#these parts just made me uncomfortable in a way that like

[sleepynoons]

hi op feel free to ignore everything under - all you need to know is i love your writing *shakes head vigorously*

there are several things i think were immaculately done, but that'd require me to churn out an entire research paper, which i don't have the brain cells for anymore post-finals. so here are some scattered thoughts yep and yap

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i don't gravitate towards mysterious or reserved characters because my personality simply doesn't mesh well with them. in fact, when i was watching wbk, i was always so wary of suo, and felt lowkey a lil uncomfortable with him LMFAO

but strangely enough, i think this discomfort became a very integral and driving force throughout my reading experience. of course, this was already the case due to the violent and dark nature of yakuzas, underground sex work, etc., but emphasizing suo's yandere-ness and how he doesn't shy away from it really completed the tone of the story. also, i feel like i came to terms with suo's character, which i rarely ever experience in general. really, this is all to say that it makes total logical sense in my brain to imagine a route where suo evolves into a yandere, and part of me strongly believes his real background in the wbk manga/anime won't be too happy-go-lucky either (otherwise the alternative would be like him wearing an eyepatch for the shtick bc he's a chuuni??? idrk????).

anyway, the reoccurring theme of redirection in suo's tactics really sealed the deal for me, and i think it was a good way to tie in references to his relationship to his master, the martial arts that we know he's especially good at, and how all of these things he's kinda exploited and sullied to "become a worse person for you." suo being very knowing and intentional is so snakey and creepy but also, i get a lil fucked up when it comes to men who are obsessed, so also incredibly erotic LMFAO i also just want someone to buy me a luxury penthouse out of concern for my safety *sad fist bump*

one thing i did find unexpected is suo's leadership within the yakuza. yes, necessary for the plot, otherwise he wouldn't be able to pull any strings. but because source material heavily emphasizes leaders as individuals like umemiya or sakura or even hiiragi, it's interesting to place suo in juxtaposition with them. not sure if it's bc i don't find suo particularly reliable in general, but i think this fic made me realize that he's still wise beyond his years and very, very ruthless. it's def very telling that, throughout the story, suo resorts to fear to assert power. anyway, i j think it was a particularly interesting detail to add in his role in the succession conflict.

btw, i do like how suo's change and transition isn't fully told or revealed. it's not a story meant for us, as it's a truth really for suo and reader. but even reader can't really keep up with him at times, and i find that dynamic really charming, as sadistic as that sounds. i like that reader is so vulnerable. i like that reader is not afraid to be vulnerable around him in the ways that matter, even when she's aware that he's fucking insane. and i really like that reader is aware of how much it takes to be vulnerable, so she doesn't push him. i think reader restrains herself (un)knowingly, and that's her way of loving him. obv less romantic in real life lol (don't try to fix anyone, been there, done that, lost myself, and still finding myself), but i do like how reader is suo's salvation :,,, even if she doesn't think she's particularly patient, she really is - like girl, Fuck Him Already!!!!!!

(could go on and on about how juicy the friction and tension is between suo and reader but that's for pt 2 hehehe)

this is kinda my half-assed transition into talking about reader, and honestly, my thoughts from earlier encapsulate the general thesis i have about her: she's really a lot like suo, way more than she thinks. i think she operates in very similar ways, just goes about it differently.

i think reader is way more reckless. she's very self-sacrificing. she's very good at putting up a front, even when she's internally low in confidence and self-respect. i think she just wants to be happy with suo, and hopefully, with their other friends as well.

and truly, i think suo has very similar end goals. i just think, with how things turned out, suo made the very calculated yet risky (also aggressive?) decision to do the things that he did. making their underlying principals and values and reactions so oddly similar, from my perspective, is sooooo neat, and it adds more depth to why they go so well together.

also, reader is so brilliantly the comedic relief in this whole thing. usually, in storytelling, it's someone else and is used as fodder. i really like how reader is a lil awkward and bad with timing and everything else, cause it makes the reading experience flow so much better. really helped with the pacing of the story, gave it the character + breathing space needed to process everything. i also just like my readers a little fucking hilarious.

anyway, op, so beautifully written - see you in pt 2 gg

TOKYO VICE | part 1

You knew that if you agreed to move in with Suo, you'd be setting yourself up for a life without autonomy. You also knew that these alarming behaviours were all signs that he desperately needed therapy to process his master’s untimely death. Living with a man in constant grief, who refused to talk about his trauma unless he was making up a lie related to the nation of China, was probably not a good decision. Doubly so when this man was clearly paranoid about losing you, and triply so when he was a high-ranking member of a violent syndicate. Unfortunately for you, you rarely made good decisions. (Or: After joining the yakuza, Suo develops the concerning habit of controlling every facet of your life. This is somehow less worrying to you than your uncontrollable lust around him.)

8.7k words. suo x fem reader. deeply unserious yakuza au. yandere suo (not abusive and reader is into it), dark comedy, a little angst, smut. warnings: borderline sex work, off-screen criminal violence. nsft �� no actual smut in this chapter, but there are still graphic discussions of sex. mdni. thank you to @sleepyqinfei for beta reading and to @/cafekitsune for the banner!

sequel to sincerity and this sakura/reader wip

part 2 here

You’re not exactly sure why you and Suo have never fucked.

It’s certainly strange, given that you're pretty sure that Suo has expressed at least passing interest in you over the years, and you have felt a lot of interest in him. (By ‘interest’, you mean that you feel an insatiable lust around him that you fight to ignore on a daily basis.) You can't exactly pinpoint why nothing has ever happened despite this mutual attraction, especially given your profession and indifferent feelings toward casual sex.

You can think of a number of probable reasons, which are separate from those you classify as stupid reasons. The latter class comprises silly concerns like a fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, fear of not being pretty enough, fear of not being good enough, et cetera. All very juvenile feelings—insecurities that you had in your teenage years, the days in which Suo ran around Makochi as a delinquent while you worked an honest job at a bar. (It was a girls’ bar in the red light district, but that's neither here nor there.) Your circumstances have since changed, and those anxieties have since faded. None of them have any material consequence for your current life, so you don't see any point in thinking about them.

The stupid reasons, then, definitely don't have anything to do with why you've never fucked Suo. But you can think of a few, more concrete reasons that may explain it. For one, Suo has been your friend since childhood and it’s generally a bad idea to have sex with your long-time friends. He was also your roommate for a while and it’s an even messier idea to have sex with your roommates. And now, in your adulthood, he’s your landlord in addition to being your boss, which makes him the worst possible person you could have sex with. You could lose both your home and your livelihood if things go south—both severe, material consequences that should theoretically keep your lust at bay.

Also, he's also a member of the yakuza.

Now, strictly speaking—you're not really opposed to having sex with violent criminals. It’s definitely not a good idea, but you don't usually have good ideas anyway. But for the past several years, you’ve been pissed at Suo for joining the yakuza in the first place, which actually does keep your blatant attraction to him in check. You simply dry up when you think too hard about all the feelings of betrayal.

When Suo was on the cusp of graduating from Furin and thinking about his future, you’d grabbed him by the collar and made him promise not to join the yakuza. They constantly tried to recruit from Bofurin, and they especially wanted Sakura, Suo, and Sugishita. You were adamant about chasing them off from Suo and Sakura whenever they approached—you had no need to worry about Sugishita, as Umemiya had already said he shouldn't talk to them, so there was no chance he was going to—and you begged Suo over and over not to join. Delinquency was fine, but a crime syndicate was something else altogether.

Suo seemed serious about it when he said he'd listen to you. He even applied to colleges, talked about maybe becoming a teacher and eventually supporting you so you could stop working in the mizu shobai industry. Back then, he often teased you by saying that you should marry him and be his housewife (or he could be your trophy husband, if you so wished). You thought he was joking, but with the way he always talked about his life after his degree, you wondered if he would seriously suggest it.

Of course, it was most likely just teasing, and you were fine with that. You were simply excited that he'd found a career that would make him happy. Nirei had also been accepted to university at that point, and even Sakura had an honest job lined up on Keisei Street. The future had looked bright for everyone.

Then Suo’s master died, and he lost his fucking mind.

The two of you buried Suo’s master in a Chinese funeral. He had never had children of his own, having satisfied his paternal instincts by picking up strays, and he didn't have much in the way of family in Japan either, so you and Suo performed the shou ling yourselves. One person kept a constant vigil over his body while the other searched on Google for what arrangements should be made next. After all, while Suo’s master had immersed his foremost disciple in his culture, he had never taught Suo any funerary customs. He hadn't thought there would be a need.

Suo didn't cry nearly as much as you, but he was probably in more pain. Your master had trained you a little bit when you were a kid, and he'd taken you in for a while after your parents kicked you out, so of course you were gutted. But he had practically raised Suo, so it was naturally worse for him. More shattering.

You often think about the first night you decided you'd sleep with him in the same futon because he was crying so much. He insisted he was fine, but he didn't complain when you got under the sheets with him and started thumbing away his tears. When you took off his eyepatch, you found, to your astonishment, that he was crying from his missing eye as well. Both of you thought the tear ducts had been destroyed in either the accident or the enucleation, but it appeared that not even that prior trauma could mask his grief over this one.

Nevertheless, by the time of the funeral procession, Suo had stopped crying.

“Master supported us and taught us to stand on our own two feet,” he said as the joss paper burned. He took your hand in his and smiled. “So it'll be fine. We’ll be okay on our own. I'll make sure of it.”

At the time, you had found this very comforting. You didn’t think too much of it, as you had a bad habit of relying on Suo for your emotional stability. His master had raised him to be an emotionally intelligent person, so it had been fine, even though you had a track record of reckless decisions. He’d still exercised endless patience with you. He never once got angry with you, nor did he ever force you to do what he felt was the right thing. Instead, he gently redirected your self-damaging behaviours—not so different from the martial art that he practised.

He disapproved of the run-down and lonely conditions of your apartment, so he spent a great deal of time there and helped make it into a proper home. He didn't like how dangerous your job at the girls’ bar was, so he walked you to and from work every night until you never left without him. He worried when you started having sex with your customers, especially when you began having nervous breakdowns over it (you were, after all, still a teenager and really only interested in having romantic vanilla sex with Suo), so he staged an intervention with Nirei and Sakura. In this way, Suo convinced you that you were loved and protected and didn't need to do something you hated so much. They would get you out if you felt trapped. And you didn't feel trapped, per se, so you left on your own—but it was still only because of them. You promised them afterwards that you'd never do it again.

This was Suo’s brand of kindness as a teenager. He always taught people, guided them away from harm rather than steering them—a behaviour he’d mimicked from your master. Your master, in general, had defined all of Suo’s values and his way of living, which was honest and gentle and conscientious. It was one where he used his abilities to protect the weak and care for his friends. He even kept his spiteful and alarmingly violent tendencies under control, though sometimes he slipped when fighting genuine assholes. But he still tried. He tried because he strived to be as kind as his master—who represented everything that Suo wanted to be in his adult life.

Thus, the death of Suo’s master meant the death of his principles. It changed the kind of man that Suo wanted to be. You don't want to say that he became a worse person, but he absolutely became a worse person.

He especially became a worse person with you.

As it turned out, Suo’s idea of making sure that the two of you would be fine on your own was, well, not really fine. It wasn’t that he became cruel to you, per se. It was more that whenever he saw a problem with your behaviour, his approaches to redirecting it became—put as nicely as possible—heavy-handed.

After your master’s death, you got a job at a high end, yakuza-owned club. Two weeks later, Suo broke his promise to you and joined the yakuza. So I can stay close to you, he explained gently, wiping away your tears as you cried hysterically, but you're convinced to this day that he did it partly out of spite. So a few years later, when you started having sex with your customers again and he tried to stop you, you decided to spite him back. I need to stay on top of the rankings, you'd explained dispassionately. The mamasan said it's fine, and the manager doesn't care. He even thinks it's good for business.

Suo’s response was to simply become the owner of your club.

This move was very extreme, but also very effective. Any customer who so much as brushed against you on the premises was instantly thrown out, and the mamasan started watching you like a hawk to make sure you weren’t going to any love hotels after work. Douhan were off-limits. For the first time since your teens, you became completely celibate—not only because of your new workplace circumstances, but because you simply didn't want to find out what Suo would do if you got together with a man he despised (and he despised every man you dated).

His most absurd play was when he became concerned about your living conditions again. Your latest apartment was too plain, too small, and the area was too dangerous. It didn't even have a shower, and the other tenants behaved concerningly toward you when you went to the bathhouse at night. But the rent was cheap, and it was still an upgrade from your last place, so you shrugged it off when Suo suggested that you move. Even when someone tried to accost you at night, you were nonchalant about it. You kicked the shit out of them in a fight and continued your routine unbothered.

The next month, Suo bought a luxury penthouse and suggested you move in with him.

His offer (command) came with conditions. One of the bigger ones was that you'd let him accompany you out at night if you ever needed to run errands in dangerous places. Or—nevermind, actually. He should really just accompany you everywhere at night. Maybe during the day too. And—ah, there was no way you'd be going to work alone, nor coming back by yourself—you were now always to be driven by someone in his organisation, if he wasn't available himself. Rent was a point of contention, when you asked about it: you wanted to pay at market rate, and he insisted that there was no need to pay at all. He ended up proposing a highly discounted price, which would give you ample financial freedom, but questionable financial independence.

These were insane terms. You knew that if you agreed, you'd be setting yourself up for a life without autonomy. You also knew that these behaviours were all signs that Suo desperately needed therapy to process his master’s untimely death. Living with a man in constant grief, who refused to talk about his trauma unless he was making up a lie related to the nation of China, was probably not a good idea. Doubly so when this man was clearly paranoid about losing you, and triply so when he was a high-ranking member of a violent syndicate. Case in point—he was likely connected to the brutal accident that later befell the man who tried to assault you.

“I'm not sure what you're implying, but at least he didn't die,” Suo said cheerfully when you confronted him about it. Which really meant: At least I decided not to kill him. This was a flag bigger and redder than any other you've ever known, and you consider yourself an expert in red flags. You knew you should run in the other direction.

So naturally, you put your arms around him, tenderly said, I'm sorry I've been worrying you, and then you moved in the next day.

While Suo treats you with endless patience, you have personal limits to the patience that you exercise with him. Specifically, your patience with how he treats you.

You don't mind the lack of social freedom, nor the lack of personal freedom, nor the lack of freedom of movement. You also don't mind living with a man full of intractable trauma surrounding the death of every parental figure in his life; in fact, you'd rather be by his side than not, if he needs to cope with something so painful. And anyway, your friendship is otherwise unchanged if you ignore the heavy restrictions he's imposed on every facet of your life. So that's all fine.

But the celibate lifestyle that he's cornered you into? You simply aren't built for it. Holy shit, do you need to get laid.

Nearly two years without sex has brought you close to another nervous breakdown (there have been few better sources of entertainment or validation in your life), and worst of all, it has made your profound lust for Suo incredibly hard to ignore. Waking up every morning to him in a towel, his hair still wet from the shower and his broad silhouette exposed, tests the absolute limits of your self-control. The contours of his lean and muscled form are distracting enough; coupled with the vivid colours and lines of his irezumi, the sight of him becomes maddening. It is a horrible thing to be exposed to when you haven't gotten any dick nor strap in over a year. It gives you thoughts about him that are overtly sexual, which is bad, as you have materially consequential reasons for not wanting to fuck Suo.

Things with him must absolutely stay platonic. But with sexual frustration like yours, being platonic with him means that you need to get erotic with someone else. A boyfriend or girlfriend is out of the question; you don't want to be responsible for yet another brutal accident. So you instead decide to quit your job at his club and start working on Keisei Street. At least this way, you can start fucking your customers again.

It’s a perfect plan. Suo’s oyabun is very indulgent toward him, and everyone else in the family respects him too. He consequently has a tight grip on his organisation and the territory they control, despite his relatively young age. Not a single person is ever to touch Keisei Street—largely because Sakura is part of Roppo-Ichiza, and Suo is nearly as weird about Sakura as he is about you. Plus, many of his other fellow Furin alumni are in the gang as well. If Suo’s men ever started fucking with people on Keisei Street, it would not only have grave implications for gang relations—it would be personally upsetting for Suo. This means you can fuck all the Keisei Street customers you want, and not get a single one of them threatened or killed.

A pretty brilliant idea, if you do say so yourself.

Suo’s expression doesn't change when you break the news to him. He delicately places his teacup—custom-made from Yixing, just like the matching clay teapot—down on the mahogany tabletop, and he looks at you with a calm smile.

“Come again?”

“I'm quitting my job at Red Dragon,” you repeat. “I already gave the mamasan my resignation.”

“And she accepted it?” Suo asks, in a tone that is so carefully nonchalant that you know it means he is actually furious with her. “How interesting,” he muses. “What brought this on?”

“I've found a better paying opportunity on Keisei Street.”

“I'll give you a raise,” he says easily.

“A raise?” You cock a brow. “The pay is mostly commission-based at Red Dragon. You know that.”

“Then it would be unwise to leave. You have a loyal customer base at Red Dragon. All very rich, and”—his smile grows sharp—“very polite.”

Polite. An interesting word. It actually means: None of them will ever proposition or harass you because they know they'll be maimed if they do. An easy thought to use to your advantage.

“It's loyal but it's small. Everyone who's anyone in this part of town thinks that we’re married. Do you know how hard it is to pull new customers in when they're scared shitless of my yakuza husband? And anyway”—you frown, trying to look as pathetic as possible—“I'm lonely.”

Suo stares. He looks surprised, possibly because you absorb every minute of his free time with silly conversation, new restaurants, and skiing trips. (He likes snow, so you ask for these trips more for him to relax than anything else.) You also text him frequently on days he's working, and he very diligently replies, even if he's in the middle of something like a raid or a hit or brokering a massive deal. Suo still very strictly keeps to his rule of never touching his phone when in conversation with other people—unless he needs to text you.

So his suspicion is fair. Suo is very attentive and doesn't allow you much opportunity for loneliness. In turn, you’ve always been very happy spending time with him, even when it's only him.

“Lonely?” he repeats. “Are you, now?”

“Yes. You work so much,” you complain, which is not a lie, “and I don't have any friends to spend time with when you're gone.”

“You have friends from work.”

“No, I have competition at work. The hostesses are so cutthroat about rankings, they hate me. And each other.”

“You like Shuuhei and Hanzo,” he points out, referring to his men who most frequently chauffeur you.

“Yeah, they're friendly, and they're very funny. I like them, but I can't be their friend.” Suo stares at you, nonplussed, so you spell it out: “They're too scared of you to get close to me. What if it looks like they're trying to fuck the boss’ wife?”

“Hm…” Suo studies you, looking thoughtful. Perhaps for the first time, he's contemplating the consequences of restricting your freedoms and marking you as his. That is to say—maybe he's finally realising that you have no friends and no life.

The beads of his earrings glimmer as he tilts his head at you and frowns. Suo almost looks innocent with that confused face of his. “And how would working on Keisei Street help?” he asks.

“Because all our old friends are there!” you exclaim. “Sakura’s in Roppo-Ichiza now so he’ll definitely be coming by all the clubs. Tsubaki too. And Nirei and Kiryu visit them quite often—and even Tsugeura does sometimes, even though clubbing isn't one of his virtues.” You grab onto his arm, pull yourself close, and give him your most disarming, pleading expression. “Please, Suo?”

“Hm.” He strokes your cheek and looks at you fondly, in the way that one would do with an adorable and slightly annoying kitten. “I don’t think so. It’s not very safe there.”

He isn't wrong. Not only are you untouchable on his turf because of your association to him, Suo has also just crushed all the han-gure and petty criminals in his territory with brutal efficiency. His part of the red light district is, quite ironically, one of the safest places in the city, and certainly safer than Keisei Street.

But undeterred, you point out, “Shuuhei and Hanzo can still drive me there and back if you want. But I don't think it's necessary. Do you really think Sakura would let anything happen to me?”

This is the true brilliance of your plan: capitalising on the fact that Suo is as nearly as weird about Sakura as he is about you. He pauses as soon as you bring up the point, and you can practically see the gears turning. “Well, if it's him…”

“I even texted him about it. Look—here!” You whip out your phone, receipts ready. The corner of Suo's mouth lifts at your obviously rehearsed pitch. “He says he'd make sure I'm taken care of. And he says it'd be nice because he misses seeing us. Can you believe it—Sakura actually admitted that he misses us! Typed it with his own two hands and pressed send! I bet he was super embarrassed about it.”

“Huh. He even used a sticker. I've never seen him do that.” Suo smiles as he reads through the chat. He looks like his old self. You suddenly feel a little wistful, and also a lot bad. This started as a ploy to get laid, but it’s made you realise that you really do miss your friends—and Suo probably does too.

“If I worked on Keisei Street, then you would have plenty of reason to visit,” you point out, feeling somewhat tender.

“I guess that's true,” Suo says. Your heart aches a little bit at the look he gives you. It's a platonic ache, of course. Or at the very least, it isn't an erotic one. It doesn't really make you want to have sex with him anyway. But if you could lean forward and press your lips to his—platonically—then you definitely would.

Suo's civilian friendships are complicated by his double life. Quite unusually for yakuza, Suo’s syndicate insists on using pseudonyms and false histories to avoid anti-yakuza laws, on the off-chance that the police decide to do their jobs and actually enforce those laws someday. Lying for comedy is one of Suo’s greatest passions, so he was happy to manufacture an absurd backstory: his name is Yanzhao, and he learned kung fu in a Shaolin Temple before moving to Hong Kong and working for the triads. He wears the eyepatch because he lost his eye in an altercation with the cops, which he won. By the way, you're his criminally beautiful wife who he met in Macau. The two of you had to leave for Japan since he killed a police officer and now he's wanted by the governments of both China and Hong Kong. Also, he's a very devoted husband, so if anyone lays a hand on you, he’ll kill them too.

Somehow, everyone has bought into this story. Every criminal organisation in the red light district now fears a high-ranking yakuza known as Yanzhao, who is easily recognizable by his eyepatch and tassel earrings, and who is also homicidally obsessed with his beautiful wife.

In some ways, his infamy is convenient. No one wants to fuck with Suo, or with you by extension. But it also poses some issues: Suo has to keep a low profile in areas controlled by rival organisations, or else he might be ambushed. It also means he cannot easily go out and see his old friends. Even though he always masquerades as a civvie when he does, wearing stud earrings and a glass eye, it's still a little risky—especially since he likes to visit the strongest member of Roppo-Ichiza. While Roppo-Ichiza aren’t yakuza, they're still han-gure, so some of its more criminally entangled members might recognize him anyway.

But Sakura himself, bless him, has not put two and two together and figured out that Suo Hayato and Gui Yanzhao are the same person. This is partly because Suo lies very convincingly about his fictional career in the tea industry, but you think it's also because Sakura is so gullible it's endearing.

I use the glass eye now because it's better for networking, Suo had explained before Sakura could interrogate him too much, his voice too smooth and too quick for the other man to get in a word edgewise. My business partners find the eyepatch too silly. The tassel earrings too. By the way, would you like some Baimudan tea? I thought of you when I smelled it—I know you like fragrant things—so I picked some up for you on my last visit to China. I was there for business a couple of weeks ago.

He, of course, neglected to mention that said business involved meeting with the 14K triad.

Despite the enormity of Suo's omission (lie), Sakura is none the wiser whenever he meets with you. He thinks you're just a regular hostess who has freedom of movement and various other human rights, and that Suo’s just a regular guy who isn’t homicidally obsessed with you (a detail of Suo's fabricated life story that is unfortunately grounded in reality). All this to say, Sakura doesn't think twice about mentioning the fact that you have a routine of going to love hotels after work.

Suo, as always, remains calm in the face of unsettling information. He sets down his tea (just tea, without shochu), and politely says, “Pardon?” He's once again using the nonchalant kind of tone that suggests mortal danger.

“She's always going to love hotels after her shifts.” Sakura is frowning at you, pink but scowling. “I thought you said you were done with that stuff. You promised us you wouldn't do it anymore. Suo—are you really okay with this?”

On the one hand, you find it exceptionally sweet that Sakura, after all this time, remembers your promise and wishes to hold you to it. He was so worried about you when you started having those nervous breakdowns as a teenager, and he probably still is. On the other hand, you're shitting bricks at the fact that Suo is now aware of your activities. Because sure, he likely won't fuck with Keisei Street—but you realise, as he stares at you, that you can't be certain of this. After all, your fake yakuza husband has very real homicidal urges.

“Um,” you say. “It's just business.”

“Business,” Suo repeats.

“You don't have to do that stuff to keep good business,” Sakura grouses, unaware of Suo’s carefully suppressed rage. “You're real popular already.”

“Are you?” Suo asks, looking right at you.

“I mean—I told you the pay would be better, right?” you reply, voice oddly high and nervous, and this is when Sakura notices that something is wrong.

“Oh,” Sakura says, looking between the two of you. “Suo, you didn't know?”

“I didn't,” he says. “Actually, she told me specifically that she wasn't going to do that if she worked here.” He turns to you, still smiling. “That's the only reason why I allowed this at all, remember?”

A chill travels down your spine. You did, in fact, commit to a perpetually sexless lifestyle in order to be granted some semblance of freedom: Of course I won't sleep with any customers, you'd said. You know I don't really like doing that anyway. I promise I'll behave! I’ll be out of the clubs and right back home. Sakura said he’d make sure I’ll get to a cab safely after the bar closes and everything!

“Um,” you say again, but this time you have no follow-up.

“Wait,” Sakura demands, “what do you mean by ‘allowed her’? What, do you need to give her permission to work now or something?”

Suo smiles disarmingly at Sakura. Without missing a beat, he says, “Generally no. But we’re dating now, which complicates what she’s allowed to do with other men at her job.”

Sakura spits out his drink. You choke on your spit.

“I… um?!” Sakura’s staring at you, so you quickly recover. This is a mortifying lie, but it's better than Sakura finding out just how batshit Suo has become since his school days. “I thought we were going to keep that a secret, dear?”

“Ah, you're right. Sorry, I got too excited.” Suo gives you an endeared look before turning to Sakura. “We were going to keep it to ourselves unless we got serious about it. But we've been talking about marriage lately, so I thought it was fine to mention.”

“...”

You’re going to have an aneurysm. Why does every cover that Suo comes up with involve a marital relationship between the two of you?!

“Oh… holy shit.” Sakura’s expression is complicated—somehow, more complicated than yours, even though you’re the one getting cornered into a fake engagement. It's unbelievable how shy he still is about this kind of thing. Maybe it’s just particularly embarrassing since he's known you two for so long, you reason. Regardless, he remembers his social cues enough to say, “Congrats, guys. That's great. That's really great.”

Suo gazes fondly at you across the table. “We were thinking you could be our best man,” he adds, and you consider violently kicking his leg.

“O-oh. Uh, yeah! Sure! But what about Nirei?”

“Rather than having a maid of honour,” you say reflexively, used to lying through your teeth for Suo, “we’d like him to be our best man as well.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” Thrown off guard, Sakura completely forgets about the love hotel business. He whips out his phone. “When were you thinking of having your wedding? I'll put it in my calendar.”

“I’m not sure.” Suo turns to you. “What were we thinking again, dear?”

You're going to die. You're going to die and it's a good thing because if you survive this embarrassment, your future will be bleak. As soon as Nirei finds out about this, he’ll want to start helping you with wedding planning, and then it would just be too awkward to cancel things. You’ll have to enter a fake marriage with Suo, which will be completely sexless, because even with a vow of everlasting love, there are still too many concrete and materially consequential reasons for not sleeping with him.

Condemning yourself to a lifetime of sexual frustration, you reply, “I think we were talking about a summer wedding.”

The drive home is awkward.

Hanzo and Shuuhei pick the two of you up. Suo mentioned that he wanted to talk to you and you alone, so they bring the Rolls Royce with the privacy suite. The two of them are entirely cut off from you thanks to the soundproofing, which traps you with Suo, who’s drinking a bottle of oolong tea as the two of you sit in complete silence. You think he's waiting for you to squirm—which you do.

You stay like that for five, agonising minutes before Suo finally says, “So you're sleeping with your customers.”

You swallow. “Yes.”

“For business?”

“Yes.”

“How much do you make?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“How much do you get paid for a single night of work, including gifts that your customers give you in exchange for sleeping with them?”

You're halfway through citing your earnings when you realise where he's going with this.

“So you make less than you did at Red Dragon,” Suo concludes, “and you're very smart with your money, so I know you know that, and you probably went into this knowing that you'd end up at a net loss.” He turns to you, gives you a look so sharp that it almost scares you. All made worse by his civilian disguise, which makes him feel unfamiliar. His glass eye shines strangely in the light, and his scar tissue is hidden by the makeup you helped apply. You wish he'd taken it all off before having this conversation.

“So,” he says, “what’s the real reason you changed jobs?”

Already knowing that he’ll figure you out sooner or later, you admit, “I just wanted to start having sex again.”

Suo blinks. “You… what?”

“I wanted to have sex with people,” you repeat. “I hadn't been touched for nearly two years, okay? I needed to get laid or else I'd go insane.” You cross your arms and look away, suddenly feeling petulant. “I'm sure you've noticed that our arrangement makes it impossible for me to see people.”

He doesn't answer, because of course he's noticed. He’d designed his house rules with precisely this intent. If he accompanies you everywhere you go, then you can't exactly go on dates, and you definitely can't meet people for sex. Not unless you feel like having Suo watch as some anonymous guy fucks you, and you don't. As hot as the idea is, it’s definitely not platonic behaviour, and it would probably trigger the whole homicidal obsession thing.

“Do you like it?” Suo asks, startling you. You look at him, confused.

“What?”

“Do you enjoy having sex with your customers?” he asks. His voice and gaze are even. Unrelenting. “Does it make you happy?”

You stare at him, a deer caught in headlights. You didn't expect Suo to actually care about whether you enjoyed it or not, and you didn't really expect to care yourself either. But truthfully, you hated it. You simply weren't feeling it with most of your customers and avoided intercourse with all but one. Then in that one case you let someone earnestly fuck you, it was a complete letdown. Possibly the worst sex you'd ever had. You spent the whole time watching the clock, wondering how long it would take, and it turned out that your hookup had remarkable stamina but absolutely no technique. To pass the time, and in an attempt to feel something, you tried to imagine it was someone else who was inside you. You cycled through a whole list of people, including all of your exes, a few of your past customers, every single member of BTS, and then—finally, inevitably—your long-time friend, roommate, and landlord.

To your complete horror, when you imagined that it was Suo who had you folded in half, his cock so deep inside you that you could feel it in your throat, you came so hard that you drenched the sheets.

You lay there afterward as your customer showered, alone in the bed. Normally you'd be getting dressed at that point, but you were too distracted. You kept thinking about what it would feel like to be held by Suo after having your guts rearranged by him—embraced tenderly like you know he would do with you, kissing him platonically like you've always wanted to do with him—and you realised that you didn’t actually want to have sex with anyone else. Despite all your life experience, sexual experience, and job experience—in that moment, you felt like a lonely nineteen year old girl who wanted nothing more than to have romantic, vanilla sex with her best friend, but who was instead having impersonal, disappointing sex with various salarymen.

This was a feeling so disgusting that you’ve decided to never tell anyone at any cost.

“Yeah, it's fine. I guess I like it.” You pretend to study your nails. “Sometimes I cum, which is all I really want.”

Suo keeps staring at you. “That’s it?” he asks, voice measured and careful. You raise a brow, playing dumb.

“What do you mean?”

“That's all you want? Just to get off?”

You gaze out the window, trying not to look at his lips.

“Yes, that's all.”

No matter how batshit Suo gets, he always maintains a certain kindness and maturity in how he handles conflict with you. It's a lesson that he learned from his master, which has perhaps been distorted over time, but remains important to him nevertheless.

If you do something upsetting, Suo is never forceful about getting you to act differently. Sure, he has fucked up ways of either getting you to behave or making you understand the consequences of your actions, and perhaps he has his manipulative moments. It was probably not a good thing that he coaxed you into indefinite house arrest, for instance. But he never threatens you, and he never hits you, and he never disrespects you. In fact, more than anything, he makes it a point to never let you feel like you aren't loved.

So when Suo abandons you after that conversation in the Rolls Royce, you lose your fucking mind.

Suo doesn’t come home in the days following that evening, without any note nor explanation. For the first time in years, he stops replying to your texts. Your immediate thought is that he's been gravely injured or perhaps even killed, which sends you into a panicked spiral. But every one of his men who's come by to check on you has implied otherwise—but I'm not allowed to tell you anything else, anesan, I’m sorry, they all say. And when you realise that Suo is actually fine and he's just playing a fucked up mind game with you, one that makes you feel distinctly unloved, you feel simultaneously heartbroken and apoplectic. The man is not allowed to corner you into de facto imprisonment and then just fucking leave. In fact, if he tries, you might imprison him.

You spend a few days sitting at home and crying over this, as well as torturing yourself by thinking about useless things (fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, et cetera). But eventually, you get tired of wallowing in self-inflicted misery, and you decide to just track your fake husband down. His men have been adamant about not letting you out of their sight—presumably so you don’t fuck any more of your customers, because Suo can be spiteful like that—so you have to be strategic about your plan to find him.

You decide to do it during work. You tap out in the middle of a shift, feigning illness, so nobody bats an eye when you put on the most shapeless hoodie you own and throw on a face mask. Your chauffeurs (handlers) don't notice as you sneak off—and for the first time in years, you walk through the red light district all alone.

It feels strange not to be protected, and even stranger not to be surveilled. You marvel at the unfamiliar experience of complete freedom, and at the possibility of being able to run off and disappear if you so wished. But you don't, of course. Not only do you care too deeply for Suo to abandon him, you're also pretty sure he has your driver’s licence and ID card locked up somewhere. At least you haven't been able to find them, and Suo was oddly evasive about it when you asked. (I haven't seen them, he'd said, but I don't think you’d need either of those things immediately, anyway, do you? And you nodded in response, because it was true that you liked being his passenger princess too much to care about your licence.)

So rather than bolting for the subway, you head straight to your old workplace. The gleaming doors of Red Dragon welcome you as you cross its threshold, and you're greeted immediately by the scent of luxury colognes and expensive cigars—both evoking a strange nostalgia in you. Even the click of your heels against the marble floor feels familiar. You realise that you've missed the place despite its cutthroat culture and its owner’s authoritarian control over you, which you suppose isn't surprising. This club was more or less your home for years and, thanks to said owner, was the safest place you've ever worked.

And being that you feel you've returned to your very safe home, you don't expect it when you're abruptly stopped by the bouncer.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his arm in your way. You don't recognize him, but you see the edges of his irezumi peeking out from the rolled-up cuffs of his shirt.

“Yeah, actually,” you say. “I'm looking for Gui Yanzhao. Is he here right now?”

The bouncer—or chinpira, you guess—bristles.

“You're looking for who?”

“Yanzhao?” you say impatiently. “Eyepatch, tassel earrings? Owner of the club? Probably your boss?”

The bouncer steps forward and reaches for something in his pocket, which makes you suddenly nervous, and also makes you realise that in a hoodie and a face mask, you ordinarily wouldn't be allowed in this club, let alone into the room of its yakuza owner. You're so used to VIP treatment here that you simply forgot.

You take a step back. “Um. I think there's been a misunderstanding.” You lower your face mask, which doesn't help as you've never met this man, and he must be new. You’ll need to complain to Suo about his onboarding process later, if you aren't killed before you can find him.

It turns out that this yakuza rookie has a knife in his pocket, which is not the worst thing he could have been carrying, but is also not the best. You're getting ready to run in the other direction when a more senior member of the gang comes by. He gives you a startled look, which then turns alarmed when he sees his younger brother’s knife.

“Anesan!” he yells hurriedly, and he snatches the chinpira’s knife straight from his hand. His lunge for the weapon turns into a hurried bow. He pulls his colleague—whose face has turned very white in a very short amount of time—into an even deeper one. They look on the verge of prostrating.

“Oh, Yamashita. Hi! Is this guy new?”

“Yes! My sincerest apologies for my younger brother’s idiocy, and his insolence in raising a weapon at you.” There's a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck. “If you would like him to atone, then he would be more than happy to—”

“No, that's fine. I'd really like him to keep all his fingers.” If you have to see a rookie cut off his pinkie today, you think you might actually change your mind on running away. Fuck your documents—Suo can keep them. Surely life without proof of identity can't be that hard. “By the way,” you say, trying to change the topic before Yamashita can suggest alternative acts of atonement, “have you seen my husband?”

Yamashita hesitates at your question, looks conflicted. You feel a little bad for him, and for every other gang member who needs to worry about accidentally offending Suo. You watch him sweat for a full ten seconds before he says, “You can follow me. But anesan, you might find it unpleasant upstairs. I can find someone to drive you home instead, if you'd like.”

You give him a funny look. This was your workplace for a very long time—you can’t think of many things that would happen here that might seriously upset you. “What, is he cheating on me?” you guess.

“What? No! Aniki would never!” Yamashita seems genuinely shocked at the suggestion. “He's crazy about you!”

“Then I'm sure he’ll be happy to see me,” you say, although given that he's ignored your texts for four days straight, you aren't so sure. Regardless, this seems to be good enough reasoning for Yamashita, and you’re taken to the top floor of Red Dragon. You ponder the whole time, on the elevator ride up, just what exactly Suo’s been up to that's made Yamashita this nervous about letting you see him.

Then the door opens, and you’re given your answer in the form of several body bags—all cleanly zipped up and conscientiously laid out in front of the elevators in a single, neat row. A sight that is significantly worse than a rookie cutting off his pinkie finger.

“Oh,” you say faintly. You try not to throw up. “So this is why he hasn't been home.”

“Exactly!” Yamashita replies, beaming. “See, anesan, I told you. He'd never cheat on you!”

Suo is in the lounge of the top floor, which has been cleared of both civilians and corpses for the night. He's sitting on one of the couches, leaning back with his one eye closed, as if asleep. The golden tassels of his earrings are draped over the expensive leather of his seat, intertwined with his dark hair. A cup of tea sits in front of him, steaming. Even this far away, you recognize it by the scent alone: jasmine, probably from Longjing. One of the most expensive blends he has, and that which he saves for days he’s stressed, though he never admits it when he is.

The sight of him would almost look tranquil, except for all the blood on his knuckles and his cuffs.

Off to the side, two of his younger brothers are chatting away. One is pouring cups of some doubtlessly expensive liquor, and the other is smoking a cigar. There's karaage on the table too. You recognize all of this as part of a ritual that some of the guys like to do after a hit or a shootout, not dissimilar to getting ramen or McDonald’s after going to a club.

You catch a bit of their conversation as you approach. One of them holds up the liquor bottle (Isojiman sake, you now recognise from your girls’ bar days, one of the rarer bottles costing around nine million yen) and asks Suo if he wants to join. “No thanks,” he says predictably, “I'm on a diet.” Then he turns and looks right at you—startling you, because you had thought you were being fairly quiet—and gives you a smile so genuine that it reminds you of his Furin days. “Would my beautiful wife like to drink for me, though?”

“No thanks,” you reply, “but your beautiful wife would like to talk to you.”

The two guys clear out to give you some privacy. You’re left alone with Suo, feeling awkward after several days of resenting him for no reason. (You’d rather die than go to therapy, but the whole fear of abandonment thing is probably something you should start addressing.) You don't even know where you want to sit. Eventually, you settle for placing yourself next to him, which is a decision that Suo quickly overturns by pulling you into his lap.

A flutter erupts in your stomach as he settles you on top of him. This physiological reaction is absurd, as not even ten minutes ago, you were trying not to throw up at the line of corpses in front of the elevator. It should also scare you somewhat that Suo’s hands—delicately adjusting your body—are still covered in blood. But truthfully, you can't help but be happy when he makes you feel so loved.

You take one of the napkins on the table and start wiping at his knuckles. Tenderly, in case they're bruised or skinned.

“You didn't call or come home,” you start.

“I thought it would be too dangerous.”

You frown, thinking of all the bodies outside. “Was this a rival organisation?”

“No. They were ours.” He sighs. “A succession conflict. There are a few people who don't like how I'll run things if I take over.”

You nod. Suo is very old-fashioned in his ideals about the yakuza, which you think is an imprint of his master’s influence, and something that appeals to his current ‘father’. He values chivalry. He likes protecting the weak. His filial devotion to his deceased master has now extended to every member of his yakuza family, especially his oyassan. He’s almost certainly the top candidate for taking over after the oyabun dies, but being that part of his old-fashioned principles excludes lucrative projects such as sex trafficking, you suppose it’s natural that some people in his organisation would prefer him dead rather than in charge.

“You’ve never ghosted me during violent conflicts before though,” you say. “I was worried that something happened to you. Or that you were upset with me.”

Suo’s hand drops to your waist, pulling you a little closer.

“They knew where we live. They tried to get to you, you know.” Your eyes widen in alarm, so he cups your face with a palm. His thumb glides along your cheek, and your response is almost Pavlovian: your heart rate immediately slows at the comfort of his touch. “It’s fine. They won't bother you ever again.” The cheerful smile returns. “And if anyone else ever does, I'll handle them too.”

Your heart swells. Enthusiastic pledges of murder are not a healthy sign of affection, but after so much loneliness—whether from the past several days, or the years before that, you aren't sure—you can't find it in yourself to be disturbed. You feel and sound painfully fond when you reply, “I know.”

Suo’s expression dims a little then. “I thought you'd like the space anyway.”

“What?” You give him a confused look. You have never once given him any indication that you want even an inch of space from him. You'd crawl into his ribcage if you could. “Why would you think that?”

“I thought you felt suffocated. You left my club just so you could have sex with other people.” You blink, lingering on his wording. Other people. He continues before you can ask about it, sighing, “You didn't even ask me who I'd give permission to touch you. You just went ahead and decided on your own.”

“...”

You try not to look disturbed. Suo’s apparent wish to control your sexual decisions is news to you, and somehow more alarming than the murder pledge. And even worse—you immediately clench in response to his words. The thought of Suo dictating who does and doesn't get to touch your cunt is… well, your mind is heading in a distinctly non-platonic direction.

Trying to ignore the heat in between your thighs (but at the same time encouraging it), you ask: “Who would you have been, um, okay with touching me?”

“Sakura or Nirei,” he says immediately. “Though only Sakura would be interested.”

“What.” You gape at him, all arousal forgotten. “Bullshit. He would never.”

“Yes, he would.” Suo tilts his head. “Haven't you noticed?”

“I don't think there's anything to notice? And also—he’s so shy, I don't think he'd ever agree even if he were interested!” You give him a bewildered look. “He couldn't even look at us when we said we were getting married, he was so embarrassed!”

“Embarrassed?” Suo stares at you, an amused glint in his eye. “Is that what you thought was going on?”

“Was there anything else?”

He studies you for a moment, clearly entertained but not explaining why. “Well—it’s fine,” he says. “It doesn't matter for now. Especially since he's helping us plan a wedding and all.”

You make a face. “I still can't believe that's the cover you went for.”

“Are you upset with it?” he asks smoothly, and you huff and say yes, but from his sly look, you think he knows it's a lie.

Naturally, you deflect before he can further interrogate you. “So, given that you are now my fiancé, am I no longer allowed to work on Keisei Street and see customers after my shifts?”

You don’t expect it when Suo says, “No, you can.”

You stare. “What?”

“You can keep seeing customers if you'd like. You said it makes you happy, so why would I stop you?” Suo’s brow furrows, his usual calm replaced with concern. “Do you really think I do the things I do to make you miserable?”

Guilt gnaws at your heart. He looks so disappointed. “No,” you tell him. “I just thought it'd make you miserable that I was sleeping with people without your permission.” It is partly why you hid it from him in the first place, after all. You don't like to see him sad—you’re still haunted by the deep grief he was in, after your master died—and also, his misery tends to bring bodily harm to other people these days.

Cognizant of both concerns, you ask, “You’re really okay with me sleeping with my customers? I can stop, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine. I still don't like it, but you can continue for now if you want.”

Suo’s mouth curls—not in a gentle way, as has been his expression since seeing you walk in, but in a way that sets off your flight or fight response.

“I'm sure we’ll reach a mutual understanding soon enough.”

END PART 1

thank you genuinely if you read all that because this is a deranged au and I still can't believe I wrote it sldfkjsldfkj. please do let me know if you enjoyed my yandere suo delusions. sorry there was no smut in this chapter. I promise there is a ton in the next one (probably too much... lol. it's a 10k chapter and literally half of those words are about orgasm denial sldfkjalskdjdf). it's completely written and I hope to edit and have it up by next week!

also here is glossary of terms and world building notes if you are interested!

tagging @kweenkatsuki-fics !! <3

[littlelamy]

HEY HI GORGEOUS

I'm here with another idea. what about divorced rafe and reader where she finds out she's pregnant after they hooked up on a family trip that they did only bc their kid asked for both parents on their birthday and she has to tell him that the baby is his

author's note: hi bby, i made this a little angsty so i hope you enjoy it. thank you so much for sending a request! credits to @mochilly for the the divider <3

the soft hum of the engine and the chatter of your child in the backseat should've been comforting. you should've been able to relax and let the memories of the past weekend settle into something pleasant. but instead, all you could focus on was the secret bubbling inside you. a secret that was both thrilling and terrifying.

you’d been divorced from rafe for a year now. your kid's birthday party had been the excuse to bring you both back together, but the real reason for the trip was the way your kid begged. "please, just one weekend, mom, dad, both of you." and you had agreed, knowing that the family dynamic your child craved was slipping further away every day. rafe had agreed, too, though you both had kept your distance—until that night.

it had been a mistake. a drunken mistake. you had stayed in the same room because of space limitations, and the old chemistry that used to light up every corner of the house ignited that night, despite everything. you were both too broken, too hurt by the years of marriage that fell apart, but still... you found yourselves in bed together, tangled in passion.

now you were facing the consequences of that moment, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were about to crash into a wall of reality. you’d missed your period, and the test didn’t lie. the baby was his.

you pull up to the familiar house, the same one where you had shared so many memories, and where your child now split their time. your kid jumps out of the car and runs into the house, leaving you standing there, nerves tightening your chest. you take a deep breath and close your eyes, steeling yourself. you could do this.

the door opens, and there he is. rafe. his tall frame, messy hair, and that look in his eyes—the same look that once made your heart race. now, it just made your stomach churn with anxiety. he stares at you for a second, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“hey,” you say softly, fighting the tremble in your voice.

“hey, you okay?” he asks, voice rough but laced with concern. “you look like you’re about to pass out.”

you wince, your heartbeat picking up speed. “i, uh, need to talk to you about something.”

rafe’s gaze sharpens, his posture shifting into something more guarded. “what’s wrong? is it about the kid?”

“no, no, it’s about... me,” you mutter, then stop yourself. "well, actually, about us."

the silence between you stretches, thick and uncomfortable. he raises an eyebrow. “us? what the hell are you talking about?”

you glance at your hands, nervous to look him in the eye. “rafe, the thing is... i’m pregnant.”

the words fall into the space between you like a bomb, and his expression morphs instantly from confusion to shock. his lips part as he takes a step back. “what?” his voice is barely a whisper, but you hear the panic in it.

you nod, watching him closely. “yeah. i’m pregnant, rafe. and it’s... it’s yours.”

the air seems to freeze around you. rafe stares at you like he’s trying to process the words, like they can’t possibly be true. his jaw tightens, and you can see the conflict churning in his eyes. “you’re fucking kidding me, right?” he snaps, running a hand through his hair.

“no, i’m not,” you reply, your voice growing firmer, though your insides feel like they're about to implode. "i just found out. the timing—hell, it’s a fucking nightmare, but it’s true.”

rafe glares at you, his usual defensiveness rising like a shield. “how the hell did we end up here?” he mutters under his breath, pacing in a circle.

you feel your own frustration bubbling up. “don’t act like this isn’t your fault too, rafe,” you shoot back, your voice louder now. “you think i wanted this? i didn’t ask for this. i didn’t ask to be here with you again, but our kid wanted us both. and now... now i’m stuck in this mess, and you’re here acting like it’s a goddamn surprise.”

he clenches his fists, jaw tightening. "i know, alright? i know i fucked up with you. but this—this is too much." he stops, running a hand over his face. “you could’ve just... kept it from me. this doesn’t have to be real.”

you scoff, feeling the sting of his words. "i’m not that kind of person, rafe. i’m not just going to pretend it didn’t happen. you need to hear this. whether you like it or not, this is our reality now.”

he’s silent for a moment, then steps closer to you. his voice drops to something softer, more strained. “what do you want me to do, huh? you think i can just act like everything’s fine?”

“no,” you say, your eyes meeting his. “but i can’t do this alone. i need you, rafe. i need you to be here. for me. for our kid.”

he exhales sharply, and for the first time, you see something in his eyes that isn’t anger or confusion—it's fear. “i don’t deserve that. you deserve someone who’s stable, who can give you everything you need. i can’t be that guy.”

“stop,” you interrupt him, your voice trembling. “stop trying to push me away. you’re all i’ve ever needed. yeah, things fell apart between us, but we’re both human. i’m not asking for some fucking fairy tale, rafe. i’m asking for you to step up, for our kid, for what we used to have.”

his lips press together, and the tension in the air thickens. then, finally, he speaks. “you’re right. i’m not perfect, but i’ll be here. i’ll try, alright? i’ll try for you. for the baby. i—”

he cuts himself off and takes a deep breath. his voice cracks a little when he adds, “i’m scared as hell, but i’ll try.”

tears well up in your eyes, but you hold them back. “i’m scared too,” you whisper. “but i think we can make it work.”

he steps closer, lifting a hand to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. his voice is low, almost a whisper. “we’ll figure this out. together.”

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[dr3amfyr-e]

jacaerys velaryon x fem!knight!reader drabble based on this ask <3 ( w. 735 )

꒰ dame is the historical title for a female knight, though i don't think its ever used in asoiaf ꒱

check out my event ! ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

"your grace-"

"i am your prince, and i command it," jacaerys replies, a cocksure grin tugging at his mouth.

you gaze upon the prince, shifting in your stiff metal armour. these suits are not made to fit ladies — the breastplate presses uncomfortably on your chest, and the sharp steel edge of the bodice digs painfully into your hips where it rests too low. queen rhaenyra had made efforts to have a suit forged to your measurements, but this was the placeholder.

"you... already have guards, your grace — two that wait outside of your room at all times. i mean no offense, but would it not be pointless to have a guard inside as well?" you ask, anxiously rolling the hilt of your sword in your palm.

its late into the evening, sun setting upon the rocky facade of dragonstone and bathing everything in a reddish-golden light. he draws a finger across the table where he sits, looking up at you. jacaerys comports himself with a regal air, all smooth black attire and calculating eyes. those very eyes, dark and deep, assessing you in this moment.

he stops his absentminded little circles, straightening up in his seat. he sighs, clasping his hands in his lap and casting his gaze upon them, "it is only... my mother, the queen, was attacked in her chambers only a fortnight ago. there is unrest in the castle, moreso since. i feel-" he looks up at you, mouth in a soft pout and eyes glassy, "unsafe."

he's intelligent, and strategizing, and very endearing in his little manipulative streak. he knew just how to bend you, he had seen you crumple at the fall of his tears before.

"if-" fuck, "you... you must speak to your mother about this, my prince."

he graces you with this horrible, mock-hopeful expression, "you would not object?"

"not if this is what you wish. i am sworn to house targaryen, and you... are my prince."

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

"this suits you."

as a guard, you are limited in your permission to move. you stand, back to the door and one hand on your sword at all times — you do spare the prince a glance when he speaks.

"pardon, your grace?"

his hair is damp from his bath, curls slicked back with water. he's clad in naught but a thin tunic and linen breeches, a scarlet robe draped over his lithe frame. he gestures fluidly at your body when he replies, "the armour. the smith did a wondrous job in tailoring it to fit."

his gaze is far from subtle — eyes starting at the curve of your throat, lingering briefly at your shoulders and arms and waist, before landing where your thick woolen skirt meets your boots.

you swallow thickly, "thank you, my prince."

his eyes dart back up, smile deceptively sweet, "the hour grows late," a few calculated steps forwards, "i fear words for my gratitude escape me-" that sweet, warm smile, "but i am glad that you are here-" his hand, searingly warm, lands upon the part of your bicep exposed by your pauldron.

before you can reply, he squeezes gently. and then he's gone — that spot on your arm warm still, even through the long sleeves of your tunic. he has departed for his bed across the room, no glance spared behind him, single-minded attention focused on his destination.

you stand still at your post, eyes flitting around the room as he prepares to sleep. it is obviously a show, carefully designed for your eyes -

the way he sits on the bed facing you, rolling his shoulders and then neck; how he stands, body unfolding with measured grace; his hand carding through his hair, damp curls spilling around his face once disrupted. he doesn't look at you, as if this drama and allure is part of his nightly routine. his robe comes off slowly, one arm and then the other before it cascades down his back like water.

"i prefer to sleep in fewer clothes," he says, looking back over his shoulder, the cruelest little smile deepening his dimples, "if that does not offend, dame."

you're in no position to say no, to deny him any request. so you shake your head, "it does not offend, your grace."

his shirt comes next, arms and shoulders moving in a way intended to show the lean muscles from a lifetime of sword training.

a long night ahead, no doubt.

[inazuman]

dec. 22 ✧ day nine ✧ gingerbread house decorating kaiser x reader fluff <3 notes: reader is described as a woman that is arguably not feminine, but a woman all the same, with some personality.

The living room is in an array when he gets home, to say the least.

So many square-shaped cookes are laid out across the dining table, peppermint candies and candycanes are stuck carefully to a half-propped house. You come out of the kitchen with a bowl in hand, and the way your face immediately lights up at the sight of him makes him almost forget the mess.

"Mihya! You're home!" You go to kiss him, and you taste sweet, icing sugar on your lips that has him pulling you in just a little deeper.

He wraps an arm around his waist. "I'm home, love. And you're…" He gestures to the room.

"Gingerbread house making!"

Right. Clearly.

You pull him into the dining room with you, down onto the bench, and drag the half-made house right in front of him, along with a completed little gingerbread square. He does it almost unthinkingly, taking it from you as he watches you prance, moving from standing to sitting as you hum and decorate.

It's warm, he notices. The cookie in his hand, your body next to his, his heart in his chest.

It reminds him of something you've told him before, much before he'd ever gotten down on one knee. That you don't know if you hold femininity in a traditional sense. That you will not make a home out of a kitchen, or twirl in a garden for him to admire. He's never asked that of you, anyways.

A woman, you're sure to tell him that about yourself. More hard edges than softness, more direct than easygoing. But a woman, nonetheless. And having you lay gingerbread cookies all over the dining room table, icing snowed over your shirt and pants, standing over the miniature cookie-bricked house so that you get the angle just right… That's more than he's ever asked for.

He flicks edible glitter into your face with his hand, watching as you flinch.

"Mihya!" You laugh, so wholeheartedly it almost catches him off-guard, making him laugh in return. He presses the wall of the cookie house to the base cookie, balancing it carefully.

You hold walls around your heart. He understands it, he's done the same for so long. But you opened up yours for him anyways, let him into your world with each fragmented, stained-glass piece.

It's in the watching of a mirror, he thinks. The way you first react to pull away to touch, your innate uncomfortableness to the love your friends extend. And then it's way you take a step further than he ever has, in watching you try anyways. In watching you say "I love you", even as a whisper. In pulling people back into your orbit even when everything is telling you to run from them.

It makes him think that maybe, he can try too.

"One more, Mihya," you lay what must be a part of a roof in front of him, half-decorated already. There's a border of icing around it that clearly looks like you couldn't stop the piping from pouring out.

He can't help it, he covers his eyes and a laugh spits out of him.

"What?" You look at him, incredelous, mirroring his smile.

"It's so bad." And now, he can't stop, slapping his hand over his mouth as his body shakes.

"Excuse me?" You laugh with him, staring over his shoulder to see what he's seeing. "It's a roof!"

"Why is there so much icing?"

"I- okay, look, piping is not easy. You try!"

"Oh no, no need," he gasps out, "There's enough icing for three roofs."

"You do not get to complain unless you wanna do the rest of the roofs!"

He grips your chin and pulls you into a kiss, a breath of laughter on his lips. It shocks you, icing bag still in your hand, a poof of white dust catches the light.

When he finally pulls apart from you, he grazes a thumb over your cheek, taking in your wide-eyed look. "Okay. I'll do the rest of the roofs."

"Oh thank god, my arms are killing me from all the icing." You hand him the bag, shaking it in the air. He takes it from you willingly, catching your hand before it can pull away to kiss the back of it.

twelve days of selfshipmas event

god, these selfship excerpts are getting more and more personal LMAO. ALSO CAN YOU BELIEVE this isn't about sae HAHA i just really felt like writing kaiser for this one!!

sorry to tartagliove (who made this event) in advance bc it started as just gingerbread house making and then i went overboard w my feelings HAHA BUT I HAD so much fun writing this!!

[signanothername]

How do you feel about the fandom?

I’m assuming you mean Ut/utmv?

How can I say this in the most gentle way possible hmm..

I genuinely do love the creativity within the fandom, the beautiful art and stories and ideas people come up with, the different interpretations of these characters even when i don’t agree with them or have my own thoughts/opinions, cause that’s what fandoms are supposed to, it’s all of us showing our love for these lil blorbos of ours in each of our own unique different ways

Of course, each fandom has its good and bad side, but to say the ut/utmv fandom is so damn negative to the point it’s suffocating is an understatement

I’m especially weirded out by the pro harassment behavior within this fandom, like, a mf would say “i’m anti harassment!!!!” Then turn around and post/reblog a post with +20 people name dropped to “raise awareness” for whatever little that is worth, you can “raise awareness” by messaging people privately, not make a list where an asshole can easily use it to harass people, and no, saying shit like “don’t harass these people!!!” Does not alleviate any responsibility from you if they do get harassed because of your post

That’s why messages are a thing, and only messaging those who explicitly state they want to be messaged, not jump in into people’s inboxes or messages and telling them shit out of the blue

So many people within this fandom need to learn fandom etiquette, how to mind their own business, and to use the damn block button, you’re uncomfortable with a certain subject? Tumblr has the most handy filtering system, don’t like a person/find them uncomfortable? Block them, blocking them isn’t enough and want to complain? That is what you can use your blog for, feel free to complain on your own blog to your heart’s content (not on other people’s blogs or under their posts if it’s not the subject for it) that’s what friends are for too, go to their DMs and complain till the end of time

Being just a bit bigger of an artist follower wise in comparison to other artists means that I deal with very special cases sometimes, because I’m also puzzled by the way people can get super comfortable with commanding strangers to do things they want or to break basic respectful boundaries like not getting people involved in drama even when they specifically state not to include them (me, I’m starngers, every time I reblog my boundaries post, it’s me implying that I got something that broke my very basic bitch boundaries that day, which says a lot about the fandom, cause i literally only got 4 boundaries stated damn)

That’s why I opt to not get too close to people within the fandom, and am generally careful as to who I let close to me, I’m very certain people might think I somehow have my own social circle within the fandom or have some wide connections they can never get, when in reality I’m isolated af

That being said, idk if it’s young people not knowing any better, or adults who act like children, but the fact harassment is very prominent and also very normalized within the fandom is something that definitely made me seriously think of just getting back to the Transformers fandom (one of the most chill fandoms i’ve ever been part of)

Fandom is fandom, keep it for rambling about blorbos, and learn to mind your own business <3

[xotyla]

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader word count: 15k genre: no smut, heavy angst, fluff towards the end warnings: it’s dark, abuse, stalking, toxic relationship, manipulation, the reader is mentally unstable, plot twists, heeseung has a weak spot for the reader, the reader's name is iseul, violence, and overall it’s just dark, so read at your own discretion. synopsis: a girl who's out of her mind and heeseung, who's in love and down bad for her but needs help. tyla's notes: in the beginning, i was going to add smut but decided not to because i wanted this to have HEAVY angst. if you guys want a part two because heeseung does do something unexpected, i can make one; just let me know, but enjoy and soon I'll be doing a permanent tag list!

Lee Heeseung and Iseul met through their mutual close friend, Jungwon, during a small gathering at Jungwon’s apartment. Iseul, who had just moved to the city, caught Heeseung’s attention immediately with her striking confidence and wit. 

Iseul was not the type to blend into the background; her fiery personality demanded attention, and she seemed to have some sort of mysterious allure that left people curious yet cautious to approach. Though she often kept people at arm’s length, Heeseung’s kind and genuine nature intrigued her.

The connection between them sparked instantly, and Jungwon couldn’t help but play matchmaker, knowing that Heeseung’s gentleness just might be what Iseul needed to soften her edges.

Heeseung was the kind of man women often gravitated toward. His soft-spoken charm and genuine warmth made him irresistible, but they also made him a great target for manipulation. Heeseung had a history of giving too much and asking too little in return, often leaving him burned by those who saw his kindness as weakness.

Despite his past experiences, Heeseung maintained his faith in people. When he met Iseul, her possessiveness initially felt comforting—a stark contrast to the way others had treated him. But as their relationship deepened into something more than just friends and into something real, Heeseung realized that her intensity could be overwhelming, especially when she felt threatened.

Iseul’s possessiveness stemmed from a deep-seated fear of losing the people she cared about. She’d had her own share of heartbreaks, and when she found someone as pure-hearted as Heeseung, she clung tightly. Her jealousy often caused scenes, especially when other women approached him. 

At a party one evening, Iseul spotted a woman laughing a little too closely with Heeseung. Without hesitation, she stormed across the room, her voice sharp as she confronted the woman. 

The room fell silent as Iseul’s words sliced through the air, and though Heeseung tried to diffuse the situation, the tension lingered. “I’m not going to let anyone take you from me,” Iseul whispered to him afterward, her eyes filled with both fear and assurance in an odd way. 

Heeseung, though visibly uncomfortable with Iseul’s outbursts, couldn’t bring himself to push her away. He saw the vulnerability beneath her sharp exterior and felt a sense of responsibility to protect her, even from herself. 

One night, as they sat on a rooftop overlooking the city, Heeseung gently confronted Iseul about her behavior. “You don’t have to fight for me like that,” he said softly, taking her hand in his. “I’m already yours.” For a moment, Iseul’s defenses crumbled, and she admitted her insecurities. “I just... I can’t love you, Heeseung,” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. Heeseung’s heart ached as he pulled her into a comforting embrace, promising her he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Despite their passionate connection, their relationship often felt like a tug-of-war. Iseul’s fiery love burned brightly but could instantly spiral into destructive jealousy. Heeseung was struggling to balance his desire to be with her and his own personal need for stability. Their interactions were often intense and filled with tender moments and heated arguments. 

Iseul was in love with Heeseung even if they hadn’t been together for long. She quickly got attached to him and she couldn’t let him go so easily either. She saw him as a person but also as someone who was her property and she couldn’t let anyone take what she owned away from her. 

Heeseung worked as an office worker and his company was having a gathering where the workers could come together and bring along their partners but Heeseung’s biggest mistake was letting Iseul come with.

A female coworker, unaware of Iseul’s reputation as the jealous girlfriend, playfully touched Heeseung’s arm as she laughed at one of his jokes. Iseul’s blood boiled instantly. She could feel herself itching to hurt the woman, wanting to claw her black nails into the female’s skin deep enough to make her bleed and leave marks in her flawless skin forever.

Iseul had thoughts like this a lot. Heeseung made her want to hurt people and she knew it wasn’t healthy but she didn’t care. She had to protect him from women who wanted to take advantage of him and use him for their own personal gain.

Iseul, who was standing a few feet away from them, let her feet make their way over to the pair. Her jaw tightened as she got closer, her eyes darkening, looking cold and distant. “You think it’s funny, don’t you?” she spat at the women, her voice dripping with venom. The coworker stammered, confused, but Iseul could care less.

“Get your filthy hands off what’s mine.” She grabbed Heeseung’s wrist and yanked him outside before he could protest. 

Heeseung was embarrassed. He knew bringing Iseul was a bad idea from the start but he knew she’d have something to say if he didn’t bring her. He also knew that his coworkers would be talking about this until God knows when. Talking about how he lets his girlfriend boss him around like he’s the woman in the relationship or how she’s jealous, probably due to insecurity.

Heeseung didn’t have anything to say to Iseul. He honestly didn’t have any words, just letting her call a cab for them and drive them to the apartment they shared together, staying quiet the entire ride home. 

As they entered inside the apartment, the second the door closed, Iseul pinned him against it, her voice low and menacing. “You’re mine, Heeseung. I hate having to remind you.” She pulled him into a bruising kiss. Heeseung didn’t fight back whatsoever. He kissed her back because even though he was embarrassed and terrified, he was also thrilled in a sick way.  

Oh, and it didn’t stop there. 

Iseul’s jealousy reached a fever pitch at a nightclub. Heeseung, as usual, had attracted attention just by being his kind and approachable self but also by being a good-looking guy. A woman at the bar kept making excuses to talk to him, even brushing her hand against his. Iseul, watching from a distance, snapped. She stormed over, grabbing the woman’s drink from her hand and throwing it in her face. “He’s not available.” Security had to intervene but Iseul didn’t care even as she and Heeseung were practically thrown out of the club.

And as usual, they went home, the car ride silent and when they’d get inside of their apartment, the tension between them erupted into a fiery encounter. Her dominance in the bedroom mirrored her control over their relationship. She demanded everything from Heeseung—his love, loyalty, and complete surrender. And Heeseung, despite knowing how destructive she was, gave in willingly every time. 

Weeks later, after the nightclub situation, Heeseung was invited to a friend’s wedding and of course, he brought Iseul along. Heeseung had already talked with her prior to this event about controlling herself even if it was hard but no, the opposite of controlling herself happened. 

A bridesmaid had been openly flirting with Heeseung throughout the night, and Iseul was visibly seething. When the woman leaned in too close during a group photo, Iseul snapped. She yanked Heeseung away, her voice icy as she addressed the bridesmaid. “I don’t care if this is your best friend’s wedding. Touch him again, and you’ll regret it.” The situation quickly escalated when Iseul, the woman in front of everyone, left the entire wedding party stunned. 

Heeseung tried to calm her down, but Iseul’s rage was unstoppable. “Do you enjoy this? Watching them throw themselves at you? Do you like hurting me?” she screamed at him later that night, tears streaming down her face. This was their daily cycle. 

She would get mad, cause a scene, get kicked out or leave, get a cab, and have a silent car ride, arrive home, and have sex, or Heeseung would try to explain how he felt about the situation even though Iseul would sometimes get pissed and turn his words against him. This was their cycle, a never-ending one.

Despite her unhinged behavior, Heeseung loved her, and he didn’t know how many times he had to say it. He loved Iseul and he knew she did everything out of care for him. He was infatuated, addicted to the intensity of her love. Iseul had a way of making him feel wanted like no one else ever had, even if it came at a cost. 

After each explosive fight, she would pull him close, her touch both possessive and tender. “You belong to me,” she’d whisper, her lips brushing against his neck. And in those moments, Heeseung couldn’t imagine being anywhere else but with her.

But as time went on, Iseul’s control over their relationship became suffocating. She monitored his phone, questioned his every move, and isolated him from his friends. Jungwon even tried to intervene once Heeseung started telling him these things, even having to witness it for himself along with his other friends. 

Let’s take it back three weeks ago.

The air was light and jovial as Heeseung sat around the table with closest friends—Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon, Jay, Sunoo, and Niki–reminiscing about old memories. 

The group had gathered at a cozy cafe for a rare chance to catch up, and everyone was high in spirits. Joining them was Minji, Heeseung’s childhood friend, whose bubbly personality and playful demeanor had everyone smiling (except Iseul). She had been reminiscing about their younger days, leaning close to Heeseung as she laughed about their old antics. 

“You remember how I used to always beat you at soccer, Heeseung?” Minji teased, nudging his arm playfully. Her eyes sparkled with nostalgia. “And how you used to blush whenever I called you cute? I swear, you had the biggest crush on me back then!” she added, giggling.

Iseul, seated beside Heeseung, had been unusually quiet during the exchange, her sharp dark brown eyes narrowing as she watched Minji’s hand linger a little too long on his arm. The tension in her posture was palpable, but no one addressed it—until she finally broke her silence. 

“Wow, Minji,” Iseul said, her tone sarcastic. “It’s so cute how you’re stuck in the past. But unfortunately. Heeseung’s moved on. You should too.” The table fell silent as all eyes turned to her. Heeseung’s face turned pale, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Minji blinked, startled. “I–I didn’t mean anything by it,” she stammered, glancing at Heeseung for reassurance, help even. 

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t.” Iseul replied, her smile as sharp as a knife. “But just so we’re clear, Heeseung doesn’t need to be reminded of some childish crush. He has me now. And trust me, I give him everything he needs.” Her hand moved to Heeseung’s thigh under the table, gripping it possessively.

Jungwon, sensing the growing tension, stepped in. “Iseul, come on, she’s just joking around. Minji and Heeseung are old friends–there’s no harm in reminiscing.” 

Iseul’s gaze snapped at Jungwon, her expression darkening. “Old friends? Is that what you call flirting these days?” she shot back. “If you’re so concerned about my boyfriend, maybe you should focus on being better friends instead of letting random women paw at him.”

Jake leaned forward trying to defuse the situation. “Iseul, that’s not fair. Minji didn’t mean anything by it. She’s always been like this with Heeseung–it’s harmless.”

“Harmless?” Iseul’s laugh was bitter. “You don’t think I see the way she looks at him? The way she touches him? If you all think this okay, then maybe you’re the problem.”

As her voice grew sharper, Heeseung finally spoke, his voice weak. “Iseul, please, it’s not–”

“Shut up, Heeseung,” Iseul interrupted, her words silencing him instantly. She turned her piercing gaze back to Minji. “And you,” she started, “If you ever touch him again, I promise next time it won’t be pretty.”

The table was frozen in awkward silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Sunghoon opened his mouth to speak, but Jay nudged him, shaking his head. It was clear no one knew how to handle Iseul’s outburst. 

After a moment, Iseul stood, yanking Heeseung’s arm and yanking him up from his seat. “We’re leaving,” she announced coldly, not even sparing the other a glance as she dragged Heeseung out of the cafe.

Once they were gone, the remaining friends exchanged worried looks. “This isn’t normal,” Niki said quietly, his voice filled with concern. “She’s… controlling him.:

Jungwon sighed, rubbing his temples. “I know. But what can we do? Heeseung won’t listen. He’s completely under her thumb.”

“She’s dangerous,” Sunoo murmured, his voice trembling slightly, shaken up from the situation. “We need to find a way to help him before it’s too late.”

Back in Iseul and Heeseung’s car, she gripped onto the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white, as she drove in tense silence. Heeseung sat in the passenger seat, his head bowed in defeat. “Why do you let them disrespect me like that?” she finally asked, her voice cold.

“They’re my friends, Iseul,” he said softly. 

“No,” she snapped, her eyes flashing as she glanced at him. “They’re just people trying to take you away from me. You belong to me, Heeseung. Not them, me.”

And Heeseung, despite everything, could only nod, too tangled in her web of possessive love to fight back.

The rest of the drive back to their apartment was suffocatingly silent. Heeseung sat motionless in the passenger seat, staring out the window as the city lights blurred into streaks. Iseul’s jaw was clenched, her hands still gripping the steering wheel tightly as though she were fighting to keep control—not just of the car, but of the entire situation. 

When they finally arrived home, Iseul slammed the door shut behind them and threw her keys onto the counter, spinning around to face Heeseung. Her expression was unreadable, a dangerous mix of fury and desperation. “Do you even understand what you put me through back there?” 

Heeseung, already exhausted from the evening, ran a hand through his black hair and sighed. “I didn’t do anything, Iseul. Minji is just a friend. You overreacted, and now everyone thinks–”

“Thinks what?” Iseul interrupted, her voice rising. She stepped closer to him, her eyes wild. “That I’m the crazy girlfriend? That I’m unreasonable for protecting what’s mine? Don’t you dare try to make me feel like I’m the villain here, Heeseung.”

“You are being unreasonable!” Heeseung snapped back, surprisingly even himself.  “Minji wasn’t doing anything wrong. She’s been my friend for years, and you humiliated her—and me—in front of everyone!”

For a moment, the room was silent. Iseul’s lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at him, her chest rising and falling with each sharp breath. Then she laughed—a low, bitter sound that sent a shiver down Heeseung’s spine. 

“You think this is about her?” she said, her voice trembling. “This is about you. You let her touch you. You let her remind you of some stupid crush, like I don’t even exist. Do you have any idea how that feels?”

“Iseul…” Heeseung started, his voice softening, but she cut him off again. 

“No,” she said, stepping closer until there was barely any space between them. Her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him down to her level. “You don’t get to make any excuses. You’re mine, Heeseung. Mine. And if I have to keep reminding you of that, then I will.”

Her lips crashed against his in a fierce, possessive kiss, leaving no room for hesitation. Heeseung froze, torn between resisting and giving in. His body betrayed him, responding to her intensity even as his mind screamed at him to pull away.

The kiss deepened, and Iseul’s grip on him tightened, her dominance overwhelming. She pushed him against the wall, her nails digging into his arms. “Say it,” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. “Say you’re mine.” 

Heeseung’s heart pounded in his chest. “I’m yours,” he murmured, the words escaping before he could stop them.

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. “Good,” she said, her voice softer but not less commanding. When they finally pulled apart, Heeseung slumped against the wall, his head spinning. Iseul stepped back, her expression calm now, almost tender. “I only do this because I love you,” she said quietly, brushing a hand through his hair. “You know that, right?”

Heeseung nodded weakly, unable to meet her gaze. “Yeah. I know.”

But as she walked away, leaving him alone in the dimly lit room, a deep pit of unease settled in his chest. His friends worried faces flashed in his mind, and for the first time, he wondered if they were right.

He was losing himself to her. And the worst part was, he didn’t know if he could ever walk away.

He moved over to the couch, throwing himself on it with his head in his hands, constantly replaying the scene at the cafe and the confrontation in his mind. His friends’ concerned expressions lingered in his thoughts, their unspoken pleas for him to see the truth. But every time he tried to imagine leaving Iseul, his heart twisted painfully. 

In the other room, Iseul sat on the edge of their bed, staring blankly at the floor. Her anger had dissipated, replaced by a gnawing sense of emptiness. She told herself she had done what was necessary to protect their relationship. Yet a small, nagging voice whispered that she was pushing too hard, that she was losing Heeseung even as she clung to him tighter. But instead of addressing her insecurities deeply and openly, she steeled herself, convincing herself that her actions were justified. 

Heeseung’s phone buzzed on the table, breaking the silence. He glanced at the screen; it was a message from Jungwon.

Jungwon: Heeseung, are you okay? We’re really worried about you. You don’t have to deal with this alone. Please talk to us.

His chest tightened as he read the message. He wanted to respond, to reach out for help, but fear and guilt paralyzed him. He knew Jungwon and the other only wanted the best for him, but he also knew how furious Iseul would be if she found out he had confided in them. The memory of her sharp words and the fire in her eyes made his fingers hover uncertainly over the keyboard. 

“I see you’re texting someone.”

Iseul’s voice, which sounded so beautiful when she was calm, cut through the quiet like a knife, making Heeseung jump. She stood in the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked to his phone, and he quickly loved the screen, shoving it into his pocket.

“It’s just Jungwon,” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. 

Her lips curved up into a small smile, but there was no warmth in it. “Jungwon, huh? Let me guess—he’s telling you I’m a problem, that you need to leave me, right?”

Jungwon and Iseul had been friends for about a year now and he knew all about her relationship but he never knew why they ended or failed but now he could understand why. Iseul always painted others to be the problem while convincing everyone around her that she was a victim. She’s a master manipulator, if you will, and now that Jungwon is seeing what his best friend is going through, he’s definitely regretting trying to play matchmaker. 

“Iseul, no one said that,” Heeseung replied, his voice shaky.

“They don’t have to say it,” she said, still calm, stepping closer to him. “I can see it in their eyes. They think I’m crazy. They think I’m the problem. But you know better, don’t you, Heeseung? You know how much I care about you and want to protect you. You know how much I love you.”

Heeseung looked up at her, his throat tightening. “I know Iseul. I know you love me.”

“Then why do you let them poison your mind against me?” She asked, her voice shaky like his was moments ago. “Do you want to leave me? Is that it? I mean—after everything we’ve been through?”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, Iseul. I don’t want to leave you.”

She cupped his face in her hands. “I couldn’t handle losing you, Heeseung. I need you.”

Heeseung’s heart ached as he looked into her eyes. He knew she was scared to lose him; he could feel it. He wanted to help her, fix whatever was broken inside her. But deep down, he knew he was breaking down with her.

Later that night, Iseul had finally fallen asleep. The two heading to their bedroom after the conversation she had instantly went to bed once her head rested on his chest. Heeseung lay awake staring at the ceiling. His phone vibrated against the nightstand. Another message from Jungwon. 

Jungwon: You don’t have to reply. Just know we’re here for you whenever you’re ready.

Tears pricked at Heeseung’s eyes as he read the message. He felt trapped between two worlds—the toxic intensity of his relationship with Iseul and the lifeline his friends were trying to offer. 

Now, fast forward three weeks later. 

Heeseung and Iseul were the same as usual but it got worse. She started getting physical with him. She’d throw things at him, like glass objects, even hitting him and he was scared. He hadn’t contacted anyone for those three weeks because she was watching over him like a hawk and for once in his life, he was genuinely scared. 

The once vibrant Heeseung had become a shadow of himself, his days consumed by fear and the suffocating grip of Iseul’s control growing tighter. 

One evening, after another grueling day of being scrutinized, Heeseung sat quietly at the kitchen table, stirring a cup of tea he didn’t even want. Iseul was pacing back and forth, her voice sharp and accusatory as she berated him over something trivial—a stray sock he’d left on the floor.

This was beyond jealousy now; it was over the smallest things. 

“You don’t care about me, do you?” She slammed her against the kitchen table. The loud noises causing him to flinch. “I give you everything, Heeseung, and this is how you repay me? With disrespect?”

“Iseul, it’s just a sock,” he said weakly

Her eyes darkened, and in an instant, she grabbed the mug of tea and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall, tea splattering like a storm of rage. “It’s not about a fucking sock–it’s about you not appreciating me!”

Heeseung’s heart raced as he stood up, his hands shakingly raised defensively. “Iseul, please, calm down. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

But she wasn’t listening. In her fury, she picked up a book from the table and threw it at him. He ducked, the book narrowly missing his head and hitting the floor with a dull thud. She advanced on him, her hand striking his arm hard enough to leave a stinging sensation. 

“You’re pathetic,” her voice filled with anger. “Always trying to make me feel like I’m the problem. Maybe if you weren’t so weak, I wouldn’t have to do this!”

Heeseung didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His mind was screaming at him to leave, to run, but his body wouldn’t move. He was praying that someone would help him. Anyone.

Meanwhile, Jungwon, Jake, and Sunghoon had been growing increasingly worried. They hadn’t heard from Heeseung in weeks, and every attempt to contact him had gone unanswered. Even his social media had gone dark, a glaring red flag that something was wrong.”

“Heeseung's not okay,” Jungwon said firmly during a group meeting at Jake’s apartment. The six of them sat in a tense circle, their faces grim. 

“No shit.” Jay muttered. “The last time we saw him, she dragged him out like a prisoner. He hasn’t even read any of my messages.”

“I say we go to his place and check on him,” Sunghoon said, crossing his arms. “Heeseung might hate us for it, but I don’t care. That girl’s fucking deranged.” 

Niki nodded. “We have to do something. Heeseung’s never been gone for this long without talking to us. What if she’s hurt him?

After a brief discussion, they agreed to visit Heeseung unannounced the following evening. They needed to know if he was okay, even if it meant confronting his crazy girlfriend.

The next night, Heeseung sat in the living room, staring blankly at the TV. Iseul sat beside him. Her arm draped possessively over his shoulders. Every time he shifted, her grip tightened, a silent reminder of her control.

A sudden knock at the door shattered the oppressive quiet. Heeseung stiffened, his eyes darting to Iseul, who immediately rose, her expression hardening. “Stay here,” she commanded, walking toward the door. 

When she opened it, she was met with the sight of Jungwon, Jake, and Sunghoon standing on the threshold. Their faces were a mixture of worry and determination. 

“What are you doing here?” Iseul demanded, blocking the doorway so they couldn’t even get a glimpse of Heeseung.

“We’re here to see Heeseung,” Jungwon said firmly. “Is he home?”

“He’s fine,” she snapped. “You don’t need to see him.”

Jake stepped forward, his tone sharp. “We’re not leaving until we talk to him. Move.”

Iseul’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I said he’s fine. He doesn’t need you interfering in his life.”

At that moment, Heeseung appeared in the hallway, his pale face and hollow eyes shocking his friends. “Guys…” he started, his voice barely audible. 

“Holy shit, Heeseung, you look terrible,” Sunghoon said, pushing past Iseul before she could stop him. Jake and Jungwon followed, forcing their way inside. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Iseul shouted.

“We’re taking him with us,” Jungwon said coldly, his gaze fixed on Heeseung. “He doesn’t deserve this.”

Heeseung looked between his friends and Iseul, his heart pounding. He wanted to leave to escape the nightmare he’d been living, but the fear of what Iseul might do held him back. 

“You’re not going anywhere, Heeseung,” Iseul said, stepping in front of him and gripping his arm tightly. “You’re staying here. With me.”

“You don’t get to decide that,”Jake said, his voice firm. “Heeseung, if you want to leave, we’re here to help you. Just say the word.”

Tears welled in Heeseung’s eyes as he looked at his friends. For the first time in weeks, a glimmer of hope stirred in chest. But when Iseul’s nails dug into his arm, the hope flickered and nearly died. 

“I…” he hesitated, his voice trembling. 

“You can’t take him,” Iseul said. “He’s mine.”

But as Heeseung reached out, his steady presence grounding Heeseung, the words he had been too afraid to say finally escaped his lips.

“I want to leave,” Heeseung whispered, his voice breaking.”

Iseul’s grip faltered for the briefest moment and in that instant, Jungwon and Jake pulled Heeseung away from her. Iseul screamed, her voice a mix of rage and heartbreak, but Sunghoon stood between her and Heeseung, blocking her path. 

She tried everything to get to him but Sunghoon wouldn’t budge. 

It was finally happening. He was leaving her breaking all of his promises and throwing all of his words out of the window. She watched as they took him, breaking down at the sight. Tears ran down her pale cheeks and she fell to her knees instantly crying her eyes out. He was really gone. He really chose them over her. 

The ride back to Jungwon’s apartment was silent save for the faint hum of the car engine. Heeseung sat in the backseat, staring blankly out the window, his body trembling from exhaustion and the adrenaline that still coursed through him. Jake drove with clenched hands on the wheel, his jaw tight, while Jungwon sat beside him, constantly glancing back at Heeseung with concern.

When they arrived, the group ushered Heeseung inside. Sunghoon locked the door behind them, as if afraid Iseul might appear at any moment. Heeseung sank onto the couch, his shoulders slumped. His friends exchanged worried glances before Jungwon spoke.

“Heeseung, you need to tell us what’s been going on,” he said gently, sitting across from him. “We’ve been worried sick about you.”

Heeseung hesitated, his throat tightening as he tried to find the words. His hands trembled as he ran them through his hair. “I… I don’t even know where to start,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Start anywhere,” Jake said firmly, sitting beside him. “We’re here now. You don’t have to deal with this alone anymore.”

Heeseung let out a shaky breath, the dam of emotions he’d been holding back for weeks finally breaking. “She… she wouldn’t let me leave,” he began, his voice trembling. “She took my phone, monitored everything I did. If I even looked like I was thinking about leaving, she’d lose it. She started throwing things, hitting me…”

Sunoo’s hand flew to his mouth in shock. “She hit you?”

Heeseung nodded, his eyes welling with tears. “It got worse after that night at the café. She blamed me for everything—said I made her act like that, that it was my fault for not loving her enough.”

“That’s not love, Heeseung,” Sunghoon said, his voice low but firm. “That’s manipulation. Abuse.”

“I know,” Heeseung admitted, his voice breaking. “But I couldn’t leave. I was scared of what she might do—to me, to herself. She always made me feel like I owed her something, like I was nothing without her.”

Jay, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, finally spoke. “You don’t owe her anything, Heeseung. What she did to you wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Heeseung buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking as the weight of his ordeal finally came crashing down. Jungwon moved to sit beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back. “We’re going to help you through this,” he said softly. “But you need to promise us that you won’t go back to her.”

“I… I don’t know if I can,” Heeseung admitted, his voice muffled. “She’ll come after me. She always does. And part of me still—” He stopped, his voice catching as he realized what he was about to say.

“You still care about her,” Jake finished for him, his tone understanding but firm. “I get it, Heeseung. But caring about her doesn’t mean you should let her hurt you. You have to put yourself first now.”

Heeseung nodded hesitantly, though the fear in his eyes remained.

The group spent the night keeping Heeseung company, taking turns staying up to ensure he felt safe. They checked in on him constantly, offering him food, water, and comfort. Despite their efforts, Heeseung barely spoke, the trauma of the past weeks weighing heavily on him.

The next morning, Jungwon sat down with Heeseung at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of coffee in front of each of them. “We need to talk about next steps,” Jungwon said carefully. “You can’t just hide here forever. Iseul’s not going to stop looking for you.”

Heeseung’s grip on his mug tightened. “What can I even do? She knows everything about me—where I work, where my family lives…”

“Then we get the authorities involved,” Jungwon said firmly. “We can help you file a restraining order, and if she tries to contact you, she’ll face consequences.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened. “A restraining order? I don’t know, Jungwon. What if that makes her angrier?”

“It’s not about her feelings anymore,” Sunghoon interjected, leaning against the counter. “It’s about keeping you safe. She’s already hurt you, Heeseung. Don’t give her another chance to do it again.”

The words struck a chord in Heeseung, and after a long moment of silence, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

The group spent the next few days helping Heeseung gather the necessary evidence to file a restraining order. He finally opened up about the extent of Iseul’s behavior—her constant monitoring, the physical abuse, the threats. Each detail made his friends’ anger grow, but they channeled it into supporting him.

Meanwhile, Iseul’s attempts to contact Heeseung escalated. She sent dozens of messages and left voicemails filled with alternating pleas and threats. Jungwon took Heeseung’s phone to document everything, ensuring there was a clear record of her harassment.

By the time they filed the restraining order, Heeseung felt a small, cautious sense of relief. It wasn’t over—he knew that—but it was a step toward reclaiming his life.

For the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe. And with his friends by his side, he dared to believe that he might one day be free of Iseul’s shadow entirely.

The days following the filing of the restraining order were a whirlwind of emotions for Heeseung. Relief, fear, guilt, and a gnawing uncertainty all competed for space in his mind. His friends took turns staying with him at Jungwon’s apartment, ensuring he was never alone, but even their presence couldn’t fully ease the tension in his chest.

One evening, after a particularly long day, Heeseung sat on the couch, staring blankly at the TV while Sunoo rummaged through the kitchen. Sunoo had insisted on making dinner that night, hoping the distraction would help Heeseung relax.

“You’ve barely eaten today,” Sunoo said, breaking the silence as he set a plate of food in front of Heeseung. “You need to take care of yourself, Heeseung. You’ve been through enough.”

Heeseung glanced at the plate, his stomach churning. “I’m not really hungry,” he muttered.

Sunoo frowned but didn’t push. Instead, he sat down beside him, his voice soft. “I know it’s hard right now, but you’re doing the right thing. Getting out of that situation—it’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”

Heeseung’s eyes flickered with doubt. “It doesn’t feel brave. It feels… wrong. Like I abandoned her.”

“You didn’t abandon her,” Sunoo said firmly. “She was hurting you, Heeseung. You had to put yourself first, and that’s not wrong.”

A few hours later, Jake and Sunghoon arrived, their presence bringing a slightly lighter atmosphere to the apartment. Jake immediately flopped onto the couch beside Heeseung, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You look like you’ve been through a war,” Jake said, half-joking.

Heeseung managed a weak smile. “Feels like it, too.”

“Well, you’re not alone,” Sunghoon said, sitting across from them. “We’re all here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to fight this battle by yourself.”

Their words comforted Heeseung, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind wouldn’t let him fully relax. He knew Iseul too well. She wasn’t the type to give up easily, and her silence since the restraining order had been filed only made him more uneasy.

That unease turned out to be justified.

Late that night, as the group was winding down, Heeseung’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. He froze, his heart pounding as everyone else in the room turned to look at it.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Jungwon asked, his voice laced with concern.

Heeseung nodded silently, his hands shaking as he picked up the phone. The screen displayed a series of missed calls and texts, all from an unknown number he recognized immediately as Iseul’s.

Iseul: I know where you are.Iseul: You can’t hide from me forever, Heeseung.Iseul: I’ll forgive you if you just come back. Don’t make me do something drastic.

Heeseung’s stomach dropped. He handed the phone to Jungwon, unable to read any more. Jungwon’s jaw clenched as he scrolled through the messages, his anger evident.

“She’s escalating,” Jungwon said grimly. “We need to let the authorities know.”

“Now?” Heeseung asked, his voice trembling.

“Yes, now,” Jay interjected. “This isn’t just harassment anymore. She’s threatening you.”

The group quickly sprang into action, calling the police and providing them with the messages as evidence. The officers assured Heeseung that they would follow up on the case, but their words did little to ease his anxiety.

After the officers left, the group sat in a tense silence. Heeseung felt like a burden, dragging his friends into a situation that seemed to have no end.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“Stop apologizing,” Sunghoon said sharply. “This isn’t your fault, Heeseung. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Jungwon added, his voice softer but no less firm. “She can try to scare you all she wants, but she won’t get to you as long as we’re here.”

That night, Heeseung finally allowed himself to cry. For weeks, he had bottled up his fear, his pain, and his guilt, but in the safety of his friends’ presence, the dam finally broke. Jungwon and Jake stayed by his side, offering quiet reassurances as he let it all out.

By morning, Heeseung felt lighter, though the shadow of Iseul’s presence still loomed. He wasn’t out of the woods yet, but for the first time in a long time, he believed he might survive this. And with his friends by his side, he was determined to reclaim his life, piece by piece.

In the days following Iseul's threatening messages, Heeseung's friends became increasingly concerned about how far she might go. The restraining order hadn’t deterred her, and her escalating behavior made it clear she wouldn’t stop until she had Heeseung back under her control. Jake, always the practical one, suggested that they start looking into her past to understand more about her motives—and potentially find a way to protect Heeseung further.

“She’s unhinged,” Jake said, scrolling through his laptop as the group gathered at Jungwon’s apartment. “Nobody acts like that out of nowhere. There has to be something in her history—something we can use to get ahead of her.”

“I don’t know if we should dig into her personal life,” Jungwon hesitated, glancing at Heeseung, who was sitting quietly on the couch. “What if it makes things worse?”

Heeseung, who had been largely silent since the ordeal began, finally spoke up. “No. Do it. I need to know what I’m dealing with. I can’t live like this anymore.”

It didn’t take long for the digging to yield results. Jake found a series of social media accounts that seemed abandoned, with cryptic posts hinting at tumultuous past relationships. But it was Sunghoon, searching through local forums, who uncovered something truly unsettling: a police report from two years ago.

“She was in another relationship before you, Heeseung,” Sunghoon said, his face pale as he read the report aloud. “Her ex filed a restraining order against her. He claimed she stalked him, broke into his apartment, and even tried to sabotage his new relationship.”

The room went silent. Heeseung’s face turned pale as the weight of the discovery settled on him. “She’s done this before,” he whispered.

“And it gets worse,” Sunghoon continued, his voice shaking. “Her ex disappeared six months after the restraining order was issued. The case went cold. No evidence, no leads—just gone.”

“Are you saying…?” Sunoo trailed off, his eyes wide with fear.

“I’m saying we might be dealing with someone a lot more dangerous than we thought,” Sunghoon finished grimly.

As they delved deeper, more disturbing details emerged. Iseul’s high school records revealed incidents of violent outbursts and manipulative behavior. She’d been expelled from one school for attacking another student over a supposed slight, and another for threatening a teacher. There were whispers on old forums about her obsessing over a boy who had rejected her, though nothing concrete ever came of it.

“She’s been like this for years,” Jay said, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did we not see this coming?”

“She’s good at hiding it,” Jungwon said quietly. “She came across as so sweet and harmless at first. None of us thought she was capable of…” He hesitated, glancing at Heeseung, “...this.”

Heeseung sat in silence, his hands clenched into fists. He felt sick. The woman he thought he loved, the woman he had trusted, was a stranger to him—a stranger capable of things he could barely comprehend.

That night, the group debated their next steps. Sunghoon wanted to take the information straight to the police, but Jake argued that they needed more evidence to tie Iseul to her ex’s disappearance. Meanwhile, Jungwon suggested confronting Iseul’s parents or old acquaintances to learn more about her behavior.

“Someone has to know what happened with her ex,” Jungwon said. “If we can figure out what pushed her over the edge, maybe we can stop her before she does something worse.”

Heeseung shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to her family. They’ll just defend her. She’s probably been manipulating them, too.”

“We have to try,” Sunoo said gently. “Heeseung, we’re running out of time. She knows where you are, and she’s not going to stop until she gets to you.”

Reluctantly, Heeseung agreed.

The following day, Jake and Sunghoon visited Iseul’s childhood home, posing as concerned friends to her parents. Her mother, a soft-spoken woman with tired eyes, welcomed them in, but her father was immediately defensive.

“What’s this about?” her father demanded, crossing his arms. “If you’re here to talk about Heeseung, we don’t want to hear it.”

“We’re here because we’re worried about her,” Jake lied smoothly. “She’s been struggling, and we’re trying to understand how to help her.”

Her mother sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor. “Iseul has always been… sensitive,” she admitted. “She cares too deeply. Sometimes it gets the better of her.”

“Cares too deeply?” Sunghoon repeated, his tone sharp. “She’s been stalking Heeseung, threatening him. This isn’t just ‘caring.’”

Her father glared at them. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Iseul’s had a hard life. People misunderstand her.”

Her mother hesitated, then whispered, “There was someone before Heeseung. A boy she loved. When he left her, she was never the same. She became obsessed.”

“What happened to him?” Jake asked, his heart pounding.

Her mother didn’t answer, but the haunted look in her eyes spoke volumes.

When Jake and Sunghoon returned to Jungwon’s apartment and relayed what they’d learned, the room fell into a heavy silence. The pieces were starting to come together, and the picture they painted was terrifying.

“She’s done this before,” Jungwon said grimly. “And if we don’t stop her, she’ll do it again.”

“What if she already has something planned?” Sunoo asked, his voice trembling.

Heeseung’s stomach churned as he looked at his friends. “Then we don’t wait for her to act,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. “We go to the police, and we stop her before it’s too late.”

Unbeknownst to them, Iseul was already watching. From a parked car down the street, she observed the comings and goings at Jungwon’s apartment, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel. She knew they were digging into her past, and she wasn’t about to let them ruin everything.

“Heeseung,” she murmured to herself, her eyes narrowing. “You belong to me. And no one is going to take you away.”

The game was far from over.

The next few days were filled with a quiet but intense determination. Heeseung’s friends, now more committed than ever to uncovering the truth about Iseul, dove headfirst into researching her past. Heeseung, though exhausted and still haunted by the relentless fear she instilled in him, reluctantly shared everything he knew. Every detail about her childhood, her trauma, and her obsession with control became key pieces to understanding the woman who was slowly dismantling his life.

“Iseul told me a lot over the years,” Heeseung said one night, as they sat around the living room. The tension was palpable, but his voice was steady as he continued. “She said her parents were emotionally abusive. She told me they would always put pressure on her to be perfect, to get everything right. She said they used to hit her when she failed to meet their expectations... and that they always told her she was worthless. That’s why she always has to be in control of everything around her. If she lets go, she feels like she’s going to break.”

Jungwon frowned, his fingers gripping the edge of the coffee table. “That explains a lot. It’s not just about you, Heeseung. She’s trying to control everything because she’s never had control in her own life.”

Sunghoon, who had been quietly listening, added, “It’s like a need for power. She’s so obsessed with keeping hold of you because it’s the one thing that makes her feel like she’s not completely helpless. Like she’s in charge.”

“That’s why she’s so possessive,” Jake murmured, his mind racing as he processed the new information. “But it’s more than just wanting you, Heeseung. It’s about her needing you to need her. She has to be the one pulling the strings, or everything falls apart.”

“I think we’ve been looking at it all wrong,” Jay said, his voice tinged with realization. “We’ve been thinking of her as some crazy ex or jealous girlfriend. But she’s not just obsessed with Heeseung—she’s obsessed with control. And if she doesn’t have control, she completely unravels.”

Heeseung swallowed, his eyes clouded with guilt and fear. “I just wanted to help her. I didn’t know how deep it went. I didn’t know how far she’d go to keep me.”

“It’s not your fault,” Sunoo said, giving him a reassuring look. “You didn’t make her this way. And we’re going to fix this. We just need to understand her more.”

The team spent the next several days digging deeper. They scoured every piece of information they could find about Iseul—old school records, past social media accounts, even public records of her family history. What they uncovered was chilling.

Iseul’s parents had never been arrested for abuse, but there were whispers about their reputation within the small community they lived in. The more they dug, the clearer it became that her family had a history of mistreating her, both emotionally and physically. Her father had been a domineering figure, frequently found yelling at her in public, and her mother, though seemingly soft-spoken, had a cold, calculating air about her. Heeseung remembered the way Iseul had spoken about them, and he realized how much her mother’s behavior mirrored Iseul’s own—controlling, suffocating, and manipulative.

“I found something,” Jake said, breaking the silence one evening as he sat at his laptop. The group gathered around him, their collective eyes wide with anticipation.

“It’s an article from years ago,” Jake explained, his finger pointing at the screen. “It’s about Iseul’s mom, Mi-Young. Apparently, there was a case where Mi-Young was involved in a major fraud scheme, scamming people out of their savings. She was caught, but the case was dropped. They say it was because of her connections in the community. But what’s important is that, during the investigation, several witnesses came forward, talking about how Mi-Young had a terrifying grip on her daughter. They say she��d make Iseul do things to ‘earn her love.’ It’s all tied to that same need for control.”

“Is it possible Iseul learned that behavior from her mother?” Jungwon asked quietly, his voice filled with disbelief. “That she was taught to manipulate and control from a young age?”

Jake nodded grimly. “It seems like it. She’s repeating the cycle. And now, Heeseung, you’re the target.”

Sunghoon leaned forward, his expression dark. “This is bad. We thought we could reason with her, but it’s clear that we’re dealing with someone who has no idea what healthy love looks like. Someone who’s been conditioned to believe that control is the only form of affection.”

Heeseung felt his stomach churn. He had always known Iseul’s love was intense, but he hadn’t realized it was toxic—born out of years of manipulation and abuse. She wasn’t just someone with a simple jealousy problem; she had been shaped by abuse into a person who thought control and obsession were signs of love.

“I don’t know how to stop this,” Heeseung admitted, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “I just wanted to be there for her. But now... I don’t know who she really is anymore.”

“You’re not the one who’s changed,” Jake said gently. “She’s the one who’s twisted everything. We just need to focus on getting you out of her grip. And for that, we need to keep looking at her past. There’s got to be something we can use to make her see that this isn’t love. It’s control, and it’s destroying both of you.”

Over the next week, the group continued to dig deeper, slowly peeling back layers of Iseul’s past. They discovered more disturbing details about her relationships, including an ex-boyfriend who had filed a restraining order against her for stalking and harassment. The police report detailed how she had bombarded him with dozens of texts and calls after their breakup, showing the same obsessive tendencies she had shown with Heeseung. The pattern was undeniable.

“She’s not capable of seeing how destructive this is,” Sunghoon said, shaking his head. “She’s been taught that this kind of obsession is normal. It’s how she learned to love.”

“And she’s using the same tactics with you, Heeseung,” Jungwon added. “This is a cycle of abuse that goes back generations. And until she gets help, it’s not going to stop.”

“Maybe it’s time to try and confront her about it,” Sunoo suggested. “If we confront her with the truth, maybe she’ll see the damage she’s doing.”

But Heeseung couldn’t shake the fear in his chest. “What if it just makes things worse?”

“She’s already made things worse,” Jake said. “We can’t let her keep hurting you like this. We need to make her see that she’s destroying everything—everyone—around her.”

But as they gathered the final pieces of the puzzle, it became clear that confronting Iseul wouldn’t be as simple as revealing her past. The deeper they went into her history, the more they realized how deeply embedded her need for control was—and how far she was willing to go to keep it.

After weeks of research and discussions, the group finally reached a decision. They couldn’t keep running, and they couldn’t keep living in fear. They needed to confront Iseul, to make her face the truth about her past, her actions, and what she had been doing to Heeseung. Despite knowing how dangerous and volatile she could be, they decided they had no other choice. If they didn’t stop her now, things would only escalate further.

The plan was simple: they would draw Iseul in with Heeseung. She would be lured into thinking this was just another moment where she could reclaim him, control him. But once she was there, they would make sure the truth came crashing down on her. It was risky—too risky—but it was the only way to break the cycle.

The night before the confrontation, Heeseung was a mess. His hands shook as he stared at the group in the dimly lit living room. His friends tried to reassure him, but the fear in his eyes was undeniable.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Heeseung said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared... of what she’ll do. I don’t want her to hurt anyone, but I don’t know how to stop her.”

Jungwon placed a firm hand on his shoulder, trying to offer a sense of calm. “You’re not alone, Heeseung. We’re doing this together. You’re stronger than you think, and we’re not going to let her hurt you anymore.”

“She’s not just hurting him,” Jake added, his voice low but full of conviction. “She’s been hurting all of us, and we can’t let her keep doing this.”

Heeseung nodded weakly but still looked unconvinced. The knot in his stomach tightened as he thought of Iseul—her eyes, filled with obsession and possessiveness, the way she could easily switch from sweet to violent in the blink of an eye. He didn’t know if he could handle facing that again.

The plan was set into motion the next evening. The group had managed to find a time when Iseul had been unusually quiet, as though she were planning something. They figured it was her moment of vulnerability. She had always been unpredictable, but she had never been one to resist Heeseung for long.

Heeseung called her from his phone, his voice shaking as he told her he needed to see her. She didn’t hesitate, immediately agreeing to come over. The tension in the apartment was thick with anxiety as the group made their final preparations. Heeseung sat on the couch, staring down at his phone, silently pleading for strength.

“I’m going to try to keep her calm,” Heeseung said to the group, looking at each of them in turn. “Please... don’t do anything unless she goes too far. I don’t want this to turn into a mess.”

Jungwon nodded. “You have to trust us, Heeseung. We won’t let her hurt you.”

The doorbell rang. The moment had come.

Iseul stood at the door, her presence immediately overwhelming the room. Her eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the group, her lips curling into a smile when they landed on Heeseung. Her beauty, though undeniably striking, only heightened the sense of danger that surrounded her.

“Heeseung,” she cooed, her voice sweet yet laced with something darker. “I knew you couldn’t stay away. I’m always here for you.”

Heeseung stood from the couch, his legs unsteady as he moved toward her. “Iseul... we need to talk. It’s time.”

Her eyes narrowed, her smile faltering for just a split second. “Talk?” she repeated, her tone suddenly hard. “What do we need to talk about?”

The group stood silently behind Heeseung, the tension palpable. Jungwon was the first to speak, his voice calm but firm.

“We need to talk about everything, Iseul,” he said. “About what you’ve been doing to Heeseung. About the way you’ve been controlling him, manipulating him... and about your past.”

Her eyes flicked from Jungwon to the others, her expression darkening. “What are you talking about?” she snapped, her hand twitching slightly toward the pocket of her jacket where a knife was hidden. The group noticed it immediately but stayed calm.

“We know about your parents,” Sunghoon continued, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “We know about how you were abused. We know you’ve been using Heeseung to fill that void in your life, to make up for the control you never had as a child.”

Iseul’s expression shifted to one of disbelief, her eyes widening for a moment as she took a step back. “You... you don’t know anything about me!” she hissed. “You think you can just dig into my life and expose me like this? You think you can tell me what to do?”

“We’re not telling you what to do, Iseul,” Sunghoon said softly, his voice unwavering. “We’re telling you that what you’re doing is wrong. You’re hurting him, and you’re hurting yourself in the process. You need help.”

“Stop,” Heeseung pleaded, stepping forward, his voice shaking. “Iseul, please... this isn’t love. This is control. You’ve been controlling me, manipulating me, and I can’t keep living like this. You’re breaking me.”

The words seemed to hit her like a slap. For a moment, she looked genuinely stunned, her face contorting with anger and confusion. “I’m not controlling you!” she screamed, her voice rising. “I love you, Heeseung. I love you more than anyone ever could! You can’t leave me. You can’t!”

“I’m not leaving you,” Heeseung said, his voice breaking. “I’m asking you to leave me. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living in fear.”

Iseul’s eyes hardened, her lips curling into a snarl. “You think you can leave me? You think you can just walk away?” Her hand shot out, grabbing a vase off the table and throwing it at the wall, the sharp crash filling the room. She moved toward Heeseung in a blur, her hand grabbing his wrist with terrifying force, her nails digging into his skin.

“You’re mine,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous. “You’ll always be mine. And no one will ever take you from me.”

Before anyone could move, Jungwon stepped forward, placing himself between Iseul and Heeseung, trying to de-escalate the situation. “Iseul, this isn’t the way. This needs to stop. You can’t keep doing this.”

But she only pushed him aside, her face twisted with rage. “You think you can take him from me?” she spat. “Heeseung is mine! You’ll never understand! You’ll never feel what I feel for him!”

The group tried to step in, but the chaos was overwhelming. Iseul was breaking down in front of them, and it was clear—she wasn’t ready to face the truth.

In that moment, Heeseung realized how deep the damage ran. Iseul wasn’t just a woman in love. She was a person broken by years of abuse, unable to comprehend anything beyond control and possession. And no matter how much he wanted to help her, he understood now that he couldn’t fix this alone.

She was too far gone. The confrontation had only pushed her deeper into her spiral, and Heeseung was once again caught in the storm of her fury.

As the confrontation escalated, Iseul’s once-contained demeanor began to unravel before everyone’s eyes. Her face twisted in a way that was almost unrecognizable, the mask of control she had so carefully built over the years cracking under the pressure. She stood there, her chest heaving, the words from Heeseung and his friends hanging in the air like a heavy weight she couldn’t shake off.

Her eyes darted around the room, from one person to the next, as if searching for someone who could make it all stop, someone who could tell her that this wasn’t real—that she wasn’t being exposed, that she wasn’t losing control. But no one came to her rescue. The silence between them grew unbearable. Iseul could feel it—the suffocating reality that she was alone, that the walls she had so carefully built around herself were falling down. Her lips trembled as her hands began to shake.

“You’re all lying,” Iseul whispered, her voice barely audible, yet still sharp with disbelief. Her eyes locked onto Heeseung’s, pleading, desperate. “This isn’t what you think. I love you, Heeseung. I love you more than anyone ever could. You’re mine… I need you.”

Heeseung stood there, heart pounding in his chest. He saw the brokenness in her eyes, the desperation, and the chaos that was beginning to spill out. He hated seeing her like this, but he knew, deep down, it had gone too far. “Iseul, this isn’t love,” he said softly, his voice quivering with both fear and sorrow. “This is control. You’ve been controlling me, manipulating me. I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep being the person you need me to be.”

She took a step back as if struck by the words, her body swaying slightly. “No, no,” she muttered, her voice shaky but louder now. “You can’t leave me, Heeseung. You can’t. I gave you everything. I did everything for you, and you’re going to throw it all away? You—” Her words caught in her throat, her breathing growing shallow and erratic.

Before anyone could react, she stumbled, her legs giving way beneath her as her hands gripped her hair, pulling at it as if she were trying to hold herself together. She collapsed to her knees on the floor, her body shaking violently. The sound that came from her wasn’t human—it was a gut-wrenching, primal sob that seemed to come from deep within her. It was the sound of someone whose mind had finally fractured, someone who had pushed themselves too far for too long.

“I’ve never been good enough for anyone!” she cried out, her voice cracking. “Not for my parents, not for you, Heeseung. I’ve always had to be perfect, always had to be everything everyone wanted me to be. And now you’re all telling me that I’m nothing, that I’m broken. But I am, aren’t I? I’m nothing but a monster.”

Jungwon stepped forward cautiously, his heart aching at the sight of her—this was no longer just a woman possessed by obsession; this was someone who had been destroyed by the years of abuse, who had been crushed by the weight of her own need for control. He knelt beside her, trying to offer some sense of comfort, but he was careful, knowing how volatile she could be.

“Iseul, no one is calling you a monster,” Jungwon said softly, his tone as gentle as he could muster. “You’ve been through a lot. We know that. But what you’re doing to Heeseung isn’t healthy. You’re hurting him—and yourself.”

She looked up at him, her tear-streaked face filled with raw emotion. “You don’t get it,” she spat bitterly, pushing him away as if he were the cause of her pain. “None of you get it. You think you can fix me. You think you can just make me better, make everything okay. But I’m beyond that, okay? I’m not fixable. I was never fixable.”

The group was taken aback by the venom in her voice, but they pressed on. They couldn’t let her spin this any longer, couldn’t let her use her pain as a weapon to hurt others. Heeseung, though his heart was breaking at the sight of her, knew this was the moment when everything would change—when she either broke free of her control or became completely consumed by it.

“Iseul,” Heeseung said softly, stepping closer to her despite his fear. “You are fixable, but you can’t do it alone. You need help, and I can’t be the one to help you anymore. I’ve been trying to be there for you, but it’s hurting both of us. This isn’t love. This isn’t how love is supposed to feel.”

She gasped, her eyes wild with panic. “No! Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his skin with painful intensity. “You can’t leave me, Heeseung. I need you. I can’t breathe without you. Don’t leave me like this. I’ll die without you. I swear I will!”

Heeseung recoiled, his chest tightening as she clung to him, her grip almost suffocating. The desperation in her eyes was chilling, and he could see the spiraling collapse that was unfolding before him. This wasn’t the woman he had once loved. This was someone who had been broken so many times by life and her past that there was nothing left but the need to consume, to possess, to destroy.

“I’m not leaving you, Iseul,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t stay in this toxic cycle anymore. I need to be free. We need to break free from this.”

Her eyes widened, her chest rising and falling erratically as her breath became shallow. “No... no, no, no!” she screamed, her voice rising in pitch until it was a raw, guttural scream that echoed throughout the room. Her face twisted in agony as she sank back to the floor, her hands reaching for anything, for something to hold on to.

“I can’t lose you, Heeseung,” she cried out, her body wracked with sobs. “I can’t lose you... I can’t be alone again.” She curled into herself, her sobs growing louder and more desperate as the weight of her own fractured mind began to collapse in on her.

The group stood frozen, not knowing how to react to this meltdown. They knew that they couldn’t let this continue. They couldn’t let Iseul drag Heeseung down into the abyss with her. But the tragedy was clear—she was so deep in her own torment, so lost in her need for control, that she didn’t see the damage she had caused.

“We’ll help you, Iseul,” Sunghoon said, his voice firm, but sympathetic. “But only if you let us. You need to get help. This can’t keep going on.”

She didn’t respond. Her sobs were the only answer, a sound that tore through the room, raw and vulnerable. Heeseung watched her, torn between the woman he had once known and the monster she had become. He didn’t know if there was a way back for her, but he knew one thing for certain—he couldn’t save her anymore. Not like this.

Iseul’s sobs slowly began to quiet, her body trembling as the weight of her emotional breakdown still clung to her like a heavy blanket. The silence that followed was thick, and the room seemed to close in around her, as though the very air itself was holding its breath. Her chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, but her frantic energy seemed to be ebbing, leaving her more vulnerable and exposed than ever before.

Heeseung stood a few feet away, his hands trembling as he watched her—watching the woman who had once been so full of life, now reduced to a fragile, broken version of herself. His heart ached for her, but he knew that nothing would ever change unless she truly faced the reality of what was happening between them.

"I-I can't lose you," Iseul whispered hoarsely, her eyes now softer, almost pleading. Her voice was no longer the wild scream it had been moments before, but instead, there was a subtle fragility in her words. "Please, Heeseung... please don't leave me. I can't handle being alone. I can't."

Heeseung’s heart twisted in his chest at the sight of her vulnerability. He could see it now—the rawness, the brokenness that had been hidden behind her need for control. She wasn’t just a woman obsessed with him; she was someone who had suffered deeply, someone who had never been able to find solace or peace. He knew he couldn’t save her on his own, but he also knew that he couldn’t leave her in this state.

“Iseul…” Heeseung started softly, his voice filled with a quiet ache. “I’m not leaving you because I don’t care. I’m not leaving you because I hate you. I’m leaving because I want you to get better. I want you to heal. But you can’t heal when you’re holding on to me like this. You need help, and I can’t be the one to fix you. I’m not strong enough for that, and neither are you.”

Iseul's head hung low as she listened, her fingers curling tightly into her palms as she fought to keep herself composed. She nodded slowly, her breathing still shallow but more controlled now. “I understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’ve been so lost, so selfish... I didn’t realize how much I was pushing you away. I never wanted to hurt you. I just... I don’t know how to exist without you.”

“Iseul…” Heeseung took a tentative step forward, his eyes softening as he reached out, placing a hand gently on her arm. “You don’t have to exist for me. You need to exist for yourself. You need to find yourself again. You can’t keep defining your worth by what I can give you.”

Her eyes flickered up to his, the familiar spark of something once tender shining through the haze of her madness. For a brief moment, it seemed like the woman he had fallen in love with might still be there, buried beneath the layers of fear and possessiveness.

“I’ll go,” she said quietly, her voice quieter than it had been all night. “I’ll get help. I’ll go to therapy… I’ll work on myself. But, Heeseung…” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable, her voice soft but insistent. “I can’t let you go completely. I can’t. I need you. I love you. Can’t we... can’t we still be together? Even just a little? I’ll try. I’ll try to change, I swear.”

The plea in her voice stung, a mixture of desperation and the remnants of the love she still felt for him. Heeseung’s heart clenched again as he processed her words, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He had never wanted to hurt her, never wanted to see her like this, but he knew that as much as he cared for her, being with her in this toxic, suffocating state wasn’t fair to either of them.

“I don’t know, Iseul,” Heeseung said quietly, his voice tight with conflict. “I really don’t know. I want to believe you, I do. But it’s going to take time. You can’t just fix everything overnight. I can’t be the one who keeps holding you up while you’re falling apart.”

She nodded, her expression softened, almost resigned, though the longing in her eyes remained. “I’ll try, Heeseung. I promise I will try. Just... please don’t leave me. Please don’t completely shut me out.”

For a moment, Heeseung just stood there, watching her. The room had quieted down, the tension still hanging in the air like a thick fog. Heeseung closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking a slow breath. He wanted to help her, he really did, but he knew he couldn’t continue like this—not while she was still so unstable.

“I’ll be here for you, Iseul,” Heeseung said softly, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m not abandoning you. But I can’t be everything for you anymore. You need to take responsibility for your own healing. I can’t keep trying to fix you.”

Iseul took a deep breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she looked up at him. Her voice was barely a whisper, a plea that hung in the air. “You don’t have to fix me, Heeseung. Just don’t leave me completely. Please. I need you to be here... with me.”

Heeseung’s heart twisted again as he looked at her, seeing the quiet desperation in her gaze. For a moment, he almost gave in. But then he remembered everything that had happened, everything that had brought them to this point. He knew the road ahead was going to be long, and he couldn’t keep enabling her behavior. He couldn’t let his own feelings cloud the truth.

“I’ll be here,” Heeseung finally said, his voice steady but full of sadness. “But I need you to promise me something, Iseul. I need you to promise me that you’ll get the help you need. That you’ll take this seriously. And that you’ll give yourself the time to heal, even if it means we can’t be together for a while.”

Iseul’s eyes softened as she nodded slowly. “I promise,” she whispered, her voice fragile but sincere. “I’ll do anything, Heeseung. I just... I just need you to give me a chance. Just a little one.”

Heeseung hesitated, but then gave a small, pained smile. “We’ll see. But right now, you need to focus on yourself. That’s the most important thing. If we’re going to have a future, it’s going to start with you, Iseul. You.”

She nodded, looking down at her hands for a moment as if processing his words. Then, slowly, she looked up at him with a more composed expression, a quiet determination in her eyes. “I will. I promise.”

As Iseul slowly stood up, her body still trembling slightly from the emotional collapse earlier, Heeseung couldn’t help but feel a mixture of hope and dread. She had agreed to get help, but the road ahead would be difficult. The damage had been done, and he wasn’t sure if they would ever truly be able to go back to the way things were. But for now, all he could do was watch her take the first step toward healing—and hope that, one day, they both might find a way to move forward.

It had been a few months since the chaotic events that had nearly torn Heeseung and Iseul apart. During that time, Iseul had taken the necessary steps to heal, as painful as it had been. She went through therapy, committed herself to understanding her past, confronting the trauma that had shaped her, and taking time to reflect on her own behaviors. Slowly, the sharp edges of her personality that had once been suffocating, even dangerous, began to soften. Therapy had become her sanctuary, a space where she could express her fears, regrets, and emotions, all while learning how to process them in healthy ways.

The change wasn’t immediate, but it was profound. Iseul grew stronger, calmer, and more aware of her own feelings. She started to rebuild herself from the inside out, and the most noticeable change was her appearance. Her once-tired eyes, often filled with anxiety and fear, now sparkled with clarity and confidence. The lines of stress around her face softened, and her smile—once guarded—was now open and genuine. She looked healthier, more vibrant, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The vulnerability that had defined her before was still there, but now it was balanced with strength, a strength born from acceptance and self-growth.

One afternoon, after a long day of therapy and self-care, Iseul decided to visit Heeseung. She hadn’t seen him in a while, and while she was still unsure of their future together, she felt ready to face him—not as the broken person she once was, but as someone who had learned to stand on her own.

It was a Saturday, and Heeseung was with his friends—Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Niki, and Jay—at a café they frequented. They had been talking about everything from their recent plans to life in general when Iseul walked through the door. The bell above the café door chimed softly, but it was the way she walked in that caught everyone’s attention. It was calm and composed, her posture confident, as if she had shed the skin of her former self and emerged into something entirely new.

Heeseung’s eyes locked on her the moment she entered. The shift was subtle at first, but as his gaze lingered on her, the change became undeniable. Iseul had always been beautiful, but now, there was something different about her—something deeper. Her eyes, once filled with tension, now glistened with a calm radiance that made her even more striking. Her long hair fell around her shoulders in soft waves, the strands catching the light in a way that made her look almost ethereal. The clothes she wore were simple, but there was an understated elegance about them. Everything about her screamed maturity, and it was hard for Heeseung to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw her.

The rest of the group noticed it too. They exchanged glances, each of them surprised by the transformation. Sunghoon was the first to speak.

“She looks… different,” he said softly, leaning over to Jake. “Like, in a good way. You can tell she’s been working on herself.”

“I was just about to say the same thing,” Jake replied, his eyes following Iseul’s every movement. “She seems so... peaceful now.”

Iseul walked up to the table, her steps graceful, her eyes meeting Heeseung’s with a quiet confidence. She smiled at him, a genuine, unguarded smile that made his heart swell. The tension between them was still there, but it was softer now—more like the remnants of something that had once been intense but was now being gently set aside.

“Heeseung,” she said, her voice steady and calm, with a warmth he hadn’t heard in months.

“Heeseung, we need to talk,” she added, her eyes soft but earnest.

Heeseung swallowed, unsure of how to react, but the old protective instinct kicked in, and he stood up to greet her. There was a small lump in his throat, but he managed a smile, though it was more hesitant than before.

“Iseul,” he said, the word coming out like a breath of relief, as if he hadn’t realized how much he missed her until this very moment. “You look… different. Good different. How have you been?”

“I’ve been doing a lot better,” Iseul said with a small laugh, though it was laced with a trace of sadness. “It hasn’t been easy, but I’m working on it. I’ve been going to therapy. I’ve been focusing on myself—getting healthier.”

“I can see that,” Heeseung replied, his gaze lingering on her face. “You’ve changed, Iseul. You look… happier. More like yourself. The way you carry yourself, it’s like you’ve found peace.”

Iseul smiled softly, nodding. “I’m getting there. It’s a work in progress, but I’m finally at a place where I can breathe again.”

The group of friends, watching from the side, exchanged looks of approval. They had all been worried about Iseul’s mental state during the worst of it, but now, seeing her this way, they could tell that she had truly made strides.

Just then, Minji walked into the café, and her eyes immediately found Heeseung and Iseul. There was a moment of hesitation, but then Minji smiled warmly and walked over to the group, greeting everyone before her eyes settled on Iseul.

“Hey, Iseul,” Minji said, her tone friendly but curious. “You look... amazing. What’s been going on with you?”

Iseul turned to Minji, offering a soft smile. “I’ve been working on myself. Taking time to get better, to heal. I know I haven’t been the easiest person to be around, but I’m trying to make things right.”

Minji raised an eyebrow but smiled back. “I’m glad to hear that. I know it wasn’t easy for you. But you’re doing great, I can tell.”

Iseul’s smile widened slightly as she nodded, appreciative of the kind words. Then she turned to Heeseung again, her gaze softening. “I’ve missed you, you know. I’ve missed us. I know things can’t go back to the way they were, but I want us to find a way to move forward, even if it means starting slow.”

Heeseung felt a pang in his chest as he looked at her, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes that still remained despite her progress. “I’ve missed you too, Iseul,” he admitted, his voice quiet but sincere. “It’s been hard, but I’m glad to see you’re doing better. I just want you to be happy—whether that means with me or not. You deserve to find peace, Iseul.”

The group watched in silence, a sense of relief washing over them. There was no more tension in the air, no more feeling of uncertainty. For the first time in a long while, everything felt *normal*—like there was hope for the future. The heavy weight that had once consumed Iseul seemed to have lifted, and though there were still some unanswered questions between her and Heeseung, it was clear that they were both on a journey of healing.

As the group continued to chat, with Minji teasing Iseul about her newfound serenity and the others sharing small jokes, Heeseung and Iseul found themselves falling into an easy conversation. There was no longer any strain in the way they spoke, no sense of urgency. The quiet bond they once had was slowly beginning to stitch itself back together, thread by thread.

For the first time in a long while, Heeseung felt like there might be hope—for both of them.

As the weeks passed, Heeseung’s interactions with Iseul became more frequent. She had kept her promise to continue with her therapy and was genuinely making progress, slowly but surely. Each time they met, Heeseung saw a new side of her—one that was more open, more willing to accept her flaws, and more determined to heal. Iseul’s growth was visible not just in her emotional stability but in the way she handled situations that would have once triggered a meltdown. She was learning how to manage her insecurities, how to communicate more effectively, and most importantly, how to give space to Heeseung instead of suffocating him with her needs. 

For Heeseung, seeing Iseul like this was both comforting and confusing. There was a part of him that wanted to trust that she had truly changed, but the memory of everything they had gone through still lingered, like a shadow he couldn’t shake. Yet, as he spent more time with her, he began to realize that she wasn’t the same person who had spiraled out of control months ago. There was a maturity in her actions now, a sense of self-awareness that hadn’t been there before. She wasn’t perfect, but she was trying—and for the first time in a long while, Heeseung allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they could try again.

One evening, Heeseung sat down with his friends, Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Niki, and Minji, at their usual hangout spot. The conversation had steered toward relationships, and naturally, the topic of Iseul came up. Heeseung had been hesitant to bring her up, unsure of how to approach the subject without reigniting the tension that had existed between him and his friends. But tonight, something felt different. He had been spending more time with Iseul, and he needed to talk about it—needed to process what he was feeling.

“I’ve been thinking,” Heeseung began, his voice cautious, yet determined. “About Iseul… about us.”

The table fell silent, and every eye turned to him, some expressions curious, others wary. Minji, who had been sitting next to Heeseung, raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile.

“You’re really going there, huh?” Minji said, her tone teasing but laced with concern. “Are you sure about this, Heeseung?”

Heeseung hesitated, running a hand through his hair as he looked around at his friends. “I mean… I think she’s different now. I really do. She’s been working on herself—going to therapy, really taking responsibility for everything that happened.”

Jungwon leaned forward, his tone skeptical but still supportive. “We’ve seen the change in her. Iseul is calmer, more stable. But I’m gonna be real with you, man,” he added, his gaze serious, “You’ve gotta be careful. We’ve all seen how she can flip. No one’s forgotten how things went down.”

The others nodded in agreement, the weight of the memories still hanging over them like a dark cloud. Jake crossed his arms, his face tense.

“I don’t know, Heeseung,” he said, his voice low. “I get that you’re trying to give her a second chance, but after everything that went down, I’m not sure it’s worth the risk. What if she falls apart again? What if you get dragged back into that mess?”

“I get it,” Heeseung said, his voice quieter now, a trace of uncertainty creeping in. “But I see something in her now that I didn’t see before. She’s really trying to change. I want to be there for her.”

Minji watched Heeseung closely, sensing the conflict in his words. She shifted slightly in her seat, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m not saying she hasn’t changed, Heeseung. I’ve seen it too. But… you have to be careful. We all know how intense things got with her. If she snaps again—if things go back to how they were—are you ready to handle that? And are you sure you want to? Because this isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about everyone around you, too.”

Heeseung’s gaze flickered down to the table, his mind racing as he processed their words. He understood their concerns, but a part of him couldn’t let go of the hope that Iseul was different now. That the person she had become wasn’t the same one who had suffocated him with her possessiveness. But Minji’s words stung, because they were true. He wasn’t just diving back into this relationship alone; he had his friends to consider, too. They had all witnessed how volatile Iseul had been, how dangerous it had been for Heeseung to be involved with her when she was at her worst.

Sunghoon spoke up next, his voice calm but steady. “I agree with Minji. You’ve gotta be cautious, Heeseung. I don’t want to see you hurt again. And none of us want to go through that again. But if you really believe she’s changed, and you want to take that risk, then you should. Just don’t be naive about it. Set boundaries. Keep your guard up. Don’t let her back in just because you’re hoping she’s different.”

Heeseung nodded, the weight of his friends' words settling heavily in his chest. He appreciated their concern, but he also knew they weren’t going to understand his feelings completely. Only he knew the subtle shifts he had seen in Iseul—the small, telling moments where she had chosen to communicate instead of lash out, where she had shown patience instead of control.

“I hear you,” Heeseung said softly, his voice filled with resolve. “I know what I’m getting into, but I think I owe it to both of us to at least try. I want to believe in her. I want to believe she’s different.”

Minji leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studied him. “Just promise me one thing,” she said seriously. “If things start to go south again—if you start feeling like you’re losing yourself, or if she gets possessive again—you’ll step back. You won’t let yourself get lost in it. Okay?”

Heeseung met her gaze, her words striking a chord deep inside him. “I promise,” he said with a quiet nod. “If things go sideways, I’ll walk away.”

The group was silent for a moment, each of them processing Heeseung’s decision. They didn’t agree with it, but they understood it. They had been his friends through everything, and they wanted what was best for him. All they could do now was stand by his side, no matter what happened next.

Later that evening, after the conversation had died down, Heeseung texted Iseul. He was about to meet her at a quiet park, where they had agreed to talk. As he waited for her to arrive, his mind raced. He had just shared his thoughts with his friends, who were concerned about him, and part of him wondered if they were right. But there was another part of him—one that couldn’t deny how much he still cared for Iseul, how much he wanted her to succeed. He knew this wouldn’t be easy. But maybe, just maybe, it was worth trying.

When Iseul finally arrived, her face lit up when she saw him, and Heeseung felt his heart give a small, hopeful flutter. She had come so far, and while there was still a long road ahead of them, Heeseung couldn’t help but feel like they were taking the first steps toward something better.

“I’ve missed you,” Iseul said quietly, her voice soft but full of sincerity.

“I’ve missed you too,” Heeseung replied, his tone more certain now than it had been before.

They stood there, just the two of them, in the quiet park, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt possible.

As weeks turned into months, Heeseung and Iseul continued their tentative steps toward rebuilding what had once been a complicated and volatile relationship. Both were aware of the gravity of the situation—Heeseung because he had witnessed firsthand how easily things could spiral out of control, and Iseul because she knew the emotional and psychological toll her actions had once taken on him. But they were determined to take things slow, to honor the progress they had both made, and to rebuild their trust from the ground up.

The next step in their journey was one that neither of them had anticipated: learning to navigate life as individuals first, and as a couple second. For Iseul, this meant continuing her therapy, staying committed to the healing process, and allowing herself to lean on Heeseung in a way that wasn’t suffocating. For Heeseung, it meant learning how to be supportive without feeling like he was walking on eggshells, and not allowing himself to get lost in the dynamics of their past relationship.

One evening, Heeseung invited Iseul to join him and his friends for a casual dinner at a local restaurant, something they hadn’t done in months. This was a small but significant step forward for both of them, as it marked the first time that Heeseung had openly included Iseul in his social circle again. It wasn’t lost on either of them how much this moment meant—it was a sign of the trust they had been rebuilding, even if it was still fragile.

As they walked into the restaurant, Iseul’s heart raced. She had been working hard on her social anxiety, on her tendency to shut herself off from the world, but being in a public space with Heeseung’s friends still made her feel exposed. Yet, she reminded herself that she had made progress. She had earned this moment. She had worked so hard to get here, and she wasn’t going to let fear take it away.

“Are you nervous?” Heeseung asked quietly as they were seated at a large table, the others chatting animatedly around them.

“A little,” Iseul admitted, her voice soft but honest. “I just… I don’t want to mess things up. I know I’ve done a lot of damage in the past.”

Heeseung reached across the table, his fingers brushing gently over hers, grounding her. “I know, but I’m here with you. You’re not alone in this.”

Iseul smiled at him, grateful for his words, but still unsure of herself. The reality was that she knew this was just another step, another test. She had to prove to herself, to Heeseung, and to his friends that she was truly ready for a fresh start. There were still moments when she felt like the old version of herself, the one consumed by jealousy and fear, but she also knew that she had changed, and that she was capable of something better.

As the night went on, Iseul gradually started to relax. The conversations flowed, the laughter was genuine, and the atmosphere was warm. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was truly part of the group, not as an outsider or someone to be pitied, but as someone who was allowed to be herself. 

Minji, who had been quietly observing Iseul throughout the evening, leaned over and whispered to Heeseung, “She’s different, you know? I can see it. She’s more confident now. More at ease with herself.”

Heeseung nodded, his gaze softening as he watched Iseul interact with the others. “She really is. I’m proud of her.”

The night ended on a high note, with everyone joking and laughing as they said their goodbyes. Heeseung walked Iseul to her car, his hand casually resting on her lower back as they walked through the parking lot.

“I’m really proud of you tonight,” Heeseung said, his voice sincere. “You were amazing.”

Iseul stopped walking for a moment, turning to face him. “You’re proud of me?” Her eyes were wide, as if she still couldn’t fully believe that Heeseung was seeing her progress.

“Of course I am,” Heeseung replied, his gaze steady. “You’ve come so far. It’s not easy, but I can see how much you’ve worked to be better. You’ve earned this moment.”

Tears welled up in Iseul’s eyes, though they were different from the tears she used to shed. These were tears of gratitude, of relief, because for the first time in a long while, she felt like she was truly on the right path. 

“I don’t think I could’ve done it without you,” Iseul whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Heeseung gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away the lone tear that had escaped. “You could’ve,” he said softly. “But I’m glad you didn’t have to. I’m glad I was here.”

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, everything else faded away. They were two people who had come a long way—individually and together—and there was no rush, no pressure. Whatever the future held, they were both learning how to navigate it, one step at a time.

In the weeks that followed, Heeseung and Iseul found themselves continuing to build on this newfound sense of balance. They were learning how to give each other space, to communicate more openly, and to respect the boundaries that had once been a point of contention. Heeseung was still wary of the past, of what Iseul had been capable of when she was at her lowest, but he also couldn’t deny the feelings he still had for her. Those feelings had never truly gone away, even when things were at their darkest. And now, with every passing day, he saw more and more of the woman he had once fallen for—a woman who was growing, evolving, and becoming someone worthy of his trust again.

Iseul, on the other hand, knew that her journey was far from over. She had come to understand that her past actions were not an excuse for her mistakes, and that healing was an ongoing process. But every step forward, every small victory, was a testament to the strength she had inside her. And as much as she wanted to be with Heeseung, she knew she had to focus on herself first. She was learning to love herself, to find peace without relying on someone else to fix her, and that was the most important step she could take.

The road ahead was still uncertain, and there would be moments of doubt and fear, but both Heeseung and Iseul had come to understand that they didn’t have to face it alone. Together, they had the strength to move forward, no matter how slow or difficult the journey might be. They were learning to build a foundation of trust, respect, and mutual growth—and that was the first step in creating something that could withstand the challenges of the past.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And that, to them, was enough.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One ThirtyNine

prompt from @mugloversonly @after-the-end-times @spectrum-spectre

It’s a little odd having a birthday banner hanging across the Christmas Tree, but everyone was pretty determined that this is Eddie’s birthday, and that’s a totally different thing to Christmas Eve. So everyone is here; Joyce even baked a proper birthday cake, and now they’re doing the thing where they bring out the cake and everyone sings.

It feels bittersweet to Steve; Eddie’s first birthday. It was a year ago today that Steve pulled Eddie out of the pool. A year ago today Eddie came back to him. He remembers vividly struggling to get Eddie up the stairs. Cleaning all the filth off him. How he’d looked, with no hair at all, all skin and bones, wobbling his way down the stairs. The noise he’d made the first time he ever tried bacon; the startled look on his face the first time he’d ever hiccuped.

Eddie stays where he’s been put, sitting at the head of dining room table, proudly wearing a Birthday party hat. Eddie’s been to a couple of birthdays this year, mainly for the kids, so he knows what’s coming. He looks fucking delighted at the sight of the cake, but he still checks, “I can blow out the candles?”

“Yeap,” Steve tells him.

“Make a wish first!” Joyce calls.

“I wish-”

“Nooooooo!” probably half a dozen people yell, “keep it a secret or it won’t come true,” Robin adds. Eddie stares hard at the candles for a long second, and then he looks up, finding Steve. Steve can see the moment Eddie settles on his wish.

He’s still staring at Steve when he blows them out.

“So...things with Eddie are good then?”

It’s a little uncomfortable, but all the stuff that happened feels like it was a long time ago now. Nancy has definitely been making an effort to build a fresh friendship, and Steve can’t fault her for it, not really. Steve finds Eddie, he can see him through the doorway into the kitchen, making something with Robin and Chrissy, “yeah everything is...great. Like really great.”

“I was...a little surprised, you know?”

“Yeah that’s...understandable,” and it is. Eddie is literally a creature from The Upside Down; he didn’t even look remotely human to begin with, half of him was literally a fish. Plus Steve’s never really been interested in guys before, but he guesses there must have always been a little something there for him to take to it so easily. Granted the circumstances forced his hand a little, and he’s still had a couple of things to work through but...he feels pretty good about it. Besides, Eddie still isn’t even really human, so it probably doesn’t exactly count. Not with his lack of nipples and his downstairs situation anyway; you can’t exactly try to stick Eddie into a category...he’s Eddie, a unique and perfect thing all his own.

In the kitchen, Robin spills something, Chrissy shrieks and Eddie manically dashes for a cloth, cackling. The chaos of it makes Steve smile at them; everyone is at least a few drinks deep, Steve’s sure.

“You really care about him though?” She presses a little. Nancy’s never been able to just let it go, especially if she doesn’t understand it. She always needs to know, Steve’s pretty sure it’s not a nosiness thing; more an understanding thing.

“Yeah, yeah I love him,” Steve tells her unabashed, it is the truth, “he loves me too.”

“You’re sure it’s not just...I mean you did rescue him, plus, where would he even go if you weren't together-”

“Are you suggesting Eddie has some sort of-of-of Stockholm syndrome?” Steve can’t help but laugh, a little incredulous at the suggestion.

“Well no, I just. Think you should both be sure-”

“How are you and Jon then?” Steve cuts her off. He chooses to lean into the spirit of Christmas and assume that Nancy’s concerns all come from a good place. Even so, it’s not a good intention Steve has to tolerate if he doesn’t want to. He raises his eyebrows at her, waiting.

Nancy draws breath, like she’s not done, but then clearly rethinks it and chooses her battle, Steve can see the moment when she decides not to pursue it, sipping her drink before she replies, “yeah, really good,” over her shoulder, Eddie, Chrissy, and Robs have their heads together, the conversation clearly turned serious.

“That’s good Nance,” Steve chooses to be the bigger man, “I’m just really glad you’re both happy,” he tells her pointedly. In the kitchen, Eddie’s turned to find Steve, watching him back. Steve can’t quite decipher the look on his face, but Robin’s clutching his arm, on her toes, speaking urgently to Eddie. She looks kind of panicked, which immediately worries Steve.

“Well, I mean, obviously I want you to be happy, I mean I’m glad, really glad it all worked out for you.”

Eddie has a look on his face that Steve’s pretty certain he’s never seen before. He can’t quite work out what it means other than...Eddie’s pissed. Like, really fucking angry. And he’s marching closer, shaking off both Robin and Chrissy in the process.

Steve has no clue what’s happening as Eddie approaches, pushing Steve away from Nancy to press him against the wall and then...kisses him. Steve has his eyes open, not sure what to make of Eddie’s rage, but he soon lets them slide closed. He melts against the wall. Eddie’s kissing him like he’s got something to prove. He’s almost bitey as he sucks at Steve’s lips, leaving little scrapes that don’t quite break the skin. The passion is surprising, but so fucking hot Steve leans into it fast, matching Eddie’s energy and he sucks on Eddie’s tongue, curling his fingers around Eddie’s hips to pull him closer, no longer wanting to stop to question Eddie’s motives.

Eddie pulls back, pink and flushed, an inch of space between them, panting for breath Eddie asks, “you and Nancy used to be together?”

“I-” Steve can’t help his gaze flicking side wards to Nancy, and then back to Eddie, Eddie’s eyes narrowing at the sight, something flashing in the depths, “yeah?” Steve confirms weakly.

Eddie presses closer, his claws pricking Steve’s skin through his clothes; Eddie’s never been possessive like this before, and Steve is...well they’ve had a lot of sex, and Eddie pressing himself against Steve like this, kissing him like that...Steve’s body is only reacting the way it always does, which is a little mortifying in a room full of people.

Eddie leans his face closer again, his hair brushing Steve’s forehead, his breath warm as he growls, “you had sex with her?”

“Eddie!” Steve splutters, but apparently even that is too much, Eddie has him by the wrist, not quite painful, but very harsh compared to Eddie’s usually gentle nature. Eddie turns, pulling Steve along and he...bares his teeth at Nancy, actually hissing at her on the way past.

“Eddie!” Steve starts again, shocked, this time a reprimand, “be nice!” That’s no way to behave, and Nancy is unnerved enough that she takes a big step back. Steve is dragged along behind Eddie, ending up locked into the downstairs bathroom together. Eddie pins him against the door with his body, kissing Steve soundly.

“Baby,” Steve starts, his words broken by kisses, “what’s gotten into you?”

Eddie just growls. It’s not a sound Steve’s ever heard before, and he can feel it, rumbling in Eddie’s body where their chests are pressed together, “need you.”

Eddie starts nipping at Steve’s throat, stinging kisses that makes Steve’s hips roll, looking for friction against Eddie’s thigh. His brain feels like it’s going a little mushy, Eddie’s being unusually forceful, and Steve’s vaguely aware that everyone is still out there and, probably, are now very aware that they’re shut in here together but...as Eddie’s questing fingers find the button on Steve’s jeans, he’s struggling to care about that stuff.

“We’ve got to be quiet,” Steve breathes out, a final token protest, giving in to what's about to happen. Eddie huffs dismissively, tugging down Steve’s jeans and underwear together, Steve angling his hips away from the door to help. Eddie abandons them there, bunched around Steve’s thighs, surging up for another possessive kiss. Eddie grabs Steve’s bare ass with both hands, his claws digging into the meat a little as he squeezes, pulling Steve against him.

“She not touch you again,” Eddie growls against Steve’s mouth, words choppy, “promise.”

“I...I promise baby, of course,” Eddie stares into Steve’s face, their warm breaths mingling as Eddie inspects him from inches away, like he’s searching for any hint of a lie, “no one else ever again, I swear it.”

Eddie nods once, sharply, before spitting into his palm and grabbing Steve's now, very hard cock. He had no idea he’d be into this, but possessive, bossy Eddie is lighting him up in a way he didn’t know he’d like, his brain turning to mush a little as Eddie touches him. He feels too warm, flushed and sweaty already, the world narrowed down to Eddie’s touch on him, hard and fast, intent on getting him off.

“And you,” Steve’s mouth is insisting before his brain catches up, he needs it, needs to make Eddie feel good too. Eddie doesn’t stop jerking him, but he does slow it down, leaning back a tiny bit, giving Steve space to reach past the bend of Eddie’s own arm to get to the button on his jeans.

Steve sees the fabric move. He can see Eddie’s cock desperately wriggling for freedom beneath his zipper. Eddie’s told him before that it gets real uncomfortable real fast, and Steve tuts quietly, “baby.”

Eddie’s cock forces it's way free before Steve even has the zipper half down, already having found it’s way through the slit in Eddie’s boxers, it rushes into Steve’s fingers, greeting him eagerly and tangling itself firmly there. Eddie groans, shuffling close again. The head of Eddie’s cock opens, setting sucking kisses on every part of Steve’s hand and fingers it can reach. They arrange themselves as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, “fuck, baby, yeah.” Steve’s cock is leaking, making Eddie’s hand slick, but Eddie still stops to spit again, landing the glob on the exposed head of Steve’s cock. It’s red already, and Eddie squeezes, forcing Steve’s foreskin up to roll back up and partially cover the swollen head.

Steve’s guts are tight already, the muscles in his ass and legs tensing, he can’t stop the shift of his own hips as he works his thumb in circles across the head of Eddie’s own cock. Eddie jacks him again, slow and so firm, forcing a massive dribble of pre come out of the head of Steve’s cock. Steve groans again, “baby, I’m gonna’-”

“Wait,” Eddie uses his free hand to push Steve’s hand off himself, letting his cock to wriggle free between them. It stands tall, searching, the black petals rippling.

Eddie angles Steve’s cock out, pulling the head down and towards himself, and Steve instantly knows what Eddies planning, “oh fuck baby, yes, yes please.” They’ve never done this before, but just the idea of it makes Steve hips shift, his balls going tight, the orgasm bubbling at the base of his cock, “please, now,” Steve vaguely aware that he’s whining, loud and desperate.

People can hear; he doesn’t give a fuck. He wants this.

Eddie’s cock latches to the head of Steve’s, the black petals stark against the dark pink spongy head. The fit is perfect, the slit of Steve’s cock, the head, being suckled and gently rubbed by all those little bumps, the sucking pulse feels like a mouth, the texture incredible. Eddie drags his hand upward, forcing Steve’s skin up again, his foreskin sliding over top of the petals. Eddie makes a choked noise, his free hand scrabbling again at the meat of Steve’s ass. Steve desperately locks his knees to stop himself from falling. The pulsing, sucking, pulling sensation is relentless.

Eddie moves his hand again, dragging Steve's foreskin back down, revealing the filthy sight of those jet black petals cupping the head of Steve's cock, the body of Eddie's cock writhing. Steve’s head thumps back against the door, his hips wriggling now, unable to stop himself moving in tiny little thrusts, “fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve groans, “baby-”

Eddie leans up for a kiss. It’s messy, uncoordinated, both of them groaning and panting into each others mouths, and Steve cries out against Eddie’s lips as he comes. The pull is sharp, the stimulation on the head of his cock turning frantic as, just like with Steve’s spit on his cock, Steve’s come works to push Eddie into his own orgasm. Eddie accidentally catches Steve’s lip with his teeth, and the sting is delicious. His orgasm seems to go on forever, Eddie's cock suckling fiercely, and Eddie’s hand working him so perfectly.

Eventually, Eddie slumps forward onto Steve, Steve using his back to the door to keep them both up. “That was…” Steve starts, but doesn’t know where to go. He doesn’t know how to describe what just happened. It was maybe the best orgasm of Steve’s life.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, muffled where his face is smushed into Steve’s shoulder. The head of Steve’s dick is suddenly cold, and he figures Eddie’s dick has gone back in. They stand there for a few minutes, Steve rubbing Eddie’s back, gathering themselves. Eddie clears his throat, lifting his head so he can look Steve in the eye, “I’m sorry.”

Steve frowns, brain still a little flooded with happy chemicals, “what?”

“For before. I just...I found out about you and Nancy and I got...I got so angry. It,” Eddie makes a motion between them, a churning of his insides that he can’t express, “I’ve never felt like that before it was...like I hated her. And I needed you and I don’t understand-”

“You were jealous, baby?”

“I...yeah, it was horrible. And stupid- I didn’t – there’s no-” Eddie huffs, struggling for the words.

“How you feel doesn’t always make sense. There’s no...rules, you know.” Steve frowns, remembering, “should probably say sorry to Nancy though, you like, hissed at her which, kind of funny but still.”

Eddie looks a cross between horrified and mortified, “I don’t even remember.”

“Wow,” Steve can’t help being smug, “got it bad for me, huh?”

Eddie limply slaps at Steve’s chest, sighing through his nose, “shut up.”

Steve hums, “uh huh. We should get cleaned up.”

“Probably.”

They peel themselves apart, Steve leaning to grab for some tissue off the roll as Eddie starts to pull his pants down a little, but as Steve investigates, his finds his cock dry, “huh, where did it go?” He wipes up a little, the skin tacky with spit and precome, but otherwise everything is clean and dry, “uh...is my come on you? I can’t, uhm, find it?” He tucks himself away, pulling everything up so he can help Eddie.

“I don’ t think so?” Eddie replies, touching himself, his slit, the crease of his thighs, when Steve goes to wipe at him with the tissue, since Eddie usually makes a lot of come, there’s nothing, “I’m clean,” Eddie tells him.

Steve frowns, “did you come?”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffs, “I definitely, definitely did. That was…”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, “but you’re dry?”

“Yeah,” Eddie scissors his thighs together, something he normally does when he’s spreading all the jelly like come about, “nothing there.”

“This is weird, where'd it all go? And why haven’t you, you know?” Steve feels for himself, running two fingers gently along Eddie’s slit, pushing in to part him the tiniest bit, Eddie makes a breathy little noise as Steve pulls away, “you sure you came?”

“Steve,” Eddie replies flatly, pulling his pants up and buttoning them.

“Right right it’s just...weird, right?”

Eddie shrugs, “makes it easy?”

“Yeah...don’t look a gift horse in the mouth I guess, considering we now have to go out there and face everyone.”

Eddie grins, “I like that they know.”

“Of course you do,” Steve sighs, fixes his hair in the mirror, and opens the door.

It’s after midnight; Eddie’s birthday is officially over. All the kids have gone home with Hopper and Joyce, and before everyone else heads home, since it’s Christmas, they’re going to exchange gifts now.

Steve had been, mildly mortified after they came out of the bathroom, not really wanting to face Joyce's raised eyebrows or the girls giggling...Eddie however, has been strutting around like a proud peacock, so Steve hasn't been feeling too ashamed about the whole thing. He is however, glad of the distraction of the gifts.

All the gifts are stacked under the tree, and Steve has been voted to distribute. A lot of the labels have been made from cut up magazine letters so that the hand writing won’t be recognized; to Steve they vaguely look like ransom threats.

They go around the room, opening their gifts one at a time, trying to guess who got them. They mostly work it out. Steve isn’t that interested in his own; he’s more interested in what Eddie got. The box is actually kind of heavy, and it’s pretty big.

Eddie opens it happily, pulling out a record that Steve knows he’s wanted for ages. And then...a denim jacket with no sleeves that Steve knows he was eyeing at the thrift store. Steve watches with mounting suspicion as Eddie pulls out a book he's talked about. The box, now Steve’s thinking about it, is wrapped with very familiar wrapping paper.

“Eddie, you got loads, they definitely didn’t stay on budget. Who got Eddie? Steve, was it you?”

“No, no it wasn’t me,” Steve quietly chuckles to himself. He half listens as Robin goes around the room, and every single person denies getting Eddie.

“Whoever pulled your name must know you pretty well, huh Baby? They got you exactly what you wanted.”

“Yup,” Eddie grins happily.

“Steve, come on, it must have been you, it wasn’t any of us.”

Steve just shakes his head in denial before turning back to Eddie, “baby...it’s kind of against the rules to pull your own name.”

Eddie frowns, “no it isn’t,” the whole room erupts into laughter around them.

Steve tries to clear up some of the aftermath, but it’s nearly two in the morning and he can’t be fucked really. He collapses on the couch, finishing his now warm flat soda. He can hear Eddie pottering, “we should go to bed!” Steve calls. He’s not loud, not much above speaking volume really, but he knows Eddie will hear him.

“Can we do our gifts now?” Eddie asks from the doorway.

“Sure Baby, if you want to. We’re going to be out most of the day tomorrow anyway,” they’re spending Christmas with the Hopper-Byers brigade, and Steve is kind of looking forward to it. Eddie’s second ever Christmas.

Steve heads off to his hiding place in one of the spare rooms to get Eddie’s gifts, Eddie does the same; Steve knows his are stashed out in the utility.

He’s been pretending not to know.

“Okay, me first,” Eddie says, sitting and pulling out what Steve knows is the record. Steve eyes the gift he has from Eddie; just the one, but it’s fairly big looking. Square. Steve has no idea what it could be.

Eddie likes the record; he absolutely loves the book of Metallica tabs and almost leaves to get his guitar right there and then, but Steve stops him, “tomorrow baby. We really need to sleep after this.”

Eddie laughs at himself and his own excitement, agreeing. When he opens his final gift, the guitar pick necklace, he puts it on immediately and swears he loves it so much he’s never going to take if off. Steve’s glad to hear it, even if it makes him feel, momentarily, a little weirdly possessive.

“Okay, this first,” Eddie pulls over the box, “Chrissy helped me,” he admits as Steve unwraps it, carefully pulling out the frame inside. It’s wrapped in soft packing paper, and Steve pulls that away to reveal his crown. It’s been artfully arranged behind the glass, all dried now, the tufts of grasses stand tall, still twined up with all the little flowers that Eddie had included. Clearly someone spent a very long time carefully setting it out, and it looks beautiful. Steve had carefully stored it away in a shoebox, so he hadn't even noticed it was gone. He’s...touched, by the memory of them in the woods around Hopper’s cabin. Eddie had told Steve he loved him for the first time not long after.

“Thank you...it’s so thoughtful. Thank you. I can hang this up and remember it forever, I love it.” Eddie smiles, slipping off the couch to kneel in front of Steve. Steve sets the frame down.

Eddie pulls a little velvet box out of his pocket, “I didn’t understand what it meant,” he starts slowly, “when you put this on me,” he lifts his left hand, rubbing at the ring with his thumb. “I didn’t know what being engaged was, or weddings or...any of it. I didn’t know, but you loved me anyway, and I’ve never taken it off,” Steve swallows thickly, he knows, he knows in his bones where this is going, but he lets Eddie speak. If Eddie’s saying so may words in one go, it means he’s really thought about, and Steve won’t interrupt him. “But I know now. I understand all of it, and I know I’m a guy, and...we can’t get married, but I...wanted to show you that I know. I know now, and I love you too.”

Eddie opens the box, it’s a simple silver band, thicker than Eddie’s but still, it matches. Steve isn’t sure he’d be able to speak, his eyes already feel wet, so he silently holds his hand out for Eddie to slide the ring on; it fits perfectly.

Steve feels like he’ll crack open if he tries to talk about what he feels right now, it’s too big, too much, “you measured my finger didn’t you. Before the mall? So sneaky.”

Eddie nods, his own eyes looking suspiciously misty, smiling and biting at his lip, clearly nervous, “do you like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I love it, thank you. I love you.”

Eddie smiles, sitting up for a kiss, “love you, too.”

[lightningant]

There's a lot of fluff about how Harry shows no sign of trauma from his upbringing but maybe it's because I was neglected and often spoken of as extremely well-adjusted, but to me Harry seems to be a pretty natural response to a combination of neglect and a stable upbringing? He's not like. Traumatized. But a lot of people just develop maladaptive habits from these circumstances. Like:

Dissociative tendencies. I know this one is not intentional, but he shows constant lack of focus which interferes with his schooling and will often just space out and stare at things. This is used as a device to point the reader towards plot relevant items and turn them from irrelevant details, but it is something he does.

Harry does not actually distrust adults outright at first! He goes to teachers for help! But he tends to disrespect them, and struggles to think of adults as figures of authority the moment they slip up. Hagrid's bumbling chaos, Quirrell's nerves, Snape beefing with an 11-year-old, McGonagall not taking his Very Real Concerns seriously, Vernon's bluster, these are moments Harry discards their authority - that child thought McGonagall was going to burn him at the stake at first, but was barely shaken by her later. And it makes sense! You are a powerless child, you are looked down on, but the "consequences" you face are things you got used to and feel are normal, so you take strength from being unafraid of punishment.

A lot of fluff is made about abuse victims and independence because yeah, obviously, but I do think a lot of his savior/martyr complex is egged on by his servile role; he lived his entire life apart from the Dursleys, but they relied on him. To be crude, when someone shits the bed he puts it in the washer. And I do think he takes satisfaction in being the best man for the job, and I do think that can breed a whole host of mental problems that will lead you to a fated suicide duel with a Dark Lord

The books are mean-spirited in general, but he learned a lot of the fundamentals on engaging with the world from the Dursleys. He's pretty consistently petty and vindictive! And I genuinely believe Harry is, personally, as a character, fatphobic (in addition to the doylist text being fatphobic), because it was something Dudley gets criticized for and thus something that proves Dudley isn't infallible, and he would have definitely fixated on it and felt comfortable doing so, because that's just how the Dursleys talk about people.

For that matter, he is in general stifled by the inner lives of others - he's somehow the most socially stunted person in a trio with Hermoine in it. He is at all times deeply uncomfortable by the thought that other people have feelings and motivations, and reifies people with strong, clear roles in his life, and a lot of his development is realizing there are people behind those roles. I stand by the fact that Harry naming a child after Snape is a symptom of unaddressed mental illness.

This boy is so unbelievably susceptible to mania. I'll acknowledge a lot of his behaviour is teenage bull-headedness but the way the extremes of "I need to be doing something Now" and catastrophizing only gets worse...You know when he's 30 he's going to get prescribed mood stabilizers

And these are all things that can spiral into really toxic and self-destructive behaviour, which we know because that's what happens in the books. I think part of pushing his trauma in fanfiction is accepting that sometimes when someone is traumatized they develop an awful personality instead of PTSD.

(You may now reread this entire post and think about Tom Riddle.)

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Hey, I know this isn't your normal content so feel free to not respond, but what's your opinion on the "socialization" issue (as in trans men are socialized as woman and trans woman are socialized as men before transitioning and it effects their personality) ? Recently I've seen a bunch of posts saying it's a bad thing to acknowledge. Like trans men and woman saying people who bring it up are trans misogynists. But personally, as a trans man with many trans fem friends I feel it's an important thing to see. In my view of things it's a larger part of sexism and what children are taught. By saying a trans woman was "socialized" as a man when she was a child I don't mean she was raised with a bunch of privileges. I'm often referring to what could be very traumatic and is a brand of trauma I probably can't relate to. Most trans woman I know where forcibly excluded from learning how to cook or clean even if they wanted to because those aren't "manly chores" and where not taught how to keep themselves safe the same way cis woman are. Or in the experience of my friends even beaten for wanting to do feminine things, not just by parents but also by peers. Where as most of the trans men I know can cook and clean like no ones business but no one taught them how to fix a sink or their car or how basic financing worked and they got hit for asking about it because "that's not a woman's place". And although I fully believe all children should be taught how to do all these things so they can take care of themselves, I am also aware that's not the society we currently live in and most trans men need help learning how to navigate things like not talking over woman (they're so used to having to scream to be heard) and how to fix a financial or household issue while alot of trans woman need their girlfriends to explain to them that they can't walk down a dimly lit street with their headphones covering both their ears. Idk maybe I'm just misunderstanding the whole thing but I think acknowledging socialization Is simply a step in learning how to take care of yourself and keep yourself safe in a world that didn't think you needed that info

I think there's some value as a way to understand the way that each gender was raised and the way gender roles are reinforced, but even so you can say I was 'socialized as a man' as I am a Trans Woman, but at the same time, I never really acted much like a man because the more I was socialized to act like a man, the more I gravitated towards feminine things that didn't cause me dysphoria.

I have a completely different lived experience growing up compared to a Cis man, even when I wasn't aware I was Trans.

I did have to do a lot of unlearning toxic masculine things and needing to learn essential feminine things as I came out and started living for myself and my gender expression, but a lot of the things that people say I was socialized as a man to, I just never did because they made me extremely uncomfortable. Its because I was never a man.

You can try to socialize a Trans person to act against their gender identity but a lot of the time, those gender roles just do not get enforced, because they're so toxic to your sense of self.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

A master at her best.

I have SO MANY things to say here. First of all, soft, tender, but also a little teasing, Arthur?? Hell yes, this is so him!! I'm always delighted to read one of your works because it's just so enjoyable to read him so in character like this!

And oh my God, I wasn't ready for the fluffy part when Reader gets uncomfortable and cracks a little. THE SOFTNESS of this damn man, YES ❤️ this was such an intimate and intense moment between both of them. A way for them to be linked by more than just a physical experience. I love how you conveyed the feelings and implications of this deeper connection they're sharing!

And please, pleaaaase, you managed once again to leave me speechless with your style, Queen 👑

"He'd give it all to you, steal from others, and even kill to make sure you were satisfied. The mere thought of it terrified him, yet it was the only thing that had ever made sense."

I almost gasped at the beauty of this. This is so powerful and skillfully written.

"All his life, he'd been a nomad, traveling and exploring new places, never calling one home. Now, he realized home wasn't a place but a person-- you were who he wanted to call home yet never stop exploring."

I AM A SUCKER FOR METAPHORS AND COMPARISONS YOU KNOW IT. I am in awe of this passage!

"One of his hands snaked into yours. 'I said relax, woman.' He kissed your knuckles then went back to it, drawing dark marks into your thighs as if you were a page of his journal."

First of all, the "woman", oh my Lord, I could come just by hearing him call me like this. I am SO down bad for it. And hello, the journal comparison???!!! THIS IS BRILLIANT!! Zae, you damn genius, how could I have never thought about this before??

As usual, Zae has fed and delighted us. Her writing (in this fic as in all the others) blends pertinent comparisons, disconcertingly realistic intimacy, and a perfect mastery of HH Arthur in all its glory. Zae, you never cease to impress and enthrall me with each new work you publish. The accuracy, relevance, and beauty of your writing make it, for me, one of the most unforgettable on this platform. Thank you so much for this!!

Piquancy- III

Summary: Arthur courts you properly. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 3,108 Tags: fingering, foreplay, LOTS of foreplay, oral, praise

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An: This journal entry is so unserious, but that's all I got today lol I've been re-reading The Odyssey and couldn't help alluding to it, shout out to my guy Odysseus.

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

Arthur Morgan wanted you. He wanted you in all the ways a person could want another. His desire for you throbbed like a muscle ache, painful but impossible not to press into. Longing like this had never worked out for him in the past. He was a fool to let himself wade into it, but the allure of you pooled all around him, a fate he could not escape. The memory of you still burned beneath his fingertips. He wanted to feel more: your lips on his, the curves of your breasts cupped in his palms, and your nails digging into his back. And oh, he wanted to taste you, to feel the skin of your neck between his teeth, to clash his lips against yours, and to lose himself in a heady dance of his tongue against the warmth between your legs. He wanted you so bad; the thought was burning him alive. Arthur Morgan wanted you, and if you let him have you, he wouldn't screw it up. Not this time, not ever. 

You were just as enticed with him, your fascination multiplied by his freshly trimmed face and the faint scent of bergamot soap wafting off of him as he greeted you outside the Blackwater Saloon that evening. While your "date" wasn't the sort of proper courting you read about in one of Marybeth's romance books, it suited the lifestyle you and Arthur shared.

The same man who made a living off of coarse intimidation metamorphosized right in front of you, unraveling himself to be a deep thinker, attentive, and tenderhearted. That tenderness made every step feel effortless as he led you up the stairs of the saloon to the room you'd shared the night before.

As the door clicked closed, Arthur made quick work of his satchel and gun belt, then sat on the bed with inviting arms. You walked into him, intertwining your fingers behind his neck, and he mirrored you, locking his around the small of your back. Finally, you allowed yourself to be enthralled by his eyes once more, drawn in like a moth to lantern light.

"Thank you," you whispered, mouth hovering close to his. As bad as you wanted to lean into him and let him swallow you whole, you held back. Making the first move felt too bold, too unladylike, and you cared too much about what he might think to risk it.

"What for?" he asked. You opened your mouth to respond, but he silenced you, closing the distance and kissing you once, quick, like a wave testing the shore. Then a storm brewed within you, and you surged back against his lips, swept away by the force of him. As the moment drifted away, you'd regained awareness of yourself, realizing you'd practically dissolved into the cowboy. The weight of you barely phased him, but he gave your waist a gentle tug, mooring you to his knee. With a slight grin plastered on his face, he nodded, urging you to go on with the thought he'd just unapologetically cut off with his lips.

"Thank you for this, courting, as you call it," You didn't mean for your voice to come out as shaky as it did, but you joked to calm your nerves, "would've got you drunk around me sooner if I knew I had this to look forward to."

He huffed low in amusement, a knowing smile growing as a cheeky thought flickered through his mind.

"Was only ever drunk on you, darlin'."

Tickled, you threw your head back in unrestrained laughter. His head dipped into your shoulder in an attempt to hide his sudden self-consciousness, making his speech come out muffled. "Weren't that funny," he said, trying to brush off his words. As he continued to nuzzle into your neck, he hummed and sighed contentedly as he took in your scent.

Smiling so much made your cheeks ache, but you couldn't help it. "You smell so nice," you mimicked his drunken flirting from the night before. He chuckled again, exhaled warm air onto your skin, and pulled you flush into him, holding tight. You'd never imagined you'd enjoy being trapped in an ursine hug, but Arthur's affectionate grip on you made his arms feel like the safest place in the world.

His lips made contact with your skin, and you tilted your head to give him better access. You could feel his lips curve upward as you sighed. 

"Not the only thing I said," he recalled, tugging at the fabric of your blouse, uncovering your shoulder, and kissing the now exposed skin. A shiver racked your bones as you gave into his shameless attempt to seduce you. Redirecting his attention from your goosebump-covered skin to your lips, you locked onto them, pushing through his teeth to tangle his tongue with yours. Arthur cursed himself as he felt his pants get tighter. Selfish, he thought and tore himself away from you. Damn, he was a greedy, thieving, heartless bastard. If he wanted something, he'd rob for it, but nothing—not even all the money in the world—could amount to you. In that moment, entirely consumed, he realized that everything he had was yours to take—and then some. He'd give it all to you, steal from others, and even kill to make sure you were satisfied. The mere thought of it terrified him, yet it was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Your brow crinkled at the loss of his bodyheat but even more so at the frown etched into his features. Your mouth fell open to ask if something was wrong, but he shook his head assuringly. Of course, nothing was wrong; for once in his miserable life, everything was right. 

"Whoever he was– he was an idiot to have you and take it for granted. I won't." 

You wanted to believe him with every part of you. Self-doubt didn't have time to creep in before your attention fell to his hand wandering up and down your thigh. You kissed him hungrier than either of you had kissed anybody before, making his mind race. Closer, closer, closer hammered in his brain, inexorable. Two large hands gripped your backside, prompting you to lock your legs around his waist.

He panted against your mouth, "Let me make you feel good." You could only nod.

Soft pillows cushioned your head as you readjusted, laying on your back. As your eyes roamed up to the ornate chandelier, your legs opened with a mind of their own, giving him space to crawl between them. His bulk lay against yours, heavy in all the best ways.

"Yer'so goddamn beautiful, you know that?" His words came out strained, like he'd lost his breath as he trailed kisses down your neck. You knew he was observant, always finding something to sketch and write in that journal of his. Now, it showed in how he narrowed his eyes to see you better, how he grazed his fingers across untouched skin and looked up to see your reaction. You'd never had a man pay this much attention to you, to soak you in when he was the one doing all the work. Arthur didn't care a second about his own physical pleasure. Making you come around his fingers would be pleasure enough.

You were utterly lost in the man. When had the room grown so unbearably hot? When had he taken off your shoes? How did his hands find the waistband of your bloomers under the fabric of your skirt?

Pausing, his eyes met yours in a silent plea for him to continue. You answered by lifting your hips and forcing your skirt and bloomers down to your ankles. Arthur was swift in pulling them all the way off, grunting in delight as he tossed the garments to the floor, forgotten.

His breath whistled out of his nose loud like the wind of a dust storm, and his chest rose and fell hard at the sight of you. Eyes still fixed on yours, his calloused palm traveled up your leg like he was trying to memorize you. He wanted to be able to close his eyes and remember the shape of you from touch alone, to sculpt you in his mind. All his life, he'd been a nomad, traveling and exploring new places, never calling one home. Now, he realized home wasn't a place but a person–– you were who he wanted to call home yet never stop exploring.

As his hand finished its trek up your leg, almost landing at its final destination, a strange sense of self-consciousness washed over you like never before.

Arthur cared about you. That was evident. You couldn't deny it, and you'd be stabbing him with his own knife if you did. But you couldn't stop the nag of worry. What if this time was like every other time? What if, despite all his effort, Arthur would walk down the same road as the others, seemingly content with their own satisfaction but falling short of meeting yours. The what-ifs doused you like water on a fire, and you brought your knees to your chest, folding into yourself.

The fog of Athur's lust for you lifted, replaced by clarity and concern. Brow knit together, he scooted in close and rubbed his knuckles down your jaw. 

"What is it?" he murmured, nudging your chin to make you look at him, "We don't have to do anythin' you don't want."

He rested his hands so casually worshipping you a second ago on your knees with all the patience of a saint, finding your gaze and waiting for a response. He was so uniquely him, and for him to be yours was the only thought you'd had for forty-eight hours. You didn't just want him in the way he was five seconds ago, hot and heavy; you wanted him the way you were at the poker table, arm around your chair; you wanted him in the way you'd sat downstairs. To want him like that meant more than a one-night fleeting encounter. That meant giving yourself away to him, your whole self, not just your body, but your wants and needs and parts of yourself that scared you the most. Little did you know, he shared the same thoughts about you.

Storm-churned seas of blue bore into your own misty eyes, "want to," you squeaked, "it's just that––"

"I know what you said. I know, darlin'." His voice, tender as it was, broke the dam under your eyes. Silent tears spilled down your face for only a second before he caught them with his thumbs.  He waited, silently pushing you to go on, even though his heart ached at the sight of rivers etching a path down your features.

"What if there's something wrong with me?" You asked, openly admitting what you'd long suspected about yourself.

"Hey," he said as he rose up on his knees and towered over you. His hands tugged at the hem of your blouse and chemise, but his eyes caught yours in another silent ask. You adjusted to let him pull both garments up and over. Stricken by you, he shook his head slowly. Words were coming out of his mouth, but he was fixated on you. He couldn't stop his hands as they traced the curves of your body. "You say that, but from this side of the bed–– well, I reckon you're damn close to perfection."  

You were a siren, your body a beautiful symphony. Though he'd always clung to the mast of his own vulnerability, he would gladly untether himself and plunge to his death if it meant eternity in heaven with you. His declaration was Hermes' moly, making the spell of insecurity nonbinding.

Like the moon and the tide, you'd found yourselves in sync again, working together to shove his suspenders off his shoulders, untuck his shirt, and undo the buttons that were keeping it closed. You flung yourself into him, digging your fingers into his back and shivering as your nipples pressed against his chest. He tasted like tobacco and alcohol and somehow like an alcove of sunlight, fresh water, and vivid color. His suspenders hung loosely around his waist as he dipped you back down into the swell of blankets.

"You just relax now; let me take care of ye'. If you want me to stop, just say the word, alright?" You gave him the go-ahead, and he took hold of your knees, parting your legs to expose you to him again. His beard scratched the inside of your thighs as he dived between them, and you gasped as his tongue and teeth latched onto the skin of your thighs. You arched up off the bed, losing whatever control you had over yourself.

One of his hands snaked into yours. "I said relax, woman." He kissed your knuckles then went back to it, drawing dark marks into your thighs as if you were a page of his journal. Your whole being boiled with desire, a desire you didn't even know you could feel. While he kissed and nipped and sucked like his life depended on it, his hand untangled from yours and danced around your stomach, up your abdomen, and then to the shapely flesh of your chest, squeezing gently. You bit your lip, holding in a whine as he pinched a nipple through his index and middle finger, massaging lightly as he gave the same treatment to your other thigh.

As he neared heaven's gates, you tugged on his hair, urging him closer as the rough stubble on his face scratched your skin, a smile curling against your thigh. A disappointed huff escaped you as his face was level with yours again. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, and you looked up at him bewildered. He'd made a mess of you–– exactly what he'd aimed for.

He chuckled, proud of himself, and then his mouth found yours again, his tongue pushing through your lips to find yours. He kissed you with so much heat you could've broken out into a fever.  

Flames blazed through your veins as he slowly descended back to heaven. Arthur's lips burned like the tip of a cigarette wherever they touched. Just when you thought he'd finally taste you to relieve the aching, he began to kiss your thighs again, and you couldn't help it; you begged him.

"Please, Arthur," you choked out, not recognizing your own voice, shaky and desperate, "Please."

And to your pure bliss, he obeyed, never a rule follower, except for now. He spread you open, using his non-dominant hand to pin your knee to the bed while his shoulder kept your other leg parted.

With a touch so gentle yet purposeful, he drove his index finger from the top of your clit, all the way down until it dipped briefly into your folds. And he swept it back up again, curiously exploring you. He ground his throbbing cock into the bed as you yanked on his locs. Wet sounds of your sins filled the room, and you'd be embarrassed if you weren't entirely delighted. Arthur looked back up at you, his touch unrelenting.

"You okay? This good?" he asked. You could only bob your head up and down, gasping fast and loud. "Good," he said, kissing the inside of your thigh again and teasing the opening of your pussy with his finger. "Keep still for me?" you nodded again, the austere head movement the only thing you could muster.

You braced for discomfort that never came as his meaty digit sunk into you with ease, disappearing to the knuckle. You pressed your head deeper into the pillow only to rise a second later with your mouth agape as you felt his tongue, soft and wet, swipe at your clit.

And fuck, you whimpered.

All thoughts led back to one place now, and all your self-restraint leaked out of you with the movement of Arthur's finger. As your hips rocked feverishly against him, he slipped another inside of you, groaning exultantly. He'd transformed you, turning you into a hollering minx.

You belted his name in time with the rhythm of his fingers, "Oh Arthur, oh Arthur, oh Arthur," over and over again at a higher pitch each time. And the gunslinger couldn't help himself; he withdrew his tongue and pounded his fingers into you, using his palm to feed your needy clit. He wanted to taste you forever but needed to watch you, to see your pretty face when he pushed you over the edge.

"Perfect," he said, his finger thrusting steadily with your hips. His lips crinkled as he felt your walls spasm around him. "That's it, sweetheart, let it go."

A familiar ache built in your gut, one you'd only felt in your moments of solitude. Arthur reached for your hand again while the other steadily plowed. Though his arm muscles scorched with the workout you were giving him, he knew better than to give up now. "So goddamn beautiful wrapped around my fingers like this," he cooed. 

Goosebumps formed all down your arms and legs. Arthur's fucking eyes, staring up at you so proud, so endearing, opened the floodgates.

"There you go," he hummed, feeling your insides constrict around his fingers, "give it to me, good girl, let me have it."

And you did, going from a whimpering mess to silent as your orgasm baptized you, washing away all the doubt you ever had about yourself. Arthur went on babbling whatever depraved thoughts crossed his mind as you came.

"So damn good for me."

His fingers slowed, but he didn't stop, letting you ride them until you couldn't anymore. It wasn't until you gasped his name and squeezed your legs shut that he finally conceded, removing his hand and caressing your thigh. Unusually deft, he rolled over onto his back but turned his head to look at you. The cowboy was smirking like he did when he beat you in a game of dominos, triumphant. You were breathing heavily, returning his glance wide-eyed.

"Shit," you gasped, essentially speechless.

Arthur chuckled, cupping your face in both his hands and kissing.

"Told you," he said, "Told you, I'd take care of you. I'll always take care of you if you want me to––" his last five words came out in a quick jumble, self-doubt creeping back even after it all. You threw a leg over his and begin a slow grind into the leather of his chaps, taking your turn to bite into his neck.

"Take care of me all you want, Mr. Morgan."

You didn't have to tell him twice.

[avocadorablepirate]

Beneath The Surface - 1

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: When memories, buried deep within your sea of emotions, resurface, you’re left to question what lies beneath the surface. Did he truly mean to leave you behind, or was there something more to his silence than you ever understood?

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death, OP spoilers

previous | next

So I haven’t properly proofread this chapter…been a bit sick this past week, but I was determined to post this part today. It’s not terrible though 🤔…I think.

You had locked yourself up in your room, claiming to be unwell. The truth was simpler: your mind had been consumed by memories you thought you had buried. Memories of him. The boy who once soothed your pain had become the man responsible for it.

He left me behind.

That thought replayed in your head, each repetition sinking deeper into your chest. Just the image of his face brought a sickening churn of emotions — hurt, betrayal, anger, and a flicker of something you refused to name.

The soft knock on your door is what finally drew your attention away from your thoughts. On the other side of the door stood Viola, a small but gentle smile on her face when she found you sprawled on your bed.

“I heard you were feeling sick, everything okay?” she asked, as she made her way further into your bedroom.

“Yeah, nothing a good day’s rest won’t cure,” you responded, and her lips immediately contorted into a frown.

“Then you’re not going to be too happy about this.” Her voice softened, tinged with regret. “Doflamingo needs you.”

You sighed, pushing yourself up into a sitting position. Of course he needs me. You didn’t know why you ever thought you’d be able to get a day to yourself, it had rarely occurred before.

“Of course he does,” you muttered under your breath, setting aside the book you had been pretending to read.

Viola gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry. If it were up to me, I'd let you rest."

You forced a smile, appreciating her kindness. "It's okay. Thanks, Viola."

She nodded, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leaving the room. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for whatever Doflamingo had in store.

The walk to his room felt long and unpleasant as always. The entire palace always made you uncomfortable, its grandeur a stark contrast to the simpler, slightly happier times of your childhood. It was also a reminder of the life you once lived along side your parents, and without him to console you over those memories, it only brought more pain.

But it hadn’t always been like this. You remember when you first moved in, though a palace, it had a comforting and almost cozy feel to it. However, Doflamingo had made drastic changes, his reason being that the Donquixote family should live in a place that befitted them.

You had tried to get him to let you live outside the palace, the discomfort it brought had been too much at first. But Doflamingo insisted that the entire Donquixote family stay within the palace walls. And that’s why you had tried to make your own room as comfortable as possible. However, that had done little to help. With how often Doflamingo made you run around doing errands for him, or insisted that he watch over you, there was barely any time to relax.

As you gave a soft knock against the heavy wooden doors, to let Doflamingo know you had arrived, you pushed it open to find him standing by the window, his back turned to you as you entered.

“You summoned me, Doffy?" you called out, as you slowly made your way towards him, the atmosphere of the room always making you feel uneasy. It was as if the room itself embodied his very being - intimidating and frightening.

He turned on hearing your voice, a smile plastered on his face. "Ah, my little Rose there you are. Feeling better, I hope?"

You nodded, knowing the question was nothing more than a pleasantry. "What do you need?"

His smile widened, and an eerie chill ran down your spine. "I have a special task for you. I need you to retrieve someone for me."

You frowned, confused by his unforeseen happiness. You had heard there was an incident at Punk Hazard, and although you didn’t know the details, you knew Doflamingo had been beyond enraged. It was another reason why you had chosen to stay in your room, to avoid his temper. So, his uncharacteristic cheerfulness almost baffled you.

“Who?” you questioned, although you had an inkling of who it might be.

“Caesar,” he said simply, his tone light but his eyes watching your reaction closely. “I’m sure you’ve heard, there’s been some...issues. I want you to bring him back from Greenbit."

A wave of confusion hit you once again. “Why me?”

It wasn’t like him to send you on retrieval missions. While you had been privy to fights and conflicts, you had never been a fan of them, and Doflamingo knew this. It was why you mainly ran around doing tasks within the palace. He had called it “protection,” but you had always suspected he thought you too soft-hearted for the darker work.

It had happened before, when you were younger and out on a mission. He had nearly lost you then, and he wouldn’t have it happen again.

“I’ve decided you need to be involved in these matters as well. You can’t be the only one who doesn’t get involved, it’s not fair to you. ” A cold knot of dread formed in your stomach when you saw Doflamingo's eyes glint dangerously. You had thought that you would be able to stay away from such tasks given your temperament, but that had clearly changed.

“But why now?” you asked, and you could feel your heart rate pick up when Doflamingo gave you an almost sinister smile.

“We’re short on people. The pirates who attacked Punk Hazard killed Monet, so we need as much backup as we can get. Plus, the others think you need to start doing your bit,” he said, almost nonchalantly, as if the death of one of his comrades didn’t bother him at all. But you brushed it off, subconsciously convincing yourself it was his way of dealing with grief. “And I think this would be the perfect opportunity to test you Rosie.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the task ahead. You had always known that the latest additions to the Donquixote family, all but Viola, did not like the almost favouritism that Doflamingo showed - always tasking you with the simpler jobs. This was your chance to prove your worth, and finally get them off your case. Besides, what harm would come from a simple retrieval mission?

"Alright, Doffy. I’ll bring Caesar back."

He smiled, a satisfied gleam in his eyes, almost akin to a predator satisfied with its prey. "Good. And remember, I expect nothing less than success."

As you stepped out into the hall, your resolve wavered slightly, the enormity of the task ahead settling in.

So caught up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that someone had walked by you into the room. The shutting of the door is what finally drew you out of your thoughts and you briefly glanced back, the voices within the room, a stark reminder of the life you had chosen.

You shook off the unease and focused on the task at hand. Whatever doubts you had, you pushed them aside. There was no room for weakness. You had a mission to complete, and you would do it with all the strength you could muster. For the town you now called home and the people you called family.

As you walked away, the voices in the room grew distant, and you missed out on listening in on a conversation that would have likely saved you from your impending misfortune.

“Doffy why are you sending her to retrieve Caesar?”

Despite his recent misfortune, another sinister smile spread across Doflamingo’s face. “It’s about time I test her abilities. And who better than Law to be the test subject?”

—————

Part 1 done! I feel like I may have included some unnecessary bits here and there, but oh well. I hope you liked it. Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist.

taglist: @riftmage27

[starmapz]

silent night - s. geto

❦ suguru geto x sorcerer reader

part four of the six degrees of separation anthology of oneshots, however can be read separately.

❝ christmas morning should bring with it joyous laughter and well wishes- but this particular morning is nothing but silent. when your fiancé's calls go to voicemail and you fear the worst, an unexpected guest shows up with news that could only come straight from a nightmare. ❞

❦ warnings ; no pronouns used. angst. hurt/no comfort. pet names (angel, sweetheart, darling). anxiety. panic attacks. mental illness. major character death.

❦ words ; 4.2k.

masterlist || sdos masterlist

previous (nicotine)

The sounds of Michael Bublé’s Holly Jolly Christmas fill the air, holiday joy spurring you to open your eyes.

Christmas Day.

You can only imagine how excited the girls are right now, having been told they can’t leave their rooms until you come to get them. Suguru had also insisted on Christmas music as your alarm to ‘get you in the spirit’.

As if you weren’t already in the spirit for your first Christmas engaged to him.

His fiancé. It has such a nice ring to it that the thought alone makes you smile.

Reaching over, you shut off the familiar bells and yuletide blessings of Michael Bublé’s sultry voice, opting for the silence of the snowy morning. After all, you would be hearing the girls’ excited shrieks and joyous laughter as soon as you made your way to the tree.

Flipping to Suguru’s side, it’s as though something sharp punctures your chest.

His side of the bed is empty. Cold. This wouldn’t be unusual were it not Christmas.

With a knot in your brow, you slip your feet into your slippers at the side of your bed, throwing on a housecoat and tucking your phone in the pocket, and pad over to the girls’ rooms. The chilly air of the house that Suguru prefers so that he can cuddle you at night feels more frigid than usual as a chill runs up your spine at the sight of Nanako’s cracked door.

“Nana?” You call her name gently as you peer through the door. Like every other year, she should be awake, practically bursting at the seams with excitement to see what you and her father had gotten her, but the room is silent save for the ticking of a clock.

You purse your lips, your feet carrying you much quicker to Mimiko’s room. Although quieter, she’s usually equally as eager to get to the tree, but her room is even more deathly silent than Nanako’s.

With concern pooling in your stomach at the lack of noise in the house, you jog to the living room in search of your family. The room is still, the tree untouched as the lights sparkle red like an omen. Your heart drops into your stomach at the sight of every gift wrapped to perfection, not a single one out of place.

The girls were so excited to open them.

Pulling your phone from the pocket of your housecoat, you dial Suguru’s number. It rings five times before going to voicemail.

Hi, angel. Chances are this is you, since I don’t give my number out to anyone. Sorry I missed your call, I promise I’ll return it once I have a moment. I love you.

“Hi, Sugu. I don’t know where you and the girls are, but- um-” your voice breaks, fear gripping your words. “It’s Christmas. I hope everything is alright. I’m sure you’ll be back soon but just… let me know where you all are, okay? I love you.”

You hit the ‘end call’ button, staring down at the screen for a moment.

Maybe you should make yourself some tea while you wait. He’ll get back to you soon. Suguru’s always been good with that.

The tea does little to soothe your nerves. If anything, it sits uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach as you stare blankly at your phone screen. Your heart flutters with hope as it lights up, only to see a Merry Christmas notification from Duolingo.

That damn owl.

Picking up your phone once more, you open your texts with Nanako, your fingers flying across the keyboard.

10:02 AM You || Hey sweetheart, can you text me to let me know you, Mimi, and your dad are safe?

10:02 AM Nana || Message not sent. Tap to try again.

Your heart sinks, dread clutching your heart.

Over the years, Suguru’s put in a real effort to ensure you’re comfortable and happy. He bought a house away from the cult to keep you and his business separate, he never speaks of work even when he invites you along with his friends.

He made an effort to find you a therapist, and even attended couples’ therapy with you. He’s overly conscious of the fact that making the decision to defect from Jujutsu Tech with him is one that affected you deeply. It’s not something he ever took lightly, aiming to give you the best life.

Anything and everything for you. Whatever he could physically make happen, it would come to be. Every wish of yours at his command.

It was always at the back of your mind, the things he had done. The things you felt remorse over. The guilt and pain of failing Haibara and Nanami. The self-doubt of your decision to join Suguru all those years ago, abandoning your vow to keep humanity safe and leaving behind your friends at Jujutsu Tech. But after so many years of therapy, you’ve healed and have been able to live a fairly normal life.

You tend to a beautiful garden during the summer, opting for indoor plants during the winter. You learned to dry and make your own tea leaves, and run a small online business from the comfort of your home. It’s nothing that could pay bills, but it allows you a sense of independence while Suguru provides. You cook for your family and keep the house clean and every single night without fail, Suguru returns and envelops you in his arms, enjoying a warm dinner with his family.

This is the first time in a long time that doubt rears its ugly head in your mind, bringing back with it a familiar sensation of drowning. That feeling that something is wrong and you’re losing control.

In a flurry of unease, you pick up your phone and dial Suguru again. It rings a few times, but his voice repeats that same phrase.

Hi, angel. Chances are this is you, since I don’t give my number out to anyone. Sorry I missed your call, I promise I’ll return it once I have a moment. I love you.

“Sugu, please call me back. I’m worried about you. You never miss Christmas. I love you, baby.”

The end call button somehow feels more daunting than it ever has, as though pressing it tells the tale of an end that you aren’t ready for. You rhythmically tap your nails along the screen in thought, dialing Suguru’s number again. Five more rings, one more voicemail.

“Suguru, please call me. Nanako’s texts aren’t delivering. I’m worried about you all. I can’t find anyone. I love you.”

You chew on your lower lip, leaning over the table on your elbows as you shut your eyes. You shouldn't be worried, they’re all strong sorcerers. They can take care of themselves. Suguru will keep his girls safe, you included. He always does.

You can hardly move in the hour that follows, calling Suguru every so often and trying Nanako, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. Mimiko’s phone is still in her room, there’s no use calling it. It makes you think that maybe this is all a misunderstanding. She wouldn’t simply forget her phone.

It’s the following hour that leaves you stranded, alone on an island of terror in the deep sea of your anxious worries.

It’s around noon when Suguru’s phone stops ringing before going straight to voicemail.

Hi, angel. Chances are this is you, since I don’t give my number out to anyone. Sorry I missed your call, I promise I’ll return it once I have a moment. I love you.

Your voice is no longer even, you have to strain to feign even a semblance of control over your emotions, but you would be lying to say you aren’t a wreck. Your heart pounds each time you hear the phrase.

Hi, angel. Chances are this is you, since I don’t give my number out to anyone. Sorry I missed your call, I promise I’ll return it once I have a moment. I love you.

“Sugu, come home. Pl- please come home. I need you. I love you.” The encroaching tears are evident in your voice, choking you with each word.

You don’t know what to do, at a complete loss and alone, so painfully alone.

What are you supposed to do, call one of your non-sorcerer friends to tell them that your fiancé who barely tolerates them on a good night has gone missing? The reality is, a search party won’t help in this case. A search party can’t help you search for your criminal partner.

The loneliness had gotten easier to handle over the years, but between the doubt, fear, and concern already creeping into your heart, there’s little you can do to fend it off now. You continue to chew on your lip, gripping your phone tightly under white knuckles.

The following hour sees your tears fall. Suguru doesn’t go this long without answering. Nanako never puts her phone down.

You have to resign yourself to the knowledge that something has happened and you’re helpless in tracking them down. You haven’t used your cursed energy in so long you can hardly call yourself a sorcerer, but if ever there was a time to use it, now is the time.

Your pacing comes to a halt. When had you even started pacing? You’re not sure.

Someone with strong cursed energy is approaching your home. Suguru.

You run to the door, tears of relief falling as you practically tear the door from its hinges at the relief of seeing-

Satoru.

His expression is solemn, his hands buried deep within his pockets.

“Merry Christmas, sweets.” His voice sounds different. Deeper, forlorn. He’s traded in his dark shades for white bandages, equally snowy locks pushed out of his face. He’s filled out over the last ten years, his shoulders much broader and his chest much more pronounced. He still wears the Jujutsu Tech uniform, though it must be as a teacher now.

“Merry Christmas.” Your voice is meek, it sounds almost foreign to you. “You look good, Satoru,” you force a smile, though it’s hardly convincing given your distressed expression.

“Likewise,” he returns your smile.

“I don’t mean this in a bad way,” you begin, wiping your tears at the realization that you likely look like a mess. The most you’ve done today is make tea using your hand-dried leaves. It didn’t sit so well in your stomach though, and the remainder of the tea is still in a mug on your counter. “But, why are you here?”

Satoru shouldn’t know where you are. You suppose he does have those stupid Six Eyes, whatever that even means, and he could realistically have found you years ago if he so pleased, but he never did. For all the care that Suguru still held for Satoru, it was exactly that care that drove him to push his friend away, for their ideals and values stood too far apart. They weren’t as blurred as yours had become.

“Suguru mentioned I would find you here.”

“You spoke with him?” You perk up, your heart skipping a beat at the mere mention of his name. “Is he okay? My daughters, did you see them?”

Satoru’s tongue swipes over his lips before he presses them into a thin line. Your throat tightens, suffocating you.

“Can I come in?”

You purse your lips, slowly opening the door for Satoru, who has to duck to enter the house. He takes in your home, well organized and clean, with a cozy looking tree lit at the back. The overcast sun pours in through windows near the tree, illuminating the awaiting presents.

He makes his way inside, confidently making himself at home in typical Satoru fashion. He finds the first comfortable looking chair and plops himself down with spread legs. He hasn’t changed one bit. You follow after him, standing at the edge of the living space.

“You’ve got a nice home,” he comments, punctuating the phrase with your name. 

“Thanks.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, fear shaking your vocals as you push out the question you’re dreading. “Where’s Suguru?”

Satoru doesn’t move. You can’t read his expression under the bandages. You think you prefer the sunglasses to the makeshift blindfold, even if they made him look like an asshole.

“Have you turned on the TV at all today? Checked the news?”

Your heart drops to your stomach. A pit could open up and swallow you whole and it would be a kinder fate than whatever easy way Satoru is trying to let you down. You appreciate the way he’s gentle on your frail heart, but you wish he wouldn’t beat around the bush.

Maybe the fact that you’re aware he’s letting you down easy should be your first clue that something is wrong.

“No, I haven’t.”

He sighs deeply. This is the most serious you’ve seen him since Suguru defected. “Sit down.” It’s not a request, nor a demand, but you oblige anyway. You fear if you don’t, you’ll collapse as your legs begin to quiver under the gravity of your emotions.

Satoru turns to face you finally, pulling a strand of the bandage and allowing it to unravel so that you can see his eyes. They seem to glow even in the well-lit living area. He blinks a few times, before he seems to find his voice.

“Has he spoken to you at all about what the cult has been doing?”

You shake your head, your voice caught in your throat.

“I see.” He straightens, facing you as though he’s giving you a debrief. It almost brings you back to your high school days. “Last night, Suguru released two thousand cursed spirits in Kyoto and Shinjuku. I won’t cover the casualties given your relationship, but I need to stress that this wasn’t an act of self defense.” He pauses, searching your expression. He sounds like Yaga when he speaks like this, it makes you feel sick.

The formality of his tone drives you crazy as you take in what he’s saying, yet his words don’t feel like they’re processing. It’s as though you’re watching this conversation from outside your own body, experiencing Satoru’s presence from afar.

When you don’t reply, he continues. “He attacked the school. He attempted to kill my student.”

Contrary to his prior explanation, this one registers. “A kid? He tried to kill a…?” You trail off, trying to comprehend how your fiancé could possibly act on something like that. He has two daughters himself, how could he attack a child sorcerer? That was his original breaking point, that was what had affected him so deeply he had finally broken.

That was the reason you had two adopted daughters at such a young age.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.” You shake your head, tears freely falling although you’re numb to the warmth of the salty liquid falling down your face.

Satoru frowns, clasping his hands together. “He went down a path that there was no coming back from.” He’s beating around the bush still, searching for ways to help you understand your loss without directly saying it, to help you come to terms with your grief. He himself is still grappling with his own, but Satoru had ten years to heal where you didn’t.

He couldn’t deny his only friend’s final request, to seek you out. It didn’t take much. A house in the countryside, far from the cult’s quarters, it only made sense for you. Satoru was never really sure why you followed Suguru. He knows your love for him runs deep, but he also knows you have a kind heart. It didn’t shock him to hear that you had never been involved in the cult’s businesses, nor had you ever laid a hand on anyone with intent to cause harm.

You had always been the kindest of them all. Troubled, perhaps, but kind, always.

He watches as you absentmindedly fiddle with a ring on your finger. An engagement ring. Shit. He never realized. He supposes that the distant, uncomprehending look in your eyes makes all the more sense knowing that you were soon to be married.

Your silence speaks volumes, tears still trailing down your cheeks, your eyes reddened and puffy. Satoru understands your pain, even if his pain culminates in a different form. Still, the distant look in your eyes pains him.

“Still with me?” He asks, leaning forward.

“I don’t get it.” You shake your head adamantly, sniffling. “He wouldn’t attack a child sorcerer.”

Satoru nods slowly. Denial. You’re in denial, that’s understandable.

“Okkotsu, first year student. He accidentally cursed his first love and she became a special grade apparition. Suguru wanted to absorb her.”

You shake your head, brow furrowing. “He wouldn’t.” Your breathing is growing ragged and Satoru can’t bear to see you suffer this way.

Getting to his feet, he approaches slowly, taking a seat on the couch beside you. He offers a hand, thankful you take it, although your tight grip on him sends a jolt up his body. “Damn, sweets. Quite the grip,” he chuckles, a barebones attempt at comforting humor.

His joke goes over about as poorly as you would expect as reality begins to set in. You pull away from his grip, bringing your hands up to your face as you gasp into your shaky palms.

He’s gone. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. There won’t be a honeymoon in three months. There won’t be a wedding to celebrate. There won’t be a Christmas shared in the warmth of his arms.

Every last hope, dream, and tradition, shattered for a vision that you never once believed in. There wasn’t a world where Suguru succeeded, and there’s a small part of you that thought he was aware of that. A part of you that thought he only surrounded himself with people who believed in this vision simply because they shared his values and ideals.

Suguru Geto wasn’t an innocent man, but you didn’t think he was a foolish one either. You didn’t think he was one to sacrifice everything he had built for a vision that he couldn’t possibly achieve.

Strangled gasps part your lips as grief claws its way up your throat. You have to swallow down bile as you struggle to get air. Everything crashes in on you at once, pulling you underwater into a sea of what were once well-controlled and understood emotions.

If the world pities you, it shows no sign of it, letting you choke as your world splits down the middle.

Suguru was your lifevest, he kept you above water even as the tides grew and shifted. He would be there to watch over you as the ocean grew and the shore lessened. Even at your worst, he shone as a beacon to guide you back to land, to him.

Satoru pulls you into him, rubbing your back with gentle coos and shushes, but he isn’t what you need. He isn’t who you need. He doesn’t provide the calm escape from the storm that Suguru did. His warmth doesn’t feel the same. His arms enveloping you are foreign. It’s as though he’s little more than another cloud leaving your mind foggy and uncertain, lost in chaos.

Sobs repeatedly wrack your body and Satoru fears he’s losing you to grief. There was once a time that you two were close, and while he’s sure he can’t provide for you what Suguru did, he hopes as he tightens his grip around your frame that you feel that he still cares.

He never resented you for leaving with Suguru. Even as you were sentenced to death and he was told to hunt his closest friends, he never once attempted it.

The higher-ups knew. They knew he could find you. They never pushed. They feared Gojo for what he could do. What he would do if he did manage to find you both.

“I- I can’t-” you stammer out choked words, clinging to him suddenly as though your desperate gasps for air aren’t enough. They aren’t enough. You’re pale, clinging to him for purchase as you fail to catch your breath.

Everything seems to close in, your vision blurring as black closes in on all signs.

Satoru recognizes the signs that you’re losing consciousness. So choked by your own grief that your body fails you, allowing your anxiety to tear a hole through your chest as though your heartbreak wasn’t enough.

He fears there’s nothing he can do, simply holding you as your mind fails to make sense of the situation you find yourself in. He’s not sure how long he holds you before you come back to the present. He doesn’t move an inch, opting simply to be there for you. Even if no one was there for him as he wrapped his own head around Suguru’s crimes, he wouldn’t let the same be said for you.

You’ve suffered enough.

Your breathing accelerates rapidly as you blink and take in your surroundings, every limb sore to the point where you’re growing numb. Satoru may have a penchant for endless talking, but he remains silent as you come to, processing the world. All he offers is the occasional squeeze of reassurance or a quietly whispered ‘I’m here’.

Something under the tree catches your eye, a gift you don’t recognize, but Satoru doesn’t dare let you go in this state.

“Can you breathe, sweets?”

You swallow hard with a shaky inhale. “It hurts, but I can.”

“Good.”

“Wh- where are the girls?”

Satoru leans back to get a look at your face. “I don’t know. I didn’t see much of Suguru’s followers beyond Miguel.”

You cling to the hope that maybe they’re okay, but the dread in the pit of your stomach tells another story. You can’t reach Nana and Mimi left her phone here. It all has to be for a reason. This is premeditated and there was a calculated decision made not to contact you. Not to fill you in.

They’re gone, too.

Your eyes remain fixed on the new gift beneath the tree. Leaning your full body weight against Satoru, he still refuses to let go, following you to the ground by the tree as you drag him off the couch.

Placed atop the largest wrapped gift is a tiny box with a folded note attached. You don’t recognize it and it’s too nicely wrapped to be from the girls.

With a sharp intake of breath to try to regulate your emotions as you tug the note from the box, unraveling it.

Angel,

Merry Christmas. If you’re reading this, I suppose I have some explaining to do.

Suguru’s penmanship is impeccable, and tears stream down your face at the realization of exactly what you’re reading. Satoru’s grip tightens around you as he reads over your shoulder, feeling every muscle in your body tense.

I think there was always a part of you that thought more of me than what I truly am. For that, I am deeply sorry. I’m beyond grateful that you accepted my proposal. You would have looked absolutely stunning standing at the end of the aisle.

But someone like you deserves more than what I can provide. It’s destroyed me, all these years, to know that you allowed me to break your spirit simply out of love. I don’t think any words could help me fix the error of my ways, but it’s one of my greatest regrets.

If you’re reading this, then the cult’s plans went sideways. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for Christmas day. You can add that to the long list of promises that have now been broken. I made many vows when I got down on one knee, but I suppose it was presumptuous of me to speak so highly of my ability to provide for you when I imagine you’re falling apart again.

Promise me something, my love. I want you to pick yourself up, and start fresh. Seek out Satoru, he’ll help you find a place to begin again.

I don’t expect it will be easy, but I know you can keep your head above water. Keep staying strong for me. You’re a diamond in the rough and no one will ever compare to the way you shine so brightly. Keep your chin up and keep going, my love.

I am so deeply sorry. I only ever wanted what was best for you.

I love you always.

Your Sugu ♡

You gasp between choked sobs, running your hand over the note. The ink is smeared in his final apology, a circular marking on the page’s corner as though he’d shared your tears when he wrote the note.

Setting it aside, your hand hesitates over the box. Satoru squeezes you gently, a reassurance that at least you aren’t alone. He might not be Suguru, but the reminder that you aren’t alone does provide some sort of comfort, regardless of it not being what you truly need right now.

Pulling the box into your hand, you chew at your lip until iron stings on your tongue, the taste bitter and miserable.

Holding your breath, you finally find the courage to tear the wrapping paper from the tiny gift. A small red velvet box sits in your hands.

One final gift from Suguru, one so cruel it could only have come from him.

Sitting within the box are two beautiful matching silver bands clearly crafted custom to suit your unique styles.

Wedding rings.

All over again, everything seems to crash in on you.

masterlist || sdos masterlist

previous (nicotine)

❦ a/n ; i'm so sorry :') this has been in my mind for a bit and i figured what better time to complete this series than christmas? but! i promise i have some christmas fluff coming soon too <3

❦ taglist ; @ghost-buddies @depressedemosantaclaus @s3vtrue @troyesivanfrl

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight and cafekitsune.

[dimlylittorch]

part 1 ended with angst :( i made myself very sad so here is a second part

My Masterlist🌱

Silco x transmasc!chubby!sweetheart!assistant!reader

small synopsis: more silco and his assistant working out their dynamic. sorry these aren’t longer !! i have adhd so its easier to do multiple parts

The walk home after that night had been.. rough. To say the least. Tears slipping down your cheeks, feeling that crushing pain of doing something wrong. Misinterpreting something. Ruining any connection you had with your boss.

The next day you walked into work with your head down and your gaze averted. Not making eye contact with anyone like you usually would, not even bothering to put up a somewhat realistic fake smile. Walking into the office where Silco sat at his desk smoking and reading papers, you walked to your desk and sat down without a word. No greeting. No kind words. Not even a smile.

Silco feels a stabbing pain in his heart when he sees how crestfallen you look. His eyes follow your soft form as you sit at your desk, pulling your supplies out of your bag and getting started on your paper work immediately. Usually you’d offer to get him a coffee, make small talk. But not today.

You both sat in silence for a small while, silently hoping there wouldn’t be a moment where you were forced to speak. You wanted to stay quiet, not knowing what to say. He wanted to speak, but he had no idea how to put his feelings into words. After a few moments, you spoke before he could.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

His brain practically stops at your words. Uncomfortable? The thought that he could even be uncomfortable anymore.. when was the last time someone cared about his comfort? He puts out his cigar in the ashtray on his desk before standing up and slowly walking over to where you sat. Moving behind your desk, he sits on the corner of it with his gaze locked on you.

“You’re a silly little thing.” He murmurs, grabbing a pen on your desk and twirling it between his fingers. “I’m not used to dealing with something this.. weak.”

His words make your grip on your own pen tighten. You know you’re not strong like everyone else down here- but weak? That was rich. You let out a shaky breath as you try to calm yourself, trying not to snap.

When he sees how your body tenses, a small smirk appears on his lips. Teasing you was a way to make you look at him.. god how he wanted you to look at him. But he’d never seen you angry before. Maybe a little annoyed.. but never like this. He leans down so his breath ghosts over the shell of your ear. “Pathetic.” He breathes.

You suddenly slam your hands on your desk, pushing your chair back as you stand up as quickly as you can. As you move your head hits against his slightly, mainly hitting his nose. He quickly leans back, holding his nose with a huff, his eyes still on you. “Pathetic? I’m pathetic?” You seethe as you turn towards him, face flushed and a rage in your eyes he’d never seen before. “That’s hilarious coming from the man that is only powerful because of other people- why are you in charge again? Because of shimmer. Do you make shimmer? Do you sell shimmer? Do you even sign off on the shimmer contracts you make? No! Because guess what? I do- I forge your signature just like you told me to. Your entire empire was made off of the backs of other people. Without manipulating others, you’re nothing.” You yell at him, ragged breaths slipping past your lips. When you see how he’s simply staring at you blankly, you grab his collar and push him into the wall. “What? Not a big scary man anymore? Just going to let your stupid brainless assistant push you around?” You hiss.

Silco knew it from the second you raised your voice. He was gone. His little ball of fluff could turn into a ball of rage. You were perfect. He can’t help but gaze at you as you yell at him, simply admiring how nice you looked when you were angry.

When he sits there staring at you, your breathing start to slow and you just stare back at him. It starts to set in what you’d done.. yelling at your boss. Pushing him into a wall. Fuck, you were definitely fired. But before you can say anything or make a move to leave, he grabs your chin and pulls you into a kiss.

“You’re anything but brainless” he whispers against your lips when he pulls back for only a moment, his eyes locked on yours. You’d stopped breathing completely, frozen in shock. “You’re.. everything.” He says faintly before he kisses you again, slipping one hand to the back of your head and the other around your waist.

After a few seconds, your brain starts to catch up with everything. And you can’t help but push him away slightly, looking at him with pure confusion, breath ragged. “I- I just-“ you stutter out. “I just yelled at you.”

“Yes. You did.” He says quietly as he cups your chin, his thumb gently tracing over your lips. “You remember what I said, don’t you?” You stare up at him with confusion which makes him chuckle. “I said.. if someone has a problem with you, they have a problem with me.” He murmurs. “I couldn’t protect you from myself.”

“Silco..” you say softly, confusion turning to concern.

“You were a good boy.” He says firmly, making your heart skip a beat. “You stood up for yourself.. when I couldn’t.” He sighs. “Last night my heart tore itself to shreds for what I said to you. Soft little thing.. I am the weak one. Not you.”

Your breath hitches at his words and you look downcast, trying to think. “You.. you still hurt my feelings.” You say faintly. While his words made your heart stir, you still had some sense of self preservation.

He frowns slightly, letting out a soft sigh as he moves his hand to cup your cheek. “I’m sorry.” He whispers. Christ.. when was the last time he said those words to someone? Anyone? “I’m a stupid man. With a scarred heart.”

You let out a breath at his words, leaning into his hand a little. “I’m sorry too.” You murmur, looking up and cupping his cheeks, pulling his face close. “Is your nose okay? I didn’t mean to hit you.” You say softly as concerned eyes trail over his face.

He chuckles faintly, covering your hands with his own. “I know you didn’t.” He says comfortingly. “I shouldn’t have teased you.. but I’d rather angry you than emotionless you.” He smiles.

“You can hit me back if you want” you smile softly. “Settle the score.”

He sighs at your words, leaning forward and resting his forehead against your own as his eyes close. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, little one.” You both stay like that for a few moments before you break the silence.

“You kissed me.” You murmur faintly as you both straighten up again, looking at each other as your hands leave his face. “A minute ago.”

“I did.”

A few seconds of silence pass as you try to think of what to say next. What could you say?

“Was that alright?” He asks softly before you can say anything.

You gaze up at him for a moment, a million thoughts swirling behind your eyes. “I wish you had done that last night.” You murmur softly with a faint chuckle. “You would’ve saved me a few tears.”

“Don’t tell me you cried over me?” He smiles faintly.

“Shut up.. I’d walked in here today fully prepared to be over you. And now look at me.” You murmur, looking down at how close the two of you were.

He sighs softly, his hand moving from your back to your hip, gently molding the flesh in his hand. “I was going to fuck the anger out of you if I had to.” He whispers under his breath. “But a pretty little thing like you.. so forgiving. More so than I deserve.”

Your heart rate picks up at his words, letting out a shaky breath before it turns into a small chuckle. “Not everything has to be rough you know.”

He looks up, his eyes meeting your own. “Rough is all I know.” He confesses quietly. You don’t think you’ve ever heard his voice so.. raw before.

“Hm.” You hum as you gently cup his cheek again. “For such a powerful man, there sure are quite a few things you don’t know.” You smile teasingly.

A weak laugh slips past his lips as he only slightly leans into your touch. “Teach me.” He muses.

[aftermiiidniiight]

It was a little nerve wracking, the idea of him reading through something she'd notated. Sure, it was a children's book, and the notations were nothing too interesting, but still - it was a look at the inside of her mind, and the idea of him seeing that side of her made her a little nervous. So she simply nodded and let it go.

"Yeah, to China." Maybe he could feel it - the way that Cora relaxed a little more in this moment. She loved it, the process of planning an adventure, going and immersing herself in the culture, losing herself a little in a new place. "I'm working for a few days - general stories about the Great Wall, the Forbidden City." Spending her time trying to find a new angle to old places. "Once work is done, I'll just let myself get a little lost for a couple of weeks." It was a careful balance - wanting to make sure she saw certain tourist hot spots, but also wanting to make sure she was fluid enough to let the experience guide her. "If you've got any suggestions, let me know."

"Ahh, apologies, I thought you meant she wanted to go to London and Orlando. But avoiding Orlando is always a good idea." Shrugging off what felt like an easy mistake, she looked back at him, giving him a small smile. "Hmmm." She didn't point out that it seemed like she and Lily shared some similarities, not wanting to a ruin a good thing. "What day in May? Her birthday, I mean." It could seem like none of her business, and he didn't have to tell her. "I wonder how many days apart we are. Mine is the 14th."

And then the ease was gone for a moment, Cora feeling the tension in him. Okay. A line had been hit. So she took a few beats, letting herself relax, not interested in both of them feeling uncomfortable. She let out a small, silent exhale, that surely he could feel with his arms around her.

"You're you. You're this very important man. You have your business, so you have your employees and that stress." She was speaking slowly, fingertips grazing over one of his arms lightly, trying to ease any tension that may still be in the room with them. "I'm sure there are plenty of people I can't even think about that you're responsible. Then there's your family." And a full circle moment, "And then there's you."

She wanted him to understand she didn't have ulterior motives, that she wasn't trying to angle for more from him. But she also didn't know how to express that the longer they did this thing together, the more she would inevitably care about him. She just didn't know how to untie those parts of herself. "So while you're busy making the world turn." This was not a joke, this was said with sincerity. "Who is making sure that you're getting whatever it is that you need - rest, fun, relaxation, food - who is making sure you're not going to crumble?"

"I'll think about it." His next kiss was just as gentle, a little higher, placed just beneath the lobe of her ear. "Bring it by, and I'll have a look." He wasn't exactly eager for Lily to know about Cora at this point, but he supposed he didn't have to tell his daughter who the book had come from. And if Cora was as smart as he thought she might be, her observations in the book might even be educational to Lily. And that, he would never deny her. So he'd look through it, peruse her annotations, and if he deemed them worthwhile, he actually, surprisingly enough, would let his daughter read Cora's copy.

"To China, you mean?" He smiled a little, imagining Cora's energetic personality among the Chinese. "It's an interesting country to travel, though a few weeks isn't long considering the size of it - how are you prioritising your time there?" He might have come off a little patronising, like the well-travelled older man that he was, but his tone was affected with enough genuine curiosity about her trip to avoid it.

"It's not a theme park," he corrected gently, "there are no rides or anything of that nature. The Harry Potter World you'll find just outside London is more like... a museum. It's a Warner Brothers studio tour of sets, props and costumes from the movies. It's supposed to be quite an interesting experience... if you're a Harry Potter enthusiast." His broad shoulders shrugged lightly. "My PA is planning a trip for us in May next year for her birthday."

Her next question took him by surprise, enough for his back to tense up momentarily. He straightened, automatically taking her with him as his arms were still locked securely around her. "Taking care of me?" He then questioned, his tone calm enough but without the easy energy it had possessed just moments earlier. "Taking care of me how?"

[thewistlingbadger]

I find jinx's relationship with humor to be very fascinating. Jinx wasn't really a funny child. We never really saw her crack a joke, it just seemed like she wasn't that kind of kid who could find humor in any situation and found it easy to hold around. But as she gets older we see that she frequently uses humor in her day to day life, specifically to help ease her out of uncomfortable situations. Jinx's sense of humor for the most part is quite inappropriate, not in an obscene way but in a way where the things she says just aren't suitable and create a lot of tension. Not only does she use humor to navigate these situations, but she also will forcibly laugh to relieve stress, as though it's some kind of coping mechanism she's developed. She laughs nervously when Silco expressed his disappointment in her, she laughed nervously when she reunited with Vi and saw Caitlyn, she laughed nervously when she showed the gem stone to silco, she laughed nervously when she was stapling her leg, etc. Jinx does use more humor in season two but to me it's significantly reigned in and more appropriate for the most part.

One of the earliest jokes we get from her is "Sisters, right? Can't live with them, can't stuff them back in the old baby maker." This is a really uneasy joke and Jinx reacts accordingly, she instantly laughs this off while cringing. Another instance where she makes an insensitive joke would be at the commune "ask for a healer, get a metal fortune cookie...looks like you got a couple (conditions). " She uses humor to make threats, "I feel like we got off on the wrong arm. How about we try to other?" "Don't move, silly. I might hurt you." "I paid your girlfriend a visit this morning. I made her a snack."

To me this is fascinating because you would think her humor would come from her youth, a mostly carefree period of her life where she was surrounded by peers, not her isolated adolescence. Like, where is this humourous influence coming from? Sevika and Silco, the two people jinx was closest to at the point aren't funny people. They do have their theatrical moments but humor isn't their strong suit. Where did this change of her's come from?

[petalsonmoon]

if your cascade, ocean wave blues come

the three times you give each other peace.

part 2 of 3.

part 1 here.

wc: 2.1k

notes: thank you for the patience and for reading <3

and for the next 3 months, everything moved regularly slow.

you did your best in everything you put your strength in. you didn’t let the uncomfortable situation hold you back in getting better with mic and, granted, the results were appearing in your other life subjects.

you always did great in the theoretical part of school, always willing to learn new things and you had a saying you created yourself that was: all books eventually catch one’s attention. sometimes you gotta go through hell before everything gets interesting.

and accordingly, you put your name on the 3rd spot in your class raking.

you were proud of that.

In the span of those next months you trained with new faces. you made a good friendship with honenuki, growing to meeting each other after hours to not hold back in the sparing.

mic said that was a good idea. train with someone you didn’t know well to get habituated with the loud noises.

now, when it came to the exercises with class A there were interesting surprises.

the first one, happened 3 weeks after your encounter with bakugo, and unfortunately your group didn’t include him. and it’s not like you were looking for something here but that situtation you both had left you curious about the boy. for the particular reason that when you were feeling frustated and sad about yourself, his presence was a calming thought in that storm.

like. that was perfectly normal, right?

he didn’t ask why you weren’t at the presentation and he didn’t underestimated you for that either. and that’s all you wanted. to breathe peacefully and not being judged.

the second one, it happened 4 weeks after that. in spite of aizawa’s enormous lack of effort and energy to deal with professor sekijiro, they decided to unify the classes for the day and let the students review and establish in pairs how to manage their quirks whilst working with an unfamiliar sidekick.

you were incapable to control your wide eyes the second bakugo walked to you with heavy steps and serious eyes. some colleagues also noticed the strange occurrence and that made you a little unease. but you handled like the mysterious and confident person you pretended to be with him that day.

you held his gaze but you couldn’t fucking stop the sweat it was forming in the back of your neck.

because being honest, nothing really changed between you two, only a few exchanged glaces in the caferia but that was it. and being even more honest, class A was annoyingly famous around the school so you couldn’t (and didn’t have the balls) to approach the angrist boy in the faculty out of nowhere.

since the task was to be a sidekick you didn’t have to fight against him or anything, so you just took a sip of water and went on with it with your head held high.

bakugo was a handful with capital H but a brilliant leader, so it was a nice activity.

and you could really sense that each time it was an activity outside of your comfort zone, you were feeling less and less overwelmed with the noises. you were proud of that.

the training took practically the whole day and when everyone was tiredly getting back to the dorms, he passed by you. the bastard didn’t even look at you.

“meet me in the gymnasium in two hours.”

by the time the phrase is undestood by your brain, he’s already out of your sight.

but you already knew what it was going to happen. so, you went quickly eat some dinner, take a slow shower and mentally prepare yourself.

what is this feeling? excitement? nervouness? you tried not to look to closely at the tiny bit of giddiness also there.

when the time came you made your way to the gymnasium, trying to make your heart and brain settle down and as you entered the place you saw bakugo himself with his back to you getting ready.

you’ve seen him with those black tanks out and about from afar in numerous times.

getting a closer look of his perfectly broad back and designed bíceps made your brain and heart finally agree in one certain feeling.

that’s enough. he’s here to purely beat your ass.

you walk towards him and put your bag on the bench.

“took it to heart, i see.”

“no” he didn’t even look you.

“you’re kinda easy to work with” you admit swiftly as you start to get ready, taking your eyes off of him. “should make a great opponent as well.”

he grumbles in response.

“if you go easy on me i’ll walk.” you say.

and then you finally feel his eyes on you. “then don’t waste my time.”

and that’s how you had the most difficult practice of your life.

bakugo did not held back and you had to think ridiculously fast to survive every single insanely fast strategies he came up with. but you did not held back either and you’re very proud to say you put up with him for some good minutes before he won the match. the boy was almost number 1 of the entire school, you won’t minimize your efforts.

when it ended and you were on the ground he walked to you and offered his hand. and without saying another word you two spared again. and again. and again.

and it took you some time to get used to his explosions so near you but you think you could maneuver your reactions when you actually focused on learning his movements. you're not sure how he handles this loudness.

and he won every single time. but during fights you both were adjusting to how the other thought and moved. it was such an intense but pleasant experiment that you allowed yourself to comment to him your thoughts about his fighting, not judging nor imposing but simply a different point of view.

and you think you worded everything greatly because his eyes weren’t showing you an the usual amount of irritation and after a while he started to comment about you as well.

that was exactly 6 days ago.

right now, you were at the music room once again, sitting by the piano learning how to play twinkle twinkle little star through an app.

it was a choice you made after the festival and okay. not your proudest decision but it calmed you down when you needed. school is not easy and having a hobbie whilst wanting to become a hero is hard.

it was an inoffensive little bobbie.

you were think jingle bells was probably next.

you’ve been there for about 30 minutes when the door slammed open. they really needed to check it someday, people have not been gentle with it.

and you look up to find bakugo katsuki irradiating rage. it was clear he wanted to storm off to the couch he sitted last time but to your unfortunate it was close to the piano and he quickly stopped once he noticed you were in the room as well.

everything you knew about class A was from kirishima cause him and tetsu were strangely close. which is funny because he’s really close to bakugo too but you rarely talked to the blonde up until now.

well, you heard this week that class A had a very important evaluation today. the show-us-in-public-how-much-you-evolved-your-quirk-and-rescuing-people kind of evaluation. so this right now could be related to that information.

you tried to read in his expression if you’d be the target of whatever got him enraged but before you could analize anything he simply angrily sat and closed his eyes.

his irritation tugged something in you. a bit of impotence. you had no idea how to help him and you’re certain that ask him how is the absolute last option.

so you did the most reasonable thing. you look down and continue to play the piano.

twinkle twinkle little star.

if it helped calmed you down perhaps it did the same for him. the boy who smashed the drums. ha.

and for a fair 5 minutes that’s how you both stayed. once you thought you were beginning to understand how to differentiate the dozen of white sticks in front of you, you raise your head to find him in the exact position as before.

you don’t know him well but if you thought you did, you’d say the wrinkles around his eyes and the furrow between his brows seemed slightly relaxed.

“in the piano i’m better than you.” you say almost whispering and let out a chuckle. “ha!”

he shakes his head imperceptibly with his eyes still closed.

“you’re stupid.”

you play another verse of the one song you know on the piano before answering “i don’t think so.”

is that the ghost of a smile you see on his face?

“i can teach you.” you continue.

“absolutely doubt that.”

“you don’t trust me?”

he finally lowers his head and makes a face to you. a low and short grunt in response.

“oh no.” you shake your head “i thought we were past this. i swear i didn’t let you win when we trained. you won far and square, i promise.”

it was a single joke to lighten up his mood. you only intended to create a good and natural conversation but when you heard him snickering with a pinch of genuine laugh underneath it you wanted to make a few more jokes to keep hearing it.

“you’re stupid.”

“i thought we were past this too.”

“i’m gonna past you if you say that again.” his raspy but calm voice fills the room.

“i see you need a little more of twinkle twinkle little star in you.” you look down and start to play again with a surprising efficiency.

“for the love of god.” he looks up grunting.

“okay.” you stop playing.

you look at him again and his eyes are you. “learned this one today.”

“congratulations.” very sincerely sarcarstic of him.

“in half na hour. one note at of time” you add.

he grimace and you smile.

“just saying.” you add. you pass your fingers through the piano keys threatening to actually touch them. “do you consider yourself a good drummer?”

“i’m fucking great.”

you nod in response.

he raises his eyebrows for a millisecond. “how’d you know?”

now, that’s the tricky part. he doesn’t sound bitter or even rude. he’s completely neutral and you don’t know how to read this... challenge? audacity?

he noticed you weren’t at the festival and you know what he’s asking you now and you’re not sure how to continue the conversation. or how to take that in general

do you think you can handle how his view of you would probably change? if you’re confotable enought to share, does it matter? and surprising even youself, you think trust him to be honest without you getting hurt with him.

“are we caring about what the crowd says now?” your voice small.

“only the ones that don’t waste my time.” he replies just as careful.

well.

that was not good for your heart.

“let’s say” you start “i’m here learning an instrument. it’s not very different from why you’re here today.”

his brows immediately furrow “i think it is-”

“did we not” bold move interrupting him. “learn these instruments for the same reason?”

“careful.”

“and honestly-“

“aren’t you a honest person.” It comes out rough of him.

“this” you gesture lazily to the room. “it’s working for me.”

he is genuinely paying attention to what you’re saying. you don’t wonder if it’s because he’s getting angrier or you’re a easy distraction.

“at least that’s what i’d like to believe. i’m 3rd place in my class and i’m getting better... with everything else.” anxiety, you mean

he’s just staring and you keep going softly  “you’re practically top 3 of the whole school. and that’s a lot of pressure, i’d be terrefied.”

“yeah?” he hums.

“uhum.” red is a fucking intimidating color. “even the most powerful person in school needs a little bit of easiness. i hope this place helps you as it helps me...”

the last part comes out almost like a whisper. and you’re aware you’re talking too much but the boy already saw you sitting in a corner of this very room with ruined makeup. it doesn’t get worse or realer than that.

 “we just need to work on our control.”

then even his aura changes. he carefully tilts his head, daring you to continue.

“we?”

“don’t get me wrong-” you add.

“i’m not.” he hiss. shit.

“what i’m saying is...” you hesitate and push aside any warning in your head. and your exploding heart. “i don’t know you well, and i don’t want to assume. how could i know you from other peoples opinion?”

you can see him relaxing again. it’s very subtle. he’s not guarded anymore, so you take that in consideration. you start playing jingle bells in the background of your head to motivate you.

“but i come here to calm my mind and if you’re just like me... then you’re probably losing control of your brain too.”

you look down to your fingers and your breathing stabilizes. if you truly think about it, you were acutely more nervous about the fact of letting what you’re feeling out of you than him blowing your head out of you for what you said.

“are we psychoanalyzing each other?”

“no.” you shake your head “i just want you to enjoy twinkle twinkle little star with me.”

you want to look up but you’re scared.

“you know what i think?”

but with that you do look at him. he’s the softest he can be.

“that you are actually letting it control you.”

now, what the fuck.

how does he know things?

you’re the one with the furrowing brows this time. okay. he secret is always pretend you’re confident and in the control of the situation.

“oh bakugo,” you smile a little “are we friends now?”

“for a honest person you’re dodging a lot.”

goddammit. his aswers are always so quick.

“alright.” you compromisse “can we make na arrangement?”

“hm” that's all you got.

“every wednesday we train together after hours, that’ll help me” this part is true “and in return you’ll work on whatever makes you almost break the poor door everytime you come here.”

he was sending you a gaze that could blow you into atoms in the blink of an eye but you see that he thinks before answering.

“i'm not holding anything back."

him going along with you in this was enough as it is. "i'm not expecting you too."

"and then what?"

"then we meet at christmas and whoever is better will get a gift."

you bite a laughter when his response is rolling his eyes.

"like friends do." you add.

"i get it." he growls.

all of that leaves you with a sweet and fresh feeling. like when you're a little kid and you spend the day with your best friend of a week that is also your little crush that you don't know it's a crush cause you're too young and naive.

and that discovery doesn't ruin anything, cause you're a centered person. you're not expecting anything at all from this. having him as a friend is more than enough and you're grateful.

his phone seals the conversation when starts to ring but stops after he even got out of his pocket.

"fucking hate when they do that." he mumbles.

you look down again, not letting your mind twist.

"when i win and meet you in a month." he says very collected as he starts getting up "i'll need you to be very honest with me, got it?"

your whole body hair did not just went up with that. is he always like that?

"careful, bakugo." you hope you sound as nonchalant as him.

he's already by door when he answers you. "great. we have a deal."

he leaves closing the door more gently than you could.