#if you think this is a vague about you GOOD

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

First Choice

Synopsis: The Prefect has to choose a dorm to move into, and they immediately think of Leona.

TW: it's relatively vague, but it's mentioned that The Prefect was uncomfortable with the thought of staying in other dorms for reasons you would imagine a woman wouldn't want to stay in a space with all men (specifically, she's overheard jokes, and noticed looks that made her uncomfortable (I try to keep it vague though))

Fem! Reader x Leona

You sat in Crowley's office with your arms crossed and a tired expression on your face. You had walked back to Ramshackle after another long day of classes and mayhem just to find the roof had caved in.

Crowley sat in silent contemplation as if he were actually mulling over the issue like someone who actually cared before snapping his fingers with a triumphant smile on his face: "Because I am so kind, I shall allow you the opportunity to choose one of the 7 dorms to move into!"

Your face remained blank. It's not that you disliked the idea of being able to sleep in a building that you didn't have to worry about leaks, mold, collapses, and cave ins, but you weren't too fond of the idea of having to live with a bunch of men.

You mulled over your options for a moment before sighing and pulling out your phone. Crowley looked at you quizzically. "I wanna make sure it's okay with him first" you mumble under your breath.

Moments later, you get a text from Leona: "Whatever."

You figured that would be as close to a yes as you could get, so you relayed the information to Crowley.

Just then, another buzz of your phone came: "Don't bring the d*mn cat."

Well, that complicated things. You weren't too fond of the idea of leaving Grim behind. Crowley, on the other hand, thought it was a glorious idea. He'd send Grim off to Heartslabyul (without consulting with Riddle first, of course). Surely, some time in the strictest dorm would do the little critter some good.

Before either of you could protest, he was already out the door holding grim by the collar.

When you arrived at Savanaclaw, it was already late. Ruggie greeted you with a snicker and tossed you a basket of laundry to bring up to Leona's room.

"Can't have ya freeloading" was the hyena's excuse.

"Delivery." A yawn slipped from your mouth as you dropped the basket of laundry just inside the door.

A rustling came from the bed before moments later a grumpy lion finally lifted his head to look at you. "The h*ll are you doing here?"

". . .You said I could stay, remember?"

Leona's tail flicks back and forth a few times before he flops back down. "Was half expecting ya to choose a different dorm instead."

With a hum, you closed his door and picked the basket back up to set it next to his closet. "Now, why would I do that?"

You heard a scoff come from Leona "In case ya haven't noticed, Savanaclaw isn't exactly a prissy little proper dorm with a-"

You cut your upper classman off by throwing a pillow at his face.

"Oops, my hand slipped" you hum as you set the laundry basket down again.

Leona growls, but he doesn't move. If anyone else were to throw a pillow at him, he'd likely rip their throat out, but with you, he didn't have that compulsion. "The h*ll was that for?"

"Is that really what you think I'd be looking for in a dorm I'll have to move into?" As you speak, you casually sit on the edge of his bed so you can meet his eyes and give him a 'really?' look.

"Yes." His response is blunt and to the point.

A sigh slips from your lips as you stand up "Seriously?"

"Well what else would you be looking for?" He scoffs with a roll of his eyes "And which of those criteria would you find in this dorm?"

"You're here." You reply without having to think and as if the answer is obvious.

In response, Leona just stares at you disbelievingly.

"I'm serious. The moment Crowley said I had to move into a dorm, this was the first one I thought of, and because of you."

He remains silent, his expression only becoming more skeptical. Don't get him wrong, when you said he was your first thought, your first choice, it made something tighten in his chest. However, anyone can lie, and your current sentiment sounds completely improbable to him.

Another exasperated sigh leaves your mouth before you motion for him to scoot over.

Surprisingly, he complies and gives you space to sit crisscross next to him. "I'm the only girl in this school."

"Obviously." You give him a quick warning glare at his snarky comment, and he raises his hands.

"As I was saying, I'm the only girl in this school. I'm not saying I particularly distrust the other students here, but that doesn't change the fact that I constantly find myself in settings here that make me feel unsafe."

Leona's once swishing tail stills, but his expression remains neutral.

"Sure, I have friends in other dorms, but, for one reason or another, I never feel fully at ease in those spaces."

"And you do here?"

"Yes."

The room falls silent for a moment before you continue: "I can't fully explain it, but. . .I said that the reason I chose to come to Savanaclaw was because you're here. That matters because. . .I feel safe around you."

Leona scoffs before he can stop himself. "I tried to kill you."

"Yes, but I've never worried that you'd do worse."

Leona's eyes widen a fraction at the statement. He debates asking for a moment, but eventually decides to: "And you have about others?"

Silence falls once more, but this time it feels much heavier.

"Some of it is just a lack of knowing,. . .but sometimes I hear people make unsavory jokes. . .and sometimes I catch a glint in people's eyes that I'm not sure I want to know the thoughts behind."

Before the atmosphere can get too awkward, you clap your hands together, "That or sometimes I just feel like people don't know how to treat me because I'm a girl." you add, trying to lighten the mood.

"But I've never felt that way with you. You respect my space and my boundaries but still treat me like a normal person."

Deciding it's probably best not to talk about the previous subject too much as you seem uncomfortable with it (not that he's going to forget it though), he follows along with the topic shift. "Nobody else in any other dorm does that?" he scoffs "It's the bare minimum, nothin' special." His words don't come off as being said in a way to subtly tell you to pick a different dorm to stay in, that he doesn't want you here, but rather as genuinely curious and with a barely noticeable undertone that way maybe. . .threatening?

"It's not that nobody else does. . .it's hard to explain. You not only treat me with respect, but by doing so, you encourage others around you to do the same. Last time I stayed here, you always seemed to be there to step in if anyone crossed any boundaries or said anything that made me uncomfortable. When I returned to your room looking even slightly uncomfortable, you'd notice and take me seriously when I had a concern instead of brushing it off."

Noticing you had just rambled off praise, you quickly add "And you're a dorm leader, so staying in your room would surely deter anyone from trying anything! Cause you're big and scary. . .haha."

Leona is eerily silent for a while before he huffs and lets a grin creep onto his face. "I didn't know you thought so highly of me, Herbivore."

You roll your eyes and lightly punch his arm, grateful for how he lightened the mood.

"Well, I could easily give the same praise to plenty of other people, some of whom are even dorm leaders." you scoff playfully. "I genuinely don't know why it's just you that makes me so comfortable."

"Maybe ya have a thing for me." the lion jokes.

Normally, you'd be put off by such a comment, but coming from Leona, you can tell it has nothing nasty or creepy behind it.

"As if!" You try your best to sound firm and to match his sarcasm, but a light blush creeps to your face.

Leona originally wasn't going to push the matter, but seeing your positive reaction, he continues, "Oh? I seem to recall you mentioning that I was your first choice though."

"You know I didn't mean it like that!" you hiss, irritated by the smirk on his face.

You move to get up, but before you do, Leona lightly stops you. "What are you-"

He cuts you off by resting his chin on your shoulder from behind and lifting his phone into the air. You catch on to what he's doing, and decide to just go along with it. . .but not without getting him back for a bit of his earlier teasing.

You lift one hand to cradle his cheek that isn't pressed against your neck and give your best smile. If Leona is phased by the action, he doesn't show it as he quickly clicks the picture and posts it on his virtually dead magicam account, making sure to tag the other dorm leaders in the post.

"You're a jerk" you sigh, watching him hit post.

You leave the room a bit later to take a shower in the bathroom attached to his room, and only then does he allow the faintest of blushes to creep onto his face.

Partially because of you holding his face, partially because of your praise, but mostly because of something you said much earlier.

He was your first thought. He was your first choice.

Leona was never first.

You had 7 dorms to choose from and you chose his arguably unappealing one where it was always humid and full of sweaty guys roughhousing.

It wasn't that you thought of the dorm first, you thought of him. He was your first choice. He is your first choice.

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[amaritheartist]

Alright, now you actually have me trying to think about whether there are any exceptions to this.

Like, Tim is one of the first examples that comes to mind. He’s gotta have something, right? Even if all of his lines would be incredibly cheesy!

Does Annabelle have rizz? Maybe? Are you into vague answers to all questions and possibly being filled with spiders?

“The Distortion could probably rizz me!” I say knowing full well that I’m only here for the relatable identity issues, gender, and aesthetics. I’ve got a platonic crush on the Distortion. I want to befriend it! I want to sit down in its corridors and have tea that makes my head spin, have a cry in the “corners” when I get far too lost, and come out making other people doubt what they’re seeing. Is that too much to-

Some people think Dr. David has rizz. Personally, I would take a ghost bullet for this man, and then use my newfound rage to tear him apart. I will not be restrained.

Does the song of the Hive count as rizz? If you heard that wasp’s nest serenading you from outside your bedroom window, would you be rizzed? Actually, I don’t know if this counts, as I wouldn’t find the wasp’s nest absurdly hot until after it started singing.

I think the entities themselves have some rizz. Actually, I am unhealthy about some of the relationships between avatars and their patrons. Now I ain’t sayin’ that most of those are healthy relationships, but I certainly feel things about them! This is getting so off track! Oh my goodness! Can’t even count that as rizz! I’m just severely normal about characters like Father Burroughs, Mike Crew, and Lydia Halligan! Out of the three of which, I think only Mike would have some semblance of rizz.

"objectively physically attractive but in possession of negative rizz" is one of my favorite character concepts. i think it's so great when there's an absurdly hot person who's just a complete fucking loser. the mood is unsalvageable the moment they open their mouth kind of deal. you get no bitches because you're so sucks.

[murdrdocs]

it's faye and uh you mentioned something abt joaquín taking virginities? yeah 😌 i'm gonna need u to expand on that

well yes ofc

joaquín is genuinely shocked. he's sitting beside you, elbows pressed into his knees, his head cocked to the side as he looks at you. "seriously?"

you nod once. "yeah. seriously."

he leans back into the couch, spreading his legs and crossing his arms over his chest. staring off into the distance, blinking blankly, he lets out the tiniest wow and continues to exist in this stupor that he doesn't break out of until you giggle.

"why're you so—" you gesture vaguely with your hand, "about that?"

"no, i'm not trying to be rude or anything about it. i'm just shocked."

and things don't change immediately. briefly, you were worried that he would be oddly fragile with you after finding out, hold you at arms distance, overly ask for your permission to do things that you never had any trouble with doing before. but joaquín was still joaquín. things were still the same between you both, until you were standing in the center of your bedroom, chests pressed together, tension finally having come to a breaking point between both of you.

his hands aimlessly roam, fingers touching every single part of you even with your clothes on. and with your clothes off, it's ten times more glorious. laying back on your bed, completely at joaquín's mercy, you're letting him in on so many levels—letting him do what he thinks is best for your body, providing your input here and there. letting him alter the aura of your bedroom, letting him make a memory that you're sure you'll never forget.

obviously, he checks up on you throughout. either verbally through curt sentences that are easy to digest and even easier to answer ("this okay?" "like that?" "'m gonna go here, is that okay?"), or through little glances. he communicates so much through his eyes, you aren't even sure if he's aware. with his eyes lifted to look at you and his eyebrows raised as his fingertips glide through your folds, he's gauging your reaction but there's a sense of pride within there as well. when your breath hitches and you sit up on your elbows when he scissors your entrance open, he squints for barely a second as if a smile was going to start from his eyes.

then his dick comes out and you can see the cockiness descend onto him. pride in his eyes, a sly grin on his lips that tugs one side up higher than the other. he licks his lips and sits back on his haunches in front of you, the warmth from his hand resting on your knee slowly heating you up. you've seen his dick before, the two of you have done some things in the weeks between you telling him about your virginity and this, but seeing joaquín bare in this capacity is something new entirely. you're cold and nervous, goosebumps prominent on your skin.

"you wanna help me out here?" he's already hard. his cock is keeled over from its own weight, resting over a thick and corded thigh that you have got to sit on one day. but you still nod and scoot closer, spitting in your hand throughout the journey so by the time you're right in front of him you can just wrap your hand around the tip and glide your hand down his length.

joaquín sighs immediately upon contact, his head lolling to the side. the hand on your knee slides up to your thigh and then your back, his other hand resting on your jaw. he pulls your face closer to his, kissing you once and letting it linger before he speaks. "you ready?"

you nod, and after letting yourself indulge in the feeling of stroking him a couple more times, you lay back while he puts the condom on.

and you know what to expect. you've heard stories, good and bad. your expectations have been set at a comfortable spot, not too high or too low, but your experience with joaquín is still better than you could've hoped.

not just because of the way he physically fucks you, which is something you can quickly see yourself getting addicted to, but because of his demeanor throughout the entire thing. when he's using his hips to glide his cock in and out of you in a steady rhythm, reaching deeper and deeper each time, he has this manner about him that makes it obvious that he's enjoying himself even despite your inexperience and reliance on him. actually, you think he's enjoying himself so much because you’re relying on him.

joaquín is nothing if not a pleaser. he quite literally lives to making sure other people are safe and happy, it's his job and his self-proclaimed purpose in life. so this, fucking you for the very first time, and making sure your experience is as good as it could possibly be, is everything to him.

he's so obviously grateful that you're willing to share this with him. his forehead rests against yours at one point, your noses nudging, and you both just breathe together. it's so intimate, more intimate than you could've imagined.

there was a moment there, though, one where you can see the beginnings of joaquín losing himself. when you've loosened up completely, having gotten used to being opened up for him, and you were steadily being guided towards the edge, you asked him for more. no, you begged. and joaquín gave you just what you wanted.

his hips snapped with each drive, his movements sharper than they'd been throughout the entire ordeal. messily, he swiped across your clit with his thumb, pushing you closer and closer towards his goal and not straying far behind you. it was rougher, but not careless at all. you wanted more of that for another time, you wanted him to completely lose it with you. but for now, you completely reveled in the way joaquín gave you an orgasm, one that only began to fade when he stuffed his cock completely in you with one final shove, his pelvis notched against yours and his balls resting against your ass.

by the time you came down and everything was cleaned up, distantly, you were ready to do it again.

[thewitchblue]

"Did you join the fucking military?"

Jason asked Tim, who blinked blankly at Jason until he noticed what he was holding. Jason was holding your military tags, which Tim's selfishly kept to himself when you "lost" them. Technically, he stole the tags from you, but you can always get a new set. You'll be matching! He did feel a little bad that you got in trouble with leadership when you asked for new ones, but he's sure you'd be fine without the old pair.

"No."

Tim didn't elaborate further. The tags have practically lived on him since he stole them. He only ever takes them off for showers, which is how Jason found them. Jason scoffed,

"Good. You'd be a shit soldier. Why do you have military dog tags?"

Tim tried to take them back, but Jason held them above his head. Your dog tags are air jailed until he gets answers. Jason needed to know.

"Answer or I'll find a place to smelt them down."

Tim knew he was serious by the gleam in Jason's eyes, so he said,

"My girlfriend is in a special forces unit for the marines. She refuses to tell me which unit she's in, but I've narrowed it down."

Jason was too stunned to notice that he dropped your dog tags. Tim snatched them off the floor and put them safely around his neck again and tucked under his shirt where they belonged. He likes to say that you're closer to his heart with your tags under his shirt with the bonus of protecting him from any potential bullets. Even when you are gone, you promise that you will always come back. He's used to your deployment and the limbo you have him in.

"When do I get to meet her?"

Dick said from the doorway. He was passing by and overheard. His little Timmy has a girlfriend? When did that happen?

Tim touches the tags while thinking of what to reveal and what to keep private. He's never been good at respecting privacy, but he has been learning for you. He knows to keep anything you say to him a secret, but what about other things relating to you?

"Whenever she wants. I'm not her keeper."

Tim answered vaguely. He's flying to see you soon, and he doesn't want to be followed. You've been together for three years, but you met kind of awkwardly. You tackled him to the ground and wrestled with him after mistaking him for one of your friends.

Your willpower eventually overcame his reflexes, and he stopped struggling. You had laughed when you pinned him down and ruffled his hair in victory. It was embarrassing to him how quickly he submitted to you. He watched your eyes widen when you noticed he's not your friend. You took in the scene too slowly. You, straddling who you had assumed was your friend with your hands pinning his wrists to both sides of his head, and Tim blushing underneath you. Tim didn't know how to react either, so you both stared at each other before you started awkwardly apologising.

Tim was a mess, but he was an adorable mess. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes were wrinkled, but there were no bruises nor any scrapes. You were always careful to leave no injuries. He was breathless, just staring at you with wide eyes and a shyness that almost made you smile. He was so cute that you wanted to squish him.

You quickly got off of him once you realised how long you've been staring at him. You pulled him up from the ground when he didn't make a move to stand by himself and actually almost fell right back to the ground because his legs refused to work for him. He was understandly stunned.

This is awkward. How do you explain the tradition of you fighting your friend on sight? Your friend does the exact same thing with you. It was excellent training for your deployment to fight each other on sight without any prep. Enemy soldiers aren't going to reveal themselves before attacking, so surprise attacks help keep your reflexes sharp.

"Sorry. I thought you were someone else."

He couldn't get the image of you pinning him down out of his head. Nobody has ever pinned him down so intimately. You were gentle. Your hold would have been easy to break out of if he didn't stop struggling. It was like you only played until one of you got pinned, and then the fight was over.

Tim was still trying to remember how to function. What does he do? What does he say? He's all shaken up. He had to look away from you. He managed to say,

"It's fine."

He tried to sound like it was no big deal, but it sounded strained. He was pretending like the wrestling really took it out of him by fake panting, but you both knew better. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but pat his back and attempted to leave.

Attempted, being the key word. Tim caught your wrist loosely and nervously said,

"I, uh... would you... Can we... Let's... I'm sorry."

He didn't have the words with you looking at him like that. He was nervous. You smiled softly at him, and he forgot how to speak entirely. He could only stare until you took the initiative and asked him to go on a date before you leave for boot camp. He nodded, and that was that. You gave him your number and continued your run like nothing happened.

The date went amazing. It was a bit unconventional as you took him to a paint gun fight after showing him the gun and explaining the rules. You grinned every time he landed a hit and even wiped away the paint that splattered onto him with a fond expression. You opened up about the fear you have about joining the military, but your desire to help. You want to make a difference, however small or large that may be.

You kissed the bruising wounds softly and banaged the bleeding ones before he could even reach for the first aid kit you brought. You helped him up with a wild grin, and he kissed you until the adrenaline ran out. The guns were empty, and you both were messes, but your hearts were full, and Tim can safely say he hates paintballing. You took him to see a movie like a normal person next date.

Jason and Dick watched their brother soften further and further as he went down memory lane. Dick was ecstatic and already plotting to meet you, but Jason was confused why anybody would date Tim. Yeah, he's had his fair share of partners, but he's surprised every time he gets a date, let alone a girlfriend.

You were his mystery girl, and their family loves a good mystery.

[justladders]

The only reason I like something without reblogging it is because I wanted to save it to look at it later. And if I ever reblog without any kind of comment or tag it's because I forgot.

There’s a friend of mine where, after our DnD sessions, they’ll individually ask people’s opinions on how they role-played their character. Now, they’re really good, and we tell them that all the time, but when they ask, no matter if you say it was good or bad, they ask why you think that (and if you’re alright with sharing why). They don’t argue that you misunderstood something about their performance, they just listen, and prompt further if you leave something vague. The only type of comments they’ll make about your opinion is that you phrased something about your answer really well, like in a way that tickled their brain.

When one of the other members of the group asked why they wanted to know the details, they basically responded, “Well, you need an outside opinion when you do creative stuff. And not just ‘it’s good or bad’ because you can’t do anything with that. People are normally quick to point out when they dislike something, but won’t bother to comment when it’s something they like, so if you all like what I did, I want to know why. Maybe I did something that I thought would be interpreted a certain way, but it ended up coming off differently. Even if that different way was still good, I want to know why it was good, why it didn’t come off how I thought, and I’ll never know if no one says anything.”

They’re very good at DnD. They understand the game balance really well, are even making their own adjustments and QoL to the game for their own campaign, and always make and play characters that everyone ends up loving. And we tell them that they do a good job with stuff they make.

Though, in their words, “Things can always be better, and it can only be better if someone’s willing to say something.”

[heretolurkbutalasitstaken]

Actually, you just politely correct reporters and other media people. (and Octavius is a trans ally, fun fact) Maybe tweet it out if it's that Spidey.

My view is depends how bad you need the others to know (although hiding it could be good for secret identity.) Honestly I think it's best to tell the villains first, because they all go to the same pub in the Marvel Universe (Peter Parker is also a former patron there; he won a quiz game with his roommate), so they'll all know after like 2-3 fights.

Also, here is my spin on the exchange.

Doctor Octopus is robbing a bank in a morally conflicted manner or whatever he does between body-swapping into Spider-Man nowadays.

He's threatening a guard or already in, either way, he's doing the same routine. Looking for something.

He's about to get into the vault but then- THWIP, his face is webbed.

Otto: AAGHH! Drat, you insipid wall-crawler! Don't you have better things to do? (He is using his tentacles)

Spider-Girl swings in and kicks Otto in the face (gently, last time she did this on the regular, he did get a terminal illness and take over her body)

Otto attempts to strike her with a tentacle but she dodges easily, barely worth a panel.

Spidey: I might be a girl now, but you still hit like one!

Otto: You- ah. Spider-Girl or Spider-Woman?

Spidey: uh, Spider-Girl, I guess. (she shrugs while perched on the floor in an epic pose)

Otto: Very well. (he privately believes that she should be the real Spider-Woman, something I vaguely remember from a Spider-Verse)

Otto: Spider-Girl! We meet again!

Otto: You may be a woman now, but your threat is still negligible! I will use this diamond to regain my standing and form a new SINISTER SIX from the ashes of the old! THE DIE IS CAST!

Spidey is already half-way to winning, because she's got a date to get to or laundry or something.

Spider-Girl: Didn't you do that last week, Doc? Jeez, be original. Maybe I should reuse material...

(Doc Ock has already opened the vault and is disabling the security with a tentacle. To combat this, Spidey is rapidly webbing money out of the vault)

Spider-Girl: Speaking of recycling... (Otto growls as she has sailed through the air and now right in front of him, face to face.)

Otto's tentacles reach for the diamond.

Spider-Girl: I'm gonna recycle THIS web, (She webs one tentacle) By spending it, giving it to someone else (The web is attached to his hand) And they'll do the same!

Otto falls over, trying to grab the diamond with his hand or something.

Otto: CURSE YOU, SPIDER-GIRL! (he thinks in a feminist way, possibly already coming up with new ploys for their next fight that will be slightly more courteous.)

Spider-Girl: Gotta go, Doc! See ya!

(Spider-Girl's internal narration is already focused on relationship troubles with MJ, maybe a brief aside about how maybe he'll leave her body alone next mind-swap)

What's the process if you're a superhero and you come out as trans

Do you tell your villains?

Do you keep it a secret so no one can connect Spider-Man with your secret identity for a while? Or do you pop a pronouns pin on your costume and the next time you web up Doctor Octopus and he goes "I'LL GET YOU NEXT TIME SPIDER-MAN" you go "Spider-Girl actually! I've been figuring out some shit"

[solarmorrigan]

3 & 4 steddie? I love everyone's takes on eddie interacting with steve after the halloween party in s2💛

So! A thing about me is that I'm actually not always comfortable writing about drinking. The "why" of it is kind of a moving target, and I really should have just nixed "drunk" as an option in the tags, so that's my bad D: But! I think I got the rest of your prompt in pretty alright??

4. Cry - Eddie &/ Steve

-

Eddie had only been looking for a quiet place to smoke. Business is great at parties like this, but sometimes he needs a break from all the hubbub. The backyard had been milling with people, but as Eddie had trailed out towards the edge of the property, close to the tree line of the woods behind the house, the crowds had dwindled to nothing, leaving undisturbed peace in their wake.

At least, Eddie had thought so.

It takes a minute for him to notice the new noise – the soft, inconsistent huffs of air working counter to the sound of the whispering breeze. It’s the sound of someone gasping, he realizes, cold anxiety beginning to pool in his gut.

Is someone hurt? Had some drunken idiot wandered out back here, maybe fallen or run into a tree and injured themselves? Were they too hurt to get back up? But, no – as Eddie gets closer to the source of the noise, it becomes clear it isn’t pained gasping, it’s the hitched-breath sound of sobbing.

And just as he starts to think maybe he should just give this person their privacy, let them have a good cry in peace like they clearly intended, he rounds a tree and sees exactly who it is that’s come out into the woods in their lament.

He can’t see the face, but even in the half-light spilling out from the house, the head of hair is unmistakable: Eddie’s just crashed Steve Harrington’s private backwoods breakdown.

For a moment, Eddie is frozen, unsure of what to do. He feels a little like Actaeon stumbling across Diana bathing in the forest, and at any moment he’s going to be turned into a stag for witnessing something he shouldn’t have (and take that, Mrs. Davis – he does pay attention in English class. To the cool parts, at least). Except it doesn’t seem like Steve has noticed him yet, still wrapped up in whatever’s got him miserable, so maybe Eddie can just make a clean getaway? Pretend none of this ever happened?

Intending to do just that, he takes one careful step back and puts his foot down directly on what is apparently the loudest twig in existence. The crack of it rings out like an alarm, and Steve’s head snaps up, his cheeks shining wet in the low light, glancing around frantically until his eyes land on Eddie.

“Uh,” Eddie says, raising one careful hand in greeting. “Hey.”

That seems to knock Steve back into action. He swears, reaching up to wipe roughly at his face, running a hand through his hair, probably trying desperately to look like he hadn’t just been crying. Eddie figures he should probably let him, give him some plausible deniability, pretend he hadn’t been able to see anything in the dark, that he hadn’t heard anything at all. Except now that he’s here, Eddie finds he can’t quite leave well enough alone. He’s curious.

And maybe he feels a little bad for the guy. Just a little. He looks sort of devastated from where Eddie is standing, eyes wide and wet, cheeks red, hair disheveled (but still goddamn pretty. How is that even fair?).

“You, uh… You okay?” Eddie tries, feeling a little lame in the attempt.

“Yeah,” Steve snaps, running a hand down over his face again. “I’m fine.”

Clearly.

“Did you come here with someone?” Eddie asks. “Like… someone I can go get?”

“What? I’m not drunk or anything, man, I’m fine,” Steve huffs, leaning back against the tree he’d been half-hidden behind, shoulders still slumped.

“No, yeah, I just – like, whatever’s going on with you, I figured maybe a friend would be… better,” Eddie says, waving a hand vaguely at Steve, who scoffs at him. “Wait– Wheeler. You came with her, didn’t you?”

That doesn’t get an answer – not a verbal one, anyway. All Steve does is sniffle and glance away.

“Ah,” Eddie finds himself nodding, speaking before he can stop himself, “trouble in paradise?”

Steve scoffs again. “You know what?” he asks harshly. “When your girlfriend says you’re bullshit, and that your love is bullshit, and blames you for her friend dying, you start to think that maybe there was no paradise to begin with.”

Eddie blinks. That’s a lot to process. “I thought Holland ran away?” he asks after a moment, because apparently that’s the thing to focus on.

“Right. Ran away,” Steve spits out, and that’s – hm.

What do you know that I don’t, Steve Harrington? Eddie wonders.

He doesn’t ask, of course, because nosy as he is, Eddie also has a healthily developed sense of self preservation, and this seems like the sort of thing he shouldn’t be prying into.

“That’s kinda fucked up, man,” he says instead. “She seriously accuse you of that?”

Steve shrugs, says nothing, but still looks miserable enough that Eddie would believe it. Whatever went down between Steve and Nancy had clearly been a hell of a mess. He isn’t entirely sure why he cares (his persistent soft spot for strays is honestly a bitch sometimes), but he finds he doesn’t want to leave Steve like this, depressed and alone in the woods on Halloween.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws his pack of cigarettes, shaking two out into his hand. Steve tenses when Eddie takes a few steps closer, but the only thing Eddie does is offer him a cigarette. There’s a moment of confused staring, eyes flicking between Eddie’s face and the cigarette in his hand, but eventually Steve reaches out to take it.

Eddie takes a chance, leaning in a little closer to offer him a light, and Steve takes it, the warmth of his face near Eddie’s cupped palm feeling almost as strong as the flame from the lighter.

Eddie drops his hand as soon as the cigarette is lit. He needs to get a grip. He lights his own cigarette and takes a drag.

“Thanks,” Steve croaks once he’s blown out his first breath of smoke.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie replies.

They smoke in silence for a minute, watching the backlit figures of drunken teenagers churn in and out of the house before them.

“Maybe she’s right,” Steve finally says.

“Hm?” Eddie glances over at him, but Steve is glaring at the ground.

“Love,” Steve sneers. “Maybe it’s really just bullshit.”

And something about that just hits Eddie wrong. Maybe he’s never believed in love, as such—not the way it’s described in poetry or sung about in ballads or written about in shlocky romance novels—but Steve clearly does. Anyone who’s been around him and Nancy for more than a minute in the last year could see that. For it to be otherwise feels like it goes against the natural order.

“Nah,” Eddie says. “Love is out there, man. The real shit, y’know? Stuff worth fighting for.”

Steve lets out a little snort, more amused than derisive, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “You’re not a romantic, Munson,” he says, so sure of himself – which is fair.

“Oh, I’m a cynic through and through, baby,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve gives him a little laugh. “But you – you’re a romantic. You don’t really believe that love is bullshit. And you shouldn’t.”

Subsiding, Steve leans back against his tree, taking another drag of his cigarette like he’s stalling for time. “Why do you care what I believe?” he finally asks.

Eddie shrugs. “The world needs people like you. Romantics. Dreamers. You keep people like us pessimists from collapsing beneath the weight of our own dark souls.”

“What?” Steve coughs out, really laughing this time, and Eddie smiles right along with him.

“Just saying,” he offers.

Steve shakes his head. “Okay, drama kid. And I’m guessing people like you – what? Help people like me keep our feet on the ground?”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Everyone needs a rock now and then. A nice solid foundation to start from.”

“Hm,” Steve hums, finishing off his cigarette as Eddie does the same. “Well – you’re, uh. You’re a pretty good rock, Eddie. Thanks.”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie says, pretending that the weird little compliment hadn’t made him light up just a bit. “Don’t mention it.”

And Steve doesn’t, but the smile he gives Eddie – well. What’s something else.

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | fourteen.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 5.5k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, mostly focused on namjoon again in his stressed with no rest era, oc tells her friends about everything, jiung x oc fighting, crying :(, oc has a pretty good talk with namjoon, things are just shifting/changing

—a/n: the next fic coming up after wildfire has been posted here! also if you haven't taken my poll, pls do so! hehe <33 i appreciate u

You lay back against the arm of the couch with your blanket sprawled on top, typing away the last bits of info into your presentation. You're a slide away from creating your acknowledgements slide and wrapping up the entire rotation update. You had gotten an email from both San and Namjoon stating that your rotation in San's lab was ending due to a change in your timeline and that you needed to present your rotation update to the both of them, along with the dean, in the following week. It scared you at first— and it still does now— but it's starting to make more sense as to why San did what he did. Namjoon sent you a side email asking if you could meet today because he wanted to discuss what was going on. He kept it vague. Short.

Maybe he was holding off until the meeting.

It's obvious who started all of this. It's not hard to tell.

But, you agreed to meet after TAing for Yunho— letting Namjoon know you'd be there as soon as class was over. He agreed to the time and sent you a reassuring message towards the end, telling you all would be well and that he'd help you figure things out no matter what.

It was reassuring, but it doesn't mean you weren't scared.

Anxious.

Nervous.

Doesn't mean any if this it hurt any less. Doesn't mean you weren't angry, upset, sad. You still needed to feel it out, especially being alone and going through this without anyone else to talk to about it.

You had Eunchae, Jurin and Felix. But, you wished you had Jiung to talk to. You wished you didn't feel hurt about him, too.

—FLASHBACK

"So, you two are seeing each other?" Jurin asks while she sits in front of you and holds onto your knee to give it a gentle rub. Eunchae sits next to you with her arm over your shoulder, also giving you a gentle caress, squeeze. Felix sits next to Jurin and he's got a look of concern, but sadness. You had finally opened up about everything between you and San; from how things started, the conferences, staying at his house, being with him—

To not.

Jiung keeps himself posted near your window because he doesn't really wanna hear more about it but he needs to— to understand the full story. Part of him also feels guilty for what he did hearing your cries and how awfully torn up you are over Professor Choi.

San.

He's gotta get used to you calling him San like that.

"Were." You shake your head and press the tissue against your nose to pat it dry. "It's done with now."

"But, why? Couldn't you guys just play it off?" 

"I'm sure he wanted to be safe, though." Felix adds softly. "I think I kinda see where he's coming from." He looks at you. "I don't think he meant to hurt you, but he's probably trying to protect you and keep everything safe in the meantime. Once this blows over—"

"I doubt we'd get back together."

"Don't say that. You never know, Y/N. I agree with Lix. He's probably just trying to do what's best for now even if it hurts him to. I'm sure he cares a lot about you. I mean heck, he almost fucked up Hae-jin in front of everyone." You sigh and look down at your hands, the feeling of sadness and emptiness all consuming. 

"He does." Eunchae adds to Jurin's reassurance. "I don't know why Professor Lee and Professor Jeong think it's their business, though. Haven't they done enough damage?"

"Awful. People literally can't mind their business, especially when it has nothing to do with them."

"I get the power dynamics but Professor Choi doesn't seem like the type. So, honestly, it's not like anyone was getting hurt in the process." Jiung silently fiddles with his hoodie string as Felix goes on.

"And people clearly don't know you if they assume you're the one throwing yourself on him." Jurin adds.

"Damn. Two people can't just be together?" Felix shakes his head. "Anyway, you got us, and this will pass. I'm sure Professor Kim will do everything to help and figure things out, too." You dig your face into your hands, trying to wipe away the remaining tears before you nod and smile at Lix in appreciation for his support, too. 

Still, you can't help but notice how Jiung has remained quiet this entire time— barely able to maintain eye contact with you.

"Should we go to dinner? Get some food in you?" Eunchae gives you a small smile and giggle. You nod and stand with them, quickly checking your appearance in the mirror while the three start making their way out of your door.

"Can we talk for a second?"

"About?"

"I just have to tell you something. Probably shouldn't wait until after dinner."

"Um, okay?" You look at him, hands crossed over your chest in a vulnerable manner, doe-eyes peeking up at him as he lets out a hefty sigh. "What's on your mind?"

"Y/N, I'm sorry. I just wanna say I'm sorry and I hope you understand where I'm coming from. But—" He lets out another sigh before shaking his head, almost as if he were shaking his feelings off. Trying to tell himself he needs to say it. "I-I went to Professor Kim and told him about you and Professor Choi. I told him I thought you were being taken advantage of and that I was worried."

"What?" You can barely get out. "W-why would you do that?"

"I was really just worried and I wasn't sure how else to get to you. I-I thought Professor Kim would be able to help—"

"Jiung." You call his name and step back, not wanting to be in close proximity to him. You knew he was worried about you, but you didn't think he'd go off and talk to Namjoon about it right away. "Why would you do that? Why couldn't we just keep talking about it— why did you have to go and blow this up even more?!"

"I'm sorry, can you blame me?!—"

"You didn't have to go behind my fucking back and tell Professor Kim! I already told you it wasn't like that and you still told him it was?! What the actual hell, Jiung?"

"I was just worried about you! I was being your fucking bestfriend, trying to make sure you weren't hurt or anything."

"And then you made things worse. Are you happy?" You scoff. "Those assumptions could have really fucked up Professor Choi."

"What about you, Y/N? Why do you keep disregarding yourself?! Is that even healthy—"

"Healthy?! I'm telling you the truth!" You scoff. "And you don't know shit about me and him, so quit acting like you do." You throw your hands up in defeat because he'll never get it. "Forget it, okay? You'll never understand and I don't need you to."

"Hey, what's going on?" Felix pops his head in, confused at the ruckus going on behind doors. Truthfully, he heard everything just as he was approaching the door to check up on you, and he's not sure how to feel. It's hard. He feels like he's in the middle because he sees Jiung, he sees you.

"You guys can go off to dinner together, but I'll probably just stay behind." 

"But, Y/N—" Jiung adds in defeat.

"Why don't you and the girls go? We'll catch up later." Felix tugs him by the sleeve and gives him a look. "Give her some space." He mutters lowly just as he gets in close distance.

—END

Your alarm blares on the coffee table, a harsh reminder that you haven't really slept much. It was time to wrap up and get ready for Yunho's class— something you weren't entirely ready to tackle today either.

But, you get up anyway. 

You sigh and put on your brave face.

You throw on a simple sweater, jeans and your Sambas— dabbing a bit of mascara, brow gel and lip gloss to fix yourself up a tiny bit for the day. You were tired of feeling sad and dressing the part; the least you could do was finally get some fresh air and look decent enough for the world while coming out of your slump. You grab your things and pack up your bag, heading out of the door with your keys in hand.

Kinda sucks you won't be returning to San's lab.

Kinda sucks you won't be returning to San.

You let out a sigh and quietly walk over to the classroom in peace, keeping your head down for a majority of the time. 

Avoiding eye contact, avoiding anything having to do with the outside world in meantime.

"Hey!" Yunho says in his usual fashion. You give him a small smile, although you're not really sure why he's joining class yet again today. He had been joining your class in particular recently, and you knew why.

He just wanted to get under your skin.

"Hi." You respond, getting your laptop together. Yunho continues to watch you from where you're standing, noting the sadness that envelopes your entire body. The way you're avoiding him. The way it's so blatantly obvious that you know that he knows.

That Iseul is the reason why you're sad.

You don't say anything otherwise; keeping your head down and away from Yunho even while the class walks in. You continue to carry on with the last journal club of the class before giving everyone time to work on their final proposals before it's due at the end of the evening. A few people linger at the end of class to speak with you and Yunho to get your guidance on the last remaining bits of their proposals before they thank you for all your help and head out for the day.

You still haven't said a word to Yunho, and he can't help but ask:

"Is something wrong?" Yunho asks nonchalantly after class, looking at your figure even though you are avoiding eye contact with him while packing up your things.

"No."

"You don't have to lie to me."

"I don't know why you're asking if something is wrong when you know what it is already. Don't you?" You look at him plainly from the side before gathering the rest of your things.

"Whatever's been happening between you and San is between you and San—"

"So, was it you who told Professor Kim? Or was it Professor Lee?" You cut him off. Yunho stares at you, and he doesn't respond. Of course he won't, of course he won't throw Iseul under the bus even though you know she was behind it.

"It was for the best."

"Quite frankly, I don't think you can speak on what's best for me or him. Especially him." You look at Yunho directly in the eye. "Are you both that determined to bring San down? Is that what this?" He furrows his brows.

"Reel it in, Y/N." He says, sternly. "Do you not understand how damaging this could be for both you and him? If anything, it was done to protect you both."

"What makes you think we weren't capable of doing so?" Yunho lets out a pathetic chuckle before he steps forward and leans towards your ear, a small smirk on his lips.

"I think snuggling up on campus and sneaking into his office is enough of a reason." He pulls back, licking his lips before dipping his hands into his pocket.

"And I think you need to learn how to mind your own business and let San handle his own." You scoff. "In any case, Yunho." You look him in the eye. "You and Iseul already ruined him from the beginning and you can't come to terms with it." You tilt your head to the side. "You both were never deserving of San, and that is sad. No wonder you two are miserable and are still keeping tabs on him." Yunho's mouth slightly drops, but he doesn't respond to your statement. "I'll help out with finals if needed. Otherwise, please consider my TA assignment with you done."

You almost run into Iseul as you stomp out of the classroom, leaving her to knit her brows at you in response.

"Nice talk." Iseul pops in, her husband biting his cheek.

"We should have never gotten involved with that, Iseul." He says lowly as he gathers his things together.

"Oh, so just let them—"

"That's exactly it, just let them be." He cuts her off and looks at her. "It didn't have to be us. We could've just let them be and let anyone else do the talking. Let them learn on their own." His jaw ticks.

"We did the right thing." She crosses her arms.

"Still doesn't change the fact that you're taking the opportunity to destroy San and running with it. It didn't have to be us." He repeats, slinging his bag onto his shoulder.

"Yunho." She says. "You're not actually taking Y/N seriously, are you? She's delusional if she thinks all of this is okay and would've slipped."

"Don't call her delusional, Iseul. You have no say in their relationship or what they're about. You had no right. They knew what they were getting into. You just lead them into the trap for your own benefit." Yunho scoffs. "You wanted to see this unfold, didn't you? You wanted this to unfold in a specific way." 

"What is going on, Yunho?"

"We're not meddling in this anymore. If you're not ready to stop, count me out of it. I'm not doing this, I'm not picking at their business anymore." He grabs his things and takes the lead out of the room. Iseul scoffs and shakes her head, slowly trailing behind him.

As for you, you feel cold. You feel isolated. You feel empty. You walk out and find a hidden table behind the building and set yourself down to get yourself together. You let out a couple of breaths to ease your feelings, promising yourself you wouldn't cry over this anymore.

But, it hurts to hold it in.

It hurts.

You feel the dullness, the heavy ache, in the center of your chest, and it hurts.

You have to move on.

"Fuck." You sigh, hand over your chest to give it a few gentle rubs before you're back on your feet and checking the time. You need to see Professor Kim just like your promised.

Of course, as you're on your way to Professor Kim's office, you find San passing by with Yeosang and Jongho. His eyes land on you and you immediately break first, feeling the tears ready to well up in your eyes. He sees the way your head drops and how you turn away— he can't help but slightly turn over his shoulder to keep his eyes on you.

To lock eyes with you once more.

To feel.

But, it doesn't happen. And it fucks San up more than he expects because he doesn't know even know what Jongho and Yeosang are talking about anymore after that brief interception.

"Yo, you good?" Jongho taps his chest with a small chuckle, bringing San back to reality.

"Yeah. Sorry." He tries to play it off quickly but Jongho quickly turns over his shoulder to see you walking in the opposite direction.

"All good." He returns to San and gives his shoulder a small squeeze. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about." San gives him a toothless smile. "Anyway, did you guys figure out where we're going before we make laps around campus?" Yeosang and Jongho share a quick look before they follow behind San and pick the conversation back up to prevent any of San's sadness from creeping up.

Meanwhile, you continue your way to Professor Kim's office, wiping away the stragglers that manage to escape your eyes and streak your cheeks. You weren't gonna let this get to you, so you quickly try to brush it off and get yourself together especially when you walk down the hallway and into Professor Kim's office. He's in his chair, typing away on his computer— glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose.

"Hey Y/N, come sit and make yourself comfortable." He smiles at you and you return the gesture, sitting down on the chair posted in front of his desk.

"Thanks for meeting with me today, Professor Kim."

"No, thank you." He chuckles and finally shifts his full attention towards you. "How are you today?"

"Uh, could be better but not complaining."

"Yeah? How was class with Professor Jeong?"

"Hm, okay." You hum before shifting in your seat nervously. 

"Just okay?" You nod. "Well, as long as there aren't any complaints or anything you wanna tell me." Namjoon knows you probably aren't having a great time in Yunho's class right now and he doesn't blame you.

"No." You force a smile. "Anyway, I see that I have to do my rotation presentation next week?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Y/N. You do understand why this is all happening, right?" You slowly nod. "I know you and San have been seeing each other, and I know he ended things the other day. I'm really sorry, but I just need to protect you both. Word is getting around fast and the dean isn't having it. I can't have him fire San, I can't have him kick you out of the grad program. Please just understand why things have to be this way. I just need it to settle."

"I do." You respond weakly before looking down at your hands. "I'm sorry for causing so much trouble, Professor Kim. I didn't mean— we didn't mean for this to blow up. I-I know we shouldn't have been so sloppy and reckless, and I'm sorry—"

"Hey, hey." He shakes his head with a sympathetic look. "No need to be sorry. I promise all is fine, and that's why I'm here to help and protect you both." You look at him with a sad nod, and you aren't sure why that's the tipping point for you but you suddenly start to break down in front of Professor Kim. He feels his heart breaks because he knows there wasn't any power play in this; he knows San as a person, and he's familiar with you as a student and the work you do. There was no way either of you used any power or position for your advantage. He knew this had been a genuine, real relationship— it's just truly unfortunate it had to unfold this way.

If word hadn't gotten around, maybe Namjoon wouldn't care at all. 

But, he has to now, and that's what makes everything hard about his role.

"I promise everything is going to be okay." He says softly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" Namjoon shakes his heas, watching the way you cry into your hands.

"Y/N, it's okay. You can let it out if you need to." He passes you the tissue box. "Can I ask you something? And be honest. I've already figured out your plan for school so you don't have to hold back." Namjoon says. "Do you care about him?" You nod as you continue to cry, the ache in your chest making it hard for you to breathe. 

You miss San.

"But, it doesn't matter because he ended it. It's over with."

"He only did so because of my guidance, and I'm sorry about that. I told him this too, but it's not something I wanted to do. Trust me. As his friend, it's the first time I've seen him genuinely and truly happy. It's all I wanted after the things he's gone through. But, I just can't risk it right now. San is beginning to reach new heights with his career and getting more real estate to do things he's been wanting to do with Jongho. You're also just getting into the groove of things. I don't want either of your hard work to get snatched away over something like this."

"No, I know Professor Kim. I do understand and I'm grateful. It just sucks. I don't know how else we would've gotten away with it, I guess." You sniff. "Maybe it had to happen."

"Look, I told him this, too. But, I can't police every detail and tell you who you can and can't date. If San is someone you care about, then so be it, but the only thing I ask of you is to keep it off campus. I cannot have you two interacting on campus or else he's out. Not by my choice, but the committee."

"I don't want anything to happen to him."

"I know, and he said the same thing about you. He cares just as much, so don't think that he doesn't." You dab your face with the napkin and nod.

"Jiung confessed and told me he came to you about it." Namjoon nods.

"I think he was just worried as your friend. Rightfully so. But, I think he also shouldn't have jumped to those conclusions right away."

"I told him that."

"If I hadn't known San so well, I probably would've believed Jiung." He sighs. "It's alright, he didn't know and he was worried. Are you two okay?"

"Not really, but I think we just need time. I'm trying to see his side of things, but I also didn't think he'd do that so it caught me off guard."

"I see. Well. Give yourself some time and grace, okay? I'm sorry it had to be this way for now." You give him a tiny, toothless smile. Eyes still shiny and watery from the crying you've just done. 

I'm sorry it had to be this way for now.

It repeats in your head over and over again because why does it feel like this is just how it's gonna be? Despite Namjoon reassuring you, despite San's explanation. Why does it just feel like a fleeting moment? A chapter in your book— a part that was never really supposed to last.

"Thank you." He gives you a smile.

"So, shifting to the program. I was thinking I could pull you into my lab and we can figure out things as time goes on? Explore other options if there's anything else you'd wanna explore." You nod. "You know there's other paths we can look into, or if you're totally fine with where you're at in my lab, then we can just stick with that plan."

"That sounds good. Thank you, Professor Kim."

"Unfortunately, like I mentioned, I can't have you interacting with Professor Choi. I'll have to make sure you don't take any of his classes or end up in any collaboration projects with him." You nod.

"Okay. I understand." 

"You'll have to halt all your work in his lab immediately. You can grab your things when you feel ready to, but I'll have you in my lab starting next week. I know it'll be a bit crazy with your rotation presentation, but I promise to make it a smooth transition." 

"Okay." You purse your lips. "I'm almost finished with my rotation presentation."

"That's great!"

"It'll just be us three?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. It's not the usual format but I need the dean to see all the good work you do."

"Thank you. I appreciate your support."

"Do you have any questions so far? Any other concerns?" You think for a second before shaking your head.

"No."

"I'll send you some onboarding info and give you the contacts to some key people in my lab to help you get started. We can figure out your project and goals in a little more depth next week. Let's aim for a Monday morning meeting? 9am?"

"Good with me." 

"Thanks, Y/N. And please trust me when I say all is gonna be well."

"Thank you." 

"See you next week? Be sure to keep an eye out for my emails." You nod as you stand and tuck your bag closely to you.

"I will." You give him another smile before heading out of the door. Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose and plops back down onto his chair, picking up his direct line to ring the dean's office phone. It rings for a few minutes before the dean is answering on the other end.

"Namjoon."

"Hey. Can we meet today to talk about what's been going on? I can be over in the next 15 minutes."

"I'm free, but I have a hard cut off in 45 minutes."

"That's plenty of time. I'll be there soon."

"See you." Joon hangs up and gathers his things, loosening his tie to get himself together for this meeting. He doesn't necessarily wanna do this, nor does he think he's ready for whatever the dean could unleash on him.

On you, on San.

But, he has a job to do and he'll make damn sure he gets his point across. He'll make damn sure he controls this well, and he'll make sure nothing happens to the both of you.

When he gets into the building and heads straight for the dean's office, he's greeted by the front desk and his executive assistant. The dean's assistant knocks on his door and pops her head in to give him a heads up about Namjoon's visit. It isn't long before she's gesturing for him to come into his office, stepping out and slowly shutting the door behind her once Namjoon's settled in the seat in front of him.

"Namjoon."

"Dean Louie." Namjoon clears his throat. "Can we discuss what's been going on? I've got a chance to review this more in depth."

"Great. So, tell me. What's with the anonymous tip? Is there truth behind San and his student's relationship?"

"No." The dean looks at him with his head cocked to the side. "Not at all."

"Namjoon. This isn't the time to play games."

"Who said I was?" Joon asks. "This is purely a rumor and there is nothing going on between the two of them. To keep things safe, I'll make sure they don't cross paths and interact on campus, and I'll make sure to work closely with her and keep her under my wing." Namjoon says.

"A rumor? That blew up around campus? What about Iseul and Yunho? Iseul told me about the happy hour event with San. All of this seems too good to be true, and if you're covering for them—" Namjoon cuts him off.

"Since when did Iseul and Yunho have their best interest in San? All I know is that they've always been the driving issue, not San." Namjoon looks at the dean confused. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, but a rumor is a rumor and I've gotten to the bottom of it. I talked to the both of them and they denied it through and through. The only reason why San got caught up in the whole happy hour business was because a postdoc was crossing the line and being really disrespectful to her. Any one of us would've done it had we caught it right away like San did." Namjoon continues to furrow his brows. "Now, please. I'd appreciate if we can move on." The dean sits back and lets out a hefty sigh.

"Go on."

"As stated in my email, she will do her rotation presentation in front of myself, you and San. After that, she will be removed from his lab and will be placed in mine. We'll have weekly check-ins, and I'll work with her to move her classes around and realign her priorities so that she and San don't cross paths in this program again."

"And what about this real estate in the building? I'm not going to give it over if this is what San plans to do—"

"I'm sorry, but this shouldn't define San and his work." Namjoon pauses. "He's not, alright? I already confirmed it was a rumor and there is nothing going on. No reason for you to pull back on that real estate deal especially when Jongho had nothing to do with this either and San has already explained his side and agreed to comply regardless. She'll be out of his lab." The dean gives Namjoon a stern look.

"You better make damn sure this doesn't happen again, Namjoon. No rumors, no slip ups. And you make sure those three stop causing trouble on campus. Iseul, Yunho and San. I don't care who did what and who is blaming who, I need this to stop. Now. We can't have childish, petty issues running amuck on this campus."

"You have my word."

"If I hear San and Y/N in the same sentence again, I can't promise it will be the same outcome."

"With all due respect, I need you to understand that whatever they do, whatever happens off campus, doesn't concern me and shouldn't concern you either. I cannot police their behavior and make them act a certain way off grounds. They are both grown, mature adults that can make decisions on their own, and you know that's unfair and very unrealistic." The dean doesn't say much. He mutters a few things under his breath before he's returning his attention to Namjoon.

"Not a damn word about them ever again, Namjoon. I mean it." The dean warns him again before settling into his seat and returning his attention to his desktop computer. Namjoon does a quick, silent bow before walking out, sighing loudly to himself as he's finally gotten that over with.

Still doesn't make it any easier knowing he had his friend make a very difficult decision that he did not wanna do.

He hopes in time, this could blow over and San could be happy again. Despite this hurdle, he's betting on it. On you and him.

Maybe when you come back together, circumstances will be different enough that it won't make the relationship seem as bad as it does right now.

"Shit." Namjoon clicks his teeth when he finally gets out of the building and breathes in the fresh air. He is exhausted, but his day isn't about to be over, no. On his way back to his office, he finds Yunho speaking to a few colleagues in the courtyard. He must have gotten out of a meeting and was walking his visitors out.

And Namjoon doesn't give a fuck. That visit is ending now.

"Professor Kim! It's an honor to see you in the flesh!" Namjoon smiles at his guests before returning the favor.

"Hi there." Namjoon does a curt bow. "Hope you've enjoyed your visit."

"Completely. We had a great collaboration meeting with Professor Jeong here, and he gave us a tour around."

"That's great, yeah." Namjoon smiles before looking at Yunho. "Can we talk in my office?" Namjoon says near Yunho's ear. "Now?"

"Sure." Yunho bids his last farewell before excusing himself and following Namjoon straight to his office. No words being spoken or shared. Namjoon shuts the door and sighs, looking at Yunho with his hand on his hip. "What's going on, Joon?"

"I'm just trying to understand why you and Iseul are trying so hard to ruin that man's reputation. The dean told me Iseul went over there to give him more of her little intel on San."

"I don't know what she said or did—"

"You still knew about it, didn't you?" Namjoon looks at him. "You knew this whole time Iseul was trying to raise hell about this and you let her."

"How is this not wrong?"

"No one said it wasn't wrong, Yunho!" Namjoon raises his tone. "There were just better ways to go about it than throwing San's name out there the way you two did. Just throwing him out there to the wolves without even knowing the full story. That's the problem!"

"I'm sorry, it doesn't seem like it now, but we were looking out for him and everyone else potentially involved."

"Except me. If you knew better, you both would've let me handle this accordingly. This doesn't just affect him, Yunho. It affects you both. It affects me. It affects Y/N, Jongho, everyone. Because you both didn't know how to be discreet about your plans to bring San down."

"It was never like that!"

"Then, what was it like? Tell me. As his colleague, as someone who acted purely for their own benefit, what was it like? As San's ex-bestfriend, what was it like?" Yunho doesn't respond. "This isn't high school, Yunho. I'm sorry, but the both of you need to grow up."

"We just tried to do the right thing and I don't take any of it back. If you fail to see that, then that's on you—"

"Oh, so approaching the dean to give him more talk in his ear with your so-called evidence before coming to me is doing the right thing?" Namjoon looks at him. "What was the goal here? What did this plan look like to you and Iseul?” He shakes his head. “No, actually, I don't wanna hear it, she already came into my office to talk my ear off about this. That should've been enough to let me handle it." Namjoon furrows his brows at him. 

"We just thought we were helping everyone—"

"Helping? Yourself or Iseul?" Namjoon shakes his head. "You know what, this is done. The damage is done. So, thank you and Iseul for your generous help." Yunho sighs. "Now that you've done all the talking, it's my turn." Joon steps closer to him. "As long as I'm around, I'll continue to keep the peace in this department, and that means I don't want you and Iseul meddling in San's personal matters ever again." Namjoon's jaw ticks as he and Yunho stare at each other in the brief pause that falls between them. "I don't want you meddling in Y/N's personal matters, I don't want you two doing anything on this campus besides running your labs and minding your own goddamn business. Do you understand me?" Namjoon places his hands on his hips while he and Yunho maintain eye contact. Yunho swallows thickly before nodding, digging his hands in his pockets.

"Yes sir."

"The next time you and Iseul wanna act like I don't know how to do my job, I promise I'll be good with reminding you."

—read 14.5 here

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Johnny ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Johnny x f!famous!reader

summary: you should be comfortable around Johnny considering you've already interviewed with him before, right? Well, you're not.

(cw: f!reader, famous!reader, mentions of getting drunk but no alcohol consumption, reader is an internet talk show host like Youngji)

a/n: I am not currently accepting any new self-on kode requests

Johnny sat back comfortably in the blue chair, extending his legs as he waved at the camera with a polite smile, "hello, I'm Johnny from NCT. I'm so ready to figure out who my partner will be today, I'm going to figure it out easily."

He nods smugly at the camera, popping his earbuds into his ears to listen to his music while you walked across the blue wall and sat back in the pink chair. You excitedly wiggled your legs, looking around at the set with wonder, "wow, you guys have a pretty good budget over here."

The staff behind the camera laughed and the producer prompted you to introduce yourself. You nodded, bowing to the camera as you introduced yourself, "in case you don't know me I have my own YouTube channel where I get drunk and interview celebrities." Your manager face palms behind the camera and you furrow your brows, "I can't say we get drunk? But we do! It's so obvious!"

Your music has barely started to play through your headphones when your phone buzzes in your hold. "Amazon?" You mutter as you read the screen name. Your eyes flit to the camera, "is it Jeff Bezos? Amazon is such a weird name."

On the other side of the wall Johnny laughs as he reads your message asking him if he is Jeff Bezos. "No," he types back, "it comes from a nickname."

"You have weird friends, do you shop a lot or something?" You message back.

He smiles down at the screen, "it's not my actual nickname, I can't give you my real nickname or I might give myself away."

You nod to yourself, "smart, smart."

The both of you make small talk, getting used to talking to your anonymous partners while trying to pick up on any little detail about who they are. So far, you have nothing beside an unbased idea that your partner could be a guy purely based on the fact that he's quite straightforward. However, he does match your excited energy. It feels vaguely familiar but hard to place based on mere words on a screen.

You may not have any idea why your partner seems familiar, but both your managers and the fans certainly know. A month ago you had released an interview on your channel that went viral almost overnight. It was your most watched interview in all your years of having your channel. It was your most chaotic interview yet, the video beginning with you taking stressed shots as you admitted to thinking your guest was handsome. After being kind of cold and aloof toward your guest, you both eventually started to succumb to the affects of the alcohol. You both end up slurring your words and laughing so hard while leaning against each other with drunken flirty words exchanged until he stumbles out of your apartment with rosy cheeks and a flirty wiggle of his fingers. The person you were interviewing? Johnny Suh, the very same Johnny Suh sitting in his own matching chair on the other side of the set.

Kode, of course, acted on the virality of the video and all the hype of the fans. All the edits that would consequently come from this interview would send more fans to their channel. Subscribers that already watched Kode, would be sent to your channel to see your interview with Johnny. It was a simple, win-win situation. That's why you and Johnny were sitting opposite each other.

The staff instruct you both to send a screenshot of your homescreens to your partners. You face palm, looking at your mess of a homescreen, thousands of unread emails, hundreds of unread messages, and a widget of your notes app with a note of questions to ask your next guest. You couldn't have made it more obvious with the note titled, 'questions to ask Jisung'. Your only saving grace is that there is more than one Jisung in the kpop industry.

Johnny's jaw drops as he looks at the picture you've sent him, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he freaks out over the insane amount of unread texts and emails. "That doesn't bother you? How do you live like this? Wait a second... 'questions for Jisung?' Which Jisung?" He sends text after text.

You look up at the camera with wide eyes, "I messed up. I really messed up." You bite your lip as you reply, "what are you, some kind of cop? What about your phone, huh?"

Johnny laughs, "what about it?"

Your jaw drops, "so sassy! I don't know! Just stop questioning me! I didn't have time to fix up my phone because I woke up late. Sorry for being honest." Realistically, there is nothing weird about his homescreen at all, just a default screen and a couple folders with normal apps. It looks clean and orderly, no notifications and nothing particularly telling.

Johnny laughs again, reading your dramatic messages and continuing to pick on you until the staff prompt you both to send your YouTube history. Yours is rather boring, some cooking videos, but the picture sent to you has you first, going silent with your eyes wide with shock and second, screaming with excitement. You're screaming so loud that Johnny can hear you on the other side of the set with the noise-cancelling feature activated on his earbuds.

What has you so excited? Well, your partner was watching your video! Your most viral video with Johnny. It's always exciting to see that people watch your videos and enjoy them, it shows you that you and your team's hard work pays off.

"I heard you scream," Johnny texts you, "I know you're a girl."

Your screams quiet immediately as you frown, "dang it." You zoom in on the screenshot and smirk victoriously as you catch sight of the small circle on the bottom right hand corner with a simple J in a circle. A hint.

"And I know you speak English and your name starts with a J," you message back with a smug smile on your face.

"Dang it," Johnny repeats with a defeated laugh.

"I've almost got him," you nod at the camera, drawing laughs from the crew.

Johnny somehow manages to move the conversation along, distracting you from thinking too hard about idols who have English names that start with J. Eventually the last prompt comes up, and you send off a picture of you as a newborn. It's impossible to tell who you are from the picture and Johnny tells you that it's not fair.

Not fair, especially considering he sent you a picture of him as a young child. A picture where he's already kind of developed his face.

But the picture on the screen isn't nearly as telling as he thinks it is, the little boy on your screen has his face screwed up in some kind of scream or laugh. You can't get a whole lot of the picture, but the house in the background doesn't look like the homes you see around here.

"You grew up in America, didn't you?" You ask.

But right after you send the message you slowly loft your gaze from your phone to the camera and crew, "no... you didn't." An American, with a J name, a male. You narrow your eyes at your manager who stands with the Kode crew, "did no one watch the interview? Did no one see the amount of liquid courage I needed to talk to him? This better be Jeff Bezos!"

But even as the interview comes to an end and you stand in front of the bright blue wall, you feel nervous. Yes, you've met him. Yes, you've both bonded and maybe even become friends but that doesn't make him any less intimidating! He watched your interview! He had seen you freak out about him being so tall and handsome and having crush on him!

You see him before you've even had a chance to think of moving your feet. His handsome face breaks out in a smile and he pulls you into a warm hug before your brain can focus on panicking too much. It's a brief hug, friendly. Why does he smell so good?

"Well, well, well, look who it is!" He teases with a bright smile.

"Look at you! You can't get enough of me can you?" You tease back with a playful smile.

You both sit at the high top table and you make sure there is ample amount of room between the two of you. A tasteful, friendly, yet professional distance between the two of you.

His smile is still as radiant as the second he saw you, "Looks like the internet wants to see more of us together."

"Right," you nod slowly, turning to stare pointedly at the group standing behind the camera, "just the internet."

He laughs loudly, his head thrown back with a laugh, "so, did you guess it was me? I didn't think it was you, honestly."

"I did, actually. You know, the J name, the American house, the YouTube history— who knew you were such a big fan of my channel?"

"You didn't get it from Amazon?"

You cock your head to the side, "How would I have guessed that?"

"You know... Amazon, Ama-John," he explains, nodding slowly like he really wants you to get it.

"Oh, I get it," you nod slowly, "You're a lot more funny in person, you know?"

"And you seem more chilled out this time. I'm kind of glad you can actually look at me now even though it's only been 5 minutes. I'm also very glad there's no alcohol involved this time. Did you know that I was hungover for a full day after your interview?" Johnny asks with a laugh.

You're glad that he's so easy to talk to, the awkwardness dies down the more you two talk and laugh. Though the more you talk to Johnny, the more you realize all the awkward was coming from you.

Johnny's eyes widen as he starts his next thought, "I can't let this go, sorry. But over three thousand unread emails and almost two hundred texts, seriously, how do you live like this?"

"Johnny, I'm very busy. Plus, most of the emails are promotional anyway and it's a pain to sit there and delete them one by one," you dramatically groan.

"I can make some free time to help you out," Johnny slips in so casually that it takes your brain a second to understand that he's blatantly flirting.

Knowing that you can be around him now without the liquid courage, you have your confidence back. You're even proud of yourself as you reply, "well, you know where to reach me and you know where I live."

You can see what you think is an outline of your manager fist pumping triumphantly as you and Johnny both pose for your selfie. A selfie with the two of you both smiling at the camera, though Johnny's eyes are clearly on you.

Johnny ends up not only in your DMs a few days later, but a few days later also in your apartment. There are no cameras this time, no liquid courage, just two adults who get to know each other and kiss a little, but the internet doesn't need to know about that.

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Phainon x (fem) reader (8)

I finally wrote the next part. XD almost forgot about it

Part7 Part8

Y/N slowly rose to her feet, holding up a hand to signal the others to keep quiet.

Phainon, ever the obedient golden retriever, immediately snapped his mouth shut.

Mydei, however, crossed his arms and muttered, "If this thing attacks you, I'm drop-kicking it into the stratosphere."

Y/N chose to ignore that.

She carefully made her way over to the messy pile of stolen goods—merchant bags, small trinkets, half-eaten food, and even what looked like a very expensive-looking scarf.

The little chimera was buried under it, its horned, cat-like face barely peeking out.

At first, it shrank back, its tiny body trembling.

Y/N lowered herself to the ground, hands open and relaxed. “Hey, it’s okay,” she murmured gently. “I won’t hurt you.”

The chimera’s ears twitched. It hesitated, then sniffed the air.

After a few tense seconds, it launched itself forward.

Phainon and Mydei both reacted instantly.

Phainon gasped dramatically. “It chose her!”

Mydei sighed. “For the love of—”

The little creature curled up in Y/N’s arms, purring like a tiny engine.

Mydei stared.

“…You’re telling me this thing,” he gestured vaguely, “this tiny flying cat-lizard has been the one robbing an entire city blind?”

Y/N nodded.

Phainon, absolutely enchanted, dropped to a crouch beside her. “Look at its tiny horns,” he whispered in awe, reaching out. “It’s like a little king.”

The chimera leaned into his touch, its tiny tail flicking.

Phainon visibly melted.

Y/N laughed, but before she could say anything—

A rustling sound came from behind them.

The group froze.

Slowly, they turned toward the source of the noise.

More rustling.

And then—

Pop.

A second chimera, this one deep purple, peeked out from behind a rock.

Then—

Pop.

A third, vibrant blue one, poked its head from the top of the stolen goods pile.

And finally—

Pop.

A pink one dramatically leaped onto the rock above them, its wings fluttering.

Silence.

The four chimeras stared at the humans.

The humans stared back.

Phainon slowly turned to Mydei, his voice completely serious.

“…Mydei,” he said. “I think we found the entire criminal empire.”

Y/N, still holding the orange chimera, blinked at the others in realization.

“Oh,” she said. “So that’s why there were so many different traces.”

Mydei just dragged a hand down his face.

“…I hate this job,” he muttered.

Y/N grinned. “No, you don’t.”

“I do now.”

The purple chimera suddenly jumped forward, landing directly onto Phainon’s lap.

Phainon made a high-pitched noise of excitement. “It picked me!!”

The pink one jumped onto Mydei’s shoulder.

Everyone turned to him immediately.

“…Don’t,” Mydei warned, already sensing the incoming comments.

Y/N barely held in her laughter. “You look good with a pet, Mydei.”

“It’s not a pet,” he snapped. “It’s a criminal.”

The chimera purred, rubbing against his cheek.

Phainon gasped. “It likes you.”

“It’s mocking me.”

Y/N patted his arm. “It’s okay, tough guy. Maybe it’ll give you back your missing armor piece as a peace offering.”

Mydei gritted his teeth as the chimera made itself comfortable on his shoulder.

Phainon snorted. “Welcome to the team, Mydei.”

The pink chimera was still perched on Mydei’s shoulder, tail curled around his neck like a living scarf. Meanwhile, the blue one had taken a liking to his lap, sitting there like it had claimed its territory.

Phainon, holding the purple chimera like a baby, giggled. “You know, Mydei,” he said, scratching its tiny horns, “I think they like you.”

“They do not,” Mydei said immediately.

The pink chimera nuzzled against his cheek.

The blue one made itself comfortable in his lap and started purring.

“…They might,” Phainon added.

Y/N, still cradling the orange one, grinned. “Face it, Mydei. You’re their new dad now.”

“I refuse,” Mydei deadpanned. “I don’t do kids.”

The blue chimera purred louder and started kneading his leg with its tiny paws.

“…What is it doing?” he asked, looking at it in horror.

“It’s making biscuits!” Y/N cooed.

Mydei grimaced. “It’s what?”

“It means it loves you,” Phainon explained. “You’re their new favorite person.”

The pink chimera grabbed Mydei’s earring and started batting it around.

“…I’m under attack,” Mydei muttered.

Y/N snorted. “You’re under affection,” she corrected.

Mydei gritted his teeth. “Same thing.”

The pink chimera snuggled deeper into his neck. The blue one curled up in his lap.

Y/N and Phainon exchanged a delighted look.

“…He’s already attached,” Y/N whispered.

“I am not,” Mydei snapped.

The chimeras nuzzled against him.

Phainon gasped dramatically.

Y/N grinned. “You so are.”

A few minutes later, they were all sitting by the stolen goods pile, letting the chimeras roam around.

Phainon was still cuddling the purple one, while Y/N was gently petting the orange one as it purred against her chest. The pink chimera had climbed back onto Mydei’s shoulder, while the blue one remained curled up in his lap.

Mydei sat cross-armed, looking deeply done with everything.

Y/N watched as he absentmindedly scratched the blue chimera’s tiny ears.

“…You’re petting them,” she pointed out.

“I’m not,” Mydei denied, mid-stroke.

Phainon snickered. “You so are.”

The pink chimera rolled onto its back, tiny paws in the air.

Without thinking, Mydei gently scratched its belly.

Silence.

Y/N and Phainon exchanged a look.

“…Busted,” Y/N whispered.

Phainon gasped. “You love them!”

Mydei sighed deeply, staring at the sky like he was regretting every life choice.

“…I hate both of you,” he muttered.

The pink chimera licked his cheek.

The blue one purred louder.

Phainon and Y/N beamed.

For a moment, everything was… peaceful. Too peaceful.

Then Y/N, stroking the orange chimera’s tiny wings, suddenly frowned. “Wait.”

Phainon, still cradling the purple chimera like a baby, tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N glanced at the pile of stolen goods—various bags, trinkets, coins, even pieces of armor. “We, uh… kinda have to return all of this.”

Silence.

Mydei groaned. “I knew that was coming.”

Phainon blinked at the pile like he had just noticed it for the first time. “…Right. Because technically this is all stolen.”

“Technically?” Mydei repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Phainon grinned sheepishly. “I mean, the chimeras were just borrowing it!”

Y/N snorted. “That’s not how theft works, Phai.”

The orange chimera licked Y/N’s fingers.

“Okay, but look at them!” Phainon gestured wildly. “Are you telling me you’d arrest these adorable little faces?”

Y/N giggled. “No, but we do have to fix this mess.”

Phainon sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. We’ll return everything. Somehow.”

A pause.

Then Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Wait a second.”

Y/N looked over. “What?”

“…How are we supposed to carry all of this?” He gestured to the absolutely ridiculous amount of stolen goods. “Because I don’t know about you, but I really don’t feel like dragging an entire city’s worth of stolen loot through underground ruins.”

Y/N and Phainon both turned to look at the sheer size of the stash.

It was… a lot.

Phainon, ever the optimist, tapped his chin. “Maybe we can get the chimeras to—”

“No.” Mydei cut him off immediately.

Phainon pouted.

Y/N sighed. “We’ll figure it out, but first, we really need to contact the others.”

Silence.

Then, almost in sync, Phainon and Y/N’s eyes widened.

“Oh no,” Phainon whispered.

“Oh no,” Y/N echoed.

Mydei blinked. “What now?”

They slowly turned to face him, looking incredibly guilty.

“…We forgot about Tribbie, Dan Heng, and Trailblazer,” Y/N said, voice small.

Mydei stared.

“…You just now realized?”

Phainon grimaced. “In our defense, we almost drowned, then got attacked by tiny adorable criminals.”

Y/N nodded rapidly. “Exactly! We were very busy!”

Mydei dragged a hand down his face. “You two are unbelievable.”

Y/N clapped her hands together. “Okay, okay, no need to panic—”

“I’m not panicking,” Mydei cut in. “They probably are.”

The moment he said it, realization sank in.

Oh. Oh.

Dan Heng. Tribbie. Trailblazer.

They had no idea what had happened.

For all they knew, Y/N was still at the bottom of some pit, and Mydei and Phainon had vanished into thin air.

Y/N winced. “They’re gonna be so mad.”

Phainon, face paling, nodded. “Trailblazer’s probably already trying to jump in.”

“…Dan Heng is definitely stopping them,” Mydei muttered.

Y/N exhaled. “Okay, so—new plan. We need to—”

Before she could finish, the blue chimera (still happily curled up in Mydei’s lap) suddenly perked up its ears.

The pink one did the same. Then the orange. Then the purple.

All four chimeras looked toward the entrance of the cave.

Phainon tensed. “Um… guys?”

Y/N followed their gaze. “…Did anyone else hear that?”

Silence.

Then—a faint sound. Footsteps. Distant, but approaching.

And from the way the chimeras suddenly huddled closer to them, one thing was clear—

Something else was coming.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the cavern.

Y/N, Phainon, and Mydei turned toward the entrance, immediately tensing—until a familiar voice rang out.

“Y/N!?”

Tribbie’s voice.

Before any of them could react, a blur of red curls came barreling in.

Tribbie practically launched herself forward, skidding to a stop. “Oh, thank the Aeons, you guys are alive! I was getting ready to make a whole dramatic eulogy—”

Dan Heng and Trailblazer followed behind her, both completely soaked from their trek through the underground tunnels.

Dan Heng paused at the entrance, taking in the scene. His eyes slowly moved over the room.

First, the pile of stolen goods.

Then, the four small, fluffy creatures lounging about.

Phainon, cuddling a purple chimera like it was his firstborn child.

Y/N, calmly scratching an orange one behind the horns, smiling.

And finally—Mydei, scowling while a blue chimera sat comfortably on his lap.

Dan Heng closed his eyes for a long moment. Then, exhaling, he muttered, “I already regret coming here.”

Trailblazer, hands on their hips, just looked at them all. “Okay. Explain. Now.”

Phainon grinned, looking entirely too pleased. “Good news! We found the thieves.”

Trailblazer tilted their head. “...Where?”

Y/N gestured at the chimeras.

A pause.

Dan Heng blinked. “You’re joking.”

The pink chimera stretched, yawned, and curled deeper into Mydei’s arms.

Mydei let out a long, suffering sigh. “Trust me. We wish we were.”

Trailblazer opened their mouth. Then closed it. Opened it again. “So we spent all this time chasing down these?”

Phainon, enthusiastic as ever, nodded. “Aren’t they adorable?”

Dan Heng, who had long given up expecting anything normal from Y/N and Trailblazer, rubbed his temples. “I don't even know why I’m surprised at this point.”

Before he could say anything else, the blue chimera suddenly perked up, hopping off Mydei’s lap. It stared directly at Dan Heng.

Dan Heng noticed. Stared back.

Silence.

Then, without warning, the chimera rushed forward and latched onto his leg.

Everyone went quiet.

Dan Heng slowly looked down.

The chimera tilted its head, then snuggled closer.

Phainon gasped. “DAN HENG, YOU’VE BEEN CHOSEN.”

Trailblazer snorted. “Oh, this is gold.”

Dan Heng looked at them, expression blank. “Get it off.”

Y/N grinned. “Aww, it likes you.”

Mydei, deadpan, crossed his arms. “Careful, Dan Heng. You’re a father now.”

Dan Heng gave Mydei a tired look. “You’re all insufferable.”

Meanwhile, Trailblazer crouched down to look at the chimera. Before they could reach out, the pink one suddenly launched itself onto their shoulder, curling around them like a scarf.

Trailblazer blinked. “Well. That was fast.”

Phainon grinned. “You’ve also been chosen.”

Dan Heng sighed. “Enough. Do we have a plan for returning the stolen items?”

Tribbie clasped her hands together. “Oh, that part’s easy! I’ll just open a gate back to the city! Boom—problem solved.”

Y/N brightened. “Tribbie, you’re amazing.”

Tribbie puffed up with pride. “I know.”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “Great. So we don’t have to carry all this junk.”

Trailblazer snickered. “Oh, come on, Mydei. You’d look cute struggling under a pile of stolen treasure.”

“Shut up.”

Dan Heng, still trying to gently pry the blue chimera off his leg, sighed. “I assume we have a plan beyond this?”

Y/N grinned, scratching the orange chimera behind its tiny horns. “First, let’s see if these little guys will help us sort everything out.”

Phainon perked up. “You mean—tiny delivery workers?!”

The chimeras blinked up at them.

The orange one licked Y/N’s hand.

Phainon gasped. “That’s a yes!”

Dan Heng looked skyward, as if asking the Aeons for patience.

Trailblazer chuckled. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

After everything had settled down—the stolen goods returned, the chimeras taken back to Okyhma, and the group finally able to rest—Y/N noticed something.

Phainon had been unusually quiet.

For once, he wasn’t cracking jokes or annoying Mydei. Instead, he was just sitting by the fire, staring into it, absently rubbing his arm.

His injured arm.

Y/N sighed.

This idiot had been fighting, swimming, and running around all day without properly taking care of his wounds.

She stood, walked over, and nudged his shoulder. “Come with me.”

Phainon blinked up at her. “Huh? Where?”

Y/N just grabbed his wrist and pulled him up. “To clean your wounds before they get worse.”

Phainon, completely caught off guard, let himself be dragged away. “Oh. Uh. Okay.”

From the other side of the fire, Mydei smirked knowingly.

Y/N led Phainon near the river where it was quiet and cool. She made him sit on a rock while she pulled out some bandages and a cloth from her pack.

Phainon watched her, blinking. “You… carry medical supplies?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. Someone has to be responsible.”

Phainon grinned. “Are you saying I’m irresponsible?”

Y/N gave him a deadpan look. “Phainon, you literally got stabbed last week and shrugged it off.”

“…Fair point.”

She dipped the cloth into the cool river water and then gently took his arm, starting to clean the small cuts and scrapes.

Phainon tensed at first, then relaxed under her touch.

She was so careful, so gentle.

She didn’t even hesitate.

And for some reason, that made something in his chest tighten.

His heart was beating way too fast.

He tried to distract himself. “You’re, uh… really good at this.”

Y/N shrugged. “I’ve had practice.”

Phainon tilted his head. “Looking after other reckless idiots?”

She smirked. “Something like that.”

There was a moment of silence as she worked, carefully wrapping his arm.

Phainon, unable to help himself, stared at her.

The way her brows furrowed slightly in concentration, the way her hands moved with such certainty, the way she was just… there, helping him, without question.

And before he knew it—

The words just… slipped out.

“I think I love you.”

Y/N froze.

Phainon froze.

A beat of silence.

Then—

Phainon’s eyes went wide.

“WAIT—”

He clapped a hand over his mouth, face instantly turning bright red.

Y/N, still holding his arm, just blinked at him.

Phainon slowly lowered his hand, looking absolutely mortified. “I—uh—I mean—I—That wasn’t—”

Y/N tilted her head. “…Did you just confess on accident?”

Phainon groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my gods. Yes. I did. I didn’t mean to say it out loud. Forget I said anything—”

Y/N smiled softly. “Why?”

Phainon peeked at her through his fingers. “…Huh?”

Y/N squeezed his hand.

“Why should I forget it?”

Phainon blinked, heart practically leaping out of his chest. “Wait—”

She grinned. “Because I kinda like you too.”

Phainon stared at her.

Brain: stopped working.

Soul: left body.

Heart: overheating.

Y/N, amused by his dumbfounded expression, leaned forward and—

Gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Phainon short-circuited.

His entire face went up in flames.

Y/N laughed. “Oh my gods, you’re actually steaming.”

Phainon covered his face again. “YOU CAN’T JUST—YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT—”

Y/N grinned. “I just did.”

Phainon, still burning up, peeked at her. “S-So… does this mean…?”

Y/N, still holding his hand, smirked. “Yeah, dumbass. I’ll go out with you.”

Phainon looked like he just won the lottery.

He grinned so wide his cheeks hurt. “Really?!”

Y/N laughed. “Really.”

Phainon let out the happiest noise known to mankind.

When they returned, Phainon was still grinning like a love-sick idiot.

Like, full-on dreamy, goofy, floating-on-air grin.

It was extremely obvious.

Trailblazer raised an eyebrow. “Uh. You good?”

Dan Heng sipped his tea. “No. He’s in love.”

Tribbie grinned. “Did you finally confess?”

Mydei sighed, rubbing his temples. “Gods, I can already tell this is gonna be unbearable.”

Phainon just grinned wider, looking at Y/N like she hung the stars in the sky.

Mydei groaned. “I was right. This is unbearable.”

Y/N snickered. “You better get used to it.”

Phainon beamed. “Yeah, Mydei. Get used to it.”

Mydei looked at the sky, as if asking the gods for strength.

Dan Heng simply sipped his tea.

Trailblazer whispered to Tribbie, “5000 credits says Mydei will try to leave them behind on the next mission.”

Tribbie grinned. “You’re on.”

[ankababy]

A Home (part 10)

Part 1 Part 9

Chishiya x reader x Niragi

Stay in, get better, get worse, go out, the cycle fucking continues.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the kitchen as you moved around, quietly humming to yourself. You felt good.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t dragging yourself out of bed, weighed down by guilt and exhaustion. You weren’t thinking about blood on your hands, about the way the man’s body had hit the floor, about the sound that still echoed in your skull if you thought too hard about it.

No.

It had passed. It was behind you now. A thing that happened, a moment you had to get through, a mistake maybe—but not one you’d ever make again. It didn’t define you.

And you were fine.

You smelled good, perfume that worked like a love spell clinging to your skin, soft and sweet. Your hair was up, all cute and what the fuck not, and the clothes you wore were comfortable, warm, making you feel safe in your own skin. Pretty.

It felt nice to feel pretty again.

You moved easily, reaching for ingredients, making something simple, something warm. Maybe they’d eat, maybe they wouldn’t. You were still making it anyway. You wanted to.

And it was funny, wasn’t it? How easily you fell back into the habit of giving to them.

Chishiya. You understood him better now—or maybe you just thought you did. Either way, you accepted it. He didn’t just keep things to himself, he hoarded them. His knowledge, his emotions, his attachment to you—because that’s what it was, even if he’d never say it.

And Niragi. Niragi.

He wanted so much, all the time. Craved everything, touch, praise, you. He wanted to drown in you, sink his fingers into your warmth and take and take, but he never wanted to admit it. No, that would make him weak. That would mean he needed something outside of himself. And Niragi didn’t need—he won. He claimed.

You let both of them.

That’s what this was, wasn’t it? You believed them now. That you were fine. That this was fine. That they were fine.

Maybe they were cruel, maybe they were manipulative, maybe they were monsters—but they kept you. Protected you. Gave you something no one else could in this world.

And you didn’t have it in you to resist.

So, you just kept moving, pouring tea, all that.

And you didn’t realize just how lost you were until you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you—and the warmth that bloomed in your chest was instant.

Chishiya was never loud.

You glanced over your shoulder as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over you. The way you moved, the way your hair fell, the way your perfume lingered in the air between you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.

“Good morning.” you greeted softly, finishing what you were doing before turning to face him fully. “Did you sleep?”

His brow lifted just slightly, like the question was funny. “Would it make a difference?”

Your lips pressed together, and you sighed. “It would if you actually did it.”

“I function fine without it.”

“That’s not the point.”

Chishiya just tilted his head slightly, like the conversation was already boring him. But you weren’t deterred. You knew him better now. Knew that just because he acted indifferent didn’t mean he was.

“…Want some?” you finally asked, gesturing vaguely to what you’d been making.

He didn’t answer right away, gaze flicking to the food, then back to you. Considering. Like he was deciding whether he wanted to accept something from you or not.

“Sure.”

You smiled at that. Just a little. Just enough.

And then—of course—Niragi.

Heavy footsteps down the hall, groggy grumbling, and then he was there, slumping into the doorway, rubbing a hand over his face.

“You’re loud as fuck.” he complained, voice rough with sleep.

You blinked at him. “I was barely talking.”

He squinted at you, then at Chishiya. “Yeah, well, my ears are too fucking good.”

Chishiya just snorted as he reached for the mug you’d set down for him. “Maybe shooting guns all the time should’ve made you deaf.” he mused, taking a sip. “Shame it didn’t.”

Niragi flipped him off, still half-asleep, then turned his attention fully to you.

And just like that, his annoyance faded. Just like that, he switched gears, all smooth and lazy as he pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer, gaze flicking over you, taking in how pretty you looked, how soft you seemed.

“…You smell good, beautiful.”

“Thank you.” you said, voice light, casual, like it wasn’t a thing at all. You didn’t look away, didn’t shy away, just smiled a little, eyes warm, soft.

His lips quirked into something smug, something self-satisfied, because of course you thanked him, of course you looked at him with those big, pretty eyes and that easy little smile.

He had you.

And Chishiya knew it, too.

From where he leaned against the counter, still sipping from his mug, still watching. Observing. Taking in the subtle shifts, the way you held yourself, the way you carried yourself now.

You were glowing.

Not just from the morning light filtering through the window, not just from the warmth of the kitchen—but from yourself.

From the way you felt in your own skin, from the way you moved now.

Sexy wasn’t just about looks, wasn’t just about the way you dressed or did your hair or wore your perfume. Sexy was mindset. It was energy.

You knew how good you looked, knew how sweet you smelled, knew how you had both of them wrapped around your pretty little finger without even trying.

It was in the way you carried yourself, in the way you let them look at you.

And that was something Chishiya noticed. Because it wasn’t just that you looked good—it was that you knew you did.

“Something’s different about you today.” Niragi mused, eyes sharp, raking over you like he could pick you apart and figure out exactly what had changed.

You just tilted your head slightly, all teasing, playful. “Is it?”

Chishiya snorted softly at that, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Because, oh yeah. Something was definitely different.

And they both knew exactly what it was.

It wasn’t just that you were feeling better.

It was that you were feeling closer to them.

More attached.

And wasn’t that exactly what they wanted?

What they had worked for?

Niragi leaned in a little closer, hands slipping into his pockets, voice dropping just slightly. “You got a little confidence back, huh, baby?”

You just smiled, small, warm, completely unaffected. “Maybe.”

And fuck, that was good.

That was so good.

Because that meant it was working. What they had done to you, what they had given you—it worked.

They were there when you needed them. When you were at your lowest, when you were breaking, they were there.

And now that you were putting yourself back together?

You were putting them in the pieces, too.

It wasn’t even something you realized. Wasn’t something you thought about. It just happened. They were there, and now you wanted them to be there.

And they wanted to be there, too.

Niragi stretched, arms above his head, rolling his shoulders back. He gave you one last once-over before turning away, casual.

“Wake me up when it’s done.” he muttered, already walking off, hands slipping into the pockets of his pants, heading back toward his room without a care in the world.

Like he hadn’t just been sizing you up, drinking you in, taking note of the way you stood, the way you spoke, the way you felt now.

And then it was just you and Chishiya. The kitchen felt quieter now. Not tense, not uncomfortable, just… different. He hadn’t moved much, still leaning against the counter, mug loose in his fingers. But his eyes hadn’t left you.

And they weren’t leaving now.

You glanced at him briefly before turning back to what you were doing, flipping something in the pan, focused. But you felt him watching you.

“Are you going to ask, or just stare at me all morning?” you asked lightly, not looking up.

There was a small pause, just a second or two of silence.

“What was that banging on your door in the middle of the night?”

“It was Niragi.”

“Coming to scream at you some more?” he asked dryly, tilting his head slightly, like he was already predicting the answer.

You smiled, shaking your head, flipping something else on the stove, shifting your weight from foot to foot.

“No.” you said, still soft, light. “He apologized.”

“And you forgave him.” It wasn’t a question.

You shrugged a little, stirring something, keeping your hands busy.

“I mean… yeah.” you said, as if it was obvious, as if it wasn’t even something to question.

Chishiya hummed, and you knew he was thinking. Picking this apart.

Because you had forgiven Niragi. Without even really thinking about it.

Because he had come back.

Because he had come crawling.

Because he had stood there at your door, talking, apologizing, actually trying, in his own messy, chaotic, Niragi way.

You had been spoiled. Had been taken care of all your life. Had been surrounded by love. But even in a perfect world, even with perfect parents, perfect family—people still messed up.

But love meant forgiveness.

Love meant coming back.

And Niragi had.

So you forgave him. Without a second thought.

Chishiya knew that about you now. Knew you were easy to forgive, easy to accept, easy to let things go as long as someone wanted to be better.

And Niragi had figured it out, too.

Even if he didn’t deserve it, you still gave it.

“You’re too nice to him.”

And you just smiled softly, shaking your head a little. “You’ll always say that.” you murmured.

And Chishiya didn’t argue. Because you weren’t wrong. Because it will be always the truth. But he also knew you weren’t going to change.

And that? That was exactly why you were perfect for this.

~

Now you were two seconds away from tearing the entire fucking place apart.

It wasn’t even about one thing. It was everything. The way the furniture wasn’t where you wanted it to be. The way the fucking blanket on the couch wouldn’t fold right. The way your favorite book had been moved—not lost, just not where you had put it. The way the light in the living room was too bright, too yellow, not as dim as it’s supposed to be. The way you were too short to reach the shelf where Niragi had put something, even when you stretched up on your toes, even when you jumped.

It was stupid. It was ridiculous.

But you were furious.

And then, of course, Niragi had to come out, because god forbid you make too much noise without him getting involved.

“You good over there, baby?”

You huffed, still stretching, fingertips barely grazing the edge of what you wanted to grab. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Which was unfair. But everything was setting you off.

Niragi, naturally, noticed.

And loved it.

Because you never snapped at him. Because even when you were upset, even when you were mad, you were still sweet, still soft, still you. But this? This was new.

He let out a low chuckle, pushing off the doorframe, walking over.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he teased, reaching up easily—so easily—grabbing what you were struggling to get, dangling it just above your head, just out of reach.

You glared at him. “Give it.”

He grinned. “What, this?” He held it higher. “This thing you’ve been jumping around like a fucking squirrel for?”

Your jaw clenched, hands curling into fists at your sides, because he wasn’t taking you seriously.

At all.

And that only made you more pissed off.

“Yes.” you bit out. “Give it to me.”

Niragi’s smirk widened, because, fuck, this was fun. He was used to you looking at him with warmth, with patience, even when he was being an ass.

He was not used to you looking at him like you wanted to rip him apart.

And he liked it.

He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Say please.”

That almost made you throw something at his fucking face.

“Niragi—”

But before you could lunge at him—and you were about to lunge at him—Chishiya’s voice cut through the room.

“I’d give it to her before she actually kills you.”

Both you and Niragi turned.

There he was, standing in the entrance of the hallway, arms crossed, looking between the two of you like this was nothing but mildly entertaining.

Niragi clicked his tongue, but relented, finally dropping the item into your waiting hands.

“There.” he said, grinning as he watched you snatch it away, clutching it tightly like a prize. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

You glared at him again, but you didn’t say anything, just turned on your heel and went back to what you were doing, your mood still terrible, still storming.

Chishiya watched as Niragi plopped down onto the couch, stretching out, entirely too pleased with himself. Then he looked back at you, gaze scanning over your tense shoulders, the tightness in your jaw. With a small sigh, he walked over and sat down, too.

You were going to explode.

You were already this close to losing it, already wound so tight you could snap at anything, and these two? These two assholes? They were having the time of their fucking lives.

“What is your problem?” you snapped, turning around so fast your hair whipped over your shoulder, eyes flashing, arms crossed so tightly over your chest it was a miracle you could still breathe.

Niragi was sprawled on the couch like he had nothing better to do, stretching his arms out over the backrest, one knee propped up, watching you with that fucking grin. Chishiya, on the other hand, was sitting more properly, at least him.

But it was worse. Because Niragi liked pissing you off. Chishiya was just observing. Like this was a science experiment, and you were some wild animal on the verge of a meltdown.

And neither of them cared.

“I don’t have a problem.” Niragi drawled, tilting his head. “You’re the one stomping around the house like a pissed-off little gremlin.”

You inhaled sharply.

That was not what you wanted to hear.

“I’m not stomping.” you snapped.

“You are.” Chishiya said, finally speaking up, voice flat, unaffected. “You have been for the past ten minutes.”

Your eye twitched.

“You guys are so fucking—” You cut yourself off, exhaling, trying to calm yourself down, pressing your fingers to your temples. “Oh my god.”

You could feel Niragi’s grin widen.

“What’s the deal, huh?” he asked, stretching his legs out, watching you struggle like this was the best show he had seen all week. “You on your period or something?”

You grabbed the nearest thing—a cushion—and threw it at his face.

Hard.

Really hard.

Hard enough that it actually hit him, smacking against his cheek before falling onto his lap.

For a second, there was silence.

Then Niragi burst into laughter.

Chishiya just sighed, rubbing his temple, like this was too exhausting for him to be a part of.

And you? You just stood there, fuming. “You are just insufferable—”

“See?” Niragi cut in, grinning. “That’s exactly what someone on their period would say.”

You let out an actual growl of frustration.

You wanted to hit him again. You needed to hit him again. But he was too fast. He jumped up from the couch before you could grab anything else, laughing, dodging around the coffee table, stepping just out of your reach as you swung at him.

You lunged—he stepped back.

You grabbed another cushion—he ducked.

“Stay still, you little shit!”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” He was still laughing. “You’re so mad. Look at you—puffing your cheeks like a little chihuahua—”

“I hate you—”

“No, you don’t.”

And that? That was the worst part. Because you didn’t. Because no matter how much you wanted to be angry, to stay mad, to keep up this storm of irritation brewing inside of you—they were hilarious.

And they knew it.

Because Niragi wasn’t even running from you anymore. He was just circling the coffee table, grinning, arms up in a mock surrender, staying just far enough away so you couldn’t reach him.

Chishiya was just watching.

You huffed.

This was stupid. This was so stupid. You should have ignored them. You should have kept moving your stuff around, kept sulking, kept doing whatever you wanted to do without their dumbass interference—

But you were already smiling.

Just a little.

That was exactly what they wanted.

“I’m going out.” you announced, pushing away from the table, brushing imaginary dust off your clothes. “Leave me alone.”

You barely made it a step toward the door before Niragi let out a gasp. “What?” He pressed a hand to his chest like you’d just shot him. “You’re leaving? Just like that? Not even a goodbye kiss?”

You turned so fast.

“Are you—” You inhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temple. “You are so fucking annoying—”

“You love it.” he shot back immediately, rocking back on his heels like he was thriving off your frustration.

You threw up your hands. “Oh my god, you can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?”

His grin widened.

“You always have to be talking.” you continued, pointing at him, taking a step back. “And you can’t even keep your tongue in your mouth for five seconds.”

He flicked it out immediately, proving your point.

You groaned.

“See?” You gestured at him wildly. “That’s what I’m talking about! You’re so predictable! I knew you were going to do that.”

“Yeah?” Niragi cocked his head. “And you? What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You do this thing.” he started, grinning now, motioning in your direction.

You squinted. “What thing?”

“This thing.” he repeated, stepping forward, moving his hands like he was trying to physically shape the idea. “When you’re mad, you get all—huffy. Like, so huffy.”

“I do not—”

“And your nose scrunches up.” he continued, completely ignoring you, watching your face. “And you make this little noise—”

“I do not—”

“You just did it.” he grinned.

“I—” You paused, blinking. Did you?

No. No, you weren’t going to let him get in your head.

“You’re insufferable.” you muttered, stepping back, reaching for the doorknob.

“I know.” he practically purred, looking so pleased with himself.

You groaned again, swinging the door open. “Asshole.”

“Bitch.” he called after you, voice teasing, following you to the doorway like he was going to make sure you left.

You took one more deep breath, then stepped outside, slamming the door behind you before he could throw another comment at you.

Silence.

For maybe two seconds.

“Come back soon, sweetheart!”

You actually laughed as you walked away.

Fucking Niragi.

~

The house was quiet when you returned. Unusually quiet.

You stood in the doorway for a moment, adjusting to the silence, shifting the weight of the bag in your hands. No sign of them. Your eyes trailed across the living room, locking onto the objects you had thrown earlier. They were… back in place.

Your brows furrowed slightly. You hadn’t expected them to clean up after you. If anything, you had expected Niragi to leave them scattered just to piss you off more.

Huh.

Pushing the thought aside, you moved toward the kitchen, rolling your shoulders. You had filled your time outside productively, collecting what you could. Now, your hands were full, the bags stretching between your fingers as you set them onto the counter. You moved around, unpacking, putting things away.

You didn’t even realize how much you’d adjusted until this moment—until you caught yourself thinking about them.

Chishiya would notice it immediately. He was always quietly aware of these things. Niragi would take advantage of it, pretending like it had nothing to do with you, but he’d still grab something first thing in the morning like it was just conveniently there.

You sighed, closing the last cabinet. Your feet led you before your mind even fully decided, taking you down the hall, stopping at Chishiya’s door.

You knocked—lightly, politely. When no answer, you pushed the door open gently, peeking inside.

Chishiya was in his usual spot, sitting, leaning slightly back like he had been there for hours. He didn’t look surprised to see you. He rarely ever did. His gaze flickered to you, then back to whatever he had been thinking about before.

You stepped inside hesitantly, lingering by the door. “Do you want something?”

Chishiya’s eyes slid back to you, observing, assessing. And then, after a brief moment—“No.”

You nodded, not at all put off by the blunt response. “Okay.”

You lingered for a second longer before stepping back, moving to leave.

But before you could fully turn away—

“You stocked the kitchen.”

A statement, not a question.

You glanced at him, nodding. “Yeah.” You pulled Chishiya’s door shut gently behind you, letting the quiet click settle in the hallway.

Then, without much thought, you turned and made your way to Niragi’s room.

You knocked.

Silence.

Again.

Nothing.

You tested the doorknob, turning it, letting the door creak open just a bit. The room was dark. Empty. No sign of him.

But what caught your eye wasn’t that.

It was the mess.

More specifically—your mess.

Your shirt—your shirt—draped over the edge of his bed like it had been carelessly thrown there. A pair of leggings pooled near the floor by his dresser. A hoodie—yours—half-folded, half-crumpled by his chair.

Your stomach twisted in a way you couldn’t quite place.

His bathroom door was open, the light off, but even from here, you could see something of yours in there, too. A hair tie on the sink. A towel you’d used before, hung over the shower like it belonged there.

Like you belonged there.

You swallowed, stepping back.

Not home.

Okay.

You didn’t think too hard about it. Not now. Instead, you walked back to your room, closing the door behind you. The air in here felt different. Yours. Safe.

A shower. That’s what you needed.

You peeled off your clothes slowly, tossing them into the hamper. The moment you stepped under the water, the heat soothed your muscles, melting into your skin.

Your mind should’ve been blank. But instead, it drifted.

Niragi, your clothes. Not even wearing them, just… having them. Chishiya, watching you, just the thought itself.

You’d been thinking about them too much. Maybe this was just normal now. The thought didn’t scare you as much as it should.

The guy. The one you killed.

Oh, him.

Yeah, that was a fun thought.

Your stomach twisted in that sick, awful way, and suddenly the water didn’t feel so nice anymore.

God. Why did you do that? Like, actually, why? Okay, sure. You knew why. But—

Ugh.

Your fingers pressed against your temples, dragging down your face. You killed someone. Like, actually ended a whole-ass life. Snuffed him out like a candle.

And what made it worse? You couldn’t even remember his face properly.

Was that bad? That was bad, right?

You had one job. One job. If you were going to be traumatized about this, you could at least remember the guy.

But no.

Great.

All you got was flashes. A body. A noise. Blood. The blood part? Vivid. Oh, yeah, no problem remembering that part.

God, why was your brain like this?

You let your head thud against the shower wall.

You were fine. You were fine.

It happened. It passed.

Right?

…Right?

The worst part? The part that made your stomach lurch in this guilty, sick, wrong way? It wasn’t even that you killed him. It was that, when you really thought about it—when you really let your mind wander—you weren’t sure if you’d even care if you remembered his face.

Fuck.

You needed to get out of this shower.

But the heat was too nice, seeping into your skin, melting into your muscles, keeping you there, as if it could wash away the thoughts clawing at the back of your skull.

Except, it didn’t.

Your thoughts were stubborn little things, and they stuck to you like wet clothes, clinging even as you tried to shake them off.

First, there was him. The dead guy. The one you killed. But then, as if your mind needed a break from that particularly awful line of thinking, it veered sharply into another direction—

Your clothes.

In Niragi’s room.

Oh.

Oh.

That was. Interesting.

Because, sure, you’d known for a while that he wore your things sometimes—your oversized sweaters, things that smelled like you—and yeah, it was weird, but it was Niragi.

Weird was kind of his whole thing.

But leggings?

Leggings?

What the fuck did he need leggings for?

Your stomach twisted in this awful, humiliating, almost thrilling way. You had thoughts. And they were bad. Very, very bad.

Y/N, stop.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead against the tile.

This was so not the time to be thinking about Niragi jerking off.

Like, literally, at all. But the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. It just sat there, smug and taunting, until your brain did the worst thing it could possibly do—

You could see it. Could see him, sprawled out in that stupidly comfortable chair in his room, your leggings clutched in his fists, his head tipped back, mouth slack, breathing ragged—

STOP.

You actually let out a strangled noise, face burning hotter than the water, and you hated it.

Hated that you were thinking about this. Hated that you could picture it so well. Hated that, deep down, buried under layers of shame, under all the embarrassment and why are you like this—you didn’t even mind it. And wasn’t that just the worst fucking part?

You were done. Done with this shower, done with your thoughts, done with everything.

You sighed, eyes fluttering open, staring at nothing in particular before finally—finally—shutting the water off. The loss of warmth made you shiver, goosebumps prickling across your arms as you reached for a towel.

Okay. Okay.

You were fine.

Ignoring your reflection—because not dealing with that right now—you padded across the bathroom, wrapped up all nice in your towel, steam rolling past your ankles as you stepped into your room.

The air was cool against your damp skin, sending another shiver up your spine as you rubbed the towel over your arms.

Your bed looked so inviting. Fluffy blankets, pillows stacked just how you liked them.

You needed to get dressed first. So, reluctantly, you made your way to your dresser. You slipped the clothes on slowly, still warm from the shower, still thinking too much.

You hated when your brain did this. When it latched onto something and wouldn’t let go. You weren’t even thinking about him anymore. Not really. You were just thinking. About everything. And it was exhausting. So, you did the only thing you could do.

You threw yourself into bed.

Face first.

Let out a breath.

Tried to clear your mind.

…Hm.

Okay.

~

Knock, knock, knock.

You groaned into your pillow, eyes squeezing shut again.

Who the fuck—

The door.

It was your door.

Your brain was still in that half-asleep, half-awake place, limbs heavy, body sluggish as you barely lifted your head.

Another knock. A little firmer this time.

“Hey.” Niragi’s voice was muffled through the door. “Get up.”

You sighed, rolling onto your side, still unwilling to fully open your eyes.

No.

You weren’t ready for him.

Another knock. “Y/N.”

Fine. Fine.

You sat up with another sigh, stretching as you dragged yourself to the door, switching the light switch on as you did.

The second you pulled it open, you blinked.

Because Niragi was standing there.

Holding flowers.

Some wildflowers, a few random ones that looked like he had just grabbed whatever he thought looked nice, some with dirt still clinging to the roots, all bunched together in his fist, a little crumpled, a little messy—

Your sleepy brain short-circuited for a second.

And Niragi, standing there, stared at you expectantly. Like he wasn’t holding fucking flowers at your doorstep.

You stared at them.

Then at him.

Then at them again.

And when you didn’t say anything, Niragi rolled his eyes, shoving them forward.

“Take ‘em.”

You blinked again, slowly lifting your hands to take them from him. They were warm. Had he been holding them this whole time?

Still staring, still processing, you glanced back up at him. “…You picked these?”

Niragi scoffed. “Yeah, no shit. You like flowers, don’t you?”

You did.

“But why?”

He rolled his eyes again. “Because.”

“…Because what?”

“Because—” He scowled, looking away for half a second, before sighing. “Because you were pissy earlier, and I don’t wanna hear you bitch about it all day, alright?”

You blinked again. Then—against your will—your lips twitched. Because that was so Niragi. Even when he was being nice, he had to be an asshole about it. Still, your fingers curled around the stems, brushing over the petals as you finally let yourself smile.

“…Thank you.”

Niragi just tched, looking anywhere but at you, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t go all emotional on me about it, yeah?”

A little beaten up, a little wild, but—they were yours.

And Niragi picked them for you.

…Huh.

He was still standing there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes flicking anywhere but at you. A little tense, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now. Like he had just realized what he’d done—bringing you flowers like some lovesick idiot—and now he didn’t know how to play it off.

And you—you—with your little crumpled bouquet in your hands, with your sleepy voice and warm skin and that soft, soft smile—you just tilted your head at him.

Then, without a word, you lifted up on your tippy toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Niragi fucking froze.

It was instant—his entire body going stiff, his breath catching in his throat, his fingers curling into fists in his pockets, like he physically stopped functioning for a moment.

And you? Completely unaware. Because you were already stepping back, already smiling at him, already clutching the flowers like some sweet little angel as you murmured “Good night, Niragi.”

Click.

The door shut.

Just like that.

Like you didn’t just press your soft little lips against his fucking cheek like it was nothing.

Niragi was still standing there. Blinking. Processing. Hand twitching at his side, itching to reach up, to touch where you’d—he exhaled, jaw clenching, rolling his shoulders back before turning around.

Fine.

Fine.

He could deal with this later. For now, he needed a fucking cigarette.

(If evil why so bbg!!)

~

The next day, you moved around the apartment like a little bird, flitting from one thing to another, chattering sweetly as you went.

“You both leave your mugs everywhere.” you sighed, picking up a half-empty cup from the coffee table. “One of these days, I’m gonna stop cleaning up after you. You’ll just wake up surrounded by your own mess.”

Chishiya just hummed in response from his place on the couch, watching you with that cat-like expression.

Niragi stretched out, lazy and unbothered, arms draped over the back of the couch as he snorted. “Yeah, right. You like cleaning up after us.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “I don’t.”

“You do.” he insisted, smirking. “You like taking care of people. You’re like a little housewife.”

You scoffed, but your cheeks warmed. “I’m not—”

“Where’s my breakfast, then?” Niragi teased, tilting his head. “What kind of housewife doesn’t have breakfast ready for her man?”

You threw the dish towel you were holding straight at his face.

Chishiya let out a soft little huff.

And you—god, you were just radiant. There was something so sweet about you like this. Still soft, still warm, still delicate—but now bright, now talkative, now glowing.

And they noticed. They definitely noticed. Because this—this—was exactly what they wanted.

This was why they did what they did.

They broke you, and now, look at you. Smiling. Happy. Clinging to them like they were your fucking saviors.

Chishiya, watching you with his knowing eyes, tilted his head slightly.

Perfect.

You had no idea.

No idea how narcissistic he truly was. How he liked being needed. How he liked being the one you turned to. How he liked knowing that he had successfully rewired you, whether you realized it or not.

Because now, you weren’t just surviving. Now, you were surviving with them. You weren’t pulling away anymore. You weren’t shutting down, weren’t drowning in guilt, weren’t resisting their hold.

You were falling.

Falling right into their arms.

And they were so fucking selfish, both of them. Because they were keeping you there. Because they wanted you there. Because they needed you there.

Niragi, sprawled across the couch, let his dark eyes flick over you as he watched you move.

Like this, you were even prettier.

Like this, you weren’t just their little doll—you were their sunshine.

“You’re getting cocky.” you said, flicking a glance at Niragi as you continued tidying up.

“Getting cocky?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Babe, I was born this way.”

You snorted. “Born an asshole, then?”

“Born perfect.” he replied smoothly, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up slightly, flashing a sliver of his stomach. A move that was so intentional, so practiced, that it should’ve been nothing.

Just another game. Just another way to get under your skin.

Flirting was second nature to him. He knew how to use his mouth, his face, his lean body like a weapon. He didn’t have to try—it was just who he was.

It never meant anything.

But now something felt… different.

He’d sleep with you in a heartbeat, no fucking doubt about that. Hell, he’d make you cry on his cock just for fun if you let him. He was still Niragi, still a twisted fuck, still selfish to his core.

But—

Ugh.

Something about this whole thing was weird.

Because normally, he wouldn’t give a fuck what happened after.

He’d take what he wanted and move the fuck on.

But with you, the thought of after was… sticking. Like an annoying little itch in the back of his brain.

Because what if he did get you in his bed? What if he did make you fall apart under him?

Would you still look at him like this in the morning? Would you still smile at him, call him cute names, get on your little tippy toes to kiss his cheek? Would you still make him breakfast? Would you still—

He stopped himself there.

No.

That wasn’t how he thought. That wasn’t how he worked.

He wasn’t some loser fuck. He wasn’t some lover boy.

He just liked playing with his food before he ate it.

That was all.

That was all.

And yet—hr shifted slightly, eyes flicking toward Chishiya, who was still watching you with that knowing stare.

Fucker.

Chishiya had already figured out that something was off. Of course he had. Because Chishiya noticed everything. He was watching you like he was actually invested.

Which was… different.

Because he wasn’t supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to care. Not that he’d ever admit it, not that he’d ever let it show—but Niragi wasn’t fucking stupid.

Chishiya had his own thoughts, his own little attachment issues that he was clearly keeping quiet about.

Because as much as Niragi liked playing with his food before he ate it—Chishiya didn’t eat at all. He collected. He kept.

And you—you were starting to look an awful lot like something Chishiya wanted to keep.

Niragi pulled a cigarette from his pocket, tapping it against his wrist, when you plucked it from his fingers.

“Hey—” His head snapped to you.

You turned the cigarette in your hand, studying it like it was some kind of puzzle. Then, casually, you brought it up and snapped it in half between your fingers.“That shit’s unhealthy.”

“Are you my mother now?” he teased, watching as you tossed the broken cigarette onto the coffee table like you made the rules.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you need one?”

Chishiya huffed a quiet laugh from his place on the couch, his arms still crossed as he leaned back. He wasn’t even trying to hide it.

Niragi, on the other hand, tilted his head, watching you with narrowed eyes. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, gaze dragging lazily over your face.

“Not really my kink.” he mused. “But, you know, I wouldn’t mind you bossing me around in a different setting—”

Your hand shot out, pressing over his mouth before he could finish that thought.

“Enough.”

His lips parted under your palm, his sharp teeth flashing in something that could’ve been a grin or a bite. You yanked your hand back before you could find out.

He laughed. “Pussy.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t rise to the bait, already turning your attention elsewhere. Your hand found Chishiya’s head instead, fingers slipping into his soft, ridiculously fluffy hair as you absently smoothed it down.

His eyes lifted to you, something unreadable flickering across them as he allowed the touch without protest.

“At least you don’t have disgusting habits.” you murmured, your thumb brushing against the side of his head as if to soothe him instead of yourself.

Chishiya didn’t respond, didn’t even move. But his gaze lingered on you—assessing, observing, collecting little bits of you like they were his to keep.

Because of course he did. Because of course he’d just sit there, letting you stroke his hair like some cat, letting himself pretend—

What, exactly? That he liked it? That he wanted it? That it meant something? That he was capable of feeling anything at all?

“Look at you.” Niragi said, smirking. “So motherly today.”

You flicked your gaze back to him, unimpressed.

“You wish I was your mom, don’t you?” you said dryly. “Explains why you always act out for attention.”

Niragi let out a loud, mocked gasp. “Damn, baby.” he drawled. “Are you tryna fix me now?”

You sighed dramatically. “No, Niragi. You are far beyond saving.”

“Aw.” He grinned, leaning in slightl. “Good. I’d hate to lose all this.”

You shot him a look before your fingers gave one last, gentle sweep through Chishiya’s hair, then finally withdrew your hands from it.

Chishiya let out a small exhale, but nothing changed in his expression. If anything, he looked bored.

Like you hadn’t just been stroking his hair like you cared for him. Like it hadn’t even registered.

Niragi watched the whole exchange with a look—like a fucking sassy one(for an example, the clip of him in the background when Ann is talking, first season eighth episode I think?? Not sure don’t listen to me)—before shaking his head with a scoff.

“Anyway.” he muttered, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “Back to more important matters—someone owes me a cigarette.”

You didn’t even glance at him as you grabbed another cigarette from his pocket, crushed it in your palm, then dropped it onto the table with the first one.

Then, without a word, you stood and left the room.

Niragi stared.

Chishiya chuckled.

You reappeared barely a minute later, a hoodie in your hand. Without a word, you tossed it straight at Niragi, hitting him square in the face.

“The fuck?” He yanked it off his head, glaring at you.

“You can smoke,” you said sweetly. “outside.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

“Not kicking you out.” you corrected, tilting your head. “Just strongly encouraging fresh air. You know, for your lungs.”

Niragi scoffed, tossing the hoodie over one shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

You smiled. “Yeah? So will I. With the windows closed.”

At that, he laughed, resting his elbow on the couch as he gave you a look.

“You do realize,” he said. “that this apartment has massive fucking windows, right?”

You waved a hand. “That’s not the same.”

He smirked. “It’s exactly the same.”

“Niragi.” you said patiently. “Go outside.”

He sighed, dramatically standing up, pulling on the hoodie. “Man, you’re no fun.”

You smiled sweetly. “I just love you too much to let you ruin your pretty lungs.”

He only chuckled, heading for the door, but not before turning back and sticking his pierced tongue out at you before he left.

Then you turned, only to find Chishiya watching you.

“What?”

Chishiya’s lips curled at the corners, just slightly. “Nothing.” he said. And yet, he kept looking.

You hummed as you continued to move around the apartment, picking things up and setting them back down in different places, even if they didn’t necessarily need to be moved. It was just something to do, something to keep your hands busy.

“You like taking care of him.” he said casually.

You blinked, glancing over. “Who?”

Chishiya just looked at you.

You exhaled a small laugh. “Oh. Niragi.”

He tilted his head, noncommittal.

You smiled faintly, fixing a little decorative bowl on the table. “Well… someone has to.”

Chishiya huffed a soft breath through his nose, like he found that funny. “Not really.”

You turned to face him, crossing your arms. “What?”

“You don’t have to take care of him.” he said simply. “He’s survived just fine without you.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shrugging lightly. “now he has me.”

Chishiya’s lips curled at the corners, but it wasn’t exactly a smile. “And what does he do for you?”

Your brows pulled together slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Chishiya said, leaning back against the couch. “you’re always so good to him. You check on him, make him food, worry about him. But what does he do for you?”

You opened your mouth. Then hesitated.

“I mean, he’s—” You faltered. “He’s nice to me.”

Chishiya’s expression didn’t change.

“Sometimes.” you added quietly.

He tilted his head. “So you like him because he’s sometimes nice?”

You exhaled, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

Chishiya hummed. “You have low standards.”

You gasped a laugh, staring at him. “Excuse me?”

He just shrugged, like it was fact.

“Chishiya,” you said, exasperated. “he’s my friend.”

“Sure.” Chishiya murmured. “If you can call that a friendship.”

You sighed, dropping onto the couch beside him. “What’s your problem?”

Chishiya exhaled a small breath, tipping his head back against the cushion. “No problem.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t like him.” you pointed out.

Chishiya’s lips twitched. “That’s not a secret.”

You huffed. “You don’t have to like each other.”

“Good.” he said lightly. “Because I don’t.”

You rolled your eyes.

Chishiya shifted slightly, watching you again. “Just seems unfair.”

You frowned. “What does?”

Chishiya lifted a shoulder. “You give so much.” he murmured, gaze flickering over your face, like he was searching for something. “What does he give you?”

You hesitated.

“He apologizes.” you said finally.

Chishiya huffed a quiet breath, like that only proved his point.

“And I like talking to him.” you added, almost defensive now.

Chishiya studied you for a moment. He was an observer. He had always been. It was easy to sit back, watch people, study them, and learn how to manipulate them without ever having to lift a finger. People were simple. Predictable. They wanted comfort, validation, love—all things he had no real interest in, except when it suited him. He didn’t care to be loved, nor did he particularly need anyone, but he did enjoy being chosen.

That was why you fascinated him. You were soft, emotional, easy to read—and yet, you had a way of making people want to take care of you, even if they didn’t deserve you. It wasn’t just Niragi. Chishiya had seen it from the moment he met you. The way you tilted your head when you listened, the way you smiled when you spoke, the way you looked at someone like they were important. It was a power all on its own, one you didn’t even seem aware of.

And Niragi? Of course he latched onto you.

Chishiya had seen it coming from a mile away.

What bothered him was that you let him. That you let Niragi hover close, let him spew his manipulative little games, let him turn soft just to reel you back in. Chishiya recognized the behavior well—he did it himself. The only difference was, he wasn’t sloppy about it. Niragi was obvious. Desperate. Chishiya preferred patience.

And that was why he was winning.

Because despite everything, despite how much you liked Niragi, it was Chishiya you sat next to. It was Chishiya you told things to, the one you confided in.

The one you came to.

He knew how to make people rely on him.

It was easy.

And he was so fucking good at it.

“Good thing I’m a better conversationalist.” he murmured.

You narrowed your eyes at him, playful. “That’s debatable.”

He huffed a quiet chuckle, amused. “Is it?”

You sighed sharply, shaking your head, but you were smiling.

He noticed the way you did that now. Smiled more. Looked happier. The cracks were still there, deep beneath the surface, but you weren’t breaking anymore.

He and Niragi had made sure of that.

And now, they got to keep you.

You heard Niragi before you saw him—his footsteps were always loud, like he wanted people to know he was there. It was the exact opposite of Chishiya, who moved like a shadow. Niragi, though, was presence.

“Miss me?” he drawled, stepping back into the apartment.

You looked up from where you were sitting on the couch next to Chishiya, watching as Niragi shook off the hoodie you gave him. His hair was a little damp at the ends, strands sticking to his forehead from the humidity outside.

“Not really.” you hummed, tilting your head with a teasing smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Liar.”

You shrugged, standing up and stepping closer, glancing at the cigarette still tucked between his fingers. “Did you at least enjoy your little smoke break?”

“Not really.” he mimicked you, grinning.

You reached out without thinking, plucking the cigarette from his hand and snuffing it out in the nearby ashtray—what you only had for decoration until now. “Then I guess we both missed out on something.”

He watched you, the piercing on his tongue swiping across his lip. “Yeah? And what did you miss out on?”

You ignored him, just rolled your eyes at him before heading toward the kitchen.

“Want anything?” you asked over your shoulder.

Niragi let his gaze linger on you for a moment before shaking his head. “Later.”

You nodded and moved to grab a glass of water for yourself, ignoring the feeling of Chishiya’s gaze burning into the back of your head. He had been watching—he always watched, but something about the way he was looking now felt different.

When you turned around, Niragi was already making his way toward his room.

And then, it was just you and Chishiya again.

You sighed, flopping back onto the couch beside him, sipping your water. He didn’t say anything right away, just observed you, as he always did.

“You’re easy to please.” he said.

You blinked. “Huh?”

He gestured lazily toward the hallway where Niragi had disappeared. “He walks in with a few flowers and suddenly, all is forgiven.”

You frowned, tilting your head. “I don’t think I was mad at him.”

“That’s not the point.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then what is?”

He gave you a slow, knowing smile. “You.”

You stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate, but of course—he didn’t. That was just how Chishiya worked. He never explained anything, he just said things that made you think, things that lingered in your head long after the conversation was over.

And this time, you weren’t sure you wanted to think about it. So, instead, you just huffed, looking away. “You don’t bring me flowers.”

“You don’t need them from me.”

And for some reason, that made your stomach flip. Chishiya always said things like that—things that meant nothing and everything at the same time. And maybe, deep down, you knew what he was doing. The way he talked, the way he looked at you, the way he made sure you knew he was different from Niragi.

It was all intentional.

Because at the end of the day, Chishiya didn’t fight for things—he just made sure they came to him.

And you were already falling right into place.

(Y’all I know there’s a lot more Niragi interactions compared to Chishiya and it’s on purpose. I’m not picking favorites, it will add up I promise. I have shit planned.)

❤︎︎ @lizntstoptalking @cherryheairt @fiction-fantasy-folks @monkey4lifer @psychicyouthfox @so-dramatic1 @mypsychoticlove @unhinged-sorcerer @rattymess @mocchii-writes @adanfore @scarlet703 @fluentgoddess @maxinehufflepuffprincess @onyxmango @bluerthanvelvet444 @risingofjupiter @enhasrii

[andreilslovechild]

Aaron and Nicky

Okay so I vaguely discussed this on my previous post about Aaron and hatred, but I needed to say more on the topic bc it kinda just recently popped up in my head again and it's just...ugh so good.

When Aaron moved to SC, he was 13, and Nicky was like 17ish. So, depending on what year he was in, he would have been either in his junior or senior year of high school. Assuming he was in his senior year, Aaron would have only had around, let's say... around 7-8 months with him assuming they moved during the summer.

Aaron would probably have talked to Nicky a few times a year before this. Maybe once every month or two when Luther talked to Tilda, but not really anything special. They probably saw each other a few times for holidays when Luther would pay for their plane tickets. You know the classic long-distance cousins. You don't talk much, but you still know things about each other.

Then, once Aaron moved to SC after finding out about Andrew, he would have been reeling from that discovery, alone, and in a new city he'd probably only been in once or twice before. And even then, he'd probably only been to nickys house, church, and back again. So he would have clung to whatever familiarity he could find.

Him and Nicky would hang out or talk on the phone when Tilda was too high to care, and Aaron used him as an excuse to get out of the house and away from her heavy hands and the crushing silence that echoed in the new house that was already falling apart. He would have picked up on the type of language older kids used, even kids his own age really, would have tried to fit in by using it, and at the time homophobic or vaguely offensive language would have been the norm. Aaron himself may not have used them against Nicky specifically, but Nicky would have heard Aaron using things like "fag" or "gay" as an insult.

Whether Aaron knew Nicky was gay is up for debate, but it's probably likely he knew that Nicky had "strayed from the path of god" or so Luther would have put it. He'd probably heard about the conversion camp in passing, though he likely didn't know what it really was. I think it was mentioned too that Nicky tried to act straight after his experience at conversion camp somewhere in the EC, so Aaron was probably under the impression that Nicky was "cured" like Luther and Maria were.

But long story short, during those 7-8 months, nicky was Aaron's closest friend. I doubt Aaron was very social, so even after school started, he probably didn't make friends that easily, so he hung out with nicky most days, and they did their homework together or whatever. Very sibling like. I think Nicky was the one to convince Aaron to reach out to Andrew against Tilda wishes, and probably the one to comfort him when he recieved a big fuck you back. He was the closest thing Aaron had to real family.

He probably noticed nicky wasn't as happy as he liked to seem, but he was a kid and the most he could do about it was spend lots of time with him and try and get him to genuinely smile now and then.

And then there was the Germany trip.

Aaron wasn't happy Nicky was going on the trip, and Nicky was probably a bit guilty for leaving Aaron behind, but Aaron wouldn't have stopped him from going when Nicky so clearly wanted to. He thought it'd be 5 months or so, and then he'd be back. Just 5 months of crushing loneliness, and he'd have his cousin back.

I think Aaron started using properly for the first time while Nicky was gone on that exchange trip. He'd used a few times here and there before, but not regularly. And certainly not enough to crave them. But with nicky gone, he didn't have any other way to escape. He told himself he'd stop when Nicky came back, except Nicky didn't come back. Not really. He was back for maybe 2 weeks total to officially graduate and pack up his things, and then he was back to Germany because he'd found some perfect gay lovestory there. So he kept using.

I think Aaron resented Nicky leaving him for a long time. He left him alone to suffer his mother and their crazy family by himself. He may not actively realize it, but it also makes him resent nickys sexuality a bit too because if Nicky wasn't gay this wouldn't have happened, and he'd never have left him.

Then three years has come and gone, and andrew is there, Aaron's no longer alone, but Tilda dead. And then Nicky comes back to take care of them. Fights for them. Makes sure they stay with him. And he's nothing like the Nicky Aaron remembers. Well, he kind of is, but not really. He's more flamboyant and bubbly and waaay to talkative and sexual and Aaron isn't sure what to do about it. The first few times were an accident, tired and hurt, and going through withdrawal as he screamed insults at the locked bathroom door. He heard nickys voice and begged him to let him out and then insulted him when he didn't.

But he also notices afterward how they make nickys smile turn a little bit tight. And then the insults become a test. A way to push even more to see if Nicky would break. If he would hit and scream like Tilda or glare and use the stick like Luther. But he didn't. Not even a little bit. Not even once. And slowly, Aaron forgets that that's what the words were supposed to be. He just uses them casually, the insults at the tip of his tongue whenever nicky does something he can comment on. It just becomes normal. And he sees the way nicky brushes them off, but not really. He can see through the mask. But he just can't stop.

It takes years of practice and therapy and more than a few seriously uncomfortable conversations for Aaron to properly get his tongue under control. But he tries. And trying is enough for nicky when it comes to them. After all, nicky had dealt with Andrew, too, who was arguably worse in some ways.

Nicky and Aaron's relationship is infinitely complicated in so many ways. They went from distant family to friends, to strangers, guardians, and children, to finally being just cousins. It takes a long time and probably isn't until after both of them have graduated and Nicky is back in Germany, but they get there in the end, and that's the important part.

(Credit to creamka_ on ig for the art love them)

[ttrevelyan]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63465307

Rook broached the subject of her House one day at dinner, her own curiosity getting the better of her judgement. Teia, Viago, Lucanis and herself were gathered for their weekly dinner at the Dellamorte Estate. Rook had been living with Lucanis for almost a month. In that time, she had much to think about - but one question nagged at her. She hadn’t taken on any jobs since her initial contract on Solas, well over a year ago.

“Am I still a de Riva?” she said, using her fork to stab at her dinner. Lucanis and Viago both seemed to choke on their food, and a late warning sounded off in her mind. But it was too late to stop herself. The implications of her question had not been a consideration: she was only thinking of her work as a Crow. Was she meant to take contracts under House Dellamorte?

Lucanis pounded on his chest for a second, then stared at her. “Rook-” he coughed.

“It’s fine, actually,” she said quickly, embarrassed by their reactions. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I imagine you would be a de Riva until Lucanis marries you,” Teia said, seemingly pleased by the turn in conversation. She pushed her plate forward and leaned on the table, beaming at Lucanis. Rook vaguely remembered that they all have knives.

“Teia!” Viago snapped. Rook winced, realizing the mess she had started.

“It’s uncommon to change it before marriage,” Teia said, ignoring Viago’s angry sputtering. “But he is the First Talon. Switching Houses is not unheard of. Think of Jacobus.”

“I said nothing of marriage,” Rook muttered under her breath, regretting speaking at all. Her hand twitched at her side. A small fire at the table could end this.

“Rook is a de Riva,” Viago announced, perhaps unnecessarily, his voice rising. “Rook is a de Riva until I say otherwise, and that day-”

“So you’re saying you’d give her away at the wedding,” Teia interrupted, her grin stupidly large. The Seventh Talon leaned back in her chair. Viago choked again. “That’s very kind of you, Vi.”

Rook covered her face with her hands. “This was a bad idea,” she said, her voice muffled.

“I didn’t realize we were discussing marriage, Teia,” Lucanis said, and Rook was gratified that he sounded relatively calm. She, on the other hand, felt like her body was going to erupt into flames. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying to be anywhere else.

“You are lucky Caterina hasn’t started on you about babies,” Teia said, and at that, Rook dropped her hands and stared at the other woman, betrayed.

“Teia!” Lucanis cried out. “Enough!” There goes him being calm, Rook thought absently.

Rook wondered if she had ever blushed so much in her entire life. She certainly couldn’t remember another incident where she felt so mortified - and this was an incident of her own doing. She wished, rather desperately, that she could crawl underneath the table, or that the whole room would just go dark. I could use magic to put out all the candles?

Teia held her hands up in the air, a mockery of a surrender. “A blind man could see that these two are going to get married,” she said. “It’s a matter of when, not if, she becomes a Dellamorte.”

After that, there was no way to wrestle control of the situation. Viago was standing, chest puffed, spouting at all of them about the work it took to make Rook a de Riva, let alone the headaches she had caused him. He rattled off the various incidents - almost a lifetime of them - wherein she had made his life difficult. Lucanis seemed aghast at Viago’s outburst, listening with a horrified look on his face. Teia was laughing so hard that Rook was sure she was going to pass out.

Rook stared down at her plate and did her best impression of a statue. Viago’s tirade was sure to end soon - she had, after all, done some good things in her time as a de Riva. And of course she wanted to marry Lucanis. That went without saying. But she had been very, very careful about not showing any indication of that to him. Rumours could spiral; Crows loved to talk. She has heard what they say about her - the things they insinuated, the way they spoke about her relationship with Lucanis.

Crows wished for complicated intentions: for drama. She remembered what her fellow fledglings used to say about Teia and Viago; about Teia and Dante. The Crows, though famous for their work, operated a spinning wheel of rumours and gossip throughout Antiva.

Lucanis stood, and walked behind her chair, smiling down at her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. Her anxiety melted away at his touch, as it always did.

“I would like it to be clear,” Lucanis said, composed again, “that I would marry Rook tomorrow.” Rook’s cheeks flared. “But she is still a de Riva.”

“Not for long,” Viago grumbled. Rook wanted to strangle him. “Teia is trying to strong-arm you into a proposal.” Viago crossed his arms and stared at Teia. “Not very subtly.”

Teia, the woman of the hour, only shrugged. “I’m sure he’s already bought a ring. I bet you it’s in his pockets, right now.”

Right - under the table I go. Rook sunk deeper into her chair and groaned when Lucanis’ grip on her shoulder stopped her from ducking her head below the table. “Rook,” he said, still laughing. “Relax. I am not going to propose to you in front of Teia and Viago.”

“I wish I believed you,” she muttered. “I really do."

Viago and Teia stood at Teia’s insistence, her arm tugging at Viago’s until he groaned and got up from his seat. “A lovely dinner,” Teia said, “as always, Lucanis.” Viago just nodded his head. Teia pushed him forward; Rook could almost see the smoke coming from Viago’s ears. She cringed as they walked out the door - she was going to get an earful from Viago when she saw him next.

Lucanis let loose a long, large breath. The tension in her body melted as he slowly massaged her shoulders; she leaned into his touch.

“That was a lot,” Rook said, sighing.

Lucanis murmured a low agreement. “Let’s go to bed,” he urged, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Rook groaned, but stood. She followed him back to their room, stomach churning as her mind worked through the dinner. Viago had been livid; Teia had said some things she didn't know how to think about. He noticed how quiet she was, but he didn't press her.

She stayed quiet as they slowly readied themselves for bed. He kissed both of her eyelids when her face was washed; he helped braid her hair in silence. It wasn't until she was in his arms, in their bed, her leg thrown over his own, that she finally said, “I would like to marry you.”

She was rewarded with a delighted, hungry kiss. He kissed her like their first night; he kissed her like he was drowning and she was air. The weight of his love felt undeserved; it was too much for her. She said as much, letting her insecurities tumble out of her mouth.

He was outraged - not at her, but himself - that she would ever doubt her place at his side. He spent the rest of the night murmuring sweet nothings, his voice thick and heavy with veneration. He promised her the rest of his life - Rook responded that he would never be able to get rid of her, not now, not ever.

It turned quickly into frantic and desperate hands on skin - Rook straddling him, Lucanis guiding her with his hands on her hips - and ended with silent, reverent cries; a kiss on her neck; her hands tangled in his hair.

Lucanis whispered, right before she fell asleep, “I meant what I said. I would marry you tomorrow.”

Rook barely managed to reply, her eyes closed, bliss morphing rapidly into sleep. “Then let's get married tomorrow,” she murmured, and promptly fell asleep.

[pretentious-blonde]

spark

pairing: steve harrington x reader

summary: you accepted steve’s offer, and he smiles like it’s easy, but beneath the facade, he’s praying you don’t notice how terrifying it is to open up again

warnings: ptsd, anxiety, scars, mention of death

a/n: ANGST. steve is still a huge sweetheart as per!!

series masterlist

Steve was awake long before his alarm, as usual. Though he liked to pretend he was simply a “morning person,” he knew the real reason.

He always woke up in a cold sweat, heart racing from a nightmare he could never fully recall. It was the same vague sense of running—always running—being chased by something he never let himself name. 

He reminded himself that those days were gone. 

He didn’t have to run anymore.

He eased out of bed, pushing the sheets away, and moved to the small bathroom. Flicking on the light, he squinted at his reflection in the mirror. The circles beneath his eyes weren’t as dark as they used to be—a tiny victory he attributed to the combination of time, therapy, and intermittent determination. 

The government had footed the bill for his sessions as well as securing him a psychiatrist, reasoning that what he’d experienced wasn’t exactly covered by regular services, nor did they want the exposure. His therapist was kind enough and understood that the horrors he experienced were a lifelong journey to recovery. 

Slowly but surely, he was finding his footing again.

He’d spent years feeling dislocated from normal life. All that time battling with the fallout from the Upside Down had stolen the carefree spark of his youth, and the constant suspicion that something else might lurk around the corner left him raw. 

But recently, thanks to the subtle coaxing of his therapist—and the unwavering support of friends—he’d started picturing a future that wasn’t overshadowed by the past. 

He got a stable job teaching, an apartment all his own (no more living under his parents’ roof), and moments of genuine contentment. The kids in his class offered him something pure and untarnished. Something untainted. They had no idea about his history, or the scars he hid beneath his shirt, and that innocence soothed him in ways nothing else could.

He opened the cabinet, pulled out the bottle of medication his doctor had prescribed, and popped a pill into his mouth before taking a gulp of water straight from the tap. A shaky exhale followed. 

Today was Sunday. Which meant he was going to see you—something that thrilled him and sent a jolt of nerves zipping along his spine. He dried his mouth on the back of his hand, thinking about how the mere idea of a date used to make him panic. 

Now, he actually looked forward to it. Progress.

He called Robin the second he’d gotten home from school, practically buzzing as he told her he’d finally asked someone out. She’d laughed and teased him that “it took you long enough,” but the care in her voice said she was proud of him. 

He was proud of himself too. 

He had found himself gushing about you—about how you went the extra mile, how you’d insisted on giving him a discount for the kids’ sake, and how your eyes had sparkled with genuine kindness when you raised your hand in his classroom. 

He’d felt his cheeks burn just remembering that moment, how you played into the lighthearted fun. There was a tenderness about you that he found himself needing, now more than ever. If anyone deserved a gentle presence in this life, it was him.

He toweled off his face and ruffled his hair, trying to decide if it was a lost cause to style it so early. The nerves fluttered in his stomach, a far cry from the petrifying dread he was used to. 

This was a nervousness he welcomed—one that signalled something good might be about to happen rather then the more common alternative.

Making his way to the small wardrobe in his bedroom, he flicked through hangers, considering each shirt, each pair of jeans. He wanted to look casual, approachable… anything but intimidating. It wasn’t as if he’d strolled into your shop wearing a suit of armor, but something in him wanted you to see him as safe. 

Maybe it was the teacher in him, or maybe it was the scared kid he used to be, desperate not to give anyone a reason to back away.

His fingers skimmed over a few options before he settled on a soft sweater and a pair of jeans without paint smears or frayed hems. He tugged them on, studying himself in the full-length mirror propped against the wall. The faint scars on his arms peeked out if he rolled the arms too high, and for a moment, he considered covering them. 

But he thought about how you’d looked at him—like he was someone worth smiling at—and decided it was okay.

Or, maybe he'd just keep his sleeves down...

He smoothed the jumper, eradicating the wrinkles, and exhaled. As he patted his pockets—keys, wallet—he felt the steady beat of his heart. He wasn’t used to feeling this light about a date or meeting someone new. The last time he’d tried to let someone in, he’d still been carrying too much baggage. Plus, meeting someone new was normally an appointment with doctor or scientist. 

But the promise of meeting you felt hopeful. 

Like something he deserved.

He arrived early, stomach twisting as he slipped into the small café. The sun was bright but soft, illuminating the polished tables and the row of pastries under their glass display. He chose a seat by the large window—not for the view, not to watch the world pass by, but because he just needed to see the outside. 

The habit was bone-deep, second nature after years of too many surprises, too many nights where danger came from behind, from the dark, from the unseen. 

If he lied, he would say it was just preference, that he liked the open space, the way the light stretched across the table, but the truth was simpler, heavier—he still hated feeling boxed in.

He needed the open sightlines, needed the reassurance that if something—anything—happened, he’d see it coming. He wasn’t scared. Not exactly. But the fear had settled into him like muscle memory, impossible to unlearn.

Taking some calming breaths, he stirred the coffee he’d already ordered in lazy circles. There was something comforting about the swirl of cream in the dark liquid, a momentary distraction from the knot of nerves in his gut.

He glanced at his watch—still early, but not by too much. On an impulse, he waved the barista over and requested a hot chocolate “to have ready” when you arrived. He hoped you’d like it, but if not, he could claim it for himself and get you something else.

Every so often, he looked up from his mug to peer out the window. Eventually, he caught sight of you, weaving through the passers-by and pausing at the crossing. His pulse spiked. 

Suddenly, he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Should he wave through the glass? That might be odd. Instead, he ducked his head, pretending to fiddle with the sugar packets on the table, as though he hadn’t just watched your every step across the street.

When the door opened, he glanced up. The sight of you, cheeks faintly flushed, made his heart do a little flip. You looked around, scanning the tables—your hair bouncing—until your eyes locked on him. As your face broke into a radiant smile, he stood so abruptly that he nearly toppled his coffee, earning a wary glance from the couple seated nearby.

“Hi,” you greeted, stepping forward as he awkwardly leaned in for a brief hug. 

You seemed comfortable with him. That was a good sign. 

“Hey,” he replied, breath catching in his throat. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting too long?”

His face heated. If only you knew how early he’d arrived. 

“Oh no,” he lied with a small shrug, “I’ve only been here a couple of minutes.”

“Well, that’s good,” you said. Your gaze drifted to the steamy mug sitting across from his coffee.

“I, uh, got you a hot chocolate,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. He tried to sound casual, but his nerves betrayed him, and there was a boyish quality to his voice.

“Presumptuous,” you teased, lifting an eyebrow, and he immediately blushed.

“What? Everyone likes hot chocolate.” He sank into his chair.

“Careful,” you teased further. “You might be spending too much time around second graders.”

He would agree with you there.

“Well, kids are usually right about these things.” He let out a short laugh, tension easing in his shoulders. “Especially chocolate.”

With a grin, you held the mug up to your lips, taking a slow sip. The appreciative hum you made was enough to send a spark of pride through him, and he mentally checked off a little “win” in his mind. 

This was already off to a good start.

You settled in your seat, and he took a moment to appreciate how easily you seemed to fit into this café’s atmosphere—warm and welcoming like the morning light. 

“So,” you asked, “are the kids enjoying their new books?”

“Yeah,” he replied, eyes lighting up. “Love ‘em—kind of surprised at how careful they’re being, too. Usually, I’m taping up ripped pages by now.”

“Seems like they listen to you,” you observed, a gentle smile tugging at your lips.

“Sometimes they do.” He shrugged modestly. “Sometimes, they’ve got a mind of their own. But it’s good—keeps me on my toes.”

Your next question was casual, but he liked the genuine interest behind it.

“How long have you been teaching?”

“Few years now,” he said, gently pushing away the memories that threatened to surface. The path that had led him here hadn’t exactly been simple. “Didn’t go to college right away, and I was kind of drifting. Then I stumbled into a teacher training program, and… here I am.”

It was a more concise version of the truth—just enough to say without letting too many memories surface. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either; he wasn’t about to burden you with that.

“That’s really sweet,” you said softly, a note of sincerity in your tone.

He felt the back of his neck grow warm. 

“I enjoy it,” he confessed. “I always remembered the shy kids—how people used to pick on them. Thought if I can give them a good start, maybe they won’t have to worry as much… maybe they’ll carry that with them.”

He meant every word.

He had a soft spot for the quiet kids, the ones who lacked confidence—the ones he used to overlook. Maybe lifting them up was his way of making amends, a silent apology for the way he once treated his own peers. If they could find their footing a little sooner, maybe they’d never have to deal with a kid like he used to be. 

It was one of his biggest regrets, and he could only hope he was making up for it now.

Your eyes shone, and he watched the way your features softened at his explanation. The honesty in your expression made his chest tighten in the best way. He swallowed, nerves skittering again. He had to keep reminding himself not to monopolise the conversation with talk of the children, no matter how proud he was of them.

“So,” he ventured, quickly shifting gears, “are you new in Hawkins? Haven’t seen you around before.” Then his stomach lurched as your expression grew thoughtful, more pensive.

“Yeah, I inherited the bookstore,” you said, your tone gentle rather than pained. “My grandmother left it to me in her will.”

Mentally he kicked himself.

Way to go, Harrington.

“I’m—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right, really.” You waved away his concern with a small laugh. “I miss her, but being in that space she loved keeps me close to her, you know? It’s like she never really left.”

Relief washed over him, followed by a deeper admiration. You really were lovely, in that rare way some people are, managing to find the bright side even in the things that hurt. He wasn’t sure how you did it, brushed off something as big as death and still had room for warmth. 

He yearned for that—desperately. 

He felt more sure than ever that this date had been a good idea. You asked about the day-to-day with his class, and he found himself relaxed enough to share a few funny stories. There were paint smears and paper-mache disasters, random outbursts during quiet reading time, and the occasional meltdown when a pencil sharpened too short. 

You giggled freely at his over-the-top reenactments, caught up in the way he threw himself into the story with his whole body. He wasn’t just telling it—he was living it, every exaggerated gesture and animated expression pulling you in. 

You could picture his students, enraptured, hanging onto every word as he transformed the classroom into whatever world he wanted. He even did the voices. There was no hesitation, no self-consciousness, just him completely lost in the moment, unguarded and uninhibited, letting it take him somewhere else entirely.

He found himself almost giddy that you were humouring him, that you weren’t just listening but enjoying his retellings. Each chuckle warmed his chest, unfolding something fragile and long-dormant, finally given sunlight. It was a reassurance he hadn’t realised he needed. 

He could still make someone laugh. He could still be light, still be fun, still be someone worth listening to.

Eventually, the conversation began to wind down. You glanced at your watch with a regretful sigh. 

“I’d love to stay longer, but I have to get back and do some admin stuff at the shop.”

“Oh, yeah,” he murmured, unable to completely hide his disappointment. He toyed with the corner of his napkin, eyes flicking from your face to the door. “Of course, don’t wanna eat up your Sunday.”

“But,” you added softly, your own reluctance clear in your voice, “I’d really like to see you again, if you’re up for it?”

His stomach did a joyous flip.

He had done it. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, trying not to sound too eager. “Absolutely—uh—I usually have weekends off, and anytime after five, really—school hours and all.”

“Do you have a pen?” you asked, casting a quick look around for one.

These days he was never without one—always needing something signed or scribbled. He rummaged in his jacket pocket, producing a slightly battered ballpoint. 

“Here.”

You leaned over and wrote your number on a clean napkin, sliding it across the table. 

“That’s the shop phone. I live right upstairs, so it'll reach me.”

He clutched the napkin as if it were precious—and to him it really was—heart thudding like it did the first time he’d asked you out. 

“I’ll call you,” he promised, nodding a few more times than necessary.

You stood, gathering your things, and he quickly rose to his feet as well. With a self-conscious smile, he reached for your jacket, holding it open for you. 

“Here—um, sorry… Force of habit.”

You slipped your arms through the sleeves, cheeks flushing. 

“Oh?”

“Y’know, recess duty—same motion.” He scratched his cheek. “Sorry that’s weird.”

“Not weird at all.” You giggled, giving him a soft, rosy-cheeked grin that made his heart lurch. “...It’s sweet.”

He walked with you to the door and pushed it open. You paused for a moment on the threshold, peering over your shoulder with one last smile.

“See you later, Mr. Harrington,” you teased gently, and he rolled his eyes with a playful groan.

“See you,” he managed, still reveling in the inexplicable joy that you wanted to see him again.

And then you were off, leaving him in the light of the morning that felt warmer. He slipped back into the café, dropping into his seat with a breathless feeling in his chest. Not wanting to go home just yet, he ordered another coffee. His therapist told him it was good for him to be out of the house. 

For the first time in what felt like forever, he realised he’d gone an entire hour without the memories of his past creeping in. No anxiety, no frantic heart pounding from a past he couldn’t escape. 

He smiled to himself as he fiddled with the napkin where your phone number was scrawled. Things were looking up for him, and he was already planning what he was going to say when he called you that evening. 

taglist: @daisy-is-a-writer

[steddiehyperfixation]

@steddiebingo prompts: lecture + skull rock | 1.2k words | G/T |

Eddie closes his locker to find Nancy suddenly standing right beside him. “Jesus!” he startles, hand pressed to his chest. He hadn't even heard her approach.

“Sorry.” She has the decency to look apologetic. “I didn't mean to sneak up on you, I just wanted to talk to you for a sec. I hear you and Steve are...together?” She says it carefully, with the inflection of a question, and Eddie has a vague feeling like she's testing him but he has no idea what for.

“Um.” He doesn't know what the right answer is. “Well, I don't know exactly- I mean, kind of? It's not really anything, we've just...made out a couple times.”

Nancy raises her eyebrows. “You just...made out a couple times,” she repeats.

Eddie shrugs, getting a little nervous that he's failing her test. He really cannot get a read on her right now. “Yeah, um, I mean, it was probably just like a one time, two time thing…”

A tiny scrunch flickers across her face and she mutters to herself, “God, is that what I sounded like?”

“What?”

“Nothing, sorry, I just got major deja vu.” She shakes her head and then looks back up at him with those big, serious eyes. “Anyways. Look, you might not think it's anything, but I know Steve and I guarantee you he already thinks you guys are something. So if you only wanted it to be just a one time, two time thing, then you better tell him quick before he gets too deeply attached. He falls fast and he falls hard, don't let him get too serious if you're not.”

She reminds him vaguely of a teacher lecturing some clueless kid, but Eddie feels less chastised and more like he's just been punched in the chest. “Wait, you really think-?”

“He wants something real, he always has,” Nancy continues, “and if you guys haven't talked about it, he's just going to assume that's what you are. He's a hopelessly hopeful romantic, Eddie, he can't help it. He's all in already, I'm sure, so if that's not what you wanted out of whatever you two have got going on, then don't waste his time - don't waste your time. Don't play along and break his heart if you already know you don't feel the same.”

“No, I wouldn't-” Eddie finds himself at an uncharacteristic loss for words, can't do much more than give her a sort of deer-in-headlights stare.

“I'm not judging you,” she reassures him in a slightly softer tone now, clearly misinterpreting something in his expression. “I'm not upset with you. I'm just trying to give a little advice, from my own experience. Just make sure you two are on the same page, alright? That's all I'm saying. For both of your sakes.”

“Right- yeah, thanks,” he stammers. He points his thumb awkwardly over his shoulder. “I, uh, I gotta go…”

He doesn't wait for a response before he turns and hurries down the hall to get outside. A deep breath of fresh air to shake off the weird suffocating feeling Nancy's lecture had given him, and then Eddie's heading straight for the nearest phone. He has to talk to Steve, has to see him.

“Hey, Stevie,” he says the second the other line picks up. “I'm ditching class right now, wanna hang out?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve agrees immediately, a smile in his voice. “I can meet you at our usual spot in, like, 20 minutes?”

'Our usual spot', aka Skull Rock, the make-out spot--their spot now apparently since that's where it started, since that's where they've met the last three times they've hung out alone, the last three times they've kissed and kissed and not talked. But Eddie can't think of anywhere else to suggest, so he says, “Yeah, sounds good. See you soon.”

He hangs up the phone and heads for Skull Rock.

A short drive and a longer hike and he's leaning against the side of that infamous skull-shaped boulder, watching the surrounding foliage for signs of Steve. He doesn't have to wait long before Steve steps out from the brush in all his gorgeous glory, face lit up in a beautiful smile just at the sight of Eddie.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Steve walks up to him and draws him straight into a kiss, because that's what they do here, at Skull Rock, the make-out spot, their spot. His lips are soft and warm and Eddie melts right into it, draping his arms over Steve's shoulders and kissing back before he remembers that he'd meant to use his mouth for talking instead.

“Wait, Steve.” It takes all Eddie’s willpower to break the kiss and pull back enough to speak. “Is this real to you?”

“Hmm, feels pretty real, but I don’t know, I could be dreaming. I never can tell around you,” Steve flirts easily, voice a smooth murmur as he brushes some of Eddie’s hair out of his face, caressing his cheek. “Might need to pinch me just to be sure.”

“No, I mean-” Eddie ducks out from between Steve and the rock, putting a little more space between them before he can give in to the ever-growing urge to give up on talking and go back to kissing. “Um, Nancy kind of ambushed me in the hall earlier, gave me this whole lecture about how you get attached really quick and how if I only wanted this to be something casual I should tell you fast before you get too serious, because she thinks you're probably already serious and that you want something real,” he provides context in an awkward, nervous rush, not even pausing for a breath, “and I just- I need to know, is that true?”

“Oh.” The previous playful flirtatiousness drains from Steve’s expression and his face falls. “Um.” He shakes his head, more like he's trying to clear his thoughts than anything. “Shit- I’m sorry if she freaked you out. She had absolutely no right to try to speak for me like that. I mean, I really am fine if you just want this to be casual...”

“I don't, I just thought that's what you wanted,” Eddie says. He hasn't been explaining this right. “Because that's all we've been doing - we come here and we make out and that’s it, casual, so this whole time I just assumed that's all it was to you. But then Nancy said all that stuff about you and it gave me this hope I hadn't let myself have before, so can you please just tell me if she was right?” He looks at Steve, eyes big and earnest. “Because I really, really want her to be right.”

Steve just stares at him for a moment, then softens with a sigh. “Yeah,” he admits, a tentative smile tugging at his lips, “she was right. I definitely don't just feel casual about you - it's real; I want real.”

Eddie’s face bursts into a grin. He throws his arms around Steve and pulls him into another kiss. “Then let’s get out of this casual fucking place.” He takes Steve by the hand and starts dragging him away from Skull Rock. “Come on, let me buy you some lunch.”

[cherryheairt]

Guilty Pleasure

Pairing: Salesman/recruiter x reader

Request: Already in an established relationship, reader and Salesman have occasional game nights or simply reader wants to play ddakji, and at some point Salesman forgets himself and automatically slaps reader. Immediately feels bad and tries to make up for it. Whether or not reader knows he's a recruiter I leave up to you.

Fake name given to Salesman.

It wasn't often that your husband got to spend time at home with you. Even when he was off from his evening salary job (which was rare) you were working in the days. On weekends, you consider yourself lucky if you got at least a few hours together. When you finally did, you both made sure to make the most of it and spend your time making valuable memories.

Seo-joon got paid generously, and even though he was vague about his exact job description, you had learned that he really only cared to spend it on you. Expensive dinners at five star restaurants, vacations to foreign countries, a luxurious night out for couples massages and wine-tasting events. You didn't much care for what the activity was, so long as you were together. Seo-joon seemed to think the same, but loved seeing your smile when spoiling you rotten.

This weekend, you noticed how tired he seemed from his long hours of the week. Instead of going out and being in the public eye, you asked him to wait for you at home while you finished up your own work. With a raised brow, he submitted to your request without a complaint and finished up chores at home while you went out to do your own errands.

Groceries, done.

Car note, paid.

Dinner for tonight, secured in your hand.

The two ddakji folded papers in your other hand, also secured.

Tonight you were determined to let your husband sit back and relax. Movies, candy, and a little childhood throwback to ease his stressed mind.

“I'm home,” you called softly, kicking off your shoes and replacing them with slippers at the entrance. Your little cat, Ink, rubbed against your legs and mewed for attention. Seo-joon stood up from the couch, putting down his phone after a hurried goodbye to his, presumably, boss. He wasted no time in greeting you, carefully stepping around Ink and wrapping his hands around your waist, kissing the corner of your mouth on each side before finally connecting your lips together. His little tradition, for ‘good luck’ he said.

The tint of peach lip gloss transferred to his lips but he never bothered to wipe it, instead rubbing his lips together and savoring the familiar taste of you. “Welcome back.” He said in a low murmur, hugging you to his chest.

You giggled at the affection, missing him just as much as he missed you. “I have a surprise planned for you.” You started, lifting the concealed bags in between you two.

He pulled away, tilting his head ever so slightly while eyeing the bags. “Hm? What is it?” Typically, he preferred to plan the dates and surprises as he always said was traditional and gentlemanly, but any little treat you brought him home always made his eyes light up in a way that made your own heart melt.

“You've been so busy lately, I thought it would be nice for a night in. I got some takeout and ddakji!” You hummed pleasantly, placing the two bags on the small dining table. With an arm still around your waist and lying on your hip, you felt him tense almost imperceptibly.

Turning to face him, he looked almost pale in the light of the evening. “Seo-joon?” You asked, rubbing the back of your hand on his cheek. “What's wrong, are you feeling sick?”

Easily, he took your hand in his own and kissed it, leading it back to your side and shaking his head. Chuckling, he answered, “I just didn't expect to hear that. I haven't played ddakji since I was young.”

Beaming, you nodded. “Me too! I thought it might be a fun throwback.” As you plated the takeout, Seo-joon set the table with silverware and pulled out your seat.

After some debriefing about your day, Seo-joon and you finished your meals and relaxed into the sofa cushions, playing a rom-com drama movie and simply settled into each other's company. His scent was still fresh even after he changed from his formal attire into a more comfortable turtleneck sweater and sweatpants. With your face buried in his neck and breath brushing over his skin with each exhale, Seo-joon couldn't help but coo at your sleepy eyes.

“Are you ready for bed, dear?” He asked quietly, brushing hair behind your ear to get it out of your eyes.

Jumping up, you blinked away all tiredness and rapidly shook your head. Seo-joon's eyes widened and sat up to watch you flounce around the room from the table and back to the couch.

Holding out both hands, you revealed the two ddakji papers to him. One was a bright blue and the other a deep purple. “You can pick your color.” You gestured, eager to play the game.

Slowly, almost hesitant if you didn't know your husband well, he grabbed the purple and stood up, slightly looking down at you as he did. “Since I picked, you can go first.” He straightened up his sweater as if it were his usual grey-blue suit, muscle memory coming into play with every movement he made.

You nodded, looking down at his paper on the floor before questioning: “What is the prize for winning?”

He thought for a moment. “How about a kiss on the cheek?” He tapped his own cheekily, eyes squinted with amusement as you wasted no time agreeing.

Slapping the blue paper down, you laughed with satisfaction as the purple one flipped completely over. “First try!” You exclaimed. Seo-joon chuckled, picking up the blue and getting ready for his own turn.

With a loud ‘slap!’ he flipped his, too. It looked almost effortless, as if he had played the childhood game a mere day ago instead of years.

“The stakes raise…” you murmur, slapping your own one down yet again. It flipped, and somehow you both managed to hit each other's papers perfectly for multiple rows at a time.

Sighing, you almost felt tired with the exertion of throwing and picking up at rapid paces.

With a responding smack, you frowned when you realized you were the first to lose. “Aw—”

SMACK

You registered the sound before the pain. Clutching your cheek, you could only stare wide-eyed at the man in front of you, who bore the same expression verbatim.

It was silent for a long moment.

Then another.

And another.

Then, he finally unfroze. He stepped forward to caress your face in both of his hands, brows furrowed so tight that you thought he might burst a blood vessel. “Fuck. I'm so, so sorry, my love. That was an accident, I swear that on everything—”

Your resounding giggle cut him off. You held his wrists in a loose grip, face buried in his chest as you uncontrollably laughed at the silliness of the situation. Seo-joon would never actually hurt you with ill intent, this you knew for certain, but the absolute absurdity of him instinctively slapping you after you lost a game of ddakji was probably the funniest thing that had happened to you for months.

Seo-joon’s hands hovered over your shoulders in the meanwhile, unsure of whether to touch you or continue profusely apologizing to you.

“Seo-joon, did you and your friends slap each other as punishment?” You managed to wheeze out through your laughs.

His completely tensed up body loosened slightly after you said that. He sighed one long and extremely grateful sigh. “Yeah, something like that.” He said vaguely. “Are you okay?” He lifted your face up to inspect it closely, the mark left behind already fading in both appearance and pain.

You bit your cheek at his cute consideration, kissing his nose and lips after running your hands through his once neat hair. “I'm just fine. That was fun, we could keep going—”

“Absolutely not.” He said firmly, though he let a slightly amused exhale leave his lungs.

You only snorted, kissing the apple of his cheek and tugging him to the bedroom. “Come on, it's not like you've never slapped me before.”

It was his turn to be completely stunned and silent.

Listening to Guilty Pleasure and After Midnight by Chappell Roan im so hooked

this was amusing to write, sorry it's pretty short aha