#go watch the live version of the song RIGHT NOW

[seneon]

네 개 ￤ MATCH MY FREAK ──── MASTERLIST.

content. chapter four includes a kpop mv livestream reaction of alternative saja boys' soda pop (alt version). biggest thanks to @skriblobz for rewriting the lyrics and basically contributing to this chapter 😝 all crack and brain rot. does not follow og kpdh plot. 1200+ words.

it was an average saturday night and you’re here, bored of your mind. usually, you’d have debt collectors coming for your throat. and now that all have been paid, all you have is a clingy ghost husband who you swore is some sort of vengeful spirit.

and you’re about to go on live with him.

you see, besides working a mundane office job, you have quite the fun job during the weekends. for the fun of it, you somehow have a streaming account. and tonight, your husband will have his first debut in your social life.

“hi all! welcome back to another live! today’s fun, because i have a special guest which all of you cannot see. don’t fret, he’s very much here with us, and his name is jinu! woo hoo! jinu, say hi to everyone. and everyone, say hi to jinu.”

@skriblobz:

jinu?? blud who the hell bro introducing rn 👁️👁️

@kaiser1ns:

kur

@rirk-ke:

WHO’S JINU WHERE WHAT WHO DARES TO STEAL Y/N AWAY

the man looked at the computer screen, studying this weird rectangular or square device and the comments popping up every second.

“hi.”

you grinned and turned to the camera. “anyways. me and jinu are going to do a live reaction to this music video of… saga dudes…?”

“what the hell kinda name is that,” you murmured and clicked on the music video before pausing at the thumbnail.

“sparkling juice,” jinu read out the title as you hummed in response. “alright guys. let’s watch and review sparkling juice from saga dudes!”

@scara-simp69:

OMG I LOVE SAGA DUDES

@tsukimoon-chan:

the mv is so good! saga dudes fan here (:

@insideoutjulie:

enigma and biceps at the SAME damn time

@snowy-violet:

SAGA DUDES MENTIONED OMFG??*!"?"

*music plays*

SPARKLING JUICE by SAGA DUDES.

[INTRO]

hey, hey

hey, hey

hey

“oh yeah the intro is catchy.”

[VERSE 1: JEANS]

don’t want you, need you

yeah, i need you to match my freak

나는 노력했다

하나를 찾을 수 없습니다

“he looks like you! this black haired guy!” you exclaimed and jinu shook his head. “no. i’m more handsome. and match my freak? what’s that?”

you laughed. “i’ll explain later.”

@aerissblog:

wait so you’re saying jinu looks like jeans? that’s OPPA right there

@queenofklonnie22:

EXPLAIN WHAT LATER 🤨🤨🤨

@lizzie-harper:

JEANS CAN BE UNZIPPED IDC FR #NEEDTHAT

[VERSE 2: ENIGMA, INTIMACY, BICEPS]

lookin’ like snacks ‘cause you got it like that

take a big bite, want another bite, yeah

“oh yeah. he’s hot.”

jinu frowned.

[VERSE 2 CONTINUE]

너의 모든 걸 난 원해, 원해, 원해

너 말곤 모두 뻔해, 뻔해, 뻔해

when you’re in my arms, i struggle a lot (a lot)

when you’re fangirling way too much

“wifey, i’m more attractive than them right? these boys are nothing compared to me!”

“hey hey hey,” you paused the music video and looked at jinu accusingly. then you simply stared at him before resuming the music video.

“you know what? yeah. you are more attractive than them.”

[PRE CHORUS]

cause i need you here with me,

i’m lonely, you feel me

so damn lonely

my little sparkling juice

@heartkaji:

girly did not just say the “invisible” guest is more attractive than intimacy BFFR.

@heartshapedcookiesfordessert:

MY LITTLE SPARKLING JUICE

@y2kuromi:

OMG ITS THAT PART YYYEYEYYSYSYSYS

“is this the trending part?” you asked and watched as the music video changed to all of the saga dudes dancing in the middle of a plaza.

[CHORUS]

you’re all i can goon to,

everytime i feel blue

you’re my sparkling juice,

my little sparkling juice

“wifey, the song is catchy. what is goon?"

“erm. we don't talk about that. why are their legs like that LOL. what the heckies.”

“sparkling juice i love.”

[CHORUS CONTINUE]

cool me down, you’re so hot

pour me out ‘til i spill out

you’re my sparkling juice

my little sparkling juice

“my little sparkling juice~” jinu hums to himself during the instrumental part.

“guys i think jinu likes sparkling juice already. you guys can’t see it but he’s bobbing his head to the beat,” you announced and chuckled at jinu.

[VERSE 3: INFANT, BICEPS]

uh, make me wanna rock on top

한 방울에 i hit the spot

every little flip and flop

rizz and pop

나에게 상처 it's getting rough

“OH HIS VOICE IS LIKE AN OPERA SINGER’S??”

“he looks like a baby though.”

@therooftoprunner:

INFANT IS LITERALLY FELIX

@ianyanko:

RIFJT OMF HES SO CUTE and his voice AAAAHHDHDJ

@fvckcare:

jinu face reveal where

[VERSE 3: BICEPS]

yes, i’m sippin’ when it’s drippin’ now

it’s done? i need a second round

and pour a lot and don’t you stop

til my sparkling juice, spills non-stop

“okay yeah that’s the hot guy.”

“wifey.”

“sorry. it’s the warm guy.”

[PRECHORUS]

i waited so long for someone to match my

match my freak, wait’s over, baby

come and fill me up

just can’t get enough

“what is match my freak???”

you paused the video and looked at jinu. and to everyone else, you’re staring at nothing. which is starting to make them insane but that’s fine, because jinu is happy to be there anyways.

“match my freak means to match someone’s unusual interests. in that case, saga dudes are probably talking about matching their freaks in the terms of sparkling juice? i don’t know.”

the man stared at you, and you stared at him back. then, he pressed on the space bar key, which made the sparkling juice video play again. then you catch a glimpse of something in the screen.

[CHORUS]

[OUTRO: JEANS]

ooh, ooh (2x)

you’re my sparkling juice

never letting you loose

when the music video ends, you sink into the chair and let out a sigh. “wow… that was… wow.”

“right? a bunch of young fellow gentlemen dancing and singing. is this the era now and what it has come to?”

you glared at him. “this is kpop, jinu. welcome to 21st century, man from 400 years ago,” you rolled your eyes and grinned at the webcam.

“so guys! that was me and jinu’s reaction to saga dudes’ sparkling juice music video! honestly, great video, great handsome looking guys, the song is catchy! and yes. match my freak!!”

“yes. match my freak. match me and wifey’s freak,” he spoke and you glanced at him. “oh yeah? you want me to match your freak?”

@iris-arcadia:

MATCH HIS FREAK. MATCH HER FREAK. MATCH MY FREAK.

@livelaughlovekuni:

jinu is so mood like yeah i’ll match whatever INVISIBLE freak he has

@lovely-maryj:

why’s no one talking about how fine enigma and intimacy like OMFG fine SHYTS

@suntizme:

y/n!! learn sparkling juice dance!!

@floralchest:

yeah i paid to watch ts. never fails.

“yes. i want you to match my freak.”

“there you have it chat! jinu wants me to match his freak. by the way he’s my husband. see ya’ll next time!”

you ended the stream then and there. you could sniff the demands for an answer in your social media already—the people revelling in the fact that you dropped such casual words and ended the stream quicker than all your usual other streams. if anything. it felt like a 10 minute stream.

“that was fun,” jinu commented and you raised a brow, a tiny little smile surfacing. “yeah? they can’t see you, y'know?”

“i know. but i like watching whatever this strange device thing with you. it feels nice.”

you leaned back on your chair, smile growing genuine. to show a man from four centuries ago what the modern world looks like was certainly fun. it felt like a history class with a prehistoric dead man.

jinu’s right. it does feel nice. alright tumblr. this is the part when you decide you’re developing a little crush on this ghost. insane.

you saved the screen recording of the live stream and saved it. because how in the world are you going to explain the fact that when jinu pressed the space bar, a very thinly veiled faint image of him appeared on your screen through your webcam?

©SENEON EST. 2025. DO NOT REPOST OR ALTER.

TAGS .𖥔 ݁ everyone mentioned the livestream's comments are the people in the taglist. additionally, @grandlightcandy @karenusia @kpopgirliez @ballads-for-kuni @purplefluffycows @20100165 @mavix @mshope16 @moonjellyfishie @yukimaniac @artistadistrada2002 @sylum @osball @not-morgan @lostsomewhereinthegarden

[bmpmp3]

love live bluebird's music style so far has been like, this near-frantic, hype in a slightly offputting way type of sound thats been really fun and interesting. these girls aint right (compliment)

[youremyonlyhope]

Every few months, I am reminded that though it's been over a decade since it closed on Broadway... I am still Newsies trash.

[millermouth]

Hi angel!

I’m here for a request, but not a typical one. I want to request that you finish something you’ve been working on but maybe are nervous that people won’t want it. Something YOU have always wanted to write.

Okay that’s it love you bye 🖤

𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

Summary: You tried to love Joel Miller the way he was. But eventually, the silence, the walls, the way he kept you at arm’s length… it broke something in you. So you let him go. || angst! fluff! smut! we got it all! MDNI 18+, Jackson!Joel, break up, joel is bad at feelings, makeup sex (eventually), pinv, love makin', lots of kissing cause I wanna kiss him, fingering, f!receiving oral, and yeah its a little corny idc, tiny mention of an age gap|| Inspired by Kacey Musgrave's song Space Cowboy a/n: taylorrrrrrr my angel girl I could cry ilysm. I’ve always had this thought that Joel Miller, at least at first, would be emotionally unavailable and like...not willing to really date. In p1, he’s constantly shutting Ellie down when she brings up Tess or Sam and Henry, Tommy when he offers him that photo of Sarah. Sure, by the end he’s more open, because Ellie made him feel something again. But I think being romantically involved would be hard for him at first. I've always wanted to explore that, and this been collecting dust in my wips since I wasn't sure how everyone would feel. so all this to say....here you go :')

For once, Joel Miller stayed the night.

Not by accident, not because he was drunk off his ass and you made him crash on your couch. No, you’d seen that version of him more times than you could count. But last night, after fucking you hard enough to leave dents in your drywall from sheer force of the headboard, he’d collapsed beside you, pulled you against his chest, and… stayed.

Almost like he meant to.

So god forbid you woke up the next morning with your cheek against his bare chest, your thigh slung over his hip, still foggy brained in the haze of sleep, and asked if he wanted to go grab breakfast at the dining hall.

You might as well have asked What are we?

Or worse: Will you be my boyfriend forever and ever, Joel?

Now he was out in your living room, shoving his boots on by the front door as sun poured in dusty light across the floorboards. You leaned against the archway in his flannel, bare legs out, nothing but the socks on your feet and silence in the air.

You watched him with narrowed eyes. To say you didn’t know what this was would be like saying the sky wasn’t  blue. And you weren’t a liar.

Because you saw it, saw the same pieces being shunted between you. He was building it up again. Brick by brick. That impenetrable wall was back high and tight.

“I don’t get it,” you said finally.

He didn’t answer, only grunted. 

Of course.

“You come here a few nights a week, we hookup and then…what? I don’t exist once your pants are back on? The one night you actually stay with me and I ask you to eat breakfast, I’ve suddenly crossed a line?”

“That’s enough,” Joel muttered, jaw clenched tight.

The way he said made your stomach twist something ugly.

“Yeah,” you said, letting out a long breath as your voice flattened into something stale, “You’re right. That’s enough.”

You stepped in front of where he was sitting, his chin tilting up to meet your eyes for once. His brows furrowed, but he didn’t back down. He just looked at you like he didn’t understand why you were standing in the way of his exit.

“What do you want, Joel?”

He shook his head and leaned down to finish tying his boots. “Don’t want nothin’ from you.”

That stung more than it should have. “Trust me,” you said scoffing. “I got that message a long time ago.”

He stood, slow but abrupt, towering over you as if it was easier to loom than feel anything at all. “What is it you want from me, girl?”

“I want you to admit there’s something here!” you finally snapped, your blood beginning to boil, “I want you to act like all these nights mean something! Like I’m not just a warm body you crawl to when you’re lonely.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I want you to talk to me. I want something real. But you don’t even try.”

“I am tryin’,” he said, eyes squeezing shut once before looking at you under heavy brows.

“No, you’re not,” you said, and your voice cracked, not quite out of sadness, but rage. “You’re just—” your hand cut the air, motioning to all of him. “You’re existing, Joel. Going through the motions like you’re waiting for it all to be ripped away. You’re so damn scared of letting anything good happen that you’re choking the life out of it before it can even start.”

His jaw twitched, shoulders stiffening. That look in his eye—rage, grief, guilt—you weren’t sure which it was, but it burned cold and hard beneath the surface.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly, but there was venom behind the words. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Then tell me.” You stepped closer, letting your voice drop to something soft and gentle as you lifted your hands to his chest. You looked up into his eyes, now dark as storm clouds above a forest as you whispered, “Let me in.”

He didn’t answer, only stood there, breathing slow through his nose, his body rigid like he was waiting to be hit.

You shook your head, your hands falling back down to your sides in fists, “You always talk about space,” you murmured. “Needing time.”

You turned on your heel and stomped toward the door, yanking it open with a loud creak. Cold autumn air rushed in, hitting your bare skin and stinging your eyes.

“Well,” you said, voice low and bitter. “Your prayers have been answered.”

You swung your arm out toward the open doorway.

“You can have your space, cowboy.”

Joel paused for a long moment. Because maybe for once he realized you meant it. Like maybe he’d expected you to cave, to give him the same grace you always did. But you were tired.

Tired of not knowing what this was. Tired of not knowing what you were to him. Tired of the way he’d shut down and pull away when you could feel the good in him, the gold buried under all that iron.

You knew he was a good man. He just wouldn’t show it to you.

Slowly, he started toward the door. Time dragged as he approached you, whether that was because every step looked like it cost him something or you were cataloging every movement he made to store in your memory.

He reached the threshold and stopped, the morning light catching the edge of his face, soft and golden. He looked back at you, but you didn’t lift your eyes.

Then softly, just a whisper, he said your name. As if he knew it was the last time.

Finally, you looked up at him, biting your lip to keep back the tears.

“I’ll see you around, Joel,” you said. “I know my place. And maybe it’s just not with you.”

You couldn’t quite make yourself regret being with Joel.

Not even for a second.

You told yourself a hundred times in the days that followed that what happened between you and him had been real. Maybe not enough, maybe not lasting, but real. And sometimes that was all you got.

Roads were made to go down. Some just didn’t have a way back.

And if you’d been smarter, you would’ve remembered what the movies always tried to teach: the good guys don’t run away.

But the broken ones sure as hell do.

And Joel Miller had always been a runner. Even if he showed signs of want, of connection only through the nights with your name on his lips like prayer and he took your body like it was his salvation. 

But when a horse wants to run, there’s no sense closing the gate.

In the weeks after you’d broken things off, you saw him everywhere. Yes, in the little things like the butcher’s stall that had a sign he’d made and the wooden figurines in your neighbor’s windowsill, but more than that, you actually saw him.

From across the market gathering whatever it was he needed one week, or the back of his head on horseback heading out with a patrol group, or his flannel at the edge of the community garden, nodding to someone like he was fine. Like nothing ever happened. He never looked your way, not once. But you looked at him.

And the days you didn’t see him were somehow worse.

You'd catch yourself worrying. Wondering if something went wrong on patrol, or…if he was holed up with another woman in a house that wasn’t yours, if he’d finally decided to try with someone easier.

Someone who didn’t ask him to talk. Someone who didn’t wear his t-shirts and expect breakfast the next morning.

Two months passed like that— slow and strange, like you were trudging through water. You kept to yourself, did your work, smiled at friends when they asked if you were okay. You told them you were tired, that you were busy. That you were fine.

But there was something about Joel that clung to you like smoke.

It didn’t matter how many days you went without seeing him. He was still everywhere. Whether it was in the smell of pine when it rained, the creak of your porch steps when you’d hoped it was him, or the ache of your thighs the first time you tried to be with someone else and couldn’t go through with it.

Because try you had. Over and over, you’d tried.

And on one stormy night, three sharp knocks slammed against your front door like warning shots.

You were curled up on the couch beside someone who was… fine. He was nice, respectful, said “please” and “thank you” and laughed at your lame jokes with his hand resting on your knee. You were trying, honest, to feel something. To find that spark again, to forget about the one you’d known all too well.

But you couldn’t force yourself to, could you? So when the knocks slammed into the wood of your front door, you were almost grateful, because the man on your couch had just been leaning in for what you were pretty sure was a kiss.

Eric? Aaron? Whatever his name was blinked, glancing toward the door. “You expecting someone?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Another knock. More like a demand now.

“Let me just see who it is,” you said quietly as you crossed the room, your bare feet silent on the hardwood, and opened the door.

Joel nearly fell through it.

Rain clung to him, dripping from the hem of his jacket, pooling beneath his boots. Mud streaked up the sides of his jeans. His hair was soaked to his scalp, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy. There was something feral about them.

He didn’t even say a word as he stepped forward, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you.

It was messy and sudden and rough, tasting hot with whiskey, his stubble scraping your skin as he tilted your chin up, as if he had the right. As if you were still his. You froze for a heartbeat, maybe two. Because you had missed him. Missed him in ways you hadn’t even let yourself feel yet. But this…this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. And the second that sick, hot twist of anger rose up in your gut, you shoved him.

“Joel—what the fuck—get off,” you snapped, trying to twist out of his cold, wet grip.

But he kept coming. Hands sliding to your hips, dragging you into him again, his mouth crashing against yours, slurring against your lips, “Missed you. I miss’d ya so fuckin’ bad, baby, I—”

You pushed harder this time, shoving at his chest until he stumbled back a step. He swayed, visibly disoriented, breath catching as he reached for the doorframe to steady himself. His eyes blinked slowly like the room was spinning. When he looked back at you, he looked confused. Like he didn’t understand why you were pushing him away.

Behind you, you heard the floor creak.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?”

Joel’s head jerked up at the voice.

The man stood from the couch, slow and cautious. His brows pulled tight, clearly trying to make sense of what he just walked into. Joel stared for a long moment. Then his whole body stiffened.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, his voice lower now, that mean, Southern bite curling around the words.

You stepped into his eyeline immediately. “Joel—don’t.”

But he moved around you like you weren’t even there, sodden boots heavy on the floor as he stalked forward.

“Get the fuck out,” he said to the man.

The guy blinked, baffled. “Excuse me?”

“I said get the fuck outta her house.”

“She invited me—”

Joel began to move, an angry glower pinching his brows as he moved to get in his face, but you stepped between him, hands on his chest.

“Jesus, Joel,” you said, shoving him back again, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Joel’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling fast. He turned toward you, eyes wild and heartbroken and far too open, “Can I talk to you?” his eyes glowered briefly at the man behind you, “Alone?”

“Man, you need to leave,” your guest said, annoyed.

You held up a hand. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. Just… please go.”

He looked at you for a long second, then scoffed, shooting one last glare toward Joel as he stepped out the door.

The second it closed behind him, the silence in the room was deafening.

Joel stood there in the middle of your living room like something unholy. Soaked to the bone and chest heaving. His eyes were red and full of everything he refused to say for the last two months.

The silence stretched, long and heavy.

“Baby, I–” he began, but you shook your head.

“I don’t want to hear it, Joel.” you squeezed your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to rub your temples, “Whatever it is you want to say, I need to hear it when you’re sober.”

You should’ve screamed, should’ve been angry. Hell, you should’ve thrown him back out into the rain and locked the door behind him. 

But you didn’t. Instead, you stepped forward, carefully, slowly, wondering if he was just going to bolt again. 

“Let’s just…get this off,” you murmured. Your fingers found the collar of his jacket, trembling a little from the adrenaline coursing through you as you tugged it down his shoulders. The fabric clung to his arms, soaked and heavy, but he didn’t fight you. And you didn’t realize til after you’d gotten it off of him that his eyes never left your face. Not once.

You hung his jacket up by your door, the fabric freezing and soggy. Then your hands moved to his flannel. The buttons were half-undone already. You didn’t ask, you just kept going.

And still, he didn’t stop you.

You pushed the fabric apart, palms brushing down the front of his chest, and God—he was so cold. But he was still him, even if the cold had gotten to him, had sunken into his skin.

You sank to your knees.

Not for him, and not like that. You just crouched down in front of him and tugged at the laces of his boots. The knot was sloppy and rushed like he had rushed in a fury to put them on. You undid it anyway, peeling each boot off one at a time, your fingers clumsy from the cold and the tension.

Neither of you spoke.

Not until you stood again, eyes meeting his. Something passed between you in that moment, raw and wordless. Maybe a kind of truce. Not forgiveness, just a single thread of mercy, offered in silence just for tonight.

Joel swayed again, catching himself with a heavy hand against the wall. His voice came out low and ragged, like it hurt to speak.

“I… I fucked up, okay?”

You could’ve screamed at him. Could’ve thrown every angry word you’d swallowed these past few months in his face. But instead, you just reached for the hem of his shirt.

“Lift your arms.”

He blinked, confused, but obeyed, sluggish and slow.

You pulled the soaked fabric up and over his head, dropping it to the floor with a wet slap.

“I’m tryin’ t’talk to ya,” he slurred, more firmly this time. “Yer not… listenin’.”

You poked him hard in the chest, “Because I don’t,” you poked again, “want,” a third poke, “to hear it, Joel.”

You poked him one last, hard time, his face turning into a grimace as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, but you kept going.

“So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna take a shower, and I’m gonna make sure you don’t bust your head open on the tub. Then you’re drinking some damn water and sleeping it off on the couch.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off with a sharp look.

“If you still wanna talk after that? When you’re sober and not dripping all over my floor? Then maybe I’ll listen.”

He stared at you for a long moment, rainwater still clinging to his skin, chest rising and falling. Then he nodded. Just once, his face falling, his eyes wide.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You draped the blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. He was half-asleep already, sunk deep into the couch cushions, still damp around the edges but warm now, finally. Clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants he left behind many nights ago, water by his side, the softest throw you owned wrapped snug to his chest.

Joel blinked up at you slowly, lids heavy and uneven. His hair was still a little wet, curling at his temples. That same whiskey glow lingered in his eyes, glassy and soft.

“Yer so pretty,” he mumbled, words slurred as he watched you tuck him in, “Really miss’d ya.”

“Okay, Joel,” you said halfheartedly, not believing a word of it.

He blinked again, slower this time. “Even when I was t’dumb to say it… I always wanted t’come back ‘ere. To you.”

You froze.

Your throat tightened, but you forced a smile anyway. Brushed a dark hair from his forehead with careful fingers.

“Okay, cowboy,” you said gently. “Drink your water and rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

He hummed, the sound low and content. “M’kay.”

And as you turned to leave, his hand found the edge of the blanket again, clutching it close.

You were up before him the next morning, the sky still a pale and silvery grey through the kitchen window when you set the kettle on.

You’d saved the last of the good coffee grounds for this, maybe because some part of you hoped he’d come back. Maybe because opening the jar, running your fingers through the coarse grinds, breathing in the bitter scent… it helped when you missed him.

The rich smell filled the room as it brewed, creeping into the corners of the house like a memory. You heard the low groan from the couch before you saw him. The rustling of blankets and the sound of his hand rubbing against his beard.

You poured a mug and walked over slowly.

He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Bleary and still half-fogged. When he finally lifted his face, eyes squinting against the light, you held the mug out to him.

He blinked at it. Then at you.

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough with sleep and whatever was still left from the whiskey. He took it gingerly, careful to avoid your fingers.

You sat down in the corner of the couch, legs tucked under you, keeping a decent distance with your hands wrapped around your tea to ground you.

Joel took a sip from his mug, closing his eyes and exhaled a sigh, long and slow.

“Needed that,” he murmured, setting the mug on the table.

You nodded, watching him out of the corner of your eye. His beard was scruffier than usual, curling at the edges. Eyes rimmed in red, lashes still clumped from sleep. His face was carved in exhaustion, but even now, something about him still softened when he looked at you.

“I’m, uh…” he started, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m real sorry about last night. Feel awful.”

You gave a crooked smile. “Yeah, I figured the hangover’d be brutal.”

He shot you a look. “Not like that, smartass.”

Your smile deepened in spite of yourself. The silence between you hummed a little, something warm and bitter like old whiskey. You broke the gaze first, sighed, and stared down into your tea.

“So,” you said.

“So…” he echoed, rubbing at the corner of his jaw. His fingers rasped against the unshaven stubble. “I, uh… I ain’t so good at this.”

You nodded. That much, at least, didn’t need explaining.

“But I meant what I said,” he added quietly. “I’ve… ya know. Missed you.”

You lifted your mug again, stalling with a sip. You didn’t answer right away, and you didn’t plan to. The old version of you might’ve melted on the spot with so few words. Not this time. You needed more. Real words. The truth of it.

Joel watched you, waiting. Then waited some more.

The longer the silence stretched, the more agitated he looked. His mouth twitched, like he was finally coming to terms with the fact he was gonna have to work for your forgiveness.

He leaned back finally, one arm slung along the back of the couch, his eyes still fixed on you.

“Not gonna give me anythin’, huh?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, setting your mug down with a quiet clink on the coffee table, “I thought you came here with somethin’ to say.”

“I was drunk.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” you said simply. “So let’s hear ’em.”

Joel let out a low groan, dragging his hand over his face again. “Okay,” he muttered into his palm before reaching for the coffee again.

He took another sip, holding the mug like it might shield him from what came next.

“I dunno all the shit I’m supposed to say,” he muttered finally. “It’s not…easy for me.”

You stayed quiet, letting him talk, even if the words came slow and uneven.

“I’m used to... keepin’ things in. Just dealin’ with whatever shit came my way. I never…never really had this before, someone who wanted to know what was goin’ on in here.” He glanced your way, tappin’ his temple.

“So when I started comin’ around here… and it felt good… felt, I dunno, safe… I think I got scared I’d fuck it up. Or that maybe I already had.”

You blinked slowly, processing the mess of it. His voice, low and gravelly, kept catching like it was tripping over things he didn’t know how to say. Like there were words he wanted to find but had never really practiced out loud.

“Joel,” you sighed, fingers fidgeting around your knees, “I just want to know…what it is you want. Because it seems like we want different things.”

His eyes found yours across the couch, setting his coffee down as he shook his head, and sat forward, leaning closer to you, “No, no. That ain’t it. I want this, I just…” he trailed off, rubbing his face into his hands. You almost felt bad, how hard this was for him. 

Then, his eyes looked up, and he sat back. “Can you come here?”

You weren’t sure if you were ready for this part. Because part of you knew how fast you’d give in if you touched him. Knew how easy it would be to fall back into his arms and forget everything you’d been hurting over. But your chest ached for it. And the way he was looking at you, so raw and cracked open, it made you move against your better judgement.

Slowly, you crawled over. He shifted to make room and when you tucked yourself beneath his chin, his arm came around you like he’d been waiting. Both hands found your arm, rubbing gently like he could feel the chill under your skin.

It was odd, almost. Most of the times he’d pulled you in like this were when you were both naked, the post coitus hormones running high, limbs tangled up and skin flushed.

“Missed this,” he murmured, his voice warm against your hair.

You swallowed. You missed it too, missed him, even when he made it impossible.

He shifted just enough to tilt your chin up, fingers brushing along your jaw. His eyes searched yours, darker now but softer. You saw something there you hadn’t seen in the light before. Not when he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Then his gaze dropped to your mouth, and he leaned in.

The kiss was soft and careful, the kind that said he was still learning how not to ruin things.

You kissed him back, breathing him in, your hand fisting in his shirt gently.

But then you caught yourself and pulled away, your hand untangling from the fabric to rub your eyes, “Joel–” 

“What do you need me to say?” he asked quietly. There was no bite, no sharpness in his tone. “What is it you want to hear?”

“I can’t just…tell you. I want to know what you want, not just…feeding me what I want to hear.”

His fingers stayed at your jaw, steady. He looked at you like he was searching for the right words, like he wanted to get them right this time.

“I want this,” he said. “I want you.”

His voice cracked slightly. He held your gaze, his hand still gentle on your face.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole before. I didn’t get it.”

You watched him closely as his brow pulled in. This time it wasn’t stubbornness, but something closer to pain.

“Let me try again.”

He must’ve taken your silence as hesitation, because he kept going, voice picking up like he was trying to get ahead of the panic building in his chest.

“I know how it looks, I know I’ve been—Jesus, I’ve been a fuckin’ wreck about this, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With what I feel when I’m around you. It’s not just… It’s not just wantin’ you in my bed, it’s everything.”

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just sat there listening, because holy shit, you’d never heard this man talk so damn much. Never heard him unravel like this, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. And it was pouring out of him now, fast and messy, as if trying to outrun the fear of messing it all up again.

“I wake up thinkin’ about you. I walk around Jackson wonderin’ what you’re doin’, what you’re thinkin’ about. I’d hear someone say your name and feel like an idiot ‘cause it’d make me smile. And then I’d remember I fucked it all up. That you were done with me. That you should be.”

His gaze dropped along with his hand from your face.

“But then I’d remember...what the hell do I think I’m doin’, bein’ with someone like you? You’ve got this whole life to live. You’ve still got time. Options. People your own age who can give you things I can’t.”

He looked at you again, and this time his eyes were pained and earnest.

“What happens in a few years when I hit sixty, and you still got your life ahead of you? What happens when I’m gone and you’re—”

You cut him off with a kiss.

You surged forward and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him into you, kissing him hard again, and again, like you could stop his words with your mouth. Like maybe if you kissed him enough, it would undo the ache in his voice.

“I was tryin’ to talk to you, you know,” he murmured against your lips, breath warm, a hint of a smile breaking through.

You nodded, laughing through the tears you didn’t remember letting fall. Your face was wet, your throat tight.

He pulled back just a little, his hand back to cradling your cheek. His eyes searched yours.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you smiled, “It’s just…I’m happy is all.”

And then he grinned back, and he was kissing you again and it was like something broke open in him. A dam cracked, all that restraint, all that aching hesitation he’d carried for months poured out in the way his hands slid into your hair, the way his mouth deepened against yours.

You barely had time to gasp before he was pressing into you, kissing you harder now, like he needed to make up for every second he’d spent staying away.

And he pushed you gently down onto the couch cushions, his palm cradling the back of your head as he guided you flat and braced himself above you. His body laid flush against yours, that familiar warmth of him enveloping you. 

You felt the heat of him, the weight of him, every line of him sinking into you like he’d finally allowed himself to kiss you in the daylight. 

You moaned softly against his lips, your thighs parting instinctively beneath him as he settled in the cradle of your hips. He dragged his mouth down your jaw, across your cheek, leaving heat in his wake, murmuring something low against your skin that you couldn’t quite catch—something desperate and grateful.

You arched into him, your hands sliding up his chest, and he caught one of them, threading his fingers between yours. He pulled back just enough to kiss your fingertips, slow and reverent, then your knuckles, one by one, all while holding your gaze.

"You’re so beautiful," he whispered, almost to himself, kissing the inside of your wrist this time, right over the spot where your pulse jumped.

Your skin burned under his gaze. You cupped his face with your free hand, thumb brushing his bottom lip slowly as your thighs lifted higher around his waist. You ground up against him, dragging friction against the hard outline of him beneath his sweatpants.

His eyes fluttered shut, breath catching. He exhaled like it had been held in his lungs for weeks.

“If you keep doin’ that,” he rasped, “I’m not gonna be able to take the time I wanna take with you.”

You smiled, warm and crooked. “Don’t want you to take your time,” you whispered, pulling him back down to your mouth.

His lips met yours again, deeper now, more urgent. One hand threaded through your hair, the other roaming your side as your tongue met his, soft and slick and hungry. He groaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper and deeper.

“Jesus,” he muttered against your skin, trailing kisses to your throat, “you feel so fuckin’ good beneath me, baby.”

“Missed you so much, Joel,” you breathed, eyes shutting as his teeth scraped your neck, the sting of it blooming hot under his tongue.

He was already fumbling with your shirt, pushing it up until you were bare to him, braless, chest rising and falling. His mouth latched onto your nipple without hesitation, all heat and need and reverence. You moaned, back arching, one hand gripping his hair.

“Missed you,” he echoed, voice rough, “Missed this.”

You looked down at him, gasping. He was so pretty like this—lashes low, mouth full, lips slick. Always so careful, making sure you felt good, that you were ready. That you wanted him.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with something that could only be described as devotion. “Wanna show you how much I missed it,” he said, kissing you hard on the lips before trailing back down your body. His tongue flicked out, slow, teasing, licking every inch he could get his mouth on until he reached the waistband of your pants.

Clothes disappeared fast, a blur of limbs and fabric. He hiked your legs up over his shoulders, settling between them like he belonged there. Because he did, after all.

“And don’t even get me started on her,” he said, voice playful now, pressing a kiss just above where you needed him most. “Missed her too.”

“Joeeel…” you mewled, already dizzy with how close he was.

He kissed the left side of your center, then the right, slow and careful. “Thought about her every night,” he murmured, mouth hot and close, “dreamed about how she tastes.”

And then he kissed your clit, and you jolted.

He moaned softly, like this was what he’d been starving for. His tongue flattened, dragging slow, wet strokes from your weeping entrance up to your clit, then back down again. When he pressed the tip inside you just a little, your hips rolled instinctively, your moan coming out sharp and breathless.

He let you move and grind against his mouth, his tongue, let you tangle your fingers in his hair and chase that growing pressure in your belly.

The sleep was gone now. Whatever haze he’d been in had burned off completely.

Joel moaned softly against your skin, tongue dragging another long stroke through your folds, savoring the taste of you like he’d been craving it since the second he left your bed two months ago. He kept going until your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your fingers twisting in his hair, breath stuttering out of your lungs in broken little gasps.

Then his mouth slowed. He pulled back just slightly, his lips brushing against your swollen center as he spoke, the tickle of his beard making you twitch.

“Goddamn,” he murmured, almost reverent. “She’s even sweeter than I remember.”

And then you felt his hand sliding up your leg, rough and broad, fingertips stroking the crease where your thigh met your heat. He watched you as he moved, mouth parted, eyes dark and focused, completely dialed in on the way your body writhed beneath him.

He pushed one finger in, nice and slow, and it felt like heaven and hell at once. That thick, slow pressure opening you, curling into that soft spot inside you with practiced ease. Like memory.

Your back arched off the couch. You whimpered, head rolling back. He’d always had the thickest fingers, one was all you needed to feel that tight stretch of him.

“Shit,” he groaned, watching your face as he moved it. “You feel that? How tight she still is for me?”

You could barely answer. You only moaned louder when he added a second finger, working you open, his knuckles brushing where your body fluttered around him. His fingers were so big and broad, callused, perfectly angled. They filled you so good it made your thighs shake.

He set a deep, unhurried rhythm that had the sounds of your wetness filling the room, obscene and beautiful as he brought his mouth back to your clit. He could feel the pulsing of your velvet walls around him as he continued pushing his fingers into you.

“There she is,” he said, pausing the flicking of his tongue, “Look at you, takin’ it so good, like always, baby,” 

His lips pursed around your clit and sucked hard, making your breath stutter and stomach tense. Within seconds, you were arching and clamping down on his fingers, your nails digging into his scalp as he moaned against you. 

Suddenly your whole body was locking up, thighs clamping around his head as you cried out, your release washing over you in a shudder that left you boneless and gasping. Joel kept moving through it, easing you down, letting you ride every last wave while he whispered against your skin.

“There you go. That’s my girl. Just like that.”

When your breath finally evened out, your eyes fluttered open and he was already moving up your body, slow and sure, kissing your skin as he went.

He pressed a kiss to your stomach, your ribs. Then up curve of your breast, all the way to your collarbone. Your throat.

And finally, your mouth.

Kissing you deep and full, he let you taste yourself on his lips. It was like honey and tang and the lingering taste of coffee on his tongue. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was no place else he'd rather be than between your thighs, tasting your breath and holding your face like it was something fragile, something his. His mouth moved slowly over yours, tongues sliding together, hands still trembling faintly with how badly he wanted you.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, voice frayed. “I missed you. Missed you so goddamn much.”

Your fingers trailed down his chest, down to his waistband, dragging the pair of sweatpants down over his hips, not caring how clumsy it was. You needed him. You needed him now. He helped, kicking them off without hardly breaking the kiss. Your hand wrapped around him, hard and flushed and aching against your thigh.

“Jesus—” he groaned, his hips jolting forward into your palm, his forehead pressing into yours as his breath came hot and shaky, “Been a minute, take it easy,”

Your own body was on fire, soaked, aching for him. His voice, his hands, the weight of him over you was too much and yet not enough.

“Joel,” you whispered, “please.”

“Tell me you want it,” he said, and it didn’t sound like teasing. It sounded like pleading. His voice broke like it physically hurt him to ask. “Tell me you still want me.”

You nearly sobbed with need, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.”

He reached between you to line himself up, the thick head of him dragging through your folds. You were so wet it made both of you groan, the slick sound obscene in the quiet room. He rocked his hips forward, just the tip pressing against your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me,” he whispered, his voice thick, breathless. “So warm.”

You writhed under him, thighs spreading wider, needing more. You could barely think.

“Joel– Jesus– please, just fuck me already.”

He smiled at that and sank into you in one long, devastating thrust, burying himself deep. You cried out, hands clutching at the nape of his neck as your body stretched to take him. Thick, hot, perfect. He filled you like he never left. Like he’d been made to fit.

“Shit,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out. “You feel like fuckin’ heaven. Always have.”

He stayed there for a second, shaking with the effort to hold back, “I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, voice strained, “Christ, been a while, huh?”

“You didn’t–?” you blinked up at him, catching your breath.

He shook his head, jaw clenched, a shiver running through him as he twitched inside you. “No. Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He paused, looked down at you, eyes searching. “Did you?”

You cupped his face in your hands like he was delicate beneath your touch.

“No,” you said softly. “No one’s like you, Joel.”

Something shifted behind his eyes, something aching and raw and beautiful. His mouth fell to yours, kissing you deep, as your hips lifted to meet his.

And then he started to move.

He was slow at first, deep and dragging, every stroke deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt all over again. You moaned into his mouth, your nails digging into his hair, your breath catching with every roll of his hips.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin.

And then you heard it—gasping, raw, like it ripped itself from his chest.

“I love you,” he groaned. “Fuck—I fucking love you.”

Everything felt like it slowed down.

Your bodies didn’t stop moving, not yet, but something inside your chest pulled tight. Like your heart was trying to brace for impact. Like you hadn’t realized how badly you needed to hear it until it was right there, spilling out of his mouth in that low, broken voice, rough with disbelief and months of silence.

Something woke up under your skin, hot and bleary eyed, the kind of heat that lives dormant, that fills your throat and makes your pulse race. It had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with how this man was looking at you. 

He was still inside you, still moving with that same steady rhythm, but his eyes were locked on yours now. Wide and dark and raw. His mouth hung open slightly like he was waiting for you to say something, anything, to tell him whether he’d just changed everything or ruined it.

Your hands came up slowly, almost in disbelief, and you touched his face, one palm to his cheek, the other curling into the back of his neck like you needed to feel he was real. Your voice caught in your throat before you could even speak, but somehow it pushed out.

“You love me?” you whispered, and the sound of your own voice didn’t even sound like yours.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Something cracked open inside you, something deep and hidden and too tired to be cautious anymore. You kissed him, harder than you meant to, your mouth catching his in a collision that felt like everything snapping. He groaned against you and kissed you back like it was instinct, like he’d been waiting for your permission to give in completely.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips brushing his, your body still pulsing around him, still stretched wide and full, still needing more. “Say it again,” you whispered, not because you doubted him, but because you needed to hear it again. Needed to feel him give it to you without fear.

His hand slid to your jaw, holding you there, and his voice came softer now, steadier. “I love you.”

The words landed different this time. Less like an accident, more like a promise.

Your chest ached. You felt it rise up and out of you, that thing you’d been holding back for so long. “I love you too,” you said, and you didn’t have to think about it, didn’t need to second guess. It had always been there.

His head dipped and he kissed you again, deeper this time, not frantic like before but slow and thorough, like he wanted to feel every part of your mouth. His thrusts never stopped. They grew more purposeful now, more measured, like he wasn’t afraid anymore of where this was going, only desperate to take you with him.

He shifted slightly, reaching down to pull your leg higher around his waist, and the new angle made your whole body tense. He sank even deeper, drawing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t meant to make. You felt the build starting again, that tightening low in your stomach, that ache rising in time with every thrust, your body greedy for it, your hands clawing at him like you needed to hold on to something solid while everything else inside you fell apart.

You buried your face against his shoulder, your mouth open, your breath catching, your body clenching tight around him. He groaned your name into your skin, over and over, like it was the only word left in the world.

And then you came. Hard. Full-body, all-consuming, a wave that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your vision white around the edges. Your whole body trembled, and he held you through it, never breaking rhythm, never letting go.

He followed a second later, with a sound that sounded something close to a sob. He thrust deep and stayed there, grinding into you as he spilled inside, his whole body shuddering with the release.

You felt him lift his head to press his forehead to yours, felt the weight of his breath, the warmth of his skin, the thudding of his heart trying to slow against your chest.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. There was nothing to say. Just the feel of him still inside you, the heat of him wrapped around you, the echo of those three words still settling into the space between your bodies.

You closed your eyes and let it all soak in.

Because this time, you believed him.

[recordmemes]

༘⋆｡  platonic bonds & dynamics starters.

best  friends.

you  said  you'd  always  be  there.  i'm  holding  you  to  that.

i'm  not  leaving  you  alone  with  your  thoughts!

nobody  gets  to  call  you  that  but  me.

do  i  need  to  fight  someone  for  you?

we're  not  just  friends.  you're  my  family.

i'm  already  on  my  way.

if  i  die,  promise  you'll  erase  my  search  history.

we  should  not  be  allowed  unsupervised  in  public.

combined,  we're  one  whole  functioning  adult!

i've  helped  you  lie  to  your  parents,  friends,  &  your  boss...  what's  one  more?

ex-friends.

i  wanted  to  call  you.  every  time  something  happened.

how  did  you  just  stop  caring?

you  can't  pretend  we  weren't  close.

i  miss  you.  i'm  not  sorry.

i  don't  think  i  can  forgive  you.

i  miss  hating  the  same  people  together.

do  your  new  friends  know  the  version  of  you  i  knew?

you  ghosted  me.  but  sure!  let's  pretend  it  was  mutual!

i  still  know  your  favorite  song.

i  didn't  just  lose  my  friend,  i  lost  an  entire  chapter  of  my  life.

rivals.

this  isn't  personal.  you're  just  in  my  way.

why  are  you  so  obsessed  with  beating  me?

you  think  you're  better  than  me?  prove  it.

you  talk  a  lot  for  someone  who's  always  second  place.

did  you  rehearse  that  comeback  in  the  mirror?

do  you  ever  stop  talking?

one  day,  i'm  going  to  beat  you.

i  don't  like  you.  that  doesn't  mean  i  don't  respect  you.

i  didn't  come  to  play  fair,  i  came  to  win.

you  think  i'm  threatened  by  you?  no,  you  just  motivate  me  to  be  better.

roommates.

i  swear  i  didn't  eat  your  leftovers!  well,  not  ALL  of  them.

i  heard  everything.  these  walls  are  thin.

can  you  PLEASE  clean  up  after  yourself?

wanna  watch  a  movie?  i'm  making  popcorn!

you  know  we're  not  friends,  right?  we  just  live  together.

i  think  i  know  your  schedule  better  than  mine  at  this  point.

you  talk  in  your  sleep.

you  can't  just  adopt  a  pet  without  talking  to  me  first!

i'm  going  to  start  charging  your  dates  rent.

if  we  can  survive  living  together,  we  can  survive  anything.

if  your  [  family member  ]  drops  by  unannounced  one  more  time...

academic  partners.

you  forgot  the  project  deadline.  again.

this  was  supposed  to  be  a  group  effort!

i  think  we  would've  crashed  and  burned  without  you.

you  brought  snacks  to  study  group?  okay,  i  think  i  like  you.

we're  not  friends.  stop  telling  me  about  your  personal  life.

you're  actually  kind  of  smart,  you  know?

i'll  be  the  brains,  you  do  the  presentation.

we  agreed  no  emotional  breakdowns  during  mid-terms!

i  cannot  believe  i'm  depending  on  you  to  pass  this  class.

i  need  a  break  so  i  can  scream  into  my  textbook...

do  you  try  to  make  friends  with  EVERY  person  in  group  projects?

siblings.

you're  not  my  [ mom / dad / parent ]!  don't  tell  me  how  to  live.

i'm  allowed  to  make  fun  of  you.  nobody  else  is.

i  know  you  better  than  anyone  else  ever  will.

stop  trying  to  fix  me!

something  bad  happened.  can  i  come  home?

you're  still  the  favorite, even now.

still  trying  to  live  in  my  shadow,  huh?

i'm  not  jealous  of  you!

we  survived  that  house,  that's gotta count  for  something.

remember  how  we  used  to  talk  about  running  away?

[peachyprophets-blog]

DROWNED LOVE

How the gods would mourn after the reader died

A/N: Heyy!! I will be working on an alternative version in the next few days, what if one of the gods (who knows heheh) helps the reader to get back to Ithaca (she probably only returns to her family after the events of the Ithaca Saga).

And no, we don't greet happiness with open arms :)

°•○☆○•°

Zeus:

જ⁀➴Would mourn you for thousands of years.

જ⁀➴ Created a cloud that has your shape.

જ⁀➴Despairs because the cloud is not exactly like you. If you are mentioned near him, he would look at the person threateningly.

જ⁀➴Blames others for your death.

જ⁀➴"My beloved, not a day will go by that I won't miss you!"

Poseidon:

જ⁀➴After your death, the seas trembled and for years they were plagued with violent storms

જ⁀➴Tries to carry on as best he can Often argues with Zeus about who is to blame

જ⁀➴Would build you a monument that he would put in his palace

જ⁀➴All mortal women he fell in love with always resembled you in appearance or character.

જ⁀➴"My beloved, may the waves sing you to sleep, no matter where you are"

Hades:

જ⁀➴He mourned most of his brothers

જ⁀➴It tore him apart to see his brothers like this, but he knew it was best for you

જ⁀➴Yet he watched you every day from the underworld

જ⁀➴Even when you died, he immediately welcomed you into his home, but didn't say anything to the other gods.

જ⁀➴"Find peace in your end, rest now little one"

Apollo:

જ⁀➴THIS MAN IS SUFFERING

જ⁀➴He has lost the protégé he loved so much

જ⁀➴It seemed as if the sun wasn't shining as brightly anymore

જ⁀➴He dedicated songs, poems and works of art to you

જ⁀➴What had happened was something he never wanted to happen, he had lost the person he loved again

જ⁀➴He transformed something that had once belonged to you into a beautiful flower that could bloom even in the worst of circumstances.

જ⁀➴"The sun protects you everywhere, my sunshine, bloom where no one else can bloom"

Hera:

જ⁀➴Look you might think she would not be sad, BUT SIKE!!!

જ⁀➴Hera felt very sorry for you, you were just an innocent soul who couldn't do anything about the fate that had befallen you

જ⁀➴Hera grew fond of you and saw you like a daughter

જ⁀➴Hera took out her anger on her husband, how could he take her beloved girl!?

જ⁀➴Hera sees you everywhere, whether under the tree in the Garden of the Gods or in the Great Hall.

જ⁀➴"At least you don't have to put up with my husband anymore, my little girl"

Hermes:

જ⁀➴This boy will hide his sadness behind his usual smile

જ⁀➴He will crack jokes and play pranks on people as usual

જ⁀➴I would say he lives in a world where you are still alive

જ⁀➴He will look at others and think that you are standing right next to him

જ⁀➴He will not accept that you are gone, and the other gods will have to watch the messenger of the gods living in this illusion

જ⁀➴"What do you say Dawling? Oh I love the idea!"

-Peachyprophet

[sugarandspicewriting]

This is What it Sounds Like

Summary: During the opening night of the comeback tour, Rumi is nervous about her step back into the spotlight after revealing her demon heritage. Years of suppression and shame won't go away just with a song, and Mira and Zoey are starting to notice cracks in their fearless leader.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, self hatred, self mutilation, hallucinations.

A/N: Did anyone else hate that Mira and Zoey went to attack Rumi and then they just never discussed it again. Not on my watch. 2.9k words. Also please send in requests for the Huntrix girls.

Rumi thought she would be over this. 

The dressing room was just like all the others they had gotten ready in over the years. Same lights, same buzzing chaos. The only real difference was that this time, Rumi wasn’t alone. Mira and Zoey—her two closest friends, the people she loved more than anyone in the world—were right there with her.

And her patterns were on full display. 

After the disaster at the IDOL Awards and the chaotic Saja boys concert that followed, Rumi didn’t dare to look at her social media, leaving the task of posting to Bobby. The crowd was under the influence of the now banished Gwi Ma, so the demonic powers of the Saja boys were forgotten, but the image of Rumi’s patterns remained.

They looked different now. Where there had once been bruised-purple striations, there was now a faint pearlescent glow. But when Rumi looked in the mirror, all she could see was that ugly violet stain—and two orange irises staring back at her.

“I’m so pumped to finally be back on stage! Aren’t you, Rumi?” Zoey chirped, slurping noodles through a mouthful of Huntrix-branded ramyeon.

The sound snapped Rumi out of her trance.

Somehow, while she’d been zoning out, the dressing room had come alive. Stage managers were muttering into walkie-talkies about last-minute lighting adjustments. Stylists fluttered around them, brushing glitter onto shoulders and blotting lipstick. Zoey and Mira were seated on the couch, scarfing down instant noodles like they were still trainees.

“So pumped!” Rumi echoed with a forced smile, flinching as a makeup artist dabbed body glitter onto her shoulder—right over the soft shimmer of her patterns.

The strain in her voice didn’t go unnoticed by Mira, as her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Are you sure?” she asked, rising to her feet. “You don’t sound sure.”

Zoey looked up too, concern etching across her face as she joined Mira’s side.

Rumi’s throat tightened. Her eyes stung. The bustling energy of the room was only making things worse.

And then—warmth.

“What’s wrong Rumi?” Zoey whispered softly. Rumi felt the ghost of her breath tickle her ear. 

During their hiatus, the girls had talked—really talked. Rumi had told them the truth. Her father was a demon, though she knew nothing else about him. Celine had come up with the plan to conceal her patterns, and once the Honmoon was sealed, they were supposed to fade completely.

She had been afraid—terrified—that once the truth was out, Mira and Zoey would turn on her.

But instead, they held her tighter.

“You’re more than your patterns Rumi,” Mira had said. "What makes you different is what saved us.”

After that night, Rumi felt closer to her girls than ever before. 

But somehow, every time she closed her eyes, she saw them raising their weapons to her. Their eyes afraid. Their voices cold.

“How could we be together if we don’t know your lies from your truths Rumi?”

Every dream since then had been haunted by demon versions of her friends, taunting her onstage in the dark.

“So sweet, so easy on the eyes, but hideous on the inside.”

“A demon with no feelings don’t deserve to live”

“We see what you are.”

“You’re a demon. A mistake.”

“Rumi?”

Mira’s voice called out to her, slicing through her memories to pull her back into the present like a lifeline.

They had talked it all out right Rumi shouldn’t still be feeling this way. 

She let a single tear roll down her cheek. 

“I’m just- I'm just nervous about what the fans will think is all. They don’t know what these patterns mean, what if they think I’m a monster?” 

Just like you did.

Zoey gently cupped Rumi’s cheek with one hand. With the other, she traced the line of a pattern near Rumi’s eye—light, reverent.

“The fans…” she murmured, trailing her finger down to the edge of Rumi’s neck, “will think you’re beautiful.”

“Just like we do,” Mira added, leaning in to press a kiss to Rumi’s shoulder.

Rumi felt herself relax under their affections. The memory of that awful night slipped back, fading into the corners of her mind like smoke.

She pulled away and grabbed one of the others' hands in her own. 

“Thanks guys.”

They smiled 

“Now let's go kill this concert!”

-

Rumi performed flawlessly 

The first concert of the Huntrix tour was a huge success. The crowd was electric, singing along to every lyric, waving light sticks in synchronized patterns. The newly sealed Honmoon shimmered in the air above the stage, glowing brighter with every cheer.

Then the post show interview came. 

Bobby had scheduled a major sit-down with one of the top entertainment networks as part of their comeback rollout. Since the group’s apparent disbanding during the chaotic IDOL Awards, fans had been desperate for answers. Even with the tour announced, rumors had swirled—fighting, betrayal, broken contracts, heartbreak.

The interview was going smoothly. The girls hit every mark—smiles in place, well-timed laughter, easy banter with the host, heartfelt (but vague) answers about their “hiatus.” It was textbook media training. They were doing everything right. All that was left now was to wrap it up and say a goodbye to-

“Rumi, can you tell us about the marks on your skin?” 

The question cut through her like her blade. She froze. Smile plastered on, suddenly hollow. Her mouth was dry. Her breath caught in her chest like a trap had sprung. She couldn’t move.

“Rumi?’ The interviewer asked again after a pregnant pause. 

So sweet, so easy on the eyes, but hideous on the inside.

You’re a demon. A mistake

The voices weren't real—they never were. But they echoed anyway.

Rumi prided herself on being kind. Steady. Controlled. But now something hot and ancient stirred inside her—rage that burned like it had during her confrontation with Celine. A primal anger that whispered,they’re afraid of you. They hate you for what you are.

“The marks,” she said, visibly tense, hands clenched in her lap. Her voice taught like a wire about to snap “They show what I am. What I’ve been through. And if people want to call me names because of them, fine. But I won't apologize for surviving.”

Her voice wavered slightly on the last word. Only Mira and Zoey saw the Honmoon—hovering faintly over the room—ripple with a sudden flush of pink.

Zoey gently put her hand on her knee, grounding her.

“What she means,” Mira jumping in smoothly, “is that Rumi’s always been the strongest of us, these patterns just prove it.”

“Oh, well—of course she is! The fearless leader of Huntrix!” the interviewer said quickly, eager to move on. Offstage, Bobby looked like he might pass out.

The rest of the interview passed in a blur. Rumi remembered smiling, waving at the fans through the camera. She hoped it looked real. She hoped it was enough.

-

Later, back in the greenroom, the makeup was off but the ache remained. Rumi sat on the edge of the couch, shoulders hunched, staring at her reflection in a darkened vanity mirror. The patterns on her arms shimmered faintly in the low light.

The room was quiet now. Zoey and Mira had gone to change into their normal clothes. Bobby was somewhere talking to press. For the first time all night, Rumi was alone.

And that’s when the singing began.

A soft, familiar melody—off-key, slightly warped—floated from the hallway.

Takedown, takedown

Takedown, down, down, down

Her heart stuttered.

No one was supposed to be here.

She frantically looked around, telling herself that this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Gwi Ma was gone. They had defeated him after the IDOL awards.Zoey and Mira loved her.

They had promised. They had promised, right?

A faint purple glow caught her eye—coming from the corner where the vanity mirror stood. 

Part of her still hated looking in the mirror.

She whipped her head around anyways and ran over to see her reflection. There they were. To her horror a grotesque, distorted image of Mira and Zoey looked back at her. Their eyes held nothing but contempt and malice. Their voices rang out with the words that haunted her every waking moment. 

“Cause I see your real face and it's ugly as sin

Time to put you in your place 'cause you're rotten within

When your patterns start to show

It makes the hatred wanna grow outta my veins”

They dragged their hands across the Honmoon and summoned their weapons pointing them at Rumi. Only then did she notice her own reflection.

Her patterns were dark again, like a bruise and angry. Her irises blazed orange. Her hands had transformed into purple claws. Sharp teeth. Horns curling from her scalp.

No. No. No.

This isn't happening. I won't become this.

The patterns on her face pulsed with angry light, as if resisting her panic. With a guttural cry, Rumi dragged her claws across her face, desperate to tear the patterns away. They remained—untouched. Her skin, unmarred. The glow intensified, mocking her.

Her scream tore through the room as she summoned her blade from the Honmoon, raising it above her head—shaking, wild-eyed—ready to strike.

“RUMI NO!”

Zoey burst into the room and tackled her just as the blade came down. They tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs and tears. Rumi panted, trembling as she looked into Zoey’s terrified eyes.

“Rumi!” Zoey sobbed, holding her tightly. “What were you doing?!”

Rumi couldn’t answer. Her breath came in ragged gulps as she pushed Zoey off her with a grunt and ran back to the mirror.

Her patterns were back to their iridescent shine. But her face bore angry red scratches from her claws—evidence of her breakdown.

Zoey hurriedly got up from the floor and ran over to her. She grabbed a tissue from the vanity and dabbed at the few drops of blood that had managed to break through Rumi’s skin and gently stroked Rumi’s hair with trembling fingers. 

“Rumi, what happened?” she whispered, barely louder than a breath. “You really scared me.I thought we said we’d talk about how you’re feeling… not keep it all in again.”

Rumi trembled. The hallucination still clawed at the edges of her mind. 

“You don’t know what it’s like!” Rumi blurted out. Her voice rose to a yell “You have no idea how it feels to look in the mirror and not know if you’re the monster everyone fears!”  

Zoey gasps at Rumi’s outburst. 

The door creaked. Mira stood in the doorway, half-dressed, expression hard to read.

“What’s going on here?” she demanded, eyes zeroing in on Rumi’s torn face. “Rumi what the hell happened to your face?”

Zoey’s soft sniffles caught both of their attention. Tears were softly falling from her eyes. 

“Zoey,” Rumi said, realizing what she had done. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

Mira quickly crossed the room and wrapped Zoey in her arms, pulling her protectively to her side.“Come here,” she murmured, gently brushing Zoey’s hair behind her ear. Then she turned to Rumi. Her tone softened, but carried weight.

“Rumi... I don’t know what happened to you during that interview, or just now. But yelling at Zoey? After everything? That’s not okay.”

Rumi looked down, ashamed.

“But…” Mira continued, more gently now, “I do know that something’s eating at you. I saw it in your eyes. I felt it when you spoke tonight. You’re scared. And you're hurting. I get it.”

She brushed Zoey’s hair back, soothing her.

“But you’re not alone. You don’t have to claw your way through this by yourself. That’s what we’re here for. But if you shut us out—if you lash out at us—it’s going to feel even worse.”

Mira’s eyes softened.

“Please don’t make us feel like we’re losing you again.”

Rumi didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

Mira turned with Zoey in her arms and guided her toward the door. Just before leaving, she glanced over her shoulder.

She didn’t close it.

Rumi hoped that meant something. 

She collapsed onto the couch, breathing in silence.

She looked at the mirror again.

This time, her reflection didn’t taunt her. It simply stared. Her face was back to normal—but the scratches, the wild eyes, the fear—they were all real.

She touched the claw marks on her cheek.

What if it happens again?

 What if next time they’re not there to stop me?

 What if… I become the thing I’m trying to protect them from?

She curled her arms around herself.

And the Honmoon shimmered faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

-

Rumi liked going to the rooftops at night. 

Looking down at the city made her problems feel smaller—almost manageable. She watched the Honmoon shimmer in the sky above the skyline, its glow dancing in the same colors as her patterns. The wind kissed the exposed skin on her cheeks, making the fading marks there sting.

Huntrix had finished the second night of their world tour just a day ago. Rumi should’ve been resting.

But she couldn’t stop thinking.

What if the episodes kept coming back?

What if she could never truly feel the love Mira and Zoey had for her? What if she ruined it—again?

Her eyes welled with tears as she tugged at the sleeves of her jacket, trying to hide the patterns on her arms. Since she’d upset Zoey, she’d gone back to covering them. She couldn’t bear to let anyone see them right now.

“You always did pick the dramatic spots,” came a soft voice behind her.

Rumi didn’t turn, but she knew it was Mira.

“We brought snacks,” Zoey added, holding up a convenience store bag like it was a peace offering.

“I got those spicy shrimp chips you like,” she said, nudging her playfully. “I also… might’ve eaten half the bag on the way up.”

The girls sat on either side of Rumi, thighs touching. They were all silent for a moment. Rumi sat as still and rigid as a statue. She was afraid that any sudden movement would break her and show.

Mira’s hand on her thigh was all it took. 

“I keep seeing it,” she whispered. “That moment… after the IDOL Awards. When you both—when you raised your weapons at me.”

Zoey tensed beside her. Mira closed her eyes.

“I know you were trying to help,” Rumi said quickly. “I know. But… something in me keeps going back to it. My brain replays it like it’s proof. That the people I love most once thought I was dangerous enough to stop.”

Her voice cracked.

“And then the dreams started. That hallucination in the greenroom? It wasn’t the first time. It’s always you two. But wrong. Demonic. Cruel. Singing Takedown like it was written for me. Telling me I’m a mistake. That I’m rotten inside.”

She wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“And the worst part is… I believed them.”

Mira exhaled slowly.

“You weren’t you in that moment. You were hurting. Overwhelmed. We thought we were losing you.” Zoey said softly.

Rumi shook her head and let out a sob. “But you still aimed at me!”

Mira reached for her hand—slowly, like approaching a wild animal. She waited for Rumi to flinch. She didn’t. 

“We didn’t know what else to do,” Mira confessed. She placed her hand on Rumi’s cheek and gently turned her head towards her. 

Zoey leaned her head on Rumi’s shoulder. “You saved us, Rumi. You saved everyone. And you still think you're the villain of the story.”

“Because I was the villain of the story,” Rumi said, voice breaking. “We���re hunters. We’re supposed to kill demons. So what does that make me?”

She looked down at her covered arms, her voice barely audible. “My whole life I was told these patterns were wrong. That I had to hide them. That once they were gone, I could finally start living the life I pretended to have. But they’re still here—and now I know they’ll never go away.”

Her breath hitched.

“How could I ever expect you to love me when I can’t even stand to look at myself in the 

The silence that followed was thick. Unmoving. The only sound was the wind brushing past them.

Mira was the first to speak.

“Rumi… when we first saw you with patterns, we were scared. That part’s true. We were confused—because we were raised to fear demons. Raised to believe they couldn’t be trusted.”

Rumi flinched, but Mira didn’t let go.

“But even more than that, we were taught to rely on each other. To love each other. And we know you, Rumi.”

She reached over Rumi’s legs, gently took Zoey’s hand, and laced their fingers together. “So if you’re part demon? That doesn’t change a damn thing.”

Zoey shifted closer. Her voice was soft, but unwavering.

“I don’t love you despite your patterns, Rumi,” she whispered. “I love you because you fight through every reason you were told not to. Every lie. Every fear. You wake up and try again. That’s who you are.”

She kept one hand in Mira’s, and with her free one, gently placed Rumi’s hand over her chest.

“This? You already have it. All of it.”

Mira leaned in and put her forehead on Rumi’s. 

“We were told to fear demons our whole lives. But I’ve never met anyone with more heart than you,” she murmured. “You carry your pain like armor, but you’ve never once used it to hurt someone. You don’t scare me, Rumi. You ground me.”

She brushed her lips softly against Rumi’s temple.

“We don’t want the version of you that’s hiding. We want you. All of you. Patterns and all.”

[hugheswho]

Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep?

Summary: You come across an edit of young Luke while he’s asleep next to you in bed. You can’t hide your emotions and wake him up from crying so violently. 

Paring: Luke Hughes x fem!reader

Warnings: all fluff and crying <3

Author’s Note: Inspired by this tiktok i saw a few months ago that made me gasp out loud. Haven’t stopped thinking about it since

Word Count: 1.7k

It’s late. Really late. Too late to be on your phone. You’re too engrossed in TikTok, convincing yourself it’s okay to endlessly scroll as a way to shut your brain off after a busy day. Luke has been snoozing away next to you for hours at this point.

There really is no rhyme or reason to your For You Page. Some are recipe videos, some are stand-up comedy bits, and others are part 16 of a full-length feature film. You tell yourself you’ll stop scrolling once you find the best video of the night. The right TikTok that satisfies you enough to say ‘Okay, yeah, I should stop now.”

You think you’ve found it when you scroll once more and your boyfriend appears on your screen. You’ve never actively searched Luke’s name on TikTok, but it doesn’t surprise you that he shows up quite a bit. From the number of times you like the Devils' posts, send things to Luke, and, quite frankly, just say his name out loud, you know your phone is listening to you. The algorithm knows all. Can you blame a girl for indulging in some thirst traps of her boyfriend?

A soft smile forms on your face as the video starts, Hozier’s cover of Do I Wanna Know? playing over clips of Luke. Nothing too crazy, just some clips of him in interviews. You’ve seen this trend before and wait with bated breath, expecting the song to flip to the original Arctic Monkeys version with clips of Luke looking rather…. scrumptious. 

But that doesn’t happen. The song doesn’t change; instead, the shots of Luke do. It’s no longer the current-day man that sleeps a foot away from you. Rather, it’s young Luke. The boy who became your best friend at birth. The boy you grew up with. The boy you fell in love with. 

The switch to adolescent Luke feels like a gut punch. You can’t stop thinking about your lives together. How you’ve always had one another. Even in those clips of baby Luke, you knew him when he first learned to skate. You knew him during his time in the program. You know him now, fulfilling his dream of being in the NHL.

It suddenly became all too much. You don’t even realize you’re crying until a tear drops onto your phone screen. The more you rewatch the video, the more you cry. You think you have it under control, but every time the plot twist happens, your body betrays you, shuddering and gasping. You cover your mouth with your hand when you start to feel something shifting next to you. 

“Babe? What’s going on?” You hear a very tired and confused Luke rasp out. 

Still actively crying in the dark, you respond, “Nothing Lu, go back to sleep.” You hope he’s too drowsy that he can’t properly comprehend your mental state. There’s no way you can explain this to him right now. 

“Are you laughing or crying?” Luke asks, having definitely picked up on your unsteady voice. 

“I think both?” you answer truthfully. This is seriously ridiculous, you think to yourself. The absurdity of the moment makes you cry more. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Luke softly questions while leaning over to turn the bedside lamp on.

When the bulb illuminates the room, you get your first good look at his face since before you both retired to bed hours ago. And that just breaks the dam. The sight of his matured face, merely inches away from you, combined with the young, baby-faced Luke you were just watching on repeat, causes you to wail out a full-on sob. 

Luke’s eyes go wide, sleep fully gone from his body. He quickly caresses your arm up and down to soothe you.

“Am I that ugly?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. 

“No, no, not at all. I just…” you trail off. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

This can’t be happening. What are you even supposed to reply? Tell the truth and look like a fool? He’s never going to let you live it down. 

“Nothing, it’s stupid.” You settle on, hoping he’ll just let it go.

“It’s not stupid if it has you this upset.” God, why is he so good to you? Your tears still fall, this time at his tender care for you. 

“You’re going to laugh at me.”

“I promise I won’t,” Luke says seriously, staring into your eyes. You frown to yourself, not budging. “Baby, please tell me why you’re crying. I’m not going back to sleep until we figure this out.”

Looking back at him, you sigh, “It’s silly,” your last futile attempt to get out of this hole you’ve dug yourself into. If only you were a quieter crier. 

Luke just fixes you a look, his eyes boring into yours, as to say ‘I’m not dropping this.’ You finally cave and turn your phone towards him. Luke’s brows furrow as the video starts, confused about where this is headed. 

“A TikTok made you cry?”

You weakly roll your eyes at your chronically offline boyfriend. 

“When don’t TikToks make me cry?” you ask rhetorically, earning a laugh from Luke. 

As the video shifts to clips of young Luke, and your breathing gets a bit more staggered rewatching, Luke softly smiles to himself. His eyes look in your direction and see the look on your face. One full of love. 

Luke knows he’s still young, but those moments seem like a lifetime ago. He can’t believe how far he’s come in such a short amount of time. He’d say he can’t believe you’ve been there alongside him the whole time, except he can believe it. Because that’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been to him. The person he could turn to for anything. When he wasn’t sure if being drafted to the Devils would be a good or bad thing for him. When he felt his whole life turn upside down in a second as he left Tampa after losing the Frozen Four. When he felt like he wasn’t the player he knew he could be during his rookie year. All those moments where Luke felt like the walls were crashing in on him, you single-handedly pushed them off of him. 

Then the video ends, and you both turn to look at each other. Your lips are pulled into the cutest little frown, eyes glassy and red, with a stray tear rolling down to your neck. Luke takes in the sight before him and bites his lip to make sure he doesn’t crack, but you see right through him. 

“YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T LAUGH!”

“I'M NOT LAUGHING! I’m just… smiling because you’re so cute.” Luke reacts, clearly laughing. 

You just pout, letting out a whine as you roll your head onto Luke’s shoulder. Instinctively, he wraps his arm around your waist to get you as close as possible. 

“Baby, why did that make you cry?” Luke inquires while softly brushing the hair on the back of your head with his free hand. His head rests atop yours. 

“Because you were so young and that was the boy I fell in love with but waited so long to tell when we could've been loving each other since then instead of both suffering in silence!” You blurt out in one whole sentence, no time for pauses, as your tears start back up at how much time you feel you’ve lost with Luke. 

“You’re acting like we weren’t in each other's lives then,” Luke replied amused at your dramatics but still soft enough to let you know he’s not dismissing you. 

“But we weren’t in the way we are now. And you were so precious then! But I didn’t get to kiss your face the way I do now when I think you’re being cute!” 

Luke fondly smiles before saying “we happened when we were meant to happen.” 

“You didn’t even know I loved you then,” you mumble as you wipe your tears, not happy your boyfriend isn’t indulging in your pity party. 

Silence washes over the two of you. Luke continues to stroke your arm as a means of comfort. He turns his head to place a kiss on your temple. 

“I did. I knew.” 

You pivot your head to look at your boyfriend. Faces only a few inches away from each other. There’s something about Luke’s eyes that act as a magnetic force. Once you catch a glance, you can’t look away. 

“Yeah?” you ask above a whisper, not wanting to seem too hopeful, as if he’d care about that. 

“Yeah.” 

You suddenly feel vulnerable. You and Luke have been in each others lives since birth. You started dating after his playoffs debut. Obviously both of you loved each other before then. However, you never really went into when you both fell in love. You feel exposed having told Luke you loved him since your early teens. 

Needing his reassurance, you quietly ask, “and you loved me then too?”

Luke’s stoic face lights up, a smile slowly stretching across it. 

“Completely adored.”

You swallow your nerves down with the revelation of Luke loving you back at the same time. With the new found confidence, you say “so why not then? Why didn’t we get together years ago instead of waiting?”

“We were young,” Luke shrugs before continuing, “I don’t think we would’ve been able to give each other what we wanted if we started then. We both had to figure out who we were before we committed to this.”

“But it’s us,” you defend, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Because it is. 

Luke laughs at your persuasiveness. 

“Look, we both wanted each other then, right? But we both had so much maturing to do. And once we did that, we both still wanted each other. That’s how we were able to find our way to where we are now. Neither of us were in the way of the other, we were just…on the sideline. Cheering each other into the right path.” 

The tears start again. You look down at your phone, picturing all the memories of you and Luke as toddlers, kids, teenagers, and now young adults. 

“I miss us being young together,” you confess. 

“You’re going to say that about us now in thirty years. We have the rest of our lives to spend together. And prove how much we love each other,” Luke reassures you, and you know he means it. 

“Now can you please put your phone away and cuddle with me?” 

[prettygirl-gabi]

So Ma, What Do You Wanna Do?

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Short!Reader

Fandom: WNBA-Dallas Wings

Summary: never were just friends…

A/N: starting off Pride with a Hard launch fic

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom , @zizi-bee-yapping , @latenighttalkinqwp , @fairyblossomsav

The thing about dating Paige Bueckers—America’s golden girl, walking highlight reel, everyone’s favorite hooper—is that no matter how private she tries to be, people watch.

A lot.

Not just fans.

Teammates.

Coaches.

Her family.

Random baristas who pause halfway through her iced matcha because “Wait, are you Paige Bueckers?” And since I’m, well… me—barely 5’2” on a good day wearing heels and introverted enough to disappear in a crowd—we’ve been playing this very careful game.

To the outside world, we’re best friends.

Roommates, if anyone asks.

And yeah, besties hold hands sometimes, maybe nap on each other on planes, maybe share hoodies and match sneakers—but PDA?

Affection that reads as romantic?

Never too much of that. Not yet.

But today? Today changed everything.

It started on a lazy afternoon. Paige had a the day off from practice, and I was curled on the couch in one of her oversized Wings tees—correction: our oversized Wings tees—scrolling through TikTok while she finished up a call with her agent in the other room.

I was bored. Dangerous level bored. So naturally, I fell into a rabbit hole of Paige edits.

Then, BookTok edits/ trends.

The trends kept coming up.

One in particular.

You know the one.

The tall person (Paige). The short person (me). The quiet tension. The “two fingers under the chin, lift your face and make you look them in the eye” trope that sent people feral in the comments.

I’d seen versions of it all week.

And now? All I could think was: Would it really be that hard to recreate?

So I did what any slightly chaotic, secretly in love girlfriend would do.

I set my phone up on the entry shelf behind a plant—just enough coverage to keep it hidden, but still in full frame.

Paige wouldn’t notice. She was too busy dragging herself around the apartment like a sleepy golden retriever in slides.

“Paaaaige,” I sing-songed.

She appeared around the corner, barefoot, hair pulled back, sleepy eyes scanning me like I was up to something.

“What, baby?”

“Dinner,” I said, backing into the doorway casually. “Should we eat out or stay in?”

She shrugged, walking closer putting her hair in a low messy bun. “You wanna go out? I’m good either way. What are you in the mood for?”

I was already fidgeting.

Avoiding her gaze like usual when it came to that topic.

Going out together as just the two of us still felt… vulnerable. I hated being the one people stared at when they recognized Paige in public.

Hated the weird math they did in their heads when they saw us holding hands like, wait… that’s not just a friend, right?

And Paige always noticed when I started deflecting.

“You’re doing the thing again,” she said quietly, stepping closer, her frame easily boxing me in against the doorway.

I glanced away, lips twitching. “What thing?”

“That thing where you look at every surface except my eyes.”

“I dunno,” I mumbled. “That’s why I’m asking you, P.”

She tilted her head, slow and soft. “Nah, baby. We’re not doing that.”

She raised her hand—two fingers under my chin—and lifted my face so we were eye to eye.

Camera still rolling.

“Look at me and tell me what you wanna do, mama.”

I felt myself short-circuit. Literally buffering. If this were a live stream, I’d be frozen in 144p with the spinning wheel of death.

“I—um,” I blinked, eyes wide. “I mean—like—we could go out if you want—”

She hummed. “So, m’onna ask again-ma, what do you wanna do? Because we don’t have to go out if you don’t wanna. I get it. I really do.”

God, her voice was low. Kind. Patient. Gentle dominance at its finest. Her fingers never dropped from my chin.

I melted.

Folded.

Like a human pretzel.

I had nothing left. All thoughts gone.

“We can… we can eat out tonight,” I whispered. “Don’t really feel like cooking. Plus by the time we umm… we ordered and it gets here it’ll be like warm.”

She nodded then leaned in, kissed the side of my forehead, then a quick soft one on my lips and said, “Cool. Get dressed. We’ll hit that TexMex place you like.”

She walked off like she didn’t just drop a TikTok nuke. (Which she had no idea about)

Two hours later, we were seated in a corner booth of La Cabaña, half a bowl into the best queso in Dallas, and I pulled out my phone like it wasn’t burning a hole in my pocket.

“I, uh… may’ve recorded something earlier.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Of me?”

I turned the screen to face her and hit play.

We both watched as she slowly, unknowingly gave the world the softest, most heart-melting alpha moment in TikTok history.

Me, looking like I was trying not to spontaneously combust. Paige, calm and smooth and built like a tall glass of “yes ma’am.”

The trend. Executed. Perfectly.

“Oh,” she said after the video ended. “Baby, you really folded.”

I covered my face with my hand. “I told you. You had me buffering like a broken smart fridge.”

She smiled, barely fighting a laugh. “You gonna post that?”

“Thinking about it, but I dunno” I mumbled.

She shrugged and sipped her horchata. “Post it if you want. I really don’t care. Just know…” She leaned across the table, eyes dropping to my lips. “The PDA? It’s not gonna be ‘friendly hand holding’ after that video goes up.”

I choked on a tortilla chip.

She smirked.

Once back at home, I uploaded it. No captions about “guess who” or “my bestie lol.” No ambiguity. Just the truth.

Caption:

Nothing about this says just friends. Especially not dishing out these types of kisses either.

@PaigeBueckers

#booktoktrend #girlfriendsoftiktok #tallgfshortgf #hardlaunch

Paige’s comment came not even a full minute later.

@/Paige Bueckers:

I said what I said. And I’d say it again. louder. with tongue. 🧏‍♀️💋😈

The likes blew up. Comments exploded. People were freaking out.

• “THE WAY Y/N FOLDED LMFAOOOO IKEA CHAIR ENERGY 🪑😮‍💨”

• “if someone ever said ‘what do you wanna do, mama’ i’d die.”

• “this was not a soft launch. this was a full Broadway debut.”

• “Paige said ✨look at me✨ and we ALL looked.”

• “BookTok ain’t never seen it done so real.”

• “I need this kind of dominance in my life immediately.”

Fran, my childhood(and current) best friend texted within five minutes: “EXCUSE ME?!?! YOU AND PAIGE?!?!?!? I’M CALLING YOU.”

I put my phone face down.

“Too much?” I asked, settling into Paige’s side on the couch.

Her arm slipped around me. “Nah. Just enough.”

We watched the likes climb. The comments multiply. The secret we’d been keeping finally out in the open, loud and proud.

And true to her word, the next time we went out? Paige didn’t just hold my hand.

She kissed me—gently, sweetly—right on the sidewalk. Right in front of everyone.

And not a single person thought we were just best friends again.

Not after that.

Not ever.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[jxstsxgx]

𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚄𝚂 | 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚅𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚃𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Steve Harrington x gf!Reader

Word Count: 1,220 words

Summary: You walked away thinking you were second best. Steve let you. Two months later, he finally proves you weren’t. (This is part two of Hard To Love!)

Contains: Angst Turned Fluff, Reconciliation, Marriage, Domestic Future, Past Angst, Cheesy Reconciliation, Established Relationship, References to Marriage & Family Life

A/N: Based on this ask by @keerygal. I'm sooo sorry it took a while, I got sidetracked (fought with kids in online games) lmao. But here it is, hope y'all enjoy! 🩵

PS. I suck at looking up pictures so please bear with it. 😭

masterlist | part one

The spring gave way to summer without ceremony. The days got warmer. Hawkins got quieter. The cracks in your heart stayed the same.

You didn’t see Steve.

Not really.

You saw him in passing. In crowded spaces where the gang still hung out, though more carefully now. Like everyone could feel the shift but no one knew how to name it.

You stopped sitting next to each other. Your jokes didn’t land the same. You didn’t bring up movies anymore, and he didn’t offer to drive you home. The silence wasn’t angry, it was worse than that. It was resigned.

It wasn’t one big fight that broke you.

It was the echo.

That moment on the porch. The sound of Steve’s voice saying words meant for someone else. Words about a life you’d never be a part of, because he hadn’t pictured you in it.

And you’d been doing all the picturing.

God, that was the thing that hurt the most. You were all in. You’d imagined road trips, sharing apartments, staying up late and watching bad TV. You imagined watching him hold your kids. Watching him grow old.

You gave him every piece of your future.

And in the quiet of that pool party, you learned you’d never been part of his.

Steve felt it too.

Felt it in the way your name sat heavy in his throat, like it didn’t belong to him anymore. In the way he still saw your ghost in his car, in his house, in the songs you used to hum under your breath.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you.

But he had.

Not with malice. Not even with carelessness.

Just with honesty.

Because that version of the future he talked about? With Nancy? It wasn’t real. It was just a leftover dream he didn’t know how to stop carrying.

He didn’t want Nancy back.

But he wanted something simple. Something linear. Something familiar enough to not be scary.

And you were none of those things.

You were chaos and challenge and realness. You looked at him like you saw all his worst parts ,and still held out his hand. And he didn’t know how to let someone love him like that. Not fully.

So he’d held back.

And you’d noticed.

And now?

Now there was nothing to hold at all.

Robin asked about you once.

“Have you called her?”

Steve shook his head. “No point.”

“She didn’t ask for space, Steve. She asked for more. And you didn’t give it to her.”

“I didn’t know how.”

Robin frowned. “Then maybe she was right.”

Steve didn’t answer. Just swallowed hard and walked out the back door.

Your room felt different without him.

It wasn’t like you lived together, but his presence had seeped into everything. His sweaters were still in your drawer. His stupid tube socks were in your laundry. The corner of your mattress still dipped where he used to sit and pull off his sneakers.

He’d kissed you there once, soft and slow. Whispered something like “I think I could love you forever” into your neck.

You wished he hadn’t said it.

You wished you didn’t still believe it.

Two months later, Steve knocked on your door at 1:12 a.m.

It was raining, of course it was raining, and he looked like something out of a bad rom-com with his hair flat, shirt sticking to his chest, breathless like he’d run the whole way.

You opened the door before you even knew why.

And he said, “I can’t do this.”

You blinked, heart thudding. “What?”

“I can’t keep pretending like I didn’t screw everything up,” he said. “I can’t keep trying to go through my days like there isn’t this giant, gaping hole where you are supposed to be.”

You stared at him.

He took a shaky breath. “I was scared, okay? You were too good. Too real. You made me want things I thought I wasn’t allowed to have anymore. And I ruined it.”

You didn’t speak. Not yet.

“I said something stupid to Nancy. Something I didn’t even mean in the way it sounded. And if you heard it, and it made you feel like I didn’t see a future with you, then I failed. Because all I do is picture you. Us. A dog we both forget to feed on time. Kids that have your laugh and my hair and leave socks in the microwave or something stupid like that.”

You blinked, lips twitching despite yourself.

Steve stepped closer. “I don’t want that life with anyone else. Not anymore. Not even in my imagination. It’s you. It’s always been you, and I didn’t say it when it mattered. So I’m saying it now.”

“And if you never want to see me again, I’ll walk away,” he said, voice shaking now. “But if there’s even the smallest part of you that still loves me, I’m begging you...”

You didn’t let him finish.

You grabbed the front of his stupid soaked shirt and kissed him like you were starving.

Because you were.

And he kissed you back like he’d been drowning.

Three years later, you now stood in the backyard of a small two bedroom house just outside Hawkins.

The baby monitor sat on the patio table beside two half-finished drinks. The pool was quiet. The fairy lights Steve insisted on stringing every spring blinked lazily in the dark.

“Remember the last time we were at a pool party?” you teased, curling into his side.

He groaned. “Don’t remind me. Worst night of my life.”

“Could’ve been the last.”

“Was almost the last,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Glad it wasn’t.”

The baby monitor crackled softly.

You smiled.

Inside, your daughter, the little girl with Steve’s sleepy eyes, a head full of hair and your stubborn scowl turned over in her crib and sighed.

Steve glanced down at you.

“You know I still picture a future sometimes,” he said.

You raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. But it’s not a dream anymore. It’s real. You, me, her. Maybe another one. A backyard. A swing set. You threatening to murder me if I forget to take the chicken out of the freezer again.”

You laughed, heart aching in the best way.

He squeezed your hand. “I know I was hard to love. But you did it anyway. And I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worth it.”

You kissed him, soft and slow.

“I already think you are.”

And under the string lights, with your daughter safe inside and Steve holding you like a promise, the future you once thought you'd lost bloomed around you, not a perfect one, not the one he once imagined with someone else.

But the one you built together.

The only one that ever truly fit.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Too Precious | LN4

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Lando loves the party life. She prefers quiet nights in. When their differences start to build, so does the tension.

A/N: This is part of my Playlist Roulette series, where I shuffle my playlists and write a story inspired by the first song that pops up. This story is inspired by the song Too Precious by Em Beihold.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

'Cause according to you, I'm too precious You're wishin' that I was more reckless You're wishin' that I would smoke 'til I'm high And play with the guys, regret this You're wishin' that I was more trouble Sorry for being a struggle I do what I want and may not be your type Sorry I can't be a person you like

Lando had always been the type to take things too far.

He lived for the noise. Loud music, louder people, places where the drinks never stopped flowing and sleep was something you caught on a plane. It was easier that way. Fill every second, don’t let your mind slow down enough to catch up.

Since he was sixteen, life had been a blur of tracks and cameras and fake smiles at dinners with sponsors. So when the weekends came, when the pressure finally let up, he wanted to feel like he had some control. He wanted to drink, to laugh too hard, to forget.

And at first, she hadn’t minded. She was different from everyone else in his circle. Calm. Private. Comfortable in silence. Lando had thought it was refreshing. Being with Lando meant fast flights to Ibiza, impulsive parties, nights where the sunrise came too soon. But the novelty wore off. Now she just felt tired. Like she was always trying to catch up to a version of him that wouldn’t sit still. She’d thought maybe he’d slow down for her. He thought she’d go along with him.

They were both wrong.

"Just try it," he said, holding out the glass. "It’s literally one drink."

She didn’t even look at it. "I’m fine."

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

Lando leaned back against the kitchen counter, the glass still in his hand. "You’re kind of allergic to fun, aren’t you?"

She glanced up, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

He took a sip and shrugged. "Nothing. Just... you’re too precious sometimes."

She blinked, like she wasn’t sure she heard him right. "Too precious?"

"Yeah." He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Too good for all this. For drinks, for staying out past midnight, for letting loose like the rest of us."

She crossed her arms. "That’s not fair."

"It’s not an insult."

"It sounds like one."

Lando tossed the rest of his drink back, ignoring the way her face tightened.

"I’m not going to pretend I’m into something I’m not. That’s not fair to either of us."

He pulled back slightly. "Right. Of course. You're too precious."

"Stop saying that."

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Why? If the label fits."

Another night, another party.

She sat in the corner of the room, watching him move through the crowd like he belonged to everyone. He was surrounded by friends, or at least people who laughed when he made a joke and handed him a joint without asking questions.

One of the guys passed it to her.

"I’m good," she said quickly, waving it away.

Lando saw from across the room and walked over, slightly buzzed and way too confident.

"Come on," he said, voice low against her ear. "One puff won't turn you into a delinquent."

"Can we not do this here?"

He straightened, irritated. "We’re just having fun."

"I know. It’s just... not my idea of fun."

His smile faded. "Right. I forgot. You don’t like anything messy."

"That’s not true."

"You say that, but every time things get a little wild, you check out. You sit on the couch and stare at your phone until it’s time to leave."

"Because I don’t want to pretend to enjoy something that makes me uncomfortable."

Lando’s mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned back toward the crowd. She watched him go, heart sinking.

The fight came later that week.

He showed up late to dinner, still wearing a wristband from some club he never mentioned he was going to. She had cooked for once, tried to make something that wasn’t takeout.

Lando kicked his shoes off and tossed his keys onto the table like nothing was wrong.

"You look nice," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"You’re late."

He pulled back. "Traffic."

She just stared at him. The lie was too easy.

"You said we’d have a quiet night."

"And we are."

"You went to a party."

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. "For like, an hour. Don’t make it a thing."

"You could’ve told me."

"I didn’t think I needed permission."

She bit the inside of her cheek. "That’s not what I said."

Lando set the bottle down harder than necessary. "Is this really about me being late, or is this about how I live my life again?"

She met his gaze. "It’s about you never being fully present unless there’s a camera on or a drink in your hand."

He scoffed. "There it is."

"There’s what?"

"The judgment."

"It’s not judgment."

"You keep saying that, but every word out of your mouth is just a more polite way of saying you think I’m a screw-up."

"I just think your... lifestyle. It isn’t healthy."

He blinked, like she’d slapped him. "Wow. That’s what you think of me?"

"It’s just I think you’re constantly burning the candle at both ends and pretending it doesn’t affect you."

He laughed, but it wasn’t light. "So now I need saving?"

"That’s not what I said."

"You didn’t have to."

She stepped closer, trying to stay calm. "I’m not trying to change you, Lando. I just want you to see that this isn’t sustainable."

"You think I haven’t heard that before?" His voice was rising now. "From my team, my parents, everyone who wants a piece of me? I don’t need to hear it from you too."

"I’m not trying to pile on, Lando. I just—"

"What? Want me to grow up? Stay in? Light some candles and watch a movie like everything’s normal?"

"Yes," she said softly. "Sometimes I do."

He stared at her, something shifting in his face. "You want to fix me."

"No," she whispered. "I want to reach you. But you’re always somewhere else."

He laughed, bitter. "That’s rich, coming from you."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"I want you to stop treating me like some broken kid who needs to be fixed."

"That’s not fair. I didn’t mean anything like that-"

"You know what’s not fair? You walking around acting like you’re better than all of it. Too perfect to ever mess up. Too perfect to actually live a little."

"I don’t think I’m perfect."

"You act like it. You sit there with your tea and your books and your damn moral compass, and every time I step out of line, you look at me like I’m some kind of disappointment. And now you’re trying to control how I live?"

"I’m not trying to control you."

"You told me my lifestyle isn’t healthy. You basically just said you’re embarrassed by the way I live."

"I said I’m worried."

"Yeah, sorry you can’t mold me into someone you like."

Her throat tightened. "I don’t want to mold you. I want to feel like I’m not losing you to a version of yourself you don’t even like."

"Don’t psychoanalyze me. You don’t get it."

"Partying every night isn’t healthy!"

He went still.

"There it is again!" His tone turned sharp, defensive.

"I think you’re drowning and pretending you’re swimming."

His jaw clenched. "And I think you’re a control freak who’s afraid of anything she can’t schedule two weeks in advance."

"Wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

There was a long pause. Neither of them moved.

Finally, she spoke. "I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with this."

Lando’s jaw tensed. "Then maybe you’re not the person I should be with."

She swallowed hard. "Maybe I’m not."

The silence between them stretched out like a chasm.

He picked up his keys again.

"Let me know when you’re ready to stop looking at me like I’m a problem. I’ll leave you to your quiet night" he said, and walked out the door.

She didn’t cry. Not right away.

Instead, she sat on the couch alone, staring at the plate of food that had gone cold hours ago.

She hadn’t meant to make him feel small. She just wanted him to slow down long enough to see that not everything good had to be loud and fleeting.

But maybe that was the problem.

He didn’t want quiet. And she couldn’t keep pretending to love the noise.

[infinitydivine]

Pick A Pile: Short and Sweet Messages For You

If this reading resonates with you, kindly share it to help your reader :)

Masterlist -Paid Readings-Paid Readings Reviews-PAC Readings

Choose your pile intuitively. Take what resonates and leave the other things. If you think this reading is not for you then choose another pile. If still it doesn't resonate then this might not be your reading. There are Three Piles.

Hello Pile 1~~~

This is your gentle nudge to slow down, love. Not everything that’s meant for you will come in a rush. Some things needs some soft pauses like a sip of your favorite tea, a calm breath, and a little silence. You’ve been so used to surviving that resting almost feels wrong, doesn’t it? But you’re not in survival anymore. Life is beginning to open up for you. In tiny, delicate ways, peace is finding you again. This pile has the energy of unwinding... like of letting go of guilt around doing “nothing.”" Maybe the nothing is actually something sacred".(this came through very strongly ngl). You guys need to let your nervous system catch up to the version of you that no longer needs to run. There’s beauty in stillness and You’re not falling behind . You’re just learning to walk differently.

“Peace is your power. You don’t have to earn rest. You already deserve it.”

If you liked the reading, book a personal reading with me or you could leave a tip for the reader.

Hello Pile 2~~~

There’s a version of you guys that would be so proud if they saw where you are now. You’ve made it through parts of life that, honestly, should’ve broken you but it didn’t. Yet you are here. You may not feel like a warrior but that’s only because you’ve been fighting so quietly. The kind of strength you carry isn’t loud. It’s soft. It’s patient. It’s in how you keep showing up even when no is there to clap for you. There’s a beautiful moment on its way... one that will feel like a photograph in your memory. You guys will have something to hold onto and say, "Yes, I lived through this, and it was real and sweet and mine." Let life surprise you. The best part hasn’t even happened yet.

“You’ve grown. You’ve softened. You’ve survived. That’s your magic.”

If you liked the reading, book a personal reading with me or you could leave a tip for the reader.

Hello Pile 3~~~

Someone is watching over you, my pile 3's. Maybe you've felt them in the stillness like could be in a dream, a song playing at the exact right time, a thought that comforts you even though no one physically said it. That’s not your imagination. You might have had moments where you were scared too because to them. That’s Spirit. That’s love. You’re being held so gently through this difficult season, even when everything feels like too much.This pile is a reminder that just because you don’t see the support doesn’t mean it’s not there. You’ve been walking with your heart open, carrying more than anyone knows, and still trying to smile through it. But you don’t have to do this alone anymore. Let yourself be supported by Spirit, by the Universe, by love in unseen forms. You are safe to soften now. You are safe to believe again.

“You are never alone. The unseen is walking beside you.”

If you liked the reading, book a personal reading with me or you could leave a tip for the reader.

Thank you and Love,

Infinity

[stlllle]

She Has You Now

Part 2

_A fanfic inspired by Lana Del Rey's “The Other Woman”

Pairing: Bang Chan × Reader

Genre: Angst, heartbreak, emotional slow burn

Warnings: Infidelity, emotional neglect, silent heartbreak, mentions of emotional manipulation, graphic sadness

---

Summary:

You gave him everything — your heart, your home, your years.

You were the quiet love behind the curtains, the girl who stayed loyal in silence.

But love that lives in the shadows can’t survive the light.

Now, he's smiling in public with someone else.

And all you can do is watch... as she gets the version of him you always prayed for.

my main list

Masterlist skz

---

He met you on a rainy Monday, but he swore it felt like seeing the sun for the first time.

You didn’t notice it in his eyes right away, but you felt it in the way he kept looking — even when you looked away. In the way he smiled before saying anything, like he had already decided he liked your presence.

“I’m Chan.”

“I know,” you replied.

He laughed.

“Then I guess I’m your Chan now.”

And he stayed.

---

The first days were simple — just the way they’re supposed to be.

Long walks after work.

Silly texts that made you smile in the middle of the street.

Stolen kisses in your hallway like two teenagers in a rush to feel something.

He was intense but soft.

The kind of person who listened with his eyes. Who remembered your favorite coffee orders. Who kept the little notes you left in his bag.

“You deserve everything that feels light.”

That’s what you’d written on the sticky note inside his lunchbox.

He showed you his studio.

The half-written songs. The lyrics no one else had seen.

You were his good secret.

---

The weeks passed like an old romantic movie:

He’d film you while you slept.

You ran your fingers through his hair until time didn’t matter.

The two of you learned how to exist in the same silence.

And for a while, it really felt like the world was yours.

You went on a short trip to a quiet town where no one knew your names.

You shared a small room, a narrow bed, and whispered promises in the dark.

“We’re gonna last, right?”

You asked after a nightmare.

He kissed your forehead.

“We’re gonna grow old together.”

And you believed him.

How could you not?

Chan said things like he was painting them with his voice.

And you loved like you were finally learning to do it right.

---

He introduced you as “my person.”

And that’s exactly how you felt.

Chosen. Safe.

Loved, finally.

You had silly nicknames, shared favorite songs, and your own little space in his closet.

Even his mom liked you.

She texted you just to ask if you’d eaten well.

It was so easy to love him.

So easy to picture a future.

So easy to smile just because he was there.

---

You didn’t know — and maybe he didn’t either —

that your love had an expiration date.

That somewhere in the distance,

another woman was already being written into his story.

Even though the pen still felt like it was in your hand.

But that…

was later.

Right now?

You were his.

And he…

felt entirely yours.

You started noticing the little things first.

He still kissed you in the morning — but not as long.

He still texted you goodnight — but sometimes just with an emoji.

He still came over — but his bag always looked half-packed, like he was ready to leave again.

At first, you didn’t think much of it.

Maybe he was tired. Maybe the studio hours were getting longer. Maybe he was just going through something and didn’t know how to talk about it yet.

You were understanding.

You always were.

You made his favorite dinner one night — spicy tteokbokki and cold soda — the one you always made when he was stressed.

He smiled, kissed your cheek, and said:

“You didn’t have to do all this…”

But his eyes didn’t light up the way they used to.

He ate slowly. Quietly. Barely touched his drink.

And later, when you curled into his chest on the couch, he stayed stiff for just a second too long before relaxing.

You pretended not to notice.

You told yourself it was nothing.

But deep down, something inside you began to ache.

---

He started working late more often.

Sometimes he didn’t even say goodnight.

And when he did, it was rushed — like a chore, not a feeling.

“I’m just tired, babe.”

“I’ve just got a lot on my plate.”

“Don’t worry so much, okay?”

You nodded every time.

Because that’s what love does. It waits.

It trusts.

It forgives, even before the apology comes.

But you still found yourself staring at the ceiling after midnight, wondering if he was sleeping somewhere else.

Or with someone else.

---

You used to be able to feel him even when he wasn’t touching you.

Now, he could be lying right next to you… and still feel miles away.

He stopped bringing you coffee in the morning.

Stopped sending pictures of his lunch or little selfies from the studio.

The playlists he used to make you every month just… stopped.

When you asked if something was wrong, he smiled and said:

“You’re overthinking again, love. Everything’s fine.”

But everything was not fine.

You could feel it in the way he held his phone tighter.

In the way he turned the screen away when you passed behind him.

In the way he suddenly started going out more, but didn’t invite you along.

---

One night, you sat at the edge of the bed, clutching the hem of your shirt, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Chan… do you still love me?”

He looked up from his phone.

Blinking. Confused. Or pretending to be.

“Of course I do.”

But it came out too fast.

Too smooth.

Like a rehearsed line he’d said too many times to mean anymore.

He leaned over, kissed your forehead — not your lips — and turned off the light.

And you laid there, eyes wide open in the dark, feeling like a guest in your own love story.

---

You told yourself that all couples go through phases.

That maybe things would go back to normal soon.

That he just needed time. Space. Understanding.

But a part of you — the part that knew him best — had already started grieving.

Grieving a love that hadn’t ended yet.

But was clearly… ending.

---

You didn’t mean to see it.

You weren’t the kind of person who checked phones or looked over shoulders. You believed in privacy — in trust.

But when his phone buzzed across the table that night, and the name flashed briefly on the screen…

you froze.

Sooyeon.

With a heart.

Just a name.

Just a notification.

Just one second.

But everything inside you went still

“Who’s Sooyeon?”

You tried to sound casual.

Calm. Like the name didn’t taste bitter in your mouth.

He blinked, shrugged.

“Just someone from work.”

And that was it.

No explanation. No details.

Just enough to make you feel ridiculous for even asking.

You didn’t press further.

You never did.

Because you were afraid of the answers.

---

The days after that felt like walking barefoot through glass.

You started noticing the cologne — one you didn’t buy.

A faint scent of floral perfume clinging to his clothes — one that didn’t belong to you.

Lip balm marks on his coffee lid in a shade you didn’t own.

He’d come home with new playlists. Songs you’d never heard.

He hummed them under his breath. One had the word “her” in the chorus.

You wanted to ask,

but every time the question reached your throat,

it got stuck behind your ribs.

Because the truth wasn’t hiding anymore.

It was dancing in plain sight —

and you were pretending to be blind.

---

You googled her name one night.

Just to see.

Just to make it real.

And there she was.

Pretty. Soft-spoken. Smiling in every photo like the world belonged to her.

She had a voice like velvet and posts about self-love.

The kind of girl that writes captions like “I don’t chase, I attract.”

You stared at her for too long.

And then at yourself.

Barefaced.

Exhausted.

Trying so hard to hold together something that was already slipping through your fingers.

You started sleeping in separate directions.

Not officially. Just… gradually.

Your backs faced each other more often.

He rolled away instead of closer.

You tried kissing him one night, hoping he’d pull you in like he used to.

But he kissed back like it was a favor.

Like he was somewhere else.

---

“Chan, are you seeing someone else?”

It came out on a Tuesday. Quiet. Shaking.

He didn’t answer right away.

Just ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

Like the question itself was exhausting.

“Why would you even ask that?”

He said it like you were the problem.

Like you were ruining everything by naming what was already real.

You didn’t cry.

Not then.

You just nodded and said,

“Sorry.”

And that word — sorry — sat between you like a ghost.

---

That night, he left early.

Said he had a meeting.

Said he wouldn’t be late.

You didn’t ask where.

You didn’t check the time.

You just laid in bed,

curled around a memory that didn’t fit anymore,

and whispered the name you weren’t supposed to know.

Sooyeon.

---

He didn’t come home that night.

He didn’t call.

Didn’t text.

Didn’t even pretend.

You laid in bed with your phone clutched to your chest, staring at the screen until it went dark.

And then you stared at the dark.

For hours.

When the key finally turned in the lock at 4:16 a.m., you didn’t move.

You heard him kick off his shoes.

Heard the soft sound of him placing his phone face-down on the counter.

He walked past the bedroom like a stranger passing through a hotel room.

And when the bed dipped beneath his weight, he didn’t say a word.

Neither did you.

You just closed your eyes and listened to the space between your bodies —

a space that used to be full of warmth,

now echoing with goodbye.

---

In the morning, he left without kissing you.

No “Have a good day.”

No “I love you.”

Just the sound of the door shutting like punctuation.

And silence.

You sat in the kitchen for hours.

Cold coffee.

Hot tears.

The ache in your chest louder than the clock ticking.

That evening, when he came back,

you didn’t wait for him to lie again.

You stood in front of the door, blocking his way.

Eyes swollen.

Voice steady.

“Just tell me.”

He looked tired.

Not sad.

Not guilty.

Just… tired.

"Tell you what?”

His voice was soft. Distant.

“That you love her?”

You whispered.

“That you don’t love me anymore?”

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t say her name.

Didn’t say yours either.

Just looked at the floor.

And then at you.

And in that moment,

you saw everything fall apart.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

His voice cracked, barely.

“But it did.”

You swallowed the scream inside you.

“Was I not enough?”

“No, you were— you are,” he said quickly.

“You just... stopped being it for me.”

And with that, something inside you collapsed.

Not just your heart.

But your sense of self.

Your safety.

Your home.

Because Chan wasn’t just your boyfriend.

He was your everything.

Your best friend.

Your morning smile.

Your comfort on bad days.

And now…

he belonged to someone else.

---

“Why didn’t you just leave sooner?”

Your voice shook.

“Before you turned me into an option?”

He didn’t answer.

Because the answer didn’t matter anymore.

The damage was done.

---

That night, you packed a bag.

Not because he asked you to.

But because you couldn’t stay where love had already died.

As you closed the suitcase, he stood by the door — still not stopping you.

Still not fighting.

Just watching.

Like someone watching a fire burn out.

You paused once.

Hand on the doorknob.

“I hope she makes you happy.”

You whispered.

“But I hope, one day, you remember the way I loved you…

and it hurts.”

Then you left.

And he didn’t follow.

---

You didn’t mean to see it.

You weren’t following him anymore.

You had muted the tags, archived the photos, deleted the playlist.

You were trying.

But the internet doesn’t care about healing.

The internet shows you exactly what you don’t ask for.

It was just a clip.

Twelve seconds.

A grainy video of him walking hand-in-hand with her.

Her.

The name you stopped saying out loud.

He was smiling.

He pulled her close when a fan got too near.

He laughed. He waved. He looked proud.

And she?

She looked untouched by doubt.

Untouched by the version of him that left you behind.

---

It took you a moment to breathe again.

Because he had never held your hand in public like that.

Not once.

Because you spent years being “private” —

always in the background, always hidden, always waiting for the day he’d stop calling you his “close friend” in interviews.

You used to tell yourself it was about his career.

About timing.

About pressure.

But now you saw it for what it was:

He just didn’t want the world to know about you.

Not like he wanted them to know about her.

---

You watched another video the next day.

He was at a fanmeet. Someone asked about his “girlfriend.”

And he smiled.

“She’s amazing. She makes me really happy.”

He said it.

Out loud.

In front of cameras.

With no fear, no shame, no hesitation.

And you?

You stared at the screen, numb,

remembering how he once told you:

“Let’s keep us just between us, okay? It’s safer.”

Safer for who?

---

You started remembering things that didn’t feel warm anymore.

How you used to cook for him while he scrolled through his phone.

How you’d stay up late waiting, and he’d say “Don’t be dramatic.”

How you gave him every soft part of yourself…

and he never said thank you.

And now, he was giving it all to her.

The affection.

The time.

The visibility.

She got the version of him you begged for.

She got the love you built —

without the pain you bled for it.

---

One night, you saw a post of them together.

Smiling. Laughing.

Wearing matching shirts — something he once said he’d “never do.”

The caption read:

“My best friend and my home. ❤️”

And you cried.

For the first time in weeks.

You cried so hard your chest ached,

because you realized something no one prepares you for:

He didn’t just stop loving you.

He started loving someone else better.

---

You used to think the hardest part would be losing him.

But it wasn’t.

It was seeing that he had it in him all along —

the sweetness, the pride, the loyalty —

he just chose not to give it to you.

Even in the end…

he never gave you everything.

---

So you stopped wondering if he missed you.

Stopped hoping he regretted it.

Because some endings don’t come with closure.

Some just…

leave you bleeding quietly

while someone else gets the happy you prayed for.

---

She has him now.

But not because you weren’t enough.

Only because he finally decided to be everything…

for someone who wasn’t you.

And that —

that’s what hurt the most.

[tttabii]

──. 이희승 MY OBSESSION GROWS ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

lee heeseung x female reader

note: reader is chinese but knows korean. barista!reader x idol!heeseung

YOU WERE JUST ANOTHER barista behind the sleek counter of HYBE's in-house café, your soft-tone "欢迎光临"hardly catching anyone's attention in the idol-filled building. Most didn't care enough to listen either.

Your Korean was decent, passable, but had a thick Chinese accent, and many days you would default to silence and let your hands do the talking by serving cappuccinos and americanos to the artists who barely remembered your name.

But Heeseung did.

Every day.

At first, it was just subtle—he would linger a little longer at the counter, pretending to check messages while watching you write on the cups. Then he started seeing things.

The way you tied your hair up when you were too busy, the exact moment of the day you changed the song that was playing on your earbuds, how you always wore muted colors, except for those one black mary janes you wore whenever you could. He had become slowly, but irreversibly obsessed.

It started as simple curiosity. 

Heeseung shouldn't have even been on the subway, but he went undercover as he donned his hoodie and mask before taking the long way home to the subway station to again experience you—hoping you would get on your usual train or his train after work.

He found you waiting at the subway station, looking so immersed in your own world, the music blaring in your earphones.

Guessing he looked like a stranger, he stood beside you and tilted his head down just enough to see one of your earphones hanging ultra-low out of his ear. He tried to figure out what song you were listening to—he was guessing some Chinese pop—which he couldn't understand at all.

But the fact that it was yours? That was enough.

You didn't notice him at all. Didn't really notice him. You'd never look long enough to. That's how invisible you were to him, but he couldn't look away.Only when you almost stepped into traffic—head down, music blaring, unawares—did he broke the dream. He grasped your arm tight and fast, yanking you back onto the curb.

"Hey careful," he said quickly, in english now. Your eyes got all wide, your confusion coming too fast as you looked up at him, eyebrows pinched and lips apart. 

You nodded slowly, a shy, quiet thank you slipping past your lips as you took out your earphones. He smiled behind the mask, heart thudding way too hard, then gestured for you to turn the volume down.

And just like that, you disappeared, back into the crowd.

That night, he downloaded all the language apps he could find. "She's Chinese," he shared with the members in the dorm, staring at the ceiling. "I want to learn... for her."

And that was only the start of his obsession. Your hair had been a warm cherry brown in the spring. A week later, he had rolled up to schedule with a similar hue.

"For the fans," he said to his manager. Right. There was an uncanny resemblance between your casual street-style outfits and his sudden wardrobe changes.

And those playlists he shared on live? They suddenly contained soft, mandarin songs, that he knew his fans wouldn't be able to translate. But he could. Now.

The members picked up on it. Everyone picked up on it. "Bro, are you turning into her?" Jay asked one morning, as they watched you behind the café counter again, headphones on, quietly humming. Heeseung grinned, on you, as you stirred someone's drink.

"No," he whisper. "I just want to be the version of me she would notice." 

"Whatever you say, buddy," Jake snorted, clapping Heeseung on the back as they all watched you from the couch near the café counter.

Heeseung watched as you untied your apron after finishing your shift for the day.

Your shoulders dropped, and you sighed, swiping some hair out of your face. Heeseung was transfixed as his eyes followed the movement, mesmerized by the way your lips moved when you mumbled to yourself.

"Go. Go talk to her. You have been learning Chinese for three months because of her," Sunghoon shoved him hard, and the others followed suit by practically pushing him out of his seat.

He stumbled like an awkward teenager, hands flapping and messing with his fingers and patting down his hoodie.

It was like his body shifted before his brain registered what was happening.You noticed him—how could you not? Heeseung was tall and hard to miss, even when disguised. His face was hidden, but the sharpness of those eyes and softness of his voice?

You recognized them all too well.

"你还好吗?" you asked, head cocked to the side as brows knitted together. And it shattered him.

You remembered him. The guy from the traffic stop.

He froze for a second, then replied, "我没事。你呢?" His pronunciation was careful, tender.

You blinked, surprised. "You speak...?"

 He smiled beneath the mask, nodding once. "Learning. For a while now."

Your eyes sparkled with that undeniable look of impressiveness. You laughed lightly as you reached to take off your hair clip and your now-matching red strands fell over your shoulders.

That moment? That image? Heeseung wanted to freeze it for ever. But, he never said anything more. He never did.

Not the real things, anyways. He couldn't even confess that your playlist had become his, that he started to dress like you, that he had memorized your café schedule before anyone else.

That fans thought his aesthetic shift was a concept-but it was really you. And, you still had no idea. He walked next to you that night, not saying much, allowing you to ramble away in a mix of Korean and English, as you both crossed the dim-lit street. He allowed himself to glance at you as often as he could.

He watched the way your eyes sparkled with the nearby city lights, and how your fingers played with the sleeves of your jacket. His jacket, actually. He draped his jacket over your shoulders the minute he noticed the chill in the air. 

What you didn't know was that someone captured the moment. One blurry picture. Your hair a match to his. His hand lightly resting on your lower back as you leaned forward to see something in a store window.

One blurry video of you two laughing next to a food stall as he handed you a skewer, your red hair catching the light.

The way he looked at you in that one second. That was all it took.

 The internet caught on to it.

"WHO is she???"

"Heeseung's new girlfriend???"

"She looks kind of Korean... kind of not???"

"Matching hair. Matching outfits. Matching vibes."

"She's not on IG or Twitter so she must either be low key or from out of the country."

"I swear I have seen her before from some company background video—wasn't she behind the coffee bar?"

They didn't know your name. They didn't know your socials. You were faceless, unknown—even a little mythical. And Heeseung? He never said a word against it. He let the rumors spread. 

He read every single one. Obsessively. Screenshotting the theories, watching fan edits that people made of blurry you and high-res him.

He liked the idea of you being his mystery. His secret girl. His obsession that no one could touch, no one could reach.

And you? You were just scrolling through a few of the articles with mild confusion.

"I look weird in this photo," you murmured, frowning a little.

Heeseung watched you, lips twitching in amusement, heart thudding so loudly he swore Jake could hear it.

"She has no idea," Sunoo whispered to Jay.

"Nope," Jay grinned. "Not even a clue."

Eventually, you both were almost always together. He'd pop into the café almost every day now—not always ordering coffee, sometimes just sitting there and watching you work behind the counter with his chin in his hand while pretending to scroll through his phone, sneaking glances like he wasn't some whole celebrity sitting in public just to see you.

You were the reason he learned how to say, "How was your day?" in completely perfect Chinese.

And he was the reason your Korean was becoming soft and natural, his corrections keeping you from tripping over your words when engaging with other idol customers requesting simple easy things. Even other idols poked fun at how fluent you were becoming—particularly around Heeseung.

"Thanks to him" you'd laugh innocently. "He corrects me every single time I mess up."

Heeseung would just smile. But on the inside? He was spiraling.

Because it wasn't lessons or shy glances anymore. He needed you like air.

His thoughts? You. His playlists? Your favorite songs. His accessories? Matching yours more often than not. His fans?

Figuring it out, whispering about it, compiling, clipping.

But you? You still didn't see it.

And he liked that.

He liked how untouched you were by fame. How pure you looked laughing at his lame jokes in your little apron.

How you walked beside him in the street, not even noticing the flashes of distant phone cameras or whispers from fans passing by.

Heeseung wanted the world to know, but through his way. Quietly and intimately. Enough to stir rumors. Enough to make people talk. So he did exactly that.

That day, you and him were at the bookstore across from HYBE. You had your arms linked, and he was leading you toward the language aisle. He leaned down, his lips barely grazing your ear, and whispered in Korean—fast and slurred and too fancy for your level.

You stopped and stared up at him. "Huh?"

He smiled. Your cheeks were flushed pink just from the proximity.

You nudged him. "Yah... What did you say?"

He shrugged, amusement threatened to bring a smile to his lips. "Nothing."

"Liar." You crossed your arms, the playful act did little to hide your flustered state.

He simply watched you, head tilted slightly, his eyes dark and affectionate, and something else. Something unhinged.

Because what he whispered was: "If I were the ocean, you'd be the sky. Always above me, always unattainable—but I'd still drown trying to reach you."

A romantic, poetic line in fast Korean that sounded like nonsense to you. You thought he was joking. He was absolutely serious. And later that night? He posted a blurry photo to his own  account.

You walking away, holding two books, your red hair catching the light.  

The caption read, in Korean:"If they only knew how much of you is already mine."

Of course, his fans saw it.His fans always see it.They began sharing it. Making correlations out of your blurry frame and other street photos.

Noticing you wore a necklace that Heeseung had been seen holding in a vlog.

Noticing that his hoodie was seen on you a week earlier, on a café TikTok in the background.

They still didn't know your name. But they were obsessed with learning it. Just like him.

[berfgrimm]

745: caught | choi seunghyun

pairing: choi seunghyun x f!reader warnings: smut, masturbation, oral, fingering, dirty talk note: good day and welcome to the third part of 745. i hope you all enjoy. see below for the previous parts. 745 | dinner

You had always promised Seunghyun that you wouldn’t touch yourself without his permission. If you said that out loud to anyone, it could paint an unusual picture of your relationship, but truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You preferred Seunghyun’s hands over your own, with their innate ability to touch you exactly how you need. But tonight, you accidentally got a little carried away.

You’re meant to be waiting for your boyfriend to meet you in his hotel room after he finishes dance rehearsal. It has been a few weeks since you’ve been together in-person, and you’re overcome with excitement to be able to see him. After a long flight, you decide that the best option is to get some rest before Seunghyun shows up. That’s exactly how you started: laying on the bed, listening to music to help you relax into a peaceful slumber. But a live version of one of your boyfriend’s songs begins to flow through your earbuds, and you find yourself a little too focused on the way his voice sounds.

Sometimes, when Seunghyun is on stage and he’s exhausted from the show, his voice begins to have a distinct rasp to it, bordering closely on a growl. You’d noticed it before when watching him perform but hearing it as you lounge on his hotel bed, only dressed in a t-shirt and panties, you find some flutters in your stomach.

You feel as though he’s in the room with you, rasping in your ear. The feeling spreads down your neck into your shoulders, a chill that creeps over your skin, imagining his fingers tracing over your skin. You wonder how he would touch you if he was with you right now; would he be soft, trailing small kisses in the wake of his gentle touch or would his fingers feel heavier, squeezing and pulling, while he left bites everywhere he could? The thought drives you crazy, not sure which you’d prefer.

You surprise yourself when you start to drag your hands over your breasts and stomach, trying to find the kind of touch you want from Seunghyun. When your fingers reach the waistband of your panties, you pause – you shouldn’t touch yourself, but your body feels so hot that you’re cold. Maybe a little touch wouldn’t hurt, just enough to ease the ache you’re beginning to feel.

When your fingers reach your clit, you pull in a sharp breath, spreading your thighs to get comfortable. You listen to the song, feeling the rumble of Seugnhyun’s voice at the base of your skull, goosebumps still present on your skin. Your fingers gently ghost over your clit, teasing to see if it can help alleviate the tension.

You picture the way Seunghyun’s mouth feels when he kisses your neck: hot and urgent, like he needs you so he can breathe. When he does breathe against your skin, you swear you’ve heard him shudder before, his touch getting more desperate like couldn’t control himself.

You hadn’t realized that you were touching yourself even more, your fingers now rubbing slow circles on your clit. Your hips edge closer to your hand in a way that makes you feel not in control of your own body. Thinking of Seunghyun’s voice in your ear doesn’t make it any easier, not with the thought of him whispering in that husky tone that he loves to tease you with. You need something else.

Quickly, before you begin to overthink, you slip out of your panties, throwing them to the side so you can have better access to yourself. Dragging your fingers over your slit to dampen them, you think of when Seunghyun eats you out. He always keeps you guessing at how he’s going to treat you: slow and sensual or hurried and ravenous. Either way, you knew he’d take care of you, which makes you feel more guilty as you sink two of your fingers inside of yourself.

You picture the way Seunghyun pins your hips against the mattress with his forearm when he eats you out, keeping you from squirming too much so he can focus his attention where you need it the most. It’s hard to keep your hips still thinking of it now, loving the little bit of pressure he applied or the way he slaps your thigh as a warning when you’re moving too much. You try to pump your fingers deeper inside of you but your fingers aren’t like Seunghyun’s. Yours aren’t long and slender, not skilled like his are. Still, you try, your other hand still rubbing slow circles on your clit, hoping that you’ll be able to crack the code of how Seunghyun knows exactly what to do to your body to have you see stars.

The song comes to an end, so you quickly change up your game plan. You feel blindly for your phone at your side, starting the song over and turning up the volume. Settling back into the sheets, you close your eyes and focus on your clit instead of discouraging yourself by not being able to finger yourself like Seunghyun can.

As your fingers circle your clit, you picture the way his breath feels on your skin as he teases you with his tongue. You think of the way you can feel his voice vibrating through your body when he pulls back to let his fingers take over so he can tell you how good you are or how slutty you are. The sound of his voice – fuck, even through the song, it’s like you can feel his voice, buzzing through your skin.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Your heart leaps into your throat at the sound of his voice, and you nearly tumble to the floor, but you find Seunghyun sitting in the armchair near the foot of the bed. His legs are crossed, an amused expression clear in his eyes as focuses on your face, waiting for you to respond. Unfortunately, being caught has you frozen in place, unsure of what to say to him.

“I know better than anyone that you’re good with your mouth,” Seunghyun begins. “Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, grabbing for a pillow.

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Turn towards me so I can see what you’re doing to yourself.”

You maneuver around so that you’re on display for him, the excitement radiating through to your bones. Seunghyun’s eyes lock between your thighs, tilting his head to the side to watch you.

“Does it feel as good as when I do it?”

“No, you’re the only one who knows how to take care of me,” you respond, letting out a sigh and spreading your legs wider.

“I always take care of my good girl, don’t I?”

“Mhmm.”

“But you still couldn’t wait for me to get here before you had to touch yourself,” Seunghyun says, his voice deep and intense.

“I was thinking about you.”

“What about me?”

“Your voice.”

Seunghyun lifts his gaze to meet yours, his eyes narrowing as he thinks about what you said. He uncrosses his legs, scooting forward on the seat to lean closer. Even with a few feet of distance from the bed to the chair, he feels like he’s directly between your thighs, his gaze burning into your skin.

“My voice turns you on?” Seunghyun’s tone is steady, not showing any sign of his emotions, but his eyes are still on your hand between your thighs. You can only nod in response, and his gaze cuts to your face briefly, still expressionless. “Do you know what turns me on?” he asks, looking back between your legs. “Hearing you moan my name. Be the good girl I know you can be and let me hear how pretty you can sound. Maybe I’ll help you if you can convince me enough.”

You do enjoy a good challenge. With your eyes on him, you resume the pace you had set before he interrupted, touching your clit as he would. The way he studies you feels scientific at first, until you let out your first whimper, which causes a noticeable tension in his shoulders, his posture straightening again. He meets your gaze, studying the way your lips are parted to let out soft pants, and the way your eyes flutter closed for a moment before opening again so you can see him. You let out another whine, this one a little louder, longer.

“You’re so sexy right now,” Seunghyun says, making sure his voice is loud enough for you to really hear it, but low enough to maintain the sultry tone that he knows you enjoy. “Do you think you’re going to make yourself come like this?”

“No,” you breathe. “Not without you. I fucking need you.”

“You need me, hm? You need me, my good girl?”

You moan this time, the way his voice sounds jolting straight through your body to your core. You can’t fight your instincts, and your eyes slip closed again, reveling in the sensation his voice brings to your body. Your fingers move faster now and you once again slip two of your fingers in, pumping them slowly before setting a steady pace to match your other hand. 

“Can’t get them as deep, can you?” Seunghyun asks, now sitting back in his chair again, legs crossed, watching you patiently. “Why did you think you’d be able to get off without me? Tell me who’s the only one that can make you come.”

“You.”

A smirk cracks through his stoic expression, and he blinks slowly, setting his gaze between your thighs again. You try to quicken your pace, but you find your hands growing tired – it’s almost embarrassing, but since you always have your needs met by Seunghyun, you haven’t had to do this in a long time. You’re no longer accustomed to the way your body needs to be treated by your own hands.

“You’re slowing down,” Seunghyun says, a playful lilt in his voice. “You’re tired already?”

“I can’t do it like you can.”

“That’s why you aren’t allowed to do this, baby,” he tells you, his voice more husky. “If you need me, you can tell me how, and I’m all yours.” It’s softer than you expect, yet you still whimper in response – a sound that makes Seunghyun maneuver his armchair closer to the bed, so his knees are pressed to the mattress, and his hands rest on your shins. “Tell me what it is that you need,” he commands.

“Your fingers,” you breathe, moving your hands away from your body altogether, resting them on the mattress at your sides. “Your mouth. Anything. I just need you.”

Seunghyun smiles, the type of devious smile he makes when he knows what he’s going to do to you will leave you feeling things you never thought possible. His arms hook under your legs to grasp your thighs, using a surprising amount of strength to yank your body closer to him. One hand presses to your hip to keep you pinned to the mattress, while he uses his other hand to stroke softly through your dampness.

“I think tonight I want to watch you,” Seunghyun says. “Maybe your punishment can be that you don’t get to feel my tongue on you. But that means that I can talk to you as much as you need me to…so I guess it isn’t much of a punishment after all, is it, baby?”

“You can do whatever you want,” you say, breathless as he begins to tease your clit.

Seunghyun doesn’t bother to look between your thighs as he slips two digits inside of you, both of his hands now slowly beginning to set a pace to work you. The only response you’re capable of is a soft moan of his name while your hands fist the sheets beneath you. Another pleased smirk spreads across his lips, his eyelids heavy as he continues to stare only into your eyes. If it was anyone else, you’d feel uncomfortable with the amount of eye contact he’s giving, but it makes the coil in your stomach tighten.

“Fuck, Seunghyun,” you whine when he begins to turn his wrist just enough to twist his fingers each time he thrusts them inside of you. His thumb teases over your clit with each thrust, having your hips struggling to get more friction.

When his hand moves from your hip, you break eye contact with him to watch the path his hand takes. At first, he bunches your shirt to your ribs, and you take the hint, removing it altogether. From his position in the chair, back straight and knees trapped against the foot of the bed, he struggles to comfortably lean closer, so you follow his train of thought, your hands cupping your breasts.

“You need to be touched everywhere, don’t you?” he asks with a small, amused grin on his lips. His eyes now take in your whole body, from the way you’re teasing your nipples to his own hand that now joins the first between your thighs.When his fingers finally touch your clit, you release a moan that shifts into a desperate whimper, your hips, now free from his hold, rolling to meet his touch.

“Fuck,” you breathe, licking your lips and spreading your legs wider.

“I thought about you during rehearsal,” Seunghyun says, tilting his head to the side to get a better view of the way you’re taking his fingers. “The whole time, I couldn’t wait to come back here to you; my good girl who has been waiting so patiently for me. So I can give you what you’ve been asking for…begging for…every night since I’ve been away.” He pumps his fingers faster, deeper, still rubbing your clit in time to watch the small involuntary twitches of your body when he touches you in exactly the right way.

After being without Seunghyun for weeks, unable to feel his touch, only getting by on the sound of his voice and promises of all the nasty things he wanted to do, you feel your climax approaching quickly. You want to make it up to Seunghyun for touching yourself without his permission, so you give him what he loves: your moans. You run your hands over your body, and up your neck, your fingers softly teasing your skin in the way you know he loves to do himself. You exaggerate your moans a little, not caring about who can hear you through the walls of the hotel room – Seunghyun fingers you faster, as if to reward you for what you’re doing. When your fingers trace over your jaw, barely skimming over your lips, your mouth reacts on instinct, parting so you can touch your fingertips to your tongue.

“Mmm, you love having something in your mouth, don’t you, baby?” Seunghyun teases. “You're such a good girl for me, maybe I’ll give you something special.”

You don’t have a moment to speak, even if you did, you likely wouldn’t have words. Seunghyun presses his hands to your inner thighs, standing from the armchair and using the heel of his foot to kick it backward, sending it tumbling to the floor. With the new space, Seunghyun kneels down at the foot of the bed, his eyes locked with yours as he moves. He gives a pleased smirk at what you can only assume is the wide-eyed, shocked expression you give him.

Seunghyun slides his index and middle fingers of his opposite hand into you, earning another whimper from you as he gently scissors them to get all the way inside of you. He peers up at you, reaching his other hand, fingers slick with you, towards you – you feel ravenous as you take his wrist and guide his fingers into your mouth.

While you’re distracted with sucking his digits clean, Seunghyun’s mouth claims your clit, causing you to moan around his fingers, hips bucking against his face. He chuckles against you as he begins to tease you with his tongue, his fingers resuming the pace he had previously set. All you can do is keep sucking on his fingers, moaning like you’ve never felt pleasure in your life before him. Seunghyun suddenly closing his mouth around your clit, sucking hard, has you pulling his hand from your mouth so you can moan more freely.

“Oh, god,” you whine. “Please, baby. Please.”

Seunghyun hums against you, adding a small nod of his head, before his fingers pump faster. You press his hand to your breast, urging him to touch you, and he’s more than happy to abide, cupping your breast to drag his thumb over your nipple. When he pinches your nipple in time with some particularly harsh suction on your clit, you buck against his face again, your back arching up from the bed.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, struggling not to clench your thighs around his head. “I’m–”

“Mmm,” Seunghyun hum, breathing hard against you. His hand moves from your breast to your jaw, tilting your head so you look at him and using his thumb to part your lips. The pad of his thumb drags over your teeth and touches your tongue, as though he needs to feel your mouth in any way he can.

When Seunghyun curls his fingers inside of you, giving quick thrusts at exactly the right spot while he sucks on your clit, the tension snaps inside of you. With a loud moan of his name, needy and whiny enough to make your voice feel like it could go hoarse, your hands grab for him, lacing your fingers together with one hand while your other hand fists his hair to keep him in place. You grind yourself against his face, riding out the waves of another body quaking orgasm that is a regular occurance with Seunghyun. Your legs begin to twist inward, thighs tightening around his head, the overstimulation making your eyes water,

“Please, Seunghyun,” you beg.

Gently slowing to a stop, Seunghyun retracts his fingers and slides them into his mouth to clean them quickly. His eyes, darkened with desire, flick up briefly to meet yours, as he leans back enough to press a soft kiss to your clit. You whimper a small quick sound, reaching for his other hand so you can pull him towards you. You catch him grinning, completely pleased with himself as he licks the taste of you from his lips.

“I missed hearing you moan like that,” Seunghyun says, kissing up your body, using your grip on his hands to support his weight. “I love you, my good girl.”

“I love you, too.”

“You’re so sexy,” he whispers, kissing you softly on the lips. It only takes a moment before you deepen the kiss, loving the feeling of his tongue no matter where it is. He shifts his weight so his hips are pressed against you, the feeling of his erection obvious against your still aching core.

“Baby,” you whisper, hooking your legs around him so you can keep him close, Seunghyun opting to kiss your neck. “Do you know what’s sexy? The way you always get hard when you eat my pussy.” Seunghyun chuckles against your neck, leaving a small bite before he tips his head back to look into your eyes.

“What can I say? I love how good you are for me. How eager you get, and desperate. The way you taste…the way you feel.” He pauses to give a subtle sway of his hips, grinding himself against you to receive another soft whine from you. “I know that one orgasm isn’t enough for you,” he smirks, pinning your hands above your head and pressing his forehead to yours. “It’s not enough for me either. Not when you’ve been away from me so long.” You lick your lips, drawing his attention to the movement of your tongue – you smirk at the way he locks in, a brief falter in his demeanor. “I need to wear you out,” he breathes.

“What are you waiting for?”

[call-me-rucy]

Professor Layton spoilers are illegal

Great! Now I have your attention. It wasn't a lie though.

TL;DR: Level-5 legal document says they will take down videos that show just the cutscenes of the games and videos edited with the purpose of listening to the games' music, among other legal measures.

The official Professor Layton twitter account published this tweet: https://x.com/L5_layton/status/1872196972142366916

It links to something called "guideline". I thought "Hey, finally, a rundown of all the games so new people know when to watch ED and..." It wasn't that. At all.

It is a legal document detailing what images and videos of the Layton series can be posted online without risking Level-5 breathing on our necks. Anyone else feeling like L-5 got a lawyer recently?

To be fair, it is extremely unlikely that they will come check Tumblr of all places for copyright infringement content but Im assuming that you all have lives outside of Tumblr, like in YouTube, Twitch, Twitter, Instagram or TikTok, and those places they will check.

So, here is what I understood from the rules:

Rule 0: These all apply to CV, DB/PB, UF/LF, LS/SC, MM, AL, LBMR, LMJ and PLvsPW:AA; all versions, including the trilogy on mobile and LMJ for switch and MM+. It does not apply to NWOS, which will have different rules explained later.

Rule 1: You can totally upload gameplay and still images from gameplay to social media, but if it's not directly captured from the console using console software they ask* that it has running commentary over, or opinions (basically something that makes it clear you're a fan and it's not an official video).

*This "ask" sounds like "we're not going to legally persecute you but please do us a solid".

Rule 2: Please put spoilers warnings before videos.

Rule 2.5: Don't post videos of the credits songs nor the first voice acting of LMJ. (The anime voice acting is fine).

Rule 3: It is prohibited to post videos that are just the animation scenes or videos and images that are just puzzles and solutions. If it's in gameplay it's fine, but the editing scenes together is not allowed.

Rule 4: Don't post videos or images to pages that you have to pay to enter. However youtube monetizing and similars are allowed.

Rule 5: If you post to a video sharing site you have to include a copyright notice like ©2007 LEVEL-5 Inc. The format depends on the game, look up the chart.

Rule 6: Third party rights are your problem.

Rule 7: Don't post anything that may make people think you are part of Level-5.

Forbidden things:

Anything that is ilegal

Anything that violates third party rights

Anything discriminatory

Anything that harms the image of L-5

Anything with cheats/glitches

Using the videos or still images to sell stuff (commercial purposes)

Editing movie scenes, audio, puzzles, or music from this series for the primary purpose of listening to them!!!

Using the images/videos for religious/political stuff.

And the kicker:

We may take measures such as deleting or suspending the distribution of videos, still images, etc. from this series that we determine to be in violation of these guidelines.

So yeah. Take care my friends! Enjoy the cutscenes and music compilations while they last and maybe don't look into Youtube downloaders.