#i just really like that first conversation with him where he's like 'working with a spectre will be great! i can do whatever i want!'

[lightsoutmatthews]

I am so happy I found your blog! Your writing is so addictive. Can you do a story with Willy where him and reader get into their first big fight and she ends up crying in front of him for the first time? Willy feels so bad and becomes a big softy :)

Oh god, the length of this got so out of hand. I binge watched almost the entire third season of "Welcome to Wrexham" while writing that´s how long it took to bring all my thoughts to life. The creative juices have been flowing last night.

And thank you SO much for the compliments, I´m so so happy people enjoy my writing 🙏🏼

I just want to feel like you care – William Nylander

You weren’t even sure how it started. The tension had been building for a while, you just never realized until it actually exploded.

William had been away on a road trip, you had been stuck working late almost every night, a somewhere along the line your texts to each other had started to shrink from full conversations to a few tired words here and there.

The day he returned he came through the door a little after 9 pm, dropped his bad by the wall next to the door and mumbled a “hey” as he walked straight to the kitchen, grabbing himself a glass of water. No hug. No kiss. Not even a smile like he was happy to see you.

You watched him from the couch, your heart dropping at the lack of acknowledgement. You hadn’t expected fireworks or anything, but something more than a “hey”. A sign that he had missed you as much as you had missed him.

After considering your options for a second you stood and followed him into the kitchen, arms crossed.

“Hey,” you said, voice hesitant. “How was the trip?”

“Long,” he replied. “Glad it´s over.”

You nodded slowly “I missed you.”

He gave you a tried half-smile in return, leaning against the counter. “Yeah. Same.”

And that was that.

You wanted, hoping he would say something else. Ask about your week. Notice how drained you looked but instead, he pushed away from the counter and walked back to the living room, grabbing the remote as he sat on the couch.

That was when something in you snapped.

“That’s it?” you asked, following him again. “You´ve been gone for over a week and all I get is a “hey” and a “yeah, same”?”

William blinked, clearly caught off guard by your sudden outburst. “I´m tired, babe. Can we not do this right now?”

“Do what exactly?” you shot, sharper than intended. “Have a normal conversation? Be excited to see each other?”

“I am happy to see you, but I just got home, like, ten minutes ago. Can I sit down for five seconds?” he argued, voice tired, like he didn’t want to deal with this right now.

“No. You had a week full of minutes, William. I´ve barely heard from you. You couldn’t even send a full sentence in a text.”

Now he glared at you. “Why are you coming at me like this?”

“I´m not coming at you,” you underlined the words with air quotes. “I´m trying to connect with you because I missed you and you act like I´m a burden for just talking.”  

He rubbed his eyes, a heavy sigh leaving his mouth. “Don’t twist it. You know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t because from where I´m standing, you walked in here, barely looked at me, and now I´m somehow the bad guy for wanting more than a grunt and a “same” from my boyfriend after he didn’t see me for a week,” you elaborated, trying to not get your voice to rise, but you were failing miserably.

“I didn’t say you were the bad guy. I said I´m tired. Can that be enough for once?” he grunted.

You stared at him, heart pounding, blood rushing in your ears. You tried to stay calm, have a leveled discussion about this, but his lack of interest in talking about this and lack of understanding your point was getting to you. “Do you even want to be here?”

His head snapped up and back towards you. “What kind of question is that?”

“A serious one,” you shot back. “Because I feel like I´m the only one trying half the time. I call, you´re busy, not even telling me what exactly you´re busy with. I text and you give one-word answers hours later. Now, you come home and act like I´m part of the furniture.”

He stood up, shaking his head but facing you head on. “I said I was tired. I´m doing my best.”

“Your best? This is your best?” you scoffed.

“I´ve been on the road, sleeping four hours a night back-to-backs, and now I come home, and you jump down my throat.”

“Excuse me?” you gasped.

“It´s always the same stuff.” he said, gesturing vaguely. “You always push, always pick at stuff until it blows up. I can´t even walk in the door without being interrogated.”

You blinked, stunned trying to process what he was saying. “Interrogated?” you paused for a second before speaking again. “I asked how your trip was.”

“It´s the way you ask,” his voice slightly raised. “Like you are just waiting for me to mess up.”

Your eyes widened. “I´m not waiting for you to mess up, William. I´m waiting for you to show me that you give a shit about this relationship.” You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the emotions that were making their way up your body. Trying to blink the tears that were picking at the corner of your eyes away.

“Of course I give a shit,” he snapped. “Why would I be here if I didn’t?”

“I don’t know, honestly,” you argued back, crossing your arms like you could use them as armor against his words. “Because lately it feels like I´m holding this together with duct tape and hope.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, come on. Don’t be dramatic.”

And that was the moment. You blinked once, then again a second later.

You felt your throat tighten, heat behind your eyes. You turned away so he would see, but the tears pushed forward too fast.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to compose yourself, trying to push it down, but your voice cracked when you spoke. “Don’t call me that.”

Before he could answer you were already walking again, past him, down the hall to the bedroom.

“Wait, babe, please,” he rushed out, following behind.

“Don’t” you said without looking at him. “Don’t follow me right now.”

But he did. He reached the bedroom doorway just as you stood by the dresser, breathing hard, you back to him.

He froze. “Wait… are you crying?”

You kept your back to him, whipping at your face. “Yeah, I guess congratulations are in order. You´ve never seen that before.”  

The sound of your voice, quiet and shaky, seemed to break something in him. He stepped forward, but you moved away. “Hey, please look at me.”

“Don’t,” you mumbled. “Don’t act surprise and don’t come over here and act like you didn’t just dismiss everything I said.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you didn’t miss how his voice was much softer now. “I wasn’t thinking. I swear to God, I was just pissed, and I-?”

You turned around, eyes red, still whipping at them to not make him see the worst of it. “I´ve never cried in front of you before, because you never gave me a reason to. Do you know that? I´ve been upset, year, frustrated too, but this? This is new. And it is because of you. You made me feel small,” you said, still not turning around. “You made me feel like I was annoying for giving a damn about us.”

Now you turned to face him. Your eyes were red, your voice think. Williams face fell. “I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you,” he argued but you just shook your head.

“That’s the problem, William. You didn’t realize, because you haven’t been paying attention. I hate crying in front of people.” You mumbled. “I hate it and I especially hate that it is because of you.”

His shoulders dropped like he had taken a punch to the gut. “I know. I know, and I am sorry. I – shit – I wasn’t thinking. You didn’t deserve that, not even a little bit.”

You shook your head. “You don’t get it. I don’t want some grand apology. I wanted you to walk through the door and see me. To act like I´m your person and not an obligation to deal with after a long road trip.”

He stepped forward again, slower this time. “I see you now,” he uttered quietly. “And I hate that I didn’t earlier. I hate that I made you feel like this. I´ve been in my own head, stressed, tired, distracted with the season, but none of that excuses making you feel like you don’t matter to me, because you do. You matter so much to me.”  

You said nothing, arms hanging limp at your sides now. Sleeves of his hoodie you were wearing wet from you whipping your tears away. “Then why does it always feel like I have to fight to matter?”

His brows furrowed. “You don’t. You shouldn’t have to, I´ve just been selfish. I get home and I shut down, and you end up carrying the weight for both of us.”

You nodded slowly. “I´m not sustainable, William. I can´t always be the one who tries.”

He looked down at the floor, then back to you. “You said it feels like you´re holding this together by yourself and I believe you. And I am sorry for making you feel alone in something that’s supposed to be both of us.”

You exhaled, finally letting your shoulders relax a little.

“I´m not asking for everything to be prefect,” you mumbled. “I just want to feel like you´re with me. Like I´m not reaching out into nothing every time I try.”

He closed the gap completely now and gently took your hand. “You´re not reaching into nothing. I´ve been here, but I know I haven’t been here. And that’s on me.”

Not knowing what to say you looked down at your joined hands. His thumb rubbed slow circles against you, calming you in a way it probably shouldn’t after what just happened.

“I hate that I made you cry,” he said, now his voice cracking just the tiniest bit. “That´s going to stick with me. I don’t want to be that guy. The one that takes you for granted. You deserve someone who shows up. Someone who listens and I want to be that person. I just… I need to do better, and I will.”

You still didn’t know what to say, but your silence was softer now. He gently pulled you into a hug, and this time you let him. You melted into his chest, and he held you like he didn’t want to let go, like he needed the contract just as much as you did.

“I´m sorry and I love you,” he whispered. “Even when I don’t act like the way I should. I love you, and I´m going to do better.” He took a short pause, taking in a deep breath, you head lifting on his chest as he did so. “You´re not dramatic, you´re just asking for the love you deserve.”

You sniffed, his words hitting you harder than you expected, because that was exactly what you wanted. “I didn’t want this to turn into a whole thing. I just wanted you to look at me like you missed me as much as I missed you.”

He kissed your temple. “I did miss you, so much, sleeping alone in hotel rooms instead of next to you is painful. I´m sorry I didn’t show it. I turned it into a fight because I couldn’t handle how right you were.”

You stood like that for a while, holding each other in the quiet of the living room. No yelling. No bitterness left. Just two people trying to meet in the middle again because at this point you believed that you could.

---------------------------

The next morning you woke up to the smell of toast. You sat up groggily, rubbing your eyes. William wasn’t in bed, but you heard quiet clattering from the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he walked in with a tray. Scrambled eggs, toast, strawberries, and a sticky note that read: I see you, and I love you and I´m sorry. In his scrambly handwriting.

You looked up at him, surprised.

“I know it´s not much,” he opened, placing the tray on the bed next to you carefully. “But I wanted to start today differently.”

You stared at the note, not really knowing what to say. A lump rose in your throat again, but this time it wasn’t painful.

He slid back into bed beside you, careful to not make the tray tip, tucking the blanket around your legs.

“I know I can´t erase last night,” he said softly. “But I want to start showing you that I´m here. That I want to be here and that I won´t let the stress of the season get in here. I want to be better, for real this time.”

You nodded, reaching for his hand. “Like I said last night, I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just want to feel like you care.”

“I do,” he immediately answered. “More than anything.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, letting out a breath. He placed a kiss to the top of your head.

This didn’t fix everything, but it was a start and you hoped the two of you could build on it.

[healingpage]

𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡 - soobin, taehyun

ꕥ summary: When Y/N playfully suggests that Taehyun might have the better body—after a livestream that stirs up the fandom—Soobin’s pride flares in all the right ways. Determined to prove himself, he invites Taehyun over that same night, turning a harmless tease into a slow-burning standoff of tension, charm, and barely restrained desire. As the lines between competition and temptation blur, Y/N finds herself caught in a game between two irresistible men, each wanting to outdo the other—not with words, but with touch?

ꕥ pairing: boyfriend!soobin x afab!reader x taehyun

ꕥ genres: smut

ꕥ rating: 18+ mdni

ꕥ wc: 7.5k

ꕥ warning: smut! dom!soobin and dom!taehyun, sub!reader, unprotected sex, pet names, threesome, MMF, abs (lol that deserves its own warning) possessiveness, jealousy, degradation, overstimulation, light slut shaming, fingering, handjob, blowjob, oral (both m and f rec) squirting, double penetration, they’re competitive as fuck, readers cries, mention of safe words and traffic light system as safety, cum play and creampies lol, just raw, filthy smut. not really proofread

ꕥ taglist: @starrias @taehyunsloves @marvelwars068 @binzdoll @feet4liferss

Going through X and Tiktok is wild. The response, assumptions, everything. You gasp upon stumbling upon the context, watching the uncut one minute bits from the livestream, where they made public of the state of your boyfriend’s and his friend’s… naked bodies.

“Hey…” you begin slowly, swirling the remnants of your drink in the glass between your fingers, the ice tapping lightly against the sides. Lightly dropping your phone on the coffee table, you turn to face your boyfriend, who’s unaware of your stare, his phone in hand in landscape, probably watching something of his interest. The faint buzz of the conversation from the live still echoes in your mind, along with the chaos in the fandom that had exploded just hours ago. “They really think you and Taehyun have the best bodies?”

Soobin pauses his screen, brows raising at your sudden question. He’s on the couch, his oversized hoodie rising just enough to expose a sliver of his toned stomach he worked so hard on recently. The casual, boyish sprawl he’d sunk into on the couch suddenly seems more self-conscious. He gives you a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he isn’t sure if he is being complimented or roasted. “We were just messing around,” he mutters. “You know how they are. Where did you see that?”

“Mmm, kind of hard to miss. Everyone in X and Tiktok was going wild.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar nervous habit. “Well, we work out a lot… it’s not like we compare or anything.”

You blink in concentration, curious. “But you have seen each other?”

“Of course. We’re close, you know? It’s nothing weird.” Soobin leans in and nudges your nose lightly. “Why? Jealous?”

You grin. “Not jealous. Just curious.”

There is a beat of silence after that. His eyes search for yours, playful but thoughtful. Then, as if thinking out loud, he mumbles, “Taehyun is kind of proud of how he looks.”

You study his features slowly, resting your elbow on the back of your hand on the table. “Really,” you hum noncommittally, tapping your chin with one finger. “Where would you rank yourself?”

“Huh, first?” he only answers half a second late, making you gasp and laugh at the confidence. He looks at you confused, lost at the reaction. “Aren’t I?”

“Funny, because Yeonjun didn’t agree. Actually, he said he agrees with Taehyun’s having the best, probably number one. You… he didn’t particularly acknowledge that.”

That makes Soobin go still. It is subtle, just a twitch in his jaw, a flicker in his eyes—but you noticed. He tries to mask it with a shrug, playing cool, but you know him too well. You see how your comment affects him. You see the competitive spark it lit.

You lean in just a little closer, letting your voice drop into a teasing lilt. “I mean, Taehyun’s built, and he knows it. He doesn’t even try to hide it when he takes off his shirt. You, though…” You let your gaze drift down his body deliberately, then back up. “You’re more modest. Almost shy.”

“I’m not shy,” he says, again, too quickly.

You huff. “Debatable.”

“You want proof?” he asks quietly, voice velvet-smooth. His deep almond eyes narrow at you, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The flicker in his gaze has changed, no longer wounded and uncertain, but sharp. Focused. A little dangerous.

You tilt your head, not answering right away. There is this heat building in the air now — something that feels slow and electric, like the hush before a thunderstorm. “What do you mean?”

“I could call Taehyun right now,” Soobin declares, reaching for his phone, the words slipping out so casually it makes your heart skip. “Have him come over. Let you see for yourself.”

You blink. You’d only mean to push his buttons, just a little. You did not expect to flip a switch. “Wait—you’re serious?”

He doesn’t even look at you as he pulls up his messages, thumb scrolling smoothly through his contacts. “You said he’s better,” Soobin states, tone cool, passive aggressive. “Let’s see it.”

Your pulse kicks up, equal parts of excitement and nerves. This isn’t the playful banter you’d started with. Something is shifting. The air has thickened around you, humming with anticipation, with challenge. A dangerous one at that.

"Soobin—" you start whining, hesitant to apologise but he cuts you off with a glance. Not angry. Not upset. Just... determined.

“He probably won’t say no,” he adds, as if reading your hesitation. “And you? You brought this on yourself. Wanna see,” he implies, voice low and slow, “...which one of us will drive you more crazy?”

Your breath hitch. Not because you were surprised—but because, suddenly, you aren’t sure if you don’t want to find out.

And just like that, the text is sent. Read. Some seconds later, the notification chimes. Replied. You see Soobin replying something too, but did not have the guts to ask what.

The chill room suddenly feels smaller, warmer, like the walls themselves were leaning in to listen. You feel more suffocated as minutes pass by. Soobin sits back on the couch, unaffected as he continues watching his phone while you panic inside. His arms are stretched behind his head, casual, an act that is innocent and familiar—but you couldn’t help but have an intense stare at the muscles that pop up a little. You try to read his facial expression, you see his relaxed state, but there’s a bit of tension running through his jaw. Through the way he waits.

You couldn’t stop replaying what you have just done—what you have started. A little teasing that actually, you don’t know, turns into this. And now, there’s no taking it back.

Taehyun arrives sometime later. Three sharp knocks sound at the door, each one striking like punctuation on something you hadn’t meant to write. The air goes still. Heavy. Soobin says something like "he's here," as you panic inside.

Wanna see which one of us will drive you more crazy?

The words echo in your head like a dare you’re already halfway to accepting.

You swallow and eyes Soobin as he makes his way to the door, his steps slow, measured, betraying the pulse racing beneath your skin. When he opens it, Taehyun stands on the threshold, relaxed, eyes sparkling with something close to mischief.

“Evening,” he says, voice smooth, familiar. He’s dressed in black top to bottom—always sleek, always understated. There’s a chain around his neck, a glint of metal at his throat, and his hair is styled just enough for you to be staring.

He glances past you, walking straight into the living room. “Didn’t think I’d be getting called in as backup tonight.”

“So…” he says, eyes flicking to yours, “this about me being hotter?”

You open your mouth, but no words come out fast enough. “That’s not exactly what I—”

“Yeonjun said it,” Soobin interrupts. He’s standing straight now, gaze steady. “Y/N just agreed.”

You shoot him a look, but he doesn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk deepens. Taehyun laughs, amused, stretching one arm lazily behind his neck. “Didn’t realize we were holding auditions.”

“Thought we’d let her decide in person,” Soobin suggests, sirens blaring inside your head as you feel so small between them, ashamed a bit.

Taehyun raises a brow. “What, like a live ranking?”

Soobin shrugs, slow and deliberate. “Not ranking. A challenge.”

There’s a beat of silence. The kind that thickens between three people who all know exactly what’s being left unsaid.

Taehyun’s grin fades just slightly—his posture relaxes, but his gaze sharpens. He steps closer, like he’s testing the edge of something invisible, watching for your reaction.

“And how exactly are we supposed to settle that?” he asks, voice lower now, more focused.

You don’t breathe. Because you feel it—this subtle shift in energy. The way your body lights up under both of their eyes. The way your thoughts begin to spiral, messy and unfiltered.

Soobin answers without hesitation. “Easy. We see who drives her crazier.”

Taehyun turns to you now, slowly, like he’s decided to take this seriously. His voice softens into something deliberate, intimate.

“What about you?” he asks. “You good at handling attention from two guys at once?”

The question lands with a quiet, wicked weight. Not accusatory. Just curious. Dangerous. And you are sure now it’s not innocent anymore. Not just you comparing their toned abs, everything. It’s even more specific, detailed and explicit.

You should laugh. Shrug it off. Pretend it’s just a joke. But you don’t. Because the truth is, your mouth is dry, your skin is warm, and every part of you is suddenly aware of where this is going.

And the worse part? You don’t think you don’t wanna do it anyway.

You sit on the bed in the room Soobin sends you off to. You don’t remember much, Soobin doing most of the talking for you as he commands you to wait there for a bit. You oblige without asking much, leaving the two in the living room as you shut the door, waiting patiently for things to unfold.

You imagine them in the living room, still standing a few feet apart. Maybe Taehyun is asking questions. Maybe Soobin is explaining boundaries. Or maybe they’re just… quiet. Measuring each other. Waiting, too.

Minutes pass. Or maybe seconds. Time isn’t working the way it usually does. Then you hear the door open, and footsteps. Soobin steps inside, alone.

He closes the door behind him and leans against it for a moment, watching you. His expression is unreadable at first—serious, searching, but his shoulders relax slightly when he sees the way you're looking at him. You don’t speak, just hold his gaze. You want him to make the first move. He always knows where to start.

“Hey,” he says, coming to stand in front of you. He’s close, but not crowding. His eyes meet yours fully, stripping away all the teasing from earlier. “Before anything happens… talk to me.”

The shift in his tone anchors you. His hand brushes your arm, gentle, grounding.

“We don’t go further unless you want to,” he says. “Fully. Not just because it’s hot or because you teased me into this. I need to know if this is something you want.”

Your heart thuds. Not because you’re unsure. But because he’s doing this—right. Carefully. With that soft steadiness that always reminded you why you trusted him with your whole heart.

“I want to,” you say softly. “But I don’t know what to do.”

Soobin’s lips twitch into a small smile, warm, not smug. “That’s okay. I can lead, even we, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” you pause, Soobin grabbing your hand and squeezing it softly. “Do we stop if things get… uncomfortable?”

“Absolutely,” Soobin says without missing a beat. “You say the word and we stop. No questions, no hesitation.”

You nod slowly, digesting the situation. “And you’re okay with this? With… sharing?”

He stays silent, just for a second. Then he gives you a look that’s equal parts fond and intense. “I’m okay with you being curious. I want you to feel safe, not torn. This isn’t a game to mess with you. If we’re doing this, it’s together.”

“Oh, he knows the boundaries,” Soobin clarifies, addressing the nerve and tension you are feeling. “And I reminded him again. Nothing happens without you saying yes. Every step of the way.”

You nod slowly. “And you?”

He lifts your chin gently between two fingers. His eyes flick down to your lips, giving a quick peck there before his eyes go back up on yours again. “I’m not doing this to test you. Or prove something. I want you to feel…” He pauses. “Worshipped. But safe. Do you trust me?”

You nod again, firmer this time. “Yes.”

His smile is soft, almost reverent, muttering a praise of, “Good girl.” That did something to your stomach.

He steps back, just far enough to move toward the door again. Before he opens it, he looks over his shoulder, catching you smiling, cheeks a bit flushed and nodding.

And this time, when Taehyun walks in, it’s different. Slower. Intentional. His eyes flick to you instantly, taking in your posture, your expression, the way you're sitting now on the edge of the bed, half-steady, half-burning.

He says nothing yet. Just closes the door behind him.

Soobin takes his place beside you, his hand brushing briefly against your shoulder as if to say I’m here. Taehyun’s gaze moves to him, then back to you. There’s no awkwardness, no smirk, no cocky line ready to go. Just quiet understanding, and an overwhelming confidence aura that he seems to always have it within. And the unspeakable heat, ready to untangle between the three of you.

“One rule,” Soobin says, his hand settling lightly against your back. “She’s the center of this. Not me. Not you.”

Taehyun nods once. “Understood.”

Soobin takes the cue to sit down on the bed, pulling you to sit on his lap, facing the standing Taehyun. He turns your face towards him, holding your jaw as you get the first kiss of tonight. Soobin chuckles, pulling away from the kiss as he senses your cheeks getting more red as you make eye contact with Taehyun.

“Don’t be shy. How are you gonna survive me, and him both?” The tease is subtle, you gasping as Taehyun stretches out his hand, touching your clothed self. The touch foreign to you, but you are not backing away, softly whining as he slightly runs his hand around your chest. Your boyfriend’s hand is now travelling south, playing with the hem of your shorts.

Taehyun closes the gap between both of you, tugging your top, “Can I?” he asks, you hesitantly nod, raising your arms a bit as you let the shirt fall down on the floor. You hear both of the guys cursing softly as their eyes are blessed with the view. You had no idea choosing a simple lace baby pink bra would rile them up like this, Soobin cups your breasts through it, kissing your neck, leaving a few bruises there just as you like it.

“Feels good, princess?” Soobin questions, unclasping the strap and letting it get loose, earning a satisfied hum from Taehyun as he watches.

“Yes,” you reply, voice hoarse out of nowhere. Soobin chuckles, pulling the bra off you and catching both your wrists before you could cover them.

“How is she? My girl’s pretty, isn't she?”

The question is for Taehyun. You feel your heart racing at the possessiveness of his tone, the grip on your waist but here you are, all displayed for his friend to see.

“Very,” Taehyun’s voice is calm, collected as he takes time to stare. His eyes follow the movement of the leader’s hand, sneaking a glance to your face from time to time. You got too caught up in the moment, realising that your shorts are off you now. You feel the fingers of Soobin on your clothed pussy, hearing his laugh at the way your core is dripping and sticking to the panty.

“You’re very excited for this considering that shy attitude earlier,” Taehyun comments, grabbing your thighs, helping them to spread wider. Soobin grins at that, “She’s much more wild than she seems.”

You feel Soobin growing hard under you, poking your ass so you try to get your hands on his bulge, but Soobin is quick to stop you. “No touching yet,” his command is soft, but stern. You freeze at that, letting your palm rest on your own thighs instead, before Taehyun intertwines it with his.

Soobin is going much slower tonight, he keeps fidgeting with the only fabric left on you, directly touching your core before pulling it away and teasing, growing you frustrated by the second. “Soobin,” you try to scold him.

“What, baby?”

“Need more,” you protest.

“Tell Taehyun what you want,” he directs, your gaze falling on the said man, his neck tensed as you grab him closer by tugging his shirt.

“Taehyun?”

“I’m here, doll,” his voice deep as he slowly breathes out.

“Want your fingers on me, please,” your voice sounds as pleading as possible, escaping a scoff from Soobin.

“Already begging for him? I was the one who touched you earlier,” the tone filled with jealousy, making Taehyun smirks. “Not my fault she finds me hotter.”

“That’s not true,” Soobin swiftly disagrees, though he doesn’t complain when Taehyun’s finger brushes against your clit, pressing his index finger there and circling it. You moan softly, enjoying the touch.

“This what you want, doll?” he asks, playing with your pussy lips next, a grunt leaves your mouth at that. You give him an eager nod of your head, and Soobin brings his hand up to tilt your head, his mouth now hot on your throat. The throbbing between your thighs grows painful, and you squirm against Taehyun’s roaming hands, while your boyfriend’s hand makes its way to play with your breast, Taehyun’s veiny hand teases your aching clit. “More, please.”

“More? Be specific.” he lands a slap on it, your mouth hangs open at the unexpected pain.

“Fuck! Inside, inside. Your fingers. Need them inside,” you immediately say, words mumbled together but still understandable. Taehyun’s middle finger slides along your hole, your breath hitches as you try to stay still, head landing on Soobin’s shoulder as he uses one of his hands to grab your inner thigh, spreading your hole for his friend.

“What a pretty little play thing,” Taehyun lets out his praise for you as he slides the finger in, feeling your walls making way for the foreign thing to go inside. You bite your lip, his fingers are definitely not as long as Soobin’s, but their girth is something. He adds a second finger, then third. “Fuck, you’re doing so well, hmm?”

“Make her cum on your fingers,” Soobin states, Taehyun instantly nodding, “Of course. This hole is gripping me like they don’t want me out.”

The stretch is slowly burning, and you are so wet it makes a squelching sound as his fingers go in and out of you. Closing your eyes, you plead Taehyun to go faster, and direct him to your spot as you can feel yourself closer. Soobin groans as you finally reach the first orgasm of the night, on his friend’s fingers, that Taehyun licks your arousal around his fingers as he takes his fingers out from you.

They let you catch your breath for a while, Soobin’s hand never stops caressing your thighs, calming you. Your sight falls on both of them, still fully clothed and that makes you feel a bit irritated. “Clothes off, both of you.”

“Why don’t you help us with that? See which one you’d like better.” You could hear the hint of tease and suggestiveness in Taehyun’s tone, referring exactly to what leads to this. You turn your head to Soobin, he’s not saying anything but his gaze is darkened now, catching you on guard.

“Can I touch you?” you don’t forget to ask for his permission, remembering how he told you no touching minutes ago. Soobin whispers a silenced approval, so you leave his lap, knees shaking a bit from earlier and you move your hand to his shoulder, tugging at his hoodie string a bit before moving your hands down, both hands clutching the fabric of his hoodie. The atmosphere becomes hotter after that, you absentmindedly tracing the outline of his abs that catches your attention. What you didn’t notice is the smirk sent by Soobin to Taehyun’s way, the latter scoffing at the pettiness.

“I’m taking this off too, ‘kay?” you enunciate with confidence, bending down as soon as Soobin nods. Then all that covers him is off from him within an instant, your eyes are met with his bulge, leaving you gasping at the sight. The seconds feel too long for the slightly upset Taehyun.

“I’m feeling left out here, y/n.”

You are taken aback, hands come to a stop hearing the bitter voice coming from Taehyun. His hands find your wrist, pulling you a bit as he motions you to undress him. You hesitantly put your hand on his stomach, the thin shirt barely doing anything to cover his row of lean muscle there. His shirt clings to his abs, outlining every ridge and groove like sculpture.

“Better than him, right?” is the first sentence that left Taehyun’s lips. You stay silent, peeking to Soobin as you notice him rolling his eyes at the younger’s exclamation. “I would not say yes if I was you, y/n.”

“Come and see for yourself, then,” Taehyun mumbles under his breath, encouraging you to unravel his button down shirt. You swiftly, yet still carefully do so, Taehyun tensing up, feeling the intense heat from your touch on his skin. Once you are done with six of them, Taehyun untangle the sleeve from his arms, the shirt carelessly being tossed by him to the nearest cabinet, that being your dressing table.

You could not help the squeak you let out at Taehyun’s sudden bringing of your palm to his traced abs, “You can survive a touch, I won’t bite. Unless you want.”

Soobin shoots him a sharp look, barely holding back a sarcastic remark. He does not interrupt somehow, choosing to enjoy the show as he sits at the corner of the bed quietly.

“I will let you handle the rest,” Taehyun insists, letting your hand go as he directs them to his pants. You kneel, staring up to him with doe eyes, undoing his bottoms with ease. He hums satisfied at your experience, his cock appearing hard. He is slightly girthier than Soobin’s, his tip ready with pre cum as you slightly tease him by kissing it. He growls, grabbing your head and warns “You don’t get to tease us today.”

You comply, earning an urge from him to suck him, his hands are grabbing onto your hair as you slowly sink him into your warm mouth, slurping and swallowing sounds around his cock. Taehyun settles your hair into a makeshift ponytail, to keep it out of your way, and some of his moans cloud into the air as his hips jolt forward to chase his high.

“Doing so well, doll,” he utters a praise, feeling proud like he’s just won the petty competition by the way you’re bobbing your head and humming around his inches. His eyes fall into the space Soobin is in, sending a mere smirk his way as he senses the tense, jealousy and possessiveness lying undertone of the calming state that Soobin carries. The sound of your whimper snapping his attention from Soobin, as he feels the orgasm building up quickly, your eyes have been watery now at the intensity.

“Wrap your hands around what your mouth can’t fit,” he directs softly, waiting for you to do so. You oblige in seconds, a tear slips down your cheek as he hits the back of your throat. The sight makes Taehyun moan, mumbling how pretty you look at his mercy. He has to tighten his hold on your hair to stop himself from letting out a louder moan. The slight pain unintentionally has you whining around his length, and then he’s letting out the loudest whine of your name as you feel his cum spurting inside. You take everything he gives you, your drool and the remainder of his cum connects between you when you pull him off.

You stay on the floor for a while, catching your breathing properly. Moments later you are pulled by Soobin, his kiss pressing to your lips instantly. You have your hand around his neck, deepening the kiss before he’s leading you on the bed. The soft mattress hits your back after that, and instinctively, your hands are on his back, trying to make an effort to get your boyfriend on top of you but he has another plan.

“Patience, darling,” he coaxes, basking in your half open lid. Your core is aching to be filled, with anything, feeling awfully empty after all the foreplay. You gawk on him, confused as he gently removes the hair from your damp sweaty face, taking a seat just next to your head.

Your begging does not go unnoticed though, as you are manhandled by Taehyun, him spreading your legs, ordering you to spread it wider as he positions himself at your entrance. Your breath hitches as he sinks into you for the first time, your walls enveloping him warmly that has his mouth grunting your name.

“Shit—you feel so fucking good.” Taehyun grips on your waist, his thrust speeding when you’re fully adjusted around him. Your eyes are rolled as the pace shifts, grabbing on his shoulders for support. It feels like he’s punching the air out from your lungs, your moans filling the room. You stutter a broken cry when Soobin’s hand finds itself on your breasts, fondling them just the way you like it. He moves closer to them before sucking on your right one, his other hand giving attention to the other. Before you know it, your hand leaves Taehyun’s shoulder, instead holding onto Soobin’s natural hair on your chest.

Disliking the way you are distracted by Soobin, Taehyun takes a hold of your left leg, bending them close to your chest as you voice out “Aa—ah,” at the sudden angle change. “You just got tighter, babe, you like being used at our mercy?” he asks, his sinister smile breaks out as you could only respond with whines, unable to construct a proper word. The pleasure goes on for a while, you are nothing but a moaning mess as both of them wreck you closer to your limits. You cream around Taehyun’s cock with a loud whimper of his name, back arching off the bed. His thrust stops for a bit, before he is pulling out of you, making you sigh at the loss.

“Turn around,” Taehyun commands, tapping your waist twice as he waits for you to get into position.

“What?” you question, your focus losing as your eyes tremble with tears. You are replied with a smack on your hips, wincing at the pain. “I said fucking turn around.”

Your legs shake as you try your best to do as he told you, too slow that ignites the breaking of patience of Taehyun. “Fine, gotta do everything myself. Your fucking boyfriend treats you like a pillow princess I guess.” He manhandles you onto all fours, pressing on your back waist to get you into that beautiful arch.

You are now facing Soobin with the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Your half open eyes, the stream of tears drying on your cheeks, your lips pouting, and the cherry on top being your drool that has become a mess on your chin. He tugs on your neck slightly, choking you as you roll your eyes when Taehyun is inside you again.

“Let me fuck you right, hmm, doll? Show your lovely boyfriend that you can handle being treated like a slut,” he’s mumbling bitter praises, yet you are so turned on that you grow wetter on his cock. “Fuck, she’s fucking dripping on me, Soobin. Too dumb to follow simple instructions, but she’s enjoying this too much.”

Soobin has been examining your whole body language as you are on your hands and knees, be it your opened mouth, your strained whimpers, your heaving chest, your jelly legs that has now been supported by Taehyun himself. You look so perfectly wrecked, that he can’t bring himself to stop Taehyun from degrading you, when usually he himself rarely does to you, but your tears are rolling non stop hence he inquires, “Your colour, princess?”

“Huh, umph, green, oh my God—” you stumble face first on the sheets, the familiar peak creeping inside your stomach as Taehyun laughs madly at your answer, his dominant left hand landing a few smack on your ass. “Told you she can take it.”

Taehyun wastes no time as he feels his own high approaching, one hand grabbing on your hair and his other hand roughly fondling your ass, nails digging fresh marks into the flesh. You pant pathetically, short, repetitive moans accompanying each of his thrust into you.

Soobin’s gentle consideration for you is thrown out of the window now as he kneels, his tip touching your face. You let your lips part for him, his length being invited into your warm mouth. Soobin hisses and thrusts wildly, your mouth that envelopes him vibrating each time you moan has him twitching.

The sound of Taehyun and your skin slapping against each other in a pace that is quicker than anything your thighs could keep up with has Taehyun in bliss. He rubs the skin of your bottom that is reddening by time, sending him over the edge as you feel the first load of the night inside. "Yes. Fuck—yes. Good fucking doll..." he moans out. He’s pulling out even before he’s finished cumming, his cream spreading all over your pussy lips. He licks his lips at the sight, fingers uncontrollably making a mess on your pussy with them. Your soft whine breaks out around Soobin’s dick as Taehyun’s fingers are teasing your clit.

“Shit—baby, need you,” you are interrupted by Soobin’s desperate voice, he’s pushing your head away before his cock leaves your mouth. Soobin is all over you before you can even process it, his big hands position you on top of him, his cock already nudging at your wet entrance. He doesn’t care that it has his friend’s cum all over, you place your hands on his chest, steadying yourself as your whole body burns hot as he presses you down into him.

You would generally have to take your time with your boyfriend’s dick, but not tonight. His whole length is inside you within seconds, thanks to all the natural lube from your previous orgasms and Taehyun's nut. He is already fucking into you with deep, desperate thrusts, his bulge evident on your lower stomach as he forces you to take all of him like this. He is fucking you so good, like he couldn’t wait for even a minute anymore, like he needed you the second he got his hands on you. He’s panting against your neck, whining as he sinks his teeth into your skin, sucking marks that he would adore later.

“Baby,” he groans, his deep voice shifts to a needy whimper. “You feel so good—baby, you’re so—tight—fuck, all that and still clenches on me like that.” You could do nothing but moan out his name, brain too fogged up with the intensity of his thrust, you could not remember when was the last time he was this harsh on you.

“This pussy misses me, hmm? Taehyun’s not enough to satisfy her?” he teases, grunts at how tight and warm you feel wrapped around him, tone filled with competitiveness, trying to show his friend who you really belong to. Taehyun says nothing, jaw clenching as he shifts closer to you, your soft hands are on his dick, pumping him as you are being treated like a mere fuckdoll to them.

Soobin’s heaving on your neck, nudging his nose against your jaw—humming at all marks that are starting to show, an evidence that you are his. His hands skilfully plays around your clit, “Oh—! Shit!” you curse as your eyes are rolled back, squirming on Soobin’s lap. His other hand catches your waist, keeping you in place as your tears start to come back as he’s making you take all his deep thrust, particularly angling to the spot that he has knowledge you are most sensitive to. Your entire mind crumbles, feeling that your high will unravel anytime with how experienced he is with you. “Please—please, Soobinie! Arghh!”

It is not a surprise that you squirt all over him after, sobbing as his cock being forcefully pushed out, he has you blacked out for a moment, head falling on his chest as he lets you calm down, rubbing your back lovingly. He smirks confidently to Taehyun, the snide remark follows after, “Think you can outdo the doer?”

“Anyone could do that, I was just more cautious as I don’t know her limits well,” Taehyun snaps back, refusing to back up from the fight. They simply wait for almost a minute, waiting for you to open your eyes or say anything. Soobin patiently caresses your waist, asking if you’re okay to continue. You nod your head not even five seconds later. “Sure, you haven’t come yet.”

“Hear that? She wants my load,” Soobin brags, his cock makes its way inside again, you whimper at the intrusion, your legs shaky as you attempt to ride him. Soobin lays his back on the bed, letting you take control this time. Your bouncing tits being groped by him, your soft moans curl around the room like heaven.

Taehyun takes the chance to creep behind your back, his cock head prodding against the same hole Soobin is in. You freeze, trying to comprehend the situation you’ve never been into. Soobin, acknowledging your hesitation, grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “Can you, princess? We’d be gentle, at first.”

“Uhh, never done that before, we–we could try, I guess,” you mumble your answer reluctantly, voice so slow they’d not hear it if the room isn’t silent.

“We’d stop anytime if you don’t feel like it, okay? Don’t be afraid to tell me your colours,” Soobin reminds you of your set up safe words, his tone so caring, the touch on your waist secure, and your hand in his perfectly reminds you that you are well taken care of. You nod, confirming that you affirmatively want this. “Good girl.”

As quick as Soobin’s words left his mouth though, the tip of Taehyun’s cock is being pressed against you. Wasting no time, he slid in quite easily, you choke a moan as your walls struggle to fit them both in. He's going slow at first, Soobin’s growls here and there as he’s also sensitive, having another cock right beside him. “It—it feels weird, can I have a moment?” you voice out, a single tear escaping at the first time feeling.

“Of course, doll,” Taehyun pauses all his movements, he’s giving your back kisses as you relax. A minute passes, then two, as you feel yourself adjusting to their sizes. “Okay, please—please continue.”

“I promise it’ll feel good later,” Soobin promises, giving your lips a peck as Taehyun starts to move slightly, pulling out before pushing in again. “Don’t hurt her,” he does not forget to alert Taehyun, you could not see your behind but the younger guy’s nodding at Soobin. His thrusts start slow, incoherent whines from three of you filling the room. You gasp at how full you feel, whereas both of them grunts when Taehyun’s whole length is fitted inside you.

Taehyun leans forward, pressing all his weight into you. You are indeed, a pillow princess, as Taehyun does all the work, his pumping helps you in riding your boyfriend’s dick as well. Soobin touches your lower belly, feeling both of their cocks there as you let out the whiniest moan at the sight. Soobin chuckles for a second before moaning, “You like that, don’t you?”

You’re already too fucked out to reply back, barely able to think at the way they are re-arranging your guts. Every thrust pushes all the air out of your lungs, your head full of nothing but the feeling of them—Taehyun’s weight on your back, Soobin’s heat on your front, their cock twitching inside you as they keep rutting against each other inside you.

“Soobin—need, need your cum. You and Taehyun’s, please. Inside! Wanna be full of your cum!”

The statements are enough for these men to go crazy on you. “Fuck, you don’t just say that and expect us to not lose control,” Taehyun frantically snaps, furious at your words as his thrusts suddenly hardens. Soobin does not hold back this time, amused at your new limits that he thankfully discovers today. His arms wrap around you instantly as he moves his hips upward to also pump into you. You let yourself left at their mercy, your right hand on Soobin’s chest and left hand gripping onto Taehyun’s biceps on your side.

“Ngh—fuck, I’m gonna fill you up,” Soobin whines, he’s fully seated now, delivering his thrusts into you the same pace as Taehyun. He has his forehead pressing against yours. “Gonna—fuck! Gonna stuff you full, baby, nggh—” And he does. He buries himself to the hilt, his body trembling as he cums, filling you up so much, so deep—still pressing hot kisses against your lips.

The spurt of Soobin’s cum sends Taehyun and you over the edge, his biggest whimper of your name heard as he also explodes inside. The two men grunts at the feeling, you have never felt stickier your whole life. You three take time to relax, Taehyun's being the first to move as he pulls out of you, cock softening as he presses deep, gentle kisses on your shoulder. “Took it like a champ.”

Your body shakes as suddenly you are thrown onto your back, Soobin getting on top of you as he starts moving again, as if he can’t stop. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders, him manhandling you into the mating press position. Taehyun shudders at the sight, choosing to sit front row on the couch over the window of your room.

“Just one more, pretty,” he whimpers, rolling his hips against yours, cock still twitching inside you. His voice is all shaky and breathless as he calls you by name, nicknames, all sorts of things he can think of, as he pins you down again. “Just—fuck—just one more, baby, I promise—”

“Oh! Soobin! Fuck, hnghh, please,” you moan out loudly, uncaring at how you could probably wakes the neighbours up. He has both your hands pinned down on your head, your pussy welcoming him every time, and it feels painfully good that you could not bring yourself to even say yellow to beg him to slow down.

“Shit—shit, I can’t—” He cuts himself off with a choked little gasp, watching how their cum is being pushed out from you at his thrusts, his big hands gripping your hips like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he lets go for even a second. “So fucking tight—squeezin’ me so good—mmf—please, baby, princess, I need it—need to show him how it’s done!”

It’s not like you could stop him. As if you’re anything but a dumb little mess under him, movements restricted fully, brain completely shut, mouth hanging open in wordless little gasps. You can’t even think of Taehyun at the way he’s pounding into you now, desperate and wild, messy kisses all over your face, your lips, anywhere his heart shaped lips can reach. “Pussy spent but still taking me so well, y’want me to breed you stupid, huh? Want me t’fill you up again? Show Taehyun how it’s done? Want me to stuff you full and messy?”

He’s buried deep inside you, moving with such perfect, needy rhythm that you can’t even respond—completely lost in it, clinging to him with nothing left to give. And he adores it—adores how you’ve already melted into something that only he can command. The ego boost as you mutter his name—again and again, like a prayer, your cunt clenching around him like you are made for him, and him only.

“Ohh, fuck, baby—you’re gonna cum?” his voice wavers, also just as wrecked and breathless, watching you fall apart underneath him and he fucks you through it, grinding his hips against yours as he chases his climax. “Fuck—feel so tight when you come—y/n—baby, I’m cumming inside, make you all pretty and full of me.”

At some point, Soobin lets go of your wrists, allowing your hand to scramble in finding its way to Soobin’s shoulders, as you lay there, full on sobbing and taking his load. You feel boneless against his frame, as you attempt to recover from the session, breathing out in stuttered gasps. Soobin has his face resting on your collarbone, gently using his fingers to ease you from your high, his touch nothing but tender on every part of your body that he cherishes so much. As you relax from the hardest night you are laid, you feel Soobin’s even breath against your neck. His cock has already softened, out of you as he checks for your reaction. “Alright?”

“Yeah–” your words come out raspy, Taehyun handing you a glass of plain water that you had no idea when he got them. You let the water down your throat, some of it spilling on you. “Slowly,” Soobin scolds you for it, and you chuck the water down carefully this time. Taehyun takes the empty glass, a head pat accompanies his praises for you for doing so well.

And with tenderness, Soobin leans down, gently rubbing your cheek before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He exhales, lifting his head just in time for Taehyun to press a kiss to the top of your head. It doesn’t take long for Taehyun to rise to his feet quietly, brushing himself off and saying goodbye, leaving Soobin to be in charge again.

“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” He’s back to being a gentle giant, picking up a pillow as he lays your head on it. You just give him a small smile, ensuring that you are perfectly fine before having your eyes closed. Soobin protests at first, insisting that he needs to clean you up first, that you haven’t had proper dinner yet and that you deserve the world’s best aftercare.

“Do as you please, you drained the shit out of me,” you simply respond, your eyes grow heavy, blinking slower each time, until they hover at half-mast. Limbs feel loose and weightless, like they’re drifting underwater. Every sentence of your boyfriend grows distant, as all you want is the warmth of a pillow, the hush of stillness and his comforting presence. Soobin huffs, giving up as he pulls you to his chest, traces of kisses planted on the crown of your head.

Well… at least Soobin’s sure he’s the winner this time.

[greenxgloss]

A House Full of Strangers (KNJ)

18+ MDNI

Pairing: FearfulAttachment!Namjoon x Yearning!Y/n

Summary: When Namjoon visits his cousin in a quiet town, an unexpected friendship sparks between you. Over one summer, it deepens—until timing, and a new relationship, drives a quiet wedge between you. Years later, fate brings you back together during a stormy night in the city, where unspoken feelings and unresolved tension finally resurface.

Themes: Protected sex, emotional tension, past heartbreak, pining, slight (very very slight) jealousy, brief emotional distancing and unresolved conflict

Word Count: 5k

You weren’t even sure whose idea it was to throw a birthday party for Daniel in the first place—he didn’t like cake, crowds, or the vague stress of small talk—but somehow his backyard was full of half-drunk locals and the scent of barbecued tofu, and you were tucked into a sun-bleached lawn chair nursing a fizzy kombucha like it might save your life.

And then he walked in.

Tall. Broad. A little too clean-looking for this dusty small town. City-born for sure. His hair was a soft brown under the string lights, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled like he’d folded it five minutes before showing up and called it good enough.

He glanced around, clearly trying to make sense of the guest list—then muttered, mostly to himself but just loud enough to carry, “Is it just me or does everyone here look like they kind of hate each other?”

You laughed before you could stop yourself—an unexpected, genuine sound that came from your gut, not just your mouth.

His head turned at the sound.

“You agree, huh?” he said, smile crooked and curious, like he hadn’t expected a witness. “Did I offend your friend or your ex or something?”

You shook your head. “Nah, just the girl who brought gluten-free beer. So basically the worst person here.”

That made him laugh—low and warm. “I’m Namjoon,” he said, holding out a hand. “Cousin of the birthday boy. Temporary townie.”

You took his hand. His grip was careful. “Temporary?”

“Just here for the summer,” he said, giving the backyard a once-over like he already had regrets. “Or until Daniel starts feeding me meatloaf.”

“Good luck,” you said. “He made me lentil loaf once. Still recovering.”

From that moment, you became friends. Effortlessly. Days passed, then weeks. You’d meet at the lake, legs hanging off the dock, tossing pebbles into the water and letting conversations wander. He was smart—brilliant, really—but never made you feel like he needed to prove it. Just warm, slightly awkward, poetic without trying to be. You joked about astrology, smoked exactly one joint in a parked car while laughing over conspiracy theories, and fought over who made the better playlist.

What started as playful flirting and stolen glances became something more. Not romantic. Not yet. But undeniably charged. You'd both pretend not to notice how close your knees sat, or the way his eyes lingered on your lips when you talked. Neither of you made a move.

Until you did. But not in the way he expected.

Six months in, after he’d extended his stay, gotten a job at the local froyo spot (you teased him about the apron, he let you), you told him—bright-eyed, hesitant—that you were dating someone.

His name was Ri. And just like that, something shifted in Namjoon. Slightly. Quietly. But enough for you to feel it.

He stopped finishing his thoughts. Stopped texting first. And when you brought Ri around, Namjoon always seemed to have somewhere else to be.

A year passed.

And then he was gone.

You didn’t say goodbye. You weren’t sure if he wanted you to. And life kept going, the way it always does.

About a year after that, you moved out to the city for work, thinking this was your big break. Ri had broken up with you, and you thought this was more of a reason to leave town; nothing was there for you anymore.

On moving day, you ran into none other than Namjoon. The brief interaction between the two of you taught you that he lives in the apartment just upstairs, and you made an awkward joke about how you hope he walks lightly, but it didn't land, and after that, you never really spoke again.

3 years pass and your ‘new’ job has gone nowhere, you still haven't really made any friends in he city and you’ve become a homebody. You’ve been lying to everyone back home about life in the city in fear of disappointing them.

You’d almost forgotten Namjoon lived above you.

Well—forgotten wasn’t the right word. You just stopped trying to remember. After a year of distant nods in the hallway, a shared mailbox area filled with silence, and the sound of his footsteps overhead like a heartbeat you couldn’t reach, Namjoon had become more myth than man again. A ghost in your ceiling.

It had been three years since you last spoke to him. You weren’t even sure if he still liked froyo.

Today, the storm had started slow, but now it was biblical. Rain lashed against your window like it had something to prove, and the power went out with an audible thunk that made you jump. Your apartment was cast in shadows, candles flickering like nervous thoughts.

You were halfway through lighting another when you heard it: sneakers padding up the hall and stop outside your front door.

A knock.

You hesitated. You knew that knock. It wasn’t the UPS guy. It wasn’t your neighbor with the weird cat. He still knocked like he did four years ago. It was—

Namjoon found himself in quite the predicament. He had just arrived home, his phone completely dead, and with a storm rapidly approaching, he had hurried back hoping to charge it enough to get him through the evening until his usual 10:30 PM bedtime.

In his haste, however, he underestimated his own strength. As he jammed his key into the deadbolt, a soft metallic snap echoed ominously — the key had broken off inside the lock. Staring down at the fragment in his hand, then back at the deadbolt, and once again at the now-useless shard, Namjoon let out a low groan and bowed his head in exasperation.

But then, an idea struck.

Without wasting another second, he sprinted up the stairs to the rooftop and made his way to the fire escape, descending hastily toward the window of his apartment. By now, the rain had intensified into a relentless downpour. Peering through the glass, he immediately noticed the telltale signs of a power outage: the digital clock was dark, and the small red standby light on the TV was no longer glowing. He was too late.

Still, he needed to get inside. He attempted to lift the window, only to nearly smack his face against the glass when it refused to move. Soaked and breathless, he leaned in closer and spotted the problem — the latch on the inside was locked.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with frustration, a lump forming in his throat.

Then he remembered: your place. It might not have been the best idea — for all he knew, you wouldn’t even answer the door — but at that moment, it felt like his only option. With no other choice, Namjoon made his way back down the stairs, took a steadying breath, and knocked.

-

“Hey,” came a voice, muffled but unmistakable. “…It’s Namjoon.”

You opened the door.

He was soaked. Absolutely drenched, water dripping from his hair and jacket like he’d fallen in a river, not just battled the storm. He looked ridiculous. And miserable. And beautiful in that unshakeable way he always had.

He blinked at you, sheepish. “I, uh. Locked myself out.”

Your eyes flicked over his soaked sneakers, the busted umbrella in his hand, the bend in his key that stuck awkwardly out of his other. “You okay?”

“Not really,” he laughed, breath fogging. “Tried the roof. Fire escape. Window’s locked. And I think the universe is finally done playing subtle.”

You stepped aside.

“Come in.”

Namjoon stepped inside, shaking like a storm dog, water puddling behind him. Your candlelight caught the edge of his jaw, the collarbone peeking from his drenched shirt. He looked around your apartment like he hadn’t imagined it—like it was more real than memory had allowed.

He stood awkwardly at the door while you walked off to look for a towel and clothes he could borrow. He could smell the scent of old books and the air freshener you’ve used since you met him. “It smells like your old room in here. You still read a lot, I bet?” he called out as he continued to look around.

Just then you walked back out to him and handed him a sweatshirt and a towel. You knew wearing sweatshirts three sizes too big would come in handy at some point. You had no clue a man twice your size from your past would be the one who needed it.

He pulled off his shirt and dropped it on the ground to dry himself off. 

Fuck he’s gotten bigger. Has he been working out. He did use to obsess over biking, maybe he still does. He looks like he does a whole lot more that jus biking somet–

"You gonna keep gawking, or are you gonna help me dry off?" he asked, voice low and teasing—just enough to make your cheeks heat.

You rolled your eyes in an attempt to collect yourself, snatching the towel from his hands and swatting his arm lightly. “You’re impossible.”

Still, you didn’t leave. You stood close enough to feel the residual heat rolling off him, your hand moving in slow, distracted strokes as you ran the towel across the back of his neck and over his shoulders.

He shivered—not from cold, but from the proximity.

“You didn’t have to come here,” you said after a moment, quieter now.

“Didn’t really think about it,” he admitted, still not meeting your gaze. “Just… wanted to be here.”

The rain pounded against the windows in heavy sheets. Your heartbeat echoed it, just as relentless.

He turned to face you fully now, wearing your sweatshirt like it belonged to him, his hair damp and curling at the ends. He looked softer like this—less guarded.

And maybe it was the storm, or the closeness, or the sheer intimacy of sharing space like this—but something shifted.

“I didn’t mean to show up like this,” he said, his voice gentler than you expected. “I just… didn’t know where else to go.”

You stared at him for a second too long, unsure of whether your next breath would calm you or set everything on fire.

“You’re always welcome here,” you murmured, barely audible.

The tension hummed—quiet but undeniable.

“Yeah?” he asked, taking a step closer. “Even if I’m soaked, stranded, and mildly pathetic?”

You cracked a small smile, reaching up to ruffle his damp hair. “Especially then.”

And for the first time that night, he smiled back—slow, crooked, and entirely disarming.

“I should’ve come sooner,” he said quietly, voice low.

You crossed your arms. “Three years sooner?”

He looked at you then—really looked at you, like he was seeing the version of you that had grown from that summer girl. The one who had laughed too loudly at his cousin’s party. The one who used to sing out of key in his passenger seat. The one who didn’t know how to say goodbye when he left.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admitted.

You swallowed. “You didn’t have to say anything. You just had to show up.”

“I’m here now.” he paused, probably thinking that this maybe wasnt a good idea after all. “I also wasn’t sure if Ri was living here with you.” he padded to the bathroom to ring out his clothes.

“We broke up before i moved here.”

“I figured when i never saw him around.” He cleared his throat and hung his shirt on the towel rack. 

You looked up at his buzzed hair, thinking about how much you missed his beautiful length. “Your hairs shorter.” 

“Memories in long hair. Not good ones.”

“Of us?”

“What i wished was us.” His voice was low but you could hear the shame he carried. He really does feel guilty for leaving. 

He broke the silence first.

"You remember that party?" he asked, almost as if reading your mind. “The one where you said you only showed up for the cake?”

You turned toward him, lips twitching. “I still stand by that. It was good cake.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That was a weird night. Didn’t think we’d end up... whatever this is.”

You met his gaze then, and something flickered between you. Not quite anger. Not quite longing. But a potent mix of both.

“You could’ve said something,” you said softly, surprising even yourself.

He looked at you like you’d just dropped a glass on the floor. “So could you.”

“I was scared,” you admitted.

“So was I,” he said. “Still am.”

That landed heavier than either of you expected. You felt it settle in your chest, sharp and warm.

You exhaled, stepping back until your spine gently brushed the wall. “So now what? You show up at my door soaked and storm-tossed, and we just pretend none of that matters?”

He laughed bitterly, raking a hand through his damp hair. “I didn’t plan this. I wasn’t trying to—” He cut himself off. “I just wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightened.

“I don’t know what we are,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “But I know what we almost were. And I can’t stop thinking about that.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve, your eyes burning with the kind of frustration that only came from wanting something you didn’t know how to ask for.

The distance between you was still small. So small.

And still, neither of you moved.

Because whatever this was—it wasn’t ready to be named.

Not yet.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking into a sharp exhale, thick with frustration. “That’s not fair. You left, Namjoon. You left, and when I finally moved out here—when I finally got brave enough to start over in the same city—you’ve barely said more than five words to me in three years. And now, suddenly, you're here? Would you even be standing in this apartment if your key hadn’t snapped off in the lock and the sky hadn’t decided to drown you out of hiding?”

You sighed, the kind of sigh that didn’t just carry breath, but disappointment years in the making. Your hands raked through your hair, not to fix it—just to do something. To stop yourself from shaking. “You’re real, Joon. You’ve always been real. You never stalled, never bullshitted. That’s why I liked you. That’s why I—” You stopped yourself.

“So why are you bullshitting now?”

Namjoon didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he busied himself with the mundane: wringing out his socks and laying those out on the side of the tub. Like it would buy him time.

But you weren't 20 anymore. You wouldn’t be pacified by silence or half-excuses dressed as distractions.

And deep down, you knew—that was exactly what he was trying to do.

The candlelight flickered, casting a pale yellow glow down the hallway. You stood there, arms crossed, picking at your cuticles and sighing hard as the rain battered against the windows like it was trying to echo your heartbeat.

He was stalling again. You knew him well enough to recognize the way he needed to breathe, to retreat and find words that felt safe. But this wasn’t the time for safe.

“Namjoon,” you called, voice low but steady.

The door creaked open. He stepped out barefoot—damp still clinging to the hem of his jeans. He looked tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Like he’d been carrying something for a long time and finally had nowhere left to put it.

“I didn’t mean to disappear,” he said, voice raw with honesty. “I just... I didn’t know how to stay.”

You blinked, stunned into silence by how simple and devastating that sounded.

“You didn’t know how to stay,” you repeated, slowly. “But I did. I waited. I texted. I asked about you. I tried to keep something—anything.”

He winced. “I know.”

“And you ignored me,” you continued, a bite to your words now. “For three years. Like I didn’t matter. Like you could just cut me out clean and walk away.”

“I thought it would be easier,” he said quietly. “For you.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “For me? You thought silence was easier than honesty?”

Namjoon stepped forward, tentative but deliberate. “I thought telling you I was in love with you, and leaving anyway, would’ve hurt you more. And if i did anyway then what? You were dating Ri.”

The air thinned.

You froze, words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat because you knew he was right. You knew that, of course, he didn't know what to do. Of course, he panicked and left without a word. But you also knew that you’d have stuck around anyway if he was the one who got a girlfriend.

He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, exhaling like it was physically painful. “You were always the one thing that felt real. Everything else... The stupid parties Dan threw, His friends, the pressure—I could compartmentalize all of that. But not you. You scared the shit out of me.”

“I scared you?” you asked, incredulous.

He nodded. “Imagine searching your whole life for someone that never made excuses, who took what they want and after what– 23 years you find it– the real thing, not some trick. Not a facade… i panicked because i didnt know what to do with it. You made me want to stay. And I couldn’t. Not then.” 

The irony is that you're 24 now. You are standing in front of the first no-bullshit person you’ve ever met, but it doesn't scare you. What scares you is that he might get cold feet and leave again.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just stared at him while everything you’d carried—the loneliness, the anger, the what-ifs—pressed against the edges of your ribcage like a dam ready to crack.

“I didn’t want you to love me,” you said finally. “I just wanted you to choose me.”

Namjoon stepped closer. Close enough that you could see the guilt in the curve of his mouth, the sadness in the way his eyes flickered to yours and didn’t flinch away.

“I’m choosing you now,” he said. “If you’ll let me.”

Your breath hitched.

There it was—too late, too early, exactly on time.

And you had no idea what to do with it.

That’s when you began crying. Not hard, not ugly, not a sob—but a soft sniffle, an involuntary sound you tried and failed to stifle. It wasn’t a single, cinematic tear either. They came steadily, like something old and aching inside you had finally split open. Like every word you’d swallowed these past few years had liquefied into salt and memory.

“I miss you, Joonie,” you whispered, your voice trembling just enough to fracture the air between you.

Namjoon didn’t hesitate. He crossed the space between you in a heartbeat, arms wrapping around you with the kind of urgency that said me too, even before he spoke. You pressed your face to his chest, and he held you like he’d been waiting—starving—for this closeness just as long as you had.

You didn’t know how long you stood like that, the room humming with quiet and rain.

Then, gently, he tipped your chin up with one hand—thumb calloused, soft with care—and made you look at him. His other hand rose to your cheek, wiping away a tear with a touch so reverent it made your chest ache.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, voice low but sure, like he was swearing something into the marrow of you. “I mean, unless the plumbing explodes again or I catch on fire. Then I might leave. Briefly. But I’ll come right back.”

You let out a breathy laugh through your tears, the sound catching at the edges, tangled in disbelief.

“I’m serious,” he said, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed soft. “I should’ve said it before. I should’ve said a lot of things. But let me start here: I never stopped thinking about you. Even when I was silent, even when I was stupid.”

You blinked, and another tear slipped down. He caught that one too.

“I missed you so much it made everything else feel... grey,” he whispered.

And then he leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving you every opportunity to pull away. You didn’t. You tilted your head instinctively, eyes fluttering closed, and felt the warmth of his lips brush yours—a kiss so soft it felt like a memory, or maybe a promise. It lingered just long enough to burn.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

“You still smell like cinnamon tea and old books,” he murmured, teasing affection laced in his tone. “God, I missed that.”

You huffed a soft laugh through your nose and finally let yourself hold him back.

You didn’t move at first.

Just stood there, holding each other in the soft hum of your apartment, his forehead still pressed to yours, his breath still warm against your lips. It was quiet, but your heart was loud. Every inch of you trembled—not from uncertainty, but from the kind of tension that builds over years of silence, unresolved feelings, and the ache of missing someone you never stopped needing.

Your fingers found the hem of his sweatshirt. You didn’t ask. Just tugged. He raised his arms wordlessly, letting you peel it from his body. His skin was still damp from the storm, warm from the inside out, and his eyes searched yours like he needed permission one more time.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You answered by taking a step closer and guiding his hand to the small of your back, your lips brushing against his again, this time with intent. No hesitation. You kissed him like he was yours. Like he had been yours—once. Like you could reclaim something lost in time.

Namjoon groaned softly, the sound vibrating through you as he deepened the kiss. His hands roamed your back, then your waist, pulling you flush against him. Every brush of his mouth, every soft sigh between kisses, made your skin feel tighter, needier.

He lifted you without effort, as if he already knew exactly where you wanted to be. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried you through the narrow hallway, lips never parting from yours, only pausing to murmur your name like it was a prayer.

When your back hit the bed, his body followed, blanketing you with warmth and weight. His hands moved with reverence, memorizing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips. You touched him like you were relearning him, like tracing a poem you hadn’t read in years but never forgot.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered against your collarbone, then again between kisses on your chest. “I thought about this so many times and it never... it never felt this real.”

You tugged at his belt and he laughed softly, breathlessly. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“I thought you wanted me to tell you how i feel.” He smirked playfully.

Clothes disappeared in pieces, dropped to the floor without ceremony. What mattered was the way he kissed you now—slow, like he didn’t want to rush a second of it. His mouth on your throat, his hands caressing your thighs, his words murmured between the soft rhythm of your breaths.

“You’re still the best thing I’ve ever stumbled into,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours again. “Even if it took me years to stop being an idiot,” he took the condom you handed him from your side table and rolled it on.

You smiled, eyes shining in the dark. “Less talking, more making up for lost time.”

His chuckle vibrated through his chest as he adjusted his hips, sliding inside you in one smooth motion. You both gasped—his name on your lips, yours on his. No frantic pace, just a slow, It was an aching rhythm that felt more like worship than sex. Each thrust of his hips was deliberate, his body moving in tune with yours, like he’d memorized you in a past life and was rediscovering every note. He didn’t rush, didn’t demand—he gave, patiently, attentively, reverently. Like this wasn’t just a moment, but a culmination. A return.

Namjoon moved like he was listening—to your body, to your breath, to everything you weren't saying aloud. His hand cradled the back of your thigh, guiding your leg to rest higher along his hip, opening you just slightly more to him. It sent a shiver down your spine, the way he adjusted you so gently, still keeping the rhythm steady and deep, like each movement was meant to say, I’m here. I never forgot.

Your legs wrapped loosely around his waist now, your heels pressing lightly into the curve of his lower back with each slow roll of his hips. It was instinctive, that grounding touch—holding him close, anchoring yourself to him like you were afraid this might vanish too.

Namjoon leaned down to press a trail of kisses along your throat, slow and lingering, his lips brushing over your pulse point, your collarbone, the edge of your jaw. Between each kiss, he whispered your name softly, or sighed, or let out a low, breathy moan that vibrated against your skin. It was messy in the most tender way—half-kisses against damp skin, shared gasps and stuttering breaths.

When he moaned again, it wasn’t loud. It was muffled and low, almost like he didn’t mean for it to slip out. It happened right after you clenched around him—a soft, involuntary reaction to how good he felt, how full, how there he was—and the sound made your head fall back against the pillow with a soft whimper of your own.

His pace picked up slightly then, still not frenzied, just purposeful. Like he’d found exactly what made you melt and was chasing it now, chasing you. He adjusted the angle of his hips just enough to pull another gasp from you, and when your nails dragged lightly down his back, he hissed, lips pausing against your neck.

“Shit,” he murmured, face contorting. “You feel so good—wet and warm.”

Your eyes met his in the dim light, and it was there again—the ache. The longing. The years of silence and missed connections that were now being rewritten by the way he held you, filled you, moved with you.

He brought a hand up to your cheek and brushed away a tear that had slipped free, even now. “Still with me?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, your hand finding the back of his neck. “Don’t stop,” you breathed.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

And he didn’t. He kept moving inside you, body pressed tight to yours, every inch of skin against skin, breath tangled, limbs intertwined. He thrust with more certainty now, each slow grind coaxing more soft moans from your lips, until the room was filled with the quiet, rhythmic sound of two people trying to make sense of years apart using only their bodies.

His fingers slipped down between you, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down then moving in time with the thrusts of his hips, your whole body arched up against him.

“Joon,” you cried out, more a gasp than a name, but he heard it. He swallowed it with a kiss as your body began to tighten beneath him, that pressure rising fast and deep.

“That's it, baby, you’re doing so good, so perfect. Cum for me.”

And you did.

You shattered beneath him with a soft cry, your body clenching tight around him, your hands gripping his arms like you were afraid to fall. But Namjoon was there—holding you, kissing you through it, whispering your name like a promise.

He followed right after, hips stuttering against yours, breath catching in your ear as he spilled inside you with a low, choked moan that you would carry with you forever.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

He stayed inside you, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavy, chests rising and falling in sync. His hands found yours and held them tightly, grounding you both in the moment—sweaty, tangled, bare, and finally not apart.

-

Tangled together, you rested on his chest. Blanket pooled at your hips and the rain still coming down hard outside but all od the sudden the lights cam back on and the two of you looked at each other and chuckled softly, “i guess the universe really was working for us.” You inhaled deeply as you curled further into his side. “Stay until your clothes is dry? I can get your apartment door open with my tool box.”

“You have a tool box?” He asked, probably surprised obviously because you’ve never been the type to get your hands dirty with grease and a wrench. “Every home should have a tool box, joon. I picked up a few things from–”

“Ri.. yeah lets maybe get used to never saying that name again.” He stretched before holding you tighter. “I’d love to never bring that douche up again.” You pressed kisses to his chest.

“Wanna go again?” You asked. “Yup.” He answered briefly before pulling you on top of him. 

“Might as well take advantage of being with you again right?” You smiled as you trailed your hands down his chest. 

“You’re greedy,” he bit his lip.

You grinned, settling over him like you belonged there—because, somehow, you always had. “And you like it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands skating down your thighs. “Yeah. I really do.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breaths syncing, your bodies pressed close in the quiet glow of lamplight. Outside, the rain had finally stopped—leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt like a new beginning.

You looked down at him, brushing your thumb along his jaw..

“Namjoon?”

“Mm?” He looked up at you with glossy puppy eyes, the ones that you adored.

“You’re not leaving again, right?”

His expression softened completely. “No,” he whispered. “Not unless you tell me to.”

You didn’t.

And then you kissed him like that answer meant everything.

Because it did.

a/n i lowkey wanna make this into a longer series and really go into detail about everything lmk if you guys are into that idea

➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

[lovingmayday]

hi, not the same anon that requested the yuki one but can we have part two of that with kaji, kiryu, umemiya and probably togame? I really love the fic 💘

"a sign of affection" — ft. kaji ren, sugishita kyotaro, kiryu mitsuki

prompt : fem!reader, kind honest and shy deaf!reader that can only pick out small sounds with hearing aids but can't pinpoint where it comes from and can read lips (a sign of affection, yuki itose)

notes : theres an author that had the same req prompt as part 1 and had ume and togame in theirs! check them out 🥰 i hope you don't mind, anon! i changed ume and togame's part to sugishita since i didn't want to repeat fics and felt like he deserved to be in more works (i WENT OFF on his part LMAO). sorry for taking so long 😞🙇‍♀️

part 1 (sakura, suo, nirei) — part 2

kaji ren

when he was first introduced to you, you thought he didn't like you. he was always on his phone and had his headphones on—it seemed like he was completely uninterested in you. even so, you gravitated to him whenever you hung out with the same group.

it was mainly because he looked like he was getting left out and you felt bad.

you brought your phone out and typed something like 'are you listening to music?'. he didn't answer immediately, contemplating his answer. in the end, he just nodded and you continued with another question, like 'what's it about?'. he took out his own phone and typed his answer. you just asked more questions and the two of you continued to converse like that.

it became clear to you tha kaji wasn't really cold to you, he was cold to everyone.

well. . . 'cold' in the sense that he was trying not to care.

he picked up a few signing phrases here and there from you talking with your friends and him asking about it afterwards. you asked him if he wanted you to teach him and he accepted it, cheeks pink and eyes looking at anywhere but you, pretending not to be too delighted.

you don't usually meet when it's just the two of you—your mutual friends often around as a big group. so knowing eyes and teasing glances always find their way on the two of you whenever they see you falling behind from the bunch, leaving you both quite flustered.

he knows you aren't very fond of crowds. and as much as he enjoyed the company, he finds himself being very bothered by the fact that you could be uncomfortable. thus, hangouts generally conclude with the you and kaji sitting in a peaceful place—typically a simple bench on one of the many streets of makochi or scenic location you manage to find.

he lets you rest your head on his shoulder when he's listening to music—so you could feel the bass and vibrations from his headphones. it's supposed to feel calming but all you could think about is if kaji could see how flustered you were from where he was (he could, you're ears were red).

accordingly, you attempt to even the field by playing with his hands, recalling how he'd blush whenever you corrected the position of his hands when signing.

no matter how many times you and kaji has repeated this routine, it never gets the violent butterflies in his stomach to calm down.

the first time he hears your voice, the first time he hears your laugh, it was over for him.

at the moment, he mused that you've officially ruined any song he could've enjoyed. because how could anything else be more beautiful than the sound he heard just now?

sugishita kyotaro

the two of you have known each other since you were kids since sugishita's grandparents helped look after you whenever your parents worked late. at first, he thought your were annoying. he didn't think he needed friends—his grandparents were enough. but it's like it was impossible to ignore you. especially with his folks badgering him to befriend you.

he knows sign language because of you. it was one of the few things you could talk about in the beginning—you teaching him. and once he got to know you, he started teaching himself in secret. we all know he doesn't speak much. and you end up being a lot more talkative than him.

the both of you grew older. when sugishita got into his first fight, he ran to you first. you were there doing your best to treat his wounds. he wouldn't talk—you didn't press. from then on, he always went to you first after a fight.

you worried, of course. how could you not? your best friend was bruised more often than when he isn't. but you knew he was going through something. and you didn't think it was your place to scold him—since you knew he'd get an earful anyway whenever he came back home to his grandparents.

sugishita just needed calm—he needed peace. that's what you always felt like to him.

when he met umemiya, his whole world turned upside down. he got into fights less, he wasn't as aggressive, and he subtly started opening up to you—in his own way. spending time with you, walking you home, inviting you over for dinner under the guise of his grandparents missing you.

he may not talk much but he's always been so much more expressive than you ever since you were young. you were just glad that part of him returned.

he told you about umemiya. and his plan to support his venture to create a safer and comfortable environment in town. you were doubtful, of course—makochi's been this way ever since you were born. but you couldn't oppose the determination and softness sugishita regained in his eyes.

you were happy. you were glad. a relieved laugh leaves your mouth before you even realize.

and its like everything else went silent once the sound registers in sugishita's ears.

he didn't notice when you started using your voice less. he didn't notice when you stopped using it completely.

his heart skipped a beat. or two. before it pounded in his chest, clanging against his ribs. the peace he once felt with you turned into the chaotic mess of just discovering he loved you.

kiryu mitsuki

it doesn't take long for the two of you to be friends. he didn't know japanese sign language but he adapted pretty quickly, taking out his phone and asking for your contact information. he doesn't comment when he noticed your cheeks paint pink as you type your number, only giving a sly smile.

kiryu has always been friendly and outgoing—and he's always known how to charm girls. that's what made you hesitant at first. whether he acted this way around everyone or just you. but the doubt doesn't last long—kiryu was able to purge it without even knowing it existed.

he wants you to trust him so he turns into the most patient and attentive boy on earth. he's very careful—he doesn't want to scare you off but he's straightforward about his feelings from the start. he honestly tells to you that he's interested in you and starts asking you out to get to know you more.

with the first few dates, kiryu's priority was to make you comfortable since you were still pretty shy. and the shyness doesn't leave even after spending a lot of time together. though he doesn't mind it, finding it quite endearing.

you meet his sister, akari, unexpectedly while hanging out at his place. it was evident that you were nervous, your hands shaking ever so slightly. but you managed to get along well with her—with you reading her lips and typing down responses. kiryu felt a bit left out afterwards.

he takes online japanese sign language lessons along with the extensive notes you made for him; you saw him watching tutorial videos on his phone one time he was waiting for you to arrive on a date. he was stunned because he hadn't even mentioned that he was learning yet—planning to make it a surprise.

whenever anyone sees him smiling fondly on his phone, they know it's you. he's not shy about it and he doesn't hide it—honestly answering when they asked who he's been texting a lot lately. it makes him the object of envy for a lot of the class 1-1 students and he's secretly smug sbout it.

when he first hears your laugh, he swoons.

after the momentary pause of surprise, he stares at you adoringly—resting his cheek on his palm and all.

[sneakyxthexclown]

How Blitz Saved Stolas in Mastermind

Something I've been wanting to do for a WHILE is talk about a very, very specific scene in Mastermind. Seriously, it's, like, two sentences long, but it really stuck out to me, and I've been thinking about it since November. (Apologies if other people have talked about this before!)

Let me preface by saying, I LOVE English and writing. I minored in English with a writing concentration in undergrad, and I used to work in my college's writing center. When I didn't have appointments, I would study grammar rules and shit like that. While English is, in fact, a very stupid language, it is still quite fascinating.

The thing that really stuck out to me in Mastermind is Blitz's use of something called "passive voice" during the trial.

For those who may not know, passive voice is a way of constructing your sentences. It makes it so that the object of the sentence comes before the verb, and, in a sense, it can "hide" the subject. This is different from active voice, where the subject clearly does the verb to the object. For example:

Active voice: I (subject) kicked (verb) the ball (object).

Passive voice: The ball (object) was kicked (verb) by me (subject).

I've had MANY teachers tell me that using passive voice at all is a big no-no, and that's due to a couple of reasons. First, passive voice tends to create a more complex sentence, which can be harder for readers to interpret. And second, some people consider it too informal or "not proper" for writing because it's not as clear or concise as active voice.

HOWEVER

Passive voice is often still accepted when a person wants to remove blame or hide responsibility. For example:

The lamp was broken. The car was wrecked. The bank was robbed.

See how you still know what happened in all of those instances, but you don't know who did it?

That is exactly what Blitz does during the Mastermind trial.

After he admits to stealing the book (or "attempting" to steal the book as he says), he then states,

"Point is! It was given to me, okay? I was allowed to use it."

Instead of:

"Point is! Stolas gave it to me, okay? Stolas allowed me to use it."

Passive voice. Why?

To keep Stolas out of it. To protect him.

I believe that if Blitz had mentioned Stolas's name earlier, it would've been a surefire way to not only save Millie, Moxxie, and Loona but also his own life. I mean, look at how fast Satan was willing to change his tune once Stolas "confessed." Couldn't Blitz have just said, "hey, dude. Uh, actually, the royal who owns this book let me do all this, soooo, isn't he the one who should be in trouble here?" (Now, maybe Satan wouldn't have bought this since he wasn't willing to listen to most of what Blitz was trying to say that day, but that is an entirely different conversation.) He could've done that by using active voice.

But he didn't. He intentionally kept Stolas out of that entire conversation. In fact, Blitz never even mentions Stolas's name until Andrealphus already brought him up, until Blitz admits that he could've killed Stolas himself. But that still doesn't put any blame on Stolas. If anything, it just makes Blitz look more guilty.

I think we can all agree that Blitz isn't the type to throw his friends under the bus. Obviously, if Blitz and Stolas were on good terms, he would do anything to protect him. But they weren't on good terms.

This all takes place after the Full Moon, after Apology Tour, after all the screaming and the raging and the storming off in tears. Prior to the trial, the last time Blitz and Stolas saw each other, Blitz left still under the impression that Stolas was mad at him, that Stolas wanted nothing to do with him.

And even still, he didn't acknowledge the fact that Stolas did allow Blitz to use it (despite him stealing it first). Even though they weren't even close to speaking terms, Blitz still protected Stolas that day.

He could've tried to save his own ass. He could've been petty about the deal and said, "here, Stolas, this is what you get." But he didn't. Because even though Blitz has his own valid reasons for being mad at Stolas, he still loves him. And he'd still do anything to keep him out of danger.

Blitz tends to prefer actions over words (e.g., that's why Blitz gets upset when Stolas gives him the crystal. He interprets Stolas's actions as "you're throwing me away.") Stolas tends to prefer words over actions (e.g., that's why Stolas gets upset when Blitz roleplays with "I love you/I'll stay with you." He interprets Blitz's words as "this is a joke to me.")

But that day? They both chose the opposite.

Stolas's actions saved Blitz. And Blitz's words saved Stolas.

Isn't that neat?

[chaoticdreamersthings]

GLIMPSE OF US - SEQUEL

Now is a good time

!!!WARNING!!! RPF BELOW!!!

Pairing: Joost x Fem Reader

Description: Three years after you and Joost said your goodbyes on the stairs outside your apartment, you watch his dream being taken away from him, and decide to break no-contact. It reawakens the feelings you were sure were gone.

Author's note: i would say this is a mix of fluff and angst? There's definitely some cheesy romance in there, lol. I hope you like it! I think i owed you something a little less heartbreaking this time!

Warnings: sex is mentioned but nothing descriptive, alcohol

Word count: 10.1 k

This a sequel to: Glimpse of us - all parts linked in the last part

You turn the TV on for background noise while cleaning. You’ve done that countless time, not just for company, but because it helped your Dutch more than any textbook ever could. Month by month, word by word, you improved. And now you’re proud to say you understand so much more — the evening news, the movies, even the lyrics of some songs— all of it helped you reach the higher level, the level that kept your job secure and your life stable. 

It’s been over five years since you first got here, and you’ve almost forgotten what it was like to live anywhere else. You’ve reached that point where you feel like a stranger in your home country. It’s still your home, but every time you go back, you miss the narrow streets of Amsterdam and the coziness of your apartment. You miss the life you have here. Somewhere along the way, this city, this apartment, this life — they stopped being temporary. They became home.

You glance at your vibrating phone and see a message from Kevin — the guy you’ve been seeing for the last two months. You haven’t defined the relationship yet, but it’s definitely heading in that direction, and making it official seems to be on the horizon. He’s gone on a work trip and you won’t see him for the next few weeks — a first test for your relationship. You really thought it might work this time.

It’s been a long time since you dated someone seriously. There were flings, brief connections, few men who hovered around the edge of something more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to agree to a relationship — they just didn’t seem like the kind of guy you’d want to spend your life with. It’s not that you were too demanding — you just wanted someone that could hold a good conversation, someone you knew you wouldn’t get bored with. So far none of the guys you met felt like that kind of person. Some of your friends laughed, saying you were looking for your prince charming, but all you wanted someone you’d feel that click with.

“This Saturday, Joost Klein will represent the Netherlands in The Eurovision Song Contest” you hear from the TV. You freeze mid-step, mop still in hand, your eyes locking on the screen.

Joost. 

It’s been three years since that last goodbye — him standing in the rain on the stairs just below your apartment, the final words hanging in the air between you. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet also it could’ve happened just last week. You watched him on TV, wearing that ridiculous blue suit that he would’ve laughed at back then. You watch him, stunned by the transformation. It’s hard to reconcile this version of him with the boy you used to know.

He was still that funny, bubbly guy, who lit up every room he entered. But when you caught glimpses of him on TV or scrolling through clips online, you noticed how much he had matured. The themes in his songs had shifted — less bragging, more vulnerability. He spoke openly about things he used to bury under jokes. 

He still looked like your Joost in so many ways, but the man on the screen had evolved beyond the boy you once knew. You wonder if he would say the same about you.

After you broke up, he tried to contact you a few times — an invitation to his album launch party, a drunk “I miss you” text or a whole paragraph about how much he still loved you. As much as it hurt, you didn’t answer, afraid of being pulled back into the toxic cycle. You knew too well where that road led. 

Eventually, the messages became less frequent, until they stopped altogether. 

Now, he was just a memory — a familiar face in a music video, a name you dropped  when the conversation with new friends turned to music. Sometimes people got excited, pressing you for stories: “What was he really like?”, “Was he that nice offstage?” You’d smile politely and offer the safest line you knew — that he was a good guy, things just didn’t work out. You didn’t want to ruin his career, or spread rumors, so you kept the details of your relationship to yourself. 

You still had that warm feeling in your chest whenever you saw his face — as much as you’d moved on from the relationship, he was a part of your history, one of the people who helped shape the person you are now. You forgave him a long time ago, and there wasn’t any bad blood between you. There was no grudge, no resentment — but also, no need to reopen that door. 

You truly wished him well. It made you oddly proud to see him thriving, evolving, turning his pain into songs that were loved by so many people. His music was richer now, more layered — like he’d finally started to understand himself. He was a good guy, at heart. Just someone trying to quiet the noise in his own head. Weren’t we all?

You turn off the TV and wonder if you should order some food — you really don't feel like cooking today. But the neglected vegetables in your fridge were starting to look a little too wild, like they might start a rebellion if left alone much longer. 

You spend the rest of the day cooking, watching a movie, and updating your CV — you really wanted to find a new job. 

You’re just about to pour yourself a glass of wine, when a message pops up on your phone:

Clara: “OMG, Have you heard? Disqualification???” 

Your brows knit together in confusion. Disqualification? From what?

“What?” You quickly type back.

She sends you a link to an article about Joost’s disqualification from the Eurovision Song Contest. You have to sit down to read through it, each sentence more unbelievable than the last. Threatening behavior, lack of control, violence, issues with other delegations.

Your eyebrows raise higher and higher as you read, unable to believe what you’re seeing.

It all seems ridiculous. You could believe this about anyone — but not Joost. It just didn’t add up. 

This was what drew you to him from the very beginning — he was so gentle that you never once felt in danger when he was around. Even when he was drunk, he was never aggressive or violent. If anything, you might have expected that kind of behavior from yourself, but never from him He never got into fights; violence went against everything he stood for. Sure, he enjoyed a heated argument, a sharp discussion, but it was always confined to words — never crossed the line into something violent. 

He must be devastated. The thought crosses your mind, and a wave of sudden sadness washes over you. You haven’t felt that in a while, but knowing Joost — how dedicated he was to everything that he did, how he always poured an insane amount of effort into his work — you know he must feel horrible now. 

You remember how hard he fought for that spot at the Eurovision. For so long. Not for the fame, but for the meaning. And now his dream — his thoughtful tribute to his parents — it’s all gone. 

You can’t help but scroll through your photos, searching for the last picture you took together. You wonder if he has someone to wipe the tears from his face. You know he has incredible friends, who always supported him, but part of you hopes he has someone to give him that kind of unconditional love. Someone whose arms feel like home. Because you know — more than anyone — how much he needed that now.

Unintentionally, you open your messages — and then you freeze.

Should you write him? He’s going through hard time — he should get as much support as possible, right?

Yeah, but maybe that support should come from his friends — not from his ex who hasn’t talked to him in, what — three years? That can’t be undone with one sympathetic text. 

Wouldn’t it look stupid? Like you were just looking for an excuse to talk to him? Or worse, like you were being nosy, trying to find out what happened?

You bite the inside of your cheek and scroll to the last message from him — a happy birthday from last year. You didn’t even bother to respond. And now you’re going to ask him about his feelings? 

Would he even recognize your number? Would he read it and laugh? Or worse — feel nothing?

“Hey, i just heard the news, are you okay? Do you need to talk?”

You reread it a couple of times. 

No, it sounds stupid. Need to talk? Who are you, his therapist? You delete the last sentence. Then retype it. Then delete it again. Every version feels wrong — too formal, too cold, too personal, too much. 

You sigh, letting the phone rest in your hand — there it is again, that space between wanting to care and not knowing if you have right to.

“Hey, i just heard about the DQ. Are you holding up?”

You delete it quickly. Of course he’s not holding up. 

You sigh. It feels like no matter what you write, it will sound stupid.

But it’s just a message, a couple of words on a screen. Why are your hands shaking?

“Hey. Is everything alright? Are you ok?”

It still doesn’t sound right, but it’s not going to get any better. But no amount of rewriting will make it perfect. It’s not about saying the right thing. It’s just about letting him know you’re here, if he needs it.

You put the phone down, suddenly unsure again. Maybe you should’t send anything at all. Maybe this is about you, not him. Maybe silence is a better choice.

You stare at the screen for a few seconds. 

Oh fuck it, it’s just a message.

You hit send. 

Delivered.

Now you wait. You stare at the screen, and the more time passes, the more you start to believe he’s not going to answer. Maybe he changed his number. But more likely - he just has more important things to deal with right now than your message.

He has people. Real people. The kind who’ve stood beside him through every high and low. Friends who love him fiercely, who would drop everything for him. But still, knowing he’s hurting has stirred up feelings you haven’t touched in years. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing. 

Because you remember exactly how it felt to love him —  the intensity, the emotional chaos, and how it always felt like you were at war with yourself.

You used to support him at every step of his career — before the sold-out shows, before the press interview, before everyone in Europe knew his name. 

You were more then just a girlfriend. You were part of the process — giving feedback on lyrics, music videos, and discussing his ideas. He genuinely valued your opinions — you were always the first person he came to when he wanted to take the next step. 

You liked that. You liked being someone whose thoughts mattered. 

He used to say you had a creative mind, that you could make something brilliant if you let yourself. He had told you that you belonged in that world. 

But you couldn’t see it. You didn’t think you could handle the criticism, the spotlight, or the constant noise that came with it.

You were always impressed by his creativity — it felt endless, he constantly had new ideas that evolved into more ideas, and whenever he was working on something new, he could talk about it for hours. But you never complained — you loved seeing him so passionate and excited about his projects. 

You wished you had this passion — for your work, or honestly, for anything at all. You admired how dedicated he was, how his eyes lit up when he had a new concept, or when his music got good reviews. And you were genuinely happy for him — because if anyone deserved that kind of joy, that kind of purpose — it was him.

As the day comes to an end, you come to terms with the fact that he’s not going to answer. Maybe the number still works, maybe he read the message. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, you know he’s not reaching back. 

He probably has someone now — someone who knows how to comfort him in the ways he needs, someone whose arms feel like safety. Someone who tells him he didn’t deserve this, that he’s more than this moment. And you are happy for him. Truly. 

Even if there’s a small sting of jealousy, you know you have no right to feel it. It was you who ended things. You who decided not to give him another chance — not three years ago, and not any of the times he reached out afterward, asking for one. He has every right not to not answer. Every right to never speak again if that’s what he chooses. And you have to accept that.

***

Over the next few days, you almost forget about that message, as you get caught up in job interviews and your friends’ heart problems. Every now and then, you hear something about him — a headline here, a mention there, but you just hope he’s doing well and that with time, he’ll feel better. There’s nothing more you can do. 

You offered your support, but you can understand that comfort from someone who once turned him away during a vulnerable moment might not be what he needs. 

You start getting ready for a yoga class — a new, healthy habit you’re trying to stick to. You’re halfway through stuffing a towel, water bottle and change of clothes into your gym bag, when you hear a knock at the door.

You frown. You didn’t invite anyone — maybe it’s someone from building maintenance or a neighbor needing something. You leave your bag on the table, half-zipped, and hurry to the door, hoping this will be quick. 

But when you open it — the air shifts.

The last time you saw him was on those steps outside your apartment. Years have passed. You haven’t seen him since, not in real life, not this close. But the moment your eyes meet, your stomach curls into that same unmistakeable knot — the one you thought had unraveled long ago.

He’s changed. Completely. Platinum blonde mullet. Baggy jeans — the kind he would have never worn back in 2019 when you met — and a hoodie. It’s a simple, casual outfit, but somehow it makes him look better than ever.

But his eyes — his eyes are exactly the same.

That piercing, crystal blue. Like a summer sky on a cloudless day.

“Joost.” you say, but it comes out more of a whisper.

You can’t bring yourself to say anything else. When you sent that message, you thought you had prepared yourself for every possible outcome — a polite reply, complete silence, maybe even a cold rejection. A call maybe, if he was feeling nostalgic. A block, if he was angry. 

But not this.

Not him, standing there. In person. On your doorstep.

For a split second, it almost feels like a pattern — how he appears without warning. Last time, it was the same: no warning, no message — just him. And again, you’re caught completely unprepared, not just for his presence, but for the memories and emotions that come rushing with it. You don’t know what to say. You don’t even know what you’re feeling. 

You both stand there, looking at each other as if neither of you knows what to say. What’s the proper etiquette in situations like this? Should you engage in small talk? Should you just ask why he’s here?

After what feels like forever — both of you frozen in the doorway, exchanging glances —  he finally speaks, his voice quiet:

“Can I come in?” His voice is quieter than you remember. Less playful.

You’re so taken aback by his sudden appearance that you almost forget how to speak. 

“Yeah… ah, of course”

You step aside, letting him, and then just… stand there. Neither of you seems to know what to do next. God, Y/N — say something. Anything.

“So… you wrote me a few days ago” he finally says, but he doesn’t move — like he’s waiting for permission — like he’s afraid this might still be a mistake. 

“Yeah… I heard… you know, about all everything. And I wanted to check if… if you’re okay.” Your voice is still soft, like you haven’t recovered from the shock of seeing him. 

“I see” he says, and as he steps further into the room, the better lighting reveals just how exhausted he looks — like he hasn’t sleep in years. The dark circles under his crystal blue eyes seem almost bruised, his skin paler than you remember, stretched thin over exhaustion and stress.

“Well, I am very… watched right now. I could have answered you, but I can’t really meet with you anywhere outside — I’m constantly followed. By paparazzi, by people, by fans… and by enemies” 

There’s a note of sadness in his voice, and you feel genuinely sorry for him. You can’t imagine a life where you can’t even visit your favorite places without being chased. Especially knowing how much he used to enjoy being outside alone — how he loved going to the park just to sit on a bench and smoke a cigarette.

“I was thinking about answering” he says slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor “but… I didn’t know what to say. I felt like messages were not enough. And honestly… out of all the people in the world, you were the only one I truly wanted to talk to.” His voice is weak, and you can see it in his face — it wasn’t easy to admit.

You look at him without saying a word. You don’t even know where to begin — you haven’t seen each other in years. Somehow, you never once crossed paths. Not on the street, not in a store, not on a party. What was there to say? Hello, how are you? What have you been doing these past three years while I was trying not to think about you?

You’re meeting at such a delicate moment — he’s probably more sensitive than usual, and you don’t want to overstep his boundaries. 

“I…” you start, but you have no idea what to say. His sudden appearance caught you off guard. You don’t know how to act, how to talk to him, or what you could possibly do to make him feel better in this fucked up situation. A wave of self-consciousness washes over you. You start to regret sending that message. The awkwardness of this moment is almost too much to take.

You finally collect yourself, thinking — you were the one that reached out. You owe him something. A conversation at least, no matter how lost and uncomfortable you feel now.

“Come on. Sit down.” You say, gesturing toward the sofa. Suddenly, a flashback hits you — the countless times you made out there. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too. 

Of course he’s not, you scold yourself. He has more important things to think about than where and how you used to have sex. 

You bite the inside of your cheek. God, it shouldn’t be this awkward. 

Or maybe it’s exactly as awkward as it should be — he’s your ex, after all.

“Do you want something to drink? Tea, water?” You open the fridge. You spot the bottle of wine on the door shelf and hesitate.

Not a good idea. God knows where a glass of wine might lead — and the last thing you need is to tempt the fate when the air is already thick with tension.

“Coca cola?” 

“Just water is fine” he answers. 

You pour him a glass of water. Then you set a kettle for tea — not because you particularly want tea, but because you need something to do. A few extra minutes to gather your thoughts. 

Finally, you sit down next to him on the sofa. You keep a safe distance — not too close for him to think you want something to happen, but not too far to make it look awkward.

“So…” you say slowly, looking at him “Did you really… make a threatening move?” you don’t want to say hit — you don’t believe it, and you don’t want to offend him. But as soon as those words leave your mouth, you regret them. 

“No!” He says sharply, almost shouting — clearly offended. So much for your attempt to be delicate “You know me… I’m not violent. I never have been.”

“I know, Joost.” You say softly. 

Your hand twitches, instinctively wanting to reach for his thigh, to offer some comfort. But something stops you — hesitation, maybe fear. You’re afraid to touch him, as if that would make this moment too real. There’s an invisible barrier between you, and you’re not sure either of you is ready to cross it. 

“What happened there?” You ask quietly. 

You’re not sure if he came here to talk about it — or just for your company.

“Nothing…” he sighs, sadness unmistakable on his face — you really don’t like seeing him like that. “I don’t want to talk about it… Let’s just say, they didn’t respect the boundaries we agreed on beforehand. There was a lot of shit happening behind the scenes that no one saw. I don’t want to go back to that.” he says. “I worked on it for a very long time, and it was gone in minutes, you know? Just because I didn’t let someone disrespect me.”

“I’m so sorry.” You say with a sigh — and you truly mean it. You know he poured an incredible amount of work into preparing for that show — and then, the opportunity was stolen from him. “I’m sure you were working on that song for a long time. It’s amazing by the way.” You smile at him, and he returns it, though his smile is faint and there’s still sadness buried behind those beautiful eyes.

“Thank you. I knew you would like it.” He still smiles — now a little warmer. You can see a shadow of pride in his eyes — you know your opinion matters to him. 

“I like the last part the most. You know how much I like the sensitive side of Joost.” You say, and he nods, chuckling. He knew what you meant — back when you were together, that part of him rarely surfaced.

He used to mask intense emotions with jokes and humor, often changing the subject. He always ran away when serious topics came up. But you really liked this new version of him — someone who’s open about his struggles, not afraid to shed a tear, and more willing to face difficult conversations.

“You’d like my last album then.” You can hear the hope in his voice. Like he’s been wishing, all this time, that you were still paying attention. That maybe, even from afar, you still cared.

And he’s not wrong — you listened to that album, and you liked it more than you ever expected. You remember sitting there at 2 a.m., headphones on, reading the English translations and realizing how many painful things he had been feeling — things he never told you about. You knew about some of his childhood struggles, but never fully grasped how deep they ran. He didn’t want to share them back then — and you didn’t know how to make him trust you enough to.

In moments like this, you wish you could go back in time — not to change everything, but to approach it all with more care. Give him more space to express how he felt. But you were only 21 when you started dating — still learning who you were, let alone how to help someone else feel safe with their own emotions. And deep down you know it was never just on you. He had to want to let you in.

“You’ve changed a lot since the last time we saw each other. At least… that’s what it seems. The Joost that I knew would never wear those jeans” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Yeah.” He nods, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, and you feel proud that you made him laugh, even if just a little. “I’m no longer a Soundcloud rapper.” 

You laugh, remembering the very first time you met — when he told you he was a musician and you guessed correctly, that he was a rapper influenced by the rap and trap scenes of the U.S., probably posting his music on SoundCloud. At that time he was already somewhat known, but it couldn’t compare to now. His career had taken a different direction, and you had to admit — you liked this new, sensible, more creative side of him.

“So…” he starts but your phone ringing cuts through silence. 

You glance at the screen and see Kevin’s name. You quickly reject the call — you'll tell him later you were busy with your friends. 

“Your boyfriend?” Jo asks. You catch something odd in his voice, like he had been waiting for a chance to ask — to find out if you were seeing someone. 

“No” you answer, a little too quickly, feeling your cheeks grow warm. The way his eyes flick to yours — you know he noticed.

You’re not lying — not technically. You and Kevin haven’t defined anything. It’s still early, still casual, still in that “getting to know each other” phase. You’re not exclusive. You haven’t made promises.

But you’ve grown so close over the past few weeks that your answer feels like a lie— and a sting of guilt creeps in after you say it. You stare at your phone for a few seconds before finally looking up at Joost.

“So how have you been this whole time?” He asks, seeing how uncomfortable you are.

And from there, the conversation flows. You talk about everything — your job searching, all that’s happened lately, how you almost moved back to your home country but didn’t, how you’re learning Dutch. You even bring up your awkward attempts to reenter the dating scene — though you leave out the part about Kevin. 

You respond with the same question — and you are genuinely curious about how he’s been, what his life has looked like over the past few years. And, if you’re honest, a part of you wants to know if he’s seeing someone.

He starts talking, and it feels like he’s been waiting a long time for this— a chance to open up to you about the things that truly matter: his art, his career, how he felt after the disqualification. You offer the occasional question, but mostly, you just watch him — studying his face, his voice, his words. He talks about therapy, about working through the pain of his past, especially the things that happened in childhood — and you admire the honesty in his voice.

“I’m glad so many things changed for the better for you. And that your friends are still  always there for you.” You say with a smile, remembering the good times when you all used to go out together in that big group of friends.

“There’s something that didn’t change though.” You glance at him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “My feelings for you.”

His voice is calm, but there’s a tremor beneath it — like he’s waited years to finally say it  out loud.

A thick silence settles between you after those words leave his mouth — almost painful in  it’s weight. You weren’t prepared for this. It’s been so many years, you never thought you’d even see him again, let alone hear him confess his feelings one more time. 

But here he is, dropping it like a bomb. 

Back then — that day on the stairs, when everything was unresolved — it made sense. But now? After all this time, when you were certain he had moved on, when you thought that chapter was closed for both of you… this feels unreal.

“Joost…” you say, finally. You look at him, but no words come.

He’s so close. Just one small movement and you could touch him — the warmth of his skin, the familiar shape of the face you once knew so well. A part of you wants to — to place your hand on his cheek, to offer him the comfort of your arms, or even to close the distance with long, tender kiss. 

But that’s not your reality anymore.

Time has passed. You’ve both changed. You’ve both moved on — or at least you have. You made peace with your decision to move on. You reminded yourself, again and again, that there were reasons — real ones — to let go.

In this moment you realize it was a mistake to write him. Because no matter how many months, years — even decades — go by, the feelings between you won’t just vanish. He has a place in your heart that no one else can touch. You could date others, love others — but he was your first. The first love.

And as much as the past is supposed to stay behind you, it only takes the smallest spark to set those old feelings alight again.

“Don’t worry. I don’t expect anything from you.” He says with a pale smile. He may not expect anything — but it’s clear he was hoping for something. You suddenly want to hide under a blanket and not look at him for even a second longer. You regret reaching out. You regret sitting here.

Not because he was toxic, or bad for you — the wounds between you healed long ago.

But because the feelings you had for him were never completely gone. They were just buried deep in your mind, places you didn’t visit often. You never fully recovered from him. You moved on, yes. Accepted the ending, accepted that he wasn’t yours anymore. But your heart still dropped every time someone said his name — no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

You had placed him in the past and planned to never see him again — not because you hated him, but because the feelings you two once shared were so strong, the relationship so intense, that you didn’t believe a neutral connection was possible. With him, it was always all or nothing. Love, or no contact. And now, painfully, you were realizing that again — you couldn’t just be his friend.

All the feelings you had put to sleep, the ones you promised yourself you’d never revisit, were slowly creeping back from the distant corner of your heart. The memories, the beautiful moments you thought were long gone — they were rising to the surface again, awakened by his simple confession: that his feelings never changed.

Because in this moment, you realize that your feelings haven’t changed either. 

They were never truly gone — only suppressed. You made a conscious decision not to think about them, never look back. But just — what — an hour of talking to him? That was all it took to remind you how strong those feelings once were. And how frighteningly easy it would be for them to come rushing back.

“I think you should go, Joost” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you even have time to process them. 

You know it’s the right thing. He can’t stay. This was a bad idea from the start. You have to forget that this has ever happened. 

“It was very nice to see you again. And I’m really glad you’re getting better.” 

You can hear the nervousness in your own voice, and you’re certain he hears it too. 

“I’m really sorry about what happened to you at Eurovision.” 

You want to offer him help, to tell him he can reach out anytime — but you stop yourself. That kind of closeness, that invitation, would only bring you back here again. And you’re already struggling to stop your old feelings from surfacing. 

“Y/N…” he stands up slowly. 

He doesn’t beg. He doesn’t try to change your mind. He just looks at you, and you wish you could disappear. “I’m sorry if what I said was inappropriate. I didn’t mean to…” 

“It’s fine. Really.” You stand up too. “I just think the story we had is a closed chapter, and we shouldn’t reopen the old wounds.” 

You don’t sound convincing — not even to yourself. You’re trying harder to convince you than him. “I’m really glad you came. I mean it.” You add, forcing a smile. And you do, but it doesn’t change the pain in your chest.

He’s looking at you, saying nothing — and you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind. That’s another change you notice in him. Back then, on the stairs, he tried to convince you with everything he had. He told you how much he loved you, how he had changed — he was desperate and emotional.

But now, he’s different. He’s quietly accepting whatever decision you make. No begging. No desperation.

“Okay” 

You walk him to the door and open it. 

“So…” he starts, voice uncertain — like he has one last thing to say, but isn’t sure if he should.

The awkward silence and tensionfill in the room as he searches for the right words for another goodbye. But nothing comes, he doesn’t know what to say, how to make this moment last just a little longer. And neither do you — you’re not even sure what you want. Do you want to go back to not speaking, keeping your distance? Or do you want to see him again — open that door in your mind, knowing full well it leads into a flood of memories you’re not sure you’re ready to face?

“Bye, Jo” you say softly. 

He steps forward and wraps his arms around you. And just like that, the past wraps around you too. 

That’s it. That’s your last straw. You bury your face in the soft fabric of his hoodie, and the scent — unmistakably his — crashes into you like a wave. Still the same, still his. It feels so good, after all this time, to be close to him again. His arms feel just as they did — safe, warm. Like your place in the world is still right there, between his chest and arms. You can’t help but reach for the back of his neck, and you feel his hands gently wrap around your back. 

Oh, you’re in trouble. Big, big trouble.

You close your eyes and try to force yourself to leave the hug, but the emotions inside you explode like fireworks. One of his hands moves to your face, tucking your hair gently behind your ear, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek. 

You know this is heading in the wrong direction. You should pull away. But you can’t. And worse — you don’t want to. You could stay here forever, wrapped in this soft, warm, safe embrace.

You look up at him, with wide, doe eyes, and for a second he looks down at you, studying your expression — his thumb still gently stroking your cheek. 

Even though you were together for over two years, this feels like the most intimate moment that you’ve ever shared. 

And then it happens.

He leans in, his lips brush yours, cautious at first, like asking permission. His hand moves from your cheek to your hair. 

You don’t resist. You part your lips just slightly, letting him in, letting his tongue brush against yours. It’s not a hungry kiss. It’s slow. Delicate. Intimate. 

But the kiss unlocks something — no, everything — inside your mind. It’s like every memory, every hurried feeling, every version of yourself that loved him, has come rushing back at once. The butterflies in your stomach are no longer fluttering — they’re soaring. It feels exactly like it used to… and somehow, even more intense.

He pulls back slowly, lips just an inch away. But you’re not done. You place your hand on the back of his neck again and pull him back in for another kiss — this time deeper, more passionate. You want more of him. You want more of that feeling — the one only he has ever been able to give you. You feel a desperate need to have him close, and it’s not even about sex. It’s about the intimacy, the familiarity, the closeness that your body and heart have been silently craving since he left.

“Y/N…” he whispers against your lips, a quiet reminder of the choice you made all those years ago. He wants you. That much is clear. But he doesn’t want you to regret it.

“I missed you so much” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself. “My feelings have never changed either.” 

He reaches out his hand, and you take it without hesitation, letting him guide you back to the couch. 

He pulls you gently onto his lap, and you wrap your arms around him like he might vanish if you don’t hold him tight enough. The sudden shift in energy leaves both of you in silence, unsure what the next move should be.

“What are we going to do with this?” He asks, his hand resting on your thigh, gently caressing it through the fabric of your pants. He’s trying to be gentle, to keep himself in check — even though you can feel the heat in his touch. He wants to take them off. And truthfully, you kind of want that too. You want to peel away all the years, you want to feel him against you, around you, inside you. But you both know that crossing that line will make everything even more complicated than it already is.

You look at him, unsure of what to say. In this moment, you feel like a child — lost and overwhelmed. 

Even though you were the one who reached out first, the one who wanted to offer him support and understanding, now it’s him offering you the quiet comfort of his arms — and you know you shouldn’t accept it.

“I don’t know Joost… I think I need more time… I think…” you say, stumbling over your words. Your emotions caught you off guard, and you haven’t even had a moment to figure out what you really want. “I just… I don’t want to decide anything on impulse. Not again.”

He nods his head, but he doesn’t answer.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks quietly. You know you told him to go — told yourself it was the right thing — but as the words echo in your mind they feel false. 

“Yes. I think we should… we should catch up.” you say with a smile.

He smiles in return, and you slip off his lap to sit beside him. As you expected, he wraps an arm around your shoulders. And somehow, even the lightest graze of his fingers ignites something in you. Something tender, something dangerous. A spark that tells you nothing between you two ever really disappeared — it just went quiet.

You talk about everything — his life, how the pandemic affected both your mental healths, about the songs he wrote and the pain it helped him finally confront. He tells you about his upcoming tour, his plan to go to Eurovision again next year, this time with something even more honest. 

You tell him about your life too, about learning Dutch. He teaches you some words and laughs at your pronunciation, so you smack him with a pillow in retaliation.

With every word he says, you feel how much he’s changed. How much more mature he is now, how he no longer avoids uncomfortable questions. Being with him feels so natural — like the past years never happened, like not a single day passed without you being by his side.

You finally get up from the couch to start preparing dinner for the both of you, and you send him to a nearby supermarket to buy a few things and something to drink.

The silence that follows is deafening. Without his voice, without his presence filling the room, your thoughts can’t stop flooding. And with them — that familiar sting of guilt. Kevin. He’s out there, halfway across the world, completely unaware that your ex who still holds a corner of your heart — is now in your apartment. Sitting on your couch. Laughing at your jokes. Making you feel things. And you don’t know what’s worse — the guilt, or the realization that you haven’t been fully honest with anyone. Not even yourself.

You know you owe Kevin the truth — at the very least, some honesty. And in fact, you shouldn’t even be engaging with Joost at all. But you couldn’t stop yourself. If years of distance, silence and heartbreak weren’t enough to erase him, then maybe nothing ever will. And maybe the real mistake wasn’t letting Joost back in. Maybe it was ever trying to build something with Kevin when your heart was never truly free.

Joost gets back to your apartment and places the groceries on the kitchen counter, before coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and resting his head  on your shoulder. You can’t resist how cute, how gentle, how absolutely kind he is. 

“You have to let me finish, otherwise we’ll be starving.” You say.

“We can just order something.”

“No, i do that way to often! Sit on the couch and let me handle this.” You smile over your shoulder.

He places a gentle kiss on your shoulder and goes back to the couch. 

You’re adding ingredients to the pasta sauce, the warm scent starting to fill the kitchen. That’s when you hear it — the sound of a message notification. Before you can turn around and check, you see Joost already looking at the screen.

“Who is Kevin… with a heart?” Joost’s eyebrow rises.

Shit. You knew adding the heart next to Kevin’s name was too much, too soon. But you got so excited after the last date Kevin planned that you rushed that step.

“Uhm, it’s no one.” You answer — but you know that’s not true, and you can tell by Joost’s expression that he doesn’t buy it.

“Y/N, are you cheating on someone with me?” He’s voice isn’t angry — it’s confused. He knows you’re not the type to be unfaithful.

“We’re not doing anything.” You don’t turn around, stirring the pasta sauce much faster than necessary. Your voice is defensive, and your heart is full of guilt.

For a moment, he says nothing. But then you hear his voice again, and you could swear he sounds hurt by what he’s just discovered.

“We kissed. And that still doesn’t answer my question. You told me you don’t have anyone…” he says, his voice sharp with betrayal.

His words are not loud, not cruel, but heavy with accusation. He knows you lied.

“Because I don’t.” 

You want to tell him that you don’t owe him an apology — but you do. You were the one who hid the fact that you’re actually seeing someone. You know he might have refused the kiss, the touch, even the conversation if he had known. And part of you knows you did it on purpose — because you were afraid of being rejected.

Even though Kevin wasn’t your boyfriend and you were still in the getting-to-know phase, Joost deserved the truth. 

You take the sauce of the heat, before finally turning to face him.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.” 

He doesn’t look angry — just confused, disappointed. 

“He’s not my boyfriend though. We went out for a few dates. It was nice, I won’t lie — we had fun.” You paused, not looking away. “But… then you came here, and I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t expect to feel everything again.” you take a small breath, your voice quieter now “I just… I’m so lost, I thought you were a closed chapter…” 

“And what are you planning to do about that now?” He asks. There’s no anger in his voice — just a calm question. He’s looking for clarity, trying to understand where he stands. And you don’t blame him.

“I don’t know, Joost” you sigh.

You hadn’t expected this — to be put in a position where you’d need to find a resolution. But now that he’s asked, you have to face it. You owe him that much. 

But how are you supposed to decide? 

You only saw Joost a few hours ago, for the first time in years. You don’t even know where this is going — but there’s a strange peace inside you. Something about this time feels different than all the ones before. And you want to see where it leads.

You didn’t feel that familiar sense of anxiety — the fear that he couldn’t make any promises, or that he might disappear without a word. Somehow, this time, he’s saying all the right things, as if he’s finally grown into the promises he was never ready to make.

But at the same time, just the thought of that conversation you’ll have to have with Kevin breaks your heart — because how do you explain to someone that while he was away on a work trip, you met with your ex, and fell in love again?

But did you? 

Did you fall in love again? Or did the old feelings just rise up, familiar and warm?

You’re not sure. But you know one thing: you want to give Joost a chance. You want to see where this could go.

“I’ll have to talk to him about this. He’s currently on a work trip, and I don’t think that it’s something that should be handled over the phone.”

Joost looks at you but doesn’t say anything. 

It drives you crazy. You want to know what he’s thinking. You want to ask. But at the same time, just bringing up Kevin feels awkward enough. So you don’t.

“I just need time, Joost… You have to understand, we met after years apart. I want to collect my thoughts and decide what I really want.” 

You almost add I want to see if you won’t leave, but you stop yourself — reopening old wounds wouldn’t help either of you now.

“I know. Don’t worry about it.” He says.

You give him a small smile, grateful for his understanding. But the thought of Kevin lingers, heavier then you’d like — like something you can’t shake off, no matter how much you want to stay in the moment.

You hand him his plate of spaghetti and grab the bottle of wine, pouring two glasses. You’ve already crossed boundaries, and selfishly, you just want Kevin and the guilt to leave your mind — at least tonight. 

Joost seems to understand. He doesn’t press, doesn’t bring up Kevin again. Maybe he knows you’re not ready, maybe he doesn’t want to break whatever fragile thread is holding this connection together right now. 

There’s a billion other things to talk about, so you both quietly agree to shift the conversation elsewhere. You bring up music, travel, old memories. He listens, laughs, teases you like he used to. For now, the past is behind you, and it almost feels like peace.

With next sips of wine, and Joost’s funny stories about recording the music video, Kevin fades from your mind, and your attention is fully back on Joost.

You’re standing at the kitchen counter, putting things back in their place, when you feel him place both hands on either side of your body, pinning you gently to the counter. His warm chest presses against your back. He brushes your hair aside, his fingertips grazing your skin, and places a soft kiss on your now-exposed neck.

You feel the tension rising between the two of you. You knew that the moment the alcohol hit your veins, the two of you would be all over each other. And maybe that was exactly what you were aiming for when you handed him that bottle of wine to open.

“Joost…” his name escapes your lips in a soft, needy whimper, as his hand reaches for your belly.

“Let’s go watch something, what do you think?” He says with a smile, gently stroking your arm. “We can just lie down, eat chips… and watch cartoons. If you want me to stay, of course.”

“I do.” You reply — a little too quickly. Kevin appears again in the back of your mind, but you can’t say no. You want more, you want to see how this unfolds.

You both head to the bedroom. You slip off the yoga pants, staying in just your underwear, and throw on an oversized t-shirt. You glance at him. You didn’t ask him to stay the night — but somehow, you always knew he would.

“Do you want something? A t-shirt?” 

He nods, and you toss him one from the drawer. He undresses, and you can’t help but watch his nearly naked body, adorned with new tattoos. You want to ask about all of them — when and why he got them, if they mean something special, if he plans on getting more.

Then the regret hits you. You could have been there with him. All this time, you could have been together, if you hadn’t rejected him on those stairs all those years ago. If only you said yes then… maybe you would’ve grown together instead of apart. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks, like he’s reading the thoughts right off your face.

“About your tattoos” you laugh. 

He sits down on the bed and taps the spot next to him. He still fits here — like nothing ever changed. Like this was always his place, next to you.

He slides beneath the sheets, and you let yourself lie down beside him. Your head rests on his shoulder, your fingers lazily tracing the Lola Bunny tattoo. 

“You like this one?”

You nod, and he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. For a few minutes, you’re both completely silent. You turn on a movie on Netflix, but neither of you really pays attention to what’s happening on the screen.

His fingers tangle gently in your hair, and you look at him — completely defenseless now. You’re not fighting it anymore.

“I love you, Y/N” he says, his face just inches away from yours. “I love you.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you bury your face in his arms. It seems more like a confession, his moment of vulnerability.

“There wasn’t a day during this whole process that I didn’t think about you. I wanted to share every minute we worked on this project, i wished you were there. I wanted to tell you everything. Every day.” You watch the feelings spill out of him. He was never like this — any kind of confession had always been hard for him.  

“Joost…” you try to find the right words.

“I know you might not believe me” he says “but I really regret what I’ve done. I’ve been regretting it every single day.”

“I know, my baby. I know.” You say, pulling slightly away to look him in the eyes. 

He’s finally saying the things that should have been said years ago — the words that might have saved you both from the heartbreak.

“I love you. I want everything with you. I promise, I will never leave you again. I won’t disappoint you like that ever again. I want to spend my whole life with you, and I never want to go a single day without talking to you” he says, looking straight into your eyes — no hesitation, no shyness. No looking away. No mumbling toward the floor. 

“These years apart only made me realize how much I actually love you, how badly I fucked up, and how much you mean to me. You’ve always meant everything.” He doesn’t stop, and the intensity of his gaze almost makes you uncomfortable.

Here it is — all you ever wanted. Everything you thought you’d lost for good. And now it’s here again, standing before you, asking to be let back in. Maybe he was the definition of right person at the wrong time. 

Maybe THIS is your time.

“I love you too, Joost.” You whisper, knowing it’s still true — even after all of these years. You see the regret in his eyes, the quiet desperation in the way he looks at you, trying to show you that this time, it will be different.

And for the first time, you truly believe it. Maybe you’re being foolish. Maybe you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak all over again. But in this moment, it feels right.

He gently lifts your chin, closing the last bit of the distance between you with a kiss. You help him pull off your t-shirt. He pauses fo a second, but his lips don’t wander to your neck or your chest. It doesn’t feel rushed or lustful. It feels like he’s peeling away your fears, your insecurities — like he’s asking to be let back in. And you’re letting him. With every touch, he’s making another silent promise.

And you let him. You let his fingers slowly remove your underwear, let him touch you wherever he pleases. You let him continue. 

You give your body to him in the most intimate way.

It’s not about trying new positions, or making you beg, or even making you scream. It’s a silent promise he’s giving you. He touches you with an intimacy deeper than anything you’ve known. When he slides into you, his movements are slow, and deliberate, as if he wants it to last forever, to stay inside you as long as he can. 

He doesn’t break eye contact, not even for a second. He keeps whispering how much he loves you, how important you are to him, while one finger strokes your cheek. You look at him with your eyes wide, not just from the physical sensation, but from the wave of emotion that has bloomed all over again. 

You believe him — all those promises, all those feelings seem so real now, he’s closer than he’s ever been. He’s inside you in every sense of that word— not just physically, but deep within you, in every cell, every thought, every beat of your heart.

His body is warm and bare against yours. His breath mingles with yours, his words slipping directly into your mouth between kisses. Your fingers knot in his hair as he brings you over the edge — not with urgency, but with something deeper. It’s the most intimate sex you’ve ever had — not because of the way he moves, but because of the way he means it. He keeps kissing you, as if he never wants to stop, as if he could live in this moment forever. And he believes — truly believes — that this time, it will be forever.

You love the sensation of him filling you, of him making your body cry out in pleasure. But you’d give all of that up for this— when he makes you feel seen, important, safe and certain of his love.

You stay in bed the entire evening, It’s late into the night, but you’re far from tired of each other. You talk about your plans — where you’ll go together, how you’ll spend the next few months. The future doesn’t feel distant anymore. It feels real.

“I always knew you were mine” you whisper into the dark room, your head resting on his chest. “Somehow… I just knew. I think I was always waiting. I knew you would come back.”

“I wanted to come back every single day. Since the day we say goodbye. Look.”

He reaches for his phone resting on the nightstand. He opens the Notes app, and scrolls to one of them.

“I wrote to you every day. I just didn’t send it.” He says, handing you the phone. 

You scroll through the screen, stunned — hundreds of unsent messages. Some are just a line or two. Others are long, flowing paragraphs filled with ideas, memories, feelings. There are messages where he vents — frustrated or sad. Others where he’s happy, excited, inspired. Some are just little jokes he thought you’d laugh at, or moments he noticed something and thought of you. It’s like reading the life you could have shared. The version of you that existed in his heart, even when you weren’t there. “Every trip I went on, I brought you a present” he adds quietly “They’re all at my place… waiting for you.”

“Joost, this is…” you shake your head, overwhelmed. 

It would feel like too much — if it was anyone else. But with him, it makes sense. You always knew he carried oceans of feelings, hidden just beneath the surface. And now, it feels like it’s all spilling out of him.

“I was just… waiting for a sign from you, you know? If you’d never written to me again, I would’ve accept it. But God, I hoped you would. And I was starting to lose that hope.”

“I’m glad… I did.” you say.

“I’m glad too.”

And then, without another word, the tears come.

“Hey… I’m sorry… Is this too much?” He asks gently.

“No” you shake your head. “ It’s just… everything I’ve ever wanted. And I don’t know what to do with it.” 

He closes the distance between you in a tight hug. You melt into him, letting yourself be held, your body begins to relax. You’re not sure if it’s happiness, excitement, surprise — or some tangled cocktail of it all — but whatever it is, it’s overwhelming in the best kind of way.

Whatever it is, you’re taking it with open arms — and you’re not planning to let it go. Not ever again.

He’s drifting to sleep beside you, while you lie awake, gently tracing circles on his chest. You’re afraid to close your eyes. What if this is just a dream? What if, by morning, it’s all gone and you’re back to your regular life?

But it’s not. 

You blink your eyes open… and he’s still there.

It’s hard to explain to your friends why you forgave him. Why the years of silence and the way he hurt you aren’t dealbreakers anymore. 

It’s hard to look Kevin in the eye and tell him you can’t see him again — not because he did anything wrong, but because your heart was never truly his. 

It’s hard to face the disappointed looks, the hushed “Are you sure?” Talks, the pity disguised as concern.

But at the same time, it’s not hard at all. It feels like the easiest decision you’ve ever made. You’ve never been so sure about anything in your life.

The next day, you wake up — and he’s here.

And the day after that.

And the day after that.

He doesn’t disappear anymore. He’s always there — to give you a kiss when you wake up, or to leave you a note saying that he had to go to the studio. Before you even realize it, your toothbrush is in his bathroom, and his underwear is in one of your drawers. Before you even notice, you’re talking about the future. 

And the dreams you once had — of spending your whole life with him — no longer feel like fragile fantasies. You don’t feel guilty for having them anymore. Or scared. They’re not just your dreams now — they’re your future. And for the first time, you’re allowed to believe in it.

He doesn’t run anymore. The fear of losing you again won’t let him. Even in the moments when he’s feeling low, he no longer shuts you out. He lets you in, lets you support him, and talk things through. The months pass, and somehow, you’ve never been closer. 

And you’re so, so grateful for the day you allowed yourself to reach out. If you hadn’t… maybe you wouldn’t be here now, lying next to him a year later, listening to the news about this year’s Eurovision Song Contest.

“You know, this contest is fucked up.” he says, his fingers gently stroking the skin on your arm. “It took away my dream, but it also brought another dream back.” 

You smile at his words. They’re true.

And you’re grateful, more than anything, to be the one who helped him through it. The one he stayed for. 

You watched him heal from the situation at the contest. 

You watched him make it better through music. 

You watched the peak of his career bring him both joy and fear. 

But most of all, you watched him grow — getting better, day by day.

And you?

You’ve never been this happy. Not just because he came back, but because you both chose to stay.

[roc-haze]

From the Pushing It Down and Praying series

Something, Somehow, Someday | WillNE

This fic is a bit of backstory/continuation from the previously uploaded part ‘Where We Start’. You can find all of the links and bits here on the link below. For the most part, these chapters are in chronological order. But the context is necessary!!

A week post drunk yap in George’s bath

It was moving day. Y/N found herself sitting on the floor of her empty flat. She’d spent the last week having tough conversations with Alex - chats about dividing their finances, finding their new apartments, letting go of the future they’d once dreamed of. It wasn’t easy, farewelling the familiar. Alex had taken it well. The “I love you but I don’t think I’m your forever person” had landed better than Y/N had expected. Turns out he had known it had gone stale too. He didn’t raise his voice or beg her to stay. He had simply just said, “I think you’re right. We’ve outgrown each other.” All that said, the emotional part was heavy.

Y/N had plans to run with Theo, but found herself packing her belongings. Alex was still hanging around, packing up the last of his vinyls. They’d ultimately decided to both move out of their shared place, feeling like a new place would help them to start fresh. A quick call to Theo with a rushed explanation of “sorry mate I can’t come today, Alex and I have split so I’m moving my things out” hadn’t put him at ease like she’d hope it would. Instead, he’d panicked and immediately put a call into a few of the boys for help.

30 minutes later, Theo was walking through her front door, coffee tray in one hand and an almond croissant in the other. “You didn’t sound too good on the phone. I thought you could use some help”, handing her a coffee and croissant before wrapping his arms around her and embracing her in a hug.

“A hug would’ve been enough but the coffee and pastry is the cherry on top.” She smiled softly, letting out a breath.

“I thought it might be” Theo laughed, squeezing her tighter.

Catching a glimpse of Alex in his peripheral, Theo pulled away. “Hey mate!” He approached, hugging him. Alex had once been a part of the fold. He was happy to host dinners at home, attended the group parties and participated in the fun runs. The group loved him as much as they loved Y/N. But at some point, he stopped joining in. He got busy at work, found his own group of friends, wrapped himself up in his own interests.

“Okay so, professional cleaner is coming on Tuesday,” Alex spoke to Y/N. “Is there anything you need my help with before I take off?”.

“Okay. Well. This probably won’t be the last time I see you, but I just want to say,” Alex looked toward Theo, who took the hint and attempted to look busy. “Thank you. I’m really sorry things didn’t work out between us.”

“I dunno, I’d say they did. We’ve got nearly a decade of success.” She grinned, holding her arms out for a hug. She spoke quietly in his ear, “how lucky am I that you are the first man I’ve ever truly loved.”

Alex, not knowing how to respond, just held on a little tighter. A few moments later, they pulled apart, his hands softly grabbing her cheeks. He kissed her gently. “Love you.”

And with that, he put his key on the counter and walked out of the apartment.

“That nearly put a tear in my fucking eye.” Theo spoke from across the flat. He caught her eye, the two of them immediately breaking into laughter.

A thump at the door silenced them. “The fuck are you two cackling at?” Freezy spoke, sending them into giggles again.

—-

Theo had organised for the rest of the boys to meet them at Y/N’s new flat. Lux had been sent to IKEA to pick up the remainder of her flat pack furniture, Reev had stopped in at the garden nursery to pick up a few pieces for her and Harry was expected to be late (but would arrive with alcohol).

Freezy, Y/N and Theo lay spread across the floor of the new apartment. They’d taken turns dragging box after box into the service elevator, eventually deciding to call it a day and pass off the work to the others.

Not long after, Lux arrived with the boot of his car stacked to the brim. He walked through the door, carrying several IKEA boxes. “Right, where do you want this?”.

Y/N chuckled, biting back the lump in her throat. “Bedroom. Those look like bookshelves.”

Putting the box down in the bedroom, he walked back out. “And where do you want me?”.

She sat up and held her arms out for a hug. Lux grabbed her hands, pulling her up and into a tight embrace. He spoke softly. “You and I have been friends for a long time, so I don’t always feel like I have to tell you I love you. Because you already know. But I do.”

“I know. I love you too. Thanks for being here.” She spoke, voice muffled by his shoulder.

The rest of the crew - Reev and Harry - showed up not long after, but it was Theo, Freezy and Lux who held her together. They were like the big brothers she had always wanted.

Hours later, they were sat on the living room floor assembling a flat pack shelf when Harry approached her, handing her a glass of wine. “I brought something a bit stronger too but thought I’d test the waters.” He laughed, leaning down to kiss her temple. Theo took over the assembly, taking her screwdriver. “Go sit down.”

Y/N took a seat on the couch, Lux sitting beside her and offering a quiet presence. “You know I’d totally understand if you wanted to have a quiet minute in the bathroom.” He spoke, searching her eyes. They had all felt the way she had been on edge, as if she were terrified to close the chapter.

“I’m okay,” she had replied with a tearful smile. He just wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into him, as they watched Theo fight with the flat pack.

“You’re not okay,” Lux spoke softly. “And we love you all the same.”

By the time sunset had come along, Y/N was mostly unpacked. Theo had put together and organised her bookshelves, Freezy had hung her artwork, Lux had colour coded her wardrobe, Reev had placed her favourite plants around the apartment and set up her vinyl collection, while Harry cleaned as they went and refilled their drinks. Sat on her couch and beanbags, the six of them shared Chinese food and watched an episode of a shitty show.

Will had messaged her: “Hey, call me later.”

She hadn’t yet, but she would.

———-

In the days following the move, Y/N found herself adjusting to the quiet.

It was all new - only cooking meals for one, not having to worry about someone else’s socks ending up in her laundry. She’d gotten to a new normal. Freya had kept her busy, taking her out on long walks, while Talia invited her over for pasta nights at her and Simon’s place.

Unsurprisingly, the boys rallied around her.

Theo would stop in at her office to have lunch with her, bringing her pieces of PR he’d received so they could unbox it together. She came home to find her favourite bottle of wine on the doormat with a tag on it reading “saw this and thought you’d like it - Harry xoxo”. Lux had shown up on a Thursday evening armed with takeaway, having rented one of her favourite movies to his Amazon Prime account. They showed up.

She also called Will. He listened.

——

Post dinner antics and his first tour of the apartment, Y/N decided to invite Will over .

I got a bottle of red with our names on it, she’d texted. And a cosy looking bathtub to yap in.

Be right there.

He opened the door to her flat, finding her on the couch with a cup of tea in hand. She was in flannel pyjamas, hair in a bun, pimple cream in its all glory. It was the most her she’d looked in a while.

He kicked off his shoes like he’d done it a hundred times before and grinned. “It smells like you’ve been baking.”

“Oh, I have. There’s some brownies for you.”

They sat on opposite ends of her couch this time, knees touching.

Their plans to sit in the bath and yap had been abandoned, choosing to instead sit on the couch, drink tea and share warm brownies.

“I’ve got a thought,” Will spoke, mouth full of baked goods.

“Oh fuck, that’s a scary thought.” Y/N laughed.

“Oi!” He laughed, jabbing her knee. “Why don’t we save the bath chats for the scary stuff?”. He paused. “Wait, poor choice of words. Bath chats are for when you wanna tell the truth but it’s a little frightening.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Also reserved as an excuse to abandon loud parties.” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Done deal.”

A few hours later, she sat on the couch as Will dug through her vinyl collection.

Putting on one of her favourite Joni Mitchell records, he sat back down.

“I like this version of you,” Will said quietly, as she leaned her head on the armrest.

“What version’s that?” she murmured.

“The one who finally chose herself.”

——

By now, everyone knew. Will was in love with Y/N. Y/N was in love with Will. She was just going through it. Hadn’t finished grieving the end of the better part of a decade.

There was no secret between friends like theirs. Lux had caught Will staring at her once during dinner, and didn’t even need to say anything. He just patted his back and passed him another drink.

Theo had pulled Y/N aside at the dinner where she’d spilled her guts and told her, “When you’re ready, he’s ready. But until then, we’ve got you.”

Even George, who had pushed a little too hard at the Clarke-Hill-Dixon tour celebration had shown up at the reception desk of her work with flowers and coffee from her favourite cafe. “I feel like we have this sibling relationship sometimes and I took it too far,” he’d apologised. “These probably aren’t as good as any sort of bouquet Will would get you.”

“What’s Will got to do with you bringing me flowers?” She had asked.

“I figured you’d realised you were in love with him by now.” He’d replied, grin cheeky as ever.

——

About 4 weeks later, it happened.

They hadn’t kissed yet.

They hadn’t needed to.

She wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t going to push her. Instead, he kept a respectful distance. He’d known her for over a decade. He’d been in love with her for years. Waiting 6 weeks for her to deprogram from her relationship was the least he could do.

On a Saturday evening, they walked out of the cinema after sharing a few glasses of wine and a bucket of popcorn.

Stopping under a street lamp, Y/N stopped in her tracks. Will stopped too. “You okay?”.

“I think I’m there. I’ve arrived somewhere, I think,” she said softly.

He didn’t ask what she meant. He just nodded, gently resting a hand on her cheek. “Okay.”

And as they arrived at her door, she hesitated to close the door behind her.

“Will. Can you do me a favour?” She spoke softly.

“Yeah, what’s that?”.

“Kiss me.”

He stood closer, searching her eyes for any hint of cold feet. His hands found her waist, gently pulling her in. He leant down, their lips gently brushing before they eventually met.

Her hands traced along his arms, finding a place to rest in his hair.

Will broke the kiss to speak, murmuring “I can’t believe this is happening”. Y/N spoke, “you are so hot but shut up”. He didn’t need to be told a second time, stepping into her apartment and backing her into the wall by the door, devouring her in a searing kiss.

Goosebumps spread across her skin, his hands leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched. A decade of watching her love someone else. A decade of longing, loving, yearning for her when he didn’t have a name for it yet. A decade of her loving the wrong person, when he’d been in front of her the whole time. The kiss said it all.

She was his. He was hers.

No more pushing it down.

—

A/N: Annnnnd we’ve unlocked a new part! Let me know your thoughts pls xx

I do have a part related to this that just explores the platonic relationships within the group. Is this something you guys would be interested in? I know that some of you tend to enjoy the character building chapters 💌

TAGLIST: @mosviqu @octaneink @clarkeysbedchem @mrswillne @meglouise00 @jonnybernthalslover @clarkey4life @asmoothoperator @clarkeyscvntymullet (opt in or out any time - drop me a DM or comment) 🩵

[queen-of-gotham]

Rex Sloan, with an ex-girlfriend he gossips with.

Like, she's pre-lobotomy, so she KNOWS he's a dick. But like??? They gossip about EVERYTHING. She knows everything that happens in the GDA and he knows who her co-workers are cheating with.

Like??? Do you see the vision

I doooo. I do see the vision. Hopefully this ficlet does your brain some justice 🙂‍↕️

Yap Sessions

Pairings: Rex Sloan x GN!Reader

Word count: 735

A/N: this is my first X Reader I’ve done in almost as long as immortal has been alive. So there’s that. 😅🙂‍↕️

Warnings: Rex is an asshole and is his own warning, mentions of sex but nothing explicit

Your small apartment is quiet when you first walk in. It had been a long day at work, one small thing after another weighing down on you, and all you really wanted was to collapse on the couch with the take away in your hand and the trashiest television you could find to stream.

And Rex? He knew he loved you. Deep down in his heart of hearts, in the catacombs of his soul where he’s too scared to travel, to realize, to listen really, he thinks you could even be the one. Admitting that to himself is a different story for a different day though when he hears your lock turn and watches your door swings open, hands full with food and your bag.

“Kate and immortal- stop screaming- Kate and immortal are fucking.”

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT.” You tell, startled by the sudden presence in your sanctuary. “Why the hell are you here, Rex? You can’t just *be* here.”

“Why not?” He asks, moving towards you to take the bag of food over to the couch, looks like you’d be sharing tonight through no warrant of your own.

“Because we broke up. Because *you* were fucking Kate. And Eve.” You remind him, huffing a bit as you toss your barista apron to the kitchen table and hang your bag on a hook by the door before joining him on the couch. “What do you mean Kate and Immortal are fucking?”

“I walked in on them in the shower! All three of her!” Rex exclaimed, and suddenly you weren’t so mad because if there was one thing, other than sex, you and Rex did well together, It was yap.

“Kinda serves you right though.” You say as you pop open the Chinese containers and getting your chopsticks open to eat. “Is his dick wrinkly cause he’s so old?”

“Wha- I mean, maybe, I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention to that part.” Rex pulls out a container right after you, helping himself, knowing that you wouldn’t say no.

“I mean fair. I’d like to think it’s wrinkly and his balls are saggy. I don’t think exercise and being buff as hell would change that aspect of growing old.” You state, giggling at the comment.

“No because, he’s probably not even shooting blanks at this point it’s probably just dust.” Rex agrees and you two laugh hard at the expense of his teammate at the GDA. “Speaking of dusty old men, how Cletus?”

You snort when he brings up a coworker at your coffee shop, an old man who had a tendency to flirt with all the women over forty who came into the shop. So you tell him, you catch him up on all the juicy gossip from the shop and how Cletus is fine but the real kicker is a young guy who’s just started and is sleeping his way through the staff, and the conversation just flows.

Your feet end up in his lap at some point after the Chinese food has been finished, and some show got put on the television for background noise. Rex’s hand rubs across your ankle subconsciously as he rambles on about the newest policy Cecil wants to implement and you just watch as he talks. You watch the way his mouth moves, the way his eyebrows tilt down a bit in aggravation, just how handsome he looks

All those feelings come flooding back for a moment, those feelings you can’t allow yourself to really feel anymore because Rex is Rex, and you know somewhere deep down in your gut these moments of domestic bliss never last. That you can’t love him enough to make him a better person.

So you let yourself revel in the moment, taking in all of his mannerisms you committed to heart a long time ago, and you can hope that maybe, just maybe, one day he’ll realize what he truly lost with you and change.

Until then, you’ll enjoy the sound of his voice and his laugh and everything that makes him your favorite asshole of a person, you’ll bask in every innocent touch, you’ll probably still answer every late night ‘u up?’ text because no one makes you feel as full intimately as he does, and you’ll keep hoping that maybe the stars will just right to bring you back together in a better way than you both were before.

[polaritydisturbed]

I’ve seen some posts floating around saying things like, “Belinda was always a mom, the Doctor just corrected the timeline,” and I genuinely cannot stress enough how little that addresses the core issues people have with how her story was handled.

First of all, if that was the intention—if the idea was that Belinda was always meant to be a mother and the timeline just needed to be “set right”—they did a poor job of executing it. A twist that major, one that fundamentally alters a character’s identity or arc, requires setup. Foreshadowing. Emotional groundwork. You can’t just spring something that massive on the audience in the last five minutes and expect it to feel meaningful instead of disorienting.

And here’s the thing: Doctor Who has done that kind of plot before—successfully. A great comparison is Amy and Rory. The show literally did the “someone you love was erased from time and the universe needs to be corrected to bring them back” storyline already. And while I’ve got my own qualms with how Amy’s arc was handled overall, that particular beat actually worked.

Why? Because there were signs. The cracks in time. The missing memories. A sense of loss Amy couldn’t place. Little inconsistencies that made the audience lean forward and feel that something was wrong. Not to mention: Rory was introduced before he disappeared. We knew him. We saw his dynamic with Amy. We cared about him. We barely see Poppy in these two episodes, other than "child missing bad" we really have no attachment to her.

Now imagine if we never met Rory. If Amy had been introduced as a fierce, independent woman with no attachments, someone whose refusal to be tied down was a defining trait—and then the show suddenly revealed, in the finale, that actually she was about to get married the whole time to a man we’d never seen, and now she’s a devoted wife. No buildup. No context. Just surprise! emotional transformation. That would feel bizarre, right?

That’s exactly what happened with Belinda.

The final minutes of the finale reframe her not just as someone who once had a child, but as someone whose true self is supposedly defined by that role—and we’re meant to believe that this identity has now been “restored” to her, and we’re told it’s been restored to her as a reward. But it doesn’t feel like a revelation. It feels like a contradiction.

It’s like they wanted to write her as fierce and independent, but didn’t also want to imply that she wanted kids or thought about kids—because society still tends to associate maternal longing or caretaking instincts with weakness, or with not being a “strong” woman. So instead of exploring that complexity, they just didn’t. They wrote her as a fully autonomous character, with no visible yearning or absence, and then stapled a child onto her arc at the end.

And just to be absolutely clear: the problem is not that Belinda is a mother. You can write a fierce, independent, female-presenting character who’s also a parent. Those things are not mutually exclusive. The problem is that the story didn’t earn it.

Writers often avoid giving powerful women maternal traits because they assume femininity and strength can’t coexist—but that’s a separate conversation. The real issue here is that the show never showed us that this part of Belinda was missing. It never laid the groundwork for that emotional restoration to resonate. It didn’t feel like they revealed who she truly was—it felt like they replaced her with someone else.

It’s not that you can’t tell a story where a forgotten child or a missing family is recovered from a broken timeline. That kind of emotional twist can be powerful. But if that’s the story you want to tell, you have to earn it. You have to make the absence felt before you try to fill it. You have to let us sense the missing piece and ache for its return. Without that, it doesn’t feel like a twist—it feels like a contradiction.

And no, Poppy showing up once in The Story & the Engine is not proper setup. If this was truly the intended arc from the beginning, then it needed clues. Give us subtle signs. Let Belinda hesitate when asked simple questions. Let her glance at a photo and seem unsettled. Let her correct someone’s memory and then immediately second-guess herself. Plant a sense of wrongness in her own life that even she can’t quite name.

There’s even a interview with RTD about reshooting the beginning of The Robot Revolution to give Belinda roommates, because he thought no one would buy her owning an entire house by herself.

But if this twist with Poppy was truly planned from the start? Then leave her in that big, echoing house. Let it be part of the unease. Let there be a child’s toy tucked into the back of a drawer she doesn’t remember buying. A room she avoids, too pristine and untouched. A lullaby she hums under her breath without knowing where she learned it. Give us texture. Give us silence that feels too quiet.

Let us feel the shape of what’s missing before you tell us what it was.

That’s how you write a twist that resonates—by trusting your audience to notice the gaps, to feel the ache, and to recognize the truth when it finally appears. Not by pulling a rabbit out of a hat and calling it destiny.

[curioud-epic]

(Continuation of this au) Epic au where Polites is not actually a soldier from ithaca but rather just a traveller who had the same name who got tricked into the army.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

(Head canon: Odysseus can remember people's faces but not their names-- just for the sake of this au working)

I finally finished the last few sketches that 3am me did for this. Although, I can't remember the original dialogue I made for this, I hope the idea is still there.

- eurylochus and polites becomes friends first in this au. And other people (still a small portion) got inspired of what polites was doing and starts helping when they're not busy.

- polites doesn't really mind anymore but he does still try to keep a low profile.

- that is until Odysseus is finally not busy and decided to call for polites. But even before meeting him he was already suspicious of one of his men suddenly doing this and decides, hmm a trap won't hurt would it?

- polites is nervous but he expects that hey maybe he won't recognize him because no one knew about polites of ithaca when he got there. I mean eurylovhus did know his name but not enough to recognise he's not part of their men.

- while odysseus just sees this stranger coming in with Eurylochus, the latter introducing polites and Odysseus thinks 'I don't recognize this guy.' But still decides to play along.

- I think I remember writing in the conversations how their inner dialogues was like:

Odysseus thinking during their conversation: shifty eyes, he looks nervous, either this is the worst spy or-- wait, what if he was a spy then he might be from troy. Considering that he seems used to being called polites, could it be... Prince polites of troy? That can't be.

Polites thinking during their conversation: I don't know what's happening but he looks really tired and should try to rest-- I mean look at all these documents just randomly thrown on the table. I hope he gets to relax after this.

- After their conversation, odysseus is now theorising that either: this "polites" is a spy or is polites of troy. But he didn't look at the documents except for a passing glance. Wait, maybe he knew it was fake.

Then I just have to figure out a way to get him to slip up. Then we can interrogate him thoroughly.

- polites is just minding his business happy that finally! By tomorrow the real polites is going to be back. Afterall, the guy promised to come back after a month right? He's prepared extra food given to him and some money enough to travel away from this place.

He can't wait to finally get away from troy.

(Oh boy, if only you knew).

[0798f]

🎇 — Vacation.

RELATIONSHIP: Levi Ackerman x Reader (Modern AU)

SUMMARY: You are committed to giving Levi a stress-free vacation. Even if it puts all the stress on you, instead!

A/N: Day 3 of the Natsumeku event! Of all the fics for this event, I think I am the most proud of this one. I hope it's enjoyable!

Levi didn’t know the meaning of the word vacation.

The confusing part was that it wasn’t solely because he was too integral of an employee, nor was it because he was too dedicated to his work. Erwin and Hange had offered (the latter on their knees begging) to take on some of his responsibilities so he could take a few days off, but Levi always refused. Then he would bitch about work to their faces the next day as if he didn’t create a problem for himself.

Levi just never saw a point before. He did his job best and didn’t really have anything else he would want to do with his free time. 

“Sleeping? Eating? Enjoying a nice walk in nature?” Hange had pointed these out the last time they tried begging Levi to take a break.

Levi rolled his eyes back then. “Don’t be stupid,” was all he said.

But things changed when he entered a relationship with someone who lived life a bit more normally than him. Someone who maintained their human needs a bit better than Levi.

“Four hours of sleep at most?! That’s insane! You can’t live like that!” (Name) was horrified to learn the information Levi so casually dropped in conversation as they ate a dinner together. 

He didn’t think it was such a big deal. But he had to start considering that when (Name) started sleeping in his bed. Levi finally had a reason to be in bed by a reasonable time, and an even more reliable sleep aid than the melatonin gummies that he had grown immune to a thousand years ago. It was easier to fall asleep with (Name) in his bed and he didn’t know why— they didn’t even cuddle most of the time. Their simple presence next to him was more than enough, apparently.

So Levi started reeling in his more inhumane habits so (Name) could comfortably fit into his life. Hange immediately pointed out how much brighter (whatever that meant) he looked once he started getting more sleep and eating more regular meals, all at the behest of (Name) keeping him in check. Meanwhile, (Name)’s own work started to be completed with a new level of organization and efficiency with Levi’s help.

In the spirit of bettering each other’s lives, (Name) had one goal in mind as the weather warmed with the arrival of summer: get Levi to go on a vacation where he could relax to the fullest.

It wasn’t enough to just go on a vacation. It had to be a trip free of any worry or hassle, (Name) decided— and that meant keeping Levi out of the planning as much as possible.

Not entirely, of course; (Name) wanted to make a vacation he would enjoy first and foremost, and that required his opinions and choices.

“… What do you think about visiting Marley or Hizuru for a vacation?” (Name) shyly put the idea out there as Levi finished brushing his teeth. They sat against the headboard of Levi’s bed, their legs under the blanket only as far as their knees. He wiped his face off and looked at (Name) with a raised brow.

After dating for over two years, (Name) would like to think that they knew Levi as well as anyone could. But his initial silence permeated the room as they awaited an answer, and (Name) found themself growing nervous.

Levi shrugged, “sounds nice.”

Their barely concealed excitement at the positive response did not go unnoticed by Levi. (Name) grinned, “do you have a preference? I’ve heard they’re both beautiful in summer.”

They had actually been to Marley a few times on business, but those business trips always went to shit because The Warriors inc. had an irrational hatred for The Scouts. Any sightseeing was interrupted by the reveal that a few of their underlings had been feeding The Warriors insider secrets for the last few years.

For some reason, Levi had to be part of the excruciating conversations and meetings that happened afterwards. He sneered at the memory. “Hizuru.”

(Name)’s eyes sparkled. “Good choice. It just so happens that Erwin is giving us a week of PTO after we complete this project! And, Petra just expedited some of the progress, so we should definitely be done by the weekend.”

Levi had the feeling something was up when (Name) had left Erwin’s office in the morning with a smile they refused to explain to Levi. “Don’t worry about it,” (Name) said.

He had never taken a vacation (willingly) in his life, and if he was going to do it for the first time, Levi was glad that it would be with (Name). He climbed into bed next to them, leaning forwards to bump foreheads.

“‘It just so happens,’ huh?” Levi repeated, breath warm and minty against (Name)’s lips. “You’re claiming no influence?”

“I’m hardly the only person in the office who wants to see you take a break. I’m just the only person who can get you to do it!”

When (Name) started at the company, they were a shy intern who couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Now, they were smirking in Levi’s face over a silly trick made possible by all their connections. Levi was happy to see them come so far.

“When did you get so smug?” Levi guided them to lay down so that he could hover over them.

(Name) reached up to hold Levi’s face with both hands. “When I realized how much it made you smile.”

Levi smiled into the kiss.

(Name) took over the rest of the planning by that point— with some input from Hange (professional tourist) and underling Mikasa (Hizuran person who knows the local spots). As the planning progressed, it became quite an elaborate itinerary that covered all the vacation staples of sightseeing, activities, and relaxation. 

Their plans were down to the minute, which, in the moment, felt like a proud success of all their hard work spent researching so Levi could relax. It also proved to be their downfall.

The first of many tragedies in their comedy of errors was their flight being delayed for two hours due to poor weather. The second was their luggage getting lost and having to spend over an hour arguing with unhelpful airport staff to get it found. The third was their taxi driver borderline kidnapping them by taking the longest possible route to their hotel to rack up the meter. At least that one was partially solved by Levi threatening to gut the driver like a fish if he took one more wrong turn.

Their hotel room had a beautiful view of the ocean, but instead of admiring it, (Name) was glued to their laminated (courtesy of improper use of company tools) itinerary, trying to make sense of it.

“Ok, we missed lunch reservations at the sushi place Hange recommended… and they’re fully booked. Fuck!” The paper trembled in (Name)’s frustrated hands as they lamented their loss. There had been more openings just a week ago— how could they all disappear?!

Levi put a hand on their back. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“I know…” But it really felt like it. Especially with how much Hange hyped it up. “It’s fine! We can go to a more local place that Mikasa recommended! … Shit, but we’re gonna miss the fireworks show if we eat now! Maybe we can do it tomorrow night instead… but, we run into the same issue with dinner reservations! If I keep pushing things back, they’ll keep causing problems!”

(Name) felt their brain fill with fog as they tried to fix the perfectly manicured plan that was quickly falling apart at the seams. It was supposed to be the perfect plan to let Levi relax, but now (Name) couldn’t even figure out what they were supposed to do next!

A firm hand grasped their chin and forced them to look up. (Name) startled at the sudden contact, meeting Levi’s resting serious expression. “Oi.”

He must have been annoyed that (Name) ruined everything by not preparing a plan B. Apologies left their lips in an instant, but Levi lifted their head higher to interrupt them. “This is a vacation and you’re losing your damn mind right now.“

“Because my plans are falling apart… I had everything figured out, but now I don’t even know what to do right now—“ 

Again, Levi interrupted them before they could spiral further. “Hotel’s on the beach. Let’s go.”

(Name) blinked. “Huh..?”

“Change your clothes since it’s hot out. Let’s go.”

They sniffled, reluctantly letting the itinerary fall to the wayside so they could change into a more an outfit more suited to Hizuru’s summer weather. Levi did the same, and even while (Name) was still mourning the loss of a meticulously planned vacation, they were amused to see Levi in shorts and a T-shirt. If they took a picture, the office would never let him live it down.

By the time they made it down to the beach in front of their hotel, it was late into a sunset and well after most of the crowds left. The beach was quiet outside of the crashing waves and ambient noise from the nearby bar. Levi had guided (Name) all the way to the white sands with his hand on their lower back, occasionally pulling them closer to his side when strangers passed by.

(Name) looked at the last glimmer of the sunset for the first time that day as it disappeared behind the horizon, leaving an dark orange to fade into purples and blues. They let out a deep sigh, closing their eyes and focusing on the sounds of the beach.

“First time today you don’t look so tense. The flight delay sent you on a downward spiral.” Levi’s words sounded a bit harsh, but that was just how he talked. His hand rubbing (Name)’s back let them know he was saying it out of care and affection.

Their shoulders slumped. “Can you blame me? I was trying to make a worry free vacation for you.”

“Worry free,” Levi scoffed. “You think I’m worry free when you’re on the brink of an anxiety attack every two seconds?”

(Name) whined, “see, I really messed things up! If I had just been more prepared…”

They weren’t getting his point. Levi grabbed their shoulders, forcing them to focus on him rather than their worries. “My idea of a worry free vacation, or whatever, is spending time with you, idiot. So, if you stop fixating on your itinerary for right now, then we can both relax.”

It was like a light switched on in (Name)’s head, finally understanding that they missed the forest for the trees. They cracked a weary smile. “… Are you sure? That’s really sweet…”

“It’s not sweet, it’s just the truth.”

Contrary to his word, the kiss they shared in that moment was sweet, saccharine, and full of a love and affection between them that only they understood. While (Name) occasionally referred back to the dreaded itinerary for ideas, the vacation became a lot more relaxing once they slowed down and started playing it by ear.

A relaxed Levi was much more affectionate. (Name) would have to ask for more frequent breaks.

natsumeku event masterlist | masterlists

[just1cefor4ll]

Hii! Absolutely loved your work for Danya, better that I could imagine!!! I was thinking about Valya with reader from Portugal delegation (maybe even part of the Napa), since he loves this song. Idk really, hope you like it

—Eu te amo

Valya Leshchynskyi x fem!reader

summary. you hang out with Valya at an after-party where you teach each other your languages

warning. not proof read, might include wrong translations

Tonight was special for a number of reasons. The Eurovision semi-final had just ended a few hours ago and now, in the chaos of the music and overwhelming emotions, everyone was celebrating their qualifications for the grand-final— even you, a member of the Portuguese band Napa who was said to have odds lower then a lightening strike hitting you— but you beat those odds like an easy game of tag, now clinking glasses with the rest of the group who just like you still couldn’t believe it.

“We told you to not look at the odds people give you because things can change.” Your manager told you all as she took a sip of her drink. “Exactly— [Name] was having a full on panic attack right before the performance because some person started breaking down in full detail on why we won’t qualify.”

You scoffed, nudging Guilherme who had just called you out. “Well it’s not my fault he—“ You get cut off by Francis; “Shut up you two. No more looking at odds, especially before the grand-final.” Diogo nodded along, leaning back in his seat. “Yeah we don’t need you collapsing on stage before we even get to the green room.” You huffed in slight annoyance but laughed softly along with them. “Fine, promise I won’t do that anymore.”

The night seemed to be endless in the best way possible and after a while you decided to excuse yourself and go get another drink. You noticed a familiar curly haired brunette— Valentyn who you had been silently crushing on ever since you first saw him. He had this quiet charm to him that made your heart leap any time he was around which made you sound insane, but something about him just made you weak.

He was leaning against the counter of the bar with his brother, waiting for their drinks to be made as they collectively laughed at something you didn’t catch.

“Hey, [Name]! Congratulations on your qualification.” One of their external backing vocalists— Khrystyna had greeted you, hugging you tightly. “Thank you! Congratulations as well, glad we’ll be seeing more of each other.” You smiled, ordering the drink you came there for in the first place. “What about you guys? How are you feeling?” Valya snorted, nudging his brother Danya. “Yeah Daniil how do you feel about tonight?” Danya scoffed, pulling up tik tok with the several memes of his reaction.

“How are people so quick with it?” You ponder, laughing light heartedly at the videos as you handed the phone back. “No idea, but at least we know we don’t have a boring fan base.”

You decided to hang with them for a while, finding a proper place to sit where you all caught up and got to know each other on a more deeper level with no flashing lights of cameras or mics being shoved into your faces.

An hour in, Danya and a few others had decided to rest for the day, saying their goodbyes before they left. It was just you and Valentyn now, but the conversation still flowed easily as you never really ran out of things to talk about— whether it be about your countries, fun experiences or horrible stage fails from previous performances.

Then the topic of your languages rolled around, each of you going back and forth, laughing at how ridiculous some of your phrases sounded when translated literally.

You leaned forward with a small grin, catching Valentyn’s eye. “Okay, I’m going to teach you one of my favorite Portuguese sayings. It’s a bit weird, but it’s fun.” You smile, slowly pronouncing each word for him to better understand. “Quem tem boca vai a Roma.”

Valya blinked, trying to repeat it slowly. “Quem tem boca vai a Roma..?”

You nod enthusiastically. “Yes! Literally, it means ‘Who has a mouth goes to Rome.’ But what it really means is if you ask enough questions, if you speak up, you can get anywhere.”

He smiles, clearly amused. “That’s so strange! Why Rome though?” You sit up straighter, a hint of excitement in your eyes as you never really taught your language to anyone. “Rome was this huge, important city, right? So the idea is, if you have a voice, you can reach even the biggest places.” You shrug playfully. “I know, very poetic for a phrase that sounds like nonsense at first.”

You folded your arms like a curious child, looking at Valya with a playfully serious face. “Alright, Mr. Ukrainian, what weird sayings do you have for me?” He let out a laugh, pulling up some on his phone. “Oh I’ve got plenty— hear this one out; “‘Не в своїй тарілці’ it literally translates to, ‘not in your own plate’ which means feeling out of place or uncomfortable.” You nod, sipping on the last of your drink. “Yeah we also have an idiom for that. ‘Sentir-se como um peixe fora d’água’ which is literally ‘to feel like a fish out of water.’”

You laughed for a while, giving each other lessons on your culture and more silly sayings before Valya threw his head back in boredom.

“Okay enough with these stupid idioms tell me something real. Something actually meaningful.” Valya says, putting down his cup and looking at you curiously. You try to stutter something out but nothing came to mind once you got put on the spot.

You shrugged your shoulders, looking at him as if he had just yelled at a foreigner for taking pictures in a no-picture zone. “I don’t know. What do you want to know?” You ask, and Valya answered as if he had that phrase prepared all night. “How do you say ‘I love you?’”

Your cheeks burn up a bit, a hint of slight confusion and maybe even jealousy had started to crawl under your skin. Was this for purely educational purposes or a lover you hadn’t caught onto? You sigh, mumbling the phrase out.

“Eu te amo.”

Valya’s eyes lock onto yours, and for a long second, he says nothing. Then, with a small, almost teasing smile, he leans forward and says quietly, “Say it again.” You blink, surprised, but nod, your heart pounding as you repeat it.

“Eu te amo.”

His gaze lingers on your lips, like he’s savoring the sound of the words when they come from you. You can feel the intensity of his stare, and a flutter stirs deep in your chest. He doesn’t let you get comfortable. Instead, he asks, “Again.” You hesitate for just a moment, but the warmth in his eyes gives you courage. “Eu te amo.”

Valya’s smile grows a little wider, though his eyes still hold something deeper — a softness mixed with something like awe. “Я люблю тебе усім серцем.” He breaths out, his eyes slightly hooded from the alcohol in his system. He leaned over the table and cupped your cheek, his lips almost brushing against yours. “You know what that means in ukranian?” You shake your head nervously, his skin hot on your cheek. “I can show you what it means.” He smirks softly, your cheeks already red— not sure if from the alcohol or what was currently happening. You nodded your head slowly, and that was all he needed to close the gap between you.

He pressed his lips to yours—just a quick, feather-light kiss. But then he leaned in again, and again. Each time the kisses grew a little bolder, a little deeper, until you were practically losing your breath.

“We should talk about languages more often if this is what I get to do in return.” He teased, kissing your forehead before you both left the bar together.

“Whatever you say, meu amor.”

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

[shiongenkai]

A Note on 'Eldest Son' in TKDB

One last note on the wiki. I don't know if this is interesting to nearly anyone else other than me, but this little idea of 'Eldest son implies other siblings' has come up multiple times recently, so I researched a little into the nuances of what Eldest Son (長男) actually means in Japanese. It got a little bit long though, so under the cut it goes.

So... What this is referring to is the breaking news broadcast in reference to Jin, where they refer to him as 長男, AKA Eldest Son.

In English this carries an implication that there are Other Sons, or even Other Daughters, or so on so forth. When you hear someone referred to as Oldest (Something) you automatically assume that there are Younger Ones to compare it to, which is also what route the wiki takes.

However, this isn't the case for Japanese. While 長男 can imply Other Children, and often does in conversational Japanese, this term does not always mean younger brothers exist. What this refers to is a sense of succession, for one, and exists as a general term in order to refer to someone in paperwork, regardless of whether they're an only child or not. If some dude has an older sister and no younger siblings? He's the 長男. If someone doesn't have any siblings? Yep! 長男！It works for both. So can it be that Jin does have younger brothers? Yes, technically, but it's not explicitly implied with this line specifically.

How can I be sure of that, though? Wouldn't it help to have another example, you say? I fully agree! Which is why I have one! Here it is!

Here is Ritsu calling himself the 長男 of the Shinjo family! By this logic, we could technically assume that there are other Shinjo kids too, right? But then in Episode 16 he states Directly that he's an only child.

So in his case, he's both an only child and the eldest son. It sounds weird in English, but it still works naturally in Japanese. Another thing to note is that this line in Japanese has him refer to himself as 'The only Son', which Once Again could open the door for 'But wait!! What if he has siblings!!', but there's also nuance in That Word (一人息子) has less of an emphasis on the 'son' part and more of an emphasis on the 'only' part.

'Only son' in English has an unspoken emphasis on Son. If you hear someone say they're the Only Son of their family, and your first language is English, you'll probably think to yourself 'Oh, they have sisters then,' because that's what that phrase implies. The Japanese phrase, however, seems to emphasize the 'only' part. If you were to hear this phrase, you might think 'Oh, he has sisters,' but you could just as easily think, 'Oh, he's the only child'.

You can think of it as like.... Adding context into the noun. They are an only child, who happens to be a son. The only son. It's the same with 長男. They are the oldest son even if they are the Only Son.

So while it's not explicitly stated in canon that Jin does not have younger siblings (whether thats brothers or sisters), it's also not really truly implied he does. At least in Japanese. And there's really no good equivalent to the whole 'eldest son' thing in English anyway. Successor, I guess, is the closest, nuance wise? I guess? Shrugs.

Anyway, family words in general carry a lot of specifics in them in Japanese. You can't just call someone your Brother unless you're Zenji and using 'Brother' in English. Even Lucas refers to his twin as 'my younger twin brother'. Subaru's sister is his Older Sister, etc, etc. This is another one of those 'baked in specifics' type words that has different implications in JP vs ENG, and which makes it very, very easy to assume things that aren't necessarily true. Context is also important, because if it HAD been a casual conversation then it'd be different, but the broadcasts use very formal Informational Type Language, which renders 長男 neutral in terms of 'Is there more siblings or not'.

[kkochigomi]

Currently obsessing over the idea of you moving next door to brothers!Jeno and Leehan. Specifically little shit Leehan and older brother Jeno who is sick of him

Jeno was unfortunately the one labeled as a fuckboy because of the way he carried himself. Donghyun, however, was always his “innocent younger brother”

Jeno knew he was anything but, and if everyone knew how he treated women they would be calling him the fuckboy.

And it’s not that Jeno was perfect when it came to love. He prided himself on not cheating like his younger brother (the bare minimum, frankly) but he’s never been in a relationship longer than two months.

Donghyun has girls in and out of the house and doesn’t even claim any of them, but since he’s young and spry, people chalk it up to youthful experimentation.

Jeno, on the other hand, is in his mid-twenties where apparently it’s shameful to not have had one stable, long term relationship. Why his parents harp on this when they admit they didn’t have things figured out by his age is beyond him.

Jeno’s not a fuckboy, just a guy who likes to fuck. The distinction is that he actually cared about his exes. They didn’t even end on bad terms (mostly because they all dumped him and he understood where they were coming from).

His favorite part of his last relationship wasn’t even the mind blowing sex, it was learning her order at their favorite burger spot down the block. He’d swing by on his way home from work and grab food for both of them. He misses it.

He still hits up Sickies because, well, it’s delicious. The day he moved to this area he got hooked on it. Unlike most of his generation, Jeno was able to move into his own home. With the help of his dad, but still an accomplishment.

His dad had some terms for Jeno. One, he had to put his automotive technology degree to use and work at his father’s exotic car repair shop, and he let his brother move in. Jeno is starting to suspect that the whole “precious younger brother” thing is an act and he annoys the shit out of his parents too.

Their excuse is that Jeno moving out and taking Donghyun was like giving his brother a soft introduction to the real world.

Currently, Sickies is the only thing he looks forward to nowadays. He stops in after work, something he still does despite him and Yerim splitting months ago.

“Can I get a double cheeseburger with a side of cheese curds and a large strawberry lemonade?”

Jeno nearly sprains his neck with the speed he snaps to look in the direction of the voice. The cashier even eyes Jeno, recognizing the order himself.

It’s not Yerim, but it’s Yerim’s exact order. Not that it’s especially unique or anything, but it strikes a chord nonetheless.

Jeno can’t really strike up a conversation based on that, but he’s really compelled to. You have a very sunny disposition to you, but there’s an overall exhaustion that gives you a bit of edge. Your messy hair and effortless efficiency to your movements paint a picture for Jeno. A picture of long, punishing hours at work, but maybe the job is one you find rewarding. Or maybe like him, you don’t let the stress bleed into other aspects of your life.

Johnny, stops giving Jeno a pointed look from behind the counter to ask you a few questions after you finish paying. He’s an asshole, and he knows what he’s doing, but Jeno is silently thankful.

You’re Jeno’s age and new to the area.

“I need a name for the order,” another glance at Jeno. Jeno narrows his eyes at him. Jeno would be lying if he said he didn’t commit it to memory.

“Did you get her number or are you a failure?”

Johnny conveniently ended his shift just after Jeno left the restaurant, still in the midst of taking off his apron. He jogs to catch up Jeno.

It is not lost on him that despite getting there first and not having a big order, Jeno didn’t get his food until you got yours. He was clearly giving him time.

“Failure is… harsh.”

“So you’re a failure,” Johnny stops abruptly, sounding genuinely disappointed.

“I’m trying to lay low for a while, man.”

“Your two month relationship ended three months ago. You’ve laid sufficiently low. Plus, nothing has ever stopped you from being a ladies man before."

"I wouldn't say nothing. I'm not Donghyun."

"Oh, never that. That young man is a monster."

Jeno didn't see you the next few times he ordered from Sickies. Johnny said he saw you, so Jeno just missed you.

Donghyun, however, didn't miss you at all. He is home a lot more than Jeno, so he noticed the new neighbor who jogged every morning. Especially what you wore.

Jeno would call him a stalker if he knew Donghyun watched you get home from jogging and walk home. Of course, that's ignoring the fact that you're right next door. And that Donghyun just happens to be preparing to leave at that time. And maybe he kicks back a little until you've cleaned up and donned your scrubs before hopping in his car. He's assessing, that's all.

And according to his assessment, you're hot as fuck. You're either a little older or he's reading into the air of competence you have about you. You're punctual as shit. Every single day your routine- or at least what he sees of it- is carried out at the same exact time. Save one or two minutes. He's never seen you rushing with your stuff close to falling from your arms.

No... you breeze through your routine. Every time.

Donghyun is very turned on. SO turned on that he is subconsciously creating a plan.

A plan? He doesn't even recognize himself right now. His plans are usually text to see if she's up, invite her over, pork her, kick her out and don't think of her until he wants to fuck again.

You're not like the girls he usually goes after, though. Your hair is messy because you've allocated your time to other things. The girls in his contacts have messy... everything because they're high and hung over most of the time. They barely show up to class at all. You're next level.

A challenge.

Donghyun has had his fill of being Joe from You and decides to actually speak to you. It starts slow because he only catches you when you're busy. A hello, how's you day been, what're you up to (you're a student as well...?)

He lets it slip that he's behind in school. Medical school. Turns out you tutor on the side. Bingo.

The next time Jeno sees you, you're in his dining room across from his asshole brother who is smiling smugly at him.

The minute you go to the bathroom and leave him alone with Donghyun, Jeno says what's on his mind.

"Leave her alone," he scolds. Something tells him Donghyun is in for more than he bargained for. Maybe this is when he'll learn his lesson. Mess with the wrong girl and regret it. Fall in love and get his heart broken. It doesn't even sound right but Jeno can't deny the thought makes him amused.

"What? She's just tutoring me. Plus, it's just good manners to get to know the neighbor...

[institute-of-oddology-founder]

uhhhh whoops [hands Dr. Pines a memory vial from @aroace-get-out-of-my-face 's Memory Vial au where Stan dies from the memory gun]

uh oh

[A vial pops out of the journal like a pop up book]

How did you even-... Nevermind.

[Ford popped the vial into his monitor and watched as Stanley's life flashed before his eyes.

The first few memories, he recognized. The sound of the ocean washing ashore with laughter, with nonsensical stories they both made up to tell each other, the birthdays the spent, the Stan O' War.

The memories sped by, years of growing up together going by so fast, barely even 5 minutes before they reached the final year they spent together. Ford watched as they were both called to the office with only one staying behind. He watched as Stan listened in on the conversation, sliding down the door as he realized his brother would leave him behind.

Ford watched Stan enter the gym after school hours. He'd be lying if he said he didn't dread to see what truly happened that night. He believed Stan to be a horrible person, a traitor who never wanted Ford to have a better future. Now, he wanted to believe Stan never did it on purpose, that what he thought would contradict with what he knew Stan was like.

Ford watched Stan hit the table, barely touching the project. Ford watched as Stan scrambled to fix his mistake. Ford wanted to scream.

Ford wanted to scream and let everything out. He believed Stan to be such a selfish person, a complete opposite of what he truly was, because if he believed the latter, that Stan really didn't break the project on purpose, then that would mean he was kicked out for nothing. That Ford had let his 17 year old brother—barely even an adult—to be kicked to the curb outside of their house.

He quickly realized his mistake when he saw the confrontation much clearer.

They were both so young, naive, closer to 12 than they were the next time they'd see each other.

Ford saw all the pain right after. The failed scams, the shattered hopes, the ever-growing amount of states he was banned in. He saw the prison, he saw too many hands on his brother, a blurry haze, ropes on his brother's wrists and ankles as he was shoved into a trunk, his brother's legs too close to the edge of a bridge.

He saw the postcard.

He saw how fast Stan drove just because Ford called for his help. Because at his core, that's what he always did. Help him.

He saw the fight, the burn, and he saw how it diverged from his dimension. Stan punched Ford, and he couldn't be more proud.

He saw Stan's desperate pleas as Ford disappeared into the portal. He saw the years he spent juggling his work and fixing the portal.

Ford couldn't help but put his hand out to his brother. He couldn't help him. He couldn't protect him. Couldn't comfort him from his own hurtful words against himself. Every comment, every hair pull, every slap to his own face felt like a stab to his heart.

The only good thing that came from it was being able to see Stan age. He saw how he would've looked if he lived past 27.

He saw a few kids in between. His employees.

He saw how he pretended to not care about them, but smile at their antics.

He saw two more kids. Infants. Shermie's grandkids. He saw how Stan held them and refused to let go.

He saw their summer.

He saw his return.

He saw how Ford had given Stan a deadline and a deal. To kick him out when the summer ends.

All the memories whizzed pass again. Every bonding moment, every hug from Dipper and Mabel, every cold shoulder from Ford, he saw it all.

He saw the end of the world.

Ford saw Stan mourning the kids and his brother, fates unknown in the apocalypse.

He saw the argument, how Ford couldn't keep his mouth shut and get along, how he couldn't even give him a simple thank you.

He saw Stan's sacrifice. How he punched Bill in his stupid looking eye.

"Heh, guess I was good for something after all..."

And Ford sobbed. He was already shaking, trembling at how much pain he still went through had he not taken the journal.

The memory ended, and so did Stan's life.]

Thank you for showing me this.

[mudandmire]

OOhh I love these questions!! (lmao, I see you Wigs)

Long Story- I have to go waaaay back. I think at first I was drawn to how out of the blue it was. Azris popped up on my feed once and I laughed and said, "surely not!" And then dug deeper into it because, from where I stood, these two had nothing to do with each other. And then. Oh, and then. I went deep. Reddit posts, Tumblr metas, fanart (chefs kiss), and I slowly donned my tinfoil hat with the biggest grin. Because these characters, though they intrigued me separately, consumed me together. And then I started reading fics. And oh. Oh Man, I was Completely Lost. The talent, the craft, the dynamic that came alive with these creators, and I had So Much Fun experiencing the dynamic that they inspired me to get back into writing. 

Honestly, I don't really know if I have a consistent theme that I explore in my fics?? I do love my motifs and imagery, but none of them are the same in each fic so I think in general I explore different motifs when I write Azris.

I think by far my favorite fic I've ever written for Azris, maybe my favorite thing I've written ever, is 'In This House'. The premise was way out of my comfort zone, and something I'd never done before, but man, seeing that fic come together and mold out of its original concept idea was addictive. Watching each layer of narrative peel away until I was left with the heart of it, what it was telling me to focus writing on. Damn. Seriously proud of that one.

Bold of you to assume I'm organized enough to have a routine. Yeah, no, sometimes I get ideas and most of the time I write down the bare bones of it. Like a paragraph of concept. But I think most of it comes down to rumination. Most of the construction work is done in my head just thinking through the story I want to tell, and then looking to the left, seeing what kind of avenues are available that I'm not looking at properly. dunno if that makes any sense, but finding the right vibe for the tone helps, so usually I'll also pair that with a specific song or sound that inspires in me a particular emotion. Like, for 'In This House' I literally just happened upon a song called 'In This House' in the early stages that had the right haunting, loving tone I was going for.

I'm terrible at headcanons, so uh, here goes nothing. For Eris I suppose I like the idea that he enjoys long baths in his Secret Gay Cabin and also has a little journal full of sketches of flora he finds in the woods. For Azriel, I guess I've always imagined he has the most abysmal handwriting, not because of the scarring, but because he simply does not care enough to put That Much effort into writing reports. And for Azris, goodness, I don't know what constitutes as a head canon lmao, but I love the idea that Azriel is the only one who can see through Eris's pompous language into the truth of what he's saying. I like the idea that when they're together, Eris can be snarky like always, but sometimes he could just say "I'm tired" instead of avoiding it, and Azriel will accommodate. ALSO same goes for Azriel, Eris gives him room in every space, every conversation, to say more than he thinks he needs to. (maybe that's how Eris learns Azriel is quite the talker in bed ehe).

No I have not.

Maybe!

I have two things that are going to continue after Azris week and I'm very excited to explore them further. One of them is the therapy au, which is my beloved right now, and I just hope I do right by Azriel and Eris in that situation lol.

uh, not gonna lie, non-fiction short stories, personal essays, fiction short stories, etc. I had the opportunity to read and edit A BUNCH of short stories these past couple of months and learn more about what makes them work, their structure, and all that. Also, other fics and writers!! I love that I read about these two losers falling in love over and over again, and every time I see a new way their connection is described, it's like I discovered them all over again. It just inspires me more! Nature, too, plus music. I like to shake them up in a cocktail maker and see what comes out ehehe.

Been there, baby, everyone has, and you're not alone in that situation. I'd say to being stalled, start something new. That's what I needed, I was so stuck on the idea that this one idea had to be It, had to be Perfect, and yet I've enjoyed myself so much more working on all of these little one-shots just to see the limits of what I can do in them. I'd say to anyone who wants to participate in Azris week but doesn't feel ready or good enough or whatever other lies their brains tell them- DO IT!! Write your thing and Do It. I know that's what everyone says, like 'perfection isn't possible you just have to get the words out' but they're RIGHT so just send out your little thing, your imperfect attempt, but it's Yours, and see what happens!!

Azris Week 2025 Self-Spotlight

Only five more days until the main event! To continue fostering more community between Azris creators, instead of having user-submitted writers or artists answer some questions, creators can interview themselves!

Pretend you can see my jazz hands.

These questions are for ALL Azris creators - writers, mood board creators, artists, you get the idea! At the end of Azris Week, anyone who has filled out the below interview will get added to a master list so that everyone can see your thoughts. Feel free to add your own questions at the bottom, if you think of anything else you’d like to say about your Azris Week creations.

If you aren’t doing anything for Azris Week 2025 but want to participate anyway, go ahead! No one will stop you and you’ll still be included in the master list.

Questions

1. What drew you to Azris?

2. What themes do you explore most often in your fics? Do you have a favorite image or location that you return to again and again?

3. What is your favorite fic/art that you’ve made? Why?

4. What is your writing/drawing/painting setup? Do you have a routine that you follow?

5. Give a favorite headcanon about Azriel and Eris, separately, and Azriel and Eris, together.

6. Have you worn wigs?

7. Will you wear wigs?

8. What upcoming projects are you excited about?

9. Name some influences on your writing or art style - could be fellow writers, poets, singers, nature, etc.

10. What encouragement would you give someone who is just beginning a project? Someone who is stalled on a project? Someone losing steam/interest?