#SORRY THIS IS LONG BUT THERE'S A LOT I HAD TO LEAVE OUT

[pathologicalreid]

falling flat | s.r.

in which you call Spencer for help with a flat tire, and he comes to help with you car troubles - and then some

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: fluff content warnings: allusions to the reaper, car trouble, blood, tetanus vaccine, kindergarten teacher!reader, flirting, protective!spencer, takes place following 5x22 "the internet is forever", hastily edited word count: 1.87k a/n: rahhhh an old prompt from may 2024 that ended up working for a margovember request rahhh.

The absolute last place you wanted to be was on the side of the road, in the middle of nowhere Virginia, with a flat tire. You weren’t entirely helpless until your tire jack broke, sending metal flying everywhere and cutting your hand open.

You slumped down next to your car, pulling your phone from your pocket before calling the first people you could think of. Every single one of them ended up going to voicemail. Some of them didn’t even let it get past the first ring before declining your call—traitors.

With your thumb hovering over the call button, you thought of Spencer. He had a PhD in engineering, but you weren’t entirely sure that would come in handy in this instance. It was late, almost midnight, and you weren’t even sure he’d answer.

At this point, what choice did you have?

As the phone rang, part of you hoped he wouldn’t answer. When he asked you about it the next time you saw him, you’d wave it off as a butt dial and he’d be none the wiser.

“Hello,” he said through the phone, leaving your plans quashed.

This was awkward, you had been on four dates with the guy over the span of two months, and now you were calling him in the middle of the night. “This isn’t a booty call,” You blurted, cringing inwardly and banging your head back on the passenger door of your car.

Spencer laughed lightly, “I didn’t think it was, what’s going on?”

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” You asked, his job had a lot of long hours, and you didn’t want to bother him if he was catching up on sleep. If he was even home, “Wait, where are you?”

There was a rustling on his end of the call, “No, I wasn’t asleep, I’m at work. We just got off of a case.”

You let out a sigh of relief, at least you weren’t being a total nuisance. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you. I just… my tire blew out on the highway and my jack broke and no one else is answering their phone,” you told him, verging on rambling.

“You’re kind of cutting out, where are you?” He asked, he sounded concerned, and if there was a moment where you weren’t sure you still had feelings for him, it was fleeting.

Looking to either side of you for a mile marker, you stood up, looking at the ground so you didn’t step on any metal, “I don’t really know. There aren’t any signs, I’m somewhere on 28, I think?”

Spencer cleared his throat, “Do you have your location on your phone?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I have enough service to check it,” you said, all you could see were trees.

You could hear him talking to someone, holding the receiver away from his mouth, “That’s fine, I’ll have someone look, just stay on the phone.”

It would seem that dating someone in the FBI does have its perks, “Oh, cool.” You overheard Spencer explaining your situation to someone, hearing the other person in the room say something about Reid’s girlfriend and you couldn’t help but smile. The two of you were very unofficially official.

“Hey, I’ll be there in half an hour,” An elevator dinged in the background. “Is that alright?”

You hummed, leaning your hip against the front of your car. “I mean, I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

Another ding of the elevator, “Will you do me a favor?”

In exchange for this? You’d do just about anything within the realm of legality, “Name it.”

“Get in your car and lock the doors,” he responded. “Turn your hazards on because right now you’re a sitting duck. If someone doesn’t see your car, they could hit you.”

As a favor, he was asking you to make sure you’re safe, “Okay, I’m getting in now, should I leave the car running?”

You heard the sound of a car lock disengaging through the phone, “As long as the cooling system on your car is in good shape, it shouldn’t be a problem to leave it running while you wait. Just remember what I told you about the hazards.”

Nodding despite the fact that he can’t see you, you got in the car, turning the key in the ignition before pushing the button for your hazard lights, “Okay, I’m in the car.”

“I can’t drive and be on the phone at the same time, but I’ll be there soon. Don’t unlock the doors for anyone except for me,” he told you, and you thanked him for his help before hanging up and settling yourself in your driver’s seat.

You pulled the hoodie you kept stashed in your car over your head, your school mascot—a panther—proudly displayed in the front, and made sure your car doors were locked. If you said you weren’t a little unnerved, you’d be lying to yourself.

Spencer had a worrisome job; it was something you were aware of before he ever asked you on that first date. It became alarmingly obvious to you when he revealed that he’d been shot a few months prior, which was an appropriate second-date conversation with an FBI agent. It made sense to you that he’d be concerned about you, in your idle car, on the side of the road, but you wondered if there was a case that he was thinking of. Someone with a flat tire who had met an untimely demise.

Shuddering, you turned up the heat in your car, flipping through radio stations until someone knocked on your window. You jumped at the noise, hitting your head against the roof of the car before looking outside to see Spencer. Sighing in relief, you unlocked your car door, and he opened it for you, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Is your head alright?”

You peered up at him, casually leaning over your car door. “You cut your hair,” you observed. You’d seen him just last week, where his hair still touched his shoulders, and now it was considerably shorter.

Self-consciously, he reached up a hand and thumbed one of the tendrils, “Yeah, it just got too long—and heavy.”

Resisting the urge to ruffle his hair, your head bobbed, “I like it. Did you do it yourself?”

“You can tell?” He asked, following you around the back of your car to your busted tire. Spencer sets his tire jack down before looking back at you, putting his hands on his hips.

Grinning at him, you shrugged, “I teach kindergarten, I’m basically a professional at noticing DIY haircuts.”

On a towel that you had previously set out, the two of you sat along the side of your car, and you tried to ignore the fact that Spencer still had his weapon holstered. It made sense, he’d come straight from work, but you wondered if there was a reason he didn’t leave it in his car. “Where’s your lug wrench?”

“I can change it myself,” you insisted, “I just needed a different car jack.” You gestured to the pieces of yours that were now all over the side of the road.

Alarm flashed on Spencer’s face, “Nothing fell on you, right?”

You shook your head, “No, just a cut from the metal.”

Holding out your hand, you let Spencer take a look at the cut on your palm. “When was your last tetanus shot?”

Blinking rapidly, you frowned at him, “Uh, when I was in college?”

“That might need stitches,” he responded, letting you take your hand back. “I’ll change your tire, I don’t want you using that hand for anything,” he informed you, pushing the hydraulic jack beneath your car.

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach as you watched him take your old tire off, muttering under his breath about how your old jack was practically an artifact, seeing how it literally fell apart under pressure. “How was your case?” You asked softly, fully aware that you were likely opening a can of worms by asking about work.

Spencer’s movements faltered slightly at your question, “It’s closed. We were in Boise,” he answered tactfully, leaving out any case details and cluing you into the fact that he didn’t want to talk about it. “What are you doing out here?”

You sighed, leaning back on your hands and watching him work, “I had a meeting with the other schools in our conference. It’s annual, and this year they happened to pick the school furthest away from mine.”

“Well, I suppose it worked out well that your tire blew out so close to me, then,” Spencer said, swapping out the busted tire for the donut and looking over at you. There was something nervous in his eyes, and you didn’t know if it was related to work or you.

Humming, you tried to watch the tire rather than just watching him, “Is there something bothering you?”

He was tightening the lug nuts on the spare tire, “Are you driving home after this?”

You furrowed your brows, “Yeah, where else could I be going?”

“It’s almost a two-hour drive to your place from here,” he reminded you, his tone laced with concern. “You won’t get home until almost one in the morning,” the displeasure in his voice was plain, but you don’t have anywhere else to go. “Plus, you really shouldn’t travel that far on a spare tire, they’re not made to travel far distances.”

Crossing your arms in front of your stomach, you let your shoulders slump forward, “So, what do you suggest I do? Get a hotel?”

Spencer mumbled something inaudibly, trying to finish tightening the bolts on the tire before sighing, “You can stay with me,” he blushes, a swipe of pink across his cheeks.

Your lips parted in surprise, “Uh, I don’t… I’m not…” you faltered. Utterly failing to come up with a good enough reason to tell him no, “I don’t want you to feel inclined. This isn’t what I was looking for when I called you for help.”

He let the car down, staying quiet while the two of you cleaned up, and Spencer swatted your hand away when you tried to pick things up. “So, you can come back to my place tonight. My work-issued first-aid kit has your name all over it,” he told you, eyes flickering down to the cut on your hand.

“Okay,” you breathed, unable to conjure a reason to refuse his hospitality.

He was grinning at you, hair just barely brushing his eyebrows, “So tomorrow, maybe we can get coffee and drop your car off to get a new tire?”

You smiled back at him, “That sounds great, date number five.”

“You know where you’re going, right?”

“Yeah,” you’d been to his place once to pick him up, “Hey, Spence?”

He turned around, fishing his car keys from his pocket. He looked ready to respond to you, but you pressed your lips to his before he had a chance to speak.

You kissed him softly, whispering against his mouth, “Thank you for coming.”

He chuckled lightly, gently resting a hand on your waist, “Thank you for calling.” 

[shanastoryteller]

Sam seems convinced this is going to work, but Dean’s pretty sure it’s just a load of crap. Bobby’s even more convinced that it’s a whole lot of nothing, although he had admitted that he couldn’t read every symbol that Sam had added to this mess up devil’s trap. That didn’t mean it would work. It just meant that Sam had thrown everything he could think into it.

The real reason that Dean is going along with this, and probably Bobby is too, is because it means that Sam wouldn’t be alone after Dean is dragged to hell. Although standing in the middle of Bobby’s junkyard in a mess of spray paint isn’t exactly how he’d wanted to spend the last hour of his life.

“You really think Lilith is going to show?” he asks. He doesn’t know why she would. She just has to send the hellhounds, who’s howls and yips Dean has been hearing for days. And those things have never been stopped by any sort of devil’s trap.

“Yes,” Sam says, tense, not looking at him.

That’s another thing. For weeks Sam has barely looked at him, barely talked to him. Which sucks, because he’d really wanted to spend the last weeks of his life just looking and talking to and spending time with his brother, but Sam hadn’t been interested in that. At all.

He shares a look with Bobby, who just shrugs, hands tight on his shotgun.

Then the hellhounds come, just like he knew they would, no Lilith in sight. “Sammy,” he says, reaching out for his brother. Not because he thinks he can do anything, but because he wants to touch Sam one last time, one last memory to sustain him through hell.

Sam snaps out his hand and the hellhounds go skittering back, letting out pained yowls.

Dean stares, not understanding. “What did you – wait. You can see them?”

Only he should be able to see them. He’s the one that made the deal.

Sam still won’t look at him, damnit, even as Dean fists his hand in the back of his shirt. Sam's voice is low and pained when he says, “I’m sorry.”

Fear clenches in his gut. But before he do anything, there are demons surrounding the devil’s trap, appearing one by one in Bobby’s junkyard. They’d needed to take down his protections so Lilith could get in, but they hadn’t expected this. Of course she brought a freaking audience.

“Which one of you is Lilith?” he barks out, dragging Sam behind him. He refuses to let the last thing he sees be his brother hurt, or worse.

Dozens of demons stand there, human vessels with pitch black eyes. The hellhounds whimper and slink around them, but don’t seem interested in getting any closer. Dean can’t blame them.

Sam pries his hand off of him, stepping away before Dean can grab onto him again. He leaves the safety of the devil’s trap, which is fucking stupid. Dean’s lunging forward to stop him, but then there’s Bobby’s arm holding him back, face pale with a horror Dean doesn’t understand. He hadn’t looked like that even at Cold Oak, when they’d seen the gates open to hell.

The demons bow.

He blinks, not understanding what he’s seeing.

Sam is standing there in front of them, no protections, and they’re all bowing to him.

Except one.

Ruby is there, stupid red leather jacket and blonde hair and the smirk he hates so much. She walks around the demons up to Sam, who’s face is cold and expressionless. “She’s coming.”

“I know,” he says. “If this doesn’t work, I’m going to kill you.”

“Promise?” she returns. “If this doesn’t work, death will be a mercy.”

Dean tries to push Bobby off of him, to get in between Sam and this bitch, but he doesn’t let go.

Then there’s a little girl in a white dress, head tilted to the side. “Something here belongs to me.”

Ruby flinches, stepping just slightly behind Sam.

“Not you,” she sneers. “You haven’t belonged to me in a long time, I fear. You really think that this boy can save you?”

“Sam,” Ruby says.

He sighs, like this is a trial, and raises his hand.

Lilith’s sneer drops from her face. Her upper body yanks forward, but her legs won't move. “You bastard,” she snarls, raising her hand in return, but nothing happens.

For the first time, fear flickers across her face.

Ruby steps forward, her own terror swallowed up by arrogance, by delight.

Dean tries to move, but finds he’s just as frozen as Lilith, even more so. He can’t twitch a single muscle. Going by Bobby’s unnatural stillness next to him, he assumes he’s in the same boat.

“Samuel is the heir of the light bringer,” Ruby says. “He has taken his birthright. You can’t touch him.”

What’s she talking about? What birthright?

What has Sam done?

“No,” Lilith snarls. “He’s nothing more than one of Azazel’s experiments.”

“A night, a full day, and then morning,” Ruby says. “That’s what he was. Then he rose on the third day.” She shoots a mocking look his way. “If it weren’t for his brother, he would have died nothing more than a failed experiment. But he has risen.”

No. What does that mean? What’s she saying? He had just wanted Sammy back.

Did he do this? Is this his fault?

“Ruby,” Sam says, a note of warning in his voice.

“Right, right,” she sighs. Then, back to gleeful, “Her eyes.”

Sam’s finger twitches and Lilith’s eyes bleed black tears.

She screams, the sound even worse because her vessel is a child.

Ruby lists thing after thing, pulling out her fingernails, peeling her skin. Her blood is black, none of it red, and the injuries shouldn’t really be hurting her but they clearly are. Dean watches helplessly as Sam tortures Lilith at Ruby’s command, enacting one terrible thing against her after another.

Lilith lies there, moaning, limbs broken, body in pieces.

“That’s enough,” Sam says.

“Enough?” Ruby hisses, turning to face him. “You know what she did to me! She – she–”

Sam’s stoic mask breaks, creasing in sympathy. Dean would prefer it wasn’t for a demon, for Ruby, but at least he now recognizes his brother. He raises his free hand to her head, his touch an oddly gentle counterpoint to everything he’s done to Lilith. “I know. But it’s enough.”

Tears glint in her eyes, just for a second, then she swallows and nods, stepping away from Sam’s hand.

He steps forward, crouching in front of Lilith. “You shouldn’t have come after my brother. Now we both have to live with the consequences.” His mouth twists. "So to speak."

Whatever she would have said in response is lost in her screams. Black smoke pours from her, then lights up, like a spark in steel wool, the fire moving through her reminding him almost of the Colt.

Lilith dies. Sam kills her, no Colt, no devil’s trap. Nothing but his own terrifying powers.

“Will you bow to me now?” he asks.

Ruby tears her eyes from Lilith’s corpse and her irritating fucking smirk slides back into place. “Now?” She steps closer, tilting her head back almost like she’s about to kiss him, then falls gracefully to her knees in front of him. It looks more like she’s about to give him a blowjob than a form of subservience, but he thinks that for a moment Sam almost seems amused. “I bowed to you first.”

“So you did,” he says softly. He raises his voice. “Move out. Casey. You know your job.”

“Yes, sire,” says one of the demons, voice almost familiar.

Then Sam’s walking away, Ruby just a step behind him. The other demons follow suit, the hellhounds not even glancing at Dean as they get caught up in the procession.

Sam still won’t look at him. He only sees the back of his brother’s head as he leaves him behind

The only demon left is Casey. He knows her, he recognizes her, the demon he’d been trapped with in that city full of sin, the one that Sam had shot and killed. He’d seen him kill her.

She gets to her feet, offering him a smile as she draws closer. “Hello, Dean. I bet you never thought you’d see me again.”

She steps right into the devil’s trap and presses a hand to him and Bobby each. As soon as she touches them, they’re able to move, darting away from her and leaving her stuck in the devil’s trap.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, wishing his voice wasn’t shaking, but he has more important things to worry about.

She turns to face them. “Samuel does not want you to die. He did what he had to do to ensure you wouldn’t.”

“The fuck you talking about?” Bobby asks gruffly.

“I told you back then I was ready to follow Sam,” she says, stepping out of the devil’s trap like it’s nothing, which she definitely shouldn’t be able to do. Bobby hadn't thought that this thing would be able to contain Lilith, but Casey’s nowhere near Lilith’s level. It should work on her just fine.

Bobby’s hand darts out, throwing holy water over her, but it doesn’t so much as steam.

She just looks amused. “That won’t work on me now. Neither will an exorcism, or any of the usual tricks. I have been purified.” She holds out her hand to Dean and it’s the Colt, the one that they’d lost when Bela sold it. “This is the only thing that will kill me now.”

“And you’re just handing it over?” Dean asks.

“I have my orders,” she says steadily. “Samuel wants you to have it.”

His entire body goes gold.

“What do you mean purified?” Bobby asks, shooting Dean a concerned look. “You’re a demon. Purifying you should kill you.”

“And was Lucifer a demon?” she asks. “I have taken the sacrament.”

Dean doesn’t know what that means, but Bobby’s expression shifts from disgust to shock to a horror filled curiosity. “You drank Sam’s blood?”

She did what?

“I have taken the sacrament,” she repeats, lifting her chin. “Samuel purified me.”

How the hell would Sam’s blood do that? Why had she drank it in the first place? She’s a demon, not a damn vampire. Dean pushes those questions aside and instead asks, “How are you even alive?”

“Samuel resurrected me,” she says. First he can kill demons, and now he can bring them back? “He knows we had a rapport and he thought it would be easier if it was me.”

“What would be easier?” he asks. His head is spinning and his heart hurts and he doesn’t understand anything that just happened. At least being dragged to hell would have been simpler.

She presses the Colt into his hands. “Samuel doesn’t want you to die. He knows this will be difficult for you, that you’ll make poor choices. I have my orders. I am to stay with you and keep you alive. We’re going to get to know each other very well, Dean.”

“Like hell,” he says gruffly, hand tightening as he takes the Colt and raises it to her head. “What’s to stop me from killing you?”

“The same thing that will stop you from killing Samuel,” she says and he flinches. “Nothing.”

He stares at her. He can’t bring himself to speak.

“You’ll have to hunt him down the old fashioned way,” she says casually. “But if you can find him, you can kill him. We’re all under orders not to touch you. Samuel won’t stop you if you want kill him. The same way I won’t stop you if you want to kill me.”

“Why?” he asks.

She shrugs. “It’s always been up to you, Dean. He trusts you. If you decide that he must die, then he’s willing to die.”

Dean sold his soul for him. He’s not going to fucking kill him.

But the Sam he sold his soul for wasn’t capable of doing that to Lilith. He wouldn’t have even wanted to be.

“What about your demon lover?” Dean asks, thinking of the priest that Casey had embraced and kissed, the demon she’d begged to spare Dean’s life before Sam had killed them both. “Sam bring him back too?”

Grief chases across her face before she smooths it away. “He will. If I am good, and obedient, and loyal, then Samuel will bring him back for me.”

Dean’s stomach rolls to hear Sam described like that, like some sort of tyrant or king. Like Dad. “You really believe that?”

Casey meets his gaze steadily as she echoes the words she’d said to him in that basement as she spoke of Lucifer, except now she’s talking about his brother. “I have faith.”

[honeyhotteoks]

across stardust - one (j.yh)

summary: you and yunho have worked together for years, idol and makeup artist, but until today you've never touched him skin to skin. when the world tilts on its head from just a brush of his cheek, you realize he's so much more than a crush, he's your soulmate. one | two | three | four

note: please enjoy this truly self indulgent romance. will be four parts total, and i'll post each as soon as they are ready to go. happy comeback week, and i hope everyone enjoys this 💖

tags/warnings: idol!yunho, makeup artist!reader, fem!reader, soulmates au, soulmate identifying marks, soulmate tattoos, tattoed!reader, a lot of fluff and tenderness, love at first touch, shared feelings/emotions/physical sensations, anxiety/stress over what to do, reader's family isn't the best, kq is not the best company for the purposes of this fic!, light smut including - heavy makeouts/grinding, hand kink, size kink, phone sex, sexting, fingering, jacking off, dirty talk, praise, use of good girl, use of pet names like baby/jagiya/sweetheart. basically this fic is an excuse for me to write star-crossed desperate love so i would say it's the literal opposite of a slow burn lmao

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: fantasy, romance, smut || soulmates au

word count: 17.9k

It’s eleven in the morning when your day starts, hiding in the green room of a concert venue in Berlin, and the day feels lost already. With Eunji and Dahan ill that only leaves you and Iseul to handle makeup for all eight members and with how exhausted you are from yet another night of little sleep, you don’t know how you’ll be able to keep up. You’re trying to stay awake, but while the members are all out on stage learning their marks and rehearsing the improvisational moments for this tour stop, the green room is quiet and you keep nodding off. 

“Bad night?” Iseul’s voice startles you out of one of your dips into sleep and your body jerks up right. 

“Fuck,” You breathe, “hey,” 

“Here,” She pushes a bright can into your hands, an energy drink, “you need this.” 

“I need to be sedated,” You grumble, taking it from her, “the time difference is never this hard,” 

“Mm,” She shrugs, “it’s unpredictable,” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I guess.” 

The thumping music outside as they run through another track is starting to give you a migraine. You take a long sip of the drink and then leave the can on the table in front of you, choosing instead to hide your face in the sleeves of your sweatshirt and let out another long sigh. 

“Girl,” Iseul nudges you, “you look like shit. Your station looks like shit.” 

“Thank you?” 

“In thirty minutes we’re going to be busier than we’ve been since that Inkigayo stage for Answer,” She points out and you grimace at the reference. Back then it really was just a skeleton staff and one of the makeup artists quit on the spot, too stressed to continue the work and walking out in the middle of doing Yeosang’s foundation. 

What a mess those old days used to be. Nostalgia sometimes makes you forget how late those nights were and just how impossibly tired you had been. This feels too reminiscent of that for sure. 

Iseul taps your shoulder to get you to lift your face as she continues, “I know you’re tired, but I can’t do this shit on my own. I need you.” 

“Okay,” You breathe, scrubbing your hands over your face to jolt yourself awake as best you can, “you’re right, I’m sorry,” 

“Don’t be sorry,” She gives you a sympathetic smile, “I get it.” 

This tiredness feels different though, so deeply ingrained in your body. Something’s been keeping your adrenaline running like a long, drawn out anxiety attack and you can’t understand it. You’ve been on tour before, you’ve been on planes, you’ve had long days, and you’ve worked with this exact group for years. There’s nothing on paper that should be making you so anxious, but the threads of it are humming in the deep back of your brain even now. 

“Come on,” Iseul prompts again, pulling you to your feet, “let’s get you in gear.” 

“Right,” You take another long sip of your energy drink and pray it starts kicking in soon and that the effects won’t make you feel crazier, “let’s do this.” 

She helps you put your station together with ease and then pull yourself together. Within those precious thirty minutes of calm before the storm you’ve downed two cans of pure caffeine, assembled your station and strapped on your brush belt, and tried to make yourself some form of presentable by slicking your hair back into a smooth knot and adding a coat of lip balm. 

As always, the boys have used the ladder game to determine hair and makeup order which means those at the bottom of the list have more time to relax fresh-faced on the couches before getting poked and prodded and wrapped up like presents for thousands of screaming fans. With only you and Iseul available it’s about to be a race against the clock to get them ready. 

Their managers hustle them from the stage to the back rooms where the rest of the staff waits, and the members gather around you and Iseul and your makeshift makeup stations. 

“Alright,” Iseul says as the members quiet down, “we’re down some staff as you know,” 

They nod attentively and you trade a close lipped smile with Hongjoong. 

“We’re just going to do the best we can as quickly as we can,” She explains, looking down at their names on a slip of paper, “Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho, San,” she recites, “you’re with me in that order.” 

You run through the names on your slip, “Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Mingi, Yunho, that leaves you with me.” 

Iseul nods as you finish your words, “Please be ready to slot in when the person in front of you is finished, and then you can go directly to wardrobe for your soundcheck outfits,” 

“We’ve got it,” Hongjoong nods, “and if there’s anything you both need,” 

“We’ll be fine,” Iseul assures him, “but it’s definitely going to be cutting it close,” 

“We should get started,” You cut in, “if you’re ready?” 

Hongjoong jumps to your chair immediately and Wooyoung steps to Iseul’s, and before you know it you’re off. 

The room is alight with activity while you both work, only you don’t have a relaxed pace and only two members to perfect. You’re used to working with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, they’ve been your assigned members for as long as you’ve worked with Ateez, but when staff shortages or timing gets tight, it can be a bit of a free for all. 

You stay focused and execute each member’s makeup like a well rehearsed dance, and you do your best to ignore the buzzing anxiety in your veins. For a little while, you handle it like a professional. 

When Yunho finally settles into your chair, about a single second after Mingi leaves it, the exhaustion careens back into you sideways. It takes you a minute to prep your tools this time, and you’re pretty sure that without the artificial pick me up of the energy drinks you’d be passing out on the spot. 

You steady your hands against the vanity in front of you and take a deep breath, and when you look up you catch Yunho’s eyes in the mirror, a tiny crease of concern between his brows. 

“You okay?” He checks. 

You give him a smile, albeit a tired one, “The jet lag is really hitting this time,” you explain, “but I’m fine,” 

He looks sympathetic immediately, “Same for me, I feel like I’m barely sleeping,” 

“That’s not good,” You tell him as you prep your stainless steel palette, “you have a long night ahead,” 

“I’ll sleep tonight,” He says, “I’m sure,” 

“After dancing for three hours I’d hope so,” You smile and pick up your first set of tools before turning towards him. 

“Do you have anything you could take?” He asks, studying your face, “A sleep aid?” 

“I usually don’t like to,” You admit, “I always feel groggy the next day,” 

“And we have another show,” He finishes for you, his lips coming together in a thin line as he thinks. 

There’s nothing really for him to do, but it’s kind of him anyway to be so concerned. They always are, this rare group of eight idols who remember staff birthdays, bring coffee on the early morning schedules, and always, always take extra time to clean up after themselves so it’s not left to anyone else. 

You take a step closer towards him and glance over his bare face and then it occurs to you, “You know what’s funny?” 

“Hmm?” He tilts his face up to you. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever done your makeup before,” You smile, it’s a ridiculous thought. 

“No way,” He blinks, thinking back, “it’s been… forever, are you sure?” 

You nod, “You’re usually with Eunji,” you tell him, “and even when we’ve swapped around, I don’t think so. I think you’re the only member I’ve never done,” 

“Wow,” He laughs, eyes bright, “well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.” 

“Is there anything,” You start to ask him if there’s anything he prefers, anything special about his makeup that he gets done with Eunji that he asks for, but Iseul catches you idle as she pats foundation onto San’s forehead and answers for you. 

“His skin gets dry,” She jumps in, “don’t use too much powder,” 

Yunho grins, a laugh on his lips at the directness of her words. 

“And don’t use that oil,” Iseul adds, “that primer oil you like, he’ll break out by tomorrow,” 

“Thank you, Iseul,” Yunho says, and you watch San’s face as he stifles a chuckle. 

“Noted,” You smile, and you swap out two of the products in your hands before taking up your position by his side again. 

You’ve gotten used to working with idols, to working with Ateez and with Yunho specifically, and yet when you get this close a little flutter of nerves rocks through your belly. He’s handsome, and if you’re being honest he’s just your type. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or this weird feeling in your chest that you’ve been dealing with all week, but for the first time in a long time you think about what it would be like to kiss his lips. 

“How do you want me?” He asks, breaking your thoughts, and you have to shake off the impending blush at the way his words make you feel. You have work to do, and you had gotten over your silly little crush on him years ago, you need to get a grip. 

You recover fairly smoothly though with a quick smile, “Right,” he’s never worked with you before, and he’s looking to you for direction, “head back a bit, please, and eyes closed,” 

“Alright,” He follows your instructions to the letter. 

“Okay,” You tell him, “primer first. Let me know if anything bothers you,” 

“Mhm,” He hums and stays relaxed. 

He has the loveliest eyelashes, that’s the thought that echoes through your brain as you start working on him, and you wish it never occurred to you at all because you keep glancing up at his closed eyes. He lets you work, he knows you’re exhausted so he doesn’t push you for conversation, and you’re strangely grateful. You know he’s chatty sometimes in the chair, an extrovert through and through and always keeping Eunji company or talking with the member beside him, but right now he keeps still and gives you respite on a hard day. 

You’re patting foundation into his skin with a large paddle brush when Iseul interrupts your thoughts, “Do you have that eggplant liner?” 

“Check my table,” You offer, but with how sluggish your brain is feeling there’s no way you remember a single thing on your station without looking.

“Mm,” She pivots around and pokes through the products and tools behind you, and you glance over as San opens his eyes to watch Iseul rifle through things. 

“Damn,” She mutters, “how much time do we have?” 

“Um,” You glance down at your watch, “twenty?” 

“Perfect,” She scoots behind you and disappears into the hall, no doubt to find your traveling makeup case and the liner. 

You sigh, chewing the inside of your lip at the idea that you only have twenty more minutes, but you really don’t want to rush and have his makeup melt off on-stage. 

“You’re fine,” San assures, his body angled towards you and Yunho now while he waits, “don’t worry about the clock,”

Yunho hums his agreement from below you, “Plenty of time,”

You refocus on Yunho’s skin and notice a long black and white hair from the paddle brush affixed to his cheek, mixed in with the foundation. You take the brush again, wiping off any excess foundation and checking to see if more fibers are loose, and then you work the brush against his cheek in an attempt to free the loose hair but it isn’t coming off easily. Every attempt you make just slides the hair into a different spot on his cheek and covers it with more foundation. 

“Um,” You usually don’t like to do this, but you might have to, “can I just…”

His eyes open but his expression stays smooth, “Can you?” 

“Sorry,” You shake your head, “do you mind if I touch you?” 

“You already are,” He smiles, a small, amused crease between his brows you’ll have to pat out momentarily. 

You tuck your brush away and gesture with your hand, “You just have a hair,” 

“Oh,” He laughs, “of course, yeah,” 

You’re just supposed to touch his cheek, brush away the hair with the pad of your finger and then get back to work, that’s all it is, so you’re completely unprepared for the feeling that rockets through your chest when your skin finally touches his. 

Yunho gasps softly as your fingers brush over his cheek, his eyes blowing wide and his expression blanking, and it’s the only indication you have that he feels something too. A tightness wrenches in your chest, like someone pressed something hot and hard directly into your breastbone and your stomach does a somersault. Your ears are ringing, and you’re pretty sure your heart is about to beat out of your chest now that it’s started up again. 

The tattoo on your chest feels warm beneath your blouse. 

“You,” Yunho manages, his voice shaky and you know for sure he felt it too. 

You rock back a step, “I don’t understand,” 

“Shit,” Someone else says, and then you realize that it’s San and you’re not alone with the only other person in the entire world, you’re in the middle of work in front of at least one other person and it’s only your existence that just got tilted on its axis. Yours and maybe Yunho’s. 

“Oh,” You glance to the side, taking in San’s wide eyed expression, “oh my God,” 

“I’m not insane, am I?” Yunho smiles, his focus entirely on you, and you think you might just pass out, “You felt that?” 

There’s a noise in the hall and San scrambles up to his feet, “Iseul,” he says heading for the door, “do you need help looking?” 

He’s covering for you both, but thoughts are slow to form and all you can manage is blinking at the man in your chair. 

“You did, right?” He asks again, eyes soft and hopeful, and then his fingers brush over the center of his chest. Squarely over his breastbone.

He’s yours. 

You want to reach out and yank up his shirt, check the tattoo over his heart to see if it’s the same looping knot shape as yours, but you don’t need to see it to know for sure. It’s him. 

San says something about forgetting the liner altogether, a little louder so you both know the room is going to get crowded again, and you shake your head to jolt yourself out of your paralyzed position. 

“You didn’t?” His hand falls. 

“I did,” You rush to correct, “I’m, I don’t know,” 

He nods, wetting his lips and shifting in his chair. He moves to reach for you, but reason and sense click back into place immediately and you realize that no matter what your tattoo feels like and no matter what this means, you’re at work and about to have a very private moment in a very public place if you’re not careful. 

You shake your head with a glance at his hand and jerk your head towards the door, “Later,” 

“Right,” He leans back from you, “of course, right,” 

Footsteps to your right draw your attention and Iseul is huffing, checking her own watch, “We’ll do brown,” 

“That’ll be fine,” San assures her, but his eyes are glued on the pair of you. 

Iseul moves to step around you again and realizes you’re just standing there, “What’s with you?” 

“Sorry,” You manage, blinking hard and refocusing, “I just got dizzy,” 

It’s not entirely a lie, given that you felt the entire earth shift under your feet thirty seconds ago and your life is completely changed. Dizzy is the least of how you’re feeling. 

Yunho’s expression shifts immediately, concern across his face, and he curls his fingers into his palms to keep himself from reaching out again, from being too familiar. 

“Oh,” Her eyebrows raise high, “do you need me to finish Yunho?”

“N-no,” You take a breath, “just give me one second,” 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Yunho asks, and in the back of your brain you wonder if his voice has always sounded this good. 

“Here,” San cuts in smoothly, cracking the seal on a fresh water bottle and passing it over to you, “do you need to sit a minute?” 

San’s hand rests on your upper back between your shoulders as you take a long sip of water, the cold shocking your brain back to reality in exactly the way you need. 

“Thank you,” You tell him honestly, “I think I’m okay, just a headrush,” 

San nods, and when you refocus your eyes on Yunho, you almost laugh. His gaze is squarely on San’s hand where it sits on your back, and you watch the fast, silent exchange between the two men when San drops his hand and Yunho realizes his own reaction. He blushes, ears running red and he dips his head to avoid both your eyes. 

“Iseul,” San steps around you both and distracts your friend, “ready to wrap?” 

“Yeah,” She agrees, “let’s finish up. You’re sure you’re okay, y/n?” 

“Mhm,” You hardly trust your own voice, but you nod anyway, “I’m good now.” 

Yunho tilts his face back up as you step close, and the tension between you is so palpable and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. Your tattoo feels warm and heavy and something tells you that his does too, you can see it in the tenderness of his brown eyes. 

“Dizzy?” He asks quietly, keeping his words just for you. 

You shake your head, “No,”

“That’s good,” He murmurs, but he lets whatever words he wants to say rest on his tongue. 

Your tattoo throbs and you don’t dare touch his bare skin again. 

His makeup takes fifteen more minutes and his eyes don’t stray from your face the entire time. You barely finish on time, and wardrobe is standing by to get them into their first outfits of the night, so when you put the final touches on he’s already being pulled out of the chair before you have a chance to say anything. 

You want to corner him and ask him exactly when he’ll have time to talk later, but despite working together for the last few years, you and Yunho aren’t that close. You’re friendly, but you’re not familiar enough to casually ask what he’s doing later and not have it seem strange. While friendships between staff members and idols are not discouraged, even between the opposite sex, being overly familiar or suggestive would certainly leave a question in everyone’s minds, and you don’t want to draw attention to yourself that quickly. 

This is between you and Yunho, no one else. You don’t want an audience for this. 

So he goes, pulled away by wardrobe and his other members, fitted quickly into his Soundcheck outfit. He has his game face on, so do all the members, and you watch him disappear down the hall without a second glance back at you. 

You collapse into the couch and press your eyes closed, focusing on the singular feeling of heat and soreness from your chest.

A soulmate. 

The tattoo on your chest was one you barely looked at anymore, too focused on living your life to sit in the mirror and wonder about the person who would be your other half, the person that would slot into the gaps in your spirit with a simple brush of skin on skin. But now, it aches. It pulses to remind you that it’s real and that you’ve found him. 

Everything in your life is about to change. Has already changed.

On the couch you don’t sleep as much as you disassociate, still stunned, your buzzing brain filtering out everything Iseul says as she cleans up around you and preps both of your brush belts for touch ups. There’s such a small amount of time between Soundcheck and the concert that you barely get to process, you just exist, playing the moment you touched him over again and again in your mind. Despite how utterly changed you feel, the world is just continuing on around you like a regular day.

Once again, you and Yunho miss each other for every brief moment between Soundcheck and stage.

The shift happens in the wings, in the underbelly of the stage where you and the other staff members for hair, makeup, and wardrobe wait for any last minute quick fixes. The eight of them are almost ready, pumping themselves up between rows of technical equipment and stage scaffolding. 

There’s so much commotion around you and yet your eyes are drawn to him like a magnet, the feelings you once had for him coming back to you full force in a blurry torrent. 

He shifts, stretches, swallows hard, and then looks up directly into your eyes. There’s a question in them that you can’t read, but you manage to smile. 

His shoulders relax just a little. 

You raise your fist, giving him the gesture for ‘fighting’ and he returns it with a wide grin. 

“Alright,” Hongjoong’s voice cuts through, the final step of their pre-show ritual as the concert hall starts to roar, “huddle up.” 

The eight of them circle up with each other, one leg in and one out. 

“We’ve practiced hard,” Hongjoong starts, patting his members on the back, “let that practice pay off, and have fun out there,” 

“Okay!” San hypes them up, getting the tension high. 

“Let’s give it our all,” Hongjoong continues, a wide smile on his face, “fighting!”

They echo it back, and a tense feeling starts to roll in your gut. 

“Alright, one,” Hongjoong starts the count and you feel the tension in your own body rising, enough to make you take a soft step back from the group, “two,” 

On three they chorus it, moving their feet in a synchronized step,  “Eight makes one team! Fighting!” 

They break apart, clapping each other on the back, and your eyes meet Yunho’s for one more fast second before he’s jogging after the rest of the members and finding his mark on the stage risers. 

You feel the sensation of his eyes on you even after he’s gone. You have the length of four songs and their opening ments before members start swapping out on stage for makeup touch-ups and technical adjustments. The sound of the audience is intense, the start of the first song keying up, and you stumble back from your post to get a breath of air away from it all. 

There’s a bathroom along the hallway two doors down from the green room that’s meant for staff and you blissfully find it empty. With shaking hands you flip the lock and sink down into a crouch, your back braced against the wall as you breathe through the sudden wave of feelings filling your chest. 

Adrenaline, that’s what the bitter taste on your tongue is. 

Your heart is thumping, double time like you’re running a marathon, and then you realize it. You can feel him, even now with the bond between you unfulfilled you can feel his emotions coming to you like a wave. Adrenaline, anxiety, euphoria, exhaustion, it all roils through you and you brace your hands on the wall to get your composure back. 

They say the first time you feel your soulmate link it takes you by surprise, but this is an intensity you couldn’t have imagined. It’s all encompassing and honestly terrifying, and you’re struggling to understand which parts of you are you and which are him. You can’t conceive of how an accepted bond would make this feeling stronger when it already feels like your emotions and his are knit together so tightly. 

Anxiety strikes down the link and you realize it’s not stage fright, it’s for you. He can feel your panic and your fear just like you can feel every ounce of his performance and if you don’t get yourself in check you’re going to be distracting him even more than you already are. 

You yank yourself up off the floor and collapse against the sink, turning on the cold water tap and taking slow and steadying breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Counting slowly, relaxing your body with every pulse of oxygen through your system. You hope he can feel it, but you have no idea how this all really works. You’ll have to call your sister when this is all said and done, find out what she felt when she met her wife, but right now in this bathroom in Berlin you have to do this by yourself. 

You hear the pulse of another song thrumming through the stadium as they keep performing, and you feel the thundering beat of his heart in your chest, but you breathe into it this time and try to keep yourself calm for his sake. You splash cold water on your face, keep breathing low and slow, and eventually you pull yourself back up to standing tall to look at yourself in the mirror. 

You look the same as you did a few hours ago, before him, but the warmth in your chest is still present and you wonder if that will ever go away or if that’s just a permanent part of the link. 

With shaky hands you unbutton your blouse and pull your bralette down in the center to reveal what you already know is there. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight. 

The tattoo nestled at the base of your sternum is the only one you were born with. Every other line of ink on your body was put there with intention, but this one you’ve had for as long as you can remember. The maedeup knot is small, but intricate, and until this moment it had always been colorless. Loops of black and gray twining together to make a rounded diamond, unbroken with no beginning or end to the threads. 

Now the ink has changed, a deep red against your skin that makes the knotted josephin soulmark look even more traditional, but the skin is slightly inflamed, tender to the touch as you brush your fingertips along it. It feels like a fresh mark, not something you’ve had since birth, but considering how it’s changed, maybe it is new. A soulmark shifting color is common, you know that, but it still stands out so starkly against your skin and your other black tattoos. You can’t look away from it. 

A pounding on the bathroom door makes you jump and you fix your shirt, covering the mark back up and buttoning it away. You wonder if Yunho’s mark is the exact same like other couples you know and if it too turned red, if it’s warm to the touch, if he felt you brush against your mark through the link. 

“y/n?” A voice comes through the door and you shut off the tap. 

“Coming!” You wipe the excess water on your hands onto your jeans and take one last, fast look to make sure your mark isn’t visible, before opening the bathroom door. 

Wonshik, one of their many managers, is waiting for you on the other side. His eyes narrow when he sees you, “Are you ill?” 

“No,” You assure him. 

“You’re sure?” He presses, “We can’t afford to lose any more staff or risk getting the members sick if you are,” 

“I know, Wonshik,” You nod, “I promise I’m just tired, jet-lagged. I was putting cold water on my face, that’s all. I’m not sick,” 

He exhales in relief, his expression softening, “Thank God,” he says, “I can only take so many surprises.” 

A little sickness is nothing compared to a staff member and an idol under a dating ban being soulmarked, but you hold your tongue. 

“They’re about to come off,” He says, “Iseul was looking for you, she seems like she might start climbing the walls if you don’t get back to help her,” 

“No, of course,” You start back towards the side stage entrance, “I lost track of time, but it won’t happen again,” 

“Make sure you sleep tonight,” He adds, following you closely, “no sleep means no immune system, and no immune system means sick.” 

“Don’t worry,” You promise, winding your way through the dark backstage, “you won’t lose me,” 

“I better not,” He sighs, and then Iseul comes into sight. 

“There you are!” She hisses low under her breath, “I was about to have a panic attack,” 

“I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m good,” In the commotion, your brain starts to ease into normalcy. You’re used to this pace, the speed of lightning fast makeup touch-ups and assisting wardrobe when things start to go awry with their quick changes. The audience feels none of this, they just see smooth change-outs on stage and cool idols in new clothes, but backstage is a wild flurry and it always puts you on an entirely different plane of focus. 

“Here we go,” A stage director starts, gathering everyone’s attention, “four minutes… starting…” 

The stage goes dark and in the venue a video starts to play to the crowd to fill the space between costume changes. You prep your hands, making sure your kit is ready to go and you see the wardrobe specialists out of the corner of your eye readying themselves to help facilitate the quick change. 

Suddenly they’re here, and the stage director interrupts once more, “Now, four minutes people, let’s go.” 

“Mingi,” He gets to you first and he crouches down to drop his face to your height, “stay still one second,” 

He says nothing, but he nods as you pat powder across his forehead and the bridge of his nose, checking him over for any other defects. He looks good and you nod, “Go, go,” 

Mingi peels off to the left of you and you hear the sound of fabric swishing as he and Wooyoung rip off the top layer of their outfits behind the privacy screens and trade garments with the wardrobe team. It’s a fast shuffle, but you stay focused on who’s in front of you. 

“Seonghwa,” You wave to him, pulling blotting tissues out of the pack on your belt, “here,” 

He knows this drill well, you’re used to working with him and you have a clean routine down. He blots the sweat off his brow himself and starts to unbutton his jacket while you shift focus to Yunho. 

For a split second you almost forget what happened earlier in the buzz of backstage, but the minute your eyes hold on his awareness floods you. 

“Hey,” You say, but there’s a time clock shout behind you and you beckon him down, “come here, let me fix things,”

He drops down to your height just like Mingi did and stays steady while you work, but his eyes flick up, “You’re okay?” 

“I’m good,” You nod, “don’t worry,” 

His expression clears a little and you guess you have your answer about the feeling of the link going both ways. 

Hongjoong clears his throat behind you both, “We’re short on time,” 

“Am I good?” Yunho checks. 

Your eyes flick over him fast, “Yep,” 

He’s out of your eyeline a split second later, and you’re grateful for the distraction of both Hongjoong and Seonghwa, otherwise you’re sure you’d dwell a little bit too long on the fact that Yunho’s half naked next to you, privacy screen or no. 

“One minute,” The stage director announces, “everyone’s doing great,” 

The boys are almost done, flying through the last of their zips and getting their hair smoothed down by that team as they finish. You put the last pat of powder on Seonghwa’s nose and give him a nod before he’s gone too, dropping his jacket as he goes and giving you all a quick flash of his bare back. 

You turn back towards the group as they prepare and your eyes zero in on Yunho again. His expression is serious, it’s his game face before he gets back out on stage, and you watch as he corrects the placement of his in-ears and ensures that his mic pack is secured. He runs through his pre-stage ritual and you can’t help but be a captive audience. 

“Good work,” The stage director says as Seonghwa rejoins the eight, fully dressed and ready for stage, “fifteen seconds for act two,” 

The crowd heats up again as the video starts to fade, and the members do their final checks. Yunho doesn’t look back at you once, his eyes forward and focused as he and the other members find their places on the rising platform that will take them back out to the main stage. 

You can see him a little though, in the low light in his white trousers and blue satin shirt. He lifts his hand, adjusting his microphone once again, and then as he drops it back to his side he lets his fingers skim over the familiar hollow of his chest. 

Your mark warms, you feel it as if it were your chest he brushed his fingers over, and your breath stops. 

The platform rises, the crowd roars, and your heart starts beating to a new rhythm. 

He really is yours. 

It turns out that later means much later. 

You manage to get out of dinner with some of the other staff members, but that just leaves you anxious and alone in a hotel room trying and failing to eat room service. Iseul would be back soon to take up her place in the other bed, and you’re starting to realize that you don’t have Yunho’s number. 

Now that emotions are a little smoother, you can’t feel him. Or maybe you can, but it’s so faint that you’re not sure. All you know is that he’s definitely in the hotel, but that’s partially the solid feeling of your link with him and partially the YouTube live being broadcast from Seonghwa’s room where all of the members are. 

You put the live on and watch, feeling strangely disconnected from the men on screen. You’ve known them for years, but suddenly with this new truth everything feels foreign and confusing. 

You should call your sister, but it’s only six in the morning in Korea and even though this is an emergency of life altering and epic proportions, you can’t bring yourself to wake her on a Saturday. 

You try your best to eat the pasta you ordered and watch as the live eventually ends. Your phone dings and for a split second you think it will be him, but it’s just Iseul telling you she’s heading back to the hotel. 

A soft knock at the door makes your stomach lurch. 

You’re frozen. 

There’s another knock, a little firmer this time but then you feel the warm touch against your mark and you’re on your feet, your hand on the door handle before you can think. 

He looks tired, that’s your first thought. His face is bare again, and his eyes are rimmed in a little bit of red like he just removed the day’s stage makeup. Despite all that, he smiles when he sees you and sighs, leaning against the door frame, “You’re awake,” he says. 

“I waited,” You manage. 

He grimaces, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” his eyes flick behind you into the room and he swallows, “are you alone?” 

“Yes,” You nod, “but not for long, Iseul’s on her way,” 

He nods, “Come to my room?” 

“Are you sure?” Your eyes widen. 

“We need to talk,” He nods, “can you get away for a little while?” 

Iseul will probably expect you to be asleep, but you can’t let this go until morning. If you’re ever going to sleep you need to talk to him now. 

“I’ll think of something,” You tell him, “what room?” 

“2606,” He answers, reaching into his pockets and producing an envelope from the front desk, “take this,” 

He passes you one of his room keys and you nod, “I’ll be up in five minutes, but you should go,” 

“Okay,” He breathes and neither one of you makes a single move to step away from the door until a sound down the hallway pushes you into it. 

“2606,” You repeat and he nods, swiftly moving down the hall before anyone can see him standing at your door. 

You have no idea what you’re going to tell Iseul that would make sense, but you don’t care. You stack up your room service for collection, kick on a pair of slippers, and give yourself the fastest look in the mirror ever on your way out the door. You want to be gone before she gets back, the idea of facing her and lying ten times more difficult than an empty text. 

No problem - I can’t sleep, I’m just going to walk a bit. Don’t wait up.

You don’t stick around to see if she’ll believe it. 

You try to seem casual when walking to Yunho’s room, like it's yours. You don’t want anyone to give you a second glance and wonder where you’re going, so you keep your head up, smile at anyone you pass, and when his door comes into view you scan the card like it’s any other day. 

When the heavy door shuts behind you, you sigh. 

“God, finally,” His voice startles you, and you look up to see him pacing, “I’ve been going insane all day,” 

Your shoulders drop, you aren’t alone, “Me too,”

He runs a hand through his black hair and finally stops pacing, but doesn’t come any closer, “So, this is real?” 

“It feels pretty real,” 

“How did we never feel it?” He manages, “I’ve known you for years,” 

“We’ve never touched until today,” You tell him, and that has to be the reason, it’s the only thing that makes sense. You’ve been turning it over in your mind all night, and with the exception of bumping into him last week in the hall, it’s all been polite bows and waves. 

“How is that even possible,” He breathes, “team dinners? Holiday parties? Work?” 

“Skin to skin,” You murmur, “I think that’s what it was,” 

“I had no idea,” He swallows, gesturing in the negative space between your bodies, “I always liked you, but I thought it was just, you know, a crush,” 

“You what?” Your eyebrows raise. 

“Well,” He backtracks, “not like that, it’s not like I’ve been holding a candle.” 

Your face stays neutral, but he grimaces at his own words. 

“I’m fucking this up,” He takes a deep breath, “I’m sorry, I’m really nervous.” 

Your stomach warms, “Yunho, it’s okay, honestly,” 

“I just meant I’ve always liked you, I thought about asking you out when our contracts loosened up if you were still single.” He clarifies and then you watch his face blanch, “You are single, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” You nod, “we don’t have to worry about that,” 

He nods and you see him searching for the next thing to say, the right thing. 

“Your mark,” You cut in, taking a few steps further into the room, “did it change?” 

“Completely,” He nods, “did yours?” 

“Yeah,” You wonder the right way to ask him if you can see. 

“Does it feel,” He starts.

“Warm?” 

“Yes,” He nods, “and tender?” 

“Like a fresh tattoo,” You take another step in. 

“I’ve never gotten a tattoo,” He confesses, “but I’ll take your word for it,” 

“Can I,” The words are stuck on your tongue, “maybe this is weird, but I mean, I guess we’re soulmates,” 

“You want to see it?” He surmises. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” 

His lips quirk, “I’m comfortable,”

Heat twists in your gut and you wonder if he can feel that too. If he does he doesn’t say it, but you watch as he pulls the black t-shirt off over his head. 

You’ve never seen his chest. Any inch of his skin except for his neck and arms really, and you guess that was part of keeping his soulmark covered. Idols always do, even when they’re in the most inconvenient locations, there’s always makeup or flesh colored tape or editing to take care of it. The idea that someone could replicate it and try to fake a connection is far too real for someone famous. 

He drops his shirt onto the bed and pink tinges his cheeks as he gestures towards it, “Well,” 

Your mouth drops, it’s the exact same, down to the size and the placement and every little loop and you stumble forwards to get a better look, “Yunho,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Has yours always been red?” You reach out, your fingertips hovering just over it. 

He shakes his head, “Not before today,” 

“Mine’s the same,” You tell him, your eyes glued to his sternum, “just the same,” 

You know every centimeter of this tattoo. You’ve studied it a thousand times in the mirror, tracing over every curve with your eyes, trying to find the place where the cord starts and ends. He sucks in a sharp breath as your fingers brush gently along his mark, and you feel the ghost of the sensation against your own. 

“I can’t believe we never knew,” You murmur, sliding your finger along each rounded edge. 

“You feel that?” He asks, “Right?” 

You’re nodding and moving to tug off your sweater before you can even think it through. He starts to shake his head, to say that you don’t have to, but you’re already tossing the sweater next to his discarded shirt and tugging down the front band of your bralette so he can see the whole mark. 

His eyes flick over you fast, but with the matching mark in front of him he doesn’t focus on anything else, “It’s exactly the same,” 

“I know,” You reach for his hand, but the minute more of your skin connects with his you feel your chest throb and you drop it like it burns you. 

He winces, touching his chest again, “Is it supposed to hurt?” 

“In the beginning,” You nod, “I think?” 

“Does it always feel like that?” 

“I’m not sure,” You admit, “I was going to call my sister and ask, but it’s too early at home,” 

He smiles, “Your sister found her soulmate?” 

“In highschool,” You smile back, “they’ve been bonded together since they were eighteen,” 

“Older or younger?” He asks, and you realize just how little you know about each other despite how long you’ve worked alongside him. 

“Younger,” You say.  

“I have a little brother,” He replies, “but he’s still in school,” 

You nod, painfully aware that this is such a strange conversation to have with your shirts off just standing in the middle of a hotel room, but somehow it’s easier than any date you’ve ever had. 

Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mark and he reaches out a hand again, “Can I?” 

Your heart quickens and you nod. 

His fingertips graze over the edge of your mark, mimicking your touch from before, sliding along the edges of the tattoo. His eyes widen and you know he’s feeling the sensation in his own mark, a mirror image of each other. 

“This doesn’t hurt,” He observes, letting his fingers linger. 

“I think we have to get used to each other,” You remember that fact from somewhere, “the link has been dormant for a long time, I think it takes a minute to get used to having it,” 

“Makes sense,” He murmurs, his eyes still squarely on your mark, “I’ll be honest though, I still really want to touch you,” 

“Yeah?” Your voice is thready. 

His fingers fall away and he nods, “Don’t you?” 

“Yes,” You agree, painfully quickly. 

He swallows tightly and takes the smallest step forwards, before offering out his hand, palm up and waiting for you.

Your eyes flick from his face down to his outstretched hand, and you reach for him slowly. You let your fingertips skate over the skin of his palm, down each digit, ghost the pads of your fingertips together. It’s warm, sharp and dizzying even just to brush against each other. 

You wonder what more will feel like. 

“Can I try something?” He murmurs, his voice nearly a whisper even though you’re all alone. 

You nod. 

He wets his lips unconsciously and moves a little closer, your bodies now only inches apart. Anxiety, anticipation, thrill, it all runs through your gut like a whirling wind and you shiver at the torrent of his emotions, a grin breaking out over your face. 

His smile mirrors yours, “Your heart’s beating a mile a minute,” 

“You can feel that?” 

“Yeah,” He breathes, grin widening, “this is crazy,” 

You laugh, a little nervous, a little elated, and he finally reaches out his hands. 

He takes a steadying breath, and then his fingertips brush along your jaw. 

You suck in a sharp gasp at the sensation, electric and hot, the feeling rocketing through your entire body. You tilt your face up to his as he continues his gentle touches, your eyes watching him as he studies you. His plush lips are parted, brown eyes wide with awe as he grows a little bolder to brush over your cheeks, down your throat, and back up to your jawline. 

“Feel alright?” He murmurs. 

You nod into his touch and he starts to lift off but you reach for him, “Don’t stop,” 

Your hands land safely on his hips, still covered by his sweatpants and you watch him swallow again at the sudden contact, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Warmth fills the bond, no doubt the first threads of his arousal, and you wonder if he can feel your own. If he can sense how much he’s affecting you with just his fingertips on your face. 

His hands settle back on your skin, this time smoothing across you with his palms, one hand cupping your cheek and the other sliding over your shoulder and down your bare back. 

You can barely breathe, the room so silent and around you, like the only thing in the universe that exists is the two of you orbiting each other, standing at the precipice of something so catastrophic and wonderful. 

Your hands adjust, resting on his taut abdomen as you move a little closer together, and his eyes flutter shut as he breathes through the sensation of your hands on him properly for the first time. 

“You’re so warm,” You murmur, your hands softly tracing his abdominal muscles, instinct guiding you to touch more of him, seek out every inch of him as you unconsciously make a map of his body in your mind. 

He hums pleasantly, eyes reopening, “So are you,” 

He feels so right, so essential under your touch. 

Yunho wets his lips softly with his tongue, and a nervous thrill passes through your belly. His eyes flick over you, the pad of his thumb sweeping a line over your lips. You suppress a needy sound, still trying to keep your head amidst the thrumming emotions and steady thumps of your heart. 

He doesn’t stop, just stroking your skin slowly, fingers on your back pressing just a little as he sighs. 

“Yunho,” You shiver. 

“Cold?” He gravitates a little closer. 

“N-no,” Your body is all but pressed flush against him now, and you have to lean your face up even more just to see him as he stands tall over you. 

“I…” He starts to say something but lets the words die off, like he’s thinking something through, but then he sighs, “forget it,” 

His lips are on yours. 

Yunho lifts you, wrapping his arms around your back and tugging you up into his embrace. You gasp against his mouth, finding his shoulders to hold onto as one of his arms bands around your lower back. 

The kiss is shattering, the world tilting once again, a new frequency humming between your two bodies. It’s hot, your skin buzzing from the contact, but the way you move together is fluid and easy. Your legs part naturally, settling around his hips and his free hand finds your plush thigh as he tugs you into place, slotting your bodies together like they were always meant to be. 

“I’m sorry,” He mumbles against your lips when he draws in a quick breath, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. His nose nuzzles against yours, and his lips part at the same moment yours do, tongues meeting in the space between your mouths to flick against each other. 

“Don’t,” You push closer to him, fingers knotting into the back of his hair as you kiss him back. 

He hums, the hand on your thigh sliding up to cup your ass and you shiver as his wide hand stretches across your backside, squeezing your pillowy flesh. 

A tiny whimper does leave you then, liquid heat spreading through your body, the combined sensation of both your arousals giving you a headrush. 

“So beautiful,” He sighs between kisses, “you’re so beautiful,” 

“Yunho,” Your voice is thready, his name a stretched out sound. 

He holds you close, nearly stumbling as he moves. You blink your eyes open just as he spins you both, pushing you up against the hotel wall and pinning you in place with the weight of his body.  You should slow things down, but nothing in your life has ever felt this good and you find yourself diving back to meet his kiss again. 

 His arm slides out from behind your back as he pushes closer, your body fully supported by the flat of the wall behind you and his hips under yours and one hand firmly anchored on your ass. With his arm free he cups your cheek, a pleased sound on his lips as he dips you back into the wall and deepens the kiss. 

Heat blooms through you, your kisses getting needier, artless and desperate just to get a little closer together. The kind of kissing that sounds as messy as it is, tiny pants and moans muffled between you, skin on skin, tongue on tongue. 

“God,” He shudders, his lips breaking away, but his eyes only flick over you for a second before he dives back in. This time his lips travel, hot kisses across your jaw and back to the hollow of your ear, down your throat as he holds you a little higher on the wall for the right access. 

You grip his shoulders with one hand and lock your fingers in his mess of black hair with the other, your head falling back against the wall. He pants against your throat, a soft groan as he kisses, and your stomach tightens pleasantly. 

“Y-Yunho,” You gasp, arousal rolling through you, and unconsciously you rock your hips, desperately seeking some kind of friction. 

He hums low in his throat, kissing back up your neck fast to get to your lips again and his hand slides off your cheek as he crowds you tighter, bracing himself against the wall above your head. His abdomen presses against your core, and even through layers of fabric you feel his heat. Hungrily, you roll your hips again and catch a little pressure, moaning in earnest against his mouth. 

Yunho makes a tight sound and then he breaks the kiss, his forehead pressing hard against yours as he takes in slow breaths, his body all but trembling with need as he holds you. 

“We need to slow down,” He manages. 

You can’t find words, not yet, but you nod against him. 

“You deserve better,” He says, “dates, presents,” 

You laugh softly, your hand in his hair softening from a grip to a gentle hold, carding through the long locks at the base of his neck, “I don’t need all that,”  

He smiles wide, brushing off your words, “Still,” He sighs, still recovering from the heated make out, “I think I have more self control than fulfilling our bond by fucking you into the wall,” 

Reality bleeds back in at that. Soulmarks were just that, indicator marks. A way to find your person amidst a sea of thousands, if not millions. All the shared sensation and emotion a precursor to something more permanent and binding, something only sealed together by sex. 

You lift your head up, and he leans back to mirror you. 

“I lost my head there,” You admit, warm blush in your cheeks, “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” 

He smiles, and you take in his expression. His hair is a mess, mussed and disheveled and his face is pink from his nose down to the dark, well-kissed curve of his lips. His bare chest is flushed bright pink and his eyes are bright and warm. You fight the urge to kiss him again. 

“Me either,” He shakes his head, “it’s incredible,” 

“Overwhelming,” You nod, exhaling softly. 

He makes a soft sound to agree and then starts to push back from the wall gingerly, letting you slowly unwrap your legs from his waist and ease down to the floor. 

He lets you go when you’re steady on your feet and clears his throat, adjusting the waistband of his sweatpants and running a hand through his tangled locks. He’s hard, that much is obvious from the distinct outline of his cock through the gray fabric, but you do your best to look away and not think about how thick and heavy it looked just from kissing you. 

“Jesus,” He adjusts his sweats again, “sorry,” 

“It’s fine,” You cup your own cheeks with cool fingers, “I promise you’re not the only one,” 

His eyes hold yours for a lengthy beat and then he swallows, taking a wide step back and nodding, “Right,” he shakes his head, “we’re supposed to be slowing down.” 

“Slow,” You lean against the wall behind you, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to steady your thumping heart. 

“I’m going over here,” He grins and walks to the far wall by the door to the bathroom, leaning back and crossing his own arms, “we really should talk,” 

A pulse of anxiety flickers through you, and you realize just how quickly you went from his hotel room door to nearly falling into bed. He’s handsome, a kind man, your once upon a time crush, and certainly fated to be a good match for you, but that doesn’t mean you should throw out good sense and rush things. No matter how much your impulses were screaming at you to do just that.

You try to ignore the fact that there’s a bed between you, and you nod, “You’re right,” you finally say, “we barely know each other,” 

Yunho’s smile fades just a bit, “I wouldn’t say that,” 

“We’re coworkers,” The words tumble out, “I know what we’re both feeling, but,” 

His brow furrows as he thinks through your words and he shakes his head, “y/n,” he cuts you off, “do you believe in soulmates?” 

“Yes, of course,” Even if you hadn’t before, the way you’re feeling now would be enough to dispel any skeptic. 

He takes in a quick breath, the sound sharp as he draws it through his teeth and he cocks his head slightly to the side, “You’re scared,” he massages the top of his sternum with his fingers, and you recognize your own chest is tight with anxiety, “I can feel it, talk to me.” 

The instant vulnerability of the bond is startling, and you can feel your own expression crumble. It’s suddenly a bit like being an ant caught under a magnifying glass, too much sharp attention all at once and you swallow tightly, eyes flicking away from his tender gaze. 

“y/n,” He murmurs, “I’m not pushing for more, not tonight,” 

“Yeah,” Your voice is soft, too quiet for your own liking. Something about the way he sees you so clearly and so quickly makes you feel exposed, nervous and strangely childlike. 

“Hey,” He breaks through your little thought spiral, “look at me,”

You straighten up again, finding his eyes. 

“I’m just happy I found you,” He tells you, and you feel the truth of it in your gut, “we can figure everything else out together, and at our own pace, okay?” 

Relief spreads through you, the knot in your chest loosening, “Promise?” 

“Promise,” He nods, raising one hand with his pinky extended, “I just want us to try,” 

You nod, extending your own pinky to seal it, “Me too.” 

He smiles at that, “Barely know each other,” he scolds softly, “I’m offended.” 

“Oh yeah?” Tension bleeds out of your shoulders. 

“Mhm,” His expression is full of cheek, “I’m the one with a crush, remember? I notice things,” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly and your arms relax from their tight position crossed over your chest, “What things?” 

“Let’s see,” He starts, and for a brief moment you think maybe he’s bluffing, but the moment he starts you melt and he holds your gaze as he warmly recites all the little things he’s noticed about you over the years. 

“You only wear silver jewelry,” he notes first, nodding towards you. 

Your tight hands uncurl. 

“You have a ridiculous sweet tooth,” The more he talks the more he relaxes against the far wall, “and you start getting flushed after the second shot of soju, you really are a lightweight,” 

“You always pick a Big Bang song for karaoke, and you’re late to work every Monday,” He laughs a little at that and keeps going, “you don’t wear a lot of color but when you do it’s red. We’re both from Gwangju but you moved to Seoul when you were five,” 

Your heart starts to beat a little faster, warmth filling you again and you don’t know if it’s your affection or his anymore, but it hardly matters. 

“Um,” He takes a deep breath and glances away for a moment and then catches more threads from his memory, “you’re a Sagittarius, you’re a runner, and the last book I saw you reading was Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. I bought it, but I haven’t had a chance to read it just yet,” 

“Yunho,” You find yourself smiling, a hand over your surprised lips. 

“I’m just saying,” He shrugs a little, “we aren’t strangers. I know this is scary and fast and going to change the rest of our lives,” 

Elation, pure joy, spills over unfettered from his side of your new emotional tether. 

“But I like you,” He confesses, “I have for a while, and this,” he brushes his fingers along his soulmark, “just changes the timeline.” 

He’s yours. 

You push off the wall, crossing the room and all but leap back into his embrace, your arms looping around his shoulders again as you push up on tiptoe to kiss his lips. 

“This is real,” You murmur. 

“Yes,” He cups your cheeks, nodding as he pecks your lips again. 

“You’re mine,” 

“Yes,” He grins. 

“Oh, this is crazy,” You laugh, forehead against his again. 

“We’ll go slow,” He assures you again, “we’ll figure it out together,” 

“Together,” You nod. 

He dips low once more, this kiss more tender, and he separates you both before things can heat up again. “Hmm,” He glances across the bed and makes a small face at the time displayed on the digital clock, “did you eat?” 

“I tried to,” You confess, “I was nervous,” 

“You need to eat,” He snaps up his black shirt from the bed and slips it back on, and your chest warms. It’s strangely domestic, strangely commonplace like you’ve been in this position a thousand times before. 

Yunho adjusts his shirt and then kisses your hair as he passes by you, padding over to the hotel microwave and searching through the assorted snacks and instant meals, “It’s too late for room service,” 

“I’m okay,” You pull your own sweater back on and sit on the edge of his bed. 

“y/n,” He glances back, a softly scolding tone. 

“Really, you need to sleep,” You offer. 

He dismisses that thought, “But I’m hungry, eat with me?” 

You concede, and while he starts whipping up two servings of ramen, you wonder if this is what he’s going to be like. It makes sense, he’s always been a caretaking kind of person, but having it so tenderly directed at you feels right. 

“When we get home,” He says as he pours in the spice packets, “I’ll take you somewhere nice,” 

“This is nice,” You smile. 

“y/n,” He sets the ramen on a side table and sits next to you, “this is cup noodle from a hotel microwave,”

“The company is nice,” You take the ramen happily though, and tuck into the warm meal.

“It is,”

“Mm, you know,” You slurp back some noodles and softly clear your throat, “you weren’t the only one with a crush,” 

He freezes, letting his noodles drop back into his cup, “What?” 

“I’ve always liked you,” Your own confession feels easier after his, “I put it aside since we work together, but I guess, I mean, what I’m trying to say is that we both felt it before the mark, you’re not alone in that.” 

 “I had no idea,” 

“I’m very professional,” You tease him lightly. 

He nudges you and tucks back into his noodles, “How long?” 

“Hmm,” You get more comfortable, crossing your legs and scooting back a little onto the mattress, “I thought you were cute when we first met,” 

“God,” He groans, “we were such kids,” 

You nod, swallowing another bite, “Mhm, you had that blonde hair,” 

He laughs. 

“I remember thinking, ‘that one’s trouble’,” You confess. 

“Me?” His eyebrows perk up, “I’m perfectly nice,” 

“Trouble as in you’re my type,” You roll your eyes, “but I don’t think the crush properly came until later. You’ve always made me laugh, and when I realized how I was feeling I just did my best to keep some distance,” 

He nods, face getting a little serious, “I know what you mean,” 

That knowledge leaves you both a little quiet. The late hour, the adrenaline come down, all of it barrels into you at the same moment as the next anxious thought. How in the world were you both going to navigate this with a contract as tight as theirs and the public eye always watching? 

“Yunho,” You murmur, the last of your noodles left to go cold as you sit with that thought, “Are we going to be able to figure this out?” 

“Figure what out?” He looks genuinely confused by your question, “Us?” 

“You’re an idol,” You nod towards him, “I’m staff,” 

He rests a hand on your knee, “We’ll be fine,” 

“Aren’t your contracts,” You trail off, letting him fill in the blanks. 

“They’re strict, yes,” He nods, “year seven,” 

Dating, romance, even the perception of it was more than discouraged by companies in this industry, their artists contractually obligated to be single and available and dedicated only to their fans. Five years would have been the industry standard to prevent any idol from being caught out with a partner, let alone a potential soulmarked one, but seven is excessive. 

You blanch, “That’s almost two years away,” 

“We will find a way,” He says, “we’re not the first people in the industry this has happened to,” 

“Really?” You perk up, “Who?” 

He falls short, “Well, I don’t know exactly, but it’s bound to have happened.” 

“And then ruined their careers,” You groan, flopping back flat on the mattress and covering your face with a hand, “which is why we’ve never heard of them,” 

Yunho laughs, earnestly laughs, and takes the half empty ramen cup out of your hand to discard, “Maybe, but for now, let’s just stay positive. Get to know eachother better,” 

You nod. 

“Nothing can change the fact that we found each other,” He points out, dropping down onto his side on the bed next to you, “and I’m okay with that.” 

“So we just lie to everyone?” You chew at the inside of your lip, staring up at the white ceiling. 

“Hey,” Yunho’s fingers tuck under your chin and draw your eyes to him, “I know you’re anxious,” 

You sigh, letting his softness calm you again. 

“I know,” He repeats, “I am too, but we don’t have to decide anything tonight. We’re both tired and it’s been an emotional day,” 

“Okay,” You nod, “okay, yes, you’re right,” 

His thumb strokes over your cheek again, and you watch him exhale and sink further into your touch, “Will you stay tonight?” 

That wakes you up. 

Your eyebrows raise, “Stay?” 

“Just to sleep,” He assures you, “I just… I don’t want to be without you yet,” 

“I need to get back before Iseul wakes up if we do that,” You note with a grimace. 

“What time?” He glances back to the clock. 

“Seven,” You say, “her alarm is set for seven-thirty,” 

“We can do that,” He grabs his phone off the side table and sets an alarm, “we’ll get up,” 

The pull between your bodies is so strong you’re fairly sure you would have stayed no matter the consequences, but you nod, “Then I’ll stay,” 

He grins and pushes himself off the bed, “I’ve got clothes, if you want to get comfortable,” 

“Sure,” you sit up and wait for him to find things in his still packed suitcase. 

“Um,” He pulls a pair of black sweatpants from the bag, “these should work, and if you get cold,” 

You smile as he grabs a gray hoodie and comes back to you. 

As you start to pull off your sweater again, he turns around and leaves his back to you, “Sorry,” 

“Thanks,” You chuckle, making short work of changing. You’re swimming in his clothes, but his sweatshirt smells like him and you just want to bury your face into it, “you can turn around now,” 

His shoulders relax as he turns back, and you watch his lips part as he takes you in. 

“What?” 

“You look cute,” He clears his throat, shrugging off his reaction. 

You smile and ease back onto the bed, “Oh, I get it,” you laugh, “is your guy brain on fire because I’m wearing your clothes? Is this some kind of… you won the competition, ownership thing?” 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, kneeling on the bed to shuffle closer, “No competition when you’re literally fated for me,” 

“Right,” You let the word drag out on your tongue to tease him. 

“But I like taking care of you already, and now you’re warm and comfortable,” He collapses next to you onto the mattress with a sigh, “and I know I don’t own you, but you are mine, just like I’m yours now. I won’t apologize for liking you in my clothes or in my bed, for liking when you look like my girlfriend,” 

Warmth blooms in your cheeks and you duck your face into the sheets. 

“Now come get under the covers,” He maneuvers the duvet, “it’s late, you were dead on your feet today,” 

His voice is so warm and familiar, and you slide into the covers beside him. 

In bed you keep a little distance, and despite the number of times both of you say that you should go to sleep, your conversation is almost impossible to stop. Yunho holds your hand in the middle space of the mattress between your bodies, and in the dim lighting of the hotel room you whisper thought after thought back and forth. A million things coming to mind you need to tell each other so suddenly now that you’ve found each other. 

As you talk his fingers travel, restlessly stroking your skin, up and down your arm and tapping out patterns. When his palm slides back and forth over the sharp lines of the tattoos on your upper arm, and you feel the question slipping out of your lips and revealing more about yourself than you intended before you can catch it. 

“Your parents,” You blurt out, “will they be happy?” He’s spoken about them so much over the past hour that you can’t help but ask him that question point blank. 

“So happy,” He responds with ease, a laugh on his lips, “they always worried me being an idol meant I’d never be able to find the one and settle down, they’re going to love this story,” 

You smile at the easy way he calls you ‘the one’, but the question you really asked still remains unanswered and you exhale softly, “But,” you manage, “will they be happy with me?” 

Yunho stills, reaching across the bed to hook his finger under your chin and draw your eyes up to his again, “Very happy,” he says, “just like I am.” 

Your muscles relax, his words a soothing balm, and you adjust your position on the pillow beneath you, “Just checking,” 

“Mhm,” He studies your face, “jagi, why wouldn’t they be happy with you?” 

The endearment slips off his lips with ease, and a burst of warmth spreads through you. You’ve never needed pet names and softness like this from a partner, but from him it makes your heart quicken. 

The momentary elation fades though, and his question comes back into your mind. You take a deep breath, you owe it to him to tell him now, “My family won’t be happy,” 

“With me?” His eyebrows raise. 

“It’s me,” You shake your head, “my parents have difficult ideals, and I’ve never pleased them. It wouldn’t matter who you were, they… they’ll find a way to not be happy for me.”

His eyes soften, and his thumb strokes along your jaw, “I’m sorry,” 

“It is what it is,” 

“Are your parents soulmates?” He asks softly. 

You shake your head, “No, they don’t really believe in soulmarks,” 

You watch his eyes widen in surprise. 

“Unless,” You can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “the match is ‘fortuitous’,” 

“For status?” He surmises. 

“Status, money,” You shrug, “connection. But I think I could marry the next president and they’d still find a way to be disappointed in me,” 

His jaw flexes tense for just a moment, before his expression smooths over again. 

“Anyway,” You clear the bad thoughts away as quickly as they came, “my sister and I never went along like they wanted, like my cousins and the rest of my family, so we are the great disappointments. It’s not… it’s fine, but, I guess you should know before we, you know,” 

He smiles, a bit of amusement in his expression that you can’t place, “Did you think having bad parents would scare me off?” 

“It could,” 

“No,” He slides a hand under your side and tugs you across the mattress to press a fast kiss to your lips, “it never could.” 

“But I’m,” You start, all the reasons why a partner might care ringing in your ears. 

“Beautiful?” He cuts you off, “Just my type? If it’s anything else I don’t want to hear you say it,” 

Your stomach flip flops hard and you push lightly against his chest to get him to stop. 

“The thing is,” He brushes your hair back from your cheek, “my parents are soulmates. I grew up in a house full of a lot of love, even when they were being strict and scolding us.” 

Your smile at his warm expression. 

“So I know they’ll love you,” He explains, “they know what this feels like, what it means. I have plenty of family for us both,” 

Your throat constricts, tears threatening for a moment. 

“Your sister, though,” He grounds you out of the bad thoughts without even thinking, “you two are close?” 

“Very,”

“I’d like to meet her,” He smiles. 

“You two would get along great, my sister and her wife both, actually,” 

Yunho nods, listening attentively, “Do they have kids?” 

“Not yet,” You groan, “but I’m dying to be an auntie,” 

His thumb drags a comforting line across your cheekbone, his expression warm and affectionate, “Cute,” 

You sink into the pillows, a yawn creeping up to your lips, “She’s going to lose her mind when I call her,”  

“Yeah?” 

“Mm,” You huff a laugh, “she thought that when I started working here I should have found an inconspicuous way to bump into all of you to test possible bonds. She’s going to be riding the ‘I told you so’ train.” 

“She’s funny,” He smirks. 

“Very,” You sigh, unconsciously cuddling into his warmth. 

“Has it been a while since you’ve seen her?” He asks softly, adjusting his arms around you so that you’re cradled against his chest with the pillows at your back. 

“Mhm,” You yawn again, the warmth of his body settling the last of the adrenaline inside you, “a while,” 

“Let’s find a day off after the tour,” He tucks the duvet around you. 

“Yeah?” Your eyes feel heavy. 

“Yeah,” He kisses your forehead. 

“Yunho,” You yawn again, dipping your forehead into his chest, “God, I’m so tired again,” 

“Mhm,” He yawns too, “me too, jagi,” 

You hum softly, fingers slipping under the edge of his shirt just to feel a little skin, “I like that,” you murmur, “I like you,” 

“I like you too,” He chuckles, “now go to sleep,” 

A piece of you wants to protest, wants more time cocooned in this day with him, but something about his body feels so right. After a week of sleeping poorly, your body tight and anxious and heart fluttering for no reason at all, when he touches you, your mind goes blissfully blank. 

Your muscles relax, your breath dropping low and soft in your chest. 

Nuzzled against his tattoo, you drift.

You’re supposed to wake up to an alarm. Early enough that you could slip back into your hotel room and your own bed to yawn and stretch next to Iseul and make her believe you were there the whole night. That’s what was supposed to happen. 

Instead, you wake to the heavy sound of a hotel door and Seonghwa’s voice, Yunho jolting awake beside you. 

“Oh my god,” Seonghwa says for what sounds like the third time to your fuzzy sleep-addled brain, “oh my god?” 

“Hyung,” Yunho pushes himself up, his arms unwinding from around you, “hey, don’t freak out,” 

“Don’t freak out,” Seonghwa’s eyes blow wide, “are you fucking kidding me? Hongjoong is going to kill you,”

“You don’t understand,” Sleep is still heavy on him and he shakes his head to try to pull himself away. 

“I understand plenty,” Seonghwa counters, “how long have you been lying to us?” 

His reaction surprises you, and you ease yourself up to sit next to Yunho. You’re not sure what to say or not say, you don’t know what they’ve discussed in the past when it comes to dating and relationships, but by  Seonghwa’s outburst you can guess it’s honesty at a minimum. 

Yunho’s face falls, “No, it’s not that,” 

“I can tell you what it looks like,” Seonghwa lowers his voice to what amounts to a stage whisper. 

“Hyung,” Yunho rubs his eyes, running a hand through his mop of black hair. 

“It looks like you’ve been sneaking around,” He continues, “how long have you two been fucking?” 

“Hey,” Yunho’s voice sharpens, and his hand crosses your body to anchor on your opposite thigh. 

Seonghwa’s eyes track it and he shakes his head, “This is so stupid,” he steps back in surprise, “you’re both being so, incredibly stupid.” 

Yunho gives you a squeeze and opens his mouth to reply but Seonghwa keeps going. 

“Naive is what it is,” 

Irritation bubbles in your gut and you can’t stop yourself, “Seonghwa, will you shut up for one second?” 

He stops in his tracks, mouth falling open, “What?” 

“Can you please,” You hold his gaze, “please, just listen to Yunho for a minute before you jump to conclusions.” 

He shifts, taking a step back and crossing his arms, and then he looks to Yunho. 

Yunho finds your eyes quickly, silently asking, and you give him a nod. 

“Okay,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair again, “I’ll just say it.” 

Seonghwa waits, his expression completely neutral except for the irritated corner of his lips.

“y/n is my soulmate,” Yunho squeezes your thigh again and you slip your hand into his to twine your fingers together, “we didn’t know, but now we do.” 

Seonghwa’s brows go high, shock filling his features. 

“We’re not hiding,” You add, “we just… it’s just,” 

“How long?” Seonghwa manages. 

“Soundcheck yesterday,” Yunho says, “we haven’t known long enough to lie, hyung.” 

“You’re sure?” He looks between you both, and you know what he’s thinking. How could it be possible to know each other for years and not know. 

“We’re sure,” You answer confidently, calmly, “I swear,” 

“It’s real,” Yunho’s thumb strokes across knuckles, “it’s very real.” 

Seonghwa swallows, taking in the news and sinks back against the hotel dresser, “Well, fuck,” 

“Yeah,” Yunho laughs. 

“You were off timing yesterday,” Seonghwa points out, “and distracted,” 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Yunho grimaces. 

“No, but,” He shrugs, “I know you and you’re never off time.” 

“It wasn’t easy to focus on the show yesterday,” Yunho admits. 

“I’m sorry,” You nudge him with your shoulder, knowing a huge portion of that must have been the panic flooding his side of the link. 

He shakes his head, “There’s nothing to be sorry for,”

When you look back up, Seonghwa is smiling and he sighs, “Oh, you’ve both got it bad.” 

“Obviously,” You hide your face in your sweatshirt sleeve. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Seonghwa asks, “Because you can’t act like this around anyone else,” 

Your mouth feels dry. 

“We don’t know,” Yunho answers, “we have to figure that out, for now I think we just try to keep things normal.” 

Seonghwa nods and then leans forward, “Listen, I know you’re not asking for my advice,” 

You both wait. 

“But you're my brother,” Seonghwa says unequivocally, “so I’m going to give you some anyway.” 

Yunho nods. 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve,” Seonghwa points out, “and I’m sure it will be hard to act like acquaintances in front of everyone, but you have to do it, at least until you make a plan.” 

“Yeah,” Yunho’s cheeks are a little pink and he squeezes your hand. 

“No one fires the idol for things like this,” He reminds you both, “so for her sake, put it away for today.” 

“He’s right,” You nod, “today we go back to coworkers,” 

Yunho draws your clasped hands up and kisses your fingers, “Okay,” 

“You’re lucky I offered to check on you,” Seonghwa sighs heavily, “if any of the managers came in,” 

“Check on me?” Yunho perks up at that, “Hwa, why,” 

Things come into focus for you at that moment, how bright the hotel room is with sunlight, how well rested you really feel. You twist in the bed and look at the digital clock, “Oh no,” 

“You were late,” Seonghwa explains, “we figured you overslept, I offered to use the spare key to get you up.” 

“Fuck,” Yunho curses. 

You both slept straight through Yunho’s alarm. 

“Iseul is going to fucking kill me,” You roll out of bed, your hands breaking apart as you scramble for you phone, “what the hell am I going to tell her?” 

Your phone reads nine-thirty. In thirty minutes you’re supposed to be packed into a van and on the way to the venue and when you look at the collection of notifications your stomach churns. 

Three calls from Iseul, and a lengthy string of text messages. 

Did you already get up and get ready?

Your work bag is still here…

Not funny, girl, where are you?

Did you make it back last night? 

Can you answer me?? 

I’m getting worried. I haven’t heard anything - You haven’t even read these? 

You better not be dead in a ditch, I’ll kill you myself. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Your hands are trembling as you tap out the fastest reply - Alive, be right there.

Yunho’s a whirlwind behind you, stripping out of his sleep clothes and yanking on whatever outfit is at the top of his suitcase, “It’s fine, it’s going to be fine,” 

“Sure,” You search the floor for your jeans and dart into the bathroom, “my best friend is going to murder me though,” 

You change at lightning speed, swapping his sweats for your jeans and then tying up your hair into a messy bun before pushing back out into the main room. 

“Everyone’s downstairs,” Seonghwa offers, “you shouldn’t run into anyone on the way back to your room.” 

“Good, okay, good,” Your heart is pounding, “where’s my room key?” 

“Here,” Yunho darts forwards and finds the little envelope, passing it to you, “take a breath,” 

“I have to go,” You manage, “I have to think of something,” 

“Don’t kiss and tell,” Seonghwa offers and he’s being funny but it’s vaguely helpful. 

“Wait,” Yunho grabs your hand and tugs you back, snapping your phone out of your hand. 

“Yunho, I don’t,” You start to say but he waves you off. 

He types fast, adding himself as a contact in Kakao Talk, “My number,” he explains. 

Seonghwa huffs a laugh. 

You take the phone back and tuck it into your pocket, “I’ll message you later,” 

“Good,” He dips forwards and presses one warm, tender kiss to your lips, “now get out of here,” 

You kiss him back, just once and fast, a little shred of self indulgence before you have to act like he’s just another guy, and then you’re darting out of the room, shouting back a thank you at Seonghwa as you go. 

You navigate the halls fast, and opt to take the stairs to get down one floor faster and more inconspicuously. You take a deep breath when you get to your hotel door, and then you dive. 

“So you are alive,” Iseul’s waiting, just like you thought she might be. She’s sitting on your still made bed, her phone in her hands and a tense expression on her face, “I was just about to tell the managers you were missing,” 

“I’m so sorry, seriously, I didn’t mean to worry you,” You take a few steps into the room. 

Her eyes flick over you, and you realize at the moment her eyes widen that you’re still wearing Yunho’s hoodie, your sweater still discarded on his bedroom floor. 

“You hooked up with someone?” Her voice spikes, “Are you kidding me?” 

Thankfully the hoodie is plain, just a heather gray with no identifying attributes that scream his name, but you’re still swimming in it and it’s clear you’re rumpled from bed. 

“Listen,” You hold up your hands, “I didn’t mean to not text you, I just fell asleep,” 

“With some guy?” She stands. 

“Yes,” You settle on some version of the truth. 

“Who?” She flounders, “We’re supposed to text each other,” 

And you always did, when either one of you went home with someone there was always a little preemptive safety report. A name, an address, a shared location, something so that you weren’t completely alone in the world with a strange guy. 

“I’m sorry,” You say again. 

She studies you, and it’s like she’s looking through you. 

“Oh my god,” Her eyes widen, “we know him.” 

“Iseul,” Your cheeks heat. 

She points at you, “I’m right!” 

“It’s not a big deal,” You skirt around her words. 

“The only reason you wouldn’t text me is if you were with someone we both know,” She narrows her eyes, “so give it up.” 

“I can’t,” You press, “leave it,” 

“Why are you being so weird?” 

“Iseul,” You sigh, avoiding her gaze, “I just woke up in a panic, and I have like fifteen minutes to get showered, can you give me the third degree later?” 

“I’m not letting this go,” 

“Yeah,” You pull off Yunho’s sweatshirt and head to the bathroom, “I know, but we have work.” 

“Work with a coworker you slept with,” She stands in the doorway while you start the shower, and you realize her tone isn’t so much as angry anymore but probing. 

“I didn’t sleep with him,” You groan, “well, I guess I did, but we didn’t have sex, okay?” 

“That’s awfully cozy for a one night stand,” She crosses her arms, “unless you’re seeing someone? Are you seeing someone?” 

“No,” You test the water heat and unbutton your jeans, “I swear I’ll explain another time, but can you just drop it for today? Or do you want to stand here and watch me shower?” 

“Fine,” She concedes, “you will tell me?” 

“I swear,” You nod, “I want to tell you, but I’m not ready yet, okay?” 

Her eyes soften up at that, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You nod, “but I’m having big feelings about it and I need to work it out,”

“Oh,” In all the years you’ve known her, she’s never seen you in love or even close, and she just blinks, “got it,” 

“Can I shower now?” You gesture towards the running water. 

“Yeah,” She steps back, “yeah, but I’m still mad you didn’t text me.” 

“Okay,” 

“And I’m still going to guess who it is,” She smirks. 

“Fine,” 

Her smile widens and she rolls her eyes, “I bet it’s one of the BB guys, isn’t it? You always like a dancer,” 

She turns the corner before she can watch you blushing harder, so nearly on the money with her guess, but you put it all out of your mind for now and focus on your day. You’re late, and it’s about to be another long one. You’ll have time for everything else later, if you can just keep your cool. 

Work is bizarre to say the least. You and Yunho both do an excellent job of not looking at each other except for when he’s in your makeup chair, and you’re getting better and better at ignoring both San’s and Seonghwa’s nervous glances. 

This time you start the makeup early, less time pressure with the schedule adjustments, and the night goes off without a hitch. Soundcheck to stage to VIP benefits, it’s a whirlwind and you’re grateful for the distractions everywhere you look. 

You can still feel him, emotions from his side of the link ebbing and flowing throughout the day, but the sharp intensity of yesterday has dulled a bit after your night together. In quiet moments you find yourself thinking about his lips, or the way his hands held you as you tumbled into sleep, but you push it down and stay professional. 

As the show ends, Iseul ropes you into team dinner, desperate to observe who you interact with and how, still on her quest to find your mystery bed partner, but the boys aren’t there and so there’s nothing for her to really see. 

Later, with Iseul passed out from one too many shots of soju, you slip back into Yunho’s hoodie and cuddle into the warmth of your own bed. You need more sleep, you know that, but your brain isn’t cooperating. You toss and turn in the sheets, body feeling like a taut cord, and all you can think of is him. 

You miss him. 

It’s not even two days of having him in your life like this and you feel nervous and achy without him. There’s no way you’ll survive two years of this. 

Over an hour passes as you sigh, changing positions again and again, and then your phone finally buzzes. You scramble to see if it’s a message from him, nearly dropping your phone in the process. 

Can’t sleep? - He must be feeling your restlessness. 

Not at all - You reply, chest feeling warm at the contact. 

Little bubbles pop up immediately to indicate he’s typing and then another message pops on your screen - You’d think after last night we’d both be exhausted.

So you’re as awake as I am? 

Just can’t relax. I liked having you here last night. - He confesses. 

You roll over in the bedding onto your front and push the pillow under your chest before you keep texting - I liked it too. I’d come up except Iseul wouldn’t lay off guessing who I was with this morning. 

Oh? Did she guess correctly? - You can practically see the smirk on his face. 

Nope - You tease back. 

Was she upset? - He asks. 

At first, but I told her I would tell her soon I just needed some time - You reply. 

That’s good, honest. - His message makes you smile. 

How was Seonghwa? - You tap out. 

Fine…. stressing and acting like a hyung, you know - He says. 

You smile and type out another message - Is he keeping this to himself for now?

Yes - Yunho’s message comes in, and then another - For now, he knows we need to decide things first. 

That’s good - You send back. 

Things lull for a moment, and you try to think of something more to say, but Yunho swoops in with a question that makes you bite your lip to keep from laughing - Who did Iseul guess you were with? Was I even on the list?

I thought you’d be happy she didn’t guess - You reply. 

Bubbles appear immediately, then another message - I’m a little offended, I’m the obvious choice.

Why’s that? - You tease him. 

You feel something warm in your chest, and his next message flies back - I thought I was your type? 

You stifle another laugh - You are, she’s not very observant.

So who did she guess? 

Your belly flip flops and you hide your face in the pillow for a moment. His obvious jealousy, even just to tease you, is making your heart quicken and you can’t stop yourself from making it harder on him. 

You take a breath and reply - About half the BB crew and a few of your managers.

The replies don’t come for a moment, and you nervously refresh the chat. 

Finally a message comes in - I’m trying to think of something funny to say, but I’m actually just irrationally jealous. 

She was just teasing, no need to be jealous - You smile into your hand. 

Doesn’t matter - He says - Now I’m just here alone wondering which of our coworkers Iseul thinks you have chemistry with

He is jealous. You swallow hard, trying to ignore the swooping sensation in your belly and press your legs a little tighter together. If you close your eyes you can feel the echo of his hands on you from last night, and all you want in the world is for him to come down here and kiss you hard like that again. 

With a slow exhale you return to your phone - Don’t be jealous, Yunho. We both know I’m yours.

Yeah? - His reply comes after a beat - No need to be jealous then.

Exactly - You reply. 

I bet you like it a little though - His message flies in as yours sends.

You feel warm all over and you run a nervous hand through your hair before replying - No, I don’t. 

Jagi, you forget I can feel how worked up you’re getting. 

Your stomach clenches, drops and twists. He’s going to be the death of you and you’re still just flirting.  

You work up the courage and finally send your reply - You’re the one that pinned me to the wall last night. 

I’ve been thinking about that all day - The message reply is fast. 

You smile and bite your lip, snuggling further into the mattress and trying to ignore the growing pulse between your thighs - You did seem distracted during rehearsals.

You feel warmth in your chest, and you know exactly how much your flirting is affecting him. Another text pings through and you shiver when you read it - How could I not be distracted with you there? All I could think about was the way you said my name last night. 

Your thighs press together - Yunho?

Yes, jagi?

Or more whiny, was it? Yunho-ya? - You type it out fully, emphasizing the extended sound, knowing exactly what he wants to hear from the way he gripped you last night. 

The room is suddenly hot, and your heart beats faster to sync with his. 

It takes a moment for him to respond, bubbles popping up and then receding again and you wonder how he’s lying in bed. If he’s hard already, if he’s palming himself? You wonder if he sleeps naked when he’s alone and youre core clenches, arousal pooling in your gut and you know he can feel the threads of it. When he finally presses send on his message you have to cover your mouth to keep quiet. 

Feeling needy? Are you squirming around in that hotel bed wishing for me, sweetheart?

You feel that message from your top to your toes and you steal a fast glance at the bed next to you. Iseul is sound asleep, turned away from you and snoring softly, and you let out a relieved, shuddering breath. 

You could pump the brakes here, tease him and find a way to say goodnight, but you simply can’t. Need and arousal overwhelms you and you tap back your reply fast - I’ve been aching all day.

Do you have headphones? 

The question catches you off guard, but you write back - Yes, airpods.

Put them in - He says, and you swallow tightly, reaching for the little headphone case on your bedside table. 

Your fingers are shaking as you take them out of the case and put them in, making sure they’re connected before you reply - Done. 

His call lights up your phone, ringing in your headphones and you swipe to answer with a panicked glance at the bed next to you, but Iseul sleeps on, none the wiser. 

“y/n?” His voice is so rich and quiet, a little raspy edge after singing all night and you nearly moan. 

“Hi,” You whisper as soft as you can, “I can’t,” 

“Don’t talk,” He soothes you, “don’t wake Iseul up, I’ll talk to you and you can text me back, okay?” 

You minimize the call and open your chat back up, sending him a quick emoji to acknowledge his words. 

“Perfect,” He laughs softly, “this is way easier than texting. Listen, I know we said slow, but I’d love to help you relax if you want that. If not, I can just say goodnight, it’s up to you.” 

You exhale softly, a needy thrill in your gut - Let’s relax together. 

“Oh,” He sighs pleasantly, “yes, I’d love that.” 

You want me? - You ask. 

“You can feel how much I do,” He responds, “I’m sitting here convincing myself not to come downstairs and get my hands on you.” 

You hum softly, shifting in the sheets and relaxing deeper into the pillows. 

You hear his own breath, the way he parts his lips with a wet sound, “Can you tell me what position you’re in?” 

You tap out the reply - Lying on my front, on my stomach. 

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased, “I bet you look so cute, all twisted up in the sheets and blushing,” 

I was tossing and turning. 

“I bet you were,” He groans a little, “I tried everything. I hit the gym, cold shower, did some deep breathing, but you have me so keyed up I can’t sleep,” 

You send him another emoji, the blushing face. 

He laughs, the rumble of it too deep and warm in your ear with your headphones in. 

You tap out another message - What position are you in? Trying to picture it. 

You hear him shift around in the sheets, “I’m on my back,” 

Wearing? 

He chuckles, “Aren’t I supposed to be the one asking what you’re wearing?” 

I asked you first.

“Fair,” He shifts again, and you picture him restless on his back in the bed you shared the night before, “just boxers,” 

A heavy sigh passes through your lips. 

“And you?” 

You wish it were sexier all of a sudden, but that just wouldn’t be practical in a room with your friend so you tell him honestly - Pajamas, the button down kind, they’re gray. 

“God, you’re adorable,” The covers on his end shift again, “wish you were up here with me.” 

Me too 

“This is probably better,” He says though, “I don’t think I could hold myself back for another night.” 

Me either - You confess. 

“y/n,” His voice warms, low in his chest, “jagiya, can I help you? Can I tell you what I want you to do?” 

Your hands are shaking and you type the reply so fast there’s a typo that you have to fix - Pfease - Please.

He chuckles, “Alright, get comfortable, just listen to my voice, okay?” 

You message him one last thought - What about you?

“I’m… I’m, uh,” He lets out a shaky breath, “I’m already stroking for you,” 

You press your lips together to keep from making a sound, dropping your forehead to the pillow in front of you. 

That’s so hot - You text him quickly when you hear him say your name, probably a little nervous he came on too strong. 

He hums, “Good,” he says, “then don’t worry about me, just listen to my voice.” 

You set your phone to the side, snuggling into the mattress and the pillows just like he asked for, sparing one more glance at Iseul to confirm she’s still completely out of it. 

“Comfy?” He asks when you stop shifting around. 

“Mhm,” You murmur in a whisper. 

“Good,” He sighs, “now slip one of your hands under your cute little pajamas, between your thighs.” 

You slide your arm down, tucking it under your body and into your sleep pants. 

“Under your panties too,” He says, his voice a little husky. 

“Mhm,” You murmur again, following his words. 

“Tease a little for me,” He instructs you, “not too fast, just your fingertips on the outside,” 

You breathe low and slow, gently passing the pads of your fingers over your slit, just barely ghosting against the hard nub of your clit. 

“I bet you look so pretty right now,” He groans a little and you hear the sound of sheets, “you make the cutest faces when you’re feeling good,” 

You make the tiniest noise of acknowledgement, fingers still brushing your cunt. 

“Can’t wait to see you fall apart for real,” He confesses, a strain in his tone as he sighs, and you picture him. His long legs spread wide in the bed, stretching from corner to corner, his boxer briefs pushed down and his hand fisting his cock. 

You’re going to lose it when you finally get to touch him again. 

“You can touch now,” He murmurs, getting your attention back, “are you wet?” 

You push your fingers through your folds and sigh when you feel just how slick and swollen you are. With your other hand you find the phone nearby and tap out a quick message - So wet

“That’s good, that’s so good,” 

Your fingers start to circle on your oversensitive nub and there’s no way he won’t have you coming in five minutes or less with it feeling this good and his heavy breath in your ear. 

“R-rub your clit for me,” He pants and your eyes roll, you can hear the sounds of the sheets rhythmically swishing as he pumps his cock harder, “get your fingers nice and wet,” 

You whimper into the pillow, biting down hard on your cheek to keep yourself in check. 

“Oh, fuck,” He groans, “sound so pretty,” 

You rub harder, faster, your legs stretching wide under the downy comforter to give you better access. 

“Baby,” He gets your attention with that, “push two fingers inside yourself, imagine I’m there with you,” 

You shift, hand slipping lower and body arching to slide your middle and ring finger as deep as they’ll go. You stay mostly quiet this time, but your breathing is heavy and you’re sure he can hear it. 

“Close your eyes,” He murmurs, “picture my fingers,” 

You gasp softly. 

“Grind,” He tells you, “grind your pussy on my palm and feel my fingers fucking you,” 

You bite back a moan, only the slip of a soft sound into the microphone as you start to rock, rolling your hips and working your clit against your hand as you sink into his fantasy. You always took him for soft, the romantic type who’d blush at saying the word ‘pussy’ let alone talking you through what’s bound to be the headiest orgasm of your life, but you’ve never been so happy to be wrong. 

“Yes,” Yunho moans and you shudder, “I can hear you moving, you’re doing so good,” 

Pleasurable stars burst behind your eyes and you grind harder into your slick palm. 

“So good,” He groans and you hear him roll in the bedding, his voice changing to something lower and breathier, and then the rhythmic rock of sheets from his side of the phone tells you all you need to know. You can almost see it, Yunho braced on his forearms, hips thrusting to drive his cock in and out of his hot fist, his face buried in the pillow you slept on the night before. 

Heat melts through you, your body alight, and you grapple to find the phone again - Close

“Already?” He says in a flushed exhale, “You’re so hot, that’s so hot,” 

You need him to talk to you, you need him to tell you what to do, and you whimper into the bedding as you work your body faster up to the peak. 

“You gonna come for me?” He murmurs, “Yeah? Hmm?” 

You drop the phone and press a hand over your lips, stifling the threat of a real moan. 

“Let go,” His voice is so low in your ear you can practically feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, “come for me,” 

Your legs are trembling, knees digging into the mattress and sweat gathered on your brow, and you feel the pressure start to crack open inside you, “Coming,” you whimper into your fingers so he knows, and then it breaks. 

“God, good girl, yes,” He groans, “I’m coming with you, fuck,” 

Your body curls into itself as you release, locking up in pleasure as you feel wave after wave of heat. You bite down on your knuckle to keep from making a sound, silently falling apart, dimly aware somewhere in your gut that half the heat you felt was his, that part of that pleasure was his own. 

Yunho moans in your ear as you ride the sensations, panting and cursing and you can’t wait to feel him pulsing inside you while he sounds this good. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to recover, but when your brain starts to connect again you realize you’re panting against the cool flat of the mattress and both your phone and pillow are nowhere to be found. You swallow hard and pop your head up, but Iseul hasn’t moved an inch and you thank god for her liberal use of melatonin while traveling. 

In your ear you register the sound of Yunho’s breath and the end of a sentence, “still there?” 

He must have been talking, and you try to focus in on the sound of him now as you slip your hand out from between your sticky thighs. 

He exhales slowly and you hear him shifting around, “y/n, baby, are you there?” 

 “Uh-huh,” You manage. 

“Sleepy?” He murmurs, misreading your sound, “That’s okay,” 

You make a tiny noise of protest and search the bed for your phone. 

“Baby?” He’s confused and you grin at his sleepy sated tone. 

Sliding off the bed onto nearly boneless legs, you find your pillow off to the side and your phone underneath. You snap it up and send a message quickly - Wait

“Wait?” He breathes, “Sure, I’m not going anywhere, I’m here,” 

You tiptoe to the bathroom as quietly as you can and then shut yourself behind the heavy door, flicking on the light and collapsing to sit on the closed toilet lid. 

You disconnect your earbuds and bring your phone to your ear, “Hey,” 

“Hey,” He murmurs, “you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You smile, still a little breathless, “Hiding in the bathroom for a sec so I could actually talk to you,” 

He hums, a quiet, lazy laugh, “Ah,” 

“Are you okay?” You find yourself asking, a little nervous tumble in your gut. 

“Me?” He says, “I’m incredible, you’re incredible,” 

“Yeah?” You draw your knees up, wrapping your arms around yourself and smiling into the phone. 

“That wasn’t too much, was it?” He checks, but you still hear the sound of him calling you ‘good girl’ and you shiver. 

“Not too much,” You sigh into the phone. 

“Good,” He hums, “I thought so, I was trying to pay attention to how you were feeling, but it was a little,”

“Hard to focus?” You offer and he laughs. 

“Yeah,” He sighs again, heavy and sated. 

“I can’t wait for this tour to be over,” You confess, “I just want to be with you,” 

You feel a pang in your chest and listen as Yunho rolls in the sheets, “I know, I want that too,” 

A little lump forms in your throat and you breathe through it, “Yunho,” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Have you ever felt like this before?” Your thundering heart has started to slow, and you let your eyes close as you murmur the question. 

“Never,” He murmurs, “but I felt this way before we touched,” 

You feel his tenderness wrap around your heart as if he were in the room with you, and with a small smile you whisper, “I thought you said you weren’t holding a candle?” 

“I lied,” He says softly, “it’s been you for a long time,” 

He doesn’t say it, not in so many words, but you feel the way he loves you through the link in a wave. It’s as good as any confession to you, just as honest if not more so. 

“I wish I could come upstairs,” You manage, tears pricking your eyes. 

You hear him swallow and breathe a slow breath through his nose, “Soon, I promise. We’re going to do this right,” 

“I know,” 

“Are your headphones still in?” He asks

“No, but I can switch back,” 

“Put them back in and go get back in bed,” He softly instructs, “it’s late, but I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?” 

“Okay,” You swap back over to your earbuds and adjust them. 

“Get back to bed,” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Yunho,” You interrupt him, “thank you for staying with me,” 

“Always,” He says, and for the first time in your life when someone says they’ll be there, you believe it. 

“I’m going back out,” Your voice drops to a whisper, “good night,” 

“Mhm,” He listens as you slip back into bed, “just get comfortable, just breathe. I’m right here with you, jagiya, I’ll be right here.” 

He murmurs to you softly until your mind is sinking into darkness, body finally unspooling and letting you drop off into sleep. It’s not the same as his arms around you, but it settles you more than any meditation, his voice a steady whisper through your dreams. 

In the morning when you wake the call is still connected and the first sound you hear is his slow breath and the steady beat of his heart.

[theesteppenwolf]

More Lucanis rambles because I’m still thinking about it and got nothing better to do :P

I am not here to tell anyone how to feel but putting words into peoples mouths who criticize the Lucanis romance (or Lucanis in general) for being unsatisfactory by saying;

“You don’t know what a slow burn is/ it’s because you expected zevran / you don’t get it he’s traumatized/ you just wanted something spicy and didn’t get it so now you’re mad” etc.

Is completely disregarding the fact that his lack of reactions and lack of content actually led people to believe he is bugged. Most DA fans didn’t expect spice or steam or whatever but they did expect an effective story, one they didn’t get.

This is at the end of the day a visual storytelling medium and implication will only get you so far, if i have to start thinking up entire plotlines in my head to make sense of the story or relationship progression then they failed at good storytelling. If i have to write paragraphs of explanations that the game doesn’t even remotely touch on then that isn’t a slow burn, it’s just a lack of content and poor pacing.

If he is traumatized and reluctant because of it you have to give me a scene where i can actually read that. If he is awkward and doesn’t know how to react to flirting you have to exaggerate to an extent for people to tell. If there is longing and angst give me banter that reflects it.

A romance in a game should give me some kind of deeper personal insight into a character and if i have to do the writers job and in my head think up those insights then the actual romance is mostly moot. I’m not saying give me all the details i’m saying at the very least give me a jumping point, some info buried in the game i won’t get otherwise. His romance fails at this.

Mary Kirby was fired yes and it’s awful what happened but unfortunately the product still remains and it leaves a lot to be desired for a big amount of people. When players are straight up going back on saves to romance someone else it’s a real problem. For me, it soured my first playthrough, especially later when i saw how Davrin and Emmrich had content, convos, specific romance outings and at the bare minimum actually had a noticeable reaction to flirting dialogue.

Again I’m not telling anyone how to feel, if it works for you that’s awesome, but to disregard his obvious lack of content by calling other fans basically stupid is incredibly disingenuous.

I love his character, loved it since The Wigmakers Job and he is still my favorite after my first playthrough. I think the beginning of his romance was very promising and the end is great but everything else is missing I’m sorry. His romance was not well executed and i honestly don’t think his character really was either. (But i won’t vent about that right now)

I know what a slow burn is, i was not expecting Zevran, i did not want a steamy romance. I wanted a well executed story and i didn’t get one. I am critical because i think it could’ve been great, i still love the game and i am not shitting on it, his character or other fans i just hate wasted potential.

[purplecoffee13]

Nemesis with Benefits - Part 6

Summary: “Three weeks have passed, and the inevitable truth leads to some harsh conversations…”

Wc: 3.3k

Tropes: enemies-to-lovers

Warnings: ANGST big time, fighting, crying (my heart hurts)

A/N: hello… I finally finished the newest chapter and I immediately wanted to get it out so you can all read it. I am incredibly sorry that it took so long, and I am also sorry for the amount of sadness in this chapter… but it had to happen🥲

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It's been three weeks since you last saw Harry, and you feel terrible.

About what exactly? You're not sure. Dylan's sudden appearance. Harry just— walking out. What Harry and Dylan did to you. What you have been doing with Harry...

It seems that, just as the dust had started to settle, this tornado entirely threw you for a loop again. Finally getting to terms with your feelings and accepting the idea of a friendship with Harry, it all came crashing down the moment you spotted Dylan at that pool table.

You'd spent hours furiously scribbling in your notebook to understand the depths of this tricky situation you'd managed to work yourself into, but you haven't found a logical solution or explanation for any of it.

Only that Dylan is a total dick, that is.

You had to admit that you needed some time to come down from the shock and bottled up feelings that had exploded right in front of your face. But by the end of the week, you were ready to find Harry and talk about this. What that conversation would lead to, you had no idea, but speaking to him was vital.

And apparently impossible.

He wouldn’t respond to your texts, nor your calls when you eventually decided to give calling him a try. When you'd finally mustered up the courage to sneakily ask Benjamin about Harry's whereabouts, you were smacked in the face with the news that Harry had left.

He'd gone home to England to visit his family, Benjamin said. When you'd asked whether it had to do anything with the Dylan fiasco, Benjamin had shrugged and said that Harry did visit his family every single year. But he also mentioned he went a bit earlier than planned, so he thought the other night might have had a little bit to do with it.

Planned or not planned, it left you with a lot of confusion and doubt for the next two weeks, one of which you spent in your own hometown, trying to enjoy spring break as much as you could with a broken heart and an occupied mind.

You hadn't returned to your college town yet when Harry finally did, and you were bummed about not being able to talk to him. Rebecca and Benjamin were going to a party Harry was throwing so you guessed you'd hear about his state when you got back.

It would've be a bit embarrassing to admit, but it's one of the reasons you caught an earlier train this morning. You texted Rebecca, telling her you’d back sooner than planned. but you hadn't heard from her so far. While you'd thought it was a little weird, you figured you'd see her this evening anyway.

You didn't expect her to be at your front door.

A smile creeps onto your face as you neared her, leaving your luggage to the side as you open your arms for a hug, but Rebecca just stands there, arms crossed. Quirking up a brow, you ask:

"Hey, are you okay?"

A few seconds pass before she responds.

"We need to talk."

Absolute, utter dread fills your entire body as you nod, grabbing your suitcase. "What is it about? Do you want to go upstairs?"

Rebecca doesn't answer your question, she only nods in response to your second. You are quick to unlock my door and walk towards my apartment with her. The elevator ride is silent and excruciating, and when you've finally entered your living room, you're quick to ask away.

"Okay, what's going on?" Your question sounds almost irritated, which in hindsight doesn't seem very smart because it only seems to tick Rebecca off. What is going on with her?

"Harry threw a little get together yesterday," Your friend sighs, crossing her arms. "and I couldn't help but notice the familiarity of his home address when he sent it to us."

Your face pales. Oh my god, you are going to throw up. This cannot possibly be happening right now. Rebecca notices your instant change in the demeanor, her own growing angry. You take a few steps back and sit down on the couch.

"You slept with him, after what he did to you?! How could you do that?!"

You are at a loss of words, despite having thought about how you were going to break this news to her one day. "I— I don't know, I don't know..."

"What do you mean you don't know? You slept with the guy your boyfriend cheated on you with! God, have you no self-respect?!"

Her words hit you like a slap in the face, and as the tears roll down your cheeks, you begin to shake your head.

"Rebecca— I..."

"No, listen, Y/N. For months, Benjamin and I have been walking on eggshells, trying so hard to make sure you're comfortable. Benjamin even punched Harry, for Christ's sake. Do you even know that?"

You nod slowly, the guilt that has been tightening around your throat settling in your stomach as well.

"I'm sorry..." You peep, looking down at the floor. Meeting Rebecca's eyes is too terrifying at the moment. You can't handle that right now.

"God... why him? You don't even like him." Rebecca goes on, and the tears prickling in your eyes turn into full blown sobs as soon as the words have left her mouth. With your hands buried in your face, you don't see your friend sitting next to you, but you feel her rubbing your back.

"Shit... you like him, don't you?" She concludes, and your crying only increases at hearing that confession fall from another person's lips. This is the most complicated thing you have ever experienced. It takes a minute or so to finally manage to control your tears, and have calmed down enough to respond.

"I don't know how this happened." You confess between your sobs. "I didn't— I wasn't supposed to!"

"Hey, calm down." Rebecca pulls you closer to her, and you continue crying in her lap. "Everyone has at least one person they weren't— supposed to sleep with."

You pull yourself up, wiping away your tears as you shake your head. "I meant, I wasn't supposed to care about him. Sleeping with him was a choice I made, and I don't regret it because it was a distraction, and it worked. But it only worked because I hated him. I wasn't supposed to start... caring."

"Sweets, being that intimate with someone will leave you with no other option than to care for them, at least at some point." Rebecca reminds you. Your gaze is fixated on the ground, all these truths flying through your scrambled mind. You let out a heavy sigh.

"I'm sorry." You finally say, and another tear slips down your cheek as Rebecca strokes your hair.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made that comment about self worth, that was uncalled for, and mean. I was just angry, but that's no excuse."

You look at your friend, whose eyes also seem to be blurry, and conjure a faint smile. "You're forgiven."

Rebecca pulls you into a tight hug, and it takes her a full minute before you finally get her to agree to let go. When she does, she immediately stands up and grabs a glass of water for the both of you while you wipe your smudged mascara away with a tissue.

"So, what are you going to do about it?" She asks when she sits down, handing you the glass. You shrug before taking a large gulp of the water before setting it back on the table.

"I have no idea."

Rebecca leans back into the couch, eyeing you for a couple of seconds before speaking up. "Can I be really honest here?"

You're careful to look your friend in the eyes, her bluntness scaring you sometimes, but you nod anyway.

"I think you two are a pretty good match— you know, if you wouldn't count all the shit that happened of course. I was actually surprised when you went out with Dylan instead of Harry in the beginning. I thought Harry was a much better fit for you.” She tells you, and your brow quirks up at her words. You didn't expect her to go down this route. “You're just... compatible, you know? Plus, I was convinced he liked you."

"Rebecca, he hated me from the start." You scoff, but she shakes her head intently.

"No I know, but I swear, he asked about you before that party where you met him and Dylan. I thought he was interested in you."

By now, you have your hands buried in your hair as you listen to all this new information that you are being fed by your friend. This is way too confusing and it's making your headache even worse.

"But then you told me he was being rude, so I just brushed it off as a lapse of judgment from my side. Of course now we know he was acting like an asshole to you because of Dylan—which I still think is a dick move, by the way." Rebecca rants on. The weight on your chest that had seemed to have subsided for a minute has grown in size again.

"My point is, your relationship with Harry has been a wreck from the start, and the main cause for that is Dylan. So if you can't get over the Dylan situation, it's probably going to be impossible to ever build a lasting relationship with Harry."

Rebecca's words ring in your ears. It's a revelation that has been looming in your mind for a bit now. There was a part of you that knew this was an extremely complicated situation and therefore didn't want to tackle it, as a possible solution seemed to be non-existent. You've hit a wall in your relationship—if it even can be called that—with Harry, and if you really want to move forward, you'll have to climb over that wall and hope Harry will take your hand and come along.

You sigh, your tired eyes meeting Rebecca's. "You're right."

************************************************

It's been about an hour since Rebecca left and you've been pacing your living room ever since, devising a plan on how to talk to Harry. What to say to him, how to say it, and with what outcome in mind.

A knock on the door relieves your from your taunting thoughts for a moment, but opening your door throws you for an entirely different loop as you find Harry standing across from you.

He looks worn out. The dark circles under his eyes aren't extremely prominent but the sole fact that they're there tells you enough. He also appears to be in gym clothes, which makes you wonder whether this trip to your apartment was planned or not.

"Hey." He croaks out, his eyes flicking up and down your face and body, calculating any reaction that might come from you.

"Hi." You respond breathlessly. Neither of you say another word—you spend most of the silent minute staring at him—until Harry finally clears his throat.

"Can I— uh..." his finger points towards your living room, and before you know it, you step aside. He enters your apartment, following you as you head for your couch.

Another dreadful silence follows as the both of you sit next to each other, waiting for the other one to break first. It's excruciating and it feels like it goes on forever. You don't realize you're picking at your nail beds until Harry's voice takes you out of your dissociative trance.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" You scan his face, squinting your eyes a bit. There is something unsettling about his demeanor. It's so passive, at least it seems.

"For just leaving like that." He meets your eyes, and you notice the guilt displayed in them. Not knowing what to say, you refrain from answering as you think of everything that has happened. When you finally do open your mouth, Harry's focus on you is so intense that it makes you a bit nervous, the weight of your words becoming much heavier now that you know Harry will be hanging onto your every single one.

"You really hated me, you know. And it wasn't just because of Dylan. You despised me, always did, and I never understood why."

You watch as his eyes turn glassy and he shakes his head, softly whispering 'no' over and over again. Your brows crease at his attempt at—what seems to you—denial. He can't oppose that he hated you. He has literally said it multiple times.

"Don't pretend that you didn't Harry, I know you did."

"No, that's not—" he protests.

"Then what is it?” The questions falls off your tongue in a hurry, the frustration that has been bottled up inside of you slowly beginning to unleash. "The other night, right before spring break, I really thought we were on our way to becoming friends. I felt like it was actually possible. And then you just— left. One glimpse of him and you were gone.”

You take a deep breath before continuing. “It's been eating at me for the past three weeks that you just walked out and began ignoring me. So please, Harry, clarify it for me because I don’t understand any of this.”

Harry hangs his head and sighs. “It's complicated. And stupid... and probably doesn't make any sense."

"Then make sense of it." You command, leaning forward so he is forced to meet your eyes. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then nods, a small frown on his face as he figures out what he wants to say. You try not to hold your breath as you wait for him to start, but you find yourself doing it anyway as soon as he starts speaking.

"I, uh— I'd liked Dylan for quite some time, and he knew that. He led me on for a long time, and I was trying to get over him, but it just felt like it was impossible, you know?" He explains, picking at the skin on his fingers out of nervous habit. You hum, telling him you understand without actually interrupting him. He continues.

"So, one day I was walking out of class and I ran into Rebecca. She was with you and some other girls, and you were all waiting for her while she was talking to me. I remember seeing you, and I thought you were very pretty, which was special to me because I hadn't felt so intrigued by someone in a long time."

Your heartbeat becomes more prominent, and suddenly you can feel it beating loudly as he speaks. You fiddle with your sweaty hands. He was intrigued by you? The nerves swerve through your stomach, not being able to make sense of what Harry is saying just yet. It’s contradicting everything you’ve known about Harry’s feelings towards you since you met him. But Rebecca’s words hang in the back of your head, and there is a wave of anticipation that almost overwhelms you: the anticipation that Rebecca might be right. Harry clears his throat.

“So anyways, I asked Rebecca about you and she told me you'd come to the party. Later, I was kind of— stalking you on Instagram, and Dylan saw. He teased me about it. Suddenly he started to give me loads of attention again. And I thought maybe he was jealous, and he had realized that he liked me, and this was finally the moment that it would all work out.” He says with a certain bitterness, not necessarily aimed at anyone but himself. As if he is mad at himself for those past rose-tinted thoughts he had regarding Dylan. “But then he got together with you at the party a couple days late, and I was just... so angry."

Harry’s eyes become glassy, and you feel your heart crack. After your break-up with Dylan it became clear how much effect he had on Harry. Now knowing the history, the constant push and pull, you don’t find it weird. Harry had allowed him inside his heart time and time again, all the while Dylan would just figure out how to play at his heartstrings. Just enough to keep him coming back everything single time, hoping something had changed.

“It felt like he wasn't allowing me to get over him. I had finally met someone who made me realize that maybe the first stages of like— love and dating shouldn't feel like your heart is constantly being ripped from your chest. That it could be innocent and fun. And it felt as if he was mocking me for it, by going after that hope and taking it away.”

He looks at you, and you give him a weak, sympathetic smile, swallowing away the physical pain you get from hearing about Harry’s emotional pain. Caring so deeply can be the most euphoric thing, but it’ll come back to bite you in the ass when the person you care about is hurting. You realize then, in that moment, how thin the line between a blessing and a curse is.

But when your hand finds his and you intertwine your fingers, you figure it’s more of a blessing anyway.

“And I just— I don't want to spin it as if you were a piece of meat, because Dylan cared about you. I saw that, and I hated it because I used to wish it was me. It made me be a dick to you, and I’m really fucking sorry about that, because you didn’t deserve that at all. If I could take all of that back then I would.”

He sighs as soon as all the ramblings of words have left his mouth, and you feel the weight of that sigh. His body tells you it as well: he’s relieved. Initially, you find yourself at a loss of words, and the only thing that your mind can generate as a response escapes before you can stop yourself.

“Well, if you take it all back then we bever would’ve have had such mind-blowing sex, right?” You blurt out, and Harry chuckles at your stupid joke. You laugh along as you try to scramble together a real answer, stroking his hand with your thumb.

“I’m sorry Dylan used you like that, I can only imagine how frustrating that is. And while I agree you should’ve never been so grumpy to me, I can’t say that I haven’t acted rude out of jealousy before.” You say earnestly, the thought of that night at the bar popping inside your head. You weren’t exactly nice to that girl Harry was talking to either. In fact, you didn’t acknowledge her at all.

“Rebecca said we need to get over the Dylan situation if we ever want to build any sort of relationship whatsoever. We need to forgive each other and move past it, otherwise we can never be— friends.” Your cheeks heat up at your quick save. It’s quiet between the two of you, but his grip on your hand doesn’t loosen the slightest bit. Harry is staring at his lap, making it difficult for you to read what he’s thinking. He raises his head to meet your eyes, and when you are met with the sight of a tear rolling down his cheek, your own vision blurs instantly.

"How can I forgive you for something you never did?"

The hopelessness of his question smashes your heart into a thousand pieces. You are quite sure you physically hear it crack. The broken pieces pierce into every part of your body, including your throat, that feels too heavy as you gather strength to answer him. Your breath hitches the first time you try to get some words out and fail, so your voice wavers when you manage to speak.

“I don’t know...”

Taglist: @hisparentsgaleryy @love-letters-to-uranus @moonwitttch19 @notmeherelol173 @fairytale07 @valuunit

[freyito]

ʜᴀɴᴋᴇʀɪɴ' ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ

✭ pairing(s): boothill x gn reader

✩ in which: boothill's been quiet since he came back from penacony. way too quiet.

✧ a/n: little by little im chipping away at my depressive episode and building my motivation again

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, 2.6 spoilers, mention of torture, hurt/comfort, not proofread

✎ wc: 2.4k

Ever since his most recent trip to Penacony, Boothill had been spacing out more when he got home. He insisted, very firmly, that you stay at home this time, leaving no room for any discussion. You were to stay home no matter what, and if he found you had tried to sneak out, even to the town, there would be words to be had. He was never this demanding, and he never barred you from going out. Yet when he told you, there was a certain look in his eyes. Fear. Something so rare within him that it made you obey without a word of protest. Now that he is back, he hasn’t been as energetic as you’re used to. In fact, he had practically stayed glued to the couch. 

You could poke and prod at him and he wouldn’t so much as smirk, and you hadn’t even gotten so much of a squeak out of him aside from why he had left in the first place. Despite his victory, he was just… quiet. You wake up to him staring at the ceiling, chewing on his lip. Even though he doesn’t necessarily need sleep, he’s always cuddling up to you when you go to sleep. So when you wake up next to him (quite a rare sight), it’s odd.

Not just that, but you notice he spends an oddly long time gazing out over the plains that surround your house, nearly unphased when you poke and squeeze at his cheeks. It’s not that he is entirely silent the whole time, but his words are few and far between. You can’t remember the last time he’d been so lost in thought.

After the third day, you’ve decided you’ve had enough. It was fine if he didn’t want to talk about it (though you are certain it would help), but you were starting to miss Boothill’s voice, or the silly things he would do. So, you catch him on the couch while he’s charging, deciding to lay on top of him. Cheek to cheek, you press into him with a smile.

“Hi,” You say simply. Boothill doesn’t react much, looking up at you with his eye and a small grin.

“Hey, darlin’,” He responds, his voice quiet.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“Mh, nothin’,” Boothill sighs, shifting awkwardly just a little beneath you. You raise your eyebrow, and he sighs, admitting defeat so easily. “Okay. Thinkin’ about a lot.”

“Care to share?”

“I dunno sugar, it’s kinda heavy,”

“Heavy is the cost.”

A silence stretches between the two of you, as Boothill ruminates over whether or not to share what’s on his mind. You lean further into him, draping yourself over him like a blanket, even though he wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable person to lay on. You weren’t going to say it out loud, and you have spent hours on him before, so it wasn’t necessarily a problem. There were days where his body was the most wonderful thing to lay on, when he had been lounging in the sun and you had been unbearably cold for Aeons knows what reason. In moments like those, he was like your own space heater.

“Well, I mean, there was a lot goin’ on in Penacony, and all these mind games, and…” Boothill sighs, his body relaxing slightly as he pulls an arm out from under you and slings it over your waist. “Got to rememberin’ a lot of things. Stuff I ain’t exactly keen on thinkin’ about. Now I can’t stop.”

“Do you think telling me about it would help?” You purse your lips, blinking at him inquisitively. 

“Haven’t I yapped enough? I swear you ask me about all o’ this at least once a week,” He pokes at your side, causing you to squirm and yelp, before he takes hold of your waist and readjusts both of you, so he’s sitting up and cradling you in his lap. “Gonna make me talk til my jaw falls off, you know that?”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, darlin’,” Boothill smiles, something gentle despite his normally cocky grin. “I know you mean well. You’re the only one I like talkin’ to about this stuff, anyways.”

You tilt your head, silently asking him to continue. For a moment he doesn’t get the hint, raising his brow and chewing on his lip. He’s always been avoidant of such topics like the past, not that you could squeeze much out of him regardless. The most he let you know was of his family, specifically why he held a grudge against the IPC, and who he held a grudge against. Not to mention, he doesn’t enjoy talking things out much. He enjoys venting whatever’s gnawing at him in other ways, such as shooting. Still, he always seems to relent when you ask…

“Ah! Uhm, well…” He wraps both his arms around you, finally sitting up. He readjusts, making sure you’re seated comfortably in his lap. “They got me thinkin’ about when I was a kid… Well, more than that, really. Hard to explain.”

“I can listen all day. I like your voice.” You reply smugly.

“I– That’s not what I meant…” He chuckles sheepishly, shaking his head. “It was like a… hm. Felt like the kind of stuff the IPC had done to me when they caught me.”

Suddenly, you don’t know how to react. Your flirty demeanor drops, and so does your smile. Part of you didn’t think it’d be this kind of conversation. While he said it was heavy, you really didn’t think it’d be on the same level. Boothill sighs, patting your back lightly at your reaction.

“It ain’t that bad. I’m back home now, right? All in one piece.” He consoles, his voice just a tinge softer than before.

“Yeah, but–”

“It didn’t do much to me, really. Just got me thinkin’,” He shrugs so nonchalantly, like torture is something he’s used  to. “You asked, right? Lemme continue.”

With a huff, you concede. He strokes through your hair leisurely at your complacence, taking another moment to enjoy the quiet moment. As if what he was about to explain wasn’t something as terrifying as torture.

“It was somethin’ goin’ on with Dr. Primitive. Or at least, someone who aspired to be like him. Really odd thing, actually. With these monkeys and bananas, people wanted to become one. People were becoming one. Freaky, really. I mean, the things were cute n’ all… Not the point.” He takes a deep breath, “Some sort of induction… they… I don’t know how they did it, but they were able to bring back some sort of past version of me…? Took almost everything from me, voice, hearing, colors, sight, anger… they took it all. And suddenly, I felt like I was a kid again.”

The silence continues, while you ponder if anything you’ll say will be right, or okay. There’s not much you can think of to say, without sounding out of place. Dr. Primitive was one thing, and something horrifying at that, but the monkeys threw you off. Furthermore, what Boothill had described made your body feel… cold. It felt like it was one step away from wiping his memory completely. 

“What’s with that look?” He chuckles, shaking off the heavy air so easily. “You asked me to tell you, right?”

“Yeah…” You sigh. It’s still quite hard to wrap your mind around such things, but you do your best to ignore it.

“Now you sound all sad. C’mon, I’m alive, ain’t I? Plus, I think I do feel a little better now that I think about it…”

His voice tapers off at the end, before pursing his lips as if he was thinking. Again. Before you can ask him what else he’s got on his mind, his eyes light up. Without so much as a grunt, he picks you up and sets you down on the floor. 

“Here, actually, I think I’ve figured out somethin’,” He says, placing a hand on the small of your back as he leads you to the front door. He makes no further effort to explain what he meant, simply choosing to lead you off with a smile.

As he opens the door, light spills into the cabin. The land looks practically golden, you’ve forgotten just how beautiful the plains are at sunset. When you two step out on the porch, a light breeze greets you, wading through the grass. Boothill lets out another chuckle, before stepping off the porch. He stands still for a moment, appreciating the art of the world, the way the wind whispered across the grass, the birds in the distance and their song, and finally, he lets out a content sigh.

“Can’t say it’s as beautiful as Aeragan-Epharshel, but…” He begins, looking back at you for a moment, waving you closer. “It’s close enough…”

“What do you mean?” You finally take a step down off the porch. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer with an even bigger smile.

“All that work they did, well it gave me a hankerin’ for the past,” He takes a deep breath, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “Don’t like thinkin’ about it too much cause then I miss it even more.”

He cocks his head down at you, before his hand slides from your waist to your own, interlocking fingers. They’re not cold, for once, about body temperature. Perhaps that’s what you get for laying on top of him. He starts to lead you through the grass, his other hand gliding over the soft blades, sometimes grabbing at one just for the fun of it. However, there’s a certain sadness pulling at his face, his stride, even. He’s quiet for another minute, before he stops.

“It’s odd only feelin’ the wind in my hair.” He states, allowing nature to fill the silence once more.

“Boothill…” You mutter, reluctantly wiggling your hand out of his, reaching up to cup his cheek instead.

“It’s okay, sugar, I don’t need any pity,” Despite his words, he leans into your touch so easily, eyes fluttering closed. “Just… expressin’ myself.” After a beat, he opens his eyes and looks back out on the landscape, sighing softly. “I miss all the mischief I’d get into. After I’d finished my work on the ranch, I’d… run off somewhere, mostly off to the town. I’d get into all sorts of trouble just to keep myself from gettin’ bored. So I could get a chance to run through the fields again.”

He turns to you with a somber look in his eyes, as if he’d tear up. Not that he could, he’d lost that function long ago. His hands fall to your waist, gripping gently at the fabric of your shirt.

“There’s nothin’ quite like that feelin’. Runnin’ through the fields, the wind in your hair, stingin’ your cheeks and fingers, heart beatin’ fast as you find somewhere to hide…” He continues. Again, his voice wavers, and he swallows. He does his best to hold off on his own sadness, something he hadn’t allowed himself to properly feel for Aeons knows how long. “I guess I sorta get it still… bein’ wanted ‘n’ all… but it ain’t the same. It ain’t never been the same since…”

He ducks his head, the wind causing his hair to obscure his face. His hat dips, and you raise your hand to catch it. You don’t know what else to do. You haven’t seen Boothill this sad, ever. He’s always so rowdy and practically radiant, and yet now he’s dour, forcing himself to get his words through. He sniffles, then lets out a choked sound that goes straight to your heart. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him in close and squishing your face against his chest. The minute your arms meet his body, he mirrors the gesture. He practically crumbles in your arms, knees buckling as if he were flesh and bone, sliding down in your arms until his knees are planted firmly in the ground beneath you. In turn he presses his ear to your chest, listening to the gentle sound of your beating heart. At this, he grasps your shirt so tightly, pulling you impossibly closer, letting out another whine.

You pet through his hair, doing your best to still your own thoughts. Not only have you never seen Boothill sad before, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so… weak. Especially on the topic of his past. He could always speak of Clementine, of Nick and Gray, even of his hatred for the IPC with such confidence. Never once did his voice break, did his scowl turn into a frown. His body is wracked with shudders, biting his lip to quiet his sobs.

You two stay like that for a couple of more minutes, Boothill clinging onto you for dear life while you did your best to comfort him, scratching at his scalp and shushing him gently, whispering all sorts of cliche things to calm him down. Eventually, he finally lets up, with a soft breath. His grip weakens on your clothes, and he stands up. When he does, you card your fingers through his hair, moving his bangs from his face. He can’t help but let out a weak chuckle, allowing you to enjoy the feeling.

“M’sorry honey,” He mutters, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Didn’t mean to get all gloomy like that.”

“It’s fine, really,” You smile, your fingers lingering in his hair, before pulling away. “I think you needed it.”

“I… probably,” He sighs, “Just got too caught up in… all of this.”

Still, he nudges you, hand finding yours once more. He squeezes it, before leading you back to the cabin. The wind started to bite, the sun just peaking over the horizon as the sky went from orange and pink, to pink and purple. The clouds waned, the stars just barely visible as you two walked back. The silence is comfortable now, a small smile tugging at Boothill’s lips. He opens the door for you, taking one last look at the plains, before stepping in and closing the door.

“I’ll make dinner, then,” He says triumphantly, clearly feeling lighter than before. “As an apology. For makin’ you see me like that.”

“You don’t have t–”

“I want to, sugar. Let me? Please?” He cocks his head to the side, his smile turning gentler.

You wouldn’t fight it, either way. Despite how much he’s enjoyed literal bullets and oil, you wouldn’t dare stop him from cooking. He was like an angel, really, almost terrifyingly good in the kitchen. While you wanted to say that he didn’t have to apologize, if his cooking was on the line, you’ve found no choice but to concede.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[redtrack]

fogo e noite | charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!portuguese!reader

summary: two similar but still different cultures clash. how would charles leclerc, a monégasque f1 driver, react to having a portuguese girlfriend?

author’s note: a bit of a self insert here but nothing serious! i thought that it would be adequate to make my first ever work close to home. vamos, portugal! this is quite short since i’m only experimenting, but let me know what you think!

warnings: usage of y/n, mentions of fem! reader, reader has a previously defined nationality, some cursing, english is not my native language :( i used some photos from pinterest so the rights go to their rightful owners, user alexandra as a faceclaim on the last post

twitter

charles e carlos reagem a comentários parte 2 — by shell v-power

(charles and carlos react to comments part 2)

comments on twitter

instagram

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, yourbestfriend and 167,000 more

yourusername tinha que o levar ao dragão (sorry for the yelling baby ❤️)

(had to take him to dragão's football stadium)

tagged charles_leclerc

see 3 401 comments

charles_leclerc it's okay, mon ange 🤍 (why were you wearing another man's name on your back, though?)

yourusername last time i checked you didn't play for porto

user5 CLOCK HIM !!!

charles_leclerc watch me sign with them next season

user81 a queen é portista obrigada deus 🙏🙏 (the queen supports porto thank you god) liked by author

yourusername 💙

user31 y/n taking charles to a football game in her city is so them coded for some reason

user16 exposing him to the good stuff

yourbestfriend you always go a bit crazy on game day

yourusername leave me alone omg i’m worse on race days liked by charles_leclerc

user14 she’s so us omg 😭

user98 FORÇA PORTO ALEEE !!! (GO PORTO!!!) liked by author

charles’s interview for gq magazine

Q: You have recently made your relationship with the Portuguese model Y/N Y/LN public. How do you two manage a multi-cultural love?

Charles: I must admit that I was quite scared at the beginning. (laughs) We come from different cultures and grew up a thousand miles apart.

Thankfully, we both speak english quite fluently and my Y/N has picked up some french from her education in Portugal. I love it when we speak in french. (laughs)

The hardest part was probably meeting her family. They’re quite diverse when it comes to age, so at first I was only able to communicate with the ones close to our without Y/N translating everything, since the oldest and the youngest generations don’t speak english at all.

When I first met her dad, he was super friendly, but I understood that he would change languages every time he spoke to Y/N about me. She later reassured me that it wasn’t anything bad. (laughs)

Despite everything, they have always been extremely welcoming and friendly to me and I truly feel like a part of the family whenever we come to visit.

Q: We take it as you have her family’s blessing, then?

Charles: I hope so! (laughs)

Both of her parents are long time fans of the sport, just like my Y/N, so I think that really helped. And my charm. (laughs)

Q: How about your family? What was their reaction when meeting Y/N?

Charles: My Maman was very excited. (laughs)

I had already talked a lot about Y/N to my mother and brothers, so it kinda felt like they knew her for ages.

It was a really special night for us. Y/N had been away from home for a while. She was extremely home-sick, but still insisted in meeting my family. I was really touched.

I told my Maman about it, so that we could avoid certain topics during dinner not to make Y/N uncomfortable. But when we got there, we found out that my mother had attempted to cook some of my Y/N’s favorite home dishes to make her feel better. She spent the rest of the night hugging Maman while crying and thanking her a million times. (laughs)

I fell in love with her a bit more after that day.

Q: You two seem like a very romantic couple.

Charles: We are. I absolutely love her with my whole heart and I know it goes both ways.

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charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc this picture was taken in the very first few hours of 2025 somewhere in Portugal with my baby.

happy new year everyone 😘

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yourusername happy new year charlie 💓

charles_leclerc feliz ano novo, mon ange 🤍

pierregasly already spending new year's with her family i see

charles_leclerc you did the same with kika though

user54 ate him up omg

user81 watching their relationship grow in front of my eyes make me cry

user43 they're my favorite couple

user67 oh he travelled to spend new year's with her and her family i'm sick

user21 i love them sm

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, yourbestfriend and 198 720 others

yourusername eu, o meu monegasco e o meu porto para sempre ❤️

(me, my monégasque and my porto forever)

tagged charles_leclerc

see 1 comment • comments are disabbled for accounts yourusername hasn't tagged

charles_leclerc ❤️

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

redemption : night visit. l General Marcus Acacius

❤️‍ broken hearts seek redemption ❤️‍

Summary:  he decided to show you your place

Warnings:  angst, knife, attempted rape, many bad words

A/N: I decided to tell this story this way. sorry for these scribbles. I hope that despite everything you will stay with me.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

first part is here >> night visit <<

a few ways to break a heart [masterlist]

broken hearts seek redemption [masterlist]

Returning to Rome after a few weeks spent in a seaside estate surrounded by olive groves was a brutal clash with reality. However, you couldn't run away from your obligations forever, and your friends began sending you letters asking about your return. 

Sudden disappearances always led to numerous speculations, and drawing attention to yourself was something you wanted to avoid.

News of your return quickly spread throughout the city and among your friends, and soon you found yourself at a party organized within the walls of the Emperor's palace.

Octavia, one of your friends and the wife of a senator closely associated with the Emperor, immediately took you in her arms and led you through the room filled with guests.

"I'm glad to see you healthy. The seaside weather is definitely good for you." she chirped, taking you by the arm as you slowly walked towards the terrace. "I was really worried about you. You disappeared so suddenly and without a word!"

"I had to rest. I made a decision in a moment and I was already on my way before I thought about telling anyone about it." You said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you."

"My worries are nothing compared to what I want to tell you." Octavia replied, lowering her voice slightly and looking around. "I didn't want to write to you about it in a letter."

"Is something wrong?" You frowned. "Please, don't say it's about your husband!"

Your friend shook her head. "No, it's about General Acacius and... you. But I know all this from my husband. You missed a lot while you were out of town, dearest."

You didn't tell anyone about what happened between you and Marcus Acacius that evening when he showed up at your house. Leaving town seemed like the best solution. 

Although you knew that Marcus's behavior was intensified by the wine and what he had heard from Senator Augustus, it could not fully excuse him. 

You had known each other for several years, you loved him and were loyal to him, but what he wanted to do, even though your sheets had long since known his body and warmth, was unacceptable. 

He had hurt you. Love was a powerful feeling, and you loved him more than life itself, but that night... You knew that if what he wanted to do had come true, if he had taken possession of you by force, it would have destroyed you both. 

General Marcus Acacius was a man of honor, after sobering up he would have lost his mind knowing what he had done.

Octavia led you to a bench on the terrace hidden between flowering bushes, away from the curious glances of other guests. She took your hands in hers and squeezed them lightly, her gaze full of concern.

"You know very well that my husband is close to the Emperor." she began calmly, trying to choose her words carefully. "Some time ago, shortly after you left, he was in his chambers. They were deep in conversation when General Acacius appeared. He was furious, or at least that's what he seemed to be. He asked for a private audience with the Emperor and he agreed. My husband left, but they were talking so loudly..."

"What did he hear?" you asked, feeling shivers down your spine.

Octavia took a deep breath. "Marcus asked... He demanded that the Emperor give him Senator Augustus and Titus. He said that they were a disgrace to the Empire, that their actions had covered him with shame and that only revenge on them would allow him to regain at least the last remnants of dignity."

Your eyes widened in surprise. You pulled your ice-cold hands out of your friend's grip and turned your head. Octavia continued in a hushed voice.

"The Emperor refused. He knew that Marcus would tear them apart with his bare hands. However, he asked if anyone else was involved in this matter, but the General didn’t answer. Augustus and Titus were sent to distant provinces to govern them. It saved their lives from Marcus' hands, but it was practically exile from Rome."

"What about Marcus?" your voice was barely audible.

Octavia's gentle hand rested on your shoulder. "My husband said that Acacius was going crazy with rage. He spends hours in the military camp. If it weren't for the whims of the Emperor, he wouldn't show up at the palace. You know how much they like him here..." a gentle arm wrapped around your waist, and Octavia rested her chin on your shoulder "I know you love Marcus... I can see that, and the happiness of both of you is something I pray to the gods for. However, I've heard rumors... Very bad rumors."

"People love rumors." You replied, trying to sound firm. "We shouldn't believe everyone."

"However, if Marcus believed them..." you looked at her, terrified. "He would drown Rome in blood if someone tried to lay a finger on you. He would go mad." she brushed her lips against your shoulder and smiled faintly "I'm sorry I told you that, but you had to know."

"Thank you. You're a real friend."

Octavia stood up and held out her hand, smiling encouragingly as music suddenly reached your ears.

"Come on. There are many people who would like to see you again. I thought I saw Aurelia, this second pregnancy makes her look even more beautiful."

You allowed yourself to be led to the chambers, and then you immersed yourself in conversations with long-lost friends. Time passed pleasantly, but when the Emperor appeared, and you noticed a familiar figure by his side, your heart sank.

General Marcus Acacius looked as powerful as usual, but only you noticed something changed in his gaze. The brown, beautiful eyes that you adored so much seemed tired and empty. However, when his gaze met yours, he stiffened.

Everyone and everything around you disappeared. There was only you and him, and what stood between you.

He left immediately.

When Caius appeared in your chambers that same night with information about General Acacius' arrival, you felt like you were playing out the same story again.

"Take another one of the servants." You ordered him in a whisper. "Keep your weapons with you and stay behind the door."

"Of course." He nodded.

Once he was at the door, however, you realized your servants would be weak opponents for Marcus.

"Caius..." the man turned around at the door. "Take two with you."

He nodded and left. Caution never hurt anyone, and you wanted to feel at least a little more confident. Although Octavia's words and Marcus' reaction to seeing you made you want to talk to him, common sense told you to be careful.

And there he was, standing in your doorway. The traveling cloak on his shoulders looked the same as it had during his last visit. Only his eyes... His eyes were full of something you couldn't read.

"My lady." he nodded, his voice low and quiet.

"Marcus." you replied. "I'm glad to see you in good health."

"Thank you. My heart was filled with joy to hear that you had returned to Rome, though I'm sure it was sad to leave this place you call your safe haven."

"Yes. The trees are full of olives, and the grapes are even sweeter than a year ago." you replied.

"I would give a lot to be able to see that place with you again. You created a real paradise on earth there."

Your thoughts briefly escaped to your last trip to the coast. Marcus seemed so calm to you then, and you were so happy in his arms. It was a time when there was no one and nothing but the two of you.

However, you quickly shook yourself and cleared your throat. "What brings you to me, Marcus? It's late for a visit."

"I couldn't wait until morning." he replied and took a step towards you.

He noticed with despair that you backed away. You had never done that before. He lowered his gaze.

"I came to beg for forgiveness. What I did... Gods! I'm ashamed just thinking about it."

You stood before him, and even though you were so close Marcus had the impression that you were thousands of miles apart. What did he even expect coming here? His heart was beating like crazy in his chest.

"I know I've stained my honor," he continued. "I let myself be deceived by envious tongues, I believed in something that never happened. You were always faithful and loyal to me, and I... I didn't deserve you. I didn't deserve forgiveness."

Before you could open your mouth he pulled his sword from his belt, and your heart stopped for a moment. But Marcus didn't point it at you. He held it in both hands, and then fell to his knees in front of you, extending his hands towards you.

"I didn't deserve to live." he said "I don't deserve forgiveness. I don't deserve your love. I doubted you. I wanted to do something that would hurt you even though I promised you to always protect you. Take this and bring justice. The only proper punishment I deserve."

You looked at him, stunned. This act was full of courage and obedience. The general of the Roman Empire was kneeling before you, ready for you to strike him.

"Take this." he said, and when you didn't react, he repeated louder "Take this and end my suffering! Have mercy on me!"

Your hand tightened on the hilt of the sword, you felt its weight in your hand and lifted it. The same sword that had killed so many opponents was now about to pierce the body of its owner. Marcus' blood was supposed to bring him redemption, but you were already hesitating.

"This is not the solution..." you said quietly.

Brown eyes lifted and looked at you. Then you understood. 

Fear, that's what you saw in Marcus' eyes. He was really afraid, but not of losing his life. His life had no value to him, especially when he felt that he had lost you. All his actions, feelings and thoughts were always directed at you. Now he had nothing left.

The sword fell to the floor with a loud clatter. The door opened immediately and you saw Caius with two other servants as they rushed inside.

"Go away!" you called before they could run to you "Leave us. Please."

"My lady..." Caius's gaze moved between you and General Acacius.

"I’m safe. Please, Caius, leave us."

The man hesitantly closed the door behind him. You looked at Marcus.

"Stand up, please."

He shook his head. So it was you who sat on the floor right in front of him, and seeing the surprise on his face you placed your hand on his cheek, it was hot.

"You hurt me, Marcus. No one hurts as much as the people we love." you said and he closed his eyes "I know you weren't yourself that night..."

"Don't make excuses for me." he interrupted you "I don't deserve this."

"You weren't yourself. You weren't the Marcus I know." you continued taking his face in both of your hands "I don't want to make excuses for you, but I want to understand."

"You wanted to stab yourself because of me. I still have it in my mind..." tears glistened in his brown eyes "I don't deserve you. I was like a wild animal, and you..."

"And I stopped you." you finished for him "If you didn't love me, my threats would have been useless. I heard you were with the Emperor..."

"Augustus and Titus." Marcus hissed, frowning "I wanted to chop them into pieces for what they did. They poisoned my mind. They were always envious of how the Emperor treated me, so their eyes were directed at you. They knew that you were the most important to me."

"Luckily you didn't do anything you could later regret."

"How can you say that, love?" His colossal hands grabbed yours. "I destroyed us. Everything we had."

Despair flowed from his lips and eyes fixed on you. Tears were also pressing under your eyelids. Nothing else compared to this. When you spoke, you felt that your voice was shaking slightly.

"When I was little, the old maid who took care of me told me about the Phoenix. A beautiful bird that burned itself to be reborn from its ashes. I thought it was impossible... Nothing that dies can be reborn. But now I think differently..." you took a deep breath "I love you, Marcus. Despite everything, I love you. And I know that we won't get back on the right path right away, that it will take time, but I want to try. We will be reborn stronger. If we survive this, we will survive everything else... I don't want to write us off."

Marcus looked at you completely surprised. After a moment, however, his plush lips parted.

"My lady..." he whispered "I don't deserve you. I will be your servant until the end of my days. Every day I will atone for my sins, counting on your mercy towards me."

He pressed your hands to his lips, showering them with kisses. Tears ran down your cheeks, but you weren't ashamed of them. 

You felt calm. Whatever fate had to give you, you wanted to accept it. With Marcus. You knew him, you knew that his promises were law. You were like a goddess to him, and he was your protector.

You put your forehead to his, your hands resting on his neck.

You will both be reborn stronger, it must have been the will of the gods.

☆☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[b-lossm]

•+*Forevers a long time*+•

Vi (arcane) x reader [angst-> comfort kinda..]

synopsis: Vi visits your new home before her big mission..

SEASON 2 SPOILERS KINDA!!!!

This is hard; fathoming the possibility that this may be the last time she sees you, its hard.

Vi tries her best to put up her brave walls again but when she hears your breath getting caught in your throat she realizes that its pointless "H-Hey this isn't goodbye" she says while haphazardly wiping your tears, trying to wipe her own as well, she knows that she might be lying, but for your sake she cant believe that too.

"B--But--" you start "No, I will come back, not in a box, okay?" she tries to reassure you through her shaky words wrapping her arms around you to bring you down "Vi d--don't even say that don't say that I wasn't trying to bring it up but--" hic "You cant leave, no, not right now, everything was going good before the explosion, you cant" you ramble on about how you two where finally gonna have a good life together, how her impatient self waited so long to get out of Stillwater to have a good life with you and now this? She quickly shuts you up with a soft kiss to bring you down.

"Hey--Hey Y/n breathe, breath Lovebug" she attempts to calm you down by tracing shapes into your side and kissing your cheeks, something that always works "I know, I don't like waiting for anything and we finally got here, but to make sure we keep everything we worked for I have to go, its only gonna be for a week ok and the---" you cut her off "Yeah a week where you might die!" she sighs, your right, your almost always right "Yeah, I know" she starts, pausing her motion for a split second, contemplating her life "Lovebug, you gotta understand that even if I do die, its for the greater cause, plus you know Cait, she doesn't miss, and you know me! I don't miss.. well most of the time" she chuckles while planting kisses all over your face and hairline.

When she finally gets you too stop crying she holds your hand "Tell you what.." she starts "When I come back, I'll get you that pretty promise ring you always wanted hm?" your mouth runs dry "Really Vi..?" you ask while your face flushes red "mhm' really, then I'll be yours forever, well until I really propose" she looks into your eyes, the color soothes her, it always does. You shake your head while smiling sadly "Well m' gonna hold it to you Vi, forever's a long time and I need you for that so you better come back" you say bittersweetly, still coping with the idea that your girlfriend might not come back.

"I want you to pinky promise that you'll come back Violet" 'Oh shit', she thinks you used her real name, She smiles and holds up her pinky “If I don't come back I want you too cut my pinky off for the funeral" she jokes as you interlock your fingers and lock it in with your thumbs "M' serious Vi, I need you here.. a lot of us do" you smile shyly "yeah I know" she says with a cocky smirk

Afterwards you two headed to bed and had hot and sad sesbian lex

———————————————————————————

The day after you where a mess.

You got dressed and got her ready to go "Go get her Vi, I'm sorry that its her that you have to get.." you say sadly, reminiscing on the times you and Vi hung out with powder, the times that you wanted the small girl to cherish. "She's gone Y/n, m' sorry but she is, I think I'll be ok." she takes a deep breath, realizing that in a way she's become something she never wanted to be "I know, just, be careful.." You say while admiring your tall girlfriend in the mirror thinking its weird how she's wearing the enforcer uniform, then you hear Caitlyn's knock at the door.

"I guess this is it then.." she starts but you quickly shut her down "No, we where sad yesterday, today your gonna go be the only cool ass enforcer and your gonna get her. Then your gonna come back to me like you promised" You say, determined to lighten the mood, She quickly pulls you into a deep kiss, its a goodbye kiss you know it is, but it doesn't matter to you anymore.

"Bye--Bye Vi, I'll hold up the fort while your gone"

"Bye Lovebug, I'll see you in a week"

you watch them as they leave, Vi looking back too see if you where still looking as many times as she can to make sure she can remember your face.

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

A/n

Season 2 brings me so much sorrow I made a playlist :(

This was supposed to be like Japanese Denim by Daniel Ceaser but it didnt really come through, I'll def make a fic based off of it more in the future though.

also why is there a Vi fanfic drought????, someone pls send me some, not alot of smut tho because there is so much.

[h50europe]

BUCK / TOMMY - HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A FANDOM SCORNED!

I did some thinking. Never good, but my brain can't wrap around the breakup that came out of the left field.

Recently, it was announced that a spin-off of "9-1-1" is in the works. While no locations have been finalized, Hawaii and Las Vegas have been suggested as potential settings. The showrunner is already working on the project, with filming set to begin in March 2025.

However, one of my biggest fears has come true: the focus of the showrunners is being diverted from the current show to concentrate on this new spin-off. All the energy runs in the new project. Also, at this point, we don't know if the mothership will be renewed. Without an early renewal, we must wait until May for the announcement. That is another reason why they are focusing on the new show. I wonder if this is why the plots feel rushed and repetitive. It's nice to revisit the past, but not ad nauseam. 9-1-1 does it too often lately. What's the point in bringing back Gerard and turning him into the butt end of a joke? What's the point in digging out Abby's Tommy and hanging it around Tommy Kinard's neck when nothing was ever mentioned in the past. The focus is clearly not on the current show. It feels like Tim abandoned the ship to board a new one. It's fresh, it's crisp, it leaves room for a lot of things. Even if the breakup was meant as a shocker. If your focus is somewhere else, you don't see it. Right now, the mothership is leaking and starting to sink. If Tim keeps his focus on the new project and isn't invested in the current show, the lights will go out sooner rather than later.

Bringing in an established character was probably the biggest mistake Tim could have made if he wasn't meant to stick around. Bring in Mary Sue or Marty Stu to be a LI but not a character with a history that connects to so many people on the show. You can't sideline them forever. Especially as Buck's bi-arc was announced as something big. And it was big. A bit too big to be treated the way it was. The fanbase that had built around TEVAN, or BUCKTOMMY, within weeks, was massive. It drew so many members of the queer community into the show. Suddenly, many of them felt seen. Tommy and Buck were different from the other queer characters out there. Different from what was represented on any other show. People were willing to watch to get the slightest glimpse of them. Because they felt real. Their chemistry shot into the stratosphere.

And then you go and end it on such a horrible note? I don't care if the haters call Tommy a plot device. Everyone on the show is one at some point—even Christopher, Eddie, or anyone else from the main or recurrent cast, Karen, for instance, the Wilson kids. You name it. Tommy Kinard came, saw and conquered. So why not give him more room? They did it with Taylor (yes, I know JLH was pregnant then, but that's reason enough? I doubt it). As I said in my other long post, you could cut in a sequence of 5 minutes and show a summary of Tommy's and Buck's life.

Tim makes the same mistake as many showrunners do. Cramming a shitload of plots into 42 minutes of airtime. Is it really necessary to tell that many stories in such a short amount of time? That feels like speed dating. You blink, and you miss an important scene. Every episode, you jump from plot A to B to A to C to B. We didn't have this fast pacing in season 1 or 2. Stop it. Make Quality plots over quantity stuff.

In Tommy's voice: And for God's sake, clean up that mess you created with that shitty breakup, or the audience will wither away.

I'm sorry. I could write a book about what is happening in my head. You'd get Super Brownie points if you made it here.

[nvtstvrns]

Prettied Up - Chris Sturniolo

Smut, dom!chris, sub!fem

Summary: you and Chris are getting ready to go to dinner with Nick and Matt when he sees you doing your makeup in the mirror, he decides to eat you out while you do your makeup.

Contains: smut, sub!fem, dom!chris, oral (fem!receiver), almost getting caught, pet names (ma, pretty girl, etc)

Authors note: I am so sorry I put this story off for so long, here it is 😭

Divider Credits: @bernardsbendystraws @adornedwithlight and @cafekitsune

Chris and I were getting ready for dinner with Nick, Matt, Mikayla and Nate, we were in Boston for a few weeks and we wanted to get together with our old friends. I was standing at the mirror starting my makeup, Chris was in the shower.

“Ma, can you hand me that towel, please?” He asks me his finger pointing through the shower curtain. I walk over to the towel and I hand it to him. I quickly go back to doing my makeup, we only had twenty minutes left before we had to leave.

Chris comes behind me and wraps his arms around my stomach and he lays his head on my shoulder.

“Chris, you’re getting my clothes all wet.” I say pushing him off my slightly.

“That’s not too bad though right-“ he says hugging me from behind again. This time his hands trail to my bare waist. “Clothes will dry…” he reaches up and cups my breast.

“Chris.” I warn as I watch him run his hands all over my body in the mirror. “I’m trying to do my makeup.” I say blending out my blush trying to shake off the goosebumps. I could feel myself throbbing in need and I took a deep breath.

“You gettin all prettied up f’me?” He says as he puts on his underwear and then his pants. I grin and turn around. “Chris stop making me-“

He gets closer to me and grabs my jaw. “Stop making you what?” He says in a husky voice. My knees buckled. His grip on my jaw was light and soft but it still put a huge effect on me.

I look up at him with puppy eyes and he lets me go.

“Can I make you feel good baby…give you a little reward…”

“For what?” I ask quietly.

“You deserve it…but keep gettin prettied up for me ma.”

He gets down on his knees in front of me. This was a new thing from him, it’s always me getting on my knees for him, was he really going to make me feel good with no returns at all? I feel his hands fiddle with my button on my pants and then he unzips them, pulling them down to my ankles and then pulling them all the way off. His eyes trail up to mine and he places a soft kiss to my lower abdomen.

“Keep doing your makeup don’t watch me.” He says pulling my underwear off and throwing them somewhere with my pants. He doesn’t even hesitate, his mouth quickly attaching to my clit, I let out a gasp and I hang my head back. He taps the back of my thighs telling me to continue doing my makeup, so I do, trying to line my lips with all of this pleasure is not working, so I move on to my mascara.

“Oh my-fuck Chris…” I say as my legs begin to shake, I can’t focus on just my makeup, the image of him pumping his fingers in and out of my wet pussy while his mouth abuses my clit was way too much. “I’m gonna cum, Chris! Oh my fucking god, Chris…” I say grinding my hips on his face.

“Mmm yeah grind my face ma, cum all over me.” I continue grinding my hips reaching closer and closer to my high, with a final cry my legs jerk and I cum all over his face…luckily my makeup was fully finished, it didn’t look exactly how I wanted it to, but I did my best.

“Chris! Y/n come on! We have to leave!” Matt yells, in a daze I put back on my pants and he puts on his shirt, and puts on deodorant and other things. He wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“Don’t let it affect you too much baby.” He says kissing my temple “we still have dinner to eat, and then you can have me.”

This was a lot of fun to write, and thank you sm for all of your support lately (I recently did a face reveal) so thank you for all of your compliments on that. Thank you for reading my fanfictions and if you ever have a request just send me a silly little message.

[yanderes-galore]

Romantic Gojo with a fellow Jujutsu sorcerer darling who gets hurt on a mission, making Gojo even more protective of them and now definitely convinced that he has to take them away? In a short story form please! At least, I HOPE this is enough of a plot for the short story.

We love a good overprotective Gojo short.

Near Death Experience

Yandere! Satoru Gojo Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Isolation, Kidnapping, Fear of loss, Overprotective behavior, Consensual turned forced relationship.

Everything he does for you is always for your own good.

Satoru Gojo, the world's strongest sorcerer, has quite a lot of responsibility. Not only is he meant to keep the Jujutsu Society together... but he is also supposed to be attentive to those he cares for. Or at least, that's how he feels about you.

Satoru knows you, his beloved partner, will never be on his level. Even though you yourself are a sorcerer... Satoru knows something will always overpower you. It's often a fear that nags at him.

Which is why your boyfriend never seems to leave your side.

Satoru made a promise to himself to always protect you. Any mission you go on, any training session you attend, your boyfriend is always there. To him... This is how he can properly care for you.

He's scared to leave you on your own.

Satoru always somehow knew something would happen to you someday. It was inevitable. No Jujutsu Sorcerer comes out unscathed during missions, not even him.

All it took was one mission that was too out of your league. All it took was one slip up, one he couldn't get there in time to correct.... Really, all it takes is one miscalculation...

To lose you.

Satoru hasn't felt dread in a long time. But the moment he saw you, laying on the ground, bleeding? The moment he saw that Curse standing over you?

Adrenaline kicked in and everything was a blur.

Satoru still can remember your screams and whimpers. You were in so much pain and Satoru couldn't help but feel it was all his fault. He looked away... No, took you on this mission in the first place...

He could only save you at the very last second.

The wait with Shoko was agonizing to Satoru. He visited your room in the medical bay every day. The only time he'd leave is for missions, even then, they were always quick with him.

Satoru vowed to never leave your side for long after that. Hell, even after you healed, Satoru knew you couldn't just go into missions again. Being a Jujutsu Sorcerer isn't everyone... It's a taxing responsibility...

You're clearly not cut out for it...

Satoru can't bear the thought of nearly losing you again.

Satoru knows, as your boyfriend, he should support you. He should never lie to you. He should allow you to keep your freedoms.

But protecting you feels more important in his eyes.

When you wake up in the medical bed, Satoru is all worried smiles. He gives you kisses and holds your hand. He tells you how worried he is, how he never left your side.

He tells you he's sorry... for everything.

Shoko tells him to lay off, to let you rest. You broke a few things and lost quite a bit of blood. Even now, days in the medical bay, you're still quite weak.

Yet your boyfriend never faltered in his affections. Even while you were in this state, he felt he needed to make things up to you. He needs to do better.

Which is why he told Shoko he'll be taking care of you once you're out.

"Just until you get better." Is what Satoru had told you when you were discharged. He was taking you off missions until you got better. Even better for him... He insisted on keeping you in a shared apartment instead of your dorm on campus.

Satoru was sure to be an attentive and caring boyfriend when you were healing. He kept you in bed most of the time and insisted you stop training so much. As your boyfriend... He should take care of everything.

He means everything.

At first, you find his actions caring. He buys you food, takes care of you, and always checks in. Your boyfriend is all smiles the entire time.

He loves you... you love him... things are good. You thank him for saving you. You even apologize for being so reckless.

Satoru merely brushes it off. He says it won't ever happen again under his watch. At the time, when he said this, you thought nothing of it. He's your caring, loving boyfriend who would protect you with his life.

It was cute until you found out your boyfriend's true intentions.

'Just until you get better' soon became much longer than you anticipated. Each time you tried to tell Satoru you were feeling better, he denied it. No matter what you say... It wasn't enough.

You originally were understanding. After all, your near death experience scared you both. It's only been a month and a half now... You'll be back to training in no time.

Yet more time passed... Months passed... and Satoru only ever kept you at home. Even when you were able to walk and train again, Satoru always had an excuse. You kept wanting to argue, but Satoru never budged.

"It's better this way." He'd tell you, smiling at you with a condescending tone.

"You won't be hurt if you just stay with me." Was his reasoning, as much as it pissed you off.

You understand, you were injured, but you got out okay, right? You can't leave this job now.... Yet according to Satoru...

You weren't a Jujutsu Sorcerer anymore.

He never kept those glowing blue eyes off you. He rarely even let you on campus. You didn't live at your dorm anymore... It was just you and Satoru in a shared apartment.

Nothing you said ever made him see reason. You felt as though you were being treated like a fragile child. Satoru wasn't your boyfriend anymore... He's your captor.

You two often got into fights once you realized Satoru was stripping you of your freedoms. Satoru merely wrote off your complaints as some sort of odd tantrum. You were livid with him.

Eventually, with tensions running high, you said something troublesome.

"We're breaking up."

You thought if you cut things off now, Satoru would stop and let you out of the apartment. Instead you got...

"You can't live without me. You aren't leaving me. Let's talk this out, alright? You need to understand I'm protecting you, baby...."

Satoru then continues to keep you in the apartment. Keeping you there makes him feel at ease. After all, there you're safe and away from the strong Curses he deals with...

Satoru doesn't regret taking you away. Before you even caught on, Satoru knew you'd have nowhere to go once he brought you into the apartment. You'd be stuck with him... under his protection.

You may hate him, neglect him of your love, but you'll get over it. Satoru knows you'll realize what he's doing is for the best. If you don't... you'll learn.

After all, where will you go without him now?

You have nowhere to go... which makes you forever his... no matter what... you're his to love and care for now.

[darkmatilda]

╰┈➤ the pumpkin reaper

epilogue

previous parts:

1 2 3

in which you and reid are visiting your brother in hospital after he tried to commit a suicide

tw: mention of a suicide attempt

contents: spender reidxfem!bau!reader, it's an epilogue, please check the previous parts if you missed them!

words: 3.1k

You couldn’t believe those words came out of your mouth, but they did. And what’s more, they were sincere.

It was late in the evening when you were heading back to the office in Quantico. No case ever ended with just catching the unsub – after that came the long hours of report writing and paperwork. After everything you’d been through, the team almost forbade you from taking on that task. Instead, they insisted that you go straight home and get some proper rest.

You rolled your eyes and nodded, like a child whose mother insists they zip up their jacket. Hotch was nowhere to be seen, Morgan was listening to music with his eyes closed, Emily and JJ were absorbed in their conversation, and Rossi… well, Rossi was doing whatever it is Rossi does. So, you reached for the case files and tucked yourself away in a quiet corner of the jet. You wanted to go over everything again, even though you knew that as soon as you saw Logan's photo, all the unpleasant memories would come rushing back with relentless force.

 But before you could open the folder to the first page, someone simply took it from your hands. You looked up to see none other than Reid—blue shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up, a look of perpetual sleeplessness, his usual worry, and… joy. Small, but noticeable.

You, too, were almost disturbingly happy. Escaping death filled you with a mood akin to the high after smoking two joints back-to-back. Of course, it would only last for a brief moment; by tomorrow, you’d likely be tossing and turning in bed, plagued by nightmares. A familiar pattern.

"I don’t even want to see you trying to work right now," Spencer said, taking a seat next to you and placing the folder beside him, just out of your reach. Or at least far enough that you’d have to put in some serious effort to grab it—and your sore ribs had no intention of letting you do that.

"Then what do you suggest I do?" you asked, rolling your eyes. "I don't want to sleep."

"Kafka on the Shore?" he suggested.

"I've already read it. By the way, what was the deal with the soldiers and the hut in the woods at the very end?"

"Well, that's an element that leaves a lot of room for personal interpretation."

"Thanks for the explanation, that told me a lot," you chuckled. You pulled your knees to your chest, trying to get more comfortable in your spot, but the movement triggered a wave of pain. You hissed.

“They should have kept you in the hospital for at least one night,” Reid said, suddenly straightening up. “Do you need anything? There might be some ice around… or I could just leave, and you could lie down…”

“No. You’re staying,” you decided firmly. He raised an eyebrow at your abrupt response. You quickly followed up with an explanation. “Well, I’ve finished reading my book, and you took my files. So now you’re responsible for my potential boredom. It’s your duty to entertain me.”

“Yeah” he agreed with a smirk “It’s my duty” 

"So, how do you plan to do that? Are you going to dance? Sing? Juggle?"

"I can't dance or sing, and I don't have anything to juggle. Is it enough if we just talk? Or is that too common of an entertainment for you?"

You pretended to think for a moment.

"Fine, I guess."

"Then what are you planning to do when you get back?"

"Visit Jeremy."

"Oh, right, sorry…”

"Come on," you interrupted, waving your hand. A moment of silence followed as you hesitated before speaking again. However, you remembered that you had decided to stop staying silent about your worries and problems, at least in his presence. "It's just... it really stresses me out. I don't know how I should talk to him, I'm afraid I'll panic when I see him..."

Spencer cleared his throat before answering. 

“That... can really be tough,” he said, not bothering to lie or reassure you that everything would go perfectly. “But hey, remember that he’s probably looking forward to seeing his big sister. Even if you start talking about something you think is silly, he’ll be happy just to have you there.”

He made you smile, though the corners of your eyes began to gently dampen. You wiped them discreetly, not wanting to burst into tears on the jet.

"I hope you're right. And I hope he doesn't hate me for not being there for him..."

You stopped, feeling him take your hand. You realized you had been clenching it into a fist for quite some time.

"I don't know Jeremy, so I can only guess how he'll react. But I'm sure of one thing—he definitely doesn't hate you."

For a long time, you simply stared at your hand in his warm grip. Your fingers relaxed, releasing the tension that had been between them, becoming limp yet yearning for the touch.

"Spencer," you said suddenly, taking a deep breath. "I don't know if I can ask you this... but... you've been there for me this whole time and... okay, I’ll understand if you say no, but... would you maybe... want to visit him with me? I don't know if I can do it alone."

You waited for his response, your heart beating faster with each passing moment. Maybe it was too much? Maybe you shouldn’t be asking him for something like this; maybe it crossed the line of your acquaintance? Just a year ago... no, even a week ago, you never would have imagined you’d be begging anyone for something like this. You would have forced yourself to do it alone, ignoring your fear.

He simply smiled.

"Of course, you can ask me to do that. And I'm glad I'll be able to accompany you."

*

The sound of quickly pressed keys echoed as you gave the hospital receptionist your brother’s last name.

The stark whiteness of the place and the blinding, intense light felt like a scene straight out of a horror movie. The thought of seeing Jeremy soon made you tremble. You had so many questions for him, including why he even tried to take his own life, but you knew you couldn’t ask them just yet. He didn’t need an interrogation to satisfy your curiosity; he needed support.

You were so overwhelmed at the thought of seeing him that you shifted impatiently from foot to foot. You felt stressed but also excited. After all, he was your little brother, and you missed him. Standing beside you, Reid smiled slightly, noticing your behavior. If you were hurting him by squeezing his hand as tightly as you could, he didn’t let it show.

"Who are you to the patient?" the receptionist asked.

"His sister."

"And you?" she turned to Spencer.

"A frie—" he began, probably intending to say friend.

"Fiancé," you interrupted, quickly offering a word that began with the same letter. You worried that if the woman found out he wasn’t connected to you or Jeremy, she might ask him to stay in the waiting room. You didn’t expect him to go into Jeremy's room with you, but you wanted the reassurance that he’d be right outside, not on the other side of the hospital.

Reid first looked at you like you were crazy. You tried to silently signal him to join in on your desperate act. Luckily, he caught on incredibly fast.

"That's right, fiancé. Basically, husband. We're getting married... tomorrow," he improvised, nodding with such conviction that he almost seemed to believe it himself. "Well, actually, not tomorrow, but the day after, because tomorrow is Sunday, and we’re Catholic. In our religion, 

“Darling,” you gritted through your teeth, seeing the receptionist’s confused expression.

“In any case, I’m very close to the patient,” he emphasized.

If he said anything more, you would’ve nudged him with your elbow.

“Well… in that case… the patient is in room number fourteen. It’s that way…” She pointed in the right direction. You thanked her with an overly wide smile. “And… congratulations.”

“God bless you,” Reid said as he waved goodbye.

You quickly turned around, so she wouldn’t see your burst of laughter. As soon as you were out of the receptionist's sight, you hit him on the back so hard that a woman with a cast on her arm almost dropped her coffee. He laughed, and you awkwardly tried to hide how much the whole situation amused you as well.

“If I had let you say one more word, she wouldn’t have let either of us in,” you complained. “She would’ve thought we were freaks. Religious freaks. Or maybe point us to the psychiatric ward.”

“Hey, I’m not the best actor. You should know that,”

“I didn’t know. I’ll remember for next time, though I’m not sure if there will ever be another situation where you’ll need to pretend to be my husband.”

"Fiancé," he corrected. "You decided that yourself."

"Basically a husband. You decided that yourself."

You didn’t say anything more, only grabbed the edge of his coat sleeve to slow his pace. You were standing outside room 14, right in front of the door. You didn’t even peek inside; you weren’t ready to see Jeremy just yet.

“I need one more minute,” you whispered.

“Take all the time you need,” he replied gently.

 The playful mood that had accompanied you both was gone. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you stood on tiptoe and began adjusting his poorly tied scarf. 

“Sorry,” you muttered under your breath. “It’s been bothering me since I saw you.”

"I'll wait for you here, okay?" he asked quietly. Because you were so close to him, he barely had to raise his voice at all. "Jeremy doesn’t know me, I don’t want to just show up unannounced..."

“Are you coming in or what?”

You turned around, startled, to see none other than Jeremy. Lying on the hospital bed, poking at a container of chocolate pudding with a spoon, and most importantly, awake. 

At first, you were surprised, but soon emotion took control of your body, and you ran to him as if he were about to disappear.

"Oh my God, I can finally see you..." His shirt, which you hugged tightly, muffled your words.

"The pudding spilled on your jacket."

"I don't care."

He chuckled into your hair, holding you tighter. You stayed like that for a moment, desperately holding back tears. If even one had surfaced, you would’ve fallen apart like a child.

ou pulled away after a long time, immediately noticing that his eyes were also filled with tears. However, he quickly wiped them away with his hand. Still, he was a sixteen-year-old boy, and crying in front of his sister felt like public humiliation for him, a shame that would last forever. You tried to do everything you could to avoid looking at his wrists. Both hands were wrapped in bandages, and from the conversation with your father, you learned that they had put in a lot of stitches. You focused on looking at his face—young, similar to yours, with the same blue eyes.

"Are parents visiting you?"

He shrugged.

"Father, surprisingly, more often. Mother drops by irregularly and talks about strange things. Apparently, our neighbor's dog has worms, and it really pisses her off. My mother, not the neighbor. Though, probably the neighbor too..."

You didn't know why you started crying.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." you mumbled, your words slurring. “I should have gotten here earlier, and I didn’t. I regret so much that I didn’t, I’m sorry. I should have been here the moment you woke up.”

He didn’t say anything, letting you lament. Finally, you wiped away the last tear, then apologized to him about eighteen more times. You sat together in silence for a moment, busying yourself with wiping the dirty jacket. He wasn’t joking about the pudding.

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged.

“Tolerable, I guess. By the way, who was that guy who came in with you?”

You turned toward the entrance, but Spencer was nowhere to be seen. He must have sat on one of the chairs outside the room, and knowing him, he’d probably started reading some medical brochure.

“A friend,” you replied briefly. “I hope it doesn’t bother you that I brought him... It’s just…”

You didn’t know how to explain that you couldn’t have made it here without support.

“He works for the FBI too?” he asked, suddenly curious. “Would he tell me more about the job than you do?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, pretending to be dead serious.

“I won’t let him tell my little brother any graphic details.”

“I’m not a kid!”

“To me, you are, and always will be.”

He looked like he was holding back from sticking his tongue out at you.

“Call him,” he asked. “I’d love to meet your friend. Is he a friend, or a friend?”

“Jeremy, you’re ridiculous…”

But you fulfilled his request. Spencer stared at you with wide eyes when you told him that your brother wanted to see him. As he entered the room, he almost tripped over... probably his own feet, since there was nothing else to trip on. And that’s how the rest of the visit went, the three of you together. Jeremy alternated between complaining about the hospital food and bombarding Reid with questions about absolutely everything related to being a profiler. He had always been fascinated by it, but after everything that had happened to you, you couldn’t, with a clear conscience, recommend that job to him. Spencer had been explaining everything in detail to him, and for the next hour, you almost felt like an intruder in their private conversation, which amused you instead of offending you.

Spencer left a moment before you, giving you a chance to say goodbye to your brother privately. When you finally released him from your embrace, promising you'd come back tomorrow, the same nurse who had spoken with you at the reception entered the room. She was checking Jeremy’s condition as you headed for the exit.

“Wait,” she suddenly said. “I think your husband left his scarf.”

She held up the purple scarf, indeed Reid's. You were about to thank her and take it when you noticed Jeremy’s mouth hanging open, and with horror, you realized what she'd said.

"Forgive me, dear sister, but what the fuck?”

*

“So, he’s convinced that we had a secret, spontaneous wedding that you didn’t tell him about?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

In reality, Jeremy had probably realized immediately that there was a misunderstanding, but he just couldn’t pass up the chance to tease you. He would likely bring it up again for the rest of your life. You were also worried that you'd get an angry phone call from your mother asking why you didn’t mention your “wedding,” but overall, you were content with how the meeting went.

You both walked together in an unknown direction, neither of you sure when you should part ways or if you even wanted to. You didn’t want to, but you had no idea about him. The weather was much better than in the town where you had spent the last few days. The fewer trees meant that autumn wasn’t as pronounced. It was only present in the chilly, gusty wind.

"If you don't have any plans, how about going out to eat?" you suggested.

"Sure." Reid agreed immediately, and the corner of your mouth twitched at the speed of his response. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Well, anything. There's a good restaurant on the corner of this street... Oh, God, I just remembered, I owe someone dinner as a thank you."

"Dinner? As a thank you?" he repeated with a strange look on his face. Before he could say anything else, he caught himself and snorted. "Interesting. Just curious, is it someone I know?"

"Oh, you know him." You continued with a barely suppressed smile. "Do you remember James Rivas? The forest ranger?"

Reid literally stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Dinner? With him?"

"That's right. Well, he saved my life, so I guess I owe him that."

You were shocked when you learned how your team knew where to find you after you were kidnapped. The bunker Osborne took you to was unknown to the local authorities, hidden deep in the forest, far from any paths. When the rumor spread through the town about who was responsible for the murders and that an FBI agent had been kidnapped, the forest ranger showed up at the police station. He revealed that he knew the place where you might have been held because, as a child, he used to go there with friends, including Logan Osborne.

But of course, you had no intention of taking him to dinner. You just wanted to laugh at Reid's reaction.

"You're absolutely not owed anything by him!" he blurted out with emotion, a hint of anger in his voice. "If he'd only remembered that he knew about the existence of some bunker, you wouldn't have been kidnapped in the first place. You wouldn't have had to go through that hell, and I wouldn't have been losing my mind the whole time, not knowing what happened to you. Plus, have you forgotten what an awful person he is? He's arrogant, self-absorbed, and full of self-admiration—do you really want to have dinner with someone like that...are you laughing?"

He furrowed his brow, completely confused by your reaction.

“God, Reid, I was just joking! I’d rather die than spend another hour with that jerk. Especially voluntarily,” you explained, laughing between words. Something in his remark made you smirk. “Were you really losing your mind when I was kidnapped? “

“You’re impossible," he snorted. “Where’s that restaurant?”

“Wait, don’t change the topic and answer my question”

He simply looked at you, tilting his head to the side.

 “Isn’t it obvious?”

taglist: @miriamnox @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @nightfullofparadox

thank you everyone for reading <3

[littlestarbigsky]

been thinking long and hard abt soda and what it did to him to drop out of high school (i also feel bad bc somehow the only fics i have abt soda are all ships and i know i can do better for my boy)

so here’s a quick lil thing abt darry and soda after soda dropped out :p

darry couldn’t remember the last time soda had been this upset. even after their parents died, there were moments when the gang was all together and soda could laugh and feel the littlest bit normal again, but this felt like it was never going to end, and there was no reprieve. there was no end in sight, and darry couldn’t do anything to help him.

his grades had been going downhill for a while. it wasn’t his fault, or at least not entirely. it had been years since soda had done alright in school on his own instead of barely scraping by, and at some point the class had left him behind and it was like they started speaking another language.

and then their parents died.

soda already had enough trouble missing one day of school, let alone missing a week while they tried to throw together a funeral.

a month after their parents had died, after far too many nights at the kitchen table crying over math homework, after screaming matches that shook the roof over his grades, after darry had yelled so many times about how failing out of school was a surefire way to get them sent to a boy’s home, soda finally said that he was dropping out of school.

he could barely leave his room after telling darry, he couldn’t even tell ponyboy himself. he didn’t know what to do with himself, battling with his own mind every hour of the day. thoughts bouncing around his head of feeling like a failure for not even being able to graduate high school, bullying himself over not being able to joke around about it or making other people happy, which felt like maybe the only thing he was good at anymore. he knew that he was going to fail out eventually, so what was the point?

“soda?” darry cracked the door open, his eyes landing on his little brother where he had been for the last three days: curled up in bed, his back to the door. “do you want some dinner?”

soda silently shook his head.

darry sighed, “you can’t stay in here, forever, pepsi. we miss you out there.”

soda didn’t give much of a response, just gave a half hearted shrug.

“listen,” darry let himself into the room, sitting down on the bed and bringing a hand up to rub soda’s back. “i know you feel lousy, and i know you’ve got a lot on your mind, but you’ve gotta get back to living, soda. you’ve just gotta. we couldn’t get along without you.”

soda rolled over and sat up, and darry had to swallow a gasp at the state of his brother. soda’s eyes were rubbed raw and angry red from crying with deep shadows stamped under them, his hair was sticking up at all angles from the grease he hadn’t washed out in days, and his clothes were wrinkled and hanging loosely off of him.

“soda…”

darry could hardly get the word out before soda had thrown himself at his big brother, tears starting up again. god, he was so tired of crying.

“i’m so sorry,” he cried miserably, clutching to darry with everything he had in him.

darry felt the tears hit his shoulder and his heart ached for his little brother, “i know, i ain’t mad at you, honey.”

“mom and dad just wanted me to graduate and i couldn’t even do that! how am i supposed to do anything if i can’t do that?” soda sobbed.

“they’re not mad at you either, baby, don’t say that,” darry could feel tears prickling in his own eyes.

“listen, i don’t care if you’re lyin’ to me,” soda leaned back, his eyes not meeting darry’s. “but can you please tell me it’s gonna be okay.”

darry felt like he had missed a step going down stairs with the way the words made his stomach drop. he grabbed soda’s face in his hands and forced his brother to look at him.

“it’s gonna be okay, baby. i don’t know when and i don’t know how but i promise you, we’re gonna be okay. i’m gonna make sure we are.”

he wasn’t sure soda believed him, and maybe he didn’t even fully believe himself, but he had made a promise, and he had every intention of making good on it. some of the tension soda had been holding in his shoulders seemed to melt away, and darry knew he would be okay with saying everything over and over again if it meant soda didn’t have to be so scared.

“thank you… i know you hate lying to us.”

“i wasn’t lying.”

[klunkcat]

Life is short, and I've shortened mine

rise of the tmnt gift fic for the T3 server november exchange, for the very lovely @remedyturtles

Sensei is a character that can actually be so life changing and brain consuming. Very grateful to have the opportunity to play in your sandbox, exploring their headspaces is actually incredible and also devastating.

Note: This is an offshoot from Rem’s “little kid with a big death wish” fic and will not make sense on its own I fear.

title from good bones by Maggie Smith

read on ao3

___

He didn’t ask for this, is the crucial thing. He’d been— not relieved to be dead, because he hadn’t managed to make it yet to where his brothers were, because his kid was still out there fighting for tomorrow. Relieved was too gentle a word, but he’d been something. 

Maybe less tired. 

It was nice to think about, selfishly. He’s been carrying lead weights and anchors at the edges of himself since the moment the world fell, but there’d never been any other volunteers for the job. Somewhere quietly inside himself he’d thought the ending would mean a moment of reprieve. He should have known, though. They’d all been the universe's favorite chew toys for long enough, dying was too nice a bow to wrap around it. 

He really hadn’t asked for this, no matter what the subconscious thoughts he’d hit to death with sticks in the back of his mind said about escaping. Stumbling across the kid— another him, a version of him he’d never gotten to be, that he thinks maybe distantly he shouldn’t have needed to be— he’d hoped he could silently wrap himself in that thick blanket of nothing and fade out at least. Not fuck things up for him worse, but, well. 

Maybe the throughline to being Hamato Leonardo was fate-led curiosity; he’d never learned how to leave well enough alone in either direction. Of course Leo had scouted him out, of course he’d been compelled to try to help the kid float when he should have stayed put, of course. Of course. 

And so, as the classics say, here they were. 

“Can you give me a number, Leo?” Raph’s voice creeps in, all-over earnest and thoughtful in the way he intrinsically is—was. It’s a shard of glass to hear it at all, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. The kid fuzzes out a little and slips sideways a step; oops , Leo thinks. There’s a hard line around not transmitting too loud, he’s still trying to figure it out. 

Could do without whatever that was ever again , the kid thinks, sharp and rattled under the surface.

Leo winces. Sorry, I’m all thumbs over here. Trying to keep quiet. 

Psh, younger Leo rolls his eyes. You’re all one thumb .

The kid turns back to his brother, thrumming still between a one and zero now. He’s scrambling to ground still, to focus. He gives Raph a quick OK sign that there’s no way Raph doesn’t see through. It’s kind of funny to watch his force-fire white-knuckling deflection in technicolor from the outside like this, he’s not sure why he ever thought this worked. 

“That’s okay, that’s fine. Can you give me a number, bud?” The pleading edge hurts to hear. 

They hold up a shaky one, maybe overconfidently. Mikey and Don are in the room somewhere, he can hear them shuffling even with Leo’s eyes closed. The sudden memory of a thousand days where the only rest his littlest brother got was when he was locked in meditation, the way he walked like his bones and joints hurt right up until the end, nearly knocks them both back to a firm zero. 

The kid glares at him, Leo holds his hand up apologetically and imagines zipping his non-existent lips shut. 

They’d been doing better for the last few days. He’d started talking out loud, had been at a solid two a handful of times. He knows the kid’s frustrated and exhausted, he can feel it, especially seeing them slip all the way back. Leo feels a hot well of shame creep up his ethereal throat. 

He knows it’s a push and pull game they’re playing. Wounded leading the wounded, and all. 

It’s still a lot, to think of seeing his family that isn’t his family. Of them knowing he existed and talking to him. Points towards the ‘he should fuck off forever’ category, as soon as they figured out how to get rid of him.

(The kid talked about it like they’d miss him if he left, like there’d be some great love lost— they didn’t know him, though. He’d lived through twenty years of a war they’d never have to see. Leo was not the teen they were missing, the one they were trying to call home, because he’d given that up a long time ago.

Of course he had to leave, this kid had a life of his own to live now. Leo didn’t have anything.)

“ — he was for a moment, just give him time,” Raph’s saying. He forces the kid to take a purposeful long breath in, squeeze his fingers, twitch his toes. Keep him from tipping all the way over into the dark where he’d accidently shoved them. 

“See, he’s back with us,” Raph continues, brightly. The kid groggily radiated all sorts of furious signals like a firecracker popping in several unplanned directions, all different fonts screaming exhaustion and hurt the only way he knew how. Leo’s heart aches for him. Beating himself down for daring to survive at all. 

“Is he?” Don’s voice cuts in haughtily. Leo makes them blink their eyes open, caught out despite the kid’s anger. 

They’re looking for you, bud. Rise and shine.

I don’t care, the kid hisses. Fuck off. 

Okay. Well. Less than ideal. 

“Which one are we dealing with,” Don’s voice hovers closer, half lodged in icy suspicion. He wouldn’t be this closed off for his Leo, obviously. Leo— Sensei smothers a sigh. 

“He’s trying not to  answer the phone right now. So, just me. Sorry.” 

“Is he okay?” Raph asks, concern evident in the dark shadow of his brow. Sensei can’t look at it directly, it’s not for him to feel all the reminiscent grief of a brother that isn’t even his. How he feels about any of this never helps anything. 

“He’s….” He prods the kid and gets an indistinguishable slew of curses and general hypothetical middle fingers back. “He’s taking a break, he’s okay.” 

Don arches a brow back. “I don’t care that we’re forced to take your word for this, just to be clear.” 

“Fair enough. He says, and I quote, bite me, so I think that’s where we’re at.” 

“Ah,” Raph hums. “Well, if you can tell him I’ll be back in ten minutes with tea, I’d love to check in on him then.” 

Sensei nods, relays the message with a garbled hiss as a response. Expected. 

Don stares at him, impassive. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Feral cat radiating protective instincts three counties wide, like always.

It’s… an ache under the skin, to be left alone with Don. He hasn’t forgotten the way Dee’s face would shift in a scowl, he never could, but seeing it played out on a younger face scratches something in him regardless. 

“I want to speak with my brother, if it’s all the same,” Don says, blunt. 

“I’ve been trying to ring him, I promise. Bad morning.” 

Don arches a brow with a twitch to his jaw Sensei knows means he’s attempting to fight off a full on annoyed pout and failing. It hits him sideways to see, funny in the chest. A thousand sense memories, a different Donnie and a different place, coalescing all into one. His Don had gotten really good at not emoting at all near the end, he’d almost forgotten.

Hey, the kid grouses. Who’s flying this plane?

Right, thumbs again, Not-his-Don hovers closer when he blinks back to the front. A frown touches the middle of his maskless forehead. 

He makes himself walk through a few quick grounding steps and breathe in as deep as he can before speaking. “Back, sorry. Uh, Sensei, that is. Leo’s listening though.” 

Don’s still frowning, but he leans back a touch. “He’s making it harder for you to stay here too, isn’t he?” 

He doesn’t think the phrasing of that is fair, but. “Was all me that time, if I’m honest. We’re at a one now though, I’m good.” 

“Is he ?” Don tilts his head. 

Sensei considers. The kid’s not sinking back there just… Curled up, pill-bugging. Radiating furious hurt energy like a solar system all on his own. He’s present enough to tell Sensei to fuck off and focus on Don at least. 

“Think so, yeah. He’s just…” He mimes a snapping maw with his good hand.

Don sighs and rolls his eyes, there’s an edge of anxiety there Sensei can still read as bright as anything. Isn’t that a thought. Twenty years without and this younger Donnie is still under his skin like a part of himself. 

He needs you bud, Sensei tries again, nudging his younger self. 

I’m tired of this , the kid growls back, not-voice cracking all the way through in a way that makes Sensei ache for him. 

Sensei sighs, patting his shell. I know.

Don shifts his weight in front of them, frown deepening as he moves to tap on his wrist guard. Probably texting the family about the general Bad Leo Day, he imagines. He knows how this would go with his Don— the way it would itch at him being unable to instantly resolve whatever problems his brother had. He never dealt well with any mystic issues affecting Mike for the same reasons either. 

There’d always been a thrumming line between them, some unspoken thing; Sensei carried it with him even now, even with the end gone dark. He knows Don’s having a hard time reconciling all the ways ‘Sensei’ is his Leo and is someone entirely different. Managing the fear that his Leo will go somewhere far away inside himself and he’ll only be left with someone he doesn’t know. That he’ll be left alone. 

The worst part about being a twin is when you aren’t one anymore, after all. 

Bad thought. Shit. The pull in the back of his mind grows louder. He holds up a shakier zero. Don’s sharp eyes narrow, tapping something harder on his guard before shifting closer. “Leo?” 

Can you stop being horribly sad for five minutes while looking at my brother? It’s so not helping. 

He shakes his head. “Still me,” the words come out soupy. The kid jabs him angrily somewhere in the back of his brain, uncurled with annoyed concern, which is maybe an unintentional win. 

“Is it— can you ground him?” 

He’s trying; his brain fires unhelpful flashes of the days after. Of the months of searching desperately, of the moment he woke up in the middle of the night with sudden certainty that wherever the other half of himself went, he couldn’t get back on his own. Shit. 

Shit , the kid echoes, less angry with the barely concealed concern. Sensei can feel the dark pit creeping at his arms even as he blinks furiously to stay present. 

“Not him, it’s— sorry, all me again. Don’t think I can stick around.” He squeezes his fist, forces himself to breathe deeper, but it catches somewhere around the middle. The kid slides forward with a flurry of aggrieved panic that sparks through him and sends him back down several flights. There goes that plan. 

Sensei cracks an eye back open and catches a familiar flash in Donnie’s eyes, and yeah— sorry, kid. Lights out. 

The last conversation he remembers having with Don had been about Casey. He was getting to the age where he was asking to follow them out on missions more and more, curious about everything Uncle Tello was up to. He wanted to help, desperately. Itching with the need to be useful in a way they all understood. 

It was different with Casey, though. He knew why it was different.

“We let Mike do this stuff when he was his age,” Leo had said with a sigh. “It’s hard to find good reasons to say no that aren’t just three rounds of my own loud clamoring panic. He should go, he’s trained plenty.” 

Don clicked his goggles, focusing on a project in front of him with a hum. “Mike wasn’t dealing with an apocalypse. He was, at worst, trying to find a new place to tag at Casey Jr’s age, so.” 

“Exactly,” Leo smooths his hand across his head. “But also…” 

Don looks at him, eyes gone big with the layers of lenses so he gets hyper close up patented ‘Tello Eye Roll in high definition. “But also, you’re a mother hen, and he’s talented, and he’ll just sneak out anyways if we keep making him hang back.” 

“Points for you,” Leo sighs again. “Want to make that a daily double?” 

“You remember how Micheal was about being babied,” Don sighs. “So, I don’t know. Let him go on a supply run, something small. A practice version,” Don shrugs, turns back to his work. “There’s that lower activity quadrant we got a ping on last week. I can take him and go get that part we need to fix up the generator.” 

Leo lets out a long breath. “Yeah, that— huh. That could work. He’s always saying he wants to learn more about how to keep things running around here, he’ll be over the moon. Kid asked me last week if I could show him how to do stitches.” 

Don snorts. “Great, soon there’ll be two of you.” 

Leo steps forward, leaning his elbow on Don’s chair to peer over at his desk. There’s a mess of wires in front of him, a plate he’s meticulously soldering ends together on. “Eh, there’s already two of me.” 

“Excuse you,” Don nudges him back with a shoulder. “As the funnier twin, I resent that remark.”

He laughs, lets out a breath. The thrum of Don’s room sometimes settles him, like it’s echoing the place in him where his ninpo sat before. Constant hums of his family flitting through open rooms. 

“You don’t think I’m being paranoid, do you?” Leo has to ask. The variables tripped around each other in hyperspeed in his mind at all times, racing down to the ends of his fingers. Casey’s only thirteen, they’re down too many runners, there’s never any right choices and only Leo to make them.

Don pauses for a second. He flips up his goggles before Leo can wrench the question back into himself, not that it had ever worked before. 

“I’ll keep him safe,” Don says, slowly. “It’s a good call, he’s earned it.” 

“You’re just saying that because it was half your idea.” Leo glances away, embarrassed on some fundamental level that Don had even needed to give him the reassurance. He sighs, squeezes Don’s shoulder quickly as a thank you. Don hums with a smirk. 

“Well? Are you going to teach him? Don’t think we have any oranges to practice on.” The implication rings loudly enough, Casey stitching up real wounds is a foray they haven’t dared make.

Leo waves his hand. “Might be a good idea for the kid to have some medical information in between all the supercomputer nerd things.” 

“Avoiding the question is a bold move.”

Leo deflates, winces. “Yeah. Thought it might make him worry less.” If he could help without leaving the base at all, maybe they’d both relax. A quieter thought, under that: maybe Leo would, if he knew Casey could take care of himself without him. 

Don squints. “It might. Here’s a better thought, his Sensei letting someone else take on the riskier missions for once, hm?” 

Ah, well. 

Leo feigns a wide grin anyways, shrugging. “What can I say, the Krang love me.” 

The arched eyebrow he receives is scathing. He is scathed. He waves his good hand Don’s direction with a huff. “Don’t look at me like that, this is about the kid. Table the psychoanalysis for Mike to take over.” 

“You want Michael to get in on this?”

Good point. He sighs again, shuffling over to a side table and crossing his arms. This is an old argument, the circles of it are worn through and practically scripted. If dear Tello insists, he purses his lips. Round and round they go. 

“I’m faster.”

“Other people are fast enough.” 

“Enough isn’t safe.”

“Letting the Krang learn all your moves is?” 

“Come on, I’ve been fine.” 

The scathing meter ramps up as Don’s eyes pointedly flick to Leo’s robotic arm. “They blast you with enough of their power? How long is that going to be true.” 

“I know how they work.” 

“For fucks sake Leo, the rest of us grew up in the apocalypse too.” 

The rest of you aren’t responsible for it, though , he thinks with all forty old years of packed self directed venom. There’s no point to this conversation, he finds the way out Don wants. 

“Fine. I’ll stay back for the next few, okay? You and Case can do the supply run. April’s been saying she wants to get back out, I can send her with Angel.” 

Don’s steely gaze doesn’t shift, his jaw tense. Usually, this is where the conversation stalls and dies out. World like theirs is lacking in many things, including fuel to burn with. 

“I’m sick of watching you do this,” he spits out, sharp and barbed. It stops Leo up short. 

He nearly says ‘do what’, but he knows his twin. They haven’t gone into any of this since— well, since Raph. Since the mantle of the Resistance became something heavier and lodged in him with anchor weights. Since everyone started looking at him like his plans were god. Since his fuck up ruined everything.

No time for heart to hearts, really.

“Come on, Dee,” he swallows roughly, carefully. “I’m careful. This isn’t about that.” 

“Isn’t it? Isn’t everything you do about that?” 

Leo works his jaw. “It isn’t.”

“When will you stop acting like you have to make up for it, then?” 

Ouch. Leo redirects. “We’re going to win this. It’ll work out, you know it will. I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

Winning the war hasn’t been a tangible thought in his mind in years either; he’s not sure he knows how to do anything but follow the script anymore, though. He hopes he’s putting up a strong enough act.

Don’s hand clenches around his soldering gun, relaxes. “There’s only one you,” he practically growls out, and Leo’s chest squeezes. “If he goes somewhere he takes me with him. Do you get that?” 

He swallows again. “Course I do. I’m not— this isn’t about me, Don. Strategically, until they start catching up to me we have to make them believe I’m their only concern. Promise, that’s all this is.” 

You swear? He almost hears a younger Donnie ask, crouched up in their hideout over Donnie’s gameboy. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, with as much sincerity as he carries with him. He wouldn’t, there’s nowhere else in the world for him to go when everything that matters is right here. 

“You aren’t allowed to pull anything. I’d know if you were,” Don glares. “We need you.” He says it funny, emphasis on both the need and the you all at once, like one of those endless staircase paintings that look different the longer you try to make sense of it. Leo holds up his hands helplessly. 

His twin’s stare pins Leo through for a long moment. He takes the whole half a second of pause to step closer. “Hey, that whole thing— back at you. Obviously.” 

Don lets out a long breath, expression flat and assessing. For a moment, Leo thinks he might say more, but he turns his chair around to continue soldering. 

“Obviously.” 

They’d let the conversation fall lighter, moving to charitable waters. And Leo had let Don take Case out for an easy supply run. 

The last thing his twin ever said to him was lost somewhere behind the distress beacon and the noise of the Krang leveling an entire building on him. He thinks there was a sorry in there, or a be right back to the scared kid he was giving up the world for. 

The part that’s always stung, a burr against his core, is that they never find any sign of where Donnie went. There’s his ninpo, and his bo staff with his fucking mask tied around a bleeding wound on Casey’s arm, the hum of electricity somewhere down the corridors of his mind, and Casey safely bundled and shaking in a propped up section of rubble. His kid is so terrified, asks for Uncle Tello in a quiet whine like he knows.  

He doesn’t remember the mad scramble to get there, the fact that he’d reached so far down into his struggling well of ninpo he’d felt something entirely shatter apart in his hands. The way Mikey had put his own hands over Leo’s, and brought the two of them together all at once. He only remembers the wake of whatever devastation cracks through him once it’s clear they were too late. 

The recording he’d left that Leo couldn’t bring himself to listen to for weeks. 

Leo would know if he died. He would. The light never goes out, but Don never comes home. It’s a loss he can’t name all the same. 

It’s impossible to regather whatever off the cuff words he’d said last, before Don left. Had he said be safe? Had he said he’d loved him? They’d never needed to say it before, but the lack still haunts him. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

‘Be right back’ is a shitty thing to lie about, he thinks wryly.

It’s the first promise he’s ever broken. 

The ache never leaves but there’s no time for grief. He steps outside of himself and into whatever he needs to be, and he chases the corridors in his mind to that safe space Donnie’s ninpo has always rested. The door is closed, but it’s still humming. He doesn’t know what that means. 

“God, stop ,” the kid groans at him. Leo– Sensei blinks back into himself, or— to the place between what constitutes as himself these days. The spot by the tree with just the two of them. “It sucks when it’s you somehow even more than when it’s me.” 

The sludge is still there, distantly. Tugging at him in ebbs and flows. Sensei makes himself breathe out, take a look at the kid. Take stock, soldier. Focus on the problem at hand, deal with your shit somewhere else. 

“Or, here’s a thought: you could deal with your shit at all. Call me crazy, but this ‘shoving all my old man pain in a box and burying it deep down’ thing seems like it’s fucking us both over.” The kid whines, leaning his head back. The irony does not escape either of them, he knows. The Uno reverse is unspoken.

Magnanimously, Sensei lets it slide. 

The kid’s problem is more complicated and knotted somewhere inside himself than he likes to acknowledge, at least Sensei’s is all obvious lines of too-long-losing-wars and grief. It’s all outside. The problem has always been that it’s outside.

Sensei settles beside him, hand on his knees and head tilted up to the still sky. They don’t speak for a long moment, instinctively mimicking the long drawn out grounding breaths in sync. He wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling so strange. Seeing himself from the outside like this, entirely encased in different baggage. It’s hard to think about anything other than ‘he’s so small’, loudly. On repeat. It’s not a helpful thought. 

“Sorry,” Sensei breathes as the sludge lessens minutely along his back. “Should be used to that by now.” 

The kid shrugs. “Is there a way to be used to it?” 

He knows he’s asking for them both. The truest answer feels the most bleak, so he opts for something gentler. 

“I think there has to be a way to think around it at least? Make the brain box bigger. Less likely for the shit in it to hit things.” 

There’s a long sigh beside him. “Sounds exhausting.” 

A long pause. “Would it… help? To talk about it?” 

Man, this little blue. Sensei can’t help the smile that tilts across his heart; he’s so tentative and determined all in one. Still stretching a hand out even though he knows whatever Sensei’s going to say might bowl him right over again. 

He shakes his head. “Nah. I tried once, with my Mike. It’s an old scar anyways.” 

The conversation hadn’t gone anywhere helpful, even with Mikey’s ability to see right inside his brain. They’d both been too tired to argue. 

“I don’t think I could do it,” the kid says, sullenly. Tiredly. He rolls his head to the side to make eye contact with Sensei. “Live without any of them.” 

Yeah , he thinks. He doesn’t say that there hadn’t been much living at all. “You know it's the same for them about you, right?” 

The kid scowls, turns away. “Saying things you don’t mean about yourself seems kinda useless, old man.” 

I mean it about you, though , he thinks. Something twitches in the kid's face. “I had twenty years as the last resort,” Sensei offers. “Changes your perspectives on things.” Or your priorities, really. Whether or not they needed him didn’t change that he was responsible for keeping them alive. 

Or that he’d failed. 

It’s obvious math with the kid anyways. He can see the way the kids brother’s hover, checking in and creeping forward and patiently holding his hand, working constantly to make him feel safe. Twenty years and mires of grief isn’t enough to drown out all the big and small ways he can see how his family loves. 

“What was he like,” the kid turns with a sharper look in his eyes. “Your Don.”

He sighs, lets it roll through him. “Tired.”

He closes his eyes. 

“He was really tired.” 

He’d barely slept, all the way up until the end. Too many defense algorithms to scrub through footage of, supposedly— he wonders now if he should have checked in more. If he should have asked. 

“Yeah,” the kid says, quietly like he doesn’t expect Sensei to hear. “You feel tired a lot, too.” 

Oh . He supposes that’s fair. 

Sensei swallows and imagines the fractured pieces of his heart settling back into their ruins. “It’s funny, he made all the systems in our base use his voice. Had to hear him anytime someone tried to use the microwave. Technically his last words to me were ‘front door compromised’.”

“Yeah. Funny. You ever thought about therapy?”

He doesn’t want to talk about this, it never helps. The rioting part of his core that is four parts missing and agony and one part instinctive need to move forward writhes anytime he lets himself remember any of it at all. As if he does anything other than remember it. 

“Kid—” He exhales. 

The kid turns to face him, frowning with that divot above his brow and his dead set determined set to his beak that screams stubbornness in neon colors. “Listen. I know how— I do the same thing, with my Ang, right? You know, where he doesn’t need all of my… me-ness on top of everything. So tell me the real version, get it out of that slow cooker of a brain so you can stop freaking out every time Don breathes our direction.”

He’s having a weird brain schism, he realizes. The divides between where this kid went and where he himself had walked are so different, sometimes past him feels like a different turtle entirely. A younger one, boiling entirely over with how little he sees himself at all. 

I see you , he thinks, tragically. Pointlessly.  

Sensei breathes out. “There’s not much—” his voice breaks, he clenches his hand around the inexorable pull of that dark space at his edges. The kid sees all of it anyways, doesn’t he? Dancing around it only makes it more his problem, less Sensei’s alone. His throat burns with some memory of tears, it feels silly but the words crawl out of him anyways. “I just. I never got to say goodbye. We never found out if he—” 

But he had to have. It’s so much worse to imagine he had been alive and trapped, that Leo had left him there in that awful world. He had to have been dead because his twin would have broken apart the planet itself to get back to them if he could have. 

His shoulders round forward and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I just, I should have gotten to say goodbye.” 

The kid is silent. A long moment passes. 

Sensei feels a small hand carefully land on his knee. “Sorry.” 

He puts his larger one over the kids, squeezes it. “Nothing for you to be sorry for, kid.” Nothing in this whole wide world. “Whatever my Don was doing, I have to believe he’s with everyone else now.” It makes it manageable, at least. Widens the box in his brain so he can think around it. 

The kid hums thoughtfully. “Can we… I mean, dad talks to our ancestors and things, in the mystic plane, right? He could maybe—” 

Panic wrings through him, ice cold and visceral. Sensei feels the shudder crack through both of them and their tree side hang out waver into darkness. “--right, okay.” The kid gasps. “Bad plan, got it. Noted.” 

“Sorry,” Sensei manages. “I just…” He doesn’t want to know what they think of him. What any of them would say about the world he broke. He knows them, he knows, but he’d been tired for so long before that, and he doesn’t want to know that Don went slowly or painfully. That he’d been waiting for Leo to find him.

Maybe he deserves to know how much he let him down. 

The kid's hand twists, squeezing his back as hard as he can. “Forget it, shit. Grounding, let’s um. Let’s do that and not whatever this is. I hate this, fuck. ” 

They walk through a few start and stop steps, the kids hand tight in his the whole time as they both dig their heels in to stay. It hurts, and Sensei wants to give in. The hand in his keeps him pushing through, cracks through him enough to speak. 

“He, uh,” he clears his non-corporeal throat. “He kept a section of his database specifically for chess games for me. To run on my wrist guard when I couldn’t sleep.” Which was most of the time. Sensei shakes his head. “Kept a file for Mario Party cheat codes, too.” 

The kid stares at the side of his face. Breathing steadier. He can feel it like a brand. “I knew he cheated. Asshole! I knew it.” 

Sensei shrugs, a laugh surprising him as choked off and wobbly as it is. “He rigged up a giant screen once. Told me he was going to come for my crown once and for all, right in front of the entire base. Raph ended up winning.” 

The stare gets more intense. “No.” 

“Swear on my life,” he says. Pauses. “Or, well. My ghost possession afterlife? Don was furious.” 

“Raph never wins at Mario,” he can hear the cogs in the kids' heads freezing in place. Hell has rained ice, pigs have started flying. Raphael, chronically confused at Mario Party mini game rules to a truly fascinating degree, won a video game.

“It’s true,” Sensei laughs. 

“Was it the pity stars?”

“It was the pity stars.” 

“Ah.”

He remembers how hard Mike had laughed at that, just absolute shrieking peels of delight as the rest of his family stared in complete silence. April had needed to drag a completely feral Donnie back to his quarters because Leo ended up crying laughing with him. 

There weren't a lot of those good days after they lost dad. It’s important he holds onto them. It’s important he doesn’t let himself forget even when it’s hard to think about. 

“That’s a relief,” the kid says, leaning back again. “Was starting to think everything about the future was completely and morbidly depressing. Least you had Mario Party.” 

At least they had Mario Party. 

The kid wakes up on his own, Sensei tucked carefully somewhere in the background. There’s a flurry of commotion somewhere out in the hall that sounds a lot like Mikey and Raph, but it’s still and quiet in the med bay. 

Shit, the kid thinks, looking at the clock. It’s definitely been more than a few hours since they fell under. Sensei can see the medical clip on the kid's finger is back in place before he wiggles it off. 

“Number?” Don’s voice cuts in, stern. Flat. Standing with his arms crossed in the corner of the room by his desk. 

They hold up a two after a long moment. “I’m fine,” the kid says. Don’s expression doesn’t change.

“Who am I talking to?” 

The kid groans. “Don’t be like that, Tello. He didn’t mean to. Half of it was me, anyways.” 

Don looks squarely unimpressed, but something eases in the line of his shoulders. Relieved not to be talking with the body snatcher, probably, he gets it. 

“He said he dragged you under, it’s been twelve hours. Am I not supposed to think your parasite is making it worse?” 

He’s not wrong either.

The kid radiates frustration at both of them. “He’s not— Dee. He’s been through a lot. Leave off him, alright? I was pissed off, he got his flip switched. I wasn’t making it easier. I’m doing good, I don’t want to be mad, okay?”

Don’s expression flickers, faltering as it always does around their particular brand of pleading honesty. “Fine, I’m not done talking about this but. Tabled, for now. What do you need.” 

The kid thinks for a minute. Water would be good, Sensei nudges him. 

“Would you talk to him?” The kid says instead, startling both Don and Leo. 

Don recovers first, eyes narrowing. “Why.” 

The kid’s brain is a mess of picture show slides, a strange warped retelling of Sensei’s own memories. It makes him wince, guilt rising thick in his chest. He’s gotta get better at locking that down. 

“Look he— he misses his own Don. It’s not the same thing, but he had a rough night. Just shut up and talk to him.” 

“Oxymoron,” Don and Sensei say in sync. The kid glares. 

Kid, Sensei tries. 

No. Not up for debate. You won’t let me tell Casey? Fine, this is my compromise. I’m tired of playing referee. 

Sensei hates the pang of panic that still lights up in his mind at the thought. The kid lets out a frustrated growl. 

Stop trying to leave! I’m sick of it. What if I— what if I don’t want them to pry you out of here. What then? You gonna sit here in this pissing contest stand off with my Don until we die? 

There’s. A lot to unpack there, and not enough of the kid standing firm enough to do it— the conversations knocked them both back swiftly to a one that’s tenuous at best. Sensei didn’t make it so long as a general without knowing how to pick his battles, anyways. 

If this is what you need from me, okay, he relents. 

The kid’s glare is still hot, assessing. He turns back to himself, to the med room. 

Don’s fussing with his tablet, brows twitching and his hand firmly in Leo’s good one. “‘M here, sorry.” The kid squeezes his twin's hand for them. “Just having a conversation, hard to be both places at once.” 

Don’s jaw shifts. “I will refrain from the comments I desperately want to make.” 

“Noted, file that under an IOU.”

Don rolls his eyes. “Scoff. As if I don’t have a mountain of those already.”  

The affection in the kid is warm and strong as anything. He clears his throat. “What if I… what if I asked him to stay. Sensei. Would you be mad?” 

Sensei shoves his own festering pile of guilt and doubt aside as hard as he can. Don’s expression flattens. “Why would you want to do that.” 

It’s your life, Sensei whispers. 

The kid shakes his head. “Casey needs him.” 

There’s another need underneath it, neither him or the kid acknowledge it directly. 

Don sighs, eyes squinting in the vague pained way of his. “I’m supposed to be okay with someone that is not you, taking you away from us when—” He cuts himself off, breathes out sharply. 

The kid stays silent. 

“Fine. Tabled. Get him out here.” 

Sensei slides forwards, patting the kid on the arm distantly and ignoring his grumble about it. He’s bracing himself— he knows how Dee is, in any version of them. Getting his head chewed off would be the easiest way out. 

“For the record,” Sensei starts, with a faint curve to his mouth. “I agree with you.” 

The kid glares. 

Don arches a brow, crossing his arms. “I don’t…. Like you, being here. I’m not convinced you aren’t impacting him in ways that are halting his progress.” 

Sensei manages a shrug. “You’re probably right. I try really hard to stay out of his way where I can, but. You saw yesterday.” 

Don’s jaw works, terse in every line of his body. Sensei remembers how his Don was before Raph. The way he’d gone along with all of Leo’s plans just inherently trusting that his goal was always to get everyone back out above anything else. The way he’d shifted. Their last conversation had been a lot of sharp lines like this; something adjacent to doubt. It still burns, funnily enough, even from a sixteen year old version of his twin who doesn’t know subtlety at all. 

“If I told you I had figured out how to rip you out of him without injuring Leo at all, would you fight me?” 

Sensei nearly laughs, I’d thank you, he tries not to think. “No,” he says with a stronger lilting smile. “I’d just ask that you do it before Case realizes I’m here. He doesn’t need that.” 

Something in Don’s face shifts. “When Leo says you’ve been through a lot, what does that mean.” 

“Ah,” Sensei huffs. “Maybe not a conversation for right now—” He can feel the daggers of the kid’s ire, nonetheless. Sighs. “Krang won where I’m from, Case probably mentioned.”

“And that means?”

He winces. “A lot of things that are hard to remember, mostly.” 

Don’s gaze is assessing. He types something onto his wrist guard. “Any triggers I should know about?” 

You. Raph. Dad. He breathes out. Shakes his head. 

“Fine. Bring him back, please.” 

The kid’s eye roll is something fierce internally, externally it’s too much effort to muster. “Dee. That was barely anything.” 

Don shrugs. “I talked to him, didn’t I?” 

It’s fine , Sensei reassures him. He means that it wouldn’t help, not with the hole that’s been carved in him for years. 

There’s nothing at all in the world for what he’s missing. He should just be better at it. The missing. 

Something stubborn lights up in the kid, a spark he doesn’t think he’s seen in the younger turtle since they crash landed together. Fuck this. 

“Can I ask you something and have you promise you won’t get mad?” 

Don’s brow twitches. “I’m not promising shit.” 

A pause. “Say it anyways.” 

“If you went somewhere,” the kid starts, and his voice shakes like a nervous glance over his shoulder. Sensei tenses immediately. “If you went somewhere, and you didn’t know how to come back. What would you do?” 

Don’t , Sensei thinks, helplessly.

“Wouldn’t happen,” Don says. Not a moment of hesitation. “I wouldn’t let it happen.” 

“What if you didn’t have a choice?” The kid asks. 

He has to imagine his Don didn’t have a choice either, clings to it with everything in him. He didn’t know the kid had seen that, the wilful refusal to believe in any world where the other half of himself would walk away on purpose.

He doesn’t know the expression on Don’s face. He’s seen it before, at the planning table. After missions. He’s never known what it meant. “I’d come back,” Don says, like it’s obvious. 

This younger version of his brother, some spun off worried and sideways Donnie, leans forward and pokes the kid as carefully as he can in the center of his chest. 

“If I still exist, in any universe, I’d be coming back.” 

Sensei swallows. He remembers this; that simple constant of trust, of knowing half himself sat between his ribs and the other behind a desk with a computer screen. He remembers believing it, too.

There’s a hallway in his mind that he goes to, where his ninpo once lived and breathed. A living room where he kept all the lights on. There’d been a time where all the rooms and all the doors had been flung wide open. They’ve been shut for years now. 

“If you didn’t?” The kid asks, voice small. 

Sensei walks through the empty room, hand trailing against the wall of his mind. He hasn’t visited this door, hasn’t been able to think about it around the hurt in him. He presses his forehead to the wood of it, now. 

“If I’m gone, it would never be forever. You’d just have to wait longer.” 

In his dreams, or at least where he goes when the kid is sleeping, the door is warm. 

He sits himself against it, and pretends it's the same as the door being open. To feel his brother existing here at all. 

Sometimes he thinks he can almost hear someone knocking back. 

[kaliforniahigh]

Oooh you got any Jolly Thots?

Oh, yeah. I got them!! If anyone wants to send in their Jolly thots, my ask is open!

Warning: this is very angsty and there is no happy ending :( Also smut (p in v). Jolly is kind of a jackass in this, sorry.

WC: 1.4k

Jolly had you on your kness, back pressed against his chest as he pounded into you from behind. You could feel his breath on your neck, and the feeling of his hand pulling on your ponytail.

It was always like this. He'd call you, tell you he's feeling lonely and longing for you. You'd tell him to come over, only to have your heart broken over and over again.

When he had you like this, though, it was like the feeling of rejection didn't exist for a while.

"You love this, don't you? Me inside of you", he murmured in your ear, you only moaned in response. There was a time when you entertained his praises, but not anymore. Instead, you wished he'd just fuck and stay quiet.

He lets your hair go and you fall on your hands on the bed. His pace picks up and you can tell he's close by the way he's gripping your hips. He starts rubbing circles on your clit, and you're right there with him.

You hate the it feels so good, you hate the way he always seems to know what to do get make you fall apart for him. The way he hits all the right spots.

You wish he was as good with feelings as he is fucking you.

Seconds later, he's spilling inside the condom, with a grunt. And your shaking underneath him, knees giving out as lay sprawled on your bed.

You both take a few seconds to recover, and the part you dread the most is about to happen. Again.

You can hear him going into the bathroom, to discard the condom and wash his hands, you guess. You stay on the bed, now laying on your back and pulling the covers up to your chest.

There was also a time when you felt comfortable with him seeing you naked on the back after you finished. Now, you just felt kind of cheap. With how detached you've both become, the only thing missing was him slapping a couple of tens on your bedside table before leaving.

"Folio is having a party on Saturday. He says he wants to celebrate his new collaboration with TAMA", he tells you as he pulls his boxers on.

"Yeah, he told me", you responded with a detached tone to your voice. Watching him redress.

"You going?", he asked you.

"I'll see"

He only hummed in response. Grabbing his wallet and looking back at you.

"I'll see you on Saturday then. If you go", he opened the door of your bedroom.

"Yeah"

On Saturday, you found yourself knocking on the door to the boys' house. You pondered a lot over the week if you even wanted to go. But decided that your little situationship with Jolly shouldn't drift you apart from your other friends.

Besides, you were determined to ignore him tonight.

You guessed he wasn't there yet when you arrived, because you surveyed the place, but didn't find him. Good, you hope he wouldn't come, you wished to yourself, but knew that wouldn't be true, because he wouldn't miss celebrating his friend.

You were actually enjoying yourself and talking to people around you. You had a drink in your hand, but wanted to stay mostly sober for the night. Before, there was no problem with you getting drunk and spending the night at Jolly's room. Now, it just felt like you were overstaying your welcome.

Maybe an hour after you arrived, you could see two people entering the living room, when you looked in their direction, it was as if the whole world stopped spinning and the room became completely still.

There he was, dressed in all black, with a beautiful girl hanging on his arm.

You obviously knew he was fucking around with other girls, but he never actually brought them over to their house. Also, the fact that a few days ago, he was in your bed, fucking you, and now he was here, with a new girl, made your stomach twist.

Before he had the chance to come any closer to where you were standing, you turned around and made your way upstairs to the bathroom.

You closed the door behind you as you tried to calm your heartbeat that was pounding in your chest. You desperatly tried to think of an excuse to leave this party right now. You shouldn't have come in the first place.

After a couple of minutes, you decided to leave and then shoot Folio a text apologizing. You already had the chance to congratulate him, so that wouldn't look too bad.

Slipping out from the bathroom, you made your way through the living room with your head down, not wanting anyone to see you. Opening the front door, your stepped into the slight breeze blowing outside.

Taking a deep breath, you started to walk down the street to where your car was parked.

"Y/N", you heard a familiar voice behind you, but you didn't turn around, you didn't acknowledge him.

"Hey, where are you going?", he tried again, picking up his pace this time and walking beside you.

"I'm going home", you said, voice flat and devoid of any emotion. You tried to keep yourself in check, because you were sure if you stayed here any longer, you'd start crying like an idiot.

"Why? The party has just started".

Could he really not understand why you were leaving? Was he this dense? Instead of feeling sad, you were now feeling angry at his obliviousness.

"Are you fucking serious? Are you actually this stupid or do you just like to pretend that you are, so you don't have to own up to your mistakes?", the anger in your voice and fire in your eyes made him take a step back.

"Are you talking about?", he was wary now, but his eyes told you he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"Do you actually consider me your friend or do you just keep me around because I'm an easy fuck?", you were becoming tired of him dodging your questions.

"You're not an easy fuck. Please don't say it like that", he tried to take a step closer to you, but you took a step back, and he stayed in his place.

"Oh no? But you text me everytime already knowing I'll tell you to come over. You take advantage of the fact that you know I'm emotionally attached to you", you crossed your arms over your chest to try and protect your heart that was already broken in a million pieces.

"It was never supposed to be like this", he told you, and you desperately wanted him to stop making excuses.

"But it is. Next thing I know, you're going to be paying me for my services from how much a cheap transaction this has become"

Jolly just stood there, his eyes were wide and you could tell they were a little glossy from the way the light from the streetlamp hit his face.

"I'm so fucking sorry, You gotta believe me when I say I never meant to make you feel this way", his voice trembled a bit towards the end of his sentence. You could see a little glimpse of the old Jolly you met years ago.

"I'm not sure I believe anything that comes out of your mouth anymore", you stood your ground this time.

"I'm so fucking sorry", he looked down as he apologized to you. He couldn't even do it looking at your fucking face.

"Me too", you said as you fished your car keys from your pocket. "I'm going to delete your number, and I never want to speak to you ever again", now it was time for your voice to tremble. You were not only endind whatever you two had, but you were ending a friendship of years that developed into something neither of you could control or deal with. "Tell the boys I'll stop coming around"

With this last sentence, you turned around and walked the rest of the way to your car, now letting the tears fall freely from your eyes.

You unlocked your car and gor in the driver's seat. You told youself you wound't look back, but you couldn't helo but take a peek on the rear view mirror.

You Jolly sitting on the curb, you could tell his shoulders were shaking, and that his hands were covering his face.

Too bad, he should've shown some emotion all those times you desperately needed him to. With a shaky, deep sigh, you turned on your car and drove away from the most important people in your life.