#that’s it I won’t be extending on this

[revelboo]

Oh my God, I took my dog to the groomer and she came back looking awful! She’s so ugly right now, she looks like an ugly little duckling 😭

Could I request a scenario where the reader gets a ridiculous haircut, and their bot has to comfort them and act like it’s no big deal (but deep down, he can’t even look at them without laughing)

Oh, no. Poor thing!

Haircut

Bluestreak

• “Don’t freak out.” Inhaling slowly, because those aren’t the words you want to hear when you entrust your big alien bestie with a pair of scissors and ask him to try to help you out. Just wanted a couple inches off to get rid of the dead ends since you live in alien lockdown. And when you turn, he won’t meet your eyes, door wings dropping and flattening against his back. Looking down, your jaw clenches. Because that’s a lot. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what an inch was and I was scared I’d do it wrong and my hand started shaking-” Reaching out for the scissors makes his babbling taper off.

• “It’s fine,” you say, smiling though it’s not exactly a nice smile. “You did your best and it’s fine. It’ll grow back. Nothing to worry-” Eyes closing as a shadow falls over the rec room table and Sideswipe starts cackling as he lets his human slide out of his hands onto the surface. And they’re biting their lip, looking like they’re struggling not to laugh, too. ‘Oh, hun. No,’ they say, reaching for the scissors and making you turn around. ‘I think I can fix it, but how do you feel about bobs?’

• “Great,” you manage, before forcing yourself to smile for Blue because he looks like he’s about to start bawling and you really don’t want to find out if giant robots can cry. “Hey, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” you say, reaching out to touch his hand and he just lunges at you, arms wrapping around you as he hits his knees. And you lay a palm on his helm when he hides his face against your belly babbling apologies. Before lifting your other arm and extending a middle finger to Sideswipe.

• Clinging to you as the other human fixes his screw up, he can’t make himself meet your eyes. Why aren’t you yelling at him? You’re very obviously unhappy with him, so why not take it out on him like everyone else does? The fact that you won’t somehow just making it so much worse. You’re allowed to be angry with him, to tell him when he does something wrong. So why won’t you?

• Rubbing the top of his helm and gently trying to keep him from accidentally gouging you with his chevron, you close your eyes listening to the steady snip snip snip. It’s just hair. It’ll grow back. Even if you kind of want to cry. Blowing out a shaky breath, you fix your anger on Sideswipe. Who’s still laughing. It might be worth sacrificing a shoe to bean the jerk.

[xxtc-96xx]

Do you think Silver would gain… I won’t say immortality like Shadow but an increased lifespan

I’m still wondering that, I think it could be possible he has an extended lifespan

[iskinnedmyknee]

This is soo true and supported so many times in the text. In cannon, everlark has numerous periods of separation followed by them coming back together. AND Katniss’s mental health almost instantly improves every time they reconnect, regardless of how bad the circumstances are at that time.

At the beginning of Catching Fire, we’re introduced to a Katniss that is struggling to reintegrate into D12 at the conclusion of her first games. She understands that she has angered the Capitol, but she doesn’t recognize the stakes until her talk with President Snow. She is so miserable in the first pages of CF, traumatized, struggling to process her grief; struggling to make sense of her feelings and all the changes. And this is before she even knows that the Districts are rebelling and her family’s existence is at risk. AND HER AND PEETA ARE NOT SPEAKING!!! Then, she receives this threat from Snow, kicks off the victory tour, and is stressed beyond belief, lashing out at Effie on the train. But Peeta follows her outside and extends an offer of pure friendship, no strings attached. And in spite of it all, in spite of the death threat hanging over her head, in spite of her situation being demonstrably WORSE than it was at the very beginning of the book, she feels some RELIEF. Because even though he doesn’t immediately know what’s going on, Peeta helps her regulate her emotions even in the most dire circumstances. I mean, she won’t tell him what’s wrong so the man asks what her favorite color is. Bringing it back to the basics, always.

Or how about her saying it feels “impossibly good” when Peeta finally offers her some emotional comfort after going full blown drill sergeant on her once the Quell was announced? Or her insane relief at Finnick reviving Peeta after the force field? Or her complete emotional collapse during the jabberjay section of the arena and her anger that Peeta didn’t immediately come to her aid before she knows that he physically can’t? Her, albeit temporary, elation when he’s rescued from the Capitol? Like at all these moments, she’s in these horrific conditions with almost no hope for escape or improvement, yet Peeta’s mere presence helps her regulate, brings her peace, and gives her hope as a consequence. No other character is doing that for her in cannon, not even Prim.

I’ve seen an alarming number of people call Peeta weak or insinuate that Katniss doesn’t love him or need him at all throughout the trilogy. The implication that she settled or he finally wore her down enough to get his way. And I’m sorry, but if you truly believe that, you either haven’t read the books with an announce of critical thought or you have willfully missed the point. Peeta is the only logical option. Katniss can muddle through just fine in her own, yes. But Peeta brings so much meaning and purpose and hope and stability to her life. Why should she want to be alone? When one of her options is literally her dandelion in the spring?

Ugh and this makes Mockingjay so hard for me to read because our poor girl is SUFFERING and deregulated and no one is helping her because NO ONE ELSE CAN HELP HER. How different would it have been for her if she had Peeta? MY HEART.

The intimacy that exists between Katniss and Peeta is so special to me. Like from day ONE on the train to the Capitol, they have this instant connection. Laughing with each other on their way to a death match. I can’t get overr themmm. They will never not be my Roman Empire.

peeta & dealing with katniss' disregulation

one thing i love about everlark is how they are such different people but peeta has a really good grasp of how to support katniss and calm her down in a way that nobody else does. i think this is more obvious and more common in catching fire, but in my reread i'm noticing it even in thg, when they don't know each other nearly as well.

katniss is really easily disregulated. a lot of this comes from the trauma of the games, of course, and the general pain and anxiety that comes with living on unstable income in the seam. but i think also she is the sort of person that feels so emotionally and physically distraught when things are outside of her comfort zone or overstimulating, and it's really hard for her to reel herself back in. peeta clocks that very fast and knows how to keep her calm and ground her.

"The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress, and sometimes, for just a moment, I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again." (THG, pg. 397)

this stuck out to me because one of the things that helps to keep katniss from panicking is always baby steps. she does this constantly in the arena. ("I give myself a series of simple commands to follow, like "Now you have to sit up, Katniss. Now you have to drink water, Katniss." I act on the orders with slow, robotic motions." [THG, pg. 280]). she regulates herself by picking up small tasks, noticing small things, one step at a time, so as not to get overwhelmed by the whole of it. she has difficulty functioning, so she inches her way to progress by distracting herself from her overwhelm. i don't think she's constantly thinking about this while she does it, i think it's just a coping mechanism she's developed after years and years of hardship.

peeta picks this up instantly. mind you, at this point in the book, he's literally bleeding out, dying on top of the cornucopia, but trying to stay conscious and calm for katniss' sake because he knows she's on the brink of full on, hyperventilating panic. they're listening to cato's screams while he's being ripped apart by the mutts for hours and so to distract her, he gently guides her with his words, helping her to notice the moon and the way it shifts and to focus on something else. he's not babying her, but he's keeping things as simple as possible because he knows that her nervous system is such a strong, intense jumble of emotional knots right now.

it's essentially that thing you're meant to do when you are having a meltdown or a panic attack where you try to pick out things you can see, touch, smell, etc. it's a grounding exercise. that's exactly what he's doing with her, and it does help. nobody else does this for her really at any point, not even gale, who is her best friend and in some sense knows her better than anybody, or even prim. because peeta really understands her in a way that nobody else does.

[kathaelipwse]

A Little Too Close | S.Mingi

Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader

Word Count: 12,154 words | Reading time: 44-ish mins

Trope: Brother’s Best Friend | Slow Burn | Friends to Lovers | Protective Male Lead

Warning: Mild language, mentions of alcohol, emotional heartbreak, brief violence (non-graphic and not between mingi and y/n), soft angst with a happy ending, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

Song:

Synopsis: You grew up with your best friend Nari and her charming older brother, Mingi. He was always just out of reach—too old, too flirty, too much of a heartbreaker. But when Mingi returns after three years abroad, everything changes. Lines blur, secrets surface, and your heart starts to beat a little too loud every time he’s near. And maybe… he’s always felt the same way.

Author’s Note: To the girlies who’ve ever loved someone they were never supposed to… who kept quiet out of respect, fear, or timing—this one’s for you. If you've ever smiled through the ache of watching him be someone else's or convinced yourself your feelings didn’t matter… this story will feel like home.

The chipped ceramic mugs, each bearing a faded illustration from a beloved children's book, sat precariously stacked in the cupboard. They were relics of countless childhood tea parties, elaborate affairs orchestrated by you and Nari in the sun-drenched backyard, filled with whispered secrets and the serious business of imaginary kingdoms. Your bond with Song Nari was an unbreakable thread, woven through scraped knees bandaged with cartoon plasters, triumphant performances in school plays where you always had each other's backs, and the bewildering, often hilarious, landscape of adolescence. And then there was Mingi, Nari’s older brother, a looming yet comforting presence who had always been a part of your shared world. Five years your senior, he was the one who could effortlessly reach the highest shelf where forbidden snacks were kept, the one whose booming laughter often echoed through the familiar chaos of your childhood home, and, perhaps most significantly for you, the one who had a way of making your stomach flip with a confusing mix of comfort and utter fluster.

Your first heartbreak had been a particularly brutal affair, the kind that felt like the world was ending. You’d stumbled through Nari’s front door, a hiccuping, tear-streaked mess of teenage angst. “He… he said I wasn’t… mature enough,” you’d choked out between ragged sobs, the callous words feeling like shards of glass lodged in your throat. Without a word, Nari had led you to her room, a sanctuary of plush toys and fairy lights, offering a comforting arm around your shoulders. But it was Mingi who had truly acted. He’d leaned against the doorframe, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a quiet intensity, his jaw tight with an unfamiliar tension. “Tell me his name,” was all he’d said, his voice low and carrying a hint of something that made you feel strangely safe amidst your despair. The next day, a series of hushed phone calls and cryptic teenage gossip confirmed that the offending boy had received a stern, albeit non-violent, talking-to courtesy of Mingi. “He won’t bother you again,” Mingi had simply stated later, ruffling your hair with a reassuring hand that lingered a moment too long, sending a confusing warmth through you. It was an act of brotherly defense extended to his sister’s best friend, but for your young heart, it had felt like something profoundly more.

That feeling, a quiet flutter of admiration that had stubbornly refused to dissipate over the years, had taken root early, like a tenacious little seed. Mingi, with his easy charm that could disarm even the strictest teachers and that lopsided grin that always seemed to hint at a shared secret, had unknowingly occupied a significant corner of your heart. “Hey squirt,” he’d often tease, using the childhood nickname that still managed to make your cheeks warm despite your protests. “Still tripping over your own feet?” But beneath the playful jabs, there was always a hint of genuine affection. But the unspoken rule, the invisible, yet fiercely enforced, boundary of him being Nari’s brother, had always kept those feelings carefully locked away, a secret you guarded closely. “He’s like a brother to me too,” you’d often tell yourself, a mantra whispered in the quiet corners of your mind, desperately trying to quell the inconvenient stirrings of your heart whenever he was near.

Three long years. That’s how long Mingi had been gone, chasing dreams of coding breakthroughs and late-night hackathons in the land of opportunity. “Finally escaping your annoying faces,” he’d joked dramatically at the airport, a mischievous glint in his eyes, but his hug had lingered a moment longer with both you and Nari, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that distance couldn't entirely erase. You, now twenty and navigating the chaotic landscape of university life with its demanding deadlines and existential crises, had grown accustomed to his absence, a dull ache of missing camaraderie settling into the background, like a familiar hum. Nari, ever your constant anchor, had filled the void with countless late-night study sessions fueled by instant ramen and impromptu movie marathons punctuated by insightful (and often hilarious) commentary. “Remember that time Mingi tried to cook pasta for us and almost set the kitchen on fire because he forgot to add water?” she’d laugh, and you’d laugh along, a bittersweet pang in your chest at the memory of Mingi’s sheepish grin and the smoky aftermath.

Tonight was one such night. Empty pizza boxes, adorned with greasy fingerprints, lay scattered on Nari’s living room floor, the delicious remnants of your earlier indulgence. You were cocooned in a fort of blankets and pillows, dissecting a particularly dramatic episode of a K-drama, your voices hushed with suspense. “Seriously, how can he just leave her hanging like that at the airport?” Nari had exclaimed, throwing a handful of popcorn in the air dramatically, the kernels scattering like tiny white hail. Just then, the familiar creak of the old kitchen door hinge announced an unexpected arrival, and the rich aroma of brewing coffee wafted into the living room, a scent that instantly brought back a flood of memories.

The kitchen door swung open wider, and the world, as you knew it for the past three years, seemed to tilt precariously on its axis. Mingi stood in the doorway, shirtless, his sleep-rumpled hair adorably messy, a sleepy haze still clinging to his features, softening the sharp angles of his jaw. The soft morning light filtering through the window behind him cast him in a warm, golden glow, highlighting the lean muscle he’d gained during his time away, a subtle transformation that made your breath catch in your throat. “Morning, sleepyheads,” he mumbled, his voice still thick with the comforting rasp of sleep. “Couldn’t sleep. Jet lag’s a real beast.”

The spoon you had been absentmindedly twirling in your empty soda can, lost in thought about the on-screen heartbreak, clattered against the cool tiles with a sharp, echoing sound, slicing through the comfortable silence like a sudden alarm. Your eyes widened, locking onto his unexpected presence, and your breath hitched in your throat. He looked… different. More mature, undeniably handsome, with a quiet confidence that hadn’t been there before. “M-Mingi?” you stammered, the familiar name feeling foreign on your tongue after so long. Your cheeks already felt hot, a blush creeping up your neck. The years melted away in that instant, bringing back that familiar, unwelcome flutter in your stomach with an unexpected and potent intensity.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across Mingi’s lips as his gaze met yours, a spark of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, hello there, Y/N,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver tracing down your spine, a sensation you hadn’t felt in years and one you instantly recognized. He knew. He had to know the effect his unexpected appearance, his casual state of undress, was having on you. Your carefully constructed composure, the wall you’d built around those old feelings, crumbled with alarming speed. A more coherent, “You’re back! When did you…?” finally escaped your lips, but the blush on your cheeks deepened, betraying your inner turmoil.

“Mingi!” Nari’s voice, sharp and exasperated, broke the charged silence, pulling you both back to the present. She strode over and delivered a solid smack to his bicep, a familiar sibling gesture. “Seriously? Put a shirt on! We have company.”

Mingi merely scoffed, rubbing his arm but his eyes still held a playful glint as they flickered back to you, a silent acknowledgment passing between you. “What? Can’t a guy get coffee in his own house without being assaulted by his overly dramatic sister?” he grumbled good-naturedly before turning to rummage in a drawer, the sound of rustling fabric filling the awkward silence.

Later, after Mingi had retreated upstairs, a plain white t-shirt finally adorning his broad shoulders, the comfortable atmosphere in the living room had shifted. Nari’s expression turned serious, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a thoughtful frown. “You still… you still like him, don’t you?” she asked softly, her gaze searching your face, her concern evident.

You avoided her eyes, picking at a loose thread on your blanket, the familiar gesture offering a small semblance of comfort. “It’s… complicated, Nari. He’s your brother.” The words felt inadequate, a vast understatement of the internal battle raging within you.

Nari sighed, running a hand through her hair, her brow furrowed. “I know. And believe me, if Mingi was the serious type, the kind who’d actually commit to someone, I’d be your biggest cheerleader. ‘Go get him, Y/N!’ I’d be shouting from the rooftops. But you know him, you. It’s always been flings, casual things, one-night stands. Remember Sarah from that party last year? Or what about…?” She trailed off, seeing the discomfort flicker across your face. “I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt, Y/N. He’s… well, he’s Mingi.”

The air in the room thickened with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. You knew Nari was right, knew the potential for pain was a very real possibility. Yet, seeing Mingi again, that unexpected, slightly disheveled appearance in the kitchen, had stirred something within you, a longing that had been dormant but never truly extinguished. The return of the elder brother had not only brought him back into your lives but had also reignited a tension, a silent, magnetic pull between you and Mingi, that promised to complicate everything. He was back, and suddenly, the carefully constructed boundaries you had painstakingly maintained felt dangerously, thrillingly fragile. “He just got back,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Nari, a fragile tendril of hope unfurling in your chest. “Maybe… maybe things are different now.” Nari just gave you a skeptical look, a familiar expression that spoke volumes, and you knew, deep down, you were probably just wishing on a star that had long since faded.

The days following Mingi’s return settled into an uneasy rhythm. Nari, true to her protective instincts, subtly positioned herself as a buffer between you and her brother. During shared meals, she’d strategically place you on the opposite end of the table from him. When Mingi offered you a ride to university, she’d suddenly remember she needed a lift too, effectively sandwiching you in the backseat. Her efforts, though well-intentioned, felt a little stifling, and you couldn’t help but notice Mingi’s occasional raised eyebrow and suppressed smirk at her maneuvers.

Mingi, for his part, remained outwardly respectful. He’d greet you with a casual, “Hey, Y/N,” his tone friendly, devoid of the flirtatious edge you’d sometimes imagined in your more fanciful moments. Yet, there were subtle hints, fleeting glances that lingered a fraction too long, a playful nudge of your arm when he told a joke that made your skin prickle with a familiar awareness. He seemed to be treading carefully, a stark contrast to the carefree, sometimes reckless, older brother you remembered.

Weeks drifted by, filled with the usual demands of university life – late-night study sessions, caffeine-fueled group projects, and the constant pressure of looming deadlines. The tension with Mingi remained a low hum beneath the surface, an unspoken acknowledgment of the complicated history and the uncertain present.

Then came the text from Mingi: “Parents are off to their meditation retreat for the weekend. House party at our place Saturday night. You both are obviously invited.”

Nari’s immediate reaction was volcanic. “A party? In their house? He knows how Mom gets about messes!” she fumed, pacing her room. “The last time he threw a ‘small gathering,’ we found a rogue traffic cone in the bathtub!”

You, however, felt a flicker of something akin to excitement. The constant pressure of university had been weighing you down, and the prospect of a night of carefree fun, even with the inevitable awkwardness of Mingi’s presence, felt like a much-needed release. “Come on, Nari,” you pleaded, sinking onto her bed. “We’re both stressed out of our minds. A little break won’t hurt. Besides,” you added with a mischievous glint in your eye, “it’ll be a good distraction.”

After a considerable amount of persuasion, and your promise to help with the inevitable cleanup, Nari reluctantly agreed. Saturday night arrived with a flurry of getting ready. Nari, ever the stylist, insisted on picking out your outfit. She emerged from her closet with a shimmering silver silk dress that cascaded like liquid moonlight. It had delicate spaghetti straps and a daringly low back.

“Wow, Nari,” you breathed, admiring the way the fabric caught the light. “This is… stunning. Are you sure it’s okay?”

Nari grinned, applying a touch of lip gloss. “You deserve to turn some heads, Y/N. Besides, I have a feeling tonight might be… interesting.”

As you both descended the stairs, the music already thumping a steady beat, a wave of noise and laughter washed over you. Heads did indeed turn. You felt a flush rise on your cheeks as you navigated through the crowd, catching the appreciative glances of several guys. But it was Mingi’s reaction that truly registered.

He was standing near the makeshift bar, talking to a group of friends, his usual easy smile in place. But the moment his eyes landed on you, his expression shifted subtly. There was no leering, no lustful gaze like some of the other guys who had checked you out. Instead, a flicker of something akin to concern crossed his features. He scanned your bare shoulders and the expanse of your back, his brow furrowing slightly.

The November air, even indoors with the throng of bodies, held a definite chill. Mingi, you knew, was acutely aware of how sensitive you were to the cold. He remembered the way your hands would turn icy even in a slightly air-conditioned room.

Before you could even reach Nari, who had been momentarily waylaid by a chatty classmate, Mingi was striding towards you, weaving through the crowd with a determined look on his face. He reached you quickly, and without a word, he shrugged off the dark, wool coat he was wearing and gently draped it over your shoulders. The heavy fabric felt warm and comforting against your bare skin, carrying his familiar scent.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low, a hint of a scolding tone underlying his words, “it’s freezing in here. What are you even wearing? You know you catch a cold if a snowflake looks at you the wrong way.” His gaze wasn’t accusatory, but rather laced with a genuine concern that surprised you.

He adjusted the coat around your shoulders, making sure you were properly covered. Then, his hand lingered for a brief moment on your head, his fingers lightly patting your hair before he stepped back, his eyes still holding that perplexing blend of worry and… something else you couldn’t quite decipher.

Across the room, Nari, who had finally disentangled herself from her classmate, watched the exchange with a confused frown etched on her face. Mingi’s intense concern for you, so different from his usual detached demeanor, was a puzzle she couldn’t quite piece together. A seed of suspicion began to sprout in her mind. Was there more to her brother’s interactions with her best friend than she had initially assumed?

The house was quiet, the echoes of the party having retreated into the dusty corners and lingering in the faint scent of stale beer and synthetic fruit punch. You moved through the wreckage of the night, a solitary scavenger amidst the discarded remnants of revelry. Empty plastic cups lay scattered like fallen soldiers, their bright colors dulled by the dregs of forgotten drinks. Crumpled napkins, bearing the faint imprints of lipstick and hurried scribbles, lay abandoned on tabletops. Nari’s soft snores emanated from upstairs, a peaceful counterpoint to the lingering chaos below. You, however, felt a strange mix of exhaustion and a buzzing alertness, the events of the night replaying in your mind like a slightly blurry film reel.

You found Mingi exactly where you’d left him, still engaged in his impassioned, one-sided debate with the stoic ficus. “No, no, Ficus, you’re missing the crucial point!” he was slurring, his voice thick with the earnestness of the truly inebriated. He punctuated his points with dramatic finger gestures that nearly knocked over a nearby lamp. “It’s about… about the inherent conflict between… freedom… and… and… chlorophyll!” He squinted at the plant as if expecting a profound botanical rebuttal.

“Mingi,” you sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. His muscles were surprisingly tense beneath your touch. “Come on. Bed. The ficus will be here to discuss the socio-political implications of photosynthesis in the morning. I promise.”

He blinked slowly, his eyes struggling to focus. “Y/N? Is that you? Are you… are you the embodiment of arboreal liberation?”

You chuckled despite yourself. “Something like that. Now, up you get, sleepyhead.”

The journey upstairs was a slow, unsteady climb. Mingi insisted on stopping every few steps to share profound insights. “Did you know,” he announced gravely, leaning heavily on the banister, “that stairs… they’re just a metaphor for… upward mobility? Or maybe… downward spiral? Depends on your perspective, right?” He then proceeded to demonstrate both possibilities with a precarious wobble.

Finally, you managed to maneuver him into his surprisingly minimalist bedroom. As you attempted to guide him towards the bed, he latched onto your arm with surprising strength. “Don’t go,” he mumbled, his voice losing its playful edge, replaced by a raw vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings. “Just… just stay for a little bit. My head… it’s all fuzzy.”

You sat on the edge of his bed, your hand still in his. “I just need to make sure you’re comfortable, Mingi. You’ve had a lot to drink.”

He squeezed your hand. “Talk to me. Just… just talk. About… about anything. Distract me from the… the spinning.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Okay… um… did you see that shooting star last night? Before everyone got… well, you know.”

He frowned, concentrating hard. “Shooting star? Was it… was it fast? Like… like a fleeting moment of… of hope?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, kind of. Beautiful, but gone in a second.”

He sighed, his grip on your hand tightening. “That’s… that’s how I feel sometimes, you know? Like… like everything good… it just… vanishes.” He looked up at you, his eyes finally focusing with a startling clarity. “Like… like a real connection. You think you have it… and then… poof.”

A wave of unexpected empathy washed over you. “Not everything vanishes, Mingi. Some things… they stay.”

He shook his head slowly. “Do they? Or do we just… pretend they do? Because the alternative… the alternative is too damn scary.” He squeezed your hand again. “You… you always stayed, Y/N. You and Nari. Even when I was being a complete idiot.”

You managed a small smile. “We’ve known you a long time, Mingi. We’re kind of stuck with you.”

He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest. “Stuck, huh? Or… loyal?” He looked at you again, his gaze intense. “Loyalty… that’s… that’s important, isn’t it? More important than… than fleeting sparks?”

Before you could answer, he tugged your hand again, pulling you further onto the bed. You landed beside him, the mattress dipping precariously. “Just… just lie down for a second,” he mumbled, his eyes already drifting shut. “Just… just need to not feel so… alone.” His arms wrapped around you almost instinctively, pulling you close. “Promise… just… just a hug. Nothing weird.”

You hesitated, your mind racing. This was definitely crossing a line. But the raw vulnerability in his voice, the almost childlike need for comfort, chipped away at your reservations. “Okay,” you whispered, settling back against the pillows, his warm body pressed against yours.

He nestled his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “You know,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, “the thing about… about putting your heart out there… it’s like… like giving someone your favorite toy… and just… hoping they don’t break it.”

“Maybe… maybe if it’s the right person… they’ll cherish it,” you murmured softly, your own voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed again, a long, shaky breath. “Maybe… But what if I give them everything… and they… they just don’t feel the same way? That… that’s the worst, isn’t it? To be all in… and the other person… they’re just… dipping their toes.”

Without thinking, your hand reached up and gently stroked his hair. “Not everyone is like that, Mingi. Some people… they dive in headfirst too.”

He shifted slightly, his face nuzzling against your jaw. And then, he kissed you. It was a soft, fleeting brush of his lips against your skin, a moment of unexpected intimacy that sent a jolt of electricity through you. He chuckled softly, a low, contented sound. “You’re… you’re warm,” he mumbled, hugging you tighter.

Lying there in the dim light, entangled in Mingi’s drunken embrace, a storm of emotions brewed within you. His raw honesty, his unexpected vulnerability, the fleeting touch of his lips – it all felt significant, a crack in the carefully constructed wall between you.

What did this mean? Was it just the alcohol talking, stripping away his usual defenses and blurring the lines of your friendship? Or was there something more profound stirring beneath the surface, a hint of the feelings you had tried so hard to suppress for so long? The warmth of his body against yours, the lingering scent of him, the echo of his heartfelt fears – they all hung in the air, a silent, weighty question mark that promised to change everything. The comfortable boundaries of your shared history felt fragile, on the verge of shattering, leaving you adrift in a sea of unexpected emotions and a profound, unsettling question: what happens when the lines you’ve carefully drawn for years suddenly begin to blur?

And with that you fell asleep.

--

Next Morning:

The abrupt transition from the chaotic, laughter-filled energy of the house party to the stark, almost clinical silence of the following morning felt like waking from a vivid, slightly unsettling dream. Mingi’s consciousness flickered on like a faulty neon sign, a hazy awareness of a relentless throbbing behind his eyes and a deeply unsettling sense of disorientation. He blinked, his eyelids feeling heavy and gritty, as if they were coated in a fine layer of last night’s regrets. He struggled to orient himself, the unfamiliar softness of the pillows beneath his cheek a stark contrast to the usual firmness he preferred. Then, like a sudden, unwelcome downpour, fragmented memories of the previous night – the insistent thump of the bass, the forced, slightly manic laughter, the acrid taste of too much cheap whiskey – coalesced into a more alarming and deeply personal realization: he wasn’t alone.

Beside him, nestled amongst the tangled, rumpled landscape of his bedsheets, was Y/N.

A jolt of pure, unadulterated panic shot through him, cold and sharp, like a shard of ice piercing his already throbbing skull. His memory of the night was a fragmented, unreliable reel of drunken pronouncements that now sounded utterly ridiculous in the clear light of day, slurred jokes that had likely fallen flat, and hazy, disjointed conversations that he couldn’t piece together with any semblance of coherence. He carefully, almost imperceptibly, shifted his weight, his gaze sweeping over you, taking in the disarray of your sleeping form. The shimmering silver silk dress, the one that had caught the light so beautifully the night before, a sight that had inexplicably tightened something in his chest and made him momentarily forget his usual teasing banter, was now twisted and askew. The delicate spaghetti straps had slipped precariously off one slender shoulder, and the hem had ridden high on your thighs, revealing the smooth, vulnerable expanse of your skin. The neckline had also shifted, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone and the subtle, innocent swell of cleavage.

His alcohol-addled brain, despite the lingering fog, lurched into unwelcome, deeply inappropriate territory, a rush of almost primal thoughts flooding his system with an unsettling intensity. A wave of intense, burning shame washed over him, hot and immediate. This was Y/N, his sister’s best friend, practically family. He’d known you since you were a gangly kid with perpetually scraped knees, mismatched pigtails, and an insatiable curiosity that often led to minor household disasters. What in God’s name had happened? Had he, in his drunken stupor, crossed an invisible, yet sacrosanct, line? Had he, in his inebriated state, somehow taken advantage of your inherent kindness, your gentle nature, your unwavering loyalty to his sister? The very thought sent a sickening lurch to his stomach, a wave of nausea mixing unpleasantly with the relentless throbbing in his head.

With a jerky, almost violent movement, he carefully, painstakingly, unwound his arm from where it had somehow ended up draped possessively across your waist. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped, frantic bird. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a fresh, searing wave of guilt washing over him for even entertaining those base, disrespectful thoughts. He fumbled clumsily for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed, his hands shaking slightly, and gently, reverently, draped it over you, covering you from your exposed shoulders to your toes, as if trying to shield you from his own shameful thoughts. He needed to get out of here, to gulp down some fresh air, to try and piece together the fragmented events of the night without succumbing to the worst possible, and frankly terrifying, conclusions that his alcohol-addled brain was conjuring.

He slipped out of bed, his movements clumsy and hurried, his bare feet padding softly on the cool, polished wooden floor. He practically stumbled out of his room, the silence of the morning amplifying the frantic, guilt-ridden beating of his heart. The hallway was a silent testament to the previous night’s excesses, littered with stray cups and discarded clothing. He made his way downstairs, each hesitant step sending a jolt of pain through his aching head.

He found Nari in the kitchen, already surveying the domestic disaster zone with a grim, tight-lipped expression that could curdle milk. Empty bottles lay scattered across the countertops, overflowing ashtrays emitted a stale, unpleasant odor, and sticky rings marked the surfaces where forgotten drinks had rested. The moment she saw him, her eyes narrowed, sharp and accusatory, her arms crossing defensively over her chest, a silent barricade. “What the absolute hell happened last night, Mingi?” Her voice was low, dangerously controlled, each word laced with suspicion and barely suppressed fury.

He ran a shaky hand through his sleep-tousled hair, his head swimming in a nauseating sea of guilt, confusion, and a desperate need for strong coffee. “Nothing, Nari. I swear on Mom’s prize-winning orchids, nothing happened. I just… I think I had way too much to drink. I… I fell asleep. On my own bed.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet her direct gaze, the vivid, unwelcome image of you lying peacefully beside him still burned behind his eyelids.

Nari’s eyes narrowed further, her suspicion hardening into conviction. “Don’t lie to me, Mingi. I saw you two. When I came to check if you were both still alive amidst that carnage, you were… incredibly close. Like, disturbingly close.”

“We just… hugged,” he insisted, his voice strained, the lie feeling thick and heavy on his tongue, a betrayal of the trust he held with both of you. “I was drunk, Nari. I was being an emotional idiot, saying stupid, sentimental things that probably made no sense. But I swear to you, nothing… physical, nothing inappropriate happened. No kisses, no… nothing like that.” The lie about the soft, fleeting kiss on your jaw felt particularly corrosive, a small but significant act of omission that gnawed at his conscience. The thought of admitting even that small intimacy, that potential breach of the unspoken boundaries of their friendship, felt unbearable, a confirmation of his own potential for drunken recklessness.

Nari’s expression remained unconvinced, her gaze unwavering, boring into him with an intensity that made him want to squirm. “Just a hug? Mingi, you were practically spooning her when I saw you. Her head was nestled right on your chest.”

He winced, the hazy memory, though incomplete, confirming her damning words. “I was drunk and… and feeling things, okay? I said some stupid, sentimental crap about being scared of being alone. But I swear, Nari, nothing… untoward happened. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t do that to Y/N. Or to you. You have to believe me.”

Just then, you appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking slightly disheveled but thankfully enveloped in the comforting, oversized embrace of Mingi’s dark wool coat. You blinked, taking in the tense, silent accusation hanging heavy in the air. “Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still a little rough from sleep and the lingering effects of the previous night.

Nari’s gaze softened slightly as she looked at you, a flicker of genuine concern momentarily eclipsing her simmering anger towards her brother. “Are you okay, Y/N? Did he… did he do anything? Did he make you uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied, your eyes flicking briefly towards Mingi, a fleeting, unreadable glance, before quickly looking away, focusing on a non-existent speck of dust on the floor. “Just… a bit of a headache.”

The rest of the morning unfolded in a strained, almost surreal silence as the three of you navigated the monumental task of cleaning up the remnants of the party. The clinking of discarded bottles and the swish of the broom against the sticky floor were the only sounds that punctuated the heavy, unspoken tension. Mingi kept his physical distance, his guilt a tangible presence that seemed to radiate from him in waves. You, too, felt a strange, uncomfortable mix of embarrassment, lingering confusion, and a persistent, almost dreamlike warmth from the fragmented memory of Mingi’s unexpected embrace and that fleeting, almost innocent kiss on your jaw.

As the days bled into weeks, an unspoken, fragile agreement settled between you and Mingi: the intimate, blurry moments of that alcohol-fueled night were never explicitly acknowledged, relegated to the realm of hazy, unspoken anxieties. You both pretended it was a mere blur of excessive alcohol and shared exhaustion, a forgotten, slightly embarrassing footnote in the long, complicated history of your intertwined lives.

Mingi, however, found himself increasingly haunted by the fragmented recollections. The unexpected warmth of your body pressed against his, the soft, lingering scent of your shampoo that had inexplicably clung to his pillow, the surprising comfort of your quiet presence in his usually solitary space – these fleeting sensations haunted the edges of his thoughts, resurfacing in quiet moments. And then there was the kiss. He remembered the soft, almost accidental press of his lips against your jaw, a moment of unexpected intimacy that now filled him with a profound and persistent sense of guilt and self-reproach. He berated himself for his drunken impulsiveness, for potentially taking advantage of your inherent kindness and vulnerability in a moment of shared inebriation. Lost in his own self-recrimination and the weight of his perceived transgression, he didn’t recall the gentle, almost tender kiss you had placed on his forehead earlier that night, a small, unconscious gesture of care and affection that might have offered a completely different context to their shared intimacy, a potential sign of reciprocated feeling. He was too consumed by his own internal judgment to remember that fleeting act of reciprocal affection.

Then, a few weeks later, the carefully constructed silence shattered with the bright, unexpected news you shared. You walked into Nari’s apartment, your face flushed with a genuine, radiant happiness that hadn’t been there in weeks, a lightness in your step that was undeniably new. “Guess what?” you announced, your eyes sparkling with a newfound excitement that made Nari beam in response. “I’m dating someone.”

Nari’s face lit up, her earlier protective anxieties instantly forgotten in the thrill of your romantic development. “Seriously? Who is it? Oh my god, tell me everything! Spill the tea!”

You launched into an enthusiastic, detailed description of Lucas, a charming and intelligent guy from your literature class with a quick wit that matched your own often-cynical humor, kind eyes that seemed to genuinely see you, and a shared passion for obscure poetry. Nari was absolutely thrilled for you, her earlier protective instincts regarding Mingi seemingly assuaged by the tangible reality of your new, blossoming romance.

Mingi, who happened to be over that evening, ostensibly to return a borrowed video game and avoid the awkwardness of another silent dinner, offered a forced, somewhat strained smile and a casual, “That’s great, Y/N. Really happy for you.” But beneath the surface, a quiet, unwelcome pang of jealousy resonated within him, a dull ache in a place he hadn’t expected. He watched the genuine happiness radiating from you and Nari, the easy camaraderie of their shared excitement, and though he knew he had absolutely no right to feel anything other than platonic support, a small, unwelcome seed of regret began to take root in the quiet corners of his heart. He tried to push it down, focusing on being the supportive friend he had always been, offering a clumsy thumbs-up and a slightly too-loud, “Good for you! He sounds… great.” But the lingering image of you nestled peacefully beside him in his bed that blurry, alcohol-infused night remained, a persistent, almost taunting reminder of a connection that had almost been explored, or perhaps, had been tragically, irrevocably misinterpreted, leaving him with a gnawing sense of what could have been, and a growing, uncomfortable awareness of what he might have inadvertently lost, all because of a drunken night and a kiss he only partially remembered.

Weeks continued their relentless march, each day etching subtle shifts onto the delicate tapestry of your relationships. University life, with its demanding rhythm of assignments and looming deadlines, provided a superficial layer of normalcy, a distraction from the underlying tensions that simmered beneath the surface. The dynamic between you and Mingi remained a carefully constructed facade of polite camaraderie, punctuated by fleeting, almost accidental shared glances that held the weight of unspoken memories and a lingering, unresolved intimacy. Your relationship with Lucas, viewed from the outside, appeared to be blossoming with a comfortable, predictable ease. He was consistently attentive, showering you with carefully chosen compliments and seemingly thoughtful gestures, his efforts radiating a clear desire to solidify his position in your life. Yet, beneath the charming exterior, a subtle, almost imperceptible undercurrent of competitiveness towards Mingi persisted, a silent, unspoken rivalry that you couldn't entirely ignore, a feeling that something felt performative rather than purely genuine.

Your twenty-first birthday arrived, a milestone you had once anticipated with unbridled excitement, now tinged with a subtle layer of apprehension. You opted for a small, intimate gathering at your apartment, a familiar constellation of university friends, cherished faces from the comforting landscape of your childhood, and, of course, Nari and Lucas. Mingi had also been included in the invitation, a fact that seemed to cast a barely perceptible shadow of irritation across Lucas’s otherwise celebratory demeanor, a subtle tightening of his jaw when Mingi’s name was mentioned.

As Mingi and Nari arrived, bearing a brightly wrapped gift that looked endearingly unassuming amidst the more extravagant presents piling up on your small coffee table, you greeted Nari with a warm, familiar hug, a silent acknowledgment of the years of shared laughter and unwavering support. Then, you turned to Mingi, a genuine, heartfelt smile gracing your lips, a warmth spreading through you that had little to do with the celebratory atmosphere and everything to do with the quiet understanding that seemed to exist between you. “Thanks for coming, Mingi.” He offered a slightly awkward but undeniably sweet smile in return, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a fleeting flicker of something that resonated deep within you, a silent acknowledgment of the strange, blurry night you had both tried to forget. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

The party unfolded as a pleasant, if somewhat predictable, affair. Laughter filled the small apartment, fueled by cheap wine and the sugary rush from the birthday cake. Lucas remained steadfastly by your side, his arm often draped possessively across your waist, a subtle, almost territorial claiming of space. As the evening progressed, he dramatically announced it was time for the grand unveiling of the gifts, his eyes flicking towards Mingi with a barely concealed anticipation, a silent challenge in their depths. He presented you with a sleek, velvet box, its plush interior cradling a stunning ruby pendant, the deep red gemstone pulsing with a fiery intensity under the soft lamplight. “Happy birthday, my love,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of self-satisfied pride as he carefully fastened the delicate clasp around your neck. You thanked him, admiring its undeniable beauty, the weight of the expensive stone cool against your skin, but a small, almost imperceptible knot of unease tightened in your chest. It felt… impersonal, almost transactional, as if he were trying to impress not you, but someone else in the room, though you couldn’t quite pinpoint who.

Nari’s gift was next – a beautifully crocheted top in your absolute favorite shade of soft, calming blue. She looked a little nervous as you carefully unwrapped it, her eyes searching yours for genuine approval. Your heartfelt smile and the lingering hug you gave her were a silent acknowledgment of the years of shared secrets and unwavering support that bound you together. You opened a few more gifts, each thoughtful in its own way, before it was finally Mingi’s turn.

His gift was small, wrapped simply in unassuming brown paper tied with a piece of rustic twine, a stark contrast to the glossy, elaborate packaging of the other presents. Lucas, who was standing close beside you, his arm still possessively around your shoulders, let out a barely audible scoff, a dismissive sound that didn’t escape your notice. You shot him a subtle but pointed warning glance, a silent reprimand for his unnecessary rudeness, and turned your full attention to Mingi, a curious and genuinely expectant smile gracing your lips. As you carefully peeled away the plain paper, three sleek, slender tubes rolled out onto your palm. Your breath hitched, a wave of unexpected, almost overwhelming emotion washing over you. They were the exact three, incredibly elusive shades of a particular rare lip gloss collection you had been obsessed with since your early high school days. A limited edition release that had always seemed to be perpetually out of stock online, disappearing within mere seconds of being restocked. And here they were, nestled in your hand, a tangible piece of a long-forgotten desire, a small, potent reminder of a younger, simpler you.

A wave of genuine, heartfelt emotion washed over you, eclipsing the polite appreciation you had shown for the more extravagant gifts. You looked up at Mingi, your eyes shining with unshed tears, a lump forming in your throat. “Mingi… how in the world did you…?”

He shrugged, a small, shy smile playing on his lips, a hint of his old, teasing charm flickering in his eyes, tinged with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before. “Nari might have… mentioned something… a long, long time ago. And I… well, let’s just say I have my… resourceful moments. Sometimes, the things that seem small are the ones that truly matter, right?”

Without a second thought, you stood up and hugged him tightly, burying your face in the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne, a feeling of unexpected warmth and profound understanding enveloping you. “Thank you, Mingi. This is… this is the absolute best gift. You remembered. You actually remembered.”

Lucas’s smile had completely vanished, replaced by a tight, almost petulant expression. He watched the genuine affection in your embrace with a visible annoyance that bordered on jealousy, his grip tightening imperceptibly on your shoulder. “Lip glosses?” he said, his tone laced with thinly veiled disbelief and a distinct hint of condescension. “Seriously? You like lip glosses more than a ruby pendant I specifically picked out for you?”

You pulled back from Mingi, a slight frown creasing your brow. The possessiveness in Lucas’s tone and his blatant dismissal of Mingi’s thoughtful gesture rubbed you the wrong way, a stark contrast to Mingi’s quiet understanding. “It’s not about the price tag, Lucas,” you said, your voice firm, a subtle edge creeping in. “It’s about the thought, the effort, the personal touch. Mingi remembered something I loved years ago, something that’s practically impossible to find now. That means more to me than just something expensive and… impersonal.”

Later in the evening, after a few more drinks had loosened inhibitions and perhaps amplified Lucas’s underlying insecurities, his simmering annoyance finally boiled over. He cornered Mingi near the dimly lit balcony, his voice tight with barely concealed resentment. “You know, you really try too hard, don’t you? Always hovering around, always trying to one-up everyone, even on Y/N’s birthday. It’s pathetic.”

Mingi, ever the reluctant participant in conflict, simply shrugged, a wry, slightly weary smile playing on his lips. “Just trying to give a good gift, Lucas. It’s her birthday. Thoughtfulness isn’t a competition. And I wasn’t aware I was ‘hovering.’”

“Yeah, well, she’s my girlfriend now, in case your selective memory is acting up again,” Lucas snapped, his tone sharp and possessive, a clear warning in his eyes. “Maybe you should remember your place and stop trying to impress her.”

Mingi’s smile finally faded, replaced by a flicker of something akin to annoyance, a brief flash of the protective older brother you had witnessed years ago. But he kept his voice even, refusing to be drawn into a petty, alcohol-fueled argument. “I do remember that, Lucas. And I genuinely want to see her happy. If your insecurity requires you to see my friendship with Y/N as a threat, that’s your issue, not mine.” He turned away, effectively ending the uncomfortable conversation, not wanting to cause any further drama on your special day, even if Lucas’s words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Days drifted by, the memory of your birthday lingering like a bittersweet melody. The ruby pendant remained nestled in its velvet box, unworn, a beautiful but ultimately impersonal symbol of a connection that felt increasingly transactional and driven by external validation. The three tubes of rare lip gloss, however, became your everyday indulgence, a small, tangible reminder of Mingi’s unexpected thoughtfulness and his quiet, enduring understanding of your inner world.

Then came the rain. It started as a gentle, almost romantic drizzle, the kind that lulled the bustling city into a quiet, contemplative hush, the droplets tapping softly against your windowpane. But with an almost violent shift, it escalated into a torrential downpour, the sky unleashing its fury in thick, relentless sheets of water that mirrored the tempest brewing within you. You stood on Nari’s doorstep, soaked to the bone, your hair plastered to your face, tears streaming down your cheeks, indistinguishable from the relentless rain. The moment Nari opened the door, her face etched with sleepy concern that quickly morphed into alarm, your carefully constructed composure, the fragile wall you had built to contain your growing unease, crumbled completely. Hysterical sobs wracked your body, each one a raw, guttural cry of betrayal. You stumbled inside, a broken, rain-soaked mess, leaving a trail of muddy footprints across Nari’s clean floor.

“He… he… cheated,” you choked out between gasps, the words feeling like jagged shards of glass tearing at your throat, each syllable a fresh wave of pain. “I went to his place… to surprise him… to maybe… to maybe try and talk about… about how things have been feeling… distant… and there were… there were heels… expensive, unfamiliar heels… and silk dresses… and… and lacy underwear… that weren’t mine. He… he didn’t even try to hide it. He just… he just looked at me like I was crazy for being upset.”

Nari’s face paled, her initial shock quickly morphing into a fierce, protective anger that radiated from her like a palpable heat. She pulled you inside, her strong arms wrapping around your trembling form, offering a silent haven in the storm’s fury. “Oh, Y/N… oh, honey. That… that absolute bastard. Come here.” She led you to the familiar comfort of her living room couch, gently pushing you down and grabbing a thick, fluffy towel to dry your shivering body, her touch surprisingly firm and reassuring.

Mingi, who had been sitting at the table, quietly working on his laptop in the corner, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his usually focused expression, watched the devastating scene unfold with a growing darkness in his eyes, a primal protectiveness surging within him. His jaw tightened, a muscle twitching rhythmically in his cheek. Without a word, his gaze fixed on your broken, rain-soaked form huddled on the couch, he closed his laptop with a decisive snap, the sudden click echoing in the otherwise silent room. He grabbed his car keys from the nearby table, his movements swift and purposeful, and walked out into the raging storm, disappearing into the downpour without a backward glance, his silence more menacing than any shouted accusation. Nari, her full attention consumed by your inconsolable distress, barely registered his abrupt departure. You, lost in the fresh, searing agony of betrayal, didn’t even notice he was gone, your world shrinking to the suffocating weight of your shattered trust and the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the windowpane, a mournful soundtrack to your broken heart. Nari’s mother, hearing the commotion, came downstairs, her face etched with deep concern as she covered you with a warm, comforting blanket, her eyes filled with a silent, empathetic understanding of your profound pain.

The tempest outside gradually relinquished its furious grip on the city, the violent drumming of rain against the windowpanes softening to a melancholic rhythm, a somber soundtrack to the quiet devastation that had settled within the huge house. Hours crawled by with agonizing slowness, each tick of the clock amplifying the heavy silence, punctuated only by your ragged, uneven breaths as you wrestled with the raw, visceral agony of betrayal and the comforting, unwavering presence of Nari, a steadfast anchor in your storm-tossed world. Eventually, sheer exhaustion, the body’s desperate plea for respite, claimed you, pulling you into a fitful, dream-laden sleep on Nari’s familiar couch, the soft, worn blanket she had draped over you feeling like a fragile, inadequate shield against the sharp edges of your broken heart and the cruel indifference of the outside world.

Sometime in the pre-dawn hours, as the first faint streaks of grey began to paint the eastern sky, the front door creaked open, a wet gust of wind momentarily chilling the already tense atmosphere, carrying with it the scent of rain-soaked earth and a raw, primal energy. Mingi stood silhouetted in the doorway, a dark, rain-soaked figure against the dim hallway light, looking like a wrathful spirit returned from a silent battle. Water streamed down his face, plastering his dark hair to his forehead, and his breathing was heavy, ragged, as if he had run a great distance or engaged in a strenuous physical exertion. His usually well-maintained hands were now clenched into tight fists, the knuckles visibly bruised and swollen, bearing the stark testament to a silent, furious confrontation waged in the darkness of the storm-ravaged night. He toed off his sodden shoes, leaving a small, dark puddle on the tiled floor, his gaze immediately finding you, curled up in a fetal position on the couch, your face pale and drawn in the vulnerable repose of sleep.

He looked up at Nari, who was sitting across the room in the worn armchair, her own eyes red-rimmed and weary from hours of silent vigil, her expression a mixture of lingering worry for you and a grim, almost resigned understanding of her brother’s actions. A heavy, unspoken question hung in the air between them, a silent acknowledgment of the violence that had likely just transpired in the tempestuous night, a violence born of fierce protectiveness and righteous anger.

Nari’s voice was low, barely a whisper, the question laced with a mixture of apprehension, a hint of fear, and a grim, almost resigned understanding of her brother’s volatile nature when those he cared about were hurt. “Lucas?”

Mingi simply nodded, his jaw tight, a muscle twitching rhythmically in his cheek, his gaze unwavering, fixed on your fragile form.

“Injured?” Nari pressed, her voice a shade louder, a flicker of something akin to grim satisfaction mingling with her genuine concern for your well-being. She knew Lucas had hurt you deeply, and a part of her, the fiercely protective best friend, couldn’t entirely suppress a sense of vengeful justice.

A muscle ticked more violently in Mingi’s cheek, the only outward sign of the controlled fury simmering beneath his stoic exterior. He nodded again, his eyes conveying a silent, resolute protectiveness that spoke volumes, a promise of retribution delivered without a single word. “A few… fractures. And a broken nose, for sure. He won’t be bothering her again anytime soon.” He didn’t elaborate on the brutal details of the encounter, the violence of it seemingly unnecessary to articulate between siblings who often communicated in unspoken understanding.

He moved with a quiet, almost stealthy purpose, shedding his soaked jacket and shirt in the hallway, leaving a trail of dampness on the floor like a silent testament to his nocturnal actions. He disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower running a stark contrast to the heavy, oppressive stillness of the apartment, a cleansing ritual after the night’s grim task. Twenty minutes later, he emerged, the steam still clinging to his damp hair, dressed in a fresh set of comfortable, familiar clothes, his movements now softer, more deliberate. He slid down against the side of the couch, sinking onto its soft fabric beside you, his gaze immediately softening, all the earlier fury replaced by a tender, almost reverent concern as he gently brushed a stray strand of damp hair away from your pale, tear-stained face, his touch feather-light, as if afraid to disturb your troubled sleep.

“……such a damn fool,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, almost a self-reproach, as if he couldn’t fathom the callousness of Lucas’s actions. “To cheat on someone so kind… so beautiful… so stunning… how could he even think about inflicting such pain on someone like her?” His eyes held a bewildered anger, a fierce protectiveness that seemed to extend far beyond the casual boundaries of friendship, a possessiveness that surprised even Nari with its intensity.

Nari watched him, her earlier anger at Lucas slowly receding, replaced by a renewed, intense curiosity about the depth of her brother’s reaction, the raw emotion that seemed to emanate from him. She finally broke the heavy silence, her voice soft but direct, cutting through the unspoken emotions that filled the small room. “Mingi… do you… do you like her? Like, really like her? Not just as a friend, not just because she’s my best friend.”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand the weight of her question, the unspoken implications hanging in the air. He let out a long, weary sigh, his gaze still fixed on your peaceful, albeit fragile, sleeping face, a vulnerability etched onto his features that she rarely witnessed. “Yeah, Nari. I do. I have… for a long time. Longer than you probably realize.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, genuine surprise evident in her expression, a flicker of understanding dawning in her eyes. “Then why? Why all the flings? Why act like you don’t take anything seriously, like every relationship is just a fleeting amusement, a way to pass the time?”

He finally looked away from you, his gaze distant, lost in a landscape of past insecurities and deeply ingrained self-doubt. “Because… because I’m scared, okay? Terrified, actually. Scared I’ll mess it up, scared I’ll hurt her. She deserves someone… someone who will be all in, someone who can give her their whole heart without reservation. And… and I’m afraid I’m not that guy. She probably thinks all I’m good for are… meaningless flings, fleeting moments of shallow connection, nothing real or lasting.”

Nari’s expression softened with a dawning understanding, a flicker of empathy for the internal battle her seemingly carefree brother had been waging. “You told her that night, you know. The night of the party. When you were drunk, you let some of that slip. About being afraid of putting your whole heart in and it not being reciprocated. That’s why you preferred those… no-strings-attached things, as a defense mechanism.”

Mingi’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of fragmented memory surfacing in their depths, a realization of the vulnerability he had inadvertently displayed in his inebriated state. He hadn’t fully registered how much of his carefully guarded inner world he had revealed that night.

Nari leaned forward in her worn armchair, her gaze serious and unwavering, her voice imbued with a protective intensity. “Look, Mingi. I know you. You can be reckless, you can be infuriating, and you can be a complete mess when you let your insecurities take over. But Y/N… she’s special. She’s kind, she’s loyal, and she doesn’t deserve any more pain, especially not from you. If you hurt her, if you ever do anything to cause her this kind of devastation again… I will personally ensure you regret the day you were born. I will unleash a level of sibling fury you haven’t even begun to comprehend. I mean it, Mingi.” Her voice, though quiet, held a steely resolve that left no room for misinterpretation.

Mingi went slightly red, a rare blush creeping up his neck, a testament to the seriousness of her threat and the depth of his respect for his sister’s fierce protectiveness. Nari’s lips twitched, a hint of her usual teasing nature momentarily returning, a small crack in the tense atmosphere. “But…” she continued, her voice softening slightly, a hint of something akin to approval, even encouragement, in her tone, “I also see the way you look at her, Mingi. It’s not the casual, detached way you look at those… fleeting connections. And… well, she’s not exactly oblivious. Give it time, Mingi. Be around her. Be the decent guy I know you can be, the one who kicked that idiot’s ass in high school for making her cry. Be yourself. And when the time is right… maybe, just maybe, ask her out. Properly. And for God’s sake, don’t be drunk when you do it.”

Mingi just nodded, his gaze returning to your peaceful face, a fragile flicker of something akin to hope – mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation and a newfound sense of responsibility – dawning in his eyes. The storm outside finally began to subside, the relentless drumming of the rain softening to a gentle patter against the windowpane, as if the heavens themselves were finally offering a moment of respite, a quiet promise of a new dawn breaking through the darkness.

The following weeks unfolded within the familiar, comforting confines of Nari and Mingi’s house, a sanctuary slowly transforming from a haven of solace to a space where the first fragile shoots of hope began to emerge from the cracked earth of your heartbreak.

You remained blissfully unaware of the silent confrontation Lucas had faced, and Mingi, ever mindful of your delicate emotional state within their shared living space, was subtly careful to keep his hands out of sight, often tucked deep into the pockets of his hoodies or deliberately occupied with mundane tasks – meticulously organizing the spice rack in the kitchen, or painstakingly dusting the already pristine shelves in the living room – whenever you were in the same room.

The bruises on his knuckles, a silent testament to a rage you never witnessed, gradually faded, their angry purple hues softening to a pale yellow, hidden beneath the guise of everyday activities within their home.

Mingi became a gentle, consistent presence within the familiar rhythm of their household, a comforting counterpoint to the emotional storm that had recently ravaged your heart. He’d leave your favorite artisanal chocolates on the small table beside the couch, suggesting low-key movie nights in the cozy living room, complete with oversized blankets and endless cups of herbal tea, or quiet evenings spent immersed in the strategic complexities of board games spread out on the dining table.

He seemed to instinctively understand that you weren’t ready for grand gestures or forced cheerfulness within the familiar comfort of their house. Instead, he offered small, consistent acts of kindness – a perfectly brewed cup of your preferred coffee left by your bedside, a carefully curated playlist of soothing instrumental music drifting softly from his room – a quiet understanding that allowed you to heal at your own pace within their shared living space.

One particularly languid afternoon, seeking a momentary distraction from the persistent ache in your chest that seemed to echo the quiet stillness of the house, you found yourself playfully suggesting a makeover session while all three of you were idly passing time in the sun-drenched living room.

Mingi, after a moment of comical wide-eyed hesitation witnessed by Nari’s amused smirk, gamely agreed to be your unlikely canvas. The sight of his usually stoic face adorned with bright pink blush, shimmering lavender eyeshadow, and a surprisingly artful application of glitter elicited genuine, unrestrained laughter from you for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sound that warmed their shared home like a sudden, unexpected burst of sunshine filtering through the clouds.

He even patiently endured your attempts at a dramatic winged eyeliner, the results endearingly lopsided, making Nari snort with laughter. The easy camaraderie, the shared silliness within the familiar setting of their home, felt like a soothing balm to your wounded spirit, a gentle reminder of the simple joys that still existed.

Over shared meals at the dining table, Mingi would recount ridiculously embellished stories from his time in the States, exaggerating the comical mishaps and cultural miscommunications with a newfound flair for the dramatic that always managed to bring a genuine smile to your face as you all sat together.

In the evenings, as you sat curled up on the couch in the living room, he’d listen with quiet patience as you tentatively talked about Lucas, offering gentle words of support and validation without ever resorting to bitter recriminations against your ex, allowing you to process your tangled emotions without judgment within the comforting space of their home.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the light began to return to your eyes, the corners of your mouth curving upwards with increasing frequency as you spent time in their comforting presence. The inherent sunshine that had always been a part of your personality began to peek through the heavy clouds of your sorrow, illuminating the familiar corners of their house with its gentle glow.

In the quiet moments that punctuated their days within the shared rhythm of the household – a shared glance that lingered a fraction too long across the kitchen counter as you both reached for the same carton of milk, a comfortable silence that held an unspoken understanding as you sat side-by-side reading in the living room, a gentle brush of hands as you both reached for the same board game piece in the den – a different kind of connection began to subtly simmer between you and Mingi.

These small, wholesome moments, unfolding within the intimate space of their home, held a quiet, almost palpable tension, a nascent awareness of something unspoken and potentially significant, but never pushed beyond the comfortable boundaries of your established friendship. It was a slow, delicate dance of tentative emotions, a silent acknowledgment of a potential that neither of you dared to fully explore just yet under the same roof.

Nari, ever the astute and fiercely protective observer within the confines of their home, watched this subtle but significant shift with a knowing, almost conspiratorial smile playing on her lips. She saw the genuine, unguarded care in Mingi’s eyes whenever his gaze rested on you across the breakfast table, the way his usual teasing banter softened into gentle concern when you seemed down in the living room.

She witnessed the genuine, unadulterated joy that flickered in your eyes whenever he managed to elicit a heartfelt laugh in the kitchen. One quiet evening, as Mingi was about to retreat to his room after another comforting visit downstairs, Nari caught his arm in the dimly lit hallway. She looked at him, her usual playful demeanor replaced by a soft, encouraging smile that held a hint of mischievous anticipation within the privacy of their home.

“You know, Mingi,” she said, her eyes sparkling with a knowing glint, “the coast is clear. She’s starting to heal. Just… please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t screw it up. You both deserve a little bit of happiness in this house, after all the rain.”

Mingi’s eyes widened slightly, a hopeful flush creeping up his neck within the familiar surroundings of their home. He simply nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his usual guarded expression as he headed towards his room, a silent promise hanging in the air. The silent rage had finally subsided, replaced by a quiet, tentative hope, a fragile sunrise beginning to paint the horizon within the shared space of their home.

The week that followed your emotional storm unfolded within the familiar, comforting embrace of Nari and Mingi’s house, a sanctuary slowly but surely transforming from a haven of solace to a space where the first fragile tendrils of hope began to unfurl from the cracked earth of your heartbreak. The raw, jagged edges of your pain had begun to soften, smoothed by the gentle passage of time and the unwavering, steadfast support of your two dearest friends, their presence a constant, reassuring warmth within the familiar walls. You remained blissfully unaware of the silent, furious confrontation Lucas had faced in the rain-soaked night, a consequence of Mingi’s fierce protectiveness that played out beyond your knowledge. Within the shared living space, Mingi, ever attuned to your delicate emotional state, was subtly, almost instinctively careful to keep his bruised hands out of sight, often tucked deep into the comforting pockets of his worn hoodies or deliberately occupied with mundane, everyday tasks – meticulously arranging the mismatched mugs in the kitchen cupboard, or painstakingly dusting the already pristine surfaces of the antique bookshelf in the living room – whenever you were in the same room, his quiet attentiveness a silent reassurance.

Then, one radiant, sun-drenched afternoon, as the air hummed with the promise of late summer, Mingi casually suggested a long drive, a spontaneous escape from the familiar confines of the house, a chance to breathe in the crisp, clean air of the countryside and perhaps, as he subtly hinted with a hopeful glint in his eyes, allow the vast expanse of the horizon to clear away any lingering emotional clouds that still clung to your spirit. "Just the three of us," he'd said, his gaze flickering between you and Nari as you all sat together in their brightly lit living room, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. "Some open road, maybe find a secluded spot with a killer view, catch a nice sunset." Nari had readily agreed, her enthusiasm a little too bright, a knowing, almost conspiratorial glint in her eyes that didn't quite escape your notice, but you were nonetheless grateful for the prospect of a change of scenery, a temporary reprieve from the quiet introspection that had become your constant companion within the house.

The designated day arrived, dawning with a clear, azure sky that promised a perfect escape. The allure of open roads stretching out before you like a beckoning ribbon of possibility, the anticipation of breathtaking scenic vistas, felt like a welcome balm to your weary soul, a tangible contrast to the emotional weight you had been carrying within the familiar walls of their home. As you were getting ready in Nari’s sun-drenched room, carefully selecting an outfit that felt both comfortable and imbued with a whisper of newfound hope – a soft, flowing dress in your favorite color – Nari appeared in your doorway, leaning against the frame with a knowing, almost mischievous glint in her eyes and a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "So," she began, her voice laced with a theatrical air of regret, "about that drive… something rather… extraordinarily pressing… came up. A matter of grave importance, you see."

You frowned, a sliver of disappointment momentarily clouding your burgeoning anticipation. "Oh? What in the world is it?"

She waved a dismissive hand, her eyes twinkling with undisguised amusement. "Nothing truly catastrophic, nothing that would warrant a national emergency, you understand. Just… a sudden, utterly urgent and frankly non-negotiable need to finally alphabetize my extensive collection of vintage vinyl records. You know how it is. The sonic vibrations of the universe have aligned in such a way that only perfectly ordered vinyl can restore cosmic harmony. It's a burden I must bear." Her smile widened, a clear, unsubtle signal that you weren't buying her flimsy excuse for even a single second. "Seriously though," she continued, her tone softening, her eyes holding a genuine warmth and a hint of conspiratorial excitement, "you two go. You both desperately need some time away from this house, some space to breathe. And… well," she hesitated for a fleeting moment, a delicate blush dusting her cheeks, a hint of nervousness momentarily crossing her usually confident features, "Mingi's been wanting to do this for a while, I think. It's… it's his kind of grand gesture, in his own quiet way." She gave you a gentle, encouraging nudge towards the door, her eyes sparkling with unspoken encouragement. "Go on. Have some fun. Enjoy the sunset. And for goodness sake, try not to overthink everything."

The drive with Mingi was surprisingly comfortable, the initial awkwardness that had occasionally lingered between you melting away with the passing miles and the shared soundtrack of your lives playing softly on the car stereo. Easy conversation flowed between you, punctuated by comfortable silences filled only with the hum of the engine and the whisper of the wind through the open windows. The scenery outside the window blurred into a calming, hypnotic rhythm, and the subtle tension that had simmered beneath the surface of your interactions for weeks, a delicate, unspoken dance of burgeoning feelings, finally began to ease, replaced by a quiet sense of anticipation, a hopeful stirring in your chest. As the afternoon sun began its slow, majestic descent towards the horizon, painting the sprawling sky in breathtaking, vibrant hues of fiery orange, soft lavender, and deep, velvety purple, Mingi pulled the car over to a secluded scenic overlook, a hidden gem he seemed to know well, the panoramic view stretching out before you like a vast, vibrant, living canvas, a masterpiece painted by the dying light of day.

He turned to you, his usual playful, teasing demeanor completely absent, replaced by a nervous sincerity that made your heart flutter like a trapped butterfly in your chest. He got out of the car, and for a fleeting moment, you simply admired the stunning vista alongside him, the silence comfortable and filled only with the gentle chirping of unseen crickets and the distant rustling of leaves in the evening breeze. Then, he turned back towards you, his gaze locking with yours, and your breath hitched in your throat, a sudden wave of understanding washing over you. He was down on both knees on the dusty ground, the setting sun casting long shadows behind him, a beautiful bouquet of your favorite pristine white lilies held out in his trembling hands, the delicate, fragrant petals catching the golden, ethereal light of the dying day.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a little shaky, the emotion in it raw and undeniably sincere, his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that made your cheeks flush with a mixture of surprise and a long-dormant hope. "Can I… can I be yours? Can I be the one to finally chase away the shadows that have been clouding your light? Can I be the one to make you laugh that unrestrained, beautiful laugh again, every single day?"

Hesitation, a deeply ingrained habit of always considering Nari’s feelings and the potential complexities of your intertwined lives, flickered within you, a momentary shadow of doubt. A small, cautious voice whispered anxieties about disrupting the delicate balance, about the unspoken history that bound the three of you together. "Mingi… Nari… does she… is she truly okay with this? I don't want to… I don't want to come between you two."

He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile that reached the depths of his warm eyes, chasing away any lingering doubts like the setting sun dispelling the darkness. "She knows, Y/N. She's been… surprisingly, wonderfully supportive. She sees how happy you make me, how much I care about you, how much you both mean to me. She wants us to be happy, more than anything in the world."

A wave of profound relief washed over you, a lightness spreading through your chest, quickly followed by a surge of a different, more powerful emotion, a feeling you had tried to suppress for so long, a quiet ember finally bursting into flame. You reached out, not for the offered bouquet, but for his hands, your fingers intertwining with his, pulling him gently but firmly to his feet. Before he could fully register your intention, the last vestiges of your carefully constructed reserve, the walls you had unknowingly built around your heart, melted away like ice in the summer sun. You stepped closer, the scent of lilies filling the air between you, and you pushed him gently against the cool metal of the car, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was a culmination of unspoken feelings, shared laughter, quiet understanding, and a burgeoning, hopeful future.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and slightly dizzy, a soft, radiant smile bloomed on your lips, mirroring the joy in his eyes. "You have absolutely no idea," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "I've loved you since high school, Y/N. All those stupid, ridiculous nicknames, all that incessant teasing… it was my terribly awkward, completely inadequate way of trying to get your attention, to be near you, to make you notice me."

A comforting warmth spread through your chest, a profound echo of his heartfelt confession resonating deep within your own heart. "We're in the same incredibly awkward boat then," you confessed, your fingers tracing the familiar, slightly rough line of his jaw, the stubble there surprisingly soft against your touch. "All those eye-rolls, all those sarcastic remarks directed your way… it was my equally terrible, equally inadequate way of trying to pretend you didn't make my stomach do ridiculous, embarrassing flips every time you were near."

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping securely around your waist, his embrace feeling like coming home after a long, arduous journey. He kissed your cheek, then the sensitive curve of your jaw, lingering there for a moment, a silent promise in the gentle pressure of his lips. You reached up and playfully ruffled his dark hair, a familiar gesture that now felt charged with a new, exhilarating intimacy, a tangible connection that transcended the boundaries of friendship. As the last vibrant rays of the setting sun bathed the two of you in a golden, ethereal light, painting the sky above in a final blaze of glory, a profound, quiet happiness settled in the air between you, a tangible promise of a beautiful, shared beginning unfolding under a sky ablaze with hope.

The End

[l-starsz]

a/n: this was actually inspired by when she was laying on the platform singing over now with her head off the edge, but i realised it was a stupid idea halfway through writing and gave up. this is kinda short and not great because i haven’t written in a while, i’ve been super busy and ended up hating this idea, sorry🥲

over the last few days, billie had been practicing her songs for tour around the house. obviously she’d have soundchecks, but she just wanted to make sure she had all of the songs nailed. she’d been practicing in the studio we had at home, and i often joined her just to watch.

this particular day was different though. i was watching, but her voice sounded so much whinier. she was singing the extended version of l’amour de ma vie, and i couldn’t help but need her. desperately.

my eyes stayed stuck to her before i couldn’t keep myself away for any longer. i carefully spun her chair around so that she was facing me.

“baby, what are you-“

“shhh, keep singing for me. please bils.” i cut her off with a whisper.

she looked confused for a minute, before she continued just like i’d asked her. the second i heard her voice again, i tugged at her shorts, and underwear, making her lift her hips for me. i wasted no time running my tongue through her, parting her folds. i did that a few times before focusing on her clit.

i flicked my tongue against it, before i heard her singing stop. i pulled away to look up at her.

“what did i say, baby?”

“to keep singing..” she mumbled, “please keep going.” she then whined.

“keep singing for me, and i won’t stop. yeah?”

she nodded before picking up where she’d left off in the song. my tongue found her clit again, and i let my fingers join too. i felt how wet she was first, then slowly pushed my fingers inside her. this caused her head to fall back, and her back to arch forwards.

her short breaths between words got whinier, and her words were beginning to sound half like moans. i worked faster so i could hear more of her pretty whines. her hand reached out, trying to grab mine, so i moved my free hand up and placed it in hers. she squeezed my hand tight, trying to keep herself grounded while she sung.

“you can cum when the songs done, angel.” i pulled away from her and mumbled.

i could feel her walls getting tighter around my fingers, and her moans continued to get louder. as the song came to an end, she didn’t say anything until the feeling rushed through her again.

“can i-? can i cum? please baby. i did what you asked, i finished the song, please.” she groaned and squeezed my hand again.

“cum for me, pretty girl. you sound so beautiful for me. i’ve got you billie.” i spoke against her clit.

that finished her off. her back arched again, one hand grasping the microphone she’d previously been using, the other holding mine. my movements slowed when she was coming down from her high, but i didn’t stop yet. it wasn’t long before her hips were bucking up, while also trying to move away from me. i pulled my mouth away from her, moving my hand from hers so that i could cup her face.

“you did amazing for me, my beautiful girl. i’m so proud of you. do you want to have a shower now? or i can get a cloth to clean you up and we can nap?”

“thank you, my love. can we shower?” her voice was still breathy, and her eyes drooped slightly.

“of course we can, baby.” i pressed a gentle kiss against her lips before taking her upstairs to shower.

[leejenowrld]

Can we get an extended aftercare scene of Jeno? Where he’s been especially rough (like w the clamps?)

he unclips the clamps with shaking fingers, watching her flinch under his touch, eyes already fluttering closed from exhaustion. the second they’re off, he presses gentle kisses to each swollen peak, not saying anything, just breathing through it with her. her chest rises unevenly, damp with sweat, and he can feel how fast her pulse is thudding beneath her skin. he whispers “i know, baby. i know,” into her collarbone like it’s a promise and an apology all in one. his hands trail lower, brushing over the bruises on her hips—his bruises—and his throat tightens at the sight. she hasn’t said a word since she came for the fourth time, just tiny exhales and the way her fingers clutch the sheets like she’s still holding on. jeno tucks her hair behind her ear and whispers her name once. then again, quieter. when she finally opens her eyes and meets his, he feels everything inside him loosen, just enough to breathe properly again.

he gets up without a word, only to return seconds later with a warm, damp cloth and the softest towel they own. he cleans her slowly, gently, between her legs first—warm water, slow circles, no pressure. she winces once when the cloth brushes over a sore spot, and he immediately kisses the inside of her knee, murmuring, “i’ve got you. no more now.” the towel comes next, and he doesn’t just dry her—he wraps it around her thighs, rubs slow to get her warm again, presses it to her stomach while he cups her breast in the other hand, soft and careful, grounding her in both places at once. when she shivers, he grabs the hoodie she always steals from him, the oversized black one, and pulls it gently over her arms. her head leans forward into his shoulder, and he lets her stay there, his arms wrapping fully around her back. he whispers, “you okay?” and doesn’t push when she only nods.

jeno lies them down once she’s clean and covered, but he doesn’t spoon her like usual—he lies on his back and tucks her into his side, letting her lie half on top of him, cheek pressed over his heart. his hand rubs her back in slow, mindless circles, the other combing through her damp hair. it’s silent for a while. not empty. just full in the quiet way people feel when they’ve been completely undone by someone they trust. eventually, he kisses the top of her head and murmurs, “you took everything i gave you. you were so fucking good for me.” her fingers twitch against his stomach and he pulls her closer, almost like he’s worried she’ll float away. “i didn’t go too far?” he asks, voice low. she shakes her head slowly, then whispers, “i liked it.” and he exhales like he’s been holding it in for hours.

they don’t sleep right away. he keeps checking in with her—soft questions, slow touches, a gentle hand under the hem of the hoodie just to feel her skin. she closes her eyes again, and he lets her drift but never moves. not until he’s sure she’s fully relaxed. then he gets up to grab water, makes her drink half, kisses her forehead when she pouts. “hydration, baby. you lost your mind on me. i need you grounded.” she smiles at that, soft and sleepy, and leans into his chest again as soon as he climbs back in beside her. jeno tugs the blanket over both of them and lets his hand rest over her heart, thumb tracing slow, lazy patterns. the clamps are gone. the bruises will fade. but the way she looked at him when she came apart—the trust in it, the depth—that stays with him. he won’t say it out loud. not yet. but everything in him aches to tell her how much it means.

[llulabeee]

I finally got through the last light novel currently out for the apothecary diaries and…dude what the fuck are you guys talking about?? This whole time I was expecting some big jinmao moment, but that last chapter was positively chilly. Guess the slow burn extends to the next novel, which won’t be out until the end of may…sigh

[maryu-fics06]

The Casket of Venus

Chapter 4

𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭?

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐨𝐜

Summery: Geta refuses to use her.

I hope you are linking the story!

Please leave a comment and a follow if you want more!❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: sensual tension,and the start of smutty part but is not with the protagonist, wounded Geta, angst, conflicts, both characters are over 20.

The emperor looked up, angered as he was—he didn’t want anyone near him. But Haydee was never smart enough to stay away.

Slowly, she approached the wounded emperor, picked up the damp cloth, and then spoke softly—something she had never done before.

“Let me see” she whispered.

Geta stared at her as if she had grown two heads. Still, he slowly extended his arm with a huff. The wound wasn’t fatal, but it was deep enough. She began to clean it with a gentleness he would never have expected from her.

His voice broke the silence.

“Why are you doing this, Graeca?”

Geta’s chocolate-colored eyes met hers. They were two opposite worlds, yet the earth always found a way to blend with the sea.

“I’m simply returning the favor” she said, trying to sound casual. The emperor grew thoughtful.

His skin was pale like milk, while Haydee’s was kissed by the sun—a beautiful creamy tone.

Geta’s hands were calloused, covered in rings, and adorned with two rigid golden bracelets encrusted with gems.

“Why should you?” he asked, his calm tone giving her goosebumps.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she retorted. That question left him speechless.

But Geta eventually found words again, muttering,“Now you’re the one acting against your nature, Graeca.”

His eyes no longer held anger, but something Haydee couldn’t name.

She finished cleaning his arm. Despite the sweat and dust clinging to his body, she couldn’t deny how beautiful he looked—even covered in grime.

As wicked as he was, Geta’s beauty surpassed any man she’d ever seen.

“You should call the medicus. That plaga needs stitches.”

She tried to pull her hands away from him, but Geta seized her wrist.

“You won’t be able to resist me forever, Graeca,” he whispered.

Haydee stared at him one last time before pulling away. She instructed a servant to fetch the medicus, and the order was quickly carried out.

Moments later, the same medicus who tended to Caracalla arrived and began suturing the young emperor’s arm. He gave Geta devil’s breath ( mandragola in italian) to dull the pain.

Within an hour, the procedure was finished. Though the bandage irritated him, Geta had no choice but to endure it.

When the medicus was gone, Geta froze at the sight of Haydee sitting on the bed.

He rose, still shirtless, and slowly moved toward her. But when she tried to initiate what they had done the night before, he stopped her.

“Don’t move” he said firmly.

He lay down, resting his head on her thighs. Her breath caught in her throat—she was as tense as a drawn bowstring.

“Stroke my hair” Geta commanded, his voice needy.

Haydee slowly threaded her fingers through his ginger curls, and the emperor sighed in relief.

The sound of that sigh stunned her. The co-emperor seemed like a child seeking comfort in a mother’s arms.

Geta was tense, too. Haydee stroked his hair with care.

She could have hurt him—she wasn’t harmless, after all—but seeing him like that, vulnerable and exposed, didn’t feel right.

Why did she hesitate? she asked herself.

He was her jailer now—cruel and merciless.

But in that moment, he seemed like a defenseless child.

The silence filled the room. The emperor stared at the ceiling before breaking the stillness.

“Why do you torment me? Why can’t I take you by force?” he murmured in frustration.

Haydee didn’t answer. She had no words for the emperor in turmoil.

Geta seized her wrist again and pulled her close with fury.

Haydee finally found her voice.

“Because Apollo tells you not to. He shines his light and grants you compassion for me” she whispered.

Geta was stunned. He sat up from her lap and, in a furious storm, stormed out of the room.

Haydee flinched when the doors slammed shut. He left her alone again, not even giving her a reply.

The poor Graeca didn’t sleep that night. Instead, she began crafting an escape plan.

She wouldn’t survive another night with that man.

——————

Meanwhile, Geta made his way to the chambers of the other concubines.

He opened the first door he found and entered noisily.

One of the most beautiful women in his harem sat on the bed.

Alba was startled to see him but remained silent.

Geta stared at her with bitterness.

She would never be her.

Alba seemed about to speak, but he raised a hand, signaling her to remain silent.

“Strip and get on your knees. Don’t dare say a word. Tonight, I seek pleasure, and you will be my instrument.”

Alba almost smiled with joy, pleased that the emperor had summoned her.

But she didn’t know he was already lost to that Graeca—she was only a remedy, nothing more.

And yet, Geta refused to take her without consent, out of some twisted respect.

But why now? Why with her?

With the others, he had never shown pity.

Why was he now capable of it—for her?

Masterlist

Hi guys!❤️‍🩹

I have been a little busy with the school and some tests I’m lucky I have other chapters ready but I have to just adjust them and then publish them.

I remind everyone that my first language is not English if I write something wrong please tell me!!

Translations

Greaca= Greek

Medicus= Medic

Plaga= wound

Devil’s breath= it’s an Herb that dull the pain we could see it in the film, when Lucius or Hanno is wounded and Ravi helps him.

Tags 🏷️ ( if you want to be tagged ask me!)

[shoophise]

Seeing the recent questions about chaos energy and how shadow would deal with the lack of it post transformation, I wondered if he would go to the lengths of taking off his inhibitor rings just to feel in that level of energy again. Would it be enough? Would the extended time as hyper shadow made it so he can now deal with that much chaos? Or would it just be a horrible coping mechanism that takes an intervention to stop?

In that same line of thinking, would sonic instantly adjust to the returned energy? I imagine that he would, but could it be that the extended time as dark sonic messed with how he regulates his emotions? maybe post transformation he is much more volatile and has to go to anger management classes or something.

I swear to God I need to stop injecting this AU with angst in my head, it has enough as it is 😅

Since he won’t have most of his memories after going back to normal, Shadow would probably feel anxious abt not having that Chaos Energy on him.

He wouldn’t take the inhibitor rings bc he knows it’s dangerous for the people around him, but perhaps try to steal a Chaos Emerald to at least feel something. He will miss that feeling of euphoria the Hyper form made him feel.

For Sonic’s part he will be scared to be alone by himself, he hates the silence. Probably will try to be close to Tails as much as possible, but will still be scared he will turn into Dark Sonic again and hurt his friends.

Which is frustrating to him bc that means he won’t be allowed to join battle until he’s completely fine, he lost control of his Chaos Energy so it’s not safe to let him join adventures for a while

In conclusion, the trauma of these 2 will go crazy after they go back to normal. All this and they haven’t even confronted each other abt what happened, damn i love Angst.

[helloitstsyu]

Daylight | Tom Cruise

Fantasize Series Part 5 | previous part | Fantasize Masterlist

FLASHBACK

"My daughter's coming back next week."

It had seemed harmless then. A casual line tossed into a late-night script meeting, both of them half-laughing, minds soft with fatigue.

"Ah, she finished... what did she take again? Business at Harvard, was it?"

"Yeah, MBA. Right after three years in Finance. God knows what else she'll take — law, engineering..." Her father waved a hand like her ambition was a mild headache, not something to be proud of.

Tom chuckled, eyes on the script. Not really listening. Not seeing it yet.

"Isn't that great?"

"I'm proud of her—don't get me wrong. But she's… she's starting a makeup brand. I’ve built her an empire, a legacy—and she’s making lipstick. Can you believe that?"

Tom smiled politely. Dismissively.

He didn’t care then.

He didn’t know she would be the very thing he wouldn't stop craving.

That the girl he hadn’t met would come to haunt every breath.

Tom's eyes went back to the script. Focused on what mattered then to him.

"Tom," her father had said, grinning like he’d thought of something clever. "I'd like you to meet her. My daughter."

"...Okay. Where's this going?"

"I want you to convince her to take over my company. Introduce her to showbiz."

Convince her?

He'd pictured a spoiled, Harvard-polished—nerd. Stiff cold, entitled, all calculation and no soul. Someone he wouldn't think would be fun to be around—let alone convince to move out from her passion.

"I don't know..." Tom hedged. "From what you’ve said, she doesn’t seem interested. And if she’s building her own thing—"

"Please! It won’t last. Your my brother, help me out. No one says no to that face."

He should’ve said no.

God. He should’ve said no.

PRESENT

Tom grips the bathroom sink, knuckles white, shoulders caved in like the ceiling fell in on him.

He doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him. The man staring back is pale-faced, trembling like a coward, losing his self-control over a girl he met few weeks ago.

What the hell have I done.

The words beat inside his skull like a war drum.

Her eyes. Her mouth. Her breathless, shattered moan in his ear. He can still feel her—writhing beneath his hand, his name trembling off her lips.

He knows it deep down:

That janitor’s closet wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t just lust.

It was a scar. And it was burning.

He squeezes his eyes shut— compelling himself to forget her, but she's still there.

Her voice.

Her laugh.

FLASHBACK – The Polo Match. First time.

Sunlight caught her radiant skin, breeze tugging at the softness of her hair. She’d looked like a breath of fresh air—like freedom.

She moved through the crowd like it split for her. But not in a showy way. It was her presence. Something magnetic, something warm.

When she extended her hand confidently to him—he realized

She was nothing like the picture her father painted. Nothing like his mind painted.

Not some nerd, socially awkward girl.

She was dazzling, confident, poised. A stunning woman.

She's the color in a black and white world.

And then, what caught him off guard. "Not the fun part though,"

Not just any dazzling woman. She's daring.

She wasn’t the girl he was warned about.

Her father failed to mentioned that flicker in her eyes. The one imprinted every night on his mind.

And when Tom accidentally heard her moan in the parking lot. Find her sprawled in the backseat, skin flushed from orgasm. He was doomed from that moment on.

PRESENT

Tom walks back upstairs. Tries to breathe.

His heart’s still racing. Twenty minutes ago, her body was pressed to his, their breathing tangled, desire between them sharp as a blade.

Now? The armor is back on. The performance resumes. Although he tries to hide his trembling hand, the sign of his mask failing.

Her father looks up from a conversation.

"Where were you?"

Tom stiffens.

"Picked up a call. My publicist."

Lie. Easy. Practiced.

Before the moment can stretch—

"Tom, meet Hanks!" her father grins, pulling an older man into the circle. "He used to co-produce with me,"

"Ah, Hollywood legend himself!" Hanks offers a firm handshake. "Think I saw you at the charity event last month."

Crack.

The mask slips.

Her father looks back to Tom. "I thought you were in London that weekend," her father narrows his eyes.

Tom fumbles.

"I was… I made a quick stop. Caught a meeting. Saw Y/N during her speech then left"

Another lie. He did not left

"Hm." the stare from her father makes Tom anxious.

"She didn’t mention it." The man’s eyes squints.

Tom gulps.

Of course she didn’t.

What would she say?

'Dad, Tom Cruise watched me come undone and then left me breathless in the private lounge.'

Tom’s stomach turns.

He remembers that charity event all too well—

FLASHBACK – Charity event. Her touch. His undoing.

For weeks he had dreams of her. Even before his eyes closed, he'd seen her, laying next to him, heard her moan like it was real.

The torment was unbearable. So he jumped back to his jet. Flying across continent to see her.

She'd glowed that day—blue sundress clinging to her skin, passion in her voice, pride shining in her eyes as she spoke about the foundation.

He knew then, the girl had so much more than just an alluring look.

A face. A brain. A heart.

All desires gathered in one woman.

The one he shouldn’t have this feeling to, yet still she's the object of all his desire.

He couldn't resisted the pull—like a moth to a flame, helpless. And stupidly agaisnt his control he toyed with her. "Care to company me playing with the stick?"

She was mortified. He was thrilled.

Saying yes to her help and following her to the private lounge was his first mistake. Because that girl burned with a fire that dared him to come closer.

And Tom? He’s never been the kind of man to walk away from a fire—no matter how badly it might burn him. So foolishly he said: "I'd like to watch you touch yourself again"

He nearly fell apart. But reality slapped him back to life. The moment his foot stepped out from that lounge, part of his soul never came back.

PRESENT

“Must've slipped her mind." Tom retorts, throwing a smile that feels too heavy to form.

"I’ll grab some drinks, excuse me” he mutters, escaping to the bar.

His hand shakes as he takes a glass of cold water. He downs it in one go. Even after years of being sober, he feels like he needs alcohol to help wash out the guilt, the feeling, the picture of her.

"Tom" her father follows to the bar. "Are you alright? You look off"

He couldn't lie anymore. He couldn't bear to wear the mask anymore.

Then— “Vogue just made a deal with me for Fashion Week!”

Her voice cuts through the noise. Bright. Triumphant.

He turns before he can stop himself.

And there she is. Alive with joy. Glowing with her own light.

And it hits him.

Her joy is his triumph.

Her success—his greatest pride.

She’s not mere temptation.

She’s everything.

"Oh... Doesn't mean you'll move there though, right?" her father said.

"Oh dad, don't go there again," she rolls her eyes. Her eyes accidentally catches Tom's.

They lock eyes. Only a second.

But the pull is strong.

The feeling is deep.

Her father follows the gaze.

“What was that?” he asks sharply. “What’s that look?”

Tom blinks. “W-What look?”

“That look—you’re hiding something.”

Tom stumbles over a laugh, trying to hide his stutters. “N-No, nothing—”

“Did she say anything about New York?”

Relief rushes through him that her father didn't suspect anything. Not that. Anything but that.

FLASHBACK – Her breakdown. The kiss.

“You don’t know what it’s like...” she’d whispered, voice cracking. “Carrying someone’s name and always being a shadow of it. Everyone expecting you not to mess up, act right, all dolled up— perfect.... No one would even care if I broke.” The words sliced him.

And then—she broke.

Lips colliding. That desperate kiss.

Her hand trembled as she gripped on his shirt.

He felt her need to be seen.

“Please. Just let me mess up for this time. Just once.”

He should’ve pulled away. Should’ve saved her from himself.

But her pain called to his own. And in the ruin of that kiss, he tasted salvation and sin alike.

He thought he was letting that kiss to honor her.

To let her know he saw her. Understood her.

And in letting her fall,

He fell too. Deeper.

PRESENT

“Nothing,” Tom says, voice hoarse. “Maybe cut her some slack... she’s smart. Her business is good. She doesn’t need Hollywood.”

Her father eyes him, quiet for a beat.

“She told you that?”

Tom hesitates. Too long.

“She did said something, huh?” her father says.

A pause. Then a soft smile.

“I don't know how you got her to talk. She barely come home to me, and you.. a stranger she met weeks ago," he couldn't finish and just chuckle. "I considered you my own brother. Watch her for me, Tom.” he follows.

And that really hits.

My own brother.

Watch her.

The words land like a knife.

If only he knew—

He wasn’t the guardian.

He was the reason she needed one.

Tom forces a smile. Nods.

“I will.”

But inside—

He’s falling apart.

She’s his undoing.

His forbidden.

His only.

And from the downstairs, her laughter echoes again—

a melody he’s dying to forget, but can’t.

Because he’s already drowning in her. And she—

She’s already gone. Untouchable. A fever he’ll never break.

———

Taglist:

@katluke25

@anima-patronos

@tom-cruiseisalegend

@sdrose93

[baeyoungsoo]

Youngsoo didn’t move right away. He watched him, small, folded up, and clearly disappointed, and it tugged at something deep inside him. He didn’t rush to cheer him up, but his voice came low, steady, and full of quiet conviction. “Yoru,” he said softly, “I know you feel like you're missing out. And I won’t pretend your size doesn’t change some things. But don’t ever think that makes you less. You’re not missing out on me. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” He lifted his hand slowly, carefully resting it nearby like an open space, not to trap but to offer comfort. “We’ll figure it out together. If you make yourself bigger, or I get smaller, or neither, we’ll adapt. But don’t sit there thinking you’re boring or not enough, just because things look different. You’re not.” Then a small smirk pulled at his lips. “And don’t think I can’t flirt with you properly at your size. I’ve kissed you on the cheek, haven’t I? Don’t tempt me to aim higher.” He arched a brow playfully, his voice dropping just enough to tease, while still keeping the warmth in it. “But more than anything, I just want you here. Talking to me. Dreaming up ridiculous plans. Picking plants for our future garden. Telling me which soup is your favorite. All of that? That’s more than enough.” He extended a single finger gently. “So what do you say? Wanna climb up and help me sketch out our first little rebellion plan? Just you and me. Something that’s possible now. We’ll work toward the rest, step by step.”

Forever and Always - @baeyoungsoo *CLOSED RP*

Yoru was a prince, that word felt like a stab to the heart….was…he no longer held that title and it made his heart break in two. His family had been dethroned and he was banished, he had fought back and something went entirely wrong, he couldn't figure out where he was, it was a strange place full of giants, not the giants he was used to but giants with weird clothing and the buildings looked odd and the smells everywhere reeked of chemicals. He could hardly fly he was weak his wings struggled to lift him, and he had no clothes as they disintegrated in the journey between realms. His body had scrapes and bruises from the rough landing and he was worried he'd starve or freeze to death but luckily he would either be killed by a giant footstep or an animal ripping him limb from limb and his pain would end soon. Delirious from hunger he finally managed to fly and quickly headed in the direction that gave off the best smells he had smelled the entire time he was in this realm, it was warm and meaty and made his mouth water but he couldn't find the source and this enraged him. He sighed heavily and found a place to sit on the windowsill of a random building, he felt warmth from the window and it was enough to keep him from freezing to death, he eventually leaned against the side and closed his eyes "May death be kinder than this realm could ever be.." he mumbled to himself.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Harry also released a statement with his usual delusional word salad but he did mention something about getting much better security in the countries. Is he getting goverment funded security in the USA we don't know about? I'd be pissed if my tax dollars are being spend on these grifters security.

Maybe I am wrong but he is referring to his trips for Invictus: every time he does a trip for the games or a year before to promote them, the organization pulls their contacts to give them what they want. Or when they have been in Nigeria and Colombia, Ukraine, apparently the governments gave security.

How much? We don’t know but apparently they were given police with guns (what they want). Maybe it’s just only 1-2; it’s what the NYP has given to them, one police car. There was also an article about his Ukraine visit in where on woman made an interview talking about H’s visit and she said that she didn’t even see much security out there when he arrived to one charity (so, i suspect they are indeed only given 1 police officer or very few)

The thing here is that H is only receiving such security when he is being invited by the politicians (Nigeria and Colombia) or for Invictus, but he wants such security 24/7 even for holidays, but that’s impossible. So, let’s say he goes to Nigeria for holidays, they won’t give anything because he isn’t going in ‘official’ capacity. They achieved it in NYC because they make a full tantrum, but they were given the bare minimum. But for 2027 Invictus in UK, he will receive security tho, I won’t be surprised if he takes the children since it will be the only opportunity to have full protection (don’t know if 24/7, but full protection)

I will very surprised if US or other governments extend such protection when they are on their private time, that would be so bad, so I don’t think they receive it, if not H won’t be blaming his family for also phoning other governments to not give them security.

But the thing is, even 1 car and 3 people is 1 car and 3 people too many.

It's an optics game, and that's something Meghan has played very, very well since 2016. I mean, they were able to turn 1 NYPD escort car into a 4-car motorcade that drove right through Times Square.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Imagine if instead of Chara. Killer couldn’t remember true resets it would truly and utterly reset him back to the way he was before corrupted code gone, everything fixed, happy little beginning not even knowing about resets yet. Imagine if only at the end after he finally becomes Killer after more resets of suffering do the memories of the other true resets set in. The fact that no matter what he does it truly truly doesn’t matter not even anything Killer does matter not when they can reset and try again to realize your only in a bigger loop. How easy would it be for Chara to threaten to do it again a simple phrase like Loop 13 is all he needs to hear to know that of he doesn’t do what they want now they’ll reset everything go through getting his soul changed and twisted through thousands of resets until he’s forced to agreed to do something terrible. Knowing that if they reset he won’t remember he’ll do everything again and won’t even remember till it’s too late he can’t win he’ll never win. Chara of course can do whatever they want ruin him as much as possible truly mess him up even as Killer and they could true reset sure it’ll be a lot of work but like I always say if you did it once you can do it again no matter how long it takes. I imagine it would be a huge existential crisis. Imagine if the true resets extends outside of their Au. That one day after being forced to work for Nightmare they can reset do it all over again he won’t be the same as he once was and he’ll end up under Nightmare control once again another loop. Imagine if the entire multiverse was reset maybe because of Underverse but Killer survived and so he remembers Sanses always have the misfortune of remembering imagine if multiverse ending events happened again and again only to be reset and Killer wouldn’t remember not until he’s left his own universe only to realize he’s done this again and again and again.

~Musical Anon = )

Wonder if Stage 4 would function with the purpose of fulfilling whatever directives are needed to “prevent” a True Reset—and Erasure. Something worse than death.

[acearchivist359]

i hope the things that got cut from the raven boys graphic novel was mainly the whelk chapters . because i do not give a single fuck about that man but i give many fucks about every gangsey moment ever

[aengelren]

pardon?

[hyperions-light]

Oh cool, thanks for the rec! I haven’t read too much of the extended universe Trek stuff, but I’ve heard good things generally !

And I probably won’t randomly turn into a trek blog lol, but it is always in my heart <3

a thing I'm sure you have all noticed about me by now is that I overuse the words "intriguing" and, to a lesser extent, "fascinating" when replying to things

this is because I spent a lot of time as a teenager watching Star Trek and really fixating on Data and Spock

I'm pretty sure intriguing is Data's and fascinating is Spock's, but in any case, it's all star trek's fault