#I pretty much never catch their streams anymore but I pop my head in once in a blue moon

[royalarchivist]

Ranboo: [Reading chat] "Twink death"? I haven't been a twink in years.

Ranboo: I've been at- I've been at least twunk. Slight– I've been on the edge of twunk for a bit. You know what I mean?

[planetsano]

xbox or playstation? 🎮

SYNOPSIS ✰ eren finds more interest in gaming than you, his horny girlfriend.

WARNINGS ✰ nsfw/18+, gamer au, streamer/gamer eren, very needy and horny reader, humping, sex in a gaming chair, blowjob, dirty talk, eren is kinda mean but he lets you use him to get off.

PAIRING ✰ eren yeager x female reader.

The uncomfortable throbbing and heat coming from between your legs were enough to pull you from your sleep. The dream you experienced before waking up was the cause— your boyfriend fucking you into the mattress while his large hand your face hard-pressed into the sheets as he pounded into you from behind. It was expected, Eren’s been streaming and gaming for most of the day, leaving you to fend for yourself to find your own entertainment. Usually, you didn’t mind. It was his job and how he paid rent but on this particular day you were feeling very needy and your advances were met with a dismissive ‘I’m working.’ or ‘I’m busy right now. Can’t you wait later?’

A tiny whine escaped your lips as you sat up, wiping the sleep from your hazy eyes to an empty bed. The orange light from the sunset was bleeding through the window, entering the room and coloring the walls a warm apricot color.

5:15 pm is what the digital clock sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed read. He should be finished streaming.

The soft pitter-patter of your soft feet sounded again the cold hardwood flooring throughout the hallway as you made your way to what you like to call ‘the homewrecking room’, it’s just his workroom but maybe you’re a little bit of a drama queen. The door was halfway open, so you stuck your head in. It was rather dark, his LEDs turned off and the blinds from the window closed. His face was illuminated by the computer monitors in front of his face. He wasn’t on stream right now that was a fact but you still knocked on the twice before stepping in.

“Eren,” You called for him.

Your soft voice grabs Eren’s attention, making him do a double-take. He takes his hand to push one side of his headset behind his ear, eyes locked on you for a moment. He’s not sure if you want to tell him something but he couldn’t lie, you looked cute right now— dressed in nothing but his hoodie and your cute panties. You were wearing the cotton ones that had the teeny ribbon bow at the waistband. You had a sleepy look on your face, rubbing your eyes with one of your sweater paws.

“Took a nap?” He asks— his eyes darting back to the main computer monitor out of the three in front of him.

“Mhm.” You hum in response, walking over to him and standing at the armrest of his chair.

Eren looks pretty right now. He always does but you especially love when he wears his hair down. He’s so invested in the game— brows furrowed in concentration while his fingers skillfully mashed the controller’s buttons. The game controller looks so small in his hands compared to when you’re holding it.

“Can we cuddle?” You ask softly, wiggling your sweater paw on his forearm.

Eren leans back further in his gaming chair, lifting his arms as an invitation for you to come climb into his lap. So you did— settling yourself onto his thighs with both your legs on either side of his waist. Your body melts into his with your face buried in his neck, taking in his scent. He smelled faintly of his favorite cologne, a sultry mixture of amber and cedarwood. Eren’s arms wrap around your frame, his slender hands still pressing the buttons on his controller rapidly. You can hear his friends’ yelling, profanities, and jokes spill through his headset. To be frank, you were getting a little jealous because you wanted his attention. You’ve been asking for it the entire day nearly.

“Miss you, Eren..” You whine quietly into his skin.

“Flank to your right, Jean-” Eren mutes his mic. “I’m right here, pumpkin.” He rubs yours back a couple of times before his hand is back on the controller. Eren isn’t really there and definitely not paying attention either, you can tell. There's a clear difference in tone— disinterest, and dismissiveness when speaking to you and the lighthearted words and chuckles his friends get.

“Pay attention to me.” You mumble.

“I am.” He deadpans.

“You’re not, you jerk.” Your shirt balls up into your fist.

You just want him— and you’re not exactly picky with how either.

One of your hands finds its way to your clothed pussy, lodging itself in between his crotch and yours before you begin to hump it, adding pressure on your clit from your middle and ring finger.

“What are you doing?” Eren asks quietly enough for his headset not to pick up his words.

“Nothing.” You whimper, continuing to rut yourself against your hand and taking in your boyfriend’s scent.

It’s not enough though, you know it’s not enough. In a way, you almost hate how Eren conditioned you to want his cock and his only. It’s so fucking big and pretty, he knows it too. The way you can feel that thick vein that protrudes angrily along his length rub against your g spot with every thrust. God, and how he splits you open is almost scary but you can’t get enough of it. Fingers, pillows, toys just don’t do it for you anymore— and your hand right now certainly wasn’t.

“C’n I put you inside?” You lift yourself lazily from his shoulder to look at him, pouting and flushed in the face. Eren sighs, before muting his mic once again.

“Will you behave? I’m serious, (Name). I’m not fucking you right now. Jean is recording for his channel.” He says.

“s’okay!” You perk up a bit. “Just wanna feel you.” You say.

“You say that then we end up fucking..” He sighs when he sees the sad puppy eyes you were putting on for him.

“Go on then, Get me hard.”

It’s been thirty minutes— thirty aching minutes of being stuffed full of Eren’s fat cock. Your panties have long since been discarded somewhere on the floor while his shorts and boxers are pulled halfway down his thighs. You know he can feel your walls fluttering around him every time one of you shifts even the slightest bit, and the most frustrating thing about it is: he doesn’t seem to be affected by any of this. Still ignoring you with his dick buried balls deep into your cunt. Every time you attempted to grind your hips down onto his, he would pinch your thigh hard enough to sting.

“Rennie,” You had tears pricking at your eyes at this point, all you wanted to do was cum but your boyfriend was being a jerk.

“Are you this insatiable? My god.” Eren asks.

“Please, Eren. I miss you.” You rolled your hips onto his.

“Fine. Use it, get yourself off. But I’m not helping you.”

Eren doesn’t have to tell you twice before you’re fucking yourself on his cock— quite literally using him as your own personal dildo. Your arms are wrapped snug around his neck, muffling your moans in his neck as you bounce yourself up and down on his shaft. The head of his cock hitting your cervix every time your hips slammed down onto his. The chair creaking underneath you both with your rapid movements was paired with soft sounds of skin slapping, your labored breathing, and whines. You’re almost certain his teammates can hear you, but it doesn’t matter to you. The only thing on your mind right now was using your boyfriend to get yourself off.

You feel your high form in the pit of your tummy, erupting like a volcano when you reach its peak. Your walls clamp around your boyfriend’s big cock— walls fluttering and clenching in erratic rhythms around his shaft. Your thighs are burning and shaking as you tried your best to silence your moans by biting down on his shoulder. Eren feels it all, he knows you just came but he’s still unbothered, his eyes locked on the screen. His body only moves slightly when you tug on his neck a little too hard. You’re limp in his lap, catching your breath when you hear Eren’s team call for a 10-minute break before resuming another session.

“Satisfied?” He asks, pulling back his headphones so they lay around his neck.

“You didn’t cum.” You say, your cheek slightly squished from his shoulder. Eren only shrugs and ushers you to get up by tapping on your thighs and you followed suit— lifting yourself off his cock. It falls heavy out of you, slapping softly onto his shirt glistening from your juices.

“Clean it.” He says.

You drop to your knees taking his shaft into your palm, dragging your tongue along his length making sure to flatten your muscle to cover more area. You look up through your lashes at Eren to see he’s on his phone— body relaxed with his arm rested behind his head, scrolling through Twitter. Ignoring you, again.

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock as you swirl your tongue around the flushed red tip— then taking as much as you possibly could into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to create a sucking sensation. The rest that couldn’t fit was being fisted by your hand.

“I said clean up your mess, not get me off,” Eren says, looking down at you instead of at his phone. You released him from your mouth with an explicit ‘pop.’

“Will you feed me, Eren?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. “‘m hungry.” Your hand continues to pump him lazily.

“Fuck- Yeah, I got something for you. Hold still.” Eren’s phone is long forgotten, his hand grabbing a fist full of your hair pulling your head back.

“Use both hands, yeah- stroke my cock, baby.” Eren’s moans sound breathless and pretty. You’re moving your hands up and down his dick at a rapid pace.

“Open your mouth. Said you were hungry, right?” Eren shoots his load onto your tongue unannounced— his thick ropes painting your pretty pink tongue white, some of it dripping down your chin. He’s looking down at you with lidded eyes and his bottom lip nursed between his teeth as he rides out his high with a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Your hands come to an eventual stop and you roll your tongue back into your mouth, swallowing your snack. Eren takes a finger, swiping it along your chin to gather the excess that didn’t make it into your tummy. You gladly taking his finger into your mouth sucking it clean.

“Now get out. I’m working.”

© all content belongs to rekiri 2021. do not modify or repost.

[bunni-bino]

Straw Hats With A Suicidal! Shipmate

message @pixelkittycomet » Hi, I love your stories/scenarios. I has an idea for my one piece fan character, (this is a bit touchy so idk) but I was curious how do you think luffy and the straw hats would react if their y/n crew mate tried to take their own life? Like they caught them just in time or something? Sorry if it's too serious.

-

Hello! First of all, thank you. And second, I wasn’t sure if this was a request, I don’t think it is- and I also took a look at your character and I think it’s really good. Also, wasn’t sure if you wanted together or separate.

I won’t dwell too much into this topic, since it’s very sensitive. I also changed it up a little bit. I did do something similar to this before though.

WARNING : mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, methods of suicide, self-harm, etc.

PLEASE USE CAUTION! NEGATIVITY AHEAD! PLEASE BE CAREFUL! I WILL NOT BE WRITING ANYTHING LIKE THIS AGAIN, I hope.

-

Luffy

LUFFY wouldn’t quite understand. He’s never had to lose a loved one like this before..

“[Name]?.. what are you doing?”

The loud gasp that escapes your lips is heard as you snap up with wide eyes and turn around to face your Captain, who’s staring at you with eyes just as wide as yours.

“Why are your hands bleeding? Did you get hurt?” His clueless tone and the tilt of his head makes your heart pound against your chest, quickly shifting to hide your hands from his sight.

“Luffy!- blood? I, I don’t see any blood. I’m fine, really. Why are you here again?”

“I.. came to see what the noise of crying was coming from.” He mutters out almost inaudibly, his eyes widening by the second at the slow realization.

You, hiding your hands with teary, puffy red eyes and the bloody water filled sink.

The first thing Luffy felt was rage.

You, of all people, were thinking of doing something like this? What could be so horrible to take it this far and deliberately hurting yourself?

And why didn’t he see this sooner, so he could stop it?

But instead of lashing out at you, he lowers his head to hide his face, and slowly walks towards you, before eventually jumping at you, and lunging to wrap his arms around your body, forcing the two of you onto the floor.

With his tight embrace around you, Luffy leans into your ear and you were able to hear his weak voice to you.

“I’m sorry..for not noticing sooner.. so please..” his voice cracks and you sensed he was crying with his frail, trembling voice.

“Please don’t hurt yourself anymore..”

-

Nami

Nami wouldn’t even know how to react, she’s just stunned but once realization hits, genuine fear and panic flashes in her eyes and she’s yelling at you desperately.

The navigator was simply hoping to rest and relax in the aquarium lounge.

So when she walks through the door, she’s not expecting the sight of you trying to take your own life.

“W-What are you doing...?!”

Quick to react, Nami pulls out her Clima-Tact and fires a lightning bolt towards the suspended tied rope before you could even stick your head through the loop, successfully burning the rope.

“Nami! What are you doing here? Why’d you do that?!”

Hearing you made her scoff in disbelief, glaring at you through her quick teary eyes.

“You’re asking me why I did that?! Are you listening to yourself?!”

If you still didn’t listen and insisted on arguing, Nami doesn’t hesitate to slap some sense into you.

“HOW STUPID CAN YOU BE!?”

It would be silent as soon as she slapped you.

“I can’t believe you’d even think about this!”

Her voice is weak and she’s trembling, yet her cries and glares didn’t falter for a second.

Tears continue to stream down her face as she wipes them away, before she lunges herself at you.

“Are you trying to make us suffer by doing this?! Did you even care to think how we feel? How I’d feel?..”

Her lectures didn’t stop, even through her sobs.

“Don’t you.. EVER, think about doing this again! Okay?!.. just.. just come talk to me.. you idiot..”

-

Zoro

Zoro tends to yell because he doesn’t know how else to comfort or cope, and it’s just the stress he’s feeling from almost losing you.

The swordsman let out a heavy sigh as he climbs up to the crows nest after taking a quick break for a drink.

As soon as his head pops up through the little door to enter, he’s startled to find you, playing with one of his swords.

Specifically, the Wado Ichimonji.

Though, perhaps “playing” wasn’t the correct term. Either way, the sight of you angling it towards your neck to slice was something that instilled pure paralyzation and shock into him.

“What..-“ Zoro sprung into action, immediately jumping to push the sword away from you, shoving you away and onto the couch of the crows nest.

The impact forced into you from the shove made you grunt, knocking the air out of your lungs as you peer up at your assailant.

“Zoro? What are you doing?!”

“That’s my line, dumbass! What the hell was that just now?! Huh?! Were you really planning on taking your own damn life here?!”

“Shut it! You have no idea what I was planning!” You retort and Zoro scoffs. “I think I had a pretty good idea.”

“Tch. Even then, it’s not your problem!-”

“Of course it’s my fucking problem, [Name]!” That shut you up.

Zoro let out a deep breath and stared at you with his piercing eyes.

“Did you even think about how the people on this ship would feel? If they saw you doing something like this?.. what about Luffy? Did you give a damn about how our dear captain would react if his precious crew member, that he took the time to know and recruit to his crew, took their own life without an explanation?”

You didn’t say anything. You felt the tears brimming your eyes at him but you couldn’t say anything.

“Damn it, [Name]..” The swordsman looks down, shadow casted over his eyes and the clenched fists he had made his nails dig into his skin, veins forming.

Eventually, he slowly relaxes and walks to you, seeing your teary eyes and knelt down in front of you.

“Don’t fucking do this again, okay?.. please.. please don’t leave me alone like this...”

-

Sanji

Sanji would burst into tears the instant he realized it, all the regret and pain burying itself into him for not noticing your pain. He’ll beg you to stop. But he’ll definitely be yelling / comforting too.

The chef who wakes early to get started on breakfast for the day, whistles a quiet tune while brushing away the morning drowsiness.

And due to his exhaustion, when he opens the kitchen door, he doesn’t believe his eyes at first, but a quick second glance lets him know it’s real.

Seeing you, standing over the sink with a common kitchen knife ready to cut. Definitely not vegetables.

“[N-Name]-chan... what..”

The panicked expression you held while you snapped your head up towards him made his heart break.

“Sanji! You’re up early..” Sanji watches as you frantically move to hide the knife and rinse your hands, as if you were merely washing up.

“I just thought I’d help you out a little bit is all! Since you’re here, let’s get started, yeah?” You let out a awkward, nervous laugh and turn off the water.

Sanji felt tears brimming his eyes when he realized just what you were about to do. “[Name]-chan.. were you.. just..”

He’s in utter shock and disbelief, the pained look his eyes held made your heart sink to your stomach at the sight.

“How can you do this? What happened? What made you even think of doing this?”

Sanji didn’t hesitate to rush to you, grabbing you by your shoulders and tightening his grip. “Tell me, [Name]! How can you go so far as to attempt to do this?!”

Tears are cascading down his cheeks rapidly, before he pulls you into his chest in a tight embrace.

“Please don’t lose value in your life like this, [Name]-chan.. you deserve to live.. don’t take this for granted..”

Sanji can feel his shirt start to get wet but he didn’t care, rubbing your back and hiding his teary face. “Whatever it is you’re suffering from, i will help you through it. I promise.”

-

Usopp

Usopp would be frozen and panicking in the spot, before shouting at you with pleas and blabbers, before forcing you by tackling you to the ground.

Seeing you standing on the edge of the railing catches the sniper off guard. He was simply leaving his room to go to the bathroom when he sees you.

The moonlight is shining down on your form, and if Usopp wasn’t so concerned and didn’t have a sinking feeling at the sight of you, he might’ve thought you were a goddess.

“[Name]? What are you doing up? Get down before you fall!”

Upon being deeply lost in thought, you barely heard Usopp’s voice but managed to catch it.

You turn around to face the sniper and you offer a weak, teary smile which startles the poor guy. “..Usopp.. I should ask you that.”

Instead of responding, he widens his eyes and runs over. “Hey, were you crying?.. why? What’s wrong, [Name]? Should I go wake the others? Or chopper?” He was internally panicking.

“I’m fine.” You cut him off and turn back to the sea, shifting your weight as your smile fades and you stare at the water below you solemnly.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Usopp, surprised, nonetheless nods and leans against the railing beside you, still hoping you’d come down.

“Usopp... will you.. let me die?.. will you kill me?”

Silence.

Frozen.

His body froze. His mind blanked. His blood stopped circulating. Nothing could be heard but the ocean waves washing around the sea.

Immediately, Usopp did the first thing that came to mind and ran at you, wrapping his arms tightly around your legs to prevent you from what he assumed was jumping.

“STOP! I WON’T EVER DO THAT! DON’T SAY STUPID THINGS LIKE THIS! HOW CAN YOU SAY THIS AFTER EVERYTHING WE BEEN THROUGH TOGETHER?! PLEASE DON’T DO THIS, [NAME]!”

Loud sobs were quick to escape the sniper’s mouth as snot and tears cascades down his face, roughly pulling you and tackling you down to the ship’s deck so you weren’t on the railing anymore.

“Agh- Usopp—“

“PLEASE DON’T EVER THINK THIS WAY AGAIN! I...” Usopp stares down at you before shutting his eyes tightly, tears flowing nonstops, his grip around you unmoving, as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you..”

-

Chopper

Chopper would be screaming and sobbing endlessly, hugging your leg as his desperate pleas reach your ears.

Humming a sweet tune, with a carton of milk in his hoofs, the little doctor steps into his medical office and instantly, his once bright smile drops into a look of horror.

“[NAME]!”

Milk tossed aside, Chopper is quick to come bouncing by you slouched over, a half-empty flask of a green liquid in hand and your shallow breathing behind heard.

“Ch..Chopper.. hi..”

The little reindeer has pure fear lit in his eyes as he takes the flask from your hands and looks to see what’s in it.

“Why did you touch this?! This is a dangerous chemical, [Name]!” Chopper panics, fumbling through his book to find a quick antidote, ignoring your weak protests.

How could you go through his things and drink the deadly chemical?!

“Chopper, stop..”

The little doctor wasn’t listening, tears blocking his vision as he tried to read the words and began mixing some of his liquids together to begin working.

“This,.. and this.. no, this isn’t right-! Where’s Traffy when I need him!?” Chopper cries as he frantically mixes the liquid, eyes flashing towards you in worry.

You didn’t say anything, closing your eyes and felt sweat forming on your forehead and felt your temperature raising.

Weakly, you manage to wrap your arms around Chopper’s little body and hugged him like a stuffed animal.

“Thank you, Chopper... I appreciate it.. but.. I’m fine.”

“[Name]...”

Choked sobs slipped from his mouth as he grips the flask tightly, persistent in finding the cure for you.

The chemical you took wasn’t completely unknown but it was still foreign enough to Chopper that he didn’t know how long you had or how deadly it even was.

“I’m not giving up. I don’t want you to die! I don’t know or care what brought you to do something as drastic as this. But YOU’RE MY FRIEND! and I don’t want you to leave me alone!”

“So please... don’t die, [Name]..”

-

Franky

The silence Franky has is painful, he’s feeling mixed emotions at the thought of losing someone dear to him again. He’s angry, clearly but he doesn’t yell at you. Instead, he shares his thoughts.

The cyborg stare solemnly, his sharp eyes boring right into your slouched, teary, and sobbing figure.

The blade that was once in your hands was now discarded, unused and forgotten. Franky made sure of that last second.

He walks up to you, looming over you from behind as he pulls out a tissue with his mini hand and holds it out for you to take, still keeping silent since he came in.

You eased your sobs a bit and muttered a quiet gratitude before taking the tissue. You weren’t sure what Franky was thinking and honestly, you weren’t sure if you wanted to know.

“..feeling better?”

A startled pause came from you as you froze for a second before relaxing and nodding. “..yeah.”

“Good.”

“Franky.. I-“

“I don’t need to know.”

Interrupting you, Franky continues to look at you before going around and sitting on the ground in front of your form so you would face him.

“I don’t know why you did this. I don’t need to know either, but if you want to tell me, I’ll listen. However, I won’t apologize for what I did just now, I won’t ever let you hurt yourself like that when I’m here.”

You stay quiet, letting Franky continue but his words are enough to make you start tearing up again.

“A life is not a choice. You should value it and keep living for the ones you love and for the ones that love you. Everyone on this ship is a loved one that cares about you and I’m sure you’re aware of that, but you must’ve forgotten. It’s okay to forget that though, because I’ll be here to remind you. Understand? No one on this ship wants you to do this ever. We love you more than you know.”

Wiping the shedding tears that continue to escape, you peer up at Franky and see him offering a genuine, assuring smile.

“So don’t do this again and live. You got an amazingly crafted and you are part of this SUPER~ pirate crew, the Straw Hats!”

-

Robin

Even if this has nothing to do with her whatsoever, Robin will never forget nor live down the guilt and regret of letting you even thinking about doing something like this.

Unable to sleep, the archaeologists was simply resting on her lawn chair on the upper deck, where her beautiful flowers laid.

Robin, resting her eyes as the sunset settles in the bay of the ocean, slowly disappearing. However, the quiet patter of footsteps creaking onto the upper deck made her open her eyes.

With one glance, Robin was able to see your figure quietly heading to a particular area of the garden, which was Usopp’s large plants, and also a view blocker.

Robin furrows her brows and quietly sat up, crossing her arms and shut her eyes, quickly forming a pair of eyes near you.

The sight of you hunched over, plucking at one of Usopp’s plants makes her eyes widen as she quickly sprouts arms.

“Cinco Fleur!”

Instantly, two pairs of arms formed and forcefully grabbed your wrists apart, a third pulling Usopp’s plant away from you and two more forcing you to back up.

“What the hell?!” You curse and struggled in the movement. “Robin?!”

“[Name]! What are you doing messing with Usopp’s poisonous plants?”

The historian shows herself to you as she continues to hold you in a bind, so you wouldn’t move. The pained and confused expression on her face almost makes you feel guilty, for you withheld.

“Poisonous? O-Oh, I had no idea. I thought they were vegetables!— Anyways why are you awake at this time??”

“I should be asking you that, picking vegetables at this hour?..” Robin mutters skeptically, tilting her head as her expression saddens.

“Don’t tell me you were...”

The turn of your head and avoidance of her gaze let her know your true intentions and she can almost hear her heart breaking.

“why?..”

You didn’t say anything and clenched your fists tightly, shutting your eyes and ignored the fact that she had released you.

“I’m sorry, Robin.. I can’t do this anymore..”

“To go this far? I didn’t think..” she continues to trail off, her eyes quickly becoming glassy and lost, painful memories of her own suicidal thoughts arising.

Robin sinks down to her knees and brings her hands to her face, tears brimming her eyes. “I don’t want you to do this, [Name].. you deserve so much and.. I want to keep seeing you on this ship.. I’m sorry.. I want you to keep living but I caused you to..”

Guilt became overbearing and you ran to her aside, engulfing her in a tight embrace, sniffling your own tears.

“Don’t, I’m sorry. For doing something so stupid with my life...”

Robin exhales gently and wipes her tears, looking up at you. “Say it.. please?”

You offer a small, genuine smile and nod.

“I want to live... I mean it.”

-

Brook

Brook feels great pain and sorrowful memories run through his mind, the thought of losing more precious people to him breaks his nonexistent heart.

The undead musician exits the bath, a towel wrapped around his hip bone to cover his lower regions and a towel tied around his hair at the top.

“Ah~ another refreshing wash from the bath.. I wonder how it’ll feel to bathe in a tub of milk.”

Brook’s walk was cut short as he notices you, attempting something quite dangerous that not even Luffy would try. Yet, something about it was familiar.

His eye sockets widen as he runs over. “[Name]-san!” Hearing the familiar voice, your startled self drops the object and it shatters instantly.

“Brook! You scared me!”

“Apologies... may I ask you what you were doing with that?..” Brook carefully asks, taking note of every action you made. He could feel how serious this seemed.

You bit your lip and turn away, kneeling down to pick up the pieces. “Nothing.. I just...”

‘Ah... I see.’

Distracted, you nearly jump when a few phalanges grab a hold of your wrist.

Brook’s tight grip forced your hold on the shattered pieces to release as he pulls it away and pulled you away from the mess.

“...” Even if you didn’t tell him, Brook already had a pretty good idea. He wasn’t stupid after all, his own crewmates often did similar things and it costed them their lives.

However, he could tell yours was intentional.

“Your life means more than you think.”

The skeleton spoke this as he begins to lead you to Chopper’s office, noticing you had cut your hand a bit.

“I don’t understand why anyone would take their own life deliberately like so.. no matter what the possible reason could be.. nothing is worth the attempt to take a life so precious, that you only have one of..”

Silence overtook you as you take in his words, feeling a swarm of emotions filling you inside.

“I won’t ask what’s going on but know that I and everyone else is always willing to listen...”

Outside Chopper’s office, Brook stops and turns to look down at you.

“[Name]-san. I’m sure you remember my backstory, right?”

You weakly nod, avoiding his gaze which he didn’t mind.

“Then you know that I am actually dead. However, I didn’t choose to die. Life chose for me.. and even with this devil fruit, I am given another chance at life, but at a cost.”

Tears were finally escaping you, silent sniffles being heard here and there as you continue to listen to him.

“Lives are not something to be taken lightly, and even if I am actually dead, I don’t regret this chance and am taking this opportunity to do better and I’m happier too. I’m with a new crew and family who I will protect and take care of, even if I die again to do so. You are one of them I will die for, if I have to.”

“[Name]-san.”

By then, you were a teary mess but that didn’t stop you from looking up at the tall musician as he offers his teethy smile.

“Remember. Your life means so much more than you think, hold more value for it. If you want to talk, I’m always here to listen and if you want a little song, I’m always happy to oblige.”

You muster up a weak smile through your tears as you nod and wrapped your arms around him tightly and gratefully.

“Thank you, Brook..”

His arms wrap around your smaller figure as he leans down more, smile softening as he chuckles.

“Yohohoho~! of course, any time.”

-

A/N : sorry this took so long, hun. Hope you still can see this when it posted it. I’m also sorry if it’s not great or what you expected.

I think the best one is Brook or Zoro.

[asahipleaseloveme]

Wait

A Part II to Threshold

Tsukishima x reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Author's Note: More Angst, but with a happier ending. Feedback is appreciated!

Warnings: mention of verbal abuse; mention of emotional abuse; alcohol consumption; let me know if I missed something and I'll add it

========================================

The period after a break-up has never been easy for you, and this one would surely be the one that you wouldn’t recover from. It had been a few months since you packed up and left Tsukishima all alone without an explanation. But the more you thought about it, the more evident it was that the signs were all there. And Tsukishima is a smart guy, you figured he could put two and two together. The arguing, the avoidance, the non-existent intimacy. He had to have known it was only a matter of time. He had to have known. He had to.

When you left, you tried to take everything of yours and leave everything of his. Even his old jersey he had gifted to you. You loved that jersey. It was such a thoughtful gift and in his own way, it was an act of love. You knew he loved when you wore it to games and everyone saw you wearing his name. He would always encompass you in a sweaty hug after the game and you reveled in it. Now, you can’t even watch him play anymore. You tried to watch a televised game once and had to turn it off before the first set even finished. It was too much for you. In fact, a lot of your daily routine was almost too much for you. Change was hard and you were still trying to get used to your new way of life. You avoided many of your favorite places in fear that you would bump into him. You honestly didn’t know how you could face him after everything.

“C’mon, ______. It’s been three months. Lingering on this isn’t helping you at all. Come with me to the arcade bar!” Your overly eager friend pushed.

“You know I can’t. What if I-”

“What if? What if what? You bump into him? There’s no rule that says you have to talk to him or that you even owe him an explanation. You can’t keep punishing yourself and depriving yourself of fun. You can’t live your life based on the “what ifs”. Start living by the “why nots”. Now, why not put on your favorite outfit and why not just come out with meeeeeeeeee.”

The more you thought about it, the more you couldn’t really fault their reasoning. It had been months since you had gone out and attempted to have fun.

You sighed with a smile, “I suppose you're right. I can be ready in 20.”

You were a ball of anxious energy until you finally reached your destination. An arcade bar was a pretty low key place. You could immerse yourself in a game and shut everyone out. It was a start anyway. You ordered your favorite drink at the bar and then went to find a game that was secluded in a corner. Galaga was the game you decided on as it seemed simple enough. The nice thing was that the bar was fairly empty so you didn’t have to worry about someone jumping in on the game when you went to get another drink. You were so focused on the game that you didn’t notice a tall figure occupying the game next to you. Once you lost your last life, the screen popped up that you had just earned the highest score.

“You’re pretty good at that game,” a familiar voice startled you. Your whole body froze up, your heart leapt up into your throat, you could feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. Was it the alcohol or the extreme guilt surging through your body? A combination of both you decided.

You turned to the figure standing next to you. It was hard to breathe, let alone form words.

“Tsukki-” you squeaked out in a little more than a whisper. Heart threatening to pound out of your chest, you turned fast on your heel.

“Wait,” he reached out and grabbed your wrist. The action caused you to stop and stare at his hand. “Sorry,” he said as he let go, “I just-I saw you and I...you...Can we go somewhere to talk?”

“We can talk right here,” your voice hoarse as though you’ve been yelling for hours.

“______, I’m not going to talk about what happened right here. We can-”

“If you want to talk, then we can do it right here. And if you’re going to make any snide comments or demean me, then I’m just going to walk out.” You weren’t sure where this surge of confidence came from, but you were grateful that it happened.

Tsukishima put his hands up, “I promise that is not why I came over here. And you have every right to walk away if I say something that offends you.” He lowered his hands down to his side, stuffing them into his pockets. “______, why? Why just walk away without saying anything?”

“You had to have known something was wrong between us, Tsukishima. The constant fights, the way you avoided me, the way you talked to me like I was a piece of garbage. I tried to bring it up, but you put up your walls and kept me out. One of us was going to leave eventually. And I don’t know if I could have handled walking into a half empty apartment. You’re stronger than I am, always have been. I figured it wouldn’t be as hard for you to adjust to it,” you stammered as you struggled to form coherent sentences.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and staring at you. “Ever since you left, I realized you mean more to me than anything else in this world. ______, I was an idiot. Still am, probably. I’ve had a lot of time to think. I was wrong. For many things. Insulting you. Ignoring you. Letting you think you were all alone in a place where you should have felt at home.”

He paused, a slight red brushing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “But I think the worst thing I did was keep my walls up while you broke yours down for me. I took for granted your love for me, and for that I was wrong.” He slammed his eyes shut and for a moment, it looked as though there were tears forming along his lids.

A moment of silence passed.

“______, you’re the best thing I never knew I needed. Please, can we try this again?”

“You don’t need me, Tsukishima. You never have, so why would we start now?”

For a slight moment, you catch a glimmer of desperation on his face.

“Maybe you’re right. I don’t need you, just like you don’t need me,” the words burned your heart hearing them come from his mouth. “But, ______,” he grabbed your hands. “I want you to be with me. I want you to be the one who comes to see me for lunch at work. I want you to be the one who greets me at the front door. The one who presses up against my back in the middle of the night. The one who I kiss goodbye to in the morning. I want it to be you who wears my jersey and cheers for me. Please, I just want you back,” his voice cracked.

You were taken aback. This is not what you were expecting from him.

“What happens when I mess up or we have a disagreement? Are you going to shut me out and we’ll just have a repeat of the last three months of our relationship? As much as I want the good times with you back, I don’t think I can handle anymore of the bad times. Do you know how hard it is to hear the person you love belittle and berate you? All I ever wanted was to make you happy, and I’m not sure I can do that anymore. I-I’m sorry,” you let your hands fall from his and move to walk past him.

He doesn’t try to stop you this time. He only stares at the floor with his head down. You walked past several arcade games before turning around once more to look at him.

“He’s trying, ______,” Tadashi leaned over to you. You didn’t even realize he was here, too. ‘He’s been working on it. He talks about you every day and what he would do if he could just have another chance with you. I’m not saying he deserves another chance, that’s ultimately up to you. I think you leaving really opened his eyes to what he had and just how badly he messed up.”

Tadashi's words seem to resonate with you. He has no reason to lie to you. He's always been a good friend to you. You stare at the back of Tsukishima's head for a good 30 seconds.

“I still love him,” you whispered as tears started to fall from your face. He was still standing in the same spot, opening and closing his fists. You took a deep breath and walked back over to him.

“Tsukishima,” you placed your hand on his elbow. “Tsukishima, I still love you. After everything, I still love you. What’s that stupid saying “if you love something let it go and” ugh, I can never remember the last part.”

“If it comes back it’s yours forever?”

“Yeah, that. I don’t know if I can promise forever. But I can promise to give you my best, if you promise to give me your best. And when we’re at our worst, we try to work through it together. We might have to take this slow to build up what we used to have. But, I’m willing if you’re willing. Why not?”

Tsukishima wrapped you up and buried his face in the top of your hair.

A wave of relief washed over you and peace was what you felt at the moment.

“I love you, ______.”

You texted your friend to let them know that you were leaving and thanks for the afternoon outing.

“You wanna come back to my place and watch a movie?” You asked Tsukki as you both walked out of the bar.

“I would like to, but I already told Yamaguchi I’d hang out with him today.”

“Hm, that’s too bad. I saw that they’re streaming the Jurassic Park Trilogy. Maybe another time, then?” You said as you continued walking. “Um, text me later if you want.”

He stopped in his tracks and pulled out his phone, “Well, I guess Yamaguchi will have to accept a rain check from me this time. He’ll understand.”

His long legs made quick work of catching back up to you. He ever so delicately interlocked his fingers with yours as you continued to your apartment.

Something about him was different. It was too soon to tell if it was a good kind of different, but you were willing to get acquainted with him again to find out.

[reidingandwriting]

"Deja Vu"

Word Count: ~2300 words

Ship: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader (ex/platonic?), Peter Parker x Michelle Jones

Warnings: A curse word or two, slightly OOC moments but it is fan-fiction so :)

A/N: I'm in love with this song and had to write this. Popped this baby out in 3 hours, and I'm pretty happy with it. Side note: I created my own timeline for this lmao. Morgan exists, but they don't live in the cabin. Reader is mentioned to be fem once or twice, but reads neutral besides that! Reader is Tony's kid but it could be read as adopted/his bio kid.

“One strawberry ice cream, just for you.” Peter said as he set the cup down in front of MJ, a single spoon dipped in the light pink dessert. MJ immediately started to eat as Peter took a seat beside her, and you and Ned were seated across from the couple at a local ice cream shop you had discovered. The one where you had taken him, where you had convinced him to try the strawberry ice cream instead of the vanilla he always got. You scooped a spoonful of your rocky road ice cream a little too aggressively, unable to eat your favorite ice cream flavor anymore.

“Thanks, Parker, it’s really good.” MJ said and Peter nudged her shoulder.

“Mind if I steal a bite?’

“Of course I mind.” MJ deadpanned and Peter blanched before MJ smirked at him. “Go ahead, loser. Just one.” MJ gave him a look and Peter saluted.

“Scout’s honor.” Peter took MJ’s spoon before he took a bite, and you barely held back the scowl as you looked over at Ned. He gave you a sympathetic smile and tapped his foot against yours under the safety of the booth. You brushed your shoulder against Ned’s while Peter and MJ were too entranced by each other to notice.

“If you get any ice cream on my jacket, I’m burning yours.” MJ’s words were menacing, but you all knew she was (mostly) kidding. Peter scoffed and held his hand against his chest in mock offense, the sleeves of MJ’s jean jacket comedically too short on Peter’s arms. MJ was dressed in Peter’s Midtown hoodie, the same one you had worn just a few months ago.

You thought it would have been funny to switch jackets, knowing your jacket would look funny on him, while you wore Peter’s oversized hoodie. And now here was MJ, wearing the same sweatshirt, while Peter wore her jacket. Have any original ideas, Parker?

“Earth to Y/N.” MJ waved her hand in your face, and you snapped back to the present. “You okay? You zoned out there for a minute.”

“Yeah, sorry. Morgan decided she wanted a sleepover last night, so we just had to build a pillow fort in my room, and that felt fantastic on my back. Almost as great as her practically laying on top of me all night.” You chuckled. “And you know I couldn’t move her, she’s got me wrapped around her finger.”

“And she knows it.” Peter said and you smiled over at him.

“Speaking of Morgan. She’s been asking me all week about if you want to come over sometime this weekend. She’s in a big Lion King phase, and she wants ‘her Petey’ to come have a pajama party with her and have a sing-along. She’s Nala, of course.” Ned snorted and Peter’s face fell.

“I can’t this weekend. MJ and I are having a Glee watch party this weekend, can you believe she’s never seen Glee?” Peter asked and you felt a pang of jealousy in your stomach.

“Oh, really?” You asked. Much like you hadn’t seen it either, until six months ago. “It’s pretty iconic, but also the worst show ever. Singing along is pretty fun, just being annoying. Really fun.” You thought back to when you and Peter were in your room, doing the same thing.

“Don’t stop believing!” Peter stood on your bed, using the remote as a microphone to serenade you. Peter looked at you expectantly, and you rolled your eyes before singing the next line, just as enthusiastically as he did.

“Hold on to the feeling!” Peter cheered and you couldn’t help but laugh at him. “You’re so annoying, Parker.”

“As annoying as this show?”

“Almost.”

“Then I’m not quite done yet.”

“Raincheck next weekend, maybe?” Peter asked and you shrugged.

“I’ll have to check with Madame Secretary. She’ll likely be over The Lion King by next weekend, it’ll be ‘baby stuff.’” Your phone buzzed and you excused yourself before checking the text.

Iron Dad: Hey, kid. Are you busy?

You: A little. Why?

Iron Dad: Pep and I have an emergency meeting for work, and Happy’s sick so he can’t watch Maguna

You: I’m on my way. Give me five to say goodbye

Iron Dad: Thanks, Y/N/N. We owe you one

You: You owe me several. Love you

Iron Dad: Love you tons

“I’m sorry, guys, duty calls.” You smiled, albeit a little sadly, at your friends. “I’ll see you Monday at school?”

“We better. We have a project in chemistry due on Monday.” Ned said and you flipped him off.

“Science is my best class, you know I’ve had the project done and Dr. Banner approved since the project was announced in class.” You winked at Ned before waving at MJ and Peter. “See you later, lovebirds.” You internally cringed when ‘lovebirds’ came out more bitter than you intended. With goodbyes exchanged, you left the ice cream parlor, and you bit back the tears you felt beginning to build up. Did he feel it, too? Did he remember that you did that, too? Was he ever going to tell her all the ‘unique’ things Peter’s done were reused, that you had found them first? You wiped at your eyes before you hailed a taxi, and you shoved all your feelings down to be at your best for your little sister.

--

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Morgan barreled down the hall when you stepped out of the elevator, and you barely bent down to catch her in time as she collided with you.

“Morgan, Morgan, Morgan!” You scooped your sister up into your arms and peppered her face with kisses until she was laughing, and your mood immediately lifted at the sound. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“Mom’s at work, Dad’s in his room. He’s leaving us.” Morgan pouted and you copied her expression.

“Oh, no. You’re stuck with me tonight. Too bad I’m not tall enough to reach the juice pops in the freezer.” You gasped. “Oh, wait. I am!” Morgan thrusted her fist into the air with a cheer, and you set her down. “I need to go talk to Dad real quick, then we can do almost whatever you want.” You emphasized the almost, knowing she’d ask for something you definitely shouldn’t do, then argue that you said ‘anything.’ You definitely saw a career in law for her when she got older.

“Kay-kay. I’ll go get coloring books, then we get juice pops?”

“Deal.” You offered your pinky out, and she linked pinkies with yours before she ran off to her room. You shook your head fondly before you walked off to your dad’s room, and you knocked on his door before coming in. “Dad?”

“Hey, kiddo. Come on in, I’m just packing a few things for Pep.” You walked over to the bag your dad had packed, and you began to inspect everything. “Have I been approved?”

“I think I need a hug before giving approval.” You opened your arms and your dad happily pulled you into his chest, and he held you close, as if he could sense your feelings.

“Are you okay? Do I need to stay?” Tony rubbed your back and rocked you gently, and you buried your face deeper into his chest, your eyes watering and you gripped his shirt tighter, a habit you developed when Tony first took you in- you always grabbed onto him like he was your security blanket, and Tony quickly learned there was no use in getting you to let go until you were ready.

“No, I’m okay.” Your voice was muffled but you made no effort to move yet. “Mom needs you.” You paused. “You’ll be back soon, right?”

“Luckily we’re just headed to the New York headquarters. I hope we’re home by midnight, but I’ll tell you when we find out for sure.” You nodded and let go of your dad, and he brought his hand up to cup your cheek, and he wiped your tears away with his thumb and the action almost made you cry again. “Ben and Jerry’s and sad movies when I get back, or should I get a few punching bags set up in the gym?”

“Ben and Jerry’s.” Tony nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you patted his arm, telling him he could continue packing. “ Don’t forget Mom’s favorite lipstick. She always keeps one on her, but you can never be too safe.”

“Lifesaver.” Tony said before he went back to packing.

“I should go check on Morgan, let you finish getting packed.” You said and Tony smiled at you, a softness in his eyes reserved solely for you, Morgan, and Pepper.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best big sister?”

“I do my best.” You smile back before leaving. Fingers crossed she hadn’t made a mess already.

--

You laid in bed, scrolling through your camera roll with tears streaming down your cheeks. You pressed play on a video and let out a choked sob as you watched. You and Peter were seated at the piano in the living room, and your fingers moved gracefully across the keys, playing one of your favorite songs that Peter had begged you to play for him. The familiar sounds of Billy Joel’s ‘Uptown Girl’ filled your ears, and you sang along as you played. You turned to Peter, nodded at him, and he began to play the same song after you. You hugged him at the end of the song, grinning since he had finally learned it, and you began to play it again, Peter joining you in singing along. Not even that was reserved for you and him anymore, as you had learned recently.

“I didn’t know you played.” You said as MJ took a seat at the piano, Peter seated beside her.

“Oh, I just learned. Peter taught me the one song he knows how to play.” Your heart sank and now Ned was curious.

“What song?” Don’t say it, don’t say it.

“Uptown Girl.” MJ began to play, and you felt your lip begin to tremble. Your song. The one you had taught him. You looked away as Peter quickly pressed a kiss to her cheek after the first chorus, and he whispered something into her ear. You turned to Ned and dove deep into a conversation, refusing to cry in front of them.

You jumped when you heard a knock on your window, and you grabbed the baseball bat you kept by your bed. You would have called for Bucky or Sam, but the pair were off on their own mission. You got out of bed, wiping away your tears, and you walked to the window, bat at the ready. “FRIDAY, who’s getting knocked to next year with my bat?”

“It appears Peter Parker is the one outside your window.” Peter? Of course it was.

“Lights on dim, FRI.” You set the bat down and opened the window, and Peter popped into view. “Peter? What the hell? You almost gave me a heart attack, dude.”

“I’m sorry, I know, sorry. I didn’t plan on coming out here, but I needed to talk to you.” You gestured for Peter to come in, and you suddenly realized how you had to look to him. You were in a shirt you had stolen from Thor- what? His shirt got mixed up with yours, finders keepers. You were in an old pair of sweatpants that were covered in various stains- paint from Morgan, some grease from Tony’s lab, and a bleach mark from where you and Peter were goofing around in the lab and you spilled some mystery chemical on your pants. And let’s not even talk about your puffy eyes and the tear marks on your cheeks from a night of crying.

“About what?” You sat on your bed, eyes not meeting Peter’s.

“About earlier at the ice cream parlor. You seemed really… spaced out. Not yourself. And I caught you scowling once.”

“I didn’t scowl.” You tried to defend yourself but you sighed, knowing he was right.

“And ever since MJ and I started dating, you’ve just seemed different. You’re not, like, jealous, are you?” And you couldn’t help but laugh. Truly laugh, which caused Peter’s brows to furrow. “What’s so funny?”

“You think I’m jealous! Why should I be jealous?” Peter frowned at how you weren’t taking him seriously, and he was confused.

“You know, we had… a thing. Not that we dated, but I mean, we were really close you know.”

“Oh, I know.” Like a switch, your emotions flipped from sad to frustrated in seconds. “And I’m seeing all these ‘things’ we had all over again.” It was Peter’s turn to start getting irritated, and he crossed his arms.

“Oh, really? Like what?”

“Strawberry ice cream at the parlor, you can’t act like we didn’t do that. Trading jackets, we did that shit too. Teaching her piano when I taught you, how do you not get deja vu?” Peter opened his mouth to talk and you held your hand up. “You’ve got a different girl, but there’s nothing new. I discovered those places you take her, I showed you Glee, I taught you the jokes that you tell to her. When are you gonna tell her? She thinks it’s special, but it’s all reused. I know I get deja vu, don’t you?” You had started to cry again, and Peter started to defend himself until FRIDAY spoke.

“Y/N, your father and mother have returned home. You may want to continue this conversation later.” You looked at Peter who wordlessly nodded. He walked to the window, and he paused before he spoke.

“We’ll talk Monday after patrol. Bye, Y/N/N.” You whispered goodbye before he left and you shut the window before you dropped to your knees, letting out broken sobs.

“I get deja vu when she’s with you…”

[wheeier]

no taking back

summary: it was only fun and games. but steve had other plans.

warnings: modern au, tooth-rotting fluff i guess, little but of swearing

+ olivia rodrigo’s sour album (stream besties), the movie tangled at the end because it just radiates as a comfort movie

yes a modern au !!! i just saw this on tiktok (the sour part, but the rest was my idea!) and thought it was so cute so it gave me an idea to make it as a fic, enjoy !!!

steve harrington x fem!reader

olivia rodrigo’s new album just released and you were thrilled to listen to it and stream it the whole day.

when you finally got to listen to it, you asked your friends—robin, nancy, and the party, if they listened to it and which ones were their favorites.

robin told you that her top three were hope ur ok, jealousy, jealousy, and brutal.

nancy said she really loved favorite crime.

max said hers was also brutal.

el told you that she played good 4 u and traitor on repeat that hopper had to go into her room to turn it down.

when mike comes over to the cabin he can assure that el does indeed play them on repeat and get pissy about it (but he secretly loves the album, but he wouldn’t let her or anyone know that).

and lastly lucas and dustin are fans of deja vu and 1 step forward 3 steps back. max even told you that they would sing the bridge of deja vu on the top of their lungs.

you slightly laughed at the memory of them telling you about it.

however, there’s one more person that you haven’t talked to about it yet.

steve.

your smile faltered and faded when he came across in your mind.

your feelings for him had deepened over the time and listening to the sour album made it feel like you two had broken up, which in fact, is not true because you were never together in the first place.

suddenly, an idea popped in your head. instead of being sad about steve, you thought about texting him, although it’s almost 1AM, you knew he’d still be up.

Sailor Man

You: hey

You: u up?

Sailor Man: duh

Sailor Man: this has been our nightly routine u always bother me when i’m about to go to sleep

You: fuck off

You: don’t pretend that you’re not binge watching outer banks until 4am

Sailor Man: i’m not?!?

You: yeah right

You: anyways

You: can u do me a favor

Sailor Man: will i get free pizza afterwards

You: no

Sailor Man: k

You: what the fuck

You: fine

Sailor Man: hehe

Sailor Man: what’s the favor ;)

You: dont get me started with that winky face i swear ure so dead when i see you at the wheeler’s house tomorrow

You: have you listened to olivia rodrigo’s new album

Sailor Man: ohh the bitter album?

You: ITS SOUR DUMBASS

Sailor Man: I DONT KNOW?!?

You: I CANT DO THIS HJAGSK

Sailor Man: shut up

Sailor Man: i’ve heard some of the songs but i haven’t fully listened to them

Sailor Man: why

You: can you like

You: ask me to be ur girlfriend then break up with me right after so i can experience and actually feel the whole sour album

Sailor Man: what

You: just do it !!

Sailor Man: you’re so funny (y/n/n)

Sailor Man: okay

Sailor Man: will you be my girlfriend?

You: yes !!!

You: ...

You: hello

You: dont tell me u fell asleep

Sailor Man: i’m not doing the last part you might as well forget about it

You: wjat

Sailor Man: :D

You: wtf

You: okay steve cut it out i’m not doing this anymore u’re not funny

Sailor Man: nope

Sailor Man: go to sleep we’re dating now that’s how this works

Sailor Man: okay i dont know if you’re still reading this now and i am terrified to say this to you in person like TERRIFIED. might piss my pants if i did. so (y/n/n), my favorite dumbass, my favorite person to talk to at night even if it interrupts my binge watching marathon, you make me so happy to the point that even when i sleep you’re still in my dreams. i like you. i have like the biggest fattest crush on you. and thank you for doing that sour album thing or whatever, because of that i get to finally ask you out

you rolled on your back after you read the message, facing the ceiling as your mind processed what just happened. was he playing with you? was he actually serious about asking you out?

Incoming video call...

Sailor Man

you took a deep breath before tapping the green button and placing it back down on the bed.

“hey,” you can tell that he was tired based on his voice. “can you show your face, please? i miss you.”

ignoring the butterflies in your stomach, you hesitantly lifted the phone and shifted your position to lay on your side. “hey.”

“hey yourself.” steve grins. that stupid grin that makes your stomach turn, that grin you always want to see everyday.

“what’s..up?” you avoided looking at him and started to admire your surroundings and the posters placed on your wall. this was the only time you were glad you weren’t with him in person.

“i just wanted to see if you’re okay.” of course he will ask that. he's steve. he cares about other more than himself.

“i am, thanks.” you showed a smile that doesn't reach your ears and steve knew something was bothering you. “hey, look. i'm sorry about my confession- if it made you uncomfortable i'm sorry-”

“no,” you cut him off, looking back at his face on the screen. “i’m fine, really. you don't have to apologize. i was just, surprised.”

there was silence between the two of you for a few seconds, before you spoke again. “did you mean it?” you voice was only above whisper but steve managed to hear them. “of course,” he answered almost too quick, without any hesitation. “i've been trying to find the perfect opportunity and had been asking god for signs because i can't make a move myself-”

“asking god?” you chuckled and steve smiled hearing them, glad that he somehow lightened the mood. “well, more like begging.” he continues and you giggled.

once your laughter died you both fell into silence again. you still couldn’t believe that out of a fun joke, it would turn into a whole another situation. “so, um.. just so you know, i’m not mad, or upset, or anything. i really was just surprised. it felt like a dream because i didn’t know that you like me back and all i did was just supposed to be a fun joke but—”

“hold on, back?”

“what?”

“like you back. you said i like you back.” steve sat up on his bed and fixed his hair as his eyes widened. “i did...” you said slowly, not catching up.

“does that mean you..”

then it hit you. “oh, right. yeah. i- i like you..too.” you waited for his reaction and once you saw him smile you couldn’t stop yourself from doing the same.

“i knew it. and well, i guess that confirms it. we’re dating now. no taking back.” he smirks then laughs when your rolled your eyes. “don’t flatter yourself, harrington. i did not say shit.” you pointed your index finger on the screen, barely containing your giggles.

“based on your beautiful smile i think you don’t need to say it. i like you, and you like me. we’re dating.” steve gives you a teasing smile. you tried keeping your serious face but it won’t last longer so you finally smiled again. “alright, fine. no taking backs. we’re dating.” you said then laughed as he whisper-yelled ‘yes!’ while fist pumping the air.

he soon joined your laughter and you stayed like that until your jaw was pretty much in pain because of your smiles. when it was all quiet again, you both just admired each other’s presence through the screens of your phones. “i wish i was there with you.” he mumbles. “yeah, me too.” you hugged your cold pillow beside you, closing your eyes for a moment and imagining it as steve.

“are your parents home?”

you snorted at his random question. “i’m actually alone right now, they’re out because dad got promoted at his work so he and mom and i think a few friends went out to celebrate. they should be home by an hour or two. why?”

“nothing.” was all he said before hanging up. you were left confused but then he’s your best friend after all, so you knew right then and there that he’ll do something stupid. after you turned your phone off you suddenly felt watching a movie so you went to the kitchen to make some popcorn.

when it was finished and had been put in a bowl, that’s when you heard your doorbell rang—in a pattern which you recognize, and only one person does that.

you let out a quiet laugh when you realized who it was and set the bowl on the counter before opening the door.

“hi!” steve greeted you with a smile. “uh, hi?” you laughed nervously and stepped aside for him to go in. “i smell popcorn, are we having a movie night?” he says as he steps inside and shrugged off his jacket. “actually yeah, i’m planning on watching—”

“tangled.” he finishes off, you subconsciously smiled upon hearing your favorite movie. “how’d you know?”

steve snatches a few popcorns from the bowl as you both arrived in the kitchen. “(y/n), you have watched that movie 7 times this week and always gush to me about it.”

“well, you’re the only one that is around my age that i can talk to with that movie. robin and nancy aren’t that into it.” you replied, grabbing the bowl and making your way back to your bedroom, steve following your heels. “and you think i’m the best option to talk to about that?” he asks, plopping down on your bed and resting his back on the headboard.

“you’re not complaining.” you shrugged as you grabbed your laptop and sat beside steve.

“yeah, probably because i like you.” it came out of his mouth casually. you froze in place and felt your cheeks heat up, finally nodding your head slowly, “..probably.” as you typed in the movie in your laptop you felt steve scoot closer, making your breath hitch.

you were both in a comfortable silence while watching the movie, except for a few jokes and comments that steve makes and him explaining how similar he was to flynn rider.

“you know, since i’m eugene, you could be rapunzel.” he suddenly says. you eyes were still on the screen but your eyebrows furrowed. “why? i’m nothing like her.”

finally looking at steve, you almost screamed how he was already looking at you. “oh, you are so rapunzel. you may not have the longest hair in the world, but you are pretty much similar.” he replies, smiling and not taking his eyes off of you.

you paused the movie and shifted your body towards him, intrigued by his explaination. “how so?”

“well, first off,” steve starts, resting his hands on the soft mattress. “you’re both sweet, you’re both a huge ray of sunshine, have gorgeous eyes and smile, and eugene is head over heels over you — and since he doesn’t exist in real life, i’d like to be the substitute.” he finished with a confident smile.

after about three seconds, you burst out of laughter. you laughed. as much as he loves the sound of your laugh, he can’t help but pout. “(y/n), i’m trying to be sweet here!”

“i’m sorry!- it’s just- i can’t help but laugh at your flirting.” you managed to say between your laughs. you know he’s kidding but he looked at you like he was offended.

your laughter died down and held steve’s face. “it’s cute, sorry.” you mumble with a little laugh. when he finally smiled you turned to your laptop and continued the movie.

steve gazes at you for a few more seconds before watching the movie with you again. “thank you.” you whisper, glancing at him.

“you’re very much welcome, my rapunzel.” he says smiling before he slides a bit down on the bed so his head could reach your shoulder and rests it there.

you giggled as you heard him whisper,

“thank you, olivia rodrigo.”

[chubmins]

candy bear, sweetie pie (i wanna be adored)

cw: feederism, belly kink, weight gain, burping, brief mention of body image regarding jimin’s family, streamer!jimin. 

“hello there... it’s manggae.” 

jimin’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he laid back on one of his hands and appraised the rapidly growing influx of messages on his live’s chat. they weren’t quick enough that jimin would lose track, but nowadays he would have to scroll back up to catch something he missed a few times. his audience had been growing. 

“you missed me? cute. it’s only been a week.” his full lips stretched in a smile his viewers would be able to see and fawn over. jimin always positioned himself carefully, camera catching him perfectly from the lips down — not because he didn’t want the audience to see his face, they had seen him a handful of times now, but because he wanted his body to be the main focus. 

and his body explained why his nickname on the streaming website was manggaetteok. 

jimin had always liked to eat. growing up in an extremely rich family, food had never been an issue — until it started being taken away from him by parents and nutritionists who believed his chubby cheeks were something to be ashamed of. jimin spent his teenage years on diets, pills and stinky gym bathrooms. he almost started hating his body as much as his parents did. 

until he moved out. was moved out, to be more precise — an apartment bought for him in the heart of gangnam, too big for just one person, way under-decorated to look like a homel. jimin was twenty and out of his parents' claws for the first time in his life. 

it didn’t take him more than a year to figure out the most crucial things about himself: he prefered boys over girls, silk robes and lace over black pressed suits, and he very much prefered to stay home and order food to going out to a new bar every friday night.

jimin turned into the perfect definition of a homebody; and, soon enough, of a foodie. 

he didn’t hold back when it came to food, and the results of his indulgence after years of restriction showed on his body rather quickly. at least his parents were right about one thing — he really was prone to gaining weight, and a lot of it. 

sitting now on the floor of one of the three bedroom’s in his apartment, the one he had slowly decorated to be his streaming studio, jimin weight gain is nothing if not noticeable. nicely placed down on his fluffy baby pink carpet with thighs spread as wide as they would go, his belly hanged almost touching the floor. it looks so soft and pudgy now, bulging forward in an almost perfect round dome even when it’s empty. he has pink stretch marks from the top of his jiggly thighs to right under his belly button, which has gotten deep enough for jimin to fit and poke his entire pinky finger inside. his flabby tits rest nicely on top of his swollen gut, round puffy nipples a pretty light brown on display. 

“remember when i’d dress up all cute and pretty for these lives?” jimin practically purred at the camera, both hands heading to his breasts so he could squeeze and jiggle them while chuckling. “my bras don’t fit me anymore… i need to buy new ones.” 

as if on cue, the silent notification bar that signaled new donations started popping up repeatedly, each time with a different amount of the website’s currency he’d get to convert to real money later. jimin chuckled again, he knew how to play this game too well. he had indeed grown out of most of his fancy silk and lace lingerie, but he also didn’t want to repeat the same ones he’d still fit into. that being said, he had decided on his fit for today as being a pair of baby blue silk shorts that barely covered his ass when he stood up, and a matching silk choker with a small emerald pendant.  

“well, well, look at that! seems like i’ll have some new lingerie to show you guys soon.” His hands moved away from his body before he could get too excited, and moved towards the tray he had off camera. 

with a little bit of maneuvering, he pulled the traw towards himself until it was in between his massive thighs and the camera, positioned just so that his body wouldn’t be too covered up and his belly would still be on display. 

“as you can see” jimin praticaly purred, “i followed your requests and got a full american breakfast. there are pancakes,” he pointed at each and every item as he spoke, mouth watering just thinking about how he was finally going to eat “eggs, sausages, muffins, bagels and a berry smoothie.” 

that was probably enough food to feed a family of four — the chat flooded with excited messages of how they couldn’t wait to see jimin eating it all. at first his viewers’ excitement would startle jimin a bit, but now? now he lived for it. 

after all, he’d always get as excited as them. 

“should i start with the pancakes? they’re still warm.” he asked, reading all the messages he could, all of which were encouraging him to start eating.

jimin reached for the pancakes. there were six of them in total, fluffy and golden brown with melted butter running down on all sides. jimin’s fork was quick to make work through the first three layers as he balanced the plate on top of his belly, and once the big bite was inside his lips he moaned unashamedly. 

“fuck… so good.” he barely finished chewing before he pushed more inside his mouth, closing his eyes in bliss. “i could eat this everyday. imagine how much bigger i’d get.” 

his viewers got off on that, as he came to learn very quickly after starting to stream himself eating. jimin’s primary goal certainly wasn’t to gain weight, but it did keep the cash coming and he didn’t mind the plushness one bit. just a small price to pay for all the food he shoved inside himself, and he did look hot with all the extra pounds. jimin continued to shove the pancakes inside his mouth, barely chewing before swallowing, moaning almost obscenely throughout the whole process. it didn’t take more than five minutes for him to polish the whole stack. 

“kinda wish i had ordered more” he pouted, putting the plate away and lightly slapping his still very empty gut. the donations started popping up again, messages telling him to order more right at that instant, to order ten times more next week. “don’t worry everyone, i still have a lot more to eat!” 

jimin reached for the bagels next — there were 9 of them in a box alongside 4 muffins of various flavours, and jimin had started alternating between them while answering some of his viewers questions. 

“last time i went on a date? that was a couple months ago, actually” he answered between bites of a blueberry muffin. “made him take me to an all you can eat buffet, ate like a pig. had to unzip my pants for dessert and all...” jimin licked his fingers clean, making a little show out of it before reaching for the last bagel and all but eating half of it in one big bite before continuing in a lighthearted tone, cheeks full. “probably freaked him out, he never called again.”

the story was only partially true — taehyung had taken him to an all you can eat buffet for their first date, but he also had called again. they were dating, in fact, but had made an arrangement to keep it from jimin’s subscribers. as much as jimin didn’t mind showing his body and face online for thousands to see, his private life remained private, and he was a firm believer that nobody needed to know his real name, the city he lived in or his relationship status. 

“i need something savory, now. those muffins were really sweet.” jimin sighed, taking a big sip from his berry smoothie. one of his chubby hands played with his belly, caressing around the belly button before lifting the fat mass and letting it fall, sighing at the way it jiggled back into place. the movement dislodged a gas bubble, and he could hear the gurgling noise coming up his throat and feel the pressure on his chest right before letting out a loud belch. 

“oh, yeah… that felt good.” another burp made its way out right then, shorter and deeper than the first one. jimin bit his lip and smiled, playing coy. “excuse me!” 

he reached for the eggs, three full plates with enough spicy sauce on top that it dripped down Jimin’s chin at his first bite. he didn’t clean it at first, too preoccupied with stuffing his face until he could barely chew with his mouth closed. jimin still had a few steps to take before he felt actually full, but his stomach definitely felt a little bit harder at the top, now. he ate the first two plates mostly in silence aside from the casual moans and loud slurps from the berry smoothie, lips feeling tingly and swollen from the spice. 

“you guys remember last time i ate this spicy sauce, right?” jimin smiled, going for the third and last plate. “that day with the ten hamburguers. i downed almost the entire bottle with them, got so gassy afterwards. couldn’t stop burping.” the memory makes his comment session go crazy, talking about how hot it was, how he should do it again. jimin chuckles, happy his viewers don’t mind how much of a pig he can be sometimes.

he continues eating, barely stopping to breathe — there’s still two dishes to get done with, and his stomach is starting to protest about the eggs he just ate.  

“hmm… tummy is talking, you guys hear that?” jimin all but shoves a finger inside his belly button, moving the digit around in a movement that could almost be considered obscene. he feels so good, exposed like this, stomach gurgling away the fullness.

the donations keep coming at a fast rate as jimin keeps eating, pace much slower than when he first started with the pancakes, lips greasy and adorned with crumbles. his hands find his belly a plethora of times, caressing the stretched out skin, pressing against the swelled up gut as he unashamedly lets out moans and sighs of pleasure. that’s how jimin, sooner rather than later, finds himself out of food to eat, only half of his smoothie left. 

“so full…” he groans, leaning back to expose his full, rounded out fat belly. it gurgles audibly then, jumping out in an abrupt movement as jimin’s lips fall open and he belches again, a long and wavering deep noise that sounds both disgusting and relieving. only then he reaches off camera for a tissue box, cleaning his fingers and then his lips and double chin, laughing as he spots some muffin crumbles on his chest and wipes them away carelessly. 

“that was so—” jimin is interrupted by a small burp, cheeks puffing up cutely. “so good. but i can’t help but feel like i could pack more in here.” he pats his belly kinda harshly, the slapping sound loud inside his room. “should i go for 10 pancakes next time? or maybe only have pancakes, a huge stack of them… ah, bet i could eat 20.” 

the chat is, as always, extremely encouraging. the donations start coming at a surprising speed again, some messages attached about how the money is for his future grocery trip and for him to buy double of everything. jimin bathes on the attention for a little longer, answering some questions while trying to soothe his ful, oversized belly, chuckling every now and then and pointing out the gurgling noises it makes as it tries to process all the food he just ate.

he was not lying, though — it does feel like he could pack more if he tried. but that’s a thought for next time, and jimin stores it for next week’s stream as he bids goodbye and claims it’s time for him to get into his food coma and digest so he can come back even fatter. 

“this has been manggae… until next time, guys!”

[goldenraeofsun]

Good Ideas

1.5k of canon-divergence fluff, now on AO3!

Dean is almost finished with his standard gun cleaning (once a week whether they need it or not) when footsteps approach from outside his bedroom door. Heavier than Eileen but lighter than Sam - must be Cas. 

“What an awful day,” Cas sighs as he practically throws himself onto Dean’s prized memory foam mattress. He doesn’t even take his shoes off first, like an animal.

“Hello to you, babe,” Dean says, amused. He raises his head to fully look at Cas, now face planted into his pillow. Dean would like to say it’s unusual to see Cas this drained and frustrated after another shift at the Gas n Sip, but it’s become pretty much standard. And, because not-that-deep-down Dean’s a shitty person who lucked out and got a (fallen) angel to fall for him, he can’t entirely squash the pleased feeling in his gut that flares up every time Cas comes home to him, no matter the circumstances.

“Hello, Dean,” or that’s what Dean assumes Cas is saying, based on their past million and a half conversations over more than a decade.

Dean carefully sets down his colt and pads over to the bed. He takes a seat near Cas’s shins, the mattress slowly but surely dipping as it remembers Dean’s distinctive ass print. “What happened?”

“Humanity is stupid.”

Dean snorts. “Don’t have to tell me twice. What’d humanity do this time?”

Cas turns his head so he can glare balefully down at Dean with one brilliant blue eye. “Todd refilled the soda machine incorrectly. We had to reimburse ten customers who poured the wrong drinks despite the clear signs indicating the buttons were temporarily incorrect.”

“What a disaster,” Dean deadpans.

Cas groans a stream of indistinguishable words that might not even be English - knowing him, he’s probably insulting Todd’s mother ancient Aramaic or something - before he concludes, “It was a very uncomfortable situation. Todd is an imbecile.”

“Want me to kill him for you?” Dean asks casually.

Cas’s whole torso inflates with the depth of his sigh. “No,” he says, but the word is muffled and has zero conviction behind it.

“Come on,” Dean pokes Cas in the thigh. “You were the one who wanted this job in the first place. All the ‘human dignity’ you could choke down and all that crap.”

“I must’ve been mistaken.”

“Whatever you say, man,” Dean says, grinning as Cas rolls over so he’s lying normally on Dean’s bed. “Y’know, you could always do something else. Quit the Gas n Sip.”

“Like what?” Cas asks as he frowns up at the ceiling. “I don’t have much experience except in inventory management and customer service.”

“What about all your angel stuff?”

“I can hardly list ‘former Angel of the Lord’ on my resume,” Cas grumbles.

“You’ve got all those languages crammed in your brain, serious hand-to-hand skills - I could teach you all I know about cars, and you can add that.”

Cas gives a considering grunt.

“Look,” Dean says as he scoots further up the bed so he’s more aligned with Cas’s chest than his knees. “You were the one who was all gung-ho about getting a job to interact with normal people.”

“I needed a better baseline now I’m human because you and Sam are not ‘normal’ by any definition of the word,” Cas sniffs.

“Rude. Anyway, I told you to take things slow. So your first stab back at slumming it with regular folks isn’t going so great. Sometimes these things take a while to settle down,” Dean says, uncomfortably reminded of the time he had to comfort Sammy after three piano lessons didn’t turn him into the next Geoff Nicholls - or Elton John, as Dean had to amend after Sammy shot him a look of complete incomprehension.

“You don’t have to throw yourself into anything,” Dean adds gently to Cas. “We’ve got no big bad waiting out in the wings. It’s okay to take things one step at a time.”

“Because you provide such an excellent model of restraint and forethought,” Cas mutters.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Obviously. You don’t see me jumping back into Leave it to Beaver.”

“Because that’s not what you want,” Cas says, his eyes narrowing. “You said civilian life isn’t for you.”

Dean swallows. He pulls at a wrinkle in the sheets. “You so sure about that?”

Cas props himself up on his elbows, intrigued. “You’re truly considering retiring from hunting?”

Dean glances over at his guns, disassembled and gleaming on his desk. “I’ve been thinking about it. Sammy doesn’t go on many hunts anymore, says it’s more important to teach the next generation of fighters than handling everything by ourselves.”

“A wise thing to say, considering the limitations of the average human lifespan.”

“And you wonder why we never bring you to parties,” Dean says as Cas scowls in return, really only proving Dean’s point. “I’ve been looking into other stuff to do.”

“Like what?”

“Not sure,” he admits. “Sam’s got his Hunter Hogwarts thing going on - I could help Sam out, but the thought of reading and assignments makes me want to throw myself out a window.”

“You do like to be more hands-on,” Cas says diplomatically.

Dean sighs, wistful. “If the Roadhouse was still around, I would’ve kicked ass there. Talking with veterans in the business, passing along intel, throwing out the occasional brawler.”

Cas cocks his head. “Why don’t you rebuild one?”

“What?”

“Another Roadhouse,” Cas says like it’s obvious. “Those hunters Sam is teaching, they will need another meeting point once they’ve completed their training.”

Dean gapes at him, trying not to get his hopes up. He can picture it with alarming clarity, him behind the bar, Cas sitting off to the side, pouring over the books or a translation for one of Sam’s kids.

But this thing with Cas is so new - rescuing Cas from the Empty, telling him haltingly and not in so many words Cas could have what he wanted after all, doing their weird not-dating thing that works for them. Dean can’t be sure they’re on the same page about this.

Cas is technically human, but so many parts of him are still pretty out there in terms of fitting in with normal people stuff. Dean suggested they go on an honest to God date about two weeks after that went down - dinner at a fancy place in Salina. He even looked it up on Yelp. But, naturally, Cas had to ask ahead of time what usually happened on a date - a real date, Dean, because Metatron’s pop culture dump gave me many false impressions of what is normal or healthy for humans. 

When Dean embarrassingly couldn’t think of a single thing people did on dates except eat and have sex, Cas went to Sam because apparently there are zero boundaries when it comes to Team Free Will. And Sam, like a total Samantha, said most people talked about their feelings and life goals.

To which Cas turned back to Dean, said those big, I love you, words like they’re nothing and everything, and added his life goal was not dying before spending the rest of his human life with Dean.

The fucker even looked pleased Dean didn’t have to shell out the dough for a fancy steak.

“You have enough connections in the community to round up a decent clientele base,” Cas continues. “Not to mention your reputation, which would go a long way towards drawing hunters you personally haven’t met before.”

Dean clears his throat. “You really think I could do something like that?”

Cas narrows his eyes. “I think you could do anything you set your mind to,” he says with that patented-Cas sincerity that Dean would call bullshit with anyone else. Cas continues, “Twenty-seven percent of restaurants fail in their first year, but I have every confidence in you beating the odds.”

Dean snorts. Even Cas’s Beautiful Mind statistics aren’t enough to bring his mood down.

“And if you need help…” Cas drifts off sheepishly, “I do have requisite experience managing inventory. I cut down on unsellable food by fifteen percent two weeks ago.”

“You’re a goddamn genius,” Dean breathes as he bends over Cas.

Cas smiles up at him. “Would you want to?”

“Would I - ?” Dean breaks off incredulously to kiss him. “Of couse I fucking want to. But you really think it’s a good idea?”

Cas purses his lips. “It was my suggestion in the first place.”

“But maybe you were just spitballing,” Dean hedges. “So if you really think restarting the Roadhouse would be a bad idea, I can take it.”

Cas wraps a hand around the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him closer. “I don’t have bad ideas, Dean,” he murmurs.

That is so blatantly untrue, Dean almost bursts out laughing. But before he can make a sound, Cas’s other hand slides underneath his shirt, his fingers tapping lightly against the buckle of Dean’s belt. Dean raises his head to catch sight of Cas's face, and Cas’s eyes are dark with want.

Alright, so in times like these, Dean can admit Cas can have a good idea or two.

[we-have-bangtan]

Put that mouth to use.

Genre: Smut 18+, Dom Jin and Bratty Sub Reader

Pairing: Jin x reader

Warning: Oral (m and f receiving), pet play, punishment, angry Dom Jin, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap kids :P), degradation, etc.

______________________________________

Jin glared at you for the nth time that night as you and Jungkook giggled together, dragging all the attention away from him to the two of you, “what’s so funny?” he asked you, nearly seething with anger, he had told you to be good for him but you were doing the exact opposite of that, you were starting to piss him off.

    “nothing” you mumbled as you went back to talking to Jungkook in hushed whispers. He continued his story, “that’s not what happened tho” you said looking at him with your big doe eyes, “really darling? then why don’t you tell them what happened” Jin dared, giving you the look, he was clearly pissed and you were sure you’d suffer the consequences of your behavior once they were back home.

   The last straw for Jin was when you had talked over him, not letting him finish his conversation with Namjoon. He had played it off as nothing in front of Namjoon but he was pissed.

       It hadn’t been intentional on your part but it had happened and you were sure Jin was angry, hence why you were avoiding him like the plague right now. What you weren’t expecting was for him to pull you into the guest room that the two of you were staying in.

He clamped his large hand over your mouth not allowing you to make any noise, “I told you to be good” he scolded as his other hand palmed you ass through your clothes, you nodded, he had told you to be good for him, “and you still don’t listen to me, being a bratty little puppy in front of all my friends” he huffed as he looked down into your eyes, “I’m sorry” you said softly as Jin let go of your mouth, “oh, you’re definitely going to be sorry pup” he growled into your ear, “on your knees” he commanded, no longer the sweet Jin that he had been a few moments ago outside, this was Dom Jin, angry and very ready to inflict punishment upon you.

“But Jungkook- “ you started, there were a lot of people who were waiting for the two of them at the dinner party that was going on outside, “On you knees pup, now” Jin snapped, he didn’t care that all his friends were right across the hall, he wanted, no, needed to discipline his pup right now.

You knelt on the smooth marble of Namjoon’s guest room, “Don’t get shy now sweetheart, put that mouth of yours to good use” Jin hissed, his words making you reach for the zip of his pants, his cock hard and heavy in you hold, the veins popping up on it, you stroked it a few times before leaning forward, your tongue meeting the tip of his cock before running it down his hard length, Jin hissed at how good your tongue felt on him as you lathered it up with your tongue before you wrapped your mouth around his hard length, “fuck baby, keep going” Jin groaned as you started to take him deeper down your throat, his hands came down to hold your hair out of your face as you too his cock inch by inch, the tip hitting the back of your throat before you started bobbing your head slowly, lathering his length with your spit.

     But Jin was an impatient man, he placed his hand behind your head, taking full control of how you used it, he pumped himself into your mouth, reveling in the way your wet little mouth took him, slowly fucking your throat, he moaned as he quickened the pace, making tears stream down your cheeks “fuck, your mouth feels great love” he groaned as you felt his cock pulsate in your mouth, “you look so cute with my cock in your mouth” he smirked as he slowed his thrushing, feeling his balls tighten, he cupped your face in his hand, your mouth full of his cock, “don’t waste a single drop ok pup” he instructed as he pumped a few more timed before he came undone in your mouth, his warm cum flooding your mouth as you desperately tried to get all of it, taking up as much of his cum as you could before sucking the last few drops, pulling away from him.

         “Do you still feel like being bratty little pup?” Jin asked, you shook your head, no, you wouldn't be bratty anymore, "well too bad, I'm not done with your punishment" Jin taunted, "turn around now, let me see that pretty hole of yours" he said, you were quick to follow, he pushed your skirt up, exposing your soaked panties, running a finger delicately over the wetness, Jin felt proud of his little pet, "look at you getting turned on from me fucking your mouth" he mocked. You let out a whimper as he slid your panties to the side, smiling when he saw you wet and ready for him, he delivered a quick slap to your sensitive spot making you yelp, "you want me to fuck you here too little one?" He asked as he teased the opening with his fingers, getting them wet with your juices, you nodded, grinding against his fingers, looking for more friction.

He quickly took them away, taking a taste, "fuck, you taste so sweet pup," he groaned, "do you want me to make you cum baby" he asked again, this time pushing his fingers in, knuckle deep in your tight, wet hole. You whined, moving against his fingers, "please jinnie , please fuck me" you begged, you needed his cock inside you, now. "Look at you begging like the cute slut that you are" he laughed as he started moving his fingers inside you, you moaned as his fingers skillfully riled you up, you could feel the knot building up in your stomach, but you weren't satisfied, "Jinnie, need you" you panted making him look at you, "I'm right here pup, what do you need" he asked sweetly, almost like he wasn't 3 fingers knuckle deep inside you, "need you, need your cock, please Jinnie, please" you pleaded making his growl at you, "fuck, you don't know what you do to me pup," he said, feeling his cock harden at the sight of you begging him.

"Fuck pup, I don't have a condom, we'll have to wait till we get home" he explained, speeding up his fingers, his thumb toying wiht your clit, "Jinnie please, fuck me, pleasee, no need of condom" you whined and that broke Jin's perseverance, he kicked his pants off, stroking his cock a few times before positioning it near your hole, he leaned down, peppering kisses down your jaw and neck, you didn't know which Jin you liked more, the sadistic dominating one or the sweet lover.

He slowly pushed into you, allowing you to adjust to the size, peppering little kisses from your jaw to your neck to your exposed collar before going deeper till he was fully in. He sucked hard on the spot, making you moan as you held onto him before he started moving, "God, you're so tight" he moaned as he moved slowly at first, picking up the speed once you both were comfortable.

He reveled in this feeling, the feeling of being on top of you, the feeling of having your slick walls wrapped around his cock, your nails digging into his back and so much fucking love in your eyes, he almost got lost for a second.

"Jinnie harder" you moaned, triggering something feral in Jin as he pounded into you, "you're so perfect pup, taking me so well" Jin praise as he felt your walls clench around him, you were close he could tell.

"I'm close" you moaned, "yes baby, come for me" he encouraged, going faster and faster, he felt you quiver underneath him as you came, your eyeballs rolling to the back of your head in pleasure, he didn't stop thrushing tho, he kept going despite slowing the pace a little, letting you ride your orgasm high, before quickening the pace again, he could feel his balls tighten for the second time that night, feeling his own orgasm coming on, "fuck pup, yn, I'm going to cum" he moaned, chasing his own orgasm frantically, one final thrush and he stood still, holding you close as he came inside you, flooding your insides wiht his warm seed before collapsing on top of you, resting his head on your chest, his cock still nestled inside you.

"I love you Jinnie" you mumbled, stroking his soft hair, letting him catch his breath, "I love you too pup" he answered as he pulled out making you feel empty, "can you walk?" He asked as he laid next to you, "probably, we need to get back out there you know" you answered making Jin smirk, you got up, ready to go clean up but Jin was quick to stop you, "no cleaning up, I want you in the same panties, same dress, with my cum inside you, downstairs", he said making your eyes widen, "what, why?" You demanded, this was insane, Jin had never been interested in something like this, "its a part of your punishment sweetheart" he answered, "didn't you already punish me?" You ask, only for Jin to slap your hole playfully, the contact making you moan, "it's not punishment if you enjoy it pup" he retorted, kissing your nose before putting his clothes back on, leaving the room to join his friends, leaving you alone in the room, his cum seeping out of you as you tried to stand up.

Originally posted by jintae

___________________________ END ____________________________

Woahhh, lots of first times today huh, let me know if you like it <33.

Prompt taken from @btswritingprompts

____________________________________________________________

[softykooky]

Sanctuary : One

A/N: This is my first ever fic! I’m a new writer and I’m just starting so please go easy on me :) Also, I edited this way too quickly so forgive me if there are any grammar mistakes. Please let me know what you think and if you would like more parts! Request anything you like! 

Summary: Seoul's drug ring is sovereign of a small group fo 7 men, who have just gotten their hands on the ambassador's daughter.

Warnings: physical/emotional abuse, guns, violence, kidnapping...

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There was always something so surreal and soft about a cup of black coffee in a cafe that you have never been to, sitting across from a ghost in a booth that you have never sat in. You cradled a cup of lukewarm coffee between the palm of your hands, periodically sighing into the cold air of the room. The barista had given you a few side glances. A normal behavior though, you’ve been sitting here for a good couple hours now. There was nowhere else to go, and the cafe would give you a couple hours to think of a place to sleep for the night before inevitably walking around a park and finding a nice cozy bench. You looked outside the window.

Rain. At least it wasn’t hail. Better to go to bed drenched than in pain.

From the corner of your eye, you could see the barista approaching you, apprehensively and like she was there out of obligation. 

“Is there anything you need at all? You want me to freshen up that coffee for you?” Her name tag read Kim. 

Yes, there are a lot of things I need. No, you can’t help me with any of them.

“No, that’s alright. I’m so sorry, am I taking too long here?”, you began to pack up your bag full of nothing and made way to move out of the booth. 

“No, no, I was just checking up. Take as much time as you need.” She left you alone after, walking away with no intent to wait for your answer. People always do that. You looked outside the window again, and the rain had worsened, now slamming against the glass so intensely you felt it vibrating against the table. It was so loud. Almost loud enough so that you couldn’t hear when gunshots erupted through the door of the cafe. 

No. No. Not more of this.

Out of instinct and past reflex, you ducked down under the booth table, making yourself as small as you could. You didn’t dare to let out another breath. The other patrons of the cafe had scattered immediately, some making it out the door in a sonic sprint. Your eyes shot to the barista, who was standing there shaking uncontrollably with a strawberry smoothie nestled in her hands, eyes wide staring at the group of men who had just open fired.

“Ah boys. I was wondering when you would arrive. It’s rude to leave your guests waiting, you know.” The voice came from a man sitting in the corner of the room, still sipping on a cappuccino with his face tucked under a hat.

“Cut the shit, Mino. What happened to our shipment at the port in Gwangju?” His voice was sharp. Seething and filled with an intense hatred that could be heard from the tone alone. You would hate to be Mino right now. You looked around again, and the cafe had already been cleared out. The barista was nowhere in sight. What luck.

“I know what happened.” A different voice from the same group of men.

“You stopped it before it got on the boat. Tipped off Hyun’s crew that our goods were in transit and you, spineless as you are, gave up our protection and loyalty for a couple million that they offered you.” The man’s words seemed to silence the room. You held your breath, only watching the scene unfold before you.

The man named Mino coughed into his cup. He set it down, then idiotically tried to sprint out of the cafe and away from the grasps of a group of heavily armed men. Even you wanted to laugh. They cornered him, backs turned to where your booth was. This was your chance. You can run and they’ll never know you were here. The barista popped into your mind again. You couldn’t leave her alone.

You crawled out of your hiding space under the booth, making your way to the counter and trying to ignore the sound of Mino being beaten to a pulp that made a familiar anxiety bubble in your chest. You had to focus and not blow into a panic attack. Your advance was almost completely soundless, and the mystery men were far too preoccupied to notice you behind them. You peeked through to the counter, finding a shivering barista who still clutched a strawberry milkshake like her life depended on it. Her eyes held your gaze, tears streaming down her cheek. You mouthed for her to follow you as you turned around once again, preparing for the treacherous trek to the door.

“Mino, we could have been such good allies. Is that your price of betrayal? A million and a half?” A punch to the stomach. Uppercut to the jaw. “I would like to think we are more expensive than that, don’t you boys?” You winced, spiritually sending condolences to Mino. Sounds like he messed up real bad.

You held onto the barista’s hands behind you, slowly standing up and walking gingerly out the door with her in tow. 

Okay Y/N you’re halfway there. Just a little bit more. Quietly, you’ve done this before. 

The men turned around.

Oh fuck. 

The only thing you could think of was flinging the barista in front of you and running full speed to the door, now busted in its frame with pieces of shattered glass on the ground. “Shit. Run, Kim! Go!” You yelled in your haste, still pushing her in front of you. If it hadn’t been for the hand that had suddenly encased itself around your upper arm, you would have made it too. You were pulled back into a hard chest, sighing in relief as Kim sprinted out to the other end of the street, not looking back once. Watching her, you wished you could have done the same for your sister. Now you were going to die. But it was okay because you saved someone from the same fate,

“What the fuck is wrong with you? The gunshots didn’t scare you away?” You turned to his face. If this were a normal day, you would’ve been in awe at how handsome this stranger was. Had it not been for his increasingly tight grip on your hand and a gun in the other. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even breathe. You thought you had already escaped this part of your life. 

“What? Are you mute?” He squeezed your arm more, eyebrows furrowing as steam seemed to shoot out of his ears. You whimpered in pain, which seemed to soften his demeanor and loosen his grip. 

“I-I’m sorry. I couldn’t get out in time.” Tears had involuntarily made their way down your cheeks. He sighed, turning his gaze to the other men in the room who had been tensely watching. Wow. Leave it to you to get yourself tangled in a shootout with the most beautiful criminals you had ever seen in your life. 

“Whatever. Mino’s taken care of. Just take her with, she’s already heard everything. No loose ends.” The man in the middle said nonchalantly. Your face paled.

“No. No you can’t. Please, I promise I won’t say a thing. I’ll pretend it never happened.” Now it was your turn to hold onto the man, shaking in his grasp as you pleaded. You couldn’t go back to this violence. He stared at you in disinterest.

“Please, don’t take me.” You had begun to cry more intensely, feeling an impending doom over your head. It never matters what you want. What you need. The world just kept going on. The men exchanged knowing glances, restraining and dragging you to the black SUV that had been parked outside. You didn’t fight then. It was useless. This life will always drag you back. 

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

When you woke up from a sleep of exhaustion, you were still in the car. Both your hands and legs had been tied with scratchy rope that dug into your bleeding skin. You looked around at the men, who were all occupied with something and chatting with each other as if they hadn’t just shot up a cafe and beaten a man to an inch of his life. You coughed to clear your throat, but were too scared to say anything else. A man with wavy black hair looked your way, almost sneering at your presence. 

“Princess is awake.” He spit out the words, making you confused. Were you so terrible even from such a short encounter? You looked down at your hands instead, staying silent. The car drove for god knows how long before it stopped in front of a house that you assumed costs more than your life. Before you could gawk anymore, the same man gripped onto your bruised forearm and dragged you out of the car. You bit your tongue at the pain, cooperating with everything. 

They seemed to fling you around like you were a ragdoll. Next thing you knew, you were being shoved down ungracefully on a chair in a white room, staring at your own reflection in the mirror you faced. For making it through a gun ambush, you looked pretty okay. The door opened to a man, a gentle smile on his face.

“Hello Y/N.” You froze, wide eyes coming up to meet his gaze.

“How do you know my name?” Your voice shook as you spoke, fear seeping into every word. He held up an ID card that you had left in your bag. 

“What a coincidence, huh? That when we took someone captive it would be the daughter of the Japanese ambassador.” The same anxiety from before bubbled up again, threatening to spill out of you. 

“I...I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

He chuckled humorlessly, taking a seat across from you and tossing a file onto the table with your face plastered on the front.

“Says here you ran away a couple months ago right? I wonder why though...was Daddy not giving you enough weekly allowances? Didn’t get you the latest season of Saint Laurent that you wanted?” He spit the words at you as if they were poison, making you recoil back into your seat. You wouldn’t tell him the reason you ran away, but you wished it was because of something measly like Saint Laurent.

“Ah, silent treatment. Well, Ms. Y/N. I’m sure your father would reward us handsomely for the return of his beloved daughter, don’t you think?” His words made a chill shoot up your spine and tears welled in your eyes.

“No!” You screamed in his face, catching him off guard.

“Please….please don’t do that. Please don’t send me back. I’ll do anything. Anything but that.” 

Your desperation seemed to confuse him further as his frown deepened and he looked at you curiously. He seemed to be deep in thought before his expression flattened once again, cold eyes staring back into your teary ones.

“Do you know how many people would kill to be in your privileged position? The money that your family has? Do you know how fortunate you are?” He judged you, tutting as he flipped open the file to read more. You shook your head, staring down at your tied hands and trying to soothe the sharp ache in your chest.

“Yeah….so fortunate.” You laughed, refusing to meet his gaze once again. If your old life had been considered fortunate, you wouldn’t even want to know what was considered unlucky. He stayed silent, only reading up on the details of your life more. 22 years old. Black hair. Brown eyes. Daughter of the Japanese ambassador and distinguished family. Your father is a business tycoon and your mother his arm candy. One sibling; a sister. Allergic to shellfish. 

“Well, Ms. Y/N, if you are so desperate to not return to your cushy life with a silver spoon, you’ll stay here until we figure out what we should do with you.” He pulled you up from your seat and signaled you to follow him. The house you were in was almost as grand as your own, hallways spanning for what seemed to be miles. You guessed that the chandelier above you was Swarovski; you had the same one in your dining room. You felt annoyance gnawing at the back of your head. Who was he to judge you when your lifestyles were so aligned. 

“You’ll be staying in here.” The man opened a door to a large room with a queen size bed in the middle. It looked like your room back home, and you wanted to throw up. Your expression didn’t go unnoticed as the man rolled his eyes.

“My sincerest apologies if the room is not up to her highnesses’ standards.” He shoved you roughly through the doorway, making you stumble over your own shaky feet. The man turned to leave but was stopped by your meek and quivering voice.

“W-What’s your name?” You muttered, ignoring the fear you could hear in your own words.

“Not that I owe it to you or anything,” he said coldly.

“It’s Namjoon.” 

Namjoon. The name suited him. Suited his confident gait and his cold but calculating stare. You wanted to yell in his face. Tell him that you weren’t the spoiled brat princess he had made you out to be. Scream the reason why you ran away. But you couldn’t. After all your father and family have put you through, you knew how important his job was and what a high government figure he was. You couldn’t threaten that position. Your father was still your father once, and not the monster he has become. 

You collapsed on the soft bed after washing up as best you could, with no intention of sleeping. Sleeping risks having a nightmare, and your state was already fragile as it was. You turned on the bedside lamp and tucked yourself into the goose-feathered blanket, finally processing everything that had happened today. It seemed to crash like a ton of bricks, and you let out the pain on a poor, ill-fated pillow that had the unfortunate fate of being near. 

A knock sounded from the other side of the door and swung open immediately afterwards. You bolted up to a sitting position.

“Could you keep it down? I’m in the room next to you.” His words felt like a slap in the face, and you could feel another bout of tears surfacing but swallowed down to avoid being pummeled by your captor. 

“Oh”, you hiccuped, “sorry.” 

“What? Do the sheets not have high enough thread count? I’ll get someone on that”. His words were mocking and rude, and try as you did, you couldn’t stop the dry sob that forced its way out of your throat. His lips curled up into a smirk. You hated that they assumed everything about who you were. You hated being taken. You hated whoever this is that told you to be quiet.

“Taehyung! What are you doing in there?” A silver voice cut through the hallway and you halted your hysterical sobbing in anticipation and fear. Another man. One of the ones in the cafe. There had been seven of them, you weren’t sure. He looked at you and softened at your red and blotchy face.

“Did you make her cry, you brat?” He slapped Taehyung across the shoulder, making him roll his eyes. 

“I told you to go easy and look at what you did.” He seemed to be lecturing the other man like a parent figure. It would’ve made you giggle had you not been sobbing.

“H-He didn’t make me cry. I was crying before...I was being t-too loud. I’m sorry.” Wiping away the tears that had clouded over helped you see the new man. Of course, dangerously handsome and aura dripping in elegance. 

“Yeah, Jin-hyung, I was just trying to hack the cameras in the embassy but I couldn’t do it while it sounded like a funeral next door.” Taehyung huffed, rubbing the spot where he got hit. So this new guy’s name was Jin. You made a mental list in your head. So far you have figured out Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jin.

Jin approached you and gently wiped away the steady stream of tears on your face. You nearly gasped in surprise. Ever since the cafe, everyone has been so rough with you. Come to think of, it’s been so long since anyone has ever touched you with care and no intent to hurt. You flinched at the unfamiliarity, which made Jin frown before moving away. 

“Come on Tae, let’s let Y/N get some sleep.” He ushered Taehyung towards the door and closed it gently. You were alone, again. With nothing but your thoughts.

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“Y/N, you’re fucking useless. We had you to make our family look better, and you can’t even serve that simple purpose.” Your father spit the words at you, accompanied with a stinging slap across the cheek. Some days were worse than others. At least he wasn’t hitting your sister.

“God, why the fuck did the universe give me this pathetic excuse of a fucking daughter?” He kicked you in the stomach.

“All I asked was to not go out and let the press see you.”

Punch to the jaw.

“And you can’t even do one fucking thing right.”

Another kick. 

He always said the words eerily calm. That’s how you’d know he was angry. He would never yell, just said it simply and without waver as he beat you into the floor and your mother pretended not to hear from the other room. 

“I should just get rid of you now. You’d make a good whore.” His fists rained down on you. By the end of it, you laid still and let him finish taking his anger out on you. It was never worth fighting back, anyway. He would just hit you twice as hard. 

You woke up with a gasp, hands clutching onto the blanket that was held to your chest and gulping in air desperately. You had started crying in your sleep, leaving a wet stain on the pillow and your body felt sticky from sweat. This was why you avoided sleeping in the first place, but it seems you cried yourself exhausted last night and drifted away. A cough came from the open doorway, as a man peered in with a tray of food. His shocked eyes told you that he had been here before you woke up.

“Food.” He uttered. He walked closer to your bedside table and paused, taking in the scene before him. You were having a nightmare when he came in, and all he knew to do was stare at you until you woke up. He swiftly placed the tray onto the nightstand, and you flinched in response, which confused Jungkook even more. He shook it off, turning to make his way out the door. Before he could leave, though, you yelled out and asked for his name. 

“It’s Jungkook.” His eyes avoided your’s.

“Jungkook...thank you for bringing that for me.” His hands froze on the doorknob. He never expected someone like you to have manners at all, much less for the same group of people that kidnapped you off the streets. Jungkook left with no more words exchanged. 

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“Hyung...did you notice something weird about Y/N?” Jungkook fiddled with his fork as they all sat around a dining table eating breakfast. He had been feeling off all morning after Y/N, like something was gnawing at the back of his mind. 

“Who? The girl we kidnapped?” Taehyung questioned, mouth full of scrambled eggs as he insisted on shoving more in. He looked at Jungkook confusedly. 

“Yeah..she’s just jumpy. More than most. And when I went to give her food, she was having a nightmare and pleading for someone to stop.” Jungkook knew the signs. He knew what that looked like. He’s experienced it. 

Jin looked up from his newspaper and sipped a cup of black coffee. “Come to think of it, yes actually. She flinched away from me yesterday and I barely moved.” Jin didn’t give it another thought, though, returning to his newspaper crossword puzzle. 

“I dunno Kook, it’s probably nothing. Probably dreaming about someone stealing her Birkin.” The group chuckled at Yoongi’s jab lightheartedly.

“Yeah, you’re probably right”, Jungkook pushed down his suspicions. He was probably reading too much into things. Those are miniscule signs and he was in no way a profiler.

Taehyung chugged a glass of orange juice after his mouthful of eggs. “Besides, she just got snatched off the street by a bunch of strangers.” He looked at Jungkook, trying to assuage whatever he’s got his head roped up in. 

The group spent the rest of the morning laughing over breakfast and briefing over the duties they were each responsible for. More like a group of old friends rather than business partners of an underground mafia that dominated the entire Seoul drug ring. You really had no idea what you had gotten yourself into, and what being the ambassador’s daughter means for you. Namjoon would have to decide by the end of the day what the course of action is regarding your situation. Giving you back to your father would put them in his favor. They would have an in to high-level government officials. However, keeping you would give them leverage to hold over the ambassador’s head. What Namjoon didn’t know, though, was why you were so insistant on not going back. He was going to make it his goal to find out. 

[wincore]

sour tangerine | huang renjun

pairing: keyboardist!renjun x songwriter!reader

words: 15.3k

summary:  ‘i gave up on that sort of music,’ he’d said. but not like this. not when you’re there to grab his wrist and drag him into your ridiculous notions about music that make him want to tear all his hair out. huang renjun falls in love with two words that escape your lips, and now he has to pretend his cheeks aren’t caked in a blush as red as donghyuck’s guitar. maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to joining this band of idiots just for an incredibly cute songwriter.

themes: rock band!au, fluff, (mostly existential) angst, comedy-ish

warnings: making out, alcohol, college kids being college kids

song recs: hello sunshine - wetter // how to love - day6 // today - nell // rooftop - n.flying // what can i do - day6 // red - the rose // i loved you - day6 // leave it - n.flying // baby - the rose

a/n: nct dream 00 line rock band. that’s it. who wants to join my renjun cover literally any song by day6 agenda. if you think this is like a kdrama compressed into a fic i am so sorry but you are correct hsdksh also i do not know what it’s like to major in music or make music so... please bear with me.

special thanks to @insomni-writing​ for beta reading this ilysm!! and @cinanamon​ because your support made me actually finish this ily dude <3

With hair dyed blond and a stream of colourful words ready at the tip of his tongue, no one assumes Huang Renjun majors in classical music. Not when he’s threatening Lee Donghyuck by the vending machine, not when he’s pulling an arrogant half-smile by the semester-end results and certainly not when he’s hardly ever seen near an instrument as elegant as the grand piano.

If they heard him play it just once, they’d forget the rest.

He strikes the keys gently, and then all at once in a motion so very unique to him—and you know this, not because you were stalking him, but because you happened to get a very rare ticket to the national level performing arts concert (which you didn’t scam out of someone that time, you swear). Looking pristine in a clean tuxedo and with then dark hair swept to the side, Huang Renjun looked very much like an alien, like the words leaving his mouth and the things he’d do would be so unpredictable. 

You were right. 

Huang Renjun plays the piano like he’s not of this world. 

He plays soft rock tunes even better—which, this time, you know because you were, in fact, stalking him while he spent extra hours in the practice room. From the lazy smile on his face to the way he let himself loose (for once) in a hot pink hoodie he kept trying to cover with his bag all day, you knew he was perfect.

Out of all the miserably planned (and timed) situations you’ve pulled yourself into, this might just hit top 3. 

You’re going to convince Renjun to join your band.

Which is easier said than done, because Renjun is just as stubborn as you are, if not more. You’ve never wanted to smack someone so bad and neither have you ever contemplated the outcome of spontaneous fistfights as much. But as frustrated as he leaves you, you know you need him, or your picture-perfect plan will fall apart before you’ve even started to paint.

The first time you’d nudged him in class, he’d sent you a glare as soon as the question left your lips. You’d fought a pout, the warmth on your cheeks popping like firecrackers. But you’re not easily discouraged, no, not really, not ever. 

The second time, you’d spread your arms in front of him to get him to stop walking off, looking more of a lunatic than a college student (sometimes, what’s the difference?) and Renjun had pursed his lips and furrowed his brows in an expression more than annoyed. 

“Please!” you yelled, catching the attention of fellow students.

Renjun eyed your palms flat against each other, elbows raised in a most comical prayer and announced a “No” just as loudly before briskly walking away.

The third time, you’d sent Donghyuck, your lead guitarist, who you really shouldn’t have expected to perform better than you did. You know they’re friends, so that should have worked better, right? Wrong. Renjun had returned a pouting Donghyuck, complaining nonstop for two whole days afterwards and with a message from Renjun to “in the best of words, fuck off”.

You sigh, glancing at the time on your watch. This is your last time to book him for your ragtag rock band (still unnamed) and you’re going to leave him with no choice. You can do this. 

You tiptoe from one side of the corridor to the other, the large windows drenching you in an uncomfortable amount of sunlight. But you are quiet—you know how to be sneaky and you’d be lying if you said you’re not at least a little bit proud of it. Renjun stays at the senior practice room well into late afternoon and if the door was closed fully, you’d be hearing nothing of it.

The old model of electronic keyboards in the practice room, which made you wonder if electric instruments ever rust, now plays ringing clear. It’s not just the fondness with which your school’s beloved pianist plays it but the added charm of his structure, straightened enough to focus but relaxed just as much.

A few minutes pass by in quiet contemplation, as you run through your plan again. First, approach him with a friendly gesture, offer him your strawberry milk or something. Second, block every exit he might seek once you’ve cornered him. Third, spew that long speech you prepared—a pretty pile of words ought to move him. Right? If all else fails, you’re going to call in Jaemin as your secret weapon. The boy can charm a rock, and you hate to be doing that to anyone (even Renjun), but drastic situations call for drastic measures. You take a sharp breath.

Oh, he’s singing now?

You misstep over the marble flooring and the door creaks open a little too loud.

Shit.

The music stops. You take a good second to swear at yourself, well and full, before breathing in and entering the practice room with as much confidence as you can gather.

“Renjun!” you say, grinning wide and arms stretched as if you’re there to welcome him.

Renjun looks at you, surprise smeared across his face. He quickly picks up his bag, shaking his head at you as he makes his way towards the door.

“You- “

Instead of all your brilliant planning, you resort to pulling a disgruntled Renjun into a lonesome corner before he can leave. It would seem more of a threat than an invitation to join, you’ll admit, but right now, you need Renjun to not glare at you with a scowl so obvious. It’s not that his face makes you nervous, it’s the outcome of today’s attempt. The bright afternoon sun reaches his hair and the left side of his face, a warm hue over eyes that look at you with more than just mild annoyance. He wears a grungy dark jacket over his lightly coloured T-shirt and has the audacity to claim he doesn’t do rock.

“Are you trying to kidnap me or something?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his bag.

You quickly smack the wall so your arm blocks his way, though the impact of it makes you wince.

“Join me,” you say, looking at him, determination across your face though the sentence comes off more cult-ish than you’d want. 

Renjun takes a step back to look up and take a sharp breath.

“I already told you,” he says, raising his voice, “I don’t do that sort of music anymore.”

“Anymore?”

Renjun groans, lips shaped in perfect annoyance. “Just how long are you going to keep this up?”

He tries to escape you but you take a hasty step closer, his back hitting the wall with a thud. It’s not all that fun, getting people to join your band. It’s even less fun when Renjun’s cologne is a tad too minty for your tastes.

“I’ll do anything!” you say, pressing your lips tight as the pleading grows in your eyes.

“Anything?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” You jolt up straighter.

“Then leave me alone forever for the rest of my life.”

Renjun crosses his arms and you frown, a sigh lacing your lips till you bring yourself to look him in the eye again. It’s not yet time to pull out Jaemin, you’re not even sure if that will work, but you might just have something else. 

“Lee Chaerim!” you suddenly yell. “You like her, don’t you?”

It’s a long shot but if it works… 

Renjun’s cheeks dust pink and he takes a step back, furrowing his eyebrows at you. Bullseye. You fight a snort before he can catch you. Gods, he’s so obvious.

“Wh-what gave you that idea?” he retorts, pitch shooting higher before he recomposes himself. “She’s a classmate, idiot. And don’t yell her name!”

“Star pianist Lee Chaerim,” you wave your hand about. “Who wouldn’t have a crush on her? I mean you’re a close second though.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “It’s really not…”

“I’ll score you a date with her!” you declare, grinning like a maniac. “If you join my band.”

Renjun sighs, shoulders sagging. “You’re really not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope.” You shrug, popping the ‘p’ in a helplessly obnoxious manner. 

Renjun leans back against the wall, head tilting to look you in the eye as the frown grows prominent over his lips.

“And you think scoring me a date will make me want to join your…band?” Renjun snorts.

You shift your eyes awkwardly. “Well, I didn’t really paint you as the Romeo type either but hey, I don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“(name)?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Oh. That’s actually the sweetest thing I’ve heard from you,” you muse before quickly returning to the subject at hand. “Ah, come on. Just give it a chance, please? 

“I major in classical music.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk crawling over your lips. “And yet you’re more than decent at Queen on the keys.”

Renjun straightens, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “You’re stalking me?!”

“No, I’m scouting you. All the big companies hire people to do that.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Er, it’s called extraordinary.”

“Extraordinarily annoying.”

“Stop arguing with me!” You stomp your foot.

Renjun mimics you in a rather aggressive tone, the tip of his nose almost touching yours. You pull a face, throwing a soft punch at his shoulder to which he responds with a sharp cry and a glare. 

“Fine!” Renjun says, massaging his shoulder. “I’ll give you one week to prove to me this band’s worth my time.”

You feel something akin to surprise before his words register. Worth his time? He's just about as arrogant as you expected. 

“Deal,” you say, shooting him a forced smile.

From the light periwinkle of his T-shirt to the blond strands astray against his forehead, there’s a sort of halo surrounding him. You press your lips together before you can laugh at his supposed angelic qualities, before he somehow starts to look as pretty as your friends describe. 

“Starting today, I’m your lyricist and composer!” you grin, extending your hand towards him.

“I...You…” 

Renjun hesitates before taking your hand in a firm shake, but not before pursing his lips in doubt. Perhaps you could have warned him before grabbing his wrist and so unceremoniously dragging him here. 

“I didn’t even join,” he mutters.

“I’m giving you the full trial!” you defend.

Renjun stays quiet before suddenly clearing his throat. “You can- You can let go of the wall now.”

Your eyes trail to your hand and you immediately retract it with an “ah”. There’s barely any distance between your chests, and you suppose you were successful in cornering him—a little too effectively. Renjun shakes his head, quickly walking past you with no gesture of goodbye.

“You’re going to be disappointed, (name),” he says quietly before leaving.

You blink in confusion at his disappearing figure. 

Whatever. When have you ever paid attention to words of warning? You glance at the back of Renjun’s head from the second floor’s handrail as he rushes down the stairs, albeit a sort of grace to his movement, and sigh. 

Donghyuck owes you twenty. You’re going to be rubbing it in his smug face that you’ve recruited, er, almost recruited the unreachable Huang Renjun. And for a date? He must be far more romantic than you thought. You don’t think you’ll ever understand him.

You take a slow, deep breath reaching all the way to your belly. 

Your plan is working out. It’s going to work out—soon you can be writing songs to a rhythm and melody of your choice, for people who can hear the words and dance to it. The world’s gonna sing along to your songs, to the chorus to your ambitions. 

“Renjun?!”

Between Donghyuck’s agape mouth and Renjun’s defensive stance, you really don’t know who to approach first. This place was apparently the only room in all of Seoul a bunch of college kids could rent out and while all of you dished out a remarkable chunk from your earnings, it was worth every penny. From the ugly orange wallpaper to the stinky couch, you wouldn’t trade a thing in this room, except for maybe Jeno’s withering plant in exchange for a new one. Poor thing’s been dead for as long as you can remember (courtesy of Jaemin).

“(name) actually convinced you?” Donghyuck asks, exaggerated surprise in his voice before he drops it lower. “You can tell me if you were threatened or something, promise I’ll get you out of this.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, a smile making on to his face anyway. “It’s just for a w—mph!”

You slap a hand over Renjun’s mouth, stepping in to grin victoriously at Donghyuck. “See, Hyuck? I told you I’d make it work. Now, pay up.”

“You bet on this?” 

The curtains are drawn shut but the room lights are bright in a strange sort of way, like someone in the sixteenth century discovered electricity early and decided to reinvent candlelight out of it. Late afternoon isn’t as gentle as it is in winter, but you’d rather have patches of sunlight decorating the room instead of the garish yellow lights. The lavender air freshener you sprayed a few minutes ago has already settled in, the previous scent of instant noodles, though delicious, finally gone. You should’ve brought the coffee mix, you think with regret. A productive day needs a productive start, as you’ve always been told. (You might have messed up, but it’s never too late, right?)

You think you should have anticipated a little adjustment trouble after all.

Jeno walks headfirst into the mess—with Renjun choking Donghyuck under his arm while you try to not drop the pile of records from the small coffee table and onto the Dorito dust-covered wooden floor. The recorder is safe, a good few feet away from your mayhem.

“Oh, hey Renjun, didn’t know you’re a part of this,” Jeno says, raising an eyebrow at the boy.

“Yeah, I didn’t either,” Renjun mutters in response, loosing up on Donghyuck.

You narrow your eyes. “Wait, you guys know each other?”

“Yeah, we’re in the same dorm,” Jeno answers, shrugging before he drops his bag onto the couch. 

You gasp. “You could’ve just asked him all this time?!”

“Uh,” Jeno drawls out before coughing forcefully. There’s a slight change of air, and your inability to read situations, for the first time, is a major help.

“Hello, trouble children,” Jaemin announces as he enters, his bag thrown in Jeno’s direction, who seems relieved for the interruption.

“Oh, hi Renjun!” 

“You know him too?” You’re almost offended at this point. 

Jaemin stares blankly in confusion. “Yeah, we’re…all…in the same dorm.”

You throw up your head in exasperation, an annoyed huff leaving your parted lips. “And none of you thought of asking him to join?!”

“We didn’t think he’d ever agree,” Jaemin says, glancing at Renjun discreetly. 

Renjun stays quiet, shrugging before he plops down on the couch. “Anyone wanna tell me what we’re supposed to do today? Apart from killing Donghyuck?”

“It’s not my fault you’re so bad at rock, paper, scissors,” Donghyuck retorts quietly. 

“You cheated!” Renjun sits up straight, glaring.

You raise your palms like the peaceful negotiator you are, and honestly, all they had to do was decide the lead vocal for the new song, which Renjun vehemently rejected. 

Donghyuck gasps. “Renjun isn’t half as innocent as he looks. Watch out (name)—oof.”

Renjun elbows him in the stomach, the resulting expression on Donghyuck making you wonder just how much strength Renjun really has.

“Renjun, Donghyuck. You’re both lead,” you say, finalizing.

“What?!” 

The two of them look at you, one with betrayal and the other with an emotion very close to murder. It wasn’t easy coming to the decision, sure, but for this song, you’ll be needing Renjun a little bit more. Is it treacherous of you to have picked out the song most suited to him? You have your reasons, however. You’re not letting Renjun leave without experiencing the wonders of performing at a local pub, and in general, you’re a little iffy about letting him leave at all. You need the keys and you need a chance. You have something to prove.

“Just this song, Hyuck,” you sigh. “You know we switch up things every time.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “The show's coming Saturday, right?”

You nod when Renjun interrupts.

“Show?!” he blurts.

“We’re performing,” you answer, shrugging. “You know Odd Fruit? In Hongdae?”

Renjun wrinkles his nose, shifting back. “No? Isn’t that a dive bar?”

“Best place for us,” Jaemin grins, resting his elbows against the headrest beside Renjun. “Saturdays are for rock.”

Renjun sighs. “I don’t- I don’t sing rock.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t peeping or anything but wasn’t that you in the shower? What were you singing again—”

“Okay, okay!” Renjun sits up straight, heaving a sigh, his shoulders moving with it. “I sing Disney songs in the shower, it doesn’t mean anything…”

“We can do that sort of music too.” You grin, tilting your head. “We can do any music!”

“Yeah,” Jeno encourages thoughtfully, “Even idol music!”

“No,” everyone says in unison. 

Jeno mutters something under his breath, sulking as he sinks into the couch and crosses his arms after adjusting his bright red baseball cap.

Renjun shakes his head, recomposing himself. “You want me to perform next Saturday?! That wasn’t in the deal!”

You furrow your brows. “I told you it’s a full trial!”

“That’s over a week!” He throws up his hands in exasperation.

“The trial week ends on Friday and Saturday’s just a bonus,” you reason, crossing your arms. 

You don't break the gaze just in case it determines your stand. It’s probably a full minute of glaring at each other before your humble audience intervenes, Donghyuck bursting into laughter and the other two following. You share a puzzled look with Renjun, looking around for an explanation.

“We’re gonna have a blast this Saturday,” Donghyuck says, wiping a tear from his eye. “I can’t wait.”

“We’ll get to practise,” Jaemin says, resting his palm on Renjun’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’re gonna have fun, trust me.”

“I hope so,” Renjun mutters.

That’s all you need to hear.

Renjun isn’t half as disagreeable when he’s focused. His brow line is straight, lips parted gently and eyes almost hazed over as if his fingers over the keys have eyes of their own. 

Renjun is also fantastic at perfecting your notes. You always thought he’d be too prissy to work with you, but he doesn’t seem to care about that anymore. With flushed knuckles and long fingers, part of hands that were meant to play the piano—you’d say Renun lives up to the musical prodigy title. The short demo you’d played for him somehow swirled and twined into music so him and yet still you, rock undertones with light blues. You haven’t met anyone who can play with melody like that, besides Donghyuck.

Rock means hope. Undone to be done.

And maybe, part of you is a little disappointed at how well he handles the pre-performance stress. You would love to see a hint of jitters in him for once. Saturday wastes no time in creeping up and while you wish you could say you feel what your band looks like, you don’t. The pre-performance stress is very, very different for you. 

Let’s say, you’re not too sure about reviving rock music in Seoul. It’s not very popular and still considered underground, but hey, at least it’s easy on the ears and it is honest, if nothing else. And an honest sound wins, right?

You lock eyes with Renjun, before they're ushered to the centre. There's not much to be said. You smile with a determined nod, holding up both of your thumbs to the boys. This will work out. It will.

And at the very least, you're getting two shots of whiskey on the house.

The place is shabby, but not too shabby for a dive bar. There’s a giant mural… thing of what seems to be the hybrid of a peach, apricot and dragonfruit. You’re not too sure, actually. Just as crowded as you expected, the lights glow dim and the smell of musk and lime keep in check the other foul smells that could possibly emanate from the human body. Lovely. Your fingers play against your lips as they stretch into a smile. It’s the perfect place to play your song, but maybe the jitters have a purpose after all.

There are foreign faces around, quite literally, and it makes you nervous. You settle by the bar, your last words of encouragement drifted off further from you to whatever that excuse of a stage is. 

Renjun looks calm as ever. The confidence in him is not what you'd expected, though a bubbling feeling in you suggests it's even better this way.

“You finally got someone on the keys,” a familiar voice calls from behind the countertop.

You turn your head to find Doyoung, arms resting on the table and holding what seems to be a bottle of vodka so tenderly, you’d think it was either his child or an explosive.

“Huang Renjun,” you respond, smiling. “Like the best pianist in our year. Or maybe second best.”

Doyoung laughs. “You kids could be as good as us some day. Need more practice.”

“Hey, old man, it’s not your time anymore,” you say, raising an eyebrow with a cheeky grin. “Maybe you were the best keyboardist back then but…”

You lean in to emphasize as you point at a Renjun furrowing his brows at all the wiring. “That guy’s going to outsing you. It’s the new era now. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“You talk like I’m from a different generation.” Doyoung scoffs, though the corner of his lips twitch. “Still dreaming of making your boyband? Do you guys even have a name?”

You pout. “It’s not a boyband! Okay… technically, it is a boyband. And no, we don’t have a name.”

You sulk for a moment or two at the way Doyoung had called your life’s work a boyband in that uninterested tone. Nothing’s wrong with a boyband. You sigh.

“At least we’re getting free alcohol, eh?” you nudge Doyoung, him being the reason you’re getting to play here anyway. What does a graduated music performance major do in his free time? Bartending, apparently. You haven’t ever really questioned his life choices and you’re not going to start now. Never question your seniors.

“I’m not serving you kids alcohol,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows in disbelief.

“We’re legal,” you argue, crossing your arms.

“Hard to believe.”

You see the smile lines crease on Doyoung’s face and before you can retort, a hum of strings resounds through the place, loud enough for the two of you to catch.

“Sorry,” Donghyuck mouths sheepishly to the two of you, Doyoung responding with an eye roll.

“I didn’t know that demon could get nervous,” he mutters and you laugh at the comedic duo the two of them make. 

Donghyuck clears his throat into the mic and you cringe, but not before holding back your laughter at the terror in his eyes. Right then, the keys are struck, and suddenly, music is into motion.

You absentmindedly hum along, smiling to yourself before it strikes you to monitor the crowd. You gulp, a crease in your brows as you look around with the determination of a child at a pet shop scanning for a puppy to adopt.

You give up after a minute or so, the feeling weighing heavy. Reading facial expressions has never really been your thing, especially under lights that don’t acknowledge the purpose of their existence. (You’re not saying this because you have bad eyesight.) Fun varies. Everyone in this place is in a crowd of their own, and if not a crowd, in a dream. Some nod along, some smile but you, you know the song better than anyone else in this room. It has to be worth something.

You sigh. Your desperation gets a notch crueler each drawing year, and yet, the questions still arise. Do you have to be someone? A smiling face at a dive bar is more than enough to be, you think.

You mouth the lyrics, nodding your head along to the baseline you helped make. You think Doyoung chuckles beside you, something about taking self-love too seriously but you can’t hear him over the sound of the band. 

Bass. Drums. Keys.

Suddenly, in the moment between heartbeats, your eyes meet Renjun’s.

He sings into the mic full of self-assurance, teeth occasionally making an appearance in a chaotic smile. It's always the little things that make the person. Eyes peering down at the keys, barely keeping open at certain parts and yet you think you see a hint of exhilaration in them. 

The riff of the second song starts out loud. This is Donghyuck’s song and this time, it turns heads. You’re not sure in a good way or bad, but it wouldn’t be the first time people have wanted to beat him up in a bar. You snicker to yourself but just then, two guys cheer from the crowd, a red-faced Donghyuck flashing them a grin.

“Ah, Jaehyun and Taeil are here too,” Doyoung notes. You’ve never actually met the two but you’ve heard of them so many times you think you could replace Doyoung as their lead singer. 

The song is called Cheers and for good reason.

Donghyuck smiles into the mic, and with a highly anticipated breath, you realize, Renjun is smiling too. Little by little, the night grows more optimistic and into the palms of your youth. Even in this tiny, crowded place. Even in a room full of people you can’t read.

The song ends in time, but not enough for Donghyuck to actually convince Doyoung to give him drinks. It’s not a Saturday night without their fights, and despite that, the atmosphere is warm with spoken words. You think you catch Renjun beam at Doyoung’s compliment, suppressing your own smile at the two..

Clink, splash, clink.

“You know, for someone as excited about whiskey, I thought you’d be better with liquor,” Renjun says, sighing as his hesitant finger pokes you in the forehead.

Your eyes open so suddenly, Renjun flinches and you ease into a smile. “I’m not that drunk. The next shot, maybe.”

That’s not entirely true because you’re sure the previous one just needs a little more time to settle into your gut. Renjun, on the other hand, seems to be better at dealing with alcohol. The peach hue across his cheeks make you want to pinch them and you’ll give it twenty minutes before you lose control and actually do.

The two songs were only three and a half minutes each but they seemed to stretch long enough for you to be pleased with them. You’re not sure about the rest.

“I almost messed up the beat there,” Jeno mutters, resting his head against the bar table. Jaemin shrugs beside him, taking another shot. The two of them can hold their liquor, at least. Donghyuck cannot.

“Was it that bad?” Donghyuck asks, adjusting the red bomber jacket he was so sure made him look cool. “I don’t think it was bad. I mean, we all do embarrassing things once in a while—”

“Does he not shut up?” Renjun wails before looking at you accusingly. “Don’t end up like that.” 

“I don’t mope, Renjun,” you snap, your finger unsteady as it points at him. “You better remember that about me.”

Renjun rolls his eyes. “And you’re gone too.”

“Tell me,” you say, your lips tugged into a lazy smile, “you enjoyed it, didn’t you? I saw you smiling.”

Even under the wash of blue light, you can see his cheeks tinge with colour. Is Huang Renjun purple now? Not the crystal clear jewel you’d expected, but these hues are so much nicer on him. He doesn’t always have to be under golden spotlight—he can just bask in the mulberry shades of a nearly sketchy club once in a while.

“Renjun,” a loud whine erupts from beside you, Donghyuck immediately wobbling up. “I can’t believe you actually agreed to play with us. C’mere, let me give you a smooch.”

Renjun curls his lips, desperately trying to fight off Donghyuck clinging onto him for life, and you hear a grunt of pain from Renjun in a pitch you didn’t think was humanly possible. You laugh, clutching your stomach and hear a few strained words from Renjun about how no one ever helps him. Who would help him when he’s providing you the funniest event of the weekend?

Jeno is the knight in shining armour tonight, pulling Donghyuck off but not before the boy lands a kiss on Renjun’s neck, in turn getting smacked in the lips a little too hard. Donghyuck places his hand over his mouth, keeling over with eyes shut in pain and Renjun mutters about how he deserved that. He fits in just fine, you think.

“You wanna… not do that?” 

Renjun pulls the shot glass away from you, and you frown at him.

“So tell me,” he says, leaning in a little closer to be heard over the song. “Why did you want me to join your band so desperately you forgot your own dignity? I’m not saying you had any to begin with but…”

“Look, Renjun, I don’t give away embarrassing secrets when I’m drunk,” you warn, poking him right between the ribs. “Even if it’s not embarrassing. Or a secret.”

“Right. You’d do that sober,” he sighs, arms a polite distance from you when you try to stand up.

“Now you tell me—”

“You didn’t even answer me.”

“—did you have fun?”

Renjun pauses, taking a moment or two as he scans your face. The light dances across his features, gentle eyes and parted lips, across the dark jacket over a white shirt that has turned fluorescent under the lighting. You forgot how fun this place got beyond midnight, when they play beats to dance to for a crowd that seeks nothing more than fun.

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

Renjun might be trying very hard to stop the smile over his lips but you can see it in his eyes. And perhaps, people are only seen when they are true to themselves.

“Huang Renjun!” you yell all of a sudden, voice still drowned out in the delicate discordance. 

Unfortunately for Renjun, you yell directly into his ear and he responds with a violent recoil, hand flying to his ear involuntarily. He probably cries out too but the music is deafening, something you enjoy rightly so. Or is it the alcohol? Should you have stayed sober for Renjun’s sake? Right now, you don’t even mind the strong minty scent wafting from Renjun—in fact, it’s welcoming, even.

You wobble onto his chest before tentatively pushing yourself away. You curse at yourself. You weren’t supposed to get hammered. How much did you drink? You can’t even bear to look at the bill right now.

“You know what? I’m not having fun right now,” Renjun speaks into your ear and you jump. There’s a hint of a smile on his face. 

You sit back down on the bar stool, pouting at the fuzz blooming inside your head. No more words for tonight. In all honesty, why doesn’t anyone ever let you dance?

“Oh no, you don’t.” Doyoung pulls the bottle of whatever-alcoholic-beverage out of your reach. “Do you even know how expensive that is? You’re going to have to pay.”

You think you sober up a little, sitting straight. “Oh no. I don’t have money. I’m not cleaning the place again.”

A sort of unspoken arrangement passes between Doyoung and Renjun, who you’re sure have never met before. You know Jaemin’s dragged Donghyuck home, the same way you’d drag your pet cat away from the kitchen and Jeno is the only one with a driver’s license and Doyoung’s trust (hence, designated driver). Which leaves the two of you. 

Renjun heaves a sigh, pulling you up by the shoulders. “You’re going home. Or whatever dumpster you came from.”

He proceeds to mutter something about Jeno being late but in the moment, you flash him a grin, walking perfectly away (at least, you think you do) and out into the night. Renjun follows, flustered by your absolute lack of restraint as he somehow manages to stop you from tripping over the sidewalk.

“You didn’t dance,” you complain, looking at him. 

“You didn’t let me,” he retorts. “Look at you. You’re as bad as Donghyuck. Babysitting him is difficult enough.”

You grumble before agreeing. “Okay, fair. Next time, no drinking. Unless it’s free.”

What college student would have the audacity to turn down free drinks? Huang Renjun should not have been this good at holding his liquor. Needlessly, your thoughts are incoherent—not too good for a songwriter, right?

Huang Renjun has a lighter touch than you thought. He has a polite hold over your shoulder, in a way friends do most often, and you might feel like you could have been friends with him forever, but you can never tell what he thinks. Sometimes, Renjun really is extraterrestrial. In the way he talks, in the way he looks at things and in the way you almost believe he’s going to do something unspeakably outrageous someday. 

You feel a certain sprout of warmth in your chest as he sits quietly beside you in the noisy car Jeno loves to drive. Must be the alcohol, of course. Of course.

And sometimes, you come up with words fit for a song. To fall asleep in last night’s clothes and wake up with tomorrow’s dreams—all part of the grand plan, part of the crusades of youth, nothing more and nothing less. That sounds like something you’d love telling your family when you’re old and grey. You laugh to yourself, pulling the covers over your head, not knowing how you even ended up here. 

It smells minty. 

With that one fleeting thought, you doze off in your unwashed bed sheets and faintly lemon-scented pillows, shades of plums and oranges and cherries of the night twisting into midnight black.

Playing at Odd Fruit is now a thing. Your thing. The band’s thing.  

As if you needed any more reasons to stay over at the bandroom, now that Donghyuck and Renjun bickering keeps everyone up all night. You’re not blaming them, of course, when you join in the fun too. The day Renjun’s nostrils stop flaring and his eyebrows don’t furrow into an oddly adorable expression will be the day he’s finally set free from your ‘ill-treatment’.

Tap, scratch, tap.

Donghyuck fiddles with the strings of his guitar, while the rest lay slumped in any clean bit of space they could find, like runners after a marathon. Which is funny, really, considering you were the one running errands and cleaning up the damn place and it’s yet still somehow trashed. You could be having a little more energy, you always could. 

However, the lengthened nights have left you in a state you’re rather afraid to be in. Your eyes don’t grow any more determined when it’s time for end semester tests, you don’t grow any happier at the thought of graduating. There are so many tunes to find, so many words to scribble—just how will you catch up?

Fun is a perfectly valid reason to do things but it’s only so long before the rest of your feelings each grip you by the limbs. 

“We need to do something more,” you say, pacing the room. “Something that’s a little more eye-catching, you know?”

There’s a pause.

“Make Jeno play the drums shirtless,” Donghyuck suggests.

Jeno sighs, still not having figured out how to respond every time a scandalizing proposition escapes the boy’s mouth. At this point, most of you have considered duct taping him over the mouth but it’d never work. Renjun’s tried.

“Why do we even need it?” Renjun asks, eyes on the ceiling as he lies back on the couch.

“To improve!” you say, shoulders hunching.

“I don’t need improving,” he mutters, neck angled to the side in contemplation.

“Yeah, you should see Renjun at the dorms,” Donghyuck snorts. “I don’t think he can get any better.”

Renjun furrows his brows. “What?”

“You play the keys in your sleep, Renjun,” Donghyuck says, almost distastefully. “You keep tapping and tapping against the study desk. How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“And you snore,” Renjun mumbles, glaring at him. “How the hell do you not wake yourself up?”

“Guys,” you interrupt. Your lack of sleep throughout the exam season has not left you any better than this. “More important matters at hand.”

“Why are we so stressed anyway?” Renjun sighs.

There’s another pause in the quiet afternoon. You’d think it’s comforting even to have the same fear lingering beneath each of your noses, that same existential grasp ready to pounce—all within the comfort of the same room you share. All those late nights sharing ramen have meaning after all, as do the utter messes all of you make on Friday evenings as the boys try to practise, as does every Saturday night performance and every Sunday afternoon spent trying to watch the same movie on a tiny phone screen.

“How about we each look for inspiration?” Jaemin pipes up, eyes still a little lost.

Everyone turns to him and he straightens ever so slightly. “Me and Jeno can come up with a beat, (name) and Renjun can look for a melody and Donghyuck—”

“Can fuck off?” Renjun suggests helpfully.

Donghyuck pouts, crossing his arms. “Hey I’m—”

“Yeah, maybe Donghyuck can fuck off,” Jaemin says, fighting a smile. You raise an eyebrow, wondering which one of Donghyuck’s antics finally got on Jaemin’s nerves.

“This is harassment,” Donghyuck mutters before sinking into the couch beside Renjun. “Well, good for me! I get a day off—”

“No, you don’t,” Jaemin disproves. “You’re cleaning up this place.” 

Donghyuck lets out a gasp. “All by myself?”

“Well, you trashed the place all by yourself,” Jeno reasons.

You tune out the bickering for a few moments. There are important matters at hand and no one seems to be listening to you. You play with your fingers absentmindedly when the thought arrives that maybe you should declare your secret little project. The song you wrote with Renjun in mind, that is. You should admit that it’s really just a nicer way of saying you wrote a song for him. 

Astounding, isn’t it? This should be the part where you feel your pulse quicken. It’s just a song and the nights spent with him on the keyboards, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes has given you a head full of rhythm and song. It’s just a song.

You’d do anything for a good song.

But first, you need your audio converter fixed. The damn thing’s been generating noise all on its own, when it’s clearly your job.

“I need to go to Yongsan,” you say, picking up your bag. “We can find inspiration along the way, can’t we Renjun?”

“Why do we need to go—”

“Oh, get me some replacement strings for my guitar,” Donghyuck chirps.

“And a new pair of drumsticks,” Jeno says, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. You sigh. He really needs to stop breaking those. Where do drummers get such unparalleled rage on a drum set?

You walk over to the door before turning back and sending a pointed look at Renjun.

“I… have to?” he asks, and the look in his eyes almost makes you pity him. If anything, he’s having it worse than the rest of you are, with balancing the weekly gigs and practising for his piano recitals, though he never studies like the rest. You feel sorry but clearly, not enough.

“Yes,” you reply hurriedly. “Quick, get up, come on, we’re wasting time.”

“Okay, okay! Don’t pull my shirt!”

It’s so easy to get Renjun to do things these days. You bite back a smile as he fixes his collar, features still disgruntled by your (over)enthusiasm. His bag is cuter than you thought for someone who dresses punk (“It’s not punk,” he’d snapped, after re-dyeing his hair yet again.), with three different moomin keychains hanging against a baby blue hue. 

You should know better than to let yourself think about someone so much.

The subway is absolutely lovable when it isn’t rush hour.

Skyscrapers nearly aren’t as looming as they are on rainy days, but you make your way through a still busy city, the heart of it beating like a snare drum with each passing moment.  A little rain cannot stop Seoul. 

Renjun walks beside you explaining how you should really look into this new underground artist you’ve already listened to three times this week because of him. He never seems to understand that you are, in fact, capable of remembering the things he says.

“I wrote a song about you,” you say abruptly.

Very smooth.

Renjun raises an eyebrow. “Like as a gift? A fan song? I’m so flatter—”

“No, stupid,” you interrupt, shifting your eyes upon irrelevant surrounding details. “It’s not about you. I just thought you’d like it.”

You pause.

“Yeah, it’s a little bit about you. A gift for joining. You can sing it to yourself in the shower or something.”

“You know, I feel really offended when you call me stupid.”

You glare at him. His ears are tinged red but right now, you’re a little more than done with his insults. Sure, you make mistakes—like dropping a full open can of soda on your own lap or submitting the wrong assignment to the wrong professor—but at least you’re not cynical Huang Renjun, incapable of making mistakes at all. It would be much more infuriating if you hadn’t seen Renjun drooling in his sleep or vigorously wipe at his nose after having snacks too spicy for his own good. You suppress a retort.

You reach the subway entrance taking slower steps than usual; but time is not a constraint here.

“It’s not a diss track, is it?” Renjun asks, suddenly doubtful. 

You can’t help your laugh (and horrifically, snorts), in turn evoking a smile in Renjun.

“No, it isn’t,” you assure, before grabbing his wrist and skipping down the steps, Renjun’s panicked voice yelling at you to slow down. 

“Can you not do that?” he complains, massaging his wrist at the subway platform.

“You made it through without tripping,” you reason, sticking your tongue out at him.

He reaches out to flick your forehead but you cover it just in time, a grin blooming across both your faces at this childish playfight. The train arrives with an almost soundless screech and you hop on slowly with anticipation in your footsteps.

“So what is it about?” Renjun asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

“You,” you respond, nonchalant.

“Very informative.”

The noise of the trains keeps the moment engaged, chuffing throughout as busy as they are.

Renjun lets out a barely audible gasp. “It’s not a- It’s not a love song, is it?”

You laugh, amused.

“Renjun, I knew you were arrogant but not this arrogant,” you tease.

He flushes hotly, and there’s that feeling again—that maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you don’t have anything else to hang on to and music is the only ledge left. 

You wrinkle your nose before shaking yourself off the feeling. Rainy days always do this.

“Besides,” you say, “I’m still going to score you that hot date with star pianist number one, aren’t I?”

“Not number one,” he begins before hesitating. “That’s… not necessary but thanks.”

You punch him swiftly and he responds with an oof, clutching the ball of his shoulder.

“Don’t be shy,” you complain. “That’s not fun.”

“Well, I’m not fun,” he retorts. “I don’t need to be. I like having a working brain.”

You send him an exaggerated hurt look, hand reaching to pull at his cheek before it gets swatted away. Somehow, in this exact moment, you find a new tune and it doesn’t seem to be the end of your search. You contemplate saving it in your voice memos but you figure a noisy subway train is the last place to record. Besides, you don’t want to lose the look in Renjun’s eyes when he’s talking about how impressive the new relocated concert hall is.

“It’s called Not Feeling Spring,” you say when the train doors open to your station.

Renjun raises an eyebrow, somewhat disbelieving, although you’re not sure of what. 

“You’ve definitely packed some insults in there,” he accuses.

You look at him, defeated. “Trust me.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Step, step, splash. 

“Ew,” Renjun says, shaking his foot after landing on a particularly damp part of the sidewalk. They really should have evened out the path when laying the pavement. But unfortunately for Renjun, he’s already stepped onto rainwater in bright yellow converse.

It’s not just his shoes that look like daisies could bloom over them either—there’s paint over his denim jacket in pictures you’re aware that Renjun himself painted. A nice little touch, but not a very smart choice for a garment. How unlike him, you think to yourself when you hear him sigh and complain about the weather.

“So this is your famous shop?” Renjun asks, eyeing the discoloured walls of the store by the shop.

“You’re doing your thing again,” you reply, face souring.

He looks baffled. “What thing?”

“Your thing. The one where you act all cynical.”

“I’m not cynical.” He crosses his arms.

“Great, you’re even cynical about being cynical.”

Inside is, of course, as warm as ever. The walls are vibrant red, in stark contrast with the exterior and you think you see Renjun’s face grow pinkish. You smile at the man behind the counter, in his late fifties and smile still somehow as bright as yours.

“What’s the problem, dear?” he asks, glancing at your laptop. “You know I can’t help with software issues.”

“I know,” you say, “But I’ve tried every guide on the internet and there’s still unnecessary noise.”

He clicks around your screen for a few seconds.

“Have you tried getting a better mic?”

“Uh.”

Renjun snickers beside you before promptly apologizing at the two pairs of eyes on him. You didn’t bring him here just to embarrass yourself in front of him. Your cheeks flush as you tell the man you’ll come another day with your mic, before heading to the supplements aisle. Renjun follows you quietly, silent laughter yet still etched over his face and he looks away when you glare at him.

“Are you sure you wanna buy the wooden drumsticks?” Renjun asks, picking up the carbon fibre ones instead.

“Jeno loves the wooden ones,” you defend. “And you really think those are within my budget?”

Renjun shrugs, keeping them back in place. 

“Feels like I’m shopping for babies,” he mutters.

There’s a second’s pause before he straightens, a particular discomfort in his being. “Not- Not like my babies or something. I- I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” you say, trying very hard to hold in your laughter. 

“I don’t like that face you’re making.”

“You don’t always have to explain yourself,” you smile before heading to the counter.

The scent of rain makes you nostalgic. You step outside with Renjun and into the sound of rain against pavement. It’s wet and damp, and your hair clings to your skin in that horrific discomfort of humidity, truly one of the worst cruelties of rain. You make a face but an idea strikes you smack across the forehead.

You gasp.

“This can be our stage!” you declare, spreading your arms.

Renjun pulls your arms down. “Don’t block the sidewalk!”

“Sorry.”

You shove your bag onto Renjun, bewildering him even further. The sleeves of the jacket he rolled up, fall into place again as he raises an eyebrow at you.

“This,” you say, waving your arms about, “Should be a stage.”

“Huh?”

Renjun looks unconvinced at your flailing and you sigh. 

“The rain!” you say, trying to sound as enthusiastic as you can. “Isn’t it romantic? You’ve never thought what it would be like playing in the rain?”

“Uh, inconvenient?”

You groan. “Come on! Picture it for a second.”

You give it a moment before showing him what you mean. Renjun bursts into laughter at your air guitar performance, suddenly unaware of the pit-a-pat. 

“It would be nice,” he says, his teeth poking against his lips. He places the bags under the shaded entrance of the store before stepping into the drizzle.

Pitter, patter.

Renjun flashes you a goofy smile, shaking the water out of his hair only for the rain to come in stronger. With raindrops caught on eyelashes, you can only think of the soft, rising melodies that come in movie scenes like these, except it’s a lot more uncomfortable than they show it to be. You smoothen your hair, getting slightly frizzy due to the raindrops. You’ve always wanted to do things out of line and out of regularity and it’s not just because of the price sticker spelling ‘youth’ that clings to your back—but now, is it selfish to just want to stay under the rain? 

In a way it feels just the same as ever; like singing barefoot on an asphalt road, cooling rains and people around, without a care each. You tell Renjun about the time you were stranded by the bus stop under heavy downpour for so long, you decided to walk home with pneumonia a step behind you and he tells you that you’re an idiot. It’s nothing unusual but it makes you smile when he laughs at you. 

The rain slows again before you can start to shiver, chest rising and falling with each breath that fills your lungs. 

“I have a song!” you declare, eyes shining. “A love song. We’ve never done a love song.”

“A love song?” Renjun asks, laughing almost. “You want to write a radio love song? Why?”

“Because, Huang Renjun, there’s not a thing in the world that isn’t made for love.”

Renjun pauses before wrinkling his nose. “Don’t preach me.”

The clap of thunder startles the two of you out of calm. It’s not so much the screams that left your mouths simultaneously as the looks you get from passersby. Renjun looks at you the same time as you look at him, his ears red and eyes nervous.

“Lightning doesn’t- Lightning doesn’t strike in the middle of the city, does it?” Renjun asks, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted, like a hare stranded in the middle of a busy road.

“I don’t know!” You respond, pulling him by the sleeve to the nearest cover. “I don’t want to know.”

Renjun grabs your hand and you realize with a thump in your heart the effect of it. He pulls you to the side, saving your jeans from the fate of getting splashed by muddy water courtesy of an oncoming car.

“Ooh, quick reflex,” you say, despite the clanging of cymbals inside your ribcage.

He shrugs, picking up the bags and shoving yours to your chest.

“Ow?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You know why.”

“You know, you’re not as grumpy as I thought you were. You’re still petty, though.”

“Thanks.”

When you’re back to the bandroom, you find Donghyuck snoring on the couch with an even more worn out Jaemin sitting cross legged on the floor and his head against Donghyuck's knee. Jeno looks like he’s in a world of his own, tapping away at his phone in a game he seems to be losing at.

“Why are you guys wet?” Jaemin asks, cracking an eye open. “Had some life-changing experience?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “Why do you guys look dead?”

“I am dead,” Donghyuck mumbles in his sleep to which Jaemin shakes his head.

“He didn’t even do the entire cleaning…”

You hope the skip in your steps isn’t too obvious. You have a song and this time, it feels pure in a way that you haven’t made before.

“I hope you guys came up with a beat,” you call.

“Uh, about that—”

“I have a new song!” you announce bouncing on the balls of your feet.

Your declaration is met with a bunch of smiles. Soon enough, everyone in the room is up and to their positions in a matter of minutes. 

Music isn’t about being eye-catching, considering the eyes have nothing to do with it anyway. You signal Renjun who in turn, clears his throat.

A strum of guitar string. Four notes on the keys. Bass. A beat on the drums.

“One. Two. Ah, one, two, three, four!”

The cafeteria is jam packed at three a.m so it’s a good thing you brought Renjun here an hour early. So, your top secret, full resistance, avant-garde mission? Your new song and the one for Renjun, of course. 

“So this is top secret,” you whisper when he sits down from across you.

“I’m sure it is,” he snickers.

You pass your notebook to him, scribbles neater than usual. (That’s only because you rewrote the song in a new page.) You start your laptop, waiting for the screen to load as Renjun goes over the lines.

“My dreams and I don’t get along,” Renjun reads aloud before furrowing his brows.

Ah, I hate people.

I hate my friends too.

And I love saying that which isn’t true.

“Oh, very funny, (name),” Renjun scorns, crossing his arms. “Is that what you think of me?”

You chuckle to yourself. Maybe it was a little petty, but you love the look on Renjun’s face when he’s annoyed, nerves a second away from being completely fried. Just for fun. This was just for fun. 

Somewhere along, however, you can’t deny the essence of him you’d so hopelessly wanted to capture in the melody, in rhythm and timbre, orchestral almost. It’s each note of the piano he plays to himself late at night in the bandroom, each featherlight hit on the cymbal and the song you hum to yourself on the bus ride to classes every morning.

It’s a love song. 

You break into a sudden coughing fit at the thought, Renjun flinching before offering you his bottle of water. Somehow, the gentle hand on your back trying to ease you gives you yet another reason to support your unwanted epiphany. That’s just ridiculous. It’s something natural between friends, isn’t it? Yet, you’d gag at the idea of writing Donghyuck into a song. 

You calm down and meet Renjun’s eyes, the glint of something familiar making you pause. 

“Water?” he offers, and you straighten.

“I had the stupidest thought,” you say, trying to laugh it off.

You can’t do it. You can’t make light of it with him.

“When do you not?” he says, a soft smile on his face.

You smile awkwardly in response, avoiding his eyes as you rub circles on the soft flesh between your thumb and forefinger. 

It’s quiet, much more than not, distant buzzing of the 3 a.m. university cafeteria crowds drifting through the space between you and him.

“Do you ever- Do you ever think about doing it?” Renjun asks.

You blink before feeling warmth on your cheeks. 

“Doing what, Renjun? That’s a little too private to ask. I mean, I could answer, of c—”

It doesn’t take long for him to burn bright vermillion at the cheeks. 

“I- I didn’t say that,” he defends, stuttering over the words. “I was talking about making music. Do you ever think about it or do you just do it?”

“Oh,” you respond intelligently, the embarrassment making you flush harder. Funny, you used to laugh the loudest at these sorts of mistakes. “I don’t- I don’t know. I think about it after I’ve… made it?”

You scratch the back of your head awkwardly. 

“You… do like it, don’t you?” he asks, something akin to worry in his eyes. 

You hum, smiling. “Of course I like it, Renjun.”

No. The truth is, you don’t even know how it makes you feel. The truth is, you do feel sick listening to your own song over and over again. Have you run far enough? Do you have to be running for this?

You seem scared. Is that what he wanted to tell you? You can’t be that easy to see through, you resist. When he held your hand earlier, could he feel it shake?

You’re so afraid that all of this is for naught that you can’t feel it anymore. You hardly make music for yourself, for no one else to hear. Is that what you wanted? When you wrote Not Feeling Spring, were you searching for something you desperately wanted or something you lost? You’re only twenty and you’re aging.

You snap yourself out of the whirlpool of questions to a drowsy Renjun playing with the bracelet around his wrist, lost in his own circle of thoughts. 

“I wanted to give up on this,” he whispers suddenly. “I wanted to give up on music.”

You hold your breath till he looks at you, a strange sense of vulnerability that makes you want to reach over the table and share some of the warmth your palm offers.

You’ve already drawn the conclusion.

“You’re not alone,” you say, leaning in with the widest grin. 

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Are you saying that to comfort me? It barely has any effect. Thanks, th—”

You shake your head, standing up abruptly and scrambling onto the tabletop. It’s the perfect time to be a little ridiculous. Renjun looks around, alarmed, tugging at you to get down which, unfortunately, draws even more attention. 

“Raise your hand if you’ve ever wanted to give up on music!”

There’s a moment of pause before laughter erupts, followed by a few cheers and almost as many raised hands as you’d expected. Some of them tell you to get back to your date, or focus on completing overdue assignments—friends and friends of friends. They are music students, after all.

Renjun looks around the place, rosy hued in the face, though he isn’t as angry as you thought he’d be.

“I almost never started,” you say, giggling as you resume in your seat. “Giving up came so much later.”

Renjun laughs. You don’t even have to make music out of it.

“I tried to give up the piano,” he admits, still flushed. “But I couldn’t break the habit of playing against my desk. Even then.”

You smile, resting your chin against your palm. “That sounds just like you. Now tell me, when did you discover flumpool?”

Renjun frowns and you feel an uncharacteristic thump in your chest. You want to draw your finger against his cheeks and the space between his brows, against the strained lines—the thought of it much more scandalous than the action itself.

“I didn’t- My parents didn’t- ugh.” He hesitates. “Look, everyone hated my style of music. My parents, the neighbours, their dogs. 

Your eyes soften as you sit up. “I’m sure they didn’t hate it—”

“No, trust me on this one.”

Suddenly the honey tint of his voice is dripping a dangerously low baritone. It doesn’t sound like him and it sends a shiver down your spine, a certain coldness you never thought would seep into you. It is the loneliness of curbed dreams, after all.  

“I thought I should’ve given up on music altogether. Became, what, a doctor? A lawyer?” Renjun sighs. “Whatever I do, it shouldn’t be music, right?”

He heaves a sigh in sync with you. There’s a passing moment in between where you can clearly see the apple of his eye, shining a daunting amber and a warmth you can only feel over coffee tables in university cafeterias at midnight. 

“But you’re here now because this is the closest you can be to music?” you offer, your smile sheepish.

Renjun laughs, your eyebrows furrowing as he tries to stop. “No. No, classical music was the last option on their list—but it was on the list.”

You smile, although it is small and gentle. And—unlike anything you’ve felt since you jumped onto the adulthood train.

“They like it now, though,” he beams, shoulders relaxing as if rid of a burden.“I mean- They said- They said they’re proud of me.”

When someone decides to confide their happiness to you, it is just as precious.

You look up, eyes bright as you finally get to ruffle his hair. “Well, I’m proud of you too!”

Renjun coughs indiscreetly, shaking his head before facing you. “Th-Thanks. It’s… good to hear.”

“Say it back,” you demand, making Renjun laugh.

“I’m… proud of you,” he says with rose-tinted cheeks.

The midnight chatter grows louder when the two of you pause. A symphony of voices through the area, higher pitches and lower, baritones and trebles. You wonder what people talk about most when you are quiet. You have friends—it’s not like you’re alone, per se. But everyone seems to be running, away from something or towards something. Your bones feel heavy for a second as you stir the coffee. Is it selfish to just want to get to know someone? Neither of you moving a muscle, with laughter that isn’t carried away by the wind.

“I didn’t think I’d be good at anything apart from classical,” he says, reluctance in his mouth. “Sorry about all that ruckus I caused when you asked me to join.”

You raise an eyebrow, nose wrinkling at the apology. “Renjun. It sucks when you apologize.”

He groans. “You’re really annoying, you know that? I was being nice.”

“I know,” you say, grinning. “It was all forgiven a long time ago. Can’t believe you had to say it out loud.”

“Oh, pardon me,” he says, voice rising. “I was taking into consideration your below average understanding of social cues.”

“You’re going to get smacked.”

That night, when you leave Renjun at the intersection to your respective dorms, you have yet another unwanted epiphany. He waves you goodbye with a smile, pale blue T-shirt hanging loose on his shoulders and you wave back as ardently as you can against your prominent heartbeat. Huang Renjun has the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Some days, you take the bus together to and from classes. It’s not like the dorms are far but walks are considerably less fun when you’ve barely rubbed the sleep dust out of your eyes and class started ten minutes ago. Besides, you’re not letting the student bus pass go to waste.

Rattle. Rattle. Woosh.

You yawn and it quickly spreads to Renjun beside you. Classes are over and there’s no practice today. You can hear a popular song play through his earphones and tilt your head to look at him, a suppressed smile on your face. Renjun does a double take when he notices you, a little flustered as he quietly offers the other earbud and you put it on with a short word of thanks.

It is a track by one of Seoul’s favourite bands and you’re not going to lie, say you haven’t fallen prey to its charms. A catchy baseline, engaging drums and attractive vocals—you stop yourself. When was the last time you enjoyed a song without deconstructing it piece by piece? You sigh and Renjun shifts beside you, though no words part from his lips.

Absentmindedly, you find your head drawing nearer to his till they bump once and you startle away, only to laugh at each other. Is this another useless epiphany of yours? That Renjun has a lovely laugh—these are getting out of hand.

You look out the window instead, skyscrapers shiny and metallic as always and with little to offer. Unwittingly, a pout climbs onto your face at the prospect of feelings bubbling up right when you’re setting Renjun up on a date. He doesn’t know, of course. It’s meant to be a surprise and somehow, the little voice in your head won’t stop yelling at maximum volume inside your head about how wrong this is. Is it selfish? To an extent—nothing ever is purely selfless and you haven’t lived long enough to question. So why are you even bothering with this whole surprise?

Because you don’t want to think about the feelings. As if they’re things to be thought about. As if you can throw them away into the trash bin like a crumpled piece of paper.

An elderly couple boards the bus, sharing a large shopping bag as they take slow, careful steps over the aisle. Renjun responds almost at the same time you do, getting up so quickly Renjun has to hold on to the strap so as to not trip over you. The couple thanks you and you nod politely, trying not to bring attention to the earphones tangled around your necks.

You take a step closer in an attempt to separate the wires but it only makes you lose balance, Renjun clutching the cloth at your back so you don’t faceplant right into him. The other hand hangs overhead on the strap, grasping so tight his skin has turned red. 

He glances at the old couple once, blood rushing to his cheeks at something and he turns his focus back to you. 

“The- The wires- We should—”

Young love isn’t what this is. How silly. There’s enough of that all around.

“That’s what I was trying,” you interrupt. “Wait.”

You use your hands to pull the bud from your ear, trying to figure out how the loop even coiled this way. Renjun’s hand pushes against your waist at the sudden jerk, your soul almost leaving your body at the unexpected feeling of falling down. You breathe out, cheeks getting warmer. This isn’t quite uncomfortable, though.

When you look up to meet Renjun’s eyes, you feel something faint, a hint of something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“There,” you say, the wires all out of their miserable twining. 

Renjun barely nods, the music still blasting loud and clear through the buds. His hand still holds the strap for balance, and the other still holds you, for reasons private. 

There’s a warm flush over his face when he mumbles about crowded buses and the afternoon heat, eyes averted to every corner but you.

You laugh. Renjun is adorable when he least expects to be. And when you least expect him to be, he’s even terribly attractive. You swear by the way he’s looking at you, if you leaned in a little further, he’d let you kiss him. 

Wait, what?

You sober up quickly, in a moment of clarity you do not wish to have. You’ve never felt the weight of the feelings this intense. Yours isn’t the name he should be calling out so affectionately. Her. Anyone else. You were so sure of it. Huang Renjun’s fleeting interest in romance doesn’t involve you—cannot involve you.

That’s why you’re doing him (and yourself) a favour. Besides, you promised it anyway, didn’t you? 

You gulp. 

When did you start explaining yourself for everything you do?

Step, screech, step.

“Where the fuck are you even  taking me?” Renjun complains from behind you, light on his foot. “You said it’s not too far away.”

“It’s a surprise!” You stop walking to cross your arms.

“I hate it when you say that.”

How would he react? You think he’ll get a little angry, maybe scowl at you or even yell a little. You haven’t been able to look him in the eye longer than two seconds for about a week now. 

“Ta-da!” 

You stretch your arms to point towards the new cafe in town. Renjun looks at you and then the cafe and back again.

“You’re taking me on a coffee date?”

You choke on air, coughing before you can clear your throat and clarify.

“Not- Not me. Remember I promised you a date with—”

“No.”

“Yes! Wait, is that disbelieving no or are you saying you’re not going to go?”

Renjun closes his eyes and sighs, as if dealing with a toddler. “I’m not going. Why didn’t you say anything? I’m not prepared or anything!”

Something takes a tumble and falls inside your chest. You smile at him nevertheless.

“Don’t be shy now. She’s waiting, come on.”

Renjun shifts his weight from foot to foot, but it seems equally uncomfortable on each. He peers intently at you, looking up and down your face before pressing his lips together.

“Have fun,” you wish.

You push Renjun towards the door and he hesitates, some part of you expecting a little more resistance. He shrugs, although he seems to be holding back a smile. This isn’t the time, you tell yourself.

You turn on your heel before you lose your final excuse to be able to say that you are not completely enamored with Huang Renjun.

The afternoon would be more peaceful if it weren’t for Donghyuck and Renjun yelling at each other. This time, you’re not to blame.

“That’s not how you tie a bow tie!” Donghyuck complains, though Renjun won’t let him anywhere near.

“I know you’re trying to get back at me for drawing on your face last Saturday,” Renjun yells back. “But this is the pre-annual concert. You’re not fucking anything up.”

Donghyuck grumbles before settling down. Four music performance majors and yet none of them know how to do a bow tie—if it weren’t for you, Renjun might have ended up with his usual askew one. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, and you’d just rather not look at him too long anyway. 

Formal white shirt, a much debated black bow tie and polished black dress shoes on Renjun aren’t strange to look at—in fact, they quite suit him when, despite its striking colour, his hair is parted neatly to the side. But they’re all so out of place in the bandroom, monochrome against messes, that you start to wonder if you simply think too much about him. That all of his colours and melodies are just there for you to notice.

It’s not true, of course.

But when did you become a cynic? 

“I’m going out,” Donghyuck says, huffing, “Why are they taking so long to buy ramen?”

Oh no. No, no, no. You try to mask your panic. Is one person enough to check up on Jaemin and Jeno? Would it be weird if you left too? Before you can answer those questions, you and Renjun are the only ones left in the room. You stand awkwardly by the couch, Renjun a few feet away, smoothing out the creases on his shirt.

You clear your throat, bringing his attention to you.

Nice going.

“So how was your date?”

You had to ask that, didn’t you?

The voice in your head has never been so loud before. When your question goes unanswered, you look up from the highly interesting floorboards to Renjun trying very hard to fight a snort.

“We talked about the recitals, extra lessons. Joked about you being an idiot.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“Chaerim’s not interested in guys.” Renjun laughs. “I thought you knew!”

There’s a pause.

“Wait, you were serious about setting me up with her?”

You stare a little too intensely at the space between your feet. Why would you choose now of all times to be coy? You keep yourself from swearing out loud.

“I- I didn’t know, okay?”

You feel the heat over your cheeks, the sound of everything other than your own heartbeat drowning out. A few more seconds pass and you worry more. 

“Don’t set me up on dates,” Renjun says, a sigh leaving his lips. “It’ll never work out.”

“What? Why?”

Renjun falters only to cover it up. “I- I… Why do you keep avoiding me?”

You can’t answer that.

“Setting me up on a date, never looking at me when you talk to me—are you going by the book or something?”

You hold your breath. He’s not misunderstanding and it only makes matters worse.

“All that because you don’t want to be in love with me?”

“Renjun, that’s not—”

“So what is it?”

You look up from your restless fingers and regret it almost immediately. The way Renjun looks at you, it damn near breaks your heart. His nose is a pale shade of red, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with undecided words.

“Am I- Am I dreaming everything up? Just tell me you don’t like me. I thought I made myself obvious.”

You can feel your pulse against your eardrums, ready to burst open any second.

“Renjun. It’s not about this,” you say, voice strangely low. “It’s about music—It’s always about music. I can’t risk anything.”

“Risk? What risk? You’re afraid you’re going to stop making music when you’re with me?”

“No—”

“You just want your songs on the Billboard charts? 

“And what if I do? I just want to be heard—”

You can barely breathe at the lack of distance between the two of you. Renjun looks straight into your eyes and you remember why your heart has been hammering in the first place.

“So it isn’t about music.”

You fall silent. It’s not wrong to want to succeed. But it’s never been about that. You were preparing yourself for a race while you repeated your love for it that was never there. Music is not a race and so, it is not the race you love.

“I didn’t want to be rich or famous,” Renjun says, voice lower than usual. “I don’t want to be rich or famous.”

But a musician does not want to be forgotten, does he?

For once, Renjun is fearless and you are not.

“There are worse things,” Renjun says, breath against your cheek and a rapid pulsing in your wrists. You look from his eyes to lips before breathing out slowly, eyelids growing heavy despite yourself.

The sudden bang makes the two of you jump away from each other.

Donghyuck kicks the door open, hands occupied with steaming instant ramen cups and Jeno walks in with the sprite. 

“Jaemin’s paying and we forgot our wallets,” Jeno offers an explanation when you raise an eyebrow.

You clear your throat awkwardly as the two scrutinize you with eyes you’re not yet ready to meet. You know you’ll never hear the end of this and better yet, you can pretend it never happened.

“Aren’t you supposed to get going?” Jeno asks, struggling to balance this month’s entire supply of ramen while Donghyuck holds the top of the pile.

Renjun responds with a soft ‘yeah’, eyes glancing at you once before he grabs his coat.

“I’ll see you for practice then.”

With that, the sounds inside your chest draw to a deafening close.

You’d think Doyoung would perform with his own band at his brother’s wedding.

(“I don’t want to work on the day my brother gets married.”

“I thought you work as a bartender?”

“Oh, dear.”)

You’re not complaining, of course. The longer you spend in the bandroom, the more suffocated you feel. You can’t meet Renjun’s eyes and neither can he meet yours. You rejected him, for fuck’s sake. It cannot get any more awkward than that. Any distraction will do.

This might be the first time you’ve been to a wedding on a Thursday night. At the very least, you’re happy about it being an outdoor wedding, the cool night air refreshing you the moment you step into the garden. It’s fairly large and you know Doyoung’s brother is an actor, but it never really struck you how wealthy that meant.

“There’s a chocolate fountain?!” Donghyuck gasps, walking towards it before Jaemin grabs him by the collar.

“Stage. We’re being called.”

Donghyuck massages his neck before he decides to give everyone an unnecessary pep talk.

“Look, Renjun, you better sing like that’s your ex, who you’re still in love with, getting married,” Donghyuck turns to advise a deadpanning Renjun.

“I- what? You should do that yourself.”

You smile at them encouragingly, smacking Donghyuck a little too hard on the back (you need payback for him “borrowing” your lunch on Monday) and stand at the sidelines. Donghyuck’s guitar seems to be the brightest thing in the venue, followed by Renjun’s hair. Unfortunately for Jeno, they couldn’t get the whole drum set in and the puppy dog look on his face when he sees the box-shaped cajón might have affected you some other day. 

They perform as usual, if not more enthusiastic to be in front of a crowd that isn’t drunk or worn out or both. The love songs you wrote came to be useful, after all. The muse of them, however, stands out even now.

This time, your heart skips a beat to meet Renjun’s eyes. And he doesn’t take them off you the entire performance.

The soft vibrato of his voice doesn’t fade easy, the crowd clapping along to the song with encouraging laughter. You move to the drinks table—it’s a good thing the wedding has a no kids rule because there’s alcohol you haven’t heard of at the bar table. Or maybe it isn’t a good thing. You’d love to see the look on Doyoung’s face when some rebellious twelve year-old chugs a shot of vodka. The thought makes you giggle.

You keep your word, even if you were drunk when you’d said it. You didn’t drink at any of the gigs, mostly because Doyoung wouldn’t offer anything for free, but a deal’s a deal. This doesn’t count, does it? 

You take the shot after a few moments of contemplation. You’d ordered it on impulse and whatever dare of whim you have left in you.

Unbeknownst to you, the songs had stopped about five minutes ago, enough time for Renjun and the rest to appear at your side. 

“Doyoung never said there’d be alcohol,” Donghyuck says, not trying very hard to hide the sparkles in his eyes.

Renjun doesn’t say a word, not even at the obvious flush over your cheeks from the drinks.

“I need to go to the washroom,” you say, wobbling as you stand.

“Woah, (name),” Jaemin says, steadying you. “Take someone with you.”

“I’ll go.”

You avoid Renjun’s eyes, even now. Looks like shame isn’t as easy to wash away as it seems.

You can’t hear anything apart from your pulse, a rather disarming thing to have to listen to when it’s for long enough. You walk wordlessly to the building, locating the washroom after a few twists and turns and Renjun waits patiently for you outside.

It’s always bizarre to see yourself in the mirror of a public washroom, especially with alcohol in your system and a flush over your cheeks that you think makes you look cute. You rinse your face and dry it before you exit.

Renjun leans back against the wall, eyes glazed over in thoughts he spills only occasionally. He looks gentle in the fairly lit hallway, under lemon-coloured lights. 

“Renjun,” you call absentmindedly.

He straightens immediately and for the first time in a while, you stare at each other for longer than four seconds.

“I don’t want you to feel awkward around me,” you begin. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean—”

“Cut it out.”

You feel a drop in your heart at the harshness in his tone. Even so, you don’t feel any less drawn to him.

“Don’t be like that,” you say, voice nearing a whine. “You know I’m not any good at this. I… I have so much work to do.”

“Are you so insecure that you can't trust yourself?” he hisses, and somehow the truth of it doesn’t lessen the euphoria of proximity with him.

“You have pretty eyes, Renjun,” you say, but his eyes are not what you’re looking at.

Renjun looks down, sighing out heavily. “Stop this, (name). Don’t play.”

You smile. “This isn’t a drama, you know?”

It really isn’t, but the touch you're craving has been collecting, drip drip drip, and now it’s ready to boil over in a climax befitting any stupid drama. There should be a soundtrack to go with it, right? Renjun’s face so near to yours, lips full and pink, and heartbeat erratic under dim lights. Temptation has never been a sin to you. Then, what are you afraid of?

For a moment, Arctic Monkey’s Snap Out of It loops in your head.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, the last shred of your senses fallen apart.

He falls silent, at a loss for words you don’t want to hear.

You can’t blame the alcohol. It’s not that you wouldn’t do this sober—it’s that you would definitely do this sober, and all would be ruined just like that. So now, while you’re under the thinly veiled excuse of being drunk, you might as well say it.

“I want to kiss you,” you repeat, bolder.

Oh, sudden proximity can make you aware of so many things. For instance, Renjun has changed his cologne, less minty and more citrus. You aren’t even looking at him when you lean closer, pressing your lips softly and yet carelessly against his. You feel returned pressure and for a moment, the wash of numbness.

Renjun pulls you away by the shoulder, eyes wide in panic. 

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you apologizing? God, I hate you. I could listen to you speaking forever.”

You bury your face in Renjun’s neck and breathe in. He gives in almost too soon, a hand gently resting against the back of your head while his arm wraps around your waist.

“Let’s get you home,” he whispers. 

You feel him shift, the rhythm of his pulse loud in his jugular, and somehow it makes you breathe a sigh of relief. The night fades little by little into the chatter of crowds, to the the hum of a car engine and finally, to the inevitable quiet of your own bedroom.

It’s a Friday. They’re supposed to be nice.

Of course, it would be were it not for a list of things. One: your fading hangover. Two: the vague regret of a drunk kiss. Three: your friends you can’t tell a word to. You might just die of shame before the autumnal existential dread settles in.

“Do you guys have any idea whose number this is?” Donghyuck asks, holding the handkerchief open for the rest of you to see. “I don’t want to be accidentally related to Doyoung hyung.”

The night is bleeding into the evening outside as Jaemin stands up to flip the light switches. You stay curled up at one side of the couch, Renjun by the keys as he tries to figure out a tune and a state of calm that would be perfect if you weren’t falling apart inside. The bandroom always made you feel at ease, but it doesn't seem to be working its charm now.

“You drink too much,” Jaemin states. “You would’ve remembered if you didn’t have an entire bottle of soju.”

“I wasn’t the only one,” he defends, sending you a pointed look. You roll your eyes. Donghyuck never did learn to take the blame.

“Didn’t Renjun and (name) leave early?” Jeno asks innocently. “What were you guys doing for so long by the washroom?”

Renjun presses on several of the keys at a force too hard, the haphazard symphony bringing everyone’s attention to him.

He awkwardly clears his throat. “Home—the dorms, er. We went back. Taeil hyung drove us.”

You don’t know about the atmosphere, but you could definitely cut something with a knife right now. Your eyes shift from person to person, nothing unusual about them except for the two of you.

“Does anyone want to come get ramen? I’m hungry,” Jaemin suggests quietly.

Jeno shrugs, getting up.

“I just had a cup of ramen,” Donghyuck begins before breaking into a smile. “Too much ramen can never hurt.”

“I’ll pass,” you say, ready to fall asleep any moment, if it somehow alleviates the messy scribbles in your head.

“Me too,” Renjun says, back to playing out the tunes softly.

Your fingers tap against the armrest of the couch, occasionally scratching it out of boredom. The atmosphere is still just as thick but you can't say much about it hanging there.

“You’re not sleeping,” Renjun says suddenly, more of a statement than a question. “You look tired.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can manage. 

“Is your hangover gone?”

You cough when you try to answer, getting more nervous with each passing moment.

Renjun slowly walks towards the coffee table, picking up the bottle of water to offer it to you. You utter a short ‘thanks’ and before he can get back, you tug at his sleeve. Your breathing is sharp but you don’t react much when he sits beside you, legs outstretched in front of him.

“Your roots are showing,” you note, hand involuntarily reaching out before you stop yourself.

Renjun sighs. “What’s wrong? You don’t- You don’t have to—”

He clears his throat.

“—You don’t have to pretend around me.”

There’s a rustle of cloth as he shifts to turn to you, eyes concerned when they look over.

“I’m just...sad,” you admit, the feeling weighing down when you do. “What, you never have days like these?”

Everyone does, don’t they? The truth is, sometimes you get a little sick listening to your songs. If you don’t hate it at least once, is it worth it at all?

The monthly breakdowns have taken a hard turn now that you don’t have much to do. No exams, no more weekly gigs due to Odd Fruit’s renovation and most importantly, hardly any inspiration. You don’t know how to do things unless you’re on the run. It’s so stupid.

You speak of dreams and yet, yours feel void.

“I do. A lot, some weeks.”

Renjun hesitates. You know he’s dying to talk about last night, he’s never been the sort to let feelings rot inside his stomach. But how do you tell him that despite knowing life’s full of ups and downs, no one’s bothered to explain to you which is which? You’ve never lived life with clarity. 

Sometimes life hands you tangerines instead of lemons. Sometimes they’re still as sour.

You look back at Renjun, heart churning with feelings you don’t understand. From wide eyes to his full lips, there’s a way you can’t help but stare. It wasn’t the alcohol—you still want to kiss him. Maybe you should start with an apology, maybe those are meant to be said out loud sometimes.

“I’m sorry I… I ‘m sorry I kissed you,” you say, finally. “Without warning.”

You wonder how you turned into this. Head over heels for something that might not even be real. 

“I’m not mad,” he mumbles, “Just don’t go around kissing strangers.”

You let out a short laugh, rubbing your arm. It’s not like you to explain yourself but for him, you’d spill every single thought that crosses your head. Does he know that? You’d never let him but now—you can’t say you mind.

Quiet.

“I- I may not always know what I’m doing, Renjun,” you start. “I want things and I don’t know how to get them. Sometimes I don’t even know what I truly want.”

There’s a short pause when Renjun draws nearer.

“You want to make music,” he says with certainty, gaze trailing over your eyes, then nose, then lips. “You want to have fun…”

Your heartbeat quickens despite everything.

“...And right now, you want to kiss me.”

It’s partly the confidence, and partly the fact that his lips are less than three inches from yours, that you close the gap without hesitation. 

It’s different—of course, it’s different this time. There’s no goddamn alcohol and the amount of clarity you can taste with your mouths pressed together is more than you’ve ever had. All the sounds in the world fall silent, replaced by the rhythm of your lips moving against his. Renjun’s hair is soft and he hums when you run your fingers through them, not song enough but still full of melody.

You pull apart after a few minutes, breathing heavily before you push your lips against him again, rising to keep your leg on either side of him. For a moment, there’s a sinking feeling and then a soaring one, and it evens out to the mellow drumming of your heart against your chest as Renjun holds your waist with the same delicate desire as ever. 

The second time you pull apart, Renjun breaks into the widest smile you’ve ever seen on him. You can’t help but reciprocate, burying your head against his shoulder.

“I think you should get off me.”

You pull back, frowning severely. 

“Oh, that’s very romantic,” you huff, eyebrows furrowed as you move to sit beside him, crossing your arms. 

“Hey.”

You look at him and he takes your hand in his, thumb rubbing over the back. Somehow, the gesture calms a part of you down, a part that hasn’t been calm for a very long time. You smile without realizing, leaning in for another kiss when the door slams open.

You yelp, clutching Renjun’s hand harder with just about the same force he does. 

“Jeno.”

You turn around to see Jaemin glaring at Jeno on his knee, Donghyuck fallen over his leg and both of their faces scrunched in pain. Jaemin shoots the two of you an embarrassed smile, scratching the back of his head.

“Did you guys know this room isn’t all that soundproof? I can’t believe the neighbours didn’t complain.”

The tip of Renjun’s ears flare red, and he points an accusing finger at the three of them.

“You were spying on us!”

Jaemin clears his throat but Donghyuck snorts before he can say anything.

“You’re still holding hands, lover boy.”

The statement flusters Renjun further but he doesn’t let go.

“Look, did the two of you think we’re stupid?” Donghyuck continues. “God, we thought your pining romance would, like, break up our band or something.”

You flush deeper, averting your eyes. 

“You cry at romantic comedies,” Renjun provokes.

Donghyuck stutters something incomprehensive before crossing his arms indignantly.

“We’re glad you’re dating now!” Jaemin butts in. “Ah, I can’t wait for all the love songs. The two of you do great on those!”

Renjun turns a brighter shade of red. You’re not going to be the one to tell Jaemin that he’s not helping at all but you sigh instead, resting your forehead against Renjun’s shoulder. 

“Ugh,” Donghyuck makes a gagging sound. “Does this mean you’re going to be all heart eyes in here? Right in front of my innocent eyes?” 

He shuts up when he receives four glares all at once, the air turning dry.

“I’m guessing you guys didn’t buy any ramen,” Renjun says, sighing.

“Shall we go?” you ask, looking at him.

He nods, smiling at you.

“You guys don’t mind us crashing your date, do you?” Jaemin says, wrapping an arm each around the two of you.

“I’m not complaining.” You shrug.

“I heard there’s a new flavour. Tastes like crap apparently,” Renjun says.

There’s collective laughter and Renjun beams, walking over to the door with you in tow. Every once in a while, you don’t mind peeling off the layers of a tangerine, especially since winter is near. 

You were right, Renjun did change his perfume to something more citrus-y. It’s the little things that build up in simplicity and it’s the little things that give everything flavour, from songs to journeys. 

Crackle. Shrrk. Rustle. 

“Dream,” you say, the noodles slipping through the chopsticks. 

The others look at you quizzically, as if you’d suggested the most ridiculous thing ever.

“That’s the name. Our band!” 

Under the convenience store lights, it somehow makes sense—and that’s one of the only moments of clarity you need.

[pascalscenarios]

THE ONE (Frankie Morales x Reader)

THE ONE

Frankie Morales x Reader  

Summary: Since seeing Frankie Morales, you can't seem to get him out of your mind and old feelings start to arise. While out on a lunch date with your finance, you run into him again. 

Warning: Mild Swearing

Words: 2388

Author Note: I’ve been in my Frankie feels lately. It hurts. 

CH 1 | CH 2

Chapter 2

2011

“You’re leaving?” You stood in the doorway. You were confused watching Frankie run around your shared bedroom collecting his belongings.

“Yeah, I am.” he stuffs clothes into his tan large tactical bag and a duffle that sat at the foot of your guys' bed. He must have been called out again, that's why he’s quickly trying to pack.

“Oh… I didn’t know you were called back out, why didn't you-”

“I wasn't called back.” he cut you off.

“...okay, so what's all this then?” You motion to his bags. “Where are you going?...”

He didn’t answer you. He just kept packing his things. He zipped his tactical bag, putting it on his back and slinging the duffle over his shoulder. Frankie walked over to the dresser picking up his hat, placing his hat on his head, and grabbing the keys to his truck.

He walked past you, heading out of the room and into the living.

“Frankie, What is going on?!” You laugh in as you call after him. You had no idea what was happening and what he was doing.

“You have a camping trip with Santiago and the boys? If that's the case-” You enter the living room finding Frankie standing a few feet from the dooring staring at you. You couldn’t read his expression. Just a deadpan look took over the soft and happy face he usually had. Something was wrong.

“Frankie?” you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“I’m done. We’re done,” he says bluntly.

You were taken back. “W-what?” was all you managed to say after he dropped an unexpected bomb on you.

“I’m leaving,” he states again.

“Frankie, I’m so confused! Where is this coming from?!” You were in disbelief. You walked over to him, placing a hand on his cheek. Frankie moves his head back, moving away from your touch.

“Frankie…”

“I’m sorry.” He says turning his back on you walking towards the door.

“NO!” You yelled as you dash for the front door. You stood in his way blocking him from leaving. “NO, I’m not letting you up and leave without talking to me first! We're gonna talk about this!”

He sighs. “Move”

“Talk to me. Don’t shut me out. We can just work this out if you just talk to me and tell me what’s wrong...Please...Talk. To. Me.” You pleaded, tears forming in your eyes.

He extends his arms out, swiping you away from the door so he could leave. He walks outside to his parked truck, tossing his bags in the back. You followed close behind, fuming with emotions.

“FRANCISCO MORALES!” You shouted after him. “Like HELL you’re leaving!.”

“I gotta go.”

“So that’s it?! You’re just going to walk out on me, walk away from everything we’ve have and just leave?”

“Pretty much.” He says leaning against the truck, folding his arms across his chest.

“Are you hearing yourself?! Do you even know what you’re saying?! This makes no sense! I’m so confused, hurt, scared and you’re not even going to give me an explanation or try to work it out with me!”

He looks down at the ground, avoiding your burning stare.

“I don’t want this anymore. We’ve run our course.” He stares.

“We’ve run our course? No, Y-you don’t mean that… I-I know you. I know you inside and out. I know your heart. You wouldn’t do this to me”

“You don’t know me. I’ve changed, my feelings have changed.”

You scoffed. “I don't believe you. You’re a fucking coward! Running away like a scared little boy!” Tears streaming down your face.

With that, Frankie stands up and opens the car door. Your eyes widen. He was really going to leave you. Just like that. He starts the engine.

You quickly rush to the divers window. “Frankie, come on you can’t be serious. Frankie-” He reversed the car down the driveway, you following the car.

He was leaving. You started pleading for him to stay, begging even. “Please don’t go! Stay! Don’t go! Don’t leave me! Please, just tell me what I did wrong!” You sobbed as he pulled out the driveway.

“FRANKIE!”

…

“Babe!”

“Hmm?” You snap out of your thoughts.

It's been a few days since you saw Frankie in the parking lot. Since running into him, the night of your break up is constantly replaying in your head. It hasn’t been like this in years. From time to time you thought about that night. What would have happened if he stayed. If he had been willing to work things and not run away. You still had no clue as to why he left you, just the bullshit of an excuse he gave you. You were able to move on past what had happened... at least you thought you had. Seeing him again really set you off. You felt like you were being sucked back into those days of overthinking and analyzing everything.

“How do you like this one?” You and Alex were at a local bakery trying different cake flavors for your wedding cake.

“I don’t like it.” You say pushing the red velvet sample piece away. You weren’t in the mood for this. Frankie was the only thing on your mind lately, and it was driving you insane.

“You, alright?” Alex asked.

“Yeah, I’m a fine sweetie. Why?” You gave him a fake smile.

Alex takes a seat beside you. “You’ve been acting strangely for a couple of days. You seem like you have a lot on your mind.”

You sign, picking up the fork, and start to you with your piece of cake. “I’m just stressed with the few things we have left of the wedding, work, and the fact I ran into fra-” you stopped yourself once you realized what you were going to say.

“When you ran into who?” Alex questions.

You didn’t want to tell Alex you ran into your ex and make it a whole huge thing. “Frankie Morales…” you stab the fork into the cake.

“Who’s that?” You never brought up Frankie to anyone unless it was close family and friends. Alex was your partner but there was no need to bring up Frankie because he was a part of the past. You haven’t told anyone you saw Frankie, not even Santiago, but it is weighing and taking a toll on you. You needed to tell someone.

“An old friend.” Technically you weren’t lying. Frankie was your friend at one point in your life, but he also became more than a friend… a boyfriend...an ex-boyfriend. “We were close when we were kids, but we had a falling out a long time ago, but he recently came back into town.”

“Maybe you could try to reconnecting with them-”

“No!” You quickly shouted. Alex is taken back by your sudden outburst. “No...It was good to see him I guess, but things have changed. We’re different people. It’s not the same as it once was.”

You pick up a different sample cake to distract yourself and move on from the topic. You pick up and have a bite.

“This ones too sweet.”

“I kinda like it.”

“Honey no!” You chuckle.

…

After deciding on your cake flavor, coconut, and design at the bakery flavor, you and Alex headed towards their favorite restaurant for lunch. You were just outside the door when you noticed Frankie walking in your direction. You swear the universe must hate you. You cursed underneath your breath.

“Hey, I’m not so hungry-” as you take Alex’s hand, turning in back around towards the direction you came from.

“Woah what? Come on, this is my favorite-” Alex stops you both from moving.

“Yeah. I think we should just go ho-” You grab Alex’s hand and start dragging them, but you didn’t even take a few steps.

“Hey, Smiles.”

You close your eyes, deeply signing. You turn around slowly. He was still wearing the same casual clothes he always wore and that damn hat.

“Hey...” The three of you awkwardly stand there in silence for a few seconds.

“Sup Man. I’m Alex!” Alex introduces themself, extending his hand to Frankie.

“Ah Smiles’s finance…” Frankie says shaking Alex’s hand. “I’m Frankie.”

“Oh, Frankie Morales! The old friend! Funny you came up in conversation today!”

“Alex!” You say through your teeth.

Frankie cocks his eyebrow at you. “Really? Smiles told you I was coming to the wedding?”

“You invited him to the wedding? I thought-” Alex whispers to you.

“Yeah, I did!- Um, Nice to see you again Frankie, but we really should get going-”

“Frankie, We’re headed to lunch, you wanna join us?” Alex says inviting Frankie.

Alex did NOT just do that. The last thing you wanted was to see Frankie, but having lunch with your ex-boyfriend AND finance? You wanted to crawl into a hole and just die.

You glare at Frankie, your eyes telling him to say no. “Sure, why not.” He smiles.

“Lovely! Frankie, We’ll meet you inside, I need to talk to Alex real quick!” you gave him a fake smile. He said yes on purpose, that fucker. You’d deal with him later, but you needed to deal with Frankie.

Frankie opens the door and heads inside the cafe. You turn to Alex.

“Alex? I don’t want to reconnect with him.” you sigh.

“I mean you invited him to the wedding”

“I didn’t mean to invite him. It just came out-”

“He’s your childhood friend. Maybe it's a good thing that Frankie is back, you can catch up and rekindle your friendship. Life’s too short to be upset with someone.”

You wanted to rekindle NOTHING with Frankie Morales and you had every right to be upset with him after what he did to you. Maybe you should have told Alex that Frankie was your ex, then you wouldn't have been in this predicament.

You huffed.

“Come on, it can't be that bad.”

Oh, Alex, you have no idea, you thought.

…

You were at the restaurant for a while talking about the wedding and random things. Frankie and Alex talked the majority of the time getting to know each other.

“What do you do for a living?”

You toyed with your paper straw in your drink as you listened to Alex and Frankie. You just wished the waitress would come to buy and drop off the check already.

“I’m ex-military, I flew helicopters. Now I just fly doing cargo transports. How about you?” Frankie says picking up a french fry from his meal, dipping it in ketchup, and popping it into his mouth.

“I work for a tech company in the city.” Alex bites into the last of his sandwich. “We were talking about you earlier, they mentioned you knew each other from childhood.”

“Yeah, Smiles and way back.” Frankie chuckles.

“Smiles?” Alex asks, unaware of why Frankie kept calling you that.

“It’s a silly nickname he gave me when we were kids.” You chime in.

“It’s not silly. She always had the biggest smile on her face. Always happy. She was constantly following Santiago and me around. ” He smiles thinking about the simpler times.

“You know Santiago?”

“He’s my best friend. That’s how I met Smiles.”

The gears were turning in Alex’s head. “Hmm, I’m confused as to how I’ve never heard of you. You’ve never been brought up in conversation.”

“Well, Frankie did up and disappear at one point. No one knew where he went for a while.” You sit back in your seat, changing the tone of the conversation. Alex was oblivious to it all, but Frankie knew just what you meant. You both started at each other. Frankie gulping, growing unformattable, adjusting in his seat slightly.

“What? Where you’d go?”

“Yeah, Frankie…Where’d you go?” You cocked your head to the side giving him a questioning and clueless look.

“Here are your check folks!” the waitress comes dropping off the receipt on the table. Of course, the waitress comes at this exact moment.

“I can pay,” Frankie says, picking up the bill.

“What? No, we invited you man-”

“It’s cool. Consider it as an almost getting married gift.” Frankie says gabbing cash out of his wallet and setting it with the bill folder.

“Thank you! I'll be right back. I'm gonna head to the bathroom before we go.” Alex gets up and walks away from the table.

You and Frankie sat there alone.

“Alex seems nice,” Frankie speaks up.

“What are you doing?” you ask him straight up.

“What?”

“Cut the bullshit Frankie” you snapped.

“Woah this is a total change of attitude from when you saw me the other day.” He folds his arms across your chest.

“That was me being in shock. The feeling has since worn off,” you said coldly.

“I was curious and saw the opportunity to see who you’re getting married to Smiles.”

“No. You don’t get to do that! You don’t get to come back into my life pretending everything alright between us because it's not. We are not on friendly terms and never will be. So stop trying to wedge your way in. You left, I’m not letting you back in.” You said sternly.

“Alright. Ready to go?” Alex says walking back over.

“Yeah.” You say getting up out of your seat, Frankie doing the same.

“Nice to meet you, Frankie!”

“Same here.” They shake hands.

“Bye Smiles.”

You look at him with hurt in your eyes. You shake your head and sign. You take Alex’s hands and walk towards the exit.

Frankie stood there watching you and Alex leave. Every day of his life since that night, he regretted leaving you the way that he did. He should have stayed. After years of reflecting on the situation, he realized how completely and utterly stupid he was, but he thought it was the best choice at the time. It was the worst decision he had ever made in his entire life. The number of times he wished he could have gone back to fix things. He would do it in a heartbeat if it meant being with you. He knew owed you an explanation, heck he owed you so much after everything he put you through. He wanted to make things right with you, he needed to make things right with you. He just hopes it isn’t too late to do so.

[ssson-of-sparda]

Strawberry Sundae

Summary: It's story time! Have you ever wondered why Dante affectionate strawberry sundaes so much? Well Patty has and luckily for her, he is about to tell her. It will just cost her a small favour. A man got to pay his debts remember.

Tags: ANGST (but with some very cute moments) / Dante’s childhood /  childhood trauma 

Author’s note: This is my take on Dante’s origins and also my first time writing for the Devil May Cry fandom. I hope I did it right and that you will love it. Set whenever you want but definitely after the DMC Anime. I made the reader female (in case I write a sequel. I have ideas for one, just tell me if you want one), but it can definitely be read as Gen!Reader if you make some small changes.

           To most people Patty Lowell looked so cute and angelic with her girly lacy dresses and her silk ribbons in her baby blond hair they’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But to Dante, she was the most annoying brat that ever walked this earth and, even though he would never admit it, also one of his dearest friends. And like all his friends, he owed her big.             “I’ll erase that from your tab.” She said as she swallowed a spoonful of vanilla ice cream.   “Oh c’mon! You keeping counts now?” Dante harrumphed and watched the kid wipe her mouth like a very distinguished lady. “You spend too much time with Lady.”   “Not too much. Just enough to know you owe me a trip to the beach, two dresses, a dozen ice cream cones and six strawberries sundaes” She counted on her fingers and Dante sighed as he slouched in the fake-leather seat of Freddy’s diner. “Well, you can’t have it all now, can you?”       “You’ve been saying this for months. And for months you’ve been eating hundreds of sundaes and bought none for me.” She grumbled, staring at him with a pout as he nonchalantly took the strawberry on top of his sundae to eat it, eyes closed to savour the sweetness of the fruit in his mouth. “What’s with your obsession with strawberry sundaes anyway?” She asked, genuinely curious. After all, even after spending so much time with Dante, watching him evolve in his natural habitat (meaning the Devil May Cry) and coming to the conclusion that Dante was a very unique species of man, one that whose diet was only based on pizzas and strawberry sundaes and that knew nothing of women, Patty still hadn’t figured why he was the way he was.   Dante opened an eye to see her impatiently waiting for an answer. “If I tell you, would you consider erasing … let’s say six sundaes of my tab?” He smirked, knowing Patty would not resist the curiosity to know more about him.             “That could be arranged. But your story better be good!”

STRAWBERRY SUNDAE

                 One more step and this would be the furthest Dante had ever been from his house. Of course, he had dared follow Vergil down to that weird old man’s house to secretly spy on his brother, wondering what was so interesting and fun in keeping a wrinkly company but he had never stepped a foot in the city. Never could. The only time he had tried and had somehow managed to go down the hill of his red home without tumbling down the steep rocky stairs and lay even just a toe on the urban pavement he was now standing on, his father and his sharp demonic earring had found him and brought him back home with a firm grip around the collar of his white shirt. Sparda had scolded him so much that day that even Vergil hadn’t dared smirking.       But here he was. Wet, trembling and cold, under a pouring rain, wondering where to go, what to do, both feet on the pavement, his tiny arms holding on tight to his father’s sword which was way bigger than he was. He had never been so terrified, so alert, his blue eyes widened and scanning all his surroundings in every direction possible like a poor defenceless animal fearing for its life, wondering if a deadly predator was secretly watching him crouched in the thickest shadow, the same kind of predator that took his mother and brother away from him.                 He wanted to call for help, ask someone, anyone for guidance but he didn’t know whom to trust or if he could trust anyone. All he knew was that he had to be strong, that he had to be a big boy, a man. That’s what his mother had told him before leaving, before … A tear streamed down his childish face. Not the first one tonight. He wiped it with his sooty knuckle but a new one appeared, bigger and more painful. It stung his eye and he cried harder. A devil should not cry but he was so tired. And he wanted his mama. And he wanted his big brother. But they were gone and behind him, his house up the hill was just a pile of smoking ash and burnt bricks.            

“Why are you crying?” Dante jumped and his small yet strong grip grabbed a hold of Rebellion’s hilt. It took his eyes a short second to fall upon the face of a little girl holding a green frog-shaped umbrella above both their heads. “Are you lost?”  She said as she tried to catch a glimpse of Dante’s face hidden behind layers of soot and wet hair. “Is it a real sword?”         “Don’t touch it!” Dante growled, pressing his father’s sword tighter against his chest, shielding it from the curious child as she tried to put her fingers on the legendary weapon. It had seen Vergil do that countless of times. And though it never worked with him, it formidably worked with the child in front of him. “It’s my dad’s.”         “Is your dad a knight?” She questioned with amazed (colour) eyes, imagining heroes in shining armours resembling the ones in the stories her mother would read her before bed. “My dad is the Legendary Dark Knight.” Dante spat, scowling behind his silver hair falling over his eyes, a pitiful and vain attempt at sending the little girl packing. After all, to her eyes, he didn’t look impressive at all, more like a wet small kitten that someone had abandoned in the street.     She shrugged “My dad doesn’t have a sword and he is not a legendary dark prince or whatever but he has a mighty spatula and his strawberry sundaes are the best in the whole kingdom!” She exclaimed with an over-the-top enthusiasm that made Dante’s weary frown even more pronounced. “That’s the name of my father’s diner.” She pointed at the pinkish red neon sign across the street. Kingdom’s diner. “You’re hungry?” Dante thought he wasn’t until he heard a rumbling in his tummy. Yes, maybe he was even though his heart was preoccupied by other things than hunger. “Come on. Follow me.”         He hesitated for a few seconds, watching the girl cross the crowded street in her way-too-large yellow oilskin - which was probably not hers now that he thought about it – and feeling the rain pouring on his shivering body again. “Well? What are you waiting for?”           With one last look at his destroyed home up on the hill, Dante finally took a step towards the girl waiting for him by the warm neon lights of the diner. And he took another step, and another, feeling a weird weight forming in his stomach. A mix of apprehension and hope. Apprehension of what’s waiting in this unknown land and hope that his father would suddenly appear and bring him back home. But once more, Sparda never showed up and the child was left alone.   Dante had never ventured that far away from home but he had no home anymore, right?

                 The diner was warm and cosy, with red plastic booth seats and speckled grey linoleum-covered tables that were incredibly clean and shiny. On the walls there were vintage-like pictures of old cars, old advertisements and old Hollywood stars who were almost all complete strangers to Dante apart from a glamorous blond woman with a weird mole and another one with a tiara and a cigarette holder. Pretty sure he had seen them both in some boring movies he had seen – or slept through - with his mother and Vergil. Mama. Vergil. He missed them already. Terribly.

A new tear fell along his cold cheek and Dante looked down, devastated that he would never see them again; guilty that he could not save them, angry that his father had not been there to protect them. And with his wet sorrow came scorching flashes and piercing screams. But soon they were covered by the sound of weird music sizzling in a machine that looked like from another time. “I always listen to music when I feel bad. I like music. Do you like music?” She was impossibly chatty but deep down Dante knew it was only to take his mind off whatever she thought he was thinking about. After all, he would use the same trick on his brother. “There are a hundred of songs in this jukebox.” So that was this hellish machine was. A jukebox. “Pick one. I’ll make some strawberry sundae” She smiled and disappeared behind the counter which was way too high for Dante to see what she was doing. “Oh but don’t play the music too loud. My parents are sleeping upstairs.”  

He didn’t know how it worked but he thought that pushing a button would do the trick. And so he did. And he almost fell on his butt when the jukebox started shaking and doing weird sizzling noises. Had he just broken it? “I… I” He mumbled pointing at the machine and the girl’s childish head popped up from behind the counter a bit like a funny rabbit leaves his hole. “Kick it!” She said and Dante looked at her, harrumphed and unsure he had heard right. His mother never allowed him to kick anything … especially not Vergil … and he kicked Vergil a lot … because he deserved it.                 “There!” The girl approached and gave the dying machine a small yet firm kick that made it come back to life. “It does that sometimes.”

“What’s with all the racket?” A loud voice growled and a man with tousled and sparse black hair appeared from upstairs. Only wearing an old navy blue robe over a white t-shirt and a pair of checked slippers, he looked asleep and yet angry. “Y/N what are you doing … up?” His somewhat aggressiveness turned into confusion when he saw Dante standing next to his beloved daughter.  He blinked a couple times and shook his head to make sure he was perfectly awake and not dreaming. What was this boy doing in his restaurant? All wet and covered in soot? “Who are you?” He managed to voice.       Dante opened his mouth though unsure what to answer. “He’s my friend.” The girl replied. “Your friend?” She nodded vigorously. “I was making him a strawberry sundae.”

If there was two things Mister Y/LN had a soft spot for, it was food – sugary and greasy food – and his precious daughter Y/N. She was his little princess, his only daughter, the apple of his eye (even when there was sleep crust in its corner like right now). He could not refuse her anything and could not stay mad at her for more than a couple of minutes to the great disappointment of his wife.  And even though he knew it was wrong, he couldn’t help it.           “Y/N” He sighed and went to kneel in front of his daughter. “You cannot invite a little boy that late at night. I’m sure his parents must be very worried.” He glanced at Dante who looked down his brown boots hiding his eyes yet again behind his silver hair. What curious hair. “But since he is here, let’s eat those strawberry sundaes.” The little girl grinned and ran back to finish her creamy dessert with an enthusiasm that made the man smile for a small second.

Even though Mister Y/LN was weak for his daughter he was still a man of reason. Something deep in his guts was telling him something was wrong with that kid and the last thing he wanted was trouble. Who was he? Where did he come from? What happened to him? Where were his parents? Was he some kind of street kid? A child of drug dealers from the rough areas of Red Grave? Should he call the police? Maybe so. Certainly so. They would certainly know what to do. It was their job after all. He was just a cook, a sleepy cook. What could he do, except offering that scrawny kid a strawberry sundae? “Why don’t you sit, boy?” He waved at the stool and Dante climbed on it without saying a word. “I’ll be right back.”

“So what’s your name?” The little girl said as she placed two coupe glasses filled with cream, ice cream and strawberries right before Dante’s eyes that immediately ogled at the dessert with greediness. So much sugar, so much cream, so many strawberries. He loved chocolate, but this, this looked like even better than chocolate and his stomach seemed to agree.       Excited to taste it, he went to grab the spoon that was placed by the couple but was immediately stopped. “Wait. I’m not done.” Y/N shouted and, with a frown and the tip of her pink tongue out, cautiously topped both sundaes with a cherry and two pink wafers. “There. Now you can eat it.” She barely had time to finish the sentence that Dante quickly stuffed a generous spoonful in his tiny mouth. OH GOD! If his mother saw him right now eating so much sugar in the middle of the night she would be furious. But this was the most delicious thing in the world. After pizza of course.       He ate another spoonful, and another, humming after each, as he was slowly reaching a comforting sugary paradise. “I’m guessing you like it.” The little girl giggled, laughing at his mouth as round as a balloon and the cream running from the corner of his lips. Dante froze at the laugh and stare at her with a blush creeping up his inflated cheeks until he swallowed with a big gulp. “Yeah.” He confessed and Y/N smiled at the small amount of joy she caught in his childish voice.   “You still haven’t told me your name. I’m Y/N by the way.” She reached out to shake his hand and Dante stared at it for a few seconds, remembering what his mother had told him as she hid him a wardrobe.

You must change your name. Forget your past and start a new life as someone else. But who could he be? And could he be someone else? After all, he had always been Dante, the restless daredevil son of Sparda and Eva and annoying little brother to Vergil who always picked a fight for fun and found ways to be involved in new kinds of mischiefs.               There was a silence, heavy and pregnant, as the boy tried to answer the questions in his confused little head and as the girl patiently waited for him to talk. And only the lively music from the jukebox could be heard in the room. And it sang to Dante ‘Hey there Anthony boy. Why are you in such a rush (go!). The girl, she wanna talk to you. Look at him, how he blush (go!)’ giving birth to his new identity. A new beginning.               “I’m Anthony.” He finally grabbed her hand and she shook it with a smile that he tried to mimic. An effort he thought he would have never done tonight but that he did for her. Calm down, Tony me boy. “Tony for short.”         “Well nice to meet you, Tony. I’m sure we’re going to be good friends.”

And with a new spoonful of strawberry sundae he said goodbye to Dante. Hey there, Anthony boy!

***

“That was a lovely story, Dante. Sad but lovely.” Patty finally declared after being incredibly silent during Dante’s childhood story. A first. “Glad you liked it.” Dante said with a small smile that was barely concealing the sadness that this memory had brought back. “So does that mean those six sundaes are off my tab?”               “I guess so.” She shrugged as she drank the ice cream in her coupe. “Great.” He winked and stood up, throwing a bill on the table before putting his long red coat on.  “So … you love strawberry sundaes because they were the first things that gave you comfort after you lost your mom?”           “No, I love strawberry sundaes because they remind me why humans are sometimes worth fighting for.”

But mostly, he liked them because they reminded him of someone who had helped him build a new life, someone who had given him kindness, generosity and love when he thought that all he could expect from life was sorrow and pain. They reminded him of you.     Yes, that’s why he loved strawberry sundaes.

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

 (Wednesday, 11:00 am)

  Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

[meltwonu]

Prompts #19 #8 #2 together with dom!seungcheol i still miss him 🥺

2. “I’ve never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly.”

8. “Like what you see?”

19. “Take off your clothes.”

note; camgirl!reader, squirting, dirty talk u know it!! ahaaaaa altho this is for cheol, theres a bit of all the members in this i mean its a camshow kdjfhksjh also it took me 30 min to come up with usernames for everyone 😔also the format of this is long and i got too into this so the rest is under the cut! Thank you for requesting!! Enjoy!! 💕

PLAY MY DRABBLE GAME HERE | ASK | MASTERLIST

__________________________________________________

“Hmm, dom.cheol just wrote ‘Take off your clothes’, we’ll get to that soon! Just a few more donations and we can start the show!” The lace babydoll doesn’t do much to hide your figure from the camera but Seungcheol is impatient, his eyes flitting across his computer screen as he watches you.

kitty_junjun: aww, baby let us see you already!!

therealchan99: can I get a private show? :‘)

angelhan: if anyone’s getting a free show, wouldn’t it be dom.cheol?

Seungcheol smirks from behind his screen, licking his lips as he reads the comments on your stream. Your camgirl username was ‘cherry_clouds’ although that had nothing to do with your real name. You were his favorite camgirl and Seungcheol was a constant viewer; always active in the chat and always generous with his donations. He donated money, toys, and clothes whenever he could and you were extremely appreciative for him.

“dom.cheol getting a free show? Maybe… hehe, oh! We just hit the minimum for the show, guess we can start now!” You flash the cam a sweet smile, fingers playing with the lace of the sheer babydoll. “Like what you see? This cute little number was donated to me by dom.cheol! Thank you so much!”

dom.cheol: you’re welcome sweetheart, now why don’t you give us what we’re waiting for?

“Hmm, okay~ I think you’ve all waited long enough… and if I’m being honest… there was another gift in the package dom.cheol sent…” You push your keyboard away from you on the bed as you lean back, spreading your legs so that the camera can get a clear shot of your wet panties. “These vibrating panties were on this whole time since I started, I’m so wet and so sensitive, I could cum already~” Your voice is airy, sweet sighs escaping you as you reach for the remote tucked under a nearby pillow.

universe_WZ: fuck, look at that. You’re already soaking

alphagyu97: please tell me you’re selling those panties afterwards??

dom.cheol: turn up the vibration level baby, I know you can take it.

You obey, setting it to the highest level before you cry out, grinding down into the bed sheets underneath you.

dom.cheol: cum for me.

Seungcheol watches you come apart, legs snapping shut as you cum from the intense vibrations. The sound of coins clinking sounds off in the background as you catch your breath, sliding the soaked fabric down your legs. You take your time with removing your lace babydoll, giving your viewers a show as you toss it off to the side. Seungcheol palms himself through his sweats as he leans back in his computer chair, eyes fixated on your body.

“I have two~ more toys to play with… ‘m really sorry guys, I have a short show tonight! I have some business to take care of afterwards, hope that’s okay?” You pout at your camera, fingers twirling around a lock of hair.

artist8hao: don’t worry about it, doll! We’re happy to see you any chance we get!

tangerine_kwan: agreed! Don’t apologize!!!

chwenon: wait i’m with alphagyu97 are you selling those panties???

hoshi_tiger_xx: actually yea, thirded? Are u sellin those?

Seungcheol can’t help but eye roll at the comments. Sometimes he wishes it was really just you and him, but he also knew there were boundaries. You never offered private shows and you never sold any of your used panties, as much as your viewers seemed to want them. But he watches you pull out your favorite dildo and your hitachi, both also gifts from him, as you set them down in front of you.

“In my last show, I think it was sleepy_wonu who asked if I could, um, try squirting if I had the chance so I figured I would try since it’s a short show today! I wanna treat you all~”

sleepy_wonu: holy shit she just menbtioned me skjkh move over dom.cheol!!!

xcaliburDK: yikes don’t get too cocky there buckaroo

gentleman_josh95: wait did u say squirt

“Yes! I wanna try it tonight… Think I can? My body is already sensitive from cumming once~”

Seungcheol slides a hand past the band of his sweats and underwear, wrapping his fingers around his hard cock. He shimmies the fabric down, freeing his cock from its confines as he pumps himself. Reaching over, he uses his free hand to type a quick reply.

dom.cheol: lets see that pretty little pussy get wet, baby.

Giggling, you grab a bottle of lube off camera, plopping back down onto your bed. “Ok~ let’s get started~!”

universe_WZ has donated $100

angelhan has donated $50

dom.cheol has donated $450

“Thank you~ Hmm, ah, I’m still so wet… do you think I can take two fingers already?”

alphagyu97: yes god yes yes

kitty_junjun: bet you could take 3 with how wet u r ;)

Pouring a little bit of lube on your fingertips, you start with one finger, pumping the digit until you realize it’s not enough, quickly adding another finger into your tight hole. “A-ah, mmh, feels so good, I want more~” You whine, grinding into your own palm as you reach for the dildo. You continue to finger yourself, adding a third digit as you pop the lid on the lube, squirting some onto the dildo as you warm it up with your free hand.

“I really can’t wait anymore, I wanna be fucked so badly~”

Seungcheol pumps his cock, precum leaking from the tip as he watches you remove your fingers and instead position yourself over the dildo. You sink down onto it, eyes rolling to the back of your head as the dildo bottoms out inside of you. You start to bounce on it, fucking yourself onto it as Seungcheol tries to stave off from cumming too soon.

“A-ah, d’you wanna k-know, hah, a secret?”

therealchan99: oh god yes

xcaliburDK: yessssssss

“Mmh, sometimes wh–when I’m fuckin’ myself on this dildo, I imagine it’s dom.cheol’s cock filling me up. It’s so big, but I bet he’s so much bigger~ He could probably make me cum just from sitting on his cock~ Ah, and then he’d probably fill me up with his cum and I’d be so full of it~ I’d make him watch all the cum spill down my legs and then let him scoop it up and fuck it back into me~ Mmh, I’ve never wanted someone to fuck me this badly~”

sleepy_wonu: b r u h 

hoshi_tiger_xx: yoooooooo

chwenon: imma pretend u said my name instead

If Seungcheol wasn’t already heated before, he could feel his blood turn into lava as he fucks up into his hand; your words spurring him on. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to his orgasm as you continue to fuck yourself on the dildo, a free hand reaching for the hitachi next to you.

dom.cheol has donated $600

dom.cheol: fuck, sweetheart, let’s see it, fuckin wet this cock for me like a good girl

You turn on your hitachi, settling it to the highest setting before placing it against your clit. You let out a small scream, opting to grind down onto the dildo instead as you cum hard. The sound of rapid fire donations hits your ears but you don’t let up, keeping the hitachi against your clit as you maneuver yourself onto your back, giving the camera a clear shot of your filled pussy. Your legs threaten to clamp shut but you fight the urge, using a hand to pump the dildo in and out as your other hand presses the hitachi harder into your clit.

“I’m gon–gonna cum again fuck, fuck..!!”

Seungcheol jerks his cock faster, wanting to cum at the same time as you. He moves his hands in time with you fucking the dildo into yourself as he cums, biting his lip hard to hold in his noises. On screen, you cum right after he does, back arching off the bed as the dildo is forced out of you, clear liquid spraying and wetting the bed sheets underneath you. Your grip on the hitachi loosens but you keep it to your clit until the overstimulation starts to bite, small whines and cries leaving you as you turn it off and catch your breath.

tangerine_kwan: i think i have died

artist8hao: i…please tell me we can pay for this content to be reuploaded

gentleman_josh95: seconded, please god that was so hot

You lay there for a moment, letting the sound of donations keep going for a minute or two before you attempt to sit up. Seungcheol, alone in his room, sits with his hand still firmly around his cock, streaks of cum already drying on his shirt.

“Mmm, I’m so sleepy you guys~ That really wiped me out… How did I do? I’m soaked now~”

universe_WZ: i would d word for u

artist8hao: i literally came when you did and I’m already ready for a second round

chwenon: me too, fuck

dom.cheol: I think you killed me, sweetheart.

You let out a tired giggle, slumping forward into the camera. “Aww, ‘m sorry~ I Just wanted to show my appreciation~ And again I’m sorry that I had to have such a short show! I wanted to make it worth it, y’kno?” You read a few more comments, thanking your viewers for supporting your show as always.

“Okay~ I think I gotta go now everyone! I gotta go clean up! Thank you again for watching! Love ya!”

Seungcheol watches as you blow a kiss to the camera, waving once more before the stream cuts off. He sighs out of tiredness, sending one last donation of $500 before he exits your page for the night. Checking his account, he notices a tiny ‘1’ over the messages logo, brow quirking in curiosity. He clicks on it, heart racing when he sees the singular ‘cherry_clouds would like to send you a message!’ in his inbox.

Seungcheol feels the air leave his lungs as he reads your message, quickly pulling up a reply window as his eyes flit over the message for the 3rd time.

“Hi dom.cheol!

I just wanted to thank you for your constant support for me~ I’d be nowhere without you~! I’ve been thinking it over and I know I don’t really do private shows or anything… but I would really be interested in doing one for you, free of charge for my biggest supporter! If you’re interested, I’d love to hear back from you! I’m free right now actually, maybe we can even cam and get to know each other better? ;) Hope to hear from you soon! xx cherry_clouds”

[artxyra]

So, me and @ThatWeirdPepperMint were wondering if you could do this request. Jason one day sneaks out and goes to a nearby ally where he finds Marinette not knowing that the fam was following. He asks Mari about buying mini guns and she gets them out of her heels, he ends up with gun-heels and wears them as as Red Hood. In that week all the fam got something from her. Tim got usb-nails. Dick got jetpack heels and retractable zip line watch. Damian got infi-purse. And Bruce got a tiara-shield.

Note: I totally did not look up Totally Spies gadgets for inspiration for some of the weapons.

It was Dick who suspected that something was up with Jason. The second oldest Wayne had been disappearing more often than usual only to return with a weapon he has never seen it in the stores. He tried to get information out of his brother about where he was but was only meet with the usual stream of threats or a careless shrug before disappearing for days on end.

The next to figure something was off, was Damian. Though for the youngest Wayne he had little care for his second oldest brother. Damian had run into Jason holding his newest weapon that was completely out of character for him. It was some kind of belt that had an expandable cable bungee. The belt did not go with his Red Hood outfit at the time, but before Damian had the chance to interrogate the male about the item, Jason had disappeared.

Then there was Tim and he had actually found out by going to get a late-night coffee and somehow ended up bumping into his predecessor, who was coming out of an alleyway with a bracelet in hand. At first, the coffee addict didn’t think much of until the idea that Jason had a secret lover pop into his brain. Instead of letting that idea down, he ended up entering a constantly dead-end investigation.

It was no shock that everyone else involved with the Wayne family's nightly activities was also intrigued by Jason’s newest additions of weapons. However, what shocked them all was when Stephanie (Steph) returned with Jason with a pair of diamond earrings. Of course, speculations began to grow among everyone, but when Spoiler ended up using the same new pair of earrings as a cutting tool they knew that whoever was making these weapons just so happened to include Steph as a client.

For half a year, they have tried to find this unique weapon dealer that Jason (and sometimes Steph) happily order from, only to be met with more dead ends. Fortunately for them, their search will soon come to an end.

Jason had broken his latest gadget, a wristwatch, on his latest mission. Dick managed to gather the immediate family (i.e. Tim, Damian, and Bruce) to follow the person behind the Red Hood anti-hero. However, Jason was streets smart. He zigged through the city; they had nearly lost him until the anti-hero had reached an alleyway just blocks away from crime alley. The family watch over the scene on the rooftops staying in the shadows.

Jason had entered from the alley’s opening and is immediately greeted by a shield of fog. The anti-hero doesn’t seem deterred from the scene before him.

“Arme chanceuse.” He states in the direction of the fog. Jason was no idiot; he knew his family is watching him, but he just couldn’t find any fucks to give at the moment.

The Batfam is shocked by the appearance of a female, looking no older than Damian. This female has long dark hair curled at the end with a mix of pink and red highlights. She was wearing in a two-piece dress, the top being a long sleeve laced with an intricate design as her skirt had a waist-high slit showcasing a pair of dark leggings and black heeled combat boots with pink and red shoestrings.

“You’re not alone, Jay-Jay.” She says crossing her arms and taking a sit in a chair that was behind a red and black table.

“Don’t care enough, Pixie. They’ve been trying to find this out for six months and at this moment, I don’t have any fucks to give. So, can you help?” Jason states causing the infamous weapon dealer to smirk.

“What you need.” She sasses back to her client.

“Miniguns the best you got.” He says giving her a knowing look.

The dealer sighs and puckers her lips. “I was saving these for Steph, but you apparently need them more.” The fog grows around the dealer and it fades away, in her hands are a pair of black heels.

“Uh, what the fuck?”

“Do you want the guns or not? The heels are the barrels, there is a safety mechanism outside the heels that you can access to minimize unwanted triggers. The magazine is on the shank. Not my best work but these combat heel boots can get the job done.” She explains gesturing to every area she talked about.

Jason picks up the heels and examines them. “Now I understand why these were meant for Steph. Thanks, Pixie, I’ll take good care of them.”

“You better!” She cries out before continuing with, “The amount of material and thinking to make them work took ages, Jay, ages!”

Jason chuckles before wishing his dealer a goodbye.

Before the Batfam could incept the two, the fog blocks their vision and suddenly it was just Jason alone in an alleyway looking the same expect the newest addition of a pair of heeled boots on his feet.

They did not see Jason again until the patrol as Red Hood.

“So, Hood, where did you get the heels? They’re looking pretty nice.” It was Nightwing that would ask first.

“Like you don’t know.” The anti-hero grunts and struts away from his oldest brother. Nightwing stares aghast and somewhat offended.

At first, the boys thought the heels were nothing but a bad joke but to see Red Hood in action, taking down each of his opponents, they knew this for real. Maybe, just maybe, they should talk to whoever this Pixie is that Jason gets his weapons from.

It was only a few nights later when the bat family corner Jason, place him in a dark room (tied up of course) and stood over him. Jason glares at his family and mentally thinks of ways to get rid of them all. The option of murder was high on his list of suggestions. 

“Who’s Pixie?” Dick’s voice pipes causing every muscle in Jason to just give up. Seriously all of this just to get information about his weapon dealer.

That night led to the family officially meeting the person Jason calls Pixie the next day.

Pixie stares at her favorite customer with an eyebrow raised and arms folded against her chest. The greetings were stale only met with grunts and an awkward smile from Dick.

“Hi, I’m Marinette, you don’t have to call me Pixie, but I have some rules when it comes to doing business with me. I don’t make standard weapons. I only deal with those who deserve it, and money is the least of my concerns though it is welcomed.” Immediately, they knew they had just entered a business. A business that Jason, and in extension Steph, has been familiar with for months.

She gives them the secret word that would “summon” her for business. She only deals at night and at various alleyways. They also found out that she has a life outside of all this and sometimes would have to cancel if that was the case Jason would tell them. Wrapping up this tremendous moment, she gives them a week to figure out what they would like before disappearing in the fog that brought her there.

Throughout the week, each of the bat members tried to convince Jason to give them Marinette’s current location, and then go to Steph when Jason wasn’t bothered to be around them. 

Tim went to Steph for Marinette's latest location. He ends up placing an order for a USB drive; what he got was beyond his coffee-addicted brain. 

“This USB nail is the perfect disguise for quick transfers, it works just like any USB out there and looks and feels like a fake nail. You can transfer up to 128 gigabits. Though be careful, the nail can break with an excessive amount of force.”

Since that day, Tim has been using the nails for hacking or work assignments. He begins to swear by them.

On multiple occasions, Tim swears he had seen Dick wearing Red Hood’s gun boots and a longer version of his nails on a couple of occasions. Dick denies it every time, but they all knew the truth. 

It took a while before Dick had come up with his ideal first weapon from Marinette. He wanted something grand and out of this world.

“You want jet pack heels and a zip line wristwatch,” Marinette states slowly trying to wrap her head around her newest order. It’s not something she isn’t used to, but the way he had explained it to her with this silly look on his face just creeped her out. “Okay.”

That night when Nightwing was on patrol, he was having a ball showcasing his new weapons. Batman had yelled at the male upon realizing that he was wearing something that was impractical. Nightwing flies away with his jet pack heels activated. Batman could only sigh and wonder how this even happened.

The next person to receive their Marinette original was Damian. The youngest Wayne had met with the weapon dealer in secret hoping that his family didn’t catch sight of him. He could only imagine the horror that would come with them finding out.

If it wasn’t for that fact that Marinette looked around Damian’s age, it looked like a drug-dealing going on as Damian was dressed in all black and a hood covering his face. Upon seeing him, Marinette managed to hold in her laughter.

“You want an infinity purse, should I even ask why?”

“It’s better for you not to know.”

Marinette accepts that answer and disappears into the fog. She comes out with a tote with Robin’s emblem in addition to her own. She hands the bag over to the Wayne and explains the limitations the bag carries.  

It is said that Damian has pulled various weapons on different people when they make fun of the bag. Some make it out without a scratch while others don’t even speak of the incident anymore.

The most shocking of appearances came from Bruce Wayne, himself.  He had come alone to meet with Marinette. At first, she thought it was a gift for the girls or a really bad joke with some hidden scheme behind it. Once she thought of it, it wasn’t a bad idea.

“Are you sure? This could ruin your bad boy aesthetic.” Marinette says giving the tall man an out.

“Yes.” Short and simple. Marinette nods and disappears into the fog.

When she returns, in her hands is a solid black tiara along with it are diamonds in the shape of bats. Sliding it across the table Marinette begins to discuss the weapon. The tiara can turn into a shield with a twist of a diamond. Bruce graciously accepts the weapon before testing it out. Upon seeing it in its shield form, Bruce begins to wonder what age the dealer is and how can he get her to join the family officially.

After everyone in the bat family received weapons that aren’t usual apart of their list of gadgets the league members begin to question their sanity. They thought Bruce was joking when they saw him with the tiara, but once it dawned on them that he never jokes, it was Flash that went around screaming his head off.

“You can rule the world, Pixie,” Jason says joining the small female in the darkness as she watches the bad guys being taken down by her own weapons.

“Eh, we knew this day would come.” She says with a smile on her face.

“Damn, Pixie, you know B-man is already in the process of trying to adopt you. You fit all the Wayne requirements to being adopted.”

“I think he already has. He’s been visiting more and more often with Steph under the pretense of getting new weapons. Damian also comes and goes as he pleases, he’s like a cat.” Marinette says glancing at the second oldest Wayne.

“Welcome to the family, sis."

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