#he deserves nothing by sunshine and peace

[princessleechan]

special treatment (m) - chapter 17 Written Chapter 18+

Chapter list

🖊️Chapter tags: MDNI, mentions of drinking, office au, secretary au, misunderstandings, mentions of insecurity and harrassment, virgin!mingyu, one sided rivalry, grump x sunshine, grump!reader, shy sunshine!mingyu, SMUT [dry humping, nipple play (giv. & rec.), pet names (baby)], (w.c 4.5k), minor conflict, confessions

🖊️Tag list: @tomodachiii @humankimbap @aaniag @odevote118 @minwonwoozi @ateez-atiny380 @chisskaa @ninigyuuu @sarcasticsweetlara @bemybabiibish @blaycke @lirtha97 @kwanisms @nebulousbookshelf @gyubakeries @btsdomination @gyuguys @okiedokrie-main @jrinbb @lexyraeworld @armycarat2612 @cherrylita @jhornytrash @alyssa19123456 @chanichanvhan @minhosprettywife @jeon1w @perfectiondazesworld @skittlez-area512 @bmo-bri @blvked19 @leechansprincess @livixcore @jihoonsbbygirl @darlingz99

Mingyu’s eyes snapped open to be enveloped in darkness. Immediately, he sat up, only to whine to himself under his breath about feeling a sudden head rush, facing the well-deserved consequences of the late night of indulgence in bittersweet spirits. The moment he was able to adjust the ache, he looked over at your side of the bed to notice no pillow wall and saw you sound asleep with help from the sliver of moonlight bleeding from the blinds casting over you. You looked peaceful, at ease in your dreamland as Mingyu once had the pleasure of witnessing before, meanwhile, he was mentally spiraling. Last night, something had to have happened; nothing could confirm it with the crunk goggles he had on.

Had he dreamt it all? Was he some pervert? An HR nightmare?

Amid his contemplation, you stirred in your sleep, softly mumbling incoherently before sitting up on the bed. You rubbed your eyes to adjust to the barely visible lighting, hardly making out the dark, shadowy silhouette beside you in bed. “Mingyu?” You croaked.

He gazed over at you apologetically. “Hey. Sorry for waking you up.”

You shook your head, giving him a vision of only a dark, shadowy mop of hair shaking excitedly in front of him, forming a small smile on his face. “Hmm. It’s ok. I’m just glad you’re okay,” you reassured.

“Did something happen?” He asked cautiously.

You tilted your head to the side, musing at his shadow. “What do you remember?”

“I remember us doing…something together.”

“Something like what?” You chuckled, rubbing your eyes, finding bits of sleep still stuck in them.

Mingyu was usually a smart guy. He usually made the right decisions, but as he’s learned, you made him say and behave sometimes in the most unbearably pathetic and occasionally humiliating ways, at least to him. There were a million and one ways he could’ve responded to you, and he possibly answered in the most unslick, unsuave way ever. “I don’t wanna get in trouble if I mistook it for a dream—not that I had an inappropriate dream about us two! I just…damn it.”

You stifled a laugh, grateful he could not see you in the dark. “Mingyu, I think you remember just fine.”

“So, that all really happened? We really kissed?”

You felt your cheeks subtly flush at the thought of the passing memory. “To put it lightly? Yes.”

He groaned, ruffling his hands in his hair. His frustration was clear as day. “Why can’t I remember anything after that? How did I end up falling asleep?”

“Well…I think you may have overwhelmed yourself to the point of exhaustion because you knocked out the second I got on top of you.”

Like an oncoming train, the memories were all coming back to him now, rushing back, coloring his thoughts with images and sensations. One minute, it was just you and him, mouths connecting and reconnecting over and over again, bodies flushed against one another until there was nothing but heat between them. The room felt as though it was spinning and at the same time had come to life, simply all because he did what he had been scared to do before: make the first move. 

And in that moment when you held gazes, all he could think about was kissing you. His coworker. The person on his mind since he’s started his job. The person he had recently realized he’d been falling for. The person that solidified being the object of his desire during this trip the more he’s been in proximity with you. The person he soon learned had lips so wonderfully soft and a body so warm and plush that he swooned and literally…fell out of consciousness out of pure, utter ecstasy. Of course, he did. He couldn’t go a day without embarrassing himself, could he?

He squeezed his eyes shut, recoiling in horror as he flared his nostrils out of view, making inaudible screams in the darkness as he buried his face in his hands. The sheer mortification eventually subsided before he returned his attention to you. “Well, this will be going on the worst moments of my life list.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you kindly assured, “You were pretty drunk and used up a lot of energy. I don’t blame you if you needed the sleep.”

He sighed, a soft whine squeaking out his throat. He folded himself to press his chin to his knees, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, that is not how I wanted that to go.”

“Please, don’t be. In the afternoon, we have checkout, and after that, our flight. Let’s just—“

“No!” He quickly replied, balling the sheets into fists beneath him before slowly releasing. He fixed his posture and he tried to settle down his nerves, feeling his heart run a million miles a minute. “Sorry. I was not entirely there and…I apologize for putting you in that situation. I’m so embarrassed; I assure you I’m not usually like that.”

“It’s okay, but maybe it’s for the best.”

His eyes shot up at you, full of dismay, and although you couldn’t see them past the darkness, you could hear it in his shift in tone. “Is that what you really think?”

“There was a moment, and we both had a little to drink. I think we should leave it at that.” It was then that he heard the ruffling of pillows and the shuffling of the bed, sounds of readjusting into bed. He was quick to recognize your intent, your tactic of remedying the situation with evasion, ignoring it happened entirely. “Let's get some sleep, hmm?”

Mingyu’s hands quickly found your forearm in the darkness. Within seconds, light spread throughout the room as he flicked on the bedside lamp, revealing you in your sleepwear for the evening. Unlike the previous night, this one was slightly more revealing, with a low neckline and thin straps hardly holding up the fabric attached. It exposed your arms, shoulders, and the skin he remembered he ached to touch—the skin he still ached to touch even now.

He took a deep breath, clearing his thoughts. Sitting parallel to you with crossed legs, you were forced to face him, catching every deviation in his expression whether you wanted to or not. “…You said I shouldn’t feel safe around you.”

You glanced at him, remembering how he still wore the black dress shirt and slacks from last night, making you think about how devastatingly gorgeous he still looked hours later. You would’ve helped him change if you didn’t feel utterly repulsed by your own impure thoughts. “I did.”

“Do you feel that way still?”

“Yes,” you answered earnestly, crossing your arms.

“Even after…I kissed you?”

You tugged the covers closer to you, establishing physical boundaries to retain even a little bit of sanity you had left in you. His zeal to push your buttons not meant to be pushed never ceased to amaze you. “I think you should feel more worried about being around me.”

“And if I don’t?” He challenged, eyes blazed with fire, testing your patience. “Besides passing out, I don’t regret a single thing that happened tonight.”

You shook your head, denying him or yourself; you didn’t know. All you knew was the moment you looked into his eyes, you lost control of who you decided to be. You never had that issue until now; Mingyu was the anomaly that disturbed your peace and you couldn’t let it continue.

“We work together. Right across from each other every hour of every day. It’s not something you want to experiment with.”

“Who said anything about experimenting?”

You softly scoffed, despite knowing the sincerity behind his words. Your fingers tensed over the hems of the covers, and underneath you, you anxiously rubbed your thighs. “I’m being serious.”

He inched closer, respectfully keeping his hands in his lap. “So am I. I’m serious when I tell you that last night confirmed something for me that I was too scared to admit, and it’s that I like you. More than I realized.”

You sighed, feeling your heart tighten and stomach coiling at his confession, confirming your own feelings as well. 

“Mingyu, I like you too.” You said, finally meeting his hopeful eyes only to see their light dim with the words that followed. “You’re a good secretary and colleague. I don’t want the company to lose someone like you. You’ve improved too much at your job to throw it all away.”

It was his turn to scoff, shaking his head in disbelief as his hair fell over his face. “Why are you acting like you didn’t kiss me back?” He mumbled glumly.

Your heart ached the longer the moment prolonged. “It was a mistake, a moment of weakness.”

He lifted his head, giving a thousand-mile stare behind your head. “Still, you shouldn't have kissed me back like that.”

“…And it was wrong of me. I should’ve—“

“Save it,” He cut off, swallowing a lump in his throat. He turned to the opposite side of the edge of the bed and faced the wall, his back completely towards you. “I get it. I just thought…I’m sorry. I’m the one who ended up making things weird now.”

Fuck.

“Mingyu, you…” You ran a palm over your face, softly groaning. “You were honest with me, so I’ll be honest with you. I…I do find you attractive, okay? And that’s the problem.”

His shoulders visibly tensed before slowly dropping, silence following, which you took as a sign to continue speaking. Only you weren’t sure how to start. Maybe the beginning was the best, but you couldn’t exactly pinpoint when that was either. All you knew now was that he needed to know why you’ve been behaving the way you have and why you’re so insistent on carrying on this attitude around him as if it was his fault when you should’ve taken responsibility. You’ve been avoiding it, and it was time that had to change.

“Ever since that company dinner, maybe before that, I had been feeling something weird, and I can’t even begin to explain it. I saw things in my sleep that I definitely shouldn’t have about you, and I—I couldn’t look at you. It was awful because we had just begun getting close and creating this camaraderie, and I didn’t want to ruin that, but I guess I did anyway by avoiding you. I just couldn’t be in the same room with you thinking about you in that way or feeling guilty about it. It came to a point where I couldn’t even focus at work, and I just—fuck. I’m not making any sense. You are just…”

“Just what?” He asked in the softest of tones. His eyes sparked with a new sense of conviction and fondness as he turned his head, watching you speak the most you’ve ever spoken to him in all the time they’ve ever worked together.

You tried to reassume a look of composure, conjuring the poker face you’ve always held up at meetings, press conferences, bad first dates, and with Mr. Kim when he tells a bad joke. “In summary, you’re a distraction. I’m sure what I’m feeling will eventually pass, and for now we need to be vigilant and stay professional if we want to sustain the healthy relationship we had.”

He spun back to face you, dipping his weight on the bed so that it squeaked similarly to the way it did last night, heating your cheeks and catching you off guard as he moved in closer, sitting on his knees just a foot away from you.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he pointed out, curling a strand behind your ear and burning the tip, earning him a stern glare to which he returned with a small grin.

“You know work is important to me,” you tried reasoning, voice gradually softening. “It should be important to you.”

He inched even closer, lowering his body so your knees touched with the covers as a barrier. “I do, and it is, but I don’t know how I’ll work alongside you knowing… I’m not alone in my feelings for you. I can’t do nothing.”

“…I know, but you have to realize this has already screwed with me before anything has even happened, so once something actually does and it ends badly—”

His hand crept over your face, cupping your cheek, letting the cool palm of his hand soothe the heat of your face, cutting you off. “I want to give us a try, even if it’s just for the night…but only if you want it too, and maybe neither of us will ever have to wonder if this is a mistake or not.”

He adjusted his weight on the mattress and creaked the foundation of the bed. His upper body leaned forward, looming over you, close enough to have the tip of his nose graze with yours, your bated breaths mingled, and your eyes met in an unspoken way like that night: intense and undeniable. Leaving you to be utterly putty in his hands. Just like you were scared you’d be.

“Is that okay?” he quietly asked.

You didn’t move, basking in the subtle, lingering smell of whiskey with the sweetest notes of apple on his breath as it wafted into your nose, feeling it tear down your defenses. Eyes glued to his lips, quivering as they were, atoms away from yours, and all your hope of going back to the way things were before the kiss—the relatively normal things, if there were any—seemed lost. Yet, you couldn’t find a single ounce of remorse as your chest heaved, instead thinking about all the ways that night might’ve gone had he not lost consciousness.

With the lingering self-preservation you had, you had one thing left to ask him, hoping it would direct him in the logical path that you weren’t willing to take on your own volition. “You’re still a little buzzed, aren’t you?”

His hand reached toward you to thumb over your features and landed on your mouth, gently brushing the corner of your lips, showing dry residuals of drool, showing proof of good sleep. “No. I couldn’t be more sober,” he softly answered, and he closed the gap.

Mingyu relived the details of that night as every little nerve of his body twitched with recognition, claiming you with every fiber of his being and rejoicing as you reciprocated, letting your mouths move in sync. The softness of your hair, the plushness of your lips, the scent of your skin. He wanted to etch you to every part of his body so he could fear you even if you weren’t near. You felt that amazing.

In a brief moment of clarity, you tugged him off by his collar, looking at him through an intoxicated, half-lidded gaze. “We can’t go back to the way things were before this,” you warned weakly.

“I don't want it to,” he replied, reconnecting your lips hungrily.

Your hands clasped over his face, mouths stopping just in front of each other and breathing each other's air. “I’ll be extra strict and mean to you at work to make up for all of this,” you warned, breathlessly.

He smiled against your lips. “I’ll survive.”

Warmth pooled in your stomach as you chased after his pace, pulling him flush back against you. His hands trailed down your body, claiming your waist before startling you as he had you straddle him while he leaned against the headboard. You momentarily broke apart with a gasp, adjusting to the rush of adrenaline before seeing you share a smile and close the distance again.

His hands felt for the silk of your top, smoothing over your backside, and melted at the sweetest sounds leaving your lips, sensing how warm they made his ears. Addicted to the cacophony, he found his lips peppering kisses over your collarbone, seeking more as he nipped at your skin, and pleased hearing your voice grow louder in his ears as he trailed up your neck to mouth over your throat.

As moans slipped through your swollen lips, you ran your hands beneath his shirt to feel his skin burn against your palms like a furnace, clawing against his taut frame. Soon, your path fell south, letting your digits undress the same shirt you helped dress that evening and set it on the bed, letting his sweltering, bare upper body embrace you as you traced every line and curve of him until you could draw him from memory. You started to slowly grind on his lap, feeling his groin brush against you as his bulge grew in response. 

He let out a throaty moan, savoring the fervor of your hips enthusiastically using him for your pleasure, swelling his heart with pride as the arousal in his pants strained against the seams. His eyes fluttered in and out of focus. Licking his lips, he filled his hands with your hips, guiding them over his bulging size, listening to the mewls ebbing out of your lips as he harshly pressed you into him, letting the friction send you on an addictive high.

You dug the pads of your fingers into his shoulders, your breath tickling his ears. “Gyu…”

His jaw slowly dropped, propping his legs to kneel you closer. “Oh my gosh, never stop calling that; I’ll make it my ringtone.”

“You’re so cute…”

Finding his hands, you took them under your shirt, letting him touch your lower back before they crawled up your sides and cupped the underside of your breasts. You guided him to rub against you, letting the balls of his palms perk up your tight peaks before he regained control and decided to flick his thumbs over them, reeling at how you jumped at the sensation. Softly giggling, he looked up at you through his lashes before helping the shirt off your head, exposing your torso, and sighed in awe. “Damn.”

“Shut up,” you quietly laughed, combing through his hair and watching him lower his head. 

His lips wrapped around one stiff bud, sucking and coating it with the inside of his mouth and tracing it in circles while giving the other tasteful pinches, lewdly looking at you for approval and was pleased to feel the twitches in his lap as much as he was to hear the whines entering his ears. His hips were softly pistoned up inside you as his presence just grew bigger, rubbing against your slit and pressing against your clit, making him impossible to ignore. There wasn’t a single thing otherwise telling you that you should have him right here right now.

“I need you. Do you have a condom?”

He froze, visibly swallowing before shaking his head. 

“It’s okay. I should have one.” Just as you were about to reach for it in your purse, he held onto you, and you sensed some extent of hesitation, something clearly on his mind. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I’ve been close maybe as many times as I can count on a single hand, but I’ve never had sex up until now,” he quietly admitted.

You’re slightly shocked, as expected, but not thrown off by the new information. Instead, you drew closer, holding him by the nape of his neck reassuringly, and softly kissed up his jaw. “Did you want to avoid that today and keep doing this? I don’t mind.”

He shook his head, grinning, halting your kisses by cupping your face in his hands. “God, no, just…I don’t know if I’m not as talented as previous people you’ve been with.”

“Gyu,” you said softly nuzzling into his palm, making him overtly melt, “I’m not expecting perfect; sex hardly ever is—”

“But I’m trying to prove I’m not a mistake, aren’t I?” He asked, tenderly caressing your chin. “I don’t know if I’m as talented as them, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure there’s a smile on your face in the end.”

You nodded, grinning, kissing your forehead against his. “Okay. Give me all you got.”

Slowly, every article of clothing that remained was disposed of like its predecessors, lingering elsewhere as you joined together harmoniously, filling gaps with the contours of your bodies. You nestled his thigh between your legs, grinding against him, causing the juices of your core to coat his taut muscle. Wedged between you was his cock, standing at attention and pressing against your stomach as you stroked him from the base, feeling him growing firmer in your grasp.

“So hard…” you said, gazing back up at him.

“Because of you…” He earnestly admitted with flushed cheeks.

You softly chuckled, “You spoil me, baby.”

You gently pushed him until he’d settled on his back, resting his head on the headboard as you threw your leg to bracket his sides and claim his lap, grinning in a reminder of the night before. “Feeling sleepy yet?”

He whined, taking your hand as you sat on top of his thighs. “I’m not. I promise you.”

“Okay,” you replied softly, thumbing over the slit on the tip. “I think I can confirm you’re awake.”

“How long are you going to tease me?” he pouted, caressing your sides.

You leaned down to meet his lips in a slow, sensual lip lock, undulating his shaft harshly and thumbing over a thick vein, hearing him take a sharp inhale. “Until I stop finding you cute.”

“Never?” He resounded playfully with wide eyes to only steal another kiss, your answer now wrapped around his tongue as it pressed against yours.

You softly chuckled, pushing him away to tear the wrapper open before pulling the rubber over him and securing it in place, seeing his pupils shake back at you with anticipation. “Are you feeling okay about this?” You quietly asked.

A wide smile stretched over his cheeks. “I've never been more sure of anything than I am of you.”

Hovering over him, tracing the curve over your slit, feeling your heart fluttering at his overt adoration, gushing at his blind devotion towards you, making your core throb at the sight. “Why are you so sweet all the time?” You softly cooed.

Feet planted against the bed, you sank down on him before he could answer, feeling him fill you up as your slick walls squeezed around his girth. Your jaw dropped as you had to adjust to his size, leveraging the tautness of his abdomen to hold you up and control your intake as you slowly eased down, tension coiling in your stomach.

“You’re big like I thought you’d be, but fuck,” You leaned forward, backing into him as only a fraction of him penetrated you, gasping as you felt him stretch you out even more, the deeper you pushed him inside. “Shit, Mingyu…”

“Am I hurting you?” He asked in concern, holding you up by your waist.

“A little, but it’s still manageable, just making me fuller than I’m used to,” you chuckled, pressing your hands over his chest. “Didn’t get all of you yet, though, fuck.”

He stroked over your sides, gently massaging over your hips. “Take it slow; we’re in no rush, but I just want to say… You feel so good right now, holy shit.”

“Yeah? I haven’t even done anything yet.” You teased, pressing a thumb over a stiff bud, feeling his thighs twitch slightly in response. 

“It’s just… you’re naked on top of me, while I’m inside you, and now you’re touching me. Kind of a fucking dream.”

“Didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth, Gyu,” you teased in a breath of a moan, easing lower, “tell me more about this dream, and don’t leave out any details.”

He softly sighed, his eyes gently drooping as your fingers played with his nipples, rolling them between your thumb and index finger, and you rolled your hips. “Just like this, the way you’re riding me, teasing me…looking at me like you might eat me.”

Licking your lips, you tweaked them harder, listening to his moans grow louder as you sank down deeper, clenching tighter around him as your lips dropped in a low groan. “Like that baby? ” Or—"you bent down to drag your tongue between a smile and against his erect buds, drawing circles, “like that?”

You felt him tremble under you, unearthing a sharp thrust from below that steals your gasp, “Fuck, yes,” he managed to garble, “Like that. Mmm, suck on them for me, please.” 

Curling your lips, you drew them in your mouth, alternating between both as you bounced harder on his lap. Then, without warning, skin clashed in rough slams as his thrust came in conflict, pounding up into you in full bursts. Vision falling back to your head, your tongue dangled out of your mouth as a ribbon of saliva fell from your lips to his buds, feeling his brush against your depths, releasing an immeasurable pain that would dissolve pure ecstasy, so pure that it’d ceased your words.

“Oh my god, Gyu…” Well, almost all your words.

Pulling his bottom lip through his teeth, Mingyu pushed you up straight and puppeted you on his lap by your hips into a gentle bounce, watching the curve of your breasts fall with him and gravity. At the same time, his thrusts found their rhythm, taking your blossoming walls and meeting them halfway, pistoning in you as you bounced on his cock, prolonging that sensation and hitting it over and over again.

“God, you’re beautiful.” 

You gave him a drunken smile, letting your hand fall limp over his chest. You felt your body close to giving out from the way he used you, slowly draining every ounce of energy left in you as your cheeks stung from the impact of his slams. You were in bliss. You never wanted it to end. “Mingyu, baby—“

It was then he squeezed your breasts, pinching your nipples between his knuckles as he softly rolled up into you, ebbing your pretty whines and writhing thighs as your legs gave out, falling limp as your knees pushed into the mattress and grinded your clit against his groin.

“Fuck…when you call me that.” His hips hastened, bucking up into sharper snaps as they grew more desperate and needy. The sounds of your ache left your lips in a clipped echo while you dug your nails into his sides to adhere yourself to him, bracing for impact. “I’m so close, shit, not right now…” He groaned.

“Baby—”

“Fuck, why do you do this to me—“ You crashed your lips together, letting his gripe die on them as you traced the inside of his mouth and let yourselves get lost in the heat of oncoming fire kindling between your bodies. 

The rest of the night ended when you tired yourselves to the point of fatigue. Voices blended, hands joined, bodies trembled, and hearts intertwined like they were meant to. And much like how the night Mingyu drank his inhibitions away, how the sex ended was also a blur, but the emotions tying them all together weren’t. 

It wasn’t something either of you could ignore anymore, and you realized that the way you felt for one another was more than what could be said for two coworkers. So, after having sex to the point of exhaustion, you both agreed things would have to change, but how they’d change would be decided for another day. And soon, sleep took over you both, and unconsciously you waited for the sun to rise in the morning in the comfort of the disarranged hotel sheets and each other's arms.

Chapter 18 posting an hour after this is posted !!!

[someeragonmemes]

Murtagh enjoyers I get you now. I’m sorry for my ignorance

[contact-guy]

I was seized with a fervor and could not rest until I illustrated one of my favorite scenes from Sherlock Holmes: the Adventure of the Devil's Foot. While Holmes and Watson take a holiday in the Cornish countryside for Holmes's health, multiple people in the nearby village are found driven mad or dead from horror. Holmes deduces a substance that was burned in their presence is to blame. With a bit of the mysterious powder and a gas lamp in hand, he proposes an experiment to Watson...

content warning for drug use!

I'm not sure if it's supported by the canon but in my mind this is the first time Holmes ever apologies to Watson and he is so overcome with emotion that he immediately makes it weird

Text under the cut:

"It is not for me, my dear Watson, to stand in the way of the official police force. I leave them all the evidence which I found. The poison still remained upon the talc had they the wit to find it. Now, Watson, we will light our lamp; we will, however, take the precaution to open our window to avoid the premature decease of two deserving members of society, and you will seat yourself near that open window in an armchair unless, like a sensible man, you determine to have nothing to do with the affair. Oh, you will see it out, will you? I thought I knew my Watson. This chair I will place opposite yours, so that we may be the same distance from the poison and face to face. The door we will leave ajar. Each is now in a position to watch the other and to bring the experiment to an end should the symptoms seem alarming. Is that all clear? Well, then, I take our powder--or what remains of it--from the envelope, and I lay it above the burning lamp. So! Now, Watson, let us sit down and await developments."

They were not long in coming. I had hardly settled in my chair before I was conscious of a thick, musky odour, subtle and nauseous. At the very first whiff of it my brain and my imagination were beyond all control. A thick, black cloud swirled before my eyes, and my mind told me that in this cloud, unseen as yet, but about to spring out upon my appalled senses, lurked all that was vaguely horrible, all that was monstrous and inconceivably wicked in the universe. Vague shapes swirled and swam amid the dark cloud-bank, each a menace and a warning of something coming, the advent of some unspeakable dweller upon the threshold, whose very shadow would blast my soul. A freezing horror took possession of me. I felt that my hair was rising, that my eyes were protruding, that my mouth was opened, and my tongue like leather. The turmoil within my brain was such that something must surely snap. I tried to scream and was vaguely aware of some hoarse croak which was my own voice, but distant and detached from myself. At the same moment, in some effort of escape, I broke through that cloud of despair and had a glimpse of Holmes's face, white, rigid, and drawn with horror--the very look which I had seen upon the features of the dead. It was that vision which gave me an instant of sanity and of strength. I dashed from my chair, threw my arms round Holmes, and together we lurched through the door, and an instant afterwards had thrown ourselves down upon the grass plot and were lying side by side, conscious only of the glorious sunshine which was bursting its way through the hellish cloud of terror which had girt us in. Slowly it rose from our souls like the mists from a landscape until peace and reason had returned, and we were sitting upon the grass, wiping our clammy foreheads, and looking with apprehension at each other to mark the last traces of that terrific experience which we had undergone.

"Upon my word, Watson!" said Holmes at last with an unsteady voice, "I owe you both my thanks and an apology. It was an unjustifiable experiment even for one's self, and doubly so for a friend. I am really very sorry."

"You know," I answered with some emotion, for I have never seen so much of Holmes's heart before, "that it is my greatest joy and privilege to help you."

He relapsed at once into the half-humorous, half-cynical vein which was his habitual attitude to those about him. "It would be superfluous to drive us mad, my dear Watson," said he. "A candid observer would certainly declare that we were so already before we embarked upon so wild an experiment. I confess that I never imagined that the effect could be so sudden and so severe." He dashed into the cottage, and, reappearing with the burning lamp held at full arm's length, he threw it among a bank of brambles. "We must give the room a little time to clear. I take it, Watson, that you have no longer a shadow of a doubt as to how these tragedies were produced?"

[thetriumphantpanda]

new religion | joel miller

Summary | Joel's never much been a religious man, but if he were, he'd ask the Lord what he'd ever done to deserve you.

Pairing | Jackson!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.5k

Warnings | Explicit. Religious imagery, basically porn without plot, oral (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex, cumshot, dirty talk, Joel worshipping you like you deserve, nothing bad happens to him ever and he dies peacefully in his sleep at age 101, no use of y/n. Written and edited on phone so please excuse any mistakes.

Authors Note | God bless hbo for that teaser am I right? I just want Jackson Joel to always find peace. Also thanks to All Time Low and their song New Religion for the Inspo. I hope you enjoy!

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi 

Divider by the ever wonderful @saradika

I found God and we found heaven, On the bedroom floor.

Joel Miller isn’t sure how he got here. Knees creaking and painful, a dull ache in his back that never goes away, and years behind him that have led him to right now.

Years of being closed off, scared to open up to anyone in case he failed them as well. Years of using his anger at himself to reign terror on others. Years with Tommy that were strained, years with Tess that were less so, even good sometimes, and now years with Ellie, good, bad and everything in between. The relative safety of Jackson was unsettling, after years of fighting to survive and barely making it, scars on his body testimony to that, the normality was unsettling.

He’s getting used to it though, slowly but surely, and he thinks that along with his brother and Ellie, it has something to do with you.

You, stood in front of him, backlit by the setting sun, nude and waiting, whilst he kneels in front of you. Pained be damned, he’s going to worship you like the goddess you are.

Tommy has spent the past year absolutely rinsing his older brother for this. When Joel and Ellie had arrived back, he’d made it his mission to set Joel up with one of the many fawning ladies available. There was Esther, who was nice enough, and Lindsey who had been far too forthcoming, and others that Joel would rather not remember, telling Tommy that he didn’t need anyone, didn’t want anyone, was more than happy on his own.

Then he’d met you, sunshine to his clouds, sharp, quick-witted and funny. A take-no-shit kind of gal that had gotten under his skin more than he cared to admit. The first few times it was quick, fumbles in the alley behind the tipsy bison, or hurried moments bent over the dusty couch at the lookout on patrol, convincing himself that once again this was nothing but stress relief.

Then things changed, you started making him laugh, started sitting on his porch with him, laying on his couch whilst he played his guitar, and then he started spreading you out on his bed, started taking his time, learning what made you respond best, how you liked it, how you clenched so tight around him when he clasped your fingers in his and pounded you into the mattress.

Joel has never been much of a religious man, not since the end of the world, but he thinks, right here on your bedroom floor, that he’s found God. When you walk towards him and run your hands through his greying hair, tilt his chin up so he’s looking at you, hands on your hips like you’re his altar.

He brings his face closer to you, tongue licking through your folds as you stand before him. Your fingers tighten in his hair when the tip of his tongue finds your clit, your own head tipping back, face to the real Lord if he exists, muttering his name over and over in your own twisted prayer.

His jeans are tightening as he licks at you, the sounds you make doing what they always do, shooting straight to his cock. It’s why he can’t quit this, even if in the back of his mind he knows he probably should. You’re younger than him, though not scandalously, and he can feel that the years of his prime are fading the more comfortable he gets here. He knows that wanting you as much as he does is a sin in itself, but walking away? That somehow seems worse to him. He finally wants to be selfish, to think of himself and his own happiness for once, and it’s the taste of you on his tongue when he drags it down to where you’re leaking for him that convinces him he has to stay.

“Oh, Joel,” You whimper, knees shaking, “Keep going.”

“Ain’t plannin’ on goin’ anywhere, pretty girl.” He groans into your pussy, his big hands holding your hips in place to keep you upright as his tongue drags back up from your fluttering hole to your clit.

You widen your stance a little, spreading the lips of your cunt for him so he can fuse his mouth over your clit, suckling at it whilst his tongue works against the swollen bud in the way that he knows will have you tipped over the edge in no time.

He loves when you come for him. A reminder that he’s still got it, that he can learn your ins and outs and keep you satisfied, even at his age. He has to press his fingers into your hips a little tighter when you do come for him, keeping you upright before you knees can buckle underneath you as you cry his name out into the darkening room. Pulling his mouth away from you before you start whimpering that it’s too much.

Normally he’d pull you over to the bed, but there’s something in him tonight that means he can’t wait the extra seconds, so he’s pulling you down onto the floor with him, cradling the back of your head with one of his hands so you don’t hit in on the wood as he crawls on top of you, legs spread wide for his thighs as he pops the buttons of his jeans and drags the zipper down.

He’s in too much of a rush to undress properly, pulling his jeans and underwear down just enough to free his cock. You’re reaching down, taking his length in your hand, dragging it up and down as he pulls his shirt over his head.

There are tiny droplets of sweat across your forehead, the open window and the breeze no match for the heat in the room, and he doesn’t know why he does it, but as he leans down, your hand guiding his cock to your soaked cunt, he lets his lips kiss across your forehead, like it’s holy water and he’s being reborn as he slips into your tight heat.

He doesn’t think he’s heard a sweeter sound than the ones he hears from you as he drags his cock in and out of your pussy. Gasps and whines and whimpers, never too loud, like they’re just for him. No-one else needs to know how good he makes you feel, just him. He presses his mouth to yours as he grips your wrists, pinning them to floor, swallowing your sounds as he fucks you.

Joel knows that it takes him a little longer these days, knows from the way you’re squirming that the ache in your hips is setting in. He knows that your body aches the same as his does, that your back aches and your knees hurt after a long patrol, but you’re being so good for him.

“Such a good girl,” He coos into your ear, “Y’can take it, can’t you?”

You arch your body up into him at his praise, “It’s so good,” You moan, your hands reaching behind him to sink your nails into the meat of his ass, “Harder, please.”

He can never deny you, so he pushes himself up, takes your knees in his hands and presses them down towards your chest, hooking his arms there to keep you spread open as he guides his cock back into you. He can feel his own sweat appearing across his skin as he does exactly what you asked for, he fucks you harder, as hard as he can, listening to the squeals you make as he bottoms out inside you and the slapping of his skin against yours.

“M’close,” He moans at you, “M’gonna come, baby.”

“Please,” You groan back, squirming underneath him, “Come for me Joel, please.”

And he does, pulling out at the very last minute, letting go of your legs to pump his cock with his fist before he comes, splashing his spend across your belly as he tips his head back and praises the Lord for you.

He knows he will pay for it tomorrow, but he collapses onto the floor next to you, pulling you into his chest. He can feel the sticky cum mixing with the hair across his stomach, but he doesn’t much care, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you settle together on the cool ground. His fingers trail up and down your spine as you lie together in the quiet of the early evening, finding peace with it all for once. After years and years of being on his own, of being scared to open up and let someone in, he finds he doesn’t much mind the thought of it anymore.

And above all, whether he makes it to the real thing or not when his time is up, that he’s found heaven, right here on your bedroom floor.

[i-yap]

Batboys x quiet! reader(who is not quiet in private)

( some of the reasons for the quietness is a bit traumatic so uhh warning)

Dick grayson -

opposites attract is possibly my favorite trope ever. And that is exactly what you guys are . Not exactly golden retriever x black cat though people who didn't know you guys well assumed such .

Dick would get exhausted spending forever being charming and charismatic for even the most extroverted of people get tired when they had to manage multiple superhero teams, a detective squad and the whole batfamily.

You were silence, peace serenity almost..until you weren't. Grayson was worried about this relationship in the start, after all you guys were really different. He was afraid you were going to be annoyed by his sunshine self, and that when he isn't feeling like talking, the conversations would go silent.

But you really are so different when comfortable with someone, and its tough not to trust and drop your shield with grayson.

It took him by surprise slowly seeing you open up and show your weird side. It somehow made him cherish it more and even want to show sides of him that only you got to see.

When he asked you why you weren't like this with everyone you said " My parents had a habit of talking over me, sometimes outrightly not hearing me speak at all. No matter how loud I spoke..i wondered if they couldn't hear me...if anyone even wanted to you" "why me then?" asked dick , "you're nothing like my parents, I know you care" and he does..he really does. He won't ever let you feel like that every again. He will make sure everything you want said is heard, and if not he will burn it into the skyline

Jason todd

he appreciated it, a quiet person in public. He hated being in public, he hated the buzz the noise the push the touch of humans around him. He felt strange

till he feels you hold his knowing you felt just as strange as him. Leave the gala and walk around the library , one earphone in each ear listening to whatever you wished to play.

Pulling you close in crowded areas- was it for you or for him? Glaring at anyone who dared tease you about your quietness. A single glare usually does the job but don't worry ...other ways exist too.

He loves that when you two are alone, you are a completely different person. It makes him feel special, like he is the only one who understands you. Because you're the only one who understands him.

When he asks " well I guess I never felt like people liked what came out of my mouth.. my humour too dark, my words too dumb and I didn't make sense. So I stopped trying" don't worry about being cringe..he understands you completely

Tim drake

he is intruiged. How do you pull such a perfect facade. How does one look so poised and collected with those rich assholes and so wild and untamed with him?

He could never really perfect the act the way you did. He's seen you grow up, but somehow its like you were born with two people living in your brain.

If you're this mysterious to your childhood lover, how does anyone in the world even think that they could know you, both versions of you.

Dont get me wrong, he loved it, A mystery he never could solve, not even with your help.

" Teach me your ways master" "I remember you wanting me to call you that last night..oh no wait it was si-" "shut upp" "fine ill tell you timmy boy, I just believe those rich stick up their ass puppets don't deserve to see all ..this.." "what about school kids, friends , teemates-" "I don't need anyone to get me as long as you do"

He will never get it, even if someone engraved it into his skin he wont understand everything about you , you'll always be the case he couldn't solve.

AND WE ARE BACK BICHES , send in requests and stuff, inbox open again blah blah I'm feeling much better now but I might push angst stuff more

[celestialmoondragon]

On Eurylochus in Epic: the Musical

Hey, guys! I've been struggling to put this together since Thunder Saga because the amount of Eurylochus hate I saw after that saga just really stuck in my craw. Now, to be clear, I'm not pointing fingers or saying it was everyone, and a lot of it tapered off so I think it was just a gut reaction after the Saga came out but I've always identified more with Eurylochus while everyone else seems to fall over Polites. 

Not that I have a problem with Polites or anything. I just find the 'blindly optimistic sunshine character' to be rather irritatingly naive most of the time? Again, I identify with Eurylochus’s character & philosophy. I'm not trying to prove he’s better in any way. I've just been trying to put together something to articulate why I think Eury deserves more love.

So here is what I’ve been affectionately calling ‘The Eurylochus Apologist Post.’

Full Speed Ahead:

This song sets up the relationship between Ody, Eury & Poli. It's clear it's a dynamic they're used to: Eury & Poly providing seemingly opposing arguments and Ody finding a sensible middle ground between them. I've seen posts saying it's the Devil & Angel on Ody's shoulders but I don't like that argument because it assigns a moral value to their arguments that isn't there. I think the reason this has worked so far is because Ody sits between them, balancing their viewpoints as both pessimistic caution and blind optimism could be dangerous to their survival solely on their own.

Eury's argument for theft feels extreme, sure, but keep in mind these men just got out of a 10-year war. He's not arguing because he wants aggression or slaughter. Later songs show him going out of his way to avoid conflict enough that an argument could be made for his cowardice although I don't believe that to be the case. Here, he thinks a quick in-and-out is a safer, more cautious approach when dealing with the unknown residents of an unknown island.

I would argue that Poli's desire to openly trust strangers is a more unusual philosophy post-war. And maybe his blind optimism has helped the men keep their spirits up. (Everything's changed since Polites.) But Ody says 'No, let's give them a chance at a peaceful resolution.' 

Both songs before this have shown us how tired of violence & death Ody is but some people read this as him agreeing wholesale with Poli's philosophy which is not the case as he's by far the most cautious of the two in Open Arms. It's only as a result of Poli's death that he tries to be kind to Polythemus, perhaps in honor of his friend. But also simply to spite Athena, who's been rather aggressively telling him he's wrong, and Ody is nothing if not a petty bitch.

Back to Eury tho.

Luck Runs Out:

Eury expresses his doubt after Poli's death. Yeah, they've worked together for at least 10 years and possibly grew up together, but the Polythemus incident is the first time that Ody's cleverness fails. The first time their crew actually dies as Ody's managed to keep them all safe the entire war. And their personal friend was the very first. He sees their mortality for possibly the first time. 

He expresses this throughout Storm. He was CAUTIOUS in Full Speed Ahead, yeah, but the level of defeatism in Storm is extreme. And nearly right after, while he's still struggling, Ody wants to try his tricks on a GOD? There's no indication that he knows about Ody's personal relationship with Athena. All he could see is his friend being arrogant enough to stroll right up to a GOD like it's nothing right after they lost their best friend and several others to a monster. A God is a more dangerous opponent than a monster. (Don't you know how dangerous the gods are?) 

So he tries to articulate his feelings and worries and what does Ody do? Dismisses them. Entirely. Or at least that's what it feels like to Eury. This is something he wasn't doing before. It's also here that we see Ody parrot Poli's philosophy. This is a huge out-of-character shift in their dynamic. Ody isn't playing the middle ground anymore, a mix between trust and caution, the best of both. He's now the other extreme and the dynamic doesn't work with only two points of the triangle.

Now, Eury isn't perfect. He definitely should have expressed his doubts in private where the crew couldn't hear them argue. And Ody does try to reassure him but it's coming from this place of ego & optimism. Eury feels like he doesn't get it. They're both talking at each other but not getting through. And to put the cherry on top, after Ody pulls him aside, all Eury hears is that his concerns don't matter. It isn't necessarily what Ody means. Ody, I think, just wants to caution him about making the crew doubt his leadership but, to Eury, Ody's words come across as 'I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing and you're just going to have to deal.' Which, again, is not how their dynamic works before. Ody fully hears him out in Full Speed Ahead and incorporates his advice into the final plan.

But he isn't doing that here. Eury's final okay is him giving up on trying to get through to Ody right now. Without other events, they might have had a chance to talk about it later and actually reconcile but neither of them are in a state to do so right now.

Keep Your Friends Close:

The captain comes back from an ill-advised talk with a GOD with a mysterious bag that he claims has to stay closed. The crew is agitated by the winions claiming its treasure and the harrowing events of the cave and storm. Remember, Eury's backing vocals are the crew. He speaks for them. While there might have been members who think Ody was lying about the contents, I don't think Eury opened the bag out of a sense of greed. There's been no indication that he's greedy at all. But the crew is growing increasingly agitated and the Captain is obsessing over the bag to the point that he stays awake for 9 days. That's weird. That's out of character. 

People act like the wind bag reveal and his 'sudden' distrust came out of nowhere but the entire first half of the Storm Saga shows their relationship deteriorating. Should Eury have given him the benefit of the doubt considering their years of friendship a trust? Probably. I'm not saying Eury is perfect.

Maybe I'm assigning a thought process that isn't there, but if I were in that position? I'd be worried. Not just about the captain's judgment being impaired from lack of sleep but also there's no telling if the God told Ody the truth about the contents of the bag. I think Eury still trusts Ody but what if Ody's the one being tricked? The crew is agitated, his captain & friend is acting strange, they've got a mysterious bag with unknown contents... 

Of course, he opened the bag.

One argument I've seen the most is that if he hadn't opened the bag, Poseidon wouldn't have caught them and the 557 men wouldn't have died before they got to Ithaca. Well, I would argue that there's no indication Poseidon couldn't get them on Ithaca even if they had made it, but that's not really relevant.

Eury has always, always been worried about the safety of the crew.

He just wanted to check. Be able to reassure the crew & make sure Ody was okay.

They. Did. Not. Know. He. Was. Chasing. Them.

While Ody does question the origin of the storm, (Is it nature or Divine or a blessing in disguise?), it's more idle speculation. That line exists more as a hint to the audience that something is afoot more than an indicator that Ody's figured out, out of nowhere with no context, that the god of the sea is hunting them. With the benefits of hindsight, we the audience know they wouldn't have died, but within the story, the characters didn't have any clue and I don't feel it's fair to blame Eury. 

Puppeteer

Eury tries to fess up immediately. Eury tries to tell Ody his mistake as soon as possible but Ody is, once again, not in a state to hear him out. That isn't either of their faults at all but it does erode their relationship further. It's unclear if he's seeking absolvement, atonement, or just reassurance, but what is clear is that the guilt festers until he blurts it out at the absolute worst time in Scylla. 

Eury gets a lot of flack for proposing they leave the men captured by Circe. Is it necessarily the morally correct choice to abandon their crew? No, and I won't say it is. But his decision is perfectly in line with his character. 

(Look at all we've lost and all we've learned.

Every single cost is so much more than what we've earned.

Think about the men we have left before there's none.

Let's just cut our losses, you and I, and let's run.)

He's begging & pleading for Ody to not through them up against another foe they can't win against. He's saying 'look, we've lost nearly everyone. It's okay if we're cowards here because we won't have anything left if we fail again.'

Now this is somewhat speculative on my part, but If Eury was really a coward or really didn't care about Ody, he probably could have convinced the crew left on the ship to cut and run while Ody confronted Circe alone. All he would have to do is use the same argument he tried on Ody. I think the narrative decision to make Eury's backing instrument the crew tells us pretty clearly that they'll side with him. It's shown most obviously in Mutiny, of course, but it's first demonstrated in Luck Runs Out.

Different Beast

Eury is technically not in this song except for the fact that he is. Because Eury reflecting the crew works both ways. He is the crew & the crew is him. Now the crew, including him, are all on board with Ody's change. Eury wouldn't have left the sirens to chase them or attack others either. He thinks their viewpoints are aligned again, not the Ody has gotten to the opposite extreme of 'only I have to survive.' Not Ody realizes this either.

Scylla

This is were Eury breaks. He blurts out the truth that's been eating him alive at the worst moment. He thinks he's in a good place to confess and try to talk to Ody again because as far as he knows, they're just sailing through a dark cavern. He has no idea Scylla is there until they're attacked. Even when Ody instructs him to light torches, he probably thinks it's because it's dark.

And then she starts eating the crew Ody deliberately made her target. Whether Eury was one of the intended targets doesn't matter, in my opinion, as much as Eury realizes that Ody's new philosophy for survival doesn't include the crew. 

I've seen speculation that Scylla has some sort of truth-compelling power but I believe it was terrible timing myself. The framing of Scylla leaves the audience speculating who she's talking to until it's revealed at the end that it's Ody. Her (breaking the bonds you have made) line comes after Eury's confession not because she's compelling the truth but because she knows what response Ody's gonna have. She knows him because only someone like her would brave her lair. (We're the same, you and I.)

Mutiny

This is by far the most complicated bit and I'm not going to pretend Eury isn't a bit of a hypocrite here. I think he would have made the same choice to sacrifice 6 men if it came down to it, since he was willing to leave some of them on Circe's Island, but I don't think Eury does. He thinks he's always made the most pragmatic, logical choices for the crew's overall survival. He sees Ody's compromised mental state in Luck Runs Out/Keep Your Friends Closer but he didn't necessarily see his own then or now.

So he rounds on Ody. Ody deliberately forced them onto a dangerous path that would see some of them dead without telling them the risks. Eury 'for the crew' lochus can't believe that after all the risks he's taken to save them all, Ody would suddenly decide they don't matter.

(If you want all the power, you must carry all the blame) is a line I've seen people use to argue Eury's hypocrisy but I've always interpreted it differently. He isn't saying 'You're the captain so everything that's happened is your fault,' he's saying 'If you want to keep secrets and throw your crew away, you can't blame them for fighting back.' I believe this to be the case because it comes after (You miss your wife so bad, you trade the lives of your own crew.) 

Between the two is Ody's line (Don't make me fight you, brother, you know you'd have done the same) and, as I said earlier, I firmly believe Eury would have done the same in Ody's place. Or would have less of an issue if they crew were informed before and drew lots or something. But he can't see his own hypocrisy. Whereas Ody was too compromised to see Eury's POV in Luck Runs Out, Eury is now too compromised to see Ody's.

How do we know this?

Because Mutiny begins to mirror Luck Runs Out. The crew parrots Eury's lines, fully and completely taking his side and after Ody passes out and they get to Helios's Island, the lyrics constantly call back to Luck Runs Out although not precisely in the same order. For example:

Luck Runs Out:

Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do.

You've heard the legends of the island in the sky, this proves they're true

We're in the home of the wind god

We don't know for sure

How many floating islands have you seen before?

This is the home of the wind god.

And what's your plan?

I'm gonna climb to the top and ask 'em for a hand.

Mutiny:

Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do.

Ody, we're never gonna get to make it home

You know it's true

You don't know that's true

This is the home of the Sun God

But if you kill his cattle, who knows what he'll send?

This is the home of the Sun God

I'm tired, my friend

But we're so close to home, this can't be where it ends.

-----

This continues the entire second half of Mutiny but I’m honestly not a skilled enough musician to recognize every little motif and note. But the two songs feel very similar except that now Eury is the one that can’t hear what Ody is telling him. I hesitate to include this information because it’s not explicitly stated in the musical but the reason he kills the cow in the original is because either the starving crew will survive and can build a temple to Helios in Ithaca or the gods will kill them quickly. Not only would starving be a slow, painful death but it's not a glorious end for soldiers and warriors.

Regardless of whether you choose to include this information in his motivation, it’s clear he’s done. He’s shattered and broken and Ody’s reassurance is too little, too late. The crew is, in his mind, either going to starve to death or die trying to get home and he’s quickly realizing he doesn’t know which is better. He hates that the situation and his relationship with Ody has come to this. He’s no longer angry, just resigned and exhausted. He doesn’t know how to solve their problems and can’t trust that Ody cares enough to try either. So why does he fall back in line so easily when Ody orders the crew to flee?

Because, despite everything, he wants to trust his friend. He wants to go back to when it was the three of them and they trusted each other with no reservations. Which brings us to his last lines in Thunder Bringer. 

Eury: Captain?

Ody: I have to see her.

Eury: But we’ll die.

Ody: I know.

I saw a lot of people getting particularly angry at this because he’d brought the wrath of Zeus down on them and is now begging Ody to sacrifice himself instead of the crew. But I don’t read it that way at all. We’ve heard him plead & beg. He pleads firstly Luck Runs Out and begs broken on his knees in Mutiny and this line doesn’t sound like either. 

This is resignation.

Mutiny shows us that he’s already given up. He’s ready to die. He’s not begging for his life. The crew questions Ody, reprising the chorus of Just A Man the same way they did when they questioned his decision to kill the Infant. Because that’s what Eury’s asking. 

Can you live with the fact you killed us?

Not because he wants to live for himself but because he wants to know if Ody can truly live with the choice he's already made in his heart. At the very end, he seeks reassurance that his last friend will be able to survive to make it home.

For all of them.

In conclusion, Eurylochus is a flawed but entirely human character with a very consistent internal logic throughout and he doesn't deserve to be painted as a conniving, fickle, cowardly friend to Ody because it's abundantly clear he loves the crew and his friend.

[violetsiren90]

today is so depressing and scary and I was wondering if I could request some binnie gurt and comfort with the couple from the light in your eyes? ty in advance and take care ❤‍🩹

Pairing: Changbin/Reader (gender not mentioned, but this does reference the Light of Your Eyes couple)

Genre: drabble; established relationship; hurt/comfort

Summary: Sometimes everything is wrong...everything but him.

Content warnings: PG for content, but all my work is 18+ (minors, DNI); descriptions of feelings of deep unhappiness; implied dissociation; emotional catharsis; tears; hugs and being HELD 🥺❤

Word Count: ~500

Author's Note: Here you are, Anon! Today is indeed bleak, and I hope this helps even a tiny bit. Please take care of yourself, my friend.

Precious readers and moots: If any of you find yourself feeling hurt, despondent, and unsafe and need someone to turn to, please feel free to message me or send me an ask. Don't let anyone or anything induce you to doubt that you are so incredibly deserving of being seen and held.

You, each and every one of you, are so loved and worthy of it. 🧜💜

***********************

It’s not raining - in fact, there’s not a cloud in the sky. The autumn air is crisp and clear and the leaves hang brightly and decadently on the branches of the trees as you stand at your own front door. You can feel your features tugging downward in dejection, your body aching and shivering with the deep sort of unhappiness that feels like a chill as you hesitate to take your misery over the threshold.

It's not raining, but it should be. Pouring. Thunder rumbling somewhere afar as you stand in the torrent. Then at least it would feel right, and maybe you would feel like you belonged in that body, standing in that place instead of whatever this is - with the sunshine and the calls of the migrating geese.

Your lip trembles and your heart hammers with the adrenaline of anger and pain...

And then you remember.

He’d asked you not to do this to yourself, said that he wanted it. To share it.

So you curse at the sun and the gentle breeze and turn your key in the lock.

“Bin?” You call instantly, desperately, kicking off your shoes and tossing away your bag.

“Bin!” You drop your coat in the hall as your legs carry you with stumbling steps to his home studio.

When you open the door, he’s already halfway out of his chair with his headphones around his neck, dark lovely eyes wide behind his black-rimmed glasses, and when you reach for him he sinks back down and pulls you over his lap.

Strong arms circle your waist as his head tilts against yours where you press your face into the crook of his neck.

One of his hands splays over your back as he rubs it in wide, soothing circles. He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, that will come later. Right now he holds you.

Some wrongs can’t be righted. Not by you. Life can be terribly unfair. It can be downright cruel. But you can be afraid and angry and confused and sad…and in his arms.

Releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, your tears silently begin to fall.

He kisses into your hair.

His body is sturdy and soft and you breathe in cologne and detergent and the scent of his skin and you feel his chest expand and contract, silently beckoning your own to match its steady pace where you're pressed against him.

His presence washes over you and draws you in - deeper, softer. Safer.

Safe. Held. Of nothing required.

One of your hands slides up to tangle your fingers in the dark curls at the back of his head.

And then you’re not wishing for rain anymore. The warmth and peace feel like they belong to you - to your body, to your soul - even in your grief.

“I love you,” comes his gentle, deep murmur.

Not in placation, but in promise.

When you find your words again you’ll whisper those three in return, as you always do. But until then, and in every moment hideous or lovely thereafter, you’ll reach for Changbin, and he will hold you.

-Fin-

[sorceresssundries]

Until We Wake

Pairing: Gale/Tav

Warnings: Talk of death, afterlife, angst.

Word Count: 1000 words

A/N - I wanted to try and write something different, and move away from my usual overly-descriptive style.

I hope you like it <3

You are dead.

It was easy in the end. Like taking off a coat you’d been wearing too long.

There’s no confusion. You know you are dead, and it’s okay…Was okay? Is okay? Time is strange here. Slippery.

You are sitting at the edge of a great lake. Well, not really sitting, not really by a lake, but that’s how it feels. There is no sunshine, but you can feel the warmth of it on your—skin? No, not skin. There isn’t any skin. There isn’t a body at all. You just… are.

It’s nice, actually.

“God?” A voice, though not a voice, fills the space around you.

“Erm, no. Sorry. There may be one around somewhere, though,” you reply.

You sense a kind of exasperation.

“No,” it says, more insistently. “Which God is yours? Who did you worship?”

“Oh!” That’s funny. If you had lungs, you would laugh. “I didn’t really worship one.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

You’ve probably given the wrong response and are now going to drift here for eternity in silence. That doesn’t seem so bad. There’s peace in it.

“But, uh, I felt close to Selûne. I knew her daughter, actually. Aylin? I saved her once—no, twice! From an eternal cycle of ritual torture and sacrifice. Twice!” You pause, waiting for the weight of your heroism to settle in. “Can you write that down? Are you writing things down? I don’t really know how this works.”

“I am not writing things down.”

“Right. Okay.”

More time passes—seconds, hours, centuries. It is hard to tell. If experience has taught you anything, it’s that you should probably be a little hesitant about listening to mysterious entities who appear in your unconsciousness. But, for whatever reason, you have no doubt that you’re safe.

“Who are you?” you ask.

“Nobody.”

“Oh.” Another eternal pause. “Sorry, I don’t know what that means. I know you don’t have a body. I don’t either. What I meant to ask is... what’s your purpose here?”

“To help”

“Ah.” You think about that. It feels distant, though, like the thought isn’t entirely yours. “Can Withers bring me back? He usually does.”

“No. Not this time.”

That’s alright, you realise. Everything ends.

“Can you tell me how you died?” the voice continues, unhurried.

If sadness existed here, you would feel it.

“I failed somebody. I couldn’t convince him he was deserving enough to live. He sacrificed himself. I stayed with him.”

“Gale Dekarios,” comes the response. Even now, even here, the sound of his name warms you.

“Yes! That’s him! Have you met him? Is he here too?”

“He is not.”

You pause, a moment of confusion or relief, it’s hard to say. Perhaps he’s with Mystra.

He had followed her order, hadn't he? He had used the orb. Perhaps he was cradled back in her starlit palm. Perhaps he was finally fulfilled.

“He’s probably with his Goddess,” you say, matter-of-factly.

“He forgot his Goddess. At the end, he thought only of you.”

Right. He had said something like that once. On a boat he had built out of hope and stardust. It felt like a lifetime ago. You wish you had said more to him—something different. You should have been more convincing, made him see he was more than magic, more than martyrdom. He was kind. Funny. So very human.

Not anymore.

“Will I see him again?”

“Maybe”

This voice that’s not a voice is not hugely helpful. It feels distant. Somehow big and small. Like many voices, or none, all at the same time.

“I let him down,” you whisper, though no sound leaves you.

“He forgives you.”

What do they know of Gale? This mysterious spectre. Maybe it’s just your own thoughts, your desperation, trying to clutch at forgiveness. Maybe death has splintered you into fragments of yourself whispering back and forth. Maybe the afterlife is nothing more than talking to yourself in the quiet, with no one left to answer. A conversation in circles, where you are both the call and the response.

“You loved him" they say. It isn't a question.

“I did. I do. I always will.”

It's lucky you don't have a heart. It would be in splinters.

“Would you like to try again?” The voice offers.

Your thoughts pause, grasping at the idea. “You mean, go back? To the start? Is that possible?”

“Sometimes. Under certain circumstances.”

A chance to try again. At what? Saving Gale? Having a better life? A better death? Eventually finding your way back to this place, with no regrets holding you back?

You would like that.

“Will I remember this?”

“No.”

“Will he?”

“No.”

You could have had this conversation hundreds of times before, or perhaps it is the first and only. It is impossible to know.

“Ok. Yes, please.”

You can feel the pieces of yourself starting to come apart, like threads of a tapestry being unspooled by the oldest and gentlest of hands.

You reach out for those delicate, golden threads on instinct, but they slip away, and it is hard to know whether you are letting go of them or they are letting go of you.

Scratch the Dog. Karlach’s laughter. Night Orchids. Sunlight on scarred skin. Homemade cookies. Gale. Magic. A kiss.

You try to hold them tighter.

“How do I know I won’t make the same mistakes all over again?” you ask.

“You don’t,” the voice that wasn’t a voice says.

A silver sword. A man with horns dancing. Pipe smoke and bear fur. Taverns and temples and soft touches. Gale.

You’re trying to hold so many of them, you have to let others go. What is your name again? How old are you? Who were your parents?

Moonlight through shadow. A boat on make-believe water. A hand in yours. A purple dagger.

“Will I still be me?” You’re no longer sure what that means.

“That depends.”

The lake that wasn’t a lake, the warmth that wasn’t the sun, all of it begins to fade. You feel yourself pulled away, or maybe pulled together. You aren’t sure which—you just know you’re going somewhere, somewhen.

The voice speaks a final time as everything ends. As everything begins.

“Who are you?”

[shadowqueenjude]

One thing people don’t understand about opposites attract: this kind of romance only works if the idea of them being opposites is an illusion based on their outward personality and their status in life.

Elain and Azriel being opposites is not an illusion: they literally have nothing in common. Elain when she is happy and healthy is the life of the party while Azriel broods in the shadows. Elain finds any bit of darkness abhorrent while Azriel thrives in the darkness. She is about peace and diplomacy while he’s the court torturer. Azriel thinks soft girls need protecting while Elain is literally trying to leave the helpless box she has been put into.

The only things they have in common is that they’re both running from their problems. Elain wants to fuck Azriel because he’s pretty and he’s not her mate while Azriel wants to fuck Elain because she’s pretty and he has a thing for unavailable women and also believes he deserves “the third sister.” Their relationship would not be forbidden when the only people they’re hiding it from is close family members and friends.

Elain and Lucien’s parallels have been spelled out in the books: they have both loved and lost, Elain needs sunshine and Lucien is sunshine, they both prefer peace and diplomacy to violence, they’re charming and displaying an outward appearance of happiness while drowning inside. They’re both underdogs. Elain was once human and Lucien’s new friends are human. They also have an established mating bond. They have all the puzzle pieces to create a beautiful romance.

[msfantasy-comics]

The Opposites Attract

Dick Grayson x Reader

Summary: A Head Cannon on which Dick Grayson and Y/n oppose each other yet remain wholly compatible.

Warning: Y/n is depicted as angsty and a little feral. 

Masterlist - Tip Jar

Opposites attract they say.

Yet Dick and Y/n are such polar opposites surely their difference outweigh each other.

Despite it all, the two love birds gravitate each other due to their completing differences.

Extrovert vs. Introvert

Dick is insanely outgoing and is recharged by socialising. His perfect setting is in a crowded rowdy rooms where the conversation moves like wildfire. Wild and Abrupt.

Y/n on the other hand, prefers a quite space with one-on-one conversations.

In typical extraverted fashion. Dick adopts the introverted Y/n and encourages her to step outside her comfort zone and talk to others.

But it’s just not in her nature.

How the hell are you meant to jump into a conversation?

How are you meant to have a say on a topic when three other people are talking over each other to get their 2 cents in?

You gave up almost immediately and retreated back to your safe corner always from the shoulder bashing and elbow jabbing walk way.

Dick was initially disappointed to see you give up so quickly until he noticed that you were carrying on your socialising in your own way.

You sat silently as strangers poured their heart out to you.

Silently nodding and humming in agreement every now and then before the person sighed, thanked you for listening and walked off.

Dick really admires that about you.

Dick: “Need some company.”

Y/n: “Only if you bring me the good vibes.”

Optimist vs. Pessimist

Dick is a buzzing bundle of bountiful energy.

Dick is never short on absurdly positive outcomes despite all odds indicating otherwise.

Why live in a delusional state? You know the realities of life.

And the reality is that life can be shit and it doesn’t turn out well for everyone no matter how much they try or desperately scramble to achieve their hopes.

Hope is pointless.

There is just something obnoxiously wonderful about Dick.

How is it that your boy wonder lights a flame in you that fills you with certainty that all will be right as long as he is here?

You greatly admire how infectious Dicks positivity can be.

Y/n: “Why keep sending them to Arkham only to escape and ruin lives? Might as well just put an end to their burdensome presence.”

Dick: “Oh honey nooooo. Everyone deserves a chance at redemption. Snuffing out the life of a person doesn’t solve the root of the issue.”

Y/n: “Who cares! Nothing matters in the end anyway, we will all die and become obsolete. Only to let the next generation bitch and moan about the inequality of it all.”

Dick: “Ah, my precious little sunshine can be such a downer, yes you can.”

*Condescendingly pinches cheeks*

Secretive vs. Open

Dick just wants the best of both worlds.

To be the figure head for heroism, hope, peace and safety, without an of the consequences of having your image publicly known.

Dick would never want to endanger the lives of those around him due to his passions in crime fighting.

Therefore, he must maintain the secrecy of the bat and the mask.

You, however, don’t understand how or why your boy wonder hides his true identity.

It’s not like Dick Grayson is an every day normal civilian.

He’s a fricken heir to Gotham wealthiest philanthropist.

It’s not like he doesn’t have any privacy on either alter egos.

But the Bats secret is not your own to share.

So instead you live freely by your own rules.

You admit your identities and aren’t afraid to show the public your true self.

You honestly couldn’t care less about public perception.

Dick, admires your unapologetic lifestyle.

Aggressive Random: “You shouldn’t -“

Y/n: “Piss Off- no one asked you.”

Dick: “Ah sweetie… maybe you should listen to what they have to say.”

Y/n: “I couldn’t give a rats!”

[bandsofmarv]

Future, past and present.

Struggling with adjusting to the new timeline. He meets someone new. Logan slowly begins to trust you, he realises that maybe—just maybe—this new timeline offers him something he thought he could never have: a second chance, and someone to share it with.

TW - not really any, fluff and angst, smut.

The cabin smelled of pinewood and faint traces of whiskey, the air heavy with a history Logan could never escape. It was quiet—too quiet for his liking. For someone used to chaos, peace was like a loaded gun: unpredictable and waiting to go off.

You, however, had brought that damned sunshine into his life. From the moment you had breezed into his space—too bright, too warm, too alive—Logan had been trying not to crack under the weight of your presence.

But you weren’t easy to ignore.

“Logan,” you called softly, your voice lilting as you stepped into the room. You carried a mug of steaming coffee, its rich aroma cutting through his brooding haze. “You’ve been staring out that window for hours.”

He grunted. “Maybe I like the view.”

You smiled, leaning against the counter, watching him with that unshakable optimism that made his chest ache. He didn’t deserve you—hell, he didn’t deserve much of anything. Not after all the bloodshed, all the lives lost on his watch.

“I’d believe that,” you teased, “if you weren’t scowling at it like it owes you money.”

He glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth twitching in something that could almost be called a smirk. “What do you want, darlin’?”

“Breakfast? Company?” You stepped closer, unfazed by the storm brewing in his eyes. “You can’t keep shutting me out, Logan.”

“I ain’t shutting you out,” he said gruffly, though the words felt like a lie. The truth was, you had wormed your way past his defenses before he’d even realized it. Your kindness grated against his jagged edges, smoothing them in ways that scared the hell out of him.

You placed the mug on the table in front of him and sat down, propping your chin on your hands as you stared up at him. “If you say so.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching between you like an old wound. Finally, he sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of years. “I’m just… not used to this.”

“This?” you prompted.

Logan ran a hand through his thick, graying hair, his jaw clenching as he searched for the right words. You didn’t press him, though the concern in your eyes was enough to chip away at his defenses. He wasn’t good at talking about this—about anything, really—but if anyone deserved an explanation, it was you.

“This… timeline,” he started, his voice rough, “it’s not where I came from. Where I was…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the mug of coffee in front of him, fingers tightening around the edge of the table. “It was hell. And I ain’t using that word lightly.”

You didn’t flinch, didn’t interrupt. You just waited, patient as always, letting him find his way through the storm.

“Everyone was gone,” he said finally, the words quieter now, like they were being dragged from the deepest part of him. “Most of ‘em dead. Mutants… wiped out. Charles…” He paused, swallowing hard. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him. None of ‘em did.”

You watched him carefully, your heart aching at the cracks in his usually impenetrable exterior. You’d heard whispers about his past, about what he’d been through, but he’d never opened up like this before.

“They relied on me,” Logan continued, his voice gaining an edge of bitterness. “And I failed them. Over and over again. I survived, sure, but what the hell was the point? Just to watch it all burn?”

“That wasn’t your fault,” you said gently, your voice soft but steady. “You did the best you could.”

Logan’s laugh was short and humorless. “Yeah, well, my ‘best’ didn’t stop the world from falling apart.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his. His skin was rough and scarred, but you squeezed gently, grounding him. “You’re here now, Logan. In a world where they’re alive, where you can make things right. That has to count for something.”

He looked at your hand over his, then up at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into the shell he kept so tightly around himself. But instead, he turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours.

“It’s not easy,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Being here, pretending like I don’t see the ghosts of what I lost every damn day.”

“I know it’s not,” you said, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “But you don’t have to do it alone. Not anymore.”

Logan stared at you, something flickering in his eyes—something raw, vulnerable, and so deeply buried you almost didn’t catch it. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let the smallest sliver of that sunshine you carried seep into the cracks of his broken world.

“Guess I don’t,” he said, his voice softer now, as though the weight of his confession had lightened just a little.

You smiled, warmth radiating from you like a beacon in the dark. “Not as long as I’m around, old man.”

Logan huffed out a breath that could have been a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re too good for this world, darlin’.”

“And you’re too stubborn to admit you deserve it.” His hand tightened around yours. For once, he didn’t argue.

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened as his gaze lingered on your face, his usual stormy eyes softening, just for a moment. Something in the air shifted, the weight of his grief replaced by something electric, something that hummed between the two of you. You felt his thumb stroke the back of your hand—tentative, almost unsure—and when your lips parted to speak, he surprised you.

Logan leaned forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that was fierce, desperate, and utterly consuming. It wasn’t graceful—nothing with Logan ever was—but it was real, raw, and filled with the kind of hunger that made your heart race.

You gasped against his lips as he pulled you into his lap, his hands finding your hips and grounding himself in the warmth of your body. “You sure about this, darlin’?” he growled, his voice rough and gravelly as he searched your eyes.

Your answer was a soft moan as you kissed him back, threading your fingers into his hair and tugging, eliciting a low rumble from his chest. “I’ve never been more sure,” you whispered, breathless, your lips brushing against his.

Logan didn’t need more convincing. His hands slipped under your shirt, calloused palms exploring the soft curves of your waist. He groaned as his lips trailed down your neck, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you arch against him. Every touch, every kiss, was a testament to how much he’d been holding back, how deeply he craved you.

By the time he carried you to his bed, the quiet cabin was filled with the sounds of your shared desire. His kisses grew slower, more deliberate, as he explored every inch of you like a man trying to memorize something precious. His scars brushed against your skin, but you didn’t shy away. Instead, you welcomed him, showing him with every touch that he was safe here, with you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky as he took in the sight of you beneath him, your body bathed in the dim light of the room. His hands roamed your curves, his lips following, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

You pulled him closer, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, marveling at his strength and vulnerability. “Logan,” you gasped, the sound of his name on your lips driving him wild. He groaned as he finally gave in, his movements slow but intense, savoring the way your body responded to his.

It wasn’t just about lust—it was more. In every kiss, every touch, there was a depth of emotion that neither of you had dared to voice before. He wasn’t just claiming your body; he was baring his soul, trusting you with the broken pieces of himself.

And as the night stretched on, Logan finally allowed himself to let go, to let you in, and to believe—if only for a moment—that he might deserve this happiness after all.

[bywrios]

"they say there's nothing new under the sun, but somehow a picnic in the warm sunshine never gets old."

you chuckle softly at your lover's soft musings, watching as he leans his weight back on his palms and lets the sun's morning rays cast on his ruggedly handsome face. gentle, golden light illuminates the set of his brow and the line of his jaw, and he cuts a much warmer figure than he does beneath the electric lights of the fortress. you produce a few more food items from your basket, and lay them on the picnic blanket.

it had taken a lot of convincing to get wriothesley to take some time off. every last moment of this outing had been meticulously planned; you'd even conscripted the help of several of wriothesley's friends, namely clorinde and the iudex himself, to fully convince your dear husband to take a break. he'd only agreed to head to the surface with you after seeing your conviction, and also after neuvillette offered to oversee the fortress for the next few hours. it's honestly a miracle, and one you're intent on making the most out of.

"i packed some food," you hum, arranging the small plates you've produced on the blanket. there's sandwiches and other assorted savory foods, and also a rather broad selection of sweets and pastries, courtesy of the president of the spina di rosula. wriothesley's expression gains a boyish curiosity to it, as his gaze sweeps over the spread you've prepared.

"you outdid yourself," he says softly. "really, there was no need to do so much."

you huff adamantly and shake your head. "i wanted to. you deserve a break, wrio, and i want to take care of you."

he pauses at that. eyes the shade of an overcast sky regard you carefully. you don't take it personally; you know how he is. how the 'duke' came to be, from the little boy he once was. life has not been kind to him, and he wears the proof of it on his hands, his arms, and his neck. he has known violence longer than he has known peace, betrayal longer than trust, hatred longer than love. you almost think he's going to slip free from the moment with another easygoing comment, but instead his voice carries a quiet heaviness when he speaks.

"it's rotten work," he says, his fingers curling lightly into the checkered cloth beneath his hand. something in your chest aches little, but you reach across the blanket to gently intertwine your fingers with his.

"not to me. not if it's you."

he exhales at that. a rush of air, like it's involuntary. then, he laughs, the sound like a ray of sunlight breaking through grey clouds. he brings your hand up to his lips, and presses a featherlight kiss to your knuckles.

"you're too good to me, you know?"

you give him a soft, but affectionate huff in return, your cheeks warming at the action, a smile tugging at your own lips. "silly. there's no such thing."

[ihavemanyhusbands]

I Found My Love in Portofino

Duncan Vizla x Assassin!FemReader

Also on AO3

Summary: Despite your promise to stay away, the lure of Portofino -- and who you might find there -- is too irresistible. Part 2 to The Black Kaiser's Nightmare

WC: 5.3k words

Warnings: SMUT! (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), enemies to lovers speedrun into the bed, semi-public sex, mentions of violence, play fighting, breaking shit all over the place, abundant cursing, rough sex (unprotected, don't do it at home!), angst (but there’s a happy ending dw), I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything!

You are responsible for your own media consumption!

------

Sunshine, a gorgeous view, and the fragrant smell of the sea. What more could you possibly need? 

Some dignity, perhaps.

But maybe you’d lost all of it on the other side of the world almost a year ago, buried under many layers of snow. Along with one too many promises you weren’t certain you could keep.

Then again, you’d desperately wanted a vacation somewhere warm, hadn’t you? And Portofino was beautiful that time of year, undeniably so. It was nearly impossible to resist its allure. 

All you had to do was keep to yourself and not let your eyes wander in search of a familiar silhouette. Eat some amazing food, drink some great wine, and maybe brush up on your Italian. Nothing else. How hard could it be, really?

A few days had already passed with no issues, but at all times, there was the slightest prickle of awareness at the back of your neck. But still, you didn’t search.

At least you were slowly building a nice tan, which was long overdue. You’d spent most of your days at the beach, alternating between dips in the ocean and sprawling out on a towel to air dry. It was as close as you’d gotten to true peace in a long time.

Sometimes, when the waves rolled over you, they felt like a lover’s embrace. Powerful and all-consuming, right on the verge of being agonizing. The familiarity of this feeling and these sudden romantic notions were irritating, but you were always a creature of incandescent want. A fatal flaw, most likely.

When the sun began to set, hunger was the only thing that could pull you away. You’d found a place that you liked, which was perhaps a little too pricey, but the view was unbeatable and the food was definitely worth coming back for. On top of that, you felt like you deserved to spoil yourself at least a little bit.

You sat at your usual table, a salty breeze tussling your hair. A passing waiter smiled and nodded at you, already knowing your order. You smiled back, pushing your sunglasses atop your head. 

The world was awash in golden light, the waves glittering like a dream in which swimmers basked. For a moment, as you stared off into the middle distance, your mind was blissfully blank. Not a worry to ruin things.

But then suddenly…

“Your champagne, signorina,” a voice said as an empty flute was set on the table. “And may I just add… you look ravishing when you are so relaxed. It really does suit you.”

You whipped around immediately, eyes widening and heart thumping like a war drum.

“You!” You hissed through clenched teeth, gripping your dinner knife.

Duncan, disguised as a waiter, smiled at you impishly as he poured the champagne. He was the picture of calm, unbothered by the real threat of another stab from you.

“I know you must’ve missed me terribly, but let’s not make a scene now,” he said easily. “I suppose your busy schedule had an opening after all?”

“I happen to like Italy, if you have to know,” you huffed, grabbing the flute and taking a sip. “I told you I wasn’t going to look for you, and I didn’t. You found me.”

“You made it rather easy, but I let you have a few days.”

You gestured at his attire. “And this is how you chose to approach. Real sneaky of you.”

His grin only broadened. “What can I say? I wanted to serve you.”

Annoyance flared to life inside of you, but it was paired with a familiar feeling that made you tightly cross your legs. You pursed your lips for a moment, but you didn’t really want to give him the satisfaction of seeing he was getting to you. 

Instead, you leaned back in your chair with an equally sly grin and said, “So do it, then. You can only keep me waiting for so long…”

He nodded once, straightening up. “Right away. I’ll be back in a moment.”

As he walked away, your body relaxed and you let out a long exhale. Running a hand down your face in frustration, you chastised yourself again for not steeling your will more in the time you were apart. You glanced over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t watching you and slumped in your chair. 

A few restless minutes passed as you waited, but still he didn’t return. You drummed your fingers on the table as your impatience grew into frustration. Then you figured, this was probably his plan, right? To try and get under your skin as much as possible, make up for lost time. It definitely seemed to be his favorite activity. Or one of them, at least. 

Fuck it. Who said you couldn’t retaliate just a little bit? 

You downed the champagne in one go, perhaps for courage, perhaps just because you needed a reason to justify your recklessness. Standing, you made your way inside under the pretense of going to the restroom. You hadn’t really planned what you were going to do, but still you wandered by the kitchen.

From what you could see, he wasn’t there, which made you frown in confusion. It wasn’t a big establishment, so there weren’t many places where he could be. Half-dejected, you walked into the single-stall bathroom… and immediately the door slammed shut behind you, lock clicking into place. 

Before you could process anything, strong arms enveloped you, pulling you against a solid chest. Duncan put a finger to his lips in a motion for silence, right before he threw himself on you, claiming your mouth. You practically melted against him, any sort of animosity you held forgotten for a moment.

But then, when the shock passed, you kissed him back roughly. You tugged at his hair and bit his bottom lip, letting him retaliate by pressing you against the wall, as if punishing both him and yourself for caving so easily to your desires.

“Already breaking promises, huh?” he said between kisses, chuckling as your hands briskly tried to undo his pants.

“Shut up,” you grumbled. “Or I’m gonna put your mouth to better use this time.”

“That reminds me…”

Abruptly, he gathered you in his arms and set you on the edge of the sink. He kneeled in front of you, reaching past the edge of your sundress and tugging loose the strings of your bikini bottom.

“I did say I would serve you,” he grinned, scooting closer and placing your legs on his shoulders. “Let’s see if you’ll be able to keep quiet now.”

You couldn’t keep your chest from heaving as he fully removed the fabric, tossing it to one side. He kissed his way up your inner thigh, his scruff lightly tickling the sensitive flesh. You suppressed a small shudder, readjusting your position. 

As his tongue dipped directly into the source of your ache — the best way to properly savor you — you held onto his head with one hand and gripped the edge of the sink with the other. He groaned, breath hot against you, and trailed his tongue up to your clit.

He guided himself by your reactions — the small spasms of your muscles, your hitching breaths and the subtle hums of your concealed moans. He barely came up for air, content with the possibility of asphyxiation if it meant he’d never get the taste of you out of his mouth.

The precise, relentless way in which he pleased you nearly drove you to madness. His tongue circled around your clit slowly, almost teasingly, but whenever you were about to voice his frustration, he did the complete opposite to keep you on the edge. You looked down and met his gaze for a moment, fire burning in his eyes. The intensity of it made your pussy clench around his fingers, which he’d just added into the mix.

Your back arched, head resting against the mirror behind you. Your eyes were closed in bliss, knees drawing together around his head as you felt the beginning of an orgasm forming.

“Yes…” you sighed. “Yes! Right there!”

And that was all he needed to hear to ramp up the intensity further. Your body trembled, sweat-slick hand almost slipping off the porcelain. Your spine arched further, as if possessed, and a ragged moan escaped you as you came undone. Pleasure felt electric as it swept over you, and he moaned along with you as he helped you ride it out all the way.

As you were left panting heavily, limbs still shaky, he pulled back to look at you and licked his lips. You brought your legs off his shoulders and he stood in order to undo his pants, the hard imprint of his cock straining against the fabric almost painfully. Once it was free, he spat in his hand and stroked himself to spread the saliva. 

“Get inside me,” you pleaded quietly, urging him closer, eyes still shiny with want. “Please, fuck, I need you inside me.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist this time and he guided himself into you slowly. He muttered your name under his breath as he bottomed out, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t miss the way he seemed to fully envelop you. The heat emanating from him, his smell flooding your nostrils, and even the stretch of him inside you was divine… But you weren’t able to dwell on these thoughts as he began to move. 

His large hands held you up by your hips as he pounded into you, no longer holding back. It seemed he had missed you just as much, and all he could do was make up for lost time. 

He leaned down once more to kiss you as it became harder for you to contain your noises. More of your weight, combined with his, was leaning on the sink by then. As he hit that spot inside you that made your body jerk, you heard a crack.

You tried to ignore it for a moment as his movements turned erratic, grip tightening on your skin. He grunted with each thrust, snapping his hips roughly as you clawed at his shoulders. 

Then his whole body tensed, and he pressed all the way into you in one final thrust. The sound that left him was nearly animalistic as he spilled his release inside of you… and it was at that moment that the sink gave out completely.

The porcelain loudly shattered against the linoleum floor as it broke off the wall. The newly exposed pipe gushed water, the puddle quickly spreading. Duncan caught you in his arms before you could fall as well, stumbling a little as he adjusted his position.

“Shit, that was my bad…” he panted. “I got a little carried away.”

The two of you dissolved into a fit of nervous laughter as the reality of the situation really settled in. Reflexively, you had wrapped your arms around his neck, your faces close together.

You could feel his pulse was just as hurried as yours, both of you still coming down from your highs. You avoided prolonged eye contact as you drew away with an amused grin, smacking his arm.

“Real smooth, breaking shit on your first day on the job,” you said.

He started to laugh, but suddenly, there was loud knocking on the door.  A voice called in Italian to ask if everything was okay, the doorknob jiggling to no avail. You and Duncan looked at each other in a millisecond of panic before hastily starting to re-dress.

“Fuck, we have to get out of here,” you hissed as he helped you onto your feet, holding you for a moment as your legs wobbled. “Can’t we have a reunion where we don’t wreak havoc for once?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head as he buttoned up his pants. “I don’t think it’s possible.”

You rolled your eyes but said nothing, intent on assessing your options. The banging at the door didn’t stop, and you figured soon enough they’d get a key to open it. There was a window that seemed large enough for you to fit through, but you weren’t sure Duncan’s large frame would make the cut.

“One moment please! Everything’s fine!” You yelled back before turning to Duncan and lowering your voice. “I just realized I forgot my stuff out there.”

“I’ll go get it,” he said, ushering you towards the window and handing you your bikini bottoms. “I’ll meet you outside.”

You nodded, appreciative and just slightly flustered at the idea of having to sneak out commando while you were still holding in his… Well, that was probably the least of your worries at that very moment. One thing at a time.

“Try to leave them some money, too. We’ve done enough damage.”

He snorted. “Just wait ‘til we get to the hotel.”

You bit back your retort and instead focused on climbing out of the window without leaving a snail trail. Glancing around to make sure you were alone, you made your way to the front of the restaurant surreptitiously. Twice you had to stop and hide as you neared passerby, still jittery with adrenaline. 

It was a thrill that felt both agonizing and yet somehow very arousing. You waited in a side alley, clamping your thighs together as you leaned against the wall. You just hoped Duncan wouldn’t get himself in deeper shit and take more drastic measures. He wasn’t charming enough to get out of trouble with just words, as you were well aware. 

Finally, he emerged from the restaurant after what seemed like forever, dressed in casual clothes. You lifted your arm so he could see where you were, and he hurried over.

“How did you—” you began to ask, but you were interrupted by him clasping your wrist and dragging you away.

“Don’t ask,” he said. “But just so you know, I did get a couple of high-fives on my way out.”

—————————-

As it turned out, Duncan had been staying at the hotel next to yours. You had to stop to get his luggage first since he’d checked out of his room that morning, already having assumed he’d be staying with you. 

You’d raised your eyebrows and scoffed at his overconfidence. Of course, you should’ve expected something like that to happen, but you’d been too caught up on whether you’d actually run into him or not.

The casualness between you felt strange, particularly given your history. He was definitely more at ease than he’d been a year ago, but uneasiness was like second nature to you. Sure, you were enjoying this new dynamic with him so far, but you weren’t sure how far was too far. 

Fucking was one thing, but being on vacation together… You shook your spiraling thoughts out of your head as you led him through your hotel and up to your room. One thing at a time.

“And what would you have done if I decided not to give you the time of day?” You asked as you swiped the keycard to your room. “Sleep on a bench somewhere?”

“Oh please, haven’t I proven to be irresistible?” He said, tilting his head to the side as he smiled slyly.

“Yeah, well, I’m not covering the hotel costs for both of us, just so you know.”

He scoffed, but you could tell he wasn’t actually offended. “I can pay you with my body, that should be more than enough.”

You bit down an amused grin and said nothing, instead turning on the lights and showing him where he could put his stuff. He set it all down without real care as you began undressing, making him freeze on the spot. 

But you weren’t trying to seduce him, at least not then, for there was only one thing on your mind. Your skin felt sticky with sea salt and sweat, your hair was all tangled by the wind, and there was still that little problem between your legs to take care of. 

“Care to rinse off, then? I know I need to,” you said, casually stepping into the bathroom. “Shower’s got room for two.”

You got in before hearing his response, starting by washing your hair under the stream of hot water. As you were rinsing off the shampoo, eyes closed, you heard him get in. Your other senses were all too aware of his nearness, making you jump a little at an unexpected touch on your hand. 

When you were able to open your eyes again, you saw he was washing himself. The way the soap suds slid down his muscles made you swallow hard, and he was smiling deviously when you moved to let him rinse off. He sighed with contentment at the water’s warmth, slicking his hair back, and you couldn’t help but keep ogling him. 

Maybe he wasn’t so wrong about being irresistible… He really was beautiful.

When he turned around, you quickly averted your gaze and reached for the bar of soap, but he shook his head. “Allow me.”

He lathered some soap between his hands, taking it upon himself to wash your body. He kept eye contact as he started with your shoulders and arms, moving slowly but purposefully. Your limbs were loose as you let him keep going, adjusting you this way and that so he didn’t miss a spot.

Even as he reached more sensitive areas, his touch was tender rather than lascivious. Looking at the scars on each other was like a trip down memory lane, but it wasn’t a bitter remembrance. In fact, you felt yourself softening, almost vulnerable. So much stubbornness, so much time wasted, but it all had somehow led to such an intimate moment.

When he was done, you rewarded him with a soft kiss, more chaste than anything you’d had so far. You shut off the water and both of you got out to dry off quietly. It felt like talking might burst the bubble of… whatever feeling the two of you were so precariously sharing at that moment.

An idea struck you then, and you discarded your towel somewhere along the way. He watched as you opened the sliding doors to the private balcony, the faint light silhouetting you. 

Up there, the faint roar of the ocean could still be heard. It was moonlight’s turn to glitter in the dark waves, but you put your back to the view as you gave him an inviting look. 

Truth be told, you wanted to indulge in him as much as you could. A sense of urgency accompanied your arousal, like the opportunity might not come around again. Was it a sign? Could it be fate’s way of making you say goodbye? 

The thought scared you more than you were willing to admit, so you decided to be mindless once again. You let the sea breeze envelop you once again, but soon after his arms took place, drawing you into his warmth. He searched your face for something, but you averted your gaze as you ran your hands up and down his chest.

“You’re quiet,” he noted. “You haven’t even threatened to kill me at least once since we got here.”

You shrugged, going on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck. “Does it matter?”

“Well, you know the violence is what gets me going…” he said with a smirk, but you could still see some concern in his eyes. 

You kissed his bottom lip enticingly, returning the smirk. “Let’s tear each other apart, then. For good this time.”

And so he cupped the back of your head and crushed his lips against yours. The kiss was sloppy and desperate, tongues dragging against each other. You reached between your bodies to touch him, fingers grazing the velvety underside of his hardening cock.

For a moment he lost himself to your touch, mindlessly chasing your lips as you withdrew, teasing him. You stroked the head with the tips of your fingers, and his hips bucked in search of more friction.

“Not gonna be so easy now,” you chastised playfully. “Gotta earn your stay.”

He gripped your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. His free hand roamed up your chest, splaying over your sternum and feeling your quickening heartbeat. He bent down to kiss your neck and collarbones, humming in fiendish delight as he heard your soft moan.

“You little devil,” he murmured. “You should know I won’t make it easy for you either.”

And so commenced a battle for dominance, in which the two of you did not play fair. You practically tackled him back onto the sunbed, frantically trying to pin his arms down. Your thighs pressed against his sides tightly, holding him in place. 

He had a great view of you from that angle, so he got easily distracted, his struggles weakening. But just when you thought you had him, he suddenly grabbed your wrists and managed to flip you under him. You blinked up at him in momentary surprise, but then scoffed.

Your legs and arms wrapped around him as you tried to crush him in a bear hug. You felt his erection pressed against your abdomen, and he grunted with the effort of trying to wriggle from your grasp.

Despite the exertion from wrestling each other, you found yourself smiling, genuinely having a good time. Your cheeks were flushed and you were panting heavily. He kissed all over your face, perhaps in an attempt to distract you, but you gave in amiably for the time being.

“Where’s your knife now?” He murmured against your skin, taunting, his breath close to your ear.

But instead of responding, you pulled his head back by the hair and brought your lips to his. Your other hand rested on his throat, like a silent threat, but it was just a little too tender to actually be one.

The stars wheeled across the sky unnoticed, as the two of you were too wrapped up in a frenzy of desire, all restraints loosened. Eager hands and eager mouths, the violent delicacy of your bodies curled around each other like snakes. Everything else truly ceased to exist.

Not much of the hotel room was spared either, lamps knocked over, framed artwork half shattered on the floor, and different things haphazardly strewn about. At last, the bed became the lion’s den, where the last of the raging fire simmered out, leading into a sated slumber.

You awoke before him, too restless from an influx of dreams you couldn’t make heads or tails of. The early morning had a melancholic blue tint to it, barely illuminating the room. You watched him for a moment, trying to burn him into memory as you followed the steady rise and fall of his chest. 

Keeping your thoughts at bay was becoming harder by the minute, especially wrapped up in his warmth and his smell. Suddenly, you couldn’t bear being in the bed anymore. You left a featherlight kiss on his shoulder before sliding out as quietly as you could. A certain bitterness slid down the back of your throat as you gathered clothes, padding over to the bathroom and dressing mechanically. 

Any sort of logic or reasoning seemed to have left you as well, since you were prepared to flee with just what you were wearing. In that moment, you believed perhaps you could outrun the consequences, and yourself in the process.

But just as you opened the bathroom door and took one step out, you heard the clicking drag of metal and felt the coolness of it closing in around your wrist. You looked down to find yourself handcuffed to Duncan, who was only partially dressed. He looked at you intensely, knowingly even, pinning you in place. Your heart leaped to your throat, stopping any words you might want to say. 

“I told you I wouldn’t make it easy either,” he said, his voice devoid of any humor.

He reached out with his free hand, but you weaved away from it like a skittish stray dog that’d been kicked too many times in its life. Your immediate response was a punch that he took in stride. In fact, he let you try and shove him, although the handcuffs would take you along with him. Your frustration only grew, and this time fighting him was different, more desperate – like a cornered animal.

“When are you going to stop fighting your desires?” He asked firmly, seizing your other wrist. “You can’t just run away this time. You owe me that much.”

“Duncan, please,” you said softly, looking down.

“Please, what?” He pressed.

“Why are we kidding ourselves?” You sighed. “We’re just horny and really fucking lonely…and I guess it helps that we understand each other. But we both know it can’t go beyond that.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t exactly have a profession that allows commitment…” you said, but he only stared, forcing you to continue. “What if they decided to assign us to kill each other?”

“I would gladly fake my death for you.”

You pursed your lips, forcing down the tears that once again crawled up your throat. Damn him and the way he made butterflies flutter around your stomach! 

“But I won’t let it come to that,” he added. “I’ve already decided to retire early.”

You looked up at him in disbelief, eyes wide. “Really? Just like that?”

“Well I’ve wanted out for some time, but you kind of… helped me make up my mind,” he said, searching your eyes to try and solve the riddle of your feelings. 

“And you thought, what? That I would quit too?”

He shook his head. “No. What you do is up to you. All I want is a quiet life, and to settle in one place so you’ll always know where I am.”

“Okay, and what if I have to be gone for a long time? Won’t you get lonely?” You asked, a painful spasm in your chest as you thought about it further. “What if you meet someone else? I mean, hell, I don’t even really know what it is you want with me…”

He frowned, truly unable to fathom your stubbornness. “Are you fucking serious right now? We’re handcuffed together. Do I have to spell it out further?”

Again, you sighed in frustration, closing your eyes for a moment. You hadn’t felt such a strong connection with someone in a long time, especially since you believed you were better off alone. Those you were close to could invariably become collateral, and that was one thing you simply couldn’t stomach.

And when you’d said that you understood each other, that had been the truth. Not many – if anyone at all – that weren’t in the business could understand your lifestyle. The guilt that came in waves, threatening to pull you under. The sleepless nights, the mastery of clinical detachment, the constant need to hide and stay vigilant. It was certainly not easy, but you’d simply gotten used to it over time.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t tired of living that way. Still, you hesitated, feeling yourself toe closer to the edge of the cliff. 

“What if it’s just the excitement?” You asked, opening your eyes once more.

“It’s been years now… if it had died out, so would we,” he sighed, seeming a little aggrieved. “Or what? You don’t believe love and violence intersect?”

“Love!” You gasped, all pretenses shattered now that one of you had finally said that word. “That’s…”

“Is that what scares you most?”

After a moment’s hesitation, where you fidgeted uncomfortably, you shook your head. “I’m barely evenly acquainted with it, but it’s enough for me to know it doesn’t prevent someone from leaving.”

He nodded once in understanding, not having an argument for that. “And you think I’m an expert on it?”

You shrugged, not entirely sure of his romantic history. Still, you could at least tell that it had not been kind to him either. He pulled you closer, lacing his fingers through yours as if the cuffs weren’t enough to keep you.

“Despite it all, haven’t we inevitably found a way back to each other? Sure, the flame that kept drawing us at first might have been hatred, but pettiness could only take us so far…” He straightened so you could appraise him better, gesturing to himself. “I proudly wear the scars you have given me, and I would welcome many more.”

Your vision became blurry all of a sudden, though you couldn’t understand why. At least not until you felt a tear streaming down your cheek, which you wiped away defiantly. He rested his chin atop your head as you leaned against his arm, not looking at him.

“And if you think I will break your heart, what guarantee do I have you won’t break mine first?”

“You don’t,” you admitted honestly, which maybe was the whole point.

“And yet, it is still yours to break.”

You chuckled, but it sounded more like a choked sob. “You’re killing me, old man. What am I to do with so much?”

“You don’t have to carry it all on your own,” he said, bringing his free hand to your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. 

His expression was fully unguarded, like an open book for you to read. There was a vast depth there that seemed to invite you to uncover it, should you actually take the chance. 

And beneath it all, a most desperate hope. One you could recognize, for you had seen it in your own eyes before. It struck you like an arrow, knocking the breath out of you.

One of the deadliest men on Earth utterly undone by one of the most common afflictions — that of the heart. Love.

It was a gift, a real promise beyond what words could express. 

And so, you decided to let yourself fall.

The words left you before you could stop them. “I’m going to retire, too.”

He blinked in surprise, but you barreled on. “It’s not a life I want to keep living. It’s not life at all, really. I was just never really sure if there was anything else for me. But now, nothing is waiting for me out there anymore… I have all I want standing right here next to me.”

Oh, how his eyes brightened at your words. Like the sun rising over the horizon, bringing a new dawn. He wiped your damp cheeks, even if a smile had already spread across your face. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest like a caged bird as he kissed you. It was sweet and unhurried, the culmination of all the yearning and long-repressed desire.

“And what happens now?” You asked softly.

“Anything we want. The world is our oyster,” he said, giving you a pointed look. “You know, there are lots of beautiful chapels around here.”

You scoffed. “Be serious right now!”

“I am being serious.”

You smacked his arm and rolled your eyes, but still felt a swell of giddiness in your chest. “Don’t push your luck, old geezer”

“Can you please come back to bed now? We really should get more sleep,” he said, tugging you along with him.

“Can you at least uncuff us first?”

“No.”

----

[verysium]

PLEASE DO BLUE LOCK ICKS IM BEGGING🙏😭🌹

😏 coming right up anon. gonna channel my inner critic and not hold back on any of these.

RIN

brother complex. not much else to say except that he needs to get a life. not everything is about metaphorically crushing your older brother's dreams and brooding in the dark hate of retribution.

competitive but only because he is a desperate whore for external validation. ignores everyone but craves the attention of a sole person named sae itoshi. was defeated by isagi once and has never let go of it since. has a one-track mind that is impossible to derail. stubborn when he wants to be.

probably a virgin and will continue to be one until his late 30s.

has not known a single day of peace ever since sae ditched him for the popular girlies. as a result, he has developed a very concerning case of social awkwardness. his idea of a conversation involves a brick wall and thirty minutes of you staring at his resting bitch face. constantly looks like that one grumpy cat meme. judges you for your poor decisions but then gets aggressively defensive when you point out his own mistakes.

reeks of so much teen angst that even metallica can't save him. the problem is that he has nothing to back up his emo persona. his insults lack creativity and, unfortunately for him, phrases like "lukewarm" and "half-baked" and "hell" do not make his words carry more weight. uses the f-word but in the most embarrassing context that it makes you facepalm and internally cringe.

SAE

zero social awareness. this boy's head is empty. the lights are not on up there. there are no picture frames or furniture. the curtains are drawn, and there is not a sliver of clouds or sunshine. cannot read body language and does not know what a filter is.

the source of all of rin's stress. he is the original trauma projector, creator of generational cycles. not even subtle about it. "turns out i was wrong. i thought japan was incapable of ever giving birth to decent forwards." sir....with the way you worded that, you knew exactly what you were doing when you gave rin false hope.

swears but it's even worse than his brother. literally called his elders a "fatso and bob cut duo" and "insect turd." i mean....there is a line between what is considered a legitimate burn and what is a first grader making up insults in his coloring book.

has a horrible haircut and no fashion taste. i already talked about this previously, but it was so bad it deserved a second mention.

a freak but tries to justify it rationally. like what do you mean you can tell a person's athletic ability from their buttock size? just admit you have a kinky fetish already.

somewhat of a coward but i'm gonna give him some leniency due to his tragic child genius backstory. tbh he's just an eighteen-year-old boy who needs a goddamn break.

KAISER

alexa please play clown music. this man sets himself for failure and then wallows in self-pity when he actually fails. like what did you expect? you knew what was going to happen the moment you challenged isagi like that. it was most definitely your fault you got violently humbled.

has a borderline god complex (currently calls himself an emperor but has not evolved into a deity yet.) unfortunately, he does not stand on business. cue the dramatic meltdowns when he realizes there is an actual gap between his ability and his reputation. if you're going to lie, at least make it believable.

insecure and mentally unstable. he probably cuts and re-dyes his hair every single time shit happens. no wonder his locks get shorter every time.

lazy when it comes to anything that is not football and expects others to do it for him. demands princess treatment wherever he goes. unfortunately, not all of us have servants with no self-respect like ness.

"it is not enough that i should succeed, others should fail" type of person.

does not wear shoes and even if he does, it's sandals. put them grippers away.

NAGI

a literal sloth who has so much potential but uses none of it. has no intrinsic motivation of his own, so if he's going to do anything, it has to be you behind the wheel, making sure he gets put to work.

does not have a close relationship with his parents, and so he has no sense of community, holidays, or traditions. no fun at all if you want him to do things like christmas shopping or birthday celebrations.

rots in bed all day and then has to nerve to ask you to carry him around. your back better be strong because his 190 cm body is not going to be light.

not loyal (need i say more.)

REO

second male lead syndrome. also known as that one popular guy who's always picked last.

acts like a victim but then when you realistically tell him to how to change his situation he refuses to do so. you cannot ask for advice and then take none of it to heart. no wonder you're still not over your ex.

"i can fix him" mentality. no, you can't. you are a seventeen-year-old child, not a licensed therapist and nagi isn't even all that.

NESS

touch-starved to the point he will stay in a toxic and abusive relationship in order to gain some scrap of affection. just because you were the black sheep of your family does not mean you can lose all sense of personal dignity.

probably stalks all the people he hates. has a burn book like regina george from mean girls. cuts out and glues little pictures of kaiser all over his bedroom. doodles hearts all over it with glittery gel pen. isagi's face and name are scratched out of every team photo.

delusional and prone to mood swings. medicated but at this point, he is beyond saving.

ISAGI

a home wrecker. has ruined more relationships than he can count on ten fingers yet still manages to smile like he's some angelic saint.

solves jigsaw puzzles for a living (not very cool if you ask me.)

has some unresolved anger management issues. probably repressed all his negative feelings when he was younger, so it all comes out when he's on the field. unfortunately, his twilight-sparkle-friendship-is-magic agenda is not going to work if he keeps cussing out his teammates like that. but then again, he is the main character, so i guess his plot armor makes up for his pitfalls.

says that he's a good guy but then holds personal vendettas against rivals he doesn't like. boy was so ready to throw hands when #kaisagi was trending on the internet. but when you actually think about, he's similar to kaiser in more ways than he'd like to admit.

BAROU

has the worst case of high and mighty "holier-than-thou" attitude. isagi put his ego in check, but it still peeks out from time to time.

he was the ugliest baby when he was born. i am not going to hold back on the child barou slander because it is true. no, he was not a cute and lovable bundle of joy. he looked like a demonic gremlin.

he needs to take more risks in life and try cross-dressing. simply imagining him in a maid uniform will not suffice. it needs to be made into a reality.

with how nit-picky he is, i doubt people can realistically stay within a 1-meter radius around him. unless you are a clean freak yourself, his constant complaints will start to get annoying after a time. even if he does have good intentions, he needs to let people have a little breathing room sometimes. a messy room is not going to kill you.

BACHIRA

this boy's brain is smooth. no folds. no gray matter. no intelligence either. his pencil and eraser have been left untouched since day one. if he wasn't crazily good at football, he would be unemployed and homeless in the future. not even a mcdonald's wants him.

one of those people who will do the literal opposite of whatever you say. you want him to stop talking? well, now he's never going to shut up. you tell him not to step on a pile of dog shit? well, now he's going to walk right into it. you want him to quit running around and act normal? well, now it's his life's mission to make you as annoyed as possible. please pray for your hair follicles because at the end of the day, you're not going to have many left with how much he makes you want to tear your hair out.

has the cerebral capacity of a toddler. if he thinks monsters are real, he's going to think anything is real. super gullible when it comes to any form of scam, ploy, or trickery. the only way he would not be fooled is if he's also played the same prank before.

SHIDOU

a brazen pervert. says the most out-of-pocket things and refuses to apologize for them. sometimes it comes out a little too sleazy for your liking.

"to me a goal is fertilization! a shot is the seed and the goal is the egg!! and the birth of that joy i call an explosion!! my genes are gonna knock you up!" let us give ourselves a moment of silence to digest this quote. only shidou ryusei would come up with a sperm and egg metaphor to describe football. (i guess protection means nothing to him.)

has no empathy. if you dislike him or cannot keep up with him, you're a literal nobody in his books. no sportsmanship. no compassion. no self-awareness.

you cannot say "balls" to him in a serious tone without him misinterpreting it as something dirty. that alone should tell you enough. stay the hell away from him.

where do men get the audacity? right here. from this little bastard. he invented the term "shameless slut." boy was getting off during the u-20 arc and on live TV too. no wonder sae said he was disgusting.

and finally, he comes from a long line of cockroaches. he's even got the antennae to prove it.

i think this might have been a little excessive, but i have no regrets about it. you're welcome anon ♡

[oddyseye]

Let's talk about Polites in EPIC: The Musical...and Eurylochus.

I do not get the hype for Polites. Yes, he’s supposed to be this sweet, trusting, “open arms” guy who exists to show Odysseus the value of kindness, but he’s an actual walking disaster. He’s a hypocrite through and through. This man fought in the Trojan War — there’s no way his hands are clean — so his sudden push for peace and “let’s all trust each other” feels completely illogical. You don’t get to be a warrior and then act shocked when the world bites back. Here’s what gets me: Polites doesn’t even suffer the consequences of his own idiocy. He dies immediately, leaving the rest of the crew (especially Odysseus) to clean up the mess. His naive, sunshine-and-rainbows approach literally causes everything to fall apart. It’s because of his influence that Odysseus shows mercy to the Cyclops. Look, Polyphemus wasn’t just some big guy with sheep; he was a monster who ate people alive. Odysseus could have stuck to what he does best — being clever, ruthless, and surviving — but instead, Polites’ “let’s be kind and reasonable” act softened him. What did that get them? Poseidon’s rage, storms that killed dozens of men, and an endless chain of suffering. I don’t even feel bad for him because he’s the one who got them into that situation. He got bludgeoned to death, and Odysseus was left holding the guilt and the trauma. Polites did more harm to Odysseus than any monster, god, or storm combined. His naive “open arms” nonsense shattered everything Odysseus built.

His “open arms” philosophy doesn’t even fit the world they live in. This isn’t some cozy, peaceful land — it’s a brutal, war-torn reality where gods toy with humans for sport and monsters eat you for dinner. Odysseus knows this. He’s been through ten years of war, and his leadership is built on cleverness, caution, and yes, ruthlessness when necessary. Polites telling Odysseus to just trust people is like handing a lamb to a lion and acting shocked when it gets eaten. It’s ridiculous. And for all the praise he gets for his ideals, what do they actually accomplish? Nothing. They just put everyone in danger. I care about the impact he had on Odysseus, of course, but not him as a person — because his ideals were dangerous, and his death came way too soon for it to feel meaningful. He was a plot device, not a hero. Meanwhile, Eurylochus gets called selfish, but at least he wasn’t stupid enough to greet the Cyclops or a pretty witch with open arms (and legs).

And keep in mind that, in the original epic, Polites is barely even a footnote — a guy who gets name-dropped once or twice and that’s it. He wasn’t Odysseus’ best friend, he wasn’t some great philosopher of peace, and he definitely didn’t have this huge impact on Odysseus’ leadership. He was just another member of the crew. Yet, for some reason, Jorge decided to pluck him out of obscurity, slap on some manufactured “kind soul” personality, and act like he’s this beacon of morality who changes everything. And for what? Polites’ entire presence in Epic feels like a forced excuse to make Odysseus feel bad about everything. Polites wasn’t important in The Odyssey, so why does Epic act like losing him broke Odysseus? If the story wanted to explore Odysseus’ guilt, fine — but why pin it all on some guy who didn’t even matter in the original myth? At least Eurylochus had a real role in the Odyssey. He was Odysseus’ second-in-command, brother-in-law, and actually did stuff. Speaking of Eurylochus, my man deserves some credit for being an actual human character. Eurylochus makes bad decisions, but at least his choices feel human. Polites, on the other hand, is just...there. A one-note plot device designed to give Odysseus trauma.

I call Polites a hypocrite, while everyone slaps that title onto Eurylochus. But honestly, if anything, Eurylochus is the only crew member who shows consistent growth throughout the story. Eurylochus doesn’t just blindly follow Odysseus or cling to pretty ideals like Polites. Instead, he’s pragmatic, deeply flawed, and painfully human — exactly the kind of person you’d expect to survive years of war and suffering. And honestly? He’s the only one who sees through Odysseus’ contradictions and calls him out when it matters most. Let’s start with the wind bag incident. People love to blame Eurylochus for this, but let’s look at what really happened. Odysseus did tell the crew what was in the bag — he made it clear: “This bag has the storm inside, we cannot let the treasure rumor fly!”

But by that point, the crew was exhausted, starving, and suspicious of their leader. It didn’t help that the Winions planted the idea that the bag contained treasure. That’s what drove the crew to act — greed and distrust, born out of their suffering. And despite the fact Eurylochus didn’t act alone, he often gets singled out as the scapegoat. But reminder that Odysseus refused to let anyone carry the bag, didn’t share its burden, and still kept himself separate from the crew. The men were barely hanging on, and their captain’s secrecy — however well-intentioned — made it easy for paranoia to fester. Was opening the bag a mistake? Absolutely. But it wasn’t just Eurylochus’ fault. It was the natural result of a crew pushed to their breaking point, fueled by mistrust. And when everything blew up — literally — who carried the blame? Eurylochus. Because that’s the role he always ends up in: the fall guy for everyone else’s failures. Then there’s Circe’s island — another moment where Eurylochus’ actions get unfairly criticized. When the men are turned into pigs, Eurylochus does something incredibly human: he panics. He doesn’t want to rush back into danger, and his instinct is to survive. And thus, he suggests abandoning the men and sailing away with Odysseus, which is a harsh and selfish choice. But when he suggests leaving the men, it’s because the situation with Circe is impossible, and the men are trapped. He doesn’t want to abandon them out of cruelty. And let’s not forget that Odysseus’ response is pivotal here. He tells Eurylochus this:

“There’s no length I wouldn’t go if it was you I had to save. I can only hope you’d do the same.” This line changes everything. It plants a seed in Eurylochus that will shape his future actions and, more importantly, his expectations of Odysseus. From that moment on, Eurylochus believes in the idea of loyalty — of never leaving a man behind. He takes Odysseus’ words to heart and learns from him. That’s why what happens later, at Scylla, feels like such a betrayal. When Odysseus sacrifices six men to Scylla to save the rest of the crew, Eurylochus is furious, and rightfully so. From Eurylochus’ perspective, this is hypocrisy of the highest order. Odysseus, who taught him to value every life, now coldly sacrifices six of their men without even warning them. He plans their deaths. “If you want all the power, you must carry all the blame!” This line hits hard, because it exposes the truth about Odysseus’ leadership. Odysseus demands loyalty, respect, and obedience, but he doesn’t want to share the weight of his failures. Eurylochus’ anger isn’t hypocrisy — it’s justified. He held Odysseus to the same standard Odysseus set for him on Circe’s island, and when Odysseus fell short, Eurylochus refused to stay silent. This moment is a turning point: Eurylochus transforms from the scared, self-serving man on Circe’s island to someone who believes in loyalty and accountability. He learned from Odysseus, only to realize that Odysseus doesn’t always live up to his own ideals (hmmmm who does that sound like, oh I wonder).

And to make matters worse — because of course Polites' chaos wasn't enough — we have the cattle situation, which is basically Eurylochus and Odysseus reaching their absolute breaking points. Let’s get one thing clear: what happens with the cattle of Helios? That’s not Eurylochus being weak or selfish — it’s Eurylochus being human. By the time they get to the island, the crew is starving, hopeless, and barely hanging on. Odysseus’ guilt, Poseidon’s fury, everything else, it broke everyone, including Eurylochus. So when he sees those cattle, he cracks. It’s not just about hunger. It’s about everything that’s led them there: the death, the constant danger, the years of being dragged across the seas because of Odysseus’ mistakes and gods playing games. This is where the lyrics hit like a gut punch. Look at the difference in lyrics: “I need to get home!” “How much longer must I go about my life like this, when people die like this?” And that right there? That’s the heart of it.

Odysseus is fixated on his goal, on getting home, because that’s what keeps him going. But Eurylochus? He’s stuck in the present. He’s surrounded by death and misery every single day. Polites’ naive optimism is long gone, and what’s left is the harsh reality of survival. Eurylochus isn’t wrong for saying “enough is enough.” They’ve been starved, cursed, and hunted; the gods have abandoned them. Why wouldn’t he break? And Odysseus loses it. “You’ve doomed us all, Eurylochus!” And yeah, it’s easy to say that when you’re the one in charge (since Odysseus did not kill the cattle, he holds none of the blame). But Eurylochus was broken by everything that’s happened. The way Odysseus says “I need to get home” feels so disconnected from everything Eurylochus has been going through. Odysseus still sees home as the end goal, while Eurylochus has already seen how much it costs to get there. And when Eurylochus calls him “Captain” instead of “Ody” at the end, it shows that everything between them has changed. There’s no more camaraderie. There’s no more brotherhood. He knows what he’s done, but he also knows that Odysseus will never be the same after this. That shift in how he addresses Odysseus shows how much their relationship has deteriorated — and how much Eurylochus has lost. And let us not forget, Odysseus was doomed from the start.

Polites set the curse in motion. Poseidon was already out for blood. The gods were never going to let them off easy, no matter what Eurylochus did. So let’s stop blaming him for one moment of desperation when he was already broken. People always point out Eurylochus’ flaws, but they forget one key thing: he’s the only one who really gets it. He’s the one who challenges Odysseus when he sees his leader making reckless choices. He’s the one who has the courage to question Odysseus, even when everyone else is too afraid to speak up. If you ask me, Polites represents the idealistic lie — this idea that kindness and trust will save you in a world ruled by cruelty and chaos. Eurylochus, on the other hand, represents the harsh truth of what it means to survive. He’s messy, flawed, and emotional, but he’s real. And unlike Polites, who dies early and leaves everyone else to clean up his mess, Eurylochus stays until the bitter end. He bears the burden of Odysseus’ choices, and when he breaks, he does so in a way that makes you feel for him, not judge him.

Eurylochus never gets the credit he deserves because everyone’s too busy crying over Polites. Polites, who gets to die early and leave Odysseus saddled with guilt. Polites, who delivers one cheesy song about “kindness” and then gets bludgeoned in a cave. I’m supposed to feel bad for him? Sure, his death is sad, but the impact he left on Odysseus and the crew? Utter chaos. He’s the reason Odysseus showed mercy to Polyphemus, which kicked off Poseidon’s revenge. Without that storm, they could’ve sailed back home after the cyclops incident. No Circe, no gravity killing Elpenor, no Scylla, no Zeus obliterating the last of them with his thunderbolt. Polites may as well have killed the 599 men himself. Eurylochus deserved his place in the story. He earned it, and he deserves more credit than anyone is willing to give him. Polites was just a naive dreamer who died too early, leaving everyone to deal with the mess he made.

[withleeknow]

wishful thinking. (04)

chapter four: spring daffodils

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres/warnings: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut; a creepy dude but nothing happens, err this chapter is pretty mild? idk, not very edited (i apologize, i just live like this lol) word count: 3.5k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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It was bittersweet You were like a dream And I was your girl on the passenger seat Right next to you We were unstoppable We thought we had it all

I’d Do It Again - Violette Wautier

The first thing you feel when you wake up is Minho’s arms, wrapped tightly around you. Your face in the crook of his neck, your legs tangled up together. It’s as though this is your millionth morning waking up with him.

He’s still fast asleep, soft puffs of air escaping his lips. So peaceful, so ethereal with the light from outside your window shining on his side profile.

He looks like an angel, absolutely unreal, that you can’t help but admire him. How the playful sunshine kisses his sculpted nose, caresses his cheeks, its particles of light lingering on his pink and pouty lips. Every feature, every single detail of his face, beautiful. Sharp, stunning, flawless. The universe really took its time with him.

You'd say that this is a pretty objective opinion. Ask anyone and they would concur. You don’t think you could ever get tired of looking at Minho.

There’s a sudden urge that grows in you - the selfish need to be the sun itself. You want to be the sun, to be the reason why there’s warmth and light in his life, to give him nothing but good things, nothing less than what he deserves.

Your axis shifts. It’s overwhelming just how much you want to be good for him.

Minho is supposed to be your friend.

You don’t think you’re supposed to feel this way about your friend.

The beautiful boy next to you stirs, and you instantly shut your eyes. You wait as he stretches a bit, then he holds you tighter, closer, the proximity making tears well up behind your closed eyelids. It’s so nice just being in his arms like this. So wonderful and so right.

You feel loved, even if it may not be the kind of love that you’ve been searching for.

A gentle hand strokes your hair, and just that simple action is enough to make you melt, a tightness tugging at your heartstrings all of a sudden.

If Minho was a season, he would be spring. Beautiful and heavenly spring. Some may argue that it can’t possibly be the case because people often view him as callous and mean, and you hate it every time anyone speaks about him that way. They don’t know him like you do, and he’s been nothing but warm and kind to you for as long as you’ve known him.

To be more precise, Minho would be the onset of spring, when the brutal and lonely winter eventually has to make way for the beginning of a new season. It’s a subtle transition, a gentle inauguration of warmth where the earth welcomes life into its open arms again. When daylight starts to last longer and snow begins to melt in between cobblestone cracks. When buds on trees start growing into their luscious green coat and flowers slowly burst through their roof of soil to bring forth colors for spring. Everything is soft and delicate, easy to overlook if you don’t pay close attention.

That’s what Minho is to you - a new beginning. Calming, welcoming, steady.

You want to snuggle further into the heat of his body but you’re afraid it might blow your cover, so you keep on staying still. He’s close, closer than you two have ever been when you aren't having sex, but it’s not enough. If it was possible, you would wrap you and him up in your own little bubble where the concept of time is foreign and you could stay here forever. You wouldn’t have to go back to your boring routine and deal with the stresses that you’ve been carrying all your life.

It’s like a switch has been flipped. You want more. It’s a fleeting thought, but the imprint it leaves behind isn’t ephemeral at all.

A simple life with Minho and the spring. That doesn’t sound too bad.

Min: wyd tomorrow afternoon? You: i have to go buy paint after class. Why? Min: can i come with :(  You: u wanna go look at paint with me for 2 hrs? Min: no lol Min: i cleared my whole afternoon because kim seungmin asked me to go suit shopping with him for his sister’s wedding but he’s ditching me, so i have no idea what to do Min: you’re my last option You: thanks. i’m v flattered You: hyunjin refused to entertain you? Min: don’t like him You: 🙄 You: chan? changbin? jisung? jeongin? lix? there’s no way they’re ALL busy Min: i didn’t ask. don’t like them either You: so i’m not your LAST option then Min: no. but you’re the only one i’d rather hang out with You: you’re weird Min: so tomorrow? You: the store is a bit far away though Min: i can take you. i’ll borrow chan’s car

You assume that Minho would pick you up right after your class finishes since he told you that he was free all day, but you still end up having to wait for him while wandering aimlessly around campus, the messages that you sent him sitting in your phone delivered but not read.

He appears about twenty minutes later than you thought he would, rolling up in Chan’s new car that he just got a couple months ago. You get into the vehicle with an unimpressed look on your face, clicking the seatbelt into place before you turn to him in the driver's seat.

“Punctual,” you comment pointedly.

“Sorry. I went to that cafe you like but there was a line.”

“Oh,” you say, your earlier annoyance waning quickly when you notice the cup holders between the two of you. “Why did you go all the way there just for shitty matcha lattes? We could’ve just gone to the campus cafe for that.”

Minho grabs a paper bag from the backseat before he places it neatly in your lap like a little present. "But the campus cafe doesn’t have those overpriced croissants that you’re always raving about."

You stare at the baked good in your lap - an almond croissant filled with cream cheese and strawberries. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” you say. “But thank you.”

Minho looks at you. “You forgot to eat lunch again, didn’t you?”

“How’d you know?”

“Because you’re looking at that thing like you’re deeply in love with it.”

You roll your eyes before plucking a cream cheese-covered strawberry from the bag and taking a bite, dramatically throwing your head back as you sigh in exasperation, “I might be deeply in love with you right now.”

When you finish the strawberry, you turn to look at Minho, only to find him already staring at you with his sharp eyes. He holds your gaze for a few seconds, then brings a hand up to brush away a dot of cream cheese off the corner of your mouth. You half expect him to put the finger in his mouth like hot fictional characters tend to do, and yet, your cheeks still catch fire when Minho meets your expectation.

He catches sight of your flush but doesn’t throw you a teasing comment or anything of the likes. Instead, he just chuckles - a bit endeared if you can say so yourself - and starts the car.

Minho is gracious enough to let you choose the music for the drive and in turn, you offer him the last piece of your cherished croissant (everyone knows the last bite is the best bite), plopping the pastry into his mouth while he keeps his hands on the wheel, only for him to complain that it has too much cream.

When you get to the art supply store, Minho picks up a basket by the door. The store isn’t that big, but they have the best selection out of all the other places you’ve been. Hyunjin keeps telling you to come to the store that he frequents - the one that sells those fancy watercolors that you don’t really need - but you’ve been going here for ages. You used to live nearby so it was more convenient, but this is still your go-to spot even after you moved closer to campus. The sense of familiarity associated with this quaint store isn’t something you’re quite ready to let go of yet.

You peruse the aisles alongside Minho, who dutifully carries the basket for all of your things without you even asking. He doesn’t really try to make conversation while you study the colors, which is a little uncharacteristic but you don’t think much about it. He just quietly watches you, and you like how even the silence is comfortable between the two of you.

After a while, he asks, “Do you have a theme in mind?”

You do, but you think it’s a little silly to say out loud so you don’t. Although you know Minho would never make you feel small or diminish your ideas, it’s not something that you’re really keen on sharing at the moment.

“Kind of,” you say. “It’s not fully fleshed out yet. I know what colors I want to go for though.”

You meticulously pick out the acrylics you want for your painting, mostly dark and dull tones. You have a vision of what you want to achieve on the canvas, and you spend a decent chunk of time deciding on your blues, grays and russets.

A somber scene, anyone can tell.

For the finishing touch, you pick up two tubes of yellow paint, trying to decide between Golden Poppy or Spring Daffodil. Either one is a stark contrast to the melancholic feel you were going for before.

Turning to face Minho, you raise your hands. “Which one?”

He stares at the acrylics for a minute in silence. “They’re yellow,” he concludes.

“Duh. But which shade do you like better?”

“They look exactly the same.”

You purse your lips, then hold your hands closer to his face as if it’ll help. "No, look. This one is slightly lighter but muted. This one is more vibrant but the shade is deeper."

Minho hums as if in thought. You wonder if he actually sees the differences, but he probably doesn’t. Hyunjin is usually the only person in your friend group whom you can talk to about these things since he’s the only other art major of the bunch.

“Is yellow supposed to be happy?”

Hope, is what you want to say. You want it to end on a lighter, brighter note. Happy feels too unattainable even if it’s only ideals and colors on canvas.

But maybe sometimes being hopeful is the same as being happy. Maybe for some, that’s all you can really ask for.

In spite of it all, isn’t hope the only thing that persists?

“Sure,” you say, “yellow is happy.”

After a brief moment, Minho plucks the tube in your left hand and puts it in the basket. Spring Daffodil it is.

It’s kind of a nice thought, isn’t it? That Minho had a helping hand in your work. That there’s a little bit of him in your art.

You go to the cash register with a basket full of goodies, only to realize that you don’t actually have anything on you.

“Ah, crap,” you mutter, turning to Minho. “My wallet is in my bag. In the car.”

“I’ll get it,” Minho says, handing you the basket. “Be right back.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll just check something out over there.”

And then he’s off, the bell by the door ringing to announce his temporary departure. You wander over to a shelf in the corner where they store their brushes. There’s a filbert brush that you’ve been eyeing for a while.

You go over the selection, debating whether or not you should replace some of the brushes you have at home. Most of them are worn out; they’ve been with you for ages now.

You don’t notice the second chime of the bell, too immersed in studying the bristles, envisioning the strokes they would create on canvas.

You don’t pay attention to a voice talking to you either. That is, until a shoulder nudges yours and you find yourself looking up at an unfamiliar face.

Taking a step away from the stranger, you say, “Can I help you?”

The man doesn’t look like he’s your age, but he doesn’t look that much older either. Probably just by a few years. “I was just saying that filbert’s a good choice,” he chuckles.

“Oh, yeah.” You give him a small smile. “It’s a good brush.”

“Great for blending. It really makes the strokes stand out, y’know.”

“Mhmm. So I’ve heard.”

Glancing at the contents of your basket, he asks, “Are you working on a project?”

“Just something for a class.”

He hums in acknowledgment, to which you give him a nod in return. The conversation is short and awkward, as one can probably expect when they try to make small talk with a stranger over something as random as a paintbrush.

And especially when the recipient of said small talk is you, who’s been described on multiple occasions as “unapproachable” and “intimidating”.

That, and the fact that you suffer from a major case of resting bitch face and you’re not really keen on talking to strangers when you it’s not absolutely necessary.

You move to the next aisle, going back to look at the selection of colors from which you’ve already taken your pick earlier with Minho. You don’t need a second look, but it just feels a little weird to still be standing in the same corner with the man.

You think that it would be the end of your interaction, but then he moves along with you. He follows you as you walk, before soon obliterating any space between your body as he strides next to you, your arms brushing one another.

“I’ve actually noticed you in here a few times,” he says.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve seen you before.” This time, he tells you with a smile. “I just never worked up the courage to talk to you until today.”

It’s not a bad smile, nothing Joker-esque but the way he says it with practically no space at all between the two of you makes you a little squeamish.

You wonder what’s taking Minho so long.

“Oh,” you say, not really sure how else to respond, trying to shuffle away from him but there’s not much room to accommodate the both of you. “That’s... uhm, actually, could you-”

He gets the hint, but it’s not like you were trying to hide the discomfort on your face. He takes a couple of small steps back, which doesn’t really count as stepping out of your personal space but it’s a little better than before.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not coming on too strongly. You’re just... I think you’re really pretty,” he says with a small laugh, the kind that would be charming if real life was a romcom and you two were the main characters. “Are you here by yourself?”

“Thank you... uhm, I’m... flattered but I’m here with my boyfriend today.”

You can tell that the mention of a significant other throws him off, because he doesn’t exactly do a very good job at concealing his surprise.

“You usually go alone, though.”

Oh...?

Right. Definitely not a romcom.

You can’t help the slight frown that tugs on your brows upon hearing those words. If you were somewhat irritated before by a random stranger who can’t really take a hint, then that feeling is rapidly melting away to make space for a sense of unease that crawls up the back of your neck like a rogue spider.

You can normally handle mildly persistent guys who keep insisting on chatting you up, but you’ve never actually had someone drop a creepy line on you before.

In a place that you’ve frequented for years now.

You’re suddenly wildly grateful that Minho demanded to tag along today.

“My boyfriend is just getting some stuff from the car,” you settle on telling the man. “He’ll be right back.”

“Maybe I can keep you company while you wait.”

“Thank you but that’s not necessary.”

“Not even for a few minutes?”

“You really don’t have to do that. My boyfriend will be back any-”

Then you’re being pulled to the side, the abruptness of the moment briefly disorienting you that you almost lose your balance if not for the arm around your shoulder keeping you steady.

You glance up with widened eyes, though they soften after a couple seconds as relief washes over you. Minho leans down to kiss you before you can say anything; the only sound that escapes you is a surprised Oh! which he muffles with his lips.

“Sorry I took so long, baby,” he says once he pulls away. “My mom called to ask if we’re still coming over this weekend. You’re still up for Sunday, right?”

“Hmm?” You try to ignore the tingle in your lips and the spike in your heart rate, but you quickly blame it on the suddenness of his actions. “Yeah... yeah, Sunday’s good.”

Minho smiles softly, his hand squeezing your shoulder comfortingly pressing another kiss to your cheek - for further emphasis, you suppose - before he turns his attention elsewhere.

His expression changes completely. Instead of a cute smile, his mouth is pressed into a hard line, his gaze a cold glare. “Can we help you?”

The man doesn’t instantly back off like you thought he would - Minho can be quite scary when he wants to be - but glances between you and Minho like he’s assessing the situation.

The kiss, the arm around your shoulder, the deadly look in Minho’s eyes, plus your friend has been working out more often lately and it shows.

The unwanted stranger eventually raises a conceding hand. “Nope, all good. Sorry for bothering you,” he says, plastering that smile on his face again. “Have a good day.”

Minho takes the basket from your hand and steers you away. He keeps a hand on your back while you pay and collect your supplies at the counter. Basket duty turns into carrying the bag of acrylics for you even after you insist on doing it yourself.

Once you’re in the car, you turn to him with a grateful smile. “Thanks for the save.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “I’m sorry though. I was getting your bag and Hyunjin called screaming about something. I didn’t know you were stuck with a weirdo. What did he say?”

“I’ve never seen him before but he said he’s seen me around. He kept trying to talk me even after I said I had a boyfriend. And get this, he knows that I usually come here alone. I don’t know, I’m a little grossed out.”

Minho frowns. When he says your name, it’s full of concern. “He knows that you usually go alone? That’s creepy.”

“I know!” Leaning against the headrest, you sigh, “Ugh, this is where I always go to get my supplies.”

“Why don’t you just go to the place that Hyunjin goes? It’s close to campus.”

“But everything’s so overpriced there. Besides, they have the best selection here. It’s my go-to.’

He goes quiet then, and speaks up after a moment of contemplation. “Tell me whenever you need to go. I’ll come with you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” There must be incredulousness written all over your face, but his expression returns to neutral, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You know all of your friends are quite protective, but still.

“You’re not asking me. I’m offering.”

“It’s not like you’re free all the time.”

Minho hums, acknowledging your point because it’s true. He has a life of his own and shit that he has to deal with; he can’t be around to babysit you 24/7. Not that you even need him to anyway. “If I can’t go then I’ll make sure Hyunjin goes with you. Or Jisung. Any one of the guys.”

“It’s not that big a deal.” You look at Minho, to which he just stares back. “I know I said today was weird but I’m not that helpless.”

“I know you’re not helpless.” He holds your gaze, briefly wondering if he has offended you somehow. “If you won’t do it for your sake, will you at least do it for mine? I don’t want you to be in a bad situation when I can help make it better for you.”

The tone he uses to deliver his words doesn’t really leave you any room to argue. You would probably just kinda look like an asshole to brush him off when all he genuinely wants is to ensure that you’re safe.

Eventually, you only purse your lips and nod, which seems to appease Minho for now. Of course you’re thankful that you have good people by your side. If the roles were reversed and this happened to any of your friends, you would be all up in arms for them too.

But way beyond that appreciation is something that you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s similar to the feeling you got the first morning you woke up next to him. A fluttering sensation in your chest, warmly touched by how much he cares, how much he’s willing to do for you.

It’s simply absurd to you that anyone would think Minho is cold.

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