#I wrote this au and I am chewing on it

[anarchyatthesupermarket]

I want to yell about fic and chapter titling stuff for my necromancy au so like link to series and then spoilers under that

I don't know how much of this will make sense. It's last so my brain isn't working at %100 and I'm autistic so my brain also works in weird ways. I'm bad at articulating my thoughts like this so it all sounded so much better in my head but I had to try. I may add onto this as I get more thoughts about it.

first off, the title of the series itself: "Wait for me, I'm coming, wait, I'm coming with you". Hadestown is based on the greek tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice (my favorite myth). In both the myth and my fic it's a story about a character trying to get someone they love back thought for my necromancy au it's familial love. I also named this series when I didn't know if it was going to end well or not for Rae (I still don't know but shush, we're not going to talk about that).

The first fic: "I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him unground" from Talk by Hozier references Orpheus and Eurydice. I don't have as much to say about this fic bc I wasn't putting as much thought into the chapter names when I wrote them. "Is this a bunker or a shallow grave" (Hollow Moon, The Crane Wives) references the fact that Rae was just pulled from a grave and how whenever he gets anxious those feelings bring up images of dirt/drowning/death. "Can we skip past the death-death cliches" (Touch, Sleeping at Last) is because that's the chapter where Centross dies but is also brought back to death, he gets to "skip" death.

Second fic: "Though I knew my heart would break" (Francesca, Hozier) is abour Everett and Raemond's death and Francesca by Hozier is about two lovers from Dante's Inferno who die together and then spend the rest of eternity together much like how Everett and Raemond are buried together in the same grave. It's a love song about not regretting the choices that brought them to the end/hell because she (Francesca) would do it all again if she ended up with her lover.

Third fic: "All I want is to flip a switch before something breaks that cannot be fixed" (Touch, Sleeping At Last). Again, partially bc this is a telling of what happened around Centross' death but from Fenris/Centross' pov so it felt right to use the same song. Also again, bringing Centross back to life is fixing something that broke.

Fourth fic: "What will you leave behind? Oh we all still die" (Willow Tree March, The Paper Kites) is about Rae trying to figure out his spot in Lodestar Grove in the aftermath of Centross's death. In this fic he talks to Centross and Momboo and his relationship with both of them has changed a lot, he's gotten closer to Centross while any hope of a friendship with Momboo has been left behind with Centross' death.

5th fic: "How long have you been harboring that venom" (My mind now, Paris Paloma) is referring to the venom/hatred Rae has developed for his magic. There's a line in the song ("was it a first offense?") which I feel like fits really well also to what's going on in Rae's mind at this time with what's happening with Momboo (she hates him so much for one thing that he did) and with himself (beating himself up over loosing control once in the library) while also trying to figure out if he (Rae) did something earlier to deserve being treated like he is.

6th fic: "All my love and terror balanced there between those eyes" (Abstract psychopomp, Hozer). Listen, I just love this song. I don't have a lot to say about Caspian's chapter ("the feeling came late, I'm still glad I met you") by itself but Aax's ("the memory hurts but does me no harm") makes me think about how in FableSMP Aax and Rae knew each other as children even though that isn't canon to this au and Fenris' ("the moment I knew I'd no choice but to love you") feels like Rae's finally accepting that he loves his boyfriends and he's happy and he took so long to figure it out ("the feeling came late") and he wants to treasure the time he has with them even though he's going to bring his family back which Rae is convinced will make Cas/Aax/Fenris/everyone hate him but he doesn't want to throw the present away because of the future ("I'm still glad I met you" even though it's going to end badly like a certain greek myth).

7th fic: "My mind has not been silent" (my mind now, Paris Paloma) is Rae telling Jamie about what happened with Momboo that's been unable to ever fully stop thinking about her words. It's also from the same song as fic #5 with mirror (ish) plot lines of someone close to Momboo finding Rae and talking to him as he's struggling with seeing himself as a monster though Rae tells Jamie what happened between him and Momboo but doesn't tell Fenris.

the 8th fic is just a bunch of short stories but I think the title "we're nothing but myths now" (Yeti, Paris Paloma) fics because it's going to be filled with one-shots of stuff that happened away from what's happening directly around Rae and often talking about stuff that happened before Fenris dug Rae up

#9: "Nothing lasts forever, some things aren't meant to be" (Hello My Old Heart, The Oh Hellos), even if Rae isn't constantly thinking about it in this fic there's this acceptance that he's going to bring back his family and the life he built with his friend's can't last. The mentions of rigor mortis, livor mortis, and adipocere return and there's the last time he gets to hang out with Athena, Jamie, Aax, Caspian, and Fenris bc Rae doesn't know if his relationships with them will survive what he has planned.

#10: "If I don't make it back from where I've gone just know I loved you all along" (Inkpot Gods, The Amazing Devil) is Rae going through with his plan despite his belief that he's going to loose his friends. He talks to Isla's grave but we never get to see Rae saying goodbye to his partners (unlike how he got to say goodbye to his family before their death). Maybe he wanted their last memories of him before they realize he's a monster to be good and happy? And in the end he doesn't make it back because bringing his family back proves to be too much.

[tyrannuspitch]

stealing your fanfic concept and gnawing on it like a dog with a bone.

[bitebitesnap]

I am So Very Scared To Write this AU and it shows because I am doing everything to avoid writing it

[kiwibirdlafayette]

wanting to entertain the o!scott x o!jordan ship but being hyperfixated on the potential of all the o!syndisparklez i made during the drought

[ihavethedreamies]

Oh, Baby-Girl | Bang Chan

Bang Chan - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5.5k

Pairing: Bang Chan x Tall!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Mafia AU!, Reader-Insert, Smut, Some Plot

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Mentions of Guns (Mob/Mafia type stuff), Bodyguard! Chan, Mob Boss Daughter! Reader, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! & M! Receiving), Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Spanking, Daddy Kink (it is Bang Chan after all), Unprotected Sex (Not Recommended), Big Dick! Chan

Author's Note: Oh no, what is this? I couldn't have possibly wrote this since I am working so diligently on packing. Well, as long as it's here…

There is just something about the choreography for Chk Chk Boom that did something to me, I'm sure many of you agree.

P.S. If you haven't read my stuff before, or much of it, you might not notice, but the rest of you have probably figured out I got a bit of a face-fucking fascination. Thanks for getting to know me.

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

Being a mob boss’s wife isn’t nearly as fun and glamorous as the movies and shows (and TikTok) make it out to be. However, being the mob boss's daughter? A bit of a different story. You were protected from the violence and crime, but still got to reap the rewards. Fancy clothes, expensive jewelry, a nice car, and a bodyguard as well. Despite never being able to see him, you knew you were well protected as you walked down the streets of New York, spending all of your papa's corrupt money. A few designer shopping bags hung in the crook of your elbow over your cropped jacket, fur lining the ends of the sleeves and lapels. Faux of course, you might be the daughter of a criminal, but you weren't a monster. The thin heels of your over-the-knee (also faux) leather boots clicked on the sidewalk as you tapped away on your phone with your thumb. People moved out of your way as you walked, you just had the aura of 'fuck around and find out'. The gum in your mouth smacked as you chewed, sneering at a child who didn't move out of the way fast enough. Your eye roll was hidden behind your Versace sunglasses, but your down-turned lip covered in dark red lipstick was still obvious. Your stiletto acrylic nails were the same dark red and clicked against your phone as you scrolled through your search results. Despite how you looked and dressed, you still preferred to shop sales. That gave you more bang for your buck, since your father did limit your money some. As you passed an overly full trash can, you plucked the gum from your mouth and onto the pile. It had lost all its flavor… Approaching the next store, you were about to enter when you suddenly felt something instinctual rise up in you. You halted, people scurrying around you still, and with your natural height paired with six-inch pumps, you still stood a head above a lot of the passersby. You felt vulnerable for some reason and huffed in frustration, shoving the door open to the boutique you had stopped in front of. It wasn't your original destination, but you instantly felt safer being inside. It wasn't anywhere close to the first time your ingrained sense of danger had kicked in, and it wouldn't be the last. You know there was at least one bodyguard tailing you even if you never saw him, but that didn't mean the shelter of a store wasn't welcome.

"Welcome." One of the employees calling out snapped you out of your trance, having been looking out the window at the street. You turned and gave her a forced smile and removed your sunglasses. Deciding to look around while you were in the shop, you admired some of the items, but none of them were up to your standard, but that lingering feeling…lingered. Picking up a pair of shoes to look over, you looked out the window more, trying to see if you could pick out anyone lurking outside. Nope. Pressing your lips together, you sighed and moved to leave. Stepping back onto the street, you looked around again, trying to be subtle, almost like you were looking for a cab. Still not seeing anything that stuck out, you moved on and toward your actual destination. You were hit with an even greater sense of doom as you heard the screech of car tires in the distance and you spun around to see a black SUV hurdling down the street, unusually empty for New York. Like it was in slow motion, as the vehicle approached, the window rolled down and a gloved hand stuck out, a Glock in his hand.

"Shit!" You moved to duck behind a parked sedan, and you yelped when your heel snapped as you dove for cover. Your ankle twisted and your tights ripped, but you got behind the vehicle as you heard the gunshots. People around you screamed, and you scrambled to hit the emergency button on your phone, but… It was shattered. It must have hit the sidewalk harder than you did.

"Fuck!" You shoved the device into your purse, and you watched as people ran and screamed. Getting up just enough to peer through the blown-out window of the car you hid behind, your ankle protested, and you fell back down, catching yourself with your hand.

"Did you get her?" You heard a gruff voice shout followed by, "No!" Then, through the running pedestrians, a huge man appeared, a gun in his hand. He was right down the sidewalk, and you were right in view. Before you even had the chance to pray, a figure stepped between you and the assailant. You couldn't see since he was in your way, but you heard his gun go off and watched the goon fall from between the legs of your savior. He had to have been the bodyguard that your father told you was constantly at your tail. The man groaned and cursed, the same SUV coming to help haul him away, clutching as his knee. Sirens grew closer and you tried to get up, pushing on your scraped hand. You winced again, at least three of your nails on that hand were broken, a fourth cracked, and your heel was ruined. It would have been way too awkward to try and stand with just one pump, so you took off your other one.

"Here." The man who saved you had an accent, you couldn't quite place it in the moment. His leather-gloved hands grabbed your forearms and he more or less yanked you up. When you stood before him, he was…short. About an inch or two shorter than you…with your heels off. He was also really fucking hot. It was clear he was a bit shocked at the height difference as well since he had never been so close to you. Was he the guy always guarding you? You guessed it didn't matter if he was shorter if he was protecting you from afar. He shoved his pistol in the back of his pants, and you watched his white t-shirt struggle across his muscular chest as he did so.

"You okay, love?" Australian, it was definitely an Australian accent. And it was also really fucking hot.

"Y-Yes." You finally answered and you jerked to grab your bags, but he was grabbing them along with your purse before you could get close.

"Can you walk?" He nodded at your bare feet, and you stood on one of them, rolling your twisted ankle to test it. Putting weight back on it, "I can manage." He then started to lead you into the nearest alley as the police cruisers grew closer. At least you had stockings on as you meandered through the not exactly clean back alleys, and he finally brought you to another big black SUV parked behind some bakery.

"Here." He opened the passenger door, and you climbed in as he threw your bags in the back. You sat, shaking still as he climbed into the driver's seat.

"Sh-should I be up front?" Your voice was also shaking still, and he started the vehicle.

"The windows are tinted, but we'll be quick."

"Quick? Where are we going?" Your father's building was a good twenty minutes away, let alone the house on the outskirts of the city.

"Closest place is mine."

"Y-you are my bodyguard, right?" You just realized that even though he saved you, that didn't mean it was his job. The man huffed and wrangled his leather jacket off, tossing it in the back as well. The clean lines of your father's crest were tattooed into his bicep, and you slumped in the seat.

"What's your name?"

"Chan."

"Just Chan?"

"Yep." It seemed he had been waiting for you to buckle up, because he reached around you to grab the still unfastened belt, doing it for you. He smelled really fucking good too and your head swam. The spike of adrenaline seemed to get all parts of your body worked up, but you forced the wave of arousal down. It was not the time nor place for any of that. The ride to his place was quiet, thankfully, because if he talked more, you would be a goner. Trying not to be obvious, you would look to the side to stare at him. His side profile was immaculate, strong nose and jaw line, full lips.

"So…are you…?" You didn't know how to word your question without sounding rude.

"Korean." He knew where you were going, and you let out a small 'ah' of understanding. Your father didn't get along with the Yakuza nor the Chinese mafia, so Korean made sense. Korean-Australian at that…right?

"Australia?" You wanted to make sure, not great at picking out the different British-origin accents.

"Yep."

"Am I annoying you?" He sagged at your question and shook his head.

"No, love, just trying to keep an eye out." He pointedly looked in the rear-view mirror and you let out a quiet apology. The silence made since then.

"Put your sunglasses on." Chan nodded at the item in your hand, and you did so, pointedly looking out the window as he pulled up to the security gate of his building's parking garage. Getting in without any comments from the guard, he parked in what you assumed was his designated spot. The guard got out and opened your door for you, giving you his hand for assistance. You grunted when you landed wrong on your still upset angle and he caught you, making your chest press to his.

"S-sorry." You flinched back, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and he smiled gently.

"It's okay, Miss (Y/N)." Fuck, if you're already attracted to a guy with an accent, don't EVER let him say your name. As he was out of view to get your bags you mouthed an exaggerated 'oh my god' and quickly shut your mouth when he shut the back door. He led you toward the entrance door for the building, staying slow to accommodate your slight limp. Getting in the elevator, you still kept your sunglasses on just in case, though the building seemed pretty secure. That didn't mean the security watching the cameras were always completely trustworthy though. Enough money can convince most people of anything. You exhaled tiredly as you stopped by his door and Chan pressed the code into the number pad and it pinged. He held the front door open for you and you entered, hobbling down the entry hall. It was a nice place and you wondered how much your father paid him to watch you nearly 24/7. Or…

"So, are you my guard a lot?"

"During the day." So, yes.

"How long?"

"Hm…about three years."

"Ah." That was a pretty long time. So, he probably knew a lot about you, and you had never seen him before in your life.

"Oh! I need to call papa…" You rummaged through your purse that he had set on the coffee table. As you sat on the couch, you then remembered that your phone was broken.

"I'll handle it, love." Chan set your shopping bags and your shoes down as well and you had totally forgotten about your heels. When did he grab them too?

"I need to call a few others as well, if you want something to eat you can rummage through the kitchen." He nodded toward the other room behind where you sat and you nodded as he went down the other hallway, deeper into the apartment. You took the chance to look around and you wondered if he was ever there. Well, if he watched you all day for three years, he probably wasn't. The decoration was simple, almost like it was a hotel room rather than a living space, but it was nice. Maybe his bedroom was more personal? Hearing his muffled voice from further in, you stood and meandered to the kitchen like he suggested. Opening the fridge, there was more than you expected since the rest of the apartment was barren. Nothing stuck out though, but you noticed an object was in the oven despite it being off. You knew exactly what it was. Opening the oven, you grabbed the pizza box and opened it as your mouth watered. You weren't sure if the pizza was your favorite because you had it all the time (it was a front for your father's shenanigans) or if you genuinely liked it. Holding the day-old slice, you chewed absentmindedly, snooping through the rest of Chan's kitchen. He had a little wine display on the counter, and you pulled one of the bottles out to look at the label. You snorted, of course he had your family's vintage. Maybe he got a discount? At least you knew you liked it. Holding the slice in your mouth as you reached for a wine glass in the cupboard, you had to get on your tip toes to reach one. Could he normally reach them? There was dust on the glass, and you pondered if he ever used them.

"Sorry I don't use those glasses often." His voice startled you, but you kept a firm grip on the glass then set it down.

"That's fine… Do you just…drink from it?" You easily and expertly pulled the cork out with your bare hands since it was sticking out enough and he blinked at the ease with which you did so. Just because you were the daughter of a mob boss and didn't fight yourself, didn't mean you weren't strong. Your father made sure if it came to it, you could punch a guy's teeth out just as well as any bodyguard. That didn't help with guns, mind you.

"Uh, no," he huffed an airy laugh, it was actually kind of cute, "I just use a normal glass." He went to the cupboard next to the one you had been in and grabbed a square-shaped cup that looked like it was more for whiskey than wine.

"Are you doing okay, love?" He leaned against the counter as you poured yourself a glass after giving him some.

"I guess. My ankle kind of hurts still." You easily balanced on one leg, lifting the other foot to roll the joint around, testing its pain level.

"Just because I've never met you face to face doesn't mean I don't know you. Are you okay?" He pressed and you flinched to look at him. It wasn't…creepy perse, just, odd. You sighed, taking a sip, your hand still shaking a bit.

"Y-yeah. I mean, I've been around guns and stuff, but… I myself have never been shot at, you know?"

"I do, actually." He smiled cheekily and you sighed in mock annoyance.

"Well, it’s a little unfair that you seem to know me so well and I have no knowledge of you." You walked around the island and back toward the living room, sitting in relief on the couch. You crossed your leg over the other, injured ankle dangling in the air. Chan sat down next to you, leg up on the cushion so he could face you, toned arm resting on the back of the sofa. You felt his eyes linger on your tight-clad legs, your leather short-shorts showing most of your thighs. His gaze stopped at the tear in the supposedly tear-proof pantyhose, then snapped his head up like he just got startled awake. The man knew you knew he was ogling your legs and the tips of ears turned red as he cleared his throat. How was such a handsome man so cute?

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you get to be my bodyguard?"

"I had no mafia ties before. I guess that was a good thing. I was more or less scouted to be a bodyguard when I was a bouncer at some penthouse night club. It seems some of your dad's guys saw I was good, and I got offered way more money than any other job. They doubled it when I took the spot as your personal bodyguard."

"I see. Where did you learn to shoot so well?"

"I started at the shooting range when I was in college with my friends. I got better through work and your father made sure I was an expert before he put his baby girl's life in my hands."

"Hm, you obviously don't know me that well." You picked on a very small detail, wondering if he would know what it was.

"Hm, not his baby girl, his little kitten."

"Oh, maybe you do know me well then?"

"Quiz me, baby-girl." The way he said it was so different than two seconds prior. His tone deepened with it and a smug look settled casually on his face. You couldn't help but watch his throat move as he swallowed a sip of wine and you took a sip yourself, then set the glass down.

"What is my favorite color?"

"Red. Something else."

"Brand?"

"Prada. Something real (Y/N)." Chan leaned further into the cushion. You were right at eye level, and you wondered…

"Does it bother you I'm taller?" You changed the subject so fast he nearly got whiplash. You genuinely were curious. You were tall for a woman anyway, let alone when you did wear heels, and some guys didn't care for it.

"Height doesn't play into what matters, baby-girl." His slightly cryptic answer intrigued you, but you moved back to the previous topic.

"What's my favorite book and why?" He sighed, huffing a laugh at your shift back.

"You tell people it's 1984 because of the psychological implications behind it, but your favorite is actually Dragon Rider because it got you into fantasy. You read it eight times in elementary school, and you have a signed copy." Chan grinned at your bewildered expression. Once again, in any other situation that would be creepy as hell that he knew, but three years of observation would key him in.

"Okay, smart guy," you picked your glass back up, slinging your legs up under you on the couch, facing him.

"Why do I currently not have a boyfriend?" That was something you couldn't just say, it had to be observed.

"You hate romance. Flowers, chocolates, a fancy meal. You hate it, but because you like fancy clothes and jewelry, men think you lean that way. You'd prefer a movie date at home or going horseback riding." Shit, that was a little creepy. More so that he knew you so well, it was like he could see into your head, that kind of creepy. Not that he was a creep. Chan nearly cackled as he giggled at your bewildered expression, and you whined. Why was he that cute?

"Why are you that cute?" You accidentally spoke your thoughts aloud and you immediately froze, since he did too.

"I'm cute?" He managed to get out after you both sputtered for a few seconds.

"W-well, I mean-"

"I'm cute?" The simple inflection change completely shifted the meaning of his question.

"You think I'm cute?" You whispered and he set his own glass down, then took yours so he could do the same. He shifted down the cushion, so his knee touched yours. Chan leaned in and you clenched your jaw to remain strong. Don't kiss him, don't kiss him, don't kiss him.

"Baby-girl, if I didn't do you really think I would still be watching you ten hours a day, every day?" Oh. That was a good point. Chan crooked a brow, waiting for an answer or something, don't kiss him.

"You want to kiss me that bad?" he finally asked, and you jolted back, eyes leaving his mouth and shooting up to his eyes.

"What?! No?" Your voice cracked and he pressed his pretty lips together, so he didn't laugh at you.

"So, you don't want me to?"

"I never said that-" He caught you. Literally. You had tried to reel back so you could get off the couch, but his hand grabbed your wrist. It was gentle, but tight enough that he could yank you back to him, and he swallowed the squeak he pulled out of you. Your body melted, all the tension from the earlier attack as well as the sexual kind that had been quickly taking your body over, left. The kiss grew from a low heat to a full inferno rapidly. Your jacket was shed, then your necklaces and bracelets, and as his tongue crept into your mouth, you clawed at his shirt. Your fingers unevenly scratched at his skin through the fabric since about half of them were broken. You both panted when he pulled back. He slightly shoved you down so your back hit the cushion and he sat up more on his knees and you watched with glee as his shirt came off. Fucking hell, he was perfect.

"Oh my god." You gasped and his smug grin twitched briefly in bashfulness, but he composed himself.

"Let me see you, baby-girl." He easily held himself up over you as his body nestled above yours, his strong jean-clad thigh jammed between your mostly bare legs. He kissed you again as his fingers easily plucked the buttons of your shirt open and he pulled you up by the shirt. As you sat up, you yanked the shirt out of where it was tucked into your shorts and then tossed it away before falling back. The micro-fiber was a much nicer feeling than what could have been cold leather. You shivered when his calloused hands ran over the smooth and soft skin of your sides and tummy. His nose ran over your collar bone, and he nuzzled the swell of your breasts where they sat in your plain nude bra. If you knew you were going to get fucked that night, you would have worn something much sexier.

"Don't worry, it's coming off anyway." It was like he could read your mind and you yiped in shock as he unfastened the front latch so quickly it was like he did it telepathically.

"You wear them with a front latch because you can't reach around your back from when you hurt your shoulder in middle school." He really did know you well. You just blinked but then Chan forced a mewl from you as his strong thigh pressed hard into your covered mound.

"Focus, baby-girl." His voice had lowered even further, and it made you shiver. Strong hands gripped your ass over your shorts, pulling your hips to grind on his leg as his mouth met yours again. You whimpered through the kiss, goosebumps raising on your skin as the button of your shorts easily slipped open, the zipper was pulled down, and then your pants were soaring through the air somewhere you cared not.

"These are already torn…" He justified as he grabbed the hem of your pantyhose and easily ripped them to literal shreds. Chan let the remnants fall to the floor and you felt your slick through your panties against your bare thighs. At least your panties were a cute lacey purple and not just plain nude.

"You're absolutely stunning." He praised, hand running up your thigh so he could hitch it against his hip. Chan rolled his hips, and you squealed at the large bulge in his pants pressing to your barely covered cunt. If he felt that big through jeans, what the hell was he hiding? He chuckled where your hips jumped to get another brush of friction, reaching into his back pocket. As he pulled the foil package from his pants you snatched it from him.

"Planning this?" You tried to tease him, but his gaze darkened.

"Oh, baby-girl, I've wanted to fuck you for two years now." The man declared. You turned the packet over to look at the label, making a mental note at the size, then you looked at him coyly.

"You clean?"

"Yes?"

"Good." You tossed it behind your shoulder, then grabbed his belt loop, pulling him to you as you sat up. You smirked up at him, head tipped back so you could look him in the eye.

"Can you really feel me like you want through a rubber?" He swallowed hard, all that confidence from before seemingly to leave, then rushed back.

"Not even fucking close." He admitted, pushing you back down and starting to lay open mouth kisses against your neck. He sucked hard, his teeth nibbling the flesh and you shuddered with a delighted whine.

"We can put my pill to the test." You teased and he groaned, kissing down your chest. His mouth sealed over your nipple as he wrestled his jeans off and you exhaled in bliss as his fingers rubbed at your folds through the fabric still covering them.

"You care about these?" He snapped the hem of the undergarment. You did, but you really wanted to watch him tear them up more.

"Nope." You popped the 'p' and the lace ripped and joined your other items of clothing somewhere behind him. You yelped when his hands grabbed your waist and shoved you up the sectional, so he had room to lay on his stomach. Before you got the chance to prop yourself up on your elbows, his tongue ran up the folds of your pussy and his nose brushed your clit.

"Fuck!" You tossed your head back, body twitching as he decided to bury his tongue inside you. He groaned at your taste, hands roughly grabbing the backs of your thighs. He rolled you back, holding your legs apart and up as he mouthed at you like a man starved. Your little mewls and squeaks flew out between heaving breaths, and you felt his grip tighten, knowing he would leave bruises. When he let go of your left leg, he made sure you rested it on the back of the couch, and then his finger pressed into your twitching cunt.

"You’re drippin’." He chuckled, then added another finger and your whole body seized. Expertly, he crooked his fingers up, the ends pressing against your cervix and with a final lick to your clit, you came. He eagerly helped you ride out your high, then cleaned his fingers off with his tongue as you panted for air. Your forearm was slung over your eyes as you came back to earth, and you only moved your arm to watch as he removed his final garment. You hadn't even got a chance to look at him in just his boxers, but there he stood in absolute glory. His cock stood proud, arching up toward his toned stomach and you heaved yourself up so you could see him better.

"Oh~" You giggled, wrapping your fingers around his cock and he groaned at the feeling. You bit your lip, eyes meeting his giddily, then you swallowed the tip, whining at salt of his pre.

"(Y/N), baby-girl~" He tossed his head back as you took more of him into your mouth. He was thick, your jaw protesting a bit, and you still had a good few inches to go when the head hit the back of your throat. Your eyes flicked to his again, and you made sure to watch his face and you kept going, only gagging slightly as your nose pressed to his groin.

"Oh, fuck." He nearly whimpered, hands gripping your hair, then loosened his grip. He groaned as you bobbed your head, breath harshly moving through your nose as his cock filled and left your throat. His hips jumped and the sudden movement made you gag a bit harder, but it made your cunt clench as well.

"Shit, sorry!" He panicked, but you pulled off slowly, giving him your best boba eyes.

"Wanna keep going?" You hoped your intention was clear and he didn't even hesitate. The hands still in your hair pulled you back onto his cock and you sat like a good girl as the fat head of Chan's dick battered your throat. Your eyes rolled back, loving not just his rough movements, but the pretty noises leaving his mouth.

"Hm, you want me to cum down your throat, baby-girl?" Chan's hips jerked unevenly, and you could feel his dick pulse on your tongue. You hummed and nearly wiggled with glee as he pressed your nose hard against his lower stomach and painted your throat white. You eagerly swallowed each pump and drop, and he mumbled something about wondering why he waited so long to have you. Only half-softened, he pulled out of your mouth, and you licked the rest off his release of your lips. You didn't even get the chance to give him a smug grin before you were flipped over onto your stomach, and he heaved your hips up.

"Tell me if I do something wrong." His comment seemed odd, but it seemed he really did know you well. You gasped a moan as his hand smacked your ass, the skin stinging, and he could see your empty cunt clench around nothing.

"You want daddy's cock?" His thumb ran through the slick of your folds, and you trembled. There was a very specific reason you only called your father 'papa'. You only wished you had found Chan sooner to actually put it into practice.

"Fuck, yes, daddy!" You squealed in joy, hiccupping when his other hand slapped your other ass cheek.

"Get ready, then baby-girl." You were ready mentally, but your pussy wasn't. Your cunt burned as he buried his fat cock into you with one thrust. You reveled in the sting, craved it, and your already tight walls clenched around him hard. Even if he wasn't fucking you from behind, you were sure he was long enough to fill you completely, the tip nestled tight against your cervix.

"Fucking hell." You sighed, nails digging into the thick fabric of the couch. He let you get used to the stretch, but you just wanted him to move, you were even getting antsy.

"Move, please." Your wiggled were stopped with a hard spank. You yelped.

"Daddy, please." You corrected and he ran his thumb over the reddening skin.

"Sure thing, love." Your cunt tried desperately to keep his cock inside, and a few drops of your wet landed on the couch. Your breath left you when his hips snapped, fucking back into you hard and fast, his pace not letting you catch it back. He loved the little mewls and grunts he was literally fucking out of you. Your cheek was pressed to the cushion, drool already pooling from the corner of your mouth. He had waited too long to take you, he decided, and he was going to make up for the lost time.

"Ch-chan, fuck!" Your orgasm was cresting fast, a familiar burn rising with your orgasm. Spank!

"Fuck, daddy, I'm gonna-" Your breath shuddered as your orgasm hit and he slowed his pace some, grinding his cock into you as your pussy spasmed.

"Oh, baby-girl~!" He groaned as your cunt squirted even more slick onto his groin and balls, even both of your thighs. You slumped after what seemed like minutes and heaved for air, but he wasn't anywhere close to done. Your near scream as he started to pummel his hips against your ass again went straight to his head. He leaned over you, hands near your shoulders. Normally, he was used to leaning over a girl quite a bit, but his hands fell to the sides of your shoulders rather than your head, your body just as long as his, legs even longer. Despite the small height difference (in your favor), you felt small under him, he had broad shoulders and thick muscles, and an even thicker cock. The hard and deep thrusts turned shallow, his dick barely leaving your cunt but battering it at the same time, bringing you up to and over another orgasm fast.

"So deep, daddy~" You nearly cheered, and he found your weakness. He pressed his hips into yours, barely moving them and you gasped, a fourth orgasm already approaching. He felt your walls clench harder and you felt your pussy start to sting, but you needed to fall apart again. It was too much for him then, your raw heat and gummy walls begging him to pump you full.

"Gotta test that pill." He mumbled, then groaned as he finally fell over as well. The sticky heat of his cum filling you, so much it spurted out from around where your bodies met, pushed you over the edge as well. Your head swam from the force of your final orgasm, stars dotting your vision. As he panted for air over you, he watched your eyes flutter; you were wiped out.

"I'll let you sleep over, baby-girl. Gotta rest for when I fuck you stupid tomorrow morning."

Master-Master List

Stray Kids Master List

[btsmosphere]

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 15: Powerless

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🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: It's time to make the fight on your terms.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.4k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence, violence with superpowers, murder, this is the most violent one, swearing, injuries, discussion of homelessness, discussion of crime

a/n: If you didn't read the warnings!! Or even if you did! This is your warning for on-screen murder. It's not very gory, but it is very much there. (spoiler, but) we kill our villains in this one lads, it was kind of the whole point of this thing :))) also most of the word count on this one is the fight so help me lmao, why do I do this to myself🤣 With that out of the way, I am super excited for this chapter!! Protective Jungkook now applies to yn maybe more than anyone and hello yes I am here for it (ofc bc I wrote it ksdfghfl) Enjoy!! And do let me know if you like it!💜💜

Jungkook’s hand was still clutched in yours as you crept together through alleyways. Far, now, from your usual haunt, you recognised none of these streets, but Jungkook never hesitated in his steps.

Sure enough, he led you round a cluster of dustbins on one corner and stopped at last in front of a heavy door. Graffiti was scrawled over the entrance and across the entire wall. If you were to arrive here in the dark, you may not have noticed the seam marking out a doorway at all.

“I thought he might choose this place,” Jungkook muttered to you, “this is where Namjoon first picked me up, after I got my powers. He operated from here until his partnerships brought in enough money for the place in town.”

He turned to knock on the door. All you could do was squeeze his hand, eyeing the surroundings. Things must have changed from before. This was where your team had begun, long before you came into the picture.

The door swung open. Jin’s face emerged, morphing instantly from hostility to relief when he saw you.

Then his eyes moved down, and lingered on your clasped hands.

If you weren’t mistaken, a faint smirk lifted his mouth, but he closed his lips matter-of-factly and forced it away. Only a telltale raise of his eyebrows made you chew your lip as he let you both past him and inside.

A murky corridor led to another sturdy door, and then you were in a larger room. It was bare of furniture, the most notable features the peeling paint and a threadbare carpet lining the space. The walls either side of you sported large windows, but the curtains remained drawn; Yoongi could be the only explanation for the room being fully lit regardless. There were no bulbs in the fixtures.

Something in your chest loosened at the sight of your whole team gathered inside. Everyone had got here before you. Namjoon was pacing in the centre. Hobi slumped against the far wall, Jimin beside him, clothes bloody but a beaming smile on his face.

At the clunk of the door, Namjoon whirled around, finally stopping his impatient strides.

All eyes fell on you. A similar reaction to Jin’s outside swept the room. Reluctantly, you and Jungkook let your fingers slide apart, although you shifted a little closer to him.

Namjoon’s stare, intense and unreadable as always, left you in such suspense that you had to look away. Unfortunately, it brought you eye-to-eye with Jimin, who was being the least subtle of them all. His cheeks were plump with the force of his smile, and he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

You bit back your own grin.

Namjoon, for his part, shook his head and resolved to ignore it. Or deal with it later, at least.

“What did you guys do?”

Or maybe not. Clamping your mouth shut, your eyes widened a fraction. What were you supposed to tell him?

“We, uh-” Jungkook stammered out, before Namjoon pinched his brow.

“I mean with the monster that attacked us,” he cut you off.

You sighed in relief.

“Oh, that…” Jungkook laughed, sheepish.

In three brusque strides, Namjoon marched closer, towards an old television in the corner behind you. A red glow surrounded it as he rapped on the top, and then images flickered to life on the screen.

Blue lights and smoke washed over vehicles rammed haphazardly into a street. Your street.

You didn’t bother reading the fast-scrolling banner below the picture, letting the voiceover fill you in.

“Reports were made of Bolt heading to stop a creature, which he claimed to have escaped from within an operating villain base…” the reporter read, “but on arrival, the beast appears to have been tamed. No damage was sustained to surrounding properties, and a team is working to sedate and control it…”

The screen flashed to a blurry close-up of Frank as you had left him, snoring among the wreckage.

“How the hell did you stop it?” Namjoon demanded, the device blinking back to silence as he turned back to you and Jungkook.

“Well, Y/N, um…” Jungkook gestured for you to take over.

“It’s one of Kuyang’s,” you explained, “there’s this patch behind his ear, it sends him right to sleep. It’s just… a bit difficult to get to.”

“That thing has ears?” Jin echoed.

Namjoon folded his arms and took in the both of you.

“Good work, then. That was lucky. At least it’s lessened some of what Bolt’s trying to pin on us. But this was more than a simple attack.”

He paced again to the centre of the room.

“Bolt doesn’t act on accident; he’s showed us that much. He tried to take us out directly today. He wants to eradicate us. That’s his message, and it’s final. He’ll keep coming for us until one side is destroyed.”

His words bristled around the room, but not with fear. You sensed the rage and determination you shared with your brothers.

You weren’t backing down.

If Bolt was going to make it us vs them, you would just have to win that fight.

Turning, Namjoon met eyes with Jin, who stepped forward to stand beside him.

“At least we know what Bolt has at his disposal,” Jin said, “and what he doesn’t. We know the weapons we’re up against, so I think we can take on any fighters he sends our way. What really counts is the man himself.”

“We’re going to him, right?” Yoongi spoke from his place leaning against the curtain. “I don’t want to wait for him to come after us again. He wants the fight; we make it on our terms.”

Regarding him seriously, Namjoon nodded.

Meanwhile, Jin’s words were stirring something else in your mind. Something you had forgotten in the blur of defeat and panic that had ensued since your fight with Monsoon.

We know what weapons we’re up against…

“Wait,” you breathed. It was enough to snag the group’s attention, tense gazes all finding you. Closest was Jungkook, frowning down at you.

You gulped, and met their eyes.

“When I went after Monsoon,” you began, “I found the shield ray, even if I didn’t get hold of it. But that wasn’t all… He had a collection. And I recognised another one, too. I thought I had burned it up, in the parking lot, but there was another one.”

You had to admit that some nerves crept in at the unsettled silence that followed. Namjoon stared.

“No…” he shook his head, “you’re saying they have the Razer?”

“The one that takes your powers…” you replied, “yes.”

Namjoon swore.

“You definitely destroyed it?”

“Without a doubt,” Jungkook cut in, “I felt the shockwaves in that fight.”

You nodded along with him. Namjoon wasn’t asking to doubt you, though, and took you at your word. You had seen the broken, lifeless shell of that awful gun. No, they had gained another somehow.

“They must have got hold of a blueprint, or a prototype, somehow,” Jin suggested.

“However they did it, it’s best we know what we’re going up against,” Namjoon resolved. He looked around, meeting everyone’s eyes. “You all know what it looks like?”

Nods met him.

“Then watch your backs. We’re still doing this.”

“What was it like?”

By now, you were acquainted with the view from this spot, sitting against the wall in a corner of this place. But how different had it been, when the boys still lived here?

“Hm?”

Jungkook turned to you, resting his head back against the wall. The two of you sat not far from the others, all of you sitting around waiting for Hobi to heal up and for Jin to get whatever results he was hoping for from a beat-up laptop he had pulled from somewhere. You had no idea if he had brought it with him, found it in here, or stolen it. You wouldn’t ask, either.

Though the room was wide open now, you still sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook like you had in that cramped hallway. It was difficult to keep the same feeling at bay too. His presence lit you up where you touched, but in front of the others you had to keep up some semblance of sanity, and keep from pouncing on him.

“When you first came here,” you forced your eyes away from his softly quirked lips, and to the room. “What was it like?”

To your dismay, his brows pinched into a frown. He eyed the walls, traced them up to the ceiling with its patches of damp.

He shifted his arm against yours in a shrug.

“It was a roof over my head,” he murmured, “at first.”

“Oh,” you stammered, quiet in your shock, “sorry…”

With a blink and a shake of his head, you watched him pull himself back to you. He shot you a disarmingly genuine smile, albeit small.

“Not your fault,” he assured you, “I never told you.”

Instantly, you knew what he was talking about. Just like you, Jungkook must have first moved in after he got his powers. Of course, the balm of the support from (most of) the others had eventually smoothed over the wounds that heralded your arrival.

They wouldn’t be forgotten though.

Nor would you forget your brothers’ wounds. Jungkook had yet to entrust you with his story, the knowledge of those probably painful moments. He had hardly let you near it, all this time.

“You don’t have to-” you said hastily, but he surprised you.

You spotted his jaw tighten, but his voice was level.

“After my dad… I had nothing. The first time I met Namjoon, I didn’t have powers. I did a job for him. I used to steal; it was about the only thing I could do. My dad taught me to fight, once, after he was home late and some older kids tried to break into our place. I fell in with a certain crowd, but half of them were backstabbing sneaks.”

You weren’t sure he even knew he was scowling as he said that. Despite your horror, you couldn’t break your gaze away from Jungkook as he told the story, spelling out what you had always wondered.

He looked over to Namjoon then, snarl easing.

“I guess he thought I was good. He gave me more jobs, paid good money. It wasn’t one of his where it happened. We were taking some kind of reactor – I can hardly remember the plan. Someone wanted power out to rob a string of banks, I think… All that matters is it went wrong. It wasn’t safe, and it… blew up.”

Your chest tightened along with his voice, hearing him straining to keep his throat from closing.

He slumped back against the wall then. Fixed his eyes on yours.

“I got the brunt of it. Two of the others died. One of them ran away when I woke up and asked him to help me. And there was this… this burning I didn’t understand…”

“I remember,” you whispered.

Slowly, he closed his lips. His eyes bled with recognition. You felt it too, conflict constricting your chest. Appreciation that you could share the feeling, understand one another without the need for explanation, mingled with the strain in your heart of knowing he had been subjected to the same torture.

Here you both were, on the other side of it.

Jungkook took a bracing breath, shifted up where he had sagged down the wall – towards you.

“Namjoon found me.”

His voice brightened almost immediately, and he was looking around the room with new eyes of the old memories.

“V came along not too long after I did… It was the boys that made it home. They still do.”

A soft smile took your lips without thought, and you followed his gaze fondly.

The moment your eyes fell on Jin, you saw him perk up, straightening his back. Then he let out a cheerful “Aha!”.

He was the centre of attention that instant, and went on without prompting, fingers still clacking away at the laptop.

“I managed to get into our own system – and Bolt’s taken something!”

“And that’s… good?” you questioned his jubilant tone.

Keeping his eyes trained on the screen, he quirked his head.

“It means I can see where he’s taking it.”

Namjoon came to hover over Jin’s shoulder until they were satisfied. Soon enough, you found yourself refreshing the mental list of what you were about to go up against.

“If he even manages to get it up and running before we get there, it only has three charges per round. This is the first time I’m glad I haven’t improved it yet,” Jin chuckled, telling you about the newest addition to Bolt’s arsenal, the one he took right from your lab. “Jungkook or YN’s powers will take it out easily.”

And so he went on, through power-extending shurikens to the shield rifle Monsoon had stolen, all the things that had slipped through your fingers and how to defeat them.

“And the Razer…” Jin landed on the last one, but tailed off and exchanged a look with Namjoon.

“Just don’t get hit,” the leader said.

Several eyebrows raised in trepidation. You shuddered with an echoing memory of the gun’s piercing cold.

“Hobi,” Namjoon turned away from the subject, “how are you healing up?”

Shifting to sit away from the wall, Hope pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the skin where Frank had slashed him. It was still pink, but completely closed by now.

“Better,” he beamed.

“Okay,” Namjoon fixed him with a stern eye, “but check in. If it’s putting you at a disadvantage, I want you out of there.”

“Yes boss,” Hobi replied with a grin and a mock salute.

From that alone, you were sure he was feeling better.

“I say” – Jin shut the laptop with a clack – “we’ve waited long enough.”

You couldn’t help but agree. It felt good to get on your feet again. Inside your chest, the warmth of your powers bubbled alongside your bristling determination. Just enough for you to feel them, to assure you.

A private smile stole across your face, and you turned towards Jungkook.

He found you first. A gentle touch on your wrist made you glance down. His thumb ran firmly, softly, over the skin there, and when you looked up his eyes were dark and affirming.

You realised then, that his defensive ring of fire had never burnt away. You were only on the other side of it, one of the ones he accepted in. His look was one of complete trust. When he nodded, you nodded back.

Let’s do this.

Having been inside for some time, the lot of you know marched out to find it night, the city drenched in the darkness of who-knew-what hour. Your ‘march’ was actually more of a light-footed sneaking. Setting off any alarm bells just yet would blow the operation. Together, your group wove through shadows out of this part of town, unnoticed thanks to the camouflage Yoongi effortlessly provided.

Up ahead, Jin checked around corners and led you on, the buildings rising further above you at every turn. Neon screens flashed through the night in these neighbourhoods, where the inhabitants had money to spare.

The walk couldn’t have been long, but you were a world away from the run-down hideout by the time Jin stopped, facing one of many high buildings of polished glass and chrome.

“So this is it?” Jimin asked, head tilting back.

Your eyes, instead of trailing up the building like Jimin’s, found a looming structure beside it. A pylon planted firm in the ground, standing just taller than the building itself, up to a spidery convergence of wires webbed over the city rooves.

“Well, that sure is handy for someone like him,” Jin scoffed.

Hobi rolled his neck, already striding towards it.

“And now it’s handy for us.”

His leap up three rungs was unnecessary, really. The rest of you followed behind like the mere mortals you were, clambering as silently as you could between the intersecting beams, the metal cold beneath your hands.

You looked back once, finding Namjoon and Jin still on the ground.

“I’ll see you afterwards,” Namjoon was telling him grimly, “all of us have to fight.”

“I know,” Jin agreed. Then he punched him in the arm. “And I had better, alright? See you afterwards, I mean.”

Your leader nodded, then stepped forward to the pylon. You looked ahead and pushed on upwards.

It shouldn’t have surprised you to find Bolt in a penthouse. Following the others, you hopped from the pylon onto the skyscraper’s rooftop; only Namjoon stayed behind. It wasn’t so tall as Kuyang’s lab had been, but it felt miles above. In the darkness, a few glimmering lights dotted the edges of what appeared to be an eerie garden of sorts, although no plants were in sight. Dark tile slabs ran underfoot, broken up by sculptures you couldn’t discern beyond shadows.

The rooftop was halved, your group gathering on the lower segment while a set of stairs rose another floor to more of the same; Bolt’s viewpoint over the city.  Though your eyes darted between the statues, each one playing tricks on you as if they were people watching, your gaze rested eventually on two large glass doors beside the stairway.

A distant light from further inside showed just enough for you to see beyond the glass. An entire wall was decked in little plates, things you vaguely recognised as city awards, only seen on the screens and papers.

A trophy for each life Bolt had taken would have filled the whole building, let alone a feature wall, you thought.

The small huddle of you poised still, hunters, waiting. In the last few seconds before that silence would be broken, you felt Jungkook step behind you.

“This ends now.”

The voice coming over your shoulder was made of everything he was. Electricity, cold and bitter like metal, aflame with determination. The rows, fists and shouting, the tentative midnight whispers, his kisses.

His hurt and all the things he covered it with.

Namjoon didn’t even have to ask his soldiers if they were ready. He raised his arms and slammed palms back down against metal, and a red glow silhouetted you all like a sinister halo.

Everything went dark.

The meagre light inside the property blinked off. The glare of signs across the road plunged away to nothing. Only the dotted perimeter lights, which must run on for emergencies, remained.

Footsteps behind you brought Namjoon through the pack to its head.

Ahead, something moved beyond the glass. Your gaze sharpened on it as the handle turned, the door swinging soundlessly outwards.

While not in full gear, as he had been when he first attacked you, Bolt’s blue mask was in place. Otherwise, he wore dark, comfortable clothes. Internally, you celebrated the small evidence that you really had caught him unawares.

“I should have known,” his voice carried over to you, inflated with arrogance. “Flush out the rats and they’ll have nowhere left to run.”

In your ear, a sharp inhale sent your eyes to Jungkook for a second. His fists tightened at his sides.

“You’ve taken enough, Bolt,” Namjoon spoke. If you didn’t know him, you may not have caught the dark rage burning below his even words.

Then he raised his arms, stretched them towards the man in blue.

A great gust whisked from behind you, snatching at your hair, but you stood firm. In front of you, Bolt was thrown backwards by the air, colliding with the glass behind him.

The starting gun had been fired.

As your enemy crashed through a shower of glass, you began to run. Shards of it scattered, glittering, under your pounding feet. You skidded to the doorway just as Bolt drew back to his feet in the shadows.

Raising your arms to continue the offensive, you were cut short. A startling flash blazed in your vision. In that split-second, it illuminated a smiling Bolt, gun ready at his hip. Just long enough for your heart to sink.

The shield rifle, the very one you had failed to protect.

It seemed only right that you should pay the price.

Its impact slammed against you, wrenching your outstretched arm backwards. The pale sphere it had fired, glowing and crackling, caught hold and took you with it, ensnaring your wrist like a constricting snake. Helpless to detach yourself, your body flailed through the air behind it.

Someone called your name.

Just as fast, you jerked to a stop. Below you, your feet flung out above nothing. Your heart jumped.

Looking around wildly, you found the forcefield had snagged on the wall, stuck fast to it just like it did your arm. It was the only thing holding you here.

Somewhere behind you, above you, grunts and thuds assured you that the fight continued. For now, you had to get out of this trap before Bolt could reach you again, attack you in this helpless position.

“Y/N!”

Jimin’s voice rushed closer. It was an effort to crane your head up to see him. Pale pink hair poked over the ledge.

“Grab on!” he called.

You didn’t hesitate. Swinging yourself up with a kick, you grabbed desperately for the hand he reached out. Finding it clumsily, you clutched to his wrist with clammy fingers. Next moment, he hauled you up, clamping both hands around yours until you rolled over the wall and your feet stumbled against solid ground.

But you still weren’t free.

The forcefield bit at your arm when you tried to drag it free. You cursed.

“It’s just energy,” Jimin spoke, frowning at the luminescent mass.

Then he took a breath, frowning in concentration. With one push of his hand, the sphere shifted, as if it was simply a ball from training.

Resisting, you pulled the other way. For a second, it constricted harder, making your heart clench in dread of following it. Then all at once you were falling free, tumbling to the floor as the forcefield rolled out of sight over the edge.

Hurried hands tugged you up and you were wheeling around to face the battle.

“Thanks,” you quickly clapped Jimin on the shoulder. A brief grin from him, and you dived together back towards the fray.

More shining energy fields pulsed against one wall, but it seemed the others had dodged them. You ran past the discarded weapon on the floor. But there were more where it had come from.

A bright blue jet, just like your own, fizzled against a statue and sent it thundering to the floor. Behind it, Yoongi leapt out of the way just in time. He came sprinting towards Bolt, eyes burning white.

In an instant, the hero let out a yell, clutching his eyes. Staggering, he slipped onto one knee. But in his blind panic, he whirled around, lashing out again even without a target to aim at.

Blazing blue roared outwards. Namjoon had been marching towards the fallen Bolt, but was forced to duck for cover. The lightning sliced clean through the top of the stone figure he hid behind.

Even as Bolt’s attack died, something else caught your eye. Fast as a spark from a flame, he tossed a blade into the air. It whistled, carving a streak of seething blue through the night.

A shout shot echoed across the rooftop, straight to your veins. Yoongi.

Falling from his invisible cloak of darkness, you saw a glowing blue shuriken whizz along his back. The current flew outwards across his body, throwing his pained grimace into haunting relief. The blade skittered, useless, to the ground, having wreaked its injury.

“Yoongi!” you screamed as he fell, blue light dancing over his spasming body.

Staring in horror as you were, the next flash of blue nearly caught you. Running on pure instinct, your body retaliated before you did. Snarling, your powers leapt from your palms, clashing against Bolt’s in mid-air. Blue on blue.

In the flare of sparks, Bolt smiled slowly. Never breaking the connection, he took a step forwards, cocking his head.

“So it’s true,” he spoke, “I heard about you.”

Heart hammering now, you pushed back with all your might, feeling his hostile powers wrestle with yours. They may look the same, but they felt all wrong.

“Tell me,” he took a step closer. You barely resisted the urge to draw back. “How did you do this?”

Steeling yourself with a breath, you unleashed a surge of rage, your electricity hissing through the air. It should have satisfied you to feel his power startle, stutter at the sudden attack.

All you could do was glare. He had no idea. He never thought twice about who he killed, what he took.

But as you stared, there was movement behind him. It was all you could do to keep your eyes on Bolt, willing his attention to stay on you. As it was, he had no idea that Jungkook was stalking towards him.

“I didn’t do this,” you blurted out, needing to keep him focussed. Buying Jungkook time as his face came into sharper focus, closer to the battling blue lights between you and Bolt. “You did this to me.”

You spat your words with all the venom locked inside, ready for one last push as you watched Jungkook raise both arms-

WHOOSH.

You snapped the connection, staggering backwards as Bolt whirled around.

It had not been gold that fired. In a blur, Jungkook was slammed to the ground by a column of water crashing into him.

Everyone on the rooftop turned to its source.

“Shit-” you heard someone curse.

“No,” you breathed.

Feet touching to the rooftop up ahead, among a flood of water, was Monsoon.

Another cold, arrogant grin met you all. You stared in horror. Only Bolt laughed, stepping forwards to climb to his ally’s side. They faced you all from the staircase, looking down.

Pushing himself to his feet, Jungkook’s eyes blazed gold beneath dripping strands of hair.

“Jungkook! No!” you cried, but too late.

Gold split the night, but against Monsoon there was no use. Water surged instantly towards him again, and though your powers protested, burning in your chest with the need to act, you could only stand by. You couldn’t fight him.

Shimmering water engulfed the gold strands. Soon they would immobilise Jungkook, the moment it made contact…

Instead, a red glow sprung up in front of Jungkook with only a split-second to spare, sending the deluge spraying around the shield.

“Let’s start with you, then,” Monsoon smirked.

When you looked back to him, you swore your heart stopped beating.

Raised in one hand, pointing straight at Jungkook, was the Razer. Its eerie white form stood out starkly against the night sky.

The dead white light at its centre jumped to life. A whirring began, menacing and low. It rose at the same rate the strands of light started spinning within the sphere, preparing to drain its victim of all power.

It was stupid. It was stupid, you had already failed once before. You had watched Jungkook fail just seconds ago. There was nothing you could do, yet you had to do something.

You fired at Monsoon.

Easily, he raised his free hand to deflect.

But as the water rushed towards you, Jimin sprinted towards Monsoon. Thrusting an arm forward, he sent a fallen statue flying between you, a silhouette. Your eyes widened in realisation.

The inundation hit the stone with such force, you almost thought it would crack. But no – it sent the writhing water shooting straight back at its commander.

Darting forward, you shot without hesitation. Blue burst from you. The bright tendrils wove into the stream, flying like darts through the current and towards Monsoon. There was no time for him to react; only a fleeting shadow of shock stole over his face before the electricity caught him and his eyes rolled back.

You knew how it felt for your muscles to lock in place, for your body to leave your control entirely. You watched as it took hold of him, too, and smiled.

The force of the water, with no way to resist it, knocked him backwards until the floor no longer held him. A blond blur flew past you, just before the white-clad figure that was Monsoon dropped out of sight forever.

Lowering your palms, your chest heaved. Adrenaline rushed through you; this still wasn’t over.

Your eyes narrowed in on Hobi, whose feet made impact with the roof on landing. Clutched in his arms was the Razer, scooped from Monsoon’s arms just in time.

Bolt, apparently, had got over his ally’s demise already. His grief lasted the space of one step, away from the edge, before he swung round. Like you, he honed straight in on the weapon.

And then everyone moved at once.

Diving out of the path of a sinister blue bolt, Hobi rolled away on the floor. Bolt himself thudded closer, making your friend dodge again, leaping up and out of his reach. The air crackled by Bolt’s hand, but before he could summon electricity to chase Hobi down, a sheet of purple fire swept like a curtain in front of him, the fleeting shadow of V disappearing within the flames.

You were already sprinting at the enemy when Hobi touched down next to you. Stumbling around, he glanced behind him with a curse.

Confused, your eyes first darted over your friend. He didn’t seem to be more hurt, so then what-?

A clatter of metal rung through the spitting flames. Frantically searching, you quickly found the deathly white streak of the Razer on the ground, spinning away. In the desperate fumble to escape Bolt, Hobi must have dropped it.

It didn't matter how it got there. Darting to the side, you changed course towards the weapon. But you weren’t the only pursuer.

Bolt was a silhouette in front of the fire, growing rapidly in the corner of your vision. Your feet thudded as fast as you could make them, heart pounding out the same rhythm, and you were almost there, but Bolt was coming in fast-

A flash of blue. Instinctively, you pulled back, letting it cut through the air in front of your nose. Precious distance you couldn’t afford to waste.

Throwing your weight back further, you followed your body’s momentum. Your hip met the tile and you let your speed carry you, sliding over the tiles and kicking out-

Your toes met the weapon hard, snatching it from right under Bolt’s fingertips as he lunged down. His furious glare shifted to you, but he did not stay to fight. Both of you watched, panting, as the white gun hurtled over the staircase, resounding against each step out of sight.

Then Bolt was off again with you not far behind, jumping to your feet. Stairs flew beneath you as you surveyed the scene.

Bolt charged a decisive line towards the still-falling gun. Namjoon, Jimin and Jungkook assembled on the lower part of the rooftop, ready to strike.

With relief, you saw Jimin move first. Raising one hand, he brought the gun arcing through the night. Though you kept running, something loosened in your chest the closer it came to the hands of your leader.

So focussed on the gun as you were, you almost missed it. Just as the Razer landed firmly in Namjoon’s grip, something glinted in Bolt’s hand, inches ahead of you.

A sizzle of blue. Another shuriken sliced through the air. Namjoon dodged to one side, the blade sailing past him, a spark of blue losing itself in the darkness of the city.

But another blade followed.

Namjoon clearly decided not to hang around. The low whirring began again, piercing your senses straight away as if it was a chainsaw roaring. White light pounced against the glass containing it. Close as you were to Bolt, you couldn’t help the jolt of nerves fizzling in your chest.

Lifting his gaze from the weapon, Namjoon’s eyes widened a fraction. There wasn’t enough time to react. The blue lightning raced straight for his heart.

The image of Yoongi, stricken and fallen, flashed through your mind then. Helplessness burned through every part of you – even as you pushed yourself to sprint, there was no catching it.

Until a shadow leapt in the way. Obscuring your view of Namjoon, they turned in mid-air to face the shuriken.

Jungkook.

Your heart punched into your throat. In a single beat, the blade found its target.

A twitch of pain spasmed across Jungkook’s face. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t move. Your trembling heart choked you, the world falling silent for a deathly second.

Then his feet thumped onto the roof, the clatter of the thin blade following a beat later. Though he stumbled against the outer wall, he remained standing. Utter, blank shock painted on his face, he brought a hand up to his chest.

There, a thin red line was spreading where he had been cut. Nothing more.

Heart still hanging on a precipice, you were suspended in your shock. Numbly, you glanced down to the still-spinning shuriken lying powerless on the floor. Powerless. No more sparks surrounded it. No hint of blue, no colour at all.

Where a heartbeat ago there had been panic, now came no movement at all. Your lungs ached for air after your short race, but you hardly dared to touch the silence by breathing. Shakily, you drew in cool air, turning, as you all did, towards Bolt.

Standing in front of the shattered entrance to his home, he was equally still.

You expected some kind of joke. For him to laugh in your faces, or lash out again.

Instead, he looked down in horror. His hands steadily rose, tuning over in front of him. A downwards turn tugged at his mouth when he raised his face.

Then it turned into a snarl, and he lunged, flinging a hand straight towards you. Everyone on the rooftop jumped.

To your shame, you almost stepped back. Phantom burning, from months ago as you fell from a skyscraper like this one, rocketed through your mind. But the pain you braced for never came. No flash of blue. You stayed rooted there, disbelieving eyes tracing the air which should have been ablaze, and instead was dead and dark.

And you noticed another thing: the whirring had stopped.

Glancing to one side, you saw Namjoon lowering the Razer, face hard and a grim glint in his eye.

“You!”

Bolt’s voice brought you sharply back to him. His mouth twisted into a snarl, and his voice was sharp.

To your alarm, his rage-filled eyes, though devoid of blue, were fixed right on you.

“Give them back to me! Right now!”

With a sudden start, he marched towards you. You actually stepped back this time, in no hurry to be the target of his new warpath.

“You- I gave you those powers!” He ranted, “My powers! You can give them back to me the same way. Do it now!”

Disgusted, you could only shake your head.

Another step and he was right in front of you, reaching for you. That same face which hadn’t looked at you twice when he sent you hurtling to your intended death. The man that had since become the face of your elusive fear, sending others to attack you, never getting his hands dirty unless for a media-worthy cause.

His hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

“I made you what you were,” he pleaded – you saw it now for what it was – “you were nothing before I gave them to you-”

“Get off me!” you snapped, yanking your arm roughly from his grip. When he made to reach for you again, you barely kept control of your powers. You were sure to let just enough slip through that your eyes would light up blue with a reminder.

It clearly found its mark. He stilled, stunned. He had never been in this position before, unable to fight, and he would do well to remember it.

“I was someone before you,” you spoke, low and level.

Bolt seemed robbed of words.

Then his glare flicked to the side. Jungkook stalked up to stand beside you, drawing himself up to his full height. There was a special venom in his eyes, reserved only for the man who had ruined his life.

“Don’t touch her,” he spat.

Something in Bolt snapped. Closing his mouth, his feet scrambled beneath him. He hurried in the opposite direction, staggering a few desperate steps backwards before wheeling around, racing to get inside.

You didn’t move. Any one of you could easily kill him from where you stood – in any case, it wasn’t needed.

Someone was waiting for him.

Stepping from the dark hallway, broken glass crunching underfoot, Jin emerged into the dim light of the rooftop.

He reared back a fist, and brought it down in a blur to collide with Bolt’s face. The moment the fallen hero hit the ground, Jungkook strode forwards. Bolt’s usually vivid mask was finally dislodged, lying dull against the tiles where Jungkook’s boot crushed it against the floor.

Calmly lifting a hand, he fired gold, but not right at Bolt. Instead, you watched the molten light latch around a large shard of glass. The burning ring made dappled gold ripple in the glass, a golden dagger, the brightest thing on this dark rooftop.

Unsteadily, Bolt was getting his hands beneath him again. His ragged panting almost stirred pity in your chest. Almost.

Jungkook pushed his palm forwards, his power moving with him. The dagger struck Bolt’s back. You did not smile, but watched as it plunged ruthlessly into him, making his back arch and drawing a pitiful cry from his mouth.

No one was around to hear it, or to care. Tonight was as desolate as the night you had woken, alone and afraid, in a dark alley, left to die.

It wasn’t painless, but it was quick. Looking to Jungkook as Bolt fell silent, you found his hardened face awash with gold, like it was made of the metal itself. Only the twitch of his jaw as he yanked the glass from its victim belied the impression.

A thump as the body slumped among a soft chorus of grating glass.

The gold faded from Jungkook’s eyes. They turned to you, and you took his hand.

Thank you for reading this far into the series and sticking with it!!💜💜

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[carmillascrusade]

Jealousy, Jealousy | Larissa Weems x f!reader

Summary: Larissa misinterprets an interaction between you and Morticia, only to reject you when you ask her to the Rave’N. She comes to regret it but can you find it within yourself to face her after such a recent heartbreak?

Young!Larissa AU.

Word count: 2,311

A/N: Hurt/no comfort. Something quick I wrote on the bus so please excuse any mistakes as this has not been proofread.

Nevermore’s air buzzed with uncontrollably excitement. The Rave’n was fast approaching, with only a few hours left to prepare. Perhaps you had left it too late. What if somebody else had already asked Larissa? What is she said no to you?

Snapping fingers and waving hands brought you out of your thoughts. Morticia stood in front of you, smiling at the dazed look in your eyes. “You’re going to be alright, you know.” She stated, kindness beaming from her eyes. A stark contrast from her usual blank, if not bored, facade.

“What if she says no?” You huffed. “Or what if somebody else has already asked her? What if I mess it up so terribly that she doesn’t want to speak to me ever again?”

You brought your nails to your mouth, chewing the skin roughly until it bled- an awful habit you had picked up in childhood. Morticia pulled your hands away from your mouth gently and pushed them down so that you couldn’t abuse your skin any longer. Her hands cupped your face, forcing yo to look into her eyes as you fretted.

“Practise your speech on me. That way you can make it perfect, so nothing will go wrong.”

“Are you sure? It’s really embarrassing.” You murmured , cheeks tinted red at the thought of showing Morticia just how much you loved Larissa through the words you were about to speak.

“Of course I am sure.” She beamed, stepping back and gesturing for you to begin.

You gaped at her for a moment, willing yourself to muster just enough courage to perform your Rave’N proposal to her. You exhaled slowly, subtly picking at your cuticle so that Morticia wouldn’t notice. “Okay,” you spoke, ever so quietly. “I’m ready.”

“Yeah?”

A shaky nod of approval was given, your eyes flickering to every possible spot in the room; desperately trying to find something to settle on in hopes it would make this interaction less awkward than it already was. Every single word in the English vocabulary seemed to dissipate into thin air as you tried to call upon them. Your love for Larissa so overwhelming that mere words wouldn’t do it justice.

Morticia stared at you as you squeaked out a “Will you go to the Rave’N with me… please?”

She barked out in laughter, loud and boisterous as she processed your pathetic attempt of asking a girl out. Her obnoxious laughing the only sound in the room as you narrowed your eyes at her, your glare only causing her to laugh even more. Not impressed in the slightest, you stood with your arms crossed, an ‘are you being serious right now?’ expression painting your face.

It felt like you were waiting years before her laughter subdued into quiet giggles, a chocked ‘I’m sorry’ escaping her as she looked over at your disgruntled form. “Is that all you got? Good lord, you may as well have thrown yourself down to her feet and begged her for her attention.

“Yeah, laugh it up Morticia. It’s hilarious, truly. ” You spat, seething silently, lamenting at your inability to express your emotions in speech properly.

Morticia took pity on you and ceased her amusement for the time being. She reached out for you, rubbing her hands up and down your arms in an attempt of comfort. “You know, maybe you should just get her a box of chocolates and some pretty flowers. Every girl loves flowers.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” You smiled slightly, ideas whiting in your head as you thought of the perfect flower combination to gift Larissa.

Larissa stood on the opposite side of the door, just out of view from you and Morticia. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but the conversation you were sharing with Morticia piqued her interest.

She stood, crestfallen, as she overheard you asking Morticia to the dance. Her hand reached up to cover her mouth as tears blurred her vision, the last thing heard from the room being Morticia’s cruel laugh. How could she be so stupid? To think that you, or anybody, would look at her instead of Morticia. Why was she subject to this awful fate of existing only in Morticia’s shadow? It wasn’t fair.

Larissa took herself to her room, mascara ruined by tears, eyes puffy and red. Accepting the fact that she would never be better than Morticia, she took herself to her bed she laid there for a moment, simply staring at the ceiling as her whole world crumbled around her. Your carefully crafted memories tainted by the lick of flames, charring them a sulky black.

She wouldn’t let this get the best of her. No. She would go to the Rave’N regardless of whether you wanted her or not.

She would make you as insignificant to her as she was to you.

Pressing eyes and curled lips followed you as you made your way through the centre. Head hung low and feet which you pressed onward to the flower shop, the townsfolk had always had abysmal views on outcasts and today was no different. Children stopped playing, their faces stricken with fear as you passed, parents glaring in contempt. You knew it would all be worth it however as you thought back on Larissa. No feat would be too difficult to pass as long as you were doing it with her in mind.

You walked up to the desk and patiently waited for the cashier to come back; flowers already paid for and ordered in advance, all that was left to do was pick them up. Your fingers drummed nervously against the countertop, weary of the suspicious glances being thrown your way.

The cashier was nice enough, though, as she handed you your bouquet. You smiled and thanked her softly before making your way to the chocolatier down the street. Larissa had a terrible sweet tooth; whether she liked to admit it or not.

Your trip, albeit short, was something you were glad to get out of the way. The townsfolk would never be welcoming to an outcast like you and, unfortunately, it was just something you had to take with a pinch of salt. Larissa was worth the risk.

By the time you had arrived back at Nevermore the busting day to day life had lulled to a stop. Scurrying along to Larissa’s room, wanting to catch her before she would undoubtedly be asleep, you skilfully avoided the teachers on walk around duty, meandering your way up the wide staircases and through the narrow corridors until you reached her door.

Your breathing was irregular as you stood outside Larissa’s door. Whether that was from the minimal exercise you did to get here or the nerves overtaking your body, you weren’t sure. Larissa would be awake at this time. Wouldn’t she?

You muttered a quick ‘You can do this’ to yourself before taking the plunge and knocking in the door. You jumped slightly as the door was forcibly swung upon. If you weren’t in love with Larissa already, you certainly would be after seeing her in nothing but her silk slip.

Words evaded you as you gaped at her like a fish. How could somebody look so beautiful in nightwear? Her curvy figure was only accentuated by the lilac slip she had on, drawing your eyes to her hips. Heat creeped up your neck as you shamefully ogled her.

“Can I help you?” She drawled in the bored tone she used when speaking to people she didn’t like very much.

Her tone snapped you out of your, very inappropriate, appreciation of her in all her glory. “Oh, yes. You can actually.”

Perfectly manicured nails tapped against the door impatiently, the cherry red a striking contrast to the burnt umber of the doorframe. Had you done something to upset her?

“Well?”

Yes. You definitely had.

“I bought these, for you.” You muttered, avoiding all eye contact as you did so.

“Why?” She questioned with a furrow brow as she observed you from where she stood.

“Well. I was sort of hoping that you’d like to go to the Rave’N… with me?”

You shifted from side to side, anxious under Larissa’s unusually stone cold glare. A soft pitter-patter rang out in the silence, the ceiling not yet fixed and still leaking. Larissa barked out a laugh, startling you in the process.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” She snarled, jabbing you in the chest with her pointer finger.

“No?”

“It’s pathetic really. You coming to my door, begging for my affections.”

“What? Larissa, where is this coming from?” You were beyond confused and hurt at the way she was rejecting you. Why couldn’t she just say no?

“Listen here. I will not subject myself to the torture of being a rebound. So, no. I will not got to the Rave’N with you.”

And with that she slammed the door in your face. You were stunned to say the least. What did she mean rebound? What had you done to warrant such cruelty?

A small, barely audible, defeated sigh sounded out in the corridor. The bouquet drooping miserably as it hung loosely in your hands. Morticia would be asleep by now so you couldn’t even go to her for comfort.

Dejected and heartbroken, you headed back to your dorm. Stumbling into things as you went, vision blurred by the tears you refused to let fall.

Obnoxiously loud music shook the foundations of the academy, letting you know that the Rave’N was in full swing. Your outfit sat forgotten in the wardrobe. There was no point in going if you couldn’t go with the person you wanted.

Morticia had came by before, asking you about how it went, so she knew you would not be present tonight. Instead, you had chosen to snuggle up in bed and read; desperately trying to get Larissa’s brutal rejection as far out of your mind as you could.

Larissa has gone all out with her outfit. She wanted to show you what you were missing, that she was far better than Morticia and you were a fool not to see it. Only she hadn’t seen you yet and she’d been here half an hour already.

Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she surveyed the room. Had you already left with somebody? Raven black hair caught her eye. Morticia. Surely she would know where you were.

Sidling up beside Morticia, Larissa smiled at her, saccharine sweet as she asked about your whereabouts. Morticia gave her a sarcastically friendly grin in return before answering her.

“What’s it got to do with you?”

Larissa stuttered a little. Slightly taken aback at Morticia’s subtle aggressiveness towards her. “Well, I- I would just like to know.”

“You don’t get to know where she is.” Morticia sneered back.

“And why is that?” Larissa was beginning to get defensive. She could ask about you if she wanted to. What has it got to do with everybody else?

“What did you say to her?”

“What?”

“Look,” Morticia sighed. “You have every right to reject people but she wouldn’t even let me in her room. So, I’ll ask again, what did you say that has her refusing to come here?”

“She’s not here… because of me?” Larissa questioned quietly.

“Why else wouldn’t she be here?” Morticia was getting snappy with her and Larissa knew she had done something wrong.

“I don’t know.”

“Let me spell it out for you. She wanted to come to the Rave’N with you, and only you, but you rejected her so she isn’t here.”

“What?” Larissa’s smile faltered ever so slightly before she managed to school her features.

Her world came to a stop as she mulled Morticia’s words over. Continuously rolling them around her head. Again and again. Over and over.

Her vision swirled as the room spun around her, Morticia reduced to nothing but a blur. She felt sick. Swiftly turning on her heel and fleeing the dance, Larissa set out to find you, intent on fixing her mistakes before it was too late.

It wasn’t too late… was it?

You were in your room, hidden under a mountain of blankets and pillows in a pitiful attempt to drown your sorrows. Reading had failed- your mind being too preoccupied to truly focus on the words of the page. A sharp knock, brief and to the point, made you peak your head above your fortress. Who would be knocking on your door instead of going to the dance? You sighed as you left the comfortable embrace of your duvet and braved the chill night air of your room.

“Morticia,” you shouted. “I’ve already told you I’m not going to-“

“Hello.”

She stood in your doorway; her flushed face a rosy red, her breathing slightly irregular and her normally pristine hair tousled. You went to shut the door, not wanting to deal with the emotions you had failed to bury under your pile of blankets right now. Her foot stopped the door from closing and she forced herself inside your room, carefully as to not damage the goods in her hands.

“Wait! Please, just listen to me.” She begged.

“Why should I?” Were you being petty? Yes. But she deserved it.

“I bought these for you.” She whispered, extending her lithe arms towards you. “I know that they’re your favourite.”

You sighed agitatedly as you tossed up the idea of letting her in or shutting the door in her face. Although it would bring you great satisfaction to leave get stranded on the hallway, you knew the feeling would only be momentary. After a silence that stretched for hours, you finally decided that you couldn’t see her right now and shut the door in her face.

Leaving a stunned and heartbroken Larissa on the other side; much how she had left you earlier the same evening.

[icepoptroll]

So I've been heavy into RTC in recent months. As well I work as a nurse. So naturally this idea came to me:

Everyone Lives AU where the choir kids survive the Cyclone accident, wake up in the hospital, and come to find out their nurse is a guy named. . . Yep. Karnak

Ricky wrote him a lengthy note between hourly rounds about how they all had died and they were in limbo and he was there too, and while he was there he was a magical mechanical fortune teller with prognostication and resurrection abilities, and how he's not sure how he's there with them now because a rat had killed him by chewing through his power cable. Karnak reads it and responds with a chuckle and "ah yes, your parents DID mention that you have a very active imagination, Richard." *Queue gobsmacked Ricky face*

Ocean is more scared and freaked out and still not past her initial stress response, all "How are we all still alive? How are YOU alive? You just DIED back there. And I thought you could only bring back one of us! That WHOLE TIME you were just testing us??? What kind of messed up game are we playing now?"

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oooooh yes you do! You were some kind of. . . Ominous novelty machine just before all this!"

"Ah. Curious, one of your friends accused me of the same thing. Quite an interesting phenomenon, how multiple people are on occasion found to somehow suffer the same exact nightmare. This is likely a result of your shared trauma--- I assure you I am just a med-surg nurse. I am not now, nor have I ever been, an 'ominous novelty machine.'"

"So it's just some wacky coincidence that we all remember someone JUST LIKE YOU from the afterlife and now all of a sudden we're all assigned to you? You had no part in that?"

"If I had my way, Miss Rosenberg, I would be assigned to only three of you. Unfortunately, though, safe nurse/patient ratios have really fallen to the wayside in recent years. Now. . . Before I continue my rounding, do you have any questions about your medication?"

The kids convene and question whether maybe he IS just a dude with the same name but COME ON his voice and mannerisms are all the same and he even kinda looks like him and the timing is just too perfect to be coincidental and the way he cracks a smile when someone calls him "Mr. Whatever" like it's him it's gotta be him

Definitely gonna think of more and most likely gonna end up drawing/writing stuff for this lol I just can't resist letting my work influence my hobbies haha

[betweenblackberrybranches]

So i wrote a little thing for the RLGL au

Its a prologue of sorts, the first actual meeting between the guys and y/n at work before they become neighbours

Be warned though i am not a writer and typed this out quickly on my phone while i was supposed to work so it is probably not that good (i think i just randomly switch between present tense and past tense so it just be like that)

Warning for suggestive themes. But nothing explicit is mentioned

There you stood, one hand grabbing the handle of the sleek chrome and wooden door. This was not part of your job description. And this was really not something you wanted to do. You were a janotor. Fixing minor electrical things, looking after the plumming, washing all sheets that the cleaners brought into the washing room and fixing and cleaning up the rough stuff. Every day was busy and you had always kept to yourself and the many staff only hallways, away from the rich red and black velvet and the polished wooden floors, raw concret where the eyes of the customers wouldnt see.

You felt safe in your domain, the low humming of the heating filling the basement rooms like the breathing of a sleeping dragon. Or atleast that was what you liked to imagine it as. It made your work seem atleast a little more exciting and kept your mind of the various fluids you had to painstakingly rinse out of the white and burgundy sheets.

You straighten your sleeves, a black turtleneck black slacks and a black baseball cap with fazCOs logo, not really the usual uniform for the people interacting with customers, worlds away from the white button up and vest you should be wearing. But this was an emergency. Well as far as the rich bozo in this room was concearned atleast. So who knows on what level the "mess" was, this could be anything from some spilling to..... well no need to think about worst case szenarios.

Straightening your cap one last time you enter the dimmly lit room. You immidiatly regret every single choice that led you to this specific sight. The hairs on your arms rising in protest as you try to nonchalantly step further into the mess, the customer having left apparently, not even waiting for the emergency roomservice to arrive after calling for it. Red wine and some gunk that looked like it had been food once that had been chewed and spit out again smeared all over the couch and carpet. You call out to make sure the coast is clear, trying very hard to not gag.

As soon as you are sure there is no human in the room you rush to a lifeless form of satin metal and plastic on the ground, swallowing hard as salvia and gall rise up in your throat. You find the second one bundeled up on the bed, lanky arms and legs positioned in a way that sent a shiver down your spine, one of his arms was popped out of the shoulder, only hanging by the many thin cables running under the outer casing.

Shaking hands finding the small power button at the base of the blue ones head you wait, counting five and then ten seconds. This isnt something you should be doing. This is against company policies, and yet you cant just leave them like this for a technician to find after you cleaned up. The soft hum of the reboot sent your hand back as if burned and you kneel down to repeat the action on the yellow one. You knew they had names, pretty obvious ones at that.. sun and moon. You had only seen them from afar until now. Especally because you were not a waiter or maid, someone who would walk past them regularly in the flashy suits and club rooms, no you were someone working in the shadows. A shame that the one time you saw them this closely it felt like you should avert your gaze, because even under the questionable liquids and gunk they still looked stunning. The yellow one started humming under your touch and you hurridly got up, starting the cleaning process and ignoring the two stiring bodies like you were supposed to.

Moon sat up straight, unfurling from his nothing but explicit position, his left arm dragging on the bed. No mind was given to the worker bustleing around the furthest corner as moon leaped forwards and down to the ground, shaking arm immidiatly finding his bright counterpart who was in the process of opening his eyes. Sun looked up and welcomed the soft embrace of moon, foreheads pressed together best they could with their orbish heads, giving themselves just one moment of comfort before dealing with the situation at hand.

You had started to clean the bathroom first, wanting to give the two robots enough time to regain their baring and hide their bodies away if they so wished. A bitter taste on your lips you reenter the main suite with two steaming hot towels and a big box of wet wipes, wordlessly pressing them in the hands of the two, now sitting on the bed encased in a thin sheet. With any interaction between general staff and escorts being prohibited you were pretty much towing the line of doing something that could get you fired, but you felt like this needed to be done.

Moving on you cleaned the carpet, trying to ignore the two bots meticulously wiping down eachother. You sigh. This all felt so wrong. You grab the cleaning rag tight as you rub at the carpet and wish you could do more for the two than gracefully ignoring them and their disheviled apearances, assuming theyd even want any help from a random janitor.

They are still cleaning and fixing up eachother when you put away the last stained pillowcase and wipe down the low table one last time. You swallow dryly. All you can think of doing for them is grabing two small post it notes from your cart and make small origami flowers, one of like three things you know how to fold. Leaving them behind on the stack of clean clothing you plop down on one edge of the bed. It is hard not to sneak one last look at the two, hovering around eachother, deeply concentrated on reapplying eachothers makeup with gentle brushstrokes.

The most beautiful constelation. But you feel like this is not something you are supposed to whitness.

You leave the room, softly dragging the door shut behind you and the cleaning cart with a click, disappearing back into the concrete lined corridors of the staff only areas, back to whatever you were doing before, the two robots in their gentle embrace at the border of your mind.

Cream fingers close around the neon colored paper flowers, to be carefully deposited in an inner jacket pocket and transported home. To be kept safe in a small cardboard box under their bed. To be forgotten but never lost.

[shares-a-vest]

@steddiemas Day 19: Steddie as Dads (Trope Tuesday)

wc: 1.4k | Rated: T for suggestive language and flirtatious banter | cw: Eddie is trans in my Joanie Munson AU and gave birth to Joanie. This fic contains one mention of pregnancy and the possibility of having a baby.

Tags: Steddie Dads, Trans Eddie Munson, Growing Family, Getting Interrupted, Christmas Night, Christmas Presents, Kid Fic

Note: I knew Joanie's Furby would have to make a reappearance after I wrote THIS drabble for Black Friday. Also, I started drafting this fic for Day 3 (Needing to be Quiet) but it ran away from me so it has aspects of that prompt too.

Christmas Night, 1998

“Okay…” Eddie sing-songs, stirring Steve from his very sleepy post-Christmas state on the couch, “Our precious bean is asleep… The old man is in a food-induced coma…”

He skips to the couch and flops down, mussing their makeshift bedding.

“Huh?” Steve mumbles, looking up to find a mischievous grin painted across his partner’s face.

He should have known Eddie was up to something with their sleeping arrangements. He had insisted they spend Christmas Night on Wayne’s couch, giving up the bed in Eddie’s old room to Joanie for the evening.

As Eddie continues grinning like an idiot – and adds a wiggling, suggestive brow for good measure – Steve attempts to smooth out their blankets. He shimmies upright, yawning as he yanks at the corner of the blanket trapped beneath Eddie’s ass.

“Nope!” Eddie says, chopping his hand through the air, “No yawning, sugarplum.”

He dives for the remote teetering on the edge of the coffee table and points it at the television, reducing It’s a Wonderful Life to a quickly fading speck in the middle of the screen.

“Jimmy Stewart, off!” he declares, voice high and nasally in mock impersonation as he tosses the remote to the side.

With the living room lit only by the lights of Wayne’s Christmas tree (decorated the moment they arrived with Joanie), Steve feels his eyes droop.

He scrubs a hand down his tired face, his unstyled hair flopping forward as he does so. Eddie is soon on him, combing it back before picking at individual strands like a monkey looking for fleas.

“How are you not tired?” Steve whines, dipping his head to avoid more prodding.

But Eddie then reaches to remove his glasses.

“Christmas adrenaline, sweetheart,” he explains, carefully folding the glasses and setting them on the coffee table within reach.

Eddie leans back again, elbow propped on the couch, his chin resting against his hand enough that it squishes up his cheek.

“The Furby was a hit,” he continues, his teasing dimples out on full display now.

“Please don’t talk about it,” Steve grumbles, sinking into the couch at the thought of Joanie’s newest toy, now out of the box and operational, ready to wreak havoc.

He can only imagine the reaction the cats will have to those soulless eyes when they get the retched thing back home…

“It’s cute,” Eddie shrugs, not at all innocently picking at the bottom hem of Steve’s flannel button-up, a Munson family relic turned pyjama top.

“It looks like a Gremlin,” he deadpans, “Ready to chew our faces off with that weird robot beak.”

He hopes his frown will also remind Eddie that if said demon-spawn does rise up against them, he can be the one fully responsible for dealing with it. And, now that he thinks about it, Steve is sure Eddie allowing their daughter to watch Gremlins at Halloween surely contributed to her desire to obtain this year’s latest kids' craze.

As they glare at each other, Steve holds onto some hope that Eddie (might) think back to that sleepless Halloween night when Joanie woke up at 2 am in tears and thought Ozzy’s prowling in the shadows was an evil after-midnight Mowgai.

“And where is it now?” Steve asks, breaking their seated stand-off.

“Tucked under the covers with our precious Joanie-Bear,” Eddie says, dramatically closing his eyes with a chirpy hum.

Again – Gremlin!

Steve bites his tongue as Eddie opens his eyes again, those big brown orbs now glowing with mirth like a warmer, more cherubic (but equally devilish) version of their five-year-old’s prized Christmas present.

Eddie clicks his tongue, looking everywhere but directly at Steve as he fidgets with a handful of blankets, entirely conspicuous as he buzzes with clear anticipation.

Steve puffs out a laugh and shakes his head. As always, Eddie has other plans for their ‘quiet’ night in…

“What?” Eddie asks, catching him staring.

He tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy.

“I love you,” Steve replies, leaning into his side.

He looks at the Christmas tree as Eddie presses a featherlight kiss to his forehead.

But the sweet moment only lasts for a split second because, in a flash, Eddie flips back their bedding, the blanket half falling to the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

“Good,” he grins, swinging his leg over Steve’s lap to straddle him, bracketing his legs, “Put a baby in me.”

“Ed!” Steve splutters, frowning as Eddie claps a hand over his mouth to shush him.

“Quiet!” he stage-whispers.

“You be quiet,” Steve warns, smiling into his palm.

“Made you perk up, didn’t it?” Eddie teases, leaning back to look him over and they both giggle away, “Anyway, come on, tick-tick. Christmas miracle, all that shit...”

He hurriedly jabs into his shoulder.

“Need I remind you we are in your uncle’s living room?”

“We’ve done worse,” Eddie offers, raking his eyes over him, “Remember Thanksgiving 1989 when – ”

“ – We boned in Claudia’s powder room,” he finishes, nodding.

Eddie looks off into the distance – or perhaps just right behind them to the wood panelling. He sighs, all wistful and longing.

“Yeah,” he hums, “And you knocked Claudia’s good handtowel straight off the rack and into the toilet…”

Steve leans back and cocks his chin. Well, if Eddie isn’t going to be subtle about it, either...

“Take your pants off, baby.”

Eddie beams and gives a two-finger salute. He quickly begins shuffling about, lifting onto his knees so he can hook his fingers under the waistband of his black sweatpants and pull them down. Meanwhile, Steve lifts their blanket up and out to protect Eddie’s modesty.

Or, at least that’s what he intends to do. Eddie only gets his pants down to his knees when Steve catches Wayne’s bedroom door opening.

Eddie notices too and yelps, plopping back down onto Steve’s lap – hard.

“Don’t mind me,” Wayne says, walking along with the stiff gait of a man with a bad hip (one that he still won’t do a thing about), “Just goin’ to take a leak. My bladder isn’t what it used to be. The older you get, the weaker your bladder...”

“Can you please stop saying the word ‘bladder’!” Eddie squawks over his shoulder, but his uncle simply waves him away.

“I didn’t see nothin’!” Wayne grumbles, “Carry on.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as they both watch in awkward silence as Wayne disappears into the bathroom, a light soon cascading from it.

“Christmas sucks!” Eddie dry-sobs, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder with a disgruntled ‘hmph’.

“Just wait a minute,” he whispers, wrapping the blanket tight around Eddie’s partial nakedness.

Steve moves to give him a reassuring kiss but Eddie gasps, stilling on his lap as his eyes grow wide as saucers.

“What the fuck was that?” he gulps, his voice at full volume.

Eddie jolts again, his hands flying up to grip Steve’s shoulders tight, giving him no choice but to hold onto for dear life – even if he has no clue what’s got him so rattled…

“I can’t hear anything,” Steve says, looking around as his heart quickens.

Eddie scoffs and claws at a lock of his hair, just behind his right ear.

“God damn it, Stevie!” he spits, his head on a swivel as he whips it from side to side, likely looking for Steve’s abandoned hearing aids.

Steve is about to point to the end of the coffee table and thus ignite a squabbling match about it when Wayne reappears from the bathroom.

“What in the heck is that sound?” he grumbles.

“What is it?” Steve demands, looking between the other two.

“Some…” Wayne says, tilting his head in search of the sound, “Machine…”

Steve moves his head about to dodge Eddie as he squirms around in his lap, muttering what he can only assume is a string of expletives as he attempts to search for the noise too without straining his back or exposing himself.

“Damn it, Eddie,” Steve snaps, lifting his partner when he suspects he is about to get kneed straight in the goddamn balls.

“Jesus Christ, darlin’!” Wayne exclaims, bringing a hand to his chest.

Steve finally manages a glance over Eddie’s shoulder to find Joanie standing just inside the living room, her small frame silhouetted by the bathroom light.

She’s holding something with big eyes that appear to be blinking.

Now Steve can hear the robotic snoring sounds that have half the household scared out of their minds.

“Don’t worry, Pa,” Joanie says, stepping forward and holding up her Christmas present, “It’s just my Furby.”

More of Joanie Munson

[a-memory-a-distant-echo]

ok, i'm being so brave and making the rec post that i told anon i would do like three days ago.

the obligatory caveats. this is not comprehensive—i haven't read all the fic in this fandom, and i've barely looked at anything not in english. my reading habits are pretty broad—i'll read almost any pairing, and am generally willing to suspend my disbelief to do so. i am not usually an au person, though this fandom is doing its absolute damndest to prove me wrong on that point.

also i have…more…fics that i felt i should rec somewhere, so probably this is rec post one, but ten felt like enough and also saying things in public where people can hear me is, it turns out, absolutely excruciating. please no one be mean to me about this post, especially if you wrote one of these fics, because if you are i will simply fill my pockets with rocks and take to the sea, ok? ok.

excited to find out what i manage to do that ruins the formatting, links the wrong fics and/or people, or otherwise breaks things in this post. please tell me if i've fucked up, or if your fic is on this list and you would rather i keep your name out of my mouth, or whatever.

first, a very special mention to the mlc reference guide by @yletylyf. this is such an incredibly comprehensive and generous resource. you want a timeline for this show that does an incredibly poor job of maintaining its own timeline? it's here. you want episode summaries? they're here. you want all the people and places? they're here. if you're writing fic, you want this guide, because it's so much easier and faster than scanning episodes or subs files to figure out the name of one specific guy or whatever. it also means that at least occasionally you work on the thing rather than accidentally rewatching the same scene five times, or hypothetically watching two to four episodes without even really thinking about what you're doing. the reference guide is the unsung mvp of fandom.

beyond porch and portal, difanghua, teen, by willowdream. this is the vampire au that i didn't know i wanted? the author posted it and their note was like 'i'm trying to be the change i want to see in the world,' and i was like ok sure, i'm not really convinced that the change i need is vampire aus, but i'll give it a go, and then i did and was like, oh shit, i'm eating fucking glass about this vampire au, i'm chewing on my own fucking fingers, i'm so fucking normal about this, i need another hundred thousand words of this and also seventeen more vampire aus in my inbox by monday morning. i literally finished reading it and scrolled right back to the top to read it again. i have no idea why this fic hits so hard, but it took me out at the knees. the voices are perfect. something about it is just impossibly compelling.

不安的遠離，再无歸期 | restless distance, without return, fang duobing/qiao wanmian, mature and teen, by @difeisheng. this is technically two fics but they're short and you should read both of them because they're such a brutal, perfect encapsulation of grief, and a really beautiful acknowledgement of the ways that fang duobing and qiao wanmian can be read as reflections of each other, separated by a decade, and it just fucking guts me. i dunno. it's about the grief! it's about the yearning! it's about someone who understands parts of you that you wish didn't exist! i think i've reread this like once a week for the last six weeks and i feel like it gets overlooked because it's not A Ship but like. it could be. it should be.

dance the silence down, fanghua and feihua, explicit, by @momosandlemonsoda. this fic. ugh. ok. i'm breaking my own rules. i had two when i started writing this post: no works in progress, and no reccing things that i haven't left a comment on, like a goddamn grownup. this one fic is breaking both of those rules and i feel bad about it and will hopefully spend like, all day tomorrow just commenting on every chapter or something, but i have to do this. this fic is so good. this fic ruins me. this fic is 63k, still a work in progress, and also if i were losing the whole internet tomorrow and i got to keep one fic in all the world and it was the only fic i could have for the rest of time, it might have to be this one, even as a work in progress. i ignored this fic for so long—by which i mean probably two of the four months since i first watched mysterious lotus casebook—because i was like, i don't like aus, and i especially don't like rock star aus. (or sex work aus, and you're never gonna fucking believe what else this author is writing and what else i absolutely cannot get enough of—this is a sneaky bonus rec for all i wanna do is wrong, another fic that i feel so so so normal about!) but then i was like okkkkkkk but. maybe i'll try it. people seem to be nuts for it. and then i read it and i was like OH HOLY SHIT PEOPLE ARE FULLY CORRECT TO BE ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED ABOUT THIS and normally, honestly, i wouldn't bother posting a rec like this because it's like 'oh haha have you read the five most popular fics in this fandom?' and it feels so redundant, but i know for a fact that a friend of mine who finished watching the show yesterday is reading this post, and even if everyone else has read it, she has not! anyhow as a former music person and a former diner cook, this fic like. i don't know. i feel like it broke me but also fixed me? i literally criticise writing professionally and every time i try to talk about this fic i find myself speechless because it's so perfect to me. i am deeply unwell about this fic. every time a new chapter comes out i sit down and read the whole thing again, yes, all sixty-thousand-plus words of it. some nights you go to bed and you're like 'what's the fucking point?' and then you're like 'no wait, there will eventually be more of dance the silence down,' and somehow that makes things suck a tiny bit less. my wife has made me take out like six sentences from this rec because they're too intense and too weird about it but i need you to understand: you have to read this fic.

in this dream, there is a lover to share this life with, fanghua, g, by @lianhuajing. alternative ending for the end of episode 27, in which li lianhua—precious man who has yet to discover a hill he's not willing to die on—apologises to fang duobing the only way he knows how, and it's wildly upsetting for everyone (but it's ok and it doesn't end miserably, no one panic). this is a delightfully angsty treat, and i love how conflicted fang duobing is in it—i feel like it's not something that i've seen explored a lot, but this poor boy really fuckin goes through it—his best friend and his childhood idol are the same person but are lying to him about it, and his dad's not actually his father and has been lying to him about it, and his best friend/childhood idol may have killed his father, and—yeah, is lying to him about it. like? someone give this poor man a hug and a cup of tea and a snack and a blankie. i love that we get to see some of his internal conflict in this.

quintessence of dust, feihua, teen, by justthereforit. this plays with one of my very most favourite tropes in the world, which is the one where the heart is a physical object and a physical form of trust and control and surrender and—like. this is so good. it's set in episode 13, which is, for me, one of the absolute peak angst points, and it absolutely nails it. di feisheng who's upset and vulnerable and frustrated and angry, li lianhua who knows he's going to die and can't bear the thought that he's going to take anyone else down with him, and they're both just so fucked up. chef kiss. i love it when everyone is emotionally wrecked and continually like 'ok no, i can take one more knife in my soul to protect someone else', and this absolutely delivers on that.

under moonlight, we change our futures yet again, feihua, explicit, by @thesilversun. the wedding room! obviously we have to have a wedding room fic, right? i'm not going to lie: i'm willing to suspend a lot of disbelief for wedding room fics, but in this one, it's actually a wonderfully, horrifyingly plausible setup. it walks a really fine line of keeping people in character, and acknowledging the inherent horror and seriousness of the situation, and also providing some desperately hot sex, and also managing to get the emotional beats of it, too. it has a sequel, which imo really has to be read as the conclusion to this fic, and it's just as good. it's possible that some of what i'm saying here is 'i love vulnerable-inside crusty-outside di feisheng' but like. i do. i love it so much.

what's sealed away, feihua, teen, by @bbcphile. AMNESIA FIC yessssss, a-fei my beloved, fics that handle brain damage/memory issues/amnesia well my beloveddddd. i love the a-fei arc, but i also have had a number of brain injuries and some other stuff that means that my own memory is…not so great, so i sometimes really struggle with how often amnesia in fiction is played off either as nothing to worry about or as a funny thing where everyone's in on the joke except the person who has amnesia. this fic is a great and sometimes very visceral exploration of a horrifying experience, and a really fantastic study of a-fei/di feisheng as a character, as well as the relationship that he has with li lianhua. a-fei trying to balance the trust he has in the sense memory of his body with his understanding of his relationship with li lianhua with li lianhua's reaction to—everything, really—is really well done and wonderful/terrible to read.

我只愿面朝大海 | i wish only to face the sea, g, by foreverstudent. ok so you wanna fuck yourself up some more? go read this. this is canon divergence from episode 39, and fang duobing has learned too well the lessons he's been taught, and sees the shape of things before li lianhua ever touches the wangchuan flower—so he sets about making sure that he won't be able to throw it away. this is agonising and gorgeous and maintains the canon relationships while developing the narrative differently. i wept literal tears. i was like 'ok that's it the worst part is over!' and then i remembered that there was another part coming and then i started crying. anyhow, it is—as ever, with me—about the devotion.

我住長江頭, 君住長江尾 -- i live upstream, you live downstream, fanghua, teen, by @rimbaudofficial. ok so this is Not a fic that i should like, because i am a massive academic failure and despite being in my forties have regular nightmares about having to re-engage with academia for like. any reason. HOWEVER. as noted, i read indiscriminately, even when i'm like 'reading this is a terrible idea and will be upsetting for me personally!', so i was like 'well, how bad of an idea can it possibly be?' and then instead! it was. incredibly charming? it was so fucking cute? the fang duobing characterisation in this is somehow just perfect to me—he's simultaneously confident and vulnerable, and also just so deeply committed to the weird clueless guy who he's decided is meant for him. di feisheng and li lianhua have a perfect weird-bros friendship. i would read another ten chapters of this and i would love it.

[rrxnjun]

i'm not bitter anymore (i'm syrupy sweet) ;; ljn

pairing: lee jeno x fem! reader genre: slight band au, college au | fluff, hurt/comfort wc: 4.8k (4.817) warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing

a spin-off to my fic i'm not angry anymore (well, sometimes i am) where jeno gets a redemption arc <3

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out. Now, rather than a piercing echo, he holds himself to you like a soft melody.

Lee Jeno sits on his bed, chewing on his bottom lip as he nervously types into the chat he has opened, kicking his leg up and down in a steady, but fast rhythm. Looking around the room for one moment, trying to calm himself down with a loud breath in and out, he glances back at the phone screen and rereads the sentence he wrote over and over again, trying to hear it in his own head, desperately needing the tone to be just right.

hey i thought of you while making this haha

Furrowing his brows, he deletes the words he wrote, huffing out in frustration. He sounds too awkward. Too casual, even. He doesn’t know how these two even go together, but somehow, he managed to do it. He didn’t know he was able to get across two very different emotions in one sentence, but he thinks that this is perhaps his new talent. Maybe he can use it in songwriting someday… if he ever gets back into music, that is.

Fastly typing on the screen, holding in his breath, he changes the sentence from its base and finds himself reading over the new one, trying to figure out if it’s better.

hi! i made you this. listen to it if you have time!

His eyes scan over the words countless times again, hating the way it sounds in his brain. This is too enthusiastic. Too joyful, sounding piercing in his brain. This is not how he wants you to perceive him. Not after all this time, not after all the emotions you’ve awakened in him. Is this the same emotion he used to see in Ryusol’s eyes whenever she used to look at him last year? It’s scary to think that he let her down so much, but he finds comfort in knowing that Yangyang was there to catch her when he let her go. Maybe he wouldn’t be so stupid if he understood this emotion all this time ago. Maybe he wouldn’t have made so many mistakes…

Cracking his knuckles, he rolls his eyes at himself and deletes the message again, promising himself that this is going to be the last attempt. He either nails it, or he doesn’t– in this case, he will keep the whole thing a secret and never attempt to subtly hint you his feelings ever again. 

hey y/n :) i made you a playlist 

The message is simple. The smiley face gives it more sparkle, a sense of emotion, even. The tone it reads inside of his brain is casual, but with a giving undertone– he hopes it gets through to you in the same way. Adding the spotify link to the playlist he made for you, he finally presses the send button and throws the phone away to the other side of his bed, not wanting to see you react to it in real time. That’s too stressful. He’s not used to the frantic speed of his heart whenever he’s around you yet.

If he really thinks about it, this might be the first time he’s ever tried for someone. All of those times before, girls threw themselves at him at every step he took, every song he used to sing with his band, making countless hopeless hearts break for him when he only stayed with them for one night. He’s never had to try for anyone. He’s never had to do nice things for someone, he’s never had to pay attention to the conversations he was having, he’s never had to give gifts to girls to get them to be with him. They came naturally to him, and he never really cared about their emotions anyway. Love wasn’t something he was inclined to feel, and he never felt the need to have someone by his side for long enough. 

Perhaps, he was battling loneliness more effectively– without having to try to make someone stay, he chose to have a different girl every night. It was easier. He never got attached, so it meant that he never had the chance to get his heart broken. Sometimes, he didn’t even realize he was breaking somebody’s heart– he never quite understood how somebody could feel deeper for him, when all they saw was the surface he chose to show to everyone at his concerts and after parties. The first time it dawned on him was when he broke Ryusol’s heart. Maybe that was the moment that opened his eyes.

Lee Jeno thinks he’s never tried for anyone before. In his eyes, this is the first time he’s openly caring for someone.

He doesn’t think about all those times he helped you with your assignments. He doesn’t think about all those times he assured you you looked nice or all those times when he went grocery shopping with you at 8pm, even though he was tired and you lived 20 minutes away. He doesn’t think about all those times he’s given you a ride home and about all those times when he walked you to school, helping you revise for your exams.

It doesn’t click for him when he breaks his habits, even. When he doesn’t try to get you to sleep with him the first night you sleep over at his house when you’re too tired to walk to your dorms, when he doesn’t leave you on read for three days or when he actually listens to what you’re saying, offering advice when needed and being the shoulder for you to cry on when you don’t really feel like solving your problems.

It only clicks for him when he sends you the link to the spotify playlist he made while thinking about you late last night, adding the song he recorded about you and posted to his new solo spotify account last week. 

Perhaps Lee Jeno still only expresses himself through music.

Sitting in the university auditorium, Jeno finds himself to be hyper-aware of your presence next to him. You’re sitting in the very last row, accompanied by all of Jeno’s friends– Renjun, Donghyuck, Mark, Jaemin, Chenle and Hendery (even though the band isn’t active anymore and they broke it off for the best for everyone), hell, even Ryusol and Yangyang, even though the boy doesn’t even go to university. It’s kind of surreal how one year can change everything, Jeno thinks; what he thought was the best for him was now broken off, and the friendships he found himself to be mistreating now had stronger bonds than ever. 

He wonders how you even ended up in the middle of it all, in the middle of his small galaxy. You two met in the club, where you were working part-time and he often went to drown his feelings away. After he had a falling out with his friends because of the way he was acting when he was too busy with chasing fame with his band, he found himself to be the loneliest he’s ever been, now that he didn’t have the support of others and the screaming rows full of girls that were all over him. Without the band, he often felt like nothing– worthless, not interesting. 

But then you came– asking him if he was the Lee Jeno from the band, and if he was feeling alright after the band’s breakup. No one’s ever asked him about it before. It opened up a pit in him, made him cross all his barriers and finally let his feelings take over. It’s mainly on you that he managed to apologize to everyone and realize what he lost. 

And ever since that night, he found himself not wanting to let you go.

Nervously kicking his knee up and down, he feels the contact of your hand on his thigh, trying to calm him down. Looking at you from above, he tries to fake a smile as you squeeze his flesh and intertwine your fingers with his, shaking your hands in enthusiasm. Leaning closer to him, you whisper encouraging words into his ear.

“You’re gonna rock it, Jeno.”

Snickering, he shakes his head. “It’s an acoustic set, Y/N. I can’t rock it.”

Rolling your eyes in mock annoyance, you shake your head. “You know what I meant. So stop stressing, you’re a professional.”

It’s been months since Jeno last sang on the stage. His band was no longer in service, but all of his friends and bandmates still encouraged him to join the university’s recital– he was a good musician with a good voice, and his songs had more depth this time around. He almost gets emotional at the growth he’s made, but there’s no time for that when he notices the person in front of him being done with their song, meaning that it’s now his time to shine.

Seconds before he stands up from his place and takes his acoustic guitar with him, you reach over to his hair and ruffle it with admiration. The blush that forms on Jeno’s face is hardly noticeable from the bright lights of the stage, but it still makes Yangyang and Renjun snicker from their seats– they know this state all too well.

Lee Jeno doesn’t realize that now, this is you trying. 

No one’s ever tried so subtly for him before.

“So, which one do you wanna watch?” you ask as you stumble around his messy room, getting his laptop and laying next to him on the bed. You’ve been trying to make him watch your favorite movies with you for the last half an hour, and when you finally succeeded after giving him countless options, he insisted that he’s too lazy to get the laptop himself.

Sometimes, he’s a pain in the ass. But more than often, you don’t find yourself caring.

“Hm?” you poke his side as you turn on the computer and type in his password (that you helped him out with when he first got his new laptop. He didn’t know what to set it as and you told him to make it your name as a joke. He hasn’t changed it since.), waiting for him to reply. 

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “what do you want to watch the most?”

“I asked you first! I’ve seen most of them already, so I don’t really care much,” you mutter, opening Netflix and turning to him when the pincode comes up, raising your brows up.

“0423,” he mumbles before continuing, “why do you even want to watch movies that you’ve already seen? Isn’t that boring to you?” 

“Your pin code is your birthday? That’s… so unsafe,” you mutter as you type it in, shaking your head at your friend’s antics, “and I like watching movies I’ve already seen, because it gives me a new perspective. And also, I like watching your reactions when you watch movies. Your face lights up and stuff, it’s adorable.”

Jeno feels his cheeks getting red again, but he tries to hide it by pulling up the hood of his hoodie, shifting a little in the bed to leave you more space. “Which one have you watched the most times?” he asks.

“Hmm… probably Dirty Dancing,” you muse, grinning, “I’ve seen it like 15 times already.”

“Can we watch that one?” he mumbles, seeing your fingers dancing along the keyboard already, typing the movie title in and searching through the page to find it.

“Why?”

“I dunno… ‘cause it’s obviously your favorite?” he says, not realizing the implication his words have, only stating what he truly means. When you silently click on the movie and let it play, laying next to your friend and putting the laptop onto his lap so you can cuddle into his side, he wonders if this is what all friends do on cold afternoons.

He wonders if there’s something more in the way you wrap your arms around him, if there’s something more in the way you look at him from time to time when your favorite scene of the movie occurs or when you hum the soundtrack under your breath, trying to make him join you just so you could hear his voice. He might have a lot of experience with girls, but when it comes to relationships, he’s utterly clueless.

And when he giggles at the scene with Baby’s sister singing, moving very sternly from side to side, hearing you replicating the scene into his ear almost word-to-word, he doesn’t regret choosing the most corny, romantic movie he’s ever heard of. He might even comply if you asked him to learn the choreography with you. He’s not opposed to anything.

When the movie comes to an end and the final credits roll, he feels a soft peck pressed to his jaw, keeping him from looking at you in fear of not seeing the admiration he so deeply desires to see in your eyes. 

He wonders if this was you trying.

“What’s the deal with you and Y/N?” Jaemin asks one day, silent enough to not make the rest of the friend group hear, but loud enough to land in Jeno’s ears and make him look at his friend with shock.

“Nothing…?” he replies, but already feels his cheeks heatening. He despises how his emotions always show in his face. He wants to be cool about everything, but it’s hard to look unbothered when every small thing about you makes his heart race and makes his brain turn into a fuzzy mess.

“Sure,” Jaemin grins with a knowing smile, making Jeno roll his eyes. Of course Jaemin noticed. He always notices first, it seems– the boy has a good nose for human emotion. Perhaps it’s his very well developed sense of empathy. Jeno wonders if he’s good at relationship advice as well, but since you and him aren’t dating, he figures it’s too early to ask.

“Nothing yet, I guess? I don’t know…” Jeno mumbles under his nose, sensing that he can trust Jaemin. The boy knowingly nudges him into his waist, making the older one (by 4 months only, but that’s still something) grunt in mock annoyance.

“Oh would you look at that, our local player finally let his heart soften for someone!” Jaemin exclaims, still paying enough attention to not being too loud, leaving you deep in conversation with Yangyang and Ryusol in the back of the group. 

“Stop,” Jeno rolls his eyes, but grins at the comment. 

“I love this for you, though. Ever since you’ve known her, you’re different. You’re nicer, you’re paying more attention to others, hell, you don’t even drink anymore. I think this is a good thing,” Jaemin says with an encouraging smile.

“Jaemin, stop talking like my therapist, please,” Jeno mutters, trying hard to compose his expression.

“I mean it, though! It’s… it’s nice to see you actually trying for someone, you know. I hope this works out for you two,” his words are sincere and sweet, leaving Jeno in hesitance. He’s never heard any of his friends encouraging him in a relationship with someone before. He’s never been this close to anyone before, his emotions were never this deep– all of his past encounters with girls were purely sexual, and he can’t even imagine how he could ever live like that.

But before he can open his mouth to reply to Jaemin, he feels your warm hand in his (he doesn’t even have to turn around to know it’s you. He’s not used to the feeling of your hand in his– he just purely senses your presence.), catching him off-guard with the feeling of falling he gets inside of his stomach, suffocating a little.

Looking around at you, seeing you smiling, a sentence of “What are you two gossiping about?” uttered out of your lips, Jeno finds himself content with the state he’s in right now.

It feels good to try for someone.

Noticing you shivering as you two sit in the cafeteria, Jeno finds himself feeling like a worried mum for the first time. Squinting at the open windows, as if he could be mad at inanimate objects for the state they can’t control, he curses in his mind at whoever decided it was a good idea to leave them open in the middle of November. 

“Are you cold?” he asks the obvious, seeing you look at him with wide eyes, reminding him of Bambi. A burst of admiration spreads on his insides, but when you reply, he can’t help but glare at you.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? You keep shivering. You should’ve taken a hoodie with you, you know it gets cold out here,” he mutters, seeing you roll your eyes at him.

“I forgot,” you peep, “but that’s okay. I was stupid and now I have to bear the consequences,” you say, making the boy’s protective instincts kick in once again, finding himself automatically taking off his large hoodie and throwing it into your lap.

“Wear it,” he says.

“But you’re gonna get cold-”

“I can bear the cold. Wear it or else you’ll get sick again, your immune system is more unstable than my mental health. I don’t need you stuck at home with a fever for two weeks again, I’d get bored to death,” he says, trying to reason with you, while also simultaneously trying to make it seem more casual than it felt inside of him.

“Jeno-”

“Can you please just wear it?” he asks, seeing you finally back down, smiling as you put the hoodie on and tug the sleeves down to make the most adorable sweater paws, making the boy coo on the inside.

You look absolutely adorable in his eyes. He never really knew how it feels to see someone you adore in your clothes– while he’s lent his jackets to random girls in the bar countless of times before, it never really held any significance to him. But seeing you in his jacket, drowning in the fabric as he likes his own clothes a little oversized, he can’t help but feel his heart swell with the sight. You should borrow his clothes more often.

Maybe he could “accidentally” leave one at your place once. Maybe you’ll wear it if you find it there. He won’t know about it unless you tell him, but the thought is enough for the boy to go crazy about the imagination.

“You look good,” slips out of his lips, making him instantly curse at himself on the inside. This might just be the corniest situation of his whole entire life– and he’s sent you a playlist before. 

Looking at him from under your eyelashes, you almost look shy as you burrow your nose into the fabric of the hoodie, smiling at him. “Thanks.”

“You can… keep it if you’d like,” he hesitantly says, not knowing what’s gotten into him. If Jaemin was here, he’d scream and yell at him for being this awkward with you. He’s known you for quite a few months now– he should already be used to the way you make him feel by now.

You grin at him as you nod, looking away from his eyes and breaking the burning eye-contact. “Okay,” you say.

The table falls silent for a second, both of you too immersed into your own head to register the quietness, when you move in your place and reach towards your hair, dragging the scrunchie that was holding your hair up off your hair, letting your locks fall free on the gray fabric of Jeno’s hoodie. Running your hand through your hair to shake it off a little and give it volume, you turn to Jeno and take his hand into yours before sliding the light-pink scrunchie onto his hand, giggling at the contrast of it against his all-black outfit.

Jeno looks at you with furrowed brows. What’s this supposed to be? Why is your hair tie suddenly on his wrist? 

When your eyes lock for a split second, you must notice his confusion. “Keep it,” you say. 

And he will. He’s convinced he would keep anything you give him, even if he found no interest in the thing, or if he found the item to be the most unuseful thing in the whole world. It’s from you, so it’s important. 

He doesn’t know what the whole action means– he’s too clueless to understand the girl code. He doesn’t know that this was him marking you his, and you letting the world know he’s yours. The item exchange was solely a game of your hearts. A slight push forward to giving this whole thing a new title.

He doesn’t know that this was you trying. But he feels he’s too impatient to keep waiting for signs any longer.

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out. 

You never really liked your job at the bar. It was too loud, you came in contact with too many men with high egos that thought they could make your day any better, and you also had nothing else to do than to observe people the whole night. Observing the guests of your bar was one of your favorite activities. Sometimes, you make up a whole story about them in your brain, puzzling the pieces together with a bit of fantasy; sometimes, they come to you and tell you all about their problems and why they chose to drink them away at the bar tonight. 

Jeno was no different. You knew about him– because realistically speaking, who didn’t? He had quite the reputation in the town, and you can’t say that the one he had amongst girls he slept with was a good one. You heard all about him from your coworkers– he’s a showstopper, a bad liar, drama starter, a player, fuckboy… you name it, he’s probably been called that name before. And you can’t say you didn’t believe those words, not when you saw him at the bar with that confident smirk of his every other night, but this one evening, when you actually came in contact with the boy, you thought they might have been lying about him just the slightest.

He came to you with a dark look on his face, ordering himself a drink. He seemed out of it– like most days, lately– and you suddenly thought about all the rumors that spread around the town when his band broke up, wondering if they were true and if he really was such a dick everyone made him out to be. His expression is remorseful, the look never leaving his face, and you suddenly catch yourself asking him if he’s okay, met with surprise in his eyes. 

You think you must be the first one to ever care about how he feels.

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out. When you get to know him, the contrast between his inside and the act he puts out for everyone to see gets harsher and harsher.

You learn a lot about him over time. They said he was overly-confident when he was starting the band– you just think he was ambitious. They said he was a liar– you just thought he never really had the full picture. They said he was a player– you just thought he never really thought he was playing with anyone’s heart. They all said he would hurt you– you told them you don’t see that happening any time soon.

Nobody believed in him until he put himself back together. Nobody but you.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers into the dark one night, his face illuminated by the show he put up on Netflix to just mumble in the background, when you’re too tired to go back to the campus and choose to stay over at his place, because you sleep better by his side anyway. His words don’t surprise you, if you really think about it– they just fall into place, filling you with a soft harmony, making you 100% content.

Turning your body to him, his expression is nervous and he keeps biting at his lower lip, the habit of pulling at his chapped skin making itself known again like in any situation like this. You don’t even realize there’s a smile spreading on your face, a soft one, to be exact– because that’s how everything with Jeno was so far.

“Can I kiss you?” you reply with a question, catching the boy off guard. Breathless, he nods, letting you completely in, breaking all the walls he’s spent ages building up around himself.

He’s had a lot of experience with girls and you’re sure as hell he’s kissed more than a couple of them in his life before, but when kissing you, he’s as nervous as the first time, a shy boy looking at you from under his eyelashes as you lean closer to him and nudge his nose with yours before connecting your lips together in what feels like a seal of something new.

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out. When you first kiss him, he’s the softest entity.

There’s something unexplainable about the contrast of his dark hair, harsh jawline and the chains on his clothing with the unbearable softness of his kiss, the movement of his lips against yours almost hesitant to get more, afraid of going too far and messing up the moment. The humming of Netflix is no more than a background noise when you pull away from him for just a second, gasping for air and going for more, this time deeper, letting the boy know that he doesn’t have to fear you, that although you’re fragile, in his arms, you have no chance of breaking. His palm, adorned with cold silver on his fingers, comes in contact with your jaw, steading the movement. The touch burns you up, makes you yearn for more, but he still holds you like you’re the finest piece of porcelain, treasuring you so much more than anyone ever before, the drunkenness of being in love with someone completely changing his brain chemistry.

Pulling away from him once again, the state of him takes all air out of your lungs. In the white glow of the TV, Lee Jeno looks up at you with eyes an endless pool of serenity, all wide and glimmering, his lips swollen and parted, aching for more. His cheeks are a little tinted, his raven hair falling into his forehead a little disheveled, his strong features shining with a softened glow, inviting you in for more. You want to keep this image of him forever. 

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” he whispers again, into the dark, making the pit in your stomach deepen. He must have felt like everyone gave up on him– like there was no other script for him and he was left with nothing at all. You wonder if he truly thought he would never get a second chance again. You wonder if he really thought he messed it up this bad.

Something about his words makes you want to kiss him again. You lean into him, catching his cheeks into your palms– almost feeling like you’re holding your whole world– and see his eyes flutter close when your breathing fans over his lips, softly taking him in again. 

His hands are a little cold when he covers yours, still sitting at his face. “I’m in love with you,” you whisper against his lips, thinking to all the times you wanted to say it but couldn’t, knowing it’s too soon and he’s not ready for it yet. You took things at his pace– he’s never been in a serious relationship before, and you didn’t know if he was prepared to have one, prepared to get attached, prepared to let you stay, when all everyone ever did was leave him. You wonder if the trajectory of his life would have gone differently if his father was still present– even though it’s still only an explanation, not an excuse– but you think you’re perfectly content with watching him grow by your side.

When your lips grow tired of the kissing, you smile against each other’s lips, holding each other close. The vulnerability of it all breaks you into pieces and glues itself together in one swift moment, wanting to treasure this moment forever.

When you first meet Lee Jeno, his exterior calls at you with hard chords that keep slowly burning out. Now, rather than a piercing echo, Lee Jeno holds himself to you like a soft melody.

You’re the first person Lee Jeno ever tried for. But even now, that he’s so sure you’re his and you’re not leaving any time soon, he’s convinced that for you, he’ll always keep trying.

[jinkoh]

 tell me what’s wrong, little bug

kevin x gn!reader

wc: 1.5k, tags: hurt/comfort, childhoodfriend/neighbor!AU, y/n is in their last year of school, mentions of a friendship break up & college struggles, older brother!Q

a/n: i wrote this at 2 am when i couldn't sleep so it's rlly just self-indulgent comfort tbh

masterlist

“I knew I’d find you here,” Kevin said as he sat next to you in the tall grass near the meadow where a bunch of cows were chewing on the lush green.

“You’re back,” you stated, and even though you wanted to be surprised and excited about his return after not seeing him since he’d briefly come back from college for your birthday months ago, you can’t seem to find the emotions within you. You were tired, your eyes still feeling puffy from crying and lack of sleep.

“Mhm,” he hummed, “Someone told me there’s a little bug at home in dire need of counseling.”

“My brother called you?” You scrunched up your face, too embarrassed by the fact that Changmin had tattled to him to realize that he’d come back, driven all those miles, just for you. 

Kevin lightly nudged your shoulder with his own. “He means well. You know he really loves you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And so do I,” he added with a little grin, and you knew he meant like your brother does, like a sibling. It’d always been like that, you’d never been anything but family to him. And yet it still managed to make your heart ache. But what was one more ache on top of everything already weighing you down?

“I know,” you said again, not meeting his gaze.

“So, tell me what’s wrong, little bug.”

You wanted to tell him, you really did. It had always come easier to talk to Kevin when something was bothering you. No matter how much you loved your brother and no matter how much you knew he cared, there was something about Kevin that made it feel less intimidating to open up.

But right now, it was still impossibly hard. Just the thought of trying to put it into words had your throat clogging up.

“Just…school,” you said as if that could summarize the way everything had been falling apart around you, your last year feeling more like a hellscape than the exciting time you’d always imagined. You’d known which college you wanted to go to since forever, your best friend and you making plans about it since middle school. Except she had suddenly changed her mind about going together, and while you understood that these things could happen you thought you at least deserved an explanation. But you never got one, not really. I can’t always be considerate to you, I need to think of myself too, she’d reasoned, and it’d felt like a punch in your face that she saw the situation that way, naturally assuming you would blame her when really all you wanted was to talk about it, to understand, to be part of the conversation. It hurt that she seemingly trusted you too little to be open with you. And you couldn’t even talk to anyone about it all because your friends were hers too and you didn’t think it was appropriate to pull anyone else into this mess. “Just school,” you repeated, “my grades have been dropping,” you added and you weren’t even lying.

Kevin hummed in understanding. “Are you worried about not getting into your first choice?”

You bit your lower lip so hard you thought you tasted iron. “I don’t even have a first choice anymore,” you pressed out. There were tears welling up in your eyes that you aggressively tried to blink away.

“Oh,” he said and you knew by the way he looked at you that to some extent things must have clicked. He'd known about your plans for the future after all so it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

You shook your head but then nodded before ultimately shrugging. “It’s just over, I guess,” you knew it sounded like you were talking about an ex rather than a friend, but the heartbreak felt the same either way, “It’s—I’ve tried to fix it over and over but I don’t think we can. I don’t think I can. But now that we’re not talking anymore I’m realizing how much of my life revolved around her. It’s—,” you paused, trying to find a fitting word, but when nothing better would come to mind, you settled for “weird." Your fingers fumbled with the grass next to your feet, "I haven’t had to be myself all by myself in a really long time. It was always—it was our dreams and plans and wishes. Maybe hers more than mine. But now it’s suddenly just me, and I don’t even know who I am outside of all of that. How am I supposed to choose a future like that?”

“You don't have to put yourself under so much pressure, y/n,” he said softly and somehow he made it sound like a good answer, “I know it's always framed like this giant decision that will determine your whole life, but it's not. Life is way more complicated than that. Which isn't to say you should just decide randomly, but you don't have to pressure yourself into finding the perfect choice either. You won’t know how it turns out until you're there anyway. So just go for a place with interesting courses or a pretty campus or good financial plans or," he playfully nudged you in the side, "you could also go some place where you already have an ally. My school is pretty good you know?"

“You probably just don’t have friends at college, so you want me around.” You rolled your eyes at him but you did feel a little better. 

“Rude? I so have friends,” he mocked offense, “but I do want you around. Would be great to not have to travel a zillion miles just to annoy you in person.”

“You do know that you were the one who left, right?”

“Fair enough.”

“Why did you go anyway? Why that far?”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t that deep. It just seemed like a good path for me. Good chance to leave my comfort zone too.”

“Hm.”

“Why? Did I manage to grab your interest? Are you considering it?”

"Don't get me wrong, I already had it on my radar beforehand," you justified yourself and when you saw his smug grin you quickly added, "because of the courses!"

“Sure, little bug. Or maybe you just really miss me.” 

"Shut up."

“Seriously though,” Kevin went back to a more serious tone, “no matter where you go, it will be fine. You’ll be fine. You don't have to have it all figured out just yet. And you’ll always have me to call when the going gets rough.”

“Thanks, Kev. Really, thank you.”

“Mmh-mmh, not for that,” he hummed, "and by the way, about the other thing you mentioned, I think I have a pretty good idea of who you are. So if you ever need a reminder I could easily make you a list."

"That'd be great, actually," you replied and it sounded less like a joke than you'd intended. Not that it really was one in the first place.

"Hmm, let's see" he hummed, "you're a little stubborn—" "Not true," you pouted and he just raised an eyebrow at you in place of a response. "You're also kind," he continued, "but maybe a bit of a people pleaser." 

"Aren’t you supposed to say nice things here?"

"Oh, I thought you wanted an honest list and not a nice one."

"Fine."

"You're also creative."

"Creative?"

"There’s some crayon drawings on my bedroom wallpaper to prove it,” he grinned and you couldn’t help but smile at the memory—not that you actually remembered drawing the flowers on his wall, you’d been 4 or 5. What you did remember though was the way he hadn’t gotten rid of them, even going so far as to put an empty picture frame around them at some point as if they were actual art and not some childish doodles.

"Fair enough," you chuckled.

"You're also funny. And very cute when you have leaves stuck in your hair," you felt his fingers move through your hair, carefully picking out something that got stuck in it. You wished he knew what that was doing to your heart. 

"And most of all you're a little bug of course." He dropped his hand to your shoulder once he was done, his thumb drawing gentle patterns. "You need to hear more?" 

"No," you shook your head, "it's fine."

"I could go on, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

“Do you feel a little better?”

“Yeah,” you leaned your head against his shoulder, “I do.”

 "That's good." You thought you felt him press a little peck to the crown of your hair before he rested his chin on your head, but maybe it was just your wishful thinking. "That's good," he whispered again.

masterlist ♡ pls consider reblogging/commenting if you enjoyed this ♡

[chvnnie]

Vows

lee minho x reader

word count: 4.1k

genre: smut, and heavy angst — MINORS DNI

warnings: non modern au (1800s author!minho), established relationship, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH - NO DETAILS GIVEN BUT PLEASE USE DISCRETION, fingering, unprotected sex, only minho orgasms, dirty talk. there’s not a happy ending. i think that’s it, but if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW

summary: Minho doesn’t know why he can’t seem to beat this writer’s block

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD BECAUSE I AM TOO SAD TO TRY AND EDIT SO DO NOT DRAG ME IF YOU FIND ANY TYPOS. i’m never writing angst again, i cried the entire time i wrote this. and i’m at work. it’s a mess and it hurt but i loved it so. have fun!!!

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.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @gibbysupremeacyisreal, @katieraven, @miamormi, @woahfruity, @isilentprincess, @hugs4chan, @stranger-thighs, @beautifulcolorgarden, @scottmcallisdaddy, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @humayraaaa, @americanokisses, @djeniryuu, @epiphanynaffit - comment/send ask to be added

His hands feel cold as he rubs his face, fingers creeping up to run through his dark locks. In the process, he licks his chapped lips. The winters are already dry enough; really, he should stop before they crack.

But he just can’t help himself. Minho thinks all broken things are beautiful.

With a sigh, he drops his hands. His elbow dings the small ink pot in the process, spilling the black liquid off his writing table. It swirls under the candlelight, landing in heavy puddles on discarded parchment. Typically, the author would hurry to pick up the pot. His money was limited and his practice was expensive; wasting even a little was fatal.

Tonight he sits. Counting the drops as the plop, plop, plop, ruining all of his terrible work. No one will ever know the worlds he’s created and destroyed, the ink making sure to remove them from existence.

Minho is almost jealous of the parchment. What he wouldn’t give to be washed away and made anew, for the burden that being an artist in this life has brought to be returned to the higher powers.

Before he thought it was a blessing. Weaving words to create fantastical lands, to write of unfathomable love. Now, as the candle wax is hitting his wooden table and the ink is running dry, he knows this is a curse.

A walk. A walk might do him well. It could help Minho move the boulder that’s blocking his mind, tapping him dry. Though the hour is well past midnight, it couldn’t hurt to try.

The ankle length coat is heavy on his shoulders, yet he’s grateful. The wind is nippy and is doing nothing to help the dryness of his lips. His tongue rolls over it once again, thankful for the protection it provides. Even if it’s fleeting.

Why can he not get this right? No matter what he scribbles, nothing is making sense. The story he’s made is falling flat, losing its traction as it continues on. It’s a brilliant idea, one that his editor even called a masterpiece. But that’s all it is — an idea. No matter how many times he’s tried to bring it to life, it’s damn near impossible.

What could have happened to it?

Minho walks without really paying attention. He knows the way by now; a left here, down the curved road before you take a right, past the bakery. Every time the golden window comes into view, he stops. Time stops as he looks into the dark store, blinking slowly as snow flutters down and clings to his lashes.

He blinks—

“Minho!” You cry excitedly, your giggle immediately warming his body.

When his eyes open again, the first thing he sees is your bright smile. Smirking, he takes the loaf out of your hand, tearing a bite off the end.

“I’m just saying.” He talks as he chews, turning on his heels in the direction of your shared home. “It would be silly of you to do that.”

“What?” You hike up your lilac colored dress, jogging to catch up to him. He rolls his eyes as you jump in front of him, walking backwards. Many strangers pass, eyes wide and looking at you in disgust, wondering what fool would do this on a busy sidewalk. But the smile on your face doesn’t waver, unaffected by the hurtful whispers of insignificant people. “You don’t think I could bake my own bread?”

“Darling, you can hardly cut an apple.”

“Bread and apples are not the same.” You exclaim, throwing your head back to sigh dramatically. “When you married me, you vowed to always be supportive of me—“

“And I always have been.”

“So, encourage me!” You suddenly stop, putting your hands out to catch Minho before he runs into you. Hands on his jacket, you bunch it up. Pull him close. “Oh, my darling, if that’s what you wish to do. You’ll be wonderful at it!”

Your fingers are so close to his heart, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could feel how quickly it was pounding. There’s something about the way your eyes sparkle when you look at him; wide, full of a life he’s always been envious of. Minho finds it impossible to remember a time before this look of yours.

It started when you were five. Caught up in a tree, crying because you had climbed too high and were too frightened to jump. He remembers the braids you wore, how your hair was falling from them. The tears on your little brown dress from where the branches grabbed the fabric.

Even at a young age, he knew he needed to help. His mother always taught him to help someone in danger. In retrospect, the tree wasn’t that tall. If you fell, the possibility of breaking a bone wouldn’t have been high. Yet it seemed scary, even to the young boy, following your path up it.

“Don’t be scared.” He said to you, reaching his hand out. Shakily, you grab onto it. You squeezed him so tight, his hand began to throb.

Minho knows what it’s like to be scared, and he never would want to leave you alone.

As he returns you to land, you turn to the boy you recognize as your neighbor. Arms flying around his shoulders, tugging him into the tightest hug your little body can give.

And then you pull back, and look at him. The sparkle of life in the depths of your eyes.

He swore you would never be scared and alone again.

It’s hard not to smile, lips pressed together and curling up as he cups your face. “I also vowed to never lie to you.”

With a huff, you pull away from the hug, turning in the appropriate direction this time. “You are the bane of my existence, Lee Minho.”

Now it’s his turn to jog. Catching up to you and gripping your hand to pull you into his side. Despite your wiggles, your faux pout and empty complaints of being exhausted by him, you make no effort to really move. Tucked into his side is the best place, both in reality and fiction, you once told him. The scent of his cologne, the smell of fresh bread and the mint tea he drank earlier. A comfort you always will seek, and one he’s more than joyful to give.

It’s a short walk home; a left and then you’re up the curvy path, walking until you take a right at the bookshop near your home. It’s a quaint little shop, but cozy nonetheless. The door was propped open, smells of cinnamon and leather spilled onto the cobbled road in front of it. Come in, take a seat. Enjoy the writings of authors old and new.

Right in the middle, on a golden stand, sits Minho’s recent work. The yellow cover was your idea — “It piques interest! Come on, do you really want it to be red or blue like all the rest?” The book didn’t need to be published for him to know you were right, but it’s satisfying to see the stacks behind it dwindling. The community enjoying another one of his gorgeous worlds.

“It’s running low.” You hum. “It might be time to mail production, get more copies out.”

“Hm, with what funds? If I recall, you spent it all on poppy muffins not even an hour ago.”

Rightfully, a fist gently collides with his abs. Minho laughs from the impact, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “I’m so proud of you, Min.” You don’t take your eyes off the book. Instead of your trademark beaming smile, you look almost stunned. In total awe. “It’s what you’ve always dreamed of.”

He loops his arm around yours, tugging you away from the window. “It’s not but a hobby. I have greater dreams than that.”

The familiar brick comes into view. A flowerbed in front is home to the brightest plants on the block; daisies, pink flowers that Minho can’t remember the name of, daffodils. There’s even mint for tea, freshly plucked by you (if you can remember). It’s a comfort, a reminder of your love. Of the home you’ve built together.

“Like what?” You fall back in step, letting your husband take the lead so he can get to the door before you. The door swings open, Minho bowing dramatically and you following suit as you pass.

Once the door shut, he began on the buttons of his coat. “Where’s the fun if I tell you?” He teases. When he looks up to see your exasperated expression, it’s only held for a beat before you start to laugh. “I dream of more of this life. Of easy morning walks—“

His eyes open, the cold winter air making his fingers start to numb. It’s time to move again. To continue down this path. This time, he’ll walk straight. Listen for the meows of street cats that always greet him at the block.

Rummaging his deep pocket, Minho finds the little treats he pocketed on his way out. Crouching down, he lets the cats eat from his hand.

“Careful.” He whispers to the biggest one. “Let your friends eat.”

Once he’s sure that they return to the warmth of the home he built for them, Minho starts again. Licks his lips. Takes a right.

And crashes into you, grabbing your hips to help ground himself.

“My love.” You gasp, a hand flying to your chest. Your fingers toy at your necklace, the collision spooking you more than you care to admit. “I didn’t even hear you coming.”

His chest hurts from where your head hit him, flinching slightly as he heartbeat starts to pick up. It’s the first time he’s seen you all day, nose too fair in his journals to pay attention to the outside world.

And wow, is he kicking himself for waiting so long. The yellow dress you’re wearing is perfect for the weather, clutching the roses you picked from the garden to your chest. Seems you kept yourself busy while he worked.

“I’m sorry, darling.” He draws, bending down to catch your lips with his own. “This hallway is just too small for us, isn’t it?”

You smile against him, standing on your toes to steal another kiss. “Maybe, but I’ll never complain about running into you.”

“It’s because you’re not the one with a sore chest.” Finally, he pulls back. “What have you done today?”

“I was busy in the garden.” You adjust the bouquet in your arms, making sure none of the flowers lost their petals. “I wanted to cut the roses before autumn comes.”

Like Minho loses himself in words, you lose yourself in the garden. It’s like you don’t even notice the sun setting some days; fingers too deep in the soil to care about anything surrounding you. The two of you take turns pulling each other out of your little worlds, bringing one another back into existence together.

This crash was a good grounding moment. You both were too far gone.

“They’re lovely.” He says with a smile, delicately stroking the bud of one.

“They were, until you so rudely ran into me and fussed with my bouquet.” You can’t even say it without a bright smile, always delighted to tease your husband. “Watch where you’re walking, Min!”

His eyes roll so far back, he thinks they’ll get lost in his mind. Hands move from your hips to tangle in your hair, pulling you in for a deep kiss. The flowers fall to the floor, and this time the petals come falling off. Scattering the hallway carpet you stand upon.

It’s been too long. Too long since your lips met his, since your body was merged with his own. And it’s only been since this morning.

Maybe too long is an exaggeration, but Minho’s always had a flair for the dramatic.

“Are you planning to go back out?” He mumbles, tongue sweeping against your lips until they part, letting him in.

You whimper as you shake your head, hands on his biceps as you cling for dear life. “Not anymore.”

Oh, how it overjoys the author to hear. Minho walks with you, guiding your bodies to the nearest door before he kicks it open. Though the hallway has seen, and heard, so many parts of you, you deserve more than a stuffy hallway quickie.

It’s a stumble into his office that doesn’t stop until your hips hit his work table. He lets go of you just briefly, sliding the papers, notebooks, quills — all clatter to the ground. The desk sits in front of a window, cracked open just enough to let the summer breeze dance in. It lands on your shoulders, on his face. Ruffles your hair and warms his skin. The fireflies have just started to come out, a few twinkling near the stained glass and lighting it up in beautiful pieces.

Minho cups the back of your head, lowering your body slowly onto the wooden surface. It feels like a dreamlike state as he breaks the kiss, moving himself away from your lips slowly. Your head lays at the edge of the desk, crossing over just a bit onto the windowsill. The breeze makes your hair flutter in strands, the pale light of the fireflies painting your face.

Blue and red. Yellow and green. Pink and orange. Stained glass eyes, bright and full of life, blink up at him. Always happy to see him.

“My darling.” Goosebumps decorate your skin, rising up your neck at the sound of his low tones. His fingers are delicate as he strokes your cheek. “Your beauty always leaves me in such awe.”

Rolling your head, your lips brush against the tips of his fingers, overflowing with gratitude. “You are too kind to me, my love.”

The corners of his lips twitch into a soft smile. “No. No, I believe I am not kind enough.” His other arm hooks around your right thigh, heaving it up in his arms. The dress slides down your body in rippling waves, pooling like golden ink at your hips. “But I will never stop trying to make it up to you.”

Before you can reply, the hand on your cheek slips the nape of your neck. He pulls you up as he comes down, making your body arch into his touch when his lips collide. This kiss is more than the one that let you here — be it the weather or the feral instincts clawing at his throat, Minho’s body is like the brightest flame. Hot enough to bring the entire planet to the brink of extinction.

And it’s all because of you. The smell of roses, the taste of strawberries you had for lunch. His life force, his drive. His muse, who is tugging on his worn out dress shirt and pulling until the buttons pop. Across the room they scatter, lost and never to be found again.

Your hands run across the smooth skin of his chest, carefully feeling every ridge of him. Sweet moans fill his mouth as you enjoy the touch, covering the same spots over and over as if you can’t get enough. It’s easy to get lost in the touch of a lover, feeling their bodies in ways that only you can enjoy. Maybe that’s why you don’t notice his hand moving up your thigh, stopping right at the lower hem of your panties.

But you do notice when two fingers slip inside and quickly brush against your folds, making your body jolt in shock and delight.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Minho says as he pulls back, smiling at the cute expression on your face. “Just relax, darling. Let me care for you.”

“You did.” Your words are breathy, teetering on broken moans. “All morning.”

The chuckle he gives makes you flutter around nothing, new slick starting to coat his digits. “Well, let me do it again. Didn’t I vow to always?”

In the space between his rapid heartbeats, his fingers find your entrance and push inside. With vigor, Minho starts to pump them in and out. The palm of his hand hits your cunt, heel pressing into your clit with each thrust.

It’s an intense feeling, especially with how much torture your husband put you through this morning. You’re more sensitive than usual, hips buck and legs kicking out at the intensity. Only a few thrusts and you’re near screaming, the ache overpowering.

He vowed to always help you, even when you aren’t aware that you need it. Free hand flying to your hip, he pins you down by your hip with enough strength to bruise you.

“Still.” His voice is dark and low, the warning tone causing your bright eyes to widen. Nothing more needs to be said, fear like cold rain washing over you. Following his commands without a fight.

“That’s my good girl.”

Minho has always been good at keeping control. It’s easy for him to calm his mind enough to make sure he doesn’t break. Yet it’s always impossible when he watches your eyes flutter shut, body like the perfect toy in the palm of his hand. His cock aches and twitches in his trousers, demanding for some sort of release.

Even when it seems unlikely, he contains it. Not letting himself get too caught up in the moment, focus narrowed on bringing you the most pleasure he can—

Your left hand cups your breast over the dress. In the light of the fireflies, the simple band of diamonds shine.

When he bought you that ring, his pockets were empty. It was the best that he could find with the little money he had, and even then he had to barter for it. He swore to himself that one day, when he didn’t have to struggle anymore, he would get you the wedding ring that you deserve.

That day came after he published his first book. When the first check came in the mail, he ran to the kitchen, dropping to his knees and proposing. Again.

“Get up, this floor hasn’t been swept yet—“

“Marry me, my darling.” Both of his hands cup yours, the check wrinkling in his fist. “Let me give you all you deserve, starting with this ring.”

His thumb rubs over the jewelry to emphasize his point. He was going to make it better, to make you happier.

“No.” You say simply. “You’re not taking my ring from me.”

“But, darling—“

“I don’t want just any ring, I want the first one you ever picked for me. This one. Now, please, love, get up before I use the broom to sweep you away too.”

It shines as brightly as your eyes under the fireflies. Maybe that’s why Minho can’t think straight. The love coursing through his body bringing him to the edge.

With a loud groan, he stops his movements. Fingers buried knuckles deep inside of you, your husband hangs his head. Your eyes shoot open, concern heavy in them. “Min, are you-“

You fall silent as you notice. The wet spot on his bottoms, growing in size right where the tip of his cock is. Neither of you move, neither of you speak. Watching as cums his pants.

Slowly, he looks up at you. Your hand hasn’t moved from your breast, lips parted in shock — or is that terror? After all, his eyes have never been so dark before.

“See what you do to me?” His voice is more of a growl, pulling his fingers from your cunt aggressively. “See how you make me feel?”

There isn’t time to think. To speak. He doesn’t even take the time to undress you properly; trousers fall to his mid thighs to let his still hard cock spring out. Your head hits the stained glass as he inserts himself into you. Slow, yet rough. Savoring the soft feeling of your walls.

Minho steadies himself by gripping onto your other hip, loudly groaning your name over, and over, and over like a prayer until he’s deep inside you. If you thought his fingers were intense, you’ve shattered from this stretch, clawing at your exposed skin in ecstasy.

All is right when your bodies create one. Limbs tangled, lips swollen. He leans down as he starts to thrust into you, not pulling out more than half an inch. Each one is deep, hitting places neither of you knew existed until this moment.

Nothing else exists. In this moment, you are both all that was. All that is. All that is to come. The universe pauses for you, time stopping as you love each other to an extent that no one thinks is possible. The earth cracks under you, breaking from the strength of this connection.

Better than any story written across time.

His head lays on your chest, the position thoroughly uncomfortable though Minho is convinced it’s perfect. He listens to the beating of your heart, kisses your warm skin, fucks you in unimaginable ways.

“I love you.” He mumbles against the swells of your breasts, nuzzling deeper into them. Craving a life only you can bring. “I love you so much, my darling. I-I don’t even know how to say it.”

This time, you shush him. Threading your fingers through his dark hair, you turn his head so he can look at you. Meeting your bright eyes, full of life.

The metal is cold against his palm. Hard to move regardless of how hard he pushes.

“I love you.” You smile at him. “In ways I’ll never be able to tell you.”

The snow and gravel crunch under his boot. Only a few more steps.

“You’re my everything, Lee Minho.”

Though he’s sniffling, he still smiles up at you. Fully consumed by your presence, wishing to freeze this moment so it never ends. “I thought I was the bane of your existence.”

The laugh you give is full. “Why can’t you be both?”

Though his pants are thick, the cold still seeps through. He sits with his legs crossed, letting the snow melt under him and numb his thighs. It’s a nice distraction — one he really, really needed.

“I don’t know what to write.” He says out in the dark of night, staring at the jewelry in his hands. A small, golden heart pendant and the simple ring cling to the chain, warm from his body heat. They were tucked away the entire walk, pressed close to his slow beating heart. “I’ve gone through sheets of parchment and at least five journals and…nothing.”

With a sigh, he starts to spin the ring. It’s too small for his fingers, though he had tried. Once it got stuck on his pinky. Minho left it there for days, not doing anything until his finger started to turn purple. It hurt too much to take it off.

“You would be appalled by the state of my office.” The laugh he gives is dry and shaky. “I let a pot of ink spill today, and I don’t know when I’ll clean it up. It was almost refreshing to watch it wash away my work.”

The tears have started. He’s not ready. Not now, he just got here—

“I don’t know why this is so hard for me.” He licks his lips, over and over and over until they finally crack. “You’re all I could ever think about, all I could ever talk about. So writing about you should be the easiest thing I’ve ever done. But I try, and I try, and I lose sleep wracking my brain to try and encapsulate what you were. How you held existence in your eyes and loved with such a fierce heart that it could have been the comet that killed the dinosaurs. How can I love you so fucking much, and not know how to talk about you?”

Minho was determined not to look up. If he doesn’t look, he won’t get hurt. Reality can be nothing but a hoax as he talks to you, lost in a world the two of you created.

The dream he wants to never escape from.

But there’s only so much he can take. Finally, his head lifts and fuck how he desperately hopes to see your bright eyes. Instead, the stone sparkles. Your name engraved above the dates, a small reminder that you were real.

Slowly, the author sits up on his knees and begins to crawl. At the headstone he stops, slowly lowering himself to the ground. Letting his body sink into the snow as he lays with you and clutches your jewelry to his shattered heart.

It isn’t long until his eyes start to shut despite his efforts to stay away. One blink, then a slower one, and another until there’s no more. On the last one, right as sleep pulls him in, he swears he hears your laugh.

[philtstone]

title: we close our eyes and dream (the world has turned around again)

in the year of our lord 2024 i wrote psych fic ... wow there was this hilarious list of reverse prompts floating around tumblr a little while ago and one of them, instead of high school au, was "nursing home au". something somewhere fundamental in my brain clicked and i thought "this would be perfect for shules. i just know it" and then after many years of being generally too terrified to try my hand at the very unique narrative flavour that is psych, i wrote this. title is from "we close our eyes" by the oingo boingos which plays over the final scene of the series finale and always makes me cry. i hope u enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

Juliet is sitting alone by the couches when she meets him. 

They’re in the dining hall at Glorious Pines, and she’s chewing her lip and staring impotently at her fancy-looking plate of risotto. She hates that risotto is making her feel so weird and insecure. Dinner with Sarah was usually a lot simpler than this; Juliet has never really been a good cook, and her granddaughter was often too busy with work to manage anything more than a mis-mash of premade Trader Joe’s delicacies. Now she’s in this big beautiful building, surrounded by vibrant and dynamic old people who’ve been living here long enough to all know each other and have interesting hobbies and be in on the latest gossip. Juliet’s always loved making new friends, but the risotto is reminding her how out of practice she really is. Up until four days ago she had been taking her meals with Sarah, who’d moved Juliet to Santa Barbara in May so she wouldn’t be all alone in that old house of theirs. And before that – well, she’d been alone. Her hobbies have gotten progressively more old ladyish over the last five years, and while it’s true that she sewed her own pajamas while in her twenties, too, that wasn’t all she spent her time doing. She’s pretty sure her glamorous neighbors by the lemonade bowl who still have the guts to wear red lipstick won’t be too interested in her recent return – for nostalgia purposes only , and not because she likes solving the mysteries before the book does – to her ancient childhood box of Nancy Drew novels. And, gosh, the last time a man flirted with her was … oh, twenty years ago, now.  

She’s pushing the sticky, fragrant rice around and trying not to think too hard about the prospect of socializing with strangers when he materializes into the armchair beside her.

The sudden and graceful materializing is on its own impressive, considering most of the residents of this place have had hip replacements.

“Oh – hello,” Juliet says, mostly just to be polite

“Hi!” says the man. “You’re in my seat.”

Juliet freezes with one spoonful of risotto finally halfway up to her mouth. She narrows her eyes at him from behind her bifocals. “Excuse me?”

“My seat,” he explains. “I was sitting right there. I had, in fact, just gotten up to go grab Gus some orange juice – you know Gus –” Juliet doesn’t “-- And now I am back, and, so, as you can see, that was my seat.”

Juliet blinks. He’s around her own age, early seventies, with a full head of thick grey hair, bright hazel eyes that crease liberally at the corners, no glasses, and a big nose that probably gave him a striking profile in his youth. He’s wearing a garish red polo shirt that says FASHION! on the front in block letters, and house slippers.

READ MORE ON AO3

[forevamark]

preview! time lapse (l.mk)

remember when i said ‘would be posted tomorrow.’..? 

... and that was months ago? well i lied. LOL life has been rough lately. but here’s the preview of what i’ve been working on very very slowly.

genuinely, trying to post by next week i swear this time yall hehe

Pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

Tags: pre idol debut to idol au, christmas and new years time line, slice of life moments, college student reader, substantial plot leading to smut, very dialogue heavy, angsty moments, slow burn, relationship struggle, lovers to exes to lovers

Intended for 18+ readers, minors do not interact.

Preview Word Count : 2k+

Projected Word Count: 10k+

Summary: Mark has always had the dream of becoming a big music star, meanwhile your aspirations lied with academics and coexisting with Mark. Mark struggles with telling reader that he will be leaving for Korea to pursue his music career very soon, in fear of losing what they have.

warnings are under the tab.

Warnings: cursing/swearing, teasing, oral male receiving, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), breeding kink, possessive domination, spanking, slight choking, praise

not really edited- so sorry.

--

“What do you think about this?” Mark asked as he sat above you strumming on his guitar. You were sat on the floor between his legs focused on your eight page paper.

“In a sec,” you reply while wrapping up the sentence you were on.

“Take a break…” Mark whined trying to pry the laptop from your speedy fingers.

“Mark, it’s due in two days. I will listen in a sec.”

“Mhmm.” He sulked, leaning back into the sofa continuing his chord progression.

Days like this were stressful- due to the plethora of assignments that piled on- but soothing in a way. Your schedules never aligned this often, but Mark was so entirely enamored with you he’d do anything to spend his free time just being with you. 

“I can’t believe it’s been three hours and I only have my thesis done,” you sighed while resting your head on his knee.

“You got this,” he replies while running a hand soothingly through your hair while the other wrote something down on the notepad next to him, “I believe in you.”

“Do you need anything to help you focus? Am I being too loud?” he asks while going to the kitchen and lighting your favorite candle, “I can make you a snack?”

“Do you mind getting me some fruit? I feel like I need some brain food.” You asked while cracking your knuckles and continuing to type away.

Mark nods and walks back over, handing you a cut persimmon with the skin peeled off. He always knew what you needed before even saying it out loud.

Humming in appreciation you immediately start chewing on the sliced fruit.

Eyeing him from the corner you see him looking out of your apartment window. It was raining hard outside, Mark’s favorite. 

“Anything else you need to work on?” you ask. He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Not much else, I want your opinion on what I have then I’ll see what I can add from there. Don’t worry though,” he turns to look at you with a small smile, “I can wait.”

Mark has always been supportive of your dreams and aspirations. It was a shock when he told you he wouldn’t be joining you at university, but rather pursuing music instead. Although an adjustment, you supported him and he rooted for you. It seemed to be working out, he passed the first two rounds of auditions for a big music company and it looked like things were finally looking up for him. 

Some days you wouldn’t see him at all, and some days he picked you up from class and would stay glued to your side. He claims that he ‘soaked up inspiration from you’ hence the constant quality time and skinship. He knew you were working hard, pursuing a higher education was so important to you and your family, and he wanted to be present every step of the way. 

Unbeknownst to you, Mark also had a dark cloud overlooking him just like the city in front of him. He hasn’t yet told you that he passed the third and final round of auditions for his company and would be slated to move to Korea before the end of the year to begin his training. He couldn’t bear to break the news to you, not yet. Not when you were so close to finishing one of your hardest semesters yet.

“I think I can pull you away from that screen now y/n,” he says while tugging you away from the black and white screen.

“Hey! I’m not finished yet! I thought you said you could wait” you pouted trying to get loose.

“You’ve been working non stop, you aren’t being as productive anymore.” He chuckles while slotting you to the seat across from him.

“Hi.” he smiles at you.

“Hi.” you respond back.

There’s a moment of silence shared between you two. The only sound being the soft pitter patter from outside hitting the patio. Mark stares at you lovingly, you can tell something is wrong but you can’t find the words to ask him just yet, too entranced by the current hold he has on you.

“So, the song, yeah?” you finally whisper aloud. 

“Hold on,” he replies, licking his lips and searching every inch of your face, memorizing this very moment to inspire him for what he’s about to play.

“What’s the hold up? Don’t get stage fright in front of me now Lee,” you lightly say while giggling.

“I, I just want to make you proud, okay?” he finally says with sad eyes.

“You always will, Mark.”

Guilt washed over Mark. Things were great, perfect even. But he just had to aspire for more. He should be satisfied with what he has now, he’s close to home, a stable music career here in Canada, and most importantly, you. But just like you, he had the moon but he wanted every damn star in the galaxy. He didn’t want change, but nothing could satiate the hunger for something more. He was leaving, because he knew that this life, now, isn’t enough.

“Okay.” he takes a moment to gather himself, taking in some deep breaks and shaking his nerves out through his hands.

“Let’s hear it!” you shuffle sitting up straight in your chair.

Mark lets out one final breath before starting a low strum on his guitar. Flashes of memories over the course of your relationship flashes before his eyes. Your first snow day in Canada when you couldn’t get the ice off of your windshield, to the countless nights of watching reruns of Glee in your small shared apartment. 

He hits the chorus for the first time, opening his eyes to look around the room, unable to look at you just yet. Pictures of you two littered the walls, filled with your smiling and laughing faces. 

Mark mumbles small noises of nonsense to fill in the parts he doesn’t know what to put in between, sometimes trying out some lyrics at the top of his head. He shakes his head and chuckles when words don’t rhyme or quite fit, in return you share a smile enjoying him delving into his craft.

It’s something about the way that Mark is able to lose himself completely, in his own little world and for brief moments you’re able to enter his mind, envisioning every note in a flow of synesthesia. He’s able to create color and landscape through sound, and what’s crazier is that he doesn’t even realize the extent of his art.

“And… I guess that’s it. What’d you think?” He asks as he lets out a final strum. The warmness of his music is still palpable in the room, despite the cold and dark weather that demands to be let inside. 

You take another moment staring at the man in front of you. Mark bit his fingers in anticipation. His large white tee hung loosely on his shoulders, his ripped jeans bounced waiting for your feedback.

Everything is perfect.

Nothing can take this moment away from you two. 

No words could exactly encapsulate how you felt so you decide to throw your arm around him. 

Mark lets out a sigh of relief as he sets his guitar to the side, “so I guess you liked it?” then reciprocated by pulling you into his lap.

“I loved it, Mark. I can’t wait to hear it all together, I really liked that chord progression, I can definitely hear it on the radio one day,” you mutter into his shirt.

The pitter patter of rain outside was accompanied by the soft whimpers from the man whose chin sat upon your head.

“I’m always going to be here for you y/n,” he jaggedly says.

You two sat in each other's embrace for what seemed like eternity. 

“Let me show you something,” he says, breaking the silence and adjusting your position to where your back was flush against him.

Mark sat the guitar in your hands, “Let’s start from the top, yeah?”

That night Mark taught you the song on his guitar, sometimes you filled in lyrics that felt right.

“They know we got the chemistry…” Mark sings.

“Love how your body feels on me, when you get back let me get that…” you finish with a small laugh.

“Yo!” he jumps up, lifting your laughing frame into the air, “That’s a bar!”

“Are you jealous that I may be a better rapper than you?” you giggle back.

“You’re coming for my career, babygirl!”

—

Six more hours.

Six more hours until this paper is due, and you’re almost done with this last page. 

Six more hours until the hell that was this semester is finally done.

Six more hours until you can crawl into bed with Mark and take a long deserved nap.

“Almost there baby,” Mark says while massaging your shoulders.

“I got this,” you say while typing furiously.

“Hell yeah you do.”

Your train of thought was interrupted by Mark’s ringtone going off from behind you.

“I’ll be right back, when I come back you better have this paragraph done!”

Sending him a stiff salute you continued to trudge on as he stepped into your bedroom and closed the door.

“Mark! What’s going on my man! Happy holidays!” his new manager cheered into the phone.

“It’s going well, just spending some time with family and friends while I can,” he replies while laying down on your bed and grabbing a stuffed My Melody to hold against him.

“Well, I’m glad you have been enjoying your last moments of freedom while you can. Speaking of which, I do have an early Christmas present for you!”

“Awesome! What is it?” 

“Well, the company wants you to start as soon as possible. I played them your audition and they think you can finish your training in less than a year!”

“That’s amazing!” Mark shoots up and runs his hands through his hair, “when do I fly out? Next year I hope?”

“Mark, I did say Christmas present didn’t I? You’ll leave the day after the 25th. I bought you some more time to spend with your family, but you’ll be spending the new year here, in Korea!”

Mark felt his heart drop. That was in two weeks. 

Two weeks to eat all the food he can.

Two weeks to brush up on dancing.

Two weeks to say goodbye to his family.

Two weeks to erase all traces from his friend groups’ antics.

Two weeks till he has to leave you.

“Uh… two weeks… wow that’s really soon.” 

“Absolutely! Now rest up Mark, this year is going to be the craziest experience of your life!”

His manager kept going on about the potential future he had coming for him. But Mark couldn’t seem to focus on all the new found information. Slowly feeling the aroma of you envelope him fully, being surrounded by you everywhere, it was suffocating. 

How is he going to tell you?

“I finished it!” he heard your jumps of triumph in the distance, echoing all the way to the pits of his empty stomach, “I’m finally done with this God awful semester! One more year till graduation!”

You burst through the door interrupting Mark’s pensive state, wrapping yourself into him.

“You okay babe?” you realize pulling away slowly, eyeing his sweating frame, “you look a bit sick, want me to make you some ramen?”

“Oh no I’m fine, just fine really,” he shallowly laughs pulling himself away from you and moving to turn on the fan, “just got a little warm is all.”

“Who called?” you asked before flopping on the bed and sighing, “was it your manager? Did you get the job?”

“Uh yeah…” he shuffled, not meeting your eyes, “It was my manager, he had some good news…”

“Oh my God, did you pass?” you pounced on him awaiting the news.

“Uh… yeah, I did.” he lied.

“Markie!” you showered him in kisses and tight squeezes, your love for him unfaltering, “When do you leave?”

“Not for another year,” he smiled, not looking at you.

“Hopefully you’ll still be here for my graduation…” you sighed, “but nonetheless I’m glad I get to keep you to myself for a bit longer.

---

anddd that’s it for now! see yall in a week! any and all comments appreciated, and as always, tag list is open! 

xoxo, eva <3