#a sad wet cat who refuses to admit he's sad or wet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chogiwow · 2 years ago

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saudade | lee know

pairing: lee know x gn! reader

genre: angst, fluff

au: exes to eventual lovers

wc: 22k+

warnings: language, anxiety, breakup, insecurities, miscommunication, slowburn, too much wallowing, just sad vibes and mc and minho longing for each other :’(

a/n: repost !

one.

The breakup was messy.

That was partially true, because you were the one who had mostly shed all the tears, but in actuality, the week long sobered up you had admitted to your delusional counterpart that this wasn’t to be a game of blame.

Minho had your best interests at heart, you heard him out and even sympathised with the logic, but at the end of the day your exposed vulnerability had set up its self defences in favour of the innate need to let your feelings to the forefront, because after all, you had worn your heart on your sleeve.

It was a mechanism that had built its wall with excruciating pain of lifting every block of brick the deeper you looked into what you had thought to be a relationship; the fonder your actions, the bigger the amount of effort you had to put into picking up that brick. Everything you had done or said ran through your muscles in painful pricks, a jab at every crevice of your being a reprimanding ramification.

You refused to talk to the man, ignoring his presence in a room and revelling in the forlorn glances thrown your way. You likened your pathetic state to his downturned mouth, intentionally swerving out of his way and going as far as to feign ignorance at the mention of his cats; you weren’t weak.

That was a sentiment you were entitled to convince yourself of, save for the conforms of your room where you could sulk and let the tendrils around your heart tighten in a chokehold.

However, there was a satisfaction of feigning your days into careless smiles and easing yourself into old routines, because it came with the bittersweet taste of regret oozing from the man causing you your miseries, coating him with the consequences of his undertakings. It lead you to believe that the pettiness on your part was only justified.

But slipping back to old habits was not easy. You still laid the table for two sometimes, still brought out two blankets for days you slept in front of the television and still stumbled upon cat toys laying around your house. It made you angry at the way Minho had seeped into your life and left parts of him still etched in your memory that prompted you to preserve those small nothings in every corner of your apartment. It was tiring having to recall small moments of genuine happiness, floundering about searching for it and holding on to it for a moment too long for you to self acclaim yourself as ‘moved on’ and ‘over it all’.

This wasn’t good. You were far too invested in this even now and had to let go of the past in whatever way possible.

So when you were looking for a job, you were desperate enough to grab one at a 24/7 convenience store, even though that meant you would probably end up with a graveyard shift on the weekends, which for you worked perfectly fine if it was to be accounted for distracting you from your thoughts.

Now, you were not so sure you had made the right decision.

It was one thing to work there on weekends for the extra pay, but it was another to drag your exhausted self there after a week of academic torture, only too aware of the pile of assignments waiting for you back home that you hadn't even spared a glance at in the entire week.

This was yet another life choice you were obligated to put in the bag labelled 'questionable and regretful' along with a million others, but you were adamant to admit it regardless of the concerned gazes of your friends; you smiled and waved it off saying you were doing quite alright.

Minho didn’t buy it.

Every single thing that had happened since the breakup had weighed him down like a soaking wet bag of cotton stuffed inside his clothes, and much to nobody’s surprise at all, he blamed himself for your haggard state.

That was saying a lot because he would show up to lectures in his sweatpants and a hoodie, not even bothering to sit upright and pay attention, choosing to bury his throbbing head in his arms for the entire lecture.

The aftermath of the situation was not something he had foreseen and just sometimes he regretted having to be honest all the time. He was torn between this urge to turn back time and never say a word about it and the desire to give in to the constant ache in his chest whenever he saw you, thought of you or dreamt of you.

Minho had never felt this way; never had this contradicting impulsion of either slinking into his seat till he melted into the plastic or the itching spring in his feet that wanted to run to you and beg you for another chance.

He did want another chance, but you had been so frustratingly clear in drawing the line, he had to hold himself back from reaching out to you. He took a step back when you were near but smiled at you though you took no notice of him; let you borrow the book he had been waiting to read for a week, even though he had carefully hidden it away from other eyes; made sure you were hydrating even though he had to put up with Jisung’s whining about how weird it was to go up to you and hand you a bottle of juice (he paid Jisung ten dollars just to shut him up).

He pretended not to be hurt when you left the book on the table without borrowing it, put up with the tight tug at his chest when you refused to accept the drink deeming the heaviness in his chest deserving.

Minho is content watching you smile from afar at someone else he doesn’t know, at something he can’t make out from the way your lips move. He closes his eyes and hopes to forget the image of you ingrained in his memory and the past that he had already ruined seeps it’s way through the cracks of your image like tendrils of a vine.

But Minho was keen and observant of people he cared about.

“Hey (y/n),”

Sighing deeply to yourself you put up a perfunctory smile.

“That’ll be 900 won.”

“How are you doing? Jisung said you left class early yesterday,” Minho says, genuinity weaving through his voice and face, innocent worried eyes peeking from under his bangs that lay across his eyes.

“Peachy keen, is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Are you sure? You look pale…”

“I’m fine, can you please pay now?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Will you pay already?”

Here’s the thing about pulling all nighters – it affects your ability to feign interest in conversations you would rather not be a part of and are especially thankful for customers on your shift who come in with clear intent of what they want and what they need, fortunately that only leaves you to deal with them quickly. So right now, you were on the edge of breaking and cracking your facade under the constant interrogation.

“I’m sorry, you just don’t look that well to me, and I’m worried about you.”

You are quick to resign yourself from feeling bad about Minho’s forlorn tone and large eyes that looked at you with sorrow; you felt like you had just told off a child for eating too many candies.

“Just…pay already,” you bite back the words waiting to tumble out of your lips any given second, then with a sigh add, “please.”

Minho fumbles around with his wallet, pulling out the bills and placing them on the counter, however, he doesn’t pick up the kimbap roll he had purchased.

“That’s for you,” he says, motioning towards the plastic covered roll with his chin as he tucked his wallet back into his pocket.

“What?”

“Don’t skip meals, it’s not healthy for you.”

You’ve obviously realised what was happening but before you could breathe out another word, you heard his hurried footsteps across the floor and the jingle of the bell above the door, leaving you leaning across the counter, your lips in the middle of protesting dismissal of his good will, but it’s already too late and you realise that with resentment as you watch the boy cross the street in a sprint and walk away, shoulders hunched and head bowed low.

Minho may be content with watching you from afar, but he can be just as adamant as you are, and one day he hopes to make it all up to you, but until then he struggles against your cracking image, fighting against the vines that shoot past, resolute on resisting the damage of his own actions.

two.

You studied the box you were holding, flipping it over a few times in your hands, hearing the distinct rattle of small, hard somethings inside. You thought you could smell sugar, too. The box looked and felt expensive – the texture of it, the delicate ribbon looped and tied round it, the exactness of its corners. You tried to think of where or whom it could have come from. After all, you weren’t expecting anything, let alone anything important or special.

But that was definitely your name scrawled across the top of the box in a surprisingly fancy script.

You don’t recognise the handwriting, the penmanship was too exquisite.

“Look at you, got yourself a little secret admirer huh?” Jisung’s taunt was loud enough to turn a few heads your way and you felt yourself growing uncomfortably hot at the snickers you received, quickly retracting the box inside your bag, stuffing it in unceremoniously.

Your eyes momentarily flickered to your left where you knew Minho was sitting a few seats away on the row above yours, but he was busy talking to the small group of people surrounding him. He either didn’t hear or if he did, he didn’t care enough. Or maybe he did care, but just ignored it.

Not that you cared whether he noticed or not.

Turning towards the over excited boy beside you, you let out a heavy sigh at the smug grin on his face.

“I saw that,” his saccharine smile makes you flinch inwardly, the way he rested his elbow on the desk making you want to knock it off with a flick of your hand.

“Saw what?” you busy yourself taking out your supplies for the class, hoping that you wouldn’t have to be interrogated about the box inside your bag.

As it turns out, Jisung was not interested about the pandora’s box, well, in a way he was, but right now he was more interested in what he had just seen and that’s saying a lot because Jisung, contrary to his ridiculously short attention span in class and his usual aloofness to a lot of things, was a very observant person.

“I saw you looking at him,” there is a tantalising lilt to his words, one that makes you hover your hands around in the air as if caught red handed doing something bad, but you shake that feeling off with a well fed lie you’ve accustomed yourself to.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You only hear a hum of acknowledgement before being spared the further mortification of confrontation when the professor walks in. As the class settles down, mumbling a less than enthusiastic greeting at the professor, you slump over your desk, doing your best to have your face anywhere but in Jisung’s line of sight.

You don’t need to be in his peripheral vision, however, to lose your damn mind, because he happens to be very good at always having the last say of words.

“If it makes you feel better, he was looking at you too,” he whispers in your ear and though you don’t even dare acknowledge him, you can sense the smirk gracing his face, “perhaps loverboy there might have been a little jealous.”

You don’t say anything, but for the rest of your lecture you blatantly try to ignore the feeling of someone staring your back down.

Your innate ability to not even glance at Minho anymore was only at par with his ostentatious nonchalance at the same.

Before, you would always pass glances with him in classes, sticking your tongue out at him and then chortling silently when he just stared back at you with a deadbeat face, lips puckering out and the playful disdain in his head shake making you double over your desk, hiding away from your professor’s view.

Now your gaze remains stubborn on the presentation on the board, spinning your pen in one hand while resting your head on the palm of the other. He finds his eyes staring towards your bag, as if he could see the box you had stuffed inside if he stared hard enough, teeth biting onto his lips as he tapped his fingers on his desk nervously.

A nudge to his side jolts him from his state, narrowing his eyes at the culprit who was motioning in front with his head. If the implication was not enough, the telltale voice of the professor sounds out in good humour.

“Mr. Lee, if you would be so kind enough to pay your attention to my lecture rather than (y/n)’s back, I would appreciate it.”

A chorus of snickers and giggles breaks out, immediately shushed out by the professor who seemed to be enjoying the indulgence none the same.

You burned in your seat, sinking your head further down under the teasing eyes directed towards you, kicking Jisung under the table when he snickered loud enough to elicit a few more giggles and yet you never turned around to glare at the man causing you your miseries. God, only Minho would get caught in class for something like this!

Even if you did manage to cool down your face, tugging at the neck of your shirt and fanning yourself when the professor’s back was turned, your mind was churning with a trainwreck of thoughts, most of which was making you fumble around, unable to pay attention to anything except the loud buzzing in your ears. Consciously, you straighten your back and cross your legs under the table only to wiggle around in your seat when you realise there wasn’t enough leg space to do that. Your embarrassment increases tenfold.

Minho is not spared as the victim to his share of awkwardness as he all but clears his throat a little too loudly and every breath he takes sounds magnified now. It doesn't help that you stand out like a sore thumb in his eyes, fidgeting in your seat, obviously uncomfortable.

His chances of redemption were looking staggeringly low, any likelihood that you would not hate him more than you already did after he put you under public awkwardness was a shot in the dark.

When the class ended, you were the first one to dash out of the door, almost dropping the books you were trying to stuff inside your bag while sprinting across the floor. Safe to say, Minho didn’t chase you, saving his red faced apology for later.

three.

Minho was a good cook.

He knew exactly how much salt the marination required and the seasoned experience of how long he should let the broth simmer. What he didn’t know was how to bake, and he was in the very middle of doing exactly that; it would be safe to say that even though the general conundrums were proving to be back-breaking and the results were highly questionable, he hasn’t burnt anything down, yet.

An array of ingredients lie about, covering every inch of the workstation Felix had wiped clean only that morning, the powdered flour like snow on the slab and the salted chocolate mix sitting abandoned with an egg-covered whisk in it. Maybe Felix died a little inside but the state of his kitchen in shambles would have been slightly more concerning had it not been for the flour covered man sitting amidst the mess, eyes frantically skimming through a cookbook with splatters of batter speckled on it, hair sticking out like a madman caught in the middle of a very traumatic experience in a particularly intense episode of a Gordon Ramsey cook-off.

“Do I want to know?”

Felix started off timidly, torn between comforting his visibly distraught friend and suppressing an itching urge to reach out for the rag sitting so alluringly on his counter and wipe the whole thing down like it never happened in the first place.

Which were Minho’s sentiments exactly at this point, except he just wished he could start all over again.

He resigns with a sigh, slumping against the counter and abandoning his fifth batch of batter, the whisk clinking against the glass bowl, his heavy breath sifting the stray flour on the counter in the act.

“I used salt in the batter,” he says, hanging his head lower and lower as if it were a physical amalgamation of how he was losing one brain cell per second just standing there in the kitchen that smelt like chocolates and it was honestly making him sick.

“Fucking salt in place of sugar Lix, I don’t know what to do anymore…”

It only takes another heavy sigh on his end and his very much flour covered hands rubbing at his face for Felix to make his decision; Minho needed help, good lord he needed help.

“Hyung…” Felix was quick to move around the counter towards his elder, gently pulling him into a hug only to feel the telltale warmth of tears soaking through his shirt and grazing his shoulder. This was concerning.

“Hyung, talk to me, please.”

A part of Minho knows that this sudden exposure to an incorrigible vulnerability was scaring the younger boy, undoubtedly because he had never put his feelings on display like this, and that part was telling him to stop because if anything, he didn’t want to be an inconvenience, but this only made him sob harder.

Felix was inevitably taken aback at the sudden outburst, but he could not ignore the growing suspicion that this was more than frustration over failed baking endeavours. Minho did the best he could, but he would never break down completely over things he could not achieve, maybe pissed but never so despaired to shed tears over it.

“Why can’t I make some stupid fucking chocolates!” a sniffling intervention cut through, Minho’s sobs almost immediately ceasing as he rubbed at his eyes vigorously, a very alarmed Felix left to blink at the sudden change.

“Okay… a penny for your thoughts?”

Minho sniffs again, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve and carding a hand through his hair before explaining.

“I’ve been trying,” Minho shoves the recipe book in front of his roommate’s face, “to make this for two hours now, and I keep fucking up.”

Felix creases his brow at the said recipe for salted caramel chocolates, eyes flickering in confusion between the man waving it in front of him and the newly ignited frustration in his eyes before venturing hesitantly.

“Hyung, you don’t even like this…”

Whatever it was about those six words seemed to have drenched out the fury in Minho’s eyes, for he blinked rapidly as if flickering between the numerous emotions he was suddenly exposed to, only to look away abashedly.

“It’s not for me,” his words, though mumbled out softly, seemed to have stuck themselves down his throat, a visibly forced will to have them tumble through his mouth and even then they lingered in the heavy air.

A sudden realisation dawns on Felix, but before he can think anything of it, he’s blurting it out in a loud voice, surprising to even his own ears.

“What the fuck hyung, are you serious?!”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, you’re digging your own grave is what you’re doing, glad we’re clear on that.”

Felix isn’t a particularly spiteful person, but his words come out implying such a sentiment against his better judgement. Nobody can blame him because he had a firsthand experience of the complete trainwreck that The Breakup was (it was mutually decided by your friend group to capitalise on the rather dreadful affair) to the point where he had felt like he had been at least one of the involved person on more than one occasion; he was clearly upset and trepid about Minho’s sudden endeavours.

“You’re making it sound so bad,” Minho could all but huff out, crossing his arms across his chest challengingly.

“What part of gifting your ex handmade chocolates on valentine’s day doesn’t sound like a bad idea?” Felix challenged slightly more intensely.

“I never said I was going to give it to (y/n)!”

“Oh yeah, so you’re telling me you haven’t been moping around for months around the house looking like a war widow mourning the death of your husband–”

“That’s an oddly descriptive–”

“– are you seriously telling me you’re not making (y/n)’s favorite chocolates right now?”

“Have I really been looking like a war widow?”

“Hyung!”

“Jesus Lix, I’m trying to make things right!”

“By giving your ex handmade chocolates?? On valentine’s day?!”

“What part of making things right did you not understand?”

“What part of the word ‘ex’ did you not understand?”

“Okay look,” Minho sighs, leaning back against the counter, “I know this is crazy but…I feel like – I feel so…I have to make things right.”

There was a finality to his words but held a lot more things unsaid in a way they couldn’t be put through mere syllables. Felix knew how hard Minho had taken it upon himself; you had almost entirely dissociated yourself for a week and when you were back, it had seemed like Minho was nothing but a figment of your imagination that had occurred and now you were up and awake from that fantasy as if reality itself had slapped you in the face, leaving behind a harsh mark imprinted on your cheek.

It was jarring, to say the least, and your mutual friend circle had been obligated to tiptoe around the two of you until you had entirely removed yourself to save them all the awkwardness. Though it was a relief to not have to hold his breath when he was stuck with you two in a room, he was not, and neither were any of your friends, happy about the way you were distancing yourself for their sake. He would be more than happy to have his friends back together, though exempting whatever sentiments you had towards Minho, but whatever this was, Felix had an inkling that it wasn’t Minho’s brightest ideas.

“You know why you guys broke up right?”

Felix’s baritone is like a huge boulder that resounds within Minho’s chest with a dull thud, weighing upon his conscience and his cautious tone tears it through moments later.

When Minho doesn’t answer, Felix ventures to say,

“Hyung, none of us were too happy when we found out, in fact Chan was mad at you and I’ve never seen him lose his cool like that. Are you positively sure that this is something you want to make amends for already?”

Some distant voice in Minho’s head was vigorously nodding along and cling on to every word Felix said; he would like to believe that it was because he was being logical, but in reality he was scared, and had it not been the strong scent of burnt chocolate he inhaled in the few seconds he let himself mull over his words, he probably would have seeked solace in the precautionary counsel and given up.

In hindsight, he would have grown to regret that decision as well had he actually gone through with it, but he realised that even if you ended up hating his guts and purposefully tried to mend a wound that he had no experience nor the know-how about, he would have deserved it all and so much more.

The familiar throbs of dull thuds start to creep up along his forehead, his eyes closing on their own accord as the numbness settles in. Minho was far away from his thoughts at such times, a momentary relief from all the churning and buzzing his mind was otherwise bare to, letting the pain slowly seep through his entire head till he was drowning in it.

“Will you help me?”

The request is barely mumbled, devoid of any intonation, but Felix knows that this was a call for help and there was no turning back for his roommate now.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but I don’t want my name being dragged into this, I’m only helping you because I don’t want you to wreck my kitchen.” This was Minho’s kitchen as much as it was his.

Minho only nods with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

four.

“Minho did what?!”

That’s it, Felix was signing up for new friends – preferably friends who did not potentially get him kicked out of the library for yelling.

He shushes Jisung with a violent wave of his hands, fingers pressing upon his lips as did so many other people sitting beside him, their glares of annoyance turned upon the duo who bowed in apology.

“That was Minho?” Jisung yells in a whisper, eyes wide open and books long abandoned in pursuit of what he had cited as “hot tea”. Felix wondered whether he had made a mistake after all, telling his friend about it.

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to tell anyone!”

“What? Why not?”

“Because ughh,” Felix stressed, lowering his tone and leaning across the table, “Minho doesn’t want (y/n) to know it’s him, that’s why the fancy printed note!”

As if the world had finally started making sense to him, Jisung’s mouth forms into an o, eyes widening further till his eyebrows disappear under his bangs.

“Hold on, I thought Minho wanted to apologise, then why would he be so secretive about this all?”

“That’s the thing, he says he’s sure (y/n) would shut him down if they knew it was him.”

“Wow, so what, he’s trying to make them fall for him again?”

Jisung chuckles at his own theory, the mere idea sounding ridiculous in his head but his smile fades slightly when Felix doesn’t answer.

“That’s the thing, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what he’s trying to do…”

Jisung can’t say anything, quite literally, he’s been rendered speechless by this bit of information. Although, the sappy part of him agrees that it was slightly romantic, sans the part where Felix was adamant on sticking to his ‘ex stalking their ex’ theory, but really, if you ignored all those pessimistic vibes, you would have yourself a sweet little reconciliation story.

“You know what,” he says after a while, his words slow and calculative “I don’t think (y/n) is completely over him either.”

Raising a brow in question, Felix urges him to go on.

“It’s just the way this entire thing played out, you know? I know for a fact that (y/n) believed him when he…uh…confessed, and I think they would have given him a chance. Minho hyung was so adamant too…”

The pair falls silent, staring vacantly at their books, both undoubtedly lost in a stream of their shared conscience that had been prodded when the subject in question had been brought up. Felix is the first to speak after having stared at the words on his page that blurred around the edges, seemingly floating on the white void.

“You think we should have stopped him?”

Jisung glances up briefly, their eyes meeting and a pang of regret hits him square in the chest.

“I think so. Do you think we should stop him now?”

Felix shakes his head in denial, “It’s already done and he’s too stubborn. I just hope none of them have to get hurt more than they already have.”

Jisung twiddles his thumb around his pen, tapping his foot under the table when he spots you making your way over, a bunch of books in your hands and the strap of your bag barely keeping up on your shoulder. You try to dump all your belongings as quietly as you can, but he can clearly hear your panting as if you had run all the way to the library.

“Hey guys, Hyunjin was trying to get me to volunteer for the Sweet Treats ughh, I don’t think I’ve ever run this fast in my life.”

You huff away a strand of loose hair that falls across your eye, slumping in your seat with a laborious breath and greet the two boys.

“Sweet Treats huh? Hwang is what, the running president for the third year in a row now?” Jisung scoffs, squeezing the nib of his pen absentmindedly on the table, leaving an ink stain in its wake.

You exchange a knowing glance with Felix; it was no secret that Jisung had harboured a major crush on Hyunjin since the first day they had met. There was nothing to hide about it, but Hyunjin himself was obliviously unaware of the blatant flirting and stuttering compliments. It was amusing to see Jisung lose his cool over his nonchalance, it was like watching someone be furious at someone because they were too cute – which was exactly what it was.

It was typical of Hyunjin to try and recruit volunteers for fests, especially during valentine’s week and being the president of the cultural club gave him the liberty of persuading students with free coffee and extra curricular credits, and he didn’t mind the flirting.

Jisung hated volunteering because he was always stuck with decorating the gym or carrying heavy boxes, but he could never say no to Hyunjin’s incessant whining and puppy eyes.

“How about you ask him out? Like you do when you like someone…like a normal person, rather than sulk over some guy’s pouty lips?” Felix sniggers, making you stifle a giggle.

“Oh shut up,” Jisung flushes, his ears turning redder by the second.

“Are you gonna volunteer this year?” you ask Jisung who was still trying to stop fiddling about in his seat.

“You know he can’t say no to Hyunjin,” Felix supplies from beside you, squawking when he receives a pen straight to his head, immediately apologising for the disturbance. You hide your head in your hands, trembling with laughter, catching vague whisper yellings of ‘shut up!’ and ‘what the fuck?!’.

If you thought you had escaped the clutches of Hyunjin’s request, you were mistaken and you should have known better because there was no way he would give up that easily and that is how you find the seat in front of you suddenly occupied and a very flushed and surprised Jisung sitting beside the boy, tightlipped and glaring at Felix who now looked constipated.

“Hyunjin…” you groan, smiling at him painfully. He returns the gesture with a smile that looked too victorious considering he hadn’t even made the proposal yet.

“I’m gonna ignore the fact that you ran away when you saw me if you agree to volunteer for Sweet Treats,” he starts, brushing his long hair back with his fingers; you had a very accurate suspicion behind his intentions, but one look at his smug grin made you bite back your words. Instead, you shrug.

“I don’t care Hyunjin, but I don’t think I can spend weeks cutting out heart shaped streamers and filling heart shaped balloons with heart shaped confettis and leave heart shaped invitations all around the campus,” at this point you wanted to barf at the sheer amount of times you had said the words ‘heart’ aloud, cringing at the very thought of al those things you just stated.

“Come on (y/n),” Hyunjin whines like the child he is, leaning forward and holding your hand in a vice-like grip before shaking you back and forth, “It’s free coffee and credits, you love both of those!”

“I like both,” Jisung coughs in the back, momentarily catching Hyunjin’s attention who engages with the boy. You think you’re saved and are about to thank Jisung who was already agreeing to everything Hyunjin had to say, nodding along indulgently, but alas, you are fated to have a heart-y valentine’s week after all.

“So (y/n), how about we make a deal–”

“Hyunjin, no–”

“No heart filled work for you if you help with the new booth this year,” Hyunjin wiggles his eyebrows at you alluringly, tempting you to urge him but you don’t, so he continues after a dramatic pause of breath, “we’re going to do a radio show!”

“A radio show? How does that even work?” Felix leans forward earnestly, his attention finally piqued.

“We’re rolling out a portal where people can send in their confessions anonymously, or not, a week before the 14th and all you have to do is read them out through the day of the festival. It would be like little announcements, very romantic.”

“You want me to read out confessions?”

“Yes, Seungmin’s gonna be there too!”

“We never did this before, so why now?”

“Well, we’re trying out new stuff and a lot of people seemed to have something of this sort from last year’s suggestion feedback, so we decided why not.”

You considered his proposition, crossing your arms across his chest with your eyes narrowed at him, trying to decipher what the catch was.

“I won’t have to make heart shaped decorations then?”

“Nope,”

“And you won’t have me fill up balloons with a shit ton of pink and red confetti either?”

“I give you my word, I won’t.” Hyunjin solemnly puts a hand on his chest and shakes his head.

“All I have to do is read out confessions?”

Hyunjin hums in agreement, adding, “You can divide them with Seungmin if there’s too many or you can figure it out yourself. 3racha also agreed to have the PA systems working and DJ.”

“Hold on,” Jisung intervenes swiftly, “I’m a part of 3racha, why was I not aware of this?”

“Oh no, you sir,” Hyunjin ruffles his hair with a smile, “are helping me out in the photography booth.”

Jisung can only splutter, you’re not sure whether it was because Hyunjin had just ruffled his hair or basically claimed a stake on him, but you had a feeling it was both.

“What’s it going to be (y/n), are you in?”

Reading out confessions…how bad could that possibly be? At the most you were either going to coo at the adorable love letters or cringe till your fingers were physically unable to unclench from a fist. But you supposed it was better than having to be covered in glitter and glue and craft paper.

“Alright, but you better keep your word Hwang,” you concede with some hesitance, unsure of how exactly you were supposed to feel about this.

Hyunin smiles at you gratefully and before leaving ropes in a chortling Felix who was having fun at the expense of Jisung being a flustered mess, into helping at the baking booth.

You sigh in defeat; maybe it would be better to not have any expectations at all.

five.

There was still more than a week before the anonymous confession portal was going to be put out, and even though you tried not to let the visible ‘lovesickness’ in the air get to you, it was proving to be difficult when you were yourself a frequent receiver of chocolate boxes and flowers and even drinks and muffins that were already paid for!

It certainly wasn’t helping that the notes were always printed and there was quite literally no trace of the sender, and that was what had brought you here right now, in this predicament.

“Who do you think it could be?” you ask, peering at the floral patterns on the ivory coloured box that had chocolates inside, hoping that if you stared hard enough, it would reveal it’s deepest and darkest secrets.

Felix shrugs nonchalantly, typing away furiously on his phone, barely paying any attention to the object of your interest that was slowly starting to give you a headache. It was one thing to have a secret admirer, but it was another to receive gifts from them that were uncannily to your taste and liking.

The first time, you had let it slide as a coincidence on finding out the chocolates were salted caramel flavoured – your favourite, but the second and third time were hard to pass as believable.

Even today, you found yourself being handed a warm cup of vanilla latte, just the way you liked it, the barista informing you with a knowing smile that it had already been paid for. You flushed when she giggled and winked at you, leaving you to hastily make your way to where Felix was waving at you from, scooting as far away as you could till you were basically pressed up against the wall, your head in hands as you groaned in embarrassment. Felix was having the time of his life, clicking pictures of you and the warm cup of coffee and the box of chocolates you had tossed on the table with a grunt, undoubtedly saving them for blackmail later on.

Now as you regard the box of chocolates in front of you, you force your mind to come to a blank because the only person you can think of is Minho, and it was driving you crazy. All your stupid little braincells could do was chant in his name in tiny font, growing louder by the second, even though you wouldn’t associate him with something like this – giving presents for the entirety of valentine’s was just not his thing, he would rather you both skipped the crowded cafes with lovesick couples. This was so not him, and yet…yet! Your stupid little mind could do nothing but think of him!

“Maybe they’ll confess on valentine’s day?” Felix, finally putting his phone aside, supplies helpfully.

“I would rather they didn’t,” you scowl, nonetheless opening the box and eating one of the chocolates. They were good, damn it.

Cocking a brow at you in amusement, he reaches for one too, suppressing a moan at how good these were; damn, Minho was getting better at this.

“I just…I don’t think I want any part in any of this, especially now when…”

Felix doesn’t have to prod at you to know why you left your words hanging in the air, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly panicked at the prospect. If you were already showing resistance to the very notion of what could perhaps be a simple crush, how would you react if you found out it was Minho?

“Lix, they gave me blueberry muffins yesterday for breakfast, it’s as if they knew I didn’t have time for breakfast on Wednesdays and ordered me some! It’s honestly a bit creepy, how do they know so much about me or is this all a coincidence?”

Okay, maybe Minho was not the best at being subtle and he made a point to tell him that later.

“It’s a bit overwhelming, what if they think I’m leading them on? But the thing is, I don’t even know who it is, and for some reason I keep thinking that it’s Minho but–”

You stop in your words abruptly, turning your wide eyes towards Felix who had the small beginnings of a smug grin creeping up his lips.

“That’s not what I meant,” you hastily explain, scrambling up from your seat.

“I believe you,”

“Don’t sound so patronising!”

“What if it is Minho though?”

“It’s not him, I know him and he wouldn’t do something like this.”

You’re stubborn in your opinion, perhaps a bit more stronger off the front than you would be because of the previous slip up, but now that you say it out aloud, you realise how ridiculous it sounds for Minho to plant gifts in your locker and order you breakfast on Wednesdays. Or was it?

It was. It was, it was, it was!! Maybe if you said it enough times like a mantra, it would be true. Maybe it was true and you didn’t need to worry about it, but why would you worry all the same? You didn’t want it to be him; you wouldn’t be disappointed if it weren’t him.

The only adversity in this whole ordeal is that it’s got you thinking about him again.

Though you had managed to stay away from the endless possibilities of this mystery admirer, your mind kept drifting to one particular guy, his sharp nose and soft lips like a permanent engraving in your thoughts and the 15% special discount on products for valentine's week where you worked didn’t help console you.

Scanning an enormous box of pepero sticks, you force yourself to smile at the girl who had purchased it, still in high school with the slightest blush tinting her cheeks, no doubt thinking of the person she had bought it for.

“Would that be all?” you smile, handing her the packet.

She shakes her head, bowing thankfully before leaving the store.

It was getting late, your shift only an hour away from ending. The sky outside was softening it’s hue to a darker blue, the onset of spring preventing nightfall from setting in early. Glancing around the store, you figure you would restock the chocolates section, since it was running low after the immeasurable amount of purchases in the last hour itself.

Abandoning your post from the counter, you retrieve the stock in a basket from the pantry, moving along the aisles, careful not to knock down anything else. In the middle of reaching the last aisle where the shelf was, the front door opens, a fainter tinkling resounding to the back and you yell out a hasty “be right there!’ before dumping the box on the ground and heaving out a sigh of relief.

“Hi, sorry, how can I–”

Well wasn’t this a surprise.

“How can I help you?” there it was, the uncanny rigidity in your voice at the sight of Minho. Your eyes stray down, the white and black patterns on his pants painfully familiar, but it brings a smile to your lips.

As if aware of your observation, Minho shuffles timidly on his spot, internally banging his head on a wall in embarrassment. Why, of all days, did he have to saunter into the convenience store wearing the cat pyjamas you had gifted him on Christmas!

Moving on instinct, Minho joins you in the back of the store, rummaging around the instant ramen section and picking up a few bags of crisps while you restocked the chocolates, patiently waiting for you at the counter. You don’t make him wait too long, skipping across the basket and hurrying to check him out.

“Will that be all?” you ask, handing him his stuff and gulping when your fingers brush.

He nods before placing the roll of kimbap on the desk and sliding it across you. You sigh.

“Let me guess, this is for me?”

“Don’t skip–”

“–your meals, yes I know and I haven’t been skipping them; you don’t have to do this you know.”

Your words came out harsher than intended, although you had not been purposeful about it, but the brief flash of hurt in Minho’s eyes resounds through your chest with a loud gong, the bottomless pit in your stomach opening up and you feel yourself free falling in the darkness. When did you become this mean?

“Right, of course. I’m sorry if I came off too overburdening,” Minho starts in a soft voice, his eyes never leaving the spot on the counter, too vulnerable to meet yours as his fingers dig into the plastic in his hands, the crinkling sound of it barely of any comfort. You think you can hear yourself breaking his heart, and even though that was what you had intended since the beginning, seeing him hurt made you feel ashamed to have been the reason for it.

“That’s not what I meant…” it’s not even an apology, but it was a weak attempt at one.

Minho says nothing, smiling at you before turning away and leaving through the door.

The door shuts behind him, the bell tinkling briefly before the sound fades away and you’re left alone in the store with your thoughts, staring at the roll of kimbap and wondering whether this had been worth it.

six.

Minho finds himself bumping into you more often than not these days.

The added cheerfulness of the people around him buzzing about the valentine’s festivities, if he dared to call it that, rubbed him all the wrong ways as he felt his resolve grow smaller day by day when he saw you in the halls or the library or laughing along with someone.

Not much has changed; you still avoid him but you don't necessarily ignore his presence in a room. You falter in your steps, blinking away when you catch his eyes, but you don’t ignore his smile across the room, acknowledging it with an awkward nod of head. It’s weird, to have to tread cautiously, but it’s Minho – the extent of your apology would only go so far as long as you had one feet dipped in a civil apology that functioned as a way to carry the load of guilt and the other feet in the conscious reminder that this was Minho – your ex and someone you could not be comfortable around yet.

Minho didn’t try to offer you any more food on his occasional trips to the convenience store which seemed to have increased to one visit per day, but you didn’t chide him for leaving a bottle of flavoured milk or a chocolate bar behind.

You both were toeing around this invisible line that you convinced yourself to consider a huge barrier, which would have been easy to blur had it not been for the constant, painful reminders of all the couples around you walking hand in hand or kissing in the hallways. It’s like someone had suddenly injected a huge amount of pheromones in the air and everybody except you was drenched in it.

Moreover, you were additionally drenched in an immeasurable number of anonymous confessions, ranging from ridiculously cheesy pickup lines to a “my honeybun <3” and to much tsundere versions of a typical bad-boy vibe you couldn’t help but grimace at; at least they tried, so A for the efforts.

As the days passed by, you kept dreading having to read some of these aloud, unsure of whether you would be able to keep the grimace out of your voice and Seungmin seemed to share the sentiment. Although, a part of you did admit this to being romantic, you didn’t stop yourself from joining Seungmin when he threw dirty glances across the table at Hyunjin, who, the hopeless romantic that he was, seemed to be cooing at almost all the letters you had received.

“Stop giving me the stink eye, you’re just jealous you don’t have a date for valentine’s,” Hyunjin never held back on his smugness when teasing Seungmin, his urge fuelled by the disgust on the latter’s face.

“I don’t think I need any more of that in my life after going through this hell,” Seungmin points accusingly at his screen where he was scrolling through the inbox full of anonymous messages.

The three of you sat in the computer lab, going through all the mail you had received and checking to make sure they were all appropriate to be read out loud on the day of, a precaution Hyunjin had insisted upon and you had found common logic in, although nothing so far had been of that nature, except the over the top cheesiness that you had tortured yourself with through the two hours you had spent. At this point you would willingly bang your head on the wall in hopes of at least having a concussion and passing out.

You are given a respite from your miseries when the door to the room opens, Minho trailing in with his bag on his shoulder and looking straight in your direction. Some respite.

Hyunjin waves him over with a smile while you slump in your seat, listening in to their conversation but not taking part in it.

“Is that the anonymous mailbox?” Minho asks, suddenly leaning forward and peering at your screen. Startled by the sudden proximity, you wheel your chair away slightly, but his hand comes to rest at the back and now you’re trapped between his frame and the desk.

You steal a furtive glance at his face, the tip of his nose illuminated by the screen light and glowing, his eyes blinking slowly while Hyunjin rambles in the background. Averting your gaze, you find Seungmin already looking at you two, smugly leaning back in his chair and hiding a smile. You shoot him a glare.

Minho glances at you carefully, smiling at the way your eyes flicker between him and the computer before finally settling away from him. He doesn’t hear much of what Hyunjin says, painfully aware of the distance between you two and the invisible barrier you had put up that he had yet to cross over.

He was trying, really. He kept looking for a door he could knock at, a loose link or a crack in the bottom, but the more he searched the longer the wall extended, going on and on for as far as his eyes could make out. Minho was starting to convince himself that he had lost the chance he had once had, and that he would never find that door you had willingly left wide open for him.

The sudden realisation dampened his mood, the proximity getting harder to bear when he knew he could reach out and touch your face and tuck your hair and kiss you. How had he taken it all for granted back then? When he could have easily sneaked up behind you and hugged you tight, when he could have kissed you for days on end but he whined when you did, when he could have let himself be vulnerable to his feelings; time had run out for him, leaving him feeling empty and uncertain of what the future held and the moss and dirt covering the deep dark pit in his chest start to rumble and fall apart.

His bag weighs him down, the box of chocolates inside becoming heavier by the second and the churning pit in his stomach gurgling in anxiety and precariousness. He doesn’t hope to find a door now, but he does hope that the apology he leaves by the wall is gone the next time he comes. That you would consider, but he knows not to push his boundaries and he had anticipated as much that he would no longer have the free pass to a mistake he could kiss away or buy his way out with coffee.

And although it hurts, he does not regret the time he spends on it. It was always meant to be for you. He does not expect you to forgive him all at once. So he keeps looking. Until the choice is an actual decision to open the door or turn around and look for a path that will take him somewhere else.

In fact, making you chocolates and buying you breakfast did not guarantee that either, nor was he trying to weasel his way in that way, but it was a step he took because he was desperate to even prove to himself that he cared after all. Of course he cared, he can’t believe he thought otherwise.

Seemingly done examining whatever was on your screen, Minho retracts his face away but remains standing with his hand on your chair while conversing with Hyunjin. You catch the faint whiff of a sweet scent, a familiar trace of vanilla you vaguely remember having a faint recollection of, but you can’t quite place it in your memory.

Minho doesn’t stay long, only there in the first place to collect his printouts. His hand brushes against your hair gently when he leaves; you're still mulling over the sugary sweet scent, your fragmented mind unable to quite let go of it.

seven.

“Look, if you’re worried about Minho, he’s not going to be at home.” Felix assures you on the other end of the line.

“Doesn’t he only have afternoon classes today?” you counter.

The pause is enough to make your face flush, and you’re thankful the boy himself is not here to tease you about it.

“I’m going to pretend you don’t remember his schedule–”

“It was a habit, I don’t–”

“My point is, you won’t run into him so can you please, please, please do me this favour?”

You sigh and groan, slumping further down your bed if that were physically possible, your pyjama clad legs sprawled lazily across the mattress and your phone squished in between your cheek and the pillow. Felix was really making you get off your bed on your one day off of class just to run an errand that would ultimately have you go to campus. Damn him.

“It’s not him, I just don’t wanna get up,” you groaned, and it was true. You didn’t care if you bumped into Minho or not, you were far too relaxed in the comfort of your bed that even the thought of getting up exhausted you, “besides, ask Minho, he’s your roommate.”

“If only he picked up my calls! I bet you anything he’s fast asleep and can’t hear his phone ringing over his snores,”

“Minho snores?” you’re mildly curious at this new piece of information, but try not to show too much interest in it.

“Not the point ughh are you listening to me?! My prof’s gonna kill me if I don’t hand in my assignment today and it counts for twenty percent of my entire grades, I need your help!”

You were already out of bed the moment he had started his spiel once again, you knew he would just repeat what he had said all over so you put the phone on speaker and grumpily tugged on a pair of jeans, tossing the tom and jerry pyjamas with a hole in the bottom on your unmade bed and waddled to your sock drawer.

“–I promise I will buy you coffee the entire week, I swear I will but if I fail this assignment then I’m going to make sure it weighs on your conscience forever that you could have helped a friend in need but you didn’t and then he failed his class and had to repeat an entire year and probably went into depression because god forbid I was idiot signing up for advanced calculus and economics in the same semester but regardless, you failed me as a friend and–”

“Felix, if you don’t stop, I’m going to throw you down the stairs when I come over.”

“You’re coming over?!”

“Yes,” you sigh grumpily, out of your door by this time and hobbling on foot as you try to put your shoe on, balancing your phone between your cheek and shoulder.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Only when you need something from me,”

“Chivalry is not dead.”

“Shut up.”

Felix doesn’t live that far away from you. It’s a fifteen minute walk from your dorm to his, twenty five if you stop in the way to pet a cat or dog, and there’s always a cat or dog, which is a sort of harsh yet not quite, reminder of memories attached to the long walks made bearable with the presence of a certain someone, which is funny because you just realised that now all of that is put in a box labelled ‘memories’ and that is certainly weird given your unfamiliarity to the sentiment and any suspicions of the same back when they weren’t memories.

You resist the innumerable sighs just tingling at the back of your throat; it’s too early for this.

It’s only when you’ve entered Felix’s apartment with the spare key in the teapot plant that you realise what you’ve walked into – a kitchen that looks like it’s gone through the seven layers of hell with an array of baking equipment scattered all over the counter. The boy himself had an apron on with splatters of batter specking the fabric. He doesn’t notice you, and he's definitely not expecting you.

“Why did you call so many– (y/n)?!”

“Uhh…hi?”

You roam your eyes at his condition, taking in his bewildered face and failing to hide your own surprise at seeing him bake for the first time.

“Felix sent me to get his project…it’s in his room, so I’ll just…” with an awkward gait you try crossing the distance across the kitchen and Felix’s room, ignoring the way Minho was now cowering. You want to laugh because you’ve never caught him so off guard and this would be an otherwise hilarious situation had you not been shocked by the domesticity of seeing him with a whisk, the scent of chocolate wafting through the air like a warm hug.

The minute you’re out of sight, Minho scrambles to his room, digging around for a decent shirt to put on, grimacing and mentally slapping himself when he looks into the mirror and sights the batter stained clothes. Why were you always catching him in his worst state these days?!

The blue folder Felix had told you about was on his desk, laying amongst a pile of clutter that ranged from rolled up balls of napkins and coffee stained sheets of rough papers. Grimacing at the mess, you pull the file out from under the pile of trash but it manages to knock over the precariously balanced advanced calculus books on his desk which fall to the ground before you can manage to save them.

With a resigned sigh, you bend to pick them up, stacking them in a smaller stack this time when your phone lights up, the caller ID you had expected to pop up but nonetheless making you roll your eyes. You pick up reluctantly.

“Did you get it, are you there yet?” the panicked baritone from the other end is slightly drowned by the chattering in the background.

“I just got it, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” you reply, picking up the final book and making your way out of the room with brisk steps.

“Fifteen?!” Felix shrieks into your ear making you flinch, “my class starts in five minutes, you have to get there by then!”

“Just wait out in the hallway, surely your prof’s not gonna kill you for being ten minutes late.”

“No, probably not but I’ll have to do that walk of shame ten minutes into the class and sit in the front seat…can’t you just run?”

“Felix I’m not running,” you retort sternly.

“I can drive you,” the new voice makes you turn around, Minho standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, eyes expectantly boring into yours.

“Is that Minho hyung? Great, he can drive you, I’ll see you in five minutes!”

“No, Felix–”

The beeping sound indicates that he had already hung up and you are resigned to hesitantly lower your phone from your ear and regard Minho cautiously as if you were gauging his intentions.

“It won’t take long if I just drive and Felix will probably chew your head off if we keep him waiting for too long, so let’s go,” Minho is already running a hand through his hair which is still very dishevelled while snatching his car keys from.

Quite literally, you find yourself being ushered out and into his car that you had been so accustomed to a few months ago, seemingly having no say in the matter that had been decided upon by the two roommates. You’re still in denial of the whole nostalgic sentiments resurfacing when you’re so much so close to an old habit like now, finding yourself sitting in his car as he drives you to campus. It still smells like lemon fresheners and the seats are still covered in cat hair that sticks to your jeans. You can almost hear the reminiscents of the shared laughter and kisses that had accompanied the long night drives and the coffee stain on the back seat that had remained engraved on the fabric from nights ago.

And like so many other times, your hand itches to just reach out and smoothen his tousled hair and tuck the label of his shirt under the collar and pull him in for a chaste kiss. The scent of chocolate that lingers on his clothes is overpowering, the sweetness making your throat dry up and chest constrict.

It’s suffocating, to say the least, and while it certainly weighs your chest down and numbs your mind like it so often does when it comes to rifling through these shared memories of Minho, you’re vividly aware of the said man gripping his steering wheel a little too hard. Perhaps the opportunity of doing you a favour had clouded his judgement of exactly how nervous it made him to be around you too long.

The ride is uncharacteristically silent; you grip on to the folder now in your arms like a shield in front of your chest, there to protect you from whatever it was lurking in the silence to pounce at you at any given chance and Minho bit his lips till he could taste a faint metallic tang on his tongue, swallowing the saltiness of a confrontation he was always cautious of but never knew when to expect.

And if you spend the entire day surfing through the countless websites offering advice on how to be entirely over an ex, no one had to be any wiser of it.

eight.

It’s seven days to Valentine's day, which means seven days of absolute misery for Minho and when Minho is miserable, he coops himself up in the dance studio.

As the days go by, he’s feeling less and less convinced of himself, and he fears his resolve will ultimately be reduced to a wisp of smoke in thin air, dissolving into nothingness.

For starters, he’s finding it difficult to believe that of all the goddamned people on this planet, he’s waiting to confess to you on valentine’s day, a day he had always felt bitter about to some extent. But then he falls into this vicious cycle of losing his mind over the fact that he’s going to confess to you in the first place, eventually finding himself zoning out of his daily activities as he has another mental breakdown over how exactly he was supposed to do that. How does one confess after all?

He assumes it might have been easier had you both not have already broken up and you didn't hate him – here Felix strongly interjects, stating that you, in fact, didn’t hate him, but who was to know – and how silly this all was, but he loved you.

And as he slowly let this piece of information settle, it only stirred up a gust of agitated feelings like dust in a sunny patch. He noticed how his chest squeezed at your sight, like it was trying to force it all out of his ribs, how the slightest discrepancy between his fair judgement and his elevated heart rate were always inclining towards the latter.

There is not a single seed of doubt as to what he feels about you or for you, but somewhere sitting calmly in the pile of emotions he had collected over the months, was a misplaced sense of overwhelming agitation he couldn’t help but creep up like a parasite. Leaving you boxes of chocolates on your desk and ordering you coffee felt like an immature and childish redemptive gesture, which was only reduced to a cowering dog in front of a beast when that parasite wiggled around, reaching out with its arms to move and expand.

But he missed you and he kept telling himself that.

Neither of you had ever tread into that territory however, the one where words were exchanged with a meaningful implication, it was just there. A sense of belongingness and happiness when he was with you, but also the chain of guilt and confusion weighing him down till he could no longer take it and burst out.

The fight was huge, the confrontation had been a source of getting all the heaviness on his chest to slowly be lifted, till he realised that there are some things which are only clear when you say them out loud and even though sometimes they are better left unsaid, the hurting only lasts so long before relief settles in.

Minho thinks, had he not said anything back then, none of this would have been so messed up. If he had just kept quiet and slowly immersed himself in this new feeling, or better still talked it out without such blunt implications, time would have helped him; but then he would also have been partially lying to himself and to you.

There wasn’t another person, heck he didn’t even fall out of endearment, it just took him some time to come to the conclusion that his feelings had been there all along but when he opened his mouth, all he had implied was that he had not been in love with you, in fact, this might have all been a ruse in the first place – it was understandable that you believed he had no feelings for you in the first place.

A load of miscommunication and the insinuation of his words had hurt him, but probably not more than it affected you. You had put a whole year into this relationship, given it your all, liked him even before you started dating, all to be left high and dry with a ‘I need some time’. He sounded like an asshole even to himself.

He had put you on the front line of his own internal dilemma, used you as an excuse to come to terms with his feelings and taken you for granted. Put in a bit of fucking around and he would be no less than a fuckboy. In fact, he didn’t deem himself worthy of your attention nor respect anymore.

While his anxiety built up, it’s basis feeding off the numerous insecurities that drowned him in it’s waves, his detachment from you grew larger and larger like a seam slowly but surely tearing apart at the edges and when finally undone, the uncertainty of where you would be in the future, whether you would be together or not, whether what he was feeling and doing for you was enough or bordering on sufficient to keep this relationship afloat. The little seed of doubt and indecisiveness had already sprouted up and begun growing like a parasite and while he never entirely got rid of it, it was starting to stir again in the pits of his stomach now.

He was now set out to face the remains of his destruction, rebuilding what he had hammered down and wrecked.

“Hyung,” a voice calls out, making him look up from the ground where he sat panting after the exertion of his dancing and thoughts.

“What are you still doing here? We’ve got class in a few…” Felix makes his way over to the sweaty boy, handing him a towel from the bench and passing one of the plastic bottles always in stock for the students, uncapping the lid to ensure the elder drank it.

“Do you think I should stop?”

“Stop what?” The confusion in Felix’s voice was clear at the abruptness of the question.

A heavy sigh fell off Minho’s lips, eyes staring blankly ahead at the mirror where he gazed at himself tiredly.

“Trying to make things right, I mean. I feel like I keep messing up… I did last time, when I thought that I was doing the right thing but it ended up being, probably the worst decision I’ve made, and talking out didn’t help. I’m not sure it’ll help this time either.”

The defeated slump of Minho’s shoulders is accentuated by the light from the half open windows, the afternoon sunlight sliding down the curve of his back and falling in a pool around him like a beacon of light, jeering at his pathetic state. His miserable foreboding was not allowing him to break out of his little cocoon of insecurities and the ultimate fear of losing you and the universe seemed to be playing its part in dramatising it with its elements.

Minho is unsure of his own actions at this point, his intentions in a muled pool of whether he was trying to reduce his guilt and doing this for his own sake or whether he wanted this for more than selfish reasons.

“Do you love them hyung?”

The question is like a sharp arrow shooting past his face, the wind whittling and ruffling his hair like a shot of breath; it almost leaves Minho breathless but alleviated from the dull slump he was in.

Felix looked on expectantly, but Minho was at a loss for words, staring back back at him with eyes that seemed hopeful of an answer from the inquirer himself. It’s like waiting patiently for someone to answer their own question if you stay silent long enough, and Minho wouldn’t mind favouring an answer that was spoon fed to him in tiny little bite sized chunks, easy to digest but what was even more convenient was that he wouldn’t have to do anything himself except chew and swallow.

He only wished that it were that easy, except of course it wasn’t and no one could feed him an answer to that. He hated Felix, for asking him something so intimate and for the further turmoil it caused him but more so because he had asked him something that deep within he knew the answer to, but as it had been the root of all causes he had stirred up, he was afraid to voice out loud, and he knew that ultimately he would have to confront that thought.

“You know what I think hyung?” Felix maintains his level tone, choosing his words carefully but never pausing in his thoughts, quite obviously unsurprised at the lack of an answer, “I think you know what you are doing and what you should be doing and also the answer to my question. You’re just too afraid to face your feelings and you think letting the guilt eat you up would make (y/n) feel better; that it would make you feel better even if just marginally. What you don’t realise is how much this is hurting you both, to see each other moping around and so upset at the other’s state.”

Minho is surprised at the words coming out of the younger’s mouth, his unexpected third person perspective a source he had not expected he would have an insight to, but all the same finding it hard to believe that you would have any mutual feeling about the same.

“I think,” Felix pauses, regarding the ground and the patches of sunlight on it with great interest, “it's time you stopped hiding behind your excuses and talked to them.”

Felix leaves after his final words, oddly feeling like he had done something monumental, leaving a befuddled Minho sitting on the floor.

There was the subtle churning in his stomach again, like he had just been told to suck up his fear of heights and jump, except this time he was almost entirely certain he wouldn’t mind the drop.

nine.

Hyunjin and Jisung were being disgusting, but they looked cute all cuddled up on your couch with their eyes barely open, scrolling through the numerous confessions you had received in the span of three more days.

You hide a smile when Jisung nuzzles his head in Hyunjin’s chest, the latter whining at having to change his position, pulling the shorter boy closer so now they were practically lying on top of each other.

“This was a bad idea,” Hyunjin says, sighing as he carefully places the laptop on your coffee table, kicking his feet out and quite literally straddling Jisung in his arms. Jisung seemed to be too tired to protest or splutter nervously at the open show of affection, readily giving in to this soft moment, yet not meeting your eyes because he could feel your teasing smile all the way across the couch.

“I don’t know why we didn’t put a limit to this, it’s like all I’ve been doing is reading confessions and they all look the same! Why didn’t you stop me (y/n)?!”

“Hey, I thought this was your idea!” you retort, chucking a cushion at him that elicits a groan from the boy, “besides, you can’t deny people’s confessions, it’s not like they’re for you.”

Hyunjin looks up when you snicker at him, “Was that a challenge? You think I haven’t had people confess to me this year?”

“Have you?” Jisung’s attention is momentarily piqued; you manage to pass the chortle you couldn’t suppress as a cough.

Hyunjin manages to soothe the boy back on his chest, patting his hair and shushing him to rest his eyes after all the squinting at the bright screens. You could almost see the hearts oozing out of his eyes as he stared at the boy on his chest now softly snoring.

“You guys are gross by the way, all this pining is making my head hurt,” you state out, expecting Hyunjin to deny your accusation but it doesn’t come.

“I’m planning on confessing,” he simply says, his voice low and eyes droopy, fingers carding through Jisung’s hair who now looked like even a fire alarm couldn’t wake him up from his slumber.

Momentarily forgetting about your own statement, you sit up straight so suddenly, it almost makes you crick your neck, “Wait, what?”

How could Hyunjin be so calm about this all? No less, it looked like it wasn’t such a big deal to him, like he was simply validating what you said. It just felt like the most right thing to be done, as if all the clues and hints had been there all along.

“Don’t act so surprised, I’m not entirely oblivious you know? I’ve liked him for a while now, I thought you all knew?” He turns to you expectantly, but you can only gape at him in surprise.

“I mean, yeah but! What the actual fuck?!”

“Really impressed with your immaculate vocabulary, so precise, I love it~”

“Shut up, you know what I mean!”

“Actually I don’t, this was long due.”

“Wow,”

“Again with the impeccable stock of words~”

“Stop teasing me,” you whine, unable to contain the smile that was bursting out, genuinely happy for him. Your restrained squealing is what finally makes Hyunjin flush, hiding his face with one hand but his lips mirroring your smile.

“How do you plan on doing it? You’re gonna be pretty busy at the photography booth,” you questioned, abandoning your work and grabbing a cushion in your lap, leaning into conversation indulgently; you needed the break anyway.

Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze flickering between the laptop and the sleeping boy.

“No way…” the sudden implication of the entire thing hits you and you’re almost on the verge of yelling out loud, but stop yourself just in time, “did you do this entire confession thing so you could confess?!”

“No…”

“Bullshit, you sly bitch!”

“Hush, you’re gonna wake him up!”

“Aha, so you do admit it!”

“I said nothing,” Hyunjin is stubborn, but you can tell from the way his cheeks turn a dusty shade of pink and he squirms in his place, his resolve only barely being held by a thread had it not been for the Jisung who was still sound asleep, unaware of everything that was happening.

“That’s abusing your authority,” you tease, crossing your arms over your chest, but you were honestly dying to hold this as leverage over him.

“Is not! It was a legit suggestion and the planning committee all had a say in this matter!”

“Yeah, the planning committee that you head, therefore making you the final decision maker and of course you play it to your favour!”

Hyunjin groans, his will to fight you over this subdued when Jisung stirs in his sleep and he holds a breath in fear of having been heard but nope, the boy just mumbles something in his sleep and goes back to snoring.

“Hyunjin, you’re simping, stop looking at him with so much love,” you gag, your only aim in your life seemingly becoming an unstoppable drive to tease the living daylights out of your friend.

“What about you, I heard you’ve got yourself an admirer,” Hyunjin quickly defends his stance.

“Don’t change the subject, you can’t fight this.”

“What about Minho, does he know?”

Although Seungmin has been dubbed as the one who’s brutally confrontational. You think Hyunjin has an equal hold of that title in your group with his unwittingly innocent setups that make you fall in your own traps and the stupid victorious glint in his eyes after succeeding in doing so.

“Rude, you don’t have to rub my failed love life in my face, loverboy,” you pout, trying to hide the sudden pain that had spiked in your chest at the mention of the name that had recently been making turns in your head. The very image of the unexpected domesticity of Minho in the kitchen baking had strung your heart with a sharp twang of longingness.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Hyunjin sighs, repositioning himself on your couch as you’re the one left squirming in your seat now.

You know what Hyunjin means, but you would rather not talk about it. In fact, you definitely didn’t want to talk about anytime soon, when all you’ve been doing for the past few days is reading endless confessions and sappy love stories and imagining what it would have been like to be on the receiving end of one of these letters. You’ve tried, on many occasions, to discern the writing patterns and trying to figure out whether one of these could have been sent in by Minho, but of course that’s silly and he would never do something like that but you hope – you so desperately hope for something.

Hyunjin sees the look of turmoil plastered all over your face, your sad eyes and downturned lips.

“(y/n), can you say that you’re entirely over him?”

The words are quiet, but a dissonance in the near silence of the room that is broken by soft snores. You don’t trust yourself to look him in the eye and lie, because you find that you can’t tell him the truth either. The lie you’ve been feeding yourself for months now is like a fraying rope of twines coming undone the more you tug at it; Hyunjin had so easily managed to break your lie open with a few words, you wonder whether he was right after all; whether your heart had been into building this lie and keeping it intact after all.

Because it's hard to pretend not to notice Minho looking out for you and it’s much harder to ignore the burn in your chest when he smiles even though you’re mean to him. It’s kept you awake for nights, months after everything was over – months after you should have been over it all, to have forgotten and forgiven and moved on without ever looking back – but you always find yourself thinking about him; always looking back and finding his face in the crowd without searching for it, finding his little smile and tucking it carefully in a corner of your heart.

And when you’re alone, without his constant assuring presence, you lie to yourself and convince yourself that the stolen smile tickling that corner of your heart was never meant for you to keep in the first place. You lie a little more when you tell yourself that you don't care anymore.

Hyunjin is so skillfully there to bring your lies to the forefront just like how he was there to accompany you in your ice cream marathon, with a bag full of snacks and two whole boxes of tissue with a sufficient supply of some old and sappy rom-coms when you had first cried your heart out after the breakup. When you had bawled about not being good enough to be loved, but most utterly, entirely broken about it all being a lie.

So he knows what it is you’ve been feeling this entire time, maybe not calling you out on it, but definitely there to remind you that there were still so many chances of putting this right, because believe it or not, even your lies have been lying to you.

ten.

Three days to Valentine’s and you felt like the universe was playing it’s most cruel game with you, but it was also making sure that you were still in the game, no matter how weak willed or how close to the edge of giving up you were.

Keeping up with your part time job and the planning for the big valentine’s day celebration, which you had inevitably been more than engaged in given the need for extra hand, had you sitting beside Minho now, shoulders touching and peering at the poster design Hyunjin had changed his mind about in the last minute.

In fact, Hyunjin had changed his mind about a lot of things, which included making a new banner for the Sweet Treats and therefore having to come up with a new ensign for the posters, because he wanted it to complement each other. It was either you stuck having to cut out large hearts out of glittery foam for the new banner – which you had already been given word weeks ago you wouldn’t be required to, but when have men ever kept their word? – or it was brainstorming over the poster design.

And that’s how you found yourself sitting in the very corner of the computer lab, squeezed in between the wall and Minho, the only seat you had managed to grab because all the other computers were taken, working in a forced mental quietude with the rhythmic drone of the students in the background.

The obligatory drumming of your thoughts came as a result from half an hour ago, when Minho had been forced to scoot over to your side by a group of unruly seniors who were having a loud discussion about topics your brain could not comprehend. But that was okay, because it was nothing compared to the fact that Hyunjin had absolutely forgotten to mention the ‘someone’ who was going to help you out was Minho. But even that was fine, because quite frankly, your mind is too buzzed to process anything, let alone supply valuable help to the boy beside you, who was actually doing the work, while you sat there, hyperventilating about your shoulders touching.

You’ve not been in such close proximity with Minho in a while, and while it never made you nervous in a bad way when you were in a relationship, now it made your stomach flutter and take flight whenever he leaned in close to mutter something about the shade of burgundy and his breath fanned across your ear.

You feel a shiver run down your spine when he leaned forward again, this time squinting at the text before leaning back again with a frown on his face. You pressed your lips in a smile – typical Lee Minho at work; he would stare at the same thing for hours on end till he could figure out what made it look even marginally better than the original format. It was a small habit that had always been there that you hadn’t even noticed you had taken note of in the first place, only realising that it was one of the things you had always liked about him, without even realising it.

Minho had had this way of easing himself into your life, seeping his habits and lifestyle into yours so subtly and gradually, that you had never quite gotten over the shock of not waking up to it any longer. It was like a part of you had been wiped off entirely, a hand pulled out of a glove in the freezing cold. It never sat right with you and you never got used to it.

Minho steals a glance at you, finding you staring straight ahead with the look you had when you were lost in your thoughts. He’s unsure if it’s because you don’t find his incessant stubbornness to get the perfect shade of red correct or you just weren’t feeling well. Well, you did look tired, he knows you stayed up all night sorting out the anonymous confession box thing he had briefly heard about from Hyunjin, and he knew you had a shift later in the evening at the convenience store. Maybe he should just tell you to leave? But that would make it seem like he could do the entire work all by himself and didn’t value your opinions but that wasn’t the case; if anything he wanted to be able to ask you to rest your head on his shoulder and get some shut eye but! He couldn’t do that either! Curse his fate!

“Hey,” your voice breaks his agitation, “wanna go get some coffee?”

For a moment you think you’ve stunned Minho into temporary speech loss but then you replay the past five seconds in you remind and realise that you’ve just asked Minho for coffee, which you were starting to hope he would decline and you could just leave awkwardly after that–

“Sure, let’s go.”

Minho is past the stage of caring, all he knows is that you offered to get coffee with him first and he was in no position to turn you down.

Normally, a coffee run would excite you but today the five minute walk to the cafe you frequent is no less than a nervous stride of awkwardness. Your heels ache with all the pressure you put out in walking, you change the way you breath at least nine times, every time closer to a skittish cliff in the fear of being too loud. You’re really worried about breathing too loudly; now you’ve seen it all.

Minho is no better. His stupid hands keep bumping into yours and the occasional cyclist makes him scoot closer to you but he’s too timid to walk behind you or in front of you. God, what happened to when he could pull you along in a good humoured headlock and berate you for your fifth cup of the caffeinated drink in an hour; he knows it’s not your first cup of the day, he can smell it on you. And he hates it so much, the mere thought of feeling the taste on his lips when he would kiss you, now he’s really resorting to inhaling the coffee scent so familiar to you.

His hand itches to pull you back and away from this stupid walk and away from it all where you could both start over again, but he’s quick to extinguish that thought; overindulging in sweet fantasies only made him long for you more.

He lets out a breath of relief he hadn’t realised he was holding when the cafe comes into view and you both enter.

“Oh hi, it’s you. Do you want the blueberry muffins today–”

Minho’s frantic gesturing cuts the barista off, their eyes widening when they see you come up, apparently digging around your bag for your wallet and they shut up immediately. You don’t seem to have heard the near slip up though, too invested in shovelling through your bag.

Without thinking, Minho’s hand reaches up to yours, your head snapping up at him and the frown on your brows slipping away into a surprised look.

“Just order, I’ll pay.”

“You don’t have to, I just need to find my–”

“Please?” The gentle squeeze on your wrist and the soft eyes appealing to you makes it difficult to turn him down. You reluctantly agree, placing your orders and waiting to have them to go since neither of you wanted to spend too much time inside the cafe that was already adorned in red streamers, the yearly specials menu of drinks and pastries making you grimace at the chessiness with which the names had been chosen. Jesus, you’d be embarrassed to even read those out.

Minho doesn’t know how to start a conversation with you anymore, his fingers drumming nervously on the counter until your drinks are out and it was killing him to stand a few feet apart from you when all around he could see couples practically sitting on each other’s laps.

You’re both glad when you’re able to leave, Minho paying and turning a brilliant shade of red when the barista hands you a blueberry muffin wrapped in plastic with a bow on top of it, citing it to be ‘on the house’ and winking at you. He’s so busy pretending not to have anything to do with this little coincidence that he doesn’t notice you speaking. When your words register though, he wishes he hadn't heard you in the first place.

“So uhh,” you start off hesitantly, taking a small sip of your drink as Minho does the same, “I’ve got some of your stuff back in my apartment, you should come by and…take them back. Sometime, when you’re free…”

It physically pains you to speak those words out, your throat constricting and this time you make sure you’re not even trying to gauge Minho’s reaction. Had you actually looked his way, you would have noticed his clenched jaws and the flash of hurt in his eyes that he doesn’t try to mask.

“That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“What?”

“The coffee, you just wanted to– you know what, never mind. I’ll drop by tomorrow to get my stuff.”

Though you had expected a reaction akin to this, the sudden coldness in his voice and his stony eyes made your heart drop. You felt guilty about bringing this up and maybe you could have tried a gentler approach, but all the same, you couldn’t put this off any longer either.

Without another word, Minho stalks off with the bitter taste of his drink infusing in his tongue like a harsh slap of reality, leaving you staring at his back forlornly as it grew smaller with every step he took.

eleven.

You opened the door in a loose sweater, the sleeves engulfing your hands in sweater paws and the resolve with which Minho had purposefully rang your doorbell with, was already starting to slip away.

Minho finds it near impossible to step inside your small apartment, knowing the walls around him would bring back too many memories he had tried hard to suppress all night the day before, screaming into his pillow in frustration when they had inadvertently bobbed back up like a cork in water, stubbornly reminding him of why he had to be here in the first place.

The first thing he notices on entering is the cardboard box on the coffee table; things only get harder from there.

He’s unsure of what to do with his hands, his head feels too big for his neck and he’s constantly tumbling down an endless spiral of emotions the longer he stares at the empty spaces in your house that once used to be filled up with his trinkets. The feeling refuses to subside when he rummages through the box, picking out articles that punch him square in the chest.

“I thought you liked this hoodie,” he picks up blue coloured fabric, careful not to crease the fold.

You shrugged in response, you only liked it because it smelt like his scent.

As he keeps going through everything inside the box, he’s visibly upset at how you haven’t spared even the smallest of things; his half empty bottle of citrus bodywash, an empty diary from last year he had bought for himself out of impulse, his favourite fountain pen that had rolled under the drawer and he had never bothered to retrieve, until he stumbles upon the small velvet box he couldn’t forget even if he wanted to.

“I got this for your birthday,” his voice rose unexpectedly on opening it and finding the silver chain intactly placed inside, obviously trying hard not to lose his mind and snap at you for the wrong reasons, but how could you return this?

“Yeah well, you also told me that you loved me right after, so it kind of lost all its meaning.” the defensive tone was not intentional, but it was exactly what it was supposed to be – a front up against Minho’s own offence.

“What must I do to make you believe that it was real?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you were ready to walk away the moment he brought up the topic, leaving him to sort things out but a tug on your wrist, harsher than intended, makes you stop in your tracks.

“I want to talk about this,” Minho is comparatively calmer now, but his eyes are livid and not at you but himself. Yet, a part of him, though wary of the sense of deja vu he was having standing here in a similar predicament as when you had broken up, can’t seem to understand you at all. He acknowledges your anger and resentment, doesn’t try to question the way you avoid him at all costs but for the life of him, absolutely can’t understand why you wouldn’t talk.

“You never gave me a chance to explain anything (y/n), you just assumed the worst and refused to believe me even after I tried so hard to explain – to show you that I love you, yet it’s like you’ve built up this huge wall that you refuse to let down and for what? What are you so afraid of, is it confrontation? What is it? Tell me, because I sure as hell don’t understand why we can’t just talk about this?!”

“Oh so it’s my fault now?! This is how you truly feel, don’t you? All those stupid boxes of chocolates and paying for my coffee and those stupid fucking blueberry muffins – I don’t even like blueberry muffins, I only ate them because you liked them! – all that was just so you could feel better about yourself, wasn’t it? And now I’ve hurt your ego by returning what’s yours, so it’s my fault!”

Your voices were slowly rising with every syllable, the anger in your eyes directed at each other in furious glares and the confrontation that never truly happened finally tumbling out in more hurtful words.

“You knew about that?” Minho breathes out shortly, the grip of his fingers around your wrist loosening when your eyes tear up.

“Not until yesterday I didn’t, but you had your fun right? Bet you enjoyed every second of it,” you hate yourself for tearing up so easily, for letting his words affect you so much that it made you shrivel up and cower in fear of more. There was something about his anger that hurt you even more than before.

The venom in your voice was amiss, the way it tumbled out wrapped in hurt and vulnerability and yet again, Minho is reminded of exactly how much he had messed up, all over again.

“I didn’t do it so I could gloat at you or have fun,” he breathes out, rubbing his face tiredly, “I’m so sick of not being able to talk to you or hold you or even–”

His words are cut short, trapped at the back of his throat and he swallows them down forcefully, heaving his chest in exertion and blinking his eyes rapidly.

“I love you, I really do (y/n), believe me please.”

What are you even supposed to say? The same man had told you, six months into your relationship, that he had in fact not been sure of his feelings for you, immediately nullifying any meaning behind the three syllables he had so often muttered in your ears or against your lips, and now here he was saying the same thing. How were you expected to not not let this affect you?

“Stop it, I don’t believe you anymore.”

“Give me a chance,” the sniffle breaks you, ripping your insides and swallowing you in a pit of your own pity. You won’t look at him, you won’t listen to him.

Lee Minho does not love you. He will never love, and you must convince yourself of that, no matter how much your heart faltered at the decision.

“No.”

Minho nods his head at the floor, slowly putting everything inside the box again and when the final article is put away, he stands up awkwardly with it in his hands, desperately trying to search for a single ounce of hesitance in your eyes, but you refuse to look up.

“Are you sure about this?”

No, you’re not sure what you’re sure of anymore. But this feels wrong; so, so wrong and yet this guarantees you a safeguard to your feelings, a way to ensure that you don't wear your heart on your sleeve.

“Yes.”

“Okay…okay.”

The door closes behind Minho, the silence in your house echoing against the walls and you’re left standing alone again. Outside your door, Minho stands motionless, slowly letting the parasite squirming in his stomach to reach out for his heart and squeeze it till he could no longer breathe.

twelve.

If love was in the air was a literal concept, this would be it.

The halls were bursting with over buzzed students trying out the various booths that had been put up. It had taken your and Jisung’s combined efforts and reassurances to convince Hyunjin to get a breather and man his own photography booth that he had abandoned in a panicked frenzy of ensuring all the others were running smoothly, leaving poor Jisung to fend off by himself.

The halls were entirely decked with pink and red streamers with posters pointing towards various booths put up along with balloons. The quadrant was set up with kiosks and food stalls, lovely flower arrangements lining up the perimeter, and glitter! There was so much glitter everywhere, most of the planning committee that had been directly involved in dealing with it still had specks of it in their hair, and though they gave Hyunjin the stank eye once in a while, anybody could tell they were proud of their hard work and happy about it too. Hyunjin had really gone all out, you doubted he had spared a single penny of their budget from going into this.

As for you, you were mostly in the announcement room helping with the setup and ensuring all the PA systems were connected to the hallways and running. It temporarily helped in taking your mind off things because boy was your mind buzzing with countless thoughts.

It had been only two days – two days since you turned down Minho, two days since you stopped receiving handmade chocolates and pre-ordered coffee, two days of classes without Minho, two days of nervously holding your breath in every class you shared with him for him to turn up, only to find out that the boy had seemingly disappeared the face of the earth.

Two days of Minho not being anywhere near you and you felt like you had committed the greatest crime in the universe.

Trying to talk to Felix had been futile; he had been in and out of classes in a fretful scurry, mumbling about the humongous amount of baking that had to be done for the D-day and all he could supply you with was a non-committal excuse about being busy.

In short, you hadn’t seen nor heard nor heard of Minho in the past forty eight hours, and now you were worried. Funny how the tables had turned, but oh well, irony doesn’t leave anyone unattended.

So far you had managed to pass off the gurgling pit of of anxiety reflected on your face as nerves about talking into the PA; Hyunjin had been to caught up in his worries and accepted the explanation, but it was a hard pass against Felix who you were currently standing across the booth from, trying to divert his attention with compliments about his cookies.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he deadpans, your eyes blinking at him innocently as you chew on the delicacy. You had about half an hour to report to the broadcasting room, so you were whiling away your time trying to pry whatever information you could about Minho from his roommate, stealthily disguising it under a veil of compliments. It wasn’t working.

“I know something happened between you, you don’t have to pretend (y/n),” he rolls his eyes before turning to a customer with a smile and attending to them. The duality, you do not deserve such slander. But you do decide to drop with the pretence.

“I just want to know if he’s fine, okay? I think I…I was too harsh.”

This was true, but also very embarrassing to admit. It was like one of those moments in life where you say or do something and the immediate train of regret hits you with full force, derailing you from your own resolution and dumping your limp body in a sea of embarrassment and strong desire to turn back time.

Having second thoughts was sadly a part of this whole ordeal, the deal sealed off with a nice pinch of passionate frustration and a confused temperament. Yet, you do not find yourself willing to stand up to the challenge of facing and amending the distress you were left reeling with.

There was a lot you had to admit, the heaviness of your pent up feelings weighing you down but you didn’t know how to say it out loud.

“Listen,” Felix’s attention is on you again, but not for long as more people approach him, “I don’t know what’s going on between you guys, but even a five year old can tell that there’s definitely something between you guys. Now I know I’ve never been in a relationship and definitely have no concept of timely damage control, but if you want to make things right, do it now. I don’t want to graduate from this hellhole watching two of my friends become strangers. It doesn’t matter if you don’t get back together, but you can’t let yourselves be ripped apart like this, okay?”

“I know you both love each other,” his words spread like a warm fire through you, “but you’re both idiots who won’t admit it.” Wrong, Minho did admit it, you were just too scared to let him have a part of your heart again after the first time. This was on you, and it was starting to feel scary to bear such a burden.

“And if you tell me that a month from now, you can walk past each other in the hall as if nothing had happened like there was no history between you two, I might believe you. But if you tell me that you didn’t regret doing this in the future, I will laugh in your face, because damn you would have to be convincing to lie like that.”

Stunned, you can only nod at him meekly, gulping down the bitter taste at the back of your throat at the mention of becoming estranged with someone you loved so dearly.

“Don’t do this…this wallowing in self pity and pretending to be okay when you both know it’s far from that, just go talk to each other.”

Felix finishes with a pat on your shoulder and a gentle squeeze before leaving you to walk away with heavy steps and a strong desire to dash to the nearest washroom to force those tears back.

You realise that the first step had been to confess the very fact – Minho was someone you loved. The thought of graduating and leaving this place without him by your side was daunting. He had been half of the reasons this place had been bearable. Beyond the four walls with a projector overhead, and a professor droning about something you were too distracted to register, he had always been there to pass notes to you with silly doodles or sent you cat memes to while the time or scratched out wobbly stars in the corner of your notebooks. The little things that you had stored as memories were resurfacing and the heavy realisation of your endearing affection for them was settling in.

Everything suddenly felt overwhelming; your thoughts were tangled in a numb mess making your head throb with a dull thud. The beautiful decorations around you were a blur of red, the loud buzzing of excited people, a drone in your ears.

Love was in the air, but you were out of breath, suffocating as the voices inside your head drowned you out from the world.

thirteen.

You and Seungmin had done about a fifty confessions in three hours, all with a periodic music break where Changbin and Chan would take over, belting out beats and occasionally promoting their band. You were sure Hyunjin wouldn't mind, especially not when it was 3racha in question; the entire campus was in love with the trio.

Hyunjin had burst into the room during one such song break, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling – literally twinkling in happiness – and spluttered out in an excited mess about how he had seen at least a dozen people ask each other out after the confessions were read out.

“Only a dozen? We’ve read about fifty of these…” Seungmin said monotonously, but Hyunjin was seemingly unfettered with the less than enthusiastic reaction.

“I’ve seen a dozen, but who knows how many more are out there? Cheer up Seungmin, I’ll get you a coffee – in fact, I’ll get you all a snack, my treat for working so hard!”

Well, someone was definitely in a good mood, and neither of you were going to turn down the offer of free food and drinks. Besides, you did kind of deserve it after all.

Aside from one bathroom break, you had stayed inside the broadcasting room for most part of the day, volunteering to stay back when the crew wanted to go out and enjoy for a while. Oh and, you had also messaged Felix every half an hour, inquiring whether Minho had come to the fest and every time he had responded with a variation of ‘not yet’ and ‘I haven’t seen him yet’. There might have been a reason you were trying not to leave this room yet.

The rational part of you agreed that calling the man in question would yield better results, but the emotional part of you decided against it if you didn’t want to freeze up at the sound of his voice and burst into tears in the middle of a sappy confession.

Speaking of confessions, it was your turn for another one and it seemed awfully familiar the moment you read out the name. Seungmin gestures at you just as Chan drowns out the last notes of the current song playing and signals for you to start.

“That was ‘On Track’, produced by none other than our favourite trio, 3racha! And now it’s time for another lovely confession! This one’s from loverboy20,” you smile, knowing only too well who this was, slightly excited at how this was going to turn out since you don’t remember reading this before, “to the guy who’s been on his mind since freshman year.”

“Hi, it’s loverboy20 here and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this but heck, if I don’t do this now, I’ll never get down to it and then I’m going to regret my entire life about not asking out the cute guy I’ve had a crush on for ages and…I’m rambling now.

I would go back and type this out all over again, but you need to know exactly how hard this is for me and I’ve already been staring at my screen for an hour, unsure of what to type because I have no idea what to say or how to go about this but forgive me, I hope you won’t hate me entirely once this is over.

I saw you first in the freshman orientation and thought you were kinda cute with your flannel shirt and beanie. You looked like the cool kid with your guitar, sitting in the row in front of me and putting in your headphones. I don’t think anyone noticed but me – they weren’t even connected to your phone. It was cute, you were I mean…you still are.

And then I met you in the talent show where we got paired up for the impromptu segment and we had this huge fight about rapping better and dancing better and…long story short, the crush I had on you was slowly starting to feel questionable. But! But then just as I was starting to get over it, you go ahead and do something stupidly cute like paying for my americano because I didn’t have money on me and saving me from embarrassing myself. I think we started hitting it off from there and then…well, it just happened. Like…I started falling for you more and then one day it was like getting hit by a train full of those feelings. I mean, you were right there in front of me in your flannel shirt again and I just suddenly felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.

This is…oh my god, this is so embarrassing, I’m basically rambling about how you made me fall for you oh my god…anyway…it just felt right.

Being with you, spending even the passing moments between hectic classes just getting coffee or sailing up late to talk to you while you worked; it made me happy and I want to keep doing it. I like you, a lot. You make me so happy and I have to physically stop my heart from leaping out when you’re around and can you please not hold my hands without a warning, it makes me nervous…no actually, you can hold my hand if you want to. If you want to, if you don’t hate me already. I’m just shooting my shot, you probably don’t like me and I might never be able to face you again after this, but yeah…okay.

If you don’t already know, this is for you, Han Jisung. My confession probably sucked, I can’t write beautiful words like you do or belt out a song like you but I really, really like you. That’s that then. This is loverboy20, and if you plan on getting back to me, I’ll be working with you in the photography booth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Hyunjin had really done it. Changbin had positively squealed after the confession, hitting Chan in the chest and pretending to cry; you wouldn’t have been surprised if he had actually cried. Seungmin had also been smiling, unable to stop the surprised chuckle when he heard Jisung’s name. Chan just looked like a proud dad sending his kids off to school for the first time.

Something about this spiel had broken you though.

It felt right…

That’s what Hyunjin said. It felt right when he was with Jisung and it made him happy. And knowing Jiusng’s side of the story, his mutual feelings for him which no doubt would be finally conveyed now, they had both ultimately worked it out through their differences and fallen for each other right?

The phrase bugged you. It stuck to you like leech, sucking on your mind incessantly until you realised what it was. But of course, that’s exactly how you always felt with Minho. It had felt so right, just like the night Hyunjin had first told you, like this was meant to be and the feeling is so oddly familiar, it drowns you in it’s simplicity like a warm hug comforting you after a gruesome fight of heart over mind and you realise that wearing your heart on your sleeves was worth it if it was Minho.

It was Minho all along; you would always go back to him because you know – and the enormity of the realisation settles in with a relief – that he’s loved you since the beginning. He had taken time getting there, maybe he had never realised or indeed never had feelings for you romantically, but he had been there as your friend always. He was there with warm soup when you were sick, with his childish berating when you pulled one too many all-nighters, there with an umbrella when you were stuck without one on campus, there to kiss you goodnight after every date.

Minho waited till he was entirely sure of his feelings for you, because in the end he was afraid of hurting you. And even then he only spoke the truth; all he wanted was your trust and time. You trust his feelings, he’s never meant to harm you before nor now. You just forgot to trust the process and the time it took for him to get there and it ashames you now.

You didn’t cry all those weeks after the breakup because you had found it hard to accept that he hadn’t loved you just as much as you did. You had cried because you knew he did, for he had trusted you enough to tell you that, but he hadn’t found it in himself to let you down in fear of losing you. And wasn’t that what both of you had been afraid of? Treading around each other like you were walking on a floor made of glass, the inevitable fear of stepping too hard and losing each other in the midst of the million shards you would tumble down with.

There was a way – a final chance – to put this right.

What you were about to do would probably haunt you for life if it all went wrong but you loved him. You love him. You know this. And that’s where you’ll start – by accepting it.

fourteen.

Minho can’t fathom why he’s here. He should be anywhere but here, feeling swaddled by all the couples and the cute couple games and the over-the-top decorations.

He hates it all and he hates your voice over the speaker right now, reading out Hyunjin’s confession. He was there in person to witness Hyunjin growing redder by the second and Jisung’s brain trying to process everything. Cute, disgustingly cute. That could have been you and him.

He spots Felix’s booth in the midst of all the chaos, the boy himself looking flushed as he was constantly on the run. Word had spread about his bake sale, and people had started flocking to his booth, leaving him hassled as he was a one man army. He didn’t notice Minho till he walked right up to the front and slipped inside his stall.

“Hyung, I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Hey Lix, you look busy,” Minho states, observing from behind as he collects cash and gives out wrapped cookies and brownies, thanking every customer with a bright smile. A few students may have simpered over his boyish charms, but Felix was too busy to notice, failing to notice their obvious flirting. Minho has to hide a laugh as they walk away disappointed with cookies in their hands.

When the crowd dwindles a little, Minho could make out Seungmin’s voice on the speakers now, no doubt swapping with you after five consecutive readings. He finally gets a chance to strike up a conversation with his roommate.

“Business looks prosperous,”

Felix smirks back at him, pocketing the cash he had received before saying, “Yeah, the crowd's pretty good. Some people even came back for seconds, they love this stuff!”

“Of course they do, you’re good at it,” Minho shrugs off-handedly, but Felix could sense the genuine praise underneath.

“Hey hyung, can you do me a favour? I’ve got two cartons of this stuff in my car in the parking lot, can you bring me one? Can’t really leave the booth empty.”

Minho didn’t mind helping out, he anyway didn’t have much to do around here and he had only come because Felix had pestered him to get out of the house and stop sulking all weekend. Granted, the first thing he had heard was your voice reading out a confession like it was your own, he hadn't turned around and sprinted right away like he had thought he would have.

Felix hands him his car keys and off he goes to the parking lot, where there’s a relatively smaller number of people. It takes him a while to search for the car, all the while walking further away from the building, seungmin’s voice a faint noise in the back, and finally finds the familiar blue one parked right in the back.

Carefully taking out one of the boxes, he marvels at its weight and can only assume it’s loaded to the brim. If any of this manages to get saved, Minho has a feeling he knows what the 3 AM snack for the entire next month is going to be. Sometimes, he marvels at the younger boy and the amount of baking he can get done in a matter of a few hours.

As he’s walking back, he registers your voice which was on again on the speakers, growing louder the minute he got closer to the building. He tries his best to ignore the knot in his stomach but stops when he hears your next words.

“The next confession is to an ex, from… anonymous.”

There’s a pause on your end, but Minho is starting to anticipate this one. The word ex resounds loudly inside his head, his chest constricting when he hears the way you say it. It was as if you were taking this to heart when it wasn’t even your confession.

“Hi…I hope you’ve been doing well, I kind of miss you…maybe more than just “kind of”...

I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now, it seems crazy; I feel crazy doing this, but honestly? Screw it, I don’t think I can lie to myself anymore. I know I was trying to save face and keep my distance but a part of me was desperately trying to protect my feelings and yours.

I don’t think you’re here right now, I hope you’re not. Or maybe you are, in which case, good. But not really. This is hard…I don’t have this written out and I can’t do this extempore, but you’re not here, so it’s okay. Are you here though? It doesn’t matter…”

Minho is completely frozen to his spot. He was hoping for too much, but even with your face hidden, he could hear the panic in your voice. Why were you panicked?

“I know I acted like an ass, I know I messed up too but I realised that I couldn’t force you to feel the same way as I did. Maybe you needed more time, and perhaps I should have been willing to give you more of that.

I know we made mistakes – both of us – and I’m scared that this might be the end of everything, but I thought about it for so long and I want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not being able to give you more time when you needed it, I should’ve never expected you to fall in love with me all at once; I forgot we all have different paces and different ways of loving.

You said you didn’t love me; maybe I’m being delusional and hopeful when I say this, but I think you did…love me. Maybe not all at once, but it was there – you were there – in bits and pieces; in the way you picked up blueberry muffins on Wednesdays because you knew I didn’t have time for breakfast, in the way you got annoyed at having to pick up coffee for me but you did it anyway, in the way you sat all night looking up my favourite shows so we could enjoy it together, in the way you added peas to my scrambled eggs because I liked it that way.

I noticed it all, but somehow I…I overlooked it. I took it for granted, getting mad at you because you didn’t or couldn’t say those three words back at me because all I wanted was for you to love me as much as I loved you…as much as I still love you. But you did,and you cared so much for me, and I failed to see it. And that makes me feel shitty, but I deserve it.

I want you to know that I still love you, I do. So stop giving me boxes of my favourite chocolates and paying for my coffee and let’s talk this out. I promise, I’ll listen better this time, and I’ll wait for as long as it takes for you to reach out. I promise I won’t rush you, and if you still never feel the same as I do, I promise I’ll not hold you accountable for it.

So Lee Minho, if you’re out there and listening to this…I miss you, so much. And I love you, and won’t ever stop loving you. But let’s talk this out, as adults, and whatever happens, I’ll accept it with grace. I owe you that, so, yeah…”

There’s a pause not many notice due to the chaos, but for those who were listening, they pick up on the abrupt music that starts playing. Minho is one of them, but he doesn’t register the slip up because he can’t, in all honesty, think of anything right now.

He was left reeling in his spot, unable to move his feet from where they were planted on the ground. Lee Minho, that was his name – you said his name. This was your confession. Fuck.

It was hard to ignore the stare at your back and the bated breath with which everybody had been listening to your ramble, but it’s even harder to ignore the rapid beating of your chest, the only sound now drumming in your ears obnoxiously.

Before you know it, your feet are moving of their own accord. You’re pushing yourself up from the chair, ignoring the cramp that had settled after sitting for more than an hour in the same place and in a split second you’re out the door and running nowhere in particular. Nobody stops you, and even if they tried, they doubted they would be able to.

It almost looked like Felix had been expecting you. He definitely looked surprised when you panted to a stop in front of him, ignoring the weird stares you received, only two syllables coming out of your mouth, “Where’s Minho?”

“He’s in the parking lot.”

That’s it. That’s all you need before you’re running again, slithering through the crowd and wheezing when you finally reach the parking lot. He was here. Minho was here, in the parking lot, on campus and he probably heard your confession. He hates you now, he definitely hates you and the sudden realisation that he heard your confession almost makes you want to tear the world apart in embarrassment. But you couldn’t turn back now.

You were too far down this hole to climb back up any time soon and you were going to see the end of it.

fifteen.

When you had imagined this happening, you had been less daunted by the prospect. Additionally, you also had the safety of these thoughts being in your head and never in real life.

In short, you felt like shitting your pants.

Minho was not saying anything. In fact, after pulling you into one of the lecture halls inside the building the best he could with a heavy box of cookies he was least worried about for now, he hadn’t done much except quietly lean back on the desk, waiting for you to speak while you sat in front of him on one of the benches. This was nerve wracking, the unpredictability of the situation and the long foreboding silence that you had both been sitting in. you had both been riveted by a small patch of dust, swirling around in a small typhoon in a sunny corner of the room, watching the silent chaos quietly.

The room feels too big without the presence of students filling it, you’ve never noticed it before, with its large windows and the sun streaming in like golden ribbons, exactly how much silence it can hold within its four walls.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“About earlier, I don’t know why I did that. I thought you weren’t going to be there, I mean not that it’s bad you heard but–”

“Did you mean it?” Minho cuts you off, but he sounds wary, cautious of where he treads because the trepidation that comes along with a feeling of things coming to an end blankets the two of you heavily.

“Which part?” your voice is reduced to a whisper, your thoughts too loud and overpowering.

“All of it…do you love me?”

This was easier done on the speaker and spoken into a mic. Now you’re too aware of Minho’s gaze staring you down and the sound of his shifting feet on the ground; your head is held low where your own eyes fixate on the ground till you see the tip of his shoes come into view and the telltale presence of a person close to you.

“My inadequacy to love you was never your fault (y/n), I swear I have loved you for ages but I didn’t want to lose you with my incapability of being sufficient.” Minho had to bare his all for this, in a mutual attempt to right the wrong and speak the unspoken, even if it made him want to dig a hole and bury himself under for eternity.

“I know Minho, I know. I’m sorry for not being able to recognise that sooner.”

“But I want to be with you, and for that I was most certain I didn’t want to lie about anything.”

“So you said you never loved me?”

“I never meant that. You know I’m an idiot, you know I suck with words and I would rather you hated me for it than have to speak out my feelings. All of those cruel things I said, all that shouting, every waking moment I wish I could take it all back. But I’m such a fool for you (y/n), I hate what you do to me.”

“You were never insufficient, and you certainly weren’t in the wrong to tell me the truth. I was just too hurt and blinded by the people around me bent on making me believe that you didn’t love me enough…when you said it out loud, I lost it.”

“I should have never made you feel like you were any less loved than others.”

“It was never your fault, it was simply a question of time.”

“I’m such an idiot…”

It came without a preamble and so suddenly, it made you want to joke about it. Minho was anything but an idiot, only too aware of his feelings and deeply connected to them that he had felt guilty for lying about it to you.

“I know you’re an idiot Minho,” a light laughter leaves your lips, your chest gradually starting to feel lighter the more Minho talked, ignoring the fluttering in your heart.

“Is my misery funny to you?”

“No, but your blabbering is,”

“Don’t laugh, please. I feel like a fool and you’re the one who just poured their heart out in front of hundreds of people.”

“Yes, I suppose idiocy seeps into you when one’s around you for too long.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“So, is this it?”

“It is if you want it to be.”

“I just thought this would be a lot more serious. And you might cry, not that I want you to cry but I thought I would make you cry again…not that I wanted to.”

“We’ve both bared too much already Min,” Minho feels like the sun itself had bloomed inside him, the warmth of his name tumbling through your lips like sweetened honey spread through him like wildfire, “I wouldn’t have wanted this to go any other way.”

And it’s true. When you walked into this classroom, you were ready to accept whatever it was that was to befall without any complaints. Regrets, perhaps, but if your heart was to be broken when you left this room, you were prepared for it. It made this talk so much easier when it didn’t end up with a promise of tears.

You came here with an intent and it was to do your best so you didn’t lose someone you loved dearly, no matter the price.

A long silence ensues. You can hear the tunes of a soft song floating through the speakers outside, almost as if Chan had planned it for the right moment.

Minho leans down and holds your face in his hands, closing the gap between you gently before kissing you. God, you had missed this. You had forgotten how gentle Minho could be when it came to you, how he kissed you softly but firmly, slowly prying your lips open till you were completely drowning in him.

Bringing your hands up, you gently pry yourself apart from him, feeling yourself melt when you notice the panic in his eyes. The parasite inside him starts wiggling again, had you not wanted this?

“It’s okay, I just want you to know that you don’t have to rush this. I’ll be here for you always, I promise.”

Minho feels the parasite inside him slowly withering with every word you speak and every soft stroke of your thumb across his cheek.

“I already know I love you.”

“So you won’t run away?”

“I promise I won’t. And I’ll make it up to you for eternity.”

“That’s cheesy,” your heart does miss a beat.

“I know. I’m going to regret this later.”

“Must be all the love in the air.”

“Must be…”

A cheesy verse about a boy serenading the love of his life breaks out in a tender melody, but you’re both kissing again, never rushing into the feeling of it, just quietly drowning in each other.

“You know, an eternity is a long time,” you say, breaking apart for air again and pressing one long kiss on his lips, “are you sure you’re up for it?”

“I don’t think it would be that bad.”

For the first time in months, Minho finally feels himself liberated from that tight knot in his chest and the parasite that once resided there, nowhere in sight. His insides glow warm under your touch and his overwired mind is finally calm and bereft of muddled thoughts.

The shadows shift and the dust in the corner of the room finally dies down, settling on the ground gently.

The immense longing of your hearts finally reach out for each other, intertwining each other in a warm hug that comforts the turbulent melancholy within and the loneliness starts to fade away.

An eternity wouldn’t be that bad after all.

#stray kids imagines #lee know imagines #stray kids minho imagines #stray kids lee know imagines #lee minho imagines #stray kids angst #aks angst #stray kids x you #skz x you #lee know x you

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roguelov · 1 year ago

Note

Praying to Tumblr gods to free you from unfair imprisonment ಥ⁠╭⁠╮⁠ಥ

This will be very out of character (considering volumes 9+10 of "The Sandman" comics, like the dude will do anything BUT asking for help), but this though can't leave my mind. Reader who comforts Dream and he cries just a little, because DAMN this being needs to let repressed emotions somehow and I'd sell my soul to be near. (He's so bbg sad wet cat little squishy and I'm just feral...)

I will cradle him like a baby until he lets if all out

You dragged Dream to bed while he practically refused the whole way. He repeated the same phrases over and over: I’m fine, I don’t need anything, I must get back to work, etc.

You simply ignored his protests, or whines for that matter. You laid down on the soft sheets and pulled him down with you. He continued to huff, however he allowed it. Perhaps he secretly wanted this, not that he dare admit it. He rested his head on your chest. His body was still stiff. Yet, as your fingers raked through his hair, the tension soon melted from his body.

“You know you don’t have to carry so much.”

Dream flinched at your words.

You bent your head, whispering into his ear. “You need to relax, my sweet king.”

Dream’s arms slowly wrapped around your waist. He buried his face into your chest. His throat constricted. A few simple words, a simple phrase, and he was ready to fall apart in seconds.

“You do so much, you do more than enough. So, please, don’t run yourself ragged. Don’t work yourself into the ground.”

Don’t work just to distract yourself.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s okay,” you hummed, curling your fingers through his hair.

He shook his head. He wanted to say ‘it’s not’, to scream of how tired he was, to forget his time in that damn glass sphere and all those greedy beady eyes. All the words were lodged in his throat. Tears prickled in his eyes. Each drop soaked your shirt, but you didn’t mind. You continued to play with his hair and whisper soothing words.

“I’m here,” you repeated over and over. “Let it out, it’s okay, I’m right here.”

Dream tightened his grip on you as tears flowed more freely. He hadn’t let himself cry, he hadn’t let himself grieve his lost time.

“I’ll always be here,” you kissed the top of his head.

“Thank you,” he finally choked out.

“You’re welcome.” You squeezed him, hoping he could feel all the love you could offer.

He did.

He always did.

“Just lay here with me, okay?” You whispered, almost pleading.

He nodded. He didn’t dare want to be anywhere else right now.

You smiled softly. You played with his hair, talking about anything while Dream laid comfortably on your chest. He would occasionally tear up, but you always wiped away any and all tears. You kissed his stained cheeks and whispered your love.

It was all so cathartic, and well needed.

#baby boy needs a good cry #the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #anon #ask

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siriannatan · 2 years ago

Text

Winter's Canary part 1

Tango escapes Hells with help from a man owing him his life, Timmy or Animosity.

He brings them to the frozen fortress of one S Minor. One of the most powerful people in all of Hells. Powerful enough to have a huge, always covered in snow and ice spruce forest and a whole castle in the middle of it.

Powerful enough to be able to send someone out of their very hard-to-leave dimension.

Inspired by the wonderful Hells To Pay AU by @aquaquadrant and @lunarcrown.

AO3 link for those who prefer to read there

Warnings: Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome, In a way, Mysterious Potions, Hells Scott, Hells Jimmy, Harpy Jimmy, Scott is evil, violence

Jimmy was not sure why he agreed to help Tango get out of Hells. The whole idea was ridiculous to the point of being nearly a joke. No one has ever left Hells. Not permanently and without supervision of the few individuals who knew how to leave. But Tango was not joking and Jimmy owed him big time for something from years ago. And he hated owing someone something. And owing his life to this wet sad cat of a blaze hybrid was even less something he wanted.

So he took him to one person he was almost completely certain would not kill them on sight or as soon as they mentioned what they wanted. Scott or Minor. Lord of the very few not burned and completely destroyed parts of the dimension that were not weeks and weeks of travel away. A sign that he was to not be messed with. Few were powerful enough to keep a piece of land that big to themselves and on their complete own. Minor was a major recluse. He hated company.

"The plan is, you'll wait in the entrance and wait while I talk to him. He's tolerated me the few times I had to deal with him in the past," Jimmy laid out how he wanted this to go. He'd likely end up having to do something for Scott but that was better than owing Tango. Depending on what it was it could be worth it beyond getting rid of this annoying favour he owed. "And if you do end up talking to him under no circumstances talk back. He gets annoyed easily and I'll be not thawing you out if he freezes you," he might have been a bit callous and slightly rude but that could save Tango from becoming an ice statue.

If he didn't freeze before they reached Scott's mansion. Jimmy himself wasn't good with cold but Tango seemed to deal with it even worse. Serves him right for all the hurrying and refusing to prepare properly. Jimmy tried warning him. And luckily he was one of the scarier people in the area between spawn and Scott's domain. Not that it was all that scary of an area, lacking much of anything but dust and destruction but he'd probably be fine a bit further away too. He was no pushover. He had to. Being a harpy with golden feathers made staying hidden quite hard. So he had to get good at beating others up.

"Sure thing. I won't even ask how or why we're not dead yet being this far into Minor's territory," Tango nodded, shuddering in the ever-present cold. He was really, really not dealing well with it. "Are you sure he can help? I'd hate it if he just tossed me back to the Professor..." Tango mumbled.

It took a lot of convincing from Jimmy to get him to admit where he was the last two years and what happened to him. Not a pretty thing but all Jimmy cared about was Tango being as far away from him as possible to not drag him any further into that mess. And if that took getting involved with Major more than he usually would then so be it. He was much more manageable than the Professor. Still not pleasant though. Certainly not with the way he always stared at Jimmy those few times they actually talked.

Eventually, they reached the frozen-over mansion. The main gate opened on its own for them. The inside was barely warmer than the outside. A low flame came to life in two fireplaces on two sides of the entry hall. "Who decided to pay the little old me a visit?" Scott's distant voice called out as Jimmy and Tango stood by the door, not yet daring to come in deeper. That could upset Scott

"It's Jimmy, I have a favour to ask..." Jimmy started but stopped one Scott's considering hum rung out through the empty, cold halls of the manor.

"You can come further in, company will wait there, he can sit," Scott allowed and Jimmy almost bowed. Almost. There was just... something in his cold, almost completely void of emotions voice that called for respect.

Jimmy nodded. "Thank you, Scott," he said and went deeper in. To the room, he knew the host liked to receive his visitors in.

Up the twin curling staircases on the other end of the entrance hall and through the corridor right off the stairs. No turning left or right. Just straight to a small sitting room a few steps from the landing. It was just a big chair and paintings of wildlife lining the walls. It didn't have to be grand. Just Scott, in his full regal glory. Smirking from said seat. Lounging casually and staring at his visitors, in this case, Jimmy, with cold red eyes. White hair fell around his pale face in elegant waves. White shirt crisp with no wrinkle out of place, unlaced slightly at the neckline showing some of his chest. Cinched with a dark corset with dark red decorative embroidery around his lower torso. Tight, dark pants with matching decorations disappeared into knee-high boots where one leg was casually resting over the other. A half-empty glass of wine in one dressed in a short glove hand. Other hand serving as a rest for his chin.

"Well, well, well, aren't you a surprise Jimmy," Scott chuckled setting his glass aside. "You said you came here for a favour? What could someone like you need from someone like me?" he wondered, looking Jimmy up and down. Slowly. Deliberately. Looking through him and not at him.

"My friend wishes to leave Hells..." Jimmy started but was stopped by Scott laughing of all things.

"And why are you asking for it for them?" Scott wondered, leaning back in his seat.

"I owe him a big debt..." Jimmy admitted, failing to come up with any excuse Scott would accept.

"Mhm..." Scott hummed. Clearly not impressed. "Is it big enough for the price of what you're asking? Or more precisely... how much are you willing to give me for my help."

Jimmy stood there silent. Scott's words were so much more complicated than just a fight. He spend most of his life learning how to and fighting. Not the million meanings of Scott's words, smiles, smirks and stares.

"What you're asking for," Scott it would seem took Jimmy's silence as an invitation to keep talking. "Is no small thing. Sending someone out of here. For good. Is a difficult thing. It will not be a small price," as he slowly spoke Scott got up. And circled Jimmy like a predator.

"What would you want?" Jimmy asked, fully aware it was a mistake. It would be even worse if he offered something and it was not good enough for Scott's tastes. He never before, through the few times he absolutely had to meet Scott, never seen him smile as wide. He was clearly pleased to name his price.

"Since it's YOU asking and not your friend," Scott's smile reached levels of smugness Jimmy has never seen before. "What I want is YOU. All of you, Jimmy. Body. Mind. Soul. Heart."

Jimmy was stunned. Him? Since when did Scott have facial expressions more than his usual utter boredom? And since when did he have any desire for company? "If I might... why?" he wanted to ask more but thought better of it. He was not in the mood to become an ice statue.

"Even I get lonely sometimes, and you're the most tolerable person out there," as he spoke Scott leaned on Jimmy, resting a cold hand on his chest. "We'd have to do something about the cold... but that's simple," he grinned. "So? Is your debt big enough for my price? Is your friend worth it?"

For a second he had to scramble. Favour? Friend? Tango. Out of Hells. Scott can do it but wants Jimmy. All of him. For this rather big apparently favour. Where else could he take Tango to take care of the damned debt? Scratch that. Would Scott even let him leave now that he had him in his manor? Right in his grasp. With Tango as a perfect hostage... And everyone else Jimmy could think of that could help would be even worse... How bad could just giving his whole self to Scott be?

He was in Hells. Was not planning on leaving. And already spend all his days fighting. No matter what Scott wanted it could not be worse than what he did so far in his life. Right?

"I accept," he nodded, the thought of the Professor not even crossing his mind. Just that he needed Tango as far as possible and soon.

Scott's grin grew wider if possible. It was borderline unnatural. Not that about 90% of Hell's population was normal, natural and not modified in any way. Even respawning had its limits. "Excellent. I'll take care of your friend but first, to solidify the payment," he put emphasis on 'payment' that got a shiver go up Jimmy's spine. All across his wings. "You drink this potion and wait until I get back. I will find you if you leave," Scott's smile got down a bit but was still there as he passed a bottle to Jimmy.

"You were ready already?" he asked eyeing the thick liquid flowing behind dusty green glass.

"I could feel you two coming from far away," Scott grinned pulling Jimmy to his 'throne'. "I suggest you sit before drinking it. It can be a bit much."

The care and warning were a bit of a surprise but Jimmy expected Scott just didn't want a new toy breaking too fast. Once seated, and under Scott's cold calculating stare, he chugged the whole potion at once. It burned and swirled in his throat. But not like fire or too hot drink. Like cold water. Full of small, sharp bits of ice. Freezing on its way down. His head spun and his muscles seized. His hands grabbed at the armrest as he fought to not just slide to the cold, covered by only a thin carpet, cold, hardwood floor. And under Scott's feet. The ice bastard would probably love it.

"Good job, Jimmy," Jimmy's brain registered a distant praise from Scott. It felt strangely... Comforting? Warm? Nothing like it used to be. "With this it should be easier to keep you in check and warm. I can't have you freezing on me before I have my fun." Scott's cold grin was the last thing Jimmy saw before passing out.

Scott grinned as he briefly petted Jimmy's head. He was slightly shocked he agreed to his conditions so easily. But when wasn't Jimmy full of surprises? And yes, the process could have been a bit less violent and painful but... It was all Jimmy's fault for bringing a friend along. How could Scott not be a bit jealous the pretty harpy was hanging out with someone else? "I should probably send him away so he doesn't get in the way," Scott sighed and left Jimmy in the chair. There was plenty of time to move him once Tango was dealt with.

"You must be Jimmy's friend in need of my help," Scott grinned taking in the sorry state the blaze hybrid was in. All battered and scratched. Scott assumed it was from before he met up with Jimmy considering the harpy was perfectly fine. "I'm Minor, but you know it already," Scott introduced himself, even gracing the pest with an almost kind smile. "I send Jimmy to rest a bit, don't worry. The cold is not the best for his wings," he effortlessly lied. "Follow me," he waved and went to the grand door under the stairs. "I'm supposed to send you to a different world aren't I?" he chuckled at the confused expression.

"Oh... about the pay..." Tango started, quickly catching up.

"Don't worry about it, it's entertaining enough and Jimmy promised to do a little favour for me so it's all fine," Scott continued playing a generous and kind host.

"Oh... Thank you so much," Tango rambled. At least his voice wasn't entirely unpleasant. Not as nice as Jimmy's but it did not irritate Scott as much as many other voices did. He did feel a bit bad about Jimmy handling the payment but he also doubted he had anything that could interest someone like Minor.

"Don't worry, the process is quite simple and painless," Minor assured stopping to open a tightly locked door.

Tango wasn't sure if he trusted him all that much but apparently, Jimmy did so be it. He was too far to back out. And if he did the Professor would probably find him pretty easily and quickly once he was out of the spruce forest. And there would be no escaping once he did. And Jimmy was kind enough to help and already owed Minor that little favour. So he followed the ice mage into the room and waited for any further instructions.

It was a small room and looked a bit like a dungeon. There was nothing but a magical circle on the cracked floor and a thick and heavy-looking book on a stand.

"Stand in the centre of the circle and try to relax," Scott instructed and Tango wasted no time following his words. "You might feel a bit faint and queasy when on the other side, try to not move too much for a few minutes and try to not die too quickly before setting a spawn. Be careful about a spawn until you get recognised as a player," Scott listed out warnings leisurely walking behind the book stand.

Tango nodded. Not sure if he was supposed to talk. And because he was trying to calm down a bit. It'd be embarrassing if he landed near players and their first impression of him was... well. Side effects.

"Have fun young Tango," Scott waved as the runes lit up. "Bye-bye," a cold farewell was the last thing Tango saw in Hells.

"You must be the new player, welcome to Hermitcraft," he greeted and Tango promptly fainted before he was able to ask him any questions.

Tango was pretty sure his eyes broke in the process. Everything was so bright and full of colour and... there were birds singing and no sounds of explosions or fighting. Be it close or far. There was no soot or ash in the air. And there was wind. And there was a person waiting for him there.

#my stuff #my stories #HTP gift art #hels to pay au #empires smp #hermitcraft #double life #scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #tango tek

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eyelessfog · 2 years ago

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i also headcannon joe as hoh and i have a kinda sad backstory for him even tho he’s so scrunkly wet cat blorbo that i am physically incapable of using it anywhere cause i cannot make angst of him he is just so babygirlified in my head.

anyways so i think he’s the son of a poor fishing family and basically grew up on his family’s boat and then one day a navy recruiter enticed him to join the navy with promises of riches and adventure. but he ended up as a powder boy which was the people who’s job it was to run and bring gunpowder to the cannoneers during a fight and they were considered expendable which is why the navy recruited poor kids to do it. and he lost his hearing at some point during his time on the navy ship. idk exactly how hearing loss works but i figure he can still hear a bit and it’s better on one side so he doesn’t like when people come up behind him on the side of his bad ear cause he can’t hear them coming. he can probably hear enough to get by and then also lipreads. anyways so at some point the navy ship was boarded by pirates and joe was clever enough to talk his way into becoming a member of the pirates crew. i feel like joe is probably pretty weak physically so he makes up for it by being smart and cunning and he’s good at using words and his charisma to get people on his side. so now he’s a pirate and this is where he meets pete and gator and the rest of his crewmates. but the captain of the ship kinda sucks and joe is ambitious and wants to be captain so he convinces the rest of the crew to join him and they mutiny, overthrow the old captain, throw him overboard, and install joe as the new captain. and then joe is captain of his own ship and at some point he and skeletron become mortal enemies. but i feel like he’d probably have ptsd from the explosions and stuff. i think he’s also super paranoid and has imposter syndrome that feeds into his paranoia so he refuses to admit any weakness to his crew bc what if they decide to overthrow him like he overthrew the old captain and he’s not even a real pirate he’s just a powder boy who got lucky. the navy ship was a rlly shit environment and fucked him up. sorry this got so long i have many pirate joe thoughts

OHH i like how detailed this is!!! you put a lot of thought into it!!

#[asks]#mine is just. hes a fish. his ears arent built for the air but he Can hear. just. comprehension is kinda low because his hearing is. Not The #Best. same with his eyesight. made for under the water. he needs glasses but he loses them a lot so he stopped bothering

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aspiringnexu · 8 months ago

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No but seriously. The only reason so many people tolerate this ship unironically is because Alastor is powerful enough to handle Vox. What if Alastor was weaker than Vox? Younger? More inexperienced? He'd suddenly be a lot more like Angel Dust, being preyed upon by creepy Overlord.

But, because Alastor is an Overlord himself, its fine. Its not creepy, it's endearing. Vox isn't the bad guy, Alastor just broke his poor widdle heart when he refused his advances. How heartless, how cruel, how unreasonable to say no to someone who you aren't romantically or sexually interested in.

Now, I like Radiostatic. It's a fun dynamic when played right in an AU where Alastor is actually romantically interested or where Vox is happy to stay friends or enter into a QPR. Radiosilence is fun as well because Vox is entertainingly pathetic and I'll admit it is very satisfying to watch Alastor absolutely crush his dreams. But do I actually feel bad for canon Vox? No.

He's a manipulative scheming bastard in an on/off relationship with a known sex abuser who has a psychosexual obsession with someone who used to be his friend. If anything I pity him. He's clearly a deeply unhappy man constantly chasing emotional highs and who is fixated on Alastor to the point where he probably honestly believes that if he can drag Alastor into his bed then this empty pit in his heart will be filled.

He's a man to be pitied but the only reason he behaves like he does is because of his own actions. Just because he's a sad wet cat of a man does not diminish his potential to do harm nor does it give him leave to stalk, harass, and salivate over Alastor because his feelings were hurt.

I can't believe people are feeling bad for Vox for being rejected by Alastor as if he isn't literally this fucking guy but hot

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox #radiostatic #radiosilence #I've genuinely seen people go 'how dare Alastor-' when all Alastor did was say no #and make Vox cry #sure Vox is allowed to cry #he just had his friend and crush reject him #thats upsetting #doesn't invalidate Alastor's right to refuse him

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sagendipity · 3 years ago

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reminder i'm sage i used to be notplanningshit until i accidentally deleted my blog so now im reposting my works!

info: quackity x reader, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, no warnings

on frizzy hair and the pursuit of perfection

Intellectually, in the rational side of your brain, you know that what you’re feeling is stupid.

You see the Instagram posts talking about the importance of self-affirmation and mental health. You see the tweets saying that people are more than their family’s perception of them. You realize that having a condescending and judgmental family is almost a right of passage for your generation.

These are all things you know, intellectually. But knowing something intellectually does jack shit for actually convincing your heart of whatever you know. You can yell at yourself all you want, but it’s clearly not your rational brain making you tear up at yet another text from your dad that was along the lines of “cool, could be better, though.”

You just want someone, just once, to celebrate an achievement with you. You want to be excited to share something with someone, without fear of them scoffing in the face of your pride and excitement. In your family- hell, in the world, certainly- someone has always done better, and you’re damn sure to be reminded of such.

It’s been years of this same behavior, ever since you can remember. It’s not just your dad, either, it’s your whole family- aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. The whole town you grew up in had this haughty, arrogant air about it, where everyone was constantly competing, even if there was no reason for it. Take the hardest classes, get the least sleep, get the biggest scholarship. Even your friends would flex their better test scores at you, and refuse to help you with the homework, in case you somehow got a better score on a test than them. You know it’s how they were raised, they’re just a product of their environment and don’t know how bad it hurts, but it still stung then, and probably always will. You’re still in contact with a few of them, and it’s just more of the same whenever you exchange a handful of quick texts every couple months.

You know you should stop giving information about your achievements to them, but when your dad texts and asks how you are, there’s not much you can reply with other than “good, got a promotion at work!” From there, it’s a slippery slope of him asking what new benefits you got, and then the judgmental few moments where the gray dots disappear and reappear while he tries to compose his thoughts about your inadequacy in the least-abrasive way a middle-aged man can. That is to say, not un-abrasively at all. In fact, his words are often delivered with the finesse of low-grit sandpaper on soft wood.

Well, could be more. Work harder and maybe you’ll get an increase next month. I got a lot of bonuses at work when I was your age. All you have to do is take the bad shifts and get some good customer reviews. You’ll get there.

You stare at the fresh new message on your phone screen before clicking it off with a bone-deep sigh, your eyes betraying your rational side by, again, tearing up. You shove the heels of your hands into your eyes and rub until the tears are forced away and you see spots.

That’s how Alex finds you, sat on the foot of your shared bed with your hands rubbing fiercely at your eyes. He’s probably just come to grab a hoodie- the setting sun brings with it a cool breeze that washes through your open windows and cools the house from the warmth it’d gathered from the day’s sun.

“You good?” He asks, opening his closet door and pulling out a hoodie. He wrestles it on over his head as he waits for your response- when he pushes his head out the other end, hair mussed and static-y, you still haven’t answered. “Baby?”

He comes and sits down next to you. Your eyes, red-rimmed but still dry, track his movements before flicking to catalog every tuft of disheveled hair protruding from his head. With a superficial smile, you reach up to smooth his long, black locks back and down into place. It doesn’t matter; he’s going to slip on a beanie sooner or later, but for now, you distract yourself by combing gentle fingers through the soft strands.

“Not that I don’t appreciate this,” Alex murmurs, brown eyes searching your face for an answer to what has you upset. “But what’s wrong?”

“Just my dad,” you whisper, not trusting your voice not to crack. You avoid his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed stubbornly on his hair as you finish your work. “There. You looked like a hedgehog.”

He huffs a little laugh, but scoots closer to you and grabs a hand out of your lap- you’d curled your hands into tight fists, your nails digging little red crescents into your palm. He uncurls the hand he’s holding and reaches for the other, but you save him the work by instead grabbing onto your own thigh tightly, redirecting the frustration. He rubs small circles into the aching skin of your other palm while he waits for you to gather yourself and explain, now that the ice has been broken on the topic.

“He always acts like whatever I do is just not quite good enough for him. They all do- him, my mom, even my fucking friends.” You rub your free hand down your face, trying to alleviate some tension. It does not work. “I don’t know why I’m still upset. They’ve been doing it forever.”

“That’s probably why you’re still upset. You hope they’d grown up enough to stop doing that.” Alex presses his thumb into the center of your palm. It grounds you, and you swallow around the lump in your throat.

“It’s not even a matter of immaturity- it’s not as simple as a pissing contest. It’s just who they are. They don’t think perfection exists, but they want me to achieve it anyways.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. That sounds exhausting.”

He sounds so sincere, so genuine, like the idea of you being treated this way is deeply upsetting to him. You’d never really… experienced that. Someone recognizing your struggle, and admitting that it must fucking suck is something you’d never been graced with.

His brow is furrowed in a display of concern, eyes gentle and searching. He’s not lying, he means what he said, and he’s not going to follow it up with a “but-,”.

Eyes beginning to sting again, you lean forward until you’re resting your forehead on his shoulder. The soft fabric of his hoodie immediately calms you, along with the warmth you can feel emanating from him. It makes sense, after all, that the personification of pure sunshine would have such warmth about them.

Alex scoots forward, gathering you more closely in his arms, his legs awkwardly folded so that you can sit right in front of him. His hands come up to hold you, one fisting in the fabric of your sweatshirt, and the other resting on the back of your neck, gentle, but firm. You let out a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. Not going to cry.

“I got a promotion at work,” you mutter, taking a long, deep breath. You brace yourself, waiting for a dismissive response. “That’s what set my dad off- I got- he-.”

Your voice cracks, and you trail off with a small sigh, clutching at Alex’s hoodie even tighter. It’s thick and soft under your fingers, and you knead at it like a cat.

“A promotion?! Baby, that’s amazing!” Alex pulls back just enough to take a glance at you, his own expression steeling from excitement back to sadness as he sees that you are still fighting back tears. “Sweetheart, I think you’re the only person to ever cry after getting a promotion.”

A little laugh escapes your chest, huffy and wet, but still a laugh. Alex’s lips curl into a smile as he reaches up to smooth back some of your stray hairs, like you’d done for him a moment or two ago. You smile, reaching up to intercept his hand, and lace the two of you’s fingers together.

He squeezes your hand where it’s resting in his grip, looking at your linked fingers briefly. “Also, your family is wrong.”

“About what specifically?” You huff, wiping at your eyes for hopefully the final time.

“About perfection not existing. It does, and I know exactly what it looks like.” Despite the serious words, Alex is fighting back a smile. You narrow your eyes at him, already anticipating the next thing he’s going to say. “It looks like you, dumbass.”

You groan, feeling a hot blush rise to your cheeks immediately. You tip forward to bury yourself in Alex’s neck, this time hiding your flustered face and stupidly happy grin.

“I can feel your smile against my neck, you know.”

“Oh, fuck off-.”

With the hand that’s on the back of your neck, Alex coaxes you out of hiding just to press a kiss to your forehead. “Really. I am proud of you. I don’t want you to be afraid to tell me about your achievements because of what your family has done to you.”

“Okay,” you whisper again, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

He hums in response, tilting his head and looking at you with what can only be described as pure fondness in his eyes. Then, he leans down to meet you for a delicate kiss, and your eyes finally stop stinging.

#sage vs quackity #quackity #quackity imagine #quackity x reader #quackity headcanon #quackity fanfiction #quackity x you #quackity x y/n #mcyt #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt headcanons #alex quackity #quackity hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort

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whereisten · 4 years ago

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True Love

A Jeno fic that’s a part of our Halloween Series!

Summary: You, an employee at an entertainment company, are immune to the charms of their biggest star Lee Jeno.

Pairing: Rockstar! Jeno x female reader

Genre: romance, drama, fantasy, suspense

Warning: alcohol use, smut mention, stalking, manipulation

Word Count: 4.3k

(A/N: Hiya! I’m so sorry for the delay! It’s been so hectic lol! Thank you so much for your support and patience! Hope you enjoy! And shoutout to Krys for keeping me sane and for all of her love and support. I love you! :D)

___

To everyone in the world, Lee Jeno was the epitome of perfection and rock royalty. He was a gifted musician from the very young age of five, having specialized in several instruments in his childhood. However, his heart gravitated to the guitar. He became a trainee at LCF Entertainment and along with four other trainees, they became the world famous rock band, Temptation.

He was ranked in the top 23 in World Magazine’s Sexiest Men Alive this year. He was a walking and talking Adonis with a heartwarming smile.

Jeno was a man of many talents but he certainly didn’t let it get to his head. He was a humanitarian, a UNICEF ambassador, fostered shelter animals, was the proud owner of three cats even though he was allergic, a great family man (funding his siblings’ college tuition and providing for his parents so they could retire early), etc. He did it all and he had it all.

How could anyone be immune to his charms?

People wondered who would be the queen that would reign beside him when he settled down. Frankly, one couldn’t be anything short of a supermodel on the verge of sainthood. So many hopeful contenders were discouraged from pursuing him.

Jeno’s dating life was non-existent, the paparazzi dreaded to inform.

But you were an employee of LCF Entertainment so you knew the truth, as well as the true nature of the famous Lee Jeno. He was basically like any other young man with an inflated ego. He was cocky, a huge flirt when the cameras were off, very picky, and demanding. But no one ever dared speak a word of his true nature to the paparazzi. And you always wondered why. Someone had to bring him down a few pegs.

You were the staff photographer and videographer, in charge of capturing Jeno’s good and “relatable but still unbelievably glamorous” sides. When the camera was on, that was when you felt at ease.

It didn’t help that Jeno liked you either. Although you’d been working with Temptation and the individual members for a few years now, it was only recently that Jeno really was set on it pursuing you.

When you switched off the camera after the recording of Jeno’s backstage vlog, he sat comfortably at his makeup chair and proceeded to ask, “Y/n, will you go out with me now?”

You answered immediately, “No.”

Jeno gave you a sad puppy dog face. “Why not?”

“We’ve gone over this. I would get fired.” You wanted to spare his feelings so that was what you always said when he asked you out.

Jeno groaned. “You would not. I wouldn’t let that happen.”

You snorted. “You think you have that kind of power, Lee?”

He liked when you called him by his last name. “That’s because I do have that power, y/n. The new company building is funded solely out of my earnings from my last solo album.”

You whistled. “There’s that humility I’m always reading about in O!What Magazine…”

Jeno smiled. “You read articles about me?”

“I do when my name is in the article, boss.” You started packing up your equipment, ready to call it a day and head home.

Jeno got out of his chair and stood over you. He smelled of Dior Sauvage, cologne from his latest brand endorsement. He wore his stage clothes from his solo concert rehearsal. A sleeveless jean jacket top that parted down the middle to show his abs. Along his abs, silver chains dangled and added a nice glimmer effect when he was on stage. The entire team was thrilled to see how the audience would eat it up.

He whispered into your ear, “Y/n.”

Truthfully? He was attractive. You’d always had a little crush on him but it was of a shallow nature. You liked him for his looks. Not so much for his personality. You’d known too much.

If Jeno had been any other regular guy, you would’ve been open to a one-night stand.

But Jeno wasn’t just any regular guy.

You tried to hide the fact that shivers ran down your spine. “Stop.”

He chuckled. “But I can see you through the reflection, y/n...You're crossing your legs…”

You’d hoped he wasn’t that perceptive but it turned out he was. You hid away the fact that you were turned on. Your panties were damp but you’d be damned if he ever knew that.

You met Jeno’s perfectly lined eyes as he looked at you unapologetically. Everyone else from the staff already left. Jeno’s manager was waiting downstairs to take him to the radio station J-423 for his upcoming interview.

You were breathless now. “Jeno, you’re going to be late-”

He pulled you into him and kissed you, easily slipping his tongue into your mouth and working magic against yours. You couldn’t help but return his kiss. His mouth was paradise and you wondered what else he could do with it.

He let you go after a few minutes and cupped your face. “So are you going to deny that there’s something going on here?”

You tried to catch your breath as you wiped your lipstick off of Jeno’s mouth. “No, I guess not...But this is where it stops.”

Jeno frowned. “Y/n…”

“I know where I stand. And you know it, too. And Jeno, I don’t like you that way...I’m sorry.” You caressed his face and grabbed your things, leaving Jeno with an unreadable expression on his face.

___

As a member of LCF Entertainment, your ultimate goal was profit. That was what you had to know from the very beginning. There was no such thing as LCF Family or truly prioritizing the idols. Everyone was after themselves. Whoever brought the most money to the company would get the most attention and special treatment. And that was Jeno.

And you, an aspiring film director, were thankful to be on his team because this experience could open doors for you in the future as a director. Sure, Jeno was a diva and he couldn’t stop flirting with you, but the experience wasn’t all that bad. And yeah it was frustrating that the media and the public perceived Jeno to be the nation’s sweetheart. But in the end, he wasn’t hurting anyone.

He was only hurting people’s wallets.

Temptation’s merchandise always sold out quickly but Jeno’s individual merch was always the first to sell out. And it was the first to get resold for twice and sometimes even triple the price. The fanbase was very merciless and selfish with each other. However, the scalpers were the true evil. That was less money going to your company, after all.

Even though frontman Jeno was the most popular member of Temptation, it was Temptation’s drummer Xiaojun that you had a massive crush on for a long time now. You even accumulated a secret collection of his merch. You were two photocards away from completing your Xiaojun album photocard collection.

Xiaojun even admitted to liking you back but you both kept it a secret from everyone else in the world, especially LCF. You two weren’t about to compromise your jobs. However, since Temptation was the biggest moneymaker in the game and the boys had been with the company for quite some time now, their dating ban was lifted.

Which explained why Jeno had been asking you out all week, not caring who listened and it freaked you out.

If Jeno’s fans ever found out he asked you out, they would pin the blame on you.

A week had passed since you told Jeno you weren’t interested in him. You felt bad for hurting him but you were also worried about his mood. He had the power to get you dismissed. You refused to believe he would be so cruel.

And up until this point, you were right. You were still employed and Jeno spoke with you like any other day, talking about camera angles and new concepts for upcoming shoots.

The end of another work week and Xiaojun surprises you on your way to the bus stop.

“Y/n,” Xiaojun pulls up beside you in his Porsche. He looked so elegant in a pale blue sweater and blue jeans. His face was concealed by a mask so he could leave undetected. But you’d recognized those eyebrows anywhere.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

“I...I think we should finally talk…”

“About?”

He smiled. “About dating.”

You nearly dropped your phone out of your hand from the shock. “Really?”

He said, “Get in so I can drive you home!”

You nodded fervently and got into his passenger seat. Was this really happening?

On the drive home, Xiaojun told you he wanted to take it slow and have indoor dates with you first. You couldn’t agree more. He even surprised you with a brand new pair of AirPods after you told him that your brother took them from you.

The first of many gifts, he told you.

You got home that night and screamed excitedly into your pillow so as not to frighten your roommates

___

It has been a month since you and Xiaojun started seeing each other. You were on cloud nine. He would visit you at your apartment and would play with his dog Bella. Bella loved you a little more than she loved Xiaojun so you two would always bicker and end the night in each other’s arms.

Jeno noticed the spring in your step as you filmed his cooking vlog. He was showing his fans how he cooked breakfast for himself when he had down time. He was in a plain white T-shirt and a pair of drawstring trousers. He looked relaxed and for many, delectable, as his hair was wet from a shower. He was trying very hard to get your attention once again.

He anticipated you averting your eyes and stuttering at the sight of him but nothing. You whistled while you adjusted the tripod’s position.

“What’s got you so happy?” Jeno asked.

You nearly jumped at his question. You decided to be upfront. “I’m seeing Xiaojun.”

Jeno’s cool facade nearly cracked before your very eyes. “Oh?”

You apologized. “I’m sorry, Jeno. I should’ve told you that I liked Xiaojun…”

Jeno was furious. What the hell did Xiaojun have that he didn’t? Jeno was more muscular, taller, more talented, wealthier, more attractive...He was superior to Jeno in every way and everyone else knew it, too.

He honed his acting skills and replied evenly, “Why are you apologizing, y/n? So you like someone else...I’ll live.”

You realized maybe Jeno didn’t like you as much as you thought so you felt relieved to hear his dismissive tone. “Right. Good. I just...thought you should know…”

You and Jeno continued the shoot. He acted like nothing had happened and even behind the scenes, he joked with you and asked you which of the female trainees he should ask out. You berated him because female trainees were not allowed to date and he knew this very well. Jeno was back to his arrogant self and you were relieved.

___

You got a text from Xiaojun that he was finishing up a filming schedule with his bandmates. You wouldn’t be able to see him today because the schedule was running overtime.

He told you to go to dinner with some friends at Osaka Moon. His treat. He was good friends with the chef, apparently. You were on your way to the restaurant to meet your friends.

You were shocked at how down-to-earth Xiaojun still was after achieving so much fame and then he would do things like this. It gave you whiplash but you were having the time of your life with him.

However, you noticed him across the street. Xiaojun always wore different wigs and masks for his disguised outings with you.

But this time, there were no disguises. His side swept blonde hair and his thin framed glasses. There was no mistaking that it was him.

Was the filming for the show at the Downtown Hotel?

You were about to call his name when you saw another woman wrap her arms around him and squeeze his ass. She had long wavy brown hair and a slender frame. She could’ve been a model or a singer. They both entered the expensive hotel. Very bold of him to take her out so publicly when he was still intent on hiding you.

You felt like someone knocked the breath out of you. You shook your head in disbelief.

Immediately, you dialed Xiaojun’s number and there was no answer. You called four more times and nothing.

Son of a bitch, you thought.

He played you. You should’ve known he was no different than any other dickhead A-lister.

You decided to call his bandmates. It turned out that the filming they’d done today wrapped up over two hours ago.

Haechan had no idea where he was. Jisung didn’t either. Jaemin was equally perplexed. Last but not least you called Jeno.

He answered. “Hello?”

At this point, you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore. “Jeno…”

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

“Do you know where Xiaojun is?”

“Not specifically...he did mention he had a reservation at the Downtown Hotel…”

You sniffled. “He did?”

“I thought he was meeting you…”

“No, he wasn’t…”

“Oh...Oh, shit, y/n. I am so-“

“It’s okay...Thanks Jeno. I’ll see you on Monday…”

You told your friends to have dinner without you and to make sure to spare no expense because your so-called boyfriend was buying. You told them Xiaojun finished at the last minute and wanted to take you dancing.

A total lie so you could wallow at your local bar.

You sat right by the bar and downed a few glasses of beer. Just to feel anything else besides the betrayal you felt.

A half hour later, you were even more buzzed now. A young man sat beside you at the counter.

He started, “Hello, gorgeous.”

You looked at the young man. He was stunning. Another face that belonged on television. Another one of those who was capable of seducing you and tossing you away the very next second.

You flipped the bird. “Bite me.”

The young man scoffed and tried again, “Feisty, aren’t we?”

He got closer to you and you began to feel uncomfortable. “Please leave me alone…”

“Tsk tsk. A beautiful girl like you in tears? You need someone who will bring your smile back.”

“And you’re the man for that job?” Someone interrupted.

You were shocked to find Jeno here. He looked gorgeous in a black leather jacket and dark jeans. His hair was slicked back the way you liked it most and wow, you may have had one too many drinks...A few customers recognized Jeno and started whispering and taking their cameras out.

“Jeno?” You nearly lost your balance as you got up from your chair.

Jeno grabbed you immediately before the other guy could.

The stranger said, “Why do you get to put your hands on her? Just cause you're some pretty boy with mediocre music...I’m sure she’s nothing compared to who you’ve bedded before-“

Jeno socked him in the face and escorted you out of the bar. The stranger cursed you both out as you left. Jeno led you quickly into his manager’s car that he borrowed for the night. You felt a little dizzy.

Jeno fastened your seatbelt.

You smiled at him. “Thanks.”

He looked at you in concern. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “Why are men scum, Jeno?”

Jeno sighed. “I’m so sorry about-“

“Don’t say his name...I...never want to see him again...God, now I have to sell all of his merch…”

Jeno frowned in confusion and continued, “I’ll take you home…”

You didn’t want to face your roommates. “No...Can I…Spend the night with you?”

It took all of Jeno’s might not to get out his car and raise his fist in the air. But he composed himself. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, wanting to forget all about Xiaojun and have one thoughtless night with Jeno. “Yes.”

Jeno drove you two to his penthouse suite. He was cautious around you and you were ready to shrug away your inhibitions.

Jeno helped you remove your coat at the entrance. “Take a seat. I’ll get you some water.”

You sat yourself on the couch and opened your legs wide, exposing your panties underneath your skirt. “Jeno, fuck me right now so I can forget his sorry ass.”

Jeno hesitated then but seeing how irresistible you were...He couldn’t help himself.

He asked again. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. You were buzzed but not that buzzed. You wanted to spite Xiaojun. You wanted to acknowledge the part of you that longed for Jeno for so long, too. You’d be stupid to deny that you fantasized about a night with him.

You hesitated before but now you said, why the hell not?

You and Jeno made love that night. Jeno was over the moon that you were finally in his arms. Sure it was a rebound but the look in your eyes when he was inside you had to mean something. There was a promise there and Jeno held onto that glimmer of hope.

Jeno took you home the next day and he was very cool about the whole night. Right before you returned home. you reminded him about how this was a one night stand and thanked him for a wonderful night.

You were resolute in dumping Xiaojun and simply going back to work. Thankful you only ever worked for Jeno anyway. And as expected, Jeno was his usual self: cocky, flirty, sending his food back for random reasons.

Xiaojun came under the fire for going to a hotel with a potential prostitute. The identity of the woman he was seen with remained a mystery. He tried convincing everyone that the woman was not a prostitute but he couldn’t remember how he met her or what she looked like. That night and along with how crazy Xiaojun sounded caused the company to encourage him to leave. Xiaojun’s contract with LCF Entertainment was terminated.

The week after you and Jeno made love...You started catching feelings for him. Every glance. Every fleeting touch. It drove you mad. And suddenly that one night stand was something you wanted again. And again. And again.

You accompanied Jeno and his manager as he attended a gallery opening. You were in charge of his photos for his social media. He looked extremely dapper in his red suit. You just wanted to rip his clothes off and make love to him in front of all of the guests. Becoming a work of art yourselves.

These thoughts you’ve been having used to scare you but now...you owned them. Tonight, when you got him alone, you would tell him how you really felt. You hoped you weren’t too late.

Jeno’s manager excused himself to get some refreshments. Jeno observed a painting while you took some more photos.

“Stunning,” you said aloud.

Jeno’s eyes grew at your words. “Wow, y/n...All the years we’ve worked together and you’ve never made a comment about my looks…”

Your face grew warm then. “I’m feeling a little bolder these days…”

He grinned. “Is that so?”

“Jeno, I won’t beat around the bush…I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night…”

“Y/n…”

“I know I said it was a one night stand and...You’ve moved on…”

Jeno started, “I haven’t…”

You were shocked to hear it. “Really?”

He moved closer to you and moved the camera away from your line of sight. “What are you saying, y/n?” His voice was dangerously low.

“I’m saying...that I want to be with you, Jeno.”

Jeno’s smile looked so gorgeous then. He was the true work of art at the gallery. “Well, y/n, I’ve made my feelings abundantly clear for a while now…”

He kissed you then. And the cameras started flashing.

You were on cloud nine. You finally released your suppressed feelings for the rockstar before you.

___

You’ve been together for two years now. He made you feel safe and loved. He showered you with gifts and trips to the most beautiful parts of the world.

As for the response from netizens and the company? Jeno had all the power and he could handle a few naysayers. Your job as his photographer and videographer remained intact. And you were well on your way to transitioning to your own film projects: your dream.

You and Jeno had become a couple to root for. They called you The Prince and The Pauper Turned Princess. You hated your label but whenever you looked at Jeno’s eyes, any anxiety or anger quickly faded.

Jeno had a solo performance in your city tonight and you were seated in a private booth. He was performing so well, moving from instrument to instrument. Driving people to tears with his long low notes. And then he surprised everyone with his announcement.

“Before I perform ‘Changed Your Mind’, I want to give a shout-out to the woman of my dreams, y/n, who is here with us tonight.”

The stadium roared in excitement and many heads turned to you. Your eyes never left Jeno.

“Y/n, I love you so much. We’ve come so far, baby. And I want us to never stop. Which is why…”

He got down from the stage and was escorted by security down to the crowd. He ran his hands past adoring fans as he made his way to you.

He entered your booth with his camera crew and security close by. “Y/n, will you marry me?”

You cried out, “Yes!”

Jeno picked you up and spun you around. You kissed passionately. The crowd’s roars thundered now. It was a celebration. You didn’t care that all eyes were on you now, as well. All you cared about was Jeno. And he loved you more than anything else in the world.

You truly found your soulmate and you couldn’t be happier.

___

Jeno finished his show and was backstage cooling down with a bottle of water.

“Good job tonight,” a woman said as she stood at the door of Jeno’s dressing room.

“Thank you, sis. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jeno’s older sister Yeeun sat on the couch of the dressing room. “How does it feel to have her in your clutches now?”

Jeno smirked. “Pretty damn great.”

“And I’m here to collect my payment, little brother.”

Jeno sighed. “Really? It’s been two years.”

Yeeun looked at her manicured nails. “I’ve been busy.”

Jeno laughed. “Screwing over taken men? I’m sorry, I meant screwing taken men?”

“Nope. That task was a one-and-done deal. How is that poor boy doing these days?”

“Xiaojun? He’s back at school getting his master’s...He’s happy.”

“Has he tried to contact y/n since then?” Yeeun asked.

Jeno chuckled. “No. Why would he?”

She smiled at him. “They were sweet together. And you tore them apart because you couldn’t take no for an answer, could you?”

Jeno rolled his eyes. “And what about it? I have a right to get whatever I want. Do you know who I am?”

Yeeun sighed. “Yes, you repeatedly tell the family group chat who you are every week. And we all take it because you pay us well…”

Jeno and Yeeun had conspired against you and Xiaojun. Jeno stole Xiaojun’s phone and Yeeun charmed Xiaojun to join her for a night at the hotel. Jeno planned for you to go to Osaka Moon so you could see Xiaojun and Yeeun together.

Jeno watched you as you broke down in tears, calling each of his bandmates. He made sure he was far enough away by the time you called him. He played the part of a concerned friend very well. He had to take up acting, another field he would surely dominate. And with you as his director? It made him hard just thinking about it.

Jeno didn’t coincidentally find you at the bar. He’d been tailing and that stranger who hit on you was only an added bonus. Jeno could play the unsuspecting hero and you would eat it up. And that you did. He was satisfied to know that you wanted to sleep with him. He didn’t care about being a rebound.

Even so, he wasn’t going to take any chances. So after you left his penthouse the next morning, he took the bedsheets you came on and the strands of hair you left behind and got to work.

Did you really think Jeno amassed such success and wealth all on his own? He had a little help from his family and their friends from Hell, of course. Jeno’s family came from a long line of Satan-worshipping witches. Jeno was the youngest of the descendants.

Human sacrifice was only a small token of the Lee family’s appreciation to Lucifer. So Jeno’s deception of Xiaojun was almost nothing in the list of gruesome things Jeno has done to reach the top of his game.

Yeeun was able to literally charm Xiaojun with her own special concoction. Once she and Xiaojun had sex, she wiped his memory of that hour and left him alone at the hotel. Confused. Disoriented. Worried.

As for you? Well, you were the most irresistible creature in this world. Your immunity to his charms was only the first step in his growing feelings for you. You were brilliant and talented at your craft, always capturing his best features on camera. You were gorgeous. He was surprised you didn’t become an idol at LCF yourself. You were warm and sweet and giving. Even if the company was cutthroat, he saw how you’d be with your coworkers and the other idols. You were just a pure, loving girl. And he desperately needed you. Desired you. Craved you.

He simply had to call you his.

With your samples, he was able to create the perfect spell to make you his.

Forever.

That was what Jeno called true love.

[Fin]

513 notes · View notes

yarbz · 4 years ago

Text

cowardly game of rival — n.jaemin ( f )

synopsis!

━ as the girl’s football team captain, you were used to the endless derogatory taunts, the wolf-whistling, the attempts at romance being boys telling you what they thought of barcelona’s starting XII. na jaemin fell into all those catergories, a detestable flea in your hair. as sworn enemies, there was not even an inkling of romance, and you were convinced that your attraction to him was ONLY physical. weren’t you?

pairing ━ na jaemin x female!reader

word count ━ 6k

genres ━ fluff, rival!au, football!au, comedy, romance, very little of the football game is described in detail.

warnings ━ profanity, football terms, dirty jokes, y/n and jaemin are literally just cowards

( author's note! )

this one came to mind when i thought of how i love female footballers and decided that jaemin would be the idiot in question to chicken out of confessing to their crush by being an ass instead. i really hope you like it !! other notes are sissoko is the name of like three different players and a cracker is slang for a really good goal.

Football.

A sport of creatively insane wits, fancy footwork and incoherent celebrations. Those were all the things you loved about it, along with the ridiculously cute uniform.

It provided you an escape from the man's world, a chance to carve out your own story, free from the shackles of stereotypes. At least, that's what you'd initially thought.

Unfortunately, the boy's football team made it their sole objective in life to demean you. As captain, you took on the strenuous task of refusing to resort to physical violence when a stupid comment about your short length was made or when boys assumed you couldn't tell your Sissoko's apart (you could, quite well actually).

You had taken it as a sign of war, and refused to comment on their pathetic sneers. You did, however, feel as if Na Jaemin made a blood pact or something to be a parasite towards you.

He stood at the cusp of six foot, towering over you like an evergreen beanstalk, cheshire-cat like smile taunting you. Chocolate colour tresses fell over his eyes in straight lines, shielding his forehead.

It's not like you paid attention to his visage, but even you had to admit in your spite that he was attractive. And horribly so.

Today started like every other, going to your locker before heading to your homeroom. Luckily, you'd managed to get there before the freshmen started to pile in. Being a senior had its positives along with its various faults, one of them being the early access you got to the school.

You jammed your key in the lock, flinging open the locker door, making quick work of exchanging your books. In your fast-paced stupor, you didn't notice the figure leaning behind the door. You slammed the door shut, nail catching an patch of skin, scraping it.

"If you wanted me to leave, you could've been less catty." The voice wheedled, throwing a withering glare in your direction. You rolled your eyes, annoyed, arms crossed across your chest.

"Jaemin." You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Why are you hiding behind my locker? Are you looking for a death wish?"

He sat up slowly, soothing his reddening nose, suddenly regaining his smile as he leaned closer towards your face. "If I was looking for a death wish, I'd eat whatever food you just stuffed in there."

"Fuck off. Don't see you making any gourmet meals."

"I'm the gourmet meal." He slithered, breath fanning your nose. From this distance, you could see the wonder swimming within his eyes, breath caught in your throat.

Damn, he was too fine.

You tore your gaze from his eyes, "And yet, I don't feel inclined to taste it." He jumped back in surprise, eyes widening, giving you an opening to dash. Chuffed that you left him speechless, you walked towards your next class, resisting the urge to turn back to revel in his awe-struck face.

Jaemin's eyebrow quirked in curiosity, crooked smirk hanging from his lips. He watched you stalk away, cursing underneath his breath softly. You carried a fiery aura around you, burning him with every snarky remark — even though it beat him bruised ghastly lavenders, he could bear to play with fire if it meant you would pay him attention.

You see, Jaemin did not hate you as per say. The 'hate' which you believed in was merely his inability to profess his affections towards you. For lack of a better word, he was a coward.

A dashingly handsome one, but a fragile, chicken-legged coward all the same.

You'd made it to class in record time, ego bared boldly on your shoulders, attracting the curious eyes of your best friends Yangyang and Donghyuck. Both were terrorists in their own right, but you couldn't help loving them all the same. Sure, they came as a dreadful pair, but love had decided to shackle your heart to them.

"What's got you so happy? Jaemin finally drop dead?" Yangyang joked, shifting to make space for you. Headband strapped to the pinnacle of his forehead, he grinned at you from beneath the base of stretchy ebony material.

"No..not yet." You hummed, sad lilt to your tone.

"Awh, didn't kill him yet?" Donghyuck teased, nudging Yangyang in their laughter. "I think it must be love stopping you from committing the crime yourself." You shoved both, peals of laughter tickling your throat at their whines of pain.

"If you don't shut up, I'll be killing you two instead, never mind Jaemin." You snapped. "Love is what I feel when I score a cracker from the halfway line. Seeing Jaemin makes me want to jump out of the nearest window."

"Are you sure it's not just unresolved sexual tension? I, too get antsy when I haven't jacked off—"

"Finish that sentence and you'll have no arms."

"I'm flexible enough to suck myself off." Yangyang mused, "You'll never stop my libido."

"You're disgusting." You and Donghyuck said in sync, swatting his grabby hands from flying at your shoulders. Quite frankly, you didn't want to hear about his freakishly boneless limbs, or his untameable sex drive, nor hear anything about his genitals at all.

"Does that count as self—"

"Yes, it does. Please don't be telling people that I'm your friend, or that you can do that. It's not a little icebreaker."

Friendship with these two had crossed all sorts of personal boundaries you didn't know existed, and it was starting to decompose you, like a rotting piece of cabbage infested by slugs, yet still hanging on for the glimpse of sunlight to regenerate.

Okay, so you were being dramatic. But, that didn't explain their dire need to over share certain aspects of their lives with you.

"Doesn't change the topic at hand —Did you get my pun?" He asked, looking for Donghyuck's reaction.

"I did. Not going to comment on it before she breaks my arms. Just know I enjoyed it very much."

"If I wanted to mess around with Jaemin, I'd put my hand in a beehive. It'd sting less." You snarled, slamming down your books. They winced comically, faces alert as the teacher walked into the class.

Apart from football, you enjoyed learning — how to make things, break things, self defense, people skills, and education fell not too far from that. Classes like biology interested you greatly, which is why you found yourself fully immersed in the process of respiration.

Your mind drifted for a second, thinking back to what he'd said. Was it actually sexual tension? Did you actually bare an emotion other than loathing towards him? Then, you thought of that face and how you'd want to do nothing more than break his pretty little nose—

Yeah. There it was. You were normal after all.

School had come to her daily dreadful end, and you were happily striding into the ladies' changing rooms for football training. Nobody had gotten here yet, luckily.

You glanced over into the full body mirror, tugging at your shorts until they fell just above the bump of your knee, pulling your sock midway at your calf. Lean abs shone underneath the dim light, and you proudly paraded around the room, happy to be alone.

A knock on the door came, and you swung the door open with a feverish excitement. "Who is it?"

"Didn't take me as a bra kinda girl. Was thinking more spandex or a binder." Jaemin seethed, hands on hips, azure jersey hanging off his lithe frame.

"You're insufferable. Why are you here?" You groaned, choosing to ignore his taunt at your breast size. His eyes crinkled into upside down crescents, wandering lower to the dip of your frilly black bra.

"To see my favourite girl, of course." He whistled, eyes still glued to your unmarked expanse of skin. "I think those need a new owner." He pointed towards your chest.

"Preferably one whose face I can stand to look at."

"I'm roaring with laughter." You snarked, voice dripping with sarcasm, making no attempt to cover yourself up. Jaemin was still staring, face flushed a flaming cerise. "You gonna keep staring or are you gonna leave me alone?"

"I'm not staring. Why are you staring at me?" He shot defensively. Your eyes narrowed at him, watching his cheeks darken with every lingering stare.

"You're in the girl's changing room, drooling over two lumps of fat on the body of a girl that you hate. The real inquisition here is your lack of sensibility to stop thirsting after anything with a vagina."

Jaemin stayed silent, eyes boring holes into your full lips, tongue instinctively darting out to wet his own nimble, chapped ones. Rolling your eyes, you lead him to the door, hand clasped against the door handle.

Then, you heard loud footsteps approaching the room, incoherent rambling increasing in clarity. You began to conjure up a plan, wondering how on Earth you'd be able to kick Jaemin out without the girls knowing.

With the shouts of the team gradually getting closer, you panicked, chucking Jaemin into a locker.

"Fine, I'll leave! Lemme out!" He squirmed, trying to come out of the metal confines.

"You can't leave now, they're literally outside. Do you want to be stomped to death by Nike Mercurials?" You hissed, closing the door over, much to his protests.

"Don't wanna die with the last image being your breasts."

"If you survive this, I'll gladly provide you a new image."

He shut up at that, and you straightened, reaching for your jersey in a false calmness. The girls burst in, squeals of various greetings being thrown across the room.

You smiled gently at them, encouraging them to get changed, joining in to laugh at their jokes. The topic kept shifting from manicures to new boots before finally settling on Na Jaemin.

"Cap'n, what's going on with you and Jaemin?" One of the girls asked, batting her eyelashes softly. "A boy on the football team told me that you guys are dating."

Dating..that devil? A sin punishable by death! You repelled all instinct to shudder in disgust, instead choosing to maintain a neutral expression.

"I am absolutely not dating Na Jaemin. He's a despicable little mongrel and I'd rather eat my shoe—"

"Mon bébé chérie, why do you curse me like this?" Jaemin squeezed from the locker, voice like a wounded puppy.

"Did you hear that? I think it was—"

"No! It's my Jaemin impression. Isn't it so good?" You spluttered, voice rising in volume. You were sure that your face was a painful beetroot, breathing crazily as you over-exerted yourself.

"Cap'n, it was so good I almost thought Jaemin was in here with us!" She gushed, hands clasped. "You guys would be so cute together. Even if you don't like him, I think he most definitely has feelings for you."

The rest of the girls joined in at this, shouts of 'you should take a chance!' resounding in the hollow room. You'd already ruled out that as a possibility, chalking it down to his uncontrollable thirst for being a pest. Na Jaemin was your rival, the utter bane of your existence, a rodent that fed on robbing your spirits dry of any positivity.

"He'll get a chance when pigs fly." You muttered, noticing their eyes staring at you inquisitively, as if they knew something you didn't. Awkwardly, you smiled at the girls, ushering them towards the door, scanning the hallway after the last one had skipped out.

Jaemin untangled himself from the locker, straightening his limbs, pulling at his calves in a stretch. You peered over your shoulder, frown deepening at him.

"Did you mean what you said?" Jaemin breathed, walking into your personal bubble. He was way too close. His breath tickled your forehead, eyes dark with something you couldn't decipher.

He felt his heart pound against his chest, resisting the urge to pick the stray hair in your eye to the side. You were looking at him with a confused expression, nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed. You were going to be the death of him. Devastated, he broke eye contact, feeling all forms of fight seep from his bones.

"You don't like me." You whispered, wincing at the wobble in your voice. "Everyone's just saying that....right?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"No. I want you to say no."

"I can't do that."

"Well, you have to say no. I don't want to hear the rest of your sentence — keep us as just this." You softly yelled, pointing between the pair of you. "Don't change anything."

"Okay. I'll leave, but only because you want me to. But, before I go..you've gotta start being more observant." He sighed, ruffling your hair before making his way out.

"I’m plenty observant. Wouldn’t be a good player if I wasn’t.”

"I’ll see it when I believe it. Oh, and the thing you said about pigs flying..”

“What about it?”

“Renjun’s working on it.”

You laughed heartily, locking the door behind you. So, Jaemin did in fact think of you as his Aphrodite — all those nicknames were genuinely created out of affections. 'Mon bébé chérie' held a lot more emotional weight than it did twenty minutes ago, and you had to breathe before your eyes prickled with saltine tears.

Fresh air hit you like a loaded delivery truck, Mother Nature delicately wiping the tears from your eyes, shaking you with a cold flourish, roaring your cheeks to life. The team had already started their warm-up drills, as opposed to the boys' football team who were cooling down from their jog.

You ran over, tightening your ponytail, shifting into 'Captain' mode. The coach pushed you into the circle, encouraging you to take the reins. "Team, we've been doing nothing but straight work. Let's make this session count before the match tomorrow." You shouted, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline.

The team chanted back, settling into their positions for the first drill — a penalty shoot out. You stepped to the ball, striding back to gain a better angle, socks hugging your knees.

Giving yourself a five second countdown, you charged at the ball, foot pointed, kicking it with a passion that rivalled Lionel Messi. It rolled in the back of the net, flying past Hyejoo, who could barely even process it.

"Still got those fire feet, I see, Cap'n!"

"Lady Luck gave them to me for a reason." You boasted, smugness slapped all over your face.

From the corner of your eye, Jaemin snickered, winking at you when you turned to make eye contact. At least he had the audacity to keep up appearances in front of everyone, even if you had probably made everything awkward.

"My granny could kick better than that, babes!" He boomed from across the pitch, teasing smirk on his lips.

"Your granny lives in a retirement home and still calls on you 'Nana Banana'..it's not very nice to lie." You retorted, eyes narrowed, nearing his hunched form.

"Doesn't mean she can't kick your ass. Granny was a little Aguero back in the day."

"She can't if I'm the Manè, can she?"

"But I'm a Modric. I'll beat your ass, any day, any time." He grinned, leaning in to you. "In any way you want."

You heard blood pumping in your ears, your cheeks filling with immense heat. He grabbed your cheeks softly, grinning even wider when you flushed even warmer, a human sauna. Pushing a lock out of your eyes, he searched your eyes for any sense of rage, face softening at your lack of that emotion.

"Any..way..I want?" You mouthed silently, innuendo catching your attention again as you mulled over the words. "Na Jaemin, you're a dirty boy."

"I think you're the dirty girl." He hummed, saying the next sentence in an octave that made your head spin, quietly enough that only the two of you could hear. "Sauntering around in your little Victoria's Secret bra, cozying up to me without even batting an eyelash or covering up."

"These boobs are mine. I'm allowed to show them to anyone I want."

"So you admit to showing them to me? You admit that you were trying to put on a show for me?" He pressed, purposely craning his neck over you.

"I was trying to change. If you didn't come into the room like a little pervert, you'd never have gotten a visual of these."

"And yet I know how they look now. There's nothing that can erase that image."

"Fuck you, Na Jaemin."

"I think you meant to say fuck me, but I'll allow the slip-up just because I'm so nice." You squirmed under his predatory gaze, heat in your cheeks akin to a fever. "Better get back to training, Cap. Your team's got a match tomorrow."

You hissed at him weakly, choosing to walk away from his provocation, going back to the team, who were all smiling at you with a glint in their eye. By the looks on their faces, they'd definitely taken that exchange as a form of flirting.

Not that you were disputing it, of course.

The coach rounded the girls up, calling them to grab bibs. You relaxed, running over to take the last bib once you'd calmed down. Na Jaemin was a little toe-sucking, filthy mongrel who only knew how to charm his way out of everything — totally not your ideal type or anything.

His penance for being blunt coupled with that honeyed voice was what was throwing you off. Not your physical attraction to him. At least, you hoped so.

The shrill shriek of the whistle behind you shook you out of your mind, bringing your attention back to the practice game. With every shot at the goal, you could see Jaemin taunting you, making kissy faces.

After the first half, you weren't sure if it was real or if you were hallucinating — almost like a mirage, he was wearing that stupid little smirk and there was nothing more you wanted than to slap those lips clean off his face.

Soon enough, you clocked that it wasn't just an illusion, as he'd shifted to the opposite end of the pitch, the other boys from the football team watching from the stands.

They'd started jeering at every pass, exaggerating their reactions, commentary toeing the border of sexual harassment. You volleyed the ball on your foot, battering it into the stands, grinning widely as it hit one of the boys in the face, leaving his nose lopsided.

"If you're gonna be a sexist piece of shit, just fuck off. My team doesn't deserve to hear your brain-dead commentary, nor see your fuck face." You smiled, bite in your voice. "Kindly take the opinion that nobody asked for and shove it up your ass."

Jaemin's eyes twinkled with respect, breath caught in his throat at the dark look in your eyes. He felt his chest warm in adoration, heart doubling in size. "You heard the lady."

"Includes you too, Jaemin. Better get home before Granny Na starts missing her little boy."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fuck off." You said playfully, recovering the ball. He waved you bye, lugging his bag over his shoulder, fixing the collar of his jersey. A beam touched your lips, face lighting up.

Jaemin smirked back at you, taking his leave. He dragged the remnants away with him, leaving the girl's football team alone in the cooling dwindle of Autumn light.

"Nice shorts." A tug.

"Oh? Na Jaemin complimenting me?" You mused in surprise, arms folded across your chest.

"You didn't let me finish." Jaemin whispered, standing on the sidelines of the pitch, pulling at the hem of your shorts. "Ooh, I can see your stubble. Better bring out the razor."

Your jaw tightened, feeling that rush of annoyance fill your veins again. The nerve.

"More stubble than you'll ever grow on that chin."

"At least I'm not a human Sasquatch."

"I've got hair in the right places—" You started, catching the innuendo, glaring at Jaemin's raised eyebrows. "—I know what I meant. Don't be such a dirty boy."

"Say it again. Love the way it rolls off your tongue."

You gaped at him, whole body blowing a fuse, skin reddening at his tone. Sweltering heat danced atop each fingertip, each muscle, making you jolt. His gaze was still glued to your face, relishing the quickly dilating pupils in your eyes.

"I—"

"—Would rather have you speechless after our first time, not for your championship final. When you win, I'll buy you fucking adorable ice cream with the little star sprinkles that you like."

"Going to ignore you on that first statement, but the second one sounds like a motive."

"Win the match, and I'll ask you out. Properly."

You saw his eyes flash with something passionate, flakes of gooey molasses swirling behind the irises. Before you opened your mouth to reply to him, he pleaded silently for you to just take it as it was. "Gimme a chance. Who knows you better than your enemy? Nobody."

"I mean..."

"Only you know that my grandma calls me those corny names or that I see her all the time."

"Or that you lose every game that's not football because you're too lazy to pay attention." You added.

"And I know that you broke a guy's jaw because he was bothering Yangyang." He continued. "And I also know that you know one thing I've never told anyone."

"Ooh, what's that?"

"That I like you."

You looked away from him sheepishly, goosebumps popping up on your skin, and whether it was from the cold or from his words, you didn't know. He was looking down at you tenderly, ruffling your bed of hair, pressing a small, wet kiss to your forehead as the whistle blew.

"Don't play with fire, Na."

"You're more like a carpet burn."

You sighed, defeated. "Fine. I'll give you an answer when we win. If you're playing me, I'll break your arms."

"Okay. Go get 'em, Lady Luck." He smiled, waving you off as you scurried onto the pitch, face glowing under the fluorescent lights. Jaemin felt his chest tighten with pride, jaw aching from all the strenuous smiling.

With that absurdly contented face, you reminded him of a cross between a kid at a carnival and a man about to kill another. Your hair gathered wildly atop your head, a wicked glare painting your face.

This was you at peace, he deduced. Even with the gruesome of expressions, you looked calm. The pitch was truly your home away from home.

Two minutes into the second half saw you being carried off on a stretcher with a torn hamstring. You'd fallen to the grass, no sounds coming from your limp body. Jaemin swore he felt his heart plunge into his ass, and with a frantic flourish, he was coddling your head into his chest.

"Luck, don't die on me. I'm supposed to take you out for ice cream after this, and I stole Renjun's Baskin Robbins loyalty card to cut costs so if we don't go, I'll be getting beat up without having kissed your stupid face." He babbled, slapping your cheeks, scared that you'd genuinely lost your life.

You groaned, rolling slowly in the elastic. "Stop touching my face, I'll get acne." Mildly concussed, you soothed your throbbing headache, registering Jaemin's face looming over you. "Jaemin?"

"Oh, thank God. Thought I'd never see that unruly sparkle in your eyes again."

"Fuck off. My hamstring feels like a fried chicken mukbang and you're talking about my eyes."

"I can't cry before our first date. You'll think I'm a wimp."

"Already think that."

He hit your arm lightly, beaming at your focus on his face, meeting your eyes. You were glaring at him with a kissable pout on your lips, eyebrows furrowed — he wanted to pepper your face in balmy kisses.

The paramedic pushed him away, leading you to the ambulance. You flipped him off, yelling loudly as they wheeled you in, "Make sure you win! Won't forgive you if you don't."

The girl's football team had gathered around the door, all tight-lipped smiles and crumpled faces. They visibly brightened at your declaration, huddling together to recalibrate — the ref blew her whistle to call them back, summoning them back into position.

Yangyang and Donghyuck left the stands, rushing into the ambulance alongside you, closing the door behind them. Jaemin could faintly hear your loud curses, and sighed in relief, knowing that you'd be fine.

With two goals up, the team were at optimum working speed, playing loyally for your honour. Jaemin stood at the sidelines, holding your jacket in his hands as he recorded the match on his phone, wanting to send it to you later.

At 90 minutes, the girl's team had become the winner of the Division One Seoul Inter-district championship, and Jaemin was content. Not because it meant you'd go on that date with him, but because he could feel how much it meant to them.

Everyone around him was cheering madly, chanting and spraying assorted drinks in each other's faces, an infectious joy lingering in his veins. Amongst all the commotion, he'd somehow been pushed into the middle of the team, feeling their gazes boring into his frame.

"You like Cap'n, right?" The brunette said, eyes bright.

"No. I don't like her. She's my rival." Jaemin lied pathetically, trying to escape their judgement.

"Why were you in the locker room then?"

"Damn. How do you know that?"

"Cap'n is horrible at lying, so she's always upfront. She also cannot do an impression so she never attempts it."

"Wow, you guys sure know your stuff. Bet she's glad to have a team like you. I know I'm feeling a little jealous."

"Cut the smooth talk. If you like Cap'n, just be straightforward. She's more innocent than she seems, and can get her heart broken easily."

"Got it." He nodded, "Well...ladies, I have to thank you for the advice."

"No problem, but if you break her heart.." They chorused, "We'll break that pretty little nose." Fifteen studded feet swung at his face, narrowly skimming the bridge of his nose.

He flinched, caught off guard, grin bared. "Now, I definitely got that message. I'll be going to check up on her, what do you want me to say?"

"We've already called her and shown her the trophy, so we have nothing left to say, you, however...take all the time you need."

"Since I have your blessing, am I allowed to—"

"Don't finish that sentence. Keep in your lane."

Jaemin promptly closed his mouth, and bid them a goodbye, dashing into his car towards the hospital, stopping at Baskin Robbins to buy the ice cream he promised. He hoped you’d at least be able to eat the sprinkles (the ones you liked were expensive, and if you didn’t eat them, he’d just wasted an extra 2,500 won.)

In the hospital, you were now dressed in a medical gown, surrounded by the two idiots. It smelt like an experiment lab, and the spotless shades of ivory splashed on the walls made you feel a tad bit overwhelmed.

Your leg had already undergone the MRSI scan, and the nurses had told you that you’d definitely tore your hamstring, but surgery would fix it right up along with natural healing.

Of course, all those details lacked in comparison to your team finally winning the trophy you’d worked so hard towards — that excitement numbed the pain considerably.

“We thought you’d somehow died.” Yangyang confessed, grasping your hands in his clammy ones.

“You did.” Donghyuck sneered, pointing at him, continuing when he saw your face change in confusion. “Yang was convinced that you were invincible like Superman or something. He started blubbering about how you could definitely defeat the grim reaper in close contact and that should be enough to steal back your soul or whatever—”

“I’m just never going to ask questions again.”

“Jaemin was on the verge of a breakdown when he saw you fall. Never have I ever seen him run so fast towards a girl.” Donghyuck said, hand on chin in mock thought.

You blushed, remembering your promise about the ice cream and falling back into the bed in distress.

“What’s going on with you? I saw you two all friendly at the sidelines.” Yangyang murmured, eyes squinting in judgement. “Don’t tell me...you guys fucked before the game?”

Suddenly it was too hot in the room. You fanned yourself to cool down, slapping your own cheeks before pulling Yangyang’s ears. “Yeah, because I have the guts to just have my first time in a school setting.” You deadpanned.

“Naughty girl.” Both boys swooned, unable to note your sarcasm.

“Just because my leg is gone doesn’t mean I can’t harm you anymore. I’ll break your kneecaps.”

In the midst of your fight with your best friends, you spotted Jaemin opening the door, wearing that greasy smirk that made butterflies tickle your throat.

“I see a broken leg isn’t enough to stop you, is it?” Jaemin drawled from the door, hands behind his back. “Still threatening people?”

“It’s not threatening if they deserve it.” You mumbled, suddenly shy. Jaemin maintained his distance from you, arm outstretched, ice cream tub in hand. He was looking away from you, faint blush tinting his cheeks, lips squeezed in a puffy ‘o’.

“Not that I remembered or anything, but you did say something about liking these sprinkles.” He said, eyes darting around to focus on anything but you.

“I do...like these sprinkles..how did you know?”

“Everyone calls you star, and you’re cute. It’s your personality in an edible sugar shape.”

You rolled your eyes at his words, forgetting both Donghyuck and Yangyang were seated in the room. It felt like the two of you were just stuck in your own world, glaring at each other like a pair of lovers.

Unfortunately, that moment was cut short by your ungracious best friends, cooing annoyingly. They were squealing like little girls, incomprehensible screams of ‘our girl’s grown up!’ scraping your eardrums.

“Leave me alone!” You whined, face scrunched in discomfort, making futile attempts to push them away. “Jaemin...please get these two off me.”

“Asking your boyfriend to get rid of us? Already?” Yangyang hollered, one of Jaemin’s arms stopping him from jumping on you again.

“He’s not my boyfriend. As of now, he’s the only sensible one who isn’t mauling the girl with a broken leg, and that’s why I’m asking him for help.”

“Should I throw them out?”

“Yes —actually, do whatever. Let them go terrorise someone that isn’t me.”

“Your wish is my command.”

On that, Jaemin escorted both boys outside, shutting the door on them, cutting off the beginning to their long-winded rant with a smile. That left the two of you alone.

Oddly enough, the silence wasn’t stifling but rather a conversation of the mind — you were able to see what he wanted to say by looking into those mocha coloured eyes. You threw the ice cream tub in the bin, reaching for Jaemin’s hands shyly.

He’d sat down beside you on the bed, just staring at you like you were an abstract painting, a mosaic of a splendid array, unable to take his eyes off you. He took your hand warmly, running his fingers over your calloused knuckles, sharing his heat with you.

“Jaemin.” You yawned, head falling onto his shoulder. “I’m saying yes to your date. If I didn’t get injured, you could’ve taken me out today, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry. Being with you is enough for me, even if I do want to comment on your horrible tackles during the match.” Jaemin teased, grabbing your hand a little tighter.

“Haha...I’m dying of laughter.”

“Hey! None of that here.”

“Sorry. I’m just happy. My team won our first championship, which we’ve been trying to do for three years, and I feel on top of the world. All those years of boys being absolute dickheads to us about our abilities, trying to put us down have amounted to this moment. I’m at peace right now.”

“Don’t apologise. I should be sorry instead. It was easier to talk to you if I pretended I hated you. I shouldn’t have been like that.”

“I accept your apology. But..I think it was cute you couldn’t tell me you liked me! That’s so endearing.”

“Fuck off.”

“That’s my line! Well, you were always attractive to me, even when you were being a dickhead. Now that I think about it, you’re at your hottest when you’re being mean.”

“Is that so?” Jaemin mused, rolling onto his hands, dangling over you, lips eerily close to your own. “Do you want me to treat you mean, keep you keen?”

“Firstly, don’t ever say that again.” You stopped him, hand placed on his chest to push him away lightly. “Secondly, I’ve never had a boyfriend or my first kiss. That means no experience.” You slurred that last part, rushing the words so he wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Cap’n, you’re telling me that I’ll be your first?”

“Not if you don’t ask me out.”

Jaemin sat back beside you, looking up to the ceiling. This was the moment. He took a deep breath, standing up before you, hands rubbing his stomach softly to calm down.

“I wanted to do a real dramatic confession, but I rushed over here in fear that you wouldn’t be able to hit me again, so I’ll have to stick with my speech.” He cheesed, trying to ease himself of his nerves. You laughed, hissing in mock anger when he wore that stupid grin. “I like you. Like a lot. Sometimes, I come to school with a dirty scowl on my face, but then I see your face and start smiling like a love struck fool. You’re someone that I wouldn’t want to lose.”

“Jaemin, you little mongrel. Come here.” You waved him over, arms outstretched in a hug. “Even though I know your ego won’t let you ask me out properly, I would love to be your girlfriend. However, if my heart is broken..I’ll be stoning your car.”

“Thought you were gonna say that you’d break my face.”

“That too.”

He snuggled closer into you, peering up at you with shining eyes, not wanting to move too much to keep you comfortable. You grinned back at him, placing a soft kiss on his head, running a hand through his hair.

That familiar silence returned, and that’s how you fell asleep with Na Jaemin enveloped in your chest. Although you’d broken a leg, Lady Luck seemed to have twiddled her fingers to send you a ‘get well soon’ present, the ever cunning Na Jaemin.

Five months later had you no longer hobbling around on crutches like a hobbit, but walking proud and tall. Jaemin drove you to school (using the excuse of carpooling) and helped you take your books to first period everyday — the alpha male in him winced seeing you attempt any ‘heavy lifting’, and he’d made it a routine.

“Can you fuck off? I can carry this.” You complained, pinching his side. “Just because I see a physio biweekly doesn’t mean I’m about as able-bodied as a monkey.”

“Got the hair to be a monkey.” He snorted.

“Look who’s talking, Mr.Sasquatch. Bigger feet than his prints, you little scoundrel.”

“Big feet means big—”

“Don’t finish that if you wanna keep the body part in question.”

“—heart. Dirty girl.”

You felt the honey pooling in your stomach, kissing his cheek in haste to escape his relentless teasing. He shut up at that, pulling you back to kiss you properly, attracting the attention of everyone in the hallway.

“Get to class.” He announced as he parted from you, enjoying your petulant face. You hit him softly, flipping him off from behind you, blowing him a kiss.

Ah, Na Jaemin. You still hated him. Just a little less this time.

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incoherentbabblings · 4 years ago

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Tim gets himself turned into a cat for a week and is forced to stay at Stephanie's until the spell wears off on its own. Honestly, it's not as traumatic as it sounds. For Tim.

“I refuse to take responsibility,” Damian said. He was holding a glossy short haired black cat with a long face and sharp features. It had big bat ears and lovely big blue eyes whose pupils dilated when Stephanie looked at it. Damian held it out for Stephanie to take, lower legs dangling from a slim body. Its tail whipped from side to side, irritated.

Apparently, it was Tim after one ill-informed altercation with that magician villain who the Teen Titans and the Flash fought occasionally.

Stephanie smiled tightly to the point where Damian thought she was in physical pain.

“Do you want to come in? Have a cup of cocoa maybe?”

“Not even slightly. I have a litter box and some compostable wood pellets for litter,”

Oh my God –

“and father insisted that someone within Gotham care for him until this passes whilst he is off planet. Zatanna says it will end on its own in a week and is less likely to end in permanent brain damage than trying to reverse it artificially. More brain damage than Drake already –”

“Yes, Damian, I get it.” Stephanie sighed, pouting as she inspected Tim, still patiently dangling in Damian’s outstretched arms. “Do you understand us Tim?”

The cat – Tim – yowled in a way which sounded partly like a Siamese cat and partly like an car engine struggling to start, but Damian shook his head.

“No. His brain has shrunk to the size of a peanut. Apparently, he will remember nothing, which is good, all things considered.”

Stephanie frowned, then leaned down directly into the cats eyeline.

“Would you rather stay with me over Damian?” she asked it, regardless. “I guess it makes sense, mom is visiting Florida for the week…” she mused out loud, feeling supremely stupid.

Tim yowled again, and his pupils impossibly grew bigger.

Groaning, Stephanie conceded. “Fine, but –” wasting no time, Damian practically tossed the cat into her arms. She caught Tim clumsily, and he meowed in distress, scrambling up to cling to her shoulders.

“Ow, ow, ow! Claws. Claws, Tim ow!”

She held him tight under his little bum, and as she watched Damian run back to the Alfred chauffeured car for the bits and pieces she would need. Stephanie turned, leaving the front door open, and went upstairs to her room. Tim clung to her tightly, little claws making an imprint in her skin. When she reached her bed she leaned forward, letting him turn on his own and land on his feet in the centre of the mattress. He plopped down, sitting perfectly straight with his tail still swishing, and watched her as she proceeded to help Damian move all the pieces of kit inside. She placed the litter tray in the bathroom, wondering briefly about those YouTube videos she’d seen of cats using the toilet could be applicable. She sighed as she sat the plastic tray down, wiggling little wood pellets a couple of inches deep. Tim had come over to join her in the door frame. He looked up at her, and she looked down at him.

“Tim, I’m going to be scooping up your poo and pee. You better give me a big boon when this all over.”

Tim mewled, and to Stephanie it sounded like a bargain had been struck. Damian handed her a plastic bag filled with cat food – whatever Pennyworth did not wish to eat he explained – then left her to it.

“Do not let him go outside.”

“Yes, Damian.”

His round cheeks puffed up, and the bridge of his nose turned red like it did when he was embarrassed.

“Thank you, Stephanie.”

Somewhat mollified, Stephanie said he was welcome and then Damian and Alfred were gone. Shutting the front door, she turned around to see Tim sitting on the stairs, watching her.

Stephanie jumped, unnerved.

“How much of your peanut sized brain is like… at human level smartness?” she asked.

Tim sat quietly for a moment, watching her with those unnatural icy blue eyes. His tail, disproportionately long, smacked against the floor with a heavy thump.

“None then. Well, still, let me know when you want feeding. Or bathroom breaks so I can clean it up before it stinks out the house. I have to work on college. So… go take a nap or something. You probably need one.”

Tim blinked, stepped down the stairs, went through to the living room, sat on her sofa, and rested his head down. Like the cat he was, he was soon asleep in the late afternoon sun.

Stephanie followed him curiously, peered over the back of the couch, admiring his glossy coat then shook her limbs loose.

Just another day in the life, she told herself.

Having her ex-boyfriend slash transmogrified cat living with her for a week. Sure. Cats were distant creatures, and so were her and Tim in recent years. They could get through this week, surely.

Oddly, having another creature in the house made her feel more lonely.

*****

Tim had enough self-awareness to realise he was in fact a cat, but also not enough self-awareness to realise that there were certain behaviours he should not indulge in.

Nobody believed him that he could understand what was being said, so he decided to just go with the flow for the next six days. Abdicate all responsibility. Be feral. Receive the occasional pat on the head. All in good fun. Bizarrely, he was enjoying the drama of it all.

The first issue came about at dinner. He had woken from his nap with a hunger that he had never in his eighteen years (did that make him around two years old in cat years?) of life felt before. It was as if he had not eaten in weeks he was starving he was voracious he –

Needed help in opening tin cans.

Dammit.

Honestly, Tim would have been feeling much more humiliated and more willing to jump out of a window to end it all if he was not so sure that he would instinctively land on his feet.

Just a week. And Stephanie would take care of him, loathe as he was to admit it. She would find it uncomfortable and painful with each interaction, so he would take great care in staying out of her way. Things were awkward enough between them without the knowledge that she was going to have to brush him and feed him and clean up his poops and hairballs (he loathed how easily the concept of grooming came to him). He didn’t need to inflict anymore grief on her than she had already reluctantly accepted.

None of this stopped him from being very hungry when he woke up. He needed food. Preferably ten minutes ago.

He leapt down with a solid thud from Stephanie’s sofa, shaking his head to clear any remaining nap time fuzziness, then plodded upstairs. To his own ears, it sounded very cheery.

She had left her bedroom door slightly ajar, and Tim slid in. She did not hear him enter on account of her having a giant pair of red headphones blasting music at far too loud a volume to be good for her hearing. Or rather, he assumed they were red. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that his vision had been altered. Shades of red and green blended together in assorted shades of yellow and brown, and even the blues of the world was washed out and pale. Everything had a slight blur to it, especially for objects further away. When he had first been held up to Stephanie, he realised that the blue of her eyes now seemed almost grey, and her skin was sickly. Of this change, Tim hated the most.

She was leaning over piles of notes, hands stained with highlighter and pen ink. Tim noted her expression and found he did not like it.

She looked very sad.

He meowed to try and get her attention, but with her music playing as loud as it was, she did not hear him. Drastic measures were needed. He would soon be dead from starvation before too long.

He slinked up to the side of her chair, noting the convenient space between her lap, chest and desk. He looked up at her, yowling one more time to try and give her warning, but she did not notice.

Tim blinked slowly. Her eyes were wet.

He leapt up onto her lap, fully expecting her to shriek, to lift and throw him across the room reflexively. However, she just gasped gently, surprise quickly fading, and laughed. Good. The wet look in her eyes vanished with genuine joy. She paused her music, clumsily taking off the headphones and setting them on the desk. She adjusted her lap so Tim could sit more steadily and rested her hands at the base of his back and tail, scratching absentmindedly. He chittered at her and she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“What?” she whispered conspiratorially. Oh, she was enjoying this. Tim grumbled, body vibrating, then hopped up another level onto her desk. With a purposeful tap, he smacked her wrist.

“What is it you little goblin?”

Rude. Tim yowled, and paced back and forth. Stephanie huffed, reaching to pick him up and put him down. When she turned, she saw her alarm clock on her bedside table. It was six o’clock.

“The time?” Her eyes widened with realisation. “Oh? Dinner time?”

His loud, drawn out meow made her wince, but she nodded all the same. “Alright then sir, come on. Let’s see what we can do for you.”

He merrily leapt down from her arms, jogging away down the stairs to the kitchen. Jumping up on the counter, he pawed insistently at the food still in the plastic bags Damian had brought. Food. He needed food. He was wasting away; why couldn’t she see…

“Right, what did Damian gift us with… Oh. Biscuits huh?”

Tim froze. Cat food. He was going to have to eat cat food.

He was a cat. But not that much. He was finding it difficult enough to imagine going in that litter box in not too long. He quietly made a little meow, distressed.

Stephanie opened the bag, and the smell of dry crunchy biscuits filled the air. Tim visibly gagged, and Stephanie quickly resealed the container.

“Yeah, I agree there Timbo. I can’t give you the wet food either, that jelly is disgusting... but your stomach can’t handle human stuff. You’re a carnivore now bud.”

She hemmed and hawed, opening assorted cupboards, looking for something suitable. Tim meowed mournfully. He was going to starve unless he ate the biscuits, but he so did not want to eat the biscuits.

“Oh!” Stephanie chirped, pulling a tin down. She held it up to him for inspection. “Tuna in spring water. That’ll do, right? But how much…”

Tim paced frantically back and forth as she googled portion sizes. Starving, starving, he was skin and bones, no chance for recovery. It had been eight hours since he last ate, how did she expect him to –

She placed a shallow dish in front of him, half of the can placed sweetly in front of him. She then placed down a small glass bowl, filled with fresh water. Uncaring of his dignity, he began to eat voraciously.

Stephanie leaned on the counter, watching him do so.

“I’m sorry there’s no milk. I heard cats are actually lactose intolerant, so just water for you this week.”

Tim ignored her, so delighted with the taste of fresh tuna that the lack of milk was so far down his list of priorities. It was only when Stephanie, in an apparent act of madness, reached down and ran a hand from his temple all the way along his back to the tip of his tail did he look up. Somewhere in the back of his little kitty brain, he noted that his muscles had tensed up, rising to the pressure of her hand as it made its way down his spine to make the contact firmer. Her hand was warm. He looked up from his feast, confused.

She was still smiling, but it looked melancholy to Tim.

“I don’t think you can actually understand me,” she said quietly, half speaking to herself. “Which is pretty expected for us. I think it’s just the fact that you’re a vocal kitty who isn’t going to remember anything in six days’ time. Which is just as well. I can tell you all my secrets then?”

Tim wanted to protest her falsehoods but found the taste of tuna too distracting.

Stephanie continued, “I’m going to go on patrol now. There’s been a monster of a case I’m getting nowhere with. I’m having another go tonight. Don’t sleep on my bed when I’m away okay?”

Tim wanted very much to yowl, to let her know that he could understand, and to ask her why she was being so mopey. It seemed more than just a sadness over his situation. He wanted to explain that, honestly, he was fine with it. Well, not fine. But he had endured much worse. He knew it was temporary, he knew things would return to normal soon, and he was warm, looked after and almost looking forward to a week’s peace.

So what if he was a slightly goofy looking black cat who had the sudden urge to lick himself clean every few minutes? In the grand scheme of trauma he had undergone in his short life, shitting in a box was pretty low on the list.

He tried to tell her it was fine, only to drop tuna all over the counter. In a fumbled attempt to clean up after himself, he licked the surface clean. Stephanie groaned, then rose away from him.

“Enjoy the evening Tim. Don’t bother me when I get back. Don’t puke anywhere.”

Tim, in fact, did not puke that night. He did use the litter box however and hated it. He tried very hard to make as little mess as possible, ensuring all the litter stayed within the box. He was here because of Stephanie’s good nature; he was not about to blow it.

He did, at around 3am, however, experience what he had heard Selina refer to as ‘the zoomies’. It was a frantic pent-up energy that he did not know how to expel. The only way that came to mind was to dash across the house in a desperate attempt to tire himself out so he could return to sleep. So, he ran, up and down the stairs, leaping off the banisters and hopping over chairs and coffee tables. He did so, bored out of his mind, until he saw the lights of her vehicle pull up. He ran up the stairs in time for Batgirl to crawl through her window. He sat patiently in her doorway, waiting for the right moment to greet her, when he saw she collapsed to the floor with a distinctive and heartrending cry of pain. His little heart pounded painfully at the sound, but he did not move.

He watched as she cursed up a storm, correcting her position so she could take off her costume piece by piece. She did so wincing, crying out, and swearing with each painful movement. If she had someone to help her, she would have been able to get ready for bed in much less agony. Whatever she had dealt with this night, it had been rough.

She crawled around on the floor, apparently unable to walk now that the adrenaline had worn off. She remained in her shorts and sports bra, and without showering, crawled into bed. Tim watched as she reached into her bedside table, pulled out two painkillers, and like a baby, swallowed them with some water from a sports bottle that stood nearby.

He thought he heard her very quietly cry to herself, but that couldn’t be. Stephanie did not cry. His hearing had been different since the transformation last night, sounds and noises did not compute the way they used to. The sound she was making very quickly stopped though, and instead Tim heard her very determinedly whisper to herself,

“Always better in the morning.”

It wasn’t a philosophy he completely agreed with. Sometimes the morning just brought clarity of the previous day’s horror. But her odd breathing stopped, and soon it was replaced with the deep gentle snoring of someone sleeping. Finally, Tim moved. He wanted to curl up next to her. Stephanie was warm, and he had discovered recently that he liked warm places. He wanted her hand to stroke him again.

But no. She had said to stay off her bed for sleeping. She has asked him not to bother her. She certainly would not be happy to find him sleeping next to her. Tim tried to remind himself that he was only getting away with certain behaviours because of his size, and there were some boundaries that he should not cross. What if she woke up in the morning, only to find that the spell had worn off early, and there was a naked human Tim Drake in her bed?

Oh no. That would be very embarrassing.

Besides, he didn’t have that kind of relationship with her anymore. He didn’t have the right anymore to insert himself into her space. They had decided not to pursue it. Not good for her, she’d said.

Tim could no longer remember his own reason. He suspected it was moot after she had become Batgirl.

And yet… she’d been crying. Tim wanted to help her. How could that not be good? Surely if he could provide comfort, if he wanted to provide comfort, she would allow it?

He turned away, not liking the way it felt like turning away from someone calling for help and returned to the living room sofa. He curled into a ball, and slept until the morning, whereupon the hunger pains hit him once more.

And so, a routine began. Tim would yowl like he was dying outside Stephanie’s door, reluctant to intrude whilst she slept. Eventually, Stephanie would emerge, ready to feed him chicken or another half a tin of tuna. He was not so secretly delighted at the way her eyes lit up with humour when she saw him, spinning in circles unable to contain his excitement, though Tim would note locations of bruises that had not been there the night before. She was struggling, it seemed.

She would then go take a shower, clean out his litter tray with a pithy comment, then go to class, leaving Tim bored until she would return after four, ready to clean his litter tray once more, provide dinner, then spend a couple of hours doing homework before leaving again for patrol. She would return at first light, looking more defeated with each passing sunrise. She would be smiling come the morning, but – even with a brain the size of a monkey nut – Tim saw it was shallow.

It did not escape Tim’s notice that she was going out of her way to avoid him. He understood it. She did the same thing when he was human. He would call for her help from time to time with a case, which she gave without reservation, just as she had done now for kitty him, but rarely, if ever, did she call for his aid.

Her stubborn independent streak had not abated with time it seemed, even when it came at the price of her safety.

That and she just seemed sadder than usual. Or was this usual, and he was just never around and allowed to view it?

His tiny mind whirled and churned, and with no outlet, he stewed, glaring out the window at passer-by’s and their dogs.

Regardless, on the fifth night, after hearing her stilted heart-rending sobs and half-hearted and self-inflicted words of comfort, he decided to break the one boundary she had set.

He jumped up onto the bed, moving until he had clambered on her sternum, then folded down into a loaf position. Stephanie tensed, unsure what game he was playing, until she felt him begin to purr.

She laughed brokenly, more of a whimper than a genuine expression of joy and reached up to scratch behind his ears.

Tim purred louder, to her delight.

“I’m having a bit of a rough time,” she spoke quietly in the dark, as if reluctant to break the thick, dark blanket of warmth and comfort. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Tim gave a small ripple of a meow in response. She was not a burden.

“I can’t get a crack on this case,” she explained. “I make a dent, get hurt in a fight and am fine in the morning, but then so are they. I’ve hit a wall. But I have to do it alone. Bruce and Babs expect me to now… I have to…”

Her voice broke and she cut herself off. She smiled crookedly, painfully trying to dispel her sadness. Tim began to make biscuits. He didn’t understand why, but he thought the pressure would help. She was a little furnace beneath him, and he purred loudly, drowning out her shaky breathing.

Stephanie chuckled at the sensation of his little vibrating chest. She ran a hand down his back again, enjoying the smooth coat. Contradictorily once more her eyes became wet.

“Do you think, when you are back to normal, we could talk? There’s…there’s no-one else who would understand. Though I think I’d make Cass sad if I told her that. But I miss you. And I think it’s my fault.”

Tim shifted upwards, until his nose rested under her chin. He continued to purr loudly, nearly trilling with the force of it. Steph nuzzled in close and kissed his forehead and flicked his large ears.

“Silly boy. I hope you don’t remember this. You’d hate me for it.”

Tim meowed grouchily. How she could lie to herself like that…

They’d burned their bridge long ago. He knew this. And him being a cat for a week was not going to mend it. But it made his heart ache like nothing else to see her despondent. He silently promised himself that he would extend an olive branch before the end of next week. They couldn’t continue like this, tip toeing around each other with Tim occasionally stepping too close and making Steph flinch back away.

She wasn’t flinching away now though.

She picked him up so she could sleep better and set him on the pillow next to her. Turning on her side, she reached up and placed a soft, warm hand on his shoulders, rhythmically petting the fur there.

Her quiet sniffles died off, Tim’s purring acting as a lullaby, and she fell asleep before the sun rose.

Throughout the night he shifted closer, until he was practically resting on her head. He rested his chin on the crown of her head, her long golden hair acting like a silken pillow, and kept guard for the rest of the night.

*****

Stephanie awoke to her nose being licked. She opened her eyes blearily, and realised it was Tim cat. She blushed, remembering what had transpired last night. She told herself it was fine, opening up like that. It was only a cat. It was only Tim. Tim, who would be blissfully ignorant come the evening. Though that reminded her, she better lay out some clothes for him. Her mother was coming back at some point in the next forty-eight hours. The idea of her walking in on a naked Tim would cause a conniption.

She smooched Tim’s head, and he meowed cheerily at the wet smack, and continued to press up against her.

She had kept her distance at first, struggling to reconcile Tim with the little sleek gremlin cat meowing at her feet. It felt weird, so she – for a lack of a better term – ignored him. He would be so angry when he changed back, she wanted to avoid anything which he could extrapolate from the week as her being mocking or patronising.

Bruce’s anger she had learned to ignore, Tim’s she hadn’t figured out a knack for yet. It hurt, in a physical manner that she could not explain. Like he was kicking her in the gut again. She found herself actively taking steps now to avoid it. Avoid the concept of it.

But she was exhausted, physically, and emotionally. Years ago, when she would reach such a state, Tim would somehow figure it out and slink in through her window or take her on a quiet date. The two would hold on to each other, and let Stephanie catch her breath and perspective with a warm pillar of support behind her.

Despite Tim now being a cat, it seemed he still had this perception, and had sought her out to give comfort. Weird how animals could sense those sorts of things.

Fuck it, she thought. It was the last day, she was feeling miserable, and there was a perfectly cuddly vibrating fluff ball in her arms, who showed no signs of irritation and instead was offering comfort that she didn’t get much of in recent years. She was going to milk this for all it was worth. Maybe she could take some photos and videos later – humiliate or blackmail Tim later. All in good fun, of course. She never wanted to genuinely upset him.

She continued to give him sweet pecks on his head back and sides, which she thought he liked, as he meowed and headbutted her.

“Sweetie,” she praised, and she picked him up to cradle him properly. He flipped over, being held like a baby, as she continued to croon, “Last day as a kitty. Tomorrow you won’t remember a thing, and we won’t be able to talk like I am now… isn’t that sad? I think we should spoil you today. Lap of luxury and all that. It’ll keep my brain busy, if nothing else.”

He pawed at her chin, and she kissed his toe beans.

She spent an embarrassingly long amount of the day starfished on the floor, playing with Tim. He was a chatty little cat, more so than he ever was as a person. His meows sounded like a revving engine and were as long as he could hold his breath. He was graceful though, despite his lanky limbs and giant ears. He leapt from surface to surface and straight into her arms with seemingly no effort, and whenever she let him roll out of her embrace, he landed neatly on his feet every single time.

Stephanie couldn’t help it, but when she pulled out a little laser from her Batgirl belt, she recorded Tim’s feral delight, chasing a speck of red across the house. She laughed more than she had in a long while, partly because it had been so long since she had seen anything so unabashedly goofy as Tim as a cat, shaking his little bum, pupils dilated larger than dinner plates, in preparation to jump a red point of light.

It was delightful and made her wonder if she could convince Crystal to adopt a cat once she returned. Poor Tim, he’d have no clue what he’d endured come the morning, but at least in that moment, he seemed happy.

When it reached eight pm, Stephanie sighed, realising she had another night of patrol to face. Selfishly, she wanted to linger, to keep company with the cat, but she quickly shook that thought off. People needed her. She wanted her case over and done with.

“One last go,” she whispered. “I can do it tonight. I’m nearly there.”

Tim hopped up onto her lap and she was sliding on her gloves. She chuckled lightly and scratched under his chin. He purred, craning his neck to allow her better access.

“I’ll lay your human clothes out for you on my bed, okay? If it’s not fixed by the time I’m back… I’ll put you in your boxers and jeans and hopefully come morning…” She got up, hoisting Tim to rest on her shoulders, and tugged one of the plastic bags Damian had left for her. To her growing dismay, she realised there was only a pair of underpants. She looked sideways, Tim peering over her left shoulder. “Oh dear, Tim. Damian really is out to get you, huh?”

He chuffed, like he was grumbling to himself. She pecked him once more, and he meowed more firmly, hopping off her shoulders as she made her way to rummage through her wardrobe.

“I don’t want my mom to come back and find you in your undies in my room and me being AWOL. That would just be one step too much for her, I think. I still have some baggy sweatshirts…pants though… pants…”

She tossed clothes haphazardly, at one point burying Tim under a pile of bras and underpants that she shrieked at, loudly and joyously, when she realised what she had done. Eventually she found a pair of jeggings which she hoped would suffice. Tim looked almost suspicious. If he had eyebrows, they would have been raised.

“You have skinny legs,” Stephanie justified, feeling insane talking to the cat. “It’s fine. Just until the morning. I’ll drive you back and no-one will see your shame. Not even Damian. We’ll sneak. Promise.”

She carefully laid out the clothes, and shoved what she had carelessly tossed out her closet back in with equal zeal. Pecking Tim once more on the head, she moved the litter box into her bedroom and shut the door.

“I can’t have mom coming back to a half naked boy in my living room and a box of used kitty litter. You’ll have to stay in here. Hopefully, I’ll be back before she is. She said she’ll drive the whole way and not stop. So, maybe by seven in the morning? Fingers crossed.”

She opened up the windowsill, slinking her leg over. Tim hopped up on her desk, as if to follow her out.

“Uh-uh,” she warned, pressing on his wet nose firmly. “You have to wait here. Damian made me promise you’d stay inside. I can’t risk losing you.”

She caught herself speaking more desperately than she intended and shuddered. “You know what I mean. Naked boy CEO found running through the streets of Gotham is not the kind of attention the family needs right now. Be good, Tim. And thank you. You cheered me up so much today.”

One more kiss, then she was out the window, sliding it definitively shut. As she mounted the bike, Tim perched himself at the windowsill, watching her shoot off down the street.

When she was out of sight, he jumped down and paced endlessly, stressed and worried. She had been struggling so much with patrol, and he was unable to help her. Feeling utterly helpless, he jumped up onto her bed and settled on her main pillow. Curling up into a ball, he settled in to wait, praying that she would return home safely, and before Crystal arrived back.

He awoke, briefly, when he felt a soft pair of hands lifting him up. He chirped and chuffed, and it was Stephanie hushing him. She wrapped him up in his boxers and sat him next to her under the covers.

She was smiling, albeit a tired smile.

“I did it,” she whispered, scratching his ears. “Tim, I did it.”

Tim meowed a congratulatory chitter, and Stephanie smiled wider.

“Sleep now. I’ll explain more in the morning.”

In an act which utterly took Tim off guard, she pulled him closer, curling around him in a crescent moon shape. Under the covers in the dark, surrounded by her scent and soft breath, Tim began to purr once more.

*****

“Steph? Steph…”

Stephanie grumbled, then opened her eyes when cold fingertips pressed against her cheek. Looking at him with an expression Tim could not decipher (relief? Disappointment? Fright?) Stephanie inspected Tim up and down. He had put on his boxers and her sweatshirt but had yet to touch her trousers. Nevermind. He was kneeling on the floor next to her bed. According to her clock, it was just after six in the morning.

Right, Tim needed context.

“I suppose you are very confused right now… Being in my room in your undies… so let me explain—”

She yawned then, arms emerging from her duvet to stretch dramatically. Tim watched the muscles in her neck, then chuckled to himself.

“No, Steph. I remember.”

“Oop.” She froze, watching him anxiously, like an antelope faced with a lion. “Everything?”

“Everything.” He then snorted defiantly, “despite what Damian insisted, I was still me. Shockingly, he is not omnipotent.”

Chewing her tongue, Stephanie narrowed her eyes, not having it at all.

“Oh c’mon, you are lying out your butt.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! There’s no way you’d lower yourself to chasing my laser pen across my living room. Oh gosh, Tim, it must have been horrible…”

Tim shrugged, making a noncommittal noise.

“Maybe I wanted to catch that point of light, huh?” he teased. He then conceded, “Maybe I had a bit of trouble keeping cat me and human me straight in my head.”

“Yeah, that I believe.”

“But honestly, having a week where my biggest concern was whether I was getting tuna or chicken for my next meal was sort of refreshing.”

“I can find a way to turn you back if you like.”

“Hmm. Pass.”

Stephanie giggled, but cut off abruptly when Tim shuffled closer. She felt herself grow cross eyed as she watched him move in so intimately. Tim’s warm breath blew over her as he continued,

“Yeah well, having said that… You mentioned that I helped you. Cheered you up.”

Tim’s teasing look softened, and in that moment looked at Stephanie with such unabashed and unfiltered affection that she felt incredibly self-conscious. Tim was only in his boxers and her sweatshirt, and she was only in a baggy nightgown that she had tossed on when she had arrived home; the first time in weeks she had been uninjured enough to change her clothes.

“Maybe,” Tim continued, “I wanted to see you smile. You were so sad all this week… I needed to help you. Even if it was as dumb as chin scratches – as good as they felt – and chasing lasers. I… I heard you crying, Steph.”

Her arms came down from their stretch, and rested on his shoulders, fingers gently stroking back and forth.

“I’m okay,” she promised, like she was the one comforting him.

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed. “I could have helped you before now.”

There was no chiding in his tone, only pleading, but it made Stephanie feel guilty, nonetheless.

“I had to do it alone.”

“No, no you didn’t. You don’t have to be alone for anything.”

“You’re such a big softie.”

Tim laughed gently, “With you, sure.” Taking a deep breath, he moved even closer until he was practically leaning over her, tips of their noses touching. “Steph… I need to ask you something.”

Stephanie nodded, eyes growing damp. “Shoot,” she whispered, voice cracking and betraying the nonchalant words.

“Could we –”

Crystal opened Stephanie’s bedroom door, and the pair froze. Instinctively, Stephanie raised an arm with a shocked cry, slamming Tim in the face. He wheezed and shot up into standing, which only proved to give Crystal a good view of him in his underwear and daughter’s clothes. Looking somewhat dazed and yet unsurprised, she looked to Stephanie for whatever lie of an excuse her daughter could conjure up.

“Mommy!” Steph cried out. “I did not hear you get back. How was Florida?”

“I was being quiet since it was still early,” Crystal grumbled, unamused by Stephanie’s glib tone. “But then I heard talking.”

Crystal glared at Tim, who fidgeted, finding no dignity in any pose he maintained. Stephanie scrambled upwards so she was sitting, thankfully she had managed to put on pyjamas last night, and clambered for some excuse, any excuse.

“Tim was… It’s not… ”

Seeing her daughter fail to come up with some vaguely plausible non incriminating reasoning, Crystal turned to Tim, glaring holes through his head. He would crack in a way that Stephanie would not.

“Why are you here, Tim?” she demanded.

“I… I…” Tim began to shiver with nerves, face flushed red and eyes bright with panic.

“Where are your pants?”

Tim choked on air. “…I don’t have any. With me.”

“And no shirt either?”

Tim very much wished the ground would swallow him up.

“No.”

Stephanie groaned, throwing herself face down into her pillow. “Good job, Tim.”

“It’s the truth, Stephanie!”

Crystal’s fingers twitched on the door handle, and Stephanie could see one of her pressure headaches building, like a throbbing in her mother’s temple.

“You know what – just leave Tim. And we won’t discuss it again.”

Tim would take that and run. At least this time he wasn’t being chased out of a house with a shotgun like Ariana’s uncle had done.

“Sure. Sure. Can… Steph. Can I borrow your phone?”

“So someone can come pick you up?” Crystal snorted. “What? Don’t you have shoes either?”

Tim realised if Crystal had her way he would have been forced to run back to the manor. Death at this point really would have been preferable. Weakly, he just stated, “No, Mrs. Brown.”

Stephanie spoke at her mother and into her pillow, unable to look the embarrassing situation in the eye.

“Mom, please. The guy’s dignity has already been shot. Please don’t make him walk back to Wayne Manor in his tidey-wideys. I can give you a lift Tim, I said I would.”

“No, no,” Crystal insisted. “I’m sure you’ve done enough Stephanie.”

Stephanie shrieked, muffled but distressed. Dramatically, with exaggerated movements, she removed her phone form under her pillow and unlocked it without looking, then tossed it up the air. Tim scrambled to catch it, then dialled for the manor. Crystal stood aside, indicating it was time for Tim to leave the room. He looked back to Stephanie, still buried in her bed sheets. It was a look of desperation on his features that made Crystal feel almost guilty for separating the pair, but honestly, she did not trust her daughter, and she did not trust Tim, however soft spoken he may have been.

When Tim exited the room, Crystal shut the door with a definitive slam behind him. Turning back to Stephanie, she saw her daughter’s shoulders shaking with quiet crying. This only served to befuddle Crystal more, but before she could say or do anything else, a shallow container on the floor by her daughter’s desk caught her eye.

“Is that a litter tray?” she asked, confusion reaching fever pitch.

Stephanie raised her head to stare at her mother, eyes wet and pout overwhelmingly sad.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.”

*****

“Alfred washed it. Got rid of all the cat hairs.”

Tim held up the blue sweater for Stephanie to take on her doorstep. She took it reverently and inhaled deep. Alfred always used an excess of fabric conditioner that made clothes smell lush. Tim, for his part, looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry you got drawn into all of that. I’m sorry I made you and your mom fall out.”

Stephanie said nothing, keeping Tim on the doorstep as she set down the sweatshirt. When she looked back to Tim, closing the front door behind her, she was struck by the thought that he seemed much younger than eighteen. He was scuffing his feet on the concrete, hands behind his back, like a bashful child.

“It was all because I was careless with Abra Kadabra and it bit me in the butt and Damian didn’t want to have to deal with me so he burdened you with it. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t a burden,” she replied quietly. “I liked it. The last day.”

“Oh,” Tim blushed, looking anywhere but in her eye. “Me too. For what it’s worth. Honestly, it was actually really nice. Relatively. In context. You know. In a not creepy way.”

“It must have been a bit weird. Like, don’t pretend it wasn’t. All that chicken and tuna you ate for one thing…”

Tim chuckled to himself, finding something very funny.

“Yeah my digestion has been wild the past week and... too much information. Sorry.”

Stephanie tried to catch his eye, but Tim kept his head stubbornly down. His feet must have been very interesting.

“You… you were going to ask me something, before my mom walked in,” she pushed.

He coughed, choking on nothing but his nerves.

“Was I?”

“Tim.” She reached out and took his hand. Tim flinched, then relaxed and finally gathered the courage to look her in the eye. She smiled, beautifully, always beautifully, and he squeezed her fingers.

“I’m sorry if it took me being turned into a cat to actually ask.”

“That’s okay. It happens for people like us. In a way I think it puts things into perspective. So, please ask.”

“You…”

He stared at her, admiring her, before finding words couldn’t do the job well enough. Instead, he leaned forward, meeting Stephanie who was also moving closer, and the two kissed on Stephanie’s front doorstep. She broke away with such a delighted laugh that Tim chuckled himself.

“Ask me,” she insisted.

Tim shook his head and kissed her again. Falling back against her front door, the two made out for a moment too long before Stephanie regained her senses. She pushed him back, laughing louder and more hysterically.

“Tim! No! You need to ask!”

Another kiss, this time accompanied by him picking her up and swinging her in a circle. Finally, Stephanie gave up and held him tight. Tim made a noise that she could only describe as a chirp of delight in response.

“You’re a little gremlin,” she muttered into his mouth. “Cat or otherwise.”

#dc #tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph #my fic tag

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lygerastia · 4 years ago

Text

3. Making History - Ezio Auditore

It's time for you to join the Brotherhood with your first kill, hoping to impress your master, Ezio Auditore.

Warnings: slight!violence; rape attempt.

Chapters: 1 [complete]

Words: 5,799

READ IT ON AO3.

***

She lands without a sound, perfectly. A wave of pride engulfs her, but she knows she shouldn’t dwell on that. Days and weeks and months of arduous training—all culminated at this moment.

The time has come for her to prove her worth; and take her place in the Brotherhood. Prowling the rooftops, blending with the shadows, she approaches her target: a middle-aged wine trader that used his money to take advantage of young women. He was the lowest kind of filth, a degenerate that needed to be eliminated off the Earth. It was hard to witness his atrocities, but the Master said she had to watch, to remember later why she was doing this. To leave regrets behind as she took his life—was she even capable of murder?

Today, she’ll find out.

Even if she excels at combat, stalking, and all it means to be an assassin, she won’t ever be accepted if she doesn’t wet her blade. The initiation was cruel, but she was ready for this. One could say she was born for it, but she might say they’re wrong. The frail girl from before that watched Templars trample her family in cold blood—merely a pawn in their path to greatness—died on that night. Like a phoenix, she was reborn into a merciless and cold-blooded creature, with only a shred of kindness reserved for those who mattered.

On that night, she lost everything. If it weren’t for the Master stopping them on time, she would’ve joined her family and never know life’s pleasures. Her only regret is not getting to her little sister in time—he deserved more. He deserved better.

So she promised herself that she’s going to do better. Save others selflessly; vengeance meant nothing to her. No one needed to share her fate. Yet none were as lucky as her.

No more unnecessary killings, no more tears. Only hers.

She takes a deep breath, all of these thoughts swirling in her head to encourage herself. Master told her it would be hard the first time, but it will get easier the more she does it. It was a sad thought, that this has to be a constant. But her fate has been sealed the moment she stepped into the chamber and swore fealty to the cause.

We work in the dark to serve the light…

The young woman was only prolonging the inevitable. The target was getting closer to her hiding spot, in the dark shadows of an abandoned alley. After days of studying, of following, of pretending she was something she wasn’t, she learned this man’s schedule. She knew his habits by heart, knew what kind of girls she liked, how he tortured them, how much of a filth he can be. The man was a big fan of girls like her, dreamers. It wasn’t hard to get him drunk and spill out his secrets—the groping was the hardest part to bear with. Back then, she felt no remorse when imagining the blade at his throat, cutting it from ear to ear. But she stayed her hand—it will only endanger the Brotherhood to act recklessly.

So she sated her thirst by waiting.

“You’re a very nice signorina, aren’t you?” the man pinches the flesh of the girl he charmed tonight. It made the assassin’s stomach turn. The girl giggles, a bit unsure. The assassin knew she was only doing this for money; there was no love between the two. She pitied her, but she was used to this cruel and unfair reality, where the rich thrive and the poor die. “Why don’t we…?” The man’s smile vanishes, throwing a commanding look at his three bodyguards. Business as usual, it meant. The assassin knew the men would turn around and pretend not to hear the poor girl’s scream as the man did as he pleased. Not this time.

The wine vendor guides the girl in the assassin’s alley, as predicted. It was a favorite spot of his, close to the bar he frequented: a bar he owned. What will happen to it after his death? She knew he had a family and a boy that would inherit riches. Afterward, she’ll keep an eye on him; there’s no need for another leech. Her actions, she knew well, will only inspire hate, but such is life if you want freedom and justice.

She can bear that cross.

The target is getting closer, hands all over the girl’s body. At first, she’s playing along—but the vendor is not playing nicely. He takes what he wants by force and, soon enough, her clothes are torn off her. The girl screams and tries to run away, but he grabs her wrists, and violently slaps her face. The girl’s knees crumble underneath her and she’s falling, blood dripping from split lips.

The man only laughs at this, eyes gleaming greedily as he stares at her helpless form.

“You’re mine now.”

He licks his lips and undoes his belt, dropping his pants. The girl groans on the ground, dazed. But when she sees the shriveled member dangling in her face, ready to pounce, she screams and tries to crawl away. She forgets he has an iron grip on her wrist and it hurts her.

“Yes, yes! Struggle more!”

The guards don’t flinch and deter all curious gazes. At this moment, the assassin had enough. She had her doubts, staying there in the shadows and watching: was she capable of this? Did this man deserve to die and leave a young boy without a father?

However, she could also see that there was no redemption in this man. He will never change; he’ll continue to profit off of young women, no matter what. His time has come and, silent as a cat, she stands up and steps towards the two struggling figures. The vendor was now getting annoyed with the girl’s refusal, spittle falling out of his mouth as he told her to stop. The assassin had to admit she was putting on quite a fight; but she stopped as she spotted the assassin behind the man’s back. Her eyes widened in surprise—then taken over with a new kind of fear.

How must the assassin look to her?

Her face was half-hidden by the white cowl, but she could still see the coldness in her eyes—the dangerous gleam that attracted her Master’s attention. With a flick of the wrist, she activates the blade and, before the woman could scream once again, she plunges it deep into the man’s neck.

Blood started spurting from the wound, landing on the girl’s face. The vendor’s hand lets her go and she scrambles away, backing up a wall, shivering. Staring at what was happening in front of her, as the assassin gently lays the man down—no matter how much he didn’t deserve it. The man struggles to form words as he chokes on his own blood, looking up at his killer. She holds his gaze, a silent angel of death, unrelenting. With this killing, something in her truly broke and she couldn’t wait to tell her Master that she was ready for whatever came next. Her heart was with the Brotherhood, now until her demise. These monsters didn’t deserve to live—and she was the reaper that will cull them.

Carefully, still holding the gaze, watching the man’s life seep out of him, too slowly, she brings out the feather. A ridiculous thing, in her opinion, but sacred to the rest. She won’t question the creed now. Like a lover’s caress, she dips the feather in his blood—it quickly stains as the man’s eyes glazed over, close to death’s door.

“We—We only…” he breathes out, struggling. He’s watching something else now, far above her reach. She listens to his last plea. “...want...order.”

With that, his hand that was about to grip the assassin’s collar falls to the ground. Mission complete: the target has been eliminated. A cruel smile adorns her lips, basking in the glory her fist death brought—a mistake, as the girl, forgotten, starts screaming.

“Murderer!!”

A hint of annoyance graces the assassin’s features as she stands up, glaring at the girl. Where was her 'thank you' for saving her? Things would’ve ended much worse for her if it weren’t for the assassin; but Master warned her not to seek approval. Sometimes, she won’t get any gratification for her deeds. As an assassin, she must live away from all this. She must be above it. So, instead of shushing her up, the assassin smiles like a mother scolding her child.

Of course, the guards hear and turn around, arms ready, shouting. Their master was dead at the feet of a figure clad in white, identity shielded. They could only see two eyes glinting dangerously and a cruel grin, whispering:

“Requiescat in pace.”

Only five of the eight assassins that set out this night came back: and she was one of them.

Getting out of that predicament wasn’t hard; she was a natural at climbing buildings and vanishing out of sight. It wasn’t long before she left the alarms behind her, enjoying the crisp air of the night. Only when she stopped she realized her heart was beating fast—with adrenaline or fear, she didn’t know. But the deed was done and she felt nothing. Staring at the dried blood on her fingers, she remembered the feeling of the act, as the pulse weakened.

Somehow, it made her sad. Shaking her head, she made sure no one was following her before arriving at the Brotherhood headquarters, where her teachers were anxiously (and solemnly) waiting for her. She didn’t expect to be met with applause from her fellow assassins, but she enjoyed their happiness. She lived another day—and there’s one less stain in the world. As she received pats on the back, she also received the bad news: three new novices didn’t make it and got caught. They won’t be seen again. Her heart ached at that, but she couldn’t help but feel glad that she made it. She was initiated now.

And she didn’t plan on leaving.

After the tumult died down, she finally gets a respite as the others prepare for the celebration party. She wasn’t sure she was in the mood for such an occasion, but her nerves were still alert and she needed to relax. As the crowd dispersed, moving onto another novice like her, she finally caught the eye of her beloved Master:

Ezio Auditore da Firenze.

She dislikes the way her heart seizes at his sight, her admiration turned into something more over the course of her training. She didn’t plan on it, but he was young and handsome, and she still believed in love. It was wrong of her, she knew it very well. He was her teacher, a few years older than her, and her savior. At the same time, he was her captor, stealing her heart with a flirtatious grin and a cheesy pick-up line. The assassin heard his story from the other novices, about how his family was hung, down to his little brother. They shared a similar path that only brought them closer until it was too late to turn back. He chose vengeance—and she mercy.

If only they weren’t in this deadly situation…

There was no time for romance in the Brotherhood; his actions told as much. Or was she misinterpreting? She wanted to believe there was more to it than the innocent remarks, the gentle touches, the sultry whispers.

“Ezio? He’s a damn womanizer,” Claudia, his sister, confessed to you one day. “Don’t fall for his honeyed words.”

It only sowed doubt in her heart. She was nothing special. Other beautiful donnas could attract his attention.

Yet, for now, she delighted in his warm gaze, pride in that cocky smile of his. Her body was enveloped in a hotness that crossed from head to toe. Ezio had that kind of effect on her, as if he could undress her with just one look—probably without him even wanting to. The brown-haired man exuded potency and it only made her desire him more.

She tore her gaze from him, cheeks flushed and embarrassed. This was not the time for these thoughts—and it was only souring her mood. She should be happy she could finally fight by his side, as equals. Hopefully, he’d want her to join him on important life or death missions where she’ll prove herself worthy of his attention, if she hadn’t until now. Straightening her back, the young assassin joined the others in the revelry, knowing she couldn’t approach him right now. Maybe later he’ll come to congratulate her.

She hoped for it.

It was good to loosen up and discard her assassin robes; at least, for now. With warm mead in her cup, held between her cold hands, she sat at a table with a few of her peers, discussing their kills. It was getting rather tiresome by now and hearing the gruesome details wasn’t her cup of tea. She tried to lighten the mood with a bit of goofiness, but it didn’t stick. The smell of bloodshed was intoxicating everyone—aside from the alcohol in the room, of course. A ballad was sung in the background and she swayed to it, staring at her cup.

Ezio didn’t come once by her table. She figured it was just because he couldn’t show any signs he preferred her over the others. It was only fair—but it still hurt. All she could do was drown her sorrows with cup after cup, until she could see double. Almost, anyway; the world was a blur. It didn’t help that alcohol made her slightly aroused, so looking at Ezio was getting harder by the minute.

“Cazo,” she breathes under her breath, knowing she needs air or she will lose it. “I’ll be right back,” she says to no one in particular, but one of the novices nods before resuming the conversation. With wobbly steps, she found the stairs that went up and up, winding and winding. It was all confusing but, somehow, she ended up on the roof: the place for the leap of faith. The young girl didn’t get to do it yet and now, inebriated, had half in mind to jump. Test her might against the odds and prove—prove what? She didn’t know, her mind was blurry. At least the morning air, still not dawn yet, but close, sobered her up a bit. She took a deep inhale, closing her eyes—up above felt good.

Then a crazy thought popped into her head: wasn’t she ready for the big leap? She didn't need someone to hold her hand while she was doing this. At least, not after the first time. Opening her eyes, she stares at the wooden beam, scratched with memories and so many assassin feet. Putting on a brave face, she prepared herself for this step—and it doesn’t take her long to get up the ledge. Slowly, she walks down the beam, balancing perfectly over the chasm. Daring to take a peek, she sees the tiny stack of hay on the pavement, not looking very safe. Her heart rate picks up, but she’s more intrigued than scared. After all, what did she have to lose?

If things went wrong, she’d miss Ezio’s smile the most. Probably the only thing keeping her here, on Earth—and the cause she was serving. The problem was her Master will never love her back. Didn’t she hear he had a sweetheart back in Firenze? Of course he did—guys like him never stay single unless they expressly want it.

She stops in her steps, the wind ruffling her tresses. It felt nice, but her good mood is soured by the bittersweet feelings she was holding inside. Dio, she hated when she drank too much—she drowns in her sentiments and can’t swim back to the surface. Soon enough, tears start streaming down her face, tasting bitter, and it only frustrates her.

Stupid love. Idiotic her. Damn Ezio.

She wipes her face, but the tears won’t stop. Before she loses patience and courage, she takes another step on the beam, till the edge, creaking dangerously. An eagle squeaks somewhere above her, drawing circles—she felt reassured by that. One more—she looks down, the Earth titling, but she has no reason to care. She had to do this—just believe.

Inhale—

“Cara mia!”

The woman almost jumps out of her skin and loses balance at the sound of a distressed voice. She could recognize that low timbre anywhere—and the last thought as she was falling was that he was the last person she wanted to see. If she fell and missed, he’d lose a precious pupil; how stupid she was for ever thinking of doing this without his help!

At least—

But Ezio has quick reflexes and he catches her before she plunges to her death, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back to the safety—of his arms—of the ledge. Her arms automatically wrap around his body, enjoying the sensation of his warmth enveloping her. She inhales his crisp musk, losing her mind over it. For a few seconds, Ezio returns the embrace, holding her so tight he might crush some bones. It was rare of him to show affection—if it really was the case—so the young apprentice was taken by surprise.

Still—was it just the alcohol or did he call her his sweet?

It all ends abruptly, though, as he pulls away from her, anger blazing in those amber-colored eyes. “What were you thinking?” Before the girl could answer, he notices her glassy eyes and the tear streaks. He softens up—after all, it was rare for him to get mad nowadays. In his youth, he was a vengeful spirit, seeking out his family’s killers.

But now, “What happened, bella?”

Again with the pet names. What was going on with him? Was he as intoxicated as her? Peering into his lovely gaze, she could see he was as sober as he could be. She didn’t see him with a glass yet—although she avoided looking at her master too long.

She tried to steady her heart as she smiled sheepishly, hiding her expression, “Alcohol and I don’t mix, unfortunately.”

“Come down before you hurt yourself, alright?” he guides her by the hand, back to safety, and she sits down on a random crate. The adrenaline left her and she was coming back to reality—but she was more aware of his proximity than ever, as he sat down next to her on that small piece of box. His knee was touching hers and she felt jittery sparks. Still, she pushed the thought away and focused on his words—or more, on the way he carefully took her hand in his.

“Why did you do that?” he asks, calmer now. His voice was soothing and it only made her want to cry some more. It just wasn’t fair.

“All assassins need to do the leap of faith, no? I was trying it out.” She shrugs her shoulders as if she tried to avoid a direct answer: that the reason for this was him.

Ezio is rubbing circles in her palm with his finger, sending shivers down her spine. “Then why the tears?”

“It was the wind.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Master, I—”

“Call me Ezio from now on.” He grins, the moon highlighting the scar on his lips. He has taken off his hood, but not his white robe. His brown hair tied in a ponytail added to his charm, as always. It was rare to see him uncovered, and so she admired him closely without shame. He noticed her interest and his eyes took a flirtatious shape, leaning in. But it lasts only a moment before he goes on, “Do you regret killing that man?”

She shakes her head, vehemently, “No.”

“Then?”

“The alcohol—it makes me emotional, that’s all.” She realizes she’s too close to falling into his trap—taking advantage of an inebriated woman was exactly the first move of a womanizer. She wants to get away from him, to remain master and student forever. There was no need for heartbreak, there was no need to pretend there was something going on when it wasn’t the truth.

Still, she doesn’t move a muscle, preferring to stay there and enjoy the moment. How little she could.

He chuckles—a beautiful sound to her ears. She feels her heart melting and turns her head to the side so he doesn’t notice her blush.

“It’s good to see other sides of you, bella,” he whispers, softly. “I’m proud of you.”

“...Grazie.”

Silence followed, a pause to let tears dry and unspoken words be said. His presence was comforting, as always, but she disengaged her hand from his. That was too much for her—and it only gave her unwanted ideas. Either way, it was nice to hear that he cared. The only thing he made concrete is their positions in this relationship: so close yet so far away. In some situations, there were boundaries that couldn’t be crossed.

As they were sitting there in peace, dawn emerged, painting the dark sky with strokes of orange and pink.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, eyes lighting up with glee. “It’s beautiful!”

The young woman was aware, in the back of his mind, that her words were the perfect set up for a pick-up line. Ezio didn’t hesitate to seize the opportunity to say something cheesy, a huge grin on his face as if he was going to say the most intelligent thing in the world.

“Not as beautiful as you, tessoro.”

Her old self would’ve swooned at the prospect of a wealthy young man being interested in her silly person. But she’s not the person from a few years ago, when all she could think of was giggling with the other girls and dreaming about poems from secret admirers. Those were happier times, when everyone was alive and there was never killing involved.

But the new one, the ruthless assassin of the night that was just anointed, didn’t take kindly to pointless romance. She stood up, a whirlwind of fury and shame, glaring down at her master—the person of her affection. The woman wanted no more than his empty promises to be real, for him to love her as she did. The looks they shared weren’t just a bunch of lies. Maybe Ezio was eating her up whenever they locked gazes and there was a twinkle of softness in the smile he offered her. He wasn’t cocky like when he flirted with other donnas that came in his path. Those women were only a means to get to vital information—so there was no point in getting jealous.

Even if Ezio glanced back at her whenever he was getting too close to a lady; that gesture she never missed.

She could only wonder: what was the point?

Ezio Auditore is looking up at her with surprise in his amber eyes. He saw her angry before, at her inability to progress or understand the proper techniques. The young man found it rather endearing to see her cheeks puff like a squirrel. It was one of the many things he admired and loved about her—the girl who went through hell and came back a demon.

“Don’t say words that you don’t mean, Auditore—I mean, Master!”

“Cara—”

“There you go again! I am not one of your courtesans, Ezio, to flirt and toy with!” She was pouring her soul into the words, mixed with hurt and longing. “We both know we are abnormal, we—” They’ve stepped the boundaries when they’ve leaned towards another for a kiss, then rudely interrupted before it was too late. They’ve stepped boundaries when they shared intimacies and let innocent gestures turn to something more serious. The tears are back again in her eyes—she hated how weak alcohol made her.

“If you are not serious about it, then—”

“Hey, you’re not even letting me speak!” Ezio stood up now, taking a step towards her. He wasn’t pissed off, but genuinely surprised by her outburst. “I thought you understood!”

The young woman’s heart was screaming, so she obstinately raised her chin in defiance. What was there to understand?

“That I am a fool?” Ezio takes another step, towering over her; but she doesn’t wait for another fake embrace. In an act of madness, she climbs the ledge again and, without even thinking about it, she jumps.

In mid-air, she spreads her arms to the side, on instinct. She feels the current rush her, but she is still falling like a dead weight towards the ground. She doesn’t even want to watch, if she was going to hit the mark or not. She trusted her destiny, she trusted the creed, she trusted her master, and she believed she was an eagle like all the rest.

No one was going to miss her anyway. Her family is waiting—

But her guardian angel is watching in the form of Ezio Auditore; she’s not yet aware but he followed her. She wasn’t going to let her do something stupid, so he jumped and rushed to her rescue. She might’ve passed an important test today, but leap of faiths weren’t to be taken lightly. What if she did this all by herself—what if he weren’t there to save her? Ezio didn’t want to think about that as he took her in his arms, holding her tight to his chest. He rolls so she falls on top of him; he notices she’s closing her eyes tight, a small smile on her face.

They fall into the pile of hay with a soft thud, just like Ezio predicted. He had a sixth sense for this and he never missed. But the young man, most of all, felt fear.

The new assassin pops her head out of the haystack, breathing out in excitement. She hops out of it, laughing maniacally.

“That was fan—”

“Fanculo! Sei una stupida bella ragazza!” She was interrupted by Ezio’s loud and angry voice as he rose from the hay. The lone drunks prowling the streets scattered away, scared of the outburst. She only watches him like a scolded student, remembering the times she failed to impress him. The man grabs her shoulders, peering down at her. There was an unspeakable sentiment in his eyes, varying from anger, fear, and relief. A mix of all of them that made her cheeks go red from shame. She felt completely stupid by her actions—and she swears she’s going to atone for her sins.

“I apolo—”

“A cosa cazzo stavi pensando?” he goes on, his Italian accent thick and choked from too much excitement. She keeps her mouth shut, lets him vent out and awaits her punishment. However, he had other plans in mind, his calloused hands moving up to rest on her cheeks. He tilts her head up and they gaze into each other’s eyes, like two forgotten lovers. “Idiota.”

“Si,” she acknowledges.

“Don’t—” and he dips low, capturing her soft lips with his. It takes her a few seconds to wake up to reality, but he’s parting by the time she comes to her senses. “—do—” Again, he’s kissing her, slower, making her aware of the feel. She overcomes the shock and gets swept off her feet by the intensity of his feelings. “—that—” She’s ready for him now, leaning in to meet him halfway, pouring her heart out. This was a turning point in their relationship and they both knew it. “—again, bella.”

Ezio calmed down, resting his forehead on hers, gazing deeply. She sighs in content, never wanting for this moment to end or prove to be a dream.

“Ezio.” It’s the only thing she can say, feeling weak in the knees. She was glad he was holding her, rubbing her thumb over her skin. “I won’t, I won’t. Promise.”

He looks at her for a lie, but sees none. Instead of kissing her again, he hugs her, petting her hair and inhaling her scent.

“I thought—fool that I am—that I lost you.” These words, said in a soft tone, warmed her. She hugged him as tight as she could, closing her eyes and enjoying the way his body felt underneath the clothes. “I tried not to worry about you; I know you can handle yourself, I’ve seen you, but—” he takes a shuddering breath, his emotions raw on his face. “—I’ve lost so much, cara.” He loosens his grip on her again, planting another needy kiss on her ripe mouth, one she gladly returns. For a few precious moments, they get lost in the feeling. His beard was scratching her skin, but she didn’t mind because this was all she ever wanted.

“I don’t want to lose you too,” he explains, defeated. “And, trust me, I am not pulling this out of my ass.” His amber eyes were mesmerizing, drawing her into his madness. He tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, “I’ve come to admire your cunning, your bravery, and your determination.”

“Ezio…” she wants to believe this was right, but this was wrong. The reasonable part of her needed reassurance. “We are not allowed. What will the others say? You are my—my master.” She was getting nervous and fidgety. For now, nothing Ezio could do would calm her. He let her go on, express everything. “I could never—compare with—” She took a deep breath. “The point is, we can’t go on, whatever this is.”

As a response, he laughs lightly. “You worry too much.” She pouts, but he goes on, “I thought about this too, but I am sure of what I am feeling.” Ezio takes her hands and brings them to his mouth, caressing them lightly. In her eyes, he looked so beautiful, with his eyes closed and long lashes, a few strands of hair falling over his face. He opens them, amber eyes sparkling in the upcoming light. “You are my equal now. We serve the same purpose. I don’t see you as a simple pupil—I couldn’t overlook such a beautiful lady like yourself.”

She rolls her eyes, “Stop.”

“I am serious. Is it wrong for me to want more out of us?” Those puppy eyes only melted her resolve, just like he wanted to. “I’ve set my eyes on you a long time ago, but you never fell for my attempts. It...baffled me. You had me intrigued. All this time, you had me around your finger, not the opposite.”

The woman can’t help but laugh at that, “I don’t believe it!”

“You had more power than you think.” Suddenly, he turns sheepish, for the first time, unsure. “Cazo, this is not the way I planned the confession.”

“It’s still romantic,” she added helpfully, trying to make him feel better.

It worked as he grins cockily. “I’m glad I still have charm, bellissima.” He leans over, brushing their lips together like feathers. Ezio breathes on her mouth, seductively, “My eyes are only for you, no matter how impossible it sounds. We’re not so different, you and I.”

“How do you know I feel the same way, Auditore?” she whispers back, already caught in his web. This was the last step that got her tangled—and she had no plans on escaping. She was a big fool and maybe she’ll cry later, but she shouldn’t regret it.

There was nothing left to lose.

“Are you joking?” Ezio laughs, slowly pushing her against a nearby wall. It felt cold under the thin fabric of her clothes and she shuddered. The brown-haired man seemed to like that. “I can see it in the way your body and mind bend to my will. How your breath stops for a second at my sight—” his teeth lightly graze her earlobe and, indeed, her breath hitched in her throat. “—and you can’t take your eyes off me.”

“Same goes to you.” She retorts, not backing down now.

“Ovviamente.”

He’s practically purring by now, hands itching to roam all over her. Instead, he calms down and begs you, “Can’t you just give us a chance?”

Her palms cup his face, rubbing his short stubble, pretending to think about it. She takes on the sexiest tone she could muster without feeling too embarrassed by it, and responds, “I’d like to take it slow…” Ezio distracts her how he knows best: by planting butterfly kisses over her neck. It was hard to think about anything else while he was lavishing her with his attention.

“Anything for you, dolcezza. As long as you’re mine.”

Morning was upon them—she could hear people waking up in their houses, ready for another day. In that instant she was aware of that, she noticed how tired she felt; sleep must come after such an eventful day. At the same time, Ezio seemed wide awake and ready to take advantage of this newly established relationship. His kisses were turning more than innocent—and she was melting like butter under his touch.

“Shall we move this elsewhere?” he asks, eager to possess her whole being.

“Take it slow, remember?”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. In a few swift motions, he has her pinned on the wall with her arms above her head—she couldn’t escape. Before she could protest, they are both locked in an intense make-out session, with tongue and nothing to inhibit them. They’re kissing passionately, hungrily, like two feral creatures just discovering each other. It holds everything they wanted to say, the pent-up frustration and innate desire. It sends tingles down her spine and lust in his body. He doesn’t want to take it slow—not one bit—but he understands her reluctance.

All he needs to do is persuade her he meant every word.

“I can’t take it slow,” he says when they take a short break. Her mind is spinning as he’s kissing her again with intensity. “But I’ll make a sacrifice.”

He stops, leaving her breathless and panting, wanting for more. Ezio could see it in her eyes—a reflection of his own want. How bad did he want to ravage his pupil and make her beg for more…

He shudders just from thinking about it. “Together, we are making history, bella.”

“Fine…” she says, sweat running down her skin and into unexplored territories. He couldn’t help but focus on a drop, mesmerized by the movement. “Just—” she was surrendering and this vulnerability endeared him. “—take good care of me, alright?”

He smirks, “Of course.”

–

[masterlist]

#ezio auditore #assassin's creed #ezio auditore x reader #ezio x reader

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florencwrites · 4 years ago

Text

... and war 〚dreamwastaken〛

in which clay finds out firsthand, sometimes oblivion is bliss

part 1

"You do that a lot, you know?" She curled up in a ball on her side, glancing at the LED screen sideways. She'd been confined to this bed for a little over four months, the injuries to her head apparently so fucking impossible to figure out. It wasn't life threatening, they knew, but in what way wasn't it? She'd lost her life the second her head had made an impact with the window, the second her frail body had decided to give up on its, quite vital, functions.

His face lit up at the sound of her voice, eyes lingering on the screen a little longer than he had planned. He replied with a faint exhale. "What?"

"Worry." His brows unfurrowed the second the syllables left her mouth, his face relaxing as he opened his mouth to speak, to say anything. He closed it again soon after, realizing there was nothing he had on her. He did worry, a disturbing amount, too, perhaps. At least lately he did. No improvement for weeks will do that to any man, he reckoned. The love of his fucking life had been trapped inside her own mind for weeks with not even a glimpse of progress in peripheral.

"You're right." He nodded as his eyes slowly traced back towards the television, the new television he had finally been able to get her to allow him to get for her. He'd obviously granted himself the 'best one on the market', opting for also -coincidentally- the most expensive one. It had taken some convincing, perhaps some bribing too, to get the hospital to sign off on him entering her room with a powered drill. He was quite proud of himself for mounting it all by himself, her curious eyes following his every move as he clumsily tried to get it to just stay up. 'Bed rest' was her lazy excuse as she shrugged her shoulders provocatively. A chuckle had left his lips, his back still turned towards her as his white tee started sporting a few sweaty patches on the back.

"You don't have to do all of this for me, Clay." Her voice was barely above a whisper, his heart broke at the sound of it, like it had always done. She pulled at the strings of his heart almost menacingly with every word that left her mouth in that tone, especially.

A harsh creak screeched through the room, almost breaking his previously quite sturdy chair in the process, as he harshly turned in his seat. John the Cheapskate was long forgotten by the time her sad eyes found his, a soft glimmer to her pupils as she kept her eyes on his face, slowly tracing over his features. His voice sounded desperate as he reached for her hand, feeling limp in his. "Then let me do it all for us, instead."

A pathetic sob escaped her throat as she smiled through the immeasurable guilt that threatened to eat her from inside out. She felt it picking away at pieces of her, pieces she had only just learned how to pick up again, how to glue back to the rest. "Don't give up on this yet, please. I can't lose you again.." His lips stayed parted, his eyes not even daring to take a second to blink. Never had he felt the absolute terror he had felt in that second, her fingers felt so fucking cold to his touch. He could feel them slip from his in his mind, he could practically feel the emptiness overtake his being, once again urging him back to the pit he had finally learned how to climb out of.

A squeeze to his hand was all he needed from her, his lips curling at the ends at the tiny, tiny gesture. It was enough, more than enough. His mind raced back to the night he had first felt her digits cling to his again, a microscopic twitch in her fingers, barely detectable. He was sure he wouldn't have been able to notice it was he in any other situation, but God, it had been his sole focus for weeks. The absolutely elated scream that roughened up his throat for days following the incident, forced doctors and nurses originating from all over the floor to pile into her room.

"I'm glad she's well, Dream. Just.. Just take care of yourself, too, okay?" George mumbled into his microphone, he was absolutely ecstatic to hear from his friend again, days of radio silence prefacing his sudden reappearance. A groan sounded from his throat, annoyed at his friend bringing this up again. This wasn't about him, it never had been about him.

"I'm gonna need to hear you say it, don't just grunt angrily." If he wasn't so goddamn worried about his friend, he was sure to have shouted his ears off by now. However, George knew better, he knew screaming and fighting would get him nowhere with Clay, stubborn fucking Clay.

Clay rolled his eyes as his back landed against the papery wall, "I promise, okay? That good enough for you?"

"I guess." The brunette responded with disappointment laced in his words, just hoping for once to finally get him to admit something. "You-"

"Hey -uh- I have to go, man, she's back from, uh, therapy." God, when did he start feeling embarrassed about caring about his girl, about his fucking soulmate? It felt so wrong, and to be quite frank; he hated George for making him feel this way. His thumb found the end-call button hastily, almost confrontationally quick. She waved at him as she strolled through the hallway towards him, the wheels of the stroller-like device that never left her side, being connected to her veins and all that, awkwardly ticking against the tiles it passed over. He mumbled, meaning more for her to read his lips than to hear his actual tone, "Hi."

"Please, Clay, please don't cry. I don't-" Her voice was rough from the sobs that had passed through her throat the last several hours. "I don't think I can take it."

His eyes were filled to the brim with melancholic tears, threatening him to spill over, to lay all his cards on the table for him. "I can't help it, I'm sorry." She wouldn't be moving back in with him. She 'couldn't live someone else's life', she couldn't be trapped in the past if she didn't feel any sort of connection to it anymore. She wanted to move on, be friends, but move on. "I can't help it, I just keep thinking.."

A deep breath, his eyes forced closed, almost painfully so.

"I keep thinking about how you're going to end up with someone, and that someone isn't going to be me." Audible heartbreak echoed through her room, her empty room. She'd taken down the pictures, the drawings, the memories, and even the damned Christmas lights. Her throat closed up at the sight in front of her, he was in shambles. He was so absolutely fucking devastated to be losing her again, he was supposed to be her keeper, the one to make sure to never let anything happen to her ever again. They'd taken that from him, in fact, they had taken everything from him.

They sat on the edge of the hospital bed she would finally be leaving that week, hands clamped together tightly. For him it meant everything; reassurance that it would be okay. For her, it sadly meant nothing but bare comfort to the man -whom her mind still refused to acknowledge- sitting next to her. It stayed silent for a while, for minutes even. Only his heaving sobs and her shuddered breaths taking up the room.

"Why couldn't you just be mad at me, scream that I'm a worthless bitch or something." She joked sadly, a somber snort leaving his lips quietly.

No hesitation. "Because you're the love of my life."

Hesitation. "I'm sorry I was your soulmate, Clay, I am." Big strong breaths, a slight shake in her shoulders as if to muster up courage. "But I don't think you're mine, not anymore."

A wail escaped his lips before he could catch it, his salty tears staining his cheeks and neck, leaving wet streaks along the hem of his shirt.

"I don't know who I am without you." He put all of him in the open, completely bare and vulnerable in her presence. He had nothing to lose, not anymore, anyway.

She smiled at him sadly as his hand received another one of her infamous squeezes. "That's the problem, I think, me neither."

He couldn't take it any longer, almost panicked gasps screaming at him to just, please, let it all be a dream.

His sobs gradually fainted to heavy breaths, the room still spinning around him, but now, more of a carrousel rather than whirlwind. Each of the little carriages bringing new memories to the front of his mind, all the little things he had grown to love so damn much about her.

Prom night.

Wooden playground.

New cat.

Roadtrip.

First kiss.

Disneyland.

Holding hands.

Halloween.

First fight.

Moving in.

Second kiss.

Nevada.

Parents' divorce.

Roller skating.

Graduation.

Accident. All of it made him dizzy, she made him dizzy. His voice was so meek, so vulnerable, so close to another rough sob leaving his throat, however a faint smile pulled at his lips. His eyes closed in fear of what his mouth was about to ask her, in fear of it being the last thing he would say to her, in fear of closing a chapter he never wished would have reached its end. Shuddered breath, soft smile, light playfulness toying at his tone,

"We had one hell of a love story, didn't we?"

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ricksbowen · 5 years ago

Text

one more time | pt. 4

IN WHICH: a nighttime visit turns into a whole other session.

INSPIRATION: she — harry styles, the less i know the better — tame impala

WARNING: this series will have smut in it and is pretty sexual all around ( read with caution ). there are implications of sex right off the bat, and everyone is 18+ and in their senior year. there’s also family problems mentioned.

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6

The sound of his doorbell going off terrified Ricky in more ways than he wanted to admit.

He had spent five minutes getting ready to answer the door. The metal bat in his hand and the comical hockey helmet he put on were only precautions; who would ring at 12:16 AM? It only had to be a serial killer, and Ricky Bowen wasn’t going to be one of the stupid teens in every horror movie ever.

He was smart. He’d beat them up.

“Okay, Ricky. Just open the door.” Ricky jumped on the balls of his feet, his eyes trailing up to the peephole on his door. He nodded to himself, turning his head to crack it as he continued to hype himself up. “Peephole. Right— peepholes are great,” Ricky muttered, peering through the small hole.

You were standing outside. The rain that was pouring outside didn’t seem to phase you as you stared at the red rain boots you wore.

Ricky’s shoulders slumped ( he totally wasn’t excited for a serial killer to be at his door ) at the sight of you, relief coursing through his veins as he opened the door. Leaning cooly against his doorframe, Ricky managed a smirk past the hockey helmet over his head. “You look glum.”

“And you look stupid— who did you think was at the door?” You retorted, an eyebrow raising in question.

“Freddie Krueger. Jason Voorhees,” Ricky counted the names on his fingers, and even your sadness couldn’t stop the smile that crept on your face. “Hannibal Lector, the live-action Cat in the Hat—“

“You were scared of that movie?” you asked, cocking a brow in amusement. “I should’ve known you were a pussy,” you remarked, laughing softly at the ‘hey!’ he let out. You ducked under his arm, entering his house and shaking the rain from your hair like a wet dog.

“Umbrellas are a great invention.”

“Shut up, Bowen.” You shrugged off your coat, hanging it up alongside the other coats. You knew he was looking at you; rarely did you ever come to his house without a warning. “Stop staring.”

“I’m not,” Ricky retorted, averting his eyes to anything that wasn’t you. He pulled the hockey helmet off his face, shaking the mess of hair he had on his head. He watched you from his peripheral vision, your actions less lively than usual as you made your way to his kitchen. “I’m guessing you didn’t sneak out just for the hell of it.”

“Usually I do,” you answered, eyes darting up and down his pantry for anything edible. You knew you left some chips from the last time you were here. “My parents were arguing again. They were too loud, so,” you reached up for the familiar bag of chips. “I came here.” You didn’t want to get into the details of your parents’ problems. Ricky already knew most of them, from the growing rumors of an affair to your mom’s want to leave both you and your dad. “The only time they can get along is when they’re yelling at me,” you added quietly, almost inaudible.

“Stay as long as you want,” Ricky hummed, coming up behind you and reaching for a box of cereal. You always ranted to him because you knew he understood what you were going through. After everything that happened between his parents in his junior year, how could he not? “I can put on a movie or something.”

“Horror?”

“Sure. We can pick it apart like we always do,” Ricky said with a crooked grin, one that made you smile back. “We are still allowed to do stuff like that, right?”

“Like what?” you asked, making your way to his couch and flopping down on it.

“Normal friend stuff. I mean, we’ve had sex,” Ricky paused, staring up at his ceiling in thought. “Multiple times, In a lot of places,” he turned to the couch where you sat, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“Your point?”

“Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“It hasn’t been weird,” you stated, sending him a puzzled look. “Has it been weird for you?”

“No!”

“Then what’s makin’ you change your mind?” you pressed further, the overwhelming feeling of curiosity making you ask him.

Ricky let out a sigh, clicking on a random movie. It seemed cliche enough; teenagers lost in the woods. Normally, the most cliche ones were the funniest ones to pick apart. He threw the remote back onto the living room table. “This girl asked me on a date today.”

Your eyebrows raised, surprised at the lack of emotion you had as you nodded. “Who? What’d you say?” you asked with a beaming smile, shaking him gently and making him let out another loud sigh. He picked a random horror movie, not bothering to look at the summary as he put it on.

“Just this girl I got paired up with for science. I went out with her today.”

“And? You can’t just leave it at that!” you pressed on, leaning into him with a cocked brow. Why didn’t he tell you? Usually you’d help him out with everything when it came to date, from what he was supposed to wear to where he was going to take her.

“She sucked; she kept on judging every little thing I did. All the jokes I made?” Ricky sucked in a breath, feigning disappointment. “She took them too seriously. When I said that I’d kill for a burrito, I actually don’t mean it,” he said, trying to keep a straight face as he felt you hit him as you laughed.

“Holy shit, she thought you were gonna kill someone?” you forced out behind bundles of laughter, throwing your head back as more guffaws left your chest. “I’m sorry, it’s just—“ you cut yourself off, a string of uncontrollable giggles following and making him bite back a grin.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, giggles,” Ricky said, words dripping with sarcasm as he looked at you from his peripheral vision. “I hope a jumpscare bites you in the ass,” he muttered.

“Aw, Ricky,” you sing-songed, nudging him playfully with a shit eating grin. “I’m sorry,” you said, your smile anything but sorry. Ricky still refused to look at you, faking the silent treatment and making you sigh. Ricky pulled his eyes away from the movie, setting them onto you and raising a brow.

“Are you really?”

“No, not much,” you grinned, and Ricky chuckled as he shook his head. He felt you move closer to him, putting your head on his shoulder like you always did when you both had movie nights. It was nothing but platonic.

The movie was watched in silence, the beginning dragging on for longer than you liked before the first teen separated from the group.

“She’s so gonna die,” you muttered, head still on Ricky’s shoulder. You felt him nod, eyes focused on the screen, and the music from the T.V picked up. The tension grew along with the devilish idea in your head. Ricky was staring at the screen with wide eyes, goosebumps rising on his skin, and the girl opened the door—

You let out a yelp. Ricky screamed bloody murder.

Ricky’s chest heaved, hand on his chest as he stared at you with frightened eyes. You were laughing, practically falling off the couch in laughter. Ricky swore he saw tears in your eyes.

“Y/N, stop,” Ricky whined, his high-pitched voice only making you laugh harder and clutch your stomach.

“I forgot how easy you were to scare!” you giggled, trying to calm yourself by breathing deeply.

“Please don’t do it again,” Ricky muttered, face burning with embarrassment.

“Or what?” you challenged, the smile on your face contrasting your glum expression moments before. It felt nice to smile, to laugh without having to worry about people yelling at you to stop. Usually, that was how things worked at your house.

Ricky moved closer to you, your smile faltering just a bit at the slightly determined look in his eyes. You knew the game he was playing.

“What’re you gonna do about it, Bowen?” you joked, knowing fully well what you were doing with him. You saw the way he clenched his jaw, and how the movie suddenly sank into the background as his attention was focused on you.

Ricky leaned forward just as you did, your lips pressing against each other. Your hands go to the sides of his head, pulling him down over you as your back hit the couch. Ricky hovered over you, deepening the kiss and making you let out a small moan in response.

He detached his lips from yours before reattaching them to your neck, making you tilt your head back to give him more space. You felt Ricky’s lips go down, his lips sucking a mark right above where your sweatshirt started to cover your skin. You felt him bite down, making you gasp, and you could practically hear him smirk smugly at the reaction.

Ricky’s hands tugged your sweatshirt up in a silent plea for it to come off, shivers running up and down his body when he felt your hands trail underneath his shirt. Wordlessly, you sat up and tugged it over your head, throwing it somewhere in the living room. You lifted your hips, pulling your pants off and revealing the black panties you wore.

Ricky swore he forgot how to breathe.

In turn, you tugged his shirt off, tossing it behind him. You pulled his joggers down, letting out a laugh when his lanky legs got stuck in them. Ricky sent you a sheepish grin, pulling them down his legs as quickly as he could. That too was thrown behind him, and you pushed him back, making his back hit the couch.

You straddled him, listening to the groan he let out when he felt you grind onto him. Ricky was looking up at you through his eyelashes, his mouth slightly agape as he breathed heavily. It was sinful how innocent he looked under you, gazing at you as if you were a goddess on earth.

To him, you were. To him, you had to be the most beautiful person, inside and out.

You looked down at him, leaning down to his neck and attaching your lips to his skin. Ricky let out a whine when he felt you suck in a mark right under his hear, the sound influencing you in more ways than one.

“Protection?” Ricky breathed, eyes shutting tight when he felt you grind down against him again. You were teasing him, the equally teasing smile on your mouth making him melt into a puddle.

“I’m on the pill,” you mumbled, pulling away from his neck and hovering over his dace. Your eyes were hungry and dominating, sending a sense of thrill down Ricky’s spine as he looked back at you with a lustful haze. It was obvious that he was enjoying it, being under you and having you tower over him.

Your hands went up to his neck, fingers wrapping around it as you grinded down onto him. He let out a moan, hips bucking up subconsciously at your movements. Your hand pressed against his throat only spurred him on more.

You pushed your panties aside.

—

The sunlight hit you in the face, making you rub the sleep away from your eyes.

You and Ricky had made it up to his room after having a few rounds on his couch. The stamina you both had was unbelievable, even for Ricky ( who you knew secretly loved working out ).

You opened your eyes, succumbing to the bright light shining through. The cotton white sheets that covered your naked frame brought you warmth, and you gently stretched. Only when you moved did you notice the arms that were wrapped around you, pulling you close to him.

Ricky never did that. He knew that you didn’t like having arms wrapped around you after sex.

You pulled his arms off of you, heart beating rapidly in your chest as you moved to the other edge of the bed. It brought back too many painful memories of him. Ones you never wanted to remember.

“Luka!” you squealed, head thrown back in laughter when you felt the arms that were once sleepily wrapped around you poke you in the stomach. You turned to him, face-to-face with your boyfriend.

“Aw, I never knew you were ticklish, babe,” Luka said, the crooked smile on his face making you roll your eyes. The sunlight that shone through his windows hit him perfectly, showing you the freckles that littered his skin. Your finger reached up, gently touching each of the little kisses of sun that were on his face. You moved your finger between them, connecting them like dots.

“What’re you doing?” Luka asked softly, cerulean blues observing your face.

“Counting your freckles,” you replied, making a smile appear on his face as he pulled you close to him. You turned around, making yourself the little spoon as he held you closer to him.

You moved your legs to the side of his bed, letting them hang off the edge. You let out a shaky exhale, the feeling of Ricky’s hands on your waist burned into your skin. You reached for his drawer, opening it and grabbing a random shirt. You pulled it over your head, standing up and stretching the tension away.

You hated how even the little things reminded you of him.

“Y/N? Are you leaving?” You heard Ricky’s groggy voice ask, his head peeking out from his blankets. His curls were like a bird’s nest, messed up from your hands sifting and roughly tugging on his hair last night.

“No— I can’t do that to you, you know that,” your words were soft, almost pointed towards yourself as you climbed back into bed. You pulled the blankets over you, making sure you kept a distance away from him.

“You okay?” Ricky asked, voice gentle and inviting as he gazed at you. He wasn’t blind to the sudden space between you both, his choice of wrapping his arms around you not even a memory in his mind. You knew he didn’t mean it, that he had always liked holding onto others, but the feeling always left you pained.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you mumbled, your eyes meeting beautiful hazel ones as he looked at you.

Ricky observed you, taking in the little details. The messiness of your hair. The small amount of mascara that was smudged under your eye. The blooming hickeys he left on your neck that led to unholy placed under his own shirt. The way your eyes drooped because it was too early for you, and how your hair was a mess of tangles thanks to his hands running through them the night before.

Something changed when he looked at you. Ricky’s mouth fell agape at that moment, and something clicked.

He didn’t know what his epiphany was, but he didn’t want to find out.

—

TAGS: @tomshufflepuff, @myrandom-fandomlife, @softpeteparker, @sarcarstic-space-weirdo, @particularcth, @lifes-a-party-youre-a-boy, @paniniirae, @supersouthy, @jointherebellion215, @gabyer0309, @hannarudick, @broken-from-fandoms, @complete-trash-101, @ssprayberrythings, @raven-waheda, @timelordtardis, @chubby-cheek-calum, @nicole-lynne, @loserr-likeme, @whoseblogsthis, @stxfxniexreads, @cherrydolan, @allaroundaddict, @of-outerspace, @blueevelvt, @kitykatnumber, @rocketdolans, @givemebooksorgivemedeath, @80sthottie

#ricky bowen imagine #ricky bowen headcannons #ricky bowen angst #ricky bowen smut #ricky bowen hcs #ricky bowen #ricky bowen x reader #ricky bowen imagines #joshua bassett #joshua bassett angst #joshua bassett hcs #joshua bassett imagines #joshua bassett x reader #joshua bassett imagine #high school musical: the musical: the series #hsmtmts

797 notes · View notes

miraculouscontent · 4 years ago

Note

If you've already got a text summary of the special written up, it'd be awesome if you posted it. The only clip I've seen so far is of the magic hot dog guy; I'm curious what else happened.

No problem, here you go!

(note: I make some idly comments just because I never planned to post this, so sorry about that if it bothers you!)

- Mr. Pigeon is akumatized again and is trying to take the Eiffel Tower to space. Ladybug and Chat Noir use the pink (space) macarons to fly after him (there is no fanfare made about this by the way).

- Post-battle, yellow rose scene happens where Chat finds a "loophole" to Ladybug telling him not to give her flowers by insisting that it means friendship (I’m not sure what the obsession is with putting a label on their relationship?). Obvious shipping fuel follows with Ladybug absolutely PRAISING Chat Noir for being such a good partner+friend, which clearly strokes Chat Noir's ego.

- Marinette is going to school when she stops to take a picture of a new Adrien poster. Tikki groans and whines at her about it (”I thought you stopped taking pictures of Adrien”), but Marinette tries to say that it's different.

- What I’m gathering is that she's making an attempt to move on from "Miracle Queen" or has said that she's doing it but hasn't made the full leap.

- We’re shown a weird French-American sock puppet short that the students all made together pre-field trip. Miss Bustier says that she can't come on the trip because she's pregnant. The students loudly whine about Ms. Mendeleiev (who is peeking her head in so they haven't seen her), which Ms. Mendeleiev is hurt by.

- Sadrien (get used to Sadrien by the way) reveals that he can't come either because of his father. Lila tries to "comfort" him by saying that she can't go because of charity work and Marinette interrupts to give a speech about how she WILL convince Adrien's father to let him come because Adrien's her friend (”I-I mean, OUR friend!”; for some reason, the special like to stress Marinette differentiating between Adrien being Marinette’s friend versus everyone’s friends and it’s a little heavy-handed even though I know it’s Marinette’s nerves at work).

- Next scene is Alya and co. teasing/mocking Marinette for her crush and her calling Adrien a "friend". Marinette tries to talk about how exhausting it was crushing on him and it's easier just being friends. (I also have to add that it TICKS ME OFF because Marinette lists off the things that she's no longer doing and then Alix has to make a comment about things that she's probably still doing). Alya points out how "rOMaNtIc" a trip to New York will be and if Marinette's going to be okay with it. Marinette's priorities, however, are on convincing Gabriel.

- Gabriel and Nathalie are watching a news broadcast of a museum in New York and Nathalie points out an eagle miraculous. Marinette then shows up at the gate and, after being let in, Gabriel accepts her demand for Adrien to go. He later tells Nathalie that it's simpler than trying to hide his absence from him while he goes to New York himself.

- Kagami and Adrien are fencing. Sadrien is sulking after being beaten and vents to Kagami about how he wished that he could go on the trip. Kagami admits that she's sad for him, but happy for “him and her” because it means that they'll get to practice more. She kisses his upper lip (earning a brief smile from Adrien), then leaves.

- Marinette is excited about getting to go to New York with Adrien and is loudly cheering about it while skipping down the street. She catches Tikki grinning at her cheekily and tries to calm himself. Tikki then asks who's going to protect Paris while they're gone (I FEEL LIKE THIS WOULD'VE BEEN A GOOD QUESTION TO ASK A LONG TIME AGO??) and Marinette assures Tikki that she has a plan.

- At night, Ladybug tells Chat Noir about how she's going to be away but can't tell him any more than that. Chat groans about it because "sEcReT iDeNtItIeS" but agrees. Ladybug gives him a little ladybug-themed remote and shows him a cat toy she has. When he presses the button on the remote, the cat vibrates, so that's how he can warn her if something happens (she stresses seriously to him that it's only for emergencies).

- The next day, Gabriel is telling Adrien that he can go on the trip and Adrien nervously tries to refute by asking about his fencing/Chinese lessons. Gabriel points out that Nathalie packed his bags already and we get Sadrien again (they really did just make Gabriel wait a day to tell him so we could get Sadrien twice oh my gosh--) because he promised Ladybug he'd protect Paris. Plagg encourages him to go and Adrien eventually agrees on the pact of "what she doesn't know won't disappoint her," because Adrien has the akuma alert on his phone and the space macaron to "fly back quickly."

- Cue generic scene of Gabriel monologuing to Emilie ("mY lOvE, iT pAinS mE tO sEpArAtE fRom yOu fOr sO lOnG bUt--") and setting a rose on her coffin.

- Marinette is apparently running late for the bus. Luka is riding her there on his bike and insists that they'll make it because of how important the trip is to her. Marinette agrees, but asks if he means that it's important because of Adrien and tries to deny it. Luka simply smiles (not a sarcastic/mocking one that everyone else gives her) and waits for the bus to stop to explain that the importance he was referring to was this trip being used for getting her some clarity. She smiles, thanks him, and kisses his cheek before stepping onto the bus, continuing to look at Luka before the doors close. She turns afterward, sees Adrien, then blushes uncomfortably and smiles nervously as she walks along.

- There was some mini-plot about Chloe not wanting to go and then being forced to go but it's just there to stall for time really.

- On the plane, Adrien tries to find some media to look at but everything is basically either Ladybug+Chat Noir based or some film about Paris being destroyed. Marinette is looking for her seat and it turns out that she's sitting next to Adrien. Marinette is nervous and Alya teases/mocks Marinette again (get used to this) about "ohhh go sit next to your fRiEnD (get used to this especially), Marinette, for a vERY lOnG and cLoSE flight!"

- Marinette is even more nervous now (hm, wonder why) and sits next to Adrien, but is clearly panicked and struggling to breathe. Adrien tries to ask what's wrong, to which Marinette claims that it's hot. She tries to make things cooler by turning some knobs above her and Adrien puts his hands right over hers and insists that she let him help. Her panic in response ends with her seat flopping back and Adrien landing on top of her.

- She freaks out more and rushes to Alya to say that she can't do it and will need more help being "just a friend" to Adrien. Alya says that she can "just get off the plane" because of how romantic New York is and starts listing off scenarios. Marinette screams in horror and says that she has to "get out of here," to which Alya calls out for Ms. Mendeleiev to say that Marinette is getting airsick and should sit closer to the middle (Marinette literally just admits that she has to get out so I guess Alya's whole thing about getting off the plane was a lie) and Ms. Mendeleiev refuses until the students start complaining that "Miss Bustier would've let her move." Ms. Mendeleiev softens (this plot point goes nowhere by the way) and moves so Marinette can have her seat. Marinette tries to distract herself, but the magazine in front of her has Adrien's picture on it.

- Note: there's a running gag about Gorilla doing nothing for this whole special because he's airsick and has his player continuously going to relax him. It will cut back to him multiples times while they're in New York with him doing nothing but relaxing.

- Cut to the plane post-takeoff. Marinette wakes up at night to Mr. Damocles spilling popcorn on her because he's asleep. He falls over her and she gets up to sigh. She goes past all the ships (DJWifi, Myvan, and Julerose) then goes to the bathroom to clean up. However, the plane jostles and she gets soaked; her shirt is wet and she has toilet paper in her hair. Thoroughly miserable, she tries to go back to her seat, but Mr. Damocles is sleeping on it, so she goes out to the plane's nearest window to look at the sunrise. Adrien shows up out of nowhere to talk about how beautiful it is and the plane jostles to force them together. Alya conveniently wakes up and looks to see Marinette and Adrien together (now standing normally next to each other). Alya wakes up Nino and they watch them together.

- Blatant shipping fuel time: "*softly* You've got something, Marinette." "S-something?" "*now obliviously* Yeah, there, in your hair."

- Alya is annoyed and Nino goes on about how Adrien has a hard time understanding the signals people send him. Alya argues "what signals?? Marinette isn't exactly sending them clearly!" Nino wishes that the trip could "finally help Adrien come out of his shell" while Alya wishes that Marinette "could be more honest with herself and clear about her feelings." They then get a simultaneous idea for "Operation: New York"

- Adrien hugs Marinette in thanks for what she did to get him on this trip and she's nervously babbling about "oh sure what are friends for" and makes some comment about Adrien's cologne. The plane then jostles, forcing them apart.

- A supervillain (Techno Pirate) is attacking the plane. Cue Alya basically introducing everyone (Majestia, Knightowl, Uncanny Valley, and Sparrow) while the plan is being saved. Marinette and Adrien considered transforming but end up not having to (Mr. Damocles goes to turn into his "superhero persona" but the day is already saved once he comes back).

- More exposition on the bus ride around New York as Marinette points to something off-screen and Alya explains that it's a superhero directing traffic because "there's a superhero for everything around here." However, she quickly diverts to asking Marinette about her "friend" (she's done this like thrice by now and two of them have been with airquotes and I'm extremely annoyed). Marinette brushes it off that it was "just as friends" and Alya seethes in frustration.

- Meanwhile, Nino stops Adrien from looking at his phone (he's looking at Paris news) by grabbing his face and turning his gaze towards Marinette, saying that Adrien should "open his eyes and take it all in" (Alya is very non-subtly pointing at Marinette). Adrien turns his gaze elsewhere and agrees that it's beautiful.

- Once the students are in the building they’ll be staying in, Aeon (an android and Uncanny Valley’s civilian form) is scanning all the students with her Special Eyes™️, but notices that two students are missing. She looks to see that Marinette and Adrien are stuck between two sets of double doors because the second set isn't opening, leaving them in a relatively small space. Marinette tries to get it open, but just slams face-first into the glass. Adrien tries to help but she panics at his touch. Aeon opens the door while Marinette happens to be leaning on it, so Marinette falls forward onto the floor and her luggage spills everywhere.

- A male teenager notices Marinette (oddly doesn’t laugh at her which was nice) and recognizes her and the others as "the cool kids who made that sock puppet movie" (from the beginning). Adrien is helping Marinette with her things and their hands brush, leading Marinette to pull away nervously.

- A small distance away, Jessica (Aeon’s friend and Sparrow’s civilian form) is groaning about "watching a bunch of kids" while Aeon points out Adrien and Marinette and says that "they're made for each other". Jessica angrily tells her "not again" (Aeon argues that she "was programmed to help people”) and tells her to stop interfering with people's private lives, to which Aeon relents and agrees to just protect the students.

- Ms. Mendeleiev gives everyone a curfew and they groan about it, but go off to their room anyway. The guy from earlier whispers to them and explains that he and his buds are throwing a party on the roof later that night. He also winks at Sabrina, who blushes and gets teased by Alya (who still finds a way to be like, "and you, Sabrina, might make a fRiEnD *nudges Marinette, who looks very done right now, as do I*"). Chloe then interrupts to complain about the idea and march off.

- Alya and Marinette get stuck in the same room as Chloe and Sabrina (this goes nowhere and is literally only brought up in this one scene). Aeon and Jessica are spying on them and Jessica is, again, groaning about how boring this all is.

- Cut to later that night when everyone is sneaking out. Ms. Mendeleiev hears them and goes to investigate, so Alya+Nino and Adrien+Marinette duck into separate rooms. Adrien and Marinette happened to stumble into Aeon and Jessica's room (Aeon is admiring them like her ship is happening). Marinette nervously greets them and is all "this is my friend Adrien who is just a friend." Aeon leans towards Jessica and whispers that "see? they're made for each other," to which Jessica sighs and just tells Adrien and Marinette how to get to the rooftops without being detected. Aeon waits for them to leave, then asks Jessica why she did that ("I thought we weren't supposed to meddle") but Jessica just says that they might as well have something to watch if they're supposed to keep an eye on them. Jessica picks up her guitar and heads up to the rooftops.

- Meanwhile, Sabrina is sulking in her room when the guy who winked at her earlier opens the window and helps her out so she can come up to the roof. (this also goes nowhere, by the way)

- Everyone is dancing to music when a hotdog superhero appears (Jessica comments that he usually teams up with ketchup and mustard superheroes but is going solo tonight) and offers everyone hot dogs. The hot dogs are magic and make things happen (such as exhaling pretty sparks of light, changing skin color, etcetera). However, by the time Nino+Alya and Adrien+Marinette get to them, there are only two left. Each "ship" takes a single hot dog, but while Marinette tries to just pass it off to Adrien (who then tries to pass it back), Nino breaks it in half and gives it to both of them. Nino and Alya's hot dog gave them high-pitched voices while Marinette and Adrien's makes them fly. Jessica now agrees that Aeon was right and "they really seem to be made for each other."

- Alya approaches at Jessica’s comment to say that the situation is "far from simple." Realizing that Jessica plays guitar, Alya asks her to play a specific song. Jessica does, and Adrien points out to Marinette that it's the song they danced to at Chloe's birthday (excuse me? no it wasn’t) party. Marinette agrees and Adrien asks her to dance again, holding out his hand. The gesture freaks Marinette out and she nearly goes flying off before he grabs her hand and pulls her into a dancing position (just like "Despair Bear," by the way, Marinette hasn't agreed to anything by the time he pulls her into a dancing position). They slowly spin ("dance") together in front of the full moon.

- The next day, Alya is asking Marinette about the dance and Marinette tries to insist it was a friendly dance (Alya is annoyed). Alya then gets sidetracked by the civilian form of "Doorman" (superheroes don’t care much about secret identities in New York) a superhero who creates portals using doors. She leaves to try and get a quote from him for the Ladyblog.

- Cut to later. Jessica looks over and sees that Marinette and Adrien are stuck between two sets of automatic doors (yes, again), with Marinette desperately waving at the sensor to try and get the doors to open. Each time the doors open, however, she tries to go through and the doors slam shut before she gets there, her face smacking against the surface. Jessica groans and Aeon comments that Marinette and Adrien go through "repetitive behaviors."

- Marinette talks to Adrien about how they always seem to "end up together--STUCK together!", to which Adrien is all, "I don't mind being stuck somewhere with a friend like you." (if shipping fuel was tangible, I’d be choking on it by now)

- Jessica comments that it might help if Adrien and Marinette found each other in a "dangerous situation." Alya asks Jessica if she's out of her mind and Aeon comments that "two people confronted with extreme situations often cause their feelings for each other to become strong" (thanks for clarifying how invalid "Oblivio" is I guess??).

- While Marinette is still struggling to force the double doors open and squeeze through, Jessica explains a plan to invent a fake supervillain (who threatens to kidnap anyone who "nobody loves)" and how Alya just needs to get Adrien and Marinette alone in a specific room together. Then, the supervillain would threaten Adrien, and Marinette would confess to show that Adrien isn't unloved. Alya goes through the whole "so stupid it just might work" thing and they agree to help. Nino is impressed and is about to ask how they plan to invent the supervillain, but are cut off by the sound of the double doors. They all look over to see Marinette on top of Adrien, on the floor, and the double doors keep opening and closing on them.

- In a car, Gabriel is explaining some sort of history about the Marquis de Lafayette (Gilbert du Motier) and talking about how the guy had an incredible ability to galvanize people, but he thinks that it was a miraculous at work. Gabriel tells Nathalie to "take care" of Paris while he takes care of New York. He transforms in the car (the license plate says “TSURUGI-1″ for some reason).

- He akumatizes Techno Pirate (who was being driven away by police who I guess must’ve been taking their sweet time) into Techclonizer and tells him to go get the saber that Gabriel and Nathalie were viewing earlier.

- Everyone's at the museum when Alya tells Marinette to go get a picture of the saber. Marinette agrees (suspecting nothing) while Nino pretends to have lost his headphones and asks Adrien to go look for them in a particular room. Doorman (who's in civilian form because everyone knows his identity) is rambling about how much he'd love to get into a specific safe in the Statue of Liberty or something (out of curiosity, not because he's evil) and Alya asks him why he doesn't just make a portal there. He says that superpowers should never be used for personal gain and then talks about how it wouldn't matter because the key is in the Eiffel Tower.

- Adrien and Marinette see each other in the saber room and Aeon closes the doors so they can't get out. Adrien then gets an akuma alert about Robostus terrorizing Paris, but points out that it doesn’t make sense because Markov is with the group. Marinette checks her purse to have Tikki confirm that Chat Noir hasn't contacted her with the cat toy.

- Jessica and Aeon are confused at why nothing is happening between Marinette and Adrien (since they're distracted). Jessica turns the lights off and Aeon makes a hologram of the fake supervillain, only for Hawk Moth's supervillain to bust into the room. Aeon notes that she can't get a read on him, as if magic is interfering with her scanning tools. Jessica and Aeon then touch the matching bracelets they have that instantly transform them into their superhero forms.

- Tikki doesn't know what to do and Plagg is asking Adrien about going back to Paris and warning Ladybug. Everyone else in the museum is finally catching on that something is happening and they flee. Doorman transforms into his superhero self with his own bracelet so he can make a portal for everyone to escape into. Sparrow tries to contact the United Heroes, but her communicator is shot. Uncanny tries to leave via Doorman's portal (Doorman's like "Let the AdULtS handle this!") but the supervillain grabs her and yanks her back. Apparently, his tentacles steal Uncanny's powers, but only some of them(? She can still fly so--?).

- Adrien sees a tower about to collapse on Marinette and transforms, only for Uncanny to plow the supervillain (again, she can still fly) into the pillar that Chat Noir was hiding behind, causing the rubble to fall all over them. Marinette also transforms, then helps Sparrow up, but sees Chat Noir in the process. Chat Noir asks about Marinette and Ladybug says that she got her to safety, but presses on asking Chat Noir about why he's not in Paris.

- Hawk Moth, meanwhile, tells Nathalie to get rid of the sentimonster in Paris. While the teenage heroes are taking the fight with Techclonizer elsewhere, Hawk Moth descends into the room in the museum to steal the eagle miraculous while everyone else is distracted.

- Sparrow asks Chat Noir if they came to help them out and Chat Noir lies and says that they came "in honor of French-American friendship week" (Ladybug rolls her eyes). Ladybug and Chat Noir then charge into battle and Sparrow comments on how Ladybug and Chat "don't need anyone's permission to fight." Ladybug uses the comment to chide Chat Noir because he didn't tell her about going to New York. Uncanny asks Sparrow if she warned the adult heroes and Sparrow says that she couldn't, but they don't need them. Sparrow says that she wants them to prove themselves that they can be just like Ladybug and Chat Noir (cue obvious joke about Sparrow saying, "They're such a great team!" and then faltering at seeing Ladybug and Chat Noir mid-argument).

- Also, as usual, Chat Noir is the one faltering in battle while they're arguing and Ladybug is the one staying on top of things even though she's mid-scolding him.

- "Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?" "I was afraid you'd get angry!" "And you were right!"

- Chat uses Cataclysm (completely unpromoted) and Ladybug uses Lucky Charm, the latter getting a bicycle pump. Chat asks what she's going to do with it and Ladybug says she has an idea but Chat wouldn't like it (while tapping the bike pump against her hand with a look like "bOY I'M ABOUT TO SMACK U GOOD").

- Chat reiterates that he didn't tell her because he was afraid of losing her trust. Ladybug is basically like, "Uh, yeah??? I can't trust you anymore." Chat, who was in the middle of protecting Sparrow, drops his baton in shock. Techno Piraye targets him, grabbing him and throwing him towards Ladybug.

- Uncanny jumps in front of Ladybug and Chat Noir ends up Cataclysming her by accident, powering her off completely as she rusts with cracks forming in her armor. Everyone is horrified and Majestia (who I presume has psychic powers or some connection to Uncanny despite not showing up earlier to help fight) is heard screaming from up in the sky. Majestia swoops down and punches Techclonizer through a bunch of buildings. Hawk Moth de-akumatizes him and insists that that's enough for now, then approaches in his car and tells the Techno Pirate to get in and leave the saber behind.

- Knightowl descends on the situation, seeing the saber and squinting at it (idk what this is supposed to tell me).

- Majestia is sobbing over Uncanny's... idk, corpse? Uncanny also de-transforms (Ladybug and Chat recognize her and gasp in horror). Majestia's all like, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE" (no, I don't know how she knows that they did anything; also, bold of Majestia to ask that question when she probably just killed a few people in her rage of punching Techno Pirate through several buildings). Chat Noir quietly admits that it's his fault (yeah see she didn't know and just PUNCHED the supervillain so like--????) and Knightowl shows up, asking Sparrow why she (I say “she” but both Knightowl and Sparrow are considered males by the public and use male voice filters in superhero form) didn't call and asking Ladybug and Chat Noir what they're doing there. Ladybug insists that she can help and Knightowl angrily is like, "What?? With your magic bicycle bump?" Ladybug frowns, but is like, "Precisely," then uses Miraculous Ladybug to heal all the damage and thus bring Aeon back.

- Majestia thanks Ladybug, but Knightowl still goes off on Ladybug and Chat Noir. Sparrow tries to defend them, but Knightowl yells at Sparrow for not calling and disobeying (not letting Sparrow get a word in edge-wise). Knightowl demands that Ladybug and Chat revert to their civilian forms and hand her "the source of their powers," which they can have back when they leave town. Ladybug points out that she fixed everything (I presume this includes the people that Majesta may’ve injured or killed) and Knightowl says that if her "power" (she says it very mockingly) is fixing Chat Noir's mistake (dunno how Knightowl heard Chat’s quiet mutter of, “It’s all my fault,” considering that she only came on the scene afterwards), they don't need her. Majestia says it's for the best and is like but what if you couldn't have fixed her or if she wasn't an android??? (gee, I dunno, Majestia, what if she hadn’t fixed the damage YOU did either?)

- Ladybug whispers to Chat Noir that they can't give up their miraculouses. They bail and Knightowl follows them for about five seconds before losing them.

- Ladybug and Chat Noir escaped into the sewers and Ladybug says that they have to get back to take care of Robostus. However, she looks at the news on her yoyo to see that Robostus is gone and Paris is severely damaged. Chat asks if she can just make a Lucky Charm while they're in Paris and Ladybug explains that her power simply makes a magical object that repairs damage caused by a specific villain, but the villain in Paris is already gone, so nothing can be done. They solemnly walk off to separate sides of the sewer (you don't need to see this shot by the way because it's basically a copy of the one from "Mayura").

- Chat Noir says that it's his fault and that Ladybug was perfect as always (I don’t know why the show continues to pretend like Chat thinks Ladybug is perfect when he’s constantly questioned her before), and also that Knightowl was right to try and take his miraculous because he left Paris without telling Ladybug. He also comments that, if Aeon hadn't been a robot, he would've caused "irreparable" harm (how convenient; also, I have no idea what he means by that and need elaboration; Miraculous Ladybug already fixes everything Cataclysm harms - even when Plagg destroyed so much of Paris - so I fail to see why it wouldn’t fix a person).

- Marinette and Adrien de-transform, and Adrien apologizes to Plagg before renouncing him. Marinette is shocked and looks over as she sees the cat being put down on the floor (she doesn't see Adrien; only his arm). He says that he doesn't want to hurt anyone, "least of all [Ladybug]," to which Marinette goes to chase him (”Wait!”) but stops when realizing that she's de-transformed so he’d see her identity. Sadrien runs off crying and Marinette can only tearfully call out to him, getting no response.

- Elsewhere, Gabriel puts on the eagle miraculous and the eagle kwami is summoned. She calls out to "Gilbert" (the Marqee guy) before turning and realizing that the one who put on the miraculous was not in fact her original holder. Gabriel goes on about how he hopes the miraculous can give him what he wants and she (warily) explains that she's "Liiri, the kwami of freedom. My power is basically to free people from anything that prevents them from reaching their full potential, nothing too powerful. [nervous chuckle]". Gabriel points out that it's all he needs to seize Ladybug and Chat Noir's miraculous and Liiri cowers in fear.

- Ms. Mendeleiev is counting up her students and Nino+Alya point out that Adrien+Marinette aren't around. Meanwhile, Knightowl and Majestia's civilian selves (Barbara and Olympia respectively; Barbara is not anywhere NEAR buff like Knightowl is - to the point where I didn’t recognize her - and I'm disappointed) walk into the building, in the middle of scolding Jessica and Aeon, with Barbara telling them that they were supposed to be watching the students. Aeon basically reveals everything they did, including setting up Adrien and Marinette. Barbara is infuriated and Olympia calms her down. Aeon states that she doesn't understand why they’re upset and quotes the, "all that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing," line that Majestia always says, to which Olympia says that "doing good doesn't always mean fighting" and how Aeon’s actions put her, Jessica, and the French students in danger. Jessica angrily goes off about how they just wanted something to do because they're "not babysitters" and have nothing to do otherwise. Barbara goes off in return about how they failed to watch the French students, then forbids them both from joining on the hunt for Techno Pirate. Jessica is annoyed and Aeon points out that Ladybug and Chat Noir don't need permission to do things, to which Olympia says that she almost lost Aeon because of it.

- Cut to a rainy scene with Sadrien and Marinette are walking down separate streets back to the student building (I don't know how they conveniently ended up on completely opposite sides at the exact same time but alright, we’ll roll with it). Nino keeps trying to call Adrien but Adrien isn't answering (even though the phone is in Adrien's hand like--??? dude you can ignore your phone but why put it in your hand outside of the sake of a camera angle?). Plagg is sulking in Marinette's purse about how this is his fault for not stopping Chat Noir from leaving Paris. Marinette glumly just says that Chat Noir "made his choice" and "what were we supposed to do?"

- The president is making an announcement on TV about how they’re postponing the French-American friendship event because of how dangerous it is with Techno Pirate running about. The president then transforms into her superhero form and promises that they'll keep patrolling until the supervillain is found.

- Cut to Hawk Moth entering a bathroom, where he's kept his supervillain chained up in a tub (I don't even know anymore). The supervillain demands to be let out and Hawk Moth agrees, also returning the akuma to him. He adds on "an apology" for keeping him locked up in the form of the eagle miraculous, explaining that the transformation phrase is, "Liiri, Wings of Prey!"

- Back to the angst, Alya and Nino catch Adrien and Marinette outside through the windows. Some of the students rush out to see them and Adrien and Marinette stop to stare sadly at each other. A car shows up and Gabriel (in video form on the back of the seat ala "Origins") tells Adrien to get in because it's too dangerous now. Nino tells Adrien to stay and Adrien apologizes to Marinette that her efforts were wasted, repeating the phrase, "I wouldn't have minded being stuck here a little longer with a friend like you." Marinette opens her mouth to say something, but stops and stares at the ground. Adrien's weak smile turns into a frown (I guess he was fishing for expecting something??) and he says that his father was right and that he never should've come to New York.

- Adrien gets in, closes the door, and the car drives off. Alya rushes down the stairs, asking Marinette "What is WRONG with you?" (wow okay we’re doing this now) and "Couldn't you see that he was just WAITING for you to tell him to stay?" (apparently Nino means nothing to Adrien anymore, alright). Marinette tells Alya that "it was his choice" and "what did you expect me to do" (a blatant reference back to what she said about Chat Noir and I'm groaning). Alya angrily goes off about how it didn't matter and what matters is who Adrien is to Marinette; a friend or "more than a friend" (I don’t know how Marinette’s feelings can magically impact how Gabriel feels about taking Adrien home but sure)? She grabs Marinette's shoulders and pressures her, asking if she wants Adrien to leave or stay, to which Marinette turns and rushes off to chase Adrien, screaming for him to stay. She tries to call him ("I already lost Chat Noir, I can't lose him too") but her phone is too low on battery because of course it is.

- Marinette grabs a random bike and helmet off the ground and tries to bike after the car, but doesn't get very far. She tries to make a turn and the bike slips due to the rain, careening away while Marinette rolls and hits the ground face-first. Marinette tearfully looks after the car and whispers, "Adrien, I... love you," before letting her head fall onto her arms.

- Back with the actual plot, the heroes are searching for Techno Pirate when said supervillain (now Miraclonizer) shows himself, pretending to surrender. They're suspicious and Majestia goes in, assuring that "she's the only one he can't harm."

- She approaches (with the other heroes in firing distance) and Miraclonizer unleashes the eagle's power, "Liberation." This causes lights to emerge from his torso and touch all the superheroes, giving Miraclonizer a mental link with them. Visually, the mental link shows his face and the hero's facing each other, eyes closed, then an image of the hero curled up with a link of chains around them, which vanishes after his speech, an example of which is, "Majestia! You're afraid of your own power! I release you from your fears!" The heroes basically all go off from this to do their own thing (Majestia destroying stuff to test the limits of her powers, Knightowl "bringing justice" without morality, etcetera).

- Miraclonizer hooks Hawk Moth up to the TV (Hawk Moth literally says, "hook me up" and I want to die) and Hawk Moth gives a speech to "Ladybug and Chat Noir" about how he's in New York and they need to hand their miraculouses over. Aeon (who is watching this with Jessica) drags Jessica off to try and convince her to help (Jessica says that the adults told them not to move and Aeon responds with something about how "being human means knowing when to bend the rules). They run to the rooftops and Jessica is nervous about how no one is there with them. Aeon points out that Ladybug and Chat Noir exist, to which Jessica reminds her that "they" almost de-activated her (gonna throw blame at Ladybug too, a’ight). Aeon says that this is an akumatization they're dealing with, so there's no chance without Ladybug and Chat Noir. Jessica is like "BUT THEY'RE TEENAGERS" to which Aeon is like "And so are we." This immediately convinces Jessica, whose only remaining question is about how they're going to find them. Aeon says that nobody can keep a secret identity from her, so she transforms and flies off.

- Jessica (as Sparrow) goes to scope out the situation, all like "okay I have basic training and minimal weapons and am going against all these superheroes (also, apparently Majestia is pulling a Majora's Mask and trying to shove the moon into the Earth, raising the water levels)... i'll be fine."

- Uncanny descends in front of Marinette and tells her that they need Ladybug. Marinette plays dumb until Uncanny says that Ladybug's "suit of quantum masking" is meant to confuse human minds, but she is not human (so... glamour confirmed??). Apparently, Marinette didn't even see Hawk Moth's video feed (RIP, Hawk Moth’s efforts) as Uncanny has to explain the akumatization to her. Marinette looks down at the ring in her hand and sadly admit, "I can't imagine being Ladybug without... him," (because girl power) to which Uncanny assures her that she’ll take care of it. Marinette smiles confidently at her and hands over the ring.

- Sadrien is flying in a plane back to Paris when he sees Uncanny out the window. Uncanny breaks into the plane and tells him that he's needed, but Adrien is still feeling sorry for himself. Uncanny is all "to err is human apparently" and Adrien insists that his mistakes are unforgivable and he "couldn't bear to see the disappointment in [Ladybug’s] eyes." Uncanny responds by playing a voice clip of Marinette saying the "can't imagine being Ladybug without him" line, then telling Adrien that, "his lady (ugh) is waiting for him." This immediately breaks Adrien out of his funk and he takes the ring back.

- Adrien puts the ring on and Uncanny is confused at him interacting with Plagg. Plagg reminds Adrien that kwami can't be viewed by tech and thus Uncanny can't see nor hear him. He starts making faces at Uncanny for fun and Adrien follows up by transforming.

- Sparrow is fighting against the heroes and Ladybug saves her. She gets them to safety and explains the whole "break the object" thing, suspecting that it's in Miraclonizer’s handcuffs. Sparrow talks about the necklace and Ladybug realizes that it's a miraculous. Uncanny and Chat (who was briefly in space form to fly there) descend and Ladybug rushes to hug him, telling him to "never do that again." Chat apologizes and says that he was stupid and so afraid of disappointing her that he said nothing. They pull away to fistbump.

- Hawk Moth tells Miraclonizer that it's time to get to the next step. Miraclonizer snatches a device from the superhero president and flies off using the wings that the eagle grants him. He perches at the torch of the Statue of Liberty and presses a button, which activates a rocket. Hawk Moth threatens over the monitors that he'll start a World War if the miraculouses aren't handed over to him, adding that they have five minutes (he even does a taunting "tick, tock--")

- Ladybug is making a plan with Chat Noir, Uncanny, and Sparrow. She uses Lucky Charm and gets a Statue of Liberty keychain. Uncanny is skeptical (and Ladybug can't see anything immediately useful), but then Ladybug asks how the Statue of Liberty was built. Uncanny gives Ladybug a diagram and Ladybug gets an idea. She points out that there's a ladder that leads to the torch platform (where the supervillain is), but Chat Noir doesn't know how they're going to get inside. Ladybug and Sparrow look at each other and say in unison, "Doorman!" Uncanny points out that Doorman only uses his powers for himself now (courtesy of "Liberation"), but Ladybug gets the rest of the idea now, and basically:

- Aeon and Jessica (de-transformed) take a picture of a package they put outside a specific door, sending it to Doorman’s (Dean Gate’s) phone "as thanks for the museum. Doorman shows up, unwraps the gift, and sees the keychain inside. It's enough of a hint for him to go to the Eiffel Tower and Ladybug and Chat Noir follow him through the portal. They let him get the key (which is in a random drawer), then wait until he makes a portal back. Once he goes through, they go through too and capture him. Chat Noir uses his belt to tie him up, then he and Ladybug ignore his begging ("at least let me see what's inside the safe!!!") and rush to the torch platform. Ladybug jumps at Miraclonizer and takes the miraculous, knocking Miraclonizer (who I guess is technically Techclonizer again?) off the platform too (he lands fine). She then throws the miraculous to Sparrow, who lands and slips the miraculous on. Liiri calls her "fledgling" and states that the actual transformation phrase is "Wings of Liberty," (which I guess confirms alternate phrases?), so Jessica transforms and says, "Cool down," which stops the "Liberation" power affecting all the heroes.

- Ladybug and Chat Noir refuse to give Techclonizer their miraculouses. Hawk Moth is all, "can't say I didn't warn them," from whatever place he's chillin' at (some random hotel idk; it’s where he was when he had Techno Pirate in the bathtub - again, what? - as well) and Techclonizer launches the rocket. However, Majestia stops it and throws it into the sun.

- Ladybug and Chat Noir are fighting Techclonizer and Ladybug is knocked back. Knightowl helps her up, then entangles Techclonizer and reels him in. Chat Noir Cataclysms the handcuffs and the akuma is freed. Ladybug does her schtick (apparently they felt the need to show Miraculous Ladybug giving Chat Noir's belt back).

- Jessica goes to return the eagle miraculous, but Ladybug tells her to keep it. Jessica points out to Knightowl that she disobeyed again, then asks if that means she won't be getting her weapons back. Knightowl says that she won't need them with the powers of the miraculous, and that she was wrong about Jessica not being ready. Jessica hugs her excitedly and calls her, "Mom," then realizes what she did and apologizes. Knightowl says it's fine and that, with Jessica's new suit, people now know that Sparrow is a female, not a male, and that the "legendary original Knightowl and Sparrow" (we see flashes of a bunch of former Knightowls and Sparrows) are long gone. Knightowl removes her mask and says that maybe it's time for them to embrace who they really are. Majestia also admits that, even if it still worries them, it's best to let them take chances so they can grow. They then thank Ladybug and Chat Noir and ask them to forgive them for misjudging them. The teens all do a fist bump.

- Meanwhile, Hawk Moth is monologuing about how his theory was correct and that there are other lost miraculouses, and how he'll find them no matter where they are.

- Over on the Statue of Liberty’s torch, Ladybug is asking Uncanny about her knowing their secret identities. Uncanny assures them that she'll just delete it from her memory banks after they leave. Chat Noir (in space form again) flies off with Uncanny while telling Ladybug that he'll see her back in Paris.

- Later, Marinette is watching a news report about how the mayor has put forth action to undo what Robostus has done to Paris, going on about how Ladybug and Chat Noir were actually in New York helping out which explains where they went. Alya walks by and goes on about how everyone is waiting for Marinette for the surprise they planned for Adrien, her "friend" (yes, she literally did the airquotes again). Marinette sadly admits that she "doesn't know" (I presume this is referring to her feelings), which Alya brushes off as, "We're going back to Pairs tomorrow, you can ask yourself then." She grabs Marinette’s hands and leads her away.

- The surprise was them holding up a, "Coucou, Adrien!" sign on the news report (presumably from the friendship event thing?). Adrien smiles from his place on the plane and it cuts to fireworks over New York.

- Sabrina (standing next to the guy who winked and took her to the party earlier) tells Chloe how she's happy that Chloe is finally having fun now. Chloe denies it and says that she's just happy that they're leaving tomorrow.

- The scene cuts to Gorilla, still in the room listening to the relaxing voices+music from his device, then the scene cuts back to the fireworks again, now going off behind a French and American flag.

- Scene cuts again, this time to a car pulling into an alley. Four guys come out and one of them is lightly waving a hand fan. Uncanny and Eagle (yes, she's literally just "Eagle") are watching them (Eagle is twirling something on a string but I can't tell what it is; I presume it's her weapon, it's shaped like a small flute/whistle or something) when they hear a voice above them. The source of the voice (another man) shows up with a tan-ish Miracle Box (wooden design) and says that the miraculous must be returned to the box now that it's been found. He tells her that he's come a long way and that she should give it back without a fuss because he's not in the mood. Uncanny says "no" because Eagle's proven that she's worthy, after which Eagle hops up to the man and suggests that he stay so they can create a new generation of heroes together. The man smiles, perhaps intrigued(?).

- End special.

#category: salt #((because of my comments lol))#special: Miraculous New York #other: ask and answer #other: ml spoilers

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