding, promising no pain if you didn’t resist. 

This wasn’t like that, you had to remind yourself. You were safe. They only wanted to help. To understand. 

Azriel stepped closer, ignoring the silent warning that Rhysand whispered into his mind. A scarred hand out held, you took it. And Rhysand took that moment of distraction to enter your mind. 

The first memory he saw was one from just days before. You and Azriel reading in the library, the shadows that swirled your fingers and arms, the near-kiss that escalated into nothing. 

He dug deeper. The next, of you and Azriel again, exploring the city where you left a trail of green and brown tulips in your wake on the embankment of the river. 

Deeper and deeper, until the memories showed you living in the mortal lands. A blow to the face, to your stomach and your head. Rafe seething above you as he shouted and belittled you. 

Deeper, to a memory of your husband pinning you to the mattress, of his body crushing yours as he stole everything you never offered. 

Every memory Rhysand met, you re-lived them. 

A little deeper and he was watching you at the Archeron household, helping Elain plant seeds, watching Feyre paint, reading with Nesta. 

Deeper and deeper he went, passing the memories of the fire, of your mother, until he found exactly what he was looking for. 

“She is my child too, Selenthia. You cannot keep her from me.” A voice you did not recognise. A memory you did not recall. 

“For her protection, I will do what I must.” Selenthia seethed, coddling you closer to her chest. “No one can know what she is, or she’ll be hunted for the rest of her life.”

The unknown male huffed. He was beautiful. Tall and lean, strong and commanding. But there was something about him. Something not quite right. 

“So you plan to lock her away for the rest of her life?”

Selenthia bared her teeth. “I would never lock my child away. She will live her life as a mortal. I won’t subject her to a life like mine or yours.”

A moment of silence. “You cannot hide her from what she is.” He spoke softer now, edging close to peer at you, his daughter. 

“What do you plan to do when she first bleeds? When her ears point and her power grows—“

“That won’t happen.” There was no room for discussion in Selenthia’s voice. She placed a finger over your heart, a familiar violet glow permitting from her skin to yours. 

“What are you doing?” That male’s voice, cold once more. 

“I’m burying her power. So long as this wyrd remains on her skin, she’ll be safe.”

Selenthia pulled away, just enough to take a look at the mark that marred your skin. A mark two shades darker than the rest of your flesh, the shape of a crescent moon and no larger than a fingernail. 

“There. Nothing more than a birthmark.”

Rhysand retreaded from your mind, panting and shaking. Tears streamed down his flushed face, your own skin staining with silver, too. 

“What is it?” Nesta demanded, daring a step closer. 

But those tulips and daisies and buttercups…the soil and grass and roots, they all began to sink into the ground until nothing but the florals in your hair remained. 

“My mother…she…she was a witch. A healing earth witch. And my father—he…”

“Your father was Fae.” Azriel breathed, his eyes focused on the point of your ears that peeked through your hair and flowers.

“He was of the Night Court. A High Fae male.” Rhysand added gravely. 

Azriel’s hold on the shadows loosened and he allowed them to caress you, comfort you. Your hand never left his. 

You pulled away from Rhysand, clutching at your chest—at that crescent moon you always thought was a birthmark. Your mothers protection all along. 

“When you crossed the wall into the Fae lands, your power tried to break through. It was your mothers mark that had been keeping it buried with you all these years.” 

You dared a look at your cousins. But they looked at you with nothing but sorrow and anguish. No fear. They did not fear you, they did not pity you. In their eyes all you could see was longing. A longing for you to no longer live in such agony and hardships. 

“Our mothers were sisters. Does that mean—“

“I don’t think so,” Rhysand cut you off. “If they held the magic you do, I believe their power would have shown by now. They were Made. So it’s possible the Cauldron could’ve interfered with it if that were the case.” 

It was too much. All of it. Reliving those memories again, seeing your father… You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t have magic and powers. You could not be half Fae, half witch. 

It would be easy to give up. It would be so easy to ignore it until it killed you. So easy to just let go of everything. But a pounding in your soul begged you not to. Begged you to fight with everything you had. Begged you to live. 

“Burn the mark.” 

All attention snapped to you, flickering from your face to the mark on your chest that finally stopped glowing. 

“Are you insane?” Nesta seethed. 

You looked at her. “I don’t think I’d be far off to guess that if I don’t burn this mark, this…power will consume me entirely. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be so lost because I have no idea who I am. This is who I am, whether I like it or not. I won’t run anymore.”

Feyre stepped closer, crouching to your level and taking your spare hand in hers. Azriel still held tight to the other. “If you wish to burn it, it will unleash whatever power you have at full force. You don’t have any training, any control over it.” 

You felt sick to your stomach. “I don’t want to die, Fey.” 

And that was enough to enrage Feyre in a way she’d never once felt before. “You are not going to die. Do you understand me?”

Azriel squeezed your hand, begging for you to look at him. You couldn’t. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him looking at you any different than he had three days ago. 

“Rhys, fetch Madja. We will burn the mark in a controlled environment. Where any fallout can be contained.”

You shook your head, not willing to risk a single soul because of your selfish decision to live. 

“No,” you said. “Drop me to the mountains and I’ll burn it myself.”

Nesta scoffed. “Oh, you are insane.”

You seethed at her. The first ounce of anger you’d truly shown. The first time you’d ever directed it at anyone but yourself. 

“This isn’t your decision. I will not risk anyone. Azriel can take me to the mountains and you can all keep your distance. At least until it’s safe.”

Until it’s safe. As if you knew for certain you’d survive it. You truly weren’t sure you would. There was nothing more to discuss, your tone made that clear enough. 

“Fly me, winnow me…whatever. Just do it now before I change my mind.”

Within a blink, your body was shivering and you were no longer in the House of Wind. Shadows encased your entire body, darkness swarming every inch of you. You said nothing as Azriel held you, nothing at all as he flew you across Velaris and toward the highest mountain just outside of the city. 

Only when he landed, when he refused to remove his hold from you, did the darkness dissipate and hazel eyes gazed into yours. 

“I’m staying with you.” 

“No, you’re not. I won’t risk your life, Azriel.” 

He set you to your feet, holding your hands now to keep you close. A plea of desperation swam in his eyes, his entire body yearning to take you and find another way to fix this. 

“There is no other option. If I don’t burn this mark, I don’t know what my power might do. It might kill me, it might destroy this city. I cannot risk anyone’s life for mine.”

Azriel parted his lips to speak but you shook your head, squeezing his hands. 

“If I don’t survive this—“

“Don’t.”

“Please, listen to me.” Silver lined your eyes, blurring your vision. “If I don’t survive this, I want you to know how special your friendship has been to me. How much I care for you, for your family.” A sob tore through your throat. “And I am so incredibly sorry for burdening you all in this way.” 

You reached on the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his. Warmth and love and the most raw emotion could be felt between you both. An apology for not having longer, a prayer that there would still be time. 

A fuse lit within the pit of your stomach, in the pit of Azriel’s. Tears stained your lips, stained his. In that moment, you were one. Whole, as though you always should have been. 

You pulled away first, forcing your hands from his hold. You took several steps back, blinking through the distorted vision and swiping away and evidence of the fear that crippled you. 

A puff of violet darkness misted beside Azriel as Rhysand winnowed to the mountains. Pain flicked through his eyes, regret and the same sorrow you saw in your cousins. 

You did not meet his gaze. 

“Summon a fire.”

He did as you asked. And handed you a blade. 

You did not grant them another look, did not give into the pleading in your mind to watch them leave. Or else you would’ve seen Rhysand drag Azriel off that mountain. You would’ve seen the anguish on the Shadowsingers face. 

Alone. As you had been your whole life. Though the weeks spent in Velaris had given you a taste of what could’ve been. You’d treasure those memories in the Hereafter. Those and the precious ones of your late mother. 

For they were all you had left. 

You did not allow another tear to fall. Not as you hovered the blade over the flame, not as you tugged your shirt down and took a deep breath. 

For if all you were ever meant to be was a ghost in the wind, you were content to know you’d reunite with your mother soon. Where you would no longer feel such pain. 

You didn’t want to die. But if this was all the time you were fated to have, then so be it. Better you than someone else. 

“Keep them safe.” A whisper to the winds, if they deigned to listen. 

With a final breath, you pressed the scorching blade against the mark on your skin and the entirety of your captive power unleashed upon the mountain as your body allowed it to consume you. Until you saw and heard and felt nothing at all. 

From below, the city shook, a thundering boom and a gust of aftershock and pelting mountain debris that blew the Inner Circle back. 

Then there was silence. 

And Azriel’s soul bellowed. 

a/n: so a LOT happened in this chapter and there is still a lot more to happen, i'm hoping i can fit it into two parts but it may be stretched into three, we'll have to see!! i'm so grateful for all the love you guys have been giving this series and i am so excited for you to find out how it all ends!!

if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

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[heartsriki]

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY ⌇ 우리를

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader — featuring.. sunghoon | word count: 5.7k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ childhood friends, tease ni-ki, middle school to highschool au, cussing, angst if you use a magnifying glass, fluff, kissing, underage drinking, miscommunication.

synopsis — Ever since middle school, Nishimura Riki has been an absolute pain. Now at your senior year of high school, things get complicated when confused feelings start to rise.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊I am here to represent the playful over nonchalant riki agenda 🤓☝️I wanted this to give shitty 2000's romance movie did I succeed? (this is so ass but I haven't posted a pic in a while so muah, creative fics coming soon trust)

If there was one universal truth in your life, it was this: you hated Nishimura Riki.

Childhood best friends? The kind you see in movies, laughing over dumb jokes, sharing secrets under a blanket fort, or being there for each other no matter what? Yeah, that wasn’t you and Riki. Not even close.

Your history with him began the summer before middle school, a day you remembered all too clearly.

“Who’s moving in, Mom?” you asked, watching the moving truck parked outside the empty house next door.

She glanced over as she set down a stack of plates. “A family with a boy about your age,” she replied, patting your head. “Maybe you’ll make a new friend! Why don’t you go say hi?”

You wrinkled your nose, stepping back from the window. “I wish it was a girl.”

Mom sighed and gave you that knowing look as she moved around the kitchen. “You never know. Your dad and I were childhood friends once.”

“Gross,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “That’s so weird.”

And just like that, you moved on with your life, assuming the new boy next door was unimportant. After all, families came and went in your neighborhood. You didn’t expect him to stick around—or to matter.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The first day of middle school was supposed to be a fresh start. You had plans. Big plans. Make friends, fit in, and survive until High School. And for a moment, it seemed like everything would go smoothly. Until him.

Lunch was going fine. You grabbed your tray, scanning the cafeteria for a place to sit when you collided with someone. Hard.

Your lunch went flying, splattering all over you, and in your panic, you looked up, ready to apologize. But then you noticed he was perfectly fine—completely untouched—like the universe had gone out of its way to humiliate only you.

You glanced at his name tag. Nishimura Riki.

He crouched to help, concern etched across his face. “Are you okay—”

Before he could finish, a blinding camera flash went off, followed by whispers and giggles erupting all around you. Mortified, you bolted to the nearest bathroom.

You thought that would be the end of it, but Riki wasn’t done ruining your life. Far from it.

In gym class? He always aimed for you during dodgeball. At lunch? He somehow snagged the last banana milk every time. Clubs? Teachers practically begged him to join while you couldn’t even get a recommendation. Worst of all, everyone adored him. Everyone but you.

By the end of your first year, Nishimura Riki was your sworn enemy.

And then things got… complicated.

It happened one evening while you were studying in your room. A soft knock at the door interrupted your focus.

“Come in,” you called, expecting your mom.

She stepped inside with two glasses of water. “Remember the tutoring favor I mentioned? My friend’s son is here in need of help, Be nice, okay?”

“Sure,” you replied, not thinking much of it.

But when the door creaked open again, you froze.

“Not who you were expecting?” Riki grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You crossed your arms. “What are you doing here Riki?”

Riki winced. “Tutoring obviously, and could you please just call me ni-ki like everyone else?”

“You’re not coming in,” you snapped, blocking the doorway.

He sighed dramatically. “And what would I tell your mom?” He bent slightly to meet your glare, his grin widening when you finally moved aside.

“Fine. Sit down,” you muttered, plopping back at your desk.

For the next hour, you worked in tense silence. Or tried to, anyway. Riki kept fidgeting, pulling out a folded piece of paper halfway through.

“What’s that?” you asked, snatching it before he could stop you.

“Hey!” he yelped, scrambling to grab it back.

It didn’t take long to figure out what it was: another love letter. You rolled your eyes and tossed it back at him. “Veryyyy humble.”

“Not my fault I’m handsome, but it really is annoying though, I'm constantly surrounded… sometimes I feel like I'm drowning” he muttered, leaning back on his hands.

You were thrown off by his sincerity but you ignored him until he suddenly perked up as if struck by divine inspiration.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I have an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s never good.”

“Let’s be friends, like attached to the hip friends.”

You blinked. “What?”

He grinned. “Think about it. You don’t have anyone covering your back at school, and I need someone to scare off all the girls who keep following me around. It’s perfect.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hard pass.”

“Come on, at least think about it!” he whined.

Unfortunately, he didn’t leave you much of a choice. Day by day, Riki wormed his way into your life, showing up at your house, sticking by you at school, and, somehow, turning everyone’s attention to you.

It was annoying. It was infuriating. But, worst of all? It worked.

Fast forward to your senior year of high school, and here you were—still stuck with Nishimura Riki. And somehow, despite your ups and downs, things weren’t going to be quite so simple anymore.

You were buried in your assignments, your usual library spot surrounded by a fortress of papers, highlighters, and books. It was your sanctuary, a place where Riki always knew he could find you.

He wasn’t alone when he spotted you this time. A couple of his friends hung around, laughing about something entirely unimportant in his mind the second his eyes landed on you. His grin stretched wide, and with an exaggerated sigh, he excused himself. The girls groaned, rolling their eyes at his now-predictable antics. “You’re obsessed, ni-ki,” one of them muttered, but he didn’t care.

Jogging up to your table, he glanced at your mess of notes and books. You didn’t even look up. Of course.

“What is it, Riki?” you murmured, still scribbling, your tone bored, uninterested—classic.

“Would it kill you to talk to me lovingly every once in a while, Y/N?” he mocked, flopping into the chair across from you. His eyes darted to the pile of folded papers shoved to the side, and his eyebrows shot up. “Oh? What’s this? Love letters? These for me again?”

You finally glanced up, leveling him with that deadpan expression he swore you saved just for him. “They’re definitely not mine,” you replied flatly.

He gasped, hand over his chest like you’d shot him. “Poor baby. Jealous much?” he teased, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Of you? Hardly.”

Riki narrowed his eyes at you, suddenly curious. Now that he thought about it, he’d never actually seen you with anyone—no rumors, no dates, no shy confessions. And while you always rolled your eyes whenever he brought up girls in front of you, you never chimed in about any guy in your life. Suspicious.

“Y/N,” he started, his tone a little too casual as he began doodling nonsense shapes on the table. “When was the last time you had a boyfriend?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Well, you remember Choi—”

“Choi Soobin? That lasted, what, a week?” he scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

“And why do you think that is, genius?” you shot back, pointing your pencil at him accusingly.

Riki faltered for a split second before looking away. “Well… I think you can do so much better than him,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

Your brow shot up, amused. “Oh? Alright then, Mr. Matchmaker. Who’s my ‘better match,’ huh?”

His mouth opened, then shut. For once, he didn’t have a quick answer. He gulped, scrambling to save face. “How about I… set you up?”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “With one of your fuckboy friends? No thanks.”

“Hey! Not them!” he laughed, hands up in defense. “I meant someone like… Sunghoon.”

That made you pause. “Sunghoon? Like tall, calm, cool, and basically perfect Sunghoon? Yeah, right. He wouldn’t go on a date with me in a million years.”

“What? Says who?” Riki shot back, standing up like he’d just been challenged to a duel. “I’ll talk to him. Watch and learn, Y/N. Watch and learn.”

“Riki—”

“Later! Don’t miss me too much” He winked and walked off, leaving you to roll your eyes at his retreating figure, wondering if he’d actually follow through or if this was just another one of his ridiculous schemes.

“Y/N? I thought you guys were dating,” Sunghoon said, his brow furrowing in confusion as he leaned back against the locker.

Riki nearly choked on his water, his eyes going wide as he turned to face him. “What? No, Y/N is just a friend.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Oh. Huh. Well, I think I’m gonna pass anyway. She’s kind of… boring?”

The words hit Riki like a slap. His head snapped toward Sunghoon so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Boring?” he echoed, his voice sharp. “Says who?”

Sunghoon shrugged nonchalantly. “Everyone. I mean, I haven’t seen her at a single party or game, not even during lunch. What would we even talk about?”

Riki scoffed, crossing his arms as he glared at him. “Y/N is plenty of fun, asshole. What do you even know?” His voice was defensive, almost protective, and it surprised even himself.

Sunghoon tilted his head, studying Riki’s reaction. “I mean, she seems… quiet,” he admitted. “But now that I think about it, if you’re the one setting me up with her, she’s probably pretty great. You don’t exactly play matchmaker for just anyone.”

Riki blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Uh… well, yeah, she is great,” he muttered, not meeting Sunghoon’s eyes.

Sunghoon grinned. “You know what? Why not? She’s cute.”

Riki froze. His grip tightened on the strap of his backpack, and for a split second, he wasn’t sure why his stomach twisted at Sunghoon’s words. Calling you cute? Of course, you were cute. He’d always known that. So why did it sound weird coming from someone else?

He quickly shook off the strange feeling, chalking it up to his usual overprotectiveness. “Alright,” he said, his voice coming out more clipped than he intended. “But don’t do anything weird. Seriously.”

Sunghoon laughed, pushing off the locker. “Weird? Relax, I’ll be a gentleman. So, you gonna tell her, or should I?”

Riki sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell her. Just… don’t mess this up, alright?”

Sunghoon smirked as he walked away. “I won’t. But, man, you’re acting real possessive for ‘just a friend,’ don’t you think?”

Riki didn’t respond, watching as Sunghoon disappeared down the hall. The words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—he was more than just “overprotective” when it came to you.

Today, you felt a kind of giddiness you hadn’t experienced in a while. After weeks of drowning in study sessions, late-night cramming for club responsibilities, and endless schoolwork, you were finally doing something for yourself. And to top it all off, you weren’t just going out—you were going out with a boy.

It had been forever since you’d made this much effort. You dolled yourself up, not too over the top, but more than your usual routine. Casual but undeniably cute. You felt like a new version of yourself, and it was exciting.

Standing in front of your mirror, you hummed along to the music playing softly in the background, carefully adjusting your hair. You tilted your head, giving yourself one last once-over with a satisfied grin when there was a knock on your door.

“Y/N, I’m coming in,” came the familiar voice.

Before you could even respond, the door creaked open, and Riki stepped inside. His usual easy-going demeanor faltered the second he saw you. The air felt heavy, and his eyes widened as if he’d been caught off guard.

For a moment, he just stared, the words dying in his throat. Why were you so dressed up? He’d seen you a thousand times, but never like this. Something about the way your hair framed your face, the slight gloss on your lips, and the way your outfit hugged your figure—it was like he was seeing you for the first time.

Were you always this pretty?

“Is he on his way? What kind of car does he drive?” you asked, practically buzzing with excitement.

Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance he was in, and he blinked, his expression hardening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Uh… yeah, he’s almost here,” he muttered, his tone uncharacteristically stiff.

The doorbell rang, and your face lit up instantly. Clapping your hands together, you grabbed your bag and checked your outfit one last time. You turned to him, your eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Not too bad, right? Think he’ll like it?”

Riki froze again. The words caught in his throat, and for a second, he thought about telling you the truth. That you looked beautiful. That the thought of you being this excited about someone else was bothering him more than it should.

But instead, his pride got the better of him. “I—well—you look stupid,” he blurted out, his words harsher than he intended.

You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Say whatever you want, Riki. Your opinion doesn’t matter tonight. I’ll text you the details tomorrow!”

And just like that, you were gone, your scent lingering in the room as you hurried past him and out the door.

Riki stood there, staring at the space you’d just left. His chest felt tight, an unfamiliar weight settling there as he replayed the moment in his head. What was this feeling? Why was his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought of you with someone else?

He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair as he sat on your bed, shoulders slumping. Something was changing—something he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit yet. But as he sat there, his chest aching and his mind racing, one thing was becoming painfully clear.

He didn’t want to be the one you texted tomorrow to tell all the details about tonight. He wanted to be the one sitting across from you, the one you were so excited to see. And that realization scared him more than anything.

The next week was nothing short of torture for Riki. As if fate was playing a cruel joke, you and Sunghoon seemed to hit it off. You weren’t officially dating, but the two of you were in the so-called “talking stage.” It didn’t matter what stage it was—every second of it felt wrong to Riki.

Your usual library spot? You weren’t alone anymore. Sunghoon was always there, sitting across from you, leaning in too close, making you laugh in ways that Riki used to. Your desk? It was now stocked with your favorite snacks every morning—snacks that weren’t from Riki. And the final blow? You called Sunghoon by his nickname. His nickname. Riki clenched his fists every time he overheard it because not once in all the years he’d known you had you ever called him by a nickname.

What did Sunghoon have that Riki didn’t? He left snacks, visited you in the library, and called you nicknames. Riki did all of that first. So why wasn’t it enough?

For the first time, Riki felt you slipping away. And for the first time, he realized just how much you meant to him. But instead of confronting those feelings, he did what he always did best—he buried them.

The dismissal bell rang, and the school flooded with students rushing to leave. You were taking your time, slowly packing up while your music played softly in your headphones. A tap on your shoulder startled you, making you jump.

“Hey, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” Sunghoon said with an easy laugh.

You laughed back, pushing him playfully. “It’s fine. Yeah, I’m ready to go, but we should wait for Riki. He might need a ride home.”

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed, confused. “ni-ki? I thought he went on that date.”

Your hands paused mid-motion. “What?”

“Yeah, didn’t he tell you? He’s been talking about it all day.” Sunghoon said it so casually, but his words felt like a punch to your chest.

No. Riki hadn’t told you anything. And now that you thought about it, he’d been distant recently, skipping out on plans and barely texting back. But to go on a date and not even mention it? That wasn’t like him at all. A strange feeling bubbled in your chest—was it anxiety or something else entirely?

“Oh. I guess we should just go then,” you murmured, brushing past Sunghoon, who quickly followed after you.

It stayed like that for weeks. Riki kept avoiding you, making himself scarce. He didn’t leave snacks on your desk anymore, didn’t visit you in the library, and the only time you caught glimpses of him was when he was with her. That girl in his friend group—except now, his arm was around her shoulder.

Something about seeing them together twisted your stomach into knots. You couldn’t figure out what was going on. The absence of Nishimura Riki was a void you weren’t coping with well. You missed his annoying presence, his whining, his endless teasing. When had he become so important to you? And more importantly, why did it hurt so much to see him with someone else?

Days passed, your short fling with Sunghoon had come to an end. You and Sunghoon realized you weren’t a good match. It wasn’t dramatic; the spark just wasn’t there. You were relieved to have gained a friend, but even that small resolution didn’t fill the aching gap that Riki had left behind.

One day, as you trudged toward class, your thoughts heavy, you spotted him. For a moment, everything else faded. His uniform was crisp for once, his hair falling perfectly across his forehead, and his headphones hung loosely around his neck. You felt your heart skip, a familiar warmth creeping in. But then you saw her—the girl. She was right next to him, laughing as she leaned closer.

Riki caught your eyes, and for a moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his expression. But then he looked away, a fake smile plastered back on his face, and it felt like someone had ripped the air out of your lungs.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The sudden, painful realization hit you like a truck—you had fallen for Nishimura Riki. The cocky, annoying, rude, childish Riki. And you had realized it far too late.

Fueled by a sense of urgency, you stormed over to him. The closer you got, the more his eyes widened. His body tensed, his jaw clenching as if he knew what was coming.

“Riki, I need to talk to you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

He scoffed, avoiding your gaze as he shifted awkwardly. “What could we possibly need to talk about?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that you’ve been ignoring me for weeks? How about the fact that you’ve completely shut me out?”

He let out a bitter laugh, his eyes now locking with yours. “Me? Ignoring you? Don’t make me laugh. Weren’t you the one who ditched me first? The second Sunghoon gave you a little attention, you were all over him like he was your whole world.”

You flinched at the venom in his words. “What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb!” he snapped, his voice rising. “You’ve been desperate for attention since day one. The moment someone else gave it to you, you didn’t even think twice about ditching me.”

The words stung more than you thought possible, and tears welled in your eyes. “Is that how you really see me? Someone who just begs for love and clings to anyone willing to give it? Or is that what you wanted me to be? Someone who would never leave you, so you could string me along whenever you wanted? Like you always have?”

His eyes softened, regret flickering through them, but before he could respond, the girl at his side stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm.

“Alright ni-ki.. I get it now.” You took that as your cue. Turning on your heel, you walked away without looking back, tears blurring your vision.

He gulped as he watched you walk away, Itching to chase after you. He never thought the loss of his first name coming from your lips would hurt this much. But it did.

For the nights after that, sleep was impossible. You lay there staring at the ceiling, replaying the confrontation with Riki over and over in your head. His words, his tone, the hurt that lingered in his eyes despite the venom in his voice—it was all too much. The raw pain left a lump in your throat, and the longer you thought about it, the more your chest ached.

You didn’t know how to move past it. Slowly, you started closing yourself off. The window you always left unlocked for Riki to climb through at night? It was shut now, the latch sealed as if closing it would somehow lock away the memories too.

Everything was weighing on you, dragging you deeper into a pit of emotions you couldn’t escape from. You needed something—anything to distract yourself. That’s when you remembered Sunghoon’s message from earlier.

Sunghoon:

Hey I know parties aren’t really your thing, but you can always come and stick with me tonight if you want? LMK.

You sighed, staring at the screen for what felt like forever before finally making a decision. Maybe this was what you needed, a change of scenery, a chance to forget for just one night. Without overthinking, you hit the call button.

He answered almost immediately, his voice casual but with a hint of surprise. “Hey, Y/N, what’s up?”

“Hey, Hoon,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “I’ll be on my way soon.”

When you arrived at the party, the air was buzzing with energy. Music thumped loudly in the background, lights flickered through the windows, and the yard was packed with groups of people chatting and laughing. You felt a pang of anxiety as you stepped inside, but it was quickly drowned out when Sunghoon spotted you from across the room.

“Y/N!” he called, weaving through the crowd with a grin. “You made it.”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Yeah, I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“I’m glad you came,” he said, resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to some people, and we can hang out.”

He led you through the party, his presence grounding you as you met new faces and settled into the environment. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you felt yourself relaxing. Laughing. Forgetting.

But that peace was short-lived.

Halfway through the night, as you stood by the kitchen with Sunghoon, sipping on a red solo cup which he’d handed you, your eyes landed on someone you weren’t prepared to see. Riki.

He was standing on the far side of the room, a red Solo cup in hand, his face half-hidden by the shadowy lighting. But it was unmistakably him. His posture was relaxed, but he wasn’t speaking as his group of friends talked. You looked around for the girl he grasped onto recently but she was nowhere in sight.

Your chest tightened, and it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. For a moment, all the progress you’d made to distract yourself unraveled. You tried to look away, but it was like your eyes were glued to him.

Sunghoon noticed immediately. “Hey,” he said gently, stepping in front of you to block your view. “You okay?”

You blinked, forcing yourself to focus on him. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

But you weren’t fine. Not at all.

Riki hadn’t noticed you at first, too caught up in the chaos of the party. But when he finally glanced toward the kitchen, his heart stopped. There you were, standing next to Sunghoon, looking beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.

His grip on his cup tightened as he watched Sunghoon lean closer, whispering something that made you laugh softly. That laugh. The one he hadn’t heard in weeks. It was his laugh, the one you used to share with him.

“ni-ki,” a girl next to him said, tugging on his sleeve to grab his attention. But he barely heard her, his focus still glued to you.

“Excuse me for a second,” he mumbled, setting his cup down and stepping away from his group. He didn’t even know what he was doing. His feet carried him across the room before his brain had the chance to catch up.

You saw him coming before he even reached you. The sight of him walking toward you, his expression unreadable, made your stomach twist. Sunghoon glanced over his shoulder and immediately stiffened.

“Y/N,” Riki said, his voice low but firm as he stopped in front of you. His gaze flickered to Sunghoon briefly before settling back on you. “Can we talk?”

You hesitated, your walls immediately going up. “What is there to talk about, ni-ki?”

“Please,” he said, his tone softer now, almost desperate wincing at the way you spit his nickname.

Sunghoon stepped closer, his presence protective. “Maybe now isn’t the time, Riki.”

Riki’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I wasn’t asking you, Sunghoon.”

Your heart was racing, caught between the two of them. The tension in the air was suffocating, and you didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Sunghoon finally said, his voice steady but his eyes lingering on you for reassurance before he walked off.

Riki took a step closer, his hands buried in his pockets as he looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “For everything.”

You swallowed hard, your emotions a whirlwind. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

“Then don’t say anything,” he said quickly. “Just… listen. Please.”

And so, for the first time in weeks, you let him talk.

He led you up the stairs, weaving through the chaos of the party. The bass of the music faded the further you went, replaced by the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. He stopped in front of an empty room, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first. The room was dim, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the window. When he followed, the soft click of the door shutting behind him felt heavier than it should have.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms defensively. Your guard was up, and he could see it all over your face—your hurt, your anger, your confusion. He hated that he was the one who put that look in your eyes. How had things gotten so messed up? It reminded him of when you were younger, back in middle school, when he could never find the right words to say to you. But this time, it felt like so much more was at stake.

“Y/N…” His voice was quiet, laced with hesitation, his dark eyes glowing softly under the light. “I haven’t been real with you lately.”

You didn’t say anything, your glare sharp enough to cut through him.

“To be honest…” He froze, the words catching in his throat as his face heated up. He looked down, running a hand through his hair as if it would steady him. “Well, I’ve realized that you mean… a lot more to me than I thought.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat, but your defenses didn’t falter. “What are you trying to say?”

He sighed, taking a tentative step closer. “I’m saying I screwed up, okay? I’ve been jealous, selfish, and downright stupid. Seeing you with Sunghoon, thinking I might lose you… it made me realize something.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting, your breath catching as he took another step closer.

“I like you, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his confession. “No, scratch that—I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I was too dumb to figure it out until I almost lost you.”

Your heart was pounding, the walls you’d built around yourself threatening to crumble. His words felt like a punch to the gut, but in the best way possible.

“Why now?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Why did it take all of this for you to say something?”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his tone filled with regret. “Scared of ruining what we already had. But when I saw you with him, I realized I couldn’t just stand by and lose you. I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. I just… I need you to know how I feel.”

You stared at him, your emotions a whirlwind. Part of you wanted to stay mad, to keep your guard up and protect yourself. But the other part—the part that had always been soft for him—wanted to believe every word he was saying.

“Riki,” you started, your voice trembling. “You really hurt me, you know that, right?”

He nodded, guilt washing over his face. “I know, and I’ll spend however long it takes making it up to you pretty. I swear.”

There was a long silence as you studied him, searching his face for any sign that he wasn’t being genuine. But all you saw was raw vulnerability.

Finally, you sighed, stepping closer to him. “You’re such an idiot,” you muttered, but there was no malice in your voice.

He smiled softly, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes. “I’ve been told.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached up, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t hesitate. His hands found your waist as you stood on your toes, and then, without another word, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, like the two of you were still testing the waters. But as the moment deepened, all the tension, all the weeks of hurt and miscommunication melted away. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself fall into him completely.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested against each other, both of you breathless. He smiled at you, his usual cocky grin softened by the tenderness in his eyes.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughed, the sound light and carefree, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Riki had known you since middle school. Back then, you were the girl who sat by the window during lunch, scribbling in your notebook or reading while everyone else was too busy trying to be cool. You were quiet but quick-witted, and for some reason, that always fascinated him.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he started noticing you more. Maybe it was the time you helped him with a history project because he procrastinated and would’ve failed without you, Maybe… It was the day you both ran into each other. Literally.

He hated admitting it, but he always found himself drawn to you. You weren’t flashy or loud like the other people in his life. You were just you—calm, focused, and, most of all, real.

But middle school Riki wasn’t great at handling feelings. Instead of being sweet to you, he’d tease you mercilessly, always looking for a reaction. He loved how your face would scrunch up when you were annoyed or how you’d mutter sarcastic comebacks under your breath, pretending you weren’t affected.

Even then, he knew you were different. Special. But he never let himself think too much about it.

As the years passed, his feelings only grew, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself. By the time high school rolled around, you were still his constant. The one person he could always count on, the one who somehow understood him without needing a million words.

But somewhere along the way, he’d started feeling something heavier whenever he saw you. When you smiled at him, it felt like a spark ignited in his chest. When you scolded him for slacking off, he’d secretly enjoy the attention. And when you laughed—God, when you laughed—he swore it was his favorite sound in the world.

Still, he buried those feelings deep. He figured it was better to keep things the way they were. If he said something and you didn’t feel the same, he could lose you entirely, and the thought of that terrified him.

Then Sunghoon came into the picture. And for the first time, he realized he wasn’t the only one who could see how amazing you were. Watching you smile at someone else, laugh at someone else’s jokes, give someone else the attention that used to be his—it tore him apart. He felt like he was suffocating, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Even now, standing in that room with you after finally confessing everything, he couldn’t help but think back to all those moments from middle school. How blind had he been? How stupid to waste so much time pretending he didn’t care?

Looking at you now, your cheeks flushed, your eyes searching his face like you were trying to figure him out, he realized he didn’t want to hold back anymore.

He smiled, soft and genuine, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I think I’ve been falling for you since middle school. I just didn’t know how to say it back then. Guess I’m still figuring it out now.”

You blinked at him, stunned for a moment, before a small laugh escaped your lips. “You’ve been a mess since middle school, Riki.”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin growing wider. “But I’m your mess now.”

And with that, he kissed you again, pouring years of unspoken feelings into the moment, knowing he’d finally found where he belonged—right there, with you.

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - two (j.yh); section one

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you’ve never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he’s so much more than a crush, he’s your soulmate. one | two (*section one); (section two) | three | four 🔗read on ao3✨ across stardust pinterest board

note: i hope everyone enjoys this chapter. it's wildly fluffy and wildly romantic, and then deliciously smutty so i hope everyone enjoys.

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, suggestive language, allusions to a past ex who pressured her into things she wasn't ready for, anxiety etc., and finally the smut; heavy makeouts, grinding, oral f!receiving, convos about oral m!receiving, lots of fingering, lots of cock touching, earth shattering soulmate sex, rough sex, soft!dom/pleasure!dom yunho and wide eyed sub!reader, heavy on the dirty talk, HEAVY on the praise. we got a lot of good girls in this one, and good god tagging for gratuitous use of pet names from yunho. lots of missionary and missionary adjacent positions, spooning sex to idk he's on his back and she's on top but laying on him it's hard to describe but by god is it hot please enjoy

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 28.1k

**this part was too long for tumblr's new word count guidelines! please check out the second half of this part, here!

The tour ends in Paris of all places. After weeks of concealing your growing relationship with Yunho from everyone, it feels like the universe is rubbing salt in the wound bringing you to the so-called city of love. 

For weeks as you hopped city to city, a whirlwind of language and culture and food, you found yourself living for the quiet, stolen moments with him. Quick visits to each other’s hotel rooms and even faster kisses, but never a full night. He hugged you briefly in Amsterdam, left a single rose on your station in Rome, bought you a cashmere scarf in London when the weather took a turn. You catalog these moments in your memory, and scribble down musings in your travel journal, and try not to judge yourself for saving every little scrap of your secret relationship down to the gift receipt in the bottom of the bag and one of the rose petals (pressed dry between the pages of your latest read). 

Paris feels different though. Everywhere you look there are couples snuggled close in the winter chill, and though you aren’t necessarily one for public displays of affection, seeing it like this makes your heart ache. You’d at least like the option. But despite his little gifts, you and Yunho have been doing your best to be subtle, mitigating even the smallest glances, and getting to know him over text. It wasn’t enough, but you could cope, until now. Until this city. You weren’t supposed to walk through a city this romantic alone, not when your soulmate was a few blocks away in a hotel room. You were supposed to be with him.

He feels your ache though, and you feel his. 

Besides, it’s almost, almost over. 

In Paris, you all have an extra two days to account for the end of the tour and flights home, and the electric energy of being almost finished and almost home has everyone buzzing. The members are jittery with anticipation but so is the staff, so close to being back home and in the arms of their loved ones and with a belly full of Korean food. 

On the last show, after soundcheck runs perfectly smoothly and the pre-show rituals have all been checked off without a hitch, it goes to shit. Venue delays, an issue outside getting the fans inside, leaving the stadium only half full at the call time. 

It’s not the first time this has happened of course, but it is the first time for this tour and to have it happen on the last day leaves everyone groaning. 

“They couldn’t tell us this twenty minutes ago?” Hongjoong asks one of your production team.

They had been moments away from starting the introduction lights and music, the boys had already gotten up onto their rising platforms when a member of the venue staff had jogged all the way backstage waving her arms and trying to explain in a mix of French and English that they had to wait. 

“They said thirty minutes,” The staff member replies, “we won’t have to make any cuts, but anything over an hour we’ll need to start,” 

“Fuck,” Hongjoong’s jaw tightens, “Sorry, I apologize,” 

The boys are gathered tightly around management and the production staff and you, Iseul, and the other members of makeup and hair step forwards to listen in. 

You can’t quite catch all of the conversation, but then there’s some nodding in the center circle and Sunhee, the head of tour production, turns and addresses everyone as they shuffle into a semi-circle around him, “Alright, we’re running on a thirty delay,” 

Everyone nods.

 “If we hit 60, we’re electing to cut Deja Vu, Silver Light, DLWB, and Eternal Sunshine,” He explains, “We’ll shift Wave into the 8th block behind Dreamy Day, yes?” 

Everyone nods again. 

“That’s a setup we’re already prepared for, correct?” He addresses the sound team who nods, and then looks to every other team who follows suit before he continues, “If we need to cut more, we need to be prepared for a lot of small changes. It’s possible we lose Win and Fireworks, and that’s not something we want to do. Everyone needs to be on strict standby until we get rolling, I don’t want to be looking for anyone in the bathroom or finding out someone stepped out for a smoke, clear?” 

There’s a chorus of responses. 

“If you need a break, do it in the next five. Every ten until lights, we’re right here.” He’s a clear, no nonsense leader, but everyone has their marching orders. 

The group breaks up after that, several staff hurrying off to the bathrooms now and a couple of the BB Trippin dancers slipping out the back access door for a cigarette. 

The members are talking amongst themselves in a tighter circle, planning choreography changes and ment changes to tighten up the time, and you try your best to not look at Yunho for more than a passing glance. His back is to you, and you ache to reach out and see how he’s doing, ease the bubble of stress you feel in your gut, but you can’t. 

Iseul bumps you gently with her hip and nods her head back towards your stations. Dahan and Eunji are back, thankfully, having gotten over Covid fairly quickly and started testing negative, and the four of you huddle up to do your own planning session. 

“This doesn’t change much for us except how fast we work,” Iseul says, “we can make some strategic cuts around the unit stages too, no added eye enhancements, keep the focus on skin, lips, and brows.” 

“Done,” Dahan nods and then settles back into the chair at her station, “I don’t think there’s much more we can do,” 

Iseul nods, “It’s not a makeup heavy set,” 

Eunji collapses into her own chair and pops open an energy drink, “That just means their foundation has to look better,” 

“They look good,” You assure her, “and lord knows we use enough setting spray,” 

Eunji laughs and takes a swig of her drink, her carefully manicured nails clicking against the aluminum can as drops it back down on the table, “Hmm,” her leg bounces nervously, “we should check them again,” 

“They’re fine,” Iseul says, “plus, wardrobe has them.” 

You look back up, and sure enough the wardrobe team is fluttering around them as they talk, taking every opportunity to re-steam a jacket or fix a pant hemline. 

You lean back against the long table of snacks and water bottles along the one white wall and watch the chaos, your fingers drumming restlessly along the lip of the table. 

“Hey!” One of the wardrobe staff leaps forwards and you look up, “Don’t sit on the couch, I’ll just have to press those pants again!”

Wooyoung leaps up from the couch and groans, “Sorry, sorry,” 

“Let me check you,” She inspects his pants with a sharp gaze, “these crease too easily,” 

Wooyoung cracks a joke you don’t hear, but everyone within earshot is laughing and you smile at the scene. You’ve all worked together for so long it really does feel a bit like family. 

Staff starts to gather back up, and Sunhee makes another clear announcement, “Still running on a thirty,” 

Everyone echoes back their understanding. 

Now there’s nothing to do but wait. Chewing the inside of your lip you fish your phone out of your brush belt pocket and idly scroll, flicking through photo after photo on Instagram and barely absorbing any of it. 

A body shifts in your periphery and you look up to see Yunho, leaning on the table next to you but leaving an appropriate amount of space between your bodies. His head is angled away from you, talking animatedly to San about something, and though you know he’s ignoring you on purpose you also know he sat here for a reason. 

Your chest warms, and so does his. 

Feeling him this close feels like you’re standing in a rising tide, the sensation of him filling the space around you so wholly and completely, and you know if you were to just surrender to it would carry you right out to sea. 

San’s eyes flick to yours, “What about you?” 

You blink, “Hmm?” You might have been looking in their direction but not a single word made it into your brain. 

San’s eyebrow quirks up in amusement, “That dance challenge with Bada, have you seen it?” 

“Oh,” You nod, realizing what trend they’re talking about on Tiktok, “yeah, for sure, it’s everywhere right now,” 

“I’m trying to get Yunho to do it with me,” He explains, “it’s cool right? I think we’d kill it,” 

Yunho swivels his head to look in your direction and your stomach flips and you fight to keep your face somewhat professional and neutral when you nod, “It’s definitely cool, a lot of idols are doing it, you should,” 

“Well,” He smiles, his expression warm, “I guess I’ll have to,” 

San snorts softly, and you wonder briefly if he involved you in the conversation because he knew Yunho would cave if you said something. 

The moment is short though, when Wooyoung cuts between San and Yunho, “Budge over I need a water,” 

Yunho slides to the side just a few inches, but it’s enough to feel the heat of his body from shoulder to thigh as he gets closer to you and your breath quickens. Even after a few weeks, his proximity still makes you feel a dizzy kind of elation and you swallow tightly to keep your own reactions under wraps. 

“You good?” Yunho’s focused on Wooyoung’s serious expression though. 

“My calf keeps cramping,” He complains, uncapping a water bottle and locating a packet of electrolytes to pour into it. 

“You need to stretch,” San says, “drink that and come here,” 

Wooyoung grumbles something and Yunho chuckles. 

“Yeah, yeah,” San rolls his eyes, “don’t complain when you know I’m right,” 

“Fine,” Wooyoung downs the water bottle, drinking half of it in three thirsty gulps and then spins on his heel to follow San to the far wall that’s empty. 

For a moment, Yunho doesn’t move. 

You stay frozen in place, unsure of exactly what to do, if you should move or if you should let him move, but he makes the decision for you. 

The back of his knuckles brush along yours for just a moment, and then he’s up again and walking towards his members. Your heart flutters, and you’re sure he can feel it with the way he looks at you, just one quick glance back before he starts stretching again with Wooyoung and San. 

You’ll have to add that one to your notes then, he brushed your hand in Paris. 

Blissfully, they announce again that the delay is only going to be thirty minutes. No cuts to the show, no panic. In ten minutes everything will start and you’ll be one step closer to home.

In the wings at the new call time, you prep them again with a final pat of powder, smoothing out any whisper of a pore. When they move past you, Yunho’s hand brushes yours again, and you wonder if he knows he’s doing it. It feels unconscious the way he gravitates towards you, and though he keeps the contact decidedly subtle, you can feel the way his nervousness eases with just a touch of your skin on his. 

You watch him as he jogs out to the stage risers, you can’t quite tear your eyes away. He’s so handsome, so commanding of the stage, so unlike the soft, gentle man you’ve come to know off screen. You’re starting to really love them both, or perhaps you already do, and quietly you send him as much warmth and confidence through the link as you can. 

His eyes flick over to the wings, a flash of a smile on his lips, but then he refocuses and adjusts his in-ears, and the risers lift into the roar of the crowd once again. 

Your eyes track him as he goes up, and sensation bursts through the link from his side, only this time it doesn’t take you down to your knees. You’ve gotten used to it the past few shows, and now it just rings in your body like background noise. 

A hand closes around your forearm and pulls, yanking you out of your dazed thoughts, and you whirl to catch Iseul’s serious expression.

“Come with me,” She murmurs lowly, “right now.” 

Your stomach twists but you keep the panic to a minimum, you can’t do this to him again. Following her to the backstage door, she grabs her coat and tugs it on and throws you yours. She tugs you outside before you can even properly get your arms through the sleeves and you yank your arm back, “What’s going on?” 

“You’re asking me?” She says quietly even though the stage door is shut tight and there’s no one in sight, “Are you kidding?” 

She shoves a hand into her pocket and fishes out a pack of cigarettes, ones that she usually only smokes after a few drinks, “I started to think in Amsterdam that it was one of them,” 

Your stomach sinks like a stone. 

She sparks the lighter and leans in to light the smoke, “You were watching them differently,” 

“Iseul,” 

“But, I guess it’s Yunho, isn’t it?” She takes a drag and levels you with a serious expression. 

“Please,” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, she’s your best friend, but the fear of the unknown still crushes your chest, “don’t,” 

“He watches you too,” She says, “I wasn’t sure at first, he’s always been friendly with us, but this is different,” 

“I don’t know what to say,” You manage. 

“How about you don’t lie to your best friend,” She takes another drag, “that would be a good start,” 

“It’s not what you think,” You step closer. 

“I don’t think you know what I think,” 

“Iseul,” You wrap your arms around yourself. 

“Fine,” She tips the ash off the end of the cigarette and pushes her pin straight hair back over her shoulder, “I’ll tell you what I think,” 

You stay silent, stomach tight. 

“You’ve been weird,” She says, “I’ve never seen you act like this over a guy, and I really doubt you just noticed him for the first time, so either you’re an excellent liar or you’re in love with him,” 

You blanch. 

“And if you’re in love with him,” She points out, “so suddenly after years, then there’s more to it. So I started paying attention,” 

She takes a long drag of her cigarette and sighs out the smoke. 

“You’ve been sneaking off,” She points out, “checking your phone constantly,” 

Your eyes flick down to the pavement. 

“But the weirdest part,” She says, “is that you’ve been changing in the bathroom and we’ve been friends for years. I’ve seen your tits like a hundred times,” 

Your head snaps up. 

“You’ve been too happy lately for it to be something bad,” She says, her voice softening a bit, “so it’s something good, something like your mark changing.” 

”Iseul,” Your voice comes out weakly. 

“Fuck,” She looks over your expression, “he’s your soulmate,” 

“We didn’t know,” You stumble through the words, “I swear, we didn’t,” 

“I believe you,” She nods, “I just want to know why you couldn’t tell me. I’m your best friend, I would have helped you, I wouldn’t… I would never tell anyone,” 

“I know,” You reach for her, “I know you wouldn’t do that.” 

“Then why?” She pulls her wrist from your touch and ashes her cigarette again, “Because it really hurts that you couldn’t trust me with this.” 

“It’s not that,” You press, and it pours out of you, “we don’t even know what we’re doing. It’s really overwhelming, everything I’m feeling and he’s feeling, and then there’s the contracts and the job and the fucking public, and I just… I don’t know what to do, we don’t know what to do. We decided to wait until we got back to Korea to figure it out properly,” 

She nods. 

“I was going to tell you as soon as I got the nerve up,” You promise, “I haven’t even called Hana,” 

Her eyes widen at the confession that you haven’t told your sister after weeks, “Babe,” 

“If you know,” You manage, “and she knows, then it’s happening, and I,” 

Iseul flicks her cigarette to the curb and throws her arms around you, tugging you close for a hug, “Oh, you nervous idiot,” 

“I promise,” You hug her back, “I was going to tell you,” 

“Don’t you want it to be real?” She murmurs the question, “It’s your soulmate,” 

“I do,” You nod, “I want him, it’s just,” 

She rubs your back as you sigh.

”It could be easier,” You finally admit, “if he wasn’t who he is, then it would be simple.” 

She nods and pulls back from the hug, giving you a final squeeze, “Simple’s for fairytales,” 

“I guess,” 

“We’ll work it out,” She nods, “I’ll help.”

“I should have told you weeks ago,” You confess. 

“Probably,” She nods, “I would have helped cover for you at least,” 

You smile, “Yeah?” 

“Totally,” She nods. 

You sigh into the cold air, your breath making a cloud of vapor. 

She pushes her hands into her coat pockets and then stops, “Who else knows?” 

“San, he saw it when we touched,” You tell her and her eyes widen, “and Seonghwa… he found us in bed that morning in Berlin,” 

“I’ll be mad about them knowing before me later,” Her nose crinkles, “but that’s good, let’s keep the circle small for now.” 

“Definitely,” You nod, “we want to tell people, but just not… it’s better at home,” 

She chews the inside of her lip, sighing and pulling out another cigarette, “You haven’t slept together?” 

“Not yet,” 

As she lights the second cigarette her eyebrow quirks up, “So you’re just tormenting yourselves for fun, or?” 

Iseul was, without a doubt, the biggest believer in soulmates you’ve ever met. Everyone in her family was lucky enough to have found their match young, from her parents to her siblings, but she’s been waiting. Out of anyone without a soulmate though, she knew exactly how difficult the time between initial touch and fulfillment of the bond was. 

“We nearly did,” 

“And?” She takes a drag.

“He wanted to do it right,” You explain, your cheeks heating.

She nods, “He seems like that type,” 

Your gut tightens and you exhale, “I was also a little terrified,” 

“You and relationships,” 

“This is different,” You cross your arms.

 Iseul smirks at your sudden defensiveness, “I know it is,” she says, “but it’s still freaking you out, obviously,” 

“It was,” You admit, “maybe it is, but not in the way you’re thinking.” The logistics have you stressed beyond belief, but him? Those fears have been fading fast since that first night.

 “So, you do love him,” She smiles, flicking away her half smoked cigarette.

All you can do is nod. 

Iseul softens at that, after so many years of friendship and watching each other try relationships on for size. Every almost match that withered into nothing, every missed connection, every late night wondering. 

“I’m happy for you both,” She says earnestly, reaching for the door and clearing her throat to shove away the emotion there, “but I swear if you lie to me again,” 

You laugh, “Got it.” 

She punches in the key code to the door and twists the handle when it goes green, but then she stops short, “Listen, we’ll talk about the rest later, but you’ve got to tone it down with him in there. No more longing looks, no more little touches, if I saw you someone else will too.” 

Your stomach twists, “Fuck,” 

“It’s fine,” She says, “I was looking for it, but eventually someone’s going to notice.” 

“Okay, you’re right” You nod. 

“Let’s get back in there,” She pulls the door back open and you stumble inside. 

Everyone is gathering up again for the first costume change, and you do your best to shake off the conversation. Iseul squeezes your shoulder once, and then slips back to her station like nothing ever happened. 

You don’t look at him again the rest of the show. 

Iseul’s warning lives in your mind and you try to keep some distance. You give him the same polite congratulations on the tour that you give to every member, ignoring the little crease between his brows when he realizes you’re being funny. 

At the team dinner, you keep to the far side of the table and keep the soju to a minimum. 

You ignore the buzzing phone in your pocket and his quick glances. 

Iseul keeps you busy, keeps you steady.

You don’t let yourself look at the text messages on your phone until you’re back in your hotel room and able to finally relax. A string of texts from him make your heart twist. 

everything alright?

you seem tense, did something happen during the show?

alright now i know you’re avoiding me….. jagi, what did i do? tell me so i can fix whatever it is

you look so beautiful tonight, i wish i was across the table from you. i wish we didn’t have to hide this. i wish you’d tell me what’s wrong so i can make it better. 

let me know you get to your room safely. 

“You good?” Iseul asks as she flops back on her bed, “You look freaked,” 

“Yunho,” You pass her the phone so she can see for herself. 

She skims the messages quietly, one eyebrow raising, “Girl,” she looks up at you, “I said be subtle, not emotionally terrify your new boyfriend,” 

Your cheeks heat, “He’s not my boyfriend,” 

“Yeah he is,” Iseul rolls her eyes and tosses your phone back, “and the sooner you accept that this is good for you, the sooner you can get a handle on this with him and actually make a plan,” 

Chewing the inside of your lip you sink down onto the edge of your own bed, “I keep fucking this up,” 

She shakes her head, “You’re fine, but you’re also wound so tight some strings are bound to break. Call him,” 

“He’s probably so pissed at me,” You breathe.

 “He’s probably worried,” She counters, “but babe, he’s not any of your shitty exes. At some point you have to stop being scared that every guy is going to break your heart, especially this one.” 

“Ouch,” You grimace at her words. 

“Am I wrong?” 

You sigh heavily and run a hand through your hair, of course she wasn’t wrong. Iseul had watched you couple up time and time again only for it to be another failed attempt at not being alone. That combined with your only significant relationship being littered with gaslighting, cheating, and a truly terrible sex life meant she wouldn’t let you settle, or let a good thing pass you by just because of your anxiety and less than stellar history with the opposite sex. 

“Call him,” She interrupts your thoughts again. 

You swallow tightly, but at her unwavering gaze you finally look down and press the call button next to his contact picture, pressing the phone to your ear, your fingers drumming nervously on your knee. 

Yunho picks up on the second ring, “Baby?” 

He doesn’t sound mad at all, all you hear is relief in his voice and your shoulders drop, “Hey,” 

“Are you okay? What’s going on?” You hear the rustle of sheets on his side as he sits up. 

“Nothing,” You let out the air trapped in your chest, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry,” 

He’s quiet for a second, but then he speaks up, “I can feel your stress, y/n,” 

You wonder how heavily it’s pouring out of you for him to feel it so clearly through the link. 

He takes a slow breath and then continues, “If it’s something I did, I’d like to know so we can talk about it. If it’s something else, I’m here,” 

There’s a brush of warmth against your mark, and all your tension starts to melt, “You didn’t do anything wrong, Yunho, I promise.”

“Okay,” He murmurs, letting you know he’s listening, waiting for more. 

You look up and meet Iseul’s gaze. She nods at you, waving her hand towards you in a ‘get on with it’ motion, silently pushing you through this. 

“Iseul knows about us,” You tell him in a nervous exhale, “she noticed we were being familiar, that there was something going on,” 

Sheets rustle again and Yunho clears his throat, “Oh,” he says, “I mean, you’re friends aren’t you? Is she upset?”

You open your mouth to say more, but Iseul groans and pushes herself off the bed, snatching the phone from your ear and taking over the call. You jump up to grab it back, but she holds you back with one arm outstretched and a growing smile on her face.

 “Yunho?” She says, “It’s Iseul,” 

You hear a short response from Yunho, but you can’t make out the individual words he says.

 “Of course I’m not upset,” Iseul says, “I’m honestly really, really happy for you both, even if I had to figure it out myself,” 

You watch as Iseul listens to his reply and she laughs sharply. 

“Yeah, you two giving each other puppy eyes for the last few weeks was not subtle, no,”

Another beat, and you nudge her side, whispering, “Iseul,” 

“No, no,” She shakes her head and steps away from you to keep talking to him, “I told y/n this, but I was looking for it. She was acting weird so I knew something was up, but I just wanted you both to be careful in front of everyone,” 

Yunho says something you can’t hear and Iseul nods to herself.

”She’s okay,” Iseul looks back to you, a soft expression in her eyes now, “you’ll learn this, but she’s a little skittish.” 

“Iseul!” 

She rolls her eyes at you, but listens to him and nods again, “Listen,” she finally says, “I’m going to give the phone back to your girl, but before I do I just want to remind you that she’s my best friend. I think you’re a good guy, Yunho, but if you so much as make her cry, I’ll kill you. Clear?” 

His reply is short and she laughs.

 “Good,” Iseul grins, “she deserves someone good, and I know you can be that person for her.”

You reach out your hand for the phone again, needing to talk to him and pull your best friend back from whatever emotional speech she might let loose next. 

“I’m glad,” Iseul says, “now let me put y/n back on, I think she’s about to have an aneurism.” 

You can hear Yunho’s laugh as she passes back the phone and you take it eagerly, “Hi, god, I’m so sorry about that,” 

Iseul laughs and walks towards the bathroom to wind down and do her skincare and give you a brief moment of privacy, and you spin and walk towards the far end of the room near the window. 

“It’s fine,” Yunho sounds warm and not at all upset, “I’m glad you have a friend like her,” 

“Still,” You curl up into the armchair, “I didn’t mean to act so weird today or to corner you like this after such a long show,” 

“Don’t apologize,” He soothes you, “I know this is a lot, and Iseul’s right, we need to be careful if we want to do this the right way,” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, “still, I could have texted you and told you. I just got nervous,” 

“I know,” He murmurs, “but in the future, you don’t have to be alone in that. I’m your guy.” 

A smile tugs at your lips, “You are?” 

“Mhm,” He says softly, “you don’t have to handle anything alone anymore, jagi.”

Tightness sinks into your throat and you nod, pushing back the telltale sign of tears, “I’d like that,” 

“Good,” He murmurs, “now are you up for doing me a favor?” 

“A favor?” Your brow furrows, “What’s wrong?” 

“Not wrong,” He sounds so relaxed, so comfortable, and it puts you at ease, “but get your coat and map yourself to the location I’m sending you,” 

“What?” You laugh, feeling your phone buzz as his text comes through. 

“We’ll keep our distance,” He assures you, “but sweetheart, it’s snowing, and I am not missing the first snow with my soulmate in Paris,” he emphasizes, “so bundle up and get out here.” 

You pull the curtain to the side, and sure enough there’s snow swirling in the air, falling in soft fluffy flakes.

“Oh, wow,” You breathe, taking in how a white blanket has already started to thicken up on the streets outside. 

“Call me back when you get there,” He says, “okay?” 

“Yeah,” You smile, soft warmth spreading through your body, “I’m on my way,” 

You’re a whirlwind as you tug your coat back on, lacing up your boots and searching your bag for a pair of gloves. Iseul gives you one look when she sees you getting ready, but she smiles, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” 

“I won’t be long, I’m sure,” 

She shrugs, “Be safe,” 

“I will,” 

She searches for something on the side table and tosses it to you, a small black piece of fabric, “Mask, don’t forget,” 

“Got it,” You nod, affixing the mask to your face. The likelihood of you being photographed in Paris during a snowstorm when you weren’t even going to be next to Yunho was close to zero, but the risk wouldn’t be worth it. 

“Go get your man,” She arches her brow suggestively and you groan, rolling your eyes and darting out of the hotel room before she can embarrass you anymore. 

As quickly as you can, you map yourself to the pinned spot he sent and start walking. It’s hard to tell from the map, but as you get closer to the spot a few streets up from your hotel on the far side of the Seine you realize this is all it is, a street corner by the edge of the bridge. 

There’s barely anyone around, especially with the weather, and you can’t see Yunho anywhere. 

Tucking your coat closed around you, you find your phone and follow Yunho’s instructions. 

He picks up your call immediately, “You there?” he asks, his voice sounding a little muffled. 

“Yeah,” You breathe, looking around to see if you can spot him now, “Are you coming?” 

“I’m already here,” He says, “look up, across the river under the light by the steps,”

You step close to the stone railing at the edge of the river, and sure enough under the street lamp directly opposite your corner, Yunho stands unmistakably tall under the light. You can’t make out the details of him from this far away, the river is wide enough that he could be just about anyone at this distance, but then the figure waves. 

You can hear the smile in Yunho’s voice when he says, “Hi, baby,” 

“Hey,” You relax into the railing, your stomach flipping pleasantly. You’re still not used to the way he’s tender with you, his pet names and how easily he sunk into being soulmates, but you trust him. It doesn’t matter how fast or how hard you’re falling, despite those fluttering nerves, you know he’s going to catch you, you feel it. 

He hums pleasantly through the phone and you imagine him smiling, “Take a walk with me?” he asks brightly.

“Love to,” You murmur. 

“I have a surprise for you,” He says, “it’s just around the bend of the river,” 

“How did you have time to do anything? We just got to Paris last night,” The figure across the river starts to walk and so you follow, slowly making your way up the length of the river by the stone railing. 

“Don’t get too excited,” He laughs softly, “I didn’t do anything,” 

“Mhm,” The air is crisp and sharp, and you take in a deep breath, “I love snow,” 

“Me too,” 

“People always say I’m crazy, but I prefer winter over summer,” 

“I do too,” He says, and you can almost picture him smiling, “I hate the heat,” 

There’s a natural lull, a gentle pause in conversation, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. You feel his presence with you as if he were walking right at your side, and it keeps you warmer than any scarf or padded coat. 

Finally, Yunho breaks the companionable silence, “I always try to take a long walk in a new city,” 

“Late night, like this?” You ask.

“It’s usually the only time I have,” He sighs, “I’m getting used to exploring places by street lamp,” 

“I’d like to actually explore here during the day,” You say, “I’ve always wanted to come here,” 

“Where else have you always wanted to go?” 

You step around a couple nestled close together near the wall and continue on, boots crunching on the layer of snow ahead of you, “Everywhere,” you admit, “but I don’t know, there’s more of America to see, and I’ve never been to Australia. Vietnam maybe, or, oh, Iceland, I’d like to see the northern lights.” 

“I’d love to take you there someday,” 

“Take another long walk in the snow,” You offer, glancing across the river. It takes you a moment to find him as you both pass through a busier spot, but you see him pass under another street lamp and your heart is back at ease. 

“y/n,” Yunho says after a beat, “are you sure you’re alright with Iseul knowing about us?” 

You swap your phone to your opposite hand, tucking your frozen fingers into your pocket and nod even though he can’t really see that from this far away, “I am, she’s my best friend, I should have just told her.” 

“I don’t think either one of us knows what we’re doing,” He reminds you, “and that’s okay.” 

“Mm,” You sigh, a heavy cloud of vapor blooming in the icy air, “I do know one thing,” 

“What’s that?” 

Your stomach flutters nervously, but you press on, “I haven’t felt this happy or this cared for in a long time,” 

He’s quiet for a moment, and then you hear his breath, “I feel the same way,” 

“I just want to be on the plane now,” You admit, “at least then we’d be almost home,” 

“Well,” He says, “don’t wish for it too soon,” 

“What do you,” You start to say but he swiftly cuts back in. 

“Look to your left, sweetheart,” He says warmly.

Your head snaps up, and you turn only to have the breath knocked out of you by this city yet again. There, across the river and beyond a large bridge in the distance is the Eiffel Tower, standing golden against the night sky. 

“Oh,” You breathe. 

“Wait for it,” He murmurs.

“What did you do?” You can’t stop yourself from grinning like a fool, but you expect that’s a common experience for tourists in love in this city. 

“I didn’t do anything,” He laughs, “I just got the timing right, just wait,” 

You step closer to the wide bridge, ornate with golden statues and arched to offer ferry boats passage underneath. All the while you keep your eyes locked to the tower, and blink away the dust of snow collecting on your eyelashes. 

“Yunho,” 

“Just,” He starts to say, his voice getting far away as if he moved the phone, “another minute,” 

You tuck your scarf up around your face and wait, and then it starts to glitter. Blocks away but still standing tall before you in the distance, the golden monument starts to sparkle with the fast flicker of silvery lights.

“Oh,” You breathe, “I didn’t think I’d see it,” 

“Mhm,” He murmurs, “you might have mentioned it in London,” 

“Did I?” You can’t tear your eyes away. 

“I’m sorry I can’t take you there properly,” He confesses, “or anywhere properly yet, but, someday I will,” 

The glittering stops and you finally look away to try and find him again across the bridge, only he’s closer now and walking directly along your side of the bridge towards you. Your feet are moving before you can convince yourself otherwise, a magnetic pull straight to him. 

The bridge is thankfully quiet, barely anyone on either side, and you both stop in the middle, both of your phones tucked into your respective pockets. 

“Hi,” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles beneath his mask. 

“Hey,” You sigh, “should we be doing this?” 

“No one’s here,” He says, stepping closer, “just one minute,” 

You nod, “One minute,” 

“Listen,” He says, his hand brushing against yours again, “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too,” 

Your heartbeat quickens.

“But we are almost home,” He says, “and once we’re there, we will make a plan. We will make this work, and I promise you, I’m more afraid of losing you than of losing all this,” he gestures towards the city around you. 

“There’s got to be a way, other people who have done this,” You nod. 

“We’ll find out,” He assures you, “just please, don’t pull away from me when things get hard or if you’re afraid. You can rely on me, you can trust me, I swear to you, y/n.” 

You can feel the nervous knot in his chest, and you step close, resting a hand where you know his soulmark loops on his chest. When you let yourself feel him, focus on him, it’s clear to you just how anxious about your growing relationship he’s been. Soulmates or not you still have to walk the path together, and of the two of you, you’ve been less clear. His gestures, his gifts, the way he’s tried his best over the past few weeks to show you his true feelings and intentions, but you haven’t given him enough back to soothe that knot in his chest. 

“Baby,” The endearment slips out and you feel him soften under your touch, “I’m here, I’m with you. I’m so fucking terrified, but not of you or of this.” 

Snow sticks to his lashes, swirls in the air around you, but his exhale of ragged breath isn’t the cold, it’s relief. 

“I’m worried I’m going to fuck it up somehow, of what will happen when people find out,” You confess, “and I’m so scared you’ll wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth the mess,” 

“y/n,” He shakes his head, reaching for your cheek. 

“I know, I know,” You catch his hand against your face, press a fast kiss to his palm through the fabric of your mask, “it’s just a fear, I just want you to understand where my head has been,” 

He nods, a little crease between his brows. 

“But I do trust you,” You tell him, “more than anyone, and I’ve been alone a long time, so I’m learning how to let myself rely on you, but I’ve never doubted you. Not before and definitely not now,” 

“Come here,” He tucks your bodies together and tugs his mask down, “kiss me,” 

You pull yours away, and you press up on your tiptoes to meet his eager mouth.

His nose is cold, and his fingers are icy against your cheek, but his lips are warm and soft and his broad body blocks the gust of wind and snow. 

The knot of anxiety in his chest starts to ease, and you brush your fingers over his mark to seal your own promise back to him. 

“Sweetheart, I,” He sighs, kissing you once more, letting his words fade on his tongue, “thank you.” 

“I’m sorry I haven’t said it like that before,” You say, “but I’m here,” 

He nods, a soft smile on his mouth, and he leans over to kiss you once more in the snowy Paris street, the golden glow of the Eiffel tower still in your periphery. 

When he pulls back, he rights his mask and you follow his lead, “It’s cold, let’s get back inside,” he says. 

You can barely feel it, but you nod, “Okay,” 

“Call me again,” He squeezes your hand once and then lets it drop, “I’ll walk you back,” 

You smile, finding your phone and dialing him. 

Yunho pulls his phone out, and starts to walk back across the bridge, but then he picks up, “Hello?” 

“Hey, again,” You walk backwards slowly, watching him as he tucks the phone closer to his ear. 

“Hi,” He says warmly, and then he turns to catch sight of you when he says, “I just met the prettiest girl in Paris,” 

Butterflies roll through you, “Oh, yeah?” 

“Mhm,” He murmurs, “I think I’m falling for her,” 

Easy warmth spreads through your chest despite the chill, “That’s so funny,” you tell him as you turn to round the corner of the bridge again, “I just met this guy,” 

He laughs, and slowly you make your way back to the hotel. The conversation comes more easily now, the lingering threads of any tension dissipating with the wind. You talk about everything and nothing, how to tell the members and what you’re planning to have for coffee in the morning, and by the time you’re at the hotel the snow has slowed to a stop and the streets are empty except for you both, two long-distance lovers across the Seine. 

───────────────────────── ✧₊⁺───────────────────────

The final day in Paris passes by in a blur just like the plane home. It’s always like this after a tour, the absolute exhaustion after weeks of adrenaline and travel, but this time all you want is to be home and it feels like you’re doing the epitome of just going through the motions to get there. 

Yunho had texted you to sleep well on the flight, and you did, only to be shaken awake hours and hours later by Iseul when you were preparing to land. You had only woken up for one of the flight meals and a quick bathroom break, but now as you descend into Incheon you’re itching to get out of the seat more than you normally would be.

 Home. 

You can see it out the window, but you can feel it too.

Up until this moment, everything with you and Yunho had been on a delay, the reality of what you were to each other only something to fully reckon with after the tour, and now here you were. 

Your fingers start to nervously drum against your knee as you prepare for landing, your heart picking up as you touch down, your leg bouncing in anticipation while the plane takes its time taxing to the gate. 

Iseul gives your hand a squeeze when you finally make it off the plane and into the interior of the airport, only this time it’s not to calm your nerves, it's to remind you that you have a role to play. Today the crowd is thick, rows and rows of screaming, clawing girls and you feel your heart rate pick up immediately. They’re not here for you, they could honestly care less about you, but you still have to make your way through them as quickly and painlessly as possible. 

The support staff is always split, half in front of the boys and half behind, an extra layer of bodies between them and the hands that so badly want to touch them. Girls that want their one moment, a quick press of skin on skin, seeking a confirmation of the bond they’re so convinced exists between them and their bias. It’s never bothered you before, just a hazard of being famous, but now you can’t help but feel like they know. One look at you and they can see right through all the careful lies, they can see your tattoo and his, a string knotted from your ribs to his, and you think they might kill you for it. It wouldn’t be the first time a deranged fan took things too far, and your stomach churns with every step as you leave the relative safety of the main gate. 

Getting from the plane to the cars is a well oiled production. You’re used to sticking close to your team and a set of the support staff, head down, hat low, moving swiftly. There’s not much you can do about it unless you happen to be on a different flight, which has happened a time or two while you’ve been working with Ateez but it’s rare. 

For weeks since you first felt the link between you and Yunho, you’ve been able to feel some echo of his emotions through the connection, but as you file off the plane and group up to start working through the crowd, the sensation of him goes quiet. You’ve seen the members as they walk, a crafted persona of friendliness over the full disassociation, but you never expected to feel some shadow of that yourself. Your nerves are swirling, but you take a few slow and steadying breaths, and alongside Iseul and the rest of your coworkers, you start walking. 

It should be quick, it should be painless, but it isn’t. 

Halfway to the doors, a body breaks through the guards to your side, making a desperate beeline for one of the boys behind you, the girl’s face streaked with tears and hands outstretched, her shoulder checking yours hard as she pushes her way through into the interior circle. 

You stumble hard, footing unsure on the slick linoleum, your heart pounding suddenly in your chest. 

You make a tight noise of surprise, hand outstretched to brace your fall as you collapse hard onto your left knee. Bodies bump into you on all sides, stumbling to not knock you over and trample you, but you still struggle to get your feet under you. 

It’s loud in here, the sudden sound of fans and bodyguards, but you feel a spike of alarm shoot through your gut as he comes back online and reacts to your fall. You can’t turn around, but you feel him, and then all at once there’s hands hooking under your arms and you’re stumbling back up to your feet. 

Yunho’s several paces back behind you, layers of bodies away, but despite that he lurches forwards, forgetting himself in the fray. There’s no cameras, no crowd, no thought of familiarity in his mind, only the singular truth that his soulmark is hurt and the need to get to you is all encompassing. A hard hand locks down on his bicep, another on his opposite shoulder. He has half a mind to throw whoever has him off, and then reality clicks back into place.

He watches as Iseul and one of the other managers hauls you back up to your feet while the bodyguards close ranks and remove the cloying girl. 

San, his hand still locked around Yunho’s arm, leans in tight to his ear, “She’s fine, don’t.” 

“You don’t,” Yunho starts to say but Seonghwa claps him on the shoulder again, squeezing him and trying to silently remind him the stakes here. 

“Look,” San urges him as they keep moving, “she’s up, use your head.” 

He focuses, and he watches the way you walk. Iseul is still pinned to your side but you’re not injured, just keeping your head down. He takes a tight breath and focuses on the feeling of the link, searching for your emotions under the bubbling rush of his own. 

Seonghwa’s hand falls away as the group makes it closer to the door, but San stays steady bracing Yunho’s bicep.

Yunho blinks and focuses, and then he feels you. Your own heart is beating fast, a blanket of anxiety mixed with discomfort and blushing embarrassment. There’s no fear though, no pain, and he shudders a sigh in relief. 

This kind of connection with another person is so singular and so maddening. He’s always cared for you, he would have wanted to help even if you weren’t his soulmate, but knowing that you are and feeling it all has him ready to tear the world apart for your smallest needs. He can understand now with perfect clarity why companies are so protective of skin on skin contact with their artists, why there’s no room for exceptions until positions are far more established. A young man with a soulmarked bond would ruin every scrap of his own career if it meant he could touch her, hold her, have her for just a moment. 

“Breathe,” San bids him, “you’re staring,” 

Yunho rips his eyes away from your back and looks to San, “It’s too much,” 

San gives him a wide, idol smile and shakes his head, “Cameras, Yunho,” 

He blinks and refocuses, finding his own photogenic smile and nodding towards the crowd. He waves, he nods, he does all the things a good little idol would do. 

Warmth brushes over his chest, the feeling of your fingers along the loops of your tattoo and the tight fist around his heart loosens, breath finally filling his lungs the right way. Silently, you’ve told him you’re safe, you’re well. He can breathe. 

You’re in separate cars though, and as you climb into the SUV with the rest of the makeup and hair staff, your hands start to shake. 

“You okay?” Iseul finally asks as the doors close. 

“Mm,” You sigh, leaning back into the soft seat, “I hate those crowds,” 

She nods, “Security should have never let that girl get through,” 

“She just pushed me aside,” You rub your tired eyes, “I can’t even believe someone would be that unhinged,” 

“Mhm,” Iseul rolls her eyes, “well, when it’s her one chance to see if her precious Yunho-ya is her star crossed soulmate,” 

A flicker of jealous anger sparks in your gut, “Is that who she was after?”

“Yeah,” A look of disgust passes over her face, “as if fate would actually match up an idol and a saesang, get real.” 

You laugh, and someone else makes a comment about how cruel it would be if that actually happened, but you and Iseul are sharing a private look. Of course none of those girls are his soulmark, not when you’re sitting right here. 

You shiver, you can’t stop thinking about the girl’s tear streaked face as she shoved you to the side. What would a fan like that think about you being her bias’s soulmate? You don’t even want to know. 

The car pulls away, and you feel your phone start to buzz in your pocket. You fish it out and keep it close so no one next to you can see the screen. 

Your body melts at the message. 

Are you hurt, jagiya? 

You tap out a quick reply, needing to not keep him waiting - I’m alright, it just startled me. 

Bubbles pop up immediately as he types - I’ll have a talk with security, there’s no reason for staff to be that close to the fans like that. Too risky. 

You’re in love with him already, it’s impossible not to be when he talks like this. You smile and write back - Don’t, we shouldn’t draw any attention. But it means a lot that you were worried about me. 

Of course I worry - His first message flies in, and then another - I felt you fall, I nearly ran to get to you. 

I’m glad you didn’t. We really can’t give anyone a reason to question things. 

I know. But I wanted to, I never want anything to keep me from you when you need me. 

Jeong Yunho…. - You write back, butterflies in your belly at his words - Are you trying to make me like you?

I thought we covered this, you don’t already like me? - You feel his warmth through the bond and you know he’s teasing. 

You know I do. - If you said more you’d probably reveal how far in this you already are after a few weeks of a bond. 

It takes a moment for him to respond, but when he does your cheeks heat - I’ll have to work harder then, to make sure you feel as strongly as I do.

Your mark warms, a punctuated touch of his heart to yours. 

Before you can reply he sends another message - You promise you’re not hurt at all? 

Embarrassed mostly, and my knee hurts a little, but I promise it’s nothing serious, I wouldn’t lie to you. - You reply, touching your mark gently with your fingers to send back the same warmth, the same truth of your words. 

When can I see you? I don’t think I can go days until our next schedule. 

Tonight? You can’t help yourself. 

Where? 

Your stomach flutters at the thought of being alone with him again - My place? I live alone in Seongsu. It’s nothing special, but it’s private and it’s home. 

Text me the address, I’ll find a way over. 

You tap out your address and send it through - Please don’t get in trouble trying to come by.

I won’t - He replies instantly.

  Iseul’s hand gently touches your knee and you look back up at her, “What’s up?” 

“You want a ride home from the office?” She asks, eyes flicking down at your phone briefly. 

“You don’t mind?” You ask. 

She shakes her head, “You’re on the way,” 

You nod, pulling your phone back out to send him a message - Iseul’s driving me home when we get to the office. Are you going to your apartment now?

Yes - He replies - Yeosang keeps yawning, when our managers leave and he goes to bed I’ll come by.

Aren’t you tired too? - You ask him. 

I slept on the plane - He replies, and then another message comes through - If you’re tired you can sleep, I just need to be with you right now.

I slept too - You assure him - I’ll be up. Just message me when you’re close.

I will - He says. 

You send him one last bit of instruction, a little safer if he can let himself into your place just in case anyone sees him coming by - It’s apartment 26B, Door Code is 10824*

He sends a heart in reply, and you tuck your phone back into your lap. 

Soon, you’d finally be alone. After weeks and weeks of waiting, the ache in your chest would finally be soothed.  

Even after Iseul drops you off at home, it takes him hours. By the time you get a message that he’s on his way you’ve nervously cleaned your tiny apartment three times over and ordered far too much take out just to be sure he has something to eat if he hasn’t gotten anything already. 

When you hear him keying your door code in, your heart starts to beat double time. 

He slips in quietly, dressed in a dark gray long coat, black ball cap, and black face mask, and if you didn’t know him just from the cut of his shoulders you could have easily mistaken him for just about anyone in a crowd. 

“Hey,” You feel at ease immediately, and he looks up at the sound of your voice. 

Your apartment amounts to a double wide hallway, your lofted bed above the entryway and bathroom, a small galley kitchenette along one wall, built-in storage and a desk, and then an extremely modest living space. The sight of him in your apartment is strange, he’s so tall he seems to fill up the space of the entryway, a surreal sight now that you’re home and not in random hotel rooms. 

He kicks off his shoes to leave them by the door, and then he steps up into your apartment as he pulls his mask off, crossing the room in three easy strides to get to you. 

“Hey,” He replies, his cold hands cupping your cheeks as he gets close, “there you are,” 

“Here I am,” You smile, stepping closer to him and relaxing into his touch.

 “I,” He shakes his head and his words falter a little, “I know you said you’re fine, I just… it’s nice to see for myself, I couldn’t shake that feeling,” 

You soften at that, “Oh, Yunho, I’m okay,” 

“I know,” He sighs, “I’m sorry it took me so long,” 

“It’s alright,” You slide your hands into his jacket and rest your hands on his chest, “you’re here now,” 

He folds you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you properly and cupping the back of your head with his broad hand, “I’m so glad to be home,” 

Your heart flutters, “The tour felt like years,” you murmur, nuzzling into his chest. 

“Mm,” He sighs, his body melting around you, “our managers wanted to talk about the upcoming week, and Hongjoong had schedule changes, and then Yeosang wouldn’t go to bed, he kept sitting in the living room, I thought I was going to scream,” 

”It’s fine,” You smile against his sweater, “do you have a schedule tomorrow, then?” 

“No,” He unfolds himself from around you, pulling his cap free and running a hand through his messy locks, “I’m off, I don’t have anywhere to be.” 

Warmth fills you, “For how many days?” 

“Three,” He grins. 

“Me too,”  

“Any plans?” He drops his hat and mask down onto your side table where your own keys and gloves are and steps close again.

”None,” You murmur, “sleeping,” 

“Want some company?” He wraps his hand around yours. 

“For three days?” Your eyes widen, “There’s no way you can get away for that long,” 

“I worked it out,” He says, “waiting for Yeosang to get tired,” 

“Okay,” You don’t want to let yourself be excited too soon. 

“I’ll have to go back and pick up a few things,” He tells you, “but I told my manager that my brother might be coming up to town to see me after tour,” 

“Okay,” 

”And that I might drive down to Gwangju with him,” He smiles wider, “and that he could drop me back off before schedules pick back up.” 

“Really?” Your hand tightens on his.

”Really,” He nods, “if you want me here, I’m here.” 

For a split second you feel like you could cry, relief washing through you, and you dive forward to wrap your arms around his neck, “Stay, please, stay,” 

He bends to accommodate your height difference, and ends up wrapping his arms around your back and lifting you in the air, “Good,” he sighs, “I hoped you’d say that,” 

“Yunho, thank you,” You pull back enough to find his face, “god, I missed you,” 

“Me too,” He confesses, “seeing you everyday but not really seeing you, I don’t want to do that again,” 

“It’s so much harder than I thought it would be,” 

He nods and gives you a soft smile, “We made it, though,” 

“Yeah,” 

He dips in and presses his lips to yours, and the last threads of tension unravel, everything else forgotten with his body so close to yours. Yunho sighs pleasantly, pressing close lipped, familiar kisses to your lips, before setting you back down on your feet and straightening back up to his full height. 

Your hearts feel like they’re in sync. 

He smiles at you again, and then finally glances around to take in the space around him, “Oh,” he says as he takes it in, “I like your place,” 

“It’s small,” You shrug, “but it works for me,” 

“That view,” He nods towards your floor to ceiling glass window, truly the only selling point of the apartment, “that’s something.” 

You follow his eyes to the glittering city outside and nod, “It really is,” 

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the view, and then he sighs and looks back to you, “It feels nice to not have to rush away,” 

You nod, “I know,” 

You’re dancing around each other again, now that there’s no deadline hanging over your heads or threat that someone might walk by. You can simply exist. 

“I’ve got takeout,” You offer, making the first move, “if you’re hungry, but if not it’ll keep,” 

He smiles, “In a bit,” 

“Let me take your coat at least,” You stretch out a hand, “get comfortable,” 

He slides it off his shoulders and folds it as he hands it to you, “Thanks,” 

You find a home for his coat in the entryway nestled on a hook next to yours, his shoes already placed neatly side by side with your sneakers. It looks so right, your life against his, and you let your fingers skate down over the back of his coat as you take it in, a smile pulling at your lips. He belongs here, in every way, and for the next three days you’d pretend his presence in your apartment was permanent, solid and immutable in the way it feels in your heart. 

His coat, his shoes, and in a flash you see it all, flickers of a real life together. Toothbrushes, coffee cups, letters in the mail, his keys kissing yours in a dish by the door, books slotted together on the shelf, clothes tangled up in the laundry basket. 

Your chest aches with need, but he just walked into your apartment for the first time, so you shake off those thoughts and turn to him, “What did you have in mind for tonight?” 

“Honestly,” He grins, “being able to talk to you face to face is as far as I let myself get,” 

“Way better than texting,” You smile back, “you want a drink? Beer? Wine?” 

“Sure,” He nods, “Beer?” 

You nod and take the two steps into the kitchenette to locate glasses and two cans of beer, calling over your shoulder, “Make yourself comfortable, are you sure you’re not hungry?”

”I’m okay,” You hear him settle onto the couch and it occurs to you that you’ve never had a man in your apartment, at least in the sense of a romantic partner. For years you were going to their places, strangely protective of your own little haven between these four walls, and yet with Yunho you feel comfortable enough already not just to let him inside, but to give him your door code without a thought.  

You blink at the realization, almost letting his glass overflow onto the countertop as you pour. How strange the last few weeks have been, how different you already are. 

“How long have you lived here?” Yunho asks, and you let the thoughts about what it all means fade into the background as you turn towards him. 

“Um,” You do the math in your head, “a few years? Almost four now,” 

“It’s a great place,” He says again. 

You leave the two empty cans on the counter and cross the room towards him, “Yeah,” you nod, “It’s small, but it’s nice and accessible, and in this area anyways I really can’t beat the rent,” 

“Mm,” He nods, “I wish I could say I know what you mean, but idol life is strange.” 

“That’s right,” You nod, “you don’t pay for your place?” 

You settle onto the small couch next to him as he answers, “It’s part of our contract so it’s provided, but if we were to leave the group before contracts are up we’d owe the money back,” 

You grimace, “That’s terrible,” 

He nods but it’s with a slight shrug, “Some companies are worse, KQ being small has its benefits in other areas so that’s never been much of a concern for us,” 

“That’s good at least,” You nod, “and they treat us pretty well, all things considered.” 

“Did you ever work anywhere else?” Yunho takes a sip of beer and makes a noise of satisfaction at the flavor. 

You smile and tuck your legs under you, angling towards him on the couch, “After cosmetology school I worked at SM for about a year,” 

“And?” He asks. 

“Awful,” You groan, “The pay was terrible, and the schedules were worse. It felt like being an intern,” 

“And then you came to KQ?” 

You sip your beer, nodding as you do, “Iseul and I went to school together, she got me in as soon as a position opened up, really vouched for me considering I had a smaller portfolio than she did at the time,” 

“I’m glad she did,” He smiles warmly.

 “What about you?” You ask, “Was KQ your first choice?” 

He turns towards you on the couch, his knees pressed against yours and he rests one arm on the back of your couch, “Not initially,” he admits, “but I had two other competing offers, and something just didn’t feel right about either. Then I met Hongjoong, and I guess you know, that’s it,” 

“A little bit of fate,” You smile. 

“Mm,” He nods, “fate, maybe luck, I don’t care what it was, I’m just happy to be with you now,” 

Your cheeks heat a little, and you look down at the popping bubbles on the surface of your drink.

”I just wish it happened sooner,” He admits, his hand sliding over the cushions to touch your forearm. 

You nod and look back up, “I know what you mean, but, maybe that’s another thing fate got right, maybe we’re finally ready for each other now.” 

He laughs, “What was the word Iseul used? Skittish?” 

You sigh, “Yeah, she’s not totally wrong. I used to have terrible taste in guys, or maybe I wasn’t comfortable opening up, I don’t know, but,” 

Yunho gives your arm a gentle squeeze, “I get it,” 

You cock your head, asking him a silent question. 

“I’ve dated a bit,” He explains, “and I always thought maybe it was me, but no matter how nice or compatible someone was on paper it was just…” 

“Dull?” You offer. 

He nods, “Like I was sleepwalking through it,” 

Your stomach bubbles with a nervous thrill, your chest constricting with anticipation, “And with me?” 

His mouth turns up in a small smile, eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again, “I’m more than awake with you.” 

“Me too,” You confess.

It’s quiet for a moment, Yunho’s thumb sweeping a soft line over the veins in your wrist, and then he exhales and drops his glass off on the table.

“Yun?” 

He smiles at the abbreviation of his name and takes your glass away too, “As much as I want to talk all night, and I do, I think I might actually die if I’m not touching you after all these weeks,” 

He reaches for you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you over to his half of the couch. You squeak in surprise, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest and another on the cushions, but you end up pressed up against him and almost laying across his chest. Your body relaxes into him instantly, and Yunho lets out a relieved sigh. This, this is what you had been waiting weeks and weeks to feel again, the sureness of his body under your fingertips, the way your heart seems to slow and soothe with every touch. 

 “Anyways,” His voice cracks a little, a soft smile on his face, “you were saying,” 

You’re nearly nose to nose, close enough to hear his breath, to feel the thump of his heart under your palm. His eyes flick over your face, his lips part, pupils dilating wider with every passing moment. 

You try to remember where you were in the conversation, but with him so close and his hot hands on you, it’s all like a distant memory and you laugh lightly, “I have no idea,” 

He grins, his hand brushing your face, the pad of his thumb tracing your cheekbone, and then without a single conscious thought you’re surging forwards to press your lips to his. 

Yunho groans, hands tightening on your back, and when he starts to kiss you back it’s like the catch of a match under your skin, a crackle of need through every nerve ending. He kisses you with unmasked urgency, pulling little pants and moans from your lips every time you break for a breath. 

His hands slide down, cupping your backside, and you hitch a leg over his as you push yourself higher on the couch, desperately seeking more of his hot mouth. 

“Baby,” He breathes between kisses, his tongue flicking against yours as your mouth opens to him.

 Your body rolls on instinct, pressing your clothed core against his thigh. 

He groans again, pulling your body tighter against him and shifting the position of his leg so that his foot is flat on the floor, providing a hard, stable straddle for you. 

You wish so badly in this moment you weren’t wearing jeans, uncomfortably stiff denim that doesn’t let you properly feel the heat of him, but that doesn’t stop you from rocking your body once, twice, and again as you pant against his mouth.

 His fingertips slip under the waistband of your jeans, resting on your lower back while his free hand wanders around to your front, sliding up to cup your breast, his thumb ghosting over your pebbled nipple. 

You feel dizzy, and you press back from his mouth to take a sharp inhale, “Ah, Yunho,” 

He shudders, cupping your neck and pulling you back to his mouth. Mumbled against your lips he offers, “We can talk more,” 

You shake your head, “You really want to talk, right now?” You smile, pushing yourself further onto his lap, nearly straddling him now as you dive back in for another heated kiss. 

He groans, his hands flexing as they find anchor points on your hips, and he tugs you right into place with your pelvis slotted right over his. One of his hands skims up the back of your shirt, hot skin on skin, and you moan pleasantly into his mouth. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He pants between wet kisses, “you’re killing me here,” 

“Yeah?” Your stomach flutters with butterflies. 

He hums a yes, tongue dipping into your mouth to catch on yours. 

You can’t stop the little whine that leaves your lips, “Oh,” you roll your hips, “Yunho,” 

His hips twitch under you, and you can feel the start of his erection as it hardens under your ass. 

“Please,” You kiss him again, pushing your hips down and clinging onto his shoulders. 

His hand snakes up higher under your shirt, and his fingers deftly close over the clasp of your bra. In a second he slides the fabric in just the right way to open the clasp, and you feel the support release as his hand slides up and down the bare expanse of your back. 

“Fuck,” He shudders, “I’m sorry, I should have asked,” 

“Shut up,” You dive back in, your fingers tugging at his sweater, “take this off,” 

He kisses you hard once more and then pulls back, and you lean away still perched on his lap while he awkwardly tugs off the sweater, tossing it to the other side of your couch. 

“Can I,” His hands slide under your shirt, circling your bare waist, his eyes tracking the way your shirt slides up, “Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” 

“Off,” You raise your arms and he slides his hands up, pushing the shirt up and over your head until he’s discarding it on the floor. 

When you look back down it nearly knocks the breath out of you. He’s staring at you like you’re a marvel, like you’re the eighth wonder of the world, and it draws your frantic pace to a blinding halt. He smiles softly, and his eyes skate down your body. Your bare neck, black bra straps loosely held on either shoulder, tattoos stretching down over your upper arms, over your elbows, stopping at mid forearm. The sheer mesh of your bra loosely cupping your breasts, nipples standing hard at attention through the fabric and the center of the underwire covering the top half of your red, looping soulmark. 

He reaches for you slowly this time, one hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other skims up and down your arm, “Can I?” He asks again, his fingers ghosting over the strap of your bra. 

You nod, breathless. 

He hooks his fingers under one side and pulls, letting the strap drop and the mesh cup falls slack. His adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and slowly he loosens the other strap, your bra falling away and landing in your laps. 

Your heart is hammering in your chest now, and your fingers tighten on the fabric of his crisp white t-shirt. 

“So beautiful, baby,” He sighs, looking back up to your eyes, “you’re so perfect,” 

You can’t find any words, the way he looks at you and touches you has you rooted to the spot. 

“Can I kiss you again?” He slides his hands over your skin, still stroking your back and sides. 

That snaps you back into reality, and you dip forwards to crash your mouth to his. 

His arms wrap around you as yours knot into his hair, both of you a panting mess as you cling to each other on your sofa. Your bodies move in sync, his hands pressing just right as you roll your hips, only this time you can feel the hot press of his cock on your cunt through layers of fabric and you both moan at the contact. 

“Yunho,” You exhale sharply, rocking again to try and catch more sensation. 

“Jesus,” He pants, his hands locking down harder. 

You shudder at the contact, and you’re about two seconds away from begging him to take you right here on the couch when he puts the brakes back on. 

His hand slides up to catch your cheek, pushing your hair back and drawing your face away from his so he can look up at you, “y/n,” he says, voice a little hoarse, “that time on the phone,” 

You nearly moan at the memory of your silent orgasm, his voice in your ear, but you manage to nod. 

“DId you,” He starts and then backtracks, “I mean, you didn’t mind, or I guess what I’m asking is you weren’t, you know, uncomfortable,” 

His cheeks are turning pink as he talks, and you have half a mind to let him muddle through the thought, but you want his mouth on yours again and you cut him off, “You mean the best orgasm I’ve had in years?” 

He blushes properly then, his ears a frighteningly dark shade of pink and he clears his throat, “So you liked it?” 

Warmth blooms in your chest and you smile, leaning closer to him, your fingers tangling into his hair again, “Yunho,” you murmur, “are you asking if you can boss me around a little?” 

You’re nose to nose again, and his eyes search yours, “A little,” he concedes. 

“Boss away,” You grin, pressing your lips back to his, but he shakes his head. 

“Slow down,” He catches your hands in his and closes them together, pulling you back from him. 

Your brow knits together, “I’m getting mixed messages,” you glance down at your bare chest.  

His eyes flick to your breasts and back up and he huffs a soft laugh, “Sorry,” he manages, “I just meant we should talk,” 

“So much talk with you,” You tease him lightly, “I think I liked the kissing,” 

“Think?” His eyebrow quirks but then he shakes his head, “You’re a flirt, you do a hell of a job distracting me,” 

“Distracting you from what?” 

He reaches up, brushing the pad of his thumb over your lips, “Stop pouting,” he says, “I’m trying to be respectful, here,” 

“I’m feeling pretty respected,” You slip one hand out of his grip and tug at his t-shirt, “kiss me again, let’s double check.” 

He laughs properly this time, shaking his head, “I don’t know if it’s a soulmate thing or a you thing, but God, you know all my buttons, already, don’t you?” 

“I’m confused,” You relax in his lap a little, arms folding over your chest to cover yourself, “we were making out and it was perfect and now,” 

He nods, “I know, let me explain,” 

You wait for him to say more, the soft silence his opening. 

“We know each other,” He finally says, “but I don’t know what you like in bed,” 

“Oh,” Your shoulders relax a little, “well, traditionally we would have sex and figure that out,”

He rolls his eyes at you a little, a smile still on his lips, “y/n,” 

“Sorry, sorry, go on,” 

His hands settle over your thighs, “Every time we touch it feels like a fire,” he confesses, “and I’m trying not to lose my mind before we have a chance to talk about any of the important things, I don’t want to cross a line, I don’t want you to feel rushed or uncomfortable with anything,” 

You sigh, about to say more but he shakes his head and continues. 

“Without talking I won’t know what you don’t want,” He says, “or even if you want tonight to be the night, if you’re on birth control or if we should use condoms,” 

The thought of that sparks a clarity in you like no other and you realize he’s right, you were both so close to losing yourselves you could have made a mistake of the whole night. You blink, nodding this time. 

“And I’m afraid if we keep going like this,” He continues, “if we go upstairs without talking, I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to walk away without fucking you and making you mine tonight.” 

Your heart thumps in your chest. You’ve never been held like this, talked to like this, no one in your life has ever searched for your boundaries on their own quite like this, with sex or otherwise and you know suddenly with perfect truth what this night is going to be. 

You nod, and then you smile, “Can I talk now?” 

 “Please,” 

“I’m on birth control,” You start off with the easiest answer, “and I’ve been tested since my last partner, so as long as you have too we can go without condoms,” 

“I have,” He nods immediately, “it’s been a while and that’s part of our regular health screenings,” 

“Good,” You let your arms relax now, resting your hands on his shoulders as you keep going, “so that’s one thing cleared up,” 

He smiles. 

“As for the rest,” You hold his gaze, “I liked how you talked to me on the phone very much,” 

He swallows hard. 

“I’m pretty sure I know what you’re asking,” You let your thumb rub over the pulse point in his neck, “so let me be clear, I like that. I like that you want to take control, and I like that you want to tell me what to do. Very much.” 

He nods, “And,” 

“I’m not the type to do something I don’t want to,” You promise him, knowing it’s as much of a promise to yourself after everything you’ve experienced in past relationships, “if something isn’t right for me, I’ll say it.” 

His shoulders relax under your touch, “Good,” 

“My guess though,” You nudge him, “is that we’re pretty compatible if the universe thinks so too,” 

“I thought so,” He murmurs appreciatively. 

You lean a little closer to him, and his arms slide around your back to hold you as you muster up the courage for the next part of answers to his questions, “For what I like,” you start, “let’s figure out the details together.” 

He nods. 

“For what I don’t like,” You tell him softly, “um,” your voice cracks a little with nerves and discomfort, a tone you were hoping to conceal at least for tonight. 

He watches you fumble over the words, a little crease between his brows as he tries to parse out what’s behind your tone, his thumb dragging a comforting line over your vertebrae. 

You sigh heavily and tell him your boundaries in a rushed breath, “Don’t pull my hair too hard, and if I’m ever using my mouth on you, just tell me before you move, alright? We can figure the rest out as we go,” 

His expression smooths, and his eyes study yours with the start of a question. You didn’t want to go here, not for a while, but something about your connection with him or maybe even just his earnestness makes you tell him more than you ever normally would.

 Again, as he always seems to, he senses the sudden tension in your chest and simply nods before touching your cheek gently, “Anything else?” 

You shake your head. 

He watches you carefully, his touch soft, and then with easy comfort he finds a question, “Do you want to tell me?”

There’s no demand in it, no insistence, only the offer of an outstretched hand, a listening ear. The momentary tightness relaxes inside you and you shake your head, “Not tonight,” 

He wants to ask more, you can see it, but your past sexual experiences no matter how clumsy or good or borderline traumatic should have no space in your night here with him. He’s worried though, you can see that too. 

It’s quiet for a beat as you take that in, and he nudges you gently, “You okay?” 

“Mhm,” You nod, “I promise, but let’s not talk about it tonight,” 

“Alright,” He draws you close, a soft kiss to your lips. 

You return the kiss warmly, pressing the promise of later honesty into your intention and he nods, reading you with ease. 

“Yunho,” You murmur as you part, “I do want it to be tonight,” 

“You do?” He confirms, hand sliding up and down your bare back. 

“I want this,” You cup his cheek, “I want us, and I don’t want to wait anymore,” 

“Say that again,” He lets your words from a moment ago fade, focusing on what you’re telling him now. 

“I want this,” You pull at his t-shirt again, restless energy creeping its way back into your body. 

“Not that,” He dismisses, “the other thing,” 

You know just what he wants to hear, but you play dumb for just a moment, “I don’t want to wait anymore?” 

His hand tightens on your backside, “y/n,” 

“Us,” You smile, “I said I want us,” 

“That’s it,” He kisses your smile, “I like the sound of that,” 

“I want us.” You repeat for him, lips to his, “Now, please, will you take me to bed and make me yours? Or do I have to beg?” 

He groans, “Let’s go to bed,” 

“So easy,” You tease him, sliding off his lap and reaching for him. 

He pushes himself off the couch but slides his hand into yours and tugs you close again, “I’ll make you beg another time,” 

Your stomach flip flops, arousal spiking through you and he smirks at your dazed expression. 

“Cute,” He taps your nose and steps towards the stairs, “you’re sure?” 

You’re about to protest again, a heavy sigh brewing in your gut, but he clears his throat and continues. 

“On tour,” His eyes shift to the floor for a moment, “I know you were anxious about us, and we talked about waiting. I’ll… I know I want you, and I’m going to keep wanting you. I can wait if that’s what you need, we can date,” 

The one good thing about the tour and all your sleepless nights was how long you had to think about this, about him. Your initial panic and fear over logistics and what-ifs had faded in days. He’s here, standing in your apartment, so you trust your gut, and you trust fate, and decide for once in your life to let someone in. 

You step close and pull him towards you, “Yunho, I don’t want to date,” 

His eyes flick to yours, his irises dark, “You don’t,” 

“I said I want us,” You take his hands in yours and direct them to your hips, “I know what that means,” 

His eyes study yours for a moment, and then he sighs, “Good,” he pulls you up into his hold and crashes your lips together. 

This time there’s nothing between you, no schedules or secrets, no indecision or questions keeping you from letting go. With both eyes open you’re diving into each other, and nothing in the world could stop you from tying yourself to him tonight, body and soul. 

You feel him shift on the landing as you kiss, and you pant a single word against his mouth, “Bed,” 

He nods, stumbling up a few steps without breaking your lips apart, one of his hands secure on the railing to guide him upwards. 

You giggle as he tips to the side and rights himself, leaning back and looking down to see how far up he managed to get you both, “Let me down,” 

He eases you to your own step. 

“Get up here,” You tug his hand and take the familiar steps to your loft bed as quickly as you can, dragging him behind you the whole way. 

Once you hit the landing you take your hand back and start unbuttoning your jeans, but you stop at the sound of a soft thump and Yunho’s soft curse under his breath. 

Turning you realize the issue, he’s too tall for your landing’s slanted ceiling, and he must have bumped his head on the way up to your bedroom. You laugh sharply, covering your lips to stifle the sound, “Sorry,” you grin, “are you okay?” 

“Fine,” He rubs the spot, but shakes it off. 

You turn back to the bed and tug the downy comforter open, “You’re too tall, when we get our own place we’ll get high ceilings,”

Something warm floods your chest and then he’s on you again. Yunho spins you around and dips to kiss you, only this time there’s an edge to it, a neediness. He walks you back until your knees hit the edge of the mattress, and then he wraps his arms around you and pushes you down in one smooth motion. 

Yunho slots himself between your thighs, and you hitch your legs onto his hips as he presses you into the mattress with hungrier and hungrier kisses. 

His lips travel over your jaw, your throat, “You said when,” 

“Hmm?” Your brain feels cottony and light already and you turn your head just a little to hear him again. 

His hand drags down to the top of your jeans, tugging at the zipper, “You said when, not if,” 

“Yunho,” You smile, gasping as his teeth nip at your throat, “we’re about to tie ourselves together for life, did you think I haven’t thought about living with you?” 

He groans, “You’re perfect,” 

You thread your fingers through his hair, “So are you,” 

He tugs artlessly at the top of your pants and sighs, “Need these off,” 

“Take them off me,” You relax your legs, and he shifts back to stand, looping his thumbs in your belt loops so that when he tugs your jeans, they slide off in one smooth motion and drop to the floor. 

“Oh,” He says softly, getting a good look at your now bare legs and the lines of ink that cover so many inches of your skin, “wow,” 

You’ve never been self conscious about your tattoos before, not like this, and you find yourself letting your legs fall closed, “Oh?” 

”I didn’t realize you had more,” He comments but his expression softens into a smile, “they suit you,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mm,” His hands slide up and down the plush curve of your thighs, “later you can tell me all about them,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly. 

“Right now though,” He pushes your legs back open and drops back over you, slotting your bodies together and capturing your lips. 

You sigh pleasantly against his lips, wrapping your limbs around him and drawing him closer, and when his hips drop just enough for your core to press firmly against the front of his jeans you moan. 

Yunho groans, his hands wandering. 

You roll your hips, pressing yourself more firmly against the hard bulge of his clothed cock, “S-shirt off,” you pant, tugging at the fabric. 

He reaches back with one hand and grabs the back of his t-shirt and tugs, yanking it free with ease with only the briefest interruptions to your locked lips. When he presses closer to you this time, your bare chest is pressed against his. 

Your brain feels like dizzy stars, like someone picked you up and turned you around in endless circles until you couldn’t help but stagger in his direction, falling over yourself to hold onto him. His hips thrust gently, pushing his hardness insistently at your cunt and you moan into his mouth, your hot breath mingling together in panting sighs. 

“Yunho,” You whine, your core pulsating with need. 

“Yes, pretty girl?” He smiles against your lips, his hand skimming over the curve of your breast, down your side to anchor on your hip. 

You can’t wait anymore, if you do you might combust, and you reach between your bodies to tug at his belt buckle. 

He huffs a laugh, “Yeah?” 

“Please,” You work the leather loop free, “I’m way more naked than you,” 

“Patience,” He nips at your lip. 

His button is open with a frantic tug of your fingers, then his zipper, “I’ve been patient,” you push at his jeans, “baby, please, I need you,” 

“I need you too,” He balances himself on one hand braced on the bed, shimmying out of his pants, and you hook your fingers in the elastic of his boxer briefs to push at those too. 

“Please,” You find yourself begging so easily at the thought of this man pushing inside you. 

“Relax,” He kisses your forehead, tapping your hand out of the way so he can take off his own underwear, “I got it,” 

You ease back on the bed, but between the space of your bodies you watch him. Your mouth runs dry when he’s finally bare for you, and your heartbeat starts to pick up. 

The size of him is intimidating to say the least. He’s long, at least nine or ten inches if you were guessing, but what’s more is how thick he is. His cock is heavy, the kind you’d see in porn and wonder how the women on screen could take it. You can see every vein, the way it stands perfectly straight, the velvety mushroom head already dark pink and slick with the first few beads of precum. 

Yunho settles back above you, his hot, thick length resting on the top of your pubic mound, only the thin cotton of your panties keeping you from feeling him fully. 

”God,” You breathe, still taking him in, “I hope you’re good at foreplay,” 

He squeezes your hip, “We’ll take it slow,” 

You nod, still fixated on the sight of him between your legs, and you try not to think about how far up your stomach his cock comes and what that means for when he tries to put it inside you. Instead you focus on the fact that he’s yours, “We were made for each other right?” You joke softly, “I can take you,” 

He smooths your hair back and tilts your head up, finding your eyes, “We’ll go slow,” he reiterates, “have you ever been with someone my size? Or used any toys like that?” 

For all the sex you’ve had, his question makes you feel a bit like a blushing virgin and you shake your head. 

Something flashes in his eyes, and you feel the twitch of his cock against you. 

“You like that?” You bite the inside of your lip to keep from teasing him too much. 

He brushes past your question, “Let me warm you up,” 

Easy relief blooms in your chest, your muscles starting to relax, and he settles his body over you properly to take you right back into a tender kiss. You can feel him hard and present between you, but he distracts you with open mouthed kisses, his hands exploring you slowly until your hips are twitching on their own. 

You’re dripping wet, there’s no way you’re not soaking through the thin fabric of your panties, but his kisses continue like that’s the last thought in his mind. He makes his way across your jaw, sliding lower down your body as he lavishes attention on your neck, over the jut of your collarbones, across the smooth plane of your chest and tops of your breasts. 

“Oh, yes,” Your voice is breathy as he slides even lower in the bed between your thighs, his mouth skimming over the swell of your tits, ghosting past your nipples. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, hands cupping your chest and drawing your breasts together, his teeth sink into his lower lip at the sight. 

“Y-yeah?” Your hips arch beneath him, “You like me?” 

A smile tugs at his lips, one hand sliding up to your cheek as he looks up, “I more than like you, y/n,” 

Your breath is caught in your throat, your heart quickening in your chest. 

Yunho smiles a little at that, feeling the echo of your emotions himself, and then he dips his face to kiss your chest again. This time his lips travel in a smooth, reverent line down your sternum until you feel his breath against your looped tattoo. 

Pleasure sparks inside you and you moan softly, one of your hands threading into the back of his hair. 

He hums pleasantly, and then kisses your mark. 

“Yunho,” You sigh, heat flooding your body. 

He kisses you again, pressing a peck to each of the four corners of the knotted diamond, before centering another again and pouring every ounce of his feeling into it through the link. This time, he murmurs what you already know against your skin, “I love you,” 

Tears gather in your eyes, the feeling spilling over into you so all encompassing that it fells you. You tremble in his arms, your eyes locked to the white ceiling above you as you try desperately to steady yourself in the wave of emotion and sensation. 

His kisses start to travel lower, and your fingers card through his hair, “Y-Yunho, I,” 

“Shh,” He shakes his head, lips moving down over your belly as he shifts lower, “just relax,” 

A little piece of you wants to protest, wants to tell him that you love him too, but he settles between your thighs and slides your legs open wider to accommodate his broad shoulders, and every coherent thought flutters right out of your brain. 

Yunho kisses your inner thigh, easing himself into the perfect position, and then he wraps his arms around your hips under your splayed thighs, one hand braced on your rib cage and the other closing over your abdomen. 

His nose gently, gently nuzzles against your clothed mound and you hear him breathe you in. 

You shudder, moaning softly, your hand finding his hair once again. 

“I’ll take good care of you,” He murmurs low, kissing your cunt, “I love you so much,” 

“Oh,” Your breath catches as he tastes you through the fabric of you underwear, “p-please,” 

His hand on your abdomen shifts, and he reaches between your thighs to tug your underwear to one side, hooking it under his thumb to hold it in place. You gasp as his warm breath caresses your slit, your hand sliding to brace his shoulder. 

“I got you,” He soothes you, his free hand sliding up and down on your ribs, “I promise,” 

A needy sound stutters from your throat. 

At the first swipe of his tongue through your slick folds, Yunho groans and you start to tremble properly in his hold. It feels like liquid fire, better than any touch you’ve ever felt, partner, toy, or or own fingers. Yunho’s lips, his tongue, each little brush of his fingers, every bit of him feels like it was divined for you, and you won’t last a minute. 

“Feel good?” He checks, sliding his tongue through your lower lips again. 

“Incredible,” You pant, your hips canting to try and catch more sensation, “I, I c-can’t,” 

He chuckles, the vibrations running straight up your body, “You taste like heaven, baby,” 

Moaning, you grip down on his shoulder. 

“Mm,” He dives in properly, nestling close and all but kissing your cunt, “god,” 

His tongue drives any coherent thoughts out of your head as he gets the feel for your body, the firm tip sliding over your clit and making you jolt under his hands. 

“Y-yes,” You manage, nodding into the pillows. 

“Here?” He breathes, flicking your swollen clit again. 

“Oh, yes, god,” You grip the sheets. 

He hums, his hands tightening on your skin, and then he closes his lips over your bud and sucks. 

“Oh!” You arch back, hand flying up to catch his head and brace yourself, “Fuck, fuck,” 

He stays steady this time, sucking and lapping at you in a perfect rhythm, holding you in place as he finds the perfect combination to have you scrambling in the sheets. 

“Baby,” You moan, the word turning into a heady whine. 

He groans against you, dragging you tighter to his mouth with a flex of his arms. Your head spins as you slide down the mattress, a bubble of taut pleasure building inside you fast and hot. 

“Please,” You moan, your back arching as he delivers a sharp suck. 

His broad hand slides up from its place anchored on your side to cup your breast, and you look down to watch him move. His fingers deftly find your nipple, twisting and pinching gently, and as he takes a breath between licks and sucks to your dripping cunt, his eyes flash up and meet yours. 

A smile flicks across his wet face, and your eyes roll as you collapse back into the bedding to let him work. 

“That’s it,” He huffs as he sucks in another breath, tongue diving back inside you, pulsing and thrusting. 

Your thighs start to shake, your body jerks on its own, and he finds the perfect tempo to take you through - his thumb swiping sharply over your nipple back and forth, his mouth working you up higher and higher with a sustained pressure. 

The bubble of pleasure arcs up your spine and then settles back down, low in your belly, and you gasp sharply, “God, oh, god,” 

He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t change a single thing, he stays steady and that brings you right up to the very edge. 

“I’m,” Your eyes snap shut, your body shuddering, “I’m, c-coming, Yunho, I’m… baby, I’m,” 

He moans through your babbled pleas, and then you break apart beneath him. Your orgasm crashes into you like a wall of heat, and your body wrenches up tight into fits and starts, legs snapping shut around his ears, fingers knotted in his hair, your free hand braced on the wall behind you as your body jerks itself in rolling grinds against his eager mouth. 

He eases you through it, transitioning from sucks to lazy licks with the flat of his tongue, until you’re boneless and melted under him, your legs falling slack open as your eyes stay unfocused on the ceiling. 

“Okay,” His low voice comes back to you, and you feel his hands smoothing over your trembling thighs, a kiss to your knee, “that’s it,” 

A shiver runs through you, your body suddenly cold at the lack of contact and you take in a sharp breath. 

“I got you,” He shifts over your legs, crawling up the bed so he can collapse along your one side, and he wraps you up in his arm. 

His cheeks are pleasantly pink, hair a chaotic haystack, his mouth is still glistening from your slick wetness, and he grins down at you breathlessly, “Hey,” 

“H-hi,” You sigh. 

“Feeling good?” He cups your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. 

You nod, relaxing into his touch, “Mhm,” 

“Good,” He presses a warm kiss to your forehead and draws you into him to let you recover. 

You melt into his touch, cheek to chest. 

Yunho brushes his fingers up and down your spine and gets his own breath back. 

After a few more moments, you sigh, shaking out the post-orgasm haze and kiss his skin, “I’d say I’m warmed up now,” 

He huffs a laugh into your hair, “Eager,” 

“Aren’t you?” Your hand slides over his bare side. 

“I am,” He squeezes you.

Feeling starts to come back into your body and you smile, wriggling in his arms until you’re in a better position and able to follow his earlier lead. You nip gently at his chest and pepper him with kisses, and you smile when you hear his contented sigh and pleased hum. His fingers slide up and down your back as you try to give him a taste of every sensation he gave to you. 

At his mark, you follow his kisses exactly, and you feel him twitch, his hard length pressing into your belly where you have his cock trapped between your bodies. 

You linger here a moment, “You feel that?” 

At your punctuated kiss against his soul mark he sighs, “I can feel you,” 

You nod, nuzzling into him, “You’re mine,” 

“Completely,” 

“I’m yours,” You murmur, promising him the same. 

“Mine,” He breathes. 

Your kisses travel lower as you work your way down the smooth plane of his abdomen, his muscles twitching under your lips, but as you settle yourself over his hips and work your mouth closer and closer to the base of his cock he shifts under you. 

“Hey,” He catches your hands, closing them in his own, “I’m fine,” 

“I want to,” You smile, a tender kiss to the underside of his shaft before you let your tongue trace up the seam of his thick member. 

He gasps, hips twitching, but he shakes his head, “Wait, wait,” 

You pull back immediately and look up, a swirl of feelings knotting in your gut, “What?” 

He swallows hard and slides his hands up your arms, hooking under your upper arms so he can tug you back up to lie next to him eye to eye, “Not tonight,” 

“I want to make you feel good,” Your hand snakes between you, searching for him. 

“You do,” He sighs as your hand closes around him, “you are, but after what you said,” 

It feels like a bucket of cold water and your hand falls away from his cock. You hate your ex so much for being anywhere near your head at this moment with this man, but he is. He never hurt you, but the way he pressured you and pushed you into things you weren’t ready for has been an ever present shadow in your sex life even now, years and multiple partners later. 

Yunho kisses your lips and tries to keep his tone light, “Another time,” he tells you, “I don’t want to hurt you,” 

“It’s not,” You fumble over your words again, “it’s not bad, I’m alright, I want to,” 

He smiles and shakes his head, “I’d be more comfortable,” 

That takes the wind right out of your sails, and you sink into him, “Oh,” 

“You want to make me feel good?” He asks. 

You nod. 

His hand slides down your arm, drawing your own hand to his aching cock, and he closes your fingers around it, “Touch me, then, we’ll have time for the rest later,” 

He’s hot in your hand and you take in the weight of him as you slide your fist up and down to explore him. 

He groans, “Again,” 

You pump your hand once more, base to tip, rolling your wrist experimentally this time as you work his tip. Leaving any thoughts of the past behind, you focus on him entirely. 

“You’re s-so good at this already,” He sighs, “just like that,” 

Your bodies shift to accommodate, he cuddles you closer with one arm wrapped around you and your legs tangled together, and slowly you start to learn his body too. The way he twitches as your fist drops down to the base and squeezes, his gasp when your knuckle brushes up over the seam of his cockhead. His eyes blow wide when your thumb collects a bead of precum to rub up and down his shaft, and he moans when your fingers tighten and release. 

His free hand snakes between your bodies, finding your slippery center again like he’s been touching you for years. 

“Oh, Yunho,” You part your thighs. 

He groans, eyes slipping closed for a moment, “You’re so wet,” 

You moan as he slides his fingers lower, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. 

“Needy,” He murmurs. 

You do your best to focus on him, but the pressure of his fingers at your wet opening has you jerking your hips. Your hand tightens on his shaft and he sucks in a sharp breath, nodding. His cock feels so right in your hand, thick and pulsing, and you shiver, “I should have known you’d be huge,” you giggle against his shoulder. 

He smirks, “Yeah?” 

“You’re tall,” You start. 

He pulls his fingers back away from your pussy, dragging the pads of his fingertips over your clit as he does and you moan, a whiny needy sound from the center of your throat. 

“Not all tall guys,” He starts to say but you pump your hand just right and he curses. 

“Mm,” You slide closer to him if at all possible, “but you’re big everywhere,” 

You punctuate your words with a gentle tease of his cockhead, the pad of your thumb rubbing a circle into the seam that made him pant before, and he twitches, his eyes rolling. 

He swallows tightly and smiles, “Am I?” 

“Mhm,” You nip his chest lightly with your teeth, pumping your hand again nice and slow, “big feet, big hands…” 

“Been thinking a lot about my hands, sweetheart?” He teases, dragging his nails lightly up and down your thigh. 

“Shut up,” You duck your face, planning to double down your efforts on his cock, but he pushes your hand away and rolls you smoothly onto your back. You drop back with a squeak, your eyes flying up to his. 

“You have,” He teases, sliding his palm down your body, a slow and torturous pace on the path to your cunt once again. 

“Maybe,” 

”Fantasizing about my fingers?” His voice is low, warm in his chest, and he slowly presses his middle finger over your clit. 

“Oh, fuck,” Your head drops back, eyes finding the ceiling once again only this time Yunho makes a soft noise, his tongue against his teeth and he shakes his head. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” He murmurs, his fingers rocking gently over your swollen bud. 

You are a little, but there’s something in his tone that tells you he likes it and you think about the way his eyes flashed at the idea of being your first partner his size. With every little touch you’ve been figuring him out, and this suddenly feels like he’s allowing himself to want you in the way he needs. If he wasn’t so good at pressing all your buttons you’d try to tease him again, but when you meet his eyes and see the heat behind them, all you can do is melt. 

His next words leave you breathless, “I fantasize about you,” 

“Y-you do?” 

“All the time,” He nods, his hand between your thighs getting bolder as he explores your wet folds. 

“Please,” Your hips arch as the tips of his fingers pass over your entrance again. 

“Oh baby,” He groans, and you feel his hard cock twitch against your thigh, “you need it?” 

You nod, reaching down to find his wrist, tugging him to communicate while your head feels so full of fuzzy pleasure. 

“Fuck it,” He bites his lip as he looks down at you squirming in the sheets, “I’ll tease you later,” 

“Thank g-,” The words die on your lips, punched out of you when he slides two of his impossibly long fingers deep into your cunt in one push. 

He doesn’t wait for you to beg this time, with his eyes glued to your every expression, he reads your pleasure and starts to pulse his hand, pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering core with strong, steady strokes. 

“Yes, yes,” Your legs widen, and you collapse into his shoulder, “oh my god,” 

His fingers feel thick and warm in your cunt, crooked just right to reach spots you could only hit with toys, and even then the feeling of those pale in comparison to him. 

“I knew you’d feel good,” He pushes your legs open wide with his free hand, “can’t wait to have you wrapped around my cock,” 

Pleasure arcs up your spine and you moan, your hand flying to his bicep and gripping down hard, “Fuck,” 

He presses a kiss to your shoulder as he adjusts his position and in torturously slow pumps of his hand, he starts to work you open. He scissors his fingers wide as draws them out, and when you feel him push in a third finger as deep as he can go, you shudder against the sheets. 

“So tight,” He murmurs, the words sounding like praise on his lips, “you’re squeezing my fingers, pretty girl,”

Your cunt clenches in response and he chuckles. 

“Exactly like that,” He smiles and thrusts his fingers in and out again, increasing his pace as your breath starts to quicken. 

“Y-Yunho,” You jerk against him, the bubble of a building orgasm once again gathering low in your gut and you scramble in the sheets until you’re legs are open as wide as possible, one leg hitched over his. You can’t stop watching him now, the lean muscle of his arm, the way the tendons in his forearm twitch with his movements. Pushing up on your forearms you catch sight of his index, middle, and ring fingers gathered tightly together, glistening with your wetness as they plunge in and out of your fluttering cunt. 

“So beautiful,” He groans, kissing your temple and wrapping his free arm around your back to adjust to the position change, giving his arm enough leverage that he can keep thrusting in and out. 

You moan at the heady sensation of his fingers at your g-spot, hips pushing down into his hand. 

“Want you to come again,” He says hotly against your hair.

 You nod, heels digging into the mattress as your body jerks, needily meeting each stroke of his fingers with your hips. 

“Tell me,” He says. 

“H-harder,” You beg him, sensation cascading through you, “harder, baby, please,” 

“God, yes,” He adjusts, and suddenly you’re pinned back to the mattress flat on your back, one of Yunho’s broad hands stretched wide on your sternum to pin you in place as he fucks you open with the other. 

Perfect, almost painful pleasure has your eyes slamming shut and a desperate whine on your lips, “Oh, oh, oh,” each push in of his fingers punches out a breathy moan, your pussy fluttering as he draws you up to the peak. 

“Tell me you’re close,” He pants, “I want to hear it,” 

Your nerve endings light up, your body arching under the hard press of his hand, “I’m so close, I’m so f-fucking close,” 

“Come for me, baby,” 

Your nails dig into his thigh, the pressure mounting inside you, “Again,” you manage, begging for more. 

His fingers curl, just a little more, “Come,” he says it again, only this time his tone is sharper, deeper and more direct. It’s not a question, not a wish or a hope, it’s a command. 

Your free hand claps over your mouth, stifling a moan and you bite down on the fleshy heel of your hand to keep from screaming. 

“Come,” He holds you steady, “that’s it, let go, let it all go, baby,” 

Your body erupts into ecstatic shakes, pleasure rolling through in wave after wave, but all you can do is let it. 

“Just like that,” He groans, “fuck yes,” 

This time, as your orgasm starts to abate, he doesn’t kiss you tenderly or wrap you up for a cuddle, this time he’s just as frantic as you are. 

“I need you,” He pants, his body over top of yours once again, “y/n, fuck,” 

You blink hard, still a trembling mess, and you see his own desperate expression. His cheeks are pink, brow slick with sweat, pupils dilated with desire as he opens your legs and crowds you with his body. 

“T-talk to me,” He manages, his hand directing his weeping cock to your throbbing entrance, “tell me you still want this,” 

“I want this,” You reach for him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him closer, “I want you,” 

“God,” He’s shaking, his body taut like a rubber band about to snap, and somewhere inside you you can feel the amount of self control he’s exhibiting just to go slowly. 

You moan sharply when his tip drags over your throbbing clit. 

“You’re so wet,” He pants, watching between your bodies as he slicks the head of his cock between your folds. 

“For you,” You breathe, your head feeling cottony. 

“So pretty,” The head of his cock nudges against your entrance and you shiver. 

Need sparks through you, “Please,” you tug at his hip, just a little and he smiles. 

“Tell me if I need to stop,” He manages, his weight collapsing a little as he slowly starts to push his hips forwards. 

You gasp as you start to feel him, your cunt still swollen and pulsing from two back to back orgasms, and his eyes snap up. 

Yunho watches your face carefully as he moves, his body strung tight as he tries to hold onto a thread of composure. It feels normal at the start, but as he pushes in past the head, you feel yourself start to stretch wide in a way you’ve never experienced and your breath starts to quicken. 

“Oh, fuck,” You look between your bodies, watching his slow sink into your wet heat, and swallow tightly at just how much of him is left to take. 

“You okay?” He asks breathlessly.

“Uh-huh,” You manage, “I can feel everything, but god, don't stop,”

He hisses, gripping your thigh with his free hand, fingers still slick with your juices, fighting the urge to lose himself. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his eyes flicking over the expression of tight pleasure on your face.  

“Don’t you dare pull out,” You grip down on his shoulders and roll your hips roll a bit, taking him in another inch, “you feel so good,” 

He lets out a heady breath, and moves in just a bit more, “Yeah?” 

“Never felt anything this good,” You moan as he pushes in further, your walls fluttering and clamping around his hot length. 

He rolls his hips this time, just a little experiment to drag himself in and out without fucking into you fully, and he moans when your muscles lock pleasantly around him, “God, you really were made for me,” 

“Yours,” You say it like a vow, and in a strange way somewhere in the back of your mind you know it is. A dizzy promise in an almost marriage bed as your bodies sink together. 

His breath hitches, cock shifting inside you, his head dropping so that you’re forehead to forehead, “And yours,” he agrees softly. 

Your body feels hot suddenly, hotter than before, everything a hazy glow in the dim lighting of your bedroom. You feel all at once like you’re in the moments before a wave, the sudden suck back of the water with all the sand slipping away from underneath your feet, leaving you unsteady and sinking into the earth. Your ears catch with a dull ring. 

Your breath is comes quickly now, warmth flushing your chest and cheeks, and your nails tighten on his skin, “Yunho,” 

He adjusts to meet your gaze, and you realize he’s feeling exactly what you are, the thrumming sensation of it all but swirling around you in the air. He blinks hard, “I’m.. I need,” 

You understand him without words, you know exactly what he needs because you need it too. Through the fog of sensation, you pull lightly on his shoulders and hitch your calves on his hips, drawing him in deeper, “Please,” 

His hips drop, seating himself just a little more and you moan at the stretching sensation. He’s holding himself back, clinging to the one clear thought that he promised he’d take care of you, but his resolve is crumbing apart before your eyes. 

“Yunho,” You cup his cheek, begging him with your expression to let go, “I need you,” 

He swallows hard, his chest flushed red, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. 

The words flood out of you, a whispered confession just for him, “I love you, please,” 

He exhales in a rush, a wide smile breaking across his face, his eyes shining, and without any more hesitation he thrusts forwards and sinks his full length inside you. 

You moan sharply, wrapping your arms around him as he drops his body down on yours, sweat slick skin pressed flush together. The hot dizziness grows, and he finds your lips, moaning against your mouth as he kisses you hard. Your bodies start to move in sync, a tandem push and pull as he rolls into the cradle of your hips, your breath tangled together as you rock in the sheets. 

Yunho leans his forehead against yours, pumping his hips slow and firm, “I love you,” 

The sensation grows, filling the air around you and a chill rushes up your spine, the hair on your arms standing up at attention, the magnetic pull between your bodies so forceful you don’t think a single thing in the world could drag you away from him. Emotion rocks through the link, and then all at once you feel it snap into place. 

Your tattoo burns, the brand igniting just like when you touched his cheek for the first time, and you suck in a sharp breath. Yunho’s hips stutter in pace, sinking himself deep until your bodies are nestled together with every inch of him buried inside you. 

He’s breathing heavy, arms wrapped tight around you, hands trembling, “I can feel you,” he leans up an inch, smoothing your hair back from your face, “you’re,” 

His words die on his lips but he touches his chest and you nod, you feel him too. One single heartbeat, one breath. The link before was nothing, a mere echo of this, a blurry photograph now sharply in focus, and you reach up to brush your fingers along his cheek, his lips, a ghost of the sensation along your own face. 

“How is this real?” Tears prick at your eyes. You’ve seen the movies, read the books, you’ve talked to people who have found their soulmates before, but nothing could have prepared you for this. You feel him inside you as if he were a part of you, his skin your skin, his emotions, even the shape of his thoughts.  

You understand all at once why people say it’s possible to die of a broken heart. If you ever lost him, lost this… 

“I’m here,” He interrupts your internal spiral, dipping to press a kiss to your lips, “I’m not going anywhere,” 

“How did you,” You shake your head in strange awe of the feeling, “what is this?” 

“I don’t know,” He kisses you again, “I just knew, I felt it,” 

Tears spill over, snaking back into your hairline, and you press your palm to his chest, sliding down over his tattoo. Words fail you, all you can feel is the overwhelming breadth of your souls together. How could anyone live without this, how could anyone believe this isn’t real?

“Don’t cry,” He soothes, wiping the tears from your temples with his thumb. 

“I’m happy,” You manage, finding his eyes again, “Yunho, I’m so happy,” 

He grins, his breath catching in his throat as he lets his forehead rest on yours again and he nods, “Me too,” 

His love thrums through you, tangible and solid, a truth you didn’t know you could have. You’re grinning too now, an elated laugh on your lips as you wrap your arms around him, “Fuck,” you thread your fingers in his hair, nuzzling into him, “you love me,” 

“So much,” He confesses quietly, “I didn’t know I could love someone like this,” 

“Me too,” You press your lips to his, sighing into him, “I love you too,” 

The kisses feel like his love actualized, nothing more true than his mouth, his need, and yours reflected back in the mirror of his desire. You moan as another wave of heat floods through you, and Yunho shudders.

For a moment, there’s nothing more to say, tangled together in your bed in the middle of Seoul, time seemingly standing still just for you. Tightly locked together, you both start to move again. Each slow pump of his hips down is met with an upward roll of yours, his cock slowly stroking in and out of your pulsing center, your arms wrapped around each other as you pant and moan. 

You crumble apart together, still deep beneath the dizzy waves, his mouth hot against your ear as he releases inside you, your cunt fluttering and spasming around him, drawing him in, holding him inside.

**this part was too long for tumblr's new word count guidelines! please check out the second half of this part, here!

[webslingingslasher]

j! its been so long but omg hi

i was super obsessed with ur frat!peter hows he doing?

i just saw a tiktok that was about a frat boy yelling at a party “if youre not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!” has this been brought up in the frat!peter circle?

i have so many scenarios in my mind like at the different stages! when they first started and trouble isnt super stable in the relationship and she goes to head out but peter (or ethan omg) grabs her arm and hes like ur part of that demographic trouble. im melting 🫠

or when theyre like broken up/taking a break and she goes to leave and peter goes all sad puppy dog eyes :((

omg yes queen::

*a little something ya'll can wake up to. <3

---

'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'

you hold in a sigh, the party's over. ally won't make it home with you tonight, she ditched you thirty minutes ago to 'go with matty,' aka, you won't see her again until tomorrow.

you glance down at your drink and debate chugging it, if you do you know you'll leave with a woozy stomach. you take two sips and dump the cup in the kitchen trash, it sends two empty beer cans falling, you shrug at the mess and keep walking.

a girl stumbles into your shoulder and profusely apologizes with tears in her eyes, you keep telling her it's okay but she doesn't let it go until her boyfriend nudges her out of the house.

the house music cuts, any stragglers were just seriously kicked out. you follow the crowd and prepare for the cold walk home, a hand loops around your upper arm before you can get through the threshold.

'where do you think you're going?' you turn around and grin at your friend. 'home? where are you going?'

'also home. i'm just waiting for everyone to clear out first.' ethan pulls you away from the dwindling party. 'you know, brother duties.' he sends a wink your way, you nod along like you understand.

'yeah, but i'm not a brother so i don't think i should help with that.'

ethan stops you again. 'parker is a brother, yes?' he is. he's also not there tonight. something about going to queens being more important than the typical friday night party. 'he is.'

'and you're fucking him, right?' you love when ethan has a little liquor in him. 'i am.'

'okay, so then you fit the requirements. hang back with me and we can go to my place together.' it's not a hard sell but you'll act like it is. 'are you sure? peter's not even here, do those rules still apply?'

'i'm a god damn chapter officer, i get to make the rules and it's everyone else's job to follow them. how about that?' you pat ethan's shoulder, you're not arguing one bit.

'can't fight you on that, can i? you twisted my arm good enough, lorax. i'm yours until peter gets home.' ethan holds out his hand, you shake it like it's a business deal.

'good. he told me to make sure you stayed.' he says it with a wink, a gentle suggestion he wasn't supposed to tell you that but you're glad he did. it makes you warm thinking peter didn't want you to feel excluded, especially because he was missing in action tonight.

'well... i am fucking a brother, right?'

'you are. and you know what that means? you have to stay here after every party.' he says it like it's a bad thing but you can get used to being on an exclusive guest list.

it feels nice. so, ‘hell yeah.’

-- vs. after the breakup--

'if you're not a brother or fucking a brother, then get the fuck out!'

hearing it makes you sad. no one's going to make you stay or tell you that those exceptions still apply to you. ally gets to stay here and you have to tuck your tail between your legs and scoot out the door.

'i can leave with you.' your best friend is kind for offering, you're an even better friend for saying no. 'that's okay, stay with matt.'

'are you sure? you shouldn't have to walk out of here alone, that kinda blows.' it does and you don't like the reminder. you'd prefer if ally stays, actually. you don't want her pity.

'it's fine. beats the alternative, right?' she looks at you to say what the alternative is, you do it with a sigh. 'fucking peter. that's my other option.'

'who said it had to be peter? there's like forty guys in the frat and you're buddies with at least five, take your pick.' you've thought about it but frat boys, especially the ones from sig nu, make you queasy.

'it's fine, ally-cat. i'll walk back with one of the other girls in our dorm.' the same faces you see in the hallway at your dorm are gathering their stuff to leave, they'll have no issue with you tagging along. 'boo. i miss when we would have frat house sleepovers.'

'good. blame peter.'

'and i do. he hates to see me coming his way, he really does.'

another brother screams out the same line, you frown and decide to leave while you still have friends in eye-distance. when you reach the door you look behind one last time to send a wave to your best friend. ally sends one back and blows a kiss with it. you catch it and slam it to your cheek, she giggles, you grin. your eyes flit up to the stairs, someone's already watching you.

peter sends you a sorry smile, he hates that you don't get to stick around anymore either. you match his melancholy and give him a shrug, more like a 'whatcha gonna do?' vibe. rules are rules and you're no longer a fitting member for the requirements they need.

'you can stay.' peter mouths it, you pretend not to know what he just said. 'wait.' you're still pretending, you turn around and walk a little faster down the steps- peter catches you on the bottom step.

'i said you can stay.' you have no reason to stay behind. you're not a brother and you're no longer involved with one. you point to an imaginary watch on your wrist, 'i'm about to turn into a pumpkin.'

'yeah, you almost left a shoe running out of here so fast, cinderella.'

you grin, 'i'm just following the rules.'

peter wavers his stance, he doesn't care who said what- he wants you to hang around a little bit more. he likes seeing you around. 'you're still included. i mean, we're involved, aren't we?'

you look at him like he's crazy, you swear you see him blush before he starts fumbling over his words. 'i just meant that i'm not moving on and you're not moving on and i'm trying to get things back to how they were- no, wait, i'm trying to get things better than they were before. not that they were bad! well, i mean they were bad but not... trouble, help me out here, you know what i mean.'

you do. you just like ignoring it. 'you're cute when you grovel for me.'

'i'll get on my knees right fucking now.' he's not even drunk and he's willing to beg for you in front of his party goers. you have to hold in a smirk of pride. 'to ask me to stay or to convince me with your mouth?'

peter's eyebrows raise, 'if you're asking me to go down on you the answer is yes. it's very much a yes, my place or yours? fuck it, let's go to the bathroom.' you're halfway back inside before you realize what you started.

you rip your hand away from peter, you refuse to go back to what it was. you need more than a few apologies to make you crawl back into his bed, you need a real confession. 'nuh uh, not happening. not in a damn bathroom.'

'okay, that's fine, my place is closer.'

you have to stop yourself from following him a second time. 'no, wait! i meant no, it's not happening. period.'

'i don't care if you're on your period, i'll still do it. that's how committed i am to you.' you manage to keep from gagging at the visual, instead you shove peter's shoulder. 'ew! you're so gross! i'm not on my period, you dolt. i'm just not having sex with you.'

'cool, don't have sex with me, let me just show you i can still make you come in under five minutes.' he has no idea how tempting it is. you're being braver saying no than he is for asking, post-breakup included.

'go find another girl, i'm sure there's a whole line-up waiting to get picked on.' peter's nose wrinkles, he doesn't even think of it as a cheap shot. 'gross, other girls are icky.'

you shut it down. 'peter, i'm not a brother and i haven't touched you in two months. there's no reason for me to still be here, goodnight.' you try to leave, a whine follows behind you.

'but you're still-'

but you're not, no matter how much he says it.

'if you changed the rule to 'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or used to fuck a brother, then get the fuck out!' how many girls would stand around and wait on you?' peter looks at you, he doesn't say anything and silence always screams that you're right.

'mhm. rules are rules, goodnight.'

there's a sense of succeeding when all you get is a wistful goodbye behind you. it lasts until the next week when the routine friday night party comes to an end with the normal call.

'if you're not a brother, fucking a brother, or go by trouble, then get the fuck out!'

ally squeals and tells you 'that's you!' but you're too busy glaring at peter's smug face to celebrate. it's his turn to shrug, his mouth forms four words that fuck you over.

'rules are rules, trouble.' 

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 what letter? sirius, what letter?

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you never planned on talking to james ever again, not after your last encounter with him. Luckily Sirius saves the day.

an: omg last chapter, and its my fav.... hopefully this convinces some of y'all to watch anne with an e....I LOVE awae. ALSO!! i’m going to start writing all requests in my inbox, send some! i’m gonna start with the oldest then the more recent ones! also, im not ignoring your request if it takes a while😭 i’ll be writing then get stuck on what to do then move onto the next thing… bad habit but😭

Warnings: angst, fluff, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), another letter James wrote gets lost ayyyyy, literally that's all…

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

It was now June, the end of your final year at Hogwarts. The castle, which had been your home for the past seven years, seemed to hum with the bittersweet energy of goodbyes. If you had told your eleven-year-old self that you’d be leaving these halls without James, she would’ve been heartbroken—devastated, even.

Back then, you’d believed in the stories. You’d believed that the boy who made your heart race would be the one you’d leave Hogwarts with, hand in hand, ready to take on the world together. But life had a way of unraveling those childish dreams, weaving something far more complicated in their place.

James hadn’t spoken to you since that night—since you’d spilled your heart out and he’d told you to marry Finn. It wasn’t anger or malice that kept you apart, but a quiet, mutual understanding that too much had been said, and yet not enough to bring you back to where you were before.

You told yourself it was better this way.

Finn was everything a girl could hope for: kind, considerate, and endlessly patient. He never pressured you for answers when your mind drifted during a conversation, never asked why you’d go quiet whenever someone mentioned James. You were grateful for that. But as the end of term feast approached, with the prospect of leaving Hogwarts forever hanging over you, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything left unsaid.

James sat at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by his friends, but the usual Marauder energy was dampened. He’d won the Quidditch Cup, aced his N.E.W.T.s, and had offers from the most prestigious Quidditch teams waiting for him. By all accounts, he should’ve been ecstatic. But as he watched you sitting across the Great Hall, laughing softly at something Finn said, James felt hollow.

He’d told himself he was doing the right thing. That night in the common room, when you’d asked him if there was a chance for the two of you, he’d convinced himself that pushing you toward Finn was what you deserved. Stability. A future he couldn’t promise.

But watching you now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d made a mistake.

“Mate,” Sirius said quietly, nudging James with his elbow, “you’re staring again.”

James tore his gaze away, his jaw tightening. “I wasn’t staring,” he muttered, though his friends knew better.

“You’ve got one night left,” Sirius continued, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “If you’re going to do something about this, now’s your chance.”

James shook his head, laughing bitterly. “What am I supposed to do? Walk up to her, tell her I’m an idiot, and beg her to take me back? She’s with Finn now, Pads. She’s happy.”

“Is she?” Remus asked quietly, his eyes flicking to you. “Because from where I’m sitting, she looks like someone who’s convincing herself she’s happy.”

James didn’t respond for a while, this was his last chance of seeing her–he couldn’t lose her. 

“You're right. I’m going to see her tonight. I’ll tell her that I missed what she was trying to tell me!” James said, now in a bit of a better mood. 

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Once night fell, James made his way to your dormitory. He prayed no one but you would be there. Out of your four roommates, he only knew two, and he’d seen them sitting in the common room without you. That meant you had to be in your dorm, right?

The corridors were quiet but not empty. Most of the dormitory doors were open, with people wandering in and out. It didn’t take long for him to find your door—how could he forget it when he’d been inside so many times before?

James stepped in cautiously, but his heart sank when he realized the room was empty. You weren’t there. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. This was supposed to be it—the last time he’d ever get a chance to talk to you—and you weren’t even here.

His eyes wandered to your side of the room. It was unusually tidy, and most of your belongings were already packed away. The only things left were a few scattered pieces of parchment, a quill, an inkpot, and an envelope on the desk.

Before he even realized what he was doing, James sat down at your desk. His hand hovered over the parchment for a moment before he began to write, his thoughts spilling out faster than he could process them.

“Dear… (Y/N),” he murmured to himself as the words took shape. “I’m sorry... I was confused before. I’m not anymore. I love you. –James.

P.S. May I please... have Buddy back?”

James smiled faintly as he reread the last part. Buddy was the stuffed animal you’d gifted him on his birthday before you’d snatched it back after losing a bet. If things didn’t work out, at least he’d have something to remind him of what you two once had. Maybe he’d even pass it on to his future child—if he had one.

He quickly folded the note, wrote your name on it and placed it neatly on your desk. 

 ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

You’d spent almost the entire day with Finn, and at first, everything seemed fine. But, as always, the cracks begin to show, and yet another argument erupted.

“Do you not trust me?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended, though the bitterness behind it was impossible to hide.

“No, I don’t. No man would if they were in my place!” Finn shot back, his tone defensive, the edge in his words cutting deeper than he realized.

You scoffed, the sting of his accusation hitting harder than you wanted to admit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to stay away from James,” he said, his voice rising. “Someone told me they saw you two talking alone in a corridor. I know you used to be good friends, but you haven’t spoken in months. You’ve never told me why, so I can only assume the worst!”

“We stopped talking for a reason I don’t even understand myself!” you fired back, your frustration bubbling over, your voice shaking with the weight of the truth.

Finn’s expression darkened, his lips curling into a bitter frown. “Yeah, sure. I totally believe you. He definitely didn’t distance himself because he fancies you. He looks at you the way I do.”

His words were a gut punch, the weight of his jealousy and mistrust pressing down on you. For a moment, you stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, you decided you were done dancing around the truth.

“He doesn’t fancy me,” you said, your voice trembling, though you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “And I know that for a fact. Since you want honesty, fine. I dragged James out of that party. I told him…” You hesitated, but the words came spilling out before you could stop them. “I told him how much I love him. That I’d leave you if he wanted me to. And do you know what he said?”

Finn’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, so you pressed on, tears now streaming freely down your face.

“He told me you’re a great guy. That I deserve you. He didn’t even tell me he loved me back.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finn stood there, his expression unreadable, his jaw set like stone. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, hurt, or simply done. After what felt like an eternity, he turned on his heel and walked out without a word, leaving you alone in his empty dormitory.

You stood there for a moment, stunned, as the weight of what had just happened settled over you. Was this the end of whatever fragile future you’d tried to build with Finn? You didn’t know. All you knew was that the room felt stifling, the air too thick to breathe.

Wiping the tears from your cheeks, you pulled yourself together enough to leave. Sitting here, drowning in your own thoughts, wasn’t going to help. You needed air, a distraction—anything to stop the whirlwind in your mind.

The cool night air greeted you as you made your way to the Black Lake. The walk was long, but with every step, your nerves began to settle. The gentle lapping of the water and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze worked to quiet the storm in your head, if only for a little while.

As you stood by the Black Lake, the moonlight dancing across the rippling water, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep your emotions from unraveling. Finn's words echoed in your mind, but instead of providing any sense of resolution, they left you with a heavier burden of confusion and regret.

You had laid everything bare—your feelings for James, your failed attempt to move on with Finn—and now, for the first time in ages, you felt unmoored. The certainty you’d desperately tried to force, the future you envisioned with Finn, had shattered. All that remained were questions, unanswered and painful.

You closed your eyes, letting the cool breeze wash over you, as though trying to cleanse the ache that lingered in your chest. Your heart still aches for James, despite everything. But what was the point in holding onto hope? He had made his feelings—or lack thereof—clear. And now Finn, the only thread that had tied you to some semblance of stability, was slipping away too.

After what felt like an eternity of sitting there in solitude, you made your way back to Hogwarts. When you reached your dorm, you didn’t bother tidying the mess on your desk. The next person who would stay there would find scattered pieces of parchment, half-used ink, and a neglected quill—unless the house-elves came to clean and dispose of it all.

You opened your luggage, only to realize you’d packed everything, leaving no clothes behind for the night or morning. That’s when your eyes landed on the small stuffed bear. A wave of emotions washed over you at the sight of it. You wiped away the tears you hadn't even realized had been falling. Sniffling, you stood up and made your way to the washroom to shower, hoping the warm water would wash away at least some of the weight on your heart.

Once you were out of the shower, the thoughts continued to swirl in your mind. After a long pause, you decided to write to James. You didn’t think you could face him—not after he rejected you, not when your emotions were still raw and all over the place.

Dear James, Since we are parting ways, perhaps forever, I feel I must unburden my heart. You are the fond object of my affection and my desire.  You, and you alone, are the keeper of the key to my heart.  Please don’t be alarmed--I don’t expect your favor--but I can’t, in good conscience, not reveal myself.  I’m not engaged--nor will I be--unless, it’s to you, James.  It always has been and always will be you.

With love, (Y/N)

PS: Here’s Buddy, in case you want him. I don’t think I can keep him without crying whenever I see him.

As you finished the letter, you sat there, staring at the words that held every ounce of your vulnerability. Your hands trembled as you carefully folded the parchment and slid it into an envelope. For a moment, you hesitated. Doubts surged in your mind—was this the right thing to do? What if he never read it? What if this only made everything worse?

But deep down, you knew it was the only way to find closure. You couldn’t carry these feelings any longer, locked away inside. This letter wasn’t just for him—it was for you too, a way to finally release the emotions that had weighed you down for so long.

You reached for Buddy, the small stuffed bear that had once brought you so much comfort. Seeing him now only reopened old wounds, but at the same time, he reminded you of the love you had for James—the love you still had, even though it wasn’t returned. You hugged Buddy tightly one last time, letting a few tears fall before tucking him into the package with the letter.

You had considered waiting until morning to deliver it, but the thought of sleeping on it felt impossible. You needed to let go of this weight before you could rest. So, once all your roommates were asleep, you slipped out of the dorm and made your way to James' room. The dorm was empty, just as you'd expected. Whenever there was a holiday, the boys would often roam the grounds late into the night, returning well after curfew.

You placed the package—Buddy and the letter—gently on James' bed. You glanced around the room, the usually cluttered space now oddly quiet and foreign. Standing in it alone, you couldn’t shake the feeling of how much had changed. With a final, shaky breath, you turned and left, the door clicking softly behind you as you disappeared into the darkness.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

It was nearing three-thirty in the morning when the boys finally returned. Sirius stumbled in, clearly drunk beyond belief, while Remus went straight to the shower, and Peter collapsed into his bed, too tired to think. James, however, stood frozen in his doorway.

His eyes were locked on a small brown-covered package resting on his bed. Confusion washed over him as he approached. He quickly tore it open, finding a folded piece of parchment with his name written in your handwriting—and Buddy.

His chest tightened with anger. "Oh, really, (Y/N)? You couldn’t even face me? World class!" His voice was laced with frustration as his eyes flicked from the bear to the letter. All he could focus on was how you'd read his letter and now returned Buddy.

You actually gave Buddy back? He remembered you promising, no—vowing—never to part with it, no matter what. Yes, he'd asked for it, but this… this was more than just a simple request.

Without thinking, James ripped the letter apart. His fists clenched around the torn pieces as he made his way into the empty common room. In a fit of rage, he threw the scraps into the fire.

As the flames flickered, a sudden thought struck him, and his stomach dropped. “What if... oh, shit!” he muttered, cursing himself. What if you had come to speak to him, only to find he wasn’t in the dorm, and in desperation, wrote that letter? What if it was your way of telling him that you felt the same, that you regretted everything, and that you still cared?

But now, it was too late. The letter was gone, burned to ash.

James stood frozen, clutching the remaining pieces of the letter in his hands, the ink smudging as he frantically pieced together the broken words:

Parting ways... Don't... Heart... Finn... Engaged... Don't love... Alarmed... Not... Alone... Forever...

What was all of this? Engaged to Finn? You just met him, for Merlin’s sake! And why would you tell him that in the letter? Did you want to make him feel worse, to confirm that you had truly moved on?

The sound of a door creaking open snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Remus stepping into the room, his expression one of quiet surprise. With Sirius and Peter asleep, James saw no reason to keep this to himself any longer. Remus was always the one who could make sense of things, the one who could calm him down when nothing else could.

“Remus, don’t go back to sleep, please," James blurted, pacing in frustration. "I’ve got breaking news! That night at the party? Forget it. Turns out (Y/N) doesn’t love me after all. She wrote me a letter explaining it—and told me she’s engaged to Finn!”

Remus paused, looking at him with wide eyes. “You told yourself—and us—that you would get over her. If she’s really engaged to Finn, then... let’s start now.”

James shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t, Remus.”

“You can, and you will,” Remus said firmly, his tone softer but still resolute. “Once you’re over her, you’ll be able to move on. It’ll be a new chapter, James—one without her in it.”

James’s face twisted in pain. “I want to be happy, Remus. I just can’t. (Y/N) is marrying the man of her dreams, and that man isn’t me.”

Remus sighed, stepping closer to his friend. He knew James too well, and knew how deep this went. “Let’s go to bed,” Remus said gently. “We’ve got an early morning ahead of us. Maybe you’ll have a chance to speak to her tomorrow? Tell her—and the others,” he added, gesturing toward Peter and Sirius, “maybe they’ll have a better plan for you.”

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

You were on the train now, staring out the window as the platform slowly filled with students saying their last goodbyes. You were ready to go home—or at least as ready as you could be. Ready to return to your parents, who still thought you were with Finn. The truth of your relationship, however, was far murkier. You and Finn hadn’t officially broken things off, but the silence that followed your last argument felt louder than any words could. It was obvious, even if neither of you had said it out loud.

The weight of everything sat heavily on your shoulders as you watched the scene outside. Friends hugged tightly, some with tears streaming down their faces, while others exchanged laughs and promises to write over the summer. There was a bittersweetness to it all—a kind of closure, even in the goodbyes. But you didn’t feel that closure. Instead, you felt like you were caught in a loop of unresolved emotions and unanswered questions.

You’d managed to find an empty compartment. It wasn’t hard when you were one of the first to board while everyone else lingered, reluctant to leave the castle behind. The quiet was what you needed—time to think, to breathe, to let the ache in your chest settle.

Diana, who's your best friend and practically your sister from how close you two are and your friends had offered to sit with you, but you told them you wanted to be alone. They understood, of course. They always did. You’d confided in them about what had happened with Finn, and while they’d tried to offer their support, you knew this was something you needed to process on your own. They couldn’t fix what was broken—not with Finn, and not with James.

The hum of the train as it prepared for departure filled the air, a low, steady rhythm that somehow felt comforting. You leaned your head against the cool glass of the window, watching as more students climbed aboard . You envied the lightness in some of the students—their laughter, their certainty about who they were and where they stood with the people in their lives.

For you, everything felt like it was in limbo. The argument with Finn had left you reeling, unsure of what came next. And then there was James—the boy who had once been your closest friend, who still lingered in your thoughts even after months of strained silence.

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment as the train gave a soft lurch, signaling the start of its journey. Home felt both too far away and far too close.

The train began to pick up speed, the platform slowly fading into the distance as the familiar rolling hills of the countryside came into view. You opened your eyes, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The quiet of the compartment wrapped around you like a fragile cocoon, but your thoughts refused to settle.

James. His name echoed in your mind like a song you couldn’t quite forget. You hadn’t seen him at the station, though you’d looked for him instinctively. The habit was hard to break, no matter how strained things had become between the two of you.

You thought back to that day in Finn’s dorm, where everything had shifted. The weight of your confession to Finn, the raw honesty, and the pain that followed. But it wasn’t Finn’s face you pictured now—it was James’s. His messy hair, his lopsided grin, the way his hazel eyes lit up when he laughed. And the way those same eyes had avoided yours for months, the distance between you growing wider with each passing day.

You shook your head, as if the motion could clear your mind. It didn’t. Instead, it only made the ache in your chest deepen. The truth was, you missed him. More than you cared to admit, even to yourself.

It wasn’t just the friendship you missed, though that alone had been a loss. It was the way he’d always been there, the way he could make you laugh even on your worst days, the way he’d look at you like you were the most important person in the world. Somewhere along the way, things had changed, and you weren’t sure if you could ever get back to where you’d been.

The train rattled along the tracks, the countryside blurring past the window. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if you could ward off the coldness that had settled deep in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you wished James were here, sitting across from you like he used to. You could almost hear his voice, teasing you about something silly, his laughter filling the space between you. But the compartment was empty, and the silence felt heavier because of it.

You leaned your forehead against the glass, the cool surface grounding you. Maybe this summer would give you the space you needed to figure things out. Maybe time apart would help you understand what you really wanted, and what you were willing to fight for. But as the train carried you further away from Hogwarts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers you were looking for weren’t waiting for you at home—they were somewhere back there, tangled up in the boy you couldn’t stop thinking about.

You closed your eyes again, letting the rhythmic motion of the train lull you into a state of uneasy calm. The journey home had only just begun, but you already felt like you were carrying the weight of an entire year’s worth of emotions with you. And no matter how far the train took you, there was one thing you couldn’t seem to leave behind: the hope that somehow, someday, you and James could find your way back to each other.

A knock startled you awake. For a fleeting moment, you hoped it might be James, but when you opened the door, it was Diana. Despite your insistence on wanting no company, you never minded hers. You mustered a small smile as she entered.

“So,” Diana began, sitting across from you, “you wrote him a letter saying you still love him?”

“Yes,” you replied softly, avoiding her gaze.

“And he hasn’t talked to you?”

“Mhm.”

“And you called it off with Finn?”

“Well...” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “I still need to, but he despises me now. Once I get home, I’ll owl him. He’s... not exactly happy right now.”

“Because of the fight?” Diana’s tone grew sharper. “I know you lied to us. It wasn’t about your parents, was it? If you want to tell me the real reason, just say it.”

You hesitated, your throat tightening. “I... I ruined it with him. He got mad about James, and I snapped. I told him what I told James at the party. He didn’t even say anything; he just stood there, then left. We haven’t spoken since. I haven’t even told my parents yet—I don’t know if he’s told them.”

“Wow...” Diana’s expression was a mix of disbelief and frustration. “And James hasn’t said anything? You went through all that struggle, and he’s just blatantly ignoring you?”

“I know! But maybe I shouldn’t have told him how I felt again. Remember what happened at the party?”

Diana softened, reaching out to touch your hand. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I can’t imagine being in your situation.”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore,” you mumbled, though the lump in your throat betrayed your words.

“Of course it matters!” Diana said firmly. “Finn demanded the truth and then got mad when you gave it to him? That’s not fair!”

“Well, at least I won’t be engaged to him anymore.”

“When did he pro—” Diana started, but her words were cut off as Sirius suddenly barged into the compartment.

None of you had noticed him outside, and you had no idea how long he’d been listening.

“How much did you hear?” Diana demanded, her eyes narrowing.

“Enough to know that (Y/N) is no longer with that Finn bloke,” Sirius replied with a grin that was far too smug for the situation.

“Well, if you’d listened more, you’d also know—” Diana began again, but Sirius interrupted her too.

“(Y/N), have you even tried to speak to James about this?!”

“Had I had the opportunity, I would have,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “In fact, I went over—”

“You’ve had every opportunity!” Sirius exclaimed, cutting you off again. You stared at him, then at Diana, who looked just as shocked as you felt.

“Admit it,” Sirius said, his voice rising. “You’ve been smitten with James since the moment you two met! The clues have been everywhere! And don’t deny that you were completely beguiled by him at the party—even though you were dating some random bloke you barely knew!”

“That’s not—” you started, but Sirius plowed on, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“Then you drag James out of the party, demand to know how he feels about you, and give him all of thirty seconds to decide your entire future!”

“Well, that’s because—”

“And worst of all,” Sirius thundered, ignoring you, “you callously ignored the letter James wrote to you, where he told you he loved you!”

If confusion were a person, it would have been you at that moment. You exchanged a bewildered look with Diana.

“What letter?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Even Sirius looked thrown off. “What do you mean, ‘What letter?’”

“Sirius,” you said more firmly, standing now. “What letter?”

“The letter was the whole reason he stopped talking to you!” Sirius snapped. “He put one in your luggage—slipped it into a pocket—and then left another on your desk yesterday!”

You blinked, your mind racing. “Which pocket? I don’t use most of them, and I left everything on my desk at Hogwarts—it was just extra parchment. Why didn’t he just tell me?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Sirius said with a shrug. “But what are you waiting for? Go find James! He’s crying like a bloody baby—that’s the only reason I came to find you. Took me five minutes to track you down!”

You nodded quickly and scrambled to your feet, your heart pounding like a drum. You knew exactly where James would be. After sharing the same train compartment for seven years, you could find it blindfolded, even in your sleep.

Without hesitation, you hurried down the train, determination and nerves tangling in your chest like vines. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the narrow corridor, your mind racing ahead.

Then you froze.

James’ laugh drifted through the crack in the door—warm, familiar, and effortless. It was the kind of laugh that made the world tilt, like gravity had shifted just enough to pull you toward him. The sound wrapped around you, igniting a fire in your chest and a tremor in your hands.

You pressed a shaky palm against the cool surface of the compartment door, drawing in a deep breath.

This is it.

With a steadying exhale, you slid the door open. The soft creak barely registered over the hammering in your ears.

“James,” you began, your voice trembling but determined. “Can we… could we talk? Please. If that’s okay with you?”

James froze mid-laugh, his body stilling like a snapshot in time. His gaze locked onto yours, wide-eyed and searching, as if trying to confirm you were real. Slowly, he nodded, his brow creasing in quiet confusion, curiosity flickering behind his eyes.

You stepped inside and let the door click softly shut behind you, the faint sound reverberating in the small, enclosed space. Here, at the back of the train, there were no prying eyes, no curious ears—just the two of you and the fragile weight of the moment.

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt electric, thick with unspoken words and barely restrained emotion. James watched you carefully, his gaze tracing your face as if committing every detail to memory.

Your chest tightened, the words caught like a stone in your throat. You’d waited too long, carried this too far. But you couldn’t falter now.

Swallowing the lump of fear, you took a step closer, and then another, until the space between you vanished completely.

You weren’t sure who moved first—if it was him, or you, or maybe both of you at once—but the distance dissolved like it had never been there at all. His hands found your waist as yours slid up to cup his face, and then his lips were on yours. The world outside the compartment disappeared in a rush, the hum of the train fading into nothingness.

It wasn’t frantic or hurried. It was soft, almost tentative at first, like neither of you could quite believe this was real. But then, the kiss deepened, and with it came a flood of emotions—relief, longing, and something you didn’t dare name just yet.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. James’ cheeks were flushed, and his glasses were slightly askew. His lips curved into the smallest, shyest smile you’d ever seen from him. It was a look you wanted to commit to memory.

But the weight of why you were here—the reason you’d sought him out—pressed against your chest, demanding to be spoken to.

You took a deep breath, looking James in the eye as you began. “Sirius told me about the letters. The one in my luggage, the one on my desk… I didn’t even know they existed. I never read them.”

James blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “You… you never read them?” he repeated, his voice breaking slightly.

You shook your head, your chest tightening as you stepped closer to him. “No. I only found out about them because Sirius barged into my compartment and told me everything. He said you hid one in my luggage, and the other was on my desk, buried under a pile of parchment I never cleaned up. James, I had no idea.”

James ran a hand through his hair, his face clouding with frustration and regret. “Merlin,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “All this time, I thought you knew. I thought you read them and just… ignored me.”

“Why would I ignore you?” you asked, your voice trembling. “James, I didn’t know because I didn’t even think to look. And the letter in my bag—I didn’t even realize there was a hidden pocket until Sirius told me.”

James stared at you, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he managed, “I wrote them because I didn’t know how else to tell you how I felt. I thought if I put it on paper, it’d be easier to say everything I couldn’t say to your face.”

“James, I didn’t read them, but you need to know something,” you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I wrote to you too. I wrote you a letter and left it on your bed with Buddy.”

His expression shifted, his brows knitting together in a mix of guilt and realization. “The letter with Buddy,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I tore it up.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and your heart sank. “You… tore it up?” you asked softly, your voice breaking.

James nodded, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I was angry,” he admitted, his tone thick with regret. “I thought you’d moved on, that you didn’t care anymore. I saw Buddy, and I just… I lost it. And when I saw you’d written me a letter instead of talking to me in person—well, I just… I thought you were giving him back to me because you didn’t need him anymore. I thought you were telling me that you were done with me, that you’d let go. So, I tore it up without even reading it.”

You stared at him, your heart heavy with the weight of the misunderstanding. “James, I wasn’t telling you that I was done. I… I was just too scared to face you. After what happened at the party… when you told me to marry Finn… I didn’t think I could bear hearing you reject me again. I didn’t think I could face you after that.”

James' face softened, his brows furrowing with understanding. “I never meant for you to feel that way. I thought I was doing the right thing, telling you to marry Finn, but it wasn’t because I didn’t care. I was trying to push you away, trying to convince myself that it was better if you were happy with him. I couldn’t bear to see you hurting, but instead, I just made it worse.”

You shook your head, your voice catching. “I didn’t think you wanted me, James. You told me to marry Finn, and you didn’t even give me a chance to tell you how I felt. I thought if I wrote the letter, maybe that was my chance to say what I couldn’t say face-to-face.”

James’ breath hitched, and he stepped toward you. “I was wrong. I should have listened to you, should have seen that I was the one hurting you. I was so confused. I didn’t want to lose you, but I didn’t know how to tell you that I felt the same.”

“James, that letter wasn’t about moving on. It was about you. I told you everything—how I felt, how I couldn’t be with Finn because my heart wasn’t his to have. It was yours. It’s always been yours.”

James’ breath caught in his throat as realization washed over him. “You… you said that?”

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. “I told you that I loved you. That I’ve always loved you, no matter how much I tried to deny it. And I gave you Buddy because I didn’t think I deserved to keep him anymore.”

James’ face crumpled, and he took a shaky step toward you. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For tearing up your letter, for hiding behind mine, for not saying what I needed to say.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “We both made mistakes, James. But I’m here now. And I’m telling you everything because I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t care.”

James reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he leaned in. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw and unguarded. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ve been such an idiot for not saying it sooner.”

You let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over you like a tide. “Well, you’re saying it now. That’s all that matters.”

He kissed you then, the world falling away as the weight of years of miscommunication and doubt finally lifted. His lips were warm and familiar, and when he pulled back, both of you were breathless and flushed.

“We’re terrible at this,” James said with a small, rueful laugh, his hands still resting on your cheeks.

“We really are,” you agreed, smiling through your tears. “But we’ve got time to figure it out.”

James grinned, his eyes shining with hope. “Together?”

“Together,” you confirmed, your voice steady and sure.

James kissed you again, slow and tender, as if he was savoring the moment. The warmth of his lips, the familiarity of his touch—it was everything you had wanted, everything you had longed for but been too afraid to claim.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath shaky, both of you flushed from the rush of emotions. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything that had been left unsaid finally settling between you in a peaceful, unspoken understanding.

“I don’t know how we got here,” James said softly, his voice hushed, as though he was still trying to piece everything together in his mind. “We both made so many mistakes, (Y/N). I hurt you, and I never meant to. I’ve been a coward, hiding behind my letters, my words... not telling you the truth when it mattered.”

You shook your head, gently cupping his face in your hands. “James, we both let fear dictate everything. We were both too scared to face the truth. But we're here now, right? That’s all that matters. We don’t have to figure it all out right this moment. We just have to start somewhere.”

James looked into your eyes, his gaze intense, as if he was memorizing every detail, afraid that if he blinked, the moment might slip away. “I love you, (Y/N),” he said again, this time with complete certainty. “I’ve always loved you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you laughed softly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I love you too, James. I always have. I was just too afraid to believe it.”

James smiled, a real, unguarded smile, the kind that made his entire face light up. “So... do we get to be happy now?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

You nodded, the warmth of his hands still holding your face. “Yes,” you whispered. “We get to be happy. Together.”

For a long time, neither of you moved, just stood there in the quiet, the weight of everything finally lifting, as if all the confusion and misunderstandings had just melted away.

James let out a soft laugh, breaking the stillness. “I’m not perfect, (Y/N),” he said, his thumb gently brushing the tear on your cheek. “But if you’ll have me, I’m willing to try.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart full to bursting. “I think we both need to try, James. And we will. Together.”

He kissed you one last time, and this time, it wasn’t hurried or filled with desperation. It was a kiss that held all the promises of a new beginning. The kind of kiss that said, we’ve found our way back to each other.

And when you pulled away, you both stood there, smiling through the tangled mess of emotions that had, somehow, become beautiful in their own way.

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[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 3 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , -

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By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Australia, sir."

Bucky froze in place when he heard that. Australia? It was so unlike you. In all the time you spent together, you always talked about visiting Europe. That was your dream—to save enough money to open a café there, buy a boat, and travel around the continent.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It didn’t matter now. At least he finally knew where you were.

"Prepare the jet," he commanded.

After his security team gave him the location, Bucky immediately called his pilot to prepare the plane. Within minutes, he was on his private jet, accompanied by his assistant, who sat nervously across from him.

The assistant hesitated before asking, “Sir, when do you want to reschedule the meeting?”

Bucky didn’t look up from his phone. “If I’m not in the company, there’s a vice president. Let him attend the meeting instead. The company pays him a high salary for a reason. If he makes the wrong agreement at the meeting, I’ll fire him.”

The assistant swallowed hard, his hands fidgeting with the pen in his lap. “Y-Yes, sir.”

Bucky leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the cushion as silence settled between them. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the cabin. His gaze drifted to the window, the clouds blurring past.

The matter of this marriage was far more complicated than any company matter.

He broke the silence. “Do you ever have marriage trouble?”

The assistant’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected question. “Uh… yes, sir.”

Bucky turned his head slightly toward him. “Have you ever argued to the point where your wife left the house?”

The assistant hesitated, his hands stilling. “That’s… no, sir. We argue sometimes, but not to that extent.”

Bucky exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I see.”

His situation wasn’t like those couples who separated after endless fights. This marriage was different—it was based on a contract. There was no need for messy legal proceedings or divorce lawyers. No drawn-out drama. It was supposed to be simple, painless.

But it wasn’t.

He rested his elbow on the armrest, his fingers pressing against his temple as memories of his parents’ divorce flashed through his mind. He’d witnessed it all—the yelling, the accusations, the blame. He could still remember the cold, suffocating atmosphere in the negotiation room as both sides tore each other apart. And they’d forced him, a child, to sit there and watch.

They called it love once, but what he saw was anything but. His parents acted like children while he was expected to be the adult.

Marriage was supposed to be a union between two mature individuals who respected its meaning. His parents may have loved each other once, but they destroyed that love with betrayal and adultery.

It was full of lies and deception. For young Bucky, hearing the arguments was painful. Even now, he still feels a lingering resentment toward his parents.

Bucky shook his head, clearing the bitter thoughts. He’d never wanted a traditional marriage because of them. When his grandfather, Paul, had told him he needed to marry to inherit the company, Bucky had been clueless about what to do.

That’s when he remembered a friend mentioning a matchmaking agency. “It’s expensive, but it’s worth it,” his friend had said.

And it was expensive—but it was worth it. With you, he’d fulfilled his grandfather’s condition and taken over the company. You were his perfect partner.

At least, that’s what he thought.

He rubbed his chin as he rewound every moment he’d spent with you, searching for something he might have missed. He couldn’t think of a single instance where he had disrespected you. Both of you respected each other’s personal space and schedules. He knew you had a close relationship with Grace, your best friend.

Friends.

Friends?

His brows furrowed. Now that he thought about it, Grace was the only friend of yours he really knew. While you had met most of his circle, he knew almost nothing about yours.

Bucky leaned forward, clasping his hands together tightly. After giving it more thought, he realized the imbalance in your marriage. He was the dominant one, the one whose needs and routines shaped the relationship.

And he had barely noticed.

His jaw tightened, the weight of his ignorance sinking in. For the first time, he wondered if that was why you left.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

After a long flight, Bucky’s plane finally touched down at the destination. He had managed to close his eyes during the journey, but rest was impossible—his thoughts were consumed by you. Memories, questions, and unspoken words replayed endlessly in his mind.

As he stepped off the plane, the crisp air hit his face, bringing a brief sense of clarity. The head of his security team approached him immediately.

"Sir, we’ve found her location," the man reported.

"Where is she?" Bucky asked, his voice sharp with urgency.

The security detail led Bucky toward the docks, their hurried footsteps crunching against the gravel. His heart was pounding, each step feeling heavier as the weight of anticipation bore down on him. He scanned the area, his sharp eyes searching frantically for any sign of you.

And then, he saw you.

There you were, standing near the edge of the dock, the soft breeze tugging at your hair as you stared out at the endless horizon. The setting sun cast a golden glow around you, making you look almost ethereal, like a mirage he’d conjured in his desperation.

His breath hitched. Relief washed over him first, flooding his chest so quickly that it nearly brought him to his knees. After days of relentless searching, and agonizing over where you could be, there you were—within reach.

But then came the ache. A sharp, searing pain in his chest that he hadn’t expected. Seeing you standing so calmly as if the world hadn’t turned upside down for him, struck a chord deep within. You looked so at peace, so distant, and he couldn’t understand it.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up. He closed the distance between you in long, determined strides, his emotions spiraling into a chaotic storm. Relief, anger, confusion, longing—it all melded together as his voice broke through the silence.

He called your name, loud and raw, the sound carrying across the water.

You turned, startled, your wide eyes locking with his. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. He saw the flicker of surprise on your face, the way your lips parted slightly as if you were about to say something. But what shook him most was what he didn’t see.

There was no regret in your eyes.

Bucky’s chest tightened, his fists clenching instinctively at his sides. How could you look at him like that—so calm, so unaffected—when he’d been unraveling without you? He reached you in a few quick strides, his hand shooting out to grab yours before you could move another step.

Bucky’s heart pounded as he called out your name, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves. You turned, visibly startled but composed, no trace of regret on your face.

He didn’t stop running until he reached you, grabbing your hand before you could step onto the yacht. "Why did you leave?" he demanded, his tone raw with frustration. "Didn’t I say we’d talk this through?"

You look at him, your eyes steady but filled with quiet resolve. “I don’t want to continue the marriage contract."

“I know.” He fell silent, his gaze locking onto yours. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

"No," you replied, shaking your head with a soft smile. "Didn’t you get the letter I left for you?"

Bucky frowned, the words unsettling him. The letter? What could it possibly say that justified this?

"It’s not you," you said, your tone steady. "It’s me."

"Lies," he shot back, his voice clipped with disbelief.

"It’s not," you insisted firmly.

"Explain it to me like I’m five years old," he demanded, his frustration and confusion bubbling to the surface.

You sighed, gathering your thoughts. "In the contract, we promised no lies, no deception. We even agreed that if one of us developed feelings, the marriage would end before things got messy."

Your gaze softened as you added, "Bucky, I love you."

The confession hit him like a tidal wave, leaving him stunned and speechless. He had braced himself for accusations, for anger, but not this.

You took advantage of his silence, gently pulling your hand free from his grasp. You turned to the captain of the yacht and gave a subtle nod, signaling him to start the engine.

As the boat began to drift away from the dock, Bucky’s senses returned. "Where are you going?" he called out, his voice tinged with desperation.

"Anywhere," you replied, your words floating back to him.

Standing at the edge of the dock, he could only watch as the boat carried you farther away.

From your place on the yacht, you glanced back at him. “What a fool,” you murmured, shaking your head. “I told everyone not to let you find me.”

The captain, standing at the helm, turned to you and asked, “How far do you want to go?”

"Keep sailing until I say stop," you said, your tone resolute.

"Alright," the captain replied, steering the yacht into the open sea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The yacht moved steadily through the endless expanse of blue, its wake cutting a gentle path through the water. You stood at the edge of the deck, the wind brushing against your face, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea. The horizon stretched infinitely, meeting the sky in a blur of hazy gold and blue. You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the breeze tangle your hair and the sun warm your skin.

“It’s beautiful,” you thought. The kind of beauty that felt untouched, unclaimed—exactly what you were searching for.

“This is it,” you murmured, barely audible to yourself.

With steady steps, you approached the captain’s cabin. He glanced at you briefly, his expression questioning.

“Stop here,” you said.

“Are you sure?” His voice carried the weight of uncertainty.

“Yes.” Your answer was firm, final.

He nodded and went to work, releasing the anchor with a heavy clunk as it descended into the ocean’s depths. The yacht slowed to a gentle halt, rocking slightly with the rhythm of the waves.

Without hesitation, you peeled off your clothes, revealing the simple swimsuit underneath. The air felt cool against your skin, but it didn’t matter. You stepped to the edge of the deck, your toes curling over the rim. For a brief second, you inhaled deeply, and then you leaped.

The water embraced you like an old friend. It was cold but refreshing, its weight washing over you, pulling you into its quiet, endless depths. You swam, letting your body move freely, unbound by the constraints of gravity or obligation.

You dove deeper, the light above you diffusing into shimmering rays that danced like silver ribbons. Down here, there were no walls to confine you, no contracts to dictate your actions. It was just you and the ocean—an infinite space where you could finally breathe.

For the first time in years, you felt free.

You floated on your back, staring up at the vast sky. The sun cast a golden glow across the water’s surface, making it sparkle like liquid diamonds. You let out a long breath, your body rising and falling with the gentle waves. This was what you had been looking for—a release from the weight of expectations and the burden of feeling tethered to things you didn’t truly want.

You didn’t understand why, but in this moment of letting go—of money, of love, of the life you’d meticulously built—you felt alive.

All your life, it had been about money. Growing up with a father whose high income only highlighted what was still lacking, you learned early that nothing was ever enough. There was always another competition to win, another prize to chase. Independence wasn’t just encouraged; it was demanded.

Money became your anchor, the thing that kept you afloat. You thrived on it, obsessed over it. You checked your bank accounts daily, reveling in the sight of green numbers climbing higher and higher. It was intoxicating, the sense of control and success that came with it.

Each time you earned more money, it was a step closer to impressing your parents. Impressing them became a lifelong goal—one that would finally make them say, “We’re proud of you.” But no matter how much you earned, it was never enough.

And then there was love—a concept you understood in theory but never cared to possess. Money filled the void better than any romantic notion ever could. Love was messy, complicated, and it demanded sacrifices you weren’t willing to make. Money didn’t ask for your vulnerability; it only required your focus, your ambition, your endless thirst for more.

The two were the same, you realized. Money and love—they both left you parched, chasing something that always seemed just out of reach.

Then what were the other things that made you confront money and love at the same time?

When you joined the matchmaking agency to find a wealthy partner, you hadn’t really thought it through. There wasn’t a grand plan, just the vague hope of finding someone who could meet your terms. Honestly, you expected the candidates to be older men—someone seeking a companion to attend events with, nothing more. You had even specified one unique condition in your profile: no intimacy.

So, it came as a shock when the person who agreed to your circumstances turned out to be Bucky Barnes—a man only two years older than you. Not only that, but he was willing to pay an impressive amount to seal the deal.

When it was Bucky’s turn to lay out his requirements, everything seemed to align perfectly. He needed a partner who could convincingly play the role of a devoted spouse, just long enough for him to inherit his family’s company. You knew you could handle that. Pretending to be his loving wife? It felt like an easy role to play.

His parents were simple to fool, far less intimidating than your own strict, demanding family. The real challenge, however, was his grandfather, Paul. With his sharp eyes and no-nonsense demeanor, Paul had a knack for spotting liars. Yet, even he couldn’t see through you. You gave him exactly what he longed for—a granddaughter-in-law who treated him with genuine care. That part was easy because you understood what it felt like to crave love and approval.

The first year flew by without a hitch. You and Bucky played your roles to perfection. The arrangement opened doors for both of you—financially and socially. When the time came to discuss extending the contract for another year, you agreed without hesitation. The benefits far outweighed any drawbacks.

But then, somewhere in the second year, things began to shift. You started to feel something for Bucky—something dangerous. It wasn’t part of the deal, and you hated yourself for it. From the start, Bucky had been upfront about his feelings—or lack thereof. For him, love was a waste of time. He had no use for romance, and you had respected that. Until now.

You couldn’t stop it, though. No matter how hard you tried to suppress your emotions, they crept in, uninvited. It was written clearly in your agreement: no feelings, no complications. If either party broke that rule, the contract would be terminated immediately.

So, you buried your feelings as best you could. Love was messy, unpredictable, and it made you want things you couldn’t have. It filled your mind with fantasies, leaving you restless and craving more. And you despised it.

You just needed to hold on a little longer.

But then, everything changed.

Two days before the marriage contract was set to end, something happened—something you hadn’t anticipated.

And in that moment, you realized nothing would ever be the same again.

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[insidekatmind]

Mine-Erik Killmonger

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

The arena of Wakanda is a whirlwind of voices and tension. You’re in the front row, watching the fight that could change the fate of the nation. Erik Killmonger, with his powerful physique and the scars of his battles, stands tall like a titan against T’Challa, the Black Panther, a man you’ve always admired.

Your heart is pounding. The tension in the air is almost suffocating.

And then it happens. With a decisive move, Erik lifts T’Challa and hurls him off the waterfall. The king falls, his body swallowed by the waters below, and a chilling silence descends upon the arena.

Killmonger turns to face you, the people of Wakanda. His eyes burn with determination and defiance. He moves like a lion that has just claimed its territory. He points at the void left by T’Challa, the king’s body now out of sight.

“Is this your king? Huh? Is this your king?” he shouts, his voice echoing through the mountains. Every word strikes like a blow, every pause weighs heavily on your chest.

Your eyes fill with tears, but you don’t look away. You can’t. You’re frozen, your loyalty torn between the grief of loss and the fear of what’s to come.

“The Black Panther, who’s supposed to lead you into the future! He’s supposed to protect you!” he continues, his voice as sharp as a blade. You feel exposed under his gaze, as if he’s speaking directly to you.

Then he pounds his chest with his fist, his eyes locked onto each of you. “Nah, I’m your king.”

As the crowd remains divided between silence and murmurs, you clench your fists.

After the fight, Erik was sitting on the throne of the kingdom and you voices inside the room where he was. M'Baku tries to stop you but you ignore him. Erik looks at you with a smirk. He leans back on the throne, his smirk still in place, his eyes locking onto yours. M'Baku stands nearby, trying to hold you back.

“What’s this?” Eric says, amusement in his voice. “I have visitors already.”

M’Baku shoots you a warning look, but your eyes stay fixed on Erik as you approach.

“You killed T’Challa,” you blurt out angrily, moving closer to him. M'Baku's eyes widen and he tries to pull you back but you glare at him.Eric’s smirk deepens, almost as if your anger pleases him. He leans forward on the throne, his gaze intense.

“Killed T’Challa?” he repeats, his voice dripping with mockery. “That’s a strong way to put it. I defeated him. Fairly.”M’Baku clenches his jaw, but stays silent, his hand still on your arm, trying to keep you from getting too close.

You glare at Erik as you try to pull away from M'Baku. Eric watches you struggle against M'Baku’s grip, the smirk never leaving his face. He stands up from the throne and slowly approaches you, each step deliberate and filled with authority.

"Seems like you have something to say," he says, his voice taunting yet commanding. "Go on. Speak your mind."You glare at him and were about to speak but M'Baku interrupts you.

“I'm sorry my king, but Y/n is just upset, she doesn't know what she's talking about” he says putting his hand over your mouth warning you not to do anything stupid.You, M'Baku and T'Challa have always been great friends.

Erik smirks, his gaze flicking between you and M'Baku. He moves closer, towering over both of you.

“Upset, huh? I don’t blame her,” he says, his tone slightly mocking, but with a hint of understanding. He turns to M’Baku. “And you think you need to silence her? That’s not very friendly of you, M’Baku.”

M'Baku stiffens, his eyes narrowing at Eric. "I'm not trying to silence her, my king. I'm just trying to prevent her from doing something foolish." You squirm trying to get his hand away from your mouth.

Erik’s smirk broadens as he watches you struggle against M’Baku’s grip. He raises an eyebrow at M’Baku. "Looks like she’s quite feisty. I like my woman feisty."

You look at him in disgust. You were betrothed to T'Challa and since she is now dead and Erik is the king, you were betrothed to him. Erik chuckles at your look of disgust, clearly amused by your reaction. He knows full well the implications of being betrothed to a king.

"Ah, I see you've already realized the situation you're in," he says, his voice filled with a hint of mockery. "As a future queen, you should show me a bit more respect, don’t you think?"

You manage to lift M'baku's hand. "Respect? You are a murderer and I will not be your queen" you blurt out glaring at him. Erik's smirk vanishes. His eyes flash with annoyance as he steps closer to you, his presence suddenly menacing.

"Watch your tongue, princess." His voice is low and dangerous, a clear warning not to push his buttons. "I am your king now whether you like it or not. You would do well to show me some respect."

M'Baku's grip tightens on your arm as he tries to pull you back again, but you stand your ground, your defiance clear in your eyes. "I will never show you respect," you retort, a mix of anger and sadness in your voice. "You killed T'Challa. You betrayed Wakanda. I will never bow to you, you monster!"

Erik's face hardens at your words, his eyes narrowing. He takes a step closer, towering over you. "Monster?" he repeats, his voice laced with irritation. "You think you can lecture me on morality? You have no idea what I've been through. No idea what I've had to do in order to survive. To fight for my people." He takes another step, getting right in your face. "You've lived a privileged life in this golden city. I've lived a life of struggle and pain. Don’t judge me unless you know what I've endured."

You look at him without saying anything. Erik watches you the whole time. “Leave me alone with my future queen,” Erik says to M'Baku without stopping to look at you. M'Baku looks between you and Erik, hesitating for a moment, then he reluctantly lets go of you and leaves the throne room, closing the door behind him.

Now you're alone with Erik, the tension in the room palpable. He studies you intently. He circles you like a predator, his gaze locked onto yours. For a moment, he says nothing, his eyes roaming over your face, your body. Finally, he breaks the silence. "You have a lot of fire in you," he says, his voice low and quiet. "I find that... intriguing."

He stops directly in front of you, his presence overwhelming. "But you need to learn your place. You are mine now. My future queen, like it or not." He reaches out and gently brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch surprising in its tenderness.

"You can fight it all you want, but it won’t change a damn thing," he continues, his hand now cupping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You will be my queen. And you will bow to me. Whether you do it out of love or fear, it doesn’t matter. You will bow." He leans even closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. "And I have every intention of earning your submission," he purrs, his eyes flickering down to your lips. "One way or another."

As he leans even closer, his face mere inches from yours, your heart begins to race. You're both angry and flustered by his presence, his words, his touch. His face is so close that you can feel his warm breath on your skin. He’s so tall that you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

"You're a very beautiful woman, you know that?" he whispers, his thumb gently caressing your chin. "I can understand why T'Challa valued you so highly." He leans in even closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear. "But he's gone," he murmurs. "And I’m here. You’re mine now." His words send a strange shiver down your spine, a confusing mix of fear and something else, harder to define.

He pulls away slightly, his eyes searching yours. "You may hate me. You may despise me. But you will be my queen. And you will serve Wakanda as my partner."Erik runs his fingers down your arm, his touch sending another shiver coursing through your body. "And if you don’t... I have ways of making you cooperate."

His words hang in the air, a clear warning. His eyes soften for a brief moment, and a hint of vulnerability sneaks into his gaze. “You’re strong,” he says, his voice almost… sincere? “I respect that. But you can’t win this. You might as well accept it and make the best of it.”

You look at him vulnerable. Erik notices your softening expression, your vulnerability. It throws him off for a moment, he wasn't expecting that reaction. He studies you intently, his eyes searching yours, trying to decipher your thoughts. He can feel a change in you, a chink in your armor of anger and defiance. Erik steps closer, his hand moving to your cheek, his touch gentle.

"You're still angry," he says softly, his thumb tracing the contour of your cheekbone. "I can see it in your eyes. But there's something else. A hint of... resignation?" Erik watches you closely, waiting for a response, the room silent except for his heavy breathing.

You close your eyes for a moment holding back the tears of anger and losing T'Challa. “You killed T’challa,” you whisper weakly. Erik’s eyes soften even more, noticing the pain and weakness in your voice. He takes another step closer, his body now almost pressing against yours.

He places his other hand on your other cheek, gently cupping your face, forcing you to look at him. “Yes,” he whispers back, his voice almost tender. “I did. I had to.”

Tears fall from your eyes and Erik pulls you closer as you try to hit his chest and he lets you do it as he strokes your hair. He lets you push and shove against him, silently taking the blows without resisting. He just holds you closer, his hand soothingly caressing the back of your head as you hit his chest. A strange gentleness is in his eyes, a hint of empathy. He understands your pain and your anger, he sympathizes with you.

"Shh," he whispers quietly, holding you close, letting you cry. "I know it's hard. I understand your pain." Erik rests his chin on the top of your head, his hands rubbing your back in slow, gentle circles. He stays like that for a moment, holding you, letting you cry against his chest, the sound of your sobs filling the room. As your tears slowly subside, he pulls back slightly, tilting your face up to look at him again.

"I know you hate me," he says, his voice filled with more vulnerability than you've ever heard from him. "But I'm not the heartless monster you think I am. I do have a heart, though it's been buried deep for a long time." His eyes roam over your face, taking in your tear-streaked cheeks, your quivering lips. "I didn’t want to take T'Challa from you, but I had no choice. The throne belongs to me. And you..." he pauses, his hand gently tracing your chin. "... You belong to me now too."

He leans closer, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours, so close you can feel his warm breath on your skin. "And maybe, in time, you'll learn to accept that. Maybe even more..." His face is so close to yours that you can barely think straight. His body is almost pressed against yours, the heat of his skin radiating through his clothes.

He's waiting for a reaction, but you don't know what to do. You're still angry, you're still grieving, but there's something else there too, something he's awakening within you... His lips find yours in a surprisingly gentle, almost tentative kiss. It's a stark contrast to his usual rough demeanor. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer to him.The kiss deepens, his tongue demanding access to your mouth. He kisses you with a hunger and desperation, as if he's been waiting for this moment for a long time.

You kiss him back, holding on to him. He responds to your kiss enthusiastically, his hands roaming over your body, his tongue exploring your mouth with a primal lust. Erik backs you up against the nearest wall, pressing his body against yours, trapping you in his grasp. His hands move from your waist to your hips, pulling you even closer, his fingers digging into your skin. His mouth leaves yours, moving along your jawline, down to your neck, where he nips and kisses the sensitive skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. He presses his body into you, his hard muscles rubbing against your soft curves, the heat between you building with every second.

Erik kisses you again and walks back up to his throne, sitting on it making you straddle him as the two of you continue kissing. He sits down on the throne, pulling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of him. He captures your lips in another intense kiss, his hands roaming up and down your body. Erik lifts you slightly, positioning you better on his lap, his body pressed closely against yours. You can feel the heat radiating from him, the desire coursing through his veins, matching your own.

Erik unbuttons your dress, taking it off you without ever taking his lips away from yours. He kisses your chin, your neck, your collarbone, his lips blazing a trail down your body, his fingers roaming across your skin as if he can't get enough of you. His mouth is hot and insistent, his hands desperate as they explore your body. He lifts you again, bringing your chest level with his face, his lips trailing down your neck to your chest, his breath hot on your skin.

You moan softly and cling to him as you move on his lap to be closer. You moan a little louder feeling his erection between your legs. He growls at the sound of your moans, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. As you grind against him, feeling the hardness between your legs, he grips your hips tightly, holding you in place. Erik looks into your eyes, a dangerous mixture of desire and possessiveness gleaming in his gaze. "You're mine now," he whispers, his voice deep and hoarse. "All mine."

He captures your lips again, silencing you with a deep, urgent kiss. His hands roam over your body, fingers digging into your flesh, leaving behind a trail of fire where they touch. He nips and kisses your neck, your collarbone, his hot breath sending waves of pleasure through you.

“Erik” you groan.

He responds to the sound of his name, his hands gripping you tighter. He leans forward, his mouth moving towards your ear. "I love the sound of you saying my name," he whispers huskily. "Say it again."

“Erik” you repeat. He growls again at the sound of his name on your lips, a low, primal sound. He pulls you closer, his body molding against yours, every inch of him pressed against you.

"Good girl," he purrs, his voice a deep rumble. "Moan my name again. Let me hear how much you want me." You moan as you move your hips making you grind on his erection.

He groans loudly at the feeling of your hips grinding against his erection. He tightens his grip on your hips, almost to the point of pain, trying to control himself. Erik lifts his head from your neck, his eyes dark with desire. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me?” he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. “You're driving me crazy."

You moan feeling Erik slap your ass and move your hips onto him. “Erik” you moan again resting your head in the crook of his neck as he continues to move your hips. He loves the way you moan his name, the way you surrender to the pleasure. Your head in the crook of his neck, your body willingly allowing him to control your move your hips, it’s more than he ever dreamed. Each time you say his name, it spurs him on, his desire burning hotter and hotter with each passing second.

With his left hand he plays with your little thong that you are still wearing while with his right hand he continues to move making you ride him. His left hand slides over you, his fingers slipping beneath the thin material of your thong, caressing your skin. It's so intimate, so possessive, it makes your head spin. Erik continues to control your movements with his hands, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, the friction and heat between you increasing with every motion.

With your head still on his shoulder, he moves his lips to your ear, his breath hot and uneven as he whispers. "You like that don't you? You like how I make you feel. You like being controlled by me."

“Yes,” you moan, moving your hips with the help of his hand. He grins darkly, loving the way you respond to his touch, his control. His hand on your hip tightens, guiding you in the motions.

Erik moves his lips from your ear, down to your neck, his tongue tracing a path across your skin, the heat between you building to almost unbearable heights. He bites down gently on your collarbone, his teeth leaving behind a mark on your skin. A mark that proclaims you as his. He pulls back to admire the mark, a look of satisfaction in his eyes.

“I'm going to come” you whisper as Erik moves his hips again. You had made his jeans wet with your arousal. He groans as you say you're close, the sound sending a shiver through him. He picks up the pace, moving with you, his breath ragged in your ear.

"I can feel you," he growls, his fingers digging into your hip. "You're so close. I can feel it." He adjusts his movements slightly, applying more pressure to your core, his own body clenching in anticipation.

“Erik” you moan feeling close. He smiled looking at you with lust as he slapped your ass. "Who is your king?" he whispers to you with authority. Your eyes meet his, the demand in his voice sending a shiver through you. You reply, your voice breathless. "Y-you are, my king."

His smile widens as you call him your king, a possessive gleam in his eyes. He pulls you closer, his chest against yours, his lips right next to your ear. "And who do you belong to?" He asks, his tone dark and commanding.

"You," you breathe, "I belong to you, my king." You surrender entirely, willingly giving yourself to him, body and soul. He growls again, the sound filled with approval and satisfaction. He kisses you fiercely, his tongue invading your mouth as the two of you continue to move against each other.

"Good girl," he murmurs between kisses, "You'll be a perfect queen."

You moan and come on his jeans. He feels you come on his jeans, the wetness seeping through the fabric and onto his skin. He groans, the primal sound reverberating through his chest. Erik slaps your ass, stopping your movements and then gently caresses your ass while he holds you against him as you bury your face in his neck, his hands now gentler, caressing your ass and soothing you. The moment is intense, intimate, and it solidifies your connection even further.

After a moment, he lifts your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are dark with desire, but there's a hint of softness there too, a vulnerability that he usually hides. "You're mine now," he says, his voice firm, but also tender. "No one else will have you. You understand that, don't you?"

You nod, your gaze locked with his. You understand what he's demanding of you, the commitment he's asking for. It's not a small thing, but it's what he wants, and deep down, it's what you want too. "I understand," you whisper, your voice a soft admission. "I'm yours."

A satisfied smile plays on his lips as you speak the words he's wanted to hear. "Good," he murmurs, his hand still on your chin, keeping you close. "You're mine, and I'll do anything to protect what's mine."

[tinum]

Can I request a fix where reader had heart surgery and they are kinda loopy after the anesthesia and just flirt with harumasa??? Ok it's not realistic to meet someone directly after surgery but I think it would be cute XD

Heartbeat - Harumasa x Reader

Warnings: Little bit of angst, probably incorrect portrayal of heart surgery, errors WordCount: 966 Notes: I felt like readers personality was closer to his in this fic but its okay because he was just worried!

When Harumasa first heard about your surgery from Soukaku, he could barely contain his anxiety. Thoughts of all the complications swirled in his brain, prompting him to reach for his phone with a shaky hand. He immediately texted Yanagi that he would not be going in to work for the day. She understood your situation, and though she wanted to respect your wishes, she knew Harumasa wouldn't back down. Not when it came to you.

Harumasa was no stranger to hospital visits; in fact, he was quite friendly with the staff. He knew the ins and outs, the sterile coldness, the checking in, the waiting. He sat for what seemed like hours, his leg bouncing in place and a deep pit in his stomach. Whenever a door opened, he would snap out of his trance, hoping it would be your doctor.

When the time to visit came, he was leading the doctor. The halls were practically mapped in his mind. A few turns down hallways and up an elevator would lead you to the recovery ward.

This ward in particular always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. The walls seemed to be painted with such a vibrant hope: to heal and never return. His eyes had grown used to the colors; they'd grown dull and hope seemed like a foolish notion. Could it really be classified as recovery if coming back was the only outcome?

"We already administered them pain medication so they should be resting. Try not to do anything that'll increase their heart rate," the doctor advised. He nodded, not fully listening. It's not that he didn't care about protocol; no, he quite understood the importance of it. He just couldn't bear another moment wondering if you were okay. "They're strong. A full recovery is likely."

It was as if the doctor could sense his worry. Maybe he noticed his shaky palm reaching for the doorknob, or he was just doing his job. Either way, he had to see you.

Upon stepping into the room, a wave of frigid air struck his cheeks. It was dimly lit, the only light coming from the lines on a nearby monitor. You were lying on your side, slowly twisting upon hearing someone enter the room.

"Haru?" Your voice was hoarse.

He cringed at the weakness coming from you. In a way, it was painful to see you like this: frail and sick. "Hey, how you feeling?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

"Like I just had surgery." He smiled at that, he supposed it was a good enough sign. You weren't the type to hide your struggle behind a cheesy joke like he did. He admired that about you.

A few moments pass before he speaks again. "I didn't know."

"I thought I hid it well enough. You weren't supposed to find out." You look up at him; his brows are furrowed and his eyes hold some sort of pain behind them. Maybe it was just the meds, but he seems more beautiful than ever.

"Soukaku told me," he lets out a sigh, "you can tell me anything, you know that, right?" Pulling a chair from the wall, he sets it next to your bed.

"I know. I just didn't want to worry you." Why at this moment did you decide to be selfless? Though he couldn't fault you. It was as if you had taken a page from his own book.

"I'd be worried either way," he murmured, letting his gaze fall under the weight of something tender. "I care about you."

"I don't get it, why are you so worried? It's just surgery." You laugh, a smile rising to your lips. It was rare that Harumasa was this soft. Usually, his tenderness would be waved off by an onslaught of jokes.

"I already said I care about you. You're practically family." His eyes analyze your face. He couldn't quite tell if you were being serious or just fishing for more heartfelt words.

You place a palm to your heart in mock hurt. "Ouch, Harumasa! Did you just family-zone me? That hurt more than the surgery!"

"Oh, c'mon. You know what I mean." His hand wraps around yours, nuzzling it into his cheek. He is warm, or the room is getting hotter. "I care about you. More than just a friend."

Harumasa doesn't miss the way your cheeks flare up or the sudden beeps from the monitor. He retracted his hand in a swift motion and stood up, his expression showing worry. "Are you all right?"

"What's wrong, Harumasa?" you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him. "Did you do something bad?"

Running a hand through his hair, he stares at the monitor. Your heartbeats slowed down and no doctors seemed to be rushing in. He was sure he was going to faint, the thought of possibly hurting you fresh in his mind.

"So, was that a confession?" You snap him out of his trance with your teasing voice. His eyes snap to yours, giving you an unimpressed look. You were going to give him a heart attack one of these days if you continued like this. The more he thought about it the more he didn't mind, maybe they'd put him in the room next to yours.

"You," He scoffs, flicking his finger against your forehead lightly, "need to get some rest."

"Aw, running already, Asaba?" As much as you tried to stifle it, a yawn slipped it's way out your throat. His gaze softened when he realized he was making the correct choice. You needed rest.

"Nah, just leaving before you make me do something that'll get me into trouble with your doctor." You didn't catch it from your angle, but his cheeks blushed with a quiet warmth of his own.

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch.7

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Levi whispered, though his lips were already on her neck, sucking softly. He inhaled deeply, pinning her against the wall. “You smell too good.” 

The girl chuckled, unfazed. “It’s not me. It’s my roommate. She's the one in heat—her stink stuck to me." 

It was intoxicating, mind-blowing. Levi felt like he was losing himself. Her hand brushed his face, soft as velvet, and for a moment, it seemed too perfect. His brain spun, a haze of imagined pheromones clouding his senses. The omega in his arms had to be the one in heat, right? It all felt too real. 

What...?  

When he raised his head, shaking off the fog, he realized the warmth he’d buried his face into wasn’t her neck—it was his own folded arms on his desk. He squinted against the blur of exhaustion. 

“Meow.”  

His foggy gaze landed on a cold, unceremonious wet nose poking his face. 

Levi groaned, turning his head away. "Not now," he muttered, half-heartedly swiping at the persistent feline. But the cat wasn’t one to take a hint. It resumed its soft, clawless pats against his cheek. 

"Go away," Levi grumbled, already knowing resistance was futile. Burying his face deeper into his arms, determined to stay asleep, though he knew it was pointless. Levi groaned, swatting at the feline. The animal, unbothered, hopped down from the desk, only to start scratching at the window with maddening insistence. 

The sharp sound made Levi sit up instantly. “What?” he hissed, trying to keep his voice low so as not to wake the other person sleeping nearby.  

He glared at the white cat, which now wound itself around his legs, purring and drawing lazy figure-eights. 

Levi stared at the animal like it had personally offended him. "What do you want?" He sighed, scratching his undercut, his hair a mess from sleeping at the desk. "Go back to sleep with your owner." If the damn thing responded with words, he swore he’d lose his mind.  

Eventually, he stood, running a hand through his messy undercut. The cat seemed pleased, trotting around the room and glancing back to ensure it was being followed.  

“Your food bowl?” Levi guessed, following reluctantly. “I filled it last night.”  

“Meow!”  

“It has food!” Levi snapped, shaking the bowl to demonstrate. The kibble rattled against the bottom, spreading out enough to cover the previous patch of emptiness in the centre. The cat dove in as if the food had magically appeared. Levi blinked. "...You’re actually dumb." 

Hands on his hips, he watched the cat eat for a moment, his tired gaze drifting toward its fluffy, oversized frame. “You know,” he muttered, “when she said she 'kitty,' I wasn’t expecting a fat lump like you.” 

The cat ignored the insult, contentedly crunching away.  

Levi, on the other hand, felt personally attacked. His good dream was ruined, and exhaustion weighed heavily on him. Taking a few quiet steps to the bedroom door, he peeked in on Y/N. She was dead asleep—mouth open, arms sprawled out, chest rising and falling slowly. 

“Tch.” Levi scowled. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be waking up, not me.” 

Defeated, he turned toward the bathroom, muttering under his breath. As he pushed the door shut behind him, a loud, offended yowl made him freeze.  

“Shit,” Levi muttered, reopening the door to find the cat squeezing through the gap. 

“No. Out,” he ordered, pointing toward the door like the cat was a misbehaving soldier. The animal, tail held high and proud, sauntered inside as if it owned the place.  

"Listen," Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. "I’m going to take a shit, and you’re not invited."  

The cat stared at him, unmoved. “Great. You’re as stubborn as your owner.” 

Scooping up the cat, he carried it out of the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind him. 

But peace was short-lived. 

Scratch, scratch, scratch. 

"For fuck’s sake," Levi growled through clenched teeth, yanking the door open again. The cat waltzed back in triumphantly, jumping onto the sink and leaving tiny paw prints across the surface. 

Minutes later, Levi sat on the toilet, glaring at the smug furball perched nearby. "You’re going to ruin my doors," he whispered. The cat tilted its head, feigning innocence. "I’m warning you, little shit. I brought you here. I can take you back." 

— 

“Levi, they’re about—”  

Hange stopped mid-sentence, staring at the door in shock as Levi opened it. He stood there, not fully dressed, with a white cat perched on his shoulder like some smug, oversized parrot. "What do you want?"  

Hange grinned, trying not to laugh. "If someone told me a month ago I’d see you married and... rocking a cat, I’d have said they were crazy." 

Levi grunted. “He demands to be picked up.”  

Hange raised an eyebrow. “Demands?”  

“It’s shocking how persistent this little shit is,” Levi’s expression was deadpan as the cat headbutted him affectionately, purring and kneading at his shoulder. “I’ve seen Titans less annoying.” 

Hange chuckled, reaching out to pet the fluffy troublemaker. “Aw, he likes you.”  

“Yeah, well, I don’t like him.”  

“Sure you don’t.” 

Hange’s grin widened. “Anyway, what’s taking so long? We should get going.”  

"I need to talk to Y/N before we head out. Don’t wait for me—I’ll catch up." 

Hange’s expression turned sympathetic, though they hid it behind a crooked smile. “She didn’t wake up?”  

"Heavy sleeper," Levi muttered, glancing toward the bedroom. "Apparently." 

Levi sighed, sinking into his chair as the cat curled up on the seat beside him, stretching luxuriously like it owned the place. He rested his elbow on the table, drumming his fingers against the surface. His sharp eyes flicked to the bedroom door, where a narrow crack revealed her silhouette shifting slightly in sleep. 

The quiet was suffocating. The ticking clock seemed louder with every second, a steady reminder of the time slipping away. He’d hoped she’d wake on her own, but clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. 

Pushing himself up, Levi padded silently back into the bedroom. He leaned over her sleeping form, nudging her shoulder gently. "Y/N, wake up." 

She groaned in response, pulling the blanket over her head like a shield against his persistence. 

"Come on," Levi tried again, his voice soft but insistent. "Wake up. Have breakfast with me." 

She mumbled something incoherent, her words muffled by the blanket. 

"Don’t make me drag you out of bed," Levi warned, his patience thinning. 

Finally, she grunted, peeking one bleary eye out from under the covers. "What’s with you tonight?" she muttered, her voice hoarse from sleep. "What time is it?" 

"6:02," Levi replied flatly. 

At that, Y/N turned to glare over her shoulder, her expression dripping with disdain. "Let me sleep," she hissed before burying herself back under the blanket. 

Levi stood there for a moment, debating whether to let her win this round. But no—he wasn’t leaving without talking to her. He nudged her shoulder again, and after several more minutes of coaxing (and a few muttered curses from her), she finally shuffled into his office. 

Now she sat at the table, a steaming cup of tea before her and a plate of white milk bread that looked barely touched. She slumped forward, her chin nearly resting on the table, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. 

Levi sipped his own tea, watching her with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You went to bed late last night?" he asked, genuinely surprised at her zombie-like state. 

"No," she mumbled, blinking slowly as if even that required too much effort. 

"You sleep a lot," Levi commented, his tone blunt. 

Her head lifted just enough for her to shoot him a withering side-eye. "Not my fault you can’t," she retorted, her voice edged with grogginess. "And it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do, locked up in here." 

Levi raised an eyebrow at her tone, but he didn’t immediately snap back. He understood the frustration simmering beneath her words, though he wasn’t the type to coddle. ‘Deep breath,’ he reminded himself. Gently, he pushed her milk tea closer to her. “Drink this. Wake up a little so we can talk.” 

Y/N didn’t respond, her head dipping as if she were about to fall asleep right there at the table. She reached for her tea, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. "Can’t we, like, talk at three in the afternoon?" she muttered, shooting him a bleary side-eye before taking a small sip. 

The silence that followed was broken only by the soft purring of the cat, which had moved to sprawl across her lap, its paws lazily kneading the fabric of her dress. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m gone,” Levi finally said, breaking the quiet. His tone was even, though careful, like he was trying to tread lightly. “I’m leaving for the day. Maybe I won’t be back until tomorrow morning. There are important meetings here—military board and investors.” 

“Alright, have a nice day,” she replied flatly, almost like a broken record. She paused, then added, “What are the meetings about?” 

"Work stuff," Levi replied curtly. "Nothing that concerns you." 

Y/N glanced at him but didn’t press further, though her silence spoke volumes. Her gaze lingered, her thoughts unspoken but clear enough: ‘So, you’re one of those husbands.’ 

Levi, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, one arm resting on its back, his legs crossed. His free hand tapped against his teacup, the steady rhythm betraying his rare anxiety. His jaw tightened as he hesitated. He wasn’t good at this. —conversations meant to bridge gaps or soften rough edges. ‘Let’s just... be honest and work from there,’ he told himself. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you since last time,” he began, his voice firm but steady. “You shut yourself in your room after that, and then I had to leave for the Capital. I don’t want to keep dragging this out.” He paused, setting the stage for what he knew would be a difficult conversation. 

"I’m—" she started, but Levi cut her off with a sharp, commanding tone. "No. I’m speaking." 

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her annoyance evident, but she let him continue. 

“I didn’t know about the engagement,” Levi continued, his tone unwavering. “I had no intention of calling it off once I found out, but I was dragged into this just as much as you were. This wasn’t my choice either.” 

"It’s hard to explain, and honestly, I don’t completely understand it myself," he admitted. "But there’s another girl—someone from the same family line as me. Our families are considered... special. Stronger than most. That’s what the government cares about. And they want more of us. You know what I mean." 

Y/N’s cheeks flushed faintly as she pieced together the implications. 

“It was either her or me,” he explained. “She’s too young. And, honestly… I’ve lived long enough. So, I accepted.” 

An awkward silence filled the room. Levi searched for the right words to conclude, while Y/N seemed lost in her own thoughts. Her earlier grogginess had faded entirely, replaced by a sharp awareness that made the moment feel heavier. 

“What I’m trying to say,” Levi added, his tone quieter now, “is that I never intended to get married. It wasn’t in my plans. You didn’t want this either. But we’re stuck together, so we might as well try to make it work. Alright?” 

Her gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes no longer bleary with sleep but sharp and reflective. Levi held his breath, waiting for her response. He half-expected her to come back with some snarky comment or maybe even a spark of optimism. 

Instead, she asked, “Why did you choose me?” 

Levi exhaled, his honesty both a curse and a blessing. “You were the oldest,” he said simply, his words stripped of any pretense. 

— 

‘What the fuck did I say now?’ Levi wondered, his irritation mixing with guilt. ‘I was honest so we could work from scratch, at least have a solid base if we end up with a couple of brats in the near future.’ But his words had clearly landed harder than he intended. Her hopeless expression stuck with him. ‘I’ve seen cadets about to die on Wall Maria with more hope in their eyes than she had just now.’ 

“Oi, earth to Levi,” Hange waved a hand in front of his face, snapping him back to the present. “Hey, shorty, I need you here.”  

Levi blinked and refocused, realizing he had zoned out during the endless meeting. The large wooden table in front of him was covered with maps of the island, lines marking train systems, new coastal formations, and areas for expansion. Blueprints, photographs, and important dates were scattered among stacks of documents. 

"I’m just tired," Levi lied, his voice clipped. 

Hange didn’t buy it for a second. "If you’re worried about your wife, don’t. You locked that door." 

“I’m letting her go out tomorrow if she wants,” Levi said offhandedly. “Her post-heat is over, and it’s been nearly three weeks. Summer’s around the corner, and this office is starting to feel like a goddamn oven. I can’t keep the windows shut forever. Almost all the alphas have already gone through their ruts.”  

Hange gave him a quizzical look. “You sure?”  

Levi shrugged, his indifference hiding his uncertainty. “I’m not sure about anything anymore.”  

But the weight of those words wasn’t about his sudden marital status. His eyes wandered to Zeke’s letters, filled with orders. Across the table were Kiyomi’s detailed instructions, blueprints for expansion, photos of progress, and debates among the military board about whether Historia should have a child. Levi’s jaw tightened. He pushed his chair back, rising with deliberate movements.  

He approached his squad, who were enjoying their meal break at a smaller table nearby.  

“Oi, listen up, brats,” Levi called out, his tone sharp enough to cut through the chatter. But as he looked at them, his brow furrowed. ‘Each day I’ve gotta look up more. For fuck’s sake, how much taller are these kids gonna get?’ 

Sasha beamed, food halfway to her mouth. “Did you have dinner, Captain? This is amazing!” 

Levi allowed the smallest of smirks to slip through.  

“What is it, sir?” Mikasa asked, her quiet voice drawing the group’s attention back to him.  

Levi inhaled deeply, bracing himself. “I got married.”  

The reactions were instant and varied. Jean made a face that was equal parts disbelief and disgust, like the concept itself offended him. Sasha froze, a piece of food dropping from her mouth. Armin raised his eyebrows, lips pressed tightly together, while Connie’s jaw went slack. Only Eren, lost in his own world lately, seemed unaffected, while Mikasa’s expression shifted quickly from surprise to understanding. 

“So… she might be joining us for meals or something,” Levi concluded with a tired sigh, clearly done with the announcement already.  

“Congratulations,” Armin said, snapping himself and the others out of their collective shock.  

“Yeah, well,” Levi muttered, dismissing the sentiment. “Try to be on your best behaviour.” He fixed a pointed glare at Eren, his tone sharpening. “And take a damn shower, for once.” He felt like a tired mother scolding a rebellious teenager who’d just shouted, “It’s not a phase!” while looking like they hadn’t seen a bar of soap in weeks. 

“Of course!” Sasha chirped enthusiastically, breaking the awkward tension.  

But the air shifted as Mikasa interrupted, her voice calm but firm. “Floch was the one who tried to break into the room.”  

Levi’s gaze flicked to her, his surprise momentary but genuine. Her new sense of loyalty didn’t go unnoticed. “Doesn’t surprise me,” he admitted, clicking his tongue in annoyance. ‘Just confirms my judgment.’  

Before he could say more, Mikasa continued. “I’ll keep him in line.”  

Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between the two Ackermans. It wasn’t just about loyalty; it was about the unspoken weight of their shared circumstances, their duty.  

“I’m counting on it,” Levi said, his tone gruff but laced with trust.  

— 

“I’m counting on you,” Hange murmured. 

The meeting dragged on until the final toast. Glasses were poured, and voices echoed in celebration.   

“You know I fucking hate social events,” Levi muttered back, his voice low and biting. “The last thing I want to do is stay here and get shitfaced with a bunch of old bastards talking about which cadets half their age they’re fucking or how grumpy their wives are.”  

“I know, I know,” Hange replied, whispering urgently. “But I feel so out of place here. Come on, Lev… just go along with me.”  

Their eyes met—not as commander and captain, but as friends. Both of them were thinking about the same person, the same absence that hung heavy over moments like this. The one who would’ve handled this situation with grace, who thrived in these spaces.  

Erwin.  

Reluctantly, Levi picked up his glass and raised it in the air, muttering as he joined the others, "For the coast expansion." 

He drained the drink quickly, then reached for a cigarette, lighting it with practiced ease.  

It’s going to be a long, shitty night.  

— 

“I’m back,” He swag the door open and announced perhaps a bit too loud for the time that it was. The saliva in his mouth was thick and stuck to his tongue in an unceremounious way. ‘I’m getting old,’ 

“Oi, Y/N,” he called out, his voice low but hoarse. He cleared his throat, trying again. “You awake?” 

Silence. 

Levi lingered there for a moment, one hand braced against the frame. He scanned the darkened room, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight spilling through a crack in the curtains. It was quiet—too quiet. 

He huffed, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him with a soft click. His boots scraped lightly against the wooden floor as he moved further in. It was late. Too late for anyone to greet him, but still, he’d paused by the door as if expecting her to get up and do just that. He muttered under his breath, scolding himself for the ridiculous thought. 

‘Isn’t that the point of having a wife? You come home late, feeling like shit, and she greets you with love and all that bullshit.’  

Levi loosened his cravat, tossing it onto the chair, then kicked off his boots with practiced ease. His movements were quiet, efficient, and deliberate, but his mind wasn’t. 

There she was, sprawled out under the light sheet, one arm tucked beneath her head and the other draped protectively over the cat, who lay belly-up between her arm and her side. Both were fast asleep, undisturbed by his return.  

Levi stopped in his tracks, his sharp gaze softening as it landed on her. She looked peaceful. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the moonlight catching the soft curve of her cheek and the faint messiness of her hair against the pillow.  

His eyes lingered, trailing down the length of her body to her hips. The sheet clung loosely to her form, draping over her in a way that left little to the imagination. Levi caught himself staring Hange would probably throw some biological explanation but he only nodded to himself and muttered under his breath, “Nice.”  

‘What the hell am I doing?’ he thought, shaking his head slightly. But the pull was there, undeniable and quietly insistent. 

Almost without thinking, he took a step closer, then another, until he was at her side. The cat stretched out before curling into covering his face with his paws. Levi crouched slightly, bringing himself level with her.  

For a moment, he debated whether he should wake her. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say— or even what he wanted from her.  

Her hair was a little wild, strands of it splayed across her face and pillow. The image of the other military board members’ complaints about their own wives popped into his mind uninvited.  

‘Ugh, she’s turned into some cold bitch, I’m telling ya. Won’t even let me touch her lately.’ Levi remembered thinking, Yeah, well, maybe it’s because your secretary sits on your lap half-naked, you bastard. I wouldn’t touch you either. 

The memory made his jaw tighten. The idea of sitting in a room full of other alphas, whining about his wife, made him want to retch—or maybe that was just the alcohol. Either way, he thought, ‘I should try, right? To be a better husband.’ 

Slowly, Levi leaned in. The faint scent of her hair—soft, warm, and subtly sweet, like coconut and jasmine—washed over him. It was... nice. Comforting, even. 

Without overthinking it, Levi reached out, his hand brushing against her head in a careful, hesitant gesture. His fingers moved with an uncharacteristic gentleness as he let himself grow accustomed to her scent. It smelled so good, so calming, that a small, ridiculous part of him wondered if, in a rut, he might’ve purred. 

Then, before he could second-guess himself, he pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to the top of her head. It wasn’t out of love—not yet—but more out of a sense of duty, a vague understanding that this was what he should be doing. 

Straightening up, he nodded to himself, absurdly convinced he’d just done something monumental. His gaze drifted to the nightstand, where her ring sat. A thought struck him, one that seemed like an absolute stroke of genius in his overtired mind. ‘I’m a man who resolves problems.’ 

With newfound determination, Levi grabbed a spool of thread and some glue from his desk. Sitting down, he began carefully wrapping the thread around the base of the ring, reducing its size. He worked methodically, though his vision blurred slightly from exhaustion. 

The task absorbed him entirely until he felt a gentle tug.  

“Oi!” he barked, his voice low but sharp.  

The cat had taken an interest in the thread, enthusiastically pulling at the loose end with its tiny claws. Its wide eyes gleamed with mischievous energy.  

“Don’t do that,” Levi muttered, reaching to swat the thread away from the feline troublemaker. The cat, unbothered, merely stretched again before curling up smugly beside him.  

Levi picked up the cat, holding it up to eye level. In his slightly intoxicated state, he stared at the feline with the seriousness of someone about to start a profound debate. 

“You’re fat,” he declared, as if he and the animal—who had the mental capacity of a toddler—had some long-standing, unresolved feud. “And adopted.” 

“Meow,” the cat replied, entirely unbothered. 

Levi’s expression didn’t falter. “And your balls are cut off,” he added smugly, a hint of triumph in his tone. “So, I’m winning.” 

His eyes squinted as he looked at the cat, and when the animal tilted its head, he mimicked the movement. Groaning complaints filled the air as the cat wanted to be put down already but Levi held it closer to his face. The pink paw pads pressed against Levi’s face, shoving him away.  

“Meowww,” the cat protested. But unlike all the previous insults, Levi rubbed his face against the animal, enjoying the softness. 

In his drunken state, his words slurred together. “How the fuck do you do it?” he asked, almost offended. “You smell good even though you clean your whole body with the same tongue you use to clean your asshole.”  

The cat kept complaining, kicking at Levi until he finally set it back down. 

Now, with conviction, he kept going with his previous task. Once he thought his mission was a complete success, Levi admired the ring resting between his fingers, pride swelling in his chest. “See? Told you I could do it,” he mumbled, smirking as he observed his creation. He turned to look at the cat, which had climbed back on top of his desk, as if challenging his capabilities. “I’m such a good husband,” he declared as the ring diameter had reduced with the thread.  

But when morning came and the sun’s harsh rays pierced through the room, waking him with a killer hangover, Levi stared at the ring in disbelief and second-hand embarrassment. It felt like the actions of a stranger, not his own.  

“Why the fuck did I do that?” he muttered. 

One hand rose to his face, shielding his features as he groaned—partly from the hangover, partly from sheer embarrassment. “If the ring was shitty before, now it’s even worse,” he muttered. 

It was almost mid-morning, far too late by Levi’s standards. He reeked of alcohol, his hair was a disheveled mess, and he desperately needed a shave. The room’s temperature crept higher with each passing minute, and he was all too aware it was going to be an unbearably hot day. 

“Levi?” her voice startled him, pulling him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes. 

“Do you know why Clauwsy has glue in his fur?” she asked, holding the cat in one arm while using the other to carefully work a brush through the feline’s tangled fur. Levi didn’t respond—just let out a slow, resigned sigh. 

“Are you alright? It’s late for you to still be here,” she added, her tone soft but curious. 

Levi dragged himself out of bed with a low grunt, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve got the morning off,” he mumbled, heading toward the basin to splash some cold water on his face. The sharp chill hit his skin, waking him up just enough to feel even more miserable about the state he was in. 

She was still working on the cat’s fur, her expression somewhere between focused and annoyed. “Good. You look like you need it,” she remarked, glancing over at him briefly. 

Levi grabbed a towel, drying his face. “Yeah, I got that part,” he muttered. As he turned back toward the room, he noticed her scanning the nightstand, then the desk. 

“What are you looking for?” he asked, his voice low but curious. 

“My ring,” she replied, her tone sharp with frustration. “I’ve looked everywhere for it, but I can’t find it. Have you seen it?” 

Levi froze for a moment, his hand gripping the towel tighter. ‘Shit,’ he thought, glancing toward the drawer where he’d stashed the poorly-repaired ring last night. 

“I... uh...” He cleared his throat awkwardly and turned to the desk. Reaching inside the drawer, he pulled out the ring, now wrapped in lumpy, uneven thread with spots of glue visible along the edges. He hesitated before handing it to her, his expression uncharacteristically sheepish. “Here.” 

Her expression shifted from confusion to clear displeasure as she took the ring from his hand. She turned it over, inspecting the botched craftsmanship. “What… what is this?” she asked, holding it up like it might bite her. 

Levi scratched the back of his neck, his face tinged with a rare hint of embarrassment. “It didn’t fit you properly,” he mumbled, barely audible. “Thought I’d, uh, fix it.” 

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Fix it?” she repeated, her voice heavy with disbelief. 

Before she could even argue, Levi cleared his throat, clearly steering the conversation in a different direction. “You can go out now,” he said casually, his tone flat, but his words immediately caught her attention. 

“Wait, really?” Her face lit up like a thousand stars, a grin spreading wide across her lips. 

“Yes, but you gotta listen—” 

Before he could finish, she was already walking toward the door, her excitement propelling her forward. 

Levi’s reflexes were faster. His arm shot out, easily catching her by the wrist and tugging her back to his side. “Oi, oi, oi, hold up, girly,” he said, the nickname slipping out in his usual blunt tone. 

Her smile faltered for a split second, and her lips pressed into a thin line. ‘What did he just call me?’ she thought, her cheeks warming slightly with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. 

“I said,” Levi continued, his voice low and deliberate, “you gotta listen up. The world isn’t going anywhere.” 

But her gaze betrayed her impatience, darting back to the door as if it might disappear at any second. The urgency in her expression was almost comical, and it made Levi click his tongue in irritation. Without warning, he gripped her cheeks firmly, forcing her to look at him. 

“Oi, pay attention,” he said, his sharp grey eyes locking with hers. “If you don’t listen, I’m locking the door again like I did for the past three weeks. And then? Bye-bye going out.” 

Her eyes widened slightly, and she pouted, a small noise of protest escaping her lips. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her tone soft and sheepish as her bottom lip jutted out slightly. 

Levi exhaled heavily, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The reluctance was evident in the way his shoulders tensed, but he was someone who preferred ripping the bandage off. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna say it,” he began, his tone measured but firm. “This is a military headquarters. Everyone here is mostly betas and alphas.” 

Her brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. “Okay... and?” 

Levi looked away for a moment, as if debating how blunt he should be. His jaw tightened before he turned back to her. “Most of the alphas here haven’t seen a pretty girl in dresses in a long while, wayless an omega.” His voice was calm, but the weight of his words hung in the air like a warning. 

Her expression immediately shifted, offense flashing across her face. “That’s not my fault!” she shot back, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. 

“I fucking know,” Levi replied flatly, his tone unchanging. “But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. And you should take precautions.” He paused, letting his words sink in, before continuing. “This is a working place. People are working here. Do not disturb the peace.” 

She stared at him, her indignation clear in the way her lips pressed into a thin line. “So, what, you’re saying I’ll be a distraction just by existing?” 

Levi rubbed his temples, already regretting bringing this up. “Look, I’m not saying it’s fair, and I’m not saying it’s right. I’m just telling you how it is. Don’t be stupid, and don’t do or wear anything that’ll drag too much attention to yourself while I’m not around.” 

She looked away, her jaw tightening, but she stayed silent. The mixture of embarrassment and frustration on her face didn’t escape his notice. Levi sighed, his voice softening just a touch. “If some asshole does something inappropriate, you tell me, and I’ll handle it. But I need to work, and if you want to walk around here unclaimed, you’ve gotta be sharp.” 

Her shoulders eased slightly, though she still wouldn’t meet his gaze. After a moment of silence, she gave a small, reluctant nod. “Alright,” she muttered, her voice quieter than before. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he added, his tone curt as he wrapped up the conversation. 

Somehow, that made her chuckle softly, the sound light and unexpected. Levi raised an eyebrow in silent question, his expression asking what she found so funny. 

“So I don’t wear heels?” she teased, a faint smile tugging at her lips. 

Levi shot her a deadpan look, unimpressed. “Don’t get cocky with me,” he said flatly. 

“Good.” Levi stepped back, satisfied with her response, though the tension in the air lingered. He wasn’t the type to coddle, and he knew his approach wasn’t exactly gentle, but he also wasn’t going to sugarcoat reality. “You can go,” he added after a pause, his tone lighter. “Just don’t make me regret it.” 

With a loud sigh, he turned to prepare for training. Grabbing his gear, he muttered to himself, “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” The words felt hollow even as he thought them, a weak attempt to reassure himself. 

— 

“Good morning!”

Hange paused mid-step, observing the scene from what they considered a safe distance, a piece of bread dangling from their mouth—a quick breakfast snatched during their busy schedule. Their curious eyes gleamed as they took in the unfolding interaction.

“M-Morning?” The ginger-haired girl blinked in confusion, her gaze shifting between her companion and the new arrival—a girl dressed in civilian clothes, cradling a cat in her arms.

“Well, good morning indeed,” the male soldier beside her murmured, almost entranced. His dazed admiration earned him a sharp nudge in the ribs from the female soldier next to him, her frown deep enough to scold him silently.

“Excuse me, but where can I find something to eat?” Y/N asked, her cheerful voice cutting through the tension. Her bright smile seemed to radiate warmth, and both cadets found themselves blushing slightly as her delicate perfume drifted their way. Both, despite their gender, unmistakable alphas.

“Oh, it’s on the bottom floor. The biggest two doors—you can’t miss them. They’re probably wide open,” the ginger-haired girl explained hurriedly, a hint of shyness creeping into her tone.

“Thank you, you’re very sweet,” Y/N replied, her smile widening.

“And you smell very sweet to—I mean, you’re very sweet too!” the girl stammered, her face turning beet red as she fumbled to recover. Her companion couldn’t hold back a chuckle, clearly amused by her flustered state.

“W-who… who are you?” the ginger-haired girl managed, her embarrassed smile giving way to a mix of curiosity and unease.

Without hesitation and with the same bright, welcoming smile, Y/N answered, “I’m Captain Levi’s wife.”

Both cadets froze, their eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as they processed her words.

“Ah…” they whispered in stunned unison.

“Nice to meet you! See you around!” Y/N waved enthusiastically before strolling off, leaving the two cadets to exchange wide-eyed glances. Slowly, almost dazedly, they lifted their hands to wave back.

As Y/N’s voice echoed down the corridor, greeting yet another group of cadets with a cheerful, “Hi, good morning!” the trio of male soldiers glanced at each other before responding awkwardly, “Good morning…” Their words were followed by stifled chuckles as they watched her pass.

“Dear Sheena…” Hange muttered, biting back a laugh as they observed from their hidden vantage point. Finally, they gave in, shaking with quiet laughter. “God, Levi’s never going to unlock that door again.”

They paused, weighing their options. “Should I tell him?” A mischievous grin spread across their face as they snorted, “No fucking way. Let him find out himself.”

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out.

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[illbegottenfaith]

sweet?!

you may not be the one dating theodore nott but you'd be damned if you let anyone think of him as sweet (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2

a/n - I meant to make a separate post a while back but college has been kicking my ass so 😭 but 300 followers!!! insaneee ily all sooo much mwah I feel so so grateful and also a little weirded out cuz wdym 300 people... (I am SO bad at these can you tell um anyways) also this was inspired by a new girl episode!! I kind of have plans for a part 3 but im still workshopping it so idk yet but !! we'll see :)

tropes/warnings - fluff, slight angst, mattheo not understanding physics (but its not like he had a formal education in the subject so is it rlly his fault??), tw descriptions of injury

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @kandralice @clairesblouse @deenaaa

"You're still coming this afternoon, right?"

You were having lunch in the Great Hall with your best friend Ivy, hours before one of the most entertaining sporting events of the year - an underground Muggle sports day. Every year, a group of students from each house would compete in some arbitrarily chosen muggle sport, with varying levels of success. Casualties and knee-slapping memories (for those standing in the sidelines, such as yourself) were a guarantee.

You nodded. "Are you kidding? Watching the boys wack each other black and blue at some poor attempt at a muggle sport? I wouldn't miss it for the world. I hope it's hockey. It's got sticks, you know." You got an odd, dreamlike look in your eye. "Merlin, I hope it's hockey."

Ivy dug into her Shepherd's pie. "Good. It sounds interesting enough. Plus, Theo's new girlfriend will be there."

You nearly upset your pumpkin juice.

"Girlfriend? When did that happen?"

Something in your voice must have given your true feelings away from the way Ivy squinted at you suspiciously. You pulled a face. It seemed convincing enough.

"It's all very new," Ivy said a tad bit sternly. "They met at Davies' party a while back and, well, they fancied each other, so -"

You snorted.

"What, is he blackmailing her?"

Ivy frowned at you. "Don't snark," she rebuked. "It isn't nice. She's a regular daisy, you'll see."

Yeah. Sure. You piled some more mashed potatoes onto your plate.

"Has anyone checked her for brain damage? Look - I'm not even snarking, I'm genuinely concerned for her wellbeing - "

“I don’t understand how this is supposed to work,” Mattheo was saying as the two of you walked over the makeshift Muggle basketball court someone had fashioned out of one of the disused storerooms in the dungeons. He and the rest of the Slytherin boys were wearing matching fluorescent green mesh vests to distinguish themselves from the Gryffindor team, engaged in some deadly serious discussion. A part of you wondered if you should mention that muggle sports weren’t generally meant to be as fatal as Quidditch.

As usual, Theo looked bored to death by the conversation. "We've been over this a hundred times. You dribble the ball -"

"Yeah, right," Mattheo vehemently said. "Like this thing's coming up if I throw it down. What do you take me for, an idiot?"

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, oddly reminscent of the way you did when you felt a migraine coming on.

"Remember the tennis ball, Matty? The fuzzy, green one?"

"That's different. That thing was tiny, and bouncy. This thing's heavy. It's the size of my head. No, a quaffle. No, a -"

"Then what do you think is going to happen?" Theo interrupted irritably.

“Stick to the ground, obviously. Watch - "

As seasoned as the lot of you had become in anticipating Mattheo's often highly dangerous impulses, this one came entirely out of left field. Theo yanked him back by his vest, but it was too late. He slammed the basketball down and it ricocheted back up almost immediately, punching him right in the nose. Mattheo swore loudly, and the last thing you saw before you looked away was an awful amount of blood.

Even after Enzo took him to the Hospital Wing, once Theo had sufficiently plugged his nose with obscene amounts of tissue, things did not improve for the team. About halfway through the game, an unfortunate scuffle between some of the players left Draco curled up in a ball, grimacing as he clutched his knee. Theo winced, running over to where Draco was doing a rather poor job of concealing his pain.

"Oh, that's so Teddy," Margaret gushed to you, "always stopping by to help anyone in need. Isn't he such a gentleman?"

You nodded stiffly, your slight smile frozen on your face, willing Ivy to hurry back with the snacks and drinks she had left for. After she had introduced the two of you to each other, you decided that Margaret was a perfectly pleasant person, even if she wasn't the type of friend you typically sought out. If anything, you were more confused than ever about what she was doing, hanging around a guy as bitter as Theo.

However, one thing that truly bothered you was the odd remark here or there that revealed her grossly inaccurate perceptions of him, such as this one. You thought back to just last week when you had tripped in front of him on one of the Shifting Staircases, your books tumbling down into the recesses of the stairwell. He had stopped by you, alright. Stopped to point and laugh, that is.

"Honestly, I couldn't have asked for a better boyfriend. He's really sweet," Margaret finished.

Your eyes nearly fell out of your head.

"Sweet?"

Just in time, Ivy hurried over, gently pulling you away with some half-hearted excuse.

"O-kay, I think that's enough bonding for today."

"Sweet," you echoed weakly as you limply allowed yourself to be carted away, the appalled expression still on your face. "She thinks he's sweet." Euch.

But Ivy wasn't paying attention to you anymore. "How bad is it?" she asked, as the two of you neared the cluster around Draco.

"Bad," Ivan replied, gingerly pressing Draco's knee. "He definitely needs to see Madam Pomfrey. No way he'll be able to play any more today, and we're out of reserves, so we're a man short." He turned, motioning to the Gryffindor players scattered across the field that the game was over.

"Damn. I'll take him to the hospital wing, I've been meaning to check on Mattheo too. Meg, you'll help me, won't you?"

With a little difficulty, the three of them limped along once they had pulled Draco's arms over their shoulders. One of the Gryffindor players approached the crowd, picking up on what was happening after a glance at Draco.

"What about the game?"

Theo rolled his eyes. "We'll rematch, you nitwit."

You went back to your seat, trying to figure out what to do with Ivy's refreshments. Once it was clear that the game was over, the last of the players and the scanty audience filtered out of the room.

"What gives?"

You pulled your gaze back to the lone Slytherin player left, in a blood-spotted mesh vest. Your least favourite player. You could slap that on a T-shirt - not that you wanted to cheer for him. Merlin, no. Cheer against him, maybe. You wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy - which, coincidentally, happened to be him. You momentarily abandoned your musings as you returned to the real world, noticing the expectant look on his face.

"Hm?"

Theo spread him arms out and shrugged in a helpless sort of manner.

"I don't get it, L/N. What do you want from me?

You stared at him blankly. "...what are you talking about?"

He scoffed half-heartedly, like he was too upset to put any real heat behind it.

"I have this amazing new girlfriend that everyone loves." He tossed the ball away with a defeated air. "Everyone, except you."

The words stung. You stuck your chin out defiantly.

"Why do you care so much about what I think?"

"Why can't you just be happy for me?

"I just want you to be honest."

Theo's eyebrows shot up. "Honesty? That's what this is about?"

That's what it had always been about, you wanted to say. You sniffed nonchalantly, rearranging the pleats of your skirt.

"I don't think it's fair to Margaret that you're selling her some lie just to -"

"You think I'm lying to her?"

He kept his voice cool, almost offensively neutral. You rolled your eyes. "I know you are."

Theo was quiet after that, as if mulling over what you had said.

"So," he pressed after a moment, slowly walking towards you, forcing you to crane your head up to maintain eye contact, "you think I should be more transparent with her. That is...show her my unpleasant side."

You allowed yourself a brief smile. "Exactly."

"Be more rude to her."

"Yeah."

"Mock her."

You furrowed your brow slightly.

"Erm, sure."

"Insult her."

"I - what?"

"In short," Theo continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "you want me to treat her like I do you."

He tilted his head.

"Why is that? Do you feel...betrothed to me? Or, perhaps, you consider me your boyfriend? Since we're being honest, and all."

In that moment, you decided you never hated Theo more than you did then, with his domineering stances, condescending sneers, and caustically sarcastic remarks. You swallowed hard, your throat almost painfully tight as you felt the traitorous prick of tears behind your eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous," you muttered. But he wasn't being entirely ridiculous, was he? It was what made the whole thing all that more upsetting.

If he noticed you were teary-eyed, he didn't comment on it, as if it were disappointing. As if you were yet another disappointment in his book of unfairly high expectations. He straightened with a barely convincing air of nonchalance. If anything, he looked just as upset as you felt.

"Whatever, L/N. See you around."

[barblaz-arts]

Hi! :) Back when viv was still developing hazbin and making speed draws, she would often draw art of vaggie with these unique eyes surrounding and staring at her, and the art would display vaggie feeling annoyed or uneasy. I find it still very interesting and was wondering if these were eyes that represented all the demons she killed and her guilt? or had to do with something else entirely. We’re still not completely sure if these are still present in current hazbin rn but I was curious on what your take, theories and over all thoughts are on it! Love your comics and AUs on Chaggie sm and can’t wait to see more!

Oh yeah that! I always did find that pretty neat when it came to her earlier arts. Even more interesting, is that this concept was carried over even in one of her trading cards.

I think the eyes are meant to represent a lot of things tbh, especially since eyes in the show had been associated with both Heaven and Hell.

Let's look at Hell's side first.

Your interpretation about the eyes being the demons she killed I think is one of the things it's supposed to mean. I don't know the source, so I dont consider this info canon, but I found out somewhere that the eyes that can be seen all over Hell is supposed to be what remains of the demons the Exorcists have killed. Like being cleansed by angelic steel can't completely erase them but simply make them part of Hell, if no longer sentient.

I have my doubts though, because in the intro backstory, the eyes seem to have already been in Hell before the Exterminations began.

And in the intro, the eyes showed up specifically after Charlie talked about Sin worming its way to humanity because of what Lilith and Lucifer convinced Eve to do. If this timing is in any way relevant, the eyes could be related to Roo aka The Root of Evil instead.

I'm not sure if other characters were drawn with these disembodied eyes as much as Vaggie has been. But at the very least, I think Vaggie's the one drawn the most often with them.

Anyways, considering all this, the more obvious and plausible answer could be that the eyes was just Vivzie's way of foreshadowing her guilt over Exterminating demons. But if Vaggie can be allowed to be more involved with the biggest bad of the show in a more direct way than just her close proximity with the main protag, then maybe it's even meant to foreshadow even more than we already know. I don't have a lot of hope for this tbh. It's not like Vaggie was a very important angel. Exorcists gave me the impression that they could be pretty low in Heaven's hierarchy. So like, idk why this could foreshadow a connection with Roo, but it is a super interesting thought to entertain lol

Now on Heaven's side though, the eyes could also just be for a touch of tragic irony I guess. Angels in the old testament looked a lot closer to this...

... Lotsa eyes and shit. And that's why the seraphs like Lucifer, Sera, and Emily could manifest multiple extra eyes in their "true forms".

But Vaggie was stripped away of everything that physically made her an angel. Lute took away her wings, halo, and even one of her goddamned eyes. Ain't it ironic that she has only one eye when the most powerful angels have been shown with a whole dang lot? Seems to me like it was another cruel way of Lute's to show that Vaggie "has no place in Heaven". And the eyes haunting Vaggie could be a manifestation of her thoughts of it being true.

So to tie this all together(except for the Roo thing), you're right. It could be the guilt over what she did to Hell's denizens. But it could also be an ironic, symbolic reminder that she was an exile of Heaven.

[noihavenosanitythanksforasking]

thinking about how milevens tend to assume that bylers want mileven to break up just because we want byler to happen.

no love

wanting byler to be canon and wanting mileven to break up are two separate wants.

Mike and El have their own story outside of will. Even if Mike wasn't queer and Will wasnt around this story would still be their story. Will may be a character in their story but the story is still about mike and el. Mike and Els story line is the marriage of the two of their two individual character arcs.

El's story arc is based around the fact that she was abused as a child and was dehumanized to an extreme level that no child should ever experience. She does not have an identity of her own. She wasn't raised to even expect to have one in the first place. Her story is learning to be able to her own person. To just be herself and learning who that person is.

When she met mike she created an identity around him. and identity of being the super powered mage who saved the day. that was El. then she became mikes gf and suddenly she was now "mikes gf". It wasnt until she met max that someone actually tells her that she is allowed to be her own person. "theres more to life than stupid boys" "what feels right" before Max she was just existing trying to play a role of what she was supposed to be rather than figuring out who she was or who she wanted to be. What she wanted. El is not raised to have wants. El was raised to be a weapon, a lab rat, a tool that does what they are told.

When this story intersects with a story arc like Mike has you get the disaster that is Mileven.

Mikes story arc is actually very similar. Mike is a very codependent person. He wants to feel needed. he wants to feel useful. If he doesnt have a use to someone he thinks he must be a waste of space. Mike doesnt know who he is outside of other people. He has never explored what he wants for himself. He is for other people. As a codependent person myself i can relate to this a lot. It can be hard to know what YOU want for yourself, outside of people you care about. Mike puts his loved ones before himself so much to the fact that it tends to get him into trouble more often than not. The issue with being codependent is that you become almost blind to who YOU are and what YOU need. you suppress your emotions for other people and these emotions only tend to surface when you realize that holy shit. i cant do anything here. This is the situation mike is finding himself in during season 4 and continuing into season 5. there is nothing he can do anymore. it is clear that him putting el above his own feelings and giving her what she wants in his attempt to help is not working. In fact its HURTING his relationship with el. Now mike doesnt know what to do. so he's drifting. El was his trauma partner. when things get too hard and too confusing he retreats into "el mode" where his only thought is what El needs. This is not a healthy mindset AT ALL. no matter how much the media romanticizes that sort of thing. IT IS NOT HEALTHY. you cant live like that. but now El has communicated "i dont want that. stop lying and get your shit together".

so mike is stuck. and el is stuck.

because theirs is a coming of age story. however not all coming of age stories are romantic. Mike and El cannot communicate with each other. they are both selfishly selfless in the way they treat each other.

I am going to be who you want me to be because i think thats what you want and it makes me feel secure.

this is not something you want in a relationship. a relationship is based on trust and vulnerability. being able to be youre rawest and truest form of yourself for another person. and feeling seen and loved despite it.

this is not present AT ALL in mileven as a couple. they are both discovering who they are still and are not space to be doing that in a relationship where they feel the need to hide themselves from each other. you cant find yourself that way.

wow look how much nuance i pulled from mike and el without mentioning will once. wow its almost like will is not the reason their relationship is failing

[ihopesocomic]

I'm curious if you guys know about Clouded Moon, Shifting Roots? The book just came out and I read it, I thought it was pretty good

I read it. And I did not care for it. It read more like it was something for people who are already fans of these characters and not for people who were looking for something separate from Warrior Cats. Which would be fine but then I wouldn't have bothered.

It read like they felt like they had something better than Warrior Cats when in reality it was no different from Warrior Cats. Which is the problem with many Warrior Cats adjacent things. They end up making the exact same mistakes. 

There is an unneeded amount of telling and not showing. There was so many instances where a character would explain something that happened to them prior to the events of the book. The writers of Warrior Cats are beholden to a narrative structure of following a linear timeline that is not a standalone story. It requires context from other books. Since this is a story independent of Warrior Cats, I have to wonder why this writer didn't just. Start from the beginning. It would explain the actions and feelings of characters better without having to dump exposition on your readers. This is especially obvious later in the book where the main characters get attacked by coyotes and snakes and we see none of it happen lol it's all third-hand accounts of what happened.

It still has an unnecessarily large cast. Warriors has a problem with too many characters, so why did you CHOOSE to have the same problem? Characters sharing the same prefix is a huge mistake. There is only one instance where it made sense because eventually something changes. But I've been in WC RP groups before and there's a good reason the ones I was in disallow the same prefix lol it's fucking confusing. If you're not gonna trim the fat, it does the reader a disservice to not do your best to make sure no one gets confused. I don't care how attached to the names y'all are. V*viziepop did this shit and I'm gonna criticize the book for doing the same thing.

You can barely focus on the protagonists. They were basically interchangeable, which was not helped by the constant changing of perspectives, because they all essentially have the exact same thoughts on top of a cast you can barely keep track of. They barely had personalities to speak of, so all of them are surprisingly plain. And I'm supposed to believe at least half of the main cast were close friends at some point. Even characters that should at the very least be morally grey like Dawnfrost and Goldenpelt felt like the writer(s?) didn't want to make them "TOO" bad so that people would still like them. Cuz god forbid we have characters that have to grow to become better people. They're essentially a cult in the woods who are at constant odds with each other and you don't want to have Dawnfrost have some questionable thoughts about anything? 

Since the protagonists barely have a personality, character deaths happening around them have such little impact, even the ones I was surprised by. I imagine if this was remedied by telling the story from the start, I would probably care at least a little. I had stronger feelings about Duskwater dying and she had no dialogue and died pooping.

It is only because I have read Warrior Cats does it make it obvious where this story's roots came from. Because all of it is disappointingly interchangeable with Warrior Cats. You can't just change a few words and claim that something doesn't have ownership of something and then keep it virtually the same anyway. Aside from a few minor differences like queer characters having a Mike Wazowski cameo in the background, and magic being more widespread, nothing about it is different. To its detriment, without the context of Warrior Cats, there is no reason characters should be having half of the problems they currently have. A lot of the problems would be solved by simply making choices the cats in Warriors wouldn't. There's too many examples to give, but one that kind of drives me crazy is Windclan Field Colony leaders captains allegedly dislike Spottedshadow for her questionable loyalty, but they trust her enough to train their youth? Any other story would have leadership, no matter what the consequence, withhold that kind of power and make the protagonist find ways to subvert that.

And speaking of the queer characters, the cast is embarrassingly vanilla. You have the luxury of not being beholden to a publishing company's whims, you could have one big ol' polycule, or whatever the fuck, and you just. Don't bother? I know they've had these characters for a long time but like. None of the main cast is gay? Trans? Nothing? I guess Spottedshadow and Dawnfrost are bisexual since they had a relationship at some point, which again we the readers are not even present for, but it is entirely inconsequential to literally everything. I don't even recall whether a character brings it up in conversation. Neither of them barely spare a thought for each other, but their male romantic partners get plenty, even Goldenpelt. I guess to be fair, even the f/m romances are about as deep as the ones in WC. But did we not all decide this was tokenism? Or does it get a pass because it's "independent"? I've always said if you're not going to give your queer characters quality, you're better off not having them at all. I know they had these characters for a long time, but to advertise it as being queer is grossly misleading. People got more from the queer subtext from Frostdawn (god) and Whistlebreeze than queer context in this book. Again, if this was started from the beginning, where we got to see their relationship and it's just not working out, I wouldn't even be having this conversation right now.

And worst of all, it was boring.

I really need people to read books that are not Warrior Cats to have an idea of what good books are. Because if the line is "not warriors" then this book can't even cross that. - Cat

-

Basically all of what Cat said. I also didn't care much for the worldbuilding changes from it being a Warrior Cats RP story either. Like Cat said: if you're going to make it not Warrior Cats, you may as well just start from scratch so you can do things differently more efficiently.

Not only are the changes superficial at best but... they either make no sense or are very cumbersome. Like the Captains have these titles like 'Elmtail the something or other Branch' and I'm just like why? I mean, I get it because it's meant to imply something about their personality and leadership strategy but this is an example of how this story tells but does not show.

It also bothers me how we have mismatch of rank titles like Captain, Second, Envoy etc., which may sound like a nitpick but... it makes it really hard to remember what rank does what and what order of seniority they're in. It wasn't until quite far in the book that I realised that an Envoy appears to be something of a third-in-command of the colonies after the Second and the Captain. Even though - traditionally - an envoy is a low-ranking title in most situations. I know a rebuttal to this would be that the Envoy is simply 'in training' but nah, they're on the Council with the Second and the Captain and Goldenpelt even lords over Spottedshadow by using his seniority as Envoy at one point.

I would've just liked an explanation for these new choices in rank titles because they don't seem to correlate well at all. Like with our WC rewrite - The Nefarious - we went with a medieval ranking system because the two Colonies we have date back to medieval times so it makes sense for them to carry those titles throughout their history. Same goes for Warrior Cats itself, which isn't entirely necessary because it's pretty easy to follow what the titles mean but it's still nice we get to see how the Clans established themselves in Dawn of the Clans and Moth Flight's Vision.

And what makes things even more complicated on top of remembering all of the main cast and their respective deals is that - in place of the Leader, the Deputy and the medicine cat arriving at decisions for their Clan - each Colony has a Council that you have to keep up with that is made up of the Captain, the Second, the Envoy and an Elder. WindClan Field Colony even goes that extra mile and adds the Herbalist (medicine cat) to their Council. Good luck remembering which cats are on which Council for each Colony because I sure as hell don't.

We also have a stand-in for StarClan and the Nine Lives ceremony or w/e but I don't remember much about this. It was just more lore and more characters I had to keep track of.

To sum it up all: everything you're familiar with in Warrior Cats has just been taken and renamed but made even more needlessly complicated so that it seems 'different'. It's certainly different... it's just harder for me to keep track of everything. But congratulations, I guess? shrug - RJ

[anachronismstellar]

I have no other excuse for this besides:

1) Italian YQY is funny as hell and

2) I need to practice some of my Italian or I'll forget everything I've seen in college lmao

So why not enjoy the brainrot? :D

Prompted by this amazing post by @artsarasp and @vodkassassin

TW: Old Master Place being Old Master Palace

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

Yue Qingyuan was a politician true and through, capable of mediating difficult groups of egotistical individuals, his presence imposing enough to demand respect. But there was something about Huan Hua’s Old Palace Master that brought forward his street-smart instincts, a sleaziness that made his teeth ache and the hair on the back of his neck raise up. It was so bad that he had to concentrate on circulating his qi to not lose his mind. Or his patience.

Because if there was one thing that Yue Qingyuan could call himself was patient. But every man had their limits, and Yue Qingyuan was reaching his.

"Besides, you will understand with time, young Sect Leader Yue, these types of border negotiations must be dealt with utmost care. Oh back in my day when-"

And on and on the Old Palace Master went, his voice gritting on Yue Qingyan’s years.

They had been fighting over the border issue for the past five days. It was supposed to be simple, a matter to be solved between head disciples at most, nothing that a simple correction of maps wouldn't solve.

And all this due to a river Huan Hua palace had diverted themselves resulting on them pushing back their own territory. An action they have done without consulting their own maps, creating this entire situation without Cang Qiong Sect knowledge of it, only to whine and complain right after.

This was pointless. A waste of time. He could have been having tea with Xiao Jiu right now or reading the last pile of paperwork Shang-shidi had left on his table. Five days ago. Heavens, he would rather go back to the Ling Xi caves and lock himself there for a month than listen to another hour of this nonsense.

Their departure had already been rescheduled two times. It had gotten to the point which Shang Qinghua had panicked after sending the third bird, arriving at the Huan Hua Palace the day before by sword flying.

He could feel Wei Qingwei stealing glances at him on his right, eyebrows slightly raised, clenching his hands over crossed arms. On his left, Shang Qinghua wasn't fairing any better by the soft vibration coming from under the desk, leg shaking in an anxious tick.

"- And then your Shizun, young Sect Leader Yue, personally had gone there to check it! I remember as if it were yesterday! Oh how beautiful she was, your Peak colors suited her very well! And the nape of her neck, as gracious as a swan-"

Yue Qingyuan had enough.

"Stronzo, porco di merda," Yue Qingyuan let it slip through his clenched teeth, Xuan Su warming up to dangerous levels against his waist. "Testa di cazzo, figlio di puttana," he closed his eyes, doing his best to breathe through his nose, letting it go through his mouth. Even so, not even Wei Qingwei polite cough or Shang Qinghua's squeak was enough to snap him out of the pure wave of rage coming straight from his core.

He had kept himself quiet for far too long if that insolent decrepit man had the audacity to mention his Shizun as if he hadn't acted like a dog in heat every time he wormed himself close to her. Each praise felt dirty, as if the Old Palace Master were dragging tar all over his Shizun's image, perverting her beauty with a sickening smile. Yue Qingyuan could almost see the droll dripping from the scum's mouth.

"Mortacci tua!" he said with a slap on the table, shoulders hunched as he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

"Zhangmen-shixiong-" Wei Qingwei gently took him by his arm, trying to calm him down, his qi rattling Xuan Su to the point of the sword start buzzing inside its sheath.

"What is the meaning of this?" the Old Palace Master demanded with a frown, lips pulled downwards, nasty friendly aura completely forgotten. "Explain yourself! Does Young Sect Leader Yue intent to curse this Master?!"

"Sei proprio un rattuso che dovrebbe andare a farsi nel culo," he said with a smile, ignoring how every single person in the room had their hands on their swords, or how Wei Qingwei seemed to be doing his best (and failing) at holding back his laughter.

Not only curse you, you fucking pervert but also your entire family and ancestors, piece of shi-

"Aiyaaa! Forgive us, Old Master," Shang Qinghua said as he squeezed Yue Qingyuan arm hard enough to make for him to wince. "This lord fears that Zhangmen-shixiong might be going through some type of qi deviation!" and in a proper Shang Qinghua fashion he started to whine, fat tears already gathering at the corner of his eyes. "This lord humbly requests a break so a doctor might check on Sect Leader Yue! This one has never seen him so distressed, please Old Master-"

Yue Qingyuan didn't even have time to blink before Shang Qinghua took him away from the room, screaming for a doctor, not bothering to wait for the Old Palace Master's permission to leave with Wei Qingwei hot on their heels.

"What was that?!" And he knew he had messed up if Shang Qinghua was angry enough to hiss at him. "Yue-shixiong, have you lost your mind?! What if someone could understand what you said-!"

"I did," Wei Qingwei said with a snort, patting Yue Qingyuan on the shoulder, beaming like a proud big brother. "It was amazing and well deserved. That old sac-"

"Shh!" Shang Qinghua hurried to slap both hands over Wei-shidi's mouth, trembling all over. "Have you both lost your minds?! This place ears have ears, so kindly please shut the fuck up. Both of you," and then he threw a glare at Yue Qingyuan so heated it made him turn his face away from his shidi.

"Here is what we are going to do," he said after pulling a face, cleaning his hand over his robes while Wei Qingwei gave him a smug smile. "We are going to take Yue-shixiong to the doctor, and you are going to do your best to pretend to be really sick, do you hear me, Shixiong?"

Yue Qingyuan didn't want to, it felt wrong to pretend to be weak at the heart of their allies/enemies palace, but he trusted Shang Qinghua. He could see by the glint of his eye that he had already though of plan and a contingency one in case the first failed.

"And you," Shang Qinghua turned his glare at Wei Qingwei, lips pulled in an almost snarl, squinting at Wei-shidi while pointing his finger at the swordsman. "You are going to keep your big mouth shut if you want get any closer to a certain sword, do you hear me?!"

Yue Qingyuan wasn't stupid or frigid as bad tongues might say. He knew very well what Shang-shidi was insinuating, so he did his best to stare at the ceiling, doing his best to ignore the way Wei-shidi was almost giggling at Shang Qinghua.

"Of course, shidi~"

It could have gone worse, Yue Qingyuan though to himself as Shang Qinghua dragged him all the way to the medical wing of Huan Hua Palace. It could have gone way worse. Thank Heavens he had requested Wei-shidi to accompany him instead of Xiao Jiu. That would have ended up with the Old Master Palace with a dagger on his throat for sure.

And it would be well deserved. Porco matusa.

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

YQY: *can't hold together anymore* SQH: SHIXIONG NO- WQW: GO SHIXIONG!! GO APESHIT GOOO!!!

this was so SO fun ashdfuahsdufahsudf and yes I've sprinkled a little bit of 12/12 SQH over it, I couldn't help it ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I Airplane this so hard I didn't check what we know about YQY's Shizun but she is a boss woman now. An awesome lady because I said so lol

Now, to the Italian part,,,, I haven't studied Italian since?? 2019?? I'm very very rusty, and these are mostly curse words but please let me know if I said something weird OTZ

Stronzo: Shit, in this case "you piece of shit"

porco di merda: porco means pig, di merda means shitty, together it becomes shitty pig or fucking pig

Testa di cazzo: dickhead :D

Figlio di puttana: son of a bitch/son of a whore

Mortacci tua: .... This is a tricky one! From my sources (aka my Italian speaking friend) it's like YQY was cursing OMP entire family, including his ancestors in a really reaaaally rude way.

Sei proprio un rattuso che dovrebbe andare a farsi nel culo: "you are a real pervert old man and you should kindly go fuck yourself" we love a really passive agressive sect leader Xiao Jiu would be proud

porco matusa: again, porco means pig, and matusa comes from Methuselah which is the oooooold dude from the bible. idk if this one is right, but I wanted to call OPM an old pig lol

I hope you guys had as much fun as I did writing this and searching for Italian cuss words :D

And Long Live Italian YQY, may he finally go off and bite many people's heads like he deserves