#woke up with a newfound love

[moonpascal]

BEN BARNES ll 42

[i-am-church-the-cat]

my circadian rhythm needs to stop

[sacredsorceress]

Scars / Logan Howlett

pairing: dofp!logan howlett x mutant!reader summary: every person has a soulmate. after settling in the future that he saved, logan starts to consider his next mission when a suspicious mark appears on him. word count: 3.2k a/n: good ol'fashioned soulmate AU. this is the first actual fic i've written in a long time so please have some grace. reblogs and replies are super appreciated! warnings: general mentions of logan's past, scars, self-doubt, alcoholism, reader smokes a cigar, mentions of razors, scars, wounds, two uses of y/n

logan masterlist | inbox | full masterlist

It had been a week since Logan woke up in his healed timeline.

For most people, the change would have been dramatic. But Logan was far unlike most people. The initial dreamlike state he was in when he first walked through the mansion- seeing the ghosts he had once known returned to the flesh, unscathed- quickly subsided. Logan had always been a man thrown onto a new path- how he lived life constantly changing to best fit his interests. Now, with his newfound peace he found the most complicated mission of all: what to do with the life he was now free to live?

Even before the sentinels, the battles, the wars- he had always been a man on the run. He was solo, strategic, concise. For a man who was gifted with infinite regeneration, he had solely concerned himself with staying alive. He ate for sustenance, sought shelter for safety, and nursed a bottle to find enough peace of mind to sleep at night.

The professor had once told him that for a person to reach self-actualization they first had to have all of their needs met. Logan had scoffed at the time, assuring the professor that he knew himself just fine. But now, with his problems so solved that they had ceased to ever exist, he wondered if maybe the professor was right.

Who was he? Where did he go from here?

The answer was found in the form of a scar on his hand.

"Well, everything seems to be just fine."

Logan scoffed at the blue man in front of him

"Well it's not." Logan said. "Check again."

Two days after he had come back, a large, circular scar had appeared on the palms of each of his hands. When they hadn't disappeared after two minutes, he rushed to the bathroom and nicked himself with his razor, watching as the wound healed with only blood dripping down his scruff as a remanent of it. Thirty minutes after that he found himself in the lab with Hank, Jean, and the Professor hypothesizing his miraculous marks.

"Logan, the tests came back clear." Jean assured him, leaning against the wall. "Maybe it's time to consider that it's something else."

Logan quirked his head towards her.

"I haven't had a scar in over two hundred years," he reminded her, his voice laced with irony. "I get not one, but two and you... what? Think it's a coincidence?"

Before Jean had a chance at rebuttal, the professor moved to face Logan.

"That's not what Jean's inferring, Logan." Charles reminded him. "We're simply asking that you consider other options. Less... dire options. It could, after all, be a good thing."

"Yeah?" Logan scoffed. "Like what?"

A silence hung in the air.

When Logan had first come to them with news of his scar, the thought had been on all three of their minds. Still, there were a plethora of things that could have caused that. Though, when the tests came back clear and his skin continued to heal from all sorts of abrasions, it felt as if there was only one answer for his seemingly magical scars.

However, none of them were keen on sharing this diagnosis with Logan. One wondered whether he'd handle the idea of his body failing him over fated love.

Hank was the first to speak up.

"Like a soulmate."

Oh that was rich, Logan thought.

Logan wasn't unfamiliar with the idea of soulmates.

Around the time that two fated lovers were destined to meet, there would be a sign for each of them. In some cases they were eyes changing colors, feeling the other's pain, finding their names everywhere they looked. In other cases they were new birthmarks, tattoos, scars.

In some way, the two were inextricably connected.

In his long life he had seen others experience it dozens if not hundreds of times. When the first thirty years of his life rolled around with no one, Logan accepted that he was one of the outliers. He considered it for the best and by now, with everything that he had gone through, the concept of soulmates almost seemed like an old wives' tale.

Logan glanced at their faces. When he realized they were serious, a deep laugh escaped from his gut. There was a lack of light in his eyes that admitted his insincerity.

"So I disappear for a few decades and you all start believing in fairytales?" Logan pulled the needles from his arm, the heart rate monitor going flat as he did. "What a bunch of bullshit."

Jean laid her hand against his chest, urging him back into the seat.

"Logan." She soothed him. "This is a good thing. Scott and I-"

Oh this was real rich.

"Scott and you are... what, huh?" Logan urged. "Soulmates?"

Logan scoffed, swiping Jean's hand from his chest.

"Bet you're so happy with your 'soulmate' and that's why you lead me on, huh? That it? You're happy?" He taunted, a dark laugh escaping him once more. "Spare me-"

"Logan, that's enough!"

The professor's voice echoed against the linoleum walls of the lab, reverberating off of the medical equipment throughout.

"If you want to wallow in your own self-deprivation, be my guest, but spare the rest of us your grief." Charles continued. "I think it would be best if you go back to your quarters and consider the future the universe has offered you."

The energy in the air was thick.

Jean and Hank avoided Logan’s eye contact while the professor’s nearly burned a whole through him.

Accepting defeat, Logan threw his hands up in the air and pushed himself out of his metal chair.

“Fine.”

Soulmates. Logan thought. Who would believe in a thing like that?

-

"It's a pleasure to see you again."

The atmosphere in the mansion was a stark contrast to the lab Charles had been in days before.

Now the school day had commenced: children skipping from class to class, students chatting with their friends in the hallway, teachers grabbing coffee between lessons. Amidst the organized chaos, Charles had arranged to meet you in the foyer: the replacement history teacher for Logan's class.

"You too, professor." You smiled, reaching out your hand. "I was so glad to hear from you."

Your hand hung in the air briefly, awaiting his return. Charles examined it for a moment- a twinkle in his eye- before taking it. His thumbs brushed against the newfound scars between your knuckles as he did.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't always have these scars, did you, Y/n?" Charles asked.

You had not.

You had woken with them a few days before. Despite your powers rooted in chaos magic, it wasn't uncommon for blemishes or wounds to etch themselves into your skin. However, you often knew why. These marks, scars, were not faint, but instead quite profound. Three thick, healed over wounds patched together like a stitch on the back of each of your hands.

"No professor."

He closed his eyes, a soft smile gracing his lips. Though you knew he wished to ask more questions, the moment was broken by Logan.

"Ah, the man himself." Charles beamed. "Logan, I'd like you to meet Y/n. She'll be covering your class."

You had seen your fair share of news stories about the Wolverine. Who hadn't? Though the television had never prepared you for just how tall, or broad he was.

"It's nice to meet you, Logan."

"You too." He nodded, taking your hand.

His hand lingered in yours for a moment. Charles cleared his throat.

"We were just discussing the most peculiar scar on Y/n's hand." Charles said. "Appeared just a few days ago out of nowhere."

Charles nodded his head in the direction of your hand, leading Logan to squint. As if a light bulb had gone off over his head, Logan glanced between Charles and yourself and with your hand still in his, he turned it examine the back.

Three scars between your knuckles. Right where his own claws would be.

Though he liked to imagine himself as the patron of remaining suave, Logan's eyebrows shot up at the recognition. He traced his view from your hands, up your torso, to your face where you eyed him questioningly.

He thought back to the way that he woke up in the seventies, wrapped in the arms of another woman. If times had been different and Logan hadn't undergone all the so-called character development in the last forty years, he was sure that a face like yours would have gotten him in a lot of trouble. You were beautiful, and your demeanor highlighted your strength.

Your face radiated kindness, warmth and most of all, sincerity- a trait that was difficult to come by in a trade such as his.

But then Logan recalled that this wasn't the seventies and you weren't at some bar leading him on the entire night: your hand was in his and, according to everyone else, he was yours.

The idea almost couldn't register in Logan's brain.

"Interesting, isn't it, Logan?" Charles asked, breaking the silence. "Almost identical to where your claws are, hmm?"

Oh the professor thought he was quite funny.

Logan pulled his hand back from your grasp and shook his head.

"Not that easy, Charles." Logan commented before turning to you, a spiteful tone in his voice. "See you around, bub."

Before you had the chance to open your mouth, you watched as Logan stomped down the nearest hallway, his boots squeaking against the floorboards as he did. His fists clenched and released at his sides as he disappeared from view.

His reaction had come so far from left field that if it hadn't given you whiplash, it would have hurt your ego. Instead you turned back to the professor.

"Was it something I said?" You asked.

The professor shook his head, patting your hand gently.

"Logan's quite a complicated man." He assured you. "I'm sure you'll come to know that more than the rest of us. Now, to your classroom..."

Glancing over your shoulder to the void-like hallway that Logan went down, you considered the professor's words.

-

A storm had taken over the mansion by nightfall.

As you padded down the wood panelled hallways, the lightbulbs shook in their glass with each thunder clap- wind swatting at the window panes every few seconds. The pitter patter of the raindrops, although harsh, was comforting. It was almost as if the mansion had been engulfed by the storm, trapping everyone inside, while consequently making the outside world feel a thousand miles away.

When you found Logan's door, tucked in at the end of the hallway, you knocked.

"Yep."

The weight of the door fell against the palm of your hands as you pushed it open.

Logan's room was dark. The only light in the space had been from the embers of the cigar that hung in his mouth, cradled between his thumb and forefinger. Despite the darkness, you could make out his figure sitting at his desk chair by the window, feet kicked up on the sill.

Logan only gave you a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back to the view.

"What d'you want?"

His voice was thick and rough around the edges.

"I came for your textbooks." You replied, tiptoeing against his floorboards. "The professor said you'd have them."

The hand of his that held the cigar waved around. Minuscule ashes fell to the floor as your eyes remained trained on the light and the faint glow of the moon that illuminated the side of his face.

"Be my guest," he said. "Don’t have a clue where they are."

The professor had given you the lowdown when he saw your scars.

Charles told you that despite everything that you had learned- the history that you had known- the Wolverine you'd meet was not the same person. He was a man from a different time with far different, darker memories and enough baggage to weigh down dozens.

Amidst the silence, you cleared your throat.

"Must be hard to wake up in someone else's life."

By now you had reached his desk, your fingertips tracing the lines in the dark, lacquered wood.

You could smell him and the cigar from this distance- aftershave mixed with smoke.

"The professor tell you that?"

"Mhm."

The chair creaked as Logan flicked his hand towards the window, ushering you to come closer.

Watching your step in the dark, you maneuvered around the furniture and sat beside Logan on his desk- pushing loose papers to the side.

"He give you his whole spiel on soulmates too?" He asked, eyes trained on the rain outside.

Soulmates.

Now that was the last thing you expected to come from the Wolverine's mouth.

You'd heard of them more times than you could count. You once wondered whether every repetitive coincidence was a sign that your person was coming. But, when that never happened, you lost hope.

Who got to tell you who you belonged to anyway?

Leaning over, you gingerly took the cigar from his grasp and replaced it with your own fingers. Sitting back into the desk as lightening struck a tree in the distance, you took a puff.

"So that's what the scars on my hands were all about," You thought aloud.

The window fogged as you let the smoke leave from your mouth in a breathy sigh.

Logan tapped his fingers on his thighs, counting the seconds between a lightening strike and its consecutive rumble of thunder.

"Listen, I'm no prince charming if that's what you came here looking for."

Logan's chair creaked again as he leaned back in his seat. His arm draped against the desk as he met your gaze.

You chuckled and held out his cigar, offering it back to him.

"I came here looking for textbooks." You laughed. "You're the one who keeps talking about soulmates. I think you're more of a romantic than you let on.”

His fingers brushed against yours as he took the cigar back into his own hand. Another lightning strike met the ground in the distance, a clap of thunder following moments afterwards.

"You don't buy it?" Logan quirked his eyebrow. It was a teasing question, one he was curious to hear your answer to.

You shrugged.

"I don't think the universe gets to tell me who to love," you said. "If I fall in love with you it's because I love you, Logan. Not because some mark told me to. I just think of it as... a little shove in the right direction.”

The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile for the first time.

"A shove?"

"Like a... blind date." You finished. "Ever been on one of those?"

A congested laugh escaped him.

"Sweetheart, do I look like the type of guy to go on a blind date?"

You bit the inside of your cheek at the name.

Rolling your eyes, you swatted at his arm. You wouldn't admit how much it hurt your knuckles to do so. You'd have to make a mental note to remember his adamantium skeleton.

"Gosh, you're cocky!"

Logan shrugged, "You're the one who likes it apparently."

You felt yourself grow hot at his accusation.

Even though he had a mark signalling his future affection for you, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed by Logan's knowledge of yours. You felt like a child who's crush had just been exposed to the whole class. Was he noting ever glance that you gave him? The way you didn't move when his arm brushed against yours?

A brief pause hung in the air until another thunder clap reverberated against the walls.

"So what's your mark?" You asked.

Logan shoved the cigar into the corner of his mouth. The biting motion forced him to flex his jaw in a way that you would refuse to admit made you start to realize that maybe the universe was right.

And that maybe his cockiness was justified.

He laid out his hands for you. The room was still dark, making the ability to discern the details of his scar impossible. Taking Logan's hands in yours, you summoned your magic into your hands, watching as they glowed gold.

Logan had two large, circular scars imprinted into his palms. It was a clear indicator of your own magical power that surged from your hands.

It left a feeling you couldn't describe in your chest to know that someone else was marked for you. They were destined for you. To be with you. You had a future written together before the two of you had met. Even if he rejected you, there was a sign etched into his skin that bound the two of you together in some fateful way.

Gently, you traced your fingertips against the mark, feeling the warmth that radiated from his palms.

When your eyes flicked upwards, you noticed how close the two of you were now sitting. You could feel his warm breath against your lips as the lingering smell of the cigar drifted up your nose.

Although he wouldn’t admit it, Logan was enchanted by the energy radiating from you. Whether people hated or loved him, his ability got a lot of talk. In his mind though, he would never be a hero. He was just some guy who got lucky.

You, though? He didn’t need you to tell him that you were an Omega level mutant. Logan had heard about you from the professor: you could cast spells, read minds, reconfigure reality- to name a few. You didn't need a reason to fight for what's right, you just did. Again, and again, and again. Even here, now, you were picking up Logan's history class when he knew very well you could be on the other side of the world sipping pina coladas if you wanted.

What the hell was the universe thinking putting you with him?

Logan admired the reflection of the magic on your cheeks and the way your eyes stayed trained on his palms. Your touch was so gentle he could have sworn he was in a distant dream until your eyes met his.

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, gaze locked.

Then another clap of thunder shook the mansion.

You quickly leaned back, pulling your hands from Logan's touch.

"I should... I should go." You said, pushing yourself off of Logan's desk. "It's getting late and I have my first class in the morning."

Logan leaned back in his seat. He said nothing but eyes remained fixed on your form as you made your way towards the door.

Looking back at him with your hand on the knob you made a mental note to remember the image of him with his feet kicked back on the window as he smoked his cigar.

A soft smile remained.

"Good night, Logan."

When you didn't leave immediately, he nodded.

"Night, sweetheart."

Mustering up the courage to shoot him one last smile, you pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Now, Logan didn't know how much he believed in soulmates, but he could be inclined to consider that it was one good wingman.

Leaning back in his seat, Logan sighed and closed his eyes, letting himself drown out his worries with the sound of the rain.

a/n: my inbox is open for more requests! thank you for the request @welcometochilis585

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Love Bites (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer struggles to control himself when Reader wears a turtleneck.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Second person POV, established relationship, hickeys, neck biting, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering Word Count: 3.1k

MASTERLIST

It wasn’t until mid-October that the air began to reflect the season. The warmth, while appreciated, had outstayed its welcome. But then, one morning you woke to an open window. The wind whistled through with nipping breath that came as a shock and settled deep in your lungs.

It was finally the time you’d been waiting all summer for.

With a newfound pep in your step, you slipped into a simple turtleneck—perfectly flattering and taut over each curve. Its collar brought a warmth with it that felt like a familiar lover’s embrace. It was a simple, mindless decision to wear it. A creature comfort. You thought nothing of how it might pique curiosity or wandering eyes.

That was, until you stepped into the bullpen and were greeted with the devilish grin of Derek Morgan.

“It’s a bit early in the season for a turtleneck, isn’t it?” he asked with an accusatory tone.

“What do you mean?” you shot back innocently. 

You should’ve known better than to ask.

“Are you hiding something?”

The implication brought blood rushing to your face. Your mind flashed back to memories of the last, distant time that your neck had needed covering. The last time that your lover had had his fill of you.

You shook the thought away just as quickly. You weren’t prepared to give Derek the satisfaction of your embarrassment. You scoffed, instead. 

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

Your efforts backfired almost immediately as the man stood from his seat and stepped closer.

“That’s not a no,” he crooned from just behind you.

That time, you answered by peeking over your shoulder to lock eyes with your curious friend. You flashed a smile and a quizzical brow before you returned his teasing with some of your own.

“I think you’re just trying to see some skin.” 

The fire in his eyes sparked from the challenge. With a confident twirl of his finger, Derek continued, “I think you’re hiding something.”

But, luckily for you, he had been wrong.

(This time, anyway.)

All it took was a simple tug of your finger beneath the collar. A little pull of snug fabric to reveal the unmarred skin beneath it.

“Here,” you said with a chuckle. “Happy yet, perv?”

Derek glanced down, just long enough to inspect the skin and see nothing strange. Then he shook his head and accepted defeat with an even brighter smile.

“Fine,” he sighed before quickly adding, “For now.”

The threat, uttered in jest, was overhead by another. A man who was by no means pleased by the not-at-all-cordial exchange between coworkers.

As you took your seat, Spencer’s disgruntled frown catches your eye from the neighboring cubicle. Before you could even ask what was wrong, he spoke. His voice was hushed and rushed with an undercurrent of frustration. 

“You have to stop,” he muttered without even looking up. 

The overly serious, cryptic manner of speaking was difficult to take seriously.

“What?” you asked through a chuckle. 

“You have to stop…” he repeated before adding, “torturing me.”

At first you laughed. But after a moment, you realized just how much desire was laced through the words.

Spencer’s bottom lip quivered as it turned into the most pitiful little pout. His cheeks were twinged pink, and his jaw was tightly wound. Your gaze fell to bouncing legs that quickly shuffled closer together, as if trying to hide… something.

“… Are you serious?” you asked in a whisper.

Spencer’s eyes snapped shut before he brought his hands to cover his face in shame. It didn’t help. As soon as he was deprived of your inquisitive eyes, he was met with perfectly captured memories of the last time the two of you had alone.

Memories of how you looked, bare and writhing beneath him in his bed. Memories of his face buried in your neck, laying sloppy kisses over skin that reverberated with your sweet sounds of pleasure.

His hands left his face quickly, shifting to grab his sweater in an attempt to cover the inopportune evidence of his lust.

“Really?!” you said louder than you’d meant to, “You’re—?”

Pink cheeks turned to a deep shade of maroon as he struggled to reclaim control over his own body.

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“Really?” you asked again, anyway.

Spencer nodded in defeat. His struggle was obvious but enjoyed by at least one of you.

That’s why you decided to make it worse. 

“That’s all it took?” you asked. Tucking your finger back beneath the fabric covering your neck, you once again revealed the hidden skin. Then, seemingly innocent, you drawled, “This?”

“Cut it out!” he squeaked.

His hand shot up from his lap, grabbing hold of your arm and tugging it down as far as he could. At first, the fabric came down, too. Just enough for him to see the hollow center between collarbones.

But then the collar snapped back into place, and he exhaled with relief.

Once he finally managed to make eye contact again, though, he found no mercy. Instead, he found an excited, sinful smile stretching over your cheeks.

“Awwwe. That’s so pathetic,” you cooed.

Like a puppy in the face of punishment, Spencer returned to the confines of his cubicle without another word. You caught his eye again as your tongue darted forward and caught between your teeth.

He peered at you from a safe distance and tried to ignore the way you were looking at him. It was impossible for him to ignore, though. Not when you rewarded him with a small giggle.

“You’re so damn cute,” you said.

Spencer tried to appear unaffected, but you saw how his lips began to turn up and his neck burned red.

“Can you keep it quiet, actually?” he said with feigned confidence. It faded almost immediately after he met your eyes. Then his voice trembled as he explained, “I’m trying to… do… work… stuff.”

The sight warmed your heart enough that you’d decided to allow him a brief reprieve. You were at work, after all. You could always toy with him later.

“Okay, I’ll stop torturing you,” you sighed once more.

And for the first time that morning, Spencer sputtered a laugh as he answered, “Thank you.”

True to your word, you’d returned to work. You spent the rest of the day trying not to think about turtlenecks and collars and other ways to torture your boyfriend. Your thoughts had stayed as innocent as possible.

But if you’d paid closer attention, you might’ve seen how the hunger in his eyes intensified throughout the day. You might’ve felt the unbridled lust burning through him grew each time you readjusted that simple circle of fabric.

By the time you’d arrived at home, the desire was so all-encompassing that it left him nearly senseless. Unbeknownst to you, he’d been waiting for the moment he heard the door click shut. The moment he could have you again.

“What did you want to do for dinner, by the way—,” you’d started. The words never made it.

The first thing you felt were his hands. Broad and strong and digging into your hips with enough power to elicit a gasp.

You both stumbled clumsily until your back hit the wall. Spencer kissed you with an equal gracelessness. His lips crashed against yours with enough excitement that your teeth bumped and dew gathered on your upper lip.

It was a moment of desperation, a longing to be closer to you as quickly as possible.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, wow, you weren’t joking earlier, were you?” you managed between return kisses.

Spencer finally relented, if only for a moment. Seemingly comforted by the sound of your laughter, his movements shifted to slower, more intentional worship. One hand lifted to cradle your cheek. Spencer let out a shaky exhale when he felt you return the gesture with some weight. A subtle showing of trust, of safety, of love.

He kissed you again because he couldn’t help himself. But this time, as he pulled away, he slurred a non-answer that told you everything you’d needed to know.

“You’re so pretty.”

You’d had the thought to tease him for his at-times-excessive flattery. But Spencer found another way to take your breath away.

That beautiful, brilliant boy dragged his hand from your jaw to your collar and quickly pulled it down. Just enough to make room for his eager, insatiable tongue.

A breathy moan came out instead of words. A wonderful, encouraging sound that only made him want more.

You, too, wanted more. Quick hands began uncoordinated efforts to disrobe one another while shuffling towards the bedroom. The awkward stumbling brought you back to a simpler time. A teenage-esque love, an exploration of intimacy that was repeatedly broken by giggles and gasps.

When you finally managed to pull his pants down his hips, you were met with a firmness pressed against you.

“Someone’s eager,” you purred against parted lips.

But Spencer’s voice had shifted to a softer, breathier register.

“I’ve been waiting all day,” he whined, “just to kiss you.”

It was a sweet sentiment that became even sweeter when he pressed his erection harder against you.

You grinned before your tongue sneaked between your teeth.

“I think you want to do more than that,” you said like a dare.

His hands and tongue had already made a mess of you, but you stood proudly on display for him. Beneath your collar, Spencer could spot minuscule red speckles already blooming across your neck.

“Yes, please,” he relented before his lips sought yours again.

You broke apart quicker this time, only to make room for you to remove his shirt. When you’d attempted to remove your own, however, his hands gripped your wrists with enough force to make you jump.

“Wait!” he cried. With wild yet hooded eyes, he begged, “Leave it on.”

You couldn’t say no when he’d looked at you like that. Like you were the most beautiful creature carved and perfected by the Gods, made to be worshipped by tongue and teeth.

You had both grown tired of the time spent those few inches apart. Quickly, you both stripped and stepped out of your underwear on your own. You’d even managed to shed the bra beneath your shirt in a swift movement that Spencer was convinced constituted magic.

You stumbled together once more, falling back into the bed and crawling over one another until you’d settled into the other’s arms.

Spencer was above you looking down on the disheveled beauty beneath him. He used one hand to carefully turn your face toward his rather than its more scandalous attempt to peer down between your bodies.

He didn’t tease you, though. Not with his words, anyway. He trailed his finger slowly and ever so softly down your features. Down your jaw and over the bunched-up collar. With more pressure, he dragged over the pebbled peak of your breast.

There was a tense silence as he concentrated on visualizing every inch of skin that lay beneath your shirt. His mouth hung open, his breath coming out shaky and hot with need.

Once he reached the hem of your shirt, his mouth was quick to return to your neck. His tongue tickled the sensitive skin enough to cause goosebumps to ripple over your skin. Your fingers tangled in his hair to pull him closer. He obliged in more than one way.

You’d almost lost track of his hands until they were all you felt. Lithe fingers sneaked between your thighs and ran through already wet folds. He gathered the honeyed substance on one finger before sinking into you. There was little resistance, your body succumbing to his touch like it had done a hundred times before.

You sighed with relief as his finger began moving inside you with gentle strokes.

Spencer’s kisses moved up, teeth nipping at your ear before he chuckled.

“I can’t believe you called me pathetic,” he whispered in a lower register than you were used to.

You shivered and he felt it. Another finger pressed into you as his movements became more hurried. His own need twitched against your thigh when a soft whine escaped your lips.

“You know how much I love it when you’re pathetic,” you said with great struggle.

Any attempt to win back the power had been quickly lost as Spencer growled, “Clearly.”

Instead of giving in to a more primal desire, though, you just laughed, “Oh, be quiet.”

As you kissed him, you felt his smile.

“Fine,” he sighed. “There are better things to do with my mouth, anyway.”

He kept the first few kisses chaste—a strong contrast to the lewd sound of your moans as his fingers began making gentle circles around your clit. He kept that pattern with quick kisses all over your face until his hand finally withdrew.

He drew his nose along your jaw as a failed distraction. There was simply no way not to notice when he aligned himself between your legs.

Your stomach tensed as the sensations bordered on overwhelming. For a moment, all you could focus on was the feeling of his breath puffing hot against the fabric covering your neck. But then with one smooth movement, he’d entered you to the hilt.

Then, as if his mouth and manhood were fighting for your attention, he yanked your collar down and latched onto your neck with more fervor than you’d thought possible. The fabric strained and creaked, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

At first, Spencer merely ground his hips harder against you, seeking some deeper refuge than you could offer. While his lips made quick work to mark your neck, your nails did the same to his back. You violent carved into the flesh with the utmost love. Spencer’s teeth did much the same.

When his hips finally withdrew, his thrusts were hurried and bruising. All of the silent tension of the day had led to this moment of catharsis. The animalistic blend of your bodies left you panting and keening for more.

“Spencer,” you choked on a pleasured sob, “don’t stop.”

He didn’t. Instead, he switched sides of your neck and began suckling at your pulse until you felt dizzy. Seeking to find that fast-approaching euphoria, you pressed his head against your neck until his teeth had to part to make room for more of you.

“Harder,” you gasped.

He took it literally, teeth sinking into soft skin with little hesitation. His hips moved more intentionally, too. Your back arched from the overstimulation and he took full advantage of the new angle.

With each thrust, you felt your body change. You could feel the subtle ache buried beneath mountains of pleasure. Spencer’s teeth released your neck just in time for you to throw your head back once more.

He left sloppy kisses on the wound he’d inflicted before quickly moving on to whatever unmarked skin he could find. Everything about him screamed desperation, an insistence for what he’d wanted most of all.

You. Every single inch of you.

And you, in return, sought to surrender it to him. He accepted it with greedy hands and tongue. But eventually, he felt how you trembled from the onslaught of pleasure. He, too, found himself reaching a height unknown. His lips got looser, his breath heavier and his hips stuttering as he licked the sweat beading on your neck.

“Mine,” he growled like some feral beast.

“Yours,” you answered much the same.

That simple concession was all it took for him to finally fall apart. With one final thrust, Spencer came to your deepest point and spilled his warmth. The kisses he’d tried to continue against your neck were broken with a low groan that reverberated through your bones.

Everything in that moment felt like him. Everything in that moment tasted like you.

Both of your bodies collapsed the moment it was over. Spencer nuzzled further against your neck, still seeking its innocent warmth despite the debauchery he’d covered it with.

Before you’d had a chance to think about it, he pulled your collar higher to near touch your chin. The movement emanated with guilt.

“Hey, so,” he chuckled softly.

You waited, suspicious, before answering.

“I think you should, um…” he mumbled. Then, bracing himself for the backlash, he quickly finished, “You should probably wear a turtleneck for the next couple of days.”

But instead of chastisement, you rewarded him with a laugh.

“Son of a bitch,” you said through gritted teeth.

You looked down at the man resting atop you. Of course, you felt the aching of freshly bloomed bruises all over of your neck. But you also felt the soft twitches of him still inside you. The warmth of his tired breath against your jaw and his fingers gently stroking your side. You saw and felt the quiet comfort of his company—animalistic desire and all.

“Worth it,” you decided.

You changed your mind a couple days later.

As you stood in the center of the bullpen, once again adorned with the highest collar you owned, Derek Morgan stared you down.

Like a child being chastised, you averted your eyes as quickly as you could.

Immediately, his usual, devilish grin had morphed into full-bodied laugh.

“Really? Again?!” he cried. “Now I know you’re hiding something!”

You scoffed, trying to hide your increasingly obvious anxiety.

“You’re a menace,” you said. You offered nothing more. In fact, you felt compelled to raise your shoulders and tilt your head, further shielding your neck from view.

“Oh? No peek show today, huh?” he practically giggled.

You said nothing. Your glare said everything.

“What you got under there?” he taunted. With another step closer, he crossed his arms to match you. He was close enough that your hair stood on edge and your muscles tensed.

“You don’t want anyone to see your little love bites?”

He wanted a reaction you nearly gave him. You fought every urge in your body urging you to run. Instead, you stood your ground and stared him directly in the eyes.

Then, deadpan, you said the most terrifying thing you could.

“… I’m reporting you to HR.”

You turned on your heel. Rushing off (with no intention of actually reporting him), you heard the panic beneath several layers of suave confidence.

“Awe, come on!” he laughed. “It doesn’t have to be like that!”

Derek chased after you. And that time, Spencer felt no need to follow. He left you in the lurch and stayed seated at his desk. It was the best way he knew to guard your secrets.

But if anyone had been paying attention, they would’ve seen how he smiled. 

They might’ve even noticed how much it matched the bruises beneath your shirt.

Tell me what you thought about this fic here!

[liliacamethyst]

Web of Secrets - Miguel O'Hara 

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 3.7K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut

Part I Part II Part III Part IV

In your universe, you are known as the Sun Spider. It all started on a school field trip to a solar energy research center, where you were accidentally exposed to a spider that had been subjected to intense solar radiation. You woke up with a white-hot surge of power, and your life changed forever. You donned a suit of pure white, taking the name that reflected both your newfound abilities and the brightness you brought into the world: Spider-Sun.

Your ability to harness solar energy and transform it into powerful blasts or create protective shields made you a formidable superhero in your home city, Nea Yorkey. Your ability to bring light to even the darkest corners of your city earned you the love of its citizens.

However, everything changed when you were suddenly pulled into the Spider-Verse.

Upon arriving, you were greeted by the gruff leader of this interdimensional team of Spider-People, Miguel O'Hara. His reputation preceded him - the genius intellect, the imposing figure, the gruff demeanor. Everyone respected him, and some even feared him. You, on the other hand, were drawn to him. There was something about that guarded demeanor that called to your own sunny nature.

You became an integral part of the team, fighting off anomalies and working hard to maintain the balance in the Spider-Verse. And despite Miguel's stern exterior, you felt yourself falling for him.

One mission was particularly rough, and you found yourself alone with Miguel in a safe house, nursing your wounds. His usually stern face softened as he tended to your injuries. The distance that he usually maintained was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you, Miguel," you whispered.

He looked at you, his usually hard eyes soft. "You fought well, mi sol."

There was a moment of silence, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, Miguel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with unexpected passion.

In that moment, you were not the Sun Spider, and he was not the Spider-Man 2099. You were just two people, seeking solace in each other.

Afterwards, as you laid side by side, Miguel turned to you, a serious look on his face. "This...this can't be more than what it is. Just...you know, stress relief," he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.

His words wounded you. Naturally, they did. He had reduced your relationship to mere stress relief, as if you were some object devoid of feelings. Yet, in spite of it all, you fell for him. Perhaps you were naive, even foolish, but you didn't care. You yearned for him and were ready to accept any fraction of affection he was willing to offer, no matter how small.

During the day, as you fought alongside him against the anomalies threatening the Spider-Verse, his attention toward you was sparse. He mostly shared only necessary information, barely making eye contact. Sometimes he didn't speak at all, and you and the rest of the team would receive mission orders and briefings from Lyla, his AI assistant.

But at night, when the two of you were alone, he became a different person. He'd whisper praises into your ear, telling you how exceptionally you fought, how much he desired you. He showed you his hidden vulnerability under the cover of darkness, the sheets their only witness. He'd gently stroke your hair and peppered your jaw and temple with kisses until you fell asleep, only for you to wake up the next morning to an empty, cold spot where he once lay.

This cycle - his coldness by day, and the fervor by night - repeated itself relentlessly for months.

And so, this is how you find yourself: disoriented, frenzied, and on the verge of tears, seated on the couch of your best friend, Peter B. Parker, in Earth-616. Cradled in your arms is his sweet daughter, Mayday, who, with her innocent touch, tries to console you. Yet her wide eyes dart anxiously to her father, reflecting her own alarm at your distress.

Peter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should wait until MJ gets home?" he suggests, then, with a furrowed brow, he asks, “Have you tried talking to Jess about this?”

You shake your head vigorously. "No, I haven't told anyone. I have no idea what to do," you confess, your voice breaking.

Peter, ever the caring friend, gently takes Mayday from your arms and sets her down. He turns back to face you with a sympathetic gaze. “Do you..eh.. know who the father is?” he inquires softly.

You shake your head again, even though deep down, you know the truth. “The father is out of the picture. He doesn’t know, and he never will because he doesn’t want kids,” you whisper, fighting back tears.

As you and Peter sit down on the couch in his cozy living room, you find a sense of comfort being around him. His experience as both a superhero and a parent seems like it could be a beacon in this storm you're facing. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.

“You know, Peter,” you begin, your voice almost a whisper. “I’m terrified. What if the baby has powers? How am I going to protect them, especially if...if I can’t stop fighting anomalies?”

Peter looks thoughtful. “That’s a valid concern. First, you should know that you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a whole community of us, and we stick together. If the child does have powers, she or he will be badass like Mayday, right?”

You nod slowly but then anxieties pile on top of each other in your mind. “But... how can I hide this? Nobody and I mean nobody is supposed to know that I’m pregnant. Especially not...” You trail off, not finishing the sentence.

Peter rubs his chin, deep in thought. “We could look into modifying your suit, maybe talk to some tech geniuses in the Spider-Verse about creating something that can shield or conceal the pregnancy.”

You roll your eyes. “That kinda defies the ‘nobody is allowed to know ‘ordeal, Peter. You have to promise me that this stays between us.”

“I promise,” Peter says sincerely.

Silence fills the room again, and then you voice another fear. “Peter, what if...what if I’m not a good mother? What if I mess this up?”

Peter smiles warmly. “You know, I had those same fears when Mayday was born. I think it’s normal for any parent. But, take it from me, the fact that you’re worried about being a good parent means you’re already on the right track. You’ve got a good heart. Trust it.”

You look down at your hands, fingers interlaced. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a reassuring smile. “We’re family, in this weird, Spider-Verse kind of way. But maybe… and I am sayig this as a father myself… reconsider telling the father. I can’t imagine any guy wanting to give up this.” He says, pointing to his precious daughter playing with a napkin she found on the floor.

"Maybe you should reconsider telling the father," Peter's words are echoing in your mind like a haunting melody. A part of you yearns for that possibility. Perhaps you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel wants this as much as you do.With newfound resolve, you set off for the Spider-Verse headquarters, expecting to find Miguel tucked away in his office, immersed in maintaining the spider verse or as he calls it "arachno- something-multiverse-thingy” or something similar to that.

Upon reaching his office door, you pound on it sharply. No response. Frowning, you knock again, a little harder this time. When silence continues to greet you, you slowly turn the doorknob and peek inside. There he is, hunched over his desk, lost in a world of numbers and codes.

"Miguel, I-" you start, but his sharp voice cuts you off.

"No," he interrupts, his tone cold. "Did I say you can come in? Dios mio, why are you always so damn clingy?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, taken aback by his blatant disregard for your feelings. You can feel the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you will them away.

He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it like that. This mantra plays over and over in your head, like a broken record. You take a deep breath, forcing down the hurt his words cause.

"Look, Miguel," you begin, struggling to keep your voice steady. "There’s something we need to talk about, and I think it's important for you to listen to me."

“Fucking hell, woman! What exactly don’t you understand. I’m busy. I don’t care about your little problems, right now.” he barks, not even looking up.

“Miguel,” you speak up, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “ I’ve never asked anything from you. Not once have did I ask you to stay, to feel the same I feel, to fucking talk to me when people are around. Please all I am asking you is to just ... listen to me, fpr once.” Your voice grows stronger as you speak, a determined fire igniting within you.

Miguel finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he seems taken aback by the resolve he saw there.

He rubs his temples. “Can we do this later?”

“No!” you shout. “It’s always later with you. You’re like...like a ghost. Just a figure in the hallway. I don’t need a figure, I need a person! I need someone who listens when...”

He glares at you, his eyes narrowing. “Okay, okay I will listen just not now. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” you retort, your voice shaking a bit. “Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you just brush me off? Am I that insignificant to you?”

He stands up abruptly, the chair skidding behind him. “This? This is what you want to talk about?” he says with a tone of annoyance. “Look, I have a million things to deal with and-”

“And what? And I’m not one of them? Just five minutes, Miguel! That’s all I ask!”

The room is tense. Your heart is racing. His eyes are fiery. It's a standoff.

“And what is so important that you have to disrupt everything right now?” he challenges.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. You're about to say it.

“I...” you stammer. “I need to tell you that...”

Suddenly, the door to the office swings open and Jess storms in.

“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of your tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Miguel seems to shake off the tension and slips back into commander mode. “No nothing important. What’s happening in Sector 12?”

You can't believe it. Just like that, he turns away. It feels like your heart is being squeezed.

Jess starts rattling off data and scenarios. The two of them are talking, but you don’t hear it anymore. All you can think of is how you almost told him. How you just wanted five minutes.

Your hands shake and you quietly step out of the room. The door closes behind you, and it feels like a chapter that you can’t read has been sealed away.

The next day you are on Earth-8311, an anthropomorphic animal-dominated universe. It's the home of Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, and you can't help but find it amusing.

The mission: to transport an anomaly, which resembles an enormous floating jellyfish, back to its home universe. It's been pure chaos here, and you are determined to set things right.

The team: Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker. You're all in your suits, eyes sharp, and webs at the ready.

"Alright, Spiders. Let's round this jelly up and send it home," Peter B. Parker takes charge, shooting a web towards a nearby building.

You swing alongside him, your thoughts a whirlwind. The world around you blurs - the animal citizens, the bustling cityscape, the strange yet familiar surroundings.

The anomaly appears before you, thrashing and pulsating as it floats through the sky. It releases blasts of energy that ripple through the air.

"Watch out, Sunny!" Gwen calls out as she dodges a blast.

You, however, are a split second too late. Your reflexes are off, your movements sluggish. The blast sends you spiraling towards the ground.

Hobie swings in and catches you mid-air, his guitar strapped on his back. “Get it together, Sun!” he shouts over the noise, his punk-styled hair waving wildly.

You shake off your daze and look up to see Peter B. Parker shooting webs to pull the anomaly back down, while Gwen is deploying a device to open a portal back to its home universe.

Your heart races as you focus on the task at hand. You need to get this right, not just for yourself, but for the life you’re now carrying. Your suit seems to glow even brighter in the chaos.

With a final combined effort, you manage to lasso the anomaly and push it through the portal. The anomaly disappears, and the portal closes behind it.

The team regroups on a rooftop. Gwen is catching her breath, Hobie is tuning his guitar, and Peter B. Parker gives you a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her voice laced with worry. “You weren’t yourself up there.”

The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels unbearable. But you're not ready to share it.

“Promise me you won’t tell Miguel about this,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Gwen raises an eyebrow, while Hobie crosses his arms. Peter B. Parker simply nods.

“Nah, Bossman doesn’t need to know about this,” Hobie says, and there’s a firmness in his voice that is strangely comforting.

Back in the HQ, your head spins, and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You mumble a quick excuse about feeling nauseous and practically sprint to the nearest restroom.

Meanwhile, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

As they sit down at a table with their trays, Gwen breaks the silence. “Is it okay if I say that this mission was kind of easy? Like, I’ve seen Sunny take down Doc Ock from Earth-818, and she did that without any problem. So what was that today?” Gwen’s concern is apparent.

Hobie, munching on a sandwich, nods in agreement. "Yeah, it's like her spidey senses were jammed or somethin'. Never seen her like that before."

Peter B. Parker looks thoughtfully at his sandwich, then glances up at Gwen and Hobie. He’s torn, having promised you to keep your secret but also wanting your friends to understand why you were off your game.

"You guys remember when she fought Morlun on Earth-001? She was a totally smashin’ it, and today, she nearly got turned into spider-paste by a floating jellyfish. That ain’t right," Hobie adds.

Gwen’s eyes suddenly widen. "Oh my God! Do you think she’s in trouble? Like, something from her universe? Or maybe she's having an identity crisis! Should we stage an intervention?"

Peter B. Parker clears his throat. “Maybe she’s just having an off day.”

Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Peter. “You know something, don’t you?”

Peter scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. “Nope, no idea.”

Hobie puts down his sandwich and leans in. "Oi, mate. Spill your guts. There's something dodgy going on. She's always been our burst of sunshine, lifting the mood. But now she's... dimmed. What's going on with our Sunny, Parker?"

Before Peter B. Parker could answer Gwen’s barrage of questions, Jess - Spider-Woman - appears, her belly showing. She takes a seat at the table and, oblivious to the serious conversation that was taking place, asks them about their latest mission.

"So, how did your mission go?" Jessica asks, while munching on her Burger.

"Nothing to report, Jess," Gwen answers, a little too quickly, her face all sunshine and false smiles. Peter simply nod in agreement.

“Yah, all good!” Hobie chimes in, flashing a grin that seems a little too bright.

“How about you? How are you holding up?” Peter asks Jess, trying to steer the conversation away from the mission.

Jessica shrugs, not overly concerned, and bites into her burger. "'M good. You know,  I'm so glad I can finally eat a burger again. At the beginning of my pregnancy, practically every food made me nauseous, especially after swinging around on missions.”

Suddenly, there's a moment of collective realization among Gwen, Hobie. It’s as if their spider senses are tingling in unison. They exchange knowing looks, all of them silently putting the pieces together.

Gwen’s eyes are wide, Hobie’s eyebrows are raised, and they both turn to look at Peter, who simply nods.

Jess, noticing the silent exchange, squints at them. “What is up with you guys? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.”

“Uh, nothin’!” Hobie says, a little too quickly.

“Yeah, just tired from the mission,” Gwen adds, trying to play it cool.

Jess rolls her eyes and stands up. “Alright, weirdos. I’m gonna go find some normal people to talk to,” she says jokingly and walks away.

After she leaves, the trio leans in.

“Sunny’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Gwen whispers.

Hobie's eyes are as wide as saucers. “That would explain everything!”

Peter B. Parker nods. “We need to be there for her, but remember, it’s her news to share when she’s ready.”

They make a pact to support you without pushing you to reveal anything before you're ready.

As you walk back into the cafeteria, you find your friends huddled together. They break apart when they see you and welcome you back with smiles and light conversation, but something in their demeanor is different but you can’t put your finger on it. They are being more attentive, considerate, and frankly, a little too curious about your well-being.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sunny?" Gwen asks for the third time since you sat down. Her concern is genuine, but her intensity is slightly off-putting.

"Yeah, do you need anything?" Hobie offers, his eyes gleaming with unspoken curiosity. "Food, drink, or maybe... pickles?" Pickles? Thats oddly specific.

There's a burst of laughter from Gwen, and even Peter is suppressing a chuckle.

"What's up with the pickles?" You ask, looking at them suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing!" Gwen says, a little too quickly, trying to hold back her laughter.

"Hmm, pickles and ice cream, a weird combo, innit?" Hobie wonders aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Again, there's suppressed laughter, and you look at each of them, a realization slowly dawning on you. You turn to Peter, your gaze steady and serious. "You told them, didn't you?" Peter looks shocked, but quickly composes himself. "I didn't exactly tell them, per se," he confesses, "I might've confirmed their suspicions when they asked, but they figured it out on their own. Spider senses and all that jazz.”

Before you could respond, Gwen and Hobie jump in, both talking over each other in an attempt to apologize.

"We're sorry, Sunny," Gwen says sincerely. "We didn't mean to invade your privacy, it's just that... we're worried about you. Please don’t be mad."

Hobie nods, adding, "And we're right behind ya, whatever comes our way. We've got your back, no doubt about it."

You are happy, while the situation isn't ideal, but at least you're not alone. You have friends who care about you and, despite their unconventional way of showing it, they are there for you. You smile, comforted by their concern, and grateful for their support.

"Yeah," you finally say, "I guess we’re gonna need a lot more pickles and ice cream around here, huh?"

“Sooo...who’s the dad? Is he hot?” Gwen, leaning on the table with her elbows, asks shyly after a while.

You let out a long sigh, “He’s very hot... but also a colossal jerk.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You took my advice and talked to him then?”

You shake your head, your eyes starting to well up. “No, I tried. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He was busy, and I guess I wasn’t important enough. So, the baby won’t be either,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hobie's eyes narrow, and his face is flushed with anger. "Who's this bloke, eh? I swear on me nan's grave, I'll give him a right proper earful! No one treats our Sunny like a tosser and gets away with it!"

Gwen jumps in, her eyes wide with speculation, “Wait, is he a Spider? Is it Peter? Or the other Peter? Or—”

“Guys, guys!” you cut them off, your voice cracking. “Please, it doesn’t matter. He made it clear where I stand, and it’s not with him.”

There’s a silence that settles over the table as your friends look at each other and then back to you. Their faces are a mix of concern, sadness, and frustration.

Peter B. is the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got us. If the dad doesn’t want to step up, then he’s missing out on something amazing.”

Gwen nods, her eyes firm with resolve. “Yeah, we’re family. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”

Hobie, still fuming, finally calms down enough to say, "All you gotta do is whistle, love, and we'll be there in a blink. Even if it means thumping some manners into this mystery idiot."

You can't help but crack a small smile, despite the tears. You’re overwhelmed by the love and support your friends are giving you.

“Thanks, guys. You don't know how much this means to me.” 

They all reach out and there’s a group hug right in the middle of the cafeteria. You didn’t know how much you needed this until it happened.

Part 2 “Webs of Fate”

a/n: Thank you guys for all your love on this fic so far.I really appreciate each like, comment, reblog <3. I still can’t reply to your comments so please if you want to tagged (and are not already) comment on part 2 and I’ll do my best and add you.Also I am open to requests, critic and wishes. Have a wonderful day. xx

[somewhatsentientspellbook]

There's just something so fascinating about the way the Exandrian pantheon has decided to handle the Aeor Situation™ - by electing a few of their kind to be born as mortals in order to infiltrate the city.

The first to bring herself low was Ioun, and I can only imagine how lonely that must have been for her. To feel infinite wisdom creeping into her adolescent mind? To rise through Aeor's ranks knowing what they'd do to her if the authorities discovered the truth of her existence? Waiting, hoping, perhaps even praying that the other gods would follow through with the plan.

Sarenrae has a husband and children as Trist. I can't help but consider the parallels to Liliana Temult, with a 'higher calling' pulling a mother away from her family. The conversations in the temple suggest that she would have been aware of what she was by the time she started her family. Yet she loves them, cherishes them, even knowing that she might not see them again. Will Amaris, Haylie, and Topher learn that Trist is a goddess? Or will that only be discovered when they find their way to her realm in Elysium?

The Matron was once mortal, and she willingly returned to that form in order to help her newfound siblings dismantle the Aeorian threat. Her steward since childhood was Purvan, helping raise and guide her despite his old age. Imagine being a little girl, guarded by the Champion of Ravens himself and his wolven companion, completely unaware of your own divinity until later in life. Imagine the night she woke up, remembering her ascendency, seeing Purvan and recognising him.

And what of the families that gave birth to and raised the four Betrayer Gods? What of the halfling family who watched their precocious daughter scale a fence with far too much ease than it should be? The day the tortle's parents found him crying in pain and tearing at his skin to distract himself from a memory so distant and yet so real? Or Milo, who became a priest, not to follow in the light of the Dawnfather (like his parents may have thought), but to mock his brother even as a mortal?

These gods spent entire childhoods with families and friends, taking refuge from the skirmishes caused by their other siblings. Who, despite those similarities, have very different opinions of humanity, of Aeor, and themselves.

[tommyshelbyslittleprincess]

𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆; 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒃𝒚

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔; tommy notices your pregnancy before you do

the night was calm, the moon casting a soft silvery glow through the curtains of the room you and tommy shared. as the streets outside murmured with the remnants of the day, you lay in bed, shifting and turning. the sheets rustled as you tried to find a comfortable position, your restlessness a silent symphony in the dimly lit room.

lying next to you, tommy couldn’t help but notice. his gaze followed the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your fingers absently brushed against the fabric of your shy pink nightie.

after a moment, tommy propped himself up on an elbow, his brow furrowing with a careful mixture of annoyance and concern. you glance at your husband, eyes meeting his icy ones in the quiet of the night.

“can’t sleep?” he asked softly, his voice a low murmur that carried a depth of understanding for your situation.

you sighed, a hint of frustration tugging at your tender lips. “it’s like i can’t get comfortable. oh tommy, i’ve been tossing and turning all night.”

tommy reached out, his calloused fingers brushing against yours. “something botherin’ you, angel?”

you hesitated, gaze holding his for a moment longer before you shook your head. “i just … can’t get comfortable,” you whine, pouting your lips.

he opens his arms for you and you lean into his comfortable embrace. albeit, it was much easier to feel lulled with him beside you. it was a delicacy that had become so fleeting within a few months of marriage. usually he'd come to bed after you'd fallen asleep, and woke before you started to stir.

as the silence lingered, tommy’s gaze softened, his eyes tracing the soft slopes of your face. in that moment, a realization seemed to settle over him, piece by piece, like a puzzle coming together.

“love,” he began slowly, his voice a mix of tenderness and curiosity. “i’ve been noticing things lately. changes.”

you met his gaze, your curiosity piqued. “changes?”

tommy’s fingers brushed against your flushed cheek, his touch gentle as he spoke. “you’ve been feeling sick over certain smells, right? complaining about the food in the kitchen?”

you blinked, clearly taken aback by his sudden but astute observations. “that’s true.”

“ and i’ve noticed you’ve been tired. more than usual,” he continued, his thumb tracing circles on your skin

you nodded slowly, a mixture of surprise and curiosity dawning in your eyes. “i’ve been struggling to keep my eyes open lately.”

tommy paused, his gaze searching yours before he spoke again, his voice softer. “and there’s the restlessness. tossing and turning all night.”

your breath caught as the realization dawned on you, and you met his gaze with a swirling mixture of emotions.

“tommy, what are you…?”

you trail off as his fingers trace your silky nightie that had once fit just right around your curves but was now becoming snug around your waist. his fingers slid down to cup your gently rounded tummy, his touch light and deliberate.

“your hips,” he said, his voice a hushed murmur. “they’re different now. rounder. as well as your tummy…”

you blushed, your nervous laughter a mixture of shyness and surprise. “oh, so you’ve noticed that?”

you'd figured it had something to do with the way you've been indulging lately. you were thankful your husband chose not to mention your newfound voracious appetite. you were ashamed of how unladylike your eating habits had become, especially on nights when your husband didn't accompany you to dinner.

his gaze held yours, his smile tender as he continued to trace over your softer tummy. “couldn’t very well miss it now, could i?”

tommy’s thumb brushed against your knuckles, his touch a reassuring anchor once he sees you flush at his teasing. “don’t worry, angel, it suits you.”

you smile shyly and bury your face into his shoulder. a moment passes and tommy speaks again.

his fingers brushed against your stomach as he spoke, “i think i might know what’s going on, love.”

a beat of silence passes, then, you realize what your husband could be hinting at.

"yeah?" you breathe, staring into your husband's eyes to confirm your suspicions. you'd figured that you might've been carrying when your monthly had failed to arrive for a second month in a row, but it didn't quite register as a concern until tommy had started to notice.

"i think you're expecting." his words are tender, both of you sharing a moment of silent revaluation.

"tommy..."

you hadn't been trying for a baby, though neither of you were opposed to the idea of children. you'd discussed it on your wedding night, and tommy had promised that he'd give you as many children as you wanted under the humble request that he'd be able to have a year to spend with just his wife before adding any new additions.

“i understand if you’re not happy about this, i know you said you—”you begin to ramble, but get cut off by your husband pressing a stern finger over your lips to prevent any more anxious words from waltzing out.

“shh, love,” he murmurs, “‘m happy about it.” your can feel your eyes fill with tears at his words. mood swings already, you think, how did he notice before you did?

“truly?” you look up into his eyes to see a familiar tenderness, reserved only for you and now apparently your child.

he sighs happily and gives you a soft kiss on the forehead.“truly.”

[aaksuitac]

[3:00am] fatam viam invenient.

wc: 3.6k

a/n: tagging @dilemmars because wifey delivers, and @thatlittlered bc i promised and @baniniheas because i’d love to know y’all’s thoughts on this one! (i love viktor in fluff + comfort aaa he's the loml shutup)

when the clock ticks and reverberates through the wide empty halls in the middle of the night, coincidence strucks at three am sharp.

why, of course it is purely coincidence that you happen to be passing by the lab so late into the night. what else could it be, when fate doesn’t exist?

the lights still on inside the lab catch your attention. no one to blame but the shiny blue that crosses below the door, almost as if it was calling your name, therefore, no one to blame —maybe the cat dead to curiosity, if it could be counted— when you decide to poke your head in, and unsurprisingly to your mind, you find viktor still working at his desk. your heart doesn’t seem to agree, for his sudden presence makes it jump in your chest, sheepishly excited.

“oh?” he asks, hearing the door open and turning to face you with a newfound grin that threatens to crinckle the corner of his eyes and form dimples on his cheeks. “well, well, well,” he smiles, “look what the cat dragged in.”

you bow teasingly, flamboyant arm movements accompanied by giggles that churn viktor’s weak heart. his voice turns softer when he speaks again.

“what are you still doing awake?”

“oh,” you snort. “did you know heimerdinger snores?” you smile, closing the door behind you by laying on it, and then pushing against it to move towards him.

viktor blinks, snorting as well. “heimerdinger… he… woke you up?” he giggles. “really?”

“nah, i was being funny,” you chuckle, taking your headphones off, discarding them on the table near. “am i interrupting something mildly interesting?”

“not really, no.”

“bummer. wanted to.” you fake a pout, taking the chair that rests away from him and sitting on it, spinning and pushing against the floor to move around with its wheels.

he shakes his head sideways and smiles at you, looking up from his notes. his heart giggles, sitting on the edge of his chest even if it had already fallen for you more than once —and more than twice—, kicking its little legs as it watches you roam around.

and in the moment where you push against the floor and your chair bumps against his ever-so-slightly, your arms resting on the backrest of it as you lay your face there comfortably, it jumps and falls again, seconds after your wide, ginger, and always cheeky smile.

“would you mind if i stay here for a while?”

would you please stay here forever, he doesn’t say, even if his heart swoons and curses, curses at him almost as much as it curses at jayce when he was left alone, trying and failing to decypher the lame politician’s hideous caligraphy.

“i wouldn’t mind.” he settles for. he sees in your eyes another cunning tease brewing, but his heart jumps into his throat before he can control it. “i’ve been cooped up in here for so long, i haven’t spoke to a person all day.”

it takes you by surprise, and it shows. not only by how he can tell the menacing shimmer in your eyes dims, but because of how you blink, slightly puzzled, letting out a breathless chuckle.

“missing other humans?” your head no longer rests on your forearm, even though your posture on the chair remains the same, but instead tilts on a way that makes viktor mentally coo at you. “what have you done with viktor?”

“haha, very funny.” it kind of is. the thought slipped out, even if it isn’t a common thought in his pragmatical, scientific mind. but maybe now there’s something different on his eyes too, because yours soften, and your arm moves from the chair to his wrist.

it’s then when the feeling hits him, and it’s because how much he has missed you. he doesn’t realize just how much until he has it surrounding his pale skin, and he doesn’t want you to let go. he’d carry you on his back all day if it meant you could stay there with him, you, your warmth, and your silly giggles.

your eyes pry from him to finish his train of thought —because he always teases back—, not knowing that he has lost it completely. “i’m just…” he pauses for a moment as he searches in the depths of his mind for the right word.

weirdly enough, he frowns. he doesn’t find it. he sighs instead, shaking his head.

“i have a lot of research and experiments i’m trying to get done all at once.” he lets out a humourless chuckle, turning side to side in his chair, streching his arms. “besides, jayce isn’t around to chat with as much as before,” or not even a bit, “so it get’s lonely.”

and the silence that follows clicks. not like his walking stick against the floor, because he doesn’t believe he’s experienced something similar to this feeling that takes ahold of his heart all of a sudden and makes his eyes droop.

he’s… exhausted.

viktor is exhausted, and the realization comes with an impending dread that looms over him the same way dark clouds start to cover a sunny day. he hasn’t even thought about it before. how much he has missed your warmth because he locks himself up in the lab for days. how his only human company had better things to do that rot with his chronically ill partner in a disheveled laboratory, and instead dwell in a world of politics that viktor couldn’t care less about. how his eyes look darker in the reflection of the window each passing day, his body screaming as his exhaustion gnaws his bones and claws his skin, his soul weary, for no one, not even him, has even noticed this before.

you see it on his face. as if a mask’s thread was pulled off, his eyes burn dents on the table, even if he isn’t reading anymore.

“viktor?”

messing around, having fun. that’s you and viktor. genius and madness, heimerdinger would pompously tease with his light accent. but when his eyes, lost, teary and dull, turn to look at you, his mouth parted and his hands limp on the chair’s armrests, as if he was pressed and locked on the surface, you lose it.

you’re not really thinking about the fact that viktor isn’t used to physical affection —focus on those first words: you’re not really thinking—, not when you stand up from your chair, hearing it squeaking away as you move viktor’s away from the table and you link his hands with yours.

it dawns on you that you’re scared because his eyes have never looked at you like that. like if there was a train coming for him, viktor wouldn’t know if he should move away. like if the ground was starting to fall from under his feet, he wouldn’t know if it was just a random tuesday. and you’re scared, because your only instinct is to hold his hand and hope that he can understand what you’re trying to express. that you understand that when he’s on a tall wall and he looks down he feels the need to get a little closer to the edge. that you understand if he sometimes showers for hours because he needs to sit down under the lukewarm water. that you understand, that you’re here for him, and that if the train comes, please move.

none of this is said or mentioned. your eyes hold each other the way a shore soothes the waves when the sea turns wild, and lets them hide under a heavy little stone wall to calm down for a short while. and your no-conversation ends when he swallows dry and holds your hands just a bit tighter, squeezing them softly, making you smile at him softly.

you don’t really let go of his hands. you act purely on instinct when you lead them behind your neck and you pass your legs over his thighs, and you let your hands trail soft pathes on his back, as if carving out a map that would get him out of the sudden dark pit he has fallen into.

when he lets out a quiet, shuddering gasp at your touch, you let out a soft snicker. he hadn’t expected it, but at the same time, it feels like it has been so long since he has felt the touch of another that his heart swears it’ll make him cry if you stop. obediently so, he doesn’t fight it, as your hands begin to rub against his muscles, working out the tension that had built up from sitting hunched over a desk all day. viktor lets out a soft sigh, letting his head fall forward as you work.

your fingers continue, applying just the right amount of pressure, making him melt against you, his shoulders slump down as he lets out another shuddering breath. you whistle teasingly, letting out a soft chuckle.

“what’s got your panties in a bunch, vicky?” you smile, your hands trailing soothing patterns on his back, absentmindedly going up and fixing his collar.

“i just… i have so much to do,” he mumbles, his eyes closing as he allows himself a rare moment to relax. there’s a lump in his throat that he forces himself to swallow. “i want to advance hextec and use it to help people, but… it feels like there’s too much to do, too much pressure to do it, and it just…” he groans in the end, and then relaxes his face, sighing.

your hands turn softer and stroke his back before heading upwards again, not back to his collar but to his hair instead, softly threading it through your fingers. he leans his head against your shoulders with a soft groan, his arms softly daring to surround and hug your waist, and for a moment, you can hear his breathing turning heavy with sleep depravation, his eyes not daring to open again, not even attempting to as his touch-starved self melts on your fingers.

“’m sorry,” he lets out in a mumble, eyes still shut. “barely slept,” he sighs, gingerly trying to find a way to lean in a way that there’s no distance between you.

“what if you take a break, mister science?” you smile, almost as much as him when he hears the nickname you use for him. he opens his eyes again and stares through the big window in the lab, not moving to look at you, but instead leans into your touch and your arms before replying, watching the grey clouds move through the nightsky, covering some stars.

“i didn’t say anything about stopping.” you grin before he can protest. “just… putting it on hold, if you will. for a minute.”

he lets out a soft hum and seems to think on your words. eventually, he lets out another sigh. “i can do a minute,” he mumbles, and leans his head, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“there we go,” you giggle softly, still stroking his hair.

it was nice to get him to let down his guard a bit and relax. he leans against you like some kind of tall, touch-starved puppy. you hum lowly, stroking his hair absentmindedly, careful not to pull on it.

you can hear him breathing quietly, his chest slowly rising and falling against you. like this, he seems so relaxed, a sight you rarely see. after a few minutes of silence, viktor speaks suddenly, in a low voice.

“can i ask you something?”

“oh, sure. thought you were asleep.”

he fidgets with your fingers in his hand. “not yet,” he mumbles. he’s quiet for a moment afterwards. thinking about how to say what he wants to say. but then he speaks again, his voice even quieter, and somehow vulnerable

“it’s something personal.”

you just blink, waiting, and he feels you nodding, your hair moving and tickling his face.

“…do you think i’m… a bad or unfeeling person?” there’s a silence that mortifies him after he lets out what had been eating him alive for a while. “like, i only care about work and stuff… you know. i just- i wonder how i’m perceived by others.”

“is this prompted by something that happened today?” you ask softly.

he hesitates, frowning. “yes… no? yes.” he purses his lips, collecting his scattered thoughts. “i… overheard a conversation. about me. my work. and how i do nothing besides that. and… i don’t know… it just…” he sighs. “it made me wonder if everyone felt that way about me.”

he bites his lip, groaning lowly in frustration. “…i don’t know. i’m sorry, forget i said anything, it’s stupid.”

“no, just out of character. but that’s alright.” you smile, not letting him slither out of your embrace, to which he resigns and smiles at your giggles while he finds solace hiding his face further in the crook of your neck.

“it isn’t foolish if it made you feel some type of way,” you pause, stroking his hair. “are you a focused, driven man? yes. does that take time away from you to do other things? also yes. it’s how time works, mister science.” you teased tenderly, hugging him tightly.

he lets out a humouless chuckle, moving from the crook of your neck just to squint his eyes at you. “you’re so funny, smarty pants.”

“i mean it,” you snorted. “what would you do if you couldn’t do this?”

“i would…” nothing. he never even thought about it before, simply because it wasn’t on the equation. this was it. science was his thing. and if he couldn’t do it, he would just not do anything. he’d… colapse.

you shoot at him a toothy smile that charms him. “that’s why it is called is a spark.” you stated softly. “it lights us up from the inside, and it burns inside us, but if we don’t use it, it smolders, fills us with smoke, and we suffocate.”

he lets out a quiet shudder, his shoulders hunched as your words sink in. he’s silent for a moment, closing his eyes.

he ponders your words, and you can’t help but stare at him. nothing comes over your mind as your eyes trace his features the same way the breeze passes by the tree’s branches, playing with the leaves that have fallen. you pause, pressing a kiss on his temple, not wondering why is it called that way anymore as you press a softer, second peck over it, worshipping his sole existance the way the greeks clung to the goddess, as if he was nothing far from those ancient beings, crafted by their worshippers and deserving of praise that languages couldn’t reach.

maybe that’s why it is called temple. to worship and care as softly and as unnoticeably as salt links with water. you blink, pecking his cheek now with a silly smile on your face.

“whatever you choose to do doesn’t make you lesser of what you are, vicky. and you are a little human, who loves to tinker in his lab with extreamly dangerous and explosive magic elements with dubious procedure. and no one can take that from you.”

his heart beats like crazy inside of him, diminishing those from those so-called explotions you mentioned before, for in his mind and to his retched heart, nothing could ever compare to the remnants of you.

“…so you don’t think i’m cold or unfeeling?” he mumbles, but before you can answer, he continues. “i’ve been told i was unfeeling before.” he lets out, fidgeting with the ends of your hair. “that i’m like some sort of… machine.”

“nonsense.” you spit out too quickly, so quickly as if you were baffled by the statement.

which, you are. the man that had melted beneath your fingers and in your arms, the man that had begged you to stay in his office because he missed having company around, the man that minutes ago was about to drown on his own thoughts had you not been there, the man that had kissed you like crazy on the very same chair you two were sitting on just because he wanted to, the man that was inteligent to such a high degree that he harnessed the ability to interpret magic runes… thought he was… ‘unfeeling’, and was unable to see why the fuck he wasn’t?

he blinks at you, and you huff.

“okay. let’s play this your way: scientific method. want me to prove it?”

interested was a fair statement. his eyes open and he stares at you, nodding, humming in acknowledgement, and shifts a bit against you, in a sort of childish way of asking for more attention.

“how will you?”

with a smile, you wink at him, moving away from his lap and grabbing back your previously discarded chair, moving it as close as you can from him until it bumps with his, and you sit down. he blinks, a rosy tint unable to hide away on his pale skin as you start to stroke his face, taking your hand to his cheek, cupping it.

poor little viktor doesn’t even attempt to control the need to lean closer into your touch, the feeling of your soft hand against his cheek comforting as a blanket on winter and as an open window with soft chilly breeze on summer. warm. so, so very soft.

and slowly but surely, he’s a goner when you press your lips against his. he inhales sharply, surprised, but never does he so much as think of pulling away. instead, he leans into the kiss, returning the gesture with a softness that weakens you and a hunger that kills you.

you peck the tip of his nose. his forehead. his cheeks, the right one then the left one. he giggles, closing his eyes, and you press kisses on his eyelids too. then his forehead again, but lower this time, in the point where the eyebrows separate and the bridge of the nose ends. you want to kiss him all over. if you could be paid for it, you’d be a millioner. billioner, even.

and in your eyes, as little of a scientific fact that could be, viktor feels. his mind wonders if there could be anything already built that could decypher the exact words the colour of your eyes is telling to his golden ones. he’d buy it. maybe you could buy it for him, if kisses could give someone money.

in his eyes, you find a speck of disbelief. as if whatever he’s feeling is something he never thought he could feel before.

“you feel, yes?” you grin, stroking his nose with yours. “then whoever said you were like a machine can eat slugs,” you snicker.

he lets out an airy chuckle at your words. for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t seem to be as tense or grumpy as before. he still feels exhausted, but the anger flew away.

and you remained.

he exhales again, and turns in his chair, cheekily moving his leg and helping theother one to now sit over your parted thighs, and happily nuzzles back into your touch, kissing your cheek. “thank you,” he doesn’t say.

the train doesn’t come, but he would’ve moved away.

he seems very into the feeling of running your fingers throught hs hair and shoulders. he seems comfortable and relaxed, sitting in his newly-found position, with his legs dangling, as he surrounds your shoulders and nuzzles on your neck, his tippy-toes touching the floor.

“your hands feel nice,” he mumbles next to your ear.

“try to sleep, silly,” you chuckle lowly.

his eyes are slipping close as he mumbles “not silly…”

he’s half asleep already, though he’s fighting so desperately to keep chatting nonsense with you. but he really is tired, so you don’t even think of blaming him when eventually he gives in and settles his head on a comfortable position between your shoulder and your neck and starts breathing slowly.

he snuggles close to you as he slowly slips further asleep, his body almost completely lax against you, all of the tension now completely gone. a far cry from how he works himself to exhaustion.

you sigh, stroking his back tenderly.

he hums quietly, nuzzling his face against your hand. you never would have though of viktor as a big snuggler, and taking a wild guess, you assume neither would he, as he just seems to enjoy your touch and your attention.

“don’t leave…” he mumbles drowsily, almost too quiet to hear, as he leans comfortably against you.

���i won’t,” you whisper, kissing his temple.

that seems to put him at ease, because the moment your lips touched his temple he went out cold against you. he inhaled deeply, before mumbling something else in a half asleep state.

viktor is passionate with his work, and sometimes feels like he isn’t doing enough. but when you both wake up slightly sore and then crash on the sofa in the lab, sleeping with tangled legs until the sun rises, that’s okay.

sure, maybe his politic-involved friends can get done more by ten am than him in a whole day, but it doesn’t matter, because if he wakes up at nine fifty nine and kisses the outline of your lips, he feels like he has done enough, and threatening or killing no one in the process.

“what are you thinking?” you nudge him softly, a silly smile plastered on your face.

he just smiles, dumbfounded, feeling like his mind is a mess, but just hugs you a bit tighter, tickling your face with his hair, knowing he's got all the time in the world in here with you because no one dares to bother him.

maybe fate does exist after all. not because of how he thinks that otherwise, how else could he be so lucky to have you, but because unbeknownst to him, you’re thinking the same thing, too.

~k.k. (☆) ‘viktor nation, how we feelin?’

aaksuitac, december 2024 ©

[miabebe]

The Intruder's Eye (CSC)

Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it didn't make one want to keep an eye at all times?

Pairing - Afab!reader x Choi Seungcheol

Word count - 6K (I failed the below 5k challenge T.T)

Genre - Oof buckle up my friends. This is a halloween special so I tried not hold back - its a psycho-thriller, there's smut and a whole lot of pyscho-ness whelp Warnings under the cut!

A/n - It's the week leading up to Halloween folks! Unfortunately I'm not the biggest fan of clowns and ghosts and vampires etc, but I do love me a good dose of psychos (who I think are scarier btw) so here you goooo! You can also check out Jeonghan's and Joshua's!

Again @tusswrites and @tomodachiii - what would I do without y'all 🫂 this piece is basically all you guys!

warnings - intruder in the house, mentions of stalking, medications, deranged characters, triggering descriptions of a home intrusion, smut, homemade porn (lol), bondage (mouth and hands), blowjobs, cum eating, riding, rough sex, mentions of toys and anal, manhandling, psycho behaviour, please forgive me I can only allow myself to be this unhinged during spooky season

It was the soft pitter patter of the rain against the car window that woke you up. 

Slowly fluttering your eyes open, you looked out down the dark, lonely road on the other side, at the street lights were still obscured by the downpour. It's not as torrential as it was when you stepped out of the grocery store a while ago. It was too heavy for you to even drive then so you settled in your car for a while, waiting for the rain to get less harsh. You didn't realise when you fell asleep. 

Looking at the 8pm flashing on your phone screen and the way darkness had engulfed everything around, a strange panic rose in you. You weren't really afraid of staying out too late but given the things that had been happening around you recently - you didn't want to take the risk. 

Turning on the engine and shifting the gears, you took a deep breath, and started driving  towards home. 

The street was empty for the most part - not many cars were on the road given the warnings for the incoming storm earlier that day. You didn't have a choice but to leave - you were suddenly running low on supplies, the shopping list in your hand was almost a page long. You glanced at the groceries at the backseat with a satisfied sigh - guess the newfound cardio routine was doing a good job in working up your appetite. 

As you neared your house, the streets became more illuminated, much to your relief. Unlike the rest of the town, your neighbourhood was a much safer space - there were streetlights, surveillance cameras and disguised cops always patrolling the area. Most people who resided here didn't know but many of the inhabitants of these row houses were in fact people placed on witness protection. You knew because you were one of them. 

One year ago, your testimony in a high profile case had led to some very bad people finding themselves behind bars. In exchange, you were promised protection, leading to your identity being morphed and your life being relocated to this locality. You were promised that nothing would happen to you here, that you would be very safe. You believed it then, but not so much now - not when you turned into your street and noticed the camera at the end of it was short circuited. Perhaps the storms over the last few days had a hand in it. 

You didn’t think much of it.

But maybe you should.

Because as you grabbed your groceries and ran to the door, fishing for your keys, you realised you didn't need them. The door was not locked. 

You racked your brains to remember if you had locked the door before you left or if you were in too much of a hurry to beat the incoming rain. Your memory is a little fuzzy, it has been like that for awhile, but you were too cold and aching to just get inside to give it any further thought.

 You must've forgotten to lock it - what other explanation could there possibly be? 

Balancing the bags in one hand, you slowly pushed the door open as you stepped in, flipping the switches with bated breath. 

Everything seemed fine, nothing felt out of place. Releasing a breath you tell yourself that everything is fine - you were clearly overthinking things. Paranoia had been a part of your life ever since the proceedings of that case - you were always wary, always suspicious, always scared. Though, you shouldn't be feeling that way anymore, you had taken your medication - you should be fine.

But how were you supposed to feel fine when every small thing made the hair on your skin stand. Like the curtains in the living room being open for example. You never kept the curtains open, especially not since your new neighbour moved in a few months ago. 

He called himself Choi Seungcheolwhen he knocked on the door to offer an introduction. You didn't know if that was his real name or the one the cops had given him as a part of the programme. Either way you didn't ask him lest he might ask you yours in return - you didn't need your identity compromised, not when the gang of those convicts was still actively looking for you. You had simply nodded and shut the door. 

Since then, you’ve always had the curtains closed. You had to, because somehow every time you looked out, Seungcheol was by his window, watching you. If you were being honest, Seungcheol was hot as fuck and a year ago, if a man like that was interested in you, you wouldn't have let him go. But things were different now - you couldn't trust anyone anymore.

Walking up to the window, you stumbled over the dumbbell in the way as you glanced at the neighbouring house. The two of your houses were the only ones on the street that weren't covered in Halloween decorations. It made sense - you were both single and did not have to deal with whining, crying, demanding children so there was no need for this facade. 

But you weren’t that lackluster, you did buy and keep some candy for the trick or treaters though you wouldn’t know if Seungcheol had done the same - he didn't seem too particularly fond of children. He never let them near the house. In fact he never let anyone into his house. You had never seen a woman or a friendly face from town or even a family member step into his place - he pretty much always kept to himself. It’s not like anyone else in this neighborhood had the luxury for such anyway.

At present, there was no sight of him or even his silhouette, with how the curtains of his house were drawn but all the lights were still on. Sighing a little in relief, you do the same, shutting the blinds. Still feeling the weight of the dumbbell against your foot, you pushed it out of the way, wondering how it had displaced itself from the rest of the workout equipment in the first place. You hadn’t even used those in a while now. 

Still lost in thought, you walked into the kitchen and as you turned the lights on, a shiver ran down your spine. 

Something was off, something did not seem right. 

At first glance everything seemed fine, but looking again carefully–nothing seemed right. The apron wasn't in its usual place by the spice rack, you don’t recall leaving out a glass of water on the counter, or leaving a packet of corn chips open. You never leave things out when you leave, you always put them away.

But things like this had been happening ever since you started your medication. You were more forgetful, and that was inconvenient but without your daily dosage it was like a fight between your nerves and caution - anything that moved invoked fear in you, every small sound made you shiver. There was no choice but to take those pills everyday. It was the only think keeping you sane. 

Shaking your head, you organized everything back in place again. Everything was fine. You had taken an extra dosage right before you left the house, you were just a little fazed from all the chemicals. Surely it was just your imagination, it wasn't like anyone could have entered the house in your absence….right? 

But there was a half eaten bowl of cereal in the sink and you… you were lactose intolerant, you didn't drink milk - that couldn't be yours. Hands shaking, you took a step back. 

Someone was in this house. 

Quickly opening the drawer, you grabbed a knife, gripping the handle hard and tight. The only question was, were they still in the house? 

Wiping the sweat off your face, you took a small careful step out of the kitchen. 

It was quiet, deadly quiet, there was not a sound to be heard, but the hum of the electrical appliances and the soft patter of the rain outside. Then you heard it, ears sharp and sensitive to the sound of water dripping. Slowly you moved towards the washroom, holding your weapon out, breath shaking. 

When you cautiously pushed the door open you noticed the floor was wet, water leaking from the shower head, drop after drop. You've never had this problem before, did you have a plumbing issue?

Stepping in, you tried to fix the faucet with your free hand. But no matter how many times you adjusted the hardware, water continued to drip, rendering you unsuccessful in your attempts. It felt like a really strong hand had broken the tap which was silly because you were definitely careful with how you handled your things? Neither could have broken this nor clearly, could you fix it. Annoyed by your failure and the thought of calling maintenance, you stepped out of the shower, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. 

There was a strange tiredness etched all over your features, hiding a stranger something behind it. Your eyes had sunken further into their sockets, thin wisps of hair framing your face - You’ve definitely had better days and was… was that a knife in your hand? 

You glanced at it quizzically. Why did you step into the shower with a knife? 

Softly smacking your head at your silliness, you walked back into the living room, leaving the tap for another day. Half yawning with tiredness were ready to retire for the night when your eyes fell on the grocery bags still waiting for you on the table - you had forgotten about it. Groaning at the thought of having to put everything away, you set the knife on the dining table and grabbed your purchases instead, taking them into the pantry. Perhaps it was because you were too deeply immersed in your organisation, but your otherwise sharp ears missed the rustling of the leaves outside, crunching under someone’s footsteps.

Going through the grocery checklist scribbled in horrible handwriting to make sure you had gotten everything, you swiftly began putting them all in their place. The pastas in the jars, the fruits in the baskets, the sauces in the tray. The heaviest thing you bought was perhaps those huge jars of protein powder. You weren't really sure why you decided to buy it - sure your doctor said you were too weak and needed to exercise to build strength but you didn't need to buy all of the products the Internet recommended to you. 

Telling yourself you'll find use for it later, you pushed them onto the shelves and turned to the meat instead, throwing them into the fridge. You didn't really know how to cook meat too well but you wanted to try. Seungcheol had once grilled some meat in his backyard and came over to offer you a few bites. When you tried to take it from him at the door, he pulled his hand back and cocked his head. 

“Are you not going to invite me inside?” 

He was always trying to make a move on you like that. You knew what he wanted, you knew what he had his eyes on but the answer was, no. You could take the deliciously cooked meat from him but couldn't let him into the house. It was too soon to trust him. 

But Seungcheol was relentless. 

It was evident with how he was the only one in town who turned up at the video store where you worked. And he came everyday. Normal people didn't borrow a new movie everyday, right? Clearly he was flirting with you. Or at least he was trying to. You only ever behaved professionally with him . Except sometimes, when he asked for movie recommendations of a very specific genre. You didn't really know many serial killer documentaries or crime podcasts to suggest, so you would simply ask a colleague to take over. Over the days, you watched him consume every last bit of thrillers available in the store and distantly wondered if he had a life outside of this consumption. 

Perhaps not. Seungcheol seemed a bit odd like that. 

He talked to everyone in town but didn't really seem to have any friends. He wasn't home for days together sometimes - you didn't really know the nature of his job so you couldn't tell why his absence was so frequent. He always drove that tiny pickup truck of his with some weird boxes and bags hidden under big blue plastic sheets in the trunk. . 

The whole deal about him was just not right. You knew something about him was not right. Even though he was incredibly pleasant on the eye, you had to be wary of him. 

You had to be wary of everything. . 

But maybe you weren't always as alert as you should be. Because it  was only as you were putting away the last of the snacks that you heard that sound - the thumping. 

It seemed like it was coming from outside…. Or was it upstairs? It felt like it was coming from right above, like the sound of someone's feet. 

And just like that,, you remembered the intruder again - the one who might still be in your home. 

Quickly you rushed to grab the knife from the table once more and held it out in defense. Whoever came to the house was most definitely still here, you could feel it in your bones. 

As you slowly made your way towards the stairs, trying to maintain a soft footfall to avoid the creaking of the stairs, another sound took you aback. 

No, not your racing heart - The doorbell. 

Turning sharply, you glanced at the door with wide eyes. Who could it possibly be?  At this late hour?

The ringing only became more persistent, morphing into knocks while you inched towards the door, grip on the knife tightening. 

As you slowly pressed down the handle and slightly opened the door, you were met with cheerful voices, much to your relief. 

“Happy Halloween!” 

Before you was a tiny ghost, a pirate, a couple of princesses and a buzz lightyear, all half your height, looking at you surprised. 

“Ms. L/n!” 

“Hey kiddos.” 

“Where's Mr. Choi?” The pirate pouted. “We thought we could finally get him to be nice to us, hand us some treats.” 

“Aw.” You pinched his cheek with your free hand. The one that was not hiding the knife behind the door. “Mr. Choi isn't in town sadly.” 

The little kid looked at you quizzically. “Then what are you doing in his house?” 

.

.

.

Oh. 

You blinked at him while he looked up at you expectantly. 

Then your lips split into a sweet, saccharine smile. 

“He asked me to look after it while he was gone.”

“When will Mr. Choi be back?” 

You glanced at the inquisitive little ghost, fiddling with the knife in your hand. 

Please, please don't make me use this. 

“Do you want an answer or candy?” You cocked your head cheekily. “I'm only giving out one.” 

“Candy!” They screamed as you laughed and reached for the packet you had just bought, ripping it open with the knife.

They watched excitedly as you dropped handfuls of chocolate into their little baskets and plastic pumpkins. With a scream of “Ms. L/N is the best!” they scurried away to their next target of the night. And so did you, tossing the knife onto the table once again.

You clutched your head and released a low hiss of irritation at the dull throb.Those stupid medicines were really getting to your head now, you were forgetting too many important things. Thank fuck for the children, otherwise you would have never remembered what really had to be done. 

Locking the door behind you, you quickly made your way up the stairs. There was no need to head softly - the stairs had a tendency to creak in your house, not in Seungcheol’s. 

The thumping from earlier was more pronounced now as your senses slowly cleared up, much like how the light flooded from underneath the bedroom door. The soft thumps are getting louder and louder as you neared it. With a twist of the knob and swing of the door, you tilt  your head with a smile. 

Light flooded from underneath the bedroom door, the soft thumping sound getting louder and louder as you neared it. Opening it wide, you cocked your head with a smile. 

There he was. 

Sitting on a chair in the middle of the room, Seungcheol was looking gorgeous as ever. He was dressed in just his grey sweatpants, the thick muscles of his shoulders and pecs bared before you. His biceps too were popping on either side thanks to the fact that his hands were tied at the back of the chair. Oh and his mouth was gagged shut, his words turning into muffled whimpers as he looked at you wide eyed, halting the stomping of his feet.

“I know, I know, I'm sorry.” You raised your hands apologetically. “I meant to be back soon but you know how I am, forgetful little me. I'm sorry baby.” You neared him, walking around his chair, bending to whisper in his ear. “But I see you're having your fun.” 

Your eyes flickered from the tent in his pants to the laptop you left on for his entertainment, right in the line of his vision. You see yourself on the screen, dressed in the hottest lingerie you owned, looking right in the camera with the vibrator held just where you needed him and only one name spilling from your mouth - Seungcheol. 

This wasn't the video you played from him before you left for the grocery store - perhaps they were auto playing, lucky him. You had hours of such footage of yourself - in all kinds of positions, with every possible toy, in role play costumes, in every possible color of lingerie, you had an unmatchable variety. The only thing common among all of them was his name. Choi Seungcheol. 

Could you be blamed? The man was unbelievably attractive. It wasn't like you didn't try to avoid him, to repel all that magnetism. You were well aware of your nature - it hadn't been long since you had gotten a chance to start afresh and you didn't want to spiral again. You really really didn't. 

But Seungcheol was persistent. He wouldn't stop flirting with you at any given chance, he kept trying to invite himself home, he was consistently intrusive. You kept him at bay for the longest time, at least until the day you had to return the box he had left with you, the one in which he gave you the grilled meat. 

You didn't expect him to open the door with his shirt off, slick with sweat, flushed and half panting. When you caught sight of the dumbbells behind him,  could tell he was working out but somehow you couldn't help but think this was probably how he looked when he fucked and god did that make your mouth water. 

That day he shouldn't have invited you in. Then you wouldn't have found your resolve crumbling so weakly. You wouldn't have found yourself under him being pounded like there was no tomorrow. You wouldn't have crossed the line like this. 

What started that day set off a cascade of events. Sleeping with Seungcheol became quite a regular act - there was no part of you that he had left unexplored, untouched. He was in every crevice, every cell, you were entirely consumed by him. When you were at work, all you could think about was how well he fucked you the day before. When you were on the way home, all you could think about was how well he was going fuck you today. Even after you reached, you always made it a point to immediately wash up, wear your nicest underwear and knock on his door. You always did it at his house. 

He did try to come to your place a couple of times but you consistently steered the two of you back to his house somehow. It was one thing to let him cum in you but to come into your house? You couldn’t have that happening, he’d ask too many questions - why do you never use the garage Y/n? Why was it always locked Y/n? Why did you have a ridiculous number of gardening tools in your house when you don’t even grow any plants Y/n? You knew the questions wouldn't seize and the answers weren’t good for him. They weren't good for anyone who's heard them all these years. 

Another reason you didn't want him home was because you didn't want to ruin the surprise. 

Now, Seungcheol was a self-sufficient man. He was happy with himself, his life, his home, his solitude. It was evident all he was looking for in you was a good fuck - afterall, he would never ask you to stay the night or to be his girlfriend even though you'd been seeing each other for months. You were okay with that….. for now. The two of you were still exploring, still understanding each other's bodies and limits. You didn't mind him taking his time, you needed your time as well. 

You see, Seungcheol loved his home. He loved every piece of furniture, every bowl, every mat - he was incredibly fond of his space, taking all the time and effort in the world to curate it. You, on the other hand, didn't really care much for your house. As long as it could fulfill basic needs and keep you safe, you were good - it wasn't like you stayed for long in one place anyways. But your heart knew that you wanted to stay with Seungcheol for the rest of your life. There was something dark about him too that told you he belonged with you the way you belonged to him. You wanted him to feel like he belonged to you too, you wanted him to feel at home with you. You wanted to be his home. 

That's why you took months together to design and turn your house into an identical replica of Seungcheol’s. 

And when you say replica you mean down to the T. Everything was the same. You made sure it was the same. All those times he was away for days together thanks to his job, you found yourself slipping into his house taking detailed notes of every object, every piece. You would only see, not touch or take anything away. Come on, you were no thief, thieves are bad people.. 

After that you had spent all your time online or going from store to store, finding originals and duplicates of his belongings. Given that he loved to have really exclusive pieces in his house they were not easy to procure but with a little sweet talk, a little threatening and a little unspeakable things, you had somehow managed to bring them all home. To the home you were making for him. 

Earlier this week, you had gotten hold of the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle - a childhood photo of Seungcheol's family, framed and hung on the wall. It was the hardest thing to get your hands on. His estranged sister would not leave her house for long enough - it took a major occupational accident at her husband's construction site to finally get her moving. 

With everything finally in place today, just as the sun began to set, you went over to Seungcheol's house to bring him over at last, to show him what you had done for him. Seeing how his front door was unlocked you stepped in, curiously looking around for him. But that feeling evaporated the moment you heard that sound - the sound of a woman moaning. 

It felt like the ground under your feet had slipped. Perhaps that was why you grabbed the baseball bat leaning against the wall, to give your shaking hands something to hold on to as you made your way to his bedroom…. He didn't even bother to shut the door. 

There he was, sitting on the bed with his laptop open before him, frantically getting himself off to the video of some pizza delivery girl getting her “payment”. 

Porn. He was watching porn. 

The moment his eyes fell on you by the door, he quickly tucked his length into his sweats and jumped off the bed, looking at you like you were crazy. Oh no Choi Seungcheol. He didn't just do that. He shouldn't have. Maybe then you wouldn't have swung the bat and knocked him out cold. Maybe he wouldn't have found himself in the middle of the room all tied up when he came around. 

You just couldn't understand him. What was the need for him to look at other women or even think of one when you were right there? Was he bored of you? Were you not enough? You did everything you could to keep him - every depraved fantasy, every humiliating act, every time he was rough to bruise you for days together, you took it all, you begged for more. Then why was he doing this? 

When he finally opened his eyes, he didn't answer your questions, he was simply screaming to set free. Well of course the only thing you could do was to shut his mouth in some way and with him unable to speak, you had to find other ways to get answers. You needed to find out if Seungcheol was just not attracted to you anymore. 

That's why you brought out your video collection, little films you had taken of yourself back when you were still pushing him away, all while wondering what it was like to get fucked by him. His mouth may say whatever but anatomy couldn't lie right? There was something else that could stand up and answer you. 

You had meant to stay and watch, afterall, you were proud of the quality of your content but the flashes of thunder outside told you that perhaps it was wiser for you to go to the store first. You knew whatever was going to transpire wouldn't be over any time soon, you had to stock up before the storm locked you in. Besides, it was Halloween night, all the cute little kids would be coming around for candy, you didn't want to miss out on that. 

You didn't and thanks to them, you didn't succumb to your forgetfulness and miss out on this either. 

“There there.” You cooed, removing his gag and he coughed, unable to regain his ability to speak just yet. You waited for him to come around, walking back to sit on the edge of the bed as he looked at you meekly. 

“Water.” He whispered, voice just a little horse. 

You raised your eyebrow. How did he manage to sound so sexy all the time? 

“Thirsty are we?” You smiled. “I thought my gift might have helped.”

“Y/n please.” He groaned. “What kind of sick joke is this?” 

Oh. He thinks it's a joke. A little Halloween scare perhaps. A prank gone overboard. Oh he has no idea.

“I think it's me who you take for a joke.” You glanced down at his raging boner. “Or not, considering how excited you are.”

You got up, leaning over him, hand gripping the back of his chair. 

“I'll help you.” You licked your lips. “Either I'll untie you, take my little collection and get out of here. Or I'll help with your not so little predicament with any and every hole I have…. Pick your poison.” 

Seungcheol looked at you wide eyed. His breath was shaking, lips were quivering and a hundred and one things seemed to be running behind those pretty eyes. 

Slowly gulping, his Adams apple moving with a bob, he shut his eyes. 

“It's unbearable.” He mumbled. “It's just…. Please help me.” 

And you knew exactly what he wanted you to do.

Sliding off the bed, you got on your knees, crawling up to him, slotting yourself between his legs. Seungcheol’s eyes flew open when your hands found his thigh, a soft sigh tumbling out of his mouth. He loved to fuck your mouth. He loved how eager to please you always were, always trying to take in more of him, always trying to do better. God he loved it.

He watched as you pulled his sweats down the best you could and wrapped your tiny hand around his dick. He was raging hard, the tip flushed in an angry red, precum smeared all over. You were lucky he was in your control now. If he were allowed to have his way, he might just break you. 

Stroking him agonisingly slowly, you inched closer to place a small kiss on his tip, the softest interaction that had ever happened between the two of you. Before Seungcheol could even relish that moment you wrapped your lips around his length and took him all the way in. Fucking hell. Seungcheol thought he was going to pass out with how intensely you were blowing him. He wished you'd untie his hands. He'd go anything to just push your head down his dick and feel himself in your throat. That was a sureshot at making him come, these shallow and fast bobs of your head were only aggravating him. 

Maybe that's what you wanted. Because the moment he let out his tell tale groan, letting you know he was close, you pulled away with a pop and wrapped your hand around his cock instead. Before he could complain about losing the warmth of your mouth you began stroking him fast thanks to the wetness of your spit and before you knew it, he felt himself reaching that high, meaningless words leaving his mouth. With a few more jerks, he came all over himself in spurts, ropes of white coating his abdomen. 

As he tried to battle his feelings of relief after finding a much needed release, disappointment for not coming in your mouth, and slight fear, not understanding what the hell was going on, you slowly let him go, wiping your hand on his sweats. Looking straight into his eyes, you leaned forward, gathering the cum all over his skin with your tongue and showing it to him before you swallowed it. Fuck, Seungcheol felt the blood rushing down there again. He was far from done tonight. 

Getting up you looked at him questioningly though you were well aware of the answer. 

“Do you need more?”

Unable to do anything else, he nodded slowly, whispering please. 

Smirking, you quickly stripped yourself out of your clothes. You would have made a show out of it, tease him slowly but you were equally desperate to fuck him so you quickly abandoned that idea. Throwing your garments somewhere, you clambered onto his lap, aligning yourself over his dick. You didn't need any prep or lube, you were practically dripping from just blowing him. 

Slowly sinking onto his length you threw your head back, finally feeling full. Seungcheol moaned too, burying his face between your boobs as you bottomed out, your grip like a vice. Holding onto his shoulders you began fucking yourself on his length, snapping your hips relentlessly. You could tell the feeling was too much for Seungcheol too as he bit on the soft skin of your breasts. It stung painfully but you let him - you always let him do whatever he wanted to you anyways. 

“Tired?” He looked up at you with a triumphant smirk as your pace began to falter thanks to the not so comfortable position of your legs. “Are you finally going to ask me for help?”

You shook your head. You didn't want him to have the upper hand anymore.

“Don't be stubborn, doll. You know it's better when I have my hands on you.” He ran his tongue along your breast, relishing the sweet and salty taste of you. “Untie my hands and we can make this better y/n. I know how much you love my fingers up your ass, and how much you like the grip on my hands all over you and how much you want me . Come on baby, untie me.”

You didn't want to, you really didn't want to but a part of you knew he was right. He could make you feel so good. 

Reaching over you pulled on the knot holding his hands together and in a flash his hands gripped the bottom on your thighs and with the sheer strength of his that you loved, he got up, lifting you along with him. Immediately pinning you to the wall, he began thrusting into you, drawing out the most exquisite moans from you as he hit the spot again and again and again. When unable to hold it anymore, you came around him, he tossed you onto the bed, pounding into you mercilessly, making you cum around him one more time before he painted your ass and back with his own release. Even then the night was far from over. 

After that he fucked you almost till dawn, pushing you to the limit as he made you cum so many times, you couldn't even keep count anymore. All you knew was that every bit of your body was screaming and creaming in pleasure - it was confirmed, you had to have Seungcheol for life, you had to do whatever it took to keep this insane man forever. You didn't know how but you could think about that later. For now, as day break approached, the two of you passed out in his bed. 

Seungcheol looked at you under the afternoon sun streaming into his room. You were fast asleep - he tried waking you up a couple of times but you just would not budge. Finally giving up he resorted to just staring at you. 

Last night was…. better than Seungcheol’s wildest dreams. He always knew he was a bit of a freak, but he didn't think he'd find someone to match it in this quiet town he had been reluctant to relocate to. Even when he first met you, he thought you'd be one sweet love making session at most but you took him completely by surprise. You were as wild as he was - you were down for anything he asked, you never said no and most importantly, you enjoyed it all. Seungcheol thought he had hit the jackpot with you. 

But yesterday was most definitely not normal. At that time he was thinking with his dick because all the blood in his body was clearly there but as he looked back at what happened, nothing about it was right. You had knocked him out, tied and gagged him up before you left him. You had hours of footage of you pleasuring yourself to the thought of him… 

Seungcheol had noticed the dates. It was way before the two of you had begun your little arrangement and he didn't know what to think about that. There were tiny sirens going off in his head telling him to run as fast as he could but Seungcheol couldn't stop staring at you. You were ridiculously beautiful and he just had the best sex of his life last night. 

When you whined softly and turned over in your sleep, Seungcheol finally rolled off the bed and dressed himself. Finding your scattered clothes on the floor he gathered them, looking at them with a frown. He couldn't have you wear these again and his clothes were far too big for your tiny frame. Maybe it was time to start making room in his closet for a few of your clothes.

Knowing how tired you must be given last night's events, he silently fished out the keys from the pocket of your pants and decided to bring you a fresh pair from your house. 

He shouldn't have gone over. He never should have stepped into your house. Maybe then the tiny sirens in his head wouldn't have become a full blown ringing. 

If he had never discovered the truth of your house, if he wasn’t staring at an exact replica of his space, maybe he would've never come to terms that last night was indeed extremely abnormal. 

You were not normal. 

Something was very very wrong with you, the dozens of medications on the dining table were a testament of that. Seungcheol knew he had to go. He had to leave you and that house and this town. He needed to run away from this madness.

But when he turned to leave, he felt his heart stop just for a second. 

There you were, right at the door, dressed in yesterday's clothes, looking at him expressionlessly. Your eyes ran over his face as he felt the hair on his skin stand. 

He had to go, he had to get the hell out of here. 

“Oh baby.” 

You cocked your head at him, leaning against the frame with a small smile. 

This was an expression you had never seen on Seungcheol's face before - a mix of shock and fear and repulsion. You could tell he wanted to run. You knew he would end things now, you knew it was over but alas, it was too late to let him go. 

You couldn't let him go. 

Taking a step ahead, you slowly closed the door behind you, inching closer to him, yesterday’s knife stashed safely in the back pocket of your pants.

“Do you want to see what's in my garage?” 

A/n - As usual, comments and reblogs are much appreciated - I'd love to hear your thoughts, it really helps :) You can also read Jeonghan's and Joshua's :)

[hannieehaee]

Thinking about doting woozi awakened something in me hnnng something about a tsundere man being soft is so fucking cute like you just KNOW he'd be so awkward abt it at first but as soon as he knows that you like it and even WANT IT from him he'd be the softest man on earth

content: bf!woozi, established relationship, pure fluff, woozi is starving for affection and doesnt know how to react to it!!

wc: 610

a/n: i know this wasnt a request but i had to turn it into a little drabble bc im so obsessed with him and wanna take care of him so badly i just need to manifest that need into writing</3

masterlist

the first time you took care of jihoon was subtle. it barely went noticed by him at first, but when he realized, he couldn't help but recoil to himself. it was odd, really, to have someone care for you in subtle ways. it wasn't expected.

in reality, it had been quite simple. walking into his home studio, he almost missed it due to his organizational habits, but upon closer inspection it was obvious. you had cleaned up.

not only had you done the usual superficial upkeep that he was accustomed to doing, but you'd dusted! you'd moved every figurine, every bit of equipment, every movable object, basically, and dusted it before placing it right back where it belonged. the air smelled clean too, courtesy of your good taste in cleaning products.

the cleanliness gave him a newfound energy, especially due to knowing it had been your act.

next time he saw you, he was a bit embarrassed to thank you, but still managed a hug and a suspicious 'love you' murmured against your lips without any further explanation.

~

cleaning his home studio became a more common occurrence after a while. jihoon had at some point formally expressed his gratitude for it, but also added the lack of need for it. he felt badly having you clean for him, so he shyly stumbled his way into telling you that it was okay! he wouldn't want you to tire yourself with such a task!

this was met with a squeeze at his hip and a giggle as you let him know that you didn't mind. he was rarely at home while you worked from home, so cleaning just became a natural part of your day.

he accepted this with warmth in his stomach. it was nice that it didn't feel like a responsibility to you. you just did it because you wanted to help him. he liked being helped.

this came along with various other acts of service you'd do without question. acts which continued to make jihoon's heart flurry with a mixture of gratitude and bashfulness.

the list was quite long, once he took a minute to really think about it.

you'd drop in with lunch for him and his bandmates every so often (which was quite a feat considering the number of friends he had), you'd brush his hair any time he let it grow a little more (claiming you just had that magic touch — which, granted, you did), suddenly he'd have socks on his feet when he woke up on a cold night, would find a brand newly knitted scarf on his way out the door in the morning, his kitchen would be stocked with his favorite coffee mix. there were too many tiny details to count.

jihoon always tried to return the favor, but would always feel like he lacked. no one in this world could compare to how doting you were, he'd decided.

worst of all was the viscerally embarrassing way in which he'd react at your acts of service.

he'd always known himself to be bad at receiving love, but he had thought that being with you would teach him a thing to do. the reality was, though, that the stuttering and the blush on his cheeks would just become a staple every time you so much as removed an eyelash from his cheek.

he sometimes wondered to himself, did you realize? how affection-starved he was? how much he truly appreciated your affections despite being the worst at verbalizing this gratefulness?

but the answer was found in the kiss pressed to his cheek any time he'd stutter his way through a 'thank you, i love you.'

[nathaslosthershit]

Emotional Times (OP81)

Summary: Pregnancy was a time full of hardships. Hormones on high, stress of the incoming baby, and all the sudden changes were what this father-to-be was expecting, ready to face. What he wasn't expecting was having to battle his pregnant wife's newfound sensitivity to everything that could have her emotions changing in an instant Part of my summer event!

It has been a rough time in the Piastri household. Oscar loves his wife, he really does, and god, would he move heaven and earth for her. In her current state though, she doesn’t know whether she wants heaven or earth and if he brings her the wrong one she will burst into tears, but if he brings her the right one, she will also burst into tears.

There wasn’t any winning. During moments like that, he just had to remember that greener grass on the other side. The other side where he finally has his own little family. 

The couple had also both made peace with the fact he would be traveling a lot during the season and she would have to spend some of her pregnancy by herself. It was easy while she could travel in the beginning but a few complications cut her ability to do so off much sooner than the two would have liked. And she did not like this. 

“Honey, please, get back in bed.” Oscar begged at 5 am. He was ready to head off to his next race, when he unintentionally woke his very pregnant wife up after giving her a kiss on the forehead.

This made her frustrated, she had finally gone to sleep after spending so much of the night tossing and trying to turn and the minute she drifts off he has the audacity to-

Then she realized he kissed her on the forehead because he was leaving her. 

Now, she was holding onto him by the front door, in absolute tears at the thought she would have to do another race weekend alone.

“Please, my love. It absolutely breaks my heart to leave you but I have no choice. Don’t make this harder for me…” Oscar tried to reason with her, but he was on the brink of tears himself seeing how much she wanted him to stay, realizing how much he wanted to stay. But he couldn’t.

“Oscar, I can’t do it, please it's so hard being here all alone. I know it's cliché but I can’t even tie my shoes. How am I supposed to do anything? How am I supposed to take care of a baby when I can’t take care of myself?”

He knew she wasn’t trying to guilt him into staying or make him feel bad if he did leave. These were real concerns she had voiced before. But he felt so helpless in this moment, almost as helpless as she felt constantly. 

The realization hit him, he couldn’t leave her like this. It was unfair to both of them. He had to do something.

“I will figure something out, don’t worry, Honey. Go back to sleep and when you wake up it will be much better, I promise.” He really shouldn’t promise that when he didn’t have a plan, but he couldn’t come up with one while she was sobbing into his neck and holding on for dear life.

With a few hiccups and a small nod, he wiped her tears and gave her a kiss as he left the apartment. 45 minutes later than he would have liked, hopefully the group he was sharing the jet with didn’t leave him behind. 

She already felt better when she woke up, having gotten hours of sleep, finally. It felt so good to wake up well rested and without that many aches. Nothing could bring her mood down.

Except when she couldn’t get in touch with her husband.

She knew he was traveling, that the minute his plane landed he was off to start preparing for the upcoming race. But no calls and no messages soured her mood real fast. 

She tried to shake it off, she went about her day trying not to dwell on it, trying not to send him threatening messages for not answering her the second she texted him. 

A call woke her up the next morning, well it was noon but she still wasn't pleased. Not till she saw who was calling.

“Oh sweetheart! How are you?” Nicole Piastri asked.

If there was one person she loved almost as much as her husband, it was his mother.

“I’m okay, haven’t heard from Oscar much, that asshole.” she grumbled.

“Oh I remember the days, that's why I have my twitter afterall.” Nicole said, making her laugh. It was sometimes a wonder how her husband was Nicole’s son. 

“Yeah well i-”

“Oh crap, honey, I have to go! But I’ll see you soon, okay? Hang tight!” Nicole said before hanging up.

She didn’t have time to dwell on the abrupt end to the call as a knock came from the front door. Connecting the two, she wobbled as fast as she could to the door, where her mother-in-law stood. 

And then she burst into tears.

“Oh, he told me you were going to do that but I didn’t know it would be that immediate,” Nicole said as she went to hug her. 

Through the tears and snot, she asked “Oscar? What do you mean?”

“He said he texted you, gosh, he is the worst at communication for someone who spends so much time on his phone,” she frowned at her daughter-in-law.

Quickly opening her texts, she saw he had messaged her a few hours ago:

Oscar: I told you I had a plan, just a few more hours, my love. I can’t wait to see you in a few days :) 

Thus the mother and daughter-in-law started their girls weekend. My god, it was exactly what she needed. As much as she loved her husband, this was 1000 times better than what she would have done if he was here. And despite how much she missed him, the weekend seemed to fly by. 

Oscar: How is she? I am only half an hour away.

Nicole: Currently napping, but she has been good! Relaxed and happy. Hasn’t even cried in the past few days

Oscar: Wow, I am almost offended she didn’t miss me more?

Nicole: She needed girl time, you couldn’t give that to her sweetheart. She also needed someone who actually knew how to correctly do laundry.

Oscar: Alright, mum, nice talking to you. I'll be back soon, please don’t turn my wife against me.

Nicole: 😉

Just as he did when he was leaving, Oscar unintentionally woke his pregnant wife up when kissing her on the forehead. Unlike when he was leaving, she didn’t get upset. She was too happy to see him that the thought hadn’t even occurred to her.

Holding him in a death grip, she recounted all she did while he was gone. She couldn’t really go out much at this point, so hearing his mom still found a way to make her weekend enjoyable was a relief. 

“I haven’t even cried over something stupid in a while!” She said as she finished her account of the past few days.

“I heard, I am glad you are feeling so much better, my love. I hated being gone but hearing you had a wonderful time makes me so happy.” He said as he began to tear up, thinking about how awful it was to leave. 

“Oscar, come on, just cause i'm not as emotional doesn’t mean you have to make up for it” She teased.

After pestering him about how his time away was, he remembered he had picked up something for her, and while he bought it thinking he would use it to stop her tears, why not just give it to her while she is this happy.

“I picked up your favorite,” he said as he reluctantly handed her the food he got, shuddering at the unusual combination she loved oh so much.

The sound of her son gagging as he watched his wife eat had Nicole coming into the room to investigate. The picture of her pregnant daughter-in-law, happy as a clam while she ate her food, and her son holding his nose and trying to stop himself from throwing up was a sight she committed to memory and knew she was going to bring up for years to come. 

“What have you got there?” Nicole asked, knowingly making Oscar gag again as he was reminded of the food combination.

“Cottage cheese and ketchup,” she answered. Instead of disgust, the couple was confused by the light bulb moment Nicole seemed to have.

“My goodness! That is what I craved with Oscar. Gross to think about now but I loved it then.”

“What! You never told me this?” Oscar asked, astounded he would be the reason his mom had to eat a combination that disgusted him so.

“I was saving it for the next podcast I did. Think I’ll have to talk about this moment too.” His mom teased. 

Rolling his eyes, he turned to his wife and immediately clocked in on the frown beginning to form.

Both mother and son had the same exact thought: Uh oh.

“You- you craved the same thing?” She stuttered out.

“Um, yeah? You okay, Honey?” Nicole asked, now on edge at the incoming storm.

Seconds of silence went by but were soon disrupted by the sounds of his wife’s cries as she took in the information.

“Baby, what's wrong? Why are you upset at that?” Oscar questioned as he went to rub her back in comfort.

“Its just- that is so sweet, and the thought that- that I could be having the same cravings, is just- I just-” His wife didn’t get to finish her sentence as more wails came out, followed by hiccuping.  

Nicole and Oscar looked at each other in alarm as they realized that this was most likely the consequence of a weekend with no breakdowns. They had a long night ahead of them. 

[morose-melodies]

Welcome back! So happy to see that you are doing well ☺️

Since requests are open, I was wondering if you could write some headcanons/drabbles about how the Genshin men (including Pierro, Capitano, and Dottore my fave) would react if their darling, who was pregnant with their child, tried to run away? Saying "I refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!"

what it takes to love | various yandere! fatui harbingers x pregnant reader

content warning: mentions of blood, idk if childe's being sorta trad or not but I'll still put it here. I'm also a bit rusty so they might be ooc...

a/n: definitely not a drabble... I hope you enjoy!

CAPITANO

with the newfound knowledge that you were gone, the captain was on the way home.

there was not a lick of hesitation, no, he dropped everything. your leaving meant you were alone on a cold night while pregnant. who knew what trouble you could be in?

the captain knew you couldn't travel far-- it was too dark, too cold. all that surrounded the manor was woods and woods. he made sure to wear his thickest coat and brought with him his weapon in case you were in true danger. he saw your footprints in the snow, it looked as if you were stumbling about in the cold.

Oh, poor you.

this isn't how things should be-- you, running about at night without him there to protect you. you should be in the safety of his arms, in the walls of his manor.

he wouldn't try to further frighten you, that must be why you ran, no? he would place his coat over you and take you home with him.

following those footprints, it seemed you tumbled and fell a couple of times. you couldn't possibly be in a good state. (y/n)... where could you be ?

"(y/n)," the captain called out. he saw you, your cowering form, pressed against a tree, using one of his coats you'd taken with you to warm yourself, "oh, (y/n)."removing his coat, he set it over your shoulders and lifted you into his arms, expecting you to comply.

"no! st-stop. let me go, i... I'm fine!" you'd argue, though, it seemed you were in no state to.

"(y/n), no," the captain shook his head, trying to keep a gentle hold on you even as you squirmed and argued, "you're tired- you don't understand what you're saying. I'll be taking you home."

"i know what I'm saying," you shook your head, pressing your hand against his mask, attempting to push him away, "i don't want to be with you or near you! l-let go of me!"

the cold must be getting to you, capitano reasoned, who knows how long you've been out here? you're clearly not in your right mind. pressing a hand against your cheek, he felt your skin, he felt how cold it was. you needed to be home and in bed. "hush, you're delirious. (y/n), stop fighting me, i need to bring you home. you're harming yourself *and* our child."

"let go of me! stop- i refuse to raise my child with a monster like you!"

his hold on you loosened-- he was stunned, caught off guard. a monster? his hand gripped at the fabric of the coat over your shoulders, "is that truly what you think of me?"

you hated him? that was why you ran? "(y/n)," the captain repeated, his grip on the coat lessened, "answer me. is that what you think of me?"

do you understand how that makes him feel?

it's not as if you always thought this of him, this was a recent development. after getting pregnant, he was... more protective. he took extreme measures to keep you home, to "keep you safe."

it drove you mad.

so, when you woke up one morning to see that all of the house staff, including your maid that you truly loved, had been replaced-- you knew you had to leave.

"yes, yeah..." you nodded, a stray tear running down your cheek, "so, let me down- let me go," you demanded once more, squirming, trying to get away from him once more.

capitano raised his hand and wiped away that stray tear, "(y/n), do not say that-- not to me, not to my face," his hand dropped back to his side. he needed you home with him, now.

and that need was stronger than any other feeling he had at this very moment.

holding you against his chest, trying to keep you as warm as possible as he worked on getting you home.

he needed you back home; whatever happened afterward could happen, as long as you were home with him.

DOTTORE

how things seemed, you enjoy causing dottore problems.

if you weren't knocking his vials over, you were barging in on his experiments, and if not that, you'd rejected him when he expressed even the slightest bit of affection.

it was always something with you.

and now, on his day off-- on the one day when he had nothing to do and nothing planned, you ran away, or at least you tried to.

dottore refused to let his good day be ruined by something so trivial, so he took precautions.

knowing you, you would do something so he prepared for just about anything you could do.

just about anything... well, he didn't expect you, a pregnant woman, to attempt to jump out of your window to get away from him.

he heard the tell-tale shatter of glass and just knew it was you-- it was always you. he begrudgingly got up from where he was resting and went to your room, where you were halfway out of your window, bloodied from the broken glass digging into your skin.

dottore sighed, "goodness, (y/n)," dottore was approaching you and you could hear him coming closer, so, you tried to lunge yourself out of the window, to get away from him-- to protect your future.

pressing your hands against the sides of the window, you pushed yourself forward, slipping out of the window, but, of course, dottore caught you by the ankle just as you were falling.

you wasted not even a second before you began screaming and swearing at him, trying to squirm out of his grip, "let me go! let go-" you kicked at him as he dragged you back into the room.

once you were in, lying on the glass-covered floor, somewhat numb to the pain, dottore stood somewhere near your side, his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at you. he was disappointed, but why?

"don't... lie in the glass. (y/n)..." he sighed once more, and reached out, grabbing your arm and helping you stand.

it was then that he assessed your injuries, asking that you stand still as he looked at your bloodied arms and torso area-- it was painfully cut from the glass.

*you must be in pain, no?* dottore mused, straightening his back as he looked at the thin layer of blood coated on his fingertip, "I'll forget about this-- I'll even forgive you for... attempting this," dottore assured you, holding your arm as he began to guide you out of your room, "I'll forgive you, i just ask that you never attempt such a thing again."

but... you refused, tugging your arm back and out of his hold, "Don't touch me-- i don't *need* your forgiveness!"

you'd never hated him quite as much as you did after finding out that dottore had no problem with experimenting on children that the knave gave him.

it made you sick. you couldn't allow your child to grow up with a man like him, "i *refuse* to raise my child with a monster like you."

dottore's eyebrow twitched, though you couldn't see it. he thought he knew what to expect from you, but, you always surprise him, "a monster? can you genuinely call me such a thing after all I've done for you?"

when you nodded, dottore stifled his third sigh and brought you along with him, despite all of your arguing and fighting. "(y/n), you're hurt. let me clean those wounds of yours. since you cannot accept my forgiveness and let this go, we'll have a talk tomorrow."

dottore cared for you, of course, he did.

he realized just how much he cared for you-- just how much he needed you when he felt his heart drop at the sight of you trying to leave.

he understood just then how much he'd hate it if you left him.

a/n: lowkey ooc...

PIERRO

escape was impossible.

with guards at your door, and all around pierro's manor, you couldn't escape.

but, when pierro found out that you had still tried to leave him-- attempting to walk right out the front door, dressed as if you had places to be, he was displeased.

he was immediately informed of this.

so, as you tried to open the gate that was locked, pierro approached you, "(y/n), where exactly are you going?" he asked, stopping to stand right behind you, "it's cold, and you aren't dressed for the weathers condition... ah, aren't you supposed to inform me of where it is you want to go before going?"

pierro knew exactly what you were doing but for you, he could play dumb. it was better than making you feel cornered and possibly upsetting you further.

he could change, he wasn't above it. after all, there weren't many things he wouldn't do for you.

he held his hand out for you, hoping you'd take it, hoping you wouldn't give him trouble-- not now, not when he was in such a generous mood.

you didn't take his hand, no, you weren't even looking at him as you said, "I'd like to go... I want to stay with my family."

your family? pierro felt his eyes twitch-- he wouldn't allow himself to be seen as the jealous type, no, pierro instead nodded his head slowly, "why don't we go back in? it's terribly cold tonight, is it not?" he'd tried to change the subject, try to ease you back into the house without an argument.

"no, uh... I've got a ride. i just need the gate to open."

pierro saw and understood what you were feeling perfectly-- desperation. "we can talk about this tomorrow, no? it's late, (y/n), im not particularly in the mood to be standing out in the cold while you talk about leaving me."

"pierro- im leaving... I'll send you letters and I-I'll even come to visit," you offered, taking a step towards the gate, looking at the lock, that stopped you from leaving.

"no, no, (y/n), you aren't leaving, at any point. how ever you feel, I'm sure you'd feel better if you spoke to me about how you feel-"

"i want to leave because i dont want to raise my child with you."

first, you cut him off, and now you say this? "you're being very rude-- now, we're going back inside. do not argue with me," pierro took your hand into his and began to guide you back toward the manor.

"no! let go, stop it!" you would drag your feet, crying and arguing, "I don't want to be here! not with you! st-stop it! let me go!"

it saddened him, truly, to hear you cry and beg so desperately, but those words rolled off of him. he didn't care at the moment; he just needed to get you back into the manor, and whatever happened after didn't matter.

he'd have a talk with the guards too.

"You're so evil! let me go-! let me be!" you'd argued, dragging your feet, attempting to make things harder for him, "i refuse to have a child with a monster like you!!"

you couldn't imagine raising a child in this environment, in the fatui...

pierro stilled, glancing back at you, his grip on your hand tightened-- then immediately loosened, "you're testing my patience, (y/n). please, just come inside with me. we can talk about this inside."

because there were fewer places to run inside.

(y/n), you truly are a work of art, pierro mused, as he dragged you along, well, he attempted to be gentle but you were making it hard for him.

but since it was you, he'd do anything, even tolerate your rude behavior, since you were his woman and his alone.

CHILDE

when childe found you, whenever that was, there was no telling what could happen or what he'd do. he loved you, that much was obvious but he was an impulsive guy.

maybe he'd take off his coat and put it over you-- you'd like that, wouldn't you? or maybe, just maybe, he'd hug you out in the blistering cold until he felt good enough to release you... which would be near to never.

or maybe he'd react in anger. again, he loved you, it was inconsiderate, rude even, to leave him while you were pregnant with his child. didn't you promise to start a family with you? (he misheard you. you said you didn't want to start a family with him.)

he wouldn't let his anger get the best of him, no. he was better than that-- he was raised better than that. yeah, he was raised better than that.

childe raised his hand and wiped at the tip of his nose, he was cold. he couldn't image how you'd be feeling right now.

that was all more the reason to find you as soon as possible!

he took this journey alone. he thought it would be somewhat intimate if he found you on his own, it would be manly too-- you'd think he's the type of man you want to raise children with... that's what he thought anyway.

you got a bit of a head start on him, he had just gotten back to snezhnaya when he was informed that you had run off a few hours before he'd gotten back.

oh, he was worried. real worried.

he forgot everything he was planning to do-- eat, change into something warmer, brush his hair, those sorts of things, he forgot all about. you were more important!

before running off, you were staying with his family. it was probably easy for you to leave, just say you're going for a walk and never come back, since his family didn't exactly know all about your relationship with him and how he sorta smuggled you into snezhnaya.

he got home and followed after your footprints for a good while. the sun was setting, and it was only getting colder; at this point, you were probably regretting leaving him and wished to be at home in his arms-- that was just an assumption, of course.

when he finally saw you, in a thin dress and coat, stumbling up a snowy hill, he smiled. (y/n)! its (y/n)!

oh, he felt so relieved to see you!

running past all the bushes and trees in his way, he ran straight into you, hugging you tightly from behind, his hands on your pregnant belly.

"are you hurt anywhere?" that was the first question he asked as he turned you to face him, patting his hands over your arms, checking for any signs of blood on your or your clothes.

he leaned in once again, hugging you after being sure you weren't injured, and his second question, asked in a muffled voice by your ear, was, "What'd ya go running off for?"

"because I don't want to have a child with you."

huh, it seemed childe couldn't hear all of a sudden, as he released you from the hug and slipped his coat off, tossing it over your shoulders, "bet you're cold, huh? now, what'd you say?"

"i do not want to have a child with you."

again, it went through one ear and out the other for childe. he wasn't hearing things right, he couldn't be, could he? "huh? what was that?" his eyebrows raised, and he leaned closer, gesturing for you to repeat yourself once more.

now annoyed, you leaned closer, saying, "I'm leaving you because i dont want to have a child with someone like you."

he straightened his posture, backing away with a less-than-happy expression-- he looked defeated. so, he was hearing things right, huh...

"we gotta see it through... y'know that, right?" still holding your hand, his grip loosened. childe had never felt quite so... sad? angry? betrayed? before.

"no, we don't. I want to go back home, I'll see it through with my famil-"

"we are family," quickly cutting you off, he corrected you, his fingers tensed around your hand, "I'm your family-- everyone back at home is your family. we're your family so why are you trying to leave us?"

he bit at his bottom lip as a means of stopping it from quivering but you could see the tears in his eyes.

"are you kidding me? you forced me to be here with you! you think i came here willingly or someth-"

"you promised me we'd make a family together! you said it yourself, so, why're you acting like you hate me?" his hold on your hand tightened, and he leaned closer to you.

he was desperate-- he didn't want to hear this! not from you, not from anyone he loved, but especially not from you because he didn't just love you; he loved you.

attempting to tug your hand away from him, you shook your head, "I never said that, ever. let go of me- i wouldn't... i refuse to raise my child with someone like you!"

everything he thought knew and believed came crumbling down around him, " oh, well... i don't care," he replied-- he had abandoned his feelings for you, for now at least, he just needed to get you home without harming you, "I love you and... I guess, sometimes that's all that matters."

you could figure it out later-- you could learn to love him later but he loved you now and couldn't let you go so easily.

[kvtyxm]

I want to come on here and talk my shit about this whole entire Nick ‘cancelled’ thing.

I am beyond dissapointed with the things that have been said by Nick. I truly thought that peoples were joking when i woke up and saw a video addressing the things nick said, and i honestly thought that it was sarcasm and he didn’t actually say that.

I am autistic and have ADHD. I am really, truly shocked. “stimming out like a physcopath” is a blatantly ableist comment to make.

We are not mad because he said it to chris and we think it ‘offended’ chris like people are saying in defence of nick. We are mad because it was said infront of thousands of fans, thousands of people who may be neurodivergent. Are people not seeing how wrong this is?

Nobody wants to ‘cancel’ nick. We want him to take responsibility of his own actions and stand up and apologise to everyone who he hurt and offended.

When you have a platform, with millions of fans, there are things you have to filter. The second that camera switches on, you HAVE to think before you speak. A lot of people in their audience may be young, Nick saying this can lead to many young people thinking there’s something wrong them, being insecure and embarrassed about stimming, and creating newfound fears that stimming infront of people makes you look like a ‘physcopath’.

The second i saw that clip, i immediately felt upset and hurt. The first thought that ran through my head was ‘is this what people think of me when i stim?’.

I’m very aware that many people who are neurodivergent were not hurt by this. However, you are not the only people out of 7 million people. More were hurt than not caring.

It’s not being sensitive, it’s called pointing out ableism.

I still love the triplets, however i have been EXTREMELY put off by Nick’s comment.

Just because the triplets are popular, and just because you love them a lot, does not mean you can defend their down right offensive behaviour.

There were multiple different things Nick could of said. ‘jumping around’ being ‘excited’ or ‘energetic’, literally ANYTHING other than ‘stimming like a physcopath.’

Wake up. It’s ableism and there is no defending it.

I have been thinking about this for long and hard, because i am truly, truly, hurt and disappointed.

I’m going to be VERY, very upset if Nick does not apologise for this, or worse, if he says something in retaliation calling us dramatic or sensitive, which i’m concerned he will do.

Please stop dick riding the triplets and defending ableism, it makes you just as bad.

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

WILD HEARTS (M)

★ PAIRING: Haechan x Reader (ft. Mark)

☆ WORD COUNT: 12.7k

★ GENRE(S): smut, hate to lovers

☆ Summary: For as long as you can remember, you have always had a crush on Mark. Over the summer, you have the opportunity to get closer to him but there is one problem. For as long as you could remember him, Haechan always got in the way.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: Unprotected sex, rated 18+, mature, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: I had to do this before the summer ended. Would you believe me if I said this was supposed to be nothing but fluff? I tried so hard not to write hate to love but my finger slipped. Next time, I promise. Enjoy.

Since fifth grade, you have had a crush on Mark Lee. In the seventh grade, you spoke your first words to him, and by the twelfth grade, you had at least two or three exchanges. This year you two are attending the same college. You would not let your good fortune be for naught because this year, Mark Lee would be yours.

“Five days out in the woods?” Your roommate quirks a brow at you. “You hate bugs, you’re a shut-in, and you’re not even part of that club.”

“Not yet. I’m working on that, and I’m not a shut-in! I just don’t fit in,” you explain with a roll of your eyes.

You had a hard time making friends back in grade school, graduating with only having made a handful. You were the smart kid, the nerd, and the one people would pick on when they were bored. You had a hard time fitting in, but since you started college, things have mellowed out a lot. College kids didn’t care how you looked, how you dressed, or who you were; they had too many deadlines to meet and too much classwork to juggle to really care about those things. You were finally able to come out of your shell a little, and with your newfound confidence, you are certain you could bag the man of your dreams.

Mark Lee was perfect—he was smart, athletic, funny, and most of all, kind. He was the only one to look at you with any ounce of kindness back in grade school. This year, you had created a plan to finally get him to notice you. Mark is the head of the campus activities board, and this year the club is going on a camping trip. You saw a flyer hanging up outside the student center; it stated that the trip would be five days and four nights at some old camping grounds by a lake. This was the perfect chance to get close to Mark; the only problem was that you weren’t a member of the club yet, and the deadline was fast approaching.

“Whatever, you’re still too scared to talk to him,” your friend shrugs while flipping through her textbook.

“Yeri, you’re not helping,” you whine before flopping onto your bed in defeat. She was right; you hadn’t talked to Mark in who knows how long.

“I’m sorry. I believe in you,” she says unconvincingly.

“I’ll prove it! By the end of this trip, Mark Lee will be mine!” You sit up with newfound conviction.

Your roommate smiles in amusement. “Good luck.”

You woke up early the next morning, needing ample time to get ready and hype yourself up. You got a full eight hours of sleep last night, and you were going to need every ounce of energy if you were going to talk to Mark today. You even had time to make a quick breakfast. As you checked the time one last time before leaving, you gasped. You had spent so much time getting ready—taking a shower, doing your makeup, and eating—but you were still too early. Maybe you overestimated the time it would take you to get ready. You still had an entire hour until your first class.

“What are you doing?” a groggy Yeri asks, rubbing her eyes as she opens the fridge.

“I woke up too early,” you sigh.

“It’s because you’re too anxious. Relax—it will work out. It’s not like you’re asking him to marry you.”

"Not yet," you think to yourself.

You needed to go for a walk; Some fresh air would help clear your mind and calm your nerves. There's a trail near your dorm, so you decide that's where you’ll go. The truth is, you don’t have a clear plan beyond the trip itself. You know the first step is to go, but after that, you’re unsure. You figured there would be plenty of camp activities and various team-building exercises. Maybe a deeper bond could be formed through those? You heard there was archery planned; perhaps you could shoot an arrow right through his heart.

“Hey, you okay?” Yeri calls after you, noticing your distracted expression as you step outside.

“Yeah, I’m just trying to figure out how to make the most of this trip,” you reply with a nervous laugh.

“Well, don’t overthink it. Just be yourself and see where things go. You’ve got this.”

You take a deep breath, nodding to yourself as you set off toward the trail. Each step helps you steady your nerves, your mind buzzing with the excitement of what’s to come. This is just the start of your plan to finally get close to Mark Lee, and you’re determined to make every moment count.

You bite your lip in thought, realizing that before you can do anything, you first need to overcome a major hurdle: talking to him without feeling like your throat is closing up. Mark makes you more nervous than you already are. Just looking at him makes your heart race, like it's about to jump out of your chest. Whenever you've tried to speak with him before, you could barely get a word out without stuttering. There must be a way to make this easier. Maybe you could ask one of the other club members to help you sign up? No, you need to face this yourself; otherwise, you’ll never gather the courage to ask him out.

The trail wound through the entire campus, you took the long way to think and you eventually ended up heading toward your first class. This was where you’d cross paths with Mark every morning since he had class in the same building as you. Spotting him on his way to class, you decided it was time to rip off the bandage and get the ball rolling. The quad between the buildings was bustling, and you had to navigate through a crowd to reach him. Just as you were inches away from tapping his shoulder, someone roughly pushed you aside. You stumble into another student, quickly apologize, and look around for the person who shoved you.

It was him—Haechan.

You burn holes into the back of his head. Your relationship with Haechan isn’t really a relationship at all; it’s one-sided animosity. You despise him for the simple crime of always being in the wrong place at the wrong time, which, unfortunately for you, is always next to Mark. As Mark's best friend, Haechan is always glued to his side, and time after time, he’s managed to come between you and Mark.

There was that time in middle school when you sprained your ankle. Mark was supposed to take you to the nurse’s office because he was the teacher’s aide, but Haechan insisted on taking you instead. Then there was the school project where you were paired with Mark, but because Haechan joined the class, the number of students became uneven, and he was added to your group. When Mark got sick, you ended up meeting with Haechan every Sunday to finish the project instead.

The worst thing Haechan did, though, was steal your first kiss. It happened at the one and the only party you were ever invited to. Eager to fit in, you joined a game of spin the bottle, convinced it would land on Mark. Your heart sank when, at the last moment, it landed on Haechan instead. So he kissed you. When he pulled away, everyone looked at him with expectant eyes. You could see it on their faces: how did the "weird girl" kiss? The embarrassment was overwhelming.

“Your lips are chapped”

Chapped? Chapped! From that moment on, you were called "Chappy" for the rest of the year. You wanted to murder Lee Haechan. Determined not to let him get in your way this time, you head to your class, planning to catch Mark after.

Finally, after an hour-long lecture, you’re free. You take your time exiting the building, scanning for Mark. As you turn a sharp corner, you run into someone and stumble backward, almost tripping over your own feet. An arm reaches out to steady you.

“Thank—” Oh no, it was happening again. Your throat was closing up, your brain was malfunctioning, and you just wanted the ground to open up and swallow you. Yeri called it the “Leeffect.” It was like, whenever Mark was around, you froze up like a deer in headlights.

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt, right?” He asks, bending down to pick up the keys you dropped.

It takes you a moment to realize you haven’t taken your keys from his outstretched hand. No! You refuse to let the “leeffect” ruin this. It’s now or never.

“It’s not too late, right?”

“Late for what?”

Be specific, you chide yourself, you’re sinking here.

“The club!” You blurt out too loudly. “Sorry, um, I saw a flyer about your club going camping. It’s not too late to join, is it?” You finish weakly.

“Wait, you want to join the club? You’re exactly what I needed!”

Mark said he needed you, you think dreamily.

“My friend really wanted to go on this trip, but since it’s already kind of last minute, everyone had already buddied up. But if you join, we’ll have enough people to pair off evenly!” Mark explains, his eyes lighting up.

“That’s perfect!”

This was terrible. Mark was supposed to be your partner. You sigh a little in disappointment when he leaves. It could be worse.

“At least you got his number, and hey, now you’re going on the trip!” Yeri tries to cheer you up.

You pop another gummy worm into your mouth, chewing it absentmindedly. It’s movie night at the dorm: Yeri is sprawled across half the couch, while you’re curled up on the other end.

“Yeah, but I still have to go with someone else!”

“Do you know who your buddy is yet?”

“I don’t know yet; I didn’t have time to ask. We just exchanged information. He said he’d text me the details later because he had to get to his next class.”

“Who knows, maybe you’ll be able to switch?” You hope she’s right.

The next morning, you receive his text with all the information. He sends a detailed paragraph containing the location, fees, departure date, activities, and a short itinerary of the stops along the way. There’s also a list of key items you might want to bring. At the end of the message, he includes your buddy’s phone number. You’re set to leave in two days.

Everything was packed, and you were out the door before the sun was even up. You had a long day ahead of you, but you didn’t care because you’d be on the same bus as Mark for five hours! Sure, you had to sit next to your designated partner, but if he chose an aisle seat, you could sit across the aisle from him.

All club members were to meet at the student center and load the buses from there. You arrive and slip inside with your bags and head to the lounge area. Not expecting to be the first one to show up, you text your buddy to let them know you’re waiting.

You stay positive—nothing could ruin your chance to get close to Mark. People start arriving along with their buddies, and everyone slowly pairs up, but you’re still left alone. Mark finally shows up, and as the leader, he gathers everyone to go over the rules and what to expect for the trip. You’re instructed to sit next to your buddy on the bus, stick with them at rest stops, and stay together if you visit a gift shop. You understand the need for caution, especially when traveling far from campus, but you can't help feeling a bit stifled.

It isn’t long before it’s time to load the bus, and your buddy still hasn’t arrived. You wait in line to pack your bags into the additional storage space under the bus, hoping your buddy will show up soon.

“Dude! What took you so long? I thought you weren’t going to make it!” Mark’s voice cuts through the crowd.

You glance over your shoulder and tighten your grip on your bag at the sight.

“Overslept, sorry,” another voice responds.

Lee Haechan was catching his breath as Mark filled him in on the details. You had a suspicion, and despite your best efforts to dismiss it (such as sacrificing a small child the previous evening to ensure it wasn’t true) there was no denying it now. As he strode up next to you, it became an undeniable reality.

Lee Haechan was your designated trip buddy.

“So, you’re my partner? Nice to meet you. I’m Donghyuck, but everyone calls me Haechan,” he says, shrugging his bag over his shoulder as he introduces himself.

You scoff. Of course he forgot you. After making your early school years a nightmare, how could he not? “Y/N,” you reply coldly, facing forward and closing yourself off from any further conversation. This could not be happening to you.

This trip was starting off terribly. After loading up the bus, you and Haechan were assigned seats far at the back, while Mark was seated at the front. Haechan claimed the window seat, leaving you stuck in the aisle seat with no Mark on the other side. You had no one to talk to and nothing to look at. You were bored.

The only upside was that Mark was sitting in an aisle seat at the front, so if you leaned just a bit into the aisle, you could catch glimpses of the back of his head. Unfortunately, hanging your head into the aisle to sneak peeks at Mark for five hours wasn’t exactly cool and mysterious, so that option was out of the question.

Haechan had given up on trying to talk to you after you had ignored him for the third time an hour into the trip. You had practically acted like he wasn’t even there. You weren’t sure how you’d survive the next four hours.

Finally, after about an hour and a half, the bus stops for a bathroom break. Haechan trails behind you, even when you tell him he doesn’t need to. As you both make your way to the restrooms, you manage to say your first words to him in hours.

“Seriously, you don’t have to follow me everywhere. You wanna wait outside the stall too?”

“I’d actually feel safer inside. Someone might snatch me up,” Haechan replies with a grin.

You roll your eyes as you head toward the women’s bathroom. “And I’d just die if that happened,” you joke sarcastically.

When you exit the bathroom, Haechan is at your side again. As you both leave the rest stop, you notice Mark and his partner chatting on a bench outside. With a few more moments to stretch before loading the bus again, you figure it’s as good a time as any to chat with Mark.

Mark looks up and waves. You wave back but realize a second too late that he was actually waving at Haechan. Haechan strolls over, and you follow behind.

Haechan effortlessly joins Mark’s conversation, and you can’t help feeling a twinge of jealousy at how easily he fits in. You don’t mind too much, though; watching from the sidelines gives you a chance to observe Mark up close without being too obvious

“I’m really glad you decided to come on the trip,” Mark says. It takes you a moment to realize that the conversation has shifted to you and Mark is addressing you directly.

You take a deep breath, remembering your practice. “Thank you for letting me join so late,” you say.

“It's no problem and Haechan's great! I think you’re going to love him. Hopefully, we can all hang out after the trip,” Mark encourages.

You can practically feel the stars twinkling in your eyes at the promise. “That sounds great!”

When it’s time to load the bus, you notice that Haechan is a bit quieter than before. It doesn’t bother you much, but the constant staring does.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask.

Haechan hesitates for a moment before finally speaking. “You like him, don’t you?”

You choke on your own spit. “What!?”

“Mark, you look at him with the worst case of puppy dog eyes I’ve ever seen,” Haechan states matter-of-factly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is the heat getting to you? Want me to ask if they can turn the AC up?” In a bus cramped full of college kids, it could get stuffy, so maybe he needed some more air because he clearly wasn’t thinking straight.

“I can help you, if you want,” Haechan proposes.

You’re at a loss for words. This had to be a joke, but if it wasn’t, you had to take the chance. “What’s the catch?”

“You have to talk to me. For the rest of the trip, you can’t pretend I don’t exist anymore,” he whispers, turning in his seat to face you. “Promise to give me the time of day, and I’ll help you win Mark’s heart.”

“And what makes you so sure you can do that?”

“No one knows Mark better than me,” he smirks.

And that’s how you made a deal with the devil.

Although Haechan was your assigned buddy, you ended up with an entirely different bunkmate. You had never spoken to her, but you did know her. She was in one of your morning lectures, sitting a few rows in front of you.

“Hey, I’m Yujin. I’ll be your roommate for the next few days,” she introduces herself as you unpack your bags. You had finally arrived at the camp a few hours ago, and after the initial tour of the grounds, you had been split into pairs and assigned to different cabins.

You liked Yujin well enough. You hadn’t come here with the intention of making friends, so whether you hit it off with her or not didn’t really matter to you.

“I’m Y/N,” you reply, too preoccupied with dusting off the covers on the top bunk and checking for any spiders or insects that might have crept into the sheets. You really hated the outdoors.

“Woman of few words, huh? I think we’ll get along just fine,” she says with a genuine smile. Her sincerity makes you pause and look at her for a few seconds. You appreciate that she isn’t completely put off by your quiet demeanor. Maybe she’s right; you two could definitely get along well.

After settling in, you change into the club’s shirt and some active shorts. You consider staying in the club even if you don’t manage to get close to Mark, because they’ve really made an effort to make you feel welcome. Despite having just joined, someone had already given you an extra club shirt to help you feel included.

There’s little time to rest. There were multiple activities planned for today ranging from high to low mobility. Mark mentioned one of the activities was arts and crafts. After a long day of settling in all you really wanted was to relax but with such an important mission going on you decide every second counts. You and Yujin head over to the cabin that hosts the art activates and you hope you run into mark somewhere along the way. The cabin is spacious, filled with heaps of art supplies and a few tables set up to work on.

Yujin splits off to find her original buddy, leaving you to navigate the cabin on your own. You haven’t seen Haechan since you arrived at camp.

There was a patio at the back with a few more tables, and since the wind wasn’t very strong, you decided to sit out there. Everyone was busy with their own projects, and you had chosen to make something that reminded you of Mark.

“What is that?” a voice asks. You look up from the glue sticks and paper you’ve been using.

“Origami. Do you think Mark would like it?” You ask Haechan.

“Maybe if he was twelve.”

“Not helping.”

“Okay, I think it’s kind of cute. Is it a star?” he asks, opening the notebook he brought.

“No, it’s a sunflower!” You reply, a bit offended.

“Why are you using glue for origami?” Haechan asks, picking up a spare pencil from the table and starting to sketch.

“The paper keeps tearing,” you shrug. “This is stupid. He’s in college, not kindergarten. What am I even doing?” you say in defeat. You still haven’t spoken a word to Mark since you arrived at camp.

You throw the origami sunflower onto the table and cross your arms. Haechan picks it up and carefully tucks it into the pages of his sketchbook. You figure he’s better off having it than Mark.

“Don’t frown like that; you’ll get wrinkles,” Haechan scolds gently.

“Oh, thanks for the advice! Last time I checked, you were supposed to be helping me figure out how to get Mark to like me!”

Haechan sketches absentmindedly. “Okay, let me think. How about you just be yourself?” he suggests.

Your frown deepens. “Have you met me? There’s nothing special about me. He wouldn’t like me,” you reply quietly.

Haechan sighs. “So you’re just going to pretend to be someone else forever if he does date you?”

“Yes,” you say, gazing out at the tree line and taking in the wild beauty. “If it means being by his side, then yes.”

“Fine, if that’s what you want,” Haechan says. “Tomorrow there’s a canoe race. I bet if you win, he’ll congratulate you.”

“You think something like that would impress him?” you ask.

“Mark likes athletic girls who can keep up with him. If you win, everyone will be talking about you,” Haechan explains.

“Maybe... we’ll see,” you say thinking on it. You head back to your cabin.

That night, you stay up with Yujin, talking about everything and nothing. Despite being polar opposites, you click surprisingly well. You’re still hesitant to tell her about your crush on Mark, but you do share your frustrations about Haechan.

“I can’t believe he said that,” Yujin giggles.

“And after all this, he acts like he doesn’t even remember me!” you add.

“Maybe he’s just embarrassed? He probably feels bad about what he did.”

“Well, then he should apologize!”

Yujin just shrugs, popping another candied rope into her mouth. She’s sitting at the only desk in the room, finishing her arts and crafts project from earlier. She’s working on some paper Mache lemon shark, despite your suggestion to finish it tomorrow in the craft cabin.

“I mean, what if this is his way of making amends? Didn’t he say he was going to help you get that guy to like you?” she says. You’ve explained the situation to her but left out any direct mention of Mark.

You consider the possibility but remain unimpressed. Even if Haechan somehow managed to make Mark fall for you, you’d never forgive him for everything he’d done.

You wake up to a light tapping and realize it’s Haechan knocking on the wood of your bunk bed.

“Rise and shine,” he says, peeking at you from behind his sunglasses.

“What time is it?” you ask, panicked.

Apparently, you’ve overslept a little. You had planned to wake up early, you just needed a few hours to practice for the race but now you were down to just 2. You scramble down from your bunk and notice the empty bed underneath yours—Yujin must have already left for the day.

“Can you step out? I need to change,” you say, ushering him out of the cabin.

Haechan waits outside while you quickly change into something light for the weather. Since you’ll be canoeing, you put on sandals, grab a towel in case you get wet, and slip on a visor.

With some time left before the race, you head over to the mess hall to grab a bite to eat. Haechan silently follows you and sits on the other side of the table, watching as you eat. The silence is thick, leaving you to focus on your meal while trying to shake off the lingering anxiety about the day ahead. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but it made you realize how little you and Haechan had to talk about.

“Have you eaten already?”

“It’s 1 p.m.,” he replies.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Yes,” he says, and once again, silence falls between you.

You ignore his attitude, he was probably upset you woke up so late. You finish up, and Haechan stands to follow you. Together, you head to the lake to practice for the canoe race later. You find the shed with the equipment and drag one of the canoes to the water. Haechan holds it steady while you hop in, then pushes it into the lake and climbs in after you.

You had watched a YouTube video the other night and thought it looked easy enough. At first its hard to find the right rhythm but when you do, the rowing is relaxing. Unfortunately after about five minutes, your arms start to ache. You quickly realize that you’re not cut out for the outdoors or any physical labor.

“Would you row already? We’re barely moving!” Haechan calls from behind you.

“I’m tired! This was a bad idea,” you whine. Your arms are burning, and it feels like you’re rowing through sand.

“Well, if you don’t row, I’m not rowing either,” Haechan huffs, pulling his oars into the boat.

“Hey! Those are wet—you’re getting them on me!”

“Well then, pull your weight!”

“This was your idea!”

He glares at you in annoyance. “Fine! If you want to sit out here, we can!”

After sitting in silence for at least five minutes, you finally lean back against Haechan’s knees, surprisingly finding he doesn’t push you away.

“The race is going to start soon. We need to get back,” Haechan says. “I’m really going to need your help if we’re going to win.”

You look up at him and sigh in defeat. Knowing your probably being really childish, you pull your oars up, ready to help steer you both back to shore.

As you row in sync with Haechan, he starts singing a melody that matches your rhythm. His smooth, relaxing voice makes you forget about the burn in your arms. You don’t even notice when the canoe gently bumps against the sandy bank. By the time you pull the canoe to shore, everyone else is already preparing for the race.

“I know we just got the hang of this, but I definitely don’t think I can row again so soon. My arms feel like they’re going to fall off,” you say, stretching your limbs after being in the canoe for so long.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re a quitter, Y/N?” Mark says, walking up to you in nothing but a life jacket and swim trunks.

Your breath catches at the sight of his toned arms. “Um, no, absolutely not! I would never quit on you, Mark!” you say suddenly feeling energized.

Mark quirks an eyebrow at you with a smile. “What she meant was, you’re going to feel like quitting after we win first place.” Haechan says

"I'll be happy regardless of who wins,” you say cheerfully

"pick me" Haechan coughs out under his breath.

“That's the spirit! No one likes a sore loser!” Mark calls out before turning back to his team mates

After the initial overview of the rules, the announcer gives everyone 10 minutes to prepare. You don't have very high hopes of winning anymore, but you hope to at least have fun. You spot Yujin somewhere in the crowd, and she waves at you, giving you a thumbs up. There are 5 teams competing, while the rest of the people have either taken to the stands or are off doing some other small activities set up around the camp.

The race is starting, and once the gun sounds, you and Haechan get into your canoe and push off.

You start the race strong and manage to keep up with the others. Mark and his partner are in 1st place, while you are in 4th, just barely ahead of two girls rowing their canoes.

Your arms are growing tired, and you can feel your grip slipping on the oars. The other teams speed ahead without looking back. You try your hardest to row and are almost close to catching up, but then one of your oars slips.

“Wait, Haechan! I need to get my oar!” You call out, reaching back into the water to try and grab it before it floats away.

“Just leave it! Stay in the boat; it’s dangerous!”

You manage to grasp the oar with your fingertips, but suddenly, the canoe begins to tip over, and you’re falling into the lake.

You’re sinking.

In your haste to start the race, you had picked a lifejacket from the storage shed that was too big and didn’t fit properly. When you fell in, the lifejacket floated up to the surface and slipped out from under your arms as you sank to the bottom.

You lose consciousness, and the last thing you see before blacking out completely are two figures swimming towards you from above.

You wake up, coughing up water as someone hovers over you, patting your back to help you expel it all. You half expect to see Haechan, but when you look up, it's Mark.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern in his voice.

As you take in your surroundings, you realize you're lying on the shore, surrounded by everyone. Yujin stands nearby, her eyes glistening with fresh tears as she looks over you. You search for Haechan and finally spot him kneeling on the other side of your body.

"Were you the one who saved me?" you ask Mark as he passes a soothing hand over your back.

"I heard all the commotion when you fell in. I had to do something, so I jumped in and went after you," he confirms.

Before you can think about it, you lean over and hug him. Silent tears stream down your face as you weep into his shoulder. You cry so hard that you don’t even notice Haechan’s slight frown that takes over his face as he watches Mark embrace you.

Today, you woke up early for breakfast. You sat with Haechan outside on one of the benches beside the lake as you ate.

"I can't believe Mark gave me CPR!" you gush. "He literally kissed me on the lips, and I have you to thank for that." You flash him a smile as you take a bite of your pancake.

"Well, drowning you was definitely not part of the plan," he replies. He's been a little quieter than usual this morning, and you can't help but wonder what's got into him. "You weren’t even awake for it, so it doesn’t count."

"You're just jealous because I got a kiss from Mark. Be honest, you like him too, don’t you?" you ask jokingly.

"And what if I do?"

“That makes you my love rival and I would have to kill you in your sleep,” you say, waving your fork in his face.

“Only if you promise to choke me out,” he says, taking a bite of his food with a playful smirk.

You stick your fork into his plate and take a bite out of one of his pancakes, not fighting the smile that spreads across your face. A part of you still feels a twinge of disgust at the thought of Haechan attempting to flirt with you, but you're in such a good mood that you can’t care less.

"Hey, Y/N. Good morning," Mark says, sitting down with his own plate of food.

"Oh, good morning, Mark!" You smile at him but can’t bring yourself to look him in the eye, so you focus on cutting your pancakes. You’re still embarrassed about crying all over him.

"I was just coming over to check on you. After yesterday, are you alright?" he asks.

"All thanks to you," you say, forking a piece of pancake into your mouth.

"Well, Haechan helped too," Mark adds matter-of-factly, glancing towards Haechan.

You do remember seeing another figure dive in after you, which might explain why Haechan has been so quiet today. You didn’t bother thanking him at all.

"Thanks," you say as sincerely as you can muster, but it still doesn’t carry the same weight of gratitude as when you thanked Mark. Haechan rolls his eyes playfully.

"I can really feel the sincerity," he says sarcastically. "It’s not like I saved your life or anything. If it wasn’t for me, you would have died and become a virgin ghost."

Mark chokes on a piece of sausage he was chewing, and you kick Haechan under the table. After clearing his throat, Mark makes an effort to change the subject.

"Hey, we're doing tug of war today. I want you on my team if you're up for—"

"I would love to!" you say before he can even finish, then awkwardly apologize for nearly cutting him off.

"Don’t be sorry. I really like that about you. You're so eager, and I’ve seen more drive in you than anyone else," he praises you.

You can’t even muster a reply, only offering him a shy nod, which he returns with a smile.

"Later on, do you want to meet up? we should go over a plan on how to win" he asks.

Your heart races, and you feel like you might die from excitement. Mark wanted to meet up with you to talk! You think you might have died and gone to heaven.

You spend time with Yujin and her friend wandering around camp because you couldn’t find Haechan again. You must have really upset him earlier. You make a mental note to properly thank him later.

After hiking with Yujin and Sungchan and playing a few games of ping pong at the rec cabin you bid them farewell. You know you need to meet Mark before the tug of war match so you head out to find him.

You spot him sitting under a tree, lounging in the sunlight that filters through the branches, much like a cat basking in the warmth of a sunlit window. He doesn't even open his eyes when he speaks to you.

“Isn't this so relaxing? We should just sit here and enjoy the sun.” he says

“oh? what about the game plan,” you say teasingly.

"Hmm..." He scrunches his face up in thought "ok the game plan is to win. now relax with me" he pats the spot next to him.

you feel your cheeks heating up. Was that just an excuse to get you alone?

He turns to you and finally opens his eyes. “You know, after all this time, you really haven't changed. It's just like how you were in high school.

He says, looking you over, like he was trying to piece the face of the young girl he once knew with yours.

“That doesn't sound good. I feel like I was so embarrassing back then.” You snort out a humorless laugh.

“No, you were really shy back then but I always thought you were adorable. I still think you are,” he admits.

Your heart stops beating in your chest. Mark Lee just called you adorable. You couldn't say anything as you just watched the large grin spread over his face. “See, like now, you always get so nervous when you talk to me”

You can feel the heat flooding your cheeks even more, and for a moment, all the years of awkwardness and uncertainty vanish in the warmth of his compliment. “Nervous? Me?” you tease, trying to regain your composure, but the softness in his gaze makes it hard to maintain your facade. Deep down, that shy girl still lingers, and as his smile broadens, you wonder if perhaps some things—like the way he makes you feel—never really change at all.

“Tug of war is starting,” a voice cuts off your train of thought along with any moment you and Mark had begun to share.

The familiar voice snaps you back to reality, and just like that, the moment dissolves into the background noise of laughter and playful shouts around you. Haechan stood in front of you. hands shoved deep inside his pockets as he regards you both. You were sitting shoulder to shoulder with Mark underneath the large oak tree and somehow his fingertips were just shy of yours, like he was just seconds away from reaching out to hold your hand.

“Lets go, captain; we won't be able to start without you,” Haechan says before turning around and walking towards camp.

“We should get going,” Mark says, standing up and outstretching a hand towards you. You take his grasp and he helps you up. You shift your focus, momentarily startled, as groups of people gather in anticipation for the game. Mark’s eyes sparkle with excitement, and his grin widens as he turns to join the crowd.

You find yourself standing in front of Mark in line for tug of war, with Haechan, the captain of the opposing team, glaring at you from across the rope. He seems a bit annoyed as your eyes meet over the mud puddle, perhaps wishing you'd joined his team, but there's no time to ponder that when the game starts and you're yanked in every direction. You dig your feet into the ground to stabilize yourself as your team struggles to hold on, determined to avoid getting covered in mud.

Despite your efforts, you slip, and with one final tug, your team is launched into the puddle. Mark manages to catch you before you fall, but you both tumble into the mud together. Wiping the dirt from your eyes, you see Mark fighting back laughter, which prompts you to scoop up some mud and toss it at him in retaliation. His laughter fades, and yours takes over as you watch him try to clean himself off, leaving you feeling like a kid again.

You both look ridiculous, covered in muck and breathless with laughter, the tension between you melting away in an instant. He glances at you with a mixture of surprise and delight, and you can't help but grin wider. “What was that about me being adorable?” you tease, wiping your hands on your shirt.

“Here, let me help you wipe the mud off your adorable face,” Mark threatens with muddy hands

“No, you don't,” you stand up and run. Well, you try to as you slip and slide from the mud caked on the bottom of your shoes. Even though you had lost, your team was full of laughter as Mark chased you through the field. Just when you think you might escape, you glance back, only to be pulled straight into his embrace—mud and all—in a blissful tangle of limbs, and for a moment, the entire world shrinks to just the two of you.

As you step out of the showers, the cool night air hits you, and a tingle of unease settles in since the walk back to your cabin feels especially long in the dark. Yujin had left with Sungchan earlier, leaving you solo and curious about their relationship; they'd grown really close during the trip, and you wish you had the chance to ask her about it. Shrugging it off, you gather your belongings, take a deep breath, and start the trek back, the soft sounds of the night around you doing little to ease your apprehension.

As you gaze over the serene lake, mesmerized by the moonlight reflecting off its surface, a sense of tranquility washes over you, and you momentarily forget your worries. You spot Haechan sitting alone on the dock that stretches out over the water, his silhouette framed against the shimmering backdrop. Curiosity piqued, you debated whether to approach him; he seemed lost in thought, and something about the scene felt deeply intimate.

As you approach Haechan on the dock, the soft fabric of your towel robe sways lightly around you, a reminder of the hasty shower escape and your choice to skip the communal changing area. You feel a mixture of vulnerability and determination bubbling within you—this is the perfect moment to apologize for ditching him during tug of war and to express your gratitude for coming to your rescue. You sense a warm openness in the air. Summoning your courage, you clear your throat and prepare to break the silence, hoping to bridge the gap created by your earlier absence.

"You can really see the stars out here," you say, settling down on the weathered wooden dock next to him. The cool night air wraps around you, and the gentle lapping of water against the dock.

"It’s my favorite thing about coming out here to the middle of nowhere," he replies, his eyes scanning the sky, sparkling with a mix of starlight and mischief.

"I thought being my partner would have been the best part of coming to the middle of nowhere," you joke, nudging him playfully with your shoulder as a breeze rustles through the trees nearby.

He turns his gaze toward you, the moonlight illuminating his features, and a warm smile forms across his face, making your heart flutter.

As you catch him admiring your star-lit features, your smile fades slightly with the weight of earlier events. You turn toward him more seriously and say, "Hey, I’m really sorry about earlier. I didn’t know you were captain of the other team; I would’ve joined your side for sure."

He scoffs lightly, and that infamous smirk dances back onto his lips, infectious and teasing. "I knew you were going to choose Mark over me. It’s no worries." His tone carries a hint of playful exaggeration, but you can sense the underlying disappointment, mixing with the warmth of the night as the stars twinkle endlessly above, both an audience and a comforting blanket to your candid moment.

“And about the lake, I want to properly thank you,” you say, your voice earnest “I saw you swim in after me; I should have thanked you for trying to save me.”

“Look, it’s nothing. Just drop it,” he replies, running a hand through his hair, frustration shadowing his once playful demeanor. The way he shuts you down, the subject must be sensitive.

Somehow, after all your gratitude, you’ve managed to turn the mood sour. “No, because you’re clearly upset about something.”

“I came out here to get some peace and quiet,” he snaps, irritation flashing in his eyes.

“Well, too bad. I’m not leaving you alone until you accept my apology,” you shoot back defiantly, crossing your arms.

“You are a spoiled brat, you know that?” he snaps, shaking his head in disbelief. Instead of backing down, he stands up, and for a moment, you expect him to walk away to his cabin. But then he unexpectedly pulls his shirt over his head. Your cheeks flush, and you quickly look away, heart racing, caught off guard by the intensity of the moment. The cool night air feels electric, and as he stands there, bare and confident, you sense a mix of irritation and something deeper stirring between you, leaving you breathless with unspoken tension.

“You pervert, what are you doing?” You exclaim, shielding your eyes but unable to resist peeking through your fingers.

“Going somewhere you can’t follow,” he replies with a mischievous grin as he shucks down his bottoms, leaving only his boxers.

Before you can even question his intentions, he plunges into the lake with a splash.

“Haechan! What are you doing?” You call out, watching as his head bursts back up, catching his breath.

“You want to talk about it? I dare you to jump in,” he smirks, water dripping from his hair and the moonlight dancing on the surface around him.

That jerk! He knows you can’t swim. There he is, the Haechan you knew and hated—cunning and infuriating. “You think I won’t?” you challenge him.

“I think you don’t have a death wish. Not before fucking Mark, at least,” he teases, pushing your buttons.

“I do not want to sleep with him!” You retort, frustrated, realizing he’s just trying to provoke you out of spite.

“Not before you kiss him, right?” Haechan replies, his words laced with subtle venom, making your heart race with anger and confusion.

“What are you talking about? What’s your problem, anyway?” you snap, irritation bubbling up inside you.

All you have is your robe, and jumping in would leave you completely naked, but he must know that. He’s banking on it, counting on your backing down. “You don’t think I’ll jump in? Watch me,” you declare, defiantly shedding your robe and standing before him, bare and unyielding.

The late hour feels charged with adrenaline, both of you possibly the only ones awake while others are tucked away in their cabins or lost in the woods. Your focus sharpens on the mission at hand: wiping that infuriating smirk off Haechan's face, proving him wrong.

“What are you—” Haechan stutters, his face beet red beneath the moonlight as he treads water, clearly taken aback by your boldness.

“Save me!” you shout just before you leap in, diving into the cool depths. You hold your breath, trying to swim to the surface, but panic begins to set in when you realize it’s no use. In seconds, Haechan is there, pushing your body against his as he powers you both upward.

When you finally break the surface, gasping for air, Haechan doesn’t miss a beat to scold you. “Are you fucking insane? What’s your problem? What if you would’ve drowned?” The worry in his voice makes you realize just how reckless your stunt was.

His grip on you slips, but you quickly wrap your legs around his waist to steady yourself. “I knew you wouldn’t let me drown,” you say with a teasing smile, and for once, Haechan is left speechless. In that moment, he becomes acutely aware of your naked body pressed up against his; the coolness of the lake contrasts sharply with the warmth radiating from you. As your skin brushes against his, he struggles to maintain his composure, desperately trying to think of anything but the sensation of you against him, knowing that if he doesn’t, you’ll surely feel the evidence of his escalating emotions pressing against your stomach.

“You need to learn how to swim,” is all he says.

“Teach me”

Haechan spends the next hour teaching you how to float. You liked that the most because you could just lay back and watch the stars. The next hour he teaches you how to doggy paddle something easy enough for you to learn in such a short amount of time.

After the initial adrenaline rush, you realized just how close you two were. You noticed the way his skin warmed yours against the cool lashings of the water. You don't know how or why but your heart starts to race and suddenly you wish you would have thought a little harder about jumping in completely naked. His hands hover near your waist as you practice, and in that moment, the usual teasing banter dissipates, leaving an intimate stillness between you. Out on the lake, it was just you, Haechan and the stars that lit the deep, dark sky.

As the chill begins to seep into your bones, Haechan helps you back onto the dock, where he hands you your robe with an embarrassed smile. You quickly slip your arms through the sleeves, wrapping it tightly around your body, grateful for the warmth it provides. Just as Haechan tugs his shirt back on, you realize how close you were to him moments before, the intimacy of the swim still lingering in the air. "So, you ready to talk? What's up with you lately?" you ask, your curiosity piqued by the quiet moments that have felt so different between you two. His expression shifts slightly, and you can sense there's more beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered.

“Mark wasn’t the one who saved you,” Haechan states after a thick silence, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. A shiver runs down your spine, the truth of the moment crashing into you.

“Well, sure he was. He said he pulled me out of the water,” you reply, but Haechan’s firm correction stops you in your tracks.

“We both pulled you out, but I was the one who did CPR on you, not Mark.”

Panic and realization ignite within you; Haechan was the one who had kissed you, the one who had breathed life back into you. The memory floods back—soft lips, warmth—and your heart races with the implications. “Are you kidding me?” you say with an incredulous laugh, frustration bubbling over. “Every. Single. Time. You do this every single time!” You stalk towards him the distance between you narrowing as you search for answers in his eyes.

His confusion was palpable as he struggled to grasp the depth of your feelings, completely unaware that for years he had been the invisible barrier between you and Mark. He had stolen your first kiss and now your second one as well, leaving you tangled in emotions you didn't quite understand.

“You cannot seriously be upset about that. Some thanks for saving your life,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes at the situation as if it were trivial.

Anger surges through you at his nonchalance, and you can't hold back the words that spill from your lips. “Fuck you!” you shout, the weight of your frustration fueling every stride as you storm back to your cabin, casting a final glance over your shoulder at the boy.

Your heart raced as anger coursed through you, mingling with an unwanted thrill that made you uneasy. You desperately wanted to push that feeling away; Lee Haechan could only ever make you feel disgust, not excitement. Yet, despite your efforts, you couldn’t shake the confusing mixture of emotions he stirred within you, leaving you frustrated and conflicted.

Despite your anger towards Haechan, he was the only one around lately, as Mark was swamped with camp activities and Yujin had been occupied with her partner. You couldn't help but recall teasing Yujin about their closeness. Being around Haechan felt risky after last night.. You weren't sure how you felt about him. There was a nagging emotion tugging deep in your gut and you were afraid of what it was. Even still, you figured awkward silence with him was preferable to slogging through Yujin's special edition of Moby Dick for a second time this trip.

Part of you was intrigued by the feeling bubbling inside—an inexplicable pull toward Haechan that you couldn't ignore. It was confusing, blending annoyance and curiosity, drawing you closer despite your better judgment.

Haechan seemed unfazed by your presence as you lounged on his bed, absently picking at a loose thread on your tank top. Surprisingly, you weren't as upset about the kiss anymore as you'd anticipated; the initial fury had faded, replaced by a sense of resignation. Given your streak of bad luck, perhaps you should have seen it coming all along.

“Are we really just going to sit here in silence?” Haechan sighed from his spot on the floor, tossing a poorly inflated volleyball into the air and catching it.

“Thank you for saving me,” you said, wanting to clarify. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh yesterday; I was just upset because the one step forward I thought I had was actually two steps back.” You tried to explain, hoping he understood it was nothing personal.

Haechan took a seat beside you on the bed and shrugged, a playful smile on his face. “I want to say I get it, but honestly, I really don't,” he laughed. “I’m a way better prize than Mark.”

You shoved at his shoulder, laughing, and for once, you weren’t preoccupied with all the things you disliked about him or the past he had put you through. As the evening wore on, you both found yourselves deep in an unexpected conversation, swapping stories about your earlier lives and uncovering shared interests in music, along with a mutual disdain for the mess hall dinners.

To your surprise, the tension began to dissipate, giving way to a reluctant camaraderie as you relaxed in his presence. In that quiet cabin, with the day’s light fading, something shifted in the atmosphere—something you couldn’t quite name yet, but it lingered like a promise of something more. Could you two actually become true friends?

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” he asks.

“Do you really not remember after all this time?” You ask skeptically.

Haechan joked, "Was I your first kiss?"

"Yes," you replied seriously, watching as his smile faded and surprise lifted his eyebrows.

"You never kissed anyone else before that? Well, lucky for you that you almost drowned," he quipped, trying to lighten the moment.

Confused, you shook your head. "What? No, not at the lake. Back in high school," you explained, frustration bubbling inside as you attempted to jog his memory. Haechan fell silent, narrowing his eyes as he searched his mind. You watched as the gears slowly turned, his expression shifting from confusion to sudden clarity, like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

"Chappy?!" he exclaimed finally.

You slapped his shoulder hard, fuming, “Yes, you asshole! Because of you, I had the worst 8th-grade year possible.”

Haechan’s mouth dropped open, and you could see the regret wash over his features. “I am so sorry. I never meant for that to happen,” he said, his voice laced with sincerity.

"Well, unlucky for you, that wasn't your only sin against me," you shot back, your tone sharp as you began to recount everything, filling in the blanks for him. By the time you finished revealing how many times he had sabotaged you throughout that year, the shocked expression on his face almost made you want to laugh—a bemused mix of disbelief and guilt that momentarily bridged the chasm of your shared past.

Another wave of realization crossed his face, and before you could ask if he remembered anything else, he said, "You must have hated me. You probably still do, huh?"

You answered honestly, “Maybe a little, but if there's anything I've learned from this trip, it's that you're not half bad,” offering him a small smile.

Haechan shrugged as he leaned back on his forearms. "Well, I guess that beats being a complete asshole," he replied, and you could see him processing all the new information. Suddenly, a devilish smirk appeared on his face, signaling that he was gearing up for another playful jab.

"If you think about it, those weren't really real kisses. They don't count," Haechan said, his gaze fixed on your lips. "If you want to have a real kiss, you'll need to practice. I can show you how, you know, so you'll know what you’re doing when you kiss Mark."

You hesitated, fully aware that Haechan's ideas were often terrible, but his playful intensity was hard to ignore. He leaned in closer, and as the air thickened with tension, you countered, "Well, if those aren't real kisses, then I still haven't had my first kiss. That means Mark still has a shot at being my first”

"Well, yes, but kissing me is different because we've already kissed. So any other kisses, especially ones done for practice, are null," Haechan argued, his eyes glinting with mischief. "That makes no sense," you replied, tilting your head in confusion. But then, with a breathless urgency, he added, "Kiss me." To your own surprise, you complied, drawn in by the moment's gravity, as the familiar spark ignited once more, blurring the lines between practice and something far more real. You didn’t know why you did it, but deep down, you blamed that feeling you had been trying to keep buried in the depths of your chest. As your lips met his, the warmth and flutter of emotions you thought were dormant surged back to life, leaving you breathless and questioning everything. The kiss stirred a whirlwind of confusion and desire, awakening a longing you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

You were awkward, that much was certain; you struggled to find the right angle, unsure where to place your mouth against his, yet you couldn’t deny the rush of warmth that spread through you at the contact. This kiss was different—driven and lingering, lasting longer than any before. You could feel his energy intertwining with yours, igniting something bold within you.

He pulled away slightly, a teasing smirk on his lips. “That’s how you kiss?” he quipped, and a wave of indignation washed over you. “Go to hell,” you shot back, rolling your eyes, but a newfound determination surged within.

With a fierce resolve, you leaned in again, pouring every ounce of passion you could muster into the kiss, playfully shoving him back until he was flat against the bed. You positioned yourself over him, straddling his waist, kissing him deeply again, letting go of all your inhibitions.

You pull away after a few more heated moments, breathless and eager for feedback. “How’s that? Better?” you ask, hopeful yet nervous.

“Hmmm, not bad, but you could use more tongue and you’re rushing,” he says.

“How am I rushing?” You retort, brows furrowing.

“You kiss like this; come here,” he replies, effortlessly pulling you back into another kiss. He bombards your lips with quick, short, frantic kisses and your shocked when he finally stops.

“No way!” you gasp, eyes wide. You kisses were definitely rushed and a little desperate. You cant help the way your cheeks heat up.

“Yes! So if you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Mark, you better practice,” he says with a cheeky grin, leaving you flustered and eager to improve.

The fact that you could count your steamy interactions with Haechan on one hand while not being able to recall a single one with Mark left you vexed. It felt as if the universe was trying to convey something crucial to you—actually, scratch that; it was YELLING at you. Every thought for the past hour had revolved around Haechan.

His soft lips, that cute smile that recently made your heart race, the way his soft brown hair begged for your fingers to tangle in it, and the warmth he radiated that made you crave closeness. You wanted to scream, overwhelmed by the intensity of your feelings bubbling just beneath the surface, pulling you closer to Haechan despite the nagging logical part of your mind.

You tried to remember all the sweet moments with Mark—his laughter, the way he made you smile, and those cozy evenings together—but nothing worked to take your mind off Haechan. For hours, it felt like Haechan had consumed your thoughts completely, his playful smile and warmth overshadowing everything else.

Today's activity was hiking, and while everyone paired off, you decided it was time to step up your game. You needed stories to impress your roommate, Yeri, who doubted your chances with Mark. Spotting Mark alone with his planner, you approached him. "Hey Mark! Let’s partner up; I haven’t seen Haechan around."

“That actually works out, apparently Hyunjin got sick and is sitting out today.” Today might finally work out in your favor.

RIP to Hyunjin, but honestly, that was the best news you’d ever heard. As long as Haechan stayed out of the way, you could spend so much more time with Mark. About ten minutes later, everyone began the trail after checking in, and you felt a surge of excitement. Haechan ended up tagging along with Jeno and Jaemin, which you were grateful for, but a glance at his face made it clear he wasn't thrilled about you ditching him. Deep down, you hoped he would understand; after all, this was a chance you couldn't pass up.

Today was so perfect, it almost made you want to cry. The weather was lovely; despite the heat, a refreshing breeze blew often enough to keep you cool. As the group began to disperse, stopping to admire the scenery, it ended up being just you and Mark. As long as you didn’t glance back at the people about ten feet behind you, it felt like you and Mark were the only ones in the world. This was the most you had ever spoken with him, and soon a comfortable silence settled between you two. Your heart soared with every smile and laugh he shared, filling you with indescribable joy. This was right—this was where you were meant to be.

“You know you’re really cool; we have to hang out back on campus,” Mark says, breaking the silence.

“Of course,” you reply with a smile.

“You’re not just saying that, right? You promise to hang out with me?” He asks teasingly.

“I should be saying that to you; you’re not too cool to be seen with me, right?” you counterplayfully.

“Absolutely not,” he states with a tone of finality, and you believe him. Throughout the trail, you take plenty of photos of Mark and the beautiful surroundings, even snapping a few selfies together. Tomorrow will be your last day with him, and you’re certain that, above all else, you’ve gained a friend. As the sun sets and you walk back to camp with a lightness in your step, you spot Haechan engrossed in conversation with a girl who laughs at everything he says. Jaemin and Jeno are nowhere in sight, and unease settles in as you notice the way Haechan looks at her and how she stands too close for comfort. Mark notices the change in your expression and follows your gaze, a knowing smirk dancing on his face.

“Haechan, huh? I always thought you two would be cute together,” Mark says teasingly.

“Huh? What are you talking about? I don’t like Haechan!” You reply, trying to brush it off.

“I can practically see the jealousy radiating off you. Don’t worry, I won’t tell him,” he laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“No, no, you’ve got the wrong idea,” you start to insist, but suddenly, a voice cuts you off.

“MARK!” Jaemin calls out, standing with Jeno and Chenle. “We’re heading to dinner! We can’t promise to save you a seat, so hurry up!”

“I’m coming!” Mark shouts back, then turns to you. “Are you coming?” With a heavy heart, you reply,

“Nah, I think I’m going to head back,” attempting to cling to the remnants of your joy. As Mark walks away, your resolve crumbles, and you fight back tears, feeling the sting of his words. The realization that Mark believed you had a crush on Haechan cuts deep, turning your emotions into a bitter swirl.

“Well, you know who else would make a cute couple? Me and you,” you think angrily, silently cursing him for misinterpreting your feelings.

You were livid. The emotions swirling inside you were a chaotic storm—jealousy, hurt, confusion—but anger was the one that cut through clearly and sharply. Anger was familiar; anger wasn’t confusing. Fueled by it, you stormed over to Haechan and interrupted his conversation with the pretty girl, who was hanging onto his every word. Without uttering a single word, you seized his arm and yanked him away from her. He followed you, bewildered but compliant.

You dragged him towards your cabin, deliberately ignoring the whoops and hollers from Jaemin and the others. Their laughter and commentary only fueled your resolve. They probably thought it was some melodramatic jealous lovers' spat. You didn’t care. Mark had only ever seen you as a friend, and after all these years, you were beginning to accept that he probably always would.

You burst into the cabin, startling Yujin, who was busy packing for tomorrow's departure. “I need a moment, Yujin. Do you think you could...” You start, but the words fade as she swiftly grabs her phone and exits. The door clicks shut behind her, sealing you in with Haechan. Finally releasing his arm, you spin around to face him with fire in your eye

"You! Always Lee fucking Haechan! Since the beginning of time, you've done nothing but get in my way! I'm so sick of you; stay away from me!" You scream, feeling the weight of your emotions lash out. You know it doesn't all make sense, but in the heat of the moment, you couldn't care less.

Haechan narrows his eyes, defensively replying, “I don’t know what your issue is, but I didn’t ask to be your partner if that’s what you’re mad about. If anyone should be upset, it’s me! You ditched me today and then snatched me away like some jealous girlfriend when I’m trying to get laid!” His annoyance only fuels your fire.

“Tragic! Try being cock-blocked for years!” You shoot back, the words spilling out as raw emotions clash in the air between you.

“Can’t cockblock if you never stood a chance,” he sneers, a smirk playing on his lips, but you let the insult roll off your shoulder—if he wants to bite deep, you can certainly bite back.

“And you think someone as pretty as her would have given you the time of day?” You mockingly laugh, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Please, in your dreams,” you add, relishing the way his expression shifts, a mix of anger and disbelief flashing across his face as the words sink in, igniting the tension that crackles between you both.

“Well, you didn’t seem to have a problem talking to me,” he says, and you open your mouth to retort, only to close it in confusion—did he just indirectly call you pretty? The realization swirls in your mind, making it hard to concentrate. “You want to know what you are? You’re selfish. You use me to get close to Mark and then just throw me away. You were supposed to be mine, you hear me? You think I want her? I want you!” he declares, closing the distance between you, and as his words sink in, your mind races to catch up, grappling with the intensity of what he just revealed and the undeniable heat of the moment.

“I want you,” he repeats. “Do you hear me?”

Your heart betrays you, racing faster than you'd like to admit, while your limbs feel unsteady and weak, like jelly under his intense gaze. Butterflies flutter in your stomach, a sensation more intense than anything you’ve felt before, and you wrestle with the surge of feelings you'd tried so hard to suppress. But when he reaches out, cupping your face gently, you don’t shy away; there’s no twisting in disgust. Instead, your eyes soften, and you lick your lips, anticipation thrumming in the air as he draws you in slowly, inching closer until you're just a breath apart, the tension palpable and electrifying.

“Tell me you want me,” he murmurs.

“I do,” you whisper back, your heart racing with each word.”

“Say it.” His insistence draws you in deeper.

“I want you.”

“And who am I?” he presses, seeking affirmation. He wants you to acknowledge that you’ve chosen him, not by chance or coincidence but by deliberate choice, over Mark.

“Lee Haechan,” you breathe, almost as if casting a spell. His name feels imbued with a kind of magic, because in that breath, he kisses you, and everything around you blurs into a mesmerizing haze. His lips move against yours—slow and deliberate, every sensation amplified, as if he’s savoring every second. His lips are warm and soft, brushing against yours with a tender urgency. The contact is electric, sending a shiver through you that pulses with each heartbeat.

As his lips continue to dance against yours, the softness of his touch is a gentle counterpoint to the intensity of the moment, creating a tantalizing balance of passion and delicacy. His hand, still cradling your face, provides a reassuring sense of grounding. The gentle parting of his lips was an open invitation to surrender to the kiss and let him slip his tongue inside your mouth. You could taste a hint of his mint gum as the kiss grows more fervent. His other hand finds its way to the small of your back, pulling you even nearer.

You soon realized that Haechan’s kissing “lessons” would have never worked on Mark. Haechan had shown you exactly what he liked—how he wanted to be kissed, how he wanted to be touched. Through these lessons, he had sculpted you into the perfect match for him. You had become attuned to his desires because he had made you so—you were made uniquely for him.

Haechan was never going to help you win over Mark—how could he when the two of you went together?

You’re not quite sure when it happened, but suddenly you realize both your shirts have been pulled off, his warm skin pressing against your stomach and through your bra. His hands travel down your back, gripping your hips. As your feet shuffle, your back meets the mattress of Yujin’s bed, since you usually sleep on the top bunk. You know you’ll have to apologize to her later, but at the moment, thoughts of anything other than Haechan vanish from your mind.

“I’ve always wanted you; I never forgot you,” Haechan confesses, pulling away from the kiss. His lips find your skin again, kissing softly along your shoulder and down your chest. “I’m sorry. I’m going to make it up to you—all night if I have to, until you forgive me,” he promises, gently pulling your bra down before lavishing kisses on your exposed skin. The quick nips of his teeth elicit small, involuntary moans from your lips, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

“I don't know; it might be awhile before I can forgive you for the chappy bit,” you tease, your breath hitching with excitement.

He chuckles softly, his confidence shining through. “You can stay as mad as you want; just means I have more time to work my charm”

The laugh that you let loose turned to muffled moans as you bit your lip as he seductively licks his way down to your body until he's pulling at your shorts and underwear. You were both covered in a light sheen of sweat already after from the warm summer air so his skin stuck to yours as he pressed your naked bodies against each other. He settles between your legs and nuzzles into your neck as he rocks his hips into yours. Each pass through your folds had his length more and more slick with your juices. You glide your fingers through the back of his head before you tug, pulling him, wanting to join your lips again, wanting to swallow his moans.

You could feel his desperation in the way he kissed you. He kissed you like he had been waiting a thousand years to get you exactly where he wanted you. He kissed you like he had missed you. He kissed you like you were supplying his last breaths. This is when you knew it.

It was never going to be Mark, not if Haechan had anything to say about iy.

You lock eyes before you shift your hips in a way that has him slipping deep inside of you. You wouldn't tell him but you find it amusing how, no matter how far back you looked, you always had strong feelings about him. Weather that was anger, irritation, or adoration. He always made you feel something. He made you feel.

Mark made you think.

Think about how you would get him to like you

Think about whether you would ever be enough for him

Thinking and obsession all over him

The way Haechan controls his hips as he drives deeply into you has you curling your legs around his waist. You couldn't describe the feeling as anything other than drunken ecstasy.

Your breaths intertwined, creating a melody of soft moans and whispered exhilarations that echoed in the stillness around you. The heat from your bodies mingled with the warm air of the early evening, amplifying the intoxicating blend of passion and desperation that lingered between you.

His gaze, filled with an intensity that made your heart race, locked onto yours as he captured your lips once more, deepening the kiss The world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you wrapped in this shared moment of intimacy.

You could feel every pulse of pleasure radiating through you, each one more potent than the last, as he pressed deeper, his hands firm on your thighs, anchoring you to him as if he were afraid to let you slip away. The sensation was electric, sending shivers down your spine, and you reveled in the way he made you feel so completely alive.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a sultry whisper that sent another wave of heat pooling within you.

All you could do was moan in response, arching your back and urging him on, your body craving more of him, more of this exhilarating connection that felt so right yet so incredibly wrong. You were aware of the uncharted territory you were embarking upon, but the allure was too potent to resist.

He shifted, locking you against the mattress as he picked up the pace, the intensity of his movements sending you spiraling further into bliss. You surrendered to the sensations, to him, letting every ounce of pleasure wash over you like a tide. In that moment, the chaos of your thoughts faded, leaving only the euphoria of the now and the magnetic pull you felt toward him.

“Make me yours,” you breathed, your voice thick with desire as you searched his eyes for assurance.

His expression shifted, a mix of mischief and sincerity washing over his features. "You were always mine," he urged, his lips brushing against yours, igniting yet another spark of passion as your bodies moved in perfect harmony.

As the world faded away, everything came down to this—two bodies entwined, two souls colliding in a moment that felt both inevitable and exhilarating. And as he filled you completely, you understood that this connection was one you had always longed for, a connection that set fire to your inhibitions and awakened a part of you that had long been dormant.

You had no idea how you would explain this to Yeri back at home—how you left on a mission to win Mark but managed to bring Haechan back. You thought back to the way he had made you feel—how vibrant and alive he made you feel. It was exhilarating and undeniably real, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it all.

“Is something funny?” Haechan murmured, looking down at you with a playful sparkle in his eyes, breaking you from your reverie.

“Just thinking about how hard it’ll be to explain all of this,” you chuckled softly.

He arched an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. “Oh? And what are you going to say?”

You shrugged, unable to hide the smile creeping onto your lips. “I guess I’ll just have to tell them that life has a way of surprising you.”

A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he leaned closer, his breath tickling your ear. “You could say you went for one guy, but the universe had other plans.”

You giggled, feeling the playful banter flow between you. It was easy, natural. Just like this connection you had found, so unexpected yet somehow right.

In that moment, nestled against him, you realized you didn’t care how you would explain it. You didn’t need a plan or a story—what mattered was how you felt right now, the joy and passion igniting your heart. You had gone out seeking one thing, and you had indeed found it—but in Haechan. You found something amazing.

[felixbit]

birthday

pairing: bang chan x gn!reader w. 1.4k genre: fluff summary: spending your birthday with your boyfriend, chan a/n: written for my best friend <3 happy birthday

Birthdays with Chan were something you looked forward to every year.

He had always been the ultimate gift giving boyfriend. It could be a random day and he'd come home with brand new headphones for you. The week surrounding your birthday was a time filled with small (and large) gifts.

The day itself had pretty big shows of affection, although he preferred not to do everything in one day. He valued you feeling appreciated, so he stretched out all of his gifts over the course of your birthday week. A few days before and a few days after would come with presents and treats.

On the morning of your birthday, you woke up in bed to a pleasant smell. He'd let you sleep in and even gotten up early, just finishing up breakfast as you sat up in bed. When you'd finally convinced yourself to get out of bed, he waltzed into the room with your favorite breakfast dish and a little side drink.

Next to the food would be a handwritten love letter, and he'd give you a kiss on your forehead as he delivered it. As much as he wanted to stay with you while you ate, he had to run and finish up making sure the apartment looked spotless.

Once you had finally finished, he swept the dishes away and had them all cleaned before your morning routine was even done. The last thing he wanted was for you to think of household chores on your big day.

The morning was slow after that. He sat out with you on the couch, cuddled up in a big warm blanket and watching shows. He didn't want to rush you into the day.

As early afternoon peeked through, and Chan asked if you felt comfortable going out. He'd planned a shopping and lunch date, telling you he was going to change for the occasion.

When he walked out in a casual outfit, he grinned. He revealed it was just the second outfit of too many for his preference, but he wanted the mood to be set for every occasion. Once you got into an outfit you liked, he took you by the hand and walked you down to his car.

The drive was nice, Chan putting on your favorite music to listen to. He even sang along, giving you a small concert. You made him promise he'd sing more for you before the day was over, and he conceded.

When you arrived at the shopping district, he gave you a big grin and asked if there was any places you wanted to go. He had no problem with choosing, but he wanted to make sure any shopping you wanted to do would get done.

The first two stores he took you to were very nice. You were mostly browsing, not often picking out things you liked. He made sure to let you know there was no spending limit, that he'd cover everything you wanted to get. It still felt awkward to spend his money, but he reassured you it didn't matter to him how crazy you went.

Caving to his wishes, you picked out a few things you'd otherwise never grab. They were items that you'd thought about getting but there was no reason to buy them over something else you really wanted.

In the next store, you'd found a rack of necklaces with initials on them. Looking over to Chan, who was browsing some rings, you smiled. You grabbed one of your own initial and one of his, bringing them over to him. He smiled when you approached, looking confused as you wordlessly put the necklace boxes in his hand.

He opened them and it looked like he could have melted into the floor. He smiled wide, his dimples deep into his cheeks as he looked at you in disbelief. "They're perfect," He said.

He was quick to check out, buying them and immediately putting on the necklace with you initial. You followed his lead, unable to contain your smiles when he told you that he'd never take it off. You had no plans on removing his, either.

From the shops, he found a lunch spot nearby he planned a reservation to. He held your hand tight as you walked down the street together, swinging your arms together with a newfound pep in his step.

As you got to the place and were seated, he was still beaming. You laughed and asked him, "What's got you grinning so big?"

"You!" He cheered, "I don't think I've ever been happier spending time with someone, you know. There's no place I'd rather be."

Lunch was pleasant, Chan making sure you enjoyed your meal. He got a double order of your favorite side just to make sure there was enough. Any leftovers he happily boxed up and brought with him for later, wanting to make sure you got all of the food you wanted.

You got back home to wind down after the time out, Chan insisting on going through everything you bought. Any decorations got put up, all of the clothes got tried on again and put into outfits. Most of all, he made sure his brand new necklace was being shown off. You even caught him secretly taking pictures of it.

He then booted up a game to play with you, letting you pick whatever you wanted. He wasn't big on games that required him to be competitive like FPS, but he would try if it's what you asked.

It was a fun way to pass the time, gaming alongside and against your boyfriend. Even better was seeing how colorful his language got when he was frustrated. He embraced his Aussie roots, saying all sorts of obscenities when he died in game.

It had gotten to a point where Chan had to take a break from the game to cool off, and you decided to call it for the day. You cheered him up by taking Berry out for a short walk around the neighborhood, which seemed to put him in a better mood. He was a simple man: his dog could make any day better.

As afternoon turned into evening, he left the apartment and told you to hang tight as he picked up a few things. You hung out with the dog for a while longer, turning on a show in the meantime.

He came back with grocery bags and a smile on his face. "I'm going to get to work in the kitchen, I will be back!"

You gave him a thumbs-up and he scuttled away with a small giggle. He definitely had something planned, you were just there to see it happen. More time on the couch with Berry and watching a show was always accepted.

After a while, you smelled something delicious being cooked. The anticipation of good food had you antsy, but you waited as patiently as you could.

Chan eventually appeared from the kitchen and peaked his head out. "The dress code for this event is formal, if you want. Totally optional."

Before you could say anything, he disappeared back. Shrugging and bored, you went to your room and switched into something black and formal that you had put away for events.

When you walked back out, you were met with a very formal looking Chan. White shirt, tie, vest, and black dress pants. The sleeves on his shirt were rolled up, a touch that didn't go unnoticed. He gave you a smile, reaching his hand out to take yours.

He took you to the dining table, sitting you down. He brought out a vase of flowers, followed by plates of food he'd just been cooking. It was one of your favorite dishes, cooked by hand at home.

If there was a gesture that made you want to get down on one knee, that was it.

Unfortunately, you didn't have a ring on hand. You sufficed by eating every last bit of the food he made. You knew well that he would have plenty more in store for you that week, but this took the cake. A day full of him treating you. What could be better?

Well, you'd just have to find out.

He was too worried to do it on the actual big day itself, but he had something planned for later. A date night that brought you to the place you met. Maybe you didn't have to worry about having a ring on hand.

He had one waiting for you.

[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

first part - previous part - all chapters list

>>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North.

chapter cw: smut, fluff, ANGST, explicit description of a wound

Wind's howling. The sea simmers with wrath and death.

The deck creaks and groans under you like an old beast waking from a decade-long sleep, bones cracking and jaws grinding with vengeance.

There is no crew, no captain. The ship is a wraith, and you, a speck of dust in the darkness.

You step towards the taffrail, looking down into the abyss. Terror washes over you, a raw instinct of deathly peril. Your heart thumps in your ears, and you feel the blood race through you.

Deep below, a wreckage drifts on the tides, carried by charred tongues of fallen beasts, licking its last life away. Atop, a small, frail creature, claws at the damp wood, drained and wounded.

Your throat tightens, a deeply rooted, dreamlike feeling of being bound to the creature rushes through you like wildfire. It tenses and crawls, its blood seeping into the black waters like a frozen breath leaving warm lungs for the last time.

The wind wails louder as you bend forward, seeking help, life, hope, with terror biting at your every sense. You slip over the ledge, and the void swallows you in your fall.

You awaken in your bed, the night barely pierced by the first lances of sunlight through the clouds. The fear slowly retreats, your breathing slowing down.

Cregan is still asleep next to you, lying on his stomach and facing away from you, his hair splayed messily over his shut eyes. You get up, quietly leaving his side to soothe yourself with cold water.

The castle is silent and imperturbable, a welcomed calmness following your nightly terrors. You walk like a ghost through the halls, lulled by the newfound safety, yet your mind is still imprisoned in thought.

Why would I even dream of such things? I cannot recall the last time I saw a ship, I cannot recall the last time I saw a storm at sea.

It is long past four moons since you first arrived in Winterfell, four moons since you last saw Dragonstone, your family, your brothers and sisters. The tenth day of the twelfth moon of 129 A.C. And for four moons, you haven't missed them nearly as much as now.

Perhaps it is the war, the news of Rhaenys, the murder, the unavoidable dread of death that knows no borders. Whatever it is, the dream shook you out of any serenity Cregan has struggled to settle in your heart.

“This is war. And the finality of death harrows even the toughest of men.”

But it was not the harrowing of your heart that woke you now. You would accept the night terrors every time you slept if it meant you could see your family alive and well again.

When you return to your chamber, Cregan shuffles to look at you, still lying down. He smiles, lazy and content, until he notices the strain between your brows, something you did not mean to bring back to him.

“My love?” He calles for you, but you push him back down before he could rise. You fall beside him, letting his warm hand cup your freshly washed cheek. “Did something happen?” His voice is still groggy with sleep, and the closure subdues your bleak worries.

“Just a dream.” You whisper, closing your eyes. His hand brushes over your hair lovingly.

“Tell me.” His hand moves to caress your back, pulling you closer to him.

“There is no need. All is good now.” But is it?

And yet you cast your worries aside when he drags you nearly under him, his free hand running over your waist and hip, dipping into the valley between your thighs. You cast your worries aside when you feel the coarse hair of his abdomen brush up against your belly.

Your mind goes numb when his massive body encompasses yours, as he breathes hotly into your neck, slipping himself inside you lazily; when he whispers to you of how he'll protect you, ah, love, you're mine own now, no harm will come to you.

But when his warmth leaves you, deep in the nights to come, the dreams find you again.

The second time they came with the same black waters, the drifting wreckage, but now shadows danced in the skies. Sinister serpents, prowling like enormous crows above a fresh cadaver. They pushed the clouds beneath them with behemothic wings, and you felt as though the whole night sky was coming down on you, in all its weight and darkness.

You dared look up once, up into the mirroring abyss. And then, you saw it. Through the gloom and mist, a ghost of a citadel atop a sunless hill. Perhaps there are many castles you may confound in such obscurity, but this was not one to be mistaken for something else.

Estrangement, guilt, it was, that claimed you in all these nights. A terrible shame, inexplicable for your position. You were sent North, you did not abandon your cause. But the creature in the sea bled every night, clung to the wreckage every night, and died every night.

It soon became an obsession. And weeks past, well near the end of the twelfth moon, your uneasiness bolts as Cregan receives another raven from Dragonstone.

The flying shadows. - is your first thought upon reading. The serpents swarming the skies. Though the letter should soothe you, with the notion of the Blacks’ forces finally recuperating, all you see is the black sky in a cobweb of smoke and thunderclouds. You see them much clearer; your family’s dragons stalking above the seas like starving vultures.

A broad hand on your lower back makes you turn back to Cregan.

“Word of this reached me shortly before the raven arrived.” He admitted, referring to new riders. “Your brother waited until the last dragon was mounted to write to us, but the people have been spreading the news like the plague ever since he first called for willing men.”

An overwhelming feeling of helplessness muffles out his voice. It's all amounting to the dream.

“They have fighting dragons.”

“You have fighting dragons, beloved. I dared not believe it without his testimony.”

You force yourself to smile at him, laying your head on his collarbone, the message still in hand.

“This is wonderful news.”

He kisses your forehead, taking the small scroll away. You briefly rub your fingers in its loss, as if the news had burnt your very skin.

“I am glad to know that I was able to please you, as well.” He remarks smugly, his tone laced with the honest surprise of seeing your brother quite literally tell on you.

Sudden nervousness momentarily rips you from the illusions of your distress. You scrunch up your face, as if you hadn’t already given him your maidenhead.

“Few brides have the comfort of wedding handsome men. Fewer, able men, and even fewer kind men. But …” You trail off, taunting his patience. He gazes at you, eyes squinted, the corners of his mouth ever so slightly raised. Even as a wolf, he often times held the cunning gaze of a fox, which amused you to no end, for you know it was only reserved for you. How he had the talent of drawing you out of dark thoughts with nothing but a jest or a tease.

“Well, don’t stop now.” His voice went down an octave, now sly and intimate.

“But to gain all three …” You kiss his cheek, dangerously close to his mouth.

His arms wrap around you in response. “To find yourself next to a man so strong-” another kiss, on his jaw. “- so resourceful -” another, on his lips, but so hasty that he doesn’t catch it.

“ - and yet so considerate and gentle. You hard warriors have no idea how important that is.” You stop, softly pushing him away to speak, your tone masquerading a scold. “You think it’s enough to butcher away any foes and any peril. But after that…” a kiss on the bridge of his nose. He looks at you like you’re preaching the word of gods. “ - to be able to lie in his arms, to know that these hands, that bathe in blood to protect her, will only ever touch her to caress, to fondle, to hold so dearly.” Your voice spills into seriousness, and he heeds your confession.

“That is when she truly feels safe.” You smile at him, accentuating your discourse by playfully shaking him twice by his shoulders. “And to have that, is more than any woman bargains with the gods for.”

He kisses your face, the slyness faded from his eyes.

“...And I can’t say you don’t look the part.”

He giggles, and your heart beats a little faster.

“I did not yet have the chance to truly protect you, love.” He corrects, and your heart sinks at his humble words, or more so at the recollection of your worries. “I haven’t yet spilt blood for you. Trust that I will , should the occasion arise.” That was no longer a jest, you realise. “And afterwards …” He leans into you, and seeing you do nothing to flee, he kisses your neck. “I’ll hold you, however you want, wife.”

Tonight you can barely shut your eyes without your heart thumping in your chest. After tossing and turning beside your husband, tiredness finally takes you and the visions creep over.

The nightsky rains with arrows. They snap and ring against the wooden shipwrecks like so many sharp teeth of jaws closing in on utter desolation.

Faceless, weightless, you step on the waters while the black wings dance and stalk restlessly, as the shafts hit the debris in a cacophony of wails, winds, tides crashing and roars of wrath.

And in this moment, it feels as though this cut is too deep even for time to mend. This place would never recover from such decay. Chaos has conquered the bay, irreversibly.

Death itself growls in the heavens above, blocking out the light of the moon. The sea heeds the call and drowns whatever escaped its claws, and the Red Keep stands still and cold and silent on the shores, an ill omen of rot and ruin.

The man on the rubble is dead. A snapped arrow coated in blood bore into his neck, the impact twisting his upper spine so unnaturally that he lies lifelessly atop the wreckage like a mayhem of boneless limbs discarded.

Only a hand quivers away in agony, the last semblance of a decapitated animal’s tremble.

You stomach turns.

Jacaerys!

You awaken in a sweat, with a shriek that rips Cregan from his slumber as well.

“ ‘S alright, come here, you're safe.” He cradles your still shivering hands to his chest, running a hand over your hair and back.

“ ‘m sorry.” You speak, muffled, remorseful and ashamed.

“It's no fault of yours.”

“...Cregan?”

You whisper, your limbs still tangled with each other. He hums, as attentive as he always is. The sun is just starting to show, and the dimness of the morning makes him look astonishingly beautiful.

“Would you do anything to shield me from pain?”

“ ‘course I would. What do you need of me?”

You hesitate. You know he would forbid you from fleeing, though you can not bring yourself to hide from your husband any longer. Whatever needs to be done, you ought to discuss it together.

“I need to fly South.”

There is a moment of complete silence. His face, for all you’ve grown to know, is now as impenetrable as The Wall. You cannot tell if you, indeed, sense anger or if it is only your expectations, for asking such a thing. You both get up as tension becomes unbearable.

“My men are already gathering at the White Harbour.” He speaks with patience and softness, understanding of your predicament, though stern and clearly unwavering. “In Barrowton.” He continues, “Roderick Dustin should be ready to march by week’s end. I-”

“ ‘Should’, and ‘by week’s end’…” You repeat to yourself in sorrow, too late releasing you quite rudely interrupted him. But the urgency of the issue can no longer afford gentleness nor much civility. “My family needs me, now. I dreamt of it, Cregan. You must believe me! And even if it’s wanton, even if the peril is still at bay, then I shall return safely. You mustn’t worry.”

“Wife.” His tone is demanding. It silences you, but deep in your heart you loathe him for it. You loathe him because of your dreams, because of the war, because greybeards can only ride so fast and so far, and will definitely not head for The Blackwater Bay.

“I have faith in your courage.” He begins, still holding you, yet the frost in his gaze is anew. “I do not doubt your loyalty. But as husband, I cannot allow you to risk such a thing. As warden, I cannot allow you to forsake the Queen’s command.”

“That’s your desire to protect me!” You speak hastily until your voice breaks, yet you go on. “What of me? How am I to live on knowing I could have saved someone so dear?! How am I to live with the remainder that I saw what would happen and did nothing?!”

“Dreams can be bad omens. But what if it was nothing more than a dream?” His voice escalates into the clear image of your demise in his mind. “What if you die for nothing? How would I live with that? Knowing I could have prevented it?”

“Cregan.” You brush an arm over his shoulder.

“I will say no more. You are not leaving Winterfell.” It is a command. And yet you hear him mumble, “I can’t lose you.”

Your heart sinks into your chest, and your throat tightens with unspoken pleas and cries.

Fortunately for you, Cregan is a heavy sleeper. He was still off soundly when you roused, during the hour of the wolf.

He was still undisturbed when you gently kissed his cheek, as an apology and farewell. He was unmoved when you slipped out of bed, changed into riding skirts and threw chainmail over your chemise and underneath the leather cloak.

“Lady Stark.” A reverential voice echoes in the halls when you depart from your shared bedchamber. For a heartbeat, your blood freezes at the thought that Cregan might, at last, awaken because of it.

“I have orders from Lord Stark to ensure your safety. Allow me to accompany you.”

“Oh, there's no need. I only mean to clear my mind on the battlements.”

Before he could reply, you turn your back to him and stroll off to the winding stairs. Your footsteps feel heavy, heavier than your masked armour, heavier than the dagger at your belt.

The cold, high winds hit your face as you reach the top of the castle. The merlons thin out the howling of winter gusts, but the cold dread is no less horrifying.

“Māzīs! Aderī!” (Come! Quick!)

The Godswood shivers with the call, but it does not matter. No one in the yard could be fast enough to catch you now.

Soon enough, a high pitched shriek answers as a slithering, white ghost of a cloud emerges from behind the high walls of Winterfell.

The silence of the night wails, broken, as Suvion brings his wings down, and with one, two swings, he's landing atop the tower, his hawk claws scraping the stone.

He brings his head to you, slightly frenzied by your tone and distress.

His icy scales shine with the dampness of the snow he had been dousing in, and his sheer beauty in the moonlight soothes you. He has grown. His wings are stronger. The cold had hardened him, as it did me.

“Sister!”

You halt, right before mounting.

“Sara.”

“Off on a nightly prowl?” she jests, but the moment she comes closer, eyeing your attire, her playful smile fades.

“Tell Cregan” you hesitate, pondering, “-to tell the lords he sent me on a secret scouting mission.”

She frowns, disheartened, lost, confused. After a few beats of unbearable ache, she speaks, as icy as Cregan had.

“Did you loathe it all from the beginning?”

“Sara, I cannot-”

“Is this what you'd always hoped to do?”

It's not an accusation. It's forlornness. Betrayal, and the grief of it.

“If I don't go, I will carry this burden with me for the rest of my life.”

She remains silent, but even Suvion twitches at the sound of her soft weep. You mount, shivering, with the cold, with regret, with doubt and fear, and guilt.

“If I do not return by the new moon's end, I loved him. Tell him I loved him. Tell him it's not his fault.”

With nothing but the sound of his wings, Suvion takes off from the tower.

a/n: that was quite the chapter

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