#I’ve only played 1 + 2 and CoM kinda

[wayward-banana]

kingdom hearts 2 is a good. good game

(^woman trying and failing to be normal about roxas)

[withlovemark]

“IRREPLACEABLE”

pairing: enemy! hyuck x ex bff! reader | genre:rom-com | words: 29k

synopsis -> lee haechan, theatre major, absolutely hated your guts. you felt the same exact way. the only girl in this whole university that hasn’t fallen for the most popular fuckboy’s charms. which is why it sucks that you have both landed the main roles in the theater’s upcoming play, romeo and juliet. what was that saying about love and hate being a thin line?

warnings -> i lost count of how many times i used the word hate and all it’s synonyms, pet name unlocked: princess, so much arguing, both of them have major communication issues!, so many side characters i hope you know all of them, too many musical references +18, crude humor, language, mentions of: parties, alcohol, reader gets drugged, drunk calling, so much smut i kinda got carried away! thigh riding, slight exhibitionism, very rough sex, hyuck is a dom bottom who lovesss boobies, dry-humping, use of whore and slut, choking, slapping, oral (m+f), fingering, car sex, dirty dirty dirty talk!

an -> the fourth installment of the loverboy series is yours! i’m gonna be honest, i’ve never gotten through romeo and juliet without falling asleep. i did force myself to watch the movie just for this though! and i took a nap in the middle lol. disclaimer! i know nothing about the theater world, i just like musicals! important things to note: 1) haechan is the most popular fuckboy - everyone loves him, he’s charming and funny and he’s not afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings if he needs to 2) all three couples jaemin x angel; jeno x bunny; and mark x kitten are all happily together! have fun reading! - with love, c.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath, the words bitter on your tongue. behind you, the hallway erupts with cheers, laughter, congratulations, celebration of their dream roles. you should be one of them. be as elated, as ecstatic, jump around and cheer for landing the role of one of the two protagonists.

but all you could focus on was the name above yours.

your stomach twists, fists clench at your sides. the letters blur for a second and you blink rapidly, as if reading it again will somehow make it go away. you don’t have to turn around to feel him – that distinct, arrogant presence that always makes your skin crawl. the air arounds you tightens, turns electric, suffocating as he steps up beside you, your shoulders instinctively stiffening like your body was preparing for war.

haechan doesn’t say a word first, just reading the cast list you’ve been cursing at for the past fifteen seconds.

romeo - lee, donghyuck

juliet - yln, yfn

tybalt - kim, sunwoo / mercutio - dejun, xiao / benvolio - choi, yeonjun / friar laurence - choi, jongho / count paris - choi, soobin / montague - seo, changbin / capulet - jung, wooyoung / gloria capulet - huh, yunjin / juliet’s nurse - yi zhou, ning /balthasar - yoon, sanha

then he scoffs, “what the hell?,” he hissed venomously, before ripping the sheet off the bulletin board, crinkling the edge between his fingers like it personally offended him.

“hey–!,” you snap, breaking from your stunned silence, spinning on your heel to follow him as he storms across the hall like a live grenade looking for somewhere to detonate.

“mr. doyoung!,” his voice cracks through the hallway like a thunderclap, “this has got to be a mistake!”

there it is. that infuriating, entitled tone, like the spoiled, arrogant bastard he’s always been. always louder. always assuming the world should rearrange itself around him. you roll your eyes so hard it hurts, but for the first time in a long time, you actually agree.

“yeah, there’s no way, in hell, you can make me act opposite of him,” you bite out, folding your arms tightly across your chest as you come to a halt beside him. your voice is sharp, clipped, every word aimed to kill as the two of you glare at each other like two predators forced into a cage.

his eyes glint with the same smug cruelty he’s weaponized against you, “then drop the part,” he sneers, that damned smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, “save us all the agony.”

you scoff, “if anyone’s dropping out, it should be you.” you step closer, close enough to feel the anger radiating off of him. your noses are inches apart, breaths sharp, shallow, matching like clashing rhythms.

his eyes narrow, “not in a million years, princess,” he spits. the nickname laced with the kind of condescension that makes your blood boil — the same nickname he gave you when you first met in freshman year of high school. it used to hold playfulness until junior year when he used it to spite you, calling you a spoiled, whiny brat in front of all your classmates.

“i. hate. you.” you hiss, slow and deliberate, as if saying it any softer wouldn’t do your fury justice.

“not as much as i. hate. you,” he fires back instantly as if he’s been waiting to say it.

and you know you both mean it. every syllable.

the silence between you is razor-sharp, about to break into something neither of you will be able to take back until mr. doyoung finally claps his hands together, far too enthusiastically.

“ahhh, exactly the kind of fire i’d expect from my two star crossed lovers,” he beams, though there’s a flicker of panic behind his eyes for the future of his play, “so much...raw emotion, i’m sure you’ll channel it beautifully!,” he smiles that bunny-like smile. you both turn to glare at him.

mr. doyoung’s smile falters, “orrr maybe i’ll add a few extra rehearsals. just in case.”

you want to scream. you want to throw the script in his face. you want the ground to open up and swallow him whole. transport him somewhere far away from you where you would never have to see him again. instead, you glare at him and know this is going to be war.

ཐིཋྀ the first week of rehearsals

the rehearsal room smells like dust and desperation. the air is heavy, slow, stale and every time the fan completes it’s rotation, it just blow more disappointment into your face.

but none of it compares to the static crackling between you and him.

“i’m not doing that,” you snap, backing away from haechan like his presence is physically repulsive, “if he touches me like that again, i swear to god, i’m walking out.” there’s something about the way haechan put his hand on your waist, not even hard, not even long, that makes your whole body go tight, defensive.

“jesus christ,” haechan groans, dramatically running a hand through his already disheveled hair as he paces like a caged animal, like the floor can somehow absorb his frustration, “it’s called blocking and i’m supposed to stand there. it’s the scene. what are you? an amateur.”

the both of you hate each other but you both knew you were far from amateurs. especially in the theatre world. you were always part of the main ensemble, so was he. it’s almost ironic how you never saw it coming…that one day you would land a role opposite his.

you glare daggers, “it’s called basic respect for personal space, not an invitation to grope me,” you shoot back, matching his volume now, hands on your hips, “and you didn’t follow the mark. you were supposed to take one step forward, not three and a half and a hand on my waist.”

“that’s literally where romeo touches juliet. in the script,” he grits out, teeth clenching, “ever heard of it?,” his eyes flash, jaw tight.

“i’ve read it,” you snap, voice rising in heat, “i just don’t think shakespeare imagined romeo groping juliet like a frat boy.”

“groping?,” he repeats, incredulous, “you’re delusional. talk about overreacting, as if i would ever want to grope you.”

you glare, “at least i can act.” it’s petty. it’s low. but it lands. you see the spark behind his eyes flare into flame.

he barks out a laugh that’s so disbelieving it echoes, “that’s rich coming from you. every time i look at you, you look dead, let me remind you juliet is still alive in this scene.”

“maybe because looking at you makes me want to jump off the balcony and actually end it myself!,” you yell, voice going an octave higher with every word.

you hate him so much. hate the way you act when he’s around. you’re not usually like this. you’re calm, sweet, a walking ray of sunshine. but when he’s around. it’s all a mess.

“okay, ENOUGH!”

mr. doyoung’s voice cuts through the room like a whip, his usual patience obliterated, stepping between the two of you like a human peace treaty, “you are juliet,” he says to you, “-and you are romeo,” he turns to haechan, “i don’t plan on changing any of the cast so if you two don’t find a way to sell the illusion that you’re in love, this entire show is going to be a very expensive dumpster fire.”

neither of you speak. too busy glaring at each other, like eye contact alone might ignite spontaneous combustion. mr. doyoung sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “let’s just…try the balcony scene again. from the top. no improvising. no suicide jokes. just the lines. please. for the love of theater.”

you both reluctantly take your marks, haechan looks up at you, a few feet above the stage, perched on a rickety prop balcony that feels two screws away from collapsing, wobbling under your feet.

he takes his place below, casting a look up at you that’s less romantic longing and more barely restrained murder. then he begins, voice flat, eyes dead, “but, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? it is the east, and juliet is the sun.”

you blink slowly, unimpressed, “really?,” you call down, loud enough to make mr. doyoung’s eye twitch. “that’s your romeo? he sounds like he’s reading from the terms and conditions page,” you insult.

“i’m projecting,” he says defensively, like the word justifies everything.

“you’re projecting boredom,” you deadpan, “romeo’s in love, not filing a complaint with customer service”

“oh, i’m sorry,” he stays stepping forward with mock enthusiasm, “it’s hard to sound passionate when i’m looking at someone who constantly has a resting bitch face.”

“you’re such a dick!,” you snap from the balcony.

“and you’re nothing but a spoiled brat!”

you both shout over each other. mr. doyoung lets out an almost feral scream and hurls his clipboard across the stage. it hits a chair and ricochets loudly, silencing the room. the rest of the cast sharing multiple side-eyes.

“end of rehearsals!,” he bellows, voice cracking with pure, unfiltered despair. you don’t need to be told twice. you turn on your heel and storm off the left side of the stage without looking back. you don’t need to. you can feel him heading the other way, like magnets forced apart.

and yet, even as you leave the room, you can still feel him…under your skin, buzzing through your veins.

ཐིཋྀ the second week of rehearsals

mr. doyoung looks like he’s aged ten years over the week. his clipboard is cracked down the spine, his coffee has gone cold, and his voice has taken on the strained edge of a man dangling off the brink of a nervous breakdown — there has been absolutely no progress when it comes to his leading actors.

he watches, again, as the scene falls apart. you stand center stage, shoulders stiff, delivering your lines like someone reading a grocery list and haechan was delivering his like a stand-up comedian doing shakespeare for drunks.

“you know what?,” mr. doyoung finally snaps, his voice cracking under the strain of suppressed rage, “i’m done. i’m tired of the two of you wasting everyone’s time.” you and haechan glance at each other with deadpan synchronicity and immediately roll your eyes in perfect unison. the only thing you can do in sync.

“i’m not going to waste one more minute pretending this is salvageable until you two get your shit together,” he pulls a key from his pocket, walks toward the back rehearsal room and without warning, yanks the door open, “get in.”

you hesitate. so does haechan. but mr. doyoung’s eyes blaze with the quiet fury of a man who has nothing left to lose. before either of you can protest, he herds you both into the cramped rehearsal room, walls lined with mismatched props and discarded costumes. he slams the door shut behind you, the sound of the lock clicking echoing through the space like a death sentence.

“you’re going to spend the next hour locked in this room. read the lines, build chemistry. i don’t care how you do it but make sure it works or i swear to god i will cast freshmen in the lead roles and let the whole show burn,” he instructs from the other side, his footsteps retreating down the hall.

mr. doyoung knew the two of you too well, both too proud, too consumed by your own egos and the thrill of performing. you didn’t just want to act, you wanted to outshine, to dominate every scene. all it needed was a little push, to finally get you where he wants.

“great,” you mutter, crossing your arms as you lean against the wall, “trapped in a room with you, it’s just like high school all over again.”

haechan stares at you like he’s seconds away from choosing violence, “believe me princess, i’d rather be stuck in a room filled with plague-infested rats than be here with you.”

“let’s just get this over with so we can get out of here,” you roll your eyes as you both grab your scripts. tension hanging like a thundercloud.

“deny thy father and refuse thy name–,” you start.

“maybe try not sounding like you’re ai,” haechan cuts in, already annoyed, tone drenched in mockery.

your eyes narrow, “this is ridiculous,” you mutter, slapping the script onto a table, “he really thinks chemistry can be forced?”

haechan scoffs, “it’s not chemistry that’s the problem. it’s you.”

you spin toward him, a furrow on your features, “right, because the way you butcher romantic lines make the audience swoon.”

“i’m sorry, have you ever heard yourself say ‘oh romeo, oh romeo’ without sounding like you’re a fucking gps?”

your voice rises, “god, you’re not even trying to act like you’re in love with me!,”

“maybe because the idea makes me want to rip out my own eyeballs,” he snarls, stepping closer.

“you are the most arrogant!,” you take a step closer, voice rising, veins protruding, “most infuriating–”

you don’t see it coming.

one second you’re shouting at each other, chest heaving, veins on fire and the next, his hands are tangled in your hair, mouth crushing yours like a threat – the kiss is messy. too much teeth. zero warning. absolute chaos.

you shove him off, lips bruised and tingling, breath ragged, eyes blown out, “are you fucking insane?!”

haechan looks like a deer caught in headlights, eyes flickering with something wild, shock and hunger all at once, but before he can register what he just did, you grab his shirt and pull him down into another kiss – twice as hard, all tongue and fury and years of pent-up hatred combusting between your teeth.

it’s not romantic. it’s war.

he stumbles back into the worn chair and you follow, climbing into his lap and straddling his thigh like you’re still trying to win. your skirt rides up as your knees settle on either side of his leg. hot, wet core pressing against the thick line of muscle beneath you, haechan’s own gym shorts bunching up on his thigh and for the first time, you’re both quiet. just the obscene sound of mouths and breath and friction echoing throughout the room.

your hips rock forward, slow at first, then harder. a needy, broken sound slips past your lips, making his cock twitch in his shorts.

“god,” he breathes into your jaw, “i would’ve done this years ago if i knew it’d finally shut you up,” his lips trail down your jaw, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses.

“you’re such a cocky piece of shit,” you hiss, panting against his mouth, hips still rocking into his thigh.

“and you’re still a brat,” he growls, gripping your waist like he might lose his mind otherwise, “but fuck–keep doing that.”

“i hate you,” you growl against his lips as you continue to ride his thigh anyway. like the words would justify any of this.

“you’re grinding on me like you don’t,” he says smugly.

“shut up.”

“make me.”

you do. you pull his hair and kiss him again, tongue in his mouth – filthy, hot, tangled. the pressure builds fast, molten and sharp. your tits brush his chest, perky nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your white shirt, his hands hot and demanding on your ass. he whines into your mouth and it’s almost enough to make you lose yourself entirely. you pick up rhythm, shameless and hungry, the movement hitting that perfect, aching spot.

haechan loathes how hot you look right now. on top of him, leaving a wet trail all over his leg, tits bouncing to the rhythm you’ve set. and he hates how his body is betraying him even more. absolutely despises the way all his blood is surging straight to his cock.

your nails dig into his shoulders, clutching him like an anchor as your rhythm stutters, speeding up then slowing down as pleasure starts to overtake logic.

“fuck,” you pant, lips brushing his, breath hot and ragged, “i’m gonna–”

“keep going,” he groans, voice whiny and hoarse, almost broken, “don’t stop, just—fuck—,” both of you lost in the heat and pleasure taking over.

his fingers dig into your hips with bruising intensity, like he’s holding on to the last thread of control. his eyes clamp shut, forehead dropping to your shoulder as his breath stutters, shallow, ragged, desperate. he’s completely still for half a second…then a full-body shiver runs through him.

you feel it. the tension. the collapse. the sudden hitch in his breath against your neck. the way he curses under it, low and broken, “shit.”

you freeze, then pull back just far enough to see his face. his eyes are blown wide, pupils drowning in dark, cheeks flushed with something that looks a lot like shame.

“did you just—” you whisper, half breathless, half cruel, hips slowing into a lazy roll meant only to taunt. you’re grinning now, wicked and disbelieving.

“shut up,” he mutters against your skin, but his voice is wrecked. gone. the edge of humiliation bleeding through.

your eyes drag over the heat in his cheeks, the tension in his jaw, the way he refuses to meet your gaze and a laugh slips out, breathy, stunned, “oh my god. you did.”

he glares at you, face still flushed, every muscle taut like he’s deciding whether to deny it or destroy you for saying it. his pride was fraying, splintering – and then his hands fists in your hair, yanks your mouth back to his, eyes darker now, sharp with something feral as he regains his voice “i didn’t tell you, you could stop,” he growls, voice a low snarl against your lips.

then he takes over — in a blink, haechan’s hands clamp down on your hips, commanding your every grind, gripping like he’s trying not to completely lose it again. his mouth latches on that exposed skin above your breast, hot and unrelenting, teeth scraping, tongue following like he wants to mark you. wants you to hate yourself at the reminder of his lips on your skin.

his thigh flexes beneath you, on purpose this time, pushing up against you with just enough force to make you gasp, completely wiping away that smug he despises.

he hates you. god, he hates you. hates how every little thing you do sets off something in him, a chain reaction he can’t control. every movement, every breathy sound wrecking him in ways he’ll never admit.

“fuck, haechan,” you whine, shutting your eyes in pleasure, forehead pressed to his, “don’t stop.”

his breath catches, you’ve never said his name like that before, so raw, so needy, so desperate. it short-circuits something in him.

“wasn’t planning on it,” he mutters, voice low. he rolls your hips faster and faster, practically bouncing you on his thigh. the chair below you creaks but you barely hear it over your own wrecked breathing.

“you’re such a fucking slut, princess, hating me and getting off on my thigh like this,” he smirks, completely taking over the situation now. the words shouldn’t turn you on more. but they do. your body responds before your brain can catch up, lighting up like a match thrown onto gasoline. you can’t stop. you don’t stop. your fingers claw into his shoulders for balance as you grind down harder, breathy whines slipping in between your heavy breathing, entire body on fire, like every nerve has been rewired to respond to him and only him.

“go on princess,” he taunts, voice low, filthy, infuriating, “use me. i’ll let you,” he mocks like you should be grateful. like this is a gift. like he isn’t the one who came untouched in his shorts.

you hate it. you love it. you hate him.

“say it,” you pant, lips grazing his, breathless and daring.

his eyes are on fire, “say what?”

“that you hate me.”

his mouth curls into that cocky, devastating grin that you want to slap and kiss at the same time. “i hate you so fucking much,” he groans against your lips, swallowing the noise you make like he’s starving for it.

then his hand dives under your skirt, fingers rough and urgent, dragging your panties to the side. you don’t stop moving, continuing to ride his thigh, chasing that high. the press of skin against skin pushes you over the edge. you cry out, not caring if there was a chance mr. doyoung was listening in. the room’s spinning, heat rising like a fever. the tension in your stomach ready to explode.

“god,” you choke, voice cracking, “i’m gonna come on your fucking leg.”

his eyes darken, hands gripping tighter as he bites your earlobe with just enough force to run shivers down your spine, “do it,” he hisses, words like sin against your ear, “paint it.”

then his thumb finds your clit, circling harsh, precise circles. and it’s over. your whole body tenses, hips grinding down, breath catching, head tossed back, lips parted in a soft, stunned moan as pleasure rolls through you like a slow explosion. it seizes you from the inside out, heat blooming behind your eyes, your limbs trembling where you straddle him.

haechan swears under his breath, jaw tight, eyes darkening and locked on you like he’s watching something unholy and holy all at once. you slump against his chest, breathless, spent, your hands still clutching the collar of his shirt like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. he doesn’t say anything at first, just holds you there, heartbeat loud and frantic under your palm. his thigh still twitching from the aftermath.

eventually, you pull back enough to look at him. his hair’s a mess. his mouth is swollen. there’s a stunned, reverent look in his eyes that he tries, and fails, to cover with a smirk like he’s not sure what the hell just happened. and you’re sure you look the exact same way.

“well,” you breathe, blinking slowly, “that was…”

“method acting” he says, but his voice is hoarse, “completely professional, shakespeare would be proud.”

you let out a stunned laugh and shove his shoulder, “i still hate you.”

“and i, you” his mouth curves into that smug smile that you swore was glued onto his face.

“this isn’t happening again.” you say it sharp, sure.

“wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” he smirks, cocky and vexing.

ཐིཋྀ the third week of rehearsals

the rehearsal space feels different now. it shouldn’t. the floor is the same scuffed black, taped up with the same blocking marks you argued over last time. mr. doyoung is still barking notes from behind his clipboard, a coffee in one hand and a red pen in the other.

everything is the same. except you. except him.

the space between you used to be poison. now it’s something else. it crackles with something hotter, wilder, like dry air before a thunderstorm. charged and dangerous.

neither of you dares to speak of it. admit it.

you haven’t touched since that rehearsal, not so much as a brush of fingers. you haven’t spoken about what happened but your body hasn’t forgotten. neither has his. every glance feels like it could combust on contact. every time your eyes meet across the room, you feel the memory of his mouth. the way he kissed you mid-scream, like anger was just a mask for hunger. the way your hips rocked against his hard thigh. the way you both hated it, and how much worse it was that you enjoyed it, too.

you’re not proud of it. you try to ignore it. try to act normal. professional. just two enemies pretending to be in love. no big deal. you’re adults. adults can handle unresolved sexual tension and violent mutual resentment…right?

“y/n and haechan,” mr. doyoung’s voice cuts through the static in your head. your eyes snap up, heart thudding against your ribs. you grit your teeth.

the “and” makes your skin crawl. you hate how he says it. your name first. then his. like a pair. a duo. like you belong together.

“let’s run the balcony scene again,” mr. doyoung continues, “and this time, try not to fight.”

you let out a slow, measured breath and glance down at your crumpled script. the words blur for a second before snapping back into focus. you know them already. every line, every pause, every look juliet gives romeo – you practiced it all week.

what you don’t know is how to stand next to haechan without remembering what he sounds like with his breath ragged and your name tangled on his tongue. you almost want to start a fight, just to get out of doing this scene.

your pulse stutters before you even lift your head, because you can feel him. the weight of his stare from across the black box stage. for once, he doesn’t open with some smug quip or insult. he just gives a nod. subtle. almost respectful. almost.

you arch a brow, eyes narrowed, finally looking his way. he doesn’t smile. doesn’t smirk. just murmurs under his breath as he steps into place, “don’t look at me like that,” he says under his breath, “i’m trying not to hate you for five minutes.”

“gee, thanks,” you mutter, stepping into position.

you move to the edge of the mock balcony, script still clutched like a shield. but the words feel heavier now. the scene begins. your voice is steady because it has to. because this is theatre.

“o romeo, o romeo…”

you read the lines. and somehow, a true miracle, you don’t argue. not once. he doesn’t interrupt. you don’t roll your eyes. there are no snarky remarks or insults coming from you or him. the tension is still there but it’s different. sharper. controlled. like both of you have locked it in a cage between your ribs and are desperately pretending it isn’t rattling to get out.

when the scene ends, there’s a pause.

then mr. doyoung claps his hands together, eyes wide, mouth hanging open in shock, “holy hell, that was almost convincing! what the hell did you two do, blood sacrifice? therapy? drugs?”

your mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

how do you tell your theater director that the only reason you and your sworn enemy can tolerate each other on stage is because you both got so angry you rode his thigh until you both came?

you can’t — neither of you answers. you just look at each other, both of your cheeks pink, heartbeat in your ears. you swallow hard as haechan clears his throat awkwardly before hopping off the platform.

but that strange, dangerous something hangs in the air. the same something you both refuse to acknowledge — you feel it every time he walks behind you and your back stiffens instinctively. you feel it when his shoulder brushes yours just a little too closely and you pretend not to notice. you look at his mouth a second too long when speaks. he looks at your legs when you pace the stage and quickly looks away.

neither of you says anything. you’re fine. it’s just a normal rehearsal. nothing happened. nothing is happening.

except it is.

and it becomes extremely evident when you’re packing up and someone from the ensemble cracks the wrong joke at the wrong time. you bend to shove your script into your bag and that’s when it happens.

“hey, princess,” someone snorts. you’ve hated that nickname since high school but hearing it from someone else makes your entire body go rigid, “you should really wear something under that skirt besides that black underwear, especially when you’re on that balcony.”

the entire room doesn’t go silent, no one else seems to be paying attention. but your blood roars too loud in your ears. slowly you turn, eyes narrowed at one of your castmates, sunwoo.

you were ready to fire back, eyes already in flames, mouth locked and loaded with a kill shot but before you can open your mouth, haechan’s already moving.

he steps in front of you like it’s instinct. shoulders squared. voice cool, but laced with venom, “say that again,” he says.

sunwoo blinks, caught off guard. haechan was always the first to rag on you, the first to poke until you snapped. he wasn’t supposed to be the one stepping in.

“relax, romeo,” the boy scoffs, “it was a joke–”

“no, go ahead,” haechan interrupts, his voice icy and his smile even colder, “say it louder. maybe you’ll get downgraded to the role of annoying extra who gets their teeth kicked in.”

the threat is quiet. clean. almost polite. but it lands like a fist. sunwoo stares for a second too long, then backs off with a bitter chuckle, “whatever you say, romeo,” he retreats towards the exit.

you’re left staring at haechan, confusion flickering all over your features, “what the hell was that?,” you demand.

he shrugs like it was nothing, like it was completely normal to threaten someone on your behalf, “no one gets to talk to you like that.”

your brows furrow, more confused than ever, “you talk to me like that.”

“exactly,” he says, looking you dead in the eyes, “that’s my job.”

there’s a pause. your heartbeat kicks up. you hate him. you want him. you hate that you want him. and he’s looking at you like he knows every thought you’re having—and is thinking the exact same thing.

you scoff and shove past him, muttering, “asshole.”

his voice follows behind you, low and maddening and far too close, “don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

you whip your head over your shoulder, cheeks burning, “excuse me?”

“you heard me.”

the dressing room hallway is dim and too quiet now, everyone else has already left. you stop just short of the bathroom door, hearing his footsteps closing the space behind like a slow hung. you don’t look at him. you can’t. not when your skin is already betraying you with how hot it feels.

you shove the door open. he’s right behind you.

it shuts behind you with a sharp click. neither of you speaks. not for a beat. not for two. then you both move at the same time. instinct, gravity, need. whatever the hell it is.

it’s not a kiss. not right away. it’s a clash of bodies, of mouths, of breaths and need and denial imploding all at once. your back slams into the wall, his hand protectively behind your head as yours curls around his neck. you’re both too close and not close enough. teeth graze lips. fingers tangled in fabric.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” you whisper, jaw clenched, forehead pressed to his.

“yeah?,” he breathes, voice rough. his grip tightens on your waist, grinding you against the hard line of him through his jeans, “well, you’re cute and it’s pissing me off.”

“tell me you hate me,” you snarl, like saying it might make this feel less like surrender.

“i do,” he growled, voice thick with fury and something worse, something hungrier. his fingers were already sliding beneath your skirt, knuckles brushing your thigh and your body can’t help but react, arching into his touch, “so much, i can’t think straight” he spits, right before he tore your panties clean in half with a sound that echoes in the tiny room.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?!,” you shoved at his chest, just enough to prove you could. just enough to pretend you didn’t want this. enough to pretend your pride was still intact. like the heat slicking between your legs didn’t mean a damn thing. he was so goddamn hot. so infuriatingly, sinfully hot.

“you’re such a fucking whore,” he snapped, eyes burning into yours, “you knew we were rehearsing the balcony scene and you only wore this underneath,” he holds up the torn fabric like evidence, his smirk pure sin, “you did this for me, didn’t you, princess? wanted my attention that badly, huh?” his voice dripped venom, but his pupils were blown wide, starved.

“you wish,” you shot back, lifting your chin, daring him.

he chuckles, low and lethal, before lifting the torn fabric to his nose and breathing you in like he needed to live.

“you’re sick in the head.”

“and you smell so fucking sweet,” he murmurs, voice dark with need. then, without hesitation, he tucks your panties in his pocket and sinks to his knees like he was praying at an altar, his mouth finding you fast and filthy.

“fuck-” your head tipped back as your fingers clawed for purchase on the edge of the sink next to you, the other tangled tight in his hair, anchoring yourself to the madness he dragged you into.

he groaned into you like he was starved, tongue moving with filthy precision, like he’d mapped you out in a dream and now he was just following directions. you tried to keep quiet, tried to bite your lip, swallow your noises, not wanting to give him any gratification, but when he sucked on your clit like he wanted to ruin you, a sob tore from your throat.

“couldn’t stop thinking about your moans,” he rasps between licks, voice wrecked.

“shut the fuck up,” your hips bucked against his mouth before you could stop yourself.

he laughs into your cunt, the vibration sending lightning up your spine as he licked into you harder, tongue fucking in and out of your entrance. you tug his hair so hard he groans again and you hated how much that sound made you clench.

this is insane. this is toxic. this is absolutely the best head of your life.

“i’m gonna, fuck, if you don’t stop, i’m gonna come,” your panting now, legs shaking. the only thing holding you upright is his grip on your hips.

“good,” he growled, dragging you down further onto his tongue, “fall apart for me, princess.”

the nickname sounded hotter, echoing in your mind, pushing you to your limit as your legs trembled, thighs clamping around his head and then you’re unraveling – moaning, shaking, coming hard on his tongue.

he moaned into your slick, like your orgasm was his reward. like he was addicted to it. your nails scraped down the porcelain sink, the high-pitched whimper that left your throat is so humiliating, so raw, it almost didn’t sound like you.

when you finally loosened your grip on his hair, he pulled back with a wet, obscene sound, mouth glistening.

“still hate me?” he asked, licking your taste off his lips.

you're trembling, panting, mind spinning and completely undone,“more than ever.”

“good,” he said, standing to his full height. his hand curled around your jaw, thumb pressing hard against your bottom lip until it parted, “then you won’t mind if i choke you with my cock.”

you didn’t answer, but your lips stayed open. and that was all the consent he needed. with one hand, he undid his belt, the clink of metal sharp in the silence.

“on your knees,” he ordered, voice dark, deadly. you roll your eyes before you can stop yourself and the defiance crawls under his skin like static. you were so fucking irritating so he grabbed a fistful of your hair and made you, forcing you down until you were kneeling in front of him on the grimy bathroom floor.

face mere inches away from his cock – thick and heavy in his hand, already leaking for you.

“you’re gonna pretend you don’t want this too?” he asked, stroking himself slowly, deliberately, right in front of your mouth.

you hated him. you hated how beautiful his cock was. you hated how your mouth watered.

“fuck you,” you whispered.

“you wish,” he sneered, “now open that pretty, lying mouth, princess,” he slapped his cock lightly against your lips. and you hated how fast you obeyed.

he slid in with a deep groan, slow at first, savoring the heat of your tongue, the way your lips closed tight around him like you were starved for it. his fingers twisted in your hair, guiding your pace, slow, then faster, then rougher, like he was punishing you for every fight you’d ever started.

“look at you,” he snarled, hips snapping forward, “on your knees sucking my cock like it’s all you’ve ever fucking wanted.”

you moaned around him, which only made him twitch harder. he started fucking into your throat with a filthy rhythm, panting, groaning, praising and cursing under his breath.

“take it. come on, princess,” he growled, pushing in impossibly deeper, it felt like you were swallowing him, “-that’s it, fuuuck, just like that.””

your eyes watered, mascara smeared, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth as you gagged and gasped around him. your hands clutched his thighs, not sure anymore if you were pushing him away or pulling him deeper. he looked down at you with a snarl twisted into something almost reverent.

“you’re a fucking dream,” he growled, “wrecked, ruined, all mine to destroy.”

you wanted to slap him. you wanted to make him come so hard he saw stars — so you sucked harder.

his grip tightened in your hair, knuckles white, cock throbbing against your tongue as your head bobbed faster and faster, taking him deeper each time. your jaw ached, throat burned, eyes ruined, spit smeared your chin but you couldn’t stop. not when he was unraveling like that above you. not when his control, his cocky, unbearable composure, was finally cracking.

“fuuuck, y/n,” he groaned, hips stuttering, “y-you’re so fucking good,” he praises, letting out a guttural noise, halfway between a growl and a whimper, and you realized with vicious satisfaction that he was close. desperate. needy. whining like his life depended on it.

you looked up, tongue swirling, and the second your teary, ruined eyes met his, he broke.

“shit, f-fuck,” he slammed deep one last time, cock pulsing against the back of your throat as he came, hard and hot, filling your mouth like he’d been holding it back for days. his whole body shuddered. he cursed again, holding you there, breath ragged, chest heaving like he’d just climbed out of hell.

you swallowed every drop without breaking eye contact. then slowly, so slowly, pulled off him with a slick pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand like it was nothing. his eyes were still half-wild when he looked at you, dilated, glassy, like he wasn’t fully back in his body yet.

and yours? flat. cool. detached. or at least trying to be. trying to pick up the pride you let fall. trying to regain the control you easily handed over to him.

you stood, straightened your skirt, ignored the way your knees trembled a little and the way your legs threatened to give out. across from you, he tucked himself back into his pants in silence, hands shaking just slightly as he buckled his belt, your ruined panties peeking from his back pocket.

for a beat, the bathroom was silent, except for your shared breaths and the buzzing of fluorescent lights. then, like flipping a switch, you caught your reflection, instantly reminded of who you were, where you were, who you were with and what you just did. you hate him even more.

you patted your hair back into place, calmly pulling yourself back together and fixing your flushed lips and smeared mascara.

“no one finds out about this,” you said, tone flat, dismissive, like he hadn’t just unraveled inside your mouth.

“please,” he scoffed, lip curling, “i’d rather die than have people know i let your mouth anywhere near my cock.”

your gaze sharpened, but you didn’t flinch, “good,” you muttered, already moving toward the door, head high, ignoring how the air kissed your bare core with every step.

“wait,” his voice halts your movement, before you turn towards him, eyes already sharp, ready to cut.

“what now?,” you snap back. he didn’t answer at first, just shrugged off his jacket. takes three swift steps and he was in front of you, tying it low around your waist with the kind of ease that made your breath hitched.

“your ass bounces with every step, princess,” he said, lips brushing your ear.

you opened your mouth to respond but then he reached into his back pocket, pulled out your torn panties, and with a cocky smirk, stuffed them into his bag, “and this way, we’re even.”

for once, you had no words. you just pushed the door open and walked out. no thanks, no glances back, no trace of the filthy thing you’d just done. you moved through the hallway like your throat hadn’t just been fucked raw. like your pussy wasn’t still throbbing.

and a few seconds later, he followed, jaw tight, eyes dark, body calm, as if nothing had happened. as if he wasn’t still tasting you on the tip of his tongue. as if he wasn’t replaying the sound of your moans in his head.

as if the both of you hadn’t tasted your sworn enemy… and liked it.

ཐིཋྀ the fourth week of rehearsals

the script lay forgotten between you, crumpled in his sheets, its margins scribbled with notes and crossed-out lines. you’d barely made it halfway through act ii before the space on his mattress started feeling too tight. too hot.

you were supposed to be practicing. you were supposed to be fixing what you both ruined in week one. all the wasted rehearsals you spent glaring each other down, aiming snarky remarks instead of script lines.

instead, you were staring at the curve of his throat as he leaned back on his elbows, lips parted, legs spread just wide enough to make you clench. to make you remember how his leg felt between your thighs. and he was staring at you with that same dazed and cocky look. the one full of invitation, almost challenging you to do something about it. the one that says i know you want me too.

“focus,” you snapped, even though your voice sounded thin and you’re not sure whether the word is directed towards him or yourself, your hold tightened around the script like it could stop your traitorous hand from reaching out and doing something that’ll completely crush your ego.

“i am focused,” he murmured, dragging his gaze down over your bare legs, over your thighs, and resting, boldly, in the space between them. you could feel it, the phantom heat of his stare on your skin.

you snapped your fingers, “eyes up here, romeo,” you crossed your arms, “we promised mr. doyoung we’d take this seriously.”

haechan raised a brow, amused, “we’ve been taking it seriously for two weeks, look at us, i literally let you in my room just to rehearse.”

you narrow your eyes at him, “you say that like being in here is a reward.”

he smirks, “c’mon princess, let’s not lie, a million girls would kill to be in your spot right now,” a cocky grin on his face. you wanted to wipe it off. slap it away. kiss it away. you’re not too sure at this point.

“what? sitting on these bed sheets that you haven’t changed in weeks? the smell of axe body spray attacking their nostrils?,” you roll your eyes.

“i change those every week and i don’t even use axe, you must be smelling yourself,” he rolls his eyes.

“please, if i reeked of desperation and cheap cologne, i’d be you,” you shoot back, chin lifted, proud of the way his smirk faltered for half a second. you’ll never admit the way you secretly enjoy the smell of his cologne, the way it intoxicates you like a potion pulling you under a spell.

he sits up a little straighter, elbows propped on his knees now, eyes glinting with an infuriating mix of challenge and amusement. “desperation?,” he echoes, voice low, “princess, if anyone here’s desperate, it’s you. you’ve been eye-fucking me since you got here.”

your breath catches, partly from the audacity, partly because he’s not entirely wrong. but you recover fast, “please,” you scoff, “you’re the one looking at me like i’m your last meal.”

haechan laughs, head tilted back. he taps his fingers against his knee, a thoughtful little rhythm that drives you insane before leaning in again, “okay, fine. you wanna be serious? let’s be serious.”

you raise a brow, “that’d be a first for you.”

“let’s fuck.”

your brain blanks. for a second, it doesn’t even register, “what?!”

“lets just do it. get it out of our systems,” he says casually, like what he suggested wasn’t completely, absolutely, batshit crazy. “all this tension? it’s messing with rehearsals. so let’s just…,” he gestures vaguely between you, “rip the bandaid off. hate-fuck it out.”

you blink, trying to process his words. this had to be a joke. a dare. a trap, “you’re suggesting we sleep together for the sake of the theater department.”

“i’m suggesting we do everyone a favor and stop letting whatever this is,” he gestures again, less vaguely this time, at the very obvious, very mutual heat between you, “sabotage our performances. one time. no repeats. no weirdness.”

“oh there’ll be weirdness,” you mutter, folding your arms, your heart pounding in your throat.

“not if we’re adults about it,” he grins. that infuriating, boyish, charming grin, “can you be an adult, princess?”

you laugh, incredulous, “you? be an adult?, you still giggle when someone says ‘enter from the rear’ in stage directions.”

“okay, first of all, i see you laughing too,” he points a finger at you, that same stupid smirk still glued to his face, “second of all, im serious. we fuck and then we go back to being bitter enemies who can’t stand the sight of each other. clean slate.”

you stare at him, heart thudding, thoughts spiraling. it’s a terrible idea. the worst idea he’s ever had. but what’s even worse is the fact that you’re actually considering it.

“and what if you realize im the best fuck you’ve ever had and start following me around like a lovesick puppy?,” you quip a brow, a teasing smile on your face.

he barks out a laugh, cocky and careless, “never gonna happen, princess,” he says, leaning in so close you can feel the heat of his body radiating, “you’re not that good.”

you raise a brow, “that’s rich coming from someone who came untouched.” his expression darkens instantly, smirk faltering, the memory clearly still a bruise to his pride. you take this time to garner control and with no warning, you lunged — kissing him hard, desperate, sharp, messy. your teeth caught on his lip. you kiss him like he’s your last cigarette, like he’s something you have to burn through just to breathe.

he responds immediately, groaning into your mouth, hands flying to your waist, pulling you onto his lap, like he needed to leave fingerprints there.

you straddle him, fumbling with his shirt, dragging it up and over his head and shoving him backward until his back hits the bed with a grunt, “still think this is a good idea?,” you breathe, throwing your shirt over your head, leaving you in a lacy brown bra that makes his cock twitch in his shorts.

he props himself on his elbows, gaze dark and fixed on you as you strip, “no,” he says, eyes raking over your body like a challenge, “i think it’s the best idea i’ve ever had.”

your signature skirt rides up as you grind down against his hard bulge, enough to make him hiss.

“i still hate you,” you murmur, needing to remind yourself every single time.

“good,” he growls, thumbs digging into your waist, “say it again when i’m inside you.”

his voice grates in your ear. so smug. so loud. you slap him before you can think. not too hard, just enough to make his jaw twitch. he stares at you, stunned for half a second and then he smirks again, “god, you’re such a fucking brat.”

you slap him again, slower this time, deliberately, and he groans like everything about this turns him on. “you like that?,” you whisper, grinding harder now, testing him. he doesn’t answer, he refuses to give you any words of satisfaction.

instead his hand slide up your back, unhooking your bra with a practiced flick, the cool air hitting your hardened nipples before his large hands cupped around them, squeezing, mouth immediately latching on one nipple. he’s been wanting to see your tits since you were locked in that tiny room. and now that he has, he sucked like he was in complete bliss, eyes shut, wet and eager, tongue messily painting your breasts. you gasp, hands coming up to grip his hair, pulling him closer as your hips continue its slow grind against his hard, clothed cock.

“fuck,” you moan, every nerve lighting up. you’re soaking through your panties, whole body vibrating. you bounce harder, using him to reach your high as he continues worshipping your breasts with his lips, trails of his saliva littering your chest. his large hands make their way to your ass, cupping and squeezing but not controlling. not yet.

he lets you hump him harder and harder, trying to control the breathy whimpers slipping from him as he busies himself in between your breasts. your breathing was getting heavier, legs starting to give out, the friction was hitting your clit so perfectly and before you knew it, your orgasm washes over you, unexpected and all-consuming.

“look at you,” he murmurs, that damn smirk back again, breath hot against your ear, “already fucked out and we haven’t even started.” before you could reply, before you could argue, he flips you in a blur, pinning you to the mattress. his eyes are dark now, dangerous.

he yanks your skirt and underwear off in one go, leaving you completely bare for him. you looked so small in between his sheets and it drives him madly insane, “i’m only gonna say this once,” he says, eyes raking over your naked body, voice rough, “but fuck, you’re hot,” he compliments, almost.

you sit up, yanking his shorts down, large cock bouncing free from the last barrier between you, “you’re okay to look at,” you smirk. he rolls his eyes and slaps your hands away before you could reach out for him as he fumbles in his nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom, tearing the foil open with his teeth and rolling it on with ease.

he lines himself in your entrance, teasing his tip, that same devilish smirk plastered on his lips.

“admit you want me,” he grunts, hovering over you, a hand placed calculatedly on your neck, enough to choke you but not enough to completely block off your airways.

“no,” you hiss. he pushes in hard. no warning. no mercy. your back arches with a gasp, hands flying to his shoulders, mouth open in a soundless moan, his hand wrapping tighter around your neck, making your eyes roll back. he’s so so thick, you can feel him all around your walls, stretching you open inch by inch. he feels so good. too good.

“hate you,” you manage to whisper in between your breathy moans, even as your legs wrap around his waist.

“yeah?,” he pants, thrusting into you hard enough to make the headboard knock the wall, “say it louder,” he orders, finally releasing the hold he had on your neck and redirecting it to your breast, large hand squeezing tightly around the supple flesh.

“i hate you,” you moan and then you’re kissing him again, biting his bottom lip, swallowing the grunts he gives you. he sets a brutal pace, every thrust punctuated by the sound of skin on skin, by the filthy words he mutters against your neck. you push him in closer, wanting more, needing more.

“you’re so fucking needy,” he pants, voice tight, desperate.

“shut up,” you growl.

“make me,” he snaps back. so you slap him again and his face twitches, a deep, devilish chuckle slipping past his lips before he pulls out, flipping you over like you weighed nothing and pulling you up on your hands and knees before thrusting into you from behind, your face buried in his pillow.

he fucks you harder. the new angle hitting that spot over and over again you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

it was chaos. it was violence in the shape of pleasure.

“fuck,” you cry, “you’re so deep, so-,” his hand lands a slap on your ass, sharp and hot, the noise echoing throughout the room, making you bite down into the sheets.

“how do you like it?,” he grunts, landing another slap, hot and red, leaving tingles all over your skin. you were sure there were bruises in the shape of his fingertips forming all over you. you’re a mess of moans and incoherent words, each thrust wrecking your thoughts, your dignity, your hate.

you should be fighting him but all you can do is beg for more, “please, please, please, haechan, d-don’t stop,” and your cries do nothing but fuel him. the room continues to echo with the slap of skin and filthy words with your name in his voice and his cock in your pussy like he was trying to break you. you lose track of how many times you say i hate you. how many times he says it back. it becomes a chant. a rhythm. a promise.

you ride that line between loathing and lust until your vision whites out, orgasm hitting you like a punch in the gut, “haechan, fuck, i’m coming!,” you scream and he grabs your hair, pulling you back against him.

“go ahead princess,” he growls, “come all over my cock.” you shatter, gasping for air, jaw hanging open, shaking, as your eyes rolled back in complete pleasure, body going limp in his arms.

haechan doesn’t stop, hellbent on proving that he could last longer than you think. he shoves a pillow under you, continuing his relentless thrusts.

“fuuuck, how are you getting tighter?,” he grits out, “your pussy fucking loves me,” he groans, each hard thrust bringing him closer to that high.

you could cry from the overstimulation, “h-haechan–t-too much,” you stutter, gripping his thigh, tears forming in the corner of your eyes.

“you can take it, princess,” he says, voice low and dark. “i know you can. be a good girl and take it,” he grunts, still pushing into you with a force that rolls the tears down your cheeks.

eventually, the pain turns into pleasure again. blurring the line until you’re moving with him, lost in the pace, the heat, the hate. he chases his own high until his rhythm started shattering into jerky, desperate thrusts, “c’mon, princess, give me one more,” he grunts and all your body could do was follow his voice, immediately tightening around him and sending you to your third orgasm of the night.

he finally gives in with a low, wrecked groan of your name, burying his face in your neck as he shudders through it, hips slowing, grounding down into you until there’s nothing left but heat and sweat and the tremble in his arms as he holds himself over you.

when he pulls out, there’s a slick, lewd sound that makes your already flushed skin go warmer, the pillow beneath you, soaking. then he collapses beside you with a sigh, one arm slung over his eyes like the weight of everything that just happened is finally catching up to him.

silence swells between you. sticky and loud and way too fucking real.

your chest is still rising and falling fast, heartbeat trying to find its regular rhythm as you try to fight off the sleep that was wanting to overtake. you were so tired, so fucked out you almost gave in but your hate was still stronger and somehow your voice cuts through the thick silence, “we’re definitely not doing that again.”

he pauses, “...right.”

you roll onto your side, head propped on your hand, glaring at him like you can set him on fire with just your eyes, “that wasn’t hesitation.” you don’t ask him. you tell him.

he peeks at you from under his arm and shrugs, unbothered, “it was dramatic timing. theater major, remember?”

you groan, flopping back on the bed, rubbing your hands over your face, “god, i really fucking hate you.”

he grins, teeth sharp and full of bite, “yeah, well your pussy doesnt.” you grab the nearest thing, his shirt, and toss it straight to his face and he lets it sit there for a moment before peeling it off with an exaggerated sigh.

“asshole,” you mutter, already reaching for your clothes. ignoring the way your body was burning, a reminder of his touch, as you start dressing like you’re gearing up for a fight, like each item is a piece of armor you’re slapping on.

he watches you dress, that grin never really leaving his face but his eyes are softer than they should be. quieter. and he doesn’t say a word as you reassemble yourself.

within minutes, you’re both back in your roles, fully clothed and composed. like the last hour never happened. like he hadn’t just made you scream his name. like you hadn’t clawed his thighs so hard there’ll probably be marks tomorrow. like he hadn’t left bruises in the shape of his lips all over your skin. like the tear stains you were sporting wasn’t evident.

you pick up your script off the edge of the bed. it’s bent now, pages wrinkled. a souvenir from the chaos you two just unleashed. neither of you acknowledge it.

“start from your cue,” you say flatly.

he leans back against the headboard, flipping lazily through the script like nothing about this is new, like his cock wasn’t just inside you, “with love’s light wings did i o’erperch these walls…”

you roll your eyes, glaring “try saying it like you don’t want to fuck me.”

“i dont want to fuck you,” he deadpans, then glances at you with a smirk, “again.”

you shoot him a look so cold it could kill. he delivers it properly this time, and you move through the scene with professional precision except for the way your voices crack at the edges, how the eye contact lingers a beat too long.

the air between you is no less charged. if anything, it’s worse now. every line feels like a double entendre. every accidental brush of fingers feels like it might ignite something again.

you finish the scene without a word about what happened. no apologies. no acknowledgments. no we shouldn’t have done that.

then you shove the script into your bag, sling it over your shoulder, and walk to the door. “you’re leaving without a goodbye?” he calls out, that cocky lilt back in his voice.

you pause. not enough to turn. just enough to make him think you might. then you say, “we’re not friends, haechan. we don’t joke around. we rehearse. that’s it.”

and you leave. down the hall, around the corner, out the front door, your pulse still racing, his scent still clinging to your skin like it’s branding you. your body aching with the memory of his mouth, his hands, his body.

back in his room, haechan stares at the closed door. the tension in the air still hasn’t left. he sighs, eyes trailing back to the script. he lets it drop from his hand, the pages flopping limply to the floor. then he throws himself back against the mattress like he’s trying to forget the way you felt. the way you sounded.

his body still buzzes. his mind’s a goddamn storm. he drags a hand through his hair and covers his eyes with his arm again, “what the fuck did I just do?”

he’d told himself this was about getting you out of his system. that one fuck would fix it. but now? now you’re under his skin in a way he doesn’t know how to undo. every nerve remembers you. every inch of him aches for you. and every second since you walked out that door feels empty.

he groans to the ceiling, voice thick with frustration and something he won’t name. “well,” he mutters, sarcasm soaked in something bitter, “that worked great.”

��ིཋྀ the fifth week of rehearsals

it’s been a week since the night that didn’t mean anything. you’d both agreed. no repeats. one time. clean slate. but the slate wasn’t clean. it was cracked and humming with everything you weren’t supposed to feel.

you’re on stage now, under the harsh fluorescents of the theater department’s rehearsal room, with your script in one hand and your heart lodged somewhere in your throat.

the scene is simple. romeo flirts. juliet flirts back. they kiss. easy. you’ve done kissing scenes a thousand times in other productions. but now? now your body remembers the exact weight of him. how he sounds when he groans. how he says your name like a sin he’s proud of committing.

mr. doyoung looks up, “let’s take it from romeo’s line, build the moment, don’t rush it.”

haechan nods, exhales, and steps into character, “have not saint lips, and holy palmers too?” his eyes are on you and it's not romeo’s gaze. it’s haechan’s. intense. knowing. annoyingly smug. feeding his line like nothing happened between you.

he leans in, perfectly in character as you follow through, finding juliet’s voice with ease, “ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”

“o, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do; they pray, gran thou, lest faith turn to despair,” he continues, both of you smoothly moving through the stage, dancing around each other’s bodies.

“saints do not move, though grant for prayer’s sake,” you deliver the line perfectly, professionally.

“then move not, while my prayer’s effect i take,” he murmurs, inching the space closer and closer, twirling you around in his arms, and finally kissing you like his life depended on it . like he couldn’t wait a single second for this moment. completely capturing romeo’s yearning spirit.

and it’s evident as day that your body remembers everything from that night.

the kiss goes on a beat too long and for a second you almost forget you were in the middle of a scene until he’s in character again, “thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

“then have my lips the sin they have took,” you respond immediately. his eyes flicker to yours and you see it. he remembers too. every second of it.

“sin from my lips? o trespass sweetly urged!,” he continues, leaning in once again, following the script perfectly, “give me my sin again,” he says, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. all too different from the kisses you’ve shared before.

“you kiss by th’ book,” you end the scene as his lips travel down your neck, igniting that heat in your stomach. mr. doyoung was taking his sweet time yelling out cut. you can feel haechan’s smirk against your neck and it’s taking everything in you to not end the scene yourself.

mr. doyoung rises from his chair, clapping slowly, and finally yelling out the one word you needed to breathe. you both jump back immediately like touching each other burned.

“there it is,” he says, “my romeo and juliet,” he dramatically wipes a fake tear from his eyes, “absolutely beautiful. from the top!,” he says excitedly and all you could do was follow his directions. pretending every single touch isn’t affecting you way more than you would ever admit.

you’re not losing this battle. not letting him know that the one time one fuck proposal didn’t work. and haechan, sure as hell, isn't backing down either.

♕

THE BIGGEST, MOST ANTICIPATED PARTY OF THE YEAR: HALLOWEEN NIGHT @ THE DREAM FRATERNITY

haechan scans the room, it was their busiest party of the year. the most chaotic, most fun, most prepared party he and the boys ever have to plan. and now the dream house is packed with costumes, glitter, smoke, chaos. he’s dressed as some version of a vampire, sexy but not too much, his funny, charming side taking over.

he spots mark and kitten across the room, near the couch, in their spiderman and black cat costumes, trying, and failing, to do the spiderman kiss. there was jaemin and angel groping each other on the dance floor wearing matching hermione and ron costumes and in the corner in the back near the kitchen was jeno and bunny caught in a heated makeout session with their ash and pikachu costumes on. and yes, jeno is pikachu.

and then you walked in. he knew you would be here. it was the only dream party you attended because everyone attends it. it was either this or spending the night alone, watching scary movies by yourself.

you were dressed in a lacy red devil’s costume leaving no room for imagination. he shouldn’t even be looking at you. but he is. and his eyes zero in on the faint marks that were blooming on the exposed skin of your breasts. you didn’t even care that people saw them. but he knew you would have if people knew that those marks came from his lips.

he feels his pants tighten in his jeans. he really needed to get a good fuck. maybe it’ll stop you from plaguing his mind.

“can’t believe i’m part of the singles fuck boy club,” renjun says, snapping him out of the trance you trapped him in.

haechan smirks, “take it as a win,” he takes a sip from his drink, “more ladies for us,” he winks, just as jisung and chenle walked up to them.

“so, who do you have your eyes on tonight?,” chenle asks, a smirk on his lips.

haechan chuckles, looking around, his eyes glossing over your figure for a second before they land on the girl he’s been trying to get with since the first party of this year, “ryujin,” he smirks. ryujin – dance major, one of the university’s best.

“how about you, my little protege?,” haechan asks, turning his attention to jisung, the rest of the boys awaiting his answer.

jisung smirks, already knowing the answer, “wonyoung.”

renjun’s jaw drops, “jisung, she might be a freshman but she’s completely out of your league.”

jisung just chuckles, haechan chuckling with him, “hey, don’t doubt my boy,” he says before patting jisung in the back, “just remember everything mark and i taught you,” he winks before jisung took a shot and disappeared into the crowd.

“his head is getting bigger, you know,” renjun rolls his eyes.

“that’s fine, let him have his fun,” chenle says, “now let’s go find you a girl so you’re not so grumpy all the time,” he drags renjun out of there, leaving haechan to fend for himself, a smirk still playing on his lips. and he can’t help it. his eyes dart back to your figure.

across the room, he sees you laughing, too close, too bright, with some guy he doesn’t recognize. the guy’s in some lazy pirate costume, leaning in like he knows you. like he’s already been invited in and something in his stomach turns. something about you looking that comfortable makes him want to throw the nearest pumpkin straight at his head.

he remembers a time when he was privileged enough to hear your laugh. to make you laugh. to laugh together until your ribs were sore.

he absolutely hates it — the way that memory has been popping up in his head like a haunted time loop. he thought he got rid of it, buried it somewhere deep, he wouldn’t have been able to find it. but just a couple weeks with you and all his work for the last five years go down the drain.

he forces himself to look away, making his way over to ryujin, dressed up as bella from twilight. oh, this was going to be too easy.

“hey pretty, you looking for me?,” he interrupts the conversation she was having with another guy, smoothly and all so charming, the way he usually is.

ryujin lets out a giggle, “hmm, i could’ve sworn i was talking to another vampire,” she says, voice sultry and deep with desire.

“none of those vampires can compare to me,” he winks playfully, cocky as ever. and that was all it took before ryujin was pulling him down for a kiss.

he lets his mouth move against hers, hot and fast, but completely hollow. she tastes like candy, vodka and sticky lip gloss, her hands gripping at his arms like she owns him. his mouth is probably smeared with red now, and she moans like it means something.

but to him, it means absolutely nothing.

there’s no fire. no heat. no pulse-racing thrill behind it. no push and pull. no sharp banter humming beneath the surface. he was making out with a girl he’s been trying to get with since the first party of this year and all he could think about was how different it was from kissing you.

god, you were so fucking irritating.

he opens his eyes in the middle of the kiss, and to his unfortunate luck, he makes direct eye contact with you. across the room, half hidden in shadows and flashing lights, your gaze is locked on him but there’s no challenge there. no eye-roll. no smirk. nothing that makes you, you. just eerie blankness, almost like you were looking through him.

something’s wrong.

he pulls back abruptly, ryujin still chasing his lips with a frustrated sound. “give me a second,” he mutters before completely leaving her standing there on her own. an angry scoff follows him as he pushes through the crowd, all of his attention zeroed in on you.

he walks across the room, watching your every move. you’re swaying a little. not like you’re dancing. like your balance is off, disconnected from gravity, from control. the look in your eyes is unresponsive and you’re blinking so incredibly slow. and the pirate is still right next to you, standing way too close.

his hand lands on your waist. then he presses a kiss on the side of your neck and haechan moves through the crowd like a storm, pushing everyone out of his way.

he grips the guy’s shirt and yanks him back, stepping between you and him like a wall of fire. he grabs your wrist, grounding you, voice low but unshakeable, “we’re leaving.”

you blink up at him like you’re seeing the sun for the first time, “donghyuck?,” you smile softly, too sweetly, and it takes everything in him to not kill the guy who did this to you.

“did you drink something?,” he asks, firm but gentle. you nod slowly, lips parted like you’re stuck in a delayed reaction. he brings the cup to his nose – fruity, sticky-sweet but there’s something else. something chemical. and then he sees it, the powdery film at the bottom, confirming his prediction.

his stomach drops. rage coils in his gut. he grabs the drink, tossing the liquid in the nearest plant and fists a hand in the guy’s shirt before shoving him backward, “touch her again and i’ll break your fucking face,” he seethes. the guy stumbles back, arms raised like he’s innocent.

mark notices the commotion before anyone else does, quickly stepping in, kitten by his side with wide, concerned eyes, “dude, what’s happening?,” he speaks low and in control.

“he drugged her,” he growls into his ear. mark’s eyes widen, sharp and alert “i’ll handle him. you take care of her,” he says.

haechan’s attention was back on you in an instant. your balance is off, feet shifting clumsily, eyes blinking slow and unfocused, pupils dilated.

he crouches slightly so he’s at eye level, “hey, come with me, okay?,” he says softly. you lift your head to look at him, your lips parting into a dreamy, dazed smile. you manage to nod once before your body gives out, knees buckling, weight tipping forward. haechan catches you before you can even fall. you land into him like you were meant to be there, cheeks pressed to his chest, body in his arms.

you giggle softly, the sound barely audible over the music. it’s airy. almost innocent. it breaks his heart in two.

“warm,” you mumble into his shirt. “you’re so warm, hyuck.”

his heart squeezes painfully, trying to push away that all too familiar feeling of his nickname on your tongue. the nickname you gave him. the way it sounds so soft as if somewhere in the haze and fog in your brain, some part of you knows you’re safe with him.

without a word, he lifts you into his arms bridal style. your arms immediately wrap around his neck, hands clinging like he’s your lifeline.

“up we go,” he says softly, carrying you through the house, ignoring every curious stare, every muttered comment.

you nuzzle closer, relaxing into his body like it’s familiar, lips brushing his jaw, and he nearly stumbles, “you smell so good…why do you smell so good…?”

he hides his smirk. you told him he smelled like axe just a week ago. “because i shower, dumbass,” he mutters. the insult wasn’t needed but hey, he can’t help it.

in his room, he kicks the door shut with his foot, setting you gently on the bed.

but you don’t let go.

your hands are still on him, clutching his shoulders, his shirt, anything. you whine when he tries to pull back, “nooo, hyuck, don’t go,” you pout like a child.

your breath fans against his neck, lips brushing so close to his skin that he shivers, “need you…” you whisper, almost too faint to catch. it guts him. he carefully pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek and your eyes flutter open, slow and unfocused, but locked on him.

and then you lean in. soft. uncertain. your lips part slightly, tilting toward his like muscle memory.

and his heart lurches. he wants it, god, does he want it. but not like this. not when you’re not fully you. not when you won’t remember. not when it would feel like taking. so he stops you.

he leans back, gently pressing his fingers to your lips, “hey,” he says quietly, “not right now.”

you blink, confused. hurt flickers across your face, “but i want—”

“i know,” he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face with heartbreaking tenderness. “but you’re not… you’re not okay right now. you’re not thinking clearly and you’re gonna hate me even more if i let you do this.”

you stare at him for a long moment, your expression folding into something soft, something fractured. your voice comes out barely audible, “you always ruin everything.”

he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, crouching down to your eye level again, “yeah,” he murmurs, “i’m really good at that.”

you’re trembling now, whether from the drug or emotion he can’t tell. he reaches for the edge of his hoodie draped over his desk chair. then he coaxes you out of your costume.

you let him take care of you.

he slips the oversized hoodie over your head in an instant. it swallows you whole, falling to mid-thigh, sleeves engulfing your hands, covering more than your costume ever did. then he grabs a pair of his clean sweatpants and helps you step into them, rolling the waistband until they don’t fall off.

“there,” he murmurs, tugging the hood up over your head, “much better,” and seeing you in his clothes makes his heart skip a beat.

you blink up at him, dazed and warm, “smells like you.”

he chuckles softly, “well, that’s cause it’s mine, princess” he says, the nickname landing so gently he’s almost glad you won't remember this. he guides you back on the bed, his hands warm and careful on your shoulders, like he’s afraid you’ll break. you lay down like a sleepy cat, limbs loose, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie.

he crouches in front of you, steady and patient, watching you with an unreadable expression. the room is dim, hushed, wrapped in the kind of silence that comes right after chaos.

then you say it. quiet. barely there. like a secret.

“i didn’t want to hate you.”

his breath catches. he wanted to ask so why do you?

he’s never figured out. why things between you turned so bitter. why you suddenly started twisting a knife behind his back. and why he grabbed that knife and pointed it at you. but he know it’s wrong to get information out of you in this state. not when your eyes are glassy, your words a half-conscious confession spilling out like a secret you didn’t mean to say. you’re too far gone to argue. too soft to lie.

you’re still looking at him, but your eyelids are heavier now. the words just fall from your lips, unguarded. honest in a way you never let yourself be sober, “you made it so easy sometimes though” you murmur, the corners of your mouth tilting in something that’s not quite a smile, not quite pain, “being loud. being cocky. saying shit you didn’t mean just to piss me off…”

his heart is thudding so loud he’s sure you can hear it. there’s so much he wants to say. apologies, defenses, explanations. but before he can say anything, your body shifts, sinks into the pillow, limbs going limp as your breath evens out and your eyes flutter shut.

you’re asleep. just like that.

haechan stays kneeling beside the bed, frozen in place. his gaze traces the soft furrow of your brow, the way your lips part slightly as you breathe. he wonders if you’ll remember any of this tomorrow. if you’ll pretend it never happened. if you’ll regret letting your walls down for even a second.

“i didn’t want to hate you either,” he whispers, voice barely audible over your breathing.

there’s a pause. a longer silence.

“i don’t even know why i hate you,” he admits, softer still. but you’re already gone.

and yet, he stays beside you a little longer, resting his head on the edge of the mattress, eyes never leaving yours, like if he just watches long enough, maybe he’ll figure out where it all went wrong.

♕

the morning light filters through the curtains. everything is quiet. too quiet.

you stir slowly, the ache in your head blooming behind your eyes like a storm cloud. your limbs are heavy, your mouth dry and your body is wrapped around a warmth that doesn’t belong to your bed.

it takes a second for the fog in your mind to lift, but when it does, your heart skips.

you’re not in your room. you’re in his. and he’s right there – lying beside you, one arm flung over his eyes, hair tousled, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths of someone who stayed up way too late.

you freeze. every part of you tenses as your gaze darts down to your body — hoodie and sweatpants, both way too big, wrapped around you. you exhale in quiet, stunned relief, but your heart is still pounding, “what the hell?” you whisper, rubbing your temples.

at the sound of your voice, he stirs, groaning, blinking against the light like it personally offended him then his eyes land on you.

“you’re up,” he rasps, voice thick with sleep. he stretches lazily like he doesn’t feel the full weight of your stare on him. “you okay?”

you blink, “why am i here?”

“you were drugged,” he says plainly. no softening. no sugar-coating. “some guy slipped something in your drink.”

the room tilts. you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to recollect memories from last night. the fear of what could’ve happened gnaws at your insides.

“i got you out before anything happened,” he adds quietly, “you were… not yourself. clingy. slurring. said i smelled nice, for some reason,” there’s a light, teasing tone in his voice.

you shoot him a glare, despite the pounding in your head, “you do not smell nice.”

he grins faintly, because of course, even now, all you could do was insult him, and it was all he needed to know that you were safe and back to normal, “okay, sure.”

silence stretches between you as you sit up slowly, piecing together flickers of last night. the music, the lights, that sickly sweet drink. the guy in the pirate costume. then — the warmth. the voice you’d know even half-conscious. you glance down at the hoodie you’re drowning in. his scent is faint but still there.

“you changed me?,” you ask, eyes wide.

he nods, propping himself up on one elbow, “you were half-passed out. you needed to sleep it off. i didn’t look, i swear. i just helped.”

you believe him. strangely, you do, “thank you.”

he raises an eyebrow like he wasn’t expecting that.

“you’re welcome,” he says, softer now, “just… be more careful next time, okay?”

you look away, the words settling heavy between you, “i didn’t think…”

“exactly,” he cuts in, voice gentle but tired, “you didn’t. that’s how shit like that happens.” his tone isn’t cruel. he’s not scolding you. he’s just…tired. and worried. and probably more scared last night than he’d ever admit.

you nod once. that’s all you can manage. you don’t want to admit how safe you felt. how it was his arms you clung to. how your body trusted him even when your brain was compromised.

but none of that changes anything.

you clear your throat, “well, thanks. but… that doesn’t mean anything is different between us.”

the faintest flicker crosses his face, unreadable, before it’s gone.

“didn’t say it did,” he says simply. then, “you hungry?”

you blink, “what?”

“i make a decent hangover ramen,” he says, already swinging his legs out of bed, “and i’ll even throw in some kimchi, if you promise not to puke on my carpet.”

you roll your eyes, “you’re such a dumbass.”

he shoots you a crooked smile. “yeah, but not as dumb as you, princess.”

you don’t respond. you just sit there in his bed, swimming in his clothes and your own confusion, watching him move through his room like this was the most normal morning in the world. you slip your shoes back on without a word, still wearing his hoodie and sweats. your costume’s somewhere in a pile on his desk chair, but there’s no way in hell you’re putting that back on. not after last night.

you follow haechan into the kitchen, as he hums some stupid melody, reaching for the pan and boiling the water. you stand awkwardly in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest like it’ll hide how massive his hoodie is on you.

he glances up, “you gonna sit down?”

you shake your head, “i just…i should go.”

he doesn’t fight you on it. just nods, quietly preparing the packs of instant noodles.

you turn to leave but stop short. three of the dream boys are coming down the stairs. they freeze in the hallway when they see you. so do you. the room goes dead silent and you look like a deer caught in headlights. his hoodie feels ten times heavier now, your legs bare in his sweatpants, and your hair a mess from sleep. you look like everything they think happened.

renjun raises a brow, “morning…”

jisung coughs loudly, trying to hide his grin.

chenle looks at haechan, who appears behind you a second later, “really?” he mouths, and haechan shoots him a deadly glare, the kind that says shut up without a single word.

but it’s too late. they all recognize you. of course they do. you’re not just any girl. you’re the girl — the one who’s made haechan stomp through the front door ranting and raving more times than any of them can count. the one whose name used to spark an automatic groan from someone in the room. the one who once made haechan so mad he slammed a door clean off its hinge, then spent two hours denying it had anything to do with you – you’re a household legend. a walking migraine. the ongoing war he never seemed to win but kept returning to like clockwork.

so to see you, standing in their house, in his clothes, the morning after the biggest party of the year is definitely strange. you look like you spent the night tangled up in something intimate. something that doesn’t match the version of events they’ve heard a hundred times over.

the air goes stiff with curiosity and thinly veiled amusement. you straighten your back, refusing to flinch, “nothing happened.”

“sure,” jisung says, not even trying to hide the smirk.

“seriously,” you snap, “i got drugged and he just…helped me.”

renjun tilts his head, worry flashing over all of their features “you good?”

you pause, then nod, “yeah. i’m good.”

haechan steps beside you, voice casual but firm. “she’s telling the truth.”

his words shock you. you were half expecting him to stay quiet.

then you feel the shift in the room like a breeze that slips through a cracked window. they move on, the scent of the ramen calling out to them like moths drawn to the light. you continue your path toward the front door, haechan follows, footsteps soft behind you like a shadow that doesn’t want to overstep.

you reach for the door then pause, glancing over your shoulder, “thanks,” you say again, quieter this time, it slips out like a confession.

his eyes meet yours, steady and unreadable “anytime.”

and somehow, you know he means it. not in the casual way people toss that word around — you see it in the way his posture doesn’t shift, in the way he doesn’t look away, in the quiet steel under his tone. you knew that if it happened again, god forbid, it would be him again. coming to your rescue. without hesitation. without conditions.

something in your chest cracks. not from last night, not from the near-miss or the weight of fear. but from a memory. a time in the past, years ago, that you shoved deep into the vault of things too painful to touch.

♕

as soon as the front door clicks shut behind you, silence settles over the house for a beat. then it erupts.

jisung is the first to crack, “bro,” he looks up at haechan, gaping, as they all sat in the kitchen, “what happened to i hate her so much i’d rather die than be caught with her?’”

renjun chokes on his coffee, suppressing his amusement, “no, no, i think it was more like, if i ever even breathe the same air as her willingly, just kill me,” he says, mocking his friend.

chenle snorts, a playful smirk on his lips, “do we kill you now or later?”

haechan doesn’t even bother trying to defend himself. he just drops his head back with a groan and laughs, loud and shameless, the sound echoing off the kitchen walls, “you guys are so annoying.”

“not as annoying as the fact that she left wearing your clothes,” chenle says, waggling his eyebrows, “your hoodie, dude. the hoodie. the one you said no one’s allowed to borrow because it’s your emotional support layer.’”

“she needed clothes,” haechan says, rolling his eyes and grabbing bowls from the cabinet, like none of it was a big deal. like you didn’t just crack down all the years of hate with one simple call of his name.

“what, i was supposed to let her wander the streets in a lingerie looking like she escaped from a halloween thirst trap?”

renjun squints at him, mock-serious, “you’re in love.”

this elicits a groan from jisung, “oh god, not another one…the other three literally makes me want to vomit.”

haechan rolls his eyes, “i’m not in love.”

“sure,” chenle and renjun say in unison, like a damn choir.

“okay, first of all,” haechan says, gritting his teeth, holding up a finger, “i don’t even like her.”

“uh-huh,” chenle says, “that’s why you stayed up all night babysitting her and making sure she didn’t die.”

“oh my god, did you tuck her in?,” renjun asks.

“i didn’t tuck her in! she just…passed out, and i put a pillow under her head like a civilized human being!,” he reasons out, “plus it’s our party, she’s our responsibility,” he says seriously.

that silences them for half a second. just long enough for his words to land, “yeah, okay,” jisung says squinting, “but you could’ve just called one of her friends to bring her home, not spend the party of the year taking care of her…i mean ryujin was right there!”

haechan slams the ramen bowls down on the counter, harder than necessary, but not quite angry. just exasperated. like he’s been circling this same conversation in his own head since sunrise.

“fine. okay. whatever. you guys win,” he mutters.

there’s a pause, then jisung leans forward, eyes wide with mock innocence, voice pure mischief, “so you do like her?”

“i loathe her,” haechan says with a perfectly straight face, “can’t stand her. makes my blood boil. hate her so much i—”

“—gave her your bed, made her ramen she didn’t even eat, and threatened chenle with your eyes,” renjun finishes without missing a beat, sipping his coffee like he’s watching the best drama of the year unfold in real time.

chenle throws in a lazy, “don’t forget the hoodie,” for good measure.

haechan snorts, “you guys suck.”

they dissolve into laughter around him, loud and chaotic and full of affection. and haechan doesn’t stop them. because deep down, he knows they’re not wrong.

something is changing. cracking open. he felt it when he heard you say his name, all light and smiles like it was genuinely directed at him. he felt it when he saw you asleep in his bed, curled into his hoodie like it was the only safe place in the world. he felt it when your voice cracked saying thank you.

and now that feeling is lodged somewhere between his ribs, sharp and impossible to ignore. but he’s not ready to name it. not yet. so he grins, serves the ramen, and lets the teasing continue, pretending it’s just another morning with his idiot friends.

ཐིཋྀ the sixth week of rehearsals

rehearsals resume like nothing happened. like there wasn’t a near assault. like you didn’t sleep in his bed. like he didn’t stay up all night watching you breathe just to make sure you were okay — but of course, something has changed.

you still bicker. constantly. relentlessly. but it’s not as sharp now. not as mean. it’s irritation tinged with something unspoken. something softer.

mr. doyoung claps his hands, excited and ready. his vision of romeo and juliet when he casted you both slowly coming to life, “okay, let’s do the balcony scene!” the same scene you two could never get through before.

you climb up the makeshift balcony without any further instructions, the rickety platform still wobbling under your feet like it did during the first week. haechan stands below, glancing up just as you grip the railing and start juliet’s lines again, voice laced with practiced longing, “o romeo, o romeo, wherefore art thou–”

before you could finish your line. a crack echoes throughout the stage. it happens fast. the board beneath you splits, you were falling through, a flash of panic in your eyes as you unsuccessfully tried to grip on to whatever you could find.

haechan lunges forward, catching you mid fall with a grunt as your body collapses into his. you hit the ground hard, him first then you crashing into his chest with a force that knocks the air out of your breaths. chaos erupts. voices shouting. mr. doyoung yelling for someone to call the campus’ nurse. a cast member swearing in the background. but haechan doesn’t hear any of it. all he sees is you. your face twisting in pain as you try to sit up, only to wince and clutch your ankle.

“don’t move,” he says quickly, arms tightening around you, “just, stay still.”

“i’m fine,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

“you’re not fine, you idiot,” his voice cracks at the edges. more panic than anger. he shifts carefully, helping you sit upright before reaching down to gently examine your ankle. you hiss when he touches it. he flinches like it hurts him.

“swollen,” he mutters, “probably a sprain,” he says seriously. the kind of serious you’ve never seen him before.

“oh my god, relax, i’m not dying,” you say, managing a breathless laugh.

he glares at you, “you fell off a stage ten feet high. that’s not nothing.”

“yeah. and you saved me. again,” your eyes narrow playfully, “what are you…my guardian angel now?”

“more like your full-time babysitter,” he snaps, but his voice is too soft to land.

“you care too much,” you tease.

“and you scare me too much,” he says, barely louder than a whisper but your heart still races and you’re not too sure if it’s the adrenaline or if it’s him — the crew surrounds you, someone finally arrives with ice and a first-aid kit. mr. doyoung is talking a mile a minute about liability and structural integrity and someone offers to help carry you to the nurse’s office but you wave them off.

“i’ve got him,” you say, jerking your chin toward haechan who still hasn’t taken his hands off you. he doesn’t even argue. just helps you to your feet, arm around your waist, guiding you slowly off the stage as you limp beside him.

no one says it. not you. not him. not any of the wide-eyed castmates watching the two of you walk away like something’s finally cracked open. but they all feel it. something has changed.

♕

the clinic smells like antiseptic and lemon cleaner. you sit stiffly on the padded bed, ankle propped up with a wrapped ice pack, waiting for the nurse —haechan’s right beside you, knee bouncing restlessly like he can’t stand seeing you in pain, “you need anything?,” he asks, voice gentler than it has any right to be, “water? painkillers? i can steal some candy from the front desk if that helps.”

you glance at him, lips parting, then closing. because that tone. that face. that tenderness you never asked for. it reminds you of before. the haechan who sat side by side with you, eating convenience store snacks, watching clouds drift by, sharing a wired earphone like you had all the time in the world. the haechan who walked you home without ever saying why. who pretended he didn’t like mamma mia! but knew every lyric by heart. the haechan who was loud and stupid and kind and yours. before everything fell apart.

the nurse finally walks in and checks your ankle. haechan stays seated in the plastic chair next to you, leg still bouncing as you listen to her instructions. when she finally leaves with a parting, “just rest it for a few days,” silence rushes in to fill the space.

you exhale slowly, “can you stop bouncing your leg? you heard her, it’s a minor sprain, i’ll live.” you can’t help but roll your eyes. he was being too dramatic. too caring.

“you scared the hell out of me,” he blurts, like the words have been clawing their way up his throat all afternoon.

you look at him, surprised by his bluntness, “i’m fine, haechan.”

“you weren’t fine when the stage gave out under you,” he snaps.

your mouth opens. closes. he keeps stealing the words right out of you. then he shifts, shoulders straighter, spine tighter.

“you said something last week,” he says, voice low, barely above a whisper “when you were half-asleep.”

his fingers tighten in his lap. the campus’ clinic is probably the wrong place for this conversation, but it’s been gnawing at him ever since you walked out of the dream house. and now it’s too big to hold in.

“you said you didn’t want to hate me,” you go incredibly still. so still it’s like your whole body locks up. the air in the room changes. you keep staring at the floor like the white tiles might split open and swallow you whole. of course you remember. curse your memory for never ever letting you forget anything, even when you beg it to. even drugged and half-conscious, everything from that night came back to you throughout moments in the week. like you’d be taking a shower and you’d remember the way you fell into his arms and called out his name or when you were eating lunch and the memory of you reaching out to him, trying to kiss him, hits the back of your head, making you cringe.

“so?,” you forced a breath through your nose. it comes out sharper than you mean it to but you don’t deny it.

“so i want to know,” he swallows, his voice is softer now, “why did you start?”

the silence that follows is thick. suffocating. haechan swears the wall inched closer with every second you don’t answer.

“i’ve been trying to figure it out for years,” he says, voice fraying, “what i did. why you started treating me like i was nothing. why you iced me out like i didn’t matter. like i never did.”

you lift your gaze, slow and deliberate and it hits him. not like a punch, but like a car crash. like every part of him is thrown forward, lungs emptied, heart shattered. there’s a grief in your expression he’s never seen before. not even on stage. this is real. too real.

and he waits. like he always used to. back when the two of you were something – not dating, not together, but something solid. something warm. something unshakeable. the kind of friends who stayed behind after rehearsal just to talk. the kind of friends who knew each other’s favorite snacks, who shared playlists and secrets and inside jokes no one else understood. the kind of friends that felt like home.

“don't you remember?” you finally ask, voice quiet, flat, tired.

haechan frowns, “remember what?”

you laugh bitterly, “of course you don’t.” a pause. a breath. a blade. “it wasn’t your name they were writing on the bathroom stalls.”

he sits up, straighter, alarmed, “what?”

“the closet. junior year of high school. you remember that?”

“of course i do,” he says immediately, “we were locked in there for what? half an hour?”

“forty-three minutes,” you reply, sharp as glass. and suddenly the memory slams into both of you — the closet during the winter play production of beauty and the beast. an accidental lock-in during prop duty, the two of you stuck in the cramped space. too much closeness. too many unspoken things. breath catching in your throat.

nothing happened – but by morning, it didn’t matter.

“you told everyone we hooked up,” you say flatly, “that night in the prop closet. you let them believe it.”

haechan’s whole face shifts, like someone just knocked the air out of his lungs, “y/n, i never said anything, i didn’t even–,”

“you didn’t correct anyone,” you cut him off, the memory still holding as much pain as it did before, “and then the rumors started, people were whispering about me in the hallways. calling me easy. and you just smiled and laughed and acted like it was funny,” your voice cracks and you hate that it does.

“what?,” his voice rises, he looks horrified. shaken. like the floor dropped out beneath him, “no, i didn’t know–”

you turn to him now, eyes blazing, every buried wound rising to the surface, “you let me take the fall. you let them slut-shame me into the ground and when i needed you to shut it down, you disappeared.”

he stares at you like something is shattering behind his eyes. he remembered that moment so differently.

“i thought you hated me because we almost kissed,” he says slowly, as if saying it aloud unearths something, “because i leaned in and i thought i ruined it by misreading everything. so when you started ignoring me, i thought i deserved it.”

you stare at him. your whole chest aches.

“i didn’t know they were calling you names,” he says, “if i had known, i would’ve–,”

“you were laughing with your stupid friends in the hallway,” you snap, tears burning behind your eyes, “smirking when someone made a joke. you didn’t care.”

“i did care!,” he fires back, voice breaking, “i was freaking out! i liked you! okay?,” the confession lingers in the air like smoke and all you could do was stare at him, eyes wide.

“—i liked you. and i didn’t know what to do with it and when people started assuming we were a thing, i….i liked it,” he breathes out.

you blink at him. silent. stunned. speechless.

“i was selfish,” he admits, quieter now, shame flooding his expression, “i got caught up in the idea of you and me and i didn’t realize you were paying the price.”

your expression cracks, disbelief twisting with heartbreak, “but you stopped talking to me,” you whisper, “i thought maybe you just saw me the same way that everyone else did.”

his head shakes desperately, over and over, “no. never.”

the silence afterwards is brutal, wrapping around the two of you like barbed wire. “i didn’t know how to fix it,” he breaks helplessly, each word torn straight from the center of his chest, “you looked at me like i was poison. like just being near you made everything worse. so i stopped trying. i didn’t want to make it harder for you.”

he paused, his voice going quieter, tighter, “you hated me so easily. or at least…that’s what i thought. after a while i convinced myself that maybe that’s what you always wanted and it hurt so i decided to hate you back.”

your jaw clenches. you look away, not because you don’t want to see him but because you can’t. because if you do, you might fall apart completely. haechan leans in. voice shaking. his hand tremble slightly where they rest on the edge of the bed, “but i never stopped thinking about you,” he says like he’s been dying to say it, “not once. and if i could go back, if i could take it all back, i would,” his voice cracks, “i don’t care if we’re supposed to be bitter enemies, if that’s the story everyone loves to believe now. i never wanted to lose you,” his hand twitches in his lap, “and i’m sorry y/n, i am so, so fucking sorry,” he finishes softly, voice filled with raw honesty.

you don’t say anything but your silence isn’t angry now. and the tears slip, silent and slow, dripping down your cheeks like memories you can’t scrub away. those were the words you’ve been aching to hear for years. he brings a hand up your face, slowly, carefully, tentatively like you might flinch. but you don’t. his fingertips graze your skin, carefully brushing away the tear that’s already fallen, thumb tracing the curve of your cheek like it’s sacred.

“please,” he whispers, “let me fix it. let me try. we don’t have to be anything big. just…let me be your friend again. i’ll do anything,” his voice breaks at the end and this time it’s desperation.

you say nothing for a long moment. instead, you look at him, really look. and it’s strange. the way grief can sit beside adoration. the way familiarity can hurt as much as it comforts. because you see the boy who made you laugh until your ribs hurt. the boy who stole your last gummy bear and shared his hoodie. the boy who would watch all your favorite movies with you. the boy who memorized all your favorite songs just so you could sing them together. but you also see the boy who stood by and let the world tear you apart. the boy you’ve spent the last five years resenting.

you see all of him. and for a moment, it makes it hard to breathe.

“i felt so alone,” you say at last, your voice so quiet, “you were my best friend and then overnight, it was like i didn’t exist to you. and every time i looked at you, i just kept thinking, why wasn’t i worth defending?”

he makes a pained sound, like the question cuts deeper than anything else. like he couldn’t forgive his own self for the hurt he put you through.

“i kept waiting,” you go on, quieter now, “for you to say something. to explain. to pull me aside and say hey, i didn’t mean for it to go like that. i didn't mean for it to hurt you. but you never did.”

haechan nods, small and slow, his shoulders hunched in shame. he doesn’t argue. doesn’t defend. he just takes every word like he knows he deserves it. another silence passes but this one feels different. lighter, maybe…sadder, definitely.

his gaze flickers to the pillow behind you as if looking at you now is too much. like if he sees the tears on your cheeks, he might start crying himself and never stop. you wipe at your face with the back of your sleeve, sniffling through a shaky breath “i don't know if i can be your friend again…not like before,” you say honestly and you see how the words break him. his chest rises too fast. his mouth parts like he wants to beg. he nods again, visibly swallowing, like he’s choking on all the apologies he can’t say fast enough.

“but,” you add softly, “i think i’m tired of hating you, too.”

his eyes meet yours, something flickering in them. fragile. hope.

“i think…,” you whisper, “maybe i want to know who you are now,” you add and he lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for years. like your words cracked a dam and let him come up for air for the first time in forever.

and then you say the words that make something shift in the air, make the angels sing all around him. “we could try,” you murmur, “not going back but maybe starting over?”

his lips part. body stills, afraid he had just imagined it, “you mean it?,” he whispers, voice trembling.

you nod once, slow, soft, “one chance, hyuck. don’t waste it.”

and the sound of his old nickname, your nickname for him, cracks something wide open in his chest. a broken, stunned smile pulls at his lips, trembles with disbelief. like just hearing it makes him feel alive again.

he nods, eyes wet, heart in his hands, “i won’t,” he says, “i swear, i won’t.”

ཐིཋྀ the seventh week of rehearsals

it starts quietly. no grand announcement. no dramatic reconciliation that leaves the audience gasping. just…a shift. a subtle recalibration in the air.

you walk into rehearsal, script tucked under your arm. you aren’t bracing yourself like you usually do. there’s no adrenaline-fueled armor laced tight around your spine. you just simply walk in, the same way you would if haechan wasn’t there.

and when you spot him across the room, lounging in one of the chairs, thumb lazily scrolling through his phone, something inside you clicks into a different gear. you don’t look through him like he’s invisible. you don’t burn holes into him with your glare. you just look and then…you nod. barely anything. but he sees it. his thumb stills. his head lifts. he meets your gaze. there’s no tension in his shoulders, no spark of challenge in his eyes. and then he nods back. just as slight. just as careful.

to the untrained eye, nothing monumental has happened. but to the handful of castmates who have witnessed your years-long cold war with the icy stares, the sarcastic jabs, the tension so thick it warped the air – it’s seismic. everyone curious as to what happened in the nurse’s clinic.

a pause ripples through the room. like someone's holding their breath. and then…he smiles. not the cocky, smug grin he used to toss your way like a dare. not the smirk that usually meant he was about to say something that would make you want to throw your script at his head. no. this one is soft, small, a little uneven. the kind of smile you give a stray cat you’re hoping won’t run away.

you feel the tug of something low in your stomach, not butterflies, not quite. just movement, a flicker. and your lips twitch into an answering curve. not a full smile. but not nothing.

one of your castmates, also one of your best friends, yujin, jolts so hard she drops her script with a thud that echoes louder than it should. no one helps to pick it up, everyone too busy watching the apocalypse unfold in real time. you pretend not to notice the stares. instead, you slide into your usual seat and flip open your script like it’s just another regular day, not the first page of something new. you don’t look at him again. not right away. but you can feel him. the way you always could.

mr. doyoung claps his hands twice, too enthusiastically, as if to break the spell or maybe because even he feels the tension lifting, “alright! today’s rehearsal…the wedding scene!” he announces, his smile extra bright, eyes darting between you and haechan.

you don’t flinch. you don’t groan or make a joke at haechan’s expense like you might’ve a week ago. you just flip to the page. from beside you, yujin leans in slightly, whispering out of the corner of her mouth, “are you two… friends now?” her voice is half hopeful, half afraid the answer might implode the timeline.

you keep your eyes on the script, “maybe” you murmur back, shrugging, voice calm, “but we’re not enemies anymore.”

she stares at you for a second like she’s trying to decode an alien language, then exhales sharply and mutters, “holy shit, i need a drink.”

across the room, haechan shifted forward in his seat now, elbows on his knees, script open, highlighter cap in his mouth. you glance up once, and he’s already looking at you. his mouth quirks. not a smirk. not a dare. just that same soft expression. your fingers tighten slightly around your script before the two of you take your spots on stage.

the rehearsal is going surprisingly smooth. almost like someone replaced the decades-old scripts of your dynamic with a gentler rewrite. one where your lines don’t burn with anger when you speak them, where eye contact doesn’t feel like a threat. you’re standing across from haechan in the middle of the stage, your fingers laced loosely in front of you, your posture careful but relaxed.

“romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both,” jongho says, fully immersed in his friar laurence voice, hands folded solemnly like he’s performing an actual ceremony. you glance at haechan as he steps toward you. he leans in and brushes a kiss to your lips, soft, almost reverent, and you do your best to ignore the tiny spark that settles in your chest and fizzles straight to your toes.

“as much to him, else is his thanks too much,” you say with quiet warmth, smiling through the line. you kiss him again, this one just a touch longer, just a breath closer than necessary.

he pulls back slightly, meeting your eyes, “ah, juliet, if the measure of thy joy be heaped like mine and that thy skill be more. to blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath. this neighbor air and…,” he trails off.

there’s a beat of silence. his eyes flick to the side. nothing comes. you raise an eyebrow, “o romeo, are you lagging?”

a ripple of laughter breaks out across the room. haechan narrows his eyes at you, but he’s grinning, the corners of his mouth twitching, “no my juliet, i’m connecting to the server.”

“oh, sorry, i forgot this version of romeo runs on the internet.” the laughter grows. even mr. doyoung chuckles softly from behind his script.

haechan places a hand dramatically on his chest, staggering back a step, “you wound me, juliet.”

you place a hand on your hip, “you forgot your line in the middle of our wedding. i think i’m the one who should be wounded.”

he opens his mouth to reply, but before he can get a word out, sanha, who’s been watching this unfold with wide eyes, throws in a “i knew it was too good to be true.”

the laughter dies down. there’s a shift, a pause, one of those delicate moments that could tilt either way. everyone glances between the two of you, waiting to see if the air will thicken with old tension again.

but then haechan shrugs, smile still soft, “can’t friends banter?”

the room stills. the word hovers between you like a fragile thing, spoken so casually but carrying so much more weight than anyone expected.

friend wasn’t exactly the word people would describe your relationship to be.

your heart skips, not in a dramatic way, just a quiet flutter, like it’s catching up to something your brain already knew. you look at him and he’s already looking at you. there’s something behind his eyes, a private little spark, a shared joke, like the two of you are in on something no else quite understands.

you smile, slow and real, “exactly,” you say, “friends banter.”

everyone goes quiet again, not with tension but surprise. you can practically hear the mental recalibration of the room. yujin’s mouth is slightly open, xiaojun has an eyebrow raise, jongho is looking back and forth in between you, wondering how he got himself stuck in the middle of all this.

mr. doyoung clears his throat and claps his hands once, “alright, let’s run it again. from romeo’s line.”

haechan pick up his script, quickly reading it over, still grinning. as you take your mark beside him, his shoulder brushes yours, barely noticeable but deliberate. neither of you move away.

♕

the next day, after rehearsal ends and the cast slowly filters out, you find yourself lingering in the black box again, volunteering to put away the chairs. it’s quiet, dimly lit, the echoes of the day still in the air in half-muttered lines, scattered laughter, a crumpled water bottle forgotten in the wings. you’re sitting on the edge of the stage, kicking your heels lightly against the wood. then you hear footsteps, unhurried, familiar. haechan joins you a beat later, collapsing beside you with a dramatic groan.

“remind me why we volunteered for this, again?,” he sighs, eyes closed, head tilted toward the ceiling.

you smirk, “well, i volunteered for this because i haven’t helped out since week one. you just…showed up.”

he cracks one eye open and turns his head toward you, grinning, “right. my hero complex. forgot.”

you nudge him with your shoulder, and for a second it feels like nothing ever changed between you. like the years of eye-rolls and cold shoulders never happened. like you’re just you and he’s just him, and all the old memories you both tried to forget have started quietly knocking again.

“so,” you say playfully, “you do realize you completely blacked out on your monologue yesterday, right?”

he groans again, louder this time, slumping so far sideways he’s almost sliding off the stage, “don’t remind me, i saw my life flash before my eyes, mr. doyoung’s disappointment in 4k.”

you turn toward him, grinning, “my favorite part was when you just stood there, blinking like you got hit with a windows error.”

haechan throws a hand over his eyes, “i was reconnecting!, you caught me mid-update.”

you burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the walls. it makes him look at you again, and not in the usual teasing way. he watches the way your face lights up, the way your shoulders shake with it, and something in his chest aches – warm and familiar.

“i’ll admit,” you say between giggles, “that line delivery of mine? ‘o romeo, are you lagging?’ oscar-worthy.”

“you’re insufferable,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling too.

you both go quiet for a moment, the air between you charged in a way it didn’t used to be — or maybe always was, back before either of you knew what to call it.

“did you see jongho’s face?,” you ask, biting back a grin.

he grins, eyes lighting up, “he looked like he was witnessing a miracle. like we were gonna shake hands and start a foundation for world peace.”

“yujin nearly dropped her phone” you snort, “i think she thought she was hallucinating.”

he chuckles, nudging you slightly, “we should’ve milked it, gone on tour with our peace treaty, sold merch, team haechan and team y/n shirts.”

you roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself, “we’d have sold out shows every night.”

he looks at you for a beat longer than necessary, “you know… it’s weird.”

you glance over, “what is?”

“this,” he says quietly, “us. talking like this again, it feels…,” he pauses, searching for the word, “familiar.”

you don’t say anything right away, because you feel it too. that quiet pull. that ache. the thing that never fully went away. you both know it. you were each other’s person. before the hate took over, before the jabs. before either of you figured out that pushing someone away is sometimes easier than letting them in.

“yeah,” you say softly, “it does.”

then he shifts slightly, glancing sideways, “so…friends banter, huh?”

you raise a brow, “you said it.”

“and you didn’t disagree,” he says softer now. there’s no teasing in his voice, just curiosity.

you nod, “nope, i didn’t.”

he smiles. not that smug, sharp smile you used to hate. this one’s crooked, earnest. and you smile back, the same kind of smile, the kind you don't have to guard. the smile you give to a friend. but something in the way you look at each other says maybe not just that forever. maybe just that for now.

he bumps his shoulder into yours, “so, friend…you buying me lunch tomorrow?”

you scoff, “you forgot your lines. i should be the one charging you.”

he grins, that glint sneaking back into his eyes, “fine, princess. lunch tomorrow. cafeteria. my treat.”

the nickname is gentler now, filled with a sort of affection that makes your heart skip a beat. you tilt your head, pretending to consider, “as long as you don’t freeze mid-sentence again.”

he leans just slightly closer, his voice barely above a murmur, “only if you promise to tease me about it again.”

you pretend to roll your eyes, but you’re smiling…big now. unrestrained. the kind that feels like sunlight in your chest. you think about everything that’s happened. the years of arguing. the pushing and pulling. the kisses that weren’t on the script. the ones that came after, the magnetic pull of him. the electric tension you thought would destroy you both. now somehow reshaped into this — a strange, slow return to something lighter. something that still pulses underneath with heat.

you walk out side by side, the distance between you closer than it was yesterday.

♕

the next day, true to his word, haechan meets you outside the cafeteria, two iced choco’s in hand and a stupidly triumphant grin on his face like he just won a prize.

“you drink this, right?,” he says, handing you one without waiting for an answer, “i know it used to be your favorite, i just don’t know if you still like it now,” he rambles, a little nervous.

you take it, brushing your fingers lightly against his, “of course I still like it now,” you say with a smile that you don’t quite realize is soft enough to knock the wind out of him, “thank you.”

“anything for the princess,” he winks as you roll your eyes playfully. you find a corner table by the windows, where the sun spills across the scratched plastic surface and turns your drinks gold. the campus buzzes around you, students passing by with backpacks slung low, the distant hum of conversations and clinking trays.

haechan orders sandwiches for you both, and without asking, skips the pickles on yours. you notice, and you don’t say anything, but the fact that he remembered that makes something in your chest swell and ache at the same time. there’s something undeniably easy about it all. about him. you fall into a rhythm of banter, half jokes, and snide comments wrapped in smiles that linger just a little too long. it’s almost too easy to forget that the two of you hated each other. almost too easy to remember that once, you didn’t.

you’re in the middle of a joke when a voice interrupts the moment — “hey, haechan,” your eyes turn towards the voice. it’s ryujin. and she’s leaning against the edge of the table, hair in a pretty messy bun in that effortless dancer way, water bottle in hand, wearing one of those crop tops that make everyone in the building do a double take. she flashes him a bright smile.

“you didn’t show up to the party last night,” she says, teasing but with a bite that suggests she noticed and cared.

haechan blinks like he wasn’t expecting her, “oh, yeah, i–uh, fell asleep early,” he shifts in his seat, his legs brushing yours under the table. then he glances at you, a quick flicker of a look, like a reflex. it’s so fast. he probably thinks you missed it. but you didn't.

ryujin giggles lightly and touches his shoulder, a fleeting gesture that might have meant nothing to anyone else, “we’re always missing out on each other,” she pouts.

you glance down at your sandwich. you can’t bring yourself to keep watching. your appetite vanishes somewhere between her hand and his smile.

“yeah,” haechan forced out, then clears his throat, trying to find words.

you miss the awkward way he scratches the back of his neck, the polite distance in his voice that doesn’t quite match ryujin’s energy. he’s not flirting back but he’s not shutting it down either.

ryujin’s gaze finally flickers to you, her smile dimming just slightly, “hey.”

you smile, sharp and polite “hey.”

she lingers. just enough to make it weird. then flicks her hair over her shoulder and turns back to him, “you’re mine at the next party, okay?”

haechan lets out a nervous laugh, “cool. yeah.” it comes out a little too fast, like he’s agreeing just to make the moment end. he wishes the ground could just swallow him whole. he doesn’t even know why the mere action of ryujin flirting with him around you is getting him all flustered.

she finally walks away and you don’t say anything at first. you take a sip from your drink just to have something to do with your hands. haechan exhales like he’s just escaped a fire.

you arch an eyebrow, still not looking at him, “you okay?”

he rubs his hands down his thighs, “yeah. that was…awkward.”

“didn’t look awkward from where i was sitting,” you mutter, voice a little sharper than intended.

he turns to you, caught off guard by your tone, “be serious.”

you poke the lettuce in your sandwich, “haven’t you been flirting with her since forever?,” you comment. it wasn’t exactly a secret to the rest of the university that the two had the hots for each other. just like how it wasn’t a secret that the two of you can’t stand each other.

“yeah, well. that was before,” he says without thinking.

“before what?,” you ask, raising a brow, your eyes finally meeting his.

he goes quiet. you wait. he’s already looking at you, his expression unreadable. there’s a long pause, like he’s debating something. then he looks away, his voice low “nothing. never mind.”

you don’t push. but your stomach twists in a way that’s hard to ignore. you weren’t supposed to care. he’s just a friend. that’s what you agreed on.

then he forces out a laugh, soft and a little shaky, he bumps your foot under the table, voice casual, “so” he murmurs, “you’re totally jealous.”

you nearly choke on your sandwich, “am not.”

“you looked at your sandwich like you wanted it dead,” he points out, teasing.

you narrow your eyes at him, but your lips twitch anyway, “you’re officially delirious.”

he grins, that same crooked, trouble-making grin that used to make your blood boil and now just… makes it rush. you roll your eyes and take another sip of your drink, hiding your smile behind the straw. but your cheeks feel warm. and your heart feels stupid.

because yeah, maybe you were jealous. and maybe that means this thing between you, this not-quite-friends, not-quite-something-else, is barreling toward a truth you’re both trying not to name.

♕

the lights flash neon blue and pink over the velvet booths and sticky tables. it was karaoke night with your castmates. the room filled with laughter, everyone sipping cheap drinks, flipping through the karaoke’s binder, music pulsing through the speakers, everyone pretending they’re not stressed about the upcoming show. haechan leans against the booth, one arm resting over the backrest, drink in hand. usually you sit in the booth farthest away from him, but tonight, tonight you’re sitting right next to him, trying not to notice the way his shoulders brush yours every so often. the way it sparks something irritatingly warm in your chest.

“you do know you’re not getting out of singing, right?” you say, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned over to talk in his ear, loud enough for him to hear over changbin and wooyoung currently performing hamilton.

he raises an eyebrow, ignoring the way your breath sends goosebumps all over his spine, “who said i was trying to?”

“you haven’t signed up once,” you point out.

“maybe i’m waiting,” he says, turning his head so you're closer than before, so close you catch the faint smell of his cologne, the woody powdery scent that makes your brain fuzzy, “for the right song and the right partner,” he glances at you. there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“are you asking me to duet, lee donghyuck?,” you smirk.

“only if you think you can keep up,” he says, a playful smile on his lips.

minutes later you’re both up front, two microphones in hand. you give him a sideways glance as the intro to what is this feeling starts playing. haechan smirks when he sees the lyrics pop up on the screen.

“what is this feeling, so sudden and new?,” he starts. of course he was galinda, milking the drama, throwing in that little hair flip that makes you giggle. you both slip into character. the room blurs. it’s just you and him.

“loathing. unadulterated loathing,” he levels you with an exaggerated glare.

“for your face — your voice — your clothing!,” you match his energy, pacing in time with him like two cats ready to pounce. the song becomes a battleground, but its play fighting. banter wrapped around melody. and you feel like a child again.

“let’s just say we loathe it all!” you end, breathless and giddy.

the room erupts, howling with laughter and applause. but something about the moment slows. the harmony lingers longer than it should. haechan’s eyes meet yours, you don’t look away.

an hour later the bar started to empty out. castmates peel off into groups, calling rides or walking to the subway in clumps. you’re slipping your jacket on when you feel someone fall into step beside you.

“you’re walking home?” haechan asks casually, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

you nod, “it’s not far.”

“i’ll walk with you,” he says, like it’s not even a question. like it’s a given.

the streets are quieter now, only the hum of traffic and the occasional siren echoing down the avenue. the moon reflecting shimmer in puddles, and there’s a leftover thrill buzzing under your skin from the performance, from him.

he kicks at a pebble, glancing over at you, “so… we make a pretty good team.”

you bump your shoulder into his lightly, “don’t let it get to your head.”

“too late, princess” he says with a grin.

you walk in silence for a beat, the good kind, where it doesn’t feel like something needs to be said. then, softly, “we’re pretty good at being friends,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

you feel him glance at you before he answers “yeah,” he says, just as quiet, “we are.”

your fingers don’t touch, but they hang close enough that the space between them feels loud. you look up at him then, and he gives you that crooked, genuine smile that always comes out when he thinks no one’s watching.

“thanks for walking me,” you say when you reach your building.

he nods, “always.” there’s a pause. that kind where you could either wave and walk away or not. then haechan opens his arms slightly, like he’s offering, but not assuming. and you don’t even hesitate. you step into him, arms wrapping around his torso. he’s warm and steady around your shoulders. it’s not rushed. not awkward. it’s one of those hugs that feels like it’s saying a lot more than either of you are willing to put into words just yet.

you breathe him in and for a second, it feels like the rest of the world goes quiet. he pulls back first, but slowly, like he’s not quite ready either. his hands brush your arms before he lets go.

“night, princess,” he says, teasing, voice a little huskier than before.

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, “night, hyuck.”

and even though nothing’s said, and nothing happens, it still feels like something changed. like you both felt it, even if you’re pretending not to.

♕

hyuck: wanna come over and watch mamma mia 2 tonight?

princess: the one that came out when we hated each other?

hyuck: yeah, thought it might be poetic or whatever >.<

you almost laugh out loud when you read it. of all the movies. that one. the one released right in the thick of your worst arguments, during the year neither of you could say a full sentence without wanting to kill each other. the one you couldn’t bring yourself to watch in theater because all you could remember was watching the first one with him.

princess: will there be popcorn?

hyuck: of course

princess: see you later ;)

by the time you arrive at the frat house, it’s quiet. most of the guys are out for the night and the place, for once, feels peaceful. lived-in, but cozy. haechan greets you at the door with popcorn in one hand and remote in the other.

“just you, me and ABBA,” he says, a playful smile on his face as you make your way to his living room.

you smirk, stepping inside, “scared i’ll out-sing you?”

his laugh is automatic, “you wish.”

you settle on the couch, blanket tossed between the two of you. you don’t sit close, not at first. but as the movie plays, as waterloo kicks in and the popcorn dwindles and your feet end up tangled somewhere under the blanket, the space between you shrinks. neither of you mentions it. you both sing along, loud and obnoxious, voices overlapping in messy harmonies, especially during why did it have to be me, elbowing each other like teenagers. there’s a softness in it. a safety. like the memories that used to hurt have dulled around the edges and all that’s left now is warmth. you’re both grinning so hard it hurts. the kind of joy you haven’t let yourself feel around him in years. by angel eyes you’re leaning into him more than you mean to. his shoulder’s warm. you let yourself rest there, just for a second. but the second turns into minutes. and by the time my love, my life begins to play, you’ve gone quiet, breaths slow and even, your head tilted gently against him.

he doesn't dare move.

the movie goes on, but he doesn’t register it anymore. not really. he’s too aware of you, curled up beside him, cheek pressed into his hoodie, peacefully asleep. like you completely trust him again. and that’s when it hits him.

it’s not a surprise. not a sudden realization. just something he’s been trying to ignore finally catching up to him — he never stopped liking you.

not when you fought. not when you ignored each other in the hallways and on stage and in classes. not even when he flirted with other girls, trying to replace the hole you burned through him with something lighter, simpler. but no one ever did. no one even came close. because it’s always been you. under his skin. in his lungs. every song he sang louder just so you’d hear it. every stupid joke he cracked just so you would see him.

and now, god, now it’s stronger than ever. because he’s not just thinking about how right this feels. he’s thinking about you. the way you laughed tonight, unguarded. the way you trusted him enough to fall asleep on him like this. the way you’ve been slowly letting him back in.

but underneath that softness, beneath all the fragile peace you’ve built…is something hungrier. something heavier.

because now he knows the way your lips feel on his, hot and frantic, laced with fury and desperation. the weight of your body tangled with his, all tension and sharp edges and need. he remembers the night you both gave in to it. when everything between you collided and combusted and for a few stolen hours, nothing else existed. the sound you made when he was inside you. the way you clung to him like you hated him for how good it felt.

he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it since. about you. that night. the taste of your skin. the way he wanted more, even then. the way he still wants more now — he wants to feel you again but not like that. not angry. not bitter. not as a mistake to bury. he wants to feel you without the weight of a grudge between you.

that’s what scares him the most. because you’re just starting to rebuild whatever fragile thread of friendship you’ve stitched together. if he leans in again, if he fucks this up, he’s not sure either of you will come back from it.

so he doesn’t move. doesn’t speak. just lets you rest against him, eyes fixed on the credits. heart beating loud and traitorous in his chest. he tells himself it’s enough but he knows it won't be for long because he never wanted to be just your friend — not really. not ever. not then. and definitely not now.

ཐིཋྀ the eight week of rehearsals

monday comes again you spot him in rehearsals, sitting in his usual chair. and for the first time, you chose to sit on the chair next to him. you wait for his usual greeting, that charming smirk, the lifted eyebrows, the dumb pun about how you finally couldn’t resist sitting next to the greatest.

but none of it comes.

he doesn’t raise his brows and say something stupid just to make you roll your eyes. he just nods. quiet and distant.

“hi,” you offer as you approach, a smile on your face.

“hey,” he replies, without looking at you. it throws you off. not completely. just enough that your smile falters a little.

but it doesn't stop there. during rehearsals, he’s all business. focused. he doesn’t crack jokes during warmups like he usually does. even when you fumble a line and instinctively glance at him for a reaction, he doesn’t meet your eyes. there are no friendly banters. it’s like someone hit the switch on him over the weekend. and sure, he talks to you. he doesn’t ignore you completely. but it’s colder. measured. like he’s rehearsing something behind every word.

at break, you sit on the edge of the stage like always but he doesn’t join you. he stretches with the boys instead, laughing a little too loudly at something that isn’t even funny.

you feel it — the difference. the detachment. like he’s edited you out of a movie scene where you once had top billing.

you watch from across the room, trying not to let it show that you notice. but you do. you notice everything. the way he keeps his distance. the way his gaze skips over you in group conversation. the way he leaves rehearsal without waiting, mumbling something about being late for a meeting you’re not even sure exists.

you tell yourself it’s fine. you’re friends. it’s just a weird day. maybe he’s tired. maybe something’s going on. maybe he did have a meeting. maybe it’s nothing.

but the thing is — it doesn’t feel like nothing. and it stings. because just last week you were creating new inside jokes, sharing lunch, singing duets, watching movies, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. and just two nights ago, you fell asleep on his shoulder and he let you and for one quiet, perfect evening, it felt like maybe, maybe, you were finding your way back to something real. and now? now he won’t even look at you.

later, you replay the night in your mind, trying to pinpoint what went wrong. the way he sang with a fake swedish accent, making you laugh until your ribs hurt. the way you caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. like you were something precious. something fragile. nothing about that night felt off. but now he’s acting like you’re glass that cracked when he wasn’t looking, and he doesn’t know how to pick up the pieces without bleeding.

you want to call him out. ask what the hell you did. demand to know why he’s shutting you out when you were finally figuring out how to be in the same room without burning. but you don’t. you don’t say a word. because maybe you were just being dramatic. or maybe because part of you is scared of the answer.

and part of you, the part that still aches for him even now, kind of wishes you could just go back to hating each other. at least then, he looked at you like he meant it.

♕

it’s been a few days since and things have gotten worse. you can’t put your finger on it exactly. nothing obvious. no big blow up. no fight. just the absence of something that was almost there.

he shows up to every rehearsal, still jokes with the cast, still reads his lines. but with you? he’s quieter. not cold, not cruel. just careful. like he’s watching every word, every glance, weighing them all in his head before he lets them go. like he’s trying to keep something from slipping out. something that used to dance at the edge of his smirks and linger in the way he looked at you, that soft, half-daring thing that felt almost too real.

you hate it. so you do something about it. you text him on a thursday evening in a moment of impulsive hope or maybe desperation.

princess: you doing anything tomorrow night? a few of us are going to the A.M. 127 bar, you should come.

you watch the message go through, then you toss your phone aside like it didn’t cost you anything to send. it takes him an hour to respond.

hyuck: ah wish i could but i’m busy. have to finish a write-up for theater theory and help mark with something

you stare at it, a little too long. looking for cracks in the excuse. for anything that might explain why it sounds like a gentle rejection and not just a scheduling conflict. and when you finally type out a reply, something nonchalant, unaffected, you send it before you can overthink.

princess: all good. good luck :)

you toss your phone again, harder this time, like the weight in your chest might go with it. you won’t be bitter. you can’t be bitter. he doesn’t owe you anything. he doesn’t have to show up just because you asked. you’re friends now. just friends. friends have boundaries. friends don’t need each other to say yes.

but the next night while waiting for your drink with yujin at the loud, dimly lit bar, you make the mistake of scrolling through your phone. the story flashes before you even realize what you’re watching. a living room, lights flickering, people playing a game of beer pong.

and there, clear as day – haechan. leaning against the arm of the couch. grinning. and next to him? ryujin. tucked comfortably into his side like she’s always belonged there. laughing at something he says, head tipped toward him, her hand casually resting on his thigh like she doesn’t even have to think about it.

the clip is only ten seconds long. but it affects you more than it should. you click it again. watch it one more time. and another. and another — his head leans toward hers. he’s smiling. he looks easy with her. like nothing’s complicated. like nothing happened. like he didn’t freeze up around you this week. like he didn’t pull away just when things started to feel… possible.

you swallow around the twist in your chest, reaching out for your drink. you laugh too, like you’re fine, like you didn’t just get sucker punched by a few pixels on a screen. but inside, you feel like an absolute joke — a stupid, drunk punchline to a story you thought had changed.

you take a couple more shots before you were staring at your phone again. the last text between you still lit up on the screen.

“all good. good luck :)”

you hate the way it reads. detached. not real. not at all how you feel. and before you can stop yourself, before you can listen to your own logic, you’re tapping his name in your contacts and pressing call — it rings once. twice. you don't think he’ll answer. but by the third ring, his voice hits your ear, “hello?,” low, familiar, a little too steady. he’s not drunk.

you try to swallow around the words clogging your throat, “hey,” you say and you wince at how thin it comes out, “it’s me.”

a beat of silence. “yeah. i know,” he sounds softer, cautious now.

you almost laugh, “sorry,” you mutter, “i shouldn’t have called. just…ignore this, okay? just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“wait,” he says, sharp enough to stop you from ending the call, “are you okay?”

there he goes again. pretending he cares. you want to lie. say yeah, of course i’m great. but you’re tired. a little drunk. a little heartbroken. you laugh. it sounds bitter, “what do you think?”

another pause. you can hear the voices in the background. the loud music. ryujin’s laugh. the exact same sound from the video. and it scrapes at your ribs.

“you said you were busy,” you say and this time you don’t try to hide the shake in your voice, “you said you had to help mark with something.”

“i did,” he replies, and god, he sounds so calm it makes your chest burn, “plans changed.”

“right,” you whisper, “funny how that happens.”

he’s quiet again and maybe that should be your cue to hang up. to end this before it gets pathetic. but you can’t. not when it feels like he’s been slipping further and further away all week.

“i just didn’t expect to see you with her,” you admit, a little too bare, too honest, too messy, “that’s all.”

he exhales slowly. you can hear voices in the background, someone calling his name. he murmurs something away from the phone, you can’t make it out. when he speaks again, he’s quieter, “it’s not what you think.”

you smile without warmth, “okay,” you say because what else can you say? you were in no position to tell him who he can and can’t hang out with. you were in no position to even get jealous. he doesn’t explain further. he doesn’t need to. you were just his friend.

“you’ve been weird all week,” you say suddenly, “and i’ve been trying not to take it personally, but–,” you cut yourself off.

“but what?,” he asks. you swallow hard, “i don’t know. i guess i thought we were friends again.”

“we are,” he says quickly. too quickly.

“then why are you pushing me away?,” you ask, voice soft and quiet.

another breath from him, a pause that stretches, “i’m not.”

“you are. you stopped looking at me. you stopped cracking jokes,” you blink hard, throat thick, “did i do something wrong? is this some kind of elaborate plan to hurt me the way i hurt you?”

“no.” he says quickly, “it’s not like that.” then the line goes silent. the music behind him fades.

“i’m just,” he finally says, the words slow and clipped, “trying to keep things simple right now.”

you nod even though he can’t see you. even though it didn’t make sense. even though nothing about you and him has ever been simple.

“okay,” you say again, “i’ll let you get back to your party.”

“princess–,” he starts.

but you’re already pulling the phone away, muttering out a hollow “bye,” and ending the call before he can stop you.

you hang up, phone trembling in your hand, heart heavier than before. you didn’t get answers. didn’t get clarity. didn’t get the version of him who sang ABBA at the top of his lungs and leaned into you like you were home. you just got silence. distance. a half-hearted promise that meant nothing.

♕

you don’t remember how many drinks it takes to get you there – that hazy, floating kind of drunk. the kind that makes everything feel like it’s underwater and glowing. you’re not sad, not exactly. just…empty. tired in a way that no one can see.

yujin left a while ago, with a boy she’s been making out with the whole night. she kissed your cheek goodbye, making you promise to uber home. you said of course and waved her off with a smile too big for your face. then you stayed and ordered another drink. and another. let the night blur until it felt like you didn’t exist anymore.

the bartender starts to notice around 2:00 a.m. – you’re sitting slouched over the counter. your lips are slightly smeared and your mascara smudged just enough to make you look fragile. breakable. like someone who doesn’t know where she is or why she’s still here. you don’t notice the bartender hovering until he gently taps the bar in front of you, “hey” he says, voice low, kind, “you alright?”

you glance up, slow and reluctant, eyes glassy, unfocused, trying to read his blurry nametag: johnny. you try to smile at him but your mouth doesn’t quite cooperate, “mm fine, johnny,” you mumble, slurring your words.

he gives you a long look, his voice is still gentle but it sharpens a little at the edges, “that’s not true.”

you shake your head, try to sit up straighter, but the motion tilts the room again. you let out a soft, pathetic-sounding laugh, “okay, maybe not, but i’ll be fine.”

johnny sighs, the kind of sigh that says he’s seen this before. too many times. he pulls out a clean glass of water, slides it in front of you, “drink this.”

you do. drunk enough to drink anything a stranger would give. then he looks at you again, soft but steady, “i’m gonna call someone for you, okay? just to make sure you get home safe.”

you blink, the words registering slower than normal, “no–it’s—dont. please. i’m fine, i can–”

“you’re not fine,” he says gently but firm. you don’t argue again. you’re too tired.

“here,” you mumble, unlocking your phone with clumsy fingers, “pick whoever you want, i don’t care,” you say, giving in. he scrolls through your recent calls, lifts the phone to his ear.

“yo…hey…is this hyuck?,” his voice rings in your ear but you were too out of it to care, “yeah, hi i’m a bartender at A.M. 01:27, i’ve got a girl here, this is her phone, she’s pretty out of it. not in danger or anything just too drunk to leave alone. you were the last person she called, so…,” his voice drifts off in the background as your forehead sinks into your arms, head dropped to the counter, letting the drowsiness take over.

time passes. or maybe it doesn’t. you don’t really know.

then you hear your name. you lift your head slowly, the bar has started to spin again or maybe your brain has. same difference. you squint your eyes open and he is there, standing next to you, hoodie pulled over his hair, cheeks flushed from the cold.

“you okay?,” haechan asks, voice strained. careful.

“define ‘okay,” you mutter, pushing yourself up. you sway a little and his hand is instantly under your elbow, steadying you.

“got it,” he murmurs, sliding an arm around your waist, “let’s go.”

“wow,” you say under your breath, stumbling slightly as he helps you toward the exit, “my hero, coming to my rescue so fast, didn’t know i still mattered.”

“i got a call from a man who doesn’t even know you,” he mutters, jaw tight, “forgive me if i didn’t love that scenario.”

you glance up at him as he opens the passenger door, “jealous?” he doesn’t answer. doesn’t even look at you. just helps you in, buckles the seatbelt with a sigh and shuts the door.

the drive is quiet. not awkward. not exactly. but there’s a weight between you. thick and humming. some ghost made of the things you never said. haechan’s hands grip the wheel tight, knuckles white, eyes locked on the road. the glow from the dash throws soft light across his face, shadows catching in the curve of his jaw, the dip under his cheekbone. you watch him in sideways glances, arms crossed tight to your chest like you’re holding yourself together. the city fades. buildings blur into darkness. music plays low from the stereo, some playlist he forgot to turn off. you don’t say much. neither does he. but slowly, gradually, the fog in your brain starts to clear. your head feels less floaty. your pulse settles. your tongue feels normal in your mouth again. you blink. you breathe.

you’re starting to sober up. enough to feel the cracks again. enough for the ache to come back clearer than before — and when the gps chimes that you’re ten minutes away from your dorm, something inside you finally breaks.

“i hate you.” you whisper, eyes still on the road ahead.

his brow twitches, and he casts you a quick, startled glance, “what?”

you turn your head now, shoulders squaring toward him, the last drops of alcohol giving you courage, or maybe just stripping your fear down to its bare, shaking bones.

“i said, i hate you.”

maybe you say it because it’s real. maybe you wanted to get a reaction out of him. something. anything.

“okay,” he says, soft and resigned. like he’s letting you go without even trying to hold on. like he knew this was coming, “you’re drunk.

“i’m not that drunk,” you snap.

he continues focusing on the road. jaw tight.

“i hate your stupid face,” you go on, voice low but steady, “i hate your stupid little moles,” you take a breath, “i hate when you laugh without me.”

a pause. he wonders if you could hear the way his heart is thudding in his chest.

“i hate how you asked me to be friends again just to ignore me. i hate the way you act like nothing has happened between us.”

you pause. your chest tight. your throat is burning.

“i hate the way you look at me like you want to say something, but you won’t. i hate the way you leave me guessing, doubting, wondering if any of this is real.”

he doesn’t say a word. just silence so loud it echoes. you stare at him, heart pounding. you don’t cry. you just tell the truth, finally.

“i hate the way you make me feel,” you whisper, “i hate the way it’s so easy for me to fall for you.”

the words hang in the air, awful and honest. you feel them leave your mouth and you can’t take it back. he doesn’t pull over right away. but his jaw locks. his throat bobs with a swallow. and then he takes the next left, turns into a side street, dark and quiet, far from the dorms. no one’s around. just the sound of your breath and his. he parks the car and the silence rushes in. it’s deafening. the kind that drowns out everything else. it’s thick with all the things you’ve never said, with every unfinished sentence and swallowed apology.

then he turns toward you, eyes wide and raw, like he’s been trying to hold something in for so long it’s starting to hurt. like your words have cracked something open in him that he can’t put back.

“don’t.” he says, barely a whisper. “don’t say that. not when you don’t mean it.”

but you don’t look away, “i do mean it.”

and for a second, neither of you speak. neither of you move. it’s all there between you. the longing, the ache, the silence that always meant more — and you’ve filled it up. you’ve cracked the quiet open and poured the truth inside it.

now there’s nothing left to hide behind. you see it. the wreckage in him. the war. the part of him that wants to reach for you. and the part of him terrified that if he does, you’ll disappear.

he exhales, slowly and shaky, like he’s trying to steady himself on the edge of something steep, “i didn’t think you felt it,” he murmurs, voice rough like it’s been scraped raw from the inside, “i kept telling myself you wouldn’t. that you couldn’t.”

you stay quiet, letting him unravel. he laughs then, a broken little sound, hollow and helpless, “i told myself if i just kept my distance, if i just waited long enough… whatever i was feeling would die out. that i’d get over it. that i won’t ruin our friendship again.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it. he looks straight ahead, like the truth will hurt less if he doesn’t have to see your face when he says it out loud.

“but it didn’t,” he whispered, “it just got worse.”

the confession spills out now, uncontained. he can’t stop it, and he doesn’t try to anymore.

“you were everywhere. in my phone, in my stupid dreams, in every fucking song. and i hated that i couldn’t shake you,” he turns to look at you then, finally. his eyes are glassy, dark and tired. no walls left.

“i tried to be your friend,” he says desperately, “i tried so fucking hard. but every time you smiled at me, it felt like i was falling, every time you laughed, i wanted more and every time i felt you next to me, it’s like i couldn’t control myself.”

your breath hitches, but he doesn’t stop.

“i don’t want to be your friend.”

he looks at you. eyes quickly darting down your lips.

“im in love with you.” he lets the words settle in the air and then he adds, “and i want you in a way that friends shouldn’t. i always have.”

the words fall between you like a match dropped on gasoline. hot and sudden and irreversible.

“i’m tired of pretending this doesn’t wreck me,” he adds, voice low, “that you don’t wreck me.”

you don’t move. you just look at him. and in his eyes, you see it all. the quiet desperation, the resentment at himself for still loving you, the hope he keeps trying to kill. the truth sits heavy in your chest, rising fast, threatening to drown you. but you don't back away from it now. you don’t want to. because you know that you wreck him the same way he wrecks you.

you don’t remember moving. just the heat in your chest, the ache behind your ribs, the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears. one second, you’re sitting there, breath shallow, heart torn wide open. the next, your hand is on his jaw, guiding his face toward yours and his mouth is crashing into yours. the rawness in the way he kissed you like he was trying to erase every second of space that has ever existed between you.

it’s not soft. it’s not tentative. it’s months of denial, weeks of tension and years of everything left unsaid, finally snapping all at once. and he kisses you like he’s drowning in it. his hands tangle in your hair, bringing you impossibly closer, “fuck, you’re a dream,” he manages to say in between kisses.

you kiss him harder to prove that you weren’t. that you were here and real and his for the taking. his hands are on your thighs, pushing your dress up roughly, bunching the fabric around your waist like he can’t get it out of the way fast enough. you scramble into his lap, straddling him in the driver's seat, your knees bracketing his hips, your breath already coming in fast.

he groans against your mouth, hot and frantic and trembling slightly. you break the kiss to breathe, but it’s useless, he leans in again, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath ragged.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs, voice wrecked, “just once. say it, and i will.”

your soaked panties brush against the bulge in his jeans and he groans, deep and guttural. you shake your head, lips brushing his “don't tell me you’re gonna go soft on me just because we’re in love now.”

he pulls back slightly, stunned, like he can’t believe what he just heard, “we?”

you give him a soft, unguarded smile, “yes, hyuck. i’m in love with you too.”

that’s all it takes. the look in his eyes changes — burning hotter. darker. his mouth is on your throat, kissing a trail down to your collarbone, hands everywhere, under your dress, against your skin, gripping your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish. the space is cramped, bodies tangled, breath fogging up the windows, but you don’t care about anything except the way his hands feel on your bare skin, the way he groans when your fingers thread into his hair and pull just a little, the way his hips arch up into yours like he’s come undone.

“you think love means soft?” he rasps, voice shredded, “you think i don’t still want to fuck you like i’ve been starving?”

his hands slide up under your dress, dragging your panties down to your thighs. he leans you back, your spine meeting the steering wheel. it’s a little awkward, a little painful, but it vanishes the moment his fingers slip between your folds.

“god, look at you,” he pants against your mouth, dragging two fingers through your folds. “you’re fucking soaked for me, princess”

you moan when he presses in, one finger at first, rough and fast, no buildup, the feel of his cool rings against your cunt making you jerk in his lap, head thrown back against the roof, thighs already quaking.

“not soft,” he growls into your skin, “not even close.”

“shut up and—fuck—fuck me already,” you moan, hips chasing the rhythm of his finger.

“no,” he snaps, a smirk on his lips, “not until i make you come on my fingers,” he groans, and then he starts really working you open. inserting another digit, angling it just right, fucking into you like he knows exactly where to go, exactly how to ruin you. his palm grinds against your clit in tight, mean circles, and it’s so much, so fast, your knees buckle on either side of him, moans of his name filling the night air, and he has to hold you down with one arm wrapped around your waist.

“you can take it, right?” he hisses, fucking you faster, “don’t tell me you’re gonna break on me now.”

“i won’t,” you whine, “i won’t, hyuck, d-don’t stop,” you beg. his cock twitching in his pants at the mere sound of his name on your lips — all needy and desperate and his. he curls his fingers harder, presses deeper, and the filthy sounds of your wetness fill the car like music to his ears. your dress is hitched around your hips, tits threatening to spill out of the neckline, and you’re so far gone you’re grinding down on his hand like you need it to survive.

“you look so fucking pretty like this,” he growls, thumb swiping across your clit like he’s trying to rip the orgasm out of you, “fucking yourself on my hand, begging for it.”

you gasp, legs trembling, feeling yourself start to come apart. and he’s obsessed with how you clench around him, how your moans go sharp and high and desperate.

“that’s it princess,” he pants, watching you with hooded eyes as you get lost in the pleasure, “let go for me.” you do. you come hard, panting, shaking in his lap as his fingers keep coaxing you through it, soaking his palm as you cry out against his shoulder, nails digging into his biceps.

he doesn’t stop right away. only after your legs go limp, after you push his hand away, after you twitch around him too much to handle another second. then, only then does he pulls his fingers out, slick and glistening, and brings them to his mouth, “tastes like fucking heaven,” he groans, licking them clean like it’s nothing.

“now ride me and take what’s yours, princess,” he grunts in your ear. you’re still panting, legs shaking, but your hands move on instinct, unzipping his jeans, pulling him out. he grabs his wallet, pulling out a small foil wrapper, ripping it open with his teeth and rolling it on with practiced urgency.

the second he’s ready, he drags the blunt head of his cock through your folds, slowly. sending goosebumps throughout your body. you can’t take another second of teasing. you grab the base of his cock, making him grunt in response. then you align him in your entrance and finally sink down, both of you breaking at the feeling.

“ahh, fuck,” he hisses, forehead thudding back against the seat. his hands grip your thighs so tight it borders on bruising, “you’re so fucking tight.”

you don’t give him time to catch his breath. you rise up and drop down again, harder this time. again. and again. the rhythm fast, desperate, almost punishing. the windows fog instantly. your dress is hitched up to your hips, sweat slick on your skin, your shared moans echoing through the small space as you bounce in his lap, riding him hard and reckless, the console digging into your spine with every movement.

“god, you feel so fucking good,” you gasp, fingers tangled in his hair. he yanks your neckline lower, finally letting your tits bounce out of your dress and his mouth is on them in an instant licking, biting, sucking like he wants to mark you up just so everyone knows you’re his.

“i never fucking stopped wanting you,” he growls against your sensitive nipple, “couldn’t sleep. couldn’t think. and now, fuck, you’re mine. you hear me?”

you grind harder, drunk on it now, his voice, the feel of him buried deep inside you, stretching you open, ruining you in the best way, “yes,” you moan, head tipped back, “yours hyuck, a-all yours.”

the car rocks. the wheel presses against your back. your thighs burn, vision blurring. his hands slide to your ass, fingers digging in to your thighs as he holds you up before fucking up into you with a speed that steals all the air from your lungs, each thrust ruining you as your legs shake in his grip and you practically scream.

“come for me,” he pants heavily, sweat dripping down his temple, “come on my cock, princess, come and let me feel it.”

you can’t do anything else but respond to him, tightening around him, crying out as your second orgasm hits you like a freight train. he follows right after, hips jerking, his hold on you loosens and you sink completely into his cock, a whiny moan escaping his lips as he empties into the condom, eyes squeezed shut, completely undone.

everything goes still. your breathing. his hands. the spinning inside your chest. you collapse against him, dress still bunched at your waist, tits on his chest, your forehead pressed to his neck, both of you wrecked and panting and clinging to each other.

haechan strokes your spine absently, soft and gentle, “you okay?” he murmurs, voice raw and hoarse, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder. you nod into him. neither of you moves. then he says it, soft and tentative, “come home with me tonight,” he whispers, not ready for the night to end.

♕

his room smells like his cologne and laundry detergent and he’s kissing you again, slower this time, more like he’s savoring it. like he has all night. because he does. he lays you down on his bed, undresses you piece by piece, there’s none of that urgent need from earlier. just worship. mouth littering kisses all over your skin. hands skating over your hips like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to touch you like this.

you feel him all over again like it’s the first time. body moving together like it’s a dance you’ve always known. you let yourself fall under him. let yourself whimper when his hand slips between your thighs, let yourself pull him in close and kiss him breathless until the two of you reach that addicting high that you can’t seem to get enough of.

and later, when he’s spooning you under the sheets, arms tight around your waist and his mouth pressed to your shoulder, he mumbles, “you know i’m crazy about you, right?”

you smile, eyes fluttering shut, “yeah, i know.”

when morning comes — you wake up alone. the warmth on the other side of the bed is gone, the sheets cooling. for a second, the room feels too quiet. your heart stutters, mind already racing with the outcome that he left.

you sit up, breath caught in your throat, but before you could wallow in the pity, the door creaks open, and there he is — tray in hand, hair still messy, sweatpants barely hanging on, wearing the exact kind of cocky grin that would usually drive you insane, except you’re too relieved to feel anything but full.

“breakfast for my one and only princess,” he says, voice obnoxiously proud. you blink at him, and it must be written all over your face, because his grin falters a little.

“hey,” he says, voice softening, as he places the tray carefully on the foot of the bed, taking a seat next to you, “you okay?”

you pull the covers up around you, shrug a little, “i just didn’t like waking up without you,” you admit, soft and quiet, almost afraid to be this honest, “i thought you left.”

a flicker of guilt passes behind his eyes, a tiny “oh,” slipping from his lips. the moment is soft, vulnerable, for two people who always dance around the other. you laugh a little under your breath, trying to shake it off, “stupid, i know, i mean, it’s you. you made it pretty clear you’re into me.”

“princess,” he says gently, arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you into his side, “it’s not stupid, i should’ve left a note or something.”

“what? ‘gone to make eggs, don’t spiral’?,” you say, realizing how dumb it sounded.

“exactly,” he deadpans, and you both laugh.

he brushes a strand of your hair away, more careful now, “we should probably work on being better at communicating, huh?”

“yeah,” you nod, forehead bumping his, “would’ve saved us, like… years of misery.”

he groans, dramatic this time, “don’t remind me, i was so annoying.”

“you’re still annoying,” you say sweetly, and he bites your shoulder in retaliation, making you squeal.

but when the laughter fades, his voice stays low, that quiet sincerity returning “i’m not gonna disappear, okay?”

you nod, “okay.”

“and i love you,” he says, gentler this time, no hesitation. just pure, stupid, real love.

your smile softens, “i love you too,” you say, leaning over to kiss him, not caring about morning breath or bedhead or the toast that’s probably getting cold.

he pulls away, breathless, a grin evident on his face, “the breakfast is gonna have to wait now,” he whispers in your ear.

you raise an eyebrow, “why?”

he leans in, voice low and warm in your ear, “because i’m hard again,” and you burst out laughing, “you’re insane.”

“insanely into my girlfriend,” he smirks, already kissing along your jaw. and you let him. because you’re his and he’s yours and it’s finally, finally, simple.

ཐིཋྀ tech week

it’s disgusting. absolutely, positively disgusting. at least, that’s the general consensus among the rest of the cast. just last month, people couldn’t stand being around the two of you because of how often you fought. every rehearsal a battleground, every interaction laced with venom.

but now? you’ve entered your full blown, pda-plagued, heart-eyes, can’t-stop-touching-each-other in-love era.

now, it’s kisses behind curtains, giggling into each other’s mouths between lighting cues, forehead touches during water breaks, fingers constantly linked even while you’re being given notes. and they don’t know what’s worse.

yeonjun throws a prop sword down dramatically, “i miss when you two hated each other, at least we had peace.”

“you’re just mad no one kisses you in between takes,” haechan fires back, smug, arm slung over your shoulder while you’re giggling into his hoodie.

someone on the crew threatens to hang a “no pda backstage,” sign after catching the two of you in a heated make out session.

but the real problem? the two of you are unstoppable.

even your arguments, and yes, you still argue, don’t last more than five minutes. you’ll bicker about stage directions or costume adjustments or whether haechan needs to dramatically fall to his knees when romeo sees juliet “dead,” and five minutes later he’ll be kissing you against a dressing room door whispering, “you’re hot when you're mad” against your lips.

and while the cast is absolutely suffering through your honeymoon phase – mr. doyoung is thriving. he walked into every rehearsal of this week with stars in his eyes, clapping wildly as you and haechan nail your death scene again. so in sync. so devastating. so tender you can feel every raw emotion behind the lines.

because now when haechan calls you “juliet,” it comes out breathless. now when you say, “my only love sprung from my only hate,” your voice cracks for real.

“do you SEE this chemistry?!,” mr. doyoung once cried, pointing dramatically at the stage, “this! this is art! this is why i casted you two!.” he might have even teared up once during the balcony scene. no one’s confirmed it but no one’s denying it either.

you and haechan just grin like idiots through it all. and when rehearsals wrap for the night, he always kisses you soft and slow and says, “can’t wait to do it all again tomorrow.”

you roll your eyes, pretend it’s annoying, but you never pull away.

ཐིཋྀ opening night

the energy backstage is electric, nerves buzzing like static in the air, costumes perfectly pressed, everyone running through the lines they already know by heart. the theater is full. the lights are hot. mr. doyoung is pacing with a clipboard and thinly veiled tears in his eyes, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

and you’re doing your opening night ritual – little handwritten letters, folded neatly, handed to each castmate and crew member like clockwork. it’s your thing. everyone knows it. something encouraging, something kind, something just sentimental enough to make people emotional right before they have to go on stage.

you hand one to ningning, who clutches it to her chest and says dramatically, “i’m framing this.” soobin reads his and calls you a menace for making him tear up right before the show. yujin hugs you tightly, muttering something about how she’s so happy she gets to do this with her best friend too.

haechan watches from a distance as you make your rounds. he’s trying to play it cool, arms crossed, leaning against a wall in his stupidly perfect costume, lips pressed together in a barely there smirk. but underneath he’s a little tense. not that he’d ever admit it — it’s been years since he got one of your letters. not since high school. but now, with you officially his girlfriend and practically glowing as you move through the cast, he cant help but wonder, did you write him one?

he doesn’t ask. he doesn’t want to look needy. but his eyes follow you everywhere. and finally, you approach him, holding a single remaining envelope.

you stop in front of him, one brow raised, playing innocent, “oh, looks like i have one more.”

he stares at you, slow and suspicious, “you’re unbelievable.” you just grin, sliding the note into his hand. he opens it. the handwriting is unmistakably yours – familiar and clean, like a secret only he gets to keep:

what do we say when we say juliet? romeo!

every moment with you is like a scene in a movie. going through my head now is the climax. the words i practiced thousands of times as if they were scripted – you are the protagonist of my life. i want to keep you forever. no one can fill your place…you’re irreplaceable.

p.s. you look so hot as romeo, i, too would have left my family just to feel your lips.

p.p.s romeo take me somewhere we can be alone? ;)

for a second, he forgets how to breathe. love coils tightly in his chest, but so does something hotter, something heady and electric. his eyes flick to the last line, and then to you. you’re already walking away, over your shoulder, you toss him a wink. and he nearly chokes on air.

“why would you add that last part?” he hisses, catching up, voice low and wrecked. his eyes are blown wide, desperate, like you’ve lit a fuse inside him, “i just want to fuck you so bad you won’t be able to walk on stage.”

you burst out laughing, smacking his chest, “focus, romeo,” you press a kiss to his cheek and he groans like he’s being tortured, yet his mouth curves upwards into a smile anyway.

and somehow, he makes it through the show — when the lights go up and the crowd goes quiet, you step into juliet’s shoes like you were born to wear them. haechan’s romeo is every bit as dramatic and devastating and alive as he should be. the balcony scene is breathtaking. the fights are insane. the kiss before he dies draws a gasp from the crowd. by the time the final scene ends, with you sobbing over him, your voice cracking on your last words, there’s a pause…then thunderous applause, the crowd roared, standing ovation, flowers tossed on stage, some people are crying. mr. doyoung is definitely part of some people.

but as soon as the curtain closes. haechan is dragging you by the hand through the backstage chaos, ignoring the cheers, the calls, the cast photo attempts.

his grip is firm, focused and needy. you barely have time to ask where you’re going before he yanks open the door to the rehearsal room in the back and pulls you in. the door slams shut. it’s just the two of you. again. in the same, tiny, dusty room where everything shifted.

and his mouth is already on yours, “i can’t believe you wrote that in the letter,” he groans into your mouth, lifting you like it’s muscle memory, “you’re evil. you knew what you were doing.”

you gasp between kisses, clinging to his shoulder, “i don’t know what you mean,” you say innocently.

he rolls his eyes, “i’ve been hard since act i,” he kisses you like he’s starved, like the show was one long tease, every kiss on stage edging him on, every touch of juliet’s hand killing him and now he finally gets to be rewarded.

he spins and sets you down, not on the chair, not on the table — on his thigh. you blink and he grins, cocky and hungry and impossibly hot in the dim light, “you never rode this one,” he murmurs, low and sinful, hands sliding up your thighs under the skirts of juliet’s gown, “thought we’d fix that.”

the breath catches in your throat. his thigh is solid beneath you, strong and flexing, already pressed perfectly against where you need him the most. the second you move, just a little, the pressure makes your whole body jolt. and he feels it.

“fuck,” he hisses, watching you closely, an amused smirk on his lips, hands gripping your hip, “you are so into this.”

you glare at him, but your hips twitch forward again anyway. the friction is delicious. the fabric of your panties drag just right. his thigh tenses beneath you on purpose.

“you gonna come for me like this, princess?,” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw, “gonna mess up your pretty little costume riding my thigh like a desperate girl?,” you gasp, gripping his shoulders for balance, body rocking on instinct now, chasing that pressure, that heat, that release.

“f-feels so good hyuckie,” you moan as he watches, transfixed, pupils blown out, jaw tight, chest rising with every shaky breath you take.

“i could watch you forever,” he groans, “no one else ever gets to see you like this, you know that, right?”

you nod helplessly. completely lost in the pressure that was building in your stomach. and when you finally come, sudden and hot and hard, he groans at the way your whole body tenses, how your thighs shake, how your lips part in a silent moan right against his mouth, your eyes shut.

you collapse against him, but he’s not done, “think you can take me now?”, he asks, voice thick with lust, already untying the back of your costume. you look up at him, dazed, hair a mess, breath shallow and nod like there’s nothing else in the world.

he kisses you again, already sliding the skirt up your hips, making you his all over again.

𓏲 the end.

-

18+ only | watch at your own risk | contains mature content

bonus: hyuck x princess coded -> video one, video two, video three, video four

-

an: HAPPY DONGHYUCK DAY! 🧸🌻 this is one of my gifts for you all today (you’re still getting a birthday blurb, wink wink) i really wanted to finish this in time for haechan day and i can’t believe i actually did. but holy shit guys! we’re halfway done with this series i did not expect to get this far if im being completely honest. thank you all so much for all the love, you don’t know how happy and excited you all make me. i hope you loved haechan and princess too! i think this couple was the most fun to write and i also think they finally beat jaemin x angel as my favorite confession scene so far hehe (don’t tell jaemin!)… as always, thank you for reading! <3

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love tags: @bluedbliss @yesohhsehun @tynlvr @sunghoonsgfreal @2sungie @euphormiia @ptv-hades @imnotrosiee @remgeolli @vantxx95 @leehaechie @beestvng @schatjze @mango-bear

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[themultifandomgal]

Tyler Hoechlin- Our Love

EW Interview 2011

July 2011

It's day 1 of comic con. Today we are mainly doing interviews with different magazines, web shows, etc then tomorrow we have our panel

“Holland your gonna have to sit on Colton’s lap slightly. YN you move back” Tim our interviewer says. Tyler pulls me to him so I’m basically on his lap. Tyler, Dylan and Posey are all given mics to hold

“It’s a good job we all actually like each other” I joke looking at how squashed we all

“Actually YN there was something I was meaning to tell you”

“Rude” I gasp at Colten

“I’m joking you know I love you”

“Yeah yeah, buy me a coffee later on and I’ll forgive you”

“YN your addicted at this point” Crystal looks at me as she sits next to Posey

“It’s not. I just love coffee and it keeps me awake”

“Well if you slept at night YN you wouldn’t be so tired in the day” Dylan says looking at me. He’s talking about how Tyler and I spend a lot of nights together, but we honestly do just sleep… mostly

“Ok are you guys ready?” Tim asks breaking up our chatter. We either say yes or nod our heads in response “it’s Tim Stack again, I'm coming to you live from EW's lounge at the Hardrock Hotel at comic com. I'm here with with the very attractive cast of Teen Wolf"

"Stop it" Posey says with a mic in his hand

"You are. I'm like a hobbit interviewing a bunch of hotties"

"Your the sexiest man here this weekend" Tyler says into a mic he's holding

"Thank you. How are you guys doing this has to be you first time at comic con right?"

"No. We had a rouged session here last year before the show aired" Holland answers for us

"It's YN and Colton's first time here though" Posey says to Tim

"So how have you guys felt about the first season. I mean it's great people are loving it"

"We knew shooting it, it was going to be badass, but seeing what everyone else thinks it's surreal"

"We're just excited for season 2" Tyler says playing one are over the back of the couch where

“Do you know anything about season 2 yet?”

“No nothing” Dylan says while I shake my head. I try to scoot up a bit but Tyler gives me a funny look. I lean to his ear so the mic can’t hear

“Feel like I’m giving you a dead leg”

“No your fine” he replies

“You sure?”

“Yeah”

“Are you guys excited for your panel”

“I’m excited for the panel” Crystal replies

“Yeah last year we had like random questions and no one really knew us” Tyler says

“Ok I have a big question. How do we keep the two Tyler’s err I mean is there like Tyler 1 Tyler 2”

“It’s Posey and Hoechiln usually”

“Yeah we normally go by last names I mean we have kinda given each other our own nicknames haven’t we” Posey says

“Yeah YN’s usually the one giving nicknames. Like in her phone we’re saved as the most random things” Holland laughs

“Joe Manganiello who’s on True Blood plays a werewolf and he has this insane work out routine what is the Teen Wolf work out routine?” Tim asks. Holland points between the two Tyler’s

“A bag of donuts, lots of Chines and maybe some sit-ups if I feel like it” Posey jokes

“And then this one will actually hit the gym and teach us a lesson” Holland points to Tyler

“People only ask about the guys work out but these girls, like I’ll pass YN in the gym and she’s be on the treadmill for an hour. Her abs are probably the best here”

“Aww thanks Colten. There’s no though have you seen this ones” I point to Tyler behind me “to be fair it’s only recently I’ve been getting into the gym” Tyler hands me the mic “I’ve never been fussed with working out, or eating healthy but since being around these guys…. I’m really competitive so if I’m in the gym with Ty or Posey I have to beat them at something even if it’s just one more sit up than them”

“How many can you do?”

“Oh god, I just try to match Ty like keep at his pace”

“Hoechlins like your personal trainer” Dylan laughs

“Ok that’s all we have time for today. Thank you for joining me”

“Thank you for having us” Posey says

“Hopefully I’ll see you again next year”

[tuulikannel]

My WIPs

@solarsavoy wrote about her wips, and that got me thinking about mine. Unlike her, this isn’t so much to show you what my goals are, but what kind of plotbunnies are bouncing around in my brain at the moment…

Well, first of all, there’s of course those wips I’m already posting, and hopefully finishing some day soon(ish). Stress the word hopefully… >_> Caught Between, a Hikaru no Go fic with intersex Sai, and All the Gifts, Assassination Classroom fic inspired by The Girl with All the Gifts (which has been facing something of a writer’s block for a while, but good news for the readers: I started writing this again yesterday!)

Then, the unpublished wips (that are stealing all my attention). Don’t hold your breath waiting for any of these, though… they'll happen. Some year.

Untitled Assassination Classroom/Danganronpa crossover #1 I’m pretty excited about this one, but also slightly terrified. I mean, I’m afraid this fic’s going to be huge (in size, that is), and I technically know where it’s headed, but I’ve no idea how to reach that ending yet. ^^; I also have way too many characters in my hands (all assclass characters + all characters from the 3 DR games…) How many different povs can you have in one fic? I’ve now written some 6k of words, and I’m still far from what I consider the starting point of the fic. >_> It’s all just background stuff so far.

The starting point? It’s this: “Under the broken moon, Junko Enoshima laughed.”

(I feel like that sentence is a bit… overly dramatic or something, but I just like the image. XD)

Untitled Assassination Classroom/Danganronpa crossover #2 which is in fact a Koro Quest/Despair Dungeon crossover. I personally like this idea a lot and I’ve a clearer view of the plot than with the first crossover. I’ve written most of the first chapter, but the previous plotbunny’s demanding my attention right now…

Trying to come up with a title for this, I created one kinda in the style of the ridiculously long Victorian chapter titles: The Epic Tale of How Students of Two Grand Schools Set Aside Their Differences and Joined Forces to Combat Despair. Then, just for the sake of procrastination, I put that through several layers of google translate, and it turned into this: Breakups aside, a good story about two high school students struggling with depression.

Therefore, I’m thinking of this fic these days as Breakups Aside, just fyi. A working title? It has nothing to do with the plot, but so what.

And then there is Toilet-Bound Nagito-kun. Umm, does this need any explanation? xD Hajime has a wish, that’s all I’m saying about the plot. If you’ve played DR2, I’m pretty sure you know what that wish is. Something he’s desperate enough to realize that he’s sneaking into a girls’ bathroom in the middle of the night after an urban legend. This was inspired by a short clip on youtube. Don’t watch the video if you’ve not played DR2! No spoilers for Toilet-Bound Hanako-kun, the clip’s from the very beginning of the anime. Here it is.

I thought this fic would just be a pointless, short one-shot, but now that I’ve reached what should have been the end, the characters suddenly want me to take this seriously, and I don’t know where I’m going with this anymore. >_> We’ll see.

Then, there’s two more additions to Mythologica (assclass retellings of various myths, that is) that for now exist only in my mind:

Helen of Troy which is nothing but a rom-com. Here’s the cast: Kanzaki as Helena, Sugino as Menelaus, Isogai as Odysseus, Ren as Paris of Troy, and basically the rest of 3-E guys (apart from Nagisa and Karma) as her other suitors. Oh, and Maehara is Penelope, i.e. Odysseus’s love interest. XD

Then there’s a very short ficlet idea with Hazama as Medusa. Inspired by the song Medusa by Heather Dale.

And some sequels:

The Haunting of Kunugigaoka, continuation to blind alley. Again, something I really want to write, but it exists only as a bunch of random ideas in my mind, atm. It’s not even a wip yet…

A sequel for Chika-go, crossover between Hikago and Dresden Files, still untitled (what a surprise!) I’ve only written very little of the beginning, and this is unlikely to be ever finished… but I like the first fic a lot and would love to write this someday. Hikaru returns to Chicago years later with Akira, just to find out that a lot has changed.

And oh damn, I’d forgotten about this one! A Dresden Files fic about Thomas. I seem to have written over 7000 words of it… I really have to finish this someday. There’s less than half left to be written, anyway.

That’s it, I guess? There might be some other random things, but they’re so unlikely to ever be realized that it’s not worth it to talk about them.

[kirishimas-manly-eyeliner]

A full, entire list of headcanons for a day with:

1. ☼ waking up with him ☼6am-8am

LISTEN UP Y’ALL

IF YOU DON’T SIMP FOR EIJIRO, JUST THINK:

YOU WAKE UP EVERY MORNING TO SEE HIS BEAUTIFUL, MESSY, CHAOTIC BED-HEAD WITH HIS HAIR DOWN AND HIS ADORABLE TIRED LIL’ SMILE

now if THAT doesn’t make you simp, you CONFUSE ME

anyways, so-

if there’s one thing that kirishima chooses to do, it’s to wake up early. i am so sorry to those who enjoy sleeping in, but hey, it’s the price we gotta pay to simp 😔✋

but omfg y’all, is the sweetest baby ever when you wake up with him! kirishima would most likely cuddle you first thing in the morning (…as in like 5 am-) and pull you in closer, planting a kiss on your forehead

“’morning, my beautiful pebble, d’ya sleep well?”

butcanwepleasetalkabouthowcutehisvoicewouldberightwhenhewakesup

you’ll also probably wake up to an insane amount of talking and chatting with him, and by six o’clock, he makes sure that you’re ready to be on your way

the sun is still rising where you guys are, so it’s actually pretty dark where you guys are

he ruffles your hair as he takes you on walks outside, hand in hand, no matter how tired you are

expect him to piggy back you, saying that it’s manly bc IT ISSSSS

2. ✎ doing online school with eijiro ✎ 8am-12pm, 2pm-4pm

“i think i’ve lost complete and utter trust in everything,” you groan. “i can’t even trust my video and mute button, and i need to trust those!”

kirishima grins at you as he plants a kiss on your forehead. “how ‘bout i buy you something tasty during break, huh?”

“kirishima, we’re literally broke,” you deadpan, half-joking but half speaking realistically.

“so what?” you’ve been working so hard lately, i figured that you at least deserve something as a reward.” he squeezes your shoulders from behind your seat (don’t worry, your video’s off for now :))

you raise an eyebrow. “…something?” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

“yeah! like maybe we could go for a walk, or-” he stares at your expression before he realizes what you implied. “baby, this is a sfw blog, we’re not allowed to-”

kirishima also most definitely pulls up a chair next to you in class, even though he doesn’t even know what you’re doing. he might not be in that class, but he’ll be right next to you the whole time in case you need help

when you do need help, he peers over your shoulder and helps you solve whatever problem you have right away

the sweetheart also gives constant reassuring reminders to drink water, i LOVE HIM

but when he leaves, he also says, “study and work hard, y/n! i’ll be right here for you during break!”

he promises you a kith and a hug if you keep on striving during online classes 🥺

kirishima likes to come in during class when your video is very much on, and he peeks his head in, waves, and then smiles before heading back out of the frame

“y/n, how do you fight villains, kick butt, literally stand up for an entire school, but you still rehearse how to say here?”

“shhhhh, i’m trying-”

another scenario, “y/n, can you please answer question four?”

“sure. the book that i chose for my report was the fault in our stars by john green, which implies the message that-”

“BABY, YOU GOTTA SEE HOW LOUDLY I CAN CLAP MY HANDS IF I USE MY QUIRK-”

you mute yourself, “DON’T YOU DARE-”

he makes online school almost exciting, and he just makes everything so much more enjoyable

kirishima also takes your hand, squeezing it tightly as he kisses your knuckles. “i’ll start making lunch. good luck baby!”

3. ♨ meals and afternoon walks with eijiro ♨ 12pm-1pm

HATE YOU BREAK IT TO Y’ALL BUT EIJIRO KIRISHIMA CANNOT COOK FOR THE HECK OF IT

y’all have seen him in the training camp thing,, right??

kirishima might not be the best at cooking, but you can count on him to take you somewhere!

man knows the best places where you live, and he just about literally gets whatever you want

you guys probably leave for a walk during break at noon, and kirishima makes sure that you feel safe and comfortable around him no matter what

afternoon walks are probably the most interesting part of your day, and the way lets you put your hand in the pocket of his hoodie just- 🥺🥺

i think something that isn’t stressed enough is people who seem less vulnerable being attacked by predators, so if anyone even dares to approach you, kirishima will LITERALLY POP OFF

not like the quirk pop off-

“HEY! that wasn’t very manly of you!”

as you walk along the way, kirishima makes sure to never let go of you and make sure you feel completely safe with him

you two probably stop by a nearby restaurant and get some sort of food to-go before heading back and eating during class, but shh your teacher doesn’t have to know-

he’s such a sweetheart like honestly

kirishima makes every meal taste like 50 times better, and he makes sure that you eat and drink lots of water!

but if you’re honestly having trouble with your appetite, kirishima makes sure not to push you too hard

he holds your hand if you ever get scared, he tells a joke ease your mind a lil’ 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

eijiro makes sure that no matter what happens, he holds your hand and tells you to take it easy, but also encourages you whenever you need it

he’s so sweet, please keep him

4. ◪ crying + evening naps ◪ 5pm-7pm

crying

kirishima knows that crying is just something that’s natural, whether it’s that you’re frustrated or just feel so tired, he understands

and it’s not even like you’re having a full blown panic attack or anything. you just gotta have your daily cries, ya know?

please tell me i’m not the only one who has like scheduled daily cries-

“it’s okay, crying’s healthy for you, anyway! it’s definitely better than keeping it bottled inside you. c’mere.”

he kisses your scalp as he rocks you back and forth, occasionally wiping away a tear

kirishima reminds you that reacting some way to a bad situation is natural

“if someone was in your shoes, they’d most definitely feel that way, too! don’t feel like you’re the only one, baby, because you’re not. i’m here whenever you need me.”

after, he takes your hand and drags you to get a glass of water. “if you ever nee to cry again, you gotta stay hydrated,” he winks

he’s also so caring and soft when he sees you upset, he gives you the best cuddles as he plays with your hair. kirishima occasionally, when you’re crying, whispers in a compliment.

“your eyes are so magical.”

“you have such a beautiful smile.”

“you’re so… beautiful.”

naps

for naps, kirishima omg please jUST BE REAL FOR ONE SECOND

PLEASE HOW DID MY LIFE COME TO BEING IN LOVE WITH A COLLECTION OF PIXELS-

that beautiful, loving, emotional support shark is who i’m in love with and it’s insane

you rest your head on his chest, breathing in his scent as he places his hands around your stomach

(also kirishima would most definitely adore plus-sized people and stretch marks/acne. he loves every insecurity that people growing up may have, and that just gives me SO MUCH HOPE-)

everything is just so insanely peaceful as he has soft music playing in the background, kissing your nose and cuddling in closer with you

the blanket is directly over you, and after a long day at work, you two decide to take a break together

kirishima also most definitely makes sure to wake up earlier for the nap than you so that he could get you a cup of water

he plays with your hair and gently shakes you when you need to get back to work 🥺🥺

5. ☾ going to bed + cuddling headcanons ☽ 10pm-12am

OKAY SO I KNOW I ALREADY DID SOMETHING LIKE THIS HERE

but i literally canNOT STRESS HOW MUCH LOVE I HAVE FOR THIS INDIVIDUAL

he usually doesn’t mind if you stay up late, but as long as you take care of yourself while you’re at it, that’s completely okay!

kirishima usually likes to make sure that you have a consistent sleep schedule though, even if you look at him in the face and go,

“excuse me? sleep schedule? who’s that?”

eijiro just laughs in such a pure way before he helps you tie your hair or keep it up when you’re brushing/rinsing

while you brush your teeth though, he kinda just wraps his arms around your waist in such a gentle way 🥺🥺

he’s such a gentleman and just wants you to be happy

after, he gets you a cup of water and sits next to you on the mattress

he sometimes likes to play old rom-coms or films while cuddling next to you, or maybe some fancy lil’ disney movies

sometimes he’ll pick horror movies and say “i’m manly enough, i can take it!” and then you’re completely unfazed while kirishima SCREAMS

“b-being vulnerable is manly!”

“oh golly i love you so much.”

something i absolutely adore about kirishima is that he has so much respect for women, enby’s, whatever it is, he just wants them to feel safe and comfortable

he makes sure that it’s okay for him to wrap his arms around you, and makes sure to respect your boundaries

there’s no better place to be than in his arms when he’s wearing a hoodie and your face is rested in the crook of his neck

his chest rises and falls as he turns off the lights, and he might play some light music in the background

kirishima likes to play with your hair and makes raspberry blows into your neck aND I PERSONALLY THINK THAT’S HILARIOUSLY ADORABLE

he’ll make sure that no matter what, you feel safe and comfortable around him

you two sometimes end up having really deep conversations at like 2 am with him

for no apparent reason, you two just start talking away like it’s nothing

he holds your hand and runs his hands through your hair, before whispering comfort into your ear

“you’re so, so beautiful,”

“you have the most beautiful smile,”

“has anyone told you how nice your eyes were?”

“i love you.”

[mjsparkour]

Okay, I asked you a while back for some fic recs and I am in need of more. Have you read any Gina x Ricky lately? Would love for you to share the ones you've loved

Hey!

I’m so glad you liked my rec the last time, there have been alot of fics that have been written since you last asked so this list was super hard to limit. There are alot in this list alone (17 overall I think). I could always recommend more, Rina writers are just so talented. So here's a list of some of my favorites <3

The Story of Us by peculiarblue

‘gina learns that sometimes things have to fall apart so that they can fall back together, right where they were always meant to be’ This is a complete 2 part chapter fic

Thee Rina bible. It’s everything we could ever want and need. Everything we want s2 to be and more. It’s an absolute masterpiece in every way. So many parts where I nearly died, the angst in the fight scene, the tension before they made up (the dress scene that reminded me so much of that amylaurie scene I lost my mind a little more), them being absolutely gone for each other!!! it’s just perfect in every way.

When Your With Me and Were Alone by orphan account

‘Ricky Bowen remembers everything.’ This is a one-shot three-part completed series.

My favorite series, it’s gotta be. It’s the first of its kind for rina fics. Lore does an incredible job of realistically writing rina’s characterization and reactions to Gina moving and what would happen after. A wonderfully talented writer, utilizing the power of her words while minimalist carries an effect. 

You Know Me Better by This_is_Riri

‘Gina was moving. This would be her sixth move in seven years. She was used to it by now...only this time, it felt different. Post episode 7.’ This is an incomplete multichapter fic.

This one really gets you at your gut. Heart-wrenching for both characters but mainly gina. The vents that happen to both characters, it just makes sense that so much more than their vunerabilities bonds them together. Perfect execution of the mutual understanding trope. 

and I know I’ve kissed you before by ptrprkrs

‘but I didn’t do it right / can i try again, try again, try again? or: 5 times ricky kisses gina + 1 time she kisses back’ This is a complete one-shot.

I love a good five times plus one fic. This one is heartwarming, cheeky and cute. It gives a healthy balance of the inevitable anguish that comes with pining (and not just for the character but for frustrated readers that just wanna put these kids together already) but also the sweet innocence and fluff from first love (or first love adjacent). 

what love might have done by rradioh

‘Ricky follows his gut. Everything changes. Some things stay the same.’ This is a completed one shot.

A good look into what could've been for season one. Reflecting moments that felt like they could’ve easily been placed in the show and showed the subtly of the growth of rinas relationship. It wasn’t something that was thrown into our faces but came gradually and this fic facilitates that growth with key moments that add to that. A Great one-shot.

And the 7th Thing I Hate The Most That You Do (You Make Me Love You) by iknowpIaces

‘It doesn’t help that he really does look good in his costume. God, she hates him. She hates him. She hates him. Then, he has the nerve to smile at her. And Gina hates how that smile alone sends her over the moon.’ This is a completed one shot.

SOOOO GOOD. No one understands, I love the trope where one person has a crush on the other and it's unrequited (or it seems that way) but eventually it's apparent that they're also just as gone for that person as soon as they start moving on, or feeling fine with having their feelings not reciprocated. Then they're both just mutual pining messes, ugh I love it. This fic handles the trope with care and rina just comes together organically. 

lesson in love by finelineholland

“Give me 4 weeks. I’ll help you out. Like… a crash course, if you will. 'How to be the perfect boyfriend for Nini Salazar-Roberts': A class taught by yours truly.” This is an incomplete multichapter fic.

A rom-com in the form of a fic. It’s so true to Ricky and Gina as characters and their dynamic. The writing is really good and gives so much in terms of plot. I really hope it updates soon because I love a good makeover/transformation fic, it gives she’s all that and geek charming in the best ways.  

take me to the feeling by peculiarblue

‘gina meets a stranger at a party she doesn't want to be at, and let's herself fall in love for the night, wherever it takes them’ This is a completed one shot.

Katie does it again. Another classic that makes us fall for rina while they fall for each other under the stars. You can’t help but feel something for them right off the bat because theirs something about the cheekiness of the dynamic and so real. You can’t help but fall for them, a must read.

The Last Time by mytearsricochet

‘this is the one where gina meets ricky and nothing is against them. except for a few misunderstandings, forgotten birthdays, wrong people, and missed opportunities. because as much as love doesn’t care about time, this is the one where time cares about love. and with time, everything falls into place.’ This is a completed one shot.

SO UNBELIAVBLEY UNDERRATED. This fic is too excellent, it's everything rinas could want. it’s an incredibly well done long slowburn that makes you strap in for the ride. With all those teasing moments where they're mutually pining and they're just on the precipice of finding out their feelings for one another only to hold back and stay friends (until the end of course). The end makes you work for it, but so worth it when you get to it. 

10 Days in “Love” by kindredspiritsxo 

‘It was almost the end of high school and nobody had it figured out. Especially Ricky Bowen. His parents had recently divorced, he had no idea what he's doing for college, his longtime girlfriend dumped him the month before and now he's been replaced by one of the most popular guys in school.

To make matters worse, he leaves for Europe in two days for his senior trip. The same senior trip that said ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend were going on. So, Ricky did what any desperate teenage boy would do to try and get his girlfriend back: he devised a plan. A plan that included the help of Gina Porter and playing pretend for 10 days.’ This is an incomplete multichapter fic.

I love a good traveling fic. Sometimes all it takes to get a character to wake up about things going on in their lives or feelings for character b is a good change of scenery. This fic does a great job of utilizing the enviornment to facilitate rinas love story through one of my favorite tropes, the fake dating trope. There's some angst along the way because nothing can ever come easy but it's not without its reward. It gives me major spiderman far from home vibes just solely because of petermjs adorableness and how that energy kinda translates to rina in this fic more so in the beginning before they have this repertoire. 

on the line by peculiarblue

‘with everything in her life finally at a stand still for once the last thing gina needs is one curly haired skater to come in and give her a reason to change again

(or, gina lets ricky back into her life the only way she knows how, at a distance, through daily voicemails, until her heart remembers why she can't love him anymore.)’ This is a completed one shot.

It hurts in the best way possible! that is the best way to describe this fic. Were taken on a journey where I personally wanted rina to just talk to each other in person but the magic was all in the voicemails and the power of their connection. There was a satisfying ending, I couldn't ask for more. If you haven’t read literally everything written by Katie go read it, it won't disappoint.

but everywhere just brings me back to you by ptrprkrs

‘or, ricky is just a little in love with the voice of the girl at the starbucks drive-thru’ This is a completed one shot.

An amazing fic that hits every spot effortlessly, even the ones you didn’t know you had. Like Ricky being a lovesick puppy going to a drive-thru just to hear Gina’s voice for coffee, he doesn’t drink or like. All the while they’d been connected all along. I’m a sucker for any kind of soulmate implications or stories where people are unknowingly connected like that so this ones a real favorite for me. It’s sweet, lighthearted and funny and a great read.

About Love by goldenthread

‘a series of Interconnected one shots and canonical aus for Ricky and Gina <3.’ This is an incomplete multichapter fic.

Here's where I enter some shameless self-promo...I wrote this recently. It’s just some loosely connected one-shots I have of rina based on canon. I write about an alternate first meeting, what would've happened if Gina had to understudy Nini in a rehearsal and (for a future chapter) a babysitting au (for what happened when Gina actually told Ricky the truth, she was babysitting her neighbor's kid when she talked to him at the skatepark). Check it out if it sounds like your thing!

in your eyes by finelineholland

‘you always try to hide the pain, you always know just what to say. i always look the other way. i'm blind, i'm blind. in you eyes, you lie, but i don't let it define you.’ This is an incomplete multichapter fic.

There is something about Rina being written about from an outside perspective that is just so excellent. The story starting with Nini noting the obvious chemistry and their connection and being threatened by it, I don’t know it's just so pleasing to me. Another fic like that one of my favorites (one that I’m pretty sure I’ve suggested in my other rec list), pretend i don’t see it in your eyes by spobylol. Another absolutely excellent read that does not miss once. This story in contrast also writes from rina’s perspective as well which I also thought was well done. 

right from the start I knew by anonymous

‘“Uh.” Ricky really didn’t think this far ahead. To be fair, it’s not like he’s ever thought ahead about anything ever in his life, so this is really to be expected. “We - forget about it? Maybe. Or like - I don’t know. I think I have to figure out how to be like - a person right now. By myself.”

“Same.” Gina says absently. “I’ve spent what feels like my whole life thinking about what other people think of me. It’d be nice to - to be able to try looking beyond that for a change.”

Post-Season 1. Ricky and Nini break up, but that doesn't mean things work out right away.’ This is a completed one shot.

The most iconic love confession I’ve read in a rina fic to date. it’s just so good, a certified rush every single time. The mutual pining hits spectacularly especially when you see just how soon it starts to hit Ricky that he’d made a mistake getting with Nini and him paying for that mistake. The writing only amplifies it. Also Ricky telling Gina he’s obsessed with her? yeah, I automatically added this fic to my list of faves.

If they only knew by goldenthread

‘Ricky Bowen never really bought into the whole soulmate thing (except he did) but life got in the way and now he's sort of pretending to date new (totally not intimidating) girl Gina Porter to win back the one and only Nini Salazar Roberts. Not a single thing could go wrong.

or

The one where Ricky and Gina aren't so good at the whole soulmate thing and they fake date.’ This is an incomplete multichapter fic.

More shameless self promo, sorry y’all but I’m super proud of this one. It’s a soulmate and fake dating au, combining two of my fave tropes into one to make this (surprisingly) long fic. It’s a whirlwind of emotions and a lot of moving parts in the story. I plan on updating within two months then after that there's three more chapters until its finished :) hope y’all enjoy it if you decide to give it a read!

you are the best thing & the worst thing (that’s happened to me this whole year) by tophsgf

‘Gina's roommate Nini is unbearable. What's more unbearable, however? Her very charismatic and totally off-limits sort-of boyfriend.’ This is a completed one shot. 

An amazing fic, I need more people to know about it! I really like fics where the development between Ricky and Gina is gradual, which seems to be the case for a lot of fics but for this one in particular I like its execution. Obviously, at first, he’s with Nini so it’s like the dynamic is at a point of comparison from the start but we quickly learn that thanks to good ole mutual understanding and overall compatibility Ricky and Gina are just right for each other. A fun read that hits all the bases.

[qucintly]

TEN Q’S

1. When are you usually online?

Um... in random intervals. However I am trying to be online more often. No schedule has been set as of yet.

2. What verses are you involved in?

AU wise? The only AU I’m involved in really is Genshin Impact. Mainly because the majority of my mutuals either play genshin muses or have genshin verses. The brainrot is real.

3. What is your biggest RP pet peeve?

Spam liking a post just to get the OP’s attention. Or spam following a blog of interest to get the owner’s attention. Like, we can see that you follow us. But we can also see who’s desperate for attention on the media. There’s a notification tag for a reason. Spamming my phone’s notifications with that method will get you blocked, no exceptions. If you want attention so badly make a “hot take” on twitter dot com and put your phone off silent.

...Anti-Rant wise, please don’t spam my notifications, especially personal blogs. It really messes up our reply drive.

4. Are you drawn to specific types of muses?

Honestly? Depending on the personality of the writer, I’m practically drawn to any muse. I’ll be honest that at first I was a little intimidated by the muses that express dark themes, merely because they’re very brave to explore such things ( including looking into irl looks of those themes ). But the more I’ve written in my entire life, the more I grow to become more confident in writing said themes. So like, anyone with dark themes or light themes is welcome in my book as long as you, the writer, isn’t being a piece of shit on the internet.

5. Are there reoccurring themes in your writing that people might not notice?

If there are reoccurring themes in my writing that isn’t noticed by the people, then those reoccurring themes aren’t noticed by me either. :D

6. What are your favourite RP trends?

Not intentionally copying the answer of the previous poster, but carrds look so pretty?? A majority of my mutuals create them with the most simplest yet badass aesthetic ever. I tried creating a carrd once but it’s just so complicated. Call me Techitis for nothing :’D.

7. What is your process for starting a new story with someone?

The first thing I look into is the personality of the other character, and see how it meshes with the personality of my character. This also applies to starting a new story with my own characters. The second thing I do is ask whatever is on their mind when it comes to interacting with my character, cause sometimes, they blow my mind with the potentialities that I never would have thought of. Basically, I explore the minds of other people through conversation and attempt to make those thoughts into reality, through writing. It’s a process..

8. How do you feel about duplicates?

Once again, not intentionally copying the answer of the previous poster, Resse is an OC of mine. I created her out of nowhere and I grew a heavy liking to her. Steal my concepts and I’ll steal your braincells. Steal the reference sheet/look my commission artist drew for me with pure dedication and exceptional prowess, I’ll break your fingers. But, I have always wanted to write with other muses with a detective aesthetic/base to see how they interact with Resse. So like, general detective muses are fine. But no Resse Harris 2.0s, okay?

9. How long have you been involved in roleplaying?

Ever siiiiiince 2015? Wow, it’s been a while. My first official RP blog was a fandomless OC that has been lost to the abyss. Kinda want to bring him back but at the same time I’m already suffocating in the amount of OCs I made throughout the years. God help me.

10. Is there a muse or verse you could write in, but haven’t?

Canon muse wise? My brain only runs on OCs, sorry. OC wise? I have been contemplating on writing one of my Splatoon OCs alongside my self insert for a while. But I haven’t gotten the uh... energy for making an entire new blog... yet

Verse wise? I’ve always been considering writing a Resident Evil Verse for Resse. RE has been a watch interest of mine, and given the supernatural life of Resse, it can be proved interesting to explore!

tagged  by: @s-talking​ ( thank you so much!! )

tagging: YOU *GRABS YOU*

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

Apartment AU Masterpost:

-Everyone lives in an apartment complex.

-Xisuma as landlord? Or just a really well looked up to person in the complex. Whichever works for you!

-Pranks all the time. Everyone's constantly pranking each other.

-Everyone has 'normal people jobs.' Perhaps Joe is an English teacher? (Cleo's also a teacher. (Irl.) Omg, what if they teach at the same school?) Maybe Bdubs is a professional interior designer? Maybe Cub builds computers? Go nuts, get creative.

-Actually, screw it. Bdubs works at IKEA.

-Everyone meets up every Friday night to go to the pub or go bowling or just do something together.

-They have a discord server because of course they do.

-European Hermits are early-birds, American hermits are night-owls. (This is the only way I can think to portray timezones and waking hours when everyone's living in the same building.)

-They all still love minecraft, don't worry.

-Keralis has so many books his flat is basically a library. He lets people come in and borrow books for a small fee.

-Tinfoilchef is a bit of a shut in but everyone makes an effort to include him.

-Etho would also be a cryptid like Xisuma. Like, we've seen Xisuma's whole body other than his face but the best we know about Etho is that: 1. He exists and 2. From the, like, one single real life photo he's shared, he broke a headset. Also, 3. Allegedly, he's buff. Otherwise; Beef and Etho invite Pause (who lives elsewhere,) over at random intervals to [play ctm maps] and do god knows what. Bdoubs works at IKEA but is the person to make the room displays, y'know.

-Scar sells dice and other tabletop rpg supplies that he designs. His shop is magiccrystals. com

-Cub and Scar made business with the guy who runs the fight club. They get half of the profits and everyone’s always wondering how those two can always afford the most expensive Christmas gifts for everyone.

-Mumbo could be an engineer or work on a STEM field, and he works on some really important and impressive projects and that would explain his polish person, Exept, when it comes to helping another hermit to change a lightbulb or fix a microwave he is an absolute disaster.

-Grian owns a parrot that knows everyones' names and faces and greets them when they come in.

-Scar's apartment has a balcony filled with plants and he has to bring them inside for the winter. (I'm assuming that all 4 seasons happen) Even without the balcony plants, his place is still full of indoor plants including his favorite venus flytrap. There is always a plant knocked over from Jellie's shenanigans. Jellie is supposed to stay in his apartment, however she keeps on getting out somehow, even getting to Xisuma's apartment occasionally.

-There's a grassy patch out back that acts as a backyard, but Stress has effectively taken it over. Perfect for flowers of all colors in the spring and summer, and during the winter you KNOW she’s building an ice castle from which to throw snowball at all her friends.

-Beef and, when he’s visiting, Pause get a lot of questions about Etho (since unlike X who gets one tightlipped visitor in shape of his brother Etho gets two that are willing to be vague) however they charge a fee for people to guess. They’d never actually sell him out but the guesses are always something technical related so there’s not much of a risk, he actually works as a botanist/gardener.

-Iskall is extremely good at ice hockey and, as resident Canadians, Etho and Beef have played with him. However Iskall only knows that he’s played with Beef because both beef and etho refuse to tell him who in the rink was Etho when they played.

-The only person who’s seen Xisuma's face is Keralis.

-Nobody knows what Grian does for a job. Like, when they think they've figured it out what he does, they're thrown through a loop again because he does a lot of odd jobs. Need help with a pet? Grian can help! Rip on your clothes? Don't worry, Grian knows how to fix it! Ect.

-Grian's an assassin. Iskall will make assassin jokes and Grian, without looking up from his coffee will go: "that's not how that works!" And then go back to being quiet. Everyone's like ????

-I love the idea of Grian knowing all these cool facts and when anyone acts he says 'it's because of his job,' and they still can't figure out what he does. He keeps correcting Iskall on assassin facts but they're all just like 'oh Grian sure must love those types of movies, huh.'

-Cleo teaches Joe's kid. (That means she teaches either year 2 or year 3? // 1st grade or 2nd grade?)

-Grian's family is in the mafia but he mostly just vibes. Sure, he works with the mafia, but he keeps his regular life away from work and none of the hermits (besides False because she saved the Mafia boss) know. Imagine boss looking at False and going, 'oh hey, you're already protected.' False is confused and says 'what?' But the Mafia Boss has already left.

-Etho is always in full kakashi cosplay.

-Honorary hermits apartment au: zloy and pixl have a radio show but also act as private investigators. Falsie hires them to investigate how she got the protection of the mafia. On their investigation they start asking Elybeat (that lives on a building right next to the hermits) about weird behaviors that he might have seen. Ely just goes ‘all of what they do is weird. I’ve recorded weird stuff they say and remixed it. They though it was funny and put the remixes as their elevator music.'

-Everyone thinks Etho is an assassin, but really, he's a horticulturist/botanist. He doesn't bother to correct them cause it means he doesn't get pranked, (or, as often.) Maybe someone finds out eventually? I don't know who. Maybe Doc and they keep it hush hush cause they think it's funny or something. || Maybe Bdubs finds out, (because I think he's seen Naruto?? Swear I saw a Twitter post where he recognized a Naruto joke) and he's the only one that recognizes that Etho's dressed like Kakashi and NOT an assassin. (That's lowkey a joke though.)

-Someone warns Grian against parking euro because they think Etho's an assassin and Grian just kinda goes: "alright then." Knowing that there's no way Etho is an assassin, but also realising how the hermits view that profession, he most likely starts feeling kinda bad.

-Beef used to be a car photographer and Mumbo takes photographs as a sideline when he was in college. They would occasionally chat about their past experience in the photography field and sometimes gush about cars.

-Hermit Challenges was actually a truth or dare game among the hermits. Mumbo was basically delirious from lack of sleep to explain his absolute gremlin energy. Mumbo dares Grian to steal front doors before passing out and everyone decided that was the end of that game. No one thought Grian would do the dare. A week later, everyone but Etho and Xisuma were missing their front doors (including Grian.) He stuck them in his bathroom so no one immediately saw the doors.

-As already established, Joe constantly hangs at Keralis's library. Let's say he also has a hobby for writing, and one time he was asking to himself how *insert really specific murder scene* would work in real life. Grian or Doc then overheard him and answers him in a also very specific way, he thanks them with 0 concerns and continues with his writing.

-Etho has been an assassin but it was many years ago, and retired to care for plants. (As you do.) He got hired by The Goatfather but intentionally botched the killings because, 'hey now those two are friends >:(' He and Bdubs still have the endrod game but it involves the whole apartment building and several discord messages going "located" or "flashlight on the move.'

-Stress paints all the hermit's door and puts their names on them. (-🌿)

-The organisization Grian works for is called "The Watchers!" They text him in riddles of what his missions are. This is so that if anyone peaks at his phone, they don't understand immediately!

-What if in YHS happen because of grian family and Sam is from an other family who does not support the grain family. So grian will not bring up high school and school and when joe and Cleo talk about there student grian sometimes cringes remember what happened in high school. (-🌿)

-Grian and Mumbo's hobbits holes were two cupboards they found on their respective apartments and decided to make a room out of them and named them their hobbit holes after they found out they both had them (-🐿️)

-What if it's a really old apartment and the 'hobbit holes' actually connect to each others apartment. (-🐺)

-Mumbo has these periods when he overworks like crazy and when they're over - he sleeps for like 24-36 hours straight. Everybody knows about this and help him if he falls asleep in random plaxes around the apartment. Mumbo once fell asleep right before his door and Grian tried to help him get inside while mumbling. Guess which remix were aded to the elevator music next week.

-Whenever anyone is annoyed or upset, grian sometimes pops his head up from his book and goes "who do I need to kill?" No one takes him seriously though he *would* kill for any of his friends.

-People who have left the server work nearby but have moved to new apartments. (For example, Welsknight works at a nearby food truck) (-☘️)

-With the Grian being a spy you get several oints where he thinks he's been found out but no one puts the and two together. They're all like: "Grian just likes action movies I guess."

-Scar's "wizard robe" is a bathrobe he owns. One day he forgets to change and just walks out in a bathrobe and no pants.

-Since Cleo teaches Joe's kid, maybe that extends to all the hermits' kids? Like the ones that have them, like not at the same time but at some point you know?

-I don't think I saw any regarding headgames, but I could've missed it. Anyways, what if Cleo wanted to make a big Scrapbook in her free time of all her friends, so she asks everybody to try and get pictures. So the PVP heads are candid photos, and the tradeable one are like selfies or group pictures. The other heads could just be a requirement for the picture like have a sheep in the picture. And maybe she gives the winners dinner payed by her or something.

-On the head cannon that hermits that aren’t on the server work nearby, Biffa is the actual mayor.

-Are mobs (and half mobs by extension) still a thing in apartment au? Cause if not I propose that Jevin just has cloob blue dyed hair and a bunch of blue tattoos.

-XB bakes a lot and always shares the food he makes with the others. They adore his cookies. Scar really wants to make some cookies in the shapes of disney characters with him, but he's too shy to ask. (-nameless anon)

-Perhaps Mumbo and Iskall are also protected by the mafia because of grian (perhaps scar is too) They and False have a 'we are protected and have no idea why' group (-Frost Anon)

-Imagine the hermits want to throw a nice party but X and Etho were kinda like “yeah no i’ll pass” so they make it a masquerade so that they can come- and then the whole night no one knows who anyone really is, but still has a really good time.

-Grian wanted a pet parrot, but felt like he would be terrible at taking care of one so he has toy parrots instead, those that have pre made phrases and such, and he is proud of his toy parrot pets. (-🐿️)

-Xisuma hosts a podcast! That's where all of his Xisuma speaks content ends up coming from. (-🇵🇭)

-Etho has a secret food blog called "Cooking With Etho" (based on the actual cooking with Etho segment in usually his modded stuff.) He also knows that there's hermits that either: have no idea how to cook properly or can't cook real meals due to their work. To help with this, sometimes he leaves finished meals or recipes with them (outside their doors or somehow in their fridge) and no one knows who does it prompting the theory of a self care ghost haunting the building.

(All of those in red were from Anons!)

-Joe works as a LAMP Developer.

-False has an assortment of swords, knives, etc. She even had a bow! She also has a dummy to practice fighting on.

(-@unpredictable-pancake.)

-Stress is a wedding designer. (-@the-angry-numel.)

-Iskall also works at IKEA with Bdubs. (-@mandatedempathy.)

-There's a local club that's basically fight club a few people are in. False, Iskall and a couple others are in.

-Hypno is kind of a bit of a loner. Everyone on the floor considers him a friend but he doesn't really have a best friend. He just does his own thing and people usually let him do that. He's fine with it.

-XB and Joe spend a lot of time at Keralis' library house just reading the books. Keralis usually charges every except those two because 1. They're there so often and 2. They're basically his room mates at this point. (-@tomcatacaphe.)

-Ren works at a bar as a bartender or musician. (-@friendlyneighbourhoodpieceoftrash.)

-Building on the last thing with Ren as a musician or working at a bar, he works at a bar as a server but does live music on weekends. It's the bar/pub/restaurant that the hermits sometimes hang out at together.

-I can see Grian working at a pet shop but also on the side of the mafia because of YHS. Or at least he used to be involved with the mafia.

-Beef once had to cart Etho off to the hospital for a chemical burn and explain to the other tenants that the explosion heard suspiciously close by wasn’t mafia activity. Etho is just an idiot with a hobby of making homemade fireworks.

-(-@limelocked.)

-False is the chief of police for the town they live in. Iskall is a hired assassin who normally gets employed by the mysterious figure GOATfather. Doc is the GOATfather, head of the mafia. Falsie is trying to hunt down these two as well as any others associated with them. The nHo is part of the mafia. Falsie has no idea any of them are in the mafia and they refuse to kill her because she has become such a close friend to them.

-Maybe Grian is a spy instead of an assassin? The group the Watchers is a government policing organization bent on trying to crack down on mob activity in the area.

(-@creator0fchaos.)

-The elevator music is hermitgang and remixes. -(@lookitsspacekween.)

-Zedaph is a game show host. Tango makes cartoons. (-@aphion-and-on.)

-Come on, let Iskall play ice hockey! Maybe not professionally if it doesn't work for the AU but he's v good at least. (-@automnalsaffron.)

-Grian maybe works at an animal shelter or an animal rehabilitation center. So everyone who has a pet usually comes to him for help if their pet is sick or injured. (-@vahco.)

-Grian has a safe full of guns, all the Hermits know about it but think they're fake. (-@xxpzmistxx)

-X never comes out of his room so no one’s seen his face. The only way he communicates is via text, Discord, and an intercom right by his door. He almost always gets groceries whenever the hermits are busy and therefore have no time to go out- but the hermits know he’s a real person because sometimes they hear guitar solos coming from his room.

-Hypno is a voice actor!

-Joe and Cleo often go home at the same time, and all the way it's almost always Cleo complaining about her students being bratty and the likes (Bonus points if Joe carpools with Cleo, who owns a car.)

-False unknowingly helps the boss of the mafia after seeing him wounded on a street one day, earning her their protection.

-As a callback to Season 6, Stress became a cat lady for a bit while False became a dog lady. As an added bonus: Cleo became nuts when Cub decided to gift her with spiders for her birthday or some other event.

-Mumbo still sidelines as a cameraman/film director for short documentaries and comedy sketches where he often invites Zed and his buddy Jack to act maybe?

-The first time X was proven to be an actual person was when the girls temporarily kicked the boys out to have the apartment all to themselves for a girls’ night which prompted the boys to have their own boys’ night. X was wearing his grey helmet that night so his face was still obscured tho, and from that day forward they always had a weekly girls’ night and boys’ night alternating on which group gets to have the apartment to themselves.

-False may seem like she can take a shot or two, but in reality she’s very lightweight and easily drunk, and is always the first one wasted. She becomes a flirty drunk who flirts with everyone and everything when she’s tipsy, an angry drunk the more she drinks and eventually a sad drunk before passing out. Cleo and Stress, her drinking buddies, always find amusement in this.

-As a callback to Xb living a thousand blocks away from society in s7, maybe he lives at the highest floor where not many (if not no one) occupies?

(-@heyitsroby.)

-Civil War started because they used to get groceries delivered to their doors and Grian started stealing them when they were left in the doorstep. Everyone stole each others groceries until one day they went into teamss of one side vs the other side of the corridor to the other until Grian stole so many groceries Dic was like 'Dammit!' He started going to the store to get groceries instead of getting them delivered to his door after that. (-@sayeshaa1108.)

-Regarding apartment au: Zedaph is similar to miu iruma from danganronpa: making the weirdest inventions and coaxing the other hermits into doing weird things for science. (-@oh-hecc-im-stupid.)

-Idk if Doc has a profession yet in the apartment au, but it just struck me- what if he owned a private casino?? Cause of s7? Just a thought! (-@853dragons.)

-Cleo really enjoys doing miniature diorama scenes. Like the tiny dudes from "Night at The Museum". She's like crazy good at it, and Joe will sometimes base his poems and stories off of her dioramas. Also maybe Joe has published a book of poems and short stories? (-@lynxes15.)

-Doc works as a social engineer and part time mafia boss. He rarely shows up for game nights. However, when he does, nobody else stands a chance.

-Tango, Impulse and Zedaph go over to each other's rooms so often they practically live together in an apartment room 3X bigger than everyone else.

(-@trashedeggnog.)

LINK TO NEXT POST: https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/617640752709861376/apartmentau-masterpost-2-link-to-previous-the

Posts with TW:

Guns, Gangs, Getting Shot. Don't read if you can't handle this topics.

-Everyone finds out Grian is an assassin/mafia boss because someone from a different gang (*cough cough* sam gladiator *cough cough*) found out where he lives and tried to murder him. Queue epic gun fight scene. If you want some angst, Grian gets shot a couple of times in the fight but didn’t realize it because of the adrenaline and passes out. (-Anon.)

-Imagine someone like, finding Grian's guns and weapons and just being :0 and Grian is a little nervous. But then the other hermit just think the guns are cool (it's probably either etho or doc) and they're just gushing over how cool the guns are. Grian is relieved. (-Anon.)

-iJevin owns at least one gun. He's not in the mafia or a cop or anything, it's just cool and legal so he as one. He's the constant counter for the other gun owning hermits who have them for more mafia related purposes (context: jevin owns at least one gun irl) (-Anon.)

[wincore]

Ooh okay ai sounds cool. I'm into stem too !! I've chosen math, phy, chem and computer science but I only have a vague idea (?!) ab what I want in college and it's kinda freaking me out bc most of my friends are so clear ab what they want to do later on in life 😭 😭 For now I'm rewatching high school musical for the 7830487474th time just to de-stress myself from the whole 'think about the future thing' bc I'll be starting senior year after in 2 weeks (smth ab coming of age Disney movies are calming) OML MOON YOU LIKE OCHEM ?!?! JDKDN  I've been learning it for over a year now and still haven't gotten a hang of it 😩 I'd choose calc over ochem in a heartbeat bc calc doesn't suck the few braincells I have like a vacuum cleaner. So I'm gonna use the 2 week break I have from school to understand ochem once in for all 😤 Gintama sounds interesting <3 animes with comedy are literally the best thing ever. As for one piece I've always wanted to see it but I freak out when I see the number of episodes it has 🥴 to quote lana's i suddenly realize my archnemesis is hot (during a battle to the death) one piece is like the grey's anatomy of anime and YES I'VE READ THAT FIC ENOUGH NUMBER OF TIMES TO QUOTE IT AND HDJSKDK SHRUBCHENG READING ONE PIECE FOR YOU, MISS MOON, HAS GOT TO BE THE CUTEST THING EVER but !! I don't blame him for being whipped this is miss moon we're talking about 💞 nct finally did smth for ppl who can't keep up with them lol nct news is a v v v smart idea + the little spoiler news anchor!jeno gave for the dream comeback in March made the vid even better ksjdj. Also, we're getting a rv comeback this march so it's gonna be one crazy month <33 AND I FINALLY FINISHED READING CORDUROY ANDBFKKDNDMD OKAY I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THE FIC 🤩 bff2l is one of my fav tropes <33 the fic made my yangyang brainrot phase even more intense. I'm in the process of binging all of your yangyang works <3 beginning from troublemaker bc it's such a classic (okay your whole 00line 'bad boy' series is a classic) to the wayv + Sci fi au. Now my brainrot has escalated to the alien!yangang state jdndi the tags made me cackle so loud XD 

p.s. header for corduroy is so cute why is it so yang2x of him to not figure out what playing ts' you belong with me means 😭 talk about hopelessly oblivious cutie idt even cupid can help him - 👻

honeypie, i am so so so sorry for the late response 😭 my life has been swamped and i've been feeling overwhelmed for a while now </3 

it’s alright to figure it out along the way!! that’s kind of what i’m doing too?? it’s a mix of ‘yeah, this is fun, this is what i want’ vs ‘life allows me only these few paths at the moment’. don’t stress too much and make decisions as best as you can 💕

honestly i binge disney to destress too hsdskh but sometimes i end up crying as the cherry on top 🤩 (cough cough encanto and turning red) but they are such a comfort spot for me !! i hope you’re doing better now though, sweetheart, and taking enough breaks like this!

SDDJDSJGJ it’s been a while since i’ve done ochem ngl but it was fun when i did it bc i actually used my brain back then 😩 the only thing i remember rn is grignard’s reagent ?? i got fun, sexy vibes from the reaction idk <3 and i absolutely ADORE calculus !!!!! it’s kind of the reason i love ai, because neural nets use a bunch of calc, even tho it drives me insane sometimes LOL and yes, on the occasion, i solve problems on differential equations just to feel something 😔 (like just 1 bc it drains me)

god, if a man reads one piece for me i will get on one knee so fast. lana knows my type too well 😩 and right???? i’ve read that fic so many times i could write my graduate thesis on it miss lana’s talent is unmatched 😤 pls do give gintama a try tho bc it’s so funny, it cheers me up every time ❣️ it’s more so for one piece, but it def looks a little daunting to newcomers 😭 1.5x is your friend if you ever wanna watch.

i can’t keep up with nct once again 💔 but omg the rv comeback!!!!! my queens never disappoint and my gf standards have once again been raised to miss kang seulgi and miss kim yerim 🥰

AAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH, LOVE !!! it’s been so long since i’ve written anything and this put back the will to write in me piece by piece ugh 💖 yangyang is lovable in a rat kind of way idk it’s so much fun to write him hshdk omg the scifi au brings back memories it was so FUN to write!!!!! god, i’m gonna do something like that again if i ever have the time hhh thank you so much for compliments on the header!!! i think i gave up when i was making it but i’m glad it gave off cute vibes 🥰

hope you’re doing well this week, love!!! have a good time and stay safe 🌙

[commander-coppercogg]

Ok. Ok! So I had several people ask me about my point of view on Trahearne and now that I’ve played the first portion of the sylvari play though I feel like I have enough information to go on. And I have some thoughts I really wanna share! So even though I’m kinda nervous about this, I’m gonna do all that below a read more. Because 1) this got really long and 2) I wanna give people the option to not interact if they’re not interested. Everything that follows is my own personal opinion and point of view. I’m not trying to post hate, or bash anyone’s favorite character or anything like that. Alright, here we go:

I really tried to go in to the sylvari storyline with an open mind about Trahearne I did I swear. But it almost immediately went off the rails and back fired. If anything I dislike Trahearne even more now than I did before. But the good news is that I think I can now articulate why, which I was struggling to do before.

So basically my biggest issue with Trahearne can be summed up with a small piece of dialogue he shares with Caithe if you choose the All Things Have a Right to Grow option during character creation.

Now I will be the first to admit I wasn’t a big fan of Caithe for a good while. I found her frustratingly obtuse and difficult to read and get along with. I’m a straightforward person and don’t like when people beat around the bush. However after reading this short story (https://wiki.guildwars2.com/wiki/Requiem:_Caithe) and the Destiny’s Edge book, I realized two things that drastically changed my mind.

1.) Caithe has been going through intimate partner abuse for years, quite possibly her entire life. I don’t know why it took so long for me to realize that but once I did, everything about Caithe’s behavior makes sense and I began to see her in a new light. She is constantly wary and on edge and watching everyone around her because she is expecting the abuse to begin again. She is traumatized and struggling to deal with the world around her. Faolain still has contact and access to her and she doesn’t have a support system that could help her escape that.

2.) Snaff was the closest thing Caithe (and the rest of Destiny’s Edge to be quite honest) had to a father. He parents the hell out everyone else in the guild. I plan to make a more in depth post of the book as a whole at some point but there’s one bit in particular I want to mention. At one point Caithe has a run in with Faolain, her abuser, at a party. They talk, Faolain leaves and Caithe starts to cry. Snaff, who is in the middle of an important conversation with several high ranking racial representatives, drops everything mid sentence to walk away and gently ask Caithe what’s wrong and why she’s crying. This and other scenes show that Snaff cared about Caithe in a way no one else in her life ever has. And then he died in an extremely traumatic way.

Now, knowing all that, take a look at this dialogue again.

Trahearne is saying, point blank, to an abuse victim that recently lost one of the only people who gave her unconditional support that it’s about time she moved on with her life and got over it. And Caithe makes it extremely clear that this is not the first time Trahearne has said something like this and how upset it makes her. At best, this is a staggeringly inappropriate thing to say. It shows a blatant disregard and misunderstanding of Caithe’s emotional and mental well-being. To a neurodivergent player (such as myself), it reads very similarly to telling someone with depression to just try yoga and thinking positively. At worst, it it outright malicious. But here’s the thing: I don’t think Trahearne said this with the intent to cause harm. I think he just legitimately never stopped to consider Caithe’s point of view or the consequences of what he said.

And that’s my main issue with Trahearne. He comes off as incredibly privileged. He’s a Firstborn, he’s the first of the Firstborn. Yes he’s been given an incredibly difficult Wyld Hunt but so has Caithe and so has the sylvari player character. And the Pale Tree lavishes him with advantages that you and Caithe never get. Trahearne’s the one given the super important vision quest (you the player character are just along for ride, which makes absolutely no sense if you’re any race other than sylvari), Trahearne’s the one given the super important sword (after you the sylvari player character do all the work of finding and retrieving it and even using it only for the Pale Tree to take it away and give it to Trahearne), and Trahearne is the one who gets to have all these super cool interactions with characters that he’s apparently known for years who all really really like him. To the point that multiple characters repeatedly fall over themselves to tell Trahearne how smart he is and how lucky that are to have him leading them. Even when those character also mention how weird it is to have a scholar with little relevant experience leading them. It’s this weird back and forth disconnect that I don’t understand. (Also Trahearne just apparently know a largos, one of the most mysterious and standoffish races in the entire world, well enough for her to just yknow do him a big favor. No questions asked. Or explanation given.)

And then later in the same instance:

It just feels like he’s given all this attention and praise and, as a gay trans autistic person, I feel little to no connection with someone who’s been given all of that and then talks like that to a traumatized person.

Furthermore, in terms of not thinking about consequences, how about the ending scene of Living World Season 2? Y’know this one?

Where Trahearne, the Marshall of the Pact, aka the person in charge of the logistical side of things and NOT ACTIVE COMBAT, decides to y’know just carpet bomb an entire section of forest. Without scouting it. A section of forest that turns out to be inhabited! By multiple races and cultures, i.e. the Jaka Itzel, the Teku Nuhoch and the Quetzal Tengu. And like yeah you could blame Mordremoth’s influence, but it’s made pretty clear that Trahearne isn’t affected by Mordremoth the way other sylvari are. It’s never once questioned that the player character will rescue Trahearne, while every other sylvari around you is suspected to the point of being put in prison camps or even outright slaughtered. But Trahearne is absolutely 100% not corrupted guys we just have to help him out a bit. If Trahearne could keep his mind together at the heart of Mordremoth’s power, then it stands to reason that he was in full possession of his mental faculties many miles away when he made the decision to open fire. And he chose to carpet bomb the area anyway, endangering countless innocent civilian lives. Like wow…

Also whoever voices Trahearne pronounces Caladbolg incredibly incorrectly. If you’re going to take inspiration from languages such as Welsh or Gaelic, languages that people are struggling to preserve in the face of continuing imperialistic and colonialist movements, the least you can do it pronounce the words right. There is no hard B sound in Caladbolg. Whoever voices the Pale Tree is on the right track with pronunciation. Please do right by the cultures you pull from.

[wiypt-writes]

Leave No One Behind

Ch 11- Mama Don’t Preach Part 2 Co written with @icanfeelastormbrewing​

Episode Summary: It’s Hannah’s turn to head home for a week to see her Mama, and there’s a surprise request waiting for her too. Meanwhile, back in Sudan Ari’s left holding the baby...or in this case, puppy…

Episode Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, 18+ only)- in Part 2

Episode Pairings:  Ari Levinson x OFC Hannah Horowitz

Leave No One Behind Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Part 1

The morning the tourist board visit was due Ari woke up early, which was unusual ever since he started sharing the bed with Hannah. Actually, it wasn't that unusual, he was still an early bird but he liked to lay in with her in his arms once both of them were awake until they heard someone else was up and it was time for them to tend to breakfast for the guests. He stretched and turned his head a little, grinning as he felt Hannah’s face by his head, but then he wrinkled his nose as she was licking his ear.

Ok, so that was new.

"Han…" he chuckled "Babe…"

Then there was a little whine followed by a tiny bark. Ari frowned and opened one eye to realise that it was in fact Simon’s tongue that was stuck in his ear.

"Gross pal… gross." he groaned as he shoved the dog away from his face. Ari then rolled onto his back and ran a hand through his hair, smiling as he realised Hannah was due back that day. 7 long days and nights without her, it had been crap. And he had to admit, he hadn’t been in a great mood. In fact, if he was being fully honest, he was totally aware he had been a nightmare to the rest of the team. And he still wasn’t particularly pleased he couldn’t go pick her up but… well, she’d be home in… he reached over for his watch and saw it was just gone 7:30 so she’d be home in round about 5 hours all things considered. 

That made him smile again, it really wasn’t long at all now. So he stretched out, before he swung his legs out of bed, got dressed, shoved on his sneakers and then whistled to Simon. He opened his door and stepped out onto the sand, the sea lightly illuminated by the early morning sun, and the two of them headed out for a run before the rest of the resort awoke. 

About an hour or so later after a jog and a slower walk down the coast path Ari returned, showered and headed down to the main building. The rest of the team was already at the table for breakfast. After nodding to a few guests he sat down next to Sammy, reaching for the coffee pot.

"Morning." he greeted, his tone chipper, as he poured a cup.

"Oh my God." Max gasped.

"What?"

Max ignored Ari and turned to Jake instead. "Did you see that?"

Jake nodded. "I know man, I can’t believe it."

“Believe what? Ari asked, looking around the table.

"You, smiling." Max explained with a grin across his face.

Ari rolled his eyes. "Oh, fuck off."

Besides him Sammy sniggered so Ari playfully gave him a dig with his elbow and Sammy laughed even harder, rubbing his side.

"I’m glad you’re in a good mood today because Madibo will be here in 2 hours or so and we don’t need a bratty owner. So you need to stay as charming Guy Thomas and not the sulking, whiny bitch you’ve been for the past week." Rachel instructed, looking intently at him.

Ari was about to argue but Rachel narrowed her eyes at him and he sighed, shrugging. Truth be told he had no argument. 

"Oh he’ll be charming alright… but not for Madibo." Jake joked and Max let out his characteristic laugh. 

"Oh come on, I’ve not been that bad." Ari tried to defend himself.

The entire table started to scoff and took turns in pointing out to him that he had been that bad and Ari snorted, shaking his head.

"You’ve been worse than Sammy is." Rachel deadpanned but her eyes were soft on Sammy who played the offended victim

"Hey!"

"She’s right." Max agreed.

"Ok, I’ll admit…I’ve been a little bit tetchy." Ari said as he lowered his head in defeat.

"I bet when me or Max leave no one is gonna bat an eyelid." Max quipped. At that point Simon barked and Jake acknowledged him

 "Thanks buddy, I’ll miss you too."

There was a roar of laughter and then Sammy turned to Ari. "You know tetchy doesn’t even begin to describe it."

"Fuck you Sammy." Ari jokingly retorted.

Sammy laughed and stood up. "All right, I’m so overwhelmed with the love you are all giving me this morning."

"What are you doing? Sit down and shut up." Ari commanded, shaking his head.

"I can’t. I need to shower and then set off to pick my sister up. You remember her?"

"No, he doesn’t. Absolutely not…" Max said playfully.

"You know what, Navon…" Ari trailed off as Sammy grinned at him as he snatched up another piece of toast and left the table. "Drive safe! Be careful with the cargo" Ari called across the room.

Max and Jake both snorted as Sammy flicked Ari the bird over his shoulder before he left the room. And Rachel sighed before she demanded their attention and started telling them her plan for Madibo.

"So Jake is going to start with the diving area, show him the facilities, how we run the tours, take him out on a boat to show him the diving spots from the surface."

"Yeah if I take him over the wreck he’ll be able to see it." Jake offered.

Rachel nodded before continuing. "Then a tour of the rest of the facility, show him what we’ve done with the place. He can speak to a few guests. I don't know, see the guest book and the reviews. And then lunch."

"Great, sounds good. Where do you want me?" Ari asked.

"With Madibo. At all times. You’re the owner. You did the negotiations with him." she explained and Ari nodded.

"Ok. Stuck to Madibo it is.”

"Am I doing anything?" Max asked.

"Like what? Showing him how you twist and bend in your pyjama pants." Jake replied, throwing him a piece of toast from his plate.

"Says the tanning scarecrow." Max glared at him as he dodge the flying food.

"Don't play with the food.” Ari instructed before he looked at Max “And actually you can keep an eye on Simon."

 "Are you sure you trust me with your itty bitty baby puppy?" Max looked at Ari questioning his suggestion. "Just two days ago you wanted to kill me for, and I quote, pup-napping your precious pooch."

"Better than letting him fuck Madibo’s leg." Jake scoffed.

"Exactly… that or biting him." Ari sided with Jake.

"He wouldn’t hump him. It's been a week since he saw that. Dogs have short term memories." Max offered casually.

"Ok, now shut the fuck up." Ari raised his voice.

"No, they don’t! How do they remember to sit and lay down if they only have a short term memory?" Jake inquired.

"Same as you remember to get dressed in the morning but can’t remember what you ate yesterday." Max explained and shrugged.

"Will you all shut up and help me clear the table?" Rachel said, standing up to remark with her actions she wanted the nonsense to be over.

 "Not sure I remember how." Jake snorted, amused at his own wit, which earned him a slap round the back of the head from Rachel.

**** The line for passport control was taking for ever and Hannah was losing patience. She had always hated this part of travelling plus her feeling of impatience was compounded by knowing that Ari was literally the other side of the door she could see. Finally she was called forward and after smiling at the Immigration officer who stamped her passport she walked through with her bag in her hand and out of the doors into the warm Sudan air. She glanced around for Ari, ready to leap into his arms, but she couldn’t see him. Instead she spotted Sammy waiting by the jeep. He smiled and came towards her and she grinned back, giving him a hug.

“Try not to look too disappointed I’m not Ari.” Her brother chuckled and Hannah snorted.

“Oh shut up, I’m just as happy to see you”

“Yeah right!” Sammy pulled back and picked up her bag as Hannah gave a roll of her eyes and followed him back to the jeep.

“How’s everyone been?” she asked.

“Good.” Sammy nodded “Ari nearly killed Max and Jake on Monday.” He tossed her bag into the back.

“Why?” Hannah asked as she climbed into the car.

“They took Simon out on the boat. Ari thought he’d lost him…kinda went a little bit mad, not as mad as he did when he got told he couldn’t pick you up.”

“Yeah why is that?”

“We got a tourist board visit.” Sammy answered as he set off “He’s with Colonel Madibo now, so when you arrive, you’re Rosa…”

“Noted.” Hannah nodded “So other than that has everyone been ok?”

“Yeah, other than Ari, he’s been a pain in the ass. Clinging to that dog like it’s his fucking kid…”

Hannah grinned and looked out of the window as they eased onto the main freeway out of the city. But, after a few minutes or so her grin slipped.  Sarah’s words had been stuck in her mind all day and night, and the worst bit about their conversation yesterday was that Hannah had wanted to tell Sarah she was wrong. She’d wanted to defend Ari but had been unable to because Sarah was right. He had put them second. And if Sarah’s comments about how Ari had refused to go to her wedding because he had still loved her were true, then that made her feel even worse about the whole situation, that she could somehow be responsible for Ari being the reckless asshole he was with regards to his marriage.

Hannah needed reassurance more than anything, reassurance that wasn’t the case and also an affirmation that once all this was over, he wasn’t just going to swan off into the sunset and leave her behind again. And whilst she could understand that he might not quit this life, and Hannah was ok with that, she knew that it could work because she’d seen her mother and father do so, what worried her was that her dad had manage to strike a balance . She wasn’t sure that Ari would be able to.

The only thing she did know was that if she had to watch Ari walk away again, it would kill her.

**** Ari, Rachel, Madibo and the two men he’d brought with him were just finishing lunch when Ari heard the sound of the jeep approaching. He tried to bite back his smile and caught Rachel’s eye. The look on her face told him his was failing, miserably.  

“Do we have company Mr Thomas?” Colonel Madibo frowned and looked at him, clearly having picked up the sound of the engine which was now louder as the jeep had pulled up outside. Ari hesitated and then thought, what the hell. He and Hannah weren’t a secret, plus the team had already stated at length how much it actually added to their cover. He took a deep breath and looked at the man, smiling “It’s My girlfriend, Rosa-“ Ari didn’t miss the smile that flickered across Rachel’s face when he uttered the words “-she’s been home to Spain for a week to see her mother. One of the other guys went to pick her up before.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were running this place as a partnership?” Madibo looked at him and Ari took a breath

“We weren’t…it’s…” he paused, rubbing his neck “…well, it’s a long story but we go way back and…”

“Say no more Mr Thomas, I get it.” Madibo grinned “The magic of the Red Sea” The man turned his head to look out of the large open lattice doors across the beach before he turned back to Ari “There is something very romantic about being by the ocean.”

“There certainly is.” Ari agreed with a smile. At that point he heard Hannah’s voice drifting down the hallway into the dining room as she jabbered away to her brother, her Spanish accent impeccable thanks to Sammy clearly having warned her about their visitors. Ari turned to look as she walked into the room dressed casually in jeans and a light blue button down sleeveless blouse. Her eyes met his and she beamed at him, a flash of what looked like relief crossed her face and he grinned, standing up. He crossed towards her and gave her a hug.

“Hi.” Hannah said gently into his ear.

“Hi yourself.” He replied, pulling back and giving her a quick kiss “Was your flight ok?”

Hannah nodded “No brat kicking my chair so…”

Ari laughed and then looked at Sammy who raised his eyebrows in the direction of the table. Slipping back in to professional, Guy Thomas mode he nodded and smiled.

“Come on guys, let me introduce you to our guests.” He took Hannah’s hand and led her to the table. “Colonel Madibo this is Rosa Garcia, she’s in charge of guest relations and this is Liam Anderson…” Ari gestured to Sammy “Our entertainment manager who also doubles up as our site doctor.”

“Pleasure to meet you both.” Madibo rose from his chair. He shook Sammy’s and then took Hannah’s clamping his other hand over the top of hers. He looked at her, smiling, before he turned to Ari “You are a lucky man Mr Thomas.”

Ari raised his eyebrows and smiled, looking at Hannah who flushed as Madibo let go of her hand. “I sure am.” He then turned to Hannah and frowned a little at the look on her face. She was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, almost like she was nervous. Maybe she was, after all, Madibo and his guard were quite imposing when all was said and done.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had a long flight and need to freshen up.” She spoke, a little shyly “Would you please excuse me?”

“Of course, of course Miss Garcia.” Madibo bowed a little “It was a pleasure to meet you.” “You too Colonel.” She smiled, and turned to give Rachel a quick hug before she reached for her bag.

“I’ll do that.” Ari offered “I’ll fetch it in a little while.”

“Ok, thanks” she nodded, before she turned to leave, but paused, spinning back to look at Ari “Where’s Simon.” “With Max and Jake.” Ari said.

She nodded and gave them all another stiff sile before she scurried away.

Now Ari was sure something was bothering her. He looked at Sammy for some kind of clue but he was clearly as puzzled as he was as he shrugged slightly. He then turned to Rachel who met him with a blank look of her own. But, before he could dwell on it too much, Madibo spoke again causing Ari to turn back to him.

“We should be going anyway now, but I’m pleased with what you’ve done with the place.” The Colonel looked around, smiling “My report back to the President will be very favourable.”

“All free of charge, I hope.” Ari quipped and Madibo laughed, pointing at him

“You’re a funny man Mr Thomas!”

Rachel shot Ari a warning look and he simply shrugged, giving her a cheeky grin. They followed Madibo and his 2 guards out to the truck where they shook hands, thanked him for coming and bid him goodbye. No sooner had the truck gone Ari strode back inside, picked up Hannah’s bag and headed off towards her hut. She hadn’t made it back there, however, instead he found her halfway down the beach, crouching on the sand by Max with Simon going bananas as he jumped all over her, his tail wagging furiously, excited little whines coming from him as he licked her face.

“You happy to see momma buddy?” Ari chuckled as he stopped by her side.

“No, that’s his sad face.” Max deadpanned and Ari laughed, dropping a hand to Hannah’s head, gently caressing her hair.

“You ok Firefly?”

“Yeah, just tired.” Hannah stood up and looked at him.

“Wanna go rest?” he asked, his mind straying to the fact he was quite happy to go curl up next to her on the bed, maybe a little bit of something else, and from the snort that came from Max he wasn’t the only one thinking such things. “Piss off.” Ari turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

Max laughed “I’m gone…” Hannah and Ari both watched him leave and Ari wrapped his arms round Hannah’s back, pulling her into him, giving her a deep kiss. He pulled away, his nose bumping hers. “Wanna go lay down for a while?” Hannah shook her head. “No, if I do I won’t sleep later. Think I’m gonna get changed and hit the beach.” She said, glancing around.

“Oh, ok.” Ari tried not to sound too disappointed. He hadn’t seen her in over a week and she was pushing him away.  Now he knew for sure something was wrong, but he also knew if he pushed her too hard she’d clam up even more. Hannah looked at him, and he clearly hadn’t done as good a job of hiding his disappointment as he hoped as she took a deep breath, sliding her arms round his waist as she pressed into him, her cheek against his chest.

“I have something for you from Maya.” She said gently

Ari looked down frowning “You saw Maya?”

“No, I saw Sarah.”

“What?” his frown deepened.

“She left a note with Ethan, asking me to call her.” Hannah shrugged, stepping back.

“Why?”

“She wanted to talk to me.”

“What about?”

“Take a guess Ari” Hannah sighed and went to pick up her bag. Ari bat her hand away and picked it up, taking her hand in his spare as they walked silently towards her hut, Simon trotting in front of them. For the first time in weeks it was a little awkward between them, Ari unsure exactly what to say whereas Hannah was simply exhausted both physically and mentally. The relief she had felt upon seeing Ari had melted away and she was back to dwelling on what Sarah had said. Once they were inside her hut, Ari dropped Hannah’s bag on her bed. Without a word she reached into it and pulled out the envelope addressed to Daddy. Ari took it, glanced at the writing on the front, his breath catching a little before he looked at Hannah. “You know, you didn’t need to meet her.”

“Well I did, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“It clearly is.” Ari bit back, an air of frustration in his voice “I can tell somethings bothering you Hannah, so what did she want?”

“She was just curious I guess.” “Curious about what?” Ari’s temper was starting to fray and Hannah let out a growl of annoyance.

“About, us Ari, what do you think? She basically asked me outright if I loved you, then told me to ask you why you never came to my wedding and…” she paused as Ari groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “She said it was because you couldn’t bear to see me marry someone else.” Hannah looked at Ari, shaking her head. “Is that true?”

“Hannah, does it really matter?”

“It matters to me, yes!”

Ari sighed, looking down at the floor as he shook his head “Look, I loved Sarah, you know this…”

“For fucks sake, just tell me the truth Ari!”

“Yes, ok!” Ari snapped “The reason I didn’t come is because the thought of you with anyone else, well it made me sick. That what you wanted to hear?”

Hannah looked at him, blinking before she shrugged. “I don’t know to be honest with you.”

“Han…” “She made me feel like shit, Ari!” Hannah looked up at him, tears in her eyes “She basically said you’d been in love with me for the entire time you’d been married to her, that she was second best and…”

“For fucks sake…” Ari shook his head “She had no right to put that on you, no right at all.”

Hannah looked down at her feet, “I can’t blame her, Ari. I’d be the same in her position.”

Ari swallowed as he glanced at his feet, looking again at the letter in his hand before he raised his head to Hannah once more. “Did she say anything else?”

Hannah snorted “She wished me good luck, said I was gonna need it.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Ari bit back angrily and Hannah let out a scoff.

“She meant when all this is over, the mission and we go back home.” She glanced at Ari and he was surprised now to see the angry fire in her eyes. “She said that she had never managed to stop you leaving before, even when she was pregnant and was basically implying that once we’re home and out of this little bubble then it would all be different and you’d leave me behind…”

“Ok, no, stop…” Ari held his hand up, tossing the letter onto her bed. “Firefly, listen…” he gently took her face in his hands “That’s not gonna happen. I told you before, I’m not letting you go again.”

“I know you did, and I believe you I do.” She shook her head “And I know that it’s different for us because I’ve lived this life too and I get what being in Mossad means, you know, my mom and dad made it work, but I just…oh, I can’t explain Ari.

“Try, please.” Ari looked at her, his hands gripping her face a little more, his thumbs stroking large arcs over her cheeks.

“I’m not sure you know how to strike a balance Ari. Between this and-“ she blinked and looked down as Ari licked his lips as his hands dropped to her hips.

“Hannah, it’s irrelevant…” “What do you mean it’s irrelevant?” she frowned “I think it’s highly relevant all things considered!”

“Look…” Ari took a deep breath “I never told you this, hell, I never told anyone this because I still wasn’t totally sure until a few weeks ago  but I’ve kinda decided that this mission is gonna be my last one in the field.” Whatever Hannah had been expecting Ari to say, it wasn’t that. As the implications of his words crashed over her she could do nothing but gape at him as he shrugged and continued.

“I’m 37 this year sweetheart, I've been doing this for longer than I care to remember. It’s dangerous and, well I’ve missed so much of Maya growing up I don’t wanna miss anymore or god forbid leave her behind for good should something happen.” He sighed, “Sarah’s right. I was a shit husband and a shit dad, I owe it to Maya to a least be a little less shit going forward.”

“Ari, I…” Hannah took a deep breath and shook her head “I’m not asking you to quit…” “I know.” He assured her, “And with the greatest of respect, I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for Munch.”

The relief crashed over Hannah in a wave. She’d been scared, not simply that Sarah had been right, but that if he did quit it would be for her, putting her first, and she didn’t want that. His daughter should be top of his priority list and to hear that it had finally hit home to him, well, it brought her a reprieve from the nagging feeling of guilt and turmoil she’d been feeling since she’d left that coffee shop in Tel Aviv. She looked up at her man, the smile creeping across her face and he dropped his head to rest against hers.

“Is that all that was bothering you?” he asked softly and she nodded in response. “So, are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Thank fuck for that, because I really wanna kiss you Han.”

She grinned and blinked looking up at him. “Nothing stopping you.”

With a flick of his eyebrow, Ari pulled her closer and dropped his face to hers, pressing their lips together. He kissed her softly at first before his tongue slid across her bottom lip and she opened her mouth, letting out a soft sigh. Ari’s tongue lashed against the roof of her mouth as his hand slid upwards, tangling in her hair, the kiss deepening…

And then there was a knock at the door, punctuated by a responding bark from Simon.

“For fucks sake…” Ari groaned, as Hannah shrugged a little, moving to open it.

Rachel peered back at her, a little sheepishly “Sorry to intrude but, well, I wasn’t sure if you’d be joining us for dinner?”

“Dur.” Hannah nodded back as behind her, Ari sat on the edge of her bed, picking up the letter from Maya.

“Ok, I’ll let Aziz know. I’ll leave you to it.” Rachel smiled, and with that she was gone. Hannah turned round to see Ari opening the letter, pulling out the paper from the envelope.

“If you want to read that alone, I won’t be offended.” She began but Ari shook his head. Silently, Hannah sat next to him as he began to ready Maya’s untidy scrawl, his eyes misting over. It was nothing out of the ordinary, telling him about school, her friends, how Sarah had taken her to the zoo the previous weekend and she’d seen a man holding a snake, the typical ramblings he’d expect from a 7-almost 8-year old, but it was the first ever letter he’d had from her when on a mission and it choked him up, especially the bit when he said she hoped that Simon and Hannah were both ok too.

“She err…” Ari swallowed and looked at Hannah who gently reached out and brushed a tear from his cheek, a tear he hadn’t realise he’d shed “She says she hopes you and Simon are both ok.” Hannah smiled “Yeah, Sarah said she’d asked after me.”

“Han…” his voice broke and Hannah sighed, wrapping her arms around him as he buried his face into the crook of her shoulder. This was a side to Ari Levinson that very few people knew existed, a vulnerable, almost childish side. A side that just wanted to be comforted and loved, seeking out strength instead of giving it. Hannah knew that everyone took it for granted that he was the stalwart, forever stoic leader and forgot that underneath the cool agent façade there was a gentle, kind man. A flawed human, but a human all the same.  She gently rubbed at his back as he sniffed a little, pressing his face further into her neck. Hannah dropped a kiss to the top of his head and he pulled away, wiping at his eyes.

“You know…” she said softly, her head pressing to his “I really did miss the beach. Reckon Guy can sneak an afternoon off to spend with Rosa?” “Guy can take as much time to spend with Rosa as Rosa wants.” He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

***** After clearing it with Rachel that neither of them were needed, the pair of them spent a nice afternoon together. They took 3 mile walk round the cliff edge, Simon examining the usual nooks and crannies as they walked hand in hand behind him. The sun blazed hot on both their necks and even in the late afternoon it showed no sign of giving up as they made their way back to the resort. Choosing a secluded spot away from any guests, not far from their cave, they flopped down onto the sand. Hannah pulled off her sundress and lay back as Ari shed his T-shirt and sat next to her, watching her for a moment, simply drinking her in before he lay back next to her and they continued to talk and laugh.  An hour or so later, just as the sun was starting to dip to the horizon, both were sticky and sweaty from the heat, and when Hannah suggested they should shower up before dinner Ari quipped he had a better idea.

“What…” Hannah’s voice turned into a shriek as Ari scooped her up and began walking quickly to the sea. “Lobo, don’t you dare!”

“Dare what?” he asked, wading in a little so the water was lapping at his waist.

“You know what!” she clung round his neck, laughing a little.

“No, sorry, can’t hear you…” he shook his head, wading a little further towards the spot he knew the shallow sand underneath him dropped a little, making the water deeper and cooler. Hannah glared at him and struggled in his arms

“I fucking swear to God…” but she was cut off as Ari gently tossed her into the waves where she disappeared under. She broke surface a split second later, spluttering as she wiped her hair back out of her face and saw Ari laughing at her, his entire handsome face creased up as his head tipped back, right hand reaching for his left pec. "El cabron..." she hissed the Spanish word for asshole at him, just one of the many insults in her mama's native tongue that he recognised, and swept her arm in a huge arc over the surface of the ocean, sending a wave of sorts straight over Ari's head. Shaking his hair off his face with the manner of a dog, Ari chuckled and reached out for her, his fingers digging and teasing a little  on her ribs where he knew she was especially sensitive. She wriggled a little, her hands resting on his broad chest as she tried to push away. Ari wasn't letting go though but he took pity, laughing as her head tipped back a little, her hands sliding up towards his face. Her delicate fingers tangled in his beard and she looked at him as his hands settled on her hips, guiding her towards him a little more. Her legs wrapped around his waist as it was too deep for her to stand up, and Ari remained with his feet planted on the soft sandy floor of the ocean, large hands on her back, submerged to his shoulders. And for the first time in a week, Ari felt at peace. "I missed you Firefly." He said softly as her lips gently brushed his before she pulled back to study his face, her arms round his neck. "I missed you too Mi Lobo." She smiled, her blue eyes as deep as the ocean they were currently bobbing in sparkled with love and lust and Ari's mouth was drier than it had ever been in his life. He felt a twitch in his groin, his arousal spiking and he actively fought back the groan that was bubbling in his throat. Fuck, she could reduce him to an absolute wreck, bring him to his knees both physically and metaphorically with a simple look in his direction. He needed her. "I'm thirsty Firefly..." he could taste the salt on her skin as his lips brushed her ear and she gave a shudder at his words, and he knew why. They were the same words he'd spoken to her one night when they had been together the first time round and Ari had been away for a week. He'd likened not seeing her to being deprived of water, to which she'd called him a dramatic asshole and laughed. Which was precisely what she was doing now. “There’s water everywhere.” Her voice was loaded with humour yet carried an undercover of suggestiveness his hands slid down to cup her ass. “But not a drop to drink.” He arched an eyebrow as he flexed his hips up slightly, bumping his semi-erect cock up against her core. Hannah gave a little moan as she clung to Ari, before she arched into him even more, pressing her lips to his. Ari kissed her, furiously, tongues thrashing together as their teeth clashed, Ari's large hands sliding up Hannah's back, pinning her to him. One hand moved down her spine and slid round and over her hips, dipping into her bikini bottoms. Hannah gave a dirty croak in her throat as he started teasing her clit, his movements slow and deliberate and her hips soon began to work against his hand, desperately seeking out a way to satisfy the craving his touch was giving her. She was on fire. She wanted more, she needed more. "Ari..." she whispered, licking her lips as she reached down and wrapped a hand around his wrist. "Wanna feel you..." "Yeah?" His lips brushed hers and she nodded as his fingers plunged into her channel making her cry out. "Feel me like that?" She panted as his fingers continued, coaxing her to the brink. Hannah closed her eyes as she teetered on that edge, so close to falling but Ari stopped his movements abruptly. She gave a little choked moan at being so close but when she felt him shift underneath her, his hands leaving her body, she knew she wasn't going to feel dissatisfied for much longer. She felt the material of his swim shorts brush against her leg as he moved them down and she pressed her lips to his, kissing him again. His hand gently moved her swimwear bottoms to one side as she dropped one hand from his shoulder into the water, taking his cock in her palm causing him to hiss as she lined him up. With a slow, power full thrust upwards he filled her and Hannah rolled her head back in pleasure, her mouth open in a silent moan as she welcomed the familiar stretch. “God, Ari..." she gasped, her bikini clad breasts jostling with the staccato breath as she rose slightly out of the water. Her nails were biting his skin as her hands tightened on his shoulders. Her back was arched, her beautiful body open to him, and when Ari bottomed out he laid his forehead on her chest and breathed in. "My good girl, takes me so well..." he praised as he kissed her skin trailing a path up her sternum and throat until he met her lips, the salt from her skin was tangy on his taste buds. He began to trust slowly, deeply, rolling his hips as Hannah worked herself on him, desperately. “More.” she begged and Ari all but growled at her plea. "I need more, Lobo..." Ari rutted upwards furiously, over and over and Hannah's back arched in pleasure. He leaned forward, nipping at her neck, then soothing the sting of his bites with his tongue as he slid his hand into her hair at the base of her skull and pressed his lips to hers, keeping her head anchored in place. The kiss because sloppy and she panted into his mouth, lips parted. "Ari...I'm gonna..."  her words died off as Ari kissed her again swallowing the involuntary shaky whimper she made as she came, clenching around him. He thrust through her orgasm, picking up the pace as he rushed towards his own end and with a deep thrust he stilled as the pleasure pulsed through him, his cock twitching as he emptied himself inside her. With a few final and shallow thrusts he stilled, his forehead resting against hers as he breathed deeply, eyes closed, waiting for the world to right itself. 

“You ok?” Ari asked, his breathing deep and Hannah gave a soft hum of response as his nose brushed against hers, as she opened her eyes to look at him, her entire face lit up with that blissful happiness he’d come to know and love even more this time round.

It was pretty dark now, and aware that they were in the middle of the ocean, Ari pulled back and placed a kiss to Hannah’s head.

“Come on Firefly, it’s been a long day. Let’s get some dinner and then we can go to bed.” He said softly and she gave a little sigh as he shifted, pulling out of her, readjusting his shorts all the while keeping her supported. She kept her legs round his waist as he walked them to the shallower water and then when he attempted to stand up she refused to let go, giving a giggle as he sighed, shaking his head. “Seriously?”

“You said yourself, it’s been a long day.” She grinned “I’m tired.” “You’re actually gonna make me carry you up the beach?”

“Yup.” She nodded.

“Fucking brat.” He snorted and she laughed, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“If you’re a good boy and do as I ask, then maybe after dinner I’ll show you how grateful I am.”

“Well, when you put it like that…” Ari grinned and stood up quickly hooking his arms under her legs as he swooped her up out of the water, bridal style. Her laughs carried across the slight breeze as he walked them down the still warm, sugar white sand towards her hut.

**** Chapter 12 Part 1

[gwtoomanyalts]

I posted 671 times in 2021

128 posts created (19%)

543 posts reblogged (81%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 4.2 posts.

I added 563 tags in 2021

#gw2 - 285 posts

#guild wars 2 - 114 posts

#human - 29 posts

#sylvari - 26 posts

#lol - 26 posts

#wow - 24 posts

#asura - 18 posts

#omg - 15 posts

#oh wow - 13 posts

#so cute! - 13 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#it does bother me that they are sliders tho but thankfully the reset to default button below them seems to only effect those camera options

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Holy crap I’m doing a giveaway! 50 followers!

Well, 54 actually but I only suspect one of being a prawn bot! Woot!

So, I’mma give something away to my followers.

Rules are simple, you have to be a follower (new followers welcome!) and you have to like or reblog this post. Also, you need to have your messages or asks open so I can contact you if you win. I’m pretty sure that’s all, I hope, seeing as I’ve never actually done one of these before!

On to the prize! What is up for grabs?

Three, yes THREE, Current (1 Ticket Cost Per) Black Lion Weapon Skins of your choice! By current I mean current, and as of writing this that is the Magical set https://wiki.guildwars2.com/wiki/Magical_weapon_skins . If they change between now and the end of the giveaway that’s kinda out of my hands but I’m hoping they wont.

Giveaway will end and the winner will be drawn on September the 28th! That gives you two weeks to enter, and me a bit of a cushion from them changing out the weapon set for October on us in the middle of this.

Thank you all so much! Love ya!

24 notes • Posted 2021-09-14 16:45:48 GMT

#4

Another shot of my new Asura Rikka. Knowing her personality, that's now firmly living in my head, there was really no choice for her favorite mount other than a big beefy lizard in way too much damn armor.

26 notes • Posted 2021-02-08 02:45:35 GMT

#3

So.. Worked on Insa’s look a bit more recently. Um. I’m not obsessed with fashion wars you are.

Went leaning heavy into the techno shaman look, and it was an awesome opportunity to run with a color I don’t use too often. Lord it makes me wish we could dye the color of our magic though.

26 notes • Posted 2021-02-27 02:16:38 GMT

#2

Without further wait, Archivist Vibbu! She’s who I was wanting to spend my lvl 80 boost on!

Asura mesmer who is as short and small as I could make her. She’s 100% going to get the dagger in EoD to be a tiny little knife throwing demon.

29 notes • Posted 2021-08-06 22:52:12 GMT

#1

Random GW2 Idea/Thought/Rant

I want unarmed as a weapon, somehow. How in the blue hell they would pull off a weapon class that is defined by it’s lack of a weapon skin in a game built off skins for weapons and armor as much as GW2 is, I have no earthly idea. I can still want it though. An elementalist that moves around like a bender from avatar, a mesmer who literally mesmerizes through hand movements, a necromancer fighting with summoned bone claws, or a guardian running in and just brawling shit with holy punches. I do kinda see it as a more caster focused ‘weapon’, and two handed obviously so you go full unarmed.

God knows it’ll never happen, but it’s something I’ve been playing around with in my head recently. I suppose there could be different skins for it, various brass knuckles/claws/gloves, but I’d require at least one of the skins be just empty hands. Another style of skin I’d like? What they do with the Touch of Fog and the Touch of Madness torch skins, where put away they outright vanish but drawn you get an elemental glove effect more or less.

41 notes • Posted 2021-05-25 04:05:19 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[dreamdropcity]

The Dearly Beloved Theory

Hi I’m in my Soriku feels again.

I have been listening to the Dearly Beloveds a lot recently and I sort of came up with this theory over a few hours? I hope what I say makes sense. This theory might seem like a reach but it makes sense in my head.

So in Dream Drop Distance (3D) it was basically confirmed that Dearly Beloved (DB) is the song of Sora and Riku’s hearts in tune, correct? Their heart song, if you will.

I’ve been thinking. If Sora and Riku are connected to the song DB, and there’s so many different versions of DB, what if each version corresponded to their relationship in that game?

Now it might sound a little bizarre, but let’s go through the different DB’s.

Kingdom Hearts 1

Now this might sound like a reach, but bare with me. KH1’s DB is simple (and clean hehe). And it’s kinda... underwhelming compared to the others. This isn’t to say it’s a bad version, it’s just a simple tune. Not much to it. Straightforward.

Now in KH1, Sora and Riku’s relationship was at an all time low. They were friends, enemies, and friends again. Their connection isn’t very strong.

Chain of Memories

CoM’s DB is similar to KH1 in a lot of ways. Except it’s just a little more... lighter? Just a pleasant sounding song. Again, nothing much to it.

In CoM, Sora and Riku’s relationship doesn’t really do much, since they don’t interact in this game. But there is no longer a tension between them, and Riku even vows to wake Sora up at the end of the game, and begins on his journey to the Way to the Dawn. AKA, Light.

358/2 Days

Day’s DB is very soft. Very quiet and pleasant sounding. Almost like a lullaby. A kalimba (I think that’s what the instrument here is?) can be heard, along with a flute. You could definitely /fall asleep/ to this song.

And what do you know it, Sora is asleep. Riku is trying to wake him up. How fitting.

Kingdom Hearts 2

KH2 has, again, a soft version of DB- but not as soft as Days’. To me, it’s like symbolizing waking up (compared to 358’s lullaby.) It’s a happy, sweet melody. The violins and the notes at the very beginning really give me the “sun is rising” (? idk how to explain it) feeling for me.

In KH2, Sora finally wakes up and travels across many worlds to find Riku. When he finds Riku, he drops to his knees sobbing. It’s just a sweet scene, and I’ve always associated KH2’s DB with that moment. (Note: When Sora and Riku reunite, the song “Friends In My Heart” play, which is almost identical to DB.)

Birth By Sleep

Now BBS’s DB is sad. It’s just a sad melody with an occasional peak. Nothing much to say about it, really.

In this game, both Terra and Aqua meet Sora and Riku as like... 5 year olds (?) on Destiny Island. Terra asks Riku what he needs strength for, and he says, “To protect the things that matter.” (AKA, Sora.) At the end of the game, when Sora and Riku are done stargazing, Riku points out that Sora is crying. (Because Ventus got shoved into this child’s heart.) Riku then tells him that it’s probably because someone out there is really hurting, and that Sora needs to open his heart and listen. This doesn’t really tie into /their/ situation specifically, but then again, this game isn’t about Sora and Riku, so there’s not a lot to work with lmao.

Coded

Coded’s DB is very bouncy and light. Probably the bounciest out of all of them. Quick piano keystrokes and some instruments in the back. (I am not a musician I don’t know anything about instruments i’m sorry lmfao)

Data Riku and Data Sora have a great relationship in this game. The banter between them is so well written and the only time they fight is when Riku is infected with the bugs, which wasn’t his fault. Good game for a couple of good boys.

Dream Drop Distance

hhhheehhhoo hheHOOOhh

Dream Drop Distance’s DB is a WALTZ. You heard me right: a WALTZ. And it’s arguably one of the best DB’s, if not THE best DB in the series, in my opinion.

Do I even have to explain Sora and Riku’s relationship in this game? It is PERFECT. 3D shows us that Sora and Riku’s hearts are in tune, and their song is Dearly Beloved. It is some gooooood stuff.

Kingdom Hearts 3

KH3’s DB is a gorgeous powerful song. It is a triumphant anthem, and a great way to end a saga with style.

Sora and Riku’s relationship in this game is arguably at an all time high. Riku isn’t really grappling with darkness anymore, so he is free to be a Guardian of Light with no issue. He and Sora form the Gayblade, He sacrifices himself for Sora, and it’s some delicious stuff.

Re:Mind: Bad Ending

When you lose to Yozora, Sora is crystallized. Near the end of the cutscene, a sad, quiet Dearly Beloved plays, except Sora’s part is missing.

Re:Mind: Good Ending

Sora defeats Yozora and wakes up in The Final World, while Yozora catches an Uber. Both Sora and Riku’s parts are present.

Man, that took a while. I left out some DB’s like KHUX and 0.2, because they really don’t have anything to do with Sora or Riku. And I /really/ wanted to do both endings of Re:Mind because they really give me the “Next game is Sora and Riku centered” feeling. Some of these may feel like a stretch, but i’m very confident in my theory. If this theory has been done before, I am not aware, and I would appreciate if someone informed me. But the work I put into this and my conclusions are my own, I can at least say that much.

I will make a follow up theory as to why Sora’s ending goes missing in the Bad Ending, and why this may be crucial for the next game. Thanks for reading!

TL;DR: Sora and Riku’s relationship are tied to each version of Dearly Beloved in their corresponding games.

[kindlespice]

late ass replies but this time i have so much stuff to reply to that i actually need to split things up into categories :))))

also i apologize if any of this is no longer relevant / i am of absolutely no help :)))

otherwise, if you’ve asked a reshade related question...uh... sometime between christmas and now LMAO then it’s probably here!

nonny :

Hello Mikayla, I hope you're having a lovely year so far. I just wanted to ask this about the dove preshade (1st question here) kindlespice/tumblr/com/post/632163463099269120/ft-reshade-questions-a-theme-question-nonny i'm having the same problem, i have a new computer and after installing the game and it's last 3 updates and then the reshade it's not looking the same and it sucks bc i know how it's supposed to look (1)

the shadows are not as noticeable, the transparency between the walls is not there and the blur is gone (i have miiko´s ghibli's cloud override but i had that on my old computer and the reshade still looked normal) idk if it's the game or the reshade but it sucks bc i love how the original looks like anyways it would be really helpfull if you could answer. Take care and stay safe :))!!! (2/2)

hi hi! thanks for the kind message and i hope your year is going well! if I had to take a guess, I would say that maybe some of your settings in-game have changed? I would double check and make sure you’ve got edge smoothing off, and you could try turning off post-processing as well (im not ACTUALLY sure if turning off post processing does anything but it’s worth a shot!) otherwise i would try removing the preset and redownloading it? maybe the settings of the preset got jacked up and you can fix it by re-installing. let me know if this helps! if not, then you can always dm me so i can see pics of your situation!

nonny:

Hi! Sorry if this is worded odd but I just downloaded your Leif reshade and have completed all the steps, however there is still this blur over the screen which isn't the best for game play. If you could help explain how to toggle it for gameplay/cas that would be great :)

hi hi! the blur is the DoF (depth-of-field). it’s used for taking screenshots and is supposed to make the background all blurry. to disable it, you can use the hotkey shift-2 or open the reshade menu and manually untick the DoF option!

nonny:

Hi, i just installed the latest version of the dove preset and my game is dark. It is the MXAO that is doing it but i don't have the preprocessor definitions box. How do i fix it?

hello! im assuming you have a 4.0 version of reshade if you can’t find the box. in this version, it’s a blue tab called “Edit Global Preprocessor Definitions” beneath all the toggleable effects. if you have an earlier version, it should be under the “settings” tab at the top though.

nonny:

Hello!! Thank you so much for your work! I have a really quick question - so I am trying to work with the reshade and got it all set but when I play around with it, my objects don’t look “rounded”. If that makes sense. Other people who use it, their objects look rounded and smooth and just different (I have an image for reference) but mine just looks like the normal objects just different colors. Is there something I’m missing or doing something wrong? I have all the settings correct. :)

hi hi! hmm, im not really sure what that could be... probably something to do with mxao bc it’s always something to do with mxao lol. I would double check to make sure you have this line in your preprocessor definitions: RESHADE_DEPTH_INPUT_IS_REVERSED = 0 this line should equal 0 for the mxao to work properly. that might give you the “rounded” look. if this doesn’t fix it for you then you should go ahead and dm me so i can see what the game looks like!

nonny:

Hey, I tried your Dove preset but my game just can't handle it, it's pretty old and I just have to uninstall the reshade (even though I really loved the effect) but I'm scared to do anything in the Game folder or delete anything. Could you please help me with what to remove? I'm scared to break my game if I delete something that souldn't be deleted :( I tried searching for this in your WCIF and reshade questions and couldn't find an answear. Please help

hello! sorry to hear that your game can’t handle the preset :( here’s to hoping you can get an upgrade in the future! anyhow, to uninstall; i believe you only need to remove 

ReShade - config settings (it’ll have a little paper w/ gear next to it)

d3d9.dll - application extension  (it’ll have a little paper w/ gears ON it)

d3d9 - text document (little paper w/ lines icon)

reshade-shaders - folder

your reshade presets - config settings (if you remove the files above first though, you won’t be able to use/see these in-game)

that should uninstall reshade from your game! and don’t worry, if you accidentally remove something you didn’t want to, you can “verify your game files” through origin and that should restore any missing files. unless you.. *ahem*... acquired your game through other means... in which case be careful XD

@maddybarbz

Omg I don't know if you are active or not but I'm having some problems. So I downloaded the 3.0.8 and it was going smoothly but I loaded the game it said that magic bloom had issues.

i don’t know if im active either. probably not tbh XD but im here now so here ya go! i would recommend deleting the shaders you’re having problems with and then putting back the 3.0.8 shaders you downloaded. it’s really easy for things to break / be incompatible during the install so your best bet is always to delete the ones giving you trouble and put the new ones in.

@kaiamikulka

hi! I’ve been jealously stalking your page for a while, because I’m in love with the dove preset, but I’m very confused about how to download it. My computer keeps marking it as a virus, so i was kinda scared to download it. and when i finally did, it didn’t show up in my game. could you walk me through how to download it?(i have a pc laptop)

Thank you so much,

Kaia☺️☺️❤️❤️❤️

hi hi! lol im flattered for the jealousy stalk! anyway im not sure why it wouldn’t be showing up in game? unless you were so excited that you forgot to install reshade with it? i have a video here explaining how to install a recent version of reshade and set up dove with it so you can check that out here !

@bojanastarcevic​

Hello, I've been trying to fix the dove reshade for a long time, but the new version just doesn't support it, and the old version spoils the game and sometimes it won't even start ... Would you consider trying to make the same preset version for the latest reshade version? I'll be very grateful because your preset is the most beautiful I have ever seen?! 😘😂Don't know if you still play of work on your game but like I said if you have time to try make new one couse everyone was looking for it!!! 😉😘😘😘

hi hi! i totally understand not using the earlier versions--these later ones are soo much more user friendly!--but i’ve been able to get the preset to work with later versions (4.7.0 is the latest i’ve tried though) and it looks, if not the same, then very close to the original. I have a video here explaining how i did it if you’re really eager to have it

in the future i guess i could try to re-release the preset? i can’t give you an eta bc im lazy and i fall off the face of the earth regularly, but i do think it would help to have updated instructions right on the face of the download. 

[irondad-not-ironsad]

WandaVision Episode 1 Reaction

Spoilers below!!

I enjoy the music over the marvel logo

But also a 43 second logo feels kinda long for a 29 minute episode- is it just for the premier or is this gonna happen before each ep?

Also I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that there is a title sequence, which will probably be similar in length. Combine that with the lengthy credits people have been complaining about, it seems that the percentage of the thirty minutes that is actually the story is lower than it should be

not that I don’t love a good title sequence! But I’ll take a well fleshed out episode over fancy logos, title sequences and credits any day

now that I’ve got that of my chest, on to the actual show

I like how they have the frame shaped like that of an old timey tv, combined with the black and white it really adds to the old timey sit come vibe

I like these bells

Ok I know I complained about to much time being wasted with logos and such, but i LOVE how cheesy this theme song is and I love them showing vision and Wanda driving tp there house in wedding attire

“A regular husband and wife” 2 seconds late *vision disappears into a cloud of sparkles*.... 1 minute 8 seconds in and I love this 

Even there acting is reminiscent of an old timey sit com this is amazing

feel like I should note he title sequence ends at the 1.36 mark approximately, which may not seem like a lot but again the show is less than thirty minutes so it adds up

Wanda talks with a fifties accent: I already love this show

Also I wish I had magic I could use to clean, I’m moving back into my dorm right now and Wanda’s powers would be SO helpful

Also I LOVE the laugh track

Also Wanda’s short curly hair is so cute

I love how neither of them knows what the heart means so they play it off by being like “yeah of course I know what it means, how could I forget? Do YOU remember what it means

Also Vision is literally part computer shouldn’t he have a photographic memory? 

Also how old is Wanda? I could have sworn someone said she was 19 in civil war, which would make her like 21 here? I think?? Idk tho, as a 19 year old I don’t think she has ever looked 19 in the movies, even back in Ultron she looked at least in her mid twenties

The face Vision makes when he makes himself human is so funny

Also Vision blowing Wanda a kiss and her reaching back to grab it is the perfect amount of corny that makes it still cute

Also I wonder what vision’s job is

The backing music is so funny

I can already tell Agnes is going to be some great comic relief in a show that’s already hilarious

“I assure you, I’m married. To a man. A HUMAN one!” I know I’ve said before that I was never the biggest fan of Wanda or Vision but I love Wanda in this show

Obv there is something clearly off here, but I feel like I need to mention that it’s clear this is some warped reality. If I had never seen any of the MCU before, I may believe it was just  witch and her robot husband living in the fifties, but the little details really make it clear to the audience (the majority of whom I am sure are familiar with the mcu) that something is off. This scene is one of those, where Wanda cannot seem to recall how long her and Vision have been together and plays it off by saying “It feels like we always have been together”

Is Agnes giving Wanda advice for the bedroom? is this really what I’m watching? Or have I wildly misinterpreted this?

Love the old timey lingo

Vision working a desk job is so funny

Love that vision doesn’t even know what they do at his job, I know it’s part of the false reality thing but also lowkey relatable

“you’re like a walking computer” “I most certainly am not! I’m a regular carbon-based employee made entirely of organic matter”

I started this like twenty minutes ago and have only gotten 7 minutes in because I keep stopping to type my reactions. I am going to try to shut up and watch, and stop screaming about every little detail for a bit 😂

Real quick though does Vision just go by Vision at work?

Ope apparently he does. 

I wonder if Vision took Wanda’s last name

Or is he Vision Stark-Banner since it was Tony and Bruce who made him??

He probably isn’t called that but I think it would be funny if he was

Love that instead of writing “dinner with boss” or “Dinner w/ Harts” or even just “Harts” he drew a freaking heart like im dying

if my lack of emojis seems weird I’m typing this on a computer which I never normally do and I’m to lazy to pull up the emoji keyboard, so basically imagine there’s a cry laughing emoji after everything funny

“No skeletons in the closet?’ “I don’t have a skeleton sir.”

Yup I was right, Agnes is giving her sexy time advice

“you should stumble when you walk in a room so he can catch you. It’s romantic!” that is the only way I will be flirting from now on

Also I got to say, I'm guessing it’s a fifties thing but those pointy bras don’t look comfortable

So she answers the phone “Vision Residence” Is Vision also their last name now? Does he go by Vision Vision??

They make the best facial expressions

This phone conversation where Wanda think they’re having a date night whereas Vision is talking about his boss coming for dinner is comedy GOLD

also I love the fact that they’re giving us stereotypical sitcom drama while keeping it clear that there are bigger problems than dinner with the boss

Fake commercial break is at 9.56 (these time stamps are for myself I want to calculate how much of the episode is actually the story)

I do love the fake commercials tho! And I suppose in a way they ARE part of the show

They missed the chance to make it the toastmate three thousand and make every ironman fan cry

The beeping toaster sounds like a ticking bomb..... also the little red light is the only color we’ve seen this episode I think

Commercial ends at 10.46

Also love that it was an SI toaster, still wish they had made it 3000 instead of 2000

How did Wanda confuse Mr. Hart with her husband? Not that I’m complaining, her coming out in a robe and covering Vis’ Boss’ eyes is HILARIOUS

“This is the traditional Sokovian greeting? Didn’t I tell you my wife is from Europe?” “How exotic!” “We don’t break bread with Bolsheviks”

Visions pants are SO high waisted

“It’s our anniversary!” “Our anniversary of WHAT?” “WELL IF YOU DON”T KNOW I”M NOT GONNA TELL YOU”

Poor Vision is trying to figure out what kind of company he works for this is sooo funny

Agnes coming in clutch with a full meal

So Wanda needs the ingredients in order to magic a meal she can’t just make one appear

Vision breaking into song was amazing

How did one chicken turn into like 30 eggs

Vision is singing old McDonald with his bosses wife this is great

“Diane!” “That must be my wife summoning me!” “She calls you Diane?” “Yes... it’s her pet name for me” “I’m coming... Fred”

So many clichés in this show but it’s done in such a purposeful way that it’s still funny

Also we have only seen three rooms: the kitchen, the living room and Vision’s workplace

“Well I think tonight’s going SWIMMINGLY”

Mrs. Hart is SO NOSY

But I love that they don’t know the answers

Wanda looks SO disturbed when Mr. Hart is demanding her and visions story, you can tell her mind is fighting itself and it’s so sad

Mr. Hart is choking, is it bad that I think he deserves it?

Mrs. Hart keeps cheerily repeating stop it, and gone is the stereotypical sitcom camera angles and and the backing music is switched for something eery

This is lowkey scary, Mr. Hart Dying while his wife keeps cheerily saying Stop It and it just feels creepier the more she repeats

Wanda looks distressed and vision is just looking to her for what to do, her old timey accent is gone and she sounds nearly robotic as she tells Vision to help

Poor Wanda, she is so clearly going through it mentally right now

Laugh track is back, and just like that the Harts are leaving, despite only having one bite of food

And somehow Mr. Hart is impressed? Was Wanda rewriting reality to make them so?

I know that this is clearly some alternate reality and nothing is right, but wanda and vision deciding to choose that day as there anniversary and this little convo here is soooooo cute

Aw her making them rings and them both saying I do is soooo cute

And vision saying “and they lived happily ever after’ is so sweet but also so sad in context

What is that little remote vision is holding meant to be?

And love the hexagon closing in on them with the cute music playing to end the episode

Are the people in these credits real? Because it lists the start as Wanda Maximoff and Vision but are the rest actual people?

So there is some sketchy dude watching the maybe fake credits so there's something going on there

The actual credits start with 7.13 left and I’ve been told there's no mid or post credits scene. I’ll let them play while I finish this up anyways

8 minutes and 49 seconds of this show is the logo, title sequence and credits. Out of 29.36 total this means only 20 minutes and 47 seconds is the show, which I suppose is standard for a sitcom but I think I felt deceived by it showing as 29 minutes

Also 50 seconds of “commercial takes the show time down to 19.57 if anyone was wondering

I swear tho I’m not all that bothered by the length, just did the math in case anyone was curious like I am. 

I thought I was going to really enjoy this going it, but it still really surpassed my expectations and I can’t wait for episode 2!

This is my raw reactions, but I’m sure that as I mull it over more I’ll be posting more about the show

This is somehow a perfect combo of lighthearted comedy and mild horror

I wanna let this episode stew for a while, so I prob won’t watch episode 2 for at least a day

Also what are your guys’ thoughts on this format of reaction? Did I write to much?

Also what did y’all think of this episode? Feel free to let me know what you think of my reaction, and whether you agree or disagree. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

[the-final-sif]

Actually, now that I’ve talked about my headcanon that Katsuki was kidnapped several times as a child, let me talk about a complete random scene/story arc inspired by that and the fact that Katsuki + Izuku + Shouto are all interning with Endeavor now.

Overhaul breaks out of jail and gets his arms back somehow. He’s gone quite a bit nuts. A lot nuts. He’s surpassed ‘focused villain trying to do one thing that he sees as right’ to more of a ‘just want to watch the world burn’. To that end, he sets about getting a team together to catch a certain group of meddling heroes, and to rekidnap a certain child.

A second hideout raid of sorts is planned and goes down, only this time, it was a trap. Izuku/Shouto/Endeavor/Hawks/Kirishima/Tamaki/Fatgum/Tsuyu/Ryuko/Ochako were on the raid team and were caught. Aizawa who was watching over Eri while she had a playdate with Tsuyu’s younger sister, Satsuki, are all also captured. Overhaul had a very specific team set up, knew about them in advance and planned out counters for each person. Alongside that, he used his quirk to create a giant beast like robot that’s made of metal able to withstand even Deku’s punches and Shouto/Endeavor’s flames. Said robot is roughly modeled/made to take on the LOV’s nomu, but non-organic. Notably, Katsuki wasn’t on the hideout raid team (or aware of the raid), because he had a Obligatory Family Trip planned on the same day and so wasn’t at the internship then.

Izuku had managed to put in a distress call before he was taken down, but all the heroes + victims were moved to a different location afterwards in an old long abandoned hideout in the middle of the woods, and there’s about no chance of anyone tracking them down any time soon.

So that leads us into the main scene. The heroes are all captured/restrained up near Overhaul whose ranting on about using Eri to destroy the world/destroy quirks once and for all and then rule over it with a robotic army which is the only thing he considers “clean” anymore. Meanwhile, Eri and Satsuki are down in a different location in a cell of their own (to prevent the heroes from comforting the children), and there’s a camera system in place so the heroes can see the helpless children.

Overhaul demands Eri be brought to whatever Evil Machine he’s devised, and one of his goons goes to get her, but Satsuki fights back against the goon and actually does a pretty damn good job of it. Which leads to Overhaul demanding that the goon kill her.

There’s nothing any of the heroes can do. Satsuki fights back as best she can, as does Eri, but they’re both only 6 years old and Eri’s quirk isn’t working. They struggle, but it’s looking hopeless, and Aizawa tries to tell Tsuyu to close her eyes because he knows what’s about to happen next.

And then the entire dungeon the two girls are in shatters.

Everything is chaos for the next minute as Overhaul tries to figure out what the hell just happened, getting his cameras back in order until finally he gets a visual and contact with one of his goons just before they get taken down and it’s Katsuki.

He’s in a flannel, regular pants and his combat gloves, very clearly confused/pissed off/not prepared for whatever the hell is going on here, and it takes them awhile to figure out what’s going on.

As it turns out, Katsuki has been hiking a trail near this hideout since he was 4 years old. His family drags him up to a nearby location to visit some extended family, he has 0 interest in doing that, so he goes and hikes/camps along a trial instead. Every year he hikes this fairly long trail, and every year he sees this weird abandoned building that he’s gone to explore a few times, and every year the first thought in his mind is ‘Man, that place looks exactly like a villain hideout’.

Then this year, he comes up on it, minding his own business with his headphones in, and he sees the building active again with people with weird masks running around in it, and he’s got a super bad feeling in his gut that just slams into him and he goes ‘Alright, fuck it.’

So now Katsuki is here, he grabs the kids and gets them to a semi-safe location, getting info from them and trying to understand what’s going on. Once he gets it, this turns into a game of him keeping the kids safe from Overhaul, taking down his goons as he goes and working his way towards where the other heroes are. Only, we’re going with the aforementioned headcanon that Katsuki has been kidnapped a bunch of times as a child and never realized that wasn’t normal. This leads to the heroes watching him on the cameras with an increasingly pissed off Overhaul as he walks the two children through how deal with being kidnapped as if these are normal everyday life skills.

Overhaul really, really wants him dead, but unfortunately his team was handpicked to counter the heroes who he’s already captured, and he wasn’t counting on Katsuki showing up. Katsuki’s quirk is flexible and very destructive + Katsuki’s combat skills means he’s pretty much a worst case scenario for Overhaul. Even worse, Katsuki successfully took down the com lines so there’s no communication through the scattered goons, and Katsuki played in this abandoned hideout as a child so he knows his way around it. 

Ideal things happening during all of this:

Aizawa torn between being overjoyed that Katsuki saved Eri and then horrified/so done with this child as he walks Eri and Satsuki through how to use knives and grenades.

Katsuki being confused that neither Eri nor Satsuki know how to use a knife.

“Okay, did I have a weird childhood or did you two have a weird childhood. I can’t tell.”

Katsuki gives both children knives, and gives Eri a second knife when she loses her first one (and by loses I mean it ends up embedded in a bad guy’s shoulder)

Izuku keeps pulling notebooks and pencils out of seemingly thin air since Katsuki is openly discussing his quirk/aspects of it with the kids as they make their way through the base and by god he needs to write it down. Overhaul keeps taking his notebooks/pencils but the moment he looks away Izuku somehow has another set.

Katsuki keeps mentioning offhandly things from his childhood and the more things he mentions the more all the other heroes are like “????????”

Finally, Overhaul realizes there’s no chance of his guys taking down Katsuki as Katsuki finishes off the last or second to last one, and so he unleashes The Robot.

By this point, Katsuki already called for backup, but it’s at least half and hour out. He sees the robot and he’s like “Ah fuck.”. Eri and Satsuki already told him a little bit about it and particularly that it’s built to withstand anything short of a nuclear weapon. Not to mention it’s decently fast/agile.

And then when Eri is hurriedly relaying all this to Katsuki, she mentions that Overhaul built it himself.

Katsuki: “Wait like, he actually designed and built it. Overhaul’s the guy with the weird purity/evolution obsession right? He made this? Not somebody smarter?”

She confirms and Katsuki is suddenly No Longer Worried: “Okay, you two chill here, I got this.”

So then he goes to fight the weird beast robot, and nobody’s really sure what he’s planning. As he starts fighting it, he seems to be blasting it’s head into stuff a lot/slamming it around, but that’s not doing any actual damage, right?

Wrong.

See, Overhaul’s somewhat of a moron who put all of the robot’s processing/”brain” into the head area, because that’s how things are supposed to be in his mind. Katsuki figured the guy would probably pull something like this, and so he gives the robot a bunch of repeated strikes to the head area/knocking it around. Because even if the outside is super tough, that kinetic energy still travels through and can do damage to delicate circuit boards.

In layman’s terms, he gives the robot a series of minor concussions until it adds up.

The robot starts to malfunction, going somewhat rouge/pausing/getting stuck places/etc. But it’s still not destroyed and the heroes aren’t sure what Katsuki’s planning next. Katsuki is quite sure of what he’s planning next though. He lures the robot outside and then traps it in place with some large rocks or some rope or something. It’s not going to hold it for very long, but it’s enough to keep the weakened robot in place.

Then he takes aim with one arm as if he was doing an AP shot.

Everyone (heroes and Overhaul included) are kinda like ‘okay what the heck’ because even Katsuki’s strong blasts aren’t enough to really damage the robot’s exterior. Why would trapping it change that?

Then blue starts to spread up Katsuki’s arm along his veins, his hand starts to crackle and there’s 1-2 seconds of “wait WHAT” before Katsuki unleashes a blast on par with that of a small nuclear weapon. The explosion is bright blue, narrowed down to a fine point like Katsuki’s regular AP spot, but once it hits it’s target, it explodes outwards disintegrating the robot and taking out a good chunk of the surrounding land. The whole hideout is shaken to it’s foundation. Windows shatter, some cameras crack, and when the dust clears, Katsuki’s standing tall.

His left arm is still covered by that spiderweb blue though, and it’s hanging limply at his side.

Okay, so this is 90% me making up science but shhhh

So as the heroes quickly learn as an exhausted/barely on his feet Katsuki stumbles back to the kids who of course have questions, this is apparently something Katsuki has been able to do since he was 6.

He calls it “Blue Core”, and it makes his explosions super powerful by pulling nitrogen from the rest of his arm/blood stream/flesh and stocking it all up.

However, he basically never uses it because it comes at a really high cost, namely it takes several seconds of charging, does a ton of collateral damage, and by using it it takes whichever arm he used out of commission for at least the next 24 hours. He can still use his quirk a little with the other one, but it’s heavily weakened.

Obviously he can’t use this in training either, so he never thought to mention it to his teachers.

The heroes + Overhaul just watch stunned for like a solid minute as he starts making his way towards where the heroes are being held hostage with the kids because what the fuck.

Finally though, Overhaul snaps out of it and goes to fight the weakened Katsuki. The kids hide when Overhaul comes out and he throws Katsuki against a wall or something b/c he’s heavily weakened and can’t really fight with his quirk anymore, and then he struts over to him monolouging and ready to claim victory as Katsuki is laying there, slumped over and barely breathing.

And then the moment Overhaul gets close to him, Katsuki is up in a flash and the heroes can hardly even see what happened, but the next thing they know Overhaul is on the ground screaming bloody murder clutching his eyes and Katsuki is holding a blood stained knife. Then he gives Overhaul a curb stomp and he is OUT.

It should be noted, this is not any of the knives that he gave to Eri/Satsuki.

Someone, maybe Aizawa: “How many knives does he have???? I thought he was hiking????”

Shouto: “Oh yeah, at one point during the remedial courses we were babysitting kids together and he mentioned to me that he had 7 knives that day, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he brought more or less knives than he normally carried because of the children. Still not sure actually.”

Izuku: “I know he usually carried around 4 knives when we were kids but part of that was he had limited areas to hide them back then.”

Fatgum and Tamaki are both completely baffled and trying to fit this guy they’ve just been watching with the person that Kirishima described Katsuki to them as.

Anyways, so then Eri & Satsuki get the keys and go to free the heroes which are fairly close by while Katsuki guards Overhaul to prevent him from pulling a ‘gotcha’ on them. And also because the heroes are up a flight of stairs and Katsuki physically cannot walk up them right now.

It’s very emotional as Eri rushes to Aizawa and Satsuki rushes to her big sister who is now crying. And then the group heres a noise and all eyes go back up to the camera screens which are still somewhat up and running, currently focused on where Katsuki and Overhaul’s battle went down.

Turns out, before this whole mess started, the LOV sent Dabi to go take care of Overhaul because He Cannot Be Allowed To Have Arms, Goddamnit We Were Making A Point With That.

But then Katsuki went ahead and did Dabi's job for him, so Dabi radioed back to Tomura and Tomura changed his objective to "You know, while you're there anyways and he's weak, might as well grab the kid."

There’s two endings to this:

1)

 The door to the room Katsuki is in swings open and fucking Dabi waltzes in probably saying something like

"So, is this a bad time?"

Katsuki turns to look at him and in the most done, tired, angry, voice: "You asshole."

After drugging Katsuki somehow (because unlike Overhaul, Dabi is not stupid and isn't getting with 10 feet of Katsuki without being damn sure he's down for the count), Dabi kidnaps Katsuki for the second time and the two of them are teleported out of the area about 10 seconds before Aizawa/the other heroes are freed just barely too late to do anything about it.

This ending would mostly be because I'd want Dabi and Katsuki to have back and forth banter of Katsuki being so 110% done with everything and Dabi being like:

"Yeah, I'll admit, this is kinda a dick move and the universe definitely has it out for you today."

"You don't get to say 'the universe has it out for me' when you're the one kidnapping me asshole"

And also because it sets up some serious hurt/comfort.

or, ending 2)

Katsuki stumbles his way over to a doorway on the other side of the room to go grab some rope so he can tie Overhaul up. He opens the door, and Dabi's just standing there, having been about to open the door so he could capture Katsuki.

They just stare at each other wide eyed for several long seconds before

"Is now a bad time-"

And Katsuki slam's the door shut.

"N o !"

He takes five seconds to just stare at the door being pissed and then is like "No, fuck this, I have dealt with enough today." Then he proceeds to barricade the door as he goes through various forms of the words 'No, nope, fuck that, not happening', still exhausted and beaten up and done but 100% N O T   H A V I N G   T H I S.

The heroes get down there to help and and they search for Dabi only to discover on the camera footage that after Katsuki slammed the door on him, he apparently thought it was so funny that he just kinda shrugged, turned around and actually fucking left. Because, you know, his main objective was already completed, and he didn’t really feel like going the extra mile today.

All of this is on camera too, so it quickly spreads as a meme, along with other choice moments from the whole hideout fight including several ‘vibe checks’, one of Satsuki throwing a grenade into the face of on of the goons that was harassing her before, and also ‘knife check’ becoming a thing.