#i have spoken to that bowl yet it feels ridiculous! how come you have not yet invented something more efficient for comunication!

[oldestking]

    ❝ How do you merfolk meassure the pass of time?. Hmph.. Took you long enough. ❞ ( <- missed her )  /  @imarahuyo​

[spaceheadcadet]

I've been hyperfixated with a RnM for about two months now. Fairly new into the fandom, I know. Feeling kinda late, but oh well. And I like Doofus Rick. Especially after seeing a blog that drew him so well, I just can't stop. It made me really sad that I'm two–three, eh, heck many years late into this small wonderful side of the fandom. Anyway enough about the rant. I'll just post the thing I typed.

P.s. I haven't thought of a title yet.

It's a reader insert and I don't know how slow I can get the burn going. But here's part 1. Not proof read so I hope it's coherent.

It was raining when you saw him for the first time. Right in front of his yard, just standing alone and drenched in cold…from the heavenly tears falling down the sky. How melodramatic. Not that you judge the guy. You were just concern. 

Surely he’d be sick by tomorrow. Because your weak ass immune system definitely would. 

You were on your way to the old house that night,  the house you inherited from the man who made you never acknowledge the word father in your entire dysfunctional life. Just another ordinary night under the wailing sky, on your way to that cold shelter after a tiring day at work. You were fairly new into the neigborhood so you ignored him at first. Days turned to weeks and the rumours soon reached your notice, giving you more reasons to ignore the man with a blue bowl-cut hair. 

They said he was weird and something else you decide to dismissed until proven. 

Still it made you no better than the rest of the people that always belittles the man, turning your head the other way, passively you were still considered as an accomplice. But what good will it even do if you’re a nobody trying to survive just for another day. 

So, you carried on, passing by him multiple times whenever it rains or whenever you saw him into a nicer weather, you ignored him. Nothing but a coward hiding behind the mask of indifference and excuses. 

On some occasions you would see a glimpse of an entirely different persona on the man, whenever he was interacting with the next door neighbors. He was all smiles, naivety emitted from his demeanor, like a child wearing oversize clothes to pass off as an adult. Entirely different from the times you saw him standing under the rain. He was also a soft spoken fellow with an occasional stutter either caused by anxiety or a condition. 

You never understood how he could keep acting like he wasn’t ridiculed between hushed conversations and judging eyes. Always been optimistic or simply keeping himself into this safe bubble of blissful ignorance. Or how he was still treating everyone with kindness even though most of his efforts to reach out were usually reciprocated with a cold shoulder. 

And you were no different from them after he knocked on your door one morning, offering to help clean up the overgrown and neglected yard, another attempt to get to know you. Although his intention was pure coming from the polite offer, you halfheartedly decline. You didn’t want anything to do with him. 

Annoyingly on the next day it made you finally mow the lawn and clean up the overgrown in the backyard. It took a few months of ignoring the state of the house before you finally got the motivation needed to clean and fix the damn place, all thanks to the neighborhood's doofus(it’s mostly what you’d been hearing from the people around) knocking on your doorstep. You hoped that would be the last he would bother you. Since the first(giving you a box of cupcakes as a welcoming gift) interactions you got from him immediately garnered side glances in your direction. 

Sometimes you wished you were not so emotionally restrictive sometimes. To have even a miniscule amount of care to enact compassion instead of sticking by the comfort of apathy. 

Maybe time would come when you gathered enough courage to do something, even a small act of kindness. But for now you turned your head the other way, in the safety by him getting out of your field of vision. 

…

Neon signs and street lights blur behind the window, droplets of the rain started pelting on the glass. The sound of it stirred you out of your shallow-dazed sleep. It’s raining again. A tired resigned sigh fogged the cold material seeping through your forehead. 

Everything felt heavier, sluggish, and dizzying. You blinked off the dizziness fogged your vision.

Fucking great. 

Soon the bus slowed into the halt reaching the bus stop, it was your stop. Unsteady from intoxication you stumbled almost tripping forward, when the driver finally hit the break. You really hate your aunt sometimes, showing herself unannounced in your work, and dragging you to have a drink with her. 

A hasty apology blurted out of your mouth when you grabbed into one of the steel pole, startling the old man near it. You continued scrambling out of the bus until you get out with slurred thanks for the driver, and then run towards the waiting shed. Resting a bit on the bench you rummaged inside your bag for the folded umbrella. The rain went harder as if the sky was punishing you. You’re going home with a pair of wet socks and shoes again. Ugh, it didn’t help that you were barely walking straight. But the urge to eat and drink something just to remove the aversive sweetness at the back of your tongue, along with the burning emptiness in your stomach, maybe even brushing your teeth twice to be sure afterwards, was enough motivation for you to finally move your drunken ass. 

The umbrella opened with a pop and you walked towards the direction of the house with a slight sway in your gait. 

Your lips curved from a wince when the cold water started seeping through. Soggy fucking socks never felt good, one of the reasons why you always hated the rain. 

Hate. You always hated things. The prominent emotion you had growing up, so you grew to hate things that were constant in your life, just like the rain, just like the taste of the alcohol coated on your tongue. You hated that you had to walk wet all the way through the house. The damn house that was thrown into you because it was old, ugly, rotting, along with the people that had never been part of your life, either physically and emotionally. You hate–

Damn it! 

You stopped, eyes casted down on your shoes. You needed to stop or your thoughts will spiral back into that dark room. 

The hollowness in your chest itched the urge for a smoke. To fill your lungs, the sting, and burn down your throat just for the momentary feel of fullness expands in your chest. 

Desperate for a distraction to latch on to something, anything that will prevent you from further fanning the flame of self-hate just to keep the empty coldness in your chest consumed you.  

You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself. Sighing heavily you looked up again, walking with more urgency this time. After taking a right turn, although your vision blurred a bit from moving your head faster towards the certain direction, a routine your attention gravitated to without fail, again he was there. 

Another variable that becoming constant in your life. 

Fueled by spite and vodka you stop on the other side of the street right in front of his house. This guy, what was so bad in his life that he have to stand under the fucking rain every time. Why does he act like the most pathetic human being right now? Why couldn’t he stay smiling and be naive? Why did you have to see this every time? 

The march came to a halt when you reached his unmoving figure, head tilted up in the sky, eyes shut from the world around him. Up close he looked…mournful. Calmly making peace with the antagonizing torrent around him. Like crying through his eyes wasn’t enough anymore that he had to cry along the sky. 

Stretching your arms forward you extended the umbrella towards him. Coldness started cascading the side and back of your head down to your nape, easing a bit of the heat caused by the alcohol and temper.  

He must be so deep in his mind that he hadn’t noticed your presence, but soon enough the lack of the rain hitting his face tugged him back in the moment. At first he only looked at the dark underside of the umbrella, then his head dropped, aligning his vision in your direction. He stared at you for a while, eyes still in deep before the awareness slowly stirring. 

A shake in your arm from the ache urged you to grab his cold hand guiding it on the handle. Both of your hands pressed his to secure the hold on the handle before you let go. And without saying a word you left. 

“Wait!” 

You pretend you didn’t hear him but you overestimate your ability to stride when your legs were barely stable, you were on the verge of puking your guts out, and head throbbing from the heaviness of exhaustion. 

So, color you surprised when a hand landed on your shoulder and the force of his pull easily knocked your balance. You forgot to take into account that your clumsiness shines whenever the alcohol was absorbed into your system. 

Stepping behind to rebalance yourself only resulted in slipping onto the wet surface before gravity won, once again. 

“Aw, geez, you slipped. Are you alright?” 

In an instant he was helping you, pulling you back up. The umbrella crookedly wedged between his neck and shoulders in an attempt to keep the umbrella upright.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” you grumbled while stabilizing your balance again. 

“Why shouldn’t I? You just left your umbrella, not that I don’t appreciate the gesture but now you are all wet. And I’m already drenched, so I don’t think I will need the–”

Damn you forgot that he rambles. “Keep it. You look like you need it more than I do.” You said ignoring most of his ramblings. 

He kept following you though and trying to cover you from the rain with the umbrella you’d just given him. Annoying long legged creature. 

“But I already own a few. I don’t need–”

“Then maybe use it next time. That’s its purpose after all.” You spat a little when a drop of rain hit your mouth.

“If you know its purpose then why are you giving it to me? You own this after all. You shouldn’t. You.. Why…why are you suddenly doing this?” 

You really wanted to reach your–the house faster and puked until your vision get hazy from tears, puked until you were sobbing and barely holding yourself up from the intensity of it, then maybe just maybe it would expel all the hate festering your insides, leaving holes. Then maybe you could stop latching into the battered mask from the accumulated resentment, finally let yourself grief, be free. 

“Because I need to feel the rain.” 

The crack in your hardened voice oozed the pain underneath the piled bricks of hate, built up like a pillar where you placed all other emotions you have. High, unreachable, detached from the world around you. And the crumbling pieces get into your eyes looking up in resignation, watching your stability crumble. 

You didn’t bother looking back, not even a glance to make sure he was still following you, not even when you no longer heard his footsteps. 

Trickles of hot and cold contradiction trailed on your cheeks. You just wanted to rest your tired eyes, lay down and just sink even for a moment, in the pool of your bottled up emotions. Then maybe this time you would be soaked enough of it to fill the pit inside. Hold all of it back inside and hope you are strong enough under pressure, the weight of it all the love that left nowhere to go.  

…

Fingers tapping hastily on the screen of the phone, you promised you’d never walk under the rain ever again. You didn’t regret it, but you were not doing it again. 

An itch in your throat spasmed a cough out of you. It came into strings, chains of events that after the bouts of scratching your throat in a form of dry coughing, now you feel it all raw. Sore throat was one of the signs your immune system had been compromised. 

You tapped the send. A simple notification for your supervisor that you couldn’t make it in the studio today. You even used your Aunt for a lame excuse, it’s her fault anyway. Forcing you to have a girls night which always entails consuming a large amount of alcohol. Always easier to blame others than hold yourself accountable, wow, you really do progress—ing further into being a POS. 

As you waited for the reply you grabbed the jar of honey in one of the cupboards for your tea. You clicked your mouth shut after the yawn, wincing from the pain when you swallowed again. 

In your temporary office, multiple boxes were still stacked in the corner of the room, a faded silhouette of squares and rectangles left on the obnoxious green wallpaper(not even the nice shade of green), some parts were even ripped from the posters you tore. You clean the questionable room and attempt to convert it into a small studio. But you still have a lot of work to do, for the room to be in your standard. Yet in the meantime it was better to have a clean workspace. 

When your dopamine was a poltergeist your motivation was equivalent to non existence at this point, except from the few hauntings every now and then.

So, yeah, for now you’d stick with a clean workspace. 

Knowing your supervisor the moment you open up your email you already got a job order. Man, even the concept of life and death didn’t jolt your supervisor even a bit, always the diligent asshole. 

An hour of editing later you needed another cup of tea for your throat and maybe food for your grumbling stomach. You almost grabbed a packet of cigarette and lighter, staring at the item contemplating if you would risk it. At the end the cigarette left untouched. 

Back in the kitchen you stood in front of the open refrigerator blankly staring inside the cold contraptions. You close it taking a deep breath before opening the ref again as if you were expecting the food in your mind wouldmanifest itself. 

There were times when you hated this tedious part of living. This was one of those days. 

Grumbling a curse in your native language you gathered the remaining vegetables and chicken breast. Chicken soup was better than nothing. 

You were in the middle of making another tea after dumping all the ingredients and seasoning in the slow pot cooker, when a knock on the door startled you.

Uhm, you were not expecting a visitor today or even ready to acknowledge the existence of your Aunt just yet. 

Yeah, you were not expecting him standing on your doorsteps again. You stepped back on the door after peeking through the peephole. This is for getting involved, you guess. 

The lock clicked and the door swung open. 

“Hi, neighbor. You must be c-confuse why I’m here again. I won’t take long of your time–”

As he explained his reason for his sudden visit you hear the annoying high pitch voice of the next door neighbor. You purposefully leaned out of the door frame and stared in their direction to announce your presence. Ticked off by the obnoxious one sided conversation the bitch is having with her mother, you started talking back. 

“I know hearing aids are a bit expensive but you better invest some of yourself a pair then maybe you’ll know the difference between inside voice to outside voice. Not that I care about your opinion though,” you clear your throat “I just don’t like hearing your whinny grating voice Susan.” 

Although Susan(not her real name) starts talking shit, her mom winces since she understood the sentiment, while you winced for a different reason. 

“That’s not nice,” he whispered. 

You looked up at your visitor, hand still covering your mouth as you cough. How long did you have to talk? It was irritating your throat. 

“I’m not nice,” you just set the stone further. 

He frowned, disappointed that didn’t shy away from his expression. 

“And not a liar,” you didn’t know why you added that. It kinda slipped out…for some reason. You sighed and held out your hand. 

Blue hair swayed to the side as he tilted his head displaying his confusion. God, your patience was already wearing thin when you could still hear the annoying neighbor’s voice now muffled by the confine of their house, the mom must have dragged her inside. 

“The *ehem umbrella. You said you’re here to return it.” Totally ignoring the other part of his speech. 

He looked even more disappointed when he unfolded both of his hands from his back, handing the umbrella to your waiting hand. 

A glimpse of the tupperware still in his other hand further confirmed the source of his disappointment. 

“How long will the muffins last?” 

And like a puppy finally getting his headpats he perked up. Still his enthusiasm had a pinch of confusion. 

“If you must know, these will last for five days if you keep it in this container,” then he showed you the tupperware. “Although the muffins taste the best when you eat it on the same day it’s baked. I was hoping you would like it freshly baked. W-why are you asking?” 

Unfolding your arms you point your throat. “Sore throat. Can’t eat sweets for a while.” 

“Oh, no. You got sick because you left your umbrella to me last night.” 

You waved off his concern. “It’s already sore from all the tequila shots from last night’s drinking. Along with my smoking habits,” you really wanted to end this conversation. 

The lanky blue haired neighbor on the other hand had something else on his mind as he pushed the tupperware in your arms. 

“I’ll be back,” he even gave you a reassuring smile

You watched him run towards his house, perplexed from what was that all about. What did you just get yourself into?

Not even a full hour until you heard knocking on the door again. Shoving your phone in the pocket of your sweater you slowly made your way towards the door. Before you open the door though you pull up the hood of your sweater enough to ease the chills on your nape. 

Your expression stays neutral as the guy greeted you with his signature buoyant smile, emphasising his buck teeth further. 

“Here, I made you a medicine for your throat,” he proceeded to show you a labelless bottle. “You just have to gargle fifteen millilitres of this for forty-five seconds. Make sure to time it right. Although this tastes more unpleasant than the regular oral antiseptic solution, it will soothe your sore throat in an instant.” 

This guy really talked a lot. You're just being polite listening to him till the end of his speech, but sometimes you wished he would make it short. And did you hear him right? He made it? Examining the labelless bottle, watching the orange liquid with concern. More concerned about the possible taste instead of the possibility of something horrible. 

“Thanks,” you cleared your throat again as you croaked. 

“You sound worse than before.” 

You just hummed this time. You’d been coughing a lot earlier, even nauseous since you are still recovering from getting stupidly drunk last night. 

“Have you eaten anything yet? Do you n-need help with anything else?” concern became dominant in his tone and he had this look like the two of you were already a long time friend. 

His sudden full blown concern didn’t settle well with you, even though you knew he was all good with his intentions you’re not used to genuinity. And you couldn’t berate him since you felt like sand had been poured in your throat. 

“Don’t bother. You’ve helped enough already,” you stepped back and held the door but you paused, having a second thought to just be a piece of shit as usual. “Thank you again, Rick,” you gently closed the door behind you but not without noticing the surprise, opening his eyes wider, looking comically wide awake than ever. 

The door clicked shut. 

…

Well, you survived. 

The medicine the neighbor gave you was indeed effective. The day after you were back to normal. Still the same indifferent bitch but cured of common sickness for a fragile peasant like you. 

As for the neighbor that helped you, only a few small things had changed. Like a simple nod from you when he waved in your direction. At first he looked utterly confused, eventually he seemed to accept that was the only form of greeting he would get from you.

You also received small packaged treats hanging on your door knob since you only get home twice a week because of a major project the studio got recently. 

Torn from this development you kept glancing on the cookies packed in a small plastic packaging secure with a baby blue ribbon. 

With a deep breath you let your back slumped on the backrest of the office chair. You raise your hand and reach for the anti-rad glasses your Aunt gifted you, and removed it. 

A groan prompted out of you when you stretched your back, arms extending, another tense muscles unravelled, before dropping your arms. 

Dull white ceiling encompassed your vision. You couldn’t wait for the project to reach its completion. Cramped up in the office for too long was making you sick.   

Curtains of brown hair and a pair of gentle brown eyes appeared on the edge of your vision, peering down at you. “Hey, wanna take a break?” 

“Not yet, T. Go take a break without me. I’m just stretching my back a bit.” 

His face moved out of your vision like he was pulled away. “Alright, but maybe you should stop teasing yourself with that cookie,” he left with a good natured chuckle on his trail. 

“Mind your damn business, T,” you grumbled feeling a bit annoyed. 

Silence ruled the small room, making your thoughts louder once you were alone again. 

Long deep breaths sucked the cold stale air through your nose, for a second you held your breath before slowly blowing it out through your mouth. You repeated the breathing exercise and stopped when lethargy was comfortably sitting on your shoulders. A push from your arms you pulled yourself upright and reached for the glasses beside the graphic tablet. As you pushed the glasses back your eyes it landed back on the cookies on the corner of your desk. 

The sound of the plastic crinkling disturbed the silence of the room. Up close you already had a feeling that the flavor of the cookies was another miss. 

It seemed like he made the whole thing a guessing game for the lack of feedback from your end. Might as well try it since everything he gave you so far was all good. 

Raisins

Soft chime of laughter rippled into the stagnant quiet room. 

…

“Soooo, are you gonna tell me why you asked for a drive to the grocery store?” pair of brown eyes peering suspiciously at you from the rearview mirror. 

“Please stay being my good friend, T.”

“First of all, I’m your only friend which instantly gives me the vacant spot for the best friend position. Second, you never cease to be creative, especially when you are avoiding something. Third, I am your best friend, not your complacent pleb,” he checked on you again through the rearview mirror. 

“Now I feel attacked.” 

“One of the privileges.”

“I’ll take it back then. This is an exploit.”

“Sorry no take backs. Nuh, uh. The pack is permanent and you sign it, Helen even witnessed the exchange of agreement. You shall face my wife’s wrathful curses if you stop respecting the pack. And it will be a very ugly affair,” he said with the voice he usually used when he was doing the impersonation of his wizard oc.  

“Oh, my, god! Stop it you nerd,” although you were shaking your head you were having a hard time holding your laughter from the fond memories. “Ok, ok, you got me. I suddenly crave a home cooked meal. Getting fed up with consecutive days of take out.”

This time you saw him looking sad, possibly missing his son and wife. “Yeah, me too. I miss Helen’s cooking and my pyjamas.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I want to sleep on an actual bed. I need my heavy pillow.”

T, makes a gagging sound. “You need a boyfriend, asap.”

“Can you not! The pillow is like the equivalent of a weight blanket.” 

“The need to have something heavy beside you, is an equivalent of unmet need for physical touch, buddy.” The car finally stopped. “You can’t stay living like a single goblin for life.”

“Bet.” 

“Oh, I’m telling this to Helen,” then he started doing his evil laugh. 

Head shook from hilarity but the giddy babbling in your guts kept stretching your lips into a tender smile. “Damn it, Thomas! Don’t ruin my goblin life fantasy.”

Chuckling as he tucked the stray strands of his long hair behind his ears, he finally exited the car. “No can do. Now come on. The goblin lord needs to do their shopping.”

…

Familiar smell of the savory seafood dish in your home country continued teasing your appetite. Sure you missed the place from time to time, paid a visit multiple times a year as much as possible. But that was before. Now all you could do was just reminisce about the old times. 

The egg almost slipped out of your hand while peeling the shell, getting lost in your head again. Your shoulders sagged, the sound of your huff was thick of nostalgia, homesick to the place that was never yours. 

You shook your head and redirected your emotion at bashing one of the eggs on the countertop harder than necessary. This time you pick up the pace of peeling the eggs for the toppings. 

Maybe it was time for another cigarette break. 

…

You swore the next door neighbor will be the death of you. You stepped out of the damn house just to smoke in peace, and next thing you were helping old poor Victoria pulled the dumb raccoon out of the gap in the wooden fence. 

While Susan screamed in the background. 

“Vicky. Ma’am for the sake of my eardrum, calm your daughter down,” you said, almost pleading with the older woman. 

Dumb raccoon and its fatass. You tried prying the wood so it could wiggle out of the gap but you forgot this furball doesn’t have the ability of the cat. And the only way to remove the helpless animal was to pull it out. 

You made sure the sleeves of your hoodie were down just in case the furball decides to get too feisty. It screeched louder when you pulled it bit by bit. When you unstuck half of its upper body you grabbed it by the nape. 

The raccoon kept fighting in your hold as you carried it towards the elder woman. 

“Throw it! Throw that ugly thing away!” Susan kept chanting. 

And being the shit you were, you swung the animal towards her. The woman screamed bloody murder while she scrambled away. 

“You shouldn’t keep feeding this fatass, ma’am.”

“Oh.” Vicky’s face sagged upon frowning. “I always wanted a pet. But you know my daughter’s husband. He didn’t like animals,” she said as she played with the hem of her blouse. 

You looked up in the sky and hoped you had enough patience remaining not to get involved. It hurt you that the old lady couldn’t enjoy doing what she loves because of some asshole’s opinion. Vicky was old and she deserved to live and enjoy what she wanted. 

“I’m sorry, Vicky.” 

“No, it’s ok. Thank you for helping me. You are right though. It got bigger,” chuckling Vicky took a last look at the raccoon, there was a sadness in her eyes as she smiled in resignation. 

“It’s fat for getting spoiled by a sweet old lady,” you said smiling back at her as you readjusted your hold on the animal. 

Vicky chuckles but it didn’t sound cheery per usual, waving goodbye at you on your way out of their lawn. 

On your way out though you saw another neighbor standing on the doorstep of the house. The whole interaction with Vicky already drained your social battery, added that there was still this fatass in your clutch you needed to take care off. 

Back facing you, his shoulders look wider from the lack of his usual white coat. So, he owned other clothes besides his usual get up. Kind of remind you of Thomas from the initial stage of getting to know the guy. 

“What do you want?” you asked in a tone firmer than earlier. 

His shoulder hitched, obviously startled from hearing you out of the house. 

“I’m just checking if you are ba–why do you have a raccoon?” he asked, pointing at the wriggling furball in your hold. 

“Tried being a food burglar next door. Fatty got stuck on the wrong gap of the fence.” 

“You helped Katrina?” 

What a waste of a good name for an awful person. 

“If you mean the screeching pig next door Susan, no. I helped Victoria.” 

That woman didn’t deserve her mother’s love. It kinda pissed you off that was why you never acknowledged the woman by the name her mother bestowed.

“Screeching pig? That’s not a nice thing to say. And her name is not Susan,” he said, reprimanding you again. 

“I’m not nice. And she does sound like a pig. Anyway, what are you doing here?” 

He followed you all the way to the backyard. Searching for something to temporarily contain the raccoon before bringing it to the nearest animal shelter later. 

“Aren’t you releasing the raccoon?”

You breathe through your nose before expelling the air through your mouth, so closed on snapping at the man. 

“Can’t. Not here.” your jaw clenches as the trash panda continues thrashing. “I’ll bring this fatass to the animal shelter or Victoria’s son in law will hunt this one,” too. 

But you can’t find anything of use. You doubt the box will keep the feisty thing contained. 

“I-I have a carrier if you want you can borrow it.” 

You look at him like he just told you the project in your work is magically done. “Yes, please. Because my fingers are starting to feel numb and this fucker is really, really heavy.” 

“Oh, ok. W-wait here.” Then he was running, long legs stretching into a wide stride. 

The raccoon squirmed again when you switched the hold to your left. 

“Sorry buddy but you have to be away here or you’ll be eating rat poison next time,” Victoria will definitely be devastated again if another animal stinks up dead somewhere in their yard. 

Soon, the lanky neighbor returned with the white carrier, just in time before the ache in your fingers became unbearable. He even helped get the feisty creature in the container. 

“Are you going now?” 

Huh, you almost forgot he was still here. Crouched in front of the faucet washing your hand, you remained quiet. 

Did he think he could meddle with your business just because he lent you the carrier? 

Shaking the water off your hand and waiting for it to dry you took another look at the raccoon. 

“Yeah, why?”

When your hands were less wet you proceeded to rub it on your pants. From the wooden bench adjacent to the wall laid the cigarette and lighter, you grabbed it and about to light one, but paused when the man with buck teeth spoke of the information that entirely slipped out of your mind. 

“Do you k-know where the nearest animal shelter is?” 

Dumb moments, eh, it's natural you got some of those. Although you knew an animal shelter, it was a bus ride away. 

Blowing a long string of smoke to your side away from the standing man near you, you notice him fidgeting, fingers tapping at his side. 

“No. Do you?” you asked even though you have an inkling he’ll start running his mouth again. 

“Oh, yes, I know. In fact it’s the same place where I brought Ms. Carrot—before. I’m still sad about that last visit but I don’t mind taking you there,” and indeed he looks sad, heartbroken even. 

If he fucking cried you swear you’d gonna lose it. 

“Hey, you don’t have to come if it brings back sad memories. Just give me the address and I’ll take it from here.” 

Conflict was obvious by the furrow right in the middle of his unibrow. Hesitation took form by the multiple times his lips parted, words just kept hanging right on the edge, unsaid. 

“It’s fine. Just tell me the address,” you pull out your phone and tap the notes. “I’m still going to drop by for the carrier afterwards.” you held your phone towards him. 

He stares at it for a moment then stares back at you. 

“I’m sorry but I only o-owned a landline phone,” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. 

What? Did he just thought that–

Your other hand holding a cigarette moves toward your face, the heel of your palm digs into your eye, rubbing it. You couldn’t level with this guy anymore. 

“Type the address on the phone,” your jaw clench shut in an attempt to grind the insult you choose to keep to yourself. 

Shame colored his face flush of red and he scrambled to grab the phone to save a bit of his dignity. 

“I-I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to exchange numbers with me. N-not because of s-something else. Definitely not s-something else,” awkward chuckle shakes his hunched shoulders. “I’m not trying anything, I swear. J-just wanted to be friends,” he looked all tense as if he was already anticipating some backlash, from the way he moved with caution. 

You took the phone back as he gingerly held it out to you. And a quick apology stuttered out of him again before rushing out of the property.  

Guess you broke the dork without even the intention of doing so. He’s lucky you have a high tolerance for a guy like him.  

A friend, huh?

The cigarette butt scrunched under the force from getting pressed into the ashtray. You just noticed the stickers on the carrier now that you were staring at it with your full attention. 

“A carrot cake? How can vegetables turn into a cake?”

You asked the old woman smoking beside you. 

“That’s the magic of baking and cooking my little sweet tooth. You can make anything taste good if you know what you are doing.” 

Stretch of genuine smile pulled on the darken wrinkled lips of the blurry face looking down at you. Reminiscent from juvenile years slowly faded by the passing of time, yet you still latched on to the pieces of those memories like a lifeline. 

“Time for a walk, fatso,” you said pertaining to the raccoon circling inside the container. Off of the bench you grabbed the carrier and left after checking the location through a gps app.

…

Not expecting the whole 360 of your entire afternoon, you were now standing in front of Rick’s doorsteps, waiting for the door to open and be done with all the socializing for the day. 

The door creaked open, it stayed ajar for a bit before it slowly swung open. Rick greeted you with an awkward smile force on his lips, and before he could speak again you handed him the carrier. 

“Thank you for letting me use this, Rick. And, yes, the visit went well. The volunteers will release the trash panda into the wild tomorrow where it belongs. That’s all.” 

Not waiting for any response you turned around and left. Hungry and mentally drained, you just want to get back in the house. 

“Wait!”

Two steps more and you were out of the property but you were still compelled to stop, human curiosity you guess. You cocked your head urging him to speak. 

“I want to apologize for earlier, for assuming that–that you’re asking for my number. I got a bit carried away, got a bit confident–that we are some sort of friends now.” 

Huh, your brain was no longer braining because of the grumbling of your stomach. Besides the fact that you already got a lot going on in your brain and he just had to add himself in the chaos.

“Look, I’m not upset about it. But about the friend thing. I don’t know about that. Acquaintance, maybe?” you offered. 

“Oh. Yes, of course. Acquaintance. That made sense.” 

Disappointment was nothing new to you. But seeing it on someone with a genuine intention did sting. Especially when you knew he didn’t have a proper connection with people around him, you even heard from Vicky that the man has been alone ever since moving in the neighborhood, no family or relatives visiting, no significant other…nobody. 

“I better get going. Thank you again, Rick.” 

“Ok, goodbye–” The sound and the way he uttered your name was like the clutch from the sleeves, scared…desperate. 

Although you were used to jumping off the boat even before the boat barely sailed away from the shore, it didn’t mean it gets easier to swim. 

Each step still weighs heavily on your ankle. Another chain of shackles was added to the collection.  

Ugh, why do you keep getting involved with lonely people. 

[mythvoiced]

"Don't worry, my husband knows I'm stuck talking to a snake," the jab is easy to make, Hyun doesn't have enough personal feelings at stake to treat this relationship any kinder than it needs to be treated.

The mention of a husband though makes the tone of voice she uses to respond meaner than she'd intended to be. It strikes her like a faux pas, to mention someone so dear to her, to hear even the insinuation of Boram's existence tumbling from the lips of a man she'd rather not depend on.

Like a foul in a game she's only begrudgingly playing.

If begrudgingly is the right word, though, why did you call first?

It reaches her ears with the same kind of sourness twisting her face as 'Allegra' does. There's a reason Aeri doesn't allow that name into conversations and has a preference as to which name she responds to. They all feel like jabs she can only sit there and take, letting Bellamy ramble on because not only is he right, he has what she needs.

And yes, she could drop him as easily as he could drop her.

But is that really true?

There's nothing she could hold against him if anything were to come out. It'd be an easy feat to paint her as a disillusioned 'woman' so desperate to regain the fame she's yet to make but has already lost, that she'd fabricate a connection to someone like Bellamy Kang.

She isn't stupid enough to not understand the power imbalance. She can't claim anything about him. If she said 'he offered' she'll be ridiculed for being ungrateful, if she threw in a fake story relating to bodies and nights she'd be the unfaithful one, and even the mere thought of it makes her skin crawl in a way that suggests she'll call Boram right after this phone call ends.

He's fighting with a sword.

She with a knife.

Or better.

She with a sword.

He with a gun.

And, as the line goes...

And yet, somehow, that's where the deal lies. Hyun has nothing to hold against Bellamy. And all Bellamy could hold against her are things they've yet to do together. And even those things they will do together, well, what can be spoken of them?

An invitation somewhere?

That's all?

There are no deeper reasons and no deeper ties, but Hyun isn't stupid, and Hyun doesn't trust, and Hyun is angry and exhausted, and the more Bellamy keeps explaining to her why their alliance is so advantageous for the both of them, the more her teeth grit and grind.

Reassurance.

She's half-tempted to throw her phone against the wall, but she wants to keep her finances still for a little while longer.

"You misunderstand, chairman," her finger falters as she stumbles over a model she's worked with in the past. She hasn't heard from her in long enough for her to become half a memory, but not long enough to not notice how long it's been.

Long enough. Another connection lost because colleagues and fake friends prefer to safe their own skin. She looks stunning, of course she does, and Balmain suits her, of course it does.

"Let's just say I don't like simply doing as I'm told and waiting for the results. All the things you mention, the ways we can both benefit from each other, the ways we work oh so well together, vague nonsense," she blocks her former colleague. Why not. Not like she'd notice.

"I want concrete answers. Question number one: Will you try to turn me against Aeri? Question number two: Will you trick me into representing political views I don't support? Question number three: Will you involve Boram?"

She reaches for a nearby bowl of magnolia berries and pops one into her mouth.

"There are wrong answers."

  @mythvoiced has sent :   "I just want you to know that you're the least trustworthy person I know," Hyun shoves her phone between her ear and her shoulder. Meeting Bellamy in person if she wants to talk to him is a no-go for two reasons: she doesn't want to, that's the primary one, and it would be detrimental to whatever it is the symbolic head of Kakao is planning behind the scenes. Another, smaller reason, is also the irritation of not having what he has to do what he does: decide on whims who to support and who not. Unfortunately, the position that makes it difficult for her to have his kind of liberties, is the same that forces her into being contact with him at all. He's saved as 'the lesser Kang' on her phone. "How quick would you be to stab me in the back?" Another device is facing her. She's been scrolling and typing mindlessly for hours, looking at every social media account that has ever worn Balmain... and figuring out where they are now. That, and prodding at Bellamy to figure out what would get him to snap. Because men always do. "Be honest. I can take it." ((Hyun on the phone with the Kangs is such a wildly different experience if you compare this to her and Aeri-- HYELLO LYNNIE, MWAH ♥))

Seeing Ji Hyun's name on the screen brings a twisted little smile to his lips. The end of his day is dedicated to overlook some of the projects from the marketing team at the Kakao Corp headquarters. Answering through his free hand device, he still keeps an eye on the moodboard before his eyes, two hands down his pockets. Him and Hyun, the tango they have started to dance is Oh so entertaining to him. "Ji Hyun-sshi calling me on my cellphone. How intimate. Worry not, I won't tell your husband." Even through the phone, his smirk can he heard which he knows is annoying to her. "Aaah is this a We Have to Talk situation? I thought our honeymoon phase would last a little longer than that yet here you are, calling me the least trustyworthy person you know huh?" His smirk widens as he gestures to his assistant to bring him the second board, the one before his eyes not satisfying him so much.

"You know what I like the most about you Ji Hyun-sshi? You don't beat around the bush so let''s not bullshit each other into the illusion of a friendship and all should roll like I know it will. You hate my guts, so why would I trust you to be loyal to me for the better and for the worse yeah? We're not family, we're not fucking so I can tell, you will ride by my side as long as it's benefitial for you, as long as you don't feel indebted to me, in, I believe, respect for my business and without compromising your moral compass too much. However : you would ditch me if your boyfriend asks you to or if Allegra finds out about our little Histoire interdite so, expect the same from me." Honest, he couldn't be more than he is now, however he believes that's where lies the strength of their little secret. Hyun and him are nothing to each other so everything they will do will be strictly business; no dramas like he has with his sisters or his cousins, no sentimental yadiyadas, him and Hyun can go straight to the point, make bank and part ways when it's over, he likes that. "Isn't that why our alliance is so good? Nobody will know I go where you go, nobody will notice you go where I go, we can manipulate our away everywhere we want. By the end of the day, you get exactly what you want and I get exactly what I want, too." A pause as a thought crosses his mind. Something he's saving for later. "If it's the Power I have that worries you, I'm not like that. Getting you a seat to places only I can provide access to, is handing a piece of that power to you in order to maximize your influence. I'm not looking for an employee, I got enough for that. We can think ourselves as equels in our little duo." Another dismiss to board as he stands up from his seat as he now walks around the room, leaving his assistant behind, standing in front of the ceiling to flood windows, watching the sky darkening. "Is that what you wanted to hear, Ji Hyun-ssi? Reassurance? That are you're inviting me over for whiskey and cigars, and well, I'm free on sundays."

[linksthoughtbrambles]

<adventure log- 000000000018- error: invalid function handle- please update and recompile- contact your system administrator if this problem persists.>

Link.

"I almost didn't hear you. Why're you suddenly so quiet?"

Head for the point marked on the map in your Sheikah Slate.

"Oookay. Didn't answer my question, though..."

Map. Slate. Really?!

... Uh. That's a crying eyeball, not a map and wow, I didn't notice its funny triangle eyelashes before! That eye's really wide, too, like it's surprised. Maybe this is the symbol of terrible surprises. Wonder what the circles and lines are for?

Map, Link.

Oops. "Sure!"

...

"When'll it show up?"

You must make it show up.

"It just showed me my stick and my shortpants all by itself! I didn't have to do anything but look. It did that for my belly shirt, too." Oooh! Link, this IS a belly shirt, look look look look look look, actually it doesn't look half-bad. I have abs!!! Wow! Did I work out? I must have worked out or something. ...My muscles are all... quivery...

"Is that normal, Voice-Lady?"

I suspect you are simply hungry, Link... though.. I'm sure you will have experienced some muscle atrophy despite the stasis field.

"Stay sis?"

It's... what held you still, Link.

"Uh-huh. That sounded an awful lot like 'we were... friends.' You know, with that pause in there that means you're thinking about something a little bit too hard because you don't want to tell me what the real answer is for some reason."

I DO want to tell you the real answer.

"Great!"

...

"Oh, come on!"

Please, be patient, Link. You haven't eaten, nor have you spoken to that man down the hill, nor have you checked the map I've attempted to direct you to twice.

"Are you my mom?"

NO! Gracious!

"Just checking. You seem to like telling me what to do."

...

"Ooooh. You DO like telling me what to do!"

Oh- don't be ridiculous.

"I don't think I'm being ridiculous." Heh, she likes ordering me around. Hmmm....

Check. Your. Map.

Hmm.

I like it.

Weird... "Okay. I'll... oh, right--how do I make it show up?"

Touch the screen and pull to the right.

"All....righty..."

"What? This isn't a map. It's just a bunch of squares! Kmph--'current location'--as if that means anything in a bunch of little grid marks."

At the very least, it shows which way you must go. L-

"Yep, I get it. The yellow dot. It's sort of leftish. East-by-northeast-ish."

Yes.

Guess I'm not a total dingkeese. But... "Hey, is something wrong? You keep getting softer, then louder, then softer again."

I must concentrate.

"...Is everything okay?"

Things are relatively stable for the moment.

"That's not a yes."

It's not a no.

"Technically." Okay, so something's wrong on her end.

What's this weird feeling in my chest?

...Stop getting distracted, Link. Check out this map. What's the yellow dot, exactly?

Yet more creepiness. It's telling me to follow it. Is that because I know that's what I'm supposed to do and it's reading my mind? Is it because Voice-Lady said I should do that and it heard her?

At least it'll make it hard for me to forget things, I guess.

Oooh, what's the blue thing?

...

...

"THE SHRINE OF WHAT?!"

Oh. Um.

"I WAS DEAD?!"

W-well. I'm not certain, exactly.

"RESURRECTION IS A PRETTY CLEAR WORD, I DO REMEMBER WHAT WORDS MEAN, AT LEAST MOST OF THEM, AND IT MEANS TO BRING BACK TO LIFE! HOLY S&*# IN A BREAD BOWL NO WONDER YOU DIDN'T WANT TO TELL ME HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY HOLY NOOOOO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO no no no no no no no noooooo I'm insane, that's what it is, isn't it? I'm crazy. I'm hearing you talk to my insides! There's no one here! I'm just a madman holding a book or something and my eyes are just making up what I'm seeing. There's no such thing as resurrection. You can't just bring someone back to life."

Then I challenge you, Link, to explain why the word exists at all.

"Maybe it doesn't! Maybe I'm extra woo-bah-loo keese-sh@# crazy and I made up a word and it's not real EITHER!"

Link- Link, please-

"Nope! I'm done! I'm gonna go find food. See ya."

...

"... Uh. Hear ya... but I won't listen. This is me saying la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la vs. your clearly-not-real voice."

.

.

Quiet... good. I think.

-----

<navigation - adventure log - view previous log - view next log - return to log archive>

[silkenstarlight]

a night in crimson valley

Summary: Reader is a bartender at the Crimson Valley Motel. After she is accosted by a drunk John Walker, a familiar face offers her protection and comfort.

Pairing: Biker!bucky x bartender!reader

Warning/s: language, violence, alcohol use; sorta fluffy end

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s note: I’m unsure whether I want to turn this into a series; please let me know your thoughts!

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Her nose burned with the scent of blood and cheap vodka, no matter how hard she scrubbed.

In the early days, when she had first been stationed at this bar, she had stocked the cupboard beneath the register with supplies. Lemon-scented bleach, candy-blue windex, a dried up tube of wet wipes. Every night before closing, she had tugged on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and gone to work. Rubbing, scouring, swabbing away every spilled shot, every stray fingerprint. The dirt and spit and grime seemed to accumulate instantly, and yet, she continued her sisyphean housekeeping, trying to paint over the bar’s run-down reality with a layer of chemical gloss. But, all of that effort was to no avail; this was a roadside establishment, so there would always be sloppy drunks, and there would, most assuredly, always be bar fights, new stains to replace old. No use in hiding it.

Now, she’d grown numb to it, the cleaning supplies below the register covered in an ever-thickening coat of dust. The once shiny, lacquered surface of the bar now reflected dully beneath the low light, encrusted with old dirt and sour deeds. The floor was sticky, a years’ worth of spilled cocktails accumulating in a tacky glue trap. The mirror behind the bar, its surface cloudy and warped, reflected the late-night debauchery of men in desperate need of respite.

Every night, she wiped foggy glasses with the same gray, fraying rag, watching the same blurred, bearded faces pass through. The Crimson Valley Motel, owned by (Y/N)’s father, was a dependable option for truckers looking for a night away from the cramped quarters and lumpy cots of their vehicles. With its low nightly fares and extensive parking, and her father’s promise of discounted drink prices at the attached bar, customers returned without fail. Even still, she tried not to grow too attached to any patrons. They were just passing through, after all, with separate lives waiting for them beyond the road and the walls of the motel. But, sometimes, she just couldn’t help herself. 

Bucky Barnes was one such case.

The first things she had noticed the moment he walked into the bar two years ago were his eyes. Piercing blue, stern and ever-watchful, set beneath the overhang of his perpetually furrowed brow. That first night, he had nursed his whiskey glass with two gloved hands, staring at the bar’s surface as if he were trying to memorize every intricacy and flourish in its woodgrain. She had appreciated his presence ever since, so quiet and watchful, a stark departure from the raucous drunkards and wild military men who usually frequented the Crimson Valley Bar. And, despite the fact that he drank as much as the other patrons, he never seemed affected by the alcohol, his gaze as clear and haunting as ever, even well into the dark hours of morning. It almost made her laugh, his perfect stoicism and strong  jaw, the classic image of unperturbed masculinity. But she could sense the ghost of some deep sadness in the downturned set of his mouth. His shoulders always seemed tense, and he continually shifted his weight in his seat, peering over his shoulder every once in a while, as if suspicious that he was being watched. It made her swallow any skepticism about his demeanor, instead deciding that he was likely a very broken man, deserving of the space and quiet his countenance demanded. For that reason, she never asked him any questions, never made a move to satiate that burning curiosity within her. Better to keep a respectful distance than stir up unwelcome memories. 

She had never even really spoken to him, and only knew his name because she once caught his signature on a receipt. By the time she read it, he had whisked away to spend the night in his motel room and prepare for departure early the next morning.

Whenever he came back, it was like she could sense his presence, could feel his steely gaze sweeping the bar. It was comforting, a sweet bubble of solace beneath the humming neon and peeling rock n’ roll posters, a space of quiet surrounded by the pressing screech of electric guitar and deep boom of drums. She never knew when he would return, his trucking routes and schedule difficult to predict with such minimal information, but she secretly looked forward to it. Another day, another opportunity to unwrap the quiet mystery of Bucky Barnes.

Tonight, the bar was crowded. Hopeful thoughts of seeing Bucky retreated to the very back corner of her mind as she poured sparkling streams of amber liquid into lines of waiting glasses, shaking and stirring and swirling again and again in the rote, mindless motions that a full house required. She had no room to daydream, not on a Saturday night, when more lonely truckers sought out the bar for company, and when the local military base flooded in on their night out. In a room full of loud men with wanting mouths, she needed to work quickly.

On nights like these, the men mostly left her alone, too absorbed in their own festivities to take much note of her. Beyond the simple “pleases” and “thank yous,” they seemed to recognize that any attempt to strike up a conversation would interrupt her flow and leave her begrudging, frustrated, and not exactly an ideal conversation partner. But, some men couldn’t take a hint.

She had been cutting lemon wedges, concentrating on creating an even slice and avoiding her fingertips with the dull knife blade. She counted each slice before pouring the wedges into a chilled metal bowl, her movements precise and rhythmic. 1, 2. 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, pour… 1, 2, 3--

“Hey, bartender! I asked you a question.”

She knew it was John before she even bothered to look up. She sighed heavily, placing the knife on the counter and wiping her hands before tilting her gaze upwards.

John Walker was another regular here, but her opinion of him was very different than the tentative infatuation she harbored for Bucky Barnes. To put it simply, she did not like John. Whenever he swaggered past the bar’s threshold, flanked by his two favored cronies, she shuddered. Unlike the relatively polite regulars who frequented the bar, John was demanding, expecting (Y/N) to cater to his every whim without complaint. He was, apparently, a favored recruit at the military base. She just thought he was a privileged asshole. One time, he refused to tip her because she didn’t smile at him when she served his drink. And, another time, he broke his glass on purpose just to watch her clean it up.

Now, he was staring at her, head cocked and arms crossed, expecting an answer to a question she hadn’t heard him utter.

She sighed again, leaning against the counter. “Sorry, John. Didn’t catch your question.” Her voice was flat, lacking in genuine sympathy. “Mind repeating it?”

“Can’t even listen,” he said to himself, shaking his head in disappointment. “As I asked earlier, did you water down my fuckin’ snakebite?”

She stared at him, eyes boring into his cold blue ones, and she thought for a second. She was annoyed by his interruption, but this could go poorly if she didn’t handle it with care. If she said the wrong thing, he could get offended, and she was the only woman in a room full of men. She could hold her own in a fight and had some experience with self-defense, sure, but that wouldn’t hold up against a man with John’s stature and training. She couldn’t predict if any of the other men in the room would come to her rescue if things went south, but she couldn’t really blame them. He was tall and strong, and had a temper to boot. But his fragile masculinity, which compelled him to talk down to her and order such ridiculous drinks as a snakebite, wouldn’t survive if she talked back. So, her decision was made.

“Well, John,” she said, her voice low as she smirked. “Usually, you’re already plastered by the time you make it to my bar. I always have to water down your drinks because you can’t hold your fucking liquor.”

His face darkened, brows drawing downwards in a chilling expression of anger. He gritted his teeth together and pushed back from the bar, motioning to turn away from her and back to his friends. “I can handle my liquor just fine, thank you.”

She cleared her throat, catching his attention. “Actually, just last weekend, you threw up all over the parking lot. My poor Pops had to clean it up.” She chuckled at the memory of her father, grumbling with a bucket and mop in hand, as John sat with his head in his hands in the front office. “You might not remember it, John, but I do. We all do.” The incident had occurred well before closing time, so many of the bar’s customers had seen it with their own eyes. One or two had surely caught it on camera.

“Are you fucking mocking me?” A vein popped out on his neck, his face growing read and hot.

She felt her pulse rise in fear, but she ignored it, hand resting next to the knife on the counter. “Maybe I am.” She leaned forward, leering at him. “What are you going to do about it?”

“What am I going to do about it?” He laughed incredulously, picking up his half-full glass and examining its amber-colored contents briefly before hurling it at the mirrored wall behind her.

She ducked, shielding her face from splattering liquid and broken glass. “Shit.” She dropped onto her hands and knees and crawled, frantically clambering below the bar for the cleaning cupboard. She knew how this encounter would go, but she was starting to realize that she shouldn’t have pushed it. He had never actually threatened her physical harm before, resigning himself to simply being an asshole. Tonight, that had obviously changed.

“Nuh-uh, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice was still loud enough to pierce her eardrums over the pulsating music. He reached down to where she was, grasping for Windex in the dusty, cavernous cabinet, and roughly gripped her hair in his fist. He pulled up harshly, causing an unpleasant sting to radiate down her scalp. The breath caught in her throat. 

She had fucked up. Badly.

He wrenched her close, until their faces were just inches apart. He examined her face, his own visage arranged in an unpleasant sneer. She looked straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down, even though she was frightened of what he might do. 

“I should put you in your place.” His voice was quiet, only audible to her. She shuddered, lip curling in distaste. The sour taste of bile rose on her tongue at the violating way his eyes scanned her face, as if he were a predator examining his prey. A few patrons were watching, pausing their conversations to watch the show. But, none were helping, jumping up to arrive at her aid. A dark pit grew in her stomach at the observation.

He loosened his grip on her hair and she moved to pull back, but before she could, he spit in her face, a thick, hot wad of saliva landing on her cheek. Her mouth gaped in disgust, nose flaring, and she stepped back, wiping the insult from her face with her sleeve and slipping the knife she had been using earlier into her hand, concealing it behind her back. She retreated until her back was flush with the mirror behind her, eyes flitting wildly, trying to find a gap in the crowd where she could disappear and distance herself from him. But all she could see was his face, his hooked nose and hooded eyes, that awful, sneering expression, as he prepared to jump over the bar and bridge the gap between them. 

But, before he could, his head slammed into the bar’s wooden surface with a sickening crack!

Her mouth dropped open in confusion, the rushing bout of adrenaline quickly waning in her veins as she took in the sight of John, head pinned to the counter by a gloved hand. Wait, is that--?

Her suspicions were confirmed when she looked up from John’s floundering figure to find Bucky, his hand firmly wrapped in John’s hair, his face contorted in an expression of rage. She had never seen him like this, nose scrunched, eyes dark. His eyes briefly flickered to hers, and when their gazes met, his face softened slightly, as if to provide her with some sense of reassurance. The breath stalled in her throat, but before relief could flood into her limbs, she saw John stirring in Bucky’s grip.

“What… what the fuck, man?” John turned his head, cheek pressed against the bar’s cool surface, to stare at Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

“Watch yourself, buddy.” Bucky’s voice was gruff and uncaring.

“Buddy?” John scoffed. 

“Well, what’s your name, then?”

A laugh rose in John’s throat, bubbling over into a bitter, joyless sound. He was trying to intimidate Bucky into backing off, shifting his weight below him in an effort to distract him.

It didn’t work. Bucky simply pressed John’s face even harder into the counter, until the breath whooshed from John’s lips in a muffled, defeated gasp. 

“I asked you a question.”

“Fine-- fine. Name’s Walker.”

“Well, Walker,” Bucky replied, leaning in close until his face obstructed John’s vision. “Keep your fucking mitts off my girl here.”

“What?” She couldn’t help it as the question left her lips in a surprised gasp. Bucky’s eyes flicked up to her again, lips pulling down in an embarrassed grimace, as if he hadn’t meant to call her that. 

That moment was enough time for John to act.

Bucky grunted and stumbled back a couple of steps as John pushed out from under him. There was no time to think, no time to act, before John strode towards Bucky and socked him straight in the nose, Bucky’s head whipping violently to the side.

(Y/N)’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She stayed anchored to her spot in front of the mirror, unable to move. There wasn’t much that she could do. Now that John had initiated a physical fight, he likely wasn’t going to stop throwing punches until either he or Bucky collapsed. And with Bucky eliminated as a threat, there would be no one standing between John and her. With that thought, she brought the knife out from behind her and clutched it to her chest like a lifeline. She watched Bucky and John with rapt attention, waiting for the fight to turn back in her direction again.

Blood began to gush from Bucky’s nostrils in a thick stream, staining his lips a wet scarlet and dribbling down his chin. But, he smiled, shaking his head slightly and chuckling darkly. 

“You’re really askin’ for it now, Walker.” 

Before (Y/N) could even blink, Bucky sprung, landing a jab and a right cross that hit John square in the chin. He grabbed John by the collar and slammed him into his knee, the pure force knocking the wind out of John’s chest with a meek groan. Bucky pushed John roughly into a table and John stumbled, causing a chair to clatter and fall, but he remained upright, leaning heavily against the table.

“You going to fight back at all?” Bucky’s goading tone took (Y/N) by surprise. Why was he egging him on?

John snorted and cracked his neck, trying to shake an encroaching sense of uncertainty from his limbs. He pushed off from the table and began a slow, circling orbit around the center of the room, sizing Bucky up with a violent, wolflike gaze, pushing the other customers flush against the wall. Bucky simply stood in place and watched, trying to anticipate John’s next move.

John stopped circling when he was directly across from (Y/N), Bucky between them. She felt John’s gaze slide from Bucky to her, his eyes languidly raking over her body, sensing out her fear. When he saw the knife in her hand, he raised an eyebrow in disapproval, shaking his head. Her heart pounded, adrenaline beginning to thrum through her veins once more. 

John widened his stance and bent his knees, assuming an athletic stance in preparation to tackle Bucky.  Bucky imitated his movement, planting his feet firmly into the floor. John inhaled deeply through his nose, once, twice, and then, he took off, running towards Bucky at full speed.

The room watched in silence, holding a collective breath. The only sound was the pounding of John’s boots against hardwood, the music paused long ago.

He hit Bucky with the force of a mack truck. It was enough to knock anyone off their feet, even someone who had fared as well as Bucky in the fight so far. John hit him so hard that they went flying, suspended in the air for a moment. For (Y/N), it felt so much longer, watching her savior struggle against the grip of his opponent in midair, uttering a quiet “Shit!” as his back slammed into the floor. And then, Bucky was still, John crouched over his immobile form, a triumphant smile plastered on his face.

(Y/N) felt her body move off its own accord, pushing away from the wall, past the safety of the bar’s counter, towards the aftermath of the fray. Her legs quivered, a hard lump rising in her throat as she pushed towards the edge of the crowd. She couldn’t see Bucky’s face, his head concealed by John’s hulking body. A shudder wracked her body, her hope waning.

It was like John could sense her presence. He looked up, his sickening grin showing glistening, too-white teeth. She flexed her fingers, adjusting her grip on the knife. John’s eyes caught the movement, sensing the glint of low light against the blade, and he smirked. He was about to rock back onto his knees, to get up and finish what he started, when Bucky’s head slammed into his.

Disoriented, (Y/N) stepped backwards, once again flush with the crowd. One moment, she had been preparing to fight, to let the blood-soaked evening devolve into even more violence. Then, the next, Bucky had suddenly reanimated, an almost superhuman force driving power into his limbs. He bucked John, still reeling from the unexpected headbutt, off of him with an aggressive, thrusting twist. John tumbled and collapsed on the floor next to Bucky, who slowly knelt, then stood, eyes on John the whole time. When John didn’t budge, splayed on the floor with a distant, vaguely dazed expression, Bucky turned his gaze to (Y/N).

The room was dead silent, save for John’s labored breathing and the sound of Bucky’s boots against the hardwood as he slowly walked towards (Y/N). The room seemed to fade around the two of them, the confused, awed, and fearful faces of the spectating patrons blurred together in an anonymous mass. It smelled of sweat and rust and spilled liquor, but she didn’t care, because Bucky was okay.

“Anyone else?” Bucky asked the rest of the room, not taking his eyes off of (Y/N), even for a moment, lest she disappear, or worse. But she didn’t, staying rooted to the same spot, eyes glistening with gratitude. And no one responded to Bucky’s challenge. 

When Bucky came to a stop a foot in front of her, the other customers began to quietly file out, afraid to utter any remarks that may provoke another altercation. John’s two cronies picked him up from the floor, hefting his arms over their shoulders and bolting for the exit, his boots dragging on the floor. (Y/N) watched them exit, watched them stuff John into the backseat of their car before they peeled out of the parking lot and took off with the screeching sound of retreating rubber.

“You know,” Bucky said, his voice soft in spite of the evening’s violent course. “You don’t have to worry about using that. You’re safe with me.” He pointed at the knife, still clutched in (Y/N)’s hands.

She looked down at the knife in her hands and then looked up at him, formulating a response, when she noticed that he had a gash on his jaw, as well as a still steadily-flowing nosebleed. The knife clattered to the floor as she reached for his hand. “You’re bleeding.” Her voice was thick with worry, regretting the fact that he had suffered for her sake.

He shook his head. “I’ve gotten worse.”

“Let me help you.” She glanced urgently around the bar, now empty save for the two of them. “I can close up and bring the first aid kit to your room. I owe you, after all of that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He paused for a second, considering. “But, sure. A couple of bandaids wouldn’t hurt.”

She smiled. “I’ll be there in ten.”

His brows creased together slightly, a chagrined smile curling his lips upwards. “Oh, I’m not leaving you alone just yet. We didn’t see where Walker went. He could be waiting just outside with those two other guys.”

She knew that both she and Bucky had seen them drive away, but she nodded anyways. “Alright. Just let me grab the first aid kit and my keys.”

“Deal.”

She picked the knife up from the floor and walked back to the bar, placing it gently in the sink. As Bucky walked towards the entrance, surveying the parking lot outside from the small, frosted window, she reached into the cabinet of cleaning supplies, pulling out a rusted, white box with a blaring maroon cross emblazoned on its front. She blew off the thin layer of dust that coated it and stood, grabbing her keys from the hook next to the mirror and joining Bucky at the entrance.

He turned towards her, noting the first aid kit, and grinned. “Room 102, here we come.”

She returned his smile as he opened the door, midnight air washing over them in a brisk, drafty waft. They stepped outside, engulfed in nighttime chill, and she shut the door and locked it, fumbling with the cold metal of the keys. Bucky stepped closer to her, his arm brushing against hers, his body emanating an intoxicating warmth. She welcomed his proximity, wondering if he could sense the fact that she was cold, as they walked across the parking lot to his motel room.

He pulled his key from his back pocket and slid it through the card swipe, the door unlocking with a crisp click. She was looking out at the parking lot, at the trees and darkness beyond, wondering if John and his friends were in fact lurking out there somewhere, biding their time for the right moment to strike again. He was definitely the type to hold a grudge for a night like this. If he didn’t retaliate tonight, he would soon, would let her soak in the fear for a few days and then arrive at the bar unannounced with dues to pay.

Bucky cleared his throat, and (Y/N)’s attention snapped back to him. She looked up at him, eyes wide and surprised, and found that his smile was gentle and knowing. 

“You’re safe with me. Come on, let’s get inside. It’s cold.”

When they stepped inside, they were greeted with a welcoming warmth. The door shut behind them. He walked over to the little oak nightstand next to the single queen-sized bed and turned on the bedside lamp, its bulb washing the room in a dim, glowing halo of amber. She sighed, muscles relaxing, seeming to melt into the warmth, into the comfort of being somewhere besides the bar. She placed the first aid kit on the bed and shrugged off her cardigan.

“So, doc,” Bucky teased, approaching her at the foot of the bed. “What’s the plan? How’re you going to fix me up?”

“Well,” she said, squinting as she examined his face. “We’ll have to wash all that blood off first, so I can assess the damage.”

He gestured to the bathroom with one hand. “Lead the way.”

They walked into the bathroom and he flipped the light on, its white fluorescence a stark contrast from the soft light in the other room. She grabbed a bleach-white washcloth from the shelf above the toilet and turned on the faucet, dampening the cloth under the steady stream of water. She turned off the faucet and stepped back as Bucky leaned against the sink, crossing his arms.

“This might sting,” she said quietly, stepping into the space between his legs, his stance framing hers. He simply nodded in response. She tried not to think about their sudden proximity, the fact that she was alone in a motel room with a man who had risked his own safety to protect hers, a man she had been secretly pining over for a while now. Instead, she smoothed the wet washcloth in her hands and brought it up to his face, dabbing gingerly at a stream of blood that had dried on his cheek. When she brushed against the cut on his jaw, he winced, a sharp huff of breath leaving his nose.

“Sorry,” she apologized, trying to handle the cloth with light fingers. “He really got you there.”

“Even if that’s true, part of me thinks I should thank the guy.”

(Y/N) paused. “W-what?”

“Well, he’s an absolute ass. Deserved what he got,” he chuckled. “But now, I’ve got the pretty girl who works at my favorite bar taking care of me. It was definitely worth a couple of scrapes.”

“I--” her response died in her throat, choked by the deep blush that was creeping up her neck. She paused dabbing at his face, looking at him quizzically.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, noting her creased brow and parted lips. “Too soon.”

“No-- no. It’s okay.” She shook her head and smiled, moving the washcloth to his upper lip as she wiped away the evidence of his bloody nose. I just didn’t think you felt that way, too.

After a few more minutes of tense silence, (Y/N) trying to avoid direct eye contact the whole time, lest her blush return, his face was clean. She stepped back and examined her handiwork before throwing the bloodied washcloth in the waste bin and leading Bucky back into the main room. She sat down on the bed, its springs groaning in a rusty bounce beneath her, and she opened the first aid kit, searching for a suitable bandage for his jaw. He knelt on the floor in front of her, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her, caging her in with his arms but refusing to let his touch drift any closer without permission. He watched her fingers flit indecisively between the different band-aid choices. 

Finally, she plucked one from its box, carefully unpeeling its wrapping. Bucky tilted his head slightly, allowing her easy access to the cut on his jaw, and she delicately placed the band-aid over it, careful not to press too hard against the tender skin. Her touch unconsciously lingered a moment longer, lightly caressing his face with the pads of her fingers. But after a few seconds, when she didn’t pull away, they both inhaled sharply, his face quickly growing hot. Their eyes met, and she dropped her hands to her sides, his piercing blue gaze boring into hers.

 He blinked and stood, walking over to the door and hunching down to glance at the parking lot through the peephole.

“I should get going,” (Y/N) said, voice hushed as she snapped the first aid kit shut. She stood, grabbing her cardigan, preparing to meet the cold outside and run to her permanent room. “Thank you. For everything.”

He turned away from the door. “Hold on.” His voice was grave, a stark contrast to the light, flirty turn of the evening since they had entered his room. “We still don’t know if he’s out there.”

(Y/N) bit her lip and shifted her weight, silently grateful for his hesitancy to let her be alone. “What are you suggesting?”

“You can take the bed.” He gestured to the spot on the carpet between the bed and the door. “I can take the floor.”

“A-are you sure?” 

“If I was in your position, I wouldn’t want to be alone,” he said, voice rough and quiet. “But, it’s your decision to make. I can walk you back to your room, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

She thought for a second. She agreed with Bucky’s observation that John may still be out there, lying in wait, and he had been spot-on with the remark that it would be frightening to be alone after tonight’s violence. So far, Bucky had proven himself to be good. She felt comfortable around him. He didn’t try to touch her, and he still gave her options, despite the fact that he seemed oddly protective of her. She knew that he wouldn’t hurt her, that he wouldn’t try to slip into bed next to her in the darkest hours of morning. He was a good man. He would live up to his promise and give her space, acting as a blockade between her and the outside world. For tonight, he would be the promise of warmth, of comfort, of safety.

“I think I’d be more comfortable here. With you.”

“Alright.” He offered a simple reply, walking over to her and taking the first aid kit and her cardigan from her, placing them on top of the dresser. “You’ll be safe with me,” he reassured her, bending down to look her in the eyes when he said it, uttering each word with heavy truth.

She nodded and bit her lip. When she felt her blush creeping back up her face, those stern, icy blue eyes of his fixated on her, she turned away, directing her attention towards the bed, hands smoothing over the covers. She grabbed a pillow, its blanched case stiff and rough from continual washing, and handed it to him. He smiled and took it, humming a low laugh and placing it on the floor next to the bed.

She pulled back the sheets as he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Her eyelids were suddenly heavy, her body absolutely exhausted, but grateful for a safe place to rest after the day’s peril. She felt herself lull into a hypnotic state of rest before she could even pull the covers over her body, listening to the rumble of the motel’s heater and the whoosh of cars driving past on the distant highway.

Bucky finished in the bathroom and tiptoed to the closet. He grabbed the extra blanket from the top shelf, its woolen fabric starchy and coarse, and plopped it onto the floor next to his pillow. Then, he looked down at (Y/N), curled up on the bed, already halfway into a dream. He sighed, a soft smile gracing his lips, and he reached for the blankets on the bed, pulling them up over her sedated form. She shifted under the covers, settling into their warmth, and he turned off the bedside lamp, the room submerged in a sudden, but not unwelcome, darkness.

                                                             ✧

She woke to light streaming through the gap in the curtains.

The room smelled of lavender detergent and carpet cleaner, and of something distinctly masculine and unfamiliar, the scent of mint toothpaste and rainfall. She stretched, her body grateful for a restful night as memories of the previous day trickled back in. John’s threats, Bucky’s heroism. Her shyness, her inability to tell him how she felt, despite the fact that he so clearly reciprocated those feelings he had hinted at.

She sat up in bed and looked around the room. On the floor next to her, the spare blanket was folded neatly, the pillow she had given to Bucky the previous night stacked on top of it. His duffel was gone from its perch on the dresser. Any trace of him had disappeared, save for the scent that hung in the air and the memories that clung to (Y/N)’s brain.

She sighed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. She had a lot of work to do today. She supposed that she should probably clean up the bar after last night’s incident, and should break open the cleaning supplies that she had left untouched for so long. She wished that she had had the chance to say goodbye to Bucky before he left, a faint sense of longing gripping her throat. But, at least the cleaning would take her mind off of that, for the time being.

As she stood, she brushed through her hair roughly with her fingers, gathering the first aid kit and her cardigan. She surveyed the room one last time, bathed in soft morning light, when a square of white on the nightstand caught her eye.

Brows furrowed with confusion, she walked over, abandoning her things on the bed. On the nightstand was a notepad, an uncapped pen sitting next to it. A brief note was scribbled on it.

Call me if he comes back. 

Or, if you need me. For anything.

-Bucky

The message was followed by a phone number.

(Y/N) ripped the note from the pad and stared at Bucky’s slanted, spiked handwriting for a moment, noting the sharp angles and rushed script of his letters.

She stuffed the note in her back pocket and smiled.

[awanderingdeal]

An unfair race

I finally finished this! This fic is kind of a follow on to Endless Nights. Note: That fic is rated M and contains some sexual content, but you do not need to read it for this to make sense. I wanted to combine Finn talking with Heather, and an aspect of the discussion after that fic, where we talked about athletes in particular using exercise as a coping mechanism, and how this can sometimes turn unhealthy.

Some content warnings for this one: over exercise (if you'd like to skip the explicit description of this, skip to after the first stars, although there are a couple of mentions throughout), food mentions, self-depreciation and mentions of coming out/being outed.

Rating: T

If you feel I missed any content warnings or need to change the rating, please drop me a message!

The characters in this fic are from the sweater weather universe and belong to @lumosinlove

Finn’s entire body ached as his feet pounded against the path once more. His form was sloppy now, shoulders too hunched over and his strides falling without any real control. He forced himself onwards, breaths coming in fast pants, the straining muscles of his quads screaming desperately for more oxygen. And yet, his brain still whirred, obnoxiously loud thoughts pushing their way back to the forefront each time Finn managed to grasp a few blissful quiet seconds. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d passed the statue of the girl and her ducks, the smile on her face that he normally found so comforting becoming more and more irritating with each meeting. As he came to the gates of the park, Finn contemplated going home, but even just the reduced speed had brought the taunting thoughts back with a vengeance. One more go.

***

"H, has her jacket on. Has everybody got their game faces ready, boys?" It had been at least 30 minutes since James had made the joke as they all tumbled from the locker room, yet the sound of bright laughter still rang in Finn's ears.

He watched as Heather tugged her suit jacket more tightly around her, their eyes meeting for the third time in short succession. Fuck. Finn pushed his tongue against his mouthguard, sinking his teeth into the hard plastic. Later, self-inflicted as the need would be, he would complain about the new one he’d have moulded, each guard always feeling slightly different. For now, the rhythmic clench of his jaw was soothing.

Finn forced a breath through his nose, trying not to react too visibly as Heather dipped her head once more to add another scribbled note to the small, black book she carried everywhere. He forced himself to look away, knowing his constant glances were giving away his unease. Whilst Heather didn’t come to every training session, not even most, it wasn’t that uncommon to see her hovering around the edges of the ice, and ordinarily, only the very newest of the team paid any attention to her beyond an initial greeting.

“Earth to O’Hara!”

Finn held up his hand in apology, shaking himself back to the training session. Kasey’s eyes bored into him. It wasn't his usual intense stare, but something more concerned and Finn waited for the inevitable question. After a long few seconds, Kasey's eyes dropped to the puck, passing it back to Finn to take another shot.

The numbers on the clock inched forwards, slow and heavy like the sweet sticky molasses Leo was so fond of. Still, when Coach finally dismissed them for the day, Finn found himself wanting to take another lap. If he could get his thighs to burn enough then his head would race a little less, and it wouldn’t be too suspicious; Finn’s record of being last on the ice was surpassed only by Sirius. Before Finn could really consider it, Leo was next to him, knocking their shoulders together.

“Hey,” Leo cocked his head slightly, hair ruffled from the mask he’d recently pulled off and his pale skin glistening with sweat. He looked as beautiful as ever. Illogical as it was, it somehow made the dull ache in Finn's chest worse. "Everything good?"

"Yeah," Finn tried for a smile. "Busy brain today, that's all." There was no point brushing the question off completely; Leo was scarily observant. He and Logan often joked that he had eyes in the back of his head. Finn had no doubt he had caught the many pucks he had missed over the last hour.

"That sucks," Leo said, scepticism leaking into his voice. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Finn followed his glance behind them to where Logan was tussling with Jackson, loud rumblings of French intertwined with their laughter. "Or Lo, perhaps?"

"I like it when he looks like that,” Finn sighed.

"Mmm, me too” Leo hummed, his features softening. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that change of subject though, Sir. You don’t have to talk to me about it, but please don’t bottle it all."

Finn slumped into his stall, smiling as Leo lifted his hand to press a kiss to the knuckles. “I’m dealing with it.”

“Baby,” Leo started, his next word morphing into a stunted exhalation of air. His eyes closed briefly, his shoulders squaring before he relaxed them. He opened his mouth again, the sentence uttered clearly not what he’d originally planned on saying. "I'm going to take my padding off and head to see Lars. I think Loops is sticking around so I can get a ride with him if you two want to go home?"

Finn thought back to the quiet look of concern on Logan's face after he'd got home from his run the previous evening, and to the creased lines of worry at the corners of Leo's eyes earlier. "I think I might go and see Heather," he shrugged.

"Thank God," Logan appeared, wrapping his arms around Finn's waist. "Your runs were getting ridiculous."

"You didn't say anything?" Finn turned in Logan's arms, to rest his chin on top of his head.

"We were going to give you one more day. Leo wanted to speak to you this evening, only I had faith.”

"Oh, fuck off," Leo laughed. "You were just avoiding the conversation."

“I’m offended that you would even suggest that,” Logan burrowed into Finn’s chest. The sweat soaked gear they wore didn’t smell great, but neither of them seemed to care.

Moody huffed as he veered around them, his arms filled with tape. “No canoodling in the locker room.”

***

“As lovely as this chat has been Finn, if you really did just come in to catch up then I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ve got a couple of sessions this afternoon, and a mound of paperwork to complete,” Heather shifted in the forest green bucket chair. They were new since Finn had last been in here, replacing an ugly leather thing that Heather had always complained was too stereotypical. She’d removed her jacket now that she was back in her heated office, the item hung on the back of the door where it rightfully belonged.

Finn, freshly showered and changed, sat cross legged in the chair opposite. He reached forward to grab more pretzel sticks from the bowl on the table between them, puckering his lips as his tongue protested another injection of salt. “You know there is something I could do with your opinion on.”

Despite the reaction being minute, Finn saw the tiny upwards quirk of Heather’s lips. “Go on,” she encouraged.

“It’s dumb,” Finn muttered, drumming his fingers against the arm of the chair.

“Thoughts don’t have moral value Finn, it’s what we do with that’s important.” Heather pulled a handful of tissues from a box on the table, holding them out. “Tap away, but please spare the upholstery.”

“Sorry,” Finn grimaced, cleaning his hands of the salty residue.

“No need to apologise, I’m just still a bit precious about the new furniture.” Heather smiled. “Why do you think your issue is dumb?”

“It’s -” Finn tugged at his sleeve. “I can just never be happy with what I’ve got can I? I spent 8 years saying that if Logan could just love me back then I’d never complain again. And now I’ve got Logan and Leo and I’m still not happy.”

“What’s making you unhappy?

Finn breathed in deeply, scrunching his eyes shut. He’d spent weeks stuffing the pain into the tiniest box he could in his brain, and now here Heather was asking him to just - talk about it?

“Finn, look at me?” Finn did as he was asked, lifting his head to find Heather’s kind eyes. “I’m going to reiterate something I’ve said before. You can say anything you want here. It doesn’t matter if it’s selfish or unkind or if you think it’s stupid. Unless I think you’re a danger to yourself or anybody else, then nobody is going to hear about it.”

Finn bit his lip, wiggling his toes beneath his legs. “I get jealous,” he rushed out. “I get jealous of Cap and Loops and Potts and Lily and all those other couples who just get to hug and kiss and tell the cameras how stupidly in love they are.” He paused, the panic of having told somebody matching the relief, but now the words had started tumbling out he couldn’t stop. “I get so angry about it. Sometimes, for the tiniest second, I hate them. All of them.” he whispered, barely able to admit it. “And then I just feel worse. Because I love them too and it’s not their fault. Cap and Loops didn’t even get a choice in the matter. How messed up is it to be jealous of somebody that got outed?”

“Emotions are complex. It is possible for you to have sympathy for Sirius and Remus, whilst still feeling jealous that they now can be more open about their relationship.”

'I don't like it," Finn huffed. The sentence had come out mimicking a toddler having a tantrum. Finn wanted to act like one too, to throw himself on the floor and scream.

“Have you spoken to Leo or Logan about it?”

“No,” Finn frowned. “It would just make them sad and I don’t want them to pressure them. I don’t want them to know I think such horrible things.”

“Okay,” Heather nodded. “Imagine one of them came to you and told you everything you’d just told me. What would you say to them?”

“Wait.” A distressed noise fell from Finn’s lips. “Do they talk to you about this too? Both of them make a comment here or there, but we talked about it not long ago and we agreed that we weren’t ready.”

“Finn, you know I can’t tell you about what I discuss with Leo or Logan.”

“It was worth a shot,” Finn shrugged.

“So, what would you say?”

“I’d say they are entitled to be jealous. I'd say it’s not fair we don’t get to do everything the others do just because the world is homophobic and close minded and can’t imagine the three of us could love each other exactly the same as every other more traditional couple. I’d say that I know they don’t hate Cap or Loops or Potts or Lily, they hate the situation and that’s completely understandable. It fucking sucks and they can be angry about it." Finn drew in a hulking breath, Heather's outline a little blurred through his wet eyes. Each word had sent an aching pain through his body, similar to when he ran, only now he felt like was chasing something cathartic rather than running away.

"Earlier you said what you had to tell me was dumb," Heather said. "Can you explain why you think that it's dumb for you to feel that way, horrible even, but if it were Leo or Logan their feelings are valid."

"Maybe it's not dumb," Finn looked down at his hands, tracing over the freckles there. "But that doesn't change the fact I don't like having those thoughts. Especially when I don't want to act on them. I’m okay with waiting to tell people about us, if we ever do. They're not ready. I'm not ready."

"That’s something we can work on. Helping you to reframe those thoughts, I mean.” Heather slipped her notebook from where it had been tucked beside her and made a note. Finn leaned his elbow on his leg, tucking his chin onto his fist, trying to make his attempts to see the page surreptitious. Capping her pen, she gave a small chuckle, “I’m just leaving myself a reminder of what we’ve discussed. You can always ask what I’m writing, I’m not trying to keep secrets from you.”

Finn sat back, the book no longer quite so interesting now that it wasn’t forbidden. “So? That’s it?”

Heather hummed. “For today. I think you’ve got a lot to think about already. I’ll schedule some more sessions with you over the next few days, okay? It’ll give me a chance to get some new pretzels.”

"Thanks," Finn laughed, then gestured at the empty bowl. "For the pretzels. And the talk."

“That’s what I’m here for,” Heather said. “I’m just going to ask one thing of you before I see you next. Please try to keep your evening runs to a reason-”

“Who snitched?”

“There was no snitching, as you call it. We’ve just known each other for a while now, Finn. And as an employee of the Lions whose job it is to make sure you’re at top playing ability, I don’t want you to injure yourself. As your psychologist, I want you to have healthy coping mechanisms and exercising to that extent is not healthy.”

“I know,” Finn unfolded his legs, stretching them out. They’d gone stiff after being sat on for so long, the sensation coming back with an uncomfortable tingle. “I’ll try to keep the runs in check, promise.” His gaze fell on the closed door, steeling himself to leave. He stood, sending Heather one last smile. It was safe in here, but his boys were out there.

“See you soon, Finn.”

Stepping out of the office, Finn closed his eyes, giving himself a second to compose himself. A rustle of movement to his left caught his attention, startling a little at the sight of Leo and Logan. They sat on the floor, Leo’s hand resting on Logan’s knee where they were hunched to his chest.

“Sorry,” Leo scrambled to his feet, his arm outstretched to let Logan pull himself upright too. “We didn’t want to wait too far away. In case, well, I don’t know, you needed us.”

Finn joined them, immediately finding Logan attached to his side, his familiar warmth exactly what he wanted right now. “I’m okay,” he assured. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it with you guys just yet. I need a bit of time to process, but just you being here makes things better. I’m going to see Heather a bit more too.”

“Proud of you.” Leo flanked him on the other side, taking his hand. Finn didn’t get to be in the middle often, Logan usually claiming the spot, and he felt like he had a kind of shield. “We just want you to be happy. And safe.”

“Can we go home, please?”

“Ouais, home,” Logan agreed.

[thedragonnerd]

Fic: Love Languages

Headcanon suggested by a lovely anon, which spawned into a fic. Read on Ao3 or under the cut.

Words of affirmation

Receiving compliments or words of encouragement are not uncommon for Namaari. She has gone through life aiming to be the best at everything she does – the best leader, the best warrior, the best Princess – and along with her success come compliments on her fighting techniques, her decision-making skills, and even her ability to look formidable in her formal attire.

As royalty, people lavish her with praises when they see an opportunity to get into her good graces, despite the obvious lack of sincerity behind their words, and it tires her to deal with fawning citizens. She loves her people, but she’d rather they’d love her back truly; false words mean nothing.

Chief Virana does not give out compliments easily, and is often faster to critique than to encourage. Namaari pretends her mother’s approval is nothing more than something important to receive from her Chief, but in reality, she craves hearing soft words such as ‘well done, Morning Mist’, whenever she is lucky enough to have them bestowed upon her.

As she grows up, she decides that sweet words are nice to have, but ultimately unnecessary – nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement is needed, before one can place it aside and move on to more important things. And then Raya comes back into her life.

Raya, who can flirt endlessly with elaborate innuendos until Namaari rolls her eyes at her ridiculousness. Raya, who is quite happy to press herself closer than absolutely necessary in their sparring sessions, just to set out some unspoken physical challenge.

And yet, when it comes to providing a genuine compliment, Raya practically freezes.

‘I like…like your hair,’ she mumbles one day to Namaari, glancing off to the side in order to avoid making eye contact. Her cheeks are flushed bright red, even though earlier in the day she had made a lewd comment about a sword which didn’t even have her blinking.

For some reason, Raya’s lack of suaveness when it comes to providing true compliments delights Namaari, and she hoards each instance close to her heart, happy in the knowledge that every word spoken was genuine in its meaning.

In return, she starts to gift Raya with compliments of her own.

For Raya is not used to receiving compliments, at least not in a long time. Her Ba used to provide encouragement and compliments often, but that was many years ago, and now he hesitates to put them into words sometimes, unsure of how this new dynamic works when he’s looking at a grown-up daughter rather than a small child.

Namaari has no difficulty in sharing them though.

‘You look very beautiful today,’ she tells Raya softly one evening, when they are having dinner. Raya stammers out some incomprehensible response, and spends the rest of the meal staring down at her bowl, occasionally darting her eyes over to Namaari.

‘I love that hairstyle on you,’ Namaari says to her a few days later, watching as Raya braids her hair back with expert precision.

‘Umm…thanks?’ Raya squeaks.

‘Your techniques were excellent today,’ Namaari informs her after a sparring session. This time, Raya just nods, and clears her throat before trying to awkwardly change the subject. Namaari can still see the smile on her lips though.

Eventually, Raya becomes better at both giving and receiving words of affirmation. Namaari learns how true compliments can be more meaningful than expected.

It isn’t the most important aspect of their relationship, but they like to encourage each other all the same.

Acts of service

Raya sees how much of a burden Namaari perpetually takes onto her shoulders, in her duties for Fang. She is so focused on helping her people rebuild and expand, or going away on diplomatic missions to help form better relations with the other lands, that she forgets to take a moment to breath sometimes.

Raya wants to take some of her stress away, by helping her carry out some of her duties or at least be involved in organizing certain aspects of the expansion projects, but she discovers quickly that Namaari is somewhat of a perfectionist. It is almost more stressful for her to find herself out of the loop or uninformed about decisions, than it would be to allow her undertake the duties in the first place, and so Raya finds it more helpful to just back off from the work unless asked to provide support.

It’s also a way for Namaari to feel as if she is atoning for her past actions. Raya wishes she wouldn’t feel the need to do so, but it is something they’ve argued about before, and they always end up stuck in a perpetual loop.

One of the ways Raya can help however, is with her cooking.

Namaari is an awful cook (something Raya unfortunately discovers herself with one ill-fated meal), but she is fascinated by watching Raya conjure something up in the kitchen.

Gone are the days of living off jackfruit jerky; with so many fresh and interesting ingredients at her disposal, and with the occasional reminders from Ba when she is unsure about something, Raya makes a whole array of different foods over the months.

It’s one of the best ways of getting Namaari to relax, Raya finds. Every mealtime when Raya is behind the pot, Namaari will abandon whatever work she is doing, and will sit and watch Raya finish making the dishes. They’ll always eat it together, and for a short while, Raya can feel the stress lift free from Namaari as she laughs over Raya’s words and enjoys good food.

Gifts

The first gift Namaari ever gave Raya has almost become a symbol for their entire complicated history. It represents new friendship, betrayal, and after so many years…forgiveness and a fresh start.

Namaari gives it back to her not long after the return of Kumandra, before she can second-guess herself.

‘It was a gift,’ she says, half-expecting it to be thrown back in her face. But Raya runs her finger gently over the surface of the dragon pendant, and then sends her a small smile. The next day, Namaari sees it hanging around her neck once more.

Once they start dating properly, Namaari can’t get it out of her mind how much the gift seemed to mean to Raya, both times.

‘She still doesn’t have that many personal belongings,’ Namaari informs Sisu, as an explanation as to why she was forcing the dragon to accompany her around endless market stalls in Talon, looking for the perfect gift for Raya. ‘I figure it’s because she was on the move so much in life, she couldn’t carry a lot.’

Sisu makes an ‘mmm’ sound, clearly not buying her reasoning completely, but allows the topic to drop when she’s distracted by shiny objects at the next stall.

Namaari finds a small knife that can be strapped to a wrist and slipped up the sleeve. She knows how much Raya prefers to be carrying at least one weapon with her at all times, and this would be perfect for diplomatic meetings – subtle, and easy to hide. And indeed, Raya wears it continuously after receiving it as a gift.

On another visit to another market, this time in Spine, Namaari spies a comb with a beautifully carved handle.

‘For your hair,’ she says in an attempt to be casual, thrusting it awkwardly in Raya’s direction that evening. Raya loves it, and it is indeed used every night before bed to comb out her braids.

Every time Namaari has to travel on diplomatic missions, she now ensures that she brings back something small for Raya.

‘I love the gifts,’ Raya tells her one day. ‘But I love even more how it shows you’re thinking of me when you’re away.’

One evening, as they are getting ready for bed, a small golden ring drops out of Namaari’s pocket by mistake.

‘Is…is that my old hair band?’ Raya asks, peering over the side of the bed as Namaari scoops it up in a hurry. ‘I thought I’d lost that years ago.’

‘I found it,’ Namaari says defensively, clutching it tight in her fist. ‘I guess…I never asked you if you wanted it back?’

Raya shakes her head with a smile, but the following evening, she steps up behind Namaari, sliding her hand into her pocket. Namaari watches as she pulls out the hair band and threads it onto a small gold chain.

From then on, they both wear a gift from the other around their necks.

Physical touch

Sometimes, everything can become overwhelming, the past traumas so great that it seems suffocating. And in that darkness, sometimes the gentle touch of another is the only thing keeping the world grounded.

Raya goes six long years without receiving a hug. At the time, she doesn’t see it as a big deal – she’s grown up fast, and learnt that the world isn’t the welcoming place her father once hoped it could be. Even moreso, her Ba was the last one to hug her, and she doesn’t mind keeping it that way.

Now though, she finds comfort in the small touches. It’s in the featherlight way Namaari’s nose brushes against her neck as they curl up together in bed, waiting for the morning sun to rise. It’s in the gentle trail of Namaari’s fingers across her back, as they stand talking to others, and Namaari absentmindedly reaches out for her. It’s in the soft kiss against her temple, when Namaari has to go back to work after lunch.

Occasionally, she will need to be encompassed by that comfort, and in this moment, she will go and find Namaari, stepping closer until her forehead rests on her shoulder. No matter what she was previously doing, Namaari will pause everything, wrapping her arms tightly around Raya, and they stand there until Raya can feel as if she can breathe again.

Namaari has a habit of falling too far into her own mind sometimes. She is an outwardly composed and pragmatic individual, but internally, all sorts of doubts and guilt still plague her, and there are days where she can’t shake off the feeling that she isn’t doing enough in her life to atone for her past, or that she is a fraud who has no right in stepping up and trying to lead her people when her previous actions cost them so much.

It’s difficult for her to ask for help in these moments. Raya learns instead to notice the signs of a bad day, or whenever Namaari gets trapped into a downwards spiral, and she will take Namaari by the hands and sit them somewhere quiet.

There they can actually talk, and sometimes Namaari feels comfortable enough to share her fears. But the most important thing, Raya finds, is to slide an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight and peppering her cheek and bare shoulder with small kisses.

Raya refuses to let her go until she sees at least one small smile.

Quality time

In the early days of the relationship, there is still so much separation between the two of them. Raya is in Heart, helping her Ba welcome back everyone to their lands, fixing up the buildings, ensuring the harvest gets started…There are so many jobs to do, and Raya knows Namaari is undergoing the same issues back in Fang, coupled with an expansion of their kingdom.

On top of all of this, there are endless council meetings and diplomatic missions, so if it isn’t Namaari being busy with politics, it is Raya, much to her annoyance.

Whenever they do get to spend time together, they ensure no minute is wasted. They have meals together, and spar together, and find all sorts of random ways to entertain themselves. Namaari loves to go out in the evenings and watch the night sky, attempting to teach the constellations to Raya; but Raya decides that these constellations are ridiculous, and so they create their own. Raya meanwhile loves to go for hikes in the woods, dragging Namaari along to discover new plants and wildlife, and occasionally climbing the trees.

They both love to sit in bed next to each other, quietly reading their books, or discussing their day. Sometimes, Raya will lie sideways on the bed, her stomach across Namaari’s legs and her arms hanging over the edge, so she can carve pieces of wood into intricate shapes, with Namaari reads out loud for the both of them.

Even after several years, and living together permanently, Raya finds herself reflecting on the fact that she never gets bored as long as she’s with Namaari.

They are currently lying in a field somewhere in the depths of Heart land, enjoying the sun shining onto their faces and the grass tickling their skin. She lazily wiggles her hand until it makes contact with Namaari.

‘Dep la?’ Raya whispers, and Namaari grunts in response. ‘You don’t get bored with me, right?’

Namaari merely shuffles closer without even opening an eye, resting her cheek against Raya’s shoulder.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she mumbles, and she’s curled up so close that Raya can feel the vibrations of her voice on her skin.

‘Didn’t think so,’ Raya says in satisfaction. They continue to enjoy the peace.

[slimykirishima]

K.B- Dandelions

What if your comfort character was trying to reach out to you?

Warnings: Angsty, mentions of suic!de attempt

Unedited

On days like this, days where I feel like flying away and leaving everything behind. I think of him. I think about his smile, I think about his voice and his strong arms. I think about his courage and his energy. When things get bad he’s the only thing that makes me feel safe. The only problem is that he doesn’t exist. I can watch him on a screen, write about him, draw him and dream about him but it wouldn’t change the fact that he isn’t real. People say it’s a chance that you can shift realities and when you get there it’s like your comfort characters have been waiting for you, missing you as much as you’ve missed them but...Imagination and wishing can only get you so far.

Today is bad for me. Dropped out of college and ran back home to my moms house, working a job that doesn’t work with my accelerated program schedule, getting $79-120 checks every two weeks and barely having enough to keep myself afloat on a daily basis. I can stand up and say that a lot of this is my fault, I binge spend when I get sad to make myself feel better, door dash when I could probably make myself a bowl of noodles and I like spoiling my dog. Were there other circumstances that got me here? Yeah but when it comes down to it the only person that’s gonna be able to pull me out of this hole is me.

With my mom threatening to leave the house yet again I decided to take the day to sit with myself and think. It had been hours since I’d spoken to anybody in the house and I was done crying and wallowing in my own self pity so I put Haikyuu on.

I could hear the faint sounds of someone knocking but I assumed it was coming from my door so I just told whoever it was I was busy, but then it got louder until eventually it was the only thing I could hear.

At first I thought it was the window but I’m on the third story and the sound is too consistent to be rocks or something. My eyes traveled back to the Tv and I saw golden eyes looking back at me. Koutarou was looking straight at me. At first I thought it was just part of the scene but I’ve watched this enough to know that he’s never looked directly at me like that before.

His hand raises and he taps his knuckles against the screen.

“I shouldn’t have smoked that third blunt” I mumble standing up. My dog- Caine- gave me a curious look and I shrug “You coming?” he wagged his tail and jumped into my arms resting his body against my shoulder. Koutarou pressed his palm against the screen as I approached the tv “This is ridiculous” I closed my eyes placing my hand over his. The second I made contact with the screen a bright light flashed.

When it was over I felt a warm hand against mine, slowly I opened my eyes looking up at his smiling face. “You made it”

It felt like one of those moments where it’s just you and that other person in the room, the rest of the world melts away and all you see is them.

“...Koutarou?”

He nods, interlacing our fingers “How is this possible?” I whisper

“All I know is I could feel you. I mean I can always feel it, when your upset but it was strong this time, all I wanted to do was hold you so I tried to reach out and here you are”

This whole time he’s been watching, listening to me and waiting. All the nights I stayed up writing to him thinking he’d never know how much he means to me, feeling like an idiot because I was so attached to a 2d character, crying over him because I thought he’d never be a reality.

“I love you Saffire”

He loves me…

A strange feeling washed over my body, I couldn’t stop myself from throwing my arms around him, burying my face in his neck as he lifted me up. It was exactly how I imagined it, he held me tightly as if I would slip away at any moment, strong arms that brought me more comfort than anyone ever has. “I love you too, Koutarou.”

I pulled back to get a good look at his face. If this is temporary I wanna drink it every moment of it.

“Your dog is tugging on my leg”

“OH! Caine!” I wiggle out of his grasp and crouch down picking him up “I can’t believe you brought the dog”

“Well I wasn’t gonna leave him there” he blinks a few times then laughs shaking his head. Hearing his laugh in person made my heart swell, my cheeks are already sore from smiling so hard.

“You hungry? I know a great spot for steak”

“Sure I could eat”

He gives me another smile holding out his hand which I happily accepted. “You’re gonna love this place! They have the best barbeque…”

I'm in a field of dandelions wishing on every one that you'll be mine.

And I see forever in your eyes I feel okay when I see you smile.

Wishing on dandelions all of the time praying to God that one day you'll be mine

Wishing on dandelions all of the time.

~~

The room was silent aside from the sound of machines beeping and making that familiar hiss sound. It was the kind of silence that rang out, made everything so much more intense.

“Will she ever wake up?”

The doctor looks up from her clipboard eyeing the woman for a second, she knew exactly what she had to say.

“Your daughter’s brain went without oxygen causing her to go into a coma, I’m sorry but we did everything we could...If you’d like to keep her on life support we can transfer her to a different room or if you’d prefer to-”

“Kill her?”

“...If you’d like to pull the plug please let us know, we’d also like to have a conversation about organ donation”

The doctor took in her silence and left her too her thoughts “I’m sorry for your loss”

Saffire’s mother sighed deeply looking down at her child “I hope your happy, wherever you are”

*Sad ending*

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 36

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling Fuck the Canon: Happy Endings For Everyone

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 Part 1 | Chapter 22 Part 2 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35

Jiang YanLi has come to inquire after the Lan Sect Leader.

She has come armed with pear soup that turns the guest chambers fragrant with the scent of ginger, and a lovely smile that turns any objection uncle may have into an unseemly incivility. Uncle is not fond of sweet things, but cold soup with ginger is exactly what the Head Healer had recommended. Not an hour had passed since the last time uncle had brusquely declared that there is nothing the matter with his lungs. Under Jiang YanLi’s watchful eyes however, he is forced to consume two bowls, and thank her for the attention.

XiChen is not surprised by her consideration, but is surprised by her request that he join her for a stroll in the Imperial Gardens. Uncle, no doubt wishing to see the back of her before another bowl is forced down his throat, readily gives his assent. Still, it is difficult to imagine why Lady Jiang would be interested in XiChen’s company. They have hardly spoken a dozen words to each other in the past five days, and despite the fact that Jiang YanLi can hardly move two steps about the Immortal Mountain without an escort of servants and guards, XiChen wonders if their acquaintance will invite scrutiny. After all, Lady Jiang is engaged to be married to the Young Master of the Jin Sect, and it does not take much, to wound the Jin Sect pride.  

Regardless of her reasons, he agrees, and makes a valiant attempt to be an acceptable, pleasant companion.

The Imperial Gardens are beautiful, despite the bleakness of the late autumn. On XiChen’s initial tour of the Immortal Mountain City, Jiang WanYin had also taken him through the Imperial Gardens. That particular outing had been a silent one, as Jiang WanYin had distinctly lacked any interest in flowers, trees, or architecture. Jiang YanLi makes for much more pleasant company; she is well-versed in the history of the gardens, and she happily describes the significance of the cypresses and wisteria, narrates the history of the various sculptures, and explains the intent behind the structure and placement of each pavilion.    

XiChen is beginning to think that Lady Jiang had simply wanted some amiable company for the morning, and had chosen him on a whim, perhaps for no other reason than the convenience of his location in the Jade Sword Palace. But these thoughts are quickly negated as she pauses on the path to the Pavilion of the Moon and the Wind, turning to him with a rueful smile.

“I hope you will not be cross with me, Young Master. I have brought you here on the request of a friend. Ordinarily, I would not agree to be complicit in such deception, but he is a very dear friend, and I am afraid I owe him a very great debt.”

XiChen feels both trepidation and exasperation. Silver and green robes are now clearly visible at the end of the path, but XiChen does not need to see them, to know which friend Jiang YanLi speaks of so fondly.

Only the day before, he had decided that his continued association with the Nie Sect Leader needed to end. He had been determined to keep his distance from the man until the Lan Sect’s eventual departure for Cloud Recesses. The relationship between them, if one can even call it such, will bring him nothing but heartache and pain.

Nie MingJue had offered to speak of his affection. XiChen had rejected his offer.

Although he does think the man too bold by half, he had never expected such brazenness. To trick him into a meeting, and to do so by using the High Councilor’s own daughter?

Brazen is too kind of a word for this. This is utter shamelessness. XiChen should be resolute in his decision, and unmoved by trickery. He should turn around and leave.  

Instead, Jiang YanLi is the one who leaves. XiChen, his feet refusing to listen to his commands, remains helplessly fixed to the stone path, his heart beating wildly, his mind in turmoil.

How can he blame Nie MingJue, when XiChen is his own greatest enemy? It is convenient to think that he had not recognized the man’s treatment for affection before YiLing. To pretend that Nie MingJue’s regard had been utterly invisible until he spoke of it out loud.

But it is not the truth. XiChen had not known, but he had suspected. Worse, he had hoped. He had hoped fiercely for another few moments stolen, another brush of the man’s fingers against his own, another rare smile turned in his direction. XiChen had hoped, and Nie MingJue had obliged.

The silver and green robes are directly in front of him now, and XiChen speaks before his thoughts have fallen into order, his voice clearly agitated, “You have tricked me, Sect Leader. Boldness can often be perceived as a virtue, but deceitfulness is always abhorrent.”

Any other man would recoil from such an attack, but Nie MingJue does not even offer an apology, “Would you have seen me, had I not resorted to these measures?”  

“As you clearly know the answer, why ask the question?”

In the short silence that follows, XiChen desperately tries to organize his thoughts. Fighting the urge to meet the man’s gaze is taking up entirely too much of his focus, and the closeness of him is distracting to the extreme.

He should be leaving. He should have left the moment he had recognized the color of the Nie Sect robes. 

Why is it that he cannot do such a simple thing?

“You are angry with me,” MingJue says.

He is not wrong. XiChen is angry. But all of his frustration is entirely focused inward, at his own inability to properly deal with the situation that he, himself, has had a hand in creating.

“I apologize for deceiving you,” MingJue says, “It was not my intention to cause you distress or discomfort.”

“What is it that you had hoped to gain from this meeting, Sect Leader?”

“Great many things, I am afraid,” he says easily, as if unaware of the tension, “I had hoped you may allow me to hold your hand again. To hear you speak. Perhaps, if I am very lucky, to see you smile.”

XiChen makes an incredulous sound, a huff of air released without his permission. Nie MingJue is the most ridiculous creature that ever existed, and with each passing moment, XiChen is less and less capable of holding on to his anger.

“To what purpose?” he says, “I had thought we understood each other.”

MingJue’s fingers wrap around his own, lightly, allowing him the option of pulling away. Although he knows that he should not encourage further intimacy, especially not at this moment, when he is making every effort to be firm, XiChen tolerates the contact, simultaneously scolding himself for his weakness.

“XiChen,” MingJue says, “You would not let me speak of my affection. How then, are we to have an understanding?”

XiChen’s words tumble out one after another, heated and unsteady, “You-- why must you be so persistent? Must I clarify my position over and over again? Mutual affection does not alter the reality of our individual circumstances. Nothing can be accomplished by speaking further on this subject.”

Even as he speaks, he realizes that the words may be too harsh. He had been taught, from a young age, not to speak lightly, to consider and evaluate how his words may be perceived. But none of those lessons had ever taken Nie MingJue into consideration, a man who seems to scramble his mind simply by existing.

Yet, when he finally dares meet the man’s gaze, Nie MingJue is smiling.

“You admit, then, that there is mutual affection,” he says.

“Oh--“ XiChen splutters, his face growing hot, “You-- you are impossible.”

Had he really felt that his words were too harsh only a moment ago? Stabbing him with a sword would be too kind. 

MingJue’s hand had tightened around his own, and XiChen tries to jerk it away, sure that his face must be flushed to the roots of his hair.

“This conversation is finished,” he snaps, “let me g--oh.”

MingJue’s lips are pressed to his knuckles.

It is a fleeting kiss, a slight pressure, his hot breath washing over XiChen’s hand. The sensation catches on his skin, flames racing to each fingertip, scorching across his arm to stop in his chest. Trapped there, it flutters wildly, a bird beating its wings against a cage.

“Do not be angry with me,” MingJue says, cupping the hand in both of his, enveloping it in warmth.

“I am not angry,” XiChen says, but his hand is trembling now, and his voice wavers with each word.

“Do not imagine me ignorant of your circumstances,” MingJue says gently, “I do not ask that you disregard your responsibility. I would never ask such a thing of you.”

His thumb brushes against XiChen’s wrist, another shivering sensation, impossible to ignore.  

“Your situation will not tolerate a compromise,” he goes on, “but mine is not nearly so severe. Allow me a chance to try. I would give up a great deal to share a lifetime with you. Everything, if I must.”

“Nonsense,” XiChen stutters, “Do not say such things.”

“Why? I speak the truth.”

Neither one of them had moved, but MingJue seems closer now, close enough that the green scent of the surrounding bamboo is overwhelmed by the frost-covered pine. He lifts XiChen’s hand, wrapped in both of his, and unfolds it against his chest. Underneath his fingertips, XiChen can feel each delicate thread of the silver embroidery, the silk cloth cool and sleek against his skin. It takes him a moment to recognize the thrum of the heartbeat; it is as quick and forceful as his own, despite MingJue’s outward composure.

“Give me permission,” MingJue says, “and I will move the earth and the sky to be yours. But I must know that you are willing.”

XiChen cannot fully comprehend these words. He does not understand why someone would wish to share a lifetime with him. WangJi is the only person who knows him well, who can read his thoughts, understand his motivations, predict his actions, and still, even WangJi grows frustrated often, as much as he attempts to hide it. Even to his cool and collected brother, XiChen is a frequent source of annoyance and dissatisfaction. How much greater will MingJue’s disappointment be, once he is fully aware of XiChen’s shortcomings?

He swallows heavily, and tries to find his reasonable voice, the voice he had honed over numerous arguments with uncle.

“MingJue,” he says, then stops, the hands gripping his own suddenly tightening to the point of pain.

XiChen nearly groans in frustration. How is it that he takes one step forward, only to take two steps back? It is impossible to take back the familiarity now, and he makes no attempt to do so.

“You speak of a lifetime after a five day acquaintance. I am not what you think me to be. This way lies nothing but disappointment.”

MingJue huffs, as if XiChen is the one speaking nonsense.

“Are you not fiercely loyal to your Sect?” he asks, “do you not place their well-being above your own? Did you not beat me in combat, a feat no other man had accomplished in a decade? Were you not the one who felt pity for the immortal trees? Are you not the same man who spoils his horse? Who play-fights with his brother in ankle-deep mud? Do you truly think that there is a single part of you that I will not admire?”

Stunned, XiChen finds himself at a loss for words.

“No human being is free of faults,” MingJue says forcefully, “and no relationship is free of disappointment. My shortcomings are many, and you may grow to hate each one. I speak of a lifetime, because that is what I offer, but I do not ask for a lifetime in return. All I ask is to not be dismissed out of hand. You are not a Sect Leader yet, and free to go where you please. Come to QingHe. Spend the winter in the Unclean Realm. Allow me to visit Cloud Recesses in the spring. I will make no mention of affection if you do not wish to hear it again, nor will I ask for affection in return. But give me an opportunity to show you, how a lifetime could be spent, between you and I.”

XiChen’s hand involuntarily clenches in the folds of silk, gripping it tight. 

How simple it all sounds. He cannot imagine what uncle would say, if he were to spend the winter in QingHe. He does not want to imagine what the Elders would say. MingJue is right, XiChen is free to go where he pleases, but he would never do so of his own volition. He would not have even considered it as an option, if MingJue had not said it out loud.

It is a perfectly reasonable argument, but XiChen cannot pretend that it is harmless. Even if MingJue is capable of going months without speaking of affection, XiChen is not certain that he could spend months with the man without seeking some sign of it, without yearning stupidly each time they are together.

This-- is an enormous risk. To his reputation, his relationship with his uncle, and his relationship to the Sect. But the greatest risk, the one he is most afraid to take, would be to his heart.  

“I cannot spend the winter in QingHe,” he says.

MingJue’s hands clench over his own, as if trying to stop more words from coming, or perhaps to trap XiChen’s hand against his chest forever, regardless of his decision.

“Uncle withdraws for a month each winter, to meditate. I must take his place.”  

MingJue’s hands are shaking. XiChen’s heart is beating loudly in his ears, and he feels light, as if floating somewhere above the ground, weightless and free.

“But you are welcome to spend the winter at Cloud Recesses. And in the spring, if the offer still stands, I am willing to visit QingHe.”

[beewolfwrites]

An Iron Box - The Eternal Rocks

Apologies for the late update! My life has become a little hectic, so I haven’t been on Tumblr or AO3 as much. Hopefully I can make it up with new scenes that weren’t in AWIAF :) 

If you’re still following this fic, thank you for reading. It means the world <3

The AO3 link is here if you prefer reading it on there.

----------------------------------

I had stumbled across the copy of Wuthering Heights shortly after becoming an executive member. When I first moved into my room, it was tucked away in a drawer, and judging by the curled pages coated with dust, it had been there a while. I’d never cared enough to discard it, nor had I cared enough to read it. Until now.

The noon sunshine filtered through the windows as I sat on my bed, legs stretched out and book in hand. So far, it was a trivial mess – a ditsy story of childhood friends turned teenage lovers. Of course, this was the kind of book she would read. And if she really did have a Masters degree in literature, chances are she had already read it.

Yesterday, when I was called to the meeting room, I had an inkling as to what the fuss was about. And sure enough, there she was, dragged in like a stray by Niragi of all people. What terrible luck.

Well, for her at least.

Things had panned out just as I expected. If only she had come with me when I’d asked, she wouldn’t have had to deal with Aguni’s militants. They had given me the whole rundown of her Eight of Hearts game... how she’d solved it a little too late... how she’d accidentally set herself up by mentioning my name.

And now, I finally knew her name.

After showing her to her new room yesterday, I’d rolled it over on my tongue, memorising the foreign feel of it, the way the vowels stretched and consonants collided. It suited her, in a way. However, it seemed it would be a while before I could call her by it. According to the grapevine, she had disappeared into her room and hadn’t been seen since.

This morning, when I went downstairs to get breakfast, my eyes had instinctively scanned the crowded room, hoping to catch a familiar doe-eyed stare. But she was nowhere to be found.

‘Who are you looking for?’

Kuina had appeared beside me, balancing a bowl of cereal in one hand.

‘Nobody,’ I told her.

She wagged her finger, and through a mouthful of cereal, insisted, ‘don’t even think about lying to me. I can read you pretty well by now.’

I tried to ignore her noisy chewing. ‘I met a girl in a game.’

Kuina had wiggled her eyebrows at this, and something inside me instantly turned cold. If she thought I was involved in a petty romance then she could think again. I had no interest, and besides, this was hardly the place.

‘I believe we can use her in the plan. Niragi brought her in after a game yesterday.’

‘And there I was thinking you actually had a heart, hm?’ Kuina paused, her spoon dangling between her fingers. ‘I did hear there was a new girl, but nobody’s spoken to her yet. Do you want me to try and talk to her?’

I had mulled it over, but there was no point in rushing things. There was every chance she would emerge in her own time. It was like tempting a frightened animal out of its den and straight into a snare.

‘Not just yet,’ I said. ‘Let her feel hungry.’

‘You think she’ll come down for lunch?’

I smiled. ‘Probably not. But she’ll be hungry enough that when you do pay her a visit, she’ll want to trust you.’ Surveying the busy room, I added. ‘Keep an eye on the rumours. If she doesn’t come down in a few hours, bring her some food.’

‘Why me?’ Kuina scowled. ‘Why can’t you do it?’

Surely the reason was obvious. ‘She’s here because of me. I’m the last person she wants to speak to.’

Kuina had looked uncertain. But she couldn’t argue against it; we both knew I was right.

Now, several hours later, the sun was sinking and Kuina was probably about to pay (name) a visit. But I would leave that up to her. If Kuina befriended her, she would be much more willing to join our plan. Stretching my legs, I focused on the page in front of me.

‘It’s about life and finding meaning and purpose in everything.’

Her words from the pharmacy. Even now, they still rang clearly, haunting every recess of my mind. I didn’t care about finding meaning in life. I didn’t care at all. But I was curious about her obsession with fiction and poetry. What was it that drew her to books?  

What meaning does she see that I can’t?

My eyes landed on the words before me.

“My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.”

How could love be necessary? It wasn’t food or water. It couldn’t be quantified, had little value in life, and if anything, it was a weakness in the games. I had never once needed it myself, and here I was, still alive and breathing. The whole story was trivial, melodramatic and utterly pointless. And yet, my gaze was drawn to the next line and the next.

I suppose I could read it, even if only to ease this perpetual boredom.

“He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being—”

A bang rattled the windows as the door to my room flew open. Kuina was standing breathlessly in the doorway, that fake cigarette of hers clenched between her teeth.

‘You,’ she said, inviting herself in and moving towards the chest of drawers. ‘I need to borrow one of your hoodies.’

I flipped over to the next page. ‘Why?’

She yanked open each drawer one by one, plundering through the contents before slamming them shut. ‘I need a spare hoodie for (name). Or, you know, anything that’s not a string bikini.’

‘I see, so that’s why she was hiding.’ I smiled, eyes drifting over the page of my book. ‘What a stupid reason.’

Kuina glowered and jabbed a finger at me. ‘Oi, just because you’re too confident for your own good it doesn’t mean everyone else is. Tell me where your hoodies are now.’

I nodded at the cupboard. ‘The grey one on the left-hand side.’

She opened it up and pulled out the grey hoodie. Out of the three I owned this was the smallest. It was also the newest, having never been soiled by blood in a game before. ‘Are you sure?’

I shrugged and turned back to my book. ‘She can keep it.’

It may be useful to create a debt.

I expected Kuina to simply take the hoodie and leave me to read in peace. But she didn’t. She clenched the fabric in her fists, staring at it. Her jaw tightened around her plastic cigarette.  

‘Chishiya, she’s nice. She’s really nice.’

‘Everyone’s nice until you pit them against each other.’

She grimaced, fingers gripping the hoodie. ‘I don’t think... she’s not like that. What did you have planned with her anyway?’

‘We need someone to find the safe where the cards are kept. A guinea pig, so to speak. I’m going to set her up and we’ll take advantage of the distraction.’

Kuina looked uncomfortable with the idea. ‘I’m just not sure about this.’

Sighing, I gave up trying to read and snapped the book shut. ‘If you’re not sure, then drop out. I’ll leave with the cards and you can stay right here.’

Of course, Kuina was smart enough to know what the Beach would descend into once it became apparent that the cards were missing. And if I went missing along with them, she would be the first person they’d turn to. Judging by the look on her face, she seemed to be thinking the same thing.

‘Fine,’ she agreed at last. ‘But of all the people to choose, she really doesn’t deserve this.’

I smiled, thinking back to Niragi’s overdramatic retelling of their game. Apparently, it was a game of laser tag with handguns. She had shot a teenage girl in the chest and emerged without a scratch.

‘Perhaps you’ll think differently if you see her in a Hearts game,’ I said. ‘It’s human nature to be selfish.’

It’s human nature to kill in order to survive.

With a small hiss of disapproval, Kuina trailed out of the room and left me alone, taking the grey hoodie with her.

Finally.

Picking up the book once more, I scanned over the words on the page. The entire plot made no sense. Cathy’s choice was obvious right from the beginning – Linton offered protection and financial security. It was everything she needed to live comfortably, so what was the issue? Why would a person be so caught up just because of a childhood sweetheart? Heathcliff was equally as ridiculous, running away like a brat just because she said a few words behind his back. This was a book for naïve idiots.

No wonder she likes it.

And yet, I read and read until the sun slunk behind the skyline, the darkness creeping in slowly through the curtains until it became too dark to read. I could have easily turned on the bedside lamp and continued, but perhaps it was time to see how things were going with Kuina and (name).

The sooner they were friends, the easier this would become.  

Getting up, I left my room and headed downstairs. It was right before the games began – the time when the Beach was at its most lively, and everyone was busy living in the moment just in case these turned out to be their final moments.

I passed by a couple furiously groping one another behind a pillar.

People are all the same.

Stepping outside onto the patio, I scanned the throngs of drunken idiots stumbling around in a haze of skin, sex and drugs. And then I caught a glimpse of that familiar face, standing by the bar and dressed in my hoodie. A man was beside her.

And you are just like them.

For a moment, I simply watched on as the man – one of Niragi’s troupe – tried to make conversation with her. Considering the sheer volume of the music and her self-taught Japanese, I wondered if she understood him. Taking her drink from the bartender, she smiled and said something undecipherable before taking a step away.

Bad move. A gun glinted, pressing into her side.

Oh?

The look on her face told me everything. She wasn’t flirting with him after all. And now it was all too clear what this man wanted from her.

Such an unpleasant welcome.

Perhaps I should have just left her to it, since this was the true face of the Beach, the drop of cold hard reality hidden behind the façade of a utopia. Perhaps I should have her deal with the situation on her own, for better or worse. But how could I? This was a perfect opportunity to regain her trust.

I sidled up to the bar, glancing between the half-drunken idiot and (name), who was standing there wavering like a ghost. Her expression was detached yet poised, like a rabbit on the verge of fleeing. But she couldn’t – not with the hand wrapped around her wrist and the pistol set just below her ribs.

‘What’s this?’ I leaned against the countertop. ‘I see you’ve met our newest member.’

(Name) blinked, only just noticing my presence. I glanced down at the pistol, the barrel half-hidden in the fabric of her hoodie. My hoodie.

‘You should probably put that thing away. Hatter won’t be too happy if you start messing with her. He’s got high expectations of her.’

The militant only pushed the gun further into her torso, standing up straighter in a useless attempt at intimidating me. ‘You know, Chishiya, I’m pretty sick of you interfering all the time. You should stay out of militant business.’

I almost smiled. This man wasn’t even an executive member. ‘Militant business,’ I said slowly. ‘It’s fascinating what you guys do. You take out the trash and dish out the sentence, but you never check the evidence.’

He bristled, his finger tightening over the trigger. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Just shut up and stay out of this.’

Typical. Do I have to spell things out to everyone?

‘What I’m saying,’ I replied, ‘is that you never bother checking to see if the ‘traitors’ are actually traitors. It’s surprisingly easy to slip a few cards into someone else’s room.’

I met his gaze pointedly, watching as he finally started to come to an understanding. He squeezed (name’s) wrist until her fingers blotched white and purple, before finally letting go.

Pushing his face close to mine, he whispered a slurred mess that sounded a lot like ‘threaten me again and I’ll end you’, before striding off into the crowd. It wasn’t much of a threat, coming from someone who couldn’t quite walk in a straight line. But no matter, I wasn’t here for him.

I was vaguely aware of (name) watching me as I turned back to the bar. The bartender was wiping glasses, unbothered by what had just happened. He saw worse every day.

‘お水をください,’ I said. Water, please.

A glass was placed in front of me, and I calmly sipped my water, waiting patiently for the inevitable. About now, she was probably itching to thank me, but wondering how best to do it. An over-thinker, that’s what she was.

When she finally spoke, it was so quiet I could have easily missed it, if only I hadn’t been expecting it. ‘Thanks... I’m guessing stuff like that’s pretty common around here.’

You catch on fast.

‘Well, there are only three rules,’ I said, assessing the grey hoodie. It had been slightly too small on me but was oversized on her. ‘Right now, you’re not allowed to go roaming the city alone because you’re still new, and that makes you a liability. But the next time you’re in a game, you’ll be paired with one of the executives, or someone else with a high rank. If you ask, they’ll go with you to find new clothes.’

She looked mildly surprised. Had Kuina not mentioned that it was mine? If so, I wonder how she would react once she found out. Perhaps this was a tidbit of information I should keep to myself for now.

Speaking of Kuina, I could see her now, watching me nervously through the crowds from a recliner on the other side of the patio.

‘Of all the people to choose, she really doesn’t deserve this.’

Perhaps not. But that’s what made her perfect for the job.

[sickfic-shiz]

Rest

Whumptober 2021 | Comfort

Warnings: emeto/vomiting (stomach bug)

Notes: thought I’d post a piece of writing for the first time in a long long while, introducing some new characters! I’d love to talk more about them and answer any asks about them!

“You’re sick, go back to the dorm.” Muqing repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time in the two hours they had been studying together in the campus library.

Wu Ming was shivering miserably as he tried to focus on his notes, even beneath two jackets— one being Muqing’s which they had shrugged off and wrapped around him after watching him tremble for the first half an hour. It didn’t take a genius to tell that he wasn’t feeling well.

“I’m fine. I’m always cold. You know that.” Wu Ming replied with the same thing each time, scowling down at the words swimming on the page as if they had offended him. He knew fully well he was sick, or at least getting there, but he couldn’t afford to let his grades slip.

“Jesus, at least go back and take a nap first or something, how are you getting anything done?” Muqing grumbled irritably, before softening his tone somewhat. “C’mon, I’ll even walk you back if you want.”

“I really need to finish revising this. Just focus on yourself.” Wu Ming sighed, briefly leaning his forehead on his palm. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here either.”

Muqing muttered something under his breath pointedly, standing up in a manner that made his annoyance clear. “Fine. I’m going to take a break.”

Wu Ming watched him stalk away, before letting his facade crumble a little more, laying down on the table with a muffled groan. Truth be told, he felt awful. He was cold and shivery, and his stomach had started to feel oddly unsettled. His head was starting to hurt something fierce, and he hardly wanted to think about how he would get through his shift at work later.

“Hey.” Muqing’s voice came from above him some time later, and he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I bought you some tea, it might help. You really should get some rest. At least before your shift.”

Wu Ming picked up the paper cup that had been set in front of him, immediately grateful for the warmth. He took a few small sips, finding it a welcome change from shivering. It was true he wasn’t getting much done right now. “Fine, you win.”

“Really?” The agreement surprised him. As much as he wanted Wu Ming to get some rest, he was also ridiculously stubborn.

“Sure. There isn’t much time left before work anyway. In exchange, get me some stuff from the pharmacy.”

“Okay, asshole. I’m not buying you tea ever again.” Muqing made a show of rolling his eyes, but still reached over to help pack and carry his things. “What do you want me to get you?”

When he returned with the requested medicine, (and several things that were, decidedly, not medicine, Wu Ming was a horrible scam) Wu Ming was curled up in bed, fast asleep. Muqing smiled despite himself, bending down to pull the covers up and wrapping them snugly around him. He rarely seemed to let himself rest, and Muqing almost never saw him go to sleep before he did.

He took the time to sort out the supplies he had picked up— painkillers, fever reducer and an antiemetic from the pharmacy, (the latter two he had gotten just in case) followed by green tea, canned soup and crackers from the supermarket. Muqing figured he could boil some water first, so he could bring the tea with him to work. The kettle boiled just as Wu Ming’s phone alarm went off, and Wu Ming moaned, sitting up groggily.

“You really are in no condition to be working.” Muqing remarked, even though he knew that it wouldn’t do anything to convince him. Instead, he pressed the back of his hand to Wu Ming’s neck to check for a fever, and he wasn’t particularly surprised to find that it was too warm. “Take your temperature first. If it’s too high, I’m dragging you to the hospital no matter what you say.”

Wu Ming took the thermometer that was held out to him obediently, still hazy with sleep. Muqing took it from him when it beeped, frowning. 37.9. To be fair, it wasn’t very high, but he almost wished it would be higher so he could justify manhandling Wu Ming back to bed.

“Did you get the tea?” Wu Ming asked, rubbing at his face in an attempt to wake himself up.

“Yeah, I boiled some water already, I’ll put the tea in a thermos for you so you can bring it to work.”

“Mm.”

“Take some medicine before you leave. I got you your painkillers and a fever reducer too.” Muqing handed the medication over, and placed a glass of water on the table. “Don’t take too many painkillers again or I will hit you and it will hurt.”

“Okay, okay. That was just one time.” Wu Ming fumbled with the packaging, his hands shaking more than he’d like as he took the pills. He didn’t feel much better after his short nap. In fact, his stomach was churning now, making him feel as if he would be sick.

“You could call in sick.” Muqing suggested, knowing it would be futile.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, because you’re too fucking stubborn.” Muqing glared at him, resisting the urge to just knock him out with a heavy book so he would rest. “Better not get a call asking me to pick you up later.”

Work didn’t start out too badly— he was just manning the register today, and it was a fairly straightforward job, even if he was standing right beneath the AC. Most importantly, it was at some high end grocer’s attached to a cafe, so it paid really well. However, it didn’t take long for his sick body to start protesting against the strain he was putting it through. Wu Ming alternated wildly between feeling hot and cold, and the shirt beneath his jacket was drenched in cold sweat after a few of these cycles.

Thank god he had worn a mask out. Forcing himself to sound cheerful was enough of a challenge, let alone having to muster up a smile. He took sips of tea from his flask in between customers, hoping that it would at least settle his stomach. He was so dizzy— at some points it was so bad that his vision was blurring and he was forced to guess at what he was doing.

Suddenly, he realised that he was about to throw up. Wu Ming caught the attention of his coworker, then gestured towards the bathrooms, not trusting himself to speak without throwing up. He didn’t think he could’ve spoken anyway, his throat feeling tight. After getting a response, he hurried towards the bathroom as much as he could without making it obvious that he was about to be sick.

Wu Ming was forced to tear off his mask and retch into the tiny bin by the entrance several times, bringing up a gush of liquid before he could stumble into one of the stalls. Hunching over the bowl, he braced himself against the wall with one hand, the other wrapped tightly around his stomach as he heaved. Wu Ming aimed as best as he could, trying to reduce the mess, but some of the puke splattered onto the seat regardless of his efforts. At least it was mostly liquid, most likely the all tea he had been drinking… as well as the fact that he hadn’t eaten anything since early this morning, probably.

Wu Ming sank into a squat slowly, his legs feeling weak, yet still not wanting to kneel on the tiles. He needed to hurry up if he didn’t want anyone to get suspicious. He dry heaved a few times, then decided that he was done, at least for now. He cleaned up the splatters of vomit left on the toilet seat before flushing, ignoring how the swirl of water made him feel sick all over again. Wu Ming stood at the sinks for a while, staring at his sickly appearance and splashing some water on his face to wake himself up. As he turned to leave, his coworker entered, calling his name. Shit. He had taken too long after all.

“Manager sent me to check if you’d passed out in here.” They joked. “You okay? You’re looking a little ghostly there.

“I’m fine, I was just…” The nausea returned in full force, catching him off guard. Wu Ming spun around, gagging into the sink.

“Oh dear…” They gaped as he threw up into the sink painfully, awkwardly reaching over to pat his back. “Um, you’ll feel better after getting it up?”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming gasped between retches. “Just give me a minute.”

They nodded, watching him uncomfortably. It looked brutal, the way his shoulders shook badly with each heave.

“Sorry.” Wu Ming murmured apologetically when he was done, turning on the tap to rinse away any remnants of his stomach contents left in the sink. “We should head back before we get in trouble.”

“You should go home if you’re sick.”

“I’m not.” Wu Ming said a little more harshly than he had intended as he put his mask back on. He was so tired of being pressured to stop doing things. If he could afford it, he would’ve gone to bed long ago. Still, he hadn’t meant to snap. “I’m really fine. Let’s go back.”

“Alright, alright.”

They headed out together, and Wu Ming took up his position at the register again. It was terribly hard to focus through everything going on. The painkillers he had taken had started to wear off already, and he bit his lip anxiously. He should’ve brought them with him to make sure he’d get through his shift, though the bigger challenge would’ve been making sure it didn’t come back up right away.

“Ah Ming?”

Wu Ming’s head snapped up to see the next ‘customer’ he was meant to be serving, coming face to face with his boyfriend. “Guoqin? What are you doing?”

“Checking on you, what else? Muqing said you’d gone to work sick, and I was worried— you weren’t looking at your texts.”

“I’m fine.” Wu Ming had lost track of how many times he had said this today, reaching for his basket to ring up the items. “You know I don’t text when I’m working.”

“You look dead on your feet.” Guoqin furrowed his brow, helping Wu Ming to pack the scanned items. “I’m bringing you to see a doctor after your shift at least.”

“I don’t- no doctors.” Wu Ming tried his best to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth and ignore the splashes of acid at the back of his throat. There was no way he would convince Guoqin if he threw up now. “I’m really perfectly fine. I just need some sleep.”

Guoqin studied him closely. There was no way he was well, but it would be nigh impossible to get him to a clinic if he was so adamant. “Fine, no doctors, but I’ll send you back to your room later, ‘kay?”

“Okay.” Wu Ming didn’t think he could say any more without making a mess on the floor, so he kept quiet, hoping that Guoqin would leave. He managed it for all of about five seconds before his roiling gut decided that it was done with being ignored and he muttered a hurried apology before tugging his mask out of the way and booking it for the toilets.

Wu Ming slammed the stall door shut behind him, scrambling into a kneeling position in front of the toilet, too desperate to care about the cleanliness of the floor. He had barely managed to contain the vomit on the way over using his hand, which was now covered in light brown puke. He groaned in disgust even as he gagged into the toilet, now struggling futilely against bringing up the thicker remains of his breakfast. The tea was one thing, but Wu Ming hated few things more than wasting food. It had been a fairly good breakfast too…

The thought of food sent him over the edge, and he quickly lost the battle against the nausea. Gripping the side of the bowl tightly with his clean hand, the vomit sprayed forcefully into the toilet, now unrecognisable.

“Ah Ming, are you okay? Can you let me in?”

“I couldn’t-hrrRRK- get up for long enough, even if I wanted to.” Scratch that. Being seen— well heard, this time, in such a compromising position, twice in one day no less, was a far worse fate than losing his sausage and egg muffin. “Please, just… go outside. I don’t want you to be here for this.”

“Okay.” Guoqin finally agreed. He was worried, but he knew he would only add to Wu Ming’s bruised pride if he stayed. “I’ll be right outside.”

Wu Ming stamped down the urge to beg him to stay.

When he finally felt done, or at least too empty to bring anything up in the near future, he lay his forehead on the toilet seat, too exhausted to care. Hopefully he wouldn’t catch anything else from the germs. Wu Ming stayed in that position for several long minutes before he could muster the energy to get up. He reached up to flush the toilet, then slowly got to his feet, trying his best to breathe through the sudden vertigo. For a moment, he believed he was about to pass out right there. When it had abated slightly, Wu Ming left the stall to wash the puke off his hand, before heading out.

“Ah Ming, how are you feeling?”

…right, Guoqin had said that he’d wait outside.

“I’m…” Wu Ming had meant to say he was fine, but he was assaulted with a lightheadedness that knocked the breath out of his lungs. He couldn’t stop himself from tipping forwards, and the last thing he remembered before passing out was being caught.

When he came to, it took him a while to figure out that he was laying on one of the couches meant for the customers. It took him a bit longer after that to realize that his head wasn’t on a pillow, but in Guoqin’s lap. After he’d made that connection, his face flushed, and he weakly tried to sit up.

“Hey, stay down for a bit, you passed out.” Guoqin pressed him down firmly but gently, then pressed a hand to Wu Ming’s forehead. “You’re burning up, dear. I think I caught you in time, but do you think you hit anything when you fell?”

“No, thanks to you.” Wu Ming mumbled. He was so tired now that the thought of getting up felt overwhelming, not to mention going back to work. “How long…?”

“Just about five minutes. How are you feeling?”

“Sick…” No shit, Wu Ming berated himself internally.

“Yeah?” Guoqin hummed sympathetically, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. “Your manager said you should take the rest of the day off.”

“I… I want to go home.” God, he was getting all emotional and Wu Ming hated it.

“Okay, let’s get you back to the dorms. I’m sure Muqing will be worried.”

“He- he’s mad at me…” Wu Ming’s voice shook unnaturally, recalling what Muqing had said when he left. “He told me not to call him.”

“Shhh, that’s just the fever talking, you know that’s not true.” Guoqin reassured him. “That’s just the way he speaks, but he’d never stay mad at you. After all, didn’t he ask me to check on you?”

“Yeah…”

“Okay, do you think you’re ready to head back? I’ve got all your stuff ready to go.”

“Mm.”

[breakyeol]

read my lips

one shot

┗ pairing: kyungsoo x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: making out, light groping, mild language, poor description the shout into silence game, the reader is head over heels folks buckle up 

a/n; I am so in love with him plz help and this was NOT supposed to be this long oh my gosh, I have zero self control

You were in love with Do Kyungsoo. Head over heels, madly, incredibly, uncontrollably in love with Do Kyungsoo.

You were in love with his big, beautiful eyes, with his perfectly heart shaped lips, with his heart stopping smile, with his deep goofy laugh, with his smooth rich singing voice, with his thick booty, with his soft spoken nature, with his chilling glare, with his ridiculously amazing cooking skills, with his low key sense of humor that always managed to have you splitting your sides laughing, with how easy it was to get under his skin, with how shy he gets whenever someone complimented him, with his existence as a whole.

In your eyes, Do Kyungsoo was perfect. From head to toe. Every flaw, every imperfection, every ‘shortcoming’ just made him all the more amazing. You absolutely adored and respected him with every last inch of your soul. You were simply in love with him. And you’d told him that, more times than you can count on both hands, you’d told him that you love him.

The only problem was— he didn’t realize that you meant it.

It wasn’t his fault by any means, he wasn’t oblivious or slow witted. The only reason he didn’t understand that every time you told him you loved you that you actually meant it was because you had a nasty habit of making it into a big joke.

Every ‘I love you’ was followed by laughter and a sarcastic comment that made him roll his eyes and push you away. Every confession falsified by a teasing tone or playful grin. Your genuineness was masked by your humor, formed from your uncertainty.

But today, you were determined to bare your heart to him, and tell him that you were genuinely in love with him and not flip it into some kind of joke. You were tired of being a coward and covering up your feelings with humor. The longer you kept it inside, the more frustrating it became. You needed to tell him. Genuinely. Honestly. Whether he felt the same way or not, he needed to know your true, unfiltered feelings.

And so, you concocted a plan.

A stupid plan that would probably get you absolutely nowhere, but a plan nonetheless.

“Y/n,” Kyungsoo’s brows lifted in surprise as he opened the door to his dorm to find you standing on the other side, “what’re you doing here?”

You’d convinced – ahem, bribed – the boys to go out tonight without Kyungsoo (they didn’t need much explanation as they knew all about your secret love and wanted to stay clear of your gross sappy feelings).

“I was bored,” was your vague explanation, an innocent smile drawn across your lips. Lifting the back of snacks and supplies you’d brought along, you continued, “plus I got this weird sudden urge for a game night. Mind if I come in?”

“Not at all.” He chuckled lightly, moving aside to let you step inside. You smiled happily as you all but skipped into the boys’ shared home, immediately being greeted by the mouthwatering scent of whatever five star worthy food he must have been whipping up before you arrived.

“It’s smells good, Soo! What are you making?” You asked curiously, trotting after him diligently as he made his way towards the kitchen. You slipped into one of the stools at the island as he made his way behind the counter, picking up where he left off.

“Nothing special, just spaghetti,” he shrugged nonchalantly, though the upward twitch of his lips gave him away, “it’s finished, actually. Would you like any?”

“Of course! Everything you make is delicious, how could I say no?” You agreed eagerly, shifting forward excitedly in your seat as he spooned some in a separate bowl.

He smiled shyly at the praise, and you couldn’t help the way your heart swooned at how adorable he looked.

You wanted to pinch those precious round his cheeks and kiss those heart–shaped lips and praise him until he was bursting at the seams. Because that’s the only thing that he deserves: all the love and praises and goodness in all of the universe. You’d gift wrap happiness itself if you could and would gladly hand it over to your lovely Soo.

“The place is oddly quiet… any of the other guys around?” You asked, despite already knowing the answer, looking around exaggeratedly. He shook his head with a soft sigh, lips puffing out slightly.

“No. I think they all took off while I was showering earlier. Didn’t even give me a heads up, those bastards.” He muttered sourly, thick brows curling inwards as the corners of his lips down turned.

You gasped dramatically, as if you were the one that had been deeply wronged. “What assholes!” You exclaimed, and Kyungsoo laughed that deep bubbling laugh that made you just want to go lay down in the corner and cry because you’d be more than content if that was the only sound you were blessed enough to hear for the rest of your natural life. “How could they just leave behind my lovely Soo, hm? How cold hearted. Then I suppose it’s just the two of us for the night? What a shame…”

Your playful cooing was met with a heavy eye roll. “Shut up and eat your pasta, yeah?”

The second he slid the bowl across the counter you were immediately digging in, shoving forkfuls of the delicious meal mouth. You moaned loudly as the flavor hit your tastebuds, eyes rolling in bliss.

He laughed, big, beautiful eyes turning into crescents at your emphatic reaction to his food. “Good?”

“Fucking exquisite, Kyungsoo, Jesus Christ.” You corrected, quickly shoveling in another mouthful.

“Can pasta be exquisite?” He asked skeptically, raising a thick brow.

“Yours sure as hell can! I’m pretty sure you could cook a cockroach and it’d still be delicious. Actually, you know what? You should open your own restaurant. It’s borderline criminal that me and the guys are the only people blessed enough to be eating your food. I’d go there for every meal of the day, every day, for the rest of my life.” You declared firmly, slamming your hand down on the countertop with a sense of finality.

“Every day for the rest of your life?” He repeated, brows lifting in playful amazement, “You wouldn’t get bored of my cooking?”

“Hah! Never.” Your face dropped into a deadly serious stare. He burst into a fit of giggles, nose scrunching in the most adorable way imaginable as his shoulders jolted upwards, head bobbing forward as he leaned against the counter for balance.

Your heart felt like it could just burst at the sight.

Were you swooning? You were definitely swooning. Not that it could be helped, because who wouldn’t melt into a puddle if they saw Do Kyungsoo laughing like that, looking so cute and squish-able that you could die—

“You’re ridiculous,” he managed when the fit of laughter eased.

“And you’re ridiculously cute.” You shot back with a flirty smile, resting your cheek on your knuckles as you watched him place some of the utensils he’d used in the sink.

He scoffed at that, so used to your teasing quips that they barely roused a blush anymore.

“Ah! That reminds me!”

He jumped slightly at your sudden outburst, looking at you with wide eyes as you suddenly leapt off the chair. Snatching the bag you’d brought, you rounded the counter before grabbing one of his hands and dragging him towards the living room. He let out a soft ‘oof’ as you pushed him onto the couch, before plopping down beside him, a bright smile staining your lips.

“I brought a game!”

Kyungsoo watched, blinking curiously as you dug through the bag, before yanking something out. His eyes widened upon realizing that they were a painfully familiar pair of pink, cat ear headphones.

“Y/n—”

You swiftly cut off his disapproving interjection by pulling the large headphones over his head and letting them snap into place over his ears. A grin twisted the corners of your lips upwards as you took in how adorable he looked, glaring at you with that dangerously endearing pout that you just wanted to kiss right off his perfect, handsome face.

“Don’t look at me like that, Soo. A few rounds won’t kill you,” you teased, flicking the tip of his nose, “Jongin isn’t even here to make inappropriate —yet hilarious— mistakes.”

He huffed at you, and you had to physically fight off the overwhelming urge to reach forward and pinch his cheeks. “Still,” he grumbled, but didn’t make any verbal disagreement as you plugged the cord into your phone, “I look stupid.”

“Stupid?! Puh–lease,” you scoffed in disbelief, “you’re the cutest pink eared kitty in the whole wide universe, Do Kyungsoo.”

He pinned you with a warning glare. “I will not hesitate to kick you out.”

Laughter bubbles at your lips (though you knew he was very, very serious). “You enjoy my company too much to do that,” you cooed teasingly, tapping the top of his nose and watching in wonder as it scrunched up.

“You wanna bet?”

Your laughter ceased and you pouted, looking down in surrender. “No…”

He scoffed, reaching over to flick your forehead as the ghost of a smile teased his lips. “Stop pouting and start the game, will ya?”

“Okay, so I’ll say three words or phrases and if you can guess all of them, then you get a point. Then we’ll switch, alright?” The directions were vague, but you didn’t plan to actually extend this game past those first three phrases. He understood nonetheless, nodding in agreement. “Okay…” you pulled up a random playlist on your phone, pressing shuffle, “start!”

Kyungsoo flinched just slightly as music blasted through the headphones. “It’s loud.” His voice was louder than usual and you laughed at how cute he looked with his eyes all big.

“It’s supposed to be!” You giggled, tossing your phone down onto the coffee table.

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“You’re not supposed to you, doofus.” You laughed loudly, and a smile stretched across Kyungsoo’s lips. Holding up a finger, you said, “first phrase!”

“First phrase!” He repeated, voice all but booming.

Stifling the grin that threatened to pull at your lips, you enunciated as clearly as possible, “Kyungsoo’s pasta is delicious.”

He shook his head, brows furrowing in confusion, “slow.”

“Kyungsoo’s,” you pronounced slowly.

“Kyungsoo,” he repeated back carefully.

“Pasta,” you continued.

“P—…,” he hesitated briefly before understanding, “pasta!”

“Is.”

“Is,” he purses his lips.

“Delicious.” You concluded.

“Del… Kyungsoo pasta is delicious!” He exclaimed, obviously very excited that he figured it out. You grinned in adoration, not bothering to correct the tiny mistake he’d made.

“That’s it! Okay, next phrase,” you clapped your hands together as a playful smile curled at the corners of your lips, “Chanyeol is a giraffe.”

He didn’t hesitate before repeating flawlessly, “Chanyeol is a giraffe.”

A loud laugh broke from your lips, your entire body doubling over. “How– how did you g–get that so f–fast?” You managed to get out between obnoxious cackles. He grinned lightly, though, you doubted he understood any of what you’d just said. “Okay— okay, last phrase.”

Right. Next phrase. Or rather— the phrase. The whole reason you’d come over in the first place. The one thing you needed to get off your chest more than anything in the world. You couldn’t help but to find yourself feeling a tad bit nervous. Understandably, you presume. You were about to profess your undying love to the one and only Do Kyungsoo. That task is bound to arise some buzzing nerves.

Now… if only you could just get those three little words to actually come out.

Taking in a deep breath in hopes of soothing your suddenly racing heart, a slightly more serious expression carved onto your features. He didn’t seem to take notice of your sudden change in persona, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. Straightening and stealing your spine, you took in one last breath before carefully mouthing—

“I love you.”

He rolled his eyes with a soft scoff. “Y/n, that’s too easy,” and with an easy little grin he repeated, “I love you.”

“No, Kyungsoo, I—” a strangled groan worked its way up your throat.

Something akin to frustration bubbled to life in your gut. Not at him, but rather, yourself. He didn’t get it. But of course he didn’t get it. Why would he? You’d been too much of an insecure fool to be genuine about your feelings and instead covered them with sarcasm and stupid, childish humor. And now, because of that, he didn’t get it. So how could you possibly make him understand—

Oh. Now that’s an idea.

He must’ve taken notice of the strange contortion of your features, because his own brows furrowed in confusion as he blinked at you, pulling the headphones off of his head. “What? Was that wrong— oh!” He was barely able to get out the question before your hands were fisting in the collar of his shirt and yanking him forward, effectively slamming your lips into his.

It took a few moments for your mind to catch up with your actions. But once it did, all hell broke loose in your brain.

‘Freaking out’ would be one hell of an understatement. Because… Oh god.

Oh god. You kissed Do Kyungsoo. Correction— you are currently kissing Do Kyungsoo. You are actually kissing him. On the mouth! With your mouth! Your lips are touching. So then why did you entire body feel like it had just been set on fire? Was it normal to feel this way? Definitely not. You’d kissed other people in your lifetime. But no kiss had ever felt like this.

This kiss— god, this kiss. Not only did it feel so incredibly right, it felt like the entire universe was falling into place. The planets were aligning. Fate had finally stepped into your corner.

Okay. So maybe you were being a tad bit over dramatic. But could anyone really blame you? How many nights had you spent dreaming of kissing him? How many hours had you daydreamed away fantasizing about his lips? How many years had you spent loving him?

Lost in your own mind, savoring finally getting to feel the softness of those perfect heart shaped lips against yours, it took you a few moments too long to realize that he had failed to kiss you back.

Shit.

You yanked yourself away from him so fast you damn near gave yourself whiplash. Hand flinging to cover your offending lips, you took in his stunned expression. Oh god. He hated it. He definitely hated it. No one has that kind of look on their face if they enjoyed a kiss.

“Jesus. Kyungsoo, I am so, so, so sorry. I didn’t even think—” you began to apologize profusely, humiliation and shame settling like a heavy stone in your gut, but the pathetic words suddenly came to an abrupt halt, silenced on the very tip of your tongue at the last second.

For whatever reason, your brain was running a few seconds behind the rest of your senses today. Because, you definitely saw Kyungsoo’s face coming towards yours, saw his eyes fall shut, saw his lips press out ever so slightly. And then you felt his hands on your skin, felt the gentleness of his warm palms cradling your jaw, felt him pulling you forward— pulling you towards him.

And yet… it still took your sorry excuse of a brain over ten whole wasted seconds to process that he was kissing you.

He was kissing you.

You immediately melted against him, hands flinging out to drape themselves around his neck, locking him in place against you. There was no way in holy hell that you were going to let him go this time. You’d –happily– die of suffocation before you’d willingly put an end to this ecstasy that was his kiss.

His lips were so soft, so gentle, it felt like you were kissing clouds. Was it humanly possible for someone’s lips to be so perfect? So thick and plush and silky that it could drive just about anyone mad. You’d imagined what they might feel like more times than you care to admit— but nothing in your wildest dreams could have lived up to the reality. It wasn’t often that real life outdid your expectations… but you couldn’t say you were surprised that Kyungsoo turned out to be an exception to that commonality.

You couldn’t hold in the light moan that made its way up your throat as his fingers drifted down to press into the curve of your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your clothed skin. His lips pressed hotly into yours, deep and slow, like he was taking his sweet time to feel you out, getting a physical sense of where you were with him. The tip of his patient tongue just barely grazed over your lower lip, and you were more than happy to allow him to gently nudge them apart.

Instinct took over at that point, your mind too hazy and muddled to make any real decisions. And the feeling of his tongue flicking over yours wasn’t doing your sanity any favors. You didn’t even notice, didn’t even realize that you were being pushed down until your back was flush against the couch. His body hovered over yours, toned arms caging your head in as the kiss grew deeper, greedier, hungrier, yet somehow remaining slow and controlled.

A low groan vibrated against your mouth, his hot breath searing your lips as he let out a sigh of your name. Your hands clutched at his back, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blades, desperately tugging him closer to you. You wanted to feel every inch of him, feel what you’ve been deprived of for far too long.

Tonight, you were feeling exceptionally greedy.

But every time you attempted to quicken the pace of the kiss, reach deeper into him, take in more— he was pulling back, denying you… fucking teasing you. And the low chuckle he let out against your greedy lips told you that he was enjoying it.

“Knock it off,” you whined impatiently, fingers reaching up to drag through his thick, dark locks. He grinned, one of his hands following the cut of your body line down to grip the side of your thigh, squeezing just tight enough to have your stomach twisting and burning in a whole new kind of way.

“You’re cute.” He murmured in that smooth, rich voice, nipping sweetly at your lip. Heat rose in your face, a smile curling at the corners of your mouth, warmth pooling in your chest.

“Kyungsoo,” you whispered breathlessly, fingers tracing delicately over the defined cut of his jawline, “I meant it. I really do love you. I’m… I’m in love with you.”

Your heart was a hummingbird as you spoke, voice dripping with more truth than you’d been brave enough to ever show to him in the past. Above you, Kyungsoo let out a soft breath, his forehead pressing lightly against yours as your noses bumped, lips just barely caressing. His cool touch soothed over your burning cheeks, gently coaxing your gaze to meet his. His eyes were dark and deep, deep enough to drown in. They completely sucked you in, swallowing you up in less then a moment. Under the intensity of his molten gaze, you found the racing of your thundering heart calming, the fierce burning of your skin cooling.

God that feeling. That feeling of indescribable, all encompassing, pure bliss. You could never grow tired of it, not in a million years.

“Y/n.” His voice was like honey, thick and sweet in your ears as he spoke the very words that you’d been dying to hear since the moment you first laid eyes on him. “I love you, too.”

“Shit,” you laughed shakily, “you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.” You didn’t offer him a moment to respond before you were dragging his perfect lip back down onto yours.

But, the moment that had encompassed the two of you shattered into tiny shards at the sound of the front door swinging open and booming voices filling the walls.

“I can’t believe you actually ate— oh shit!” Baekhyun yelped in shock, eyes bulging at the sight of Kyungsoo on top of you. Said man quickly pushed himself off of you, a hot blush flushing into his cheeks.

“Okay, Soo!” Chanyeol’s bellowing laughter boomed in your ears, hands clapping as he cheered. “Get some!”

“Not on my couch!” Junmyeon whined, foot stomping as he glared at your burning faces.

“I definitely could have lived my whole life not having seen that,” Sehun sighed, placing a hand over his eyes.

“Yo, your plan actually worked this time, y/n!” Jongin’s amazed giggles spilled into the sudden awkward air. “That’s a first!”

“Hey, Kyungsoo! Remember to wrap it before you tap it!” Chanyeol barked out, causing himself, Baekhyun, and Jongdae to double over in an obnoxious fit of laughter.

Kyungsoo glared darkly at his cackling friends, looking about ready to bash all of their heads as he reached over and snatched the first thing he could get his hands on— which just so happened to be the cat ear headphones. Still attached to your beloved phone, might you add.

“Chanyeol, why don’t you come over here for a second, yeah?” Kyungsoo hummed lightly, standing up from the couch and beginning to walk slowly towards the group by the door. The giant grinned widely, shuffling in the opposite direction.

“Ah— I’ll take my chances over here.” He chuckled, holding his hands out in front of him as he backed away slowly. Kyungsoo shook his head, crooking a finger dangerously in front of him as he took a few more steps forward.

“No, come here. I won’t you hurt. Promise.”

“I don’t trust— AH!” Chanyeol shrieked as the shorter man chucked the headphones across the room, just barely ducking out of the way before they collided with the wall next to his head. “Kyungsoo!”

“Oops.” He smiled innocently, rolling his eyes when Chanyeol began whining loudly. Disregarding his friends, he spun back around to face you, extending his hand for you to take. “Let’s go.”

You giggled, casting a brief glance in the direction of the eight other boys before looking back up at the one that had completely stolen your heart, sliding your palm into his.

“Where to?”

He crooked grin twirled at his kissed pink lips. “Away from these idiots.”

“Yah! Who are you calling an idiot!”

Ignoring Baekhyun’s exclamation, Kyungsoo pulled you upwards, tugging you along behind him as he made his way to the front door, nudging through the numerous bodies of his housemates.

“You, idiot.” He tossed over his shoulder at his younger friend, before gently guiding you into the cool night air.

[epic-potato-crisp]

Courtship - Part 3 (AjinWeek21/1)

Notes: So I decided to continue this for Ajin Week 2021! (although I was torn between making this a Sato fic cause you know. Hat.)

Day 1: Favorite character / summer break/ hat

Favourite character: Both Kei and Kou are among my favourite characters, Kei especially is one of my favourite protagonists of all time, and summer break, because this place during the sweltering time that is training camp. (fun! :D)

————————-

“Really?” Kei asks with growing annoyance as the vampire movie plays out on the screen in front of them. “Really?!”

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen that!” Kou defends himself, depositing the bowl of chips into Kei’s lap so his hands are free to adjust the volume.

“This is not what I had in mind when I agreed to…well, dating you.” Kei says, lowering his volume at the last three words that seem a little too foreign too pronounce.

“Why not?” Kou replies, “Movie nights are a super normal thing to do, not even for a date-“ He in comparison, has zero trouble adequately naming their current situation – “or with friends!” He smirked, which could never mean anything good: “Which you’d know, if you had any-“ Kou winces as Kei’s elbow rams into his side.

“I did have friends.” Kei grumbles through his teeth, stretching out his feet over the old and battered, but still quite comfortable couch. This is, surprisingly, afar more relaxing activity than he had initially anticipated.

Even if the movie is grating on his nerves.

“Why is everyone trying to befriend her?” he asks, exasperatedly. Bella Swan had made it perfectly clear that she was not interested in socializing from the moment she had arrived in her father’s rainy suburban town. And yet, in the first half an hour, not only had her childhood best friend shown up, she’d also been introduced to numerous classmates and faculty, and on top of that, was subtly encouraged to take a glance at a family of – vampire’s, that was his most likely prediction based on what he’d heard of the plot.

“Well, she’s new and people wanna get to know her. Nothing wrong with that.” Kou said diplomatically.

“Ugh.” Kei groans, and takes a sip of his coke. Eriko had always tried to make him watch these movies, which, if he was correct, were five in number, because apparently it was no enough to have a fourth movie. No, it had two be dragged out across two volumes. So far, he had been able to avoid it. Until training camp.

“Which you’d know, if you’d had-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Kei snaps, and the mood sours for a moment.

“Right, right, I’m sorry.” Kou says, after a beat of silence, and then his hand reaches over to grasp Kei’s.

“Is that really necessary?” Kei mutters, feeling his cheeks heat up. He prays that the darkness of the room, only lit up faintly by the TV, serves as enough cover.

“Well, it’s a date, right?”

“Stop saying that all the time.”

“Date. Date. Daaate.” Kou sing-songs, grinning at Kei knowingly.

The latter glowers: “Are you in elementary school?”

Kou laughs. He still doesn’t let go of Kei’s hand.

Kei feels his heartbeat quicken, ever so slightly, nervousness manifesting in the pit of his stomach. He chalks it up to the unfamiliar situation. After all, he really doesn’t know whether the movie will provide suitable entertainment for the next one and a half hours. There is no way it has anything to do with Kou.

At least, it shouldn’t.

“If you could choose between being a vampire and an Ajin, what would you pick?” Kou asks, out of the blue.

The movie had ended just a little while ago, a pointless two hours and six minutes of a supernatural romance that Kei couldn’t care less for. It was a little past ten, and they were not finished for a long while, apparently, if the cover for the second movie, blinking traitorously in Izumi’s streaming library, was anything to go by.

“Not this again.” Kei sighs, “Do you spend all day on these unlikely scenarios?”

“It’s that not unlikely.” Kou argues, “Come on, a few years back, you didn’t even know Ajin existed! And now you’re one!”

“Of course I knew they existed. It’s part of the school curriculum.” Kei deadpans, this particular lesson still rather unsettlingly fresh in his memory.

“Which you’d know if you’d gone to school.” He adds, acidly.

“Wow, harsh.” Kou pouts, “I did go. I just…dropped out. There’s a difference. Everyone knows that.” He mumbles.

“Keep telling yourself that” is on the tip of Kei’s tongue, but he swallows it down, if only to retain the peace. And perhaps because he would feel the tiniest bit guilty further prodding at that sore spot.

But school is something he does not want to think about for a good while again. The memory brings only pain. Betrayal from his classmates, from teachers, a jealousy- one that Kou would never be able to comprehend - on missing out on education that is a given for his former classmates.. A High School degree that he will never receive, if the government has any say in it, after all the years and effort, the hours of studying and revising he has put into it. A bleak future with all paths to prestigious medical universities blocked irreversibly. His only crime had been crossing that road that day. If only I could be reborn, Kei thinks miserably, then I could get a new chance. chance. He is in dire need of a new identity. Perhaps he can later guilt Tosaki into creating one for him.

“So circling back to the topic at hand, vampires.” he says, reluctantly.

“Heck yeah.” Kou agrees, excitedly, “So?”

“There are pros and cons on both sides.” Kei shrugs, “If you were a vampire, you wouldn’t be able to age and have a career, build a reputation. You’d have to get a new identity every few years. That sounds like a hassle. And don’t get me started on the…blood lust.”

The vampires and even humans in the movie had looked hungry in a completely different way whenever that topic came up. As though sucking your body’s circulatory system dry was desirable under any circumstance. Kei shuddered at the thought.

“You mean, you wouldn’t be able to build a family, live out your life with your friends, that kinda stuff?” Kou asks.

“I was referring to the important things, but I suppose.” Kei says loftily.

“Yeah, well, you’re wrong about that. Even vampires enjoy having relationships.” Kou argued.

“Debatable.”

“Bella seems pretty happy with the Edward guy.” his teammate emphasizes, “No matter if he’s a vampire or not.”

“But it is going to be a problem in the future.” Kei argues, “Honestly, she should have just stayed with Jacob and been done with it. It’s a suitable match, why put in any extra effort? She’s just going to grow old while he stays young forever.”

“Figures you’d go with the childhood best friend.” Kou mutters, flicking crumbs of his trousers.

“What?”

But Kou – strangely, for once in his life- doesn’t seem to haven an emergent need to elaborate further on the matter.

Kei probably should have said something a long time ago.

Perhaps he should have stopped Kou from starting the blasted second movie, but “Kei, it’s not that late! And how else will you know how it ends?” (Apparently, never was not a viable option.)

So here they are, sitting through another two hours of what Kou calls an “iconic classic” and Kei under his breath refers to as trash, but not the recyclable kind.

The cinematography is stunning, he has to admit begrudgingly, and the plot, albeit ridiculous, still manages to draw him in enough for him to forego his plans of turning the movie off several times, which is quite bothersome.

Well, fine then, Kei thinks to himself, at least now if Eriko badgers him about those movies again, he can give her a detailed review of every single logical error he has discovered so far.

He is considering starting a list, just so as to have some backup proof. His little sister’s education doesn’t have to suffer any more than it already had.

“Is she really going to sit around for months and wait for him to come back?” Kei complains, grabbing a fist full of popcorn from the bowl Hirasawa had made for them, “That’s a complete waste of time.”

“I don’t know, don’t you think some people are worth waiting for?” Kou threw in, giving Kei a knowing -sort-of-look that he couldn’t place.

It was the first sentence he had spoken in a while. Apart from his rambling monologue to get Izumi to join them a while prior when she came in to check if the streaming service was working.

“Did you see these movies already, Izumi-san?” Kou had asked and Kei surely hadn’t imagined the blush pinkening her cheeks.

“Oh, those? Just…once.” she’d replied, her voice sounding a little too high-pitched for that to be true, “It all seems fine, so I should get going-“

“Ah, already? Take a seat, take a seat!” Kou says generously, gesturing to the couch, “You need a break too, right?”

And Izumi did, albeit only tentatively on the edge. “I’ll be gone in a few minutes.” she promises.

She lied. Fifteen minutes later, she is still there and Kei doesn’t have the heart to kick her out, despite this being a a date, as he not so subtly communicated to Kou via verbal cues – all of which the other successfully ignored -but then, he bitterly thought, what chance did their pseudo-trial stand against Kou’s immortal woman of his dreams?

His thoughts screech to a halt. What does he even care what Kou thinks about either of them? It was all beyond ridiculous.

“It depends on how long you’re waiting for them.” Kei says, in response to Kou’s earlier question, “What about you, Izumi-san?”

“I think some relationships are worth preserving.” Izumi replies meaningfully, but right before she can say anything else, her phone goes off, the Caller-ID flashing with a familiar name.

“It seems Tosaki-san needs my assistance.” she says, barely concealing a wistful sigh, “Have fun you two.”

“He really needs to stop working you to the bone.” Kou complains.

Kei has the decency to feel guilty about the relief that settles in him when she leaves.

The motorcycle ride looks engaging. An activity Kei himself wouldn’t mind doing, seeing as there was zero risk involved to his safety with his newfound Ajin status.

As he verbalizes all of this, Kou gives him yet another of these knowing looks.

“Well, you were always one for motorcycles, weren’t you?” he says, tone bordering on smug.

Kei frowns. “Where did you get that idea from? I’ve only ridden one so far, but that was with Kaito.”

“I know.” Kou says, and then downs the rest of his coke.

“Refill?” he asks, holding out his hand for Kei’s glass.

“Sure.” Kei says, passing it over. He eyes Nakano skeptically, for any hint as to why his demeanor kept fluctuating.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Kei cautiously takes the glass from him. Their fingers brush, lingering just a second too long to be casual. Kei notices how the tips of Kou’s ears redden and uses his momentary distraction to his advantage.

“You really hate that Jacob guy, don’t you?”

Judging by the look on his teammate’s face, he hit the nail on the head.

“I, uh, well hate is a kinda strong word.” Kou hesitates, stumbling over words, “He’s just not my favourite.”

“Really?” Kei asks, raising an eyebrow. In all honesty, he isn’t very interested in either of the characters, but psychoanalyzing Kou is what gives the evening its spice.

“Why is that so surprising?” Kou pouts.

“Because he’s just the same sort of muscle-brained idiot that you are.” Kei responds, gracing Kou with an exasperated look, before turning back to the movie.

“Oh.”

His words seemed to have had a profound effect on his teammate. Whatever sort of enlightenment had reached Kou, it had visibly brightened his mood.

“He is, isn’t he.” Kou says, with a small laugh.

“I don’t know why that is so surprising.”

“Guess I never thought of it that way.”

Which was exactly why it fit so well, Kei thinks to himself. Kou looks positively thrilled with the new discovery. As much as it pains to admit him, a lot remains about his teammate that he still doesn’t understand.

“I think he might be becoming my new favourite character.” Kou says, conspiratorially, sliding closer to Kei and slinging arm around him.

As the movie goes on, Kei starts to feel more and more tired. The comfortable atmosphere and the constant stream of voices from the TV serve to lull him a sleepy state. “Wake me up when they reach Italy.” he mumbles, the exhaustion of another day spent training finally catching up with him.

Kou mumbles an affirmative, and that’s where Kei’s memory cuts off.

The next thing he knows, someone is prodding at him from the side, instructing him to wake up.

“Fine, five more minutes.” Kei says, swatting the offending hand away.

He blinks as he comes too, shielding his eyes against the sudden brightness of the room.

The movie has ended, but even if hadn’t, Kei wouldn’t have been able to see much of the screen.

Not with Tosaki blocking their view.

“It’s almost 1 am.” he informs them through clenched teeth, “Get upstairs before I sever the internet connection.”

It’s a substantial threat. Substantial enough to briefly distract Kei from the fact that he had fallen asleep right on top of Kou.

“Fuck.” Kei swears under his breath, sitting up straight.

His teammate seems less perturbed.

“You missed the ending.” is all Kou has to say for himself, with a shit-eating grin.

(“It really is pointless.” Kei whispers, later that night, as they are both lying in Kou’s bed, a hair-brained decision that Kei blames his tiredness for.

“The whole being with a vampire. She can’t be, unless someone turns her into one, but that would be the epitome of a ridiculous clishé".

“…”

“Oh God, please tell me I’m wrong.”)

[openheartthot]

Sick Day

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Camille Prescott)

Word Count: 1,635

Warnings: This might be hard to read if you’ve been having trouble with a certain pandemic ~ahem~ so be warned there is a virus involved here. Also like one curse word. 

Summary: Ethan can’t stay away when Camille comes down with the flu. 

Y’all were so sweet with my first story that I’m back with another one today. Thanks to everyone that read and enjoyed, it really means a lot! :) 

***

His knock echoes in the empty hallway, and Ethan shifts uncomfortably. He can’t just stand outside her apartment all day. At some point, he’s going to have to accept that she’s not answering the door. Still, he can’t help himself from raising his fist to the door and rapping his knuckles against the wood once more. 

The knock is a bit harder than he means for it to be, a sign of his desperation. He needs to see her, needs to know that she’s okay. Until he can see her with his own eyes, every minute that he’s left standing out in the hallway is torture. 

Finally, as Ethan is reaching for his phone to call Sienna Trinh and demand her assistance, the door slowly swings open. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees Camille standing in the doorway. 

“Ethan?” Camille’s voice is raspy, and she wraps her arms around herself, shivering despite the oversized UPenn crew neck she’s wearing. Besides the sweatshirt, all she has on are a ridiculous pair of over-the-knee pink wool socks. As outrageous as the socks may be, Ethan’s mouth goes just a little bit dry at the sight of her bare thighs. “What are you doing here?” Camille asks, her confused tone wrenching Ethan’s attention away from her legs. 

“Erm…I just thought I’d deliver these to you.” Ethan says, brusquely thrusting a thick stack of patient charts into her arms. The excuse sounds flimsy even as it leaves his mouth. “I heard you called in sick, so--”  

“So you left Edenbrook to come give me my patient charts?” Camille interrupts, bemused. “You know we have digital copies of these, right?” 

“Of course.” The silence between them stretches out for just long enough to become awkward. Ethan knows she’s waiting on a real explanation, and furthermore, he knows he owes her one. “I was…concerned. When Baz told me you wouldn’t be in, all I could think about was if you’d been hurt…or…” He swallows hard. “Why didn’t you call me?” 

“Ethan,” Camille reaches out and takes his hand. Ethan notes the heat emanating from her skin. “It’s just a virus. And we still haven’t had a chance to talk over everything yet. The last thing I wanted to do was drag you away from work to take care of me.” 

It’s true. They still haven’t spoken about the kiss outside of Ethan’s apartment, or the kiss at Mass Kenmore, for that matter. Ethan’s so buried in his thoughts that he almost doesn’t notice Camille swaying slightly, letting go of his hand to grip the door frame for balance. 

He immediately steps closer, steadying her with a hand on her waist. The back of his other hand, he uses to press delicately against her forehead. He had been expecting fever, but he’s mildly alarmed by the heat radiating from her skin. 

“Sorry,” Camille mumbles, leaning into him gratefully. “I’ve just been having some vertigo. Could be a symptom of--” 

“The common cold. Or influenza. Type A has been going around this year.” Ethan interjects. “And don’t apologize for being sick.” 

“I know what the flu is.” Camille says indignantly. “I should’ve known you’d try to one-up me when I’m on my deathbed.” she pouts, the congestion in her voice bolstering her self-pitying tone. Ethan’s lips twitch into a smile. 

“You’re delirious. Can I take you to bed?” He instantly regrets his choice of words as Camille lets out a loud peal of laughter, which quickly tapers off into a coughing fit. “I meant, you need to lie down.” He glares at her, and she grins back. 

“Fine, you’re right.” Camille turns, starting to pull away from him and take an unsteady step in the direction of her bedroom. She doesn’t get very far before Ethan tugs her back to him, cradling her face in his large hands. 

“Let me take care of you.” he says, gently stroking her cheekbone. “Please.” Ethan knows her roommates are all working double shifts, and he can’t bear to leave her here alone. He’s certain his feelings are written all over his face because Camille’s eyes soften immediately.

Before she can say anything, Ethan leans down and scoops her up with ease. He carries her bridal-style into her bedroom and lays her down in her bed, trying very very hard not to think about what happened the first time he saw the inside of this room. Or the second time, for that matter. The sight of her bare ass is not something he’s likely to forget. 

Once she’s safely tucked into her bed, Ethan moves for the door, bracing himself to take stock of her kitchen. Camille and her roommates don’t seem very domestic, but hopefully they’ll have enough ingredients for soup. Camille’s hand reaches out and closes around his wrist before he can reach the door. 

“Stay.” Her eyes are slitted, her hand hot on his arm, but he can’t say no to her. 

 He kicks off his shoes and unknots his tie, sitting on the bed beside her. He hesitates for only a moment before drawing her towards him and wrapping an arm snugly around her waist. He runs one hand over her tousled blonde locks, and Camille lets out a little sigh, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes. 

The afternoon has bled into evening by the time Camille wakes up, and by then Ethan has relocated to the couch. He’s slowly combing through the stack of patient files he brought with him. He pulls off his glasses and looks up as Camille shuffles out of the bathroom. She’s obviously just gotten out of the shower, because her wet hair is tossed up in a messy bun, but she’s wearing the same outfit from before. 

“I made soup.” Ethan offers, gesturing towards the kitchen. Camille rubs her eyes, and despite her bleary eyes and rumpled appearance, his heart melts at her shy smile. 

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” She reappears from the kitchen a few moments later, holding a bowl of soup in her hands. She takes a few steps closer to him, eyeing the chart in his hands. “Read it out loud.” she insists, settling onto the couch next to him and tucking her legs underneath her. 

“This is the case we’re working on right now.” Ethan says. “It’s Gwyneth Monroe’s assistant, actually. She had her first seizure last week, and a physical exam revealed multiple muscular cysts. Gwyneth requested our team immediately.” Ethan fights hard not to roll his eyes. As much as he dislikes the obnoxious Pictagram influencer, her assistant does need medical attention. 

Camille swallows a spoonful of soup, then taps the spoon against her lips. “Well, it’s gotta be Cysticercosis, right? Cysts caused by tapeworm eggs. If the larvae have traveled to her brain, that’d explain the seizures. Not to mention that it’s pretty obvious where the eggs came from.” 

Ethan nods, marking down a few notes on the chart. “Exactly what I was thinking, Rookie. Good work. We can start her on anti-parasitics and anti-inflammatories first thing in the morning.” 

Camille grimaces, setting her half-empty bowl of soup to the side. “All this talk of larvae and eggs kinda makes me lose my appetite.” 

Ethan chuckles, and sets the stack of files down on the coffee table as well. “That’s probably enough work for tonight. You need to focus on getting better as soon as possible. Come here.” He opens his arms for her, and Camille gratefully shifts closer to him, letting him fold her into his comforting embrace. Holding her is so nice that he doesn’t even mind her wet hair dripping all over his shirt. 

Ethan swings his legs onto the couch, stretching out so Camille can maneuver herself to lie on top of him. Ethan has to admit, those ridiculous socks certainly feel nice as Camille tangles her legs with his, settling on top of him so every part of her body is flush against his. He strokes the strip of skin just above the hem of her right sock, and smiles as he feels her smooth skin break out in goosebumps. 

“Thank you for taking care of me today.” Camille whispers against his chest. “I know we still need to talk, but--” 

“Shh.” Ethan commands softly, tilting her chin up so he can meet her eyes. “I’ll always take care of you.” A slight shiver runs through Camille’s body, and Ethan suddenly realizes how close he is to her. Without thinking, he closes the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers. 

“Ethan!” Camille protests weakly, pulling back after a kiss that is entirely too short for Ethan’s liking. “You’ll get sick.” she scolds him. 

Ethan grunts. “I don’t care.” He grips her chin in his fingers, returning her lips to his. Her warm fingers reach up to touch his face, skating over his beard as she kisses him back. Even with the dry heat of her fevered skin and the taste of cherry cough drops on her tongue, she’s still the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

He thinks he could probably keep kissing her forever, but eventually she breaks away to cough, which for some reason he finds endearing rather than disgusting. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, and she nestles her head into the crook of his neck, clearly intending to fall asleep again right there on top of him. 

“I’ll take care of you,” Camille promises sleepily, “when you inevitably get sick from this.” And that’s when Ethan realizes that he really must be in over his head. Because if falling ill means he’ll get to spend another day curled up in bed with Camille, then he can’t think of a single thing he’d like to do more.

***

My taglist consisting of one lovely individual: @edgiestwinter​

[hotpinkhoshi]

the pact (1)

pairing: jinyoung x reader

genre: romance, smut, a lil angst

warnings: sexual content, cursing, alcohol, cliche fwb to lovers, fuckboy!jb

word count: 6.5k

summary: you desperately need to get over your decade-long crush on lim jaebeom, and your close friend jinyoung needs to get over his ex—so the two of you make an arrangement: just sex, no feelings. what could go wrong?

A/N: this is the first fic i’ve posted in yearrsssss so please be kind! also, if there are any weird formatting issues please let me know, i had a hell of a time posting this and mostly could only edit on my ipad so it’s been rough. hopefully it looks normal on both the app and desktop website but if it doesn’t, send me a message!

↳ index here

This was not how movie night was supposed to have gone.

You’d had a rough day at work, only looking forward to one thing all day—having all your friends over for your monthly movie night that inevitably always ended up as a mess. Your co-worker, Yugyeom, and his best friend Bambam were usually the culprits, turning every movie into a drinking game. You’d come to expect it after the third time you’d had to push Bam out before he puked on your carpet.

Your two bedroom apartment was barely big enough for you, your roommate, and your four closest guy friends, but you made it work every month and it was just what you’d needed tonight after the day you’d had.

It wasn’t usually difficult work managing a bookstore, but this week had been one of your lowest yet with sales, and you’d had to field multiple customer complaints as well as employee drama. It’d been enough to build tension in your shoulders and make you especially thirsty for Yugyeom’s special sodas—three parts alcohol, one part Sprite.

It didn’t help that you’d just seen your longtime crush, Jaebeom, post on his Instagram story that he was out with a mystery girl you didn’t recognize but had everything you didn’t. Stylish clothes, ridiculous curves, natural beauty, and most importantly, she had Jaebeom.

You’d been pining after Jaebeom for as long as you could remember—since you were in middle school with him and Jinyoung, at least. You’d had a decent amount of boyfriends in the ten years that had passed since then, yet you couldn’t shake your infatuation.

To make your infatuation even worse, three weeks ago, you’d been out with the guys and when you ran into Jaebeom, he was three shots deep and you ended up making out with him in the men’s bathroom. It wasn’t quite the romantic encounter you’d built up in your head, but still. He had a way of kissing you that made you feel like maybe he’d been wanting you just as badly this entire time. But then that was it—besides a couple of random text messages, you’d barely spoken to him since then.

So you’d gone a little overboard and ended up on the kitchen floor, your head resting on your roommate Sana’s lap while Transformers played in the living room and the boys argued over autobots and decepticons.

“I just—he texted me last week, I told you, right? He asked what I was doing, but it was two in the morning so I didn’t see it until I woke up...”

Sana stroked your hair and let out an exasperated sigh. “You want me to be honest with you, right?”

“Yes, please.”

“Jaebeom is a textbook fuckboy. He texted you because he was horny and his other playthings probably ignored him, so you were likely the first female’s name that he saw while scrolling through his contacts.”

It was a harsh truth, but deep down you knew she was right. Still, it wasn’t so easy to just brush it off and forget about it. You couldn’t help wondering what exactly was wrong with you, why you weren’t good enough for him. Sure, you were a little bookish, and you weren’t skilled in the art of seduction, but he had kissed you. That meant something, didn’t it?

“Besides, I don’t even get why you like him so much. He doesn’t even have a real job—“

You interrupted, “He’s a musician!”

“—I said a real job. He’s not a musician, he’s a DJ that sometimes posts half assed thirty second clips on Soundcloud with vaguely sexual titles.”

You pouted, knowing that she was right, and buried your face into her lap. “But he’s so pretty,” you whined.

Sana rubbed your back like the good best friend she was. “I know, Y/N. I know. But he’s a scumbag, and there are better guys out there. Like, millions of them. He’s not worth laying on your kitchen floor crying over.”

“Who’s she crying over?”

You lifted your head to see Jinyoung standing in the kitchen doorway with the empty bowl of popcorn. Sighing, you pulled yourself up from the floor and slumped against the counter. “Is Jaebeom dating someone?”

Jinyoung raised an eyebrow and set down the popcorn bowl, then grabbed a fresh beer out of the fridge. “How should I know?”

“I don’t know, you’ve known him forever,” you replied with a shrug. “Don’t guys like, tell each other that stuff?”

“No,” Jinyoung answered with a snort. “We say, ‘hey, what’s up, man? How’s life?’ And then we give a noncommittal response, say we should grab a drink sometime to catch up, and then we never do.”

You pursed your lips together, crossing your arms. “Well, he posted one of those mirror selfies with some girl I’ve never seen before. The caption was ‘late night with bae’.”

You were saved a snarky response from Sana when there was a sudden raise in the volume in the living room, indicating the guys were getting out of hand again. Someone was yelling about spilled soju and Bambam was making noise simply to make noise, it seemed.

“If they stained the couch, I’m going to kill them,” she muttered before huffing off, prepared to put her foot down and wrangle the boys back to a reasonable sound level. Your neighbors had already called the landlord last week when Jackson stood out on the balcony belting out Boyz II Men at passing men and women.

While Jinyoung rinsed out the popcorn bowl, you scrutinized him. He was an acceptable man, right? He had a steady job at a publishing house, he was polite, kind, and made you laugh. He always surprised you with advanced copies of your most anticipated reads and he was probably the source of half the sales at your store. And yet, there were no butterflies when you looked at him. Not like there were when you saw Jaebeom.

But he was attractive, objectively. Jackson had told you the last time you’d bothered him for advice that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone new. And sex didn’t always have to mean anything between friends...

“Why are you staring?” Jinyoung asked when he finally noticed you were practically studying him.

You shook your head quickly. “Nothing.”

After grabbing a water bottle to sober up, you headed back into the living room to finish watching the movie. Clearly this train of thought was the result of too many special sodas, considering you’d never once in your life looked at Jinyoung as more than a close friend. It had always been about Jaebeom for you.

Besides, he’d dated Yeri for five years. Two of those were long distance while she studied in the states, and they’d broken up just a couple of months ago not long after she returned. Maybe that was why you’d never seen him as an option.

Two hours later, Bambam and Yugyeom had abandoned your movie night after being invited out to a new club by some pretty girls. It was predictable at this point, and you’d rather have them getting smashed out on the streets than in your apartment.

Sana had left you, Jackson, and Jinyoung with the task of cleaning up fallen popcorn and throwing away the many empty bottles scattered throughout the apartment. She’d cleaned up last month, it was your turn this time.

You felt almost sober by the time everything was cleaned up and Jackson left to meet up with the other boys, unable to resist a night out. By the time you collapsed onto the couch and switched the TV off, the only remains of your alcohol was the heaviness in your limbs.

Jinyoung dropped onto the couch next to you, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Tired?” he asked you, brows raised.

“A little.” You shrugged and pulled your legs onto the couch underneath of you, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Mostly just exhausted from the week. I think it’s just now hitting me.”

“Mm,” he agreed, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch. “Me too. Tonight’s the first time I got to leave the office before eight o’clock.”

You scoffed, shaking your head at him. “You work too hard.”

Jinyoung chuckled. “I like my job. I enjoy the work, most of the time. Keeps my mind occupied.”

That, you understood. You’d always been one to ignore your life’s problems by throwing yourself into work, and you knew it was one of the reasons you’d never had a successful relationship and found it hard to keep friends outside of the circle you’d always had.

Or, there could have been one other reason you hadn’t ever been able to stay with one person for too long—Jaebeom. As pathetic as it sounded, you’d always compared other guys to him, and they fell short every time.

You caught your mind wandering to him yet again and mentally slapped yourself. That was it, you had to find a way to forget about him. Once and for all.

“How did you get over Yeri?” You asked, somewhat abruptly. It caught Jinyoung off guard, you could tell. He’d been broken up with her for almost two months now, and hadn’t mentioned her in almost as long.

Jinyoung furrowed his eyebrows, chewing at his lip for a moment as if carefully choosing his words. “I don’t— I mean, maybe I’m not. Over her.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised. “You’re not? But it’s been two months, and I just kind of figured...”

He shrugged. “Some days are better than others. But every now and then, I feel like... like I’m still waiting for her to come back, and my whole life is on pause until she does.”

As far as you knew, Yeri had been the one to end things. Jinyoung was just too busy with work, he stayed late almost every night and she’d gotten tired of trying to schedule quality time with him weeks in advance. At least, that was as much as Jackson had told you.

You had no idea it would still be weighing on him, though. Jinyoung, of all people, was rarely shaken by anything. Always calm, calculated, and steady. No matter how long you’d known him, this was possibly the most he’d ever opened up to you.

“Sana thinks I need to get over my crush on Jaebeom,” you said as a slight change in subject, mostly because you had no experience in comforting Jinyoung and couldn’t begin to think of a proper response. “You know, for good.”

“You do,” Jinyoung responded with a light chuckle. “You’ve been obsessing over him since we were teenagers, and I have no idea why.”

You propped your sock covered feet on the coffee table, tipping your head back against the couch. “I don’t really know, either. I guess I just always thought... he’d settle down and want something serious, you know? He’d be done with the partying, the one night stands, the DJing, and he’d want...”

Trailing off, you chose not to finish the sentence because it was just too pathetic to say out loud. He’d want me.

Jinyoung was silent for a while before he leaned his shoulder into yours, a subtle gesture of comfort. “You deserve a lot better than him.”

When you were silent in response, Jinyoung nudged you again, more firmly this time. “Hey, you believe me, right? Don’t waste your worries on him, Y/N. There really are millions of better guys out there.”

Truthfully, you wanted to believe Jinyoung but there was still that nagging voice at the back of your head. Every relationship you’d ever had, and there weren’t many, had ended terribly. You’d been cheated on, lied to, and straight up ghosted. It was hard not to think maybe you were the problem.

You weren’t the most beautiful girl out there, you’d accepted that long ago. Not that you were hideous, but you knew there wasn’t much about your appearance that stood out to the average passerby. Looks weren’t everything, but they were still important.

“Would you have sex with me?” You blurted, realizing maybe you weren’t so sober after all. “I mean, hypothetically?”

Jinyoung’s eyes widened and he stifled a cough, looking at you like you had two heads. “Sorry?”

“I mean,” you cleared your throat and stood up in front of him. Long sweater, leggings, faded makeup and all. “You’re a guy. If you saw me at a bar, or just walking on the street. Would you want to have sex with me?”

The tips of Jinyoung’s ears instantly turned a deep shade of pink and it looked for a moment as if he was trying to keep his eyes anywhere except your body. “I—“ he shook his head, then finally made eye contact with you. “Yes.”

It was a new feeling, seeing Jinyoung flustered like this. It didn’t happen often, but you had to bite your lip to keep from grinning. It occurred to you, suddenly, that Jackson might have been onto something.

“Do you want to... now?” You asked, faking confidence. Sex between friends didn’t have to mean anything, and you both had people you needed to get over. It made sense, at the end of the day. And you trusted him, you realized—a lot.

“Stop being ridiculous,” Jinyoung replied, shaking his head once more. “Why are you asking this right now?”

You took a deep breath. “You want to get over Yeri. I want to get over Jaebeom. It makes sense, right? We’re adults, we’re friends, and it wouldn’t be anything more than physical. Whenever we need to let off some steam or get our minds off of them, we can help each other.”  

He looked away again, but you could tell with the way his jaw worked that he was considering it. Still, maybe he was the wrong person to ask. Jinyoung had never had casual sex, at least not that you knew of. He was a serious relationship kind of guy. You may have been better off asking one of the other guys.

“Okay.”

When he answered, your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really?”

“You might have a point,” Jinyoung admitted. “Part of the reason I can’t get over Yeri is because she’s the only girl I’ve ever been with. Memories of her are everywhere. But maybe,” he sighed, running his tongue over his lips. “Maybe we could make some new ones.”

The corner of your lip quirked up and you felt the satisfaction of winning, which truly didn’t happen often with Jinyoung. He was one of the most stubborn people you’d ever known, always having a comeback or a way to turn it around in his own favor.

“So...” you started, trying to hide your fidgeting fingers in the sleeves of your sweater. You decided to just go for it, lowering yourself onto the couch with your knees on either side of Jinyoung’s hips.

It felt awkward. This was your childhood friend, and you were about to have sex with him with absolutely no feelings involved. But as you settled onto his lap and he slid his hands up your thighs, you began to relax.

“So,” Jinyoung repeated, gripping your waist under your sweater. His hands were big and warm, and you instantly felt safe in his grasp. “I’m going to kiss you now. Is that okay?”

When you nodded, Jinyoung leaned in slowly and carefully until his lips just barely brushed yours. He was gentle at first, until you tilted your head and kissed him back, your hands resting experimentally against his solid chest.

To be honest, it wasn’t bad. Jinyoung’s lips were soft and plump, and he kissed politely, waiting for permission to deepen it further.

So you gave it to him, sliding your arms around his neck and bringing your body flush against his, allowing his tongue entrance into your mouth. The two of you kissed until you were breathless, and you silently thanked the gods that Sana was a deep sleeper and there was little to no chance she’d walk in on you with your tongue down Jinyoung’s throat.

As polite as Jinyoung was, he didn’t hesitate to trace his hands up your bare sides, leaving goosebumps in his wake. It had been so long since you’d been touched like this, you’d forgotten how good it felt to be pressed up against a warm body, both of you desperately trying to get closer.

Even though he’d agreed to sleep with you, for some reason you were still surprised when you felt him harden underneath you. Part of you had been expecting him to end up repulsed or chicken out.

Something about the way he felt underneath of you had you rolling your hips into his, the obvious bulge in his pants pressing between your thighs just right. You let out a breathy moan into the kiss and Jinyoung pulled you down against him more firmly, one of his hands slipping down between your legs to rub you through your leggings.

A surprised moan slipped out and Jinyoung pulled away abruptly, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort. “Is that okay?”

You nodded quickly, grabbing his wrist and pressing his fingers back against your clit, sending warmth throughout your entire body. “Feels good,” you whispered, and you swore you felt Jinyoung’s cock twitch in his jeans.

“Bedroom?” Jinyoung asked, his fingers still drawing slow circles that were starting to make your brain fuzzy.

“Please,” you responded, and before you could make a move to stand up, Jinyoung was grabbing your thighs and wrapping them around his waist, lifting you from the couch like you weighed nothing. When had he gotten so strong?

He somehow got you to the bedroom smoothly, only stopping once to press you into the hallway and scatter kisses across your neck. Then he finally set you down after shutting your bedroom door behind you and you took the opportunity to lift his shirt up over his head.

You knew Jinyoung worked out regularly, but you had no idea he looked like that under his clothes. A firm chest, wide shoulders, and an actual six pack. If you’d known he was this ripped, maybe you would’ve tried to make this arrangement sooner.

“Seriously?” You asked, running your fingers down the lines of his abs. “Have you always looked like this?”

Jinyoung’s ears flushed again. “You know I like exercising. What did you expect?”

Shrugging, you settled your hands at his belt and ran your fingers along the metal of the buckle. “I don’t know. Now I’m a little scared to take your pants off, I mean, what have you got hiding there?”

He cringed, grabbing your hips and pulling you against him once more. “Oh, god. Please never say that again.”

Your giggle was cut off by Jinyoung’s lips pressing into yours again. This time the kiss was more heated, wet and punctuated by little nips to your lower lip. When he finally rid you of your sweater, you were so turned on you forgot to be insecure about him seeing your body for the first time.

Jinyoung laid you down on the bed, cradling his hand behind your head as it hit the pillows. His lips were on your collarbone in an instant and you slid your fingers through the soft strands of his hair, tugging in appreciation when he started sucking a hickey into your skin.

Tracing your sides with his fingertips once more, Jinyoung squeezed your hips and pulled back, sitting back on his heels to look down at you. His eyes raked your body from your face down to your waist, to where your legs were spread for him to lay between.

“Should we—“ Jinyoung swallowed, rubbing his thumbs into your hips. “Should we make some ground rules?”

It was fitting that he would be the one to suggest boundaries, but he had a point. Just because you trusted him and were both aware that it would be just sex, no feelings, didn’t mean it couldn’t get messy.

“Good idea,” you breathed, pushing hair out of your face. You’d never done this before, you didn’t even know where to start.

“Honesty,” Jinyoung started, his face looking quite serious despite the fact that he had a massive bulge in his jeans and he was naked from the waist up. “We tell each other what’s working, what’s not... what feels good, what doesn’t.”

Nodding, you agreed, “And, we have to tell each other if we start sleeping with someone else.”

“Or if we start to fall in love,” Jinyoung said, catching you off guard. Love? It hadn’t even crossed your mind.

He seemed to catch himself and cleared his throat, and you tried to ignore the adorable blush that was creeping onto the apples of his cheeks. “No feelings, right?”

You held your hand out. “Deal.”

Jinyoung smirked, then reached his hand out to clasp yours, shaking it just once. “Deal. Want me to eat you out now?”

You coughed in surprise. Was he always this forward with girls? If so, what was Yeri thinking walking away from him like that?

When you realized he wasn’t kidding, not even a little, as his hands played with the waistband of your leggings, you nodded once. “Okay. But I’m not—I wasn’t really expecting anyone to see me naked...”

Though you knew there was no good reason to be insecure, it was just Jinyoung, you squirmed your hips regardless when Jinyoung started to remove your leggings. “You want me to be honest?” He asked, tossing the ball of fabric behind him once you were left in just your bra and underwear.

“That’s the idea, right?”

“Right.” He scooted down the bed and laid between your legs, his shoulders nudging your knees apart to give him more room. “I don’t care. Most guys don’t. Besides, the underwear is cute.”

Blushing, you turned your face towards the pillow. You vaguely remembered mindlessly picking out a pair of snowmen underwear, simple cotton hipsters that were far from seductive. Though he said he didn’t care, you couldn’t help the knot of embarrassment in your stomach.

“Shut up.” You chewed your lip, then lifted your head to look down at him. “Guys really don’t care? About... what it looks like down there?”

Jinyoung held back another chuckle. “No. You care way more than we do, apparently. At the end of the day, if it’s the right guy, we just want to be inside of you. And if it’s really the right guy, we just want to make you feel good. Nothing else matters.”

It relieved some of your anxiety, but you still couldn’t look at his face as he pulled your underwear down your legs and tossed them to the floor. You trusted him, more than most guys you’d ever met, but he was about to get closer to you than even some of the men you’d slept with.

“Relax,” Jinyoung whispered and you conceded, laying your head back against the pillows and closing your eyes. “Tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

You nodded, tapping your hands awkwardly against the covers until you felt his fingers intertwine yours, holding them against the bed next to your hips.

He started slow. Kissing your thighs, building it up, getting closer and closer to your heat before finally, he licked one single strip from your entrance up to your clit. You whimpered involuntarily, not realizing how sensitive you’d be.

How long had it been, anyway? At least six months since the last time you’d had sex, and much longer since you’d had a man’s face between your thighs.

Then he locked his lips around your clit, alternating between flicking his tongue and sucking, until you were squeezing his hands so hard you were sure you left nail marks in his skin. You had to remind yourself Sana was just a couple of rooms over, and though she was a deep sleeper she’d most definitely wake up to you moaning at the top of your lungs.

“Faster,” you told him, still unable to open your eyes but he listened immediately, quickening the pace of his tongue against your clit. You whined breathlessly, hips lifting in an attempt to just feel more.

Jinyoung let go of one of your hands only to slide it down to meet just underneath his chin, taking the wetness that had gathered on two of his fingers before slowly inching them inside of you.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, moving your now free hand to clamp onto the back of Jinyoung’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. “Deep. Deeper, with your fingers,” you told him, words rushing together because you felt like you were going a little bit insane.

So he obeyed, pushing his fingers through your walls until he couldn’t go any further. He let you adjust, then began a slow, delicious pace inside of you. You could feel sweat pooling in your collarbone just from the heat Jinyoung was making you feel.

“Pull my hair,” Jinyoung whispered, and you didn’t have time to question it before you were doing as he said. He moaned into your clit and you arched your back, your mouth gaping open just as you remembered you needed to stay quiet.

He knew what he was doing, you could tell that much. Not only that, he enjoyed it. You could tell just from the quiet groans he’d let out when you clenched your walls around his fingers, like he was getting as much pleasure from this as you were.

“J-Jinyoung,” you stuttered, feeling the pressure start to build in your belly, your toes beginning to curl. He stared up at you, mouth still buried into your pussy. “I’m... I’m close, but I—“ you groaned. “I want you. Please.”

Within a second, Jinyoung was slipping his fingers from your folds, popping them into his mouth to get a taste and using his other hand to undo his belt. He worked fast, pushing his jeans down his thighs and kicking them off the bed with his underwear.

“Nightstand,” you breathed, taking your opportunity to check him out, head to toe. His dick was pretty. And that was truly the first time you’d ever thought that about anyone. You shifted your hips on the bed, desperate to have him fill you up.

It was new to feel this needy, and for Jinyoung of all people. The guy you’d known since you were both in your awkward phase, scrawny limbs and terrible clothing. He’d seen you throw up on your own shoes, and you’d seen him dance to Backstreet Boys at your high school talent show.

And yet, here you were, naked and wet underneath of him as if none of that mattered.

Jinyoung shoved his hand into your nightstand drawer until he found the box of condoms, grabbing one and tossing the nearly full box to the floor in his haste to get inside of you. You watched as he rolled it on, and it finally hit you that this was happening. It was almost too late for either of you to change your minds.  

“This is your last chance,” you said, finally looking up from his cock to his eyes. “If you want to stop, if you think it’s a bad idea—“

Jinyoung cut you off with his lips once more, his hand grabbing onto your thigh to hook it around his waist. “I’m not changing my mind. Are you?” He whispered against your lips and you felt him hard against your stomach.

“No,” you answered. “I want it.”

He pulled away and locked eyes with you, a smirk on his lips. “Oh yeah?” His tongue ran over his lower lip and he reached down, guiding his cock up your folds until the head nudged your clit. “I can tell.”

Even though he was clearly just as desperate, you blushed and pinched his arm. “Are you going to fuck me or what?”

Jinyoung’s eyes lit up and he chuckled, lowering his hips until you felt him at your entrance. “I had no idea you had such a dirty mouth on you.” He paused for a moment, making sure you were ready, then pushed inside of your heat.

While you’d just had his fingers inside of you, you would’ve never been able to tell with the way you squeezed around him. It was uncomfortable at first, but the feeling ebbed away quickly the more of him you took inside.

“Oh,” you breathed, and Jinyoung echoed your reaction with a groan.

“Tight,” he whispered, dropping his head down to your shoulder.

As soon as he’d filled you to the hilt, you couldn’t help the whimper that slipped from your lips. It was the best kind of stretch, putting every one of your nerves on edge. He stayed like that for a long moment, letting your walls adjust to his length.

When you couldn’t take it anymore, you shifted, tightening your leg around his waist. “Move. Please.”

Jinyoung’s movements were controlled and slow, but it was as if he knew all of the sensitive places in your body already. You gasped, your hands sliding up his back until they gripped tightly to his shoulder blades.

The way he fit inside of you felt incredible, and you weren’t sure it had ever felt quite like this, even with ex-boyfriends. Everywhere your body met with his felt like it was on fire, and as Jinyoung quickened his pace, you found it harder and harder to stay quiet.

His name fell from your lips over and over, and you could tell Jinyoung was holding back—when he lifted his head from your shoulder, his brows were knitted together in concentration. You slid your nails down his back, relishing in the way he shivered in response.

“God, you’re driving me insane,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Spread your legs more. Yeah, just like that.”

“Mm, faster,” you told him, clenching around him once he was all the way inside. “You don’t have to be gentle with me.”

“Fuck—“ Jinyoung groaned, hands squeezing the sheets where he held himself above you.

If someone had told you twelve hours ago that Jinyoung would have you covering your own mouth to muffle your moans while he drilled into you, you probably would have thought they were crazy. But here you were.

Jinyoung reached down, slipping his hand under your back to unhook your bra, pulling it off in one smooth movement. He cursed under his breath once you were exposed to him completely, breasts bouncing each time he filled you up.

“God,” he whispered, hand trailing down your chest until the tip of his index finger grazed over your nipple, a featherlight touch. You shivered, arching your back towards his hand. “Tell me what you like.”

Normally, it took you months to let your boyfriends know what you liked in bed and how you liked to be touched, but honesty was your number one rule in this agreement. There was no point in holding back.

“I like it deep, just like this,” you told him. Jinyoung seemed to just know already, or maybe that was how he liked it too. He was always the intense type, it made sense if it had transferred over to the bedroom. “I like it when you tell me how it feels, what you want to do.”

Your words were finished off by a moan that you were sure Sana could have heard if she weren’t asleep, and just the thrill of being caught was enough to send a wave of heat through your body.

When Jinyoung locked eyes with you, there was a hint of something new, like you’d unlocked a part of him that you’d never seen before. He smirked.

“Next time,” Jinyoung started, thrusting deep inside of you, “you won’t have to keep quiet. I’ll take you to my place, and when I’m inside of you, you can be as loud as you want.” His hand slid down your torso, over the sensitive skin of your stomach until it rested on your hip.

Next time. Just the idea of being with him again, though you probably wouldn’t admit it, excited you. It filled your mind with a flash of scenarios and possibilities, all the different ways he could make you feel good.

“Jinyoung, I—“ you moaned, biting hard onto your lip to silence yourself. Jinyoung brought his other hand to your mouth, thumbing your lip until you were forced to stop biting it.

“Would you like that?” he asked, the pace of his thrusts quickening. “Maybe I can bend you over the back of the couch, windows open for everyone to hear you crying out. Is that what you want?”

Your eyes squeezed shut, gasping as the mental image went straight between your legs where he filled you up so perfectly.

“Answer me.” His voice was deep but stern at your ear, and you knew his question was not rhetorical.

“Yes,” you replied, digging your nails into his back. “God, yes. Make me scream your name, Jinyoung.” And he almost did, as he attached his lips to your neck and bit down, teeth scraping against your tender skin just as he slammed inside of you.

You were close again, and you knew it wouldn’t take much more to send you tumbling over the edge. His thrusts were so deep and powerful that you knew you’d be aching tomorrow, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Can’t get enough,” he said, voice husky and low against your neck where you could tell he was working on marking you. He could’ve left the biggest, reddest hickey for all to see and you couldn’t have cared less right now. It didn’t even cross your mind that this was meant to be just between the two of you.

You whimpered when his hand drifted from your hip to the place where your bodies met. He placed his thumb right against your clit and pressed quick circles into your most sensitive spot, and you had to restrain yourself from moaning out.

Jinyoung must have sensed this, because he pulled away from your neck and stared down at you, slipping his opposite thumb into the wetness of your mouth. “Suck.”

If you weren’t close before, you were now. You wrapped your lips around his thumb and did as you were told, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking on Jinyoung’s digit as it rested on your tongue.

As his gaze locked on yours, you found yourself unable to look away. He commanded every bit of your attention, his eyes filled with desire and pleasure that you were responsible for. Your heart pounded in your chest, overwhelmed with need.

Although Jinyoung didn’t say a word, you could read it in his eyes—cum for me. He drew tight circles against your clit, his fast pace relentless inside of you. His stamina was something else, you thought to yourself. He didn’t even look mildly tired out.

You grabbed at Jinyoung’s wrist with your hands, needing something to grip onto but you also desperately needed to keep your mouth occupied so that you didn’t wake your roommate and the neighbors with your cries.

Then something snapped. The tension got to be too much and your orgasm crashed over you like a tsunami, causing your back to arch and your thighs to shake, caging Jinyoung’s waist in and slowing his movements.

He still fucked you through your high and kept his fingers moving until he was sure you had come down. Once he was, he brought a hand up to push your hair away from your face, pressing his lips into your forehead.

“Good girl,” he whispered and you sighed, your limbs finally relaxing in exhaustion. You would’ve never guessed that Jinyoung would be the one to give you what was possibly the best orgasm you’d had in years. Polite, calm, and serious Jinyoung. The same Jinyoung that could barely look you in the eye when you wore a bathing suit in front of him.

His climax wasn’t far away, you knew that much. And you were thankful too, because you were already starting to feel sore and overstimulated, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

You wrapped your arms around him, your fingertips gripping deep into his skin, undoubtedly leaving scratch marks down his back. It was only fair, you figured. You slipped one hand into his hair and tugged, harder than before.

“Shit,” Jinyoung moaned, his thrusts becoming less controlled and more shallow. You pulled his hair again, your nails scraping against his scalp, and that was it for him.

He pushed inside one last time, his cock so deep inside of you that you couldn’t help clenching your walls around him as he came. He was mostly silent save for one throaty groan into your neck, a sound you were sure you wouldn’t soon forget.

You felt him relax a long moment later and he slowly pulled back away from you, stroking the side of your face with his fingertips. “That was...”

All you could do was nod, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Yeah...” Your heart was still racing from your orgasm, but the haze of your desire was starting to fall away, reminding you of reality.

You’d just had sex with Jinyoung. One of your best friends. What would happen now? Would it be awkward from now on, now that you’d seen each other naked? You’d literally had him inside of you. Something told you it’d be difficult to come back from that.

Jinyoung finally pulled out of you a moment later to remove the condom and put it in the trash, and you were eternally grateful that you had the master bedroom with the attached bathroom. For one, you could watch his backside as he went to get a washcloth, and you also didn’t have to leave your bedroom until both of you were fully cleaned up.

You shifted on the bed while you waited for Jinyoung to return, trying to ease your worries. The two of you had been friends so long, you figured it would take more than one hook-up to ruin it all.

Once Jinyoung came back with a wet cloth and climbed onto the bed, you told yourself you’d worry about it tomorrow.

You both got cleaned up and while Jinyoung got dressed, you grabbed your robe and wrapped it around yourself so that you could walk him to the door. Both of your footsteps were as silent as possible, careful not to wake your roommate.

“Jinyoung,” you said, as he slipped his shoes back on.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” you whispered, chewing nervously at your lip. You didn’t quite know what you were thanking him for, but you felt the need to say it anyway. Some part of you felt so grateful to him that you couldn’t let him leave without making him aware.

Jinyoung’s lips quirked just a bit. “You too,” he tucked your disheveled hair behind your ear. “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

You nodded. “Drive safe.”

The moment Jinyoung was out of the apartment, your body leaned limply against the door as you stared up at the ceiling. No, this was not how movie night was supposed to have gone.

[juliandev0rak]

Ghost

There’s a ghost in Beatrice’s attic and she needs help to exorcise it. She finds, however, that some of the things that haunt her aren’t so easy to get rid of.

characters: Ella Sagen (of @leechobsessed), Leila Lonan (of @leila-of-ravens), Beatrice Viano / beaellaleila

also Julian Devorak (he’s here too)

words: 3530

warnings: a bit of angst 

Squeak

Beatrice is startled from her sleep, her eyes opening to inspect the dark room around her. She wordlessly casts a light spell to dispel the darkness and tries to calm her racing heart. As she sits in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin she hears it again, the sound that she’d thought was simply part of a dream. 

It sounds like something is scraping against the floorboards of the attic above her. It’s an awful, grating noise, like nails on a chalkboard. The next time she hears the noise it’s more of a squeak than a scrape. She stifles a nervous squeak of her own and pulls the covers over her head, feeling a bit silly for how childish she’s acting. 

On any other night she might have been able to ignore it, but Beatrice has been doing a lot of reading about the paranormal lately. 

She wouldn’t normally consider herself superstitious, but she’s come to the conclusion that if magic exists- ghosts must exist too. And due to the volume of books she’s been reading on the subject, she draws the hypothesis that the mysterious sound might be caused by something not quite of this world. 

As much as she’d like to ignore the problem and hope it goes away, a hypothesis requires testing. Beatrice tells herself she’s being ridiculous, it's probably the wind making a strange noise, or perhaps the building settling, but as the scraping squeak happens again she decides it’s time to take action. She is a rather proficient magician after all, she should be able to handle this even if it is a ghost. 

She’s careful to avoid the creaking floorboard in the doorway as she creeps out of bed and in to the hallway. There’s a narrow stairwell that leads to the attic, but she hardly has cause to go up there anymore. The ceiling is so low she has to crouch, everything is covered in a layer of dust, and it’s full of memories she’d really rather forget. Nevertheless, she creeps up the stairs, ducking to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling. 

She finds the door to the attic slightly ajar. 

Beatrice stops. There’s no way someone could have broken in, she’s certain she would’ve heard more from that- breaking glass or voices. And besides, all of the merchandise is in the shop below rather than her apartment. As a precaution Beatrice checks to see if she can feel anyone’s aura in the room.

She stands in the doorway and peers carefully into the darkness, casting out her senses. Nothing. And then- the noise again. It’s even louder now that she’s up close, and she feels a flash of distress from the corner of the room.

Something in the room is very upset. Beatrice can’t tell if they’re angry or scared and she doesn’t really want to find out anymore.

“Nope!” Beatrice says out loud, and then she runs down the stairs as if her life depends on it. 

She bangs her head on the ceiling on her way down and her hand goes up to cradle her bruised forehead. Whatever’s in that room, she doesn’t want to face it alone. She watches the stairs with wide eyes as her logical mind scrambles to find a course of action.

There had been a spell to contain and dispel spirits in one of the books she’s been reading, it’s probably her best bet. She frantically pages through the book to find the correct section, eyes skimming over the instructions. A chalk sigil, a spoken incantation, it seems simple enough. In her haste she nearly misses the note at the bottom of the page, 

“This spell is best performed by three magicians standing on each of the three points of the sigil. The power of three must be invoked for complete spirit exorcism.” 

Three. She needs help, and luckily Beatrice knows just where to find two other magicians, though they might be less than pleased to see her at this hour. Beatrice pulls on her cloak and shoots one last apprehensive look to the attic stairs before heading out of her apartment. 

Leila isn’t too far away, she only has a few blocks to walk in the comfortingly well-lit streets. Beatrice tries not to run, but as the tea shop comes into view she finds herself quite out of breath. She knocks on the door, wincing as the sound echoes off of the cobblestones of the empty street.

A few moments pass and she considers knocking again when the door finally opens a crack and a very tired looking Julian appears.

“Oh, good evening Julian! My apologies for the late hour, can you get Leila, please? It’s a bit of an emergency.” Beatrice smiles politely, hoping neither of them will be annoyed with her for waking them up.

Julian looks concerned and takes an immediate step towards her, “Are you alright Beatrice? Do you need medical assistance?” 

“No, thank you, I’m quite alright. I need magical assistance actually,” Beatrice says, though her head does throb a little where she hit it on the ceiling. 

“Ah yes, well I’m afraid I can’t help with magic. I’ll go get the woman who can.” Julian opens the door for her to enter and heads up to find Leila. He comes back a few moments later with Leila who pulls her dressing gown closed with the tired motions of someone who might be sleepwalking.

Leila rubs at her eyes as she takes in Beatrice standing in the doorway, “Julian said it was an emergency? Are you alright?”

“I think there’s a ghost in my attic!” 

“A ghost? Are you sure?” Leila’s tone is concerned, and perhaps even curious rather than annoyed like Beatrice had feared.

Beatrice nods her head as she explains, “Yes! I felt something up there, and I heard an awful noise. There seems to be a spirit of some kind who needs to be put to rest, but I need your help to banish it. The spell I read about works best with three.”

“Three?” Leila frowns in confusion, “Oh, you want to go get Ella?”

Beatrice nods again, “Yes, I think it’ll be safer with the three of us.”   

“If you need medical backup you know where to find me!” Julian says as the women head to the door. Leila just laughs as she swaps her dressing gown for her usual shawl. She kisses Julian’s cheek in goodbye and then they’re off.

Leila links her arm through Beatrice’s as they walk across town to find Ella. When Ella answers the door she looks a little confused, and very tired, but she’s not annoyed either. 

“What are you two up to this late?” Ella opens the door to let them in.

Leila collapses on Ella’s couch in a tired heap. “Beatrice has a ghost.” 

“Well technically, my attic has a ghost. I’m not possessed.” Beatrice moves Leila’s legs so she can sit down on the couch and Leila promptly lays them across her lap.

“I’m sorry, did you say a ghost?” Ella perches on the edge of the couch next to Beatrice, who takes in the tired circles under her friend’s multicolored eyes. 

Beatrice reaches a hand out to rest on Ella’s. “Have you still been having trouble sleeping? I’m sure we could find a potion for that.” 

“Believe me, I’ve tried it all,” Ella sighs, and then she turns to look at her friends with an only slightly false smile. “But let’s focus here, you have a ghost?” 

Beatrice explains the full story to both of them, describing everything from her research into the paranormal to the distressed aura she’d felt in the dark attic. Neither girl interrupts her as she talks, and by the time she's finished both of them are looking much more awake. They seem to believe her, which is quite a relief for Beatrice.

“I think I need some tea.” Leila swings her legs off of Beatrice’s lap and heads towards the kitchen “Do you mind, Ella?” 

“You know where things are as well as I do, go ahead! I’ll have some too if you’re making a pot.” Ella replies, “Maybe something that will wake us up.” 

“I’m on it! Beatrice would you like tea?” Leila disappears into a cupboard, already reaching for three mugs.

“Yes please.” Beatrice smiles politely.

Ella gives Beatrice’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “Don’t worry, Beatrice, we’ll get rid of that ghost.” 

“Yes, so you can get back to dreaming about Lysander,” Leila laughs as she hands them each a cup of tea. Beatrice scoffs and hopes her blush is hidden in the dim lighting of the room.

“I was having a perfectly lovely dream about being on a boat actually, it was quite soothing before I awoke.” Beatrice takes a delicate sip of tea and nearly spits it out when she realizes she hasn’t added any sugar yet. She covers for the clumsy moment by reaching for the bowl of sugar Leila has placed on the table in front of her.

“Was Lysander on the boat?” Ella smiles, stirring her own tea.

“He might have been,” Beatrice says vaguely, hiding another blush as she thinks back to the dream she’d been having of staring over the vast expanse of the sea with Lysander. His arm had been around her waist, familiar and warm and pulling her closer towards him. Dreaming about Lysander always makes her sad when she wakes up, and she'd much prefer to have mundane dreams about sorting library books or whatever it is she thought about before him. 

“Well I’m sorry to break your fantasy, Beatrice, but Lysander hates boats. He gets seasick.” Leila’s face pulls into a frown, as if thinking about her brother’s discomfort. 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Beatrice takes another sip of tea, trying not to get distracted by her thoughts of him. “I'll go over the plan.” 

She explains what she’d read in the book again, detailing the procedures of the banishing ritual, “We need to draw the sigil, stand on the three points, and repeat the incantation. It should be quite simple. I’d have done it myself but…” Beatrice was too afraid. 

Beatrice doesn’t like to admit how easily frightened she is. As a magician she feels she has no logical reason to be scared of anything, but she is. Some of the things she’s afraid of make sense, like loneliness or the unknown, while others are much more specific to her. There are fears she keeps hidden deep inside of her that would be far too difficult to explain, far too revealing. To share them would be like cutting herself open, and she doesn’t want to bleed.

And ever since she’d had the accident with the cursed book, she’d learned her lesson about running into magical situations without thinking first. Her fear is there to protect her, though she’d rather not have its suffocating presence in her life. She knows her friends wouldn’t judge her for any of these feelings and fears, but she keeps quiet all the same. 

She sips her tea and tries to avoid thinking about the dark attic and the ghost. She tries to ignore the thought of boxes full of things that had once belonged to her aunt, whom she misses terribly, and her mother, whom she doesn’t miss at all. The guilt of not missing someone you’re “supposed” to miss has followed her for years, just as the guilt of being the last one in her family has kept her stuck in the old magic shop.

Beatrice finds it entirely too likely that a ghost would choose her attic to take up residence, it’s already full of ghosts after all. 

She hasn’t noticed the conversation come to an end around her, but when she looks up from her mug she finds both Ella and Leila looking at her. She clears her throat and sets the mug down on the table. “Right well, let’s get going then shall we?” 

“We’ve got a ghost to catch!” Leila grins, pulling Beatrice up off of the couch by the hand. 

“Yes! This’ll be exciting, I’m curious to see this ghost for myself.” Ella pulls on a cloak and gestures towards the door. Leila and Beatrice follow close behind and Leila links her arm through Beatrice’s again as they wait for Ella to lock up.

“You look cold.” Leila remarks. She’s right, but it’s dread rather than the weather that’s making her shiver. She doesn’t quite know what they’ll find in that attic.

They talk as they walk through the empty streets, keeping the conversation light as Ella talks about one of the patients she’d seen earlier that day. But all too soon her shop comes into view and they’re at the door. When they step into the dark shop Beatrice hurriedly lights the candles in the room with a flick of her hand.

“It’s upstairs.” Beatrice murmurs, a bit afraid to raise her voice. Leila and Ella nod and follow her up the stairs to her apartment. She opens the door to let them in and, as if on cue, the scraping squeaking noise sounds from above.

Leila takes a step towards the attic stairs, “Was that the ghost?” 

“Yes, I believe so.” 

“It sounds like it’s moving furniture around, can ghosts do that?” Ella asks, joining Leila on the bottom step. 

“A few of the books I’ve read said it’s possible.” Beatrice eyes the stairs warily, and decides to light a few candles in the living area just to feel more secure. When she’s done she finds Leila has already made her way up the stairs with Ella close behind. 

She takes a deep breath and forces herself to focus, this is magic, she can do this.

“Alright, when we get inside we need to draw the sigil as quickly as possible, just in case,” Beatrice instructs. 

“Do we have everything we need?” Ella turns to smile encouragingly at Beatrice. She’s glad Ella and Leila are here, neither of them seem scared in the slightest. They’re both excited in fact, and it’s enough for her to be able to press forward.

“I’ve got a piece of chalk right here.” Beatrice reaches into her cloak pocket and holds a piece of white chalk up for them to see. “And the book too.” 

Leila goes in first, opening the narrow doorway for the others to enter behind her. They all have to crouch a bit, but poor Ella is almost bent in half and still nearly touches the ceiling. It’s a good thing they hadn’t brought Julian along, he wouldn’t have fit. 

The room is eerily silent and dark but Beatrice stops herself from reaching for one of her friend’s hands for comfort. She conjures a ball of light instead, so she can see to draw the sigil. Ella and Leila walk around the small attic as she works, looking for signs of the ghost. 

“I can definitely feel that something isn’t right in here.” Leila turns in a circle, surveying the room. 

The scraping noise comes again from the back of the room and Beatrice swears she can see a box move out of the corner of her eye. Leila squeals in surprise and moves closer to Ella.

“It’s done! Ella please stand on that point there, and Leila you join me over here.” Beatrice points to the corresponding sigil points. Her friends hurry to follow her instructions and they all join hands. “Now repeat after me.” 

They repeat the incantation together, nine times- three sets of three. Beatrice recognizes some of the words as a binding spell, one used to bind potion ingredients together or, in this case, to trap something. The girls wait for something to happen, a flash of light or another squeaking noise, but there’s no response. 

Beatrice lets go of Leila’s hand to look through the book again, but finds they’d followed all of the directions perfectly. The three friends stand looking at each other in confusion until suddenly the scraping noise starts up again. Leila raises an eyebrow and steps out of the chalk markings, crossing the room purposefully.

She steps over to the darkest corner of the attic where the noise had emanated from and picks up an overturned box on the ground. Immediately, something rushes out into the darkness. Beatrice suppresses a scream as the dark shape approaches her. 

She shuts her eyes and braces for impact, but is met instead by the sound of her friends’ laughter. 

“Beatrice look!” Ella says. 

She opens one eye and peers down towards the ground. Immediately, she’s flooded with relief when she notices the shape of a small brown rabbit at her feet.

“Bramble!” Beatrice scrambles forwards, pulling the rabbit into her arms. Her familiar looks at Beatrice in a way that manages to convey that she’s upset, but glad to have been rescued. “Did you get stuck up here?”

“She must’ve been scratching on the floor, it looks like the box overturned on top of her.” Leila picks up the box in question, “It also looks like she was trying to push past some of the furniture stacked up over here, which would explain the scraping noise.” 

“I think the distressed aura you felt was just Bramble,” Ella suggests, making another turn about the room to inspect a few of the dusty boxes.

“Yes, it did feel a bit like her. Oh, I should've known better!” Beatrice strokes Bramble's ears, checking her over for any sign of injury. 

She seems unharmed but she’s quite annoyed at having been trapped in the attic. Bramble often wanders throughout the house, but she’s never come up here before. Beatrice can’t fathom why she would have wanted to, nor can she understand how the rabbit was able to get the door open. But Bramble is no ordinary rabbit after all, she’s always been able to do peculiar things. 

“Poor bunny.” Leila reaches out to scratch Bramble under her chin.

Beatrice feels terrible, and she can’t help but fret out loud, “All of that fuss over a ghost and I never once thought to check where Bramble was. What if there actually had been a ghost and she’d been in danger!” 

Ella stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, “It’s not your fault, Beatrice. You couldn’t have known she got stuck up here, and she doesn’t seem hurt.”

“I’m so sorry I pulled you out of bed for this.” Beatrice ducks her head so her friends can’t see her embarrassed expression.

“Don’t apologize! This was fun.” Leila smiles and holds the attic door open, “But let’s get downstairs, there might not be a ghost in here but this attic is still creepy.” 

“Yes, I’m quite ready to leave this place.” Beatrice gives Leila an almost smile and follows her and Ella back to the living room. 

“I’m glad you thought to call us, you never know what could be lurking when magic is involved.” Ella takes a seat on the couch and gestures for Beatrice to sit next to her. “Better safe than sorry!’

“I’m sorry I let my nerves get the best of me.” Beatrice avoids her friends eyes, staring at Bramble instead who is contentedly falling asleep in her lap, none the worse for wear.

“It’s ok to be afraid, Beatrice. There are plenty of terrifying things in this world, and you’ve always got us to help you face them.” Leila joins them on the couch and offers Beatrice a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Thank you.” Beatrice still can’t meet her friend’s eyes, but now for entirely different reasons. She’s still not used to having people in her life who care about her this much. 

“That’s what friends are for,” Ella says, giving her hand another reassuring squeeze.

“Well, I’d better get home and let Julian know I didn’t get possessed by a ghost,” Leila jokes as she stands up from the couch.

“And if you need us again, you know where to find us!” Ella adds as she joins Leila.

“Maybe stop reading those paranormal books for a while.” Leila pulls Beatrice and Ella into a goodbye hug. Beatrice nods in agreement, she’s certainly had enough of the supernatural for a while.

As Beatrice tries to get back to sleep, her mind wanders to the attic and all of the things that are stored up there. She’s avoided going through it for years, too afraid of the hurt it might cause her. But perhaps now she’ll be able to face it, perhaps Bramble had not-so-subtly been leading her up there.

There’s nothing in the attic but her memories. And while some of them are sad, there are just as many nice memories up there as well. She deserves to remember those, and maybe she’ll be able to banish some of her guilt in the process. She could even invite Leila and Ella to help her organize it, they’ve asked about her family before and maybe now she’ll be able to talk about them. 

Talking about the past might hurt, but Beatrice is finally realizing that she doesn’t have to hurt alone.