#i know it is so vague but stay with me pls

[goldyluna]

I have stumbled upon your little gem known as Purgatory Trials and now I am deeply intrigued and obsessed! From what I’ve seen, are the Dummies the souls that get to play the games to either live or die..? Or anyone that isn’t the current main nine guardians.

I am so happy you like it! And thanks for the question.

Yes, Dummies are one of the souls that got placed in Purgatory and are the most important guests for us. As for our Guardians and why there aren't more (shouldn't there be more of them?)... They aren't forgotten (or are they?). I can only say there are some secrets that needs to be uncovered, only if we could find someone willing to start talking.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine

[milkloafy]

I COULD BE YOUR CRUSH — WRIOTHESLEY

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: you gush about your crush to neuvillette over some tea, and your crush unexpectedly joins the tea party and overhears you talking about him. ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fluff, fem!reader (use of princess as a petname), sassy neuvi, mentions of ayato ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.2k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: alexa play crush by tessa violet,, LOL i was thinking so hard about the song title then i was like okay yeah these lyrics work ;-; titles are so hard.. anywayyy PLS ENJOY SOME WRIO FLUFF FOR THE SOUL !!

“You just don’t understand, Neuvillette,” you sighed dramatically, stabbing your fork into the delicate cake in front of you. “He’s totally swoon-worthy.”

Neuvillette took a sip of his tea before carefully placing the cup back on its saucer. For a while, he continued to stay silent, as if considering his words.

Once he finally opened his mouth, the only question that came out was a calm, “How so?”

It didn’t take long for a million reasons to pop into your head.

“Well…have you seen his arms?” you gushed. “Is that not enough of a reason in itself?”

Neuvillette scoffed, a smile of amusement playing on his lips.

“That’s not all, of course,” you clarified, grabbing a throw pillow from the sofa next to you and hugging it close to your chest. “He’s also caring and kind and treats everyone with respect, no matter who they are.” 

Neuvillette’s gaze flickered briefly to the door behind you, but you paid it no mind.

“Not to mention how he looks when he gets all serious. Neuvillette, have you ever seen him talk about a prisoner he had to punish? It’s so…” You hid your face behind the pillow, cheeks flaming at the thought.

Before you had a chance to collect yourself, you heard someone clear their throat behind you. You immediately stilled in your seat, slowly bringing the pillow back down to your lap.

“Sorry I’m late. Who are we talking about?”

Neuvillette smiled, ignoring your frantic look directed right at him. “Wriothesley, welcome. You are not too late. Please, take a seat.”

Wriothesley slipped onto the sofa, taking a seat next to you. Neuvillette poured him a cup of tea that he graciously accepted. Looking over at you, Wriothesley brought the drink up to his face and asked, “Care to tell me who you were speaking of before I arrived? It sounded like you were singing their praises.”

You fiddled with the the hem of your silk pajamas— Neuvillette failed to inform you beforehand that a certain someone would be joining the tea party, so you appeared in your regular sleep clothes. You racked your brain trying to come up with a response. 

“Oh, you know… Kamisato Ayato,” you managed, vaguely remembering how you saw his name and face on the cover of The Steambird recently. “The head of the Kamisato clan is such a…dashing and strong leader. I think.” 

“I didn’t realize you were close to Kamisato,” commented Wriothesley, sitting with one leg loosely draped over the other as he leaned back against the sofa.

“Oh,” you shook your head, “no. No, I’ve never even met him.”

Wriothesley raised a singular eyebrow in question. “Your words earlier seemed so strong for something directed at a man you have never met.” 

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even though your heart threatened to beat our of your chest. “You know how enamored a crush can make someone.” 

“I do,” Wriothesley agreed, his gaze locked onto yours so intensely that you almost had to blink.

“I’m sure you do,” remarked Neuvillette, still sipping his tea.

You and Wriothesley both looked over at him.

Neuvillette blinked. “Did you forget I was here? This is my office, is it not?” When no one responded, he sighed. “Well, I finished the last of my tea and I have some work to wrap up. Feel free to stay as long as you need.”

Neuvillette made his way back to his desk and Wriothesley refocused his attention towards you. 

“So. Kamisato Ayato,” he brought the clan leader up once more.

You choked out a laugh of exasperation. “Are we still on this? Just let me have my silly little crush on someone across the world who doesn’t even know I exist.”

Tapping his fingers against the teacup, Wriothesley huffed. You realized he looked almost annoyed and frustrated.

Just as you were about to ask him what was wrong, Wriothesley opened his mouth and said, “Would it be overbearing of me to say I wish you had said a different name when I asked who you were gushing over?”

A strange mixture of curiosity and hope filled your chest.

Curiosity as to who he thought you were talking about. Hope that maybe he thought it might’ve been him. 

“You could never be overbearing,” you assured, grabbing a small biscuit from the table and softening it up in your warm tea. “Would it be nosy of me to ask who you wished I was gushing over?”

Wriothesley grinned. “You are certainly nosy. But it’s one of the things I like about you.”

You laughed, wiping a crumb off your lip with a napkin. “Does that mean you won’t tell me?”

“Perhaps another day.”

In the distance, you heard Neuvillette clear his throat loudly. You looked over and saw him glaring straight at Wriothesley. They stayed like that for a while, having a silent conversation with their eyes. Whatever it was, it seemed intense. You were quite glad that glare wasn’t directed at you.

“I believe Wriothesley would like to share that information with you now,” Neuvillette announced after Wriothesley looked away with a sigh.

“Does he?”

“I do,” Wriothesley confirmed, the slightest bit begrudgingly. “Me.”

You waited for him to say more, but he didn’t elaborate. 

You blinked. “What about you?” 

“Are you going to make me say it?” Wriothesley let out a strangled laugh, grabbing a biscuit to munch on himself. “When I overheard you and Neuvillette talking about your crush, I was hoping it was about me.”

You blinked. “Why about you?” 

Neuvillette made a strange noise as a book fell off his desk. He cleared his throat. “Pardon me.”

You barely had time to wonder if he was okay before Wriothesley finally responded.

“You really don’t make things easy for me, isn’t that right, princess?” Wriothesley said with a helpless smile. “I hoped you were saying such sweet things about me, since I would say equally sweet things about you.”

With your stomach turning at both the pet name and his admission, you managed to say, “And if I were to tell you it really was about you?”

“That would make me a very happy man,” he said, unable to contain his delight. “Who wouldn’t be happy to hear the most beautiful and caring person they know is interested in them as well?”

You heard Neuvillette tap his foot impatiently in the background, but you ignored him. You and Wriothesley were having a moment here. 

“So, you’re saying you like me, too?” you asked, not wanting there to be any chance of a misunderstanding. The two of you made it this far, you couldn’t let it fall apart now.

“I like you very much,” said Wriothesley with a nod. “And I have something to take care of at the Fortress this week, but when we both have time next week, perhaps we can celebrate with a dinner. Without Neuvillette there.”

“Please, without me there,” Neuvillette chimed in, his arms folded as he sat in his chair.

You laughed, standing up and brushing the imaginary dust off your pajamas. “All right, I can take a hint, Neuvillette. I’ll help you clean up before I go. And Wriothesley…” 

“Hmm?”

You met his gaze and the corners of his eyes crinkled. You fought off a giggle as you returned Wriothesley’s smile, an overwhelming feeling of happiness filling you. “It’s a date.”

[changbunnies]

Danse Macabre (18+)

♡ Pairing: Rich Serial Killer!Bang Chan x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: loosely house on haunted hill inspired, vaguely 1950s au, horror themes, dark romance, smut, dead dove? read the warnings carefully and come to ur own conclusion on what you're willing to read before engaging pls :')

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary: The handsomely wealthy Christopher Bang and his wife are holding an overnight party at the house on Haunted Hill, and the rules are simple– stay the entire night, and $100,000 is their guest's to take; but little do the guests know that their hosts don't intend to let them leave.

♡ General Warnings: this is a serial killer au! do not read if you aren't prepared to read about death + murder + blood + injury! (i personally think i kept the descriptions tame and mild but everyone has different opinions so just use ur discretion and don't interact if you think you may be bothered by anything listed !), chan is referred to as chris, reader is very complicit in his crimes, they're a sick and twisted couple i fear!

♡ Smut Warnings: hybristophilia (i.e chan being a killer turns reader on), smut begins with chan talking about killing reader (intended to be strictly roleplay because he knows it excites them, but ur free to read it as him being serious if ur freaky like that lol), heavy usage of pet names (darling, my love, princess, sweetheart, dear), dom/sub dynamics, rough and a lil mean dom!chan, big dick chan because it's hot!, hair pulling, knife kink (but without a knife actually being used), corruption kink (not in the traditional way), tiny bit of nipple play, oral (m rec), facefucking, choking (on cock :) ), dacryphilia, manhandling, mirror sex, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: welcome to the first of my late kinktober fics ! this fic is loosely inspired by the opening scenes of the 1959 house on haunted hill movie, which is why the setting is vaguely 1950s!, this is the darkest fic i've tried my hand at writing, but i'm also a very big horror fan so writing this was very fun for me even tho it's not the genre i typically write for!

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

"Darling, the guests are arriving. You must get ready," your husband, Christopher, emphasizes as he steps into the master bedroom you'll be occupying for the evening.

You're sitting at the room's vanity, all of your hair pulled to one side as you finish drying it after your long, relaxing bath. The scent of lavender bath oil and citrus shampoo linger over you– scents brought with you from home because you absolutely refuse to use the luxurious room's complimentary soap; no offense intended to the housekeepers who provided it, of course.

You look sweet as ever in your dainty little pastel blue babydoll gown, your robe delicate and sheer, hanging down off your shoulder and bunching at your elbows. You glance at Chris through the vanity mirror as you begin to comb your hair and free it of any leftover tangles, meeting his gaze with a smile.

"What's the rush, my love? Is it not customary to be late to a party?" Chris chuckles as he steps closer, runs his hand over your shoulder and down your spine as he leans down to kiss the top of your head. "Normally I'd agree with you. But this is your party, princess. You should greet your guests."

He's right, of course– today is your birthday, and he booked the entire mansion, as well as invited all the guests, at your behest. Christopher is the old money sort– a millionaire from a long line of millionaires before him. And because of that, your party comes with a fun gimmick– survive a night in the haunted mansion, and earn an easy hundred thousand dollars.

Assuming each guest successfully lasts until dawn, that's $700,000 for your husband to pay out– but that's no worry! That's still only chump change to a man as wealthy as Chris– and besides all that, no one's going to last until morning anyways; you're certain of that.

Naturally, as having a haunted house party was your idea, the venue was your choice– and the eerie mansion that sits lonesome upon Haunted Hill was the perfect pick. You've always found it strikingly beautiful from the outside, dreamed of one day stepping inside and drinking in all its Victorian charm.

It's certainly lived up to your expectations– and you're sure Chris will buy it for you if you express to him just how much you adore it; he'd buy you the entire world if you asked him to. For now, it's good enough that he rented it out for your sinister party.

You doubt the mansion is actually haunted– you don't put much stock in the stories of ghosts and ghouls that gave this hill its nickname; but it's a fun little tale, and you don't mind playing into it for the sake of a fun time. And it certainly helps make your party's tag line of "survive the night!" more inconspicuous.

"They're all strangers, sweetheart– I don't think they'll mind if I'm a little late," you tell him with a coy little smile as you set your comb back down on the vanity, satisfied with the condition of your freshly washed hair. He returns your smile with a mischievous one of his own, an amused glint in his eye.

"And remind me, darling, why it is that we've rented this house and invited a bunch of strangers to your party," Chris says as he leans down further, his breath fanning your ear. You giggle, almost innocently– though both of you know you're more than just complicit in his endeavors; you actively fuel them, his sadistic princess.

"You know why, my love," you reply, and to anyone else your smile would seem pure, almost angelic– but Christopher knows better. He knows that his kills excite you– perhaps even more than they excite him. He grabs a fist full of your freshly tamed hair, grins at the gasp you let out when he pulls your head back.

"And this is really what you want for your birthday? To see me stick my knife into someone's neck? To have me return to this room covered head to toe in their blood?" he questions as he looms over you now, but the answer is clear as it always is. He sees the way your thighs squeeze together, sees how the desire darkens your eyes– you’re sick; but that’s what he loves most about you.

"I could kill you too, you know. Take my knife right along your skin, just like this," he says as he runs a finger over one side of your neck to the other, gentle but purposeful in demonstration. Your breath hitches as you squirm in your seat, unable to turn your eyes away from him as he tightens the grip on your hair.

"But you wouldn't," you breathe, and Chris smiles, sweet and sinister as his eyes narrow at you, just how you like it. "Are you certain, dear? Do you think me incapable?" 

"I think you love me, as I love you," you answer, eyes starting to water from the sting of his tug on your scalp. "I love that you trust me," he replies as he trails his finger down, over your collarbones and to your chest. His fingers play with the dainty lace of your gown for just a moment before he slides his hand inside, cupping your breast in his large palm.

"I bet you wouldn't even bat a lid if I touched you with my knife here," he continues as he brushes his thumb over your hardening nipple, "you'd actually like it, wouldn't you, my love? Feeling the cold steel here, knowing I could easily cut you if I wanted to?" You whine, try to nod your head though his grip prevents it– all you can do is answer with a meek "yes" instead. 

"Speak up, darling. I'm afraid I couldn't hear you," he says with an expectant look that sends a shiver down your spine. Chris indulges your every desire, gives you everything in the world you want– so in the moments like these, in which when he asks something of you, you listen.

"Yes! I'd like it!" you answer, as loud and clear as you can bring your voice to be. Chris smiles, the sweet one he always gives you when you listen to him well, with his handsome dimples on display– a stark contrast from the darkness in his gaze. He releases his grip on your hair, cups your face and rubs his thumb over your cheek as he kisses you, greedy and deep. 

You always manage to get him hot; all it takes is a few simple words and that sweet gaze of yours to get him worked up– always the picture perfect image of innocence, pretty smiles and soft gazes that hide the depravity lingering beneath. So coy and demure, batting your lashes and acting like you don’t know at all what he does in the dead of night, acting like it doesn’t make your stomach twist– not with fear, but with desire.

Chris always sees through your act– he knows you. But he won’t pretend he doesn’t like it– the fun little game you share, where you gasp in faux surprise when he enters the room drenched in a new victim's blood, where your voice trembles and eyes well with tears when he grabs you hard, kisses you deep as the blood coating him transfers to your skin, sharing it with you.

And your answer now– whether it’s part of the game, or you truly would like feeling his knife cutting your pristine, unsullied skin, it doesn’t matter. He meant it when he said he loves that you trust him; and he loves that you wanted this. That all you wanted for your birthday was this party– to see him at his most unleashed, to indulge in the most sinful fun you could share as a couple. 

You never say what he is out loud– don’t call him a monster, a murderer, or a killer. You always dance around it, play innocent, though it’s obvious enough that you know the truth; and that’s more than enough for Chris. In fact, he prefers it this way; he likes to pretend he’s ruining your innocence, likes to pretend he’s a corrupting influence in your pure, perfect world, likes to pretend he’s ruining you.

Maybe in a way, he is– maybe you were a good girl before you found out his secret, maybe catching him in the act changed you, and maybe he’s dragging you down to hell with him by sharing this part of his life with you. Regardless, he loves what you have together– and he’ll keep playing this dangerous game with you, even if it ends in both your demise.

You melt into his kiss, as you always do– his lips, so plump and soft, always feel so perfect when they’re pressed against yours. You open your mouth for him the moment you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip, and he hums pleasantly as he slips his tongue in your mouth. It’s not the most slow or sensual kiss you’ve ever shared– rather, it’s needy, passionate and urgent.

Chris smiles at you again when he pulls away, enjoying the sparkle beholden in your eyes as you stare up at him. “Open your mouth for me, darling,” he says as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. You do as instructed, the obedient thing you are for him, and he grins as he sticks his thumb inside your mouth. 

You wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it after he rests it against your tongue. “Oh, my love– you already knew what to do, didn’t you? Always know just what I want, yeah?” You hum as you nod, staring up at him oh so enticing and pretty. “You’ll suck my cock just like that, won’t you?” he continues, biting his lip to suppress a laugh when you eagerly nod and hum once more.

He removes his thumb from your mouth with a pop, hurries with undoing his belt and pulling his cock out of his trousers. His cock is mesmerizing, as always– so long and thick, with pretty veins and a leaking tip; but you aren’t given any time to idly sit and admire it. He wraps your hair around his fist, forces you to take his cock in your mouth all at once.

You choke and sputter as his cock presses against the back of your throat, your nose meeting his pubic bone in a flash, the neatly trimmed hair there tickling your skin. You can’t pull your head back with his grip forcing you down– but you wouldn’t dream of trying anyways; this is what he wants, and he'll have it.

Eyes watering, you do your best to relax your jaw and throat, to suck him just the way he likes, with your tongue massaging his veins. It’s a struggle to breathe through your nose, unprepared for his cock as you were– and it’s not until your eyes are dimming and head is swimming from the lack of oxygen that he pulls you back to let you take a breath.

It’s harsh, lungs positively burning as you take deep, heaving breaths. “Oh, I’m sorry, darling. Was that too much for you?” he asks, but his tone lacks its usual sincerity. “Chris–” you cry his name weakly after taking another breath, a few of the stray tears lingering on your lids finally spilling over as you blink. 

“My dear,” he cuts you off, forcing his cock past your lips once more, using the leverage of his grip on your hair to once again push your head down on him, making you take his length into your mouth until you choke on it.

“You weren’t going to complain, were you? No, I know you wouldn’t do that,” he says, voice wavering ever so slightly, breathier from the pleasure your mouth gives him. “Because I give you everything you want. Everything I do is for you– so you’ll let me use you, yeah?”

He’s right again, of course– you wouldn’t dream of complaining, of depriving him of what he wants from you. And you both know this is far from the limit of what you can take, but as with everything else, he likes when you pretend for him. When you cry and weakly try to protest, half hearted utterances of “too much!” or “I can't!” as tears roll down your cheeks– an act that always leaves him throbbing.

And Chris is good to you, always puts the entire world in the palm of your hands– so just as he says, you’ll thank him by letting him use you however he wants. You can’t nod your head, and any word you try to speak would be muffled and indecipherable– so you allow your jaw to go slack to show him you understand.

“Good, just like that,” he says as you lay your tongue flat, his praise a small kindness before he really lets loose. He easily controls your pace, yanks your hair back until only the tip of his cock remains in your mouth before shoving you back down to the base of it.

You try not to gag and choke, but most attempts go unsuccessful, more tears spilling from your eyes and drool spilling from the corners of your mouth with each full press of his length in your mouth. You can’t even feel the sting on your scalp anymore– all you can focus on is trying to breathe while he uses your mouth.

But all you can breathe is Chris, and he’s unforgiving in the way he moves you on his cock. You jaw quickly begins to ache, and every low groan that he releases is drowned out by the filthy sounds your mouth and throat create as you swallow around his cock.

He doesn’t let up until your vision darkens and blurs again, your nails digging into your own thighs as you try to hold out as long as possible. You gasp when he pulls you off his cock, heart pounding in your chest as the much needed air finally returns to your lungs.

You look up at Chris as he releases his grip on your hair, eyes lidded and hazy. He’s made a real mess of you– from the way his fingers have tousled your hair, to your freshly swollen lips, to the saliva that dripped down from your mouth to your chest. It’s pretty, really– so, so pretty; he almost wants to coo at you.

Instead, he strokes your cheek, offers you a look of faux sympathy– and you’re much too addled to realize he doesn’t mean it. You take the affection regardless of his intent, close your eyes and lean into his touch. You can hear him softly laugh, can easily imagine that smirk he must have on his face right now. 

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” Chris reminds you as he takes his hand away from your face. He grabs your arm, lifts you up from your chair and quickly turns you around, shoving everything resting on the vanity aside before he’s bending you over it. Your yelp of surprise is weak considering the abuse your throat just suffered, your hands lying flat as he presses you down against the hardwood. 

Your face smushes against the mirror, and how cold it is in contrast to how hot your face has become nearly makes you jolt. He shoves your panties to the side easily with his fingers, and you can hear him chuckle when you impatiently begin to squirm as he presses his cock against your dripping hole.

“Princess– stay still,” he says, and you can tell from his tone alone that it’s much more a demand than it is a request. You mutter a soft apology as you still your hips, and he waits a moment– waits to see if you’re going to move again before he acts. 

“Please,” you whine, make your desire to have his cock filling you up known, but ultimately don’t move. With a satisfied grin that you can just barely see on his face from your position against the mirror, he slowly, finally, starts to press his length inside your pussy.

He brings his hands to your hips, holds you as you begin to tremble from the feeling of his cock stretching you out. He doesn’t give you time to adjust– just squeezes your hips in his hands as he starts to fuck you from behind. “Oh, Chris– fuck,” you gasp, though it quickly becomes a moan. 

His cock feels so deep in this position, and it has your eyes rolling back with each motion of his hips into yours. “You’re so fucking wet, fuck–” he groans, his hands gripping you harder as he finds his rhythm. “Squeezing so tight– feels good, huh, princess? You like it when I fuck you like this?” 

“Yes, love it! Love you, love your cock, feels so good–” You cry, high pitched whimpers leaving you now as you try to nod your head, though its position against the mirror doesn’t make it easy. Chris groans again before he moves a hand to your hand, threads his fingers through your hair again to pull you back against him.

You reach backwards to support yourself, one of your hands clinging to his shirt while the other holds him behind the neck. “Look at yourself, darling. Look,” he says against your ear, and you focus your eyes on the mirror. You look at Chris through it first, take in the sight of the sweat dripping down his temple and the clench in his jaw as he fucks you. 

Your eyes travel down, met with the sight of your tits bouncing with each of his thrusts, threatening to spill out of your babydoll gown. Lower still, you watch as he takes his other hand off your hip, slides it past the hem of your gown to find your clit with his fingers. “Want you to watch yourself cum. Don’t stop looking,” he tells you, and you whine– it won’t be easy, but you’ll listen; you always do. 

He lets go of your hair, and is quick to wrap his arm around your body so that you don’t fall too far forward. You’re so wet that his fingers quickly become slick, and it makes his touch lack friction as they slide messily over your clit, but the feeling is still so delicious that you can’t complain. 

It’s so hard to maintain eye contact with your reflection, hard to prevent your eyes from rolling back whenever he hits your spot with his cock while playing with your clit, but you keep doing your best for him. He can feel you clenching harder as you continue to watch yourself unravel, feels your nails starting to dig into where they hold his neck.

“C’mon, love– cum for me, you can do it sweetheart,” Chris urges you, his voice soft and low in your ear. “I will! ‘m gonna– gonna cum for you!” you cry; and though you’d been doing so well, you can’t help but let your eyes roll back and close as you finally let go and gush on his cock. If it were a different day, he might scold you for not keeping your eyes open like he told you to– but it is your birthday today, so he’ll let it pass just this once. 

He pushes you back down onto the vanity as you ride out the last of your orgasm, face once again smushing against the mirror as he grabs your hands and holds them behind your back at the wrists, fucks you rough and deep as he chases his own release. You whimper and tremble, unable to escape the sensitivity you feel, or able to grip anything to ground yourself– all you can do is take it. 

“Can’t! Chris, please– I can't, t-too much, too much!” your voice warbles as you cry, the pleasure you feel overwhelming. “Yes you can,” he says as you writhe helplessly in his grasp, your fingers clenching into desperate fists where he holds them against your back. “You can take it, I know you can.”

You’re going to cum again, you know it– he doesn’t even have to touch your clit again to get you there, because the tip of his cock is kissing your spot so good that you’re seeing stars. You’re panting hard, your every breath fogging the mirror, your nails digging into your palms as Chris’ name leaves you in desperate, broken syllables. 

It’s not until you’re finished cumming around him for a second time that his pace finally begins to falter– he lets go of your wrists, squeezes your hips in his hands and thrusts once, twice more before his own high takes him. You whine as you feel his cum spurt deep inside, hot and sticky, leaving you perfectly full.

Chris takes just a moment to steady his breathing before he’s slipping out of you, hurrying to reach to the ground for the tissue box he previously knocked off the vanity. He grabs a tissue, cleans between your legs as gently as he can, though you still end up flinching just a bit.

He then readjusts your panties so they rest on you properly again, and helps you settle back into the vanity’s chair. He kisses you after tucking his softening length back in his trousers, glances in the mirror to make sure nothing else about his appearance is out of place before he has to return to your party.

“Was it good?” you ask earnestly as you look up at him, and he smiles at you, stroking your head sweetly. “Of course, my darling. You’re perfect, as always,” he tells you, and you beam, turning your head to kiss his hand before he takes it away. He glances over at the grandfather clock sitting in the corner of the room, laughs in disbelief when he notes the time. 

“Gosh, it’s almost midnight– we really must hurry,” he says, and you giggle, truly without a care in the world that you’ve kept your guests waiting. You turn back to vanity, pout as you take in your appearance– you were too far gone from lust to really realize just how debauched Chris made you, but now you truly see just how much you have to fix. 

“Christopher! You’ve ruined me!” you complain before looking around the floor for your comb. “Apologies, princess,” he chuckles, leaning down to pick up your comb for you once you’ve spotted it. He hands it to you, but doesn’t completely release his grip to let you take it until after you kiss him in thanks.

“Now then– I’ve got to go entertain our guests. But hurry, won’t you, darling? I wouldn’t want to start the real fun without you,” Chris says as he rests his hand on the knob of the bedroom door, and you smile as you look at him through the mirror, making quick work of fixing your hair. 

“Of course, my love. I wouldn’t miss my party for the world,” you tell him; and despite what he said, it’s not long until you hear the first shrill scream of the night. Dressed in your prettiest red dress and heels, you peek your head out of the bedroom door– and Chris stands there, knife in hand with blood speckled over his face.

“Sorry darling, didn’t have a choice,” he explains, and you giggle as you fully step out of the room, carefully stepping over the blood that decorates the floor to kiss him before shooing him away to continue. Your birthday party has fully kicked off now– and it’ll certainly be one to remember.

[arkhammaid]

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ RED BULL GIVES YOU WINGS.

fandom. formula one

pairing. max verstappen x snowboarder fem!reader (fc: zoi sadowski-synnott)

about. y/n l/n, olympic gold medalist, goes viral after her unusal win. her boyfriend silently cheers from the sidelines

content warnings. social media au, not edited/proofread

notes. i vaguely remember seeing the headlines (years ago) of a teen snowboarder oversleeping because he was watching netflix the night before the race LMAO. so this is kinda the inspiration for that

SKYSPORTS

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, redbull and 3'370'884 others

skysports Gold Medalist @/yourusername had a rough morning during the Winter Olympics, she overslept thanks to a late game night binge with her boyfriend. Yet despite also forgetting her coat, she takes the win by storm, all while flueled by three Red Bull's she had as breakfast.

"When me and my boyfriend sim race, we totally forget the time. It's his passion and I like to challenge him in something he thinks he's best in. I think it was 3am when I finally went to bed, luckily I found a some cans of Red Bull. You can also thank my boyfriend for that, he drinks that sh*t as if it's water."

Y/n takes the whole incident with stride, jokingly saying that she will have to repeat this routine if she wants to win gold the next time.

user SIM RACING WITH HER BOYFRIEND???

⤷ user don't know if we should thank him or not

⤷ user you'll probably never be able to thank him, y/n and her bf have been together for years now but she never revealed who it is

⤷ user does she even have a boyfriend??

⤷ user check her insta, she's been posting the same man for a long time now

user SHE'S SO FUCKING UNSERIOUS I LOVE THAT

user she's literally the definition of genz

user i don't care what anyone else says, this right here is queen shit behavior

⤷ user i crown thee, y/n l/n, to the queen of whatever this whole mess is

redbull See! Red Bull gives you wings, we take no longer any criticsm

⤷ user you better sign her up

⤷ user imagine she actually lands a red bull sponsorship just because of this

yourusername lol, that was fun

⤷ user LOL???

⤷ user i can't do this anymore 😭😭

maxverstappen1 👏👏

⤷ user MAX?!

⤷ user game recognizes game fr

user i don't know what's better. the camera catching her downing her third red bull right before the race or her cursing after she won

⤷ user meme of the year fr

YOURUSERNAME

liked by maxverstappen1, redbull and 1'552'082 others

yourusername happy to announce that i'm flying with @/redbull now! if one red bull doesn't work, try three. i won gold with it 😉

user SHE DID IT!!! Y/N NATION WE WON!!!

⤷ user now only the x games left

user can't wait for the insane promo shots

⤷ user bet she will do tricks from a cliff, right after drinking four red bulls

⤷ user straight from the skilift is my bet

redbull Proof that Red Bull gives you wings! Welcome to the family y/n ❤️💙

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maxverstappen1 Welcome to the winners

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user MAX LIKED AND COMMENTED

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⤷ user can we not pls... she has a bf

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user i love red bull athletes welcoming newcomers

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YOURUSERNAME

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 2'003'863 others

yourusername the moment this trophy comes in our home i will throw it off the balcony. how dare you not kiss ME when you won your fourth world championship?!

all jokes aside, maxie, i'm so fucking proud of you, my #1 racer, my favorite dutchman and cat dad 🫶 to many more years of red bull domination (max and y/n version) love you sm!!

maxverstappen1 You will not touch my trophy.

maxverstappen1 Don't worry, I'll kiss you until you're sick of me

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redbull The Red Bull Powercouple™️

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⤷ yourusername max doesn't do yapping, he just loves talking about me🫶

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⤷ maxverstappen1 That's not what a friend would do

⤷ user HOW DID LANDO KEEP THIS SECRET FOR SO LONG??

⤷ user i bet y/n threatened him with violence

⤷ landonorris she did.

⤷ user HELP?!

user if max can comment on his girlfriend's post like a sap WHY CAN'T OTHER MEN AS WELL??

⤷ user they will never be max verstappen...

user brb, the highway is calling me

user con 😭 gra 😭 tu 😭 la 😭 tions 😭😭😭

⤷ user the bf was real... i fear i'm not strong enough to fight him for mother y/n...

⤷ user at least she's happy!!! (i'm actually crying my parasocial relationship is officially over)

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ARKHAM MAID 2024

[fallingfavourites]

the fisher king - cm fanfic

summary: Everyone on the team had gotten 2 weeks off. Elle and Derek decided to not waste a second of it and flew away to Jamaica. Hotchner went to spend time with his family. Gideon would most likely be birdwatching in his cabin if you had to guess, he doesn’t like sharing much about his personal life. Neither does Reid who is heading back home to Las Vegas. You stayed at home to relax. no one had expected the terrifying turn this vacation would take.

pairing: bau team x reader (platonic), hints/alludes at spencer reid x reader and elle greenaway x reader

cw/tw: typical cm violence, shooting, blood

word count: 8,568

a/n: basically just follows the fisher king episodes plot, english isn't my first language and im dyslexic so sorry in advance, tried to edit as best as i could! i hope this fic makes sense i dont even know anymore, enjoy!! feedback is always appreciated just dont be mean about it pls

main masterlist - cm masterlist

Everyone on the team had gotten 2 weeks off. Elle and Derek decided to not waste a second of it and flew away to Jamaica. Hotchner went to spend time with his family. Gideon would most likely be birdwatching in his cabin if you had to guess, he doesn’t like sharing much about his personal life. Neither does Reid who is heading back home to Las Vegas. You had just ended up on your couch with a cozy blanket and a movie you had been meaning to watch. A sudden loud ringing made you jump up. Rubbing your eyes so they can refocus.

You had fallen asleep. You would’ve laughed at yourself if it wasn’t for the constant loud ringing. Finally, finding your phone between the blanket you picked up without looking at the caller ID.  “Y/n? Y/n?” It took a second for you to register JJ’s voice as she repeated your name.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m here is everything okay?” you asked, running a hand through your hair. “You need to get to the office. Now.” She sounded serious.

“What happened?” You asked as you vaguely heard someone talk to JJ. It kind of sounded like Gideon. If he came to the office, it must be serious.

“Tell me when I get there, I’m on my way.” You said, not even waiting for her to respond to your question and you hung up. A million thoughts race through your head as you put on a work-appropriate outfit. As soon as you were ready you got in your car and drove to the bau as quickly as you could.

When you arrive JJ immediately walks up to you and starts filling you in. Elle got arrested, Gideon received a head in the mail, Hotch had a strange phone call, and she had just gotten a framed butterfly. “So, someone is targeting the team?” Crossing your arms over your body. You’ve worked for the bau a few years now and have never experienced anything like this.

“You didn’t get anything?” JJ questioned. It was strange. “No, I haven’t.” You replied.

“Huh, that’s strange.” She said what you were just thinking. JJ frowned, clearly trying to think of a reason why you didn’t. “I’ll keep my eye out for anything strange.” You nodded as you told her.

After about 30 minutes of looking over all the evidence the team had gathered so far, Elle, Morgan, and Hotch stepped out of the elevator. JJ walked up to them, so you got up and made your way over.

“Virginia? You mean that son of a bitch is from here?” This is the first thing you hear Elle say as you open the glass doors. Talking about Frank Giles.

“I don’t know if he’s from here, but this is where he flew to. Arlington.” JJ started explaining as you stepped up next to her and Morgan. He gave you a nod as he acknowledged you.

“He’s got a long criminal record. Manslaughter, robbery, rape.” She continued as she read from the file.

“What about the victim?” You asked crossing your arms, “Marty Harris.” Derek filled in.

“Uh, he’s a two-time convicted fetish burglar, registered child sex offender…” JJ read from the other file. “And we have his head.” Gideon interrupted her. “CSU just positively identified the one delivered to my cabin.”

“Don’t waste time on the first victims. They were unrepentant, bad men. They only got what they deserved.” Hotch spoke up. “What is that?” Morgan asked him.

“I got a phone call last night before you called from Jamaica.” He said looking over at Derek.

“Any mention of a ‘her’?” Elle asks Hotch. “You must help him save her.”  he replies.

“Oh, so there’s a ‘him’ now, too?” Elle responds, clearly annoyed. Which is totally reasonable after getting arrested for murder and barely having any sleep.

“I think he means Reid.” You look over at Gideon. “Reid?” You and JJ both say at the same time. “We need to regroup.” Hotch says as last, and you all walk into the office.

You, JJ, Morgan, and Gideon are sitting at the round table. Hotch stood behind you and Elle stood near the tv screen. “So, clearly we have a psychopath intent on drawing us into his game.” Hotch said with his arms crossed. “Playing with us.” Gideon looked at his hands on the table. “Then let’s return the favor.” Elle says.

“He kept telling us repeatedly to save her. What ‘her’?” Derek questions.

“Items he’s sent must be some kind of clues.” You nod at what Gideon says. “Let’s get them up on the board.” Hotch nods towards the board as he says that.

“I got a Nellie Fox baseball card from 1963, and I got a head in a box.” Gideon starts as JJ gets up walking up to the board. “I got a rare butterfly in a shadow box.” She says as she starts writing it down on the whiteboard. “And repeated messages to ‘save her.’” Hotch adds.

“I got the decapitated body.” Elle says smiling sarcastically. “And a nice visit to the Jamaican Police Headquarters.”

Hotch looks over to you to say what you got. “I didn’t get anything.” You shrug.

“Not even a phone call?” He questions, raising an eyebrow. You shake your head. It looked as if Hotch was going to say something, but Gideon changed the subject. “Reid called from Nevada. He's on the way back here with a skeleton key and a note he got, too.”.

“And the guys who called me said, ‘the youngest holds the key’” Hotch adds on. “That’s Reid.” Elle says as she keeps pacing.

“Okay but wait a minute.” You look over at Derek. “Unsubs, they don’t contact us this way. I mean they might taunt us, dare us to catch them, but they don’t drag us into their fantasy.”

“Why not?” JJ asks Morgan when he finishes.

“Because their fantasies are sexual fantasies.” You answer before he can. “Right, taunting us is a show of power, but making us the object is…” He tries to search for the right words, “I don’t know what the hell that is.”

“There’s something else about the baseball card.” You look back to Gideon as he starts a new theory. “Nellie Fox was one of the stars of the 1959 White Sox. I went to almost every game with my father that year. Fox was my hero.” He says as he leans back in the chair. “So, is it a coincidence that he sends this to me, or does he know how I feel about him?” He questions looking over at Hotch. This makes JJ turn around.

“I collected butterflies when I was a little girl.” You all look over at her. “That’s how I knew what butterfly was in the box.”

“So, he knows us?” You question. “I got an anonymous message.” Hotch slightly shrugs. “I got a police raid.” Elle adds on. “But he knew exactly where we were.” Morgan says, supporting your theory. “Hotel in Jamaica Gideon at the cabin, Reid in Vegas, you at your home.” He lists off.

“He got that from the Bureau computers.” Penelope's voice makes you turn around in your chair; she looks nervous and has a file in her hand. “Your locations are always in there so they can find you if they need you. And I checked the log. The hacker was definitely in the personnel folders” She explains. Your brows furrow, how could this happen. “There were room numbers to the hotel in Jamaica, the address of Gideon’s cabin… There’s a lot of information in those databases.” She finished. Something about the way she’s talking is putting you off. There is something she isn’t telling you.

“Have you figured out how he was able to get into the Bureau’s computers?” Hotch asks her. She is silent. Just for a second. “I’m still working on that.” Lying to a room full of profilers probably isn’t the smartest thing to do. “Garcia, if you know something…” Hotch asks, clearly also picking up some things off.

“No, it’s, um…” Penelope's voice breaks slightly. “It’s just… I…” She’s clearly trying to find the right words, scared of upsetting the team. You give her a supportive smile. You’ve known her for years and know she would never do a bad thing on purpose. “I was playing a game yesterday.” She is silent for a second.

You look back to the team and catch JJ’s reaction. She clearly knows what Penelope is talking about. “An online game.” You look back over at the blonde with glasses. Tears shined in her eyes under the LED lights.

“A game?” Gideon asks. “Not on the Bureau computers, sir.” She quickly clarifies. “On my own personal laptop.”

“No, Garcia. No, no, no.” Derek says shaking his head. You close your eyes and lean your head on your hand. “I don’t understand.” Hotch looks for clarification.

“Wireless Internet.” You simply say. “By wirelessly hooking into the Net here to get online, the hacker could have gotten into my computer first, and… I have far less protection on my own laptop.” Penelope stoically explains it to him.

“And he could have gotten into the entire Bureau computer system this way?” You can’t see Hotch’s face as he says it but by the tone of his voice, you have some idea. “Yeah, it’s possible.” Penelope nods.

“Playing a game?” Gideon says as he gets up. “How could you be that stupid?” Seeing the look on Penelope's face, you have to resist the urge to defend her. Yes, she did do something stupid, but Gideon didn’t have to talk to her like that. “Information, files. You have a responsibility.”

“I know, sir. I’m so sorry.” Penelope replies to him. Gideon doesn’t reply. He just turns around. There is an awkward silence that hangs in the air. “But I found him.” Penelope eventually says. Almost full-on crying by now.

“You did?” You ask hopefully. “I know who he is, the hacker. His name is Giles. Frank Giles.” You all look at each other hearing this information. “He lives in Arlington, Virginia, four miles from here. I have his address” She continues as she hands the file she was holding to Hotch.

“Garcia, you said Giles?” Morgan asks her, wanting to confirm he heard it right. She nods quickly. “Let’s go.” Hotch only has to say those two words, and everyone is up and walking out of the office.

The team and you put on your bulletproof vests and got into the black SUVs. Sirens blared as you raced through the streets to get to Frank Giles as quickly as you could. The adrenaline is already pumping through your veins. Finally getting answers about why this is happening. You entered the building with the swat team. Derek kicked the door in, as usual. Everybody walks in with their guns raised. You hear some yell out that it’s clear. You, Derek, and Elle stand for a closed door.

“Frank Giles. FBI.” Derek yells out.

“Come out Giles.” Elle yells. They look at each other and both give a small nod. Then open the doors. As you enter you lower your gun immediately. You see Frank Giles’s lifeless body, only wearing underwear, laying on a dirty old mattress. A sword stuck in him.

“You got to be kidding me.” Elle’s the first one to speak.

“Hotch! Gideon! I think you’re gonna want to see this.” Derek calls out to them. You tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene to look at Elle. But she’s looking at the wall in front of you. So you look up to see ‘here thy quest doth truly begin’ written on the wall in blood.

All of you start taking in the crime scene. Vests already taken off. “He’s definitely playing with us.” Hotch speaks up. “His identification checks out.” Elle says handing his wallet to Hotch. “That’s Frank Giles.”

“There’s a big ol’bag of money sitting right here on the dresser.” Morgan says as he walks over to the bright blue bag. “So, Giles took Harris to Jamaica to kill him.”

“And then the unsub killed Giles.” You finished Hotch’s sentence.

“Yeah, but he paid him first.” Morgan says, confused about it.

“And left the cash?” Elle questions. “He must be well off.” You say, putting your hands on your hips.

“He said these were ‘unrepentant, bad men.’ Are we looking for some kind of vigilante?” Hotch asks, looking over at Gideon.

“No. The bodies are nothing but a way to get us interested. They’re game pieces. The killings are secondary.” Gideon explains nonchalantly.

“Well, this guy likes to write things in blood on the walls.” Elle says as she inspects the bloody walls.

Suddenly your phone starts ringing. All eyes are on you, but you look to Hotch. Silently asking for permission to step out for a bit. He gives you a nod and you step out to the hallway of the apartment building.

When you're alone you answer your phone.

“L/n.” You say but it stays silent on the other end. Pulling the phone away from your ear to check if you hadn’t accidentally declined the call. “Hello?” You ask as you put the phone back to your ear but it’s silent again.

About to hang up suddenly a voice comes through your phone.

“Agent Y/n L/n.” The voice sounds hoarse, you don’t recognize it. “Who is this?” You ask confused. Putting your right hand on your hip.

“It is your task to make sure they hear, and they listen.” The person ignores your question. You release this is the Unsub. “Do not let them stray.” He’s talking about the team.

He has to be. You’re about to respond as he hangs up.

“Damn it.” You let out a frustrated sigh. What could he have possibly meant by that? You keep staring at your phone.

“Hey,” a comforting voice takes you out of your thoughts, “You okay?” You look up to see Spencer walking up to you.

“What?” You look at him confused. Putting your phone back into your pocket. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” You smile, somewhat awkwardly.

Reid nods and sends a just as awkward smile back. It’s good to see him again. He looks around the empty hallway, hands in his pockets, hair slicked back behind his ears.

“Why are you out here?” He asks you.

“Oh, uh, no reason.” You shrug and let out a laugh. Why did you just lie to him? You honestly don’t know. It just slipped out. He also clearly doesn’t believe you, but before he can question you, you speak up.

“Let’s go, we can use you in there, genius.” You say as you nod towards the room the team is in. This time the smile you give each other isn’t awkward. They both are genuine smiles. Reid always gets a slight blush when someone calls him genius.

You never say it to embarrass him though. You say it full of affection. When you joined the bau, in your first case you got paired up with Spencer. He had been working at the bau for about a year. The two of you hit it off very well.

Walking back into the room you hear Hotch and Derek, “Midnight wouldn’t cast a shadow.” “‘Hour be none.’”

“3 P.M.,” Reid says as you walk in side by side. “Hey, guys. Garcia told me where to find you.” Hotch crouched near the body glances past Reid to look at you with a questioning gaze, silently asking about the phone call. You shake your head telling him it wasn’t important. And again, you don’t know why you are lying to your team about this. You tell yourself it’s because there are more important things right now and that phone call didn’t even make sense.

“3 P.M?” Gideon asks disrupting your thoughts.

“It’s medieval. The days used to be broken into hourly intervals, the canonical hours of the breviary.” Spencer begins to explain, “Prime, 6 A.M”., terce, 9 A.M., sext, 12 noon, none, 3 P.M., and vespers 6 P.M.”

Elle smiles at him fondly and points her finger at him, “Reid, do not ever go away again.” He smiles at her as Gideon starts talking. “Medieval. That’s why the language changed. ‘doth’”

“Everything this guy does is a clue.” Hotch says looking at the team.

 “Okay, but, guys, it’s 4:35. What do we do? Leave to the blade in till 3 P.M. tomorrow?” Derek asked.

“What if we block that window out?” You asked, pointing towards the window. Reid nodded at what you said and turned to one of the crime scene investigators. “Do you have any spotlights in your car?” He asked Gina.

“Sure.” She says as she's getting up, Elle thanks her.

When she came back with a flashlight she gave it to Reid. He crouched down next to where you were standing and pointed the light to the sword.

“See, this sun is right here at 5 P.M., Morgan, follow the shadow as I move the light higher.” Derek starts to move a small table out of the way to get closer to the wall. “Okay, and do what?” He asks when he’s finished.

“Tap.” Hotch instructs him. Derek starts tapping on the wall. He stops when he finds a hollow spot. “It’s hollow.” He says as he looks back at Hotch.

“Definitely an Indiana Jones movie.” Elle says looking over at you when you laugh at her joke.

“Feels like the wallpaper’s been replaced.” Morgan says to Hotch. “Tear it open.” He replies. Derek takes a knife out of his pocket and starts cutting open the wallpaper. Pulling back the wall.

“It’s a box.” He states looking back at the team. “Pull it out.” Hotch instructs him again. “Wait, are we sure that’s safe?” Spencer asks as he stands up. You look over at him. “You think it’s a bomb?” You ask him questionably.

“It isn’t. You think he’d be playing this game just to blow us up?” Hotch retorts. “He’d have already done that as long as we’ve been standing here.” Derek agrees with him and pulls out the box from the hole. He placed it on the table from earlier.

Hotch crouches next to Gideon to get a better look at it. You make your way over to see what it is, while Spencer doesn’t move. Morgan tries to open it, but it seems like it won’t budge.

“It’s locked.” He confirms, “You want me to break it?”

“No, we should process it first.” Hotch answers his question.

“The youngest holds the key.” Gideon suddenly speaks up. And you, Hotch, and Morgan all look at Reid. Spencer searches his pants pockets for the key. Only to realize he put it in the pocket of his button-up.

He does a little jog up to the box and goes to open it. Putting the key in and backing up slightly as he turns it. Music starts to come from the box.

It takes a second for you to recognize it. Turns out all those failed piano lessons are good for something. “Schubert.” Gideon says but before he can say which piece you beat him to it.

“The Trout Quintet.” He looks over at you confused, clearly, he didn’t expect you to know it. You just shrug in reply as you focus on the note that Spencer pulled out of the box. “Five people fishing.” Hotch says, giving context to the song.

“Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight.” Reid starts reading off the paper. “Well, that was worth it.” Elle says as she turns away.

“The lid.” Gideon points at the box, “Little tab right under the lock.” Morgan leans over Reid to open the lid.

As he opens it there’s a dvd in it, but also a blonde lock of hair tied with a pink bow.

“Jesus.” Slips out of you. “Oh, god.” Elle says at the same time.

Morgan pulls both out as Gideon lets out a tired sigh. Derek gives Elle the lock of hair. “Do you have that evidence bag?” She asks one of the CSI’s. “Here you go.” He replies as he holds out a bag for her to put the hair in.

“Thy quest.” Morgan says standing up and holding out the dvd so you all can see it. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon putting his head in his hand. After everything is mostly wrapped up at the crime scene you all make your way back to the office.

Everyone is clearly tired and wants to catch this guy.

On the car ride back all you can think about is that phone call. It keeps repeating in your head. “Agent Y/n L/n.”  “Who is this?”  “It is your task to make sure they hear, and they listen. Do not let them stray.” You just can’t seem to make sense of it. What is it that you need to make sure they listen to? Maybe this dvd?

Without even releasing you’re back, sitting at the round table. The dvd is playing.

You see a barely lit office. A man stumbles into the frame and sits down at the chair, you can’t make out a face though.

“He moves funny.” Hotch noted. Derek looks back at Hotch to reply, “It’s like he’s injured or something.”

The man in the video starts talking. “I assure you, you will all understand in the end why it must be this way.” It’s the same voice of the man who called you at Frank Giles’s place. You shift in your seat as he continues. “You might even thank me.”

“Don’t hold your breath, scumbag.” You see Hotch glance over at Elle as she says this.

“You know now you’re on a quest. A young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it.” The video shows a blonde girl being held captive. She’s throwing things at the camera and hitting the bars of the cage. “As you can see, she is quite beautiful and in distress.” The way he talks about her along with the footage makes your skin crawl.

“Now please listen closely for there is one rule and this rule must be followed.” You sit up straighter in your chair. The things he said on the phone call must be about this.

“The one rule is, only the members of your team may participate in the quest: Jason Gideon, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, Elle Greenaway, Y/n L/n, Spencer Reid, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia.” As he said, all your names and pictures of everyone on the team showed on the screen.

“A quest must be completed in the proper way, or it isn’t a quest, is it? That’s it. One rule. Simple. Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you will need to finish the quest. You will find you will also need a book which has inspired many adventures like mine. Believe me, when I tell you I truly hope to see you all soon. It will mean a successful end to this adventure for all of us.” The video stopped playing. You look at everyone on the team.

“This guy’s got pictures of us?” Elle is the first one to speak up.

“What do we do now?” Reid asks Hotch.

“Well, the lock of hair’s being analyzed for DNA. There might be something on file.” He answers Reid.

“I’ll get Video to enhance the shots of the girl.” JJ says as she gets up to leave.

“Let's get the clues up on the board. Maybe we can make some sense of something.” Hotch instructs.

“Wait, we’re going to play this guy’s game?” Elle asks him, frustrated.

“Do we have a choice?” Spencer replies. But you’re not focusing on their conversation anymore, you’re focused on Gideon. You can’t figure out what he’s up to as he’s about to leave the room.

Everyone else turns around when they hear the click of the door opening.

“Be right back. You guys keep working.” Hotch says as he gets up to talk to Gideon. However, you don’t listen. The rest of the team looks at you as you follow him.

You’re following him out of the room for two reasons. Wanting to know what’s going on, everyone has always told you you’re too curious for your own good. And thinking now might be a good time to also mention to Hotch that you got a call from the Unsub.

“Jason?” Hotch calls out as he follows Gideon, “Jason!” He calls out again when the older man doesn’t stop. Gideon walks into his office and lets the door slam closed behind him. Before Hotch follows Gideon into his office, he gives you a disapproving look for following him. “We’ll talk about this later.” He says dismissively and walks into Gideon's office.

You let out a sigh. Why did you think this would work. You turn back around to have your walk of shame back to the rest of the group.

Morgan lets out a small laugh as he sees you walking back into the room. Reid gives you a questioning look, but you just shrug it off.

Not long after Hotch handed a paper over to Reid and said Haley received it. You, Morgan, Elle, and Reid had been staring at these numbers for a while now.

“My eyes are so heavy I can barely see it.” Elle says with a sigh.

“It has to be some kind of code, right?” You question, leaning against the table next to Reid. “The Unsub said we needed a book, didn’t he?” Reid brings up. You look over at him, curious about where he’s going with this.

“Yeah. ‘a book that inspired many an adventure.’” Morgan quotes from the video.

“It’s a book code. Each one of these sets of numbers represents a particular word.” Spencer explains and points at one of the codes on the paper, “For instance, page 118, line 30, word three. We need to figure out what the words are and fill in the blanks.”

“Right, but we don’t know what book.” You respond, another dead end.

“And the trouble is, it has to be the exact same edition of the exact same book that he used.” Reid adds on.

“Just got a DNA hit on the lock of hair.” JJ says as she walks into the room, “Rebecca Bryant.” She hands Elle a picture after showing it to you, “She’s been missing out of Boston for two years.”

You look over at her shocked, “Two years?” She nods as she looks at you.

“Guys, how are we supposed to figure out which book this code was copied out of?” Derek brings the conversation back after being handed the picture from Elle. “I have no idea.” Spencer replies. JJ walks up to the whiteboard and sticks the picture of Rebecca on it.

Reid was standing in front of the whiteboard, “He said we have everything needed to complete the quest.” he said as he turned around to look at you, Elle, and Derek. Derek was sitting on the chair backward, Elle practically laying in the leather chair, you were leaning against the table and JJ was sitting normally at the table looking over the evidence.

“The answer’s got to be up there somewhere.” Elle mumbles, very clearly tired.

“JJ, get some reporters here as soon as you can.” You quickly turn around as you hear Gideon say this. Alarm bells going off in your head.

Once again, the things the Unsub said on your phone call repeating themselves. It is your task to make sure they hear and they listen. Do not let them stray. Gideon’s not listening. “For what?” JJ asks him. “Just say we need help on a new case.” Is all he gives in response before he walks away.

You get up to follow him, again. You have to stop him from doing this. Gideon is always surprisingly fast for his age. You just barely catch up to him when he reaches Hotch again. “Sirs, you can’t do this.” You say, well it more sounds like you're begging.

Gideon and Hotch, both give you confused looks.

You take a deep breath. “He called me.” You say looking at them.

Their reactions are exactly what you expected. Gideon stays silent, he’s profiling you. “What? What do you mean he called you L/n?  When did this happen?” Hotch asks you with a stern look on his face as he crosses his arms. You feel ashamed. You should’ve told them. You know that. You just hoped you had figured out what he meant earlier so you could’ve given the team helpful evidence and not more questions. “Back at the apartment.” You say, placing your hands behind your back so they don’t notice how nervous you are.

Gideon just shakes his head and walks away. Obviously thinking he has better things to do than deal with you.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Hotch asks you.

“I… I don’t know,” The unsatisfied look Hotch gives you makes rethink your answer, “I wanted to figure out what he meant.”

“So, you could show off?” Hotch fills it in for himself. You quickly shake your head. That’s not why you did it. “No, no I didn’t want to add more unanswered questions for the team.” It sounds stupid and you realize that.

Hotch sighs and rubs his forehead, “What did he say to you?”

“He told me to make sure they hear, and they listen and to not let them stray. I think he was talking about the video.” You reply to him, “I think the press conference is a mistake, Hotch.”

“Gideon knows what he’s doing L/n, I trust him. You should’ve told us sooner.” He says before walking away. You couldn’t shake the nervous feeling. You went to get some coffee. Not ready to face your team yet.

On your third cup, you see Hotch walking back into the office. The press conference is over, there’s nothing you can do about it now. You see Elle walking out with Hotch.

“Anderson, take Greenaway home.” He says, looking over at him. “Yes, sir.” Anderson immediately replies.

“No, I’m fine.” Elle protests. “I’ll have your car brought over later.” Hotch tells her. “Alright, come on, Anderson.”

Do not let them stray. It repeats in your head.

“Sir, is it okay if I go with them? I can come back whenever you need me.” You ask Hotch. He hesitates for a moment, thinking it over. Elle smiles over at you, she appreciates it.

“Alright but keep your phone on and close L/n.” Hotch tells you.

Elle was struggling to stay awake the whole drive back to her house. Anderson dropped you both off and went back to the office. Elle let you into the house. You’ve been here before, many times, you and her occasionally have a drink after a case when neither of you wants to be alone.

Elle tosses her keys on the coffee table and drops her bag next to the couch and flops down on it. You can’t help but let out a laugh. She doesn’t even have the energy to glare at you, shifting on the couch to get into a more comfortable position.

You put down your own bag next to hers and take off your gun and gun holster placing them next to her keys on the table. You walked into her kitchen, you hadn’t eaten yet and doubted she had.

Opening the fridge just to find it practically empty. There are some leftovers, but they don’t look edible anymore. You grab them to throw them away, the smell hits you and you pull a face.

“Gross.” You mutter under your breath and throw it in the trash can. “Hey, I'm going to get some food, you want any?” You ask her as you walk back into her living room.

She lets out a noise that’s something between a hum and a groan.

“Alright, I’ll take that as a yes.” You say with a smile on your face, “I’m taking your keys, I’ll be right back.” Reaching for her keys on the table.

She gives you a thumbs-up while trying to stifle a yawn.

So, you lock the door behind you as you leave for the small supermarket near her house. It’s about a 10 minute walk away.

You grab some iced coffees and some simple heat-up meals. You’re done in about 5 minutes, pay for everything and walk back. The plastic bag is heavier than you expected it to be, it leaves imprints on your fingers.

You reach Elle’s front door and reach for the keys in your jacket. You try to open the lock as quietly as you can, not wanting to wake her up.

As you open the door you freeze. The plastic bag somehow becomes ten times heavier, and it drops to the floor. The ice coffee starts to leak but it’s the least of your concern.

Elle is laying on the floor covered in her own blood.

“Oh my god…” You whisper. You rush forward to her somehow without falling over your own feet. You fall to your knees. Hands reach up to her face. She isn’t conscious. You give her a few taps on her cheek and her eyes flutter slightly.

“Shit, Elle. You gotta stay awake, okay?” You look around helplessly. Her phone is on the floor next to her. Did she call 911?  You place one hand on the wound to try and stop the bleeding, knowing it isn’t doing much as you feel the red hot liquid slip right past your fingers.

You reach over her to check her phone. Luckily you know her password.

You check her out going call and see 911. A sigh of relief escapes you.

Help is on the way. You just have to do everything you can to keep her alive until then.

Blood is staining your hands as you try to stop the bleeding. Her eyes closed.

“No, no, no, no, Elle, stay with me. Come on, you gotta keep your eyes open. Keep them open for me. Fuck. Elle. Come on. Please… I… I can’t lose you. Please.” A million things ran through your head. If you had been here, you could’ve stopped him.

If you hadn’t left, Elle would be okay. God, why did they have that press conference. Why hadn’t you been more demanding with Hotch that it was a bad idea.

Vague sirens interrupted your train of thought. Taking one hand to check Elle’s pulse. Time stopped. You couldn’t feel a heartbeat.

“Fuck.” Panicking. What would cpr do if she was bleeding out? Not like you had any other choice. You started compressions.

No thoughts run through your head anymore. Just pure focus on the task. Not even noticing the sirens getting louder and louder.

A paramedic pulls you away from Elle. Only now realizing they had arrived. Their mouths were moving but you couldn’t make out any of the words.

You stepped back. Letting them do their job.

Everything is hazy, you blink rapidly. Tears fall on your cheeks.

Have you been crying this whole time? You didn’t even realize it. They place Elle on a stretcher and make their way back to the ambulance. You follow them without saying a word. You don’t think about the fact that your phone is still in your bag.

Getting ready to step into the ambulance you noticed a car arriving. Anderson. He stumbled out of the SUV.

“L/n, what happened?” He tried not to show his fear but the tremble in his voice gave him away. “Call Hotch. Meet me at the hospital. I- I’ll explain there.” You spoke hurriedly while getting into the ambulance.

The paramedics are rushing the stretcher into the ER. You’re having a hard time keeping up with them. The doctors take Elle over.

“I’m sorry, we are taking her into surgery. You aren’t allowed any further.” One of the nurses is holding you back. You have no fight left in you, so you just nod and make your way to the waiting room.

Anderson is already there. His eyes are red. Had he been crying? He looked like a mess. You didn’t even want to think about what you looked like right now. The way Anderson’s eyes widened when he saw you back at the house told you enough. You definitely looked worse than him.

“I called Hotchner. Him and Agent Gideon are on their way now.” Wringing his hands as he spoke. He’s nervous. “Do you... um, do you know anything yet?” He barely could get the question out without tears threatening to spill.

“She’s in surgery.” Was all you could manage to get out as you spoke. Wanting to run your hand over your face but as you reached you noticed the deep maroon stains and how much it was shaking so you put your hand back down.

“If you want to, I can wait here, so you can get cleaned up.” He offered. You gave him a thankful but tired smile.

Making your way over to the bathroom. The door handle stuck to your hand slightly, leaving a slight red imprint on it.

You let out a heavy sigh, resting your head against the door as you closed it behind you. Walking up to the sink you didn’t dare to look into the mirror.

You turned on the faucet and put your shaky hands under the ice cold water. The water colored red instantly. You tried not to think about the fact it was Elle’s blood you were washing off.

Keeping your hands under the water until it turned clear again made them start to tingle from the freezing water. Turning the faucet off, you placed your hands on the sides of the sink. Not daring to look at your own reflection.

Involuntarily you let out a shaky breath. Trying to recollect yourself.

Hotch and Gideon would arrive any moment. They would have questions for you. Questions that would force you to think back to what happened not even an hour ago, while all you’ve been trying this whole time is to forget about it. You couldn’t bear to try and remember.

You dried your hands and walked out of the bathroom, scanning the waiting room for Anderson. He was talking to two men in suits. Two men you could recognize anywhere. How did they get here so soon? How long had you been in the bathroom? You looked at your wrist. The face of your watch is stained with blood. You quickly pulled the sleeve of your jacket back over it.

“It appears she dialed 911 herself before she passed out.” You hear Anderson say as you get closer to them. Hotch and Gideon turned around when they noticed Anderson's gaze shifting to you.

The pity and maybe even guilt that Anderson feels when he makes eye contact with you is clear on his face. Or maybe it’s clear to you since profiling is your job, but then how come you couldn’t prevent Elle from dying. No. She isn’t dead. Not anymore. The paramedics shocked her back to life. She’s alive. She’ll be okay. She has to be. You would never be able to live with yourself if she wouldn’t be. Hotch keeps his eyes on you for a minute while Gideon turns back around.

“Why weren’t we notified?” He asks Anderson.

“The offender apparently took her ID and gun. The uniform I talked to didn’t even know she was in the Bureau until I arrived on scene.” He replies to Gideon quickly.

“Get back over there.” Hotch says turning back to look at Anderson. “This is a federal crime scene. Nobody touches anything. We process it.” He instructs the younger agent. “Go.”

“Yes, sir.” Anderson replies as he leaves to go and do exactly what Hotch told him to.

The two agents turn back around to observe you. You are staring into space; your mind is clouded. Nothing feels clear anymore. Hotch and Gideon glance at each other. Both concerned with the state you’re in currently. Gideon takes out his phone and walks a few steps away, going to call the office.

“L/n? Hey L/n?” An authoritative, yet comforting voice made you reorientate. Hotch squinted his eyes and ever so slightly tilted his head. He was profiling you. And you would’ve noticed if you weren’t so tired.

“Sorry, what were you saying sir?” Crossing your arms over each other.

“You’re lucky you weren’t there as well.” He said touching your shoulder. But you didn’t feel lucky. All you felt was guilt, but you simply nodded. “Is there anything you remember?” He crosses his arms just like you did.

“I-” You choke on your words. You close your eyes and shake your head trying to get your thoughts in order. “I wasn’t even gone for 30 minutes. If I had just… If I hadn’t left, she would be okay.”

“If you had been there, he most likely would’ve shot you as well L/n.” Hotch tells you. Before you can say anything, else Gideon walks back over to the two of you.

“Trap and trace got nothing.” He says leaning against the wall and putting his phone away. “Unsub used a disposable cell.” You look confused at that. Hotch notices.

“The unsub, he called us. Taunting us about Elle.” He explains to you. You let out an exhausted sigh. It’s as if this case never ends.

“We got our best CSU team. If he left anything, a print, a hair, sweat, anything…” “They’ll find it.” Gideon cuts Hotch off. You look down at your hands, they are still shaking.

“I’m going to grab a coffee.” You mutter out and leave the two agents.

After grabbing your coffee, you go and sit in the waiting room. It is completely empty. Would you rather have it be busy? You’re not sure which would be worse. Because now you must sit here in this hurt. This constant tight feeling in your chest, as if you’re not getting enough air.

A few minutes later Gideon walks in. He nods at you as you look at him. He sits down a few chairs away from where you’re sitting, giving you some space. You sit in silence, it’s not uncomfortable but it also isn’t exactly comfortable. “Hotch is calling JJ and Morgan.” He says, explaining where the other agent is. You just nod, not having the energy to reply. You look down at the coffee in your hands, you haven’t taken a single sip. It’s pretty much cold now. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon scrabbling things down on the magazines that lay down on the table. You don’t ask him about it.

After a while, Hotch walks in and you look up from your drink. He’s gotten rid of his suit jacket. “Any word?” He asks Gideon.

“Nope.” Gideon replies simply.

“I called JJ. I told her we’d call them if anything changed.” Hotch tells the two of you as he leans on the two chairs in front of him. Gideon and you simply nod at what he says.

“What’s all that?” Hotch asks as he notices the writing on the magazines.

“This unsub’s extremely organized.” Gideon explains instead of answering his question, “He sounded truly shocked that we didn’t follow the rules. He honestly believed we would simply listen to his directions.”

“He’s delusional. He thinks he’s a mythological king.” Hotch says, his eyebrows furrow slightly.

“But delusion and this level of organization are almost mutually exclusive.” Gideon corrects Hotch, “You don’t meticulously plan contacts in the real world if you’re suffering psychotic breaks from reality.” Before Hotch can reply to Anderson walks back in. “How is she?” he quietly asks. You stare back down at your coffee again.

“No word yet.” Hotch replies to him, “Is the scene processed?”

“They’re finished. We still have it locked up tight, though.” Anderson explains.

“They find anything?” Hotch asks, he sounds exhausted.

“CSU found a partial print.” You look up as Anderson says this. “The shooter wrote a message on the wall in blood and,” He did? How did you not notice that? Hotch and Gideon glance at you just for a second, probably thinking the same. “In one of the smudges, they found a whorl pattern.” Anderson hands over the file to Hotch. “They made a lift. They aren’t sure whether it’s enough to get a hit, but they are processing it now.” Anderson continues as Hotch hands the file over to Gideon. You get up from your seat, still holding your coffee, you walk closer to Gideon to look at the file.

He grabs the top picture of a bloody fingerprint to reveal what the unsub wrote on the wall. RULES. Dripping down the wall. You try to think back as hard as you can but don’t remember seeing it. You should’ve seen it. Gideon reads what’s on the picture and looks up at Hotch. He places the file back down on the table in front of him.

Hotch leaves to get coffee. Leaving you and Gideon alone again. You go to sit back down in the chair but stop.

You can’t help the words that slip out of your mouth. “You shouldn’t have done the press conference.” You turn around to face him. “I tried to warn you.”

Gideon doesn’t say anything. He just stares down at the file. You want to yell at him. Scream that it’s his fault. But you bite the inside of your cheek.

“I was just doing my job.” He says quietly, so quiet it’s barely a whisper. You can’t help but let out a scoff and stare at him. If looks could kill Gideon would be six feet under by now. You respect him, you truly do, but he made a bad call and can’t own up to it.

The reasonable part of your brain tells you, you are projecting your own feelings of guilt and anger on him, but you don’t have it in you to be reasonable right now. So, you storm out of the waiting room. You throw your coffee in a trash can as you walk past it. Hotchner passes by you with two coffees in his hand, he’s put his jacket back on, he raises an eyebrow when you don’t acknowledge him. He looks back at you but keeps walking back to the waiting room.

You let out a frustrated sigh. You notice one of Elle’s doctors and go to ask if they have any new information.

She just tells you the same thing, “No, I’m sorry.” And she walks away.

You just wish someone could tell you something, anything. You’re tired, exhausted, angry, sad, terrified, guilty. Your eyes start to sting as you try and hold back your tears. You look around and walk into the nearest bathroom.

When the door closes the damn breaks and tears fall down your face. A sob escapes you and you place your hand over your mouth. You try to focus on your breathing to try and calm down. It works a little bit.

You decide washing your face might help you get grounded again, so you walk over to the sink. Turning it on and putting your hands under the water. Somehow the water of this sink is even colder than the one from before. You cup your hands under it and splash the water on your face.

You reach to grab a towel to dry your hands and face but catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look even worse than you imagined. Your mascara is all over the place and so is your hair. There even is some dried blood on your face, you quickly scrub it off with a damp paper towel.

So many thoughts and feelings have been racing through your head over the past few hours, you can barely keep up with them. Did you overstep with Gideon just now? Possibly. You just couldn’t handle bearing all the guilt you were feeling anymore.

Before you leave you check yourself in the mirror again. You look… less chaotic to put it nicely. You smooth over your hair and clothes and walk out of the bathroom.

You start looking for Hotch and Gideon but only find the latter. He’s staring into space, the thing you’ve seen him do all day. You look around before approaching him, hoping to find Hotch instead.

“Hey…” You clear your throat as you stand next to the chair he’s sitting in. He takes a second to look up to his left and gives you a nod of acknowledgment. A certain awkwardness flows between you two. Neither saying a word.

His fingers are interlaced, resting on his lap. He’s trying to appear calm and collected, but his shaking knee is giving him away.

There’s a free chair next to him. You debate with yourself whether you should sit down or not. Gideon nods over to the chair as if he was reading your mind. “Just sit down, kid.”

A quick nod is all you give him in response as you go and sit down.

After sitting in this silence for a few minutes, you speak up. “She’s going to be okay right?” You rub your palms over your thighs, trying to shake the nervous feeling.

“Greenaway is strong, she’s a fighter.” He doesn’t know if she’ll be okay. He is probably as terrified as you are right now. Once again, you just nod. You wring your fingers. Letting out a sigh, you look over at Gideon.

“Sir, I’m sorry if I overstepped…” He looks over at you with a raised eyebrow, “Earlier, in the waiting room.” You remind him.

Gideon nods, he hadn’t expected you to bring it up again. He wasn’t mad at you; he was mad at himself. He should’ve listened. And he would regret the choice he made, along with all the other choices over his career. Gideon waved his hand at you, telling you that what happened didn’t matter.

You and Gideon sat in the hallway for another half hour before a doctor finally approached both of you. Hearing the news a sigh left you. Relief flooded your body.

Elle is okay. Elle is alive.

Gideon went to call the team as you followed the doctor. Elle was laying in the hospital bed. She looked peaceful. You can’t remember the last time you saw her this relaxed. You approach her bed and sit down in the chair next to it. All the memories of today wash over you again, the thought that you could’ve lost your friend. You wipe away a single tear that falls.  

Gideon walks up next to you after a few minutes. Laying his hand on your shoulder.

“They caught him, he’s dead.” You turn around to look at him, “They saved Rebecca.” You look back to Elle as you nod at what he says. Part of you wished you could’ve been there with the team. Gotten some justice for Elle. But you were where you needed to be. Right here. In the hospital, sitting next to Elle as she wakes up.

[funds4gaza]

https://www.gofundme.com/f/m82uu-help-me-and-my-family-to-evacuate-from-gaza?lang=en_GB&utm_campaign=fp_sharesheet&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link

After being displaced from deir al-balah Omar and his family went back to KY and are staying at the rubble of what once was their home.

Omar spent 3 days building a small bathroom so himself and his family can have some comfort and privacy.

At this moment their campaign is only for 5,700 eur the price of a tent and the cost of evacuating one of Omar's younger sisters that was injured when their home was bombed.

They are barely seeing any support so at this point Omar gave up of evacuating himself and the remaining members of his family.

Please help us spread Omar's GFM.

Tagging for reach pls let me know if u don't want to be tagged.

Thank you!!

€3,144 raised of €5,700 target as of 27/08/2024

@shesnake @akajustmerry @himejoshikaeya @opencommunion @wellwaterhysteria @ripley-stark @paandaan @itsfookingloosah @rooh-afza @arunima @tumkaafiho @fleshdyk3 @balaclava-trismegistus @heritageposts @hiveswap @irhabiya @feluka @anneemay @timetravellingkitty @papenathys @slicedblackolives @heliopixels @nimbooz @appsa

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@90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @sayruq

@sar-soor @riding-with-the-wild-hunt

[lonelychicago]

r/relationship_advice

u/hot_pilot84 • 2d ago

MY (40M) BOYFRIEND? (33M) IS IN LOVE WITH HIS BEST FRIEND (36M) AND IM THE THIRD WHEEL

I'm new to this reddit stuff, but a coworker suggested it, and I thought I'd give it a try. I probably should start saying he's not really my boyfriend??? We just started dating a few weeks ago, and it's been... interesting. But I really like him and he is a nice, sweet guy.

He recently came out, so I've been trying to be patient and understanding. But recently it's been hard to spend any time alone because his best friend is always there.

Now, I also like the guy, so I don't really mind, and to be honest, I kinda suspected from the first moment they were in love with each other. They both talk about each other all the time, and when we hang out together, I can't help but feel like intruding on an intimate moment I shouldn't be part of.

Like, our second date was at his sister's wedding and the best friend spent most of the time glued to our side. He has a son who my date adores, so they danced together for most of the party as well. It was cute, but again: it felt like intruding on a private moment.

Then we had a relaxing night at his place, eating take out on his couch and watching a movie.... when the best friend just, came in. No notice, no knocking. He has a key to the place and he just walked in. It was awkward at first but we insisted it wasn't a big deal so he stayed for tge rest of the night.

By the time I was leaving, my date was telling him to just get comfortable on the couch.

Another thing is. My date? Situationship? I don't know how to call it anymore. Well, I recently found out that he is the legal guardian of his best friend 's kid? In case anything happens? I wouldn’t find this weird at all if it wasn't for the fact this man has parents and sisters and other close family members that also have a less chance of dying along with him on the job. (They work together.)

Also. Recently, the best friend broke up with his girlfiend and called this guy in the middle of our date. So, he crashed again.

All of this to say, I'm not really hurt? This was new and sure, I like the guy. But to be honest my expectations were low. This is fairly recent, so it's not like my heart is broken and I just lost the love of my life. No, that's not the problem.

I just don't think these two know they're in love with each other, and it’s starting to get really uncomfortable for me. Should I say something? Should I talk with my date about it or just break things off and keep it vague, but that we should still be friends? Should I talk with both of them at the same time and confront the situation?

This is a situation I don't even know how to begin to get a handle on. Does anyone know where I should start?

rctherpcliarredditor • commented 1d ago

to be honest, i don't really have any advice for you. i just find this gay drama really hilarious. thoughts and prayers for you, my man 🙏🏼🙏🏼

twohottakes • commented 6hrs ago

definitely have a conversation alone with your date. point all of this out to him and tell him you don't wanna get in the middle if there's deeper feelings involved for someone else. all the luck to you, man!

storyreddit23 • commented 2hrs ago

talk to ur date!! and pls, post an update if u do. i wanna know how this ends.

[dkfile]

gold rush

❛ everybody wants you, everybody wonders what it would be like to love you. ❜ ━gold rush, taylor swift

word count | 19.2k (19,220) genre | fluff, angst, slowburn, exes to lovers, summer au ━ gn!reader

though there is no denying that kim mingyu was once a big part of your life, you believe that the pain he’s left you with is long gone; he is a memory, and that is all he will ever be. but then you get home, and he’s there, and maybe you have to reconsider just how much you’ve moved on.

★ warnings | brief mention of injury/scars/blood, alcohol consumption, suggestive if u squint, seokmin and minghao meddling, i think thats it tell me if i missed anything ★ author’s note | it’s finally here!!! this took me longer than i thought it would, i really thought it’d only be on the shorter side (shorter side in dkfile means >10k words) but. this is literally 19k. i lied to myself i guess. hope u guys enjoy tho !! lmk your thoughts :D

In movies, summer signifies new beginnings. The sun’s radiance is bright enough to blind, the ocean glimmers underneath its attention, the sand is warm to the touch. Ice cream drips down your fingers and makes them uncomfortably sticky against the humid breeze. Some people come home, others leave, but they all have the intent of starting their new chapter right. Summer is about growth. It is about moving on.

It is not supposed to be about Kim Mingyu.

seok ☀️ > can you pls pick up the phone > i’m sorryyyyy that i lied to you ☹️ > forgive me!! 😓💔🙏 > do you need me to grovel? because i will

You scowl.

When you came back from college, welcomed home with open arms by your family and childhood friends, you were reassured that a certain boy — with golden skin, starry eyes, and your crushed heart in the palm of his hand — would not be back in town. Foolishly, you looked past the mischievous quirk of Minghao’s eyebrow, and the sheepish wince painted across Seokmin’s face when you expressed your delight at having them all to yourself.

There would be no ex-boyfriend to thwart your plans, no boy to drown your summer in gasoline and set it aflame.

But then your shopping cart bumps into someone else’s at the store, and when you look up, the bane of your existence is staring at you, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

You vaguely remember the rather sharp inhale Seokmin took from behind you before you scoffed, incredulous and irritated, and harshly stated that Seokmin could finish grocery shopping by himself. You do not want to associate yourself with the traitor and the liar your so-called best friend has become.

Seokmin claims you’re being rather overdramatic. He swears he didn’t know Mingyu would be home so soon.

(“So soon?” you repeated when you picked up Seokmin’s fifteenth call ten minutes ago. “What does that mean? That you knew he was always going to be coming home?”

“…Listen—”

You hung up).

You find yourself sitting in the skatepark a few blocks from the mart, legs curled up on the bench and your chin resting on your knees. As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, the occupants slowly pack up and leave, until the sounds of wheels against concrete is replaced with the murmur of cicadas and the laughter from the occasional passerby.

The warmth of the wood seeps through your denim shorts, percolating across your body until you are hot underneath your clothes. Despite the heat of the day giving way to the mellow cool of the evening, sweat forms on your upper lip and hairline, an indicator that it’s too hot to sit out here and contemplate every choice you’ve made up until this moment.

Still, you stay; you’re not sure why. You never quite liked it here, had only enjoyed it when you were surrounded by your friends and their saccharine laughter. The scars on your leg are painful reminders of the multiple falls you took when he was teaching you how to skate.

(Sometimes, on bad nights, you still feel the ghost of his fingers on your waist and your wrist, guiding you on his board while children much younger than you zoom by).

You never left this area without a new injury, whether it be a bruise on the shin or a scrape on the knee.

Memories of what once was linger.

You do not remember what you had for breakfast this morning, or what show Seokmin recommended to you a few hours ago, or what car your dad was planning on buying.

But you remember Mingyu. You remember his smile and his sweet cologne and the way his hair fell into his eyes whenever his shoulders shook with laughter. You remember what it feels like to be in his bubble; it feels like you’ve been dumped into molasses — you become aware of your every move, and time begins to move just a little slower, as if you are trying to savour every moment before he disappears.

You feel him before you hear him.

That’s why you’re not surprised when he talks, his voice soft from where he stands behind the bench. You imagine him with his hands tucked into his pockets, staring at the empty ramps (he is not looking at you. You would know if he was looking at you. His gaze would burn more than a thousand wildfires).

“I thought they told you.”

Your voice comes out hoarse. “They told me you weren’t coming home.”

“Oh,” he doesn’t sound surprised, but he stills offers an apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? You’re not the one who lied.”

A quiet heartbeat passes. “Right.”

Your fingers drum against your calf. “How did you find me, anyway? Did Seokmin track my location?”

“No,” he murmurs. His voice has been quiet ever since he arrived. “I just… figured you’d be here.”

You swallow a large lump in your throat. “Oh,” you say weakly.

“Yeah,” he responds. There’s a brief moment of contemplation. He knows there’s a line he cannot cross, but he tries anyway. “Do you want a ride home?”

Your response is immediate and firm, and its harshness is enough to break the calm façade he unintentionally built around the both of you. “No. I’ll walk.”

“It’s hot,” he argues.

“I don’t need you, Mingyu,” you bite back. He clamps his mouth shut as unease settles in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t— I’ll be fine.”

He seems to hesitate; you aren’t sure how long he stands behind you, searching for a response.

Then, as if it pains him to say: “Okay.”

“Damn,” Minghao falls into Seokmin’s shoulder as they both laugh at your stumbling, “You suck!”

“Hey,” Mingyu barks, though he looks more like a puppy than the intimidating boy he imagines himself to be, “it’s not like you’re any better!”

You know Mingyu’s only saying this to make you feel better — Minghao is, arguably, the best on wheels out of the four of you — but the sentiment still warms your heart. At your smile, Mingyu’s annoyed mien is replaced with a grin of his own. He reaches over to squeeze your cheek.

“I believe in you,” he declares.

“As much as I appreciate what you’re doing,” you begin, stretching out your arms to balance on the board, “I don’t think I’m ever going to master this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mingyu huffs, hands hovering over your sides once the skateboard begins to move, eyes trained on your feet. “By the time we get out of here, you’re gonna give Minghao a run for his money.”

You sigh. Mingyu was always one for wishful thinking.

“You really think I’ll be able to do this by myself in half an hour?”

Mingyu hums hopefully.

The sun has already begun to set, and you had promised your parents you’d be home for dinner. With fall around the corner, the days are slowly becoming shorter, a constant reminder that your last year of school is upon you. Next are college applications, then admissions, and conversations about your future that you aren’t quite ready to have.

But you’ll worry about that when you need to.

Because right now, there is the skate park, the late summer breeze, and Mingyu, who shrieks along with you when you lose balance. His arms grab onto your waist, bringing you back to the ground as the skateboard continues to roll down the concrete. Right now, there is the furrow of his eyebrows, the mixture of disappointment and amusement swirling in his eyes, and his forehead pressed against yours.

“I thought I told you not to zone out,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

You shrug, pecking his nose before pulling away to chase after the skateboard. “You’re so dramatic. The worst I could’ve gotten was a scraped knee.”

Mingyu scoffs. “So? I don’t want you getting hurt under my watch.”

“You’re my boyfriend, not my babysitter.”

“Well, I might as well be,” he argues. “You’re more accident prone than me.”

Laughing, you jokingly say, “Guess that means you’ve finally met your match, Kim.”

People used to say you and Mingyu were made for each other.

It is something you’ve tried to forget, but the fact follows you around like a shadow. This town, small and aware of the breakup, can’t seem to wrap their heads around the fact that you and Mingyu are no longer extensions of one another.

At some point, you hoped that people would understand your discomfort whenever he’s mentioned, but the fact of the matter is that you and Mingyu had been a package deal from when you were in diapers up until the end of senior year, and when you’re intertwined with someone for that long, it’s just as hard for you as it is for everyone to forget that part of yourself.

When you stop by the pharmacy, you don’t ask about him (you have no reason to), but the pharmacist still informs you that you’ve just missed him; when you see your mother’s colleague, she gushes about how nice it must be to see him after all this time (you do not have the heart to tell her otherwise); when you buy a pack of Sprite bottles for Mrs. Boo’s annual summer barbecue, the clerk asks if you know if he’s going to be in attendance (you say you have not talked to him in three years, and the clerk tilts his head in confusion).

Your patience has been worn thin by the time you arrive at Seokmin’s house.

“Hello, sunshine,” Minghao drawls when his attention settles on you. He watches you scowl before setting your bag on the armchair and taking a seat beside him on the couch. “How was your morning?”

“I’m ditching,” you declare, brushing off his question.

“Ditching what?”

“The barbecue,” you deadpan. “What else?”

“Now, why the hell would you do that?”

“Minghao,” you say blankly, “would it kill you to use your brain for once?”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

Seokmin enters the living room, carrying three cans of iced tea, all of which he places on the coffee table. He throws you and Minghao a look of annoyance. “If you guys are going to argue, please don’t do it under my roof,” he gestures around the room, “it kills the vibes.”

You roll your eyes but mutter an apology under your breath. Beside you, Minghao quips, “Y/N decided ditching the barbecue would be a good idea.”

You’re used to Seokmin’s mannerisms by now, so you don’t even flinch when he waves his arms around in disbelief. “What?” he exclaims, crouching in front of your legs and taking your hands into his. “Why the hell would you do that?”

Minghao hums. “That’s what I said.”

“Put that brain of yours to good use.”

“They said that to me, too.”

Seokmin huffs, knowing better than to let your quips deter him. “Please don’t tell me this is about Mingyu.”

You quirk an eyebrow, to which Seokmin scoffs, letting go of your hands before plopping down in front of you, even though there’s a free spot on the other side of Minghao. They scrutinize you for a moment, Seokmin’s eyes narrowed and lips twisted into a frown while Minghao stares blankly, showing no emotion or an indication of what’s going on inside his head.

It does nothing to make you feel comfortable.

You aren’t a stranger to Minghao and Seokmin’s examinations — they’re experts when it comes to breaking you down with analyzations and calculating eyes. But you haven’t been home in three years, and being on the receiving end of something as intense as this is startling, if not a little troubling.

(Being the only one enduring this, absent of a certain boy, is unsettling as well, though you’d rather die than admit that).

Seokmin nudges your ankle with his knee. “You know you’ll regret not going to this thing,” he says, eyes sparkling with amusement when you bristle. “You haven’t seen the Boo’s in forever, too. They’d be sad if you miss it.”

“Imagine how Seungkwan would feel,” Minghao adds, poking your arm to look at him, and continues to do so when you don’t. “He’d be miserable.”

You pout. “I doubt it.”

“You were in the same badminton club for five years,” Minghao argues softly, “I think he would be.”

Seokmin states, “And you’re not the type of person to let someone down, are you?” He pauses for a moment before adding, “Well, other than me and Minghao, on occasion.”

You cross your arms, leaning further into the couch as you avoid eye contact. You’re adamant on skipping, but Seokmin and Minghao know you better than anyone else, so they know exactly how to word their sentences and fabricate their bribes to get you to agree. They know, as long as you keep this up, the entirety of your summer will be spent in the four walls in your house, the only place in town guaranteed to not have Kim Mingyu.

And it may be pathetic, really, to continue letting him affect you like this.

(But it has always been you and Mingyu, Mingyu and you. He is part of your soul. There is a void in your chest that’s the shape of him. How are you supposed to erase all memory of someone like that?)

A painted fingernail pokes your side, a knee bumps your shin. Your friends look at you, hopeful.

A sigh.

“Okay, fine.”

“Can I ask you something?”

You hum, collapsing on the bench beside Seungkwan, his newly dyed platinum blonde hair appearing orange under the setting sun. Sweat trinkles down his frame but his breathing remains even, showing no sign that he just finished playing a rather intense badminton game a few minutes prior.

“What are you guys doing after you graduate?”

You take a sip from your water bottle in hopes the liquid will make it easier to swallow the lump forming in your throat. You have never minded these types of conversations, though the reminder of the future creates a pit in your stomach that only continues to grow larger with each passing day. And, knowing Seungkwan, you know there is more to his question than college applications and major declarations.

“What do you mean?”

“You, Mingyu, Minghao, and Seokmin,” Seungkwan elaborates. “You’re all going to different colleges, right?”

Pursing your lips, you risk a glance at him, only to find that he’s staring ahead. “Minghao’s going abroad, yeah, and Seokmin’s thinking of staying here,” you explain, voice low. “Mingyu and I are going to be together, though.”

At this, Seungkwan turns to you, eyebrows furrowed. “You two are going to the same university?”

There is something about the way he asks this — unsure, withdrawn, and cautious. You see the flare of uncertainty in his eyes, and it’s enough for your heartrate to quicken.

“Yeah. Why?”

He opens and closes his mouth. There is war in his head. Very rarely do you see Seungkwan at a loss for words. He is usually so quick on his feet, so witty, so talkative, and the silence that falls between you both is painful and nerve-wracking.

Should you be worried?

“Nothing,” he eventually settles for, ignoring the silent question in your eyes. “I was just thinking about how nice that would be.”

You decide to believe him. It is so much easier to be ignorant, you think.

(But it is also much more painful later. You do not allow yourself to dwell).

“Why’d you ask, anyway?”

“I was just talking to Vernon and Chan, and I realized we all want different things,” Seungkwan sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. “We won’t all be together much longer. It feels… weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think you guys will be able to stay in touch?”

You shrug hopefully. “I think so,” you say, shifting your gaze to the horizon, “we’ve been friends forever. It’d take a lot to break that up.”

The scent of tangerines and aftershave fill your nose as you’re ambushed by a boy bursting with energy, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he resides in your arms, squeezing you tight as he spews angry statements that all come from a place of love.

Seungkwan is grinning by the time you pull away, grabbing you by your wrist and dragging you further into the backyard to catch up with other people. He doesn’t dare leave your side — he’s convinced you’ll slip away and disappear if he does — and you’re thankful; you don’t have the energy to steamroll through conversations today.

Though it’s humid, the warmth you’re engulfed in is a product of the Boo household. It is homely and welcoming and an embodiment of everything you’ve ever missed about home all in one lot. You should be happy to be here, surrounded by people you haven’t seen in years as a consequence of your avoidance, pulled into an endless pool of memories and nostalgia.

But you cannot shake it, the uneasiness.

You feel it as soon as the gate swings open and he enters, carrying two large Tupperware containers, one filled with brownies and the other with lemon squares. You feel it when he flashes his signature smile, canines as pearly white and blinding as you remember, and it still fills you with a sickening sense of joy.

“I’m gonna go get a brownie,” Seungkwan announces, loud enough to snap you out of it. “Do you want one?”

“No,” you decline, forcing yourself to smile even when you feel a burning sensation at the back of your head. “Thank you, though.”

Seungkwan nods and makes his way to the refreshments table, but not before wagging a finger in warning, “Don’t leave without saying goodbye!”

You frantically search the backyard, looking for any sign of Minghao or Seokmin, or maybe a superhero of some sorts to pull you away so you don’t disintegrate in the presence of Mingyu.

In your periphery, you see him excuse himself from conversations, eyes flickering towards you with a determination you aren’t unfamiliar with. It’s remorseful and desperate, and it reminds you of an instance in the skatepark a few years ago, you in his sweater and drowning in heartbreak and sorrow.

Someone swings their arm over your shoulder.

“Hey,” Minghao murmurs, steering you further into the backyard, away. You can’t help the sigh of relief that escapes you. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you grit your teeth.

“You’re gonna have to talk to him at some point,” he says, dropping his arm once he’s decided you’re far enough. “I feel like it’d do the both of you some good.”

“I have nothing to say to him,” you protest. “And I’m sure he has nothing to say to me.”

“I really don’t think that’s the truth.”

“It is.”

“You were in love with him,” he says. It slips out of his lips so easily, as if he were talking about the weather or the shapes of the clouds. You wish you could mutter an admission like that — accept something like that — the way he had. “And he was in love with you, and it ended badly. That is more than enough of a reason to talk.”

It ended badly. You always associated a statement like that with relationships that ended in screaming matches or slamming doors. Ones where a simple argument escalated into one that finalized a conclusion, ones where there was nothing in the room but anger and exhaustion that overpowered the love.

You’ve never associated it with how your relationship with Mingyu ended. The sun was rising, and birds were chirping, and you were standing in the same spot you asked him out, the same spot he asked you to prom, the same spot he murmured three simple words into your ear before you fell asleep on his shoulder on the park bench.

It didn’t end because of a fight. Sometimes, you wish it had — maybe then you’d feel differently about everything, about him.

It just came to a halt, and he had been the one to step on the brakes.

“Talk to him,” Minghao urges again, sympathetic but firm. “You don’t have to do it now, but just do it before you leave. Don’t you think you deserve some closure?”

You find him talking to some of your classmates from your graduating class. They hang onto every word he says, face alit with curiosity and admiration, because some things never change, and he has been put on a pedestal since birth. In the hallways of the high school, his name is on the trophies, he’s beaming in most of the pages in the yearbook, he is this town’s pride and joy.

But you know him.

You see him smile and you’re not blind to the discomfort and falseness behind it. He doesn’t want to be there, you think, and your thoughts are proven correct when he glances up to look at you, and his mask slips by a fraction. For a moment, you see sincerity, a glimpse of the Mingyu you once knew.

Someone taps him on the shoulder and, as you predicted, he puts the mask back on.

You hate that you still know him like the back of your hand.

He is leaning against your frame, playing with your fingers, when he asks the question.

“How do you do it?” he wonders, looking up briefly to meet your questioning gaze before returning his focus on your hands, tapping them to the beat of an overplayed pop song.

His head has dipped down, allowing you to rest your cheek against it. “Do what?”

“Talk to everyone like that,” he says, using his free hand to gesture towards the backyard filled with the people you’re currently hiding from. The both of you sit on the staircase by the front entrance, away from any prying eyes. “They were hanging onto every word you said. They’re practically in love with you.”

You snicker. “What, don’t tell me you’re jealous?”

Mingyu matches your teasing tone with a playful lilt of his own. “Oh, I am. I’ve got some competition.”

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Don’t be too upset when I pick Mrs. Boo over you.”

He hums. “No promises.”

A blanket of comfortable silence falls over you. He fidgets with your hands, brushing his thumb over your nails, and tracing the lines of your palms with his index finger. You close your eyes, listening to the fading chatter of the town and the faint sizzling of meat on the grill.

“I should be asking you that, y’know,” you eventually mumble. Mingyu’s movements stop. “You’ve got the whole town wrapped around your finger. I’m pretty sure everybody loves you.”

To get you to open your eyes, he pokes your cheek. “The same could be said about you,” he responds. “Besides, people only like the idea of me. What would they say if they found out my room’s never clean and I cycle through the same two pairs of socks year-round?”

You wrinkle your nose. “God, remind me to buy you a pack of socks from the store next time I’m at the mall.”

He laughs, an unpleasant snort involuntarily escaping his nose. “I’m serious. They don’t like me. They like the illusion.”

You finally look at him, meeting his softened gaze and mellow smile. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“No, not really,” he shrugs, but there is a minuscule halt in his voice that you don’t catch. “The only opinion that matters to me is yours.”

You’re convinced Seokmin and Minghao are saints.

(You would never admit this, though. They would never shut up if you did).

For the entire 40-minute car ride, they manage to keep the calm, filling the silence with anecdotes about people you have only heard about through irregular video calls, and arguments about who should be in control of the music. Eventually, they settle for handing the aux over to Mingyu, who meets your gaze through the rearview mirror before clicking on a familiar playlist and looking out the window.

After the first five songs, your face heats up as you remember bashfully making him a playlist back in high school. You settle into your spot, hoping the battered polyester of Seokmin’s car seats will swallow you whole.

When you agreed to tag along on their trip out of town and into the city, Minghao and Seokmin didn’t bother hiding their surprise, especially since they made it clear Mingyu was going to be in attendance. Seungkwan even offered to let you carpool with him, Vernon, and Chan, but you declined — you might as well suck it up, seeing as you and Mingyu are going to be in the same vicinity for the rest of the summer.

Still, you can’t help but regret your decisions as you squirm in the backseat behind Seokmin, who’s fiddling with the A/C, listening intently to a story Minghao’s telling about some scandal involving two classmates he’s never talked to before. You’re thankful for their nosiness, because it gives you some level of comfort and helps you ignore Mingyu’s fleeting glances from the passenger seat.

“The professor’s a hardass so everyone was convinced they were fucking,” Minghao says, leaning forward in his seat. “Turns out he was just her stepdad, who suffered from a chronic case of favouritism.”

Seokmin snorts. “Out of all the conclusions to jump to, that’s the one they picked?”

Minghao quirks an eyebrow. “You of all people should not be saying that.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

As Seokmin and Minghao begin to bicker for the nth time that evening, your gaze slides from the window to the Snoopy trinket hanging from the rearview mirror to the mirror itself, and you can’t find it in you to be surprised when you see Mingyu already looking at you. An unsaid question dances in his eyes, wary and timid.

Are you sure this is okay?

You gulp, worrying your lips between your teeth before shrugging. Yes, it’s fine.

He raises his eyebrow. This is the first time you’ve acknowledged him tonight.

Really?

You shrug again. Really.

And you leave it at that, turning again to look outside.

Seokmin takes fifteen minutes to find a decent parking spot, so when you finally enter the nightclub, you’re prepared for the scowl on Seungkwan’s face when he spots the four of you. He scolds Seokmin first and receives a flick to his forehead in response, which only angers him more. Before you can meet his wrath, you slip away, moving to enter the booth and letting Mingyu and Minghao get the brunt of Seungkwan’s rage and disappointment.

“Y/N!” Chan exclaims when you settle next to him, wrapping his arms around your torso to give you a brief hug before sliding you his unfinished pint of beer. “I haven’t talked to you in forever!”

When you take a sip of the alcohol, you try your best to hide your grimace when the lukewarm liquid hits your tongue. “I talked to you at the barbecue two days ago.”

“Well, I missed you. Sue me,” he throws his hands up in exasperation. Across from you, Vernon hides his amused smile behind his own pint. “You come home after, what, three years? Forgive me if I’ve become clingy.”

“Didn’t know you missed me so much.”

Vernon’s eyes are dripping with mirth. “He went broke from using all his coins at the fountain in town square,” he says, laughing when Chan shoots him daggers. “He went there whenever he was free and was wishing you’d come back—”

“He’s exaggerating,” Chan huffs. In retaliation to Vernon’s teasing, Chan takes his friend’s pint of beer and chugs it down until there is nothing left. “I only wished whenever Mingyu was home, he was so mopey, he would’ve been happier if you were here.”

You freeze.

“Okay,” Vernon interjects, pushing himself out of his seat to move all the empty glasses away from Chan, as if doing so will help the situation. He throws you an apologetic look, though it lacks his usual sincerity. “That’s enough for tonight.”

Chan whines. “But I wanted to do tequila shots with everyone.”

“Drink this first,” Vernon instructs.

Chan grumbles but accepts the glass of water Vernon gives him.

Before you can say something about Chan’s offhanded comment, the rest of your friends climb into the booth, and Vernon and Chan ease their way into their conversation as soon as everyone’s seated. You lean back, cowering behind Minghao and Chan’s frames as Seungkwan makes a joke you barely catch and Minghao repeats every story he told on the journey here.

You try your best to engage in the conversation, really, but it’s been so long since you’ve been with this group of people. As they discuss events you were never there for, snippets of a summer you weren’t part of, the awkwardness begins to build in your stomach, because it was never supposed to be like this, you were never supposed to feel left out.

If the person you were a few years ago saw you now, you know they’d be a little disappointed. Maybe they’d pity you, too.

The consequences, you suppose, of never coming home.

Sighing, you gesture for Minghao to slip out of the booth so you can get out. You say something about going to the bar to get another drink, and he nods, squeezing your shoulder — his silent way of telling you to stay safe — before letting you go.

You try your best to avoid any stumbling individuals, wrinkling your nose and murmuring apologies that get lost in the noise when you can’t avoid bumping into someone. With a glance over your shoulder, you make sure your friends aren’t paying any attention to you before making your way towards the exit.

It’s a warm evening, but it’s cooler than it is inside, and you relish in the temporary peace before you have to inevitably make your way back. They’ll notice if you’re gone too long, and they’ve always been easy to worry.

“Hey.”

A tall frame enters your periphery, clad in a loose white t-shirt and light-washed jeans, staring ahead at the passing cars. You ignore the way his face falls when you shuffle further to the side, away from him.

Your history aside, Kim Mingyu has always run hot. Before, you wouldn’t mind — before, you would’ve been clinging onto him — but time has passed, and you aren’t the same people you were back in high school.

A part of you misses it. There is something so comfortable about Mingyu that you can only describe in insignificant memories, like when he moves you to the side furthest from the road, or when he wraps his scarf around your neck because the cold is nipping at your nose, or when he buys mini versions of your skincare products to keep in his house for when you’re too tired to drive back home.

It's almost homely. Like a hug, maybe.

(You missed it a lot, at first, his aura. Whenever you needed it most, you’d lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and instead of sheep lulling you into slumber, it’s him. Way back when, he’d rub circles into your wrist to help you fall asleep, and you think of it then, because it used to bring you so much comfort).

(In your dreams, you murmur his name — Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu — like a prayer, like an incantation).

“I’m sorry.”

You jolt in surprise. Not at his voice, but at the apology. “Why?”

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” you protest with a frown. “I’m just… I couldn’t think of how to contribute to the conversation, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says gently. He looks relieved. “So, you’re okay that I’m here?”

“Yeah, I mean, they’re your friends, too.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

A quiet moment passes, and you see the relief begin to crumble.

“Yeah, I don’t mind that you’re here,” you offer. The next sentence slips out before you can stop it, “I’m glad, actually.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You are?”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, wincing. “A little. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Before this month, you only saw him through Instagram, glimpses of his life that were curated to make his life seem special and happy and void of any worries. You only heard about him — the real him — when his name accidentally slipped out of your friends’ or your family’s mouths.

You can’t help but think that it wasn’t enough.

“How’s school?” he asks, subtly moving so he’s slightly facing you.

“It’s alright,” you answer. “Stressful, but that’s a given. My roommate got a boyfriend, though. He leaves his shit everywhere and he acts like he lives there.”

A soft chuckle leaves his lips. “Yeah, I know, Minghao told me.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Oh? Why would he tell you that?”

“I asked,” he shrugs. You finally, really look at him now, and your confusion is evident. He seems unfazed by it, but you can see the crimson slowly climbing up his neck. “I ask about you sometimes.”

“Why?”

You know why, you think. What’s the point in asking when you already know the reason behind his actions and intentions? Your soul is intertwined with his, it has been for a while, but you can’t seem to accept it.

You still hurt.

Minghao’s right. Maybe the closure is needed.

“Because I care about you,” he confesses, trying his best to hide his yearning. “You were my best friend, and I want to know if you’re still doing okay.”

Your fingers shake, so you stuff them into the pockets of your sweater. “And what do they tell you when you ask?”

He hesitates, scanning your face while he plans his best course of action. The wounds haven’t closed, the stitches were poorly sewn, and blood spills out of the cuts he left like the damage he’s done is fresh.

“They tell me that I should ask you myself,” he says, “But sometimes they take pity on me, and they’ll tell me things you’ve told them. Like the roommate situation, or the barista who fucked up your order, or how you scored the highest on an exam— congratulations, by the way.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Thank you,” you reply meekly.

“It’s no problem,” he responds. Contemplation flickers across his face before he adds, rather reluctantly, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

You feel the same way you did when he first confessed, like an immature and blubbering teenager, full of hope and optimism and dreams of what could be.

“Mingyu—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts. “I’ve seen the stuff you’ve posted, and I should’ve congratulated you then, I know that, but—”

You give him a small smile. “Better late than never.”

He flashes you a grin, the same one you’d longed to see, the one you used to humiliate yourself for. You would’ve done anything to see him smile like that — a smile that isn’t put on just for show, but one that’s genuine and blinding. It’s something reserved for certain people, those who have seen through the illusion that was created for him, those who have seen it and still love him for who he is, despite his faults and imperfections.

He nods. “Better late than never.”

Despite your best efforts to squash your delight, your heart escapes your desperate grip, and it soars.

It’s cold.

The ground has frozen over, leaving jagged pieces of ice all over the concrete. The snow, previously a crisp white, has turned brown due to its contact with cars. The wind is cold, persistent, it refuses to let you forget about its existence with each gust.

On the other side of the parking lot, you see your friends whisper amongst themselves before one of them throws his hands up in exasperation and stomps over to his car, a beat-up vehicle with torn polyester seats and discarded bubblegum wrappers on the floor. He’s grumbling something under his breath as he settles into the driver’s seat and leaves without so much as a goodbye.

It’s cold, and something’s wrong.

Your eyes find Mingyu’s and your stomach sinks.

Something’s wrong, but you’re unsure whether you’ll find out what it is tonight.

“Hey,” you say once he’s in earshot. He stiffens at the sound of your voice. “Is Seokmin okay?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “I’ll just apologize tomorrow morning.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing big.” He tightens the scarf around his neck and turns to walk towards his car. You follow, because with Mingyu you always do, and look at him over the roof as he digs in his pockets for his keys.

You clench your jaw, uncomfortable (when was the last time you’ve felt unpleasant around him? Things have started getting weirder since everyone started sending in their college applications). You wonder if you should push for answers, but you stop yourself before you can open your mouth. You’ve never done something like this before — Mingyu has always told you everything; secrets between the two of you are scarce.

He unlocks the doors. “Is it okay if we stop by the convenience store before I bring you home? I gotta buy some ramen for my sister.”

He looks tired. Maybe you can ask him about what happened another day.

“Yeah, sure.”

He nods in thanks and enters before another gust of wind hits — it’s harsher this time, as if it’s sending you a warning.

You really should’ve brought your own scarf.

When your family yells for you to open the door, the last thing you expect to see on the other side of it is Kim Mingyu.

Your ire is gone in a flash.

“Um…”

Mingyu winces. “Hi. Sorry, I— your brother called me, he said it was an emergency, and I was worried, so—”

“Mingyu!” your brother yells excitedly, running out of the kitchen before throwing his arms around Mingyu’s torso. “You’re here! Thank God, Y/N was ruining the cake—”

You scoff loudly. “What the fuck, Daeshim? You’re the one who put in salt instead of sugar—"

“Get in, get in!” Daeshim says cheerily, throwing you a glare. You narrow your eyes in return, ignoring how Mingyu’s hands brush against yours when he makes his way towards the kitchen after toeing off his shoes. Daeshim pokes you. “I’m telling Mom you swore.”

“What are you, five?”

Daeshim sticks his tongue out. “Add some money in the swear jar.”

“I hate you,” you deadpan. Your eyes flicker to the white sneakers neatly placed by the other footwear, worn from years of use. “Why did you ask him to come here?”

Your brother shrugs. “He usually stops by, anyway, to help for Mom’s birthday.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” he says sarcastically, gesturing for you to move so he can shut the front door. “Are you sure you guys broke up? Cause when you didn’t come home for the summer, he would still check up on us and stuff, and he’d always ask about you. It was so weird. It felt like I was a child of divorce.”

You smack him on the head. “Can you not say that about my relationship?”

“Well, it’s not a relationship anymore,” he quips.

You tense, crossing your arms so you don’t give Daeshim the delight of seeing your clenched fists. “You know what I meant.”

“If you don’t want to stay, then go. But he’s not going anywhere until Mom’s cake is done.”

“Why not? We were doing just fine without him.”

“Are you serious? You know he’s better at baking than you ever will be.”

“Okay, rude.”

“It’s true—”

“Uh, guys?” Both of your heads snap to wear Mingyu peeks around the corner, his amusement thinly veiled behind his distress. “Your kitchen’s a mess.”

Daeshim grins, pointing his finger at you. “Y/N’s fault!” he exclaims before heading to the kitchen.

You poke your cheek with your tongue in annoyance, watching your sibling nonchalantly disappear from your line of sight before you focus on Mingyu. He’s leaning against the wall now, hands shoved in his sweatpants and his head tilted to the side. He looks at you like he’s studying you, trying to find a sign of any kind that he needs to leave.

He must’ve found nothing because he stays.

You clear your throat, straightening your posture. “It was not my fault.”

His lips quirk up. “Oh, I’m sure.”

He disappears before you can retort.

(He’s always been good at that — leaving before you have a chance to fight).

When you finally join them in the kitchen, there’s a familiar baby pink apron around Mingyu’s neck, already splattered with cake batter as he whisks something in a steel bowl. Daeshim is crouched in front of the fridge, putting containers of leftovers on the floor in search of something. You kick his leg with your foot, throwing him off balance, and you both give each other matching scowls.

“Don’t put the Tupperware on the floor.”

He rolls his eyes but picks them up without argument, placing them on the empty counter by the fridge. You don’t understand why he couldn’t have done that in the first place, but Daeshim is notorious for making terrible decisions.

You don’t miss the way Mingyu’s eyes soften when he sees you. “You’re gonna help?”

“I came with the intention to supervise Daeshim and make sure he doesn’t accidentally set something on fire, but…” you shrug, “I could help, yeah.”

“Perfect,” Mingyu grins. “Can you get the baking pan?”

You do as he asks, handing it over to him over the kitchen island. “You’re gonna put it in the oven already? Daeshim was complaining about the batter so much he almost convinced me there was no saving it.”

Mingyu snorts as he cautiously pours the mixture into the pan. “He was just being overdramatic—”

Daeshim snaps from his spot near the fridge. “Are you guys just gonna talk about me as if I’m not here?”

“—it was only a little runny,” he assures, making sure not a drop of batter ends up on the floor or the countertop. Once he’s done, he brushes his hands on the apron and wipes his forehead with his arm. “Can you put it in the oven? You guys preheated it, right?”

You hum in confirmation, carefully placing the tin in the oven as Mingyu steps over Daeshim to try and get to the sink. You frown at your brother, who’s been scouring for something since you walked in. “What the hell are you even looking for?”

“Strawberry milk.”

“I drank it all.”

Daeshim huffs. “Of course you did.” He stands, slamming the fridge door with a dramatic flick of his wrist before hastily making his way out of the kitchen and towards the exit. “I’m gonna go to the convenience store to get some.”

“Wha— No, you have to help clean—”

“Can’t hear you!”

There’s a few more footsteps and the sound of Daeshim struggling to put his shoes on before the door inevitably slams shut.

You don’t let the shock of your brother’s irritating audacity bother you for too long. The way your fingers swipe through your phone to find his contact is lightning quick, but the first call is sent to voicemail and before you can even try his cell a second time, you find that you’re blocked.

Prick.

Mingyu’s humming catches your attention. You look up from your phone to find him with his back against the sink. “Voicemail?”

“Blocked.”

Mingyu snorts. “Of course.”

You send him an awkward smile before turning away so you don’t have to face him. You and Mingyu haven’t spoken since last week on that trip out of town; after the two of you slipped back inside, no words were exchanged except for an apprehensive goodnight when Seokmin dropped you off at home.

With friends as nosy as your own, privacy is hard to come by, but now, in their absence, there’s nothing more you want than a buffer. The tension’s become more palpable without a third party, and your palms are getting clammy at just the thought of searching for an excuse to kick Mingyu out of the house without hurting his feelings.

(Why do you care? He hurt you first, didn’t he?)

“Hey,” Mingyu calls out tentatively. “Do you want me to help clean up? It’s a mess in here.” When you don’t reply, he adds, “I don’t want you to do this all by yourself.”

You take a look at the kitchen around you and decide that you don’t want him to leave, either.

“Okay.”

Mingyu grins. “Okay.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to find a system that’s not messy or chaotic or involves stepping into the other’s path — you and Mingyu have always been like that, like a cohesive unit. The feeling that shoots through your veins at the realization that you still are is nothing short of euphoric.

Before you know it, the kitchen is clean. The surface sparkles as Mingyu swipes a finger at it to see if there’s anything he’s missed, looking up at you with fleeting disappointment.

You think he’s about to announce that it’s time for him to go, but he surprises you when what comes out of his mouth is a question instead.

“Can I ask you something?”

You press yourself against the counter, thankful for the kitchen island acting as a barrier between you both. “Sure.”

“If we…” he pauses. Regret already begins to fester in his skin, pulled down by the weight of his frown and the pinch in his eyebrows. “Uh, never mind.”

Your heart lurches in your ribcage. “Mingyu—”

“It’s fine,” he assures but his smile is tight, and his tone says otherwise, “I should probably head back. I’ll — uh — I’ll see you?”

You gnaw at your bottom lip. “Yeah,” you say, ignoring the way your heart begins to crack as Mingyu unties the apron and slips it over his head. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

A worrying cloud has attached itself to you, nibbling on every last bit of your sanity like a parasite. Because something is wrong, you’re sure of it, even if everyone around you acts otherwise. Seokmin still laughs and makes bad jokes, Minghao still scolds you for not bundling up more when it’s so cold outside, and Mingyu still attracts attention and reaches for your hand and pokes your cheek whenever you’re not paying enough attention to him.

Everything is normal.

(But…)

“Does this look stupid?” Mingyu asks, staring at the banner he’s hung up.

Minghao grabs a macaroon from the table and rearranges the assortment, so it looks like he never laid a finger on it. “Yes.”

Mingyu huffs before turning to you. “Is it really?”

“It’s a little crooked,” you say, taking your eyes off him for a moment when Minghao presses the macaroon into your palm after making a face to suggest he doesn’t like it.

As Mingyu assesses the best way to fix the Happy Birthday! banner, Minghao starts poking at the pile of presents. You frown, kicking his ankle with your foot in an attempt to get him to stop. He only flicks your shoulder in response.

“Don’t touch those,” you hiss.

“I’m just trying to guess what other people got him,” Minghao retorts.

You deadpan, “You’re sizing up the competition.”

“Yes,” he confirms, “I need to make sure my present is better than all of these.”

“You got him a gift card to Party City. I didn’t even know they had those.”

“He can use it for Halloween!”

“Halloween is nine months away.”

“Oh, whatever,” Minghao grumbles. “Seungkwan will find some sort of use for it. All that matters is that my present isn’t the worst one.” He turns to you, jabbing a finger at your shoulder. “Hey, wait, what did you get him?”

You push his wrist as a scowl takes over your previous amused expression. “What’s it to you?”

“You’re a horrible gift-giver.”

“That’s not true!” you object, immediately turning to walk over to Mingyu, who’s staring at the banner in distress. “Gyu! I need to ask you something—”

“Nuh-uh, you can’t ask him, he’ll agree with you!”

You mockingly pout at Minghao before tugging Mingyu’s sleeve. “Hey, babe, question.”

Mingyu’s more than happy to have his attention on something else, letting his hands that were previously taping up the banner fall onto your shoulders. “What’s up?”

“I’m a good gift-giver, right?”

A moment passes. You scoff. Minghao cackles.

“Listen—”

“What the hell?”

“I love you and everything,” Mingyu begins, “but you really aren’t.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he says quickly. “You love me. Even though you gave me a terrible birthday present last year.”

“You said you liked that apron!”

Minghao pipes up, “There’s a reason why he leaves it at your house, Y/N.”

You gasp, pointing an accusing finger at your boyfriend’s chest. Before you have a chance to defend your honour, Seokmin comes barrelling into the rented community centre, carrying two boxes of used decorations.

“Hey, guys,” he exhales, out of breath, dropping the large containers on the floor with a relieved huff. “So, the guests are coming in, like, twenty minutes, and Chan’s getting Seungkwan here in forty-five, so that should give us enough time to finish decorating… Mingyu, I thought I told you to deal with the banner?”

“It’s not cooperating with me,” your boyfriend whines.

Seokmin rolls his eyes before stomping over to the wall to fix the banner himself. Mingyu follows, grabbing the tape on his way so he can help. They don’t talk, at least not at a volume that allows you to hear what they’re saying — it’s only heated whispers that are exchanged, and you catch a glimpse of Mingyu’s nervous expression before it disappears completely.

He looks over his shoulder and flashes you a smile and it’s the same one you’ve seen him give everyone else. It’s a mask.

This isn’t something you should be on the receiving end of.

You open your mouth to say something — to say what, exactly, you aren’t sure — but Minghao tugs at your wrists and holds up a packet of balloons.

“We should start doing something before Seokmin gets mad,” he says before dragging you out of Seokmin and Mingyu’s earshot.

It’ll be okay, you think. This will pass over and your friend group will still be as close as you can be once university comes and you and Mingyu pack your bags, leaving this small town behind.

(But your worries refuse to let go; they’ve seeped into your bones, and you think their weight may crush you until you’re broken beyond repair. But ignorance is bliss, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve always said to yourself. And you’ve never needed to worry about something like this, whatever it is, before).

Everything will be fine.

Everything will not be fine, and you aren’t sure why Minghao thought it would be, but he was unbelievably wrong.

A rainy day has caused a picnic in the park to turn into a board game night at Seokmin’s house, and a homicidal game of Monopoly (a skit between Chan and Seokmin had been the last straw before Minghao flipped the board over) quickly transformed into a homicidal game of Twister. Before you is a jungle of limbs, and you’re glad that you were fast enough to volunteer to spin the wheel so you wouldn’t be caught in the inevitable crossfire.

“Left hand, red.”

Chan’s complaints come immediately.

“Chan,” Seungkwan warns, “I will kill you if you try to push me off.”

“I haven’t even moved yet.”

Seungkwan mocks his words with a high-pitched tone that barely resembles Chan’s voice before Minghao scolds them to cut it out and hurry up. Chan scoffs indignantly before moving his hand to a free red circle, struggling to find his balance.

“Are you good?” you ask blankly.

“Fine,” he grits out, “Just go so it gets to my turn faster.”

“Go slower!” Vernon exclaims from beside you, the first to be eliminated with his phone in one hand and a handful of popcorn in the other.

“Fuck you, Vernon!”

You spin the wheel. “Hao, right foot, green.”

Minghao huffs, but his new position, although uncomfortable, has given him the perfect opportunity to sabotage Seokmin. Almost as if they can sense your thoughts, your friends look at each other, one mischievous and the other in warning, before Minghao fakes a move, successfully luring Seokmin into his trap when the latter flinches and flails like a fish out of water before landing on his side.

Seokmin groans, sitting up and rubbing his ribcage as everyone laughs. He looks to you, giving you those puppy-dog eyes that always manage to worm him out of any undesirable situation he’s ever found himself in, but you only shrug helplessly in response. Seokmin sighs, flicking Minghao’s forehead, before making he settles beside you in all his pouty, wronged glory.

“It’s okay,” Vernon says from your other side, phone speaker pressed against his ear as a video of what just occurred plays on the phone. The sound of Seokmin’s yelp of surprise from 30 seconds ago causes your lips to twitch upwards. “You’ll get them next time!”

Seokmin leans into your shoulder. “Y/N! He’s making fun of me!”

You pat him reassuringly. “You’ll survive, don’t worry.”

“Hey!” Seungkwan interrupts. “Spin the wheel! It’s my turn.”

“Okay, okay! Right foot, blue.”

Much to your surprise, the rest of the game goes by smoothly with Seungkwan as the victor. Chan is beside himself, grumbling with his arms crossed as Seungkwan mimics the fall that led to his demise. When Chan opens his mouth to snap back, Minghao reaches over Vernon’s lap for the remote to increase the volume of the TV.

Once their argument has died down, Chan suggests, “Does anyone want to play Cards Against Humanity?”

“Lame, absolutely not,” Seokmin replies instantly. “I’m hungry.”

Seungkwan makes himself comfortable on the armchair. “Pizza should be coming soon. Who ordered it, anyway?” Mingyu raises his hand. “What did you get?”

“One cheese, one pepperoni.”

Chan boos, making a comment about the mediocre order which Mingyu skillfully brushes off, immune to his friends’ instigations after years of receiving them.

Minghao pokes Mingyu with his foot. “Can you check to see what time it’ll get here?”

Mingyu unlocks his phone while Vernon begins complaining about having to register for classes first thing tomorrow morning. His whines are halted, however, when Mingyu sharply inhales a breath and clears his throat sheepishly.

You raise an eyebrow. Everyone in the room knows what that means.

“Oh, what did you do now?”

“Seungkwan! What makes you think I did something wrong?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?”

Mingyu shakes his head before turning his phone so the screen is facing all of you. The screen says the order’s been good to go for the past five minutes, but— “I accidentally ordered for pick-up, not delivery.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “Then go pick it up.”

“What?”

“Well, it says the order’s ready, right? Go pick it up.”

“But I’m so comfortable here.”

“And we’re hungry.”

“Why does it have to be me?”

“Whose fault is it that the pizza guy isn’t on Seokmin’s doorstep right now?”

Mingyu huffs, clearly having run out of retorts. He’s quick to admit defeat, pushing himself off the couch and adjusting the hoodie that’s ridden up his torso. You watch his every move, ignoring Minghao’s gaze.

Just as he begins searching for his car keys, Minghao pipes up, “You shouldn’t go alone, though.”

Mingyu frowns. “Huh? Why not?”

“Because you’re clumsy and you’ll drop something.”

“Can’t you guys put some faith in me—?”

“Y/N could go with you.”

Mingyu closes his mouth, trapping any more complaints behind his teeth. You stare at Minghao like a deer caught in headlights.

Vernon is the first to protest, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I don’t—”

“Mingyu’s clumsy and he’ll drop something,” Minghao repeats impatiently. He shares a glance with Seokmin, who seems to understand Minghao’s intentions in milliseconds.

“Yeah, and we can’t let Y/N go by themselves because the last time they drove they ran over my mailbox.”

You squawk in protest. “That was when I was sixteen, I—”

“And I’ve feared you every time you’ve gotten behind a wheel ever since,” Seokmin says. He swiftly dodges Seungkwan’s questioning nudge and Chan’s panic, giving you the biggest smile he can muster before letting his eyes land back on Minghao.

Minghao looks at you, apologetic and stern all at once. “The ride will only be, like, ten minutes. Five minutes there and back,” he shrugs, turning away to face the TV. “You’re both adults, you’ll be fine.”

You think you might strangle them.

“Okay,” Mingyu says from behind you. You look at him, he stares back. “We’ll be okay. Right?”

He’s offering you one last final chance to back out. Your fingers twitch at your side before you gulp, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll be okay.”

You’re shoved out the door before you can even blink, wearing Seokmin’s old Crocs instead of the sneakers you had arrived with (“These are faster to put on, make haste, make haste! Get out of here, I want my pizza!”). You sink further and further into the passenger seat as Mingyu pulls out of the driveway, trying your best to focus on anything besides him.

But it proves to be impossible. The air freshener is the same as it was all those years ago, the same cheap dog bobblehead is on the dashboard, the pack of gum he’s left in the cupholder is the same one he used to buy in bulk at the supermarket. Nothing in here has changed, as if the vehicle is stuck in time, refusing to move forward despite all the years that have passed.

Mingyu must’ve noticed you staring at the gum because he picks it up and hands it to you in silent offering. You shake your head, and he puts it down.

The awkwardness might as well eat you whole.

The radio does nothing to ease the tension when the next song that plays is about heartbreak and being left behind while everyone moves on. Your sanity is hanging on by a thread that might snap if you’re in this car any longer.

In the corner of your eye, Mingyu opens his mouth to speak, but he decides against it when the pizza parlour comes into view. He swiftly parks by the front entrance, and once you get out, you notice that the car is centred perfectly between the lines.

You suppose he’s gotten better at driving over the years. The last time you were here, he’d parked so crookedly your stomach hurt from laughing.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, staring at you quizzically. “Are you good?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, slipping past him when he holds the door open for you. “Thanks.”

He walks up to the counter, saying his order number to the employee and nodding understandingly when she explains that one of the pizzas had been dropped on the floor and they’ve gone to remake the order. He returns to you — beside you, as if it has always been his rightful place — hands tucked into his pockets as he sways on the balls of his feet.

This must be some form of torture, you think. Minghao and Seokmin have done this in retaliation for every bad thing you’ve ever done to them.

(“Seokmin and I love you both,” Minghao confesses over the phone, face blurry due to your unpredictable wi-fi, “You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“And we really think you should talk to each other,” he says, and even though you’re not looking at your phone, you can tell he’s staring at you in that analytical way of his while you try to finish an assignment. “Maybe it’ll do you some good.”

You sigh. “Hao—”

“It’s been three months. Let him explain.”

“I did,” you hiss. “He was the one that left.”

Silence. You rub your temples.

When you finally look at Minghao, he’s remorseful. “Sorry,” he murmurs, flopping onto his bed and letting his camera pan up to the ceiling. You can no longer see his face, but you can hear the despair in his voice. “It’s just hard, being in the middle of this.”

“I’m not asking you to pick sides.”

“I know that,” he argues softly. “I just want everything to go back to normal.”)

You dig your nails into your skin as Mingyu begins humming to a song playing over the speakers. It’s one that they’ve been playing for years, a pop song that will have to be pried out of a radio host’s dead, cold hands.

It’s a song Mingyu despises.

(It’s so catchy, though, he used to tell you, ashamed. You need to save me from it).

When Daeshim had called you at the end of the semester, the first thing out of his lips was a question about your return. You had agreed with reluctance, and he said something about how long it’s been, how time heals all wounds, that nothing should hurt anymore.

But three years cannot erase a lifetime.

You foolishly thought it could. When you arrived, you pretended you didn’t see an old photo of him taped on your closet door. When you first saw him at the supermarket, you ignored the way his hand twitched to reach over to you. When he talked to you outside of that nightclub, you evaded the familiarity of his warmth like it was a virus.

You foolishly thought it was enough. You built a wall of indifference around yourself, but it had begun to chip away just as quickly as you constructed it. It was never foolproof. It was never made of stone, but of cards.

One glance from Mingyu and it all comes tumbling down.

“Minghao told me a few days ago that you wanted to talk,” Mingyu says once the song has ended.

“Yeah.”

“But you don’t want to.”

“Not yet, no.”

“Well,” he says, taking a step towards the counter when the employee calls out his order number, “whenever you’re ready to, I’m here.”

“Something’s wrong.”

He understands what you mean. You’re not referring to the TV that won’t play the movie or the takeout that tastes a little off. You look at him nervously, afraid to break the flimsy spell of calm he’s enchanted on everything he touches.

“Yeah,” he replies, gripping the armrest tightly.

You blink at him, waiting for something he won’t offer. For a moment, he thinks you might push, but you have never been one to do so; you have always believed that doing something like that only throws you down a road of hurt.

So, he shouldn’t be surprised when you eventually nod in defeat.

“Well,” you say with a smile reserved for strangers you can only pretend to care about, “if you need to talk about it, I’m here.”

Four friends occupy a small corner of the skatepark. One of them is on the ramps, appearing in the air to do a trick before disappearing from sight. Another is rolling down the concrete, hands stretched out to maintain balance.

Two sit in the shade, watching.

“Do you think they’ll talk soon?” one of them asks, a taller boy with light brown hair and a beauty mark near the apple of his cheek.

The other, dressed in all black despite the sweltering heat, runs a hand through his mullet. “I don’t know, Seokmin. Probably. Hopefully.”

“Do you think they’re mad at us for forcing them to get the pizza?”

“Yes.”

Seokmin snorts, but his amusement is short-lived. He continues to observe his friends as they stray further and further from each other. He catches the way they glance over their shoulders in concern.

“They’re stupid, aren’t they, Minghao?” he finally says. The boy beside him hums in agreement. “Were they always like this in high school?”

“I don’t think so,” Minghao replies. “If they were, I don’t know how I managed to survive.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“Hypocrite.”

Seokmin sticks his tongue out. Then, quietly, as if the other two friends will hear, he says, “Well, they need to hurry up and talk. I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he grumbles. “Maybe if I just told Y/N about it sooner, or pushed Mingyu—”

“Probably,” Minghao interrupts before Seokmin can concoct any more what-ifs from his brain. His stomach churns at the numerous possibilities he will never see. “But there’s nothing we can do it about it now.”

“Maybe things would be better if we did things differently.”

“Yeah, but the past is the past. Besides,” he sighs, watching one friend trip on his way towards them and the other struggle to stop themselves on the board, “this isn’t our problem to fix. I don’t think it ever was. We’ll just leave it to them.”

“You really think they’ll work it out?”

“God. I really hope so. It would put all of us out of our misery.”

Spring has long since bled into winter when you find yourself at the skatepark, wearing a sweater that was never yours with your heart dangling from its sleeve. It’s chilly at this hour of the morning when the world is quiet and your denial is prominent, and it gets even colder when your name falls from Mingyu’s lips and his touch is uncharacteristically icy against your skin.

You rip your wrist from his grasp and hurt flashes across his face before he takes a step back.

“I—” he gulps, “you shouldn’t run out like that.”

He purses his lips, and you notice how chapped they’ve gotten over the past few days. Everything about him has roughened up — it goes farther than his dry hands and the unruly state of his hair; he’s grown distant. He looks at you with a mixture of emotions you can’t explain, his words have are clipped, and you aren’t sure how long this behaviour would’ve gone on for if you hadn’t caught him signing up for classes at a university he never told you he was going to attend.

“You lied to me.”

He exhales shakily. “I know. I’m sorry, I—” he rubs a hand over his face because he doesn’t know what to say. Mingyu isn’t like this. People would kill to own even a sliver of his charisma; it’s so easy for him to talk himself out of things, but the words have died in his mouth before they even reached the tip of his tongue.

“You—You should’ve told me,” you stammer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mingyu has never felt this moronic before, standing before you and stretching his hand in your direction only to watch how, every time without fail, you take a step back as if any contact from him will result in third-degree burns.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, “But you were already so worried about all of us growing apart after graduation, and I didn’t want to add onto that stress. So I kept putting it off, and I shouldn’t have, I know that, I just—” his face falls, “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

It takes everything in him not to flinch when your anger flares. Your resolve is rotting away to dissolve into the morning air; he thinks, offhandedly, that the molecules of your decaying calm have collided once again and found purchase over his head. A cloud to loom over him, made up of your melancholy and his guilt.

“You didn’t want to hurt me,” you say incredulously, in a tone so hurt that Mingyu’s heart drops. “Well, look where we are now, Mingyu.”

He doesn’t like the position he’s put the both of you in. He doesn’t like how this conversation is tainting every happy memory he ever had at this skatepark. He wonders if he’ll see your hurt expression every time he closes his eyes.

This could’ve been avoided, he’s aware of that. Seokmin made sure to voice his disapproval every time they crossed paths, Minghao’s veil of indifference was slowly crumbling with each passing day, and Seungkwan — who made the mistake of being around when Mingyu let it slip that his post-graduation plans didn’t match yours — grew more nervous than all of them combined.

For as long as he can remember, everyone he knows has never done well with secrets. He’s always been a firm believer that they’re parasitic, the reason behind every downfall he’s ever had the displeasure of witnessing. But that was before he had a secret worth keeping.

(It does not matter if it’s worth it or not. At the end of the day, he was right all along. They are infectious, deadly little things).

Soon after he was born, it was common belief amongst townsfolk that he would change the world. It did not matter how; they would support him regardless. He thinks his entire being may as well have been made from diamonds with how he was created to be the star of something he never asked to be part of.

It’s exhausting.

The university you two had chosen at fifteen-years-old was perfect for you. When you took the virtual tours and exchanged messages with its students, you looked like you had stepped right out of a fairy tale. But it was two hours away from this town, so far yet so close to the very thing that’s been draining him of energy, and he quickly came to realize last summer that your dream school was the last thing he wanted.

But you would’ve followed him anywhere. If it weren’t for his, Minghao, and Seokmin’s insistence, you would’ve chosen to stay at home, because you never liked the idea of leaving everything behind.

That’s where you and he differ.

And he couldn’t take that from you.

Because you and him were always believed to be cut from the same cloth — model students, the perfect fit — but everything he touched tarnished and everything you touched turned to gold dust. He’s hidden behind an illusion all his life, but he knows for a fact that you’re meant to go above and beyond every expectation that’s ever been set for you.

Who is he to get in the way of that?

(He’s sure the only thing that’s setting you back is him. It has always been him. It’s only a matter of time before you realize it, too).

“I love you,” he confesses suddenly, startling you to your core. “And I’m so sorry.”

You look at him warily. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I fucked up,” he says.

“Yeah, you did.”

“But…” he trails off. When your eyes meet, something ignites inside of you.

(You have always known him better than any of them ever could).

“Mingyu—”

“Maybe it’s for the best if we—”

“Mingyu.”

He closes his eyes and hopes it’s enough to push the tears back. “I love you,” he says again, but his lips are quivering, and a sob threatens to escape the confines of his throat. “I love you so much that it physically hurt to do that to you, but it was for the better—”

Disbelief engulfs you in an instant, and you take a spontaneous step towards him in your surprise. “You’re not making a lot of sense right now,” you say, frantic, “I’m still really fucking mad at you, but we can talk this out, because I have no idea what you’re—”

“Just listen to me, Y/N, I don’t think—”

“You listen to me, because—”

“You deserve so much better than this, don’t you know that?” he snaps, shrinking into himself seconds later. His voice shakes with frustration. This hurts him beyond your imagination, but he’d do anything for you, even if it ends with him sporting wounds that will never heal. “And I’m holding you back, and I— I can’t do that to you. Not anymore.”

A sob melts into your words before you can stop it. “So you think the best way to fix that is to move across the country?”

“There were better ways to go about it,” he admits. “Ways that wouldn’t have ended like this, but I stand by what I said, Y/N.”

“Don’t do this, Mingyu. You don’t get to—” you stutter, inhaling hastily to regain your composure before looking him through your teary vision, “—you don’t get to break up with me over something as stupid as this.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he says it like a mantra, like it’s engraved into his brain and there’s no use trying to rid him of it.

“You don’t get to decide that!” you exclaim. “And even if that was true, it doesn’t matter to me. We love each other, Mingyu, isn’t that enough?”

You go to cup his face. This time, it’s he who takes a step back, and his heart screeches in pain at the sight of your crestfallen face.

“Maybe if I—” he runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the strands, forcing himself to continue, “Maybe if I loved you less, I’d let myself be selfish. But that’s not the case. That’s never been the case.”

That day you do not leave the skatepark with a scrape on your knee or a new bruise on your shins. But you don’t leave unscathed, either.

Your heart has been ripped from your chest, and Kim Mingyu carries the remnants of it with him.

Mingyu always liked people-watching.

He’d tell you it was nice to be on the other side of the microscope; to observe, not be observed. On the trips out of town, he’d sit anywhere that was bustling with people and make up stories about anyone who caught his eye: he’s cheating on his wife with his high school sweetheart, or she’s talking to her estranged cousin and she’s threatening to get a restraining order, or that little boy was meant to be a twin but he ate his sibling in the womb.

“That guy’s still in love with his ex-girlfriend even though they broke up a decade ago,” Mingyu says, subtly nodding towards a man supervising his child on the ramps.

The snort that escapes you dents the discomfort hanging in the air. “He reached out to her on Facebook, and it turns out she’s coming to visit.”

“They’re going to meet in the city. He told his wife he has work stuff.”

“His wife’s suspicious. She’s definitely hiring a PI.”

“But the PI sucks, he’s a fake and a scammer. He ends up tailing the wrong guy.”

“And the wife spent good money on him, too.”

“But she doesn’t really care since she paid the investigator using her husband’s money.”

“Good for her! It’s what he deserves for cheating.”

You smile, pressing your legs against your chest as you watch the kid soar through the park on her rollerskates. Her laughter’s loud, and you allow it to ring in your ears to momentarily distract yourself from Mingyu.

It’s overwhelming being here next to him. You’ve been here multiple times since you’ve come home, but the nostalgia and ache of watching him from afar does not compare to what you feel now that he’s by your side, sitting stiff on the park bench with his hands clasped in his lap. The dull throb in your chest becomes more prominent when he glances and catches your eye, hiding his yearning beneath a thin veil of indifference.

You turn away, and that’s enough for him to adorn the last bit of confidence he has. “Why’d you call me here?”

Resting your cheek against your knee, you murmur, “You know why I called you here.”

It does not matter that he’s known you almost as long as you’ve been alive — a room full of newborns would realize that he’s here because you want an explanation.

Closure really would be nice.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Ask me anything.”

When you slipped out of your house this morning, full of anticipation, you thought that it’d be hard for you to find the words. But you’ve stuffed the curiosity down your throat long enough. For years, all you could feel was a weight on your esophagus; the air you’ve been inhaling and expelling is nothing if not tainted with heartbreak, and you crave the feeling of fresh air again — something that’s free from the insecurities and the anguish and everything in between.

“Back then, did you tell Minghao we fought?” you ask. “Because he seems to think that we did. Every time he called me that’s all he would ask. Have you and Mingyu stopped fighting?”

He tilts his head. “Would you not say that was a fight?”

“Well, no,” you reply. “You just ended it, and I was trying to get you not to.”

Mingyu flinches but he’s quick to recover. “Nothing could’ve changed my mind back then.”

“Why?” you demand, unable to hide your despair.

Mingyu finally looks at you without tearing his gaze away. He’s exhausted, and you aren’t sure if it’s because of how early it is or if he’s just as drained from all of this as you are. The limbo between forgiveness and disdain was never made for the weak.

“Listen, I—”

“You told me you didn’t deserve me,” you say, “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “I thought I could’ve been enough for you — I tried to be. But you always had everything planned out and I didn’t, I was living with a façade and you weren’t, and I— I just couldn’t do it anymore.”

Clenching your jaw, you say, “So, you moved.”

“I loved you,” he says quickly before you have the chance to ask him otherwise. “That was never the problem. I was scared. I guess part of me wanted to let go while you still thought I was worth it.”

“Don’t say that, Mingyu.”

“I know, I know,” he replies. “I’m working on the self-worth. It’s hard to come by.”

It hits you then, like you’re standing in the ocean as a large wave of water looms over your figure. You used to watch as everyone fawned over Mingyu as if he was untouchable, a divinity amongst men. You used to watch and lust for the days where you would turn out to be exactly the person he deserved to love.

But while Mingyu ached to be the person everyone made him out to be, you saw past your own desires and those who desired him. Through all that was carefully crafted, you saw him for who he truly was.

And you loved every inch of him. So much so that you’re convinced you’ll never be able to feel this way for anybody else.

“For what it’s worth,” you say, “back then, you were it for me. I would’ve loved you regardless.”

His gaze softens and, for a moment, sitting next to you is the same boy from all those years ago, who accepted your proposal for a date, who asked you to prom, who tattooed eight letters into your skin before slumber took you over.

“If we…” he begins carefully, “If I did things differently, do you think we could’ve made it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’d like to think that we would’ve,” you nudge his shoulder in hopes that being playful will lighten the mood. “But none of that matters. We’re here now, and we talked.”

“We talked,” he nods. “We used to be terrible at that.”

“Not the best at communication, sure,” you smile softly. “But at least we fixed it. Better late than never.”

He bites the inside of his cheek to stop his own smile from growing any larger. “Better late than never.”

The sun envelopes you in a warm hug the moment you sit down, a companion in the serene summer’s day. Sand sticks to your skin, adhered to it by the sweat, clinging to you as if you’re its last hope to live.

The tranquility is interrupted by a screech, and you bet with closed eyes that it’s either Mingyu, who left a while back to get some ice cream and probably dropped it, or Chan, who decided to build a sandcastle close to the ocean despite the various protests he received in response.

You crack an eye open just as the water retreats from the shore. Chan stands before his unfinished monstrosity, staring in distress, while Vernon gives him a look as if to say I told you so.

From where he lies beside you, Seokmin announces, “If it makes you feel any better, it was a little ugly.”

“You said five minutes ago that it was good!”

“I was lying to you.”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan agrees, toeing the area where the castle once resided. “The moat was fucked up, too.”

“It was a moat.”

“And yet you fucked it up.”

Chan gives them an unsavoury gesture before instructing both Vernon and Seungkwan to help him make another. Reluctant but compliant, they take the pails you’d bought last minute at the dollar store and settle themselves farther away from the shore.

Seokmin salutes them for good luck before glancing at his phone. “Is Mingyu still at the boardwalk?"

Minghao hums. “Yeah, the line for ice cream’s probably long.”

“Okay, good,” Seokmin says before poking your shoulder aggressively, ignoring your complaints about how easily you bruise. “Gives me time to interrogate you.”

“Interrogate me?” you ask incredulously. “About what?”

He raises his hand, and you prepare yourself for the worst. It’s over for you the moment Seokmin begins listing things off his fingers. “You willingly sat in the backseat with Mingyu on the way here, you willingly talked to him for the entire car ride, and you willingly offered to go with him to get ice cream.”

“Hardly things to interrogate me over.”

“Hardly things to interrogate me over,” he mimics. “Don’t be ridiculous. Are you guys dating again?”

“What?”

“Ah. Have you two eloped?”

Minghao snorts as he opens the cap to his sunscreen. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’re just engaged.”

Seokmin places a hand on his chest. “Oh, thank goodness—”

“Are you guys insane?” you shriek, briefly scanning the beach in hopes nobody heard your friends’ remarks. “We just talked yesterday.”

“Oh,” Minghao muses, throwing the sunscreen over your head for Seokmin to catch. “And that’s it?”

“That’s it,” you confirm. “What else would there be?”

Minghao shrugs as he rubs the cream onto his arms. “Nothing, I guess.”

A noise escapes Seokmin’s throat, something akin to disagreement. You whip your head to face him as he raises his hands up in defence. “What is it?” you ask him.

“I just…” he waves his hand in the air with a small pout on his lips. “I’m confused, I guess. Everything’s resolved now? Just like that? We’re all friends again?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends,” you huff. “I don’t know what we are, either. But we have the rest of the summer to figure that out, so why the rush?”

Seokmin leans back on his elbows. “Well, whatever the two of you are, I’m glad you two talked, it was long overdue.”

Minghao nods in agreement.

From a few feet away, Seungkwan’s voice is loud amongst the waves crashing onto shore, the families relaxing under beach umbrellas, and the seagulls soaring through the sky. “Mingyu!” he exclaims in disbelief. “You didn’t drop any!”

You can’t catch a good glimpse of him without craning your neck, but his voice alone is enough to quicken your heartbeat. “Yeah, I know,” you hear him say, “I told you guys I’m not completely hopeless. Seven Drumsticks, all in perfect condition. Vernon, did you want the original flavour?”

It only takes a couple moments before he’s in your line of sight, standing in front of you with the sun’s blinding rays crowning his head like a halo. He grins, letting his sunglasses slip down his nose so you can see his eyes, and hands you a cone.

“Thanks,” you say.

His grin widens, just a little. “Don’t mention it. Hao, which one do you want?”

Once everyone’s finished their ice cream (and after a long debate that occurred due to Chan innocently asking for advice on what to do about his roommates back at his on-campus apartment), Seungkwan manages to find a beach volleyball court that’s unoccupied and persuades everyone to participate.

One set to ten points turns into the best out of three, and when your team begins to buckle under the pressure, Seungkwan suggests something with a sinister grin. “Losing team has to get buried under the sand and stay there for fifteen minutes.”

“Ten,” Seokmin negotiates.

“Twelve.”

“Five.”

Seungkwan squints. “You can’t go lower, that’s not how a negotiation works.”

“One person from the losing team gets buried under the sand for ten minutes and has to pay for dinner,” Chan says.

Seungkwan snaps his fingers before pointing to him. “Deal.”

It all ends, as expected, with Seungkwan’s team victorious. The three boys on the other side of the net exchange high-fives before returning to you and your sullen teammates with cocky grins. Minghao urges all of you to play a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide the true loser of today, and though you feigned indifference when you fumbled the last ball, the mask speedily cracks when the last two people left is you and Mingyu.

(“A duel between lovers,” Chan sighs dramatically. Minghao pinches his side).

Your eyes meet his, and something flickers in his expression. Gone too quick for you to decipher, but something in the back of your mind tells you that you should know exactly what he’s about to do.

Seokmin booms, “Rock, paper, scissors!”

You ball your hand into a fist and Mingyu curls his fingers into his palm except for two.

“Scissors beats rock,” Vernon slaps him on the back sympathetically before pointing at the ground. “Get comfortable, dude.”

With the amount of eagerness your friends exhibit, Mingyu is buried in minutes, stiff under the copious warm dust he’s under. Seokmin, with sand sticking to his hands, ruffles Mingyu’s hair and laughs when the latter crinkles his nose in disgust. Taking his sunglasses from his bag, you place them on the bridge of nose and brush off anything that got on his face.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Don’t mention it,” you echo. “I’m sure you’ll have fun here.”

He kisses his teeth in annoyance. “Oh, I bet. Once I get out of here, I’m gonna have tan lines on my collarbone.”

You smile. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can stay here with you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“You’re here for ten minutes by yourself and the reason we lost is because of me,” you say, wincing at the memory of Seokmin and Chan shouting for you to retrieve the ball despite it being too far away for you to save. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs. “Since I let you win rock, paper, scissors.”

You blink at him. “I’m sorry?”

“You always choose rock.”

“What? Then why’d you choose scissors?”

Mingyu attempts to shrug and scowls when he can’t.

You flick his forehead. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“I wanted to.”

“Of course,” you snicker. “And how are you finding it underneath all that sand?”

He doesn’t even bother to pretend to be nonchalant. “Oh, it’s the worst. It’s slightly better with you here, though.”

You turn to look at the sea. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he pouts. “I thought we were going to tell each other stuff from now on. You know, communicate better.”

“Well, still.”

“I’m just saying what I’m thinking!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He laughs, loud and boisterous and it heals something in your very being. There’s a mirth in his eyes you haven’t seen in a long time, and you yearn to hear it again. Mingyu has always been beautiful, but he’s even more so when he’s happy, a boy so golden he could rival the sun and the stars in its beauty.

And he would win, you think.

(What you don’t know is that Mingyu thinks the same of you. Many things have changed, but one thing that never will is how much you shine. The sky and all its confidants, try as they might, would never rid you of your luster. To him, they’ll never prevail).

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you question.

He smiles. “No reason.”

Considering the fact that you spent a good part of your childhood running around the mall and giving into the urge of buying things you’ll never need, it’s a surprise that you forgot just how busy it gets during the summer.

(“Wow,” Mingyu had said. “You avoid me and this town for three years and suddenly you forget everything about it?”)

(He, along with everyone you’ve grown up with, will never let you live this down).

It’s a miracle the four of you even found somewhere to sit in the food court — a booth, no less. Part of you wonders if Seokmin sweet-talked a family into giving up this table for him, and you feel only a sliver of pity for whoever has to eat in an area that’s affected by the vibrant rays of the sun.

Once Minghao and Seokmin have returned from buying their food, they send you and Mingyu off to get your lunch with the promise that they’ll wait for you both before they start eating. Mingyu walks ahead, careful not to trip over anyone as he observes the signs of each food joint you pass, and glances over his shoulder to make sure you haven’t gotten lost in the crowd amid his indecision.

“What are you getting?” he asks once the two of you can hear each other above the many mallgoers.

“Don’t know. Pad Thai, maybe.”

“Nice. I was thinking getting a burger at Burger King, but…” he gestures towards the long line and winces. “I don’t have the patience for that.”

“So?”

“So, what?”

“What are you going to eat then?”

“Oh,” Mingyu frowns before shrugging nonchalantly. “Pad Thai it is, then. I think that has the shortest line.”

“Really? When we passed by KFC it didn’t look too bad—”

Mingyu turns, pointing to the Thai place across from you. “Pad Thai! Let’s go before the line gets any longer,” he proclaims, wrapping a hand around your elbow and gently tugging you towards the smell of stir-fry.

It’s easy to fall back into rhythm with Mingyu — so much so that it scares you, just a little. While you assumed it wouldn’t have been too weird once the barrier of the old relationship was removed, you hadn’t thought it would’ve been this comfortable. You assumed everything would be stilted for a short period before the puzzle pieces returned to their places, but this was unpredictable. This is familiar (everything with Mingyu always is); more familiar than riding a bike, or the scar on your knee, or your mom’s tendency to hover over you now that you’ve returned.

His skin against yours all while offering to lend you his jacket and pay for your food could be seen as simple acts of friendship — and if it were anybody else, you would agree, but your ties with each other, since the beginning of time, have regularly toed the line of romantic. It is a fact you cannot deny, and trying to do so would be like saying the sky is green or oxygen isn’t a requirement for survival.

The void in your chest used to be in the shape of him — freshly eighteen and brought down by his expectations along with everybody else’s — and you have tried other remedies to heal it: avoidance, sinking into other people’s sheets, tossing every physical memory you have of him in a box that you never ended up donating.

Who knew that the void would be filled by the same boy who caused it? Only this time, he’s standing in front of you, a little taller, sporting a different haircut, and learning how to live on his own terms.

“Fuck,” he says as he digs through his wallet. “I think I don’t have any cash to pay with. Man, I really didn’t want to use my credit card today.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’ll pay. You already gave me your jacket even though I said you didn’t have to.”

“You were cold,” he argues. “If you didn’t want me to give it to you, then maybe don’t get cold next time.”

You scoff. “Well, tell whoever’s managing the A/C to turn it down. It’s like stepping into a freezer in here.”

Mingyu mutters — something along the lines of so dramatic — before he shifts the position of his open wallet in his hands and continues digging for bills that aren’t there. What is there, however, is a photo all too familiar.

You place a hand on his wrist to stop him from moving. “Hey, is that a picture of me?”

Mingyu freezes. Then, he pulls away from your grip. “No.”

“Okay. Then who was it?”

You stare at each other for a beat too long, interrupted by someone asking if you can move up the line, and it’s only then that Mingyu turns away, bashful, and murmuring, “Okay, fine. It’s you.”

You try not to let the giddiness get to you. “And why, exactly, do you have a picture of me in there?”

“It’s not just you,” he lies. “Minghao and Seokmin are also in there.”

“No, I don’t think so,” you reply matter-of-factly. “I got a good glimpse, and I think it was just me.”

He tuts. “Believe what you want to believe.”

“I’m choosing to believe the truth.”

He sulks, taking another step towards the register. “You’re finding this too funny for my liking.”

“I’m not! I think it’s cute,” you object. “Why is it in there in the first place?”

“Maybe I just wanted to put it in there, it’s a good photo!”

“Of course.”

“You’re photogenic,” he adds. “Besides, what’s wrong with keeping a photo of my friend in my wallet?”

The question escapes you before you can think twice. “Is that what we are?”

Mingyu quietens, uncertain. Then, after rapidly fighting an internal battle, he says, “Before everything else, you’re my best friend.”

You nod because that’s the case for you, too. “But?”

His digs his teeth into his bottom lip before he opens his mouth, the answer on the tip of his tongue.

“I—”

“Next, please!”

Mingyu flinches, but it only takes a glance at the long line behind him before he’s grabbing his credit card. “C’mon,” he interlocks his pinky with yours. “Order what you want, it’s on me.”

“Mingyu—”

He gives you a smile. “It’s fine,” he assures quietly. “I want to.”

(In his wallet is a candid polaroid — a person on the beach, laughing at a joke made by someone who hasn’t been photographed. The picture has no crinkles, either because it’s deeply cherished or because it’s new — maybe both is the case.

It replaces an older photo, one that’s years old, taken while he was in high school of the same person. Still candid, still radiant, still laughing. He’s treasured it for years, but he decides it’s time to relocate it. Maybe when he gets back to his apartment, he’ll put it on his fridge. It was looking a little empty, anyway).

Mingyu doesn’t particularly like it here. It brings up old feelings he’s working to retire as well as a medley of insecurities and unease.

But he would be lying if he said that the bad was the only thing this town has to offer.

The skatepark brings comfort, a corner of the world where freedom comes from touching the sky in the seconds his board lifts from the ground, a playground of cement and ramps and splintered benches found under trees that have been alive far longer than he has. It comes from his friends’ homes; Seungkwan’s spacious backyard and Seokmin’s living room where drink rings litter the coffee table as a consequence of never using the coasters.

It comes from the people. It comes from his family, who hugs him tight and listens to every concern he has under the sun. It comes from his friends, a group of rambunctious people who he has too many inside jokes with, and who drag him into shenanigans he has no option of backing out of.

It comes from you. Comfort always comes from you.

From where he stands in the corner, he watches you scour the karaoke song book, protesting all of Chan’s suggestions before entering a number onto the TV. Then you squint at the lyrics on the screen before you begin singing.

The others in the living room are in awe, captivated despite your inability to hold a note. Your gleeful smile makes up for what you lack in the singing department, and Mingyu supposes he’s no different than everybody else when you meet his eyes in the crowd and his palms begin to sweat. You hold his gaze for far too long, causing you to lose your spot in the song, and you sheepishly turn away before trying to make up for your mistakes.

He stays until the end, the loudest to clap despite your score being nothing exciting (it’s exciting to him, and that’s all that matters), and raises his hand in greeting with a silent promise to see you later when you’re pulled into a conversation with someone you used to play badminton with.

He ducks into the kitchen before he’s forced to engage in more small talk with another person. His footsteps quicken along with his growing desire to grab another beer, hidden behind the soda cans Seungkwan shoved inside for the party.

(Mingyu doesn’t entirely know what or who this party is for. He only recalls the texts between him and Minghao three days prior:

hao 👨‍🎨 > party at seungkwan’s on saturday

mingyu > not coming

hao 👨‍🎨 > 😐 ok ur loss > y/n is tho

mingyu > … i’ll bring my mom’s brownies).

Mingyu opens the can the moment it’s in his hands, relishing in the temporary sound of fizzing before taking a sip. The only straggler in the kitchen is him; everyone gathered in the living room the moment Seungkwan turned the karaoke machine on. He situates himself so he can see just through the threshold, keeping an eye out for the moment you’re free so he can pull you aside to talk.

About what, he doesn’t know. Winging it has always been his thing.

“Yo, Mingyu,” Seokmin greets as he makes his way to the fridge. “What are you doing in here?”

“Hiding.”

“It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed,” Seokmin quips, digging through the variety of drinks, “you’re still a loser.”

“You love me.”

“Oh, of course, that was never in question. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re a loser.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What are you looking for?”

“Sprite for me, beer for Vernon.” He stands to his full height and cranes his neck to look at Mingyu around the fridge door. “Was that the last of it?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Seokmin doesn’t look that defeated when he grabs two cans of Sprite. “Maybe that’s for the best. He’s drunk enough as it is.” Off Mingyu’s confusion, Seokmin adds, “I know, he never gets wasted, but he’s on the waitlist for a screenwriting class, so he’s upset beyond repair.”

“And he’s always saying everyone else is more dramatic than he is.”

“Right? He’s only second on the waitlist, too.”

Mingyu laughs but his eyes involuntarily flicker back to the door to see if you’re still talking to other people. He frowns when he notices you’ve disappeared from where he spotted you last, and he debates taking out his phone and texting you to ask where you are.

Seokmin kisses his teeth. “Are you sure you want to stay in here by yourself? Y/N probably wants to talk to you.”

“They’re talking to other people. I’m fine waiting it out.”

Seokmin looks like he’s going to oppose Mingyu’s decisions, but he opts for shrugging instead. “Alright, if you say so. Don’t wait too long, though.”

“I won’t,” Mingyu promises. Seokmin begins his trek back to the living room, one soda dangling from each hand, when Mingyu suddenly calls out, “Hey, wait.”

Seokmin falters awkwardly in his step before turning around with furrowed eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” Mingyu rubs his neck, wincing. “I don’t think I ever apologized.”

The confusion on Seokmin’s face is wiped away to be replaced with triumph. He points an accusatory finger at his friend while his voice echoes in the four walls of the Boo kitchen. “I knew it! You did steal my beanie, you liar, the next time I visit you, I’m taking it back, and it better be in good condition! I can’t believe you took it with you across the country, that’s so fucked up—”

“Huh? No, what?” Mingyu says in disbelief. “For the last time, I didn’t steal your beanie—”

“Okay, sure, then who was it, then?”

“I don’t know!”

“Then what are you apologizing for?”

“For not listening to you!” Mingyu exclaims. “Back then, you told me to tell Y/N the truth and I didn’t listen when I should have. If I did, you and Hao wouldn’t have been put in the middle of everything.”

“Oh,” Seokmin makes a face and waves him off. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“You made a mistake. A stupid one, yeah, and I’m probably never going to let you live it down, but,” he smiles gently, “we’re okay now. Just focus on what you’ll do about… you know.”

“…What?”

“You know,” Seokmin parrots. “Y/N. I mean, you still love them, don’t you?”

Without hesitation, Mingyu responds, “Well, no fucking shit.”

Seokmin makes a noise of satisfaction before turning on his heel. Over his shoulder, he singsongs, “Don’t fuck anything up!”

Mingyu scoffs. “I won’t!”

With each passing minute, the night gets livelier, and Mingyu ends up re-entering the living room and talking to other people despite his internal insistence not to. It keeps him busy, momentarily distracting him from the way his heartrate spikes at the thought of speaking to you tonight.

In the middle of his conversation with a former basketball teammate, a microphone ends up in his hands, and before he can blink, he’s pushed in front of the TV. It takes him a moment too long before he realizes that he’s been forced to sing a duet with you.

(Behind the couch, Minghao snorts at Seokmin’s devilish grin.

“I thought I told you to stay out of it.”

“I am!” Seokmin says, “I’m only giving them a slight push in the right direction!”)

The timer begins counting down.

Five.

“Just so you know,” you begin, “Seungkwan and Chan are going after us. We have to score as high as possible.”

Four.

“I don’t think we can manage that, to be honest.”

Three.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re great at singing, so you can make up for how bad I am.”

Two.

“I don’t—”

One.

“Believe in yourself, Mingyu.”

You bring the microphone up to your lips and begin to sing, and he can only follow your movements.

It takes an unfathomable amount of willpower to stop himself from staring at you for the song’s entirety. He clenches his fist as he recites the lyrics, but when it gets to the bridge and it’s your turn to take the reins, Mingyu lets his guard down, his hand falling limply to his side as you laugh through your part.

He has never been an expert in love — few of the decisions he’s made in the name of it have seldom ended well — and when he was younger, the only thing he ever knew regarding it was you. Before, he thought that wouldn’t have been enough, that in order to be the person you deserved, he had to know more.

However, he’s older now, and things change with time.

You glance at him and the butterfly in his stomach rapidly flaps its wings.

(Other things don’t).

He doesn’t even know the song’s ended until arms wrap around his neck. He stumbles backwards before he forces himself to find his footing so he can properly return your excited hug. Mingyu pays no mind to the score flashing onscreen, nor the claps coming from everyone else; all he can smell is your shampoo, he feels your breath on his skin, and that is much more important than a karaoke score ever will be.

Seungkwan says, “That’s not even a good score.”

You loosen your grip around Mingyu so you can look at Seungkwan, and he immediately yearns for more. “Be quiet, this is the best I’ve gotten all night,” you retort. You turn to face Mingyu again, shaking him by the shoulders. “We did good! I told you to believe in yourself!”

Before he can reply, you’re pulled apart by Chan, who’s itching to take his turn. He rips the mics from his and your hands, and you slip from Mingyu’s fingers once again when Vernon asks you if you can help him look for another can of beer.

He exhales in defeat, accepts Chan shooing him away with grace, and slips outside.

He leans over the porch railing, staring at the watercolour sky, a mixture of pink and orange and yellow.

Mingyu hangs his head, wondering just how many more times you’ll get whisked away before he even has a chance to utter a word. He prefers smaller gatherings, because at least then he’d be able to talk to you with ease.

He’s not quite sure how many more times he’ll be able to stand by and watch you go before he loses his mind.

Behind him, the door slides open, and he assumes it’s Seokmin telling him to get a move on. But the footsteps sound different than his friend’s, and he immediately perks up when a familiar scent reaches his nose.

“Hey.”

Your frame enters his periphery, your university jacket hanging on your shoulders with the sleeves covering your hands.

Mingyu straightens. “Hi.”

You settle beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and Mingyu immediately relaxes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, “what makes you think I’m not?”

“You’ve been hiding from everyone since the night began,” you answer. “You don’t wanna be here, huh?”

“Of course I want to be here.” You raise an eyebrow at his lie. “Okay, fine, I don’t really want to be here.”

“Then why’d you come?”

“…I thought it would’ve been fun.”

“Really?” you snort. “Do you even know what this party is for?”

“Well… no.”

He expects you to roll your eyes, but instead you sigh in relief. “Okay, that makes me feel better, because I don’t either.”

“Well, I only came because Minghao told me you’d be coming,” he confesses.

You tilt your head in confusion. “I only came because Seokmin told me you’d be coming.”

He furrows his eyebrows and spares a glance through the glass doors at his friends. “…Huh.”

You huff, following his gaze. “I swear they always have their nose in our business.”

Mingyu looks back at you. “You have to admit, though, they’re pretty good at luring us into parties we don’t want to attend,” he smirks good-naturedly. “Who knew you still had a soft spot for me?”

Turning away from him, flustered, you grumble, “Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t come here because you wanted to see me.”

“I’m not!” he proclaims. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I make it pretty obvious that I like seeing you.”

“You’re so cheesy.”

“Only for you.”

You lightly punch his arm when the laughs that escape his lips grow louder. “I thought I told you that you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” he hums. “I mean what I say, Y/N.”

“I’m not saying you don’t, it’s just…” you place your arms on the railing, leaning forward to avoid eye contact, “It’s confusing, that’s all.”

Mingyu faces you while you face away, watches how you stare at the setting sun instead of him, and his heart clenches. When you went your separate ways, he craved to be near you again, but even next to him, you still feel so far away.

(In hindsight, maybe he should’ve planned out how to go about this beforehand).

“You used to say stuff like that all the time,” you explain. “You know, before, uh—”

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

A million scenarios flash through his mind; different results depending on what he says next. He’s typically so good at saying the right thing — his words got him out of trouble and charmed his neighbours — but he’s found that his voice fails him whenever he needs it the most. When he tried to muster the courage to tell you about everything, he was never able to, and he gave into the false reassurances his mind offered that all would be alright in the end.

But none of that matters, you had said. We’re here now.

“You know what I never understood?” you ask.

“What?”

“You don’t like it here. Not a lot, anyway,” you start, “so why did you keep coming back?”

“Well, my family’s here, you know. So are our friends,” he gulps. “And I thought you would be, too.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He nudges your elbow. “Can I ask you something?”

You chance a glance at him. “Sure, yeah.”

“What you said the other day,” he murmurs, unblinking, “about how I would’ve been it for you, has that changed?”

“Why are you asking?”

He bites the inside of his cheek as his cheeks begin to redden. “Do you really need me to say it?”

You frown. “Say what—?”

“I love you,” he blurts out. “And I know that might be kind of weird, since a lot’s changed since we last saw each other, but that’s the one thing I haven’t been able to shake. Not that— not that I ever wanted to— I just… I think it’s a part of me. Like I was born with it.”

You look at him, eyes glassy, unable to speak.

“But y’know what’s weirder?” he adds. “I’m pretty sure I’ll never get sick of it.”

It’s his turn to face away, turning towards the sun as you stare at the side of his face. The silence drenches the backyard like sudden, thunderous rainfall. For him, it’s unwelcome, and his eardrums echo with his confession.

He tries his best to hide his lovesickness, but the intensity of his longing prevents him from doing so. For the entire summer — perhaps for years, really — he’s been pushing it all down. He’s tired of it all. Of hiding, of pretending, of brushing off his esurient desire for you.

“It’s not weird,” you say, finally, saving him from his misery.

“Sorry?”

“You said it’s weird that you still love me,” you muse. “But I don’t think it is. It wouldn’t be fair of me to.”

His lips part. “What do you—?”

“Of course you’re it for me, Mingyu,” you tell him frustratedly. “You have been since the beginning of time. I don’t want you to go a day without believing it. I know what it’s like to live with you and to live without you, and I really prefer the first option.”

Mingyu’s pretty sure his brain short-circuits.

With quick movements, he inches closer to you, eyes flickering down to your lips before he asks, “Really?”

“What do you mean, really? Why would I—?”

“Can I kiss you?” he interrupts, slowly moving his hands closer to your face. “Please?”

He’s sure the longing in your eyes is wild enough to rival his.

(What an odd turn of events, is it not? Despite being on opposite sides of the country, you used to believe there weren’t enough miles between you and Mingyu for you to heal properly. But now, with his lips hovering over yours, you’re beginning to think that he is not close enough).

You take his face into your hands, and you kiss him.

Mingyu stumbles, surprised by your fervor, but matches it with ease. His hands move from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he moves to have his back against the railing. Your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and he surprises himself with a moan at just how much he’s missed it — your hands pulling at his locks, his lips against yours.

He used to pray for this.

When you pull away to catch your breath, he chases you, too dazed to acknowledge your amused mien. You go to peck his lips to soothe him, but he makes sure to hold you against him, his hunger far from satiated.

He stops himself for a moment, breath hot on your skin. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You smile against his mouth. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all night.”

“I feel like you’ve been faking it.”

“I have not.”

“You definitely have. Skateboarding isn’t that hard.”

Mingyu throws his arm around you in defence. “Hey, give them a break, Minghao.”

“Yeah!” Seokmin pipes up, “Y/N was just terrible at it because they can’t balance at all.”

“You know,” you grunt, crossing your arms, “I thought you guys would be proud of me for finally managing to skate across the park without actually falling.”

“I’m proud of you,” Mingyu says, pecking the side of your head. “And I think that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, I can always count on you having my back,” you say, leaning further into him and pointedly glaring at the other two boys in front of you.

Seokmin waves you off. “Hey, I think this might be the first time ever you didn’t get injured at the skatepark.”

You go to protest before frowning. “…I think you’re right, actually. That’s so weird.”

Minghao snorts. “Maybe we should teach you some tricks then.”

You glance at Mingyu, and he seems to really be considering it. “Oh, absolutely not. Are you trying to kill me?”

“I’ll teach you the easy ones!” Mingyu begins, standing in front of you so he’s all you see. He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes them in reassurance. “You’re already a pro at just skating around, so this should be a piece of cake!”

“Mingyu,” you whine.

“Please,” he matches your tone. “I like teaching you stuff! It’ll be fun!” he lets go of your shoulders and rolls the board so it’s by your feet and offers you his hand as if you’ll need help getting on. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Your wariness is squashed the moment he flashes you a soothing smile.

You sigh. “You promise?”

He crosses his heart. “With everything that I have.”

Without a second thought, you place your hand in his.

He squeezes it immediately in a silent vow:

I’ll be here to catch you if you fall.

© dkfile, 2023. do not translate or copy my works.

[darnell-la]

I need a JJ smut with a praise/degradation kink😩 ik it’s vague but just anything pls

note: send us more requests! we’ve been doing our best to posts our stories that have been sitting in our drafts to feed you all!

———

“Ssh, baby — Don’t want the others to hear this pussy getting fucked, don’t you? That would be so embarrassing right? You know, after you said all night to the girls that I’m not your type,”

Y/n felt horrible, knowing she would let JJ take her just like this if he had just asked. Well, he didn’t ask, he just took her however he wanted.

“I-I was just kidding,” y/n said, making the young man chuckle. “Yeah, of course you were,” JJ grabbed a hand full of y/n’s hair to tilt her head before looking directly in her eyes.

“You’re a horrible liar, you know? With them and me. You think I didn’t know you wanted me all over you? You’re always on me when you’re drunk, so of course, I knew you needed me,”

JJ’s ego was already huge before, but now, he went overboard with it. Having y/n under him, squirming and begging him to keep going was somehting any average man would want from her, and he had it.

“Gonna keep you tight on my hip. Need this pretty pussy soaking me whenever I want,” JJ smirked down at her as her eyes crossed, trying to control herself, but it wasn’t looking well.

“Gonna cum? Again, baby — So fucking pathetic,” JJ laughed as he snapped his hips harder. “Try to take it, baby. Lord know you fuckin’ can’t,” JJ pushed y/n’s waist down, pinning her into his mattress to trap her and give her limited movement.

“G-Gonna cum, Jay,” y/n whined low, trying to keep herself together, but it was far past that. The crew knew exactly what was going on in his room right after he pulled her in to have a serious conversation.

“Oh, yeah, pretty girl? Gonna cum for me? Cum on my bed like a good little pougie whore,” JJ teased, knowing she’s a Kook but would do anything to stay friends with the better people of the island.

“Cum on me, and I’ll forgive you. I’ll forgive your harsh harsh words,” y/n hated his mocking voice, but loved it at the same time. That what made her I’m all over his cock and sheets for the rest is the night.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

KÖNIG WITH BRAT READER PLS PLS PLS

Me myself i am a BIG brat, good luck to him trying to discipline me lmao

König is a nice man, hes sweet and stuff. So i wanna see König lose his patience. I want him to be mad at me. I want him to take out his built up anger. I requested you this because i trust your writing the most.Pls feed me i love ur blog<3

König w/ a Bratty S/O

Warnings: 18+, Nothing too Explicit TBH, Bratty Reader, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’, Dominant König, Spanking, Edging, Overstimulation, Restraints, Punishment, etc.

König could handle your incessant whining, your moaning and your complaining.

At most, he usually found it endearing, perhaps even adorable when he looked past the vague hostility and saw insecurity buried within, hiding, trembling.

But then you had to go for the throat – hit him where it really hurt.

You’d had the gall to suggest that he couldn’t satisfy you – that you’d go and search for someone who could, someone who “can do it with their hands tied behind their back.”

And König snapped.

You didn’t notice it at first; the shift in the atmosphere was so sudden, the snap of a harp string – a heartstring.

And you didn’t notice König rising, his shadow eclipsing your form as you faced away, arms crossed, spouting fallacies about your neighbours who you wagered were “ten times better” in bed than him.

It was only when his chest was to your back, his bulge between your thighs, that you snapped out of your beration.

The air was thick now, begging to be sliced, dissected, with something – anything – to end its own existence.

Aside from the rising volume of your battering heart and König’s restrained, bullish breathing, it was silent. A carbon monoxide death in all but feeling. This was silent, this was invisible. And it was deadly.

No-one was around to help you; that much you gathered from the lack of voices or footsteps from your neighbours, no cars passing by on the street, no chatter except for that dying in your mind.

König’s anger bulged from his very soul. And with his face hidden behind you, you could only imagine the look of thunder that rolled across it.

König clapped a large, bearish, calloused hand upon your shoulder, and squeezed. Tighter and tighter with each passing second, he became. The thought that he could break your collarbone this way crossed your mind.

Wincing, you tried to turn around, to placate König.

He growled, gripped you by both shoulders now, and kept you facing forwards, pushing you.

“Go on, Darling,” he hissed. It was not a request. “Keep going.”

You were unsure as to whether he meant to keep goading or keep walking, but you weren’t taking any chances.

König marched you to the bedroom, his wall of a body making escape an impossibility.

This was going to be a long night.

NSFW:

König’s veil stays on during punishment.

It’s his way of letting you know that your loving boyfriend is gone; no human soul exists in this vessel anymore.

Ties you to the bedposts. He’s not giving you a moment of reprieve, nor a chance to defend yourself.

Spanks you with a thick belt he keeps hidden away in the wardrobe, which he bought specifically in anticipation for your insufferable behaviour.

Makes you tell him you love him as he’s beating you.

Gives him a sense of power that he can force your love in some way, whether you love him or not (you do; but for the sake of this segment, you usually pretend you don’t. König knows you’re lying, though).

He’ll see your backside red and inflamed before he lets up, and even then it’s because he’s moving on to the next phase of your punishment.

Edges you. Constantly.

And König has the restraint to keep withdrawing whenever he feels you’re close.

He doesn’t want you feeling even a second’s worth of relief. Not after the way you spoke to him.

And, eventually, after hours of edging, he’ll finally let you finish.

But don’t be mistaken; this isn’t the end.

There’s a dark glint in his eye as you’re left panting, sweating, almost crying.

“Oh, Darling,” he says, brushing a sodden lock of hair from your forehead. Faux reassurance. “We’re not done yet.”

Overstimulation Central.

You’ll be absolutely weeping as König slams into you, your already sensitive body forced to bear the pounding shocks he sends through you, even when you plead with him to stop.

“Can’t satisfy you, can I?” König says, mockingly. “Then tell me who’s filling you right now – tell me who you belong to.”

“You, König! You, you – only you!”

Your throat will have run raw with how you scream König’s name, his body caging yours beneath it.

It’s his way of telling you you’re his.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

[weirdsht]

Hi! Good day/evening to you. Would it be alright if we get more of yan!cale? 😽 I read ur yan!cale stories and I deeply stand by you.

Overboard

notes: i'm not experienced with writing yanderes and I couldn't think of a specific scenarios so i went with this a short fic instead. If you have any scenarios in mind feel free to send them and i'll do my best to deliver!

tags: subtle yandere cale (tbh you have to squint huhu), established relationship, vague novel spoilers

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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The clock strikes just after midnight. It was quiet as everyone had gone to their designated rooms to sleep.

Almost everyone that is.

Cale and Ron are still awake and talking. With the young master sitting on the couch and the servant standing up beside him as he reads the documents he has been given.

Usually, Cale would have been asleep long ago. At this time he would be cuddling with his significant other and the children averaging nine years old. In fact, he can hear the bed that’s just 10 steps away calling him already.

But alas he still has something to do.

“A viscount’s son huh? Where does he get the audacity to try and touch what’s mine?”

Ron stayed silent at his young master’s calm voice. Instead, he peeked at the document in Cale’s hand.

The document was something the servant had written himself. It consisted of every detail that happened when Cale’s significant other was away. Getting a much-needed vacation after being cooped up at the underground villa during the entirety of the war.

It consisted of places they went to. Things they bought. People they talked to. Even things they looked at for more than 30 seconds.

Every move they made was written in that document.

“Ron, everyone knows that the Henituse is a duchy now right?”

“Of course young master.”

“And everyone knows who my significant other is right?”

“Yes, young master. You are a famous figure in both continents, your significant other is bound to be known too.”

Usually, Cale would grimace at the thought of him being famous. But not right now.

“Then why would such a lowly noble like this trash here dare make a move on _____?”

“Some rabbits just don’t know the value of their lives, young master.”

Cale could feel his anger rising. However, he held it in. He can’t raise his voice right now. Not only was it late but _____ and the children were already asleep on the bed a few steps away from him.

Huuu

“I wanted for _____ to relax for once. The war was quite detrimental to their health.”

The young master sighed once more before fully calming down.

“You did a good job not letting that bastard go near them again after the 2nd time it happened.”

Ron flashed his usual benign smile at the compliment. Despite that, Cale could see in the old man’s eyes that he was not yet satisfied.

“Was _____ bothered that much?”

“Yes, young master. They felt distraught during the first two days of their vacation because of him.”

Ah, so that’s why Ron was still angry.

“Then I guess looting him dry won’t be enough. I’ll you handle the rest. Go do whatever will ease your heart. Just make sure to clean up afterwards.”

Molan’s last patriarch only bowed before going out of Cale’s room. The documents that Cale had been reading are in his hands, ready to be burned at the fireplace. Despite the lack of verbal response from the benign old man, Cale knows he will follow the orders given to him.

Which was why he could go back to bed with a lighter heart.

Meanwhile, the documents are now successfully fueling the fireplace of the villa. Ron watches the paper turn to ash. He oversees how the last thing that was burned was the description of the viscount’s son. Written below that was his offence.

His crime?

Trying to flirt with _____. Twice.

Even had the nerve to say a pickup line.

“Maybe I’ll let Choi Han handle him instead.”

[bananayuyu]

Hopeless Desire

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut, fluff, bits of angst

Word count: 12.5k

Summary: You were Mingi's younger sister by six years, and had a crush on his best friend Yunho since you were nine. You harbored this crush for years, never thinking it would go anywhere. Little did you know, Yunho had recently started to feel the same. But you're his best friend's little sister, so what can he do?

Warnings: MDNI, smut, fingering, vague mentions of toxic family dynamics (honestly very vague), vague mentions of Mingi having mental health issues (also very vague), pls lmk if I missed anything!

A/n: This idea came to me a few weeks ago and I had to start writing it; hoping this reaches it's intended audience if it reaches anyone at all. Please enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You will never forget the day you met Jeong Yunho.

It was a humid summer day, the late August weather completely punishing. Only a few weeks before the start of school, your older brother Mingi had brought you along for the day at your mother's request, slightly begrudgingly. You and Mingi were close but there were six years between you, and at certain ages this age gap was challenging. The now fifteen year old didn't want his little sister disrupting his plans with his best friend. He tried not to let his feelings show, not wanting to hurt your feelings. He was just sad that him and Yunho couldn't spend the whole day by themselves.

Him and Yunho brainstormed appropriate activities for a nine year old, and finally landed on taking you to the popular amusement park in town. You don't remember your trip on the train, it was ten years ago now. But you do remember the important things. You remember walking up to the gates and seeing him standing there, struck by how tall he was. You remember him buying your ticket for you, and buying an ice cream for you. You remember him shielding your eyes from the sun while you stood in line for the most popular ride. You remember him making you drink water so you wouldn't become faint. You remember every little touch, every time he kept you from running into an oblivious man with a backpack hurrying through the crowd to find his family, or when he sat behind you and held you close on the scariest ride that even Mingi refused to go on. It was sweet, nothing but sweet then. Yunho was charmed by your excitement and energy. He had heard Mingi mention you many times over the past year and felt grateful to have met you. He knew Mingi was protective, despite it not being a common way for Mingi to feel. You were his little sister, after all.

From then on you saw him here and there, always extremely happy to. You always wanted to see Yunho, whenever you could. As you grew so did Mingi and Yunho, until suddenly one day you looked at them and saw young men, saw the beginnings of facial hair begin to sneak onto their faces as they both surpassed six feet tall. You were still in middle school just barely hitting puberty, your height still under five feet and body still unchanged. The boys began pursuing their careers, auditioning for the same company. You couldn't have been more proud. And then your body began to change and suddenly you weren't a total kid anymore, either. Suddenly you were in high school and life became more serious, more in your hands. All of the sudden, you began developing sexual attraction and soon your thoughts surrounded only one person. Jeong Yunho.

Your friends had teased you for years about having a crush on him, because you always talked so excitedly about seeing him. You always brushed them off and insisted he was like another older brother. But your thoughts had begun to change and now you wondered if they had been right all along. Yunho had always been kind and caring towards you, always made you feel safe when you were watching a scary movie or if the three of you had stayed out past sunset. So did Mingi, so you never questioned it. You never questioned how often he held your hand or offered carry you home, and you certainly never questioned how warm and delighted these actions made you feel. Until now.

All of high school was torturous. No one else made you feel the way Yunho did, but still you knew it could never happen. You were so much younger than him, and he was now becoming and idol with your older brother. There were countless circumstances working against you, and you knew it. No matter how often you touched yourself at night thinking of him, you woke the next morning knowing it was only a fantasy. So you went through the motions of high school, graduating with decent grades and not ruffling any feathers. You missed your brother and Yunho dearly, so after college you were determined to live near them again.

After being accepted into university, Mingi and Yunho helped you move into an apartment in the same building as the boys. You began visiting them often, being one of the few people they were permitted to have over to the apartment regularly. School was fine and you had friends, but nothing compared to being able to spend time with your brother and his closest friend, as well as the other members of their group. You played games with them, ate with them, watched movies with them. You always found yourself sitting next to Yunho, eating Yunho's food, and poking fun at him. You didn't intend to, but you couldn't help your immense crush from growing and growing. You found yourself dressing up to go hang out at their dorm, despite it being down time. You swore you would find him staring at you sometimes and then he would blink away once your eyes met his.

Then, when you were nineteen, the boys moved into three separate apartments. Mingi lived with San and Seonghwa, and now Yunho lived only with Yeosang, the two of them living in a cozy two bedroom apartment. This new arrangement was when everything changed, when the world finally opened up. Finally, you had alone time with Yunho.

"Can I come see the new place?" you were on the phone with Yunho, just a day after everyone had moved. You just finished visiting Mingi; Yunho now lived in the same building but one floor up.

"But nothing is set up yet, Yeosang was busy today and I've barely had time to set up my own room. You're gonna think we're pathetic," Yunho replied.

"You know I don't care, Yunho. I just want to see it. I'll come see it again once it's all set up, I'm sure." At your last sentence, Yunho snorted slightly. Then cleared his throat. An awkward silence followed. "What?" you asked, rolling your eyes. Why was he being so weird?

"Nothing, sorry. Of course you can come see it. I'll unlock the front door, just let yourself in."

You opened the front door to their living room, still mostly covered in boxes and tools. "Hi!" you called out just as Yunho exited his room. Yunho smiled when he saw you, then looked down and saw your flimsy sandals and looked concerned.

"Be careful y/n, there are nails and screws on the ground in here. Here just... come to the kitchen. I should work on putting things away in there."

With a hand on your arm and a hand on your back he led you into their small kitchen, letting go to begin unpacking some bowls and plates and placing them into a cabinet above the counter. You jumped up so you were sitting on the counter, swinging your feet back and forth and glancing around.

"I like your new place, it's really cute," you said, sincerely. The apartment was small but not too small, a perfect dwelling for two people. The kitchen was new and nice, and the living room had a large window that led to a small balcony.

"Cute?" he repeated with a chuckle, looking down at you. Despite being sat up on the counter, Yunho was still taller than you. You had only managed to grow a few inches between middle school and sophomore year of college.

"Yes cute," you say, giving him a sarcastic smile. "Just like you," you tease, pinching one of his cheeks. He pinches both of your cheeks in retaliation and then pinches your bare waist, causing you to yelp slightly. You playfully punch him in the arm, instigating a full on play-fight. Before you know it you're slipping off the counter and awkwardly landing, about to collapse embarrassingly onto the floor. But Yunho catches you and places you back on the counter again, giving you a stern look.

"I have important unpacking to do y/n, you should really stop distracting me," he says, his sarcastic tone contradicting his serious expression.

"Oh shut up," you say, sticking your tongue out at him.

"You still act like such a child sometimes," he replies. You pout, whispering out an involuntary sorry. You never want to annoy him. "No no, it's cute," he says, "it's just hard to believe you're an adult now. Hard to believe you're in your second year of college." You look at him and he's stopped stacking plates, the look in his eye somewhat distant. "I've known you for so long, almost as long as Mingi. Sometimes I feel like you're one of the only people I can trust who isn't one of the members. I hope you know I'm very thankful for that."

You are struck by his sincerity. It is not something you are accustomed to from him. Usually he is joking around, usually he is trying to make everyone laugh. You stare into his eyes for a moment, feeling like something has shifted. But you can't tell what. You want to reach out and hug him. You want to do more than hug him, you realize. You stare out of the living room window in silence, not realizing how much time has passed.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, sorry. You just never talk like that, I didn't know how to respond..." you look at him again but now he won't meet your eyes.

"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," he says, now busying himself again with stacking up the plates. You can feel the slight tension now, can see it in his shoulders and neck.

"No no, not at all. Yunho.." you scoot yourself slightly down the counter so you are right in from of him, and without thinking reach your arms out to hug him, snaking them around his waist. He reaches around your shoulders and pulls your head to his chest, resting his head on top of yours. "Sorry, I just didn't know what to say. I'm glad you feel that way. You mean so much to me, you know. You're so respectful and kind and..." you trail off, your voice slightly muffled by his torso. Above you Yunho is smiling, his eyes closed and the tension from his shoulders evaporating. His feelings for you had been slowly developing in the last year or so, but he always felt so awkward with Mingi and the other boys around. He has complicated feelings about your age. He feels guilty, but a little hug never hurt anyone, right? He kisses the top of your head and begins rubbing your bare low back, melting into your softness. He had been unpacking and setting up his room all day after moving heavy boxes and furniture in the morning. The fatigue is starting to get to him.

"I'm exhausted, you want to watch a movie or something? I got my little TV set up in my room," he asks.

"We should make some food, too," you say. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," he retorts. So you punch him again. "And always violent too," he adds, laughing. So you shove him out of the way and grab some veggies from the fridge to make with some rice. "You always want to eat so healthy," Yunho jokes, rolling his eyes.

"Guess I'll just make enough for one then," you say, which earns you another pinch on your waist. This time you're armed with a spatula, so when he laughs at your squeal you go to threaten him with it. But he catches your arm before you can make contact, holding your forearm high above your head. Suddenly that tension is back, and you feel his body move towards you, the warmth in the air increasing every so slightly. You stare up at him, and then down, and you swear it's by accident but you find yourself staring right at his crotch. His slightly bulging crotch, you're fairly certain. But you're only staring for a moment before you realize and look back up, embarrassment making your cheeks go slightly pink. You feel your whole body flush, not just your cheeks. You feel heat run down your spine right to your core. You realize you want him holding you in this position, but in another context. This realization makes your cheeks redden even further. You feel your body tense and tingle, and suddenly it's too much, and he's just staring at you as if nothing at all is happening. You finally shove him away, the three seconds that elapsed feeling like an eternity.

"Go put something on, I'll have food ready in a sec," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. Everything that is happening today is unexpected, and you feel slightly dazed and very turned on. You did not think Yeosang wouldn't be home; you did not think you'd be getting alone time with Yunho.

After finishing your food the two of you settle into Yunho's bed, watching the Marvel movie he decided to put on. You don't entirely understand what is happening but he explains some things, and overall you are more focused on the fact that you are lying in his bed with his arms around you. He beckoned you to him as soon as you climbed in and of course you obliged. He began stroking your hair with one hand, holding you close to him with his other arm. You had cuddled up to him many times when the members all lived together, when it was dark in the room and everyone was watching a movie late at night. Realistically, this wasn't all that different. But this time, before you knew it, you had fallen asleep.

"Y/n," Yunho whispers into your ear, causing your awareness to suddenly return to you. You squint around, seeing the credits rolling on his little TV. You groan, the excitement of the day having zapped your energy, your head aching slightly. You yawn, deeply. You close your eyes again, snuggling your head into Yunho's chest and groaning again.

"I'm sleepy.." you slur out, squeezing your eyes shut and your eyebrows together.

"I know sweetie," Yunho speaks quietly so as not to disturb you, rubbing his hand on your back again to comfort you. "Just sleep here tonight. I have to get up early anyway, so you won't be late for college or anything. You just need to go brush your teeth, just use one of my extra toothbrushes." You groan again at this suggestion, which makes him laugh. "Come on," he says while hoisting you up, leading you on wobbly legs to his personal bathroom. He sits you up on his counter, pulling out an extra toothbrush for you and putting toothpaste on. You look at him through hooded eyes, your exhaustion still not escaping you. "You want me to actually brush them for you too?" he asks. You stick your tongue out at him again, your tired state bringing out the childishness ten fold. "Open up," he commands, and you obey. And he tries to brush your teeth for you, but finally your adult brain has somewhat caught up and your hand reaches up to finish the job yourself. "There you go," he says, and you bump into him to finally spit into the sink. After washing your face you stare up at him.

"I need lip balm," you pout. Yunho can't help but think you're the cutest person he's ever known. That pout does things to him, and he's beginning to wonder if you know. He pulls out his lip balm and begins rubbing it across your lips, running his thumb along your bottom lip. Your mouth involuntarily begins to open and Yunho feels himself getting hard again. He'd been trying to keep it at bay all afternoon and evening, but he's continually failed. He only hopes that you haven't noticed, in case it would freak you out.

Finally you are both ready for bed and Yunho leads you into his bed before joining you, coming to lay behind you and wrap his arms around your waist. He cannot believe this is happening; the timing was all too perfect. With Yeosang out for the day the two of you finally have time to yourselves, without having to tell anyone. He feels guilt start to warm his neck, but again pushes it aside. You're tired and in need of sleep, and all you're doing is cuddling, right? You've done this plenty of times before, and Mingi had no issue.

You begin to squirm, wanting to face him, wanting to see his beautiful face up close in the soft light of the night. You feel exhausted but there's something within you keeping you awake, not allowing you to miss such a rare opportunity. 'What's wrong?' Yunho whispers as you turn yourself around, but then he realizes you just wanted to be facing him. His breath hitches at the sight of your face only inches away from his. You reach up, gently brushing your fingers over his cheeks and jaw, then running one along his eyebrow and staring deeply into his eyes. You yawn, your body's exhaustion now fighting with your brain. But you remain awake, mesmerized by his beautiful face, his cheeks, his dark brown hair sweeping over his forehead.

"Yunho, what do you think of me?" you ask, pulling yourself closer to him still, your hand now latched onto his upper arm. He's come to rest his hand on your waist.

"What do you mean? I think the world of you, you know that. I'm very proud of how well you're doing at school. And you're very supportive of Mingi, which he needs. He's sensitive, and you don't make him feel bad for that. You're a very strong person, very understanding. Very good.." he trails off slightly, smiling at you in the dim light.

"No no, I mean, do you think of me like a younger sister? Like, how do you see me?" you're blushing from his kind words but you're tired and need to know the answer. It is all you've been thinking about all day.

"Well, no. Not anymore-" he starts.

"So you used to?" you ask, attempting to keep your voice from wobbling with worry.

"Yeah, when you were little. You were so little when I first met you, obviously I thought of you that way. But now you're grown up. You're very different now," he finishes. You take in a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. It was your biggest worry, that his kindness and teasing and protectiveness only came from him seeing you as a younger sibling. You sometimes worried he felt obliged to be nice because you were his best friend's younger sister. But something deep within you knew he felt more comfortable with you than almost anyone. You just didn't want to say it aloud, didn't want to admit it to anyone, even yourself. You didn't know what it would mean, or if it would mean anything. You worried it would upset Mingi, even upset the other members. You didn't know what your friends would think. All of these worries sat in the back of your mind simmering away, never dominating your thoughts but never fully disappearing. But the isolation of the night finally allowed you the chance to ask. And though his answer was vague, it was better than nothing. You were sure he thought of you as more than just a little sibling, and were pretty sure he liked you too. Again, you just didn't know what that would mean.

"I've never thought of you as a brother," you say, which earns a slightly surprised look from Yunho. The time and darkness makes you bolder than usual. "You're too attractive for me to think of you that way," you giggle from embarrassment, turning your gaze down so he can't meet your eyes. You expect him to laugh too, expect him to tease you for saying that. You expect him to tell you you're clearly exhausted and need to just go to sleep. But Yunho does none of these things. He swallows, and moves his hand from your waist to your cheek, gently stroking down to your jaw and moving your head up so you meet his gaze. Your eyes are large and full of surprise as they meet his.

And then his lips are on yours, soft and gentle and perfect. You feel his breath brush over your cheek as he opens his mouth, his tongue grazing your bottom lip and causing deep and rapid breaths to fall from your opening lips. The kiss deepens and he moves closer to you, your legs now intertwining, your hands moving up underneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. It is not something you've done before yet the entire thing feels perfectly natural, as if you've known your whole life how to move your lips and tongue in sync with his. The feeling of his strong lean body makes your head feel fuzzy, and his large hand on your chin and neck make you feel suddenly small. It's unlike anything you've felt before and you realize you really like this feeling. The kiss has deepened further, and now Yunho is pulling back to suck and nip at your bottom lip, just the way he'd been thinking about all day. It sends sparks of pleasure down your spine and makes you involuntarily buck your hips against his leg that is resting in between yours. And then he's moving his hand down from your face to your hip, and sliding into your sweats, and finally into your panties to grab onto your ass and guide you to keep rubbing yourself against his thigh. You're desperately grabbing onto him and kissing him now, your need growing relentlessly.

Yunho wants to rip your clothes off, his mind entirely leaving him in the first moments of your kiss, but suddenly his brain is messing with him, reminding him of everything else. Your age, your relation to his best friend, and as far as he knew, your inexperience. It pulls at him, while simultaneously his body pulls him the opposite direction, towards you, towards your lips wet from his tongue, towards the warmth emanating from between your legs where you slowly are coming undone. He runs his hand all over you now, feeling the warmth of your skin now, feeling your hard nipples through your thin top. Of course, you had no bra on. It seemed to him that every time he'd seen you recently you hadn't been wearing one. He's pulled away so he can watch you face and hear your moans more clearly, and now he can watch you rub yourself on his leg, too. He's so hard at this point, it's becoming almost painful. He's never felt so turned on at seeing someone else's pleasure. You've never done something quite like this, never pleasured yourself without even taking off your pants, but Yunho's touches and kisses make you feel electric, like he's turned on a switch in your nervous system that's never been touched before. The small movements of your hips bring immense pleasure to your clit, and finally as you get closer and closer, a fogginess to your head. As if he can tell you're almost there, Yunho leans down to kiss your neck, one of your most tender areas. You feel a wave building in the depth of your stomach, a strong surge of electricity about to wash over you. And then you are nearly screaming, your moans high pitched and probably penetrating the walls of the apartment, and you suddenly feel warmth all over, a tingling in your fingers and toes. You've never come so hard in your life, or for so long. Your breathing is ragged and hard and you grab onto Yunho for dear life, riding out the feeling as long as you could. His hands are around you now, pulling you two closer still, planting kisses on your neck and cheeks and lips. You're completed slumped against him now, your muscles spent and loose.

"I came," you whisper, followed by a short giggle.

"I know," he says, also followed by laughter.

"How?" you ask. But you know you are silly for asking.

"It wasn't hard to tell, baby," he chuckles. His voice sounds distant, like his thoughts are coming at full speed again. He tucks your head against his shoulder and holds you tight. Contemplating for a moment. He's conflicted, but he knows what he should do. "Sleep now, you're exhausted. I'll set my alarm so you don't need to worry."

He wants to do more with you, to give you more. He wants to see the look of immense pleasure on your face again. He wants to undress you, to taste you, to feel your hot, wet pussy as you come again and again. He wants to be buried inside you, to be buried in your mouth. A thousand lewd images flash across his mind making him even harder. But he recoils from the images too, again feeling the sting of guilt. One time thing, he tells himself. It has to be. But he knows it won't be. He can tell by the way you cling to him, by the way you came so hard. He doubts anyone has even made you feel that good. He doesn't understand how, given that you didn't even take your pants off. But he doesn't question how much you loved it. That he knows without a doubt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slept like a rock, and after a few challenging minutes, so did Yunho. You both woke to the sound of his alarm, groaning simultaneously and trying to stretch. You were still tangled together, your stretching arm nearly hitting him in the face. You giggled at his exaggerated look of shock. He finally untangled himself from you and went to use the bathroom, careful to not let you see the small tent still present in his pants. Was I really hard all night, he thinks, with amusement. When he's finished peeing and brushing his teeth he comes out again to find you still in bed, your head defiantly shoved in the pillow, dramatic sighs escaping your lips.

"Y/n, don't you have to leave for your first class in like an hour?" he says. You make a loud and defiant sound in response. He sighs, and drags off the blankets, picking you up and setting you in his bathroom again. "You are not going to be late to school after spending the night with me. Everyone would kill me. Now pee, I can't do that for you." Seeing your pout again, his stomach flips. "I know I'm sorry. I would if I could." He rubs your back comfortingly as you walk towards the toilet, and then he's out and closing the door and making you both breakfast.

In the bathroom you begin to wake up fully, feeling refreshed and happy. Memories of last night wash over you like gentle waves, lulling you into a state of pleasure and contentment. You still feel sensitive. You feel it all over, but especially between your legs. You saunter out to the kitchen, eyes dragging over Yunho's bare upper body. He is ladling soup into two bowls, so you run your hand down his back gently so as not to disturb him and make him spill. You don't see it, but his face betrays the way your touch makes him feel, the gentle touch sending sparks down his body.

But suddenly he is tense and moving, putting food down in front of you and saying, "eat." He runs to his room and returns wearing an oversized hoodie. You stare at him in silence as you eat, a notable strangeness present in the air. But you can't figure out what. He stares down at your legs, still bare. All you have on are your top and underwear. It seems like he wants to say something, but no words come out. You both finish your food in silence, and you begin cleaning up your bowls. And then you hear Yeosang's door open.

His room is closer to the kitchen, and within seconds he's standing like a deer in headlights, staring at you. Then, quicker then he came, he's running back to his room, apologizing repeatedly. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't know you'd be here!" he says as he darts down the hall, his near nakedness also making him embarrassed. Suddenly you feel very awkward, and dumb. You quickly finish the dishes and dash to Yunho's room, yelling, "I'm sorry, Yeosang!" as you pass his room. It's nearly time to leave anyway so you put on your pants and make sure your hair doesn't look crazy. You need to stop home before heading to class to change your clothes and grab your books. And you need to get out of this apartment as soon as possible. A creeping feeling runs up your back to your neck, a feeling you later realize was shame. You stand completely still, waiting for Yunho to finish using the bathroom, feeling frozen and about to crack.

Yunho steps out, dressed in a black suit with a white button up, his hair still slightly messy but styled just right. He quickly sits down to put on his shoes and you are mesmerized, unable to take your eyes off him. It was always Yunho in a suit that made your heart pound, more than almost anything else. He adjusts his laces and you watch his hands work, his long strong fingers adjusting the knot. You love his hands, always have. Always felt safe in them. Now as you stare, you can't help but remember last night when his hand grazed over your hard nipple, or when he grabbed your butt and pushed you down harder onto his thigh. His hands are perfect, long and lean like him. They have a quality you just can't name. God I'm weird, you think. A suit kink and a hand kink. But you know it's just him, it's just the way that he makes everything so-

"You okay?" his question snaps you out of it, and you look at his slightly concerned face staring at you.

"Yeah," you huff out, not really sure if you are. You want to talk about what happened last night, because things feel weird now. You have a feeling it's more than just the awkwardness with Yeosang, but you can't be sure. You don't know if you have time but-

"You've got to leave, you're gonna be late," Yunho's words pull you from your thoughts again, and you nod.

"You're being weird," you slap his arm, not sure how much to say. But his playful look seems to indicate you're fine.

"Weird? Me?" he jokes with you, turning you around and walking you out the door. You make it to the front door and he opens it, guiding you through. He brushes a hand through your hair and says, "have a good day." You want to kiss him, but he seems so distant.

"You too," you mumble through a slight pout, turning and walking yourself the several blocks to your apartment building.

The whole day was hazy, spent between flashes of the pleasure of last night and flashes of the awkwardness of the morning. What happened? you thought over and over, not sure if you were asking about the night or the morning. It seemed like Yunho didn't want Yeosang to know, and that you could understand. You worried about the other boy's reactions, too. But he was being weird with you in the privacy of his room too. Not mean or cold but just... weird. You can't pinpoint the feeling, and it's starting to drive you crazy.

You give yourself a day, too busy with classes and tutoring to give it much real thought anyway. But the next day, you are over waiting. On your way home from your last class you call him.

"Y/n!" he answers in a playful tone, like he usually does. Like nothing at all has happened.

"Yunho, we need to talk," you say, heart pounding slightly. "Are you busy?"

"Not at all, I just got home," he says, then pauses. "Are you okay?" his words are kind as always but his voice is laced with trepidation. It makes you feel nervous, because he's always the one who knows what to do. You like to follow his lead on things; he never sounds unsure.

"Yunho.." you say in an annoyed tone. You want him to read your mind, but you know you shouldn't expect that. You take a quick calming breath, steadying yourself. "Yes, I'm okay. But we haven't talked in almost two days and something sort of, important happened."

"My schedule has been very busy these two days, I hope you know I wasn't ignoring you," he sounds like he's carefully choosing his words, not wanting to take a wrong step. "Was there something in particular you wanted to say?"

You take a moment to steady yourself. You're walking up the stairs to your apartment now, slightly out of breath. But you want to get it out before you reach the front door.

"Were you upset or something, the next morning? You just seemed weird," you say, managing to keep your breathing steady.

"Of course not, not at all. I just-" he cuts himself off. Again, thinking through what to say next. "We really should talk in person, if we're going to talk about this."

"Is Yeosang home?" you ask.

"Yeah, he is."

"Come to mine, then."

"Your roommates won't mind?"

"No, we're all cool with having one or two people over unannounced. Unless you are planning on being very loud, it shouldn't be a problem."

"You trust me to be a well behaved guest?" he teases.

"Yunho..." you've entered your house now, smiling at your roommate who is finishing work at your small dining table.

"Okay, I'll be there soon. That okay?"

"Yes, see you soon," you reply, a sigh leaving your lips as you end the call.

"What was that?" your roommate Tae asks you.

"Oh, Yunho's coming over," you say, which earns an oooooh from him. "It's not like that, we're just gonna talk. It sounds like he doesn't want anything else to happen, but I can't tell. I don't know..."

You moved in with your roommates Tae and Nari at the start of your second year of college, having finally met a few people at your school that you really connected with. Tae was small and delicate, a pretty boy amongst pretty boys in your school. Nari was tall and broad, with stunning short black hair and impressive shoulders. She intimidated you, the first time you met. As was your luck, the two of them were both seniors already. But thankfully they both got accepted into graduate school as well, and the three of you got to live out your college-roommate dreams. You had told them both what happened with Yunho the next day over dinner, both of them rapt and gasping dramatically at your story. You three were all quite busy, juggling school and work. Excitement like this didn't come often to the small three bedroom apartment you resided in. You liked it that way, mostly. But still, the excitement was fun.

"If he doesn't, he's crazy," Tae reassures you, sitting up from the table to come give you a hug. "We're here if you need."

You love the way you feel respected by the two of them, never prying into your life but also always making it known that they're there. They treated you like an equal, that was what you loved. They were a few years older but didn't always treat you like the baby. Not that you minded being treated like the baby, sometimes. But they respected all of you, respected that you could love childish things but also be incredibly responsible. They saw you for who you were, entirely. It was something you hadn't experienced many times in life with other people, and it had begun to shift your world view. You trusted yourself more, believed in your understanding of things. They gave you confidence, the way they treated you proving their words to be true. It was a truly special thing, knowing them.

As you walk down the hall to drop your books in your room, Nari greets you with a big hug too. "I heard," she says into your hair, "and I agree with Tae. How anyone could pass on you is beyond me." Her kindness was never-ending, despite her strong appearance. You patted her head as you walked past, thanking her.

Soon a knock came at the door and Tae answered it, welcoming Yunho in. Nari and Tae invite him in kindly, hope and anticipation present in their voices. They offered Yunho some tea, but he declined. He wanted to see you, wanted to get this talk over with. It wasn't that he'd been avoiding it, he had genuinely been busy. But he didn't want to wait any longer.

As Tae got back to his work Nari walked past you to her room, followed by Yunho. 'Keep it down tonight, our apartment is small,' she whispered teasingly, hoping to lift your spirits. It did, and you give her a joking glare. Yunho smiles at the interaction, having not heard her. But he can tell you like her, that you feel comfortable here. He's only been a few times, and only met each roommate twice. He likes them, likes that you like them most importantly.

You lead him to your room, your book bag slumped against your desk, your double bed taking up nearly half of your small room. You loved your room, loved the books and legos and plushies that covered your shelves, your colorful wardrobe full of old clothes Mingi had given you and all your favorite shirts you still had from high school. It was cozy, small. And Yunho had never been in. Very few people had, it wasn't something you allowed very often. Today you decided you'd make that exception.

You sit on the floor with your back against your bed and Yunho joins you, his long legs stretching far beyond yours. He looks at you but you can't meet his gaze, the feeling of rejection already creeping up to your throat.

"What were you going to say?" you ask.

"Can I ask how you are? You seem upset," he starts.

"I'm fine. I just know what you're gonna say. You don't want that to happen again, do you? You still do think of me as immature, don't you?" you aren't hysterical, just slightly edgy. You try hard but can't keep the slightest bit of tension from your voice.

"Y/n, I-" Yunho cuts himself off with a sigh. "No, I do not think you're immature. But do you really think it's a good idea? What would Mingi think? It's not like he ever said, 'you can't pursue my sister,' but I really doubt he'd be totally fine with it. And the other members? I lied to Yeosang, told him you slept over because you were helping me unpack until late. But I doubt he believed me. He said, 'it's fine, it's fine. Just tell me when she's over so I don't embarrass myself.' But you know Yeosang, too kind for his own good. He knows, it was obvious. I don't think he'd tell Mingi. I just..." he trails off. Sighs again. "You're nineteen." He says this part with emphasis.

You sit contemplating what he's said, a swirl of feelings running through your chest and stomach. Sure, your brother might not approve. Sure, you're nineteen. Sure-

"Do you remember when I said you're one of the only people I trust who isn't one of the members? I can't lose that." Yunho speaks firmly, like he's trying to convince you both of something.

"You won't, you won't ever lose that. I mean it. No matter what happens, Yunho. I'm not going to resent you, for anything. I know you, you won't hurt me. You take care of me, look out for me better than almost anyone. It would never come to that," you reply.

Yunho sighs, his hand coming to rest on your lower back, his body unable to keep from touching you in some way. He can tell you're tense and wants to alleviate it. It's all he ever wants when he's around you, to hold you and tease you and make you forget all the stress of normal life.

"I worry, though. I worry I'll upset you, that something will go wrong."

You sit thinking, releasing a long slow breath through your nose, closing your eyes and focusing on your feelings. "Who cares what anyone thinks? This is something between us, not them. So what does it really matter? Honestly, Mingi will probably just feel jealous at how close I am to you more than anything. And I personally don't care what anyone else thinks. I know you're closer to the members than me and have to live with one, but why should we have to do what they say? It's our lives. We are all adults, everyone can deal with their feelings if they have them."

"But I'm so much older than you, remember that girl from your freshman class. Wasn't that older guy pursuing her, and you told me how you thought it was creepy and-"

"You mean that girl that our professor was pursuing? He had a reputation of doing this, of every year dating a different freshman girl. He had done it since being a graduate student apparently, and had continued when he became a professor. That's way different than our situation. You aren't my boss or my professor or something."

"Fine, you're right. But I bet your friends will think I'm creepy," Yunho sighs.

"I can guarantee you that's not true," you respond, now looking him in the eye.

"How?"

"I already told them. And they definitely didn't think that. They though it was cute."

Yunho's lips break into a faint smile, the first smile you've seen all night. He runs a hand through your hair; he loves how soft and long it is. His insides are churning, his brain unable to come to a decision. You can sense the uncertainty. You want to make him feel relaxed too. So you scoot over and climb on top of him to hug him, tucking your face into his neck. You sigh, a sleepy haze falling over you. You stay like that for a while, Yunho's arms around you holding you tight. He plants a kiss on your temple, melting at the way the kiss makes you smile.

"I'll need to think about it. The last thing I want is to cause you pain," he finally concludes. You sit up, attempting to keep the disappointment from your face. You don't want to force anything on him. But you can tell it's other people's judgement that's holding him back, not his own feelings. Face to face with him, you stare across his beautiful cheeks and lips, not until now noticing he still had makeup on from whatever he filmed today. You reach up and touch a gem under his eye and he smiles at your curious look, like you've discovered something remarkable.

"I should go, I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" he asks. You nod, climbing off of him so he can get up. Once standing he gives you a hug, wishing to reassure every cell in your body. But he still doesn't know what he's going to do. You lead him out and you roommates say their goodbyes, and finally he's out the door and the door is closing, and you stand staring at it for a second, not sure how to respond.

"So?" Tae asks, still sat at the table. Nari is now at the stove tending to a large pot.

"I don't know, I don't know.." you mumble into your hands, covering your face.

"Come here, have some ramen," Nari says, setting a steaming bowl on the kitchen counter next to you. You dive in, patting your head on her shoulder in thanks. The three of you sit at the small table now, all aggressively slurping the delicious ramen Nari made.

"That boy needs to figure it out," Nari says, making you nearly snort out the broth you are swallowing.

"That boy?" you say, raising your eyebrows and giggling.

"Yes that boy, he's being silly. I don't like that he's messing with your feelings."

"It's not so bad," you say. "I understand his worry. My brother, he can be quite jealous sometimes. He's sensitive. Neither of us want to hurt him."

"It's your life," Tae chimes in.

"I know, that's how I feel too," you say.

"Let's watch a movie tonight, none of us have to be to campus until ten tomorrow, right?" Nari says. You both nod in agreement, finishing the last of your food. You get up to start cleaning but Tae beats you to it. "It's my turn, I haven't in a few days," he says, so you give him your signature pout and thank him and walk to your room. You finally change into your pjs, your favorite sweats and cropped loose shirt combo that you wear a little too much. You sigh and look at yourself in you mirror, wondering how old you really look. You're short but not skinny, you definitely don't look childish in your body. Since puberty a small roll of fat sits on your lower stomach, above thick thighs and a pronounced butt. You always felt like your lower body didn't match your upper body, which had remained almost as small as when you were a child. Apart from your boobs, of course. They were sizable too, now that you really looked at them. Since when did I become so womanly? you think to yourself. It must have been while you were focused on school and work, focused on getting Mingi through his challenging years right after debut. You keep staring, your vision feeling almost warped. You didn't spend a lot of time thinking if people found you attractive, you realized. And that was a strange thing for a young woman. It had only ever been Yunho you thought of. But it never felt like a question to you, whether he thought you were attractive. Why hadn't you questioned it? Your thoughts start spinning and you stare at a body in front of you, warping more as your legs get even bigger and your shoulders even smaller. You think of how tall he is, of how mismatched the two of you probably look next to each other.

You snap yourself out of it, knowing there was no point to the thought spiral you were headed toward. You walk out to the kitchen as Tae is finishing the last of the dishes and Nari is turning on the TV, just in time to hear the knock on the door. The three of you look up in sync, a similar look of confusion on your faces. No one ever really knocked on your door here, your neighbors just texted. You slowly walk to the door, opening it in utter confusion.

Standing on the landing is Yunho, now barefaced, in his own favorite sweats and t-shirt. He is out of breath, a light breeze blowing his hair off his forehead, revealing the lines between his eyebrows made from concern. He stares at you, catching his breath. The moment stretches, the look of utter surprise never leaving your face.

"Can I come in?" he finally asks.

"Of course," you say, stepping aside to let him through the doorway. You close it gently behind you. Yunho and your roommates awkwardly greet each other again and you give them both wide-eyed looks, totally unsure of where this is headed. They give each other a knowing look as you and Yunho leave the room, headed straight for your bedroom. You close the door behind yourself, leaning against the back of it. Yunho stands in front of you, his eyes meeting yours with intensity.

"Why- what did-" you stumble over your words, making both of you laugh. "Why did you come back?" you finally manage.

Yunho opens his mouth as if you talk but nothing comes out. Instead he takes a step forward, closing the distance between you, and his lips are on yours again, his hand on your jaw. This time it isn't so gentle, so delicate. This time it's hot and intense in an instant, your legs feeling like they might give out. You reach out and pull him close to you, opening your mouth to let him in. Wherever he wants to go, you will let him. His tongue brushes over yours, his body moving closer and nearly crushing you into your door. A soft moan escapes your throat, the feeling of his tongue on yours making your pussy throb. The kiss makes your body feels so intense, it's as if he's licking you everywhere.

Eventually he pulls away, his hand still on the side of your face, his lips wet and slightly swollen. "I went to go home and think about things, but I just kept thinking of kissing you," he says. "I can't stop thinking about the other night. You've messed me up."

You smile and turn your head down in shyness, his words causing pride to swell in your chest. Maybe this is affecting him as much as it's affecting me, you think. Maybe he really does feel the same. You look up and reach to touch his face too, leaning up to kiss him again.

Before you know it you're swept up into his arms, Yunho spinning you to move closer to your bed. Your eyes are closed and your lips still on his; you feel momentarily like gravity doesn't exist, like you are flying. He sets you down gently, your head coming to rest on your large stuffed bear that never leaves your bed. He's almost crushing you again, this time into your mattress, his mouth ravishing every part of you he can. You feel his leg between yours, the deep pressure relieving some of the intense need you are feeling. His mouth on your neck, on your ear sends intense sparks down your entire body, a gentle moan leaving your lips as he sucks hard on your neck, not worrying about the potential physical consequences of his actions. His hands are under your shirt know, his fingers gentle brushing over your already hard nipple. He lifts your shirt, momentarily in awe of what he is seeing, and then dips his head down to suck gently on your left breast. A low moan escapes him now, as he relishes the feeling of your hard nipple in his mouth, again feeling the intense warmth emanating from between your legs. He cannot believe you have granted him this access, cannot believe he can make you feel so good. He's inexperienced too, given what he does for work. But the connection between you is palpable, so strong that no practice is needed. It all comes so easily, the communication, the affection, the way he can read your body and face and sounds so easily. It fills him with warmth, the feeling of being so connected to you. He wants more and more, wishes it were never-ending.

But he feels he must be careful. As he continues sucking on your nipples, continues running his hands everywhere he can, he feels your desperation as you move your hips against his. He lifts his up and down just slightly, the movement making you moan again in utter bliss. You imagine how good it would feel for his hips to snap against yours without layers of clothes between. Being this intimate with someone always made you nervous, but with him it simply was a need. You move your hips again, hoping it'll make him continue to move his, and it does, illiciting moans from you both. You reach under his shirt and start pulling it off, needing to feel more of him, and he finally pulls yours over your head too. And then his mouth is on yours again, his hips and his tongue moving as if connected, the slow drags of his tongue on yours making you feel almost light headed.

"Yunho..." you moan between kisses, needing him to focus his attentions elsewhere. You're beginning to feel terribly empty and jittery with anticipation. And he can tell, he really feels like he can read your mind. He moves back, just enough to begin pulling off your sweatpants and panties, slowly and deliberately to make sure he's doing the right thing. You lift your hips to help him, fighting the urge to turn your head. You don't exactly feel embarrassed, but you're so exposed now. Naked in front of him for the first time the questions finally surface. Does he like my body? What does he think of the fat on my stomach? He can see your thoughts racing behind your eyes, the way your jaw sets slightly when you're concentrated. He leans down to kiss you again, hoping to reassure any doubts.

"Can I touch you?" He says it with such warmth, such care. You feel your body turn to putty.

"Please," you say, only a whisper. You can't help the small line that forms between your eyebrows from your begging, or the slight pout that forms on your lips. That pout. Yungo can't stand it much longer. He reaches down to your thighs, spreading your legs gently. He sees how wet and pink your pussy looks, feels how soft and plush your thighs are. God, I just want to ruin her, he thinks. And then scolds himself. Since when did he get this way?

Finally his long fingers are moving up your thighs to the apex, to the place you need him. He brushes his fingers over the small patch of hair that sits there. And then finally his thumb dips into your folds, feeling the slick wetness in its entirety. He moves his finger down slowly and then back up, finally brushing over your extremely sensitive clit. You can't help but moan, loudly. Your legs open, body completely bare; you feel totally at his mercy. He begins to rub gentle circles over your clit, the feeling electric and warm. He can feel it too, can see the way your pussy clenches when he hits just the right spot. He spends a moment just watching, completely entranced by the beautiful site of you spread open for him. He now takes his other hand to your entrance, lightly pressing with two fingers to gauge your response.

"Fuck, Yunho, please," you say as you push yourself down onto his two fingers, your pleading words rocketing through him. He sinks his fingers into you, relishing the warmth of your tight pussy. He can tell two fingers is a lot for you, so he works them in and out slowly, helping you get used to the feeling. He curls them up just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back and your back arch. You've never felt such pleasure before, the stimulation in both spots making you feel entirely singular to this moment. You can feel a wave building again, this time intensely and quickly. Before you know it you're grabbing a pillow and covering your face, attempting to stifle the loud moans escaping you. You cannot help it, the feeling of his fingers inside you making you come undone so suddenly, shuddering and screaming as you fall over the edge. Yunho watches you clench down around his fingers, clenching so hard as you come that he can barely move them anymore. Eventually his finger on your clit feels far too overstimulating so you grab it to make him stop, removing your pillow to allow yourself room to breathe. He sits there for a moment, fingers still inside of you, unable to stop himself from looking you up and down over and over again. After a few exhausting breaths you open your eyes and look at him, seeing how how worked up he is, his flushed skin and his rapid breaths, his pupils blown far larger than you've ever seen. He pulls out of you slowly, not wanting to cause you even a moment of discomfort. And then he's slumped down next to you, kissing you sweetly and holding you, helping you onto your side so he can spoon you and hold you tight.

"You take it so well," he says, his voice still laced with lust. The depth of it sends sparks through you; his kisses on your neck and cheek are soft but possessive. You feel it then, for the first time, how much he wants you to be his, how deeply he's attached to you. It's like a warm, gentle wave has washed over you and now you're drifting out to sea. A feeling of floating, of being devoid of worry. You feel as light as ever despite the exhaustion your intense orgasm has left you with. But you can feel how hard he is against your ass, and feel like you should please him too. You turn yourself over to face him, kissing him and moving your hands down, grazing over his bare abdomen and then over his sweats until you find him hard and straining. But as you do his hand comes down to grab yours, and he's moving it away.

"Sweetie, you need to get some sleep. I can tell how exhausted you are." You whine, earning a chuckle from him. But you aren't going to push anything. You like being pleasured, that's for sure. And now that the aftershocks have subsided, you are left in a blissful and sleepy state.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake with a bit of a start, not having slept so deeply in a long time. Yunho is next to you, your blankets pulled up over your naked body. You see now that he is naked too, having thrown all of his clothes on the floor of your room. You wriggle towards him to cuddle, waking him up in the process. He yawns loudly, running his hand through his now messy hair. He sleepily grabs onto you, placing a kiss on your forehead.

Your bladder beckons you to the bathroom so you climb over him as carefully as you can. You aren't really thinking much, the grogginess of the morning still weighing heavily on your eyelids. As you are washing your hands you finally take a good look at yourself, suddenly noticing a dark spot on the side of your neck that looks out of place. It takes a few moments for you to register but then you realize what it is, and run a hand gently over the bruise left by Yunho. You snort, feeling ridiculously happy to have physical evidence of the previous night.

You exit your bathroom to find Yunho nearly fully dressed, pulling his shirt over his head and grabbing his keys and wallet from your bedside table. His energy feels tense again, even with his back to you. It's impossible for you to not feel it. You stand awkwardly at the doorway, simply observing. Finally you walk over to put your clothes back on too, not wanting to sit in the uncomfortable tension you've walked into. You have to pull off your blanket to find your shirt, which had somehow found itself near the foot of your bed. All this movement in total silence has you again confused, but this time your confusion is laced with anger as well, anger that if Yunho didn't want this to happen again he really shouldn't have come back. Now you do feel like he's messing with you, a bit. It's only happened twice, but you know he already knows how he feels. He just isn't being totally honest with himself.

"Do you want any coffee or breakfast?" you ask, wanting to be a pleasant host despite your frustration.

"No no, I really should get going. Thank you though," he says, now finally looking at you. His eyes are slightly puffy and his hair is a mess, and you can't help but admire how adorable he looks first thing in the morning. You stare for a second, your expression unchanging as you try to keep all of the conflicting feelings inside you at bay.

"Fuck, did I actually leave a bruise? I didn't think I was being that rough..." Yunho walks towards you and pushes your hair out of the way to get a good look at the mark he left on your neck. "Fuck, I can go get some makeup to cover it up, if you'd like. I've watched our makeup artists do it a lot." You brush his hand away, this time unable to keep the irritation from your expression.

"Yunho, it's fine. I can put makeup on it myself if I need to. Or wear a scarf or a shirt that covers it or really... I don't care. I don't mind it, actually. Can you please just go? You obviously don't want to be here." Yunho's face looks immediately concerned; his hands hang awkwardly at his side like he doesn't know what to do with them.

"You like that bruise on your neck?" he asks.

"I don't mind it," you retort, not even looking at him. The frustration you feel is threatening to spill out in tears, and you don't feel like crying right now. You realize in a split second that this is all so silly, that so little has happened. You don't want to be childish.

"Yunho, I'm upset because both mornings after we've spent the night together, you seem obviously tense and uncomfortable and it seems like you regret what has happened between us. If you don't want this, I wish you would just tell me. I'm not going to be severely hurt, I will be fine. It seems like you like me, but maybe it's just convenience? I know you don't have many opportunities to date or hookup with someone who you know won't go and tell the world about it. But if it doesn't feel right, just tell me. I feel like you're messing with me."

"I-" Yunho stops himself short. He wants to choose his words well, wants you to understand completely. "Of course I like you, y/n. It's not just convenience, god no. I wish I could spend every night with you..." he stroked his hand frustratedly through his hair, making it appear even messier. "It's Mingi, I keep thinking about Mingi. Don't you? I haven't talked to him about it yet and it's eating at me. I have to talk to him before anything else happens. I feel like we're betraying him by not telling-"

"I really don't think he'll be that upset," you say, to keep both of your fears at bay. You really don't know how he'll react. And you haven't spent one on one time with him in a little while. You text every day to check in, of course. But it had been a few weeks. You sigh intensely, tears welling in your eyes. You wish desperately that you didn't have classes today.

"How can you be sure?" he asks, wondering if you know something he doesn't. "Have you talked to him?"

You just shake your head, one of the welling tears now falling down your cheek. You wipe it gently, not wanting to make a scene.

"We both need to talk to him," Yunho says, stepping forward to hug you tightly, feeling torn up inside that he's upset you. Your head on his chest, the way you fit next to him makes his mind spin. It's the thought of Mingi's disapproval that scares him more than anything. Now that he knows you have feelings for him, it's almost like his whole life is written in front of him. He sees you in his life forever, just like he sees Mingi being his best friend forever. He sees both of you as anchors in his future, a blissful, wonderful future. But if Mingi disapproves, what will he choose? He knows he won't be able to pick one of you or the other. It feels too cruel. To him, more than anyone. He knows it's a little selfish, but it's truly how he feels.

"I will talk to him tonight, I promise. Have a family thing I have to attend in the evening but afterwards I will go and talk to him. And then we'll go from there. Okay?" He pulls your face away from his chest and kisses each of your rosy cheeks, then wipes the remnants of tears from them. He kisses you softly, wanting you to know he needs you. He hopes you can read how deeply he feels through his actions because he feels he has to wait with his words. He trails down to your neck, knowing you are particularly sensitive there, wanting to distract you from the intense emotion of the previous moments.

"Yunho!" you laugh and hit his arm, not wanting to be so turned on first thing in the morning. Knowing he has to leave in a few moments and won't be able to finish the job. He feigns injury at your strike, grabbing his arm and scrunching his face up in pain. As you laugh at him he takes his moment to pinch your side, his favorite way to mess with you. And then you're hitting at him again, laughing almost hysterically, forgetting everything that just happened. It was his goal and he feels lifted by hearing your laugh, by seeing your wide smile and a more playful glint in your eyes. He gives you a final hug goodbye and then leaves, and you find yourself alone in your quiet apartment, both your roommates still asleep.

As soon as he's left your apartment, a feeling of impending doom envelopes your chest. The thought of Yunho telling Mingi tonight, of Mingi feeling so mad at the two of you that he won't talk to you. Probably not forever, you hope. But you suddenly realize you must talk to him too. Must talk to him first. If only you didn't have stupid classes. At least you're out by 4pm today, so you can still beat Yunho over there. You decide you must; it feels like your only hope. You pick up your phone and call Mingi.

"Hi, what's up?" he answers, sounding happy. Your heart sinks more knowing you and Yunho will probably ruin his good mood later.

"Are you busy this afternoon? Can I come over after my classes?" you ask. The two of you never really waste time with niceties.

"Yeah you can come today, I'll be back home by 3 today. When are you done?"

"I'm done at 4, I'll come afterwards. Do you have food I can make for dinner?"

"Yes mom, I did actually go grocery shopping over the weekend." Mingi laughs at his own sarcasm.

"They grow up so fast," you sigh sarcastically back, hoping Mingi thinks it's funny. Sometimes it's hard for him to take good care of himself, but if you ask too sincerely if he's okay he'll feel upset sometimes too. Like your concern only reminds him how sensitive and fragile he is. So you have to fit in the questions amongst humor, subtly slip them in. You'd do anything for him, even something as simple as grocery shopping if he needed it.

"I should go, I should have left like five minutes ago. See you later, love you!" he says.

"Love you too, have a good day!" you respond. Now that you know you'll be seeing him your heart beats faster; already your nerves are fried at the idea that you'll be asking him, telling him everything. Not for nearly nine hours, you remind yourself. But it doesn't help. Your heart still beats, your body still shakes. You decide to head to campus early and start studying, because there's no way your morning will be relaxing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thankfully class is busy and full and you have several assignments that keep you occupied in the morning, so your day flies by. Your final class is done and it is 4 o'clock on the dot, your professor being determined to get home earlier rather than later just as the rest of you are. Your focus had remained fairly steady during class but as soon as you exit the room and start walking your heart is in your throat and your legs feel wobbly. I have to do this, you tell yourself. I can't let Yunho tell him first. You feel certain Mingi will feel particularly betrayed if that happens. And you want to test the waters first, to ask subtly. Like you know how to do with him. Yunho knows him well, but you aren't sure he's mastered that art as well as you have.

You enter Mingi's apartment to a big smile and big hug. It's hard for people to believe the two of you are siblings sometimes, because of how much taller he is. It is a bit of a genetic surprise to be so differently shaped. You don't even look very similar facially. But you do share the same sensitivity, even if you have been much better at managing it. No one really knows how sensitive you are, except him.

"How was your day, how's school?" he asks.

"Good good, today was fine. It's been going well," you respond, trying to keep your tone casual.

"Did you get your grade back on that paper?"

"Oh yeah, I got an A-," you say proudly.

"That's amazing! You said that professor is a tough grader, right?" he asks. You nod. "You're such a goody-goody. Always doing everything right."

"I like having my shit together. Makes me feel calm," you respond.

"You should try letting loose sometime, maybe you'd enjoy that too."

"I've never really been allowed to. Or able to..." you trial off.

"I know," he responds. He pulls you into a hug again, knowing exactly what you mean. He is eternally grateful for your maturity and level-headedness. It's always put him at ease. "You wanna watch something while we eat?"

"No, let's just talk. I haven't seen you in a couple weeks."

"We text like every day," he says.

"It's not the same," you say.

"I suppose you're right," he responds. He looks at you again, sensing something is slightly off. But overall he is struck by how content you seem. "You seem really happy lately," he says.

"I am," you respond, unable to stop a smile from forming on your lips at the thought of Yunho. "I didn't know it was obvious to anyone else."

"This whole last year you've seemed so happy," Mingi says.

"It's cause you seem happy," you say, catching yourself off guard with your honesty. Has it really been that? you think. Yes, it has. Mingi has finally seemed to be consistently feeling good this last year, and it's made you more content than ever. You momentarily consider not asking him about Yunho, not bursting his bubble.

After cooking and eating most of your food you finally gain the courage to say it. The whole evening has been a wonderful session of catching up on the last few weeks, of telling Mingi the silly drama happening with other tutors at your work and him updating you about the two managers that everyone thinks are secretly dating. You wish it could just continue on in the same way for a few more hours, wasting the rest of the day away with silly conversation. But your nerves have been eating at you all evening, gently at first. Now it feels aggressive; now your whole nervous system feels like a city at rush hour, jam packed with cars and accidents and people rushing their way to wherever they're going. You feel like you'll explode if you wait any longer.

"Have you talked to Yunho recently?" you venture, hoping it doesn't sound strange.

"Of course, I saw him yesterday. We had a photo shoot." Mingi pauses. "Why?"

"I was just curious," you say, not at all sounding believable.

"Y/n, you don't need to check on me, if that's what you're doing. Me and Yunho are still best friends, as always. Just because we don't live together anymore doesn't mean I don't see him or we're not as close."

Momentarily you feel relief at Mingi's incorrect assumption that you asked to check up on him. Momentarily you feel like you could escape the line of questioning you set up for yourself. You could just go along with it, just admit that you were checking up on him and say sorry, and then change the subject. Feelings soar through your chest, one of relief mixed with shame, and one of anxiety mixed with pride. Just push through, just fucking push through, you tell yourself. You breathe, steadying yourself. Mingi knows this look, this breath that you take.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" he asks.

"Mingi, I need to tell you something. It's about-" just then you are cut off by loud knocking at his front door.

"Who is it?" Mingi asks, not wanting to get up from the table.

"It's me. It's Yunho." You body freezes, your eyes widening. Mingi stands up to go open the door but you are unable to turn and follow him. You stay still as if glued to your chair. You look at the clock, which reads 7:47. Is he really done with his family thing already?

"What's up?" Mingi asks Yunho, greeting him with a hug similar to the one he gave you.

"Mingi, I need to tell you something. I-" Yunho cuts himself off at the sight of you. You've managed to turn your head towards the door and your eyes catch on each other, an obvious tension palpable. You snap your eyes away; it felt like his were burning into your soul. You feel so stupid for having waited so long to tell Mingi.

Yunho can't stop looking at you, a mixture of concern and confusion clear in his face. And Mingi can't stop looking between the two of you, his own face twisted in confusion. You seeming nervous to say something didn't seem all that weird. You were emotional like him and prone to making a big deal of things, at least in the way you broke news to him. But Yunho's unexpected appearance and unexpected words really were not like Yunho at all. And the look he was giving you was so fully of intensity. Longing too, it seemed. Mingi's mind raced trying to put the pieces together. He thought he knew what this was about. He had been waiting for the two of you to say something. All of the members had been waiting. But now his little sister seemed hurt, and his best friend so confused?

"What the hell happened?" he asked, finally. It was all he could say.

[spxllcxstxr]

Kintsugi • K.R

(Gif not mine)

Request: Pls pls I need Kendall x young reader wife with a kid living in a remote place away from all the post waystar drama — anon

Summary: Six months later, Kendall still believes he's broken

Warnings: fem!reader (referred to as girl and mommy), usage of mommy and daddy but in pure parental terms, you have an unnamed daughter, rehab mention, kendall takes meds and goes to therapy now, past suicide implication/mention?, normal ken stuff, spoilers for the end of succession

Word Count: 1.2k (I didn't think it was gunna be this long lmao)

A.N: this was a little angsty im not gunna lie lmao, I’m going feral over this request—I just want Ken to be HAPPY, not enough happy Kendall gifs, also i am not entirely great with writing modern bros so like sorry about the characterization? first kendall piece so if you have any tips let me know, hope you all enjoy!

Kintsugi - a Japanese art form that involves repairing broken pottery with gold

•

"Ken? Ken honey do you want to join us at the beach today?" Your words cut through the painful silence of your master bedroom, shrouded in darkness despite it being past noon.

Kendall gives no indication that he heard you; no vague grunt or shift in movement. He just lays there--the blanket covering everything below his nose as his eyes stay closed. He isn't sleeping, you've been married to him long enough that his shuddering breaths and still as stone rigid posture was a poor attempt to convince you otherwise.

It’s like he thinks the blanket is the only thing holding him together. Like if he leaves that spot he’ll crumble to pieces right in front of you.

Your heart drops just looking at him. Being away from the city had obviously done some good, along with his month long visit to rehab, but Ken was still…healing.

You kiss his forehead before leaving, telling your disappointed daughter that daddy wouldn't be joining you today.

"It's one of daddy's bad days?" She asks once you feet hit the sand. Her childish voice laced with her innocence almost makes you tear up.

"It is, sweetie..." You nod, before quickly distracting her with placing your towels down and bringing out water bottles from her little pink lunchbox.

The ocean is what occupies her little body for the first hour or so. She jumps over the little waves and collects sea shells. Like what any parent would do, you snap photos of her with the biggest grin on her face.

Eventually, though, the two of you end up in the sand, using her plastic bucket and shovel to build a castle fit for a queen. She's actually not half bad, you notice, as the usual clumsy movements of a toddler are no longer present when she details her sandcastle.

“How’re my girls?”

You look up from the sand beneath your fingers to see your husband, clad in shorts and t-shirt.

“Daddy!” Your daughter shrieks, practically stomping all over the sandcastle the two of you were working on to get to Kendall.

She hugs his knees, squeezing them between her little arms, and he crouches down to hug her back.

Your husband smiles and it’s enough to convince your daughter—but not you.

He's tired, you notice; though it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. At just a glance it looks as if your husband has aged 50 years in six months. His eyes are sunken, not mention the dullness of his usually bright brown eyes. Kendall's normally sun-kissed skin now a deathly grey, which makes sense, he has barely left your bedroom much less the house. It’s almost as if someone had taken a spoon and hollowed out everything that made him human. Frown lines are etched into his face, your heart almost shatters at the overpowering aura of sadness and despair surrounding him.

Six months isn't enough time to wash away the years at Waystar.

You smile at him as your daughter takes his hand and drags him to the crumbling sandcastle.

Once he sits down he kisses you, placing a large hand on the side on your face. You taste the mint of the mouthwash he must've just used before his trek down here. Kissing Kendall was addicting, it always was, but with your daughter's groan of disgust you slowly pull away from him.

"Oh don't be like that kiddo, that's just what mommies and daddies do when they're in love." Kendall teases, ruffling her hair in the process.

She sticks her tongue out before turning her attention back on the ruins of the castle in front of her. Instead of crying about the state of it, she happily starts rebuilding with the help of you and Ken.

One eye never leaves his figure.

This sort of mood swing isn’t uncommon, for years you’ve experienced Kendall’s drastic moods, but this certainly wasn’t one of his highs.

The sandcastle slowly morphs into a sandkingdom; once she starts she never wants to stop. That is, until your daughter finally gets tired after the sun sets and she curls into Kendall’s lap.

You know you should get back to the house, it’s late, but it’s just too peaceful out here, alone on the beach.

Careful not to stir the little girl in his lap, Kendell leans his head on your shoulder, shifting closer to your warm figure. The stars flicker above you--a sight you almost never saw in the city. You take a deep breath before kissing your husband's recently buzzed head. Kendall hums, nuzzling even closer into you, like he was trying to burrow underneath your skin so you never had to leave him.

"I love you, Kendall. And we're ok." You whisper, the words getting eaten by the crashing waves just feet away from the two of you. Still, he hears you, you can tell by the sniffle against your shirt. Your daughter groans in her sleep, shifting.

He swallows roughly at your words.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n)…I fucked it.” Ken chokes out quietly, trying not to disturb the child. “I fucked it and I’m broken.”

His tears seep into your shirt. You angle your head down, your nose brushing against the top of his head.

"Oh Ken honey..." Your own lip wobbles at your husband's vulnerability. "You're not broken...you were never broken..."

"Then I'm--I'm fucking cracked, (Y/n)! I'm just not whole anymore! I don’t know if I ever was!"

Thoughts race through your head. Kendall had been doing better. He was consistent with taking his meds and he went to therapy every week. What if he tried to--? You clutch him closer to you, trying not to make yourself spiral when Kendall needed you.

His body shakes with silent sobs, your daughter still peacefully sleeping, unaware of the world around her.

The cool ocean breeze dances across your skin. You take a deep breath.

"Have you ever heard of kintsugi, Ken?"

"What? I'm having a complete breakdown and you're asking me about whatever the fuck that is?" He huffs, annoyed.

"Just listen to me Ken, it'll go somewhere." You kiss the top of his head to comfort his suddenly tense figure beside you. He eases at the contact. "I read in some stupid magazine that it's a Japanese technique where they repaired broken pots and stuff with gold." Kendall lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are red with unshed tears and his eyebrows are furrowed, listening to you. "They were made whole again; made more beautiful and were stronger than before."

Kendall purses his lips as you bring a hand up to stroke his tear stained cheek. Your other hand lightly strokes through your daughter's hair, careful not to rouse her.

"We'll be your gold, Kendall."

All at once the tension leaves his body, tears cascading down his face. His once dimly lit eyes brighten to reflect the stars above.

"Right," He nods, almost like he doesn't know how to respond to what you just said. "My gold..." His eyes flick between you and your daughter before his head settles back onto your shoulder, almost as if he couldn't take anymore emotions for the day.

You sigh, leaning your own head against his. Closing your eyes, you let the sound of the waves wash over the otherwise silent night.

The stars still shine above you and the saltiness of the ocean tinges the air.

You were all going to be alright.

•

[sebscore]

the other drivers finding a hickey on gen z driver! reader and trying to find out who gave it to her it would be so funny😭😭

WHAT HAPPENS IN MONACO, STAYS IN MONACO

pairing: f1 grid x driver!reader

warnings: hickey. innuendos. rushed writing (lol, I wrote this in the middle of the night so cut me some slack pls).

author's note: thanks for the request! I know this has been in my drafts for a long time so I'm very sorry that it took me a while!! hope you still see this <3 also thank you to @12-seconds-to-live for the title inspo!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

The Monaco Grand Prix was always one of the highlights of the season- the prestige and luxury it brought forward was matched by no other race.

It was also the home of many F1 drivers, including herself. So it wasn't too out of the ordinary for a bunch of them to get together and celebrate in one of the many clubs the city had to offer.

''Y/N, we're going out later tonight, wanna join?'' Pierre asked her, all of their media duties done for the day. Lando, Charles, Max, George and Alex amusingly looked at her, already knowing she would never pass the opportunity to party.

She scrunched her nose, feeling the teasing coming from a mile away. ''I, uh, actually have other plans.''

''What do you mean you have other plans?'' The frowns on the guys' faces didn't do their obvious confusion justice. ''You're seriously saying no to a party with us?'' George was flabbergasted, he had known her for years and in all that time she had never refused.

''I am saying no this time.'' Y/N chuckled, their faces too funny not to laugh at.

''Even the girls are coming,'' Lando said, referring to their girlfriends, ''you can say no to us, but you surely can't say no to them.'' He tried convincing her, knowing about her soft spot for their girls.

Y/N loudly sighed, glancing away for a moment. ''I already told Lily I wasn't coming so that won't be a problem.''

''She didn't tell me that.'' Alex argued, almost offended by his girlfriend not informing him.

The young woman glimpsed at him, a smirk on her face. ''Well, there are many things she doesn't tell you that she tells me, Albono.'' She ended her sentence with a wink to the Williams driver.

Her comment had temporarily taken the focus off of her dismissal to party as the drivers laughed and poked some fun at Alex, but Charles wouldn't let her get away with it just yet. ''But what are those other plans you have, Y/N?''

''I just have better things to do, guys.'' She said, making an advance to leave the paddock and go home for the day.

''Like what?'' Max asked, puzzled by her vague answer.

''I don't know, my friend didn't say his name.'' She grinned from ear-to-ear, quickly waving them goodbye before they could stop her and tease her for going on a blind date with someone.

Y/N could hear the commotion they made as she walked away, secretly smiling to herself. ''I can't believe she's dumping us for some guy.'' She swore it was Lando who said it.

Walking into the driver's briefing the next day hadn't been like the usual days. Normally, she walked in, greeted everyone and sat down on a random chair. However this time, it went a little different.

Y/N walked into the room and greeted everyone, nothing out of the ordinary. But instead of a symphony of excited and dismissed greetings back, she was met with smirks and chuckles from her fellow drivers.

''What is it?'' She asked them, not sitting down before she had an answer.

Yet, they continued acting like teenagers and giggled amongst themselves, not giving her an explanation for their weird behaviour.

Daniel was the first one to have mercy on her and spoke up. ''You had fun last night?'' The raised eyebrow didn't go unnoticed, the Australian referring to her blind date from the night before that the other must have informed the entire grid about before she arrived.

''It was alright.'' She merely said, finally sitting down on the chair next to Lewis who didn't seem to be very invested as he typed something on his phone.

''Just alright? Cause it seems like you were busy.'' Lando continued the teasing, weirdly putting his hand on the side of his neck.

Y/N frowned at his action. ''I have no idea what you're talking about and stop acting like an idiot.'' She awkwardly chuckled, unnerved by everything.

''You're the only clueless idiot in the room right now, I'm afraid.'' George commented, smiling a bit too bright in her opinion.

''I'm totally confused.'' She let out, not hiding her confusion any longer.

Lewis scratched his voice, not taking his eyes off his phone. ''We can see the hickey on your neck.'' He revealed to her, matter-of-factly.

Y/N's eyes widened, immediately hiding her neck into her sweater while she could feel her head heating up due to embarrassment. ''I just walked past all the reporters- oh my god!'' She exclaimed, angry at herself for giving them any kind of news they could gossip about.

''I'm so happy it's not me this time.'' Lando laughed, victoriously throwing his hands in the air.

''You're the victim of the week, kiddo.'' Valtteri ruffled her hair, sitting on the chair behind her and his former teammate. She weakly smiled at him, mortified at what her team's press officer was going to say about this.

A figure taking the space on the other side of her brought the woman out of her thoughts, glancing beside her, she found Mick's comforting smile. ''Don't listen to them,'' he whispered, ''so, tell me about it! Is he a nice guy?'' Mick couldn't help but be curious, they have been good friends for years.

Y/N snorted, quickly covering her mouth. ''I don't know, there wasn't much talking, to be honest.''

''Okay, gross.''

taglist :: @i0veless @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @alonsogirlie @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123 @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @scuderialavender @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis

@champomiel @ooooohmicky @koufaxx @flannelforthetoads @mysticfalls01 @ghostcorazon @mango-bear @totally-random-person @youkissedareaderinthedark @phoenix-luv @hamilton-mount @calcaneous @aurora-maria @idkiwantchocolatee @anonymous-platypus1

[kedsandtubesocks]

fire starter

Dragon!Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

summary: there’s a creature lurking behind your family’s lake cabin, but what will you do when it decides to start following you around?

written for @quinnnfabrgay-writes & @hauntedhowlett-writes #MONSTERSMASH24 challenge

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, human/monster relationship, magic transformation & magic elements, mention of drug consumption, one brief scare of possible animal attack, smutty thoughts, monster!smut, voyeurism/consensual voyeurism , masturbation (f), scent kink, oral (f receiving), mentions of mating, light size kink, monster!dick humping, no use of y/n, sweet & chaotic!Dieter

word count: 4.5k

a/n: so yeah I can’t believe I wrote this & I’M SO SORRY for posting it on the very last day of the challenge (pls forgive me) but here are are lol omg biggest thank you to @hauntedhowlett & @ahauntedcowboy for letting me scream about this, and to you, if you decide to read this, thank you so much ♡

The cozy cabin would be your home for the next few weeks during your break away from school before the new semester starts. You needed to get away, clear your head. It’s why your mom suggested taking a nice trip away to the family cabin your grandparents owned. Now the solitude, the comfort of the lake and the forest, all of it sounds healing.

Your luggage still sits inside and the place needs to be cleaned up a bit… but you happily stand on the patio looking out to glimmering water. The lake’s reflective dance and the stretching forest off to the side cloaking the cabin in a rustic dream make you exhale comforted.

Until sudden rustling comes off to the side among the bushes. Your eyes flicker, rapidly scanning the area.

“Beware of bears!” Your grandpa had joked on the phone, but he’s right. The wilderness held dangerous creatures.

You just never assumed a mythical beast would be one of them.

A dragon slowly lifts its head up from behind a shrub, and you wonder if you’re imagining things. A piece of you even thinks this is maybe a bad internet trend or prank video you’re caught in.

The dragon is beautiful with sleek horns. The scales shimmer a unique rustic ash color. But now with the hints of sunlight leaking through the trees the color on the scales become almost reflective of a duo chrome peacock green. The unflinching sharp eyes blinking at you are a deep tiger's eye gem brown.

“Don’t scream.” A voice suddenly says and you realize -

It’s the dragon talking.

“Is this a prank?” You blurt out worried about possibly being on a bad TikTok.

“If it is, it would be a really fucking good prank now that I think about it.” The dragon’s mouth barely moves, but you know it’s him speaking.

His voice is clearly human, smooth and aware.

“That’s a good animatronic then.” You nervously comment.

“I’m not an animatronic!” The dragon huffs even flaring his eyes upset. “I’m a real man! Or… dragon fuck. This is confusing.”

Slowly, you walk cautiously and backwards back to the cabin door.

“No wait!” The dragon rushes out of the bushes and the rest of his body follows revealing an intimidating creature, including a tail flickering nervously.

It seems real, doesn’t seem like a puppet, and you think something that moves this fluid can’t possibly be some robot left in the woods.

“I’m Dieter fucking Bravo. You gotta help me!” His voice becomes panicked, louder, scaring you.

You scramble back into the cabin, slam the door and try settling down. Because there possibly might be a real dragon outside your door.

After that you stay locked inside the cabin, almost afraid to move.

You swear soft whines come from outside the window, but you refuse to check and possibly find monster eyes gleaming out from the woods.

Once you’re calmed, you remember what the creature said.

The dragon yelled that he was Dieter Bravo. And the name sounds vaguely familiar.

So grabbing your phone, you start googling.

The news rushes in, bombarding you.

Oscar Winner Dieter Bravo Still Missing

You click the first article.

“Dieter Bravo is an eccentric man to say the least. But after two months with no communication to even his agents, people are now starting to get worried…”

No fucking way.

The more you deep dive, the more you become entangled in this web of the missing actor.

There’s even conspiracy theories arguing he was abducted by aliens.

“No guys he’s just filming that new marvel movie remember” someone comments on the YouTube video you watch.

That creature said he was Dieter Bravo. You can’t wrap your mind around the possibility the beast is the same man.

So the next morning, when the sun barely peeks through the clouds, you step outside. You glance around finding no sign of the dragon.

Even getting braver you walk off the patio and check around the cabin.

“Can I have some of whatever you cooked yesterday cause it smelled fucking amazing.”

You almost scream hearing the sudden inquisitive and smooth voice. The dragon’s snout peeks out from behind a thicket of trees, and sharp inquisitive eyes intently stare you down.

“You said you’re Dieter Bravo.” You demand surprisingly firm.

“It’s ‘cause I am!” He urges franticly, now whipping his full head up to stare at you. It’s a mind melt having a full on discussion with a dragon.

“What if you just ate him?” You narrow your eyes, still not convinced.

The dragon shrieks insulted and raises its head up more.

“I didn’t! Unless you count the times I bite my lip and swallow the dead skin or whatever!”

Soon the dragon starts listing off facts like Dieter’s birthday, the secret tattoo he has on his ass, he even says who his agent’s name is. It’s all rather convincing.

“Look,” he sighs, annoyed and lowers his head. “I was staying at one of the luxury cabins way the fuck past the hiking trails and wandered away… then I found some magic looking mushrooms by a tree and-”

“You ate unknown mushrooms from the forest?!” You interject sharp.

“They looked really good!” He whines. “And how was I to know they were actually real fucking magic mushrooms that would turn me into this?!” The dragon whips its scaled tail around to emphasize his point.

You almost get knocked off your feet.

So this dragon really is actor Dieter Bravo.

“How have you stayed hidden this long?” You ask stunned.

“Cause I’m a pro champion winner of hide and seek, duh.” He scoffs proud. “Plus there’s an abandoned bear cave I’ve started renting, and nobody has been out here for weeks.”

“That is until you showed up.” The dragon nudges towards you.

“So can you help me!? Please?” He quickly whimpers, staring up at you like a cat trying to plead for treats.

“How am I supposed to help you?!” You fire back confused.

“I don’t fucking know! But you’re the first person I’ve actually talked to in two months, and I just can’t think straight anymore!” He sobs dramatically, flinging his body onto the dirt forest floor now almost mimicking a toddler throwing a small tantrum.

“Listen, I almost had to eat a fucking possum you gotta help me!” Dieter continues to wail, and you shush him from drawing attention.

“Fine! I’ll try to help!” You agree hastily.

Before you can say anything, the dragon, no - Dieter, rushes forward and you almost scream.

He’s around the size of a large truck. Seeing such a large creature, a deadly one at that, rushing towards you activates a primordial fear.

Until his large face presses against your stomach.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” He cries excessively.

“I’ll give you whatever you want! Take you to Oscar parties! Do you wanna meet like, fucking Hugh Jackman or someone else I think I can make that happen?!” His joy and relief are tangible in his rambling.

You laugh nervously, but feel more at ease.

And so a dragon follows you home.

He waits outside the cabin because he is too big to fully fit inside. But Dieter stays surprisingly close, even presses his nose against the window as if he’s a sad stray wanting to be let in.

Now you enjoy meals outside with him most days.

“So what brings a hottie like yourself to a creepy cabin in the woods?” He asks when you sit outside with him and almost choke on an inhale.

However, you do explain how this place is your grandparents and you’re simply staying here on a small break.

“Ah, a mini mental health retreat,” he says sagely, nodding his dragon head. “I dig it.”

That makes you grin.

A sort of ridiculousness bubbles in you whenever you google and search up websites about breaking spells or curses. But you have to believe a remedy, or something like it, exists especially when tangible magic now sits curled right beside you. Dieter’s head rests against your thigh while he breathes in and out with a steady rumble. The soft sunlight allows the delicate shimmer of his scales to dance beautifully.

You glance down to the dragon sleeping peacefully.

Dieter grew close to you instantly. You also hate to admit how fast you’ve bonded to him. He’s wildly easy to talk to and pretty funny. When you take walks by the lake he trots right besides you, not even bothered about being seen.

“If I wasn’t so worried about the government or aliens shooting me down or carrying me off to some sketchy ass lab, I’d take us flying.” Dieter comments one evening when you decide to simply enjoy the cool evening and shimmering stars above.

To prove a point, the dragon spreads open his wings to stretch them. They’re glorious, bat-like in their structure and towering over you in a mythical shade. You feel so small compared to him, but in a way that comforts you, almost like standing against the grandeur of many redwood trees.

“Honestly I don’t think you’d be that good a pilot anyway even as a dragon.” You tease.

He scoffs horrified. “Excuse me! I played a pilot in a Grey’s Anatomy episode. So I know how flying fucking works!”

You burst out laughing, buoyant.

You begin wondering if maybe Dieter imprinted on you, but realization creeps in that you’ve maybe done the same to him.

On warmer days when you want to enjoy the lake, you wait until the dragon wakes so you both can enjoy the water.

You jokingly tell him he looks like the lochness monster as he swims.

“Nessie’s got nothing on me.” Dieter huffs.

Then, he playfully swishes his tail in the water, creating a large wave that hits you with a cold splash. Immediately you childishly kick splash back at him.

The dragon snickers so human, and your heart jumps.

It’s getting harder to ignore the blooming affection growing more for him.

Dieter sleeps besides the cabin now, specifically your bedroom window. Because of that you try keeping sounds low due to his incredible hearing.

Mainly because you’ve been looking up videos of him, anything from his interviews, to compilations of his movie roles.

One scene of him in a ‘so bad it’s good’ 2000’s rom com has been replaying in your head for days. The way Dieter greedily grasps his love interest's cheeks, how he kisses deeply possessive and consuming like a raging storm -

You wonder if he always kisses like that.

He’s ridiculously handsome. Both as a human and… even as a dragon.

But you stomp those thoughts away. Dragon or not, he’s a celebrity, an actual actor who has been linked to other famous people.

He possibly wouldn’t even look your way.

“Hey,” Dieter perks up and moves to rest his large head across your tummy while you lounge in the hammock by the lake.

You halfway lie saying you’re just tired. Then a sudden fanged sense of curiosity possesses your fingers, and they move before you can stop. You trace along his sharp bone like horns then down to the scales of his face. They’re cool and sturdy to the touch.

Dieter closes his eyes, relaxing more against you.

He’s settled down more, mellowing out into a zen peaceful version of himself that isn’t pestering you about ideas on how to break the magic placed on him. You even feel more relaxed, especially with him here.

When you first decided on this small break, you were slightly worried about being alone for this long. Instead, like something out of a strange fairy tale, you now can't imagine being here without this strange creature.

Slowly, then all at once, Dieter becomes clingy.

Rapid in his curious questions, he’s annoying and ridiculous at times but still incredibly endearing to talk to. As twilight approaches in soft glory, the dragon shifts to curl around you, a scaled mythical barricade that refuses to let you leave.

“No…don’t go back in. Stay here with me.” He purrs. “It’ll be like a fun camping trip.”

You snicker, even though your heart races at his plea.

“Maybe next time.” You suggest, and Dieter pouts huffing out a puff of smoke in protest.

In the shower your mind wanders to some cheesy romance books your best friend once showed you.

One was about a witch who fell in love with an enemy dragon cursed to destroy her. That story had you in a chokehold. Especially the scene where the witch got affected by a spell that backfired. It made her aroused and the only way to dispel the effects was through sex. And of course her dragon enemy was the only one present who could help the witch.

An image flickers in your mind repeatedly of Dieter with his shimmering gemstone eyes and you clutching onto his horns as he -

Soon enough your back hits the shower wall and your fingers drift down as your eyes flutter shut, allowing yourself to sink into that fantasy.

You try to keep your whimpers quiet, but a part of you… wants Dieter hear.

Your fingers curl and move, drawing out your arousal.

But then you hear it - a rumbled groan.

An embarrassed heat knocks into you.

That’s when you remember you left the window to the bathroom open. You’re about to apologize until Dieter speaks first.

He growls out your name, a whimper over the rush of the shower water.

“Oh, I can smell you.” His words slice through you and unleash a damn.

Your heart races, and your mind shuts down.

“More, gimme more please.” Dieter urges and your fingers pick up a frantic pace.

“Dieter.” You croak out his name.

“Fuck yeah.” The dragon pants, and you swear the walls shake a bit as if he’s trying to press past them, maybe even burst through to you.

“Shit baby, wanna eat you up so fucking bad.” Dieter slurs and knocks your climax out of your chest. You come fast.

“Fuck.” He now whines impatiently. “Want you more. Wish I could do more.”

You exhale trying to steady your breathing and also feel a tug of sympathy for him. You stay quiet, don’t know what else to do.

But after slipping into your pajamas, you notice Dieter has gone dangerously quiet.

So gathering up a bunch of blankets and pillows, you head outside deciding maybe to actually camp out with him.

Yet, in the stretching darkness, Dieter is nowhere to be found. Your heart breaks a bit.

The next morning Dieter is still missing.

You head to the small grocery supply store to grab a few items. The television talks about a storm approaching and you wonder if that’s why he left.

You spot a reasonably priced extra large tent, almost a canopy, that you maybe could use to keep Dieter safe and dry besides the cabin.

You hope he returns soon. As you struggle to try putting the tent together, the thunder rumbles in the distance.

Twigs snap and footsteps approach the path around the cabin. Slightly panicked, you start glancing out into the woods.

A part of you now hopes it's a dragon.

Unfortunately a mountain lion instead stares at you from among the tree line.

Your heart drops.

The large hunter stays still and so do you.

With your heart racing you slowly back away hoping to head back into the cabin.

But the large cat prowls forward out of the trees, a slow stalk.

Terror crawls all over your body.

A sinister rumble floats out into the air, and you think it’s the thunder getting worse.

That rumbling you mistook as thunder instead clearly floats into a terrifying growl.

You have to think it’s the mountain lion about to pounce any second.

Suddenly Dieter flies out of the trees. His maw is open wide, filled with shark sized sharp teeth. The beast lands before the prowler, a monster from a hellish nightmare.

The mountain lion bares its fangs, hissing loud and tries to swat its paw at Dieter. But the dragon remains unbothered and instead snapping his jaw shut towards the cougar almost trying to chomp at it.

It’s enough to frighten the large mountain cat, and it retreats away fast.

Dieter continues growling. His eyes are dangerous slits, a crystalized predator. You can’t move, too stunned to even think. But then your dragon blinks, coming back to his senses and rushes towards you.

He says your name worried as his face rubs all over you.

“Tell me you’re alright?! That stupid cat almost tried to attack you! I was so fucking close to biting his head off or shit charbroiling it-”

You reassure Dieter you’re alright, even wrap your arms around him best as you can.

You’ve never held him like this. His warmth in your embrace reminds you of a burning heartbeat, the thump of a flame too powerful to extinguish.

“Where were you? Where have you been?” You ask weakly.

“Didn’t wanna hurt you last night.” Dieter admits. “My mind…this dang freaky monster mind of mine kept telling me to do… things.”

You cautiously ask what.

He buries his large snout against you.

“Like fucking mate you.” He mutters, and your legs almost give out.

“Oh.” Dieter says and inhales deep. “Oh, damn… you like that huh?”

He can smell you, caught your wave of arousal already making you wet.

Soon enough he moves down, and you try to shoo him away until he presses his nostrils straight between your legs and inhales. You slap your hand over your mouth to stop the whimper that almost leaves you.

“I’m drooling.” Dieter slurs and even allows his mouth to stay open panting, a monster in heat. “God, you smell even better than last night.”

“Dieter.” You whisper.

“Please baby, please.” He pleads now gently nipping at your clothes with his sharp teeth.

“Don’t… I don’t want you doing this just because of your dragon brain taking over.” You fidget hearing your true feelings bubble out.

“No, I’m not! Promise.” Dieter says truthfully.

He even shifts his draconian face to place kisses against your thighs. “Would want you even as a man. Fuck it even got me messed up thinking how frustrated I was I couldn’t do shit with you as a man…”

“But now...” he drags his scaled nose up your legs, and your eyes close. “Kinda wanna enjoy being a dragon with you.”

“Wait…With me?” You asks a bit hesitant.

“Uh yeah.” He snorts. “Only you…Cause I trust you baby.”

Opening your eyes, your gaze meets Dieter’s peering up at you. A monster of devastating destruction and terror you just saw now at your knees so large, powerful, and beautiful.

Your hand caresses his face, and he closes his gem eyes.

You lie down within the half made tent. However, it creates a wonderful cave-like cover for you to slide into.

“What the crap is this?” Dieter nudges into the tarp as he wiggles as much as he can into the covering.

“Rain is coming, wanted to get something to keep you dry, you dick.” You playfully reply.

Dieter’s dragon eyes soften, pupils expanding like a cat’s, and he moves to nuzzle your neck. You lean back against him and exhale against his cool scales.

Then he descends, a beast ready to consume.

You think of the monster books your best friend lent you.

Now you can say it doesn’t do the truth justice.

After you slide off your shorts and underwear Dieter’s tongue, thin and slippery, long and precise with its movements, licks across your bare thighs. It traces against your skin leaving you wiggling wanting more.

Then he dives into you. His tongue slithers around your clit then wiggles into you, and your body snaps up galvanized by this unbelievable pleasure.

“Damn baby, this is incredible.” Dieter slurs drunk. “You’re incredible.”

You get it. It feels like your body is going to melt off your bones. Then his sharp dragon teeth very gently nip at your thigh, and your mind blanks.

When your climax hits he greedily slurps it up. You whine a bit overstimulate when he continues lapping at you.

“Mate,” he mutters. “Wanna mate you so bad.”

You softly coo at him, running your hand against his horn.

This idea has been infesting your mind for weeks. Now it’s here.

“Turn on your back for me.” You softly tell Dieter who effortlessly moves, doing as he’s told. Now he’s the one lying down covered by the half canopy.

On his back you’re smitten by the sight of his soft colored underbelly.

Then his monstrous large cock makes your mouth water and body shiver. You knew it would. But now you realize there’s no way his very rigged and large cock could fit inside you.

“Don’t even know if I can fit.” Dieter whimpers. Pre-cum starts pebbling, leaking, at the head of his cock and you already ache to taste.

“Shh…” you comfort him again, kissing the scales along his belly.

“I have an idea.” You whisper low.

Even with your weak and slightly shaky legs you manage to climb on top of him.

Then you settle down, resting on him. Both you and Dieter instantly moan.

“Fuck, already feel you. You’re so warm.” he sobs.

“You too.” You hiccup. His cock is heated, throbbing against you.

Then you grind your hips, dragging your pussy down against him, and it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

Dieter’s growls shatters the air, and you try to soothe him, settle his noises. But it’s hard, even for you. The more you grind and hump against him, you can’t even silence yourself. His rigged cock feels divine rubbing against you. Soon enough it’s simply you and him melting into each other.

You grind and grin, speeding up your hips. You’re lost in the pleasure, lost in the molten fire scorching your skin that before you know it, you come and pleasure crashes into you a consuming wave. Dieter moans, a half mixed noise so human yet monstrous.

“I’m… I’m gonna-” He growls, unable to even speak.

“Give it to me, please.” You beg.

When he comes it’s hot, sticky and there’s so much. But you feel beautifully dizzy and drunk, especially as his cum pools against your thighs sticking to your skin. It’s dirty, raw, but incredible.

Especially as Dieter shifts to now have you lying below him and his wings open up to create their own canopy against you, shielding you from the world.

After cleaning him and yourself up with your discarded shorts, your dragon curls against you

“Holy shit balls,” Dieter exhales with his warm breath that tickles. “That was the hottest kinkiest sex I’ve ever had. Didn’t think you’d have it in you. When can we do it again?”

You playfully swat at him.

“Hey, it’s all a compliment! I’m saying it was hot as fuck!” He argues and you snicker, but now in Dieter’s warmth exhaustion creeps in cozy and effortless.

The thunder rumbling becomes a soft lullaby mixing in with the content purr thundering from your dragon.

You turn and rest your face against the side of Dieter’s massive muzzle. Placing a soft kiss against his scales, you let your eyes close.

You rest safe with your dragon’s keep.

Soft raindrops falling against your legs waking you up wearily. You’re thankful at least half the tent keeps you covered as the rain pours down.

But you now notice you’re missing one dragon.

Instead the most handsome man you’ve ever seen sleeps besides you, curled against your shoulder while he snores.

Dieter’s utterly gorgeous. Peacefully resting, mouth slightly open, you ache to trace his sharp nose. His fluffy hair looks like an adorable bird's nest. You’re so in awe of this unreal man it takes you a moment to realize he’s a dragon no more.

You yelp surprised and bolt up from him.

“Wha? Whazzit?” Dieter wearily asks waking up.

“Dieter, Dieter wake up.” You urge, and he yawns as he stretches.

“Ready to go for another round huh, honey cakes?” He smirks sleepy but coy at you.

Then his eyes go wide as he realizes it too.

He shrieks, scrambling to sit up.

His hands press against his body and even glances down between his legs.

“Phew! Had to check my dick just to make sure, but we’re good.”

You roll your eyes until his wide beautiful earthen ones turn to you.

“I’m a real boy again!” He cries then gathers you into his arms squeezing you tight.

“Sex broke the spell!” Dieter declares, and you excitedly laugh rubbing his gorgeous back.

“You broke my spell.” He softer says, rubbing his nose into the top of your head.

“I don't know if it was me…but glad I could help.” You hug him back.

“Okay, as fuckin’ cool as it was being a dragon, and yes I’m already messing my dragon dick, I didn’t realize how much I missed being human. Like… I’ve just been wanting to hold you.”

His words are ridiculous, perfectly Dieter all while being endearing. You snort, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

Rain pours down harder, slipping into the collapsing tent. Laughing and getting soaked in the downpour, you finally let Dieter inside the cabin. He of course happily follows you eagerly.

A knock at the door wakes you the next morning, breaking your soft spell among the blanket’s warmth and Dieter arms.

A park ranger and police officer stand on the other side of the door.

“Sorry to bother you this morning,” the park ranger sounds sincere and apologetic. Then he gives a look to the officer.

“But uh… have you… seen any weird suspicious activity around these parts?”

You’re a bit confused, and the officers must see that in your face.

The cop sighs. “A man came in yesterday screaming that he saw a dragon fly over while he was on the hiking trail nearby.”

A bark of a laugh escapes you, and you apologize for the outburst.

“No, it’s alright. It is kinda ridiculous to think about.” The park ranger warmly reassures you.

“No officers I’m sorry I haven’t seen anything of the sorts.” You relay to them.

“The only bad dragon around these parts is me.”

You sigh already tempted to shove Dieter away. In your soft robe he slinks his arms across your shoulder with a sleepy yawn.

The police officer and park ranger now stare like gaping open mouth fishes seeing the missing actor.

“You’re…you’re…-”

“Yeah, yeah I know who I am.” Dieter interjects, waving his hand casually. “And I’m not missing. Nor did the aliens take me as much as I hoped they would.”

He moves to curl against you more. “Just been here with my hot new girlfriend that’s all.”

The title sets your heart on fire. The officers wish you a good day. The park ranger even asks for an autograph from Dieter, which he of course gives.

“Now, if you excuse me, I gotta show my baby the real dragon here in the woods.” Dieter says without shame even winks and you shriek embarrassed, apologizing profusely.

You chide Dieter smacking his chest as he snickers proud.

“Come on,” he urges, nibbling at your cheeks. “Let me show my mate how badly I need her.”

You can’t argue with that.

Later that night falling asleep again in his arms you notice the same dragon rumble still deep in Dieter’s chest, a blissful rumbling purr.