#the view from down here is spectacular

[monstersholygrail]

Just being neighborly

Pairing: Orc neighbor x fem!reader— yandere reader, nudity, dryhumping, rough play, kidnapping(?)

This fic was inspired and continued off of this post by @bunnis-monsters ! (With permission ofc)

Ever since your new neighbor moved in you had had your eye on him. He had appeared on what you originally thought was going to be an ordinary day. Arriving with a large U-Haul truck yet he was the only one to come out of it.

He was strapping orc, tall and handsome— though he clearly didn’t know it. But that was perfectly fine, you were more than happy to let him know.

You were surprised when he moved to the back to open it up and started taking in boxes and furniture all by himself. The sight of him lifting up an entire dresser with one arm soon had your panties soaked with arousal. You had never wanted to swap places with a piece of furniture so bad. You couldn’t believe you were jealous over a dresser. A dresser! Yet you were and you totally couldn’t deny it.

Imagining yourself finally in his huge muscular arms as they circle around your body and trap your form against his, begging for you relieve some of pressure you had caused in his cock. Showing you exactly what he means as he rubs you into the bulge straining against his pleated pants. His large hands digging into you roughly as he helps you grind your slick core against his impressive erection.

Luckily you catch yourself daydreaming before he can spot you practically collapsed on the railing of your porch. Your brows furrow as you wipe your mouth, a small bit of drool on the corner of your lip.

Deciding you need to get your claws in him, so to speak, before anyone else in the neighborhood does, you think of the perfect excuse to head on over.

Knocking on the back of the moving truck, lemonade glass in hand, you wait for your new neighbor to notice you. He whirls around clumsily at the noise, causing the truck to slightly shake.

“Hi, neighbor! Welcome to the neighborhood. Thought you might be thirsty so I come bearing drinks!” You greet, flashing him your most flirtatious smile.

Orc neighbor comes to the opening of the truck slowly. Your head tilts back the closer he gets and you force yourself not to literally purr in delight. You push your chest out as you hand him the glass, knowing the view of your cleavage from his angle must be spectacular.

He crouches down and carefully takes the glass of lemonade from your hand between a few of his fingers. There’s an evident dark green blush on his cheeks and you can’t help but giggle at the sight of it.

“Thank you, little lady,” he mumbles shyly. Your smile widens, looking over your new obsession.

Oh, he’s so darling. You already want him all to yourself. But you know you’re going to enjoy the chase. Even if he isn’t aware of it.

It started off light, you wanted to at least give him time to fall for your advances. Your seduction plan would gain a natural intensity, fitting to the clear chemistry between you and your orc neighbor.

First you always seemed to end up needing to borrow a cup of sugar. He was more than happy to give you some and you made sure to thank him with a hug that let him feel you completely. When he never tried to cop a feel you opened up all your blinds and started making it normal for you to walk around your house naked. Letting him get little glimpses here and there. But when you realized he’d avert his gaze, being the gentleman he is, you knew you had to make your interest more obvious.

So you start peeking through the curtains, waiting to see when orc neighbor goes to take out his trash so you can go too. Wearing nothing but your flimsy almost see-through robe. Letting him watch as your nipples harden the longer you both interact.

When you head back into your house you purposely leave the door open, waiting for orc neighbor to come inside. And of course because he's such a gentleman he nervously comes up on your porch and reminds you softly that you left the door open.

Oh my, silly you. Your mind must be so all over the place that you just happened to forget in your rush! Luckily he was there to save you from someone bad coming in. Of course, such heroics deserve a reward so you invite him in to have breakfast with you. He’s so busy looking around your comfy home that he doesn't hear you click the lock in place as you shut the door.

You must be so clumsy this morning because when you go to bring him a nice cup of coffee, you accidentally trip and end up spilling it all over him! Apologies spew from your lips as take some napkins you just so happened to be holding and start patting all over his tummy and his crotch.

His cock twitches under your attentive touch and he blushes, hoping you don't notice. But of course you do. You notice everything about him. He quickly assures you it's ok but that he should get home to change.

That won't do, no, not at all. You tell him that's not necessary at all as you enjoy wearing oversized shirts but they're hard to find in human sizes. Much more common in orc. So you're sure you have something that'll fit. He's too bashful to refuse such an offer.

You head into your closet and grab the first oversized shirt you can find. Absolutely positive that he won't notice how it smells like him. Or that it looks eerily similar to that shirt of his that went missing a few days ago.

To be continued…?

[hometoursandotherstuff]

If you had unlimited funds to fix it up, this island could be spectacular. Look, it has a lighthouse. The current owner started to renovate, didn't get very far, and clearly gave up.

There's more than one house on it. Located just a few miles offshore from Rockport Harbor and north of the charming town of Alpena, MI this 227-acre island is in the crystal-clear waters of Lake Huron, offering over 10,000 feet of pristine waterfront and panoramic views. $3.699m.

This could be paradise.

Now, this nice big brick house looks like it's a least a duplex. Bring your friends and family.

Middle Island is home to the historic Middle Island Lighthouse, a majestic 76-foot beacon built in 1905 to guide ships safely through Thunder Bay—a region once infamous for its treacherous waters.

The original 12-room lighthouse keeper’s quarters and the adjacent Fog Signal Building, once used to emit warning blasts in heavy fog, have been converted into a welcoming lodge that sleeps ten—a perfect retreat for guests or potential eco-tourism.

The lighthouse, decommissioned in the mid-20th century, remains fully intact and offers incredible observation vistas that span miles in every direction.

They started to frame out the interior. I think that I would have to take some of it down, b/c it looks like they were going to cover up the brick walls.

Not sure, but this looks like a little guest cabin.

They've got a cute bench here and a little birdhouse in the tree.

It has secure access by boat- look at how long the pier is.

There are also hiking trails and a hunting blind to observe the wildlife.

I don't know if the vehicle is included, but the island is pretty big, so it's needed to get around in.

What a piece of property- the buildings are all in one place and the rest is just infinite potential. 227 acre island.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/Middle-Is-Alpena-MI-49707/306848259_zpid/

[izzy02soph]

Generals Daughter and her gladiator 🤎🏛️

Hanno/ Lucius Verus x afab! Reader

I own none of these characters except Y/N (if you even want to consider her a character)

——————

Y/N stood amongst the opulence of Senator Thraex's grand party, her eyes scanning the lavish surroundings. The twin emperors, were seated in places of honor, their presence commanding the room, while their whores rubbed themselves desperately against their emperors. But it was the sight in the center of the room that captured her attention—two gladiators were about to fight for the evening's entertainment.

“What are they going to do Aelia?” Y/N asked her friend next to her who was coincidentally Senator Thraxe’s young wife, Aelia

“What does it look like, silly, they’re gonna fight!” Aelia said getting excited

Among them was a fierce looking dark haired man, and an older barbaric gladiator known for his fierce reputation. As the fight started, Y/N watched intently. The dark haired man seemed reluctant, trying to stop the other man, but the crowd's demands and the emperor's orders left him no choice. With a heavy heart and a fierce determination, after minutes of fighting, the dark haired man eventually impaled his opponent, the crowd in the room erupting in cheers. Y/N and Aelia giggling as they clapped, finding entertainment in these fights.

“What a spectacular fight” Emperor Geta said as he finished clapping dramatically and walked over in front of the dark haired man.

“What’s your name, slave.”

The silence in the room was deafening, so silent you could hear your guards breathing.

“Hanno is his name, Caesar. He only speaks his native tounge, Caesar” Macrinus the stable master said as he reassured him.

The emperor hummed as if he was thinking of what to say next. Finally, the dark haired slave spoke up.

“The gates of Hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, in this the task and mighty labor lies.” He said with a smug look.

“So Hanno is a poet, too” Geta said while chuckling dryly.

“Geta don’t be rude” Caracalla said in a joking manner as he sat up in his seat. All his jewelry clanked as he moved.

For a split second Hanno looked over trying to regain his composure, eyes landing on Y/N

“Can’t wait to see how you are in the arena. Hanno.” Emperor Geta said as he looked at the slave one last time before walking back to his seat

Soon after, the music of the harp started back up. Moved by his internal struggle and the raw power he displayed, Y/N made a swift decision. She turned to her guard and whispered urgently, "I must meet him. Arrange it immediately." The guard nodded and hurried to comply.

______

Soon after, Y/N found herself in the steam-filled bathhouse where Hanno was enjoying his hard-earned reward. He looked up as she entered, jewelry adorning her wrists and her necklace sparkling off the steaming water. His eyes narrowing with suspicion and curiosity. “You’re not supposed to be here" he said, his voice rough and edged with bitterness.

“So he speaks”

Y/N stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "I saw you fight. You did not want to kill him, yet you did. I wanted to meet the man who battles not just with his body, but with his conscience."

Hanno's expression softened slightly, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. "And what do you hope to gain from this meeting? And again why are you here?" His words were still harsh, but there was a hint of something else—perhaps a spark of interest in the boldness of the beautiful lady.

“You heard me the first time” Y/N said, in a challenging tone. She sat down on the ledge of the tub as spoke with a lowered voice. "I want to know where you came from, Hanno. Who you are beyond the fighting. I saw the conflict in your eyes tonight. You're not just a brute for their entertainment."

Hanno's eyes narrowed, though his posture remained relaxed. "You speak with conviction, but words are easy, princess. What makes you think your curiosity will change anything? What makes you think I even want to share my past?"

“You think I’m a princess? So eager to jump to conclusions. Well if it make a difference I’m General Acacius’ daughter. Now you know where I come from” Y/N said trying to read the dark haired man

“You didn’t answer me the first time, why are you here?” Hanno said, eyes darkening as he realized who’s daughter he was talking to

Y/N's lips curved into a smirk. "Because I believe there's more to you than what meets the eye. And because I know what it's like to be trapped by expectations, to have your identity overshadowed by a title. We are not so different, you and I.“ She said as she got up from where she was sitting and got ready to walk out.

“In two days time, when you’re in the arena, win the crowd. They’ll love you” She said smugly before walking out.

______

Two days later, the Colosseum was buzzing with excitement. The gladiator games were set to continue, and the crowd was eager for more bloodshed. The Emperors, Macrinus, General Acacius, Lucilla, and Y/N were all present, watching intently from their seats. All in their noble attire, the emperors gold accessories sparkling in the sunlight.

Hanno and the other gladiators were brought into the arena. As they stood there, Hanno knelt and ran the dirt through his hands, a gesture reminiscent of the late warrior Maximus. This caught Lucilla’s attention, and she recognized Hanno. Y/N, noticing Lucilla’s reaction, leaned in.

“Lucilla, you seem troubled. Are you alright?” Y/N asked with genuine concern.

“I am fine, just... a memory stirred dear,” Lucilla replied, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

The games commenced with a brutal fervor. Hanno and the other gladiators were pitted against the undefeated gladiator Glyceo, who entered the arena atop his fearsome rhino. The battle was fierce and chaotic, with Glyceo mercilessly slaughtering the other men. The crowd roared with approval as the bodies fell, leaving only Hanno standing against Glyceo.

Y/N nervously started twisting her rings around her fingers, praying to the gods they kept Hanno alive.

Hanno and Glyceo faced each other, the tension palpable. Their fight was intense, each strike filled with raw power. Glyceo managed to knock Hanno to the ground. Geta, watching from above, turned his back looking for someone to help him decide

“Y/N, what do you think we should do with him” Geta asked as the arena waited for an answer

“Caesar, show mercy.” Y/N said in an almost pleading tone. Finding entertainment in these fights. Geta pointed his thumb upwards. Giving Glyceo a chance to spear Hanno

“Mercy is for the weak.”

Hanno, refusing to give up, rose to his feet and continued the fight. With a final, desperate effort, he impaled Glyceo, the champion’s eyes widening in shock as the blade was pulled out of his stomach. The crowd fell silent, holding their breath as they awaited the next move.

Geta, maintaining his cruel demeanor, gave the thumbs-down signal. Hanno, breathing heavily and covered in blood, took two swords and, with a swift, cross-like motion, decapitated Glyceo. The head rolled away as the crowd erupted into a mixture of shock and exhilaration.

Y/n watched intently as Hanno stood victorious, his chest heaving, and his eyes wandered to the Emperors box across the arena. The crowd cheering was deafening. He had won the crowd. In that moment, it was clear that the games were far from over.

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, knowing that this was only the beginning of a much larger conflict.

______

“Row. Row. Row” The commander said as the gladiators kept rowing, the practice exhausting them, hands aching.

“Ridiculous” Hanno mumbled as the commander walked past him. The commander immediately stopped in his tracks.

“What did you say, slave?”

“I said this is ridiculous” Hanno said staring him down.

“Alright, everyone out. Except you” The commander said.

“You will row until it isn’t ridiculous” the commander said as he grinned evilly as he stood tall, hands behind his back.

“I guess we’ll be here a while then” Hanno said as he started rowing again.

______

After practice, Hanno woke up by a stinging pain in his hand, still seated in the boat. Ravi, the healer, seated in front of him.

"Calm down, Hanno. It is just vinegar" Ravi said, his voice calm and reassuring as he gathered his materials.

As Ravi worked, cleaning and bandaging Hanno's hands, Hanno couldn't help but think about Y/N. The way she had leaned in to speak with Lucilla, the concern in her eyes—it all intrigued him.

"Ravi," Hanno began, wincing slightly as Ravi applied a salve to a particularly deep cut, "Tell me about Y/N."

"Y/N Acacius? General Acacius’ daughter? Why do you want to know?” Ravi said, chuckling as if it was a funny question.

“Well go on.”

Ravi paused for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “There’s not much to it. She's the general's daughter…. But.. never mind.

“What Ravi?” Hanno said, starting to get annoyed.

“There's more to her than what meets the eye."

Hanno's interest was piqued. "What do you mean?"

Ravi continued, his hands moving deftly over Hanno's wounds. "She's a warrior, trained in the arts of combat. But she stopped fighting after the death of her mother and her father's remarriage. People know she knows how to fight, but not many bother for her hand because they know she’s strong and the general’s daughter—meaning she was taught very well in combat."

Hanno absorbed this information, a newfound interest growing within him. "A warrior who set aside her sword... I didn't expect that."

Ravi smiled slightly. "Few do. But y/n is not one to be underestimated. She carries the weight of her responsibilities with grace and strength. You'd do well to remember that. Why do you want to know though, I thought you hated the General."

As Ravi finished tending to his wounds, Hanno felt a sense of admiration and curiosity about Y/N. He realized that there was much more to her than he had initially thought, and he was determined to learn more about the mysterious women who had captured his attention.

______

Y/N was lounging in the tablinum area, her mind drifting aimlessly as she tried to relax. The events of the day had been intense, and she needed a moment of peace. Just then, Lucilla walked in, her face etched with worry and tension.

"Lucilla, what's wrong?" Y/N asked, sitting up straighter. She had noticed Lucilla's troubled demeanor earlier at the games but hadn't had the chance to ask.

Lucilla hesitated, her eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. "Y/N, there's something I need to tell you. But if I tell you, you cannot share this to another soul. And right now only your father knows about this.”

“What troubles you?”

“It's about Hanno... or rather, Lucius." Lucilla says as she finds a seat near Y/N

Y/N's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Lucius? What do you mean?"

Taking a deep breath, Lucilla began to explain. "Hanno is actually my son. His real name is Lucius. After my brother Commodus was killed by Maximus, I had to send Lucius away to keep him safe. He was and still is the rightful successor, and I feared for his life."

Y/N listened intently, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together. "So, you sent him away to protect him?"

"Yes," Lucilla nodded, her voice trembling slightly. "Senator Gracchus helped me arrange to meet with Lucius to tell him the truth about his parentage. He is the son of Maximus. But when I told him, he was furious. He ordered me to leave his cell, angry that I had sent him away and blaming Acacius for Arishat’s death."

Y/N's heart ached for Lucilla. She didn’t know who Arishat was or why he was mad at her father, but she had to figure it out"That's a lot for him to take in. What will you do now?"

"I went to your father," Lucilla admitted, her eyes pleading. "I asked him to help Lucius. He needs guidance and support now more than ever."

Y/N reached out, placing a comforting hand on Lucilla's shoulder. "We'll find a way to help him. He's strong, just like you. We'll get through this together."

Lucilla nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Thank you, Y/N. Your support means everything to me."

Together, they sat in the quiet of the tablinum, the weight of their shared burdens palpable but bearable in each other's company.

______

I hope yall liked it! I got a request from someone to make a story for this, so I did it! Now I know it’s not all comely accurate but I’m working with what I got so take it or leave it! There most likely will be a part 2 if this goes how I want it but let me know if y’all even want a pt 2!🩷

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

Eddie doesn’t know how he was convinced by Steve to go on a hike. Yes, Eddie can sing and run around stage without getting winded, but make him climb uphill on a slightly rocky path? He’s done for.

Steve has a backpack on with everything they could possibly need, keeping his balance perfectly. Eddie only has the clothes on his back and that is still making him wobble.

“Baby, love of my life, dearest husband. Can we please stop for a minute?” Eddie is out of breath and has his hands on his knees, hair limp with sweat around his face.

Steve stops and puts his hands on his hips, sunglasses sliding into his hair. “My love, we’ve only been hiking for an hour. Do you want to head back now or continue to the top?”

Eddie pauses his panting. “An hour?! Oh my god I’m gonna die up here. Hand me my phone I have to send a message to Wayne.”

-

Once they reach the top, Steve brings out their snacks and doses himself for a protein bar. He’s not surprised when his pump doesn’t give him any insulin— he’s been burning sugar like crazy.

The view is spectacular and when Steve looks over at Eddie, he just sees a blob of limbs and hair laying on the ground.

“I’m gonna have to check you for ticks now, babe.”

Eddie groans, “Let them eat me. I feel like a wet paper towel.”

“I love you too much. I can always carry you back down if you need.”

Steve scooches closer and puts Eddie’s head in his lap. He reaches a hand up and cups Steve’s face, saying, “Oh, darling, you’re so thoughtful.”

They share a kiss before the two of them get back up and pose for a selfie, per Eddie’s request.

(He’s posts it on instagram when they get cell service on the drive back with the caption: “I love my husband but holy shit I do not belong in nature.” Steve looks like a god and Eddie, a drowned rat. They make a perfect couple).

The hike down is not as bad as it was up, and Steve does end up carrying Eddie down.

“You know, this isn’t too bad,” Steve says as they’re about ten feet from the car. “You’re so light, I could definitely bench press you!”

“Oh my god shut up Steve I’m gonna bust if I imagine you doing that.” He smacks a kiss on Steve’s cheek. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be raring to go.”

“EDDIE!”

[rose24207]

Dark Mafia Lando Norris who is a very dangerous man, but for his darling girl, he's a completely soft man for her, possessive of her, but all the reader sees is his soft side. But reader hears some rumors that he's a very bad man and she asks Lando who asks her where she got thease ideas from and she tells him that one of his new men told her to be careful of him. So Lando reassures her nothing is true and he would never hurt her and goes to take care of this guy and set an example out of this guy in front of his men.

Soft for you

Summary: Lando Norris, a dangerous mafia leader, shows nothing but love and gentleness to his darling, but when she hears whispers of his darker side, he reassures her before taking ruthless action against the man who planted doubt in her mind.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, fluff, angst

TW: Mafia, Lando offs someone in this, lando being a manipulator and is gaslighting a little

A/N: love the idea!! Thank you for your request!

Masterlist

The low hum of the city night filled the air, a mixture of distant car horns and murmured conversations drifting up to the penthouse balcony. You leaned against the railing, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. The view was spectacular, a sea of glittering lights stretching out below, but your attention was fixed on the man behind you.

Lando Norris sat on the plush outdoor couch, one arm draped over the backrest and a glass of whiskey in his other hand. His dark curls were tousled, and the faint glow of the city cast sharp angles across his face. Despite the powerful aura he carried, the smile he gave you was warm, soft, a stark contrast to the man you knew he was to the rest of the world.

“You’re staring, darling,” Lando teased, his voice smooth as velvet.

You flushed, caught in the act. “Am I not allowed to admire my boyfriend?”

Lando chuckled, setting the glass down and opening his arms to you. “Come here, then. Admire me up close.”

You obliged, sinking into the comfort of his embrace. His arms wrapped around you securely, and he kissed the top of your head. This was the Lando you knew—kind, gentle, and hopelessly devoted to you.

He was the type to remember your favorite snacks, to leave sweet notes around the house, and to hold you close whenever you felt even the slightest bit down.

But lately, you’d heard whispers—rumors that painted him in a completely different light.

It had started earlier that day, when you’d ventured downstairs to the ground floor of the high-rise building. Lando’s men were stationed everywhere, but they always greeted you with polite nods and respectful smiles. You were "Lando’s girl," a title that seemed to carry weight even among hardened men.

But today was different. A new recruit—someone you hadn’t seen before—had been standing near the entrance. He looked nervous, like he didn’t quite fit in with the polished, stoic demeanor of the others.

As you passed by, he’d glanced around before leaning in slightly.

“Miss…” he began hesitantly.

You paused, curious. “Yes?”

“I don’t mean to overstep,” he whispered, his eyes darting nervously. “But… you should be careful around him. Mr. Norris isn’t what he seems.”

You frowned, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’m just saying, he’s a dangerous man. You seem… nice. Just be cautious, okay?”

Before you could respond, another of Lando’s men appeared, barking an order that sent the recruit scurrying off.

The encounter left you shaken. You knew Lando’s world was different from yours, filled with power and influence, but you’d never imagined him as dangerous. He was your Lando—the man who brought you flowers and kissed your forehead before bed.

And yet, the recruit’s words lingered in your mind.

That evening, as you lay curled up on the couch with Lando, the curiosity finally got the better of you.

“Lando?” you asked softly.

He looked up from the book he’d been thumbing through, his dark eyes instantly attentive. “Yes, darling?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation, setting the book aside.

You hesitated, unsure how to phrase it. “I… heard something today. About you.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but his expression remained calm. “What did you hear?”

“Someone said… that you’re dangerous.”

For a moment, there was silence. Lando’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but when he looked at you, his gaze was soft. “And who told you that?”

You hesitated again. “One of your new men. He told me to be careful around you.”

Lando’s lips pressed into a thin line, and the air around him seemed to shift. The warmth in his eyes cooled slightly, replaced by a glint of something sharper. Still, his voice remained gentle when he spoke.

“Darling, you know me,” he said, cupping your cheek in his hand. “You know I’d never hurt you. Never.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But… is it true? Are you—”

“Shh.” Lando pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Whatever they told you, it’s not something you need to worry about. My business… it’s complicated. But my only priority is keeping you safe and happy. Always.”

You wanted to believe him, and as he held you, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, the doubts began to fade.

Later that night, after you’d fallen asleep, Lando stood by the window, his phone pressed to his ear.

“Find out who the new recruit is,” he ordered, his voice low and icy. “The one who spoke to Y/N today.”

The man on the other end stammered. “Y-yes, sir. I’ll handle it.”

“No,” Lando snapped. “I’ll handle it. Make sure he’s in the warehouse tomorrow. I want everyone there.”

As he ended the call, his gaze softened when it landed on you, curled up peacefully in bed. For you, he was soft, gentle, and loving. But for anyone who dared to threaten that peace?

Lando Norris was a nightmare.

The next evening, Lando stood in the center of the dimly lit warehouse, his men gathered in a wide circle around him. At his feet, the new recruit knelt, trembling.

“You had one job,” Lando began, his voice eerily calm. “To follow orders. To stay in line. And yet, you thought it wise to speak to my girl. To fill her head with lies.”

The recruit stammered, his words incoherent.

“Silence,” Lando commanded, and the room fell deathly quiet.

He crouched down, his eyes locking onto the man’s. “Y/N doesn’t need to know about my business. She doesn’t need to see this side of me. Do you understand?”

The recruit nodded frantically, sweat dripping down his face.

“But now,” Lando continued, standing to his full height, “you’ve forced my hand. I have to set an example. Otherwise, what’s to stop the next idiot from doing the same?”

The recruit’s pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as Lando turned to his men.

“Watch closely,” he said coldly. “This is what happens when you cross me.”

When Lando returned home that night, the darkness in his eyes had vanished. He slipped into bed beside you, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

You stirred, blinking up at him sleepily. “You’re late,” you murmured.

“Business,” he said simply, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nestled closer, sighing contentedly. “You’d tell me if there was something I needed to worry about, right?”

Lando kissed your forehead, his voice a soft promise. “You never have to worry, darling. I’ll always protect you.”

And as you drifted back to sleep, you had no idea just how far he would go to keep that promise.

Thank you for reading!!

[corroded-hellfire]

I just need pre-relationship AYW!Eddie all pent up and feral for Reader. I need him whimpering when he touches himself after Reader leaves for the evening. I need him trying to picture anyone else besides his kids’ babysitter but he keeps picturing Reader.

Your wish is my command! 😘

Warnings: male masturbation, smut, p in v, unprotected (wrap it up), older!eddie, babysitter!reader, the longing is real

Words: 2.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Go to sleep now,” you grumble playfully, ruffling Luke’s curls as he smiles up at you from his bed.

“One more story?” Luke asks, though his voice betrays how sleepy he already is.

“Come on, buddy,” Eddie says from the doorway. “She’s been nice enough to stay for dinner and read you two bedtime stories already.”

A smile that steals Eddie’s breath grows on your lips as you turn to look at your boss.

“You make it sound like such a hardship,” you quip.

“I don’t think your union allows for overtime,” Eddie replies.

You let out a soft giggle and Eddie feels his insides begin to melt. It’s catastrophically unfair, the effect you have on him. Not in his whole life has Eddie met someone who so effortlessly turns him on and makes his heart race. As impossible as it is to ignore the feelings, Eddie tries not to linger on them for a few reasons. One, you’re a complete pipe dream. There is no way you, beautiful, intelligent, compassionate, and hilarious you would ever see a man over a decade older than you in the same light that he sees you. Two, and which he admits is arguably the bigger reason, is that he’s married. Sure, it hasn’t been a real marriage in…God knows how long. But it’s still a legally binding marriage that he hasn’t even attempted to separate from. Not for lack of want, though. It’s hard to see a point when it would cause the breakup of his boys’ family, and for what? So Eddie could be all alone in some smaller unfamiliar home that he struggles to afford on his own while caring for his sons, only getting to see them half the time he does now? No. He basically is doing it all alone right now, with the lack of input from Brittany, but at least Luke and Ryan are in the home they know and the two combined household incomes can give them a pretty good life.

Unfortunately, all the logic in the world can’t cure Eddie’s addiction to you.

“Close your eyes, sleepyhead.” You stand up from the edge of the four-year-old’s bed and lean over to press a kiss to his forehead.

The way you bend down towards the boy gives Eddie a spectacular view of your ass. He’s forced to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to suppress the groan that so desperately wants to escape. As much as he internally chides himself, Eddie can’t tear his eyes away either. He gets so few chances to just look at you, that he can’t bring himself to cut this precious time short.

“Night night,” Luke says through a yawn.

“Night, pal,” Eddie says.

You boop your index finger against the little boy’s nose before standing up straight and heading in Eddie’s direction. The two of you exit into the hallway and Eddie closes the door almost all the way–leaving it open just a crack to allow some of the hallway light in.

The two of you are silent as you walk to the living room, both silently dreading that it’s time to part for the evening. You swipe your bag up from the couch and slip it onto your shoulder.

“I guess I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow,” you say, reluctantly taking steps toward the front door.

“Thanks for staying longer than you had to,” Eddie says, walking you to the door like always. He feels like he should add the words “for the boys” to the end of his sentence, but he can’t bring himself to. As much as the boys adore you, Eddie knows he is without a doubt the happiest one that you stayed for dinner and until bedtime.

“It was fun,” you tell him. “I always have fun here.”

“Always?” Eddie teases, raising his eyebrows. “Can I remind you that you said that the next time Luke has a meltdown?”

“Sure,” you reply with a chuckle.

The electricity in the air threatens to spark at any moment as Eddie reaches around you to open the front door.

“Drive careful, sweetheart,” he says.

“No,” you tease with a playful smirk. “I’m going to drive recklessly. Run all the red lights.”

“Don’t give me reason to worry,” Eddie mumbles, knocking his shoulder against yours.

“Aww,” you coo. “You worry about me?”

Heat rises to Eddie’s cheeks and he desperately wills it to move back down his body.

“Alright, smart ass.” Eddie wrinkles his nose up and pretends to shove you out the door.

With a laugh, you playfully stumble down the walkway a few steps, acting as if his push was that strong.

“Oh, fine!” you lament over-dramatically. “I’ll be a good girl! Bye, Eddie.”

A good girl. Suddenly, Eddie wishes that heat and blood would stay in his face instead of rushing to his groin like it currently is.

“Bye, sweetheart.”

The moment you’re safely in your car and Eddie hears the engine start, he closes the front door and groans in time with the locking mechanism clicking into place.

“This just feels cruel,” he mumbles to himself as he rests his forehead against the cool wood of the door. He lets himself stand there until he hears your car rumble down the road and off into the night.

It takes a Herculean effort to push himself up and head deeper into the house. Out of habit, Eddie glances at the clock on the wall to see if Brittany will be home soon or not. It’s useless though—there’s never a set time she comes home. Who knows where she is or what she’s doing? Or who she’s doing. The pseudo-schedule the household used to follow has fallen by the wayside, so Eddie mentally tells himself to ignore it altogether. Easier said than done, of course.

When Eddie steps into the hallway it’s silent. No sounds of Luke sneaking out of bed to play with his toys or Ryan fumbling for his flashlight to read beneath his covers. Heaving a sigh, Eddie decides he might as well take care of the situation in his pants.

Despite Brittany not being home, Eddie locks the bedroom door behind him. Luke has also started the bad habit of opening any and every door without knocking first. So, better to be safe than sorry.

“Okay, think of someone else,” Eddie says to himself as he rids himself of his clothes. “Anyone else. Not her.”

It shouldn’t be hard to think of another woman to get himself off. Hell, for the entirety of Eddie’s teenage years, he could’ve jacked it to almost any woman and it would be great. Now he can’t seem to get this one specific, unattainable woman out of his mind.

He shucks the last of his clothes off and lays down on his bed, wracking his brain for someone who can get the job done. Julia Roberts? Nah. Jennifer Aniston? No. Cindy Crawford? Nope. Nicole Kidman? Maybe….no. Aunt Viv from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air? The first, not the second one. Still no.

“Fuck,” Eddie groans, letting his eyes fall closed as he wraps his hand around his semi-hard shaft. He licks over his lips and tries to let himself relax. The only way Eddie is going to be able to take care of this problem is to think about you and he knows it. He also knows he needs to hurry up if he wants to finish before Brittany comes home.

The mere thought of the woman who sleeps next to him at night has him softening slightly in his hand. A snort of laughter comes out, Eddie finding that humorous. Objectively, Brittany is beautiful, but knowing the rot and decay that lays just beneath the surface ruins any attractiveness Eddie could ever find in her anymore. Even though he already knows what will happen, Eddie immediately switches his thoughts over to you to see the effect. It’s instant. His cock comes to life at the very thought of your name.

No shit, Eddie thinks to himself as he opens his legs a little wider. Because she’s literally a fucking goddess. God, those eyes. Eddie’s hand grips himself a little tighter and moves down towards the base.

“Say you’re a good girl again, baby,” Eddie mumbles under his breath. Fuck, he can’t believe he was lucky enough to hear those words come from your lips. Jesus, he can hardly imagine being lucky enough to come home to you at the end of the day. Walking in the door after work and seeing you is already what he looks forward to all day, he can’t fathom how he would feel if you greeted him with a kiss and stayed there with him and the boys all night. And once the boys go to bed it’s time for some fun.

“Please.”

The word tumbles from Eddie’s lips but he’s not entirely sure what he’s asking for. You to be there with him? You to be by his side always? You to be here, naked, with your hand around him instead of his own?

Okay, Eddie thinks, shifting to make himself more comfortable. There we go, think about coming home to her.

He begins to slowly stroke his cock up and down.

Eddie imagines walking through the front door and kicking his boots off. Your voice hums sweetly from the kitchen and it brings a smile to his face.

“What smells so good, huh?” he asks as he strolls into the room.

The sight he’s greeted by is almost enough to bring him to his knees. You stand at the counter, facing him, an apron on and a bowl full of cake batter held in your hands.

“Welcome home,” you say.

Dark brown eyes follow your every move as you slowly dip your forefinger into the batter and pop it into your mouth. Eddie finds himself holding his breath as you slide your finger out from between your plush pink lips at a torturous pace.

As if the first time wasn’t enough, you dip your finger back in, but instead of putting it in your mouth this time, you point your finger up and stick your tongue out to lick every speck of vanilla batter off of it.

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie moans.

With a soft laugh, you set the bowl down and look up at Eddie through your thick eyelashes.

“Funny. I was going to say that to you.”

A rough growl reverberates from Eddie’s chest as he moves forward to grab you by the hips. It’s only once he has his hands on you that he realizes not only are you wearing the apron—you’re wearing only the apron.

“God damn, baby,” he mutters. Calloused hands slide back just slightly and come into contact with your bare ass. He drops his head forward to rest against yours with a helpless whine.

You giggle, tilting your head up to brush your nose against his.

“I like the sounds you make,” you tell him, voice thick with lust.

Before he responds, Eddie presses a few gentle kisses along your bare shoulder and up the side of your throat.

“I want to hear your noises, too.”

“Hmm,” you hum. “I don’t think that’ll be very hard to manage.” You reach up with your left hand and tug on the tied apron string resting on the nape of your neck. The front of the apron falls down, leaving your entire torso exposed to Eddie.

A guttural groan meets your ears as strong hands grab you by the waist and help you up onto the counter. Immediately, you spread your legs and Eddie stands between them, the two of you fighting with the apron to get it all the way off you.

Eddie tosses it over his shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling the two of your bodies as close as possible.

“Eddie,” you whine, reaching up to bury your fingers in his unruly curls.

“What baby?” His breath brushes against your lips, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Need you.” Using your grip on his hair, you pull Eddie’s face down to crash against yours.

Mouths meet, lips dancing, tongues exploring, and teeth clashing. Strong yet gentle fingertips dig into your skin, yearning to hold you as tight as humanly possible. Nothing is close enough.

Eddie pulls back just enough to playfully nip at your bottom lip.

“Being such a good girl for me,” he rasps.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you run your nose along the edge of Eddie’s jawline.

“Wanna be so good for you. Wanna feel you, Eddie. Pretty please?”

A smug smirk grows on Eddie’s face as he reaches between your two bodies to unzip his navy blue coveralls. You shove the material down his hips as Eddie whips his white undershirt off over his head.

“Ready for me, princess?”

Eddie lines himself up with your entrance, glancing up at your face as he waits for your approval.

“God, yes!” You nod emphatically, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get him inside of you faster.

Eddie grins at your eagerness, putting both of you out of your misery as he pushes inside.

“Fuck,” he groans.

“Oh!” You whimper, clinging to Eddie’s shoulders.

The sweet little noises spilling from your lips only encourage Eddie. He pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back into your tight wet heat. It feels as close to euphoria as Eddie’s ever felt. He wants to spend forever between your legs, but it feels far too good to last long.

“Feels so good,” you whine.

“Yeah, baby?” Eddie asks. “Like when I…oh, fuck.”

Eddie doesn’t have time to imagine what he’d say next before hot cum starts to pour over his fist.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbles as his orgasm works its way through his body. His hand keeps going, milking his cock for everything that it’s worth.

Once he’s well and truly spent, Eddie lets his boneless body sink into the mattress. His arm flings over the side of the bed and his fingertips brush against his t-shirt laying on the floor. Blindly, he picks it up and wipes his coated hand off before wiping the cum off his abdomen, legs, and anywhere else it went.

“Holy shit,” Eddie sighs. His head falls to the side and his eyes slip closed. A goofy smile comes to his face as his mind returns to you. “Fuck, I’m so gone for her.”

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

Judex, Judicum, Infantem - Chapter 5

(Eventual)Reader x Matt Murdock x Frank Castle

previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist | my masterlist

summary: The beginnings of living with Matt feel too good to be true. Could you be falling in love with him? But Matt's flaws of course can't stay hidden forever. With a few special guest appearances.

warnings: SMUT/18+ (don’t interact if your age is not in your bio or I will block you!) AFAB Reader. No use of Y/N. Pregnant sex! Brief mention of vomiting.

Notes: I hit 2,000 followers last week and didn't even notice so I didn't prepare any kind of celebration. So instead, I'm going to post three!!! chapters this week to celebrate! This one today, one on Thursday, and one on Saturday or Sunday.

w/c: 3,806

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on Tumblr to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platforms I currently post on are Tumblr and AO3. Thanks!*

You weren’t sure what was more spectacular, the way the sunlight filtered in like cascading brush strokes of orange and pink, or the crystal clear view of the Hudson and New Jersey beyond. If you had known dating a successful lawyer came with the perk of moving into such a luxurious apartment, you’d have agreed to go out with Matt much sooner. The nearly floor to ceiling windows were the primary thing you noticed the first time he brought you over here. You weren’t sure if you’d ever tire of standing in front of them and admiring the view that covered most of the living space of Matt’s— now your— apartment.

“Where is this going?” the woman with dark hair asked as she easily hoisted your antique dresser above her head

“Bedroom.” you replied, watching with confusion as she shrugged and headed further into the apartment

A blind guy and a pregnant lady were not two people who should be moving much, so you knew you needed help getting all your things uptown to your new dwelling. But when Matt said he had a few friends who could help you move, you weren’t exactly expecting more vigilantes.

“Jessica, can you please be a little more careful with my girlfriend’s things?” Matt called down the hall, as he stepped up beside you, giving your back a reassuring rub

“As nice as it is to meet some of your friends, why didn’t we hire movers?” you asked, looking around at the chaos that was spread around the living room as you combined your things.

Since Matt could afford a place like this, you were shocked he wouldn’t want to invest in the expense of professionals.

“Really Matt, Heroes for Hire does not exactly fall into the category of movers for hire.” the man named Luke jested as he effortlessly set down a box you knew was heavily packed with your book collection.

Wow, these two were strong.

“I wanted people we could trust.” Matt replied

“Well thank goodness she comes with a first aid kit,” Claire commented, noting the plastic case sitting at the top of the box she was carrying

As she pulled it out and triumphantly waived it in the air, you noticed Matt’s frame went rigid beside you. He hadn’t yet told you why he’d been light in the vigilante scene these days. Maybe Claire joking about you being the one to stitch him up brought up the reason in his mind, or maybe he just hadn’t thought through what life would look like as a vigilante with a family; if he ever did go back to it.

You certainly had thought about it though. Would Matt return to being Daredevil regularly? What would happen if his identity got revealed? To you? Your relationship? Your child? Or worse, what if he got hurt or even killed?

“Oh, were you a Marine?” Claire asked, interrupting your panic spiral

“No.” you replied, confused “Why?”

She rummaged past the first aid kit and pulled the first thing under it from the box; Frank’s sweatshirt. You were packing your apartment up so haphazardly, you’d almost forgotten it was in there. Since discovering Frank was gone, you tucked the item into a dark corner in the back of your closet, hoping to forget him but also not really willing to part with the only item of his you had. When Matt asked you to move in, you were so excited and overwhelmed and admittedly a little scatterbrained from being pregnant, you just grabbed piles of things and shoved them into whatever containers you could find.

Shit, that must be what Matt was actually upset about. You could see him out of the corner of your eye turn away from you and make his way into the kitchen, reaching for a glass and a bottle of whiskey.

“No.” you answered sheepishly “Something from an old friend I totally forgot I had.”

Claire shrugged and put the sweatshirt back, carrying the box into the bedroom.

Matt eased up shortly after his friends departed for the evening, mostly seeming back to his usual self as the two of you snuggled on the sofa and unwound for the night. The apartment was still scattered in boxes and various items of yours, but you both were too tired to actually start unpacking.

“Hang on” you said, feeling the bile already rising in your throat and rushing towards the bathroom

Great, now that you lived with Matt, he was going to hear and smell every reaction your body had to the pregnancy. It seemed your symptoms really ramped up as you approached your 12 week appointment tomorrow. Plus you were starting to have food cravings, calling him when he was out searching for Frank and instead had him swinging from rooftops in search of takeout.

Matt seemed totally unfazed as you returned to the couch, opening his arms up and inviting you back to your place.

“This is getting miserable.”

“Awe I know sweetheart, but the doctor said things should ease up after the first trimester and you’re so close.”

“Yeah until this baby starts getting so heavy that my back hurts constantly and I need to pee every five seconds.”

“You already need to —”

Thwap. You gave his arm a playful whack which caused the corner of Matt’s full lips to quirk up into a beautiful smile as he chuckled. Feigning injury, he pulled his arm away briefly before leaning back in to give you a kiss.

“Sorry baby, couldn’t help it.”

The way his lips pressed against yours sent a buzzing through your skull that radiated down your neck, down your sternum, all the way to in between your legs.

That was another symptom that had appeared in the last few days; you felt insatiably horny. And right now, Matt looked like the most delicious meal you could devour.

You leaned forward, pleading for more which he happily obliged. His lips were as soft as they looked and tingled against yours with the taste of spearmint mixed with the whiskey he’d downed earlier.

Matt had not touched you beyond a few sweet kisses and cuddles since you delivered the news of your pregnancy to him. The way his hands comforted and caressed you in the days since made you feel like he thought you were made of glass; a soft delicate statue like the saints he worshiped, the child of his that you carried the miracle that devined you.

You scratched at his scalp as you kissed, feeling him preening into your touch. Pulling away just enough to speak, you made sure your breath was still hot against his.

“You know I was reading up on unconventional remedies the other day. For my symptoms.”

“Mmm?” Matt’s brows shot up quizzically, a gentle hand lightly tracing a pattern into your waist as he held you.

“One pregnancy forum said sucking dick can help with morning sickness.”

The flush that rose to Matt’s cheeks nearly matched the color of his Daredevil suit and he cleared his throat as his eyes darted back and forth rapidly.

“You —um— You’re joking?”

His voice cracked like a pubescent choir boy. Oh how you loved to make this cocky flirt of a man crumble with just a few words. Lightly, you let your hand creep up his thigh, a centimeter at a time.

“Nope.”

“I don’t think in good conscience I can ask you to do that.” he stuttered

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

Apprehensiveness still lingered on his face.

“Matty please, I’m desperate. Both to not be nauseous and for you.”

“Sweetheart. We’ve both had a long and exhausting day.”

You knew he could read the pout on your face as you pulled back by the way his hands reached forward to keep you close.

“How about this?” he reasoned “Let’s take a nice warm shower. Together? Yeah? Get you a little relaxed. Then if you’re feeling up to it afterwards, I’ll consider it.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m a lawyer sweetheart. And one of us is going to have to be the serious parent.” he joked

Matt’s shower was a gift sent directly from the heavens, especially against your sore back and shoulders. A full walk in with a bench on either end, a rainfall shower-head above, plus eight jets running down the wall; all adjustable in both spray pattern and temperature. You could get used to this.

You could also get used to the way Matt was pressing his lips against your skin, sending a wave of goosebumps across your flesh despite how warm the steam was surrounding you. Relaxing under his touch, you hadn’t realized how sore you were until you finally let your shoulders drop as Matt ran delicate fingers up and down your flesh. His motions were slow, easy in the way he gently moved you around, spinning you to wet your body and then again so he could reach better. You closed your eyes and hummed at how cared for you felt in the moment.

He gently massaged your scalp to lather in your favorite in shampoo, pampering you while keeping his body closer to you than your own shadow. You could feel his hardness pressing into your behind as he took care of you, teasing you unintentionally. He was working you so well, relaxing you into a state of pliability that was doing nothing to calm your neediness.

You hummed once more, this time more of a whine at how desperately you wanted him.

“That bad, huh?” Matt joked

“It feels like my pregnancy hormones want me to somehow get pregnant again even though that’s impossible. Like I’ll explode if I don’t. That’s how badly I want you.”

You turned to face him, watching him calculating your body’s tells behind his glassy eyes. Pushing a strand of his dark, wet hair away from his face, you couldn’t help but smile at the way he nuzzled into your touch. Just maybe some of your desperation was wearing off on him.

“I’m not made of porcelain, Matty. The doctor said sex was perfectly okay and wouldn’t hurt me or the baby. Please?”

Gently, you drew him closer by the flesh of his hip so that his hardness pressed against your pelvis. He instantly melted against your lips, bringing a hand up to place behind your head and keep you close. Not like the tender kisses he’d been placating you with earlier, the way he kissed you back was growing with hunger.

You yelped into his mouth as your back hit the cold tiles of the shower. There was still a fragility to the way he touched and kissed you, traveling down your body with reverence. He kept his movements gentle as he guided your leg up on the bench and even more softly as he nipped as the flesh inside your thighs as he sunk to his knees.

“Wait, I thought I was supposed to be the one on my knees for you—- oh!”

Answering your protestations with only the motion of his lips to your sensitive bud, kissing it while rubbing his stubble back and forth against your thighs.

“Nope sweetie. Gotta take care of you now.”

He pulled away just enough to speak, then dove right back in. He sucked at your core as if he was devouring an ice cream bar in the summer sun, gentle enough to not loose a single topping but also quickly enough to not let it melt.

Labored breaths left your lips in whispers of his name. It seemed to ignite an invigorated fire within Matt, now grasping at your thighs to steady you as he increased the fervor of his tongue. Every circle of it against you drew you closer and closer to the edge. All it took for you to finally snap was the brief pause he took to look up at you, a combination of lust and adoration swimming behind his glossy eyes.

Relief washed over you as your cunt spasmed and contracted, like the first wave of the ocean hitting your flesh after soaking in the sun all day. It was warm and white and you tried your hardest to remain upright on shaky legs and slick tile. Grunting at the taste of your release, Matt didn’t stop until you were all the way through your orgasm.

“Well it didn’t fix the morning sickness like sucking you off might, but I won’t complain.” you commented, earning a hearty chuckle from Matt

You felt a little dizzy as you tilted your head back against the cool wall behind you, too blissed out to even notice as Matt stood and lined his hardness up with your slit.

All you could do was reach forward and hang onto his shoulders as he pushed inside you, inch by inch until he was comfortably seated. One of his large hands held under your thigh, supporting it as it rested on the bench. The other was pressed behind you on the wall, caging you in. You could taste yourself in his kisses, tangy and sweet. He thrusted gently, gauging how much you could take as you clung to him.

You nodded into the crook of his neck, urging him on.

“Is this okay? Are you feeling good?” he asked

“Mhm” was about the most coherent answer you could give

You could feel the warm, toned muscle of Matt’s chest against your breasts as only atoms separated you at this point. As he began to find a rhythm, your nipples rubbed against his taught muscles, extra pert from no longer being warmed by the spray of the shower and already oversensitive from your changing hormones. Your thighs burned as you efforted to keep yourself upright and if you weren’t in so much pleasure you would collapse into the puddle of warm water at your feet. Already still worked up from your last orgasm, you could feel another approaching quickly as his cock dragged deliciously along your walls

“Please…please…” you groaned into his ear, nuzzling at him to just be as close as you could

“I know sweetheart, I know. Let go for me, yeah?”

This orgasm was stronger than the last, blossoming from your core through the rest of your body. Your walls spasmed strongly around him and you could feel his muscles flex under you as he worked to hold you steady. All you could do was ride it out and cling to him like a koala as you came down.

He must have been close too, because Matt’s pace began to falter as he pitched himself up into you. Reveling in the dissipating fizz of you own after shocks, you somehow managed to bring a shaky hand up from his back and run it through his hair, giving it a soft tug.

“So close baby. So close.” he promised, kissing at your neck

It only took a little longer of you nuzzling against him and running a hand up and down his warm skin before he was grunting and shaking against you, releasing inside you in with a groan.

The mix of both your releases ran down your leg and combined with the rainfall droplets from the shower head above, now a lukewarm temperature, running into the drain.

“Careful, it’ll be slippery” Matt said as he gingerly removed himself from you and helped guide your leg off the bench.

Once you were out of the shower and all dried, you laid in bed snuggled in Matt’s embrace with your back flush against his chest. Wrapped comfortably in an old Columbia sweatshirt of Matt’s that he offered to you as you got ready for bed. You suspected the soft navy garment was a subtle territory mark over the one of Frank’s that still sat in the unpacked box.

He kissed at your forehead and ran a hand protectively over your stomach. You weren’t yet showing. Anyone passing by on the street wouldn’t think so at least. But you definitely looked like you had one too many burritos if you wore the right clothing. Getting dressed in the mornings had you favoring more stretchy pants and loose fitting dresses these days and you knew you’d need to get some maternity items sooner rather than later.

“I should get going soon. Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?” Matt asked

You turned to face him, gently taking his chin in your palm.

“Matt, no. Please don’t go at all.” you plead “I really appreciate you doing the decent thing and trying to find Frank, but there’s no point. We’re building a life here together. I’m happy. You’ve already been so committed to this family and so am I. We don’t need Frank. I don’t need Frank. I just need you.”

Matt took the hand you’d been stroking his face with and moved it down to the left side of his chest, letting it rest over his heart.

The way he smiled at you, sincere and genuine made your heart want to burst.

“Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you want.” he agreed

You rewarded him with a sweet kiss, happy with the way he grinned into it.

“Maybe some day, when this is more behind us, you can tell me exactly what went down between the two of you. I know it’s complicated.”

Matt nodded in agreement.

“But not tonight. You need rest baby, we’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

You hummed, twisting to resume your position laying back against his chest.

As you drifted off to the sound of his steady heartbeat in your ears, you clung tightly to him, finally content at having such a soft place to land. A soft place with Matt.

And then a thought danced across your brain, as gentle as a feather in the wind.

I love you.

Goddammit.

You would have loved to stay in bed just a little longer, angrily burrowing further under the cover at the realization that it was already morning. But the way you could hear Matt rushing around getting ready, you knew you needed to get up.

When you opened your eyes, however, you weren’t expecting to see him already fully dressed, finishing the last loop on his tie.

“Matt?”

He rushed to your side and placed a quick kiss on your forehead. He appeared panicked, eyes darting everywhere as he adjusted the knot on his tie.

“Sweetie, I am so sorry but the judge just called an emergency session for the Madison trial next week. I’m going to go to the courthouse and see what I can do to get out as quick as I can.

Your heart sank. Your 12 week appointment was today.

“Matt, it’s—”

“Don’t you dare say it’s fine sweetheart, cause I know it’s not.”

Flopping back down onto your pillow you let out a sigh, unsure of what to say. The disappointment was twisting knots into your stomach and you could feel the tears beginning to pool in your waterline.

“You’re right it’s not, but I guess I really don’t have a choice.”

“I will explain to the judge and see if he’ll let me go early. I’ll try to meet you there.”

You nodded, utterly dejected at the thought of Matt missing this crucial appointment. What if everything wasn’t okay? Matt wiped at the tear that had escaped and was running down your cheek at the thought of receiving bad news today and Matt not being by your side for it. You should have seen this coming. It was all too good to be true. Matt was letting you down, just like Frank had. Just like all the rest. Your heart broke for yourself sure, but also for your baby. Was this what their life was going to be? A dad who couldn’t show up when it really mattered?

“I guess you gotta make money so we can feed this baby.” you joked with another sigh, causing Matt to grimace at the deflection

He gave you one more quick kiss, heart breaking at the despondence he could feel radiating from you, then he was out the door.

He texted you as much as he could throughout the day to keep you posted, but with 5 minutes to go until the doctor called you back, and Matt being 20 blocks downtown, you knew it wasn’t likely he’d make it in time. You shuffled your feet anxiously against the floor of the waiting room, hoping by some miracle he’d pop through the door.

Of course it wasn’t until you were leaving the doctor’s, appointment complete and paperwork filled with news in hand, that you finally got the text from him.

‘Leaving now. In a cab.’

Fucking of course.

You texted him back.

‘Just finished. Meet at your office instead?’

You’d figure out a way to make him pay you back later for missing out on this, but right now all you wanted to do was get to him and tell him everything.

When the taxi dropped you off, you looked up, Matt’s figure clear in the window of his 5th floor office pacing back and forth.

If you weren’t pregnant and exhausted, you’d have taken the stairs just to punish him with waiting to see you a little longer. Instead you opted for the elevator, rocking on the balls of your feet in anticipation as it seemed to take forever to get up to his floor.

With a ding, the elevator door opened and you stepped forward to see Matt still pacing at the end of the hall. He abruptly stopped and turned as he listened to you make your way to him. You knew your heart had to be beating out of your chest and you could feel a little bit of sweat running down your back.

Clutching the little black and white printout close to your chest, you stood before him, staring into your own reflection in his cherry tinted glasses.

“How’d it go?”

“How was court?” you replied, tinge of hurt dripping in your words

“Not funny sweetheart. We’ll catch up later. The baby?”

“She’s healthy. Right on track still.”

“She?” he asked, smile slowly spreading across his face

Had you been more prepared for Matt missing the appointment, you would have done something cute to tell him like printed a braille sign or something.

“Mhm” you confirmed, holding out the ultrasound

He took it, running his hands over the smooth glossy paper, not able to read what it said but knowing the information on it was life changing.

“We’re having a girl!” he exclaimed

He place the print out on the desk behind him and took your face in his hands. Gingerly, he began to plant soft kisses on each of your cheeks, then your eye lids, then your nose, your brow, your temples, then your lips. You could feel the dampness of tears running down from his shaded eyes as he moved his lips across your face.

“We’re having a little girl.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[tavolgisvist]

One night at Cavendish, Paul and I sat and drank scotch and Coke for so long that the first light of dawn started to appear as we were still putting the world to rights. ‘Come on, Al,’ said Paul. ‘I need some fresh air. Let’s take Martha for a walk.’ We were pretty relaxed but we weren’t drunk. Martha leapt up from the rug by the fire and Paul and I piled into the DB6 and he drove us the half mile or so to the foot of Primrose Hill. We left the car outside London Zoo and went through the fence up the hill. It was very muddy at the bottom and Paul looked at my footwear and laughed, ‘So much for the man with the shiny shoes.’ We enjoyed the spectacular view in the first light of dawn. There was a real freshness in the air as Martha hurtled off in all directions in search of sheep or, better still, bones, and Paul and I enjoyed a few stolen moments of the day before the rest of London woke up. At 5.00am there was so little traffic noise that we could hear some early morning noises from the occupants of the zoo. It was chilly in the breeze that rustled the kites stuck up in the trees. Paul and I kept strolling around enjoying the experience and keeping warm. ‘Look at that dawn,’ said Paul in a whisper. ‘How anybody can say that there is no such thing as God, or some power bigger than us. If you stand and look at that sky, you know there must be more to life than we can comprehend …’ We were totally absorbed in the sights and sounds of the universe in front of us, as if we were the only men in an abandoned city. Then, suddenly behind us, a stranger appeared. He was a middle-aged man, very respectably dressed in a belted raincoat and he appeared to have come out of nowhere. One second Paul and I were alone, straining to see which direction Martha would come bounding back from, and the next, this man was there. He said, ‘Good morning,’ politely. ‘My name is John.’ Paul said, ‘Good morning. Mine’s Paul. This is Alistair and that’s Martha the dog,’ as our four-legged friend returned swiftly. John said, ‘It’s lovely to meet you. Isn’t this wonderful?’ and he walked away. Paul and I looked at each other and I said, ‘God, that was peculiar.’ I looked round and there was no sign of the man. The stranger had completely disappeared from the top of the hill as if he had just vanished into thin air. There was nowhere for him to go, yet he had just evaporated. Paul and I both felt pretty spooked by this experience. We both thought something special had happened. We sat down rather shakily on the seat and Paul said, ‘What the hell do you make of that? That’s weird. He was here, wasn’t he? We did speak to him?’ ‘Sure. He was here only seconds ago,’ I said. ‘Let’s go home,’ muttered Paul. Back at Cavendish, we spent the rest of the morning talking about what we had seen and heard and felt. It sounds just like any acid tripper’s fantasy to say they had a religious experience on Primrose Hill just before the morning rush hour, but neither of us had taken anything like that. Scotch and Coke was the only thing we had touched all night. We both felt afterwards that we had been through some sort of mystical experience, yet we didn’t care to name, even to each other, what or who we had seen on that hilltop for those few brief seconds.

(Alistair Taylor, With the Beatles, 2003)

John: Who’s the fool on the hill, Paul? Paul: John.

(Get Back sessions, January 14th, 1969, Twickenham Film Studios)

[headlinxr]

❪ 致你 ❫ ⨾ to you ﹐ 𝓳.𝔀

──𝐒YNOPSIS ┆ 𝔀. you've been meaning to visit your brother 𝐦in-gyu's new house for a while now. but when you finally arrive, somene else greets you─won-woo, his enigmatic roommate. nothing is quite as your imagined, and little by little, that stranger begins to stir questions within you... and feelings you never expected.

──𝐏AIRING ┆︵ 𝓦 ... 𝒻.ᐟℛ𝓮𝒶𝒹𝓮𝓻 (ft. 𝐦in-gyu, 𝐬eventeen).

──𝐖ARNING(s)┆𝐫eader is 𝐦in-gyu's sister, won-woo is 𝐦in-gyu's roommate, 𝐦in-gyu model, writer won-woo, artist 𝐫eader.

𓆤 ⎯⎯͟͟ HEADLINރR .☽༊˚ .°

It was Saturday, and today you were finally going to visit your brother in his new home. Min-gyu was always busy, with a schedule so tight that there was barely room to breathe, much less receive visitors. Opportunities to see him were few and far between, so any excuse to stop by and say hello was a small accomplishment. As an up and coming model, his career had him completely absorbed; it wasn't easy to find a niche in the life of someone making his way up through the big leagues.

Ever since he told you about his new apartment in one of Seoul's most exclusive areas, you had been curious to meet him. You'd been wanting to go for some time, imagining what the place he now called home would be like. And although he sometimes pretended to resent your insistence, you knew that, deep down, he liked having you around.

To your surprise —and, admittedly, also to your relief— Min-gyu had finally managed to squeeze you into his infamous rising star schedule. Between photo shoots, catwalks, social events and endless workouts, that he devoted an entire evening to you seemed almost miraculous. As soon as he wrote to you to confirm the time, a surge of excitement coursed through your body. You feigned indifference, of course, like someone who has a thousand plans and can barely make room. But the truth is that you had been waiting for this moment for days —maybe weeks— waiting for this moment.

When you arrived at his apartment, you couldn't help but smile like a fool. That wide, sincere smile that escapes without asking permission, the same one that always appears when you are about to see someone important to you.

As soon as you opened the door, you saw him standing on the threshold of the dining room, with his apron on (yes, apron), and you didn't think twice.

—Min-gyu!— you shouted excitedly before throwing yourself into his arms.

Min-gyu laughed, catching you with that characteristic carefree gesture, the one that reminded you that, even if his life was surrounded by flashes and red carpets, with you he would always be the same brother as before.

—Can you not shout? My neighbors already think I'm hiding a zoo here— he joked, although there was an unmistakable warmth in his voice.

The place was spectacular. Spacious, with a modern and minimalist design, and large windows that offered a view of Seoul so impressive that it looked like something out of a luxury architecture catalog. Everything was impeccable: The table was perfectly set, a soft and cozy playlist playing in the background, and a warm and spicy aroma coming from the kitchen.

—You did this?— you asked, raising an eyebrow with theatrical skepticism as you plopped down in one of the chairs. —Weren't you the one who mistook the microwave for the toaster?

—Times change— he said with a triumphant air, as he placed the plate in front of you. —Besides, I wasn't going to let you come all this way just to eat ramen. You had to try my best dish.

—And that would be...?

—Min-gyu style chicken. Patented. Unrepeatable. Probably slightly burnt.

You both burst out laughing. Dinner passed between jokes, anecdotes and that kind of complicity that only siblings who miss each other but love each other madly can understand. There was something comforting about being with him, as if the world was put on pause just to give them that moment.

But just when everything seemed perfect, the door to the apartment opened with a dry, resounding click.

A tall man stepped across the threshold. Dark, slightly tousled hair, thick-rimmed glasses, baggy T-shirt, backpack over his shoulder. His expression was that of someone who didn't expect to find a family dinner in the middle of the living room. He glanced sideways at you, then at Min-gyu, then back at you with a look somewhere between curious and tired. Finally, he nodded briefly, as if that were enough to say hello, and without saying a word, he walked quietly into the hallway and disappeared into a room, closing the door behind him as naturally as others open the refrigerator.

The silence that followed was... Peculiar. You looked at everything with your eyes wide open, as if you had witnessed a scene out of a domestic thriller.

—Are you going to explain to me what just happened?— you asked at last, pointing your fork down the hallway.

Min-gyu let out a low, amused laugh, as if everything was completely normal.

—Oh, right... I forgot to mention it. That was Won-woo— he said, as if it was the most irrelevant thing in the world. —My roommate. I've known him for a long time. He's quiet. A little strange, yes... But nice.

—Since when do you have a roommate? And why does he look like a mysterious character from a dorama who keeps secrets in his closet?

Min-gyu burst out laughing for real this time, leaning his head back with a laugh that filled the room.

—I swear he's a good person. He just doesn't talk much. And he always comes in like this. And he always leaves like that. You'll get used to it.

You blinked, still processing the fact that, of all the things Min-gyu could have told you, “I share an apartment with a quiet, handsome guy who looks like he's straight out of a Korean thriller” wasn't on the list.

The evening continued with the warmth that only the company of someone close can offer, but your mind was still anchored on that brief instant: The moment Won-woo crossed the room like a ghost not expecting to be seen. It wasn't as if you were expecting a formal introduction, nor a deep conversation with emotional fireworks, but his hushed entrance, his fleeting gaze and that enigmatic presence that trailed like a second shadow... It left you more than intrigued. They left you wondering.

—And how long has he been living here? you asked, hiding your growing curiosity behind a sip of water, as if the question did not carry a camouflaged interest.

—A few months already— Min-gyu answered as he poured himself another portion of rice, as if it were the most everyday thing in the world, —It was something improvised, he's my manager's brother and he was having trouble paying for his apartment at the same time I was looking for one. The rent here is crazy. But we get along well... Although sometimes he seems more like a cat than a person.

You let out a short laugh. Yeah, that sounded pretty accurate. Won-woo had that same feline energy: Elusive, silent, with a gaze that seemed to pierce through you without needing to touch you. As if he understood more than he said, and said less than he thought. An observer of the world, but in no hurry to be part of it.

—And is he always this... Expressive? you asked with a half smile.

—That was his effusive greeting— joked your brother —Believe me, he treated you well.

The evening closed with laughter, ice cream out of the freezer —which Min-gyu served with the air of a five-star chef—, and promises of a repeat visit. When you left, the hallway was silent, Won-woo's door was still closed, and curiosity followed you to the elevator.

You didn't see him again.

At least, not that night.

A few days passed before you came back. This time, at Min-gyu's spontaneous invitation: Movie night, just like in the old days. Movies, blankets and junk food. Your favorite plan.

When you arrived, Min-gyu didn't reply to your messages. But you already knew the code to the intercom —a privilege that did not go unnoticed— so you went in alone, as if it were your second home.

—I'm home!— you crooned as you entered —I hope you haven't prepared another cycle of psychological horror movies, because I'm not going to spend the night watching traumatized people.

The apartment seemed deserted. Silent. One of those silences that are not exactly uncomfortable, but expectant. You left your bag on the couch and headed for the kitchen in search of something to snack on. It was then that a low, soft, clear voice interrupted the air like a leaf falling on still water:

—Min-gyu is not here. He said he was arriving at fifteen.

You turned sharply.

Won-woo was there, leaning against the doorframe of his room, a cup of coffee in his hand, barefoot, his hair slightly disheveled as if he had just awakened from an eternal nap. His expression was serene, neutral, as if there was nothing unusual about finding you invading the kitchen.

—Ah... Hello— you said, a little awkwardly, trying to regain your composure.

—Hello— he replied with a slight nod of his head. His tone was calm, unhurried, as if every word was carefully measured.

The silence that followed was not awkward, but dense. Filled with something that had no name yet. As if both were waiting for the other to speak first, even if neither had the urgency to do so.

—I'm Min-gyu's sister, by the way— you finally added, breaking the stillness with a polite smile —I'm not sure if we officially met.

—Won-woo— he replied with a small gesture, though you knew perfectly well who it was. His voice, so low and deep, had a curious effect: It didn't fill the room, but it did catch your full attention to. —I know.

Pause.

—I saw you the other day— he added, as if it were a thought he'd suddenly given permission to come out, —You had rice in your hair.

You blinked, puzzled.

—What?

—When you were laughing— he clarified, with that same imperturbable calm —A grain fell on your head. You didn't say anything. You left it there as if you didn't notice.

You let out a laugh, genuine, surprised by the absurd memory of the moment. Had he really noticed that? And why did he remember it?

And then it happened: You saw him smile.

It wasn't a big smile. It didn't even go as far as a full one. Just a subtle curve at one corner of his lips, so brief that you doubted if you really saw it. But it was there. Fleeting. Almost shy.

—Are you always this observant?— you asked, half jokingly.

—Only when there's rice flying— he answered nonchalantly.

Another silence, but this time it was different. Warm, almost comfortable. Like when two people are tuned to the same frequency and don't know it yet. He took a sip of his coffee, turned to go back to his room, and just before disappearing, he said with a disconcerting naturalness:

—You look different today. More... Funny.

And then he simply walked away.

It took you several seconds to process what had just happened. Had it been a compliment? An unfiltered observation? Or just the odd —and slightly poetic— way he had of looking at the world?

Whatever it was, you felt it: That little knot in your stomach that forms when something unexpected touches you in just the right place. It was nothing concrete yet. Nothing definite. But there it was. A silent promise that something had begun.

You went back to the apartment, again, this time without a very concrete plan. Min-gyu had sent you a quick message, with all the elegance that characterized him:

[Min-gyu - 12:23]

I'm free this afternoon if you want to stop by.

Bring something to eat.

I literally don't even have bread.

A subtle invitation wrapped in emotional blackmail. So there you were, carrying a bag of snacks and a cold drink, without much expectation... Although, deep down, you knew exactly why your step had brought you to that door again.

Min-gyu was in the shower when you arrived. You knew because his muffled voice echoed from down the hall with the assurance of someone shouting into the wind:

—Put whatever you want on TV! I'll be out in five!

You plopped down on the couch with the familiarity of someone who had already turned that place into a kind of extension of herself. Reaching for the remote control, you noticed something different: On the table, a shiny black joystick connected to a turned-off console. Next to it, a stack of video games —some with Korean titles, others in Japanese, one you recognized from having gone viral a couple of years ago for its tragic story.

Curious, you picked up the controller and twirled it between your fingers, as if that small object could give you clues about its owner.

—I didn't know they played video games— you commented on the air, without waiting for an answer.

—I play— answered a voice behind you. Calm. Solid.

You turned around immediately.

Won-woo was there, leaning against the wall frame, dressed in a dark sweatshirt with his hair a bit disheveled, as if he had just stepped out of a parallel universe. In one hand he held his ever-present mug-you suspected it came standard with him.

—Oh, yeah?— you asked, smiling curiously, —I thought you were more of a "I meditate with my eyes open for three hours" kind of guy.

—I do that too— he replied matter—of—factly, and walked over to the game shelf without haste. —But on weekends I'd rather save fake worlds than fix the real ones.

His voice had that gentle tone that didn't need to get louder to stay with you. And his commentary... Well, it had that dark, sarcastic and strangely deep undertone that you were beginning to find addictive.

—And what's your favorite?— you asked, sitting up better on the couch, elbows resting on your knees.

—It depends on the day— You went through the titles with your fingers. —RPGs, mostly. Long stories. Where your decisions matter.

—Decisions that matter? Interesting, coming from someone who seemed to take five minutes to decide whether to answer a greeting or not.

He raised an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly, and muttered:

—That's exactly why. Words cost less if you don't use them all the time. Decisions, too.

He disarmed you. Not with an irrefutable argument, but with that way of his of saying things like someone who drops stones into a calm lake and watches the ripples.

—Would you teach me how to play?— you asked after a moment, pointing to the console. —I never understood anything about these worlds. But I always found them fascinating.

Won-woo blinked once, as if your request had taken a while to reach his brain. Then he nodded slowly.

—It depends. Do you have patience?

—I have brothers— you said with a smile. —I'm trained to deal with everything.

For the first time, you saw him laugh a little more freely. It wasn't a laugh, but a broader gesture. Almost human. Almost complicit.

—Then let's start with this one— he said, offering you a box. —It's long, slow... And if you do something wrong, you basically bring on the apocalypse.

—Perfect. Just what I need to relax.

You sat in front of the TV, you with the controller in hand and he calmly guiding you. You were surprised by the patience with which he explained each mechanic. He wasn't condescending, not distant, just.... Meticulous. He chose his words like someone tuning an instrument.

At some point, his fingers brushed yours as he corrected how you held the joystick. It was a brief touch, almost accidental. But you felt it. You felt it in every millimeter of skin he touched, in the silence that followed, in the way he just.... Went on, as if nothing had happened. Or maybe as if something did happen, but you didn't know how to name it.

When Min-gyu appeared, already dressed and drying his hair with a towel, he found them immersed in the game.

—What are you guys so focused on? Did you found a secret clan or what?

—I'm teaching her not to destroy a civilization in less than ten minutes— muttered Won-woo, without taking his eyes off the screen.

—It was a tactical error— you defended yourself with a chuckle —Besides, no one warned me that the “X” button decided the fate of a kingdom.

Min-gyu rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen.

But something had changed.

An invisible door had opened between you and Won-woo. It wasn't trust, not yet. But it was a silent connection, the kind that isn't shouted, forced, or announced. It was felt. And for now, that was enough.

The game had been paused for a while. The console slept like a contented pet, the background music was barely a soft murmur floating through the warm air of the apartment, and the dim lights bathed the room in that golden glow that only comes unintentionally, as if the night itself had made itself comfortable.

Dinner had arrived without great ceremony: Two open boxes on the low table, each with a personality of its own. One was overflowing with cheese to the brim, the other looked like some kind of culinary experiment that, against all odds, worked. Delivery chaos has never been so comforting.

The three of them sat down without order or protocol. Min-gyu plopped down on the floor like a K-pop star in the middle of a world tour break, you took the couch wrapped in a blanket you clearly already considered yours, and Won-woo, with his classic economy of movement, settled into one of the chairs with his legs crossed and his face half hidden behind a steaming mug.

As always, Min-gyu dominated the conversation with his inexhaustible energy. He told stories with that mix of sarcasm and drama that only someone with his social life could afford.

—Then the guy grabs the camera, puts it in front of his face and says, “How do you turn this toaster on?”— he recounted, between chuckles. —I don't know whether to cry about the state of the industry or nominate him for an unintentional comedy award.

—You're sure that wasn't part of the script?— you said, biting back a laugh.

—I wish. The worst thing is that that take did come out well. Ironies of the trade.

Then, as if suddenly remembering, Min-gyu raised a slice of pizza like a white flag and blurted out:

—Ah, and I'm going to China. Two weeks.

—What? So soon?— you asked, glancing sideways at Won-woo, who at that moment was stirring the edges of the cheese as if it were a chemistry experiment.

—Monday. Photo shoots, events, fake smiles. You know. What one does to survive in style. But I need you to keep coming over here— he said, pointing at you with the half-eaten portion. —This isn't just a casual invitation. It's a veiled plea.

—Why? Have I been assigned responsibilities without my consent?

—Let’s say, yes. I want you to hold down the fort, mostly because Won-woo…— he paused dramatically— Isn't exactly the pillar of domesticity.

Won-woo, without looking up from his pizza, mumbled in his unflappable tone:

—Said the man who washed clothes with dish soap.

—It was an international emergency!— Min-gyu defended himself. —Besides, the clothes were left with a citrus scent.

—And the texture of cardboard…

You covered your mouth so as not to spit with laughter, while the exchange continued with the fluidity of a sitcom you already knew well. But between bites and jokes, you kept watching Won-woo.

There was something fascinating about his silent presence. His glasses fogged up at times from the steam of the pizza, black hair fell untidily over his forehead, and his relaxed posture seemed as natural as it was learned. As if he had been in that corner for years, not asking permission to be there, but not needing anyone to invite him either.

And you watched him. Not blatantly, of course. Only at times. Like someone who leafs through a book without deciding yet if he wants to read it from beginning to end.

Min-gyu, in one of his multiple abilities to notice what is not said, interrupted you with a suspicious throat clearing.

—What? you asked, disguising the curve of your smile.

—Nothing. I just think this trip could be very, very productive.

—Productive in what way?

—In the sense that you'll be in charge of the emotional balance of this department while I'm away. And yes, that includes you keeping Won-woo from trying to live on ramen, tea and cynicism alone.

—You exaggerate.

—Your record speaks for you.

The conversation dissolved into more giggles and nibbles, until at one point, perhaps looking for a change of pace, you threw out a question that had been rolling around in your head for some time.

—Hey, Won-woo... What exactly do you do for a living?

He looked up with a leisurely gesture, almost as if that simple question brought him out of another world.

—I sell video games. Collectibles, rare editions. Some things from Japan and others restored. And I... I write, too.

—As a hobby?

—More like a refuge— he replied, without embellishment.

The way he said it was not melancholy, nor dramatic. It was direct. Almost overly honest.

—What kind of writing do you do?

—Situations, small details. Unexpressed emotions. That's where it's all at, I think.

That kind of answer was the exact kind of sentence someone else might have ruined for pretentiousness. But in his mouth it sounded different. It had weight, but not burden. And you didn't know if it was because of what he said, or how he said it, but there was something that stuck with you inside.

—And that pays the rent for this nice place?

—That, online sales, and avoiding going out too much. I don't have many vices.

—Just tea and games?

He nodded. And for the first time, he smiled with his lips, not just his eyes. It was slight, but evident.

The night faded naturally. When you got up to leave, Min-gyu was already half sprawled on the couch, using a napkin as a makeshift mask and the empty pizza box as an abdominal shield.

Won-woo escorted you to the door without a word. The sound of your footsteps on the wood floated over a comfortable silence.

—Thank you for... The pizza— he murmured.

—Thank you for letting me ruin only half a virtual village.

He laughed very softly, and for a second, just one, the two of them stood still. Not too close, not too far. Just... There.

—See you soon, then— you said.

—If I don't forget to pay for the internet, yes— he replied.

The door closed softly behind you, and as you walked down the stairs this time —without using the elevator, as if you wanted to prolong the moment— you realized that something had changed. Nothing definite. Nothing explicit.

But as in writing, what matters is not what is explicit, but what is suggested.

You had left Min-gyu at the airport barely an hour ago, and it already seemed to you that something was missing. Not so much because of the silence, but because of the way the air seemed to have lost its natural rhythm. Your brother had that effect: He made noise even without speaking. There was always music in the background, ridiculous anecdotes, impromptu plans or complaints about such trivial things as the weather or cold coffee.

Now, as you walked with a bag of groceries dangling from one arm and your cell phone vibrating in the other —messages you purposely ignored—you felt a strange anxiety. Attributable, of course, to the thought of having to visit the apartment without Min-gyu.... And with Won-woo there. Alone.

—I just have to check that he's still alive— you muttered to yourself, in a tone more humorous than realistic, though the image of him completely abstracted from the world amidst wires, screens and cups of tea didn't seem so far off.

That was it. Just checking that he hadn't merged with the couch or that he wasn't growing mushrooms in the fridge. Quick. Painless. No unnecessary emotions. No butterflies.

But of course, butterflies never ask for permission.

The click of the door was barely audible, drowned out by the soft hum of the television on. You entered without making too much noise, expecting perhaps to find the room empty, leave the food on the table and disappear. But no.

There he was. Sitting in the center of the couch, with the relaxed posture of someone who had lost track of time. He was wearing a black sweater with white letters almost erased, and his hair, messy as always, fell in unruly locks over his glasses. He was absorbed. He didn't move, except for his thumbs, which danced with surgical precision over the control.

There was something about that image that stopped you. Not just because he looked... Incredibly good —though it did, without pretension or effort—but because it seemed to be on its own planet. A silent, pixelated, and curiously attractive planet. There was something intimate about the scene, as if you'd caught him in a private moment, and yet he didn't seem uncomfortable.

Until he spoke.

—Did you bring food?

He didn't even take his eyes off the screen. But his voice, soft, with that low, neutral tone that sounded like something out of a lo-fi song, jolted you as if you'd been caught prying into his thoughts. Or yours.

—Yes— you said, holding up the bag as if it were a peace trophy. Your tone sounded more shrill than you expected, so you lowered your voice a little as you approached. —I thought you had no supplies beyond tea and apocalypse.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn't look at you yet, but you could tell he had listened.

—It's a balanced diet.

—Of course— you replied, pulling out the food containers. —Balanced between nutritional collapse and dehydration.

This time he let out something very much like a laugh. Brief, as if he wasn't used to it, but real.

As you placed the containers on the table, you moved a little closer, without thinking too much. There was something in the atmosphere that made you want to stay. Maybe it was the soft music of the game, the artificial warmth of the apartment? Or just curiosity.

—What are you playing?

Pause. Now he turned down the volume of the TV and turned his head towards you. His eyes were dark and expressive, even behind the glasses. They didn't look at you with distrust, but with that kind of attention that comes when someone really thinks before they speak.

—Sinsong— he finally said. —It's Korean. A strategic RPG with moral decisions. Everything you do changes the course of the game.

—And have you destroyed any villages yet?

—Not yet. But there was a scene... Intense.

His answers were short, yes, but not evasive. There was something honest in the way he spoke, as if he didn't seek to impress, but he still couldn't help but be interesting. That kind of mystery that doesn't try too hard to be.

—Can I try it?— you asked, crossing your arms over the back of the couch.

He looked at you as if trying to figure out if you were serious. Then, very slowly, he nodded.

—If you don't mind losing in the first five minutes?

—I have pride, not fear.

He made room for you on the couch and handed you the controller without touching you, but so close that you could catch the soft scent of tea and freshly washed clothes. He stayed by your side, explaining game mechanics with a patience that contrasted with his seemingly introverted nature. He spoke in a low voice, weighing each word carefully. But there was something in his tone, in the way he glanced at you sideways every time you fumbled with the controller, that hinted at another layer.

Won-woo was reserved, yes. But not closed off. He seemed to live inwardly, observing everything, storing away details no one else noticed. Like when he scratched the back of his neck while thinking about how to explain a game system to you. Or when he pushed his glasses up with one finger without even realizing it.

And you... You noticed everything.

After nearly an hour, you managed to save one village and accidentally destroy another. He didn’t laugh, but his smile was clear enough to tell you he was enjoying it.

When you got up to leave, the atmosphere had softened, as if something had settled between you. Not necessarily immediate trust, but a quiet truce. A mutual recognition.

—Thanks for the food— he said, this time looking at you directly.

—Thank you for not judging my military skills— you replied, opening the door.

—I haven’t finished the analysis yet— he murmured.

You said it jokingly. But his voice… Carried something else. A spark. And for the first time since you arrived, you felt like maybe… It wasn’t just curiosity that kept pulling you back.

It was him. And now, more than ever, you wanted to find out what else was hiding behind those foggy glasses and carefully measured silences.

You were about to turn the doorknob when something —maybe your conscience, or maybe just that impulsive part of you that never shuts up— stopped you. The hallway was quiet, with that mid-week stillness buildings tend to have when everyone else has things to do except you.

You didn’t want to seem eager, or nosy, or anything like that… But something inside you refused to leave without trying. So you took a deep breath, like you had to convince yourself first, and spoke without turning around.

—Hey… Before I go— you began casually, like you didn’t really care about the answer. —You should give me your number. Just in case, you know... Fires, ninja attacks, the fridge becomes sentient and declares war. Emergencies, normal stuff.

The silence that followed was longer than you expected. Not awkward, but… Dense. Like inside the apartment, someone was reorganizing their entire internal operating system to process what you had just said.

You turned, and there he was, exactly as you’d left him: On the couch, the video game controller in his lap, body half-sunken into the cushions like he’d been there for hours. But now he was looking at you. And that already meant something had changed.

—My number?— he repeated, like the phrase was new to him, strange, or too intimate to process so quickly.

—Yes— you said, keeping a calm smile, even though you were chewing yourself up inside. —Not to stalk you or anything. Just... It’d be useful. In case I find out you left something on. Or if the ceiling collapses on you and I need to call emergency services. Nothing weird.

Won-woo shifted slowly, like his body couldn’t decide whether to stay where it was or bolt out the window. He took off his glasses and started cleaning them with the sleeve of his sweater. Not because they needed it, but clearly because it was his way of thinking without saying much.

—I don’t usually… Give out my number— he murmured, not looking directly at you. His voice was calm, but there was a hidden tension at the edges, that soft discomfort of someone not used to being reached.

—I don’t usually ask for the number of guys who barely talk— you replied, raising an eyebrow. —We’re both out of our comfort zones, aren’t we?

That pulled a half-smile from him. Brief, shy, but genuine. Like he was thanking you for not pushing, for understanding him even when he didn’t say things outright.

—All right…— he said finally, and looked down at his phone. —You give me yours too. For... Balance.

His tone almost sounded like a joke, but without the confidence of someone who tosses jokes around easily. It was more like an attempt to bring lightness to something that clearly felt very personal to him.

—I was just about to suggest it. We wouldn’t want to throw off the universal balance, after all.

You handed him your unlocked phone, and he took it with the care of someone holding a sleeping animal. He typed slowly, with long, meticulous fingers, making sure not to mess it up. Then he gave it back, barely looking at you, like he didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than this moment already was.

—Done— he said. —But... if you call me, I probably won’t answer.

—And if I text you?

—I’ll... Read it a few times. Maybe think of a reply in my head and not send it. Or write it and delete it. But... Yeah. I’ll reply. Sooner or later.

You couldn’t help but smile. There was something so transparent about him, so unfiltered, it was endearing. No effort to seem more interesting, more fun, more anything. He was just him. A quiet guy, distractingly attractive, with measured replies and long silences that somehow didn’t make you want to run away.

—Perfect. I’ll keep that in mind. Though I hope if the fridge explodes, your reply won’t just be an ellipsis.

Won-woo blinked a couple of times. Then, in his driest, most serious tone:

—I don’t use emojis.

And that was it —the final straw—. You laughed. It was quick, spontaneous. You covered your mouth with your hand, not out of embarrassment, but because it surprised you how easy it was to be there. With him.

You walked to the door, this time slower. You felt like you’d crossed some invisible line between the practical and the personal. You weren’t just “Min-gyu’s sister who’s watching the apartment”. At least not in the way he was starting to look at you.

—See you soon, Won-woo— you said as you opened the door.

He nodded. It seemed like he was going to leave it at that. But just as you took your first step out, his voice, almost a whisper, reached you from behind.

—Thanks for... stopping by.

It was simple. Unadorned. But coming from him, it sounded almost intimate. Like his own particular way of saying “I liked having you here” without having to face the embarrassment of saying it out loud.

You turned around one last time.

—It was… Nice— you said sincerely. Then, after a pause, —And I’m not going to pretend I didn’t enjoy beating you at the end.

Won-woo smiled to the side, like someone keeping a rematch hidden up their sleeve.

—That victory was... Generous on my part.

—Uh-huh. Sure it was— You winked at him. —Till next time, strategic-defeat champion.

The door closed softly behind you, but the echo of the conversation —his voice, his awkward interest— followed you all the way to the elevator. As it descended, with no one else around, you couldn’t help but look at your reflection in the steel doors and smile.

You didn’t know exactly what was starting to happen between you and Won-woo, but it was... Different. And somewhere deep inside, that subtle flutter told you you didn’t want it to end any time soon.

The elevator dropped you off on the ground floor, but your mind was still floating somewhere much higher. Between Won-woo’s final comment, that rare but real smile, and the way he said “thanks for stopping by”, something had lodged itself inside you. Something small. Uncomfortable in the best way. Like a pebble in your shoe, but in your chest.

You walked home more slowly than necessary, the empty bag swinging from your wrist and the ridiculous feeling that you’d left something behind. Not a scarf. Not your dignity. Something more subtle. Maybe part of your focus. Your energy. You.

When you got back to your apartment, you kicked off your shoes, dropped your keys on the table with a metallic clink that broke the silence, and flopped onto the couch with that kind of drama that only comes when part of you is waiting... For something. Anything.

You closed your eyes. Opened them again. Stared at the ceiling. Then turned your head toward your purse, knowing full well your phone was in there, waiting like a silent accomplice. And that’s when the inner battle began.

“There’s no point in texting him. You already said everything that needed to be said. It was just one shared afternoon. A video game. A pizza.”

But the other voice —bolder, more you when no one’s looking— piped up without shame.

“What if you just want to text him? Because not everything has to be necessary. Because maybe you just feel like it. And that’s enough.”

You sighed softly, grabbed your phone like someone surrendering to the inevitable, and opened the chat. The empty screen was intimidating. A blank, silent space that seemed to say “nothing’s happened here”. But you knew better. Something had.

You typed something. Deleted it. Tried an emoji, hated it, deleted that too. Until you gave in to what you actually felt: Simple. Light. Expectation-free.

[You – 10:17 PM]

Made it back fine. No alien invasions on the way. So far.

The moment you hit "send", you dropped the phone like it burned, like you hadn’t just spent the last five minutes debating whether to text him at all. You got up to make some tea, even though the water never even boiled. You came back to the couch. Looked at the screen. Still blank. Of course.

“He probably read the message, panicked, and is now thinking it over in some dark corner while his imaginary cat judges him.”

Eleven minutes later, just as you were about to give up and open a dumb video to distract yourself, your phone buzzed.

[Won-woo – 10:28 PM]

Good. Glad the fridge didn’t win this time.

You smiled. Not a loud one. Just that soft, silly smile that slips out when no one’s watching. The kind that says more than you’d ever admit out loud. Because he’d replied. Not just that—he got the joke. He matched your tone.

You read it again. As if there were a second, hidden layer beneath his words. Then you replied without overthinking:

[You – 10:29 PM]

It was a tough battle. I escaped with minor injuries (burned a finger on the microwave). But I survived.

A few seconds passed. You saw him “online”. Then “typing.” Then nothing. Then “online” again.

“Weird”, you thought, amused.

[Won-woo – 10:33 PM]

The microwave has always been the most treacherous one.

You laughed quietly, with that warm feeling that seeps into your skin without asking. You typed again.

[You – 10:34 PM]

I know. It has a suspicious look.

Thanks for today, by the way.

That “thanks” came out heavier than you meant. Because it had been more than just another afternoon. And you knew it.

A few minutes passed, then his reply came:

[Won-woo – 10:36 PM]

I didn’t do much.

But… It was nice.

The word "nice" felt small, almost shy. But coming from him, it sounded like a confession. Like low—volume vulnerability. Like “I liked having you here”, without actually saying it.

You rested the phone on your chest, as if its warmth might linger a little longer. The silence in your apartment didn’t feel so heavy anymore. It had a different texture now, like someone else had left their shadow behind.

You weren’t in love. Not yet. But something had shifted. Or started.

And for the first time in a long while, you wished the night would last a bit longer. Not necessarily to keep talking. Just to stay in that feeling. That invisible thread you’d somehow started to share with someone who spoke little but said so much between the lines.

The next time you went to the apartment, you weren’t just carrying food or some improvised excuse. You brought cookies. Homemade. Or, well, as close as you could get to something edible and baked, given your limited baking skills. The first attempt had been a tragic disaster, but the second... The second had shape, color, and even a promising smell.

You walked in without knocking, as usual, but this time he wasn’t in front of the TV, nor holding the joystick or lost in some video game. Won-woo was by the window, slightly hunched over an open notebook, as if the outside world didn’t exist beyond the words he was writing.

You stopped cold, not wanting to interrupt right away. The scene felt intimate, fragile. His glasses were slipping down the bridge of his nose, and his messy hair shifted with every faint breeze sneaking through the window crack. He was so focused he seemed to float in a slower, entirely his own frequency.

You knocked gently on the doorframe with your knuckles.

He looked up, startled, like he’d just landed from somewhere far away.

—Were you writing?— you asked with a sideways smile, lifting the makeshift box of cookies like some kind of offering.

Won-woo closed the notebook quickly, almost guiltily, like you’d caught him doing something too personal. His reaction surprised you, though not entirely. There was always a part of him somewhere between wanting to share and the instinct to hide.

—Something like that— he said, not quite meeting your eyes. —Nothing important.

—And how do you decide that?— You stepped closer, setting the box on the table. —Do you always write by the window, or is that part of your mysterious writer aesthetic?

That earned a small, almost imperceptible smile—but enough.

—The light is good— he replied. —And almost no one interrupts me.

—Until today— you added, shameless. —But I come in peace. And with cookies. I think that gives me the right to stay.

He reached out to grab one awkwardly, like he wasn’t entirely sure how to eat something made by someone else. He examined it like he was analyzing its molecular structure, then took a bite.

The verdict: A neutral expression, followed by another bite and a slow nod.

—They’re good.

And for some reason, that simple "good", spoken in his quiet, honest voice, warmed your chest in a ridiculously disproportionate way.

—What were you writing?— you asked, nodding toward the now-closed notebook.

He hesitated. You saw him swallow, look down at his hands.

—Ideas. Scenes. Things I imagine when I’m not… Avoiding people— he said, with a hint of self-deprecating humor. —Sometimes I write stories. Other times, just scattered lines. Thoughts.

—And you keep them all in there? Like a journal?

—Not exactly. It’s more like… A conversation I don’t know how to have out loud.

That made you pause. The sentence carried unexpected weight. You looked at the notebook, now a loaded object.

—Have you ever thought about showing what you write?— you asked—not pushing, just curious.

Won-woo shrugged, lowering his gaze to his hands.

—I’ve thought about it. But I’m not sure what I write is any good. And sometimes, when I read it again, I feel like... I’m exposing too much. Like someone could read it and see all of me.

—That doesn’t sound so bad.

—For someone like me, it is.

You stayed quiet for a moment. Then decided to offer something back.

—I draw. Or at least I try to. I have a notebook full of mural ideas, abstract stuff, weird colors. Some phrases that keep following me around. I’ve always wanted to do something with it, but…— you shrugged —Sometimes we sabotage ourselves too, don’t we?

—Yes— he said, his voice barely a whisper. —You become your own obstacle.

There was a pause. One of those that doesn’t feel awkward—one that lets the words breathe.

—Do you have your drawings here?— he asked, with a softness you didn’t expect.

You shook your head, smiling.

—No. But if you ever invite me for tea, I might bring them.

He didn’t say anything—just nodded. But that gesture, that small tilt of his head, carried the gentleness of a true yes. As if he’d just opened a door that was entirely his… Just for you.

That night, you didn’t rush to leave. You left slowly, feeling that something had shifted. Not in a grand or obvious way. But just enough.

And when you got home—after slipping off your shoes and dropping your keys in their usual spot—you saw it. A short message glowing on your phone screen.

[Won-woo – 10:04 PM]

Thanks for the cookies.

And for staying.

The words came easier today.

You lay back on the couch with a soft smile, almost without realizing. The phone resting on your chest like a musical note still vibrating.

You didn’t know if he would ever show you what he wrote, or if you’d actually let him see your drawings. But something was definitely growing between the two of you. Not a movie—kind—of—story. Something slower. Something real.

Like a story written by hand.

Like a line sketched without erasing the one before it.

You returned to the apartment one afternoon when the sky seemed to have forgotten how to be blue. It wasn’t raining, but the air smelled like it might—like a promise of water, a soft melancholy that clung to your skin like a light blanket. It wasn’t a special day. Not his birthday, not a marked date. But you were carrying your notebook. That made it different.

You had told yourself you wouldn’t show it. That you’d bring it along "just in case", like someone taking an umbrella when the forecast says “maybe”. And yet, as soon as you stepped inside, you knew it wasn’t just a remote possibility. It was a decision you’d been chewing on for days.

Won-woo greeted you with his usual gesture: A slight nod, no words. But this time, his eyes lingered on yours a second longer, as if he noticed something different. Maybe he did. You felt it too.

He was in his favorite spot, by the window, a cup of tea in his hands and a half-open notebook in front of him. The pen rested on top, forgotten.

—Did I interrupt your creative session?— you asked, slinging your backpack over the back of a chair.

—Not enough to be mad about it— he replied without moving, with that dry tone laced with subtle humor that you were starting to understand better than anyone.

You sat on the couch, dropping your bag to the side. Outwardly calm. Inside, a whirlwind. You hesitated for a few minutes. Chatted about random things: The weather, the playlist he had on, how useless electric ovens were for baking decent cookies. He listened, quiet but focused, with that expression of his that made it seem like he wasn’t giving opinions—but was storing every detail in some private corner of his mind.

Finally, before you could change your mind again, you opened the backpack and pulled out your notebook.

You placed it on the table with a mix of shyness and determination, without looking at him directly. As if just putting it there was an act of bravery on its own.

Won-woo tilted his head, curious.

—Is that…?— He didn’t finish the question, but you filled in the silence.

—My sketchbook. Where I draw. Sometimes I write too. It’s not organized or anything.

He looked at it like you’d just offered him a map to an unknown place. And then, with the kind of respect someone might have for a borrowed relic, he asked:

—Can I see it?

You nodded. You weren’t sure if your hands were shaking on the outside, but inside… Every heartbeat felt like an unspoken truth.

Won-woo took it with both hands. His fingers were long, steady, almost ceremonial as he turned the first page. And then, simply, he began to read. Or look. Or feel—because he didn’t comment, didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask for explanations. He just moved through the pages with a reverence that made it feel like every sketch, every word, deserved its time.

Half-human figures, dreamed murals, fragments of poetry, splashes of color where some emotion had spilled uncontrollably. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t flatter you. But his complete attention was enough to make you feel that—for the first time—someone was seeing what you’d made without trying to fix it, just trying to understand it.

He stopped near the end, at a page you’d scribbled on at 3 a.m., the ink smudged:

“I’m scared to be seen. But I’m more scared of never showing myself at all.”

His eyes lingered on the words. And instead of saying something clever, he simply said:

—I feel that too.

It caught you off guard. He didn’t speak like that—not easily.

—You feel… What?

—I’m scared too. Of sharing what I write. Of someone reading it and really seeing me. But also… Of never letting that happen at all.

You didn’t say anything for a moment. You just sat there, sharing that—raw vulnerability. A mirror confession.

He was the one who stood up first. Walked over to the shelf, rummaged through worn—out notebooks, and pulled out one that looked like it held history. He handed it to you—not ceremoniously, but with a certain care. He opened it to a specific page, like he had chosen it in advance.

—It’s not a full story— he said. —Just a scene. But… I don’t know. Maybe you’ll like it.

You read in silence. It was a fragment of something bigger. A conversation between two characters on a train. He wrote with restraint, no unnecessary flourishes, but every line carried weight. It was honest. Deep without trying to be. As if he wrote from somewhere very far inside—but still with his feet on the ground.

—This character…?— you began.

—Isn’t me— he said right away. But then he added, lowering his gaze. —Not completely.

—You could write a whole story from this— you told him. —It’s beautiful.

He looked at you then—and for the first time, didn’t look away so quickly. There was something different there. A certain trust. Or maybe a need to trust.

—What if you drew the scenes?— he said. —Like little snapshots. It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just something… Ours.

That last word hung between you. Not as a promise. But as a spark.

—We could try— you said. And you sounded more confident than you felt. But also… Freer.

You didn’t hug. You didn’t hold hands. But as you were leaving, he didn’t hand back the notebook.

—Can I keep it for a few days?— he asked.

—Sure— you replied. —But don’t correct anything.

—Never.

And when you closed the door behind you, you knew that something between you had opened. Not suddenly. Not loudly. But with the exact rhythm of a story just beginning—one no one else needs to understand for it to be real.

The message came mid-morning, while you were still in pajamas, your hair tied up any which way, the breakfast mug forgotten on the edge of the sink. Just another notification—no sound, no urgency—but the name on the screen was enough to make your pulse quicken, just a little.

Won-woo sent you an image.

You opened it without thinking. It was a photo. Nothing more. Nothing less.

An urban landscape, captured in a moment suspended between fog and noise. Sidewalks still wet from an earlier drizzle, reflections of unlit streetlamps on the asphalt, an old building in the background with glowing windows—as if someone were reading behind each one. No people. Just a near-cinematic stillness, like the world was breathing in a whisper.

You smiled, instinctively, automatically.

[You – 10:03]

It’s a beautiful photo.

Feels like a scene from your story.

You were about to set the phone aside when his reply arrived, as precise as a second thought:

[Won-woo – 10:09]

I’m glad you like it.

Are you free this afternoon?

I thought… We could go to a café. Talk a bit about last night.

You read the message several times. No exclamation points, no emojis—but knowing him, it felt like a leap. A simple invitation, but one that said a lot coming from him. And you knew it. It wasn’t just coffee. It was a bridge.

As you picked up the empty cup and forced yourself to pull together some kind of composure, your mind drifted to him. How he wrote. How he noticed beauty in the things others ignored. That quiet way he had of telling the truth without raising his voice. He had a kind of sensitivity that didn’t need to announce itself, and maybe that’s why it ran deeper.

“Elegant without meaning to be”, you thought. As if his talent weighed on him, as if he was shy about having something so personal others could touch.

You got ready without rushing, but with more care than you were willing to admit. You slipped a notebook into your bag—the good one, the one you used when inspiration truly hit—along with a few pencils, just in case.

The café he’d suggested was only a few blocks from the apartment he shared with Min-gyu. It wasn’t a well-known place. The sign was barely visible, the tables were pale wood, and the hanging lamps cast warm yellow light. The air smelled like freshly ground coffee and old books.

“Perfect”, you thought. It seemed like the kind of place someone like him would choose.

You arrived a few minutes early—because you wanted to. Because you wanted to be there before the moment began.

You waited outside, hands in your pockets, eyes scanning the street. And when you saw him coming, the world seemed to pause for a beat. He walked with that unhurried pace of his, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, a gray scarf tied clumsily around his neck. His hair was carefully combed, though a rebellious strand still fell across his forehead. He wasn’t dressed to impress, but there was something about the way he carried himself that felt… Different. Present. Like he’d taken care, too.

He saw you and raised a hand in a brief wave. No words. But that small smile… Tt undid you.

—Hey— you said, glancing down a little, still smiling.

—Hey— he echoed, his voice calm, almost a murmur.

You went into the café and chose a table by a fogged-up window. He ordered an americano, no sugar. You got a cinnamon latte. The waitress jotted it down with a distracted smile and walked off. You were alone. The hum of the café made the perfect backdrop for what was to come.

—Did you bring your notebook?— he asked, motioning subtly toward your bag.

—I did— you said, pulling it out as if presenting something with reverence. —Also some pencils. In case inspiration decides to slip away.

—Or in case I start saying a very profound thing— he joked—his usual way: Barely noticeable, but charming.

You laughed, and that sound seemed to loosen something between you. The coffee arrived, bringing a comfortable pause. He held his cup with both hands, like it gave him courage. Took a sip, then looked at you—direct, but not invasive.

—I’ve been thinking… About what you said. About sharing what we make. About not always hiding it.

You nodded, but said nothing. You wanted to listen more than speak.

—I don’t know if I’m ready for a lot of people to read it— he went on. —But I’d like to keep sharing it with you. Not because I feel like I have to. But because… I want to.

Your heart made a strange noise. A flutter. A crack letting in the light.

—Thank you— you said. —I feel the same. I don’t know why, but ever since I started reading your words, I’m less afraid to draw the things that really matter to me.

He looked down for a second, a small crooked smile on his lips. Then he looked up, and for a moment, he wasn’t the shy Won-woo—you saw him more clearly. More fully.

—Can we create something together?— he asked. —A project, small, big, doesn’t matter. I want to see what happens when your drawings and my words meet in the same place.

—What if it doesn’t work?

—Then we’ll have shared something. That alone makes it worth it.

You picked up a pencil without thinking. Started sketching soft lines on the paper, no explanation. He didn’t interrupt. Just watched you, fingers still wrapped around his mug.

—What are you doing?— he asked eventually, curiosity blooming in his voice.

—Drawing you. But this time, without the mystery. Just a guy in a café, with the most honest eyes I’ve ever seen.

He blushed, clearly. And you pretended to focus on the paper so you wouldn’t laugh too loudly.

You spent the afternoon talking about stories. About characters you both wanted to write. About scenes you imagined. He told you he once wanted to be a screenwriter but gave it up because it felt too pretentious. You told him you once dreamed of painting murals all over Seoul, though you still weren’t sure if you had the courage.

The conversation bloomed like a flower you didn’t know you had planted.

And when it was time to go, he offered to walk you to the corner. Outside, the afternoon had already turned to night. The city lights felt like a soft echo.

—I want to keep seeing you— he said, like handing over something he’d been holding too long.

—Me too— you said, meeting his gaze with a sincerity that even surprised you.

The words came so fast, it startled you. Like all the air you’d been holding in your chest had finally been released in that sentence. And deep down, you knew it wasn’t just a response. It was the first time something inside you also wanted to be spoken.

Won-woo blinked, as if you’d thrown a stone into water and he was watching the ripples reach his side. He was silent for a moment, processing. Then, without panic, he opened and closed his mouth a few times, like searching for the right word in the maze of his thoughts.

—I’m glad— he finally said, in a soft, almost hesitant voice. —Because that way we can keep the story going.

The words fell like a single drop into a pond, sending out waves inside you. His reply came so quickly, so mechanically, that for a second you wondered if he really understood what you’d just said. Or if maybe, he’d gotten lost in his own world of untold stories and unsaid things.

And there it was —an unnecessary clarification, a near-clinical detachment that slightly ruined the warmth of the moment. As if everything that had just happened was now reduced to a continuation, an extension of something already in motion.

Your smile froze. It wasn’t sadness. Not contempt. Just... Confusion.

You weren’t expecting a grand declaration. You weren’t expecting anything specific. But part of you had lifted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same. That his gaze held more colors. That his words carried more weight.

And now, hearing those simple words, you understood what made Won-woo who he was. Someone who maybe needed to frame everything ���every gesture, every word. Someone who didn’t quite know how to let life happen without a script. Without something to hold onto.

—Right… The story— you said, lowering your gaze, feeling the weight of those words settling over you like dust. But you said it calmly, as if the world kept turning despite the tiny crack that had just opened between you two.

He nodded without thinking. Then looked away, as if the small curtain of silence that had just fallen between you didn’t affect him. As if he hadn’t noticed the faint shadow that passed over your face.

The disappointment —soft, almost invisible— cut deeper than you expected. But you understood. He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to play in the shadows of the unsaid, in the small spaces where language fails. And still, in his own clumsy but honest way, he was trying.

You walked in silence, unhurried. The city carried on around you —cars gliding by, distant conversations humming, the sky heavy with a promise of rain. Each step seemed to move you further from what had just happened in the café. But something inside you —a small spark— remained alive. You weren’t ready to let it die.

—Don’t worry— you said, breaking the thick silence that had formed between you. —I love the story.

And it was true. You did. Even if the way he had said it left a bitter taste, there was still something in those story fragments that felt like yours. Like you were part of something bigger than just a simple encounter.

He glanced at you, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. He didn’t say anything, but something in his body eased. Maybe, just maybe, he understood that not everything about you could be handled like a neat, linear narrative.

When you reached the corner, you both stopped. Just stood there, watching the street, the traffic, the ebb and flow of strangers as if looking for something in the city’s movement.

—Will I see you again soon?— you asked, no hesitation, letting the question linger like an unspoken wish.

Won-woo’s answer came with the same precision as before. His words, so measured and controlled, felt heavier than the silence that preceded them.

—Yes. I’ll write to you tomorrow. I promise I won’t leave it paused for too long.

Something in that response —so small and tangible— began to melt away the disappointment, though not entirely. It’s not what I hoped for, you thought. But maybe it’s all he can offer.

You watched him cross the street, unhurried, as if everything were perfectly normal. His scarf caught the wind, and for a moment, it felt like time stretched —that the image of him walking away etched itself in your eyes, like a scene from a movie whose ending you’d never get to see.

And as you watched him disappear, something hit you with sharp clarity:

“Not all feelings have to be big. Not all moments need to be monumental to matter. Sometimes, all you need is the quiet unfolding of a story —soft, subtle, whispered”.

“He’s trying”, you told yourself, feeling a quiet peace spread through your chest as the evening deepened and the city moved on.

That night, back home, the notebook you’d left on the table seemed to be watching you from across the room. And when you opened it, hands still slightly trembling, a thought came to you:

“Maybe I just need to let this story flow on its own—no rush, no expectations.”

And for the first time, that thought didn’t scare you.

The notification came just after noon, sunlight slanting across the table as you stirred a spoon in an already cold cup.

[Min-gyu – 12:04]

I’m back, little sis.

Are you coming over tonight? I’ve got stories to tell.

Brought stuff.

Oh—and Won-woo’s picking me up from the airport.

You read it once. Then again. And on the second read, your heart did that silly little leap you’d come to know so well.

Won-woo.

That name again, ringing like a held note, slipping into the spaces of your day. As if he’d become part of your routine without you realizing it.

He went to pick him up. You didn’t know why that mattered so much. But it did.

That afternoon, you packed a small bag —not because you needed to, but to have something to hold onto. You tucked in some lemon cookies, Min-gyu’s childhood favorite, and your notebook— the one you carried everywhere like a quiet secret. You picked an outfit—simple, but chosen with care. Nothing loud, but suggestive.

When you got to the building, the first thing you noticed was the apartment door—slightly ajar. A small gesture, but intimate. As if they were waiting for you.

You pushed gently. Stepped in.

And you saw him.

Won-woo was in the kitchen. Standing like a figure from another frame. No sweater or loose jeans today. He wore a blue linen shirt, the collar open, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Dark pants, crisply pressed. His hair styled with quiet intent. But that rebellious strand —always him— still fell over his forehead, undoing the seriousness.

He looked… Like a different version of himself. One you didn’t see every day.

And in that instant, a sharp mix of emotion and doubt swept through your chest. You didn’t know if it made you happy to see him like that. Or if it hurt.

Because you didn’t know if that version was for you.

Or for something that was about to happen—and that you still didn’t understand.

You raised your hand and smiled, trying to make sure the gesture didn’t give anything away.

—Hello— you said.

—Hello— he replied, with a half-smile that didn’t quite form.

Min-gyu looked up from his open backpack. —Little sister!— And then yes, you ran towards him as if time had rewound. You hugged tightly, with those laughs that didn’t need an explanation. The hug smelled like the airport, like new fabrics, like distance overcome. You closed your eyes for a second and let yourself be in that familiar place: the arms of the one who reminds you who you are.

—Look what I brought you— he said, rummaging. —I couldn’t resist—. He pulled out an embroidered blouse with golden threads, a pair of jade earrings that seemed to have been sculpted with ancient patience, and a bamboo-covered notebook that cracked when opened.

—Min-gyu… This is incredible— you whispered, touching the items as if they were fragile. As if everything, at that moment, was fragile. —Thanks to you— he said, lowering his voice too. —For respecting my space. For being here. You’re always here. You know you’re my safe place.

“My safe place”, you thought. How easy that sounds… When there’s no risk of parting. You settled in like always. You by the window, Min-gyu in his favorite chair. And Won-woo in the middle. But it wasn’t the same. There was something different in the air. In how he held his glass, in the way he didn’t quite settle back. Like he had one foot in another place. Min-gyu began to talk. And talk. About flavors, streets with red lanterns, clothes hanging from balconies, a man who mistook him for a famous actor and asked for a selfie on a train. You laughed, because laughter was a refuge, a pause. —And thanks for not killing the balcony plant— he joked, winking at you. —I’m impressed.

—It almost died. I talked to it. I gave it black tea. I think it believed me—. He laughed. You did too. And by instinct, by reflex, you turned toward Won-woo, looking for that shared glance. That invisible line that connected you when no one else could see it. But he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were fixed on his phone. And his expression was hard, tense. Like someone waiting for something important, or just having received it. Min-gyu noticed the silence.

—And you?— he asked teasingly. —What��s got you so caught up? Won-woo lifted his gaze like someone emerging from a dream.

He blinked. —A message. For work— he said, without inflection.

—Really? Where?— A second of pause. Almost imperceptible. Like he hesitated to say it.

—Busan.

And that’s when the world, for you, stopped spinning.

The blow was so brief, so clean, that you didn’t make a sound. Your body didn’t move. But inside, something cracked. Like a dry branch under the foot of someone who didn’t want to break anything.

Busan.

You repeated it silently. As if you could lessen its power by thinking it without sound. You gripped the edge of the chair, searching for air. And asked, with a voice you didn’t recognize as yours:

—And… Are you going to accept it?

Won-woo shrugged slightly.

—I don’t know. I just read it—. You didn’t look at him, but you felt it. You felt the distance. The pressed shirt. The faint smell of cologne. The way his attention had been elsewhere all night. Like something was already saying goodbye without you being able to stop it. Min-gyu changed the subject with a joke, with another story. But the thread that had connected your thoughts had already come undone. Everything was background noise. A stranger’s laughter. White light in a room too large. The story that seemed to be beginning now revealed itself as a parenthesis. Beautiful. But finite.

The offer was good. You knew that with a quiet certainty, almost painful. All it took was reading a line of what Won-woo wrote to understand it. He had that strange talent of looking at the world with a piercing tenderness, capable of turning a simple beam of light falling on a carpet or a pair of umbrellas forgotten at the entrance of a bookstore into a scene that tore at you, but in that sweet, almost addictive way. Like when an old song pulls you toward a memory you didn’t know you missed. That you thought you had forgotten. Of course they had wanted him.

Of course someone, somewhere in Busan, had read those words with the same tremor you felt the first time. That voice had something. Something valuable, unique. A quiet beauty that deserved to explode in more eyes, in more souls. To reach further. To be heard louder. And you… You just wanted to stay a little longer in that echo. In that half-open notebook that, for an instant, had let you see something not meant for anyone.

You thought about the offer. Drawing what he wrote. An apparently simple gesture. But to you, it was something else. It was a key. A crack. A secret invitation to an intimate place, where his thoughts breathed defenseless, where you could discover him without him knowing. And now… Where was that place? The emotion that had ignited you that afternoon —like a match that catches in the wind, fleeting but intense— no longer burned. It had been extinguished before you could bring your hands to the heat. Too soon. Too real. It wasn’t his fault. Not entirely.

But that didn’t stop the pain. You didn’t know what your place was in his life. Maybe you didn’t have one. Maybe you were just “Min-gyu’s sister who shows up with tupperwares and cookies”. Or maybe you did. Because there was something in his eyes. In the silence between words. In the way he listened to you without interrupting.

And yet, now you felt him closing up again. Like a flower folding before a storm. Like a door that opens just enough to make you dream of the light, and then shuts with that final click that sounds louder than it should.

Did you have the right to be sad?

You asked yourself that while pretending to laugh at one of Min-gyu’s absurd stories. This time he was talking about a taxi driver who collected traditional knives and offered him one wrapped in silk, in the middle of traffic. You laughed out of reflex, but you were far away. Very far. On another plane. Trapped in that thick, nameless emotion: Between emptiness, resignation, and a silent anger you barely knew how to recognize. You sought relief in the external world.

You looked at a cup, a scraggly plant, the shape the shadow drew on the floor. As if focusing on something else could save you from thinking about him. But then you did. You looked at him. Won-woo no longer had his phone. He had set it aside, as if it no longer mattered.

Now, he was watching you. Directly.

With those eyes that said more than words could hold. They weren’t cold. Nor empty. There was something calm but sharp in them. An unspoken goodbye. A doubt that begged to be read. There was no hardness in him. Rather, there was a fragility trying to appear solid. As if he were telling you with his gaze: "Don’t judge me for not knowing how to hold this." He stretched out his hand, took a cookie. Held it for a few seconds. Looked at it as if inside it he could find something missing. And then he bit into it slowly, as if buying time to avoid speaking.

Min-gyu, busy with one of his gifts, noticed the heavy air that had formed like an invisible cloud in the middle of the room. —So?— he asked with a sideways smile. —Are you going to tell us about that magical proposal, or are you going to keep staring at your phone like it’s a tragic novel?— Won-woo raised his eyes. His mouth was already empty, but his throat full of doubts. He took a second longer.

—There’s not much to tell— he finally said, in a low voice. —It’s just a possibility. Nothing certain.

Min-gyu snorted, amused. —Always so mysterious. You’re a poem locked with a padlock.

You remained silent. You felt that if you said a word, your voice would break in your throat. And maybe with it, something else. Min-gyu turned to you, with that playful spark he used when trying to lighten the mood.

—And you? How was it these days with this hermit of poetic silences?— Thousands of images crowded your chest. The walk under the wisteria, the coffee you shared without saying a word, the moment he took your notebook and flipped through it silently. "I want to keep seeing you", he had said. "To continue the story". And you had wanted to believe it was true. But now… Now you didn’t know.

—Fine— you said, and the word felt like a half-empty glass offered with a forced smile.

Min-gyu looked at you carefully. He read you like always. Quickly. Effortlessly. He raised an eyebrow, mischievously.

—Will you help me with something in the kitchen?— You didn’t need an excuse. You got up. Your body tense, as if it was about to break. You followed him. Only when you crossed the door and Won-woo’s face was out of your sight, did you release a little air. You didn’t know how long you had been holding it in.

Min-gyu opened a cabinet, took something out —it didn’t matter what— and placed it on the counter without even looking at it. Then he turned to you.

—Do you want to talk?— he asked, straightforwardly, with that unadorned tone he only used when something truly mattered to him. And you… Looked down. You didn’t know where to start. But you knew you needed to say it. The air in the kitchen smelled of wilting jasmine, like a memory refusing to disappear. The steam from the abandoned tea had dissipated, but its scent still floated between the shadows.

Half-eaten cookies rested on a cracked porcelain plate, silent witnesses to a conversation that had yet to begin. The hanging lamp bathed the scene with a warm, dim light, gilding the edges of the silence. Min-gyu leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his face serene. He didn’t ask. He didn’t hurry. He was just there, like a reliable presence who knew how to read the gaps between words. Your fingers gripped the edge of the table, white from tension, as if that wood could hold you beyond the inner tremor.

—It’s strange— you murmured, not lifting your gaze. —He asked me to draw his stories. That’s all, on the surface. But the way he said it… It sounded like something else. Like behind that proposal, there was a crack, an invitation to look inside something he himself didn’t dare name—. Min-gyu nodded, with a minimal gesture. He didn’t need to say anything: His listening was a refuge.

—I thought it was just a courtesy— you continued. —A passing comment from someone who admires your work. But his voice... It had weight. Like he was offering me a corner of his universe. Not a leading role, no. Just a corner from which to watch. And still… I can’t stop thinking about it—. You placed a hand on your chest, trying to calm the vibration that had settled there. A constant echo.

—Since then, I’ve been thinking about it. Not just about him, but about how he makes me feel. It’s like an unease that doesn’t dissolve. Like my whole body knows something is moving beneath the surface and can’t ignore it.

Min-gyu tilted his head, with that loving patience only seen between siblings who have shared scars. His voice was low, as if not wanting to disturb the delicacy of the moment. —And what do you feel?

You took a deep breath. The air thickened, full of the unspoken. Then you spoke, as if undressing with words. —It’s like walking on a tightrope. Sometimes, I feel like with just one look from him, I could understand everything. That his silence has more language than any phrase. And other times… He becomes distant, almost unreal. I convinced myself it was a delirium. A mirage I wove on my own.

Min-gyu moved away from the counter with a light sigh, crossing the space until he was closer to you. —It’s not a mirage if you feel it. Even if he doesn’t know how to hold it, even if he doesn’t even know he’s giving it. What you received, what made you tremble... It was real.

Your eyes found his, and for a moment, you found in his gaze the recognition you needed: Someone else validated the existence of that intangible thing that overwhelmed you.

—Sometimes, I imagine him in scenes. Neither romantic nor logical. Just… Moments. Like my mind searching for spaces where we can both be without this vertigo. Today, for example, I saw him eat a cookie, and I thought of drawing him like that. With his head tilted, eyes lost, as if he were chewing a memory. Or sorrow—. You laughed briefly, with a hint of shyness.

—And at that moment, I imagined he said something. I don’t know what. Something he didn’t say and maybe will never say. But it made me want to capture him there. With ink. As if by drawing him, I could keep a part of what I don’t understand—. Min-gyu watched you with an old tenderness, the kind that knows your defeats and doesn’t judge them. His words were soft:

—You are not naive. What you feel has roots. And what he carries... It's not light. Sometimes people walk around with stones in their chest without even knowing they are there. And then they trip, without even understanding why.

You nodded, swallowing the lump that rose in your throat.

—There are times when I wish I could hug him— you whispered. —But not with the desire of someone who loves. But with the urgency of someone who wants to stop the other from falling apart. As if just holding him could prevent his ruin.

—And other times…— Min-gyu added, anticipating your emotions, —...You wish you could shout at him. Ask him why he looks at you as if you were a fire. And then walks away as if afraid of getting burned.

You smiled sadly. A tear trembled, rebellious, but didn't fall. As if even your tears knew it wasn’t the moment to give up.

Min-gyu returned to his original position, took a sip of the now-cold tea, and scrunched his nose thoughtfully.

—Look, sister— he said, with his most intimate tone. —I don't know what knot he has in his throat, but I do know this: When someone touches your soul, even if just a little, it's natural to want to build them a shelter. But you can't live in that house alone, if he doesn't want to enter.

The silence returned, thick and sincere.

—So, what do I do with all this?— you asked, your voice low, as if carrying a secret too heavy to bear.

Min-gyu came closer. He wrapped his arms around you and held you, like someone who’s learned that sometimes the only remedy is human warmth. His chin rested on your head.

—You keep it— he said. —Like you keep an unsent letter. Not to forget it, but to understand it someday. And if the moment never comes, if you never get to deliver it... You’ll still know it was real. That it existed. That it made you tremble. And that, in itself, is love.

When you returned to the living room, the first thing you noticed wasn't his absence, but the perfect gap he left. As if the air was still shaped to his form. Won-woo was no longer there, but the cookies from the plate had disappeared, leaving only a few crumbs scattered like a harmless trace of what could have been a silent goodbye.

You sighed involuntarily, like someone exhaling a bit of their soul. You looked for Min-gyu, needing some form of refuge. He responded with a simple gesture full of tenderness: A hand on your shoulder, like an anchor; the other smoothing the couch, inviting you to rest as if he could shelter you from the weight you carried in your chest.

The night fell without drama, wrapping everything in that thick mantle that sometimes seems to have a will of its own. From the next room, you heard Min-gyu’s door close gently, like a curtain falling without applause. And then you were left alone, accompanied only by your thoughts, which were many, loud, and disordered.

You wrapped yourself in blankets, seeking shelter more than warmth. Part of you felt ridiculous. All this, you thought, why? For a man who hadn’t even given you certainties? For a connection that perhaps only lived in your imagination?

You turned on your phone. The cold light of the screen illuminated your face as if you were the protagonist of a scene with no name. You scrolled through the old messages with Won-woo. At first, there had been magic: Loose words that felt like keys, jokes with double meanings, questions that weren't asked out of courtesy but out of desire. Now, only gaps remained. Dead time. Interruptions that had become routine.

You sighed deeply and long. With a frustration that had no scream but had a knot. You threw the phone to the side, where it landed with a dull thud, without scandal. And you took your head in your hands, as if you could squeeze your thoughts to make them stop hurting.

—You shouldn’t do that— said a voice behind you, low and raspy, like the echo of an ancient dawn. ���You'll have to buy another one later.

You froze. Your heart suspended. You turned slowly, as if fearing you had imagined it.

But no. There he was. Won-woo. Different. In a loose t-shirt and cotton pants, as if he had also stripped away all his masks. His hair disheveled, feet bare, and in his eyes, a calm that wasn’t indifference but intimacy.

—I couldn’t sleep— he said, his voice coming from a soft place inside him. —Do you want some tea?

You nodded. The words didn’t come, but your silence took the shape of acceptance. He walked to the kitchen without hurry, as if every movement were part of a secret ritual. The sound of the boiling water filled the room with a serene murmur. There was a sacred pause in the air. As if the whole universe had stopped just to listen to what you hadn’t yet said.

When he returned, he offered you a cup. He sat on the opposite end of the sofa, keeping a polite distance, but one filled with meaning. As if he knew getting too close would make everything explode.

—Thank you— you said, barely, with your voice wrapped in tea steam and fragility.

Won-woo nodded, but didn’t say anything right away. He took a sip, looked at the cup, and then spoke with the serenity of someone who had been chewing on his words all night.

—I was thinking... About the work. About the proposal.

You lifted your head, alert. It surprised you that he mentioned it again. After so much distance, that simple comment was almost a caress.

—And?— you asked, softly, not wanting to scare the conversation away.

He turned the cup in his hands, as if searching for answers in the porcelain.

—I don't know if I can— he said, straightforwardly. —I don't know if I want the world to see what I write. I’m scared they won’t care. That they’ll look at it and feel nothing. That it’ll be invisible. Or worse, that you’ll put your art into something that’s not worth it.

Your fingers tightened around the cup, as if you wanted to hold him too from afar.

—Don’t say that— you whispered, with a hardness you didn’t expect to have. —Your words matter. I read them. And they hurt, and they moved me. And they kept me awake, thinking. Not everyone can do that. You can.

Won-woo then looked at you, directly, with those eyes that couldn’t lie even if they tried.

—It’s not just the work— he said, and in his voice, there were cracks that let light through. —It’s what changed since I mentioned it. What happens to me when I imagine you drawing what I wrote. When I see you close. When I realize there’s something moving inside me, and I don’t know how to stop it. Or how to name it.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was fertile. A ground waiting for the first seed.

Your lips parted, but the words wouldn’t come. Because something inside you understood that this couldn’t be resolved by talking. That there were feelings that could only be held with a still body, with trembling breath, with the heart juggling.

Won-woo looked down at his cup, as if afraid he’d said too much.

—I’m scared of what crosses between us— he confessed. —What I don’t know if you feel too. What escapes me every time I look at you for more than five seconds.

You stayed silent, but brought the cup to your lips, as if the tea could give you courage. Your heart was beating in every direction. You didn’t know what to say, and maybe it didn’t matter. Because in that polite distance, on that shared sofa, with those two warm cups, the essential had already been said.

There were no names yet. No promises. Just a possibility beating between the two of you, like a flower about to bloom.

The silence settled between you like a third presence, invisible but intense, filled with something that had no name but pulsed strongly. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was dense, like the calm before an electric storm. Outside, the city seemed to have held its breath, and the distant lights of the buildings flickered like fireflies trapped in a glass jar.

The corner lamp spilled a soft, amber, and melancholic light, gently caressing the edges of the scene with tenderness. Your fingers played with the rim of the already empty cup, as if in that simple gesture, you could find some sort of comfort. Won-woo did the same. His eyes were lowered, but his brow spoke loudly. In his silence, there were questions he dared not ask, fears tangled with desires, words that seemed to have barricaded themselves behind his lips.

It was then, without warning, that your voice broke the calm surface of the moment.

—What if i do?— you asked, almost in a whisper. —What if we feel the same?

He lifted his gaze. One second. That was enough. Because sometimes a second is enough to crumble walls, to let a truth slip through the cracks of what’s unsaid.

Won-woo didn’t respond immediately. He took a breath, that dense air that seemed harder to take than before. He placed the cup on the low table with a slowness almost ritualistic, as if letting go of it was accepting that he could no longer hold that distance. He straightened up but didn’t come closer. Not yet. His eyes rested on you, with a gravity that hurt and healed at the same time.

—What if we ruin it?— he murmured, with that voice that seemed made for reading love letters that were never sent.

—What if we don’t?— you answered, not breaking eye contact, not trembling.

And then everything changed. Not like an earthquake, but like the thawing of an ancient river. You saw him give in slowly, as if he finally accepted that what was between you was stronger than the fear. Deeper than the doubts.

There was no music. No memorable phrases. Just his steps drawing near. First, his eyes, searching for you. Then, his hands, which hesitated in the air before touching yours. And then, the breath, warm and contained, suspended between you like an unsaid prayer.

The kiss came like the last leaf falling from a tree in autumn: Inevitable, silent, perfect.

It wasn’t a hungry kiss. It was deep. It was a descent into the sacred. As if by brushing your lips, he was opening his chest and showing, without reservation, everything he had hidden. He leaned towards you with the reverence of someone touching something sacred, and you received it with your eyes closed, as if this gesture were an old promise, finally fulfilled.

Your fingers clung to his shirt, not out of weakness, but out of the need for an anchor. His hand rested on your cheek, tracing a slow caress with his thumb, as if every inch of your skin could say something his mouth had yet to find words for. It was a kiss filled with tenderness, yes, but also with vertigo. A leap without a net. A language only the two of you spoke in secret.

And although it lasted only a few seconds, time curved. Because there are kisses that break the clock. That undo the rules. That melt the past and the future into a single, absolute now.

When you parted, it wasn’t by will. It was out of the need for oxygen. Your foreheads stayed pressed together, eyes closed, as if neither of you dared to look at what you had just unleashed.

Won-woo’s hands touched you with affection, an affection never expressed but always present in the silence of the air. A half-smile rested on his lips, almost sad, almost endearing. He moved closer again, this time with an intensity you never would have imagined from him.

His hand, which had rested like an anchor on your cheek, slid down the curve of your neck, barely grazing the skin with the tips of his fingers, as if exploring new and forbidden territory. It wasn’t the urgency of desire, but its most delicate version: The desire that breathes, trembles, waits to be allowed.

Your lips parted not to speak, but because the air seemed thicker, as if suddenly it was harder to hold it in your lungs.

—I don’t usually do this— he whispered, in a voice almost inaudible, as if speaking to himself. —Not like this.

—And how do you do it, then?— you asked, barely brushing the words, as if you weren’t sure whether you wanted the answer or the silence that could avoid it.

He didn’t answer. He only lowered his gaze to your mouth and then met your eyes again. There was a question unasked in his gaze, a surrender that wasn’t total but was inevitable. Then his other hand searched for the curve of your waist and wrapped around it with a slowness almost liturgical.

And you... You gave in. But not like a fall: You gave in like a flower blooming in the night, silently, without announcement.

Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, not with desperate passion, but with the care of someone who fears that if they hold on too tight, the other will disappear. His mouth returned to yours. This time it wasn’t a shy brush: It was a slow, deep exploration, lips barely parted, breaths mingling. It was a kiss that didn’t ask, but offered.

Was it love? Was it desire? Was it the echo of a long-shared loneliness?

The doubt floated, suspended in the air, like an ancient perfume. And yet, you didn’t want it to dissipate.

He guided you without hurry, with fierce delicacy, to the carpeted floor. The blanket fell aside, wrinkled, like a silent witness. You lay between twisted cushions and soft shadows. No words were spoken. There weren’t enough words. Only sustained glances and caresses that asked without speaking.

His hand slid down your back, moving with a mix of respect and desire, as if seeking entry to something more than your body. Your legs tangled with his, seeking shared warmth, that warmth that starts as a brush and ends as an entire tongue speaking without a language.

He lay down next to you, pressed against you like a shadow finally merging with its origin. His warm breath grazed your neck, and you shivered. You closed your eyes, but not to sleep. You closed them to feel better, to let the touch speak for you.

—Is this... Real?— you asked, with a voice like water, like crystal trembling on the verge of breaking.

Won-woo didn’t respond immediately. He just held you tighter, as if holding you this way could seal something he didn’t yet know how to name.

—I don’t know— he whispered, his mouth barely grazing your clavicle. —But I don’t want it to stop.

And that was enough.

Because sometimes it’s not about understanding. Sometimes it’s just about being there, about allowing someone to come closer with that dangerous sweetness of someone who isn’t sure if they’ll stay, but touches you as if they will. Outside, the world could keep sleeping, ignorant of what burned inside those four walls.

But here, in this corner of night and desire, two souls were tentatively recognizing each other. And even though neither spoke the word “love”, in the way they touched —with fear, with surrender, with reverence— something sacred had already begun.

Because maybe love, at first, is nothing more than this: A shared silence, a tremble in the skin, the certainty that someone, at last, dared not to run away.

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf (I)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,305

CW: angst? depression, religious imagery, not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | prologue | next part

disclamer:  i do not own any of claim any of the A song of ice and  fire characters, all rights belong to GRR MARTIN, all characters are his except for my Original characters

Winterfell was a truly beautiful place, it spanned acres of land, and at its centre stood the gods woods. The gods woods were truly the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. You were lucky that your rooms, in a tower touching the clouds, faced out onto the woods. Allowing the view to be one you woke up to day and night.

Though it was the only view you saw, as you rarely left your rooms, rarely ate, and said even fewer words and grew a cold exterior.

You at first were visited often by both Creagan and Sara. Though the visits and constant nickering had caused an outburst from you, anger you had never once felt or shown spilling through. You had demanded space. And Cregan had listened, Sara had not.

Sara tried everything in you to leave your room, but her attempts feel on deaf ears

Until today.

You often stood watching out of your window, though it had the spectacular view of looking out onto the gods woods, you could rarely see anyone between the endless trees.

That was until you saw him.

He stood kneeled before the heart tree, deep in thought and prayer. He seemed so peaceful, as if the woods were the one place he could find the peace and quiet he deserved.

A smile graced your face as a memory brushed your mind.

You had been at Winterfell less than a week before you had the chance to see the gods’ woods. Cregan had taken you there himself, he seemed like an egar puppy when you had asked to see it, standing up from his seat and instantly taking your hand, nearly running down the halls as you made your way to the entrance.

A calming breeze had hit your face as you entered the woods, the feeling of the hot springs between your feet, instantly warming your whole body. The woods were covered in a soft layer of snow, the floor almost entirely untouched as it seemed the only footsteps were that of your own and Cregan’s.

You walked for a time, walking through thick layers of untouched trees, before you finally reached the centre, and the heart tree stood in all its glory.

With red trees and white bark, it allowed the faces carved so naturally in it to appear so clearly, they seemed to watch your every move, and as Cregan knelt before the trees, you swear you saw there faces move and there mouths moving to answer whatever prays Cregan was saying.

It was a funny feeling, never before had you felt the presence of the gods, never in the sept or before a septon. But here, in a natural place, land untouched and no alters erected to honour said gods, you felt them. A calming presence but also the fear of complete superiority over you. They seemed to welcome you, enough so that you yourself moved forward and knelt before the tree. You did not pray as you felt no need to, and the gods did not demand it of you, they simply welcomed you and made you feel there warmth. You closed your eyes beside Cregan, basking in there presence, and when you opened your eyes, you came face to face with a smiling Cregan.

“It is beautiful is it not?” he asked

“Spectacular” you replied, “ I have never felt or seen anything like this…the gods woods at the red keep is a mockery to this”

He smiled softly “it is an experience that is hard to explain, is it not?”

You nodded, moving to stand, “do you spend much time here?”

“as much time as I can with my duties”

You nodded, “a shame, I feel as if I never want to leave”

He laughed softly “then perhaps you shouldn’t”

Looking back on it apart of you is glad the rest of your life will be spent here, with the gods woods as you view, and had the circumstances been better you were sure you would love Cregan by now, be happily married even.

Instead you haunted the halls, depressed and yet to marry. Speaking little to no words, eating little, and spending your days writing endless letters to your only surviving brother Aegon, and you sisters Baela and Rhaena. You missed them so dearly and yet you could not bare the thought of seeing them.

It had been months, they had moved on, there letters expressing happy lives, contenting in the life they now had. And you, you had simply stopped time and lived in and endless loop.

You dressed quickly and stormed out of your rooms. You didn’t know where you were going, but it seemed your feet had made up their mind as before you knew it you were striding into the gods woods, startling Cregan from his thoughts.

He said you name Softley, moving to stand “you’re here?” he asked in a question, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“i-“ you started, through your mind when blank, a trait not new to you, but this time you seemed scared to speak, the last time you had truly spoken your mind, was when you watched your mother burn and that only ended in screams. You did not speak one word for moons after that and only after did you speak sweet lies, painting the yourself to be the picture of love and loyalty, and now all you wanted was to speak the truth, to say the words breaking you from the inside out, and yet all you could say was “I’m sorry”.

“what?” he asked softly, “what are you sorry for?”

“for months I have ignored your and Saras efforts to help me, taking your kindness for granted and giving you nothing in return-“

“its okay” he interrupted kindly, “I only wanted to help you, I never expected anything in return”

“except to marry me” you replied, it was the truth, a clear point in the alliance struck between the north and your mother.

“I am in no rush to marry” he moved towards you, “you have been- we have been through so much, I am sure the lords of the north will understand waiting however long you need”

But that wasn’t the case, you both knew it. In fact just the other day Sara, in one of her efforts to annoy into speaking, had stated how the lords were in uproar of your lack of a union, House Bolton at the for front of the complaints.

Once you longed for the days you and he would marry, though things between you then had turned sweet and shy, you craved the days he would marry you.

The first time you saw him you were in awe of him. He towered over you, his face cold and blank, but his eyes held a warmth to them. He welcomed you formally, though it lacked warmth. You both knew why you were there and yet all you could do was stare at him. Tracing the outline of his face with your eyes. Wondering how his hair might feel between your fingers.

You had smiled shyly at him as he walked you through the halls though neither of you spoke until you reached his solar.

“I have come on the behest of my mother, Queen Rhaenyra of house Targaryen” your proclaimed, stating your mothers name and title proudly.

“queen?” he had hummed.

“yes, King Viserys sadly passed in his sleep” you spoke with sadness lacing your voice, “my mother has requested me to remind you of your of your fathers Oath”

“the north remembers, princess, and there is no Stark who forgets his oath.” He looked at you quizzically then “though I must ask why you have been sent here, has the north caused mistrust with he crown?”

“no, my lord, it is quite the opposite” you had shook you head, “my uncle has usurped the iron throne, naming himself King Aegon II, I have only come to show the north the crown lies with the rightful heir, my mother”

He had nodded, “then I must ask if it is war you ask of us, princess”

“for know all I ask is your loyalty, we do not crave war, but if it comes to it we ask for the north support” you had remembered then that your mother had given you a script, she knew of your nerves, how you often stuttered, something that had never happened with Cregan, despite it being common even when you were only surrounded by family.

“you have my loyalty, but o shall need terms if it is war that is to come” you had nodded, kindly, agreeing.

Politics had never been an interest of yours, and yet the hours on hours you had spent talking treaties and alliances, not once did you wish to leave, in fact it seemed both of you had dragged it on for as long as you could, neither wanting to leave the others company.

You had accompanied each others every meal, even if no words were spoken, and only kind looks exchanged.

You had felt the warmth and welcoming feeling you lacked at first, and you had hoped that after your return to Dragonstone and the declaration of your betrothal with Cregan, the feeling would stay.

And despite a part of you wanting to feel cold and alone in the north, you had not once felt that way, and as Cregan looked at you now you realised that Winterfell had felt like home ever since you had first arrived, and the only coldness you raved was the one you felt in your heart, the one that you feared Cregan would melt.

 “that’s not true” you sad softly, replying to his statement on the lords agreeing with his decision to wait to marry. “it will be near to a year since my arrival soon enough, my brother even writes that we soon must wed” you moved towards him now, you bodies now only a breath away from each other “I…as much as I miss them, I must move on with life and we must marry” you spoke it sternly, why the realisation of you sisters being happy and content made you want to move on was unclear, you knew you would never stop mourning them, but you didn’t want to mourn what could have been with Cregan.

You had liked him so much at first, always blushing in his presence, even more so once Jace had noticed and pushed the two of you together, though you had both used him as a shield to your fancy of the other, making things turn even shyer between the two of you.

You had been happy with he match, and so had he, with shy smiles and longing in your gazes as the news was announced.

You wanted to marry him, not just for duty, and not just to sate your old self, but as Cregan smiled at you, gaze deep with care, you realised that perhaps the only happiness you would find would be with him.

He nodded, “sara spoke to you?” you nodded “ah, very well, but only if you are sure.

You smiled, reaching for his hand, “I need to marry you Cregan, it is my duty” you saw a slight drop in his smile at the word duty, so you continued, “as well as my desire”, his gaze grew heated, a heat you were a stranger too.

“very well, I will not deny my own…desire to marry you, princess, I have long admired you” he coughed awkwardly “it was me who asked your mother for your hand, after all”

You gasped slightly, “really? I had no idea.”

He laughed softly, “Of course, I had hoped my intentions were clear during our stay at Winterfell, I never left you alone”

“I never would have thought-“

“you have encompassed my every thought since I first laid eyes on you” he caressed your hand in his as his tone turned serious, “seeing you in pain these past months, has caused me agony, I am glad you wish to wed me soon, and I can only hope this is the start to the end of your tournament”

“I believe that marrying you is the only way I will be able to end it” you confided in him.

You had had nightmares non stop, your memories on repeat. Fire and blood, your house words and yet they were the very thing that brought you torment. The faces of your brothers, Jace and Luke lying dead at the bottom of the sea. Of Joffrey being torn to shreds, your mother burning. And of Viserys, sweet Viserys she dreamt of him to be alive, only to return home in anger at being abandoned by her and Aegon. The thought had filled her with dread. And fear for Aegon had the same dreams, and dreams like those were said to come true in your family. Your torment was of what had already happened, and the knowledge you could never change it, so the sudden need to pull yourself from the endless misery all from Cregan kneeling before the hearts tree confused you apart of you wondered if Cregan had been praying for your happiness for you torment to find a release, and the gods had answered.

You hoped they had, for you had no nightmares, only dreamless sleep after the day in the gods woods.

You had started to dine with Cregan for dinner, and Sara to break your fast.

Though your rooms were still the place you stuck to, Cregan’s and Saras demands for you to leave your chambers were answered, with walks and hours spent in the library or gods woods.

All as going well for you, until a letter from Aegon came.

Viserys was alive.

Taglist

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[nina-ya]

New Years Kisses With the Monster Trio + Law

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law (all separate). CW: None

This New Year’s, you found yourself on an island known for its grand annual festival and its spectacular fireworks show when the clock strikes midnight. The celebration filled the island with its festive air. Stalls were adorned with decorations,offering different treats, drinks and trinkets to festival goers. The melodies of the music filled the air, accompanied by the beats of the drums and the laughter of the crowd. Colorful lanterns decorated the pathways, casting a gorgeous glow over the setting. This New Year’s was bound to be an unforgettable one.

-

Luffy’s hand grasped yours as he started sprinting away from the crowds, dragging you with him. Shocked, you asked, “Where are we going?!”  He turned to look at you with a wide grin, laughing out loud before responding with, “You’ll see!” He ran, keeping your hands locked, as your curiosity heightened.

The Sunny came into view and confusion lingered in your eyes as the distant chant of the one-minute countdown started to fade away. Suddenly, Luffy stopped and said, “Hold on!” He stretched one arm around you, and the other swung back before launching forward, grasping the Sunny's head. The force sent you both flying, a mixture of fear and excitement bubbling within you as you clung onto Luffy.

You couldn’t help but let out the breath you had been holding as you landed on the Sunny’s head, still clinging onto him. Luffy, still grinning, looked out into the distance, remarking, “I thought the view might be better up here.” He laughed and continued, “Looks like I was right.”

This prompted you to lift your head from his chest to admire the surroundings. The elevated position on the Sunny’s head offered a breathtaking view of the festival below. The vibrant colors of the stalls and the lights all blended together to create an absolutely enchanting view.

The countdown continued, and as the clock ticked away, the crowd’s cheers grew louder. With each passing second, the excitement in the air became palpable. The islanders collectively shouted the final numbers in unison. “3… 2… 1…” 

As the clock struck midnight, the fireworks lit up the sky, illuminating both of your faces. You turned to Luffy, noticing the bursts of colors reflecting in his eyes as he stared at the fireworks with the widest grin. In the joyous chaos, you find the sudden courage to lean in, capturing Luffy's lips in a celebratory kiss. Your hands found their way onto his shoulders, your fingers lightly grazing his hair. Luffy smiles into the kiss as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you a bit closer. The fireworks continued to shine in the sky and the kiss deepened, this locking of lips sealing the promise of more adventures together in the upcoming year.

-

Zoro’s sharp gaze locked onto something in the distance, prompting him to make his way through the crowd. You followed closely behind him, curiosity and impatience evident in your expression. "What? Where are you going? The fireworks are about to start," you ask, tugging on his arm in an attempt to stop him.

"I thought I saw something suspicious, come on," Zoro replied, urging you to follow him. He led you into a secluded alleyway, and with no one around, you couldn't help but express your doubts. "Come on, Zoro, there's nothing here."

He turned a corner and continued down the alley, responding with, "He must have gone this way." You sighed, realizing that convincing him to return to the festival was not going to happen, so you gave up and started  trailing behind him.

Turning corners and walking through empty alleys, Zoro finally came to a stop when you heard the distant countdown. Panicking, you grabbed onto Zoro, attempting to guide him back to the heart of the festival, ignoring his protests. However, your efforts were to no avail , and you both found yourselves lost in the alleyways.

You sighed in defeat and grumbled about the unexpected turn of events. "This is not how I wanted to spend my New Year's."

"30…29…28…"

Zoro, unfazed, questioned your disappointment. "What? What's so wrong with this? You don't need to see the fancy fireworks, ya know."

“No, it's just—" you began to explain before frustration took over. "The fireworks were supposed to make it more romantic, and—"

"10…9…8…"

"Wait, make what more romantic?" Zoro asked, clearly confused.

As the countdown reached its climax you closed the remaining distance between you and Zoro. Your hands gently cupped his face, feeling the warmth beneath your fingertips. Zoro's gaze locked onto yours, his expression giving way to curiosity.

"5…4…3…2…1…"

Uttering "Happy New Year," you pressed your lips to Zoro's in a soft, lingering kiss. The initial touch was gentle. However, as the seconds passed, the kiss deepened. Zoro took control of the kiss. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as your lips moved in tandem.

The distant cheers of the crowd faded away as Zoro's kiss became more passionate. His lips molded against yours with intensity. The hands that were once at your waist now roamed, his touch leaving a trail of warmth on your skin. The festival no longer mattered as you felt Zoro’s lips leave yours in favor of planting kisses along your jaw and neck. You and Zoro were left in a world of your own as the fireworks served as a witness to the perfect way to start the new year.

-

Sanji had taken it upon himself to cook and serve some treats to the festival goers. As the night progressed and the crowd began to thin, leaving only you and Sanji, he approached you with a plate of the treats. The charming smile that had graced the faces of countless patrons now turned its warmth towards you.

"A specially prepared treat for a very special person," he declared, his eyes gleaming with sincerity.

You chuckled, savoring the delicious treat. "What would I do without you here to boost my ego?" you teased, taking a bite and humming in delight at the flavors.

"I'm only telling the truth," he replied, his smile never faltering.

As the crowd erupted into cheers, the distant sound of the countdown began. 

"10…9…8…"

Sanji's eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. 

"5…4…3…"

In the final seconds, Sanji closed the gap between you. 

"2…1…"

The kiss began with a soft press of lips, a gentle exploration that quickly ignited with desire. Sanji's lips moved with confidence, coaxing a whimper from you. The taste of the treat he had given you lingered, adding a sweetness to the kiss.

His hand cupped your face, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Fingers trailed along the curves of your jaw, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in their path. 

Your senses heightened as the kiss unfolded, and you found yourself lost in the sensations—his warmth, the taste of him, the sounds of your intertwined breaths. Your fingers entwined in the silky strands of the blonde hair, pulling him closer in a silent invitation for more. 

You finally pulled away, and as your eyes met, a breathless smile played on his lips, and he whispered, "Happy New Year, my love." The words were a promise for the days and nights that awaited, filled with the shared moments of joy, laughter, and maybe, many more kisses in the coming year.

-

The crowd gathered as the time inched closer and closer to midnight, bringing you and Law closer in proximity. The distant sounds of laughter, music, and chatter built up as the anticipation grew. You walked beside Law when you heard the subtle uttering of "room" and "shambles." In an instant, you found yourselves on a rooftop, the edge looming dangerously close. Your heart raced as you dropped the treat in your hand. Simultaneously, Law grabbed your arm, pulling you back from the edge. "Too many people down there," he remarked, the reason for the teleportation becoming clear. 

The city lights below were absolutely stunning from above, their reflections shimmering on the surface of the nearby sea. The gentle breeze caressed your skin and the moon softly glowed, adding to the beauty of the scene.

"It's pretty up here," you commented, your voice barely above a whisper as you took in the view. 

Law agreed, his gaze fixed on the city lights. "It is..." His usual stoic expression softened as he looked at you. The countdown started, and excitement rippled through the crowd.

“10…9…8…7…”

You joined in the chant, leaning forward with enthusiasm. The distant rumble of the crowd below reached your ears as they continued to chant.

“3… 2… 1…”

As the cheers erupted around you, you felt Law's fingers gently grasp your chin, turning your face toward his. Before you could fully comprehend, his lips met yours. A whimper of surprise escaped you, but your heart quickened, and you melted into the kiss. 

The distant 'boom' of a firework echoed through the air, momentarily interrupting the moment. However, Law didn't pull away. Instead, he deepened the kiss, 

his lips molding against yours with intensity.

When Law finally pulled away, the air around you felt warmer. A smile played on your lips and his hand lingered on your chin as he whispered, “Happy New Year.” Before you could form a response, he leaned in once again, capturing your lips in a second kiss– a silent promise of the new and exciting future that awaited the two of you.

[ryewwww]

Bully Gojo with NerdReader who has to tutor him?

-> the way people eat up bully!gojo, I’m here for it 🙂‍↕️

⚠️: NONCON, manipulative!gojo, mean!gojo, physical abuse, drugged!reader, bondage, dacryphilia, blood (gojo wants you to scratch him till he bleeds), unprotected sex

This is fucked, so read at your own risk. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

Satoru first laid eyes on you in the library

You were staring at your laptop, eyebrows scrunched, eyes switching between the screen and the paper in front of you

He’d seen you around before, despite the university being quite big

But hey, maybe that’s fate calling

Actually, fate was definitely calling, because when he walked into the math centre to get some help on his homework, he wasn’t expecting you to be there either

You sat alone, eyes glued to your iPad

It was unusual for Satoru to walk in a room and all eyes not being on him

So, he took the initiative and sat down next to you

Only then did you snap your head around, looking at him like, 'How dare you sit next to me?!'

But you didn’t say anything, just looked up at him one time before your gaze settled back on your work

He takes his stuff out, twirling his pencil between his long fingers

He easily peers over your head and sees that you’re working on the same homework assignment he has

Perfect

“Hey, are you in math 206 too?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“How are you finding the assignment?”

“It’s a little hard… that’s why I’m here.”

The conversation was awkward, you were awkward, but Satoru was never one to back down from a challenge

Now he knew where you liked to hang out

Every day, he'd show up at the math help center, and you'd work through problems together

As time went by, you were beginning to let your guard down. Obviously, you were a bit skeptical of Satoru because I mean look at him. You didn’t want him to just use you for answers or as a free tutor because you let one too many people get away with using you.

You wanted to believe he was different. And it didn’t help that he was so so charming.

Finals were coming up fast, the math centre was closing so you and Satoru had to find a study spot.

It was getting late, the libraries were closing and you were having difficulties finding a nice place to study

Therefore, Satoru saw it as the perfect opportunity to reel you back to his place

“I don’t live too far from campus. You wanna go back to my place to study? We can get some pizza before going up.”

Satoru said it so casually, that you felt comfortable enough to accept his offer. Besides, he’s your friend right? You trust him.

He leads you back to his nice, sports car and drives back to his place. He had placed the order for the pizza online, so by the time you got there, it was done.

You knew Satoru was wealthy, just from the way he dressed. But you could have never imagined it to this extent. Because living in a penthouse in the heart of downtown, he had to be paying over 10k a month for this place.

The view was spectacular, the city lights sparkling everywhere you looked

Satoru knew his place carried a charm like him. Usually, a girl would forget about why they came over and pounce on him, no questions asked.

But you were a hard nut to crack

“You wanna see the view from the balcony?”

“Actually, can we go back to studying?”

You’re sitting at the table, Satoru close by watching you do another math question.

He notices the increase yawning so he asks, “you want some coffee?”

“Yeah. Some coffee would be great.” Your voice soft, laced with exhaustion

Now, Satoru didn’t want to resort to this, but fuck, his patience was running thin. Had it been another girl he would’ve bed them by now and they’d probably be on their way out.

But you either are a airhead, or you didn’t see him in that way. But either way, it’s unacceptable to him.

So, his mind goes back to a pill his best friend, Suguru gave him.

When you were focused, Satoru slipped away, retrieved the pill and roofied your coffee.

When you wake up, your head is pounding, arms restrained behind your back, legs tied apart.

You turn your head in a panic and see Satoru on top, holding you in place by the neck.

He smirks when he notices you’re awake

You try to move but you can’t so naturally, you begin to cry

He hushes you, hand pushing harder against your neck.

You whimper, your mind starting to focus on the pain penetrating your lower abdomen

You don’t know the time, don’t know how long this has been going on, or how you even got in this position

He restricted your movement, moving faster into you so all you could do is whine and squirm

“Finally awake, princess?” He grunted, dick still pounding into you

“Was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake.” And he laughs. He laughs like drugging and forcing himself onto you was funny.

He pulls out, undoing your restraints and flipping you onto your back. Your legs are resting on his shoulder and he’s pushing into you again

You wanted to fight back but your arms hurt from being restrained so tightly and for so long

The most you could do is claw at his back or chest but it didn’t bother him

No, instead he fucking loved it

“Yeah, baby. Gonna scratch me up? Good, make me bleed.”

In return, he starts nipping all over your neck, covering it with red and purple marks.

His hands dug into your thighs, pushing it back before cumming deep inside of you

You finish unwillingly around him with a sob.

He pulls out, harshly pushing you aside

You curl up, trying to soothe yourself from his brutality but Satoru couldn’t find a fuck in him to give

“Put your clothes on and get the fuck out of here.”

You don’t waste any time, crawling to the floor and putting your clothes on in a hurry.

Before you could escape out of there, Satoru got up, pulling you back by your hair.

A phone was shoved in your face and on it is a video of Satoru fucking you ruthlessly

The colour drains from your face

“You tell anyone about this, I will post this every fucking where, with your name plastered on it, do you understand?”

“Why are you doing this?”

He pulls your head harder, “I said, do you fucking understand me?”

“Y-yes. I-I won’t tell you anyone. Please, just let me go home.”

He lets go of your hair and you feel like you can finally breathe

You scurried off, thinking that this would be the end of it

But you couldn’t be more wrong

Here you go, I hope it wasn’t too dark. I won’t be writing a part 2 for this because it’s so similar to the other bully!gojo h.c I have.

[deadhands69]

Villain Radio

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader League of Villains Band & Roommate AU (quirkless)

Gimme Shelter you respond to a 'roommate wanted' ad, leading you to an off-kilter house full of familiar (and new!) faces **note to the taglist: if you're on the bnha//shigaraki taglists and were added to this and you'd like to be taken off, please let me know! this one is ongoing for a while, sometimes has two smaller parts shared per day, and will be a lot of notifications if it's not what you're here for.**

[previous track] [next track] [discography]

Earlier this morning, you responded to an ad from a house looking for a roommate. They replied almost immediately. 

Which brings you here an hour later, to a different part of town than usual.

Passing through the neighborhood, it seems nice enough. Nothing spectacular, but you really just need a place to live. You could see yourself getting comfortable here. 

There’s a corner market a block away from your destination and a series of relatively simple houses following. You pull up in front of one that seems a little off kilter. You can't quite put your finger on what it is that's off, but there's something. Double checking the address, looks like you’re here.

It’s seated between a grey house with white trim on the right and pale yellow house with a massive fence on the left. You can tell it was painted white, at some point, but the paint has chipped so much that it’s mostly wood. There’s a huge awning over the front porch, someone appears to be passed out on top of it.

Off to an interesting start.

You approach the door, which is wide open. There’s a handwritten sign hanging from a nail that says “this is keith’s house we just live in it.” Keith isn't who you've been talking to. You're definitely at the correct address though, you double checked. Just as you’re about to knock on the doorframe, a magenta haired man comes around the corner.

“Hey, you y/n?” he asks, he looks familiar. Really familiar, but you can’t quite place it. 

“Yeah,” you answer, “are you Spinner?”

“That is me,” he turns and waves you in. “Thanks for coming by on such short notice, I really appreciate it. I’ll show you the room and if you like it, I can show you the rest of the house too.” You follow him up the stairs, wondering what’s not to like about a bedroom.

Two doors down and to the right, he pushes open the door. It’s small, but cute. And bigger than the space you currently have. The single window faces out into a tree which isn’t the worst view in the world. All of that plus the cheap rent, you’re sold.

“Yeah, this is great,” you say, seeing how much space the closet has. “It’ll be perfect for me. Can I see the rest of the house too?”

“Definitely!” He's a lot more chipper now that he can see you’re really interested in moving in. “Bathroom,” he says as you pass by heading back towards the stairs, “pretty standard. There are four of us here, five if you move in, and that’s the only one on this floor. There’s another one downstairs though. Hope that’s not an issue.”

“Not at all,” you’re used to sharing small spaces and from what you’ve seen, this is spacious enough.

Coming back into the living room, he points out outlets and furniture around the space. It's pretty open, which is nice. 

You see someone with messy black hair behind a massive cup of coffee enter the room and quickly recognize the bassist from the band you saw last week. Darby or something. 

“Oh, hey. Record store person!” he says as soon as he sees you.

“y/n,” you say, giving a slight wave. What are the odds of seeing him here? 

"I'm Dabi," he says, finishing what's left of his coffee.

“Oh, and that’s Keith,” Spinner adds, pointing at a giant maine coon cat that's practically melted into the armchair. 

“Keith,” you repeat, “that’s an interesting name for a cat.”

“It’s because he’s scraggly and looks like Keith Richards. We left the door open once and he just moved in,” Dabi adds. 

“Huh, cool.” You say as Spinner walks you to the kitchen. Dabi follows, busying himself restarting the coffee maker. 

The kitchen is cute. It's much bigger than what you're used to even if you will be sharing it with four other people. 

“So, the next part, if you're still interested.” You nod enthusiastically. Spinner continues, “the rent. We listed the price on the ad. It's not a lot compared to most places, but we need to have some idea that you can actually pay it consistently.”

“I work part time at a record store. I know it's not a lot, but I could try to pick up some extra shif–”

“You have a job that actually pays?” exclaims Dabi, “approved.”

“Wait, seriously?” you ask, hoping he’s not joking. 

“Yeah,” adds Spinner, “you're the fir–”

He's interrupted by someone walking into the room, yawning and grumbling, “Dabi, I can top that crazy dream you had the other night–” 

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the guitarist from the other night comes out of the stairwell and into the kitchen in his sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. Seeing you, he stops. Suddenly, you realize why everyone in this house looks familiar – it’s not just the bassist, it’s the whole band.

“Whoa, hi. You're in my kitchen,” Tomura says, wide eyed.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I didn't realize you lived here – I just responded to the ad looking for a roommate.”

“Cool,” Tomura says, scratching his neck. “Uh, I have to go.” He runs towards the hall, checking his shoulder on the doorway on his way out. 

“Is he okay?” you ask the others. 

“Oh yeah, he'll be fine. We told him a potential roommate was coming by this morning so he knew what to expect. That's a little jumpy even for him, but you get used to him.” Spinner says, unconvincingly. “Just, don't judge us too much for it, you're the only person who's responded that actually has a job and doesn't smell really weird.”

You laugh, but they stare back at you seriously. 

“Okay, well,” you dig through your bag for an envelope, “I have the prorated rent for the month, the last month's rent, and deposit.”

“Perfect,” Spinner says before being interrupted again. A blonde haired girl with space buns comes through the front door. Judging by the backpack, you would guess she's on her way to school. 

“Morning! My girlfriend’s coming to your band practice with me later, can you guys try to be normal for once?” she says, helping herself to some of the coffee Dabi was waiting for and adds a heaping spoonful of sugar. 

“That’s Toga,” Spinner says, “she’s our neighbor Twice’s little cousin. She moved in with him after her parents kicked her out.”

After a brief argument with Dabi about the coffee, Toga is out the door again.

This house is a whirlwind and you’ve only been here fifteen minutes at most. 

“Uhm, other important things. We don't have a lot of house rules,” Spinner says, “just try not to be a dick most of the time.” You swear he glances in specific directions before continuing, “we all share some basic staple food, like the coffee,” that time he directly looks at Dabi, who’s made himself at home on top of the kitchen counter. “But if there’s something more specific, put your name on it and no one will touch it. Also, as a heads up, the back door locks if you close it all the way and the guy in the yellow house hates us so try to avoid him. Otherwise, welcome. When can you move in?”

“Tonight?” you ask, hopefully. 

“Perfect,” Spinner replies, handing you a key from his pocket.

Moving goes quickly. As soon as you pull up in front of the house, three people come out to help you bring your boxes in. This includes Dabi, although you think he's just being nice so you'll tell your coworker how great of a roommate he is. 

It also doesn't hurt that you never really unpacked when you moved into your last apartment. This time, it’s different though. It’s the type of place you could stay for a while. You spend the rest of the day unboxing your belongings and getting your space set-up.

When you come out that evening to make dinner, you notice a lime green post-it on your door.

“welcome to the house.”

[next track] [discography] [bnha masterlist]

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@chimaerakirin

[damiansgoodgirll]

hey queen, how are you?

can i request something with damian where it’s not really smut but suggestive where he constantly teases reader and she gets all shy please?

i’m better thank you!

damian priest x reader

‼️not smut but very very VERY VERY suggestive

on my knees for you

everyone noticed the sexual tension between you and damian. well, everyone except you. you just thought he was being funny and playful even in his words always left butterflies in your stomach.

it started with him calling you beautiful or, as you preferred, hermosa.

he knew that spanish was making you going crazy and he loved seeing you all red and embarrassed.

everytime there was an event, you would travel together. he would drive if the show was only a few cities away from your town. and car rides with him was something you always loved. he always let you pick the music, he never bothered you if you wanted to sleep and if you were feeling chatting he would always talk to you.

everything seemed so friendly except his body language was betraying him.

the way his hand would lay on your thigh. or the way he would move your hair away from your face if you were sleeping.

he was attracted to you and if he could he would bend you over his car anytime you were together. he knew he had to control this side of him because he didn’t want to lose you.

but as the days and weeks passed, the compliments became a little bit stronger.

from “that dress looks good on you” to “that dress makes me wanna tear it apart and have you naked underneath my body”. from “i can help you with some wrestling moves” to “i can show you some wrestling moves in my bed”.

damian knew he was testing the water but he loved every single moment of it.

and he knew the game was about to began when he saw you entering the gym.

it was late at night and the gym was practically empty except for a few locals.

“hey…good evening or more like, good night” you waved at him when you saw him.

“it would be a good night if you come home with me” he teased and that simple sentence made you weak in the knees.

“dam…”

“what? i could show you some moves that you don’t see me doing here at the gym” he moved closer to you so now you were face to face. he loved teasing you and you knew it.

“oh shut up” you playfully hit him “let’s train cause we have an important match to do”

“we could do that in my bed…”

“damian!” you almost shouted “get your ass here and help me with those weights”

he moved quickly and helped you with the different weights while he was fixing his shoes. he was on his knees with you standing in front of him “i would get on my knees for you every single day you know…” he whispered looking directly into your eyes.

you felt hot.

you were hot.

“dams…get up”

“no seriously…the view down here is spectacular…i wonder how would you look like this but riding my face…” he got closer to you body. you were lucky the only people in the gym were in a different room, leaving you and damian alone.

“damian…would you help me train or not?”

“would you ride my face afterwards?” he asked shamelessly.

“maybe…” you teased back, taking him by surprise he wasn’t used to this side of you.

“and would you let me bend you over on my kitchen table?” he said slowly coming back face to face with you “and would you let me wrap my hands around your throat?” he held eye contact, knowing that you would have looked away “and would you let me make you cum all night long?” he was taken aback when you held eye contact back “and would you let make you mine?”

you were feeling all shaky but you couldn’t show it. you were completely wet as damian was completely hard and you knew you wouldn’t be able to train now.

“damian…what has gotten into you?” you whispered.

“you have no idea for how long i’ve been wanting to see this pretty pussy…” he slowly wrapped his hands around your waist. it looked like he was giving you a simple hug but you were feeling his dick pressed between your thighs “i want to taste you and make you cum on my lips and then on my fingers and then on my cock…i wanna see you on all fours for me, your ass up in the air while you’re taking me…i wanna leave your body covered in bites and marks…i wanna let everybody know that you are mine…and i wanna see you choke on my dick while i’m praising you for being a good girl…i wanna see you crying from pleasure and being so cockdrunk that you can’t even think straight…i want you to be a mess for me…and then i wanna take care of you, hold you, make you feel safe and protected, clean you up and shower you with love because that’s what you deserve…and i’m willing to do that if you let me” he whispered into your ear while you were trying your best to not whimper anytime he said something horny.

“fuck…what are you waiting for?” you whispered back and that was enough for him to drag you out of the gym and back to his place.

he was ready to have you at his mercy and you couldn’t wait for it to happen.

[simmervlogs]

Hello Simmers, indulge your stay at Pointe Milou!  A vacation rental/home in the lovely world of Sulani, inspired by St. Barts.

Pointe Milou is a twist of brutalism and coastal architecture. It is a 3-bedroom villa in the heart of Sulani, with spectacular views. This property offers the views and spectacular sunsets Sulani is known for. The villa is walking distance of the town with its own sauna and pool. The large heated pool dominates the outdoor space which faces the private beach right in your backyard. The deck is perfect for lounging by the decadent pool or simply to enjoy the sunshine Sulani has to offer.

With floor to ceiling windows, Inside the property boasts high ceilings and has multiple skylights for the sun to radiate through. The fully-equipped kitchen offers a spacious and modern pantry, two large islands, coffee bar and state of the art TV installation. This property has three generous bedrooms each with their own private bathrooms. The dinning opens up to the outdoor kitchen and bar, perfect for a nightcap or two. Be it day or night, the Pointe Milou has built in LED light system perfect for any mood or setting.

Whether you are here for short time or planning on moving into this luxurious property, you will experience a stay you cannot forget.

Please note almost everything is CC and the items were not created by me! Please let me know if anything is missing, there were a lot of cc items! Laundry Day  (washing machines, hampers) Spa Day (sauna, meditation pouf, yoga mat), required for function.

Please do support and directly download from all the creators mentioned! I have attached the CC folders too for convenience. I have decided to share the folders via Google drive for ease of access so please let me know if you have any tips or questions xx

Do check out my Tiktok, live almost everyday building!

INSTRUCTIONS

Please directly move all the files in CC zip folder to your Mods folder.

Please move  Tray files (Tray files folder) to your Tray folder (enable bb.moveobjects on).

Gallery ID-  SimmerVlogs (Enable CC)

TikTok- simmervlogs

Note-  I have placed this down in Sulani- 40X30 lot

Thank you once again to all CC creators!

DOWNLOAD (Patreon)

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Holidays Shana!! I really love your prompts about Greek mythology. Could you write a continuation of Hades or God's and Monsters?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Zagreus is mid word when he stills, eyes going distant. "Huh. I'll be right back."

"You're joking," Megaera says flatly. "You can't just drop this on me and-"

"Technically, Than did that." He would really prefer if Zagreus didn't pull him into this. "I'll be quick. She's calling me, it can't be anything good."

"Who's she?" Megaera demands but Zagreus is already gone. She scowls and turns to the others. "Who's she?"

"Eliana, maybe," Sisyphus offers, completely unruffled at Megaera's ire. "At least take a look out the balcony. This is the highest point in the court and the view is really spectacular."

It is. Thanatos hadn't known the underworld could be beautiful before he'd seen what Zagreus had built.

Her eyes narrow. "How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, I can't say for sure," Sisyphus shrugs, his lips almost curling into a smile. "I wasn't really there for the beginning."

"I was."

They both turn to Patroclus. Eurydice is the only one of them that's suitably wary of either him or Megaera.

"He grew poms in my clearing first," he continues. "It's where we grew things until it became too full and then he created this. Zagreus has woven protections around it, to keep others from stumbling upon it accidentally, but I'm sure you could find it if you looked."

Megaera crosses her arms. "I'm not leaving."

Patroclus shrugs. Eurydice looks longingly towards the door and Sisyphus seems to actually be enjoying himself.

Thanatos stiffens, pain with no physical cause blooming from his chest. "He's died."

"Really?" Eurydice asks, taking a step closer. "He doesn't really do that anymore."

"Except for show," Sisyphus adds, frowning. "But you're both here."

Before Thanatos can decide how he feels about that, Zagreus is slipping back through the mirror, flicking off blood from his arms. "Sorry about that, Artemis wanted a favor."

Thanatos cannot have heard what he thinks he did.

"Artemis?" Megaera repeats dangerously.

"Oh, she told Aphrodite by the way," he adds casually, then pauses. "Actually, she was pretty surprised to see me, so I guess Artemis just called me and let her figure it out herself. Cold."

"Well, this is all unraveling," Patroclus says, but he doesn't seem that worried about it. Not nearly worried about it as Thanatos thinks he should be.

Zagreus shrugs. "They can keep a secret. Also it's been almost fifty years already, this can't go on forever. I suppose I could just challenge Demeter outright?"

"Do not do that," Eurydice says.

Thanatos wants to sit down.

"Have you LOST YOUR MIND?" Megaera screeches, grabbing Zagreus's shoulders. Her nails dig into him, but he doesn't bleed. "You can't do this! You can't - have you - this is crazy!"

Zagreus shrugs, pressing her nails deeper into him. "What's she going to do? Kill me?"

"There will be war," Thanatos says quietly while Megaera seems lost for words.

"Long overdue, if you as me," he says casually. "She's killing a lot of people, Than. She's undermining the other gods and making things worse for everyone all because she lost her daughter. She's turning against her own domain because her grief is more important than her duty. I can't make my mother talk to Demeter. But I have the power to stop her, to put an end to this winter. So I have to stop her."

"This isn't your responsibility, Zag," Thanatos says quietly.

"No," he agrees, expression souring. "It's my mother's. But if the goddess of spring won't do her duty and put an end to winter, then I will."

"Why?" Megaera asks, something small and scared in her that Thanatos hasn't seen since the first time she heard of Zagreus attempting to escape. "Why does it have to be you?

"I am a son of life's beginning and of life's ending." Zagreus says gently. "I know there is balance. I exist because of that balance. When I was born, I had too much of my father, and Nyx filled me with my mother's blood, because I can only exist when there is both." Thanatos hadn't known that, hadn't known how exactly his mother managed to save a stillborn Zagreus. "Who else, Meg?"

She doesn't have an answer.

There isn't one.