#I want to have a word with the person in charge of our playlist

[gingerninja8]

Y'know, people complain about hearing Mariah Carey on repeat at Christmas, but you know what's worse? 50 different covers of Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer playing throughout your shift with another 50 different covers of Sleigh Ride Together With You.

I've heard All I want for Christmas is You maybe twice since November. (And I'm not sure it was when I was at work.) That song would be welcomed at this point.

[sunboki]

⎯ SUMMER SOLACE. a StrayKids fiction

Stray Kids x implied! fem. reader (no poly)

TROPE. friends to lovers (not really lovers, more just strangers to friends), summerschool! au, reader is in student council as class prez

WORD COUNT. 12.6k words

PLAYLIST.

WARNINGS. cursing, very troubled childhoods, han lacks parental figures, minho’s mother passed, bullies, evidence of physical violence, mentions of depression & anxiety, just overall very angsty themes, healing, sadness, comfort comfort comfort — ALL OF THE ISSUES/TROUBLES OF CHARACTERS ARE 100% FICTION

AUG'S NOTES. i hope whatever you’re going through works out in the end, and that reading this very indulgent fic can help heal a part of you and get you through summertime sadness — inspiration for the fic came from this!

SYNOPSIS. It was never your intention to be the one in charge of a summer school class—a troubled summer school class, but here you were. Eight boys in this classroom, all with their individual stories and silenced opinions. And somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to give up on them.

or alternatively :

Eight kids, one purpose. Get them to be okay with one another — with themselves — by the end of the summer.

Eight kids, one purpose.

Get them to be okay with one another.

Although, you didn’t realize that yet. That your Class President position would throw you right into such a mess (or what you referred to it as the first time you got word).

We all have the things we hate. The things we say we “heavily dislike”. But in reality, we hate it. It incessantly grates our nerves, has our patience forming into a ticking pipe bomb, enough that sometimes, we explode. Say things we don’t mean, get angry, get mad. 

The thing that sets these boys apart, according to the acknowledgements paper you were given, is that they don’t even try to be sweet, they don’t ask for forgiveness. Not towards one another, and most certainly not towards anything else. 

Your job is just as you said. Get them to be okay with one another. 

Catch? There’s a time limit. 

Twelve weeks of summer school. 

Twelve weeks for eight boys to, no, not be nice to each other, not be best friends (not even friends), but just to be okay with being in the same room, be within six feet of each other without tearing someone’s throat — or their own — out.

Is it simple? Absolutely not. 

You want to try though, because up till now, everyone has given up on these boys. People that the school district have deemed always successful have pushed them aside, called them impossible. 

You won’t be the next to give up. 

Twenty chairs in the classroom, yet not two sit next to each other, spaced out by at least three chairs per person. 

Your roster sits upon your desk, listing their names by alphabetical order. 

(Sitting on the furthest end of the classroom) Bahng, Christopher - nickname: Chan

He’s a football player (god knows how), who, despite hardly showing up to practices and arriving to random games—is always responsible for their wins. In some way you’re sure that’s the only reason he hasn’t been kicked off. 

Christopher’s an interesting case. 

He’s got amazing grades and passes school without fail, but no one has any clue about his home situation or whether he even has a home or not. You’re told he’s extremely distant and closed off, sort of void to life. He was sent due to excessive absences.

2. (Planted dead front of the class) Han, Jisung 

His record states he’s been sent to the counselor eleven times in the first two weeks of school for disruptions and inappropriate behavior. Jisung has an older brother who’s valedictorian, but they never speak to one another and don’t seem to have the best relationship. He’s said to be obnoxiously straight-forward and senseless, you wonder if it’s true.

3. (Nearest to the window on your right) Hwang, Hyunjin

Despite his popular facade, Hyunjin is regarded as the “troublesome face-card” by many deans and counselors alike. Students adore his looks, but he couldn’t butt heads more with Jisung, and they’re often sent out together. Hyunjin is believed to have a worrisome superiority complex according to the last counselor he’s been seen by.  

4. (Opposite of Hyunjin across the classroom) Kim, Seungmin

Not much has been recorded as far as Seungmin goes. He’s apparently a huge instigator in lots of illegal activity surrounding campus, but no one’s certain. His last counselor claimed he stayed silent throughout his consultation and answered suspiciously vague for almost every question. 

5. (A few seats behind Jisung) Lee, Felix

Both him and Christopher have been reported for vandalizing parts of the school in odd, incomprehensible words like “Miroh” and “Maze of Memories”. Some gossip that they’re secretly a part of an underground gang. But upon first glance, Felix looks harmle—

A hand raising grabs your attention. It’s Jisung, wearing a grin when you nod for him to speak. 

“How much for a tit-pic, Teach?”

Everyone is silent, and you hear Hyunjin stifle a snicker in the distance. 

So this is what they meant by inappropriate behavior.

The corner of your lips twitch slightly, but you successfully maintain an unnerved expression, instead, smiling back at him. 

“Let’s not ask questions like that, alright?”

Jisung amusedly huffs, still eyeing you incredulously. Although, he doesn’t say any more, and you continue down the roster’s descriptions.

Lee Minho whose info is conspicuously sparse , Seo Changbin who lashes out randomly without clear conscience (some claim he’s bipolar, you think different), and Yang Jeongin remain, bio’s dotted in unspecified theft attempts, assumed messy family situations and brief mentions of mental illness that seems to a follow a similar pattern to the rest. 

Stacking the papers upon your desk, you card eight sheets of notebook paper from the drawer, walking through rows of desks to pass each boy a slip. 

All eyes are on you now, and your breathing feels excessively loud in the stifling quietness. 

Lightly clapping your hands together in hopes of stirring some sort of sound in this stale air, you speak as fluidly and audibly as your voice will let you. 

“Today’s assignment is simple. I want you to write everything about yourself.”

Confused brows lift, primarily from Minho.

“Whether it’s what you like to do, what you don’t like to do, your favorite things, your favorite places, books, movies.”

Another hand raises. Changbin, you remember his name.

“Yes?”

“We’re not in fifth fuckin’ grade.” He growls, words booming. That was another complaint: Changbin’s explosively unprovoked opinions. 

Biting back the urge to snap back, you place both hands on the podium at the front of the class, essentially grounding yourself. 

“Yes, well this is—“ 

Somebody grumbles an incoherent sentence, and Changbin is immediately on his feet, chair squealing, eyes wild with fury. 

Second complaint: his flaming temper. 

Grabbing a fistful of Chan’s shirt (presumably the one who muttered), he sizes up the taller boy, spitting wild curses.

Inhaling deeply, you approach them, withholding the instinct to wince at Changbin’s yelling. 

“Changbin, please go back to your seat,” You usher, watching them never take their eyes off one another. Chan is eerily unmoved, though effortlessly intimidating nevertheless. 

The former spins around, shoving the other boy off to the side and resorting to sizing you up now, chin lifted, gaze belittling. 

One press and you’ll have assistance come in and help. You remind yourself, referring to the small red button residing in your pocket that sends a direct call to the other counselors. 

What good will that do? Your first step is getting them to be okay with you, not to mention each other.

No. You can do this, you’ll be fine. 

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” He spits, glaring as you back up the more he steps forward. That is till you stop and cause him to stop as well, leaving only a few centimeters separating your faces. 

“Because,” You ease, shoving a finger into the center of his chest sternly. “I’m your teacher now, and you’re stuck with me. So deal with it.” 

Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, hooded behind a veil of black hair. 

“I’m sure a fifth grader could understand that, right?”

And with that, you point to his seat and spin on your heel, taking a seat and watching the boys, one by one, lower their heads and begin writing. Well, excluding Changbin, who’s hands stick by his sides, staring at you. 

He chews his lip then turns around, shuffling back to his desk. 

By the time the dismissal bell echoes, you would like to say you see light in the distance, but the endless tunnel ahead tells you you’re far from even beginning.

Glasses propped on the bridge of your nose, you sort through the papers, carefully observing each one.

It’s a Friday evening, meaning you’re given a meager two days to inhale as much information as possible for the approaching week. 

There’s a variety of answers on the papers, from some stating only a song they like or others more of a list-type structure. Felix apparently bakes in his free time and has two sisters while Jeongin plays piano. Although, a certain paper in particular stands out to you. 

Han’s.

Only his name is written, nothing else. You’re not sure if it’s a matter of his laziness or carelessness toward the assignment, but clear as day, dead center of his paper, is simply his name. 

You at least anticipated some kind of response, like an offensive joke or something, but no. Just: Han Jisung.

Interesting.

A sudden buzzing redirects your attention. It’s from Chaeryoung, cheerily asking about how the first day went along with spilling details about her own day as well. 

So far, things are going well. So far. 

Not permanent. Just like how you haven’t permanently tamed the beast named Changbin. 

And, although you hate such a mindset, realistically, it’s only a matter of time until something goes wrong. 

“Chae,” You echo, the faint rustling of your papers sounding on your side of the line. She hums.

“What do you think about this one.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is heard.

You sidle to another sheet; Han’s will have to wait for another occasion.

“Hwang Hyunjin. Said to be trouble-some, argues a lot, apparent superiority complex.”

Although your senior, Chaeryoung has always been a helping hand—a soul to rely on through the rocky periods, your rocky periods.  

“Hmm..” She considers, seeming to weigh the matter for a moment. “Have you seen his grades?”

Odd question.

“Straight A student according to his records.”

Impressive. Each quarter, top-scores. 

Well, it makes sense for the superiority portion in the case he uses his grades to hang over others heads, but the rest is strange, making it unusual for him to behave so brashly.

Or, maybe it wasn’t unusual, but overlooked.

As if reading your mind, she utters the same words you’d planned to.

“Anxiety?”

Said in unison, you both burst into laughter. Her blindingly bright laugh sends warmth throughout your stomach, easing the droning headache building between your temples. 

Hours you’ve spent glaring at the same papers, determined to locate something, anything as a way to help them. A problem to find a solution.

Yet, each case was different—personal to each boy in a sense you couldn’t assign an overall solution.

Instead, you pinpointed one case at a time. 

Starting with Hwang Hyunjin.

However, his wasn’t an easy fix. As a high school student, it was virtually impossible to “fix” anxiety (if that was even the issue at hand at all).

Everyone had it in their system. Upcoming tests, pressure. 

It was also impossible to really “fix” anybody generally, meaning, more or less, you had to find a way to help them want to help themselves.

With Hwang Hyunjin though, his, stated in the page’s description saying: Cares little to nothing about grades, wasn’t a testing anxiety of a sort, but maybe a tad bit deeper, barely visible without a sharper, clearer lense. 

“Send me a pic of the sheet, can you?” She begins, startling the hypothesizing from your mind. 

Again, an odd question, but you oblige, swiping off the calling tab to snap a quick picture. 

A long silence situates itself between you, presumably Chaeryoung investigating his information.

Strangely, you feel like a detective. Climbing skyscrapers to find a solution to a problem nobody addressed until it became horridly powerful—possessing, now fallen in your hands to solve. 

You refused to let their problems ruin them. And although becoming a illegitimate teacher wasn’t the plan for your senior year, you doubt you could back away at this point, not when you had already unearthed the treasure chest.

Last step was finding the key.

Well, detectives are equipped with a magnifying glass for a reason, right?

…

“… His drawings are pretty good?”

Then do you notice the doodles in the far corner of his introductory paper, a flower, a few butterflies, and a dog.. of a sort. Chihuahua-looking. 

“C’mon Chaeryoung, take this seriously,” Lightly scolding, you sigh, wetting your lips whilst flipping to the back of the page. 

It’s a quick script of things he enjoys, accounts from students he knows or that know him, overall containing an overview of his person. 

Hyunjin gets in lots of arguments with Han Jisung. 

You know that much. 

Your finger slips down the page, scouring each sentence.

XXXX: Hyunjin likes drawing. I’ve seen him drawing at his desk before. 

Baseless information, the doodles prove that—

Hold on. 

“Chae, when you’re anxious, do you have a reliever? Like doing something, listening to something?”

She chuckles, clattering of dishes in the background causing you to cringe slightly.

“Dancing, you know this. I’m not going to Hanlim Art School for nothing.” Teasingly voiced, you frown, deciding not to egg on her sarcasm.

“Then do you think, where it says he gets in arguments a lot, he’s projecting that anxiety when arguing because he doesn’t have a reliever?”

She clicks her tongue.

“Could be. But we don’t really know Hyunjin, yeah? It could be something deeper Y/nnie. You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys.”

You sigh, rolling back your shoulders.

“You’re right, but I’m still gonna try it. I need to get through to him that I want to help him somehow, so I might as well exhaust all my options.”

You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys. A phrase truthful to its fullest extent. 

“…Try what?”

Ah, you forgot to mention that part.

“Drawing. I’m gonna try convincing him to give it a chance.”

The stunned silence tells you she’s likely thinking you’re crazy, her only response a breath of disbelief.

You smile.

“I’m insane, I know.”

“No wonder we’re best friends.”

Staring daggers at the papers in front of you, you prop your feet on the desk, sorting through option after option on what you plan next for class.

In the midst of learning more about each boy’s papers though, you overhear something, a few key words.

Friday. Fair.

Aha. 

The school’s annual summer fair, held as a congratulatory sort of event to celebrate moving onto a new year of school.

It’s decided. Friday, you’re taking them to the fair.

Mentally thanking whoever had brought it up outside the classroom, you’re quick in crumpling the additional papers, watching as one by one, the boys enter.

Hey, at least none of them are late.

…Not like they had a choice in that anyway.

And, through a rather painfully awkward second time teaching, the ice seems to be breaking little by little.

Any progress is good progress, you’ve deemed.

“Alright, before you’re dismissed, I wanna let you know we’re going to the fair Friday. Be there.” You hum, tapping the podium.

You swear there hasn’t been a more stifling pause in your life.

Though you’d been anticipating something adverse, this is a downright oddity.

“Uh.. what?” Han speaks up as you near the door. Morbidly quiet.

“All of you, meet me at the grounds at 7pm.”

Added into the deplorable silence, you glance over your shoulder whilst stepping into the hallway, face donning a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. “Okay, class dismissed.”

Beginning out the sliding door, the eruption of voices behind you cascade into a multitude of conversation, your clarification they had in fact heard and you weren’t discussing plans with a brick wall.

All you can do is hope they show up.

Class continues through the week, trying to get them to grow more comfortable with the atmosphere—their classmates, more specifically.

Of course, you earn your fair share of close calls and near incidents in those four days leading to Friday, but seeing the whole group turn up that fateful evening seems to make the ordeal worthwhile.

Quick to move your separate ways, you’re hasty in tagging along with Hyunjin, the boy unusually quiet as you fall into step to his right.

“So.. you draw?” You start, scorning the nervousness evident in your tone.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t interject, nor bite back something as his infograph had led you to believe.

“Yeah,” He sharply replies, eyes trained ahead, taking swift, motivated steps through heavily trodden grass.

It confuses you, in all honesty. Everything about this so-called ‘superiority complex’. From these few days you’ve seen him or interacted (though fleeting), not once has the man exhibited any form of arrogance nor shed of his assumed traits.

He’s shy, actually. Maybe you’re simply gracing surface level like Chaeryoung advised, but certain aspects could be seen in the black of night.

“Y’know, you’re pretty good.”

Despite his lack of response, you can feel his eyes dance to your face for a split second. 

“‘Think you should try it. You’ve got potential, just saying,” You shrug, merely talking without reason nor inhibition.

“You think?”

It’s his voice breaking through your barrier of unrequited cordiality that stirs the air. A final, conversational pair of words after watching him play countless fairground games in quietness.

“I do,” You hum, nodding avidly while watching Hyunjin’s eyes flicker down to the ground below before back to yours, holding eye-contact.

In those moments, you decipher two things.

Hyunjin rivals the prettiest of paintings, and whatever earlier assumptions had been stuck to his tanned skin couldn’t be more wrong. 

“Yo! If you’re just gonna stand there, move it!”

Changbin’s interjection successfully scares the living soul out of you and simultaneously wrecks your intense staring session.

Nevertheless, it’s hard even for you to explain how you ended up competing against the boisterous boy in ball toss, only that you find yourself wanting to tattoo the sight of Hyunjin laughing and Changbin shouting with defeat beneath your eyelids forever.

Granted a gift upon winning, you snag a snorlax plush amongst the scattered options hanging at the top of the booth, presenting it to the him with a smile.

“Huh?” Changbin grunts, head tilted, gazing at you as if you’ve spawned two heads.

“Take it, ‘s for you,” You urge, surveying the boy’s tentative touch against the plush’s soft fur with evident glee.

Still pouty, yes, but you take the sight of the stuffie held in his arms while the three of you walk back as a victory. 

After a quick stop by a corn dog stand, you lean against the food truck’s side, wordless as Changbin and Hyunjin head off their own ways — the only trace of familiarity near you being someone clearing their throat.

Off to the side stands Chan, quietly sparing you not-so-sneaky glances, his hands stuffed in his black jogger’s pockets. 

You cock your brows, head tipped as if silently asking: “What?”

“Waiting for you,” Is his reply, and it catches you off guard at the consideration in those syllables. 

Not that you envisioned Chan as someone cold, but you certainly weren’t expecting him to wait for you while you ate.

Granting the boy a tiny smile of gratitude, you find yourself unconsciously gravitating his way, stuck in an orbital pattern of continuous voyage, indifferent to moving away.

“Chris is an interesting name,” You offer, aimlessly walking past endless booths, people.

“From Australia,” He speaks. Short and straight to the point, yet lacking any hostility. 

“Yeah? Why’d you move?” 

Ushering him on carefully, you manage to tiptoe a bit into foreign territory, navigating rows of traps and ambushes ahead.

“There’s nothing for me back there apart from my family.” His shoes, caked in mud, shuffle to a halt, gaze trained upward toward the constantly reeling Ferris Wheel.

Almost instantly, you can sense a shift in demeanor. It nearly makes your hair stand up on end, specifically upon seeing the hint of vulnerability shed across his face.

Maybe you’re seeing things.

“I’m just.. here. Like I work so hard for a something I’ll never have.”

His nose scrunches, beautifully glossy brown irises reflecting the blinking lights. Red, blue, green, yellow, all encompassed in those eyes.

No, this is all real.

The sight steels you a bit.

After a moment, you nudge his shoulder, his head finally turning to look at you. 

“I don’t think I’m really the greatest to talk to when it comes to this but, Chan, you have to live without a purpose.”

You inhale deeply.

“Because if you keep trying to find a reason for everything-“

The shouting of an oh-so skillful interruption known as Changbin calling your name in the distance temporarily cuts you off.

“You’ll never be satisfied with a reality that won’t change unless you do, with this life.” 

For Chan, no place like home only applied when he had a place to call home. As for now, he was a wanderer. 

That, or inches from deluding himself into a comfortable, insufficient reality instead.

Making believe until something becomes real.

“Do you think it’ll be okay?”

His words catch you off guard, and you sort of stare for a moment, holding his gaze as if looking away means your demise.

For a second, you wonder if every boy’s eyes are this captivating.

Hyunjin, now Chan.

“I do,” You whisper, voice hardly audible amidst the bustling fairground.

His lips quirking into a smile serve as your indication he heard, and he reaches a hand up to gently sweep a strand of hair from your face behind your ear.

Again, unexpected, not disliked.

“Live on, yeah?” Chan hums, lifting his pinky for you to take with a mirrored grin, emotion buried within his dark chocolate pools for eyes you fear to unearth.

Maybe that’s something irrevocably agreed upon.

Live on.

It seems so, even when you regroup with an avidly boastful Changbin barking over who won at a rifle booth against him and Han. Agreed in the pinkies still intertwined behind your backs, in the shared smiles he gives you here and there as the night continues.

“Say, what is it with the both of you?”

Sidled between Han and Hyunjin on the walk back to campus, you find the question slipping from your lips before thinking.

Hyunjin grunts, and Han shrugs.

Children, you swear.

“Constantly biting at each other’s throats, yeah?” You huff, arms crossing.

Glancing over at Hyunjin after neither boy decides to respond, you raise a brow.

“As your teacher, I’m gonna assign something,” You begin, glaring at the tiny scoff Han resounds when you try using an authoritative tone.

“Next time you see each other, try to be nice.”

Another silence.

“I’m dead serious.”

“Y/N-“ Han starts, quickly silenced by your lifted hand.

“No buts. Do it, got it?” Firmly commanding, you leave no room for argument, the two responding as if it were the worst of punishments, wallowing in self pity.

Despite an onslaught of beginnings and continuations to newly opened books, you think the chapter where Hyunjin and Han sulk all the way back to campus takes the cake.

For now it does.

“I want someone to play me,” Han says, bringing the popsicle up to his lips. 

The sun beats onto their skin, warm rays causing a scrunch to appear between his brows.

In an attempt at following your “get-along” suggestion, the two found themselves coincidentally running into each other at the nearby Supermarket after school, sparing cautious glances back and forth till someone broke the silence.

Like fate, drawn together in the ugliest of ways.

Han went first, a hesitant “hey” somehow leading to the two hunkering down on bamboo flooring with a conversation in tow. 

It’s a start.

“Play you?” Hyunjin parrots, confused.

“Yeah,” He responds, fiddling with the name tag attached to his uniform. “They say nobody knows you better than yourself, but I dunno.. I feel like I don’t know anything about me. I’m an alien to myself.” 

Jisung bunches up the wrapper, the crinkling sound rivaling screeching cicadas clinging to the trees overhead.

“I bet if I had an actor play me, I’d make a lot more sense.”

Somehow, out of all the things Han Jisung has said to him, this is the one thing Hyunjin can fully understand. 

Understand that, despite living with yourself all your life, you’re still a novice even in your own body, in need of someone to tell you about yourself, an opposing point of view to help round out the sharp corners.

That’s it. The word to describe it, how Hyunjin found himself bound to art.

Your words replay in his mind on loop.

“Think you should try it. You’ve got potential.”

Understanding.

Art, in its most frustrating, brutally painful form, allows Hyunjin to understand. Himself, his wishes, life, despair. It’s his actor. An ideal perspective responsible for clearing his conscious, a contact lense to the eyes he hadn’t realized were blurry, half-open.

“What did you write on that paper about yourself?” Hyunjin ventured, beaming sunlight cast upon long fingers that peer from the balcony’s shade, highlighting cool toned veins in an almost transparent ray.

Coins cash into the vending machine, the dull cry of birds soaring to the sky in a flurry of wings echoing in his eardrums.

“The one Y/N handed out?”

Hyunjin hums.

“My name.”

The latter’s lips quirk into a clumsy smile. 

Han Jisung, that’s all he wrote. How original of him.

Hyunjin watches an ant crawl atop a leaf, simultaneously swiping a droplet of water from the popsicle’s wrapper with his thumb. 

He tests his words.

“I want,”

A pause. 

“To add art now. To the paper, as my friend.”

Jisung purses his lips curiously, brows lifted.

However, he doesn’t pester.

“Art is your friend?”

Meeting the other boys gaze, Hyunjin finds himself, for the first time when looking at Han Jisung, smiling.

“Yeah, it is.”

. . .

“Heh. What a weirdo— YAH!”

Next Wednesday’s evening consists of a plethora of instances, some more notable to mention than others.

One, getting slammed to a wall by Changbin, and two, getting screamed at right after.

Though you weren’t aware of that yet, not when you looked up from your phone after school to see the boy storming toward you, and certainly not when you smiled, an action seeming to have provoked his hand to your collar, cornered against a wall without so much as a greeting.

“Changbin..?” You manage, slightly breathless at the impact, brows furrowed.

And instantly, listening to the words he spews, it feels as if all the progress you’d made at class—nevertheless the fair—dissolved into nothing.

Back to square one.

“Who do you think you are?” He spits, looking you up and down with a wrinkled nose. “What? You think you own the world ‘cause you’re doing something good? Helping ‘troubled’ kids?” 

Before you can interject, his grip tightens on your shirt, shaking you angrily before stopping again, darks eyes burning with nothing but rage.

“We aren’t your confidence boost, Teach, so get out of your stupid headspace. We don’t need your help and never asked for it in the first place, so get lost.”

Changbin dips dangerously close to your face, venom dripping in his tone.

“Got it?”

Using as much force as you can muster, you ram your palm against his chest, effectively pushing him off of you before slamming against his shoulder and walking away.

Halfway down the street do you stop, not daring to look back at him.

“I don’t know what makes you think I’m doing this for a confidence boost, and I’m not going to try understanding. But that gives you no right to pick me apart like you know me!” You shout, continuing to head as far as you can from him, glaring ahead.

It’s fair he got that idea. Some random student infiltrating your summer all for the sake of what? Their future? Yours? What was this for anyway? Your position as Class President using this “summer school” to make you feel better about yourself, add more to a resume? 

Plopping down at a bus stop a mile or so later, you pull your legs to your chest, rehearsing just what drove you into the mess anyway. 

You want to help them. That’s it. 

Repeating the phrase like a sacred oath, it isn’t until the burning sun’s waning scorch that you’re reminded of evening’s approach, begrudgingly lifting yourself off the now-sweaty seat.

Unbeknownst to you, Chan stood as a witness, watching either of you quarrel prior to parting, you disappearing elsewhere while Changbin remained in place, burning holes into the ground with a furious glower.

Hurriedly assessing what his first move should be (or if he should even move at all), he decides upon following you when the dark-haired boy stalks off.

“Y/n!” 

The oddly familiar voice graces your senses when you look up, pausing just outside the bus stop, earbuds dangling from your pocket. 

It’s Chan, still wearing his school uniform. 

“Oh, hey Chan.” Slapping a hopefully convincing smile on, you allow him to occupy the space to your left as you head home, entertaining his occasional questions, sentences.

You’re glad it’s Chan though. 

“Um, Chan?” You pique upon reaching your door, looking back at him, question inches from slipping off your tongue.

Has anything happened with Changbin lately?

“Yes?”

No, you can’t. 

“Never mind, um, bye!” Brushing off the thought, you give him another tight smile, waving the boy off and slipping into your home with a loud sigh.

Outside, Chan tugs his lip between his teeth, watching you debate on your words. He knows what you wanted to ask, what so obviously sat heavy on your shoulders the entire way home. 

Perhaps it’s his perception that’s gotten him this far. 

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he decides the next course of action would be locating the other half of this division. 

Unfortunately for him, Chan has no idea where he could be. The likelihood he’s home is minuscule if his hunch is right, and so, the man wracks his head for any clues.

Abruptly, a past conversation hits him.

“Have you been there? The old train station below the tunnel?”

Chan, lips pursed as he tries recalling, shakes his head.

“I like that place, ‘helps me think.”

That’s it.

Racing off despite the darkness creeping across star-splattered sky, his legs carry him as fast as possible. 

Dipping below the bridge, his skin prickles at the cold air. Minimal lighting apart from a few white beams paves a clear path to his desired individual, planted in the dead center of the platform.

“Binnie,” Chan calls. 

Only he can get away with calling Changbin “Binnie”, a nickname grown into second nature as the two grew more accustomed these past two weeks.

The boy doesn’t budge, doesn’t reply. He stands there, chin down, hands firmly bunching his pants in a tight hold.

Yet, when he looks up after a lengthy pause, Chan watches his lip quiver, watches his shoulders shake senselessly as he gradually reaches his outstretched arms.

“I.. I keep hurting so many people and.. and…it’s so lonely, why is it so lonely?” 

Without an utterance, he pushes Changbin’s head against his shoulder. 

And they hug. They hug for a long, long time. Basking there, healing there. 

Changbin cries. 

There’s a lot to cry about, a lot of things he’s needed to cry about, things he couldn’t cry about before. But he does. Tonight, in this empty train station, Changbin cries in Chan’s arms, his friends arms.

Changbin’s first friend—who smoothes messy curls down in delicate strokes, holding him dearly close. 

Chan isn’t oblivious, because in those particularly tender moments, one in specific taking place right after the fair, Changbin speaks words Chan had never heard before. 

Problems. They told each other it all. Their secrets, struggles. 

Changbin’s issues with his parents, Chan’s with his home-situation, his internal displacement.

“I know things are hard right now, but we’re going to get someplace better together, okay? We’re brothers.” Chan whispers, and his friend sniffles, nodding wordlessly.

Brothers. 

Changbin is his brother now, and no blood needs to prove that. Because in times you don’t have that family, that connection, you make it yourself.

Seungmin: Y/n, can you meet me at Gokseong Hill?

You groan picking up your phone, granted a mere thirty minutes of peace after your painful run-in with Changbin and an equally painful attempt at a conversation with Chan before your phone lights up.

Y/n: Do you plan to murder me or something?

Seungmin: I’m not as creative as Jisung, so no

You crack a smile.

Y/n: I’ll be there

Fastening a jacket over your shoulders, you lock the door behind yourself, stuffing jingling keys into your pocket.

Hey, a bit of fresh air sounds tempting.

At the peak of the hill he sits, and it’s not until you follow his upward stare that you take in the stars overhead. 

The slight altitude paves way to a more than incredible view. Countless galaxies right above your head, twinkling so brightly in the sky. Far from streetlights, from civilization. 

Your staggered breathing hiking up here proves worthwhile now.

Wordlessly plopping down beside him, you lay back, admiring.

“Do you ever wanna scream?” Seungmin reaches his hand to the sky, allowing the dark blue and black hues to waltz in his grasp.

The twinkling wonder dappled above prohibit a full view of his facial expressions, but you have an idea of how wistfully he gazes into that atmospheric abyss. Aching.

You humorlessly chuckle.

Do I ever.

“When I first met Changbin, I wanted to scream every twenty seconds.”

Seungmin laughs. Pretty.

“Guys like that do that to you.”

He curls his fingers into a fist, arm remaining outstretched. 

“Do it.”

“Hm?”

“Scream.”

He looks at you like you’re insane for a moment, then pauses, fingernails digging into the earthy soul beneath you before he screams.

Screams, louder and louder, so loud you’re surprised his lungs haven’t given up yet, surprised you haven’t laughed at how comical the entire thing is. His body practically lifts off the ground, eyes screwed shut.

Then he stops, catching his breath. 

No comments nor laughter. Quiet. 

Reaching out, you give his hand, dirty fingernails and all, an assuring squeeze.

I don’t know, but I care.

A silent utterance.

“Better?”

He nods. 

You’re next, and this time, you’re first to laugh.

As the two week mark of class is pinned, you want to give yourself a pat on the back for managing - no less surviving till now.

So, it really makes you wonder how you ended up in such a predicament.

Han Jisung, someone you never anticipated to be beside you on your Saturday, resides in the drivers seat of your parent’s car, hands sweating up nothing short of an ocean without even starting the vehicle.

Well, you are aware of how this all began, but then again, your pride wants to be salvaged, if barely.

A bit of pleading on Han’s side about his parents nagging him and a pinch of your groggy mumbling at 9am to end up here, to be exact.

“Look… About what I said the first day.. I’m really sorry about that. I shouldn’t have asked that, it was rude and- ow!”

A hard flick delivered to the boy’s forehead has his face wrinkling up, an offended expression worn on chubby cheeks.

“Yes, it was rude, and I’ll ostracize you if you ever do it again. But I forgive you, you’re welcome,” You state, arms crossed.

Han’s sheepish nod seems to be the best reply you’ll get. 

“Alright, now, shift the gear to drive.”

“…That’s ‘D’, right…?”

“You’re kidding.”

No, he wasn’t kidding, and a lesson that could’ve been an hour long turns into two and a half hours in no time.

Finally, by some miracle, you end up on the road, holding on the seat like a vice, the boy mirroring your panic with nervous jittering and random comments.

“Oh wait! Isn’t the Film Festival coming up-“

“FOCUS ON THE ROAD!”

Ah, he has the attention span of a squirrel, that too.

And if you aren’t doused in gray hairs after that you’d be surprised, Han looking just as frazzled, exiting the car with wobbly legs and wide, frazzled eyes. 

From then on out, you decide teaching the boy how to drive would have to wait.

With July days away (a miracle, you’d like to say), you bury your nose into new assignments and exercises for the class, desperately gripping onto the bits and pieces of progress you’re making.

It’s meager, and certainly not sturdy, but you’ll take what you can get. 

..Even if those hard silences are crippling.

A knock ushers you away from the barstool you perch on, cautiously peering from your front door’s tiny peephole. 

Felix.

Upon opening in the door, you first notice his raw cheeks, eyes puffy and red.

He’d been crying, unmistakably.

You don’t move away when he walks forward and presses his face against your shoulder.

“Can I stay here? I don’t want to go home tonight.” The boy whispers, and you reach a tentative hand to pat his head. 

“Of course.”

Clambering the teary boy inside, you spend a decent ten minutes helping him catch his breath and calm down a bit, not wanting to stress the poor thing out with questions.

Standing in your foyer, it’s his shaky voice piercing the air responsible for your head snapping up.

“Do you.. have brownie mix?” 

.

.

.

“He was always the fearless kid,” Felix mutters, occupying himself with folding the batter in a bowl. 

Interestingly enough, Felix is a stress baker, something of which you hadn’t realized until getting schooled on the correct ingredients to use for brownies.

The topic is Minho. Or, what Felix knew of him.

“I could never read him. I still can’t. I remember he saved this cat once and it bit him. I cried the whole way to the doctor’s office and he was the one who calmed me down instead.” 

All you can do is laugh in reply, the blond sheepishly grinning.

Licking off some brownie mix, he hands you the other whisk where you lean against the counter. 

Leaning forward to smear some of the sugary goodness on his cheek with a giggle, you adore the way his eyes light up, causing his freckles to almost glow.

If past-lives were real, you think Felix would’ve been a fairy.

“You knew Minho when you were younger?”

Felix nods.

“We met in seventh grade. Our mom’s were friends through work. Although, I don’t think he liked me very much.”

He shakes the bubbles from the cooking sheet, ensuring the edges of the pan were even. You slip past him to pre-heat the oven. 

There’s a soft chuckle on his end, and it’s not until you turn around do you see the pikachu mitten he’s quite literally critiquing with his eyeballs.

Such expressive eyes, though they’re different than Minho and Seungmin. 

While Minho has something like the atlantic ocean hidden deep behind those pupils, Seungmin is more of an open field.

Though Felix, he has stars.

So many stars, in fact, that they couldn’t possibly all fit, spreading to his face instead. Down his arms, his chest. Till all of a sudden the entire galaxy found its home in the boy standing in front of you.

“Hey, no judging,” You grin, scrutinizing his innocent shrug. 

Snatching your precious oven-mit from his fingertips to load the pan in yourself, a gasp stirs when a pair of arms winds around your middle, his chin resting upon your shoulder as you close the door and set your timer.

“Thank you.”

“Hm? What for?” Stopping your movements, you allow the boy to snuggle closer.

“For reminding me of myself. I seem to get lost in other people sometimes and forget I’m here too.” At the last part of his sentence he laughs, rocking back and forth on his heels and causing you to rock with him. 

Ten minutes or so you rock. Easy, comfortable. 

Felix gives nice hugs. His clothes are sprinkled with a strange mixture of both brownies and chocolate chip remnants he’d snuck in without your knowledge.

Comfortable.

He’s a kid who never really got the chance to grow up. The one who was constantly told he’s so mature for his age, a phrase that eventually melded so far into his brain it became second nature, gum stuck to his shoe. 

Because the kid that was so mature for his age was never asked if he needed help or if he was okay, everyone simply assumed. Even when the world came crashing down, Felix was fine. Just fine. 

Until he wasn’t, and suddenly, Felix came crashing down with the world.

“..Do you like face-masks?”

You may not be able to fix his crumbling world, but you could give him some good memories to remember it by.

Which is how you found yourself roped in your bathroom, carefully applying the charcoal face mask onto his perfect skin, unblemished and definitely not deserving of the treatment. But, like you said, memories. 

You should be off to bed, already prepping for the next morning, school. June 17th, officially seventeen days into summer school. Yet here you are, greedily shoving down brownies with a new companion, Lee Felix, on the couch while looking like utter idiots in face masks. 

After seven episodes of Gilmore Girls does he wearily rise up, beckoning you with him to wash off your skincare madness only to make an equally weary trip straight back to the living room.

“Do you think Minho likes me?” Your baking partner whispers, his head resting upon your lap. Those unfairly long lashes begin to dust closed, the subtle flash of light emitted from your scented candle sending a golden gleam across the room.  

“Mm.. I’m sure he does. I’m sure he likes you very much,” You assure, not needing a response from his fallen-asleep form, not expecting one anyway. 

What occurred in the first place nor why he asked such questions wasn’t your business, but somewhere, a part of a you wanted to know. The cause of his pain, of all of their pain. 

Hardest part of your evening was definitely attempting to slip him off your lap, luckily a success after four or five minutes. 

Carefully propping a pillow behind his head and layering a blanket across his jacket-clad body, you sneakily turn off the TV, bidding the exhausted boy a hushed “good night” and placing a gentle peck to his forehead before turning off the porch light.

Laying in bed whilst your eyes resist closing, you find yourself hoping he’ll sleep well, hope this night is something he can look back on with a smile on his face.

Felix deserves that.

That morning, upon forgetting your alarm, either of you are scrambling from bed or, in Felix’s case, flopping from your couch with a loud thud!

“Minho lives pretty close,” Felix winds the straps of his backpack over his shoulders, glancing from side to side while observing the area. You follow suit, both clambering to rush out the door, jogging down the street hurriedly.

Seems the Minho kick is still here then, huh.

“But he might not be at school off and on because of his Grandma.”

The awaiting tip of your head calls for an explanation, and a light bulb seemed to bloom above him — obviously having realized something.

Either of you pause at a crosswalk.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

You shake your head, brows pinched. 

Felix pokes his tongue into his cheek.

“Well, Minho’s mom died a bit back. He takes care of his Grandma now. After she passed he got really distant and we…” His tone dissolves, and you don’t interrupt, allowing the boy to speak his mind. “Haven’t talked since.”

Apparently, there’s a corner to this billion-piece jigsaw.

One, horrifically fateful paper lay taped down onto one desk far too many boys are trying to look at.

Levanter High Film Festival. Participants will make a 25 minute short film with cinematography and soundtrack themes made entirely by themselves.

“..And you want us to do this?” Jeongin mutters, skeptically scratching the bottom of his chin. 

“Yep! We are!” You proudly announce, given quite a few confused glances in return.  

As Jisung had taken the time to so kindly mention while nearly crashing the car, July, the month in which you’ve somehow made it to with this group, means the arrival of creative festivals — or, the school boards way of enhancing student participation.

“Uh.. I’ve gotta DAW at home..?” Chan speaks up, brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“…A dawg?” Han snorts, Felix smacking his back in an attempt to quell his own laughter.

“A music birth giving machine,” Changbin offers.

“Ew, weird way to put it.”

“Shut it, Jisung.”

“Alright. Now, we’re gonna break off into departments, okay? We need director, maybe script writers? An idea of where we’re gonna film, song producers, and someone with a camera.” Murmuring with your lip tugging between your teeth, you tap your foot, the group cumulating into frenzied discourse, seemingly arranging themselves. 

And, almost as fast as you blink, you’re pleasantly surprised to find no blood had been shed over positions.

Accordingly — with obvious inclusion in every position at some point — Chan, Changbin, and Han are working music, Seungmin is working on the script, Jeongin and Hyunjin are doubling as directors and camera-providing members, and Felix and Minho have been elected as the main characters. 

You can’t help but find it rather interesting considering your prior knowledge of the situation. Their situation.

Felix’s longing, Minho’s loss.

The imperfect, perfect pair.

“What’s the name gonna be?” Jeongin piques, the eight of you squinting at his frame leant against the windowsill.

The boy hesitates. 

“Like, our label?”

Equally confused stares. 

In honorary mention of the esteemed ‘Film Festival’ introduced this summer, you decided, along with Han’s incredibly distracting tendencies, that you guys would be participating.

Then again, everyone is still getting used to being within six feet of each other, so being stuck in the old photography club room on a school night remains effortlessly uncomfortable.

And with the slow eye contact each of you exchange, a gradual cacophony of “Ohhh”’s. 

“How about Boy’s Generation!” Jisung jumps in, earning a smack across the head from Hyunjin followed by loud whining whilst burying his head in Minho’s chest (of whom looks unbearably awkward) who tries to console.

Emphasis on the “tries” part.

“Maybe.. Lost Men?” Changbin suggests, quiet hums of agreement sounding from the remainder. 

You choke back a laugh, which, doesn’t turn out to be as choked as you’d prefer by the glare you get in response.

“Lost Men? Are we sailors?” Stammering down your giggles the best you could manage, Seungmin clears his throat, attention quickly directing his way.

Seungmin has a habit, if that’s what you want to call it. He’s never outspoken, no, but he speaks, a lot. Minho is the same in that sense. Whether quiet mumbling or the illustrious expressions he makes, you’re confident the both of them could maintain a perfectly understandable conversation using just their eyes. 

Sort of scary. 

“Stray Kids?”

Five seconds later and Felix grumbles, interrupting everyone’s inner contemplation.

“Kind of fitting if you think about it.”

Minho grunts, voicing a question that extinguished the conversation beforehand. 

“Well what happens when we aren’t astray anymore?”

And, although the foreboding tension sat heavy in the air, it was easy to tell he held no weight to his words.

Because regardless of what kind of conclusion they reached at some point, it was irrevocably known they’d always be stray. Searching, looking for something they weren’t sure existed.

No reply came. No one complained. 

Chan typed up the label in the lower left corner of the doc, the laptop he’d taken from his bag propped on his lap.

You gave Minho a half-smile he sheepishly returned.

The more you thought about it, the more it matched. Not only searching, but paving. One way or another, the assumed nobodies were growing, developing into something unforgettable, if only to a few people. 

You had no doubt more would remember their names in the future, but as for now, you stay as Chan, Minho, Changbin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin, and Y/n, lodged in the school’s vacant club room, arranging ideas for the Film Festival. 

Stray Kids. 

You liked it. 

The quiet rolling of his bike gears sits between you, familiarly nostalgic chirping of crickets heightening the darker the sky becomes, dusk plowing a runway through orange clouds.

Headed back from school, you happened to run into Minho, jogging to catch up with him in the midst of his departure.

“I like my life.”

Mid-chew on a sour gummy worm, you cease your gluttonous rampage in order to catch Minho’s hushed breath.

“Being alive is nice.”

And when he says that, he turns his head toward you, expression piquing a “don’t you think so?” type of question you struggle to answer.

Zoning in on the repetitive motion of his wheel, you wrack your brain. 

“Yeah? It’s hard, but I would say it’s worth it.”

His brows raise, a barely visible, lopsided smile winding itself around his lips — chapped but still such a captivating pink hue.

All he has to do is hum, doing that habitual blinking thing he always does to know he agrees.

Minho is the small things, you configure.

He’s fixing the bulletin when a paper fell off and picking up Changbin’s Snorlax plushie when he almost forgets it. He’s reminding you to text him when you get home “just because”. He’s the little things nobodies notices, little things that show he cares. 

Lee Minho is the small things, but he’s also so much too — so many stories, people, places. He’s heartbroken but he tries, pained but still swimming in a whirlpool of an ocean that flushes him from its tides.

Perhaps somebody could be his buoy, somebody who’d keep him afloat.

You have a hunch as to who that person might be.

Bike squealing to a stop, you clamber to catch pace, backing up a bit to notice what Minho points at. 

A field.

“This would be a good place to film if it weren’t off limits.” He observes, either of you acknowledging the “No Trespassing” sign latched loosely onto a chain link fence. 

Biting your lip, a small smirk finds itself upon your face. 

“It’s not off limits if we can get in, right?” 

Minho gives you an uncertain stare, quickly tampering into downright exasperation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a good influence?”

You laugh at this, laying your bike down to hitch each hand into diamond-shaped openings and climb, sending your suspicious audience an expectant look.

“I’m meant to be a good learning experience, think of this as part of a the process. Now c’mon, climb. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Half-heartedly, you’re joined in your risky pursuit, scaling up to the top before thumping down on the other side. 

Minho, on the other hand, is a tad bit more skeptical, remaining at the fence’s peak, glaring down nervously.

Although, with lots of patience and encouragement, the anxious boy takes a leap of faith onto uncut grasses and stalking weeds. 

Halfway into your adventure do clouds begin festering, setting the atmosphere in a gray haze the longer you brainstorm filming spots, whether that’s pointing out certain locations or deciding on specific scene placement.

“We could have Felix here, then I run in and find him?” 

“Okay— what if we make it like a huge confrontation. You run in, confront him-“

Jutting of metal against another surface redirects your mid-sentence focus, gaze averting toward the sound. 

Shit. Security.

“Hey you! What do you think you’re doing!?” 

Momentary silence and either of you go bolting as fast as your legs will go.

“Quick!” You shriek, the sky dotted in strikes of lightning, alighting into a sudden electrified cauldron of clouds and rain.

Minho is right on your heels, jackets strung over your heads in a feeble attempt to divert some watery droplets from their rapid descent.

Not only the useless fear of getting soaked, but the lingering outline of an approaching flashlight in the distance and the thumping of footsteps from behind urge you onward, scaling the looming fence using slippery fingers and wild adrenaline.

Except, just as you edge over the top of the fence does your shirt get caught in the twisted wire, effectively preventing your movement (much to your panic) while Minho shouts below. 

Luckily, in the nick of time do you manage to free yourself, having to lurch forward and simultaneously earn a stinging cut before racing to your bikes and speeding off.

Learning experience was certainly a word for it. 

“So..” You start, lingering by Chan’s doorway. 

According to a fretful, rain drenched Minho speaking to your equally drenched self, his place was the closest.

“What’s our excuse?” You mumble, Minho scoffing before shrugging off his jacket to hand to you, earning a curious tip of your head.

Wordlessly does he point to your now dampened white shirt, and you can’t help but smile at the realization.

Hm. What a gentleman.

Easing the fabric over your soaked shirt, you just finish buttoning to the bottom when Chan opens the door, cocking a brow.

“Who knew it actually rained cats and dogs?”

“You’re not funny.”

Stepping inside, you’re greeted with the chilling temperature, skin erupting into goosebumps as either of you awkwardly stand in the doorway, Chan disappearing into the other room only to return with two t-shirts.

“Bathrooms are on either side of the hall, you’ll find them,” He hums, and you give him a grateful smile before padding off to change, the sound of your squeaking steps making you cringe.

Chan’s old swim-team tee hangs loosely from your body upon stepping out, plopping down onto his couch with an exaggerated groan.

Behind you, Minho sits on an unoccupied chair, taking sips of water here and there.

“So…” The eldest of the group steps in the room, hesitant. “Care to tell me how-“

“No.” Minho bluntly speaks, and you cock a bemused brow at his forwardness.

“Got it,” Chan nods quickly, eyes zeroing in on you for a moment, honing a stare you can’t discern.

“Y/N?” He quietly asks where you lift from your spot.

“Wanna come with me for a minute?” He hums, and you curiously follow him into the kitchen, plopping on the counter he motions for you to sit on.

“Lift up your shirt,” He softly instructs, and you do a double take to make sure you heard him right. 

“Huh?”

Nonplussed, he repeats himself, appearing completely unaffected despite such a request.

So slowly, nervously, you lift your shirt as he nonchalantly maneuvers antiseptic from a medical container, your brain registering the predicament as he dabs right below your chest, bottom lip held in his teeth while he works.

Your scratch from earlier on the fence.

Leave it to him to be the ever perceptive one.

Chan doesn’t budge, shy away, nor show any reaction to the newfound vulnerability. Your heart warms a bit at the sight. 

He cares, and you’ve known that, but it’s just, it’s sweet. Really, truly sweet.

Immediately upon applying the antiseptic, you wince, your grip (which you noticed) on his arm tightening while he calmly hushed you, carefully placing a bandaid on top of the wound. 

“If you don’t dress it properly you could get an infection.” Chan explains. “Tell me next time, okay?” 

You nod as he rearranged his materials below the cabinet and ensured you’ve hopped off the countertop.

“Lix told me you used to be a restaurant’s chef in Hongdae, eh?”

At this, he looked up in surprise, chuckling lowly, lips situating themselves into a sheepish straight line.

“Lix?” He echoes, and you tilt your head, evidently confused as to what he’s asking.

“Mm nothin’, just not many people can call him Lix,” He explains, padding into the living room.

“Really? Am I just the lucky one?” Snickering to yourself, the man nudges your side with his own squeaky laugh as you enter into the living room.

“That’s.. a word for it.”

It’s hard to recall when the gears really began turning. Breaking from rusty shackles to rotate seamlessly.

Chan opening up and giving you a glimpse of the heartthrob of a personality beneath his once cold facade. Han and Hyunjin able to have a normal conversation, talking to Jeongin more and more about anything and everything.

Maybe it’s the familiarity, the routine that naturally mends. Like a new fridge you hadn’t realized you were so accustomed to until gone, until you look back at what was.

A part of you wants to give yourself a pat on the back as if you were the person responsible for this summer school’s progress. Though, you’re sure just about four hundred other things also left an imprint. 

Late nights spent in the old club room. Arranging meetups for filming spots. Headaches from the sound of a power drill where props are put together. Endless repeats of the same scene everyone keeps messing up.

And all of a sudden, it hurts. Because this is one of those moments. Fleeting. Fleeting in the sense that—as you watch Chan and Seungmin burst out laughing when Changbin fails a prop test—never again in this entire world will there ever be another night like this. 

Felix won’t accidentally spill his drink. Minho won’t throw a childish fit after he gets his twenty-fifth take wrong. 

There won’t ever be another summer like this. A summer in your senior year of high school you really don’t want to forget right now, not if it costs it all to stay engrained in your mind.

“Alright. So..” Chan begins, the nine of you clambering to get a glance of his screen as he finishes the final touches.

“We’re finally done!”

It takes a whopping three weeks to finish filming and editing, the clamorous chorus of relief sounding in unison as your group’s unofficial (though wordlessly voted) leader, Chan, taps the save button one last time.

Your film covers the tale of two. Fated, yet, unable to ever meet. A constant tug of war of souls infinitely bound.

One steps north, the other makes five steps south. Pulled together like magnets even when worlds apart in all aspects, even when it seems they’re only given more reasons to avoid each other.

..Yes, you certainly thought of what Felix told you that bit ago.

No, you have been thinking about it.

When they filmed; those certain scenes where you’d watch them make eye contact. Oh to listen to the thoughts behind those eyes.

So leaden with emotion. 

Longing.

A longing for what was, for what could’ve been.

To watch two people like that makes your ears ring. So much said in the hurried lines, the occasional eye-contact. 

Listen, listen. You’ll miss it if you blink.

How gut-wrenching to be a witness to such tragedy you never were involved in. Perhaps that’s human empathy.

You inhale and exhale, but don’t count for how long. Watching the film on the that old projector sheet makes you wish you narrowed things down to the tee, scribbled them down in a notebook to recall for eternity.

Too fast, too fast. You’ll miss it if you breathe.

No, stay forever. 

If only. 

And perhaps that’s the best part.

Stray Kids places fourth place in the festival, and to be honest, you might as well have taken home first.

It sure felt like it.

Smiles and laughter. Congratulations and many thank you’s amidst a densely packed theatre room. 

Though, something is missing. No, someone is missing. Because in the midst of a celebration intended for everyone, it suddenly comes to your attention a presence has gone awry.

Meeting Chan’s eyes, it appears he just realized as well.

Han.

.

.

.

“Jisung where the hell were yo—“ 

Having stormed through the oddly unlocked door like a madman, Chan stops, noticing how positively bruised the boy is, sharp cut veering across his nose, lip busted and bloody.

Hurriedly forcing his face between either of Chan’s hands, Han winces. 

“Tell me everything.” The older of the two demands, eyes racing. 

Quick to pull away, his mouth pulls taut. It’s quiet before Han kicks the cabinet, voice watery, breaking. 

“Fuck!” He clutches his head, biting back the prospect of crying. 

Dropping down to bury his head in his knees, he stifles a shaky exhale.

“..These guys from Class 3-B broke my bike, that’s why I couldn’t go.” 

Ah.

There’s a stillness.

Then, quietly, Chan shuffles down beside Jisung, mirroring the way his knees sit close to his chest, back flush against the wooden cabinets below the sink.

“I just.. wish I was stronger,” Jisung hardly manages, words barely audible through a trembling bottom lip.

Sparing moments of silence, Chan’s jaw tightens, attention directed onto the tile floor.

“I’m quitting the football team.”

Jisung’s head snaps to the adjacent boy. 

“But why? Football’s your forte. Plus, you kick ass every time your name gets called out onto the field.”

Chan ruffles the boys hair, giving him a tight smile.

“I have.. other priorities right now.” His voice shrinks, hand resting atop Jisung’s head, staring into those bottomless brown eyes. 

He’s grateful no other questions were asked.

“Say,” He begins, his counterpart experimentally prodding his swollen eye, cringing back with a hiss. 

“I can help you get stronger.”

Slowly, the younger’s head turns, brows raised as if asking: “really?”, to which Chan nods, a faint grin tugging at his lips. 

‘Reach for me’, and Chan reaches. 

Jisung oftentimes thought the boy foolish to trust so blindly, to pour so much into someone who could easily let you down.

Yet, seeing the fist his friend held out, he returns the fist bump with a feeble grin, head slumping onto the older boy’s shoulder.

This time, an exception has been made.

There were many weird circumstances in Minho’s life, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated this one.

“..What are you doing?” Minho inquires flatly, slowing his bike down whilst Han, dripping in sweat, jogs past, avidly motivated for a reason the bystander can’t quite understand on a Tuesday morning.

He planned to bike into town and buy extra soil for his grandmother’s garden, now finding himself unable to ignore this strange appearance.

“Conditioning! New year new me!”

Minho sends the boy a mildly disgusted, mildly annoyed expression in reply.

“It’s June.” 

“Leave me be.”

His sarcastic brow returned with Han’s entertained giggle, the older boy finding it irritably hard to resist an approaching smile, pedaling to catch up to him.

How burdensome, Minho thinks.

“Is this about the Film Festival?” 

Gliding past, Han’s eyes widen into saucers.

“Please don’t tell me Y/n’s mad I couldn’t show up, I’m scared she’ll beat me up or something on Monday.”

He grins at the sheepish plea.

“She’s not, trust me.”

“And why should I trust you?”

Minho shrugs. “Why not?”

“Fair,” Han deflates, stopping to catch his breath, balancing his hands on his knees. 

The other boy, observing his exhaustion as he pushes on his brakes, grants him a side-eye, patting the back of his bike.

“Want a ride?”

Han, looking up with sweat wrecking his hair to stick up in wild directions, gradually nods, uttering a quiet “Feels like I’m cheating” as he climbs behind Minho, legs dangling off the side. 

The ride is peaceful, rice fields flourishing, fields dappled with flowers of all sorts of hues on the way to town, breeze cooling down Han’s heated face, whipping his linen shirt in each gust.

Neither talk, simply enjoying the weather, the smells, the sounds.   

Though, the enjoyment is quelled as soon as it began, Minho lugging a bag of soil atop where the younger boy had sat on the back of his bike—said boy lingering outside the gardening shop.

Door bells clanging overhead when he exits, Han gives him a questioning look as he works on tying the soil down.

“..Where am I gonna sit?” He questions aloud, and the devilish boy can’t help but wear an evil smile.

“You’re not,” He says matter-of-a-fact, swinging a leg over the seat, watching despair cross his friend’s face. 

“New year new you, right? Good luck!”

Quickly racing off on his bike, Minho laughs at Han’s shouting while he disappears in the distance, knowing full well the silent-treatment he’ll receive later at school.

Oh the throes (and woes) of summer.

Meanwhile, you’re helping Chan hang laundry in his backyard, having reviewed more of an album him, Han, and Changbin have been working on after the festival. 

The longer you listen, the more you find Chan has a knack for curating incredible music, enough that you find yourself leaning infinitely close to the old monitor of his, craning into each note the speaker procures.

“So I was thinking,” Chan clicks his tongue, hanging a t-shirt to the close pins. “What if we had a unit name? Han, Binnie and I?”

Processing his question in your mind, you purse your lips, wiping beading moisture from your forehead.

“What’d you have in mind?” You pique, giving the boy a sidelong glance, mischief evident on your face. 

Mirroring your grin, he steps down from the stool, giving you a hand as you step from yours.

“3RACHA? Cause like.. we’re three and we’re hot like Sriracha?”

Instantly, you both burst out into giggles, smacking his shoulder at the sly phrasing. 

“No no I’m kidding—“

“I like it!” You loudly interject, bringing the water bottle up to your lips.

Chan’s eyes bulge out of his skull, tilt in his head, a hint of surprise etched on sun kissed skin.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I like it! 3RACHA fits,” Elaborating with exaggerated hand gestures, the spectator has to bite back his smile, dimples nudging at his cheeks.

“I’ll let them know,” He raises his brows, giving you a small high five before officially collapsing on the grass, you following suit.

By the time your eyes open again, you can’t even recall what happened in the first place, trying to figure out why the sky is already pitch black, not to mention why you’re still lying in the grass. 

Leave it to falling asleep to waste your day away.

Leaning over where you stretch your arms, Chan grins, extending a hand to help you up that you gratefully accept—granted an explanation as to how you ultimately fell asleep while he was mid conversation.

Waving him off upon noticing nighttime’s introduction, you begin back past school, crossing by the playing fields in the process.

And of course, lo and behold, Minho sits on the bleachers, watching an ongoing football practice while glancing down at his lap here and there, apparently writing something.

Seems today you’re running into everyone, huh?

Perks (and curses) of a small town.

Curiosity driving your feet toward him, you carefully jump up the steps, sitting beside him without word.

He obviously senses your presence but fails to speak up, simply letting you peek over his shoulder at his notes (to which you learned were for a class), occasionally striking conversation only to engulf in comfortable quietness once more.

“Hey Minho?” You inhale slowly, heel tapping again the metal bleacher plank below.

He grunts in acknowledgment. 

“Do you think I’m doing a good job?” 

The football coaches whistle blows alarmingly loud, causing either of you to involuntarily flinch. 

Minho, lifting his head from his notebook, studies your face for a moment, from the way your nose perches to your parted lips, he analyzes.

Returning to your eyes, he blinks.

“I do. I mean, we all like you whether we admit it or not.”

The statement causes a smile to stretch your cheeks, turning to face him. 

“Why?”

“Hm.. You actually treated us like human..? It’s like,” He scoffs, one brow twitching upward the longer he thinks. It’s the first time you noticed the small freckle seated atop his right nostril. 

Charming.

“Everybody else seemed to think we were animals.” 

Hearing him say that, it’s almost.. cruel. To think these boys simply needed a friend, a person to count on for a bit. 

But they didn’t. They were deprived.

Yet, in a twisted way, it worked out. Because it led them to you.

“Well you’re doing it right.. I think.”

You shift your weight back onto your hands, humid air finally cooling into an even breeze.

“Thanks Min.”

“Mhm.”

You’ve grown accustomed to accepting good things never last. It’s one of the many things keeping your grip tight on anything you get ahold of.

Though, it strikes you nearly dizzy how quickly something so good turned sour. 

As in, what was once near-conversation between Minho and Felix has now diminished into distanced glares and horrifically heavy silence like before.

Asking the more openly emotional of the two leads to nothing. No explanation, no reasoning. Just a shrug when you ask: “Hey, what’s up with you and Minho?”

More than ever with this group had you learned assumptions lead nowhere. But when assumptions are the sole thing to be made, you feel quite like you’re chasing your own tail in this predicament.

“Minho, you have to come to school. I’m responsible for your attendance.” 

Amongst the week and a half the boy had been absent, you don’t plan to waste the opportunity for confrontation.

No, it isn’t your usual approach, but any softer and he’ll slip right through your fingertips like warmed butter.

Back facing you where he’d been routinely walking his bike behind his house, you stand firm, eyes trained to the cowlick embedded in his hair.

He doesn’t move, nor budge a single centimeter—voice cut and concise upon speaking.

“I’ve been busy.” 

“You’ve been avoiding Felix.”

You can hear him inhale sharply, not daring to turn around.

“I know it isn’t my business, but there was this.. time Felix and I spoke. You two had a falling out again.. right?”

Prodding deeper into the wound, you can feel your heart constricting tighter and tighter in your chest.

“You’re right.” He whispers, tone low enough you crane to hear. “It isn’t your business.”

It’s your turn to suck in a quick breath.

“And.. it isn’t your place pretending like you know what my life is like. I… I’ll come back to school just-“

Ah. That hiccup. The shudder of his shoulders, the ache in his vocal cords.

“Let me deal with this by myself, alright?”

Who are you to disagree? Spoken seconds earlier, it isn’t your business nor your place shoving your nose into his life. 

Synonymously, you don’t blame him. Blame his irritation, his evasiveness.

Whatever this is with Felix runs deeper. It takes but a single glance to dictate that conclusion. Minho’s loss, his hurt. Bottled up feelings bubbling over in their soda can.

When so much of you is battered, you hide, hide in fear that everything will be ripped from your fingertips — that horrid feeling of helplessness; forging grief continuing to wrack you numb.

Minho distanced himself to protect himself, but most importantly to protect them. To protect his friends, to protect Felix.

And yet, he forgot to install a safety net around his own perimeter.

Jittering hands frantically reaching for his bike’s handlebars, and you spectate wordlessly as abundant tears streak down his cheeks the moment a glimpse of his face is seen, fingernails furiously digging into the aged rubber.

“Minho.”

The boy shakes his head, sniffling senselessly before you step forward and grab his collar, lightly yanking him up, redirecting once castaway focus staring down to the cracked pavement below.

“Minho.”

Just then you notice his watery eyes and the heartbreaking, trembling frown adorning his features. Stifling tears.

Thumb carefully tracing his waterline to rid of those beading tears, he leans into your hand, face breaking a bit.

“Just.. please don’t deal with this alone, okay?”

Looking into someone’s eyes had never made you feel like you were dying until now. How can a soul carry such heavy heartache? Grieve so tirelessly even the eyes form as a window?

So broken, so beautiful.

We’re all the same, are we not?

.

.

.

Ten minutes later, seated upon the playing field’s bleachers familiar to the last time you encountered Minho, a comfortable silence answers any of the unspoken questions lingering in afternoon skies.

The boy beside you, puffy eyes and swollen skin, quietly delights in an ice cream bar, your own held between your lips in contemplation before utilizing your thumb and index to speak for a moment.

“I mean, I may dance around in my room to music, but that doesn’t mean I don’t cry in the shower at night. I’m still human, y’know?” 

Curious feline eyes hang onto your words, enough of a beckon to go on.

“My days can be bright, my nights could be dark, there’s no limit to how you’re supposed to feel.”

Leaning forward, you tap his chest with your unoccupied hand.

“And there’s no need to try and reject something you want to feel. Otherwise, you suffocate.”

He tilts his head.

“It’s like.. hmm… if I hated the way I breathed—“

“You hate the way you breathe?” Minho interrupted, giving you an “are you stupid?” look you quickly shake your head at.

“No no, it’s an example,” You defend with a feigned scowl. “So if I hated the way I breathed, I can’t just hold my breath for too long or a pass out, right? You can’t let yourself get to a blackout point for the sake of others.”

The boy across from you sucks on the skin of his cheek, observing your extended pinkie before taking it in his own.

“Promise me you won’t get to that blackout point.” 

Another promise.

Chan, now Minho.

Expression knit thoughtfully, Minho gradually nods, pressing your thumbs together before cracking an amused grin.

“Y’know, that was well-said.”

You chuckle, smacking his shoulder playfully. “I know right? I’m proud of that one.”

Of course he rolls his eyes in return, but you can see the remnant of a smile in the lifted corners of his mouth, the soft, flushed skin of his under eyes crinkling when he grins.

Ah. He’s beautiful, isn’t he?

On July 31th, your summer school class officially makes a close, and you and eight other boys graduate. 

A miracle, maybe a fluke or some sort you made it out in one piece. A task proved possible after all—intentionally or unintentionally.

In the end, perhaps there wasn’t reason to stare at each sheet and pinpoint flaws.

No, Chris isn’t void of life. Hyunjin doesn’t have a superiority complex, and Jisung certainly isn’t senseless. Seungmin gets nervous ordering coffee and hasn’t participated in illegal activities a day in his life. Felix isn’t in an underground gang, and no one has stolen before. 

There’s too many sides to a cube, so most stick to 2D squares. The complexity is shrunk so it’s easier to digest. 

In the end, perhaps you forget it’s all so wondrous in a way, so intricate and raw. 3D. 

Right before you graduated, Hyunjin gave you a painting he made. ‘A thank you for motivating me to add art as my friend’ he had told you. 

Changbin still sleeps with his Snorlax plushie, and 3RACHA released their first album just yesterday. 

Han finally got his license, Seungmin and Jeongin attend Sejong University as freshman, and Felix sells baked goods on Sundays while interning at a local bakery.

Minho volunteers at an animal shelter on the far side of town, he also took up dancing again.

He and Felix began talking again too. 

In the end, perhaps it wasn’t a matter of you helping them, but for the all of you to understand that, in the grand scheme of things, you live on, just as you and Chan had promised.

There is no choice, no point, no break to the cycle. 

It hurts, it burns, it breaks. You glue yourself together, even when the pieces shatter over and over. Shards draw blood, but a glued glass can still be useful, can still be worthy. 

Bruised and battered, scraped and scorned, a connection lies within Stray Kids that sinks deeper than the anchor you planted in a sea of possibilty, a sea of what you thought was something one-sided, a sea you once believed you’d swim alone.

Maybe it’s discovery after discovery that keeps you close, or maybe it’s something deeper.

Nonetheless, your summer—a summer of hellish heartbreak and love reaping all bounds of repercussion—was one to remember.  

A summer solace, for what it’s worth. 

FIC TAGLIST. @kayleefriedchicken, @chaotic-world-of-the-j, @minhosbitterriver, @reignessance, @thatonexcgirl, @panbish-1209, @jeonginplsholdmyhand, @neviestayy, @stayinlimbo, @tenmii, @sunoosmainchick, @hannamoon143, @juliettacandy, @c0smicstxrs

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[pkg4mumtown]

Special Weapons and Tactics

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male!Reader

Rating: Teen (for now)

Summary: You’re an FBI SWAT agent sent to a scene that the BAU is in charge of. There, you meet the team, specifically SSA Aaron Hotchner.

Content Warnings: Male!reader (no Y/N), strong language, first person POV, non-descriptive mentions of PTSD, canon-typical violence

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this fic for a while and I’m happy to share it with you! I’m about half way done with it and will be finishing it as I post the chapters. I will post about every couple weeks just so I have time to keep up with writing. I also have two Spotify playlists on my page for Criminal Minds if you want to check them out!!

Also available on AO3

July 2010

“Listen up. Target’s name is Lucas Bryant. This guy’s got a military background and possibly suffers from PTSD. He’s using various military paraphernalia to subdue his victims, believes his killings were righteous, and believes he’s at war with us, so approach with extreme caution. There’s a high chance that he won’t let himself be captured. The BAU believes he’s holed up in an attic, upstairs, or basement of some sort. Meet the BAU Unit Chief when we arrive.”

Various, “yes, sir’s,” echoed in the tactical van. Metal sliding against metal followed as last-minute weapons checks commenced.

“ETA is two minutes.”

I had been in the middle of poring over a case file when I got the SWAT mobilization order to a house in northern Virginia and was happy to step away. Words had been swimming on the pages of the file for the last couple of hours, so I’d been restless and itching to clear my head. I let myself imagine breathing out any thought of my own cases so I could be fully focused on this one.

Before the van could fully come to a stop, we were all standing and waiting for the back doors to unlock. A sea of olive green and black emerged from the van and we followed the lead SWAT agent toward the group of agents discussing and gesturing toward the house. The house was strangely well-kept, with a maintained lawn, but “No Soliciting” signs were hung on any possible surface. The curtains were all drawn closed, putting the agents even more on edge since we had a visual disadvantage.

“They’ve been briefed, Agent Hotchner,” our lead SWAT agent notified the Unit Chief as we approached.

“Great, thank you,” the tall, dark-haired agent nodded, making eye contact with each of us to make sure we were paying attention. “We’re splitting into three groups. The first group will go with Agent Morgan and Dr. Reid to breach the front door and head upstairs, the second with Agents Prentiss and Jareau to breach the back door, and everyone else with myself and Agent Rossi to the basement. Let’s go,” he dismissed the group, and everyone split up, having seen who they’re going with since the Unit Chief pointed them out as he spoke.

I looked at each of the other's faces as he gestured to them. The only member I was familiar with was Morgan since we were both in the FBI academy at the same time. The younger one—Reid—seemed vaguely familiar but I couldn’t recall as my attention drifted back to their boss.

My group followed Hotchner and Rossi to the side of the house where two doors indicated the basement access for the house. After we secured the entrance of the basement, we formed up along the side of the house and prepared for entry. I was the last in line of SWAT agents and felt Hotchner’s hand come to my shoulder. The two metal basement doors were firmly closed, prompting our breacher to check for locks. The breacher signaled that basement door was locked and unclipped a saw from his gear. He readied himself to cut the lock, giving us a signal and making eye contact with Hotchner, behind me.

“Is everyone in position?” came Hotchner’s steady, low voice.

There was a resounding confirmation over the radio.

“Breach.”

All of the teams moved immediately. Our breacher made quick work of the lock with the saw while the next agent in line pulled a flash-bang from his vest. With the doors forced open, the breacher jumped away from the entrance while the other agent lobbed a flash-bang down the stairs. As soon as it went off, everyone was following the agent down the stairs and swarming the basement. Rossi stayed outside to watch any windows while Hotchner was the last one in behind me. By the time we arrived, the room was clear and strangely empty besides the typical basement findings. Tall, metal shelving lined the walls with nothing of much interest on them and the floor was littered with boxes and grime. A lingering musty smell permeated the air but nothing else of concern.

“Anything upstairs?” Hotchner asked into the radio.

“Nothing, Hotch.”

He was understandably irritated by that answer and ordered, “Tear this place apart.”

We all got to work as he radioed with his team back and forth, looking around the room for any clues or ideas. Agents ripped into boxes and overturned miscellaneous furniture scattered throughout the basement. Hotchner grew more frustrated by the second judging by his tone over the radio, but his face didn’t show it.

“There’s electrical running down to the ground on the south side of the house,” the older agent—Rossi—sounded over the radio.

The stoic agent’s eyes snapped to the far wall to my left and moved briskly, just short of shoving agents out of his way. His tall frame squeezed between two shelving racks, stepping on a pile of trash in between as he feels the wall.

“Do you see any seams in the bricks?” He directed the question to me, making realize I was the closest to him but far enough to examine the wall from a distance.

“N—oh—yea! A little higher!” I pointed higher up the wall and try to follow the seam down.

I noticed a faint line—no, a wire—lower on the wall ending somewhere under Hotchner’s foot. My nerves lit on fire as I realized what was happening, but I couldn’t move toward him fast enough, “Sir, wait!”

Hotchner lifted weight off one foot to stretch more, turning to look at me as I surged toward him. He started to speak, unaware of what was happening or what I’d seen, “There’s airfl—”

Hotchner was cut off when an ear-rupturing, forceful shockwave echoed throughout the basement, bouncing off the walls and causing the unprepared to stumble. He lost his footing, disoriented and thrown off balance by the concussive blast. I even stumbled back as the blast pushed past my efforts to move forward. At the same time, he and his head were thrown forward into the industrial metal racking with what should have been a sickening thud. Everyone’s ears were ringing too much to hear it. Thankfully, the SWAT agents all had on ear protection and recovered much more quickly than Hotchner.

 I rushed over as the SWAT team’s medic and caught him under his armpits before he could collapse. His body was almost completely lax in my arms, so I dragged him away and propped him against a different rack.

“Sir, are you hurt anywhere else?”

There was no response, and his eyes were barely open and fluttering. I patted him down roughly but found nothing glaringly wrong besides the gushing cut to his forehead.

“Sir, can you stand?”

Nothing. Fuck.

The other SWAT agents were scrambling to open the false wall while being mindful of any more wires. I decided to radio the teams outside before I moved the agent.

“Basement team is working on a false wall. I have an agent down, in and out of consciousness from a concussion grenade. Possible head trauma. Extricating him now.”

“Copy.”

“I’m going to get you out of here, sir,” I assured him as his eyes finally fluttered shut, and his body became completely limp.

I secured my weapon and squatted low until his body could drape over my shoulders. I hooked an arm through his legs and held his dangling arm with the same hand so that I had a free hand for balance on the stairs. When he was as secure as I could get him, I quickly exited the basement, wanting to be out of there by the time they opened the false door so neither of us got shot.

I could only manage a brief nod to Rossi as I carried Hotchner’s extra weight from the stairs to the front lawn. I was keenly aware that the EMTs hadn’t been allowed in the staging area yet since Bryant wasn’t yet apprehended. I got to the edge of the front lawn before depositing him as gingerly as I could on the grass.

“Sir, can you hear me?” I raised my voice and took my helmet off, tossing it in the grass haphazardly.

Fetching a small penlight from one of my pouches, I removed my gloves and opened his eyes to check his pupils. Finding a somewhat normal reaction, I put the light away and got to work on treating his forehead, hoping the stinging would jostle him awake.

“This might sting,” I murmured to myself, basically.

I flushed the wound and press gauze firmly against it, feeling the agent below me tense with pain. His strong hand engulfed my wrist to roughly pry my hands away, but I persisted. I shoved my knee over his bicep and stapled his arm to the ground with my shin.

“Sir, relax. You’re safe,” I reassured him, maneuvering my arm so he could see my face and uniform. He was looking wildly around, probably looking for his team. “Look at me sir,” I requested and offered my rank as an SSA and my last name to him. “You have a laceration on your forehead, okay? I’m stopping the bleeding.”

His breathing began to slow, and he nodded slightly in confirmation. I took my shin off of his arm now that I knew he wouldn’t try to fight me.

“Can you tell me your name?” I began asking him some basic questions to assess for any brain damage.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he answered, louder than he should have been responding but understandably so.

“Good. Do you remember the name of the target?”

“Lucas, mhm, Bryant,” he cringed as my hands worked on his head.

“Can you tell me how many fingers I have up?” I requested, pulling one of my hands away to show him three fingers.

“Three,” he squinted.

“Who’s your Section Chief?”

“Strauss.”

“Goo—,” I started but he cuts me off.

“You want my phone number, too?” he deadpanned, making me huff and smirk at the sarcasm.

“Well, do you remember it?” I challenged him, using butterfly style bandages to hold the wound closed before taping gauze over it.

He effortlessly relayed the numbers to me, giving me a pointed look as if to tell me he was fine now. “If you remember the number I’ll let you buy me coffee,” he rolled his eyes but briefly held my gaze with striking hazel eyes. He attempted to sit up, but I prevented him with a firm hand on his chest.

My brain screeched to a halt as I mentally rewound what he just said to me. Did he just flirt with me? Crap, what numbers did he just say? 5-5-5-0-4-7…6? No—8-6. I repeated them over and over in my head.

I was broken out of my stupor when I could finally hear chatter on the radio again as my ears became more attuned to our surroundings instead of just Hotchner, “Your team is fine. The target’s down.”

He relaxed a little more and I was all too aware of the hand I still had on his chest. He was, too, I saw as he quickly glanced down and then at me but didn’t mention it. I dug my hand into another pouch and brought out an ice pack, activating it with a pop, and pressing it to his head. He took over for my hand and kept the pack pressed to his head.

“Noted, by the way,” I answered his earlier challenge with an upturn at the corner of my mouth.

He gave a hum in acknowledgement. Hotchner was silent for a while, his free hand absentmindedly playing with the grass while trying to crane his head to look at the action behind him to no avail.

“It’s weird being on the other end of this,” he murmured, seemingly to no one in particular.

“What do you mean, sir?” I adjusted myself to sit on the grass more comfortably.

“Hotch,” he corrected, focusing back on me. “And, usually, I’m the one calming victims down. Yet here I am getting flustered over an operator.”

“You could have fooled me,” I laughed, my hand twitching against his chest. Whatever flustered feeling he was talking about, it wasn’t noticeable—to me at least. His features were still void of any emotion beyond the lingering worry for the mission.

“Despite having been in SWAT, the situation was…eye-opening,” his even voice invited a brief moment of mirth.

“You were straight before you went in the basement?” I joked with pursed lips.

“Pretty much,” Hotch nearly cracked a smile. The hint of it soon faded away and he made direct eye contact with me, hoping I would understand, “That’s a joke.”

I was…unsure of how to take that. It was a joke in that he actually is straight or a joke meaning that he’s not straight? Was he or was he not flirting? I mentally sighed and gave him a neutral answer just in case.

“I’m aware of how sexual orientation works, sir,” I forced a chuckle. “Maybe that hit jostled your head a little more than we thought.”

He deflated a little, his smirk dropping, “Yea, maybe.”

In an effort to save the conversation, I latched on to what he previously said, “You did SWAT detail?”

“Mmm, yea, when I was at the Seattle Field Office…tch,” he let out a long breath. “…a long time ago. It was fun,” he raised an eyebrow at me. “Surprised?”

“Only a little,” I shrugged. “You seem capable,” I gave him a once over, imagining him in the uniform I was wearing.

In the distance, I finally saw the rest of Hotch's team leaving the house. They rushed toward me where I had their boss lounging in the grass.

“Your team is incoming,” I notified him and began standing.

I extended my hand to Hotch, and he took it reluctantly as I helped him to his feet. He wobbled for a second, prompting me to still him with a hand firmly planted on his back while his hand clutched my shoulder. If anything, my hand on his back had the opposite effect as he put pressure into my hand instead of balancing himself.

Interesting.

I would have been crazy to pull my hand back.

Rossi approached with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Close encounter with a deadly shelf down there, eh?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting out in laughter at the murderous look Hotch shot at Rossi. It was only made funnier by the image of the stern agent with a child-sized icepack on his forehead.

I quickly cleared my throat as I noticed the other agents looking expectantly at me, “Just a laceration and probably bruising later. He hit his head pretty good, possible mild concussion so he shouldn’t be alone for 24 hours. Might need stitches and probably worth getting his head checked out but I’m sure he won’t.”

Hotch winced as he accidentally put more pressure on it with the icepack, “I’m fine. Just a headache.”

I fixed him with a pointed look, then glanced at his hovering team, “Yeah, well, they seem to disagree.”

Prentiss stepped forward, concern softening her features. She reached for his forearm, his hand quickly sliding from my shoulder to her hands and leading him away from my hand on his back, “Come on, tough guy. You’re crashing with me.”

No significant other at home? Or is she…? Hm.

It was almost possessive, but what did I know? With the nature of our work, I’m sure they were all pretty close and protective of one another. I might not be a profiler, but I got the idea nonetheless as her eyes flicked toward me like I was a stranger. Well, because I was.

Clearing my throat, I swiped my helmet from the grass and tucked it under my arm. I extended my hand to Hotch, “Great to meet you, sir.”

Despite not knowing them besides Morgan, word did tend to get around the field offices about the BAU, so it was nice to put faces to the team.

“Thank you for your help,” my last name escaped his mouth with a low and soft hum, giving me a grateful quirk of his mouth.

Before I could lose myself in his features, I shifted my attention to Rossi and shook his and everyone else’s hand. As I got to Morgan, recognition flashed across his face.

My last name questioningly fell out of his mouth in disbelief. A bright smile lit up his face as he realized why we knew each other, “How’ve you been, brother?”

“Good, man. I—,” I heard my name called across the street, beckoning me to the tactical van. I acknowledged my teammate and continued my sentence by drawing out the letter, “I…gotta go, I guess.”

“No worries, we’ll catch up soon. Let’s go out some time,” Morgan reached for my hand and pulled me into a brief hug.

“Sounds good,” I smiled at the team and jogged back to the van.

I approached the van, slowing down as I got to the open door where Ramirez was waiting for me expectantly.

“Have fun with the shrinks?” He grinned and held the back door open for me.

“Yea, they’re alright. I went through the academy with one of them,” I climbed in and helped him shut the doors before sitting down.

“Bunch of characters, though,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

“Nah, it’s just…I’ve worked with them before. No offense or anything, they’re just…weird, I guess,” he stammered over his words, not quite expecting to be called out.

“And, yet we rely on them for profiles that help us get guys like that,” I gestured vaguely in the direction of the house we had just left.

“Fair enough.”

On the ride back to DC, I pulled out my phone and typed in the number I had been repeating since my interaction with Hotch. 5-5-5-0-4-8-6. I quickly saved it under something practical and not at all indicative of how giddy I felt saving it.

Spoilers, it was just “Hotch BAU”.

 I resisted typing out a text message to him at that moment, not wanting to seem…desperate? Yea, “desperate” sounded right. I decided to send it later that night, which sounded even more desperate considering he would be at that attractive agent’s house. Prentiss? Prentiss. I grumbled to myself for being stupid and shoved my phone back in my pocket.

-

Chapter 2 - Coming Soon

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: this one actively broke my heart while writing it and i hope i did the topic justice. title came from a song on @pyotrkochetkov ‘s barzy playlist and i just knew i had to write something angsty for it. a bunch more happy and smutty long fics and headcanons are coming! seriously, let me know what you thought of this one - much heavier and angstier than i usually write 😬 ignore any inconsistencies, i’m not an expert on this particular medical procedure or professional hockey team travel

word count: 7k

tw: miscarriage, subsequent emotions

summary: on a mini trip to vancouver to watch andrei play, you suffer the worst loss of your life. andrei is your rock throughout the ordeal

Vancouver is a fun city - maybe not as fun as Raleigh or New York, but fun nevertheless - and you’re excited that part of the Canes’ Western road trip fell close to Thanksgiving weekend so you could join in for a bit of it without having to miss too much time at work. Part of your goal this season, your first married to Andrei, is to see him play in every arena. You’ve managed a few of the east coast arenas so far, but this is your first time out west. Nykki joined you too, so it’s like a mini-girls’ trip rolled into a ‘supporting our men’ trip.

The team’s there before you and Nykki get to Vancouver, having already played in Seattle two days before. It’s actually been slightly more than a week since you’ve seen Andrei in person and you miss him a lot. You’ve been with him for four years now, so you’re used to the travel and not seeing him for chunks of time, but this week feels extra hard. Luckily, after this little West Coast swing, Andrei will be home for a good chunk of time - the quirks of the NHL schedule are always insane to you.

You and Nykki get dinner before the game, discussing her wedding plans. It’s scheduled for early August, but time is already flying. You’re a bridesmaid, but you’ve been pushing off picking a dress, knowing that it’s not going to fit you by the time the wedding happens. Your fingers curl carefully against your stomach, hidden by the table and the bulk of your sweater, your little secret.

Butterflies roll in your stomach, excitement mingling with nerves, knowing that you’re going to tell Andrei the news after the game tonight. It’s so early in your marriage, and you’re definitely freaking out a little bit, but the idea of a little baby that looks like Andrei is enough to help the excitement win out.

“Martin wants to do Bali for the honeymoon,” Nykki tells you while you find your way to your seats. You bought tickets for the lower bowl, wanting to be in the middle of the crowd and all the excitement. The Canucks fans are already a little rowdy, with warmups halfway over. There’s a few Canes jerseys smattered through the crowd, but it’s certainly an uneven match.

You sip at your overly large Coke, your stomach turning a little. Dinner isn’t sitting right with you, but it’s manageable for now. “Bali’s nice, I mean, so I’ve heard. But what’s the weather like in August?”

Nykki points at you, her other fingers wrapped around her beer can. “That’s what I said! I thought it would be unbearably hot and humid, but apparently it’s gorgeous - 86 and barely any rain,” she grins. “I promised he could be in charge of the honeymoon, so I think we’re going to Bali.”

“Well,” you smirk back, “there are worse places to spend two weeks with your gorgeous NHL player husband, Nyk.”

She laughs and takes a sip of her beer, eyes twinkling. “You have a point there. How about you and Andrei? What are the big summer vacation plans?”

You pause, thinking of an answer because you’re anticipating having a newborn this summer, so a vacation isn’t likely to happen. Andrei’s been floating the idea of a mini European tour - hitting Rome and Paris for a few days each before heading to Russia for a little bit to visit family. But you haven’t really committed to plans since it’s only November and you have plenty of time. “We haven’t really talked about it,” you answer Nykki truthfully. “Drei’s been focused on the season and I’ve been busy with work. He doesn’t like to plan anything before the end of the regular season anyway.”

“Superstition,” Nykki sing-songs, putting her beer in the cup holder as she stands for the anthems. You get to your feet, pulling off your baseball hat and holding it over your heart, humming along with both anthems. You shift your weight from foot to foot, stretching out your lower back a little.

The puck drops and the game starts - Andrei’s almost immediately put in the penalty box, complaining and shouting at the ref the entire time he skates over. His hands fly in the air as he gestures, but his passion isn’t moving the ref at all and he takes his seat in the box, slumping down. You laugh, shaking your head affectionately. He’s a sweetheart off-ice, but on the ice, Andrei is a borderline criminal. He’s leading the team in penalty minutes and you’ve definitely heard plenty about how he doesn’t deserve it.

The game clock ticks down, Andrei’s released from the box and immediately scores on a breakaway. You and Nykki jump from your seats, screaming and cheering with the Canes up one to nothing. The Vancouver fans around you glare and chirp, but you and Nykki just laugh, giving back as good as you get.

It’s pure fun to be supporting the visiting team and you and Nykki thoroughly enjoy yourselves, dancing to the music and gossiping during TV timeouts and slower moments. Nykki gets another beer and you refill your soda, your stomach still acting up. The popcorn Nykki gets is too salty and you end up joining the crowd when they start throwing their own snacks at the refs. It’s a penalty called on the Canucks, which is good news for you, but the crowds enthusiasm is infectious.

The fans of the Canadian teams are definitely a little more intense and vocal with their displeasure with the refs, you’ve noticed. A particularly obscene chant breaks out when Brady dances around one of the Canucks’ defensemen to set up a powerplay goal for Brent Burns.

You and Nykki throw your arms up and cheer, screaming yourselves silly. Your stomach cramps a little and it puts a damper on the celebration and also serves as a reminder that you really need to see a GI doctor to determine if you’re actually lactose intolerant or if you have a gluten allergy. You grimace and sit back down, clenching your stomach a little, which seems to help. The rest of the second period flies by and the boys are up two to one.

The people around you start to shuffle off to get more food or go to the bathroom, now that the second intermission has started. You finish the rest of your soda and shift in your seat. Nykki looks over at you curiously. “You okay? You seem like you’re kind of uncomfortable,” she says, twisting her hair back into a ponytail.

“I’m fine,” you hum. “My back is killing me though. I must’ve tweaked it on the flight over.”

“You want an Advil?” Nykki’s already shaking around her purse and you can hear things rattling around.

“Let me go refill my drink, pee, and then yeah, I’ll take an Advil,” you reply, holding the reusable cup to your chest and getting out of your seat. Nykki pulls her knees to the side and you scoot past her, stopping when she makes a little noise. “What?”

“Babe, I think you need a tampon too,” she whispers, gesturing to the back of your jeans.

Your eyebrows draw together. You’re not getting your period anymore. “Tamp-?” The word catches in your throat and your eyes go wide. Your mind spins as the pieces start clicking into place and, as if to serve as the final kick in the ass sign, your lower stomach twists unpleasantly with a sharp cramp. Tears fill your eyes and you reach down to grab Nykki’s hand. “Um, surprise, I’m pregnant, but maybe see should go to the hospital or an urgent care?”

Half a dozen emotions cross Nykki’s face before it settles on shock, but all you can focus on now is the persistent cramping in your stomach. The cramping that’s been bothering you all day and you ignored, thinking nothing of it. God, you’re a terrible mother already.

“Okay, okay,” Nykki jumps to her feet, squeezing your fingers and dragging you out of the row and up the stairs to the main concourse. Her other hand is gripping her phone tightly and she’s jabbing at it with her thumb. “I’m calling an Uber. The hospital is like a ten minute drive.”

You nod, feeling numb as Nykki drags you along, your feet stumbling to keep up as you dart around the people waiting in lines for the bathroom and for food. How could your whole night - your whole life - have just taken a complete one-eighty in the matter of minutes. The cold Vancouver air hits your face like a slap, shocking some feeling back into your body. You wish it hadn’t.

The cramping is worse, the feeling between your legs - blood - like free bleeding during your period, but worse, so much worse.

Your stomach lurches and you rip your hand from Nykki’s grasp, bending at the waist and vomiting into a bush next to the entrance to the arena. “Oh, it’s going to be okay. Let it out,” Nykki’s voice is soothing and she rubs a hand in between your shoulder blades while your stomach seizes and you vomit again, spitting into the dirt.

Tears streak down your cheeks and your throat burns now. “I want Andrei,” you whisper, heart clenching with grief.

“Let’s get you to the hospital,” Nykki guides you towards the rideshare pick-up area, where a four-door sedan is already waiting. “I’ll get a hold of him somehow, but let’s take care of you first, okay?”

You let her bundle you into the backseat of the car and swallow back your tears, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes hard enough to see starbursts. Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you try to calm down, you don’t know what’s happening for sure. Even though it feels very much like the end of something, you have to find a little piece of hope to keep yourself sane. The driver catches your eye in the rear view mirror as he pulls out of the arena parking lot, his mouth twisted down in a concerned frown even as his eyes are slightly judgmental. He’s driving you from a hockey game to a hospital - god knows what he’s thinking about you.

Nykki squeezes your knee and smiles gently at you, even as she’s typing on her phone with her other hand. “It’s still intermission, no one’s going to have their phone on them, but I’m trying to see if I can get through to one of the trainers or something. Just stay calm and we’ll figure it out,” she’s no-nonsense and you’re so grateful for her taking control of the situation.

Your lower back complains as the driver hits a pothole and another leak of fluid rushes between your legs. The drive is too long and too short all at once and before you know it, you’re being admitted to the Vancouver General Hospital emergency room and deposited on a bed, a curtain drawn around you. A nurse with warm, sympathetic eyes and a kind smile does your intake, her lips twisting to to side as you’re answering her questions.

“I just found out a few days ago,” you whisper, starting your fingers together. “I haven’t even told my husband.”

“Mrs. Svechnikov,” the nurse pats your arm comfortingly, “we really don’t know anything for sure until we get an ultrasound. Try not to put added stress on your body.”

You don’t even bother correcting her about your last name, the Russian name sounding strange in her Canadian accent. Nykki comes behind the curtain, clutching her phone. “There’s about ten minutes left in the third,” she says. “I can’t get ahold of anyone, but I’ll keep trying.”

“We’re going to get an OB down here and check everything out, okay?” The nurse says kindly, but brusquely, and then disappears back into the main emergency room. You roll your neck so your cheek is resting on your shoulder and a few tears leak out of your eyes.

“You didn’t leave any messages or anything for Andrei, right?” You ask. “I don’t want him to see and freak out.”

Nykki brushes your hair off your forehead and shakes her head. “No, I left a few messages for Martin to call me as soon as he could. I figure I’ll get to Andrei that way. Do you need anything?”

“Just Andrei,” you hiccup a sob, pressing a shaking hand to your mouth. Your other hand hovers over your stomach, afraid to touch it. The bleeding hasn’t stopped, so despite what the nurse said, you know it’s a miscarriage. Your stomach rolls and you press your lips together tightly so you don’t vomit.

“I’ll get him here as fast as I can,” Nykki reassures you. While you wait for the OB, she absently braids your hair back from your face, tying it off in an efficient, utilitarian French braid down your back. She talks as she works, trying to distract you, and you’re grateful for her efforts even if they don’t work. All you can think about is the little life that had been growing in you just a few hours ago. Your heart lurches painfully when you realize Andrei’s going to find out about the pregnancy and the loss all at once.

The OB is a middle-aged Black woman with a slight Canadian accent who introduces herself as Doctor Hayes and she doesn’t sugarcoat the news, which you appreciate. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Svechnikov,” she sighs, looking very much like she hates this part of her job. “But you are actively miscarrying right now. We’re going to admit you overnight for monitoring and will reevaluate in the morning.”

Your entire body goes cold at her words and you grip Nykki’s hand - you hadn’t let her leave your side, terrified to be alone. A cramp rips through your lower body and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. “What-“ your voice is hoarse and you clear your throat, trying again, “what, um, are the next steps?”

Doctor Hayes rests her hands on the guard railing on your bed. “Well, we’ll have you on a hydration IV throughout the night while we monitor the miscarriage. There may be a need for a D and C, to make sure it’s complete and there’s no tissue left behind.” Your face blanches as she talks. “But all of that will depend on what happens tonight.”

“Thank you,” you murmur and she pats your hand gently, sympathetically, as she leaves. You can hear her giving the nurse instructions and you slump back against the pillows, completely drained.

Nykki checks her Apple Watch and grimaces. “It’s Martin. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Be gentle with Andrei, okay?” You reply, desperately wanting him at your side, but also wanting to protect him from this heartbreak a little longer.

She’s back in a few minutes, after the nurse has started you on an IV. “Martin’s going to bring him over,” she says, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t tell him why you were here, just that you started to not feel well during the second,” she says. “It sounded like Andrei was halfway out the door before Martin could finish his sentence.”

You nod faintly. That sounds like Andrei. “I hope they don’t get slammed by Rod for leaving…” You twist your wedding rings around your finger, the diamonds catching the fluorescent lighting.

“They won’t,” Nykki says firmly. “He’d have to be a real bastard to punish Andrei for coming to the hospital for you. Besides, someone should’ve been available to get Andrei here earlier! It’s ridiculous.”

“Let him have an extra hour of normalcy,” you sigh, shifting on the bed, sore and uncomfortable.

You’re moved into a private room and given a hospital gown that bares your entire back and ass. A giant pad that’s probably as big as a damn puppy pee pad is wedged in between your legs to contain the bleeding and the IV is tugging unpleasantly at your skin. Nykki’s waiting downstairs to bring Andrei directly to you and you hope he’s here soon because now that you’re alone, the reality of the situation is sinking in and your chest is starting to feel tight. You turn your head and try to bury your face in the pillow, but you catch a whiff of the lingering Tom Ford Lost Cherry perfume you’d applied earlier mixed with antiseptic and sterile hospital smell and your brain briefly registers that it’s a shame, because you really love this perfume and now you’ll never be able to wear it again. Your heart thumps painfully in your chest, a reminder that you’re losing more and more of your baby with each passing second.

You hear him before you see him, the pounding of his footsteps echoing through the hallways. He’s running down the hall, that much is clear, and when you look over at the door, you catch the blur of Andrei skipping completely past your room before he doubles back and skids to a stop in the doorway.

He looks terrible - hair still damp with sweat, the red mark across his forehead from his helmet is still prominent, and he looks like he got dressed in the dark - or an extreme hurry - in a pair of basketball shorts and his button down with the buttons done up all wrong. But it’s the look of complete panic in his eyes that scares you the most. Andrei never looks that panicked.

“Solnyshka,” he breathes, his shoulders dropping from around his ears. In three long strides he’s at your side, holding your hand, and you finally feel like you can breathe.

“Hi,” you whisper before bursting into tears.

“Hi,” he replies softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His grip is almost painful, but you welcome it as you hiccup. “What’s going on, solnyshka?”

Insanely, the only words that come out of your mouth are, “your shirt is buttoned wrong.”

Andrei looks surprised, “what?” he asks absently as his gaze flickers down to his shirt. He shakes his head, “I rush. Solnyshka,” his voice is high and nervous, “what is going on? Neci didn’t know anything. Just that you’re here, in hospital.”

“I…Andrei, I’m so sorry,” the words rush out of your mouth on a flood of fresh tears. “I was pregnant and now I’m not. I lost the baby.”

You’re not even sure if Andrei can even understand you, you’re crying so hard. But one glance at his face and the completely shattered expression it wears, and you know he understood you. His fingers tighten around yours and he’s shaking his head, hair falling forward over his forehead.

“What? I don’t - a baby?” He rubs at his forehead with his other hand, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. “When did you - why didn’t -“

He can’t seem to get a full sentence out and it only makes you cry harder, your entire body hurting with the effort. You know what he’s asking though.

“Last week,” you manage. “The day after you left. I was going to tell you tonight, but…” You trail off, shrugging one shoulder.

Andrei’s head hangs, chin to chest, and he makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “I’m so sorry, milaya,” he says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

The worst of your tears are drying up and you shake your head. “It’s not…I had Nyk. I hate that you had to find out like this. Baby and then no baby, all at once,” your voice cracks and you trace the little embroidered A.S. on his cuff, barely able to look at him.

Your husband sighs and drops his head so he can rest his forehead against yours. He smells like sweat and fear and Old Spice and your throat clogs with emotion again. “I thought…” he breathes. “I hear hospital and I think the worst. I thought the worst.”

This is the worst, you think. The worst possible thing. But you know what he means, that he thought something even more awful had happened to you, that he was worried he lost you because he didn’t know there was something else to lose.

Andrei’s lips brush against your cheek, soft and delicate, the rasp of his stubble a stark contrast. You sit like that, foreheads touching, for who knows how long. Andrei doesn’t cry, but his chest hitches and you think he might, maybe, when it all sinks in. You’re all cried out and now there’s just bone-deep exhaustion.

“i’m tired,” you murmur, the words getting lost between you.

Andrei nods against your forehead and pulls back, looking like it takes him a huge effort to sit back up. He cups your cheek and his thumb strokes a careful arc over your cheekbone. You lean into the familiar gesture, comforted. “Sleep, okay? I’ll…I have to call Rod. Get my stuff. I’ll take care of everything,” his voice is steady, but his eyes are clouded.

You nod, your eyelids already closing. Andrei gets up and brushes his lips over your forehead, murmuring that he loves you. Once he’s outside the room, you can hear him talking quietly to Nykki and Martin, but your grief and exhaustion pull you under before you can really concentrate on what he’s saying.

Sleep doesn’t last and you’re awake again after a few hours. You blink awake blearily, confused for a second before everything comes rushing back. Andrei’s scrunched up in a chair in the corner, his chin propped up on the palm of his hand, eyes shut. He changed in the time since he left, now dressed in a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt. His legs are kicked out in front of him, a pair of white sneakers on his feet. You don’t want to wake him, but when you shift, a sharp pain pierces your side and you gasp loudly before biting down hard on your tongue to muffle the noise. It doesn’t work and Andrei’s eyes fly open, his entire body jerking.

“Hey,” he’s at your side in a second, “what hurts? I call a nurse?” His accent is thick with sleep and worry.

You shake your head, the pain subsiding. “I’m fine.” And you are, the worst of the cramps are gone, leaving just a vague soreness and uncomfortable tightness in your chest and stomach. “You should’ve gone back to the hotel.”

“And leave you?” Andrei looks at you like you’re crazy. He shakes his head. “I got my bag and Nykki brought yours back. Do you want anything?”

“No,” you reach for his hand and lace your fingers together. “I just want to go home.”

He nods, looking exhausted. “Me too. I spoke to Rod, if you’re discharged later today then you come with us on the plane. If not, I stay and come home with you when you’re ready,” his lips quirk up at the corner when you start to protest. “Is decided, solnyshka. I’m not leaving your side.”

“But…” you trail off, all the arguments that you can think of fading when you realize that you don’t want to be separated from Andrei, not right now. “Okay,” you whisper.

“Good,” he chuckles under his breath. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“No arguments from me,” you reply dryly, rolling your head so your cheek is on the pillow and you can look directly at him. “Why don’t you try and sleep some more? I’m not going anywhere.”

His jaw tightens a bit. “Can’t sleep,” he replies, even though you had just seen him asleep. “If the doctor comes, I want to be awake.”

You nod again, sore and tired, and Andrei just sits with you quietly for a while before you think to ask, “how was the game?”

He snorts. “We won, but who cares?” It’s such an unexpected answer - Andrei’s never not cared about winning a game - and it startles you into silence.

A nurse comes in a few minutes later, saving you from having to find an answer. She introduces herself as Kayla and speaks in a soft, but firm tone. You’re starting to recognize the undercurrent of apology and sympathy in the nurses and doctors’ tones and you’re beginning to hate it. Andrei doesn’t let go of your hand while she checks your vitals and puts another bag of saline on the IV pole. “The OB will be in soon to do another ultrasound and see if you need a D and C,” Kayla says gently. “But everything else looks good. You won’t be staying another night and I would guess that you’ll be out of here by early afternoon at the latest, either way.”

You nod robotically, not really absorbing what she’s saying. By this afternoon, everything will be over and you’ll for sure, 100% not be pregnant anymore. It’s a gut punch, even though you knew this was coming. Andrei asks the nurse a few more questions before she leaves, but you don’t really listen, focusing on a small stain on a ceiling tile. It looks like nothing at all, just a blob of brown, but the more you stare at it, the more your vision unfocuses, the more it starts to look like one of those stereotypical ultrasound blobs.

You don’t even realize that you’re crying again until Andrei wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Try and sleep again,” he murmurs, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “I think you’ll need strength.”

“Can you get me some water?” You ask, running your hands over the braid Nykki had done. It’s so messy and it feels like she fixed it a million years ago, but it was only four or five hours. It feels like another lifetime, sitting in the arena and joking around with her. From halfway through second intermission to a hospital room at 2 a.m. Certainly not how you were picturing the end of your trip to Vancouver.

You think you must fall asleep again because the next thing you know, there’s sun coming through the window and Andrei’s at your side again, his large hand resting on the top of your head, cradling the crown. Unfamiliar doctors and nurses are in the room and they all speak to you and Andrei, but the only words you hear are “incomplete miscarriage” and “quick procedure” before you’re being shuffled off to an operating room. It all happens too fast for you to even be scared and the last thing you remember before the anesthesia is Andrei by your ear, whispering in Russian to you, the spicy scent of his deodorant filling your senses.

Andrei’s there again, when you wake up, eyes looking red and face drawn. You’re barely conscious, but the sigh of relief he exhales permeates the fog. His hand is warm in yours and you manage a weak smile at him. “Hey there handsome,” you croak and he laughs weakly. “Miss me?”

“You…” Andrei coughs, “I love you very much.”

“Love you,” your words slur a bit. “I wanna go home.”

“Soon, solnyshka,” Andrei promises, stroking your hair. “Soon.” He’s still stroking your hair when you fall asleep again.

When you wake up again, the overwhelming sense of emptiness is what you notice first. Then Andrei comes into focus again, his weight of his head resting on your leg, his hand on your hip. You’re not sure if he’s awake or not, but you gently run your fingers through his hair and he looks over at you, shifting.

“Hi,” he murmurs, dark circles under his eyes.

“Hi,” you rasp back, fingers still working through his hair.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore, tired,” you hesitate, “empty.”

“Yeah,” Andrei’s reply is barely an exhale. “Doctor said we can go, once they give you the all-clear.”

You nod, chewing at your lower lip. “Andrei,” you choke his name, the words coming out like broken glass, “we don’t have a baby anymore.”

“I know,” Andrei replies simply, sitting up all the way and leaning forward to gather you into his arms. You go to him easily, moving carefully and ignoring the pull of your protesting muscles, and bury your face against his chest. He’s in the same black t-shirt and he smells stale now, like he needs a shower desperately, but under that he just smells like Andrei, like home, and you cry into his chest, the fabric growing wet under your face. He just holds you, his arms a strong cage around your back, his hands running up and down your back. Everything in your body hurts, but nothing more than your heart.

Throughout the next few hours, when you’re given a clean bill of health, instructions to take it easy and abstain from sex or using a tampon for three weeks, and discharged, Andrei is a rock. He’s right at your side, helping you get dressed in the soft joggers you were using as pajama pants and an oversized hoodie. He laces up your sneakers for you and carries all the bags out to the waiting Uber. You were discharged in time to make the team flight home, but after hearing Andrei on the phone before the doctor came in for your exam, you kind of suspect that he may have pressed Rod to change the travel plans. You can’t even start to think about what he’s done for you, exhaustion seeping to your bones.

No one says anything to you when Andrei ushers you onto the plane, but Neci gives you a small smile and squeezes your hand when you walk past him. You return the smile, feeling awful that Nykki has to fly home on her own. She’s been texting, checking in on you, and you haven’t answered yet, too distracted to deal with even holding your phone. Andrei bundles you into a seat near the back of the plane and wraps his jacket around you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Anything for you, solnyshka,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Try and sleep, long flight. I have the pain pills, if you need, okay?”

You nod against his shoulder and wrap his jacket tighter around your body, tucking your hands up into the sleeves. Andrei rests his palm on your knee and before the plane even takes off, you’re asleep.

It’s a long flight back to Raleigh and you don’t sleep the entire way, but after a solid three hour nap, you wake up feeling better. Andrei’s asleep when you wake up, his head dropped back against the headrest, his mouth open slightly. He finally looks relaxed and peaceful and you’re grateful, so grateful, for him.

Your whole body still hurts, but your legs are starting the cramp up, so you carefully shimmy out of your seat to stretch in the aisle. Brady and Jarvy wave at you from a few rows up and you wave back, wondering what they know, if they know anything. No one really tries to talk to you, so you assume Andrei told them that you had some kind of medical emergency. Legs feeling better, you settle back into your seat, finally pulling out your phone and connecting to the in-flight wifi so you can text Nykki.

She reassures you that none of the other guys know what happened and that if you need anything when you’re back in Raleigh to let her know. You’re blessed to have such a good friend in her and you thank her, thinking that maybe in a few days you’ll see if she’ll bring Gigi over for some puppy cuddles.

Andrei wakes up about and hour before you land and he gulps back half of a water bottle before he even says anything. Then he tips his head close to yours and whispers, “how are you feeling? Any pain?”

“No,” you whisper back, “I’m okay. Just sore. It’s like being drained after a really bad period. I feel better after my nap.”

“Good,” he pushes the half-empty water bottle into your hands. “Drink.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, the moment of lightness making you feel a little better. You sip at it slowly, starting to get a little nauseous. Andrei wraps his arm around your shoulder and you lean against him, drawing comfort from his solid warmth.

When you land, Andrei guides you off the plane, his palm reassuring against your lower back. It’s easy to let him take the lead and to not think about anything. He’s got both of your bags and you don’t even put up a fuss when he refuses to let you carry even your purse. You’re just too tired.

Andrei’s car is parked fairly close and you don’t have to walk very far. You lower yourself into the front seat of the Lamborghini, muttering, “I hate this car.” Your stomach gives a protest of pain from having to climb into the car.

“I know,” Andrei laughs a little, loosening up. His string of ugly sports cars is a long running topic of conversation. The last one was orange, the one before that a strange green. This one is electric purple and it’s hideous. His terrible taste in car colors is his only red flag. “Next one will be red.”

“Why couldn’t this one have been red?” You ask, breathing deeply to stave off the nausea. You sink back against the seat and Andrei pulls out of the parking spot. He’s driving must slower than usual and is taking extreme care with navigating the roads.

“This one was only 75 made,” he explains again. “It’s a collectors item.”

“It’s still ugly,” you tease, a smile playing at your lips.

He reaches over and takes your hand, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. “I love you so much, moya solnyshka, and I’m so…proud of your strength.”

Andrei doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his voice gets thick and he swallows roughly. He continues, “it hurts to know there would’ve been a baby in the summer.” So he did the math, you think. “But, this is maybe the wrong thing to say, but I’m glad I didn’t know before.”

It’s not really the right thing to say to you in the moment, but you can’t blame him. You sniff and nod. “I know. I almost wish I hadn’t known either. It was only a week, but I was so attached to…to the idea of our baby.”

“When you’re ready,” Andrei says slowly, turning to look at you while you’re stopped at a red light, “you tell me and I’ll give you a baby. When you’re ready.”

You nod, unable to even think about trying for a baby right now, but Andrei’s words and his earnest expression make your heart melt. You love him so, so much. “When I’m ready,” you repeat, squeezing his fingers.

When you get home, Andrei runs you a shower and joins you after a minute, soaping up your hair and scrubbing down your body gently. You don’t speak while he works and his touch is nothing but chaste. He’s careful around your stomach and between your legs, impossibly gentle with those huge hands of his. You stand under the spray while he gives his own body and hair a quick wash, the heat of the shower starting to make you a little lightheaded. Right before it gets to the point where you think you’re going to have to say something, Andrei flips the water off and reaches out of the stall for a huge, fluffy towel, wrapping you up in it and rubbing his hands up and down your arms to keep you warm. He grabs another towel and wraps it around his waist, gripping your elbow and guiding you back to the bedroom.

You rummage in his drawers for oversized clothes, not wanting anything constrictive on your body. Once you’re comfortable in an old pair of Andrei’s grey sweats and a threadbare Duke t-shirt, you crawl under the covers and curl up on your side. “Join me?” You ask, looking up at Andrei. He nods, silently climbing into bed behind you and gently scooting you closer to him. The warmth of his body is comforting against your back and he wraps his arms loosely under your breasts, avoiding your stomach. Andrei buried his face in your hair and you let a few silent tears leak out of your eyes.

What did you do to deserve this wonderful man?

With Andrei’s arms around you and your heart heavy in your chest, you fall asleep again, but it’s unsatisfying. After a few hours, you need food even though you’re still nauseous. Andrei makes himself a sandwich and warms up a can of chicken soup for you and you eat in bed, a rerun of The Nanny on TV. Andrei doesn’t really get the show - the humor is too specific - but he does like to point out all the outfits that Fran wear and he thinks you can pull off. It’s a nice distraction.

You take the next few days off of work, just to recover, but Andrei isn’t as lucky. You’re mostly fine physically except some lingering soreness, most of your problems are mental. After talking about it on the way home, neither you not Andrei has really brought up the miscarriage.

Two days after the miscarriage, the team is playing at home and Andrei’s right there in the middle of it all. You don’t watch the game, still too raw to watch hockey after what happened in Vancouver, so it’s a little shocking when he comes home with a blackened right eye and a cut across his nose and part of his cheek. “What happened?” You yelp upon seeing him, getting carefully to your feet and reaching up to lightly touch the side of his face.

Andrei grunts. “Distracted, got hit,” he winces when he moves his face.

You feel awful, knowing he was distracted because he was worrying about you. “Luckily it didn’t need stitches,” you say softly. “Can’t have anything ruining that pretty face,” you tease him lightly.

He gives you a tight smile and his gaze flickers down to your stomach, covered in an oversized sweatshirt. You catch his look and brush your thumb over the edge of his jaw. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me so much,” you say. “I’m tough. I’m strong.”

“I know,” Andrei sighs, dropping a kiss to your forehead. He hesitates, wanting to say more, and you wait. “At the game,” he says slowly, “Burnsie, Staalsy, they had their kids there. I couldn’t help…I was picturing…”

Oh.

Your heart cracks right over the scabs that had been forming the past two days and fresh pain floods your veins. “Drei…” you’re not even sure what to say to him. You knew he was sad, but you hadn’t really thought about how deep his feelings went.

He smiles sadly at you. “Today, it hit me,” he says, twisting his lips. “We lost a baby.”

“Yeah,” you reply, throat tight. “We did.”

Andrei pulls you close, twisting his hand in the end of your ponytail. “I wasn’t expecting it to hurt like this, when I didn’t even know for very long,” he murmurs and you can feel a few tears drip onto the top of your head. You wrap your arms around his waist tighter.

“I don’t think that matters,” you mumble. “It hurts no matter how long you knew about it.”

You can feel Andrei’s head turn, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. You just stand there in his arms, holding tightly to the only other person that’s feeling the same pain as you. The longer Andrei holds you, the more you feel your fragile heart mending itself, the steady beat of his heart a constant under your cheek.

After that, things slowly start getting back to normal. You’re physically healed and cleared to resume normal activities. Andrei’s not so distracted during games. You can go hours, days without thinking about the baby that’s gone.

Andrei mentions it, off-hand, about a month after you get home from Vancouver, after he’s back from another quick road trip. “We could’ve been telling our families about the baby at Christmas,” he’s clearly been thinking about it.

You nod, a little startled by his comment. “Probably, yeah. Or we would’ve told them already, too excited to keep a secret,” you smile a little to yourself, thinking about how Andrei almost spoiled his proposal twice before he actually popped the question because he was so excited.

He grins at you, dimple popping, and pushes a slim box across the table at you. “Early Christmas present,” he says, answering your unasked question.

Looking at him suspiciously, you pop the lid on the jewelry box, finding a thin gold chain bracelet with two delicate charms on it - the common blue and white Greek mati to ward off the evil eye and a little horizontal cross attached at each end to the chain. You trace your fingers over the chain and look up at Andrei.

“A little luck?” He says, lifting one shoulder. “I saw it in a store window, in Long Island, before we played. Made me think of you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, getting out of your seat to kiss him softly. You trace your tongue over his lower lip and desire stirs in your stomach, something foreign after the last few weeks, but oh so familiar. You’re not quite ready to have sex yet, but it’s a good reminder that you will one day soon. “It’s perfect.” You hold out your wrist and Andrei clasps the bracelet on.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says, reminding you of the promise he made in the car.

“Whenever I’m ready,” you repeat, crawling onto his lap and letting him hold you. The thought of getting pregnant again doesn’t make your chest feel quite as tight anymore, doesn’t get the panic alarms ringing in your head. Andrei’s been so patient and gentle, making everything just a little bit easier to bear.

Every day just reminds you that as long as Andrei’s by your side, you can handle anything life throws at you.

He kisses the side of your head and holds you close, chasing the shadows of grief away.

[itsnathateasy]

hello nat! <3 i've been thinking about The Characters and road trips - do you have any head canons about a road trip with Armin??

eb!! hii!! *starring at this ask with heart eyes* thanks for sending this ask, i was so happy to write this!🙆‍♀️ i'm staying on the armin x reader lane, cause this is so easy for me to end up as an aot characters shenanigans lmao

warnings: none word count: 677

going on a roadtrip with armin is always fun and easy. granted, he always has to be the project manager of everything, organising your supplies and packing a first aid kit, making sure to stop by the gas station in advance etc. in all honesty, it was amazing that someone took care of the “anxiety inducing” details, and it was even better that armin actually enjoyed doing that for you!

he’s sure to not forget a thing too, he’s the list boy! he’s even brought insect repellent and neck pillows and those crunchy biscuits you both love!!

he HAS to be in charge of the directions usually, but he trusts you to make sure you don’t get lost or miss a turn. he’s also annoyed by the google maps voice giving directions so it’s better if you tell him where to turn instead.

armin loves softly singing in the car while playing music and he’s made an entire playlist that he’s curated for that particular trip you’re taking. he’s the person to listen to a song on the playlist months after you take the trip together and be like “this is our roadtrip song!”

while you're still on the road, you ask him to stop at a few places where the view is really nice and even though he miiight complain about getting to your destination later than intended, he loves to do this for you, your smile is worth it! you also take some cool shots of the place, which is always nice! (except for that time when you put your phone on the car, counting down to take a picture of the both of you in front of a beautiful waterfall, and you took so many steps backwords you almost fell off) (still worth it)

armin’s favourite part of the roadtrip is when you’ve settled down at your destination and your tent is set up or you’ve finished creating a bed in the back of the RV and you can both lay down and enjoy the scenery and the quiet. “isn’t this better than the constant hustle and bustle of the city?” he says, taking a long sigh and stretching his back and arms.

big fan of reading with a view of the mountains/lakes (or whatever scenery there is at the place where you’re camping) or listening to music while talking about everything and anything.

armin loves to wake up surrounded by nature, but i think he mostly appreciates those tiny droplets on the RV windows left back by the morning mist.

he’s not a big fan of lighting up a fire, but he’ll help you do it if it’s important to you. if you do light a fire, he’s a bit on edge until you’ve made 10000% sure it’s been put out properly.

the moment he wakes up and you have breakfast etc, he transforms into david attenborough and tells you all that he’s learned about the local flora and fauna, making sure he takes photos of everything. and i mean EVERYTHING!

he’s calm when you’re on a trip, but he’s also too excited. he wants to take everything in but the fresh air gets to his head I’m afraid and he behaves like a kid in the playground. (he’s the most precious i swear!)

asks for extra cuddles when sleeping in the RV/tent, just because it’s more chilly out in the wild. “we have to share body heat y/n” “armin, we’re more intertwined than ivy on a tree” “i’m not being clingy! this is a conservation technique, you have to trust me” “i’ll cuddle you anyway, why are you making a fuss?” “shush y/n, cuddles only!”

if you’re staying close to the sea/a lake/a river and it’s spring/summer time, taking a dive is the first thing he does in the mornings and waits for you to join. then you can enjoy a slow breakfast and share each other’s company.

he's just really THAT precious, yk? he enjoys time spent outdoors and loves it even ore when he gets to spend it with you!

[zerobaselove]

acting homework | kim jiwoong

pairing: actor!jiwoong x costar!reader

genre: suggestive MINORS DNI

word count: 1096

warnings: no smut but it does get suggestive, lowercase intended, not proofread

prompts: 16. "let's kiss and see where this takes us."

notes: this unsurprisingly made my jiwoong problems so much worse LMAO but apologies as this is a little rushed and not my strong suit

"and, cut." the directors sharp voice cut through the air, ripping you and jiwoong out of the immersion of the kiss scene, not that there was much immersion to begin with. with his busy idol schedule on top of acting, you two hadn't actually gotten to meet until today, having done script readings over zoom and speaking in hypotheticals for weeks; so to say it was a little awkward was an understatement.

the director let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head at the two of you, "let's wrap up for the day," he put down his clipboard before walking over to you and jiwoong. "i need you guys to work on your chemistry, we are going for romance not whatever you think this is. you're both better than that and you know it." his words were harsh, but you couldn't help but agree with his statement; you two weren't exactly giving romance, and something had to change.

the director turned on his heel, walking back to his trailer, leaving the you and the taller man standing there, an awkward silence surrounding you. "so," you spoke up, not really knowing where to take your words. thankfully he took the lead, speaking up himself.

"do you maybe want to hang out? off this set, maybe somewhere with less people breathing down our necks." he let out a laugh, you following suit; the tension already lessening, thank god.

"yeah that sounds good, but where is even private around here?" you wondered out loud, you were in one of the biggest and busiest cities in the country. "well i know it's not very romantic but," he sighed, realizing how lame his suggestion was, "we could always go to my group's company building, there's always empty rooms there. and they're soundproof." he winked at you before his serious composure broke, suddenly covering his face in embarrassment of the implications it might've had. it was cute, you weren't used to seeing this side of him, but it made you feel a bit more at ease.

giving a small nod, you gestured for him to lead the way, the two of you making small talk on the way to the parking lot. surprisingly the conversation flowed better than you had imagined and you found yourself enjoying his conversation at the least. "this is me," he gestured to an all black car in front of you, rushing ahead to open the passenger door for you.

"thank you jiwoong." you smiled, hopping in the front seat as your eyes grazed over the details of the car.

a coffee cup for this morning you presume was sat in the cupholder, the other one filled with loose change. instead of the stereotypical fuzzy dice on the rearview mirror, he had a little charm of a butterfly which you thought was quite cute.

"here," he handed you his phone, spotify open already, "you can be in charge of the music." his smile was contagious, you thought to yourself, unable to contain a small smile from spreading to your lips as he looked at you with joy. you had only nodded as you scrolled through his playlists, heading out of the parking lot.

"oh i love this song," he exclaimed as you played something from his liked songs, causing you to laugh. "i hope so, it's from your likes." a sheepish grin took over his face, chuckling lightly before shaking his head, "you make a fair point."

the rest of the drive had been peaceful, light conversation in between faint melodies playing over the speakers. it was nice, he was nice; you had no doubt about that before, but getting to start to see his personality, you totally saw what everyone else saw in him, beyond his good looks.

arriving at what you assumed was the company building, jiwoong rushed out of the car, opening your door for you yet again. "i know how to use door handles, you know" you chuckled, nodding your head as a thank you before following him to the entrance. "what kind of gentleman would i be then?" tilting his head as the sliding doors to the building opened themselves for you this time.

eventually you ended up at what you assumed was a vocal practice room; there was a keyboard sitting in the corner with a desk and chair, as well as a small two seater couch that looked rather inviting after you'd spent your whole day standing. jiwoong sat down first, ushering you over to get comfortable.

"so, what do you want to do, do you want to practice, or?" you rambled on, not noticing the way jiwoong smiled at your string of words.

"well how about," he thought for a moment; he hadn't expected to like you this much, this quickly, but he couldn't stop thinking about kissing you, for real this time. not for the script or the directors approval, just to feel your lips on his. "let's kiss and see where this takes us, yeah?"

you didn't mean to nod so eagerly, but it was too late, jiwoong's smile widening at the idea of you wanting this as bad as he did. his hand came up to the back of your neck pulling you in slightly, your eyes fluttering shut as your heads tilted, connecting in a kiss that you were convinced had caused fireworks to go off around you. this was no match for earlier today, you thought to yourself. you weren't sure what changed but you were sure that you didn't want to stop.

you let one hand rest on his torso as you leaned in closer, parting your lips slightly, letting his tongue lick into your mouth. sure, it was moving a little fast, but you didn't care; he was addicting.

he tugged on your hair slightly, causing you to moan into his mouth which made his head spin more than he had been prepared for. his free hand had found it's way under your shirt, grabbing you at the waist, sending butterflies to your stomach. "do you want me to stop?" he mumbled against your lips, wanting to make sure you were okay with everything. you let out an opposing hum, but that wasn't enough for him.

"i need words love," the pet name made you dizzy, pulling apart for a moment to nod feverishly, "please, continue." your words were whinier than you meant them to be, but at this point you couldn't be bothered to care.

"then let's keep it up."

[pequenaotaku]

Hot Chocolate

"Sentiments are complicated. Sometimes, I feel like I'm like hot chocolate in a steaming cup. The sweet and the bittersweet mix together with the help of a spoon, becoming a delicious and addictive flavor right after the first sip.

I wish that spoon would spend more time mixing me. I wish it never left the cup."

Versão em português

Headcanon scene from episode 01 after the cut

"So, this is the famous Devenementiel?" I asked aloud, to no one but myself.

The company wasn’t housed in a huge building, one you’d notice from across the city, nor did it make much of a presence in the commercial area, but it was undoubtedly a modern construction. Clear, clean, with many windows surrounding practically the entire building. Small, discreet, yet with a refined appearance. It looked like an interesting place, and I hadn't even seen the inside yet.

I approached the glass door, peeking inside, although I couldn’t see much beyond a very classic and comfortable reception area. It seemed the office was on the first floor. There was no one there; I had arrived too early. I clicked my tongue, crossing my arms. I could have lingered in bed longer, as any good freelancer does when there are no projects to deliver. My shift at the vintage records and knick-knacks store didn't start until the afternoon, after lunchtime. There was no need to go in earlier, and I didn’t have any other plans for that morning, so I’d have to kill time there at the entrance while waiting for one of the employees to arrive.

A few minutes passed with me distractedly looking at the week's recommended playlist on Spotify. If I wasn’t working on a project and wasn’t in a place where I could indulge in being an idle freelancer lounging in pajamas at home all day, seeing what other musicians were up to online was a good pastime. It would never stop being delightful to hear the ideas other artists produced and released with so much passion, to experience a new type of rhythm, seek inspiration and references, be immersed in someone’s vocal or instrumental sound. I took my eyes off my phone screen for a second to look at the company building once more. I felt a tingling sensation all over my body, thinking about the work I could do to contribute to the partnership I was about to finalize. It hadn’t even been a week since I exchanged messages with my only acquaintance there about this, following his strong recommendation.

"You’re early, Collete," the deep, monotonous voice of Thomas resonated behind me. I couldn’t help but smile before turning around.

"Speak of the devil," I joked, watching with amusement as his expression shifted from a slight look of boredom to a curious one. He almost always got lost in his own head during our conversations. I had come to understand that it wasn’t because he found me boring, but rather because he wanted to decipher my words. I seriously wondered what he was thinking at that moment.

"Wouldn't it be 'talking about the devil'?" he raised an eyebrow. It seemed I wouldn’t find out the reason for his silence this time. I just shrugged. "I was put in charge of handling the administrative details for your arrival, including the hiring of another person, which means making two badges along with the identification key so neither of you would have to wait at the door to get in. And since, apparently, we need to be up at the crack of dawn to make them… Here I am, arriving after you," he seemed irritated about having to wake up so early after a long night of work while giving me that explanation that sounded more like a rant escaping his thoughtful mind. I didn’t blame him. It really did seem like a pain.

"I’m glad I’m not the only one who had to drag myself out of bed today."

"More than me, it seems," I saw a hint of a smile light up his face. I winked at him. "Anyway, it won't take long. I’ve already moved things along, so you don’t need to worry. Come on." Without giving me time to add anything, Thomas opened the door, beckoning me to follow him.

So, we took an elevator, and I finally had the pleasure of discovering the open space of the place, which couldn’t be compared to the modern facade. Suddenly, I even started to think that it seemed too cold to accommodate such a warm environment. Inside, it was a complete lively festival of colors, plants, and curious objects. There were no partitions, and amusingly, among the empty desks, I noticed that each table was not only uniquely decorated but also had very different chairs. None were the same. It might have been a small detail, but it showcased the personality of each employee working there. Thomas guided me to the most neutral, organized, and sober desk. It was undoubtedly his.

"You can sit, it won’t take long," he said mechanically as he pulled the chair from the desk next to his for me. It was strangely shaped like a dolphin. It was cute but seemed so uncomfortable and impractical. I began to doubt the sanity of its owner.

"With all due respect, I prefer to stand up, in this case.", I flashed a sly, sarcastic smile, earning another hint of a smile.

"I also don't understand why people here choose anything other than the classic office chair," he commented as he sat in his own chair, turning on the computer. "It's designed for comfort and good lumbar support. In ten years, everyone will be walking with a cane, except for me," I couldn't help but chuckle. I never ceased to find it amusing how, sometimes, he would say such things without a hint of malice. It was just logical and straightforward. "Your desk is this one in front of mine. You’re practically an honorary employee, but the boss thought it would be better if you had one to feel like you belong. You can choose a chair model for yourself later. There's someone who always supplies furniture for us, and his store has everything."

"Far be it from me to give you more work…" I began, with a falsely gentle, sweet voice. "But since you know him, I'll let you handle the negotiations. That said, any model similar to yours is fine by me," he sighed heavily.

"Very well, then I'll take care of it later."

"Don't be like that," I gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder. "Being the IT guy, manager of technology-related events, pressing buttons on a keyboard all day… I didn't give you a more torturous task than those things," I joked. He looked at me quietly for a while.

"You forgot to mention that I also greet new recruits," he simply retorted. I couldn't help but laugh again.

"Ouch," I put my hand on my chest, pretending to have been struck. This time, I really got a smile. Then, he opened a drawer and took out a folder, sighing loudly. "I agree with you, paperwork sucks."

"It's unbelievable how much time we waste on these things. Everyone should have a chip card with all our information registered. We'd scan the card and be done. All the information would be transmitted directly."

"That would be more practical, true," I agreed, shrugging. I had never stopped to think about it. He picked up a pen from a holder on his desk, looking at it with pity.

"Meanwhile, we'll stick with these… archaic methods," I blew air through my nose at his comment, shaking my head. He was incorrigible.

Taking the pen to sign the contract after a quick glance, as I had read it previously via message, I began to remember how we met. Pure coincidence. We both needed to buy a new refracting telescope, better known as a spyglass, as the old one was broken. It was the last one in the store and was on sale. I had my reasons for wanting it, and he had his. We argued for a long time under the weary gaze of the salesman, debating who, in my view, was more deserving to take it. Thomas was steadfast, he had arrived first. As for me, I needed to get it no matter what for personal reasons: to fulfill a tradition of promises made to my late older brother, to observe the showers of celestial bodies that occurred every year while drinking a bottle of hot chocolate in our special spot. It might have been nonsense; he was dead, after all. It's not like he was going to rise from the grave to demand that small promise I decided to make to no one and for no reason at all. But it made me feel closer to him; I didn't want to give up. In the end, somehow, we ended up splitting the cost, the telescope, and, on the night of the meteor shower, two bottles of hot chocolate accompanied by small childhood stories.

Nostalgia. Suddenly, I felt a strong desire to have a cup of that sugary, bittersweet delight.

After making the final curve of my name on the paper, Thomas took a laminated card from the drawer and handed it to me. It was my company badge that served to open the building's door. I stifled a laugh when I noticed that he had ignored the professional photo I sent and opted for my profile picture. Simply me making a face: a wide smile with my tongue out. One of my eyes was closed, and my hands were open beside my face, with my thumbs pressing against my cheeks. I liked it.

"Tom," I called his attention, pointing to the photo. A smile playing on my lips. "Is this really okay?" He just shrugged.

"That sounds more like you. The boss doesn't care so much about traditional professional standards; you'll quickly realize that if you haven't already," he replied simply, making a small gesture with his head to show the company's open space. It really didn't seem very conventional. "He's not the kind of person who evaluates people based on that kind of criterion."

"How funny… I'm starting to feel like I'm going to really enjoy working here."

"I'm glad you think so, because I spent a long time preparing and editing everything for your arrival. On the other hand, I don't understand what's so funny about it…" he commented somewhat reflectively. "It's just a picture of you; we can recognize you, and you look pretty. Traditional or not, it's still office work, not the most exciting thing in the world," I got stuck on his comment.

"Do you think I'm pretty in this photo?" I inquired with one raised eyebrow, exaggeratedly curious about his answer to that question. I had known him for almost a year now; I understood quite well how his little mind worked, modesty aside. But sometimes, I still struggled to differentiate when he was just being logical from when he was being sincere. If there was any difference between the two adjectives.

"It's a statement," he shrugged once again. "Your features are symmetric, your eyes are large, and your teeth are well aligned. These are parameters usually associated with beauty."

This time, I didn't stifle my laughter. Thomas Rheault was, without a doubt, an enigma. One that fascinated me a lot. If that was indeed a compliment, it was surely the least heartfelt one I had ever heard in my life. At the same time, it seemed so typical of him that I couldn't help but take it seriously. Maybe it wasn't that, maybe I was overthinking. It was always like this when it came to him.

"In any case, out of curiosity, what kind of person exactly is this boss?" I inquired, bringing the subject back. It was true that I hadn't had much contact with him. I was recommended by Thomas to work there in organizing one event or another; I liked my professional independence, but all the details involving the boring bureaucracies were solved through messages. My interaction with Devon Okere, the Big Boss, was limited to a brief phone conversation that barely lasted 10 minutes. He seemed like a mystery, or simply too unconcerned. However, being there, I noticed that, in addition to a free and unpretentious environment, there was also a lot of care. As a freelancer, I knew very well how complicated it could be to maintain a small business, let alone a physical office. So, I was quite curious about everything.

"I would say he's the instinctive type. As long as it works for him, he doesn't exactly have a reason to change methods," Thomas nodded, then glanced at the clock, then at the signed contract, and finally at me. "Well, it's done. The others won't take long to arrive. If you want to stay to meet them or take a walk around… Anyway, you have free rein here from now on."

"Uhm…" I pondered for a moment, licking my lips. I really didn't have anything better to do; what harm would it do to explore a little? Besides, a place like that really made you want to linger. "I think I'll take a stroll, yes. But mostly, I'd like to know if there's a kitchen here. I really need to quench my thirst."

Unexpectedly, he chuckled and stood up from his chair, standing right in front of me, forcing me to raise my head. Thomas was only a little taller than me, but throughout the conversation, I had seen him from above because I was standing and he was sitting. Now, however, and so suddenly, I felt a bit small and destabilized. I didn't know what to expect. I didn't even know why I felt that way, as if something should happen. It sounded so cliché.

"Of course, make yourself at home. Actually, I was thinking the same thing," he resumed, snapping me out of my little trance. "If you'd like, I can treat you to a welcome drink," he offered politely.

"Oh, I'd love that, definitely!" I exclaimed, back on track. Better than quenching my thirst was having that desire sponsored by someone.

"The drinks machine is in the pantry; come on," he called as he started to move away, a shadow of a smile floating on his lips. I hurried to follow him. "We can get there by passing through the lounge area."

Just like the open space, that area was enchanting. Large, well-lit, and with vibrant colors catching the eye. Several bean bags, on which I would love to sprawl out, were scattered around along with suspended chairs hanging from the ceiling by chains. Not to mention the beautiful view provided by the large windows from top to bottom. They were just buildings, yes, but I began to imagine a nighttime scene with one or two colored lights still on outside. I couldn't wait to rest there.

"Man, this place looks like a dream!" I exclaimed in wonder.

"Yeah, that's what most people say. But I'll show you something else really cool…" he said simply, piquing my curiosity.

I followed him once again towards the adjacent area, the pantry. At first glance, it looked like some of the hipster cafes I loved to visit. Another very open place, with lots of plants, even on the ceiling, alternating with lamps. In the center, a large round table with a tree in the middle and red swivel chairs around it. Near the windows, small tables with benches followed the same pattern. It was indeed a very beautiful place, but I didn't understand why Thomas found it more impressive until I met the famous drinks machine.

"What would you like?" he asked straight away.

"Let me see what's available first…" I retorted as I quickly glanced at the options the machine offered.

"Don't expect to see anything exotic or innovative."

"No, I know. I'm just saying that to see what I feel like," I shrugged, and then I saw exactly what I needed to see. I loved it when life became so convenient as to combine utility with pleasure. "A hot chocolate, please," the redhead smiled slightly. Maybe he expected that answer from me.

"Good choice…" he took out his phone from his pocket and typed something, then, as if following a command, the machine started working. Thomas looked at me with a proud gleam in his eyes, and immediately I sensed that it was his doing. Finally, he took the full cup and put the lid on to hand it to me. "There you go, a delicious hot chocolate on the house!"

"Thanks!" I gave him a knowing wink, reaching out to get my little indulgence.

When I took the cup, my fingers ended up over his. Our gazes met before he immediately turned away, freezing for a moment, his eyes fixed on the ground or anywhere but my face. I kept my gaze steady; I wanted so much to unravel him, to know what he was thinking at that moment. Focus. I might not be able to read minds, but I was good at picking up on subtle cues.

The seconds seemed to stretch on, his gaze moved to the cup we both held. His cheeks turned slightly pink, he furrowed his brows. Adorable. I could confidently say that the little crease that appeared on his forehead wasn't from disagreement. Maybe he was just confused, wrestling with himself in thought. His beautiful turquoise irises flickered from our hands to elsewhere in rapid movements.

Oh, I really didn't want to misunderstand things, or worse, jump to conclusions. But looking at him like that, I couldn't help but daydream a little as I observed the red curls falling across his face, adorned with a few charming freckles over his nose, his eyes subtly shifting between intense blues and greens.

Cliché. Cliché. Cliché.

Suddenly, he released the cup into my hands and cleared his throat, composing himself as if waking from a trance, pulling me out of mine as well. Everything suddenly felt awkward, as if we had been trapped in that moment for longer than necessary. I also had to clear my throat.

"Is everything alright, Thomas?" I needed to know, I was eager. He glanced at me once again. Unbelievable how mesmerizing his eyes were. I gave myself a mental shake, seeking concentration. I really needed to control myself better.

"I'm fine, yeah… Everything's okay," he murmured in a thoughtful tone. "It's just that… I wasn't expecting there to be… contact," he really must have been confused even with himself this time.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" I gave a nervous smile, choosing my words carefully. I did mean to. But he didn't need to know that yet.

"It's okay," he interrupted me in a natural way. I smiled more relaxed, and he returned the gesture, also making another request to the machine, a drink that I couldn't see, but he took a sip of as soon as he got it.

"Tom… Thanks a lot," I thanked him, squeezing the warm cup of my drink in my hands, also seeking to change the subject as quickly as possible. "But tell me, do you have an app to control this machine? How does it work?"

"I developed it so I wouldn't have to pay for drinks anymore. The app tricks the machine into thinking I've paid, and it serves me what I ask for," he explained automatically and simply, shrugging as if it were no big deal. I raised an eyebrow. Sometimes, I forgot how crafty he could be.

"And nobody sees a problem with that, clever boy?" I grinned mischievously.

"No," he nodded, shrugging. "Actually, after I developed the app, Devon explained to me that everything was already free. There's the coin slot, but it's… a vestigial structure. I never thought about trying to order without paying. I have plenty of coins in there, by the way. I need to remember to download a lockpicking course. Unless you're an expert at it…"

"I can manage, yes… If you give me half as payment," I negotiated, feeling clever. He judged me with his gaze, and I just shrugged, sticking out my tongue. I'm a freelancer, you don't get if you don't ask. "How would you prefer the job to be done? There's the boring conventional way, using tools, and…" I paused for effect. "The messy way, where I blow up the door. If no one minds, that is."

"It's not the most elegant solution…" he made a minimal, yet very funny, expression of disgust. I had to laugh. "I'd be bothered by the idea of damaging it, so let's stick with the conventional solution this time."

"Agreed, then."

"Well…" he quickly scanned the area after the topic was over. "I need to go start working, or this chocolate break tends to become longer than expected. We'll talk later, enjoy your tour."

Without waiting for a response, he returned to the open space. It took me a few seconds to decide to follow, but not exactly to his desk or mine. Taking a walk around the place might help distract my mind. I was in trouble. And I had known it for a while. I knew very well what those desires for his attention meant. Everyone's tired of seeing this story in movies, series, cartoons, games, and books. It was scary. He, however, would surely classify it as illogical, I was sure.

I sighed heavily, taking another sip of my hot chocolate, hoping that the sweet and bitter flavors would help cleanse my soul, covering up that complicated feeling for a while longer. The brief time until my golden eyes met his turquoise ones and all that cliché resurfaced again.

[vrnvuld]

Louise Glück, Seizure

Andrea Salvatori, Testone

Mikko Harvey, Wind-Related in the Wheatfield

Jane Austen, Letters

Ruth Awad, In the gloaming, in the roiling night

Anne Sexton, A Self Portrait in Letters

Eden Robinson, Writing Prompts for the Broken-hearted

this is like a massive post because this is also our final farnauld playlist that's made of four parts. it's meant to tell their full story <3 can't say we really expect anyone to read through this or even check the songs but if someone wants a really weird playlist, u can listen to it here xx

ACT I: WE JUST PLAY ALONG, COME ON, COME ON

001. TRY TRY TRY --- RACHAEL SAGE. 002. I’M NOT CALLING YOU A LIAR --- FLORENCE + THE MACHINE. 003. COME ON --- WHITE LIES. 004. ON DIRECTING --- TEGAN & SARA. 005. POISON --- VAULTS.  006. EVERY BREATH YOU TAKE --- DENMARK + WINTER. 007. CANDLES --- DAUGHTER. 008. WICKED TEETH --- CIARAN LAVERY. 009. AFFECTION --- AMBER RUN.

this is the part where they get together. they're off-balance. he's playing his own game and she's trying to make everything work together. this is the first time cracks begin to form within the croÿ ranks. this part of the playlist is a mixture of songs that are fairly dark. the most notable lyrics can be found in ' poison ': " we both know you're sweet and blind / palm struck on the floor // won't you let me poison your heart ? ". isa posted this part of the playlist years ago and it's here x.

ACT II: THERE'S HISTORY IN A SCAR

010. PURGE --- ALLIE X. 011. WE USED TO LAUGH / 9 TO 9 --- FLORA CASH. 012. HYENA --- THE EDITORS. 013. LIFFEY --- PILLOW QUEENS. 014. SPIDERS --- THE EDITORS. 015. TIME COMES IN ROSES --- BESS ATWELL. 016. I'M NOT YOURS --- ANGUS & JULIA STONE. 017. PETRICHOR --- KEATON HENSON.

this would be the post-break up era. their numerous conversations and arnauld's relentless bullying. the wounds were raw, incredibly so and arnauld had a need to show her the mistake she had made by cutting him so. fanni on the other hand struggled between feeling proud of her decision and knowing she had let go of more than just a person she loved: it was the opportunity to build a life outside of her family. both of them tormented each other just by existing. it was difficult to hate someone you loved. it was difficult to despise someone you had known so well. the sensitivity eventually made space for some sort of a relationship. they could hold conversations. they could blackmail each other and remind the other how deep their knowledge of the other went. the first two songs most certainly represent fanni and her struggles. in ' purge ' we get the lines: " you went anyway, but all of your chains / and ropes holding me stayed in place " and " every word you told me left such a rancid taste in my mouth / i can't purge you ". we had ' we used to laugh / 9 to 9 " on every edit back in 2019. it was such a perfect song for them at that time. " you said i won't ever leave your side no one else is worth my while no one else is worth my while were you like that all the time ? did you repeat this from 9 to 9 ? never come back never come back you put a hole in and opened up my heart put me down in my darkest dark we used to laugh we used to laugh " then we have the editors songs that got chosen for the darkness. arnauld was doing his best to get fanni to beg for forgiveness. the bitterness was felt constantly. ' liffey ' on the other hand is arnauld's realization that he's not in charge of himself or the situation. he is absolutely ruined and she holds far too much power — it's not just arnauld who knows secrets and ways to manipulate the other, fanni's just as capable !

ACT III: WHEN I LOSE MY HEAD, I LOSE MY SPINE

018. COOL ABOUT IT --- BOYGENIUS. 019. LUCKY FOR YOU --- NOVO AMOR, GIA MARGARET. 020. I MISS YOU, I'M SORRY --- GRACIE ABRAMS. 021. DAYDREAMS --- EXES. 022. SEABED --- NANNA. 023. LATE NIGHT TALKS --- DEPORTEES. 024. HEAVENLY --- CIGARETTES AFTER SEX 025. HOPELESS WANDERER --- MUMFORD & SONS. 026. THAT'S WHEN ( TV ) --- TAYLOR SWIFT.

this part is about their healing journey. when the mind games stopped. when it was just two people. a fairly wholesome part in their story. they had affection for one another and perhaps for the first time they did not have some role to play. it was just friendship ( or at least as platonic a relationship as it could be between these two ). some codependency issues existed, of course. fanni needed a shoulder. arnauld liked being needed by her. ' late night talks ' is possibly the most spot on song in part iii. in it we get: " the phone rings / in the middle of the night / i can tell you're upset / i'm here / and i'm ready to work ". ' seabed ' is incredibly touching too and probably our favourite track. it's a good peek into fanni's fragile state of mind. " and you caught me off guard, and / i was never lonely / but now i'm feeling like an only child / let me sink into you arms / you're the ocean floor / i guess i just needed that ". the songs in this section are vulnerable and beautiful. ' lucky for you ' has a line that made it earn its spot: " and i'm not what i thought i would be without you ".

ACT IV: I'VE OUTGROWN THE PAST

027. I WANT YOU --- MO. 028. YOU'RE SO COOL --- NICOLE DOLLANGANGER. 029. LIGHTS CHANGING COLOR --- STARS. 030. LIVING ROOM, NY --- LAURA STEVENSON. 031. SIGNAL FIRE --- SNOW PATROL. 032. BLOODCLOT / ANDVAKA --- NANNA. 033. CRACK THE SHUTTERS --- SNOW PATROL. 033. SEND FOR ME --- THE NATIONAL. 034. THIS LAND IS MINE --- DIDO. 035. THIS LOVE (TV) --- TAYLOR SWIFT. 036. I WILL FOLLOW YOU INTO THE DARK --- MIYA FOLICK. 037. COSMIC LOVE --- FLORENCE + THE MACHINE. 038. SHALLOWS --- DAUGHTER.

this is the happily-ever-after part because they've been so sad for such a long time. we seriously considered not having them end up together but they deserve each other <3 <3 this section has love songs but we managed to sprinkle a few darker ones too because fanni and arnauld have never been simple and sweet. ' this love ' is probably the stand out song, it seems so fitting ! i mean c'mon: " this love is alive back from the dead / these hands had to let it go free, and / this love came back to me ". not to make things too cheesy though we have ' lights changing color ', which is by no means a negative song but it's more about staying out of one's head and, well, happy ! " when you find that the ones that keep you lifted / love them 'cause they keep you out of your head / they keep you out of your head / they keep you steady ". the songs are quite mellow and sound pretty fragile in a sense, save for a few tracks. the last two songs are more abstract. ' cosmic love ' is possibly one of the most beautiful songs on this playlist and to ever exist. i can see their devotion to each other growing into something blinding. this maybe relates to fanni more, she seems more likely to make love and her life with arnauld the only thing she surrounds herself with. there's just that and nothing else. but... arnauld is not too far from this state. he'll be able to reason with himself and he has his duties, but considering how recklessly he acts all things fanni... " i took the stars from my eyes and then i made a map / and knew that somehow i could find my way back / then i heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too / so i stayed in the darkness with you... " the playlist ends with ' shallows ' because it was so serene. serene and hauntingly beautiful. it's a sister-song to ' i will follow you into the dark '. when one parts from this world, will the other come find them when it's time ?

[edupunkn00b]

Everyone Leaves, Ch. 5: Patton

Colorized version of Wolf-in-front-of-Moon, Clément Bucco-Lechat CC 3.0

Prev - Patton - Last - All - [ AO3 ] - Playlist

Can the Heart bring Logan back to his senses and get him to leave? Can he convince Remus to let him go?

CW: intrusive thoughts and brief violent imagery, swearing A continuation of @lost-in-thought-20's incredible story for the @tsspromptmonth 🌸 Spring Cleaning 🌸 event. ---

“Kiddos?” Patton’s voice shook them both, well, all four of them. Two pairs of wolf eyes snapped open from their spots on Logan’s lap, bellies up as he scratched the little tuft of fur at the top of their ribs. It was nice and thick, protective. Remus had spent more nights that he wanted to remember huddled in the corner, watching them fight over the scraps of his nightmares. They needed the protection.

“Kiddos? Let your old Pappy Patton in, m‘kay?” One of the wolves approached the door, not a growl but a rumble in the back of his throat. “Please?” Patton’s voice was weaker this time, a little shaky. Yeah, he knew how the wolves had grown.

“Seneca, come here,” Logan called and he immediately trotted over to him as the door creaked open.

“Oh, Logan, thank gosh you’re alright!” Patton tumbled into the room, hands fluttery and tugging at the paw sleeves of his dorky ass cardigan. Catigan. Remus should give it claws and they could come out whenever Pattycake gets angry or scared and he wouldn’t be able to fake it anymore.

“Of course I am alright,” Logan frowned and continued to pet Seneca and Hypatia. Zeno was under the bed, watching with those hungry eyes. “To think I would be otherwise is absurd.”

As if Remus would hurt the nerd. 

Patton’s mouth worked silently like the words would fall in his open mouth “W—well, I…” he finally stammered, slinking around Remus’ outstretched legs and crouched down in front of Logan. Hypatia flipped over and lay on her belly, ears up and muscles coiled. Deep brown-black eyes followed Patton as he frog-sat in front of them. “I—I didn’t mean it like that, K—Kiddo. I just meant it had been a while since Logan was… y’know… home where he belongs.”

“And I suppose you are the person in charge of determining where I belong?” Logan’s voice was a knife slicing through the air and Patton’s flesh. The Heart stands there, holding on to the ribbons of his skin and his shocked, sad eyes are wide like he can hardly believe Logic, Logan, his Logan didn’t just fall over and get in line and march out of his room with his tail between his legs.

“Well… yeah, Kiddo.” Patton’s face scrunched up like he couldn’t understand. “That’s my whole job, well a lot of it. I’m Thomas’ Morality and staying down here with—” His voice dropped to a whisper. “With Remus isn’t where you’re needed.”

Patton was still crouched in front of Logan, just staring at him with big eyes. “Nice, doggie,” he murmured and reached over Hypatia’s head to touch Logan’s hand. She growled a quiet warning and instead of taking Patton's hand, Logan pet the top of her head.

“Everything is okay,” he whispered to the wolf before looking up at Patton. “You do not need me, you do not listen to me.” 

“No, Kiddo, that’s—”

“And still you interrupt me!” He barely raised his voice but the new lights flickered in his room and all three wolves whined. His fingers flexed and tightened into a fist. The tendons scrape and snap over the bones, anger coiling and twisting in every knuckle. “You all have refused to listen to my concerns about the speed with which we were proceeding in our courtship with Nico. You have ignored my warnings that this is simply a palliative that in the end will be only to Thomas' detriment.”

Logan raised one finger and Remus snickered, hoping he changed which finger he held up. “You all have refused to do anything to help Thomas find a healthy way out of his obsession with Nico, waiting for him to text or call back while neglecting his health, his home, and his other friends.”

Remus pouted when, instead of switching fingers, Logan merely held two fingers up in a ‘V.’ Right away, Logan notices Remus’ frown, and flips his hand around, palm facing in and Remus claps and lays his head against Logan’s shoulder with a happy little cackle.

“And, finally, you, Patton, had become irrational, upset, even, that I was winning our argument and the others were disregarding your—“

“Even Jannie?” Remus grabbed his arm, willing his best friend’s transformation into a cartoon villain hadn’t become complete.

“No, Remus,” Logan’s voice was softer and he patted Remus’ hand. “No, Janus merely watched as though magical thinking would lead Thomas to make the right decision to slow down while Roman and Virgil planned their honeymoon.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Patton muttered, looking down at his hands, fingers wrestling and twisting into knots in his lap. Remus almost felt bad for him. Then his hand throbbed and he remembered who brought the wolf pups into his room all those years ago. To keep him ‘company’ while he thought about what he should be doing to help Thomas.

Fuck him.

“Look, Logan, nobody’s that mad about what you did and we really need you to figure out what to do!” Logan rolled his eyes and Pattycake just got more upset, the little twitch at his left eye spasming and splotches of green spread across his skin. “The police are fingerprinting Thomas right now!” The wolf under the bed growled.

“Right now?” Remus grinned and closed his eyes. With Logan and Patton both in his room and his brother and Janus distracted by the dear old Emo’s panic attack, Remus had a straight—ha!—shot right into Tommy Gun’s mind.

The lights in the police station were blinding but left Thomas squinting, like nothing was bright enough. Screeching metal clanged, echoing against the dirty, cracked linoleum floor, followed by a wailing scream. Dried remnants of Nico’s blood filled the cracks in Thomas’ knuckles. He made a fist, then quickly released it when sharp needles shot up his fingers.

That’s something nobody warns you about. Breaking somebody’s nose doesn’t feel so good for you, either.

Thomas stared down at his hand, his fingers stained with foul-smelling black ink. It had been smeared from nail to nail, covering almost the entire inner surface of each finger. None of the cops seemed to be in a big rush to help him clean it off, either. 

“Have you ever imagined sucking ink off your fingers?”

Remus shivered when Janus stirred in the Mindscape, but as soon as Self-Protection tore his eyes away from Virgil, the Emo started hyperventilating again. “Look at it, Tommy, all black and gloopy at the edge of your nails? Did you know they’d do that? Cover the whole thing like that?”

“I bet Logan did. But Logan can’t come to the phone right now, can he? I bet Logan doesn’t know what it tastes like though. They had to use a lot on your middle finger, too. Is it bitter? Will it turn your tongue black? Will they take a tongue print then?”

“Oooh… maybe that’s a way to get out of this whole mess! ‘Officer! Help me get this ink off my tongue. Maybe you need to use your big—”

Janus was moving closer, abandoning Virgil’s side and anxiety rippled through the Mindscape. “Go on, Tommy,” Remus whispered. “Taste it taste it taste it taste it taste it taste it taste—”

“Eww!” Patton squealed. “Ugh," he gagged, and hacked. "That’s horrible!”

“That is most unpleasant,” Logan muttered. “And an ineffective cleaning technique.”

Remus opened his eyes. Back in his room now, both hands slapped over his mouth, barely muffling his cackle. Logan didn’t crack a smile. Instead, he sighed and took off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose like he could feel his own face break, little bone shards crackling under his fingers.

“Fine,” he sighed again. “Go on, Hypatia, to your corner,” Logan muttered. Remus watched, eyes growing wider and wider and he shook his head. He couldn’t move his hands, plastered over his mouth.

“Thomas needs Logan now.” The Heart patted Remus’ knee, gently pressing it back down when he tried to follow. The floor softened and grew sticky and viscous like molasses. Or tar.

Remus threw himself in their path. His body stretched and twisted, ass and thighs trapped stuck in the glue-like cement. Flypaper. Or a rat trap. Patton looked down at him like he might squish him, crushing his skull and putting him out of his misery. Instead, he left him railing in his prison and led Logan around him, nimbly side-stepping his flayed elbows and studiously avoiding his eyes.

The wolves trotted behind Logan and Patton, then turned to face Remus, saliva-soaked maws higher than his eye level. They licked their lips, yellowed teeth dripping. Hungry.

Remus shook and screamed and begged; muffled, dulled shouts and pleas covered by his own hands.

“I will not leave you here.” Logan promised. Tears sizzled in his eyes, blinding him and Remus couldn’t tell if Logan had even bothered to fucking look back. The room grew darker, too. “I will return for you, Remus.” The words burned in his ears.

“Bullshit!” Remus snarls and throws a brick at the lying nerd’s face. “‘Falsehood!’” he spat.

Or he would’ve if Janus wasn’t controlling his words and his hands with that slimy iron first.

“His scales are just smooth. To the best of my knowledge, he does not excrete slime.”

“Bullshit!” Fucker was slimy. Judas knew what he was really saying. 

Logan looked back over his shoulder then let his head fall and he left with Patton, the door clanging shut behind them just like the police station gates. It was quiet compared to the wolves’ growls and tears poured down Remus’ cheeks, finally loosening his hands, pools of hot, salty water dissolving the floor’s binding on his feet and backside.

Remus leapt off the floor and onto his bed and, hands free, but too late to beg Logan to stay, he yanked the covers up and over his head

Logan… left.

Everyone leaves.

[sqeca]

Zatsudan #イロハのキモチ

I apologize if the translation is not accurate

19 April 2023

I’m Okuda Iroha! 🦙

Recent events,

I thought I might talk about them a bit, so this is a relaxed and casual blog

What I'm obsessed with these days is,

Well, rock bathing. It's lower in temperature than a sauna, and you lie down on stone slabs. But before you know it, you're sweating buckets

It feels so good, you know~ But lately, I'm starting to get into saunas too. I might have even experienced this thing called 'sei-u'!

After about 5 minutes in the sauna and 30 seconds in the water bath, it slowly cooled down and felt great. I had never been able to take a water bath before, but now I could soak my toes in the water bath! I was able to soak up to my shoulders for 2 to 3 minutes. I want to get in shape again!

Im also into cooking!

I make my own lunch today, and when I have to travel long distances, I make my own breakfast.

Also, I love naan, and recently I made it myself! Kubo-san recommended this self-made naan from Muji. It was delicious!

These are some of the dishes I've made in the past year and served them in a nice way. ⬇️

I usually cook quite often, but I have a fatal flaw;

I'm terrible at presentation.

I have no sense for it, so I don't have many pictures to share.

The taste is delicious, but I can't take good-looking photos of it 🥺.

I can't post it on my blog, but maybe I'll share it during a chat, haha

I'm also into taking walks!

I walk for more than 3 kilometers, slowly listening to music or enjoying the scenery, and sometimes searching for new Indian curry restaurants.

I always forget to charge my camera battery, so I feel a little disappointed that I can't capture the beautiful scenery.

Walking allows me to think about many things, or even not to think about anything at all, so I enjoy it

Well, that's about it these days.

Recommended songs.

I was asked for recommendations during an online meet & greet, but there were too many to think of right away... so I wanted to talk about it again 😌

But I'm the kind of person who, once I get into something, I listen to the same thing over and over again, so my playlist doesn't change much

What I've been listening to a lot lately is:

・New Jeans / Ditto

・MOKA SATO & DENIMS / Lukewarm

・Anna / Nemuru toki ni anata no koe wo

・CreepHyp / Boys End Girls

・Haruomi Hosono / Jusho Futei Mushoku Teishunyu

・Haruomi Hosono / Koiwa Momoiro

・GOING UNDER GROUND / Tokyo

・J_ust / will be happy

・10cm / Phonecert

I recommend all of them!

❔iroha ni kikitai no❕

Q: Since the start of Nogizaka46's messaging service, the letter feature has been added. But do you also read the comments on the blog?

A: Of course!

Q: It seems like a photo taken recently. I want to see Iroha-chan wearing glasses!

A: Come to Iroha's Nogi-me

Q: Have you heard any words recently that made you happy?

A: I was happy when someone said I was eating deliciously

Q: I would like you to tell me which Nogizaka songs you think have wonderful lyrics!

A: Boku Ga Te Wo Tataku Hou e

Q: What's something you've bought recently that you're happy with?

A: An old movie pamphlet that has a unique charm to it

Q: What is your favorite song from Under?

A: Nichijou, Namidaga Mada Kanashimidattakoro

That's all

Announcement 📢

"Cho Nogizaka Star Tanjou!" will start airing on Nippon TV from 25:29 on Monday, April 24! This time, in addition to singing, we will also perform comedy skits. We're excited and nervous. Please watch this season too!

The live streaming of the Under Live on April 27 has been decided! It will be the final performance of this tour. We've learned a lot from our seniors and have been doing our best, so we hope many people will watch it!

The drama "Koshodo Monogatari," in which 5th generation are performing, has started airing!

A new episode is available every Tuesday.

◇Lemino:

◇ひかりTV:

This is the banana cake I brought in for you that we talked about on SHOWROOM. It looks delicious, doesn't it?

Oh, I had a particular thing about it. It's not a cake, but I wrote various emojis to avoid overlapping them with the handwritten message beside them.

I hope that the person who receives it will be a little excited! I'm glad that my co-stars and staff were happy with it 🔆

The work was created on such a wonderful set, so I would be happy if you could watch it! Oh, please watch it with warm eyes.

Alright then, bye👋🏼

[chvnnie]

Call Me When You’re Sober

lee minho x reader

part 2/8 - come on fuck me emo boy. find the playlist here

word count: 3.1k

genre: smut, SO. MUCH. ANGST. MINORS DNI

warnings: toxic relationship on both ends, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, verbal fights, oral (f receiving), restraints (belt), use of a gag, choking, unprotected sex (do i have to say it), referred to and called a toy, HEAVY THEMES: MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE. IT’S BREIF BUT STILL THERE. it’s just really sad at the end. if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW

summary: the line that divides love and hate is so blurry when it comes to minho.

a/n: this is my first time really writing angst, so have fun experiencing this with me. i promise next week we’ll get a break from angst and heavier themes/topics. as sad as this is, i really hope you like this. i’m really experimenting as an author with this series, so any feedback is appreciated.

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee minho as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

series taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @fthan, @chaitae-bae, @cloudyybinin, @lix001, @mmminhooo, @dnadoublefelixx, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @cyder-puff - to be added, please comment or send an ask.

BY CLICKING READ MORE, YOU ARE CONSENTING TO READING HEAVIER THEMES.

The electricity had gone out hours ago. Weather channels had predicted a storm of this intensity for weeks, yet you brushed it off. There was no need for candles, no need for coolers to keep perishables safe, or power banks for charge electronics. Now, at 3:00 am, you realized the weight of your mistake.

You were squatted in front of the fireplace, still shivering even with the combined heat of the bright fire and the blanket you were wrapped in. Sleep was beckoning you, eyes growing heavier as each second passed, but you couldn’t. You had tried, hours ago, but the fear of the fire growing out of control kept you up and focused on the dancing orange flames.

And, Minho wasn’t home.

It wasn’t unusual at this point - most nights he didn’t come home, and if he did, he was too drunk to talk to. The nights he did come home were filled with fights, screaming at each other until your voices were raw and your eyes burned with salty tears. He had been home every night this week, which meant your voice was nonexistent.

The storm made you realize you couldn’t take it anymore. Before it knocked the power off, you were sobbing in the master bedroom, folding your clothes into suitcases. It was painful, packing a life once comparable to paradise away, but you couldn’t pretend like what this had become was an acceptable replacement.

What was once a paradise was now a hell. For both you and Minho.

The lock on the front door clicked, but you didn’t turn your head towards the noise. It wouldn’t be a new sight; Minho stumbling in, keys hitting the breakfast nook table with a loud thud. He would kick off his shoes, mumbling about how tight they felt before throwing them haphazardly at the shoe rack by the door. Once his slippers were on, he would drag himself to the kitchen and get a glass of water, refilling it as many times as he wanted before stumbling out and heading to bed.

Unsurprisingly, tonight wasn’t any different. You don’t even think he noticed the lack of electricity. He filled up his glass six times before you heard it hit the sink, Minho sighing as he left the kitchen.

He stopped when saw you in front of the fire.

“Why are you up?” His words weren’t slurred. Good. Not as drunk as he usually was when he came home.

“The storm. Couldn’t sleep.” You refused to look at him, new tears welling up from the sound of his voice.

Minho sighed, running his fingers through his hair before looking out the window. “How long has our electricity been out?”

You shrugged. “A few hours. I don’t know.”

You could practically hear him roll his eyes. “You don’t know when it went out? How am I supposed to file a claim with the electric company if you can’t remember?”

“I was busy. Excuse me for not noticing the time.”

“Busy with what?”

You didn’t answer, lips quivering as you attempted to hold your sobs in. You brought your knees closer to your chest, attempting to make yourself smaller. Maybe if you curled yourself up more, you would disappear into the air. Maybe then you wouldn’t have to tell him you were leaving in the morning.

“Busy with what?” He asked again, voice laced with impatience.

“Do we have to do this now, Minho-“

“Why not? We’re both awake. What were you busy with?”

You snapped your head up, finally making eye contact with your boyfriend. His hair was a mess, slightly wet from the rain and sticking up in different directions. His clothes looked intact for the most part; the black button down he wore out was still tucked in, his leather jacket looked clean and unstained. The white bunny slippers were such a contrast that you almost wanted to laugh - Minho wasn’t as intimidating and tough as everyone thought. If it was months ago, you would’ve laughed, poking fun at his tough exterior when he was nothing but a big softy. He would have probably laughed too, playfully threatening you before kissing you to shut you up.

He wouldn’t now, just like you wouldn’t make that joke.

“Can we please not do this?” Your voice was breaking, tears glowing in the light of the fire. “We can fight in the morning, Minho. Just please, let it be for tonight.”

You watched his chest as he took deep breaths, steadying himself before he answered. “Fine. Not tonight. Are you coming to bed?”

“It’s cold upstairs. I’ll probably sleep on the couch tonight.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie - it was cold upstairs, but sleeping in the living room made it easier to sneak out in the morning.

Minho hummed, making his way to the large sectional before plopping down. He shimmed his jacket off, tossing it over the armrest before lying down on the couch.

Was he sleeping out here too?

“Well?” Minho asked as he worked on the buttons of his shirt. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Are you sleeping down here, too?”

“You said it was cold upstairs. Why would I want to sleep up there?”

The two of you stared at each other, eyes red and swollen for different reasons. When you didn’t answer immediately, Minho clicked his tongue and began to get up.

“You don’t want me down here with you. Fine.” He mumbled, grabbing his jacket. “I’ll go sleep in the ice box, I guess.”

“Minho, it’s not that-“

“Then what is it?” He snapped, fully facing you. “You’ve been avoiding me this entire week, even though I’ve come home every single night. What has made you so fucking miserable that you can’t even look at me anymore?”

You stood up, dropping your blanket on the ground. Even though the height difference wasn’t much, when you and Minho fought, it always felt like he towered over you. Looking at you with silted eyes, which were dark with anger and intoxication, face completely impassive as he stared at you like you weren’t worthy enough of his presence.

It broke your heart every time.

“You want to talk about avoiding each other? You can’t even come home to me if you’re not drunk. You don’t call me during the day, or talk to me-“

“That’s not true.“

“Oh, really? Then what were you doing tonight, Minho? Just fucking around at the studio, all night?” You scoffed. “Yeah, that totally explains why the living room reeks of gin.”

“Because you’re so innocent.” He snapped, walking towards you and forcing you against the cold window. “What about everything you’ve done, hm? Sure, I might come home to you drunk, but at least I didn’t flee the country with your best friend for a month. Or were those photos of you getting fucked by him photoshopped?”

“Shut up.” You grunted, fists pounding against his shoulders in attempt to wiggle free from the cage he put you in. A hand shot up, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger and effectively stilling you.

“I just have one question, baby.” Minho’s tone dropped, voice eerie and dripping with lust as he leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Did he fuck you as good as I do?”

He nipped at your ear, catching the lobe and pulling it down. Your fist unraveled, now clutching onto his dress shirt as he released your ear. Minho pulled back, eyes boring into yours as his other hand slid up your shirt. Nothing about Minho was gentle, especially when he was drunk or angry. When he was both, he was brutal, using you as if you were just a toy for him.

And as much as he’s hurt you and left you broken, you couldn’t help but fall at his feet when he acted like this.

His nails dug into your skin, slowly scratching up your chest until he stopped between your breasts.

“I don’t think his touch felt this good…” his voice was low and dangerous like the nails now scratching the soft mound of your left breast, digging deeper the closer he got to the nipple. “Or made your heart pound like this.”

His nails ran across your hardened nipple, eyes focused on the way the feeling made you shudder. An evil smirked played on his lips, slowly scratching back across to make you fall apart even more.

Minho closed the space between your faces, lips hovering inches above yours. Your mouth salivated from the anticipation of his taste. He was the perfect combination of sweet like pineapple, but salty like the ocean. With the hints of gin that were likely still dancing on his tongue, you had no doubt that even the smallest kiss would make you putty in his hands.

But when you subconsciously tried to close the gap, Minho moved his head back, dark chuckles making your face flush in embarrassment.

“Don’t forget, darling.” The scratches on your chest stopped, only to be replaced by Minho pinching your nipple, tugging on it just enough to be slightly painful. Your shoulders hit the cold glass window as your back arched, your middles meeting and softly grinding. “I’m the one who taught you what feels good. I’m the one who made you like this. Nobody can make you feel as good as I can.”

It was then that he kissed you, tongue diving down your throat. He swallowed up every sound you made - every strained moan or wet whine, Minho took all of it without complaint. Your hands gripped at his dress shirt, pulling his chest to yours so that you were completely molded together. One.

Something you hadn’t been in a while.

Grabby hands tore at each other’s clothes. The buttons on Minho’s shirt clattered to the floor, the sounds of your crop top ripping lost in the rhythm of your moans. Once you both were bare from the waist up, Minho moved his hands to your yoga pants and pulled away from your lips. He squatted, face in front of your core, staring up at you as he pushed the tight material down.

The smell of you greeted his nostrils, and you watched as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. “Fuck, you’re drenched.” When your pants reached your thighs, it appeared that Minho had lost his patience, deciding to attack your clothed cunt.

The sound of your slick and his tongue, with only the lace as a barrier between the two was sinful. Overwhelming. It made your thighs clench together, Minho’s head crushed in between them. But it was clear he didn’t give a fuck, quickly grasping the outer edges of your thighs to keep you in place. When you moaned, so did he, the sound vibrating through your lower body.

“Min.” You whined, fingers intertwining with his brown locks. “Please. Want to feel more of you-“

At your request, Minho’s hands wrapped around your body, one squeezing your ass while the other slapped it hard enough for it to tingle.

“Shut up.” He had pulled back just enough so you could hear the warning in his voice, tongue still flicking at your slit. “And let me do my fucking job.”

Minho never let up - refusing to remove your panties or use his fingers. He looked up at you as you squirm, silently begging in the form of whimpers. It made you so incredibly annoyed how well he knew your body. How he could bring you to the brink of orgasm with his tongue alone, even with clothing stunting it.

So it was no surprise that he knew you were about to cum. He taught you your tells. The way your body shook only at the hips, eyes rolling so far back all you could see was black, the whimpers that sounded almost like the meow of a cat falling from your lips. Minho knew what they were before you did, so when he felt your hips begin to quiver, he quickly pulled back.

It shouldn’t be surprising that he pulled back at the last possible second, but you still couldn’t help but fuss, fist clenching as you banged them mildly against the window.

“Stop fucking crying.” Minho said as he peeled both your pants and underwear off. “It’s annoying.”

“You’re annoying.” You whined, eyes focused on the ceiling.

He stood up, laughing as he undid his belt. The malice and lack of sympathy behind that laugh made your body shiver. You were almost scared of him, of what he would do to you tonight.

But that made it so much better.

The belt was off his waist and around your wrists in less than ten seconds. Minho tightened it until he heard you whine, only stopping when you cried out. He slammed the bound wrists above your head, the metal of the belt buckle hitting the window and echoing throughout the room.

Minho grabbed the base of his cock with his free hand, slowly pushing the tip inside you. “You wanna cry about something?” His slid into you, hips moving at a snail's pace to make sure you could feel every ridge of his cock. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

That’s when he bottomed out without warning, not bothering to stretch you out the rest of the way. Your mouth fell open, but before even the smallest moan could slip through, Minho shoved your ruined panties down your throat. He pushed them all the way back, only stopping when you began to gag around them.

The pace he set was brutal, only pulling out to mid-shaft before shoving back in with more pressure than the thrust before. Every time a muffled whine fell from you, he went harder, faster. As if he wouldn’t be satisfied until you were actively sobbing with his cock inside you.

And knowing Minho, that very well might be his goal.

“You look so fucking pretty like this.” He grunted as a hand found your throat, squeezing it gently. He locked eyes with you, waiting for your consent. When you gave a brief nod, he immediately tightened his grip. His thumb flicked up, wiping up a bit of drool that was rolling down your chin. “Crying and drooling, and silent. God, you’re the perfect little toy, aren’t you?”

The praise was condescending, but enough to make you nod your head quickly. All you wanted was to cum, to feel good for the first time in days.

As mean as he’s been lately, Minho always made sure you ascended around his cock.

You watched as his wet his lip with his tongue, teeth pulling it in when it was damp. His eyebrows furled, nose scrunched. His breaths were more of huffs, coming out hot and fast.

When he taught you your tells, he also made sure you knew his.

You pushed your hips up, centers knocking together. Minho glared at you, moving the hand from your throat to take the panties out of your mouth.

“What?” He hissed, hard demeanor slowly beginning to fall.

“Cum. Cum.” You panted, unable to say anything else.

“Oh? Me, or you baby?”

Your body was so close to giving out. The leather of his belt bit into you in the most uncomfortable way, your throat raw from the combination of your panties and his grip. But, somehow, with the most pathetic tone, you croaked out: “Both.”

Minho didn’t have enough in him to edge you, or himself more. In fact, he didn’t even verbally respond. He slammed into you harder, pubic bone pressing into your clit just enough to send you over the edge. When he felt you clench, your orgasm coming to life, Minho spilled inside you. His head fell back as he groaned, fucking every last bit of him into you.

He pulled out of you slowly, gentle hands bringing your wrists down. Minho laid his head on your shoulder as he undid his belt, letting it fall to the ground between you two. Once free of restraints, you fell limp against him. Minho gathered you in his arms, moving the two of you back in front of the fireplace. It was almost comforting - the warmth of the fire and his body lulling you into a sense of security.

Almost.

You sat across from each other, naked and covered in each other’s essence. Minho held your wrists in his hands, gently rubbing lotion onto the bruising skin.

The question left your lips before you could consider it.

“When did you fall out of love with me?”

Minho paused, thumbs pressing into your wrists. You were sure he could feel your pulse, relaxed but fast. He stared at the space in between you, eyes focused on a certain spot on the rug. The fire reflected his eyes, showing the tears that were beginning to build up.

“You didn’t help me build the crib.” His voice was a whisper, almost getting lost in the crackling of the fire. “Which was fine, you didn’t have to help.” Minho looked up to meet your eyes, a single tear breaking free. “But you didn’t help me tear it down, either.”

You took a deep breath, the exhale making you shudder. “I’m-“

“Please.” He said, words catching in his throat. “Don’t. It’s not your fault.”

Silence took over again. Minho continued to massage your wrists, tears falling onto your cold skin and mixing in with the lotion.

“What about you?” He didn’t look up as he spoke.

You focused on the way his thumbs moved. The lotion was absorbed by now, but Minho refused to stop the massaging movement. It made it harder to speak, even though you were the one who prompted this conversation.

“You stopped coming home.”

There was nothing else that needed to be said. Minho tightened his grip on your wrist, gently pulling you into his body. You let him hold you close, his chin resting against your shoulder while you nuzzled into his neck.

“Ju-Just let me hold you.” His voice cracked, sniffling as he let himself succumb to the emotions. “One last time before you leave.”

You tightened your arms around him in response, clinging onto his body. Skin to skin, molded together. One body as you held each other for the final time.

You never hated Minho. He never hated you. You had both loved a love that was too powerful, too much for this tiny planet you called home. It was bright and beautiful, shining brighter than any sun in all of eternity.

And when you fell out of it, everything broke like lightning in a thunderstorm. Including the two of you.

©: chvnnie 2022

[yuujispinkhair]

The songs you grow to like never stick at first (Chapter 5)

Chapter 1 ++ Chapter 2 ++ Chapter 3 ++ Chapter 4

Falling for your best friend is a blessing and a curse at the same time, especially when it’s painfully obvious that your friend doesn’t feel the same. So what is Yuuji supposed to do? He doesn’t want to lose you but also can’t help wanting to get out of the friendzone. Maybe his other friends can help him. Or he just has to wait because sometimes the songs that become our all-time favorites are the ones that don’t stick at first.

Pairing: Yuuji x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, fluff, my attempt at humor, friends to lovers Word Count: 3.5k Playlist: College AU Warnings: 18+, slow burn, a lot of cheesiness, pining, unrequited love in the beginning, alcohol, masturbation, sex dreams. Cheating (but NOT Yuuji or reader!! Naoya cheats on reader). All characters are of age. The story and my blog contain 18+ content, so minors don't interact. 

Chapter 05: A rivalry goes so deep between me and this loss of sleep over you (Part 2)

The weeks pass. You are in romantic heaven with your boyfriend. And Yuuji is in heartbreak hell, with dark circles under his eyes and the emotional baggage of the frontman of an emo band.

He's officially a member of the boxing club now, spending more and more time at the gym to let his anger out on the punching bag that he calls Naoya in his mind.

You keep telling Yuuji about your dates with the Zenin heir, oblivious to the pain it causes him. He has to put a stop to it though the moment you start talking about your and Naoya's sex life.

"Can you please not?!! I don't want to know these things!"

"Hey, that's not fair! You tell me everything about your bedroom adventures too, Mr. Too much information."

Yuuji throws up his hands in exasperation. He knows you are right. Unfortunately, he seems to lack that gene that is responsible for feeling ashamed, so he always goes into too much detail anytime he shares his sex tales with his friends. Guilty as charged.

"Ah, dammit! But that was ages ago!! I haven't even had sex in months!"

"And maybe that's the problem! You need to get laid, Yuu!"

You have a point. But the problem is that the only person Yuuji wants to get sexy with is you. But, of course, he can't say that, so he just makes an incomprehensible noise and changes the topic.

He is relieved when a few weeks later, you pull a face while stirring your iced coffee listlessly, sighing as you rest your chin on your hand and announce:

"Naoya has to go on a business trip. He's leaving in an hour, and I already miss him. Those gonna be the worst three days!"

No, that's wrong! Those are going to be the best three days if you ask Yuuji!

He feels energetic despite his lack of sleep and the physical exertion from last night's boxing training. This is great! The sun shines brighter all of a sudden, and his coffee hasn't tasted this good in months!

Yuuji can't help but smile while walking next to you, accompanying you to your first class of the day, just like he does every morning. There's a new spring in his step now that some of the weight got lifted off his shoulders.

An hour later, when he's sitting in acting class, waiting for his turn to portray a Yakuza leader, the guilt catches up with him. He shouldn't feel happy about your annoyance that your boyfriend is away. He's a horrible friend!! How can he smile and celebrate the fact that you miss the guy you are in love with??

Yuuji is on the brink of punching himself and only gets saved from making an absolute fool of himself because his name gets called for the next performance.

Half an hour later, he walks out of class with loud praise from his professor.

"Itadori, that was an outstanding performance. I could practically feel the anger! You really got into the role! Keep up the good work."

Hysterical laughter bubbles up in Yuuji's chest. It seems like method acting is his way to a possible movie star career, huh? He will have to mention Nayoa in his thank-you speech when he receives an Oscar.

He can't stop laughing all the way to the cafeteria, earning himself raised eyebrows and giggles. Yuuji just rolls his eyes when he realizes it and lifts his left hand to show some of the guys from the volleyball team his middle finger.

He doesn't have time for this. He has to find you and make sure to make the best of the next three days, where he can have you all to himself again! And after all, he is your best friend, and it's literally his job to keep you company and keep you busy, so you won't wallow in self-pity and lose your mind over longing for your man all the time. Yuuji's motives are totally pure!!

Another chuckle escapes his mouth. The mix of lack of sleep and giddy anticipation to take you to the mall and eat ice cream with you is gradually turning him into a lunatic. But Yuuji can't be bothered at the moment. He bursts into the cafeteria with a bright sunshine smile and an excited:

"Finish your tea, princess! I'm taking you to the mall!"

And the loud laugh and happy sparkle in your eyes he receives in return are even more reasons to be a bit crazy.

Three nights later, Yuuji jolts up when his phone blares loudly on the pillow next to his ear. He groans. For once, he fell asleep early. The lack of sleep finally got the better of him, and he felt so at ease after having you all to himself for three days that sweet sleep claimed him.

He was even having a particularly nice dream of you straddling his lap, your hands in his hair, while you were slowly riding him, moaning his name and whispering sweet love confessions in his ear. It was the perfect wet dream!

Until his stupid phone ruined it!

Yuuji sits up and looks around groggily. His brain is too fuzzy, but his hand finds his phone and lifts it to look at the screen. His eyes widen.

Why are you calling him at 00:13?

"Hey! What's up? Are you ok?"

Your voice sounds strange, when you answer him:

"Yuu... Are... are you up?"

Yuuji is completely alert in an instant, the sleepy confusion and the horniness gone completely. Something happened! He can hear it in your voice! Worry washes over him.

"What's wrong? Where are you?"

Yuuji's already out of bed while speaking, balancing the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he's jumping into his grey sweatpants. He has to go wherever you are! He can tell that you aren't ok, even when you didn't say it yet. You need him!

"I.. can you.. can you please come pick me up?"

"Of course! Already on my way. Tell me where you are!"

He only hears a shaky sob, and it makes his heart drop. You sound like you are crying. Yuuji is scared. Cold fear has its chokehold on him. What happened to you? He has to get to you right now!

He's stumbling over his backpack, cursing loudly, before finding his shirt from yesterday lying on the floor next to his desk. He shrugs hastily into it while listening to your thick voice giving him instructions:

"I'm downtown... you know that street corner near our McDonald's and the karaoke bar?"

Fuck. So you were with Naoya tonight? His apartment is near that location. Yuuji's worry is laced with anger now. What did that asshole do to make you cry and call Yuuji in the middle of the night? And why the hell are you out there all alone? That's dangerous! It's the middle of the night!

"I'll be there in a few minutes! Don't hang up, ok? Stay on the phone with me."

He puts the call on speaker so he can pull his red hoodie over his head, not caring how messy his hair is or that he puts on two different colored socks. All that Yuuji can think about is you!

He quickly jogs out of his room, grabbing the car keys on his way out, and almost falls down the stairs because he's struggling to put on his sneakers while running and also holding his phone in one hand.

But he manages to arrive on the street in one piece and sprints over to his car. Well, technically it's Fushiguro's car. But he lets his friends use it too because he's embarrassed about being the kid from the rich family and feels better about it if he shares his privileges.

Yuuji throws his phone into the center console as he slams the door shut and then hastily starts the car. The car audio starts blaring loudly, making him jump.

This is side one, flip me over. I know I'm not your favorite record. The songs you grow to like never stick at first. So, I'm writing you a chorus, and here is your verse!

"Oh dammit! Not that song again!"

Junpei must have used the car before him. Yuuji swears and turns the stereo off as he quickly backs out of the parking spot. He knows he's driving too fast, but he can't bring himself to care. He has to get to you as quickly as possible!

You were probably right when you joked about Yuuji being your personal knight in a red hoodie. He is so worried and just wants to be by your side and make sure you are safe. He can still hear your sniffles, and it tugs at his heart.

"I'm driving now. Hey, can you tell me what happened?"

"I... I wanted to surprise Naoya. It was stupid... I don't know. He texted me that he's back from his business trip and that he'll just go to bed and we should meet for breakfast...but I... god, I am so dumb! I thought, hey, why not pay him a surprise visit to celebrate him coming back home...I.. arrived in front of his apartment and I..."

Your explanation gets interrupted by a muffled sob. Yuuji grinds his teeth, his hands are grabbing the steering wheel in a death grip. But he tries to sound calm for you, be the safe place you need right now.

"It's ok, take your time. I'm almost there. What happened at his apartment?"

It starts raining now, and the cars in front of him slow down, making Yuuji almost lose his mind. He glares at the red light that dares to keep him away from you. It's torturous having to listen to your tearful voice telling him about your night while he is caught in the car here and not able to pull you into his arms and comfort you.

The engine howls loudly once the traffic light turns green again and Yuuji presses down on the gas pedal impatiently. Only a few more blocks!

Your voice fills the car and there's so much pain in it that it makes Yuuji's own eyes tear up.

"Naoya.. he was walking out of the door with some other woman. I... I thought maybe it was just his co-worker and nothing more. But.. but.. they kissed."

"Oh fuck!"

"He... he held her hand and smiled at her, and then he kissed her. Like a real kiss! On the mouth...and it... It was just like he.. just like he usually kisses me. I don't know what to do. I ran away before he could see me. And now I'm sitting here and crying and being a dumb bitch!"

Yuuji smacks his hand onto the steering wheel. God, if Naoya was here right now, he would get a taste of Yuuji's fist. Yuuji hates that guy! Really hates him! How can he hurt you like that? Doesn't he see how lucky he is to have you!? How can he cheat on you?

"He's such an asshole! God! Please, you aren't dumb! HE is the one who's the dumb bitch!"

Yuuji has almost reached your destination now. He spots a parking space and quickly pulls the car over, almost scratching against a tree. But it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except you! He's out of the car at light speed, jogging down the rainy street to the corner where he knows you are waiting for him.

He almost stumbles over your outstretched legs as he turns into the dark side street. You are sitting on the stairs in front of a tea shop, looking up at him with tears running down your face, looking so heartbroken and miserable.

Yuuji crouches down in front of you, placing his hands on your knees, gently rubbing them. His voice is soft and warm, talking to you like he would to a scared animal. His need to comfort you and soothe your hurt is almost overwhelming.

"Hey, I'm here. It's gonna be ok. I got you, sweetheart."

He can feel you trembling beneath his hands, from the cold or the anxiety or a mix of both.

"Yuu..."

Your voice sounds so weak. That's enough! Yuuji can't take it anymore. He reaches out with a murmured:

"Come here.."

He pulls you into his strong arms, feeling you slump against him. You sniffle and press your face against his chest as your arms wrap around him, clinging desperately to him.

Yuuji rocks you in his arms, whispering some stupid little things to you, anything to comfort you and reassure you.

"Shh, it's ok, sweetie... it's ok. You can cry if it helps you, ok? I'm here. I won't leave. I'll look after you."

It breaks Yuuji's heart to see you like this, your tears soaking his hoodie, sobbing against his chest and your fingers clutching tightly to his back.

He feels a bit helpless, not really knowing what to do, so he just does what his instincts tell him. Holding you and letting you cry, stroking your back soothingly, and keeping you tugged safely under his chin, pressed tightly against his broad chest, wrapped in his strong arms where you are safe and hopefully a bit warmer.

After a while, Yuuji feels you relaxing in his arms. Then, finally, you lift your head to look at him with puffy eyes.

"Th.. thank you for coming here. I'm so sorry for waking you up, Yuu."

"Of course, I came here. Please don't apologize. I told you I'll always pick you up, no matter where you are or what time it is. There is nothing to be sorry for."

His eyes scan you worriedly. Of course, he has seen you having breakdowns over university or when you had trouble with some girls from your dorm. But it was never anything like this. Yuuji has never seen you crying so much, and it pains him to know you are so distraught.

"Let's get you home, ok?"

You blink at him through wet lashes and nod softly. Yuuji gives you an encouraging smile and then pulls you to your feet. He cannot let go of you, though. He definitely spoke the truth when he said that he's overprotective when it comes to you. And so one of his large hands stays on the small of your back.

He sees you shivering, looking so miserable that it breaks his heart even more. Yuuji realizes that you are drenched from the rain. He doesn't even think about it but is already pulling his red hoodie over his head and handing it to you.

"Here, put that on, please. Don't want you to catch a cold."

You don't even try to turn his offer down, which means you are really a mess right now. Yuuji's chest feels too tight. He puts an arm around you and pulls you against his side to offer you more of his warmth as he gently steers you towards where he parked Fushiguro's car.

On the drive home, Yuuji can't stop himself from looking over at you repeatedly to check on you. You're leaning your head against the cold car window, staring out into the rainy night, looking so lost, hugging yourself and sniffling occasionally.

It's a heartbreaking sight, and Yuuji's need to comfort you almost drives him crazy. It pains him to see you like this! You deserve happiness and love, and warmth. Not this shit! Soaked to the skin, shivering from the cold, and crying from a broken heart.

Yuuji reaches out to put a hand on your thigh, right above your knee, gently squeezing it. He hates that he has to drive and can't hug you and keep you warm. But he has to get you home safely and make sure to get you into dry clothes as soon as possible. So his hand on your thigh will have to do at the moment. At least a little bit of physical comfort.

Your hand lands on top of Yuuji's immediately, grabbing it tightly, so desperate for his comforting touch. The car swerves slightly to the right as Yuuji's other hand clenches the wheel. He's angry, so fucking angry at Naoya for doing this to you!

But his need to be there for you and make you feel ok again is stronger than the anger. You don't need anger at the moment. You need your best friend who treats you with love and care. And so Yuuji turns his hand on your thigh so you can interlace your fingers with his, holding hands for real now.

You hold on so tightly that it's almost painful, even to a strong guy like Yuuji. But he definitely won't complain. You need this, need to hold his hand, need the comfort of your best friend next to you, and Yuuji will give you anything you need.

You drive in silence for a few minutes, just holding hands and waiting for the car heater to work.

But Yuuji knows that one of his biggest flaws is that he cannot seem to shut up and often talks before he thinks, so he isn't surprised when his mouth decides to blurt out:

"Do you want me to beat him up for you?"

"Oh my god, Yuuji! Please don't!"

"Ok, anything you want. But my offer stands if you change your mind. He would deserve it. And my right hook is really good, says my coach."

"Maybe he would deserve it, but I don't want you to get into trouble. So please promise me you won't try anything like that."

But at least you sound a bit more like yourself again, and your voice isn't as weak anymore. The corners of Yuuji's lips lift in a half-smile, and he gives your hand a reassuring, gentle squeeze.

"I won't, I promise. Let's get you home and into dry clothes. And then we'll eat ice cream and watch a movie. That's probably a better way to deal with this than going all violent, huh?"

"Thank you, Yuuji. Like, really. I am so grateful for you. When I was sitting there crying, all I could think of was, "I want Yuu here, with his broad shoulders and bright smile." You always make me feel so safe and... I sound so stupid, but you feel like home away from home. You know what I mean?"

Yuuji has to gulp hard against a lump forming in his throat all of a sudden. He feels like home to you? This is the most beautiful thing anyone ever said to him. He blinks rapidly against the sudden moistness in his eyes.

"It's nothing. I'm always here for you. Will always be. And you are my home too."

The rain is getting heavier again, drumming loudly onto the car top while the windshield wipers are doing their hypnotic dance across the car window. The street leading out of the city is pretty empty at this time of night, so the drive home is pretty serene, only the darkness of the night and the pouring rain illuminated by the car's headlights.

Usually, Yuuji is a sunshine type of guy. He loves summer and the sun and never complains about the heat. But he has to admit that there is some beauty in the rain too, especially when you are sitting in a car at night with the person you love the most in the world and they are holding your hand and visibly and audibly relaxing after having such a tough breakdown, and it's all because Yuuji is here to offer his comfort.

You have almost reached the campus again when Yuuji speaks up again, voice soft and low:

"Hey, just let me tell you this, ok? Please don't get mad. But I think you should break up with him. I know he will call you and make all kinds of excuses, and I know you are a sweet and forgiving person, but please don't listen to him. Don't go back to him, please. He's an asshole. You deserve so much better. You deserve someone who only likes you, someone who doesn't want anyone else. Someone who will never hurt you."

Someone like me.

Your answer is another squeeze of his hand and a soft:

"You are right, Yuu. Zenin Naoya is history."

You sigh and reach over to turn the car audio on, and Junpei's emo mix starts playing again. 

This is side one, flip me over. I know I'm not your favorite record.

Yuuji loses it and snickers. Why is it always this damn song? He feels like you caught him doing something naughty, listening to Fall Out Boy and screaming along to lyrics that somehow fit his personal situation all too perfectly. It sends him into hysterics, and now he really laughs like a lunatic.

But to his enormous relief, he hears a chuckle coming from the passenger seat. And then your hand is on the car audio again, and you turn up the volume and tap your finger onto the dashboard to the beat of the song.

It's the next song that makes the two of you break out into loud laughter.

Let's play this game called "when you catch fire, I wouldn't piss to put you out." Stop burning bridges and drive off of them. So I can forget about you. 

Yuuji can hear that you are crying through the laughter. Of course, you are still sad, and it will take a while for you to get over Naoya. But it's ok. Yuuji's here to dry those tears, and he will be by your side and help you make that broken heart whole again.

And at least you already have an "I hate Zenin Naoya" anthem now.

Thank you so much to everyone who keeps looking forward to a new chapter of this series! It makes me so happy when I get feedback on this story! So, Yuuji is really the perfect knight in a red hoodie, hm? For me, the answer is YES! He is so sweet. Everyone should have a Yuuji in their lives aww.

Please let me know how you liked the chapter! Comments and reblogs help me a lot!

Only one chapter left now aaaaahhhhh!!!

I added a second FOB song, "Tell that Mick he just made my list of things to do today," aka the "I hate Zenin Naoya" anthem lmaoo.

Chapter 06

[cynettic]

Stay with Me pt.3

Summary - You manage to escape from Scaramouche, if only for a moment before you realize there’s no escape. It only takes until you’re sitting back in your regular spot that you know what you need to do.

Pairings - Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Suggestive content, mentions of death, swearing, slight gore / blood 

A/N - Its really hard to make this depressing while I’m vibing to Rasputin. Like no joke- I have it on one of the 1 hour playlists :D

Here you’ll find -  pt.1 and pt.2

He’d left a key.

Scaramouche didnt make mistakes, not while he had you captive in the vicinity of his bedroom. He didnt have room for mistakes, not when you were watching his every movement while he was in your line of sight. 

Sure, he mightve killed a person or two in front of you, but those were necessary mistakes. There was a sign on the door, it specified not to enter. You’d understand that, right?

Thats what he thought at least, lulling himself into belief after belief that you’d be there waiting for him every time. That you’d welcome him with open arms, even if there were chains ensnaring your wrists. That you’d accept your fate at his hands and submit yourself to him.

The Balladeer was a fool.

He’d kept you there for too long, and while you searched for an easy way to escape, time sent your head spinning. Into a spiral that begged only for the wind against your face, back laying on dirt with the familiar chirping up birds waking you up in the morning.

You wanted to go outside.

And when push comes to shove, you had to risk a little more to make it happen. Lure him into bed with kisses while your hands unbuttoned his vest. But what he believed to be alluring contacts was just your way of finding the keys hidden in the back pocket of his shorts.

It wasnt hard to find the one to your cuffs while he was asleep, cuddled in your chest with both arms around your waist as if to get you to stay put. You took the key, hiding them back in his clothing and hoping he didnt notice.

He didnt say anything the next day.

You werent going to wait any longer.

“Oh for fucks sake, why won't the goddamn door open?”

The room was left in tatters behind you, a little gift for Scaramouche once he got back. Turns out a pair of chains can smash up a lot of things, and rage can be used as a great source of strength when contained for such a long time.

But you’d done more than throw the blankets around, cut up the drawers and smash open the windows. Because your fists had bled red when you punched through the glass, puncturing your skin. Your knuckles were an ugly red, bruising already.

Ah, Scaramouche deserved a much better gift.

Gruesome as it was, you rubbed your knuckles against the pale walls. Till the blood stopped coming, till there was a nice little message for the boy which you held so dearly to your heart.

‘Balladeer.’

The first time you’d found out about him being a harbinger he’d told you not to call him by that name. You weren’t someone he associated with by work, you were a treasure to him. That’s why you continued to call him as he pleased, although the temptation always arose.

You were no longer his.

Shoving the door with your hand again, palm fiddling with the handle and groaning when it hardly budged. “Stupid,” you grumbled when the knob began to loosen. Backing up, you charged with your shoulder to the door, full force as the momentum broke the hinges. The door fell down with you along with it.

It was expected, you’d been stuck in the room for a long time, and thats considering you’d sat on the ground for decades. Your body was slight numb, muscles sore and unused for so long. 

“You a-arent supposed to leave your room!”

A young man stood in the hallway along with a woman who looked relatively the same age. The two were wearing uniforms, flinching when you stood up from the debris and off the door. “Excuse me?” You asked, voice unnecessarily icy and stern. But you couldnt care less, you were going to get out of this house, damn anyone who stood in your way.

They both continued to shake when you walked towards them, staggering from side to side. The woman stepped up in front of the man, presenting a brave face. “If you leave the mansion, the harbinger will kill us all!”

“Well then I expect you should be on your way then. Actually…” you gestured to the maze of hallways. “You can lead the way.”

“What…?”

Your hand went limp to your side, an exasperated looking momentarily crossing your face before you sighed. “Im not staying trapped in that room, I’m sorry if that ruins your life, but frankly you're not the one stuck in there are you?” You took an extra step just to intimidate them, eyes wide to make the appearance of crazy. “It would be a great help if you showed me where he hid my vision too.”

“We can show you to the door…” The man began, “But the whereabouts of your vision are unknown, he wouldnt tell us something like that.”

A gift bestowed from the gods, a piece to help me thrive with my ambitions and pursue my goals.

Gone.

You really wished you’d taken to clawing out Scaramouche’s face instead, but you’d take what you got. Right now your main priority was getting out of this place, even if it meant leaving a piece of you behind.

“Door.” Your voice was raspy and there was a terrible feeling that crawled up to your throat, but you didnt have time to be emotional. “Show me where the door is… please.”

The conflict in their eyes dissipates by the time they lead you along, mumbling words between themselves. You didnt bother to try eavesdropping, you were so, so tired. You wanted to go home.

Anywhere. Anywhere but here.

It took a few minutes until you were standing in front of a grand door, almost twice the size of you and just as wide. You then began to notice the decorational plants and furniture that filled the empty space, there wasn't an inch of dust. Even though you could tell none of it was used.

“Hurry,” the man warned when you paused. “I dont know when our master is coming back, but if its soon, we’ll all be screwed.”

You couldnt feel your head as you numbly nodded, hand clenching the knob and flinging the set of doors open. “Thank you,” you merely mumbled, taking your first step out of the house in what felt like forever.

The days after that were a blur, the area around Scaramouche’s house were nothing but void. Empty and filled with forests and vast plains. You knew he didnt like people or socializing in general, but to this extent?

Your only option was to run.

Let your feet take you somewhere, anywhere. It was a constant pattern of running and taking breaks, leaning on a tree and gasping in a few breaths before you were again scurrying through the forest. 

And yet you felt better than you’d felt in past months that you’d been stuck with Scaramouche.

Food became any boar you came across, the claws you’d spent so long hiding with Scaramouche coming to unleash a wrath beyond your comprehension. Till the animal was cut to shreds and no meat was left even to eat. You’d slaughtered it, without intention to eat or benefit for it, you’d killed it just to kill.

“I’m sorry,” you’d sobbed into the ground where you’d buried the harmless animal. Forehead pressed into the dirt as you pleaded for forgiveness to whatever archons would accept it. You couldn't even remember what archons you were supposed to pray to. “Forgive me- forgive me…”

But eventually you found your way around to somewhere you knew. Territory of Inazuma where you could find your way back, back home.

Where was home?

You’d been on the run from the vision hunt decree, abandoning your post for the Kitsune Saiguu for such a thing. Even now that you could return without a vision and as no threat under the decree…

You’d sacrificed everything for your vision.

Where were you to go now…?

Rain patted down, the trees providing only a slight cover as stray drops fell into your matted dirty hair. You didnt mind, it hid the tears that slid down your lifeless face, feet taking you into the far meadows of your hometown. Till you plopped down underneath a tree, knees curled to your chest and arms hugging them close. You were crying.

You were home.

____________________

“Awh,” a ginger haired murmured, elbow resting on the cool wood of the tabletop. “Is little Mouchie sad? I heard your kitty cat escaped~”

A death wish, even fatui that idly minded themselves around the bar knew it. Sipping cold drinks and swirling their cups, the soft chatter was nothing but a distraction from the main course of events. That being the smaller Harbinger who sat sulking in his seat, hunched over with a drink in hand. He’d drank far more than what was on the counter, but everytime he finished a glass, he’d smash it on the ground, watching the fragile glass shatter into pieces.

“I dont have a cat,'' was his only response, tone daring Childe to pursue further. To give him a reason to start throwing the glass in his face instead.

And Childe was an idiot when it came to challenging someone.

“No cat?” The rest of the drink in the taller harbinger’s glass was gone when he threw his head back. “Hmmm, I cant think of what else could’ve had you so enraptured in returning home then~!”

Scaramouche didnt respond, uneven bangs shadowing the bags under his eyes. “Stronger,” he said instead, elbow on the counter and hand outstretched for something. When there was no movement from the man managing the wine, the harbinger looked up. “I need something stronger to drink,” he repeated, voice seething.

“Of c-course!”

The glass was nestled in Scaramouche’s palm in no time, fingers curling around the circular form to down it in seconds. The drink merely slid down his throat in one movement, alcohol burning his senses. It didn’t matter, he was numbed by the growing rage inside of him.

Finally, he turned to the ginger haired boy, eyes hazily dancing along the counter till it reached his fingertips. Up his hand and along his arm, till Scaramouche was staring right into Childe’s eyes. “They escaped,” he admitted softly. “But it’s alright, because I sent something that’ll bring them back.”

Childe paused, raising his drink up away from his lips to pose a question. Hesitation danced along his features before he brought the glass back, he’d rather not provoke the shorter male any further. Wasn’t like he could interfere anyway.

____________________

“That… that…” 

It was preposterous, having returned to that same spot for a day or two and heading back to the hometown you’d once lived in. The one Scaramouche had lived in. There shouldn’t have been an issue, you were solely gathering supplies for the sake of it, ambition driving you to travel far far away.

Out of Inazuma.

It was your new beginning, convincing yourself that you didn't need a vision. Finding some sort of purpose before Scaramouche shattered the vision and your life along with it. You’d seen how people had reacted when it had been ingrained in the statue, neutralized and broken. They lost hope, purpose and aspirations for anything new.

It’s not like the Raiden Shogun took my vision.

But you’d taken that fact for granted, expecting some sort of new start without Scaramouche. A victory, getting away from him just for a split second and getting out of Inazuma altogether, you’d never see him again.

Until you got his message.

“How the hell…” You crushed the note until it was just crumbled paper in your hand, slowly leaning on the stone wall. “Piece of shit… what kind of person even…” 

Not only did he manage to find you, but without making his presence known, he’d tugged at your one weakness with an ease that had you down on your knees.

You threw the paper to the ground, deliberate as you stared past the alleyway. Pensive as you considered your options. Damn, what options did you even have? You’d been an idiot to underestimate Scaramouche, he wasn’t a child, you knew that… but archons he seemed like one when he was with you. Shown you a vulnerability he wanted only you to see. But maybe that had been part of his plan all along, until all you believed was his soft demeanor.

He may act like a child, but he’s a harbinger.

You stared down at the crumbled piece of paper in disgust.

Not only that, but he has no regard for human life.

Either way, you’d lived decades more than him. You could face him, you would present yourself to him just as he expected you to. Even when everything in you rejected the idea, sobbed at the thought of returning to that house, those chains. Being locked up and confined only for the purpose of coddling a small boy, a selfish boy, a cruel boy. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’d figure out a way, and this time you wouldn’t rule out the option of his death.

———————

Oh darling Y/n, how have you been?

I hope this letter reaches you rather soon, we both have much to discuss, no? About me, about you, and much more. You see, I’ve taken up quite a distaste to your little friends. Stone statues in Inazuma as small as Kitsunes truly hold no purpose, what will they do, come back to life? Haha, I should think not. I’ve already arranged to have them demolished, who knows what kind of material they might possess. Ah, and of course I’d show you the finishing product, unless you’re willing to come and have a chat with me once more? Under the Sakura tree like we used to, you’ve waited years, I believe you can wait for me?

I hope this letter reaches you in best interests. I’m always looking out for you after all.

Sincerely, your Balladeer

——————

It was raining.

Beautiful weather as you lay sitting there, feet crossed and tucked in the same you’d often do. After all, there was no need to fear the vision hunt decree or the Raiden Shogun. Let them come, let them take care of you before Scaramouche did.

You werent cold, not when the cold drops dampened your clothing, slipping down the length of your spine and drenching your face. Despite having lived in a luxury residency for such a long time, this was where you were most comfortable, enduring whatever the weather had for you, taking it with a smile. Because you were waiting…

The Kitsune Saiguu was a distant memory.

You were waiting for Scaramouche, the young boy that often bound into the field in lengthy strides, childlike wonder in his eyes. The one who’d cried when the other kids pushed him away, the one that just wanted to be praised. You’d held him in your arms, and now, even knowing the results, you wouldnt have done differently.

He was just a boy.

Just a boy when he joined the fatui, looking for praise that he was given. He created chaos and bellowed orders with a cruelty that was highly looked upon. Told that he was doing well, so he continued to do so.

He’s just a boy.

You wished you’d held him in your arms, if not only for a tad longer. Shield him away from the wrongness of the world, if only for one last time.

Banishing away your hatred for him was hard.

But you found it under the tree, rain soon dimming down to a clouded cold breeze that swept through the meadow. You’d hated him while stuck in the mansion, but you could now see it from a larger point of view. What he did was wrong of course, but you could remember him so vividly now. His small form giggling, tiny arms around your neck. 

“Play with me!”

Was it your fault?

For not holding him tighter? For trying to rectify his bad doings and teach him what was wrong and right? Maybe if your grip was firmer, if you’d spoken to him about the warmth he’d given you that day when playing cards...

“Lazy ass.”

Burying down that pile of worry and insecurities, you took a deep breath in to relax. The edge of your lip perked up, only slightly. “Still terrible with your social skills arent you?”

Slowly securing a dry space under the three with you, Scaramouche sat down. His features were the same ones you’d grown accustomed to at his mansion. Rich clothes, sharp eyes, and the baby face that refused to go away. His movements were soft as he pulled out a deck of cards. The two of you didnt speak as he distributed them between you both. It was tense… no, it felt too much like the warmth form long ago to be tense. You only wished the situation to be different.

“I love you.”

But you could only offer a bitter smile to his words. “I love my vision,” you replied. “I love the Kitsune Saiguu, and I love my friends.”

His touch was gentle when his fingers came to gently cradle your cheek. Holding your face dearly as he peered into your eyes, his were soft. Different from the cruelty he held within, the hatred that burned and destruction that seeked to explode.

You saw a little boy.

Your hand came to press his hand further against your cheek, till you slid his palm to your lips. He appeared so calm when you pressed the first kiss, lips tracing the lines along his palm with all the care in the world.

But you needed to change your view, see him as the man he now was. As the man he had become.

“I love you,” he repeated, and you let go of his hand. It fell limp by his side, cards all but forgotten. There was a much more pressing matter at hand, because you truly needed to see him as he was.

It was necessary if you planned to kill him.

[its-me-im-coraline]

Little Puppet // Ethan Torchio, Damiano David

words // 4261, i have never written this much in one go my whole life, holy shit

warnings // smut, degradation, sub!reader, name calling (ya know, slut and stuff like that), threesome, oral, no explicit mention of protection, but obvi that's not how it should go in real life, anyways.... thats all i can think right now. has not been proofread

pairing // Ethan Torchio x F!Reader x Damiano David (leaning more to Ethan)

author's note // if you want to be on the tag list let me know. im going with female reader cause that's how it was requested. here's the smut playlist, def listen to it when you get to the smut part, or the whole time, whatever you want. thanks to anyone who adds songs to the playlist 💘

i feel like i cpupve made it kinkier but at 1 am and with over 4000 words i was a little tired to do that.

request // yes, here

summary // Ethan can not stop thinking of sharing his fwb with his bandmate, Damiano. A thought sparked from a random drunk conversation he had with his best friend will end up with them both pleasing Reader to tears

Experimenting in the bedroom was nothing unusual for Ethan and Y/N. The two had known each other for quite a while, overtaken by attraction but neither was ready for a relationship. Instead the pair opted for a slightly different compromise, one that had no name, no label, for now. While neither had the intention of an actual romantic partnership, it never stopped them from being loving and affectionate towards each other. Neither would ever have to leave before the morning comes.

Thus, as the light shone through his bedroom window, Ethan opened up his eyes, looking at the person laying by his side. Such a beauty, the shy rays of sun laying over the features Ethan so many times observed. It was common to do this in the morning, it would calm him down, especially on the very busy days.

“Anything particular you are thinking of while staring at me, Ethan?” There was no hesitation, no grogginess coming from Y/N’s voice, Ethan realised how he was not the only one awake previously.

“Well, I am, but I am not sure you could handle it,” he responded, smirking down at the laying figure, leaving a few kisses before finishing his reply, “plus, it is too early in the morning for such sinful thoughts.”

“Mhm, as if our endeavours last night were holy,” Y/N laughed, kissing Ethan back, as his lips crushed into hers.

“Well, you were certainly calling god if I recall correctly, cucciola, no?”

Maybe what made this situation not be awkward was exactly the fact that the two were friends. They thrived from the friendly banter, never missed an opportunity to mess with each other. It was just how they were and it worked perfectly to their benefit.

“I can tell it is troubling you, Edgar. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

"It's nothing amore let's just get ready. I'm quite hungry if you must know," he mumbled on her neck, trailing kisses all the way to her lips before abandoning the bed.

“Come on,” he called, ushering the girl to follow him.

Their feet were bare, no clothing no nothing -at least until Y/N pulled a few pieces of clothing for them both to wear- as they walked into the bathroom to start their day. They stood right next to each other as they washed their teeth, washed their faces, fixed their hair and so on and so forth.

“Isn’t that shirt too small for you, dolcezza,” commented Ethan, laughing at his own joke and poking Y/N’s side.

“Eh, well, I can take it off,” she suggested, pulling at the hem of his shirt that she was wearing. That only resulted in a laugh from the tall man, him shuffling her hair and walking out of the bathroom, putting distance between him and Y/N’s complaining about messing up her hair.

After that everything moved quite quickly. Y/N left the cosy home and went to her own house, leaving Ethan with his bandmates to work on their upcoming stuff. She knew how much it meant to him, but she also knew how stressful this career was to him. She always had something small to do to make his days even a little bit more relaxing, of course one of them being their nocturnal activities.

By the time night got around the drummer was sitting at the side of the pool, next to a small table, a beer in his hand as music played in the background. Everyone was doing their own thing: Victoria was swimming, Thomas was preoccupied with a cigarette and his phone and Damiano was sitting on the other side of the previously mentioned table having a conversation with Ethan. It started with speaking about small things before the subject turned more serious.

“You really like her, don’t you?” Damiano had, very early on, caught on his friend’s emotion, he was not very sure that Ethan was aware of his own feelings. It had become a little stupid in the frontman’s mind.

“I am not sure, Dami. She’s great, she is, and we are really close friends but… I don’t know…” Clueless as ever, thought the older man.

“Well, if anything at least you guys have a fucking amazing sex life, everyone can hear,” he laughed out, semi teasing his friend but kind of revaling a piece of information no one had had the heart to tell the tall man.

It caught him by surprise. He was never shy about his sex life, and truth be told he and Y/N never hid their predicament… He simply never thought they were being that loud; maybe that’s exactly the reason he had not understood the others could hear, the reason as to why they were so loud. “Mhm, didn't think you could,” he responded and took a drag of his cigarette.

Damiano copied his action, inhaling his own smoke and releasing it before he decided to say exactly what he was thinking. “Don’t worry about it. I personally don’t mind it, it’s kind of… entertaining.”

If Ethan was surprised before then now he was shocked and blushing. Of course, it was not in his nature to show it, and make this feeling obvious, but he surely had thoughts running through his head now. “So, what? You jack off to us having sex, though about a threesome? What is it?”

“Maybe a bit of both,” said Damiano, looking down at his beer. He was a bit ashamed but at the same time he could not keep his mouth shut, the alcohol overtaking his proper ability to keep some thoughts to himself. “I have to be honest, the noises she makes, they kill me, man.”

Everyone could see the gears in Ethan’s mind turn. On the one hand contemplating his friend’s confession and on the other thinking of all the ways he could punish Y/N for being as loud as she was.“So, if I asked you to join, you’d be in?”

Now it was the frontman’s turn to get shocked and blush, but he certainly could not lie. He would be more than into it, considering the many times he has thought of that, each and every one of them leading to him either taking a cold shower or taking care of himself hoping that it’d be Y/N instead. “Yes, I suppose I would…”

The conversation stayed at that, neither of the two men knowing exactly what to say or do at the time being. Instead they opted to wait it out, see when the proper time comes to bring it up again before deciding on what to do. And that day came soon, sooner than either anticipated.

Y/N had been especially bratty -just maybe two days after the conversation occurred- pushing Ethan to his limit with the teasing, the innuendos and the clothes she was wearing. It was the perfect occasion. A little punishment was in store and the tall man knew exactly how to execute it.

“What the fuck was that?” Ethan’s voice was stern, not nearly close to a yell but authoritative nonetheless, the stoic expression on his face never failing to let Y/N know exactly what he was thinking of: she was going to be fucked, both literally and figuratively, but she was surely into that.

“Such a little slut,” he voiced, pulling the girl to his body, their faces almost touching and their breaths mixing together. A whine left her lips but Ethan was quick to shut it with his words, “you were not complaining when you acted like one, cucciola. In front of everybody as well. Did you see how Dami was looking at you? I’m sure you flashed him at least once all night.”

The girl shivered at what her friend was suggesting, a tingling feeling was taking over her pussy, legs already ready to fail her.

“Maybe he could help me punish you.” These words almost send Y/N in a frenzy. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, an obvious gasp escaping her lips, causing a deep laugh from Ethan.

“You like that idea, don’t you?” She simply nodded her head, mind racing to all the possible outcomes of tonight.

“I need your words, dolcezza. I need your explicit consent to this,” he whispered, holding Y/N’s face in his hands, leaving a kiss just next to her lips.

She softly responded with a yes, voice trembling and low, unable to come out properly. She had gotten probably a little too excited.

“Be a doll and just sit there, yeah. I’m going to go call Damiano. I’m sure he is dying to see how desperate you are to have both of us.” With that the man left the room, presumably going to call his friend over.

When Damiano walked into the room Y/N was violently taken out of her thoughts, the man’s energy overtaking the whole room, his temperament easing any possible worry the girl could have for this situation.

“I’m here dolcezza,” called Damiano, sitting next to her on the bed with the biggest shit eating grin he could possibly have.

“Don’t be so eager, Dami. She’ll be cocky within minutes, we don’t want that.” Always the stern dom he is, Ethan asserted himself over both people in the people. He did not need many words or strong actions to show them who is in charge, a look and his tone were enough to let that be known.

Damiano looked down, in a similar fashion from a few days prior, only this time he was not really shy, more like a puppy that just got yelled at.

“Why don’t you get undressed Damiano, our little puppet over here can not wait to see what you have to offer.” The man mentioned smirked, his confidence reappearing in a second before obliging to his friend’s request.

He decided to play it dirty, going slow, surely attempting to give the little puppet a show. His hands moved slowly, pulling his shirt up and over his head before traveling from his chest to his waist in a seductive way, stopping for just a moment, making sure Y/N’s eyes were right on his own before removing his belt and opening up his pants. In the meanwhile, Ethan had moved Y/N to be sitting on her knees on the floor, in front of the undressing man, eye level with his pants’ zipper.

“Help Damiano, amore. It seems he’s struggling with his pants and you are right where you need to.” She shivered at his words but followed the orders, slowly unbuttoning his pants, her face having moved a little too close -not that it was not welcome- pulling them down and simply gawking at the view in front of her.

She went to move, to please, but her dominating best friend seemed to have other plans.”Not yet, puppet. Come on. This is supposed to be a punishment for you, but we all know how much a cock shucking slut you are. You’ll get his dick but you have more work to do.”

Damiano opposed his friend, already feeling desperate to get whatever he could from the girl below him, dying to feel her lips around his cock, oh and her tongue, oh that tongue he had seen plenty of times devouring ice cream cones in the most pornographic way possible. Sometimes he wished she was in one.

“I think it’s a good start to a punishment, Ethan. She can suck my cocka and then just simply not get it fucking her, yet.” His plan had some practicality to it, knowing very well how much she’d be dying to have a dick buried deep inside her after getting a feel in her mouth.

“I’ll allow it,” said Ethan, starting the process of undressing himself, and looking around the room for anything that could bring more pleasure to everyone involved.

“Well, what are you waiting for, cucciola. Go on, show him how well you blow whistles.” With that the girl wasted no time, pulling Damiano’s boxers down, taking them off him with his help and getting to work. It started off simple, a few pumps at first to get him even harder than he already was (he’d really bet that any man could get hard in seconds seeing her on her knees in front of him, it was a divine view). Her hand was going slowly, her focus on the man’s face, looking up at him all innocently, making sure that his own eyes were on her.

“I am looking at you, dolcezza, don’t worry,” confirmed the man, as if reading her mind.

So, she continued, entirely encouraged to show her best self, to be a good girl for the two men in front of her. Moving on, her hand stayed pumping the man’s cock for a second before her tongue came onto the mix, licking all the way up the curve, a very thick vein getting special attention and then the head. It was already leaking pre-cum, the girl’s antiques driving Damiano insane by the second -and she had not even started blowing him yet. With a push to her head by the singer Y/N really took his cock into her mouth, starting with the head, sucking and bobbing her head a bit, still moving her skilled fingers up and down, with every bob taking more and more of the length reaching a point where she had taken it all. She paused in that place for a second, relaxing her throat, Damiano’s cock resting deep inside her mouth, before she moved in need of breath. The same pattern repeated itself a few more times before the pace got quicker, following the music that was now playing from Ethan’s speaker.

It did not take long for the older man to cum, unexpectedly, in Y/N’s mouth, some delicious sounds leaving her lips and sending vibrations all through his cock, intensifying his orgasm.

“I could have never thought she’s that good, Ethan. Why have you been hoarding her this whole time?” He laughed, all in one breath and blown completely out of his mind.

“Exactly because I know how good she is. But tonight she has been plenty bad, although she’s trying to act all innocent now.”

“I’m a good girl daddy, see?” She questioned, tongue out, showing evidence of her swallowing predicaments, “I took all of it.”

Ethan smiled, looking down to his friend, his big hand holding her jaw and spitting in her mouth as it stayed open. Swallowing that down as well Y/N showed it to the two men, waiting impatiently for the next orders.

No orders came for the time being, Ethan sitting himself on the bed, back resting on the bed frame, opening his legs and motioning for her to sit between them. She clearly obliged, knowing very well that her punishment was already going to be overwhelming but oh so pleasurable and she wanted nothing more.

In all honesty the drummer was played to her needs every time, the punishments being always the outcome she hoped for (except few occasions when she had gotten Ethan so much she ended up edged on for over a week as a punishment, and although the orgasm was spectacular, the wait was torture). Ethan knew it and he was not opposed to it, instead working with the girl’s deviousness.

As she sat between his thighs, back on his chest and palms resting right on his thighs, Ethan used his calves and feet to keep Y/N’s legs spread open, thankful she was wearing a dress and panties that he could easily replace any time he wanted. He prompted Damiano to move between both their legs, face aligned with her pussy, the frontman practically salivating at the sight in front of him.

She had anticipated this night, having bought a cheap but utterly sexy lingerie set online, wearing said lingerie in an attempt to drive Ethan crazy. It was black, with little orange flowers here and there, some lace with mesh material surrounding her pussy, back piece doing little to cover her ass cheeks. Damiano was currently dying at the, almost, disappearance of the fabric due to the wetness leaving absolutely nothing hidden -not that the material could hide much anyway. He moved up, face just a hair’s distance from the wetness, just about to leave a kiss but the other man had different plans.

“Don’t be so eager, Dami, you’ll get what you want in a bit,” he said, palms massaging the girl’s boobs, kisses being left on her neck. “I think she’s overdressed.”

Damiano agreed to the statement, sharing just one simple look with Ethan, reaping the panties apart, her pussy now fully exposed. The singer looked up to his friend once again, a nod of approval being more than enough to shoot the man into action.

His lips swiftly found her clit, not much effort for the skilled man, sucking and kissing the sensitive bud, tongue lapping the juices of her pussy taking advantage of the wetness to stimulate her clit. Y/N’s head fell back, on the drummer’s shoulder, the man taking advantage of the angle and leaving kisses and marks on her neck, one hand always on her chest, the other currently choking her. She moaned so beautifully in his ear, making him harder than he thought he could get, surprised at how well he held himself together.

Damiano kept eating the girl out, fingers starting to dive into her pussy one at a time. He got up to four, said pussy taking them in wonderfully, practically swallowing them within the velvety confines. “I’ve experienced nothing hotter in my life, dolcezza. This pussy is scrumptious, could eat it for days,” he, himself thrusting on the bed, already having gotten hard again, craving some friction. His mouth was leaving wet kisses to her thigh and his fingers were deep inside her, going in and out, Ethan adding his own fingers, playing with her clit edging her closer and closer to the edge.

All the telltales were there: the shaking, the loudness, the closed eyes… She was ready to cum, but it was not something Ethan could allow yet. He stopped his actions, placing a hand on his band mate’s head, said man getting the memo and pausing as well. “You really thought you’d come this easy, amore? Oh no! You have been acting like a desperate slut all day, flashing Damiano and now letting him taste you, knowing it drives me crazy. You have been very naughty,” he explained before shuffling her off his body, moving to stand up.

Y/N could not help but whine, the sound only enabling the two men. “I think she’s been naughty again. Didn’t you say you’d be a good girl, puppet?” She simply nodded head looking down, but not before seeing the look on Damiano’s face. “I think some spanking would put our puppet in place.”

Ethan nodded in agreement, already moving Y/N to bend over the bed, her legs wobbly from her previously denied orgasm. “Count for Damiano, dolcezza,” said the man, leaving a kiss on her back and then starting his actions.

“One.”

Although her words were what was asked of her Damiano was not satisfied, giving her one of his own and speaking up. “Say thank you, puppy, don’t be rude.”

Another spank, “three, thank you,” she followed the orders, jumping forward with every slap on her skin.

As she reached ten it got harder to count. Damiano had started fingering her again, opting to pause his actions after every few thrusts, slamming his palms on her ass cheeks or pussy. It’d be a lie if Y/N said this wasn’t enjoyable-after all she could not stop moaning loudly, but the redness of her ass would disagree.

“Why don’t you keep quiet, puppy? These noises of yours are what got you here. You can’t hide how much you like this, can you, slut?”

For the second time that night, Y/N was on the verge of cumming all over Damiano’s fingers, unable to speak yet again.

“Use,” spank, “your,” spank, “words,” spank.

“I can’t hide, daddy,” she responded, this time leaving an almost screaming moan, eyes rolling all the way to the back of her head, once again almost falling apart.

Before she had the chance Damiano stopped, hands retracting from the girl and into his mouth, tasting her on his lips.

“I think you can take at least one more, puppet. Can you?” Ethan, had been quite distanced this whole time, deciding to let his friend get a taste of his sex partner, but deciding this was the best moment to do his thing.

Y/N nodded in confirmation, letting out a simple “green,” to let Ethan know she was not stopping just yet.

“Beautiful, puppy! You have been doing so good for us, taking your punishment so well, but we are not done yet.” A buzz sound is what concerned the girl, eyes widening at the toy.

It was a small remote virator, imitating sucking on the clit. The drummer placed the girl over his knees, stuffing the toy between his leg and her clit, shocking the sensitive bud. “I think you can take a few more spanks,” said the man, landing one at the expanse of her thigh, the skin giggling at the contact.

“Damiano, count,” ordered the assertive man, seeing his friend kneel in front of Y/N, kissing her and then doing as he was told.

“I think we were left on twenty-three. Twenty four,” he began, counting all the way to forty before the ordeal was over.

The whole time Y/N was shaking, just about to fall off the edge, asking for permission to cum but her wishes were not granted just yet. She was exhausted, overstimulated, frustrated, and now unable to move on her own. But, oh man did she need more. The two men were more than willing to assist her.

“You are doing so well, dolcezza,” praised Damiano, thinking of what to do next.

“Why don’t you get up, puppet. I think it’s time you get what you want.”

At that, her head perked up, already jumping from Ethan’s lap (almost falling while doing so) eager to be fucked and to finally orgasm. “I want you on all fours. You suck me off, Dami can fuck your pussy. I’m sure you’d love that.” She nodded, moving to be in all fours as Ethan stood on his knees on top of the bed, Damiano following suit and placing himself behind Y/N.

“Agh,” he groaned, “sei così bagnata, bambina,” he commented, collecting all the wetness on his cock before pushing inside her.

The action and the moans it emitted caused vibrations to Ethan, making him groan in pleasure, Y/N’s talent to shuck not wavering now. “You like this a lot, puppet, don’t you? Being fucked by my best friend while sucking my cock, huh? You like that?”

She could only hum in response, holes being filled to the brim so pleasurably. It was all better than she expected, more overwhelming, so she could not keep it anymore. She released Ethan’s cock, screaming loudly as her release finally overtook her, Damiano groaning in contentment. He pulled out of her afterwards, jacking himself off a bit before coating her back in his own cum.

Now the only one left unsatisfied was Ethan. His pleasure was cut short for the girl’s release, and although he was not mad, he certainly wanted to feel her.

“Can you handle one more for me, cucciola? You did such a good job so far but I need to feel you.” Y/N nodded and changed her position, this time her legs were in the air, soon to be wrapped around the drummer, eyes half closed in bliss.

“Such a good girl for me,” Ethan praised one more time before he started his rhythm slamming into her. This time it did not take long for both of them to reach their highs, the man riding out both of them and after taking a second to breathe he pulled out, falling right next to her.

“Are you ok?” This time the concerned man was Damiano, a bottle of water already in his hands and ready to give it to the girl.

“Mhm… Thank you,” she mumbled, voice almost a whisper but the smile was hard to miss.

“I think I should leave,” said the front man and he went to get dressed, abandoning the room, leaving only Ethan and Y/N in it.

Ethan got up quickly, looking around for a cloth as he got to the bathroom and wet it with some warm water. Coming back, he used it to clean Y/N up; her back from Damiano’s cum, her face from the cum and her dried up juices and her pussy from the left over wetness, a pair of underwear and a t-shirt in his other hand.

“Come one, dolcezza, you did so good. You’ll go to sleep in just a second. Come one, help me get you dressed,” he voiced and started leaving kisses on her face.

“You took both of us wonderfully, thank you.” Another hum as a response.

Ethan realized how at this point she had fallen asleep, fucked out and exhausted, he did not expect her to stay awake.

“I only wish I could tell you this when you’re awake… I think I’m in love with you."

tag list: @bieberhoodforever @tabi-toast @ginny-lily @moriro-da-regina @the-killer-queenie @makapaka11

[j0ne-jjk]

Sex with the Members

Pairing: OT7 Characters: Seokjin, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin, Yoongi, Namjoon, Jungkook Genre: Smut Rating: M 

I originally put this together for an adult BTS group in another location online and it was so popular there, I wanted to post it here for posterity. 

As a reminder: these are OPINIONS. I do not know the guys, nor do I claim to have any actual knowledge of their intimate styles. So if you don’t like it, don’t come at me. 

Seokjin

Jin ultimately wants to ensure his significant other feels safe, comfortable, and desired. He makes it his priority to communicate to his partner how beautiful he finds them.

Jin would be kind and gentle, enjoying slow, sensual love-making over rough and fierce sex. He is constantly checking in with is partner, making sure they are doing okay and still feeling good.

Eventually, he would recognize that he has a praise kink - both for giving and receiving. 

Though not a deal-breaker, Jin would prefer his partner be shorter/smaller than he is so he can feel physically protective. 

To Jin, sex is just another way to express his love to his significant other. He would be willing to explore different kinks, seeing that as a time to create a deeper, more meaningful, trust-filled bond with his partner. 

During kink exploration, he would realize that he likes being choked, so that’s fun... 

Jin’s moans would be loud and slightly nasally. Lots of romantic pet names. He would love to hear his significant other’s moans as well and would encourage them to make noise. 

SEX PLAYLIST: sweet, sappy, Korean ballads.

Hoseok

Hoseok is made of pure sunshine and is always ready with a smile and gentle, encouraging word for his significant other. He would love the times they can laugh together until their sides ache. Hobi’s primary love language is Quality Time, and he would thrive on evening walks along a quiet riverbank, hand in hand, stealing kisses in the privacy of a grove of trees. 

In the bedroom, his sunny personality would continue to shine. Hobi would shower his partner with praise and find little opportunities for giggles throughout sex (slight tickling kink??). He would enjoy making up cute nicknames for his partner and himself in addition to the cute, sappy classics like “jagiya”. 

Hoseok is naturally humble and selfless and prefers to focus on his partner’s pleasure first, while forgetting about his own. When his significant other makes a move to return the favor, Hobi would break out in his signature heart-shaped smile, eyes twinkling with affection. 

Now, our sunshine isn’t necessarily vanilla. Don’t forget, this man is hella flexible, fit, and has killer dancer’s hips. Hoseok would use all of these to his advantage to alternate between pounding into his partner and rolling his hips at just the right angle to hit their sweet spot. 

Hobi’s moans would start out surprisingly low, back in his throat but move higher and more desperate as he gets closer to his release. 

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s rap.

Taehyung

Taehyung is a Daddy Dom, no doubt about it. 

He’s strict, regal, classy, and expects a well-mannered sub. Taehyung would be called Sir and would call his sub kitten or little one. 

He likes seeing his sub in rope or leather bondage and sometimes blindfolded. Taehyung enjoys using toys and light degradation (though nothing too extreme of course, he’s no savage). He will train his sub in edging and orgasm denial, loving the feeling of complete control that he has over them. 

Taehyung would be relatively quiet in the bedroom, more focused on giving instruction and listening to his sub. His moans would be deep and gravelly, much like his singing voice. 

Like any good Dom, Taehyung understands the importance of good aftercare and always tends to his significant other after sex, ensuring they return to a safe emotional space. As soon as the scene is over, Taehyung’s personality changes from demanding Dom to cuddly bear, ready to care for his darling. 

Outside of the bedroom, Taehyung is attentive and doting to his significant other. Of course, he can also be slightly pouty at times, but that can always be fixed with well-timed snuggles, hugs, and forehead kisses.   

SEX PLAYLIST: moody jazz.

Jimin

Listen to me when I tell you: Jimin is a freak in the sheets. It is a fact and no one can tell me otherwise. Some days he would want to be in charge, telling his partner exactly how to please him (power bottom, anyone?), and some days he would be the picture perfect pillow princess. 

Jimin would be willing to try pretty much anything, as long as it wasn’t gross. If he was with a girl, it wouldn’t be long into the relationship before Jimin would bring up his interest in pegging and strap-ons. 

Not shy, Jimin is the kind to send suggestive messages, nude photos, and even videos of himself playing when he’s away from his partner. 

He also loves getting head. Jimin will use his puppy eyes to ask for a blow job at the most inconvenient times. All he needs is a dark corner or broom closet and fifteen minutes and he’ll have his partner convinced and on their knees for him in no time. 

Though his hands are small, he knows how to use his pretty mouth to get his significant other off. Jimin is a fan of teasing and overstimulation (best of both worlds?) and is more than happy to spend quality time with his mouth between his partner’s legs.

Jimin’s moans would be loud, clear, and high, just like his voice. He would babble praises and curse continually, begging his partner to keep going as he nears his climax.

SEX PLAYLIST: dirty, sexy pop music.

Yoongi

It’s no secret that Yoongi is introverted but desires deep emotional and physical connection. He takes his time getting to know his significant other well enough to reach the point of physical intimacy. 

PDA is kept to a minimum, with the exception of hand holding- Yoongi loves holding hands. His large, piano-player hands fit perfectly around those of his significant other, his thumb rubbing gently over their knuckles, fingers squeezing occasionally as a soft reminder of, “I’m still here.” 

The best date is an evening in the Genius Lab, sitting side by side, shoulders touching, taking frequent kiss breaks (it “helps with the writers block”, he claims). Since music is the most important thing to Yoongi, sharing it with his partner is almost as intimate as physical contact. The first time Yoongi shares a new, unfinished song with his significant other, his hands and sweating and his body is trembling like the first time he had sex. 

In the bedroom, Yoongi is attentive, intentional and deliberate. He takes his time to learn everything he possibly can about his partner’s body and pleasure. Sex is slow and sensual, with both bodies pressed fully together to feel as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. 

Yoongi would be relatively quiet during sex, more likely to let out deep gasps and low groans. Occasionally as he reaches his high, his voice cracks in a particularly high-pitched moan, causing a blush to spread across cheeks. Being more of an auditory person, Yoongi would revel in his partner’s moans, encouraging them to make noise. 

Though he appreciates a good blow job, Yoongi actually prefers hand jobs because he can still kiss his partner. 

And of course, I’m not going to let you forget about that Tongue Technology... 

SEX PLAYLIST: underground Korean rap.

Namjoon

Namjoon’s main desire is to express his love for his significant other. Whether it’s a sweet mid morning text, a surprise lunch delivery, or (an attempt at) freshly baked cookies, Joon is always looking for ways to show his partner how much they mean to him. He’s the epitome of romantic. 

With Namjoon, it’s not “sex” but “making love”, and it is sure to be romantic and sensual. Joon wants to make sure his significant other feels beautiful, and enjoys body worship, both given and received. 

Kink exploration is somewhat rare, but Namjoon will try things out if his partner asks. He draws the line at anything that causes pain because it worries him to think that his clumsiness could surface, causing real harm to his partner. 

Aftercare is as important as the actual sex to Joon. He wants to bathe or shower and then cuddle while either talking quietly, watching a movie, or going to sleep.

Namjoon’s moans are deep and low, and during intimacy, his speaking voice is so deep it almost disappears. He speaks in both English and Korean, and groans out so many curse words, it’s almost like he’s invented some of his own. 

SEX PLAYLIST: 90s R&B and slow jams.

Jungkook

Jungkook sheds both his oversized clothing and bad boy stage persona in the bedroom. Always the maknae, he would want to be taken care of during sex. He would love being called “baby boy” or “baby bun” and thrives on praise. Degradation and harsh words would crush him and ruin the mood almost immediately. 

Sometimes bratty (by choice, of course), Jungkook would occasionally inform his significant other that “Kookie needs to be punished.” His favorite punishments include edging and orgasm denial, spanking, and choking. 

Of course, he did work hard for those muscles and has a strength kink for sure. One of his favorite positions is holding his significant other up either pressed up against the wall or with their legs wrapped around his slim waist, while slamming into them. 

Oral is another favorite activity, and Jungkook absolutely loves eating his partner out. It makes his heart so giddy to know that he is the one completely responsible for the pleasure his significant other is feeling. Getting head often makes him cum embarrassingly fast, turning him into a blushing, whining mess.

Jungkook would be very vocal during sex, begging, moaning, and whimpering. His sounds would be high and sweet, with lots of heavy breathing and gasps included. 

SEX PLAYLIST: Ariana Grande or dark, moody music.

[herroyalbubbliness]

The Harder They Fall

Photo Credit: IMDb

This movie looked stunning with the stylish costumes, set designs, fight scenes, cinematography, like it looks good and you want to watch it.

From the vibrant lighting to the interesting and deliberate camera angles which added a breath of fresh air to the depiction of the scenes.

And the nod to Chadwick Boseman with his name engraved on the train, I loved it so much. He lives on in our hearts.

I loved how the camera will zoom in on a character to a beat whether it was music or the sounds of firing shots. When we are introduced to Stagecoach Mary, the camera zooms in on her legs with the pistol being stomped on the ground as the camera zoomed in on Nat Love to the beat of the stomps. I loved it!

With the introduction of a particular character, how the camera focuses on two gold guns about to be fired with a blurry shot of the character in the background, I thought that was a really cool shot.

I loved the introduction of every character. We get to know them and their capabilities very quickly whilst shrouded in mystery that we just want to know more and can't get enough.

This movie was hilarious and had me laughing at intervals but with heartfelt moments too and a lot of violence and gore. I was fully invested in the fight scenes. I mean they were badass!

The music had me jamming and bobbing my head like I came to a concert or something. I mean we've got reggae, hip-hop, everything. As soon as I heard "Fela Anikulapo Kuti's song, Let's Start" , I was screaming, Naija to the world! The film soundtrack was beautiful. Even the characters were singing with beautiful voices. I need the whole playlist like yesterday!

You could feel the love among the Nat Love Gang and the mutual respect, loyalty and love born out of many trials and tribulations together, between Rufus Buck and Treacherous Trudy. The looks exchanged among the Rufus Buck gang on the train were so relatable and funny. I felt like I was a part of the crew too.

The monologues were delivered with so much emotional depth, I felt it in my heart piercing my very soul.

The ending took me by surprise and left me heartbroken and crying, a testament to the phenomenal acting. And I have to say that was my favourite part of the film. In the words of Confucius, "before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves."

From the cold-hearted Cherokee Bill whose calmness and faux politeness was in dark contrast to his deadliness to Rufus Buck with the constant death glare in his eyes to Treacherous Trudy who commands everywhere she goes and oh, you better not fall for her smiles, she is just as deadly, if not deadlier and please don't make her ask twice! Nat with every facial expression, I kept saying I understand you boo, my gun slinger, Jim with the confidence, swag, humor and so many tricks up his sleeve to Pickett, a man of few words, he lets the songs and oh his gun do most of the talking to my girl Cuffee, ever underestimated but I think it's a superpower. They just never see you coming! And to Stage Coach Mary, in charge and in control! I loved every single person in this cast.

I need a prequel, sequel, give me something please! And we need to see more black cowboys and cowgirls on screen, because oh my did they look good!!! And badass, you mustn't forget that! I think this is my first time of seeing black people in the western genre looking good and stylish in their costumes, owning businesses, having power, just doing their thing and not being portrayed as slaves and I loved it. I want more! I need more!