#he then says sometimes the best way to forgive yourself is to forgive someone else

[rizsu]

ꪆ୧ ── HUSH-HUSH ┊ KEEP IT A SECRET ﹑ JJK ⤿ starring: g. satoru ◟ choso ◟ sukuna ◟ f. toji.

꒰ love simulation ﹢ headcanon-type · most to least likely to keep your relationship a secret!

𖧷 · love, ‘su: i have nothing to say here but I Need To have this here for layout purposes. it Bothers me if its not there.

most likely 𓂃 can hold themselves back. choso and somewhat toji.

( pda = public display affection. )

listen, CHOSO can keep a secret, but leave it up to him and he would've made it known you two were dating. he's only keeping it a secret because you said to. when it comes to you, everyone knows he never questions your words.

in terms of pda . . . he doesn't do it — actually, he does, but only you know the true meaning to his touch. it's a regular thing to have an arm wrapped around your friend's shoulder, standing close to them, blah blah blah. you get the point: he keeps it entirely friendly.

this doesn't mean he's not clinging onto you the moment your peers aren't around! once they're out of his view, choso will not waste time to satisfy the itch he's been feeling. either he buries his head in your shoulder, whining about not being able to touch you at least, or his hands are intertwined with yours.

in mr. TOJI FUSHIGURO's case, your words are law. he usually sits back and let you do as you please — obviously he'd go along with whatever scheme you planned. he doesn't mind keeping to himself at all; he's not one for much pda anyway.

there are times where he gets touchy, though. he tries to keep it at a minimum, but don't let him be near you during a dinner-out with friends or anything of the sort. if he's seated next to you, trust, his hand will find comfort sitting on your thigh, occasionally squeezing here and there.

sometimes — really rare times — his friends suspect him. they don't reach the “are you dating y/n?” conclusion, but do they reach the “you got a thing for y/n or what?” one. it's all due to the fact that he softens his language with you. he doesn't curse, tone lowers an octave, and has a slight smile. three things his friends will never experience. he doesn't deny it, but he also doesn't confirm; he simply shrugs at their questions and never satisfies their curiosity.

least likely 𓂃 sorry, he's a bit selfish. satoru and sukuna.

SATORU . . . yeah, no. there's no way he would've succeeded. that's like asking him to not breathe for a day. when you brought up the idea of keeping the relationship a secret, he tried talking you out of it. why are you denying publicizing his affection for you? you must hate him, or are you hiding the fact that you're taken? satoru's dramatic, and his favourite literary device is hyperbole. he will exaggerate.

at first he tries his best to keep it a secret, but old habits die hard. calling you names clearly reserved for someone's romantic partner, arm snaked around your waist all the time, glaring at anyone who tries to flirt, giving you quick kisses — yeah, no way.

but, satoru does apologize for failing to obey! if you're mad at him for outing the relationship, he'll spend days upon days begging for forgiveness in creative ways til you accept his apology.

SUKUNA does not give a fuck. he's lived long enough to not care about secrecy. it's cute that you want to keep it on the low, but he prefers letting it known. pair that with him disliking physical contact with anyone else and you've got yourself the perfect recipe for disaster.

whenever he's not with you and someone approaches him — no matter the reason — he's quick to ring up his favourite sentence: yeah no, i'm taken. either that, or he's holding his palm up to reject them. he does not wish to engage with strangers. even his own friends struggle to get him out.

when he's with you, however, he's clinging to you like a magnet. game night with friends/family? he's pulling you to lean on him, doesn't fetch drinks for anyone but you, gets revenge for you if you lost the game, demands that they “go easy on y/n.” the list goes on. it took everyone zero time to put the clues together and figure out sukuna and you are a thing. it's entirely out-of-character for him to be nice in the first place.

[allhalesterekstilinski]

I don’t want to hijack others’ posts, but am I the only one who is bothered by the “thank you, son I should have had” line from the sheriff?

[cassandraclare]

Kit to Ty

Election day: misery, stress, hair-pulling, at least for Americans (and a lot of other people around the world affected by our politics!) So I thought I'd post a distraction; I hope it helps and doesn't annoy!

A while ago I posted the beginning of a letter from Kit to Ty, created for a Kickstarter backer. Here's the full text:

A letter from Kit to Ty, never sent.

Ty, Ty, Ty.

Your name looks strange written out like that. Like an abbreviation. But Tiberius would be so formal. I never think of you that way. Or, I suppose I should say, I never thought of you that way. Tenses matter in these situations, I guess.

It’s late, past midnight, and I’m sitting on the windowsill in my bedroom at Cirenworth. Jem and Tessa gave me one of the best rooms. Of course they did. It has a view out over the gardens. Sometimes I see the ghost of a dog there, a golden retriever I’m pretty sure, running in and out of the flowerbeds. He seems like a pretty happy ghost. I think about how much you like animals and how much they love you, because of course they do. But it’s too late; this dog passed away a long time ago. You probably couldn’t even see him. It’s too late for a lot of things, now.  

I’m still mad at you, and I don’t feel good about that. Maybe if I could forget, I could forgive. But I can’t forget that night you brought Livvy back. I’ll suddenly remember even when I’m thinking about something else. I’ll be in the middle of helping Tessa in the garden and suddenly I’ll turn around and I’m back in Idris. 

I remember I told you I loved you. I remember I told you I would help you, but not if you raised Livvy from the dead. Not if you did necromancy. But you wanted that more than you wanted me.

And I understand that. I’m not angry about that. Here’s what I’m angry about: when you brought Livvy back, you changed yourself. You made yourself a different person than the one I loved. I don’t know the person you are now. You took yourself away from me. I can’t forgive that. And you made me someone who has to keep a secret I never wanted to keep. I was raised by someone who had so many awful secrets, and when I started my life as a Shadowhunter I wanted to do it openly, and honestly. But now I’m just someone else with secrets I can never tell. Just like my dad.

It makes me angry, so angry. I want to yell at you. I wish you were here so I could yell at you.

Kit

[periprose]

Arachnid Anxiety

You're Spider-Woman, and you've been tasked with babysitting Mayday. Maybe you have a bit of stress that you need to vent about, and Hobie comes along quite conveniently for that purpose.

Genre: Fluff, reader having anxiety, Hobie giving her advice, very cute, reader is a Jessica Drew variant, perhaps mutual pining if you squint, takes place during the movie but before Miles arrives to the Society, terrible british slang attempts (sorry Hobie :'))

Word Count: 2.4k

Babies are hard to wrangle when they’re crawling up walls.

Of course, Peter B. Parker said that he needs a nap, just this once, and he needs someone to watch over Mayday while he sneaks away into the sleeping pods in the Spider-Society-System. Sometimes he and MJ don’t get sleep for days at a time, so you get it.

But Mayday is so curious, and you find yourself having to pull her prying hands away before she inadvertently tampers with things around Miguel’s labs and causes either a mass outage or a explosion or Miguel’s wrath. You understand why Peter is a little exhausted.

She’s a very cute baby, though, and you can’t help but coo at her as she clambers off the wall into your arms. 

“Who’s a good Spidey? Who’s gonna be the best of us?” You shake her up and down and she giggles, wrapping her arms around you. 

You instinctively flinch, feeling your Spider-Sense go off.

“Large statement to make. But I see where you’re coming from.” Spider-Punk comes up from behind you, and you turn to him. “She’s definitely punk.”

“Hey, don’t go claiming someone else’s kid as one of your own.” You joke, and Hobie scowls as he pulls off his mask.

“Don’t believe in claims. Or labels, for that matter.” He scratches his hair, looking effortless as he ever does, and you roll your eyes. “She is… who she is. Forgive me for using a descriptive word, Spider-Woman.”

“I get it.” You hold Mayday as she squeals at the sight of Hobie, and she motions in an uppy-uppy motion. She wants to be held by him, but he ignores her.

You never quite know how to feel about Hobie Brown. The Amazing Spider-Punk is revolutionary, known for being better than just his words– he holds himself to the very essence of anarchy. He practices what he preaches.

But you can’t quite get a read on the guy. You don’t know if he’s pulling your leg– or taking the piss as he would say– when he gives his bouts of advice while somehow simply being amazing through it all. He somehow knows what to say but he also isn’t the most comforting, and that in itself makes you drawn to him. He just happens to be kind of rough around the edges, and it’s because of that you know he truly means what he says. 

No sugar-coating, ever.

But you hate yourself, because you’ve somehow managed to fall for him. 

It’s not uncommon for Spideys to fall for each other. Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, Miles Morales and Gwen Stacy. But you know this is the one time it just wouldn’t end well for you.

You can already hear Hobie’s comments if he ever found out. He’d probably rebuke you even though you’d never try anything. Tell you he doesn’t feel that way and you’re delusional for potentially thinking that he would ever tie himself down. Spiders are meant to be swinging free and all that.

Even worse, he just happens to be beautiful. You’re positive that if Hobie wasn’t so anti-everything he would have stuck with being a runway model. His face is molded in a distinctive way that has you trying to catch his glance, even if he only looks at you with nonchalance, completely unbothered, not a hint of chemistry in his eyes.

It is with great displeasure that you find yourself wanting his bored attention anyways.

And so you’ve been swallowing your crush for the greater part of a year now. You’re sure it will pass like all things do.

Pavitr, as much as you love him, has told you many times about the “chemistry” between you and Hobie– and you have told him every time to fuck off. Not in an actual harsh way, because again you can’t help but love the guy, but because you don’t need false hope.

You’re just Spider-Woman. Another red-and-yellow suited variant of Jessica Drew, you might as well just be another Peter Parker. You know that’s not how you’re supposed to think of yourself, but it’s just how it is. Canon events brought you here, and according to Miguel, it’s not something you chose– you just happened to be there at the right time and place. You’re no Jess, who comes in on her motorcycle, raging heat and excitement on her toes– you are one of the many, instead of being exceptional like the few.

You’re not like Hobie, who is as far as you know, one of a kind.

“What’s on your mind, Spider-Woman?” Hobie asks as he picks through random tech on the desk in Miguel’s lab, taking what he feels is useful for whatever it is he does with the stuff. He’s never used your name, because he doesn’t know it.

You and a few other Spider-People have chosen to stay anonymous, for different reasons, and only Miguel and Margo know who you really are. Hobie has told you before that that’s pretty cool– he only chose to give up his name because it was easier to get along with people that way. Hobie knows there’s power in people.

“Just babysitting. Obviously.” You motion to Mayday, who takes this moment to thwip out a web and swing away from you– but you’re faster and you grab her back into your arms, and she pouts.

“Nah, nah. I mean that sour expression upon your lovely little visage, imbecile.” He pokes your masked cheek, and you find yourself blushing but pulling away from him. Hobie is like that– overly familiar and no real sense of space because he doesn’t care.

“It’s not lovely.” You retort, fully convinced of it because he has never seen your face, only your incredulous expression through the eyes of your mask. 

You think that Hobie is again being sarcastic about your unknown appearance, and because his back is facing yours as he searches through random shelves now, you don’t catch how his face frowns at your response.

“Disagreements about your anonymous-but-surely beautiful face aside– not that looks matter, mind you– you’re clearly miffed about something.” Hobie turns and crosses his arms, and it’s with a little embarrassment and comfort that you want his advice. Even if it’s kind of to do with him.

“Well, I guess, uh… lately I’ve just been feeling kind of down. Like what’s the point of all this?” You bite your lip, knowing Hobie’s feelings on nihilism. “I don’t mean like nothing in life matters, Hobie. I mean more that I don’t matt– I don’t… anyways, I feel useless. I don’t have anything special about me, I don’t really bring anything to the Spider-Society that wasn’t already brought.”

"Whoa whoa whoa. Nah, lady, you've got your priorities all twisted." Hobie pulls your arms, bringing you kind of closer to him, and rests his hands on your shoulders, making you listen. "This inner hatred stuff– that sick urge to feel shame and then blast it inside of yourself, all that repression, yeah? It's a crock of shit."

"Huh?" You and Mayday both peer up at him. You behind your mask, and she with her crocheted one. 

Hobie picks up Mayday, finally giving into her wishes to be held by him, and she immediately giggles. There’s a subtle smile on his face that warms him to you a little.

"It might feel good in the moment. It might even feel revolutionary." Hobie scowls, and scratches his jaw. "It's worthless. Notice, Spider, I didn't call you worthless. The very action is garbage, a visceral thing that brings no productive value– that's what they want you to feel."

"Ah, because then I'll never fight against the establishment, right, Hobie? I'll be too busy fighting myself." You say mockingly, taking on a fake-pretentious-Cockney accent, mimicking him, but Hobie gives you a chill look and nods.

"Now you're getting it."

"Aw." You slump and slouch and sit on the counter full of gadgets and gizmos next to him. "I know you're right, but… don't you ever get people getting mad at you?"

"You've lost me."

"Like… being so responsible." You roll your eyes as Hobie snickers and whispers the spider-mantra you all know so well. "Or just living by your own ideology so… efficiently. It's almost like a slap in the face to the rest of us Spiders. We don’t know how to cope, and here comes along Spider-Punk with all his personal assurance that even if things aren't alright, he'll make it alright for himself."

"Oi, trust me, it wasn't all that easy." Hobie sniffs and sits down next to you, holding Mayday close and then letting her go as she crawls onto the wall in front of you. "You really think I haven't had a bad day? I haven’t had my moments of self doubt, huh?”

“Uh… well. When you put it like that, it does sound kind of crazy.” You admit, and nudge him with your shoulder. “I didn’t mean any harm, Hobie. I just feel so… inadequate.”

“Just stop.” He crosses his arms and closes his eyes, and you feel that yet again, he’s somewhat unreadable. “Don’t think those things. You’re not inadequate.”

“But I–”

“Stop.” He grasps your hands, and squeezes them tightly in his own, and you wonder if Hobie has ever looked this seriously at you, his eyes soft yet firm with affection.

You’re in trouble, you think. Your heart is pounding and you’re really glad he can’t see your face.

“I don’t think you know how important you are.” He utters so quietly, in that very deep voice that has you leaning in to hear him better. “You’re not nothing, Spider-Woman. You’ve done a lot of good for your Earth-257, I’m sure, and that makes you something special. Like the rest of us– you’re kind of irreplaceable, right?”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess.’” Hobie punches the side of your arm and you pretend to say ow, laughing a little. “If you didn’t exist, we’d all be poorer for it. Peter couldn’t ask you to chill with his baby, and I couldn’t be here talking your ear off.”

“But I’m not– I don’t really compare to her, you know?” You say without thinking, and then immediately squint at your own stupidity. 

“Who’s her?” Hobie is wary of how your expression is shifting. “Stacy?”

“Uh, no.” You inhale, exhale, and then decide it’s time to get it over with. “Jess.”

“Jess? Jessica Drew, huh?” Hobie smirks a little. “You don’t want to be adopted by her, do you?”

“More complicated than Gwen’s weird fantasy.” You shift on your spot on the counter, and pull off your mask after a minute of tribulations. “I’m… also Jessica Drew.”

You feel incredibly shy as Hobie takes in your face, wary of his every move as you feel yourself sweating, and he grasps your face gently, peering into your eyes and taking a look at your features, as if he’s really trying to remember them.  

“Huh.”

“What is it?” You say a little too defensively, and he shrugs. 

“You do have a lovely visage, you silly little sod. Even if it’s completely different from Jess’ face.” He laughs as you shove him away, covering your face in your hands. “No, don’t do that.”

He’s tracing your jaw, and he murmurs. “Maybe you could use a few piercings… a tat or two… ever thought about it?”

“No.” You shut your eyes. “I’m not cool like you.”

“Oh, shut it.” He leans in imperceptibly closer, and you blink, eyes open. Maybe Pavitr had a point that Hobie and you have something, because there’s not really another explanation for that look in his eyes. “You’re plenty cool, Jessica Drew. It was just a shit suggestion of mine.”

You think Hobart “Hobie” Brown is sweeter than you previously thought. You have half a mind to tell him about your feelings.

You and Hobie both look up, Spider-Senses tingling, and sure enough, Mayday is cooing from the ceiling– she leaps into your already waiting arms. She giggles at your expression.

Oh well, you think. There’ll be some other time to work up the courage to tell him.

Hobie half-smirks at her. “Way to interrupt us, Mayday.”

She looks at him all confused, tilting her head in a “huh?” motion, and you feel the same way, not entirely sure what Hobie meant by that and not willing to assume either.

He answers you by pulling your face in a sudden, swift motion, connecting his lips to yours, and in between the two of you, Mayday shrieks and laughs. She crawls off to the side of you, no longer smothered between your torsos.

Hobie is weirdly insistent– you feel like he’s been wanting to do this for a while, maybe longer than the length of your conversation (you don’t know if this is just a funny little fling for him, but you’re fairly sure it isn’t) and he’s a lot taller and lankier than you, so he really has to tower over you to reach your mouth better. He’s grasping your jaw and neck and the back of your head with a lot of intensity– you feel wildly dizzy when he pulls away.

“Uh.” Peter B. Parker is standing in front of you both, mouth wide open, and you look back at Hobie and he grins rather coolly, not really giving a damn. It’s enough to make you snort. “Wait, who are you?”

“Oh. Spider-Woman from Earth 257.” You remember Peter has never seen your face, either. “Jessica Drew?”

“Right, right.” Peter raises his hands in a whoop-de-doo motion, like he should’ve known that. “Nice to know what you look like behind the mask. Not nice to know that you’ve been avoiding your babysitting duties. Why are you two fooling around like prepubescent children? What happened to responsibility?”

“Ahhhhh, please, Peter. Live a little.” Hobie stands up, his full length of height drawing him to about the same height as Peter if not an inch taller. He picks up Mayday and hands her off to him. “Let’s not act as if you and MJ weren’t shacking up in the sleeping pods last week, yeah? Does Miguel need to know about how irresponsible you were?”

You think he’s kidding, but Peter pales and you clap your hands over your mouth, trying not to laugh. Miguel would absolutely throw a fit if he found that out.

“Uh…” Peter swallows. “At least that’s not an interdimensional tragedy-in-the-making like you two.”

“There’s no rules against that, I don’t think.” Hobie shrugs. “And if there are, fuck them. Miguel doesn’t know it all.”

“He really is punk to the very end.” Peter groans and leaves out to the hallway with Mayday. 

Hobie flashes a smile at you as he sits back down, ruffling your hair.

[bamfkeeper]

Anger.

RQ: 'Heard that ur taking requests ! Love your work and the writing is great ! I was wondering if you could do reader x Kurt where reader is opposite of Kurt. Anger issues less understanding etc and has a mutation where they have two sets of wings and eyes ? So like really arch angel type of stuff but a real sinner. Being the other half then Kurt <3 have a great day and remember to drink water !' - @toxic-chainsaw-666

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader // Warnings: None

A/N: I was actually really happy to write this rq because I tend to have some anger problems irl. I've always imagined how he'd be with someone who's less understanding and more hostile than him, so this was really fun! Written as a collection of hcs.

Kurt is known as being the sweetheart of the group of X-Men, his heart of gold and aversion to violence, (unless absolutely necessary), makes him well liked by everyone. There isn't a single mutant who doesn't like to strike up conversation with him, he makes everyone feel welcome.

That's why when he began dating you...it rose a few eyebrows.

Your reputation was quite the opposite. Hot-headed, short tempered, aggressive...to name a few.

You were not very approachable, sometimes vulgar, and you had a habit of snapping at people before you spoke civilly.

Kurt tried his approach, your first instinct was to yell, but he just seemed so...sweet, so you found yourself holding back. His presence felt better than everyone else's, no judgement in his eyes.

He'd have a knack of calming you down too, or helping you cool off better than other people might. His presence helps your nerves a lot.

When you get angry, your appearance shows your extra features, which often makes others wary and scared. Kurt is never really bothered, he just does what he can to help soothe you.

He doesn't want you to be ashamed of yourself, he never makes you feel bad for being the way you are, he knows you can't help it. But he does try to guide you into reacting to things a bit better, just so you don't get yourself into trouble.

He would never try to change who you are though, he respects you enough to know that.

You both had very different ways of reacting to situations, your personalities were black and white, but somehow mixed together okay. You balanced one another out.

Sometimes you worry about religious differences too, since you feel like a sinner a lot, because you are, and Kurt's Catholicism is very important to him. He comforts you though, he offers support and guidance for you.

If someone is bad to him, he will forgive and forget. You will not. You will make sure that person apologizes, even if you have to hold them up by their collar and force them to.

Your first instinct is to fight or choose a physical way to solve a problem, Kurt tends to try to talk things out instead. You two vary that way, but it's a funny combination to see.

"Liebling, no need for such violence, they bumped into me by accident," Kurt says gently after you threaten to hurt someone quite graphically.

You scowl back and cross your arms, while Kurt worries about your impulsivity, he does find your passion quite endearing, even if he doesn't agree with your methods.

You're the one to ask a food worker for no pickles on Kurt's order while he stays behind you shyly.

He's the one who often apologizes for your attitude, but also uses you as a back up, he gains confidence because of you. He knows you always have his back no matter what. You are his 'scary dog privilege.'

You both love one another despite the obvious differences you have. You both bring out the best in one another, and you support the other's weakness.

Opposites certainly attract.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[strwberri-milk]

good day, author! Can I request an angst to fluff lads x reader ff where the reader was so inlove with the but they thought they love someone else. Until one day, the reader stopped and that's when they realized that it's her that they love not someone else. Sorry I know it's common and cringe but I want an angst fic 😭

ngl i really struggled to understand what was wanted here but!! i think i figured it out LMAO - i did put them all into 1 bc i just didnt see the dialogue shifting too much w what i had in my head i hope you dont mind <3

You'd never known that he was in love with you because he never acted like he was. You thought that the kindness he showed you was because he simply was that - kind. You'd never entertain the idea that he might actually have feelings for you. Sometimes you'd ask him if he was seeing anybody and he'd get a little quiet before telling you no. You don't really believe him though because whenever you'd ask him who his ideal partner is he'd get this look in his eyes you could never place before telling you that it's not something you need to worry about.

You thought that was his way of telling you he knows how you feel about him and that's how he's choosing to let you down easily. You decide that it's too difficult to be around him, telling him one day that you need to distance yourself from him. You can't admit the reason why, feeling a little humiliated by the childish way you're reacting but a big part of you simply can't help it.

You decide to push your feelings down for him, knowing that this was the only way that you could cope with the burden that is your emotions. You feel better, deciding that keeping your feelings to yourself would be the best thing to do to avoid ruining the friendship that the two of you built up so carefully. You'd never forgive yourself for losing him, telling yourself that just being beside him like this was more than enough for you.

"Why did you do that?"

You stare at the man standing on your doorstep, soaked from the rain as he stares at you intently.

"What do you mean?"

Your phone is still in hand, the message you sent him sitting on delivered.

"You can't seriously mean that, can you?"

You've never seen him like this before. You thought you'd spent enough time with him to know every emotion he's felt, to see the weight of them on his face. You could scarcely recognise the look in his eyes and your hands twitch with the need to hold his face.

"I didn't think you'd ever say something like that. Do you not know how I feel about you?"

Now his words are desperate, something you've definitely never heard from him before.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about," you mumble, averting his gaze.

"I just...I know that you have feelings for someone. I don't want to get in the way of your happiness but I'm scared that if I stay by your side I'll end up doing so by accident. I just want you to be happy."

His eyes widen slightly, shaking his head as he laughs a little bitterly.

"You really think I could feel this way about anybody but you?"

Your brain takes a moment to process what he says, staring at him.

You're about to question him, asking if he's actually serious when he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, holding you in his arms tightly.

"It's you," he mutters softly against your lips.

"It's always been you."

[yuansie]

a blessed bond, broken by time

pairing. rafayel x fem! reader

synopsis. in each of his lives, you were the first he'd see and the first lemurian he'd befriend. a bond blessed by the god of the tides himself, only to broken in each life. even now, in this one.

genres/aus. angst, reincarnation au (?)

warnings. slight ooc on raf's part, slight spoilers/theories regarding rafayel and his myths and memories, including from the current event banner, reader isn't mc and mc is female (she doesn't have a name in here either!)

rating. sfw but make it lowk very angsty

wc. 1.3k word

part two here

a/n. HEHEHE i love angst (there will be a second part! posted tmrw. i hope. let's hope) this is NOT proofread (im lazy OIFEJAW)

RAFAYEL HASN’T SEEN YOU SINCE THE OCEANS DRIED UP, effectively separating the two of you. something has always separated you two before reuniting with his love, and the memory of you always seems to fade away into the depths of his mind. the memory of you collects dust in a hidden corner of his heart.

though sometimes, when he takes a stroll on the beach, as he gazes at the crashing waves, you slip from your hiding spot and make yourself known. it’s then that he thinks about you fondly, remembering the times you would follow after him as he blew out the sea lanterns of his neighbors, your voice echoing in the waters as you chastised him.

so now, as he walks on the sand and watches the ocean’s waters, he’s reminded of you. in his past lives, you always managed to be his friend. he dares to say that you were always best friends. when he was the god of the tides, you were his priestess. you became immersed in your duties, preventing you from seeing him and later died at the hands of the sea witch, becoming sea foam, something that would have never happened if you weren’t so adamant on fixing the problem yourself despite his protests. he knew that you did it to prevent him from meeting your fate. when he is reborn, he meets you again. you’re his neighbor and become his friend after taking the blame when he first gets caught blowing out your family’s sea lantern. he never sees you again after he swam up to the surface, getting stranded at the island where he saw her again. however, he faintly remembers hearing someone else’s tears besides hers as he sang in his final moments. and then in his next life, you were his teammate. you were guarded, maintaining a distance from him. it was weird to see you like this towards him. perhaps, his past betrayals towards you finally caught up to him. but then you slowly let him, and your bond in that life was stronger than in his past lives. was it because you were on a mission to reclaim the sea with him? but then he betrayed you again because it meant harming her. and he remembers the tears and anger in your eyes, how they burned and how his image was reflected in your e/c’s hues. you promised that you would never forget this and that if you were given another chance, then you would never forgive him. you told him that you were done, that you hated him and never wanted to see him again because how dare he betray his people? betray his people over a love bound to always end in despair? you left him and he has never seen you again.

in this life, he has yet to meet you. or maybe he can’t anymore. he has already met his love again. you’re the first one he meets in every life… except for this one. rafayel thinks back to your last words: if you were given another chance… did you remember your past lives? did you remember everything? then are the fates finally fed up with him? did the fates decide that you deserved better? he knows that you do deserve better. you deserve someone better than him, someone who doesn’t continuously take advantage of you and who instead cherishes you and your entirety. perhaps… perhaps it is better this way. for your fate with him to be severed forever.

your friendship was one blessed by him when he was the god of the tides. your friendship was to be a symbol of perseverance and undying loyalty. he should have known that it would wear and break.

all because of him.

“i’ve been waiting for who knows how long,” rafayel huffs into his phone and toys with a fork in his free hand, glaring at it as a pout forms on his lips. “and you’re just answering?”

“rafayel, i’m a hunter. i can’t always answer your calls.”

“hunter this, hunter that,” he groans, leaning back into his chair. his eyes drift towards the windows of the restaurant he’s at, looking at the people that walk down the street. “you’re my bodyguard, and i thought you told me you were free today? at this exact time? so why are you so late?”

“something came up—”

her words fall on deaf ears.

his blue-pink eyes widen in shock and he jumps up from his seat, heart pounding.

he was so sure that he wouldn’t see you again. he was so sure that he was the last lemurian, the last of his kind that walks this earth.

the door slams shut after him, and he wastes no time in following the sound of your voice that grows quieter. rafayel runs past people and pushes through them; all he can think about is you, you, you.

what are you doing here? how are you even here?

did the fates give him another chance? did the fates give him an opportunity to make things right? to salvage a blessed and sacred bond?

soon enough, he finds you standing in front of him with your back to him. you’re different. he sees it in the way that you carry yourself. rafayel is in the midst of memorizing everything he sees until the sound of your laughter, so melodious and clear, fills the air. it’s like he and the world stops breathing, wanting to engrave this sound in his memory. it’s been so long since he’s seen you, much less heard you. 

“thank you for accompanying me, doctor.”

doctor? are you sick? are you feeling okay?

“it is quite alright, y/n.”

he hears you playfully scoff and nudge a man that stands in front of you. he’s taller than you, has dark hair and hazel eyes. 

“zayne, there is no need to be this formal with me. after all, aren’t we friends?”

friends. friends. friends.

“well—”

“rafayel!” an all too familiar sound steals his attention. he whips around, as do you and the doctor, and watch as a familiar figure approaches rafayel. the female hunter heaves and grabs him by the shoulder, looking concerned. “what happened? you suddenly went quiet on the phone and you wouldn’t respond! i was—”

rafayel glances back at you, meeting your gaze. your eyes, still the same shade of e/c that he hasn’t been able to recreate, widens in surprise. he takes this moment to commit your features to memory. it’s been so long since he’s seen you, surely he’s allowed to do this before you disappear like a dream? you still look the same, still so lovely like the flowers you used to like. do you still like them? the surprise soon fades from your face, hardening instead. rafayel stops breathing, his heart racing in fear.

do you hate him?

“oh! doctor zayne, what are you doing here?”

you take this chance to whisper something into the taller man’s ear, your hand on his elbow acting as an anchor as you tiptoe to meet the man halfway. his heart lurches, his stomach twisting and turning. you don’t spare rafayel a second as you turn and walk away, disappearing into the crowd. he’s lost in daze, all of his thoughts on you.

you, you, you.

“oh, who was that with you? she was very pretty,” she says, a teasing smile soon tugs her lips upwards. “is she your girlfriend, doctor zayne?”

rafayel chokes, coughing. did you have partner? is it this doctor? do—

“ah, that is y/n. she’s just a friend.”

at the revelation of your name, rafayel’s heart quickens. it is you, his best friend. the priestess in his first life, his best friend in the second, and his teammate in the last one.

you’re here.

“rafayel,” her voice, worried, echoes in his ears. “you’ve been oddly quiet. are you alright?”

oh, what is he thinking? rafayel’s stomach churns in discomfort. he’s here with her, yet you plague his mind. that isn’t right, he shouldn’t be like this. he loves her. this isn’t fair to your or her.

he should just let go… shouldn’t he?

he knows he should but he doesn’t want to. just this once… he should make things right.

[sunboki]

⎯ SUMMER SOLACE. a StrayKids fiction

Stray Kids x implied! fem. reader (no poly)

TROPE. friends to lovers (not really lovers, more just strangers to friends), summerschool! au, reader is in student council as class prez

WORD COUNT. 12.6k words

PLAYLIST.

WARNINGS. cursing, very troubled childhoods, han lacks parental figures, minho’s mother passed, bullies, evidence of physical violence, mentions of depression & anxiety, just overall very angsty themes, healing, sadness, comfort comfort comfort — ALL OF THE ISSUES/TROUBLES OF CHARACTERS ARE 100% FICTION

AUG'S NOTES. i hope whatever you’re going through works out in the end, and that reading this very indulgent fic can help heal a part of you and get you through summertime sadness — inspiration for the fic came from this!

SYNOPSIS. It was never your intention to be the one in charge of a summer school class—a troubled summer school class, but here you were. Eight boys in this classroom, all with their individual stories and silenced opinions. And somehow, you can’t find it in yourself to give up on them.

or alternatively :

Eight kids, one purpose. Get them to be okay with one another — with themselves — by the end of the summer.

Eight kids, one purpose.

Get them to be okay with one another.

Although, you didn’t realize that yet. That your Class President position would throw you right into such a mess (or what you referred to it as the first time you got word).

We all have the things we hate. The things we say we “heavily dislike”. But in reality, we hate it. It incessantly grates our nerves, has our patience forming into a ticking pipe bomb, enough that sometimes, we explode. Say things we don’t mean, get angry, get mad. 

The thing that sets these boys apart, according to the acknowledgements paper you were given, is that they don’t even try to be sweet, they don’t ask for forgiveness. Not towards one another, and most certainly not towards anything else. 

Your job is just as you said. Get them to be okay with one another. 

Catch? There’s a time limit. 

Twelve weeks of summer school. 

Twelve weeks for eight boys to, no, not be nice to each other, not be best friends (not even friends), but just to be okay with being in the same room, be within six feet of each other without tearing someone’s throat — or their own — out.

Is it simple? Absolutely not. 

You want to try though, because up till now, everyone has given up on these boys. People that the school district have deemed always successful have pushed them aside, called them impossible. 

You won’t be the next to give up. 

Twenty chairs in the classroom, yet not two sit next to each other, spaced out by at least three chairs per person. 

Your roster sits upon your desk, listing their names by alphabetical order. 

(Sitting on the furthest end of the classroom) Bahng, Christopher - nickname: Chan

He’s a football player (god knows how), who, despite hardly showing up to practices and arriving to random games—is always responsible for their wins. In some way you’re sure that’s the only reason he hasn’t been kicked off. 

Christopher’s an interesting case. 

He’s got amazing grades and passes school without fail, but no one has any clue about his home situation or whether he even has a home or not. You’re told he’s extremely distant and closed off, sort of void to life. He was sent due to excessive absences.

2. (Planted dead front of the class) Han, Jisung 

His record states he’s been sent to the counselor eleven times in the first two weeks of school for disruptions and inappropriate behavior. Jisung has an older brother who’s valedictorian, but they never speak to one another and don’t seem to have the best relationship. He’s said to be obnoxiously straight-forward and senseless, you wonder if it’s true.

3. (Nearest to the window on your right) Hwang, Hyunjin

Despite his popular facade, Hyunjin is regarded as the “troublesome face-card” by many deans and counselors alike. Students adore his looks, but he couldn’t butt heads more with Jisung, and they’re often sent out together. Hyunjin is believed to have a worrisome superiority complex according to the last counselor he’s been seen by.  

4. (Opposite of Hyunjin across the classroom) Kim, Seungmin

Not much has been recorded as far as Seungmin goes. He’s apparently a huge instigator in lots of illegal activity surrounding campus, but no one’s certain. His last counselor claimed he stayed silent throughout his consultation and answered suspiciously vague for almost every question. 

5. (A few seats behind Jisung) Lee, Felix

Both him and Christopher have been reported for vandalizing parts of the school in odd, incomprehensible words like “Miroh” and “Maze of Memories”. Some gossip that they’re secretly a part of an underground gang. But upon first glance, Felix looks harmle—

A hand raising grabs your attention. It’s Jisung, wearing a grin when you nod for him to speak. 

“How much for a tit-pic, Teach?”

Everyone is silent, and you hear Hyunjin stifle a snicker in the distance. 

So this is what they meant by inappropriate behavior.

The corner of your lips twitch slightly, but you successfully maintain an unnerved expression, instead, smiling back at him. 

“Let’s not ask questions like that, alright?”

Jisung amusedly huffs, still eyeing you incredulously. Although, he doesn’t say any more, and you continue down the roster’s descriptions.

Lee Minho whose info is conspicuously sparse , Seo Changbin who lashes out randomly without clear conscience (some claim he’s bipolar, you think different), and Yang Jeongin remain, bio’s dotted in unspecified theft attempts, assumed messy family situations and brief mentions of mental illness that seems to a follow a similar pattern to the rest. 

Stacking the papers upon your desk, you card eight sheets of notebook paper from the drawer, walking through rows of desks to pass each boy a slip. 

All eyes are on you now, and your breathing feels excessively loud in the stifling quietness. 

Lightly clapping your hands together in hopes of stirring some sort of sound in this stale air, you speak as fluidly and audibly as your voice will let you. 

“Today’s assignment is simple. I want you to write everything about yourself.”

Confused brows lift, primarily from Minho.

“Whether it’s what you like to do, what you don’t like to do, your favorite things, your favorite places, books, movies.”

Another hand raises. Changbin, you remember his name.

“Yes?”

“We’re not in fifth fuckin’ grade.” He growls, words booming. That was another complaint: Changbin’s explosively unprovoked opinions. 

Biting back the urge to snap back, you place both hands on the podium at the front of the class, essentially grounding yourself. 

“Yes, well this is—“ 

Somebody grumbles an incoherent sentence, and Changbin is immediately on his feet, chair squealing, eyes wild with fury. 

Second complaint: his flaming temper. 

Grabbing a fistful of Chan’s shirt (presumably the one who muttered), he sizes up the taller boy, spitting wild curses.

Inhaling deeply, you approach them, withholding the instinct to wince at Changbin’s yelling. 

“Changbin, please go back to your seat,” You usher, watching them never take their eyes off one another. Chan is eerily unmoved, though effortlessly intimidating nevertheless. 

The former spins around, shoving the other boy off to the side and resorting to sizing you up now, chin lifted, gaze belittling. 

One press and you’ll have assistance come in and help. You remind yourself, referring to the small red button residing in your pocket that sends a direct call to the other counselors. 

What good will that do? Your first step is getting them to be okay with you, not to mention each other.

No. You can do this, you’ll be fine. 

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” He spits, glaring as you back up the more he steps forward. That is till you stop and cause him to stop as well, leaving only a few centimeters separating your faces. 

“Because,” You ease, shoving a finger into the center of his chest sternly. “I’m your teacher now, and you’re stuck with me. So deal with it.” 

Tilting your head, you meet his eyes, hooded behind a veil of black hair. 

“I’m sure a fifth grader could understand that, right?”

And with that, you point to his seat and spin on your heel, taking a seat and watching the boys, one by one, lower their heads and begin writing. Well, excluding Changbin, who’s hands stick by his sides, staring at you. 

He chews his lip then turns around, shuffling back to his desk. 

By the time the dismissal bell echoes, you would like to say you see light in the distance, but the endless tunnel ahead tells you you’re far from even beginning.

Glasses propped on the bridge of your nose, you sort through the papers, carefully observing each one.

It’s a Friday evening, meaning you’re given a meager two days to inhale as much information as possible for the approaching week. 

There’s a variety of answers on the papers, from some stating only a song they like or others more of a list-type structure. Felix apparently bakes in his free time and has two sisters while Jeongin plays piano. Although, a certain paper in particular stands out to you. 

Han’s.

Only his name is written, nothing else. You’re not sure if it’s a matter of his laziness or carelessness toward the assignment, but clear as day, dead center of his paper, is simply his name. 

You at least anticipated some kind of response, like an offensive joke or something, but no. Just: Han Jisung.

Interesting.

A sudden buzzing redirects your attention. It’s from Chaeryoung, cheerily asking about how the first day went along with spilling details about her own day as well. 

So far, things are going well. So far. 

Not permanent. Just like how you haven’t permanently tamed the beast named Changbin. 

And, although you hate such a mindset, realistically, it’s only a matter of time until something goes wrong. 

“Chae,” You echo, the faint rustling of your papers sounding on your side of the line. She hums.

“What do you think about this one.”

A grunt of acknowledgement is heard.

You sidle to another sheet; Han’s will have to wait for another occasion.

“Hwang Hyunjin. Said to be trouble-some, argues a lot, apparent superiority complex.”

Although your senior, Chaeryoung has always been a helping hand—a soul to rely on through the rocky periods, your rocky periods.  

“Hmm..” She considers, seeming to weigh the matter for a moment. “Have you seen his grades?”

Odd question.

“Straight A student according to his records.”

Impressive. Each quarter, top-scores. 

Well, it makes sense for the superiority portion in the case he uses his grades to hang over others heads, but the rest is strange, making it unusual for him to behave so brashly.

Or, maybe it wasn’t unusual, but overlooked.

As if reading your mind, she utters the same words you’d planned to.

“Anxiety?”

Said in unison, you both burst into laughter. Her blindingly bright laugh sends warmth throughout your stomach, easing the droning headache building between your temples. 

Hours you’ve spent glaring at the same papers, determined to locate something, anything as a way to help them. A problem to find a solution.

Yet, each case was different—personal to each boy in a sense you couldn’t assign an overall solution.

Instead, you pinpointed one case at a time. 

Starting with Hwang Hyunjin.

However, his wasn’t an easy fix. As a high school student, it was virtually impossible to “fix” anxiety (if that was even the issue at hand at all).

Everyone had it in their system. Upcoming tests, pressure. 

It was also impossible to really “fix” anybody generally, meaning, more or less, you had to find a way to help them want to help themselves.

With Hwang Hyunjin though, his, stated in the page’s description saying: Cares little to nothing about grades, wasn’t a testing anxiety of a sort, but maybe a tad bit deeper, barely visible without a sharper, clearer lense. 

“Send me a pic of the sheet, can you?” She begins, startling the hypothesizing from your mind. 

Again, an odd question, but you oblige, swiping off the calling tab to snap a quick picture. 

A long silence situates itself between you, presumably Chaeryoung investigating his information.

Strangely, you feel like a detective. Climbing skyscrapers to find a solution to a problem nobody addressed until it became horridly powerful—possessing, now fallen in your hands to solve. 

You refused to let their problems ruin them. And although becoming a illegitimate teacher wasn’t the plan for your senior year, you doubt you could back away at this point, not when you had already unearthed the treasure chest.

Last step was finding the key.

Well, detectives are equipped with a magnifying glass for a reason, right?

…

“… His drawings are pretty good?”

Then do you notice the doodles in the far corner of his introductory paper, a flower, a few butterflies, and a dog.. of a sort. Chihuahua-looking. 

“C’mon Chaeryoung, take this seriously,” Lightly scolding, you sigh, wetting your lips whilst flipping to the back of the page. 

It’s a quick script of things he enjoys, accounts from students he knows or that know him, overall containing an overview of his person. 

Hyunjin gets in lots of arguments with Han Jisung. 

You know that much. 

Your finger slips down the page, scouring each sentence.

XXXX: Hyunjin likes drawing. I’ve seen him drawing at his desk before. 

Baseless information, the doodles prove that—

Hold on. 

“Chae, when you’re anxious, do you have a reliever? Like doing something, listening to something?”

She chuckles, clattering of dishes in the background causing you to cringe slightly.

“Dancing, you know this. I’m not going to Hanlim Art School for nothing.” Teasingly voiced, you frown, deciding not to egg on her sarcasm.

“Then do you think, where it says he gets in arguments a lot, he’s projecting that anxiety when arguing because he doesn’t have a reliever?”

She clicks her tongue.

“Could be. But we don’t really know Hyunjin, yeah? It could be something deeper Y/nnie. You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys.”

You sigh, rolling back your shoulders.

“You’re right, but I’m still gonna try it. I need to get through to him that I want to help him somehow, so I might as well exhaust all my options.”

You can’t look surface level when it comes to these guys. A phrase truthful to its fullest extent. 

“…Try what?”

Ah, you forgot to mention that part.

“Drawing. I’m gonna try convincing him to give it a chance.”

The stunned silence tells you she’s likely thinking you’re crazy, her only response a breath of disbelief.

You smile.

“I’m insane, I know.”

“No wonder we’re best friends.”

Staring daggers at the papers in front of you, you prop your feet on the desk, sorting through option after option on what you plan next for class.

In the midst of learning more about each boy’s papers though, you overhear something, a few key words.

Friday. Fair.

Aha. 

The school’s annual summer fair, held as a congratulatory sort of event to celebrate moving onto a new year of school.

It’s decided. Friday, you’re taking them to the fair.

Mentally thanking whoever had brought it up outside the classroom, you’re quick in crumpling the additional papers, watching as one by one, the boys enter.

Hey, at least none of them are late.

…Not like they had a choice in that anyway.

And, through a rather painfully awkward second time teaching, the ice seems to be breaking little by little.

Any progress is good progress, you’ve deemed.

“Alright, before you’re dismissed, I wanna let you know we’re going to the fair Friday. Be there.” You hum, tapping the podium.

You swear there hasn’t been a more stifling pause in your life.

Though you’d been anticipating something adverse, this is a downright oddity.

“Uh.. what?” Han speaks up as you near the door. Morbidly quiet.

“All of you, meet me at the grounds at 7pm.”

Added into the deplorable silence, you glance over your shoulder whilst stepping into the hallway, face donning a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. “Okay, class dismissed.”

Beginning out the sliding door, the eruption of voices behind you cascade into a multitude of conversation, your clarification they had in fact heard and you weren’t discussing plans with a brick wall.

All you can do is hope they show up.

Class continues through the week, trying to get them to grow more comfortable with the atmosphere—their classmates, more specifically.

Of course, you earn your fair share of close calls and near incidents in those four days leading to Friday, but seeing the whole group turn up that fateful evening seems to make the ordeal worthwhile.

Quick to move your separate ways, you’re hasty in tagging along with Hyunjin, the boy unusually quiet as you fall into step to his right.

“So.. you draw?” You start, scorning the nervousness evident in your tone.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t interject, nor bite back something as his infograph had led you to believe.

“Yeah,” He sharply replies, eyes trained ahead, taking swift, motivated steps through heavily trodden grass.

It confuses you, in all honesty. Everything about this so-called ‘superiority complex’. From these few days you’ve seen him or interacted (though fleeting), not once has the man exhibited any form of arrogance nor shed of his assumed traits.

He’s shy, actually. Maybe you’re simply gracing surface level like Chaeryoung advised, but certain aspects could be seen in the black of night.

“Y’know, you’re pretty good.”

Despite his lack of response, you can feel his eyes dance to your face for a split second. 

“‘Think you should try it. You’ve got potential, just saying,” You shrug, merely talking without reason nor inhibition.

“You think?”

It’s his voice breaking through your barrier of unrequited cordiality that stirs the air. A final, conversational pair of words after watching him play countless fairground games in quietness.

“I do,” You hum, nodding avidly while watching Hyunjin’s eyes flicker down to the ground below before back to yours, holding eye-contact.

In those moments, you decipher two things.

Hyunjin rivals the prettiest of paintings, and whatever earlier assumptions had been stuck to his tanned skin couldn’t be more wrong. 

“Yo! If you’re just gonna stand there, move it!”

Changbin’s interjection successfully scares the living soul out of you and simultaneously wrecks your intense staring session.

Nevertheless, it’s hard even for you to explain how you ended up competing against the boisterous boy in ball toss, only that you find yourself wanting to tattoo the sight of Hyunjin laughing and Changbin shouting with defeat beneath your eyelids forever.

Granted a gift upon winning, you snag a snorlax plush amongst the scattered options hanging at the top of the booth, presenting it to the him with a smile.

“Huh?” Changbin grunts, head tilted, gazing at you as if you’ve spawned two heads.

“Take it, ‘s for you,” You urge, surveying the boy’s tentative touch against the plush’s soft fur with evident glee.

Still pouty, yes, but you take the sight of the stuffie held in his arms while the three of you walk back as a victory. 

After a quick stop by a corn dog stand, you lean against the food truck’s side, wordless as Changbin and Hyunjin head off their own ways — the only trace of familiarity near you being someone clearing their throat.

Off to the side stands Chan, quietly sparing you not-so-sneaky glances, his hands stuffed in his black jogger’s pockets. 

You cock your brows, head tipped as if silently asking: “What?”

“Waiting for you,” Is his reply, and it catches you off guard at the consideration in those syllables. 

Not that you envisioned Chan as someone cold, but you certainly weren’t expecting him to wait for you while you ate.

Granting the boy a tiny smile of gratitude, you find yourself unconsciously gravitating his way, stuck in an orbital pattern of continuous voyage, indifferent to moving away.

“Chris is an interesting name,” You offer, aimlessly walking past endless booths, people.

“From Australia,” He speaks. Short and straight to the point, yet lacking any hostility. 

“Yeah? Why’d you move?” 

Ushering him on carefully, you manage to tiptoe a bit into foreign territory, navigating rows of traps and ambushes ahead.

“There’s nothing for me back there apart from my family.” His shoes, caked in mud, shuffle to a halt, gaze trained upward toward the constantly reeling Ferris Wheel.

Almost instantly, you can sense a shift in demeanor. It nearly makes your hair stand up on end, specifically upon seeing the hint of vulnerability shed across his face.

Maybe you’re seeing things.

“I’m just.. here. Like I work so hard for a something I’ll never have.”

His nose scrunches, beautifully glossy brown irises reflecting the blinking lights. Red, blue, green, yellow, all encompassed in those eyes.

No, this is all real.

The sight steels you a bit.

After a moment, you nudge his shoulder, his head finally turning to look at you. 

“I don’t think I’m really the greatest to talk to when it comes to this but, Chan, you have to live without a purpose.”

You inhale deeply.

“Because if you keep trying to find a reason for everything-“

The shouting of an oh-so skillful interruption known as Changbin calling your name in the distance temporarily cuts you off.

“You’ll never be satisfied with a reality that won’t change unless you do, with this life.” 

For Chan, no place like home only applied when he had a place to call home. As for now, he was a wanderer. 

That, or inches from deluding himself into a comfortable, insufficient reality instead.

Making believe until something becomes real.

“Do you think it’ll be okay?”

His words catch you off guard, and you sort of stare for a moment, holding his gaze as if looking away means your demise.

For a second, you wonder if every boy’s eyes are this captivating.

Hyunjin, now Chan.

“I do,” You whisper, voice hardly audible amidst the bustling fairground.

His lips quirking into a smile serve as your indication he heard, and he reaches a hand up to gently sweep a strand of hair from your face behind your ear.

Again, unexpected, not disliked.

“Live on, yeah?” Chan hums, lifting his pinky for you to take with a mirrored grin, emotion buried within his dark chocolate pools for eyes you fear to unearth.

Maybe that’s something irrevocably agreed upon.

Live on.

It seems so, even when you regroup with an avidly boastful Changbin barking over who won at a rifle booth against him and Han. Agreed in the pinkies still intertwined behind your backs, in the shared smiles he gives you here and there as the night continues.

“Say, what is it with the both of you?”

Sidled between Han and Hyunjin on the walk back to campus, you find the question slipping from your lips before thinking.

Hyunjin grunts, and Han shrugs.

Children, you swear.

“Constantly biting at each other’s throats, yeah?” You huff, arms crossing.

Glancing over at Hyunjin after neither boy decides to respond, you raise a brow.

“As your teacher, I’m gonna assign something,” You begin, glaring at the tiny scoff Han resounds when you try using an authoritative tone.

“Next time you see each other, try to be nice.”

Another silence.

“I’m dead serious.”

“Y/N-“ Han starts, quickly silenced by your lifted hand.

“No buts. Do it, got it?” Firmly commanding, you leave no room for argument, the two responding as if it were the worst of punishments, wallowing in self pity.

Despite an onslaught of beginnings and continuations to newly opened books, you think the chapter where Hyunjin and Han sulk all the way back to campus takes the cake.

For now it does.

“I want someone to play me,” Han says, bringing the popsicle up to his lips. 

The sun beats onto their skin, warm rays causing a scrunch to appear between his brows.

In an attempt at following your “get-along” suggestion, the two found themselves coincidentally running into each other at the nearby Supermarket after school, sparing cautious glances back and forth till someone broke the silence.

Like fate, drawn together in the ugliest of ways.

Han went first, a hesitant “hey” somehow leading to the two hunkering down on bamboo flooring with a conversation in tow. 

It’s a start.

“Play you?” Hyunjin parrots, confused.

“Yeah,” He responds, fiddling with the name tag attached to his uniform. “They say nobody knows you better than yourself, but I dunno.. I feel like I don’t know anything about me. I’m an alien to myself.” 

Jisung bunches up the wrapper, the crinkling sound rivaling screeching cicadas clinging to the trees overhead.

“I bet if I had an actor play me, I’d make a lot more sense.”

Somehow, out of all the things Han Jisung has said to him, this is the one thing Hyunjin can fully understand. 

Understand that, despite living with yourself all your life, you’re still a novice even in your own body, in need of someone to tell you about yourself, an opposing point of view to help round out the sharp corners.

That’s it. The word to describe it, how Hyunjin found himself bound to art.

Your words replay in his mind on loop.

“Think you should try it. You’ve got potential.”

Understanding.

Art, in its most frustrating, brutally painful form, allows Hyunjin to understand. Himself, his wishes, life, despair. It’s his actor. An ideal perspective responsible for clearing his conscious, a contact lense to the eyes he hadn’t realized were blurry, half-open.

“What did you write on that paper about yourself?” Hyunjin ventured, beaming sunlight cast upon long fingers that peer from the balcony’s shade, highlighting cool toned veins in an almost transparent ray.

Coins cash into the vending machine, the dull cry of birds soaring to the sky in a flurry of wings echoing in his eardrums.

“The one Y/N handed out?”

Hyunjin hums.

“My name.”

The latter’s lips quirk into a clumsy smile. 

Han Jisung, that’s all he wrote. How original of him.

Hyunjin watches an ant crawl atop a leaf, simultaneously swiping a droplet of water from the popsicle’s wrapper with his thumb. 

He tests his words.

“I want,”

A pause. 

“To add art now. To the paper, as my friend.”

Jisung purses his lips curiously, brows lifted.

However, he doesn’t pester.

“Art is your friend?”

Meeting the other boys gaze, Hyunjin finds himself, for the first time when looking at Han Jisung, smiling.

“Yeah, it is.”

. . .

“Heh. What a weirdo— YAH!”

Next Wednesday’s evening consists of a plethora of instances, some more notable to mention than others.

One, getting slammed to a wall by Changbin, and two, getting screamed at right after.

Though you weren’t aware of that yet, not when you looked up from your phone after school to see the boy storming toward you, and certainly not when you smiled, an action seeming to have provoked his hand to your collar, cornered against a wall without so much as a greeting.

“Changbin..?” You manage, slightly breathless at the impact, brows furrowed.

And instantly, listening to the words he spews, it feels as if all the progress you’d made at class—nevertheless the fair—dissolved into nothing.

Back to square one.

“Who do you think you are?” He spits, looking you up and down with a wrinkled nose. “What? You think you own the world ‘cause you’re doing something good? Helping ‘troubled’ kids?” 

Before you can interject, his grip tightens on your shirt, shaking you angrily before stopping again, darks eyes burning with nothing but rage.

“We aren’t your confidence boost, Teach, so get out of your stupid headspace. We don’t need your help and never asked for it in the first place, so get lost.”

Changbin dips dangerously close to your face, venom dripping in his tone.

“Got it?”

Using as much force as you can muster, you ram your palm against his chest, effectively pushing him off of you before slamming against his shoulder and walking away.

Halfway down the street do you stop, not daring to look back at him.

“I don’t know what makes you think I’m doing this for a confidence boost, and I’m not going to try understanding. But that gives you no right to pick me apart like you know me!” You shout, continuing to head as far as you can from him, glaring ahead.

It’s fair he got that idea. Some random student infiltrating your summer all for the sake of what? Their future? Yours? What was this for anyway? Your position as Class President using this “summer school” to make you feel better about yourself, add more to a resume? 

Plopping down at a bus stop a mile or so later, you pull your legs to your chest, rehearsing just what drove you into the mess anyway. 

You want to help them. That’s it. 

Repeating the phrase like a sacred oath, it isn’t until the burning sun’s waning scorch that you’re reminded of evening’s approach, begrudgingly lifting yourself off the now-sweaty seat.

Unbeknownst to you, Chan stood as a witness, watching either of you quarrel prior to parting, you disappearing elsewhere while Changbin remained in place, burning holes into the ground with a furious glower.

Hurriedly assessing what his first move should be (or if he should even move at all), he decides upon following you when the dark-haired boy stalks off.

“Y/n!” 

The oddly familiar voice graces your senses when you look up, pausing just outside the bus stop, earbuds dangling from your pocket. 

It’s Chan, still wearing his school uniform. 

“Oh, hey Chan.” Slapping a hopefully convincing smile on, you allow him to occupy the space to your left as you head home, entertaining his occasional questions, sentences.

You’re glad it’s Chan though. 

“Um, Chan?” You pique upon reaching your door, looking back at him, question inches from slipping off your tongue.

Has anything happened with Changbin lately?

“Yes?”

No, you can’t. 

“Never mind, um, bye!” Brushing off the thought, you give him another tight smile, waving the boy off and slipping into your home with a loud sigh.

Outside, Chan tugs his lip between his teeth, watching you debate on your words. He knows what you wanted to ask, what so obviously sat heavy on your shoulders the entire way home. 

Perhaps it’s his perception that’s gotten him this far. 

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he decides the next course of action would be locating the other half of this division. 

Unfortunately for him, Chan has no idea where he could be. The likelihood he’s home is minuscule if his hunch is right, and so, the man wracks his head for any clues.

Abruptly, a past conversation hits him.

“Have you been there? The old train station below the tunnel?”

Chan, lips pursed as he tries recalling, shakes his head.

“I like that place, ‘helps me think.”

That’s it.

Racing off despite the darkness creeping across star-splattered sky, his legs carry him as fast as possible. 

Dipping below the bridge, his skin prickles at the cold air. Minimal lighting apart from a few white beams paves a clear path to his desired individual, planted in the dead center of the platform.

“Binnie,” Chan calls. 

Only he can get away with calling Changbin “Binnie”, a nickname grown into second nature as the two grew more accustomed these past two weeks.

The boy doesn’t budge, doesn’t reply. He stands there, chin down, hands firmly bunching his pants in a tight hold.

Yet, when he looks up after a lengthy pause, Chan watches his lip quiver, watches his shoulders shake senselessly as he gradually reaches his outstretched arms.

“I.. I keep hurting so many people and.. and…it’s so lonely, why is it so lonely?” 

Without an utterance, he pushes Changbin’s head against his shoulder. 

And they hug. They hug for a long, long time. Basking there, healing there. 

Changbin cries. 

There’s a lot to cry about, a lot of things he’s needed to cry about, things he couldn’t cry about before. But he does. Tonight, in this empty train station, Changbin cries in Chan’s arms, his friends arms.

Changbin’s first friend—who smoothes messy curls down in delicate strokes, holding him dearly close. 

Chan isn’t oblivious, because in those particularly tender moments, one in specific taking place right after the fair, Changbin speaks words Chan had never heard before. 

Problems. They told each other it all. Their secrets, struggles. 

Changbin’s issues with his parents, Chan’s with his home-situation, his internal displacement.

“I know things are hard right now, but we’re going to get someplace better together, okay? We’re brothers.” Chan whispers, and his friend sniffles, nodding wordlessly.

Brothers. 

Changbin is his brother now, and no blood needs to prove that. Because in times you don’t have that family, that connection, you make it yourself.

Seungmin: Y/n, can you meet me at Gokseong Hill?

You groan picking up your phone, granted a mere thirty minutes of peace after your painful run-in with Changbin and an equally painful attempt at a conversation with Chan before your phone lights up.

Y/n: Do you plan to murder me or something?

Seungmin: I’m not as creative as Jisung, so no

You crack a smile.

Y/n: I’ll be there

Fastening a jacket over your shoulders, you lock the door behind yourself, stuffing jingling keys into your pocket.

Hey, a bit of fresh air sounds tempting.

At the peak of the hill he sits, and it’s not until you follow his upward stare that you take in the stars overhead. 

The slight altitude paves way to a more than incredible view. Countless galaxies right above your head, twinkling so brightly in the sky. Far from streetlights, from civilization. 

Your staggered breathing hiking up here proves worthwhile now.

Wordlessly plopping down beside him, you lay back, admiring.

“Do you ever wanna scream?” Seungmin reaches his hand to the sky, allowing the dark blue and black hues to waltz in his grasp.

The twinkling wonder dappled above prohibit a full view of his facial expressions, but you have an idea of how wistfully he gazes into that atmospheric abyss. Aching.

You humorlessly chuckle.

Do I ever.

“When I first met Changbin, I wanted to scream every twenty seconds.”

Seungmin laughs. Pretty.

“Guys like that do that to you.”

He curls his fingers into a fist, arm remaining outstretched. 

“Do it.”

“Hm?”

“Scream.”

He looks at you like you’re insane for a moment, then pauses, fingernails digging into the earthy soul beneath you before he screams.

Screams, louder and louder, so loud you’re surprised his lungs haven’t given up yet, surprised you haven’t laughed at how comical the entire thing is. His body practically lifts off the ground, eyes screwed shut.

Then he stops, catching his breath. 

No comments nor laughter. Quiet. 

Reaching out, you give his hand, dirty fingernails and all, an assuring squeeze.

I don’t know, but I care.

A silent utterance.

“Better?”

He nods. 

You’re next, and this time, you’re first to laugh.

As the two week mark of class is pinned, you want to give yourself a pat on the back for managing - no less surviving till now.

So, it really makes you wonder how you ended up in such a predicament.

Han Jisung, someone you never anticipated to be beside you on your Saturday, resides in the drivers seat of your parent’s car, hands sweating up nothing short of an ocean without even starting the vehicle.

Well, you are aware of how this all began, but then again, your pride wants to be salvaged, if barely.

A bit of pleading on Han’s side about his parents nagging him and a pinch of your groggy mumbling at 9am to end up here, to be exact.

“Look… About what I said the first day.. I’m really sorry about that. I shouldn’t have asked that, it was rude and- ow!”

A hard flick delivered to the boy’s forehead has his face wrinkling up, an offended expression worn on chubby cheeks.

“Yes, it was rude, and I’ll ostracize you if you ever do it again. But I forgive you, you’re welcome,” You state, arms crossed.

Han’s sheepish nod seems to be the best reply you’ll get. 

“Alright, now, shift the gear to drive.”

“…That’s ‘D’, right…?”

“You’re kidding.”

No, he wasn’t kidding, and a lesson that could’ve been an hour long turns into two and a half hours in no time.

Finally, by some miracle, you end up on the road, holding on the seat like a vice, the boy mirroring your panic with nervous jittering and random comments.

“Oh wait! Isn’t the Film Festival coming up-“

“FOCUS ON THE ROAD!”

Ah, he has the attention span of a squirrel, that too.

And if you aren’t doused in gray hairs after that you’d be surprised, Han looking just as frazzled, exiting the car with wobbly legs and wide, frazzled eyes. 

From then on out, you decide teaching the boy how to drive would have to wait.

With July days away (a miracle, you’d like to say), you bury your nose into new assignments and exercises for the class, desperately gripping onto the bits and pieces of progress you’re making.

It’s meager, and certainly not sturdy, but you’ll take what you can get. 

..Even if those hard silences are crippling.

A knock ushers you away from the barstool you perch on, cautiously peering from your front door’s tiny peephole. 

Felix.

Upon opening in the door, you first notice his raw cheeks, eyes puffy and red.

He’d been crying, unmistakably.

You don’t move away when he walks forward and presses his face against your shoulder.

“Can I stay here? I don’t want to go home tonight.” The boy whispers, and you reach a tentative hand to pat his head. 

“Of course.”

Clambering the teary boy inside, you spend a decent ten minutes helping him catch his breath and calm down a bit, not wanting to stress the poor thing out with questions.

Standing in your foyer, it’s his shaky voice piercing the air responsible for your head snapping up.

“Do you.. have brownie mix?” 

.

.

.

“He was always the fearless kid,” Felix mutters, occupying himself with folding the batter in a bowl. 

Interestingly enough, Felix is a stress baker, something of which you hadn’t realized until getting schooled on the correct ingredients to use for brownies.

The topic is Minho. Or, what Felix knew of him.

“I could never read him. I still can’t. I remember he saved this cat once and it bit him. I cried the whole way to the doctor’s office and he was the one who calmed me down instead.” 

All you can do is laugh in reply, the blond sheepishly grinning.

Licking off some brownie mix, he hands you the other whisk where you lean against the counter. 

Leaning forward to smear some of the sugary goodness on his cheek with a giggle, you adore the way his eyes light up, causing his freckles to almost glow.

If past-lives were real, you think Felix would’ve been a fairy.

“You knew Minho when you were younger?”

Felix nods.

“We met in seventh grade. Our mom’s were friends through work. Although, I don’t think he liked me very much.”

He shakes the bubbles from the cooking sheet, ensuring the edges of the pan were even. You slip past him to pre-heat the oven. 

There’s a soft chuckle on his end, and it’s not until you turn around do you see the pikachu mitten he’s quite literally critiquing with his eyeballs.

Such expressive eyes, though they’re different than Minho and Seungmin. 

While Minho has something like the atlantic ocean hidden deep behind those pupils, Seungmin is more of an open field.

Though Felix, he has stars.

So many stars, in fact, that they couldn’t possibly all fit, spreading to his face instead. Down his arms, his chest. Till all of a sudden the entire galaxy found its home in the boy standing in front of you.

“Hey, no judging,” You grin, scrutinizing his innocent shrug. 

Snatching your precious oven-mit from his fingertips to load the pan in yourself, a gasp stirs when a pair of arms winds around your middle, his chin resting upon your shoulder as you close the door and set your timer.

“Thank you.”

“Hm? What for?” Stopping your movements, you allow the boy to snuggle closer.

“For reminding me of myself. I seem to get lost in other people sometimes and forget I’m here too.” At the last part of his sentence he laughs, rocking back and forth on his heels and causing you to rock with him. 

Ten minutes or so you rock. Easy, comfortable. 

Felix gives nice hugs. His clothes are sprinkled with a strange mixture of both brownies and chocolate chip remnants he’d snuck in without your knowledge.

Comfortable.

He’s a kid who never really got the chance to grow up. The one who was constantly told he’s so mature for his age, a phrase that eventually melded so far into his brain it became second nature, gum stuck to his shoe. 

Because the kid that was so mature for his age was never asked if he needed help or if he was okay, everyone simply assumed. Even when the world came crashing down, Felix was fine. Just fine. 

Until he wasn’t, and suddenly, Felix came crashing down with the world.

“..Do you like face-masks?”

You may not be able to fix his crumbling world, but you could give him some good memories to remember it by.

Which is how you found yourself roped in your bathroom, carefully applying the charcoal face mask onto his perfect skin, unblemished and definitely not deserving of the treatment. But, like you said, memories. 

You should be off to bed, already prepping for the next morning, school. June 17th, officially seventeen days into summer school. Yet here you are, greedily shoving down brownies with a new companion, Lee Felix, on the couch while looking like utter idiots in face masks. 

After seven episodes of Gilmore Girls does he wearily rise up, beckoning you with him to wash off your skincare madness only to make an equally weary trip straight back to the living room.

“Do you think Minho likes me?” Your baking partner whispers, his head resting upon your lap. Those unfairly long lashes begin to dust closed, the subtle flash of light emitted from your scented candle sending a golden gleam across the room.  

“Mm.. I’m sure he does. I’m sure he likes you very much,” You assure, not needing a response from his fallen-asleep form, not expecting one anyway. 

What occurred in the first place nor why he asked such questions wasn’t your business, but somewhere, a part of a you wanted to know. The cause of his pain, of all of their pain. 

Hardest part of your evening was definitely attempting to slip him off your lap, luckily a success after four or five minutes. 

Carefully propping a pillow behind his head and layering a blanket across his jacket-clad body, you sneakily turn off the TV, bidding the exhausted boy a hushed “good night” and placing a gentle peck to his forehead before turning off the porch light.

Laying in bed whilst your eyes resist closing, you find yourself hoping he’ll sleep well, hope this night is something he can look back on with a smile on his face.

Felix deserves that.

That morning, upon forgetting your alarm, either of you are scrambling from bed or, in Felix’s case, flopping from your couch with a loud thud!

“Minho lives pretty close,” Felix winds the straps of his backpack over his shoulders, glancing from side to side while observing the area. You follow suit, both clambering to rush out the door, jogging down the street hurriedly.

Seems the Minho kick is still here then, huh.

“But he might not be at school off and on because of his Grandma.”

The awaiting tip of your head calls for an explanation, and a light bulb seemed to bloom above him — obviously having realized something.

Either of you pause at a crosswalk.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

You shake your head, brows pinched. 

Felix pokes his tongue into his cheek.

“Well, Minho’s mom died a bit back. He takes care of his Grandma now. After she passed he got really distant and we…” His tone dissolves, and you don’t interrupt, allowing the boy to speak his mind. “Haven’t talked since.”

Apparently, there’s a corner to this billion-piece jigsaw.

One, horrifically fateful paper lay taped down onto one desk far too many boys are trying to look at.

Levanter High Film Festival. Participants will make a 25 minute short film with cinematography and soundtrack themes made entirely by themselves.

“..And you want us to do this?” Jeongin mutters, skeptically scratching the bottom of his chin. 

“Yep! We are!” You proudly announce, given quite a few confused glances in return.  

As Jisung had taken the time to so kindly mention while nearly crashing the car, July, the month in which you’ve somehow made it to with this group, means the arrival of creative festivals — or, the school boards way of enhancing student participation.

“Uh.. I’ve gotta DAW at home..?” Chan speaks up, brows furrowed thoughtfully.

“…A dawg?” Han snorts, Felix smacking his back in an attempt to quell his own laughter.

“A music birth giving machine,” Changbin offers.

“Ew, weird way to put it.”

“Shut it, Jisung.”

“Alright. Now, we’re gonna break off into departments, okay? We need director, maybe script writers? An idea of where we’re gonna film, song producers, and someone with a camera.” Murmuring with your lip tugging between your teeth, you tap your foot, the group cumulating into frenzied discourse, seemingly arranging themselves. 

And, almost as fast as you blink, you’re pleasantly surprised to find no blood had been shed over positions.

Accordingly — with obvious inclusion in every position at some point — Chan, Changbin, and Han are working music, Seungmin is working on the script, Jeongin and Hyunjin are doubling as directors and camera-providing members, and Felix and Minho have been elected as the main characters. 

You can’t help but find it rather interesting considering your prior knowledge of the situation. Their situation.

Felix’s longing, Minho’s loss.

The imperfect, perfect pair.

“What’s the name gonna be?” Jeongin piques, the eight of you squinting at his frame leant against the windowsill.

The boy hesitates. 

“Like, our label?”

Equally confused stares. 

In honorary mention of the esteemed ‘Film Festival’ introduced this summer, you decided, along with Han’s incredibly distracting tendencies, that you guys would be participating.

Then again, everyone is still getting used to being within six feet of each other, so being stuck in the old photography club room on a school night remains effortlessly uncomfortable.

And with the slow eye contact each of you exchange, a gradual cacophony of “Ohhh”’s. 

“How about Boy’s Generation!” Jisung jumps in, earning a smack across the head from Hyunjin followed by loud whining whilst burying his head in Minho’s chest (of whom looks unbearably awkward) who tries to console.

Emphasis on the “tries” part.

“Maybe.. Lost Men?” Changbin suggests, quiet hums of agreement sounding from the remainder. 

You choke back a laugh, which, doesn’t turn out to be as choked as you’d prefer by the glare you get in response.

“Lost Men? Are we sailors?” Stammering down your giggles the best you could manage, Seungmin clears his throat, attention quickly directing his way.

Seungmin has a habit, if that’s what you want to call it. He’s never outspoken, no, but he speaks, a lot. Minho is the same in that sense. Whether quiet mumbling or the illustrious expressions he makes, you’re confident the both of them could maintain a perfectly understandable conversation using just their eyes. 

Sort of scary. 

“Stray Kids?”

Five seconds later and Felix grumbles, interrupting everyone’s inner contemplation.

“Kind of fitting if you think about it.”

Minho grunts, voicing a question that extinguished the conversation beforehand. 

“Well what happens when we aren’t astray anymore?”

And, although the foreboding tension sat heavy in the air, it was easy to tell he held no weight to his words.

Because regardless of what kind of conclusion they reached at some point, it was irrevocably known they’d always be stray. Searching, looking for something they weren’t sure existed.

No reply came. No one complained. 

Chan typed up the label in the lower left corner of the doc, the laptop he’d taken from his bag propped on his lap.

You gave Minho a half-smile he sheepishly returned.

The more you thought about it, the more it matched. Not only searching, but paving. One way or another, the assumed nobodies were growing, developing into something unforgettable, if only to a few people. 

You had no doubt more would remember their names in the future, but as for now, you stay as Chan, Minho, Changbin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin, and Y/n, lodged in the school’s vacant club room, arranging ideas for the Film Festival. 

Stray Kids. 

You liked it. 

The quiet rolling of his bike gears sits between you, familiarly nostalgic chirping of crickets heightening the darker the sky becomes, dusk plowing a runway through orange clouds.

Headed back from school, you happened to run into Minho, jogging to catch up with him in the midst of his departure.

“I like my life.”

Mid-chew on a sour gummy worm, you cease your gluttonous rampage in order to catch Minho’s hushed breath.

“Being alive is nice.”

And when he says that, he turns his head toward you, expression piquing a “don’t you think so?” type of question you struggle to answer.

Zoning in on the repetitive motion of his wheel, you wrack your brain. 

“Yeah? It’s hard, but I would say it’s worth it.”

His brows raise, a barely visible, lopsided smile winding itself around his lips — chapped but still such a captivating pink hue.

All he has to do is hum, doing that habitual blinking thing he always does to know he agrees.

Minho is the small things, you configure.

He’s fixing the bulletin when a paper fell off and picking up Changbin’s Snorlax plushie when he almost forgets it. He’s reminding you to text him when you get home “just because”. He’s the little things nobodies notices, little things that show he cares. 

Lee Minho is the small things, but he’s also so much too — so many stories, people, places. He’s heartbroken but he tries, pained but still swimming in a whirlpool of an ocean that flushes him from its tides.

Perhaps somebody could be his buoy, somebody who’d keep him afloat.

You have a hunch as to who that person might be.

Bike squealing to a stop, you clamber to catch pace, backing up a bit to notice what Minho points at. 

A field.

“This would be a good place to film if it weren’t off limits.” He observes, either of you acknowledging the “No Trespassing” sign latched loosely onto a chain link fence. 

Biting your lip, a small smirk finds itself upon your face. 

“It’s not off limits if we can get in, right?” 

Minho gives you an uncertain stare, quickly tampering into downright exasperation.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a good influence?”

You laugh at this, laying your bike down to hitch each hand into diamond-shaped openings and climb, sending your suspicious audience an expectant look.

“I’m meant to be a good learning experience, think of this as part of a the process. Now c’mon, climb. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Half-heartedly, you’re joined in your risky pursuit, scaling up to the top before thumping down on the other side. 

Minho, on the other hand, is a tad bit more skeptical, remaining at the fence’s peak, glaring down nervously.

Although, with lots of patience and encouragement, the anxious boy takes a leap of faith onto uncut grasses and stalking weeds. 

Halfway into your adventure do clouds begin festering, setting the atmosphere in a gray haze the longer you brainstorm filming spots, whether that’s pointing out certain locations or deciding on specific scene placement.

“We could have Felix here, then I run in and find him?” 

“Okay— what if we make it like a huge confrontation. You run in, confront him-“

Jutting of metal against another surface redirects your mid-sentence focus, gaze averting toward the sound. 

Shit. Security.

“Hey you! What do you think you’re doing!?” 

Momentary silence and either of you go bolting as fast as your legs will go.

“Quick!” You shriek, the sky dotted in strikes of lightning, alighting into a sudden electrified cauldron of clouds and rain.

Minho is right on your heels, jackets strung over your heads in a feeble attempt to divert some watery droplets from their rapid descent.

Not only the useless fear of getting soaked, but the lingering outline of an approaching flashlight in the distance and the thumping of footsteps from behind urge you onward, scaling the looming fence using slippery fingers and wild adrenaline.

Except, just as you edge over the top of the fence does your shirt get caught in the twisted wire, effectively preventing your movement (much to your panic) while Minho shouts below. 

Luckily, in the nick of time do you manage to free yourself, having to lurch forward and simultaneously earn a stinging cut before racing to your bikes and speeding off.

Learning experience was certainly a word for it. 

“So..” You start, lingering by Chan’s doorway. 

According to a fretful, rain drenched Minho speaking to your equally drenched self, his place was the closest.

“What’s our excuse?” You mumble, Minho scoffing before shrugging off his jacket to hand to you, earning a curious tip of your head.

Wordlessly does he point to your now dampened white shirt, and you can’t help but smile at the realization.

Hm. What a gentleman.

Easing the fabric over your soaked shirt, you just finish buttoning to the bottom when Chan opens the door, cocking a brow.

“Who knew it actually rained cats and dogs?”

“You’re not funny.”

Stepping inside, you’re greeted with the chilling temperature, skin erupting into goosebumps as either of you awkwardly stand in the doorway, Chan disappearing into the other room only to return with two t-shirts.

“Bathrooms are on either side of the hall, you’ll find them,” He hums, and you give him a grateful smile before padding off to change, the sound of your squeaking steps making you cringe.

Chan’s old swim-team tee hangs loosely from your body upon stepping out, plopping down onto his couch with an exaggerated groan.

Behind you, Minho sits on an unoccupied chair, taking sips of water here and there.

“So…” The eldest of the group steps in the room, hesitant. “Care to tell me how-“

“No.” Minho bluntly speaks, and you cock a bemused brow at his forwardness.

“Got it,” Chan nods quickly, eyes zeroing in on you for a moment, honing a stare you can’t discern.

“Y/N?” He quietly asks where you lift from your spot.

“Wanna come with me for a minute?” He hums, and you curiously follow him into the kitchen, plopping on the counter he motions for you to sit on.

“Lift up your shirt,” He softly instructs, and you do a double take to make sure you heard him right. 

“Huh?”

Nonplussed, he repeats himself, appearing completely unaffected despite such a request.

So slowly, nervously, you lift your shirt as he nonchalantly maneuvers antiseptic from a medical container, your brain registering the predicament as he dabs right below your chest, bottom lip held in his teeth while he works.

Your scratch from earlier on the fence.

Leave it to him to be the ever perceptive one.

Chan doesn’t budge, shy away, nor show any reaction to the newfound vulnerability. Your heart warms a bit at the sight. 

He cares, and you’ve known that, but it’s just, it’s sweet. Really, truly sweet.

Immediately upon applying the antiseptic, you wince, your grip (which you noticed) on his arm tightening while he calmly hushed you, carefully placing a bandaid on top of the wound. 

“If you don’t dress it properly you could get an infection.” Chan explains. “Tell me next time, okay?” 

You nod as he rearranged his materials below the cabinet and ensured you’ve hopped off the countertop.

“Lix told me you used to be a restaurant’s chef in Hongdae, eh?”

At this, he looked up in surprise, chuckling lowly, lips situating themselves into a sheepish straight line.

“Lix?” He echoes, and you tilt your head, evidently confused as to what he’s asking.

“Mm nothin’, just not many people can call him Lix,” He explains, padding into the living room.

“Really? Am I just the lucky one?” Snickering to yourself, the man nudges your side with his own squeaky laugh as you enter into the living room.

“That’s.. a word for it.”

It’s hard to recall when the gears really began turning. Breaking from rusty shackles to rotate seamlessly.

Chan opening up and giving you a glimpse of the heartthrob of a personality beneath his once cold facade. Han and Hyunjin able to have a normal conversation, talking to Jeongin more and more about anything and everything.

Maybe it’s the familiarity, the routine that naturally mends. Like a new fridge you hadn’t realized you were so accustomed to until gone, until you look back at what was.

A part of you wants to give yourself a pat on the back as if you were the person responsible for this summer school’s progress. Though, you’re sure just about four hundred other things also left an imprint. 

Late nights spent in the old club room. Arranging meetups for filming spots. Headaches from the sound of a power drill where props are put together. Endless repeats of the same scene everyone keeps messing up.

And all of a sudden, it hurts. Because this is one of those moments. Fleeting. Fleeting in the sense that—as you watch Chan and Seungmin burst out laughing when Changbin fails a prop test—never again in this entire world will there ever be another night like this. 

Felix won’t accidentally spill his drink. Minho won’t throw a childish fit after he gets his twenty-fifth take wrong. 

There won’t ever be another summer like this. A summer in your senior year of high school you really don’t want to forget right now, not if it costs it all to stay engrained in your mind.

“Alright. So..” Chan begins, the nine of you clambering to get a glance of his screen as he finishes the final touches.

“We’re finally done!”

It takes a whopping three weeks to finish filming and editing, the clamorous chorus of relief sounding in unison as your group’s unofficial (though wordlessly voted) leader, Chan, taps the save button one last time.

Your film covers the tale of two. Fated, yet, unable to ever meet. A constant tug of war of souls infinitely bound.

One steps north, the other makes five steps south. Pulled together like magnets even when worlds apart in all aspects, even when it seems they’re only given more reasons to avoid each other.

..Yes, you certainly thought of what Felix told you that bit ago.

No, you have been thinking about it.

When they filmed; those certain scenes where you’d watch them make eye contact. Oh to listen to the thoughts behind those eyes.

So leaden with emotion. 

Longing.

A longing for what was, for what could’ve been.

To watch two people like that makes your ears ring. So much said in the hurried lines, the occasional eye-contact. 

Listen, listen. You’ll miss it if you blink.

How gut-wrenching to be a witness to such tragedy you never were involved in. Perhaps that’s human empathy.

You inhale and exhale, but don’t count for how long. Watching the film on the that old projector sheet makes you wish you narrowed things down to the tee, scribbled them down in a notebook to recall for eternity.

Too fast, too fast. You’ll miss it if you breathe.

No, stay forever. 

If only. 

And perhaps that’s the best part.

Stray Kids places fourth place in the festival, and to be honest, you might as well have taken home first.

It sure felt like it.

Smiles and laughter. Congratulations and many thank you’s amidst a densely packed theatre room. 

Though, something is missing. No, someone is missing. Because in the midst of a celebration intended for everyone, it suddenly comes to your attention a presence has gone awry.

Meeting Chan’s eyes, it appears he just realized as well.

Han.

.

.

.

“Jisung where the hell were yo—“ 

Having stormed through the oddly unlocked door like a madman, Chan stops, noticing how positively bruised the boy is, sharp cut veering across his nose, lip busted and bloody.

Hurriedly forcing his face between either of Chan’s hands, Han winces. 

“Tell me everything.” The older of the two demands, eyes racing. 

Quick to pull away, his mouth pulls taut. It’s quiet before Han kicks the cabinet, voice watery, breaking. 

“Fuck!” He clutches his head, biting back the prospect of crying. 

Dropping down to bury his head in his knees, he stifles a shaky exhale.

“..These guys from Class 3-B broke my bike, that’s why I couldn’t go.” 

Ah.

There’s a stillness.

Then, quietly, Chan shuffles down beside Jisung, mirroring the way his knees sit close to his chest, back flush against the wooden cabinets below the sink.

“I just.. wish I was stronger,” Jisung hardly manages, words barely audible through a trembling bottom lip.

Sparing moments of silence, Chan’s jaw tightens, attention directed onto the tile floor.

“I’m quitting the football team.”

Jisung’s head snaps to the adjacent boy. 

“But why? Football’s your forte. Plus, you kick ass every time your name gets called out onto the field.”

Chan ruffles the boys hair, giving him a tight smile.

“I have.. other priorities right now.” His voice shrinks, hand resting atop Jisung’s head, staring into those bottomless brown eyes. 

He’s grateful no other questions were asked.

“Say,” He begins, his counterpart experimentally prodding his swollen eye, cringing back with a hiss. 

“I can help you get stronger.”

Slowly, the younger’s head turns, brows raised as if asking: “really?”, to which Chan nods, a faint grin tugging at his lips. 

‘Reach for me’, and Chan reaches. 

Jisung oftentimes thought the boy foolish to trust so blindly, to pour so much into someone who could easily let you down.

Yet, seeing the fist his friend held out, he returns the fist bump with a feeble grin, head slumping onto the older boy’s shoulder.

This time, an exception has been made.

There were many weird circumstances in Minho’s life, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated this one.

“..What are you doing?” Minho inquires flatly, slowing his bike down whilst Han, dripping in sweat, jogs past, avidly motivated for a reason the bystander can’t quite understand on a Tuesday morning.

He planned to bike into town and buy extra soil for his grandmother’s garden, now finding himself unable to ignore this strange appearance.

“Conditioning! New year new me!”

Minho sends the boy a mildly disgusted, mildly annoyed expression in reply.

“It’s June.” 

“Leave me be.”

His sarcastic brow returned with Han’s entertained giggle, the older boy finding it irritably hard to resist an approaching smile, pedaling to catch up to him.

How burdensome, Minho thinks.

“Is this about the Film Festival?” 

Gliding past, Han’s eyes widen into saucers.

“Please don’t tell me Y/n’s mad I couldn’t show up, I’m scared she’ll beat me up or something on Monday.”

He grins at the sheepish plea.

“She’s not, trust me.”

“And why should I trust you?”

Minho shrugs. “Why not?”

“Fair,” Han deflates, stopping to catch his breath, balancing his hands on his knees. 

The other boy, observing his exhaustion as he pushes on his brakes, grants him a side-eye, patting the back of his bike.

“Want a ride?”

Han, looking up with sweat wrecking his hair to stick up in wild directions, gradually nods, uttering a quiet “Feels like I’m cheating” as he climbs behind Minho, legs dangling off the side. 

The ride is peaceful, rice fields flourishing, fields dappled with flowers of all sorts of hues on the way to town, breeze cooling down Han’s heated face, whipping his linen shirt in each gust.

Neither talk, simply enjoying the weather, the smells, the sounds.   

Though, the enjoyment is quelled as soon as it began, Minho lugging a bag of soil atop where the younger boy had sat on the back of his bike—said boy lingering outside the gardening shop.

Door bells clanging overhead when he exits, Han gives him a questioning look as he works on tying the soil down.

“..Where am I gonna sit?” He questions aloud, and the devilish boy can’t help but wear an evil smile.

“You’re not,” He says matter-of-a-fact, swinging a leg over the seat, watching despair cross his friend’s face. 

“New year new you, right? Good luck!”

Quickly racing off on his bike, Minho laughs at Han’s shouting while he disappears in the distance, knowing full well the silent-treatment he’ll receive later at school.

Oh the throes (and woes) of summer.

Meanwhile, you’re helping Chan hang laundry in his backyard, having reviewed more of an album him, Han, and Changbin have been working on after the festival. 

The longer you listen, the more you find Chan has a knack for curating incredible music, enough that you find yourself leaning infinitely close to the old monitor of his, craning into each note the speaker procures.

“So I was thinking,” Chan clicks his tongue, hanging a t-shirt to the close pins. “What if we had a unit name? Han, Binnie and I?”

Processing his question in your mind, you purse your lips, wiping beading moisture from your forehead.

“What’d you have in mind?” You pique, giving the boy a sidelong glance, mischief evident on your face. 

Mirroring your grin, he steps down from the stool, giving you a hand as you step from yours.

“3RACHA? Cause like.. we’re three and we’re hot like Sriracha?”

Instantly, you both burst out into giggles, smacking his shoulder at the sly phrasing. 

“No no I’m kidding—“

“I like it!” You loudly interject, bringing the water bottle up to your lips.

Chan’s eyes bulge out of his skull, tilt in his head, a hint of surprise etched on sun kissed skin.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I like it! 3RACHA fits,” Elaborating with exaggerated hand gestures, the spectator has to bite back his smile, dimples nudging at his cheeks.

“I’ll let them know,” He raises his brows, giving you a small high five before officially collapsing on the grass, you following suit.

By the time your eyes open again, you can’t even recall what happened in the first place, trying to figure out why the sky is already pitch black, not to mention why you’re still lying in the grass. 

Leave it to falling asleep to waste your day away.

Leaning over where you stretch your arms, Chan grins, extending a hand to help you up that you gratefully accept—granted an explanation as to how you ultimately fell asleep while he was mid conversation.

Waving him off upon noticing nighttime’s introduction, you begin back past school, crossing by the playing fields in the process.

And of course, lo and behold, Minho sits on the bleachers, watching an ongoing football practice while glancing down at his lap here and there, apparently writing something.

Seems today you’re running into everyone, huh?

Perks (and curses) of a small town.

Curiosity driving your feet toward him, you carefully jump up the steps, sitting beside him without word.

He obviously senses your presence but fails to speak up, simply letting you peek over his shoulder at his notes (to which you learned were for a class), occasionally striking conversation only to engulf in comfortable quietness once more.

“Hey Minho?” You inhale slowly, heel tapping again the metal bleacher plank below.

He grunts in acknowledgment. 

“Do you think I’m doing a good job?” 

The football coaches whistle blows alarmingly loud, causing either of you to involuntarily flinch. 

Minho, lifting his head from his notebook, studies your face for a moment, from the way your nose perches to your parted lips, he analyzes.

Returning to your eyes, he blinks.

“I do. I mean, we all like you whether we admit it or not.”

The statement causes a smile to stretch your cheeks, turning to face him. 

“Why?”

“Hm.. You actually treated us like human..? It’s like,” He scoffs, one brow twitching upward the longer he thinks. It’s the first time you noticed the small freckle seated atop his right nostril. 

Charming.

“Everybody else seemed to think we were animals.” 

Hearing him say that, it’s almost.. cruel. To think these boys simply needed a friend, a person to count on for a bit. 

But they didn’t. They were deprived.

Yet, in a twisted way, it worked out. Because it led them to you.

“Well you’re doing it right.. I think.”

You shift your weight back onto your hands, humid air finally cooling into an even breeze.

“Thanks Min.”

“Mhm.”

You’ve grown accustomed to accepting good things never last. It’s one of the many things keeping your grip tight on anything you get ahold of.

Though, it strikes you nearly dizzy how quickly something so good turned sour. 

As in, what was once near-conversation between Minho and Felix has now diminished into distanced glares and horrifically heavy silence like before.

Asking the more openly emotional of the two leads to nothing. No explanation, no reasoning. Just a shrug when you ask: “Hey, what’s up with you and Minho?”

More than ever with this group had you learned assumptions lead nowhere. But when assumptions are the sole thing to be made, you feel quite like you’re chasing your own tail in this predicament.

“Minho, you have to come to school. I’m responsible for your attendance.” 

Amongst the week and a half the boy had been absent, you don’t plan to waste the opportunity for confrontation.

No, it isn’t your usual approach, but any softer and he’ll slip right through your fingertips like warmed butter.

Back facing you where he’d been routinely walking his bike behind his house, you stand firm, eyes trained to the cowlick embedded in his hair.

He doesn’t move, nor budge a single centimeter—voice cut and concise upon speaking.

“I’ve been busy.” 

“You’ve been avoiding Felix.”

You can hear him inhale sharply, not daring to turn around.

“I know it isn’t my business, but there was this.. time Felix and I spoke. You two had a falling out again.. right?”

Prodding deeper into the wound, you can feel your heart constricting tighter and tighter in your chest.

“You’re right.” He whispers, tone low enough you crane to hear. “It isn’t your business.”

It’s your turn to suck in a quick breath.

“And.. it isn’t your place pretending like you know what my life is like. I… I’ll come back to school just-“

Ah. That hiccup. The shudder of his shoulders, the ache in his vocal cords.

“Let me deal with this by myself, alright?”

Who are you to disagree? Spoken seconds earlier, it isn’t your business nor your place shoving your nose into his life. 

Synonymously, you don’t blame him. Blame his irritation, his evasiveness.

Whatever this is with Felix runs deeper. It takes but a single glance to dictate that conclusion. Minho’s loss, his hurt. Bottled up feelings bubbling over in their soda can.

When so much of you is battered, you hide, hide in fear that everything will be ripped from your fingertips — that horrid feeling of helplessness; forging grief continuing to wrack you numb.

Minho distanced himself to protect himself, but most importantly to protect them. To protect his friends, to protect Felix.

And yet, he forgot to install a safety net around his own perimeter.

Jittering hands frantically reaching for his bike’s handlebars, and you spectate wordlessly as abundant tears streak down his cheeks the moment a glimpse of his face is seen, fingernails furiously digging into the aged rubber.

“Minho.”

The boy shakes his head, sniffling senselessly before you step forward and grab his collar, lightly yanking him up, redirecting once castaway focus staring down to the cracked pavement below.

“Minho.”

Just then you notice his watery eyes and the heartbreaking, trembling frown adorning his features. Stifling tears.

Thumb carefully tracing his waterline to rid of those beading tears, he leans into your hand, face breaking a bit.

“Just.. please don’t deal with this alone, okay?”

Looking into someone’s eyes had never made you feel like you were dying until now. How can a soul carry such heavy heartache? Grieve so tirelessly even the eyes form as a window?

So broken, so beautiful.

We’re all the same, are we not?

.

.

.

Ten minutes later, seated upon the playing field’s bleachers familiar to the last time you encountered Minho, a comfortable silence answers any of the unspoken questions lingering in afternoon skies.

The boy beside you, puffy eyes and swollen skin, quietly delights in an ice cream bar, your own held between your lips in contemplation before utilizing your thumb and index to speak for a moment.

“I mean, I may dance around in my room to music, but that doesn’t mean I don’t cry in the shower at night. I’m still human, y’know?” 

Curious feline eyes hang onto your words, enough of a beckon to go on.

“My days can be bright, my nights could be dark, there’s no limit to how you’re supposed to feel.”

Leaning forward, you tap his chest with your unoccupied hand.

“And there’s no need to try and reject something you want to feel. Otherwise, you suffocate.”

He tilts his head.

“It’s like.. hmm… if I hated the way I breathed—“

“You hate the way you breathe?” Minho interrupted, giving you an “are you stupid?” look you quickly shake your head at.

“No no, it’s an example,” You defend with a feigned scowl. “So if I hated the way I breathed, I can’t just hold my breath for too long or a pass out, right? You can’t let yourself get to a blackout point for the sake of others.”

The boy across from you sucks on the skin of his cheek, observing your extended pinkie before taking it in his own.

“Promise me you won’t get to that blackout point.” 

Another promise.

Chan, now Minho.

Expression knit thoughtfully, Minho gradually nods, pressing your thumbs together before cracking an amused grin.

“Y’know, that was well-said.”

You chuckle, smacking his shoulder playfully. “I know right? I’m proud of that one.”

Of course he rolls his eyes in return, but you can see the remnant of a smile in the lifted corners of his mouth, the soft, flushed skin of his under eyes crinkling when he grins.

Ah. He’s beautiful, isn’t he?

On July 31th, your summer school class officially makes a close, and you and eight other boys graduate. 

A miracle, maybe a fluke or some sort you made it out in one piece. A task proved possible after all—intentionally or unintentionally.

In the end, perhaps there wasn’t reason to stare at each sheet and pinpoint flaws.

No, Chris isn’t void of life. Hyunjin doesn’t have a superiority complex, and Jisung certainly isn’t senseless. Seungmin gets nervous ordering coffee and hasn’t participated in illegal activities a day in his life. Felix isn’t in an underground gang, and no one has stolen before. 

There’s too many sides to a cube, so most stick to 2D squares. The complexity is shrunk so it’s easier to digest. 

In the end, perhaps you forget it’s all so wondrous in a way, so intricate and raw. 3D. 

Right before you graduated, Hyunjin gave you a painting he made. ‘A thank you for motivating me to add art as my friend’ he had told you. 

Changbin still sleeps with his Snorlax plushie, and 3RACHA released their first album just yesterday. 

Han finally got his license, Seungmin and Jeongin attend Sejong University as freshman, and Felix sells baked goods on Sundays while interning at a local bakery.

Minho volunteers at an animal shelter on the far side of town, he also took up dancing again.

He and Felix began talking again too. 

In the end, perhaps it wasn’t a matter of you helping them, but for the all of you to understand that, in the grand scheme of things, you live on, just as you and Chan had promised.

There is no choice, no point, no break to the cycle. 

It hurts, it burns, it breaks. You glue yourself together, even when the pieces shatter over and over. Shards draw blood, but a glued glass can still be useful, can still be worthy. 

Bruised and battered, scraped and scorned, a connection lies within Stray Kids that sinks deeper than the anchor you planted in a sea of possibilty, a sea of what you thought was something one-sided, a sea you once believed you’d swim alone.

Maybe it’s discovery after discovery that keeps you close, or maybe it’s something deeper.

Nonetheless, your summer—a summer of hellish heartbreak and love reaping all bounds of repercussion—was one to remember.  

A summer solace, for what it’s worth. 

FIC TAGLIST. @kayleefriedchicken, @chaotic-world-of-the-j, @minhosbitterriver, @reignessance, @thatonexcgirl, @panbish-1209, @jeonginplsholdmyhand, @neviestayy, @stayinlimbo, @tenmii, @sunoosmainchick, @hannamoon143, @juliettacandy, @c0smicstxrs

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[koolades-world]

omg no bc whoever requested the getting talked over thats me fr it happens so often 😭😭 but id like to add onto that and request smthng that happens to me a lot

imagine the brothers with an mc that feels like theyre an npc? i know this is a bad way of saying it but i dont know how else to describe it. what i mean is when it seems like none of your peers or friends really like you because when you talk, people reapond dryly or just straight up dont say anything or even act like they heard you and you have to repeat yourself multiple times just to be noticed and you just feel like the most forgettable person of the group

if you dont wanna write this like super specific prompt i get it no pressure

have a nice day :3

hello!! so glad you enjoyed the other thing I wrote that much that you requested an extension(? is that the right word???)! I just hope I don't repeat myself haha

super specific requests are my bread and butter honestly! helps me get a better idea of what you want and there hasn't been something I can't do yet

hope you enjoy <3

Mc who's treated like an NPC by others

Lucifer

at first, he's kind of part of the problem

the exchange program is just a chore to him, so he finds it easier to brush over things you say

but once he grows closer to you, he feels guilty for all the times he ever ignored you or made you repeat yourself

because of this, he finds himself hanging onto every word you say, and makes all those around him go silent when you're speaking

Mammon

he's another one who also doesn't take you that seriously at first

after he gets to know you, he acts as your voice for you if others refuse to listen

he refuses to let others trample you like that

he apologizes to you for them and eventually makes everyone forgive you themselves

Levi

he feels like he's in the same boat and relates to some level

sometimes, he also feels like he's forgotten by everyone but he also feels sometimes he's part of the problem

when he's in his own gaming world, everything is background noise to him

if someone else does it to you, he works up the courage to comfort you and give you his best listening ear

Satan

he gets mad on your behalf and won't hesitate to correct everyone around you both

he refuses to let someone he cares so deeply for be treated like they don't exist

quick to snap and respond like a smartass but be so sweet to you in the same moment

wants to make you realize that you're not forgettable to him

Asmo

he liked you from the very beginning and disliked the way others let you blend into the background

the first time it happened, he politely cleared his throat and let you continue

the second time it happened, he was much less polite

refuses to let others respond dryly and ensures their conversation with you is genuine

Beel

has always been more on the quiet side and kept to himself so he didn't notice until you formed a real bond

if he notices someone mistreating you, he inserts himself into your conversation and forces the other person to be nicer

he wants to make sure that you know that he’s always paying attention to you, so his eyes are always on you

feels guilty even though it’s not something he can control so he often apologizes leading to many cute moments together

Belphie

has a 6th sense that activates when someone is pretending you’re not there and such

if he’s present, even if he’s asleep, he turns to them on a dime and stares them down until they realize what he wants. he will wait as long as he needs

if he’s not present, he’ll be paying them a visit in their sleep!

you notice his demeanor change when it happens, and he gets noticeable sweeter <3 expect gifts and kisses

[itsgrimeytime]

he's such a pretty liar || Rick Grimes (TWD) × gn!reader

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz @deadgirlrin

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Dialogue Prompts: 8 + 2

Inspiration: my boy by Billie Eilish

Summary: You and Rick had gotten along at some point, at the farm and prison. You were friends even. Until the Governor killed Hershel, which you believed to be perfectly preventable. Because of his inaction then, you'd gotten a bitter taste in your mouth at the thought of him and eventually, he started to reciprocate the behavior. But as time passes, and you experience more and more with him, is it really hate that you feel?

TWs: enemies to lovers (like fr though), yelling, mentions of death (Shane, Lori, Beth, and Hershel), mention of the Claimers scene, cursing, anger, nosebleed, bruising, love confessions, injuries, blood, and all things TWD.

[[A/N: This is based on Carl being mad at Rick after the prison. Rick do be stressed out, and he do be saying some terrible stuff, but like so are you. This gif is so 🫣💞🤭💞🤪. Anyway, enjoy :))) ]]

You weren't a bad person, and in that regard, you wouldn't say Rick was either. Honestly, you respected him as a leader -you just didn't agree with all his choices. That's where it all started, after all, isn't it?

You'd seen what a wrong choice could do, you'd watched Hershel die right in front of your eyes. You'd seen it all.

And, sure, maybe you were grieving a little but you still largely disagreed with Rick's actions on the matter. It was preventable.

It started there, and only really got worse. It was like once you identified one flaw, suddenly you were second-guessing his every move. The two of you couldn't be in a room without arguing, couldn't be put on shifts together, nothing. Daryl, for one, wouldn't let you be alone together at all. And if it wasn't him, it was someone else.

"Rick, seriously," you spoke once, almost sternly, "-that can't be your decision."

"Why?" he responded -pointed and short, "-Ya got a better idea? Go right fuckin' ahead."

You knew that since the prison, Rick had been strung thin. You knew that he had been harder on himself than you could ever be about Hershel. But, you still were angry. Sometimes, sometimes it felt like maybe he was just a target for everything that you'd been through. And you were trying to change your behavior, change your ways.

You'd known him for so long, and you were going to be stuck with him. The group, even though the two of you weren't on the best terms, was like family to you.

And then, it started getting personal.

This argument stemmed from something small, trivial, you can't even remember it now. Maybe a decision on a run? You can't-

"Ya act like ya ain't made mistakes of your own," he added, "-all high and damn mighty-"

"When did I say that?" You interrupted, more cold than anything, "-You're putting words in my mouth, Grimes."

"-Because I seem to remember ya tellin' me about your family," he continued, not even pausing to listen to you.

You stilled in place.

"Rick," you warned (voice slightly shaking), "-don't... don't go there."

Your family. At the beginning of all this, you'd froze -scared. Watched one of them get bitten, and then everyone just followed after -not willing to grieve. You regretted not being quicker, not being more aware, but you weren't used to it. You weren't-

"Ya fucked up," Rick continued, as if he wasn't bringing up what he was, "-We all do, why do you-"

"No, no," you shook your head, voice shaking, "-Rick, that is not fair. You can't bring up my family-"

You had hated yourself for that, hated yourself. Still did. You would never forgive yourself for not saving them, even though you really didn't have an idea how to then, you should have-

God, he was bringing this up? Really?

"-over a goddamn run strategy."

"Well, you pick apart every damn thing I do," he retorted, "-'Thought I'd do the same for once."

"Oh, fuck you, Rick," you seethed, tears burning the backs of your eyes, "-you want me to poke at your wounds? Talk about who you could've saved?"

He pursed his lips, and you saw something flash through his eyes (they were trailing the now shake of your hands) that looked a little like regret. Like maybe he was understanding what he said. You felt like your skin was on fire.

"Do you want me to start from the beginning?" You tsked, a fire burning in your chest, "-Shane? Or maybe Lori? Beth? Hershel-"

"Stop," he stated, quieter than before.

"-Why, Rick?" you hissed, and you felt the tears now, "-Is this not what we're talking about? Oh, do you not want me to bring that up? Over a run?"

"I get it," he spoke, softer, and something in you sharpened, "-I get it, Y/N."

"Do you?" you responded, frustrated and just... angry, "-Do you, Rick?"

"I shouldn't 'ave-"

"Can it," you interrupted -short, "-Let's just get the fucking supplies and go."

Rick frowned, blue eyes far more emotive (all you could see was regret and pity), "Y/N, I didn't-"

"You didn't what?" You countered, and your voice was cracking, "-You didn't mean to bring up the fact that I watched my family die, right in front of me? Do you think that I don't hate myself every day for not doing anything then?"

Rick didn't say a word.

"-Hate to break it to you, sheriff, but I fucking do."

"Y/N..." he trailed off, blue eyes much calmer, the rage from before dissipating out of his voice.

"No, just-" you cleared your throat, wiping mindlessly at your frustratingly red eyes, "-Let's get this shit done and leave."

From then on, it had been much deeper.

You couldn't stand him, you hadn't been alone with him since. He made your skin crawl and your mind flare up in anger, and sometimes, just sometimes, it would shake your respect for him. Because you did have some, you probably wouldn't even be here, if you didn't.

The funny thing about it all was that you were close to Carl, very close to him. At the prison, after Lori's death, you'd nearly been inseparable. It was kind of like a parent relationship, but at the same time a little like a friend. It made you want to reconcile sometimes, but all you and Rick did was clash.

So much that you started to wonder what a normal conversation was like with him.

And then, you had the run-in with the Claimers.

God, what they'd threatened to do to Carl? You personally would've snapped their spine yourself if you had the chance. But what Rick had done? You couldn't imagine it yourself.

But you knew that he did what he had to. And some part of you wanted to tell him that, despite... despite all of your problems, you knew he needed it.

It was late that night when you decided to talk to him. It was just the two of you awake. You, on purpose, and you just knew Rick would be. Doing that was probably still rattling through his skull, he probably couldn't even close his eyes without-

Your steps were slow and careful, trying not to startle him -he just seemed to be staring. Endlessly staring, and just pacing. Despite it all, you felt something in your chest swirl with worry.

"Rick?" you spoke, gently. Even still, you saw his whole body tense up.

"Please," he muttered, voice low and gravelly -blue eyes heavy on you, "-I don't need your shit right now. I kno' 'at I did somethin' bad, really damn bad. But I just can't deal wit' ya-"

"No, Rick," you interrupted, "-that's not why I'm... That's not what I want to say."

"What do ya want to say, then?"

"You made the right decision," you responded, tone sturdy and unmoving, "-you... you did what you had to."

Rick stilled, something flickering through his face -a flutter of emotions.

"I know, we aren't on the best terms, but-" you rolled your lip around your teeth, "-you're not a monster, Rick."

The silence was loud then, as his blue eyes skimmed over you -carefully. Maybe like he was seeing a new you, or maybe an old one he'd forgotten about. One you'd forgotten about.

"Trust me, I know it feels like it," you added (mind flashing with what you'd done over the years), "-but you did what you had to. You saved your son, and that's all that matters."

He didn't say anything for a moment, trying to process your words. And if you really looked, you might've seen his eyes fogging up a little and the slight drop of tension in his shoulders. A little like he was waiting for someone to tell him that.

And then, he replied, "Thank ya."

You pursed your lips a moment, fidgeting with your hands. You weren't sure what else to say. This was all so new. With a succinct nod, you moved to spin on your heel and lay down for the night.

"Wait," he called, and you turned back to him -eyes inquisitive.

There was a beat.

"-'At day, on the run," he continued, slow and regretful, "-I'm... I'm sorry. I never should 'ave said somethin' like 'at. I never should 'ave brought it up at all. 'Wasn't right of me to."

"Thanks, Rick," you responded, brief but genuine, grateful. You could tell he understood.

Before you could fully turn around though, he added -softer, with something you couldn't quite name, "Goodnight, Y/N."

There was a pleasant hum in your mind at the way he said your name, but you shoved it away. You'd locked all of that far away, a long time ago.

"Night, Grimes," you chimed back, lighter in tone.

He smiled at you then, and something in you gleamed a little from it. Not that you would ever say it out loud.

There was something different after that, a sort of trust or respect. Or maybe something else, you didn't really know. It was there, though.

When you found Alexandria, things shifted a little. Mostly because it was your group against another one, you and Rick were profoundly on the same side. That being said, you still clashed. You weren't sure if it was just the authority of it all, or what? (It might've had a little to do with a blonde wife that he was spending some time with, but you'd never say that out loud.)

"You're seriously not going to let me lead the run?"

"I got Daryl on it," he responded, eyes solely sat on you.

"He's been on all the runs lately," you continued, trying to explain your case, "-Shouldn't this shit be evenly distributed? Have you even talked to Daryl about what he wants? Or are you just assigning us like it's some dictatorship-"

"'Course I damn talked to 'im," he snapped back, and you could see something tired in his eyes, "-everybody gets a say in what 'ey're doin', ya know 'at."

"Except for me," you contradicted, "-you keep giving me the same fucking chores, when I'm useful in other places-"

And he was, he kept you in Alexandria -washing clothes, making dinner, keeping an eye on the people. He made you some kind of mediator between Deanna's people and your own. But you were useful, you shouldn't be locked inside like you couldn't handle yourself. Because you could, and you had before.

"-You know, I scavenged for months before I met you, right? I was alone, and I figured it out."

"I know 'at," he confirmed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You could nearly see the stress radiating off him, but you couldn't stop, not then.

"So, so what-" you asked, "-you don't trust me? You don't think I can do it?"

Rick sighed, big and loud -fully facing you, "It ain't 'at, Y/N. I know ya can handle yourself, I've seen it."

"Then, what is the problem, Grimes? I don't get it-"

"Just take the goddamn next run," he groaned, something in his tone broken (and something a little like guilt curled up in your stomach), "-I'll tell Daryl he's switchin'."

You stopped in place, words faltering off your lips. Your will and the fire in your gut extinguished, you suddenly felt very out of place, and a little like the bad guy. You knew you weren't though, but he just looked so tired-

"Okay," you finally responded, a little dumbfounded, "-thanks."

He nodded in your direction and didn't say a word. You took it as a motion to move along, so you did.

Apparently, he might've had a good reason to worry.

It wasn't that first run, or even the second or third, it was the fourth after that conversation that you were stupid. Well, it really wasn't your fault. You thought someone had your back, and they didn't; so, one of the walkers had clawed pretty deep into your arm.

It was bleeding a lot (maybe too much) and probably needed stitches, but you didn't worry about it. Denise could handle it, and you, as a community, were pretty good on medical supplies at this point.

What you didn't expect, was after Denise patched you up for one Rick Grimes to be on your ass.

You were still sitting in her doctor's space (you had no idea what to call it) then, silently trailing your fingers over the bandaging. You could already see some of the blood through the white of it. It made you a little nervous, you won't lie.

And then, the door swung open.

At first, you nearly grabbed for the knife you hid on you -alarmed, assuming it was someone coming to hurt you. Instead, you were met with one Rick Grimes -his face was all scrunched up in that way he always got when he was frustrated.

If there was one thing you could recognize, it was that.

"Rick?" you questioned -carefully, a little shocked by him bursting into the room. Did you do something to him recently?

"'At's why ya can't go on fuckin' runs," he grumbled out -suddenly so angry, it made your head spin.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "What?"

"You're always makin' damn bad decisions," he continued, and something in you bristled. Your defenses were up in an instant.

"What the fuck, Rick?" you countered, "-You don't even know what happened, how the hell do you know it's on me?"

"You're injured," he clarified, a little like he was talking to himself, "-ya made a stupid mistake-"

"How the hell do you know that?" you hissed, "-Do you just think everything that goes wrong has to be my fucking fault, Grimes?"

"-and you're damn hurt."

There was something there in his tone, something different. Your frustration twisted into a little bit of curiosity. What was that?

"I can’t leave ya alone for one second without ya hurting yourself, can I?" He started up again, and it was there again, angry but also... but also-

Your eyes swam over him, and you recognized it then, worry. He was worried about you, you felt something in you stall. It was so different from what you knew from him-

"I mean," you responded, a little awkwardly -unsure (since when did he care so much?), "-I’m fine so it’s okay-"

"No, it’s not okay," he suddenly shot his eyes to you, blue eyes heavy with worry (so much, it shot to your core), "-Not when I feel like I’m goin' to go batshit fuckin' crazy, thinkin' you’ve hurt yourself."

It was silent for a moment, as your mind processed the words. Skimming along his face, as he seemed to do the same -frustration dissipating along his features.

That... That was new.

"It's just some scratches," you spoke -a little lost, you weren't sure exactly what to say. He cared about you that much? Thought about you that much?

Rick's eyes darted to the bandages, which were just about as dark as before -which was just a little, the stitches seemed to stop it mostly. Something in him relaxed, you could tell in his shoulders -the drop of the tension. You couldn't believe that was because of you. When-

"Ya had to get stitches, yeah?" He spoke, suddenly and a bit awkwardly too (like he wasn't sure what to do).

"I did," you confirmed, just looking and something in you felt like you needed to tell him more, so you did, "-Uh, five in one, and three in the other."

He pursed his lips (like he was debating something), before shattering out a breath, "Can I see it?"

"It's already wrapped up," you responded, blankly -you were running a little on autopilot, "-She already-"

"Denise can rewrap it," he offered, stepping closer. Something in your stomach stirred.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "You want to waste medical supplies, just so you can see my wound?"

Rick's lips pressed into a thin line, something in him firing back up, "I'll replace the supplies my damn self, if I 'ave to, just let me see."

You couldn't really say anything, it felt like all the words had washed from your head. Like you couldn't speak if your life was on the line.

He faltered a second, sighing, and his eyes shifted to something softer (a little like pleading), "I... I need to see if ya are alright."

You felt like you were stone -frozen.

"Please."

Your heart lept into your throat (and you let your mind drift somewhere you'd never let it before), "Yeah, okay."

That started the shift.

And he started checking over you after every run, you thought it would've been annoying but... you got used to it. And something in you liked helping him calm down, although you'd never say it out loud.

Things were a little different. You clashed but it wasn't as fiery anymore. Because you knew he cared about you, and somewhere you could acknowledge you cared about him. (More than you'd ever admit.)

This time it wasn't even Rick you were arguing with. It was someone originally from Alexandria. You couldn't even remember their name, but they'd said something about you and you let it slide. But then, they kept going.

"You made a shit call," the guy remarked, sauntering up to your side.

You were a little startled, but you stayed composed, "What are you talking about?"

"We could've gotten more supplies," he continued, "-that gun store was right there, and you called the whole fucking thing off."

You soured -something steeling in your gut, "You mean the one that was swarmed? Hate to break it to you, but we were outnumbered."

"We could've done it," he added -persistent, something frustrated in his tone, "-we had the manpower."

"Are you serious?" you laughed a little incredulously, "-There were three of us, and about 30, 40 maybe, walkers. That is-"

"Maybe you couldn't have done it," he tsked, lips falling in a flat line.

You flexed your jaw, trying to stay composed, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're a sorry fucking excuse for a lead," he gritted through his teeth, "-You don't know shit about-"

"Next time, just go right ahead and do it yourself then," you shot back but stayed still in your space (composed, composed, composed), "-and I don't know about you, but I value life more than something we already fucking have-"

"It's ammunition," he seethed, stepping much closer to you -something sparking behind his eyes, "-Don't know if you fucking know this, but it's pretty damn important to survival-"

"No," you disagreed, voice calm and collected, "-it's not. You don't need to walk into a situation that you can't handle-"

Without warning, a fist flew at your face -right at the nose.

"Shit," you hissed, and you felt the thrum of pain under your skin and could almost immediately taste the coppery taste of blood, "-What the fuck? Why did you-"

"What the hell is goin' on 'ere?"

It was Rick, and his tone was something you'd only heard a few times -blue eyes flickering over you. They held onto your, now bleeding, nose which you were now trying to soothe, and something in his jaw tightened.

The guy was the first one to speak, mostly because you were trying to stop the bleeding. Luckily, Maggie rushed up to your side with paper towels -doing her best to help too.

"They made a mistake on the run-"

Rick didn't let him get far, "So, you punched 'em in the damn face?"

"Well," the guy fell quieter, "-we were arguing-"

Maggie snapped back, shifting her focus for a moment, "You were arguin'."

"No-"

"They were just trying to talk some sense into ya," she continued, tone cold, "-You were the one who took it personally-"

Rick put a hand on her shoulder, eyes flickering toward you -something swimming through them that you recognized from a different day, and Maggie took the notion to stop talking. She turned back to you, and gently guided you to tilt your head forward. On instinct, you pinched your nostrils shut -breathing out of your mouth.

"Even if it was a fuckin' argument," Rick tsked, something cold in his tone, "-there's no damn reason to do 'at. They weren't gettin' violent with ya-"

"How do you know that?"

"Because I kno' 'em," he retorted, "-an' if 'ey got their hands on ya, you wouldn't be standin' in front of me."

You laughed a little and could feel his eyes shoot to you for a second. It made something in your chest flutter, something you were trying desperately to ignore.

"We need to get ya some ice," Maggie spoke, mostly to herself, "-It's already bruisin' up pretty bad."

"'S leave 'is for another day," Rick seemed to exit the conversation with the man, tone unshakable, "-but if I 'ear anythin' else from ya, 'ere's gonna be a problem. Ya got 'at?"

You could almost visually see the way Rick shifted as he made his way over to you. Composure slipping into something more worried, eyebrows furrowing and eyes shining in an entirely different way. Like he couldn't help it, his hands frantically found themselves along your shoulders. It made your skin buzz a little, and made you feel a little woozy. Well, you guessed there could be more than one reason for that.

On that note, you stumbled in place a little, and Rick's hands immediately slid to your sides -stabilizing you. Your heart skipped a beat, stupid fucking handsome men with big fucking hands.

"'Ey, can ya bring a chair over 'ere, please?"

Before you could so much as blink, he was pushing you into it -gently, mind you. Ever-so-gently. And almost on instinct, he fell onto one knee in front of you, trying to hold your eye contact with your head slightly forward, you guessed. His eyes were the same as that day, but there was something else there too, something fuzzier.

"Maggie, ya go get the ice," he turned to her, "-I'll stay with 'em."

She seemed to scamper off because you could tell it was just the two of you. Maybe he'd warded off everyone else, Rick had this... aura to him when he wanted to -a dangerous one. Sometimes you thought it was to balance out his natural nature as a leader.

Quietly, you heard Rick tear off another paper towel and gently wipe at your mouth (where you imagined blood was staining at this point). It was strangely intimate, as you just skimmed over his face.

He was entirely focused on the task, so your eyes roamed along the creases along his face, the blue of his eyes, the sharp line of his nose, the little curls that peeked behind his ears-

You blinked, clearing your thoughts. He was always handsome, you knew that.

"What even is that dick's name?" you questioned, testing to see if your nose had stopped bleeding as much. It had.

Rick smiled a little, looking up at your eyes from where he was focused before (he seemed to be done), "I 'ave no fuckin' clue."

You laughed at that, and if you were honest with yourself thought you saw something shoot through his eyes. Something warm. You ignored it.

"'S hurt?" he spoke, softer.

You responded, simply, "I've had worse."

Rick smiled a little at that, but fell into something more serious, "So, yeah?"

"Like a bitch," you admitted, and he let out a low sort of chuckle.

It made something in you relax, something warm lighting up in your chest. You let yourself feel it this time, just once.

"Just so ya know," he interrupted your thought process, "-'at ain't happenin' again."

You frowned, furrowing your eyebrows -warmth dissipating, "Are you- Are you chastising me right now?"

"No," he quickly responded, but didn't explain further, "-'M just tellin' ya I ain't lettin' it happen again."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Rick paused a second, ripping another paper towel off and dabbing at your nose. It was probably still bleeding a little bit.

You just watched him, waiting for an explanation. Even though, you weren't entirely sure he was going to give you one.

"Anyone touches ya, says anythin' to ya, so much as looks at ya the wrong way-" he listed, tone deadly serious (it shook through your skull), "-ya come get me, and I’ll set 'em straight. Understand?"

Your mouth moved before you could stop it, "What?"

"I'll handle it," he repeated, pulling away the paper towel and locking eyes with yours, "-It ain't happenin' again."

"Rick," you laughed -incredulously, and maybe a little defensive, "-I don't need a fucking guard dog. I can handle myself."

"'Didn’t say 'at," he hummed, carefully, eyes skimming along your face -a little like he was in wonder (it made your head spin a second), "-'S for me, not ya."

"How does that-"

"If 'ey're fuckin' with ya, 'ey're fuckin' with me," he interrupted, eyes so solid that you couldn't really look away, "-you can handle it how ya want, but Imma 'ave some choice words of my own. So, send 'em my way too."

The words faltered in your throat, something swirling around your heart. He was just so-

The coppery taste again.

You shriveled up your nose in disgust, and Rick laughed at it (something gleaming in his eye), as you reacted -spitting the taste out into the dirt.

"Yeah, keep laughing, Grimes," you tsked, but there was no bite, not really. Not like there used to be, "-I'll beat the shit out of you."

"'Ere's no doubt in my mind," he retorted back, smiling in a way that crinkled at the eyes. You thought for a spare second it was a beautiful one, that maybe he was beautiful.

After that day, you'd say that everything was a little confusing.

These feelings towards Rick were far from new, very far. They'd always kind of been in the very back of your mind. Part of you was actually pretty sure that hating him had in some way distanced you from what you felt otherwise. Now, that is to say, you had definitely hated him at one point. That just didn't mean that it erased the... other thing.

You and Rick were off-kilter. Or at least you were. You guessed you couldn't say anything about him, he was very much a mystery to you at this point.

He just kept doing things. Like the scratch and nosebleed. And every time he'd smile at you a bit warmer, say something you couldn't really avoid. Not anymore. (And you weren't sure you wanted to avoid, honestly.)

And he'd looked at you a lot more, searched you out (when before you used to shun each other, avoid each other), and just smiled at you sometimes for no reason. The thing was you didn't mind it. You wanted him to. Because you... because it was all different.

You were confused, but you weren't going to be the one to encroach on it. It all felt so surreal, that one day something would happen and you'd just snap right back into place -just like before. To be fair, you still argued. But, it was moreso bickering now. And even if it wasn't, before you could get as heated as you used to, you compromised -easily.

You slotted together perfectly and bounced off each other with ease. Hell, he started coming to you about running Alexandria, about problems he couldn't quite get. And the two of you would talk until you worked out a solution. Because you always did.

It made no sense why you'd even clashed in the first place.

You were confused, beyond confused. And you wanted things, wanted to ask things, but they seemed dangerous. Far away-

That brought you here, on a night when you couldn't sleep. Which were more frequent nowadays, if you were completely honest. This whole situation made your mind run for a lot of different reasons, and when it wasn't that, it was nightmares. Alexandria was safe, you knew that, but it didn't necessarily stop your fight or flight -the urge to constantly be on edge, protect.

So, sometimes you sat here on the steps of your porch in the night -the chill and silence of it soothed you. It wouldn't always get you back to sleep, but it would make you feel better. Remind yourself that you're breathing. That you're alive.

You exhaled, trailing your finger along the wood of the railing beside you -absorbing the low buzz of bugs in the air and the strangely familiar groans of walkers outside the walls. It was kinda fucked up that it calmed you down, but you gave yourself a pass.

"Funny seein' ya 'ere."

Your eyes shot up and latched onto his.

The Grimes house was just a couple of houses down, diagonal to yours. So, you could see him, but not entirely clearly.

He was leaning on the porch railing, you could see the sleeves of his jacket against the starch white, and his hair seemed a little messy -your eyes trailed over a particular curl. It was hanging slightly down in front of his face. (You got the urge to fix it, comb it back into place.)

"'Could say the same to you, Grimes," you replied.

You saw him smile, dropping his head to look at the ground. It made something in your chest flutter. But, before you could say anything else, he was stepping down from his porch and making his way to you.

As he got closer you recognized that he was in pajamas with just a jacket thrown over.

He stood just at the bottom of the stairs, leaning onto the railing slightly and just looking at you. Like he always did these days. With worry and... something else.

"Nightmare?" he questioned, genuinely.

You rolled your lip around your teeth, deciding to say, "Kind of."

Rick's lips pressed into a frown, eyes glazing along your face (you didn't look back at him), "Can I sit?"

You were wordless, but moved slightly to the left (despite not really needing to) as unspoken acceptance. He stared at you for a second longer, before slowly but surely making his way to the steps. He sat closer to you than you thought he would've, but it was almost in character of him to do something that surprises you so.

"Ya cold?"

On cue, you shivered slightly, "I've had worse."

Rick let out a low sigh (he knew you well now), nudging off his jacket and hanging it squarely on your shoulders without hesitation. His eyes trailed over you wearing it for a moment, a small look in his eyes that you couldn't name. All shiny as his lips quirked up just a smidgen.

"You don't have to do that," you objected, but it was quiet and weak.

"I want to," he replied, simply.

You couldn't argue with that. Hell, you didn't think you could argue with him anymore-

Rick interrupted the thought, eyebrows furrowed in that kind of way you knew to be worried, "What do ya mean 'kinda'?"

You took a second, staring out into the night -listening to the silence.

"My mind won't stop," you clarified, "-sometimes it's... things I've done, and other times it's... things that I just can't seem to figure out."

"What's it today?"

You pursed your lips a minute, before answering, "Something I can't figure out."

He stared at you, blue eyes flickering along your face in a hazy sort of way. It made something unfurl in your chest that you'd tried to keep shoved down, "Is 'ere anythin' I can do to help?"

You ran the idea through your head a few times, and let your eyes match him a few more. You aren't entirely sure why, but talking to Rick fel a little like he'd never judge you. Even though he had before, it was... it was now. Things were very different.

"Can I ask you a question?" you spoke, then, deflecting a little.

"Shoot," he responded, almost instantly. ( A little like he'd do anything you'd ask.)

"What happened to us?"

Rick's eyebrows furrowed, and you took it as a motion to keep talking, to explain. So, you did.

"We used to-" you dropped your hands on your lap, and stared out into the Alexandrian streets, "-We used to scream at each other until our faces turned red. We couldn't stand each other, and now..."

"'At ain't a good thing?" he questioned, something in his tone a little disappointed (it made your head swirl a little), "-'At it changed, I mean."

"It is," you reassured, facing him a second, "-but I just... Isn't it confusing?"

Rick stayed silent a second, eyes smoothing along your face. Just looking, like maybe he thought you were beautiful (just like you did on that day), or maybe like he never wanted to forget what you looked like.

"No."

You pressed your lips together.

"Don't get me wrong," he clarified with a smile, "-I hated ya once, a long time ago. But 'is? Now? It makes sense."

You asked before you could think about it, "What is 'this'?"

He just stared at you a second, something flickering through his eyes, careful and considerate. Something warm. The warmth you kept seeing now, the one you tried to avoid.

"You," he answered, vaguely, "-Us."

"What does that mean?" you asked, your confusion was ever-so-clear. This was all things you didn't understand.

He didn't say anything, as you stared out into the streets -watching some of the porch lights flicker. The night sky was still dark, so you weren't really worried about the hour.

And then, you felt calloused fingers on your chin -guiding you back to his eyes. The thoughts cleared out of your head.

"Y/N, you drive me fuckin' crazy," he laughed a little, and you felt your eyebrows furrow, "-not just in a frustratin' sorta way. You... I worry about ya like crazy, I think of ya like crazy... I care 'bout ya like crazy-"

Your heart skipped a beat.

"-an' I... I love ya like crazy."

Your lips felt stitched shut, as he just smiled at you -something in his eyes that you could see now. You could identify.

"Ya poke and prod at me until I'm reelin', yeah, but-" he pressed his lips together, eyes shimmering across your face, "-I wouldn't 'ave it any other fuckin' way. An' I mean 'at. I just... I'm not me without ya annoyin' the shit out of me. Without ya callin' me out on my shit."

You laughed, something burning the backs of your eyes, "I am the only one who would do that, huh?"

"Ya are," he grinned at you, and you felt something in your chest squeeze tight.

It felt clear then, abundantly clear.

"I love you too, Grimes."

He grinned, the big kind that crinkled at the eyes, "Thought so."

You rolled your eyes, with no bite, "Oh shut up, sheriff. I could still kick your ass, and you would deserve it."

He laughed, the genuine kind -hand coming to cradle your cheek, "Still, don't doubt it, sweetheart."

You smiled, and noticed just how close the two of you were. He only seemed to be roaming closer, and it made your heartbeat pick up in your chest a little. Before you could stop it, your eyes dipped down to his lips.

He grinned again, the kind that rattle down to your core, all handsome and shiny white teeth. And then, he started moving closer, his own eyes dipping to your lips.

"Ya kno', I can think of a way to get me to shut up."

"Can you?" you teased, quiet between the two of you.

He just hummed, distracted. It made something in your stomach stir.

"I am pretty desperate for you to," you remarked -playfully.

Rick busted into laughter, a loud kind that you barely ever heard from him. It made something in your chest shimmer, proud. You kind of wanted to hear that forever. And now, maybe you could.

The thought made you grin, as you leaned forward, impatiently, and connected your lips to his. It was just a press of lips, but you did feel him lean into it. Before you could get far, he laughed even more, breaking off the kiss, and it made you laugh.

"'Course ya can't wait for one second," he chuckled -playfully, "-You've always been so damn impatient."

"Oh, fuck you, Grimes," you laughed into the night, "-You're lucky I don't-"

And this time, he shut you up.

[sehodreams]

Forgiving others is easy, forgiving yourself not that much

Summary: Anton tried to take care of you in an unconventional way, putting you first into a helpless position. However, what he should've expected is for you to realize his intentions and to ruin his plans, but did you really ruin them at the end?

TW and tags: porn with plot (?), kind of dubcon (he tried to get her drunk but ends being the drunk one), all consentual at the end, pinning (from Anton), mentions of bullying at work place, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, no protection, tries of forced drinking, jealous Anton, kind of stalker!Anton, dark-ish, don't know how to decribe.

WC: 5.1k

Comment: to be honest I tried to write a porn without plot but it came out kind of weird, it changed so much while I wrote it I don't know what the hell happened in the process, but it's still most porn than story. I haven't posted anything lately because I write and delete them, but i finished this one so let's be happy I didn't toss it aside. Kind of dark so if you don't like this kind of content PLEASE JUST DON'T READ.

"Please, let me see your boobs, please" he was asking but he couldn't even wait for you to answer before his hand played with the fabric of your blouse trying to take it out of your tight skirt, you thought about just letting him have what he wanted, but did he deserve it? Not really.

He had tried to get you drunk at the dinner you had moments ago and had ended being the drunk one, so pathetic you couldn't help but dryly laugh out of second-hand embarrassment.

It was a team dinner so you couldn't reject the invitation, and the way he kept pouring and pouring shots of alcohol and passed them to you was suspicious, so you kept accepting them in front of everyone but tossing them to the plant next to you at the end of the table when he didn't stare at you with those wide expectant eyes. To everyone it looked like a cute hoobae trying to humor his superior, you were in charge of him because no one else wanted the heavy task of teaching the intern, and he reminded you of your first days there, inexperienced and scared, so you accepted him with grace and treated him with the care and a patience you wished you had received when you started.

At first you found it difficult to guide someone, you were used to always being alone, even with difficult tasks, but he made it bearable, always accepting advice from you, never questioning your decisions, and following your steps like a new born baby duck, and you found kind of endearing how he always made sure to stay and say thank you at the end of the day doesn’t matter how hard it was. Still, you couldn't deny how at the same time you always perceived a weird vibe from him, your eyes met his when you felt observed and he somehow knew when you needed something, if you were craving something sweet he miraculously bought extra dessert, if you murmured around how you wanted a coffee he would appear with your cup in seconds and if in the middle of a call you wanted to write something down he would gladly give you a page of his work at hand. He sometimes frightened you, but not in a bad way, so you tried to think he was just a young boy doing his best, however now that you confirmed he was human trash, you were disappointed in how you had wasted so much of your time into someone like him.

It was so sad, he was a sweet young boy just starting his first corporate job and he had so much potential, he always listened to you and offered his help with whatever you were doing, yes he was a bit awkward and shy, sometimes not daring to look directly at you in the eyes when you talked to him or stuttering when you surprised him with a question, but he still seemed honest and like a good kid, so you never expected him to try such a dirty move like that one, trying to get a girl drunk to do god knows what to her? You never punished him when he made a mistake at work, but right now you weren't at work, and he completely deserved it.

"Why should I?" You asked, slapping his hand away from you.

His cheeks were flushed and he was slurring his words, not even addressing you properly like his senior, forgetting the formalities and his usual self, he maintained eye contact as much as he could, trying to defy you for denying his wish. He did it until he realized you wouldn't break down under his gaze, even if he was bigger and stronger, you weren't scared of him at all, he could easily hurt you with his hands, he could push you to the floor right there in his apartment entrance and take you how he wanted, but you knew he wouldn't, how could the boy that always treated you like a goddess suddenly treat you like a mere mortal being? In the office he would follow you and take anything you had on your hands, like stacks of papers, boxes or even insignificant stuff like coffee cups, saying how he should carry them instead, if you said you were thirsty he would run to get a cold bottle of water from the vending machine, and when you tried to pay him back he would never accept it, "how could I? sunbaenim, I already owe you so much", he served you to the point you were sure that if you asked him, he would drop to his knees and pray your name every morning before work.

Perhaps that's why even when he tried to do such a sick thing, something so despicable that should definitely scare you away enough to not talk to him ever again, much deserving of a report to headquarters, after all the memories of you two together ran through your mind, you were there with him, in his house, letting him talk to you as if you were equals after helping him arrive safely to his house.

After some time his eyes went to the floor, he was moving from side to side, too intoxicated to keep his position, and when he almost tripped over his own feet, you grabbed his hands with yours, helping him stay still, pulling him slightly closer to you.

You can't deny that for a moment you were hesitant, even if he didn't, the possibility of him forcing himself on you was there, you thought a lot about it when you called the cab to his house after almost everyone had left when you went to the bathroom. You don't know if they tried to take him too and leave you alone in the restaurant, it wouldn't be the first time, but he had stayed to wait for you and take care of the bill with your boss credit card, only smiling at your direction when you asked him where everyone was, "don't know, but I'm here for you".

You could've left him in the cab and go home, all your instincts screamed to do that, that he was dangerous, he had obviously tried to put you in disadvantage to get something from you, the quantity of alcohol he had tried to force on you was almost unhealthy, and he did everything with his innocent face, fooling everyone except you.

However, the worst part was that he had been so obvious with his intentions you knew deep down that he had never done something like that before, you just had to look at his reddish cheeks and his dumb grin, his hand holding yours and stopping you from leaving him alone in the cab, to move that soft spot you had for him after taking him under your wing all those weeks.

You don't know why you wanted to go with him, even with that thrilled sensation of him maybe hurting you, you wanted to go, your mind too curious of what would happen for your body to listen any coherent thought about leaving.

"Sunbaenim, come with me, I'll take you home" he said not even looking at you, eyes closed and his hand holding tight yours. The driver looked behind for a second, if the roles were reversed, you were sure he'd have called the cops the minute you hoped in, but when he saw you, a soft girl with a serious expression looking out for her intoxicated coworker, he didn't care anymore.

"Please make sure he doesn't throw up inside" was the only thing he said and then drove in complete silence until you arrived to his building. When you paid the driver didn't look at you twice before he left you behind with the tall boy hugging your side and smelling your hair, you saw the yellow color of the cab far away and thought one last time to leave him and go home, but he was so happy next to you, giggling whenever your eyes met his, that you decided to see what were his intentions. After all, they said drunk people and kids never lied.

"Tell me the truth, what did you plan to do to me? And don't you dare lie Lee Chanyoung" you looked up to him, finding his eyes under the limp lights of his place. The shadow of the light above him made his face darker, his fingers played with yours and before he could talk, he stumbled over one of the numerous pairs of shoes on the floor, pushing you to the wall behind you with his whole body but not letting the impact affect you, quickly putting a hand behind your head and the other on your waist.

Almost embracing you, he stayed there, and closing his eyes, his nose breathed in the aroma of your hair again, "I-I wanted... I just wanted to take care of you, I wasn't gonna do anything, I just wanted you to depend on me once" he confessed in a whisper, but you couldn't believe him, just take care of you? How could he even try to put you in such helpless position? What if his or anyone else’s intentions were different? He couldn't even stop himself now, pressing your body with his and taking in all the sensations he could steal from you without taking off your clothes.

You tried to push him away but he was too heavy for you, so you only pressed your hands on his shoulders, almost clawing your fingers over the navy knitted cardigan he started to wear after you said it was your favorite color by mistake, "I can't believe you Anton, and why like this? Why couldn't you do it differently? Why would you want to do such a cheap move? You have no idea in what danger you could’ve put me through."

When you said his name some of his senses came back to him, he left a few inches of space between you two and a sad frown appeared on his pretty face, bringing the boy you used to know back, showing how sorry he was for overstepping into your precious space.

"I-I don't know, I just wanted to show you that you also can lean on me, I thought that it was impossible for you to let me get closer, you never let anyone learn more about you, you push everyone away and only talk about work stuff... I know I don't deserve you, but I wanted you, I want you, I want you all for me and I want to be the only one for you, I didn't know what else to do."

His tears started to drop one by one while he talked, his hand searching for you again but not daring to touch you afraid of disgusting you more after showing how wretched he really was.

You made him look into your eyes before he talked again, "It's the first time you do this?" You asked, holding his cheeks and cleaning the tears that slid down.

"Of course it is" he grasped his hands over yours, asking for compassion from you, his eyes almost looked honest, and after you nodded, accepting his words, he went and pressed his forehead in the space of your neck, getting dizzy with the smell of your perfume and all the alcohol that stayed in both of you after your dinner not long ago, "I've never wanted someone this much before... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have tried it, but you're just so high up there, you looked unreachable" his hands moved to your hips, you hugged his neck and let him get wasted with your presence, he used more strength into his grasp and you felt his fingers painfully try to penetrate your clothes and touch your skin, but instead of telling him to stop you opened your legs to receive him, "...and I felt unworthy of you, I know I am, but please, let me show you how useful I could be, how much I can serve you"

You felt his boner under his fitted grey pants, it tried to sink into you under all his layers, but it couldn't even reach you thanks to your skirt limiting his movements.

He didn't wait long thought, this Anton had no patience at all, and he hastily lifted your skirt almost all the way up, his nails scratching your tights and running them instead of carefully taking the nylon fabric off like you usually did.

"I'm sorry" he apologized still on your neck, rutting his member into your now visible black underwear. He caught a glimpse of them, they weren’t your prettiest pair, rather simple and bland, but he still was awed by them and how they covered what he had imagined so many nights before, and soon he was rutting against them again, ‘’I’m so sorry’’, he was ashamed of how much he ached for you.

"It's okay Anton, you don't have to apologize anymore" your fingers hooked on his long hair, strings of it settling under your grip, and trying to calm down the rush he was in, you murmured that sentence softly next to his ear. You could hear his heart beating inside his chest and he gulped loudly after you called his name with so much tenderness.

"I'm sorry" he repeated, feeling so undeserving of the benevolence you were gifting him, you always did so much for him, you weren't afraid of giving him all your knowledge at work, you defended him whenever he made a mistake and others tried to make him feel beneath them, judging his inexperience as a lack of intelligence, you were the most merciful person he had ever met, forgiving even the repugnant intentions he had tonight.

He pressed his lips on your throat, trying to claim possession over you, he was never going to let anyone else take you from him, he had been feeling desperate those days after one of your coworkers had gotten closer to you, he couldn't help but follow you with his eyes whenever you walked around, and recently, if he wasn't next to you, that guy would be on your side, setting off an alarm inside his head.

It was unusual to see anyone other than him treat you with the respect you deserved, Anton didn't understand why almost everyone hated you, but they did. You always did your best and outperformed your tasks, if the boss said he wanted you to finish a report for next week you'd have it ready in three days, if others asked you for a favor you'd immediately accept and leave your own work aside to help them, if an emergency appeared you'd instantly share solutions, you were the best employee and coworker anyone could wish, and they still treated you like a plague, sending you to meaningless errands and giving you the problematic clients.

His leather belt pushed up your blouse, and the buckle hooked with the silky fabric, scraping it and slightly hurting your skin in the process. "Wait- Anton" you tried to stop him from tearing up your favorite blouse but his mind was too hazy to hear you, humping his erection on your panties with his brutal force, you couldn't do anything to stop him.

When you were at work he didn't dare to ask for a single thing from you, not even a glass of water, when you offered to buy his coffee he shyly rejected you, trying to buy you one instead, but now with the little help of the alcohol he showed his true colors, that greedy side that wasn't scared of demanding what he wanted from you and taking it before you could give him permission.

He kept apologizing between thrusts, you felt your panties get wet with your arousal and his tip clumsily striking your clit, although it felt good, you weren't sure how much of it your poor clothes could take, so you decided to do what you had to do for him to cease.

"Anton, can you touch me here?" You asked, moving his hands to your chest and letting him knead your skin under your cups. He eagerly nodded, finally directing his attention to another thing that wasn't the pleasure your cunt gave him.

He didn't waste any time taking your blouse off, he did it with such an urge he didn't care your cuffs were still buttoned and that your hair ended like a mess after he pulled it over your head, his hands searched for the back of your bra and tossed it aside the minute he deciphered how to unhook it.

He admired you for a good minute, your skin reflected the light the two of you were under and when you tried to fix your hair he saw your chest moving in unison with your hands, the creamy flesh called for him to take a bite and he immediately indulged himself on it, so soft under his mouth his eyes almost rolled back and his cock sent an agonizing throb to the pitch of his abdomen, needing to sink into you as soon as he could, he moaned of satisfaction.

You liked the sensation of his mouth and his hands over your buds, but it was obvious not as much as him, he seemed to be desperate to get more of you, his teeth would find your nipples and slightly bite them to then follow with his tongue caressing the same spots, like a soothe after the affliction, pressing the flat of his tongue again and again.

He stayed like that for a long time, admiring your chest with devotion in an uncomfortable position, since you took off your high heels he was even taller now, and his whole upper body was bending to meet your chest. You tried to help him a little and stay on your tip toes but the stir he caused on your insides didn't let you think much about it, only passing your fingers over his hair and closing your eyes to not get lost in the sight of the big, gorgeous boy obsessed with you.

He ran one of his hands from your chest to your mound, and before you could tell him to not go so far, limits unclear between you two in that moment, and your mind repeating how it wasn't okay, he sneaked it inside your underwear and immediately found your clit with his fingers, pressing his wrist with enough delicacy and strength to push your ass to the wall and circle the little nerve at the same time. Still, your mind couldn't stop the thoughts, he was too drunk and you were in charge of him, you as the senior between had to put a stop before the two of you made a mistake, because that's what you were making, an enormous mistake that you wouldn't know how to fix.

You could fix almost everything, you never stopped if an obstacle presented, you handled the worst clients with grace and easily solved emergencies, but you had realized that people weren't as easy as you thought, giving them what they wanted wasn't necessarily always the answer, sometimes you had to give them what they needed it even if they didn't like the result, and right there what Anton needed was a mature adult telling him to stop and to reflect on his actions that day, because what he did was completely wrong, and you shouldn't condone his actions letting him take what he wanted from you without consequences.

This was real life, and the real world wasn’t as forgiving as you.

But fuck it felt good, and you were just human too, to have someone show so much adoration towards you made you weak, because you were used to giving everything of you, and it was the first time you met someone willing to do the same with you.

His mouth left your chest and went up to your neck, leaving marks that would show the next day and you'd have to hide before work with makeup, you were trying to remember if you had your pouch in your bag when his finger slipped inside you, making you whimper of surprise while he chuckled on your neck. He started with just his middle finger, testing how much he could push you. Your slick made everything so easy for him he thought about just putting it in, you were so ready you'd take him without problem and he couldn't wait for you to drip all over his cock, which was throbbing inside his boxers with each thought.

However, there was something he needed even more before he did that, he went to his knees and slid down your panties and the ruined pantyhose, admiring the naked skin of your thighs that slowly showed up in front of him, "please spread your legs" he asked, grabbing your creamy thighs and loving the way your flesh melted under his grip. Your plumpness somehow comforted him, and he gave a small pampering peck to each thigh before he pressed his lips over your tummy, making you open to him and his care, allowing yourself to enjoy his treatment for just a second, like you told yourself in your head, it would be just a second. No one had been so sweet, even if sometimes rough, with you, and you felt yourself falling deeper into his void, too swayed to deny him anything when he spoiled you like that.

He started with slow licks, making out with your clit and pushing your legs open with his hands. Your hips bucked into his face, and with eyes close with force, your palms tried to hold you against the wall, the torture of his tongue lapping your wetness making you tremble in your place.

More than groans, you heard whimpers and moans coming from his mouth, sobering thanks to your juices but not in his right mind still, he had more control over himself, but that only meant he was more conscious of his leaking dick needing you, and how painfully untouched he had been all the time he was next to you, craving for your attention on him and only him.

You pulled his hair with force when his tongue started to poke your entrance and his nose buried in your lips, you couldn't bear with the overwhelming feeling and pushed him away, a bit afraid of hurting him but not able to consider before doing it. He looked up to you, scared of being too much for you, but he couldn't contain himself, he wanted all of you. "That's enough Anton", he shook his head in disagreement, it wasn't even close to satisfy his thirst, and with your hands hurting his scalp he dived in again, with more eagerness and decision, he drank you until you finished pouring everything out, your moans like music to his ears, he wanted to receive anything you had to give him.

When your legs stopped trembling beside his head, he finally stood up again, staring down at your crumbled body, he helped you stay on your feet with a smile. When you looked up to him you saw his shinny face, all the way from the tip of his nose to his chin, and he wasn't ashamed of disgusted with your fluids all over his face, he even seemed elated to have your mess there, making you feel guilty of being so weak against pleasure.

You couldn't believe what just happened, you let him touch you, and you felt disturbed with your lack of willpower to put a stop to what was happening in the youngest's apartment.

"I should go" you thought loudly. He panicked and grabbed your face with both hands just like you had done before when he was spiraling in his drunken state.

"Why? What's wrong?" He asked, caressing your red cheeks and watching your teary eyes, his heart wrenching inside his chest with the idea of having hurt you, he hadn't meant to, he knew he was being greedy, he had tried to do something terrible to you before he came back to his senses, but he was just terrified of losing you, and now it seemed the same thing was about to happen, so close to him and your mind still trying to run away.

"I shouldn't do this Anton, you don't even have a steady position in the company, I'm older, I'm your superior, and what you did was so wrong, but I should be the mature person here and put a stop to it, yet I'm here just accepting you, it's so fucking sick what we're doing" your tears were streaming down and he felt bad for having put you in such a difficult position.

"I'm sorry, I'll always be sorry for what I tried to do today, I don't know what went through my mind, but please don't torment yourself, you didn't do anything wrong, it's all on me, I'm the one who's sick, just be angry with me, I can take it, but what I can't take is you in pain, please forgive me" he started shedding tears too, fat tears escaping his eyes with a concerned expression.

His shoulders were trembling with his sobs and you felt a revolting feeling in your stomach, a nauseous sensation mixed with sorrow and guilt.

"Let's forget this happened Anton, this never happened, okay?" You tried to convince him but he denied, he didn't want to pretend anything, he couldn't lose you like that, having you so close, his dream was no longer to have a good job and a normal life, nothing of that mattered if you weren't by his side, his goal had changed from serving society to serving you, and he couldn't just yield like that. "While I'm here, I'm no longer your superior, I'm no longer your coworker, we're just two people together, two people that are meeting for the first time, okay?"

His world suddenly was illuminated by your grace again, exhilarating in joy, he nodded until his cries stopped, kissing both your hands with adoration, swearing inside his mind to never hurt you like that ever again, and that the only tears he could ever let come from your eyes would be of pleasure and happiness. "Thank you, thank you" he repeated with every kiss on your knuckles and then over the back of both your hands. He had taken a liking to kissing every spot of your body, and he was hoping to soon have you over his bedsheets to adore you even more.

But for now, he picked up where he left, he went to your lips and kissed you with his whole sincerity, crushing your mouth with his. His kiss was breathtaking, making you dizzy but finally relieved of finding an answer to the problem there, even if it had to do with you forgiving him and forgetting what the two of you were outside that apartment, you could take it, because it wasn't what any of you wanted, but what both of you needed.

"Can I put it in?" He asked and you nodded. He, in his euphoria, pulled down his pants and his underwear to let his length free. He was so excited he lifted you with his arms without showing any struggle and then pressed his tip over your entrance, letting your body fall and take him with a single motion.

You tried to get him back in his senses scratching his shoulder blade "Anton-" every thrust of his hips would push the next word back into your throat, and talking between moans it took you a while to say, "I'm too heavy... Put me down", you cried when his pelvis instead of stopping moved harder against you, the clasp of skins echoing around you two and making you the drunk one now.

He denied, "it's okay, I can do it" he continued, you felt your tears dropping and falling over his skin, the intensity of your insides being demolished so easily by the young one left you under his mercy, taking it and hoping you wouldn't get addicted to a pleasure like that one so fast.

He stopped for a second, lifting you even more with his arms, making you bounce and accommodating you against the smooth surface of his wall, strong arms holding both your trembling legs and hard breathing next to your ear, you couldn't hear exactly what he whispered when his cock stayed inside and throbbed, your cries were louder than you expected when he started his pace again and you could only understand something along the lines so gorgeous, but you didn't know if you heard him right or not so you didn't answer, concentrating all your thoughts into holding yourself around his neck to not fall. His shaft punched exactly a spot that made your eyes flutter and you sobbed when he ruthlessly kept striking it, he only needed to hear your first moan to know what he had just found, "feels good?" He asked and kissed your neck. You cried an affirmation in response, a yes so broken he felt proud of himself for making you feel that good, not daring to stop his movements, with the only purpose of comforting you like he had been wishing for so long when the people in the office shoot daggers at you regardless of what you did. If you were good no one would praise you, if you praised others they would say you weren't honest, and he was sure that, if you ever did a mistake, everyone would condemn you, and every time that happened he just wanted to grab your hand and tell you I'm right here, doing whatever he could to help you think about something else while giving you all the praises he wished he could say out loud. "You deserve it, you deserve it all" his lips found yours and feeling your insides tightening around him he messily fucked you with everything he had, making you hop over his length while the back of your thighs slapped his skin. When you were cumming you bit his shoulder and he hissed of pain but continued with his motion and came with much pleasure inside you a couple of thrusts later, gladly letting you hurt him if you needed to, because for him you could do whatever you wanted with his body, and he would always forgive you, just like you forgave him moments ago, teaching him how even an inferior being like him could earn your mercy, so why would such a kind existence not deserve it back? He would praise you and adore you as much as you required, and he'd teach you how to accept him without doubt ever again.

[wikitpowers]

analysing the (heartbreaking) kitty letter bc i will never get over it <\3

Ty, Ty, Ty.

kit repeating his name so many times bc he is physically incapable of stopping oh i want to cry

Your name looks strange written out like that. Like an abbreviation. But Tiberius would be so formal. I never think of you that way. Or, I suppose I should say, I never thought of you that way. Tenses matter in these situations, I guess.

he spends so much time thinking about everything related to ty, even his name and how it’a pronounced. it's like he has a little box in the back of his mind reserved for all things ty and he only allows himself to open it sometimes, when he can't help himself any longer. and he does it, despite the pain it causes him.

It’s late, past midnight, and I’m sitting on the windowsill in my bedroom at Cirenworth.

late at night, all kit can think about is ty and everything he lost. in the darkness, he can allow himself to feel and remember.

Jem and Tessa gave me one of the best rooms. Of course they did. It has a view out over the gardens. Sometimes I see the ghost of a dog there, a golden retriever I’m pretty sure, running in and out of the flowerbeds. He seems like a pretty happy ghost.

this is one of the only happy parts in the whole letter. i love how it shows how much jem and tessa care about kit, how much they have made him a part of their home, their family. they truly want only the best for him and love him so much, they want him to have all of the things he never had with johnny (+ we have further confirmation that kit can definitely see oscar wilde which is simply adorable).

I think about how much you like animals and how much they love you, because of course they do. But it’s too late; this dog passed away a long time ago. You probably couldn’t even see him. It’s too late for a lot of things, now.

it's giving "of course animals also love you, it's hard not to love you" and the way he says it with such ease… like loving ty is natural and not surprising at all bc it's just the way things are. but then he goes back to his toxic mindset that it's too late now, it's too late for that love to grow because they're not together anymore, it's too late to take back everything that happened between them.

I’m still mad at you, and I don’t feel good about that. Maybe if I could forget, I could forgive. But I can’t forget that night you brought Livvy back. I’ll suddenly remember even when I’m thinking about something else. I’ll be in the middle of helping Tessa in the garden and suddenly I’ll turn around and I’m back in Idris. 

he doesn't like being angry, he wants to move on, but he can't because it's ty. maybe if it was anyone other than ty. but it's not. no matter how hard he tries, he can't forget everything that happened at the lake. even when he's doing normal ordinary things, it will hit him that he's not okay, even after all this time. kit is struggling to forgive but he's really trying.

I remember I told you I loved you. I remember I told you I would help you, but not if you raised Livvy from the dead. Not if you did necromancy. But you wanted that more than you wanted me.

the reason why it's so hard to forgive is because of all the memories which are still so fresh in his mind. he can remember every detail, he can remember the pain it caused him to open himself up like that and then be broken apart. he was truly honest with someone for once and took a chance only for it all to come crashing down, for it to be clear that ty never wanted any of that and he certainly never wanted him (what a bunch of bs, kit, c'mon bffr) :(

And I understand that. I’m not angry about that. Here’s what I’m angry about: when you brought Livvy back, you changed yourself. You made yourself a different person than the one I loved. I don’t know the person you are now. You took yourself away from me. I can’t forgive that.

the way he says he understands it has my throat tying up bc kit genuinely believes it - that ty could never love him. and more so, that he has good reason for it. nobody has ever loved him so why should ty be any different? kit isn't angry about not being loved (he's never been loved), it's that ty changed himself. ty became someone kit never thought he could be, someone he can’t recognise. all of kit's anger is directed towards ty and what he did to himself, it was never about kit's hurt feelings. kit knows hurt, he's dealt with it his whole life. his concern is ty.

And you made me someone who has to keep a secret I never wanted to keep. I was raised by someone who had so many awful secrets, and when I started my life as a Shadowhunter I wanted to do it openly, and honestly. But now I’m just someone else with secrets I can never tell. Just like my dad.

i think kit’s greatest fear is turning into johnny. turning into someone who has so little love to give, someone who lies and cheats their way through life, makes kit terrified that he could end up like johnny. (but i also really love the fact that johnny was brought up at all bc it shows kit still thinks about him and that his death did impact him. i can't wait to see more of what kit thinks about him in twp).

It makes me angry, so angry. I want to yell at you. I wish you were here so I could yell at you.

and still, despite his anger; despite him not being able to forgive; despite feeling betrayed; he still loves ty. he still wants ty by his side. he wants to tell him everything that he wrote on paper, he wants ty to hear his words and be angry at him. he just wants ty.

and the yelling bit… like michi said, i hope the mutual yelling at each other will end in an angry kiss ehem

Kit

oh how painful it is to sign a letter he will never send

[lilacgaby]

I love your writing style! Could you do maybe a sfw alphabet for tamaki?

aa tysm! i love tamaki so ofc!

a- affection,

tamaki shows his affection through gifts. buys you little gifts and treats from his travels around japan, always thinking of you as he passes by shops. he just gets too nervous to speak or share his love for you, but as he places another themed keychain in your hand, you know he loves you.

b- best friend

as a best friend he'd be a great listener. probably gives great advice that he never applies to himself, but encourages you greatly. probably views you highly too, admiring your best traits.

c- comfort

he'd comfort you with his presence. making sure you know that he's there for you whether you need him, listening with taut ears as you explain what's wrong, or just holding you if you can't speak.

d- domestic

he'd be a good cook because of his quirk! he'd cook a variety of different things you've never tried before, types of meats you would've never tried but he surprisingly made taste good. while i don't think he's a meat freak, i think he'll make an effort to keep clean.

e- end

if he broke up with you... something's wrong with you. sorry.

if you broke up with him.. something's wrong with you, again not sorry. but, he'd be distraught, his anxiety coming back and worsened for like a week, not to mention mirio, fatgum, and kiri HATE you. deserved though.

f- fiance

i see tamaki as the guy to want a perfect relationship, and he'd value marriage highly. he waits about three years to propose to you, but values your opinion highly, so if you want to get married quicker or wait he'd listen to you.

g- gentle

he's the definition of gentle. so sweet with you and if he even thinks he hit you forget it, he'd probably beg for your forgiveness, and treat you like glass for the rest of the day, even after you reassure him.

h- hugs

first time you hugged him he almost passed away from glee, he loves hugs now. hug him please.

i - ily

he says i love you a year into the relationship. you just make him so indescribably happy that he couldn't put it in to words, but it slipped out on your anniversary date. since then, it's become a bit easier for him to say it, but he still gets flushed.

j- jealous

i think his jealousy mind stem more from insecurity than your actions, he'd feel like you'd deserve someone more confident, and seeing you hang around with a confident person would upset him mentally. wouldn't voice it much though.

k- kisses

kiss him and he'll die.. but now he can't live without them. has to get one before he leaves out to a mission please, or else it's all he'll think about.

l- little ones

surprisingly good with kids! especially ones on the more timid side like him, he doesn't feel as judged as he plays with them. and it's sooo cute to see him using his quirk to impress them.

m- morning

his favorite way to wake up is huddled up with you in his bed, i will die on my belief that he's a little spoon, so he loves waking up in your chest, your hands wrapping him close to you as the sun peeks in.

n- night

he's probably exhausted after his patrols, he gets home late sometimes, and the think he wants the most is to be with you. he collapses into you, after showering of course, and falls asleep to the beats of your heart.

o- open

you have to be his friend before his lover, sorry! he'll open up to you after becoming close friends, which might take a while.

p- patience

i think he's a patient guy, in arguments and overall in life. he'll do his best to stay calm, but he's not great at regulating his emotions so he'll let it out sometimes!

q- quizzes

great listener who knows everything about you. knows your favorite color, song, where you want to go, even knows things about yourself before you yourself know them.. kinda telepathic in that's sense.

r- remembers

you know that common 'forgets your anniversary/birthday trope?' yeah not happening with this man. he has his calendar marked, alarms set, assistant notified. yeah he'll be on top of it.

s- security

he'd stand up for you if the time called for it. putting away his anxious thoughts as he fought for you, or stood up for you. even though after he'd freak out a bit, hed be happy as he saw the look in your eyes.

t- try

he'll try so hard in your relationship, he just wants everything to go right. plans out everything by the hour :(

u- ugly

he has no bad habits sorry! perfect man in my eyes.

v- vanity

isn't obsessed with his looks that much, just wants to look cool. doesn't worry over your looks either, he thinks you're perfect </3

w- whole

god forbid you have to go somewhere without him, or he has a mission without you. he just feels so incomplete without you and your comfort, your hugs, your kisses, but your reunion is so cute everytime that it makes up for it.

x- xtra

he lives off your compliments, like if you randomly don't compliment him he'll be sad for the rest of the day.

y- yuck

he would hate for anyone to be cocky and rude, so obnoxious and inconsiderate.

zzz- sleep

as i said, little spoon tamaki on top! loves it when you sleep facing towards eachother, once you tried it once, he literally cannot sleep any other way.

best boy tamaki ahghb :((

[mr-wrestlemania]

He Ate My Heart(EnergyVampire! Shawn Michaels x GN Reader)

A short drabble of Shawn from my monster AU who's looking for a quick snack in a local bar.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59238661

The bar was as dry as a heatwave in Arizona, and you were scanning the floor for anything to quench your thirst. It had been a slow day for you, and you refused to end it on a dud of a night.

Then, the answer to your pleas came walking from the bathrooms. A 6ft man with gorgeous blonde hair and baby blues glanced at you from afar. His gaze sent a shiver down your spine and goosebumps to rise on your skin. The man was downright beautiful, but yet he was only staring at you..?

You shook your head and downed the rest of your drink.

Fuck it, you'd never forgive yourself if you squandered the chance to talk to him. You fixed your shirt before making your way over to him. He was even more beautiful up close, and it made your mouth dry up. The man hardly seemed to mind.

"Well, seems you beat me to the punch. I was gonna walk over and see why you were so alone..looking like that." His eyes drifted to the lower portion of your body, then back up to your face.

Honestly, no one else really caught your eye, so you sat by yourself.

This only made him chuckle, "So you were waiting for someone to notice you? Cheeky. I like that. Though you are so much more than a lamb waiting for a wolf I bet." He waved his hand a little at another taller man with long blonde hair.

A friend of his?

"Yeah, colleague and best friend. But enough of him, more about us." His cat-like smirk was adorable, just another thing about him that was hard to ignore.

Did he have a name, or was he going to keep being a tease?

You smiled back and tilted your head a little. When you asked for his name, his eye twinkled.

He leaned against the wall to look down at you, "Shawn Michaels. If you know wrestling, you'd know me by my face alone."

Not a bell in your mind made a sound at his name. Though you admit he did look familiar. You probably passed sports magazines that featured him somewhere.

"Least I have that going for me." He laughed, "You want another drink, sugar?"

Why not, you haven't had much to drink anyway.

Shawn beamed and sauntered over to the bar with you in tow. While you watched the bartender make your drink, you could hear Shawn talk to one of his buddies.

Looked like a taller man with slick black hair getting dragged away by a smaller man with messy dark hair.

Was he alright?

Shawn rolled his eyes, "My buddy is fine. He just had too much to drink. Sean's got him. How did you get here by the way?"

..why did he need to know that?

"Oh, come on. Don't look at me like that, Sugar. I'm only asking in case you get too drunk. We have a designated driver just in case."

The fact he needed one made you chuckle a little. Shawn playfully stuck his tongue out.

"I play it safe sometimes. Is that so boring of me?"

You shrugged. After sipping your drink, you tell him you borrowed a friend's car. Something about your statement made his eyebrow twitch.

"Oh, okay. You alright to drive though? I don't wanna put you in danger by trying to butter you up with drinks." His eyes scanned your body again. Instead of checking you out, he was looking for signs of intoxication.

It was rather sweet of him to be so concerned. At first, you wondered if he was trying to make a move on you, but he was much nicer than you anticipated.

You guess it would be better to call it quits before you can't drive. Shawn didn't seem too disappointed.

"Tell you what, I'll walk you to your car just in case." Shawn smiled again, "Maybe I can get your digits in exchange..?"

The way he bat his eyelashes made you laugh. You didn't exactly say no, which got him out of his seat.

"You ready then?" Shawn paid for the drink while glancing at you.

You nod and follow him into the parking lot. After you start to walk, you can say that Shawn made the right call. You aren't drunk, but you'd definitely take the back roads home.

Shawn flashed a grin and chuckled, "I have a knack for it what can I say, Sugar? Now uh..where the hell did you park?"

You reach into your pocket and start to hit the lock button on your key fob in an attempt to listen for your ride. He cranes his head until he points excitedly.

"That's her? Damn you are way out here. Not too safe if you ask me. You better carry something on you next time."

You blush as you walk beside him through the parking lot. You promise you will and figure he'd be worth talking to in the future. You tell him to give you a second while you get some paper from the car and he beams.

"Sure thing." Shawn gets closer to the car while you lean inside to grab a loose receipt and a pen between the seats.

When you step back out, Shawn's entire demeanor changed from the moment you took your eyes off him. He was leaning against the car and shut it before you could get back inside.

Instead of running, you froze.

What the hell was he doing??

You demand to know what his deal is, only for him to grin at you. If he didn't answer in the next few seconds, you'd be kicking his dick in.

"Oh, it's not my fault," Shawn's eyes began to glow a ghostly blue that drew you in, "I just need you for a few minutes. Just a few minutes."

He leaned closer, practically whispering in your ear. "Keep breathing for me, Sugar. Nice and calm. That's it.."

His words were like a gentle caress across your face. Your breath began to slow down just as he asked, but you could hardly understand why. The longer you looked at him, the less scared you became.

"There we go." Shawn rubbed your face gently, "See? You're doing such a good job. I just need a taste.. I wonder how sweet you are.~"

Shawn's lips collided into yours. Your gasp was muffled while Shawn only deepened the kiss. God, it was heavenly. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as he pulled you closer toward his body. His golden locks got tangled between your fingers but he hardly seemed bothered.

Shawn hummed across your lips and broke the kiss to let you breathe. His vibrant blue eyes staring through you made you quiver.

He chuckled, "I see you shiver in anticipation. I'll fix that, don't worry."

You were pulled into another kiss, but this time, his tongue slid its way into your mouth. One of his hands held your face, and the other rested on your hip.

The way your whimpers barely escaped your mouth made Shawn sigh deeper into you.

Then it felt like heat was building up in your stomach. Your toes curled inside your shoes as it traveled up your body. Shawn's jacket was the only thing you could hold onto as the strange sensation washed over you completely.

Shawn pulled himself away very, very slowly. You tried to whine, but found yourself unable to make any noise at all.

Your eyes could barely widen from the shock, that heat that Shawn built in you was leaving out of your mouth and into his. It had a pinkish hue, almost like smoke, but you could hardly focus. You were tired. So very tired..

Shawn sighed happily, and his eyes returned to normal. "God damn! Mm.. that was as sweet as I thought it would be."

His attention finally returned to you and hummed while he lifted you up. He used his foot to open the passenger door and slid you inside. "Told you, Sugar. You better just sleep it off. I know I can be a handful. Thanks for the snack."

Shawn used the key fob to lock the doors, tossed it inside with you, and shut the door. He turned around and jumped back at the sight of his friend Sean Waltman.

"Shit! I just finished, what is it??"

Sean sighed, "I might have uh.. drank a bit too much off Scott. What did you tell me to do?"

Shawn groaned and paced angrily, "Get him some damn onion rings or something. He's probably dizzy from blood loss and alcohol. Get some food in him."

You could faintly see the face of the shaggy haired man from the bar, peek at you through the car window. "Damn Shawn, did you uh-"

"-No. They're fine. They'll just have to sleep it off. C’mon, before Hunter has an aneurysm over your handiwork." Shawn winked at you before walking off with his strange friend.

You found yourself losing consciousness not long after Shawn left. Maybe he was right. A quick nap wouldn't hurt.

The sun peeked over the horizon, causing you to stir and squint at your surroundings. What the hell happened last night? You remembered a guy walking you to your car the night before but then it was a big blank.

You checked your clothes and they looked almost untouched. There weren't any strange markings on your body either.

Did that guy just walk you to your car and you fell asleep..?

While you stretched your legs out, you felt some paper tucked under your hip. After shifting a little, you managed to pull it out.

Hope you feel better soon. You were really tuckered out. Get home safe Sugar

-Shawn

[alotofrandomfangirling]

Dating Chishiya Shuntaro would include (Chishiya x f!reader headcanons)

Tw: slight cursing, mention of death

A/N: i know i'm a bit late but recently i was able to watch AIB s2 and i completely fell in love with Chishiya?? him as a doctor had an impact on me i could never expect lol so i had to try this 🙈 please notice i don't remember much from s1 so i'm sorry for any mistakes 😅 also english is not my first language, so forgive me for any grammar mistakes 🙏🏻 i hope you like it though!! ♥️

• You both had met when you came out winners on a hearts game

• You were a very smart and strategist player, so Chishiya was really impressed by your abilities

• But of course he had to play it cool not to break his character yk

• You were leaving the arena when you heard someone say in a very nonchalant way: "nice thinking over there"

• You turned around and there he was. Yes, him.

• You had noticed that player during the game

• He was not only extremely smart, but also ruthless while playing

• And, well, you had to admit he was very good looking too

• But what impressed you the most was how he always seemed so calm, like he had 100% control of any situation

• That man was sure fascinating, and he was complimenting you?? You just had to play along

• "You weren't so bad yourself" - you replied, smirking

• He chuckled

• "I'm Chishiya" - he said, putting his hand out for you to shake it

• "Y/N" - you said shaking his hand and looking deep into his eyes

• From that day on, you became inseparable

• The best pair of players Borderlands had ever seen!

• It was like something inside you clicked, you know? Like you were meant to find each other and pair up

• You got along so well cause you understood each other like no one else

• Well, and that was because you were very alike too

• Calm, collected and extraordinarily intelligent

• You were always by each other's side and supporting the other, at the good and bad times

• And you guys nailed every. single. game. you played cause you were such a great team

• After some time you started to feel what happened between you two was more than just a game partnership

• You started to enjoy the way he sounded when he calmly discussed games rules to you, how beautiful his sharp and observant eyes were, the way he put a strand of hair behind his ear...

• You appreciated every little ordinary thing he did cause he was indeed incredible

• Damn could you be falling in love?

• And you could sense he started feeling something... different too

• You could notice he sometimes watched you intently, or how he would make sure you were safe during a game (even though you were perfectly capable of winning it by yourself lol), or how he lightly touched the back of your hand when you were debating a new strategy

• But both of you were stubborn as hell so you were absolutely NOT going to admit any of those feelings

• But one day something happened

• It was a spades game

• And it was pure chaos 💀

• As soon as you got in, Chishiya and you got separated in the chaos of the other players

• And that made you terrified because you got so used to feeling safe with him by your side

• He also got worried, how was he going to face a spades game without his long time partner?

• You fought anyway

• But it was ugly

• People dying everywhere 💔

• You could only try to make it out alive and hope that Chishiya could do the same

• You got really hurt, but you made it

• When you left the arena, you started to look for Chishiya among the survivors, but there was no sign of that platinum hair you loved

• You started crying like a baby at the thought of losing your best friend (or maybe something more?!)

• You just sat down on the sidewalk cause you could barely walk

• Suddenly you heard a familiar voice shouting your name

• "(Y/N)?"

• Just like the first time you met, you turned around and there he was: Chishiya Shuntaro

• He was alive and only had a few bruises, which meant he got off the game easily (for your relief)

• You got up and ran to him

• When you reached him, you both hugged each other so tight you could feel so much being said in that one hug

• 'I missed you'

• 'I'm glad you're alive'

• 'I never want to break apart again'

• You had never hugged each other like this before, so it definitely showed all your feelings in that moment (screw being tough!)

• "Chishiya, thank goodness... i thought... oh my gosh, i thought i'd lost you" - you tried to form a logical sentence between your pain and your uncontrollable sobbing

• You parted from the hug and he looked at you, but he was so affected he couldn't even reply with one those witty responses of his

• Of course he kept his cool like he always did, but there was a disturbance in his eyes you'd never seen before

• Was it... because of you and how worried he was?

• Did this man really care for you?!

• That thought itself made you so dizzy you nearly tumbled on the ground again

• He went to catch you before you fell and that's when he noticed your deep wounds bleeding

• The look of worry in his eyes got worse as he caught you and said "come on, let's get you out of here"

• When you finally got somewhere safe, he had you lay down and bandaged your wounds

• His touch was so soft and caring (his doctor side showing up 😭) you could feel the butterflies in your stomach

• "Okay, now get some sleep" - he said when he finished

• You thanked him and immediatly fell asleep, but you were so tired and overwhelmed you think you accidentally let slip an "i love you" before?

• Oh boy

• That wasn't good

• Let's hope he didn't hear that 😅

• On the next day, he came to check on you after you woke up

• He once again examined you with those caring eyes and crap there were those butterflies again

• "It's okay, you'll be fine soon. Just... take it easy on the next days, okay?" - he almost pleaded

• "Thank you, Chishiya" - you said and hugged him again

• "No problem, (Y/N). I just... think maybe we should talk about you confessing your feelings last night?" - he said with that smug face of his

• You got as red as a tomato

• Yeah so he heard that

• You had to find a way to get out of that situation and fast

• You decided to play the tough girl like you always did

• "Ah yes, that... well, i was very tired and overwhelmed from the game, so i probably said some super sappy stuff, but it was just in the heat of the moment. Don't worry, i don't really mean it" - you said shrugging and trying to be convincible lol

• "Oh is that so?" - he replied, raising one eyebrow - "that's a shame, cause i was about to say i feel the same" - the bastard said smirking

• "Wait, what?"

• Yep.

• And that's how you became a thing

• Needless to say that you became the hottest couple in all Borderlands, in and outside the games lol

• Your friends teased you a lot in the beginning

• Specially Kuina

• "Hey Chishiya, don't you think (Y/N) looks lovely today with her hair like that?"

• "Shut up, Kuina" - he said rolling his eyes as she giggled like a fangirl watching her OTP

• But soon they got used to it, since you were always together even before becoming a couple

• And you were a very discreet couple

• Since both of you had a "tough" image to keep, you weren't much of PDA

• Heck, after all you've been through together you were waaay past the "crushing" stage, you were almost on true love basis by now lol

• So there was really no need to be "visual" 😂

• But if there's one thing Chishiya loved is holding hands

• Yep, he would give up on his coolness and take his hands out of his pockets to hold yours (but only for that lol)

• No words were needed, you just intertwined fingers and stood like that, feeling each other's presence

• It was a tiny way to tell everyone you belonged to each other and you were cool with that

• So he would always reach out for your hand when preparing for a game or when he felt someone was getting too close to you

• He would go piercing eyes mode with that "100% done" face of his directly to the person until they felt so uncomfortable they gave up lol

• Not that Chishiya was a jealous guy

• Not at all

• Going through everything you guys went together, both of you were sure you loved and respected each other

• But he liked to show other people you were his and only his

• Cause he felt very proud and lucky to be with such a special girl like you

• You also liked to "claim" him (lol) by randomly hugging him from behind

• You loved feeling the fabric of his jacket on his thin arms and inhaling his soft smell

• He would not show any reaction, except for a little humming to show he was enjoying it 🙈

• Sometimes he'd let you wear his jacket too 🤫

• But only when both of you were alone

• Ahh yes when you were alone things were different 😏

• There was no "playing tough" anymore so you could just love each other 🥹

• Chishiya was sooooo caring

• Being at Borderlands was so lonely he really enjoyed being able to have your company

• He loved just laying down and cuddling you

• It was a moment of peace among the chaos of Borderlands

• And with his favorite person (spoiler: you), so it was even more perfect 💗

• He would close his eyes and trace circles down your back to feel you were there with him, even with everything happening around

• And you, well, you loved playing with his hair

• Omg his hair was a personal obsession of yours

• You loved it cause it was so him?

• Stylish and unique

• So you always took some time to admire it

• Sometimes he'd let you do his hair in a ponytail (just like the one in the hospital flashbacks 🥹)

• He said it was relaxing to have your hands on his hair

• Him with a relaxed face and closed eyes while you did his hair was the cutest sight ever 😭

• He did look like a kitty cat 🥺🤏🏻

• It all always ended with soft kisses on each other's cheeks and lips to show affection 💗

• During the games you guys were very focused in winning, but you also checked on each other from time to time

• You got along so well, you could communicate with just a simple look

• He'd search for your eyes and when you gave him a reassuring look with a nod, you'd know you were both okay

• You also liked laying your head on his shoulder when you were too tired from playing

• You'd sit on the floor and lay your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes and feeling his presence

• He got super soft when you did that T.T

• And he'd always take care of you while playing too

• Like quickly checking for bruises

• Asking if you're okay

• Bringing your favorite cookies for you when playing Solitary Confinement 😭❤️

• "Mine are better though"

• "Shut up, Chishiya" - you'd shove him playfully

• And it was like that everyday, anytime you could steal a little moment to be together

• Kisses

• Hugging

• Holding hands

• And those tiny little acts of love and companionship

• You really loved each other and were going to do anything to stay together, in or outside Borderlands ❤️

[chaosology]

somebody else ii

— spencer reid x reader

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds/ fem! reader

genre: angst and fluff | masterlist

content warnings: angst, cancer mentions

summary: a continuation of part one. spencer seeks forgiveness and y/n just wants peace.

The most important part of getting over someone is the cleanse, Y/N had always been told. Rid yourself of the things that they remind you of; the things that pain you to even think about. She had prided herself of her ability to follow through with this process, it was what she told her friends when they had problems. However, she had now realized it was easier said than done.

The tardis mug sat still on her nightstand, Spencer had given it to her when he saw her looking at it through a shop window. She had insisted that she didn't need it and that she was just admiring the handiwork, but “I’m a profiler Y/N, I see right through you”. She remembers the ways she looked affectionately up at him while he paid at the counter, and how she caught him looking at her while she held it in her hands. She spent so long looking at it while they walked down the path that she tripped, and he caught her in his arms. It was a very Spencer like moment, as he stumbled over his words while still holding her for a moment too long.

He didn’t look at her like that when he yelled at her. When he shouted in her face.

She had left the BAU only three weeks ago to focus on her residency. She had switched out her light blue scrubs for a slightly darker shade and started burying herself in her work. She took up extra shifts at the hospital, impressing her superiors and workmates - especially the young attending who she had liked once before. His name was Lucas, and he was considered a “rising star” in the neurosurgery field. She had to admit that he was cute, with dark curly hair and deep blue scrubs that screamed dreamy. He was first to notice that she was out of sorts when she returned to work and held her in the locker room while she broke down crying. They shared stories about their unfortunate love lives and grew closer as the weeks passed, but Y/N still couldn’t get rid of the feelings at the bottom of her heart.

What did Maeve have that she didn’t? She felt bad thinking about it, how selfish did you have to be to envy a dead girl that your best friend loved? But they both had similar careers, were intelligent, had an interest in the same things as Spencer and both had a penchant for reading. That was what hurt the most, Y/N thought. That they were so similar but Maeve was just... better. Y/N was the person you probably wouldn’t glance at twice, but Maeve seemed to be the one you would do everything in your power to speak to. Sometimes life was unfair, she thought. Sometimes it really fucking sucked.

Spencer spent days laying on his couch after his fight with Y/N. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t control himself as pure hatred clawed its way up and out of his throat. He didn’t want to say those things to Y/N, but in that moment he needed someone to be hurting that wasn't him. Again, he didn’t want it to be her. But his mouth overpowered all his rational thoughts and targeted Y/N.

And god, poor Y/N. The pain that flooded her face when he yelled was unbearable. She looked miserable as she tried to stop the tears, hands wiping at her reddened cheeks. What made him feel worse was that she tried to defend him. That among all the yelling she was trying to make him feel better. She was so selfless and kind and compassionate and he had crushed it all with his bare hands. He was afraid to admit to himself that he liked Y/N at first. She was a bit younger than him and was new to the stress of the BAU - he didn’t want to add to that. But she completely captured him from day one. He tried to do the little things to impress her, like read up on her surgeries and memorise her timetables. She was one of the only people that would let him ramble about his interests and would actually pay attention to his unprompted statistics and facts. He was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, she would like him back. But then he met Maeve, and figured he would play it safe and see where things went. His admiration for her surrounded him, and he slowly sunk away from the idea of things ever going anywhere with Y/N.

He truly loved Maeve. She was one of the only women who had returned his feelings and that he had a chance to be with. When she revealed her paranoia around her stalker, his profiler side came to light. He was ashamed to admit that he started viewing their relationship as more of a case, which only made him hate himself before. If he thought about it with a clear head, maybe it was the fact he was dating someone that was so appealing, rather than the fact he was dating Maeve.

When he wandered into work a few weeks later he was confronted with an empty desk. When had Y/N left? None of his coworkers had ever mentioned to him that she was gone. He had spent time thinking of how to apologise to her, as after all, they had both had time to recuperate and think things through. He didn’t realise that he had hurt her that bad. Surely she knew that a large percentage of people who grieve a loved one experience extreme and often uncontrolled anger.

He had to fix this, and fast. How much time had he wasted?

Y/N awoke to a gentle knock at her front door. She picked her head up from her study books that she had (accidentally) fallen asleep on and wandered over to the door. Who was coming over at this hour? Her face fell as she was greeted with a somber looking Spencer Reid. She gasped and slammed the door, which he had blocked with his left foot. She felt ever so slightly bad as he grimaced in pain.

“What?”

“Oh. Hi. Hi Y/N. I actually wanted to apologise for-”

“No need,” she snapped, “I understand. You can go now. I’m not coming to work at the BAU anymore, I’m out of your way for good now.”

“No. Please, Y/N. I was awful. So awful. And I can’t go home with a clear cons-”

“Is that what I am, Spencer? Was I on your to do list today? ‘Go shopping. Solve crimes. Go harass Y/N so I don’t have to feel bad anymore.' Well, too bad! I don’t give a fuck! Go home and sulk for all I care. Just leave me be, you’ve made your point.”

She went to close the door with the final words, but he pushed past once again and made his way in front of her, swaying back and forth rather awkwardly. She stood with her arms across her chest with a “don’t fuck with me right now” expression on her face.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. Really sorry. I lashed out at you and you didn’t deserve a second of it. Y/N, it’s hard for me to say it… but I liked you… romantically and-”

“And?? There’s an ‘and’. Let's get one thing clear, Reid. You do not get to come to my apartment to try and apologise by telling me you were into me. You have to be fucking joking. You think that fixes things? I can’t believe you are that selfish. As if your feelings make it all go away. I loved you Spencer Reid. You could’ve politely rejected my help without telling me I should’ve died. And then you come here, with no warning may I add, to confuse me? I won't come crawling back to you . I won’t.”

“Wait, no I didn’t mean it like that” he stuttered.

“Then what did you mean by it, huh? Just leave. You’ve done enough already.”

He smiled sadly as his eyes teared up, walking towards the door. He knew she was right. He was selfish to show up and say that he liked her like that. He was desperate for forgiveness and his judgement was clouded. He would figure out some way to make it up to her though. He had to.

Y/N dragged herself back to work the next day. Just as she thought she was getting over him, her late night run in with Reid had brought up her old feelings. She grabbed a coffee from the cart across the road and got to work, changing into her scrubs and tying up her hair. She was on rotations with neuro, meaning she would get to spend the day with Lucas. Hopefully he wouldn't say anything about her glum mood. As the elevator doors opened, she came face to face with the man himself. He smiled as he walked in and pressed the button for the fifth floor. He turned to her rather sheepishly,

“Hey, Y/N. I know you’re going through a tough time right now so I was wondering if we could go to lunch today. Nowhere fancy, y’know, just the cafeteria…”

“Uh, sure. I’d love to. It’s a date.”

They smiled at one another, but the moment was cut short by her pager going off. As she ran out the elevator she looked back at him, smiling warmly. Maybe today wasn’t going to be too bad after all.

After a tough morning, she sat opposite Lucas while eating her salad. It was raining heavily outside and they made small talk about the weather. Lucas had a strict rule of no medical talk at the table. She felt happy with him, she could spend ages with him in fact. But something just didn’t feel right. She hated that she wasn’t invested in the date as much as she should be, why did her brain have to be like this? They stood up once they had finished, and she moved to talk but he started first.

“Y/N, I had a great time with you. Really. But I can tell something’s off, and it’s not your fault. Maybe you're not over your guy yet, which I understand, because I’m not over mine. I thought I was ready to get back out there but I think I need more time. Maybe in a few years we can try again, yeah?”

She laughed softly, “I was thinking the same thing. But I had fun with you. And if you ever need a lunch buddy or someone to vent to. I’m here.”

He nodded and they embraced. As she looked over his shoulder she recognised a familiar figure standing outside in the rain. They noticed her and turned around to walk away, so she politely excused herself and jogged slowly out the doors towards them. Her hands over her haid to shield her face she called out to them, watching as they turned around to reveal themselves. Spencer.

He was sopping wet. His hair was drenched all over his face and his clothes were soaked. In one hand was a cup of coffee and in the other was a piece of paper and a bouquet of daffodils.

“Spencer, what the hell? You’re going to get sick out here” she shouted over the rain, beckoning him inside.

“Y/N. I’m here to apologise this time. Properly. I planned out everything I wanted to say to you, too. I never wanted to hurt you, I know it sounds like a lie but I didn’t. I took my anger out on you and that was so completely wrong of me” He started. She didn’t interrupt.

“Ever since I met you I was enchanted. You are so warm and kind, you make me want to wake up and be a better person. In fact. I’m astounded by you. I’ve gone my whole life without anyone who understood me. But you do. And I know nothing will ever fix what I’ve said and done but I hope this makes it at least a little better. And if it doesn’t, you can probably watch me get sick and develop pneumonia. Because it’s statistically very likely.”

“Spencer…” She stepped forward.

“The coffee, it’s from your favourite cart - the one a block away. You said that the one in the hospital 'tastes like the colour grey’ but you can never be bothered to walk all the way over to the one you like. And daffodils, you never used to like them but it’s what the hospital gives out to patients when they’re cancer free and done with treatment. You said that seeing them now makes you happy. And the paper is from the movie ‘Love, Actually’. You like to point out all the things you would’ve done better than the main characters but you still watch it every Christmas. I meant to write something on here but I didn’t know what so I let it blank, sorry”

He paused, taking a breath and trying to gauge her reaction. She stood frozen, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “Y/N, I’ve always liked you. You told me once that you were always the other girl, but you’re not. Not to me. You’re not my somebody else. You’re my eternal. I’d wait forever for you. I’d do anything to make you happy, even if it means never seeing you again. I just wanted you to know that I never truly meant what I said.”

She spent a small while just staring at him, tears down her cheeks and mouth agape. She rushed forward all of a sudden, hugging him tightly. He dropped the cup out of shock, but slowly his hands wrapped back around her and his chin rested on her head. “Would you really wait forever for me?” She sniffled.

“I’d wait eons for you, Y/N Y/L/N.