#it doesn’t have everything sure but it has some stuff

[traveler-at-heart]

Doctor's In - Part 12

Summary: Wanda deals with the aftermath of your breakup.

A/N: This chapter is focused on Wanda. Big thanks to @a-cat-on-titan for an idea that made it on a part of the fic :)

Aint no mountain high enough

Ain’t no valley low enough

“Ain’t no river wiiideee enoough” Wanda dances around the kitchen, singing.

It’s never quiet around the house. There’s always music, or drilling or hammering. Because she’s taken into making (badly built) furniture. And pottery. And yoga.

To anyone else, it may seem like Wanda’s living her best life.

But Pietro’s not just anyone.

His sister is running away from her feelings, keeping herself busy just so she doesn’t have time to miss you.

“Oh, morning. Want anything for breakfast?”

“I’ll make something later, thank you” he refuses the offer, feeling better and finding his movements to be more confident after another month in physical therapuy. “How did you sleep?”

“Children, we’re late for school!” Wanda ignores him. That’s the one thing she can’t do. Sleep. She’ll rest for a few hours, but as soon as everyone’s asleep, Wanda gets too anxious. Her only solution is to put on a pair of headphones and paint or do pottery or anything else until it’s 3 am and she’s too tired to think.

Or dream.

“Billy, where is your soccer bag? You boys have practice after school!” Wanda says, trying to look for it. Kids, always misplacing everything.

“I don’t wanna go to soccer anymore! I already told you” he protests. Pietro looks up, prepared for another argument.

It’s been happening since you left.

“Sweetheart, you love soccer!”

“No, I don’t! I only liked it because Y/N helped me practice during the weekends and it was fun. I’m not going anymore”

With that, he leaves the house and heads straight to the car, slamming the door. Wanda knows he’ll be crying on the way to school and will refuse to hug her goodbye, the same way he’s done every day for the past month.

“Tommy, grab your stuff” the woman says, trying to pretend everything’s fine.

Unfortunately for her, the twins don’t let her pretend, showing how hurt they are and how much they miss you.

It’s just a phase.

“I have a meeting with Laura, I’ll come back later” she says goodbye to Pietro, hoping the car ride can be a bit better.

“Ok” is all he says, frowning.

There’s only one way to fix this. He just hopes his sister will find a way to forgive him after finding out what he did.

—

Laura is waiting with coffee and some biscuits. She’s always looking at Wanda anxiously, waiting for the moment that everything will finally collapse and she’ll feel all the things she’s avoiding.

So far, nothing.

“Hey! Oh, the boys are being so difficult lately. How did you manage with Cooper?” Wanda always walks in with a monologue ready, which never gives Laura the chance to ask her how she’s doing.

“I don’t know. I mean I don’t think that was a difficult age for him” she grimaces, thinking whether or not to tell Wanda this has nothing to do with age, and everything to do with her breakup.

“Is this the book? Oh my God, it looks amazing!” she changes the topic, knowing where the conversation is headed. As she opens to read the first pages, her smile fades. “Well, we need to get rid of that”

That as in, the dedication. The words that were written for you. Because you helped with the book, with taking care of the kids, with encouraging Wanda.

This was supposed to be a gift for you. Like the first book Wanda ever wrote, and she dedicated to the twins. And so on with every one of her family members.

You were the last piece of the puzzle. And she had hoped that someday she’d dedicate the next one to a baby girl. A daughter that looked just like you.

“Wanda…” Laura says, noticing the cracks in her friend’s perfect facade.

“Anyway! I have to go do some grocery shopping. I’m making coq au vin tonight”

“Do the kids eat that?”

“Sure!”

Of course they don’t. But chicken is too fast and she needs to be distracted and have a lot of dishes to clean and keep her mind occupied.

“Well, this is a first prototype. Once I speak with the publishing company we’ll get a date for the release” Laura says. “Hey, are you sure you’re ok?”

“Never been better” Wanda lies. “See you later, Laura”

Of course, the trip to the grocery store is not enough to calm her, not when there’s a woman wearing scrubs, looking exhausted and trying to figure out which baking powder is better.

“This one’s good if you want to bake cookies” she says, finding it hard to look away. “Sorry, you didn’t ask”

“No, that’s fine. Appreciate it” the woman nods, grabbing the one Wanda suggested and walking to another woman that is also wearing scrubs. They chat as they walk to the register.

Now Wanda regrets talking to them. What if they used to work with you? What if they tell everyone they saw her and she was being a weirdo talking to them first?

Worried about running into someone else, she hurries up with the shopping, and practically sprints to her car.

It takes her a few minutes to calm down. She forgets about the radio, until it begins playing.

One of your songs.

Wanda doesn’t have time to change the station, getting a call. She doesn’t really notice who it’s from, wishing nothing more than to disappear.

“Miss Maximoff? This is Tommy’s teacher”

Ok, that will distract her for sure.

“Is he ok? Are he and Billy…?”

“We’re gonna need you to come to the principal’s office, please”

—

A fight.

His sweet, wonderful boy getting into a fight. Well, that was a lie. And no one was going to mess with Wanda’s children.

“Sweetheart?” she approaches her boy, sitting outside the Principal’s office. His clothes are dirty, and his hair is full of weeds. “Who did this to you?”

“Miss Maximoff” Principal Coleman says, ushering her inside. “Please, sit down. I know this is pretty much new to you. Your kids have good grades, the teachers love them… but I’m sorry to tell you Tommy got into a fight today”

“Oh, but… he is the sweetest kid. I just can’t imagine him hurting anyone”

“Well, according to Daniel, Tommy was the one who started it” the Principal says, leaning back in her chair.

“Ok, why don’t we ask Tommy about it? Hear his side of the story”

“I already did but if you’d like to, be my guest” the woman says, standing up to open the door for Tommy. “Go on, tell your mom what you told me”

“I started the fight” Tommy mutters, looking at his feet. “I’m sorry”

“Are you ok? And Daniel?”

“Daniel only got a scratch on his arm. Look, this is a first time incident and Daniel’s parents were very understanding, so I’ll let you take the kids home and figure this out. But if it happens again…”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Principal Coleman. And you said, to take both kids?”

“Yeah, Billy’s pretty upset about it” the Principal says, opening the door for them. “He’s at the library waiting for you”

Wanda walks next to her son, her mind racing. This has never happened, there must a logical explanation. She tries to keep her cool, but when she sees Billy sitting at the library, pulling nervously at his hair, she feels like a girl again, lost and confused.

She doesn’t know what to do or how to make things better.

“Billy, let’s go home” she says, waiting for him to walk out. The boy avoids her eyes, rushing past them and running straight to the exit.

“Mom” Tommy says, but she’s too overwhelmed.

“Later, Tommy”

The ride home is silent. Wanda doesn’t even play music, holding on to the wheel until her knuckles turn white.

You’d know what to do to make it better.

But now you’re gone.

She barely has time to park before Billy runs out of the car, opening the door and going upstairs.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Wanda says, still in the driver’s seat. Tommy looks away, shrugging his shoulders.

“Daniel was mean”

“That’s not an excuse to hit someone, you know better than that, Tommy” she scolds him. “You’re grounded, go to your room. We’ll talk about this later”

He steps out, his head down. Wanda is waiting for him to walk inside the house when she sees a woman with short, gray hair inspecting her garden.

“Hello. Can I help you?” Wanda says, clearly on edge. She’s not in the mood for any more surprises today.

And as the woman turns around, her jaw drops.

“Mom!”

“Hello, dear”

“Grandma!” Tommy runs back to her. “It’s you!”

“Oh, my! Look at you, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you! You’re so tall” the woman says, hugging her grandson. “Where’s your brother? Did you leave school early?”

“Uh… let’s all get inside. Tommy, tell your brother to come back down, please” Wanda interrupts, knowing she’ll get unwanted advice about parenting as soon as her mother knows what happened at school today. “So, how… I mean when…”

“Mama, I hope your flight was good” Pietro walks up to the door, wrapping his mother in a hug.

“You knew she was coming” Wanda says, feeling her blood boiling.

That little Mama’s boy.

“Don’t make a fuss, Wanda” their mother scolds. “I’m just here to help. And I won’t be staying in your house, your neighbor rents a room down the street. Mrs. Davies, you probably know her”

“Yeah, of course I do” she answers, but her mother is already walking inside, inspecting Pietro.

“Now, how’s recovery? You look so thin, bratan. Oh! You got a dog!” the woman exclaims, Sparky running around her.

This is so not how she expected her day to go at all.

—

Wanda’s not allowed in the kitchen while her mother cooks, and she can’t clean either because that was the first thing Ekaterina Maximoff did as soon as she set foot in the house.

The list of things she can do to get distracted is drastically reduced, so she locks herself in her study, pretending to sketch.

But all she can think about is you.

This is exactly why she doesn’t like to have free time. The memories of how you filled every part of the house with laughter and love are just waiting around the corner to remind Wanda how badly she messed up.

She decides to check on the twins, who should be done with their homework around this time.

But only Billy’s in his bed, playing with a Rubik’s cube you gave him.

“Hey” Wanda says, as she opens the door. “Mind if I sit?”

Billy just shrugs his shoulders, eyes focused on the different colors of the puzzle.

“Wanna tell me what happened in school? Did Tommy really start the fight?”

Billy sighs, and then looks up.

“Daniel said some mean things. Like…”

“Like… sweetheart, you can tell me anything, I promise. I just want to understand what happened” Wanda reassures him, squeezing his hand.

“Daniel said he heard his dad talking about you and Y/N. How it wasn’t right that you were with her and that he was happy she was gone. And then… he said maybe now that Y/N wasn’t around I…” Billy covers his eyes, trying to hide the fact he’s crying.

“Come here” Wanda comforts him, her heart breaking. She’s sorry to say this, but she doesn’t blame Tommy for getting into a fight with Daniel, not after he said all those horrible things.

“He said that now that Y/N’s gone I was going to stop being a weirdo”

“My sweet boy, I am so sorry” Wanda says, kissing the top of his head. “What Daniel said is not ok and his father should teach him better. I promise you I will talk to him about it”

“Don’t be mad at Tommy, he was just upset” Billy asks, wiping the tears. “He misses Y/N and so do I”

“It’s ok” Wanda hugs her baby boy, rubbing his back in a soothing motion. She feels Billy relax against her, hugging her like he used to do before you left.

Correction.

Before Wanda kicked you out.

“Do you miss her?” he asks, his voice small. He knows his mother doesn’t want to talk about you. It upsets her too much.

“Of course I do”

“It’s just… it feels like you don’t care, Mama. Like you don’t even remember her at all” Billy says, crying more.

“I know. I’m not the best at this, darling. I guess I just miss her so much it hurts, and I rather not think about it at all. It’s a silly thing grown ups do”

“Do you know if she’s ok?”

“I think so. I hope so”

“Do you think she misses us too?”

“I’m sure she misses you and Tommy and Sparky”

Truth is, Wanda isn’t sure you have any love left for her. Not enough to miss her, at least.

—

The food tastes like home. Like the summers in the country side, or the cold days of winter where Wanda played with Pietro until Mama called them home for a dinner of warm soup and bread.

“Delicious” Pietro comments after the first bite and Wanda nods.

“I can never get the sauce for the Chkmeruli right” Wanda says, trying to figure out the missing ingredient. “Your is so much better, just like grandma’s”

“I’ll teach you how to get it right” Ekaterina promises. “The secret is in the amount of ingredients. And something that we’re not telling anyone else”

“Alright” Wanda nods.

“Now, boys. Tell me all about school. And your hobbies. Do you play videogames?”

Wanda watches her family interact, laughing at certain things, and looking at her mother with fascination.

There’s a certain guilt that takes over when she understands she wasted three years of her life for something that could have been solved with an honest conversation.

One day, her mother will be gone and she’ll regret not having spent more time with her.

There’s also another regret in the back of her mind.

She wishes you had met her mother.

“Excuse me for a moment” she says, standing up from the table and walking to the bathroom. She covers her mouth to stop from sobbing, but there are tears in her eyes and a weight in her stomach that doesn’t let her sleep or eat or live.

Wanda fucked up so badly and now she’ll never see you again.

“Oh, God” she says, trying to breath, and fix her makeup. She can’t let the boys see her like this.

It’s been an overwhelming day, that’s all.

I’m fine.

“Is everyone done? I’m cleaning the kitchen” she says as soon as she comes back, picking up the plates and rushing past her family.

The cleaning keeps her hands busy and mind at ease, but she's still humming a song, just to focus on something that isn’t those awful thoughts she just had.

“I’m sorry” Pietro says, walking with the help of his cane. “I know it feels like an ambush, and I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but you’re not ok. The kids are always fighting with you, you do everything but talk about what happened and Y/N’s stuff are still in the garage. Maybe… fixing things with Mama can give you some perspective. I don’t know. I’m a burden most of the time, without being able to walk or do more around here. I just wanted to help”

Wanda keeps cleaning, never turning around to ackowledge her brother. He sighs, scratching the back of his head and turning to leave the kitchen.

“You’ll never be a burden, Pietro” is all Wanda says, finally turning to look at him. He smiles.

“Try to get some rest”

“You too”

“Oh, and Daniel definitely deserved to get his ass kicked”

“I agree” Wanda laughs. “Don’t tell the kids, though”

Pietro makes a motion, as if sealing his lips.

Their mom walks to hug him, saying goodbye for the day.

“You can sleep in my room, I can take the couch” Wanda offers.

“None of that. Mrs. Davies is excited over her very first guest and I won’t be the one to disappoint that sweet woman. Get some rest. Tomorrow I’m making borsch”

“You don’t have to cook, I can handle it”

“Of course I have to. Your brother needs to gain some weight!” the woman says, kissing her daughter in both cheeks. She says something in Sokovian about her children eating all that American food, walking out to Mrs. Davies house.

Wanda’s done with cleaning, and she goes upstairs to say goodnight to the kids.

“Hey. You’re not grounded. Ok?” Wanda says when Billy falls asleep, looking at Tommy. “Thank you for looking after your brother”

“I am older by ten minutes” he says, like Pietro always does. Wanda smiles, kissing his forehead.

“Sleep well, sweet boy”

And as she walks to her room, that feels so empty ever since that night one month ago, Wanda’s not sure how long she can handle pretending that one day, your abscence won’t hurt as much.

—

She could fix this.

You always fixed things.

Wanda had gotten the message. You disappeared, no calls or texts, not even to let her know where you were staying.

And when she tried to reach out, you never answered.

But now she was worried and scared, and most of all, sorry for the things she had said to you.

Wanda needed to apologize, to tell you how much she loved you.

But even if that was the only thing on her mind, she was standing outside the hospital, trying to gather the courage to come in.

“Wanda” a voice said behind her. Although it was familiar, Wanda was disappointed when she turned around and saw Carol Danvers.

“Hey… I was just… I was looking for Y/N”

“Oh. Uh… you haven’t heard?” Carol stumbled with her words, caught completely off guard.

“Heard what? Is Y/N ok?” Wanda’s heart began to race… maybe you were injured and it was exactly why you hadn’t replied to any of her messages, or answered the phone when she called.

“Yeah, uh… oh, crap” Carol looked over Wanda’s shoulder. “If I were you I’d run back to my car”

“What?” Wanda turned around, her eyes meeting Darcy’s.

“You!” the brunette barked, walking faster. “You’re about to find out why I got banned from lacrosse in college, Maximoff”

“Let’s calm down” Carol asked, stepping between the two of them.

“No! I will not calm down. I hope you’re proud of yourself, Wanda. You told Y/N everything she’s always been afraid of hearing. That you can’t trust her or the 'we’ll be better without you', fucking fantastic, really!”

“Darcy, come on, we should get back inside” Carol said, pleading with Maria to help her. But Darcy was not done.

“All this bullshit of making her move in with you and be a family for what? To kick her out just because you had a shitty day? Because she was saving a life?”

“I just… I know I screwed up, but if I could just talk to her…”

“Well, for that you’d have to get on a plane to Boston. Because Y/N quit” Darcy said, amused at Wanda’s shocked expression. “Yeah, my best friend left without a second thought because of you. Way to screw over everyone, Wanda”

“I didn’t want this to happen”

“That’s not good enough, unfortunately. You got lucky, because Danver’s here. But I’m being serious, if I see you again I’m gonna make an even bigger scene”

Maria went after Darcy, who was clearly pissed off, leaving Carol and Wanda outside of the hospital.

“Do you know if she’s ok?” Wanda asked, looking down.

“She doesn’t answer anyone’s calls or texts, Wanda. All I know is she quit one week ago and got on a plane to Boston”

“Right… Well, I better go” she said, biting her lip. “Thanks for keeping Darcy from killing me”

“Yeah, we’re understaffed with Y/N gone. So I can’t really let Darcy get arrested” Carol joked, though it was also one way of reminding Wanda her actions had impacted a whole group of people outside of her.

“See you” Wanda nodded, walking fast to her car. Chief Fury almost clashed against her, as Wanda was looking anywhere but the path in front of her.

“I’m sorry”

“Bet you are” the man grumbled, walking to the hospital.

Even another man in a motorcycle couldn’t keep from staring at Wanda, his blue eyes cold as ice.

So, Wanda got on her car, and left without lookig back.

She lost you. Forever.

—-

“Morning” a very upbeat voice speaks as Ekaterina walks down the stairs.

“Morning, Mrs. Davies” she says, smiling.

“Oh, please, call me Sharon. Would you like some coffee?”

“I’ll take some tea”

“Of course. Very healthy!” the woman says, getting everything ready. Ekaterina takes a moment to look around, admiring all the plants in the room and the flower wallpaper.

“Are you a gardener?”

“Only for fun” Sharon says, putting some biscuits in a plate. “Can I just say, I love your accent?”

Ekaterina smiles, but keeps from answering that. Though people were nice about it, she knew others had always been critical of her for not learning “proper” English when her family moved to America.

Which is why she was happy to return to Sokovia when things settled. The US was never her home, even if it was for her children.

“Was the family happy to see you?”

“Oh, yes. Especially my daughter” Ekaterina jokes, though it flies over Sharon’s head. Of course she doesn’t know that they have a complicated relationship. “I do hope she has been a good neighbor to you. I raised her to be kind”

“Oh, she’s great. Always baking stuff for everyone, the kids are very polite and well behaved too. She’s a great girl, just as Y/N. They were good together. I hope Y/N is doing ok” Sharon says, pouring every single detail that Ekaterina wanted to know.

Well, seems like it’s gonna be easier than she thought.

“Yes, this Y/N girl. Can you tell me more about her?” she says in a casual tone, and Sharon is happy to talk about you.

“Well, she moved to the neighborhood like two years ago. She’s a surgeon, always working. Honestly, very quiet but very nice. One time I fell in the sidewalk and she slept in the couch just to make sure someone was around in case I needed something”

Very impressive. It was the kind of thing that would make Ekaterina approve of anyone dating her children.

“And she was with Wanda?”

“Well… I’m not sure I should talk about this” Sharon hesitates for the first time.

“I’m just curious, as a mother…”

Ah, the mother card.

It works so well.

“Of course, you’re right! It’s not like I’ll tell you things you can’t figure out on your own” Sharon laughs, thinking of everything she remembers. “Well, Y/N lived across the street from Wanda, which is probably how they started talking. You know, young people understand each other better than us”

“So they were together?”

“Yes, I think Agatha saw them almost a year ago… on a date or something. And then, it was kinda nice to see Y/N around a bit more. Ya know, it was obvious she was spending more time at home, to help with the boys. They adore her. Always running around with her, playing. It was nice to see them all be a family” Sharon’s enthusiasm dies down.

“And then?”

“Humm” she says, sighing. “I honestly don’t know. The last time I saw Y/N she was walking out of the house and she got into her car. She didn’t have any bags or anything, so I just assumed she was going to the hospital… but then she never came back”

“And you have no idea what happened?” Ekaterina pushes forward, curious to check if the woman’s being honest.

“No, I’m sorry”

“Mudak”

“Oh, can I ask what that word means?” Sharon says, smiling. She loves learning new words.

“It means motherfucker” Ekaterina answers, her accent heavy.

“Wow, ok” Sharon giggles nervously. “You know who could have that information? Agatha. Yeah, her girlfriend works at the hospital. She’s kinda scary”

“Agatha or her girlfriend?”

“Both, definitely both”

“How can I speak to them?” Ekaterina says, trying to piece everything together.

She can manage scary. Especially when she’s looking for answers.

—

Billy’s in a mood again. He didn’t want to go to school, and he’s still refusing to go to soccer practice.

“Daniel’s gonna keep annoying me” he mutters.

“I will speak with his father today” Wanda says, driving them both to school. “I’m sure it’s gonna be fine, sweetheart”

“Y/N would kick his ass” Billy says in a low voice, but Wanda still hears.

“Don’t speak like that. And violence is not the answer”

“Yeah, well, Daniel’s a jerk, his dad too and I want to talk to Y/N. She’s the only one that can make everything right again”

“Enough!” Wanda shouts, pulling up to drop them off. “Y/N’s not coming back. You hear me? She’s gone. We don’t need her, we’ve been fine on our own our whole lives”

“You’re lying. I hate you” he says, running out of the car.

Wanda’s speechless.

This is the first time she’s had a fight with her sweet boys. The first time they’ve been mean or said something to hurt her.

She was expecting this as they got old, maybe 13. But now?

“Bye, Mom” Tommy says, walking after his brother. He’s nervous too. He knows he can’t get into any more trouble or he might get suspended, but Daniel’s not the nicest kid.

“Oh, damn it” she looks behind her to notice Billy left his lunch. “Kids!”

“Hey, Wanda” Richard calls for her. “Heard our guys had a little fight. I was hoping we could talk about it. Maybe over dinner?”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. Is he really flirting right now?

“Yeah, I should actually…”

“No need to apologize, boys will be boys, right?”

“Apologize?” Wanda tilts her head, the way she always does when she’s pissed. “I wasn’t planning on doing that. And neither is Tommy”

“Well, he started the fight”

“No, Daniel was repeating the stupid things you say. Like how it’s wrong for two women to date. And he also insulted Billy” Wanda says, crossing her arms. “The way I see it, it’s the proverbial talk shit, get hit”

“Wow, ok, no need to get emotional”

“No, I’m not emotional. I’m just saying, if you ever say anything bad about Y/N or my kids and I get wind of it, I’m running you over with my car. See ya, Dick”

Fucking asshole.

Wanda can practically hear you say those words. Though you’d be a lot scarier, telling him all the ways in which he could get hurt using medical terms he wouldn’t even begin to understand.

You’d never let anything bad happen to your family.

Wanda decides to play the loudest music on the way back home. Yes, death metal from her emo phase -something you’d tease her for relentlessly before-.

As she pulls over in the driveway, her mother knocks on the window, making Wanda jump.

“Why are you still listening to that devil music? I thought that phase was over!”

“Mom!”

“Are you ok?”

“Fine”

“Yeah, I can tell”

“Ok, I don’t have time for this, I need to drive Pietro to rehab. Do you need anything from the store?”

“Yes, many things! Like actual paprikash. I can’t believe you buy US made. That’s why you can’t get the food right”

“Seriously?”

“Settle down, you two” Pietro asks, coming out of the house. It was a fun time, being a teenager and hearing his sister and mother argue over every single thing. They’re too much alike, that’s the only problem.

“Anyways, I will go to store, Sharon is letting me drive her car”

“Ok, does she know about the time you almost destroyed a McDonald’s with Papa’s car?”

“He said drive through, so I did!”

“Yeah, through the wall” Pietro laughs, earning a slap on the back of the head from his mother.

“You, go to your thing. And I’m picking up Billy from school today. He doesn’t want to go do soccer, so we’re going to get ice cream” Ekaterina says casually.

“It’s not optional for him! I’m the mom here”

“Just for a day. I hardly think it will affect him if he doesn’t run around like dog after a ball. Take Sparky instead” the woman says.

Wanda wants to scream into a pillow.

—

Ekaterina comes back from the store, but instead of parking outside of Wanda’s, she leaves the car right outside of Agatha’s home.

The investigation continues.

After a knock, a woman with dark, long hair and piercing blue eyes opens the door.

“You the OG Mrs. Maximoff” she greets, standing aside to let her in.

“I don’t know what those words mean. I’m Wanda and Pietro’s mother”

“Ooh, I love the accent. I love learning languages. My girlfriend is teaching me Spanish”

Before Ekaterina can answer, there’s a frantic knock, and Sharon walks inside the minute Agatha opens the door.

“I hope I’m not too late”

“I didn’t know we were having a party” Agatha says. She doesn’t really like visitors, and Mrs. Davies' enthusiasm and corny jokes are an acquired taste.

“Alright. What do you want to know?” Agatha leans back in her chair, intrigued by the woman.

Why not just ask her own daughter? Though, considering how Wanda’s been acting, she’ll probably refuse to answer any questions about it.

“Why did Y/N leave? Where did she go?”

“Ok, so… I need a minute because Rio was telling me everything in Spanish so I could learn. You know, using gossip as motivation” Agatha massages her temples, trying to remember everything. “Ok, there was a new doctor, something, something, cheating, slapping, break up”

“What?” Ekaterina says. “Are you saying that woman slapped my daughter?”

“No! Well, I don’t think so. Ah, screw it! Amor!” Agatha shouts, calling for Rio. “Ponte ropa y baja a contarles el chisme”

“Está bien” a voice says. A few minutes later, another woman joins them in the living room, wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

“You called?”

“Ok, so I kinda lied when I said I understood everything you said in Spanish. I do remember the name Natasha. And something about a kiss” Agatha smiles, and Rio can’t really stay mad when her girlfriend is looking all cute.

“So, a few months ago, Natasha Romanoff came to the hospital to teach a method developed by her mother. The Romanoffs are a very wealthy, very famous family of doctors. And everyone in the hospital kinda noticed that Natasha was flirting with Y/N”

“Did Y/N flirt back? Was she cheating on my daughter?”

“I meaaan, 50/50. The hospital was split. Some people believed that she was just being nice and others thought there were feelings involved”

“What do you think?” Ekaterina presses.

“I think Y/N was just being flirty but she never meant for anything else to happen. She’s just naturally personable. Even she can manage to make me laugh from time to time. So, I don’t know. There was a rumor that Natasha kissed her once or was trying to talk her into breaking up with Wanda… which, I guess has some truth to it, considering Y/N moved to Boston to work for the Romanoffs”

“I’m sorry, then who slapped who?” Mrs. Davies asks, confused.

“Oh, Y/N’s mother outside the hospital, but that's not related to Wanda. Darcy told me that woman is awful. Used to put Y/N through hell when she was a kid”

“Yeah, I know the feeling” Agatha mumbles and Rio places her hand on her shoulder, comforting her.

“I don’t like this Y/N” Ekaterina decides. “She was weak and got my family hurt”

“I don’t think that’s exactly accurate…” Agatha says, feeling the need to defend you. She knows you, and you’d never do anything to hurt Wanda. Not on purpose. “Look, I was looking for my bunny that night. Little shit likes to escape out of the blue. Wanda was the one who ended things. I heard that loud and clear. And yes, it seems messy, but I don’t think it’s fair to blame it all on someone”

“Yeah, Y/N really loved the kids and took care of Wanda” Sharon insists. Ekaterina sighs, crossing her arms.

“I don’t suppose anyone knows how to get in touch with Y/N”

Agatha, Rio and Sharon share a look.

“I could try” Rio offers, thinking Darcy might be in touch with you.

“Thank you. Now I go to pick up Billy from school. I appreciate your help”

“I actually need the car for a bit” Sharon asks, but the woman is already gone. “Oh, well”

—

True to her word, Ekaterina picked up Billy from school, while Tommy was supposed to ride with Sharon and her kid to soccer.

Wanda wasn’t really looking forward to practice today, in case Richard was there.

Thankfully, it seemed like Daniel was here with his mother, but Wanda’s stomach dropped when Susan walked up to her.

“Wanda, can we talk for a sec?”

“Yeah, sure”

They walked away from the rest of the parents.

“Look, I know what Daniel said and I already talked to him about it. He’ll apologize to Tommy and Billy, but I wanted to tell you personally how asahmed I am. Those awful things are all Richard and I really don’t want Daniel to be like his father”

“Oh… wow. I don’t know what to say” Wanda laughs, relieved. “Your ex had a very different approach to this whole situation”

“I know, he’s an asshole”

Both women laugh at that.

“I was going to say, he can speak to Tommy after practice, but I haven’t seen him today. Or Billy”

“Oh, Billy’s with my mother. But Sharon picked up Tommy…” though when Wanda looks around the field, she doesn’t see her son. Spotting Sharon, she runs up to her. “Hey, Tommy rode with you, right?”

“What? Wanda, he said he was feeling ill and that you were going to pick him up”

“No, that never… I-I don’t have any missed calls. No one from school told me anything. Shit!” she curses, her hands shaking. Her mother takes forever to pick up the phone. “Is Tommy with you? No, I know Billy’s there. What about Tommy? Ok, I don’t have time to explain, meet me at home now”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think to call you” Sharon says.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine” Wanda repeats, trying to calm herself.

Her first instinct is to call you.

But then she has to think really hard on what to do, so she calls Pietro to make sure Tommy isn’t home by some weird miracle. Should she call the cops? The fire department?

Clint, he will know what to do.

“Ok, I’ll meet you at your house, it’s gonna be fine” Clint says.

“You good to drive?” Susan says, walking Wanda to the car.

“Yes. I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding and Tommy’s in his room playing videogames”

“Well, ok, if you need anything here’s my number” the woman says.

Wanda goes over everything that could have happened. Tommy likes to visit the library, the park on Fullton street, the comic book store…

Clint’s already there when she gets home, and Ekaterina parks a second later.

“Billy, come here” Wanda kneels to look at her son. “Did Tommy tell you anything? Was he going somewhere?”

Billy shakes his head no, and Wanda insists.

“Sweetheart, are you sure? I promise I won’t be mad”

“I don’t know, I swear”

“Alright, I just spoke to my friend at the station. They’re gonna start looking for him. Pietro should stay here in case Tommy comes back or someone calls home. The rest of us could split and check places we know he frequents” Clint says.

“Billy, stay with uncle Pietro” Wanda asks. The boy nods, walking up the stairs to meet his uncle, who puts his arm around his shoulders.

“I’ll go to the arcade” Clint offers. “Ask if anyone’s seen him”

“We’ll go to the park” Wanda nods, waiting for her mother to join her in the car. She can’t even begin to understand what’s happening.

Wanda doesn’t know what to do, but she has to remain calm, because her son needs her.

—

Tommy’s begining to think this is a bad idea. He doesn’t have a lot of money and he doesn’t have a clue on what bus will take him to Boston.

He should be at soccer practice now.

He finds a cafeteria not far from school, and goes inside hoping he can get some free water.

“You alone, sweetheart?” the waitress says, concerned.

“No, my mom is in the bathroom” he lies and the woman doesn’t seem entirely convinced. Either way, she leaves him alone. Tommy takes the time to dig in his backpack for some extra coins that might be in there.

Instead he finds a letter and a couple of pins.

After reading it, he walks up to the waitress and finally tells the truth.

“I ran away. Can you help me find my mom?”

“Of course, sweetheart”

—-

“Where should we go?” her mother asks, and Wanda points in the direction of the lake.

“He liked to feed the ducks with Y/N”

“Ok, then”

They walk in silence, Wanda’s thoughts racing until her mother speaks.

“I lost you once. You were four or five, maybe, and we were at the market. While your brother picked out the apples, you decided to run after a chicken. And I was so scared, calling for you in the sea of people”

“Yeah. It’s an awful feeling” Wanda says, wiping away the tears.

They walk around the park for ten minutes before deciding he’s not here. Tommy’s nowhere to be found. He’s a ten year old, for God’s sake, where on Earth could he be?

Before she has time to think it twice, Wanda picks up the phone and dials your number.

“Hello?”

That’s not your voice.

It’s Natasha’s.

Wanda hangs up, and adds this to the list of shitty things that have happened to her in the span of two days.

“Mom, I can’t!” she finally breaks down. “I don’t know how to fix this. I miss her so much and I ruined everything and she’s never coming back. And now my boys hate me and I have nothing. All because I was so stuck in the past. And I lost her”

“Breathe. Breathe for me” Ekaterina pulls her daughter into a hug, while Wanda’s body shakes with the strenght of her sobs. “It’s ok. It will be ok”

“It doesn’t feel like it”

“Trust me” she says, waiting until Wanda calms down. After a few minutes, she wipes her tears and looks at her mother. Wanda’s about to say something else when her phone rings again.

“Oh, it’s Clint. Hello? Yes, where? Ok, send me the address and I’ll be right there” she hangs up, sprinting to the car. “He’s at a cafeteria not far from school”

“Thank God”

It’s only a five minute drive but to Wanda it feels like an eternity. As soon as she parks, she spots Tommy sitting at the counter, drinking a milkshake while a waitress talks to him, trying to ease his nerves.

“Is that your mom?” the woman says when Wanda gets inside. Tommy’s eyes widen, and he runs towards her.

“Mama!”

“Oh, Tommy. I was so worried about you”

“I’m sorry”

“It’s ok. I’m just happy you’re safe. Let’s go home”

—

The kids are safely tucked in bed, and Wanda’s having a glass of wine in the kitchen. She’d drink something stronger if she had anything at all.

Her mind goes back to the fact Natasha picked up your phone.

It doesn’t mean you’re with her. And even if you were, Wanda was the one that broke up with you.

Then why did it hurt so much to think you’d already moved on?

With a sigh, she goes up the stairs. Wanda can’t help but go into her children’s room, just to make sure they’re both safe.

When she asked Tommy what happened, he just said he wanted to go and see you. But then he changed his mind when he found something in his backpack. Though he wouldn’t tell Wanda what it was.

As the woman walks up to her children, she notices a letter tucked under Tommy’s pillow.

Could this be the thing he found?

Billy and Tommy,

Hey kiddos. This isn’t something I’m happy about and I never really wanted to write a letter like this one.

You might not see me anymore. I know it sucks, because I promised I’d take you to the state fair and Universal Studios when the school year was over.

The thing is, sometimes grown ups have a lot of complicated things going on. Sometimes things don’t work out no matter how much we try.

Be good to your mom, ok? If you miss me and want me to be less worried about you, just promise me you’ll love her extra for me. You are her biggest treasure and she’s such a great mom. Don’t forget you’re all each other have.

PS - I’m leaving my lucky pins with you. Please take care of them for me.

Love you three,

Y/N

Of course.

Of course it was you.

Even if you were thousand of miles away, you had found a way to help Wanda and keep her family safe.

Now she won’t be able to sleep at all, so she goes downstairs to the garage, full of boxes with your clothes and books.

For the first time since you left, Wanda allows herself to look at everything you left behind, and everything you did. The smallest things, like how you always forget to wear glasses to read, and you end up with a frown. Sunday’s crossword puzzle, always discarded. It’s not that you don’t finish it, the opposite. You know the answers to everything so fast that writing them is a waste of time.

Wanda pulls out your college sweatshirt, hugging it tight against her chest.

She misses you, so much it hurts.

As she puts on the sweatshirt, Wanda folds the sleeves, slightly long for her shorter arms.

When she’s about to close the box, she sees it.

A small box. For a ring.

An engagement ring.

She let’s out a gasp as she opens it.

You were proposing.

And all Wanda did was question your committment and your love for her and the children.

I’m such an idiot.

She doesn’t have much time to wallow, though. Wanda’s phone rings, and her mouth goes dry when she reads the name on the screen.

You.

Looking between her phone and the ring, Wanda doesn’t know what to do.

Should she tell you she found the ring?

Would it make a difference at all?

[kkentobox]

you’re an amazing writer!

sfw abc’s?

feel free to delete, no pressure!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀SFW ABC LIST! W/ JSCHLATT.

author’s note: thank you so much, my love! i hope i did you proud with this one <3 we got a gender neutral reader here! we also have a ted nivison nsfw and sfw abc list coming soon 😼 reblogs & likes are always appreciated! remember, do not steal or plagiarize any work belonging to kkentobox !

A + AFFECTION —- how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt’s love languages are acts of service and quality time, i said what i said !! his affection always seems to revolve around those two, with the sprinkle of physical touch. he’ll tie your shoe laces when they come undone without a word. he’ll surprise you with a food and binge watch your favorite shows. he’ll take candid photos of you with the cameras he always carries. he’ll carry you with ease if you’re tired after walking too long. he’ll give you his phone without a worry as to why you want it. his actions say a lot more than he could ever express with words.

B + BEST FRIEND —- what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?

⠀⠀⠀⠀the friendship definitely forms through social media and from the beginning he’d be a pain in the ass. from spamming your phone at late hours with videos or teasing you about literally anything you do, especially if you’re a content creator. he’s definitely someone you can rely on during tough times and someone you can immediately go to when things don’t work out; he’ll be nice enough to offer solutions before comforting you.

C + CUDDLE —- do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt is a huge cuddler! though it took him a while to actually admit and accept it, he physically melts when he’s in your arms. he feels very natural spooning you, but he would never put up a fight to be cuddled by you. whether he’s lying on top of you with his head in your neck or chest or being a little spoon, he’ll have a goofy look on his face.

D + DOMESTIC —- they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt being the classic american he is, does see himself settling down at some point. he doesn’t cook five star meals and has hired people to clean before, but he will step up his game for you if he sees a future with you. you’ll see him put more effort in grocery shopping with you, cleaning up the dishes if you cooked, accidentally getting on cleantok because he searched up helpful tips on cleaning.

E + ENDING —- if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?

⠀⠀⠀⠀he’s a very serious man about stuff like this, but he’d be blunt about it. he wouldn’t drag things on or sugarcoat anything, he’d cut straight to the point and just say what he’s already decided. it would be in the bedroom or living room where he can sit and properly look at you. he’d talk about how he came to the decision, what he’s feeling and apologize for doing it, but not feeling very sorry about it because ultimately it’s how he feels.

F + FIANCE(E) —- how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt is definitely someone who wants to take a relationship slow, he won’t put a ring on your finger in a year of being together. no longer than five years, but no earlier than two years for sure! something about him just gives off a very natural vibe, one where he kinda just lets everything fall into place on their own.

G + GENTLE —- how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

⠀⠀⠀⠀naturally with you, he’s very gentle with his physical touch. brushing your hair? he’s doing his best to not tug too harshly on the strands, kissing and whispering against your head if he accidentally hurt you. helping you with chores? he’ll roll up your sleeves or help you put your hair back. he’ll smooth over your clothes with soft hands in public without saying a word. often placing both of his palms against your cheeks to pucker up your lips, ready to place a lingering kiss.

⠀⠀⠀⠀emotionally, he tries his best to help you understand him. he knows how he is with communication and emotional intelligence, something he’s gotten better at since meeting you. though most of his emotions when it comes to you are always positive, there are moments where they aren’t; during those times, he still won’t take it out on you because he values your own wellbeing.

H + HUGS —- do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?

⠀⠀⠀⠀i KNOW his hugs are the best thing in the world. with how big and broad he is, his body would wrap around yours just perfectly, like it was meant to be held by him. i can actually see him holding you very often in the privacy of your home, his arms lazily wrapped around your waist all the time like they’re glued there. when he’s talking to you, nine times out of ten, he’s all up in your space with a hug.

I + I LOVE YOU —- how fast do they say the L-word?

⠀⠀⠀⠀seeing as how it takes him a while to process and fully understand his emotions, he would definitely take his time with saying the l-word. he would feel it early in the relationship, but would overthink how you actually feel so he’d hold off on saying it for months. he might actually wait until he feels like you guys have reached a serious point in the relationship, but would still end up saying it in a very comfortable environment. maybe snuggled up on the couch watching a movie or getting ready to go out.

J + JEALOUSY —- how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?

⠀⠀⠀⠀with feelings like his, he doesn’t always get jealous because normally you’re very quick to never let anything get to a point where it would make him jealous. but! let’s say he does get jealous for whatever reason, he doesn’t blame you ever. he’ll get a very strong urge to be possessive, give you a big kiss and grope you no matter if you’re in public. there are times where he just kind of wallows and gets quiet, feeling this ugly weight on his chest that doesn’t go away until you’ve given him enough kisses to get his mind off it.

K + KISSES —- what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt’s kisses are always very sweet but firm, just like his love for you! his favorite place to kiss you is your forehead, the habit coming natural to him because of his cats. he seemingly enjoys whenever you press a kiss against his cheek, especially near his chops. there are times in public or for filming purposes when he tends to get a little vulgar with his kisses just to fluster you. on plenty occasions, he’ll open mouth kiss you and hold you tight against him so you won’t move.. those would be my favorite idk about you guys.

L + LITTLE ONES —- how are they around children?

⠀⠀⠀⠀we have all seen how he acts around children, the man is a complete natural when it comes to kids. he’s very gentle, knows how to keep them entertained & is more than capable of keeping up with their attention span. i can definitely see him getting baby fever really bad, but it being cut short if he sees their boogers or something </3

M + MORNINGS —- how are mornings spent with them?

⠀⠀⠀⠀i am a firm believer that he likes to hit the snooze button as many times as he can, always trying to get those last few minutes of sleep in. he’ll hold on tight to you if you like to get up earlier than him, he refuses to let you go so you really have to beg him. his rosy cheeks and sleepy eyes never fail to lure you back in to the cozy bed.

⠀⠀⠀⠀once he’s gotten in those few minutes, he still won’t actually leave the bed until his tired mind realizes you’ve actually left, then he’s quick to get up to find you. mornings are usually when he’s the most clingy, having the tendency of rest his entire body on you even when you’re busy doing something. cooking breakfast? he’s got his arms around you, back flush against his chest as he mumbles into your hair that you should come back to bed. doing work? he’s sitting on the floor beside you so he’s at perfect height to rest his head on your lap.

N + NIGHTS —- how are nights spent with them?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt likes to unwind before bed, what he prefers? watching you from bed as you prepare yourself for the night. attentive eyes memorizing your skincare routine, resting against the headboard as you walk around the room. sometimes when he’s missed you throughout the day, he’ll stand right behind you in the mirror and help you apply everything. holding your hair back rather than letting you tie it up, cleaning up your arms when the water dribbles down them, etc.

⠀⠀⠀⠀when you guys finally end up in bed, there’s quiet mumbles against each other’s skin in the darkness. the final whispers of the other’s day and how it went, what the plans are for tomorrow. i don’t see him taking up too much space on the bed in terms of moving, he prefers to keep himself wrapped around your body and just stays there throughout the night; shifting to your body movement in his slumber.

O + OPEN —- how would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?

⠀⠀⠀⠀privacy is something he values greatly, though he makes connections with people quickly, it takes him a while to reveal personal information. he doesn’t say anything until he truly believes he can trust you, then he’ll become more vulnerable. you’ll take note that he begins to share childhood stories, how he’s feeling mentally, his plans for the future, etc.

P + PATIENCE —- how easily angered are they?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt’s online persona makes it seem like he would be quick to be angry, but i can see him being very patient. depending on the situation, how you guys got here & what the topic is about — he’ll be more calm on trying to have an adult conversation to work past things. however, during the rare moments where he’s more upset, he still wouldn’t dare yell at you, he’ll shut down instead after a couple minutes of arguing. he’s more firm than anything, trying to understand your feelings and thoughts, but if the conversation is leading you guys nowhere; he offers to take a walk with him in silence to gather your thoughts.

Q + QUIZZES —- how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?

⠀⠀⠀⠀you would never guess he actually captures everything you tell him, but he has a very good memory! he’s always bringing up things that you had completely forgot you mentioned to him, like the one shampoo you told him you wanted to try months ago or the new restaurant you wanted to check out once it opened. looking through his notes on his phone, he has quick texts to himself of things you’ve recently mentioned or things he has on his to-do list like buy your cart on the website you’ve had opened for weeks.

R + REMEMBER —- what is their favorite moment in your relationship?

⠀⠀⠀⠀meeting his family is the first memory that comes to mind, being such an important milestone in your relationship that went flawlessly. his parents having loved you the second they opened the door, it warms his heart knowing how quickly you made such a special connection with his parents. he’ll be on the phone with his mother when she suddenly interrupts him asking if you’ve eaten for the day.

S + SECURITY —- how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt can actually be very protective over you, especially if you guys are at an event or around other content creators. of course, he lets you go off on your own to socialize, but he’ll always remain in eyesight to keep a close eye on your surroundings. in public, he likes to keep things minimal by keeping an arm around your shoulder, your arm wrapped around his or his hand on your lower back.

⠀⠀⠀⠀though physical violence would never be his first choice, he can definitely get rowdy if someone is taking things too far. if someone came up to you, being very persistent on taking you home with them, he’s intervene by giving them a “what the fuck are you doing?” look followed by a “they’re not interested, bro.” but if they continued to follow after you is when he’ll lightly shove them away. he does not play about your safety.

⠀⠀⠀⠀he, however, can take care of himself, but wouldn’t mind too much if you defended him. he’d be next to you with a smug look on his face as you spoke, almost proud that you have the courage to speak up for him.

T + TRY —- how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?

⠀⠀⠀⠀he likes to make everything very sentimental rather than go big for everything. he knows you like the back of his hand, so his gifts are always something he knows you’ve love & use every day. the effort he puts into special occasions like anniversaries, birthdays, etc usually means a romantic meal at a fancy jazz restaurant/bar followed by a breathtaking view at an expensive hotel where the gifts are given. he tries his best to always put in sentimental value into everything he does, i am a acts of service schlatt truther!!!

U + UGLY —- what would be some bad habits of theirs?

⠀⠀⠀⠀there are times when he shuts down, whether it be from overworking himself, feeling overwhelmed with his work or feeling like he’s not doing enough. he won’t talk to anyone and just kind of brushes off your questions, a habit only he can take himself out of until he’s ready to talk. he can also get very defensive about his feelings, he sometimes can’t properly explain how he feels because he lacks the words to express himself, which leads him to feeling frustrated.

V + VANITY —- how concerned are they with their looks?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt has said time and time again he doesn’t really do anything to himself. no cologne, no skincare, nothing to actually maintain an appearance aside from haircuts. he genuinely doesn’t care about any of that, which ultimately makes him more attractive that he just wakes up like that. you will always whine to him about how soft his hair or skin is without any effort on his side, just for him to laugh in your face.

W + WHOLE —- would they feel incomplete without you?

⠀⠀⠀⠀incomplete is a very strong word for someone as independent as him. he finds value in himself, knows who he is as a person and has been more than content with being by himself, but if he lost you? he’d miss you immensely, always being in a state of reminiscing what you usually did around the house, yearning for your presence. of course it would take him some time to get over it, to return how he was before, but there will always be a part of him that believes you took a piece of him he will never get back.

X + XTRA —- a random headcanon for them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀the man often carries something of yours. hair ties on his wrist or in his car, your favorite chapstick in his pockets, a polaroid in his wallet, a comfy pair of shoes and one of his old sweaters for you to change into in his trunk, your playlist ready to play on aux, a trinket (sonny angel, calico critter, etc) you’ve gifted him that he carries on his keys. you’re everywhere and he likes it that way.

Y + YUCK —- what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt wouldn’t want to be with someone who has to share their business with everyone. he’s a very private person, so i can imagine him being upset if he had a partner that was constantly telling the world about their arguments or personal information he himself would never put out there. it’s fine if someone is talkative and loves to share, just as long as it’s not going to affect him or the relationship personally. telling your best friend about your recent argument is one thing, telling an entire audience or his closest friends about it is another thing.

Z + ZZZ —- what is a sleep habits of theirs?

⠀⠀⠀⠀schlatt’s body will always find yours. he physically cannot sleep if you’re not snuggled up beside him. if he can’t feel you in his sleep, he’s immediately waking up. if you turn in your sleep, so is he, somehow finding comfortable positions with you while you’re both in mimi land.

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 12 - War Crimes

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic. CW: +18 content MDNI, Sex, PiV sex. AN: Believe it or not this is still a poly fic, I promise.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Farah and Alex stick in the woodline, they’re looking out over the building. You’re not really sure you’re going to need them but at least you have backup if you do. This time Soap showed you how to use the radio. 

“So what did Price say?” You ask as you walk down the farm. 

“They made it across the border, on their way to Volgograd. They’ll be keeping in touch via Laswell.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“CIA contact.” 

“CIA? I thought you were British? What are you doing with the Americans?” 

“We go where we’re needed.” He says with a sigh. You shrug as you make it down to the perimeter wall. Soap swings his weapon over his back and pulls himself up to the top of the wall. 

“C’mon.” He whispers, leaning back down to offer you his hand. You smile and take it, letting him pull you up to the top of the wall. When you’re on the other side you’re behind one of the garages. 

“They store everything in the barn. There’s a loose panel round the back.” You say pointing through the gap between buildings at the massive industrial metal barn. Soap nods, you let him lead skirting round the perimeter of the farm. You use the shadows for cover only moving when you know it’s safe. It doesn’t take you long to reach the barn. 

This is too easy, the place has less staff then you’ve seen before. There are still 2 guards on the front doors of the barn. 

“Farah, how are we looking?” Soap asks into the radio. 

“You’re clear, no movement.” Her voice comes back. Soap looks at you smiling and you push forward hugging the wall as you make it round to the back of the building. Just as you remember there is a loose perplex panel hanging off. Its loud as you move it but you assume the barn is empty on the inside. You’ve been watching it for a few hours before making your move and no one has been going in or out. 

When you duck under the gap you come out into the massive barn. Anything that would have made you think this was a cattle barn has been removed. The place is now full of vehicles, ammo and weapons crates, different types of machinery and missiles. 

You wait for Soap to come through before follow him over to them. They look new, not like the old soviet ones you’re used to seeing. Some of them even have the American flag printed on them, although most of them have been scraped off or painted over. As you walk round the smaller ones you make it to some bigger ones. 

These ones look older, you’re not sure how old though. They’re different then the stuff you’ve ever seen. Soap looks back at you frowning as you follow him over. You walk over to a table with tools on it, there's papers strewn around. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Soap says as his hand runs over one of the missile heads. You look down at the papers, the only thing that sticks out is the yellow and black radiation sign. You swallow hard looking back at the huge missile in front of you. 

“Soap. These-” You’re too shocked to speak. You pick up a piece of paper off the table. “These belong to Makarov.” 

“Farah, the missions off. We’re leaving, there’s nothing we can do here.” Soap says, you can’t tell if he sounds more angry or sad.  

“Why, what's happened? Is the place empty?” She asks. He turns to look at you holding down the button on his radio. 

“No, it’s worse. Makarov has nukes.” 

“Say again?” Alex asks. 

“There’s nuclear warheads here. We can’t do anything without setting them off.” Soap says. You fold the paper up and put it in your pocket. 

“Your exit is still clear. Get out of there.” It's almost like she had no emotions about the whole thing. 

“Wait.” You say grabbing Soap’s arm. “There has to be a computer here, we can find out what Al Qatala were shipping over the border if it wasn’t missiles.” 

“It’s too risky.” He says.

“What if Makarov has nukes in Russia?” You say. 

“We’d know if he had nukes in Russia” He says, you let go of his arm and he moves to the exit.

“You didn’t know there were nukes here.” You say. 

“It’s not worth the risk, c’mon!” He snaps, reaching out to grab your arm and pull you to the exit. As you let him drag you, you see into a control room.

“Look.” You say digging your heels into the ground to stop him. “There’s a computer, let me check it.” He huffs looking round quickly.

“Quick.” he says, letting go of your arm. You smile and rush in, there’s no login option. You look for anything, something like a spreadsheet or order forms anything you think you could recognise. Finally after what feels like a few minutes you find what looks like an order request. They’ve tried to encrypt it but it must have failed for some reason. 

“A few days ago. There was a shipment of warheads and stabilisers.” You say you're trying to translate, you have no idea what stabilisers mean, it’s not really the best translation and you’re being rushed. 

“Nukes?” He asks, you look over at him standing guard on the door.

“It doesn’t say.” There’s requests for a bunch of different types of chemicals, names of things you don’t even recognise.

“He’s playing around with chemicals. I don’t know what any of this means.” You say, you see Soap hesitate, looking around before coming over to see. He scans the document for a second before pointing at something.

“Its elements, chlorine, phosphorus, hydrogen.” 

“He’s making chemical bombs.” You say as a matter of fact. 

“Soap you better be out there you’ve got incoming.” Farah says. Before you even have time to react you hear a door open. You both duck and you hear Arabic voices echo in the massive barn. You start taking your radio off handing it to Soap.

“I’ll distract them, then you can leave.” You whisper.

“Are you crazy, they’ll kill you.” He puts his hand out to stop you. 

“I’ve talked myself out of worse situations. I’ve been here before, if they catch you they’ll kill you.” He sighs, taking it in his hands. 

“Your weapon too.” He points. You shake your head. 

“Might need to shoot my way out if they don’t believe me.” Before Soap can stop you you stand up. “Stay here, I'll get them out.” 

“Good luck.” He calls as you make it to the door. You smile at him and walk round the corner where you can hear the voices.

“Finally. Do you know how long I have been looking for someone in this place?” You say walking towards them. Confidence is key, you can do this. 

“Stay where you are!” One of them calls, they hold their weapons on you.

“Don’t shoot unless you plan on shipping my body back to Makarov.” You say, they look between themselves for a minute.

“You work for Makarov?” One of them asks.

“He sent me to find out why the next shipment is delayed.” You say putting your hands down and stepping closer to them. 

“We’re working on it.” One of them says as they lower their weapons.

“We have half the staff we used to have. Most people have been sent to fight the ULF.” The other one says. 

“Do you think I care about your staffing issues? That shipment was needed yesterday.” You say pointing at a random missile. “Who do I need to talk to to get some answers here?” 

“We’ll take you.” They say turning. You nod following them out the barn. You don’t want to end up speaking to whoever is in charge, they will definitely be able to sniff you out. You hang back, the people escorting you are two wrapped up in their own conversation to notice you lagging behind. 

As soon as they turn a corner you take your chance sneaking through the space between the 2 garages and round the back of the main building. You sneak through a gap in the wall. You hope Soap got out, you head towards the meeting point anyway. 

It’s not long before you see Soap step out from behind the trees. 

“Thanks.” He says handing you back your radio. You smile at him, putting it back on your hip. A few seconds later Farah and Alex step through the foliage too. 

“Is it true they have nukes?” Farah asks, her composure is completely different now. 

“Chemical weapons too. They’ve been shipping them into Russia.” Soap says. 

“Are you sure?” Alex asks, frowning. “We haven't seen anything.”

“I saw a shipping order.” You reach into your pocket and hand Farah the piece of paper you picked up. She looks at it Alex leans over to look too. Before she has a chance to say anything alarms ring out from the farm. You look over at Soap pressing your lips together. 

“Let's get out of here.” Alex calls. You nod and follow them deeper into the woods.

…

You’re not sure why the phone call with Price and Laswell is the most stressful part. 

“You did what?” Price snaps.

“It was my idea.” You say, flicking your eyes up to Soap who’s been standing back from the table with his arms crossed, his body language has completely changed. Not the laid back Soap you’re used to saying.

“I don’t bloody care whose idea it was you’re supposed to be resting, recovering before you come out here.” Price lets out a sigh.

“I think we have other things to worry about.” Alex says. 

“Alex’s is right. If the US finds out Al Qatala are shipping nukes over the border to Makarov and Konni we’re in trouble.” Laswell says. 

“What’s the US’s response going to be to this?” Price asks.

“I don’t know but I would assume they do not want private militias or terrorist organisations having access to such weapons.” Laswell says. 

“We don’t need the Americans invading here too.” Farah says. 

“They don’t even know yet, but we need to tell them right. We can’t keep this to ourselves?” Alex says. 

“No, we don't tell anyone! Not the Americans, not the British. We will deal with this problem ourselves.” Farah says.

“The ULF is not in a position to disarm nuclear warheads.” Laswell says her voice is more stern. 

“Won’t make a difference if they’re all being shipped to Russia.” You say. 

“We can’t let anymore come through. Whatever Makarov is planning we need to put a stop to it before the next shipment. When is it?” Price asks.

“3 days, although with the security breach it could be moved up.” You say. There’s silence. 

“Laswell, any changes in Makarov’s movements?” Price asks after what feels like forever.

“No, as far as I can tell he’s still in Volgograd.” She replies.

“Okay, I’m sending Nikoli to pick you up. He’ll fly you out to Volgograd.” Price says, you look round at everyone. There’s a new person now, Nikoli.

“Copy.” Soap says. It’s the first time you’ve heard him speak since he finished explaining everything to Price. 

“In the meantime stay put. I can’t be worrying about you getting yourselves killed.” Price says. “Send Laswell everything you know, we’ll speak soon.” There's a click on the line. 

“The data you got from the base on the border arrived yesterday. I can go through it, I'll have what you asked for by tomorrow.” Laswell says. 

“Thank you.” Farah says, before ending the call. You look over at Soap, he seems disappointed about something. 

“You should get some rest.” Farah says her eyes flicking to Soap. You move over to him resting your hand on his arm. 

“Let’s go. We should get something to eat at least.” You say looking up at him. His eyes land on you but they seem dark, distant. You don’t know if it's about the nukes or the response from Price but you’ve not seen him like this before. He nods and turns to leave.

He’s quiet while you get something to eat. Pushing food around his tray while you inhale whatever mush they’re serving. You talk, if not just to fill the dead air, you’re sure he’s heard some of the stuff before but he doesn’t even complain. 

“I’m going to take a shower.” He says suddenly before getting up and moving away before you have a chance to say anything. You look down at the uneaten food on his tray. 

…

You’re laid in the shared dorm room staring at the ceiling trying to think what he’s sad about. Or maybe he is just mad, maybe when he gets mad he goes silent. You feel like you don’t know him enough to judge him, or analyse him. A door opens and some people walk in, stripping their coats off and kicking off boots. 

You turn over in bed trying to ignore the noise and turning on of lights. You’re not going to be comfortable here, you’re not going to be able to sleep. Not with everything going on in your head, and now all you can think about is Johnny. 

You swing yourself out the cot pulling your boots back on and heading out the room with your coat tucked under your arm.

Johnny got his own room, maybe it’s because of his status, maybe it’s because Farah likes them. Whatever the reason, you would rather be with him then where you are right now. 

When you make it to his door you hesitate, he told you where he was staying before you left. You let out a sigh and knock. You wait a few seconds before it opens, he’s standing there topless with a raised eyebrow. 

“You okay?” You ask, swallowing the nerves. 

“Are you?” He asks. You nod, he steps to the side inviting you in. As soon as you’re through the threshold his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against him. 

“You’ve been quiet. Are you upset about something?” You ask, throwing your jacket over the chair. He lets out a long sigh burying his head in your neck. He doesn’t say anything, his hands running up your side, his touch is soft against your skin. 

“Was it what Price said?” You ask, he spins you in his arms. You press up against him, his cheeks are flushed. He reaches down and kisses you. His hands run up your shirt to your breasts. You put your arms up in the air breaking from the kiss so he can pull your shirt over your head. 

His kisses get deeper, more needy, his tongue running over your neck, across your collar bones. You moan out for him, his hands slipping past your waist band gently pulling your trousers down. His mouth locks round one of your nipples. He hums, nibbling and flicking your nipple. You push one of your hands through his hair. 

“Christ love, fuckin’ sweet as sugar.” He breathes, dropping to his knees and looking up at you. Looking up at you with those deep blue eyes. His lips wet and shining as he pulls your trousers down. You spread your legs for him, as much as you can. He kisses your stomach, his hands grip your ass digging his fingers into the soft flesh. 

His mouth continues to move down, his tongue hot, pressing against your skin, he moans and you continue to run your fingers through his hair.

“Johnny, bed.” You say. He looks up at you, one of your hands drops to stroke his cheek. He slowly stands back up until he’s towering above you. Your hands drop down to the front of his pants fiddling with his belt buckle.

He slowly starts to move you over to the bed, as soon as you reach it you gently push him down. He bounces on the cot, his mouth tipping open. You take a step back kicking your boots off and stepping out your trousers. 

“Lay down.” You say. He follows swinging his legs into the bed and laying flat with his head on the pillows. “Think we’ll get interrupted this time?”

“Did you lock the door?” he asks, nodding towards it. You turn, going over and securing the latch. When you look back round he’s shimmed his bottoms off laying naked in the bed. You watch as his hand strokes up and down his cock exposing the red tip. You walk over to him, you swing your legs over him kneeling on his thighs. You replace his hands with yours, his head tips back as you slowly shuffle closer to his hips. 

You don’t know if you’re helping, but this is the most vocal he’s been since you got back. You kneel up and he opens his eyes watching as you hover above him stroking up and down his cock. You smile at him before you ease yourself down on him. 

He lets out a groan, his hands coming to rest on your thighs. They run up and down as you slowly begin to ride him. It doesn’t take you long to get into a steady rhythm, he watches you, his hands gripping you tighter and tighter with each thrust.

His gentle moans turning into grunts and pants. Before long you’re panting along with him, your heart starts beating faster in your chest. He feels good, the last person you had sex with was Ivan and that was nothing like this. It was just a transaction, this is different, he’s reacting to you, his touch is soft as is his gaze, his moans. 

It makes you work harder, leaning over to run your hands over his chest, he has scars, a particularly nasty looking on his shoulder. Probably a bullet, you run your fingers over one on his chest. 

“Make a habit out of getting shot?” You ask him between pants. 

“Not really, just end up in sticky situations.” He says. You reach down and kiss him, rocking your hips on him. He breaks from the kiss, tipping his head back. 

“Christ, perfect love.” He says, letting out a long breath. He’s bucking his hips in time with you. You’re getting close, the new angle pressing against the spongy spot inside you. You close your eyes arching your back trying not to dig your nails into him.

He grips you tighter, he’s getting closer, so are you. You sit back up straight bracing your hands on his chest. You moan with him, letting him control the speed with his hands gripping your thighs. 

“Jesus.” He arches his back as he cums. You feel him throb inside you, he stops moving as you ride him through the orgasm, it only feels like a few seconds later when you cum to the feeling of him filling you up pushes you over the edge. 

You fall against him, laying on his chest. He wraps his arms around you and turns you in the bed, when he slips out of you, you feel empty. He kisses your forehead then you turn over on your back. 

He does the same letting out a long breath. He reaches down and pulls the blanket over you both, you turn to lean up against his chest wrapping your arm round his stomach. 

“It wasn’t what Price said. He’s not really angry. He doesn't get angry anymore, at least not with us.” He says after a few seconds, his hand runs down your back.

“Leaving you at the farm. Not knowing if you would get out or not.” You look up at him. “You could have died.” 

“So could you.” You say, you don’t know if that will help or not but it’s all you can think to say, you're surprised he even cared. “Besides I would have got out.”

“You’re too cocky, it’ll get you killed.” He says.

“You’re a soldier, you literally put your life on the line every day.” You scoff back. 

“We’re trained.” 

“Me too, in another world maybe I would have been like you.” You say running your hand across his chest. 

“You served?” 

“Military service is mandatory in Urzikstan.” You shrug. 

“Not really your thing?” He asks.

“I’m not good at following orders. Used to being alone. I learned a long time ago that people you love can hurt you the most.” You sigh resting your head against his chest. He chuckles. 

“What?” You ask. 

“I know someone who said something similar to me once.” He says he tightens his arm around you.

“Yeah?” You ask, sleepy. 

“Yeah, I think you’d like him.” 

“Maybe one day I’ll meet.” You say relaxing against him. He kisses the top of your head.

“Yeah, maybe one day you will.” 

Next Banners by plum98

[ghostofreach]

IM NOT DEAD🔥🔥🔥

I’m not sick and dying anymore so I’m getting back on the grind🙏🙏🙏 have an old ref sheet of my diluc redesign (with some minor changes) that I just finished (finally lmfaoooo)

This is actually bad news for me because now I don’t have an excuse to draw him inconsistently 💔💔

Ignore the misspelling. NEOW……

Anyway I’m gonna talk about his design because i can 💯

Major points/changes

- he is no longer a twig. Very self explanatory this guy has a big awesome claymore I cannot convince myself that he doesn’t have the means to swing that thing around (one handed no less)

- I darkened his color palette, but I also made it a bit warmer in nature. The pure white right in the middle is a bit distracting and I don’t think it does much to communicate his personality. It just breaks up his design in a way I don’t like.

- scars, yes, but also stitches on his face. I imagine it’s new bruises, stitches, or scabs every week. I know it makes his face just a taaad busy, but idk. Ive been drawing that headcannon for forever atp so I try to accommodate that busyness with lots of flat color by the face to balance everything out

- Just a hint of embroidery here and there. It implies culture and adds just a bit of softness to the design (most of it is on the shawl underneath the fur)

Specific details I want to talk about!

The white fur shawl/scarf/neck warmer/make up a word idk💔

- this serves multiple purposes both thematically and visually

- it creates a ‘barrier’ around his face, not unlike the protective walls that border Mondstadt. It serves to imply his personality without dialogue, a bit closed off and skeptical at first. Almost as if he is trying to shield his peripherals from oncoming foes.

But it is still a soft barrier, and can be easily peeled away to reveal a very kind person at heart.

- it emphasizes the square shape. Not much to say there. Makes his shape language a bit more interesting as well by introducing a softer shape near the top.

- looks a bit like snow, no? Almost like snezhnaya still weighs heavy on his shoulders.

- underneath the fur is a faded red shawl from his mother. The only parts visible from the outside are those golden tassels. I like this bit a lot because it implies that (in reference to the point above) he doesn’t really know a whole lot about his mother or father- it’s buried under mounds of snow. The only thing he has truly been left is their wealth. He’s gonna have to dig if he wants to know their true nature.

-it contrasts very well with the Fatui. Where the harbingers have their signature white coats with black fur, Diluc wears a black coat with white fur

The coat

- it’s wind resistant for sure but also a bit… warm. It’s very thick and long and you can’t actually see a lot of what’s underneath. He’s only showing the viewer a sliver of what’s underneath. Under the rest of the coat? It could be anything. Knives, his vision, maybe even a gun? (Correct assumptions)

-it leaves the average onlooker with a lot of questions but is also very convenient in a fight. Can’t block a surprise knife to the liver if you never even knew he had one on his person.

Miscellaneous

- layers are super prevalent in his design. Especially on his face. From the makeup to the contact, he’s trying really, really hard to convince everyone he is fine (WRONG‼️) the people closest to can tell something is off, but… who are they to say anything?

- the nail polish was initially added because I thought it was funny but I also think it could be effective as a last resort in a fight. Imagine you’re in a fight with a guy and he ignites his fingernails. Scary af.

…I realize that’s probably not possible but it’s really cool so I’m just gonna suspend my belief.

Here’s some hair stuff. I wanna write about mondstadt hair lore in my au/rewrite bc it rots my brain but I have so many wips I gotta do those first

[afyrian]

☆ coffee orders w/ msby | headcanons

m.list

atsumu miya

- tends to choose coffee on the sweeter side - enjoys creamers and vanilla syrup - gets sugar free to convince his team it’s a ‘healthy’ addition to his breakfast - tried to drink dark black coffee for most of secondary school - thought it made him look cool - ‘one large black coffee… very grown up of me, huh?’ [atsumu] - until one faithful day you suggested he go for something lighter - you served him up black coffee once and every drink he took brought a frown to his face - so, with your recommendation, he goes off the deep end - cold foam, extra vanilla, creamer, everything - in which you had to advise him to tone it down - ‘maybe let’s just start with a little creamer and a little sugar’ [you] - ‘alright, if you think that’s best for me’ [atsumu] - and it ultimately was - now every time he walks into your coffee shop, you make a point to have it ready for him - even if it six in the morning

sakusa kiyoomi

- surprisingly enjoys a little sweetness - even if he doesn’t give off those vibes - usually he prefers a blonde roast with some sweetener - he enters the coffee shop and leaves promptly - never giving time for conversation or exploration - so you quickly start making his order every time he comes in - and he would have his money ready every time - until one morning he comes in and an outlet went up in flames and all the coffee machines couldn’t be used - ‘i’m so sorry, but we’re going to have to close for the day and get stuff fixed… since you’re already here i could grab a pastry for you’ [you] - ‘uh- yeah sure’ [sakusa] - it brought about a new friendship for you - he still ordered the same old thing - but he kept a conversation with you - asked how your morning has gone or if you have any plans - finally you convinced yourself to write your name on his coffee cup - which he messaged just a few minutes after

bokuto kotaro

- doesn’t really drink coffee - he typically enjoys a smoothie - mixed with an assortment of fruits and protein powders - bokuto also likes to get a muffin occasionally, popping by your shop - however, if he’s running late he’ll grab a coffee and muffin from you - typically it’s something small - usually an espresso or americano - ‘no smoothie, so you want an espresso?’ [you] - ‘yes, that would be great! i have a long practice ahead’ [bokuto] - on the mornings he has off or late, he loves to chat with you - really with anyone working or standing in line - he creates a small community everywhere he goes - to the point he recognizes multiple regulars - ‘so, you go to all these practices, what do you do it for?’ [you] - ‘volleyball! i have an extra ticket to this upcoming tournament, why don’t you come’ [bokuto] - and you could never say no to him

hinata shoyo

- loooves coffee - after living in brazil he got hooked on all kinds of coffee - can drink anything from black coffee to nearly pure milk or creamer - as long as it’s not decaf he is happy - usually brews his own coffee - however, since they started doing early mornings for practice he’s started buying out - not caring to clean it after use - purposefully got a cup holder for his bike - enjoys it when you write sweet messages on the cups - usually something along the lines of ‘you got this!’ - he can’t write his own notes so he likes to give you quick comments - ‘this coffee is the best! thanks for recommending it!’ [hinata] - all while running out the door - hinata always has time to chat on the weekends though - sitting at the closest table - eating some pastry taking way too long - what he doesn’t want to tell you is that he’s contemplating asking you out - and chickening out every time

gen. taglist (open): @maybespiderman @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia @bakery-anon

@nekozaki @nnnyxie @kameyyy @cherrysurf

[capcollector]

we could make this place beautiful

thinking about when bunny finally gets a day off, but she has no idea what to do with it. like prewar she was constantly working, after she woke up she had her whole journey getting shaun back, after all that she focused her energy into building up sanctuary and assisting the minutemen and railroad with establishing more community, driving out the brotherhood presence, in-between all that always going on supply runs and random quests……and she wouldn’t have it any other way. every minute was worth it. she loves being busy, and in some ways it is partially so she can just keep her mind off other things, but she genuinely just loves doing stuff. she gets stir crazy easily.

but there comes a point several months after the BoS is gone where there is just. relative quiet. there’s a collective sigh of relief, and she’s so thankful for it, but she’s not sure what to do now. she fills her time w a lot of smaller projects, like patching up parts in buildings and repainting some things, setting up/fixing furniture. she’s still a few weeks away from her due date atp so it’s not like she has a newborn to fill up her time just yet either. and eventually deacon sits her down and tells her to take a day for herself, for her own sake. she’s tired, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. you’ve done more than enough. rest. so whether she likes it or not, she’s faced w the first day off she’s had in over 200 years. and it drives her up a fucking wall. deacon tells her to just relax but she’s like. a little worried she forgot how. she almost feels bad for taking a day, like there’s so much she could be doing. but she promises him she’ll take the day off.

i think she spends a majority of the day w shaun. it’s not like she doesn’t spend time w him normally—he often tags along when she’s working on small projects in sanctuary—but today it’s just all about the two of them. eventually duncan and maccready tag along for a bit bc shaun and duncan like playing together, and bunny and mac always enjoy spending time together. just chatting while watching their kids play. the day goes on, the sun begins to set. mac has to go for his lookout shift at the red rocket, duncan and shaun decide to go inside and read some comics, and bunny is left alone.

and i think that’s when it hits her. she’s watching the sun set across the water, across the skyline of concord. the sky’s a pale blue, oranges and pinks bouncing off the clouds. the air is cool and crisp and it’s a beautiful evening…and she just starts crying. her grief finally catches up to her. it’s in this moment she understands she will never see her mother, her old friends, nora ever again. they won’t be able to meet her children, or laugh at their old inside jokes, or share a drink ever again. bunny wouldn’t change a day of what she’s been through; it was worth it to get here. it was worth it to make this place what it is now. but what she wouldn’t give for just one more day. one more day to say goodbye and hold them close, one more day to let the people from her past know they’re what made her into who she is now. one more day to say i love you, thank you for everything.

[nameless-jamie]

hi babes i was wondering if you could write a jamie x reader and she is rebecca’s longtime pa even though she’s in her early twenties and she is really ambitious and hardworking but also incredibly sweet and everyone in the club loves her, even roy and especially rebecca who is very protective over her. so jamie has always appreciated how nice she is to him even when he was a prick and he starts to like her but he’s to afraid to ask her out because he thinks he doesn’t deserve someone like her but his teammates and becca and keeley set them up somehow 🫶🏻 it’s totally okay if you ignore this, i just want to say that i love your writing sm and i hope you’re having a great day/night ❤️

The Setup

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! Rebecca's assistant reader

TW: cursing, kissing

A/N: Another rather long one! Thank you so much for your request and all the nice words!!!!!!!! I hope this does your idea justice. I wanted to try something new and added a clumsy/awkward Jamie vibe.

Jamie Tartt was known for his swagger. He was a confident footballer, a guy who walked into a room with the sort of energy that made heads turn.

It is safe to say Jamie Tartt had been called many things in his life—cocky, talented, a pain in the arse—but one thing he had never been called? Awkward.

At least, not until Y/N entered his life.

Y/N was sweet, hardworking, and ambitious—everything Jamie wasn’t sure he deserved. And it was that thought that sent him spiraling into awkwardness every time they crossed paths.

She was Rebecca’s longtime personal assistant, and despite being in her early twenties, she was the most competent person Jamie had ever met. She kept the club running smoothly, could handle an entire boardroom full of old men with nothing but a sharp look, and somehow still managed to be the sweetest person alive.

It wasn’t like Jamie could help it. There was just something about her—how she smiled at him, how she was always so kind, even when he acted like a total arse. And it was clear to everyone around him: Jamie Tartt had a massive crush on Rebecca’s personal assistant.

The first person to notice, oddly enough, was Roy. And he thought that Jamie's behavior was some sort of joke.

Jamie? The guy who never had a problem with women? Awkward around one?

Roy was in Y/N's office at the time, to go through some schedules, when he witnessed Jamie's awkwardness around the assistant for the first time.

"Morning, Y/N," Jamie greeted, practically tripping over the carpeted floor as he walked into her office. He straightened up and gave a goofy grin, hoping she didn’t notice. Of course, she did.

"Morning, Jamie," she smiled softly, hiding her amusement. She had been working with him for months, and while she liked him a lot, she couldn’t help but chuckle at how he turned into a nervous wreck whenever she was around.

Jamie tried to act cool, leaning casually against the doorframe. "You, uh, need anything? I’m good at, like, you know, organizing things. Keeping stuff on track n'all that."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Are you offering to help me organize the team’s calendar, Jamie Tartt?"

He stiffened, eyes wide. "I... well... uh, no. I mean, I could. I don’t know if I’m the best for that." He scratched the back of his neck, then, trying to recover, added, "But I’m really good at... um... I can, like, open doors for you? Like, literal doors. Not metaphorical ones."

Y/N couldn’t hold back a laugh, and she bit her lip, trying to suppress it. "Thanks, Jamie. I’ll keep that in mind."

Roy thought he'd lost his fucking mind. Jamie Tartt acting like...like Bambi trying to walk on ice. Like he's never talked to a girl before.

Unbeknownst to them, the whole club had noticed Jamie’s odd behavior around her. Rebecca, being the sharp-eyed smart woman that she is, had already picked up on his ridiculous attempts to impress Y/N.

How could she not. Rebecca's and Y/N's offices are conjoined and share one hallway. It wasn't hard to notice a certain Jamie Tartt lingering there, for unusual amounts of times.

"Hi Y/N, what are ya up to?— No that's sounds dumb." Jamie scratched his head walking the hallway to Y/N office up and down "Hi Y/N would you like to 'ave lunch— Fuuuck, no, no, no."

Rebecca sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose while finally daring to walk out of her office door. Yup. She heard all that, and not for the first time this week.

"You know, she's not here Jamie" She tapped him on the shoulder scaring him out of his head-space. "She's on lunch break, probably eating in the stands again."

Jamie's head turned so fast, he could've broken his neck "The stands, yeah?"

"Exactly."

And with that, he ran off...you guessed it, to the stands to catch a certain girl...

Keeley was a little late to notice the whole ordeal, but she did. She thought it was just normal Jamie behavior at first, maybe a new flirting technique. They were walking along the hallways of AFC Richmond. Jamie and Keleey. Just talking about some Instagram posts he had to make for a new sponsor when Jamie suddenly spotted Y/N.

“Hey, Y/N!” Jamie called out too loudly, his voice squeaky. He quickly cleared his throat. “Uh, hey, Y/N... uh... you doin' anythin' excitin' today?”

Y/N smiled at him, her voice sweet as always. “Just the usual. A few meetings and some scheduling updates. Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid.”

Jamie, who had been preparing himself for this moment all day, suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. They started fidgeting, one hand tugging at his shirt, the other scratching his neck in a way that looked like a nervous tic.

“Right... uh, right. Cool, cool,” he stammered. He attempted to take a step back but forgot that Keeley stood right behind him.

"Ow! What the fuck Jamie. These are Prada, for fuck sake. Since when are you so clumsy?" Keeley held her foot in pain. The same foot Jamie just trampled over.

"Fuck. Shit, I'm sorry, Keeley. I was just distracted." He looked up again, but Y/N had already vanished down the hallway.

"Distracted? Jamie, you're a goner for her!" Keeley mused. "Babes, you’ve got to stop acting like a kid around her. Just talk to her. Be real. She likes you."

Jamie, a nervous wreck, tried to sound casual. “Yeah, yeah, I will. But, uh, what do I even say?”

“Say anything, just don’t trip over my feet again!”

The team was the last and most excited to learn of Jamie's crush. His awkwardness had proper teasing potential.

Jamie just couldn’t act normal around her. At all.

"Morning, Jamie!" Y/N greeted him cheerfully as she passed by his locker, holding a stack of files for Rebecca.

Jamie, who had just taken a sip of his protein shake, choked immediately. He coughed violently, slapping his chest, while the rest of the locker room watched in horrified amusement.

"You alright, mate?" Sam asked, trying (and failing) to hold back a grin.

Jamie wheezed. "Yeah. Yeah, all good. Just… air. Wrong pipe."

Y/N giggled. "Well, try not to die. Rebecca needs me in a meeting, but I’ll see you later!"

Jamie just nodded, speechless, as she walked away. Then, as soon as she was out of sight, he let out a dramatic sigh and slumped forward.

The entire team erupted in laughter.

"You’re pathetic," Colin said, shaking his head.

Keeley, who had been standing by the door of the locker room that same morning, smirked. She was reporting everything back to Rebecca immediately. "Oh my God. He’s so into her. He looked like he was malfunctioning"

Rebecca, arms crossed, studied Keeley with an amused expression.

"Yeah, and the funniest part? She’s just as clueless," Keeley said, nudging Rebecca. "Y/N’s way too sweet to think Jamie Tartt of all people could have a crush on her."

"Well, he does," Rebecca hummed, watching her assistant Y/N work at her own desk, from their connecting office door.

"We have to set them up," Keeley whispered excitedly.

"Do you really think that is a good idea? He is Jamie Tartt. He brought two dates to the last fucking charity gala because he couldn't decide between them. Keeley Y/N's like a daughter to me, if he—"

Keeley sighed. "Wow, Rebecca, clipping Amor's wings with a machete... They are in love with each other and it is so obvious. Jamie isn't the same guy he used to be. He tripped over my fucking foot because of her, he's stuttering in front of her and all that stuff. I promise you, Rebecca, she will be damn happy with this Jamie!"

Rebecca thought about that for a moment. Y/N really was talking a lot about Jamie. She's never talked about Sam or Dani or any other equally good-looking player like that. And Y/N has been single for quite a while.

"Shit, ok. What's the plan?"

A few days later...

“There’s a light out in the boot room,” Roy grunted at Jamie one afternoon after training. Yup, Roy was in on the plan too...

Jamie raised a skeptical brow. “And what does that have to do with me?”

“Will is uh...like scared of the dark or some shit so he can't fix it,” Roy chimed in as if it was common knowledge.

“And why can't you do it then?” Jamie said dryly.

Roy grumbled at what he was about to say, just for this fucking setup. “Because I'm too fucking old, my knee and stuff.”

Jamie squinted at him and grinned a little. Haha, grandad just admitted he's old. “Ok and why do I have to do it now?”

“Because I said so,” Roy growled, crossing his arms.

Jamie looked between Roy and the boot room, clearly unconvinced. He opened his mouth to protest, but Roy leaned in just slightly, his glare enough to shut Jamie up.

“…Fine,” Jamie muttered. “But if I die of an electric shock or some shit, I’m hauntin’ you first, Roy.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the building, Rebecca casually turned to Y/N.

“Darling, the boot room needs a lightbulb change,” she said smoothly. “Would you be a dear and handle it?”

Y/N blinked. “Me?”

Rebecca smiled. “I’d do it myself, but I have a meeting with Higgins. And I’d rather not ask anyone else.”

“Oh! Of course,” Y/N said, ever eager to be helpful.

And with that, the plan was set.

Jamie walked into the dimly lit room, squinting in the near-darkness. “Right, let’s get this over with…”

Then he turned and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Y/N entering from the other side.

“Shit!” Jamie exclaimed. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Y/N frowned. “Rebecca asked me to change the lightbulb. What are you doing here?”

“Roy told me to do it,” Jamie said suspiciously. Then realization dawned on him. “Oh, those sneaky bastards.”

Before Y/N could ask what he meant, the door behind them suddenly shut.

And locked.

Y/N gasped. “Wait—what?”

Jamie rushed to the door, jiggling the handle. “No, no, no—oh, you pricks!” he called through the door.

A muffled voice—Keeley—responded cheerfully, “You’re welcome!”

Jamie groaned and rested his forehead against the door. “I can’t believe this.”

Y/N, still processing, turned in a slow circle and then gasped again when she spotted something on the small bench in the center of the room.

A neatly arranged picnic-style setup—complete with wine, glasses, and a plate of sandwiches.

Y/N turned back to Jamie. “…Are we being set up?”

Jamie sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we are.”

Silence fell between them.

Then Jamie huffed out a laugh and turned to face her. “Well. Guess we’re stuck here for a bit.”

Y/N bit her lip, shifting on her feet. “I suppose so.”

Jamie studied her for a moment, and then, with a small smirk, he gestured to the bench. “Wine?”

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head but accepting the glass he handed her. They sat down, the tension easing as they started talking—real talking, not just the usual pleasantries exchanged at work. No awkward stuttering, no stumbling, just talking.

Jamie told her about his journey back to Richmond, about his mistakes, about how he was trying to be better. Y/N listened, genuinely interested, and in turn, shared her own stories—how she ended up working for Rebecca, how much she loved the team, how she sometimes felt like she didn’t quite belong in such a chaotic environment.

Jamie, without hesitation, told her she absolutely belonged.

One glass of wine turned into two. Conversations turned into laughter.

And then, at some point, the air between them shifted.

Y/N realized how close they were sitting, how Jamie’s arm had ended up draped along the back of the bench they had migrated to. His knee brushed against hers, and neither of them moved away.

Jamie looked at her, really looked at her. “Y’know,” he murmured, voice softer now, “I think I’ve liked you for ages.”

Y/N’s breath hitched. “You… do?”

Jamie let out a small chuckle. “Yeah. ‘Course I do. You’re smart, and funny, and you’re always nice to me—even when I was a right dickhead.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think I deserved you, though. And I kind of lose me rizz as soon as I see ya, so I could never make proper move.”

Y/N swallowed, heart pounding. “Jamie…”

He turned to her, eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite name. And before she lost the courage, she leaned in—just slightly.

Jamie noticed. His lips curled into a slow grin. “You makin’ a move on me now, love?”

Y/N’s face went warm. “Maybe.”

Jamie hummed, clearly pleased. “About time someone did that.”

And then he kissed her.

It started slow, tentative—but the moment she kissed him back, Jamie deepened it, his hand coming up to cradle her cheek. Y/N melted into it, her fingers grasping at his shirt as he pulled her closer.

Neither of them noticed the click of the lock or the way the door cracked open slightly.

Nor did they hear Rebecca, Keeley, and Roy quietly high-fiving on the other side.

[tzyunaes]

hi everyone, i think we already know what this is going to be about but i want to make sure that this stays more calming.

first of all i would like to say that “separating the art from the artist” does not go well with this situation, and i will never accept that if someone says it does cause again and again lana del rey is an artist who actively showed support for israel AND funded them to keep it going as well as thanking biden for the following issue. zionism isnt only about killing the muslims but also killing the palestinians and not accepting palestine as a country and as we all know it sure has a deep rooted history behind it. neither i nor jiah (okwonyo) said that any three of them (pshbites, cupidhoons & ourhees) are zionists. all we did was called cupidhoons better known as liz out for her actions so it could've been solved if she acknowledged her wrongdoings instead of doing all this, which i don't think is that hard but that's another topic for another day.

i would like to leave a question since pshbites stated that “boycott the stuff that actually matters” as if ldr isnt funding israel to keep the genocide going and this doesn't matter. so why can't we boycott both?? why can't we boycott everything that is actually funding israel &/ helping to keep the genocide going? is it that hard to do both? and my last topic but not the least, i've been seeing some people saying muslims can't be zionists (i am again saying i am not calling pshbites a zionist but stating my opinion to clear up some confusion) but i would like to break that belief as a muslim myself that who said a muslim can't be a zionist? being a muslim doesn’t give you a shield that lets you support the genocide in whatever way.

so that's all what i have to say about this topic, i hope we all know that NONE three were called zionists, at least not by me or jiah (okwonyo). thank you so much for reading till the end and hope you have a great day.

tagging some moots : @junislqve @flwrstqr @hhmnya @boyfhee @soov @hyeinette @bywons @bywonyo @onlyjjong @saemisic

[audliminal]

It's Just a Game, Right? Pt 1 Redux

Masterpost

"It's like. Crazy, y'know?" Bernard's says, voice only a little tinny through Tim’s headset. "Like, when they started posting, I was kind of unimpressed, honestly. I figured it was worth watching the channel, in case the story was interesting, but it wasn’t really worth it for the sake of the actual puzzle-solving. I mean, the first video was just, like, a slideshow of pictures with a handful of Caesar ciphers and some creepy music. That’s practically the platonic ideal of Baby’s First ARG, but now? They're using literally everything! The current drop is like. The simplest part is the spectrogram! And I think it's intentional."

"Isn't it supposed to be intentional? I thought that was like, the whole point of an ARG." Tim smiles despite himself. He can always count on Bernard to distract him from the stress of work; in all the time they’ve known each other, his boyfriend has never been without some curious new obsession, and he’s always happy to ramble in Tim’s ear, while Tim works on whatever.

Right now, Tim is halfway through the tedious process of upgrading the processors in his cowl. The layers of casing and protection alone take forever to remove properly, and the actual components he’s working with are extremely small, so he has to be very careful not to damage or lose them as he works. This means he can’t exactly listen to anything that might fully distract him, but listening to Bernard explain the new ARG taking his internet communities by storm is more than welcome.

"No I mean, like. Yeah, obviously the clues are intentional,” Bernard explains. “But like, the way the difficulty curve is increasing? I don’t think that’s just a thing of convenience, and it’s happening too quickly to feel like it’s them learning about all this stuff. Hell, early on there were all these red herrings and stuff, and basically everybody just sort of wrote them off as a cheap way to increase the difficulty. But the further we get, the more their choices seem intentional. Which doesn’t exactly match with the idea of somebody who’s dropping red herrings to confuse and pull attention away from the actual plot."

"You think they aren’t actually red herrings?"

"What if they aren’t? That would tie in with the whole ‘dig deeper’ thing. Like, if I were making it, I’d be pretty annoyed if people just looked at the immediate surface level clues and ignored everything that didn’t immediately fit together."

"Yeah, telling you to dig deeper, sure makes it sound like they want you, maybe, dig deeper." Tim chuckles, carefully pulling a filter out of place, and adjusting wires, so he can start unscrewing the first processor.

“God, it’s driving me crazy!" Bernard’s voice cracks just a bit, and Tim pauses, gripping the screwdriver tightly. Getting stuck solving a riddle is always annoying, but Bernard sounds more frustrated than he usually is about these sorts of things. Mentally he rolls back over the last few weeks, quickly realizing that they really haven’t spent much time together lately. Both his day and night job have been pretty busy lately, and he knows Bernard gets it – he may not know about his night work, but he knows Tim has a lot on his hands, but Tim also knows Bernard has a bit of a tendency to get a little too into things. It’s one of the many things they have in common; one of the reasons they work so well together.

“Literally every fucking drop,” Bernard continues, oblivious to Tim’s running thoughts. “The same exact words are hidden somewhere in one of the layers! Like it’s low-key become an Easter-egg hunt on the forum! People keep joking about sending prizes to whoever can find it first, whenever anything new drops. Nobody really seems concerned by it, though. I think they all just assumed it was another sort of Red Herring, just one that’s more thematic than actually distracting. Meanwhile I'm literally on the verge of going back to the beginning of the whole thing and solving it from scratch, because I think we're missing a lot." Tim smiles, as Bernard finishes his rant with a huff. It’s not really anything they usually do, but if Bernard is frustrated enough to go back to the beginning, it presents Tim with a bit of an opportunity. And he did finally solve the Stone case the other day, so he actually could take some time away from the nightlife right now.

“Hey, what if we tried to solve it together?” Tim asks, before Bernard can wind up again.

“What, the ARG?”

“Yeah. We haven’t exactly had much time together lately, and I love a good mystery, so why not?”

“Dude,” Bernard says, voice dropping down a register. “Babe. Are you serious? Because I really need you to tell me now if you aren’t serious because I would fucking love to walk you through SARA.”

“Is... that the name of it?”

“Yeah. Actually that’s the other thing. Nobody’s been able to figure out why the channel is named that. And I think you can agree that it would be weird to have the actual name of your channel be irrelevant.”

“How does Friday sound?”

“It’s a fuckin’ date!”

[quibbs126]

So apparently my college library also has (I presume) all of Transformers Animated, G1, and Prime. As well as most of the movies, including the 86 one

I mean I guess I already have access to all of them via my pirating site, but I can now watch them legally, if I rent out a DVD player and get myself a TV (or just watch it on my computer). Which admittedly is more work than just pulling it up on my iPad. But I guess if I get a TV later on, I can go watch it. Or I can bring one home with me for a break, since you can rent DVDs for 7 days at a time

But yeah, I can watch these all legally and for free if I wanted to

Also follow-up on Volume 1 of MTMTE, it isn’t in a different building, it’s with the other ones, it’s just that it was missing because someone had checked it out. Apparently it was pretty recently, so I have to assume it was someone else who got on the Transformers hype after TFOne. But also because of that, it means it isn’t due back until February. But considering that all the other ones are still there, I imagine this person is gonna be checking them out one at a time, and returning them after finishing, so it probably won’t be that long until I can get my hands on it

[fumifooms]

Canines

The hand that feeds

Mickbell Tomas & Kuro Dungeon Meshi

^ 1: Ink-the-artist, I will remove my teeth / 2: Margaret Atwood / 3: C.S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy / 4: Mitski, I’m your man / 5: Ojibwa, I love you like a rotten dog / 6: KotOR II / 7: Stardrop, Everything that’s ever been mine is covered in teeth marks / 8: Sodikken, People Eater / 9: Mitski, I’m your man / 10: maxime., The life and death of a dog / 11: Mitski, I bet on losing dogs / 12: maxime., The life and death of a dog / 13: hun, I did not bite with Malice / 14: C. Michael Davis, Don't Pet the Dragon / 15: Mitski, I’m your man

v 1: Early versions of the myth as in aeschylus orestes / 2: Ink-the-artist, I will not remove my teeth

[sunsetsandsunshine]

If I may request a Rise fic!! I’m a huge sucker for comfort/cheer up tickles, so could you possibly write a disaster twins fic with Lee Leo and Ler Donnie where Leo’s been having a pretty bad day (because of what is your choice!) and ends up feeling self conscious about himself and stuff, so Donnie decides to cheer up his twin!! Please don’t feel rushed and make sure you’re taking care of yourself ^_^

~ 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜!!! ~

💜💙 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 💜💙

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙼𝚂𝙺𝙽𝚂𝙽𝙺𝙼𝙳𝙽𝚂𝙹 𝙽𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙴 𝙾𝙷 𝙼𝚈 𝙶𝙾𝚂𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄. 𝙶𝙴𝚃. 𝙼𝙴!!! 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝙹𝙰𝙼!!! 𝙴𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚜…𝙶𝚘𝚍, 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑. 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢..𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎…𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎??? 𝙻𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎!!!˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟺,𝟹𝟿𝟺

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙻𝚎𝚘 🐢💙

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙳𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝙻𝚎𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍…𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝?

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚖𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝…𝙱𝚞𝚝 *𝙰𝙷𝙴𝙼* 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊��𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜:  @shut-up-jo @itzsana-kiddingmenow @aceofspades-doodles @ziipzeepzop-eez

@tmntheadforever123 @rice-cake-teen10 @aninabanina6969

@savemeafruitjuice @cedarrthefluffylee @saturnzskyzz @titters-and-tingles

@someone1348 @my-l0v3r-v3rse @snipersiniora @mistyandsnow

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙰𝚛𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔!!! 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚣𝚢…

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙷𝙴𝙴 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 🕺🏾✨💞🎶˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me again.” Leo grumbled under his breath as he rested his mouth on his palm, glancing away from his brother as he sighed loudly. 

“Well maybe if you weren’t so fucking reckless I wouldn’t need to.” Donnie growled lowly, glaring down at his twin.

“I’m not a baby, Don. I don’t need to be supervised like I’m some bomb triggered to explode.” The younger said in exasperation, lying down on his bed whilst grabbing a comic book to read off of his desk.

If Leo was going to be told off and scolded by his dear beloved brow-loving brother, he should at least have something to occupy himself with in the meanwhile. 

The softshell groaned eternally at his little brother’s action, quickly snatching the piece of literature out of the other’s hands and throwing it effortlessly to the ground. 

Uninterested lime green eyes locked with a determined yet fierce light golden, both of them refusing to look away or blink to show their dominance.

But after a while, the red eared slider grew more impatient, looking away again as he picked a hangnail on his thumb, “If you’re going to yell at me, can you just get it over with? I saw a reddit post predicting what’s going to happen in The Umbrella Academy season four and I need to read it.” 

“You can read that later, Nardo. I promise you, that reddit post isn’t going to fly away.” The elder said as he pinched the bridge of his snout, “What I need you to do right now is acknowledge what you did today was stupid, alright?” 

Leo looked away from his older brother, scoffing lightly, “I do stupid things all the time. What stupid action of mine are you wanting to scream at me for this time?” 

The softshell turtle took a couple deep breaths at that comment, drumming his fingers on his left arm in a soothing motion because he was NOT going to give into the urge of strangling his twin brother…

…No matter how much he deserved it.

“I’m not planning on screaming at you— that won’t help anyone or anything.” The purple banded turtle explained calmly…but you could see and tell he was starting to lose his paitence. 

“But you want to.” The red eared slider pressed on. 

“Leo…please. I don’t want to argue right now.” 

“We’re not arguing. We’re just kindly discussing my oh-so stupid descision that unfolded earlier today, right?” The younger twin smirked smugly, his eyes locking once again with his brother. 

When it came to arguments, the leader in blue always had this wonderful tactic to avoiding things: attempting to annoy the other person so much that they drop the subject they wanted to discuss with him completely.

It always worked with Raph…which the red eared slider didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

But the only downside of doing this tactic was his dumb twin saw right through it…

…And Leonardo despised it. 

“Nardo…you know what I’m referring to. And stop picking, please. Your going to hurt yourself.” The older attempted to say in a tranquil voice, but it personally just sounded like he was one second away from losing. his. shell.

“I sadly do not know what your referring to.” The blue cladded teen said coyly, picking on his hangnail more desperately now, “Care to enlighten me, Tello?” 

Donnie’s expression hardened ever so slightly at his younger brother’s absolute persistence on annoying him out of his right mind so he could eventually drop the subject…but the softshell turtle was not budging.

His twin would have to try way harder than that.

“I’d love to.” The light golden eyed mutant said in a fake sweet tone as he walked over to lean his shell on Leo’s closed door, crossing his arms in disaproval. The elder grabbed his brother’s sword, planting it right next to his foot so the blue banded turtle couldn’t reach for it. 

The red eared slider’s cocky grin turned to a small grimace (shake) as he soon came to terms with what his older brother was doing…

…He physically could not leave from this conversation…literally.

Leonardo crossed his arms, trying to mimick the other’s serious demeanor but was only met with an icy glare in return. 

“What you did during today’s mission was completley reckless and idiotic, Leonardo…and you know it.” The second oldest said, “I had that thug exactly where I wanted him but noooooo. Because you saw me trip you thought it would be a spectacular idea to throw yourself on top of me as that hooligan tried to hit me with his bat!!” Donatello seethed. 

“We’ve been over this multiple times, Leo! There was no reason for you to do that!” The light golden eyed teen yelled, his glare only hardening more as he saw the younger stuttering over his words to try to defend himself.

“I’m not done.” The taller teen growled, all of his calmness and collectiveness thrown completley out of the window.

The slider slightly flinched (which went un-noticed by the other) at his brother’s genuine angry tone, his left leg fidgeting and bouncing up and down like crazy. 

His tactic was really starting to not work in his favour at all…

“Just…stop putting yourself in the middle of danger like you’re just expecting the rest of us to just watch. We’re your family…and most importantly, we can defend ourselves just fine.” 

“Well ihisn’t that hypocritic!” Leonardo scoffed before creasing his eye ridges together in genuine confusion, mumbling to himself, “Hyp…uh…hypocrotic? Hyp…Hypocratic…?” 

“Hypocritical?” The older deadpanned.

“YES! THAT WORD!” Leo said, “When we were fighting Kraang Prime on the ship and he went to take a blow at Mikey…what did you do?”

Donatello scowled, his eyes not leaving his twin, “…I went in front of him and shielded him with my mystic tech.”

“Exactly.” The lime green eyed mutant scoffed, “And how is that any different from what I did, hm?”

“BECAUSE I HAD A PLAN!!!” Donatello shouted, “I planned to accordingly go in front of Mikey so my sheild could protect both him and me. Did it end up turning out perfect? Fuck no. Kraang Prime slashed right through it and me and Mikey went tumbling towards the ground…” The glasses wielding teen said through clenched teeth. 

The light golden eyed teen rubbed his face tiredly, his hands clenching and unclenching in frustration, “But I had a plan. You on the other hand, just zoomed recklessly on top of me and hoped for the best.”

“…I saved you, didn’t I…?” The younger twin mumbled out meekly, causing Donatello’s blood to absolutley boil. 

“That’s not the point!!!” The elder said as he clenched his hands at his sides again.

“Then what is?!” Leo said desperately, “Because from the looks of it, it just seems like you want to yell at me for just doing my job.” 

Leonardo pulled on his mask tails anxiously, trying to calm himself down but ultimately just making himself feel worse by doing the action, “I’ve been trying to be a better leader—“

“Leo—“

“—For you and Mikey and April and Raph and Casey and C.J. a-and Dad! But it seems like no matter what the hell I do there’s always something I’m doing WRONG!!!” The younger twin shouted, blinking back tears as he glared at the ground as if it took his Jupiter Jim comic.

Which…it did. The blue banded mutant wanted it back now, actually…

“I saved you! I-I didn’t even get hurt by doing it but somehow there’s an issue…” The lime green eyed teen murmured, both of his legs bouncing up and down as he tugged on his mask tails harder, “There always is…”

“Leonardo can you please just listen to me?” The older twin said in irritation. 

“But Don I’m—“

“No, Leo! Just listen! That’s all you need to do!” Donnie snapped as he cut his brother off, “I don’t want you leaping head first into harms way! At all! Especially if you don’t have a plan!” The softshell turtle exclaimed as he flapped his hands against the side of his thighs, but his eye contanct remaining on his little brother.

“Oho so now you don’t trust me well enough to know that I can handle myself in combat?” Leo said in a last desperate attempt to make his brother drop the conversation.

“I…” The young scientist’s eye twitched, his eyebrows creasing together as he had to physically restrain himself to not beat the ever living crap out of the other teen, “THIS IS NOT ABOUT TRUST, NARDO!” The light golden eyed mutant screamed desperately, his hands flapping faster as the red eared slider shrunk at his usage of tone, “This is about you not even thinking about what would happen to yourself when you do reckless nonsense like this.”

Leo glanced to the side, his eyes watering as he bit the inside of his cheek.

He just wanted to help and be the leader his brother’s deserved…

But he always found a way to fuck it up without even noticing, huh?

"You don't think about what could happen to you and I hate it!” The elder cried, “What would’ve happened if Raph didn’t come behind the guy and knocked him out cold at the last second, huh?! Would you have just stayed right on me as he continued to beat you with his bat?!”

Leonardo bit the inside of his cheek harder, his legs bouncing up and down more as his fingernails dug unforgivingly into his arms, “I-I’m sorry, Donnie—”

“Or would you have tried to fight him instead?! Mind you, you dropped your sword before coming to me so you’d have no weapon to defend yourself.” 

“You don't think about how much it scares me when you do dumb shit like that! I hate seeing you get hurt…I freaking loathe it.” Donnie rested the back of his head on Leo’s door, taking a couple deep breaths and hugging himself in an attempt to calm himself down.

Jeez…when the hell had he started yelling? His throat stung like a bitch now…

And when had he started shaking like a bobby head?!

The older twin’s expression softened, pinching the bridge of his snout once more, “I care about you…so fucking much, okay…?” The purple banded turtle said gently as he gradually started to simmer down and become more calm, “Your my twin…my little brother. And I hate to be repetitive but I-I just despise seeing you hurt…physically or emotionally…so please just…”

The young scientist’s eyes widened, peering down at his brother who did not seem to be following…at all. 

Leo’s eyes were wide as saucers as he hit his arm with his fist repeatedly whilst obviously trying to suck in whatever tears dared to try and escape. 

The taller turtle basically ran to his distressed twin, trying to stop him from harming himself any further but was only met with a low grunt.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Fucking shit. 

Wonderful job, Donatello! You yelled at your brother so much he shut down!

Even though you knew he can’t fucking stand being yelled at and the whole point of you even being here was to explain what he did wrong collectively and calmly because that was the exact oppositeof what Raph does when he’s worried…

But no! You yelled at him anyway.

Wonderful job, Donatello…wonderful. job. 

The older twin sighed sadly, gently grabbing his brother’s wrists so he would stop hitting himself. The two brother’s shared eye contact once again, an unsure lime green meeting an understanding yet uncertain light golden.

“Nardo…” The softshell started, squeezing the other’s hands gently, “…Are you with me, bud…?”

Leo just nodded quietly, squeezing back. 

“God…Nardo I’m so sorry…” The older muttered, “I don’t…I don’t know why the hell I lost my cool like that. I-I’m sorry I yelled. I shouldn’t of yelled…I-I just…” Donatello sighed, squeezing his brother’s hands once again. “I’m not angry with you. I…I was just frustrated.”

“Well, no…let me rephrase: I am angry with you— livid even. You know damn well enough that when you do those kinds of things my heart literally jumps out of my shell. I need you to put into consideration that I would like to live to at least seventy-seven…”

The younger twin giggled wetly, fidgeting with his brother’s fingers as he spoke, “…Why seventy-seven?”

“Albert Einstein died when he was seventy-six…I can and will outlive him.” The light golden eyed teen said matter-of-factly, “But back to what I was initially saying…I know you meant well. You saw that I was in trouble…and you dropped literally everything in order to help me get out of said trouble. You don’t think of what happens to you…you just do it because you’ll know if you do we’ll be alright…”

“I-I just…I just wanted to protect you…I-I just wanted to help…” Leo tried to explain.

“I know. I know, Lee…” Donatello sighed, rubbing the slider’s knuckles gently with his thumb, “But you need to understand that with you trying to protect us that way, your putting us in the same situation your trying to keep us away from.” The elder explained lightly, smiling softly as him and his twin’s forehead’s touched. 

“You’re getting hurt— or at the very least almost getting hurt. We’re feeling the same anguish and guilt you would feel if any of us did that. I get that you want to be a good leader and shit…but you can lead well without doing that…okay?” 

Leo fiddled with the other’s fingers a bit more, his bouncing leg starting to calm a bit, “I’ll…try to be more careful when it comes to me protecting you guys like that. When I see you all in trouble…I just…react. I don’t really care about what happens to me as long as you guys end up okay. But…I’ll try to be more careful. And if I ever end up, like, being a bit too reckless…you can just tell me…deal?”

“Deal.” Donnie nodded, squeezing Leo’s hands one last time before letting go, wiping his twin’s eyes with his hoodie sleeve, “Now please stop crying or you’re going to make me start crying.” 

Leo snorted, examining the other’s now tearing up expression, “I think it’s a bit too late for that…” 

“GAH! FUHUCK!” Donnie cursed, wiping his own eyes as the slider laughed loudly at his exclamation.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Leo…don’t you think you’re getting a bit too big for this…?” Donatello grumbled as Leonardo was on his lap, getting all nice and comfy as he rested his chin on the older’s shoulder. “Noooope.” Leo drawed out, making a dramatic popping noise at the end of the 'p', “'Sides, this is what you get for making me emo earlier.”

“…I said I was sorry…I didn’t mean to shout at you like that. I was just concerned…” 

“I know that, you worrywart. I was just kidding.” The lime green eyed teen said lovingly, squishing his brother into a tighter embrace. The older let out a short shriek at the hug but of course didn’t mind the other being so clingy. 

If the young scientist really and truly did mind? Leo would’ve been pushed to the floor by now. 

The two twins shared a comfortable silence…well…a semi-comfortable silence.

The purple banded teen felt…off. His younger brother had this…look in his eyes; like he wanted to say something but was afraid of what Donnie would say or how Donnie would react.

Which was so damn dumb Donatello didn’t even know how to explain it.

“…There’s something else on your mind.” The taller turtle hummed, his suspicions only rising as the other glanced to the side. “Uhm…no there isn’t. See? This is why I call you a worrywart.” Leonardo said, tapping his fingers on his thigh nervously. 

Very convincing Leo…very convincing.

“Don’t even try lying to me, Leon. My older brother and twin senses are tingling. You can’t argue against that kind of logic.” The scientist said matter-of-factly. 

“What are you, Spiderman?” The younger snorted. 

“We shall never know.” The older shrugged, a small smile spreading to his face as he saw the other snort softly at his statement, “Now stop deflecting. Spill.” 

“…Can you…adjust my elbow braces…?” The red eared slider muttered.

“…Why can’t you do it?” The other questioned. Not in a malicious way; he was just genuinely curious. 

“I like it when you do it. You make it more firm, y'know?” The blue banded turtle whined dramatically, “Pleeeeeease?”

“Ugh, Jesus— fine. But drop the pout…you look ridiculous.” The taller mutant sighed, lightly grabbing his brother’s arm as he readjusted the braces. 

The purple banded turtle meticulously took off the other’s left arm brace, tracing his twin’s elbow to make sure it was healing correctly— which the slider couldn’t help but wriggle slightly to.

As the older twin put the brace back on, he looked at the other turtle in complete worry, “…Why are you squirming around so much?” Donatello asked in confusion. 

“…No reason.” Leonardo stated, but let out a tiny squeak as Donnie lightly pinched his forearm. 

“Yohou okay…?” The glasses wielding mutant giggled.   

“I-I’m fihine!” The smaller turtle insisted, covering his mouth as he let out a loud shriek in result to his brother now lightly scribbling his forearm. “EEEEE! P-Plehease moohoove yohour hahahand!!” The younger sputtered out, hiding his face in the crook of the scientist’s neck which the older turtle couldn’t help but let his heart melt to.

“Oh.” Donatello hummed, biting back an amused laugh, “Sorry. Sometimes I forget how ticklish you are…”

“Snrt I-Ihihi’m nahat ticklish. I juhust don’t wahant your hand thehere…” 

And isn’t that quaint. 

If Donnie had a penny for every time Leo said he 'wasn’t ticklish', the softshell would be richer than Elon Musk.

“…Right. So…you wouldn’t mind me doing this then?” The young genius mused as he scribbled one hand over his twin’s ribs. “EEEEHEH! Duhuhude noHOH!! F-Fuhuck yohou!” The younger twin managed through his small giggles, pushing on his brother’s plastron to try and escape while he still could.

The elder laughed fondly at his little brother’s futile actions, hugging him closer as he lightly tickled him, “Nahardo! My brohohother in Christ gehet back here or you’re gohoing to fahall off of the bed!

“N-NOHO!! LEHET ME GO!” The lime green eyed teen screeched loudly, kicking his legs and pushing even harder on the other’s plastron, his eye’s widening in panic as his older brother casually lifted him up and pinned his arms above his head, his plastron now facing up on the bed.

Eugh boy…

Donnie grinned, sitting on the other’s thighs as he wiggled his unoccupied fingers in the air near the slider’s side, “That’s better~!”

“WAHAIT WAHAHAIT snrt PLEHEASE DEEHEE!!” The red eared slider cried, kicking his legs from underneath the scientist.

If he was going to go down…he would at least go down fighting. 

“I haven’t even touched you yet, you goof…” The older twin chuckled. 

“B-BUHUT YOHOUR GOHOHONNA!” 

“'Gonna' what, exactly?”

“TihiHICKLE ME!!” 

“Tickle you? Well, why didn’t you just say so in the first place?” Donatello snickered, using his free hand to skitter his fingers along the crook’s of the younger’s neck. 

The blue banded turtle squealed, shaking his head back in forth whilst scrunching his shoulders, “GAHaha— snrt EEEEHEEHEH oho cohome snrt OHAHAN!!” 

“What’s wrong, Leo? I thought you said you weren’t ticklish~?” The older teased.

“Snrt STHDHAHAH! Shuhut UP! IHI’M naHAT!” The younger shouted, tugging and pulling his arms to try and get his hand’s free from the other’s grasp. Donnie just laughed softly at the action, wiggling his fingers above his little brother’s stomach. 

The lime green eyed teen’s eyes widened in panic, thrashing in the hold to try and loosen his brother’s grip but the purple banded turtle did not budge even a smidge. 

Leo’s laughs became more giddy and loud as he continued to squirm, small squeals and snorts escaping his beak as his twin brother’s hand went sloooooowly to his stomach. 

“N-NOHO NONONONO DAHA— snrt DOHON!!” The smaller turtle snorted, hiding his face in the side of his arm which Donnie couldn’t help but giggle to. 

The light golden eyed mutant rested his hand on the slider’s plastron, making the younger turtle’s laugh raise almost a thousand octaves. 

“DOHON’T snrt DOHON’T DOHOHON’T snrt YOU DARE!! YOHOUR SOHO MEEHEEHEEAN!!” Leonardo whined, hiding deeper into his arm and becoming a giggly flustered mess.

The older twin shook his head fondly at his little brother’s embarrassed state, taking the opportunity to tickle the younger’s stomach while he wasn’t looking. 

Leo let out a loud scream, descending into high-pitched cackles as even louder snorts followed, “HAHAHAHELP!! IHI’M SNRT BEEHEEING SLAHAHAUTERED!!” 

“I’m quite literally only using one hand, Nardo. Stop being dramatic.” The light golden eyed teen mused whilst watching his brother snort and squirm, “And here I thought I was the dancer of the family. Look at you! You’re making up a whole dance routine right now!” He said as he let go of Leo, crossing his arms in amusement. 

“S-Shuhuhut snrt up…” The younger twin wheezed out, hugging his middles as he playfully glared at his purple loving brother. 

Then, a lightbulb went on in the scientist’s brain, a smug smile spreading to his face, “Hm…you know, Lee—”

“Dohont call snrt me thahat!” Leo giggly interupted. 

“Uh-huh. Well, Lee…did you know that the underarms are one of the warmest places on the human body?” The scientist said. 

The lime green eyed mutant cocked his head to the side in confusion, “Soho?” 

“Soooo my hands are cold. Very cold, in fact. I’d be forever in your debt if you could—”

“NO! NONOHO WAHAY IN HEHELL! G-GOHO AWAHAHAY!” Leo squealed, reaching for his brother’s wrists as the elder tried to tickle his neck once again.

Sigh…Leonardo made this too damn easy sometimes.

The glasses wielding teen wasn’t just going to miss this oh-so-definetly-not-planned opportunity! The softshell scribbled his fingers along the slider’s underarms, making the younger let out a loud squawk as he shot his arms down. 

“NAHAH AHAHAHA— snrt GEHET THEHE HEHELL OHAHA— snrt OHOHOUT!!” Leonardo cried while banging his heels on the bed. 

“What~?” Donnie hummed inocently. 

“GEHEHET AHA— snrt GEHET. OHOUT. OHOF THEHEHERE!”

“Awe…why~?”

“BEEHEECAUSE IHIT’S SOHO BAHAHAD!!!” 

“And?” Donnie chuckled, “That sounds like a you problem, little brother.” 

“AHHHAHA— snrt GAHAHAD FUHUCK YOHOU!!!”

“Pardon…what was that?” Donnie questioned as he pinched where Leo’s hip met his thigh. “N-NONO— snrt NAHAHAH!! I CAN’T— snrt PLEHEHEASE I’M snrt SORRY!! I-IHI TAHAHAKE IHIT BAHAHCK!!” 

“Nah…I think I’ll just stay riiiiight here for a bit…” The taller turtle smiled, using both of his hands now to tickle Leo into a laughing and snorting blob.

The younger weakly hit his big brother’s arms, throwing his head back as he squeezed his eyes completely shut. 

“…And you know what, Lee~?” 

“WHAHAHAT NOW?!” 

“I’m feeling…kind of famished.” The elder mused, his smile almost looking like the signature Joker’s as he saw his younger brother’s face pale. 

Leonardo scrambled to sit up, fighting with his brother’s arms as he giggly protested, “PLAHA— snrt PLAHAHEASE! PLEHEASE snrt D-DOHON’T!!” 

Donnie pinched his brother’s thighs unforgivingly, “You should have thought about that before yapping such ill nonsense about yourself.”

“WHAHA— snrt WHAHAHA— snrt WHAHAT DIHID snrt IHIHI snrt EVEN SAHAHAY?!” The lime green eyed turtle cackled, flapping his hands on the mattress. 

It took literally everything in the older twin not to coo his baby brother’s adorable actions; instead, he lightly moved Leo’s hands away, smiling evily as he lowered his head to the other’s plastron, “You don’t even know. Guess you really want this, huh~?” 

The blue banded teen kicked his knees into his brother’s shoulders and shell, throwing his head back in complete hysterics whilst waiting for him complete and utter demise. 

The softshell wasted no time blowing raspberries after raspberries in the middle of his younger’s stomach, making sure to move the other’s hands away any time he tried to push at the young genius’ head. 

Donnie didn’t feel like getting brain damage after all.

Plus, he had his signature glasses ᴅᴏɴᴀᴛᴇʟʟᴏ ᴛᴍ on! And those were trademarked…as you can wonderfully see. 

“God…can you get more ticklish?” Donatello giggled, squeezing and squishing the red eared slider’s knees with one hand and scribbling his sides with the other whilst contuinung to raspberry Leo’s stomach. 

“DEEHEE DEEHEEHEE SNRT PLEHEHEASE!!! IHI SNRT DAHAHAH— SNRT DAHA— SNRT DAHUNNO!!” The smaller turtle screamed, happy stimming with his arms on the taller twin’s shoulder.

Donnie couldn’t help but chuckle, deciding to show his twin a tad bit of mercy as he nibbled his stomach lightly. 

The slider let out bloody murder from his beak, happy tears threatening to fall from his eyes as his bubbly cackles and snorts bounced off the walls of his room.

“Jeez…I think Peppa Pig has some competition, huh~?” The light golden eyed mutant snickered.

“PLEHEHEASE!! TEHEHELLO SNRT IHI’M GOH— SNRT GOHOHA— AHAHA SNRT MYHYHY SNRTGAHAHAHAD!!!” The smaller teen pleaded.

“Do you promise to stop putting yourself in between danger and your family?” The older hummed. 

“YEHEHES!!” The younger cried loudly.

“Do you promise to go easier on yourself?” 

“YAHA— SNRT YAHA— SNRT YEHEHES!!!”

“Do you promise to accept your doing an amazing job as leader and we all love you—”

“MY SNRT FUHUHUCKING SNRT GAHAHAD!!! IHIHI SNRT GEHET IT!!” Leonardo shouted, his blush now completley blending into the red stripes on his face. 

The softshell turtle got off of the other, sitting next to his little brother as his little brother in question hugged his middles and giggled tiredly. 

“Y-Yohou could ohof juhuhust sahaid ahall of thahat wihihithout tickling meeheee…” The younger grumbled despite the evident smile on his face.

“And where’s the fun in that?” Donnie smiled back, his expression softening as Leo got up and leaned against him softly. The older wraped an arm around the younger’s shoulder, pulling him closer into a warm, protective gesture. 

“Ahand would yohohou look ahat that! Ihi got yohour emo bahad boy ahahass to smile todahay. Your eheeven hugging me~!” The blue banded leader spoke softly, his voice filled with affection as he poked his twin’s forehead cheekily. 

“You tell anyone that and I will not hesitate to deny that extremely untrue statement.” The scientist huffed, rolling his eyes fondly as his smile spread.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[gyudons]

despicable

updates as of 22 oct

Travis Dermott knew that he would draw attention with his actions in the Coyotes’ home opener against the Anaheim Ducks at Mullett Arena on Saturday. The Arizona defenseman just hoped that the spotlight might shine on the issue that he was addressing, not on him.

“You don’t really want to go against rules that are put in place by your employer, but there’s some people who took some positive things from it,” Dermott said. “That’s kind of what I’m looking to impact.

“You want to have everyone feel included and that’s something that I have felt passionate about for a long time in my career. It’s not like I just just jumped on this train. It’s something that I’ve felt has been lacking in the hockey community for a while. I feel like we need supporters of a movement like this; to have everyone feel included and really to beat home the idea that hockey is for everyone.”

“I won’t lie,” said Dermott, who is playing on a one-year, two-way contract. “From the outside, it’s easy to see that I’m putting my career on the line for something. I definitely went through some emotional ups and downs that night, not regretting anything by any means, but I’d love to have maybe done a couple of steps a little different by making sure that everyone was aware of what was going on before I did it.

“I don’t want to put my teammates or my coaches or my GMs or the equipment managers in any kind of bad light when it’s their job to kind of look out for something like this happening. It was definitely something that I did just by myself and was prepared to kind of deal with whatever repercussions the league decides to push towards that. I’m not going to back off and say that this battle is won, but we’re going to find better ways to do it.”

As Dermott noted, LGBTQ+ inclusion is an issue that he has supported for a long time. Without getting into specifics, Dermott said the issue is personal for him because it impacts people close to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed tears about this on multiple occasions,” he said. “So yeah, it’s something I’m definitely very passionate about.

“I’ve met a lot of people that from the outside, it looks like they have everything going right in their life and they have a smile on their face every time they talk to you. But sometimes when we get closer to people and get comfortable enough for them to open up to you, you can see that there’s some pretty dark stuff happening to some good people. It doesn’t take too many times encountering something like that for it to really change someone.

“I’ve been blessed to have some of those opportunities put in front of me to really change my view of what being a good person means; what being a good father and a good example and role model means going forward. You really see how people are hurting and it’s because of a system that maybe no one’s intentionally trying to be malicious about, but until you’ve really had that first-person experience seeing people hurting from it right in front of you, it’s tough to kind of take steps.”

It would be a surprise if the league handed down any sort of punishment. The optics alone would add to the public relations damage that the original ban created. Even so, Dermott reiterated his desire to bring the entire franchise into the fold before he takes similar actions in the future, but he also made it clear that he will not be silenced on the topic.

“It’s not like I’m shutting up and going away,” he said. “I know more questions are going to be coming. We’re just going to be as prepared as we can be to just spread love. That’s the thing. It’s gay pride that we’re talking about, but it could be men’s health. It could be any war. It’s just wanting world peace. Everyone’s got to love each other a little bit more.

“Like my parents said growing up, ‘How awesome would it be to be the guy that people look up to?’ That’s what really hit home when I was a kid, especially from my mom. You want to grow up and be that guy. You want to be the guy that’s having the impact on kids like NHL players had on you. If they had been racist or bigoted, that’s going to have an effect on you.

“With how many eyes are on us, especially with the young kids coming up in the new generation, you want to put as much positive love into their brain as you can. You want them to see that it’s not just being taught or coming from maybe their parents at home. They need to see it in the public eye for it to really make an effect.”

[selfcarecap]

MUSE [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x reader

summary: Logan would never admit it to anyone, but over the course of his long life he has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. He hasn’t done it in years, maybe even decades, but he’s struck by inspiration when he meets you. Of course, no one can know that Wolverine draws, so he does it in the dead of night, sliding anonymous envelopes with the finished drawings of you under your door. When he sees how much you love them, he wonders if you could also love the person behind them. 

warnings: smut 18+ but with an actual plot for once (brief m masturbation, oral f and m rec, unprotected piv sex, kind of accidental (but consensual obv) facial; pet names: bub, baby, good girl, princess), soft!Logan but he won’t admit it, also soft!reader, fluff (although the summary makes it sounds a bit more dramatic than it is tbh), implication that reader has curly hair, implied mutant/X-men!reader, (obviously the pic doesn’t represent the envelopes Logan uses lol he’s not doing all that)

word count: 7.3k

also i feel the need to say something about the fact that it’s Hugh Jackman’s birthday today lol so uh thanks for being huge jacked man and for giving us our Logan yay <3 | gorgeous divider by @plutism

It’s everything Logan is the opposite of – he would never tell a soul – but over the course of his long life, Logan has attempted to draw maybe once or twice. It’s not really him, but he did have a phase or two.

When he meets you, he hasn’t even thought of picking up a pencil in years. Ever since you’ve been at the mansion though, Logan’s fingertips twitch with the urge to start sketching your features every time he’s with you. It gets hard to ignore after a few days.

He waits until he’s known you a few weeks, there’s no way in hell he’d ask if he could draw you. He’d probably embarrass you by asking, and embarrass himself by admitting he’s into fucking art. That’s not him. 

Except, well, sometimes it is, when he’s inspired. And you’re nothing if not inspiring. 

He gives in to the urge to get out pencil and paper again, waiting until everyone else has gone to sleep. The first few drawings are shit, he feels like they’re almost an insult to you. It’s not that he’s accidentally drawing you ugly, it just doesn’t look like you. So he practises. 

Logan Howlett sits down at night to practise drawing. 

He picks out a few other things to draw then, to ease the pressure that comes with drawing the woman he… is friends with. Yeah, you’re a friend. And he totally knows that you’d never go for someone as rugged as him, that’s for sure. You deserve much more. So much more. 

But after a few nights he feels more confident in his drawing skills again, but still, as much as he can picture you in his mind – he can do that absolutely perfectly – he’s not too sure he could really draw you accurately.

So he gets Rogue to show him how goddamn fucking Instagram works so that he can look at some of your pictures and use them as a model. 

He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him; you’ve got him using social media.

He can’t believe it, but the first time he seriously attempts to draw you, it’s perfect. It’s a small drawing, not even as big as his palm, capturing your gorgeous face. He thinks of adding another few lines to your eyebrows, or to your hair or another small one to the outline of your lips, but he doesn’t want to mess with it. 

Logan hates how drawing makes him overthink, but he loves how it feels to create something other than violence with his hands for once – something that may even be the opposite. 

He hides the drawing in between the pages of a book, and hides the book under a pile of random clutter on his desk that not even he would normally spare a glance at. But when he lies down to go to sleep, he gets all the stuff out again and gets out the drawing. He wants to see it again. And he can’t leave it there anyway, what if the pressure from all the items on top of it smudges it? 

But he doesn’t know what else to do with it. He can’t really have a drawing of you sitting in his room. What if someone sees? Then what is he gonna do with it instead? 

He finally lets himself think the thought that’s politely been waiting to be allowed into his brain from the moment he decided he might take up drawing again. 

He could give it to you. 

Logan knows his drawing isn’t objectively a masterpiece, but if he’s proud of it he has to acknowledge that that probably means it’s at least decent. And you’re definitely the type of person to appreciate something like this. It’s weird admitting to himself that he’s even proud of what he’s drawn; he’s done so much in this world, who cares about a little drawing? 

The only thing is that Logan isn’t sure if he’s ready for anyone to see this side of him. To see the side that has him staying up until 3AM to finely trace the lines of someone’s eyelashes and cheekbones and lips, the side that makes him feel calm inside. 

He knows it’s stupid to hide but he just can’t. He decides he’ll leave the drawing in your room in an envelope, maybe a pink one to show you it’s not a creepy threat but meant as a sign of adoration, from someone who couldn’t resist but try to recreate your beauty. He won’t write his name on it, he just wants you to have it. 

Sappy motherfucker. 

He puts the small drawing back into the book and carefully pushes it between his mattress and the bedframe to protect it during the night. God, who even is he – protecting a tiny piece of paper? He groans at himself as he turns around to go to sleep. 

He dreams of making a thousand drawings of you, with you as his live model. His muse. 

You’re his girlfriend in his dream, he thinks. 

He’s sitting in a chair in your room, drawing you as you tell him about your day. You’re lying on your bed on your tummy, elbows propped up to support your head. You’re gently kicking your feet in the air behind you, wearing nothing but a t-shirt of Logan’s, some silly graphic socks, panties with little cherries on them, and a bright, bashful smile as Logan attempts to capture your glowing features in a sketch block he’s dedicated to drawings of you. 

He wakes up with morning wood. 

Logan is no stranger to jerking off with you on his mind, so he spits in his hand and slips it beneath his boxers, stroking himself as he thinks of you. He imagines you on top of him as he jerks his cock, imagines you under him, or with your legs around his head, or you between his knees on the floor. He cums quickly and hard, leaving his boxers wet and sticky.

He goes for a run after he’s dealt with it and picks up an envelope on his way. He’s doubting himself but he knows he has to just do it. He’d doubt himself even more if he pussied out – a grown man who can’t even slide an envelope under someone’s door. 

So Logan mans up and, like an idiot, kisses the fucking drawing before he puts it into the envelope. He licks the edges of it to close it and writes your name in the most anonymous handwriting he can muster and adds a little heart. 

It’s soo stupid. 

He makes sure no one is anywhere near your bedroom, walks up to your door, and slides the envelope underneath. Except he didn’t check if you were in your room. As soon as the envelope disappears beneath your door, he hears a short creak from your bed and your soft footsteps. 

He hears the small and adorable noise of curiosity you let out – a confused hm? – and then he quickly and quietly makes his way down the hallway. He hears your voice about ten seconds later, an intrigued hello? as you open the door, but you don’t investigate further, closing the door behind you. 

Logan’s heart is beating so fast. He’s never doing this shit again. 

He’s antsy all day, waiting for some type of reaction from you. Except you don’t know that the drawing is from him so he’s probably not even getting one, and he can’t conspicuously come to your room the same day you receive an anonymous drawing of yourself. 

It’s also when the insecurity settles in. Maybe he should have added a few more lines or started the entire drawing anew. Who does he think he is pretending to be an artist? 

He shakes those thoughts off as he starts training with the punching bag in the gym. It’s not something that he necessarily needs to train, but it gets rid of some of that pointless energy. This isn’t him, worried about some lines he drew on a piece of paper – a scrap of a paper, really. Who cares about something like that? Certainly not him. 

He sleeps dreamlessly and wakes up the next day disappointed that he didn’t get to dream about being your boyfriend again. God, what are you doing to him? Making him think about being boyfriend and girlfriend. He’s pathetic. You’re a friend and nothing more, and that’s fine. You probably don’t like him like that and he can deal with that.

-

He’s not even thinking of the drawing anymore, truly, when he walks into the kitchen the next morning. It only comes to mind when he sees you, alone in the kitchen, leaning over the counter to scroll on your phone, your weird green coffee (“it’s Matcha, Logan”) next to you as you stir it mindlessly with a metal straw. 

“Hi,” you look up with one of those sweet smiles of yours, but redirect your attention to your phone. 

At least you don’t immediately say something like hey, you know that drawing you slid under my door? It was so ugly I threw it away. Since when do you even draw? 

Not that he was worried you would or anything. He hasn’t been thinking about it. Obviously. Why would he? And he knows you would never expect that it’s him; that’s the only reason he did it. He never would have given you the drawing if he thought you could have even the slightest inkling that Logan would be someone who draws. But he still wants to know what you think of it. 

“You want some toast too?” You ask, putting your phone down and turning to get some bread. He sits down at the other side of the kitchen counter and as his eyes flicker to your green drink (he still doesn’t get it), he sees it. 

“Is that–” my drawing, he almost said, “What is that?” He pretends to be confused, drawing his eyebrows together, trying his best to look inquisitive, “No toast by the way, thanks.” 

You have one of those clear phone cases, filled with a bunch of tiny pictures and stickers (and is that your credit card?). But wedged in front of all of those is Logan’s drawing. 

“Did you draw it?” He asks. 

You turn around, giggling, “No, I don’t draw. And anyway, I wouldn’t be drawing pictures of myself. I got it in an envelope under my door yesterday, photocopied it because I was scared it would bend in my phone case. I don’t know who drew it.” 

“Secret admirer?” 

Smiling, you say, “I don’t know. I won’t get my hopes up. But the person must definitely be fond of me to draw me like that.” 

“Like what?” He asks, unsure if he’s about to be offended. 

“I don’t know, just, so beautiful. I’m not saying I’m not pretty or anything, but this looks… I don’t look like that. I wish I did. I can’t believe someone actually sees me like that. It’s stupid but I….” You trail off and, conveniently, the toast is done at the same time and you move on to that. 

But Logan won’t let you, “What’s stupid?” 

You turn towards him with a shy smile, “I’m embarrassed.”

Logan stays silent. He can’t seem too pushy and draw attention to himself, but his silence makes you confess.

“I cried when I first saw it yesterday. It’s one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. And it’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever received, for someone to perceive me in such an artistic way.” 

Logan makes a noise of satisfaction and smiles, asking you to pass your phone so he can look at it more – pretending it’s his first time seeing it. If you think that way about it, maybe the three more lines he was going to add aren’t that important after all. 

The problem is that it makes him want to draw more, his stupid heart melting at your reaction to something he made– no, created. 

-

After a week, he figures he has to give in. Drawing another picture of you is on his mind twenty-four seven. 

It doesn’t help that he still catches you staring at the copy of it in your phone case lovingly more than once a day and you’ve put the original drawing in a special little frame on your nightstand. He thinks he’s sappy for drawing it but he doesn’t think the same of you for enjoying the drawing. 

This is for you. It’s not about him. He’s not an artist or anything like that, he’s just doing something kind for someone he cares about (which is honestly sappy enough but he tries to ignore that). He’s usually more of a silent carer but maybe that’s why he likes this. He’s not making it a grand gesture, not making it a thing that he’s the one drawing for you. It’s just for you to enjoy. 

He’ll just make this second drawing and silently put it in your room, and he’s the last person you’ll suspect. 

But of course now that he knows it means something to you, he can’t get anything right. He draws your hair too curly, then not curly enough. He draws your nose too big, then too small. Your eyes end up crooked. He can’t erase too much because it’ll look sloppy, so even the drawing he gets almost perfect, he ruins with a few final additions at the end. 

It takes him an entire month for the next drawing, and it feels more like him that it’s been making him so angry that he couldn’t get it right at first. Maybe he had the wrong picture of artists. They’re always talking about pain, aren’t they, and that’s what he experiences too (over a drawing. Who is he?). 

He takes another few days to keep track of your routine, to monitor when you’ll be in your room. He can’t have it be as close as last time. 

He ends up doing it in the evening. There’s a time after dinner when most of the team stays together to watch tv, just talk, or play some games. It’s normal for some of you to wander off, come back or stick around a bit longer. It won’t be suspicious if he leaves for a few minutes and comes back.

Logan wants nothing more than to follow you when you say that you’re going to your room for the night; he wants to see your reaction. But he can’t. All he can do is go up to his own bedroom fifteen minutes later, lingering in the hallway longer than he needs to.

Just as he’s about to give up and go to sleep, you walk down the hallway, coming back from the bathroom.

“Logan!” you call all excitedly when you see him, and his heart skips a beat. Do you know the drawing is from him? 

“Look,” you take his arm and pull him to your room, “I got another drawing!”

He breathes out in relief; you don’t know it’s from him. He smiles when you hold up the drawing, already framed.

“Were you expecting to get another drawing?” he teases.

“Noo, but the frames came in a pack of two. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Logan looks at how your eyes sparkle, how proudly you’re showing him this drawing. All the work he put into it was definitely worth it. It’s another picture of your face, this time from a new angle, and with your hair styled differently, curls coiled another way from last time.

Logan clears his throat, remembering to keep up his act. “It looks good.”

“Good?” you take the frame from his hands defensively, “It’s beautiful.”

He chuckles, “Sorry, I don’t know much about this type of thing. It is beautiful though.” He’s looking at you instead of his drawing.

“It is. And you don’t have to know much about art or drawing to see how pretty this is. I still can’t believe someone would take the time to make these for me.”

Logan remains silent instead of saying what he wants to tell you. Of course he would take that time for you – and you don’t even know how much time it really took him. If there’s someone who’s worth it, it’s you.

Seeing your pleased smile at something he made for you, he decides he’s never going to stop drawing you.

-

He’s on a roll for some time. He’s better at drawing again now that he’s getting in practice, and he makes five drawings of you within the next weeks. Logan watches the collection of them on your nightstand grow fuller, along with your smile that somehow gets bigger every time you tell him about a new drawing.

It’s a wonder you haven’t caught on yet, but you don’t seem particularly interested in snooping around to find out who it is. You respect the person’s privacy, but you’ve confessed to him that you’d still love to know. 

“I won’t try to find out who it is. I won’t push it if they don’t want me to know… but, I mean, anyone would want to know, wouldn’t they?”

You’ve adopted the nickname of ‘secret admirer’ for this mysterious ‘they’, after Logan used the term about ten times. You were reluctant at first, because the person isn’t calling themself a secret admirer – you’d just be putting words in their mouth. But after seeing how much more beautiful the drawings get each time, you’ve accepted and admitted that, okay, yes, the person must be an admirer.

Your secret admirer Logan is particularly proud of his latest drawing, excited to bring it up to your room tonight. 

But this time he’s sloppy. He’s stayed for a few post-dinner card games with the team, and it’s risky, because you’ve been saying that it’s your last game for the last two rounds. But he also knows that you always say that, and never mean it.

Logan gets up to leave, and he hears Scott convincing you to play just one more round.

It’s stupid, really, risking it like that. Even if he’s gone from your room in time before you come upstairs, you could easily guess that it’s Logan. He’s the first one leaving the round tonight, so your first assumption could be that it was him.

Maybe subconsciously he wants to get caught. He’s seen how you light up at every drawing, and no matter how much you respect your admirer’s anonymity, of course you want to know who’s dedicating so much time and work to drawings of you. Of course it’s crossed your mind that the person isn’t just doing this because they’re a good friend. They’re drawing your face because they think it’s beyond beautiful.

Logan doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told you yet that he likes you. He’s good at flirting, and he’s attractive – he’s not blind. But with you it’s different, there’s a bigger risk, for the both of you. The older he gets, the harder it is to open up to yet another person. You’re friends, and you talk about personal things, but confessing that he’s in love with you is different.

Not to mention this stupid recurring dream he keeps having, in which you find out it’s Logan who’s been drawing you, and suddenly your opinion of the drawings changes. You don’t like him back like that, and suddenly the drawings feel creepy if you think about him staying up late drawing your face.

He rolls his eyes at himself and gets the thought out of his head, taking the small envelope out of the back pocket of his jeans, smoothing his hand over it. He looks around, making sure no one sees him.

Logan bends down to slide the envelope under your door as usual, but one of the corners of the paper catches against the wall, and he quickly opens it to check the drawing isn’t damaged. His heart is beating so fast, he feels stupid. 

He can hear footsteps, still far away, but he can hear them. Logan messily licks the edges of the envelope to close it back up, but it’s not sticking. He can’t decide between shoving it under the door like this or leaving now and bringing it back the next day. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage now.

Then he hears it. He miscalculated how far the footsteps were.

“Logan?”

He turns around slowly, and it feels like the world has frozen.

You come closer, looking at him and then at the letter that he must’ve dropped. It hasn’t made it under your door yet.

He says something before you can, “I’m delivering for someone else.”

“Who?” you ask, bending down to pick up the envelope. If he wasn’t petrified, he’d enjoy the view of you bent over in front of him.

He breathes. He can’t have anyone taking credit for his work, for his art (you called it that recently, he would never). But his heart is beating so fast he doesn’t know what the fuck to do or say. 

This is exactly why he never wanted to do any of this. He’s making a fool out of himself and that doesn’t usually happen, especially not over a piece of paper. Logan is confident, cocky even, he can admit that, and has no idea how to deal with things like being nervous; he never has to. This really isn’t him.

You don’t wait for an answer and look at the envelope. You open it so carefully, gently taking the drawing out with your fingertips. You’re treating it with so much care he immediately feels better. Again, this isn’t for him, it’s for you. (Well, it’s for him too but it’ll take him a while to admit that). 

He’s drawn your smile this time. You were happy in most of the drawings before, but he focussed more on the eyes, and your lips only ever tugged up in a slight smile. 

This one is a full-toothed grin, mid-laugh. 

You two were drinking last weekend. He barely felt it but your tipsy, giggly mood was contagious. He couldn’t imagine himself feeling any other way but blissful when you’re happy around him. 

It started when Logan made a casual comment about something silly Scott was wearing that night, and he had you giggling. He wanted to immediately hear that angelic sound again, of course, and so he gave you every joke about your shared friends he could think of – all light-hearted, but he was still glad you two were alone. 

It was the stupidest joke of all that made you really laugh, some dumb comparison between Xavier and Caillou. You probably wouldn’t even giggle at it anymore now, but in the moment it was so funny you almost spat out your drink from the deep belly laugh he drew from you, holding onto his bicep so you wouldn’t fall over as tears formed in your eyes from how hard you were laughing. He wanted to engrave the image on his soul. At least he got your smile on paper.

You look up at him now, eyes filled with tears. 

“You drew this?” you ask.

He nods softly. He can’t say it but he hopes the drawings convey how in love with you he is. 

Suddenly, Logan feels like his heart has stopped beating.

You’re kissing him. 

You’ve leaped up, wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, and now your lips are on his. 

He feels your mouth falter, probably because he’s being a fucking idiot and not kissing you back. Logan places his hands on your waist to pull you further towards him. Then his brain finally catches up and he can do what he’s wanted to for so long. 

He takes your chin with two fingers and angles you so you can kiss him easier. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of your soft, warm lips against him. You’re soft and warm all over. Your top has slipped up over his fingertips at your sides, and he slides his hands further around your back to support you against him even better. 

Logan’s tongue pushes at your lower lip, and you let out the sexiest, tiny moan of surprise as you part your lips for him, granting him access. 

His tongue touches the tip of yours and from then on your cravings intensify. You feel your way over his muscular shoulders, his big biceps and over the hard planes of his chest. When you’ve had a good feel there, your hands grip his shirt in desperation and Logan gets even hungrier for you. He gently bites at your lower lip, but then you shriek into his mouth and squirm out of his grasp. He opens his eyes wide. 

You grip Logan’s forearm for support when you bend down in a panic, picking up the drawing you just dropped. You let out a big breath of relief when you see it hasn’t been damaged. 

“You made me drop it!” You slap a hand to his chest; it doesn’t actually hurt and it’s not meant to, but it leaves a pleasant tingle behind instead. 

“I didn’t do anything”, Logan laughs, and you shake your head at him with a smile.

You take him into your room where you make him sit on the bed while you stare at the new drawing in awe. “I didn’t know you draw”, you say without taking your eyes off it.

“No one else knows.”

You pretend to zip your lips, smiling, “It’s our secret.” Logan can tell that you like that. He likes it too. It feels much better to share a secret with you than to be keeping one from you.

“I’ll only draw for you anyway, so there’s no point in telling anyone else.”

“You’re really good. I love the drawings.”

Logan gives a satisfied hum at your words, “You inspired me. Can’t have you walking around all pretty and not expect me to try and recreate it.”

You straddle Logan and hover over his lap to hug him, “They’re the best thing anyone's ever given to me. Do I really look like that?” You say the last question more quietly, and Logan wraps his arms around your sides, careful not to bump your hand that’s still holding the drawing.

“You’re more gorgeous than anything I could ever capture, but I think it comes close. I didn’t change anything about you to make you more beautiful. I couldn’t if I tried. I just tried to draw you as accurately as possible, that’s why it’s so beautiful.”

“I really love it,” you say again, happily staring at the details of the drawing. Hearing you say the word love so much tempts Logan, but he doesn’t want to move too fast. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. He does, however, want to kiss you again.

Logan carefully takes the framed drawing and puts it on your nightstand. You push your mouth against his before he can initiate the kiss, and he grins against your lips.

You don’t know how to put your feelings into words, so you’re kissing him instead. He pulls you down so that you’re not hovering over but sitting on his lap, and the mood immediately shifts to something different. Logan doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but if you’re ready then he’ll take anything he can get.

Your chest is pressed against Logan’s, and you can feel the rise and fall of his chest when he breathes. You may or may not be pressing your boobs against his body on purpose.

“God, baby, I’ve waited so long for this,” he says, already breathless, as his hands trail down your back, leaving goosebumps behind.

“You’ve waited long?” you raise your eyebrows, grinning, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you.”

You see the look in Logan’s eyes changing as he bites his lip, “Who says I didn’t want the same?”

You giggle, “Why did it take us so long?”

Logan chuckles, readjusting you so that you’re even closer to him, “I was too busy to actually talk to you, just been starin’ at you so I could draw you.” His cheeks have the faintest red tint, and you kiss them, hugging him.

You whisper into his ear, “Then it was worth the wait. And anyway, it’s not talking that I’m interested in right now.”

He pulls you back to look into your eyes, then at your lips. “Where do you want me?” he asks. You giggle slightly helplessly; you weren’t entirely prepared to have a man like Logan at your mercy like this tonight.

“You can do whatever you want,” you say softly, kissing him.

Logan’s lips are hungry against yours, strings of spit falling between you two, but he pauses the kiss to lie you on your back. “Wanna eat you out,” he husks, “Been dying to know what you taste like forever, bub. Can I?” He reaches for the hem of your top, and you nod so that he can pull it off you, admiring what’s underneath. 

“Sometimes I make myself cum imagining that I’m going down on you,” you confess somewhat shyly, but you figure he’s been so vulnerable for you that you can share a secret too.

Logan smirks, and pulls off his shirt, “Maybe we can make your dream come true then.”

You move to sit up, but he insists on eating you out first. You both take off all your clothes, staring at each other with huge smiles on your faces for a few moments. You’ve never seen Logan this happy.

“Look at you, baby. So pretty,” he leans down to kiss your lips, then down your neck, all the way to your legs. He spreads them, lying down between them as he all but drools at the sight of your wet pussy.

You get nervous all of a sudden. “It’s been a while,” you tell him. He looks up, taking your hand, enveloping it completely in his much bigger one.

“You sure about this? We can wait,” he gently kisses your knuckles, and a warmth spreads in your chest, slowing your heartbeat down a little.

“I’m sure,” you nod, and Logan comes up again to kiss you. The head of his hard cock catches against the space above your clit, and you both look down between your bodies. When Logan looks back up at you, his eyes are desperately begging you. You place your hand on his head, threading your fingers through his hair as he moves down your body.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” he mumbles into your thigh, kissing you there. You giggle, getting comfortable, your hand never leaving his hair.

Logan starts eating you out, his tongue gentle but determined against your clit.

“Taste so good, baby. Even better than I imagined.” You hum at Logan’s words, already feeling yourself come undone with his mouth on your wet pussy.

You sink further into the mattress when he starts sucking on your clit, licking into your pussy like a man starved every few moments, and your thighs squeeze around Logan’s head, and it’s even better than in his fantasies.

“Feels really good,” you tell him, pulling on his hair to stop yourself from moving too much, and Logan moans against your skin. Hearing your words motivates him even more, and he pushes two fingers into your wet pussy. He curls his fingers, rubbing up against that spot that makes you see stars.

Your back arches as you cum, Logan’s lips wrapped around your clit as your legs push harder against his head, and all he does is moan, revelling in the feeling.

Logan doesn’t stop licking your pussy until you’re tugging his head away by his hair, and he comes up for air with a grin on his face. You smile back, pulling him up to kiss him. You give yourself only a few seconds of recovery time before you make him sit down. You know you’d never have enough strength to actually make him get into a different position, but he lets you.

You push him onto his back, getting between his legs. You’re blinking up at him all prettily when you ask, “Can I suck your dick? Please?”

Logan huffs to himself because he can’t believe how hot you are, can’t believe that this is really finally happening. He tells you yes – he has no more words to describe how badly he wants this – and he watches you wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

It’s hard to grasp that it’s really you doing this right now – the woman he’s been into for so long. His cock is in your mouth and you look so gorgeous with spit running down from your lips, and all he can think of is all the dirty drawings he can now make of you, if you’ll let him.

He closes his eyes when you take him deeper, enveloping him with your warm, wet mouth. “Good girl,” he whispers absent-mindedly, too gone to say much more.

You’re not using your hands as you suck his cock, your spit trailing down on him, and you’re so eager. But it’s also late, and he sees you getting tired, eyes blinking slower as you pause to catch your breath every few moments. He also sees the determination in your eyes, and the absolute want, but he doesn’t want you to exhaust yourself. 

You look so sexy all fucked out, strings of spit connecting your mouth to his cock as you pull away another time, giggling up at him shyly when you realise that he’s noticing you getting tired.

“Just need a second,” you wipe your mouth, out of breath, and it’s not that you’re not incredibly hot like this, but he still wants to fuck you tonight and he’s not sure that will happen if you keep going.

“C’mere, baby,” he says, reaching out his hand.

“Huh?” you ask, taking his hand nevertheless.

“Get back here, baby. I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? Don’t want you tiring yourself out.”

You let him lift you and put you on your back, but you pout, “Wanna taste you.”

Logan grins, “I’ll cum in your mouth, princess. Promise.”

You smile at his answer, satisfied, so you lie back down, pulling your legs up to your chest. His cock looks huge as he jerks himself off between your legs, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you squirm.

“Don’t know if I can take you,” you bite your lip. You’re not entirely sure if you mean it or not. You definitely want to try.

“We’ll make it fit, baby, we’ll make it fit,” Logan assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your mouth, a mix of your wetness and his precum between your mouths. You feel his cock at your pussy, “You ready?”

“I’m ready,” you nod desperately, letting him push his cock into your pussy. He pauses after a few inches, but you wrap your legs around his waist more tightly, and he goes deeper.

“Y’okay, baby? You can take it, right?”

You nod, unable to form words with your pussy stretched like this, a combination of pleasure and pain between your legs – but it’s infinitely more pleasure.

“That’s right. You’re my good girl, hm?” He kisses along your neck as he bottoms out, and you both moan when he’s got his cock fully stuffed inside you for the first time. He pulls out slightly when you whine at the stretch, but you scratch down his back to get his attention.

“I can take it,” you tell him, and you watch the look in his eyes darken.

He begins to fuck you, the pain subsiding more with every thrust into your wet pussy. You can barely take him, but it feels good. With your slight tiredness, you feel like you’re floating on cloud nine. 

You can’t believe that Logan – your super hot friend Logan who you’ve been fantasising about for so long – is fucking you. He not only feels the same way about you, but he’s been your secret admirer this entire time, taking hours and hours out of his day to make you smile. You’re the only one he wants.

And now he’s fucking you, fucking you well, and you feel so warm inside, not just from the sex but you feel warm in your heart, because of Logan’s care.

“You okay?” he asks, stroking a hand down your face when he notices you’re not entirely present. You nod happily, smiling up at him, and you can’t talk because you feel so good.

“Good, that’s good, bub, but let me know if it gets too much,” he says as he starts rubbing your clit, watches you nod while he’s fucking you so well, and he’s so big and so deep inside of you, “Squeezing me so tight, baby, feel so fucking good.”

You cum suddenly, letting the warm pleasure flow through your body as Logan keeps fucking you through it, rubbing your clit in just the right rhythm.

“That’s my girl, taking it so well,” he moans, breaths stuttering. You slump against the pillow after a few moments, with a soft smile on your face, and Logan pulls out.

“Gonna make me cum, baby,” he jerks his cock, and you sit up on your elbows immediately, looking him in the eyes with a smile as you stick out your tongue for him. He promised.

Logan moans when he cums, painting your face in his release, jerking himself off. He holds your head in place with his other hand, aiming for your mouth but you’re making no effort to catch his cum there.

“Such a pretty fucking face, princess, ’m cumming all over it,” he rasps, shooting more ropes of his cum all over your cheeks, jacking off onto your face.

You open your eyes when he’s done and breathing heavily, and you smile up at him. You open your mouth, taking the head of his cock between your lips to suck off the last drops of cum.

“Look at you, baby. Look so fucking pretty with my cum all over your gorgeous face.”

You hum, pulling your mouth off him and licking your lips, tasting his salty release. You brush a finger over your cheek, sucking it into your mouth to taste him more. Logan kisses you then, the flavour of himself mixing between your mouths.

He cleans you up gently, carefully wiping your face with a baby wipe and kissing every inch of your cheeks afterwards. You take his face to kiss him properly, and if you didn’t seem so tired Logan would be ready for round two immediately.

“Next time you could try to actually cum in my mouth,” you tease, making Logan grin.

“Sorry, baby. Got too excited. Couldn’t focus on asking you again if it was okay.” He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I liked it.”

Logan grins, “Oh I could tell you liked it, baby.” You lightly slap his chest as you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

You cuddle for a while, not saying much because you don’t have to. You’ve both waited for this for so long that you’re just enjoying the moment, enjoying that it finally happened.

You slip out of his arms to sit on top of him. You’re in nothing but panties, the blanket bunching around your hips. You lean your hands against his chest as you tell him more about how much the drawings delighted you. And Logan cares, of course he cares to hear that, but he’s also just a man seeing the woman he’s into naked for the first time still. 

You become quiet when you realise that he’s not listening, and you giggle, “Distracted?”

Logan grins, “Just a little fucking bit, baby.” His eyes don’t leave your body, and you laugh as you bend down to kiss him. He grabs your ass, kneading the flesh. When you slightly sit up again, your tits are near his face, and he can’t help himself. He cups your breasts, playing with your nipples, making you hum.

“I should draw these,” he looks up at you, “Should draw every perfect fucking inch of you.”

“You wanna?” You adjust how you’re seated in his lap, and you feel that he’s already half hard under you again.

“Maybe after I’ve fucked you again.”

You smile, feeling yourself growing wetter on top of him.

“Tomorrow,” he continues, and your smile drops.

“But you’ve got to get more familiar with the inspiration, right? If you’re going to draw me.”

“That’s true, baby. But I think you’re too tired.”

You smile bashfully, ignoring how your eyelids were drooping shut just a few seconds ago, “Okay, but then I’ll have more energy for tomorrow.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles, pulling you off him to cuddle you again. He tucks you in and kisses your head. 

You turn to your side, taking one of the framed drawings and looking at it for a while. 

Logan watches you looking at it, and the sparkle in your eyes never fails to make him feel all warm inside. “Now that you actually know about it, I don’t have to draw you from memory anymore. I can study my muse in peace.”

“Aww, I’m your muse?” you beam.

“Of course you are, princess. You’re the only reason I’m drawing again.”

“I love your drawings so much.”

Logan clears his throat, and looks at you. “Well, I love you. So, I think that went into them.”

You look at him, pouting and then kissing him. “I love you too,” you say into his mouth. He grins against your lips, pulling you closer to kiss you some more. He can barely grasp that you just said that, but he’ll have enough time soon to comprehend how lucky he is. 

For now, he takes your hand, and asks, “The question might be redundant now, but do you wanna be mine? Be my girlfriend?”

“I’m already yours.”

Logan grins, takes you in his arms, and you’re still cuddling when you’re both drifting off to a peaceful sleep.

P.S. reblog with a comment and let me know your favourite moment/what you liked to get a drawing from Logan under your door tonight and a facial <33

gorgeous divider by @pommecita

[fxstpace]

the very first night

summary: the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers au, roommates au ⇢ word count: 19.7k ⇢ warnings: profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ⇢ a/n: title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.

ONE

You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.

Karmic retribution, if you will.

Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Kim Mingyu looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.

“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.

You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.

When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Kim Mingyu has.

“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”

“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)

You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.

Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Mingyu speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”

“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.

It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Mingyu had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Minghao, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Park Jihyo, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.

“That’s okay,” Mingyu says. “Take as long as you need.”

You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.

Mingyu moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Minghao’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Mingyu’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.

In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.

No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either. 

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Minghao and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”

“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”

Mingyu stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all. 

“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.

Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.

This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Mingyu would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Mingyu have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that. 

You think of what your old roommate, Jihyo, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.

You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Jihyo is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.

You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Mingyu has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require. 

You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.

Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee. 

(19:47) Jihyo: hows the apartment??? did u make mingyu clean the toilet yet?

(19:47) Mingyu: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.

You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.

TWO

It’s only after you move in with Mingyu that your separation from Jihyo truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.

Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.

It’s been a week, but you and Mingyu seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.

In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Mingyu’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.

You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”

You turn around and meet your co-worker, Lee Seokmin’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.

“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.

If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Lee Seokmin. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)

“Something on your mind?”

Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”

He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”

“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Seokmin, you can do better than that.”

“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”

His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought. 

Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.

“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”

“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Seokmin says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”

He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Seokmin’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”

“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Seokmin seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”

“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.

Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Seokmin waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.

You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Seokmin complimented her barrette.

He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”

His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”

“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”

“Really?”

Humming, Seokmin nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”

“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“You think so?” 

You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.

Seokmin’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.

“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?” 

You blink, but before you can digest Seokmin’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Seokmin aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.

“So,” Seokmin casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”

“I…” You pause and consider. 

Should you tell Seokmin? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Jihyo lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.

“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”

“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.

What Seokmin said makes sense. You and Mingyu are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Kim Mingyu, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn. 

You still are proud. For all you know, Mingyu might still be stubborn. 

What a pair, you think drily.

You and Seokmin shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Mingyu and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots. 

Once you reach the coffee machine, Seokmin hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”

The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Seokmin offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.

“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”

Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.

Should be a piece of cake.

THREE

Asking Mingyu if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.

When he comes back home from work, Mingyu has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.

It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Mingyu in the eye, after your conversation with Seokmin. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Jihyo. When you told her about Seokmin’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag. 

“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”

Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Jihyo that.

It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Mingyu and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Mingyu unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines. 

“Mingyu.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.

“Yeah?” 

“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”

Mingyu purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”

You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”

For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”

You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.

When you go back into the kitchen, you find Mingyu already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes. 

“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.

“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”

He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Minghao had a china cutlery phase, I think.”

That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.

“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Minghao’s precious cutlery.

While Mingyu wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Mingyu to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.

“Orange juice?” Mingyu’s eyebrows are raised.

“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.

But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”

Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.

Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Mingyu piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?

You shake those thoughts away. This is Kim Mingyu. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.

“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.

He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.

Well, almost.

It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Mingyu continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.

“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”

Mingyu’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Mingyu stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Mingyu. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”

He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:

“It’s too salty.”

FOUR

“Why are you leaving so early?” Jihyo’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.

“Seokmin said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”

A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”

“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”

“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Mingyu I said hi.”

“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.

Things between you and Mingyu are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.

Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.

Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.

Got some cookies from Minghao’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :) 

Mingyu’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.

Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.

Seokmin is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily. 

“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”

“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”

“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”

Seokmin nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him. 

He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Jihyo accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.

It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is. 

But you still don’t talk about Mingyu. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap. 

Finally, you and Seokmin round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.

“What do you want to have?” Seokmin asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.

You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”

“How about one of everything?”

You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Seokmin looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”

“I would,” Seokmin admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”

You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”

“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”

“Make that two croissants,” Seokmin finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”

“How gentlemanly of you.”

“I know.”

Seokmin pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Seokmin looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”

“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”

Oh.

Seokmin looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.

“...I’d like that, too,” you say.

Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.

FIVE

It’s getting late, and yet Kim Mingyu is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.

Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Mingyu can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Mingyu weren’t just two people who used to date.

How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.

Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea. 

Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths. 

But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago. 

Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.

You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own. 

His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.

Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.

“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”

“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”

Mingyu glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.” 

You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”

“The more you know…”

You laugh at that, and Mingyu looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones. 

Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.

You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Mingyu’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him. 

“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Jihyo right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Mingyu can’t see through it.

“Y/N,” is all he says. 

You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?

Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.

You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t say anything to make you stop.

SIX

Whenever you faltered, Jihyo was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.

She isn’t being very helpful right now.

“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”

She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.

“How’s Jaehyun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.

Jihyo lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”

“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”

Jihyo hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”

You guffaw. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”

“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”

“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”

You smile thinly. Jihyo might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.

“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Jaehyun.”

She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Mingyu sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”

Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?” 

You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Mingyu is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”

Of all possible things you expected Mingyu to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused. 

“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”

“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Mingyu is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Jihyo was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.

“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”

“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”

The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Mingyu makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.

Where Seokmin is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Mingyu is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Seokmin is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Mingyu is whispered jokes and shared silence.

Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Mingyu, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.

Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Mingyu seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.

You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Mingyu grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Mingyu likes it.

SEVEN

Seokmin drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.

Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Seokmin didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.

It’s getting harder to say no, however. Seokmin is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.

He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Seokmin doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.

So. It’s not Mingyu, but Seokmin is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Mingyu aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Seokmin.

“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again. 

The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Seokmin are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.

When you update Jihyo about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Mingyu?”

“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”

Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”

Mingyu interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Jihyo you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.

You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”

His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”

You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.

“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Kim Mingyu has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.

“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”

“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Mingyu’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”

“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Mingyu tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well. 

“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He only raises a single eyebrow at you.

That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.

It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Mingyu said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Mingyu’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Mingyu can pull off.)

“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Mingyu’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”

“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.

“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.

“When is this event?” 

“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.

“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.

“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”

EIGHT

Seokmin picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”

You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”

Seokmin’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.

He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Seokmin discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.

It’s refreshing, and when you and Seokmin finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. 

His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”

He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.

One of them is Mingyu.

The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Mingyu’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Seokmin makes a noise of disgust.

He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”

You nod numbly. “Okay.”

Seokmin leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Mingyu’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead. 

You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Mingyu kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.

You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.

The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Mingyu clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Kim Mingyu might not be as forgotten as you believe.

Which is fine, all things considered, except Kim Mingyu doesn’t give a damn.

You let the door slam shut behind you before Mingyu can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.

Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Mingyu is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants. 

You wish Jihyo was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Jeong Jaehyun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Jihyo was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.

Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?

Mingyu lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)

Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.

You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Mingyu’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway. 

Your phone pings with a text message from Seokmin, and you pick it up.

(19:47) Seokmin: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :) 

Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest. 

NINE

Monday is a horrible day.

You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.

And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.

You’re really not in the mood for Seokmin and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Seokmin places a placating hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”

“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”

“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Seokmin flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”

“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.

“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”

He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Mingyu; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.

Seokmin waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.

Briefly, your mind wanders to Mingyu—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Mingyu with that girl immediately afterwards.

The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Seokmin’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Mingyu stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Seokmin standing behind you.

“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.

You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Seokmin reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.

“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”

Mingyu shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Seokmin. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Mingyu, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”

“Come on in, Seokmin.” You glare at Mingyu. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Seokmin coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.

“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.

“Did something happen?” Mingyu moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.

“Y/N’s car broke down,” Seokmin supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”

“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”

It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.

“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.

Mingyu nods. “Good.”

You avert your attention to Seokmin. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Seokmin. You can leave my stuff there.”

“Okay.” Seokmin nods, giving Mingyu a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu.”

“You too.”

It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Seokmin is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Mingyu are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.

Seokmin lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.

He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”

Seokmin nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”

“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Seokmin is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.

“You’re… Lee Seokmin.” 

The words are flat on your tongue. Seokmin’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence. 

Seokmin is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Mingyu doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.

You swallow, looking at Seokmin directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”

Seokmin looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours. 

He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils. 

“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”

There’s a knock on your door, and you and Seokmin jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Seokmin looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”

“You left your phone outside,” Mingyu calls. “The mechanic just called.”

“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Mingyu to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”

“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”

“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.

You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”

“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching. 

Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Seokmin opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Mingyu a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him. 

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”

You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Seokmin together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Seokmin wanted to kiss you, but Mingyu interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Mingyu being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”

Mingyu’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”

“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.

Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Mingyu, and the other excited to explore what Seokmin could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.

TEN 

Jihyo is back.

Jihyo is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Mingyu’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.

She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.

“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.

“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”

“Ah.”

Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.

She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Jihyo stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Mingyu might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.

A situation that she knows nothing about.

You haven’t had the time to keep Jihyo updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Jeong Jaehyun. She doesn’t know about Seokmin, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Mingyu.

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Speak of the devil. 

You turn around and find Mingyu leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Jihyo already beat me to it, huh?”

“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory. 

“You didn’t tell her?” Jihyo echos, a curious tinge to her tone.

He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Mingyu dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Jihyo lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Mingyu, nor your newfound ones for Seokmin.

Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”

You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”

Jihyo only turns and stares at Mingyu. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”

“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Jihyo calls out gleefully to his retreating back. 

You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Mingyu tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Jihyo what happened, she would immediately make sure Mingyu doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks.

Jihyo grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Jihyo to notice.

Mingyu pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Mingyu looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Jihyo grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.

You and Jihyo round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Mingyu following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well. 

You let out a shuddering breath. Jihyo wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.

This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Jihyo bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.

This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.

You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.

His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him. 

Jihyo squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.

A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Jihyo explains who you are and why you’re here.

He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Jihyo consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit. 

A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Mingyu not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place? 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Mingyu’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”

He’s lying. 

He remembers. 

ELEVEN

“Spill.”

“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Jihyo. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.

“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Mingyu? Did he do something?”

You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.

“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”

“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”

Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”

“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”

“Y/N,” Jihyo says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”

You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”

“What, you mean Jaehyun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

Jihyo cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”

Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”

Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”

“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.

You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Mingyu and Seokmin and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Seokmin to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Mingyu. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.

When you don’t know what to say, Jihyo pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly. 

“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”

The question makes you contemplate. What do you want? 

“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.

She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.

You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Jihyo wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”

You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”

“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”

“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Jihyo grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”

“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”

“Tsk. So greedy.”

TWELVE

Introducing Seokmin to Jihyo was not a part of your agenda for the week.

But it’s Seokmin and it’s Jihyo, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.

Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Jihyo and Seokmin are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Jihyo can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Mingyu had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.

“You and Mingyu were together for a long time, huh?” Seokmin asks you quietly, once Jihyo is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.

You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?” 

Seokmin licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”

You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Lee Seokmin gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”

He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”

“I don’t know, Seokmin,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Seokmin to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.

He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Lee Seokmin. 

“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.

You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don’t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.

He opens his mouth, but Jihyo walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.

For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”

“I’ll come with,” Seokmin chimes in, and adds, in true Seokmin fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”

You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Jihyo glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”

“The best hands, actually,” Seokmin teasingly corrects. 

You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”

“Home it is,” Jihyo agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”

“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm. 

Seokmin grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.

Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves. 

This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)

Lee Seokmin compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.

Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.

You would like to think you’re a good actor.

Kim Mingyu has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.

Kim Mingyu and Lee Seokmin: Two sides of the same coin.

Jihyo’s question resonates in your mind as you and Seokmin walk back to your car.

What do you want?

As you near your vehicle, Seokmin puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.

“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.

“I did, Seokmin. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.

“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”

He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Seokmin whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”

Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Jihyo’s question now.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.

THIRTEEN

The light is on when you enter the apartment. Mingyu’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.

Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired. 

“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow. 

Mingyu glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Mingyu pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.

It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Mingyu thought you and Seokmin were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Mingyu too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.

“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.

“No thanks.”

Mingyu shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.

“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”

“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Seokmin?”

“...Yes.”

You don’t have to look at Mingyu to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”

Silence.

You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Mingyu’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.

His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.

For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” 

“How does it matter to you?”

Mingyu crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”

You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.

Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”

“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Mingyu. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts. 

“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”

You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”

“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.

“Say it again,” you repeat.

“I want—”

You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Mingyu, you want more.

You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Mingyu’s arms pull you closer to him.

“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again. 

You let him. It’s Kim Mingyu, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.

You don’t think of Seokmin; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.

God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon. 

His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat. 

Mingyu groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. “Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.

All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin. 

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.

“Shut the fuck up, Gyu,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity. 

Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Mingyu that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”

Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.

He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table. 

You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”

Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.

He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane. 

“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.

Mingyu only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit. 

You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Gyu, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”

This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.

With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Mingyu looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him. 

With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.

You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?

“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Mingyu who cockily asked you if Seokmin was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Jihyo like it was second nature to him.

You bite your lip. “Yes?”

“Do you… do you want anything? Water?” 

You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Kim Mingyu, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone. 

He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.

It hits you again, how you and Mingyu were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?

You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.

That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly. 

Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Mingyu broke up all over again.

SIXTEEN

You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Mingyu. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.

Jihyo is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Jeong Jaehyun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)

Seokmin doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.

You and Mingyu are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.

You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.

Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.

You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.

If you and Seokmin were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”

He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.

You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Seokmin’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.

Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Seokmin’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.

It doesn’t take you long to find Seokmin. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you okay?”

You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into. 

“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”

“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”

“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”

“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship. 

Seokmin looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”

“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”

He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”

He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”

“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.

This time, the smile Lee Seokmin gives you lights up his eyes.

SEVENTEEN

“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.

“Jihyo’s orders!” Seokmin calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”

Mingyu huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.

“Give it up,” he advises.

“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? No one told you to tell Seokmin everything!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Jihyo?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”

“Might as well get it over with,” Seokmin’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”

“I didn’t ask you, Seokmin,” you mutter.

“He’s right, you know.” Mingyu pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Jihyo hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”

“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”

“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Mingyu.

Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.

“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.

“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Seokmin came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Seokmin get the better of me.

“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Minghao, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.

Mingyu swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”

He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.

You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.

“Mingyu,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”

His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”

“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”

You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”

A pause, and then Mingyu’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Mingyu smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan. 

He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.

“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Seokmin’s standing outside.”

“Fuck him,” Mingyu says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.

You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth. 

“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”

Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Mingyu stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Seokmin from his misery.”

(Later, if you find Seokmin with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Mingyu’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)

EIGHTEEN

Mingyu sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips. 

“Such a tease,” you whisper out.

He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.

He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Mingyu sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily. 

Mingyu works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.

You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Mingyu leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.

He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Mingyu quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”

Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Mingyu tuts.

You lift up your neck curiously. Mingyu waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.

Once he pulls his fingers out, Mingyu bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Gyu?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.

“Call me that again,” he orders. 

“Fuck me, Gyu.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Mingyu to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.

He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”

“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.

Mingyu enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Mingyu grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.

He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name. 

Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Mingyu can tell your climax is approaching.

He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed. 

Mingyu thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause. 

You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching. 

“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.

You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Mingyu. 

You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.

NINETEEN

“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.

Mingyu chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Seokmin and Jihyo are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”

“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”

From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Jihyo still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Seokmin remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Mingyu and Jihyo decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.

“If you say so,” Mingyu agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”

“That’s different, Gyu. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Mingyu.

He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”

You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Mingyu giggle.

“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”

“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Mingyu’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.

You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.

The very first night you and Mingyu broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.

You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Mingyu don’t need that. 

[estrellami-1]

Ok so I saw a post about Steve as a teacher letting his kids control his Spotify which means his Wrapped is All Over The Place but the top artist is Corroded Coffin and Steve finds out from the thank-you video that Eddie is hot. I see it, I love it, it’s inspired.

I’m thinking something… a little different.

“Alright, class!” Steve calls. “Marcus, it’s your turn to choose the music, right?”

“Actually, Mr. H?” Amber pipes up. “Spotify Wrapped came out today!”

Steve blinks. “Spotify… what?”

Marcus is nodding. “Spotify Wrapped! It tallies up what you’ve listened to and gives you stats and stuff. It’s cool!”

“Ah,” Steve says, nodding, squinting at his computer. “And I see that… how?”

There’s a cacophony of noise until Steve holds up a hand. Everyone quiets, and Becky holds her hand up. He nods at her. “It’s at the top,” she says softly. “Where your recently played is.”

He smiles at her. “Thank you, Becky.” He navigates to it, clicking on it and letting the graphic play.

Their genre, apparently, is soft grass indie metal. He’s entirely sure that’s made up. Their top artist, making up sixty-four percent of the music they listened to, is Corroded Coffin.

There’s a video; a little thank-you the band put together. It starts with Eddie up front, as the lead singer. Gareth, Jeff, and Freak are slightly behind him, grinning at the camera. Steve recognizes the background as Jeff’s living room. “Hi!” Eddie starts. “Thanks so much for listening to our music this year.”

“We couldn’t do what we do without you,” Gareth adds on.

“And everything we do is for you!” Jeff says.

“It’s totally metal of you to listen to our music, and we appreciate it!” Freak finishes. They all wave, and the camera cuts off.

Steve is… gobsmacked. He loves his husband, truly, but he looks so uncomfortable, and the way he’s speaking is weirdly stilted. He was not made to stand still.

He shakes his head, knowing he’s about to make Eddie’s year, and blow these kids’ minds.

Eddie had always been more vocal than Steve about coming out, saying fuck it to the consequences. Maybe being gay was accepted in the metal community, but Steve had been too new in his current job to even think about the jeopardy this could put his career in.

But honestly. That video was terrible, and his kids deserve better.

He sighs, raises a hand to get the class’s attention. “I know that was cool,” he chuckles. “But if you can be quiet and patient, I could get you something even cooler.”

“Cooler than a video from Corroded Coffin?” Nick asks.

Steve tilts his head. “Cooler than that video, at least.”

Nick doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

Steve just smiles. “How about we find out?” He puts a finger to his lips and FaceTimes Eddie.

He makes sure his volume is low, enough so that he even has trouble hearing when Eddie picks up.

“Baby!” Eddie exclaims, then clocks the background and is instantly worried. “Wait, you’re still at work. Are you okay? Is everything okay? Did you hit your head again? Do I need to come get you?”

“Christ, you’re dramatic,” Steve mutters, grinning wide. “I’m fine. I’m with my class, and we just finished looking at our Spotify Wrapped. Guess who our number one artist for the year was.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkle. He grins. Steve nods. “Corroded Coffin,” he confirms, then sighs. “I have to say, though, I was a little disappointed by the video.”

Eddie groans, throwing his head back. Steve gets a great view up his husband’s nose. “I know! I know, it sucked, but the guys were happy with it and it was, like, our eighth go, and-”

“I get it,” Steve promises. “But how would you like to one-up it?”

It takes Eddie a second, but his eyes gleam. “Are you sure? Your career-”

“Is stable enough now,” Steve finishes. “I’m sure. If you are.”

“Fuck,” Eddie mouths, conscientious of Steve’s class. “I love you.”

Steve smiles, blows a kiss to the camera. He gets a smattering of awws from some of his female students.

He figures out how to connect his phone to his computer to the screen, pushes the volume button up, and nods. “Go, Eds.”

Eddie grins and waves at the screen. “Hi, Mr. Harrington’s class! I’ve heard so much about you guys. It’s totally metal that you’re listening to our music—that’s something your teacher neglected to tell me.” He grins at the screen, a private thing for Steve, who dutifully rolls his eyes.

“I hear your music every day, Eds, forgive me if I don’t think anything of it when I hear it here and at home.”

“Mr. H,” Nathan asks in a pseudo-whisper, “how the hell do you know Eddie Munson?”

Eddie bursts out in a laugh. “You must be Nathan,” he says.

Nathan goes white, then pink. “H-hi, Mr. Munson, sir.”

“I think you should be their teacher,” Steve says, grinning first at Eddie, then his class. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Nathan say sir before.”

Everyone laughs—including Nathan—and Eleanor raises her hand. “How do you know him?”

Steve takes a breath, glances at his phone. Eddie’s smiling patiently at him, and Steve’s own smile grows as he answers her. “I’m his husband,” he tells her.

“Ten years and counting!” Eddie crows. “Though we’ve known each other for… twenty… something.”

Steve chuckles. “Twenty-three, Eds. If you count high school, which I don’t.”

“But I do,” Eddie nods. “Twenty-three years. And counting.”

Steve chuckles again. “And counting,” he agrees.

As his room explodes into noise, he looks back at his phone to find Eddie already looking at him.

That’s the way it goes, he thinks. Eddie saw him the whole time. It took Steve a while to catch up, but now that he has, he’s never been happier.

Twenty-three years and counting, indeed.