#you can see why these take me so long perhaps

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: Which Artist Wrote Your Future Spouse? ✮⋆˙

I. II. III.

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images below. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

♬⋆.˚Pile l

Ooooh, okay, let’s get into this. You pulled The Magician, Page of Wands, and Ten of Swords—and lemme just say, this is already giving "main character energy meets redemption arc with a spicy twist". Like, your future spouse’s vibe is bold, restless, charmingly reckless at times, but also carrying some deep emotional baggage. So now, let’s spill the tea on which two singers could’ve written their essence into existence.This person has a very "put-together" look, almost effortlessly charismatic and stylish. they might look younger than their actual age or just have that playful, adventurous glow. (seriously, you’ll catch yourself staring for too long)

The Singers:

1. Bruno Mars – Because tell me why this person screams "Grenade" and "Talking to the Moon" energy while also somehow being the embodiment of "24K Magic"? Like, The Magician + Page of Wands together? This is someone who can literally manifest whatever they want and also a very smooth talker😉

2. Shawn Mendes – WELL I TOLD YOU the tortured yet idealistic lover-boy energy is STRONG. This person is the type to run headfirst into love, say all the right things, and make your heart melt, but (and it’s a big BUT) they also struggle with self-doubt and the fear of not being enough because of their bad past perhaps. They have that youthful, adventurous spirit, probably love travel or trying new things, and are always looking for their "great love story" moment.

What This Says About Their Personality:

this person is a natural at commanding attention. They know how to use their charm, words, and presence to get what they want (lowkey, they probably flirt without realizing it—you might have to tell them to chill sometimes. BABY, they love with their whole chest (WHY DOES THIS PERSON SOUND LIKE A KDRAMA 2ND MALE LEAD😭). But the downside? They might have a history of falling for the wrong people or giving their all too quickly, leading to major emotional crashes. Although This person has had their fair share of heartbreaks or betrayals, but instead of staying down, they come back stronger. One thing about them which i see is, They HATR feeling stuck. Whether it's their career, love life, or personal growth, they need movement. Stagnation = death to them. Tbh, they might have commitment issues at first, not because they don’t love deeply, but because they fear getting stuck in the wrong thing again. They believe in deep, soulful connections, but they’re also witty, a bit cheeky, and have a playful side.

Overall they have that mix of "boy-next-door but also lowkey a heartbreaker." Like they could be the flirty lead in a rom-com but also have that deep, emotional intensity. If they walk into a room, you’d definitely notice them, even if they’re not trying to stand out.

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⟡ ݁₊ .Pile ll

OHHH, okay, i should say this, this spread is givinga "rich daddy aesthetic but also a secret softie"—and I am OBSESSED. This person is so layered, so multi-dimensional that you’re not just getting a future spouse, babe—you’re getting an experience😭. Now, let’s talk about singers.

The Singers:

1. Lana Del Rey – LISTEN. The High Priestess + The World combo SCREAMS "mysterious, poetic, and possibly on a higher spiritual plane than the rest of us." Your future spouse embody a WHOLE DAMN aesthetic. They have depth and an "I know something you don’t" energy that makes people naturally drawn to them. But oh, honey—this is someone who isn’t just vibing in They give off a "tragically beautiful but also rich and successful" vibe. SO LANA CODED.

Althtough i feel like this person has that hardcore LANA aesthetic and i wasn’t going for any other singer for this pile but i am also hearing hoizer???? Cuz look, This is the type of person who might have everything—money, status, power—but they’re still searching for something deeper, and if that ain’t this spread’s energy, I don’t know what is.

What This Says About Their Personality:

This person does NOT spill their secrets easily. They’re the type to just stare at you for five seconds, and you feel like they know all your past lives. It’s giving "intimidatingly intuitive," like you can’t lie to them even if you tried. Probably has a strong work ethic, maybe even runs their own business or is at the top of their field. But here’s the thing—they’re not flashy. They’re rich in a "quiet luxury" way rather than a "LOOK AT MY GOLD CHAIN" way. (Omg i feel like i am writing a wattpad fanfic😭) . they’ve been through enough life experiences to be WISE AS HELL. So that means, ther standards? High. This isn’t someone who jumps into relationships impulsively—they observe, and they only commit when it’s real. This person doesn’t do loud, over-the-top gestures Their love language is probably acts of service and deep conversations over wine while jazz plays in the background. They have a very ‘If You Know, You Know’ Aesthetic (lana reference again💅) They have this untouchable aura. Not everyone gets to see their soft, romantic side, but the few who do? Game over. People are either intimidated by them or completely mesmerized.

So overall, They might seem reserved or intimidating at first, but once they let you in, you’ll realize they’re the kind of person who loves profoundly, protects fiercely, and builds an empire while contemplating the universe. Good luck handling this one, bestie. They’re not for the weak.😀

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

✶⋆.˚Pile III

Your future spouse isn’t just built different—they’re built for the grind, the patience, and the long game. This is someone who knows struggle, doesn’t quit easily, and is out here crafting their legacy.

The singers:

1. Taylor Swift – I mean, COME ON. The Nine of Wands + 7 & 8 of Pentacles? This is someone who has been through battles, faced major setbacks, and STILL got back up every time. Your future spouse has that same relentless work ethic—they’re not the type to sit back and wait for things to happen; they MAKE them happen, even if it takes years. This person has had doubts, failures, maybe even moments where they felt like giving up—but they’re still here, still pushing, still thriving.

2. The Weeknd – Okay, hear me out. This person is obsessed with mastery. They aren’t just working hard for the sake of it—they want to be THE BEST at what they do. This energy is very ‘work now, enjoy later’—like they probably spent their younger years hustling, learning, and leveling up, while other people were out partying. They have discipline, ambition, and an almost obsessive drive to perfect their skills.

What This Says About Their Personality:

This person has been through hell, taken hits, and STILL keeps going. They’ve probably had moments of exhaustion, burnout, or self-doubt, but instead of quitting, they just rest, re-strategize, and come back even stronger. They’re like that one character in a movie who’s bruised, bleeding, and still smirking like ‘That all you got?’ Babe, this person is MARRIED to their work. Like, actually(you’re the third wheel) . They probably live and breathe their career or passion. Late nights, early mornings, constantly improving, never satisfied— this is someone who values progress over comfort. (Have they ever heard of a vacation? Probably not.) So by this you just know, if they are going on dates with you, giving their time to you, you’re the ONE FOR THEM🫠. This person doesn’t half-ass anything. If they’re going to do it, they’re going to do it RIGHT. They have high standards for themselves and expect the same from others. Translation: If you’re slacking, they will side-eye you.

I also see, your future spouse is strategic as hell. They’re not impulsive or reckless—they think ahead, invest wisely, and understand that real success takes TIME. (Financially stable king/queen? Love that for you.) So when they propose you, just know each of their actions were planned weeks before LOL.

˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁ 𖥔 ݁ ˖

Thank you so much for reading till here! I hope my reading resonated with you and you had a good time reading it! Let me know what pile did you choose and i love hearing your feedbacks of my readings♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[wayneskluv]

Wonder Woman's daughter x Bat-fam - Chapter one

summary: Your mom—Wonder Woman—just dropped you off at Wayne Manor like a kid because she apparently couldn’t find a “suitable babysitter.” Never mind that you’re a fully grown adult and more than capable of taking care of yourself. Now you’re stuck in a mansion full of brooding vigilantes, chaotic adopted siblings, and a butler who’s already silently judging your life choices.

You survived battles, monsters, and Olympian family drama—but can you survive living with the Batfamily?

word count: around 1.6k before i made final touches on tumblr editor

pairing/s: platonic!alfred x reader, platonic!damian x reader (he's a child in this fic!) and then maybe romantically dick x reader or jason x reader perhaps even tim. probably not bruce x reader. if anyone has any preferences, do let me know!

warnings: basically none at the moment. haven't pre-read. no beta, we die like jason todd. damian being a bit of a demon brat. demigod!user.

a/n: all images edited by me! if there’s an artist i haven’t credited, please let me know! i usually get my images from pinterest, and the credit is.. not great. if i’ve written something twice or misspelled something please PLEASE don’t hesitate to tell me. i very much appreciate it. but please be kind! i promise the next parts will be longer, this is sort of an intro into it. even if they aren’t longer, i’ll write a few.

# ── chapter one's POLAROID design - DAMIAN’S:

WAYNE MANOR is.. a lot.

It’s not just the size—though the sheer magnitude of the place is ridiculous—it’s the atmosphere. There’s a certain weight to the air, something woven between the old wood and polished marble, between the paintings of long-dead Waynes and the ever-present shadows stretching down the halls. It’s a house of ghosts, of past lives and quiet grief, but also of something more. Something alive.

You follow Alfred through the halls, the weight of multiple sets of eyes trailing behind you.

“So,” Dick says, effortlessly slipping into step beside you, “how long are you crashing with us?”

“Not sure,” you admit. “Mom was vague. Something about a ‘diplomatic mission’ and ‘needing someone to keep an eye on me.’”

Jason makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “You’re a grown adult. You need a babysitter?”

“Right?!” You throw up a hand. “I told her that. But apparently, my ‘tendency to attract trouble’ means I need supervision.”

Tim, still lounging on the couch with his coffee, raises an eyebrow. “You’re in good company, then.”

“I fail to see why we should be responsible for you,” Damian mutters, arms still crossed. “You’re more than capable of defending yourself. Do you require assistance dressing yourself as well?”

You smirk. “No, but thanks for the concern.” How old was this kid?

Damian bristles. Jason outright laughs.

Bruce, who had been silent up until now, finally speaks. “You’re here. You’ll train, patrol, and follow house rules. No exceptions.”

Ah. There it is. The Batman speech.

You tilt your head. “Define ‘rules.’”

Jason grins.

Bruce ignores him. “No reckless fights, no engaging Gotham’s rogues without backup, and no breaking my city.”

You cross your arms. “Define ‘breaking.’”

Tim groans into his coffee.

Dick pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

You look around at your newly acquired dysfunctional family and resist the urge to sigh.

Mom really did just dump you here like a stray dog, huh?

—

You’re led to your new room—temporary room, you remind yourself—as Alfred sweeps open the door with his usual poised efficiency.

The space is huge. Bigger than necessary. A four-poster bed, heavy oak furniture, a massive window overlooking the eternal Gotham gloom. Everything is dark wood, old money, and class. The whole place smells faintly of leather-bound books and expensive cologne. It’s… nice. In a cold, excessively rich, mildly haunted sort of way.

Alfred clears his throat. “I took the liberty of preparing the room to your specifications. If anything is unsuitable, do let me know.”

Your specifications. Right. You’d told your mom you didn’t need anything, but she must have sent a list anyway, because there’s ambrosia nectar in a crystal decanter on the desk, a thick training mat rolled up in the corner, and a wardrobe that probably contains battle-appropriate outfits tailored to your measurements.

She really did just drop you off and send instructions like you’re a dog.

“Thanks, Alfred,” you say, running a hand over the desk. Solid mahogany. You could probably suplex a god onto it, and it would hold.

He nods approvingly. “Dinner is at seven. I trust you will have no issue finding the dining hall?”

You smirk. “I don’t know. This place is a maze. You sure I won’t end up lost and starving in the east wing?”

He doesn’t blink. “Then I shall inform Master Wayne that a search party may be required.”

Alfred departs, leaving you to take in the ridiculousness of your situation. You sit on the bed—comfortably firm, definitely high-thread-count sheets—and drop onto your back, staring at the ceiling.

Your mother owes you so much for this.

—

You spend the next couple of hours getting familiar with your prison.

It’s quiet for a while. Peaceful.

Then the knocking starts.

“Hey, Newbie.”

The door opens before you can answer. Dick. Of course it’s Dick.

He leans in, all easy grins and big brother energy. “Figured I’d check in. You settled?”

“As settled as I’ll ever be,” you say, sitting up.

Dick saunters in like he owns the place (which, okay, technically he used to). He glances around, nodding at the Amazonian touches. “Mom went all out, huh?”

“She thinks Gotham is held together with duct tape. She’s probably right.”

“Oh, definitely right.”

Before you can ask what he actually wants, another figure appears in the doorway.

Jason.

He crosses his arms, giving you a slow once-over. “So. You’re an Amazon.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

Dick chokes on a laugh. Jason grins.

—

The next few hours are a crash course in Batfamily survival.

Tim appears just long enough to tell you that “if you touch my coffee, I will kill you” before vanishing into the night like a cryptid.

Damian tests your reflexes by casually throwing a knife at you in the hallway. You catch it without looking. He says nothing. Just nods and walks away.

Jason decides to test your strength. By handing you a gun. You crush it in your bare hand. “…Well, okay then.”

Dick drags you into the living room for an impromptu movie night. Apparently, it’s a tradition. Jason spends half the movie making snarky Amazon jokes. Damian complains about historical inaccuracies.

By the time dinner rolls around, you’re half-convinced you’ve walked into a madhouse.

Alfred serves a massive feast (courtesy of your inhuman dietary needs). You sit at the table, surrounded by Gotham’s weirdest vigilantes, eating like an Amazon in the middle of a completely normal family meal.

It’s bizarre. It’s horrifying.

It’s… weirdly nice.

Bruce, sitting at the head of the table, barely says anything. He’s watching you, but it’s not that usual piercing Batman stare—it’s more like a curiosity. Maybe he’s wondering what kind of trouble you’ll stir up. Maybe he just doesn’t know what to make of you. You’ve barely had a real conversation with him, just him dropping you here with all the grace of a father figuring out how to deal with his kids’ newest problem. But then again, Bruce Wayne isn’t exactly father of the year.

Dick’s usual charm is in full swing as he tries to make small talk. “So, you’re a demigod, huh? You’re gonna have to teach me some moves sometime. You know, to keep up with all the crazy stuff we have to do around here.” His smile is big, open—like he’s trying to make you feel at home, but you can tell there’s a nervous energy under it. He keeps glancing at you, like he’s trying to figure out how to approach someone who could probably snap him like a twig. You almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Jason, sitting next to you, shovels food in with no care for finesse. “So, you’re Wonder Woman’s kid. That explains the whole glowing warrior princess thing you’ve got going on. What do you actually do with all that godly power? Sit on mountaintops and brood or do you, like, break people’s faces for a living?” His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes. He’s testing you.

“You’d be surprised,” you say coolly, setting your fork down. “I’ve had a bit of experience with face-breaking.”

Jason laughs. “Good, because Gotham needs a lot of that.”

Damian, who had been silently poking at his food, suddenly looks up from his plate. His eyes narrow with some strange mix of suspicion and mild interest. “You will be trained, I assume?” he asks, not bothering to hide the condescension in his voice. “Or do you believe that your divine abilities will suffice?”

You almost choke on your drink. “Oh, I’m definitely trained, kid. What, you think just because I’m half-god I don’t need to learn how to fight like a human?”

Damian’s lips curl up into something that might be a sneer, but it’s more like the equivalent of a raised eyebrow from someone who’s always trying to one-up everyone. “I suppose that’s a good attitude, for now.”

You raise an eyebrow back, feeling the tension between you two starting to spark. “Keep thinking that.”

Tim, who’s been glaring into his phone the whole time, suddenly looks up. His expression is the usual deadpan, but you catch a flicker of curiosity. “You know,” he says, tapping on his screen, “if you really want to get the most out of this place, you’ll have to figure out which of us is your mentor. Bruce is… well, Bruce, so don’t expect much from him. But if you’re looking for a solid training regiment, maybe ask Dick or Jason. Just—don’t get too attached to the idea of normal training. This is Gotham, and we all have our… quirks.” He’s about to say more when Bruce interrupts with a sharp look.

“That’s enough, Tim,” Bruce says softly, but with authority. The room falls silent for a moment. Tim’s eyes flicker up at Bruce, then down at his phone. No more words from him.

It’s… strange. You’re used to the chaos, but this feels like a whole other level of dysfunction. They bicker like siblings, but there’s this undercurrent of something deeper—loyalty maybe? You can tell that whatever happens between these people, they’re bound by something stronger than just the weight of their shared lives.

You take a breath and cut in, trying to ease the tension. “Look, I’m just here for the short-term. All I need is a place to crash and a bit of guidance while Mom does whatever it is she’s doing.”

“Short-term?” Damian asks, raising a brow. “How short is short-term?”

You glance over at him, the corners of your mouth tugging into a smirk. “Not long enough for you to start calling me ‘sis,’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He glares at you. “We shall see.”

The dinner continues, awkwardly at first but slowly finding its rhythm. There’s a comfortable noise in the air now—the kind that only happens when people are used to each other’s company. And while you’re still very much the outsider in this strange little family, for the first time since you arrived, the weight of the world outside feels just a little bit lighter.

@hjgdhghoe @linnygirl09

[hueseok]

can’t stop thinking about husband!yoongi who also happens to be a ceo, the very reason why he has the ability to spoil you rotten whenever he wants to.

“yoongi, come on!” you call out to your husband, seeing him still sitting on a chair while you’ve been here in the pool for a considerably long time now, expecting that he was going to join you shortly after like he said earlier.

however, it’s been roughly ten minutes now and he’s stuck there on his patio chair, scrolling through his phone and enjoying the bottle of wine he opened before you dipped yourself in the water.

“i change my mind,” he says, a bit sheepish. “the water looks cold, babe. i don’t think i want to.”

you roll your eyes, swimming closer to him. “then why did you even book us a suite with a private pool?”

“because i know you’d love it.” he smiles. “and also because i was expecting we’d swim in the daytime.”

“what’s the fun in that?”

“uh, perhaps, feeling fresh and cool and—”

“babe,” you cut him off, leaning now on the edge of the pool, “just join me.”

“yes, ma’am.”

you laugh as you see him hesitantly standing up and taking his shirt off, soon going to the steps of the pool where it leads him deeper and where you’re already waiting for him as well.

yoongi childishly holds out his hand to you, which you take with a laugh, helping him to fully sink himself in the water.

“fuck, it’s cold,” he says with a grimace and a shiver, something that makes you grin, immediately putting your arms on his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist once he goes closer.

“you’re so dramatic.”

“it is, though. look, i have goosebumps.” he raises his arm and you glance at it, snorting.

“okay, point proven, big baby.”

yoongi looks at you and breaks off into a big smile, chuckling and encircling his arms on your waist, giving your lips a quick kiss.

“enjoying this trip so far?”

“yup.” you nod.

“good.”

the both of you kiss again, this time much longer now, with yoongi angling his face to the side so he can do it better, one hand resting on your cheek, his thumb lightly rubbing against it.

you can feel your heartbeat escalating at just the feel of him this near, your skin touching and bringing a little warmth in the cold water. it makes yoongi think that he should have just done this much earlier rather than prolonging it from happening because of his laziness at the thought of taking a shower after this.

“thanks for bringing me here,” you murmur against his mouth, your own curving up in a smile. “i never thought we’d actually go overseas for our anniversary.”

“it’s not like we haven’t done it before.” his hold on you tightens as you place little kisses on his jaw down to his neck, eventually settling on leaning your head on his shoulder. “besides, i think i need to make up for the fact i forgot last year’s anniversary.”

you laugh at the memory. “it’s okay. you already told me that you forgot it because our wedding date and the day we started dating confused you. plus, you took me to that restaurant i love.”

“still though… the first year is supposed to be memorable.”

“no, it isn’t. the first year’s supposed to be the hardest.” you pull back to smile at him. “so, you get a pass.”

“thank god,” he jokes and chuckles, you doing the same.

“but seriously, yoon,” you play with the hair on the back of his head, gazing at his eyes, “thank you. you always go ahead of yourself just to do things for me—to make me happy, you know?”

“why are you thanking me? it’s what i’m supposed to do.”

“no. you could have been a shitty boyfriend, and then a shitty husband but... you’re just the best. you’ve given me everything i could possibly want and been the man i needed. i’m so lucky to have you.”

yoongi gazes at you in absolute awe, that amazing feeling again spreading in his chest and making him feel all giddy and happy.

he wasn’t lying when he said that thanking him wasn’t needed, but the acknowledgement and the appreciation you’re showing surely makes him pleased, heart getting bigger because of it.

“you’re drunk, aren’t you?” he nevertheless asks though, teasing and taking the opportunity of you being lovey-dovey, that you hit his bare chest without hesitation.

“i’m serious,” you whine.

“i know, baby, which makes me glad. but it’s only what you deserve, okay? the reason why i’m doing this, i mean. you’ve been there for me too—when i was in the worst place, when the company almost went bankrupt… you were the one who picked me up to my feet, loved me unconditionally. so… let’s be real. i’m the real lucky one here.”

you smirk, fondly staring at every feature he has on his face, smiling wide. “are we just going to start saying our vows again?”

he snorts. “says the woman who started being sappy.”

“do you want me to apologize for letting my husband know i love him?”

“no,” he shakes his head, not helping himself as he leans closer to you so that he can place his lips over yours again, “i love it when you say that you love me.”

“and i really do, you know. i’ll never get tired saying how much i love you so much,” you agree almost immediately, melting into the kiss again.

he hums contently, caressing your sides. “i love you too, baby. you’re the reason why i thank the heavens for being alive every single day.”

under the stars and the moon that night, until the moment the two of you decide to take that intimate moment right there inside, it feels like a second honeymoon with yoongi.

you know he’s a busy man, a workaholic—and yet the fact that he can spare this much time for you to make you feel loved on the very same day you got married, makes you think all over again how fortunate you are to be with someone like him who works hard for you both but never forgets to cherish you.

[antianakin]

See, but this is why I don't say "the Jedi failed" ever. Because even if you say it with sympathy, it's an inherently negative statement. More people will view it the unsympathetic way than the sympathetic one. And you CAN describe it in other ways that are inherently more sympathetic towards the Jedi. "The Jedi were tricked." "The Jedi were betrayed." "The Jedi nearly won, and one person's selfish choice doomed them all." Or in the case of the corrupt government thing, "The Jedi were protecting as many innocent people as they could." "The Jedi stuck with the system that had allowed them to help as many people as possible in the past." "The Jedi were the only ones really taking any canonical action against said corrupt government TO BEGIN WITH, and they get criticized for doing that too."

I don't mind having the conversation about how the Jedi's choices were all bad, I don't mind discussing how the Jedi had to infringe on their own morals in order to protect people, I don't mind discussing the fact that they DID lose, but by phrasing it as "They failed" I feel like it inherently puts the responsibility ON THEM when that's never the point and it's never true. The Jedi failed only in the sense that they lost. They did everything right. They fought the war, they protected as many people as possible, they took out all the enemy leaders, they recognized the corruption in their OWN leader and the inevitable consequences if he remained in power, and then they made moves to remove said corruption so that the government could try to become LESS corrupt, and the ONLY REASON that this doesn't work is because Anakin chose to betray them all. That's it. That's the reason they lose. One person's selfish greed. If Anakin had been like two minutes slower in getting to that office, the Jedi would've won. Palpatine would be dead, the Separatists would have lost, the war would've been over. Even if Palpatine's stooges had tried to continue it, I don't think it would've lasted very long given that everyone actually running things from both sides would've been gone. The Jedi would've still been around, the clones wouldn't have been turned against them, and this would give the Republic a pretty major advantage. And if we bring in the Loyalists in the Senate, Palpatine's death gives an opportunity for them to step in and make changes they couldn't have made before perhaps.

But by starting with "The Jedi failed," it just removes all of that nuance from the conversation for me. They DIDN'T fail. ANAKIN failed. If you don't start with it being ANAKIN'S choice and ANAKIN'S responsibility and ANAKIN'S failure, then it scrapes away all of the things that make the story meaningful. It was not and is not and has never been the story of how the Jedi failed. It's the story of how ANAKIN failed (and the OT is the story of how Luke succeeds where Anakin failed). Making it about the Jedi's failure is just inaccurate and removes the focus of the story from where it's supposed to be. As relatable and sympathetic as Anakin is meant to be, as much as he is ostensibly supposed to be "trying", it's still his failure, and no one else's. That's the story.

But by saying "The Jedi failed," that story goes away. It's gone now. Because no one reading that statement is ever going to read it sympathetically. And it's a particularly unsympathetic way of describing what happened anyway. So I don't say it. Because I find it super unhelpful to say it when it doesn't accurately get across what the story is. The Jedi didn't failed. The Jedi WERE failed, by everyone else, everyone around them, everyone they should've been able to trust. The galaxy failed. The Jedi just... lost.

When it comes to Jedi discourse I think a lot depends on the amount of sympathy behind a statement there is. For example, "The Jedi have been corrupted by this war." is something Lucas has said, but it's in the context of how they were drawn into a trap, they were forced into roles that they were never meant to be, there's sympathy there for how the only choices here are shitty ones. "Do they compromise their morals (to fight in this war) or does everyone die and it's pointless anyway?" is basically what he said. I agree with that! But I have seen many people say, "The Jedi became corrupted by the war." and they mean it as the Jedi no longer cared about people, only themselves, they were only looking out for themselves, they were making selfish choices. There's no sympathy for the rock-and-a-hard-place situation the Jedi were in, and I disagree with that and I think that's what a lot of people are arguing back against. "They allied themselves with a corrupt government!" is another one--like, yeah, the Republic government wasn't great! But, when I say that the Separatists were worse, it's not because I'm refusing to admit the Republic had any fault, I'm saying it because that's basically the choice laid out in front of them--either you help the Republic or you let the Separatists take over, who were committing war crimes on screen. I do think the Jedi were hamstrung by their connection to the Republic! I just also think the alternative was worse, that the whole structure of Star Wars as a story was designed to hem them into this impossible choice (in as much as Star Wars is about the Jedi, when they're very much not the core of the story), that they couldn't find better options because the story wasn't set up to allow that. Could the Jedi have handled Anakin better? Ehhh, I think that's hard to say because the story itself doesn't present that, so making hard proclamations about what they did/didn't do wrong is reading into something the story didn't address. The story is about Anakin refusing to emotionally accept Jedi teachings--can we read beyond that and say there were ways the Jedi failed him? I think you can and some of them are fair (and some of them aren't), that it's a fun conversation to have, but that it's not what the narrative intention is, if we're talking about actual narrative intention. The narrative intention is that Anakin, though very human in his failings and Lucas clearly has so much affection for his Blorbo, failed to learn what he needed to learn. But there, too, I think a lot depends so much on how much sympathy comes across for the choices being made. I don't think we're meant to see Anakin as someone we can't relate to, Lucas even says that Anakin is a victim in TPM (of the Hutts and Watto, to be clear), I don't think criticism of Anakin can come without that he was trying, that he did genuinely love people. The ending of ROTJ doesn't work without us wanting for Anakin to find the good in himself! That we knew had to be there all along. So much comes down to how much sympathy there is in the criticism, how much sympathy there is for the reasons why any given character chooses the paths they do, and that's where a lot of disconnect comes from. So much Jedi criticism is done in the vein of saying, "They failed." and meaning it as an accusation of how a better choice was super obvious. But if you say, "They failed." in the sense that there was no way out of the trap that they could have possibly forseen, given the circumstances, that they did their best and they shouldn't have to be perfect to be good, then I'm all the way onboard! It's about how much sympathy there is for the context around a given character's choices and what the story allowed for them. I have no issue with saying the Jedi failed in the war, that they became corrupted by it, that their connection to the Republic led to their genocide, because I don't think the Jedi were bad for it, I think they made the best choices they could in the worst situation.

[mvctavish]

hesdcanosn for graves and price where the reader is pretty bossy and kind of intimidating? for graves she's sort of the co-commander of shadow co. and for price she's the 141's medic

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄 - 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐘!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐂𝐒

notes: i love this idea so so much you're a genius anon!! since the relationship wasn't specified... i just made the reader their wife... cuz it felt right to me. if u were hoping for platonic hcs or anything different don't be afraid to send in another ask and i'll do it!! anyways, happy reading <3

summary: (seperate) headcanons of graves and price with a bossy/intimidating wife

cw: wife!reader (for both), deputycommander!reader (for graves), medic!reader (for price), general war stuff idk, probably inaccuracies when it comes to the military/PMCs, reader is kind of bitchy, for price reader is mentioned to be at least smaller than him

cdr. phillip graves

౿ ۪ ݁ he's scared of you, and it's pretty obvious despite his attempts at hiding it. when you get mad, he gets all quiet and mutters a quick and respectful "yes ma'am" no matter what you request or say to him. it's rather funny seeing the commander so scared of his own wife. phillip has seen first-hand just how angry you can get when things don't go your way. the aftermath ain't pretty. while he knows you'd never actually hurt him (besides throw around a few choice words) he prefers to keep the peace at all costs. he hates seeing you upset, whether it's a mission gone sour or down to something little like him leaving the toilet seat up.

you two first met way back in the marines, fresh outta boot camp and ready to conquer the world. even then you were intimidating, a fiery attitude that could challenge the sargeant above you both. you ended up leaving the military when phillip did, and got married not long after. despite the fact that he'd much rather have you not risk your life — you were insistent on being part of shadow company when it was formed, and not behind the scenes.

as his deputy commander, you're right there by his side. the shadows are like family to both you and graves — they're your boys — but you aren't afraid to whip them into shape if necessary. some new recruits are being too rambunctious for your liking? you're giving a sharp, glaring look to your husband and he's quick to get them in line. it doesn't take long at all for them to learn to respect (and fear) you, perhaps even more than graves. you're a force to be reckoned with.

down to the more domestic aspects of your life, you're always on his ass about the upkeep of the house. when you're both home, the work is split 50/50 (which was a huge shock to graves at first since he's always been a bit more traditional) but he knows it's only fair since you both work. you like your house in pristine condition, down to the floorboards being dusted, to the lampshades being in just the right position. you're bossy about little things, like always pairing up the socks when they're taken out of the dryer or him rinsing his beard trimmings down the sink whenever he's done shaving. he knows you tend to get a little pissy when things aren't done exactly how you like them, so that's why graves makes sure he — and the shadows — always listen to your input.

capt. john price

౿ ۪ ݁ price is more impressed than anything. there's so much fire and spirit crammed into one small thing: you. it's funny to him, how most people you interact with can be so intimidated by you. you have the bossy attitude as an angry mother bear, yet can still be sweet when it's needed. price first met you when he was still a lieutenant, suffering from a bad injury on the field. you were the only combat medic on duty. he'd tried to convince you that he was fine — there were other men that needed your help, too, and that he could keep going — but you'd grabbed him by the ear and chewed him out. calling him a "damn fool with a death wish," and that if he wanted to live he'd "better listen to you and sit his ass down." he'd immediately gone quiet and did as he was told. price wasn't used to being spoken to like that, much less from someone of a lower rank. that was the moment he knew he had to have you, and the rest was history.

it took a while to gain your attention around base, and you were the reason he grew out his beard in the first place, after a passing comment that you'd made about how you thought it'd make him more rugged. it took time, but you were worth every second.

relationships in your line of work can be messy, and perhaps one of the worst aspects could be the judgment from others. in one interaction with a new face on base, you'd gotten into quite a heated argument. the guy thought you'd be easy picking, a way to make fun of you and show off in front of his new pals. your sharp tongue and quick insults resulted in the man leaving close to tears, whilst price watched round the corner with a little smirk on his face. deep down, he'd always worry about you. you were his wife, his woman, his world. it was only natural — but instances like that reminded him that you could stand up for yourself. you were strong and independent, and never let anyone walk all over you. you'd been a people pleaser in the past, but never again. you lived for yourself.

once task force 141 was formed, it's obvious that your husband recruited you to join as well. it was difficult, and he had to abuse a few loopholes in the policies to even be allowed to be your CO, but in the end, it worked. rounding back to the mama bear point, ghost, gaz, and soap quickly warm up to you. you're honestly the closest thing any of them have to a mum. a scary, bossy, picky one, but still a mum. your team's safety is your number one priority, and you certainly aren't afraid of getting your hands dirty both figuratively and literally. you keep the boys and price in line, constantly nagging about drinking water and insisting that they need to eat more than just a damn protein barn before a mission. MREs suck, but it's better than going hungry.

price lets you boss him round whenever you two are home from deployment. of course, on the battlefield, he's in charge. but home? it's a different story. the lawn needs to be mowed? you bet it'll be done by the evening. low on groceries? he's starting a list and planning to drive down to the shops. you and price never really get into any real arguments. he's seen you on the battlefield, frightening as you shout orders to anyone around as you're patching up an injured soldier — that sort of intensity is one he does everything to avoid seeing in you.

[mcflymemes]

AS SAID BY ASTARION ANCUNÍN *  assorted dialogue from baldur's gate 3

you are mine. no one can change that.

i wish... to drink. and be drunk.

you haven't earned the right to stare at me like that.

you could scream bloody murder out here and no one would ever know.

we should find a tavern and celebrate.

do my eyes deceive me? the gang really is all here.

i'd rather be the only dark power inside your body, if it's all the same to you.

you're cute, you know. in another life we might have been friends.

i don't hate you. because this is not you.

we just have to be vigilant. keep our wits about us.

you can try, but i will stop you.

do what you like. it's none of my concern.

i simply do not care.

we could do it, you know. we could rule the world.

i... i don't know what to say. thank you.

well that's just disgusting.

listen to me, damn it! i'm trying to save you, even if you're too stupid to see it.

believe what you want. i'm done with you.

you have no idea what i can do.

sounds like a delightful dinner plan. perhaps i'll join you.

forgiveness? you've never forgiven anything.

i don't need anyone to speak for me.

i don't owe you a damn thing.

don't worry. i'll keep watch tonight.

just don't ask me again.

is there anything else? any new and interesting ways you can waste my time?

i'll come to you tonight, when you're snugly wrapped in your bedroll and we can have a little privacy.

this time i'll make sure i'm quiet.

you're lucky i'm such an open-minded person.

why send anyone after me? i'm hardly a threat out here.

what are you waiting for? help me!

"you can do whatever you want" sounds terrifying, and it is, but there's opportunity in it, too.

i am so much more than what you made me.

hold very, very still.

i'm sorry, but could you excuse us a moment?

get out of my way. i'm in no mood to talk.

you didn't think i could do it? i'm hurt.

i appreciate your loyalty, darling, but i don't think you understand.

fair? nothing about this is fair.

i don't know who they are, but i have plenty of questions.

i'm glad to hear it.

i do believe you. i know you only did what you thought was best for me.

i just need some time to let it sink in.

you're so good to me.

safe? how can i ever be safe now?

well, hello. looking for a cuddle?

now that you're back with us, we need to have a talk.

how flattering. and disturbing.

please tell me this is important.

there's also gold, sex, revenge... quite the list, really. but failing any of those, i will always settle for shallow praise.

now just tell me i'm beautiful and we can call it a day.

i want to thank you.

you're a vision. and you're so much more than that.

this is all a game to you, isn't it?

for as long as i can remember, i've been used by others.

of course i was attracted to you. look at you, for goodness' sake!

i will forever remember what you did for me today.

that's what you've been waiting to hear, isn't it? that's what you want?

i have been waiting so long for you.

come, give yourself to me.

i'll take care of everything.

it's time to try living again.

i feel safe with you. seen.

we don't have to rush into anything tonight.

would it kill you to dispense a compliment?

looking for something?

honestly, you have no sense of fun.

i do appreciate your enthusiasm, but let's try to restrain ourselves a little.

would you like a tour? we can start with my tent, if you like.

everything was taken from me, too.

well, that could have gone better.

i don't know what you mean.

were you actually worried i was angry?

so what was it like? tell me everything.

i hope i'm not interrupting.

some day that soft heart of yours is going to be torn out of your chest.

what a party. we should do this again.

there you are. i've been waiting. waiting since the moment i set eyes on you. waiting to have you.

you've seen enough already.

i didn't want to lose control.

oh, don't be like that. not every problem has to be beaten to death, my dear.

wait! don't interrupt them!

let's not make trouble for some stranger.

my, this place is fun.

my past isn't exactly a happy story.

that was amazing.

it won't happen again. you have my word.

so many people need killing.

remember who saved you.

don't worry. i'm here.

[severus-snaps]

Snape: Points and Punishments

Snape has something of a bad reputation when it comes to discipline at Hogwarts, and is, I think, often accused of being unfair in his treatment of his students (especially if that student is Harry).

So, I've turned to science.

Using potter-search.com, I searched the terms: "snape points", "snape detention" and "points from gryffindor". What follows is a list of instances I've identified where Snape dispenses discipline in the form of point deductions and detentions, what the detentions entail, and what causes Snape to react to the students in the first place.

I'll tally points taken by Snape in each book, and also compare some of his methods to other Hogwarts professors.

This post will cover books 1-4, since there's quite a lot I've collected for the later books, which I haven't read in a while so I couldn't remember all of the context, 1-4 are the pre-Voldemort years, JKR took a break writing them at this point, and most importantly - it was getting long.

So, to quote Ron:

"Snape’s Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favours them — we’ll be able to see if it’s true."

Favouring Slytherin

First, we never see Snape in the books awarding points - to Slytherins, or to anyone else. With that out of the way, let's see how he disciplines the students - not just Harry - including docking points, detentions, revoking privileges, expulsion, and threats of doing the same - categorised by book.

Philosopher's Stone

Points & detentions

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.”

One single point taken in Harry's first potions class for talking back, and telling Snape to ask Hermione a question instead of him.

“You — Potter — why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.” *

* Worth noting as well that nobody considered this particularly outrageous - Ron tells Harry not to "push it", because he's heard that "Snape can turn very nasty" and later tells Harry that Snape's always taking points from the twins. So Ron, whilst on Harry's side, clearly does not consider this incident to be especially nasty behaviour.

Unfair, sure - Snape had put everyone into pairs, but Harry had been working next to Neville with Ron, not in Neville's pair (Neville was paired with Seamus).

As we'll see as we go through, this is one of the few occasions where Snape is being petty and ignoring the rules, and one of the few occasions where Snape doesn't give a valid reason.

But then again, it's only one point - and if we're thinking in-universe, Harry's been cheeky to him already, and Snape is probably feeling all kinds of weird about having Harry in his class, as the son of his bully and his former best friend, who was supposed to have been something of a potions prodigy herself.

“Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” said Snape. “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.” “He’s just made that rule up,” Harry muttered angrily as Snape limped away.

We don't know whether Snape made the rule up or whether Harry's being indignant here at having Quidditch Through the Ages taken from him. It doesn't seem like an unreasonable rule not to take library books out of the building, where they have a greater chance, perhaps, of getting lost or damaged - especially if they are rare or expensive.

I personally think it's unlikely that Snape made it up, and it's definitely the sort of thing Madam Pince might insist on - she certainly seems like a real stickler for that sort of thing, spending her time polishing gilded spellbooks (e.g. CoS). However, it could be a rule Madam Pince insists on but nobody else really enforces.

Final conclusion: we can't be sure whether Snape made it up or whether it's a legitimate rule (unless someone can remember another time Harry has a library book outside near a teacher).

Contrast this to Filch in CoS (admittedly, post-petrification of Mrs Norris - though this isn't especially far from Filch's usual behaviour):

When Filch wasn’t guarding the scene of the crime, he was skulking red-eyed through the corridors, lunging out at unsuspecting students and trying to put them in detention for things like “breathing loudly” and “looking happy.”

We'll see continually that Snape tends to stick to the rules:

Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs. ... “He was provoked, Professor Snape,” said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. “Malfoy was insultin’ his family.” “Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,” said Snape silkily. “Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.”

Snape obviously didn't believe or care for Hagrid's explanation here, which is fair when you consider that even though he's just the groundskeeper, Hagrid's a 50-ish-year-old staffmember who could've stepped in before it reached Ron throwing himself at Draco. Five points also isn't too harsh, given that when Snape arrived, Ron had started the physical fight.

It's also worth noting that McGonagall doesn't listen to excuses either - it is, obviously, down to staff to resolve issues like that, without students resorting to fistfights:

“Provoked you?” shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist onto her desk so that her tartan biscuit tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. “He’d just lost, hadn’t he, of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two — ” “He insulted my parents,” snarled George. “And Harry’s mother.” “But instead of leaving it to Madam Hooch to sort out, you two decided to give an exhibition of Muggle dueling, did you?” bellowed Professor McGonagall.

And she follows it with:

"I do not care if he insulted every family member you possess, your behavior was disgusting and I am giving each of you a week’s worth of detention!"

Favouring other houses

Snape had just awarded Hufflepuff a penalty because George Weasley had hit a Bludger at him. Hermione, who had all her fingers crossed in her lap, was squinting fixedly at Harry, who was circling the game like a hawk, looking for the Snitch. "You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team?" said Malfoy loudly a few minutes later, as Snape awarded Hufflepuff another penalty for no reason at all.

"For no reason at all". Are you sure, Harry? Moments ago, he was having Bludgers hit at him.

Things didn’t improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. ... He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs. “Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. ... “Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus.

More of an honourable mention really in terms of Snape favouring Slytherin, but I think there's a few things to note here. We never really see Snape giving out compliments, but here we do. As someone from a well-to-do family, one which in CoS it's revealed has illicit potions to get rid of, Malfoy might really have been more prepared than the others - and Snape was criticising almost everyone, which includes some of his own Slytherins. Slytherin was also not awarded any points for this. Snape also does not punish Neville for his mistake but instead sends him to the Hospital Wing (although he does punish Harry, so I'm not sure how fair it is really. Harry is a 'special case', to quote Sirius).

Moving on.

“Cheer up,” said Ron, “Snape’s always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?”

I think it's safe to assume that Fred and George are breaking rules and not quietly minding their own business, keeping their heads down at all times. Seems fair.

“Will you stop messing around!” [Oliver Wood] yelled. “That’s exactly the sort of thing that’ll lose us the match! Snape’s refereeing this time, and he’ll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!” ... “We’ve just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn’t got an excuse to pick on us.”

Probably true that Snape would take points where he could - but I (and Oliver Wood) think he'd play it like he apparently does throughout the rest of this summary, and "knock points off" by carefully adhering to the rules. I wonder what that means for the second penalty for Hufflepuff, mentioned above, in terms of Harry's biased narration.

“You want to be more careful,” said Snape. “Hanging around like this, people will think you’re up to something. And Gryffindor really can’t afford to lose any more points, can it?”

This occurs when the trio are hanging around inside on a nice day. It's post-dragon-smuggling, after McGonagall gave Harry, Hermione, Neville (and Draco) detention in the Forbidden Forest (which I'll circle back to shortly), and docked each of them 50 points. But Snape does not make up a rule here, nor does he actually dock any points.

Snape's face was twisted with fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped. "I just wondered if I could have my book back." "GET OUT! OUT!" Harry left, before Snape could take any more points from Gryffindor.

Harry hasn't broken any rules by approaching the staffroom. And still, Snape is flustered and probably in pain, but he does not take points - once again, it's someone else (Harry) thinking that he would.

“You can’t!” said Hermione. “After what McGonagall and Snape have said? You’ll be expelled!”

Re: Harry going to get the stone.

Honourable mention:

“But this is servant stuff, it’s not for students to do. I thought we’d be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he’d — ”

It's entirely possible that other teachers have given Draco lines, but it's also possible that Snape himself gives his students lines as detentions (especially if their father is both influential, on the Board of Directors, and an "old friend") - but I'll circle back to this later. Here, McGonagall deducted 20 points from Draco (and 50 points from Neville) for what she believed was Harry telling Draco a story about a dragon for the explicit purpose of getting Draco in trouble:

“Detention!” she shouted. “And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you — ” “You don’t understand, Professor. Harry Potter’s coming — he’s got a dragon!” “What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on — I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!”

Followed by:

“I think I’ve got a good idea of what’s been going on,” said Professor McGonagall. “It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and- bull story about a dragon, trying to get him out of bed and into trouble. I’ve already caught him. I suppose you think it’s funny that Longbottom here heard the story and believed it, too?”

Like... if anything, in her mind, Draco and Neville should be at lesser fault here; Harry and Hermione were out of bed, telling stories to get other students out of bed and into trouble for a laugh. She must think that Harry did this deliberately, and the others are caught up in it. It's giving The Prank in that she probably gave the Marauders detentions (that didn't deter them, obviously) for telling Snape stories, but then would've also punished Snape for believing the cock-and-bull story about a werewolf beneath the Willow. Also worth noting, however, that McGonagall takes 20 points from Draco and 50 each from Neville, Hermione, and Harry, and sent them all to the forest to hunt for a dangerous creature. And she thought Neville had nothing to do with this and was a victim of a prank.

But Snape gets the worst reputation.

Anyway.

Points deducted during PS: 12

Punishments given: Snape might have agreed to send the students to the Forest, or he might have been outranked by McGonagall.

Chamber of Secrets

Points & detentions

Absolutely no mention of "Snape" + "points" on potter-search.com; Harry technically does not get a detention, either. The best I could find is:

Harry had been held back in Potions, where Snape had made him stay behind to scrape tubeworms off the desks.

Not sure whether this was for a particular reason pertaining to that lesson, or whether someone had to clean the tubeworms and Harry is Snape's 'favourite' (unlikely; I'm sure Snape could've cleaned it with a lazy flick of his wand), or - because this was immediately after the scene in which it's discovered that Mrs Norris has been Petrified, which is listed below* - whether Snape knew Harry had been lying to him and wanted his own punishment where Minerva had prevented it.

Preferential treatment for Slytherins

“But I booked the field!” said Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!” “Ah,” said Flint. “But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker. ’ ”

He also allowed Lucius to buy his entire team new brooms - but then, how and why would Snape have stopped him? And what would stop Harry from doing the same for Gryffindor? And who bent the rules and probably got Harry a broom despite first-years not being allowed brooms and never making the House teams?

Suggested punishments

“Silence!” snapped Snape again. “Most unfortunately, you are not in my House and the decision to expel you does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who do have that happy power. You will wait here.”

Re: Harry and Ron flying to school in the enchanted car and breaking not only the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry but also the Whomping Willow. He gives them a lecture, but deducts no points, perhaps expecting them to be expelled - or perhaps waiting for McGonagall, whose decisions he tends to respect (which we see again when McGonagall returns from St. Mungo's in OotP).

“Professor Dumbledore, these boys have flouted the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree — surely acts of this nature — ”

A sad day for Snape when Harry was Sorted into Gryffindor, otherwise he'd have been out on his ear in CoS.

Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors’ work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively. Draco Malfoy, who was Snape’s favorite student, kept flicking puffer-fish eyes at Ron and Harry, who knew that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you could say “Unfair.”

Some people say that Snape ignores his Slytherins taunting the trio, which is a fair accusation - he did so in PS when Ron went to fight Malfoy and again in GoF when Malfoy and Harry duel in the corridors. But one could also assume - based on some quotes I'll go through later - that Snape also punishes his Slytherins in private, because in later books especially, the Slytherins wait until his back is turned in Potions before doing any taunting, and his Slytherins do receive detentions, which Harry wouldn't ordinarily know about (i.e. Crabbe and Goyle in HBP).

I also wonder whether Snape was being intentionally waspish to the Gryffindors or whether Harry interpreted it as Snape making waspish remarks when really he was just critiquing all of the incorrect potions and Harry noticed it more because he felt it was unfair when directed at a Gryffindor. Harry can be rather indignant - but so can Snape.

“I suggest, Headmaster, that Potter is not being entirely truthful,” he said. “It might be a good idea if he were deprived of certain privileges until he is ready to tell us the whole story. I personally feel he should be taken off the Gryffindor Quidditch team until he is ready to be honest.” *

Quickly shot down by McGonagall because she saw "no reason to stop the boy playing Quidditch", Mrs Norris "wasn’t hit over the head with a broomstick", and there was "no evidence at all that Potter has done anything wrong"... but really probably because she's competitive with Snape over Quidditch (which might also be why he suggested it lol).

BUT I was reading here that Snape is doing something else: Snape knows Harry isn't telling the truth; he wants Harry to tell the truth; he knows that points aren't as important to Harry as Quidditch, and so threatening to withhold Quidditch was Snape's attempt at getting Harry to be truthful. It's Minerva who takes it as a threat to her House's Quidditch score, not Severus. The explanation here also suggests that this is perhaps how Severus punishes his Slytherins - not with points, but by withholding things they want/enjoy.

“Midnight,” said Harry. “We’d better get to bed before Snape comes along and tries to frame us for something else.”

But...Snape asked for the truth and pointed out, correctly, that Harry was not telling the whole story. That's hardly framing Harry for Petrifying Mrs Norris.

“I think I’d better do the actual stealing,” Hermione continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “You two will be expelled if you get into any more trouble, and I’ve got a clean record. So all you need to do is cause enough mayhem to keep Snape busy for five minutes or so.”

Hermione seems to think that Snape would get his way, and that McGonagall would expell them for messing around again and stealing from a teacher for the sake of making a potion they're not supposed to be making, just to break into another House's common room. For Snape's sake, I hope that's true - stealing from a teacher to spy on other students and not being expelled would have Snape like:

“If I ever find out who threw this [firework into a cauldron],” Snape whispered, “I shall make sure that person is expelled.”

Snape's greatest dream is, as we all know, to expel Harry. I'm certain that given the events of the year Snape knew Harry/the trio had set off the firework in class, stolen from his personal stores(?), tricked Lockhart out of a signature to enter the Restricted Section to get a book, illegally brewed Polyjuice Potion, etc - but they received no punishment. Even in GoF, when Snape reasonably suspects Harry, he still waits for proof:

Hermione had taken the boomslang skin back in their second year — they had needed it for the Polyjuice Potion — and while Snape had suspected Harry at the time, he had never been able to prove it.

Points deducted during CoS: 0

Punishments given: maybe scraping tubeworms off a desk. A quiet year for Snape.

Prisoner of Azkaban

Points & detentions

“This lesson began ten minutes ago, Potter, so I think we’ll make it ten points from Gryffindor. Sit down.” “Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty.”

Harry was late, Harry didn't sit down. Typical school rules; nothing out of the ordinary here.

“That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger,” said Snape coolly. “Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.”

Hermione spoke out of turn twice (but no points were taken the first time).

“You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don’t want to be told?” The class knew instantly he’d gone too far. Snape advanced on Ron slowly, and the room held its breath. “Detention, Weasley,” Snape said silkily, his face very close to Ron’s. “And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed.”

Ron's detention turns out to be cleaning out bedpans in the Hospital Wing.

Snape doesn't tolerate speaking out of turn, yet both Hermione and Ron seem keen to do just that, repeatedly, despite Snape's reputation and strict classroom manner - even if your hand is up, you wait to be selected to answer, you don't just shout out. Worth noting, however:

“We told you,” said Parvati suddenly, “we haven’t got as far as werewolves yet, we’re still on — ” “Silence!” snarled Snape.

Snape doesn't deduct points for the first time speaking out of turn - but he does so immediately in response to insubordination and rudeness (especially if it is Harry).

Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappeared suddenly, fully grown. “Five points from Gryffindor,” said Snape, which wiped the smiles from every face. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

Ah, The Trevor Incident, favourite of Snaters the world over. I've talked about this method of teaching not being unusual for the context of Hogwarts/old schools here, but essentially giving Neville something to care about and a reason to pay attention was probably Snape's game here, not just to mess with Neville. As such, the points were taken from Gryffindor because Neville was asked to work independently, and he and Hermione disobeyed him - which Snape helpfully tells them at the time. It's only five points, Trevor was always going to be fine, and nobody in the fandom would care, except for the fact it's Snape. Nobody else cares about the other animals mistreated at Hogwarts - for example, the presumably real hedgehog that Dean was just...stabbing with pins for lessons on end:

“Miss Granger remains the only person in this class who has managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!”

Or even when Flitwick used Trevor as an example:

Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they’d seen him make Neville’s toad zoom around the classroom.

Sure, Snape sounded way more menacing about it and - given that some of the ingredients in potions are, like, pickled frogs, cockroaches, and the like - Snape was probably not that bothered about a dead toad. But Snape can tell at a glance whether or not a potion is in good condition, so he knew Trevor wasn't going to die. We don't know whether Snape looked sour because Trevor got to live (unlikely), whether he was sour because Hermione and Neville had disobeyed him, or whether that's just his face.

Malfoy spent much of their next Potions class doing dementor imitations across the dungeon; Ron finally cracked and flung a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.

I think in my old school if you threw something at someone's face you'd get sent out of class and possibly suspended, so... fair. However, Snape was either ignoring Malfoy's taunting (which he's done before) or Malfoy did it behind Snape's back; we're simply not told which on this occasion. And, once again, Malfoy provoking retaliation is ignored in favour of punishing an actual behaviour. McGonagall taught Snape as a student; he probably got that from her.

Suggested punishments

One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was for Harry’s least favorite teacher, Professor Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to give Harry detention for a month.

Probably true, but he's not actually given Harry a detention in this book.

Malfoy didn’t reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. He swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in Harry’s opinion, as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle. ... “Settle down, settle down,” said Professor Snape idly. Harry and Ron scowled at each other; Snape wouldn’t have said “settle down” if they’d walked in late, he’d have given them detention. But Malfoy had always been able to get away with anything in Snape’s classes; Snape was head of Slytherin House, and generally favored his own students above all others.

Harry does walk in late to class in this book and again in HBP - and gets 10 points deducted each time, not a detention. Harry is quite an unreliable narrator, as we've said before, and is also prone to being indignant when Snape gives him largely reasonable punishments.

The above passage is shortly after Draco was injured by Buckbeak in Hagrid's first lesson. In this book, Harry was late because of Quidditch practise, not an injury, and in HBP he was pacing in front of the Room of Requirement instead of getting to class, so there's really no excuse here. Harry can be such a drama queen (unreliable narrator) when it comes to Snape.

Further, if one were being charitable, one could say that Madam Pomfrey kept Malfoy in the hospital wing all that time, and therefore Snape would have good reason not to punish Malfoy for reappearing when Malfoy was feeling better. However, there's a very strong chance Snape let Malfoy milk it for all it was worth, and it's probably the same reason that Madam Pomfrey/the school wouldn't tell Draco to get his shit together: Lucius Malfoy, rich and influential helicopter dad, whom Draco tells every little inconvenience, and who's more trouble than it's worth to provoke.

And, some things to note here.

Snape's explains the reasons behind his threatening of punishments; he likes to stick to (and exploit) the rules

Typically, Snape goes from a proportionate punishment to threatening something more severe for continued misbehaviour

“And if I ever hear you criticise the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed.” / “Five more points from Gryffindor, and if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty.”

“Miss Granger, you are already facing suspension from this school,” Snape spat. “You, Potter, and Weasley are out-of-bounds, in the company of a convicted murderer and a werewolf. For once in your life, hold your tongue.”

Snape, as already discussed in CoS, also waits for proof of an accusation - even when Draco has informed him that Harry was in Hogsmeade, and he could've easily taken Draco at his word:

Harry stayed silent. Snape was trying to provoke him into telling the truth. He wasn’t going to do it. Snape had no proof — yet.

Points deducted during PoA: 75

Punishments given: One detention for Ron, cleaning the bedpans in the Hospital Wing - and threatening a toad

Goblet of Fire

Points & detentions

“Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger,” said an icy voice right behind them, and all three of them jumped, “I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor.” “Ah . . . reading magazines under the table as well?” Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. “A further ten points from Gryffindor … oh but of course …” Snape’s black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter’s article. “Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings. …”

Talking in class and reading things other than the work is standard "not allowed" stuff in school. Fair enough. What follows - reading it out to the class - is no more heinous than a teacher reading the notes we all passed in class when we got caught. Not fun for the students, but hardly one of Snape's greatest crimes. Read it on your own time, guys, and this wouldn't have been an issue.

Snape and Karkaroff came around the corner. Snape had his wand out and was blasting rosebushes apart, his expression most ill-natured. Squeals issued from many of the bushes, and dark shapes emerged from them. “Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett!” Snape snarled as a girl ran past him. “And ten points from Hufflepuff too, Stebbins!” as a boy went rushing after her. “And what are you two doing?” he added, catching sight of Harry and Ron on the path ahead. Karkaroff, Harry saw, looked slightly discomposed to see them standing there. His hand went nervously to his goatee, and he began winding it around his finger. “We’re walking,” Ron told Snape shortly. “Not against the law, is it?” “Keep walking, then!” Snape snarled, and he brushed past them, his long black cloak billowing out behind him.

Clearly cavorting in the bushes is not allowed at school dances, otherwise there wouldn't be chaperones and staff present at Muggle ones. Fair.

Interesting that Snape doesn't dock points for Ron talking back like he has done in the past - he simply tells them to fuck the fuck off. Perhaps it's the one-time rule we've seen with Parvati and Hermione - if Ron had spoken back again, he'd have gotten points docked. I wonder if Snape adheres to this rule with everyone (except Harry).

It was lucky, perhaps, that both Harry and Ron started shouting at Snape at the same time; lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him. He got the gist, however. “Let’s see,” he said, in his silkiest voice. “Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it’ll be a week’s worth of detentions.”

Post Densaugeo-gate, where Snape insulted Hermione's teeth. Their detention: forced to pickle rat brains in Snape’s dungeon (probably for potions, not just out of spite). Once again, his punishment starts reasonable (one detention for shouting/swearing at a teacher) and would escalate with further retaliation (multiple detentions).

Obviously, insulting a student's appearance was not his finest moment. It's also slightly out of character. I've written about this already. Snape doesn't seem to value appearances; every other insult he gives throughout the books are skill/character/competency based, not appearance-based; he is described as unattractive himself in ways that could presumably be magically or normally altered, i.e. with potions (or even with shampoo) but he doesn't care to alter them; and he has even been bullied on account of his appearance. Theories range from him just being spiteful/finding it funny - even though his typical M.O. is to ignore Hermione until she annoys him by speaking out of turn - to him doing it as a 'cover' because Draco is there and his Dark Mark is returning, and has been for some months; to my personal favourite - doing it so that he could punish Ron and Harry within the confines of the rules.

And also my other favourite headcanon: he's autistic as fuck, and pickling rat brains sets off his sensory issues.

The next two days passed without great incident, unless you counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Professor Snape, who seemed to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer, gave Neville detention, and Neville returned from it in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads.

Another one I've seen some drama about, made worse by the fact that JKR doesn't know what a horned toad is, so she described the aftermath as Neville removing "frog guts" from beneath his nails:

The horned toad, or "horned lizards, horny toads, or horntoads" according to Wikipedia. Definitely horned; definitely not a toad (or a frog). Even assuming that horned toads are some sort of toad/frog-like creature in the Wizarding World, it's just another potion ingredient, and nobody cares when Ron was made to pickle rat brains (although it is funny to me that both Snape and Harry might have been imagining doing the same to Peter Pettigrew).

Suggested punishments

Snape loved taking points from Harry, and had certainly never missed an opportunity to give him punishments, or even to suggest that he should be suspended from the school.

True, but Harry also rarely missed giving him the opportunity to suggest it by doing things that are anywhere from against the rules (e.g. fighting, misbehaving in class) to actually illegal (i.e. flying an enchanted car, theft).

Harry didn’t answer. He knew Snape was trying to provoke him; he had done this before. No doubt he was hoping for an excuse to take a round fifty points from Gryffindor before the end of the class.

True, but even Harry/the narration now accepts that there's mostly an "excuse" (read: reason) that Snape docks the points. Harry's hardly a saint.

“You were out of bed on the night my office was broken into!” Snape hissed. “I know it, Potter! Now, Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behavior! One more nighttime stroll into my office, Potter, and you will pay!”

Again, Snape's waiting for proof, even though he knows (strongly suspects) that Harry was out of bed. But, even now, he's still giving a warning - only this time accompanied by the (probably very real) threat of Veritaserum:

[Harry] didn’t like the sound of that Truth Potion at all, nor would he put it past Snape to slip him some.

Points deducted during GoF: 70 from Gryffindor, 10 apiece from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff (90 total)

Punishments given: One detention for Ron and Harry pickling rat brains, disembowelling horned toads for Neville (which are not toads)

Summary (so far)

Snape never awards points - not even to his own house

Snape does sometimes reward the other houses in other ways (who aren't Gryffindor), e.g. awarding Hufflepuff two penalties when he refereed Quidditch, praise for Slytherins

He also punishes other houses, not just Gryffindor e.g. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff at the Yule Ball

He tends to follow the school rules, and will typically use/exploit them to punish students within the confines of these rules, rather than making things up/punishing for non-issues (with exceptions; the exception being Harry)

He also waits for proof of accusations against Harry - e.g. when he suspects Harry's stolen his ingredients from his personal stores in CoS, again in GoF, and even in PoA when Harry has left Hogwarts to visit Hogsmeade

Often, he will give a warning before taking points. Then, the initial point deduction/punishment is proportionate to the misdeed

He threatens further punishments if the student(s) do not listen the first time and behave after the first punishment; he threatens punishments he would give if Harry were in his house (e.g. expulsion in CoS)

Harry often thinks that Snape will punish him, and then Snape ultimately doesn't

Harry also takes things personally. If he's late to class, for example, and he gets points docked as a result, Harry believes that that is unreasonable, in the same way he assumes that the book rule in PS is made up

Snape's neutral or fair actions are overlooked, like his proportionate punishments early on in the series, not punishing Ron for being disrespectful at the Yule Ball, etc

Harry exaggerates Snape's cruelty and personal vendettas, and dismisses when Snape behaves like other strict teachers. He merely notices when Filch is threatening detentions for students breathing; Filch's threats of physical punishments on the students are normally overlooked; Harry finds it amusing when Hagrid or 'Moody' are cruel to Draco; Harry finds McGonagall's much more severe punishments acceptable because he admires her

With the Slytherins waiting until Snape's back is turned to misbehave, it's hinted that Snape deals with Slytherin discipline privately. This is also confirmed in the later books, because Crabbe and Goyle have received detentions - and, ovbiously, Harry wouldn't know about it most of the time

Snape takes far fewer points than other teachers - namely, McGonagall - and also does not use or threaten excessively harsh or unfair punishments like 'Moody' or McGonagall (e.g. turning Draco into a ferret and physically harming him, docking 50 points each in the first book and sending them to the Forest, threatening the students with chains, etc)

Snape's crimes

Snape does exhibit bias and favouritism by overlooking Slytherin cheek and misbehaviour (especially Draco's), whilst simultaneously cracking down on similar behavior from Gryffindors - especially Harry

He's more likely to praise Slytherins and criticise Gryffindors. He's even more likely to praise Draco and criticise specifically Harry and his friends

This is particularly obvious during Densaugeo-gate, where he punishes only Gryffindors, despite Slytherins being involved - and even may have provoked the students so that he could punish the Gryffindors, by upsetting Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Which leads me to...

Snape can be cruel. Sometimes I think he's just being blunt - Snape's "waspish" comments are probably just blunt feedback on their potions. Sometimes it's how Harry perceives what would otherwise be normal dialogue if delivered by another teacher (e.g. McGonagall) - but at other times, Snape resorts to cruelty to try and get a message across, or specifically to needle Harry

Snape has a tendency to assume Harry is up to something (but can this be considered a crime? Harry is usually up to something, and he also usually gets away with it). but...

Snape has a tendency to 'confuse' Harry for James, especially from PoA onwards - and this makes him also assume the worst of Harry. It also makes him more volatile, and prone to meltdowns and extreme measures like the use of Veritaserum, especially as the stakes increase for both Snape and Harry with the impending return of Voldemort

Final conclusion: Snape is a strict and blunt teacher, and although he does particularly dislike Harry and is more prone to singling him out for punishment, it is not (in his first four years at school) always the case. Harry has a tendency not only to misbehave, but to imagine punishments Snape might give him, and also to overreact and feel indignant if Snape punishes him reasonably for something he's actually done wrong. It's never really acknowledged when Snape lets things slide, either because he can't find proof or presumably when Dumbledore silences him (a notable exception being his shrieking accusation that Potter had something to do with Sirius Black's escape, but... Snape was a little bit beyond reason at that point)

At some stage, I'll finish re-reading the series so I can comment on OotP and beyond, hopefully add some more context to GoF, and pick out any further threats or punishments I've missed. In the meantime if there's anything essential that I've missed, I'd love to know.

[tusswrites]

The Pursuit Of Love (c.sc)

“Because stupid, you’re my best friend. You don’t slow dance with best friends."

PAIRING: Choi Seungcheol x fem! Reader

WORD COUNT: 21k

GENRE: angst, fluff, crack, childhood best friends to lovers, romcom, idiots in love

RATING: 18+ MDNI

WARNING: it gets angsty at some parts, the reader is high-key delusional and possesses probably one brain cell, mentions of depression, mentions of school bullying, profanity, over usage of hyphens and dots my forever allies , complete abuse of art jargon since the author refused to research for lack of time(pardon in advance), mentions of sexual acts, MDNI

SYNOPSIS : a heart’s relentless quest for love, fueled by the perfect visions of romance etched into the world around you, woven through the bittersweet tapestry of rejections, heartbreaks, and long-buried secrets. along the way, you uncover that perhaps the love you've been chasing has been quietly waiting, right beneath your nose all this time.

CREDITS: a big big shoutout to my darling eunha @svtiddiess who was with me every step of the way, cheering me on, reading through what once started out as just a thought, devolved to whatever this is and just being the best person overall, this fic wouldn't have happened had it not been for her .. so insanely grateful for you my little bugger ; bennie @miniseokminnies for the pretty banner, chee-chee darling @nothoughtsjustfic, and lovely asteria @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping me with the fic! You were both like the angel and devil on my shoulder, encouraging and critiquing me at the perfect times when I needed it best.

A .N. : this is part of the 'lonely hearts cafe' collab by @camandemstudios. check out the other works !

masterlist here. please comment or reblog with thoughts if you enjoyed it ♥️

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I

In a small town, away from the suburbs and nestled among gossiping aunts and children who ran around it with war cries, protecting the honor of their dwelling place, masked in the attire they wore for the games they had in mind, dwelled the Chois. Barricaded by a fence that had once been put up, your family lived just across from them.

You cannot imagine a moment when you were not joined to Cheol at the hip. Your grandfathers were best friends, and your mothers were best friends, leading to you and Cheol becoming best friends. It was dictated by the law of science after all. They joke that your mothers were resigned to having their children be best friends, to continue the tradition that they conceived at the same time, a joke your father very much likes not to take part in, thank you very much. You’ll find him bringing up the nine-month age gap between you and Cheol at every intervention. The little town you both grew up in had its fair share of weird quirks and eccentric people, as most towns do. One outlandish custom that ran in your town was the law of intermarriage between its townsfolk. You see, the prom king marries the prom queen, the gardener marries the florist, the town mayor marries the best baker in Myeongdong, and the town doctor marries the town nurse. For as long as you can remember, the quaint town of Myeongdong was shrouded with devotion and harmony among the people. Naturally, you hunger for love too. 

Which is why, one Christmas day, you wake up excited, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, decked out in your Christmas pajamas, on stealthy feet hoping to catch Santa putting the presents in your gigantic stockings at least this time. Instead, you are greeted by the sight of your father kissing your mother. Disgust should have made you crawl back, hoping to burn that image to the ground, but that day at five years old, you crave such love. A love where your parents are so disgustingly in love, that they failed to notice the kerosene in Eomma’s hand steadily pouring out from the bottle, onto the fireplace furnace, and causing the flames to be bigger than they could be contained.

 But that’s a story for another day!

What matters is that, on that day, you made a firm oath: one day, you would find a love like theirs.  ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ II

“Close your eyes, no peeking, I better not see a - Hannie, stop peeking!” you shout, stomping your foot on the ground to drive your point across to your mischievous best friend. Your best friend just giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. Doesn’t he know this is super important?

“Y/N-iee” Jeonghan draws out the last vowel, completely tired of all your shenanigans by now. “Can we stop this already? I do not want to be a prince anymore.I wanna play tag”

"Just give me one second Jeonghan, it will be over after a second.”

“Alright, that’s one second.” “What! No, it isn’t. A second is over only when the grandfather clock dings. Appa said so”

“That’s an hour you silly goose. Your Appa lied to you” Jeonghan argues, sticking out his tongue. “Hey- Don’t call me silly!” you pout, crossing your arms.

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol pipes up, ever the peacemaker, raising his hands. “We’re closing our eyes now, okay? No peeking, Hannie.” He gives Jeonghan a look, who rolls his eyes but obediently covers his face with his hands.

Appa’s were a sore topic ever since Hannie’s father woke up one day to buy granolas and never came back. Cheol had to maintain decorum within the cardboard box the three of you were currently sitting in, the one you got with the new refrigerator your parents bought recently. The two princes, Hannie and Cheol, fought for your hand in marriage. A story made completely up by you, dragging your poor best friends who wanted nothing to do with fairy tales and just wanted to play tag. Now they were forced into this game of having to close their eyes and get kissed by you? While you decide who your future husband will be? At five years old? Barnacles!

“What are we even doing?” Jeonghan mumbles under his breath. “I just wanna run around”

“This is important!” you huff, hands on your hips. “How else am I supposed to know who my future husband is?”

Seungcheol peeks through his fingers and grins. “Isn’t five a little too young to get married, Y/N-ie?”

“Nu-uh! My Eomma said people find love at all ages!” you insist. “And you two are princes in the castle!” You gesture dramatically at the castle. It’s now a castle, complete with crayon scribbles and stickers to prove it.

“But we’re not princes!” Jeonghan groans. “I just wanna play tag!”

“You’ll play tag later!” you declare with all the authority a five-year-old can muster. “First, you have to close your eyes so I can choose who to kiss!”

“Y/N-ie I have a better idea” Hannie calls out, never one to be a slave to all your demands, unlike Cheol, your best friend who complied with everything you said.

“Why don’t you close your eyes, and whoever kisses you becomes your true love?”

‘Yeah okay.” you agreed simply. And there you sat, promptly closed eyes, eagerly waiting for the one kiss that seals your future husband.

You feel it, the slight brush, the aggressive push, the faint smell of Kool-Aid hitting your nose, all at once. It happened within a matter of milliseconds. And before you could so much as think, it was all over. You opened your eyes promptly, not heeding the instruction to wait a bit, and there you see it at five. Clear as the sun. Yoon Jeonghan, your first kiss right in front of you. 

You have it in your heart that you will marry him one day. 

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Tragedy strikes on the day you find out that Yoon Jeonghan is leaving this town with his mother and baby sister. “But you can’t leave! We have to marry each other.” This was an emergency meeting held at Cheol’s house, in the dining room, your coven for emergencies for the “Triple Devils’, a name dubbed on you three by his hyung.

“I have to go Y/N. Eomma said it's best for us if we leave this town and start in in Daegu. She said there is a fountain of chocolate milk there and I have to see that. When I come back to marry you, I will take you there Y/N.”

And so you and Cheol bid farewell to Jeonghan, waving until the last trace of his hand was completely out of sight. As soon as he was gone, your tender heart shattered, and you sobbed in the arms of Choi Seungcheol. Your ‘true love’ had left, and all you could do was mourn the loss, comforted only by Cheol. He stood there, holding you as close as his little arms could manage, gently stroking your back and cooing soothing words, trying to calm you down.

At the tender age of five, you had your first kiss, found love, and experienced heartbreak, and your comrade-in-arms was none other than Choi Seungcheol. ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ III

You were bigger (not by Dad’s standards) and wiser (not by the big red letters on your test papers). You were going to come through and find love. At eight, you had a strategy-invite the whole class. If you had a plan to entice Kwan Daniel and get him to notice you and put an end to your restless heart around him, then that’s between you and God. If your parents agreed to your wishes, although begrudgingly, to have a giant bounce house on top of a five-layered cake, then that’s none of your business too. 

So there you sat in a pristine Chanel dress—a gift from Halmeoni herself, your quirky grandmother from the town up north—poised and ready for the onslaught of guests who would soon flood this rented venue. Today, you would propose to Kwan Daniel.

The clock struck three; the clock struck four, the sun slowly lost its yellow vigor, casting an orange hue, reminding you quietly that the day was soon to set.

And when all the minutes unraveled into dusk, when the grandest birthday party your town had ever seen was reduced to scattered decorations, an untouched cake, and silence,save for the murmurs of your worried parents; you came to a gut-wrenching realization.

No one was coming.

Ignoring your parents’ concerned looks of pity, you upturn the table you were slumped against and dive headlong into the arms of Choi Seungcheol,the only other friend who had attended the party, who once again looks a little unprepared for the way you tackle him in a hug. He now has longer arms and wraps them around you, squeezing your back and soothing the agonizing wails erupting from your throat.

Heartbroken at eight years old.

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IV

There is a hierarchy that is followed in middle school- one that consists of you sitting and dining with the ‘classic weirdo’ from middle school’ Lee Hyungwon.

Kids at school avoided him, choosing to run away if he dared to make an appearance or come close to talking to him. He was a loner, but a loner that enjoyed his own presence. He didn’t mind the hushed whispers, the open disdain on his face, his tattered clothes, his rat’s nest hair, or the stinky smell that came from near him. He had no problem eating blue cheese, the odor of which will unfortunately be ingrained in your brain forever. But you, you needed him. On days like this, only he could save you. “Dude I told you Julian can be nasty about things like this,” he says, plucking the banana peel from your head.

Lee Julian, Hyungwon’s stepbrother, and the school bully, had thrown you into the trash once again. It seemed like fate had it out for you. You’d read enough Wattpad to know how this worked. ‘The boys who bully you are secretly the ones who love you,’ you had declared confidently to Hyungwon, who was still fussing over the odd pieces of dirt stuck to your clothes.

“Here”, he reaches into his cargo pants, the bulgy pocket deflating at the retrieval of an expensive bottle of cologne.

“Hyungwon, why do you have an expensive bottle of cologne in your pocket, but you never use it?”

“The same way you have the option to call Seungcheol to stop Lee Julian  from bullying  but you never do it anyway.” He deadpans.

He’s got a point there.

At the start of middle school, you and Seungcheol agreed that this time, at least, you’d separate and make new friends. You were tired of being stuck together, suffocated by the assumption that you two were a couple. You wanted more—more friends, and secretly, you wanted to find love. With Cheol always by your side, that would never happen. Everyone thought you two were a thing, and honestly, that was disgusting to you.

Except, you didn’t consider how unpopular you would be in middle school and how popular Cheol would be. While you resided at the bottom of the middle school food chain, he reigned supreme in school- a local celebrity in his own rights.

Cheol knew about the last time Julian dumped you into the trash. You heard this when the news of Cheol’s parents meeting their principal over the infamous incident of Julian being hung on the door by a wedgie spread like wildfire. But you had threatened Cheol, insisting he leave Julian alone. ‘It’s all in the name of love. He’ll come around and see me one day,’ you told him, ignoring your best friend’s accusations that you were ‘crazy’.

As Cheol's best friend, you didn’t want more attention to yourself. You were fine with the fame you would eventually get, being Julien’s girlfriend and all that. This way you get a head start on the marriage plans you have in sight. You need to ask Julien about where he wants to have his honeymoon. Your Halmeoni has told you that Bali is best enjoyed during winter.

It didn’t look like this new setup was any difficult on Cheol, who seemed to do just fine with his new clique. On the days that Hyungwon skipped school, Cheol would come in and sit next to you, hating the sight of you lonely when you were scarfing down your cheeseburger. ‘Cheol go away. I will be fine.”

“Shut up Y/N”

Well, you can’t always be the boss.

But then Cheol’s visits to the lunch table dwindled with the arrival of a girl latched onto his arm- Saerom Burner, his new girlfriend. An absolute doll face, and an absolute bitch to you. For no reason at all.

♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ ♡ ♥ “Y/N, why is the necklace Halmeoni gave you broken?” Your mother stood in the doorway of your room, completely ignoring your warnings of ‘knock before you enter’ privacy. She held a string of beads in her hand, looking at you with concern.

Well, oops. You hadn’t meant for your mom to find out just yet.

Your mom had better things to worry about right now, though, especially seeing your hasty attempts to rub away the tear stains on your face. She quickly wrapped you in a tight hug, her movements careful not to wrinkle her perfectly ironed outfit. No questions asked, she just pulled you in close.

“Sh-she’s just so mean,” you managed to stutter out, still wiping at your face.

“Who is, little chica?”

“S-Saerom B-Burner.”

“Burner? You mean Jieun’s daughter, Saerom Burner?”

You nodded quietly, watching your mom carefully. Her immediate questions made it seem like she already knew something.

“Do you know her mom?” You were sitting up now, hands on your knees, eager to hear any tidbit of information your mom might have about this situation. Your parents were never shy about gossiping about the townsfolk in front of you—although they tended to forget you were just fourteen and probably didn’t need to know the ins and outs of every drama in Myeongdong.

“You know your dad is a handsome stud don’t you?” Your mom gave a little smirk. Your dad was balding faster than a speeding bullet, but back in the day, he was a heartthrob. At least according to the proof in the many prom king photos that lined the mantelpiece, all of which your dad loved to reminisce over.

“Well, back then, your father and Jieun Burner were the couple of this town—Prom King and Queen, the perfect pair. That was until I moved here. Your dad fell for me, and we became the new hot couple. But the town never forgot. They gave your dad—and mostly me—hell for messing up their perfect little plan. They called me the city witch who bewitched your father. I learned to live as an outsider, hated by a town that’s supposed to be so warm and welcoming. Your dad always told me to ignore their stares, but it was easy for him to say. If it wasn’t for him, I probably would’ve left. Jieun still hasn’t let go of that grudge against me.”

Your mom’s voice faltered, as though this memory still stung after all these years.

“I think she might have—”

“Wait a minute!” You interrupted, your eyes lighting up as everything suddenly clicked. You shot up from your spot on the bed, excitement bubbling in your chest. “So, Appa dated Jieun Burner?”

Your mom hesitated, then sighed. “Yes. And before the town could convince your Appa to marry Jieun, I was already pregnant with you. They didn’t have a choice but to marry us.”

“Wait, you were pregnant with me? Was I—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Your mom’s voice was stern, though there was a soft edge to it. “You’ll always be our darling child. Always.”

You quickly held up your hands in mock surrender. “No, Ma, I’m not upset. I just want to know.”

She swallowed, clearly uncomfortable but eventually confirmed what you’d pieced together.

“So, that’s why Saerom Burner is mad at me!” Your glee was so obvious it might’ve been a little disturbing for your mom to watch, but you couldn’t help yourself. “She’s not mad at me. She’s mad at you! The whole town probably thought you and Appa cheated on her mom, but I was born before that. Your marriage was kept a secret so no one knew! I have to tell Saerom about this. Oh, Ma, this makes so much sense now! I must tell Saerom about this. I must ma”

You bounced on your feet, practically bursting with excitement.

“No, you foolish child,” your mom called after you, her voice heavy with concern. “You don’t understand how malicious Jieun can be when she wants to be.”

But your mother’s warning fell on deaf ears as you dashed into your closet, grabbed your camouflage jacket to match your new mismatched ensemble, and rushed out the door to the café where you knew Cheol was meeting Saerom Burner.

Your mother sighed, crossing her heart as she sat down on your unmade bed. “Bless that silly child’s heart,” she muttered to herself, hoping you wouldn’t stir up too much trouble.

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“Saerom” you shriek out. You had run a mile a minute, wanting to clear up all the confusion you could before it got any further. Running in the cold with no ear muffs had knocked some sense into you. You had to clear everything up before this misunderstanding spiraled any further. You could feel the sharp sting of realization hit you as you ran, remembering how Saerom had gotten the whole class to skip your birthday party back in elementary school. Now it made sense—her mom must have poisoned her against you, and you were determined to fix it.

“Y/N, what are you doing here,?’ Cheol looks concerned, navigating the perimeter of the cafe shop, rushing to you and immediately placing his warm palms on your cheeks. You look flushed, with the exertion you placed on your body and the cold biting at your skin. 

His touch was bringing some warmth, giving you that momentary relief from the cold that had seeped into your bones. You closed your eyes for a brief second, savoring the warmth of his hands against your flushed skin. 

Oh right, you were here for a different purpose. “Saerom!” You called out again, more urgently this time. Saerom was sitting at a table with her friends, and as soon as she spotted you, the look of disdain that crossed her face was unmistakable. You figured you’d interrupted some sort of date, but when you scanned the table, you realized there were three of her friends with her.

Weird idea for a date, you mused, before shaking your head. This was no time for distractions.

“Saerom, my mom was married to Appa before I was pregnant. Appa didn’t cheat on your mom- “Y/N where the hell are you going with this? Cheol had placed his full palm around your wrist, locking you in before you took any more steps toward Saerom, who looked baffled at the information coming out of your mouth. You shrug his hand away, ignoring the tight grip he had, and continue to further your advances, not reading the room despite all that education Cheol has bestowed on you.

“Saerom,” you continued, undeterred. “Your mom must have told you that my parents—”

Saerom Burner, thoroughly and utterly disgusted by your strange propositions and your ungraceful manner at which you whirred into the room with so much less of a courteous gesture to enter the room, sent you one last disgusted look before leaving the scene, hand in hand with her two best friends side by side.

Cheol’s palm landed more firmly around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. “Y/N, let’s go. Come with me.”

“No wait I-:”

“I said, let’s go.” The tone in his voice left no room for argument, not that you had any, this was the first time Cheol had ever raised his voice at you, he was always the calm soul to play along with all your whims and goofs.

And just like that, your one chance to reconcile with Saerom Burner or anyone at all in high school, was gone. Freshman year had barely started, and you’d already managed to make a complete mess of it.

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V

Not to be dismayed, you reminded yourself that this was your senior year of high school—the final stretch. The year when everything should come together, even if it didn't always feel like it was. You could sense the eagerness of your teachers, waiting for you to finally graduate and leave school behind. If only they knew how much you were dreading that moment.

School has never been your strong suit. Academia was hard for you—English grammar confused you, math made your brain ache, and you could never quite remember formulae. You scraped by with summer school to make up for what you couldn’t grasp during the regular school year, with Cheol always by your side, patiently guiding you through the labyrinth of equations and essays.

Unlike the teachers who shook their heads and called you ‘too slow’ , Cheol was a pretty patient teacher. He took his time before every test day, to come home and help you prepare for the quizzes, otherwise you were sure to fail.

This was your final year in school, if you can’t find love you must at least find something you are good at.

So you try hard.

You try your hand at running for student president but with terrible grades such as yours, you have no option but to give up in the first leg. You were not the sharpest tool in the shed, and that was alright by your parent's standards. As long as you were ‘trying your best’, which again, you weren't. 

Then, you tried volleyball. But it wasn’t your sport. Instead of passing the ball, you kept instinctively catching it in your hands—totally not the point. You tried soccer next, but an unfortunate incident where you accidentally tripped Haewon during a game ended your hopes there. The glee club seemed like the perfect fit until the music teacher begged you not to sing. And dance? Well, you got kicked out after a week, not from lack of enthusiasm, but from knocking into people and causing chaos during every practice. You might’ve been bad at sports and singing and dancing, but you weren’t one to give up.

There was one thing you were sure of, though: art. You may not have been the best at academics or extracurriculars, but you had a knack for art. When you picked up a pencil or paintbrush, everything else faded away. Your creativity was your escape, and even if it wasn’t something that made you the most popular kid in school, it was something that grounded you.

But beyond your art, your greatest strength was your spirit. No matter how many times you failed, you always got back up, even if it was awkward and clumsy. Your resilience was something no one could take away from you, and you were grateful for it. Little did you know, someone else was incredibly proud of your determination too.

Choi Seungcheol, the captain of the football team, has never been prouder than when his biggest cheerleader shows up decked out in clown clothes, mismatched socks, and a megaphone hanging around their neck, carrying the biggest banners ever seen at a school soccer game—his most dedicated trooper- you.

Everyone is confused as to how Cheol and you are best friends, the logic always seemed puzzling,

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“Did you see the way he smiled at me?”

“No, but I saw a grimace in your direction.” “Cheollie! He was totally smiling at me. Okay, let’s do this scene by scene. When I asked him out for the Prom dance, he said yes. He’s too shy; he’s not going to tell me directly! You have to read it from his face! There was genuine excitement on his face.Real excitement, Cheol!”

“Y/N, the only expression I saw on his face was relief. When you left. “

“What are you a mind reader these days?”

“Not so much a mind reader as someone who listens with their ears and can recognize contempt when it’s practically blaring from someone’s eyes.

“Okay, you are very cranky today. What’s wrong? Are you gassy? I know we all need to let a - “Y/N, I am begging you, do not finish that sentence, I am trying to eat these twisters!”

“Cheol, these are bad for you! It’s going to cause you more issues than what you-” “I am leaving Y/N.”

“Wait, no! Don’t leave me alone here.” 

“Y/N, this is a girl's locker room. You texted me our safeword, and I ran here expecting the worst. Not to fangirl over your delusions.”

“They are not delusions, Cheollie. He’s just playing hard to get. It’s obvious!”

“Y/N, I am leaving, I am late for practice. Coach Johnson is going to make me do extra laps today. I’d love to stay and chat but I have to leave right now.”

‘Wait, before you leave.”

‘Y/N, you better have a bloody good reason as to why you are holding me back.”

“Just unhook my bra. This new one has too many hooks, and I can’t reach back to get them all. I hurt my hand Cheollie.”

“Y/N, are you for real? Just ask some girl love”

You look down at the ground, a deep flush on your face. “Oh no, I don't like that face! Y/N what did you do?”

‘Look, it was a mistake, alright? “

“Uh Huh. I believe you. Out with it”

“Coach had us pick partners again. As usual, I was the last one picked. I got paired with Saerom, and she was not happy about it. You know how she is.”

“Wait, how did you get paired with Saerom? No offense, but after last time? I didn’t think she’d be caught dead near you.”

“You’d think that, right? Yeah well, she came late. I saw her giving head to Cameron by the bleachers, it seems to me she lost track of time.”

“Y/N, you can’t just say that out aloud.” Cheol was sputtering, embarrassed at your uncouth mouth, blabbering shit for no reason at all. “Yeah well, by the time she came, I was on the bench, and she got paired up with me. We had to do stretches together, and you know my body is not that flexible. I accidentally kicked her right in the eye, she screamed bloody murder, Coach had to call off practice because now Saerom Burner has a black eye. And they are all mad at me and no one wants to talk to me. So will you please unhook my bra? “That is a lot of information to take in one go! But also not surprised coming from your mouth. Turn around. Let me help you”

“Yes, but close your eyes, please, I don’t want you to be the first man to see my boobs. It’s sacred peaks for my first time.”

“I am going to pretend you did not just say that.”

“Can you close your eyes, please Cheollie?” “Y/N, realistically, how can I help you with my eyes closed.”

“You have a girlfriend, don’t you? Aren’t you supposed to be educated enough to do all this blindly?”

“Correction, I have an ex. An ex that seems to hate you very much by now. And no, I did not practice the art of unhooking bras with zero vision. Now will you please turn around? You are landing me in hot waters”

“Fine, but don’t be turned on by seeing my naked back, I can’t give you a ‘Saerom special.’”

“Y/N, please. Stop talking. For the love of all that is good in this world, stop talking.”

“Fine. Wait, you did it! You genius! Now, can you scratch my shoulder too? The straps are driving me crazy.”

For the sake of his sanity, Cheol does as commanded, unperturbed by your weird demands. “I knew it! Knew Cheol was cheating on me with this chick. I feel so sick!” You hear a sickly voice call out and a small part of you is frightened at the shrillness of it. 

“Saerom what are you-”

“Save it Cheol. All you men bleed the same blood, chasing behind any living thing with legs”

“Saerom, wai-” you begin. And before you can so much as explain, Saerom struts out of the locker room, looking a little silly with that weird patch in her eye.

“Please don’t go behind her.” Cheol has a tight hold against your hip, preventing you from running behind her and ruining things again. 

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You knew this wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t stop you from feeling the weight of Saerom’s hatred. She’d forever be mad at you, probably for swooping in and stealing her boyfriend, or for somehow being the reason they broke up, although that happened well before she saw him unhook your bra. Cheol had refused to give you any explanation then , insisting it was "none of your business" despite your constant nagging.

“It really is none of your business, Aegi,” your mother had sharply chided when you tried to pry information from Cheol’s mother. So, you let it go.

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Maybe Byun Michael had openly rejected you, turning down your invitation to prom without hesitation. No worries. You still had time to ask someone else. You figured they were just too shy to ask you first anyway.

Inspired by To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, you had a plan.

Up in the treehouse, you worked diligently, letters neatly stacked, paperweights keeping them from flying away.

“What are you doing up here?”

You shrieked, nearly toppling over in your rush to cover the evidence.

“Cheol! You’re not supposed to be here.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your flimsy excuse. “Last I checked, this is my treehouse too.”

You huffed, still trying to block his view. “How’d you even climb up here?”

“The same way you did. Up those rickety stairs.” He smirked. “Now, scoot. Let me see what you’re being so secretive about.”

Reluctantly, you moved aside, revealing a pile of carefully written letters, waiting to be tucked into envelopes and sent to every boy you had ever crushed on.

“Y/N, love… what is this?”

You stayed quiet, hoping your eyes could explain for you.

Cheol picked up a letter, flipping through it. His disbelief grew with every word.

“You wrote love letters? For what?”

“I wanted to send them to Jungwoo, Nick, and Max. Hoping they’d, you know… see my invitation and ask me to prom.”

He blinked. “So you… what, wrote two-page essays? Front and back?”

“Shit’s romantic,” you countered.

“Says who?”

“Lara Jean”

He let out a low hum, dripping with sarcasm. “Mhmm.”

You decided to ignore him.

“What are you doing, Cheol?”

He smirked, mischief sparking in his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to know the combination to Nick’s locker, would you? Let me help you send this to him.”

“Cheol—”

“Now, move. I’ll be inserting this letter into the purple envelope titled ‘Nick, My Love.’”

You stared at your best friend in awe. He caught your silence and turned to stare right back.

“Quit drooling, perv. Get back to work.”

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“Hey there, sexy.”

You cringed at the sleazy voice slithering into your ear, too close for comfort.

“What do you want, JJ?” you muttered, rubbing your ears as if you could erase the sound of his voice.

“I heard you’re looking for a prom date,” he said, grinning. “Your letter to Jungwoo was found in the dumpster. Figures if he can’t take you, I can. There’s a price though”

Your stomach twisted. “And what, may I ask, is the price?”

His smirk deepened.

“Flash me.”

Your blood ran cold.

Without a word, you turned and walked away, disgusted and dejected. Now you knew exactly where your third letter had ended up, after the first two were sent back to you with rejection. 

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The eve of prom week, you stared longingly at the dress you had picked out at sixteen. This was supposed to be the night—the night you’d be wooed, twirled under sparkling lights, and dance until your feet ached. But with no date, the magic had faded.

You sighed, sinking deeper into your bed.

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“Psst. I know you can hear me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Good. Can you also see that I’ve been trying to ignore you?”

Jin, your annoyingly nosy neighbor—home from college for reasons unknown—leaned against your doorframe, arms crossed. “What are you doing here moping when you should be at prom?”

You stiffened. He must have noticed because his voice softened as he stepped closer, squeezing your shoulder lightly.

“Why are you even back? It’s not summer yet.”you complained at his sudden unwelcome appearance in your room. 

“Got kicked out.”

Your head snapped up. “You are a straight-A student.”

He gave you a humorless smile. “Well, this straight-A student is also very depressed and very nosy. So, tell me—why is my chatterbox neighbor, who wouldn’t shut up about prom, still in her pajamas when she should be having the night of her life? Making babies or something.”

You groaned. “That was disgusting.”

“Potato, patootie. Now, spill.”

You inhaled sharply before mumbling under your breath, “No one asked me out.”

Jin blinked. “Seriously, speak a little softer, the ghost of Myeongdong shivered at the timber of your voice. ”, he states sarcastically.

“No one asked me out for prom,” you repeated, louder this time.

“So what? Since when do you wait for other people to ask you?”

“Yeah, well… the ones I asked rejected me.”

Jin let out a low whistle. “Even Seungcheol? Now that’s a shocker.”

“I didn’t ask Cheol,” you admitted, avoiding his gaze. “He already has a date.”

Silence. Then—“Wait. You’re telling me 'The Seungcheol' asked someone else out before asking you?”

"Why does your tone sound like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like a pipsqueak?"

"Is this your way of trying to avoid the subject? By hurling knives at me? This poor soul who became an outcast? Is someone a little mad their diaper buddy has a date and they don't?"

“No, that’s not—” You fidget, hoping to dodge whatever conclusion he was about to reach.

Jin wasn’t having it. “Unbelievable. Alright, how about this—I’ll take you.”

You blinked. “What?”

“One condition.” He pointed a finger at you. “You go out and have fun. If no one dances with you, you dance by yourself. But you’re going to have a good time. You won’t get another night like this.”

You stared at him, squinting hard, trying to detect a trap. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just some good ol’ friendly behavior.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Liar. Jin never does favors for free. You have an ulterior motive.” Then, a thought struck you. “Oh my God—you're hoping to see your ex, aren’t you? Miss Ronalds?”

Jin immediately turned pink.

“I KNEW IT! I got played again by a conniving little—”

“Hey, hey, no need to throw hands. Let’s all calm down.”

“Calm down? You literally used me as a ploy to get back with your ex! How do you stoop that low?”

Jin scratched the back of his head. “Okay, in hindsight, this looks bad—”

“It is bad!”

“But,” he interjected, “hear me out. I will drive you to prom. I will escort you to the dance floor. I will sit there the whole night like a damn chaperone. No advances toward Maggie. None at all. Cross my heart.”

You folded your arms. “I don’t believe you.”

“Look, I—see?”

And then, in one swoop, he pulled off his hoodie.

You shrieked, covering your eyes. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Relax, drama queen. I just took my hoodie off. No one is going to dance with me wearing just this.” He smirked, showing you his baby pink tee. “Here’s a deal—I take you to prom, and you treat me to a seafood boil tomorrow. There’s this new place I’ve been eyeing, but my parents cut me off for dropping out of uni.”

You gawked. “So you ask a high schooler? Wow.”

“Correction—a loaded high schooler.” He grinned. “Besides, a deal is a deal.”

You sighed. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, about to go get dressed.”

He’s got you there.

"Also Y/N?"

"What now?"

"You are paying for gas."

You couldn’t believe it. Your eternal pursuit of love, on a night that was supposed to be magical, was now reduced to paying your annoying neighbor gas money just so he could talk to your art teacher—who just so happened to be his ex.

So much for that bucket list.

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So maybe you don’t get asked out for Prom, but that’s okay. You’re still here, you show up and that’s all that matters for now. 

Or things could go a little differently. 

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You hadn’t seen Cheol all night, but true to his word, Jin remained on his best behavior. No sneaking off to find his ex, no sleazy antics,just snapping embarrassing pictures of you mid-bite while you stuffed your face with appetizers.

Halfway through a fast song, a hurried “There you are!” breaks through the noise.

You barely have time to turn before you’re met with the sight of a breathless Seungcheol, his hands gripping your shoulders as if you were seconds from vanishing into thin air.

“Where were you?!” he demands, shaking you slightly as if the answer will fall out of you.

You scoff. “Where was I? Where were you? I’ve been looking for you for the past hour!”

“I was at your house! Trying to pick you up for prom!”

You blink. “Why were you trying to pick me up? Don’t you have a date? Where’s Yunjin?”

Cheol shrugs, unbothered. “I canceled on her.”

Your jaw drops. “You what?”

“She’s going out with JJ anyway.”

Your horror intensifies. “And you let that happen?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He wooed her with those movie lines copied from your letter.”

You gasp. “What?! And you didn’t tell her that??!”

“It's not my fault she fell for it.” He shrugs again. “Besides, why does it matter? We get to be each other’s date now.”

Before you can protest, he grabs your wrist, pulling you onto the dance floor—cracker still half-eaten in your mouth. You barely register the moment before the upbeat track fades, replaced by the slow, familiar melody of All of Me.

Uh-oh.

“This is awkward,” you state, chewing hastily.

Cheol tilts his head, a pout forming. “Why is it awkward?”

“Because, stupid, how can I slow dance with you? You’re my best friend. Best friends don’t slow dance together.”

He rolls his eyes. “Throw your stubborn beliefs out the window and just dance.”

Before you can react, his hands find your waist, pulling you in close. Then—without any warning—he dips you.

You gasp, clutching onto him for dear life, heart racing.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?!” you ask breathlessly, still in shock.

A smirk tugs at his lips, a dimple appearing. “You’re not the only one who attempted a dance major.”

You narrow your eyes before reaching up and poking his dimple.

Cheol laughs, swaying with you gently. “I got kicked out, though.” You supply. 

He snorts. “I can tell. Also… can you tell I stuffed cotton in my shoes?”

You blink. “Wait. That’s the soft, pudgy thing I’ve been stepping on?”

“Yes. And thank God for that.”

This time, when he dips you again, your hands instinctively go around his neck. You’re still a little scared but fully reassured that he won’t let you fall. As if to reward you for your full trust, he leans a little and pecks your forehead.

“What was that for?” 

Cheol shrugs, his grip on your waist steady as he sways you both to the rhythm. "Felt like it," he says simply, a teasing glint in his eye.

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VI

Two semesters into college, you called your parents to inform them that you were quitting. There was no way you could make it through another day, not with the constant stress pressing down on you. Every class felt like a foreign language, and no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t grasp the material as effortlessly as everyone else seemed to. It was exhausting, frustrating, and, worst of all, demoralizing.

To compensate for your sudden lack of education, you threw yourself into the workforce, picking up not one but two daytime jobs.

Your first attempt was at a front desk at a restaurant,‘Meogeulle’ but that didn’t last long. Your tendency to chat up customers and “waste company time,” as your boss put it, quickly earned you a demotion. Instead of greeting guests with a bright smile, you were sent to the back, where your words wouldn’t slow down business.

And so, you became a dishwasher.

But if your boss thought exile to the kitchen would dull your spirit, he was sorely mistaken. You became the jolliest dishwasher ‘Meogeulle’ had ever seen. You hummed through every shift, cheerfully tackling the greasiest plates, and scrubbed even the dirtiest surfaces with the enthusiasm of someone discovering hidden treasure. Your energy was infectious, and before long, the entire kitchen staff had grown fond of you.

Old Ralph, the head chef, took a particular liking to you. He often snuck you free meals, much to your delight—and Cheol’s. The two of you practically survived on those meals, stretching your modest incomes to cover rent in a far-too-luxurious apartment complex that neither of you had any business affording.

Looking back, maybe telling your parents that you could fend for yourself hadn’t been your brightest idea. But somehow, you made it work. The dimes you earned, the laughter shared over steaming bowls of ramen topped with every extra ingredient you could get your hands on—it was enough. More than enough.

You were happy. Content with your life and your job.

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VII

“Cheollie, be honest. Does this make me look fat?”

“Oh no, babe. You look fantastic as always!”

“Cheol, you haven’t even looked up for one second. How can you tell?”

He sighs. “Y/N, this is the fifth dress you’ve tried on. How different can this one really be?”

“What if I’m naked?”

“Then you’re naked.”

“Arrgh! You are so frustrating, Cheol!”

Finally, he shuts his laptop with an exaggerated sigh and looks up at you. “Fine. Hit me. Show me what you got. Parade around. Let’s make you the princess of the evening, okay?”

This was your seventh date in two months. Ever since your discovery of Tinder, you had been speed-running through men like it was a game.

So maybe you didn’t have the best track record with relationships—or dates in general—but your Halmeoni always told you to try men of every flavor.

“The one,” she’d say, “is either right around the corner or has been under your nose all this time.”

Cheol watches with an amused grin as you do a slow spin in front of the mirror, arms crossed. “Well?” you demand, hands on your hips.

He tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “I think,”

You hold your breath.

“I think you look like someone who’s about to make another poor life decision.”

You gasp and throw a pillow at him. “Cheol!”

He cackles, dodging with ease. “What? Am I wrong?”

“You don’t know that!” You huff, turning back to the mirror. “This one’s different.”

Cheol raises an eyebrow. “You said that about the guy who tried to split the bill when he invited you to dinner.”

You glare at him through the reflection. “It’s called equality, Cheol.”

He snorts. “It’s called being broke.”

You roll your eyes but bite back a smile. “Whatever. I’m going, and you’re going to hype me up properly before I leave.”

He sighs dramatically before pushing himself off the bed. “Fine.”

He opens your chaotic wardrobe and starts fine-tuning it with the precision of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. After a few moments of rummaging, his hand stops on a sundress—something he’d picked out for you last summer when you decided to take an impromptu vacation.

“Aha!”

Stepping behind you, he rests his chin on your shoulder, placing the floral dress over your current outfit, meeting your gaze in the mirror. “You look stunning.”

You blink. His tone is… sincere.

Before you can say anything, he flicks your forehead. “Now go, little Casanova. Go ruin another man’s life.”

Laughing, you shove him away. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he calls after you as you rush into the washroom to run and change.

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Cheol sinks onto the bed with a sigh, tossing aside his laptop, ready to mourn the night away. He knows fully well that no studying is going to happen tonight—not after he gave you the blessing to go on this date and even picked out a dress for you.

Every time you go on a date, a little part of his heart sinks, hoping that just once, you’d turn around and see him, instead of all the men you were speed dating.

“What do they have that I don’t, Y/N? Why won’t you just look at me?”The thought lingers as he watches your peaceful face. When all he’s met with is the quiet sound of your snores, he runs a gentle hand over your face, brushing the baby bangs from your eyes. It’s then that he realizes—he’s talking to a sleeping form, rambling out his feelings after long hours at the library. He must be losing it.

But just as his woeful flashback drags him deeper into his stupor, he feels the sting of a powerful flick to his forehead.

“Ow,” he winces, clutching his forehead and pouting at you. You’re standing there,dressed in the outfit he picked out back in a record two minutes. “Why are you lookin at me like that?”

You don’t say anything, just fluttering your eyelashes and dramatically kneeling on the floor, clasping your arms together as though begging.

He jumps up in alarm. “No. What are you doing? Get up. Why are you on the floor? Get back up.”

With surprising strength, he pulls you up, not liking the image of you kneeling before him. “Stop looking at me like that, tell me what you want” he mutters, his voice a little unsteady, nerves prickling.

“Please, Cheol. Take me to McDonald’s.”

“What? Your date is supposed to take you there, Y/N.”

“I know, but he’s new to the city, and he doesn’t have a car yet. Please, Cheol, just this one time. I’ll owe you.”

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And so, there sits Cheol in the car, at the parking lot of Mcdonald's, his hand tapping uncontrollably against the steering wheel as his thoughts race. 

He’s usually a lot better at controlling his urges around you whenever you are consumed by your current hookup. But tonight, seeing you in a dress he gifted you, in a hairstyle he likes best on you, on a day that marks significant importance to him, he has the all-consuming urge to just get out of the car, pull you close, and keep you with him all for himself.

Joshua, his best friend from uni, had grown tired of hearing him constantly name-drop you. So, in a rare moment of frustration, Joshua had begged him—in fact , offered him money—to ask you out.

“She doesn’t like me like that,” Cheol had protested.

“And whose problem is that? Look, from what little I know about her, she sounds daft-.”

“Hey, careful there,” Cheol had growled.

Joshua didn’t back down. “See? Right there. You’re this possessive over a girl you say is just your best friend. She’s not going to know how you feel until you tell her, Cheol.”

Cheol shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t, Shua. You should see the way she looks at couples—always moping about her lack of a boyfriend. Yet, she never sees me.” He could feel his voice cracking as the weight of his emotions surged. He was close to tears, overwhelmed by everything that had been building up.

“Hey, don ’t cry, alright? She’ll come around,” Joshua had said, trying to console him. “Why don’t you just ask her? The worst she can say is no. Maybe try being open about your feelings, don’t beat around the bush. Lay it out for her, plain and simple.”

“Alright, I will,” Cheol had said, determination settling over him.

This was a conversation he had three months back. If Joshua saw him now, he would not be proud. But here he was, still sitting in the car, the weight of Joshua’s words fresh in his mind. He knew he had to do something—something bold, something decisive. But the nerves, the fear of rejection, they still had him frozen.

And now, watching you through the windshield as you make your way toward the restaurant , a small part of him wonders if it’s already too late.

Xxxxxxxxxx

‘Couprang” 

His world froze seeing the safeword text from you. All it took him was five seconds before he was out of the car and rushing into the restaurant trying to locate you.  Unimaginable red blinds his vision when you were crying softly, trying to reduce your tears to your napkin. 

“Y/N-ie?”

When he sees you look at him with your red rimmed eyes, he ignores all the questions in his mind and flies to bring you close to him, letting you cry once again on his shoulder.

Your date was a lucky man that Cheol didn't know his name. 

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VIII

Maybe your last failed date with a man who physically harassed you at McDonald's—because you refused to put out on the first date—had slowed your interest in dating for a while. Something about the constant chasing love, the rush, and the way everything kept slipping through your fingers every time you thought you’d finally attained it, had worn you out. Maybe friends were all you needed right now. Thank God for Cheol, your best friend, who was lying on your lap, his head resting there as you sleeplessly drifted away, drowning in the white noise of Singles Inferno.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You got a minute?”

“Me? I’ve always got a minute. You’re the one busy with college.”

Cheol sighed deeply. “How I wish I had a trust fund that could promise me a lifetime of staying away from calculus. Every day, I hate myself a little more for thinking I could do this.”

“You can do this, Cheollie. You’re so smart. I believe in you.” You give him a soft smile, your fingers gently brushing through his hair. “Besides, you're always welcome to take me up on my offer to stay with me whenever you need a break. Bet my future kids would love to have you as their uncle.”

When you’re met with silence, you glance down at him, wondering if he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t. Instead, he was staring intently at the leg of the sofa, his face lost in thought.

“Cheollie?” you prod again.

“Hmmm?”

“What were you going to tell me again?”

“Oh. Never mind. It can wait another day.”

“Fine by me,” you reply, settling back into the couch, feeling the weight of the quiet moment between you both.

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After the phone call with your grandma, you had your slow revelation moment.

“Where’s grandpa?” you asked, worry seeping into your voice.

“He’s just driven to the pharmacy to get my medications for this month,” grandma answered, the usual warmth in her tone.

“But I thought the doctor said he needed bed rest for at least another month, with his back injury?” you pressed, concern growing inside you.

“Hush, child,” she chuckled softly. “You know how the old man is. He doesn’t trust anyone else to get my medicine. He believes it’s his right as my husband. No matter how much I scold him, he insists he’ll be in and out in no time.”

The image of your elderly grandfather, frail from his injuries but still determined to fulfill a task so simple, so mundane in your eyes, made something inside you freeze. There was something incredibly beautiful about his unwavering devotion to your halmeoni—a love that had lasted decades, built on shared memories and routine, something he couldn’t entrust to anyone else, even in his weakened state.

That thought made you stop, your mind quieting as you sat there, blankly staring at the wall in front of you, long after the call ended. The longing in your chest grew, and the ache of wanting to find that kind of love—the kind that would last a lifetime—began to blossom. Your eyes drifted to the opened  drawer, where you caught sight of a small, old journal buried among other forgotten things. The little lock that once felt so important was still intact, and the key was nestled on your charm bracelet. With trembling hands, you unlocked the journal and flipped it open. The pages were yellowed with age, but your handwriting—clumsy and childish—was still legible. The words on the first page were familiar, words you hadn’t thought about in years.

"To Yn-ie from the future, I am so curious to find out who he is, your lover. Is he as funny and charming, and does he steal your breath away like we had imagined? Does he know your insecurity over being called dumb? Does he know your fear of being quizzed on the spot? Does he scold you for eating too much candy but sneak in your favorite Twizzlers? Does he entertain your idea of ten children and settling on a farm with Beth the cow and Rony the moose? Does he pick you up and carry you around the house, the way we secretly hoped? Does he sneak up on you and kiss you dizzy, ignoring the world around you? Is he making you smile? Oh, I am so curious, but I know you’ll be okay, because you have your lover by your side. Give him a kiss from little me."

You stopped reading, the block in your throat getting heavier by the second until you found yourself unable to swallow at all. The slow sinking feeling that maybe you’d die alone, with regrets on your mind, terrified you. Before you could calm yourself down, the tears began to cascade, streaming down your face as you bawled uncontrollably.

Cheol found you in the closet after a frantic five-minute search around the apartment, tears drying on your puffed-up cheeks. Quietly, without a single question, he placed you against his chest and rubbed your back, soothing your sadness away, rocking you side to side.

“I just don’t understand, Coupsie,” you whispered, calling him by the nickname you used as a child, “It’s so silly, it’s childish, I know.” You paused, a sharp breath catching in your throat. “I just want to feel butterflies, want to feel wanted, needed, in a way that’s not linked by blood. In a way someone other than the people who have to want me back. I am a good person, Coupsie, all I—” Your voice breaks, cutting your words short, but his steady back rubs comfort you, urging you to continue.“All I need is to just have someone for me. Someone to be my person. To love me. Someone like Mom has Dad, and you have Iseul. Someone for me, worthy of love." 

You look up at him, an see earnest doe eyes looking back at you, closed with sadness perhaps the echoing the one you have etched in your face.You are happy for Iseul, his new fling that gets to have a boyfriend who loves so passionately that he cares for everyone around him. 

“Right. Iseul.” He finally repeats after a shared minute of silence. 

“Is everything alright?” His voice was shaky, like he is hiding something from you.

“Nothing, everything is perfect!”

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IX

As the months passed, your once burning desire to get married slowly dwindled. The weight of adulthood was becoming heavier, and the pressure to figure things out seemed to increase by the day. You made the decision to find another job, anything to ease the growing strain. But somewhere between job hunting and adjusting to the grind, over a simple stroll to get a hot dog, you got distracted by a street musician. His saxophone echoed through the air, pulling a crowd around him. The way the notes flowed effortlessly from the instrument, the smooth cadence of his playing—it was mesmerizing and one odd conversation later, you found yourself becoming a street artist. 

To Choi Seungcheol's chagrin, of course.

He had warned you countless times about befriending strangers, especially the ones with shady jobs.

“Don’t be so snooty, Cheol,” you’d said when he expressed disapproval.

“I’m not being snooty! Haven’t your parents taught you anything about stranger danger?”

“Relax, Cheol. Not everyone catches the virus!” You waved your hand dismissively. “Besides, Brenda offered me a way to kill time during the long hours you spend at the library. I get to draw people’s faces, something I love doing, and no one’s going to file charges against me for staring long enough. Plus, the better I get at it, the higher the tips.”

“Aha. And why is it that I’ve never seen you bring any cash back here?”

You said nothing, your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Exactly. Stop letting people misuse your kindness, Y/N. Don’t let that be your weakness.”

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“Will you please stop twitching?” “You’re taking too long!” Mingyu whines from across your sketchpad. One more movement, and you're tempted to throw the entire paper at his face. You have no patience for a model who can’t sit still for more than five minutes.

“Are you done, Noona?”

“Mingyu, I haven’t even properly started because you keep moving too much and ruining the angle I have set in place. I am a sketch artist not a magician!”

“Fine,” he drawls. “But make sure you get my good side.”

“Mingyu, I promise I will. If you could just—” You stand up with great discomfort, your body stiff from sitting in the same position for too long, and walk over to him. You tie his arms together, fixing him in place. “There, sit like that for some time now.”

For the better part of an hour, you sketch his features, including the smile lines on his face and the creases by his eyes. Some men were crafted so beautifully, it almost made you jealous.

A small break to stretch your neck and shoulders has you catching sight of him again. You can’t miss it, his telltale knowing smirk—one that could lure you in and lead you into his deceptive ways, even if it was just child’s play. His hair, black and magnificent, was now trimmed short since the last time you saw him—over two decades ago. It had been too long, yet you couldn’t escape his mischievous glinting eyes that screamed at you: it was indeed Yoon Jeonghan himself.

Ignoring all common sense about traffic ingrained on you by Cheollie, you dive headfirst into the crowd, weaving through a thick mass of busybodies. It’s difficult to navigate, but you follow his luscious hair like a beacon.

“Jeonghan! Jeonghan!” you scream.

The man turns around. Without warning, he’s suddenly caught in an armful of a woman he’s never seen in his life—someone clinging to him, screaming, “Happy to see you again!”

“Who the hell are you?” He shoves you away from him, a valid reaction considering the situation. What person wouldn’t be confused at such an abrupt embrace?

You ignore all societal cues, clutching tightly to his arm and jumping up and down with excitement. In one firm grip, he pulls you along, and you gasp at the tightness of his hold as he leads you into a nearby bar, dim and quiet in the midday. His beady eyes flicker with irritation, narrowing as he glances at you.

"Lady," he says, voice strained, "I am one second away from calling the cops if you don’t—

“Hannie, it’s me! Y/N-ie, I am from Myeongdong, you me and Cheollie were best friends, remember?

Somewhere, a flicker of recognition started to show in his eyes, and you could see the slow struggle as he tried to piece everything together.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice tentative.

Excitement surged through you, and you couldn’t help but grin widely, your heart racing. “Yes! It’s me, Y/N-ie! From Myeongdong!

I’m sorry… I know I’m supposed to remember, but I… only remember bits and parts. The only thing I remember is the town and Daddu?” His words stung,knowing he remembered Cheol more than you but you tried to hide the hurt. You three were inseparable as kids, but even back then, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Cheol and Hannie’s families hung out more than yours ever did. It took you time to understand why your parents were never included in those cookouts, and while you had come to terms with it, it still hurt to realize that Hannie seemed to remember Cheol—the one he called ‘Daddu’—more than you.

“Is Daddu around? Do you know where he is? Maybe I can get in touch with him?” He asked, hopeful.

Pushing the jealousy down, you nodded eagerly, eager to make him feel welcome. You grabbed his hand, guiding him out the door.

“Yes, yes, follow me. Daddu—I mean, Cheollie and I are roommates now. He’s probably home, unless he’s busy kissing Iseul, which… let me tell you, Hannie, I love them both to death, but watching them make out is, like, a very disgusting sight to see. I had to establish the red sock on the doorknob after the last time I caught them on the carpet Hannie. The carpet! Who does it on the carpet? "Like animals, they are going back to caveman times, I think . Well anyway like I—". You stop mid-sentence when he halts, suddenly still.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Jeonghan is staring at you in horror, his eyes wide as he watches the woman who just jumped on him in the middle of a crowd, declaring herself his past best friend and promising to take him to see his old best friend. A woman who speaks a mile a minute. This is surely one of the craziest days he's ever had.

"Why is there a tall man running over to us screaming ‘Noona,’ and why is he looking at you?" he asks, another burning question clouding his mind.

You glance over and see Mingyu sprinting toward you with urgency, and without hesitation, you pull Jeonghan’s arm, directing him to ‘ignore him’. 

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Cheol is taken aback when he opens the door. Instead of your face, there's a very beautiful man standing next to you.

“Hi, I’m Cheol. You must be—?”

“Daddu?” Jeonghan interrupts, his voice almost a whisper.

“Hannie?” Cheol responds, his surprise evident.

Maybe you shed a tear, watching the joyful reunion between two best friends who embraced each other like they hadn't seen one another in ages—and, in truth, they hadn’t. But of course, you know it's Cheol's right to embrace any happiness he finds, and you can’t help but be pulled into the moment.

 He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into the hug, sharing the warmth between you, Jeonghan, and him. For a moment, you feel Jeonghan stiffen, but just as quickly, he relaxes, his arm wrapping around you as he squeezes you tightly. A bit of your heart warms at the gesture.

"I can’t believe it! The Triple Devils have reunited! Where did you find him, Y/N?" Cheol exclaims, grinning from ear to ear.

Jeonghan gulps, looking at you, unsure if he should recount the chaos of his day with the crazy woman. Instead, his eyes wander around, and he notices—

“Is this the sock you show to signal sexiling?”

Cheol looks mortified, narrowing his eyes at you. “You can’t just spring that on people, Y/N!Also I just got off the phone with Mingyu.You definitely can’t walk out on Mingyu in the middle of drawing a subject. It's your job!”

“It’s a side job!” you defend, shrugging casually.

“Still, Y/N! And Mingyu is my cousin, I owe him this!”

“Wait, is M-Mingyu the tall man who came charging at us, yelling ‘Noona,’ and you grabbed my hand and told me to run? I was going to call the cops on him!”

“Y/N,” Cheol calls out, exasperated.

“I’m sorry! I’ll call him, apologize, and reschedule a meeting tomorrow.”

“Do it now, Y/N.”

“B-b-but—”

“No excuses. Now.”

“Fine!” you huff, grabbing the phone Cheol pulls out of your pocket. You opt to text Mingyu instead.

“No, call him. Put him on speaker. I need to ensure you’re not distracted.”

“I’m enjoying this,” says a third voice from the corner.

Both you and Cheol turn to look at the silent accomplice, who’s standing there with a smug grin on his face. If you had any doubts before, you can firmly conclude now that indeed —that’s Jeonghan.

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How you ended up on a double date with Cheol, Iseul, and Jeonghan still baffles you. Iseul had made reservations with her best friend and boyfriend, who canceled at the last minute, giving you the perfect opportunity to try the new spot. Cheol, ever the orchestrator, invited Jeonghan as your date. A part of you can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, the universe is finally making things right. Perhaps Jeonghan’s return to your life isn’t just coincidence, but a reminder that the boy who once promised to be your husband and gave you your first kiss could one day come back into your life, not just as a memory, but as a lover in the present.

“I love your outfit, Y/N. Really brings out your eyes. Where did you get it from?” Iseul asks, placing a serving of pickled onions on Cheol’s plate.

“You do? Cheollie got it for me last Christmas. We have an ugly sweater competition every year, but last year, the doofus thought it’d be funny if he outsmarted me and got me this instead.”

“Remember when your mom scolded you for getting me that hideous jumper with the ‘dank memes’ slogan on it?” Cheol interjects, slapping his knee in the middle of a fit of laughter.

“You were always her favorite, and you knowingly took advantage of it.”

“Oh, yes, I did! Remember that time you broke the stairway to the treehouse and blamed it on me so you'd escape Eomma’s wrath?”

“And did she scold you?”

“No,” he says smugly.

As Cheol absentmindedly picks at his plate, you reach for the pickled onions he always complains about. "Oh, Cheollie," you tease, grinning as you scoop them off his plate and onto yours. “You know you hate these.”

“Show off! Hey, remember that time—?”

“Ready to order?” The waiter interrupts, and the sudden break in the banter catches you off guard.

Jeonghan watches with quiet amusement, faint memories sparking to life as he observes his childhood best friends laughing, reminiscing over their mischief. They’re so caught up in it that they forget Cheol’s date and you’re startled by the waiter’s interruption. For someone like you, who claims to want to find love, you sure are blind to the obvious kind.

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XI

Jeonghan’s breakup text arrives on a warm, sunny morning—when you least expect it. You’re in the middle of planning a trip to the florist, excited to pick out a bouquet of his favorite flowers, imagining the way his eyes would light up at the surprise.

The past few months had been nothing short of euphoric—nights spent poring over old photographs, watching as Jeonghan slowly reconnected with the life he had left behind in Myeongdong before adulthood burdened him with responsibilities: caring for his mother, his sister. One month of dating later you had asked him to be your boyfriend, something he had gladly accepted. 

And with Cheol talking about finally moving out, you had begun to picture a future with Jeonghan in your apartment. A future where he wasn’t just your boyfriend but your home. The next step in your fairytale.

Then, without warning, the fairytale shatters.

A cold, detached message: "I am breaking up with you."

No explanation. No foreshadowing. No emojis. Nothing.

Your hands tremble. The glass of milk slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp, deafening crash—shards scattering like the pieces of your heart.

The noise jolts Cheol and Iseul awake. They rush out of his room, still groggy, eyes wide with panic, scanning the space for an intruder, a break-in—anything but what it actually is.

"Are you okay?" Cheol is at your side in an instant, gripping your arms, searching your face for answers.

But you can’t move. Can’t speak. You just stand there, frozen, the weight of those four words crushing the breath out of you.

"Y/N," Cheol tries again, shaking you gently.

Then, softer—"Baby," Iseul calls out. Cheol turns at the sound of her voice, and that's when he sees it.

Your phone, still opened to the text messages, in her hands, the screen aglow with the message that just ended everything.

Five seconds. That’s all it takes before Cheol bolts for the door, barefoot, jacket forgotten, fists clenched, his voice a low growl as he mutters, "I’m going to kill him."

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Enraged, visions of red cloud Cheol’s periphery. He pays no heed to speed limits, no caution to the laws he’s about to break. None of it matters. Yoon Jeonghan is a dead man standing.

It almost feels like Jeonghan was expecting him—because the moment Cheol rings the bell, the door swings open.

There he is.

Draped in a silky bathrobe, coffee cup in hand, not a single trace of guilt on his face.

"Ah, Cheol," Jeonghan drawls, taking a slow sip. "Looks like you came to thank me."

"You better have an explanation for this," Cheol grits out, fists shaking, "or I swear to God, Jeonghan, you will—"

Jeonghan’s breakup text arrives on a warm, sunny morning—when you least expect it. You’re in the middle of planning a trip to the florist, excited to pick out a bouquet of his favorite flowers, imagining the way his eyes would light up at the surprise.

The past few months had been nothing short of euphoric—nights spent poring over old photographs, watching as Jeonghan slowly reconnected with the life he had left behind in Myeongdong before adulthood burdened him with responsibilities: caring for his mother, his sister.

And with Cheol talking about finally moving out, you had begun to picture a future with Jeonghan in your apartment. A future where he wasn’t just your boyfriend but your home. The next step in your fairytale.

Then, without warning, the fairytale shatters.

A cold, detached message: "I am breaking up with you."

No explanation. No foreshadowing. No emojis. Nothing.

Your hands tremble. The glass of milk slips from your fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp, deafening crash—shards scattering like the pieces of your heart.

The noise jolts Cheol and Iseul awake. They rush out of his room, still groggy, eyes wide with panic, scanning the space for an intruder, a break-in—anything but what it actually is.

"Are you okay?" Cheol is at your side in an instant, gripping your arms, searching your face for answers.

But you can’t move. Can’t speak. You just stand there, frozen, the weight of those four words crushing the breath out of you.

"Y/N," Cheol tries again, shaking you gently.

Then, softer—"Baby," Iseul calls out. Cheol turns at the sound of her voice, and that's when he sees it.

Your phone, still opened to the text messages, in her hands, the screen aglow with the message that just ended everything.

Five seconds. That’s all it takes before Cheol bolts for the door, barefoot, jacket forgotten, fists clenched, his voice a low growl as he mutters, "I’m going to kill him."

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Fury coursed through Cheol, his vision tinged with red as his anger flared. He pays no heed to speed limits, no caution to the laws he’s about to break. None of it matters. Yoon Jeonghan is a dead man standing.

It almost feels like Jeonghan was expecting him—because the moment Cheol rings the bell, the door swings open.

There he is.

Draped in a silky bathrobe, coffee cup in hand, not a single trace of guilt on his face.

"Ah, Cheol," Jeonghan drawls, taking a slow sip. "Looks like you came to thank me."

"You better have an explanation for this," Cheol grits out, fists shaking, "or I swear to God, Jeonghan, you will—"

"You will what?" Jeonghan interrupts smoothly. "Kill me? For breaking up with your girl?"

"She is not my—she’s—"

"Maybe not yet," Jeonghan smirks. "But we’ve all seen it, Daddu."

Cheol’s jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists at his sides.

"I don’t like that stupid smile on your face," he finally whispers, voice low, dangerous. "Take it off."

Jeonghan chuckles, tilting his head. "Seems like you’ve finally calmed down. Want to come in?"

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“Cheol, does she know?” Jeonghan asks, looking at him with knowing eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cheol replies, trying to brush it off.

“You know,” Jeonghan smirks, “you don’t make a good liar. Neither you nor Y/N. You’re too prim and proper to lie about the small things. Maybe you can fool Y/N for decades, but not me. I see right through you.”

Cheol sighs, not meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure what to do.”

“You’re in love with Y/N,” Jeonghan continues. “It’s time to come clean. Stop holding back. Just tell her.”

Cheol shakes his head. “It’s not easy, Hannie.”

“It is,” Jeonghan insists. “It’s very easy, Daddu. This is Y/N, your best friend. There’s no malice in her. She’ll either say yes or no—that’s her call. But for the most part? She’s in love with you too. She just doesn’t know it yet. You have to be the one to break it to her.”

Cheol stumbles over his words. “I-I—”

Jeonghan cuts him off. “You know, Daddu, being in love with one girl and leading another one on? You’re breaking three hearts—yours, Y/N’s, and Iseul’s.”

“Iseul?”

“Yes. Your girlfriend. The one whose name you haven’t said once since you’ve been here. But you didn’t avoid Y/N’s name.”

Cheol freezes, his mind racing. "Iseul. I forgot she has an interview scheduled today at 9, and I have to drop her off—"

“Well, if you leave now, like actually fly down the elevator, you might have a shot. Go,” Jeonghan says, a slight grin on his face.

Cheol doesn’t waste another second, dashing off in a panic, muttering apologies under his breath, as if he were the one wronged in the situation.

Jeonghan watches him go, shaking his head. “The lovesick idiot,” he mutters to himself, amused by the chaos.

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You were stuck working the big pots tonight.

Meoguelle had a big party pull up to the restaurant, which meant twice the usual number of dishes to wash. So there you sat, hair tied up, sweat lining your forehead, a small trickle of tears mixing with the steam rising from the sink. Your hands were elbow-deep in a greasy, murky mixture—just the perfect way to end the night after your breakup fiasco.

"L/N F/N, is that you?"

Truthfully, you weren’t in the mood to socialize. Not with a stranger, not with a friend—no one. But after the fifth attempt at scrubbing stubborn gunk off a caked-up pot, you figured now was as good a time as any for a break.

You turned toward the voice, your brain scrambling to put a name to that oh-so-familiar face.

"Jun? Wen Junhui? Is that you?"

"In the flesh and blood," he said proudly, confirmed.

“It’s good to see you! What are you doing here?"

"I came to pay my compliments to the chef, which I’m assuming is—"

"Oh, no, that’s him out by the back door, filling his lungs with smoke. I’m just a mere dishwasher."

Jun blinked. "Oh. Is that why you’re c-crying?"

You let out a small, bitter laugh. "Huh? Oh. No. I, uh— I got dumped."

Jun’s brows furrowed. "Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. But honestly, I’m also really surprised. I never thought Se—Seungcheol would be the type to dump someone over text. Aren’t you two closer than that?"

"Seungcheol?" You frowned. "What? No. He’s my best friend. My roommate. We never dated. Why would you assume that Cheol was my boyfriend? I could never date him—"

"Could’ve fooled me."

You stared at him. "What?"

"Huh? What did I say?" Jun repeated, scratching the back of his neck, eyes darting around guiltily, looking for anything—anything—to distract himself from this suddenly very awkward conversation.

"Look, I gotta scoot," he rushed out. "Please pass on my compliments to the chef. And Y/N? Talk to Cheol."

Your eyes narrowed. "Jun—"

"I know you were mad at me when I bailed on our date, but I also thought I was just a rebound for—"

"A rebound? Jun, you were the only guy I was seeing at that time."

He winced. "I’m sorry, Y/N. I thought I was doing you a favor."

"What favor?" You scoffed. "Texting me for nights in a row only to bail out on a date?"

Jun’s eyes widened slightly. Then he took a step back. Then another. "Shit’s escalated so far. I gotta go—keep in touch?"

And before you could respond, he jogged out of the kitchen the same way he came in—leaving you behind, confused in more ways than one

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Your conversation with Cheol about your weird encounter with Jun goes in a different direction than you had honestly anticipated.

"I saw Jun at the restaurant today."

"Who's Jun?" Cheol calls out from the couch, eyes glued to a rerun of Single’s Inferno while you blend ingredients for dinner.

"Wen Junhui. The guy Shua introduced me to?"

Cheol perks up slightly. "Oh, the anime-looking hottie?"

You roll your eyes, walking over to the couch with both dinner plates in hand. "Yes, that one. When I told him my boyfriend broke up with me, he assumed it was you. How weird is that?"

There’s a brief pause.

"Why is that weird?"

You glance at him. His hand is clenched tightly around the remote, knuckles paling. Like he has something to explain.

"You and me," he continues casually. "You’re a girl. I’m a boy. A very handsome boy, might I add." He throws in a cheeky grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You scoff. "But Cheol, we’re best friends. We can’t date."

"Why not?" His response is immediate, almost defensive. The sharpness in his tone irks you.

"What are you even saying right now, Coupsie?" You frown. "I can never tell what’s going on in that head of yours. And you’re acting weird."

He exhales sharply. "Oh, good. So you’re not totally dumb after all."

Your blood runs cold."...What did you just say to me?"

Cheol's face falls. His panic is instant. "Y/N—shit—no. No, I didn’t mean that, I—please, don’t be mad, love." He rushes toward you as you push off the couch, hand covering your mouth in disbelief. "I was just— I don’t even know why I said that— Y/N,I am sorry  please, just look at me."

But you don’t.

You turn on your heel, marching straight to your room, fully intending to hole yourself in there for the rest of the night.

"No, no—" His grip catches your wrist just before you can slam the door. Before you know it, he’s pulling you back out, standing in the threshold of your room, looking like a man pleading for salvation.

"Please," he whispers, hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing away the tears threatening to spill. "Please, love, just listen to me. If you want to shut me out after, I won’t stop you. But please. Just hear me out."

You exhale shakily. "Fine. But one condition."

"Anything," he answers without hesitation.

"You need to tell me what went down at Jeonghan’s." Your voice is firm now. "Ever since you ran out of here that morning, you’ve been avoiding me. And don’t give me some crap excuse about being busy. I know your schedule by heart, Cheol. You have nothing coming up that’s remotely important."

Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard.

Slowly, his hands shift, thumbs gliding up to smooth your furrowed brows. The back of his fingers ghost over your cheeks, his touch light, tracing over your features like he’s memorizing them.You don’t move away. His gaze locks onto yours, wide and searching his fingers running over. Your eyes. Your nose. Your lips.

"Ch-Cheol, what are you—"

"Shh." His breath is warm as he leans closer, lips parting, barely a sliver of space between you.

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

And then—The doorbell rings.

Both of you jolt back, like the universe itself just yanked you out of whatever that moment was.

For a beat, neither of you speak. Your breathing is uneven, adrenaline rushing through you like you’ve just run a marathon.

Cheol is the first to break the silence. He looks down, almost ashamed. "It’s Iseul," he mutters. "She’s crashing here for the night."

 Iseul. His girlfriend.

"Right," you echo weakly, stepping back into your room and shutting the door behind you.

You lean against it, exhaling slowly, trying to steady your racing heart.

Even as you hear Cheol’s footsteps retreating, hear the front door opening, hear his soft voice greeting Iseul—you don’t move.

Instead, you replay the last few seconds over and over in your head.

Grateful the doorbell rang when it did.

Or were you grateful?

Weird.

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You never talk about that day.

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Two weeks after the almost kiss—Cheol moves out.

“We both knew we were delaying this,” he says, rolling his suitcase toward the door. “I got a new apartment closer to work. I’ll save on transportation.”

His voice is light, casual. But there’s something else beneath it. Something heavier.

“Besides,” he adds with a small smirk, “you can finally have that guest bedroom all to yourself. You know, in case you feel noble and want to take in another one of your homeless buddies for the night.”

It’s a weak joke. His dimple is in place, flashing his usual pearly whites, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“See you, love,” he says.

And as always, he steps forward to give you a forehead kiss—just like he’s done a thousand times before. A simple, familiar gesture.

But this time, you flinch.

Like his presence is suddenly too much.

“Oh.”

His voice is quiet. Almost hurt.

He hesitates, then pinches your cheek lightly—just for a second—before turning away and walking out of the apartment.

“Don’t be a stranger love”

And just like that, he’s gone.

And you—standing in the middle of your now too-big apartment, in a too-cold city—are left with nothing but the hollow ache in your chest.

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It’s been three months since the incident.

Three months since you last saw him.

Time has given you some clarity. Some distance. But on days like today—when the loneliness creeps in, when the silence in your apartment feels deafening—you sit and wonder.

What once was.

What could have been.And whether or not you made the right choice at all. To ignore what happened that night before and keep living it didn’t just happen. 

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“Noona?”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Mingyu, why are you here? Don’t you have a girlfriend to nail down?”

“First of all, hurtful. I don’t have a girlfriend. Secondly, I came here to thank you, Noona.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” he insists, huffing with a stubborn pout. “Your sketches are the reason I got to add something to my portfolio. The ones you drew of me, all the photos you took—you helped me put together a solid submission for ‘Hayfer’ magazine. It meant a lot.”

“You’re welcome, Gyu,” you say, shaking your head. “But again, like I said, it’s literally your face that did all the work. You wouldn’t have gotten this far if you didn’t go around looking the way you do.”

“Are you saying I’m handsome? Is this Noona’s way of flirting with me? I can’t believe it,” he teases with a charming smile.

“Stop fishing for compliments. Don’t push your luck, loverboy.”

“Once again, to clarify—I am bitchless.” He places a hand on his chest in mock sincerity before grinning. “However, if you’re down to—”

A year ago, you’d have gasped in disbelief that a tall, dashing man with a heart-stopping smile would be openly flirting with you—more so, inviting you on a date. You probably would have jumped at the first opportunity, said yes, and sealed the deal. Maybe even called your grandparents and let all six of your cousins know.

But you’ve grown.

The childishness hasn’t completely dissipated, but a part of you knows that to a man like Mingyu, you’d be just another passing fling. So you shake your head, slowly, ignoring the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

Guys like him will always have a second chance.

Not with you, though.

“That’s okay,” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kinda knew you’d say no. Just wanted to dip my toes in.” Then, as if remembering something, he fishes out a card from his wallet and hands it to you. “Here—this is for you.”

“What is this, Gyu?” you ask, flipping the card between your fingers, reading the name printed on it.

Xu Minghao.

It rings a bell.

“Who is this? If this is another attempt to set me up with someone, I swear to God, Mingyu—”

“Relax,” he interrupts, laughing. “I would never set you up with someone else. I know who you belong with.”

Your stomach twists in questioning knots. Before you can respond, he continues.

“This is my friend from uni, Hao. He’s opening a new gallery downtown, and he wants to showcase underrated classics—graffiti artists, doodlers, glorified vandalizers apparently. He saw your sketches of me and was impressed. He asked if I could pass his number to you so he could call and discuss featuring your art in his gallery.”

Your heart stutters.

Xu Minghao.

Why does that name sound so familiar?

Mingyu smirks. “You might know him as The8.”

“Shut up. No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” He looks all too pleased with himself.

“You’re telling me ‘The8’ saw my sketches and wants to showcase my artwork?”

Mingyu barely gets to nod before you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his broad frame. He chuckles but holds you just as firmly, his warmth grounding you in this unreal moment.

For so long, you’ve grasped at mediocrity, believing—like your teachers always warned—you’d never amount to anything. School and college have failed you. Your lack of focus, your inability to stay interested in one job for too long, had always made you feel like you were wilting.

You knew you were lucky. The money from your grandparents has secured your future. But beyond that? You had nothing.At least, that’s what you thought.But this—this moment, this opportunity—someone actually wants to see more of your art.

You.

And for the first time in your life, it feels like you’re winning at something. Like you’re not a total disaster. And in the midst of your overwhelming joy, your thoughts drift—back to Cheol.

For so long, his victories had felt like your own.

When he won class valedictorian, you were the first to scream his name in the crowd, your voice hoarse from cheering too loudly. When he made football team captain, you stayed up late helping him tape up his bruised ankles, lecturing him about overexertion while he only grinned, too proud to care. When he got accepted into his dream university, you decorated his house with fairy lights and posters, making it feel like home before he even unpacked his bags. And when his first girlfriend asked him out, you teased him relentlessly, calling him a blushing mess, even as you secretly watched from the sidelines, unsure why your heart twisted at the sight.

For every milestone, every achievement, every moment of happiness—you were there.

And now, finally, when the universe decides to deal you a good hand, when something extraordinary happens for you, you find yourself alone in your joy. There is no Cheol grinning beside you, no knowing glance exchanged between you both, no shared celebration where he lifts you off the ground in a tight hug and says, See, love? I always knew you were meant for more. The realization strikes you like a gut punch.

For so long, his triumphs had been yours, but now, yours don’t seem to be his.

And the thought sobers you much quicker than you would have imagined.

Before Mingyu walks away completely, you ask him the burning question that has been eating away at your brain. “Gyu?”

“Yes Noona?”

“What did you mean when you said you knew I was meant for someone else anyway?”

“I think it’s up to you to figure that out Noona” he says with a wink and a smirk and leaves. 

The questions in your heart don't settle down.

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You are frantic, beyond yourself with worry, and the urge to heave out your organs into a trash can grows stronger by the second. A phone call with Minghao had confirmed that the gallery opening was tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Your mind spins. Were you supposed to create something in mere hours, something worthy enough to be displayed in a gallery? The only other paintings you had were hung up in your family house back home, and it would take hours to retrieve them—there was no way you’d make it in time. The stress manifests physically, your nails bitten down to the quick, your pinky finger bleeding as an unfortunate casualty of your nerves.

Your phone buzzes in your trembling hands.

Cheol: Congrats, Y/N. Look inside the study room.

Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at the text, reading and re-reading it as if the words might rearrange themselves into something different if you blink enough times. What does he mean? Did Mingyu tell him about the gallery? It makes sense—they were cousins, after all, and Mingyu had always been terrible at keeping secrets.

But if Cheol knew, then… why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he come?

The thought makes your stomach twist. Was he still so awkward about that almost kiss that he decided to forgo two decades’ worth of friendship and reduce his congratulations to a text message? Was that really all you amounted to in his life?

You feel hurt. Disappointed. But also—relieved.

Relieved, because a tiny part of you has no idea how to face Choi Seungcheol after three months of radio silence. Your ex-best friend.

Shoving those thoughts aside, you take a deep breath and make your way to the study room.

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You are frantic, beyond yourself with worry, and the urge to heave out your organs into a trash can grows stronger by the second. A phone call with Minghao had confirmed that the gallery opening was tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Your mind spins. Were you supposed to create something in mere hours, something worthy enough to be displayed in a gallery? The only other paintings you had were hung up in your family house back home, and it would take hours to retrieve them—there was no way you’d make it in time. The stress manifests physically, your nails bitten down to the quick, your pinky finger bleeding as an unfortunate casualty of your nerves.

Your phone buzzes in your trembling hands.

Cheol: Congrats, Y/N. Look inside the study room.

Your breath catches in your throat. You stare at the text, reading and re-reading it as if the words might rearrange themselves into something different if you blink enough times. What does he mean? Did Mingyu tell him about the gallery? It makes sense—they were cousins, after all, and Mingyu had always been terrible at keeping secrets.

But if Cheol knew, then… why hadn’t he called? Why hadn’t he come?

The thought makes your stomach twist. Was he still so awkward about that almost kiss that he decided to forgo two decades’ worth of friendship and reduce his congratulations to a text message? Was that really all you amounted to in his life?

You feel hurt. Disappointed. But also—relieved.

Relieved, because a tiny part of you has no idea how to face Choi Seungcheol after three months of radio silence. Your ex-best friend.

Shoving those thoughts aside, you take a deep breath and make your way to the study room.

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The study room had always been Cheol’s sanctuary.

On nights before exams, when he wasn’t holed up in the library, this was where he spent his time—books open, highlighters scattered, and an energy drink within reach. And since you were practically allergic to textbooks and anything resembling academic effort, you never once bothered to step foot inside. Apparently, he knew that.

Because when you finally open the door, stepping inside for the first time since he left, you are shocked at what you find.

The room is covered—inch to inch—in your artwork. Your heart lurches violently in your chest.

Every doodle, every absentminded scribble, every torn-out sketch that you had long forgotten was here. Pinned up on the walls, carefully arranged, like a private gallery curated for no one but himself. Your hands shake as you step forward. Some of these sketches were from years ago—random doodles of cartoons, silly little portraits of him, even rough, messy charcoal attempts at landscapes you had made out of boredom. You had discarded them without a second thought, but he had kept them all. Your throat tightens.

Then, your eyes land on the lone easel in the center of the room.

It’s covered by a large cloth, dust collecting on the edges. Something about it makes your pulse quicken, a thrumming sense of anticipation running through your veins. With trembling fingers, you grip the cloth and pull.

And your heart stops beating.

There, pinned on a massive canvas, are twenty-three years worth of tradition.

When Cheol turned six, he had demanded something special for his birthday—something unique, something made with your own two hands, your custom gift for him. 

You had been stumped then.

For days, you had scoured the house, pestered your parents for ideas, and even sulked on the couch in frustration. Eventually, you had stared so long at the framed wedding portrait above the fireplace that inspiration had struck.

With unpracticed, wobbly hands, you had drawn a simple stick figure doodle—of you and Cheol. Two little figures, standing side by side, holding hands, smiling wide enough to split their faces.

Cheol had loved it. He had squealed, hugged you tight, and thanked you over and over again, clutching the tiny drawing like it was the greatest treasure in the world.

And from that moment on, a tradition had begun.

Every year, on his birthday, you drew a new one.

At first, they remained simple, just stick figures with slightly better proportions. Then, slowly, they evolved—features becoming clearer, the lines steadier, expressions more detailed.

By the time you turned eighteen, they weren’t just doodles anymore. They were art.

And now, staring at the canvas before you, you realize—He never lost a single one.

All twenty-three drawings, pinned carefully in chronological order. Each crease, each faded line, each awkwardly drawn hand—it was all there.

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps.All your life, you had thought of yourself as forgettable. A mediocre student. A directionless dreamer. A girl who hopped from one hobby to another, unsure if she’d ever be good at something.

Yet, here was proof that he had never once forgotten you.

Every drawing, no matter how childish or ridiculous, was a testament to the fact that Choi Seungcheol had cherished every piece of you. Your heart aches.

Is that why he had warned you never to touch this room? Had he planned to show you this someday? Had he sent Mingyu to deliver the gallery invitation because he knew you would come here and find this? But if that was true, then why wasn’t he here now?

Why wasn’t he here to help you carry this canvas—to celebrate with you, to tell you he was proud of you? Why was he gone?

A sob catches in your throat as you reach out, fingers tracing the lines of your own childhood artwork. The weight of twenty-three years presses down on your shoulders, heavy and bittersweet. As if sensing the despair you were feeling, you hear a doorbell ring and your heart leaps with joy. Maybe he had come after all. 

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He hadn’t. Mingyu had sent Soonyoung and Jihoon, apparently, to pick up your artwork and drive it to the gallery for tomorrow. Serves you right for getting your hopes up after all.

“Where’s Cheol?” you finally ask, just as they’re about to bid their farewells at the threshold. You knew they all knew each other, being friends from university days. All these boys had hounded your shared apartment at night for drinking sessions back in the day.

“Oh, haven’t you heard—Che—”

“Soonyoung!” Jihoon warns, cutting him off before Soonyoung can continue. Soonyoung now looks guilty for almost blurting it out.

“No, what happened? What don’t I know? There’s something you’re not telling me, and I want in.” You sound frantic, anxiety bubbling in your chest.

“Relax, Y/N. Cheol’s alright. Mingyu sent us to pick this up and drop it off. Don’t shoot the messenger, okay? Now, if you don’t need us for anything else, we’re going to take our leave.” Jihoon gives you a quick, reassuring smile. “And Y/N? Congratulations.” He tips his head at you, then waves goodbye, leaving with Soonyoung.

But Soon still wears that guilty look, and your nerves start to spike.

You try calling him, texting him, but to no avail. Finally, you send a text to Mingyu, who assures you that Cheol is sleeping after a football match. You know it’s a lie, but it’s probably the best you’ll get. Cheol clearly doesn’t want you to know something, and he’s put up boundaries, and all you can do is respect that. Maybe he has a new girlfriend. Maybe he’s hiding that from you.

Whatever it is, you know the days of being his top priority are long gone. All you can do now is get ready for tomorrow. You’ve got a long day ahead, and no one—not even Cheol—can take that away from you.

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“So, you must be L/N Y/N, the one I’ve heard so much about,” Xu Minghao says, his voice smooth and confident. You try not to gasp at the sight of him, standing before you in the flesh. He’s dressed immaculately, a well-tailored suit hugging his frame perfectly, a tie adding a touch of refinement to his coat. His dark hair is styled just right, and his eyes—sharp, calculating, yet inviting—scan you carefully.

You inhale a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You hadn’t been prepared for how to interact with a man so stunning, let alone one you’ve admired from afar. It seems he understands the sudden shift in your demeanor, offering you a small, reassuring smile to let you gather your thoughts. In the past, you would’ve slapped your hand to your forehead at your sudden shyness, but with him, it feels different—something about his presence seems to elicit butterflies in your stomach. You nod slowly, trying to regain composure.

“Ah, well then, shall we?” He gestures to the canvas paper, where a new cloth is draped over it. It’s just two hours away from the gallery’s opening, a small exhibit showcasing the works of budding artists—people like you, who’ve never had the opportunity to display their artwork to the public. It might not be a grand affair, but it means everything to you.

He steps forward, his eyes scanning each of the drawings. They’re neatly arranged, pinned chronologically, and you notice the way his eyes soften as he takes them in. "This is all your doing?" he asks, genuinely impressed.

“Well, yes and no," you respond, a little shy. "I drew these, but um… I did it for my bes–" You cut yourself off, correcting your words. "For a friend," you finish. "Apparently, he collected all of them and had them stored up like this. I had no idea until yesterday."

Minghao’s eyes widen as he examines your work. "Well, he should. Look at the detailing on some of this. I can’t believe you’ve never been to art school. Look at the precision with which you drew his eyes. He must be a stunner, this 'friend' of yours." He wags his finger in disbelief, and you can tell he’s not convinced that the situation is as simple as it seems.

“What did you do on your 16th birthday?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you.

“How can you tell that?” you ask, confused, but your eyes instinctively flicker to Cheol, who’s standing a little further off. He does look a bit annoyed, his brow furrowed at you, but you can't quite remember why. Maybe you’d finished his favorite juice or something.

“Wait, are these pinned?” Minghao asks, bending down to get a closer look.

“Yeah, they are. I told you, my friend had all these pinned to a canvas.”

"Hmm." Minghao hums thoughtfully. “So, does that mean—” Before you can ask him what he means, he pulls the pin from one of the drawings, the second-to-last sketch you’d done of him. He takes the paper in his hands, examining it carefully.

“Oh, what’s this?” You stand on your tiptoes, trying to get a better look at what’s written behind the sketch. You hadn’t even realized there was anything written on the back—your contribution had only been the drawings, not the words.

You recognize those scribbles anywhere: the familiar curves of his handwriting.

“Age 26. The year I cried the hardest when you went on that date with Jeonghan. The night I crossed out your name from my heart when I realized you would never look at me like that.”

Your heart stops in your chest. What? You blink rapidly, disoriented, as the words on the back of the picture send a sharp, unsettling ripple through your thoughts

Urgently, you tug down another picture, your hands trembling as you uncover another heart-wrenching note, written in the same familiar handwriting.

“My 19th birthday. As per my demand, you drew this picture based on the photo we both took together at the beach. When you laid your head on mine, my heart stopped still, Y/N. Don’t know if you could tell that over your loud snores, but I sat still for all six minutes, scared that if I moved for one second, the moment would burst.”

The words feel like a punch to your chest, and before you can even process what you’ve just read, your eyes begin to sting, your breath faltering as tears stream silently down your face. You reach to unpin yet another drawing, your hands shaking from the weight of it all.

“Year 9. The year I dared to hope. We both sat in the garden, planning our future lives, our kids, and our dogs and cats. You asked me why I didn’t name my future wife when you had decided Bogum would be your future husband. I was too scared to show you that I left that blank open to fill it with your name.”

The realization hits like a wave, pulling you under with a force you can’t fight.For every year of his life with you, he had written down his feelings for you in that stage of life. How could you not have seen it? How could you have missed everything he was giving you, how he had loved you, from the very start?

Desperately, you unpin yet another drawing.

“Year 24. When you got bored and asked me if you could draw on me, I gave you my hands and pretended to fall asleep. But I couldn’t. My thudding heart would not let me rest because the feel of your hands on my skin, drawing on me, grazing my hands, made me yearn. For you.”

A sob catches in your throat, and you clutch the drawing to your chest as if it can somehow absorb all the emotions you’re trying to hold inside. But the dam is breaking. The weight of his unspoken love, of everything you never saw, is crashing over you like an unstoppable force.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper hoarsely, your voice cracking with a mixture of pain and longing. You look to Minghao, who stands quietly beside you, watching you with deep concern etched into his features. “I—I need to go. I need to see him. I need to tell him…”

You trail off, your mind spinning, your heart thrumming with the urgency of it all. How had you been so blind? How could you have let all of this slip through your fingers for so long?

Minghao’s gaze softens, his expression serious, but his voice is gentle when he speaks. “You have my word. But before you leave, tell me, Y/N, what would you title this?”

You blink, still reeling, but the question lingers in your mind. What could you even call this? This painful, beautiful mess of emotions, tangled, raw truth that had been hiding in front of you all this time You take one final, steadying breath as you turn to the artwork, your gaze falling on the scattered drawings before you.

And then it comes to you—the answer so simple, yet so profoundly fitting for everything you’ve just uncovered.

You meet Minghao’s eyes, your voice quiet but steady.

“The Pursuit of Love.” 

It’s perfect. A pursuit that has no end, a love that’s been waiting for you all along.”

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“Pick up, pick up, pick up. Why isn’t he picking up?” you mutter to yourself, panic rising in your chest as you hold your phone, dialing Cheol’s number again. Your fingers are trembling. Your heart is hammering in your chest.

You had hailed a cab and rushed straight to Cheol’s apartment, but there was no sign of him. No one was home, and the door remained stubbornly closed. You tried calling both Cheol and Mingyu, but neither responded. Your worry started to morph into something much darker, and you knew something was wrong.

Without giving it a second thought, you dialed the one person who might know what’s going on—Jeonghan.

"Y/N?" His voice comes through the phone, calm but confused.

“Where is Cheol?” you ask, your voice breaking as sobs catch in your throat. The bad feeling you’d been fighting all morning is growing rapidly, an overwhelming sense of dread that something had happened to Cheol, something he was keeping from you, something his friends were also hiding from you.

"Y/N—" Jeonghan begins, his voice soft, almost like he’s trying to soothe you. But you're too far gone, too scared, and you can't bear to listen.

"Please, Jeonghan, just tell me the truth. You owe me that much." You can barely hold back the tears now, your voice shaking.

There’s a long pause on the other end before Jeonghan finally speaks, his voice filled with quiet concern. “Cheol’s at the hospital.”

You freeze, your heart stopping for a moment as the words sink in.

♡

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“Choi Seungcheol?”

“Room 317, ma’am. Down the corner and to the left—MISS, NO RUNNING IN THE HALLWAY!” The nurse’s warning falls on deaf ears as you rush past her, your heart pounding harder with every step.

You don't care about the rules right now. All you care about is seeing Cheol.

You turn the corner, practically flying down the hallway, your breath coming in short bursts as you approach the door. And then you see him.

Cheol, lying in the hospital bed, looking pale, with a slightly annoyed Mingyu sitting next to him. You come to a halt in the doorway, chest tight with the realization that he’s hurt.

“Y/N?” Cheol’s voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen in surprise as he sees you standing there, tears streaming down your face.

“Love, please don’t cry,” Cheol says, his voice soft and comforting. He lifts a hand, wincing slightly, but you’re already at his side, leaning over to wrap your arms around him, your sobs muffled against his hospital gown. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

You pull back just enough to look at him, your voice shaking with anger and relief. “Damn right, you’re sorry, Choi. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I knew you had your art gallery today,” he says, his voice apologetic. He gestures vaguely at his bandaged body. “Sorry I couldn’t come with my ruptured appendix and all.” He tries to make light of it, but his sheepish smile only makes your heart ache more. “But I wanted to be there for you so badly, Y/N. I’m really sorry.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head as tears still slip down your cheeks. “Don’t you dare apologize for a surgery you didn’t cause.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he smirks at you, and you can't help but smile despite yourself, the weight in your chest easing just a little.

You look at him again, really look at him—his tired eyes, the way his face looks a little drawn, the exhaustion evident in every line. He might be joking around, but you can see that he’s been through a lot.

“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me, Y/N,” he says, almost like he can read your mind. He’s always known how to ease your worries, even when it’s not about him.

“I will always worry about you, Cheol. Always.”

A beat of silence stretches between you both, the words hanging in the air like an unspoken promise. Then, you hear the door creak open and Mingyu’s voice drifting away as he leaves to give you both some privacy.

“Y/N—” Cheol starts, but you beat him to it.

“Cheol—” you both speak at the same time, then laugh awkwardly.

“Please let me? I’m the coward who didn’t have the guts to tell it to your face all these years, choosing instead to pour my heart out into bits of paper.”

“And I’m the dumb idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of me all this time, choosing to chase other men, when all I had ever wanted was under my nose. I named the artwork, you know. ‘The Pursuit of Love.’” You blink, trying to steady yourself, trying to find the right words. “Aching for a love that was always right there, and all I had to do was just accept that. It’s you, Cheol. I—”

“I love you,” he blurts out quickly, cutting you off. He looks sheepish as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Sorry. I kinda had to say it before you did,” he says with a small, sheepish smile, dodging your playful hits on his uninjured shoulder.

“OW! Don’t hit the injured man!” He laughs, though it’s slightly strained.

“You are such a dork. And for the record, your shoulder seems fine. It can handle one or two beatings.”

There’s another awkward silence, one that feels comfortable despite the tension. You both sit there for a moment, not knowing quite how to move forward, but both knowing something has shifted.

“Come here?” He silently calls out, his voice softer now, almost pleading. He pats the space beside him on the bed, his eyes searching yours.

“I- I don’t want to hurt you,” you murmur, hesitant.

“Relax, you won’t. I should be good to go by tonight,” he lies, his voice trying to convince both you and himself. But you can tell that he’s not quite as okay as he wants you to think. Still, you slide down onto the edge of the bed, cautiously scooting closer until there’s a small space between you, enough to give him space .

Very slowly, you slide your hands up to his chest, travelling upward till you rest on his face. Curiously he leans a little forward, angling himself in a way that makes it easier for you to continue your ministrations across his body. His patience wears out after nearly ten seconds because he quickly cups your face and smashes his lips to your face, his naturally dominant self taking over, you gasping into his mouth with a sudden yelp. Urged on by your little mewls, his tongue takes over inhaling your every whimper and moan you were trying to speak out. All too soon,you give up, fully submitting to let him do whatever he wants with you, as he devours you wholly, in ways that make your brain turn into mush.

His hands descend down onto your fisted palms, that were clutching on the bed sheet, slowly unlocking them from their tight grip and instead slowly rubbing your knuckles in gradual touches. Not wanting to be upped by him, your hands quickly perch onto his hair grabbing a fistful of hair, eliciting a low grunt from his mouth, making you smirk in victory.

When you pull a little harder, Cheol understandingly pulls away, knowing your need for space, giving you a sliver of space to finally breathe, his forehead still pressed to yours.

You see his doe eyes watching your every move, like he couldn’t believe you were right there. But you also notice the slight lethargy in his gaze, a subtle sign that he could really use some rest. You know the nurses will come in any second, and you’re sure they’ll give you an earful about staying too long, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him just yet.

With a gentle hand on his chest—one he immediately grasps—you push him back down into the pillows, surprised when he falls back with the sudden shove.

“No,” he murmurs petulantly, his grip tightening as he tugs you down with him.

“Coupsie, there’s no space—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off with a small pout.

“I don’t care. We’ll make space,” he mutters, sticking his lower lip out like a child. His fingers wave at you, a silent plea for you to come closer.

You have no choice but to follow, falling into his arms as he pulls you in. His hands are warm and steady as he gently guides you into position, placing your head on his tricep like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You settle there, the softness of his arm the perfect pillow, as his chest rises and falls in rhythm with your own breaths.

“So,” Cheol starts, a mischievous smirk forming on his lips as he looks down at you. “Was this kiss better than last time?”

You blink in disbelief, pulling back just slightly to stare at him, utterly confused. “Last time? Dude, this was my first kiss! Are you high?”

Cheol’s goofy smile only deepens, like he knew a hidden secret

“Remember when you were five and got us to play prince and princess?” he teases, the grin still plastered across his face.

“Yeah, when I had my first kiss and—wait, that was you?” The memory hits you like a ton of bricks, slowly coming back as Cheol continues to look at you, enjoying your turmoil.

“Aha,” he replies, smugly satisfied that he has finally cracked your mind open with that one detail.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, now almost feeling betrayed by your past self. “All my life, I believed Jeonghan was my first kiss, and he’d be my forever-first kiss!”

Cheol’s expression falters slightly, his eyes dropping as a soft sadness creeps into his voice. “This might sound stupid, but I wanted you to come to me. You had all these ideas about love, these superstitions about it—that it had to be your first kiss, or the guy who teased you, or the one who asked you to prom. You believed in love the way fate sets it up, like a fairy tale. And I wanted you to fall for me, not because it was meant to be, but because you wanted it to be.”

His words hit you hard, and you can feel the weight of everything he’s said. He continues, voice low and steady. “That day, a long time ago, I begged Jeonghan to let me kiss you. I wanted you to open your eyes and see me. But you opened them too soon, and all you saw was Jeonghan. All you pined for was him, after that kiss you thought you shared with him. Which, now, you know, was me all along.”

You hold your breath, the sudden clarity overwhelming you. He goes on, his voice soft, almost a whisper. “You had it in your head that he was going to be your husband after just one kiss. But I- I wanted you to see me. The things I’ve done for you. How I’ve always been there, showing you that it was me, loving you all these years. It took over two decades for you to finally see it. But you did, even if it came at the cost of me lying here, in this hospital bed, after surgery.”

Cheol chuckles bitterly, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s why Jeonghan’s been up my ass all this time. He knew from day one that I loved you, and he didn’t want to get in the way of it. Though it was a dick move to break up with you over a text,” he adds with a small wince.

You’re speechless, unable to find the right words to express how overwhelmed you feel, how everything suddenly makes sense. “I- I don’t know what to say,” you admit.

“Say you love me,” Cheol jokes, his voice playful again, but there’s a vulnerability.

“I do love you, Cheol,” you confess, your voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to see that. I can finally see it now. I can finally piece it all together. You were always there for me. The birthday where no one showed up, and a few years later, when you found out what Sally’s mom did, so you broke up with her. You punched Julian for me, ditched your date to be with me, and even broke up with Iseul after you almost kissed me—yes, Mingyu told me. All this time, everything you did was to show me you loved me.”

You’re rendered speechless by the look in his eyes, the deep love and warmth that radiates from him. This is the man who has watched you fall for so many others and stayed loyal to you. 

Cheol doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes glistening as they stay fixed on you. “Say it again” he softly demands

“Coupsie,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “I’ve been looking forward to hearing those words for so long that I- I can’t believe you said them. Please, say it again.”

“I love you, Cheol,” you say, your voice a little steadier now.

Cheol’s face crumples at the sound of your words, and before you know it, tears are streaming down his face. He sniffles, clearly overwhelmed, and you see the moment his dam breaks. His tears flow freely, and he lets go of everything he’s been holding in for so long.

“Again,” he pleads, his voice trembling.

“Cheol, what—” you begin, but he interrupts.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice almost breaking.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you, feeling the weight of Cheol’s tears against your chest. This time, it’s your turn to hold him tight. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, letting him cry freely into you.

It feels strangely comforting to be the one providing the solace for him, after all the years he’s been the one to offer his shoulder for your tears. The roles have reversed, and yet it feels so natural, so right. You let him pour out all his emotions, feeling the quiet tremors in his body as he lets go of everything he’s held in for so long.

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One day, long ago, sitting high on the roof of your house overlooking the town you grew up in, you wrote a few words in your journal to your future self about who you wished your future lover would be.

When you get back home, you can write to your younger self, letting her know that the man you love is none other than Choi Seungcheol. He surpasses all the expectations set by your aching heart.

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A.N: I am gonna sleep now.. i'll wake up and fix the tags and edits out the space. this fic killed me

tagging : @skzbangchanniee @ariananotgrandeee

teaser interactions @bobathi @sailorsoons

[r0manceplanet]

Could we perhaps maybe have any mafioso x reader headcanons? Anything with him really

Oh yes, OF COURSE you can have them!!! Oh my god and your also my first request too, I was so happy to get this

And this is just an excuse to write for my pookie mafioso right now :3 enjoy!!!

MAFIOSO 🐇

• Well I must say, congratulations for winning over this gentleman! It’s pretty tough to date him but as long as y’all are on good terms it won’t be too hard.

• He would treat you so well, seriously! Once you start dating him expect to get the royal treatment right away… Like, do you need someone killed? Don’t worry that’s already taken care of! Or do you perhaps need something from the store? It’s just a few minutes away he wouldn’t mind.

• I also don’t really think that he was very comfortable with PDA, at least before he met you that is… when y’all are dating he started to get more comfortable with physical touch and got better at initiating it after some time.

• I also headcanon that whenever he’s out with his gang, I feel like they would always go get pizza after a good killing spree, and he would always bring own your own pizza for you when he arrives at home.

• I also feel like he would get jealous whenever he sees someone flirting with you? It’s probably silly, but not to him. He will show them that your his and off limits, or he could maybe just kill them off, but he doesn’t wanna do that to you anyways.

• He will always make sure your protected no matter what, even if he’s not there, he’ll have his soldiers watch over you whenever your out somewhere and mafioso is no where to be found for now, so if anyone seems like a threat to you, they’ll disappear and you’ll know why.

• He would totally let you wear his clothes, especially his coat!! And if your small and his coat is really big on you he will just be in awe and hug you just because of how adorable you look!

• Back to some of the other headcanons, other than him bringing you pizza home, he would always come home with a small gift for you, I feel like he shows his love through gift-giving, and they’re always thoughtful everytime.

• For dates, he would take you out to more quiet and less crowded areas like the coffee shop in the early mornings or even at a bookstore, dates will rarely happen because he has to remain unknown to a lot of people, I think y’all would get this lol.

• He’s very boyfriend material, probably and most likely everyone’s dream man if we’re being honest here. He deserves a solid 10/10 for being the best lover.

A/N: if anyone wants to send me any mafioso or any of the characters for requests PLEASE PLEASE PLEASEEE do so if you can !!!! especially if it’s more mafioso I’d be happy to upload some content for forsaken :3

[dumbgoondog]

On Display(Part 2)

MDNI +18 NSFW

Fem Reader, them getting to see your cunt for the first time. Might make full fics later, tell me which you want to see.

Ft. Kenjaku, Uraume, Toji, and Mahito(pre + in relationship)

Cw/Tw - degradation, humiliation, slight foot play(Uraume) Mahito is a tw, stalking and peeping(Mahito)

KENJAKU

They’ve seen plenty before, they know this little song and dance of, oh it’s my first time! The blush, the look away, the squirm, biting the lip, even if it wasn’t your first time with someone it was your first time with him. It was especially embarrassing since he had you face down, ass up, and legs spread so everything was on full display for Kenjaku to admire.

“You’re already wet, dripping even. Is it the anticipation or that I’m watching you? Perhaps it’s not even helping to know how I can see how much you want this?” Kenjaku muses and teases, you can hear the coy smile in his voice and his hands moving from your thigh to your ass. Their thumbs reach and spread your folds earning a startled jolt and in response Kenjaku grips your hips tight, pulling you closer to him and kissing at your cunt, “Now now, there’s no need to be shy anymore. I have you fully presenting for me, you were the one asking for me as well my dear. Let me enjoy this view, it’s been a bit~!”

URAUME

They were just standing there, arms folded together, as you folded your clothes and set them to the side obediently. You’re naked now a slight cold breeze hitting your cunt, fully exposed to the air but you kneel as they instructed and look up to them a bit shyly but with anticipation. Uraume stares down face blank but you having gotten to know and be with them see the slight blush in their ears and the slight smile at the corners of their mouth.

“Your display is adequate,” Uraume purrs, lifting a legs out and their foot pushes apart your knees to expose yourself more, just for them to tap at your cunt with their foot, “you’re this wet already? What are you, a whore? Can’t even keep it together when undressing?” They jab with their words, pulling their foot away, “Well then, you’ll have to earn my touch, so why don’t you start by touching yourself, hmm?”

TOJI

“God damn, keepin this slutty fat pussy from me for so long,” Toji growls his hand under your skirt cupping and squeezing you roughly, he didn’t even care that you two were in public, “she’s slobberin all ova my hand like a bitch in heat. You might not even need lube when I fuck your tight cunt huh babygirl?”

Your face is beet red, Toji had always been very straightforward and a grab it by the horns kind of guy but… here?! In public?! He’s squeezing and tugging at your clit, your folds, his thumb prodding at your ass and he’s snickering, “Damn even your ass is trying to get some, you this desperate for cock or jus’ mine babygirl?”

MAHITO(Pre-relationship)

You were so busy, fingers dipping in and out, rubbing circles on your clit, moaning, to even notice the visitor who had joined you in your bathroom. Mahito’s eyes were wide not in surprise but so that he could drink in every bit of the heavenly wine you offered him. The way your body arched, the way your mouth hung, eyes shut tight, the shakes, he’s biting his lip and it’s bleeding but god does he not care.

Mahito’s taking note of the movements you make, where you’re touching, the curves and dips, where it squishes and he’s planning the places he wants to touch too! He’s watching you come undone, hitting the high of climax, your legs buckling and the moans. Mahito giggles leaning his head on his hand before sitting up and realizing he’s gotta go! Quickly he’s up and dashing out before he’s caught!

MAHITO(In relationship)

You’ve barely got your pants around your ankles when you feel that freak latch onto your hips and pull your ass to his face. His long tongue lapping at your underwear covered cunt and you squeak reaching back and hitting him on the head. He scoots back a little startled blinking innocently like he’s done nothing wrong and he pouts at you, “whaaat? Can’t a little guy be excited, hmm? It’s not like your cunt isn’t soaking through your panties! You’re excited too, your body gives you away!”

You huff and are about to speak when he’s pushed his face back in, a hand coming up and pulling aside your underwear rather than off. His tongue is dancing between your folds touching all your favorite spots and you’re quick to become putty mewling at his touch. The thick dexterous appendage pulls up and dips into your entrance, just the tip, licking at your gummy dripping cunt hungrily before he pulls back with a satisfied sigh, “Mmh~ I knew you’d taste good! Your noises are just as good as I remember too!” And before you can ask or let that sink in, his tongue is sinking back in.

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

As I’m writing my responses for the character asks, I think it’s about time I did somewhat of a character ramble on Cold.

(At least, my personal reading of him. I may be wrong about him, since he’s the one who had given me the most trouble[due to how emotional I am as a person]. Or maybe you can see this as a different perspective? Feel free to add more or correct me though.)

(This will be long though (and really messy), so I’m putting a cut here)

One thing that I feel is important to Cold’s character is that he is not completely emotionless. Emotionally suppressed, yes, but not completely emotionless.

I personally think it’s more accurate to describe Cold as “being detached” than “emotionless”. He can feel emotions and care for the other voices(in his own way), as you can see in routes like Moment of Clarity where he attempts to teach the voices to be unfeeling(and later feeling frustrated about not being about to help them numb it down) and in PatD, where he had acknowledged that he had missed “The Decider” and showed annoyance towards Oppy in his lack of ability to commit to his choices.

The most notable example of him showing emotion is his hostility towards the Narrator, which is quite a feat to be made since Cold really doesn’t seem to hate any of the voices. Annoyed, sure, but he doesn’t seem to dislike any of them.

His interest towards Anger

For a voice claiming to be unfeeling, he sure is attracted to the emotion of anger and prodding the one who’s angry to inflict it on him.

One thing I’ve noticed about him is that he would often push a person to act acts of violence on him, specifically those who had lost their sense of purpose and are furious about it. Three clear examples I can think of at the top of my head are Stubborn, Smitten, and Fury. All three of them are furious, or at least feeling really crummy about losing their purpose.

Stubborn, as his purpose was to enjoy a fight with the Princess and win against her, or just to fight her for the rest of eternity.

Smitten, as his purpose was to be the knight in shining armour for Damsel and save her from her prison.

As for Fury, depending on the route you get her from, was given a purpose by you. She is to be the Adversary that could handle your every punch, or the Tower who is destined to end to world.

And yet, because of your choices, their purpose have been taken away from them.

What is an Adversary without her opponent? What is a God without a believer?

Out of all the emotions for Cold to choose and take an interest towards, why anger?

Anger is one of the most intense emotions to ever be felt. But at the same time, it comes from a place of hurt and vulnerability. Your heart.

In Wraith, Cold’s more spiteful side is amplified when you had paired him up with Cheated, with the both of them ganging up on the Narrator and had decided that they don’t want to listen to the Narrator anymore and would much rather free the Princess. In many of the routes featuring Cold, he is shown to be opposing Narry in every way, and would do anything to annoy and piss the Narrator off just to spite him. Unlike how he provokes the voices, which is for his own amusement, he genuinely hates the Narrator.

Which makes me wonder if that’s the emotion Cold felt before you stabbed yourself—anger and betrayal. But before those emotions were settled fully, it was quickly gone away with a stab in the heart. Perhaps a part of him wants to feel that same anger again? Because that was the first ever emotion he had ever felt before it was quickly taken away from him and was replaced with that numbness? Or perhaps, he seeks understanding from the others?

Cold and Purpose

Cold is unique in a way where he really isn’t active at all when compared to the other voices. He’s even more passive than Broken. He has no goals, no ambition, no drive to do anything. In fact, he’s really more of a spectator. He isn’t a knight to come save a damsel in distress, or a broken soul seeking refuge in a god, or an unfortunate guy getting screwed over by the world around him and seeks justice. He’s just here to watch.

After all, he had already fulfilled his purpose a long time ago in chapter one. And at the end, that purpose meant nothing at all, as he is discarded like a used tool after his purpose had been fulfilled. There is no point doing anything else but to watch. All he could do now is to encourage you to do literally anything that isn’t nothing.

(That also explains why he’s so angry at you in the everyone hates you ending, since you have discarded him and the other voices carelessly like tools you could use. In his eyes, you are being just like the Narrator. He’s got abandonment issues I feel.)

In conclusion???

I… don’t really have a good conclusion to this. I really just wanted to put my thoughts regarding Cold as a character and then share it.

Cold is an intriguing character to say the least, with him having many contradictions and yet coming together perfectly to create him. He is playful as much as he is tragic. He is unfeeling and yet he cares anyway despite the fact that he really didn’t have to. He is rooted in the present, but longs for something that had already been lost in the past. He holds grudges as much as he is easygoing.

He prides himself in having the ability to distance himself from the pain and doubt in order to get the job done. And yet in the end, he yearns to feel again.

There is a warmth underneath his unfeeling skin. You just have to really dig for it.

[sugawhaaa]

SAN DRABBLE

🌙▪︎[Damn those eyes]▪︎🌙

Warnings//genre:: violence, knives mentioned, San is in love with you bc he's insane....

Pairing:: rich!San x fem!bodied!hitman!reader

A/N:: okay we got part two of the masquerade series and I think Yeosang will be next and possibly the last of this series 💪 I did have a Hongjoong one planned but idkkkk

Atz masterlist::🗡

Taglist:: @saddeneddimple @leo-seonghwa

🎧::

You were a hitman hired by a big shot of an internationally famous company. You were ordered to kill a man named Choi San. Why did the company want him dead? None of your business. You got a photo of him, nice and clear, 4k quality yet when you arrived at the exact location the company said, he was well hidden. A masquerade ball. Choi san would be at this ball on May 17th, arriving roughly at 7 pm yet the grand clock showed it was a quarter till eight and you could not spot this man. It would be hard to find a man you've never met behind a mask and feathers among nearly a near hundred people. Time to move on to plan b.

You started getting friendly, but not too friendly so as to not draw attention. You silently started to hint at your interest in a good man named Choi San. The groups of people seemed surprised you didn't know of this man.

“Oh Mr. Choi?”

“He's new money but he is so famous,”

“You should really look into him,”

All the women seemed giddy about the concept of San and this piqued your interest.

“New money you say? How did that occur?” You ask, trying to keep up your curious little lady vibe.

“His father passed away tragically, however, his father insisted he take the money,” a woman wearing a deep satin blue gown informed you. She held her mask up with the convenient handle on the side. The mask's blue matched that on her dress and there was a gold trim around the eyes and outside of the mask.

“Oh, what a shame,” you sigh with a shake of your head. “I would love to meet Choi san, passed off of all your positive judgment on him,” you say politely, slightly hinting to them that they should introduce you or something of the sort.

“Ah yes, he is just in the back corner by the drinks,” a younger woman in deep magenta points out. Her eyes are full of youth and innocence, a spark that has been missing from your eyes for far too long.

“Why thank you for pointing him out,” you bow slightly before making your way over to him. He stood close to the bar of drinks and held one hand behind his back, the other in front holding red wine, a dark clash to his white suit with a snake tongue-like ending to it. You take a deep breath before coming up to him. “Excuse me, are you choi san?” You ask politely and he turns to look at you, his eyes are mainly hidden beneath his white mask.

“That would be me,” he smirks slightly. “And you may be?”

“Ah, Y/N L/N, sorry for my rudeness,” you put a hand to your chest, drawing sans eyes to the black choker on your neck holding a deep ruby charm on the end of it.

“No apology necessary,” San bows slightly, almost like a nod in a modern conversation. "What is it you wanted to discuss with me?" He asks, assuming that you wanted more than friendly conversation.

"Ah, yes," you look down at your hands for a moment, taking in the dark velvet red gloves that wrap up to your elbows. "Perhaps we should discuss it in private," you suggest and San chuckles, that rich laugh that makes your blood heat up. San eventually leads you to a deserted hallway with rows of doors. He takes you to one of the rooms and explains that these are guest rooms used by people who wish to stay the night at these balls rather than go home after all the drinks and dancing. San had already booked himself a room so there would be no interruptions in here.

San closes the door behind himself before making his way to stand in front of you. A perfect opportunity...

"What is on your mind Ms. L/N?" He smiles politely and through his mask, you can see the purity in his eyes. You swallow hard, your hand tightening around the handle behind your back. San's eyes flicker down to your hand hiding behind your back and he sighs softly. He sits down on the bed in his room, leaning back slightly and holding himself up with his hands. This is the perfect opportunity to pull out your knife and kill him off. You grip the handle harder and swing it out from behind you, now revealing the weapon to San's eyes.

You pin him down to the bed, ensuring he can't wriggle away, before raising the knife above even your own body. Your eyes are locked right on his neck, your aim perfect. However, as you bring your hand down you down feel the knife make contact with his body. You avert your gaze to look at his neck, which should be covered in blood, you see his eyes looking up at you. "Can you really do it?" His expression is blank and you raise the knife again, attempting your strike again but now your hands quiver. "It's much harder to kill someone when they're looking right into your eyes huh?" There isn't an ounce of fear in his voice or expression, almost as if he knew this would happen and he mentally prepared for this beforehand.

You sigh, questioning yourself; could you really do this? Kill a man who is looking up at you with those eyes. Damn those eyes... "before you kill me," San starts, drawing your attention back to him. He raises a hand to your face and you pull back. "Could you let me see your face?"

His request leaves you momentarily speechless, however, it is quite frankly his last wish.

"No," you state and you can see the hurt in his eyes. "Because...I'll let you live. But you if you saw my face, I'd be severely punished," you put the knife back into its hidden pocket in the back of your dress. You stand up and turn to go to the door but San quickly follows, placing a hand on your shoulder. You turn to look at him and he pulls the mask off your face, the mask falls to the floor as you finally feel the warmth of him on your face. He looks directly into your eyes, for they are most familiar to him.

"I didn't plan on snitching either way, I know you're just a puppet,"

[tojirights]

okkkkk listen im sure this has been done before but i can't stop thinking abt astarion's bite having an aphrodisiac effect on you sighs. :\ this is completely my headcanon, I do not know what an actual vampire bite in D&D would entail don't hate me 😭

The first time Astarion asks to bite you, you decline for obvious reasons. But the next night he comes to you, he seems unwell, and your heart struggles to still see him as the manipulative monster you know vampires tend to be, and you give in. It was only one little bite, right? You've quite literally been stabbed in the gut before, you figure it's no big deal and it would benefit the whole group in the long run for Astarion to be at full strength.

What Astarion doesn't tell you, and he's fully aware of, is what the after effects of being bitten are. You body immediately heats, pain and an odd sensation of pleasure shoots through your body. Even as Astarion releases your neck, a dribble of your own blood leaking down his lip, you feel warm. Too warm.

Your mind immediately jumps to "oh shit im dying. How could I be so stupid?", but you start to realize that the dizziness hitting you seems to be not only from lack of blood, but the movement of blood down your body. Astarion tries to sneak away but even in your weakened state, you grab his arm before he moves. "Don't." You say sternly, starting to breathe heavily. "What-" Your body shudders. "Is this feeling..?" Astarion almost looks guilty when he sees your forehead start to sweat, clear signs of arousal coming from your body.

"And what do you mean, darling? Lightheaded? Why, that's makes sense, does it not?" His tone is smart, and if you were thinking right, you'd slap the shit out of him. You shake your head, the burning hot heat moving down your stomach before settling in your gut. "You best be honest with me, my dagger has your name all over it right now." You shoot him a weak glare, to which he chuckles.

Astarion leans in close to your ear, his breath ghosting the fresh wound he inflicted just below. "Well... If you must know..." He starts explaining, his voice low in his throat and making your body react in ways you've never felt before. "There's a not commonly discussed after effect that some people experience after being bitten." He watches as your body shudders, taking in the flush on your cheeks. "It can cause... temporary, insatiable lust." He draws out the last words in a whisper, smirking to himself as you squirm.

You groan outwardly, frustration minging in the wake of arousal. "And you knew this would happen?" You ask, but Astarion just hums like he's unsure. "Not really, like I said, it doesn't happen to everyone." He moves over top of you slowly, his eyes locking with yours. "From what I know, this only happens when there's already some strong feelings developed." He teases, enjoying how your face somehow turns even redder. "You're fucking with me." You say flatly, though you can already feel a familiar wetness forming between your thighs.

Astarion smirks as he looms over you, seemingly enjoying your current struggle. "I wouldn't dare." He defends. "Besides, you can't tell me that you aren't... needing some relief." He says in a sultry tone as he leans for the other side of your neck. You gasp when his lips find your skin, his kisses leaving fire behind on your skin. "W-what, no." You scoff, trying to deny your primal urges, but you're not in your right mind. Your hips sqiurm underneath him, seeking any sort of friction.

Astarion's no stranger to this song and dance, but he admits it feels a little more deceitful than normal. He isn't here to just use you and toss you to the side, or even worse, bring you back to Cazador. Honestly, he's not sure why he even crawled into your bed like this at all. Muscle memory, perhaps. But the sight of you writhing under him certainly has his mind a little clouded.

He pouts, pulling away from your body entirely. "Why, of course then dear. I'd never want to push you into anyth-" His sentence ends abruptly when your hands find themselves tangled in his hair, pulling him back to you and kissing him feverishly. "You owe me." You breathe in between kisses, the soreness in your neck a reminder of why you're here. Astarion just chuckles against your lips, the vibration making you shiver. "I suppose you're right." He says in a hushed tone. "Don't worry, I'll take care of this little problem for you darling."

You'd again be furious at him and his smart mouth if you could think about anything other than his hands all over your body. His knee slots between your thighs, shifting your legs further apart and giving you just enough friction that you can't help the moan that follows. Astarion shushes you, his finger to your lips while he keeps pressing his knee closer to your center. "Quiet, my dear." He coos, watching you grind helplessly against his leg. "Do you want our little friends to see you so utterly desperate for me?"

There's a rush of embarrassment that surges through you, knowing to any of your companions, you probably look pretty ridiculous under him, but you can't seem to care as his hand travels down your throat. His fingers lightly brush over his handiwork, watching the way your face gives a quick twist of pain, yet your voice conjures such a pretty noise. Astarion sighs to himself, quickly feeling himself hardening in his sleep pants at the sight of you.

"You really are quite beautiful, you know?" He whispers, almost as if you're not meant to hear it. Your body responds on its own, a quiet whimper leaving your mouth before you can stop it. "Don't make me beg, Astarion..." You shudder, your tone pleading enough to make your needs known. Astarion's own desire starts to overwhelm him, his need to have you all to himself winning over his wants to keep teasing you. His hands slide down your sides, slipping under your shirt to feel the way your muscles tense with every touch.

Astarion sighs dramatically, acting offended to your desperate pleas. "Normally?" He starts, watching you glare daggers at him. "You'd be begging until your voice went hoarse, but since you were such a good girl for me and helped me, I won't keep you waiting." His words make your core ache, your hips grinding against his leg as a groan leaves your lips.

Astarion's fingers dance up your stomach, pushing your shirt up as he moves. His eyes linger a little too long as your breasts come into view, perky as his imagination had guessed, and your nipples hard and just begging for his mouth on them. He decides to indulge, kissing up your chest until his lips find the hardened bud. As soon as he latches onto you, it's as if all your self control flies right out the window. Your fingers desperately tangle into his hair, your back arched into him as his knee forms at least some sort of friction for you.

"My my, I've barely even touched you." He remarks as he watches you crumble beneath him, every single touch pushing you towards an embarrassingly early orgasm. You find the strength to punch his arm, but it obviously doesn't do anything but make him laugh. His tongue swirls your nipple, almost distracting you from the feeling of his hand traveling south, nimble fingers sliding under the waistband of your pants.

You're already teetering on the edge, his teeth nipping at your flesh much more gently than he had latched onto your neck earlier, the sensation causing surges of pleasure to run down your spine. As soon as his hand slips beneath your pants, he can feel your warmth, he knows just how much you've been dying to be touched this whole time. "Poor baby..." He coos. "Is this what you've been waiting for?" Skilled fingers find their way to your clit, and Astarion can't contain his groan as he feels just how wet you've gotten from this.

He's not surprised, of course, knowing your body is processing the effects of his little nibble, but he likes to think you've been pining this whole time, just waiting for him to take you. His mind paints all these pretty pictures of you with your hand down your pants, lip between your teeth as you touch yourself to the thought of him. "K-keep going, I'm so-" You gasp out, Astarion's attention shifting fully to you, the look on your face making his cock throb with need.

Astarion's thumb rubs circles around your clit, almost distracting you as he slides a slim digit inside your pulsing pussy. Your breath catches in your throat as you do your best not to be too loud, but Astarion curls his finger, sending flames through your body as your orgasm rolls over you. "A-Astarion yes-" You whimper as intense pleasure surges through you. Astarion buries his face into the crook of your neck, muffling his groan as he feels you squeezing around his finger.

"Gods, how pretty my name sounds on your tongue." He mutters to himself, lips latching to your sweat slick skin as he works his finger out as your orgasm fades. It did nothing to relieve the burning in your gut, if anything, you feel even worse. "N-need..." You gasp out, barely even knowing how to finish that sentence. Astarion's already shifting, removing his pants just enough to free himself.

"More." Astarion grunts, finishing your sentence for you and lining his cock up with your still needy cunt. Anticipation swirls in your gut, and luckily for you, Astarion's feeling a similar amount of desire, so he doesn't keep you waiting. "I know, darling. You need more." He says in a low voice, barely over a grumble as he finally slides inside. Your eyes lull shut, your mouth open as an incredibly desperate noise threatens to fill the silence of the night as Astarion fills your pussy with an agonizingly slow movement.

His one hand finds your hip, while the other cups your face and covers your mouth. "Keep your lips shut and your eyes on me." The commanding tone of voice forces a whimper from your throat, luckily muffled by his palm. Astarion's control slips from his grasp, his hips meeting yours in quick snaps as he keeps your eyes locked with his. "Yes, darling, just like that." Astarion purrs, watching the way your body accomidates him so well, how your legs seem to open more and more so he can push himself deeper within you.

Every thrust brings you right back to the edge, your mind blanking on everything around you besides him. Astarion's attempt to keep this quiet and subtle falls flat while the slide of his cock in and out of your cunt makes an obscene wet squelch, your juices covering his length enough to be making a mess down your thighs as well. You're sure at least someone is listening, but you're entirely too far gone in the pleasure of it all to even care. "Mmff, I-I'm..." You mumble into the palm of his hand, your body clenching around his cock as your orgasm rapidly approaches.

Astarion groans, his rhythm faltering with the way your pussy tightens, threatening to milk the cum from him right then and there. "How badly I want you to scream my name, to wake everyone from their tents as you come apart underneath me..." He breathes, something dark flashing in his eyes. Your hands grip desperately at his biceps, anchoring yourself as his words push you over the edge.

"That's it, pretty girl." Astarion sighs, recognizing the way you squeezed his finger earlier as you cumming on his cock. Your body shakes with the aftershocks of pleasure, Astarion's cock making you see stars as he angles your hips up. Its only a matter of a few more thrusts, the tip of his cock pressing snug against your cervix for his own orgasm to win over. You moan beneath his hand, feeling as each thick rope of cum coats your insides. "Gods, you're perfect..." Astarion shudders, pumping his hips lazily as your pussy clenches to make sure not a drop is left.

As you both lay, heavy breathing and sweaty bodies, you almost start to laugh. "You really are an asshole, you know that?" You say, yet your words lack any actual bite. Astarion slowly slides himself out, his mind taking a quick mental photo for later as he sees his cum seeping from your cunt, how it mixes with your arousal to make quite a beautiful mess. He chuckles as he reaches for an old rag, making sure it isn't dirty before gently cleaning you up. "And why am I an asshole, exactly?" He hums, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"If you wanted to sleep with me, you could've just asked." You sheepishly bite your lip, still feeling a low burning flame of arousal in your stomach. Astarion sits next to you, letting you shift to lay your head on his leg. "I- well..." He clears his throat, and you swear he looks embarrassed. "I figured this was a win-win, you know?" He smirks, watching you glare at him. "Thank you, by the way..." He says in a soft whisper. "I feel much better." You roll your eyes, yet your heart flutters to know you did in fact help him.

"Don't ever let me catch you trying to bite me in my sleep again, you got that?" Your eyes shut, exhaustion starting to take you. "Just ask..." You barely get the words out, but Astarion knows. He lets you relax for another moment, your breathing settled into a light sleep.

That went better than he could've expected...

He slinks back to his tent when he thinks you're fully asleep and thinks of how he'll mess with you in the morning when the rest of camp questions that little love bite on your neck.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face, despite his better judgement.

[dervampireprince]

i feel like how i think about and characterise lucifer in sexual scenarios it so different from most of the fandom. and that's okay, honestly it's interesting to me to see people interpret a character in different ways, but if you don't like thinking about lucifer romance or redemption arcs then this post isn't for you.

[18+ only, minors dni]

thoughts about lucifer x gender neutral-ish reader thoughts. (reader is describes as having a clit and vagina, this is post is written by a trans man)

so i'm talking about a lucifer who has lost, i think he has to lose and fail at the apocalypse in season 5, he has to be shown he can be overpowered, he has to be shown that his father's plans and prophecies can be changed and are actually just bullshit. so this is a lucifer who still failed in season 5, and gets freed from the cage like in season 11, still using nick's body.

and i like to lean into lucifer's inhuman-ness and trauma because i find that interesting and is that because i can relate to parts of him... yeah sure of course.

i see a lot of interpretations of him where he's written as having had a lot of sex, of having a lot of casual sex with you before any feelings take place, of being crass and crude and and i just... i don't think he's ever had sex. i think he's disgusted by humans and that includes the things they do with each other.

i think he has to fall for you first (poor choice of words, i know).

i think you have to be at least a little nice to him. not naive, you know what he is, who he is and what he's done, but if he's here you're at least going to talk to him, not avoid him, not yell at him every conversation. and he's never really just sat down and talked with someone in a long time.

of course he'll tease you, and he'll try and push your buttons and make you hate him, people are supposed to hate him, you're supposed to hate him, why don't you hate him?

and he hates that he likes spending time with you. he doesn't want to need or want anyone, but of course he craves it. that desire to rule and be worshipped is just his desire to be loved, a craving for what he once had but was ripped from him.

you find yourself enjoying spending time with him, teasing him back, even standing up for him when he does actually keep his word. and it surprises him.

you tell him he can be anything he wants, that he doesn't have to be defined by his past and certainly not what his father says he is. screw the idea of fate and destiny. who are you lucifer? who do you want to be? and he doesn't really know anymore. he doesn't really want to end the world, hasn't for a while now. but he doesn't know what else he could be if he casts aside all the labels he's gained.

he couldn't ever make the first move, if he realises he loves you. and he could love you. you're so warm and full of light, everything that he used to be but isn't anymore. but his grace sings for you. you make him feel like he actually could change, that it could be worth it to change.

and he wouldn't be good on dates. he wouldn't buy you gifts, wouldn't know what a human would want anyway. it's not easy to have him be in public, he's too agitated, too ready to be snarky to anyone walking past, too ready to complain about everything. but let him? be patient with him, let him complain, join in with him, ask him his opinions on things, let him figure out how to be himself and show him he's not gonna put you off.

you would have to make the first move. and if you told him you loved him, he would panic. perhaps even teleport straight out of there. but he'd come back. you deserve that at least. and you'd tell him again. you'd let yourself be alone with him. give some trust to him, let him have you.

he'd be so touch starved. even in this stupid human body, he would shiver if you touched him. ask if he can touch you, if you'd let him, ever checking for your consent. and all those stupid human activities he never understood the want for, he craves them now.

he love kissing you, could get addicted too it, how you gasp and cling to him. sadly he normally forgets you also need to breathe. the first time he realises he can slide his tongue into your mouth and the sound you make is going to stay with him. he's going to replay that in his mind. or even better, he'll figure out how to get you to make that sound again.

he doesn't take sex lightly. he wants to make you feel good. he wants to learn what you like, where your most sensitive spots are, and prod them until you see stars. he's not experienced, but a fast learner, and more than willing to try out whatever ideas of kinks you have. he's actually excited at the idea of learning more about you, getting to do more things with you. for all his lack of experience, he's smug, he knows when he's made you feel good.

he's so good with his mouth. eating you out like he's worshipping you. lapping at your clit, forked tongue twisted around it, almost as if it's trying to jerk you off.

telling you how pretty you are, how well you take his fingers, then his cock. amazed that you're letting him do this. amazed at how much he likes it, how good it feels. how you've finally let him inside you.

it feels good everywhere you touch him. before you touch his cock he's already dripping just from your hands on his face, his neck, running down his sides. he's so needy and eager.

if you can see and touch his wings... well... he can't bear to let you see them at first. they're not going to be like whatever you've pictured. he's fell. and then he was in the cage, burning, in pain, for so long. but they're part of him and you tell him you'll love every part of him. his wings are scarred, once white now charred black and red in most places, and they clearly haven't been loved in a long time.

you're gentle with him, straightening feathers, removing debris, and he's shaking. shaking and panting by the end, hiding his face from you. you're worried you've hurt him once you notice he's been crying, but you haven't. he's overwhelmed by now long it's been since anyone touched them, how wonderful it feels to have someone touch them. you assure him that they're beautiful, that he's beautiful, you're angel, that despite how much he thinks he has dimmed that he still shines brightly to you.

he warps them around you like a cocoon the first time you have sex with his wings out, wants to keep you safe in them, not let anyone or anything hurt you. (he's always worried that he'll be the one to hurt you, even though he never wants too). if you tell him you love him during sex, if you intertwine your fingers with his, it makes him come faster and harder but he'll never tell you that.

with more experience, and the power of searching the internet, comes more adventurous encounters. he learns what he likes. and what he likes is: overstimulating you, making you come over and over again, he just wants to make you feel good, won't like let him make you feel good? especially overstimulating you with his mouth. his ego is still always there, tell him no one else could please him like you, no one could ever make you feel this good, praise him, call him beautiful, tell him he's good, tell him he fills you so well, that he fits perfectly inside you, call him your king or god and he might just come on the spot. honestly just say his name, or moan it, and that does a lot to him. love being deep inside you, legs over his shoulders, or pressing you deep into the bed from behind. he'd enjoying tying you up, the trust that comes with that, letting him touch you and use you (same goes for if you tell him you want him too fuck you in your sleep or fall asleep with him inside you). perhaps being slightly risky, having you in the bunker while others are around, teasing you that you have to keep quiet otherwise you'll be heard, 'so needy for me, couldn't even wait until everyone was gone to have me'. surprisingly, likes it when you mark him. he's as much yours as you are his, it makes him reassured that he's wanted.

but i'm just a soft boy who likes the idea of someone who's been hurt learning to let people love them and be able to love others idk maybe you think this is all super out of character for him and that's okay. it's all just my opinions and headcannons on a fictional character.

[electricneonvalkyrie]

Buried beneath the earth, the world above is nothing but a distant memory. In the cold glow of florescent lights, survival isn’t just about staying alive—it’s about remembering why you want to.

Hey guys! A few of you might remember this one from my previous account.

I'd like to upload some of my old works again. If you enjoy them, please feel free to interact. It inspires me to keep uploading and lets me know someone is out there in this enormous world reading them.

This is a multiple part adventure, already mostly written. In further chapters, there are mature themes and yes, some smutty goodness.

If the desire just isn't there anymore, that's totally cool too. I'll happily focus on my other TLOU fixations.

Thanks so much for being here, either way. Enjoy.

Fallout

For fifteen years, you’ve woken up to the same ceiling, the same air, the same silence. You've watched the same electric blue and fire-engine red fish glide across your computer screen in an agonizingly predictable rhythm.

You should be used to it by now. But today, for some ungodly reason, something restless oscillates within. The movement almost taunts you. The water they drift through looks impossibly smooth. Touchable. Alive.

Only now do you find yourself longing to experience the texture of the water they inhabit.

You know very well that it would not be wise to go outside. What’s out there now, doesn’t look anything like what you see in this digital aquarium.

Blinding flashes of light and the thunderous clap of explosions are acid burns against the labyrinths of your mind. The horrifying sight of the only landscape you’d ever known reduced to rubble while your family scrambled to get you to the safety of the bunker.

Maybe the loneliness has finally caught up with you. Or perhaps it’s the relentless glare of artificial lights slowly eroding your sanity.

But what if, contrary to their warnings, it’s not a desolate wasteland anymore?

As you ponder the enchantments that might lie beyond your impermeable tomb, vibrant hues of coral reefs and gently swaying anemones mock you.

“Stupid sea turtles. You probably have twelve eyes by now,” you mutter, your words swallowed by the still air, bouncing off the dust-laden bookshelves and the solitary pair of slippers propped up near your sleeping quarters. The silence presses in, thick and unwavering, like it’s waiting for you to admit that you miss the sound of another voice.

It's time to take your daily dose of vitamins and choke down another prepackaged meal that tastes more like chemicals than actual food.

Your stomach doesn’t even have the decency to growl.

You pry yourself away from the evening’s entertainment, glancing at the digital clock above the whiteboard, counting down the minutes to your dinner alarm.

Tonight’s lavish menu boasts three options: chicken and potatoes, beef mac and cheese, or a warm, comforting bowl of insipid oatmeal with apple slices that never quite rehydrate as promised. Everything tastes like a monotonous heap of nothingness, and you’re tempted to paint the walls with it instead.

But when the clock trills at you like an insouciant bird that has long forgotten the sun, you begrudgingly get up, trapped in the dullness of it all.

Just as you’re about to tear open your foil packet of sustenance, a strange, unrecognizable sound echoes from your desk.

Your stomach twists, mistaking the chime for a warning alert—an issue with the air ventilation system or some other critical failure in this sterile foxhole you call home.

You finish setting up your meal to cook, if you can even call it that, and move to investigate.

As you trudge across the frigid floor, you nearly trip over your own feet. There's something odd about the way your computer screen glows. The interface slightly... off, like it doesn’t quite belong here in your bunker. A trick of the mind? Or something else?

You inch closer, hesitant—of what exactly, you don’t know, but nothing is ever different here. Everything is painfully the same.

When you notice the chat box, an interface you’ve never seen before, your eyes are dry as brushwood by the time you remember yourself.

A: Is there anyone out there?

You strain to read the unexpected message, the words blurring together until a second one pops up, jolting you out of your trance.

A: Please tell me I’m not the only one left.

Gripped by the sudden fear that you've quietly descended into madness, you blink hard, hoping the mirage will disappear so you can return to your riveting evening with at least half your marbles intact.

A: God, it’s been so long since I’ve touched anyone, I forget what it feels like.

The chat box flickers impatiently, awaiting your response. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, unable to produce a reply.

This can’t be happening. You’ve spent years listening for voices, tuning into radio static, hoping for something—anything. And yet, here it is, words appearing like apparitions on your screen, and for some perplexing reason, you're frozen stiff, unable to move a muscle.

Endless days curled up by the old receiver, desperate for human connection, and not a single living creature drifted along those frequencies. Finally, you have one, and you're immobilized by the sheer shock of its existence.

The possibility of finding other survivors through the computer vanished when the population and all its infrastructure disappeared into sheets of vapor.

Or so you thought.

The flickering fluorescent bulbs above your head cast uneven, sickly light, making it difficult to concentrate. The recycled air carries a faint metallic taste, a constant reminder of just how stale your world has become. You glance up at the long-abandoned treadmill, contemplating some order to your lunacy, but the next message stops you cold.

A: If I have to choke down another bag of chili mac alone, I’m throwing hands. With the wall. Again. I killed my heavy bag a while back, or I’d use that. I swear I’m not violent or crazy.

You can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the struggle. You get it. The number of times your frustration has manifested in the destruction of your bunker is legendary, one for the ages. Days bleed into weeks in the confines of your militant capsule and all you’ve had to staunch the flow at times, is that very same MRE they're griping about.

This person, miraculously, seems to know exactly what you’re going through, struck by the same hardships.

Finally, your mind and body synchronize, sensation returning to your fingertips.

What do you have to lose?

✨: Does yours come with peppermints? Mine does. They taste like shit.

✨: Building a chess set out of them.

✨: My bishop’s wonky as hell but—

They reply faster than you can blink.

A: No. Fucking. Way.

You stare at the screen, heart hammering against your ribs. No way, indeed. This can't be real. Your fingers tighten around the tattered arms of your computer chair, nails digging into the surface as if grounding yourself will make it any less surreal.

A shaky, disbelieving breath escapes you.

Someone else is here.

You're not the last person on Earth.

✨: I know. I don’t even remember how to play chess anymore.

A: You serious right now?! I’ve been talking into the void for so long, I forgot what it’s like to have someone talk back. Are you actually real? Like, flesh and blood? 

It’s your first meeting with something other than the lifeless mop tucked away in the cabinet beside your barren refrigerator, and you almost scold yourself for coming across so indifferently.

You swipe your palms against your thighs first, before daring to type.

You type yes.

Backspace.

I think so.

Backspace.

Finally, you settle on—

✨: Last I checked.

A: Oh fuck, I take back what I said. I must be losing it.

This is a rather reasonable conclusion, something you've grappled with personally. Though absentminded, you find yourself nodding in agreement.

✨: Honestly, I’ve wondered the same thing lately. Maybe I’m just trapped in a really bad nightmare. The air ran out in my bunker, and I’m dead as a motherfucker. Something.

A: Well, if this is the afterlife, someone seriously dropped the ball.

By the time you realize your lip is caught between your teeth, tamping down your smile, you’re already typing, fingers blurring across the keys.  

✨: You should try the oatmeal. If there’s a Hell, I’ve got about four hundred packets of it in my pantry.

So, the art of smooth conversation has fallen a little rusty over the past decade. Rereading your conversation, a hum starts to vibrate beneath your skin, and you check the clock.

Don’t panic.

Surely, there's a reason for this connection. It wouldn't disappear as swiftly as it entered your life, right? That would just be cruel, and this world has more than tapped out it’s welcome in cruelty.

You take another quick glance at the clock.

Five minutes since you sent the message—your response, albeit a little strange, to the only living person you’ve communicated with in ages. And okay, you pulled a sharp one-eighty on the conversation, but it can’t be helped. A thousand thoughts are racing behind your eyes.

You watch the cursor blink, an impatient metronome, and it’s not that you expect this person to read you a bedtime story, but the anxiety of losing them already coils tight in your chest.

You glance at the clock again.

Six minutes.

A: The one with the apples, right?

Your heart leaps and you feel it in your throat. Either your brain is playing tricks on you, or this person is destined to become your closest companion.

✨: Yes! God. Do they get stuck in your teeth, too?

Your kitchen timer rattles angrily, like it’s punishing you for daring to ignore your precious routines. Has it been seconds? Minutes? It doesn't matter—losing this conversation feels far riskier than skipping another bland meal.

You need to eat, it’s essential to your very survival, but what if stepping away, even for a second, destroys this link?

You bolt to the food prep station and back.

A: Pfft. No. But that’s because I actually know how to cook.

A: You reading the directions upside down over there?

Their response dings loudly and with a wild clatter, your bowl lands on the desk, sauce oozing onto your mouse pad. You hiss, licking your fingers clean before plopping back into your chair, nearly losing balance as it threatens to roll away.

You huff at their cockiness, but there's no real bite to it.

The indignation fades as a stinging warmth rises in your cheeks. How long has it been since you last felt this... sudden radical happiness?

✨: Are you saying I don’t know how to cook?

A: Not necessarily. How would you rate your ability to read directions, though?

A laugh slips from your mouth, startling you. The stark contrast between the gloom and this sudden levity shakes something loose inside you.

Leaning back in your chair, you feel the glee tug at your lips. You press your palms against your cheeks, heat radiating from your skin, as if your body is trying to catch up with the rush of excitement flooding through you.

In a world stripped of its ability to grow, laughter feels like a lifeline, something to cling to before the silence swallows you whole again. Their witty remarks cut through the monotony like a blade, and you find yourself hoping they keep talking, just so you can hear more of it.

✨: That’s it... I’ve seen enough. I'm shutting everything down, pulling the plug. Tossing my computer out the airlock for good measure. Nobody bullies me in my own bunker.

A: Please don’t go.

The idea is almost laughable, if it didn’t hit so hard. If it didn’t feel like something vital inside you might snap under the weight of it. The fear grips fast, sudden and brutal, an iron vice taking a stranglehold around your lungs.

It’s irrational, really.

Too much, too soon—but you don’t care. You won’t care. Because the thought of losing this—of staring at this empty screen, knowing no one is waiting on the other side—makes your entire body ache so fiercely you have to force yourself to breathe through it.

✨: I was totally kidding. Promise.

Your response is lightning fast, the reality of it all hitting you like a torrid spark to dry kindling. Your breath catches as you reread their plea, half expecting the words to vanish. You barely register your meal—steadily cooling and forming an unappetizing skin across the surface—because for the first time in years, something matters more than routine.

A: Yeah, I was messing around too. Those apples? Impossible. They’re the worst, actually. I don’t know how I keep screwing them up, but here we are.

The conversation lingers, the glow of the screen casting soft light over your hands. For a moment, you just sit there, feeling the weight of something unspoken. You stare in disbelief at the interaction so far, your mind a chaotic blend of dizzying thoughts and a flood of confessions waiting to burst out.

✨: I knew it. They weren’t any good even before they expired, were they?

A: Nope. Do your gardens still work, though?

It feels like a lifetime since you've tended to them. The systems malfunctioned early on and gone were the days of fresh vegetation.

You cried yourself to sleep for weeks.

✨: No gardens. No batteries. Haven’t seen a tampon in about three years.

A: I’m sorry, that blows. The gardens broke, or you never had them to begin with?

✨: Yeah, the first one. A while ago, now.

Now you wonder whether they, like you, ended up in a high-tech bunker stuck in the ass end of civilization. The privileged offspring of a prominent figure, maybe? Were their parents some fancy government officials or influential pioneers in disease control?

Raised by paranoid preppers who stockpiled enough supplies to survive the end of the world and were just unhinged enough to think it would happen in their lifetime.

The thought, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind, makes you want to ask, but other things feel more pressing right now.

Your bowl of goop sits untouched as you stare at it, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the memory of running your fingers over the lush, waxy leaves of what was once your source of hope. When you close your eyes, the scent of fresh soil still clings to your senses.

A: I’m down to share my veggies with you. I think I’ve got a few strawberries, too. It’s the least I can do.

✨: Why? I mean, you don’t owe me anything.

You curse yourself, pinching the bridge of your nose hard enough to see stars, the scent of burnt electrical wires and old paper filling your nostrils.

A: Okay. A trade, then. You got any books over there? I need something... any damn thing that doesn't already live in my head.

Your shelter holds an absurd wealth of books, their pages worn from restless hands and repeated readings. You've devoured them all, each word a temporary escape from the unchanging walls around you.

If you could, you’d share them—fuck, you’d trade stacks of them just to hear the voice of the person on the other end of this exchange.

You have too many anyway, a treasure trove, more novels and magazines than you know what to do with.

A nervous flutter stirs, like a flurry of trapped moths, as you type your next response.  

✨: I hear the postal system is on hiatus. Any chance you were in bumfuck Montana when the world fell apart?

A: Born and raised, Miss.

Goosebumps rip through you, needling and sudden, racing from your scalp to your toes and you're helpless to stop it.

A: C’mon. Say something.

Your fingers twitch over the keys. You type. Delete. Type again.

✨: Are you fucking with me?

A: Not yet, but I'm tempted.

Their words flicker, settle, and brand themselves into your skin. It's like they're so close, right there on the other side of the screen, grinning at you.

A: I'm Abby, by the way. Abby Anderson. You gonna make me guess your name?

Her answer detonates inside you, a shockwave rippling through your veins, and it's a slow, dark tingle down your spine. Your trembling hands clamp down on the sharp edge of your desk, the cold wood a stark contrast to the frantic pounding of your heart.

Of all the places, of all the people left in this fractured world—they’re right here.

She’s here.

In the suffocating hush, your heart kicks against your ribs.

You're not alone anymore.

[dock57]

Would you say that Shrike genuinely cares about Beebs?

For me, I find it interesting due to how he acts and I do think he does! He just struggles HARD with keeping that up in terms of promises. Behaviour etc etc

[Yes, I would say so.

I knew this response might be a tad long, so that’s why it took me a good minute to get to it.

Episode 1 and 2, you don’t really see any examples of how Shrike shows he does care for Beebs, we start to see more examples in episode 3 and 4. This is all based on my own analyzing from the series itself.

I would say that Shrike is on a path of learning and improving to be a batter person, especially learning how to care about others than just himself. I would say that Shrike shows how he cares through his actions rather than words. Shrike is just. Not good with words. At all. Like you said, I think he does but struggles showing it or saying it through words.

Some examples I can think of that I think show Shrike attempting to show he does care:

Episode 3: Us & Them

The Guitar. This particular scene may not be the best example, the next one is- but I say this one counts as well. It was a high stress situation for everyone, but the fact that Shrike was willing to try and play the acoustic guitar for Beebs for- an exact reason he didn’t understand, I think shows an act that he does care about what Beebs’ decisions/actions are when they are doing a job. He could have easily just call Beebs a nut job, but he trusted Beebs and try to perform the cords for Beebs to communicate with Us.

Especially since later on we get this scene-

I really need to just spend some posts gushing over these two and their interactions. This scene is a favorite of mine. I love how after the incident, Shrike did try to practice his acoustic guitar. This shows to me that Shrike does care for others and their interests. I do wonder how Shrike even got the guitar in the first place? Was it gifted by Beebs to him because Shrike was interested in learning? I feel like Shrike had to take some form of interest to learn it for Beebs to give him one to learn for himself. I love that he was trying to remember the cords by himself, maybe to show Beebs later- which knowing Shrike, to probably show “off” that he can do it. I think Shrike uses his ego as a form of protection for himself, rather than to be an egomaniac- a way to protect the fact that Shrike is well, a loser. I like how he took his show to his room after the incident to give Beebs some space, some time to relax, I like that he did bring up the guitar to him to show that he is interested in others’ interests but doesn’t know how to really express it, which is perhaps why he did hide it before Beebs enter his room.

Its show signs of caring, an effort of learning to care. Someone who wants to try but is too used to not having others care about him. I think that’s the difference here, is that Shrike is not used to having someone care about him, but Beebs does, which is why he is trying to make an effort.

We do not really know the whole story as to how Shrike and Beebs ended up working together, and that is a story I am very much looking forward to. Episode 4, Plague Walkers gives us more examples how Shrike cares.

This is something I noticed from episode 4, and let me just say, this is a theory of mine. If you remember back in episode 2, Shrike mentions how Beebs was too stingy to get an internal universe translator model.

If you noticed in the photos before, Shrike is seen walking out of the a place called “ETEK- Home of Babel Translators. I’m not the only one who thinks of this, but it could be possible that Shrike may have bought one for Beebs as a surprise gift. Why? Well it was never suggested or mentioned that Shrike needed a new one- the only time the translator is mentioned is Beebs in episode 2. So fans, including myself, have been thinking that Shrike may have bought one for Beebs here. Another clue to know it’s translators is the board to the side of the entrance of the store- there you can see different styles of translators, including one similar to Beebs. This is a possible another reason that support my suggestion that Shrike does care, but is showing it through other ways rather than just verbal.

Of course, the one scene that really helps suggest that Shrike cares for Beebs is well, the scene when he’s at the bar with Ricket. Shrike might be drunk, but sometimes that’s when individuals become more honest about how they feel.

I guess on Mobile it only lets me do 10 images rather than 30- so I could only send this part. Ricket tries to comfort Shrike in saying that Beebs seems like an understandable guy (or Beard since Ricket only ever read his shirt). Despite the fact that Ricket stereotyped Beeb’s kind to be “a lot,” Shrike was very quick to defend Beebs. As Shrike said “Beebs is the BEST- I’m the A LOT.” Shrike was so quick to protect him, even if Beeb’s kind is known to be aggressive, that’s not how Shrike sees him. I think Shrike does care not only for Beebs but what Beebs say as well.

Even though right before this, Shrike mentioned he wanted to show to Beebs that he is “right.” However, Shrike takes a moment to remember the pinkie promise he made. He says in Spanish that he has to be good. I think Shrike wants to show Beebs that he can be useful, not so much as I said before, as an act of ego, but to show to Beebs he can be more. He wants to be better for Beebs, he wants to helpful, he wants to be a better person but doesn’t make the best decisions to create that path. Its like a child who wants to so desperately show their parent that they can be helpful for them as well and not be a burden to them.

This scene. This scene gets me so much- I need to go over how well this scene was written and done. You can just tell by Shrike’s reaction how he feels- the way he grabs his shoulder, he knows that he has really pushed Beebs far and how disappointed he is in him. Like a mother getting mad at their own child… Shrike is holding that against him, he is holding the guilt, the regret, the frustration that he has caused. Shrike does care about Beebs, and especially about how Beebs feels. Even in this scene Beebs says that he does try to help, because Shrike is trying to help, but doesn’t know how to make the right choices to do so. He’s still learning how to choose which decision is not just based on what best for Shrike, but can be best for Beebs too. He wanted to help, he chose a bad way to do so, like gambling, cause Shrike likes to take the easy or quickest route- anything to make quick money too, he doesn’t understand that you have to work to earn. He wanted to let Beebs have a break, but he chose an option that’s all luck base.

I think episode 4 so far has been the one to show us the best examples of how Shrike cares and how he is still developing it. That last scene, those expressions. Man I know what it feels like to disappoint someone you do care about. That body language is the exact language I use when I know I done the same. You feel awful for hurting someone you care for, and I think Shrike is just starting to realize that himself too.

Then again- what do I know? I spend too much time analyzing Monkey Wrench… I just love this show too much.]