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eoieopda · 23 hours ago

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triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario.

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.

Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.

To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.

The day in question went like this:

He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”

And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”

It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.

The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus.

“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”

You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.

Fuck.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”

And he meant it, wholeheartedly.

All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door.

The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.

You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”

Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.

“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?”

He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.

“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”

Fuck.

You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds.

“Bambi.”

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.

Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.

Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.

Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.

When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.

The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.

“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath.

Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks.

She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”

Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years.

“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”

Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough.

This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.

“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.

“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”

The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.

Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.

Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”

Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling.

“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping to sleep off again.

“Well?”

There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”

Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.

You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?”

Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”

His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line.

Bullseye.

“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”

You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view.

“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.

He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.

The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.

That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.

Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.

Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.

You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.

Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls.

No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.

It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.

Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”

For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”

For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.

Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”

You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.

“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then… what? You forgot your own birthday?”

“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”

There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.

Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention.

It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.

“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”

“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”

After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”

“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”

A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”

Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.

Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.

When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.

To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.

Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”

He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”

“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”

Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.

The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.

When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.

“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.

Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.

“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”

When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”

That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.

“You okay, Thumper?”

It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him.

He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.

At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.” Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”

Ah.

There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.

You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”

He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”

“Deal.”

You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways.

“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”

Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.

“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.

“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”

Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”

Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”

As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.

Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.

Is it hot in here?

Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.

“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”

You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time.

While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.

You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.

Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself.

Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”

You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.

“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”

Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.

You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”

The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out.

You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.

“Hey.”

It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.

The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling.

Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.

“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”

Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level.

Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.

As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.

“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”

He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….

“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”

Petty, no.

Psychic? Probably.

“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”

Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.

His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”

A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.

Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”

In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.

“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”

Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.

“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”

Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.

“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”

At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.

“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.

Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.

The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.

“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip.

On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.

You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.

In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.

Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.

No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.

No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name.

Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.

The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.

That’s it.

If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.

“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”

Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.

Soyeon’s eyes brighten.

Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.

Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”

The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.

Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.

But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.

Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.

“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”

It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.

Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.

“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”

Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”

“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.

This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.

“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.

The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.

“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.

His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.

You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.

He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time.

“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”

You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.

“How the hell did you get away from him?”

It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.

Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”

“Oh?”

“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”

All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”

“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”

You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”

“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.

“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”

“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”

After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.

Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.

A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.

Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.

All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.

“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”

He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”

“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”

You open your mouth to argue.

“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”

You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.

It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.

Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on.

Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others.

She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”

Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.

“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.

You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.

Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.

Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”

You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens.

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.

You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.

Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.

It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”

Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.

Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”

“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”

A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.

“Seokmin loves love.”

She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull.

“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”

Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term.

You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.

She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —”

Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another.

“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”

Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is.

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be.

You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s.

He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.

What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?

Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper.

“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just — get the hell out of their way.”

By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.

You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.

He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.

All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.

Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.

If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?

Why would it hurt?

The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.

So, you won’t.

You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.

That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.

“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?”

He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.

Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.

The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.

“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”

Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.

“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ‘find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”

Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.

Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”

“No!” His grandmother squawks.

The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her.

“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”

She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”

“Exactly. Can you —?”

He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.

By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.

“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.

The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking.

Poor bastard.

Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”

“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake.

Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.

Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.

The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.

No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.

Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”

Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”

In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.

On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all.

Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.

You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.

“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”

The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation:

You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.

But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.

“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….”

His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.

Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”

So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”

“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”

Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.

Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”

His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.

He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.

That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.

You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”

There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.

“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.

Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”

Foot, meet mouth.

You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”

You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase.

When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”

“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”

It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.

I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.

This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.

For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.

“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”

The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.

You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.

Actually…

He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.

You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming.

Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he?

His hands are far too busy.

Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold.

His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.

You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.

His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”

The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.

“You were right, though.”

You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.

“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.

The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.

“How long —”

You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance.

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”

You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.

Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”

When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”

If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.

He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”

The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand.

Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.

You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”

Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.”

The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.

You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.

What finally gets to you is the clatter of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom.

As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.

You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.

When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”

Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.

You wail, “Noooooo!”

Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.

Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”

“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?”

You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.

Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.

Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.

Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.

“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.

Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

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thetadispatcher · 4 hours ago

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The bear was perfectly content with just receiving physical affection, and she'd learned only to get excited at the word treat if G said it. So the others never had to worry about her barreling them over if they used the word well she was nearby.

"That's one way to put it, yes." Dan nodded, there was more that went into installing a stomach into an android so they could actually make use of the food they ate, but he wasn't about to bore them with the technical side of things.

"It was the dinner we had made for Christmas. The visiting family was a little confused why I had a place at the table, but they didn't say anything, as I believe they thought it was all Peter's doing. And questioning Peter on his reasoning rarely gets any results, usually the response is 'I don't know', or 'I just wanted to.'" He felt anyone who witnessed the unusually kind treatment Dan received just chalked it up to Peter's doing. So it made it a lot easier for his parents to get away with doing it as well, since everyone would think they were doing it as to not upset their son.

"Although the first food I was ever offered was a chocolate chip cookie. Peter had bought it from a vendor with the money left over from purchasing me, he thought I needed food to survive too." Dan chuckled quietly, although Peter's choice in what to feed what he thought was a starving android wasn't the best, it was still a kind gesture.

Dan glanced at Bishop, his LED started flashing yellow as he reviewed the information he'd accidentally gotten from touching Strasky. "I suppose that's a good place to start..." He felt he might as well use what he learned of the other Johan Ross and his AI, and see what applied to the Johan he knew and his android. The android was a prototype his parents got from working at Cyberlife, so his model might be called the WAU as it would have no official label yet.

The PL600 glanced at the human in his arm who gave him a lopsided smile in response. "It is. After hearing so many other androids speak of being mistreated by those they thought were family, I'm glad I can say that never happened." He was thankful he didn't have to experience the pain and suffering other androids had at the hands of their owners, he felt sorry for them still, but at least he could tell them that not all humans were terrible. He could give them proof that there was hope for them, they just had to find the right humans who'd accept them as part of the family like he had been.

"Now I just need this one to stop almost dying on me." He gently flicked the human's forehead, getting a glare in return that held no weight as it was clear Peter was trying hard not to smile at the android. "Hearing him call my name in that crowd of androids had to be the happiest I ever felt, then to see he'd lost an eye after the happiness stopped clouding my mind... I can say it felt like my heart sank. Realizing that I could've actually lost him without even getting to say goodbye, that's not something I want to feel again." He fluffed up the man's wild hair, looking at him with a fondness that made it clear how much of an impact the human had made on him.

"Someone's hogging the treats. Heck." Rook said, still petting BeeBee, "And I didn't even bring any snacks along."

It normally wouldn't be an issue to go retrieve some, but she had to mind her own energy levels while they were out there.

"So you can just go out and buy a stomach. That's sick!" And weird at the same time. But Dan's story showed there was at least some kind of reasonable use for the upgrade.

"What was your first meal?" Willow asked, while keeping an eye on Peter.

"I bet it was chips." Rook said.

"You should start with giving him a proper name. Perhaps you could call him WAU." Bishop said with a not so subtle grin that won him a skeptic look, including from his double, "What?"

The android didn't need to ask to know when Bishop was being a dick on purpose. He flexed his arm, as a reminder that he was now ready for another go if he didn't behave.

"Yes, sometimes love comes at the expense of our wardrobe." Willow agreed.

"Hey, I never bled all over you." Rook protested.

"But it's still worth it, isn't it?"

#kingedbishop

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estcaligo · 2 days ago

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If it wasn't a dream or hallucination, I think I saw a post here mentioning Silver's academic achievements and/or wondering how he can pass any test.

That made me think about a detail from the recent update:

Book 7, Heartslabyul dream part spoiler

Silver mentions that, since childhood, he was never able to finish any book because of his sleepy condition - except for the ones Sebek chose for him.

This is so sweet because Sebek clearly noticed and understood (as much as possible) what was happening with Silver. In his own way, he helped by ensuring his friend wouldn't grow up without being well-read. (Why Lilia didn't do this is another question entirely, but not for now.)

We don't know which books Sebek chose or how he chose them, but the fact that Silver managed to finish those books means they were carefully selected. Perhaps they were short summaries or just really captivating (although Silver's condition likely still made it challenging). Either way, this detail shows that Sebek is very attentive and caring, and knows Silver very well (not news, we've seen many examples of this, Silver's dorm vignette might be the best demonstration of it)

As for academics, we can assume that Sebek continues to "guide" Silver in college, perhaps by helping him study or even creating some kind of a personalized "program" for him. Sebek might adjust notes or study materials to ensure Silver can make progress in his studies, even if only little by little.

Sebek also has some tips about improving memory and stimulating brain activity by switching between physical and mental training

Of course, he's been encouraging Silver to do the same. Perhaps he was trying to find a way to help Silver learn and read as much as possible in a short amount of time (and ensure he remembers the information). This method also naturally fits Silver's lifestyle as a guard, who also needs to dedicate a lot of time to physical training.

In conclusion, Sebek will make sure Silver does well in his studies (at least to some extent).

#twisted wonderland #twst #sebek zigvolt #twst silver #twst sebek #twst spoilers

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nachrosas · 23 hours ago

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ORIGAMI | s.reid x reader

summary: in which spencer makes origami to help you feel better. pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader content warnings: none, just pure fluff! word count: 899 a/n: night, night! hope you guys like it! feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat! till the next one!

The desk clock read 4:40 p.m., but time seemed to be dragging on longer than it should. Papers scattered across your desk formed a chaotic landscape: underlined reports, half-left notes, and a cup of coffee that had been cold for hours. You let out a heavy sigh, pushing a folder aside with more force than you should have.

Across the table, Spencer carefully looked up from the book he was reading, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. He watched you for a moment, the pen still in your hand as if you had given up on writing anything.

“Something wrong?” he asked softly, but you just shook your head, forcing a smile that didn't convince even yourself.

However, he didn't insist. Instead, he bent down to pick up a piece of colored paper resting on the edge of his desk - which had probably come from a note left by Garcia. And, without saying anything, he began to fold it with meticulous and deliberate movements, as if it were part of a silent experiment.

“Spencer, what are you doing?” you finally asked, intrigued by the concentration on his face.

“Origami.” He didn't raise his eyes, but there was a small smile at the corner of his lips. “Did you know that, in Japan, it's believed that if you fold a thousand tsurus, you get a wish granted?”

You smiled, overcome by curiosity. “And what are you wishing for?”

“For now? That you feel a little better.”

The little paper bird he placed in front of you looked simple, but the kindness of the gesture weighed more heavily on your heart than any words he could say.

You watched him, now a little more relaxed, as Spencer took another piece of paper and restarted the process. With each turn, it seemed as if your frustration dissipated a little more as if he was folding part of it into the paper, leaving you totally mesmerized.

“Do you always do this?” you asked, resting your chin on your hands.

“Not always.” he replied, his eyes still fixed on the paper. “But when I was a child, I tried to learn all the classical forms. It was fascinating to see how something so simple could be transformed with a little patience.”

“You're full of surprises, Dr. Reid,” you joked, feeling the humor begin to return.

He finished another bird and added it to the growing flock on his table. “Actually,” he began, with the characteristic tone of someone about to share a curious fact. “Studies show that origami folding can be a form of active meditation. It helps reduce stress and improves concentration.”

“So you're saying I should try it?”

Spencer looked at you, with a soft gleam in his eyes. “Definitely. Here, take this.” He held out a piece of paper and began to guide your movements, step by step, patience overflowing with each instruction.

You weren't as skilled as he was, but when your first bird took shape, you couldn't hold back the smile that took over your face. Spencer noticed and, for a moment, seemed as pleased as you were.

His desk was now covered in little birds of all different colors and sizes, like a little paper garden. Each of them carried a small part of the weight that had previously been squeezing your chest.

You looked at Spencer, the smile that finally appeared on his face was now genuine, and carried a sincerity that made him feel like a small victory. The little paper birds scattered across his desk were more than just folded figures; they were symbols of patience and gave a gesture that, although simple, had managed to ease his stress load.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you said, your voice soft but full of gratitude. “You've really managed to brighten up my day.”

He looked at you, his eyes shining with a little surprise and modesty. Spencer wasn't the type who liked to receive a lot of compliments, but the way his gaze softened, and the slight smile that touched his lips, showed that he was pleased with the effect of the gesture.

“Well… I didn't do much. It's just a few paper birds.” he replied shyly, blushing a little. ‘But I'm glad it helped.’ the reply was typically Spencer Reid: humble as if any act of kindness was trivial.

“Do you have any idea how to make one of these?” he asked, picking up another piece of paper and starting to fold it expertly into a beautiful flower. “I could teach you, if you want, of course. It could even be therapeutic, as I said.”

You felt something new take over your body, but it wasn't frustration. It was a feeling of calm and connection. It was all there, in the gentle movements of Spencer's hands and the sound of the paper being folded, as if he were sharing with you not just a moment, but a piece of his own tranquility.

“Of course.” you replied, your voice quieter now. “I'd love you to teach me.”

He looked at you, pleased to see your willingness to learn, and began to guide you. Step by step, without haste, explaining each movement with the patience of someone who understood that the most important thing was not the end result, but the process.

As his fingers guided yours, you realized that you didn't need anything more than that simple moment.

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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shadamyheadcanons · 3 days ago

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Headcanon #303: Happy Holidays

((This is an idea I’ve had for ages now...and by “ages,” I mean “I wanted to do this during the holiday season last year and I’ve been stuck mulling it over this entire time.” It’s not as detailed as I’d hoped, but it’d be embarrassing if I missed this year, too, so just barely in time for the last day of Hanukkah, here we are!))

–

Amy makes Christmas cookies for her friends every year, Shadow included. When she stopped by to drop them off one year, she was surprised to find a flurry of activity. Shadow and his Chao, Rosie, were in the process of decorating for both Christmas and Hanukkah. Rosie was in an especially good mood, flying around and practically drenching the house in lights, nutcrackers, and snowman figurines while she hummed a merry rendition of Jingle Bells. She hovered over to drape a wreath around Amy’s neck, clearly intent on decorating literally everything, then nuzzled her and zipped off.

Shadow covered his mantle in a more modest display of blue and white decorations and a collection of dreidels, then approached the door to join Amy. A light jingling noise rang out from his quills as he walked. Amy plucked a tiny sleigh bell from them, only for Rosie to zoom on by and immediately drop another one in to replace it. Shadow shook his head with another jingle, letting her know it wasn’t worth it.

Amy gazed around at the beautiful display, expressing surprise that both holidays were represented. Shadow explained that Gerald and Maria were Jewish, and though his feelings about Gerald were...mixed, it felt right to celebrate all the same. He placed an electric menorah on the mantle. Amy asked if he was using an electric one for safety in case Rosie knocked it over, but Shadow denied it, saying he was more worried about Omega when it came to open flames. Amy couldn’t help but laugh.

Knowing Rouge had already moved out to live with Knuckles on Angel Island, Amy admitted she was surprised to learn Omega was so attached to Christmas.

Shadow just looked confused for a second, but then he shook his head again and told her the decorations were for Rosie, not Omega. When Shadow had gone shopping for his friends, he’d brought Rosie along. Whenever they passed anything related to Christmas, she’d brightened up, visibly thrilled. It wasn’t long before Shadow caught on.

Though he bore no significant interest in the holiday himself, Shadow bought the decorations Rosie was currently gleefully dropping into place, including an entire tree she was deftly hanging ornaments from.

Amy remained silent, eyes wide.

When Rosie flew farther away to nimbly weave a string of green garland around a banister, Shadow leaned in and muttered to Amy, quietly explaining that Rosie had spent time in a lot of houses before he stepped in and adopted her. Although he’d never know for sure, Shadow suspected that she herself had been given as a Christmas gift on more than a few occasions, so she might associate the holiday with excitement and meeting people for the first time. It would have signaled hope and new beginnings for her.

Shadow was determined to prove to Rosie that this time, that hope was there to stay, and so was she.

He’d been gazing up at the stairwell as he spoke, so he was clearly taken off guard when he was met with a tearful Amy. He froze up, but before he had the chance to ask what was wrong, Amy took his hands and started gushing about how sweet it was that he’d go so far for his Chao.

Amy was showering Shadow with compliments, and he was unable to look away, so neither of them noticed Rosie until it was too late. She had enough garland left to circle around them several times, pulling them close together. Both of them yelped in surprise, suddenly finding themselves nose-to-nose, hands still joined. Shadow turned bright red, but Amy tilted her face upward to find Rosie hovering overhead, holding a small green sprig of something above them. Rosie snickered.

Shadow looked upward and choked at what he saw, but Amy just made a confused noise, asking Rosie why she was holding a piece of holly over their heads. Amy climbed out of the tangle and reached up, asking Rosie if she needed help finding a place for it.

Rosie deflated at first, but then she settled for a new game of keepaway, holding it just out of reach while Amy stubbornly hopped around to try and catch it.

Shadow slumped, caught between relief and disappointment.

–

Amy hugged Shadow and rubbed noses with Rosie, then waved and headed off to deliver the rest of the cookies. Rosie happily munched on one of them, and Shadow crossed his arms and glared disapprovingly, saying she was lucky Amy knew the difference between holly and mistletoe. Rosie giggled and took another bite.

#shadamy #amy rose #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #Rosie the Chao #hc

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420days · 19 hours ago

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HALL OF FAME | JEY USO

Summary: An extremely shy Brianna accompanies her husband to Hall of Fame for the first time

Warnings: none

“Mommy looks so pretty!” Brianna’s youngest son, Jeyden gasped into the phone once the FaceTime call connected.

“Wow, she does! I like your new hair mommy.” His twin brother, Jeylen nodded his head in agreement.

“Thank you my sweet babies. Are you guys being good?” She asked and before they could respond her oldest child intervened.

“No they’re not! They’re here acting a fool. You wanna show mom and dad what you learned?” Jeyla nudged her five year old brother.

Jey peeked his head into the camera letting this kids know he was still very much in the room and present. His kids knew they had a little lead-way with Brianna but he wasn’t having it at all.

Jeylen giggled before shaking his head and and moving away from the camera.

“What’s he doing Yaya?” He called his oldest by her nickname.

“Sticking up his middle finger.” She spoke and Brianna’s mouth went agape.

“Oh yeah? Ima deal with him when I get home cause he knows better than that shit.”

“Mmhhh anyway, mommy let me see what you’re wearing because the makeup is eating.” Jeyla clapped her hands.

Standing up from the phone she stepped back just enough to show her daughter her full outfit. Her cherry red dress with a tail in the back that hugged hourglass figure. The pointed gold heels her daughter helped her pick out went perfectly with her dress and gave her a height boost showing off her toned legs.

“Period mommy! Look at the body! My mom is such a baddie!” Jeyla gassed up her mom as she took FaceTime photos. Jey listened to his daughter and couldn’t help but to laugh because she sounded just like him.

Although she was sixteen she knew her mom was shy but she couldn’t understand why. Her mom was beautiful inside and out and that was exactly why her and her father reminded her every chance they could.

“Thank you love. You and your dad want to make me cry tonight.” She glanced up at her husband who was already smiling down at her.

“I hear you gassing mom but where’s dad? Cause I know he got it on.” Brianna heard her son’s voice after a door closed.

“Dad looks handsome. I told him that.” Jeyla sucked her teeth as her brother took the phone from her.

“Son, ou know I do!” Jey said as Jeycon took the phone from his twin sister and began gassing his father.

Brianna laughed at the two of them before telling the kids they had to head out or else they would be late.

“Okay, I love you guys! Take a lot of pictures and send them to me.”

“We will, love you too!” The couple smiled at their kids before hanging up.

“Oooouuu sis! You finally came out the house! You look so beautiful.” Trin smiled as she walked over to her sister and brother in law.

“Thank you.” Brianna smiled shyly as she held onto her husbands hand. It was Hall of Fame night and Jey was able to convince her to come with him.

He knew his wife was extremely shy and didn’t like the media’s attention so she refrained from coming to a lot of the events.

However, his parents agreed to keep the kids so he basically begged his wife to come and spend the next couple days with him.

“She look good don’t she? I told her that earlier.” He tucked his lips and looked over his wife’s hourglass figure in her red dress. He was ready to say fuck the show and take her back to their hotel room.

“She really does. It’s giving very much slim thick and the boobies are sitting just right.” Trin smiled.

“Naturally at that.” Jey added making Brianna push his arm lightly.

“Babe stop.” She smiled as her butterscotch face turned cherry red. After all the years they’ve been together this man could still make her feel shy and have her blushing.

“Ima leave you alone.” He smiled knowing he was lowkey embarrassing her by he didn’t care. He loved showing his wife off and that’s what he planned to do tonight.

tags: @bebesobrielo @trentybenty @amandairene88 @kiki1704 @paigereeder @uceyliyahh @skyesthebomb @cyberdejos2 @chloeijuana @tian-monique

#wwe #black writers #wwe imagine #black fem reader #black female writers #wwe fluff #black fanfic writer #black oc #black romance #black fanfiction #jey uso imagine #jey uso

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thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 3 days ago

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you’re a mean one.

‣ pairing — lloyd hansen x doctor f!reader

‣ contents — oneshot, coarse language, rom-com vibes??? dark but soft??? new year special, allusions to violence, blood/injury, fluff, and i would say morally grey protagonists but tbh there’s really nothing grey about them.

‣ summary — they say that there’s nothing more frightening than a pissed off, gun-wielding, profusely-bleeding lloyd hansen who’s trying to be nice… except, maybe, for his equally unstable doctor.

‣ word count — 1.8k (omg finally a short one!!)

‣ notes — this is my first time writing for lloyd and it was so much fun, even if writing a rom-com style piece for a couple of psychopaths is still extremely hard lmao. i might make this AU a ~thing~ later, although i’m still a bit unsure 👀 anyway, happy new year, my loves! bonus points if you can pinpoint my pushing daisies reference 🤭

✩ read on ao3 ✩ janie’s masterlist ✩ library blog

Lloyd stares down at the brown file folder lying open on the kitchen counter, your picture pinned to the inside flap, pondering how quickly even the most carefully laid plans can change.

Because you were supposed to be the means to an end. He’s been doing this a very long time and he’s since learned, that for men like Sierra Six, it always comes down to sentiment. According to Carmichael’s intel, before you left the CIA for the private sector in search of more, let’s say, lucrative work, you and Court Gentry had quite the history—the sordid romantic kind, the kind that’s the easiest to exploit.

Lloyd scoffs, his hand tightening around his wine glass. The thought of you in bed with that rogue CIA shitbag makes him physically ill, and he quickly throws back the remainder of his drink to push down the bile that’s rising in his throat.

You were supposed to be bait. Lloyd was to kidnap you and hold you hostage, use you to lure Gentry out into the open. It’s a classic move; it had worked so swimmingly—er, for the most part—with Fitzroy and his niece, after all.

But he’s made a devastating miscalculation.

He failed to consider how different you’d be compared to what was written about you on paper. He already knew you were probably decent, if not outright good, at your job, but to be singlehandedly the most talented surgeon he’s ever met? And he’s met a lot of them, given his line of work. At the very least, you are a million leagues ahead of his previous physician; casualties have gone down drastically since you came around.

And even though he’s been shot, stabbed, and shivved more times than he can count, he can barely even see the scars those wounds left behind. Your sutures are impeccable, each stitch immaculate and uniform, like a work of fucking art—and he’s not exactly the kind of man who’s known for appreciating art.

Not to mention you are absolutely fearless. The day you met, when he’d slapped those handcuffs on you and pressed the barrel of his gun to your temple, demanding your cooperation or else he’d splatter the walls with your pretty little brains, you simply smirked and said, “I don’t know, Mr… Hansen, was it? I only bow down to one master.”

He almost swore.

“Talk dirty to me then, sweetheart,” he quipped back, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear, not expecting you to lean in closer and press yourself to places you had no business touching.

“The almighty dollar,” you whispered, your beautiful face then splitting into a wide and menacing grin that matched his own. He felt a shiver shoot up his spine and almost ruined his favourite pair of pants on the spot. Lloyd took a deep whiff then, his nose buried in your hair, the sweet smell of your shampoo mixing with the distinct scent of batshit crazy. It made him a little lightheaded, to be honest.

To a mercenary like himself who’s loyalty also only ever lay with the highest bidder—and he uses the term “loyalty” with a very large grain of salt, the kind that’s less like a grain and more like those blocks they give cows to lick—you were a woman after his own damn heart.

He really had no choice then, did he, but to place you under his employ. Not only was he already in the market for a new doctor, he needed someone exactly like you—someone who showed no fear whenever Lloyd lost his temper and threw one of his infamous tantrums. Even Brewer would have to leave the room with a roll of her eyes, but the way her shoulders tensed up belying her discomfort… but you?

“Calm down and shut the fuck up already,” you’d tell him, looking bored as you carefully inspected your perfectly manicured nails, “or else I’ll pump you so full of ketamine your pathetic little heart explodes.”

You’d then bat away the barrel of his gun that he points at you in anger, calling him a goddamn drama queen. You never bat an eyelash whenever he returns to the base with someone else’s blood splattered all over his clothes, some of it even dripping from the ends of his hair.

And on occasions when he does return all banged up and cut open, you’d giggle manically as you unravelled a roll of gauze, bundling the strands together in a tight wad before unceremoniously jamming it into his wounds. He’d scream in surprise and agony, a litany of curses bouncing off the walls while you ordered some nearby men to hold him down by the shoulders. Once it was over, with Lloyd panting through the pain and sweat dotting his hairline, you’d unabashedly boop him on the nose with a proud grin.

“Here you go, Boss Man,” you’d cackle, pulling off the plastic off a lollipop and shoving the candy into his mouth, sugar mixing with iron on his tongue. “For being such a good boy.”

If anyone else spoke to him the way you do, they would already be sinking to the bottom of the harbour. Whenever he threatens to end your insolent, insignificant life with a simple wave of his hand—because what exactly did you think happened to his old doctor?—you’d laugh right in his face as though you don’t believe him.

You really are fucking insane, aren’t you?

Lloyd rules over his criminal syndicate with an iron fist, a notoriously short fuse of a temper, and a penchant for holding grudges for as long as it suits him. It’s why, even though it’s been weeks now since he last saw signs of Sierra Six in the vicinity, he should still be more than determined to use you to get even.

All good things to those who wait, after all, and Lloyd definitely knows how to savour a meal.

He’s killed countless times before and slept soundly afterward, sometimes pulling the trigger so casually he didn’t even bother looking at his target. He’s never had any moral qualms about using people to get what he wants, then disposing of them once they were no longer useful. You wouldn’t be the first, and you certainly would not be the last. He can make it so that nobody even knows you’re missing, and he should, by all means, enjoy every last delicious second of it.

So, why?

Why, if he is all those things and more, are you somehow the dangerous one?

Because, a voice taunts him, a voice he’s both thrilled and loathed to realize is none other than his own… wait, what’s the opposite of a conscience?

You won’t do a damned thing. Not now, and not ever. Lloyd picks up your file and, after a few more seconds of meaningless contemplation, he tosses it into the nearby fireplace. He watches, growing more satisfied by the second, as the flames lick at and curl the edges of the pages, the logs popping and crackling until there’s nothing left but cinders and ashes.

Because you and everyone else in this godforsaken place is wrapped around her tiny little finger. Everyone at the mansion straightens and practically salutes when you pass, some of them staring after you longingly as you walk by. Men hardened by years of service, disillusioned by a government that was more than happy to use them for their own means and then leave them to fend for themselves once they were back on home soil, simper and whine just for a few seconds of your attention.

It makes him fucking seethe, so much so that he’s made sure to threaten every single one of them with acid poured into the empty eye sockets—oh, because they will be empty once he’s scooped the eyeballs out of their heads with a dull and rusty melon baller—of the next person who makes heart eyes at you.

After all, while they say that near death experiences can change a man, it can’t change him that much.

“You’re not supposed to be drinking yet,” your voice drifts into the kitchen, prompting him to turn around and smirk when he sees you leaning against the doorway, that blasted white coat doing things to him it shouldn’t be. You glance around, noting the lit candles and chilled champagne, smile growing wider when you smell a roast cooking in the oven. “And here I was thinking you only ever call on me when you’re bleeding or dying.”

“You’re my doctor, that’s kind of how it works,” Lloyd snarks, knowing that, if he’s lucky, you’ll make him pay for that comment later. “And I’m not dyin’ anytime soon, cupcake.”

“Is that right,” you chortle, striding closer to pour yourself a glass of wine. The movement jostles your coat open enough that he can see your outfit underneath, the same one you’d been wearing when you stitched him up the other night. “So, this isn’t your blood that came out of a giant hole someone cut into your body, staining all of my nice clothes?”

“Occupational hazard, but if it makes you feel better—” and since when did he care about what made people feel better? “—I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe,” he offers, eyes trailing up the shape of your thighs, the mouthwatering curve of your hips, his hand finding its way into the delicious dip of your waist. For the first time in his life, Lloyd is seriously considering honouring a promise.

“You certainly know the way to my heart,” you turn around in his arms and loop one arm around his waist. He yelps when you press at his wound, the skin healing well but still tender. God damn, he thinks as he watches your gaze darken; it actually gets your rocks off when he’s in pain, doesn’t it? “Looks like you’ll live another day, at least.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he can’t help but quip. The oven timer goes off suddenly, at the exact same time the clock strikes twelve. “Now get your claws off me, you sick freak, or the food’s gonna burn.”

Despite the colourful nicknames, you seat yourself at the table and softly hum your approval, sounding much more pleased than offended. And Lloyd knows he’s just as crazy as you are, even though there really hadn’t been much doubt, because he proceeds to serve you dinner in full view of his henchmen. He doesn’t think they’ve ever seen him set foot in the kitchen once since he started this little business of his, but tonight they will learn.

You are his, the Harley to his Joker, a tenacious but not so delicate flower blooming in the concrete. Tonight, he finally makes that clear to everyone who’s around to see, and they all have no choice but to bow down to the newly minted queen of his castle.

“Happy new year, Boss Man,” you grin, “think we’ll make it to the next one?”

“Maybe,” he considers before clinking his wine glass against yours, leaning in close enough to taste the dessert off your lips, “no thanks to you, sunshine.”

It earns him another pinch, but damn it all if he doesn’t like it.

fin.

afterword — not me finding new ways to incorporate food as a love language in my stories 🙈 i can’t help it, okay???

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x f!reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x asian!reader #lloyd hansen oneshot #lloyd hansen fluff #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen #new years fic #go frost yourself! winter event

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coeurcanelle · 2 days ago

Text

Hold my heart even if it's cold pt3

pairing: surfer!ellie x reader

fluff,angst,sad ending

masterlist

ellie finally tells you why she's been ignoring you for an entire week. You also discover the sad truth behind all the prize money she didnt share with you and understand why surfing was her escape.

"Yeah, my drink is so much better," you said, pushing Ellie's mojito back towards her after taking a quick sip—just enough to taste it and contort your face in disgust, making Ellie chuckle.

It was only 4 pm, but the lack of sleep, stacked up over the days, had caught up with both of you. Too tired to grab your boards again, you chilled at the beachside bar, the soft crashes of the waves long forgotten.

She pushed your pina colada back to you and grabbed her sour drink instead.

Although you and Ellie had a lot in common, you still had opposite tastes—in colors, in music, in fashion style, and even in drinks.

Not in food, though—the classic picnic sandwich was both your favorite meal.

"They both taste good," Ellie disagreed, taking a huge sip and purposefully slurping. "I don't know what you're on."

There wasn't a single sour drink you’d ever learned to like. They just couldn't compare to sweet drinks. But Ellie wasn't complicated when it came to drinks; you could give her the most tasteless one, and her taste buds would just be built different.

"You're the smoker here, not me," you shot back, making Ellie's lips curl into a smirk, clearly amused.

"Guess the weed just made you have bad taste, huh?" she teased.

Ellie had this habit of smoking on the beach once the waves had swallowed all your energy. It wasn’t a habit you shared, but you always told her you didn’t mind the scent of weed drifting through the air while you drifted off, falling asleep on your towel with the sun kissing your skin.

Your gaze shifted to the lipstick stain you’d left on her white straw, your lips curling into a smile. "It doesn’t work like that."

Her eyes followed yours to the straw before meeting yours again, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. "Well, I just put my lips on that straw," she said slowly, leaning in, eyes fixed on yours. "And now you’ve technically put yours over mine, getting a taste of my drink. It’s like... indirect kissing."

She didn’t know if you could hear it—her heart hammering in her chest after letting her boldness push her to a line she'd never crossed with you before.

You blinked, unsure of how to react to her flirting. The air between you thickened, and you were caught somewhere between confusion and amusement.

Ellie took the silence as a sign, leaning back in her chair, her cocky smirk shifting into something more mischievous. "The weed’s in your mouth now."

She watched you bite your bottom lip, trying to hold back your laughter at the absurdity of her words. "Girl, what?"

Ellie rolled her eyes, clearly expecting you to be flustered by her teasing, but instead, you only laughed.

She had been expecting you to react in a way that would make her feel shy, but you didn’t know how to flirt like this—outside of the water, where your teasing came easily, and you could paint her cheeks cherry red.

You dropped your gaze to your drink, focusing on the sweet taste to avoid the weight of Ellie’s eyes on you, waiting for you to say something—anything.

"Now you’re just making things awkward," she murmured, mimicking your movement as she took a sip and lowered her gaze to her drink. Suddenly, she seemed shy.

You stopped drinking and looked at her, trying to think of something to say to fill the silence before it suffocated you both. "You started this."

The straw slipped from Ellie’s lips, and she lifted her eyes to meet yours. "You’re not helping," she sighed.

You stopped drinking, finally meeting her gaze. Her eyes were pleading, almost expectant. "What do you want me to say?"

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You should know."

Your heart skipped at the quiet intimacy in her voice.

It was a huge leap for Ellie to flirt with you like this, and you realized it was only fair to flirt back instead of hiding behind your cocktail.

So you grabbed her drink again, locking eyes with hers, which glimmered with surprise—and something more—when you put your lips on the exact spot she had put hers. The sour taste flooded your mouth, but you focused on making her heart skip a few beats.

Ellie wasn’t functioning when you gave her back your drink with a wink.

"Consider this your first then."

She never thought she'd want to be a straw so badly, but she wasn’t going to admit it. Instead, she tried to play it off. "You really think I’m a loser, huh?" she said with a casual shrug, trying to hide the flush creeping up her neck.

Four days ago, that’s how your friendship with Ellie had been. The lines were pretty blurred, and you liked it that way. Back then, you never imagined that it would be the exact reason you’d cry yourself to sleep every night at the thought of her now.

“I think it’s better if we don’t see each other for a while. Sorry.”

That was the last message you got from her. She made it crystal clear that she didn’t want to see your face again.

She didn’t want to hear the sound of your voice.

She didn’t want to feel the warmth of your touch again.

But it didn’t answer the one question you kept asking yourself every day since.

Why?

Why would she choose distance when she couldn’t even keep her hands to herself around you? When her gaze lingered on you like a secret she was dying to tell?

The warmth you once cherished when you thought of her now burned with a darker, sharper flame—a fire fueled by confusion and longing. It consumed you, growing fiercer the longer she stayed away.

The surfers on the beach were probably right. Maybe it would appease you not to be around her for a while, knowing all you'd do would be argue with her and make things even worse than they already were.

But how long was "a while"?

What did “a while” mean? Days? Weeks? Months? Or had she really meant forever but softened the blow with kinder words?

You obsessed over her message, dissecting each letter like it held some hidden truth. You even let paranoia sink in—what if someone else had sent it, someone who wanted to tear you apart? But deep down, you knew. You knew it was her.

So, you stayed away from the beach. The ocean that once brought you peace now felt like a cruel reminder of her absence.

Every time you'd dive into the water, the icy water felt like her cold hands brushing against yours.

Every time you'd rest on your board, drained of energy, the warm sun was like her small, shy smile that melted your heart every time.

Every wave rolling and crashing on the shore unfolded memories of her—Ellie, balancing on her board with effortless ease, laughing at your attempts to imitate her tricks before coaxing you to try again with that proud glimmer in her eyes.

You missed her green eyes. The way they lingered on you when she thought you wouldn’t notice. The way they darted away, embarrassed, when you teased her for it.

Now, all of it was gone.

Memories were all you had, and they were eating you alive.

You missed her.

You missed what you were.

You weren’t even together, but this hurt worse than a breakup. Worse than heartbreak, it was the emptiness of not knowing if she’d ever come back to you.

The silence was unbearable. No texts, no calls, not even a glimpse of her at the places she used to frequent. Even her apartment—windows always closed whenever you passed by—felt like a tomb.

Ellie was born of the ocean. There wasn’t a single day she’d spent away from the sound of waves, the salt air in her lungs. Even on cloudy days, she’d drag you to the beach just to sit and dig a sand pool connected to the water,just doing anything to still stay close to her favorite place.

So if she wasn’t here, at her second home, the heart of what brought her joy, how was she even doing?

With a sliver of hope still clinging to your chest, you returned to the moon pool cave. Maybe she’d be there, you thought. Maybe you’d find her sitting on the rocks, ready to share one of her ridiculous jokes about planets, the kind that would make you laugh until your stomach ached.

But the cave was empty.

Only the moon remained, casting its pale reflection on the still water, and silence was your only companion.

Half of your heart beat in your chest, the other half with her.

You wondered if she was drowning in loneliness like you, unable to find a sliver of sunlight through her closed windows.

What was she even doing, all alone in the dark?

Surfing wasn’t her only hobby—so maybe she was drawing in her journal, but everything she liked was connected to the ocean, and she hadn’t stepped foot in the water since days. So what could she possibly be drawing?

The moon above shone bright, not offering warmth like the summer sun, but casting a silver light throughout the cave.

You had thought all this time that Ellie was like the sun. But after a lot of overthinking,you started to think she was more like the moon—shining brightly, giving her light to the stars in the sky, showing you her best smile, her happiest tears, and her loudest laughs. Yet that was only one side of her. What was on the other side? Was it just as bright?

This distance felt so sudden, and you realized something.

Ellie hadn’t been avoiding you.

She’d been avoiding the beach.

"Surfing makes me forget everything. I try to keep my mind busy at home, but at the beach... surfing just hits different. Like I can let go and focus on the waves, you know?"

That was the only time you got her to open up a little, but you never learned what she was trying to escape,what was she trying to forget.

Then there were the little things—like when you asked her about her fall, and she brushed it off without even pretending to smile, hiding the pain of not finishing her trick.

Or the way her lips curved into something sad when a child asked her to teach him to surf someday, agreeing like it was a promise she didn’t believe she could keep.

The pieces were starting to come together, but you still couldn’t see the whole picture.

Something was wrong.

And Ellie wasn’t the drama queen type.

If she was hiding something from you, it had to be heavy—so heavy that she thought it might crush you, too.

The distance wasn’t meant to hurt you.

It was meant to protect you.

She was sinking beneath the weight of whatever secret she carried, the tides pulling her under. And instead of reaching for your hand, she let herself drift, thinking it was better to drown alone than drag you down with her.

Because she knew you would take her hand every time. That you wouldn’t mind sinking as long as you could help her back to the surface. Or that you might even drown with her, not daring to let go.

And she didn’t want that.

You could see it now. It was all there, written in her green eyes the moment she opened the door to you.

You couldn’t endure more than a week of this.

You didn’t need her to come back to you—you just needed to understand. An answer. Any answer.

If she told you to leave, if she told you never to see her again, you’d do it. But you wouldn’t leave without the truth.

So, when you finally stood before her door, the words fell out of you.

"Are you okay?"

♡°♡°♡

The scent of cleaning products invaded your nose as she let you step into her cozy apartment. Everything was in place, the floor even shining. She didn’t lie when she said she cleaned it up.

But you couldn’t shake the ominous feeling rising in your chest.

Everything looked untouched, as if she hadn’t lived here.

"I wasn’t home for a week," Ellie explained, unable to meet your eyes, afraid that you might see through her and read her mind.

It made sense why the windows were open today.

"Where had you been?"you asked

Never had you seen her look so tired. Her voice was rough, and the dark bags under her eyes betrayed her usually energetic self.

Her face was so pale. As pale as a ghost.

The only answer you got was silence. Ellie was thinking of a smooth excuse to make you leave. But when you walked closer, asking if she had even had lunch, offering to make her something, she grabbed your arm before you could reach the doorknob of the kitchen.

"No. Don’t go inside." She pulled away when you stopped and turned back to her. Her hand was cold against your arm. Colder than usual.

"Okay. You wanna tell me what’s going on with you?" Her dark green eyes met your confused ones. She knew she couldn’t avoid this conversation forever, but it was still hard knowing you had no idea what she’d been going through, and that it could change everything between you.

"Look, I’m sorry about the money, I know—"

"I’m not here to argue about that. It’s fine." You shook your head. Deep down, you knew her desire to create distance wasn’t just about that. And you didn’t want to stir up tension, especially when she looked like... that. "I just wanted to know if you're okay. You haven’t exactly been showing signs of life these days."

Ellie nodded, her thoughts drifting to the ocean. For a week, she had been listening to the sound of crashing waves in her shell, daydreaming about being there. With you.

"I know I’m..." Ellie’s eyes struggled to stay on yours. She looked away "I’m sick."

Another excuse, you thought. "Sick? In the middle of summer?"

But then her eyes met yours again, pure honesty glimmering in them.

"No... not like this." Her lips trembled, afraid of letting the bitter truth slip after she’d drowned you in the ocean of her lies.

Unable to find the right words, she took your hand instead. The lack of reassurance in her grip made your heart tighten.

"Okay..." she exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. "Come with me."

Each step you took didn’t lessen the overwhelming grip—if anything, it tightened with Ellie’s cold fingers wrapped around yours, leading you to her kitchen.

And you didn’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t this: a large pile of medicine bottles and boxes scattered across her table, still in their bags.

Your heart sank deeper than you thought it could, but it still didn’t compare to how deep Ellie had sunk.

“Why?” You covered your mouth with your hand in shock, trying your best to keep your voice steady. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Ellie knew she should have shut the door in your face, told you to fuck off and never come back. It would have hurt less than seeing you like this, the light fading from your eyes, just like it had from hers. “I didn’t want to worry you, or have you see me like this.”

The puzzle was complete now.

You searched her eyes desperately, your voice trembling with a question you prayed wasn’t true.

“Do you have cancer or something?”

Ellie let out a soft chuckle, trying to ease the thick tension in the air. “I still have all my hair, don’t I?”

But you didn’t laugh.

The silence that followed was deafening, pressing down on you like a weight too heavy to bear. She shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of her neck as the facade crumbled. Her voice softened, almost apologetic.

“It’s ALS… neuromuscular stuff.”

Your heart dropped.

It all made sense.

Her fall at the competition—it wasn’t just a mistake. It was her body starting to give up on her.

The prize money—you’d foolishly dreamed of spending the summer together, carefree and happy, while she’d been planning for treatments, trying to buy more time against a sickness that was already taking everything from her.

And that sad smile she gave the little boy who asked her to teach him to surf one day—it wasn’t just disappointment. It was the quiet grief of knowing she’d promised him a future she would never live to see.

"How bad is it?" you asked, though the piles of medicine already answered for you.

The silence hung between you like a storm on the verge of breaking. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely audible.

"I don’t have much time left."

The world stopped spinning. It had to. Time itself felt like it fractured, splintering into shards that pierced through your chest.

You swore you felt your heart break, warmth spilling from the cracks, leaving you hollow and aching. Your chest tightened, your breath caught, and all you could do was stand there as your mind reeled against the truth.

She had pushed you away for a week, kept you at arm’s length—not because she didn’t care, but because she cared too much.

She saw how hard and fast you’d fallen for her. How behind your eyes, you imagined her lips on yours, and how behind your small smile, you wanted to make her heart melt.

And she had fallen too—harder than any wave had ever thrown her.

And she didn’t want you to anchor yourself to someone with no tomorrow, someone who would make you cling to the past, to the shadows of memories.

She didn’t want her fading touch to take away your warmth.

She didn’t want you to love someone who was already slipping away.

Pulling you under with her would be a fall that wouldn’t leave bruises on your skin like the waves did, but would instead carve wounds into your heart—wounds that no time or tenderness could ever mend.

"I know you're upset because I didn't tell you, but... I didn't want to," she said, fighting back her tears just like you now.

In the past, she had made peace with this. She had imagined the ocean taking her back one day, the moon shining bright above her as she gave herself to the waves. But then she met you, and suddenly, she was afraid.

Afraid of the life she’d never get to have.

Afraid of the love she’d leave behind.

Afraid of never seeing you again.

Silence filled the space between you as you tried to gather the shattered pieces of yourself. When you finally spoke, your voice was soft, but heavy with pain.

"Why? I would’ve been here for you, Ellie. I would’ve helped with treatments. I would’ve done something. Anything." If you'd known she needed all the prize money for the competition, you would’ve let her take it in a heartbeat—maybe even given some of your own if it wasn't enough.

Just anything to buy some time, even if it was just for a second.

"That's exactly why I kept my mouth shut."

Your heart—or perhaps what was left of it—clenched at her firm voice.

"You're gonna start seeing me as..." she continued, pointing to the bags of medicine on the table, her hands trembling. "As a zombie," her voice cracked with frustration. "Someone who's already dying."

Each word, each syllable, raw and heavy with pain, hurt. You wished you could take all of her burdens away and bear them for her.

“Bullshit,” you said, your voice rising, trembling with anger and desperation. “You’re not going to die.”

You wouldn't let her drown.

And if you had to sink to help her stay afloat, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

Because all you wanted was for her to live, to pursue her passion, gliding over the roaring waves like a true daughter of the sea. In your eyes, no one else ever shone above the waters quite like she did.

Your eyes drifted to the mountain of pill bottles. Ellie had spent an entire week in the hospital, under the care of doctors, managing to afford enough medicine to keep her going.

Each bottle wasn't just a symbol of her fragility or a silent witness to her suffering. They were here because she was still holding on. Because there was still hope.

"You're gonna be just fine. I'm going to make sure of that." Your soft words made Ellie's eyes soften too, and her heart feeling a little less heavy.

But the weight that lifted from Ellie’s heart found itself in yours.

You would share this burden with her.

Slowly, you stepped closer, hoping to see the reflection of hope in your eyes mirrored in hers.

"If you don't have that much time left, and the doctors are unsure, that doesn’t mean you're going to die tomorrow. You might have months or even years. I’m not going to give up on you just because you think there's no hope. Think about it this way—every single moment we spend will be precious, timeless, and you won't ever be alone." Closing the distance, you reached for her hand, transferring your warmth to her cold skin with soothing touches.

"I’m here, no matter what. Always." You promised.

Becausze above the low tides and the violent roar of the waves, Ellie had never stopped helping you back up on your board.

Even beneath the blazing sun, she never hid that small, beaming smile that warmed you more than the light itself.

Under the cold gaze of the moon, her arms never faltered, holding you steady as you trembled against the chill.

By day, when tears fell from the weight of failed tricks, she never stopped turning them into laughter, chasing away the frustration.

And even in the quiet of the night, when the waves pulled you under, she never ceased soothing your bruises, staying until the last wave of pain finally ebbed away.

Because Ellie had always been there for you.

And now, it was your turn to be there for her.

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you held them in, fighting the urge to fall apart when she needed you most.

You had to be the steady hand that would piece her back together, no matter how fragile she felt.

Wiping your eyes, you took a steady breath and offered her a gentle smile, silently urging her to return it.

"Do you want me to make lunch?" Your hand was still caressing hers, the warmth beginning to fade. "Anything?"

And in that moment, as you watched her fragile smile form, the broken pieces of your heart began to pull themselves back together, like shards of glass fitting into place.

Ellie nodded, her heart beating with excitement. "Yeah, sure," she missed your sandwiches.

She let go of your hand and walked around the kitchen, opening the cabinets to grab the plates.

On the other side of the room, you were stacking the medicines in a secluded cupboard, your mind drifting to her treatments.

Then the sound of glass hitting the floor startled you.

You rushed to Ellie’s side, scanning her hands for any cuts. They were trembling uncontrollably.

"Shit, sorry," Ellie murmured, crouching down to pick up the scattered pieces. But you stopped her.

"Hey, don’t worry, I got it," you reassured her, and she nodded.

She sat down on the floor, away from the glass, as you went to grab a broom and dustpan to clean it up.

It wasn’t the first time you had used the broom in her apartment, so you quickly reappeared in the kitchen.

As you swept the shards into the dustpan, the sound of stifled sobs reached your ears.

Immediately, you turned, your heart breaking at the sight of Ellie crying.

You dropped the broom and dustpan, pulling her into your arms.

Her body shook like a leaf as her tears soaked your shoulder.

She had been holding back her tears since she fell. Every day at the hospital, she was drowning in your absence, wishing for things to be different—a different world where she wasn’t sick.

But she never wished for you to change.

She had pushed you away, thinking it was the only way to protect you. But you hadn’t stepped back.

Instead, you pulled her closer—closer into your arms, closer into your heart.

Soon, you found your own tears falling onto her shoulder.

Water and salt mixed in each other’s tears—water from the cherished past and salt from the bitter future. Yet, you stood there, trying to piece together what had slipped through your fingers, reshaping it into something that could be a better present.

Even if her world was ending and the stars in the sky were falling, you would try to hang them back up just for her.

And if they couldn’t remain, and the world fell into darkness, you would be her last glimmer of light.

♡°♡°♡

You found yourself counting days again. Days since Ellie told you the truth behind her sudden disappearance. Days since she apologized for pushing you away. You always told her it was okay—that what mattered was that you were back together. She promised she would never do it again, and you believed her.

Despite the heartbreak, each piece of your heart was still, and would always be, full of her.

You could have never guessed she was ill, not with her infectious, playful, and energetic spirit.

But it wasn’t a facade at all. Even after telling you she was sick, she was still the same girl you met on the waves at the beginning of summer.

Or maybe it was because she’d gotten better.

A few days after learning the truth, you packed some of your clothes from your closet and moved them into Ellie’s—practically living with her.

The apartment felt peaceful, the days filled with harmony as you helped her with chores. From preparing meals—not just sandwiches—to doing the laundry or vacuuming the floor.

Every time she’d catch you with a broom or something, she would grab it back, saying, “Is it me or are you letting the cookies burn again? Go to the kitchen quick!!!” Just an excuse to do the chores herself, though your acts of service always warmed her heart.

Ellie was still pretty independent, and accidents like her dropping things only happened once.

And because she got better, it didn’t take long before you dove into the water again.

“Did you feel that?” Ellie asked, her legs floating underwater as she sat on her board, looking at you to see if you felt something graze your feet too.

“Yeah, I hope it’s just a fish.”

After putting on your swimsuits, you and Ellie rubbed sunscreen on each other’s backs, her fingers lingering longer than necessary on yours before you both stretched and caught low and high tides effortlessly.

Even after a week, Ellie was still amazing, never slipping once. You copied her tricks, earning her proud smile every time you didn’t slip.

And once the adrenaline wore off, you just sat there talking under the sun, above the gleaming water. The crashing waves from the shore echoed far away, feeling less playful than Ellie.

“I mean, we’re pretty far from the shore. Water’s cold. Could be anything.”

You shifted your gaze from Ellie’s playful smirk to the shimmering water. The sun’s golden reflection rippled across the surface, concealing anything beneath it, teasing your curiosity.

“Only one way to find out,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips before vanishing underwater.

The sound of the sea enveloped you as you dove deeper. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, the saltwater stinging briefly before your vision adjusted. Searching for the mysterious fish that had brushed against you, you were greeted with an unexpected sight: a line of identical cods swimming in perfect formation, their silvery bodies glinting like tiny mirrors in the dappled sunlight.

Carefully, you extended your arms forward, moving slowly to avoid startling them. Then, with a quick motion, you grabbed one of the fish and shot back up to the surface.

Ellie’s eyes widened as you emerged, triumphant, the fish flailing in your grip. “No way! You actually caught it,” she said, her tone a mix of awe and disbelief.

Grinning, you held it up proudly before gently releasing it back into the water. “Piece of cake,” you bragged, earning a playful scoff from Ellie.

Ellie raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning as she pushed herself off her board and into the water. The cold didn’t seem to faze her. "Okay, show-off. I’m going to catch two. Just you wait.”

Before you could respond, she disappeared beneath the waves. You rested your hands on your board, watching her green shorts and top fading into the blue depths.

Moments later, Ellie resurfaced, empty-handed, her playful smirk replaced by a slightly embarrassed pout.

“Need help?” you teased, unable to hide your amusement.

“Shut up,” she grumbled, rolling her eyes as she climbed back onto her board. You really made it look so easy to fish with bare hands—she’d probably be better as bait.

“I had it, I swear. I caught it, but then it slipped. Freaked out and everything.”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Who wouldn’t?”

Without warning, she brought her legs up and kicked them against the water, sending a cascade of icy splashes your way.

You retaliated, splashing water back at her, but before you could gain the upper hand, Ellie leaned in closer. Her mischievous grin was the last thing you saw before she shoved you both underwater.

Beneath the waves, your laughter erupted into streams of shimmering bubbles, tangling in the currents around you. For a fleeting moment, her sickness seemed to dissolve into the water, carried away with the tide.

The ache in her stomach wasn’t from pain this time; it was from laughing too hard, from joy that felt as infinite as the sea.

The same joy spread through your body as you and Ellie now lay exhausted on the shore. Your eyes lingered on the magical scenery unfolding on the horizon, where the orange sun dipped low, gently kissing the endless blue sea. Ellie had suggested watching the sunset from the shore, not giving you a specific reason, but you agreed anyway. You lazily paddled here, not without a huge wall of water crashing over your bodies along the way. Now, you were like stranded whales, letting the last rays of warmth from the sun evaporate the small droplets on your skin.

Suddenly, you felt her eyes on you. It was funny how you could always tell when Ellie was looking at you, even without glancing back.

A droplet of water slid from your waist, down your side, before disappearing into the sand.

Then her eyes turned to yours.

This time, she didn't look away.

"If you were that fish underwater," she turned to look at the sea. Images of her failing to catch the small cod earlier flashed in your mind. "Would you have freaked out?"

You smiled at her.

"Depends. If you mind your own business, I’d be cool. But if you’re some zoophile or planning to eat me raw and alive..."

"What?" Ellie turned to you, her eyes flashing with fake shock, expecting you to say no, or something that would make her heart flutter. "Can't believe you think of me like that, a heartless freak with primal,neolithic needs."

Then her eyes softened when a laugh escaped your lips, your soft, kissable lips.

All she wanted to do was feel your joy against her lips.

"What did you even do to that fish?" you asked, and she knew you were just joking.

You were teasing her, but she couldn't fight the warmth creeping up on her neck.

"Nothing, I swear!" she exclaimed, trying to keep eye contact.

"Sure"

But your eyes followed the redness now coloring her cheeks, and it only intensified when she caught your smirk.

You liked it a little too much, teasing her until all she could do was look away, trying to calm her racing heart. She’d never admit it, but she liked it. And loved it even more when you were the one being flustered by her.

"I really just... leaned in. Like this," she says, her voice quieter now as she inches closer to you, her eyes locked on yours.

The sun had finally disappeared beneath the water, ready to let the moon shine through the night.

But it was in Ellie's eyes that shone the prettiest stars.

"And then it freaked out?" you asked, your voice softer now.

"Yeah," Ellie whispers, her voice almost trembling as her gaze flickers down to your lips and back to your eyes.

Your breath fanned over her lips, and she was aching to steal it all away from your lungs, which was funny considering she promised she would be the air filling your lungs if you drowned.

You were truly driving her crazy.

"What if it was me, and you were the fish..." you tilted your head, your voice gentle. "Would you freak out?"

The few inches distancing you felt so far, like you were on the other side of the planet.

She didn’t solely need the sweetness of your smile, she yearned to feel your heart beating next to hers.

Desperately, she replied, “No.”

The same desperation echoed in your heart.

Before Ellie could add another word, you closed the distance, an explosion of warmth and pure affection bursting from her heart, spreading through her chest as she tasted the sweetness of your smile.

Your lips moved desperately against hers as you emptied your heart, full of her.

The saltwater lingered on your connecting lips.

Ellie was right.

Daydreaming about this moment for so long, her heart always told her you'd taste like her favorite place in the world, like the ocean.

Your trembling hands cupped her rosy cheeks as you lost yourself in this pull, stronger than the sea, drawing her closer and crashing the waves of everything into her: the love you've felt for her since day one, the joy of having her reciprocate your feelings, but also fear.

Fear of losing her.

Fear that this might be an ending rather than a beginning.

Ellie's fingers brushed yours before she pulled them off her cheeks, gently guiding your hands down into the sand, intertwining your fingers as she moved her lips softly against your desperate ones.

You kissed her like there was no tomorrow, and she kissed you as though each second held the eternity of a memory.

Each flicker of her tongue told you she wasn't going anywhere.

Her hands grounded you as she calmed the storm raging in your heart, her heart melting when you responded with equal tenderness, yours melting as you felt her hand now on your hip.

Deepening the kiss, she let all of her love travel through your chest, reaching your heart, and pulled you closer so you could feel her heartbeat next to yours.

Each single beat thudding in her chest for you.

The first stars began to appear, witnessing what the sun never could, as you pulled away.

The chill of the night didn’t faze you. Your heart was warmed by the sight of Ellie’s blissful,breathless smile.

The shoreline whispered as small waves crashed around you, promising a love as deep as the ocean and as endless as the sky.

From that night on, you stopped counting the days she had left. Instead, you started making every day count.

---

☆taglist: @vahnilla

a/n:last part coming soon <3

#Spotify #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie fluff #wlw

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dolliels · 14 hours ago

Text

HANAHAKI..

synopsis: hanahaki + the second years. you don't like them back.

WHAT IS HANAKI? a fictional disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings (romantic love only; strong friendship is not enough), or when the victim dies. This problem can also be solved if the victim goes through surgery, but since the disease is caused by a grief of such a strong emotion, love, the patient will lose all ability to feel.

riddle

riddle grew up alone, mostly. every time he seeked for comfort, for company, it’ll fall apart. it would always go wrong, he’d lose everything the moment he got too greedy.

riddle still struggled to properly face trey and chen’ya after all those years, even if he got better with it. it was too embarrassing, too lame. he felt like a loser. a sore loser who deserved nothing. oh sevens, did the world have something against him?

things were looking on the bright side. he was out of his mother’s furious grip, he has more freedom than he ever did (even if he goes by strict rules) he could make as many friends as he liked and hang out with them as much as he liked.

he still preferred being private, however. he liked his friends, you included. they were more understanding of him than any other member of the school. although he’d twist and turn in bed when he thinks back to his overblot (how embarrassing of me! he thinks) he would still much prefer being with those who accepted him a long time ago.

you weren’t too big on sweets. you liked them, sure, but the more you ate the more your mouth felt itchy. knowing riddle’s sweet tooth, sometimes, you’d secretly pass your unfinished slice of cake or unfinished strawberry tart to him. riddle rosehearts, the strict, germaphobic, lowkey a dictator, heartily took it,

if it were anyone else, he’d just stare at them in disbelief. but the thought that you bit into the very sweet treat, it threw him over the moon. he’d read of indirect kisses before, in cheesy romances he read in his spare time. he doesn’t know if this is actually an indirect kiss, but don’t make fun of him, he’s still learning!

riddle has a lot of firsts, like the first time he tried that strawberry tart, or the first time he learned that playing with friends is fun, or the first time he ever overblotted, or the first time he fell in love.

you were his first love.

he turns red when alone, imagining your face and your laughter and your joy. your silly mishaps that he has no heart on lecturing you over, or your inability to understand some of the assignments. he finds all aspects of you cute— wonderful? he doesn’t know how to describe what he’d feeling, but it gets him all giddy.

he’s frustrated often, the way he started blushing violently when you ever get in close contact with him and how you always, always seem to be unaware of this. oblivion would send you to hell.

he’s been feeling quite nauseous lately, probably because of his failed attempts of clumsily sending you signals about how he feels.

it was to a point where he threw up… petals? petals…??????? oh my god, he’s throwing up petals!!!

riddle distinctively remembers reading about this during his first year, a disease of romance, love, and failure.

his heart sinks. maybe that’s why you failed to notice.

things never go his way, riddle thinks. he’s always feeling alone. every time he gets greedy for comfort, he loses it at the highest point of his life. when things are getting better, it takes turns for the worse. that’s why riddle likes to follow the rules.

by his third year, riddle’s back to being his strict, controlling prefect. except something’s different, he’s not as angry anymore.

that’s to be expected, though. ever since the surgery, riddle has never been the same.

ruggie

He has grown up to treasure everything he has.

ruggie isn’t as financially stable as others, he wasn’t lucky to be fortunate enough to get what he wants, whenever he wants.

So when he does get what he wants, ruggie makes sure to keep it close to his heart like it means everything. Most of the time, it does mean everything, all of it. his life.

he hardly gives away his things (please don’t mention the kids at the slums, he’ll turn awfully shy.) and takes anything he’s given.

when you would give him the tiniest amount of food, he’d gladly snatch it from your hands and walk away snickering.

easy target for food is what you are, he thinks.

most of the time, when people give things away to him, ruggie just assumes that it’s unwanted. he’d take leftovers no problem. it’s only when you’d constantly hand things to him, always have something to give him and remember he exists, does he think you’re odd. I mean, he’s fine with taking the forgotten leftovers, but what could he possibly do when you don’t forget him?

watch ruggie clumsily fiddle around with his fingers, scanning the area for your presence. he has learned to not worry, as you always manage to come find him everyday without fail. he feels noticed.

he starts to crave for that attention.

ruggie treasures things. he keeps them close in his heart very carefully. but what would he do when you steal his heart instead? where can he hide all the things that mean everything to him?

somehow, he doesn’t mind. he wants you to see him more, ruggie bucchi, his true self.

the crave he has for your is for some odd reason, unmet. you’re oblivious to his shy antics, the way his ears turn flat when you walk away or the way he holds onto the hem of your shirt just for a second longer.

notice him.

when you see the way he unconsciously covers his mouth whenever you meet eyes with him, or the how he’s constantly going to the infirmary, will you finally notice him?

there’s a trail of your favourite flowers.

ruggie bucchi keeps all the special things close to his heart. when you take his heart away, how else can he express his pathetic, unrequited love? by coughing up a disease ruggie would’ve called embarrassing and shameful if it weren’t for you.

azul

azul is sensitive. he notices things way too easily. the tiny, insignificant details of someone and how they react, he will notice. that is how azul finds out how a person truly feels about him.

even if azul and that other person were considered close friends, azul would still notice the tiny little details that make him unlikable to them even just a little. it’s been a habit for as long as he could remember.

everyone always had something they disliked about azul. it was fine with him, that was normal. everyone dislikes everyone about anything. it’s not like it deters long lasting relationships. azul shrugs it off, it doesn’t bother him. it’s comforting, even, knowing what people think about him.

so it was obvious to say it was near-horrid when no matter how much time azul spent time with you, he could not spot anything off about you, anything that said you didn’t like him.

as much as azul notices how people act around him, he also notices other people. he knows all their flaws, their good sides and their bad sides. even if he couldn’t read your thoughts about him at all, he still expected to see something out of the norm about you, a bad trait, something that made you human.

to him, you had none.

were you god? how come you were near-perfect in his eyes? during cold months, the tips of your nose and ears would flush pink like a cute plum while azul turned embarrassingly pink. he thought it was ugly and didn’t make him look good, but there nothing to prove that you thought the same. he couldn’t tell anything about you at all.

you were like a confusing puzzle piece to him. unsolvable, unreadable, flawless. perfect.

it took a while to adjust, but his unwavering respect for you turned into wavering thumps of his heart and dodging eyes. maybe you weren’t perfect after all, maybe azul just likes you.

the terrible urge to impress you grew stronger everyday.

he wanted to look as perfect as you did to him.

how can he possibly ever look perfect,

when he is sick?

hovered over the toilet, azul clutched his chest as petals slid out of his mouth as if it were apart of him. well, it is apart of him, I guess. his love for you is one with him after all.

azul is sensitive, but he tries not to show it. not only is he good at catching the little things, he’s quick to anger or get hurt. the best he can do is hide them. so he hides the feeble emotion he calls love and comes back after winter break just as the same. he’s dutiful and runs his business like he normally would, and still hangs out with you time to time. he just feels more… empty? you’ll never know why he seems to be this way, no one really knows about the surgery.

jade

jade leech is often avoided by many people.

people find him creepy, odd, off-putting, unnerving… and more comments he hasn’t bothered to find out about.

those names don’t really bother him. in fact, he enjoys it. he loves watching people squirm in fear over something he says out of the blue. It’s exciting to watch a person try to decide if they should run away or not, unaware of jade’s capabilities.

he’s used to people avoiding him. for the sacrifice of entertainment, he isn’t all that popular. jade leech is used to it.

you were different, however.

your simply didn’t find him creepy. anything he said that was weird, you’d laugh it off and say something weird back too. jade’s height, creepy smile or the way he talks, it doesn’t seem to throw you off at all. you’d smile and wave at him when no one else dared to, you’d easily graze your skin against his and pay no mind, you’d approach him without second thoughts. It was like mutual trust, something jade has learned is difficult to find when you’re him.

so you meant everything. you were just as new and exciting, a pleasant surprise from the predicted fear everyone else has. you made him feel… seen for the first time in his life.

soon, everything you did was like a horror movie (weird analogy, I know. but it’s jade leech we’re talking about!) the intensity of when the killer would approach, or when the character is alone and vulnerable, his heart pumps like wildfire as he watches expectantly to see what the new surprise would be. his favourite feeling was when the victim would die or escape, the tightening in his chest releasing as he excitedly watches what would happen next. that was you. you were his favourite feeling.

he loves the way your eyebrows moved in expression when you talked, he loved when you sneezed and looked around expecting a “bless you,” he loved the odd ways you attempted to hold your mug comfortably and most of all, he loved you. he love you very, very much.

jade leech is used to all kinds of things. he’s used to people avoiding him, he’s used to his brother’s tendencies to groan and complain at everything, he’s used to azul’s creepy capitalist tactics.

what he’s not used to, however, are the bubbly, excited emotions he feels when he gets to experiment with his beloved mushrooms, the way you took over his thoughts like the plague and most of all, he wasn’t used to the flowers spilling out of his mouth.

this was odd, per say. jade knew of the hanahaki disease. he knew of all the downsides of it. but he never worried, because, how could he, jade fucking leech, ever love someone so pathetically?

he hoped that you’d love him back too. he oh-so deeply wished he was just as new and exciting to you as you were to him.

the blood meticulously dripped amongst his fingers, flower petals sticking to it alike. he laughed at himself. he’s always imagined that if he’d ever possibly get this disease, it’ll be flowers related to the water like lotuses or water lilies. he never thought he’d start coughing up such pathetic land-dweller flowers.

it was fine, though. jade would get used to it, eventually.

because after all, he’d rather die than stop loving you.

floyd

floyd is scary, he knows that. He’s quick to anger, moody, tall and intimidating. He’s doesn’t really care, though. He just does what he wants. He doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal.

he likes fun surprises, something new, exciting. he thinks you meet that of that.

you’re not as scared as others, you respond to his pranks and squeezes positively, you respect his mood swings and he even caught a few glimpses of you defending floyd. he thinks you’re so cute!

it’s not odd to talk about the leech twins without mentioning you. floyd follows you every and jade just goes wherever floyd goes. it’s like a little trio.

others when he gets upset, return his squeezes (hesitatingly…he hugs tight!) and find him rather silly than scary.

jade thinks you were almost made for floyd, considering how well you two get along. although jade has been with floyd the longest, he can only tolerate to a certain. for you, however, it seemed to go endless. you were so much more patient with floyd then with anyone else. although floyd made be subtle about it, he’s grateful.

floyd adored you. you were everything he loves, for he loves you.

loved you.

loved? (love)

floyd started to ignore you. you’d tilt your head in confusion— you were upset. why would your best friend suddenly act like you weren’t even there? he wouldn’t even get mad, he’d just turn the other way.

it was only so long ago when floyd was hunched over in his bed from a terrible stomach ache. jade was horribly surprised to see bloody petals staining floyd’s bedsheets.

floyd never bothered with these things. for the first time in a while, he read a book out of his own volition to figure out what it was, only to rip the pages apart when he read what hanahaki was.

childishly declaring that he loves you no more, floyd would stay away from you like the plague, whilst secretly filling his system with flowers that will kill him for ever loving someone so deeply.

floyd is gonna disappear from your life completely eventually. you’d wonder what caused your best friend to suddenly hate you, while his family mourns over the loss of a loved one, as floyd refused treatment, because he foolishly decided to love you one day.

kalim

kalim grew up very sheltered in a loving family. The only concept of love he has is of his parents, who hold hands tightly and gush over the cutest things. they often warn him of the danger of love, and that he must be careful about the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

kalim, although clumsy and stupid, always kept that in the back of his mind.

you were like a breath of fresh morning air. growing up knowing very little, you were the newest, most brightest experience there was. kalim was sure you were the one. he was completely sure, why else would his heart thump so fast?

he’d hug you and hold your hand, give you gifts you could never even imagine having and tell you how much he appreciates you.

kalim hasn’t gone around to mouthing the word “love” yet, but he knows that you know anyway.

so when he started coughing up petals, jamil was quick to inform the al-asim family. kalim was confused, he didn’t understand. this love wasn’t unrequited, there was no way!

it doesn’t matter, though. he’s gonna continue loving you, you and him are gonna be happy together someday, eventually. maybe not in this universe.

kalim woke up in a hospital bed, his heart heavy.

he loves you. but he forgot what that feels like. he loved you. somehow.

jamil

jamil is smart. he’s smart and knows his worth. this is why he hates being in second, he knows he deserves so much more.

why does he always to have do worse than kalim? why does he always have to be second place? jamil is smart enough to know his potential. he also knows how much he’s holding himself back for the sake of hierarchy. he hates it.

it’s not a surprise when jamil finds himself unconsciously doing slower than certain people to appear normal. his main purpose in life is to not stand out, hide in the shadows, survive. like predator hiding from prey because if found, it will be caught by the silly humans.

you’re completely different from him, though. you’re as normal as a person can be, yet you aim to reach for the stars and hold it close to your heart. jamil understands your desire to outshine people all to well. he’s been in that spot, is in that spot. he pities you.

so he sticks around. he’d casually follow you, hang out whenever he can, help you with assignments so you can be the best version of yourself. he’s voraciously living through you. if you achieve your goals, that’s enough for him. at least he was apart of something meaningful for once.

it catches him off guard, however, when you encourage him to reach for his goals as well. it’s like you’re holding his hand and pull him amongst the galaxies to gently place your hands onto the hot touch of a star.

he knows that’s near impossible to reach, from the moment he was born, his life was chosen for him. but he thinks he could reach the small goals.

jamil secretly pats himself on the back for grazing against your skin for a second longer than usual, treat you to a nice meal or help you ace a test. he hopes that at least one of the goals he could reach in this lifetime is to be with you.

jamil is smart enough to know that he’s not just sick. not when blood trails down his chin to his arms, as flowers spill from inside him.

he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could have something for himself for once. not hold himself back, grasp tightly to what he wants the most.

jamil is smart enough to know his own worth. he’s definitely not worth enough to you.

silver

silver likes the little things. he enjoys the way birds chirp in the early morning, or the way the dandelion petals flow against the wind as he watches you scrunch your nose and blow on it. and then both of you guys start sneezing. ah, summer pollen, a reminiscent part of nature.

he loves the way you hold your pencil, the way you like to tie your shoelaces, how you cut your sandwiches. these small, unnoticeable traits catch his eye quite often, and he’s developed a fondness for them.

he’s a man of little words. silver doesn’t talk much, so when he thinks of these things, he never says it out loud. maybe that’s why it took you so long to notice how he felt about you.

he was so calming, and so gentle, it tugged at your heart when he’d smile softly and tilt his head ever so slightly so the cute birds could carefully place a beautiful flower crown on his head. he’s so princely, you think. a perfect knight in shining armour, loved even by the nature.

often you’d tell him how lucky any girl would be to be loved by him. your comments made silver hopeful.

silver is a man of little words, he likes to spend his days watching rather than showing. when he does finally speak his true thoughts, he genuine, honest. his words roll off his tongue so easily and smoothly, perfect fit for such a princely man (as you call him)

so when silver does finally open his mouth to speak, talk, say of what he felt in that very moment, he throat closed up. maybe he was nervous, maybe he was lame, because to both of your guy’s horror, blood spilled.

he didn’t really know what was happening. only when he felt the urge to throw up in the infirmary did he realize what was going on.

he was familiar with hanahaki. his father always told him stories of how fae would love so strongly to humans who hated them, that those who were unlucky would be induced to vomiting flowers.

when silver thought he was fae, just like his sweet old father, silver swore to himself that he’ll never love a human. now that he knows that he is, in fact, human, silver starts to doubt himself. maybe is, in a way, a fae.

it’s alright, though. silver is man of few words. he likes to watch rather than show. he doesn’t mind what could happen to him, he won’t tell anyone. he’ll just watch you from afar, filling his heart with melancholy love until he reaches his end. which might be soon, for he loves you so strongly.

this is also from my old acc, this was a req but i rlly liked wriitng it yayy (I literally named this doc 'what the flip' and i opened it by an off chance, i totally forgot about it lol)

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eye-may · 1 day ago

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Do you have any Munkustrap headcanons mayhaps? The people would love to hear it if you do <3

I was waiting for someone to ask about Munkustrap!!! granted I would have yammered about him unprompted eventually anyway but YAY!

pls accept this speedy doodle of Munk having, what I imagine is one of very many, serious conversations (tm) with with his protegee Alonzo <3

"alonzo I told you the kittens could not watch terrifier 3. I say the things I say for a reason. now neither of us will be able to sleep for a week."

all kidding aside, yesss I have a LOT of thoughts about Munkustrap and how he and his story drive a lot of things that happen in my fanverse lol. I'll keep it relatively brief for now because if I don't moderate myself I'll end up writing 100k words worth of incomprehensible diatribe. somewhat abridged yammering beneath the cut!

edit: this mostly ended up being formatted in extensive elucidations on his relationships with other cats, with references to his backstory through that...which I hope isn't baffling lmao hopefully yall can make sense of it

✨Personality

My Munkustrap is pretty heavily based off of 98's Gruberstrap. That is to say, he's a very "warm" version of the character, a softer and more patient leader compared to some other interpretations where he errs on the side of strict and stringent.

Munk has a pretty troubled background (not unlike Tugger and Alonzo), but I place his symbolic age at around 30-35 so that he's still young and has things to learn and growing to do, but still old enough to have already matured and wizened up past a matrix of self-destructive idiosyncrasies he has dealt with in the past. He may not fully realize it, but he wasn't entirely dissimilar to Tugger in his adolescent days (at least, insofar as feeling governed by his emotions). The temporal distance from his early youth has enabled him to mellow out, think more clearly, and capitalize on his better attributes such as decisiveness, a good grasp on strategizing, and being empathetic and caring.

He is, of course, known to be a straight arrow...that is to say, very about rules and order, following traditions, establishing a hierarchy, having respect for authority and elders, etc. However, he is not immune to lightheartedness and joking around. He's a good, gentle playmate with the kittens on occasion. He lives for directing plays (although subversively he might take them a little too seriously sometimes lmao). He definitely lets a Dad Joke slip out every once in a while. He can read and write, and is pretty erudite about a handful of subjects that extend beyond life in the Junkyard. He's a pretty well-rounded chap!

He's not particularly spiritual or mystical, but has always been fascinated by the mysticism inherent in felinity, and has a unique connection to the concept of magic due to his connection with Old Deuteronomy. He's more naturally attuned to felinity in every corporeal sense, and has strong and thoroughly-developed opinions about the meaningfulness of Jelliclehood along with its history and customs.

He's gentlemanly and intelligent, courageous and dignified, so a pretty archetypal 'leader/hero' character. his faults are brought out by adversity with which he is not familiar...as someone who prefers adhering to precedent and keeping everything in order, he feels very challenged by untrodden territory. While he's good at thinking on his feet, he's also prone to overthinking after the action, and letting that repressed sentimental side from yesteryears cloud his approach. When he's feeling menaced by uncertainty, you'll see those cognitions buoy to the surface...overprotectiveness, stubbornness (sometimes he's bad at listening to suggestions!), over-intensity, and over-worry that he tries his darndest to conceal. He may periodically fall into lapses of "work-life imbalance," for turn of phrase (feels weird because we're talking about mystical dancing singing cats but you get it).

Perhaps his biggest fault is difficulty ceding control. There is no bigger control freak in the Junkyard, even though many would probably assume that the title goes to Jenny. Jenny is more ostentatious in her form of leadership, yes, but Munkustrap is far more immoderate when it comes to judging what he can feasibly handle. Bearing the weight of the world on your shoulders, after all, does not a healthy habitude make. Munkustrap's elders...namely Jennanydots and Old Deutoronomy...occasionally remind him of that.

He also perpetually Tired (but doesn't show it!) and, despite maintaining his veneer of cool-headedness, does in fact Have Anxiety lol.

🫂 Notes on Relationships

Tugger - They are half-brothers, and symbolically, there's about 10-15 years between them. So the age gap is significant, but Munkustrap isn't exactly old enough to be his father (try as he might to parent him in the frequent absence of Old Deutoronomy). Truly the Annoying Younger Brother Ever, Tugger gets on his nerves faster and more effectively than just about anybody in his life. Granted, their pasts respective of each other aren't the most conducive towards a harmonious, peaceful relationship, but the same circumstances are what make their bond so close and significant. If it weren't for Munkustrap extending the olive branch to a very misled young Tugger, the latter would have never been able to severe himself from Macavity. Meanwhile, Tugger's effects on Munkustrap are less literal and obvious but just as significant. He acts as a looser, more optimistically nihilistic buffer to Munk's razor-sharp edges, and frequently functions as a catalyst for Munkustrap to unearth a bevy of feelings and emotions he's long been in the habit of smothering. They frequently bicker and frustrate each other, yes, but they know how to work with one another when it counts, and they love each other very much.

Old Deuteronomy - Munk is one of a few examples of a child of Deuteronomy who was raised primarily by the latter; among cats, it's frankly more common for those born into colonies to have been "raised by the village." Munkustrap has always been very close to his father, has bottomless admiration for him, and abides by his platitudes unquestioningly. Deuteronomy recognized a unique fervor and emotional vulnerability in a young Munkustrap and allowed the latter to attach himself inextricably to him. it's because of this connection, and Munkustrap's unconditional adulation of his father, that Tugger has traduced him as being a rather ideal "little soldier."

After a huge fallout with Macavity (whole thing it's a WHOLE THING), Old Deuteronomy took Munkustrap and his other followers (including Skimble, Jenny, Jelly, Gus, and Asparagus) and splintered away from the colony, going onto to establish the Jellicle colony that inhabits the Junkyard, as seen in the actual musical. For a while, the group focused on rebuilding and recuperating, and succeeded harmoniously. but, after a while when the reconstructed colony was comfortably settled, Deuteronomy became more of an itinerant than Munkustrap had ever known him to be, coming and going patternlessly. Munkustrap knows that he can always attempt to reach out to Old Deutoronomy (there's a postal system cats use...again...whole other thing) in times of need (i.e., when Munkustrap learned about Tugger being in Macavity's possession) but at that point, Munkustrap became established as the de facto Secondary Leader and had to establish himself as capable and independent. He never outwardly questions what Deutoronomy is up to when he's away on his long sojourns to Who Knows Where...but he's never one to question his father. (Tugger, on the other hand...)

Macavity - Macavity is symbolically around five-ish years older than Munkustrap. Closer in age than Tugger and Munk, but the gap is still significant. Munkustrap was born into the same colony as Macavity, and the two did share a portion of their respective childhoods together; Munkustrap being, of course, rather worshipful of Macavity as a kitten. Macavity, for his part, engaged with Munkustrap, and the latter retains fond memories of their interactions...but he also remembers how, with the clarity of hindsight, Macavity seemed to "troubled" back then. He was a bit moody, but that's not wholly unusual for an adolescent cat! More uniquely, he seemed oddly attune to the Jellicle Moon...an evidently Mystical characteristic. He often sought solitude and was reclusive, cagey, secretive, and was obsessed with his developing his mysticism and harvesting magic of Deuteronomy's ilk.

Ultimately, Macavity attempted to persuade Munkustrap to join him in a staged rebellion against Old Deuteronomy; but, even at such a tender age, Munk knew better than to be cajoled, and ultimately sided with his father. He tried in earnest to talk Macavity out of his pursuit of power, but of course...it was fruitless. And the ramifications were abominable. Ultimately, Macavity attempted something of a mutiny that resulted in the deaths of Munkustrap's mother, his two littermates, and the injury or loss of many of his friends and cats he considered to be family. To this day, Munkustrap blames himself for knowing of Macavity's designs, but underestimating him and failing to prevent the disaster. He vowed to never allow such calamity to befall his loved ones again, which manifests in the fiercely protective persona for which he's known. Whatever love existed between the two brothers has been seemingly lost to time; Munkustrap has grown past his bitterness, anger, and desire for retribution...but what's left in the wake are sadness, regret, and wariness.

Mistoffelees - The youngest of the protag trifecta of Munkustrap/Tugger/Mistoffelees (for purposes of not getting lost in the sauce, they are, in my mind, the Kirk/Spock/Bones so to speak), Mistoffelees is something of a little brother/son/protegee ??? person??? to Munkustrap. Their relationship is a little hard to compartmentalize, but it's warm and familial all the same. Munkustrap sort of supplies to Mistoffelees what Deuteronomy was to Munkustrap. The magical cat, of course, is far from the first youngun to ever stumble into Jellicle territory in need of reprieve, but usually raising the new arrivals is a village effort. And it still was for Mistoffelees, but Munkustrap zeroed in on him in particular for two major reasons: his inexpendably cathartic effect on Tugger, and the whole Being Magical. Munkustrap remembered, of course, the quixotic fascination his older brother had with magic and the legends surrounding it, and his own proclivities towards harvesting and using it, but Munk was not prejudicial towards Mistoffelees because of that. He knew from the onset that Mistoffelees and Macavity are incomparable, and wanted to make sure that Mistoffelees would never lose touch with the goodness at his core. He also wanted to solidify that Mistoffelees would not be treated differently because of his abilities, but would get to enjoy a normal and secure upbringing. Also...he intuited immediately that it was important for Macavity to Not Find Out about this inexplicably magical cat. (Magical Cats aren't exactly unheard of but they're really not...supposed to be able to exist anymore lmao)

In return for Munkustrap's warmth and extensions of care and friendship, Mistoffelees has always been eager to be helpful and useful, and often functions as a "right-hand man" for the Jellicle Protector in many of the banalities of life in the Junkyard. Despite his aloofness and eccentricities, Mistoffelees has always sought to please and prove himself to Munkustrap, despite the fact Munkustrap has always had confidence in him and never required proof or reassurance that the conjurer was someone he could trust and rely on. hhhhh idk their relationship is cute to me!!! they're cute!!!!

Alonzo - Alonzo and Munkustrap have a lot in common...like Munkustrap, Alonzo's early youth was peppered by loss and grief, disasters outside the scope of his control for which he still blames himself. Also like Munkustrap, it is because of these developments that Alonzo has sworn himself to be a protector for all those he holds dear. But, unlike Munkustrap, Alonzo is heavily saddled with endless self-doubt, self-flagellation, and fear. He's around Tugger's age, and Munkustrap recognizes how much learning and growing he needs to do, but also recognizes the drive and intensity propelling him towards becoming either a mess of self-destruction, or a rocksteady protector and friend on whom others can rely. Munkustrap instinctively took Alonzo under his wing, becoming his unofficial mentor, and is pretty much the only cat toward whom Alonzo is open and affectionate. The latter often goes to Munkustrap in times of doubt and fear, but also focuses on impressing and emulating the Jellicle Protector in any way he can. When it comes to being backed up during an altercation, or any matters concerning the security and safety of the colony, Munkustrap knows he can rely on Alonzo above anybody else to back him up. The two are very brotherly and familial with one another, and together make a duo that I, personally, would not fuck with.

Also, importantly, Alonzo supplies a sort of catharsis for Munkustrap as well. While the Protector may not realize it, being able to guide and mentor Alonzo functions as something like reparation for his own past failures; now he's able to pass on the lessons he's learned so that Alonzo won't make the same mistakes he made, and Alonzo being his protegee reassures him that he's capable of positively influence those who are in his care. (which he doesn't often conscientiously doubt, but losing his family instills fear in the back of his head that he'll fuck up in any way with his new family, a fear that's usually surfaced in conjunction with Tugger)

Jenny - She is a surrogate mother figure to Munkustrap, and one of the only cats to whom he yields his absolution of authority in the absence of Deuteronomy. (not unlike the way Kirk often has to cede to McCoy...two star trek references in one post about cats??) He's known her his entire life, and she has always been a source of comfort and guidance towards him that is similar, yet still different, in comparison to Deuteronomy. I like to think Jenny is one of the few cats that Munkustrap would ever go to for advice or consolation, and also one of the few cats who will openly question his approaches or point out his shortcomings. (it comes from a place of love!) Munkustrap also just thinks she's hilarious. A heavily burdened cat like him needs the unique combination of comfort and levity that a cat like Jennyanydots can provide! together they have a lovely rapport <3

(here comes the somewhat controversial takes pfffttt. you can flame me if you want idc it's the internet and I know what I signed up for lmao but if you are a demestrap purist who may become emotionally compromised by the suggestion that a romantic connection between the two is Not A Given, feel free to skip this part)

Demeter - listen. I know you're wondering but I'm going to keep it short for now okay. suffice it to say, they have a bit of a back-and-forth, so to speak, mostly stemming from Demeter trying to navigate the residual damage of her troubled past (and.....present) but. my version of Munkustrap is on the aroace spectrum (hides) and so instinctively doesn't move in on Demeter out of an impulse to "rescue" or "fix" her. And for her part, whenever she does indicate an interest in anybody, it's not like she's driven by a long-sufferer's Need For True Love. And even if it were, I'd lampshade that as Not A Good Basis For A Relationship. like idk it's a complicated thing, but regardless, I think she's a fascinating character on her own, far outside the realm of her sensuality and her relationships with the male characters lol.

So continuing, Munkustrap doesn't overstep the fact that she's an adult who can make her own decisions, and also he can see with his own eyeballs that she errs on the side of indecisive regarding her estimation of Macavity, and morality in general, and his mind is not clouded with "I Am A Straight Man In The Presence Of A Beautiful Woman" so as to persuade him to, for some reason, insist that she's not capable of making poor decisions, and trust her judgment above anybody else's in a comparable situation. He, of course, would like to help her, within reason, like he would like to help any cat who expresses interest in being a part of the colony and embracing the mores of Jelliclehood. And he is, of course, kind and helpful towards her because that's the kind of cat he is. and it has nothing to do with an urge to romance her. 😬 or protect her with anomalous fervency because She's Just A Girl (honestly idc about any implications regarding gender roles that have wormed their ways into various versions of CATS bc these are CATS and they lack culturally gendered expectations/roles and also they lack secondary sex characteristics)

because Demeter is rather flighty and cagey, and Munkustrap is a Busy Bee, it takes a while for the two of them to even really become friends, and when they do, there are still some ups and downs granted by a bevy of contrasting opinions/idiosyncrasies endemic to the respective characters. Once he gets to actually know her, Munkustrap does believe in Demeter and encourages her to make progress, but he doesn't hover over her or fuss over her more than he does any other of his adult friends lmao. in the few instances that she behaves in a sensual manner towards him, he's like...ig open to it, but again, he's on the aroace spectrum and navigates those kind of connections within that realm, which To Me means that, in his case, he's never governed by romantic, sensual, or sexual impulses/attractions. bc listen. I just love a male hero who is not ultimately fulfilled by A Woman's Love and Having Children (those things are great for some people!!! pls don't think I am suggesting otherwise lmaooooo)

if it seems like these past few paragraphs have a defensive tone...it may be because I operate in anticipation of being condemned by passionate shippers (and also I too am on the aroace spectrum and thats not for nothing lol) but like I said it's the internet and ik what I signed up for. I have nothing against believers in demestrap. not to mention that yk, hal.........it's about cats.

anyway!!!! Munkustrap has a meaningful relationship with everyone at the Junkyard, but I'm gonna stop here for now lol. I could write a passage for every possible combination of every possible pairing of cats but I have already gone beyond the scope I originally imagined pfft. I hope this gives an adequate enough glimpse into how I construe him and his personality and a little bit of his backstory. sorry if's confusing af, or if I focused too much on other cats. also I alluded to a few things that I'm not even sure I've expanded on before. but if you made it through this whole thing and if you care at all about my fanverse pls don't hesitate to ask for expansion or clarification on anything

ty for the ask!! <3

#cats musical #cats the musical #munkustrap #jellicle tag #the rum tum tugger #rum tum tugger #macavity #old deuteronomy #jennyanydots #demeter cats #mistoffelees #alonzo cats #sometimes I entertain the extremely self-indulgent notion of making a wix site that functions as a wiki portal for my CATSverse lmfao #as like a hobby #and then I can just link ppl to the pages pffftttt

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