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dilf-hunter-fantasies · 2 days ago

Note

I was wondering if you'd write anything about Joel and free use?

Love your account babe💗

thank you so much babe, i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy my take on it. i was fantasizing about...

renting a room from joel miller and striking a deal to lower your rent.

3.5k words 🍒warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak au, age gap (reader in college), female reader, brief mention of f masturbation, free use!!, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, use of: sweetheart, darlin'

click here for more of my writing

So you end up short on options for housing after breaking up with your ex. You know it seems weird to be a young woman willing to rent a room from an older man who is …well in all versions you spin it…a total stranger. But, your aunt swears he’s a good guy.

She used to live in his neighborhood, knew his daughter, figured he has the extra room and put you in touch. And all things considered, she hasn’t led you astray. I mean, he hasn’t murdered you.

Okay, it’s not that bad. He doesn’t give off murder vibes either. More like…grumpy single man vibes. But that works out for your arrangement. You’re both pretty quiet and you keep to yourselves. And he’s not too bad to look at. You catch yourself straddling a line between not being the creep yourself and just wanting to get to know him a little bit.

The real problem has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Well with your bank account. You’ve been bleeding your measly savings trying to keep up with life and the job you have isn’t really enough to live off of. It was a dream to find a hybrid schedule and work for a non-profit with a mission that matters to you. But it doesn’t pay for shit.

It’s not like Joel’s overcharging you or anything either. Nothing is affordable.

And now you’re on your last legs. If you can’t keep this together you’ll have to pack it up and crawl home to your family? Not an option. It’s not like you haven’t been applying for other jobs either. But you either don’t hear back or the schedule won’t work with your classes.

So here you are. Pacing back and forth in your sparsely decorated room. Between your bed and your desk, wearing a groove into the carpet, chewing on your fingers and obsessively checking your phone to see if your sage friends have any better advice.

They don’t.

Well, they suggested selling feet pics online, but even if that could be lucrative—it doesn’t get you the money to spend by tomorrow. You toss yourself onto your bed, exasperated. Last resort. You’re gonna have to be honest.

It takes a long time to gather the mental courage. You stare at your ceiling for so long your eyes blur. You can hear Joel in the kitchen and with a deep breath you force yourself up, dragging your feet down the hallway until you see him.

The kitchen is warm, whatever he’d made for dinner earlier smells good. So good it makes your stomach growl, announcing your presence in the doorway. The sound makes you grimace—for a split second you’re tempted to hide. To run back to your room and pretend like there won’t be any consequences if you just don’t bring it up. Ever.

Too late. He shuts the dishwasher with a loud click and turns, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. You immediately regret this idea. Your feel like you’re sinking into the floor. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him now.

“Hey,” he says gruffly, his voice low and even. He turns back away from you, putting leftovers in the fridge, like it’s no big deal you’ve been standing there silently like a weirdo. “You need something?”

Your throat is suddenly so dry, you can barely unstick your tongue to speak. “Yeah…uh, can I talk to you for a second?”

Joel pauses mid-motion, before shoving the last container onto the shelf and letting the fridge door shut, trapping you in the silence together. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks toward you. The way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes you nervous for reasons you don’t want to analyze right now.

“Sure.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands twisting in front of you like they’re trying to strangle each other. His eyes flick down to the motion, and you force yourself to stop.

“So, uh…I was wondering—” You swallow hard. You can do it. “I need to talk to you about my rent.”

His eyebrows lift, and your chest tightens.

“Let’s hear it then.”

“It’s just that I’m in kind of a tight spot right now. Work’s been—well, it’s been fine but money’s tight, and I just—” You’re rambling. Words all running together. “I’m not saying you’re charging too much or anything like that, but—”

“Slow down,” Joel holds up a hand, and the rest of your words fall flat. His voice is calm, but firm. “You sayin’ you can’t afford it?”

“I can!” you blurt out. “I mean, I can’t by tomorrow, but I can soon. I just thought, maybe we could work something out. Like…if you could give me some more time or if I could do something to work off some of what I owe.” Joel tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just thinking, and the silence stretches too long for comfort.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, dropping his arms and leaning his palms on the counter behind him. His voice is lower when he speaks again, quieter, like he’s weighing every word.

“You wanna do something for me?”

Your heart skips, and you blink up at him. Maybe that was a dumb suggestion. You don’t even know what you have to offer. The house is always clean, the yard maintained, he seems to enjoy cooking.

“Uh, yeah?” your face contorts a little as you try and come up with a suggestion. “If you’d consider giving me a discount.”

His lips twitch, just the barest hint of a smirk, and something about it makes the air in the room shift.

“Well,” he drawls, “If I’m cuttin’ you a deal,---”

“You’ll consider it?” You look at him with a smile already starting to break on your face. You can breathe.

“Maybe you can cut me one, too.” He finishes his sentence. Your mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. There’s something behind his words you don’t fully understand, but it’s stuck in the air between you.

“What kind of deal?” you manage to get out, your voice hesitant.

Joel pushes off the counter, closing the space between you in a way that’s casual, but calculated. He’s close enough you can make out the lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper in his beard. His gaze holds yours, steady and charged with something new.

“You say yes,” he starts to explain, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that makes your pulse quicken. “And I’ll knock your rent down as much as you need. Simple.”

The room suddenly feels small, too warm, like his gravity is holding you in place.

“Say yes to what, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is soft, just a whisper rolling off your tongue. You have an idea what he’s proposing. The way his eyes flicker with something dark and knowing when you refer to him as Mr. Miller. The crackle in the air between you.

“I think you know what I mean.”

You shake your head, ever so subtly, wrinkling a brow. In what feels like slow motion, Joel tips your chin up, between his thumb and curled forefinger. Your face is on fire. Somehow exposed even though nothing else has changed.

“Whenever I need you. Wherever I want you.”

For a second you think he might kiss you. It feels like everything in your body is calling to him. His mouth is so close to yours. The words are still replaying in your mind.

But he pulls his hand back. “Think about it,” he murmurs and brushes past you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. He glances back at you once on his way out of the room. “Offer’s on the table, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Up to you.”

You’re left standing, still as a stone, heat prickling up your spine as his words replay in your head.

What the fuck just happened?

“Hey!” you call out, starting down the hall after Joel. “Wait.”

He turns, hovering in the doorway to his room.

“Uh, are you talking about sex?”

“Yep.”

Your breath hitches. The corner of his mouth quirks, smug. You look at him with fresh eyes. He’s an attractive guy. Not exactly pleasant, but not a jerk. You can’t imagine he’d have a hard time picking up a date.

“I’m not a whore, you know.” “I know, darlin’.” His face softens a little.

The next couple of days are filled with tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. Whenever you’re in the same room you can feel his eyes lingering on you. He brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, his hand grazing your hip when he reaches for his coffee mug.

You catch him watching you from across the room, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. His eyes roam all over your body, dark and deliberate, and you can feel the promise in his gaze.

It’s driving you fucking insane. You thought he’d have made a move by now. Hell, you thought he’d have made a move the second you agreed to his deal. But he’d only made sure you each had a few ground rules and that was it. End of conversation.

“Have a good night now, darlin’. Hope you sleep better without having to worry about your rent.”

Right. You didn’t have to worry about rent. You just had to spiral in your own room wondering when it would happen. How he’s going to take you.

It’s got you so worked up thinking about him you keep spacing out during your work meetings. Swiveling restlessly on your office chair in your bedroom, trying to remember to look focused and add your two cents in for participation.

But all you can think about is Joel. You’re on high alert whenever you hear his truck roll into the driveway, the door slamming shut with a thud. His heavy steps coming down the hall. You wonder when he’ll want you. You know he meant it.

You hope he meant it.

That night, his footsteps pause outside your door, his presence thick in the air, setting your pulse racing. It makes you squirm, adjusting the skimpy pajamas you’ve taken to wearing as your heart beats faster. You can’t tell if he’s debating coming in or if he’s just fucking with you, but it’s got you breathless.

The next morning, you’re standing in the bathroom doorway, brushing your teeth when Joel suddenly appears, shirtless and still damp from his shower. He gives you a lazy once-over, stepping close enough that you have to press yourself against the door frame to let him pass.

His voice is low and teasing as he murmurs, “You’re in the way, sweetheart,” leaving your cheeks flaming.

The next day, you’re still tense.

Stretching in your desk chair as your coworkers read through their budget updates and data tracking for the grants you’re funded through. It’s hard to stay focused, Joel has taken over all of your thoughts.

Jaz finishes her update and another department leads the rest of the meeting. You’re shuffling your notes around mindlessly, barely hearing a word. Every thought in your head is Joel, Joel, Joel.

Last night, you’d nearly combusted when he finally walked away from your door. You’d been seconds from begging him to come in, to just take you already. By the time he left, your thighs were slick, and the ache was unbearable. You had to handle it yourself, coming hard and fast on your fingers, imagining it was his thick, calloused hands instead.

But now, twelve hours later, the tension is already back. Worse than before. Every noise in the house puts you on edge. His truck rumbling into the driveway. The front door shutting.

The meeting drags on, voices fading into a blur—until a soft knock jolts you back to reality.

Before you can answer, the door swings open, and Joel steps inside like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly in the middle of something.

Your heart races. Your eyes flick to your camera to make sure it’s off. Muted. Thank God.

Joel doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. His dark eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate, and it’s like every molecule of air has been sucked out of the room.

He takes his time crossing the space between you, letting the silence stretch. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he crowds you, hands bracing the arms of your chair, caging you in.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he drawls, his voice low and gravelly.

Your throat is so tight you can’t even speak. You shake your head.

Joel’s smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”

His big hands tug you to the edge of your chair, spreading your knees wide. He runs his palms along your thighs, leaving a trail of heat that burns your skin through your soft leggings.

Your heart jumps to your throat, chest tight.

The thought of your coworkers just a click away only heightens the thrill.

Joel doesn’t hold back. Pulling you to stand. Turning you to face your desk and pressing until you lean your elbows on the smooth surface, framing your keyboard.

You arch your spine eagerly, holding your breath, bracing for his next move. He smooths a palm over the curve of your ass, humming softly to himself, before slipping his hand between your legs.

You tilt your head, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers press against you, making your thighs tremble. You know he can feel how wet you already are through the thin material. All day you’re wet for him, just waiting and waiting.

His touch is firm and you grind into it without thinking, making him laugh under his breath. “Shit,” he murmurs. “She needs it worse than I do, huh?” You don’t answer. Just dropping your head between your shoulder blades as he rubs circles against your clothed pussy.

He retracts his hand, swiftly pulling your leggings down, exposing your puffy, wet folds to the cooler air.

You stay folded over, forehead resting on your desk, ass arched in presentation. You don’t know what to expect next, your pulse thunders in your ear as you wait.

His hands frame your cunt, spreading you wider so he can look closer. You’d be self-conscious being studied so closely if you were any less desperate for him to touch you. But all you can do you is silently beg him to do something.

“Christ,” he murmurs reverently, dropping to his knees behind you. “Just a taste first.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself. You don’t care.

You gasp sharply the second his tongue dips between your swollen lips. It’s so much better than your fingers and your frustrated, rushed orgasms last night. It’s so much better.

He uses his whole face, diving deeper, as he groans into your pussy. Your meeting is still in progress, but the voices coming through your speakers could be speaking a foreign language. They mean nothing to you right now.

The only thing that matters is between your legs. You’re almost embarrassed at how close you already are. You don’t know if you should say anything. If he cares if he makes you cum. Before you can think any harder, he’s back on his feet and you’re whimpering at the loss.

“I know.”

The soft clink of his belt followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans has your knees weak. The thrill that shoots through you is like lightning, ripping through your system and activating every nerve in your body.

Be good," he growls, dragging his cock through your slick.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the awe and the relief. The heat, the thickness, the pressure. It’s everything you need, but not enough at the same time. He continues for a moment, coating his length in your arousal as you try to swallow down your needy moans.

He slots his blunt tip at your entrance, adding enough pressure to make you suck in air. Without even seeing it, you know it’s going to be a stretch. Like he can read your mind, or at least your body, he runs his hand soothingly over your spine.

It shouldn’t melt your nerves so fast, but the gentle touch eases your mind. For reasons you can’t explain—feelings really, you feel safe.

“We’ll start slow this time, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

And then he’s nudging into you, working you open around his wide cockhead. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but you welcome the dull ache. Your throbbing pussy has been begging for it. He pulls back, repeating the slow movement, splitting you open for him a little further each time.

It makes you needy, you try to push back against him, but he only swats at your ass. “I told ya to be good.”

Your cheeks feel hot at the scolding.

“Sorry, Mr. Miller.” It comes out more confident than you expected, your voice smooth and low.

You can feel the way his dick twitches at your response before he continues, painstakingly slowly, filling you up. You’re still frustrated, but each time he thrusts into you, your knees almost buckle and you know he hasn’t made it all the way in yet. You’re still hungry for that feeling, for his hips to meet your ass, flush.

You can’t hold back your moans as he drags along your nerves. He already has your eyes rolling back and he’s not even fucking you yet.

Until he stops, held still halfway inside of you. You blink your eyes open, trying not to whine.

He says your name like he’s been calling it and you’ve been ignoring him. “Hmm?” you respond.

“Think they’re waiting for your answer.”

“Oh, shit.”

Joel still doesn’t move. You unmute your mic, trying to steady your voice. “I’m really sorry, uh, can you repeat the question?”

“Just confirming your mid-cycle reports are already submitted.”

“Yes.”

“Great.”

You mute the mic again and Joel slams the rest of the way home, making you cry out in surprise.

He doesn’t hold back now, his rough hand gripping your hip as he takes you, low grunts echoing in your room as he snaps his hips forward. Your ass ripples, bouncing off of him with every thrust and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin fill your ears.

He hits so fucking deep at this angle, you can barely think. His balls slap against you and for some reason that makes you even more crazy for him. You meet his every thrust with the same energy, fucking hard. So hard your desk rattles, but neither of you can be bothered by it’s structural integrity.

He keeps you on edge, pounding into you as the pressure builds. When you shift slightly, his cock drags over the devastating spot that makes you nearly wail.

“Yeah?” he asks as if you could respond right now. “Right there?”

“Mmm,” is all you can manage.

“Good. Let me have it. Rub that pretty clit of yours for me, I wanna feel her trying to milk me dry.”

Fuck. His filthy words nearly send you over the edge immediately, but when you slip your own hand between your legs, it’s euphoric. Furiously working at your slick, swollen bundle of nerves you drive yourself to the brink.

“Gonna–ah!--gonna cum,” You get the breathy, gasping words out right as your pussy starts to clench around him. He groans lowly, making you see stars as your climax tears through you.

The waves are still rolling through your muscles, your core still tensing, when he pulls out. The slick sounds as he pumps his cock rapidly are obscene and you don’t want them to stop. But then you feel his hot cum painting your ass, and you’re moaning in unison.

Then he’s pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slinking out of your room. You grimace. Tuning back in to the speaker still rambling on about god knows what on your computer. Before you can move, Joel is back with a small towel to clean you up.

You’re stuck in a daze. A blissed-out state, as you straighten up and pull your leggings back up. Joel’s about to slip back out the door as if nothing happened. Before he steps out of the room though, he gives you a knowing smirk, “You did good for me, darlin’.”

You’re left staring at the closed door, breathless and trembling, the heat of his touch still lingering on your skin. Rent isn’t the problem anymore. Joel Miller is.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #smut #pedro pascal #free use kink #mickey's fantasies

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clxja16 · 3 days ago

Text

Not Actually Together

Charles Leclerc X Reader

Genre: faking dating au!

Warnings: none atm

Word Count: 1.4K

Author's Note: I have not written a part two for this, so idk when or if a part two will ever come out. other than that enjoy ;) <3 I also feel like this really stupid, please give any feedback

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

“Hey, can I speak to you?” Charles questioned from across the room as he made his way towards you through the motorhome, “privately please.”

“Of course,” you answered, following after Charles, going to his private suite. After the two of you entered the room, shutting the door on the rest of the world, “what would you like to talk about?” You smile sweetly as you ask Charles.

Charles forgets for a moment what he wanted to ask, you smiled and he forgot how to breathe, let alone speak. “What do you think of her?” Charles asked, still looking at you but, pushing his phone forward. Showing you a picture of some girl, “her name is Alexandra.”

“She’s pretty,” you answered, still smiling so sweetly at Charles, “Did she make a move on you?”

Charles looks back at the photo on his phone. “Yeah she did,” Charles spoke hesitantly, cautiously looking back at you. Looking for any sign of ire.

“Are you asking for my permission to go after her?” You question with a small chuckle, Charles was quite cute when he was nervous.

“I…” Charles sighed, “I just wanted to know what your thoughts were.” Charles looks at the picture of Alexandra on his phone in front of him. She was certainly quite beautiful, she was most definitely his type. Why does he have such an uneasy feeling though?

“Charles, this is only for the public. We’re not actually together, if you wanna go date her, then go, do it. I’m not holding you to this fake relationship.” You said, with a bit of a laugh, trying to mask the tiny bit of heartbreak you were feeling. Charles was never yours to begin with, there is no reason to pretend he is.

“Are you sure?” Charles wanted you to stop him. He wanted you to hold him to this relationship. He wanted you to disapprove. He wanted you to tell him no. But he knew you wouldn’t do that to him. You’re only going to do what you think makes him happy.

“Charles, we’re only in this predicament because you don’t have the best track record when picking girls. So the team picked me for you, that way your fans will actually like your girlfriend. This is simply because the team wants it. This isn’t real, go ask Alex out.” You say it so casually, Charles loathes the way you push him towards Alexandra. He wants you to fight, he wants you to be jealous, he wants you to want him.

“Thank you…” Charles says looking back at the photo displayed on his phone. He looks at Alexandra, and he thinks maybe it’s time to move on. “For your permission, thank you,” Charles says grateful, he pulls you into a hug, kissing you on the temple.

When you finally pull away from his embrace you say, “just don’t make me look like a fool.”

Charles chuckles at the request, “what do you mean?”

“Don’t be flaunting Alex all around,” you say, in a very serious tone. You look at Charles squarely this time, you want him to understand you completely. “I don’t mean to be cocky or egotistical, but I play a fucking good girlfriend to you for the public. So don’t be flaunting Alex all around, making me look like the stupid little naive girl that everyone knows is getting cheated on.”

Charles nods along, “I wouldn’t do that to you.” He can’t imagine anyone wanting to cheat if they were with you, “I promise I won’t do that to you.”

“Thank you,” you say earnestly. Even if the intimate relationship wasn’t real, the respect and the friendship you and Charles have built, is authentic.

“Why don’t you go out with someone too?” Charles asks, curious as to why in these past six months of faking a relationship you never brought up anyone.

“Well there is this guy that I have a thing for,” you say honestly.

“Why don’t we go on a double date, that way fans won’t get suspicious?”

“No no,” you laugh at the request, “this guy has no feelings for me whatsoever.”

“And how do you know that?”

“We talked about it before,” you half-lie, you weren’t exactly fully truthful when you ‘talked about it.’

“Well, let’s look for someone, for you,” Charles says, completely serious about the notion. Maybe if you’re with someone too, it would be easier to let you go.

“No,” you laugh more, you don’t think you’ve ever heard such a ridiculous idea, “no way.”

Charles laughs at your dismissiveness of the situation, “what about Pierre?”

“I’m sure Pierre is very serious about Kika,” you say, with a bit of a chuckle at how serious Charles is acting about finding someone to set you up with.

“Well I’m gonna find you someone, I can assure you,” Charles declares, almost like it was an official notion. “I have to go down for a briefing, then I'll be back and we can go out to dinner tonight.”

“Put on a show for the fans tonight?” you question, watching Charles.

“Of course, my dear,” Charles says overdramatically with a wink, before walking out.

After Charles leaves, you feel your smile fall. You want to laugh at yourself for thinking Charles could have wanted you. The tears start to brim your eyes and you can’t help but thinking you did this to yourself. You allowed yourself to be in this predicament, so now you must live with it. Just until the season ends, that’s what you tell yourself. Six more months, give or take.

“Hey,” Carlos said, trying to get his teammates' attention, “why so…” Carlos makes an over exaggerated frowny face at Charles.

“I don’t know,” Charles said, still replaying his earlier conversation with you. He tries to find any sign of anything from you. He dissects every word you utter, he questions every thought spoken, he searches for any inclination that you might’ve lied.

“Did you speak to y/n about Alex?”

“I did,” Charles answers, not expounding on his response.

“She said no?”

“No,” Charles says with a certain level of surprise, “She said okay.”

“Great, that’s what you wanted,” Carlos says, “right? That is what you wanted?” Carlos has a feeling that this isn’t what Charles wanted, but it’s really not his place to say.

“It is,” Charles sighs, “but I don’t know something about y/n being so okay with it, it bothers me.” Charles got up and started to pace, while Carlos decided to take a seat, watching his teammate work through this. “Did you know there’s someone that she's interested in?”

“Y/n?” Carlos questions just to be sure, “don’t tell me that’s bothering you.”

“No, it’s not,” Charles says, half trying to convince Carlos, the other half trying to convince himself. “It’s just, y/n said that he’s not interested in her. I mean how can someone not be interested in y/n, she's crazy smart. She’s so kind. Did you know at this past Monaco grand prix, she helped collect gifts from the fans to give to me? She knows how to cook, and not to mention she’s bloody beautiful.” Charles says with a full grin, as he thinks about you. He can picture you clearly, he has memorized every little detail of your face, down to the way you scrunch your nose when you don’t want to laugh at his horrible jokes.

Carlos laughs at his blind teammate, “clearly, you’re not really interested in Alex.”

Charles sighs again, “I thought if I had brought up Alex to y/n, she would give me some type of sign that she was into me, like i’m into her,” he confesses to Carlos. “I thought maybe, I could get a reaction or something,” Charles shakes his head at himself, he can hear how stupid he sounds without Carlos pointing it out for him.

Carlos has never wanted to slap someone, as much as he wants to slap Charles. Carlos runs his hands across his face, “that is the most singularly stupidest idea I have ever heard, and I have heard our race strategies before. Why didn’t you just outright ask y/n if she liked you?”

“I didn’t want to be so obvious about it,” Charles shrugs, “Plus it's better this way, she already said she’s interested in someone else. Not to mention I have tried for the past six months to turn this into a real relationship, this is just me finally moving on. I deserve to move on don’t I?”

“Of course you deserve to move on Charles,” Carlos sighs, “but do you even want to move on, or do you think you have to?”

Charles doesn’t respond, he doesn’t know how to respond even if he wanted to.

#formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #charles leclerc #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 au #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc imagine #formula one

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melosliving · 14 hours ago

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I have a request. First real hook up session with Aaron. Just sexy sexy making out, grabbing and etc. Both breathless. Nothing much

so sorry for the delay !!!! I felt free to begin the ask with an argument, I hope you’ll like it bb !

Aaron pierre x reader

warnings : argument, heavy make out session, sexy sexy

The argument had been brewing all day, and you’d finally had enough. Aaron leaned against the counter, his broad shoulders tense, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. He hadn’t said much during dinner, just short responses and sharp glances, and you could only take so much of the passive-aggressive energy.

“Do you have a problem, Aaron?” you snapped, slamming the cabinet door shut after grabbing a glass. You filled it with water, taking a moment to steady yourself before you turned to face him. “You’ve been in a mood all damn day. If something’s wrong, just say it.”

He scoffed, a short, humorless sound that immediately set your teeth on edge. “It’s Aaron now ? It’s not like you’d actually listen, though, is it?” His British accent made the words sound calm on the surface, but the sharp edge in his tone cut deep.

You froze, your glass pausing halfway to your lips. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what I said,” he bit out, his eyes narrowing as they met yours. “You’re always so quick to jump in with your opinions. Can’t ever just let me talk without getting defensive.”

A bitter laugh escaped your throat before you could stop it. “Defensive? Aaron, you barely talk at all. You shut down, brood, and act like I’m supposed to read your damn mind. And I’m the problem?”

“Because every time I try to tell you something, you act like it’s my fault for even bringing it up!” His voice rose slightly as he pushed off the counter, his tall frame towering over you now. “It’s exhausting. I’m trying to have a real conversation with someone who won’t even meet me halfway.”

Wow. Your eyebrows shot up, your anger rising with every word. “Meet you halfway?” You slammed the glass down on the counter. “You never say what’s on your mind, Aaron! You hold everything in, and then when you finally let it out, you act like you’re doing me a favor.”

“And you don’t make it easy!” he shot back, stepping closer. The heat in his voice was matched by the intensity in his eyes. “Every time we argue, it’s like you’re trying to win. You don’t even stop to think about what I’m saying. It’s always about proving a point with you.”

“Because you make me feel like I have*to,” you fired back, the words coming faster now, fueled by the frustration bubbling over. “You walk around with this whole ‘I’m too cool to care’ act, and then the second I call you out on it, you flip the script and make it about me!”

His nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling as he stared you down. The air between you was thick, electric, like a storm about to break. “You think I don’t care?” he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I’m just walking around here not giving a shit about you, about us?”

“You sure as hell don’t act like it!” you shot back, your voice trembling now. “Half the time, I don’t even know what you’re thinking. You just shut me out, Aaron. And then you stand there and blame me for not knowing what’s going on with you.” There was a long pause, the two of you locked in a silent standoff. His jaw ticked as he stared at you, and you could feel your pulse pounding in your ears.

“You drive me mad,” he said finally, his voice rough. He took a slow step forward, his eyes locked on yours. “You push every single one of my buttons, and then you wonder why I can’t just sit here and smile like everything’s fine.”

“Maybe if you didn’t bottle everything up until you exploded, we wouldn’t have to argue like this,” you shot back, but your voice lacked the venom it had before. His presence was overwhelming, his warmth radiating off him as he closed the space between you.

“And maybe,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he stepped closer, “if you stopped trying to control every damn thing, you’d see how much I’m trying.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a single word out, his hands were on your waist, pulling you into him as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was hard, almost bruising, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs.

You froze for a moment, caught off guard, but then your body melted into his. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, tugging him closer as the kiss deepened. His tongue slid against yours, hot and demanding, and a low groan rumbled in his chest when you tugged on his curls.

His hands slid down your waist to your hips, gripping tightly as he backed you against the counter. His body pressed firmly against yours, and you could feel the heat of him, the hard lines of his chest and the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

“Baby,” you whispered when his lips left yours to trail down your jaw and to your neck. The soft scrape of his beard sent a shiver down your spine, and your head tilted back, giving him more access.

“I’m baby again now ? What do you want ?” he murmured against your skin, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to grip the bare skin of your waist. His thumbs stroked slow, teasing circles, and your breath hitched as you arched into him. “We’re still arguing,” you managed, though your voice came out shaky.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rough in your ear. “Doesn’t feel like it,” he muttered, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear before biting down gently.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he lifted you onto the counter, his body slotting between your legs. His hands gripped your thighs, pushing your legs apart as his lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, like he had all the time in the world.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. His hands stayed on your thighs, warm and steady, grounding you.

“You make me crazy,” he admitted, his voice soft but raw. “You’re the one making me crazy,” you shot back, though your voice had no heat left.

His lips twitched into a small smile, his teeth still appearing as he leaned in, his breath brushing against your lips. “Guess we’re both mad, then.”

And as his lips met yours again, softer this time but no less consuming, the tension between you melted away, leaving only the heat of the moment and the undeniable pull between you.

@ melosliving 2025

#aaron pierre #aaron pierre x black reader #mufasa : the lion king #aaron pierre x reader

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batboysanonymous · 1 day ago

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A Taste of Silence

Pt. II

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Summary: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.

Pt. I

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Rhysand was drowning.

He had endured centuries of torment in Amarantha’s Court, faced death and destruction in ways that would have broken lesser males—but this? This was agony unlike anything he had ever known.

Because this wasn’t just losing her. This was being the cause of her pain.

The bond was still there, a heavy, throbbing weight tethered to his soul. It twisted and pulled at him, refusing to let him forget the raw betrayal in her eyes when she left. He couldn’t block it out. Couldn’t shut down the waves of anger and hurt radiating from her, nor the faint echo of her presence that haunted his every step.

He didn’t deserve to forget.

He followed her from a distance, staying just out of sight, knowing he had no right to approach her. She had retreated to a small, snow-laden village on the outskirts of his territory, a place so quiet and unassuming it seemed designed to swallow grief whole. Rhys respected her boundaries—at least, as much as he could while still ensuring she was safe.

The villagers had no idea their little haven was now fiercely guarded by shadows. Every night, he patrolled the perimeter, silent as death, ensuring no threat could come close. When a pack of feral beasts wandered too near, Rhys killed them before they could even scent the village. He cleaned up the blood and left no trace, unwilling to let her see the lengths he was going to for her protection.

She might hate him, but she was still his mate. And he would protect her, even if it tore him apart.

But even the small things he could do weren’t enough. Not when every second without her was a reminder of the chasm he’d created between them. The cold, empty nights stretched endlessly, the silence gnawing at his mind until he thought he might go mad.

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The third week after her departure, he broke.

He had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t intrude, and wouldn't push her until she was ready. But the bond burned unbearably that day, tugging at him with a force that felt like claws raking through his chest. He flew to her cabin before he could stop himself, landing with a muffled thud on the snow-packed ground.

She was outside, stacking firewood with her back to him. She froze when his boots crunched against the snow.

“Don’t,” she said without turning, her voice cold enough to make him falter.

“Please,” Rhys choked out, his voice hoarse.

She didn’t respond, and he didn’t think—he just dropped to his knees. The snow soaked through his leathers, numbing his skin, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care.

“Please,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “Please, just listen to me. I—” His throat closed up, the words catching on the lump that had lodged itself there since the moment she left. He dragged a trembling hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his desperation. “I know I hurt you. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I—Cauldron, I can’t live like this. I can’t live without you.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

“You are everything to me,” he said, his voice raw. “Everything. And I hate myself for what I did, for the way I made you feel. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right, if you’ll let me. But if you can’t…” He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes. “If you can’t, I’ll still do it. I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure you’re safe and happy, even if it’s from afar. I don’t care what it costs me, as long as you’re okay.”

“How can I trust that the next time you’re drunk or angry, you won’t say something that cuts me to the bone?”

Her words hit like a dagger, sharp and precise. He bowed his head, his voice trembling as he replied, “I don’t deserve your trust, not after what I said. But I swear to you, I will never drink if it means risking your pain. I’ll stop entirely if you ask me to. Nothing—nothing—is worth losing you again.”

Her arms crossed, her shields firmly in place, though he caught the faintest waver in her expression. “And what happens the next time we fight, Rhys? What if you get angry? Will you throw my weaknesses in my face again?”

His head snapped up, anguish written across his features. “Never. I would never—” His voice broke. “You are not my weakness. You are my strength. And if I ever forget that, I want you to walk away and never look back. But I swear to you, Feyre, I will spend every day of my life proving to you that I’ve learned from this. That I will never, ever make you feel like that again.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. He could feel her battling herself, the bond between them a swirling tempest of doubt and yearning.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he whispered, his knees sinking deeper into the snow. “I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your trust if I have to. Just tell me how to begin.”

The silence stretched taut between them, and Rhys didn’t dare move. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft but edged with steel. “Prove it.”

Her shields weren’t just up—they were fortified. But he didn’t need to feel the bond to see the war raging within her.

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The days that followed were a slow, painful process. Rhys didn’t push. He stayed near enough to be there if she needed him but far enough to give her space. He continued his quiet watch over the village, eliminating threats before she ever knew they existed. He left her gifts—small things he hoped might bring her comfort. A new brush when he saw her old one had broken. A scarf enchanted to keep her warm even in the bitterest winds. And a note with every gift: I’m still here. I always will be.

She started letting him stay for longer each time he visited. They didn’t talk much at first—just sat in heavy, charged silence. But gradually, the walls began to crack. She started asking him questions, small and tentative, and he answered with an honesty that left him vulnerable and bare.

The night she finally forgave him, it was snowing.

They were sitting by the fire, the soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room. Rhys’s voice was low and steady as he recounted the years he’d spent under the mountain. The rawness of the memories was evident in the way his hands clenched and unclenched, but he forced himself to speak, each word a step toward atonement.

Y/N sat across from him, silent, her gaze fixed on the flames. Her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater, the movement restless and uncertain.

“You didn’t just hurt me,” she said at last, her voice trembling. “You betrayed me, Rhys. You made me feel small, like I didn’t matter.”

The words tore through him, but he didn’t flinch. He nodded, his throat tightening. “I know. And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel that way again.”

She looked at him then, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “How can I trust you not to run your mouth again? To not let some drink or situation make you careless with me?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, shame crashing over him. “You can’t—not yet. But I’ll prove to you that you can. I’ll prove it every single day, Y/N.” His voice cracked, his chest heaving as he lowered himself to his knees before her.

“Please,” he begged, his hands trembling as he clasped hers. “Please, give me a chance to earn back your trust. I’ll never take another sip of wine if that’s what it takes. I’ll never let myself forget the weight of what I have to lose. You are everything to me.”

Her lip trembled as she stared at him, the rawness in his expression and the desperation in his voice cutting through her defenses. “I’m terrified, Rhys. Of trusting you again. Of getting hurt again.”

His thumbs brushed over her knuckles as he held her hands tightly, his head bowing. “I know. And if I ever break your trust again, I’ll deserve every ounce of that fear. I’ll deserve to lose you. But I won’t. I swear to you, Y/N, I won’t.”

The bond between them hummed faintly, like a whisper of what it once was, and it pulled at her even as she hesitated. She reached out, cupping his face with trembling fingers.

“You have one chance, Rhys,” she whispered, her voice heavy with both hope and caution. “One.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, pressing her palm to his lips. “I won’t waste it. I swear to you, I’ll never waste it.”

When she finally leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her protectively, as if he could shield her from every hurt in the world—including himself. The bond sang louder, fuller, and in that moment, they began to mend what had been broken, piece by fragile piece.

#acotarxreader #angst #batboys x reader #slow burn #azriel x reader #tension #acotar #cassianxreader #night court #x reader

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heartsriki · 1 day ago

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A KEYCHAIN FOR TWO ⌇불꽃

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader — featuring.. everyone but hee, srry pook :( | word count: 6.3k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ highschool au, small love triangle, moving cities, a little rivals to lovers (sort of), riki is a jerk sometimes, kissing, fluff, a lil angst, misunderstood feelings, lots of bickering, cussing, drama vibes.

synopsis — after moving to a new city, you worry about the rest of your high school years being spent alone. your worries are immediately shut down as you meet a cute aussie next door and his chaotic group of friends. you all got along, well, everyone besides you and riki.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊whoever knows where that keychain is from get a kiss... also this took so long to write bc I didn't know where I wanted it to go but I think it ended up cute??? hope you like it!

You never expected your high school years to go like this. It was nearing the end of your 10th-grade year, and out of nowhere, your parents decided to move far away from your hometown. You were afraid. You wouldn’t have your friends or family with you anymore, and the farther you drove from home, the more emotional you felt.

Your dad glanced at you through the rear-view mirror. “What’s with the long face, huh?” he asked, returning his attention to the road.

You didn’t respond. Even though you knew moving was better for your parents for reasons they wouldn’t tell you, you still felt upset.

“Don’t be too mad, sweetheart. You can start fresh here! The education in this city is one of the best!” your mom said enthusiastically as she turned around.

You rolled your eyes, huffing as you turned your gaze back to the view outside the window.

After the long drive, you finally arrived at your new home. The car pulled into the driveway, and you examined the house. It had two floors and looked brand new; the rising sun complimented the lush greenery around it. Your parents excitedly stepped out of the car to admire their home and immediately went to the trunk to unpack.

You stayed inside the car with your arms crossed, still feeling stubborn, until your dad opened your door. “The moving truck won’t be here until the afternoon, but you can go pick out your room,” he said with an encouraging smile and a nod.

That made you happy. You hopped out of the car and jogged to the front door. “Don’t get mad if I pick the master bedroom!” you yelled playfully, looking back before opening the door.

You didn’t spend much time exploring downstairs. Instead, you skipped up the stairs, humming, and made your way down the hall. The first room was small, and the second was way too big.

When you opened the door to the last room, you paused to look around. It was cozy and—

Your train of thought was interrupted by a thud against the window. Slowly, you crept toward it and looked out, spotting a boy halfway out of his window, waving at you. Raising an eyebrow, you opened your window.

“Hey! What’s your name?!” the boy shouted from across the way.

You glanced side to side, then back at him. He had long black hair, an accent, and probably the most gorgeous smile you’d ever seen. “Uh—it’s Y/N!” you shouted back, giggling.

He nodded. “Y/N… That’s cool! My name’s Jake! Are you new to the town?”

You laughed pointing at your parent unloading the car. “Yeah! Pretty obvious don't you think?”

He pouted as he looked at the car, putting a hand on his chest in embarrassment before turning back to you. “Want me to show you around the neighborhood!?”

From that day, you and Jake quickly became friends. You learned that he attended the same school you’d be going to after summer break. You were happy, though that happiness dimmed a bit when you found out he was a junior who is now becoming a senior, which meant he wouldn’t be around for long.

Still, you pushed that thought aside. Over the summer, Jake took you all around town—restaurants, parks, arcades, PC rooms, shops, and even the school you’d be attending. You were practically attached at the hip. He was fun, funny, and smart. You had to admit, he was quickly becoming part of your everyday routine.

By the end of the summer, your small town already felt less intimidating. Slowly, your resentment about the move started to fade. Jake made everything feel easier like the town wasn’t just a place you moved to but a place where you could belong.

When he wasn’t around, you’d find yourself wondering what he was doing. Would school change everything? You didn’t know, but you’d grown attached to him in a way you didn’t know yourself.

Everything went well—until the start of the new school year.

“There’s no way I have to wear this,” you said, picking at your school uniform.

Jake laughed, throwing his basketball up and down. “Come on, you look fine. Besides, every other girl is wearing it too,” he said, half truthfully and half mockingly.

You rolled your eyes at him and started to pack up. “Let’s go before we miss the bus,” you said, putting your headphones on.

Jake groaned from your bed, slowly falling off of it. “Being late doesn’t sound so bad.”

You glared at him, and he quickly stood up, grabbing his things as well.

The walk to the bus was quiet. When you both got on, he spotted one of his other friends and sat down next to them. He invited you to join, but you waved him off. You needed to clear your mind before the start of your 11th year.

You turned up your music and drifted away, watching the scenery pass by.

After a while, the bus neared the stop around your school. You were still out of it and didn’t notice everyone wearing the same uniform as you.

From the back of the bus, a boy in your uniform glanced at you for a second before walking toward the front. He didn’t wake you up until he reached the driver.

“Hey, kid, doesn’t she go to your school?” the driver asked, nodding toward the mirror.

The boy removed one of his headphones and turned to look at you. “How should I know?” he said with a shrug.

The driver made an annoyed face. “Just wake her up, will you? Hurry.”

He groaned and turned back. “Seriously, this is so annoying. Who falls asleep on a bus?” he muttered to himself.

He made his way to you and nudged you, but you didn’t budge. That’s when he grabbed your shoulder and shook you roughly. You yelped and looked at him, but he quickly turned around and got off the bus.

You looked around and realized what had happened. “Oh great, that’s just perfect,” you huffed, quickly adjusting your bag and sprinting to get off the bus.

Once you got off, you realized you had no clue how to get to the school from this area. That’s when you spotted the same boy walking in a direction. You noticed he was wearing the same uniform as you and quickly followed behind him.

“Hey, how do we get to school from here?” you asked, walking beside him.

He looked at you before turning away, ignoring you.

You scoffed and tried again. “Did you hear me?”

He ignored you once more and checked his phone. After glancing at the time, he cursed under his breath and started running.

That made you look at your phone too. You saw it was five minutes before curfew. “Oh shoot!”

You ran behind him, struggling to keep up with his long strides. You both ran until he suddenly stopped. You came to a halt beside him, ready to ask what was wrong, but then you saw it. The entrance monitor was holding a group of late students.

You almost freaked out, but before you could, the boy threw his bag over the fence and started climbing it.

You rushed to the fence and looked up at him. “Help me too!” you whisper-yelled.

He looked down at you with a squint, and you caught a glimpse of his name tag: Nishimura Riki. So that’s his name.

“Why the hell would I help you?” he clicked his tongue and hopped to the other side, leaving you stranded.

You almost got angry, but then you heard footsteps approaching. You knew it was over.

Jake laughed at you. “Are you serious? That’s hilarious! I’m surprised they let you off that easy.”

You glared at him, holding your head in your hands from your desk. Jake had come to visit you in your 10th-grade classroom, which caused a stir among the students. Seniors rarely showed up in this area.

“Haha, very funny. You just left me stranded, you jerk.”

He raised his hands in defense. “Whoa, hey, don’t blame me! Anyway, who was that guy—” Jake glanced at the clock. “Never mind. Class is starting, and I’m not in the mood to get in trouble. See you at lunch?”

You gave him a sweet smile and a small nod. “Sure.”

After he left, two girls turned around in their seats and looked at you. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. “No, no, no, of course not—he’s just, y’know…”

“Oh, whoops,” the girls giggled and turned back around talking about how cute he was.

You sighed, resting your head on your desk. Your first day was already a mess.

When the lunch bell rang, students quickly dispersed around the school. You wandered aimlessly, not knowing where to go until someone bumped into you from behind. He stumbled a bit before looking at you in surprise.

“My bad, I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”

You nodded, then noticed Jake beside him.

“Hey, man! Oh, Y/N! I was looking for you. This is Jay. Jay, this is Y/N,” Jake introduced.

Jay grinned and waved. “Hey.”

“Anyway, let’s go meet the rest of the guys. Come on—the stall might be out of snacks by now.”

As you walked behind them, you giggled at their silly arguments. Eventually, you reached a small, tree-shielded area where three guys were already sitting.

“About time,” said a blonde-haired guy. “Who’s this?”

“This is Y/N. Y/N, that’s Sunoo. The other two are Jungwon and Sunghoon,” Jake said.

They nodded and greeted you, and you waved shyly.

“Wow, there are so many of you,” you said with a smile.

Jake laughed, sitting down beside Sunghoon, who was already eating. “Well, one of us already graduated, and the other—hey, where is he?”

Jungwon shrugged. “Late as always—oh, there he is.”

Everyone turned around, but you didn’t realize what was happening until you backed up, startled by someone’s presence.

You looked up and saw him—the guy from the bus. Riki, wasn’t it? He was covered in milk.

You gasped. “I am so, so sorry! I had no idea you were—”

“It’s whatever. I’ll see you guys later,” he mumbled, turning to leave.

You winced and looked back at Jake, who seemed just as shocked.

“Don’t worry, he’s always like this,” Jake said, waving it off.

Since then, you got to know the group very well. They became your closest friends. You barely saw Riki, though, and the others said he was just shy. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t like you very much.

A few weeks had passed since you joined Jake’s friend group, and while you’d grown close to most of them, Riki remained distant. Every time you tried to talk to him, he would brush you off or give one-word answers. At first, it annoyed you, but now, it just made you curious.

One afternoon, as the group sat together under the trees, you noticed Riki sitting off to the side, headphones on, scrolling through his phone. Sunoo was telling a funny story about something that had happened in class, and everyone was laughing, but Riki didn’t even glance up.

You leaned over to Jake and whispered, “Does he ever, like, talk to anyone?”

Jake chuckled. “Riki? Not really. He’s like that with everyone unless you’re Sunoo. They’re really close.”

You glanced at Riki again. He looked so unapproachable, but that only made you more determined. “I’m gonna go talk to him,” you said, standing up.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Good luck.”

You walked over and sat down a few feet away from Riki, not wanting to invade his space. He didn’t acknowledge you, so you cleared your throat.

“What are you listening to?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

He slid one headphone off and looked at you, clearly unimpressed. “Music.”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously. What kind of music?”

He sighed as if the question was the most exhausting thing he’d heard all day. “Why do you care?”

“Because I’m trying to be friendly,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Well, don’t.” He put his headphones back on and turned away.

You stared at him in disbelief. For some reason, his attitude stung more than it should have. Frustrated, you stood up and walked back to the group. Jake gave you a knowing look, “You'll grow on him, trust.”

Despite the occasional moments of civility between you and Riki, he still acted like you were more of a nuisance than anything else. Every interaction with him was a balancing act—sometimes he’d make a snide comment or ignore you entirely, and other times, you’d catch him glancing at you with an unreadable expression.

One day, during gym class, you were paired up with Riki for a partner relay. The teacher’s decision seemed to irritate him immediately.

“Seriously? Out of everyone here, I have to be paired with you?” he muttered under his breath as the two of you walked to your starting position.

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “You’re not exactly my first choice either.”

He shot you a glare but didn’t say anything else.

The relay involved passing a baton and running a few laps. You were doing fine until it was your turn to hand the baton off to Riki. As you reached him, your grip slipped, and the baton fell to the ground.

“Are you kidding me?” he snapped, snatching it up and taking off without waiting for you to respond.

After the race, he stormed up to you, his dark eyes narrowed. “Do you even know how to hold a baton? Or were you just trying to embarrass me?”

“Relax,” you said, wiping sweat from your forehead. “It was an accident. Maybe if you weren’t so busy staring at me, you could’ve caught it better.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

You felt your cheeks heat with frustration as he walked away, leaving you standing there, fuming.

Later that week, during lunch, you accidentally bumped into a senior in the crowded cafeteria, causing their tray to spill. The student glared at you, their voice dripping with irritation.

“Watch where you’re going,” they snapped, their tone loud enough to draw attention.

“I’m really sorry,” you said, bending down to help clean up the mess.

Before you could finish, the seniors crossed their arms. “Do you even know how expensive this food is? You better pay me back.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but someone beat you to it.

“She said she’s sorry. Let it go,” Riki’s voice cut in, sharp and cold.

You looked up to see him standing a few feet away, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the senior.

The senior sneered. “And who are you supposed to be? Watch who you’re talking to, I’m your senior”

“I don’t care,” Riki replied, stepping closer. “Just take the apology and move on.”

The senior hesitated, clearly debating whether or not to escalate the situation, but Riki’s icy stare seemed to do the trick. With a huff, they turned and walked away.

You stood up, brushing off your hands. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t thank me,” Riki said, avoiding your gaze. “I just didn’t want to watch you make a fool of yourself.”

“Right,” you muttered, annoyed by his tone. “You’re such a hero.”

He rolled his eyes and walked off, leaving you standing there with mixed emotions.

That was the back-and-forth limbo you and Riki had. It slowly got better up until the end of the year. Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, and Jungwon were all graduating, and they decided they wanted their last hangout to be at a huge festival a good distance away from the city. With permission from your parents, you were allowed to go. You decided that after all this time, you would definitely confess to Jake since you admittedly had a crush on him ever since he showed you around the city. What other chance would you get? If you didn’t tell him before he left, you’d seriously hate yourself.

You were sitting in your room packing your bag when you heard the familiar thud of your window. You rolled your eyes and turned around to see Jake and, surprisingly, Riki too. Though Riki looked shocked to see you—maybe Jake hadn’t told him that you were neighbors. You opened your window.

“What is it, Jake?” you asked.

“Everyone’s done packing. Are you ready?”

You looked around your room. “Yeah, I just finished. Are we seriously taking the train?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Do you prefer we take a million buses instead?”

Riki groaned at the playful bickering Jake was having with you and checked his phone. “Let’s go.”

Jake nodded and yelled something at you before closing his window. Then he turned to Riki. “Hey, real quick, let me ask you something.”

Riki raised an eyebrow and stopped in his tracks. “Okay?”

Jake took a deep breath. “Do you like Y/N?”

Riki’s eyes widened, and then he scoffed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jake awkwardly laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “My bad. It’s just… it’s been months now, and you still act… weird around her. I thought something was up.”

Riki stayed quiet, looking at Jake.

“You should give her a chance. She’s cool.”

Riki remained silent, examining Jake before turning around and leaving.

Everyone met up at the train station and hopped on, finding seats where they could all fit. Everyone paired off, and you hoped to sit with Jake, but as you walked up to the last person without a partner, you realized it was Riki, not Jake. He looked up at you and exhaled, realizing the same thing. He sat up and put his headphones in.

You sat down next to him and did the same, turning on your playlist for the ride and opening a book to pass the time.

Eventually, you nodded off. Riki didn’t notice until he felt a soft nudge on his shoulder. He glanced at you and saw you sleeping soundly against him. He was about to move you off when you adjusted yourself, getting even closer. His ears turned bright red, and he coughed, looking around to make sure no one was watching. He looked back at you and smiled for a brief moment before catching himself and nudging your head away.

When you arrived, everyone was excited about exploring the new city. You went sightseeing, exploring the beautiful greens and skyscrapers when you walked around. That was until you found the famous amusement park and headed inside. Everyone stopped at the gift shop by the entrance to browse. Jay and Jungwon got matching headbands, and Sunghoon and Jake argued over accessories in the corner while Sunoo was adjusting his hair in the mirror.

You looked around for something to buy and ended up spotting a keychain that matched the color of your bag. You loved it, It was perfect but you checked the price and immediately put it down, opting for a headband instead. You looked back at it and pouted. You should've brought more money.

After leaving the gift shop, the group decided to split up again to explore the park more efficiently. Jay, Sunghoon, and Sunoo ran off to check out the go-karts, while Jungwon and Jake insisted on getting on the water ride. That left you and Riki standing awkwardly near the haunted house.

“Guess it’s just us,” you said with a small shrug.

Riki shoved his hands into his pockets, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Yeah. Great.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You know, you could at least pretend to enjoy hanging out with me.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said flatly.

You sighed, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing. “Fine. Let’s just go in.”

The line for the haunted house was surprisingly short, and soon you were walking into the dark, eerie entrance. The atmosphere was perfect—dim lighting, fake cobwebs, and eerie sound effects played from hidden speakers.

The first jump scare came from a man dressed as a zombie who popped out of a hidden panel in the wall. You screamed and instinctively grabbed Riki’s arm. He froze at the contact, glancing down at your hand before quickly pulling his arm away.

“Scared already?” he teased, though his voice lacked the usual bite.

“I wasn’t scared,” you lied, brushing it off as you continued walking.

The next scare involved a ghoul lunging out from behind a curtain. This time, Riki flinched slightly but tried to play it off. You noticed and couldn’t help but smirk.

“You sure you’re not scared?” you asked, mimicking his earlier tone.

“I’m not,” he grumbled, but his defensive tone made you giggle.

As the haunted house went on, the scares became more intense. At one point, a person dressed as a ghost followed you for what felt like forever. You clung to Riki’s sleeve without realizing it, muttering under your breath about how creepy it was.

When you finally made it out of the haunted house, you let out a relieved laugh. “Okay, that was actually terrifying.”

Riki didn’t say anything at first, his gaze focused on the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual. “You weren’t much of a wussy as I thought you’d be”

You tilted your head, confused by the comment. “What? I screamed, like, five times in there.”

“Yeah, but… you didn’t freak out as much as I thought you would.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” you asked, laughing softly.

Riki shrugged, but there was a faint flush to his cheeks as he muttered, “Maybe.”

That moment with Riki was shortly lived as the others found you. You guys were wandering around the park for a while, someone suggested riding the biggest roller coaster there. The excitement in the group was palpable—well, for everyone except Sunoo.

“I’m not doing that,” Sunoo declared, crossing his arms as he looked up at the towering, twisting structure. The screams of riders echoed across the park. “That looks like a death trap.”

Jay smirked, nudging him. “What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll mess up your hair?”

“I’m afraid of dying, genius,” Sunoo shot back, glaring.

“Come on, Sunoo, it’s just one ride!” Jake encouraged, grinning.

“I’ll sit this one out, thanks.”

Jungwon groaned, rubbing his temples. “Fine, you can hold our bags. But we’re not letting you skip every ride.”

The rest of you got in line, Sunoo begrudgingly following along to take everyone’s belongings. While waiting, Jake kept the energy up by teasing Sunghoon, who was unusually quiet as the ride loomed closer.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” Jake grinned. “Sunghoon’s scared!”

“I’m not scared,” Sunghoon grumbled. “I’m just… mentally preparing.”

“You mean mentally panicking,” Jay quipped, earning a laugh from the group.

When it was finally your turn, you all piled into the cars. You ended up seated next to Jake, while Riki sat with Sunghoon, and Jay and Jungwon paired up behind you. The car began its slow ascent, the clicking of the chain pulling it higher and higher.

“Why do I let you guys talk me into this stuff?” you muttered, gripping the bar in front of you.

Jake laughed. “Because you secretly love it.”

Before you could respond, the car reached the peak, pausing just long enough for you to see the entire park stretched out below. Then, it plummeted.

The screams were deafening. You yelled along with everyone else as the car whipped around corners, climbed steep hills, and dove into sharp drops. In the spur of the moment, Jake grabbed your hand in fear but you took it in another way.

Somewhere behind you, Jay and Jungwon were whooping loudly, while Riki’s distinct “What the hell?!” cut through the chaos.

When the ride finally screeched to a halt, you stumbled off, legs shaky but adrenaline pumping.

“That was insane!” Jake said, practically bouncing.

“I think I lost my soul back there,” Sunghoon muttered, his face pale as he leaned against a nearby railing.

“Riki looked like he was about to cry,” Jay teased, earning a glare from him.

“I did not,” Riki snapped.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their bickering as you all regrouped with Sunoo, who had been watching from a safe distance.

“Did you see Sunghoon’s face when it dropped?” Sunoo asked, laughing as he handed everyone their bags.

“Don’t even start,” Sunghoon grumbled, still recovering.

Despite the teasing, everyone was in good spirits as you walked to the next ride. It was one of those rare moments where the whole group felt completely in sync, the laughter echoing between you all as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

The night sky began to settle over the park, casting a soft glow from the flickering lights of the rides. It was unanimously decided that the last stop for the group would be the Ferris wheel. Everyone paired off, and once again, fate (or misfortune, as Riki would claim) left you with him.

“Seriously, this is getting creepy now,” Riki muttered as he stepped into the cart, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, climbing in after him and sitting as far from him as possible.

The ride started with a lurch, pulling your cart upward, and with it came silence that neither of you dared to break. You both sat with your attention fixed on the window, the glowing lights of the amusement park sprawling below like a dream.

Your mind raced, running through the confession you’d been rehearsing for weeks now. After this ride, the fireworks would begin, and it would be the perfect moment to tell Jake how you felt. You could already picture it: the brilliant colors of the sky with fireworks, the spark in his eyes, and—hopefully—his mutual feelings.

Riki, on the other hand, was struggling with something of his own. His fingers fidgeted with a small keychain tucked in his palm, the same one he saw you admiring in the gift shop earlier. He wasn’t sure why he bought it, but the idea of giving it to you now felt almost unbearable. What was he supposed to say? Why did he even care?

The silence stretched on until he noticed you pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of your pocket.

“What’s that?” he asked, breaking the quiet.

You glanced at him briefly before looking back at the paper. “None of your business.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Seriously? Just tell me.”

You hesitated, chewing your lip. “Promise you won’t tell?”

He shrugged but gave a quick nod.

You sighed, holding the paper tighter. “It’s… my confession speech. To Jake.”

Riki froze, his gaze flickering from your face to the paper in your hands.

“I was planning to confess after this ride,” you admitted softly, a small, nervous smile playing on your lips. “I’ve been working on this for weeks. It’s kind of embarrassing, but… I just thought it’d be the perfect time, y’know?”

Riki stayed quiet, his chest tightening as he clenched the keychain in his hand. You went on, explaining your plan in detail—the timing, the words, how you’d muster the courage to pour your heart out. But his thoughts drowned out your voice.

Why Jake?

He snapped back to reality when he noticed your voice falter. Following your gaze, he leaned forward to see what had caught your attention. Down below, standing near one of the snack stalls, was Jake. But he wasn’t alone.

You froze.

Jake leaned in, pressing a kiss to another girl’s lips, his hand resting casually on her waist.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. You stared, unable to look away, your chest tightening painfully as reality crashed down.

“I should’ve known,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Of course…”

Your vision blurred as tears began to well up, but before they could spill, a hand gently grabbed your face and turned it away.

“Look,” Riki said softly, guiding your gaze to the horizon.

The first firework burst into the night sky, a brilliant explosion of color that lit up the cart. More followed, painting the sky in shimmering reds, blues, and gold.

Riki didn’t let go of your face for a moment, watching you instead of the display. He hoped the fireworks would be enough to distract you, to erase the image of Jake. But when your shoulders began to shake, his breath caught.

Tears silently rolled down your cheeks, and Riki froze, unsure of what to do. His arms twitched, hovering awkwardly as if he wanted to comfort you but didn’t know how. He moved his hands from cleaning your tears to your shoulders, now rubbing them.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice unsteady. “It’s not worth it.”

You didn’t respond, wiping at your cheeks hastily as the cart slowly descended. By the time the ride ended, your tears had dried, and you stepped out without a word, walking back toward the group as if nothing had happened.

Riki followed behind, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, the keychain still tucked tightly in his fist. He didn’t know why it made him so angry seeing you like this, but it did. For the rest of the night, he watched you from a distance, wishing he could say something—anything—to make it better.

But he stayed silent.

And the keychain stayed hidden.

After the happy persona you displayed in front of the group that night, you stayed tucked away in your room. Occasionally, your friends would text, asking where you were and if you were okay. In reality, you weren’t. Nobody knew what you saw on the Ferris wheel or how it made you feel—except Riki. It was mortifying, honestly. You felt so stupid.

Sometimes, you’d hear the familiar sound of pebbles hitting your window. You didn’t need to think to know who it was. How could you face him now? Could you even say anything? Hopefully Riki didn’t tell him, he wouldn’t.

As you lay in bed, slowly succumbing to your thoughts, you heard a soft knock at your door. You assumed it was your mom—she’d been trying to get you out of your room for days, though nothing had worked. That’s what you thought, anyway.

The door creaked open slowly. Instead of your mom, a familiar face peeked in. “It’s me.”

You jumped at the sight of him and quickly straightened up in bed, fixing your hair and rubbing your eyes. “Riki? Why are you here?”

He smiled softly and stepped inside, his eyes wandering around your room, taking in the unfamiliar space. Finally, he looked back at you.

“You know why,” he said, sitting down beside you. He placed a paper bag on the bed and began to open it.

The bag was filled with snacks and your favorite meal. Your heart swelled at the gesture. “Riki…”

“You like this, right? You always ate it during lunch,” he said, shoving the bowl toward you and looking away slightly, his ears tinged red.

A small laugh escaped your lips, and his eyes snapped back to you, his expression softening at the sight of your smile. As you opened the bowl and settled more comfortably, he cleared his throat, as if preparing to speak.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

You stiffened but forced a small smile, poking at your food with your fork. “I don’t know. It was pretty dumb of me to start crushing on our senior, right?” You laughed nervously, trying to play it off.

“I don’t think so,” he replied, opening a snack. “Feelings are complicated. We can’t control them.”

His eyes found yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I would know,” he whispered.

The sincerity in his voice and the way his eyes softened in the warm glow of your room made you quickly look away, your face heating up.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence. Unlike others who tried to console you by distracting you, Riki stayed, grounding you with his quiet presence. He didn’t try to fix anything. He simply let you exist, and it was exactly what you needed.

His eyes wandered, landing on a piece of paper on your desk. Curiosity piqued, he leaned forward to grab it.

“Don’t touch that!” you yelped, grabbing his arm to stop him.

In your haste, you accidentally pulled him toward you. He landed on top of you, and the room fell silent as the weight of the situation settled over you both. You expected him to pull away immediately, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes met yours, searching, as if trying to understand what you were thinking.

Moments later, he lowered his head onto your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist in a loose hug.

“Riki…?” you whispered.

“Hm?” he hummed, his voice muffled.

“You’re squishing me,” you muttered.

He quickly sat up, brushing himself off and clearing his throat, his face flushed. He ran a hand through his hair before glancing back at you.

“Sorry—I don’t know what that was,” he said, his voice awkward as he got up. “I’ll, uh, head out so you can enjoy the food. No more skipping school, okay? They—we—miss you.”

He walked toward the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “You left something in the bag,” he added with a small smile before stepping out.

Raising an eyebrow, you checked the bag again. At the bottom, you found a small blue box. Your heart raced as you picked it up, inspecting it carefully before opening it. Inside was a keychain you’d desperately wanted from the gift shop.

Underneath it, a folded note read:

I didn’t know how to give this to you, so yeah. Don’t lose it or I’ll beat you up. – N.R.

Your heart sped up as you held the keychain. How had he known you wanted this? You stood, conflicted thoughts swirling in your head.

At first, you thought Riki was cold and distant. But now, looking back at the past few months—the festival, the Ferris wheel, the way he held your gaze under the fireworks—you realized just how wrong you were. Riki… You overlooked him for too long.

Without another thought, you grabbed a coat and ran out the door. Had he really walked home in this weather without a jacket?

The icy night air stung your exposed skin, but you didn’t care. You sprinted down the street, your breath visible as you called his name in your head.

Riki walked slowly down the street, his thoughts lost until the sound of hurried footsteps pulled him back to reality. He turned, wide-eyed, as you stopped a few feet away, breathless and disheveled.

“Riki… it’s freezing. Are you an idiot?” you panted, draping your coat over his shoulders.

He blinked, startled, before laughing softly. “You chased me just for this?”

You pouted at his teasing, pulling the keychain from your pocket. “How did you know I wanted this?”

He froze, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I-I don’t know.”

“You do know. Why did you get it?”

“I… don’t know that either.”

“You know that too,” you said quietly, stepping closer. Your eyes flickered to his lips before meeting his nervous gaze.

The cold night air bit at your skin, your breath visible in soft clouds as you stood beneath the flickering streetlight. Riki’s hands found yours, his fingers warm despite the chill, and for a moment, he just looked at you—his gaze intense, pulling you in like gravity.

Without a word, he leaned in, the world falling silent except for the faint crunch of leaves under his shoes. His lips pressed against yours, soft and unhurried, yet full of unspoken emotion. The cold melted away in an instant, replaced by the warmth of him, his touch grounding you as his hand gently cradled your face.

Time felt like it stopped. It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t tentative—it was deliberate, like he wanted to make sure this moment stayed with you forever. When he pulled back, his breath mingled with yours in the cold air, his forehead resting against yours, leaving you dizzy and breathless.

“Here, open your hand,” you said pulling away and he did questionably. He felt something being placed in his hand, he stopped admiring you and looked at his hand to see a keychain, similar to yours but a different color.

“When did you—“

“I returned my headband and bought it after the festival as a thank you for the incident in the ferris wheel, look, we can match!” You said grabbing his keychain and holding it next to yours.

He grinned at you, putting an arm over your shoulder to drop you off back home.

His keychain ended up being a keychain for two.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

“Ha! I told you, where is my money sunghoon~“ Sunoo exclaimed clapping his hands.

They promised Riki they would drive away after he was dropped off but.. Sunghoon decided to place a bet.

Sunghoon deadpanned as he watched you run out of the house to chase after Riki. “Okay, how was I supposed to know they liked each other with the way they were acting.” He grumbled giving Sunoo money.

Sunoo flapped the money in his hands smiling. “It was very obvious if you looked closely.”

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theocddiaries · 2 days ago

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[In Stone's café, Shadow brings the bill to Maddie, who is sitting with her children. He gives Sonic a piece of cake.] Shadow: On the house. Knuckles: Oh, nice! If I’d known we’d eat for free because you’re dating the waiter, I would’ve asked him out myself. Everyone: Shhh!! [They see Robotnik passing by with a box in his hands. He stops and looks at them after hearing the commotion. Maddie waves, and he nods in acknowledgment before leaving the café.] Tails: It’s not the meal that’s free; it’s just the piece of cake for Sonic. Knuckles: Ugh, it’s always Sonic! Why never me?! …Oh, right, because now you’re a couple… Everyone: Shhh! [Robotnik, comes back into the café, looks at their table suspiciously. They all give him fake smiles, and he continues on his way.] Shadow [in a low voice]: Knuckles, for the umpteenth time, you can’t say that here because Ivo and Mr. Stone don’t know. Knuckles: What? That you lost your voice? Sonic: That he’s dating me, knucklehead. Maddie: Sweetheart, trust me, you’ll feel better if you tell them. Shadow: No. They’re letting me live in their house; I can’t impose even more by telling them I’m dating Sonic. No offense. Sonic: None taken. Tails: But Maddie’s right. You don’t have to tell Eggman; you could tell Stone, and he could tell him for you. Knuckles: Who’s "he"? Stone or Robotnik? Robotnik [about to leave again]: What? Knuckles: What? Robotnik: Were you calling me? Knuckles: No. Robotnik: Oh. Knuckles: We were mentioning you. Robotnik: What??? Maddie: Yeah, because we wondered if one can order food to go here? Robotnik: The hell I know. Ask Stone, it’s his café. Sonic: Then what are you doing here all the time, coming in and out? Robotnik: What does it matter to you, little pest! [continues on his way] Shadow: Sonic, you’re not making it easier. [Robotnik comes back in, still holding a box.] Sonic: But what's he even doing? Knuckles: Wait. Does Robotnik know or not? And what is it we know? Because I’m-- Maddie: Knuckles, honey, remember this morning when you asked me if you could use the living room to do your training? Knuckles: Yes. Maddie: Well, you can. Let’s go. [gets up] Knuckles: Oh, yes! [jumps out of his seat]: Free food and a family training session, this is the best day of my life! [Tails gives Maddie a pleading look, but she just makes apologetic gestures as she ushers him away. Sonic and Shadow are left alone.] Sonic [stands up]: Look, if it helps, I think Stone will take it well and support you. And they’re not 'letting' you live with them. You’re part of their family; they won’t kick you out over something like this. And if it ever happens, which it won’t, you’re always welcome at my place, okay? [puts a hand on his shoulder] Shadow: Thanks-- Robotnik [approaching with Stone, still holding the box]: Shadow. [Shadow sweeps Sonic’s legs out from under him, making him fall, so it looks like he was holding his arm to keep him from falling.] Robotnik: How many times do I have to tell you to just let him fall? I deserve to laugh, too. Sonic: Eggman, why don't you go to hell? Robotnik: Later. Now, Stone and I want to tell Shadow something. Stone: Shadow… Um. Ivo and I are dating. Sonic: My condolences, Stone. Robotnik: Shut your mouth! Stone: Is that okay with you? Shadow: Yes. Sure. Stone: Really? [sighs]: That’s a huge weight off my shoulders. Robotnik: Mine too. [shows them the box, which is empty]: I've been walking with an empty box because I didn't know how to approach this. [sets it down] Stone: It’s best to just say it. We’re all family; we can’t keep such important things from each other. Shadow: …Right. Stone: Well, when you’re done with the tables, come help me prep the daily special, okay? Shadow: Sure, I’ll be right there. [Stone leaves with Robotnik.] Shadow: …I guess I have to tell them, don’t I? Sonic: It’s your call. But I’m glad you see Stone is trustworthy. Shadow: Hm… [grabs the box]: First, I’m going to take a walk with this and hope it helps me too.

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ceaseless-exhauster · 2 days ago

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Strap in folks, this ended up being a long one.

I’m so fucking goddamn tired. Someone posted in a FB group (not related to Judaism, it’s a group for neurodivergent folks) with an infographic of some common dogwhistle symbols that float around in Nazi circles.

Literally, LITERALLY 100% of the comments fell into one or more of these categories:

- omg why do they have to co-opt everything? I’m a pagan and I’m not a Nazi!!

- most of these are sacred Runic symbols. I have several of them as tattoos and won’t cover them/have to cover them now/am “being targeted” because I have them

- swastikas were originally symbols for peace!!!1!!1!1!

- most of these symbols mean something deeply not-Nazi to me and I “love educating people” on why they’re not actually dogwhistles

- don’t judge people before you know them they probably don’t even have these symbols bc of that/I don’t have these symbols bc of that!!

Just. Shut the ever living fuck UP. Dogwhistles *are* dogwhistles because they can be represented as meaning something else!!!!! THATS THE FUCKING POINT.

I’m so sorry you got a tattoo because of yOuR aNcEsToRs (to be read as: an Ancestry DNA test told me I’m 28% Nordic and therefore am a Viking and needed these “sacred symbols” that I totally understand the history and meaning of and which totally even had a concrete and cohesive meaning across all Nordic cultures and no I’m not homogenising a dozen communities like people do with North American Indigenous nations) and now you think people will see you and immediately assume you’re a Nazi.

Do you think, somehow, that YOUR experience in that case is the one that sucks more? Does me feeling potentially unsafe around you based on a permanent physical change you decided to make to your body hurt you in some way? Or does the very IDEA of it wreak havoc on your psyche so gravely that it matters enough to literally say “that’s actually NOT a Nazi dogwhistle because that’s not why *I* have it/use it/display it”?

Don’t even fucking get me started on the overlap between Norse fanboy AND new age “pagan” (also a homogenisation of many cultures and practices, a great many of which are closed practices that were stolen) communities and deeply antisemitic ideology - suffice to say the Venn diagram isn’t quite a circle, but there’s a lotta crossover.

If I see some of these symbols on bold display by someone, I don’t necessarily assume off the bat that they’re a Nazi, but I damn sure am gonna have some pause as to whether their general values and life practices vibe with my general existence. And that’s just, how it is.

Tl;dr - don’t fucking hijack an educational post about dogwhistle symbolism to be like “but my precious personal connection to them!”

#jumblr #jewblr #jewish #antisemitism #antisemitic symbols #antisemitic dogwhistles #jewish vents #i’m so tired #jewish and exhausted

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staybabblingbaby · 6 hours ago

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Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a3d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 10,680

Notes: Holy shit, it's been like 3 months?????? In my defense, holidays are awful, and this is a fuckin' beast of a chapter. Binnie would NAWT shut up T^T She almost matches the word count for the entire fic so far TT^TT Plus 10 images of texting. Y am i like this??? Huge shout outs to my lovely, patient, amazing betas who made this chapter at ALL possible, @lazyfacecowboy and @brbwritingfanfic. Seriously, this would not have been written without y'all, everyone say thank you! Also special mention for @chancloud8 for negotiating me through the last bit of the chapter LMAO. She kept feeding me fics, they were my reward for doing the writing UvU

Hope y'all enjoy! And I hope it was worth the wait <3

(p.s my ass did NOT do a real final readthrough. If the formatting is weird pls forgive me, I'm sick of looking @ her T^T)

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Allusions to past domestic violence, flashback of verbal abuse (very vague, but still there), panic attack, she/her reader

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part (Coming Soon <3)

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, otherwise you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and rot there. You honestly wish you could. Just rot away and let all this soulmate business pass you by as you slowly return to the earth.

Alas, capitalism waits for no man.

You examine your reflection when you’ve finished, doing your best to ignore the remaining traces of grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as waterproof as advertised.

You try to hold onto the flash of irritation the sight brings you, to cling to the normalcy of being irritated that your makeup is waterproof enough to be a pain to remove, but not to stay through your tears. Then you remember what you’d been crying over and the pit of fear and shame that’s been your companion the last few days comes rolling back.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. Don’t feel like you deserved to cry. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the incoming spiral, ambling your way into the kitchen. You just need to fall back on your routines and feel normal for a bit. You’re not entirely convinced that ignoring your problems won’t make them go away, despite the dark feelings trembling in your chest.

You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the sun had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

Your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. Especially when he knows you’re not feeling your best. The little note on top isn’t new either: usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually, and you’re always touched by his consideration.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

The $20 you’d slapped onto the counter last night is taped to the back. It feels a bit like a stone hand is crushing your heart under the weight of something unknowable and precious when you carefully tuck both the money and the note into your wallet.

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into cold eggs, well...

That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym. You’ll drag yourself through your routine with leaded limbs if you have to, you’re going to have the most regular day you can manage and everything will be fine. It has to be.

You can’t help it when eyes catch on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin as you strip away your sleepwear. The sight makes you uneasy, almost uncomfortable. It takes you a moment to realize why looking at your mark, a daily ritual you’ve kept for years, feels so foreign to you today.

It’s almost alarming to acknowledge that you haven’t actually looked at your mark since you’d met your first soulmate. The concert feels like a lifetime ago, now, despite having been barely two days ago. You’re a bit ashamed to admit that you’d been avoiding looking at it since you’d felt the first flowers bloom.

It’s no wonder looking at it feels weird, you muse as you study it now. It might as well be a whole new mark, for all the changes that have happened since you last saw it.

You decide, in the name of returning to your routine for good, that you can’t skip even this tiny part of your daily rituals.

You shuffle over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

Something wilted and small within you mourns the loss of the buds that had brought you so much comfort since they’d appeared. The new blooms are beautiful, of course, vibrant and radiant and full of so much meaning. Still, the change wounds you.

Only time will tell if it’s the healing sort of hurt.

You find your eyes glued to the fresh flowers. Their names come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads, ‘for gratitude, affection, and endurance’. Your fingers dance a bit lower. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star, ‘for devotion, nobility, and courage’.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

It started with lazy summer days you’d been almost too young to remember. A slim hand engulfing your tiny wrist, being made to sit next to your mother while she did something in the dirt, her shadow your only shelter from the blistering sun.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many hazy afternoons learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone.

You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by the time your sister had reached her toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny capable hands.

You’d spent hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants.

What flowers liked being planted together, which ones should be separated. You learned about soil types and the nutrients found in them. You learned about ph values, how to measure them, and why they mattered. Anything to have your garden thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer.

If you weren’t in the garden, you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak—despair— that had marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside.

You don’t remember what he’d said. It’d been nonsense, just vitriol for vitriols' sake. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time.

It may have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless, he’d yelled, and yelled, and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything. He hadn’t even made sense.

And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, the soil you’d once called home no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turned away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you’d left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming emanates from your soulmark, and its warmth draws you back to the present. You look down at it, noticing how tightly you're clutching at the garden around your waist, your arms wrapped around you in a weak semblance of a hug. Each of your fingers had managed to directly touch a flower.

The awkward sprawl of your fingers feels natural, as if you’d never sought to comfort yourself any other way. As if seeking out your bond, your link to total strangers, for comfort was all you’d ever done.

It was natural, you muse. It was human nature to seek resonance in their bonded. It was the universe’s way of assuring you that you’re loved. Your soulmate’s way of assuring you that they’re still there.

You gingerly pry your hands away and blankly study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw marks in this garden too. If they’ll leave claw marks in you.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the warm, gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You know it means the people on the other end are pressing against their own marks. You know it shows their care, how that gentle sensation masks the stinging ache your fingers should have left behind.

For some reason, you miss the pain.

You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment, your mind pleading normal, normal, normal.

Maybe jogging all the way to the gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

You enter the building after guzzling down half of your water bottle, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish and you’re greeted by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do kind of wanna go home already.

There’s someone already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. You try not to be annoyed with the tiny delay, but while you’d successfully outrun your demons (for now), your bad mood had stuck around.

Alas, you’ve ventured into the public and found the public there. A travesty. Knowing that you just have to deal with it, you cross your arms and bite back the irritation this complete stranger hadn’t done anything to earn.

Luckily enough, the low and measured cadence of the stranger’s voice is soothing enough to zone out to. Unfortunately, he’s also the only thing around to rest your eyes on, so you find yourself studying his form.

His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them. A vivid tattoo sleeve runs all the way down to his wrist, and you find your stare glued to it.

Large, boldly colored flowers take up the majority of the space, vague outlines of crashing waves and rolling mists filling in the rest with a luxurious combination of oriental art styles.

Beautiful as it is, you can’t help but think it doesn’t look finished.

Dragging your eyes away from such gorgeous ink is quite the task, but you don’t want your admiration to be mistaken for judgement. It gets easier when you start to notice just how fine the man himself is.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his body, now that you’re no longer anchored to his tattoo. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove this man has done it. You’re jealous, honestly.

Your eyes come to a rest on the stranger’s backside. Quite jealous, indeed.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they didn't. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You drag your gaze back up to the back of his head.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze. Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to have gone a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather, he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know that’s true, the receptionist isn’t trying to scam the guy. Even the trial period for this place was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

You send your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly. Whether because of the obvious language barrier he’s working with, or because he’s run out of arguments, you can’t be sure.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

The receptionist (His name is Jake, you remind yourself by reading his name-tag. The owner’s nephew, if you recall) looks relieved to see you after whatever hassling the stranger had given him.

He lazily waves the clipboard and its sign-in sheet at you in greeting. You take the clipboard, trading him your membership card and driver’s license for it, and turn to prop your knee up on the counter to balance it while you write.

Incidentally, your choice of position keeps the stranger in your line of sight.

It also happens to give Jake a view of his own, but you magnanimously ignore his gaze wandering to your chest. If only because you’re still looking not-so-respectfully at the tattooed stranger a few feet away.

You weren’t close to the receptionist by any means, but Jake is easy to chat to, when you take the extra minute to do so. The type of acquaintance you’d never remember the name of if it weren’t pinned to his lapel, but you've seen pictures of every dog he’s ever had.

It makes it easy to pry him for gossip.

“So what was that all about?” You query as you hand back the clipboard. He shrugs at you, typing a second longer.

“Some big-shot who needs a security detail,” He answers, unimpressed, “Says this is the only gym in, like, five miles of his hotel that he doesn’t need an entourage to go to.”

You hum your understanding, now trying to place if the handsome stranger was someone you knew of.

Situations like that weren’t uncommon for this gym. Celebrities that actually lived in LA weren’t spotted here very often but, since it was settled very close to quite a few high-security luxury hotels, the building saw its fair share of famous faces.

Due to its occasionally high-profile clientele, security was kept quite tightly, and a certain code of conduct was expected amongst the gym’s members. It was another justification for the long trial period, wherein one could only access the front room with the basic weights and machines. All the fancy stuff (including a pool, rock wall, dance studio, and all sorts) was in the back.

Non-members weren’t allowed past reception at all.

It was also another reason you yourself were a patron here. The high security and strict standards made for a quiet and comfortable atmosphere.

At least, as long as you ignored the judgmental looks. Most people who utilized this space were much more fit and put together than you. You tried not to let it bother you.

“What’s the issue, then?” You question Jake, “Doesn’t the owner make exceptions for celebrities?” You phrase it as a question, but you know he does. The unfamiliar faces that pop up for a few days every now and then wouldn’t show up otherwise.

Jake just sighs like he’s had this conversation a thousand times. Considering the celebrity(?) waving his hands around as he spoke rapidly into his phone not far away, maybe he had.

“He does, but he’s out of town and no one else can adjust the contracts.” He eventually explains. He finally hands you your stuff back, and you hum consideringly as you put the cards back in your wallet.

Another glance at the furrowed brows on the stranger’s masked face has pity welling up your throat.

You turn your gaze to focus on Jake.

“Do I still have that visitor pass?” You ask him, knowing that he still has your details up. Jake glances at you with a raised eyebrow, but obligingly checks the computer.

“Yup,” He confirms, “You’ve been paying for it since you dragged your poor roommate in here that one time. Why?”

“Can he use it?” you nod your head to the frustrated stranger. From where you’re sat, still perched on the edge of the desk, it looks oddly like he’s begging whoever’s on the other line.

Your visitor pass wasn’t all-access, of course. It’d just get the poor guy into the main front room plus the locker rooms and showers, but you figured it’d be better than nothing. It wasn’t like Taylor would step foot in here after you’d run him ragged last time, not even for the moral support.

Jake levels you with his most deadpan stare. It’s quite a good one, completely unimpressed. You think it must be something about customer service that allows him to make that face. Or maybe it’s just you.

“You realize that your visitor pass is you vouching for your visitor’s character, right?” He reminds you, “If he does anything, breaks anything, pisses off the wrong lifeguard- it’ll be on your head.”

You just shrug. It’s not like you couldn’t find a new gym if you had to. You’d miss this one, with its quiet atmosphere and abundant amenities, but you didn’t require its security and discretion like some of the other members did.

“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Is all you tell Jake. It’s not even a lie.

The poor boy just rolls his eyes at you. He still turns to rifle through the desk for the right form for you to fill out though, so you’ll take it.

“You a fan of his or something?” Jake asks, handing you a different clipboard. “There are easier ways to bag a celebrity.”

“Nope!” You answer cheerfully, fully ignoring the suggestion of your motives as you start to fill out the form, “No idea who he is.”

Jakes huffs an incredulous laugh, and turns a considering gaze on your new friend. And the stranger does have to be a friend now, because ‘some guy’ is not an option on your paperwork.

“I bet he’s a wrestler,” he finally says after a long moment, “Or a sportswear model.”

You gently bop him on the head with your clipboard, “I refuse to participate in your speculation.” You admonish, ignoring his whining.

“I’ll show you his picture when you leave,” He smirks back, “and whatever google says about him.” He shrugs when you send him a cutting glare, “What? It’s public information.”

“Respect your customer’s privacy, you weirdo.” You scold. He just laughs as you hand him the form, all filled out and just waiting for the stranger’s signature. You know full well that Jake will go through with his research, regardless of what you say, so you give up easily.

It’s not like he’ll be fired for doing it, as long as you don’t go blabbing about the poor celebrity outside of the gym. Privileges of nepotism.

You exchange farewells as you hop off the counter, and he begins to wave over Mr. Celebrity. You meet the eyes of your on-paper friend and offer him a quick nod before you scuttle off deeper into the building.

Hopefully he’d be too grateful for your offer to find you terribly strange.

You manage to make it all the way through your warm-ups before your good deed gets punished. You suppose you’ll be grateful to the universe for letting you find your zen on your yoga mat before it dropped the other shoe.

You notice the legs in the mirror before you realize someone is trying to speak to you. You accidentally ignore the newcomer for several long moments, assuming they were approaching to use a different part of the mirror. When you finally realize they’re waiting for you to acknowledge them, it’s been just shy of too long.

You ease out of your last stretch and stand up, automatically taking an earbud out as you turn to face them.

“Sorry, did you need me to move?” You question as you finally look up. You‘d had your most emo playlist blasting in your ears during your warm up, an attempt to process your feelings through movement or whatever that one instructor from forever ago had tried to teach you.

So of course it’s with perfect clarity that A. Jay Popoff sings “I am my own worst enemy” into the empty space between you and Seo motherfuckin’ Changbin.

Your mental plea for a normal, routine sort of day dies a horrible death when you make eye contact with the pop-star.

And you realize you really must be your worst enemy as you do, because you easily recognize the outfit he’s wearing and the vivid tattoos on his arm.

Of course your good deed for the day led you to one of your soulmates. Of. Fucking. Course.

You’re not sure what you’d done to Karma recently for her to be throwing all of this shit at you right now, but you’d appreciate it if she’d just let you apologize instead of whatever cruel punishment this is.

Changbin must realize you recognize him, because he shyly raises a hand to fiddle with his earrings as he replies.

“Ah, no, I uh...” The hand slides to the back of his neck and he clears his throat uncomfortably. You quickly school your expression back into a semblance of normality when he glances away. You feel like you might still be a bit wild around the eyes, though.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He concludes. He looks like he wants to say more, but you figure he might not have the English words to do so easily. It’s okay, you don’t really have the Korean to describe how you’re feeling right now either.

Your first instinct is to offer to speak Korean for him, but the air between the two of you is already wildly uncomfortable. Vastly different causes for both of you, you’re sure, but it’s enough to make you second guess your every move.

“Oh, uh, no problem.” You assure.

You stare resolutely at his nose when you speak. If you look into his eyes again you’re sure you’ll spill your entire life story. And if not that extreme, you’ll at least spill the whole soulmate thing. Something about being directly confronted with your problems makes you chatty.

But also if you look away from his face, knowing that body is supposed to be compatible with yours... It leads to some very impolite thoughts. Cute as it is, his nose is the safest thing for you to look at right now.

You offer the idol a thin-lipped smile when you realize the interaction hasn’t ended. Dear god, why has it not ended?

“Anything else I can do for ya?” you offer, inwardly cursing your manners. You’ve lived here long enough that you know people outside your tiny country-side town take that as an invitation instead of a dismissal.

Sure enough, Changbin starts to speak again, his words slow and careful. You watch him wipe his palms on his shorts, idly wondering if he’s shitting himself internally as much as you are right now. And what he’s freaking out about if he is.

“You... Recognize me? Are you STAY?” He gestures a bit while he talks, like he’s trying to cast a spell on you to understand what he’s trying to say. You think it might work, because your mouth is running off without you before you quite process the words.

“Ahh.. hah, uh,” You chuckle awkwardly, your fingers rising to pinch your lips nervously, “My roommate is. We were at your concert the other day, actually,” And even as you say the words your eyes flick down to his arm. You refocus, hopefully before he could notice the quick glance, but you can’t stop your thoughts from spiraling.

After all, he didn’t have that kind of ink at the concert. You and Taylor were front row, right up on the barricade, you’d seen all eight Stray Kids up close and personal. You’d have remembered such a vivid tattoo. And there were only so many reasons to cover a sleeve like that so completely.

Something complicated settles in your stomach as you realize that Changbin is probably a ‘loud and proud’ kind of soulmate, if he’s showing off his mark like this outside of his work. Work you know prevents him from showing off his mark.

Your mouth keeps running without you while you have your little crisis.

“I didn’t recognize you at reception, I woulda had you sign something for him.” You can’t help the rush of embarrassment that sweeps through you, even as you laugh uncomfortably at your own joke.

Why on earth would you say something like that? This situation is already uncomfortable enough! On so many levels!

Somehow, this seems to have been the right thing to say, though, as Changbin’s eyes light up at your joke, the tension easing a bit.

“I can sign,” He suggests, “It would make me feel...” He starts gesturing again, looking for the word he wants, “Less bad?” He finishes like a question.

And suddenly you understand his awkwardness a lot better. It always sucks to feel indebted to someone.

You laugh a little more freely with your new understanding, “Oh, you really don’t have to,” You assure, “I was just joking.”

He shakes his head, “Think of it as.. trade.” He nods, satisfied with himself.

You bob your head to the side, pressing your lips together with a tiny, frustrated, whine, “I really didn’t want anything from you,” you insist, “I hold onto that pass for my roommate, but he never comes with me anyways. You’re doing me a favor using it, seriously.”

You try to speak slowly and clearly, taking a page from Changbin’s book and letting your hands roam while you speak. You hope your spell of understanding works as well as his did.

He takes a moment to respond, mouthing along to some of your words. It’s kind of fascinating to watch someone translate in real time, especially when the process is written all over their face. It’s a little surreal to be on the other side of it.

Eventually his face clears, and he makes a little ‘ah!’ noise that you really shouldn’t find as endearing as you do. You’re in the middle of rejecting your soulmates, you should not be finding one of them cute right now.

“If it is roommate’s pass, more reason to sign, yes?” He reasons, looking proud of his logic. You huff a tiny laugh at him, absolutely charmed.

“Sure, big guy,” You sigh with defeat, though you can’t seem to wipe the smile off your face, “Sounds like a fair trade. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

The two of you stall for a moment, the atmosphere leagues lighter than before.

When the moment seems over, you make a show of looking down at your pocket-less outfit, and then at the ground around you.

“I don’t have a pen on me,” you trail off meaningfully. He looks surprised for a second, like the possibility had never occurred to him.

“Oh,” He looks around as well, lost for a moment, “I can see if front desk has one?” he asks, like he’s looking for instruction. Another thought seems to occur to him then.

“Do you have...” He starts to gesture again, but you cut him off with a nod, fairly certain you’re sure what he’s trying to ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure I can find something for you to sign,” You point in the direction of the locker room, “I’ll probably have to look in my bag though.” You glance between him, the door to the locker room, and the door that leads out to reception.

“Meet back here in 5?” you propose. He seems content with this plan and nods in agreement. “Oh!” You stop him before he can fully turn around.

“Ask for a sharpie,” you instruct, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to find regular paper.” In fact, you’re pretty sure you’ll be sacrificing the spare ball cap you keep in your bag for this. You hope Taylor likes tie-dye.

With that, the two of you go your separate ways. It takes you no time at all to locate the bright monstrosity of a hat, a souvenir you abhorred from one of your father’s many ‘business’ trips. It would be no loss to you, but you take time to see if you have any actual paper around. You need the processing time.

Stars above, what were you thinking? There was no way you were getting out of this without another soulmate bond, but here you were, casually chatting with the guy instead of getting the fuck out of dodge!

You really couldn’t help it though.

Even when he’d been no more than a stranger to you, you hadn’t been able to help the way you gravitated toward Changbin. Now that you knew he was your soulmate, your actions made a lot more sense to you.

You’d always been on the people pleasing side of helpful, but vouching for a complete stranger was new for you. Even now, you were obediently grabbing an item for him to deface with a signature you don’t even want (no matter how thoroughly Taylor would murder you if you’d passed it up) just because you could tell how uneasy Changbin was with just accepting the visitor pass.

It didn’t help that the man was endearing as hell. Every little thing he did seemed cute to you, and you’d barely known him for ten minutes!

You felt like this was a new low for you. Doing things you didn’t really want to, for a man. Taylor would be so disappointed in you.

Having stalled for maybe far too long, you settle on sacrificing the atrocious hat to Changbin’s pen and put your stuff away. Something heavy and squirmy settles in your chest as you make your way back out to retrieve your prize from the man of the hour.

Surprisingly, there’s no accidental meeting of hands when Changbin autographs your hat. He did give you a bit of a bemused look for the choice of item, but you’d just shrugged at him. It was all you were willing to sacrifice, and Taylor should be grateful for even this much, in your opinion.

Unsurprisingly, the lack of first contact does not ease your mind at all. In fact, it rockets up your anxiety another thousand notches. You can’t help checking over your shoulder at every opportunity, despite the fact that Changbin hadn’t left the weights area since he’d settled there and couldn't follow you through the door to the rest of the facility regardless.

Look, you know how the whole first contact thing worked, okay? Fate would put two soulmates in the same place for whatever stupid reason, and find an even stupider reason for them to make skin-to-skin contact. You’d experienced it twice now, and you couldn’t help but think going out of your way to avoid everything Changbin was wouldn’t help you very much.

Even still, you can’t stay paranoid and vigilant forever. When nothing happens while you finish your cardio, or when you work your way through both the pool and the sauna, you admittedly let down your guard a bit.

Maybe that’s why, after you’ve made your way back to the front room to try and finish your workout, when you’re mid-stretch and staring daggers at a weight machine you’re sure you’ll figure out how to use if you glare long enough, you jump about five miles out of your skin when you hear Changbin’s voice behind you.

Jumping from such a precarious position is never a good idea, and your sudden movement has set your head on a one-way collision course with the gym’s hardwood floors about it.

Hands fly around your middle, catching you awkwardly around your ribs. Unfortunately, all this noble attempt to catch you does is slow your descent, giving you just enough time to flinch violently enough to bring your arms up and prevent your head from meeting the ground and brace for impact.

The rest of you still hits the ground pretty hard, and Changbin’s knees and elbows meet a similar fate, his own head saved by headbutting your stomach, knocking the air out of you even harder than it already had been.

The two of you sit there a moment, groaning with the pain of your fall. At least you don’t have a concussion. You’ll take every small mercy with the way the universe has treated you lately.

Some part of you is cognizant enough to give the heavens a heartfelt thank you when you notice that none of your aches and pains are from your soulbond activating. Somehow, through that entire debacle, and even considering the amount of exposed skin between your t-shirt and his, you hadn’t managed to touch. You’re still safe.

As the shock starts to wear off, you start to become aware of the warmth of large hands still resting heavily against your sides, both soothing and wildly distracting. It’s like every fiber of your being is focused on where he’s touching you, warm and weighty. Changbin’s head still buried in your abdomen doesn’t help with the building fluster taking over your brain.

You swear one of his thumbs has landed squarely on one of the flower buds directly opposite Lee Know’s Bellflowers, and the tingly feeling of the bond weakly trying and failing to establish through the thin barrier of your shirt is not helping your mushy brain at all.

You tip your head back to stare at the ceiling, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent yourself from doing something stupid, like confessing all of your sins to Changbin right then and there.

Maybe you did have a concussion after all.

It’s probably been less than a minute since the two of you hit the floor, but it feels like ten hours have passed when Changbin finally lifts his head, wide eyes finding yours frantically.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, are you okay?” He uses his hold on you to gently lift you to a seated position, removing them in favor of hovering politely as he fusses. You don’t think he’s realized he’s reverted to his native Korean in his panic.

“I’m alright, I’m okay,” you assure him in the same language, “Just bruised a bit, I’m fine.”

He continues to fuss a bit more, running you through a quick series of concussion tests even after you tell him that you hadn’t hit your head at all. It’s only after he’s helping you to your feet, respectfully allowing you to use a clothed part of his arm to help yourself up, that he clocks the language the both of you are using.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” He teases, “You speak Korean all of the sudden.”

You can’t help the little laugh that escapes you, nor can you help how his smug little smile makes your heart flutter. “I’ve spoken Korean the whole time.” You inform him.

“And you didn’t tell me? You just let me struggle?” The fondness in his smile assures you that he’s just joking, so you respond in kind.

“You were just trying so hard...” You shrug sheepishly and delight in the full body laugh that tears out of him. You wait for him to calm before you ask, “What did you need, by the way? I didn’t catch what you said before, well..” You gesture helplessly at the floor.

It’s his turn to look sheepish now, shoulders hiking up and a nervous hand making its way to his neck, “Ah, that.” he shrugs, “I was just saying that you had a pretty soulmark.”

The sudden compliment catches you off guard, and you suddenly become aware that your camisole has come loose from where it had been tucked into your sweats. Your hand flies up to cover the now-covered skin of your stomach, feeling sick.

You can’t remember when it happened, and the thought of however many strangers seeing your soulmark, no matter how little of it, sends a sharp note of dread through your body. You suddenly feel eyes digging into your skin, despite being covered again as soon as you’d stood up. You feel a bit sick, your skin crawling with discomfort.

You’re aware that your camisole would have ridden up to your lower back, at most, but there’s no telling how much of your mark anyone might have seen. What Changbin might have seen, what he may have noticed.

Changbin must notice your sudden pallid complexion, and continues on, trying to reassure you, probably. You barely hear him over the heartbeat in your ears, your trembling hands trying to discreetly tuck the undershirt back in while he speaks.

“I just meant that it’s very colorful and vibrant,” He explains, smile fading from his face as concern starts to cloud it at your reaction, “Whoever your soulmate is, they’re very lucky.”

“Ah, I don’t know them yet,” You counter. It’s even the truth. You hadn’t spoken much to any of your soulmates so far. Well, until now, you guess.

“Oh, well, I stand by what I said.” He asserts, his easy grin betrayed by the pinch between his brows, “Whoever your soulmate is will be very lucky to have you.”

“I don’t know about all that,” You tilt your head with self-deprecating consideration.

Maybe it’s a lingering guilt for how you’ve been handling your soulmates so far that makes you continue the thought, instead of laughing it off like the joke it should be. Maybe you just want him- want them- to know why you’ve been acting this way, “I don’t even know if I want to meet them, so I’m not sure how lucky they could be to have me as a soulmate.”

Changbin levels you with an absolutely baffled look, as if you’ve just challenged the very foundation of his worldview.

“Why not?” He asks, “Doesn’t everyone want to meet their soulmate?”

You wrap yourself in a loose hug, one hand rubbing soothingly at your elbow, and shrug, “I just... I haven’t had great experiences with soulmates, is all.” You can’t keep your eyes from straying to his soulmark, vibrant and full.

It’s an image that would be hard to elbow your way into, and you can’t imagine a way that the addition of you could possibly enhance it. It still feels unfinished to you, but it doesn’t look that way. You feel both better and worse about yourself, knowing that they didn’t need you.

A glance at Changbin’s utterly lost face has you opening your mouth before you can think about it, shoulders beginning to climb up to your ears.

“Not all soulmates get along, you know?” You mutter sullenly, almost to yourself.

Changbin seems to consider this for a moment, head tilting cutely to the side as he takes in your claim.

“I mean, sure.” He draws his words out slowly, carefully, with a little furrow between his brows. “Everyone fights sometimes, but you get through it together, right? That’s what makes you soulmates. Choosing to stick together.”

You couldn’t hold in the scoff and eye-roll combo that rips out of you if you’d tried. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’d feel bad about the venom in your voice, or the way it causes Changbin to shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, but you can’t find it in yourself to care at the moment. Something sick and dark twists around your stomach, and the battle to keep a deep scowl from your face is the only one you’re willing to fight right now.

“I have a feeling that was the wrong thing to say,” Changbin smiles wanly at you, and you meet his eyes for barely a second before you find yourself melting beneath his earnest gaze. The thorns around your heart ease just enough to bleed, and you shrug at him again.

“When people stay together just because they’re soulmates it only makes things worse.” you tell him, “Nothing gets magically fixed just because you’re soulmates.”

Surprisingly, Changbin agrees easily, “Well, yeah, that’s not the kind of sticking together I’m talking about,” He explains, “I meant more, like,” He gestures as he tries to find his words, and your heart positively aches as you realize the habit transcends languages.

You find yourself softening more and relaxing out of your defensive curl out of sheer endearment. You’re sure you’d be making absolute heart-eyes at Changbin right now if the topic at hand wasn’t so deeply uncomfortable for you.

“Ok, let me try an example,” He eventually decides, his eyes following your gaze where it had once again returned to his soulmark without your permission. He flexes a bit, making the flowers on his skin bounce and dance with a small, fond, smile. “I’m soulmates with the other members, right?”

He says it easily, casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You almost nod along, before you remember that the world at large definitely does not have that information, even if you do, and you meet his smug little smirk with wide-eyed shock.

You can’t help but gape at him for the casual confession, glancing around the empty gym like someone else might’ve heard Changbin’s brazen confession. He’s already waving you off before you can sputter out the questions stuck in your throat.

“It’s not a big deal, don’t worry about it. It’s not like we try very hard to hide it.” He does a weird little half-nod-half-shrug motion at his soulmark, “But yeah, we’re all soulmates, and we all pretty much knew before debut, even though Innie’s mark hadn’t shown up yet.”

You do nod this time. Slowly, though, as you try to figure out where he’s going with this. Changbin takes it as permission to continue, and so he does.

“Well, Jeongin’s our baby, and even though marks show up at 18, you’re not an adult in Korea until 19, so there’s a lot we had to leave him out on.” He grimaces a little, “Being an Idol is stressful as it is, throwing a new soul bond and puberty and all that on top wasn’t very helpful. We were all volatile and fragile. But Innie definitely took it the worst. He felt left behind and unfair and angry with it all.”

He chuckles and gives a little shrug, “We had our share of knock-down, drag-outs.” He admits sheepishly, “It wasn’t an easy time for us.” He rolls his head toward the ceiling and, despite Changbin’s efforts, you can easily spot the smitten look on his face along with his cherry-red ears.

“But we made it through,” He says softly, “We took the time to dig into all of his insecurities and find what we could do to help him. He made the choice to be vulnerable and honest with us. It took time to get here, but we made it through.”

Changbin meets your eyes again, “That’s what I mean when I say soulmates are about choosing to stick together. You work through the hard times and disagreements together, work toward something better. Soulmates are destiny, but love is choice.”

You let his words rattle around your brain as you get lost in his earnest gaze. Let the idea settle into you like something entirely new, like it wasn’t your understanding of healthy relationships beforehand. Of course that’s the ideal, you know that. No one is perfect and all that, everyone disagrees sometimes. It’s discussing it and finding solutions together that makes a partnership work long-term. You know that.

For the first time, you wonder if you’d just always considered soulmates an exception to the rule.

You’d automatically assigned soulmates as a concept a failing grade at working their problems through. Your parents certainly never worked out their issues, and every soulmate you’d ever seen in the media was an automatic happy-ending. As soon as that bond snaps into place, the story’s over. Happily ever after.

You’d always thought ‘ever after’ must be an awful short time.

‘Love is choice’ echoes through you like something divine.

You break Changbin’s gaze and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “I guess.” you concede, “My soulmates probably have a lot of work cut out for them with me, though. So I still don’t know if they’d want me.”

“I think it’d be worth the work,” Changbin smiles gently at you, “To be your soulmate, I mean.”

You feel heat rush up your neck and bless your genetics for keeping it from showing on your cheeks. You disguise your bashfulness by lightly slapping Changbin’s shoulder (and woah is he solid under your hand when you do) and loudly complain about him being a flirt.

He responds by doing his best to fluster you, clearly enjoying putting those fanservice skills to use. You complain with every flex and smoulder, especially when he starts unleashing the aegyo, and the two of you let the banter and laughter chase away the somber mood.

Eventually you settle, and Changbin nods at the very intimidating machine you’d been staring at what felt like a lifetime ago now.

“Did you need a spotter?” He offers. You hem and haw for a moment, before sheepishly admitting that you need a teacher more than a spotter. When he lights up and offers to be that, too, you can’t help the way your eyes travel up and down his body with open admiration.

He certainly looks plenty qualified, and really, you’re only a girl. If your once-over leaves him with red ears and a smug grin, well. You’ll consider it your revenge for now.

You very quickly realize your mistake in letting him coach you.

Changbin tours you quickly around various machines, explaining their functions and the proper ways to use them to avoid injury. All well and good, and you ask permission to record short videos of him doing so in case you find yourself forgetting his advice, which he graciously allows on the condition you don’t share them anywhere.

You agree after negotiating for viewing rights for Taylor, with the reasoning that the lure of the videos might actually get your roommate back into the gym with you. It makes Changbin laugh enough to indulge you.

And then he actually starts you on a machine, after getting a rundown on what you’d already done today, and you experience hell on earth.

The thing is, he’s unfairly good at coaching you through it. He keeps up a steady stream of warm encouragement and light jokes even as you curse him out for steadily increasing the weights on each machine you work through. He’s right there to help you through the sets the moment you start to get too tired and is almost preternaturally good at pushing you to only just above your limits.

And his hands are always right there. He’s almost always touching you somehow, throughout the whole thing. His touch is light, coaching and clinical, and unfailingly polite. Still, the warmth of his skin through your flimsy gym-wear feels heavy. Nearly threatening. Distracting, at the very least.

You’ll definitely need those videos later.

It’s a relief when it’s over. You’re sore and sweaty and you have to go sit at a desk for six or more hours when you leave, which you’re very much not looking forward to.

Changbin splits with you to hit the showers, but somehow you still come together again before you pass reception.

“Thanks for today,” you say as the two of you stall your goodbyes, “I had a lot of fun. You’ve more than earned that guest pass.” you tease, smile wide and mischievous.

He’s smiling too, even as he shoves your shoulder and complains about you extorting him.

When you run out of things to say, you shuffle lightly in place. It’s not like you expect him to give you his number, he is an Idol after all, but still you can’t quite make yourself leave. You find yourself casting around for something, anything, to say to make the moment last. To stay in his presence just a second longer.

You shake yourself out of it once you notice. You might not be running from them anymore, but you certainly weren’t trying to make friends with your soulmates. The longer you stayed in his presence, the more likely it was that you’d end up with another first contact.

At last, after a far-too-long moment of silence, you hold out your hand and offer a flat, closed-lip smile.

“It was really nice to meet you, Changbin.” You tell him sincerely, eyes locked on his. You swear looking your soulmates in the eye is some kind of hypnosis, the way you always get lost in them when you do. Something about it just makes you feel a tiny bit dumb, like your brain gets switched off.

“You too, y/n.” He agrees, reaching for your offered hand. You only realize what you’ve just done as your name leaves his lips, your eyes widening as they dart down to his hand and yours, but it’s far too late.

Your breath hitches a moment before his skin makes contact with yours, and you watch it happen in slow motion. He grasps your hand and pulls you in instead of settling for the more distant and formal farewell. All too quickly you’re settled into his grasp, completely enveloped in him and dizzy with more than just his warmth as soft prickles dance up your side.

You feel more than you hear him gasp, his hold on you so complete. Your head ends up on his shoulder as you stumble into him from his pull, and you get a front row seat to the top of his shoulder filling in with outlines and shadows from your place tucked against his neck, dull colors adding a definition to the images in his soulmark and settling like they’d always been there.

Distantly, you feel chest tighten with completion, with satisfaction and something smug and proud at the sight, even as your mind starts screaming.

Changbin is solid against you, comforting and almost stiflingly warm from both his workout and shower. You catch a whiff of his soap, the scent muting the alarm bells blaring in your brain even as you lay limp against him with the shock.

And then his hold on you tightens just a bit, only for a moment, but it’s all that it takes for you to break.

Your breath begins to hitch, visions of sweet touches turning sour and threatening violence causing you to flinch violently in Changbin’s comforting embrace. You feel your eyes begin to wet as you start to struggle, needing out, out, out.

It must have been less than a second, but Changbin pulls back, still holding you by your shoulders like he doesn’t know how to let go.

“Y/n?” He asks, voice small. You can only shake your head, breaths coming out in harsh gasps, limbs trembling violently. Changbin hurriedly lowers the two of you to the floor, much more prepared than you are for your limbs to give out halfway down.

He finally releases you as you settle and you curl tightly into yourself. The places where he’d held you feel frozen now, the cold viciously settling into your bones, even as Changbin does his best to get your attention and guide you through a breathing exercise.

You can’t focus on him though, the sensation of flowers blooming on your skin overwhelming, the memory of his touch both welcome and suffocating.

“S- ‘orry, I’m-” You hiccup, “I’m so- so s’rry-” If Changbin is at all put off by your sudden breakdown, he doesn’t show it. He just tilts his head and offers you hushed words of assurance.

“Nothing to be sorry for, y/n,” he assures, “It’s alright, just breathe, ok?”

He offers you a hand and you can’t help but take it, the warmth startling a breath into you that you hadn’t been aware you needed. Changbin guides your hand to his chest, instructing you to breathe with him, and you automatically focus on the heavy thump of his heartbeat under your palm.

He keeps talking to you, trying to keep your attention, but your mind spins wildly away from you even as you finally manage a deep inhale under Changbin’s attention.

You need to tell him that you’d known since he’d first spoken to you who he was. Who he was to you, even, but you can’t open your mouth to do more than gasp another apology. You’re sure he’ll hate you, leave you there on the floor of the gym to die like you deserve, especially after all you’d told him about how you feel about soulmates.

He’ll hate you for putting his soulmates through rejection, for refusing to speak to them or even look them in the eye. He’ll leave you here, humiliated on the gym’s floor, and you’ll deserve it because you’re a horrible person who wouldn’t even give them a breadth of a chance because you were too damn scared-

A hand grasps your spare one, the one not touching him, not keeping you just barely above the waves of hyperventilating, and you hadn’t even noticed it scrabbling at the stretched out neckline of your t-shirt until it’s gently pried away and guided to a wall of firm muscle.

Your fingers instinctively grasp what’s suddenly underneath them, and your vision stutters back in as a soft tingling rockets its way up your arm.

You distantly acknowledge that it was probably a bad thing that your vision had faded off with your eyes stuck wide open, staring blankly at legs you couldn’t feel. Right now, however, all you can experience is Changbin. His mark under your fingers, grip clawing and desperate. His heartbeat under your palm, faster than it should be, but steady and loud and feeling like it’s part of your own body.

Like he knows he has your attention again, Changbin ducks down to catch your eyes. You find nothing in them but concern and a soft emotion you couldn’t hope to pinpoint.

“Y/n,” He calls softly, “Y/n, do you mind if I touch you?” The gentleness he speaks to you with is devastating, like he’s trying to place your panicked mind on a cloud of care. You want so desperately to accept that care from him.

You nod, small jerky movements to indicate your agreement even as gasping sobs still stutter in your chest.

Changbin immediately moves, shuffling closer to you on his knees and releasing the wrist of your hand, the one still grasping at his mark like it’d disappear if you relaxed so much as a millimeter. He uncrosses his arms from the awkward reach he’d had to use to maneuver your hands where he wanted them, and reaches his now free hand to rest gently but firmly on your waist, right over his place within your own mark.

The resonance from his touch is weaker, the material of your shirt in his way, but with both sides active the feeling floods you in a way you could never describe.

You know, in the back of your mind, that you’ve read about resonance before. That you know all about the flood of endorphins and other feel-good hormones that it causes, that you’ve read first hand accounts from all sorts of people swearing up and down it feels better than any orgasm ever could. In the moment though, you feel like your brain has been reset completely. Back to factory settings, entirely blank.

You come back to yourself in slow blinks, resonance still echoing brightly between you and Changbin. Your one hand is still tightly clasped to his chest, and you’re sure you’re only breathing right now due to the steady rise and fall of Changbin’s chest. The two of you are still gripping each other’s marks.

You feel unsettled as awareness returns to your body. You feel floaty and not all there, even as you calm enough to feel the numbness of your legs and the pain in your knees from hitting the floor. An increasingly familiar tingling feeling is emanating from each of your active soulmarks, despite the fact that you know the other two should have no idea how you’re feeling right now.

Your bond wasn’t strong enough for that. You hadn’t given it the chance to be.

The thought that they might just be thinking of you gives you a soft and fluttery sort of feeling.

Finally, Changbin pulls back, removing his hand from your mark and sliding up your arm to gently pry yours from his bicep. You’d wince at the marks your nails had left on his skin if you didn’t still feel like your bones were vibrating on the astral plane from the intensity of a reciprocal resonance.

He gently holds both of your hands in his and settles them between you, catching your eye again.

“You back with me, bubs?” He asks, smile light and tone even. You’d think him unaffected if not for the redness of his ears and the slight haze in his eyes.

Right. Eight soulmates. He’s probably used to it.

He’s also trying to get you down from a panic attack, you remember as your hands begin to faintly tremble in his grip. You nod slightly at his question, apologizing again.

“Hey, no.” Changbin scolds softly, eyes locked on yours, “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, it’s okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

You shake your head in refusal of both ideas, opening your mouth once, twice, three times, before huffing irritatedly at the lack of words falling from your lips. Changbin squeezes your hands to keep your attention on him, expression open and accepting. His silence allows yours to end.

“I just- It’s just that I-” You breathe harshly through your nose, squeezing his hands back to ground yourself, “I knew from when I realized who you were that you were my soulmate.” you grind out in halting words, the trembling spreading from your hands up to your chest. You take in a shuddering breath, “That’s why I was apologizing. Because I knew and I still said those things to you.”

You can tell your confession takes Changbin off guard. The man blinks rapidly as he takes in the new information, slotting your earlier behavior against your reaction just now and having trouble connecting them.

“Soulmates terrify me,” you confess quietly, before he can ask, “You’re so nice, but you’re so fucking scary to me, I’m sorry.”

With that, you remove your hands from his, and Changbin just sort of helplessly lets you go, a lost expression taking over his face. You try to stumble to your feet, and he scrambles up to help you, caring even through his confusion.

You can feel the trembling travel to your legs, and you’re glad for his steady hold despite yourself. You feel like a stiff breeze might knock you over.

“I need- I- I’ve gotta- argh!” You clench your teeth with frustration, taking a deep, bracing, breath, before trying again. “I need to go home.” You’d like to say it came out strong and self-assured, but the words leave you in a breathless whimper that makes you feel small and pathetic.

Everything about this makes you feel small and pathetic.

Changbin catches your eyes again, brows creased in concern.

Except for him.

“Of course, whatever you need,” He assures, “Can I call a car for you? A friend? Your roommate?”

You shake your head, hopelessly endeared by his need to help you. You feel guilty for refusing him when he’d just pivoted from the bombshell you’d dropped on him to focus on your care but you- you needed to go home. You needed to leave, and it was taking every ounce of effort you could spare to keep from bolting.

“No, I can- I’ve got- I want- shit.” The curse spills from you unbidden, frustration with the vestiges of your panic refusing to leave you building sharply. If anything, Changbin’s concern only grows deeper as you struggle to express yourself.

“I need to move, I’ll walk.” Your mouth finally allows you to spit out, almost aggressively. Changbin almost seems to despair at your declaration.

Looking at your own condition, you can’t blame him. Trembling like a leaf and barely able to speak, you’d never let yourself leave if you’d been in his place. You can’t spare the energy to explain that if anyone tried anything at you in this condition you’d probably try to kill them first and ask questions later.

You don’t handle stress well.

Still, despite his obvious reluctance, Changbin lets you leave his embrace.

You’re more stable on your feet now, and a deep breath fills you with a facade of confidence that will see you home. Changbin’s hands still hover around you, as if waiting for you to shatter apart again.

“If you need anything, please call me, okay? Anything at all, please call me.” He pleads with you. You only manage to give him another tiny nod before you dip into a full bow and turn to flee.

Changbin watches you go with a face full of concern and confusion.

‘I think it’d be worth the work, to be your soulmate’ he’d said. You can’t help but wonder, as the gym disappears behind you, if he still thinks that.

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