#LIKE. THAT'S ONE HALF OF THE JOKE HERE. other half of the joke is just. THE JUXTAPOSITION. LOOK AT THEM.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x medic reader, where you might as well be the sun to them)

The phrase started as a whisper.

It drifted through the base like smoke curling around corners, impossible to pin down but impossible to ignore.

“Here comes the sun.”

It bounced off walls, passing lips in hushed tones, slipping into conversations as a half-joke, half-omen. At first, the 141 didn’t pay it much attention. Soldiers had their quirks, their superstitions- rituals to keep them sane when missions dragged too long and they smelled more blood than earth. But this one stuck.

Price furrowed his brow the first time he heard it. Ghost only tilted his head slightly, filing it away. Gaz grimaced and muttered something about troops getting weird ideas. Soap, though- he took notice.

He’d caught it more than once before a mission, said like a prayer or maybe a warning. He’d asked around, but answers were vague. “You’ll know when you see it.” That’s all they’d tell him. It irritated him to no end.

Then the mission happened.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. A quick in-and-out, but things went sideways fast. Soap had been covering the team’s six when the ambush hit. A sharp crack split the air, followed by the searing pain in his side. He hit the ground hard, blood soaking into the dirt, a familiar, burning ache travelling through his body.

“Soap’s hit!” Gaz’s voice barked through comms, panic threading through the static.

“Pull him out!” Price ordered.

But the line fizzled and died. Soap’s world narrowed- gunfire, shouts, and the taste of copper in his mouth. He couldn’t hear the others anymore. The ground felt colder than it should have. He pressed his hand against the wound, but it was bad. Really bad.

This is it, he thought. This is where I die.

The edges of his vision blurred. He barely noticed the figure sprinting toward him until a flash of bright red and orange, a blazing fire, pierced through the smoke and haze.

Like the sun.

You hit the ground beside him, all motion and precision, your gear unlike anything he’d ever seen. Bright red and orange covered your tactical vest and helmet- colors that didn’t belong in a war zone. Colors that should’ve made you a target, a dead woman walking.

But instead, you looked like salvation.

“Stay with me, Sargeant.” You said, voice sharp and steady. You weren’t panicked- not even a little. It was comforting.

Soap stared, wide-eyed, as your hands worked quickly to stop the bleeding. He should’ve been paying attention to the pain, to the gunfire, to anything else- but he couldn’t stop looking at you.

“What the hell are ya wearing?” he rasped, because that was apparently the only thought his brain could form.

You didn’t look up. “Bright colors make it easier to spot me. Medics don’t have the luxury of hiding- we have to be seen when it counts.”

“It’s bloody ridiculous.” he muttered- and then sucked in a sharp breath as you tightened the bandage.

“Maybe,” you said, finally glancing at him. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”

Soap’s heart stumbled. Your eyes were sharp, focused- but there was something else there too, something warm. Something steady.

Here comes the sun.

It hit him all at once. That’s what the others meant. It wasn’t just the colors. It was you. The way you moved, the way your voice cut through the noise, the way you didn’t hesitate for a second.

“Stay awake, Sargeant.” You ordered, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t have a single smart remark.

Much later, he woke up in the med tent, groggy but alive, and immediately found himself staring at you again.

You were restocking supplies nearby, your bright gear an almost comical contrast to the sterile white walls. The moment you noticed him looking, you crossed the room.

“You’re awake,” you said, checking his vitals. Your voice was softer now, calm and patient. He felt like he could melt. “Good.”

“You’re real.” He blurted out before he could stop himself.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “What?”

“Thought I was hallucinating.” He gestured vaguely at your vest, a grin cracking on his lips. “I mean, look at ya.” Lovely. The sun has never looked better.

Your lips twitched, like you were holding back a smile. “I get that a lot.”

Before he could come up with anything else to say- anything remotely smooth- the tent flap opened.

Price, Ghost, and Gaz stepped in, their eyes immediately landing on you. And for once, Soap wasn’t the only one caught off guard.

Gaz blinked. “You’re… bright.”

“Easy to spot.” You said, beaming.

Ghost stared at you for a few seconds longer, peering, before he spoke. “…You’re the sun.”

Price studied you for a long moment as well, then nodded like something clicked into place with a sigh. “Makes sense.”

You, on the other hand, looked confused and unsure, tilting your head once more in the way kittens do.

Soap couldn’t stop staring. He barely even heard the others talking, answering your confusion. All he could think about was how you’d shown up when he thought he was done for- and how you’d looked like a fiery star in the vast expanse of a cold, dark sky.

You glanced at him again, eyes sharp and warm all at once, lips quirking in a delicate smile while Gaz talked with you.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

(… would it be possible to cradle the sun, such warmth, in his hands?)

[sheep-from-rad]

Photograph (Platonic Batman x reader) (second half inched on the yan territory)

Notes: I made a joke that I wasn’t held enough as a child. Well, jokes on me because it was apparently not a joke. I'm still shit at making endings, help Merry Christmas folks <3 

Masterlist 

dividers by: @strangergraphics

“Isn’t this for newborns?” 

Bruce sat shirtless on the room’s armchair. The room didn’t exist until this week, back then it was just another one of the big guest rooms inside the mansion. From formal, vintage patterned, dark green wallpapers it changed into a soft pudding yellow (Jason’s suggestion)  and the corners are filled with soft plushies. He looked down on his shirtless self again as Alfred stood by the crib to prepare the four month old infant. Years of fighting rogues but it was the thought of holding a baby that made him nervous.��

He takes a silent pride on his body, from his back muscles to his strong arms, from bruises and scars, he wears them like an intangible medal. He thought that the media would question how a businessman like him would have such build but he was easy to conceal it with his ditzy public persona. Ladies did love it but then again holding a lady and holding a baby are two different things. 

“You might have missed their newborn days but bonding as father-baby is not too late”, Alfred explained. “Ah, skittish like your father when it was his first time holding you” 

Bruce’s hands protectively closed around the sleeping babe. He reclines as Alfred helps lay the baby on his chest, one hand on the head and neck and the other under their bottom. Skin to skin and warm. Warm. He didn’t know an infant could produce such warmth. Is this how his father felt the first time he held him? The feeling of happiness like a small glowing bubble melting in his soul, a warm innocent light in the gloom. 

He tensed again when he felt his little baby moved, their tiny arms stretching with all their might. “Alfred I think they are —” Before he could finish his words, he found himself staring at a pair of (eye color) eyes with their little lips curled in a curious ‘o’. They can barely lift their head for a long time but keep doing so to keep the little staring contest going. “What are you doing? Are you memorizing me?” He cringed a little especially knowing that he just butchered the movie quote. The little cringing turned to a small panic when the baby’s little trembled. He braced himself for a wail but instead he was greeted by a gummy smile and a giggle. 

A giggle! Sure he missed the days of them being a newborn but they were here to witness the giggle milestone. “You think dad is stupid for quoting it wrong?” As if understanding his words, their giggles turned louder. “Master Bruce, language please.” The master of the house didn’t hear the older man nor the sound of the camera going off, capturing the moment. A picture, one of the many to cherish in the later years. 

✮⋆˙(alternate ending here because I can’t make up my mind) ✮⋆˙

Bruce found himself in the room that he hasn’t been in for years. Each step that he took was heavy as his heart, echoing regrets and apologies that needed to be said not just in words but also in actions. 

The room was empty with the exception of the barebone furnitures and thin sheet of dust. The only sign that someone once lived in the now lifeless room was a picture frame that was left behind and placed facing down. It was left behind as if mirroring how they had abandoned you. “Where has time gone?” he asked, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. He is envious of his younger self in the picture. He wished he could turn back time, hold you close and hold you tight, and reclaim the promises he had forgotten to do. Forgotten like the pictures and the memories and the wallpapers in the room. All yellowed on the edges and faded. 

The small sound from his phone snapped him from his trance, he had to compose himself before picking it up. 

“Dick?” 

“B, we found them” 

“Bring them home”

[azzibuckets]

we make a good duo [pazzi]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: some christmas day fluff written at 1 am for yall….and also a fic finally written from azzi’s perspective😪 | masterlist

Azzi wakes up smothered by blonde hair.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Paige has somehow made her way on top of her in her sleep. Yet despite three years of dating and seven years of sharing beds together, she still marvels at how Paige can possibly make herself comfortable with her limbs all splayed out across Azzi’s body.

As if on cue, Paige burrows her head deeper into the crook of Azzi’s neck with a contented sigh. Azzi runs her fingers over her back for a moment, allowing her girlfriend a few seconds of rest before slowly starting to slide her body out from under the older girl without waking her.

Azzi’s unleashed her arms and is prepared to wriggle out her legs next when Paige hooks a leg over her body, pulling her in.

“Paige.”

Paige’s eyes remain tightly shut, but her fingers curl just a little bit tighter around Azzi’s waist.

“Dumbass, I know you’re awake.”

The corner of Paige’s lips turn upwards, and Azzi bites back a smile. “If you’re gonna try and pretend to be asleep, at least keep a straight face.”

Finally Paige opens her eyes, her smirk growing wider. “Oh hey,” she feigns a yawn. “Good morning.”

Azzi pushes Paige’s body, but the blonde stays stubborn in her koala grip around the younger girl’s body. “Get off me. I need to pee.”

“My girl’s so mean to me,” Paige grumbles, lying her head on Azzi’s chest. “Just want some morning cuddles.”

“It’s Christmas, Paige. I bet everyone’s already awake downstairs.”

“They’re still eating breakfast,” Paige says sleepily, eyes already fluttering shut again. She falls silent, her breathing evening out, and Azzi’s about to smack her awake when one of her eyes fly open. “But I could eat mine up here,” she says suggestively, her pupils darkening.

Azzi shakes her head in disbelief. “So fucking dirty,” she mutters, flicking her girlfriend on the forehead.

“Bruh, I’m joking,” Paige complains, exaggeratedly rubbing her temple in faux pain. “Just five more minutes, please?”

Azzi relents, slipping on her side so she can look down at Paige. The older girl looks almost irresistibly good right now, her hair mussed up, blue eyes half lidded and sleepy. Her shirt has ridden up to show a sliver of pale skin and the top of her boxers peeking out over her pajama pants. Smirking a little to herself, Azzi plants a hand on Paige’s waist, caressing the exposed skin of her stomach with her thumb.

Paige’s lips part a little, a breathy moan escaping, but her eyes don’t open. “Feels good.”

Azzi continues to rub circles with her thumb, her hand slowly dipping below her shirt and making her way up Paige’s tummy to her ribs, flirting with the lower hand of her sports bra.

“Fuck.” Paige grabs Azzi’s wrist. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Azzi’s hand immediately disappears from under her shirt. “Whoops.” She smiles innocently, giving Paige a kiss on her cheek before sitting up in bed. “We should get ready now.”

Like the fatass she is, Paige brushes her teeth quickly and doesn’t even bother to fix her hair or change her clothes before bounding down the stairs to eat breakfast. Azzi takes her time, carefully making the bed before slowly joining the rest of her family.

She can hear Paige and Jon arguing before she even makes it to the kitchen. “That’s mine!” Jon says, exasperation clear in his tone.

“You had thirty minutes to eat!” Paige shoots back.

“I didn’t know there were strawberries til now,” he complains. “At least give me one of them.”

Azzi walks in the room to see her brother and girlfriend death glaring at each other over an empty bowl on the counter. Paige’s plate is stacked with pancakes, whipped cream, and exactly four strawberries.

“Jon,” she chastises. “Don’t be annoying. Let our guest have the food.”

“Guest?” Jon grumbles. “Are people still guests when they’re here all the damn time?”

“Yes, they are,” Paige interjects. She turns to Azzi, her eyes brightening when she sees her. “Hey.”

“Paige, you don’t even like strawberries,” Azzi, ever the mediator, reminds her as she opens the fridge, searching for orange juice.

“Yeah, they’re for you.” Paige slides the plate over to her before starting to build her own.

“Baby,” Azzi says, dimples on display as she smiles down at her breakfast. “Thank you.”

“Az, can I have one?” Jon says hopefully, his fork already poised at her plate.

“Fuck off,” Azzi says.

“I thought this was the season of giving,” Jon grumbles before storming out of the room.

Paige laughs. She presses up against Azzi, kissing her temple. “We make a good duo.”

“Our brothers hate us.”

Azzi holds her breath for a second. She hadn’t meant to say that - Ours. But when your brother is her brother, when your families are so intertwined you almost forget that you’re not blood related, isn’t that the only way you can describe it? Ours?

But Paige doesn’t even hesitate. She gives Azzi a proper kiss on the mouth, tasting Crest and whipped cream and home. “They do,” she agrees.

[always-just-red]

Merry Christmas, guys!!! Ok, so this is a day early, but I wanted to say thanks to you all with a feel-good follow-up to my Game Night fic! So, here: a Christmas Eve sleepover with the boys, and they’re on their VERY best behaviour this time, I promise 😌

The Night Before Christmas

L&DS Boys X Reader

(Recommended to read this fic first, if you haven't already!)

Summary: It’s time to get the gang back together!!!

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: gn!reader, kinda poly? but mostly platonic, a lil bit of wholesome intimacy, one particularly suggestive joke from Sylus (he can’t help himself), also probably needs another proofread but my eyes are tired 💀

| Word count: 4.8k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Right! Let’s try this again.”

You glance around your living room with your hands on your hips, channelling your inner Captain Jenna as you fight to suppress flashbacks that verge on traumatic.

Some of this is exactly the same as last time. Sylus is sprawled in the same spot on your couch, looking inordinately pleased with himself for someone who has only just arrived. The very image of smugness; you immediately suspect that something is horribly wrong, or on track to go horribly wrong. You glance to the other couch, where Xavier and Rafayel sit, equally braced for your presentation. Neither one has been teleported to the roof of your building.

Sylus is reading your relief, and he gives you an exclusive smile, as if to say: yet.

Try not to think about it.

You stand by a large drawing pad— currently flipped closed to create a suspense that only Xavier has bought into. He gives you an eager nod, the blue of his eyes warm and encouraging.

The faces around you haven’t changed, but your little apartment has. Strings of twinkling lights run around your walls, casting faint, festive glows. There’s frost on your windows. Littered everywhere are ornaments: small, glittery birds and wintery creatures. Lots of snowman plushies, courtesy of a few, dedicated arcade expeditions with your favourite doctor.

New season, new start.

“We all remember how this went last time,” you push on finally. “Mistakes were made. Shit happened. Whatever— we’re not gonna dwell on it.”

Sylus lifts his hand. “I, for one, would enjoy a reminder of said mistakes.”

“Motion denied,” you dismiss with a grin and a customer-service enthusiasm that screams: don’t fuck with me right now. Sylus’s eyes sparkle, like embers anxious to become something brighter— more destructive. Don’t think about it. “It wasn’t my fault. You outnumbered me four-to-one that night, which is why my first order of business today is to appoint a co-host.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots into the air. You look at him incredulously. Zayne is stood beside you, his arms folded, and everyone else in the room has connected those particular dots.

“It’s Zayne, Rafayel,” you sigh. 

“What?!” He sits up straighter. “Why him?! What are his qualifications, huh? His credentials?”

“I’ve never set the kitchen on fire,” Zayne says.

The artist scoffs, adds under his breath: “Turned it into an ice rink, though.”

There’s a chuckle from Sylus, and a part of you feels bad, pitting Zayne against the others like this. But he’s not alone. He has you, just you, so you should probably do something. “That actually brings me really nicely to my next point, Raf, thank you.”

Unexpected praise. Rafayel stutters, a faint blush to his cheeks, and you take full advantage of having staggered him. “Zayne, do you wanna…?”

“Of course.” The dark-haired man adjusts his glasses, then addresses the rest of the room. “In the interest of everyone’s safety, we have devised a few rules to be adhered to for the rest of the evening. These will be enforced by a point system, which we will record… here.”

He flips the drawing pad open, and a blank table fills the top half of the page. Each quarter has been assigned a name. “Basically—” you gesture to it— “three strikes and you’re out.”

None of your guests look perturbed by this.

“The first rule is simple,” Zayne explains, pulling away a strip of paper from the bottom of the page, then reading the writing underneath: “No unauthorised use of Evols.”

Rafayel’s hand shoots up again. You tilt your head at it. “Yes, Raf?”

“Ok, so what if there’s a power-cut or something? Lights are out. Heating’s out. Big disaster, yeah? You’re saying I couldn’t—?” He clicks his fingers, spawning a small flame.

“We would use my Evol,” Xavier says with the gentle authority he uses to steer civilians away from a Wanderer incursion. “It’s safer.”

The flame is snuffed out. Rafayel huffs: “Don’t you use it to, like, kill things?”

“Yeah…” Xavier shrugs. “Bad things.”

“Second rule!” you chime.  

“Second rule,” Zayne echoes, peeling back the next strip of paper. There’s absolutely no showmanship, nor energy at all as he continues, “No unauthorised sarcasm.”

Another hand raises. “What would be authorised sarcasm?” Xavier asks, squinting as though he can’t quite figure it out on his own.

You purse your lips in thought. “If it makes me laugh?”

Rafayel is stroking his chin, his eyes narrowed, because he’s also thinking. “High risk, high reward,” he muses, and you shoot him a smile.

This is going better than you thought it would, actually. If you were to turn a few more pages of the drawing pad, you would see crude illustrations of the worst-case scenarios you’d sketched out for Zayne earlier. There’s one where Rafayel is trying to strangle Sylus with Christmas lights. There’s another where Zayne has turned you all into snowmen.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, though. The evening is young, and the snowman scenario is still very much on the table.

Culprit of about ninety percent of your nightmarish visions and drawings— Sylus has been unnervingly silent. You meet eyes with him, an inherent mistrust in your gaze. The success of this sweet, humble Christmas Eve hinges on you figuring out what he’s here for. His agenda. His ulterior motives.

What does he want from tonight? He smirks at you. You’re vaguely competent, and you can figure it out without him holding your hand, can’t you?

That reminds you of something. “Zayne.” You jostle your co-host by his arm. “Do the last rule!”

You’re excited about the last rule.

Zayne isn’t; he hesitates. “The last rule…” He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s… it’s only applicable to you, Sylus.”

Sylus is now also excited about the last rule. You can tell from the way his lips part, for a second, like he wants to tell you just how flattered he is you spend so much of your time thinking about him.

You put Zayne out of his misery, tearing the final strip of paper away from the pad. The paper flutters to the ground like a very plain snowflake, and you wiggle your fingers, adorning the final rule with a touch of pizazz:

No smirking, sass, or general smugness.

A corner of Sylus’s mouth lifts. “Believe it or not, kitten, your little point system doesn’t scare me.”

You pick up the pen and score a mark under his name.

“Oh no,” he mutters lifelessly.

“Sarcasm!” Rafayel coughs.

You’re well ahead of him, already turning to make another mark. “Gods,” you hear Sylus grimace, not much more than a whisper, “you’re such a boy scout.”

There’s a snort from Rafayel. “Sorry, say that again? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you totally getting kicked out of here.”

“Sarcasm,” Sylus says.

“Wait, I didn’t mean— no!”

You giggle as you issue Rafayel’s first strike, and he groans behind you, slumping down in his seat. When you turn back around, his face is buried in his hands.

Sylus is smirking again, but the expression drops the moment he senses your gaze. You both know what’s at stake here. Back in the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran are lamenting the fact that you’ve stolen their leader— it’s not very Christmassy of you, after all. There were a lot of things they wanted to do with him. Snowball fights, presents, and a heist that required disguises: Santa and his two, hard-working elves. They already have the suit, custom-made for him.

So here is the big, bad boss of Onychinus, hiding in your apartment, and definitely not smirking.

You pop the lid back onto your pen, then post it into your pocket like you’re holstering an all-powerful weapon. That’s one point to you and Zayne, and zero points to Sylus, thank you very much.

…

“What are you doing?”

Sylus sighs, evading a furious lilac gaze while he focuses on the task at hand. Freshly escaped from you and the doctor’s terrifying lecture, he’s making the most of his liberty.

“What I am doing,” he mumbles, tying string around a sprig of mistletoe, “is between me and our charming host. Run along, little artist.” He tightens the knot. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Rafayel crosses his arms, his eyes dark. “You’re cheating.”

“Ha.” Sylus spares him a glance out of pity. “You’re jealous.”

“Am not.”

He definitely is, but Sylus doesn’t have time for this game. He can hear you in your bedroom, rooting around for the phone charger you’d vanished in search of. Your door isn’t closed, but it’s closed enough. You can’t see him. He can’t see you. What a perfect opportunity.

“Give it to me,” Rafayel says— an interruption that warrants a roll of the eyes.

“No.”

“Give it—“ the artist starts again, then makes a grab for the mistletoe. Now that’s jealousy. He could incinerate the plant with a click of his fingers, but no, he wants it. Covets it.

Sylus chuckles quietly, his arm stretching up: holding the mistletoe out of an ever-more desperate reach.

To Rafayel’s credit, he persists. He goes up on his toes, tugging at the older man’s sleeve to try and drag the mistletoe closer. The plant evaporates in a swirl of dark energy the second he succeeds. It materialises behind Sylus’s back, in his other hand, and Rafayel realises instantly. He tries to stretch his arms around him. To take it from him.

“Absolutely not!”

Sylus’s fingers are suddenly empty. Mistletoe-less. He turns reluctantly, still holding Rafayel back.

You stand at your wide-open door, one hand on your hips and the other clutching his confiscated item. You’re frowning. Tapping your foot. Your lips are pursed adorably.

“What a coincidence, kitten,” Sylus smiles, and behind him, Rafayel pokes his tongue out, overcome with nausea. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Clearly.” You jostle the mistletoe, looking… disappointed? Huh. “Never thought I’d catch you indulging an old cliche.”

Sylus shrugs charmingly, like a cat performing a leisurely stretch after toppling a vase from a very high shelf.

“Give me the rest of it,” you command.

“Hmm?”

“The back-up mistletoe, Sy. I’m not an idiot.”

Sylus scoffs, but you do have him wrapped oh so prettily around your finger. He rolls his neck, stalling. If giving up were a slope, he would already be a heap at the bottom of it, but he doesn’t really mind. Three more sprigs of mistletoe appear from thin air, dropping into your open hands.

“Honestly, Sylus,” you groan, stepping past him. Then you thrust the plants to the artist’s chest. “Burn these, Raf.” You’re dusting your hands down as you walk away.

Sylus frowns. That’s neither ideal nor part of the plan.

Rafayel is looking at him, telling him with gloating silence that there’s no playing diplomat, here— no negotiating the return of the hostages. That bridge has been— rather fittingly— burned. The mistletoe turns slowly to ash: darkened by licks of flame that curl with the eager spite of their master’s lips.

It would be beautiful if it wasn’t so damned inconvenient. When the fire’s had its fun, one sprig of mistletoe remains, rich green and ivory— wholly untouched. You’re across the room, talking to Zayne, so Rafayel smirks in triumph. Tucks his prize into his pocket.

Sylus’s heart sinks with it, but he still smiles back.

…

Rafayel isn’t looking too good.

Well, the Rafayel is looking fine, but your Rafayel? Not so much. You steal a glance at the artist across the cluttered kitchen island; he’s sat, leaning, propped up on his elbows, his eyes glazed— he’s clearly away with the fishies. He catches you staring. Gives you a wink.

You glance down at the gingerbread man you’ve been decorating: the blue-pink of his iced eyes, and the mess of purple hair, at least three shades too dark. Oh, gods— probably a million shades too dark through the gaze of a Lemurian. At least the outfit is cute? You’ve recreated Rafayel’s signature cardigan. The plaid pattern isn’t quite straight, but that was a… deliberate choice. This is your interpretation of his cardigan, and you wanted it to reflect its owner. A little all over the place, but still, you love it. Even when it’s coming undone, it keeps you warm.

“Would you like to go next?”

Zayne is talking to you, smiling at you. He was the first to reveal his gingerbread creation: a miniature Xavier that was surprisingly true to life. Your hunting partner had almost glowed with delight, while you were dark with jealousy. The biscuit sits before you all, boasting details that could only be achieved with an exceedingly steady hand.

Worse: Rafayel’s gingerbread is next to it, stupidly, predictably perfect. It’s Zayne. It’s really Zayne, from the sweep of black hair to the hazel eyes; how on earth did he manage to make that colour? The tiny doctor is dressed in his lab coat, sporting his badge and a pocketful of even tinier pens and medical instruments. There’s… shading? Ugh, you can see the creases in the fabric.

“Umm… sure, I can go next,” you mumble.

It was just your luck, pulling Rafayel’s name out of that hat. Sheepishly, you move aside the cookbook you’d stood to guard your project from any prying eyes. Your gingerbread is nudged forwards.

“That’s me!” Rafayel exclaims.

“Yeah…” you confirm half-heartedly. “Sorry, I know it’s not great, but I—”

Lack the skill of a celebrity artist, or the steady hands of a cardiac surgeon? You have no idea which exact pool of self-pity your sentence was set on drowning within, but it doesn’t matter. Rafayel has plucked your gingerbread up for a closer look, and his smile is enormous. “This is amazing!”

“You don’t have to—”

“That’s my cardigan!” He’s crashing the pity party again. “And look at my eyes— the colours! This little guy is so handsome, yeah? You really did me justice, cutie. Look at him!”

He holds the gingerbread up to his face, trying to match its two-dimensional grin. He looks around for affirmation, and it’s just his luck, because is a single man at this table ever going to insult your hard work?

“The eyes are amazing,” Xavier enthuses. “Like the sky at sunset. Who knew my partner was so talented?”

“I did,” Rafayel chirps happily.

Xavier frowns. “No, it was rhetori— never mind.” He smiles at you. Rolls with it. “I knew too, by the way.”

“As did I,” Zayne adds.

Everyone looks at Sylus, who shrugs a shoulder and says, “It was up for debate.”

“Can we please move onto the next person?” you press. This is all too much attention. “Sylus, can you… please?”

He does like it when you beg, but he likes it even more when he can play knight in shining armour. “My pleasure, sweetie.”

For a man whose creative side is mostly indulged by vintage gun restorations, he reveals his gingerbread with a staggering amount of confidence. It’s placed at the centre of the kitchen island, where you all stare down at it. Its hair is snow-white, and its eyes: blood-red.

“That’s…” Zayne begins.

“That’s you, Sylus!” you take-over, voice shrill with betrayal. “You were supposed to say something if you picked yourself! And you— wait, what are…?” There are distinct lines over the gingerbread’s midriff. It dawns on you: “Are those abs?!”

Sylus shrugs again.

“They so are!” You snatch up the biscuit, standing to wave it in Sylus’s face like a crime-scene photo. “Where’s his shirt, huh?”

“He lost it.”

“Bullshit!” you snap. This gingerbread competition had come with its own set of rules, one of which was very clearly: “Nothing obscene! I said nothing obscene, Sylus!”  

He leans away from you with a tut. “It’s tasteful, sweetie. The artist will tell you.”

“The artist is staying out of this,” Rafayel murmurs, off to your side.

Sylus crosses his arms, regardless, as though his case has been made. You cross your arms too.

“Can I show you my gingerbread now?” Xavier asks, and his tone is deceivingly soft: a hand on your shoulder, pulling you back.

You release the tension in your body with a sigh, then set the gingerbread down so you can’t throw it at Sylus’s un-smug face (which he’s been very careful about.) “Of course, Xavier,” you smile, slinking back onto your stool. You can throw something at Sylus later. “Ooh, is it me? It has to be me, right?”

Xavier chuckles awkwardly. “It’s you. I don’t think it’s very good, though.”

“Show me!” you insist.

The final cookbook is removed, and Xavier unveils his hard work. You clamp a hand to your mouth.

You don’t have a single word for what you’re looking at— only laughter, and you can’t let yourself laugh, no matter what. If that gingerbread is you? Then it’s a you who’s been torn apart by Wanderers, at least seven consecutive times. Your face is a swirl of colours and features— you think Xavier must have tried to wipe it off to start again, more than once, but it hasn’t worked.

The gingerbread has been broken, too. Three of the four limbs, to be exact, and that you could forgive, but… did he have to use dark red icing to glue them back on? It drips out of the joins messily, almost making you wince.

Everyone is silent.

“A perfect likeness,” says Sylus.

You burst out laughing, and the moment you do, Rafayel’s right there with you. Even Sylus caves— it’s one of the most sincere laughs you’ve ever heard from him. There are tears in your eyes; you can’t help it. Zayne is the strongest of you, but even the tight line of his mouth quivers. He’s biting his lip.

But it’s fine. Xavier is laughing, too. “I said it wasn’t very good!”

“Xavier!” you wheeze. You can’t even look at him. Your stomach hurts. “What… what happened to me?!”

“What do you mean?” he practically giggles.

“What do I mean?” you repeat, and it tips you into another breathless bout of laughter. You go to point at the gingerbread— all the explanation you need— but it almost kills you. You really can’t breathe. After half a minute, you try again. “I look like I’ve been in an accident!”

“Here,” Rafayel grins, and he slides the Doctor Zayne gingerbread over to poor, suffering gingerbread you.

“Aww!” you smile, having finally caught your breath.

Wordlessly, Zayne retrieves his likeness— pulling it away from yours. You frown at him, as confused and wounded as Xavier apparently imagines you. “Even I have my limits,” the doctor shrugs.

That’s it. You’re gone again, your sides aching as your whole body shakes with laughter. It’s too much. Gods, it’s too much. You’re gonna need another minute.

…

“I can’t believe you made you.”

It’s been fifteen or so minutes, and you toy with Sylus’s gingerbread counterpart, pinching his hands between your thumbs and forefingers— making him walk (well, penguin waddle) across the kitchen island.

“Believe it, sweetie,” Sylus huffs with a smile.

“Is this really how you see yourself?”

Before you can walk the gingerbread any further, his creator plucks him up by his head, away from your reaching fingers. “It’s how I think you should see me,” he chuckles. He holds the gingerbread out to you. Wiggles it. “For your eyes only, kitten.”

“Except the other guys saw it—”

“Shhhh, shh shh!” In his haste to silence you, he almost pushes the gingerbread to your lips.

You glare at him. Complain from behind it: “Get your shirtless abs out of my face, Sylus.”

“Make me.”

You snatch the gingerbread, pinning it down on the counter. “Keep pushing your luck, Sy. Wanna see what’ll happen?”

He absolutely does, and his eyes glint with mirth as you reach for a near-empty bowl of crimson icing. You scrape some of it up with a discarded teaspoon, then let it drip generously over his gingerbread. It takes a few, long seconds to really cover him in it. To make him look as fatally tragic as gingerbread you.

“Here,” you say, dropping the spoon in a bowl with a satisfied clink. You hold out the gingerbread. “This’ll be you when I’m done with you.”

Sylus regards it for a moment, his eyebrow quirked. Then his eyes find your gingerbread likeness. “Want to see what you’ll look like when I’m done with you?”

His hand goes out for the bowl of red icing, except… it goes past the bowl of red icing, and lands on a tube of white icing instead. He holds it up with a smile.

“Inappropriate.”

The tube is swept out of his fingers, and he blinks at the empty space, legitimately surprised.

“It was snow, doctor,” he remarks bitterly, once he’s recovered from the second ambush of the evening. He glances over his shoulder. “From a snowball fight?”

“Sure it was,” Zayne mutters, already turning back to the bowl he’s washing in the sink.

Sylus is frowning, affronted, but the expression softens when you’re filling his gaze again. You: your hands on your mouth, so close to spilling laughter. “Oooooh,” you tease with a secretive sing-song voice, “you got in trouble!”

He wrinkles his nose like ‘trouble’ is an insult. It sets you off sniggering uncontrollably.

“What did I miss?”

It’s Xavier, back from the lounge.

“Nothing,” Sylus answers.

“He got in trouble!” you counteract with a not-at-all quiet whisper.  

You earn a glare from the criminal, and a little laugh from the hunter. “Third-strike trouble?” the latter enquires. He might have handcuffs on stand-by; it wouldn’t surprise you.

“Not yet,” you grin cheerfully.  

Zayne sets a plate on the drying rack. “Give it time.”

…

“I don’t think we have enough, sweetie,” Sylus quips, peeking over the stack of blankets you’ve piled high on his arms. 

What was it Rafayel said? High risk, high reward? You mercifully chuckle. Your arms are wrapped around three, plush cushions— the last of your sleepover supplies. Snacks? Are ready. Guests? Haven’t killed each-other yet. You toe open your bedroom door, shouldering the rest of the way through with your missing puzzle pieces of luxury.

“Oh, nice!” someone exclaims from the kitchen. Xavier is watching you, starry-eyed, and his cheeks are full; he’s midway through a cookie.

Sylus steps through the door behind you, issuing a faint noise of disgust. He sounds like he’s being attacked by a bug, so you turn around, ready to leap to the rescue. He’s stood within the door frame, eyes cast upwards to where a sprig of mistletoe hangs on the end of a string. It’s swaying gently; he must have caught his head on it. You frown, lips parted. He was with you the whole time you were looting your bedroom. When did he…? How did he…?

He looks down at you, the mistletoe still hovering above him. You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the inevitable joke, or the even more inevitable invitation. 

“I…’ he starts gingerly, “I didn’t…” 

Oh. He’s just as confused as you are, and it’s… really cute. He’s lost for words— the man who came here with not one, but four sprigs of mistletoe. The man who threatened your gingerbread with white icing. The man who’s spent the entire evening thinking about how he wants to be close to you.

Sylus laughs, but it’s full of nervousness. “It’s alright,” he says, “you don’t have to—”

You tilt him towards you, your hand on his shoulder and cushions around your feet. “Merry Christmas, Sy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his cheek. It’s warm on your lips.

His eyes flutter closed. “Merry Christmas,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper. 

You hum contentedly as you pull away from him. When his eyes reopen, they’re warm with a nostalgia you cannot explain, but you can feel, too— so inexplicably. His gaze is blood-red, but it makes you think of flowers. 

What a funny feeling. It strikes you a lot, nowadays, and not just with the man in front of you. 

Speaking of the others, you glance towards your lounge. Xavier is telling Zayne a story, and Rafayel is watching you from over the back of the sofa— turning away when you spot him. That’s one mystery solved. You collect the cushions from the floor, sparing Sylus a smile before you meander back to your party. The coffee table’s a banquet of sweet, sugary snacks, so you carefully skirt past it.

Xavier’s hands grab at air. You laugh and toss him a cushion. “Thanks,” he grins. 

“Here— your favourite.” Zayne is pointing at your freshly-filled mug, and you grin your own thank you as you settle down next to him. 

Sylus soon arrives too, handing out blankets, and for all the evening’s animosity, he gets a grateful smile for each. He sits down next to Xavier, and it’s odd, you know? You’ve slain Wanderers, saved lives with every person around you. You’ve seen them bleed and kill.

They’re all wrapping themselves up, like snuggly little Christmas presents. Xavier’s managed to collect another cushion— from Zayne, maybe?— and he’s practically building a fort on his side of the couch. Some of it infringes on Sylus’s space, and you notice him notice, but he doesn’t say a word. Oblivious, tucked under two blankets, Xavier’s already looking sleepy. 

Someone’s making less of an effort to get comfortable. On the other side of you, Rafayel sits, uncharacteristically quiet. He hasn’t met your eyes since you sat down. You remember him, watching you under the mistletoe from across the room, and the thought has you leaning in closer. 

“That was sweet of you,” you whisper, even though he disobeyed you. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shrugs.

But he does, so you kiss his cheek, ever so fondly, with that funny feeling in your chest again. It’s the first time, but it doesn’t strike you as such. Uncharted waters, a foreign land— when have I been here before?

Rafayel has relaxed: sunken deep into the sofa and the security of your touch. You smile, pulling his blanket up higher around him— tighter around him— until he’s as much of a cocoon as everyone else. His lips curve with a smile of surrender, ever-willingly captured. Silly fish. 

You draw away from him, readjusting in your seat until you’re cuddled up next to Zayne. You don’t see the wink Rafayel shoots Sylus, or the look of begrudging respect in the latter’s red eyes. 

“Are you comfortable?” Zayne asks, head angling towards yours. 

Co-host to co-host. “Yeah.” You snuggle closer to him. “This is kinda perfect, isn’t it?” He feels cold, despite his Sylus-issued blanket, so you lend him part of yours.

“No,” he confers softly, distractedly. 

“No?”

“No.” He gives you a look, and you know it as intimately as the chill of his hands and the warmth of his heart. His ‘I know something that you don’t’ look. Sure enough, he says: “I think it’s missing something.” 

On the other sofa, Xavier is beaming at you, having caught onto your conversation. It’s suspicious— harmless conspiracy, surprise-party sort of suspicious, but your pulse still picks up. 

“Close your eyes,” Zayne instructs. 

And you do, without question. Darkness, yes, but you’re under his care, aren’t you? There’s no anxiousness in your excitement, just trust for the man who was looking out for you long before he was your doctor. Your hands are over your eyes and you’re younger, again, playing hide-and-seek, again.

Zayne’s is a familiarity you can place. A nostalgia built on memories, not reveries.

Something icy touches your hand, then melts without any resistance. 

“Open,” Zayne prompts, leaning against you to stir you. 

Your apartment has changed again. The lights are all out, save for the fairy lights. The spectrum of colours flicker from the walls and the tree, catching on tiny, white specs in the air. Snowflakes are drifting down, impossibly. Falling, dancing— maybe a bit of both. You look up and some land on your face, cold with their kisses. You giggle in delight. 

Everyone’s gaze is on the ceiling: sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby. It ought to be dark. Instead, an entire night sky fills the space above you, scattered with thousands of stars. Every pinprick is deliberate. Meticulously placed. There are constellations— infinite patterns that transcend every life you might’ve lead, and every life you’ll ever lead (if you believe in that sort of thing.)

Xavier glances at you, and you forgo the spell of his masterpiece so that you can glance back. Snowflakes are in his hair, dusting him with sparkles. He smiles in a way you think could defy lifetimes, too. 

“This is… really something,” Sylus says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm. 

It’s everything. The stars, brighter for darkness. The snow, only novel in warmth. These things don’t always work— they’ll undo each-other, overpower each-other, but there’s an ultimate balance, in-between every conflict. An occasional harmony, and it’s… 

Perfect. 

Rafayel scoots close to you. “Was this authorised?” he whispers. 

You look over to the point board, where there are first strikes beneath Zayne and Xavier’s names, and you don’t know how long they’ve been there. 

“No,” you laugh tenderly. “No, it wasn’t.”

[daechwitatamic]

Not So Loud || LC

banner by @itaeewon <3

Not So Loud lee chan x afab reader || fluff smut baby angst || f2l, only one bed trope NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You've been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years, despite his rejection seven months ago. When you're impossibly coupled up on a friendcation, you're determined not to make it everyone else's problem. Of course, you weren't expecting to have to room with him, and you certainly weren't expecting only one bed...

wc: 16.6k

warnings: language, recreational drinking, sooo much pining, baby misunderstandings, kissing, breast play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), piv sex (no protection mentioned either way), reader on top, mentions of shower sex

request by @eoieopda:

yes my fearless leader you may have even two crumbs of lee dino getting laid at the beach, i hope you enjoy every single second of it <3

“This,” you sigh blissfully, “is the happiest I may ever be.”

The sun is shining. Upbeat pop music runs like an undercurrent below the sound of the highway from the stereo of your best friend’s junky, decade-old sedan. Your iced coffee - light and sweet, but not too much of either - tastes like heaven. And the best part, the part that makes this day the best even if you didn’t have iced coffee or sunshine or Ruby or happy music, is that you’re less than an hour away from the beachfront house you and your friends have rented for the next five days.

All six of you had collectively been saving up for a full year and a half to make this happen, and there were times during the wait when it seemed like it would never come together between scheduling and money and rental availability. But now you’re here, racing down the highway to keep up with the flow of traffic, the ocean beckoning you closer.

“Now, now,” Ruby, the aforementioned best friend, scolds lightly. “What about your wedding day?”

You blow a raspberry. “What wedding day?” you shoot back sourly, but then you take another sip of caffeinated, iced perfection and your mood buoys immediately. It’s gonna take a lot to keep you down, today. Still, you rationalize, “I can’t even get to a third date.”

It was true. Your last third date had been almost two years ago. Since then, everything fizzled after one or two. Embarrassing. Something only Ruby - and, by proxy, her boyfriend Mingyu - would know about you.

“Because you compare them all to Chan,” Ruby says sagely.

The beams of sunlight are glaring. The pop music grates on your nerves, too boppy and much too happy. You set your coffee in the cup holder, your hand suddenly smarting from the bite of cold.

Coincidental to the third date thing, you’ve been in love with Lee Chan for almost two years. Another embarrassing Ruby-and-thus-Mingyu-only tidbit.

“Stooo-ooppp,” you whine. “If you’re going to spend the whole time making it weird about him, I’m going to find a way back home! I will walk there, just try me!”

“Now, now,” she says again, mildly. Your dramatics are nothing new to her. “I’ll behave. But I keep telling you - it would be significantly less weird if you’d just tell him you have a thing for him.”

You narrow your eyes at her. A thing.

An every problem I’ve ever had melts away and my soul floats three feet above my body every time your smile crosses your face kind of thing. A hearing your laugh makes me laugh even if I didn’t hear the joke kind of thing. A finding your gaze across a loud room makes me feel like no one else is there but us kind of thing.

A he doesn’t feel the same way, and he never will kind of thing. He made that super clear, about seven months ago.

And it gets worse.

You’ve had a week to accept your fate on this trip - a week since she’d called to tell you that the original rental had fallen through. To tell you that the replacement place is almost better (closer to the beach! a huge deck! a private pool!) except for the number of rooms. That since the other four people attending are made up of two couples, you and Chan would have to share a room.

(“The rooms are huge,” she’d assured you. “And the third room’s got bunk-beds! I bet will Chan will let you have top bunk if you want it - he’s a nice guy.”

You didn’t say, even though it is very true, that bunk-beds are really only a selling point if you are ten years old. But there were more important arguments to make. “I know he’s a nice guy,” you’d bit out. “He’s the nicest fucking guy I’ve ever met in my life, actually!” Hence the thing.

She’d paused and then pointed out, “You’ve met Seokmin, though.”

And, yeah, maybe on paper Seokmin is nicer but looking at his smile doesn’t feel like being filled with sunshine, so the point is moot.)

Anyway. You’ve had time to accept the fact that you have to share a room with the guy you’ve been in love with for over a year and a half. You’ve had time to accept that he might hear you snore, will see that you’re messy, that you’ll have to get changed in the bathroom for the whole trip, that you’ll have to get really good at pretending not to moon over him every time he speaks.

“I think,” you tell Ruby mildly, “that telling him that I want to lick his body from top to bottom and then get married might actually make things more weird.”

“I would just like to say,” Ruby’s boyfriend Mingyu pipes up from the backseat, his voice weary and long-suffering, “that this is an incredibly uncomfortable conversation for me.”

In your defense, you’d thought he was asleep.

Ruby descends on him like a swarm of locusts. “Don’t you think she should tell him she’s in love with him?”

“I actually do,” Mingyu says, covering his eyes with his hands as if he can’t bear to see what a disaster you are. “But I would heavily advise against mentioning the licking. Or the marriage.”

“It’s hyperbole,” you defend, flapping a hand in his direction. But, yeah, noted.

Excitement bubbles in your stomach, despite the rooming situation, when Ruby flicks on her turn signal and moves to exit the highway. Already, the smell of the air through the open windows has turned salty, and the thick tree-line along the highway has given way to cloudless blue sky and the occasional palm tree. It had been almost hazy when you’d set off at the crack of dawn (Mingyu had taken the back seat so he could stretch out and sleep a little longer) but now the sunrise has burned away all of that haze and given way to a perfect morning.

It takes only minutes for Ruby to navigate through the small, coastal town and to a row of vacation homes. You lose yourself in a daydream of waking up to take coffee on a sunlit balcony, listening to waves crash in time below you. In your daydream, across the balcony someone stretches their arms above their head, a sliver of belly peeking out for only a second, then turns to give you a sleepy smile, thinly-wired glasses perched on his nose.

Someone.

You shake yourself free of the fantasy; part of you feels like Ruby can read your mind, like she’s seconds away from calling you out for placing Chan in your seaside fantasy life.

Ruby, however, is too focused on finding the house to read your mind, and she slows the car and turns into a driveway, chirping, “We’re here!”

You all start grabbing luggage to carry in; the sun feels amazing on your skin, the sea breeze cool almost to the point of chilly and so salty it makes your nose twitch. You three aren’t even done emptying your car when you’re startled by a beep-beep-beepbeep-beep from the road behind you.

“That’s Soonyoung,” Mingyu says without even turning to look.

He’s right - it is. The second car, which carries Soonyoung, his girlfriend Lara, and Chan, pulls into the driveway next to you.

Chan greets you with a wide, happy grin (that, yes, makes you feel full of sunshine, whatever) and a quick, one-armed hug as he comes around the front of the parked car. Your moronic heart lifts, stupidly hopeful - until Soonyoung does the same thing. Your heart deflates again with the reminder that they’re just like this - nice, affectionate with their friends. It doesn’t mean anything. Chan’s attention to you is just as platonic as Soonyoung’s - which is to say, entirely.

You all manage to gather the luggage from both cars, and Mingyu follows the rental app’s directions to work the keypad at the front door. You all ooh and ahh as you step inside - the place is roomy, well-lit from sliding glass doors and windows that face the ocean, and decorated with (what else?) a kitschy, nautical theme.

You kick off your flip-flops onto a mat with an anchor on it (per the theme), and follow the others further into the house.

You head straight back through the house - the living room gives way into a dining room that ends with the sliding-glass doors. In tandem with Ruby, you press your face to the glass of the door and peer outside. You’re delighted to see that the ocean is right there, beckoning you to come play. Gulls swoop and call, loud enough that you can hear their cries from inside. Further down the beach you can see colorful umbrellas and tents that other beachgoers have set up. Below the deck, you can see just a strip of the private pool.

You pull yourself away from the back door and head into the adjoining kitchen, where Lara is standing at an open cupboard, examining its contents.

“We’re going to need to do a grocery run,” she muses, looking over at you. “I think all Soonyoung packed was ramen and soju.”

“What else could we possibly need?” he jokes from down the hall, his voice echoing.

“Coffee,” you say immediately.

“Beer,” Mingyu says seriously.

“Meat? Vegetables? Stuff for breakfast? Something to drink that isn’t alcohol?” Lara suggests.

“Who invited the Capricorn?” Soonyoung (the person who invited the Capricorn) grouses.

“Without me,” she tells him seriously, though the corner of her mouth twitches, “you’d be malnourished at best, and at worst? Dead.”

“Probably true,” you say, giving her a conspiratorial nod, and then you hear Ruby call your name from upstairs. Her voice sounds strained, and a little alarm bell goes off inside your head.

“Yes?” you answer loudly, hoping your voice will carry up to her.

“Can you come up here for a minute?” she calls down to you. Yes, there is definitely an edge to her voice that you don’t like. “Now?”

“Oh jeez,” you mutter, starting to make your way towards the stairs at the front of the house. You take the stairs quickly, calling Ruby’s name as you navigate the unfamiliar house.

She and Chan are both standing in the hallway, open doors all around them. Their faces mirror each other - disbelief, anxiety.

“What?” you ask, a little breathless both from the stairs and from anticipation. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s, uh,” Ruby stammers. It’s very unlike her to lose her confidence, and the unease in your gut churns again.

“What?” you say again, and when she doesn’t answer, you turn to Chan, who looks stricken. “What is it?”

“No bunk beds,” he manages, finishing Ruby’s sentence and gesturing to the room behind him.

You’re pressing forward without making the decision to move, without answering either of them, crowding Chan’s space so you’re chest to chest, peering over his shoulder. His hands hover near your elbows, like you might overbalance and he’s ready to steady you.

The room behind him is huge - as Ruby promised - complete with an ensuite bathroom and the balcony straight out of your daydream in the car. It also, as Chan pointed out, does not have bunk-beds. Instead, one king-sized bed is centered against the far wall, flanked by wicker nightstands with lamps on each and an old-school radio alarm clock on one.

You say nothing - you just back out of Chan’s personal space and swivel, heading for the other doors. Surely that was just the wrong room - one meant for one of the couples. Surely they just didn’t look hard enough, didn’t check the other doors, didn’t find the room with two beds that you’d been promised.

You find a full bathroom, a linen closet, one door that remains locked, and - to your dismay - two identical bedrooms, neither of which hosts more than one single bed.

Realization trickles through you slowly, building up higher and higher as you check the doors a second, and then a third, time. Ruby and Chan stay frozen in place in the dimly lit hallway, watching your frantic, pointless searching.

“Oh, my God,” you say hollowly. Then, turning, you narrow your eyes. “Ruby,” you growl. “You promised. Where is my top bunk?!”

“I don’t know!” she squeaks. “The listing said four beds!”

“Call them,” you demand flatly.

Beside Ruby, Chan’s eyebrows scrunch as he frowns. He says your name quietly, holding up a hand as if to calm you. “We don’t need to move houses,” he says gently. “I’ll take a couch. It’s not a big deal.”

You feel yourself shaking your head immediately. “I will feel like shit if you spend your vacation sleeping on the couch because of me,” you tell him.

He and Ruby exchange a long look (something that you don’t like very much, but no one is asking you) and then she tentatively says, “Could we work it out later? Maybe one of the couches pulls out into a bed or something? Or do you really want me to try and get us a different rental? This is already our second one, I’m not sure there are even other options still available…” She trails off, eyes wide.

You sigh, eyeing the ceiling above you as if it has answers. “Fine,” you say, because you can’t stand the thought of being the one who’s causing problems, ever the people-pleaser. “We’ll figure it out later.”

You head back down the hall, tromping down the stairs in silence to get your luggage.

Chan tries to take one of your bags for you, but you shrug him off and he lets you. You follow him back up the stairs, to the large room you’d looked at a few minutes ago. You both stand in the middle of it, looking around. You’re unsure if you should even unpack in here if there’s a chance you’ll end up moving to the couches.

“It’ll be okay,” Chan says, and it startles you out of your thoughts so badly that you flinch.

“Mhm,” you manage, because you don’t want to lie to him by agreeing.

“Hey,” he says, a little insistently, and you look up at him. He’s looking at you openly, his expression an impossible mix of concern and optimism. It disarms you immediately, in a way nothing else ever has.

There’s something always so earnest about Chan, one of your favorite things about him, and you can’t help but believe him when he continues to speak. “It will. We can, like, take turns with the bed or something. It’s not that big of a deal. Don’t let this ruin your trip. Okay?”

You nod silently, thinking about this. He’s right - there’ll be a solution. “Okay,” you say, managing to give him a little smile. “You’re right.”

The grin he gives you is mischievous. “I usually am,” he quips - and you love that about him, too: the way he’s playfully cocky, something ironic in the way he displays it, like you’re all in on the joke and he’s happily his own punchline. He disappears into the hallway, where you hear him heading down the stairs.

You wait for the tornado of butterflies in your belly to calm back down and then you look around the room. You finally decide to just leave your bags in a pile near the dresser, and head back down to find the others.

Everyone is standing around the kitchen table, where it seems like a grocery list is being split into Things That Can versus Things That Cannot be bought at the local liquor store.

“We can take one car and handle the drinks,” Mingyu is saying as you walk up and lean your chin on Ruby’s shoulder from behind. She absently reaches up to give your head an affectionate pat as you both listen. “Then the grocery team can take the second car, and whoever is handling the rental office can just walk.”

“Rental office?” you ask. “What for?”

“Just to grab our passes for the beach,” Lara answers you. “They’re like little tags. It’s part of what we paid for.”

“The rental’s under your name,” Soonyoung reminds her, “so we should probably handle that.”

“Yah, you just want the easy task,” Mingyu complains.

Soonyoung grins, guilty as charged not at all sorry about it. He grabs for Lara’s hand and heads for the front door. “If we aren’t here when you get back, we’ll leave your passes on the table!” he calls, and then the door slams shut.

“Asshole,” Mingyu grumbles affectionately.

The four of you look at each other in the resulting quiet. Then, Ruby asks, “Anything you want to add to our list?”

You lean further around her to read her phone screen, scanning what drinks had already been requested.

“Nope,” you tell her. “I’m good with that. Does this mean I’m on the grocery team?”

Chan looks up from his phone when you ask this, waiting to hear the answer.

Ruby and Mingyu meet gazes, seeming to have a silent conversation. Then, she gives you a sheepish look, almost a grimace. “Yeah - sorry, but I kind of wanted to go with Gyu on the drinks run, if that’s okay?”

You’ve been best friends with Ruby for a long time. You know her in and out, and you know this: she’s not like this, not sweet and apologetic. If it was just you two, she’d just say what she wanted. The act is for a reason.

You blink at her, trying to figure it out. “Of course it’s okay,” you say slowly. “If you and Mingyu are handling the drink run, then I’ll handle groceries with Chan.”

Ah. That was Ruby’s game - she paired you with Chan on purpose.

Meddler. Pain in the ass. Angel. Light of your life. She contains multitudes.

His eyes drop back to his phone. “You don’t have to,” he says, not looking at you. “If you want to go with them or catch up with Lara then I can handle it by myself.”

You frown. “It’s not really a one person job,” you observe. “And I don’t mind - really.”

“So it’s decided!” Ruby says brightly, moving to rest her hand on her boyfriend’s forearm. “We should beat you back, but we’ll wait for you guys so we can help unload the car.”

“Thanks,” you say, meaning it. For everything.

Ruby and Mingyu head out, and you meander closer to Chan. You’re not alone together very often - you’re pretty much always in a group setting.

You’d met through Ruby and Mingyu, years ago. You and Ruby were a very packaged deal, and Mingyu had a crew of friends that filtered in and out of your social events like they kept a scheduled rotation. When Soonyoung had settled into a serious relationship with Lara, the two of them became pretty permanent fixtures with Ruby and Mingyu, and Chan usually went where Soonyoung did. So then you were six.

How perfectly even. How serendipitous. How nearly fated.

If only he saw it that way.

But he doesn’t, he’s made that clear. It was Lara’s fault, actually. That night is burned into your brain, an unpleasant memory custom-made to slither into your brain when you’re trying to sleep before a big day.

The six of you had been bar-hopping on a Saturday night about seven months ago. It had been cool - late autumn teasing winter, and you’d been shivering as the six of you rowdily made your way up the block to your next stop. Laughing at something Soonyoung had said, Chan had reached around your shoulders sloppily, pulling you tight against him.

“Cold?” he’d asked you, as you tried to keep walking - a challenge because of both the alcohol in your system and the alarm bells going off in your head over his hand on your arm.

“Definitely chilly,” you’d managed to reply, looking up at him sideways. His profile was sharper than you’d realized before, and it sent a wave down your core, sinking like a weight through your stomach and into your lower belly and he grinned down at you.

You never wanted him to let go. Never, for the rest of your lives.

“You two are cute,” Lara had said drunkenly, the words a little slurred, as she leaned heavily on Soonyoung. You’d flushed, a little embarrassed, but Chan’s reaction had mortified you. His eyes had widened and he’d gone so far as to retract his arm from around you as quick as lightning, moving sideways to put inches between you again.

It left you frozen, a block of ice.

“No - we’re - we’re only friends,” he had said emphatically, and Lara had apologized, her hand over her mouth. Then, Ruby had tripped on the sidewalk and ripped the knees of her jeans, and the whole incident was forgotten.

Not by you, though. Never by you. This was the moment that floated up like the ghost of Christmas past whenever Ruby urged you to confess to Chan, which was more frequent than you’d like. The rush of cold in the absence of his arm, the way he’d stuttered in his hurry to refute the misunderstanding.

Message received, Lee Chan. Loud and fucking clear.

Didn’t change a thing about how you feel, though.

Presently, you try to push this out of your head - the fact that there’s no social buffer between you, no Ruby or Soonyoung to hide behind - before it can trip you up. “What’s on the list?” you ask. He hands you his phone, lets you scroll through everything he’d typed up.

“Okay,” you say, handing it back. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Yeah,” he says, a little absently, then starts patting at his pockets, eyes scanning the tabletop. “Yeah, I’m ready. Aish, Lee Chan, where did you put the keys?”

“They’re by the door,” you offer, remembering the small table you’d all dropped them on as you came in.

He shoots you a grateful smile. “Thanks. Let’s go?”

You nod, grabbing your sunglasses from the table and following him to the driveway out front.

It’s less than ten minutes to the nearest grocery, not even enough time for three whole songs to play through the car’s stereo, half-drowned by the roar of wind and sea through the open windows. Chan grins sideways at you as he parks, running a hand through his messy hair before unbuckling and stepping out of the car. You shake yourself from your daze and hurry to follow.

“What’s the game plan?” you ask, as you step out of the summer sun and into the fluorescents and air conditioning. Your skin prickles instantly upon the change. “Divide and conquer?”

He pulls out his phone and brings the list up. “I’d rather just stick together,” he says, looking at you sideways, his voice a bit thin - like he’s nervous you’ll reject the plan. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” you say, shrugging easily.. “I’m just following you. I’m the assistant. You’re in charge.”

Something flashes across his face - a shooting star of an expression, gone before you’re sure you saw it - and then he’s pushing the cart into the produce section, calling over his shoulder for you to go grab some peaches.

You wind your way together through the store. Each time he stops the cart, you each dart after something else from the nearby shelves then reconvene to look at the list again, shoulders pressed together as you squint at the small font.

It thrills you each time that he doesn’t pull away, each time that he doesn’t hurry to put space between you again as he had back in November.

Don’t make it weird, you beg yourself as you load a few cases of soda into the cart. Keep it in check.

A few rows over, the cart a third of the way full, you pause at a row of sauces. You step back, scanning the labels, then drop into a crouch to read those on the bottom shelf. Chan drops beside you, his knee gently bumping yours as he reaches for one of the jars, bringing it closer to scan the label.

“This one’s my favorite,” he says, and there’s something low in his voice that makes you look over at him. Your fingers overlap his for a second as you take the jar from him, turning it over so you can see which one it is. The moment feels staticky, charged with something.

You chicken out, shuffle back on your heels so your knees no longer touch. “It is a good one,” you agree, putting it back in his hand and pressing your palms to your knees as you rise again. “Get a few - I think Ruby likes that one too.”

He nods, looking away again, dutifully reaching to grab a second jar. You move on to the next aisle in silence. You almost feel like his energy seems… disappointed. But that wouldn’t make sense at all.

Turning the corner to the first row of freezers, you feel your body react instantly to the cold and you immediately fold in around yourself, goosebumps rising up your arms.

“Oh, it’s cold,” you complain. “Let’s hurry. Please.”

Chan doesn’t respond, but you can feel his eyes sweep over you, heavy, before he starts pushing the cart past you at, yes, a quicker speed. You shiver once, violently, before you hurry after him.

When you’re done, stepping outside into the sunlight feels like being released - like leaving school on the last day before summer break, like leaving work before a vacation, like stepping outside for the first time after rain has kept you inside for days on end. You let it warm you, happy, as you help Chan load the bags into the car.

You drive the few minutes back to the house in silence. As Chan makes the last turn, you wonder out loud, “Do you think Ruby and Mingyu finished before us?”

“Definitely,” Chan says, and he’s right - as the house comes into view, you can see that the second car is already parked.

True to their word, Ruby and Mingyu greet you at the door to help carry everything in and put it away.

“Lara grabbed us a spot down on the beach,” Ruby informs you, as you both stand at the back of the car, scanning for the lighter bags. “As soon as we’re ready we can head down.”

You let out a happy sigh. “I think an afternoon at the beach will cure me.”

“Nothing will cure you,” she deadpans, then literally stops mid-stride to correct herself. “Actually, something could. And it’s here, and available, and sharing your room.”

“I hate you a lot!” you tell her brightly, pushing past her with an armful of groceries and heading into the relative dark of the house, praying Chan hadn’t overheard her bullshit.

You hurry through the rest - getting the groceries away, getting changed for the beach, throwing the things you need to bring into a tote. Downstairs, the others wait for you by the back door. Chan is wearing Mingyu’s dumb-ass sunglasses and is clearly in the middle of an old-man bit, his voice reedy and sarcastic. Ruby cackles as Mingyu shoves Chan’s shoulder playfully, reaching to get his eyewear back. You can’t help the wave of affection you feel for them, your goofy friends.

You all step out into the sand, eyes adjusting to the sun. You follow Mingyu’s shadow on the ground as he makes his way towards the spot Soonyoung and Lara saved for you. You drop your tote in the sand and help Ruby spread out a blanket, using your shoes and bags to hold down the corners. Mingyu and Chan settle a small cooler off to one side, filled to the brim with ice and drinks.

You pull your cover-up over your head and toss it in the direction of your tote bag and stretch out, closing your eyes happily and letting your body relax under the warmth of the sun, the sound of breaking waves rhythmic and soothing. You’re startled by the sound of music and open your eyes again to find Ruby setting up a bluetooth speaker near the cooler. She looks at you sheepishly and hurries to lower the volume.

“Sorry,” she giggles. “Didn’t mean it to start so loud.”

To your left, Chan is pulling his white t-shirt over his head. Your eyes widen and you look away as fast as you can, catching Ruby react exactly the same, her eyes comically large.

You both turn your backs to the boys, and she mouths at you, what the fuck?

What the fuck is right. You’re used to being around Mingyu, who has an admittedly perfect body, and even Soonyoung is shockingly cut under those baggy t-shirts and cropped hoodies he sports. Chan’s always been the little one, the most normal, the most obtainable in his regular-ness.

Something’s changed since the last time you were all swimming together. He’d always had a nice body, but this…

You close your eyes against the bright summer sun, as if you can block out the curve of his pecs, the shadowed lines hinting at abs. None of those had been there last summer.

That motherfucker. First, he rejects you, then he gets hotter? You hope he gets eaten by a shark today.

You push yourself to stand.

“Where are you going?” Ruby hisses.

“I need a beer,” you tell her flatly. “Actually, maybe ten beers.”

“I’m not holding your hair today,” she warns you flatly, and you flip her off and make your way to the cooler. It’s going to be a long day.

You manage to get a few hours of peace and sanity by laying out with Ruby and Lara, just enjoying the music and occasional chitchat. Further down the beach, the guys run around with a volleyball but no net, making their own asinine rules.

“I still say you should tell him,” Ruby grumbles, after catching you watching Chan from behind your sunglasses for the ninth time, and you shoot her a warning look. But the damage is done - Lara latches on, her eyes sharp.

“Him… Chan?” she guesses. You feel your face heat.

“I’m that obvious, huh?” you murmur reproachfully.

“I mean,” she says uncertainly, looking to Ruby as if for backup, “I think you both are? If it helps?”

“Both?” you repeat flatly. “I wish.”

She exchanges a look with Ruby again, a silent conversation that you aren’t part of.

“He’s not into me,” you say, easy, like the words don’t cut at you. The salty air hits the wounds and makes them sting. “He’s been clear about that.”

Ruby’s brow furrows; you’ve never actually articulated this in front of her before.

“He has?” she asks, her voice suddenly gentle and almost sorrowful. “You never told me-”

“You were there,” you protest, then look over at the guys to make sure they hadn’t stopped yelling and running. “You both were, actually. That night when you tore your knee open outside of Ivy and Ivory?”

“Yeah,” Lara says slowly, her eyes on you, “I remember that night. That was… kind of the first time I thought he had a thing for you? Like, I know it was a while ago, but -”

“A thing for me?” you echo, working hard to keep your voice quiet. “When you called us out he was so horrified he couldn’t even touch me - he acted like it burned him -”

“Honey, no,” she says seriously, leaning forward. She looks incredulous at your perspective.

“Bestie,” Ruby says, giving you a please believe me, your best friend, who would never lead you astray look. “He was terrified that you’d get spooked.”

You press your mostly-empty beer can to your chin, eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

“He wasn’t embarrassed at the idea of being coupled with you,” Lara whispers, her eyes on the guys, whose game has drifted only minutely closer to your blanket. “It was one of those like, shut up or you’ll scare her away moments. He wanted to kill me.”

“Literally, if he’d had a cartoon thought bubble, it would have said shhhh, not so loud!” Ruby adds. She peers at you. “Did you really take it like that this whole time? You thought it was a rejection?”

“He practically pushed me into traffic!” you hiss defensively, and both girls explode into laughter.

“That is not what happened,” Lara insists, and then heads to the cooler, leaving you, Ruby, and your very confused thoughts.

You look at her. She looks at you.

“I thought you knew,” she says finally, holding up her hands in mock innocence. “I had no idea you took it that way.”

You can’t respond - the boys return at this exact moment, Mingyu flops dramatically next to Ruby, panting heavily, sweat running down his face.

“Jagiya,” he gasps like he’s dying. “Water. Please.”

Ruby rolls her eyes, but a water bottle lands next to Mingyu’s head before she can get up. You turn towards the cooler and see Soonyoung standing with his hands on his knees, also panting, while Chan digs around for presumably another water bottle.

“You need anything out of here?” he asks you over his shoulder.

You shake your head. “Thanks, though.”

You rise, brushing errant sand from the backs of your thighs, squinting at the water. The waves are breaking evenly, and there’s room to tread further out past the breaking point. “I think I’m gonna go in,” you announce to whoever is listening.

Lara shakes her head, reaching one hand up to tug at Soonyoung, obviously wanting him to sit by her. Ruby flaps her hand at you as if to tell you go on. She’s never been a big swimmer, more of a giant unicorn floatie kind of girl.

You stop when you’re ankle-deep, letting a few waves break and rush over the tops of your feet, adjusting to the temperature. You start to wade in, the water rushing around your shins, when you hear your name called breathlessly behind you.

Chan jogs up, his hair pushed back, a thin silver chain bouncing against his collarbones. You look away before you can get caught. Ruby and Lara’s words race through your brain. Have you been wrong about him this whole time? Have you misread every signal over the last three years, viewed it through the wrong lens?

“You can’t leave me alone with them,” he complains, face twisting in exaggerated suffering.

You laugh. “Can’t stand being the fifth wheel, huh?”

He shakes his head, smiling, still trying to catch his breath from volleyball and then the jog over here.

“You coming in?” you ask him. “I was gonna go out and tread for a while.”

He nods. “You don’t mind if I join?”

You look at him appraisingly, new information starting to process inside your mind, shifting the rules you’d followed for months. The sea air makes you bold. “You?” you say. “I would never mind.”

You don’t wait to see his reaction; you step further into the water, hitting just above your knees when you reach the spot where the waves are breaking. You stumble a little as a wave hits your thighs, and Chan’s hand finds your elbow, firm but unassuming, helping you steady yourself again.

When you reach waist-deep water, you eye the spot just ahead where the waves reach their tallest point as they gather on their way to shore.

“We’re gonna have to go under that,” you tell Chan. He actually looks nervous, which makes you laugh. “Want me to hold your hand?”

The smile he sends you is both self-deprecating and relieved, like he can’t believe his answer is yes, but yes, and he’s so glad you asked.

“Come on,” you say, laughing again. You hold out your hand and he takes it, and when the next ocean swell rises before you like a mighty wall you hold your breath and tug him under. It’s an act of faith, dipping below the roaring ocean, hoping you time it right. You keep his fingers tight between yours and let your body sink.

You surface on the other side, in an area of relative calm. Beside you, Chan wipes at his face with his spare hand, which makes you realize you’re still holding the other. You release it gently, treading water easily. Chan can probably just touch sand if he stretches.

You tread together quietly for a few minutes, less than six inches apart. The sun glints off the water around you, dancing and sparkling as the water moves. You wish you could ask him about that night, years ago, confirm Lara and Ruby’s interpretation of the events. You could - you just aren’t brave enough.

You look at him, familiar and beautiful and - until today - unobtainable. What if you swam closer, what if you pressed yourself close and kissed him, right here in the ocean?

If it ruined everything, you could just let yourself drown. And if it didn’t… well, you could let yourself drown a different way, then.

You chicken out. You chat about inconsequential things instead - his upcoming trip with his family, a work project you’d recently wrapped up that you’d been talking about for months, what the plan will be for dinner when you all get tired of the sunshine.

It’s easy to talk to Chan - it always has been. He’s quick with a joke or a bit, but always open and earnest. He watches you quietly when you talk, accentuates his stories with his hands when it’s his turn. Eventually, Ruby joins you. Mingyu stands at the edge of the water, one hand shielding his eyes, watching her go.

“He’s not coming in?” you ask.

She rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t want to get his hair wet. God, the water feels great. Anyway, we’re thinking of heading in soon, to get showers and stuff before we figure out dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Chan says.

“I’ll be right in,” you say, and beneath the water you grab at Ruby’s hand. Stay.

Chan gives you both a wave goodbye and heads towards the beach. You both watch as he steps onto land, approaches Mingyu, and shakes like a dog, spraying water all over his friend. You can hear Mingyu’s shout of protest even from here, and Ruby’s maniacal laughter echoes around you.

“How’s it going?” she asks you slyly, when she’s finished laughing at her man. Like she knows the answer already.

“Nice of you to ask!” you cry. “Actually! I’m kind of having a meltdown! Because for nearly eight months I thought he’d told me unequivocally, irrevocably no, and now I am finding out that he… I don’t even know. What does it mean? That was ages ago, surely even if he felt something then…”

“Only one way to find out,” Ruby says, way too sensibly.

“That’s not helpful,” you grumble.

“It is helpful, it’s just not easy,” she says sagely. You splash a handful of water towards her head and she shrieks, swimming further away from you.

“That’s enough of you,” you tell her, and start heading in towards the sand.

Back at the blanket, the boys and Lara have mostly packed up. You pull your rolled up towel out of your tote and dry off briskly. When everyone is accounted for, you all collect your things and head back up the walkway towards the house.

You put everything away - leftover drinks in the fridge, wet towels in the washing machine, etc - and the couples disappear into their rooms, doors closing and locking up and down the hallway.

Which just leaves you and Chan.

You follow him to the end of the hall and into the large room you’ll be somehow sharing. He turns on one of the bedside lamps and stops to plug his phone in, then looks over at you.

“You wanna shower?” he asks, tossing his phone lightly onto the bed. You can only stare at him, short-circuiting, until he clarifies. “Do you want to go first?”

“Oh,” you utter, quickly trying to recover. “Yeah, if you don’t mind?”

He waves his hand graciously towards the dark bathroom, as if to say, be my guest.

Showering turns into a reprieve - a locked door between you allowing you to jumpstart your brain again as you feel the hot water remove all the hidden bits of sand clinging to your legs and back.

While Chan takes his turn after you, you escape outside with a cold soda from the fridge. The beach beyond your rental’s deck is still pretty busy, but the crowd has thinned a bit since you all packed up. The sun descends behind the house, which means the sunrise tomorrow morning will come over the beach.

Mingyu seems to be preparing the grill, and Ruby bustles around, bringing out ingredients and setting them close to the grill. On one of the cushioned benches, Lara drapes her legs over Soonyoung’s legs and talks with him quietly, both of them giggling.

Since it seems like your help isn’t needed anywhere - you’ll help set the table when the food is almost ready, as is your usual job as a non-cook - you sit with your cold drink and watch the waves break, lost in thought.

Lara and Ruby seemed so sure that you’d misread Chan that autumn night. There’s a small part of you that’s still doubtful, but at the end of the day you do trust their judgement. So, assuming they’re right, Chan had been interested in you. That was over six months ago, though. It doesn’t mean anything now except that… well… if he was interested in you once, there’s a possibility he could be again. Or still.

Your move, it seems, is to figure out if that’s the case. Chan hasn’t done anything recently to indicate that he’s disinterested, but he also hasn’t done anything to indicate that he is. He - like you - has played it very safe. It isn’t until now that you’ve questioned if it’s because he actually sees you platonically, or if he thinks that’s what you want.

One of you is going to have to push the boundary, to test the waters.

When Chan emerges from the house, freshly showered and hair falling over his forehead nearly to his eyes, you look up from where you’re sitting and watch him thoughtfully. He pauses at the grill to ask Mingyu something, then passes by the mess of limbs that is Soonyoung and Lara, then drops onto the seat next to you.

“Mingyu says it’ll be another twenty minutes or so until everything’s done,” he informs you.

“Guess I should get the plates and stuff,” you sigh, leaning forward to set your drink on the table.

“I can help you,” he offers, and follows you inside, where you both open cabinets and drawers in the unfamiliar kitchen until you find everything you need.

He heads outside ahead of you, his hands loaded with utensils and condiments, and you pause, watching his dark silhouette against the evening sunlight. Your heart tumbles, and you jerk back into motion, following him into the light.

You all stay on the back deck until well after sunset. As the sky sinks into deeper and deeper blues, you rise and plug in the string of lights that weave through the beams above the deck, casting everyone in a nearly-orange glow. Mingyu sets up the tabletop fire pit, but you end up chilly anyway as night takes hold.

You shiver once, and you notice Chan looking sideways at you.

“Cold?” he asks, and the wave of deja vu you get is almost dizzying.

You shake your head instinctively, more against the memory than actually answering the question. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you do have goosebumps rising along your arms.

He gets up anyway, heading into the unlit house without a word. You rise a beat later and head across the deck.

Ruby calls your name like a question, and in answer you point at the cooler tucked behind the grill, where you’d all stashed beer and water bottles. She gives a quick “ah” of understanding.

“You need one?” you ask her, as you shuffle behind the grill and pull on the cooler’s lid.

“I’ll take a beer,” Mingyu answers for her, and you dig through the bottles and cans until you find his preferred brand, reaching to pass it to him over Soonyoung’s head. Then you turn back and look at your options, trying to decide if you want a can of spiked seltzer or if you want to go inside and mix something a little harder.

While you’re deciding, the glass door to your left slides open, and Chan steps quietly back onto the deck. He’s in a baby blue hoodie that he hadn’t been wearing before, and he carries a bundle of dark material in his hands.

“Here,” he says quietly, holding it out to you. “It felt weird to dig through your luggage, so I grabbed one of mine.”

You take his offering silently, fighting a tiny smile. “Thanks,” you say, equally quiet, like you’ve both agreed you want to keep this moment between you, not call the attention of the others. You shake the dark hoodie out and pull it over your head, slipping your arms into the sleeves and fixing the hood so it’s not inside-out. The hem falls almost past your shorts, and the sleeves reach past your fingers.

Chan bends to grab a beer from the cooler, then heads back to where he was sitting before. You reach for your own drink, settling on a seltzer after all, and when you turn to head back to your spot you can’t help but notice him watching you through the flickering fire pit, something unreadable on his face.

“You good?” you ask him as you settle back into your spot.

“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something tight in his voice that makes the goosebumps rise on your arms again despite the new layer of warmth you’re wearing. That smells like him. You tug on the edges of the sleeves to pull the shoulders tighter and curl up on your chair, tucking your legs into the baggy material and locking back into the conversation.

The night moves slowly, the constellations rotating centimeter by centimeter above you, everything made comfortably fuzzy by the drinks and the firelight. Sometime before midnight, Ruby suggests a walk along the beach.

You go in bare feet, the cool wood of the deck stairs giving way to sand as soft as silk. Mingyu and Ruby take the lead, the rest of you trailing behind. At some point - long after the house disappears from view - Lara stops, pointing up at the moon - a sliver above the undulating sea.

The four of you stop and look for a minute. Down the beach, you can hear Ruby and Mingyu but they’re out of sight in the dark.

“We should probably catch up with them,” you say, looking in the direction of their disembodied voices.

“I think we’re gonna head back to the house, actually,” Lara says, looking up at Soonyoung to gauge if he agrees. “We’ll leave the back door unlocked for you all?”

They say their goodbyes and head back hand in hand, leaving you alone with Chan and that sliver of moon. For a minute, the night seems to expand around you, growing bigger and bigger and leaving the two of you so small within it. Chan looks at you silently, as if he’s waiting for something, one side of his mouth quirked into an almost-smile that makes your stomach swim with the desire to cause a real smile, to push that little almost into something fully-formed.

Then, Ruby calls your names loudly from further up the beach, and the spell is broken.

“Guess we better catch up,” Chan says wryly. You both turn and start walking in silence, nearly shoulder to shoulder. As you walk, the back of your hand brushes the back of his just once, and your entire body prickles at the contact. You almost shift away, give him a little more space, but something urges you to hold the line. You want to see what he will do.

You keep walking, close enough that you can hear him breathing, hear the sand slide each time he takes a step. The back of his hands brushes yours again, warm. He doesn’t react, so neither do you.

You carry on, knuckles occasionally bumping his, until you find Ruby and Mingyu. They’re standing watching the moon, Mingyu wrapped around Ruby’s back like a giant, love-sick koala.

“Where’re Soonyoung and Lara?” Ruby asks, when she notices you.

“They headed back,” you say, stopping a few feet away.

“We should, too,” Ruby muses, eyes on the moon. “But it’s so pretty here.”

“It is,” Chan murmurs from beside you and you glance sideways at him, trying to read him. He’s staring out at the dark sea, the stars flickering in and out above it, giving you his profile. Ruby’s eyes flick to you, one eyebrow quirked. You look away, not wanting to get caught in this silent conversation, but you can feel the heat on your face, the smile tugging at your mouth.

The house is dark when you all return, and you let yourselves back in quietly, just in case Soonyoung and Lara are actually sleeping. You bid Ruby and Mingyu goodnight in whispers and head to the end of the hall. Chan closes the door and you flick on the bedside lamp, casting a low yellow light through the room.

Wordlessly, Chan begins to rummage through his suitcase, transferring items to a small pile - a pair of loose shorts, a toothbrush, his phone charger. It occurs to you, suddenly, that he’s gathering what he needs to leave - to go sleep on a couch.

“Chan,” you say. You don’t even know what you want to say next. You just know you don’t want him to go, don’t want him to sleep on a couch, don’t want to be here alone.

He pauses, turning to look at you over his shoulder.

What do you want to say? Stay? You balk, suddenly chicken again.

“I can take the couch tonight,” you say instead. He shakes his head, but you press on. “We can switch tomorrow.”

“Nope,” he says easily.

“Chan,” you say again. He keeps rummaging, his back to you.

“Chan,” you repeat, insistent. He turns fully, still crouching, and raises his eyebrows as if to say, yes?

“Do you want to just stay here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking. It feels like a moment of great enormity.

He shakes his head, and the rejection stings enough that you feel your breath catch.

But then he says, “No, I’m not letting you sleep on a couch. I’m trying to be a gentleman - quit fighting me.”

You realize, slowly, that he misunderstood what you were offering.

“No,” you say. “I meant… like… no one on the couch.”

He stares at you blankly, his hands open like he forgot he was searching for something.

Embarrassment licks up the back of your neck like flames. “The bed isn’t that small,” you say, a little defensive. “We could just, like, stay on our own sides.”

The blank look on his face slowly transforms. His brows come together, his mouth tucking into a rare frown. He opens his mouth like he’s going to ask something, but nothing comes out. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you.

“I don’t…” he says, and the heat of embarrassment heightens. He clears his throat and tries again, “I don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he says slowly.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t okay with it,” you point out.

He nods slowly, then pushes himself to stand. “Are you extremely sure?” he asks, peering at you. “This isn’t a High Noon decision, is it?”

You laugh, the tension dissipating a little. “No,” you assure him. “I just… feel bad putting you on a couch… and I don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch either… and I think we can… not make it weird?”

“We can,” he says, like a promise.

You second-guess your decision the whole time you get ready for bed - as you brush your teeth, as you change into pajamas, as you settle into the side of the bed by the balcony and plug in your phone. You’re nervous you won’t be able to keep it not weird - nervous that you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself, that the magnetic pull to touch him will be too strong.

But when Chan climbs into the other side of the bed and clicks off the light, illuminated only by his phone screen, his warmth seeping into the blankets around you, it isn’t your hands that inch towards him. It’s your words. They claw their way out, desperate to reach across the six inches of darkness.

Chan, I’m actually really into you.

What really happened that night, when we were walking from bar to bar?

I’m in love with you, probably. I think.

Are you interested in me? At all?

You fight them all back, hold them all in. You don’t relax until Chan’s clicked his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, whispered goodnight to you, until you hear his breathing deepen. Just in case. Just in case the words get out the second you unclench - you need him to be asleep first so you can be sure he won’t hear them. You fall asleep with your face buried in the crook of your elbow, one last line of defense.

You wake up with your face buried in the crook of Chan’s neck instead of your own arm. You realize it instantly, body freezing like you’re about to get caught stealing, your whole body tight with panic. Like if you don’t move, you won’t wake him, and he won’t know that you cuddled him in your sleep.

Mortifying.

He’s mostly on his back but sort of tilted towards you, and you have one arm over his ribs, your nose pressed into the juncture of his shoulder. But, you realize as you stay frozen, his arms are around you. This was a mutual cuddle. Your legs are touching, too, one of your shins between his.

You try to breathe as shallowly as possible, fight the urge to stretch or roll or scoot away. You don’t want to alert him, pop this bubble, make the moment end. Chan is holding you as the sun rises over the ocean outside. It feels like another daydream, too good to be true. You never want it to end. You wish it was more real than this.

Slowly, you relax, one limb at a time, letting your muscles unclench and inhaling deeply. His skin, warm against your cheek, smells good - still a bit salty from the ocean, even after showering. But it’s only moments later that he stirs, his arms tightening around you and then loosening again as he makes a satisfied, low noise in his throat.

Then he goes still. You freeze back up, watching him for a reaction.

His mouth moves first, quirking sideways, and then he cracks one eye and peers down at you. A laugh bubbles from him and the cuddle is disintegrating around you as he shifts himself backwards and up on his elbows, still chuckling.

“Sorry,” he’s laughing, “sorry. I didn’t - that - I did not expect to do that in my sleep.”

You can’t help your own sheepish smile in return. “Me either, but it was actually comfy,” you admit. Now disentangled, you feel kind of cold and a little sad. But he’s acting like it was a funny goof, your bodies clinging to each other the second your brains turned off, so you’ll go along with the joke.

He rolls over and rummages on his nightstand, returning with his phone in hand and pushing thin-framed glasses up his nose. You look away, heart clenching. You love him in those; combined with the bedhead and his smell in your nose and the warmth of his skin not yet evaporated from yours and the feeling of his arms around you… it’s all a lot.

“I’m gonna… get dressed,” you say, reaching for your own phone. Chan hums a response and you vanish into the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready as slowly as possible. When you come out, the bedroom is blessedly empty. You close your eyes and exhale. It’s going to be a long day.

When you finally head down to the kitchen, Lara and Chan are chatting easily at the table, steaming mugs in their hands. He’s still in those damn cute glasses.

“Good morning!” Lara greets you brightly. “There’s coffee!”

“God bless you,” you tell her seriously. You open a cabinet in search of a mug, but you’re faced with only plates and glassware instead. Chan appears at the cabinet next to you, reaching up and offering you a white mug with a cartoon seagull on it.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling weirdly shy considering you just woke up pressed against him. Once you fix the coffee how you like it, you take the seat next to Lara at the table. “Everyone else still asleep?” you ask.

“Soonyoung is, but I have to go wake him up in a minute,” Lara says, clicking on her phone screen to check the time. “We have a snorkeling thing at ten.”

“Ruby and Mingyu are out already,” Chan tells you. “Sunrise yoga. She texted us.”

“God,” you say, horrified. “Mingyu’s gonna hate that.” You realize at the mention of her text that you’ve left your phone upstairs.

Chan laughs. “Right?”

Lara rises, presumably to go wake up her boyfriend. “Her text said they’d be out until around four,” she tells you as she moves back into the kitchen to rinse out her mug. “I think they’ll beat us back, but not by much. Maybe we can go grab dinner when everyone’s back?”

“Sure,” you say, shooting a look at Chan to see if he has any opinions on this plan. He shrugs - no opinions to be found. You’ve always loved the way he could just go with the flow, happy to be along for the adventure.

You and Chan are still sitting at the table, coffees dwindling, when Lara pulls a bleary-eyed Soonyoung through the front door with a shouted goodbye, the sound of the car’s engine reaching you from outside. You look at each other, left alone together.

Again.

He gives you a flat, unamused look that he definitely picked up from Seungkwan or Vernon. “Are they doing this on purpose?” he asks, and a jolt goes through you. He’s said it. It’s like a curtain being pulled, shedding sunlight on something that had been shadowbound until now.

“Doing what?” you say, even though you know. “Leaving us by ourselves? Probably. Ruby likes to fuck with me.”

Chan laughs, and you’re filled with shaky relief that the moment isn’t weird. You both knew what this was, apparently, and facing it has put you on the same team against it.

“I thought it was to fuck with me,” he admits, still smiling.

“Two birds with one stone,” you muse. “For the sake of efficiency.”

But you wonder… why would it be fucking with him if he wasn’t interested in you? Is he admitting something?

“Well,” Chan says, stretching his arms above his head, fingers linked, “by all means, you can do your own thing today. You don’t have to babysit me. But it’s supposed to storm later, so I was thinking I’d use the pool a bit this morning while we still can, and then maybe go into town for lunch.”

You consider this. “That’s very pragmatic of you,” you observe lightly.

“That’s one of the first words I’d pick to describe myself,” he tries to deadpan, but the smile is too quick, telling on himself.

You let him get changed first, and when you make your way out back to the pool he’s already in the water up to his waist. You toss a towel onto one of the chaises.

“How’s the water?” you ask him, as you move to sit on the edge, preparing to let your legs dangle.

“It’s great,” he tells you, smiling easily, like he’s happy - happy you’re here, happy to be here with you.

You wonder if that’s the case, as you slowly lower your legs in, the water coming to lap a few inches below your knees.

“Feels cold,” you tell him. It doesn’t, really - way warmer than the ocean you played in yesterday, but you want to tease him a little.

Suddenly, his hands are on your ankles, holding you firmly. His hands are on your ankles.

“You should get in quickly,” he tells you, trying - again - to pretend to be serious, despite the smile he can’t combat. “Like ripping off a band-aid.”

“Lee Chan,” you warn, but a giggle rises up in you. “Don’t you dare. I will get in when I am good and ready!”

“I’m just trying to help,” he says, pretending to be hurt. His fingers are still pressing against your skin, your brain impossibly aware of the exact spot his thumb presses, as if there’s a beacon illuminating the place.

He gives your legs a playful tug, too lightly to actually move you. You squeal anyway, reaching down to splash water towards him. “Chan!”

He releases your ankles, taking a step back to avoid the splash, laughing. “Be careful,” he warns. “If it’s war you want -” He holds his hand like a knife above the water, ready to retaliate the splash.

“Oh my God, you menace. I’m getting in!” you cry, gripping the lip of the pool and sliding in, staying on your tippy-toes as your body adjusts to the temperature.

“Come on,” he goads, backing away from you, bobbing towards the shallow end. “You have to go under or it doesn’t count.”

“You’re a menace,” you repeat firmly, and he laughs, enjoying that his teasing has worked you up.

You eye the expanse of water between you - you’re at opposite ends of the pool now. “Do you think I could make it across in one go?” you ask.

He raises an eyebrow. “Like, underwater? I don’t know - how’s your lung capacity?”

You laugh. “Maybe not good enough,” you admit wryly. “But I’ll try.”

You take a deep breath of salty sea air, only minorly marred by chlorine, and slip down below the surface. You let the bottoms of your feet find the flat cement wall of the pool, and you give a hearty push. It’s hard without being able to see how much farther you have to go, but you hate getting chlorine in your eyes, so you kick and pull blindly until your lungs start to burn. When your natural buoyancy pulls you upward, you don’t fight it.

Your hands find something warm and solid before you surface. Surprise causes you to rear your head, fucking with your balance, and your feet find the floor of the pool. You stand up unsteadily, blinking water out of your eyes.

Chan comes into focus, his expression tight, and you realize that your hands had found his stomach, centimeters above his belly button.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, pulling away.

It’s like ever since last night, you can’t stop touching, your bodies fighting to come together even as you both dig in your heels and try to stop it.

“No worries,” he says just as quickly. You try to cover the moment by wiping water out of your face, but you feel warm all over, the cool water useless against your heated skin as you try to push away how his muscled stomach had felt under your fingertips.

You spend a good hour just floating and splashing around. Sometimes you chat and sometimes you lapse into comfortable silence. At one point you hear him singing lightly under his breath, his voice surprisingly clear but frustratingly quiet.

Eventually, your stomach growls. “I’m starting to get hungry,” you tell him. “You up for lunch in town, maybe? I’d just need to shower super quick first.”

“Sounds great,” he says easily, and you both head for the single runged ladder at the deep end. Chan climbs up first, standing by the ladder, dripping onto the concrete. You grip the metal handles firmly and find the bottom rung with one foot, pushing heavily to hoist yourself up.

And Chan helps you up - his fingers finding the dip of your waist and guiding you until you’re steadily on the pool deck, something protective in the touch.

Your entire body thrums, electric, cells vibrating. You hurry to your towel and wrap yourself up, hiding your face in the material - pretending you’re just chasing droplets away from your eyes, but actually smothering the urge to scream, if you’re going to touch me then get over here and do it properly!

“Did you know there’s a hot tub under the deck? Was that mentioned in the listing?” Chan asks, and you uncover your face.

“Huh?”

He’s pointing, and then you see that he’s right - tucked beneath the deck is a decently-sized jacuzzi, the lid on and straps fastened shut.

“Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Well, I know what I’m doing after dinner.”

Chan laughs, and you head inside, careful not to drip a trail of pool water through the house.

The rest of the morning passes pleasantly and without any touching; you shower and get changed and go on foot into the small beach town. You find a cute open-air cafe and order lunch, the iced coffee absolutely divine under the warm summer sun. The company’s not bad either.

After you’ve paid and left, Chan pauses on the sidewalk and gives you a mischievous smile. “Up for a little adventure?” he asks.

You frown. “What level of adventure?” you ask cautiously. “Like, on a scale of jumping out of a plane being ten to laying on my towel in the sand being one, what are we talking here?”

He laughs. “Like a three,” he assures you. “We just have a bit of a walk - maybe twenty minutes?”

The walk is pleasant - you don’t even get too warm, as there’s a constant breeze off the ocean and clouds pass overhead, pitching you momentarily into shade between longer bouts of sunshine. When you turn a bend and see the lighthouse rise against the sky in the distance, you actually gasp.

“Can we go up?” you ask, delighted.

“That’s the plan,” he tells you, and for once you can read his face perfectly - he’s pleased that he’s surprised you, pleased to have made you happy. Something warm simmers under your skin, affection and happiness and something else.

It takes forever to reach the top. You have to stop and rest more than once, your calves burning and protesting the many stairs. A few families pass you on their way down, one mother telling you cheerfully that you’re almost to the top. This motivates you to continue, and you press on until you reach the final landing and step through the metal doorway.

The view is absolutely worth it. The beach and the ocean stretch out before you, the town in the distance behind you. Alone at the top, you feel like you’re in your own little world, surrounded by sunlight and the calls of gulls, just you and Chan.

You stand, holding the railing, watching the waves undulate far below you for a long time. “Chan,” you say, and then falter. You don’t know what you were going to say. Some part of you thinks maybe you’d been about to confess, or to finally ask him something to shed light on his feelings.

When he looks at you, expectant, you say only, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

And maybe you did confess something, because he reaches over and squeezes your hand, just once.

And then, he looks over your shoulder and utters, “Uh oh.”

You spin, following his gaze, and echo, “Uh oh.”

Dark grey clouds gather to the west. You remember him saying it was supposed to storm later; it looks like rain will be rolling in soon, ushering in the storms behind it.

“We’d better head down,” he says regretfully, and you follow him back inside.

You make it down and outside before the rain comes, but the sunshine of the morning has gone and left gloomy grey in its wake.

“You think we can make it back to the house?” you ask breathlessly.

Chan checks the time on his phone, already walking brisky back towards the direction of town and your rental. “Maybe,” he says, but he sounds doubtful. “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”

You barely even make it into town; you aren’t even back at the cafe where you’d had lunch before the sky opens. It happens exactly like that - one second it’s not raining, the next second you’re drenched, hair plastered to your face, shirt sticking to your back, spluttering breaths through your mouth like you’re being sprayed with a hose.

You let out a cry of surprise, and then Chan is grabbing your hand and tugging, pulling you off of the sidewalk and into a nearby doorway. You don’t even manage to see what the doorway belongs to - Chan is already pulling it open, his hand still in yours as he leads you inside.

It’s dark, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust as you wipe rain away from your eyes and shake droplets off of your arms. Beside you, Chan is doing the same, running a hand through his soaked hair and huffing out a noise of disbelief.

“That,” you say, “was bonkers.”

You seem to be in a dimly-lit dive bar, the kind that only locals go to. It’s pretty empty, since it’s early afternoon on a weekday, so when Chan raises a soggy, questioning eyebrow at you, you shrug and follow him towards the bar. Why not?

You take a seat wearily, and pull out your phone.

“We’ve got almost an hour until everyone is supposed to be back,” you inform him.

“In that case,” he says, and when the bartender meanders over, he orders you a row of shots to share.

You clink shot glasses for the first one, but after that you turn it into a game.

Chan narrows his eyes at you, mock-thoughtful. “What would you do if you woke up and your hands and feet had switched places?”

After answering (use my toes to order an Uber to the hospital), you volley with, “What would you do if aliens invaded tomorrow?”

Back and forth the game goes, punctuated by shot glasses being emptied and returned to the bar. What would you do if you woke up married in Vegas? … What would you do if you woke up one day and could only speak in rhyme? … What would you do if you were suddenly allergic to your favorite food? … What would you do if you were forced to join the circus?

You’re both laughing deliriously. Chan is wiping under his eyes in mirth, and you’ve hunched over so far that you find yourself with your hands on his knees, using him to stay upright on your barstool. Your surroundings have faded into colors and muted sounds with the alcohol in your system. All you can focus on is Chan, warm and solid under your palms, his eyes on you, the sound of his laugh cutting straight through the fog.

Then his next one isn’t so funny. “What would you do if you found out you only had a day to live?” he asks, and despite the seriousness, one last chuckle rumbles through his chest, like an aftershock.

Tell you. Tell you the truth.

You swallow. You take your hands off of his knees - you’re not sure he even noticed them there - and flex your fingers. And then, filter demolished by both alcohol and the sheer amount of time it’s been keeping you in check, you break.

Instead of answering, you fire back your own. “What would you do if I came onto you right now?”

Chan blinks at you, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them. He blinks twice more, and then his mouth opens. Your heart pounds.

“I’d - I - I guess, I’d probably kiss you,” he says, voice suddenly hushed, as if he’s a little unsure if he’s supposed to be honest or if the game is still a string of jokes.

You stare back. The two of you are frozen, both a bit wide-eyed, like neither of you is sure how you ended up like this.

Then, you breathe, “Okay, then do it.”

He nods immediately, breath coming sharply, and shifts closer on his seat. You feel like you’re holding your breath, waiting. Tentatively, he reaches up, brushes your jaw with his thumb.

Beside you, your phone blares to life on the bar. You both jump, startled out of the moment.

“Ruby,” you tell him hollowly. His hand still hovers near your face, but he nods, pulling it away. You feel like you can barely breathe as you slide your thumb to take the call.

“Hey,” you say into the phone, your eyes on Chan.

“Hey,” Ruby says, “where are you guys? Our thing ended early because of the rain so we’re back at the house.”

“Oh,” you say, trying hard to focus on her voice in her ear and not what just almost happened. “We’re in town. At… a bar? We came in to get out of the rain.”

“Perfect,” Ruby says. Across from you, Chan is rubbing his hands down the tops of his thighs, like they’re sweaty. You wonder if he’s nervous. “We’ll get changed and come get you guys in the car, and then we can go grab dinner together.”

You agree and hang up, then repeat the plan to Chan, who nods. He looks how you feel - a bit shell-shocked, a bit uncertain.

“We need to sober up,” you say. “Or, at least, I do.”

“No, me too,” he says, shaking his head. He sighs, and he might as well have said, goddamn Ruby. You hear it all. Then he seems to give himself a shake, orders you each a water, and asks to close his tab.

“They’re just up the street,” you tell him when Ruby’s text rolls in a bit later.

He nods, uncharacteristically quiet. You wish you could peek inside his brain and see what’s going on in there.

“Hey,” you say, and his eyes snap to you, that open look you know so well on his face. Your voice softens, and you resist the urge to reach out and touch his hand when you continue. “Here’s what I don’t want to happen - I don’t want Ruby to sniff out that something’s going on and interrogate me before we can… talk, ourselves. So let’s pull it together, and get through dinner, and then we can…”

We can what? Pick up where we left off?

He nods anyway, even though you’d left the thought unfinished. “You’re right,” he says.

And, somehow, you do. You both pull it together, rush through the pouring rain from the bar to the open car door. You smile and tease and laugh through dinner, like nothing had happened at all.

You feel relieved, in the back of Ruby’s car, as you all make your way back to the house. You did it - you got through dinner unscathed. Now you can go inside, and have some privacy, and talk and maybe figure out -

“Did you guys know the rental has a hot tub?” Chan asks, and you turn to look at him, baffled.

“It has a what?” Ruby gasps.

“Yep,” he says cheerfully, like he hasn’t just shattered your dream of getting a moment to yourselves. “It’s under the deck. Which means - hey! - it’s covered! We could totally go in, we wouldn’t even be in the rain.”

“That sounds great, actually,” Lara muses.

You say nothing, but when he catches you looking sideways at him, Chan sends you a wink, quick as lightning. You feel your face go puzzled, and he smiles and looks away, giving you no answers.

You’re somehow the first one to get changed and outside; it’s still pouring rain and you cover your head with your towel as you make your way down the steps and under the deck where some drips make it through, but you’re mostly out of the rain. A quick sweep of the area with your phone’s flashlight shows that there’s a string of the same lights down here as above on the deck, and you hurry to plug them in. Now that you can see, it’s actually kind of cute under here.

You unsnap the first strap for the lid, and jump when a pair of hands reaches next to you for the second one. You hadn’t heard Chan approach, but you silently accept his help as you push the lid up and off. You watch him out of the corners of your eyes to see if he’s going to say anything, address it at all. When it seems like he’s not, you turn to climb up the little set of steps, resigned.

His hand closes around your wrist, stilling you. He gives the tiniest of tugs and you relent, turning around. He gives you another tiny tug - you could resist if you wanted to, but you don’t, you don’t, you don’t. You let the tug pull you closer and look up at him, waiting. He kisses you quickly, firmly, close-mouthed for now but sure, his hands forming loose loops around each of your wrists as if he might want to tug you into place again.

The sliding glass door above you slides open and you step away, heart racing.

“Later,” he says quietly, and then you don’t get another second alone, Mingyu and Soonyoung’s voices bouncing through the space as they clamber down the deck stairs.

You climb into the warm water and choose a spot. Chan follows and sits a few solid feet away from you. You try not to look guilty when the other guys round the corner.

“Brought you a beer,” Mingyu says, reaching the extra can towards you.

“You are a legend,” you tell him gratefully.

Chan frowns, and for a crazed second you think maybe he’s jealous that Mingyu did something nice for you, but then he whines, “You didn’t bring me one? Hyung.”

“Calm your ass down,” Mingyu says, climbing into the water and finding a seat. You’re instantly more crowded, just from the sheer amount of space his long legs take up. “Soonyoung has yours.”

You snicker a little, and Chan gives you a light kick under the water. Above you, you hear the door slide open again, and a minute later Ruby and Lara appear beneath the deck, sheltered from the rain by Ruby’s towel.

“Oh,” Ruby says, surprised. “It’s not bad under here!”

“It’s cute, right?” you agree. “Still getting a few raindrops, though.”

“Eh, we’re in water anyway,” Soonyoung says easily, reaching up a hand to help steady Lara as she climbs in.

It’s crowded, and Chan’s two-feet-away doesn’t last. Instead, you’re crowded together, just inches apart. Ruby leans over the edge and turns on the jets, the top of the water creating a frothy layer.

“This is nice,” Lara says happily, closing her eyes and leaning against her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“It is,” you murmur, sipping at your beer. Under the cover of the jets’ bubbles, something touches your hand. Someone’s hand touches your hand. Chan’s hand touches your hand.

Your heart lurches. You beg your face to behave and give nothing away. And ever so slowly, you turn your hand over.

He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on Soonyoung, who’s telling a story animatedly on the other side of the jacuzzi. But his fingers lace between yours, and his thumb brushes along the back of your hand, slow and tantalizing.

You’ve never been so undone by hand holding in your life.

You try to breathe. You sip casually at your beer and interject into the conversation when you can. You laugh at the jokes and look at whoever is speaking. You have no idea what the conversation is about. You hold onto Chan’s slender fingers like he’s a lifeline, like if you let go he’ll slip away, again and for good.

Later, he’d said, and his voice echoes in your head as you pray for later to be now. And finally, blessedly, Lara finally yawns, loud, and starts making moves to get out and head in. Which means so does Soonyoung. Then Mingyu lifts a hand from the water and examines his fingers, complaining, “I’m all pruny.” Chan gives your hand a squeeze and lets you go, reaching for his beer nonchalantly, watching Ruby and Mingyu carefully. You know you’re both waiting, impatiently, for them to leave you alone.

Leave, you silently beg, still trying to appear as casual as possible. Leaaaaave.

“You staying a little?” Ruby asks you, pausing halfway out of the hot tub.

“Yeah,” you say, trying to force your voice to stay casual. “I slept pretty late this morning - I’m not really tired yet.”

“Not all of us got up for sunrise yoga,” Chan says dryly, and Mingyu laughs, reaching for Ruby’s hand, clearly wanting to get inside.

“Okay, then,” Ruby says, her eyes still on you. “See you in the morning then.”

“Bye,” you tell her, and you have to fight the giggle out of your voice. You can’t help it - you feel giddy, nearly bouncing with excitement. You and Chan have been skirting the brink of something all day and you’re finally standing on the cusp of it, toes curled over the edge, ready to dive.

The second you hear the sliding door above you close, Chan’s hand is on your wrist again, pulling much more insistently than he had earlier in the day. Surprised, you let him tug you onto his lap, settling with your thighs bracketing his own, his hands wasting no time in finding your hips and pulling you more firmly against him.

His mouth is on yours, as insistent as his touch. You answer him readily, nearly sighing into his mouth as you get something you’ve wanted for years. You skate your hands up his chest and bring your arms around the back of his neck. He tips his head back a little, his hands sliding up your back, and the change in angle makes you sigh again.

“Thought they’d never leave,” he mutters against your jaw, and you let out a quick huff of a laugh before your breath leaves you entirely as his teeth nip a line down your neck, tongue and lips soothing behind each quick sting.

You chase his mouth, wanting him back, and he groans quietly when he realizes - like you wanting to continue kissing is just as good as actually kissing. But nothing is as good as the kissing, not if anyone asks you, nothing is as good as his tongue against yours, his teeth gentle on your lips, his hands clutching at your back and your arms and your hips like he can’t pick a favorite.

His hands roaming your body ignite you. You become only aware of their migration as they map the width of your shoulders, survey the dip of your waist, skate over your ass, then repeat the expedition. Your fingers have found his hair, curled up and held tight. He takes your hips in his hands and shifts you on his lap, causing you to tug slightly, and his exhale holds just the slightest hint of a whimper. You almost unravel, right there.

The shifted position also makes it absolutely unignorable that Chan is hard beneath you, and you can’t - don’t even try to - stop yourself from pressing yourself closer, your hips rolling almost involuntarily as soon as you feel him. Chan gasps at the sudden friction, his eyes squeezing shut for a second, like he’s already going under. Then his hands - frozen on your hips while his brain rebooted - come back to life, slipping up your ribs to cup both of your breasts over your bathing suit, giving one slow knead to both in tandem. You moan, low, unable to stop it, and he responds almost instantly, letting out an audibly shuddering breath.

He surges upwards to kiss you again, one thumb still rubbing circles against your hardening nipple, the other hand trailing back down your side and gripping your waist, holding you in place. You continue to move against him, his mouth hot against yours, the water bubbling around you and surrounding you in mist.

Chan’s nimble fingers leave your chest and work their way down between your bodies, pausing at the edge of your bathing suit bottoms. He looks up at you, pupils blown, panting out controlled little breaths like he’s fighting to keep himself in check.

Eyes unwavering on yours, watching your reactions closely, he slips his fingers between your legs, pressing the material against you, sliding down your slit and back deftly. His cock kicks beneath you when you whine. His gaze on you feels charged, almost like a challenge.

And then you’re blinded by a flash, followed almost instantly by an alarming crack of thunder.

“Fuck,” Chan hisses, twisting to peer out towards the ocean, his hands finding your hips again as if by instinct. “The storm.”

“Guess we have to head in,” you say, and it comes out wispy and breathless. Your legs feel like jelly and he’s barely even started.

“Yeah,” he says, the single syllable tight. He adjusts himself as you vacate the water, the rain beyond the safety of the deck seeming to redouble its efforts. You both hurry to turn the jets off and replace the cover, then stand at the edge of the dry space, looking out at the raging rain.

As hot and heavy as things were only a minute ago, you feel oddly still now, staring out at the storm. Chan places your towel over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking sideways at him.

“Ready?” he asks you, and you think he means ready to brave the storm. But your heart is answering another question - are you ready to continue, ready to move forward with him, ready to give life to something that has remained only a daydream in your mind?

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.

He slips his hand into yours. “I’ve got you,” he promises.

You move quickly but carefully through the rain, eyes on your feet as you take the slippery wooden stairs up the deck and towards the house. Chan doesn’t let go of your hand until you’re inside, sliding the door shut behind you. The house is dark and quiet, lit only by a single light above the kitchen sink. You both stand near the door and try to dry off, but your towels got soaked by the rain and don’t do much good.

“Come on,” Chan whispers. “There are fresh towels upstairs.”

You follow him through the house, up the stairs and down the darkened hallway. Chan pauses at the linen closet, pulling out two fluffy towels. You lead him into your shared room, closing and locking the door behind you as he clicks on one of the lamps.

Chan comes back into your space quietly, wraps you both in his towel, the spare forgotten on top of your dresser. You’re pressed tight together, warm in his arms. He presses his lips to the top of your head, leaving them resting there, just holding you. The moment is soft, heavy, a stark contrast to the lightning physicality of what happened outside. Something about the intimacy of it makes you feel hesitant.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling away a little to look at you.

“Yeah,” you breathe back. Your heart is racing. But it’s Chan. It’s Chan with his arms around you, and Chan who was kissing you and touching you, and - it all feels like something you aren’t allowed to have. “Just… maybe we shouldn’t?”

“We don’t have to,” he says immediately, shifting backwards and loosening his arms around you, giving you the option of pulling away if you want it. “We can do whatever you’re comfortable with. If you want to just go to bed… or if you want me to take the couch tonight, I can -”

“No,” you say quickly, because that’s the opposite of what you want. “No, it’s just… Chan…”

He seems to hear your uncertainty in your voice, his face softening and his arms pulling you back in. “What is it?” he asks quietly, and you slip your arms around his middle, giving in.

“I think I want this a lot more than you do,” you whisper, glad you don’t have to look at him while you say it.

He laughs, and you step back, looking at him quizzically. You’d been afraid of his reaction - of making him uncomfortable, of pushing the line too far. You hadn’t expected laughter.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” he tells you, and you just stare at him, not comprehending. He reaches up, fingers still clutching a corner of the towel wrapped loosely around his back, and brushes a thumb along your jaw. You feel your face warm, but you wait him out. He adds, “I want this… a ridiculous amount. I’ve wondered for a long time if we could… be more.”

He says it like a confession. He says it like he’s embarrassed about it.

“Well,” you say, a fire - a hope - coming back to life behind your ribcage, “maybe we should find out.”

And there it is, that smile that makes the whole world melt away.

The towel drops to the floor, forgotten, and his fingers are at the back of your neck, tugging on the knot that ties your bathing suit top in place. When the material falls away he makes a satisfied noise in his throat as he moves to kiss you again, walking you back towards the bed.

You’d both been eager, but when the mattress hits the backs of your thighs Chan lays you back slowly, almost reverently. He kisses you sweetly, tracing your jaw again, and then lets out another little laugh.

“What?” you breathe, smiling despite being clueless. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing. It’s not,” he says, but he’s still smiling, eyes tracing over your face and body. “It’s just… hard to believe this is real. That it’s you.”

Your breath leaves you. It’s exactly how you’ve felt.

“I know what you mean,” you whisper, and you kiss him again. This time he doesn’t hesitate when his hand slips between your legs, brushing right past your bathing suit and pushing the pads of his fingers into the wet mess he finds there. You shudder an exhale into his waiting mouth as he presses one finger and then a second deep into you, his eyes on you as you arch into the touch.

You let your eyes drift close as he pumps them slowly, and outside the room there’s another flash of lightning chased by the crack of thunder. For a little, there’s only the sound of rain beating against the windows as Chan works little whimpers and half moans out of you.

He switches his angle, something snagging behind your navel, everything beginning to tighten. You gasp his name, and you’re answered by his too-familiar huff of a laugh again.

“What?” you demand through your own smile.

“You say my name like that again and I’m gonna bust,” he tells you seriously. Then he brings his attention back to where his fingers disappear inside you, and his gaze sharpens. “These are in my way,” he murmurs, pulling out of you and reaching for your bathing suit, which had been pushed to the side.

“Yours too, then,” you object playfully, lifting your hips for him as he slides the damp material down your legs. He smiles at you indulgently and shuffles backwards on the back, standing long enough to tug at his swim trunks, letting them drop unceremoniously before crawling back up to you, pressing his mouth to yours and cupping your jaw with one hand, like he’d missed you in the seconds he’d been gone.

“Chan,” you whisper, because you need more of him, because this isn’t enough.

He slides lower down your body, his chest brushing against yours, his lips mapping a path down your sternum, down your belly, pausing near your navel. He looks up at you, all glinty-eyed, that million-dollar smile going slightly sideways, a little mischievous.

“Can I? Please say yes,” he says in a rush, pushing his nose into your lower belly and caressing your inner thighs with his thumbs.

You lean up on your elbows so you can look at him better. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing for a minute. He’s going to give you a cardiac event. “If you want to,” you tell him.

He laughs again, so quiet. “You have no idea,” he says, shaking his head, and then he’s attaching his mouth to you and your arms give out. You eye the ceiling, a strangled moan working up your throat as Chan’s tongue delves into your heat. You squirm, trying to push him deeper. He loops his arms under your legs and then reaches over, his hands pulling you tighter against his chin, both of you working to the same goal.

You hadn’t spent a lot of time imagining how Chan might eat pussy, but you’re surprised that he dives right into fucking you on his tongue, determined and rhythmic. You’d have pegged him for the type to go slow, draw it out, tease and taste and work you up little by little. Instead he grunts in satisfaction, pulls on you hard enough that you wonder if he’ll leave little bruises from his fingertips, and spears his tongue in and out of your hole with abandon, his nose bumping your clit every few thrusts.

You’re a whimpering mess, fighting the urge to roll your hips into his face, one hand slapped over your face to muffle the sound. He shifts, lips working their way up to your desperately pulsating clit, and you feel your whole body seize with the change of sensation, a long, low groan emanating from your chest. He suctions his lips around your clit and sucks gently, then a little less gently, and your feet scrabble against the sheets, trying to find purchase.

His fingers enter you again, his spit and your wetness giving them the perfect slide, and it’s exactly the extra stimulation you need. He only has to pump his wrist twice, that delicious suction steady around your clit, before you’re grasping desperately at him - one hand sliding into his hair and the other finding his wrist and holding tight, which doesn’t stop him at all from pistoning his fingers into that spot on your front wall that has you unraveling faster than you ever have before.

“Fuck, fuck, Chan -” you gasp. Your eyes squeeze shut and your grip on him might actually be painful, a belly-deep ahhhhh ripped from you as the onslaught of sensation sends conscious thought spinning away.

“Shhh,” he soothes, fingers slowly but continuing to work you through it. You whimper, gasp for a breath, the room coming back into view. “Not so loud, baby.”

“God, Chan,” you groan, releasing your hold on him, flexing your fingers.

He grins at you, lightning quick, then kisses the inside of your thigh. “That’s my girl.”

You peer at him, boneless. “You up for more?”

He pushes himself up on his elbows, the triumph not completely melted from his face yet. “I’m up for whatever you want,” he promises. “You’re calling the shots here.”

“Excellent,” you joke. You reach towards him, barely stop yourself from making grabby hands. “Come fuck me.”

He damn near scrambles to obey. He comes up to kiss you, deep and heady, and you hook one of your legs behind him, pulling him closer. The head of his cock slides along your slit and you tilt, trying to get him where you want him.

You look up at him, feeling like he hung the stars, and whisper his name. His answer is a bite of a kiss as he pushes himself into you, stopping only when his hips are flush with yours.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he breathes, eyes closed for a second, as he holds himself over you.

“Please move,” you beg, needing more.

“God,” he groans. “Okay. Okay. I got you.”

And he does. Chan fucks like he moves - quick and precise, each motion purposeful. His eyes have narrowed with focus, brows slightly furrowed with exertion as his hips snap. He slides one hand under you to help lift you, the angle changing just slightly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, desperation lacing your voice. “There.”

The drag of him is delicious, and so is the feeling of his body under your hands, and so is the sound of his ragged breath mixed with occasional gasps and groans. It’s the fact that it’s Chan driving you even higher.

A crack of thunder sounds directly overhead, and Chan takes the moment to roll you over, laying back and letting you straddle his lap without even slipping from inside you. You whine as the new position drives him deeper than he’d been before, your hands splayed over his pecs. He’s breathing rapidly now, struggling to keep his eyes open as he continues to fuck you from below.

“I-I’m - so -” he pants, “close. Really close, baby.”

You lean down to kiss him, his arms coming up around your shoulders to pull you chest to chest until his strokes grow sloppy and his hands tighten on you. You kiss along his jaw sweetly until he releases you with a sigh. He kisses you once more before he pulls out, and then again when he returns from the bathroom with a damp cloth.

“I might need to actually shower,” you muse.

“Yeah, okay,” he says easily, nodding. “Maybe I’ll go after you. I smell like chlorine.”

You shrug. “Might as well just join me. If you want.”

He grins. He follows you into the bathroom, waits with you while the water heats up. And then he fucks you again, against the cool tiles of the shower wall.

Later, back in bed, you face each other through the dark.

“I should have said earlier,” you whisper. “But I’ve liked you for a long time, too.”

His smile makes you feel full of sunshine, even when it’s shy, even when he’s asking what you want to do about it. Especially when he’s asking you, "What are you doing next Saturday?"

Tonight, the decision to cuddle is made while you’re awake. When you wake up in the morning, sunlight streaming through the windows, Chan wastes no time in reaching between your legs, finding you ready, and rolling over top of you, pushing between your thighs before he even has his eyes all the way open.

When you both emerge from your bedroom, stomachs growling and with the beginnings of a caffeine headache, your friends are all sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded with the evidence of a breakfast come and gone. They begin a slow clap, eventually lauding you in a mostly sarcastic but still loving round of applause. 

“It’s about time,” Mingyu grouses. “You two have been circling each other forever.”

“Shh,” you tell him, as Chan slips his arm over your shoulders with a grin. “Not so loud.”

thank you for reading!!! <3

[staylovesmiley]

Give Me Your TMI~ Chapter 5

˚⊹ᰔ Pairing; Yang Jeongin x Fem!reader, Stray kids x Fem!reader

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Summary; In a world where Humans and Hybrids should be living as equals, Hybrids are still viewed as being closer to their animalistic side than their humanistic. Deep in the woods lives a band of misfit hybrids who reject these societal views and keep to themselves, choosing to live away from humans. What happens when the youngest of this rogue group meets a lost Human girl, befriending her after an incident where he must rely on her for help?

₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ ₊˚⊹ᰔ Warnings; hybrid!au, female!reader, angst, mild violence, mentions of sexual harassment/assault and discrimination, she/her pronouns used for reader, this is very loosely based off the overall themes/tones of the manga and anime fruits basket~

In the coming days you would find flowers for you laying on your side of the bed waiting for you every afternoon.

Sometimes there were the same as the first, others they would be different, but the amount of flowers seemed to grow day by day until that morning you were woken up to the sight of a little bouquet tied with twine set on the bedside table. Jeongin was still sound asleep as you usually woke before him to help Minho with breakfast. Confusion laced itself through your half awake state and you reached over to shake the fox awake gently. “Innie- Jeongin wake up.” The hybrid startled, bolting up as if he were expecting there to be an emergency, looking over you frantically. “Wha- is everything okay, pretty?” He saw that you were in fact okay and calmed down, though confusion replaced his panic quickly. “Sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you I just…wanted to thank you for the flowers but really you didn’t have to go out so early to get them just so I’d wake up to see them.”

Now the hybrid was even more confused. He had noticed the vase on the dresser seemed to acquire new flowers each day but he had always assumed it had been you trying to brighten up the room and not that you were under the impression he had been the one bringing them to you. “Flowers? I didn’t get you flowers- I’ve been here since we went to bed last night…”

You frowned, even more confused than the hybrid. “But if you aren’t leaving them then who is…” the fox felt his jaw clench, an ugly little thing called jealousy once again possessing him as he cursed himself for not thinking of bringing you flowers first. Now if he were do so it would only be a mere imitation of the original and wouldn’t be as special, and he wanted to be special. “I’m sorry I woke you, innie…try and get some more rest before breakfast, okay?” He nodded, a pout still on his lips until you leaned down to place a gentle kiss to his temple and he melted instantly. Fighting the urge to pull you back against him and not allow you to leave he let himself fall back into a slumbering state as you got up and padded your way to the kitchen to meet the cat hybrid, bouquet carefully placed inside the vase with the rest of the flowers you had received over the course of the week.

The rest of the day the question lingered in your mind, even now as you stood side by side with Minho in the kitchen baking bread to go with the roast he had prepared for dinner.

The cat could tell something was weighing on you from the way your eyes seemed unfocused as you kneaded the dough in front of you. “What’s got you all lost in thought, pretty?” His words startled you, causing you to pause and look up at him. “How did you-“ Minho laughed, shaking his head. “If I didn’t snap you out of it you’d over knead that loaf and it would be a dense as a rock.” He teased, causing you to scoff playfully. “Yeah? Well maybe I like eating rocks.” You joked as you reached up to swipe a line of flour along his cheek. The cat smirked, shaking his head as he quickly landed a sharp slap upon your left asscheek. You gasped loudly before erupting into a fit of laughter.

Playing around like this had become commonplace for the two of you during prep for meal times. It made the whole process move a little slower but it always brightened your moods so much to the point that no one seemed to complain if dinner was late by a few minutes or if they had to sit around the kitchen island and watch the two of you goofing around while adding the finishing touches to their breakfasts. Food made with love and happiness tasted better anyways, they say.

The cat gave you a look, attempting to be stern but it didn’t fool you as he had been laughing along with you just seconds earlier. “Come on, out with it. What’s on your mind?” You sighed, calming down as you carefully broke the dough in front of you into three equal pieces and set two aside and you worked to roll the third into a long rope like shape. “I’ve been getting flowers every day for a week now…and I just assumed it was Innie leaving them for me. But this morning when I woke up there was a whole bouquet and so whoever it was would have had to get up either late last night or extremely early this morning to pick them for me…” Minho motioned for you to continue, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips but he wanted you to finish before saying his piece. “I woke Jeongin up to thank him for going through all the trouble but he swears it wasn’t him…he looked as confused as I was if not more- I just don’t know who else would be leaving them for me…”

The cat grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched you take the now three rope like forms of dough and lay them side by side before braiding them together carefully. “I know who it is.” Your actions paused, curiosity piqued and you resumed your braiding before asking him. “Well- who is it?” “It’s Chan-hyung.”

Your head turned to look the older in the eyes so fast that your neck felt sore, the expression on your face full of shock and disbelief causing the cat hybrid to chuckle. “So shocking? He’s been watching you closely since you arrived here. He wasn’t sure how to get your attention, he’s still a bit hesitant to approach you.” You swallowed hard, still unable to fully believe Minho’s words. “But- Chan doesn’t like me…I’m sure he’s only letting me stay so that Jeongin doesn’t run away-“ your words caused the cat to double over with his laughter, shaking his head. “Oh our clueless, pretty little human- if you don’t believe me why don’t you ask him yourself?”

Your eyes widened as you watched him regain his composure and grab the bread pan for both of your loaves. “That’s beautiful, by the way. You’ll have to show me how to do that.”

You beamed at the praise, temporarily forgetting the conversation about your flowers having come from the wolf hybrid you were sure couldn’t care less as to whether you were dead or alive. As you watched the cat hybrid place the bread into the oven you heard a low growl coming from behind you. “What the fuck, Jeongin-“ Minho had turned around after shutting the oven door and his expression was one of concern and shock causing you to turn around and see your beloved fox hybrid glaring daggers at the older hybrid with his canines bared to him. “Mine.” He growled out, voice much deeper than you had ever heard from the youngest member of the house and your blood ran cold at the terrifying sight of him. “I-Innie?” Your voice was timid and he nodded towards Minho. “He put his hands on my pretty.” Your expression softened slightly and looked at Minho with confusion before remembering your interaction from earlier. There must have been a mark from the flower he had on his hands when he had slapped you playfully. “Oh Innie, we were just playing arou-“ before you could finish your sentence the younger had pounced on you, knocking you off your balance and you both came crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

Everything moved so quickly you barely had time to process what was happening you felt the sharp sting of the fox’s canines digging into the spot between your neck and shoulder. You let out a little yelp in pain, eyes screwed shut as your hands balled into fists gripping onto Jeongin’s sweater. “Yang Jeongin get off of her!” Minho shouted to the younger hybrid but when he took a step forward it only served to make him bite down a tad bit harder and you let out a little whimper. “Fuck-“ you heard someone from behind you but you didn’t recognize the voice. Suddenly Jeongin’s teeth loosened their grip and he was pulled back from you and held in Seungmin’s strong embrace as he thrashed violently. Minho was there in a second, pressing a dish towel against the wound on your neck. “Get yourself in check, kit. Pretty isn’t built like a hybrid and you have to be gentle with her.” The cat scolded as Seungmin pulled the fox hybrid back towards his room.

You felt dazed, letting Minho scoop you up and carry you over to the couch where he proceeded to patch you up. “I’m sorry about him, pretty…he- honestly I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” You shook your head, smiling weakly as he pulled back from applying a bandage over the bite mark. “I’m okay, it startled me more than anything I think…I should go talk to him-“ Slowly you stood and Minho’s hand shot out to wrap around your wrist, a look full of concern painting his beautiful face. “I’ll be okay, Min. He won’t hurt me.” The cat scoffed, motioning from the kitchen floor that was still stained with drops of your blood to your bandaged neck. You shook your head, gently removing his hand and making your way to your shared room with the youngest hybrid.

You gave a little knock before entering, seeing Jeongin curled up on the bed as Seungmin stood above him very clearly scolding him as Minho had earlier. Upon your entrance the beagle hybrid silenced himself and gave you a look full of mixed emotions you couldn’t exactly read before brushing past you with a soft. “Be careful.” Whispered your way and then you were left alone with the youngest.

“Innie…” immediately he cut you off, sitting up and allowing you to see the wet tear tracks that stained his red cheeks. “Oh god you’re okay- pretty I’m s-so sorry-“ seeing his distressed state you were quickly at his side, petting his hair as you attempted to soothe him. “Yes, I’m okay. But Jeongin-“ he pouted up at you, clearly expecting another tongue lashing. Instead you kept your words soft but your tone still held a sternness to it that let him know you were being serious. “You do not own me…no one does. I care for you dearly but you absolutely cannot act out like this every time I interact with someone else in a way you don’t like.” His pout deepened into a frown and he nodded so fast you feared he may injure his neck. “I won’t- I promise…I’m so sorry-“ You gave him a soft smile, pushing the hair that fell over his forehead back to give him a gentle kiss to the flushed skin there. “You are forgiven, but this will not happen again or I will go and room with someone else.” His eyes widened and a whimper escaped him before his arms wrapped around your waist as he clung to you desperately. “Not again, I’ll be good I promise.” His words caused you to frown and you shook your head as you continued to comb your fingers through his hair and give light scratches to his ears. “You’re always good, my Mr. fox…” he relaxed at your words, body going lax against you and after a while you heard soft snores coming from him. Poor thing, you thought to yourself, he got himself so worked up he exhausted himself. You carefully tucked him into bed and before leaving the room you glanced over at the vase full of flowers and sighed. You may regret this later, but you needed to hear it from the source yourself.

You found yourself standing in front of the door at the back of the cabin, hand poised in front of the wood but you were frozen stiff with hesitance. Your nerves were standing on end and you took several deep breaths before giving a few soft knocks to the door. Briefly you contemplated running away but before you could decide the door opened to reveal a very shocked looking wolf hybrid. “Oh- it’s you.” He said, voice void of emotion as ever and it caused you to wince slightly. “Um- hi, Chan…I just- well, Minho said that you’ve uhh…” you swallowed the lump in your throat, hoping it would allow your words to come out smoother. “Minho told me it’s been you leaving me flowers every day….is that true?”

Chan blinked a bit, heat rising to his cheeks and for the first time you noticed how on edge he himself seemed. Shit- Jeongin had told you he was extremely distrusting of humans. What if this whole time he wasn’t being cold but was really scared like how Seungmin was. You cursed yourself for assuming just because he was a wolf that he was to be feared instead of being the fearful one. “Yeah….uh- it was me..” he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, eyes unable to meet yours and you couldn’t help but stare a bit in disbelief. “If it makes you uncomfortable I can stop-“

Chan couldn’t finish his words, the wind having been knocked out of him as your arms wrapped tightly around his waist and your face buried in his chest. “Thank you, really- no one has ever given me flowers before.” This was it, what he had been craving for weeks since you had joined their family. Your smaller frame pressed against his and your scent enveloping him. He knew you as a human couldn’t smell what they did, but the sweetness of your natural scent caused him to feel lightheaded as a hand slowly came to rest on the small of your back and hold you closer to him. “You deserve flowers.” Was all he said, blushing furiously as he stared down at you in disbelief. You giggled, pulling back to look up at him with a bright smile that nearly knocked him off his feet. Never did he think you would look at him so brightly, so unafraid.

Just then he noticed the bandage on your neck and his face fell. “What happened to your neck..?” Your eyes widened, as if you had already forgotten what had happened in the kitchen earlier. “Oh- it’s okay. Jeongin just-“ before you could finish the wolf let out a growl and tried to push past you to where the fox was sleeping in your shared room. “Wait Chan- it’s okay I already talked to him about it everything is fine he’s resting now-“ you wrapped both hands around his bicep and attempted to pull him back towards you and thankfully your pleading seemed to work as the normally so ridged composure he held around you melted away. Chan turned to face you, moving your hair aside to get a closer look at the bandage. “You sure you’re okay..?” His voice was so soft, laced with concern and you couldn’t help but smile as you nodded to him. “I’m positive. Please, let’s just drop it?” With a sigh, Chan nodded and instead pulled you back into his embrace. “I’m supposed to keep all of you safe…I’m sorry he hurt you-“

With a light giggle, the one that always seemed to brighten Jeongin’s day, you rested your cheek against his chest and let your eyes fall closed as you breathed in the earthy smell the hybrid held from his patrols. “Really, I’m okay. But thank you for worrying about me…and taking care of me even when I didn’t notice.” The wolf hybrid’s chest swelled with pride and he allowed himself to enjoy your embrace as he gently rubbed your back in slow circles. After a moment you pulled away, the wolf having to fight off a whine at the loss of contact. “I’m gonna go check on dinner…see if Minho needs my help-“

Nodding, Chan watched as you retreated to the kitchen with a soft smile on his blushing face, looking away bashfully only as you turned to give him one last smile before disappearing to help the second oldest finish cooking. Finally, some softness reserved only for himself.

author’s note; I know this is a much shorter chapter than I have been putting out but I wanted to get these plot points out of the way for a special Christmas chapter~~ I wanted to give it its own special chapter and not lump it together with these events so just a smaller update (hopefully you all don’t mind since ch4 was posted last night anyways and you only have to wait a couple of days for ch6) thank you for your continued love and support~ (side note but thank you @chancloud8 for the Minho butt slap scene hehehe)

taglist; (pink users I wasn’t able to tag) @coastinglove @estella-novella @chancloud8 @skzswife @motheraiya55 @zofia515 @skybluelixie @breadedloafs @inaribu00 @silly250 @royal-shinigami @thatgirlangelb @bby-boo4u @emmxxsworld @vampkittenb82 @h0rnyp0t @alisonyus @im-sinking-in-mud @ihrtlix @mrs-hwangh @danixiulin @wolfo2027 @kiaralynn3838 @ateez-atiny380 @daceyena @bookswillfindyouaway @blackcatpandora @popcatx0 @corgilover20 @marshmelonie @sassy-snassy @straykidslover2024

[katsu2ji]

mha boys + their fav thing to do with you (or for you) during the holiday season

a/n: it's my favorite time of the year <3 merry christmas to those who celebrate!! posting this on christmas eve, i hope everyone has the best day <3 ily!

izuku: baking christmas cookies

izuku makes the BEST deserts. his mother taught him when he was young and although he was reluctant to learn at first ("mom, i’m sorry but learning how to make the perfect pie is not my biggest concern right now..."), it's now a skill he's come to appreciate—especially when you're involved. one of his favorite things to do with you, at any point in the year but especially during christmas, is baking cookies—or rather, he's do most of the baking while you're sitting on the countertop watching him do so. there's christmas jazz playing through the space as you both talk about your days, laughing and making a mess that neither of you are too worried about cleaning in the moment. he gives you the spoons to lick when he's finished with them, smiling when you nod your approval of the taste. while they're in the oven, you two dance in the low kitchen light; it's not graceful, by any means, but it's silly and stupid and makes you both feel as though you're the only ones in the world. this warm, love filled kitchen on a cold winter's night, just for the two of you.

katsuki: decorating with you

katsuki would never admit it, but he takes his christmas decorating very seriously. he insists that if you're going to decorate for the holidays, you might as well make it look nice. you ask him to take down the christmas decorations from storage and while he pretends to find the task annoying, he actually is looking forward to doing this with you. he loves seeing how excited you get when he plugs in the lights on the tree and watch as they light up the dark living room, or how much you love the small task of switching out the normal pillows on the couch for the winter themed ones. his favorite part about it all, however, is putting up the ornaments; together you've collected a few over the years, some more heartfelt while others are silly inside jokes between the two of you. he teases you when you put one in a spot he doesn't agree with ("why the fuck did you put it there, that's ugly." "katsuki, no it's not!" "yes the hell it is, move it over here.") and you know it's all lighthearted as you laugh at the faces he makes about your "questionable" placements. this is all such a temporary thing, he knows—the decorations will only be up for about a month and a half, if that. but it's special for him. a time where he can forget about the rest of the world; where he only has to focus on you and your terrible (but endearing) tree decorating skills.

shoto: christmas shopping

when you two go out shopping together, he takes note of anything that you point out and like. later, he comes back after a patrol shift; he tells you he's picking up dinner, and while that's not a total lie and he is going to bring home something, he also needed to make time to pick up your gifts. he has never felt as though he's very good with words, but gifts he can do. and he never stops at one, of course—he makes sure you have a lot. he fills the space under the tree with them, all addressed to you; just when you think there couldn't be any more, you come home to find another two of three presents has been added. he starts his gift shopping earlier in the year, getting things here and there when he can. by december 1st, he's gotten pretty much everything he's been looking for, and he asks fuyumi and his mom to help him wrap them nicely for you (wrapping gifts is unfortunately NOT his strong suit). he's even particular about the wrapping paper he uses, not caring that it's more expensive than others on the market or that it's going to be ripped; these are gifts for you, for christ's sake. he's going to make sure that everything is perfect—that you have the best christmas, every christmas.

eijiro: walking out in the snow

eijiro loves the snow, and he loves the holiday season even more. he loves how magical everything is this time of year, how carefree life feels. when the first snowfall comes one evening, he's making sure both your puffer jacket and his is zipped up all the way and that you're nice and toasty, before practically running outside. you two go for a walk through the city, admiring the way the snow blankets everything around you and makes the world seem softer, lighter. when a breeze comes by, he huddles impossibly closer to you, grabbing your hands and holding them in his coat pocket to warm you up. you two stop at the windows of decorated shops, watching the little toy trains and miniature christmas towns on display in the stores. he looks at your reflection in the window and grins, happy and content, even as the frigid air makes him feel as though he wants to sit in a furnace. he loves moments like these. it's a simple and mundane thing, taking a walk, but something about doing it with you, in an atmosphere that looks as though you've both stepped right into a christmas town in a fairytale, makes him wish for a white christmas every year.

hanta: watching christmas movies

before he met you, hanta had never made it a point to watch christmas movies, really. now, however, it's his favorite tradition. he looks forward to the evenings when the two of you change into your matching christmas-themed pajama pants, having bought them just for the occasion. you go into the kitchen to make hot chocolate while he scrolls through the movie selection, attempting to put on the corniest, dumbest, most cliche hallmark holiday movie he can find. the whole time you both are cuddled on the couch, leaning against each other as you watch the movie together, making fun of the bad acting, the overdone movie tropes, and every other menial detail. you laugh at all the jokes he makes, all the small things he notices and points out to you. the first movie ends, and before either of you can stop yourselves, you've both fallen asleep together on the couch halfway through the third. it's a quiet night, the only sounds being the quiet noise of the still-playing movie and the soft snores of the two of you. when he wakes up first, he doesn't make any effort to wake you immediately, instead opting to watch you sleep peacefully against him. "this is what the holidays are about" he thought, as cheesy as it sounds. he didn't need anything more; he wasn't sure it could be any better than this.

katsu2ji © 2024. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[sweetieviktor]

"it's the tradition", feat. viktor.

summary: it's christmas in runeterra and couples are sharing kisses under the mistletoe.

word count: 1.000. (yes! exactly 1k im happy with it :]

content warning: just fluff as always! :DD (written with s1 viktor in mind!!!

author notes: ITS 5AM AND IVE WRITTEN 2 FICS IN A DAY, maybe im going to die but fuck it we ball. love viktor and love xmas, i wish i could use sweaters but in brazil december is sooo hot but yeah, here it is a lil something for the holidays. hope u like it!! :)))

whenever some holiday approaches, piltover academy is adorned in it's colour by students. it's december and the halls are decorated with reds and greens all the way, bringing joy to those who look up and see the fairy lights blinking slowly to them. christmas is coming, and so is winter.

everyone is using their thickest coats, but there's still some people who are cold, even if they are holding hot drinks to warm up both their hands and their body, or if they are rubbing their arms, creating some friction that could maybe help it, or sharing kisses under the mistletoe meticulously placed on the tree near the entrance of the academy, which have all kind of things hanging on it. some letters addressed to santa, little brilliant baubles made in all type of materials you could think of, red bows and colorful lights, all made by it's students.

you wanted to spend your day like this, enjoying over your partner's warmth under the mistletoe. well, life isn't fair. he was already working and you needed to work too, but maybe you could bring him some sweet milk and cookies on your lunch break, right?

so once the clock hitted midday, you walked to the cafeteria, the same one you and viktor got out on your first date, and ordered enough cookies for both of you. the women on the other side of the counter packed them to you, putting the little bag on your right hand, while you carried the cup of sweet milk on the other. finally, you got out, hands full, hoping that you could bring him some of the christmas spirit when leaving those in the lab.

when you made it to the academy again, it was even more crowded than earlier, students going in and out, chatting and joking around, throwing snowballs at each other and playing in the snow. and again, the couples kissing under the mistletoe. and all you could think of was him. oh, how you missed his kisses. so you hurried up, the flashy holiday themed colors in the halls blending together in an indistinguishable blur.

once you reached his lab, you knocked on the door, anxiously waiting for an answer. you could feel how your heart thumped against your ribs, maybe it's the nervousness or just because you runned all the way to come here in time. “come in,” was all you could hear from inside.

you turned the door knob, pushing it so you could enter the lab. he was hunched over his desk, but once he looked past his shoulder, realizing you were the one who got in, his golden eyes immediately lighted up, just like the fairy lights, but shined even brighter when he seemed the baked goods you carried, then turning again to his work, “just wait a bit, i will finish this, ehh- hopefully soon.”

you came from behind him, leaving both the bag and the cup over his desk, “i know these are your favorites,” you put your hand on his shoulder, “and it's my break now, but soon i need to get back to work,” his hand stopped, no longer making calculations. he looked up at you, then at the papers in front of him, thinking if he should or not give in.

sighing, he let the pencil over the papers. you knew he would keep working if you didn't say it. “i guess i could give myself a break, then,” the corners of his mouth quirking up while he reached for the bag, opening it and letting the smell of the cookies bathe the place, bringing coziness alongside it. he shoved his hand on the bag, picking one up and biting onto it, humming softly when it melted on his tongue, then bringing the almost half cookie to your lips, only to put away and eat it himself.

he was laughing loudly, keeping a hand over his mouth, to prevent any crumbs from coming out. “you ain't fair,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. you knew he was just joking, but you wanted to eat too, “i brought those so we both could eat. together!”

“i know, i know!”, he said, getting the cup of sweet milk and taking a sip of it, “but it's fun to tease you. can't help it,” he shrugged, looking at your pouty expression turning into one of anger. picking another cookie, he proceeded to feed you first, your frown immediately disappearing. he was trying to not laugh again, but he couldn't contain it, as he did so, soon the frown came back to your face.

“stop making fun of me and let me eat, for jannas's sake,” you also couldn't keep your smile from growing, it was such a good atmosphere that, even if you were mad at him for stealing your cookie and laughing at you, you couldn't be mad for longer than thirty seconds.

you were laughing with him, happy with how your lunch was going, eating and talking, so busy with everything that you didn't see him fidgeting, looking for something inside his jacket pocket. once there was no more food nor milk, he cleaned his hands, bringing one over you both, holding something up. a mistletoe.

you scoffed, running your hand over your face, “really, viktor?”, you were astonished, he truly got one of those just he could have an excuse to kiss you?

“well, it's the tradition, isn't it?”, he grinned, placing his free hand on your waist, bringing you closer, “any person who's under the mistletoe must kiss, it's correct?”

“yes, absolutely correct,” you put both hands on each side of his face, kissing his lips softly, tasting the sugar on his mouth. “but you taste like milk and cookies,” you kissed him again, just to make sure you got it right, “maybe next year i will bring you more of these, so we could kiss under the mistletoe again.”

“oh, christmas may be my favorite holiday now.”

[httpsdana]

hiiii can i please request a joao felix fic where they do the ‘a boy who’s jacked and kind’ tiktok trend!! i think it’ll be really cute! love ur fics xx

Jacked and Kind~João Fèlix

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

João was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his TikTok fyp when he suddenly burst out laughing. “amor, you need to see this”

She glanced over, eyebrow raised, as he showed jer a video of a couple participating in the trending challenge to Sabrina Carpenter’s song.

The boyfriend lifts his girlfriend onto his shoulder with ease, flexing his muscles and looking ridiculously proud.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, already sensing what was coming. “You’re not going to make me do that, are you?”

João’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, I’m absolutely going to make you do it. You’ve seen these arms, right?” He flexed dramatically, giving his bicep a quick squeeze.

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Please, João. I’m not exactly lightweight, you know.”

“amor, I’m practically a superhero. I lift cars for fun.” He gave her a teasing look, clearly trying to be serious, but the way he said it made her giggle.

“Okay, Mr. Superhero,” she teased. “But if you drop me, I’m posting it to the internet, and you’ll never live it down.”

“I won’t drop you,” he said confidently, then added with a playful smirk, “But you’ll definitely post it, right? Gotta show off my muscles to the world.”

She raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed. “You’re such a child.”

“oh shut up” João replied , leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Now, come on, let’s make this video. We’re gonna go viral.”

She sighed dramatically but gave in, standing up from the couch. “Fine, but if I break my back, I’m blaming you.”

“You’ll be fine, princesa. Just trust me,” João said with a wink. “You ready?”

She grabbed her phone, adding the song and preparing to film as he positioned himself. He flexed his arms one last time and gave her a wink. “Okay, on three. Hold on tight, and don’t look scared.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not scared, just... cautious.”

“three...two...one” João counted with the TikTok counter

In one fluid motion, João crouched down, then lifted her effortlessly onto his broad shoulders.

She yelped in surprise at how quickly it happened, but João’s hand was already on her thigh, holding her steady, while the other arm flexed proudly in front of the camera.

“Whoa, you actually did it,” she said, half in shock, half in awe. She couldn’t stop smiling, though she was still a little unsure of the whole thing.

João looked up at her with that proud grin. “Told you, princesa. I’m jacked and kind. A perfect match for this trend.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, trying to keep her balance. “You look like you’re about to audition for a bodybuilding competition.”

He flashed her a teasing wink, flexing again for the camera. “All for you, meu amor. Look at these muscles. You’re lucky to have me.”

“Lucky? I’m more like terrified,” she joked, her grip tightening on his shoulders as he started moving around a bit.

“Oh, come on, you love it. Admit it,” he teased, giving her a wink. “The view from up here is pretty great, right?”

She smirked. “Well, I guess it is. But don’t get too cocky, okay?”

“Too late,” João said, his grin growing wider as he flexed once more. “This is how you do it, amor.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughed, rolling your eyes. “I’m impressed. Just put me down already the phone stopped filming ages ago.”

“you’re making me look good right now though.”

She laughed at his words before he gently lowered her back down, his hands sliding to her waist to steady her.

She stood there, grinning up at him. “Okay, I’ll admit it. You’re strong.”

He gave her a proud look, holding up his phone to check the video. “Told you! This is gonna get so many views.”

“You’re so full of yourself,” she teased, poking him in the chest.

“I’m full of you, meu amor,” João said with a wink, pulling her in for a kiss. “Now let’s post this before I start flexing again. Don’t want to break the internet with all this muscle.”

Dhe laughed against his lips. “Alright, alright. your fan girls are gonna love this video”

He pulled back, laughing at her words. “oh the edits will be amazing”

She smiled up at him, nodding head.

“Of course they'll be. your fans never miss”

João laughed, pulling her closer for another kiss. “I don't care about them. I just want everyone to know that I'm real boyfriend material”

She laughed at his words, leaning her head against his chest as they settled on the couch, their video long forgotten as they spent the rest of the evening in each other's arms.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[writerwhowritesao3]

Mildly obsessed with the idea that angels (and nephilim) see more colors than humans do.

Jack doesn't realize that sometimes he sees things that Sam and Dean don't. It just never comes up.

But then one day, he and Sam are poking around one of the storage rooms in the bunker, and Sam discovers a big box of prisms in various shapes and sizes.

"Oh man, I used to love playing with these when I was a kid!" he says with a huge smile.

"Are they game pieces?" Jack asks, picking a pyramid-shaped one.

"They're called prisms," Sam says. "Come on, I'll show you."

Sam takes Jack up to the roof, the latter carefully carrying the box. On the way up, he explains about light refractions. Jack listens with rapt attention, as he always does whenever Sam teaches him things. He's pretty sure that Sam is the smartest human in the world. Or, at least, the smartest human that Jack has ever met.

When they get to the roof, Sam shows him how to angle the prisms just right so that a rainbow appears on the floor.

"It's like magic!" Jack exclaims.

"Nah, it's just science," Sam laughs.

Science was so freakin' cool.

They spend the next few minutes holding up multiple prisms, trying to get the perfect angles to combine the rainbows together into one big super-rainbow.

"Okay, I got these four to merge," Jack says, holding two prisms between the fingers of each hand.

"Almost." Sam nods. "I think if you maybe lift them higher, you can get the colors to touch."

"They are touching," Jack says. "See?"

Sam looks at the ground again. There's about an inch and a half of space between each rainbow.

"The color right next to the violet on this one is overlapping with the color next to the red on that one, and then also the color next to that color," Jack continues.

Sam moves his gaze from the ground to Jack. He tries to spot the kid's usual tells—the ones he has whenever he tries to pull a prank on him, Dean, or Cas.

"What are the names of those colors, by the way?" Jack asks, and then clarifies: "The English names. I only know them in Enochian."

Sam realizes that Jack isn't joking around.

"It's so weird. These colors are everywhere, but I've never been able to find crayons that match them," Jack continues.

"Um...I don't know, buddy," Sam says. He tries to keep his tone casual. "I bet Cas knows, though."

"Probably," Jack agrees. "Cas pretty much knows everything."

Sam chuckles and shoots a quick text to Dean:

something weird on roof. bring cas

Dean and Cas materialize on the roof a few seconds later. Castiel almost never flies in the bunker; he's learned that most humans find it unsettling and rude to suddenly appear before them, and he doesn't want to make his human family uncomfortable in their own home—and he wants to set a good example for Jack.

Cas looks worried. He wouldn't fly if he didn't think it was absolutely necessary. Sam feels mildly guilty for how he phrased his text.

"What's wrong?" Dean immediately asks, already scanning the roof for potential threats.

"Nothing's wrong," Sam says. "Can both of you come over here real quick?"

When they do, Sam points at the colors on the ground.

"Are these rainbows touching?" he asks.

"No," Dean says, at the same time that Cas says, "Yes."

"You and Dean can't see these colors?" Jack asks, bewildered.

"They can't," Cas answers. "Humans can only see a certain spectrum of color. Other species, like mantis shrimp, can see more. But still not as many as angelic beings."

"So you and Jack just see a bunch of crazy colors all the time?" Dean says. "That's trippy as hell."

"How are we just learning about this now?" Sam says.

"It's never come up," Cas shrugs. He goes over to Jack and picks a couple more prisms out of the box to inspect and angle in the sunlight.

They stay on the roof to watch the sunset. Sam and Dean ask Cas and Jack if they see any extra colors. They do.

Later that night, Jack tries to describe the colors that he and Cas can see. He's unsuccessful, but the effort is appreciated.

One of the ways Jack tries to describe the colors is in terms of taste, physical sensation, and sound. Which is how Sam and Dean learn that angels and nephilim experience varying degrees of synesthesia.

[entitled-fangirl]

Patiently wait.

Ragnar Lothbrok x wife!reader

Summary: Ragnar is soon leaving with Bjorn for the annual meet with the Earl. Based on S1 E1.

Warnings: making out, sexual comment

A/n: Farmer Ragnar is so peak

Masterlist

.......................................

"Do not ruin my boy," Y/n warned her husband, half a joke, half serious.

Ragnar grinned and ran his hand through Bjorn's hair. "I would never." The twinkle in his eye said differently. 

"I mean it," she warned again. 

His head lulled to the side. "You worry too much." He stepped to her and cupped her face, laying a heavy kiss on her lips. Now close, he could lower his voice. "I can think of something to help that." 

When his head ducked down to kiss her neck, she playfully pushed him away. "Not now." Ragnar tried again, succeeding a little further this time. His hands gripped her hips. She giggled, "Ragnar!"

"Can I not love my wife?" He teased, his lips brushing just under her jaw.

"I am still here," Bjorn grumbled.

"And you can go outside if you hate it so much," Ragnar offered over his shoulder. 

"Wait, Bjorn-" his mother tried but he was gone. She patted Ragnar's chest. "Perfect. And now he is angry."

"He is a boy," Ragnar shrugged. "Boys are mad at everything." His tease didn't last long, as he made an attempt to once again kiss her neck.

She let him for a while, tipping her head up to give him space. His hand wandered up her body slowly until it came up to her cheek. His kisses ventured higher until they came to the corner of her lips. 

He kissed her deeply. It pulled a groan from her, and she pulled him closer by his hips. Ragnar's kisses were all-consuming. They were weighted and soaked attention in. His tongue delved into her mouth, beginning to explore like he so often did.

She pulled back and his lips chased hers, though they didn't connect again. "Ragnar."

His head tilted back in acknowledgment, though his eyes focused on her lips.

"Promise me you'll care for him. For Bjorn. He's my boy. Don't let him see executions..." Her eyes roamed the room, "and... and no public examples-"

"-What kind of father do you take me for?" He whispered with a cheeky grin.

"Ragnar."

He held a hand up in surrender. "Alright." His eyes took her in from head to toe. "He's my boy too."

"He has a gentle heart, Ragnar Lothbrok."

His head tilted down as he looked at her through his lashes. "I will guard him with my life. You know that."

"I do." She leaned into his chest and trailed a hand up his face and to his hair, tracing the braids at the top of his head. She knew the patterns by heart at this point. "I'm just not ready for him to be a man yet."

"It all comes in time."

"Doesn't mean I like it," she whispered, bearing her soul to her husband.

He cupped her cheek with one hand, running his fingers through her hair with the other. "It's only a little while. He will still be your boy when he comes back."

She sighed. "And you?"

He smiled. A grin from Ragnar is like having your every thought known inside and out. He leaned in, brushing his lips with hers. "I always come back. Don't I, my love?"

"Always."

"Yeah. Always." 

Another kiss.

She'd patiently wait for their return, each day feeling like a lifetime.

.............................................

I'll make a tag list for Vikings stuff if anyone wants!

[giuseppe-yuki]

I feel like half the drivers accidentally found out their partners were shapeshifters when they were told and the other half found out on accident. Pierre found out on accident and almost ended up passing out seeing the snake on the couch watching TV

George was just very confused about having a deer in his apartment with its head in the fridge

Alex is convinced he’s either sleep deprived or he’s been drugged when he sees a cockatiel folding shirts

Yuki sees you in bunny form when he comes back to the hotel after a night race and you’re just napping on your pillow, he shoots you a text to tell you there’s a rabbit in your spot

Charles thinks you’re joking for the first few weeks after you tell him and lightly teases you until you get tired of it and turn into a hedgehog to bite his fingers mid breakfast

Oscar assumes you’re just tired and delirious when you tell him and he won’t take it seriously until you’ve slept and turn into a duck to hop in the bath with him

Logan just kind of shrugs and thinks “this might as well happen” and gives you a kiss before going off to work

Fernando and Lewis, being old, have both met a single shapeshifter before so when their partners tell them they are completely on board and excited to take you to races in animal form

hey anon, i actually posted a little blurb about this awhile ago for kimi, charles, lewis, alex, max, n lando here!

i really like your takes though :)

i feel it's totally canon for pierre to actually be deathly scared of snakes (like his bestie charles) pre-reveal. his gf knows this, obviously, so she held back on letting him know until she totally forgot one day and decided to chill in her snake form on the couch. cue pierre shuffling into the living room, looking for cuddles and seeing an actual snake on the couch watching, like, the office. he starts screaming and almost faints, almost hitting his head on the glass coffee table. his girlfriend realizes last minute and shifts back to her human to try and diffuse the situation, but only effectively almost causes poor pierre to pass out from shock again 😭 afterwards, though, he gets over his fear and reads up on snakes, therefore becoming- dare i say, a snake expert.

in my shapeshifting!series, george's gf is a successful conservation biologist working at a national park. i feel like george would probably think that the deer is somehow part of his gf's job somehow. he'd be confused but still accepting that the deer was currently going through the bag of apples in the fridge that his girlfriend bought awhile ago at an abnormal rate. later, at dinner or something, he'd prob bring it up out of nowhere, and make sure his gf knows that if she finds the bag of apples empty it was not him- it was the deer that she like, "brought from her work or something." his gf would prob be jokingly mad, like, " oh georgie, you didn't you stop the deer from stealing my apples then >:(" but ultimately reveal her ability.

if alex found a cockatiel in his living quarters i always feel like he'd resort to violence first, as seen in the blurb i wrote before. he'd like freeze up, seeing the bird fluttering around, flying a clothing hanger with his gf's favorite dior top towards the open closet. the cockatiel neatly hangs it on the clothing rod and dives back towards the laundry basket for burberry button up before alex starts swatting at it to "leave his gf's clothes alone." he likely starts shouting for his gf to get in the room, quick, or else "the stupid ass bird that probably flew in from the window is going to ruin your nice clothes". although his gf appreciates the sentiment, she also gets pissed at him for swatting at her and calling her a stupid ass bird after revealing her shapeshifting!abilities ;-;

ha! after, like, las vegas or something, yuki will stumble into the hotel room to find a bunny in loaf form on his gf's pillow. he def takes a pic of the bunny and sends it to his gf, thinking she's out on the strip with the other wags, like, "hi baby i'm back at the hotel :) btw there's a bunny on your pillow it's kinda cute lol [image]" he scoots the bunny over very lightly as to not wake it up but leaves enough space so his gf would be able to sleep when she comes back. it's not until he eats dinner, showers, and watches half of his fav jason statham movie before he realizes it's a little suspicious his gf is nowhere to be seen. he sends her another text, "baby wya it's like 3am 😥" before his *still* sleepy gf walks into the tv area, rubbing her eyes, calling him to come to bed w her. she ignores his confused stuttering and cuts him off w, "wdym yuki i was literally sleeping on the bed the whole time ?" he only connects the dots the next morning in the middle of breakfast in bed, much to the amusement of his gf.

charles is literally so unserious about the whole thing when his gf mentions it at first. a hedgehog? ha right, ur literally so funny ma chérie. he sees a random person wearing sonic merch and immediately asks his gf if that's her. arthur is bothering him? he asks his gf if he's allowed to throw her in her hedgehog form at him so his brother gets impaled by her spikes. she's usually super chill and swears not to cause any harm to anyone but she def makes an exception when it gets too much. charles, with his half buttered croissant halfway to his mouth and teasing grin pasted on his face, is thoroughly unprepared when she launches at him and bites him real hard. he shrieks and jumps out of his chair, but is only met with an eye roll and a snort as his gf makes her way back to her side of the table.

i can't get it out of my head that oscar treats his gf like that meme where the woman is helping her grandma who is in a walker and is like sure, grandma, let's get you to bed. when his gf grasps him by the shoulders, look at him v seriously in the eyes, and says, "i can turn into a duck" at approx 2am, he doesn't believe her at all, and tucks her into bed. throughout the week, he sees clues that hints that she might be telling the truth that he's never noticed before... feathers everywhere, like, 20 bags of frozen peas in the freezer, the constant unfinished ice waters left on the counter. exactly a week later, he had just drawn himself up a bath and dunked his body into the warm water when he hears the door open and his gf siddle in with a smile on her face, already sliding her robe off. he automatically assumes "ooh freaky time perhaps 😈" but then she turns into a duck. his only response is a "wot ? 🤔 🤨"

hooray for nonchalant immediately supportive logan! he completely ignores the fact that his gf just shifted into an entire hawk in the middle of his living room and was standing quite patriotically with her ruffled feathers. instead of freaking out like his gf thought he would, he shrugs and pecks a kiss on her feathery head before saluting her a "goodbye babe, i'm off to work :D ! call me if you need anything :) " (logan's gf texts alex's gf about it and they end up having a good laugh at the unexpected reactions of their bf's - one was so unbothered and the other went to defensive mode)

ofc, ofc! nando and lew are v wise already regarding shapeshifters. they don't hesitate in giving their gfs any accommodations at all for their respective forms (nando with a cocker spaniel and lewis with a samyoed) within seconds, nando will have specialty arrangements ordered for his gf in the am garage while lewis is banging out an email to toto regarding adjustment made to the merc hospitalities for easier "access" (immediately approved due to the fact toto his own wolf shapeshifter!gf)

[narcjsistx]

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | OS

kaiser micheal x fem reader ; words: 1.6k (1679)

coming from this event, eighth day, 25/12

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

plot: why kaiser was at your door the night between christmas eve and christmas day? why did he have a red package, even though you had broken up last month?

It was cold, very cold. Berlin had been covered in snow since the beginning of November, and things had gotten worse during the Christmas week, when the snow had also caused some damage due to the excessive amount. You loved the snow, so going to work with the white weather around you wasn't a sin, and above all it didn't bother you because you always covered yourself well with a heavy coat and an excessive amount of scarves; but now, with only your pajamas on, you were cold. You didn't know if you were colder because of the temperature or because of seeing Kaiser after a whole month, maybe the second one, but who knows

It was a while past midnight, at least half an hour; your friends had just left your house, after you had celebrated Christmas Eve all together, opened the presents and toasted. You were cleaning the living room when you heard the doorbell, and thinking you would find some of your friends who had forgotten something you went to the door calmly, completely confused instead of finding your ex, Kaiser Micheal

"...What the fuck are you doing here?"

Last month you broke up after a relationship that lasted three years, three years so intense that you couldn't even describe them if you had to: you met thanks to one of his teammates, one night in a bar after the team's victory, and two weeks later you were together as an actual couple. Maybe you had run, maybe not, but at the time it didn't take long for you to understand that you could work together, and so you decided to give yourself a chance. Less than six months later you were living in his house, keeping him company and most of all loving him. With Michael it had never been all roses and flowers, you argued like normal couples, but somehow you always came back to look for the other, like a magne. You went to his games, you cheered for him, and he cheered for you for your goals. You balanced each other out, and many of your friends joked that you were going to get married soon because only one could stand the other with a wedding in between

You actually thought so too, and probably he did too. But last month you had broken up, and even now you couldn't understand how he had the courage to tell you that he didn't love you anymore, if until a few hours before he was resting in your arms. And so, from that day on, you didn't want to know anything about him anymore, going back to live in your old apartment

But what the fuck was he doing here now? And why did he have a little box in his hand?. Thinking about this, you realized that it was his birthday, since it had already struck midnight; but wishing him a happy birthday? No, absolutely not, partly out of resentment and partly because you knew he didn't like celebrating his birthday

"I had to talk to you, or rather give you something. I saw your friends' cars and knocking suddenly while you were busy seemed a bit of a jerk... I waited out here for a few hours. And above all, I didn't feel like talking to you with them in front"

It was cold, damn cold, and you knew he didn't like the cold because of his past, where he had often been forced to sleep freezing as a child. But for you, had he waited? With this cold?

"Talk? Wasn't that enough the last time we talked?"

More than talking, the last time you did nothing but yell at each other. He said so many bad things to you, and you didn't even hold back

"No, it's not enough for me. I have to talk to you and give you something"

"I don't want anything from you, and you also said the last time that you wouldn't give me anything anymore because I don't deserve it, right?"

"Don't bring that moment back now"

"And why shouldn't I?"

The wound was still open, and you knew it would be for a long time. You couldn't lie and say you didn't love him anymore, damn it, it was the opposite; you certainly don't stop loving someone from one day to the next after three years of being together. You also knew that, somewhere in his heart, Michael probably felt the same, but that didn't justify him leaving you. You were angry, disappointed above all and sad

"Y/n, please, let me talk. You know I never talk in vain in serious moments"

He had never done it in three years with you, his charisma stopped when it came to talking about serious situations, knowing that he couldn't always throw everything into irony. You wanted to hear him talk, to understand what the fuck he wanted at such a time and especially with such a situation in between, but would that have been beneficial for you? Could you have let him talk?

"Hurry up. I'm cold"

"I try to be as fast as possible, I swear. I don't think I can explain to you how much I hate me for what I did to you, leaving you wasn't on the list of things to do with you, in fact, I don't even know how I could have done such a stupid thing. I'm an idiot, I really am, I'm like my father who as soon as he had all the happiness in his hands he let it slip away... and you know, maybe you're the only one who really knows, how much I don't want to be like that pig. I made a mess because I'm not used to having someone who really loves me, and when I do stupid things that push this person away from me, because I don't think I deserve it. I know perfectly well that you're the only one who cares a little about me, and I also know perfectly well that you're the only one I really care about, that I love in a way that's maybe even a little obsessive. I would like to give you something that I was planning to give you for Christmas if we had stayed together, but something went wrong... but I want to give it to you anyway, and ask you to think of us, because now I have no more doubts, I haven't had them for 3 years now and above all I didn't have them when I bought this"

Maybe you needed these words from him, even if you hated to admit that he already had you tied to his finger. From the day of the breakup until now you had always wanted to see him apologize, and now that you had him in front of you it didn't seem true: Michael wasn't someone who admitted his mistakes, he preferred to miss a goal rather than do this, he also hated showing himself weak in front of the people he cared about. And now he was doing it, both of them, in front of you, just to explain the situation to you

But what did he actually want to give you?

"Micheal... god, this is unexpected. I thought I was going to have to move on"

"Don't start, or at least decide whether to do so after I've shown you what I have in my hand. Think about it, because I have no more doubts"

You look down, Michael clears his throat before getting down on one knee, he who always told others to get down on their knees for him. You hear a small sigh, before the little box opens to reveal a ring, glittering and gold

"Y/n, Schatz, I had no doubts about asking you something so important, because I've met people, but there's only one who understands me, and that's you. I have a shitty personality and yet it doesn't seem to push you away from me, and for that I should thank you every day. You know perfectly well how much I don't like my birthday, yet somehow since we've been together you've made me learn to appreciate it at least a little, and now I would like to appreciate it more if you accept, because it's a gift that only you can give me. I wanted to ask you this to take our relationship to the next level, but the way things went I find myself forced to ask you to give me another chance, this time for life. Y/n, will you marry me?"

You tremble, because you don't know what else to do after a proposal like that. You look at him, and in his gaze you read a sincerity that you have never seen before, which shows how serious he is. You remain like that for whole seconds, unable to tell him what, you know, he wants to hear

"Micheal, my god... yes, yes I do, yes!"

Before he can get up and hug you, you throw yourself onto the cold floor with him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you feel his arms wrap tightly around your back, pulling you closer to him. Small tears begin to form at the edge of your eyes as you hold him perhaps a little too tightly because of the emotion. You hear him chuckle, as he runs his hand up and down your back, not giving you the chance to pull away

"You're an idiot, you really are"

"I know, but now you will be able to tell me until our last days, Schatz"

TAG: @natmagaesp ; @kittenish0 ; @x3nafix

[lion-eva61]

Saw that tweet on twitter and hated it. Because 1. people seem always to gaslight Jayce , saying : oh, you are saying Mel manipulated him? Well his fault for being so easy to be manipulated. He is a himbo ! He is like a leaf in the wind so don’t you dare point out Mel’s grey morality. Instead make more jokes about Jayce!

Even half serios only half joking : Jayce actually wanted to be manipulated by a beautiful woman!

Here is my take:

First : Mel is deep down a good moral leader who is empathetic and cares about all people. But her true potential is buried and need to get out.

Second, Mel should have teamed up with ekko in season 2. Her journey to a good moral leader was not in season 1, her vote for independence of zhaun is not enough to make me say: her dream is to help people just like Jayce and Viktor. But her journey (right at the bombing of the council )should have began to become that person.

With ekko there was so much potential for her to learn about zhaunits and make her finally believe that they are HER people too, that all that gold she wears is like blood gold when all the zhaunits suffer.

Here is why:

First I want to establish Mel’s very grey character by her interactions with Jayce:

Jayce was easily pushed into all kinds of decisions (Markus and ambessa ) and into a political position by Mel, were she gave him full power over the future of hextech, BUT, the council gave no room for him to even have time to think about it. People often say: why didn’t he just say :No actually I don’t want it!

Well watch episode 4 again : Mel IMMEDIATELY began with the voting for creating a house Talis. The council was already 3 steps ahead before Jayce could even utter a word and talking over him. No one even asked him : hey do you even want this Jayce? It shows that the council, once they have something in their minds, they will have it reinstated. In this case :Mel wanted Jayce in the council , and she got that.

Not to mention that Mel already put the seeds in his head (same episode I think but earlier) that he could be a good leader to spread hextech to the world. She made sure to put that idea in his head to achieve his hextech dream.

Also it is not altruism that Mel gave him so much power, because she actually gave herself power over hextech. With Jayce in the council she has one vote more for whatever she wants to be reinstated, because it is easy for her to convince Jayce of her opinions(for example hextech weapons).

Mel used Jayce’s lack of political and tactical understanding. I mean, she was smart enough to approach Jayce and not Viktor, because getting a say of the future of hextech would be impossible through Viktor, a zhaunits who distrust the upper piltover class.

Her journey in s1 is that she moved and used tactics like a Merdada but learns to open up to Jayce and reject her upbringing. But that journey is rocky. To remind everyone : she was(under the pressure of her mother ) the catalyst for the hextech weapons, she brought that idea into Jayce’s and victors lab and brought another dilemma into Jayce’s life : is it morally correct to use his dream to fight other people to protect your own people. At that moment she didn’t consider the zhaunits her people, planting another seed into Jayce’s mind : it’s them vs us.

Meanwhile Viktor was defusing Jinx’s bomb and reminding Jayce , that there is choice for not using violence against people. A deliberate contrast to what Mel said.

And even the final vote for independence for zhaun is rocky : she was taking by surprise with the peace deal and looked worried and unsure. It looks like a mirror how Jayce felt when she took him by surprise and made him council. Now Jayce surprised her with the decision where her morals finally really stands, and she votes for peace.

Problem is, the council already overlooked so much of the issues in zhaun, that their voting is way to late. The pain of zhaunits expressed by jinx is boiling over and the rocket hits.

A final and very good conclusion, a middle finger to the council and their half asses morality.

And that was Mel’s journey : she was just not quick enough to realize, where her morals stands. She was not fast enough to let go of her merdada tactics and work for peace instead of wealth for piltover.

She is not a villain but also not an ally to zhaun. YET

Now season 2:

In season 2 she should have cooperate with ekko, learning the people of zhaun and become the person she really is deep down but is buried under the pressure of her mom and all the years of accumulation wealth for her and piltover, ignoring zhaun.

Her journey was not over to become a true good leader, she was barely a good moral leader in season 1. she should have become one in season 2.

The symbolism to throw away the gold to help the tree of the firelight’s, make it bloom and shine again like she wanted as a child, a city beautiful that it’s shines bright: THAT IS LIERALLY THE FIRELIGHTS HIDEOUT

That’s why it is so so disappointing that Mel Stan’s never talk about her in greater depth, brush her decisions and tactics with a moral white brush, ignore all the so obvious wealth symbolism around her that point out how far away she is from the pain of zhaunits , gaslight Jayce and ignore her journey.

And make stupid tweets.

You guys should not be angry why she didn’t end up with Jayce , but why she never had the chance to show us , that of all people in piltover, she is actually the most caring. That she would have the biggest heart for zhaun. Why didn’t we see that? When it was established how much she actually cares that people don’t suffer? Why didn’t Mel not have a single chance to interact with zhaunits ? To see their suffering ? To make actual changes ?

[wheres-mylove]

died in your arms | declan o'hara x fem!reader

Summary: It must have been something Declan said. Or done. Maybe both. You'll be dying inside, but at least in his arms.

Word count: 1.3k

Disclaimer: English isn't my first language!

Falling for your boss was a very, very dangerous thing.

Especially when he was older. Married. With a family.

Especially when he had those sad, beautiful eyes.

You could lie to yourself, pretend his gaze lingered on you in a way that was different. Special. Not like you were some naïve girl who’d drop everything for him.

You would, of course.

It was foolish. But foolishness had a way of compelling you. That’s how you found yourself standing outside his house late at night, the cold seeping into your bones. The sound of your restless shifting on the wooden steps could be heard from a mile away.

Taggie’s voice had been trembling when she called. “Can you come? Please?” she’d said, words rushed, and just like that, you were here.

You raised your hand to knock again when the door creaked open. The faint glow of a lamp spilled out, and your chest tightened.

The day had already been chaotic. Declan had swept through the office like a storm. He’d tossed a curt, “I’m taking leave. You should too,” over his shoulder as he walked out. Before you could respond, Tony had strutted in, telling you that Mr. O’Hara’s throwing one of his tantrums again.

He’ll cool off eventually.

“I’m worried about him,” Taggie sighed when she let you in, her words tumbling over each other. “And Mom…” She hesitated, eyes darting away as if she could evade her own thoughts. “Mom doesn’t care.”

“Hey, Tag,” you said gently, wrapping her in a hug she didn’t ask for but desperately needed. “How bad is it?”

“He locked himself in the study to watch that stupid interview with James...” 

You crouched to scratch behind Gertrude’s ears. 

“Interesting form of punishment,” you’d tried to joke, but the attempt fell flat against the worry etched into her face.

Taggie’s eyes were glassy with unshed tears. “I’m scared this time. Something’s wrong.”

Something was always wrong. Maud cheated. Maud left. Maud returned. Declan picked up the pieces, only to watch her break him again. It was a cycle you’d seen too many times, and yet here you were, stepping into its center.

“It’ll be fine,” you lied, the words tasting hollow. “I’ll try to fix it.”

“He’ll listen to you,” Taggie said, her voice almost inaudible. “You’re the only one he listens to.”

And now, as you stood in the threshold of the room, that burden of responsibility weighed heavy on your chest. The study was suffocating. Heavy curtains cloaked the windows, and the faint scent of whiskey hung in the air. Declan lay sprawled on the worn leather couch, his shirt half-unbuttoned. 

The flicker of the television bathed his face in pale light. James Vereker’s smug expression visible on the screen, Thatcher’s practiced responses echoing faintly. That was before you came closer and turned it off.

Declan’s bleary eyes slowly turned toward you, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. He blinked once, twice, as though trying to place you in the haze of his mind.

“Turn it back on,” he rasped, his voice a whisper that scraped against the stillness.

“No chance,” you replied, moving to pull a chair closer to him. “What are you doing to yourself? I wouldn’t let my worst enemy watch that shit, let alone you. Enjoying the torture?”

“Torturing myself has always been my specialty,” he muttered. A bitter smile graced his lips, but his eyes remained dark. “I’m an expert, I’m-”

“You’re drunk,” you observed, your voice firm but soft.

He lifted his glass, swirling the amber liquid with exaggerated care. “And?” he asked, his tone teetering between defiance and despair. “Will you take this from me too, love?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you said, lips twitching.

He laughed, short and hollow, shaking his head. It was the laugh of a man who’d stopped expecting anything good.

“Why are you here?” he asked, voice low, almost a whisper.

“Taggie called me,” you said simply. “She’s worried about you. And so am I. This interview meant so much to you. And when you left, I could see that...” You hesitated, the words heavy in your throat. “Declan, are you alright?”

His only response was to push himself to his feet. His movements were unsteady, restless, as though he couldn’t bear the weight of standing still. He paced the room with the agitation of a caged animal, his fingers running through his hair, tugging at the strands as if trying to wake himself.

“Leave,” he said finally, his back to you. His voice cracked, fragile. “Please. Just leave. This is torture. Not the interview. You.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you stayed seated, your gaze steady. “I’ll leave when I know you’re okay,” you said gently. “Right now, you’re just rambling.”

He turned to you then, his expression unreadable, his eyes clouded with something that might have been pain or might have been fear. “Do you want to hear something funny?” he asked, his voice hollow, devoid of humor. “Tony blackmailed me with photos of Maud. You know the kind. Documenting the affair.”

Your throat went dry. You had no idea.

“My hands are tied because of my wife’s betrayal. And oh, how beautifully it’s been photographed,” he laughed bitterly, the sound cutting through the room like a shard of glass. He took another sip of whiskey, the amber liquid trembling slightly in the glass.

“I’m so sorry, I–”

“Of course you’re sorry. With your fucking compassion and damned understanding,” Declan said, his words tumbling out in one breath, raw and jagged. Then, as if the weight of everything became too much, he sank to his knees by the chair where you sat, his presence overwhelming in the confined space. “Maybe that’s why I’ve sinned in my thoughts. Because you’re kind to me.”

Your head was spinning, the walls of the room seeming to close in around you. You looked down at him, the tears that welled in your eyes blurring the edges of his face.

“Declan–” you whispered, your voice unsteady, the name barely making it past your lips.

“Do you think if someone took a photo of me when I look at you,” he began, his voice low and shaking, “they’d have proof of an affair? Because I have so, so many thoughts. And I think you can see them. If you look close enough.”

His fingers brushed your jaw, a touch so soft it felt like it might shatter you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Your heart raced, the beat of it a deafening drum in your chest.

“You won’t remember this tomorrow,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “You’re drunk. You’re married.”

“And you’re good to me. Even though you’re not mine, I feel like I have you, like you’re with me, like you’re for me.”

Then he kissed you. His lips were warm and tasted of whiskey, salt, and something achingly desperate. The kiss was messy, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

And yet you couldn’t tell if he truly meant it. In the way you wanted him to mean it.

That’s why you pushed him away.

“We can’t. Maud–”

“Maud doesn’t give a shit. She has been unfaithful, love. From the very beginning.” His voice cracked, the admission heavy in the air between you.

“So you want to make it even?” you asked, the words sharp despite the tears sliding down your cheeks.

He looked like you’d struck him, his eyes wide, the pain in them unmistakable.

“I don’t want to be some twisted sense of comfort and justice to you, Declan,” you said, standing quickly, the chair scraping against the floor. The movement felt like the only way to keep from breaking entirely. “This means more to me than it does to you. It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, rising unsteadily to his feet. His face was pale, his voice thick with emotion. “My sweet girl, I’m so, so sorry.”

When his hand reached up to wipe the tears from your face, you froze. His touch was tender, almost reverent, and it felt like it might undo you entirely.

At that moment, you knew.

You wouldn’t be able to say no to him, no matter what you were to him.

Consolation, revenge, or love.

It didn’t matter, as long as you were something to Declan O’Hara.

[nomsfaultau]

pretty please make the philzas have a malewife competition à la the amazing world of gumball best mom competition /j

- ehe

ooooops got buried. For a quick synopsis for the fics I’m referencing- those are here

Malewife Philza Tournament Round 1–Cleaning

Poll below!

The Lambs Wolves Wear: Philza is cleaning like his life depends on it! (Because he thinks he’ll die if he loses the tournament). Doesn’t have much in the way of disinfectants between well water that “Tommy” dumped the bodies in and hand made soap (lavender scented!) but he has enough stress to make up for it!

Fault: This Philza has set the house on fire. With enough concentration, only the unwanted stuff will burn! It’s quick, it’s cheap, it’s incredibly thorough, and kills 100% of germs! Say good bye to dust and roaches, it’s incineration time! Just…don’t distract him while he’s cleaning. And…….maybe warn the fire department beforehand……..still, Fault Philza is determined to prove he’s the ideal Collector- uh, Malewife? Is that what kids are calling it this century?

Mandatory Family Reunion: are you…joking? This man hasn’t cleaned a day in his life, least of all a crime scene. He pays people to do that. The closest he gets is money laundering. It WILL be so spotless there aren’t fingerprints left, but Philza will be hiring people to do that for him. This is probably due to him misinterpreting when MFR Techno says he needs to clean up his act. Maybe if he wins this poll his prodigal son will come back..?

Worth far more than your weight in gold: He is. A bird. [Philza] is a literal bird. Okay a bird dragon griffon thingy but. A bird. He doesn’t understand what cleaning is. Did you mispronounce preening? He is very good at that!! [Philza] will put your head feathers all neat and in place. (…there are feathers absolutely coating the nest and random piles of gold. Very untidy bird.) But perhaps if he participates in this tournament he’ll understand how to take care of human-chicks better.

Golden Apples (Gilded Atrophy): He literally dipped for like ten years. You ask him to clean and he’ll laugh and then pop out to get cigarettes golden apples from the 7-11 cause it’s been a minute since his last one and he’s getting twitchy. and you won’t see him for six months. Literally last time he tried to clean up his son’s mess, Philza murdered him. And he sheds everywhere. Golden Apples Philza is praying his kids will let him back into their lives if he wins the malewife tournament.

Where do babies come from?: He’s not the most reliable cleaner, so he bought this cool roomba to take care of it for him! Tommy is the one who tapped the knife onto Stabby…or he suspects it’s Tommy. This Philza probably doesn’t dust as often as he should, buut he has things like a dishwasher and wet wipes, so he’s basically leagues above like half the other Phils. Babies Philza is trying to convince himself that impulsively adopting the three kids he found in his fridge is a good idea if he can prove he’s a good malewife, thus not needing a partner.

Lord, what fools these mortals be!: With a snap of his talons Philza can magic away all the mess! However, he is asking for your Name in return for this little favor. …no? What about an impossible feat, are you willing to do that? Uhh what about some riddles three, can you do some riddles three? Well. This is awkward. Lord! Philza is doing this because Lady Death insists on seeing him for the maid outfit round. And this man is stupid down for his wife, so, in a foolish mortal tournament he goes!

Lighting Lanterns to Bring You Home: What? No. Why would he? Clean it yourself, mate. You’re old enough to not need help with most of it. Lanterns Philza is rather done doing pointless crap for the gods after decades of preforming impossible feats for the sake of defying fate to get a family. He’s only here because he thought he was signing up for temple duties for Technoblade.

Which ever Philza wins the most tournaments will be crowned malewife supreme