#it’s putting your life in someone else’s hands knowing they won’t snuff it out then and there

[guillotine-drop]

Thinking about bonds between super mutants and I think the most intimate bordering on romantic thing that SM’s (and the SoSu w Strong if Bethesda weren’t cowards) can do is forming some kind of blood pact and essentially swearing fealty to each other

Imagine a super mutant trusting you enough to sit you down and essentially say ‘I want to be bonded with you permanently’ by offering you the chance to mix blood. It’s easy enough for you to do, the skin on your palm is less than 2mm thick. You could take a pocket knife and open it up, but them? They have to work for it. They have to put some effort in to get through the skin, and that means something. It means everything, actually. You’re essentially swearing to be the hand that guides the swing if they’ll be the hammer to be swung. Swearing your loyalty as long as they swear theirs. Being their shield if they’ll be your bulwark. You’re both equals, maybe not in size or in strength, but you’re the only one they trust with their life. They’ll raze a city for you if you’ll crush an army for them. It’s beyond romance, it’s beyond pacts and creeds, it’s something even deeper. One of you may be more delicate, with skin that can be broken easily and bruised even more so, while the other is a wall of sinew and muscle that can shrug off bullets like it’s nothing, but now you’re bound by the one thing that makes the both of you the same: you both bleed, and you both bleed red.

[fuwushiguro]

Come To Me, Eternally

chapter three | masterlist

Shuuji Hanma x f!reader

Genre: Smut & Angst Notes: And so it ends Warnings: 18+, dubcon, alcohol consumption, smoking, gun stand off, major character death, mentioned violence against the reader, domestic abuse, graphic description of murder, vaginal sex, creampie, collaring. Words: 3.2k

networks: @planetonet @tometpd

Shuuji Hanma has never been a man to feel fear in his life. When others find themselves feeling alert and on edge, Hanma can do nought but laugh. But since leaving your place… The home that you share with your fiancé, his boss, he believes this may be the closest to panic he’s ever felt. In fact, he’d go as far as to admit he’s a little scared. Kisaki is a crazy fuck, like him. And also not to dissimilarly to Hanma, he’s calculated. He imagines that Kisaki has already gone out of his way to contact his subordinates and alert them of Hanma’s treachery. Hanma is brave, in the sense that he can stay in his penthouse like he didn’t reveal he’d been fucking his precious fiancé behind his back. He supposes you were right about one thing.

Shuuji Hanma is a dead man walking.

He’s been sipping his favourite whiskey since the minute he got home. But he isn’t stupid, he needs his wits about him, after all. He’s been nursing the same drink for a long while. He needs to consider himself. His next course of action. What has happened. What will happen. You entering his life after so long was an unexpected cog in his well oiled machine of existence. It had been so long since he’d thought about his favourite slut. His toy. He still can’t believe that he managed to forget you at all.

How could he forget someone he spent so long going out of his way to torment? Someone he forced to give her virginity to him. He was clumsy then, he’s sure you’ll agree. He had a little experience, more than most, so he knew what he was doing with you. But now, he is matured, he is a man. Despite the fact he sees women as devices to give him pleasure, he knows exactly how to please. And although it’s been so long since he played with your body, it is simply unforgettable. It is his. He’ll touch you just right and make you come undone with so little effort you’ll have barely taken a breath.

Is that why you run to him?

Is that why you’re back in his life?

Because you’re his, aren’t you? You won’t forget something so important like that. You’re always going to be his girl. Hanma’s Toy. It’s engraved in your flesh for that exact reason. But even without that permanent, black, ink. How could you forget someone you gave your virginity too? How could you forget all of the things he did and made you do? You couldn’t. You can’t. Even at such a young age, you wonder if he knew what he was doing. If he wanted to scar you so vehemently that you’d never be able to erase him from the recesses of your mind.

You’re his.

No one else’s.

His.

“Open the door, Hanma.”

It’s familiar. Why wouldn’t he recognise the voice of a man he’s been thick as thieves with for over a decade? With a cigar latched between his lips and his gun in his hands, he stands perfectly adjacent to the front door of his penthouse and points the weapon at the entrance. He has no doubt in his mind that Kisaki has brought an army with him to snuff him out and put an end to the memorable and insufferable Shuuji Hanma.

“It’s open, Tetta.” he responds. The use of his forename enrages Kisaki, a clear snub of his superiority and a lack of respect from Hanma.

He opens the door slowly… slowly… slowly… until they’re face to face with each other. And it’s unbelievable, but somehow, they manage to laugh. Kisaki is pointing his gun at Hanma, and Hanma’s is pointing right back. And for some reason, it’s so fucking amusing. How did things get like this? At one point or another, Kisaki would have trusted Hanma more than anyone else in the world. Even you. Fuck. You.

“Don’t tell me you came alone.” Hanma queries, refusing to let his guard down but still managing to take a tactical puff of his cigar.

“I did, believe it or not. I’m a reasonable man. Some might say, smart,”

“First I’m hearing about that.” Hanma jokes, earning a snicker from his former friend.

“I figure there’s history. And a simple explanation might just clear this all up. So, I haven’t told a damn soul about this. Pour me a drink.” Kisaki speaks and demands as he tilts his head and his gun in the direction of the tumbler of whiskey standing alone at Hanma’s lonely dining table.

“For real?”

“We’ll drink, and I’ll listen to what you have to say. And then I’ll blow your fucking head off for touching my little wifey.” he talks, calmly. The final sentence sounds like a joke, but his eyes are telling another story. He’s serious, deadly so.

Hanma clears his throat, refusing to lower his gun as he walks closer to the bottle of whiskey. He grabs an extra tumbler, pouring the bronze liquid into the glass while keeping his eyes and gun focused on his boss. Kisaki enters the penthouse, using his foot to close the door behind him.

It’s almost comical, really, how neither of the men refuse to put away their weapons. Even while sitting so close to each other. Their legs spread, a show of dominance, like men do, as they sit and find the most comfortable positions in their seats. It’s almost like a silent contest to display who needs more leg room, which of them has the biggest cock and balls.

It's Hanma.

Their gun holding arms turn to jelly as they enjoy their drinks. Resting the cool metal killing devices on their legs as they casually sip and slurp as if they’re indulging in last orders at a bar with close friends. A memory they’ve shared more times than they can count. But this is nothing like that complacent, relaxing vibe. This is tense.

“She’s missing, now. Have you, uh, seen her?” Kisaki queries.

“No. Why would I have? Doesn’t she have friends?” Hanma responds, calmly. Kisaki studies his eyes. Enough years in this line of work, and you can spot a liar with genuine ease. So, he stares and stares.

“I know she’s here, Hanma.”

Hanma takes another swig of his drink, clearing off the last remaining drops before pouring another for himself. But he shakes his head, adamant he has no idea what he’s referring to.

“You wanted to talk about her, you said. So, what went down after I left?” Hanma asks, a question he’s been dying to know after he fled. He has never felt guilt before. He thinks he might be a sociopath, most days. Or else he wouldn’t have put you through everything he did in the past. And yet, for the first time maybe ever, he felt bad for leaving you with him tonight. He turned your world upside down and threw you to the wolves. It was too much like the old him. A him he isn’t ashamed of, but he likes to think he is at least a little better than. So, he had to ask. What happened?

“Well. I was mad, you get that, right? It’s understandable, I mean—”

“Did you damage my toy, Kisaki?”

“Not yours, mine. But, yeah, so fucking what? I beat her black and blue. What sane man wouldn’t?” Kisaki questions. Hanma slams his glass down on the table, earning an explosive laugh from his boss. “Come the fuck on. I loved her, y’know? Spent a fortune on her. Gave her everything. Only for her to cheat with… you. Thought she was my princess, my forever.”

“No one will love her like I can. I’ve loved her since the day I set eyes on her as a kid. So, I’ll tell you one more time. My toy. My princess. My forever. I’ll find her and fuck her into the shape of my cock because she is mine. And my name is on her forever, to prove it.” Hanma monologues, it’s relaxed and pointed. Kisaki retains each and every word. An indescribable rage sears through him and he realises he’ll never have what you have with Hanma. History. But that fucking mark. It can be removed. It can be changed. He’s signed his name into your skin tonight in the form of blooming blue and purple blooms. It’s just a shame they aren’t permanent.

“You have to die, that’s a given. Yeah?” Kisaki chuckles, and even Hanma smiles.

“If you think you can kill me. If you think I will let that happen. Sure.”

“It’s a matter of pride, man. I loved… love her. And she is mine, no matter what you say or think. But what she did, I’ll never forgive. I’ll spend the rest of my life making her pay for it.”

“You won’t see her again for the rest of your life, Tetta. Only one of us is getting out of this penthouse alive and I intend on making sure it’s me.”

“She humiliated me. With you. I’m all for happy endings but not at the cost of my own. I can’t lose her to you, man, I can’t.” he tells him, a tone of finality filling his words. Hanma shakes his head, again. In his eyes, he has no choice.

“Do you know I took her purity from her? Even if I die, she’ll never forget me for the simple fact I took her virginity. You don’t forget your first. And, you’ll never be able to love her like I can. Like I do. You’ll have to kill me to stop me from claiming my toy back, but like I said, I have no intention of letting that happen.”

You wonder if it’s the sociopath in him. He’s thankful that Kisaki was looking at his drink when Hanma’s eyes widened, ever so slightly. His heart rate quickened, the organ was pounding as he tried to keep a neutral, poker face. He managed to steady the tremoring of his fingers as he tried to pretend nothing was happening behind Tetta Kisaki. Crossing one leg over the other as he smiled and drank his whiskey in such a nonchalant manner. It roused Kisaki’s suspicion to see Hanma become his usual, cocky self.

Bang.

That cocky, trademark smirk wiped off of Hanma’s face in an instant. Instead, he donned an unimpressed, almost bored thin lipped expression as the blood of your ex-fiancé spattered across his face. He smacked his lips together, attempting to discover whether he could taste copper on his tongue as he paid no mind to your former partners body slump out of his chair and collide with the ground.

You were a coward for killing him like that. His back to you and no way to defend himself. You got him right in the back of his head, and you could only assume there was an exit wound somewhere close to between his eyes as it pissed blood and puddled around his body and seeped into his expensive Louis Vuitton suit.

“S-Shuuji…” you whimpered.

“Shush.” he demanded, getting up from his seat and tutting you into a stunned silence. You murdered someone. Fuck. You, a regular fucking person, killed Tetta Kisaki. Hanma grabbed your shoulders, firmly, kissing your forehead and forcing you to look him in the eye as he spoke to you. “You did the right thing, baby.” he assures you.

“I… killed someo- no. Killing is… it’s never the right thing!” you feel like you are screaming but in reality your voice has almost died in your throat as you try and articulate your conflicting feelings. He would have probably killed you first. You thought he was going to, tonight. Hanma did some terrible things to you but he never beat you. You’ve never felt so sore, so pained. And yet so lucky to be alive. And Hanma, fuck, you can’t believe this is really Hanma. His touches are so tender and delicate. So sweet. He knows you’re hurting. He could see it in the bruises when you first stumbled into his home, yes, but he could predominantly see it in your eyes.

“Bastard deserved it and then some for doing this to you.” he states, you try to shake your head but you can’t. He stills your skull with two large palms, once again forcing you to look into his drowsy, golden eyes. “I’m a real piece of shit, but even I wouldn’t lay a hand on a woman. How could he hurt someone as precious as you?”

“I’m a murderer, Shuuji I can’t, I—”

“He didn’t tell anyone he was coming here. No one will know about this internal struggle. You know what that means? I’ll be taking over Kisaki’s role in the company. You’re mine, again, and everything is gonna be fine.”

“I don’t know…” you sigh, obvious concern in your voice. But again, he tuts, a feeble attempt of dismissing the worry from your body.

“Come.” he demands. “Into the shower, wanna wash this prick off us before I make arrangements to move him.”

“S-Shuuji, please. Please be—”

“I know, baby, I know.”

It is the most glamorous shower you’ve ever seen and will ever hope to see. The shower head is attached to the ceiling and you both fit inside with plenty of space surrounding you still. There’s even a small bench, made out of the same marble material as the walls you are standing inside of. Of course the door is glass, fogged completely with steam from the boiling shower as well as your rising body heats.

He sits, peacefully, allowing you to stand alone under the shower as you cleanse your naked, shaken body. You can’t help but giggle when you see his cock standing to full attention as he ogles you lathering your body in shower gel and allowing the water to cascade down your body.

You’d never of expected him to sit so patiently like this while he has you as his. You are officially his property and he isn’t doing anything about it.

Or so you thought.

The nice guy act soon wore thin, and you found yourself shoved against the glass door. You struggled, slightly, your bruises aching the further he forced himself into you and against the glass.

“H-Hurts, Shuuji, it, ah—!”

“Can’t wait anymore.” he informs you as he guides his cock head to your sodden cunt. “Need to make you mine again.” he tells you.

And with that, you realise this isn’t going to be about you. He knows how to fuck you. How to make you cum. And yet, he won’t. His priority is himself. Filling you to the brim with his cum and marking your insides officially as his.

“Always had such a tight little pussy, haven’t you? All mine. All fucking mine.” he practically growls in your ear as he begins to slam up into you.

“P-Please, Hanma. Slower! Slow…” you beg, pathetically silent it’s almost drowned out by the pelting drops of water cascading against the ground. A simple ‘tsk’ leaves his lips as he kisses your cheek and reaches around to fondle your clit.

“Wish I could kill him twice for making you so sore.” he hums as he allows his fingers to dance lightly across your battered skin. But it doesn’t stop him from pummelling against your body, if anything, he’s fucking into your sweet spot harder. He’s moaning, grunting, gasping almost, as he approaches his doom. He’s quick. He could easily lie and say it’s for your benefit, which it is. But it’s for him. The sooner your insides are painted white, the better. “Oh – fuck – ‘m cummin’, Christ ‘m cummin’ baby.”

And you feel it, God you feel it because he shoots his load directly into your womb, you think. They’re silent thoughts, but he’s already thinking about you carrying his child. He always pictured three or four with you. Three boys that give the two of you hell and one girl he worships with everything he has. Not now, he hopes. With your mental state so fragile and everything so new.

His cum dribbles down your legs. But the minute you step under the shower, it’s being carried down the plughole by the current.

Definitely not now.

He abandons you, a towel wrapped around his waist as he heads towards his bedroom. You find a towel for your body as well as your hair, doing your best to chase after him without slipping and falling in the process. He’s rummaging around in his drawers desperately searching for something. He looks back at you, briefly, as you enter, and then back again with more focus as he takes in what he’s seeing.

“Towel off sweetheart. No hiding your body from me, wanna see every inch.” he instructs. You do as you’re told, unwrapping the white, fluffy towel from your body and exposing your skin to the freezing, air-conditioned room.

“What are you doing?” you wonder, sitting on the edge on his bed eagerly as you wait from him to come over to you.

Finally, he finds what it is he’s looking for. “Stand up.” he tells you, hiding whatever it is behind his back. Once again, you comply, watching him come closer to you and sit himself down. “Sit on me.” he demands. You straddle him. He kisses each and every inch of your body within his reach. He smooths his hand over the sickening blue blotches delivered to your skin by Tetta. You gasp, erotically, as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth as sucks sweetly.

“Shuuji…” you moan, losing yourself to his touch. “What’s behind your back?”

“Somethin’ very special, it’s old but looks like new.” he smiles into your body. “I got you it years ago, didn’t get the chance to give you it.”

“I wanna see.”

He reaches behind his back. And it’s odd, the look in his eye is almost hesitant. Like he doesn’t want to give it to you. He isn’t sure of himself. Is he worried that you won’t like it? But, your pleading gaze wins him over.

“I… I want to hate it, but I don’t. I, I love it.” you giggle. It’s a collar. A beautiful pink collar with your name engraved on the silver bone. “Oh God, I really love it.”

“There’s a leash too.” Hanma laughs. He raises it to put it around your neck, and you find yourself letting him with not a single complaint. Maybe you’re in a state of unknowing because of what you did to Kisaki. Nothing matters and nothing feels real. But for whatever reason. You are obsessed with this new accessory. And it’s sick, because it feels romantic. In days gone by, you were known as nothing to him other than Hanma’s toy. But this… has your fucking name on it.

“Fuck. Hanma… ‘m really yours, aren’t I? Always been yours.”

“Yeah. Always been mine.”

© 2022 fuwushiguro

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[mara-xx217]

Pokes head

May I request Michael being a possessive daddy and fighting a killer who hurt his girlfriend ? It can be anyway you like 💙

Why of course you can~ This isn’t based in Dbd, but the normal world. Hope you don’t mind!

Possessive, Protective Mikey

You were like some sort of disease to Michael. Or, perhaps, a parasite was a better descriptor of how you affected him. You wormed your way into him, deep into his chest, right beside his cold, soulless heart. You made him… feel, regardless of what that actually meant, it was beyond unacceptable in his eyes. That warm, painful throbbing in his chest was more than distracting, it was nauseating, disturbing. Terrifying… In a sick, twisted, wrong way, you terrified the Shape of Haddonfield. Michael fucking Myers was absolutely terrified of a small, defenseless creature that was completely helpless against the evil and cruelty he wielded against the world. He should kill you a hundred thousand times over for this transgression! But… it wouldn’t make him feel any better. He only… feels more empty every time your cheeks are stained with tears. Cold. Dead. Michael would feel dead without you…

This isn’t the first time he’s caught someone hurting you. It’s happened many, many times over, and his reaction has ranged from blinded rage to searing hatred. Not just for the one harming you, but towards you, yourself. It was that lack of control that drove Michael insane. He couldn’t watch you 24/7, couldn’t always follow you around or know where you were at any given moment… It drove him fucking crazy, and he took that frustration out on not just the asshole unfortunate enough to have crossed paths with you, but onto you, as well.

But, even that was quickly losing its luster to him. Michael had thought that hurting you would bring him some sort of fulfillment, like it has always done in the past when he had hurt others. It never has, though. Sure, he’s lied to himself, trying desperately to convince himself that seeing you all small, all scared and teary-eyed brought him a measure of enjoyment, to have your blood on his hands, to have you groveling in terror before him- but it didn’t. It- He- Michael felt… not good, when that happened. You made him… stop to consider how his actions would affect you, and he hated that.

Michael despises that you’re a magnet for trouble. That you just can’t seem to stay the hell away from people that want to do you harm. Sure, he doesn’t mind killing them. Quite the opposite, in fact, he rather enjoys seeing them covered in their own blood, begging for their pathetic lives before he mercilessly snuffs them out. No, Michael hates that you get hurt in the first place. The only one that should ever have the right to put their hands on you was him! Him, and him alone. Anyone else would be destroyed.

Some wannabe serial killer punk had set his eyes on you. Luckily for you, Michael knew better than to leave you to your own devices, anymore. He caught the little bastard scoping out your home before you had any idea of the danger you were in. He’d make sure that, this time, he’d be in complete control of the situation. You won’t be hurt, but that idiot thinking that he can do as he pleases? He’s going to regret the day he was born…

Sitting in your kitchen, you drank what must be your fifth coffee of the night. Strange things were happening, and it left you unable and unwilling to sleep at night. Rustling outside your windows, the sound of someone possibly jimmying your doors and windows, looking for a possible way in… Muddy footprints on your porch and small, dead animals left on your door mat… It was becoming too much. You’re… pretty sure it wasn’t Michael. He did love to torment you, but this wasn't really his thing. He was much more… direct, with his approach to you. This… this was someone else…

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you rub your eyes, feeling them water involuntarily from how dry they were. Anxiously, you tap your fingers on the top of the counter, before sighing heavily and grabbing your coffee mug. You decided to make your way to the living room, thinking that some TV would help calm your nerves and get your mind off of things. Fuck, I’m exhausted… You thought bitterly as you crashed onto the couch, nearly spilling lukewarm coffee all over yourself.

Picking up the remote, you absentmindedly flipped through channels, not really wanting to watch anything. It was just something else to focus on, rather than the impending sense of dread that was washing over you. This feeling was one that you were well acquainted with: the feeling of being watched. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your palms were slick with sweat. Slowly, you sit up, clumsily placing your mug on the table in front of you. The hairs on your entire body stood on end. Something’s not right here…

As you begin to rise off the couch, a firm hand pushes you back down into a sitting position. Your heart jumped up into your throat. You’re very familiar with Michael’s hands, and the one still gripping your shoulder was much, much smaller than his… Short, shaky breaths escaped through your clenched teeth. Fuck..! Oh shit- Oh my God no no no-! You don’t dare to move, only stare straight ahead at nothing as your mind runs wild with possibilities. Who the hell is it?! How did they get in?! Why me?! Where the fuck is Michael when I fucking need him?!?

The intruder sucks in a deep breath, as though he’s about to say something, but instead yelps in surprise as he’s ripped away from you suddenly and violently. You gasp, shooting up and scrambling across the room, back peddling into an opposing corner. Curling in on yourself, you crumple onto the floor, watching the brutality unfolding before you through the cracks of your fingers.

Michael had thrown the intruder back, sending him crashing into a mostly bare bookshelf, breaking most of the shelves along with it. You cringe and jump, feeling your insides twist and revolt against you. Michael drops to the floor, straddling the winded, smaller man as he desperately tries to fight back. Vainly. It was laughable, really. The idiot didn’t stand a chance against the human incarnation of evil, itself.

Michael briefly debated on playing with his food. There was something about seeing them crawl and beg that really set him off, but when he glanced at you over his shoulder, in the fetal position and hyperventilating, he actually decided against it. It was getting under his skin seeing you like this, and the quicker this is… inconvenience is dealt with, the quicker things will be back to normal. Well, to Michael’s fucked up definition of the word “normal”, that is.

With a quick stab to the back of his neck, the intruder was killed. Normally, Michael would have painted the walls with this creep’s blood, but he decided that it would be too much of a pain in the ass to clean up. With a flick of his wrist, Michael twists and pulls out the blade, wiping the excess blood onto the back of his victim’s shirt. He looks back over to you, and sees you stiffen. His… Huh. His chest actually hurts…

With a heavy sigh, he stands, stepping over the dead body as he makes his way over to you. A major part of you was beyond terrified. Is he gonna hurt me..? Oh- Oh God..! I’m gonna- I’m- I’m gonna..! You were trembling, shaking so hard that your teeth were actually chattering audibly. Michael’s eye twitched. He was conflicted: one part of him loved that you were this scared of him, as you should be, but the other… the other hated it. He- Well, he wanted… something, but he just didn’t know what. Fingers twitching, he reached out to you, struggling to ignore how you froze as he slowly approached you.

You really thought that he was going to grab you by the hair and drag you off to the bedroom, so when his fingertips just barely brushed the top of your head, moving the hair from your face, you were, well… at a bit of a loss. Michael has never, ever been that gentle while touching you. Ever. You raise your head slightly, just enough so that you could see him. He still had that damn mask on, of course, and his body language hardly betrayed what he was thinking or feeling, but- You couldn’t deny that his fingers were trembling ever so slightly.

He slowly crouches in front of you, treating you as though you're some kind of animal that will either bolt at the slightest movement or go for his jugular, or something like that. You don’t move or speak, unsure of what he was doing. When he placed his hand where that stalker touched you, gently- carefully squeezing your shoulder as though you were made of glass, you… you relaxed.

You could tell that he was struggling to be gentle, with how his fingers twitched uncontrollably and the pressure of his fingertips varied. You looked up to him, then down at his chest as an odd warmth spread through your cheeks. Michael was extremely possessive over you. He hated it when you interacted with anyone else, especially other men. But, right now, even though another man had touched you, he wasn’t flying off the handle like he usually did. He was still extraordinarily pissed off that he had given the bastard just enough time to physically touch you, but it was remedied.

He was fucking dead, and you were still here. You were his and his alone. That wasn’t called into question. There was no dispute. Michael Myers is the only person that is ever allowed to touch you. You’ve come to accept this, and slowly but surely, you’re even beginning to enjoy his touch. As sick and messed up as it was, you’ve started to develop feelings for him, despite the fact that he made your life a living hell. If anything, you knew that no one would hurt you ever again. No one, except for him.

[needleanddead]

remember when i was like ‘i will probably use this blog to write some horrible reader-insert fanfiction too’? yeah. 

knife-edge, strade x reader, 3.2k

trigger warnings: not sfw, non-con, blood, violence, gore, references to torture/snuff films, honestly i figure you probably know what you’re getting into if you’re seeing this. reader uses no pronouns/neutral pronouns but is vaguely implied to be afab. 

cross-posted to ao3

You do not know how you still have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg.

Well.

That’s a lie, really; you have it in you to scream, and cry, and beg, because you know that the moment you stop – the moment you let yourself truly succumb to that pit of nothingness that lies heavy and waiting in your chest – he will lose interest in you completely, and you will meet the same fate as all of the rest of them do.

Despite the shock collar that lies heavy around your throat; the proof that he had seen some value in you beyond what you might feel like if he tore you into pieces and let you rot, you know that any peace you have here is temporary. He’ll get bored. He’ll lose control. He’ll--

Sometimes you wonder if those things might be better. The idea of death hovers at the edges of your vision like a spectre, waiting for you – and you are a coward and you run from it, whimpering and sensitive with tears rolling down your cheeks whenever he takes you back down the creaking basement stairs and wraps rope around already rubbed-raw wrists.

You don’t think you’d recognise the sight of your own wrists without the rope burn any more. It seems so long since you’ve been anything other than captive. You’re not sure you even know who you are unless you have a blade half-buried in your thigh or thick fingers digging and reopening wounds or pliers too close to vulnerable flesh.

You think he likes that, too – that you don’t seem to exist unless you’re hurting. Delights that he’s broken you without breaking the part of you that he really likes; the one with the trembling lip and the gasping and the tears beading in your eyes. You beg less now; you have learnt that he’s always able to turn a ‘please, please don’t, not that--’ into something that’s somehow worse. But when you’d first woken up all rope-burnt and disoriented with your arms wrapped around a pole in a basement that smelt like copper and oil, you had begged until your throat was sore.

What you had gotten for your troubles was your own hand wrapped around the knife handle as you sliced into too soft, too giving flesh and stared in horror at bubbling rivulets of blood with the dim thought in the back of your mind; I did this to myself.

It’s a dangerous knife-edge that you’re walking; don’t fight too much, but don’t give in too much. Don’t break, but don’t entirely yield. If he gets bored of you, or if you push him too far – then the collar around your neck will be carefully unlocked and you’ll regret everything. You’ll meet the fate that you so narrowly avoided, bleeding and broken and disoriented as your life slips away to the tune of Strade’s fingers wrapped too hard about your throat.

Or worse, you’ll meet the fate you’ve seen some of the ones who have broken too early become acquainted with; bandana wrapped around his mouth and camera painstakingly readjusted to perfectly centre a sobbing, terrified face. You have been far too close to the ones who end up that way; brought down to the basement and given a nail gun as you’re shoved onto your knees in front of a girl who might once have been pretty but is a little too matted with blood and bruises to be called the same any more.

“I thought they might like to see someone else hurt her this time, schatzi,” his smile had not dimmed a watt. When you had first met him, that smile had put you at ease; his eyes had reminded you of honey, and you’d been so flattered, so warmed, to have the attention of someone who oozed easy charm--

You know now his eyes are not the soft amber of honey but the sharp yellow-orange of a hawk; a predator. When he had smiled at you, he had not been thinking of the kindness of making someone feel comfortable – he had merely been imagining how prettily you would break. Which, as he had not failed to tell you after you’d sobbed out every plea you could and had jagged stitches and broken bones and blood crusted on your face to prove it, had been even more lovely than he had imagined.

The nail gun had been too heavy in your hand; the trigger sweaty, because Strade himself was over-excited and flushed dark pink under tanned skin and excitement beading at his brow. Your fingers had slipped all over it as he’d murmured;

“They want you to put a pretty pattern in her up her shins to her knees. Start at the . . . haa, start at the ankle--”

You’d felt something inside of you snap as if it was very far away as you stared at her legs; already cut up a little and stitched messily, as Strade is so wont to do to make sure his captives last longer. You hesitate too long, because suddenly thick, strong fingers are gripping your jaw and squeezing too hard as they turn your face towards the camera like a rabbit caught in headlights.

His fingers will bruise your face, you know – and he will see it tomorrow, and dig them harder, make the bruises deeper until you can barely open your jaw--

“Ah, they think you’re cute, mäuschen,” Strade says, an uncomfortable lilt in his voice that sets your teeth on edge. “They’d be happy to see you as the star instead – and I’m sure our other guest would much prefer it too.”

(The girl in the chair leans forward, babbling words that don’t make sense; bubbling drool slips from her lips, tinged pink, and you think that this one must have talked too much and Strade has done something to her tongue).

“Now,” his tone is endlessly patient. “You know I want to keep you, ja? You’re very sweet. I like you a lot - so be good and do what the audience want, and I won’t have to do something I don’t want to, will I?”

He is hard to read. Cheerful to angry in moments; snapping and bouncing from side to side with a laugh and a wild light in his eyes that you don’t understand. He does like you – insofar as you think Strade is capable of really feeling for other people – but you can’t wager your life on him bluffing. The girl looks at you with agonised eyes and you pull the trigger, the nose of the gun pressed against her ankle.

You hear her scream – wet, through a throat clogged with blood, the sound mixing with the disgusting crunch-squelch of the nail being driven into her skin too close to the bone – and it echoes far longer in your head than it actually lasts. You feel far away as you trail the gun further up her leg, pulling the trigger, your marks on her surprisingly straight considering how much the both of you are trembling – but you know you’re crying because you can hear Strade breathing a little heavy, see the bulge in his pants (level with your face) from the corner of your eye as you finish the first leg and move to the second.

It’s not the last time he makes you hurt someone on stream. Sometimes, he checks the stream whilst you’re there and whichever poor soul he’s got taped to a chair whimpers and squirms, whistling cheerily through his teeth as if the situation is perfectly normal. You see the comments as they scroll by; asking you to do horrible things, the ping of donations, the occasional plea to dig a screwdriver into your eye socket and make you scream or pull out your teeth with pliers or slash a heavy knife through your ribcage and fuck the wound he leaves there--

You think he lets you see them on purpose, as a reminder of what he could do to you. He always makes sure the stream sees your face perfectly clearly, too – and you never fail to think; ‘he is making me an accessory to his murders’.

(It is not just you; you find out that Ren is subjected to this same treatment, this same reminder that Strade’s moods are volatile and he loses self-control too quickly and there’s every chance that one day, he will go too far. You do not share your thoughts with Ren that even if, by some miracle, the two of you found yourself outside of Strade’s control, your face is probably plastered all over the darkest shadows of the deep web. You never talk about what might happen. You do not quite trust each other beyond sharing in patching up each other’s wounds, occasionally seeking one another out for company, trembling in the night. There is a kind of tension between you; fear that the other is the favourite. That Strade perhaps isn’t capable of keeping both of you long-term.

It makes Strade himself laugh when he sees that you’re on edge around each other and he leans forward to rest elbows on knees and tells you with a wicked glint in his eye that he just wants the both of you to get along. Perhaps you two need to share something very special, like what he shares with the both of you.

When he tells you to hurt one another, Ren has the advantage of animal nature. It’s clear to you where you stand in the pecking order of predators. You think, too, that Strade prefers you there. Master, fox, mouse.)

You never hear anything from the room designated as yours; it doesn’t escape notice that there is no other bedroom, aside from Ren’s domain and the one that Strade himself barely uses. Nowhere for someone else, if Strade were to take it into his head that another captive would be an interesting pet to keep--

It has been long enough that there are some things you have asked for, tremulous and whimpering, decorating surfaces and scattered about the room. There are also reminders of Strade, too; a hammer and nails on a chest of drawers, a knife in the bedside cabinet, too many things that could be used as weapons at the same time as being summarily excused as simply the detritus of a man doing home improvements.

You’d woken up that morning (you know it is morning because early fingers of dawn have penetrated even through the curtains you keep closed) to see Strade silhouetted in the doorway, smile on his face, shirt spattered with dark red and brown. You know that expression. You sit up, letting the covers fall, and he keeps smiling as he closes the door behind him and approaches you like a wolf approaches a frightened rabbit.

“Last night was disappointing,” he says, his tone light. You’d heard a thump in the middle of the night; assumed it to be Strade dragging a body down to the basement, and had resolutely buried your face into your pillow and pretended you heard nothing.

It’s easier to think of Strade’s other victims – the ones not so lucky as you or Ren – as faceless, foolish creatures. Food. Sustenance. Not people.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice quiet, cracking. Strade reaches across and chucks your chin, too fondly, bright smile and bright eyes.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. He’s pleased with the apology. He likes it when you’re polite. “It just means that I’m feeling a little . . . ahh. Restless. You’ll help me with that, won’t you?”

“Of c-course I will.” The stutter; he likes that, you know. He shifts as he sits on the bed.

A chuckle.

“You’re always so well-behaved,” he tells you. “sehr süß.”

The knife-edge you walk; the tight-rope. Well-behaved, but not broken. Responsive, but not troublesome. You’ve gotten it down to a fine art.

He’s on top of you before you can respond, knees shoved between your legs, your hand shoved hard against the bedside table so it knocks uncomfortably against hard wood and you flinch at the shock of pain.

The brief pain, though, is nothing to the anxiety that crawls up your throat as you realise he grabbed the hammer and nails as he walked in.

He chuckles as he sees your eyes widen in fear, cooing softly to you;

“That expression. So hübsch. Stay still for me.”

Your wrist is shaking as Strade carefully places a nail right in the centre of your hand; testing the angle, the positioning. His breath is uneven and panting in excitement at what he’s going to do – and excitement, too, that he knows you won’t pull away. Because you know if you do, it will not merely be a nail through one hand, but perhaps through your other and your knees and your feet, perhaps a knife slicing through you like butter, perhaps the feel of chisels and needles and sharper and more painful objects (knife, pliers, screwdriver, chisel, bradawl, drill--).

He lifts the hammer. He watches intently. His eyes are lit with bright excitement, chest heaving, sweat-soaked and greasy. You taste copper and realise you’ve bitten through your lip.

You’ve grown used to the smell of copper and motor oil and meat. If it weren’t for the flood of blood across your tongue you doubt you’d have noticed.

Crack. The first blow. The pain is blinding.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Every single hit of the hammer sends a new shock of pain through you that echoes through the inside of your arm through to the bone marrow, shaking you. It’s not the most painful thing you’ve felt at Strade’s hands; but you are still partly asleep, still not quite aware, and you are simply looking at your hand with the crunch of fractured bones (twenty seven bones in the human hand; is that your capitate, that’s been splintered through?) and the sick wet noise of blood and muscle and you can’t think.

You stare, unblinking, at where your hand is nailed to the bedside table - the gore and blood that oozes from the wound as he uses the clawed end of the hammer to drag it out again. Strade’s smile is beatific, eyes wide and bright, sweat dampening his collar and his cheeks flushed and ruddy.

You’re unable to process anything for another long, agonising second; relief flooding you when finally, you respond. The whimper a delayed reaction, the tears that roll fat and hot down your own face taking a beat longer than usual.

You fear that you’ve broken for the moment you’re staring in horror; that he has finally, well and truly snapped you in half. Because if you’re broken, that means he’ll lose interest, and that means the basement and the fear of death finally catching up with you.

Occasionally the thought flits across your mind that death perhaps would be preferable; but you are a coward, and you have hurt people (even if it was on Strade’s command), and you do not want to know what awaits you on the other side of a non-beating heart and the light in a tunnel.

Strade chuckles, affectionately rubbing his nose against the line of your jaw, teeth digging just a little too hard into the flesh of your neck.

“You had me worried for a second, mäuschen,” he practically purrs. “I thought I’d heard the last of your squeaking.” Big fingers, tugging at your thighs, guiding you to wrap them around his hips. Despite the softness of his body, the proof that he enjoys lazing around and cheap beer and meat a little too much, there’s raw muscle beneath the chub. Even his hands on you are a reminder of how strong he is.

(Strong enough to drag dead bodies across floors, to lift them into kilns, to hold down unwilling, screaming captives and make them regret they ever laid eyes on him.)

“Unzip,” he tells you. One of your hands is free; unpierced, though scarred from being pressed against stove burned and soldering irons and heat guns, from grabbing the blade of a knife when he’s told you to fuck yourself with the handle, from sanders applied to formerly soft skin. You do not use that hand.

You force yourself to move the one dripping in your own blood, the ruined hand pierced straight through. The movement of your fingers burns, sending shock waves of pain all through you; but you tug at the zip of his pants nonetheless. You get blood all over his clothes but he just chuckles low and dangerous, as you reach into his underwear too and squeeze your eyes shut when you feel how hot and hard and heavy his cock is in your grip.

“Eyes on me,” he reminds you, soft, and you force yourself to open them. He drinks in the expression on your face like he’s a starved man and it’s his first meal.

There’s a bloody handprint on his shaft when your fingers and wrist finally give out and your hand falls onto the sheets and pillows beneath you, staining them too, and you think that Strade is going to drive more nails through your hand just to prove a point about not doing as he says.

But his cock presses hot and needy against your inner thigh, smearing blood and pre-come on your scarred skin, and he’s panting and practically drooling as he murmurs;

“You know you’re not going to break, schatz. You want to live too much.” He leans his face further down. He does not kiss you so much as take control of you; worry teeth into your bottom lip, transfer his own saliva into your mouth, conquer the cavern behind your lips and teeth (one of them is loose; from being hit and squeezed. He pushes his tongue just a little too hard against that one and your body contracts, a whimper transferred from your throat to his mouth, and he swallows it up like your protests are a fine steak). “Ah. That’s what I like about you.”

Are you going to break? The push of him pressing inside of you makes your toes curl, a soft noise that might be a moan escape; Strade laughs, again, the sound too hearty and friendly to come out of the monster that you know he is.

“You like it,” he presses, as his thumbs come to your hips and dig into wounds that have been stitched together; you hear the stitches pop, feel him re-open barely healed gashes. “You like being special to me. You like this.”

You don’t think you do.

You don’t think you like any of this; his body on top of yours, the pain, the mistrust, the fear that prickles hot and sharp and sour in your throat whenever you hear the door (the one you can’t go near) open. But you also know that saying that is the wrong answer. Hitting and screaming like a wildcat is the wrong answer. Saying nothing at all is the wrong answer.

So instead, you open your mouth, you shiver and shudder as his thumb presses deeper into the re-opened wound, and you manage to choke out a mouse-squeak of;

“Pl-please—”

It’s the right answer. His face does not soften; but his smile widens, his hips tilting until you’re so full you can barely move and you ache everywhere, and Strade simply smiles down at you as whatever passes for affection for him leaks into his tone and he coos;

“Don’t worry, mäuschen. I’ll give you exactly what you want. For as long as you need.”

[german translation dictionary;  schatzi - sweetheart/dear/darling/treasure mäuschen - little mouse sehr süß - very sweet/very cute so hübsch - so pretty idk how accurate these are i am just using google translate always]

[punkpoemprose]

A Convenient Arrangement Part 9

Universe: Canonverse Arranged Marriage AU Rating: T Length: 6514 Words A/N: It’s been a while, I probably still won’t be updating regularly because I’m busy, but here’s something for now. P.S. asks & comments are very much appreciated, nice comments make me feel like writing every time I get them, but please don’t ask when I’m going to update. I don’t have answers for you.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

Kristoff felt uncomfortable to say the least. He was standing still while a stranger and his party of assistants measured him, held fabrics up toward him, and made comments on his physique both complimentary and, well, he couldn’t really say that the rest were meant to be kind. He wasn’t used to people who said things but didn’t say them straight, and while he was sure that “it’s like dressing a bull” wasn’t meant to be directly insulting, it also wasn’t quite a compliment either. He’d never been particularly ashamed of the way he looked, but he was being made certain from the commentary that he wasn’t built for whatever the “fashionable” silhouette was.

He wanted to walk away, to say that he’d wear his own clothes and to tell them exactly where they could shove their measuring tapes. He hadn’t exactly expected a “professional tailoring” to be a fun experience by any stretch of the imagination, but he also wasn’t prepared to be someone’s dressing doll. They hadn’t asked him his opinion on anything, and he wasn’t sure if that was a blessing, or whether it meant they were going to dress him like some kind of dandy who’d never spent a day of his life working.

“The yellow silk?”

He closed his eyes, just so he didn’t have to see whatever they were up to. Whatever it was involved tassels.

He could only distract himself by thinking of something else, by going inside himself and putting his mind to use imagining himself somewhere, anywhere else. He wondered how often he’d need to do such a thing, now that he was prince consort to the crown princess of Arendelle and soon to be some sort of aristocrat given lands and titles to justify his marriage. He couldn’t help but wish that he could just go back to the mountain and be away from all the new responsibilities his marriage to Anna had foisted upon him.

He had no objections to his duties to her, but to the court and the country, was another point entirely. He liked to think of himself as a good citizen of Arendelle. He paid his taxes, he worked hard, he tried his best to help his fellow man where and when he could, but he wasn’t built for pomp and circumstance. He wasn’t even built for suit fittings.

He let his thoughts drift away from the room, pushing all worries of brocade and buttons out of his mind, and landing himself back into memories of the early morning and being in bed with Anna. It was the easiest to imagine, the quickest way to relax.

He remembered waking up at first light with the gentle pressure of her body against his, the sheets tangled around them from their turning and shifting in the night. She’d fallen asleep on his chest, and when he woke, he’d been holding her there. Her hair had been partially in his face, fanned out across his chest and over his arm. While she had still been asleep, he’d carefully brushed it away from his face. While smoothing it under his hand, his heart raced over the intimacy of the action and the fear that she might wake up and tell him to stop.

He didn’t think that she would have asked him to, not when she so often was the one touching him first, reaching out for his hand, but after their conversation the night before he was worried. She didn’t trust him completely despite the strides they’d made, and despite the fact that she’d apparently vouched for him with her sister. He couldn’t blame her really, especially not after hearing all the ways in which her trust had been broken in the past.

Give her time. Give her love.

He could imagine his mother giving him the advice. He was far from a love expert himself and his family was a bit overzealous in their love and support, but he thought that maybe taking their advice and running it through his filter first might produce a kind of logic. Imagining what his mother might say about how he should treat his wife was probably a good place to start.

He’d give Anna all the time she needed. This was new for them both, but he was already believing that she might be his other half, that fate brought them together as mad as it sounded. So he knew that she was worth the wait. He already saw the little ways he was falling in love with her.

After he’d moved her hair, he’d enjoyed resting with her in his arms, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed with him. He’d felt her rouse, but didn’t say a word. He’d known that once they left bed, he was unlikely to see her for the rest of the day. Kai had him scheduled for several meetings and lessons and tours, and Anna, regardless of the promise made to them of no joint duties for a week, certainly had responsibilities of her own to attend to. He still didn’t know what they were, but he knew she must have some. Someday he would too.

He missed her already. He missed the rightness he felt while holding her close. He missed the way that she made him feel almost comfortable in the palace walls even while he was under the scrutiny of those who didn’t think he belonged.

He didn’t belong, of course. Being her husband gave him a reason to live in the castle, it gave him station, but it didn’t make him belong. Standing where he was now, walking through the hallways to get to the room without her by his side, constantly needing to check the little map she’d drawn for him, had made that abundantly clear. He wished he had it in him to announce to the room, to everyone who looked at him sideways, that he hadn’t asked for this, and that they could trade places with him if they preferred, but he couldn’t say it.

He couldn’t even offer a single breath to the idea that it would be anyone else at Anna’s side.

He may not be royal by anything but marriage but holding her made him feel like he was exactly where he needed to be.

He’d held onto her as long as he could in bed, not telling her that he was awake even though he knew that she was.  He remembered her snort-laugh when he’d told her that he’d pretended to be asleep this time. He hadn’t said that he’d do it again to just hold her a little longer.

He remembered the way she’d nuzzled her face into his chest and murmured about breakfast without making any moves to leave him for a long while. They may have never moved, but of course a knock had eventually come, summoning them both from bed. They’d broken their fast together in relative quiet, the silence only broken by the sounds of silverware clinking, and he’d felt like he’d wanted to say something, catching her staring at him every now and then, but he didn’t have the words to say what he was feeling. He still wasn’t sure of what it was he had been feeling.

Domesticity? Comfort? Love?

None of the words fit. Not yet at least, though he’d like for them to be the right words someday.

Another knock had come and interrupted the quiet meal, and with the quick scurrying and whispering of an anxious looking maid, Anna had excused herself from the table. She’d given him a look that he registered as a sort of longing, he only knew it as such because she gave the same look to her bacon, and then she was gone.

A knock came again, this time in the present, pulling him from his recent memories abruptly.

“My Lord?”

It was Kai, and in a short a time as Kristoff had known the man, he had never been so grateful for his appearance as he was now. Which was saying something given he and Anna were thus far the only people who didn’t make him feel like a complete outsider.

He met the man’s eye and, reminded by his presence that he needed to at least feign manners, only gave him a somewhat subtle look of “save me”.

Blessedly Kai obliged.

“His lordship is needed elsewhere. Please collect your things so that we might have the room to discuss his next appointment for the day.”

The older man turned toward the tailor and his staff and with a look that clearly said “now” sent them all scrambling to pick up fabrics and tapes and bits of paper. When they dispersed, the heavy oak door closing behind them with a thud, Kristoff let his shoulders slump. The sigh that he let out was unintended, but hardly unwarranted.

He took a deep breath that was his first in what felt like hours.

“A bit much, weren’t they sir?”

Kristoff examined the old man, gazing at the scowl of distaste on his face, directed at the door. He knew that his status as his valet was a temporary one, but he couldn’t help but feel that he was exactly the sort of person he’d like in his corner in the long term.

“That’s an understatement.”

Kai gave a bit of a wry smile before recomposing himself and appearing more regretful than amused.

“His father was the royal tailor to the King, a very noble and understated older gentleman who listened more than he spoke. He made the most excellent suits.”

He looked down at his own jacket for a moment, adjusting the sleeve as if he were recalling a garment from an earlier time and in doing so, found his current attire not quite up to snuff. Kristoff had felt similarly in his wedding clothes, recalling the way he could only compare them to his more comfortable daily wear.

“The Queen and Princess have a dressmaker in their employ who is similarly talented and reserved,” Kai continued, bringing his attention back to Kristoff and meeting his eye with another apologetic gaze, “Unfortunately, on such short notice we relied on the assumption that the young tailor would be like his father in manner, which is clearly not the case. I apologize. Perhaps we can find someone else, but given the short notice…”

He knew that Kai was implying that they were out of options unless he had a better one. It felt strangely like a test in ways Kristoff couldn’t quite put his finger on, almost as if Kai were trying to determine something about him from the uncomfortable situation.

Kristoff didn’t take more than a moment of thought before interrupting, “There’s a tailor in the market I usually buy from, he does good work. He has my measurements already. His wife is pregnant, he could use the money.”

Kristoff didn’t expect Kai to grin. He was already mentally admonishing himself for interrupting, but the balding old gentleman simply nodded.

Whatever the test had been, he’d passed.

Maybe royals are meant to be contrary. I’ve always been good at that.

“Nilsson. I don’t know his first name. He’s got a market stall but does almost all the work out of his house by the docks. He’s got a slate out front, pretty easy to find if you’re looking for it.”

Kai pulled a paper and pencil from somewhere on his person and against his palm, quickly jotted the notes. Kristoff wondered if that level of efficiently was born or made. He’d always been proud of his own ever evolving competence in his work, but he never thought that he’d be ready for anything in the way Kai seemed to be.

“I’ll see that he is made aware of your lordship’s request and that he understands the quality required. Are there any specific requests you have for fabric or color?”

Kristoff looked from the man to the door and back again.

“No yellow silk.”

***

Anna wasn’t wholly certain as to why she was feeling so nervous. She’d sent Kai after Kristoff only a few minutes before, evidently interrupting his whole schedule though he hadn’t said anything about it. Anna just knew the man well enough that when she saw him pull a pencil and a folded paper from his pocket that he was rearranging a schedule. She remembered him crossing off sections of the page like he had for her father before.

No matter how much everything changes, some things stay the same.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he was enjoying assisting Kristoff. Soon enough he’d be Elsa’s personal counsel again, but Anna liked to think that he was enjoying the sort of daily trials and tribulations that were coming with helping her husband.

She’d been too high strung after her meeting with Elsa to be much use in focusing on anything let alone tracking someone down, but now it was at least a little bit relaxing to move her thoughts people instead of the stress of upcoming responsibilities.

When Elsa had sent a maid to fetch her in the middle of breakfast she had, of course, been up for hours and as such had already eaten. Anna suspected that her sister never actually slept and that it was the answer for why she was always up and ready for the day at the crack of dawn.

She hadn’t been more than half awake when she was taken from her bacon and from Kristoff’s quiet company. She’d been promised a week by her sister, one week of no duties, but that wasn’t exactly true. It had been more like one week with no scheduled duties, just meetings when the occasion arose, as it had in the middle of breakfast.

“Anna,” her sister had said, looking a bit tired which reminded Anna that her sister was indeed human after all, “I’m planning a party.”

That had been all that was required to shock Anna into full consciousness.

She may as well be running off to join the circus for how like her that is.

“You didn’t get an engagement party and we want the citizens to be able to celebrate the wedding, so the council requested that I announce a festival in your honors.”

That had made more sense, but now, standing alone in the library, trying to distract herself by staring at the shelves upon shelves of books before her, she wondered why exactly a party was needed at all. She appreciated her sister’s interest in her input about the colors and the food and the events, and she knew that it was meant to be an apology of sorts for the fact that she’d had no control over her wedding, but Anna also wasn’t ready for another big event.

She’d only promised Kristoff a week without duties, and they were now getting a full month. Somehow it didn’t seem to be a balm in her mind. She hated the idea that they would soon need to be a public spectacle, that they would be watched and commented on. She hated the thought of watching Kristoff shrink away like he had in the kitchens, that he might think again that he didn’t belong when all she wanted was for him to feel right when he was at her side.

She could hear the talk of the town in her ear, not truly there, but just as real in her head as if there was some chatty merchant’s daughter at her back.

They had to steal him from the mountains to marry her, who wants used goods?

To her right she could hear her giggling friend.

So sad, isn’t it? Poor man.

To her left, not in her imagination, but in reality, was a cold and empty hearth with a settee between her and it. Her hands shook at her sides as she tried to focus on anything but the creeping sensation of frost in her chest that she knew was only in her head.

Why did I choose the library? Of all places, why did I decide to tell him about the festival in the library.

She clenched her fists, closed her eyes and breathed.

The girls slipped away, the empty fireplace remained out of sight, but as she focused on her inhalation the icy sensation left. She smelled parchment and dust, felt the warmth of light streaming in from the nearby window, and let herself remember years of pulling books from the shelves written in various languages and staring at pictures before she could read them herself. The memories of her youngest days came clearer now that she was free to recall them.

I loved it here once.

She felt him enter her space.

Despite the bulk of him she hadn’t heard him approach, but she could feel the tension in her body release when he surreptitiously slid into the space at her left side, putting more space between her and the fireplace, bumping his hand into hers casually.

She experimentally opened her palm, slowly uncurling her fingers, and felt the last of the unease roll out of her muscles when he slipped his hand over hers, palm to palm. He wasn’t holding her hand, his fingers barely brushing hers, but she found it comforting.

She could hardly call herself knowledgeable about affection, but she was learning that this was Kristoff’s way of showing it. They hadn’t said anything about love. It didn’t make sense to yet, they were intimate strangers, they were a paradox, but where he couldn’t say love he showed it.

She wondered when she’d be able to show him in return. It had been so easy to pretend the night before. She wanted to be able to open up to him more, but every time she wanted to the what ifs got in the way.

You need to stop doubting yourself.

But a lack of self-doubt, her reckless willingness to believe in the best of people and that she deserved a happy ending had almost ruined everything once. She was afraid it risk it again.

“Want me to come back in a bit?”

His voice was low, soft. He could already read her so well, but he was still working out how to react to her feelings. She wondered how he could be so understanding of her needs after spending so many years alone. She had a hard enough time understanding how she felt lately let alone comprehending how others did. Even as empathetic as she was, she felt like she was always missing the cues that he was seemingly catching without a second glance.

She slipped her fingers between his, moving slowly and focusing on the secure feeling it gave her to have his hand locked against hers by the connection.

“No, I’m sorry, I was just thinking.”

She opened her eyes and saw the concern in his gaze when she met his eye. It made her feel simultaneously guilty and vindicated, like his understanding that there was something wrong justified her feelings. She did feel bad for making him worry about her though. She didn’t want him to go anywhere just because she was battling with herself.

After a few moments of quiet, he spoke, “Kai filled me in on the way over. A festival?”

She sighed and nodded, glad that she wasn’t the first to tell him about it. She wasn’t sure that she’d be able to express the positives about such a thing when she was already so focused on the negatives.

He didn’t look particularly upset about the event, which surprised her. She recalled how he’d been in front of the crowd at their wedding, stiff and uncomfortable. She didn’t really want to put him in that situation again, but he didn’t seem to share the same opinion.

“Yes.  There was a council decision that we should do something for the people at large because most of them couldn’t attend the wedding. They’re curious about us.”

Kristoff nodded. He seemed relaxed and at least accepting if not a bit interested about the matter.

“It makes sense. It’s been a long time since there’s been a real festival. Most times someone will put on something for the holidays, but the big festivals haven’t gone on in years. I can only just barely remember what they were like when I was a kid.”

That’s because they died with my parents.

It felt strange to think of it, that there hadn’t been festivals in years. Even before her parents had passed away, the events had been a shadow of what they were when she was young. She wished she had a better memory of them now, how the festivals used to be, how her parents used to greet the people and dance. It was mostly a blank, interjected with what she’d been told about sweets and dancing and music by others. She supposed it was normal to not remember much from her toddler years, but she longed to know what it would be like, if only to know what to be prepared for.

Kristoff would remember a little more than she would, but he wasn’t that much older than her really. She wondered if the trolls had their own festivals and celebrations and whether he’d tell her about them if she asked.

It was still strange for her to think about sometimes. That her husband was raised by the very trolls that had locked away her memories, that under different circumstances they may have met as children and that it could have changed everything if she had.

She didn’t know what it would have done in the long run. She didn’t know if they’d have been happier if their stories had played out differently, but as he held her hand, she knew that she wouldn’t want to turn back the clock even if she could. As messed up as everything was, she wasn’t alone, and his willingness to stand there with her, to try for her, was more than she’d ever had with anyone.

“Is it what you want?” he asked, seeming to take her dour expression as an indication that she didn’t want the party.

All I wanted for years was a celebration, people, music, and dancing. I wanted any of it. I wanted all of it.

“I… they didn’t ask…”

She shook her head for a moment, then looked at him apologetically, squeezing his hand a bit when she saw the furrow of his brow and the downturn of his mouth. She felt like she shouldn’t be worrying him, but she also liked that he seemed concerned. It was nice to know that someone cared whether she wanted something instead of just assuming.

“What I mean to say is, it doesn’t really matter if I want it or not, but I think I do. My sister was really excited to give us this because our wedding wasn’t…” she trailed off, knowing that he understood.

“She wants it to be a big thing for us even though she doesn’t even like big events. It’s sweet and I think it will really improve public perception of the crown, but I just don’t want it to be overwhelming for you. I imagine there will be a lot of eyes on us.”

His expression softened then. There was an understanding in his eyes and something else there that made her feel warm.

“As long as I don’t have to wear a suit like they crammed me in at the wedding I’ll be fine. Let them look, my eyes will be on you.”

She felt herself flushing bright red, and she was certain she was outshining her hair.

He said things like that in such a matter-of-fact tone that it was proving to consistently catch her off guard. There was no art to the way he said the words, no intent to woo or win her over. It was just the truth in his mind. She’d have his attention, even if all eyes were on him.

She needed to change the subject, averting her gaze from the intensity with which he was meeting her eye. She wondered if being with him would always be like this, butterflies in her stomach and the sensation of being wanted overwhelming her thoughts and senses. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be happy again if it was just temporary, a “honeymoon phase”, but there was a small hopeful part of her that said that as they got to know each other his affections wouldn’t wane or remain stagnant but instead that they would grow.

How wonderful it would be to be loved. How wonderful it would be to love.

She’d never felt anything so gratifying as being at his side, knowing that he wasn’t going anywhere.

She was trying to tame her flush with a deep inhalation and exhalation, feeling his eyes on her and imagining the smile on his face that she couldn’t bring herself to look at.

“So, how was your meeting with the tailor?”

He made a pained sound, almost like a man dying.

She, for her part, let out a snort, sending them both into laughter.

It felt good to laugh in the room. It was like they were sweeping the cold from the corners.

I could love it here again.

***

Somewhere in the back of his mind Kristoff knew that he was entirely throwing off Kai’s plans for the day. The suit fitting had been just the first in a long list of tasks that had been set for the day. He was supposed to learn about peerage and how to greet royals, and about a thousand other bits and pieces of manners that Kai had decided he needed to learn as soon as possible.

Kristoff appreciated his assistance, and he did feel vaguely guilty for requesting the help and then being unavailable to actually receive it, but how could he go learn about salad forks and posture when Anna was pouring him a cup of tea and asking him excitedly what he remembered about festivals when he was young.

“I was so little when they stopped. I know now that we did need to close the gates for Elsa, but I just feel like we missed out on so much and that the people would have understood if they were just told… I mean…”

He listened intently to the way she described childhood years in the castle, not knowing why the gates were closed and not knowing why her sister never wanted to see her. It made him sad to think about when he’d never felt pushed away by his own family.

“So, do you remember what the food was like? I know you were only eight, but was there chocolates?”

He smiled, unable to help himself when she was so ecstatic about the possibility of him recalling anything at all about the only festival he remembered before the castle gates closed. It had been the summer solstice festival, before he ran away from the orphanage. He recalled it somewhat if only because it was one of the few bright spots he’d had before meeting Sven and then the trolls.

“I think there was. There were a lot of little cakes and things. We each got to have one and then we got to play a game, but I don’t remember what it was. Something with stones and chalk lines. I mostly remember watching the women dance. They had these bright ribbons in their hair and they were skipping around the maypole so everything was just fluttering and colorful. I kept wondering if one of them was my mom, and if maybe I stood close enough to the front of the crowd…”

He trailed off, then started again, “Anyway, I think some of the cakes had chocolate in them but mine didn’t. Mine had custard and I think it was the first time I had it because I remember being surprised by it.”

She had been writing down little things here and there in pretty script on a piece of paper. The things she wanted for the festival, the things he mentioned. He noticed that she’d stopped though.

“You were looking for your mom?”

He sighed, kicking himself a bit for bringing it up as he described the memory. He shouldn’t have said anything about it.

“I didn’t know what had happened back then… so I just assumed she lived in Arendelle and had misplaced me and that once she saw me she’d take me from the orphanage and I’d live with her. I didn’t even know what she looked like… I still don’t.”

He felt the silence grow around them, an uneasy sort of taunt energy that he hadn’t experienced since their wedding night, when she’d assumed and he’d not been sure what to say.

There’s going to be more of this. It’s not going to be easy all the time.

“You can ask.”

He looked at her then, saw the way her eyes were on the floor, anywhere but on him. He understood in a way. It was awkward to ask. Few people ever had except when he’d been very young. The answer had to be sad. Court order or death or abandonment were the popular choices, otherwise. There was never another reason for a child to be without his mother.

“What happened to her?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t have all the details. I thought for a long time that I’d just gotten lost or something, but not too long after the festival I found out that she had died in childbirth. That was the day I left the orphanage. She was Sami. I guess my dad was from Arendelle, a harvester who died not long before I was born. He didn’t have any family, hers was too far away to contact or find I suppose. It doesn’t matter now anyway; I had a good childhood.”

Anna was quiet at his side. She was looking down at her hands now, they were folded in her lap awkwardly and really he wanted to reach out and hold them.

What’s stopping you?

He moved slowly, slipping a hand into her line of sight before covering her hands with it. Normally he waited for her to make the first move anytime they touched, but he was realizing that she was the sort of person who liked physical contact when she was upset or nervous, and he could provide that for her. He’d gladly give her all the gentle touches in the world if it meant she’d feel safe.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, “losing your parents is hard.”

She would know.

He pressed against her hands gently and when she responded by turning her hand and lacing her fingers through his, he felt her relax a bit.

“I didn’t really know them. I was in the orphanage from the time I was born until I was eight. I started working with the harvesters for a while and then I found my family. You know I found them by following you, right?”

He couldn’t remember if he’d already told her that. If she knew that she was the reason he’d found his family.

“I know that the idea that all of this was destined to happen is kind of… strange to wrap your head around if you weren’t raised the way I was,” he said, “but it brings me some comfort to know that even the bad things that have happened might have some good come from them in the end.”

She was quiet for a little while, but when she squeezed his hand he understood that it meant she was okay.

“Did the trolls have festivals,” she asked after a little while.

He grinned.

“About a thousand.”

***

He described it all to her in vivid detail. She’d never heard Kristoff really tell a story before, but when he described the ceremonies and events that the trolls had every year, celebrating the seasons and weddings and births, it was magical. She could imagine herself there, watching it all.

“And when you turn eighteen… or well it was eighteen for me because humans have a shorter lifespan, but anyway, when you come of age there’s a big birthday party for you. Normally birthdays aren’t a big deal because the trolls have thousands of them, but this one is.”

She nodded, rapt with attention, her tea going cold along with his on the side table.

“So my parents both presented me to the family, like they had when they adopted me. You would have laughed if you saw how they dressed me, I had a cape made out of moss and a crown of twigs because that’s the tradition and let me tell you it looks better on the trolls than it did on me. But then everyone came forward and said something about me, even the kids and Sven which is exactly as comical as you’re probably imagining it in your head.”

“What sort of things did they say?”

She didn’t mean to interrupt, but she was genuinely curious.

He smiled and shook his head, looking a bit bashful, “The sort of stuff they show you every day, but don’t say out loud.”

She thought she could imagine.

I’ve been thinking that you’re kind since I met you, but I don’t say it.

I’ve been trying to show you I care about you, but the words don’t come.

“Then everyone sits together in a giant circle and eats dinner. My mother sang a song with my sisters and aunts and… well, someday when you’re comfortable, you’ll have to hear them sing. I know I’m biased, but it’s beautiful.”

Anna couldn’t help but feel a little wistful at the idea of it. She’d loved music as a child. She remembered fondly the days she and her mother would sit in front of the fire and sing folksongs together. She remembered the days her father’s tenor would add to the mix and even more far off, she could recall her sister’s voice mingling in the sound as well.

She wondered if maybe she’d sing to her own children someday, and then with a flush, wondered what her husband sounded like when he sang.

“I’d like that… then what happened?”

He laughed warmly at her enthusiasm.

“Then they gave me my crystals. I earned some when I was young… you earn them as you learn and grow, they’re…” he trailed off for a moment, thinking.

“They’re connected to the magic in the world. It probably sounds strange, but given what Elsa can do I’m sure you can understand. It’s strange, but the trolls can feel the magic all around them, it’s in their blood, and the crystals can help them in feeling it more strongly and in shaping it. I don’t have that connection, but the crystals are part of the culture so they gave them to me. Sometimes when I’m lucky and the energy is there I can get them to react the way they should. The trolls can use them to start fires and change the direction of streams and… it’s amazing. Mostly I can just get them to glow sometimes.”

Anna felt a small thrill in the pit of her stomach that she wasn’t sure whether she should tamp down or not.

Because she’d seen his crystals. She’d touched them because he’d given her license to snoop through his things. She had still felt a little bad about the snooping though. She wondered if he’d be annoyed if she mentioned it.

She tried to read him. His body was relaxed at her side, his smile soft and his brown eyes were gazing upon her face with a warmth that made her feel like they’d known each other for months or years instead of a week.

It’s worth the risk. It’s worth it to open up to him. Has he hurt you for trying yet?

“I made the pink one glow,” she blurted, unable to help herself.

His brow furrowed, then he looked thoughtful.

“I’m sorry,” she added, not sure how to take his reaction, “I probably shouldn’t have snooped, but when we were at your cabin you told me I could look at your things while you were gone and I thought they were pretty and…”

She didn’t have anything else to say for herself. She held her breath, hoping that he wasn’t upset with her, hoping that at any moment he’d be amused by the fact that she was able to get one to glow without even knowing about them or their meaning.

“Pink?”

He asked it so quietly she almost didn’t realize he was asking her a question.

“Pink,” she answered, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice as she said it.

The confusion left his face, and when he met her eye again there was an intensity there that Anna couldn’t understand. His eyes held her gaze for a moment, before quickly, almost so rapidly that she wouldn’t have noticed, shifting to her lips and back again.

She hadn’t noticed how close they’d gotten on the settee, but now with him leaning even further into her space, she could feel his breath, she could see the stubble barely peeking up on his cheek, she could see him lick his lips.

She swallowed, then parted her own.

It would be so simple.

She’d only have to lean forward, just a little.

She could feel her heart racing in her chest. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and then she felt him draw closer.

This is it.

She remembered the kiss they’d shared at their wedding, she remembered how it felt when he’d pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Those had been chaste, one necessary for ceremony, the other to soothe, but a kiss now… it would mean something.

She tried not to feel disappointed when it never came, when instead his hand slipped from hers and went to her waist, when his forehead tipped against hers.

It’s too soon.

He wants to, but it’s too soon.

She tried to understand. Logically she knew it was true, and even the pain she’d suffered from another almost kiss in this place couldn’t challenge the warmth of his touch and the gentle way he spoke next.

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard.”

She felt an ache in her chest, almost as pleasant as it was new.

It means something.

She’d almost known it when she’d touched the gem, but now the confirmation in his words, the weight to them and the intimacy of their foreheads together, left her no room for doubt.

He pulled her into an embrace, their foreheads parting but his arms wrapping around her comfortingly, leaving her head to rest against his shoulder.

She almost opened her mouth to ask him what it meant, but then she closed it, letting herself have this moment with him.

I trust him.

He’ll tell me in his own time.

[emkay512]

Once Upon A Time

Chapter 3

Summary: This starts at the beginning of TRR book 2 with the Fydelia ball but with a different series of events. This AU is based off the show Once Upon a Time with Riley and Liam mirroring Snow and Charming. Characters belong to Pixelberry.

A/N: I felt like I needed to still post this, even though I’m terrified with living up to my own hype. Let me know what you guys think.

A/N 2: thank you for pre-reading @queenrileyrose and @sfb123 both of you have given me such encouragement and I really appreciate it!

Warnings: This will contain NSFW adult language and content. By reading, you acknowledge you are 18 and over.

I’m keeping the same tags from my earlier post, please let me know if you want to be removed, absolutely no hard feelings! If you’d like to be tagged, I would be happy to add you!

Tags: @burnsoslow @ao719 @kat-tia801 @callmeellabella @charlotteg234 @neotericthemis @bbrandy2002 @kingliam2019 @iaminlovewithtrr @amandablink @iluaaa @jared2612 @sfb123 @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @secretaryunpaid @ladyangel70 @gkittylove99 @texaskitten30 @shanzay44 @ofpixelsandscribbles

“Wait.... what!?” Drake’s face had gone white with shock. “But, we all saw! We all saw her fall in love with you. She loves you for sure Li, what the hell is going on!?” Despite his best efforts, Drake had come to accept Riley as an important person in his life, she was a truly trustworthy friend and she was a chance to see his best friend marry for love. Surely she’d never give up on hope and love, she was the epitome of both.

Liam wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he watched the latch on his bedroom door shut with Riley’s departure. He had dropped to his knees unable to stand with the weight of his broken heart still staring at the door trying to unsee what just happened. He was so sure of her love for him, he had never seen such happiness and sincerity exist in his life than when she told him she loved him in the hedge maze at his coronation ball. All this time he’d been apart from her was spent planning for a solution, clinging to the memory of her smile the last time he saw her before getting engaged.

Getting engaged. Then he started to think about the effect this had on her. He hated himself, she was vulnerable and abandoned, of course she’d fall out of love. Liam’s head was still foggy, but he remembered pouring two glasses of whiskey and calling Drake to meet him and briefly telling him what happened and now getting his reaction.

“You.. you don’t understand.” Liam was still just only choking out words. It was bad enough to live in this reality, but to have to utter the words and make someone else understand what was happening was like living his nightmare over again. “She said she did love me, or that maybe she did, or that she couldn’t love me anymore... God, it feels like it all happened so fast! I can barely get my head straight!” His tone was clearly crossing into frustration, he lifted both hands to his head and balled his fists into his hair while groaning out his hurt and anger. “This is my fucking fault.. in so many ways, Drake. She said I let too much time pass, that it convinced her that I should forget about her, and that she didn’t love me. I should have protected her from those goddamn photos and fucking Tariq. I never should have gotten engaged to Madeleine, and I shouldn’t have kept her away.” Liam was huffing his words.

This was difficult for Drake. He’d never seen his best friend so defeated like this. Liam always knew how to maintain his stoicism keeping an air of calm and rationalism. But that was not the man before him now, Liam was completely disheveled with eyes bright red from all his earlier sobbing, he looked completely broken. Drake understood the pain, he knew all too well how easy it was to fall for a girl like Riley, but like he said, their entire gang watched them fall head over heels for each other, and that was what he wanted for both of them.

Drake knew he needed to reel Liam back in, and once he could get the full picture, he’d know how to return Liam to his sharp tactical self. “Ok, ok, ok. I know your feelings are all mixed up, and judging by your overall behavior it looks like you hit the whiskey long before I got here, and I’m sorry, but I need you to get a grip and tell me everything.”

Liam nodded and sucked a breath in recalling everything. How she walked in his room, how he thought he was protecting her, how she said he didn’t want to know who was responsible, how she noticed the missing lock on the door, and how she walked out. Drake felt like he hadn’t blinked once after hearing everything and he could see it seemed these obvious clues hadn’t dawned on Liam. “Li, it sounds like she gave you like a dozen red flags. You didn’t press on any of those strange things she said and did?”

Liam wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “I.. all my instinctual strategies were out the window. I couldn’t focus on anything at fucking all except the sound of being dumped. There’s no tactical training on having your heart smashed since this bloody institution snuffs out the idea of love from day one. I feel like my mother was the only exception, and look what happened to her.”

Drake sighed and pinched the top of his nose with closed eyes. He himself was having a hard time comprehending things, he couldn’t imagine Liam’s anguish. “Look. First of all. This is not your fucking fault. There is clearly something large at play here, and you and Brooks seem to be the center. I think... I think Brooks knows something. She’s a smart girl and I think she was leaving you clues.” Liam could feel the gears moving in his mind as Drake went on. “It’s odd that she just walked in through the door.. how would she have just walked through the halls undetected? Weren’t you expecting her on the balcony? Which, by the way... wild expectation, bro. Shouldn’t Romeo be beckoning Juliette on the balcony, not the other way around?” Liam side eyed him hard, yes they’re best friends, but really? Was now the time to bust his balls? Drake couldn’t help himself and continued, “When you told her you wanted to find out who was responsible for the tabloid photos, why did she try to convince you to stop? It would be one thing if she just wanted to end things, but why mention that you wouldn’t want to know who it was? To me, these suggest that she either knows or has an idea who the culprit is. Then, the smoking gun. Another lock-less door and her freely walking out again.”

Liam shot up, determined and clear headed. “You’re right. I won’t play victim to this scheme and I sure as hell won’t let her be one either. Ok. We need to get a hold of Maxwell, either she’ll talk to him, or we can have him check on her without any suspicion.”

“Then I’ll call him so it can’t be immediately traced to you.” Drake pulled out his phone and clicked Maxwell’s name putting the line on speaker.

“Yo, Drakester! What’s up? Hate to break it to you, but the party’s over, you missed it.”

Already annoyed, Drake responded, “Cut the crap, Beaumont. We got a problem, Riley is gone, have you seen her? You need to check her room, but for the love of god, do it quietly.”

“What the hell are you talking about, I just left her, she was on her way to see Liam. Drake, please don’t tell me you’re cock blocking the king.”

Drake and Liam had no time for Maxwell’s carefree antics, they were both on strategy mode. Hearing this, Liam spoke first, “Ok so we know she was always on her way to see me with the intention of actually being with me. Something happened between her leaving Maxwell and her walking into my room.”

Maxwell was completely shocked to hear Liam’s voice on the line and started to panic that what Drake had said might be true, “Liam!? So she’s really gone? Last I saw her was getting her outside, as she was on her way to your balcony..”

She does love me. Was Liam’s immediate thought when Maxwell said she was on her way to his balcony.

As Maxwell recounted his interactions, Drake and Liam ignored any of his inquiries and focused on each other, working out the information they were getting.

“So she had to have been intercepted..” Liam realized. “Someone TOOK her!”

“Guys...” Maxwell was still being ignored on the line

“...And convinced her to say those things to you. Blackmail. It’s the only explanation.” Drake was finishing out the same conclusion Liam was getting to.

“Guys!!” Maxwell screamed and got their attention. “I made it to her room, we’re too late, it’s been ransacked. She’s on the run. What. Happened?”

Drake filled him in with strict instruction to keep this a secret, they would have to investigate quietly to prevent getting caught. He disconnected the call and looked at Liam, “Ok, she’s MIA, which only supports the theory of blackmail. If she was making a voluntary move back home, she would have said goodbye. We just need to find out where she went.”

Liam squared his shoulders and steeled his expression, now knowing he was on a rescue mission, “I’ll find her, I will always find her.”

[cobaltusami]

Mercy

Hey hi hello! I finally finished my Danganronpa Trigger Happy Havoc fanfic, It took me a literal week. I've been in a bit of a writing slump, But I hope this long fic makes up for my lack of writing!

Words: 3654

Characters: Switch!Mondo, Switch!Taka, Leon

Makoto was just minding his own business, He was walking to the dining hall with Sayaka just chatting about whatever came to mind when it started.

The closer they got the louder the voices were. He couldn’t distinguish who the other person In the argument was through the thick walls, But could clearly make out Mondo’s swearing.

“Do you… Hear something?” Sayaka asked, Putting a hand on Makoto and stopping both of them In their tracks.

“Yeah, Sounds like someone’s arguing with Mondo.” Makoto murmured as he closed his eyes in an attempt to make out what was being said.

For a moment the words got louder and clearer, But quickly became muffled again. As Makoto opened his eyes again he saw Yasuhiro standing In front of the closed doors. “What’s going on In there?” Makoto asked curiously.

“Ugh. Mondo and Kiyotaka are getting Into It In there.” Hiro sighed. “The energy In there Is like, Super negative. I wouldn’t go In there If I were you.”

He patted Makoto on the shoulder as walked past back to his room.

“We should go In there.”

“Are you sure? I mean last time I tried to diffuse a situation involving Mondo I got knocked out.” Makoto laughed nervously, Rubbing the back of his neck.

“You might be able to talk Taka down though.” She suggested, A bright smile on her face.

‘Somehow I sincerely doubt that.’

With a nod and a sigh, Makoto pulled the doors open and stepped In with The pop star.

It was much louder In the dining hall, Taka and Mondo were yelling at each other back and forth In front of their friends.

Makoto left Sayaka’s side and approached the duo warily. He didn’t get too close though before a hand tugged on his arm, Pulling him to a stop.

“Don’t get too close.”

The Ultimate turned to Sakura who had been the one to warn him, She had her eyes carefully trained on the two bickering students. She looked as if she were ready to jump In to separate the two at a moment's notice.

“How long have they been arguing?” The brunette asked, Stealing glances at his friends.

“At least ten minutes.” Hina spoke up from her spot next to Sakura. “They started fighting over who was better.”

“Again?”

“Yes.” Sakura responded.

“Man, This is getting old.” Leon sighed. “Sakura, Why don’t we just separate them now?” He asked, turning to the Ultimate Martial artist.

She glanced at him for a moment before looking back to Mondo and Taka. “And do what, Exactly? They need to work this out for themselves or the fighting will never end.”

She has a point…

“They should just have a stupid competition and get It over with.” Hina huffed. “Seriously, Their bickering Is ruining my donut eating session.”

“Don’t you eat Donuts all the time?” Leon asked, Exasperated.

“Also yes.” Sakura spoke up again, Smirking in amusement as Asahina pouted and grumbled to herself. She reached out and patted the Swimmer affectionately on the shoulder.

“Well,” Sayaka spoke up for the first time since entering the room. “When my group would be upset, We’d find things to do to alleviate the negativity.”

“Like what?” Leon asked curiously, taking his eyes off of the Ultimate’s before him.

The Idol hummed thoughtfully as she recalled all the group activities. “Well, We would talk about our feelings, Gossip…”

“Anything that might help this situation?” Makoto asked.

“Well, I remember one time I was really mad at a few of my friends And to make me forget about how angry I was and realize how stupid our argument had been, They ended up tickling me until I felt better.” Sayaka responded calmly, As If this were a totally normal thing.

“T-Tickling?” Leon stuttered. “You can’t be serious.”

“Sayaka, I don’t think that’s going to work…” The Ultimate Lucky student mumbled, A little embarrassed at the mention of the word.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but… That might actually work.” Sakura interjected. “Maybe not In the same approach but the laughter should produce enough Dopamine to snuff out some of the Adrenaline they have.”

“Meaning…?” Hina asked quietly.

“Oh, I gotcha. They can’t be mad If they’re too busy laughing?” Leon asked.

“Correct.”

“How do we get them to go for that?” Makoto asked.

“I’m on It!” Hina jumped up, Suddenly very enthusiastic as she approached the pair. Makoto and Leon both exchanged worried looks.

“H-Hina wait!” Sakura tried to stop her friend but she was already actively ignoring everyone else.

“Should we… Stop her?” Makoto asked, To which Leon shrugged.

With a sigh the Martial artist watched even closer than before. Just what Is she up to?

After a few attempts at gaining their attention, Hina stepped In between them and yelled as loudly as she could muster. “BOYS!!!”

Taka was the first to notice her. “A-Asahina!?”

“WHAT?!” Mondo yelled back.

“Your yelling Is super annoying.” Aoi chastised them both, Crossing her arms. “Why not just settle this stupid argument with an Endurance contest? Whoever gives up first loses.”

“Hey, That’s a great idea. Then I can prove once and for all that I’m better than your dumbass.” Mondo smirked at Kiyotaka who rolled his eyes at the Biker.

“What kind of Endurance contest do you propose?” He asked the swimmer.

Aoi grinned, Her eyes glinting with mischief. “How about tickling? Whoever says mercy the fastest loses!”

Mondo and Taka exchanged glances. “That’s fucking stupid.” The biker replied, Uninterested, But that changed however when he noticed Taka looking a bit worried at the mention of Tickling.

“Y-Yeah, I don’t see how It’s supposed to be an endurance challenge! One has to be… Sensitive, In order for that to work out In the first place!” Taka stuttered nervously, Trying desperately to keep his composure. “R-Right…?”

He has a damn good reason to be worried, Kiyotaka Ishimaru Is immensely ticklish, In fact It’s nearly impossible to find a spot on the boy that Isn’t ticklish.

“Hey! It’s a perfectly good Endurance challenge! Right Sakura?” Aoi called out to her best friend, Ignoring that comment about sensitivity.

“Yes, But It’s not so much a physical endurance challenge as It is a mental one, It’s about pushing limits.” She complied.

“Yeah! She would know about pushing limits!” Aoi smiled, Going back over to Sakura. “Tell them!”

“I… Just did.”

“Not that, I meant that story you told me about Ke--”

Sakura quickly put a hand over Hina’s mouth, She appeared calm despite freaking out internally. “Karate.” She blushed, Not wanting anyone else to know the story about Kenshiro that Hina almost just blabbed. “Similarly to Karate, If you want to prove who’s better, What better way than to push past even your opponents limits?”

Leon and Makoto exchanged looks again, This time intrigued. Evidently they both picked up on the odd response.

Mondo looked back at Taka, Who despite his best efforts, Looked incredibly nervous as his window for escape kept getting smaller and smaller. “You look a little nervous, Ishimaru… Don’t tell me you’re ticklish.” He smirked as Taka’s face went red.

“W-What?! Me?! D-Don’t be preposterous!” Kiyotaka retorted. “W-What about you? Are you…?”

“Tch. As If. You think someone as tough as me Is fucking ticklish?” Mondo brushed off the comment, Playing It cool despite lying and being completely and utterly ticklish.

Aoi finally removed Sakura’s hand to dish out another embarrassing comment. “I mean, Sakura’s tougher than you are and she’s ticklish.”

Sakura was too late to stop her this time. Her face went red as everyone quickly looked at her in disbelief. “Don’t look at me like that.” She mumbled. “It was a long time ago.”

Not wanting to press their luck and get their asses kicked for teasing the powerful student, They turned back to what they were doing.

There was almost an unnervingly teasing edge to Mondo’s words as he spoke In a low voice. “So? Whaddya say Kiyotaka? Think you can outlast me?”

No, No he doesn’t. But he’s out of excuses to back out now so he gave a small nod. “O-Of course! I’m much stronger than you are!”

“I doubt that very much.” Mondo smirked, Glancing to Aoi. “You’re the one who suggested It, What do we do?”

Hina turned to Sakura to ask her opinion, But she looked too embarrassed to say anything, So she turned her attention to Sayaka. “What do you think?”

“Maybe set a timer and time how long the person lasts? and have one tickle the other?”

Mondo gave a rather sinister smirk to Taka. “Works for me.”

“W-Wait a moment! How Is that fair? I’ve never actually done this to someone before!”

“And you think I look like the kind of fucking person who goes around tickling people for shits and giggles?” The Biker scoffed.

“I mean, If you need help I can show you how to do it.” Leon volunteered.

“If you value your life you won’t get Involved.” Mondo warned.

“Now that that’s out of the way.” Makoto intervened. “Who wants to go first...?”

“We’re seriously going to do this? D-Don’t you feel the least bit… Childish?” Taka made one last attempt, And Mondo wasted no time crushing it.

“If you’re scared you can always just admit I’m better.”

Kiyotaka glanced around the room at their classmates before sighing and resigning himself to his fate. Either way his secret is going to get out, But at least this way he can take Mondo down with him. “Very well!” He shot back, Pushing aside his nervousness. “I will go first! This should be easy enough.”

While Taka wasn’t paying attention, Mondo had silently moved behind him. Smirking as he listened to Taka continue on with his self pep talk.

“I mean, It’s just tickling, How bad could It beeeEEE!” Taka squealed In surprise and quickly brought his shoulders up as he felt fingers flutter over his neck for a moment.

Mondo snorted in amusement, clearly proud of himself for producing that reaction. “I thought you said you weren’t ticklish earlier?” He asked teasingly.

“You just startled me!” He shot back, Though he was unable to hide the blush that formed.

Mondo rolled his eyes, smirking at the Ultimate Moral Compass. “Whatever,” He paused for a moment, Thinking about how he wanted to do this. He reached around Ishimaru and began to tauntingly unbutton his jacket.

“What are you doing??” Taka demanded.

“I’m having a fucking pool party-- What’s It look like I’m doing?!” Mondo retorted.

“Pool party???” Hina perked up at the mention.

“H-Hina… No.” Sakura sighed, Exasperated.

“I’m undoing your jacket so I can reach more spots.” The biker explained, Undoing the final button revealing a white shirt underneath. “There. Now then… Who’s keeping track?”

“I got you.” Leon volunteered, Whipping his phone out of his pocket and fiddling with it for a second. “Okay, Whenever you two are ready.”

“Are you ready to admit defeat?” Mondo whispered in his ear, The feeling of his warm breath against his neck sending chills down his spine. “Remember, The magic word for when you’re screaming your lungs out with laughter Is ‘Mercy.’”

Taka shivered, Closing his eyes and taking a small breath. “I am ready to begin, Leon!”

“Startiiiinnnng… now.” Leon announced, Hitting the start button on the stopwatch app.

Mondo wasted no time, His fingers skittering across Taka’s stomach with careless abandon. He smirked at the way the Red eyed student flinched and trembled under his touch.

“S-See? This Is pointless. I am fine.” Taka struggled to maintain his composure, He clenched his jaw to keep any whimpers or other embarrassing sounds from escaping.

Mondo winked at Leon as he slowed his fingers. “You’re right, I guess this Isn’t going to--” He stopped mid sentence to shove his hands under Taka’s shirt, and dug his fingers into his sides.

That’s all It took for Taka to crumble, He let out a scream and fell back against the Ultimate Biker’s chest laughing. “N-NOHOHO! MOHOHOHNDO!” He cried out, His hands grabbing uselessly at the tickling appendages.

“Well well… Looks like someone’s pretty fuckin’ ticklish.” Mondo smirked victoriously, His fingers squeezing at Taka’s bare sensitive sides without mercy.

In an attempt to escape the tickles, Taka sank to the floor. Mondo however, followed, not letting up for a moment. “Where do you think you’re going?” He teased. “You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

The Ultimate Hall Monitor flailed helplessly, Laughing hysterically as he did. “PLEHEHEHEASE!”

“Begging already? Man, this Is gonna be easy.” Mondo chuckled, Brushing his fingers teasingly across his stomach. “Just say mercy and this will all be over.”

“N-Nohohoho! I won’t gihihihive up!” He tried to curl In on himself but Mondo was quick to sit on his thighs to stop him.

“Fine, Guess I’ll just have to kick It up a notch then.” Mondo smirked, Tracing his fingertips up and down his sides. This action drew a squeal from the uptight student. “You seem to be pretty ticklish here. You got ticklish sides, Ishimaru?”

“N-Nohohohot particularly!” He lied. His sides were one of his worst spots.

“You’re a terrible fucking liar.” The biker scoffed, Tickling his sides much more vigorously, he honed in on a particularly sensitive spot just under his ribs.

“KYAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHA!” Taka’s face went red as he began flailing again, Mondo jolted back, narrowly missing a hand to the face.

“You’re kind of dangerous when tickled, Aren’tcha?” He chuckled, His fingers rhythmically massaging circles into the sensitive skin.

Taka couldn’t remember the last time he laughed this much or this hard, His lungs were burning and his sides were beginning to ache. He’d been tickled In the past by his parents, But never this brutally or for this long.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and his small gasps for breath became more frequent. Every nerve In his body was on fire. He knew he couldn’t last much longer.

Mondo knew this as well. “Squirm all you want, The only way to make this stop Is to say the magic word.” He teased. “I could keep tickling you for hours.”

He emphasized this by kneading his sides rather meanly, Sending ticklish shockwaves coursing through the laughing student below him.

He broke almost instantly, with a scream of laughter. “NAAAHAHA! MERCY! MERCYEHEHEHEHE!”

Almost begrudgingly, Mondo let up on the merciless tickles and moved off of Taka. “What was his time?” He asked Leon casually, Hiding his disappointment quite well.

Leon glanced at his phone screen again after hitting stop. “I’m not telling until after you go.” He grinned.

“What?! How am I supposed to know how long to last?”

“You don’t. I’ll tell you once you’ve beaten Taka’s time.” The redhead responded slyly. “It shouldn’t be a problem for someone like you, Right?”

He shoved his phone back Into his pocket and turned to Makoto. “You keep track of Mondo’s time.”

Makoto nodded and set up the app as he was told.

“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Mondo rolled his eyes and laid down on the floor next to Taka, Who had finally caught his breath and gotten rid of the ghost tingles.

The Ultimate Moral compass sat up, thinking carefully. He still wasn’t entirely sure how to go about tickling Mondo, But he had a bit of an idea after that.

Leon came over, Not that Mondo had noticed due to him closing his eyes to brace himself. The former Baseball star leaned In close to Taka and whispered. “I’ll help you. Basically, Mondo Is super ticklish on his stomach and under his arms.” He explained, Glancing at the student in question.

“He’s super weak to light teasy touches on his stomach, Like this.” He demonstrated by lightly running his fingertips across the back of Taka’s hand. “Also, teasing him verbally literally kills him.”

Taka nodded as he took In all of this information. More eager than before to try.

Just as Mondo was opening his eyes to question them, Leon had pinned his arms above his head. “Hey there!” He greeted cheerfully, a wide grin on his face as he received a death glare.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Mondo snapped, tugging at his arms uselessly.

“Helping the opposition, What do you think I’m doing?” He asked innocently.

“I swear to God, I will fucking end you!”

Taka sat next to the angry biker on the floor, watching the two go back and forth for a moment longer before calling over his shoulder. “Makoto! I am ready!”

“O-Okay! Stopwatch started!”

Wasting no further time, Taka began fluttering his fingers ever so lightly across Mondo’s toned stomach, making shivers run down his spine as he tried to squirm away from the delicate touches.

The biker tried to resist, But try as he may, he soon began sputtering out giggles and threats. Though not really directed at Taka. “Leheheheon, You behehetter be thinking about what you want to say to gohohod because you’re gonna meet him today!”

“Taka, He’s still threatening me, I don’t think he’s laughing hard enough.” Leon tried to say seriously, But the grin on his face betrayed his words.

“I agree! I think I know how to fix that!” Taka smirked, Darting his fingers underneath Mondo’s jacket and launching an attack under his arms.

Mondo let out a shriek and tugged roughly at his trapped arms to no avail. “NO! NOHOHOT THERE!” He barked out between laughs.

Taka’s fingers were clumsy at first, But he quickly adapted, finding spidering motions to be the most effective technique. “Why not? This seems like a very sensitive spot. I think It would benefit me to stay here.”

“THIS IHIHIHSN’T FAHAHAIR!” He complained, Burying his face in his sleeve to hide his growing blush. “IHIHIT’S TWO ON ONE!”

“Hey, I’m just helping because Taka’s never tickled anyone before. I’m making things fair if anything.” Leon retorted. “Besides, I haven’t tickled you. I’m just holding you down. This Is all Kiyotaka.”

“That’s right! The rules never stated anything about restraint.” Taka smiled tauntingly, Applying a bit more pressure and mimicking the massaging motions Mondo used against him earlier.

“GAH! NAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“I bet that tickles like hell. It looks like It tickles.” Leon teased.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAP!” He pressed out between fits of laughter.

“Taka, Try his belly again. Now that he’s laughing, He shouldn’t be able to hold back.” the Ultimate Baseball star encouraged.

Ishimaru did as instructed, His fingers brushing teasingly against his stomach. This drew a squeal from the feared Biker gang leader’s lips.

“FUHUHUHUHUCK! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! TAHAHAHAKA STAHAHAHAP!” He cackled as he felt fingers delicately dancing across his skin.

“I’ll only stop If you say Mercy!” Taka reminded, Continuing his soft torturous tickles.

An Idea came to mind, A rather cruel one. Taka recalled a time when he was a child and was playing with his mom, he remembered how badly It tickled when she blew a raspberry on his belly and wondered If that would work here too. “L-Leon, You know that thing where someone presses their lips against your skin and makes a weird sound? What Is that called?”

“Eh?” Leon looked up at him curiously, Pondering for a moment. But a rather evil smile crossed his face as he came to the realization. “Oh, You mean raspberries, Don’t you?”

“Raspberries, Yes! How do I do that?”

“It’s simple really--”

“NONONO DOHOHOHON’T YOU DAHAHAHARE YOU SON OF A BIHIHIHITCH!” Mondo threw out an empty warning, His struggling intensifying.

Leon laughed. “You press your mouth to their skin, And blow. That’s it. Oh, When you do It, Make sure you tickle him with your hands somewhere too, That’ll really drive him nuts.”

Kiyotaka nodded, Eagerly he bent down and pressed his lips against his quivering stomach. This action alone drew a string of unmanly giggles and squeals from him.

The first few attempts weren’t so successful, but he finally figured it out and blew a raspberry against his stomach, while at the same time digging his fingers into his underarms.

“NAAHAHAHAHAHA! MERCY! OHOHO GOHOHOD STAHAHAHAP!” He screamed with laughter.

Taka relented, Pulling back with a victorious smile on his face. Leon released his arms and immediately dove for shelter In the form of hiding behind Sakura.

The others laughed at this.

Makoto was about to say something but Sayaka silently shushed him.

“Y-You’re fucking evil.” Mondo said breathlessly, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“S-So are you. I still feel the tingles on my sides.” Taka shivered at the recollection.

The Biker leader sat up and they locked eyes for a minute, Silent as they studied each other's reactions. Soon another round of laughter filled the room as they laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“I’m sorry man, I guess I was kind of being a dick.” Mondo apologized.

“N-No, You’re fine! I apologize! I suppose I don’t know when to ‘take It easy’ as you put It.” Taka also apologized.

Mondo hooked his arm around Taka’s shoulders and pulled him to him. “That’s alright, I can teach ya bro!” He grinned.

“R-Really? Thank you bro!” The strict student beamed back.

“Oh God. They’ve become the other extreme now.” Aoi mumbled.

“I’ll never understand how male friendships work.” Sakura sighed, Hina giggled In response. “But, If they’re done fighting then… I suppose It’s all right that I don’t understand.”

Makoto looked at Leon. “Do you think they even still care about who won or lost?”

“Nope.” Leon snickered. “You wanna know just for the hell of It?”

Makoto nodded with a small chuckle.

“It was--”

“For our first hang out,” Mondo said loudly, on purpose. He locked eyes with Leon, Who had peaked out from behind Sakura to look at him. “Wanna help me get revenge on a certain Redhead?”

Leon squeaked as Taka also looked at him with a rather mischievous glimmer In his eyes.

“Yeah, Let’s get him.”

[jeogiyall]

Growing Pains; Song Mingi

Word count; 21.5k

Genre; Mingi X Reader, Hongjoong X Reader, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, College AU, Angst, Fluff but Barely

Request: “ hey can I please request a college au with #11 and #17 with mingi from ateez! can it also be long and really angsty but with a comforting ending?? love your work by the way ❤ “

Additional; Featured Ateez, Rebound Hongjoong

Warnings; General Angst, Depicts Depression, Honestly Just Really Sad lol

A/N; this took me so freaking long to write, i’m really sorry to whoever requested it dhkdsfsdaf!! i hope you enjoy it! i haven’t been to college yet so this is all based off of books i’ve read or stories that i’ve been told. if anything is inaccurate i’m sorry, i’ll be learning about really soon lol. if you you like this fic please leave a like or some kind words! love you all, happy reading!

It was a summer day when the local neighborhood bullies pushed you off of your barbie themed bike for the umpteenth time. You remember scraping your knee, dropping your strawberry ice cream cone, then seeing the older boys approach you with malicious grins. But before they could fully reach you there was someone else, someone with limbs that were a bit too long and knees that were raw like yours. Any other day you would’ve found it unbelievably embarrassing that this bozo thinks he can handle this situation any better than you. As if you haven’t been handling this for years. 

But with him it was different. He somehow scared off the crude boys, then offered his hand to hoist you from the pavement while looking sadly at your discarded ice cream cone.

“I’m sorry about your ice cream.” You remember his voice being creaky, like it was always about to break (which it did, frequently,) “I’ll make you some whenever it snows! Th-that’s the only way that I know how to make it, but it’s really good I promise!” He was excited, almost like a puppy. Some part of you thought that it was cute, the bigger part knew he was probably just pitying you. Pitying you the same way that everyone does when you tell them of your constant bullying, only to forget about it in a week and leave you to the wolves. 

“Oh it’s okay, um…”

“Mingi.”

“Mingi!” You repeated the syllables, allowing their taste to form on your tongue. It’s sweet, like an orange soda and going to bed too late, “It’s okay Mingi, you don’t have to pretend like it matters.” Where you thought that his features would fade into relief they pull taught with sadness. He almost looked offended.

“You’re (Y/n,) right?” You nod shortly, eyes welling with tears for no apparent reason, “I-I’m not pretending. It matters.” Something about the way he gazes at you makes you think he’s been wanting to say that for a long time. 

“N-not really, they’re just mean sometimes. Besides, even if it did matter no one can stop it. No one’s ever stopped it.” It felt like you’d crossed a line. Cut the cake before you were supposed to, put out words you were meant to swallow down. Tears were really about to start falling, until Mingi took your skinned palms into his own larger ones. The clench of familiarity in your chest is enough to snuff out the stinging.

“I’ll stop it. I’ll do everything in my power to stop it.” He rubbed his thumb over the top of your hand, and it felt so nice. The gentle touch of someone who could be a friend. The notion that someone wanted you. It felt so nice and foreign and familiar all at once. So you nodded.

“Okay.” He squeezed your hand excitedly then surged forward, but stopped just before his arms could take home on your shoulders. You notice that he smells nice, like oranges and cinnamon.

“Can I hug you?” And just like that he’s made his way into the walls that you’ve already managed to build up.

“Okay.”

The boy holds true to his promise when two weeks later the boys approach you in the hallway, all cheery smiles and cold eyes. It’s a common exchange, they show up and tell you that you look nice today or some other fake compliment before demanding that you give them all of your lunch money. Which sounds stupid, until it’s two in the afternoon and you haven’t eaten all day and you won’t get to for another half hour.

But before anything can happen, Mingi is at your side and talking about his advanced math class. You watch as the boys slowly disperse at your friends silly rambling until it’s just the two of you. A deep breath floods your lungs as he softly punches your bicep in a way that’s starting to feel normal.

“Told you so. Do you want to come over for ice cream after school?” It’s silly how the words fill you with warmth, but you don’t even care. Because what you have here is so secure, and you know that it always will be.

And it always is. Mingi’s friendship is solid throughout your entire life, even when you started high school and nearly everything was shaky. Even when he grew out of the awkward limbs and squeaky voice, and all of the girls at your school wanted his attention. Day after day, Mingi would reject their proposals with a simple “I’m busy,” when the truth of the matter was that he would be sitting with you. Alone. In his basement, watching Star Wars on VHS tapes while eating strawberry ice cream and popcorn.

You remember turning to him one night, eyes drinking in the sight of his side profile illuminated by an exploding death star. He smiled widely, clapping his hands the way that he always does at that part. A deep sigh resounded through your chest, causing the boy to look at you with furrowed brows. For what must have been the millionth time, your eyes locked with his. Words weren’t even necessary for comfort.

“Why did you want to be friends with me? No one has ever cared about me too much, so why did you? I didn’t have anyone, why did you want to be my someone?” Your question sounds small, voice wavering gently.

“Maybe I needed someone too.” The response was so quick. Like he had pondered it before. As if he knew every doubt that you were having, and knew that you didn’t need to have them. 

From that night on, Mingi was more than your best friend. More than someone who you spent everyday with. No, he became your partner in almost everything. He took you to the school dance, stood beside you at every sports game, spent long nights trying to decipher math problems. No one was surprised when you two started applying to the same colleges, you weren’t even sure that you’d survive living without him. Judging by the pattering of his heart each time you entered a room, Mingi thought so too.

Over the years of close proximity and healthy doses of codependency, Mingi’s feelings towards you had progressed slightly past friendship. Not that he didn’t still think of you in that way, obviously. It’s just that whenever you fell asleep on his chest halfway through star wars marathons he’d have to will his heart to beat a tiny bit slower, or when his family brought you along to the beach he had to remind himself that it was rude to stare. The shift in his feelings started about three months into your sophomore year together, while stuffing your face with greasy fast food burgers after a wildly unimpressive football game. Neither of you ever cared about school sports too much, yet you were present every single week. When Mingi asked why, you claimed it was to get him out of the house. He’s pretty sure it was so that you’d have an excuse to get burgers afterwards, though. 

The boy distinctly remembers looking up over his boat of fries to see you with full cheeks, one strand of hair sticking to your slightly sweaty forehead. He remembers the bustling sounds of the diner going silent as his eyes drank in the sight of you for what felt like the first time ever. He remembers thinking that he wouldn’t know how to live life if it weren’t for you. Thinking that life wouldn’t be worth living if it weren’t for you.

“What?” You had questioned, nearly spitting out bits of cheeseburger onto your friends fries. If Mingi wasn’t so infatuated in that moment, he would have been disgusted. 

“You’re gross.” He laughed, one hand moving to nudge your shoulder. From that moment on, Mingi thought of you as just a little bit more than a friend. Just a little bit more than a movie marathon partner, just a little bit more than someone to spend late nights with. A little bit more than someone who helped move you into a college dorm, too. 

“Who on this forsaken earth thought that loft beds were a good idea?” You heave, flinging yourself onto the elevated mattress. It’s far from comfortable, and you’ve had to carry countless boxes up two flights of stairs due to the lack of an elevator, and the hallway smells distinctly of burnt microwave popcorn, but you have never in your life felt more free. High school was absolute torture, and while you did have Mingi to lean on you were still terribly lonely for those four years. Every other girl had a group to sit with, or someone to drag along to the bathroom with them in the middle of class. Having only one friend typically meant having absolutely no classes with them. 

But you’re here now, hundreds of miles away from the tattered building where you used to go to school. The only person on the entire campus that even knows your name at this point is Mingi, which in turn means he’s the only person that knows about your habit of loneliness. You intend to keep it that way, too. Every shy kid hears it from their parents, ‘College will be so good for you,’ ‘You’re really gonna come out of your shell in college,’ but those words meant more to you than an empty promise. In the last few months when you were so terribly lonely that all you had was Mingi and writing until your fingertips fell off, those words were your lifeline.

“Probably someone that didn’t get enough hugs as a kid.” Your friend responds while dropping the final box, which is filled with nothing but fuzzy sock, onto the pile that’s accumulating on the desk that’s squeezed under your cursed bed, “Looks like the last of it.” You nod, cheek brushing gently against the uncovered mattress. It creaks loudly when you shift, which is something you’re sure that you’ll never get used to.

“Are you sure that you don’t want help unpacking?” You barely look up while asking the question, nuzzling even closer into the awful bed. It takes a certain level of shamelessness to sleep on a fully uncovered mattress while a random stranger could walk in and drop all of their stuff on the floor, but you swear to the stars that you’re about there. Mingi appears to be the same way, taking to resting against your yet-to-arrive roommates desk.

“Yea I’m sure, my roommate’s this absolute giant, Yunho I think? He promised to help, so I’m all good.” A hollow laugh leaves your throat, aching with sleepiness. Mingi’s eyes soften ever so slightly before casting to your dirty tile floor.

 “Sounds nice.” There’s a nod, then a groan, then shuffling on everyone's part before Mingi is standing in your doorway and casting a soft gaze to your sleepy form.

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” A low humph resounds as your answer, but Mingi knows there’s no weight. You’re going to lay on that loft bed, sleeping like a rock until someone bothers to wake you up.

The someone just so happens to be Mingi, five hours later in a fresh hoodie that has your universities name embroidered across the chest. First you notice the perfectly made bed across the room, then the lack of another girl, then the scrent of oranges mixed with cinnamon, then finally Mingi nudging your shoulder from the ground while holding a Styrofoam bowl of hot food. 

“D-did I miss dinner?” Your eyes squint harshly, the way they always do when someone’s just woken you up. 

“Yea.”

“Sorry.” Mingis heart clenches tightly at your slurred speech, then again at your fluttering eyelids.

“S’okay, I brought you food.” His voice sounds warm, low. Like the Mingi that you’ve always known. You sit up and accept the to go bowl he’s passing up before patting the empty spot next to you. Within seconds the boy is next to you and offering utensils along with his arm around your shoulder, “It’s ramen.”

“Really?” The boy nods, fluffy brown hair falling onto his forehead as you excitedly rip the lid off. The smell of spicy ramen wafts through your otherwise empty dorm, and while it’s not the same as what Mingis mom would make from scratch on Winter days it still fills your belly with an immeasurable warmth, “Have I ever mentioned that you’re my favorite person?” Your shoulders relax thanks to a mouthful of slick curly noodles, Mingi can feel each individual muscle give way beneath his touch.

“Once or twice.” 

The two of you spend that night curled up on your bed sharing bites of the warm soup, and even once it’s done and the bowl is disposed of it still feels like old times. His arm is resting around you, the conversation is happening effortlessly, laughter is bouncing from every last tile. It doesn’t exactly fit in with your ‘new school, new me’  narrative, but that’s okay. You can always spend one night in comfort seeing as the following nights will be spent doing thousands of things out of your comfort zone.

When the time comes for him to walk back to his own dorm building, it’s well past dark outside, your clock ticking dangerously close to midnight from its perch on the (useless) nightstand. The boy hugs you in the doorway, making you pinky promise to not sleep through lunch tomorrow. 

“I won’t, I promise! Please don’t tell me that I left you sitting alone!” He exhales a short laugh at your furrowing eyebrows, his hand taking home on your shoulder in an attempt to squeeze out your tension.

“Not at all, Yunho has like a ton of friends. They’re funny, too.” 

“Really?” Mingi squeezes your shoulder one last before nodding. 

“Really.” 

He walks home in silence, the beginnings of an Autumn breeze kissing his cheeks. Upon arriving at the dorm Yunho spins around in his desk chair, smirking at the younger boy as if he knows something that Mingi doesn’t. 

“Where’d you go after dinner? We were gonna invite you to Wooyoung and Sans apartment.” Yunho leans back in the chair, it’s legs teetering precariously in a way that would debilitate elementary teachers.

“Oh, thanks! Maybe next time, I had to check on a friend.” Yunho quirks an eyebrow as Mingi begins to climb into his bed, kicking his shoes off at the base of the wobbly ladder.

“A girlfriend?” The question should be shocking, Yunho doesn’t even know that you exist for crying out loud, but he is so used to it. After being your best friend and caring for you as deeply as he does, he is so used to it.

“Nope, why do you ask.” The older boy simply shrugs, grounding his chair and picking up a stubby pencil. 

“Just an inkling. Lots of girls came up to you in line, you seemed less than interested.” Mingi ponders his response, because what do you even say to that? He doesn’t have a girlfriend, he’s not interested in anyone, he only has you to worry about. You, with your laugh that defines his childhood. You, with eyes that shoot wide anytime you’re worried about accidentally offending someone. You, who wants to make a new person in the coming year; and you, who Mingi wants to convince that you don’t have to change.

“Nope, she’s just a friend.” He decides, the words falling flat in the cramped room.

“Whatever you say.” 

Mingi lays sleeplessly in his bed for hours, his head pounding with the thought of how hard your connection with him is becoming. He loves you in more ways than one, but he doesn’t love the ache in his chest whenever he has to leave you. He doesn’t love that way that the weight of your touch haunts him for days, when for you it’s probably just something easy and meaningless. He doesn’t love being less to you than you are to him. 

But he does love you, in a way that’s impenetrable and everlasting. That alone is almost enough to make everything worthwhile. Almost.

*

It turns out the whole ‘new school new me’ thing is much harder than you previously anticipated. Naïve senior you thought that maybe you could meet new people through your roommate, but that didn’t exactly work out. It’s been two weeks and all you know about her is that she’s a junior, and that she really doesn’t want to be staying in a dorm. 

So, that’s obviously not going the way that you’d hoped. There is another person though, and he’s been a great help in meeting new people. He is a roommate, ironically enough. Just not your own.

Jeong Yunho, sophomore, fading blue hair, cheeks that look like freshly baked bread, brown eyes that sparkle a little bit when you ask about his major (biology, which is something that you know far too much about after a brief stop by Mingis dorm,) and a head that hits damn near every doorway it passes through. He has to duck to get into the cafeteria. But he’s sweet, like the guy who you could ask for help with homework. And he has so many friends, who are all terribly boisterous, that just eating lunch is like going out of your comfort zone.

Which is enough for you, but apparently not Mingi.

It’s a classic Friday night marathon, you already cuddled up on your bed with Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire pulled up on your laptop. The only thing left to accomplish is getting Mingi next to you and watching the movies, but that doesn’t seem to be the plan that your friend has. When he opens the door to your dorm you immediately notice the lack of Harry Potter pajama pants and popcorn. Instead he’s opted for movie night chic, with jeans that have something written on the left thigh and a white t-shirt that hangs off his lithe torso. His caramel brown hair is pushed back in a way that you’re not used to seeing, but it looks good. Attractive, even. There’s something about seeing him all dressed up and handsome while you’re in measly shorts and a platform 9 3/4 t-shirt that makes your cheeks go hot.

“I didn’t tell you before because I knew that you would say no, but Hongjoong and Seonghwa are having a party tonight and we’re going. Surprise!” Your mouth drops open at Mingi’s form of greeting. Before you can even process what’s been said he’s shaking the rail of your loft bed and chanting ‘Get up! Get up!’ 

“What about Harry Potter night?” You question dumbly while shimmying down your ladder. Obviously Harry Potter night has been discarded in favor of a house party, you don’t need Mingi to say anything to gather that much information, “Seonghwa is okay with a party in their apartment?” Mingi laughs gently, a soft shake of his shoulders and glittering eyes. It’s the only familiar thing about your interaction thus far. 

“The boys said that it’ll hardly be a party, probably too few people and too many wine coolers. Maybe some jazz, Seonghwa’s pretentious like that y’know?” He opens your closet door for you and starts to wrack through the few dresses in the very back. You’d never had much of a reason to buy any dresses. 

“Believe me, I know.” Seonghwa was one of the first of Yunho’s friends that you’d met, and while he wasn’t an ass about it he was definitely a little pretentious. It’s probably hard to be an art major for three years and not be pretentious, “Do I have to wear a dress?”

“You don’t have to, but-” 

Long story short, you find yourself sitting on a suede couch clad in a red plaid mini dress that you only bought for a neighborhood Christmas party in your sophomore year and your one pair of worn leather boots. It’s a tight fitting thing, meant to be worn over turtlenecks and with tights, but Mingi insisted that it would look good alone. He’s not wrong either, ever since you set foot into the surprisingly swanky off campus housing your lunch mates have been showering you in compliments. It started with Wooyoung wolf whistling and asking for your phone number, then Hongjoong asking if he could’ve complimented you in a way that was any weirder, then San giving you a stemless wine glass and announcing ‘A sparkling cider for the lady,’ in the most offensive British accent you’ve ever heard. It was for sure a strange form of flattery, but flattery nonetheless. 

“I’m sorry about Wooyoung, he apparently hasn’t been house trained yet.” Hongjoong jokes while settling you onto his plush, red hair briefly sweeping in front of his attentive brown eyes, “Though we can’t really blame him because of the whole sports medicine thing.” You hear a brief ‘I heard that!’ waft from the kitchen, where Yunho and Seonghwa have gathered the majority of the boys. It makes Hongjoong giggle a little bit, and the sound is so clear and gentle that you find yourself giggling too.

“I guess we can’t.” Your eyes move to take in the living room, which is filled with your lunchmates and some extra people who you don’t know in the slightest. First there’s San, your fellow literature major who just switched from middle school education. Then Yeosang, a quiet sophomore who majors in political science. He usually only talks at lunch to tell his table mates that they sound ridiculous, but every once in a while he'll indulge their antics. Lastly there’s Jongho, the only other freshman in the room with you that you know of. You’ve only just finished your second week but everyone’s already expecting him to be the star student of the music program for the next four years. 

Everything about this situation reads anxiety. Mingi is already in a different room, you’ve barely held a conversation with any of these guys before, someone in the corner is definitely getting a little too drunk into a ficus tree in the corner of the room. But you aren’t nervous. A little tense maybe but who wouldn’t be? You certainly aren’t nervous the way that high school you would’ve been nervous.

“He’s not wrong, you know.” Your eyebrows shoot up with a quiet ‘hm?’ behind your lips. It’s mostly because you think you’ve missed something that Hongjoong said.

“Not wrong about what?” He looks at you with his brown eyes and a lopsided grin, and when you look back it feels like he’s asking for permission to unravel you.

“That you look pretty.” 

It’s not his words that take you off guard, or how he pinches your cheeks afterwards, or even him getting off of the couch and bouncing into the kitchen like a kid coming down the stairs. Your heart barely announces a flutter, your cheeks barely give way to heat. He was probably tipsy. It’s just that no one has ever noticed you in that way. No one other than Mingi has ever really called you pretty.

So it leaves an impression, to say the least.

Quickly after Hongjoong leaves, San takes his place, Jongho sitting on the floor and nuzzling into the older boy's legs. The three of you talk for hours, Jongho sharing your disdain for grumpy roommates (he says that Yeosang throws pillows at him when he starts practicing) and San for Beowulf. He does mention that your creative writing class is fun, to which you agree. Fun, but ever so stifling for creativity. 

It’s a simple kind of conversation, the kind that doesn’t tell anything too personal but still gives insight into the people having it. San throws in a few anecdotes about him and Wooyoung in high school, Jongho shows you a bruise he got from fumbling up the ladder to his loft bed. You even include a few of the controversial star wars opinions that you and Mingi came up with at three in the morning so many years ago. It’s simple, weightless.

When Mingi walks you back to your dorm that night he pauses outside of the door, one hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from your eyes.

“Hongjoong asked me about you.” He says, a smile playing onto his lips. Something about the way that it doesn’t fully reach his brown eyes makes it seem sad.

“Really?” The memory of Hongjoongs hands on your face, his cute voice burning the words ‘you look pretty’ into the back of your mind, “W-What did he ask?”

“Just basic stuff. How long we’ve known each other, your major...” He wants to add ‘whether or not we’re dating,’ because that’s the question that struck him the most. Mingi doesn’t know Hongjoong too well, but he knows that the older boy is sweet and respectable. If Mingi explained all of this mess to him, Hongjoong probably wouldn’t think twice, just go about his day and be friendly as always. But Mingi didn’t explain it, he said that you guys are just friends and that it’s never been anything more than that. Hongjoong smiled in a way that made Mingi’s chest ache and thanked him before bouncing off to entertain Seonghwa. He remembers feeling taken aback, then like he should go talk to the pretty girl that’s been eyeing him in calculus, “I can’t do movie night next week. I-I have a date.”

And it’s something about those words that manages to crawl into your body and find a home in your heart, then pump throughout your entire bloodstream. You shouldn’t be upset. You have no reason to be upset. Mingi is your best friend, and you were stuttering about Hongjoong mere seconds ago, and you shouldn’t be upset right now.

“Oh, okay... Just don’t forget about me.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but Mingi looks at you like you’re the moon. With care glimmering in his irises and adoration adorning the glow of his cheeks. You think to yourself that there’s something special in the air, then that you shouldn’t be upset.

You have no reason to be upset.

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

*

The next time that you see Mingi is at lunch on Monday, but he doesn’t take his normal seat next to you. He can’t when you’re already sandwiched between Jongho and San, who are talking in intense detail about their terrible morning classes. Sometimes you can join in, seeing as you and San share classes, but for the most part they just banter. Hongjoong is taking up the seat in front of you, his chin resting on his palm while he nods attentively to everything the younger boys are saying. He reminds Jongho that he needs to be getting sleep, and that life doesn’t happen in practice rooms. He tells San to eat his food whenever the boy gets a little bit too excited. He even asks about your day, to which you respond with something simple and lame. When you mention being tired he gives you the rest of his coffee.

Mingi comes to the table nearly twelve minutes after you do, and it’s not really a big deal that he can’t take his usual seat. There’s a chair between Wooyoung and Yunho at the end of the table, which is perfectly fine. The two of you know each other well enough that a simple look can be translated to ‘It’s okay, we’ll see each other later.’ Which is perfectly fine. You both have a lunch that is perfectly fine.

The week continues on like that, though. Missing each other by a hair's breadth. On Wednesday his intro to statistical methods test goes so late that he misses your scheduled coffee run, then when you tried to surprise him in his dorm later that night, Yunho had to inform you that he was holed up in the library with some of the people in his calculus class (Yunho let you come in and made hot chocolate in the Keurig, so overall the night wasn’t too bad.) Then on Thursday you skipped lunch, opting instead to finish the assigned Beowulf reading at the last possible minute. You hated every minute of it, but not as much as you would’ve hated failing your second ever quiz. San sent you a picture of himself and Hongjoong pouting around your empty chair and Mingi in the background laughing at something that Wooyoung had done to Seonghwa. 

Friday night feels more lonely than you had expected. Your bed is empty without the taller boy sitting in it beside you. The movie gets cut off halfway through when your roommate stumbles in and announces that she’s going to sleep, which is the most she’s ever said to you at one time. You turn off your laptop and fall into the uncomfortable bed that you’re slowly getting used to. This is okay. You remind yourself that you shouldn’t be upset and that this is okay. 

Right as sleep is about to wash over the room your phone lights up with a message from Mingi. It’s a picture of his hand cradling the chin of a golden retriever puppy, and beneath he’s written ‘we found these dogs in the courtyard. sleep well :)’ 

After reading the message three times over and staring at the image for ten minutes you start to believe your words. This is okay.

You shouldn’t be upset and this is okay.

*

Your high school had three classes per semester then one free period for a study hall. Mingi would always make this huge deal out of lining up your study halls, claiming that he needed help with his English classes. In reality you were the person that needed help with classes, namely math and science, but he’d always insist that it was because of whatever book he had for assigned reading in the upcoming class. 

There was this one semester, though, where you had four classes. Anatomy, geometry, personal finance, and then your absolute saving grace. Creative writing. 

It was a true blessing, honestly. Since every other class was absolute torture, and you didn’t really have any Mingi time to take the edge off of your day, that class was your favorite part of nearly every day. You would kind of use it as an escape, just sit in the isolated corner desk, tap the toe of your then fresh leather boots, and write about any and everything that came to mind. The teacher liked one of your stories so much that he framed it. 

Seeing as that was your only experience when you saw ‘Introduction To Creative Writing’ on your schedule you were ecstatic. You thought that you’d just get to sit and write anything that you wanted. Needless to say, it is nothing at all like your high school class. The teacher speaks too quickly and assigns nearly a million readings. He waited four weeks to let the students do any actual writing, a fact that San was most grateful for. You, however, were dying.

You think the assignment is kind of stupid, too. Focus on a setting, no characters. Just the setting. It took a while for you to get it just right, but after about a week of staying up past midnight you wrote something that was actually good enough to read. It was nearly two pages about Florence Italy, going in depth about the winding roads. You commented that they were the kind of streets that lent way to deep discussion. The kind that begged for secrets to be shared.

All in all, you were quite proud of it. You even considered showing it to Mingi, until it came back with a bright red C sketched on the front. It was covered top to bottom in red ink markings, none of which were comments about your grammar. No, these notes were personal. This sentence is lifeless. Your tone shift is unnecessary. I’m not sure that this is actually in Italy. 

San asked about your grade on the way to your European literature class that day, right as you’re reading over the harshest note of them all. He says that he got an A minus, which makes perfect sense. San isn’t lifeless, he doesn’t do unnecessary things. 

“My grade is fine.” You choke out, eyes endlessly tracing over the red notation. 

‘This feels lonely.’ 

In a way, you suppose that it is. 

*

“So you did this every single Friday night?” Yunho questions while sandwiching his way onto Mingi’s bed. It would probably be normal to be upset that your movie is being infiltrated by your friends roommate and Hongjoong, but you’re just so grateful for the movie night to actually happen that it doesn’t matter.

“Sounds about right.” You’re about to comment that you’ve skipped the past two weeks, but the words twinge with resentment right as they’re about to come out. So you swallow them down while scooching into Mingi’s side. Hongjoong immediately fills the new space beside you, his hands occupied with fuzzy blankets that have various patterns. One has corgi’s and hearts printed from corner to corner.

“I don’t know if that’s lame or endearing.” The older boy comments while spreading the blanket you’d been eyeing across your lap. Yunho laughs while taking in a mouthful of microwave popcorn, and you think to yourself that this isn’t so bad. Having a movie night with more people than usual is better than having none at all. There’s more snacks and extra blankets now, so you don’t have to burrow into Mingi’s comforter halfway through and tangle your legs together. Because you’ve never wanted to do that before, it just happened out of habit and necessity. Definitely habit and necessity. Definitely. 

There’s also not much difference in the essence of movie night. Someone still interrupts serious scenes to crack a joke, you still tell Mingi that he’s breathing too loud, by the time the credits are rolling you still find grease stains on the underside of Mingis comforter. It’s from all of the years of him using the plush blanket in place of a napkin, and the years of you telling him that he’s going to stain it.

Mingi walks you back to your dorm that night. When he stops in front of the door and lets out a deep exhale it almost feels like you haven’t skipped the past two weeks. It almost feels normal.

“I’m glad that at least one of us has a cool roommate.” He comments idly, eyes raking over your growing smile.

“With cool friends.” There’s a gentle laugh, and you’re not exactly sure why. Nothing is funny, just familiar. Maybe a bit tense, though you suppose you don’t know the reason for that either.

“Yea. Cool friends.” Mingis feet shuffle, brown hair flopping onto the bridge of his nose as his gaze takes purchase on the floor. He smells like oranges and cinnamon. He always has. You think that he looks nice like this, with the flickering hall lights illuminating his face. This is probably what Mingi was always meant to look like. Real, and handsome, and grown, “I think we should switch movie nights to once a month.”

And if this whole thing was a little tense before, like an ornament hanging on by it’s hook around one green needle from a Christmas tree, it’s worse now. It’s broken shards of glass all over your living room floor, willing and ready to pierce your foot and stain the carpet. It’s the gaping hole in your Christmas tree. It’s your mom's favorite Santa no longer having a head.

“O-oh... Once a month?” Mingi nods gently. It almost looks like he doesn’t want to be nodding, but he is. He is, and it’s pulling your heartstrings like an orchestra. 

“Yea, I just figured that’d be easier since we’re so busy. Y’know, with classes and friends...” You wonder if he’s going to say something else. Like dates with girls from his calculus class. He never does, but you can feel it.

“I know, I-I’m like... Super busy with all of my f-friends.” A heartless laugh leaves you, and Mingi replies with a smile that doesn’t quite crinkle his eyes, “But yea. Once a month, once a month. Once a month totally works for me.” He takes a step towards you.

“Look, (y/n-)” You think that he’s about to comfort you, which of course would be welcome. Comfort from your very best friend is always welcome. It’s just that a small part of you is worried that he’s going to take it back. You’re worried that he’s going to tell you that it’s whatever and you can have movie night every week until you die and that he’s going to live life in college dragged down by your stupid, lonely self. You’re worried that he’s going to drop it, and that you’ll never live it down.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you tomorrow at lunch, yea?” Before the boy can even fully nod, which makes you sick to your stomach for no apparent reason, you’re scrambling desperately for the doorknob to your dorm. You think that you may hear him say goodbye, or wait, or something. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Everything matters. You just want to be inside. 

When you get inside your roommate is sitting on her bed with earbuds in, though they don’t appear to be playing anything. She looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, and you can’t really blame her. In the rush to get away from Mingi you probably ended up looking a bit frazzled. 

“Um... Are you okay?” She questions, her mouth making a perfect circle. You nod fervently while bringing your palms up to pull at your cheeks. They’re wet. You’re not sure when they turned wet. 

“I’m fine. It’s okay.” 

Sometimes you say something so many times that it doesn’t sound real anymore. I’m okay, this is okay. I’m okay, this is okay, This is okay, this is okay. Okay, okay, okay...

If your roommate hears you sniffling and shaking while alone in bed that night, she makes no comment. It’s the first thing she’s given you to be grateful about all year. 

*

One of your biggest concerns before starting college was walking to classes alone. All throughout high school Mingi would walk with you across the tiny campus, somehow managing to drown out the crowded hallways with laughter and tips for quizzes. When you were taking discrete mathematics he’d walk backwards down the hallway while showing you flashcards. 

Obviously you knew that wouldn’t be feasible in college. You might not have known many things before coming here, but you knew that vastly different majors would lead to vastly different classes. You knew that Mingi wasn’t going to wake up at eight am every Wednesday to walk you to your lectures. Knowing didn’t seem to make the actual act of it any easier in your brain.

But after just one week you started to look forward to the trek to your classes. At first it was because you could listen to the assigned readings in the amount of time it took you to get from your door to your desk, however that hasn’t been necessary since your social calendar became suddenly clear. You just do the readings at night in your loft bed, which hasn’t gotten any comfier, then use the walk as a time to relax. To think without impositions, even though they’d find their way to you most mornings. 

Today your imposition is dressed in jeans with painting above the knee and a sweater that’s too big, tufts of red hair sticking out from beneath his black beanie.

“What are you doing out so early?” Hongjoong asks while jogging to take up the spot next to you, pulling on the strap of your bookbag as he arrives. When you fully look at his face you can see a dusting of pink across his nose. You think it’s from the light fall wind.

“I could ask the same thing of you.” You think that he looks pretty like this, with inklings of the rising sun taking purchase on his face. You almost think that anyone would look pretty like this.

“I’m out for a walk. Also grabbing muffins from the campus cafe, we’re out of food and Seonghwa’s mgonna be hungry.” His voice sounds groggy with sleep, like maybe he hasn’t been awake long. The notion conjures an image in your head of Hongjoong detangling himself from bed and trekking out to campus all so that his friend would surely have something to eat. It makes this whole exchange just a little bit easier, “Your turn.”

“I have an eight am class.” The boys eyebrows knit together as he looks at his darkened phone screen.

“It’s seven fifteen.” 

“... I don’t like my roommate?” At that wimpy explanation he laughs, a gentle laugh that was made for morning, then hooks his arm through your own. The weight is something that you’ll have to grow used to.

“You kids are gonna drive me insane, I swear it.” His free hand pinches your cheek which is growing increasingly warmer. You hope that you two will continue walking like this, quiet and unbothered and maybe a little bit childish.

“Hongjoong?” You question as he begins to pull you down a brick paved road that you’ve yet to travel.

“Hm?” He answers like nothing about this is strange. 

“My class is the other way.” The boy giggles at your concern, wanting to reach out and run his thumb over the crease in between your eyebrows. Something about your demeanor, which isn’t far off from a stray kitten, clues him in that you wouldn’t respond well. 

“We’re taking a detour.” 

“If you don’t tell me where we’re going I’ll pull out my pepper spray.” This sentiment is the first thing all morning that’s made him stop in his tracks, casting a puzzled look to your bulky bookbag.

“Do you actually have pepper spray in there?” You can feel a smile edging on your lips as your eyes click with his, and while you know that he’s not giving you butterflies or sparks it does feel like something. Like the first gulp of soup on a cold day, or the sound of orange leaves crunching beneath your sneakers. 

“Tell me where we’re going and you won’t have to find out.” Obviously, you don’t have any. It’s been in your cart on Amazon for forever but you’re not one hundred percent sure about how to order things to a dorm, and you figure that your first package shouldn’t be a literal weapon. 

“We’re getting coffee, and you are terrifying.” The comment lights your cheeks with fire as you scurry to catch up with him once again.

“Well you’re the only person that thinks so.” The boy walks so quickly that your feet are nearly going in double time, face puffing with cold air while you speak.

“I doubt that.” You notice that his face is pink again, though you’re not too sure that it’s from the cold this time.

“You’re probably the only person who thinks anything of me.” Hongjoong stutters like he’s going to stop walking again but you tug on his arm once more and he’s back in full swing. 

“That’s so not true. Yunho thinks you’re sweet, San says you’re a wonderful writer, Mingi clearly thinks that you’re amazing.” That last statement finds a crawl in your chest and begins to fill your lungs with pink daisies. Amazing. Mingi clearly thinks you’re amazing. 

“Sure.” You answer with twiddly fingertips and a thumping heart. Luckily you’re standing in front of the campus cafe before you can think too hard on it.

Hongjoong orders two salted caramel hot chocolates, a black coffee, and three blueberry muffins. When you asked why he didn’t get you a coffee as promised he told you that the coffee here is ass and Seonghwa only drinks it because he’s starved for energy. You don’t have the heart to tell him that the frappuccino you order has so much cream and sugary syrups in it that you could barely even call it coffee, and it tastes pretty darn good. It’s not a big deal. Hot chocolate is good too.

“This is really good.” You offer later while walking through the campus quad. There’s not many people out this early, just a girl you’ve seen in your lecture once or twice and two boys playing checkers on the grass. Hongjoong keeps stepping on the crunchy orange leaves then smiling like a little kid. It makes you think that he’s growing on you, then that you thought that you’d be doing this kind of stuff with Mingi. 

You don’t really know why you can’t let yourself enjoy this. You’re in the quad with Hongjoong, waiting out the clock until your class starts, and this precious sweet boy is playing in the fall leaves. This should be a perfect morning, but you can’t help feeling sad. Feeling incomplete. 

“I know, right?” He answers, bouncing over to you wearing a bright expression, “Now get up pretty girl, we’re playing in the leaves.” 

“I have a lecture.” He takes your hot chocolate and places it on the empty seat next to you before slotting his hand into your own. His skin is soft, like blankets fresh out of the dryer.

“And before that you’re going to have some fun, let’s go!” He’s smiling at you expectantly, so what are you supposed to do other than drop your hot chocolate and join him?

Your first impression is that he plays with people in the way that a puppy would play with another puppy. He’s quite fond of kicking up piles of leaves just to see how tall they’ll go, then you kick them up further and he gets flustered. He then proceeds to throw leaves in your face, then picks them out of your hair before you can get mad enough to throw them back. You think that this is a lot of fun, then that your trusty boots make a nice sound when the leaves crunch under them.

There’s this one time when you try to kick up the leaves and your leg slips out from beneath you, which sends you flailing backwards into the leaf pile. Hongjoong rushes over immediately, his face half concerned but mostly lit with laughter. He asks if you’re okay, though it’s through indecipherable wheezing so you can’t really hear him. The boy is laughing so hard that he ends up laying next to you, red hair and sparkling eyes mingling with the orange leaves seamlessly. You think that he looks like a photograph. 

If you show up to your lecture ten minutes late and with crushed leaves sprinkled through your hair, no one mentions it. 

*

Movie night with Wooyoung and San is fun. The popcorn is a little bit burnt, courtesy of San, but their couch is far more comfortable and blankets far fuzzier. Sans burning a candle that smells like cookies, and you feel like nothing could be more accurate to him. 

“This is nice, I’ve been meaning to rewatch Harry Potter.” Wooyoung comments while sinking in between you and San on the couch. He’s cradling a bowl of slightly browned popcorn and shoving it into his mouth as if there’s nothing wrong. 

“Yea, definitely. I like spending nights in.” You’re about to tell them that you considered this a night out, but then you think that’s terribly sad and that you’d sound really lame. So you nod instead.

They’re pleasant movie guests, San makes funny comments every once in a while. Wooyoung starts to fidget about halfway through the first movie so he spends the first portion of the second one making a fresh batch of popcorn. It doesn’t burn this time. Him and San spend almost the entire movie tossing popcorn across the room and into each others mouths.  Overall it’s not such a bad night.

When all is said and done and you’re helping them pick up misfire popcorn kernels, the boys get to talking. They ask you what Mingi’s up to that he couldn’t make it to a Friday movie night. You’re going to tell them the truth, that Mingi’s out on a different date with a different girl from a different class. You’re going to tell them, but the words taste so terribly bitter on the way up.

“Um... I’m not sure. Probably homework.” Wooyoung tosses an unpopped kernel so that it hits you square in the forehead. You simply giggle before throwing it into your trash bag.

“We should’ve invited him! Him and Yunho, it could’ve been a whole thing!” San shouts from the kitchen. It makes your skin prick up with goosebumps. Because while you are definitely lonely, and you definitely miss Mingi, you’re not sure that you could handle his response. You’re not sure that you could handle asking Mingi to come to one of your most prized traditions and him saying no. Him saying no because he’s out with another girl and giving her his undivided attention, because that is how he is, and you couldn’t handle hearing him saying no to you. He never used to say no to you.

“I had fun with just you guys, though!” They tackle you in a bear hug, and it feels nice. It really does, it’s just that you still have that nagging feeling in your gut. Like your professor is right. Like you’re alone.

*

Your next ‘Introduction To Creative Writing’ assignment is about characters. The rubric clearly states that it should just be about the people and nothing else. Points will actually be deducted if you mention a setting.

So you wrote two characters, a boy and a girl. The boy finds the girl too bland so he asks if she’ll share a secret with him. She thinks for a long time while the boy studies her face, and he loves every corner of it. Finally, she leans in to whisper something. You don’t tell the audience what she’s said, but you do tell them that it makes the boy laugh. Then he kisses her cheek and they laugh some more, until time dies out and the stars no longer shine. You liked it from the moment that you started writing it, and by the end it was something that you were genuinely quite proud of.

Apparently pride wasn’t enough to get you a much higher grade. It’s passed back looking exactly like the last one, a bright red C and thousands of red notations. You flip to the rubric in the back to see that everything is marked straight down the middle. 

You didn’t mention a setting, but you didn’t make the setting irrelevant.

Your characters didn’t interact with the setting, but they barely interacted with each other.

You included characters, but they were not lively and enjoyable.

And you’re not quite sure why everything you write is so dead. You’re not a person who feels dead, you’re funny and full of life. You have things to say that are important so you write them into stories rather than speaking them out loud. You’re good at this, so why are you getting C’s? Why is an old man with a beard that touches his belly button saying that you aren’t good at this? 

When you get back to your dorm you rip the paper to shreds and cry alone in your loft bed. Mingi texts you to ask when you’ll be at dinner, you tell him that you’re too busy with homework. He asks if he should bring you something, but you lie that it’s all covered. You’re not entirely sure that you could handle seeing him right now. 

When your roommate comes in she seems a little drunk. She clambers over to her bed then finally looks up to you. It’s not your finest moment, cheeks streaked with mascara and shreds of paper all around you.

“You okay?” She slurs out. You think that it’s a dumb question, because obviously you aren’t, but at least she’s trying. Trying is good.

“I’m fine” Right as the words come out you know that they sound fake, but you don’t know what else to do. Normally when you feel like this Mingi is just a phone call away. Every time you’ve tried to call him in the past week it’s gone to voicemail. When a week has really torn you down like this one you’d always have a movie night to look forward to. Mingi made it clear that he wasn’t too keen on that anymore. You usually have your shoulder to cry on. Now you don’t even think you’ll be able to keep yourself together if you see him.

And it’s hard for a lot of reasons. Because you need Mingi but Mingi doesn’t need you. Because everything feels so wrong unless you’re desperately trying to salvage your longest friendship. Because maybe this friendship meant a little bit more than just that, but you’ve realized entirely too late.

*

You usually wake up at seven thirty in the morning. It’s not because you want to, or because your roommate is too loud climbing into her bed at night, or because the sun comes into your dorm weirdly. You just go to sleep late, because you can’t force your brain to stop, then wake up early. Because out of all of the things that are going wrong, why wouldn’t you also get less than four hours of sleep every night?

But it’s not all bad. Every other morning you meet Hongjoong in the quad. Sometimes it’s with a book, sometimes with your latest creative writing assignment. He’ll read them and make comments. He always says that it’s good, and it’s fun to believe him for a little while. 

This morning you come to him empty handed, just like he said to last time. There’s supposed to be a surprise. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that you don’t like surprises. 

“Good morning, pretty lady!” He’s always so chipper in the mornings, with his eyes crinkling happily around the edges and bright red hair bouncing. Today he’s wearing a puffy coat that’s nearly ready to swallow him whole paired with jeans that have a painting sprawling up the calf. You had recently found out that he and Seonghwa were responsible for the illustrations on everyone's clothes. Mingi gave them his favorite jeans after two lunches spent in the cafeteria.

“Good morning.” You were clearly finding it hard to be as excited.

“Did you read the student newsletter yesterday?” Cold air puffs from his lips along with the words, and his face lights up when you shake your head no. The collar of his coat is brushing his cheeks, “So it’s really a surprise then!”

He’s so precious and childlike in that moment that you decide there’s no harm in indulging him.

“What’s really a surprise?” He’s already started walking so you have to do a half jog to catch up, once you’re at his side he starts to skip so that you have to jog even further. This happens every once in a while whenever your friend is feeling extra punchy. You often find it hard to match that energy, but something about this early November morning has you more present than ever.

“Catch up to me and I’ll let you know.” He reaches into his pocket and appears to pull something out, then hang it over his head. You know there’s nothing in his hand. It’s empty and you know that, nevertheless you chase after him. The boy laughs loudly before sprinting away. Once you’ve caught him you start jumping for the mythical gift hanging over his head, which he finds unreasonably funny. The sound rings off the brick path beneath your feet, and it’s like the sun is finally rising. You think that’s the kind of person that Hongjoong is, the kind that would bring the sun up just to make someone else smile. 

When you open his clenched hand he slips it into yours, fingers curling ever so gently around your own. His skin feels soft, it makes you wonder what kind of lotion he’s using.

“I caught up.” Your voice sounds small. Hongjoong thinks it’s bright, “What’s my surprise?”

“There are puppies in the quad, I think they’re up for adoption. I figured you’d like to see them.” He’s perfect. On paper Hongjoong should be the perfect boyfriend. He takes you to see puppies, buys you hot chocolate, makes you play in leaf piles, you’re pretty sure he’s redone his entire sleep schedule just so that you two can keep up with these morning strolls. You so badly want Hongjoong to be perfect.

But there’s just something off. Maybe it’s because his one hand can’t fully engulf both of yours, or because he doesn’t tower over you with what feels like two extra feet. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t smell like orange zest and freshly ground cinnamon. 

Maybe it’s because he’s not Song Mingi.

“I would like to see them.” You respond, squeezing onto the boy's hands. Hongjoong is perfect, but he’s just not right, “I’d like that very much.”

*

You’re not quite sure how it happened, but San seemed to notice that your Fridays were becoming more and more lonely. After that one Harry Potter movie night you did with him and Wooyoung in their shared apartment you’ve not really done anything. Hongjoong invited you to another house party, and you were going to go, but when you reached for the handle to exit your dorm you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Something about going and knowing that Mingi would be there, probably with his date of the week, made your mouth taste sour. So you stayed home instead, sitting in your bed and struggling with a creative writing assignment. You’d occasionally snack on some granola bars that Mingi stashed in the bottom of your closet when he moved you in.

Those were your plans for tonight, but San grabbed you just before class ended. He told you that Wooyoung was planning dinner but the recipe serves four so he figured that they could invite you and save the rest as leftovers. You agreed, fully expecting that you’d chicken out at the last second and stay home, yet here you are. Standing in their kitchen while sipping on a shirley temple that San mixed up for you, Wooyoung is occasionally stirring the simmering pot on the stove. San invited Hongjoong at the very last second so those two are sitting at the kitchen table and trying to talk each other's ears off. You find your way into the empty seat beside Hongjoong and let his hand rest on your thigh. He rubs gentle circles on your jeans, and it nearly gives you butterflies.

“Dinner is almost done, would you guys mind grabbing some drinks from the garage.” The two boys nod before scurrying towards the front door and shared garage. Wooyoung takes the seat across from you, “Do you think you’re gonna date him?”

“Who?” You ask, probably in a less defensive way than he’d anticipated.

“Hongjoong.” Wooyoung doesn’t look as playful as usual, the childlike glint gone from his eyes. If anything the boy appears worried, probably for his friend Hongjoong. Part of you wants him to be worried for you. You’ve barely eaten anything except for granola bars in the past week because you don’t want to risk running into Mingi in the cafeteria. Your five hours of sleep every night has been slowly dwindling down to four. Mingi has moved movie night twice this month. You still can’t get a good grade on a creative writing assignment. 

“I don’t know.” You think that you probably are. You think that you mostly want to.

“But you aren’t going to date Mingi?” It feels like the air around you is made of cotton, your mouth has gone completely dry.

You don’t know why you’re upset. You shouldn’t be upset.

“No.” There are tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You hope that if you breathe deeply enough then you can will them to stop, “I suppose I won’t.”

The dinner turns out lovely, but you can barely take a bite. You can barely even say another word for the rest of the night. You just tell  them thank you, it was lovely, then go home to finish your creative writing assignment. The professor is probably going to write a note that it’s lonely. That’s okay, though. It is lonely, because that’s what you are. Terribly, and irrevocably lonely.

*

A week after the dinner party you and San are partnered together on a creative writing assignment. The main goal is to learn how to work collaboratively with another author, not that you even considered yourself that, and it’s coming along nicely. There are just a few things that need to be cleaned up before it’s due, which prodded San to invite you out to coffee. At least you thought that’s what it was about, but when he takes his seat at the table there’s no laptop tucked beneath his arm.

“A-are we not working on the project?” You question softly, hands hovering idly over your keyboard. 

“I wasn’t planning to, but you... You can if you want to, I guess.” He drops his bags and heavy coat in the vacant seat before flipping through his wallet, “You ordered yet?” You shake your head no, you didn’t want him to show up and have you already be halfway done with your drink and then deal with the awkward conversation of how you showed up thirty minutes early because other than meeting Hongjoong in the morning this is the only thing on your social calendar for a week. After that you have movie night, “I’ll get you something. Coffee or tea?” 

“Coffee.” When the boy returns to the table, it’s with two steaming mugs, perfect for the frost bitten weather outside. Yours smells like vanilla and nutmeg.

“It’s the shop special I think.” He smiles gently, dimples on parade for the entire campus to see. You think that San has a nice smile, the kind that takes over his face, along with yours before you can even stop it.

“It’s nice, thank you.” Things are quiet for a second while San is putting away his wallet, and for some reason you’re confused. If you’re not going to work on the project then why on earth did he make the time to get coffee? 

“(Y/n?)” He asks softly, raising your attention from the untouched mug of coffee to where his hand is on the lid of your laptop, “Are you okay?”

“Yea, I’m good.” The words sound dismissive before they’ve even left your mouth, “Why did you ask to get coffee?” Sans eyebrows raise and he feels a small tug on his heart. He doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t want to spend time with you.

“Because I have free time and I wanted to spend it with you.” You’re not sure why, but it’s hard to hear that. Maybe because you’ve been hiding from life for as long as you can remember, or because you’ve had nothing but free time for a month and you’ve wanted to spend all of it with the one person that will hardly return your texts, or maybe because sometimes those words are hard to hear. 

“Oh.” You take a sip of the coffee, it makes your stomach feel warm for the first time in a long time, “Thank you.” San cracks his knuckles while offering up a gentle smile.

“No need to thank me, we’re friends.” 

“I guess that’s why I’m thanking you. I don’t have a lot of friends, if you hadn’t noticed.” The boy is looking at you with attentive eyes, and it feels like there’s something lodged in the back of your throat. It tastes like vanilla and nutmeg and thousands of wasted opportunities, “I used to have Mingi, but he’s so busy with all of the classes and... Dates, that we don’t really talk much. I’m grateful that I have you.” When San smiles it’s sweet and genuine and you feel like you are finally doing the whole college thing. The thing where you make growth.

“I’m grateful to have you too, you’re a sweet kid.” If you weren’t so touched you would remind him that he’s only one year older, “I don’t think any of Mingi’s dates have much substance, honestly.” Something about the way he says it makes you think that he’s not talking about the girls themselves. It makes your heart flip.

“How come?” As soon as the words leave your mouth you pray that they don't sound eager. San lets out a heavy sigh and you think that maybe your prayer worked.

“He just isn’t really satisfied with anything. There have been girls eyeing him since his first time in the cafeteria, but he didn’t care much for it. Now he’s decided to take them up on their offers, and yet he still doesn’t seem to care for it. We’ve all asked him what’s up but he won’t say much. Just that it’s not what he’s looking for.” There’s a pointed gaze that says a million things. Mingi hasn’t found what he’s looking for. Mingi is just as lost as you are. Maybe Mingi couldn’t find what he was looking for because it’s always been there. Maybe Mingi needs you as much as you need him.

“Oh. I didn’t know.” You leave the cafe that day with a smile on your face and hope fluttering around in your heart, and for the first time in a long time you think that maybe you can be happy.

*

You’ve been planning this night since the moment you stepped out of the campus cafe with San. It’s probably a little bit cheesy, with all of the contraband candles and what not, but Mingi always said that you went a little overboard on movie nights. Now you’re standing in the center of your empty dorm room, illuminated by tea light candles, wearing the dress that you wore when Mingi dragged you to your first ‘party,’ and your heart all the way in your throat. Because tonight is the night. Tonight you’re going to tell Mingi how you feel about him, and you’re not going to listen to the little voice in your head that says this is probably stupid, and that Mingi showing up over half an hour late is a bad sign. That voice is annoying and has made you wait too long for too many things.

So when Mingi walks into your dorm with rosy cheeks and windblown hair, you let your heart stutter. When his jaw drops open, you let yourself laugh, and when he takes a step forward, you do too.

“What’s this about?” He questions with a familiar deep voice that leaves warmth blossoming in your chest. 

“I just...” Your eyes lock onto the freckle on his neck before flashing back up to eyes. They’re sparkling in the flickering candle light, “I’ve missed you. Really badly, Mingi. I miss you in the mornings when I walk to class, I miss you at lunch when I get my granola bars from the closet, I miss you when I’m with my friends, I-I... I miss you on Friday nights. I spend all of my time missing you, and I don’t want to anymore. I’m tired of hiding how I feel about things, like I think that my creative writing assignments are stupid, and I hate everyone in sports medicine except for Wooyoung, and I miss you. A-and I think that I might love you, so I wanted to-” Mingi takes two steps forward, coming dangerously close to closing your distance, and you think that he’s about to kiss you. You think that you’re ready for him to kiss you. You’re heart is beating faster, then faster, then faster-

“Why are you doing this?” And then it stops dead. You honestly think that you might be dead. This feels worse than being dead.

“Um, d-doing- Doing what? I’m not doing anything, I thought you were-” You’re rambling and it’s so awful, Mingi knows it’s awful. His hands are massaging his temples as if this is insanely stressful. It kind of is, but you can’t figure out why he would think so.

“Why are you telling me that you love me? After not seeing each other for almost a month, why are you telling me that?” Clearly, this is not the way that you expected tonight to go. Several of the candles by your desk has burnt out, you feel like you’re about to cry, “I haven’t been lonely, (Y/n,) because I have a-” You feel tears tugging on your eyelids so hard that it hurts. Before you can think about it, and before you can hear whatever he has to say, your index finger is in between his eyes and you’re staring at him like you want to throw something out a window.

“Don’t say that.” It’s probably the most assertive you’ve ever been with him, “I just don’t understand why you’re fighting me on this.” Mingi takes a deep breath before running his hands through his hair. You wonder when he picked up on that habit, which person got to see this before you did. He looks handsome. You hate it. 

“I don’t understand why you get to want this now. I don’t understand how I have waited and waited for you to love me back for years, and once I’m finally done with letting you break my heart you get to decide that you want this. I don’t understand how that’s fair.” There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but they’re different from the ones that you’ve seen before. They’re not like the ones he sheds over movies, these tears are angry and unwilling. 

“Mingi I-“ 

“Don’t say that you didn’t know. I know that you didn’t know, because you never wanted to know. You were too scared to know, but I was never scared. I’ve always known that we were right, and you were always scared.” It feels like your heart is trying to crawl up your throat in the worst way possible. Like it’s a spider that you swallowed. 

“Mingi that's not what-“ 

“But I can’t be with you (Y/n,) because I’m done with you being scared. I’ve been done with you being scared for years, and I'm finally okay with being done with you. Let me be okay, (Y/n.)'' There are now tears behind your eyes as well, but it’s not angry. It’s sad, because he’s right. You are really scared, it took months for you to work up the courage to admit to even yourself that you love Mingi.

“What are you saying?” The words are choked and staccato, tears spilling freely onto your cheeks. A brief look at his tear streaked face tells you that he’s known this answer for forever. 

“I’m saying that I can’t be with you right now. I just… Can’t.”

He leaves before he can see you sink to the tiled floor, or hide your face in your hands, or cry off all of the mascara you had put on just for tonight. Just so that you could bat your eyelashes at him and give him love until the sun came up. Just so that you could give him your love like flowers and a candle lit room.

But you don’t get to do that. You put on mascara for no reason. Mingi doesn’t want your love, he doesn’t want your candle lit room. He gave your flowers back, and they’re just going to sit on your nightstand until time takes her toll on them. Until they wilt and wither and all of the petals fall onto the floor. You don’t know if you’ll have the strength to sweep them up.

It’s not clear when you start crying, but it is clear that you never stop. You cry for hours and hours until you finally pull yourself off the floor and into your bed. The candles burn themselves into darkness. The room smells a bit like ash. Your blankets are warm. Your chest aches. Mingi is gone. You are scared and you’re alone. You probably always will be.

* 

You’re not sure when food lost its taste. When your room lost its color. When your legs became too heavy to move. When sleep became extinct. When it was easier to be in the library than it was to be in your own room. When every single one of your grades sky rocketed to an A while creative writing sat heavily at a C. You can’t watch Star Wars anymore without wanting to throw up. Strawberry ice cream tastes like poison.

You’d fallen asleep on a desk in the back of the library twice before Yunho found you. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do seeing as it was the middle of the day and no one had heard from you for a week and a half except for San, but he figured that leaving a hot coffee by your sleepy head seemed to suffice. If you were tired enough to fall asleep in the library it was probably much needed.

He thought that he’d just forget about that encounter, sweep it quietly under the rug and hope that you started getting more sleep. It was going well enough, until he arrived here. One week later, ten minutes before midnight, you in the same exact position as last time. There were tear tracks in your makeup and black smudged beneath your eyes. He could see the assignment peeking out from beneath your folded arms, ‘Study In Relationships,’ no doubt for creative writing. There are only two words that aren’t covered in black scribbles. You let a gentle snore, and he knows that it’s time to wake you up. To talk to you.

“(Y/n?)” He whispers while gently nudging your shoulder. You grumble ever so slightly before snatching the unfinished assignment back to rest beneath your head. Another small grunt leaves your lips before he calls out your name again, shaking you with a bit more force than the last time. Your eyes flutter open gently and take in the tan walls and fluorescent lighting before you fully register that Yunho is there. 

“Hey,” Your voice is gruff around the edges, and you know that if you say too much everything is going to fall apart, “good to see you.” His eyes take you in, sweatpants with countless stains, a hoodie that has a little hole forming in the armpit, your hair disheveled and greasy. He knew that something bad had happened when Mingi came back to the dorm about two weeks ago with tear filled eyes and an unwillingness to talk. You stopped showing up to any of the meals after that, even Hongjoong couldn’t get a hold of you. The blue haired boy would be lying if he said he didn’t worry for you in passing, but all of those concerns were brought to a forefront at the sight of you now. You look, and he means this in the nicest way possible, like a disaster. 

“Yea, i-it’s good to see you too.” His hands fiddle with the hem of his sweatshirt, busying themselves so that he doesn’t start to pack up for you, “The library is closing.” Your eyebrows furrow as you suddenly remember where you are. 

“Oh. I-I’ll get this cleaned up then.” You don’t know why, but asking him to help feels wrong. You’d like help, but something about his pitying eyes makes you feel small. The same way that you did when those boys pushed you off of your hot pink bike. Like he’s pitying you, except now there’s no lanky kid to save you.

Yunho ends up offering the smallest amount of help possible, just slipping your pencil into your bookbag, before helping you stand. The room swims for a minute before you can walk.

“Can I walk you back to your dorm?” You don’t know how to tell him that most nights you don’t go back to the dorms after the library kicks you out. Most nights you plop down on a bench in the quad and slave over your creative writing journal. Most nights you don’t crawl back into your room until four in the morning, when your roommate is dead asleep and can’t ask you if you’re okay, “Just don’t want you walking back alone in the dark.”

And really, what are you supposed to say?

“Yea, that’s fine.” The two of you walk in silence for a wall, nothing except for the rhythm of padding feet and rustling tree branches. Early winter air nips the tops of your ears while Yunho shivers beside you. You hear him miss a step and you feel yourself choke on a thousand words. 

“We’ve missed you.” You don’t respond with the question that you desperately want to ask. You don’t ask if everyone misses you. If a certain boy that smells of cinnamon and eyes that glimmer like childhood misses you. 

“Yea. I’ve missed you guys too.” The silhouette of your dorm building is slowly coming into view, you think that it looks different when the world is still awake. Some windows are still lit, people are drawing curtains shut. Normally when you come home everything is dark and unbelievably cold. This isn’t anything special, but it’s a whole lot better than that, “This is me.” You say tersely while slowing to a stop in front of the looming building.

“Yep.” You can tell that he wants to ask you something. Maybe it’s why you were asleep in the library, or why depression wears you like a necktie, or why he hasn’t seen you in the cafeteria for a month in a half. He wants to ask you something, but the way his lips close around the consonant tells you that he won’t.

You get halfway into the door before something tugs at your heart strings, “Yunho?” You call out, turning halfway over your shoulder to see his eyes trained on you. They look sad. You think that it makes sense why, “Thank you.” 

He nods curtly, and you know that he’s not sure why you’re thanking him. It’s okay though, because at least you know that he misses you. Before tonight, you thought no one missed you.

Sleep is as rare as ever that night, yet the thing that lulls you to sleep is the same as always. Floppy brown hair, clapping hands, a bad CGI explosion playing off of a crackly VHS tape. He smells like cinnamon and orange rinds, yet when you inhale it’s nothing but your dusty dorm room.

*

The end of the semester means wrapping up many loose ends. You pack up every coat and Christmas themed clothing item in your closet, notably avoiding the dress that you wore for Mingi. You meet Hongjoong for coffee and exchange presents, a pair of customized jeans for you and a twenty five dollar visa gift card for him. He smiled really wide when you told him that it was to make up for all of the coffees and meaningless conversation. You drop the level two creative writing class that was on your schedule. San makes a plan to meet up over the holiday and you agree wholeheartedly. Finals week isn’t all too bad seeing as you’re already getting less than four hours of sleep a night and funneling every bit of brain power into school. The only thing that’s left for you to do is turning in your creative writing assignment, which is both the easiest task and the one that you want to do least. 

The classroom is dead empty when you enter, not even your white bearded professor in sight. You scurry down the steps with the short story in hand, a meaningless piece about two strangers who share misty mornings. You hate it, just like you’ve grown to hate almost everything that you create, but it’s an assignment. It meets the bare minimum for what’s required on your rubric. You finished it.

“Miss (Y/n?)” Your body freezes in the middle of the final step before stuttering slowly back to normal. It probably looks stupid but you barely have the will to care, seeing as the thing that you were most dreading was happening. Your creative writing professor is standing at the top of the classroom with his long beard and judgmental eyes, and you are standing in front of his desk with shaky knees. 

“O-oh, hi! I was just turning in-”

“Why aren’t you enrolled in my class next semester?” You take in a breath, the air as thick as soup. You don’t know how to answer his question. You don’t want to answer his question. Answering his question feels like letting go of a piece of yourself.

“Oh, I-I dropped it. It’s just that I have other classes I need to take, a-and I’m not all that good so…” Your professor nods before furrowing his bushy eyebrows and starting slowly down the stairs. Each of his forward steps causes your heart to thump. 

“Who said that you aren’t good?” He questions, continuing down the steps. You clench the assignment in your hands and watch as the paper creases beneath your thumbs. When you look at the pages they’re clear, nothing but your words and margins, but when you think about what it’ll look like in a week you want to cry. It’ll be marked in red, with a fat red ‘C’ circled on the title page.

“I-I just, I never thought, Y-you said-” The professor is now standing in front of you with folded hands, his expression of confusion shifted into concern.

“I never said that you aren’t good.” You  breathe in again, the air thin enough to actually intake this time around. 

“You didn’t?” He shakes his head before pulling the crinkled assignment out of your hands.

“No, you show great promise as a writer! Your writing is… lacking, but it’s only in one area that can be easily improved upon. No great writers start out great, but all great authors show their flaws at one point.” Tears prickle the back of your eyelids, and it feels like there’s a little hand grappling onto whatever you thought you’d have to let go. 

“Miss (Y/n,) I’m trying to say that failure is okay. Getting less than a ‘B’ on your paper is okay, but you can’t stop trying.” He’s right, a part of you has known for a while that he’s right. Just because you got a bad grade in this class doesn’t mean that you’re bad at writing. Just because Mingi said no doesn’t mean that you’ll never feel deeply again. It just means that you need to keep trying.

“Oh, um… Thank you.” You’re not sure what else to say. There honestly isn’t much else to say, so you give him a short nod and head towards the stairs. You think that you’re going to head back to the dorm and cry on your bed, which is stripped of its duvet and most of the pillows. You think that you’re going to ask if you can have this class added back to your schedule. You think that you might speak with Hongjoong more often once your break is over. 

And sure enough, your spring semester begins with Hongjoong walking you across campus and to your second level creative writing class. The month away seems to have done good for the both of you, Hongjoong returning with dozens more customized clothing items and you with slowly disappearing eye bags. His hair is also faded into a lighter pink shade, which you think suits him quite well. 

Your walk to class is uneventful, riddled with small talk and basic catching up. Near the end he slips his arm beneath your book bag and around your waist, which feels nice enough. His arms are stronger than you expected. The half embrace is not unwelcome. When you two are standing outside of the quickly filling classroom he takes your hands into his own for a brief moment before asking if you’re free for coffee after class. You want to make up an excuse for why you can’t go, because you know that this isn’t just two friends going for coffee, but when you look at Hongjoong there are sparkles in his eyes. Pink hair tickles his cheekbone as he smiles warmly at you, and you find yourself thinking that his confidence right now is commendable. You also find yourself saying yes, you can definitely get coffee with.��

It’s a fun outing. He cracks a few jokes, you talk about class. He asks if you have any assignments and you say not yet. When he orders an iced coffee you ask if he’s trying to get frostbite, to which he laughs and pokes out his tongue. You think that he looks cute. You think that all of this is kind of cute. 

You also think that when you’re with Hongjoong, and he’s making you laugh and holding your waist, it’s very easy to forget about how badly you miss Mingi. 

*

When you agreed to re-enroll in your creative writing class you and your professor exchanged a number of emails. First about how you could improve your grade, then about how to improve your writing, then countless of other questions with ambiguous answers before the two of you finally settled on having weekly meetings. It would be sort of like he were your personal advisor, but only for writing. You would come into his office once a week to discuss your current project and he would read it over, ask if you had concerns, usually give some feedback. 

Within the first week it was clear what your most reoccurring critique would be. It was a mantra echoed many times, ‘To write life you have to live it.’ He said that your writing was good, pretty, but the characters lacked life. Then he asked if you could try to spend a little more time with people. It didn’t have to be much, but he was convinced that a bit more people time would improve your writing greatly. 

It’s been a month or so since that first meeting, and you weren’t sure if you agreed yet. You were spending almost everyday with Hongjoong, sometimes Seonghwa as well. You were definitely more tired each time you came home, but you also smiled more. Laughed more, too. They would often ask you for help with silly things, like the time that Hongjoong called you at midnight because he needed help touching up his hair, Seonghwa often asked you to mix his paints. It often felt like you were their third roommate, but it was okay. You had fun. 

Yet you didn’t see much improvement in your writing. There were still notes in red ink on your paper. You weren’t sure of the remedy you should apply, but more people time seemed like it wouldn’t hurt. So you set up daily lunches with Yeosang and Jongho, which was an interesting dynamic to say the least. Jongho would sit down most days and chug an entire reusable cup of green tea with soy milk before getting lunch, to which Yeosang would furrow his eyebrows and comment ‘I don’t know how he drinks that.’ Usually the younger boy would talk animatedly with you about classes then he’d ask if Yeosang had anything going on. Your dark haired friend would look up from his half inhaled plate of food with deep set eye bags and say that he had at least three papers to write. One time you asked if he was okay, but he just laughed and blamed it on his major. After that your writing seemed to improve greatly, at least according to your professor. He told you that it was starting to come alive much quicker. The only thing he had left to say was that your more gentle characters needed work. He said that they needed to be more than just gentle.

Running into Yunho in the library after that meeting was pure coincidence. You were headed to the back to start cracking down on some of your more challenging classes, namely entrance level biology, yet when you dropped your bag on your usual study table you noticed someone was already there. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’ll just-”

“(Y/n?)” He asked while turning to face you. It suddenly hit you that the last time Yunho had seen you was while you were at your absolute worst. Not sleeping, or eating, or talking to anyone but yourself. You don’t know if he’s going to let that version of you go. You only know how badly you want him to. 

“Yea, it’s me.” The words tug on your vocal chords so you cough lightly in an attempt to clear them, “How are you doing?” He twirls the blue gel pen in his hand for a moment before responding.

“I’m okay. The usual kind of busy, my room’s been messy lately. Just normal stuff.” Quiet settles over your conversation so that you’re left standing awkwardly in front of his neatly organized table. You’re not sure why you can’t bring yourself to speak, but you are sure that it has something to do with the fleeting thoughts of the boy that Yunho’s sharing that messy room with, “What’re you working on?” He asks, motioning with his gel pen to the stuffed folder in your hands.

“O-oh just some biology stuff, I have a quiz next week so…” Before you can say otherwise he’s clearing off a spot on the table and telling you to pull up a chair. He helps you with pretty much every half finished assignment. He even adds extra cheat codes onto your flash cards in crisp blue ink. As you’re leaving the library to get dinner with Hongjoong he tells you to meet him back here after your quiz.

“After all, I’d like to know how my best student is doing.” Weekly study sessions honestly come about naturally. He insists that he’s beyond happy to help, and you’re beyond happy to observe him. Listening to him talk is your favorite part. He’ll ramble on about a lab or being worried that someones going to steal his bike from in front of the dorms. He tells you that he thinks Hongjoong will ask you out, you tell him that you know. He says that your handwriting is pretty, you thank him. When he talks about things that make him angry his words are gentle and calculated, so as not to hurt people that aren’t even present. Needless to say, the red ink marks are few and far between after factoring this newfound knowledge into your pieces.

But you think that it’s a bit more than that too. For the first time in… Ever, you think, you’re happy. Not in a fleeting way that depends on strawberry ice cream eaten on Friday nights. You’re happy in a way that’s hard to tumble, and you’re happy in a way that’s without Mingi. You never thought that you would be happy without Mingi. All throughout high school you feared this very thing, having to live without him and be okay with it. Now that you’re doing it, it’s not all that scary.

You still see Mingi around campus from time to time, in curls of chestnut hair and broad shoulders. Sometimes when you’re walking to class with Hongjoong you can hear his laugh bouncing from the surrounding buildings. Part of you wonders if you’re just conjuring him up. Part of you wonders when it’ll stop. 

Hongjoong does ask you out, just like Wooyoung, and Yunho, and everyone predicted. You say yes. You laugh with your friends until your sides hurt. You share kisses with your boyfriend. You start to feel excited about life in a way that you never have, and a part of you honestly wonders if this whole thing with Mingi was just a growing pain. Something that needed to happen in order for you to change.

The aching of your chest at night says otherwise. But believing as much is easier to stomach.

*

You’re relaxing at Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s house when a nerve is struck. You'd been sitting at the table chatting with Seonghwa while Hongjoong made himself something for lunch. It was really an accident, you had just been telling Seonghwa about your study session with Yunho when he got onto the topic about an awkward study date he had been on recently. You laughed as he recounted it and assured him that a study date was a cute first date.

“I’m sure it’s not as cute as whatever you and Hongjoong did.” And that’s when it happens. The chord is played, the line is written, and Hongjoong was looking at you with wide, apologetic eyes, “Y-you did have a good first date, right?” Your boyfriend said nothing, just bit his lower lip and returned his attention to the stove, “You’ve been dating for a month, you had to have had a first date. Right?”

“I’m sure that we will.” The tension that followed your meek statement was painstaking. First Hongjoong inhaled sharply through his nose, then Seonghwas mouth pressed into a thin line while his eyebrows raised. He muttered some nonsense about needing to get started on his painting for realism class. Apparently he was in such a rush to leave that he forgot that he wasn’t even taking a realism class, “Look, Joong we don’t have to-”

“Do you want a cutesy first date?” He asked, turning away from his food once again so that his eyes could bore into your own. You weren’t sure if his voice was stern in that moment or sincere, either way it was maddeningly effective.

“I mean… It would be nice.” He raised an eyebrow and nodded with his tongue in his cheek before returning to his food. Once it’s done and the fragrance is drifting from his workplace and towards the table, he takes the seat across from you. You’re about to say something but then he presses a swift kiss onto your lips.

“Then you, my darling, are getting just that.” 

A cutesy first date, with your sweet boyfriend who brings you tons of joy. It sounds great in theory, except for the fact that it’s been a week since your conversation and he still refuses to tell you when or where the date will be. Some may say that it’s romantic, but you say that it’s stressful. Pretty much every time that you leave your dorm room you end up seeing Hongjoong, so pretty much every time that you leave the dorm room you’re fully dressed and ready to go out. You’re starting to think that he’s finding joy in your suffering. It’s not too drastic of a belief, seeing as every time that you open your dorm room in a new outfit he giggles and whispers ‘cute.’ 

The miniature cat and mouse game finally comes to an end about a week and a half later, when he texts you Friday morning that you should wear something cute today and to be ready for pick up at five thirty. Though, the suffering doesn’t really end because in reality you spend the entire day raking through your closet for anything that could possibly make a cute outfit. There’s the cursed red plaid dress that you wore to that house party and awful confession oh so many months ago. You figured that was a no go, but honestly what else did you even have? There’s a uniform skirt that you bought while thrifting with Hongjoong, but you weren’t sure what shirt to wear with it. Your favorite jeans were in the wash so those obviously weren’t an option. It looked like it was going to have to be that dumb little dress.

But it’s not so bad, you manage to pair it with a black cardigan and the pair of leather boots that your mom got you for Christmas to replace the old ones. You also do more makeup than last time, so it really doesn’t look all that similar. When you look in the mirror before answering Hongjoongs knock you’re barely even thinking about the last night that you wore the dress. You’re thinking about tonight… Mostly about tonight.

You open the door to see your boyfriend wearing a black button up and blue hair that catches you off guard. His hands are shoved cutely into his pockets, you can see his thumbs twiddling from inside his jean pockets. The moment that his eyes take in your frame his face breaks out into a wide smile. It’s a familiar smile at this point, he wears it around you constantly.

“You look amazing.” He says beneath his breath. You watch with twinkling eyes as he examines every one of your features, your smiles growing with each passing moment.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You're not sure what to do past this point. He’s said that you look nice, you’ve internally fawned over his new hair that looks so incredibly soft, you’ve looked each other once or twice and smiled. You don’t know if you’re supposed to kiss him now, or hold his hand, or what. This is all quite new, “Um, should we get going?” He looks back at your face with a jump, as though your question had pulled him out of something. You’re going to ask what, but you aren’t quite sure how to get the words out. 

“Yes, yea! I-I’ll lead the way.” After five minutes of walking around your familiar campus you arrive at the shuttle. You’ve only taken it once or twice in your time here, mainly to get to Hongjoong’s house at the edge of campus, but you do know that on weekends it will take you into the nearby city. There’s only one seat left by the time that you get on, so of course Hongjoong let’s you have it and opts to stand instead. 

“You can sit if you want to.” He immediately shuts down your offer with a quick peck to your lips and a sweet giggle that you’ve grown to adore. 

“It’s our first date, I can’t have you thinking that I’m anything less than a gentleman.” If he weren’t so endearing you’d point out that you’ve been together for over a month. But he is endearing, so you only laugh and take hold of his hand. 

The date ends up being pretty much perfect. He takes you to a small cat cafe that’s tucked away on the downtown streets of the city, something that you didn’t even know existed until this very night. The inside is fully decorated in light pink with white lighting that highlights your adorable boyfriends features. He’s so sweet the whole time, smiling and letting the cats curl up in lap. The two of you share a piece of cake, he smears a little bit of the stiff frosting onto your nose. It’s cute. Sweet. You return to the dorm room with hot cheeks and a bashful grin.

“I had a lot of fun.” You say to him while leaning up against the doorframe of your dorm room. He smiles, but it’s different from the smile that you usually see. He’s usually so confident and sure of himself, but in this fleeting moment you can see unsureness in his features. It’s almost like he didn’t think you’d like the date.

“Yea?” You nod as quickly as he can ask. It’s not clear why, but you feel the need to assure him that you enjoyed your time together, “I’m glad. We could do something like this every week, you know?” 

The response isn’t as quick this time, or as adamant. You want to say yes. You had fun tonight, you enjoy spending time with Hongjoong, you want to say yes. But there’s something holding you back. It’s gentle, tugging on your heartstrings like a haunting winter melody. It tastes of strawberry ice cream, and smells of Song Mingi’s basement. You still remember the first time that he proposed a weekly movie night, all those years ago. You still remember how wanted it made you feel. At times you wonder if anyone will make you feel as wanted as Mingi did.

You’re starting to wonder that now, even as Hongjoong catches his thumb beneath your chin so as to tilt your chin up. The thoughts don't waver until your eyes meet, and you think that you’re probably right. No one will make you feel as wanted as Mingi; but Hongjoong does make you feel wanted. It’s not as overwhelming as Mingi. It’s not as safe as Mingi. It’s not as fateful as Migni. But it is there.

“What do you think? About the weekly thing, I mean. Like how does that sound?” Mingi was everything to you. In many ways he is still, but he’s also gone. Hongjoong is most things, but at least he’s here.

“It sounds lovely.”

*

You’ve spent a lot of time thinking in the past few weeks, pretty much ever since Hongjoong started with the dates. It’s mostly when you come back to your dorm after them and lay belly up on your loft bed, eyes glazing over the ceiling tiles that you’re pretending to count. Sometimes you think about Hongjoong, the way that his smile overpowers his face. The way that he laughs whenever he flusters you. The way he takes time out of his week to plan these cute little dates with you. Sometimes you think about Hongjoong. But most of the time you don’t. 

Most of the time you find your thoughts wandering far out of reach, and most of the time they wander straight into Song Mingi. It starts with thinking that you miss his presence, the way that he jumps to help anyone with anything. The way that his eyes shine each time you call out his name. You miss the way that he gives hugs, all warm and inviting. Some nights if you focus hard enough you can even remember the way that he smells. Orange zest and cinnamon.

If you’re honest with yourself, you know that this isn’t fair to Hongjoong. You like him well enough, but he adores you. He calls you darling and kisses you as though the action is sacred. He always walks you home after every date even though his own house is so far away. In theory, he is perfect. You’ve been dating for close to two months, you should be fully head over heels by now. But you can’t give that to him, and you know it. You also know that you can’t be alone again.

“Darling?” Hongjoong questions, pulling you away from your thoughts and back into the present. The two of you are cuddled into a far corner of the couch, midday sun pouring through the tall windows and landing across your boyfriend's face. You were watching the light dance in his eyes and talking about your latest creative writing meeting, but then he started talking about having another dinner party at the house. He said that it’d be like the one that he and Seonghwa hosted at the beginning of the school year, where you came with Mingi. It’s kind of funny honestly, because he regards that as one of the nights where he first started to like you. You regard it as one of the nights where Mingi first started to hate you, “Is everything okay?”

You should tell him no, because that’s the truth. You’re not okay. You don’t know if you’ll ever get over Mingi. You don’t think that you’ll ever love Hongjoong the way that he so clearly loves you. You shouldn’t lie to him. You should tell him no.

You also shouldn’t be alone again, right?

“Yea! I’m just tired. That’s all.”

*

In retrospect, you should’ve asked Hongjoong to not invite Mingi to this house party. It would’ve sounded odd, sure. As far he knew you and Mingi were still friendly. Had you requested that Mingi wouldn’t be invited you probably would’ve ended up having to rehash the entirety of your history. It would probably leave your boyfriend questioning whether or not you still had feelings for Mingi, a question that you’d have to lie through your teeth to answer. It would’ve been a little bit awkward, sure. But at least you wouldn’t be where you are now.

You fall gracelessly onto Hongjoongs unmade double bed, hands flying up to cover your flustered face. Mingi arrived at the off campus house nearly two hours after all of the other guests. There was an small window where you thought that you were safe, in which you took time to talk with San and Wooyoung while grazing over the cheese board that Seonghwa had set out. You felt like a true adult in that narrow window, the kind that works a nine to five job and deals with their problems. Then Mingi arrived. Two hours late.

You watched carefully as his eyes bounced around the room. They landed first on Yunho, who engulfed the boy in a warm hug before returning to his previous conversation. Then they traveled to the sectional couch in the living room where Seonghwa sat with Yeosang. He offered them a short greeting while walking through the living room, face crinkling with laughter at something that Yeosang had said. You find it comforting that after so much time apart his laughter hasn’t changed. He filtered naturally out of the conversation before moving to stand beside the tv. You watched his eyes move deftly across the open floor plan and began to wonder what he’s looking for so eagerly. Maybe it’s the girl from his math class. Maybe it’s someone entirely different. His gaze wandered and wandered, covering every corner that it could reach before finally landing. Before finally landing on you.

His eyes were piercing yet kind, stripping away the facade that you had previously believed. You aren’t an adult. You’re a little girl that got pushed off of her barbie bike and had to have a lanky preteen come to her rescue. You’re the idiot who lit dozens of tea light candles in her dorm room just to be turned away. It feels like you’re being stripped of your skin, but it also feels like you’re being reminded of yourself.

“Are you okay?” Jongho asked. You were so occupied with Mingi that you didn’t even realize he had joined. His question was sobering though, pulling you back to the harsh reality that you are okay. And you’re okay without Mingi.

“Yea, I’m fine.” You tore your focus back to the group in front of you, who were all staring at you. They clearly didn’t buy your answer, and you didn’t blame them too much. Anyone who didn’t know you could see that you were distressed, so clearly three of your close friends could tell, “I-I just realized that I have a paper due tonight. I’m gonna go finish it in Hongjoong’s room.” 

You now find yourself praying that Hongjoong won’t try to come and find you. You don’t know how to lie about this to him. You don’t know how to look him in the eyes and make up a reason for why you freaked out and left the party. By some terrible coincidence the door handle starts to jiggle. You want to say that you think through all of the possibilities of what you’ll say to him, but in reality there’s only one option of what you’ll say. The truth. If Hongjoong were to come into his room right now and ask what’s wrong you would have to tell him the truth. That you love Mingi.

“Hey honey, I had a paper to finish and-” The person that comes through the narrow doorway is much taller than your boyfriend. His shoulders are broader. The slope of his nose goes down further. Even from here you can smell brown sugar and oranges, “Oh. It’s you.” He looks handsome as ever. His cheeks may be a bit slimmer, the bags beneath his eyes are a bit deeper, but he still looks like Mingi. His face is still your childhood.

“Yea. It’s me.” Silence falls over the room, squeezing tightly around the chords of your throat to the point where you think that they’re going to break, “I-I just saw you come in here and-”

“I have a paper.” He swallows harshly, hands shoving into his pockets as his eyes stay glued to the floor. You find that bit funny, seeing as when you were outside he wanted to look nowhere but you.

“Right. A paper. I’ll leave you to that, then.” He’s moving to leave, and in that moment you know nothing. You’re not entirely sure what your name is, or where left is in relation to right, but you do know one thing. You don’t want Mingi to leave. You don’t want him to leave. He’s barely been here for two minutes. You haven’t said a single thing that you wanted to say. He can’t leave.

“Wait!” The boy stops in his tracks before turning. His eyes finally meet yours again, they’re  questioning and so gentle that you almost think things could go back to normal, “I don’t have a paper due tonight. Well, I do but I did it two days ago. It’s just that when I saw you I-I… I panicked. Probably because we haven’t seen each other in months. Probably because I really, really, miss you.” Your eyes are slowly becoming tearful, but you really don’t want them to be. You’ve shed so many tears over this relationship. You should be able to do this. The fact that he’s not saying anything doesn’t make it any easier, but still. You should be able to do this, “You don’t have to say anything, I guess, but I-I’m glad that I said it. You were my best friend, I’ll always think of you in that way. I know that we’ve both said… Things, and I get that you might not be able to move past that, but I’m willing to. If it means that we can be friends again, I’m willing to.” Your eyes somehow became glued to your twiddling thumbs over the course of your speech. You don’t think that you’re going to move them, until you feel a pair of strong arms embracing you. He smells so good, like he always does. This one hug feels like all of the comfort that you’ve craved for the last six months. Like the comfort that only Mingi can bring you.

“I’ll move past it. I-I’ve missed you too.” His voice is low, crackling like a fresh log that’s been thrown into the fireplace. You spend the following two hours in Hongjoongs room. You’re curled up on the bed and he’s in front of the disheveled desk. It’s dodgy, you know that it is, but something about really being here with Mingi makes you forget about all of that mess. It’s much easier to forget about it. You eventually return to the party, floating in between conversations with all of your friends. It’s nice to not have to avoid Mingi. At one point Hongjoong joins your conversation with Mingi, San, and Wooyoung. He puts an arm around your waist, which you should enjoy. You would like to enjoy it, but your mind is slightly preoccupied. 

“Where’d you go earlier, darling?” He whispers into your ear halfway through a drawn out story that San is sharing. He’s always been awful at telling stories, but he gets so excited that everyone lets it slide. 

“Oh! I just had a paper that I needed to finish, so I went and did that in your room.” He wants to ask why you had to do that with Mingi, but then the other boy starts to laugh and he knows the answer. Based entirely off of the way that you look at him, Hongjoong knows. 

Once everyone has left and you’ve all shared your goodbyes, Hongjoong suggests that the two of you clean up the living room together. It was an hour or so of silence before he brought up the elephant in the room. 

“I’m not it for you. Am I?” You don’t know why you thought he’d be angry with you. Probably because he’d have every reason to be so. But this is Hongjoong. You could single handedly send the world into ruin and Hongjoong still wouldn’t get mad at you. 

“I really want you to be.” You’ve stopped cleaning now, hands lying limp over the small stain that you were previously scrubbing off of the couch. Getting dumped isn’t going at all how you always thought that it would. It doesn’t feel like your heart is being trampled. You don’t have the compulsive urge to cry. No, none of that. It just feels like you’re explaining away a weight that’s been on your chest for months, “Does that make sense?”

“I think that you wish you wanted me. I think that you wanted me more than you wanted to be alone.” He’s started to play with the strings of his hoodie in a hopeless attempt to calm his raging heart, “But you’re not alone anymore, are you?” You could pretend that you don’t know what he’s talking about. You could deny it, but in reality there’s no point to any of that. It would only prolong all of this, so you nod, “Yeah. Thought so.”

When you say goodbye to him he hugs you tighter than usual, you think for a minute that he’s going to tell you something else. He doesn’t. Just kisses your forehead and says to get home safely. You do, it’s a mere twenty minutes before you’re tiptoeing into your dorm room and up the ladder to your bed. It almost gets to the point where you pretend to count ceiling tiles, but then your phone buzzes from beneath your pillow. It’s a text from Mingi, a short and sweet message.

‘I’m glad to be your friend:)’ 

It’s probably stupid, seeing as the night ended on a terribly sour note, but those few words and that silly emoticon makes it feel like this entire year has been worth it. Because you have Mingi again, and there’s no way that you’ll lose him this time around.

*

After the breakup with Hongjoong, you were slightly worried that no one would want to be friends with you anymore. It would certainly be a fair decision on their part, seeing as you were beyond awful as a girlfriend. You thought that in Hongjoong’s healing, he would end up telling some of the worst things that you did to some of the people whose opinions matter the most. You’re not sure why you thought that, perhaps because it’s what you would’ve done if someone did this to you.

You’re more immature than he is, though. Hongjoong handles his feelings with grace. His words are unbelievably careful whenever he shares them, or at least that’s what Seonghwa says. He also says that he misses having you around to mix his paints and clean his brushes. You had told him that you were just glad that he still likes you, even if the wounds were only a month old.

There was also the ever present worry that Mingi would ask why you and Hongjoong split. You’ve thought of plenty of fake reasons, like saying that the two of you didn’t really click. Or you could keep it simple and say that it just wasn’t the right time for either of you. The options were endless, but there was the problem of Mingi being able to read you like an open book. He would surely know that you’re lying, possibly before you even opened your mouth. The main risk involved was whether or not he’d pester you for the truth. 

That constant fear was not helpful for a regrowing relationship, to say the least. You’ve hung out a number of times since reuniting, but he would always ask you about what you did in the months that you spent apart. Obviously, mentioning the end of first semester was strictly off limits. The rest of the time you spent with Hongjoong, so that left very little room for conversation. You would mostly end up talking about your creative writing meetings, which was fine. It was just sparse.

But this weekend would be different. The two of you had made plans nearly two weeks ago to carpool home together after spring midterms for the long weekend. Your immediate response was to panic, because what on earth would the two of you talk about for the hours that it took to drive home? How would you possibly avoid talking about any of your life for the past four months for that long? But as the days drew closer you realized that maybe it wasn’t such a big deal. The two of you used to go on fun drives constantly, and most of the time you’d barely talk at all. This would be fine. You could manage this.

He picks you up an hour after the exams are concluded, and much to your gratitude there’s music already blaring from each of the speakers. He motions through the window for you to put your bags in the backseat, which you do before sliding into the front seat of his car. 

“Hey.” He’s looking at you with a soft smile when he says this, the gentleness of his face juxtaposed against the disney channel music blaring from the speakers is enough to make you laugh. So you do, the sound falling from your lips in a way that reminds Mingi of how dearly he missed it.

“Hi.” You stare at him for a minute, and he stares back. You find yourself thinking that all of this is mighty odd. Just two months ago you didn’t think that you’d ever have the strength to talk about Mingi again, now the two of you are sitting in the same car, “We’re listening to High School Musical?” He laughs too, passing his phone into your lap while shaking his head of brown curls.

“For now yes, you can change it if you’d like.” If you didn’t know him then you would’ve missed the twinkle in his eyes which indicated that he was going to continue, “Only if it’s Hannah Montana, though.” 

The ride was full with playful banter and off key high notes. Each time Mingi would go to hit one he’d tilt his head back ever so slightly, the brake lights of the car in front of you catching on the delicate lines of his adams apple as he did so. You would laugh until you had to clench your stomach then chastise him for not keeping his eyes on the road. He never once tried to ask about what you’ve been up to, or ask about Hongjoong. In a way, you almost forgot about it for the long hours that it took to drive into your hometown. Mingi seemed to have that effect, like walking through a museum of all of the things that he made you feel for the beginning of your lifetime. Comforted. Carefree. Joyful.

The car slows down then turns, and even if you weren’t looking up you’d know exactly where this car was headed. It’s the place that you spent every late friday night, the place where burgers couldn’t be served without a milkshake on the side, the place where Mingi first knew that he would always love you no matter how hard he ran from it. The chrome on the outside of the diner looks exactly the same, and when you peer through the windows it’s even more familiar. Red cushioned seats, a jukebox in the corner, salt and pepper in mismatched porcelain dispensers on each table. It feels like you’re coming from a football game with sweaty hair and a quickly beating heart. It feels like you’re still a kid.

“Are you hungry?” You ask teasingly as Mingi turns off the car and undoes his seatbelt. He runs a hand through his hair, laughing lowly.

“More like thirsty, milkshakes on me?” You know how this is going to end. You know what paying for food and offering up rides indicates. You know that this could crash and burn and leave you utterly devastated for months. But you also know that you’ve changed. That you’re finally done living a loveless life in honor of your own comfort. You think that he’s changed too, less bitter now. You’re both finished with hurting each other, so maybe it could end up hurting exactly the way that it did last time. Maybe it’ll end up working out. The fact of the matter is that you’ll never know what falling feels like unless you jump.

“Milkshakes on you.” You respond with a purely happy smile. He smiles too, the kind that breaks across his entire face until it can’t possibly get any bigger. You’ve missed that smile so much, “Hongjoong and I broke up by the way. I’m sure that you already knew that, but I wanted to tell you myself.” He nods once, then purses his lips, then begins to play with his own fingertips. It’s too early for you to get a read on him, but you do think that he already knew. You also think that he’s trying to hide his happiness.

“Thank you for telling me.” He pinches his lips shut and swallows before continuing, “Are you okay?” He reaches out to hold your hand before he can even think about it, but it doesn’t seem to make you uncomfortable. You take his hand and squeeze it gently then slowly set it back down to lay on his thigh.

“I’m fine. I’ll be even better once I get a milkshake.” 

Conversation flows more naturally after that, the both of you talking about nothing and everything at the same time. He tells you about the time that Yunho made a hotdog explode in their microwave. You share one of your many anecdotes from lunch with Yeosang and Jongho. He asks about what you’ve been writing lately and so you tell him briefly about your work in progress and the meetings with your teacher. The entire time while you’re talking he beams at you with pride. You had always loved writing so much.

You finish your milkshakes and he tips the waitress extra. You drive the remainder of the way to your house, Hannah Montana still blaring from his speakers. It’s unbelievably stupid and childish, but at the same time it’s absolutely perfect. He pulls into your driveway and lets out a heavy sigh, hands smacking against the steering wheel.

“Well. You’re home!” He doesn’t really want you to go, despite having driven all this way specifically to watch you leave. Something about the look in your eyes, and the fact that it’s directed straight at him, makes him think that you don’t want to leave either. 

“I’m home.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car before Mingi can even think of another thing to say. He maneuvers a bit in his seat so that he can see you as your picking up your stuff and think of something to say, “Thanks for the ride, I’ll-”

“Do you want to start up movie nights again?” He wasn’t exactly planning on asking you that, but he was planning to ask if you could spend more time together. It’s been so long without you that he wants to spend as much time with you as possible, “In my room, on Saturdays. And I’ll never stand you up or reschedule at the last minute.” Your heart is hammering, you don’t even bother to pretend that you don’t know why. The boy in front of you is stammering and over explaining and turning red in the face, and you are terribly in love with him.  

“I’d like that very much.” With that simple agreement, it feels as though the entire world has been set back into place.

*

You didn’t realize how much junk a dorm room could accumulate in the span of a year until it was time to clean all of it out. There were schedules to peel off of the walls, clothes to dig out from the back of the closet, phone chargers that had fallen behind night stands. It’s weird to look at it now, with all of the homeliness and personality stripped away. Next year there will be two entirely different people sleeping in the loft beds, which you admittedly grew used to. Maybe they’ll be strangers. Maybe they’ll be best friends.

“That’s the last box.” Mingi enters the emptied room right as your eyes move to the empty bed that had been adjacent to yours for the entire year. Your roommate had left early this morning, her things had been packed for weeks already. The two of you never grew any closer to one another, but you didn’t mind. Coexisting with her felt like one of your many growth challenges throughout this year, “You missing your roommate?” Mingi asked with a cocked eyebrow, making you realize that you’re still staring at her stripped bed.

“No, not really.” Your voice comes out so matter of fact that it makes Migni giggle a little bit. He thinks that it’s nice to see you, who was once so meek and quiet, being adamant about not caring for someone, “I’m grateful for her though. I didn’t think that I’d be able to live with a stranger before this year. I didn’t think I’d be able to do lots of things before this year.” You finally move your eyes to the boy standing at your side to see that he’s staring at you with a proud smile. It makes your chest swell with warmth in a way that you don’t even fight against, “What?” You can’t help but break out into a smile as you gaze even longer at his.

“Nothing, I’m just really proud of us. Who we’ve become, especially you.” His pinky finger brushes up against your own, for a moment you can feel his hand aching to hold your own. You open up your palm and lace your fingers into his, moving with certainty and purpose, “I like who you are now, you’re a lot bolder. Happier.” Your body flushes with heat, heart pattering so erratically that you’re sure he can hear it. You hope that he does. 

“I-I like you now too.” Your voice wavers as his hand travels to your wrist, pulling you gently so that you’re facing each other. His face looks stern, like this moment is do or die, yet his eyes sparkle with the same childlike twinkle as always. You watch his eyes travel from your own to your lips in a mere second, breath hitching in the back of your throat. You’ve waited for this for such a long time, but as his nose brushes ever so gently against yours you find yourself thinking that it was worth it, “May I?” The question is whisper, your breath ghosting against Mingi’s plump lips. You place your hand on his chest so that his heart is thumping beneath your hand. 

“Yes.” You hook your free hand beneath his chin and bring his face closer to yours so that your lips are finally touching. It’s nothing but a gentle brush at first, both of you timid and overly careful, but as soon as you try to pull away his hands are on your waist and pulling you closer than you thought was possible. He kisses you with fever, hands gripping you as though he’s scared that you might melt away. You bury your fists into his shirt, trying desperately to let him know that he never has to worry about that again. 

He pulls away after sometime, hands moving to hold your face as he rests his forehead on yours. He says nothing, only brushes his thumb against your cheek and smiles. In the quiet moments, you can make out the blurred lines of a future, one that’s spent in a modest apartment that’s decorated with all of the junk that Mingi just hauled downstairs for you. You can see late nights spent writing at a desk that’s full of his trinkets. You can see weekly movie nights on the couch with blankets and twinkling fairy lights. You can see a life that’s lived with love and passion, a life where pains are forgotten and growth is left in their place.

When he smiles at you and goes in for a second kiss, your eyes flutter closed. Yet you still see it all so clearly. You can see a future, and you can see it with Mingi by your side.

[starlightsearches]

Someone Else Pt. 2

Hello friends! No official request for this one but a few people did say they’d like to see part two and it kind of just . . . happened ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  Here’s a link to part one if you missed it!

Warnings: Language, infidelity, minor sexual content, threats/violence against the reader, so much angst oh fuck, but a happy ending so i guess it cancels out?

    General Hux stares deeply at his own reflection, searching intently for any hint of this deception. His eyes travel up from the bottom of the mirror, catching the shine of his boots as they pass upwards, scanning his uniform, which—as far as he can tell—is immaculate, without a spot or wrinkle. He checks his face next (blank, impassive) before his eyes roam over his stark red hair—combed back, neat. Not a strand out of place. And yet he can’t escape the feeling deep down in his bones, the one that leaches into his consciousness every time he’s with you and she’s still lurking the back of his mind: everybody knows.

    Hux rolls his eyes and gives up on the hopeless view in the mirror, sliding it back into its hiding place before turning to face you. He needs another set of eyes if he wants to know the truth. “How do I look?” 

His heart stutters again when he meets your gaze—stuttering like it did when your palms brushed over his chest, your nails raking thin red lines into his already flushed skin—and thinking about it is fire in his lungs. You’re still looking disheveled: half-dressed, hair wild, and swiveling back and forth in his chair behind his desk, your feet propped up on the surface—a move that would bother him if it were anyone else but you. A smile crawls slowly across your face, your expression blissful as you respond, “you look very handsome.”

Gods, he’s blushing again. It had taken minutes for the color to drain from his face the first time, but a soft look and compliment from your parted lips and brings it all back, alerting anyone who would look at him to his red-hot shame. 

And when you see it, your smile turns sad.

You drop your feet from off his desk, straightening your own uniform with a little less care than Hux had, your steps tentative as you cross the distance between his desk and where he stands by the door—only a few feet, but it feels like miles when you stop just out of his reach, wrapping your arms around yourself, holding tight . . . like he wants to hold you, again. Hux balls his hands into fists, forcing them to remain at his sides, fighting the urge to brush his fingers over the edge of your lips, trace the delicate skin of your jaw. Peel the uniform from your shoulders and snuff out all of his unease with velvet kisses. Hux silences those desires. After everything he’s put you through, he hardly deserves to breathe the same air. 

You examine him with sharp eyes, willfully ignoring his inner turmoil that he’s sure you notice to focus on the matter at hand. Your inspection yields good results; you meet his eyes again with the slightest frown.

“You look the same as before,” you say, corners of your mouth pulling down further, brows furrowing, “no one will be able to tell.” Hux lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a mixture of shame and relief filling the empty space in his lungs.

Had he always been such a coward? Hux had never thought of himself as one to give into such base wants, but so far he’s been totally unsuccessful in his attempts to resist you, to bide his time until he’s dealt with the root of the problem. No, he keeps coming back, each time the last time, fucking you in cramped closets and over his desk while she’s warming his bed. Losing himself in the iridescent high of your body and ignoring the sharp pangs of your love that he leaves unopened in your waiting hands. 

Silence hangs, the air full of unsaid things and your lips part—words balanced on the tip of your tongue that would pierce like knives and Hux can’t hear them because it will hurt you to say them, and he’s already caused you so much pain. 

“I have to go,” he says, cutting you off before you get the chance, “Bristol will be back soon.” Her name is out of his mouth before he can think to stop it, and your face falls, a grimace crossing your features that you can’t remove quickly enough. There are tears pricking the corners of your eyes, he thinks, but he’s not close enough to know for sure. He doesn’t step any closer. 

“Alright.” You swallow hard, suck in a deep breath through your nose so that he won’t see you break, but the smile you plaster on your face chips at the corners, and it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ll be here.” 

The air in the room is stifling, filled with your deafening sadness, all the feelings you try to keep from him because you know it hurts him to see you like this and you care about him so damn much. You care too much. He doesn’t deserve you. 

“This,” he whispers, like if he’s quiet enough he won’t have to hear himself say it either, “can’t happen again.” It’s not the first time he’s said these words to you, but it breaks you just the same. If it goes on for much longer, he’ll never have the chance to put you back together.

“I understand.” You turn towards the back wall, unwilling to let him see you cry—for his sake or yours, though, he’s not sure. 

Hux leaves without saying goodbye.  

No one gives him a second glance when he steps out of his office doors and into the commotion of the bridge; his worries were unfounded, just as the rational part of him knew they would be. Still, the guilt only grows as he moves through the halls of the Finalizer, on his way to greet his wife.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. After the wedding, after that night in his office when you had kissed him for the first time and everything felt right, he had made plans—how to rid himself of Bristol and Pryde, plans to keep you at his side, love you the way you deserved to be loved. Plans that had crumbled like dust between his fingers the second he stepped foot off the transport to the Alfospar system.

He couldn’t explain it at that time, the way his resolve shriveled like paper in water when he first saw that gleaming city, the towers and spires of the royal home so different from the sleek, black halls of the Finalizer, towers and spires that Bristol had walked her entire life. Now he knows what caused it: the fear that gripped his heart. Not just fear. Inadequacy. He had looked to his new wife, saw the haughty determination in her features as she surveyed the grand palace with a look of utmost boredom, and he hated her. But he hated himself even more knowing that she was capable in ways he could never dream. She was born to rule. He had done everything imaginable to earn that kind power, and still he came short.

The two weeks in the palace passed in a color-leeched blur. Hux attended meetings. He met Bristol’s family. They consummated the marriage. And he never stopped thinking about you.

When he returned to the ship, he made new plans, plans to remove his heart with surgical precision, plans that would leave him empty and miserable for the rest of his life but would save you from him.

Those plans had crumbled, too, the moment you whispered in the darkness of your quarters, “I missed you, did you miss me?” and he had been too selfish to lie. That was the first time he had fallen into your arms, let you drown out his pain without any concern for your own.

His father had been right all along. Hux is spineless. Everyone else managed to see it. He wonders how he had you fooled for so long.

                 ______________________________

    You’re having trouble adjusting to the quiet. It’s a feat of engineering, really—a true testament to his genius—that the general’s office manages to be quieter than a grave despite the teeming world of the bridge that lives just outside it. It had been the quiet that had first made his office such an appealing location for these meetings. That, and no one would question your presence here.

    You had been careful from the beginning—given no indication of the affair, raised no suspicion, and had been ready to smother any rumor that might have spread. There was never a need for that kind of action; you covered your tracks. But sitting here in this demonic silence, you want to ruin it all. Turn every touch and kiss and loving look into a song, a battle cry. A death sentence. You want everyone to know what you’ve done. Maybe then you’d feel something.

    Your cheeks are sticky with long-dried tears, and you try to brush them off with a sleeve, a brittle laugh escaping your lips thinking back to the day of the wedding. At the time, you had believed your heart to be broken. What a fool you used to be. How little you had known about how it feels to set your heart gently into someone else’s waiting hands and then watch them shatter it.

    You stand from the chair abruptly, cutting off the image before it takes root in your mind. There’s no time for self-pity when you have work to do.

    You grab your data pad from where you left it on his desk, turning the screen face you. Your heart jumps a little in your chest when you see the messages light up the screen, but you’re left feeling sour. None of them are from him. 

    He did that sometimes, after he left you—occasionally sent an apology, told you that he hadn’t really meant what he’d said. Sometimes he wanted to see you again, already, and you’d go searching for whatever conference room or closet he had commandeered, the warmth pooling between your legs erasing any of the harsh feelings from the moments before. 

    But no message this time. Maybe he had meant it. Maybe he didn’t want you like he thought you did. Maybe he never had.

    You’re sure, now, that the uncertainty will eat you alive, burst from your chest like some grotesque thing and feast on every part of you, rip and tear and bite until it’s sated and you’re left in pieces. You wish it would. Death is better than waiting. 

There’s a gentle beep from your data pad, and you look down again, distracted momentarily from your spiraling. It’s an urgent alert, from one of the admirals. They need your help interpreting some notes the general gave them on a recent project proposal. 

You stop just before the doorway, taking in three deep breaths, letting the cool air wash away the fire of your thoughts. There would be time later to ruin yourself over this mess, when sleep evaded you in the late hours of the night cycle. For now, duty calls.

You move through the bridge with ease, reading the messages you had missed. Your eyes scan them with practiced precision, sorting them by urgency and responding to the ones you can take care of quickly as you journey deeper into the ship. It doesn’t take long for you to get lost in the process, the dark tiles passing underneath your feet unnoticed as you lose yourself in your work.

The sound of footsteps in the otherwise empty hallway pulls you out of your trance, and you look up briefly, more out of a passing curiosity rather than any real interest. Your heart grows cold when you catch her eyes, and the feeling spreads like ice over a body of water.

“Hello, your highness,” you try to keep any tension out of your voice as you address Bristol with a small bow, skirting around her in the hallway in your best attempt to avoid her sustained notice. Her eyes narrow when they focus on you, and the cold feeling shatters, the dread climbing up your legs like the water level rising in a sinking vessel.

“You,” there’s venom in her voice, a kind of hatred you never thought you’d inspire in anyone and you feel every barb of it when she latches on to you, gripping your upper arm with such strength that you can feel the indentations of her nails through the fabric of your uniform. 

The wall of the hallway meets your spine as you step back, your attempted escape only leaving you trapped, chest heaving as she stares you down like a predator. It’s clear in every aspect of her being that she’s ravenous.

“Well?” she snaps, and you flinch, the durasteel biting your shoulder blades as you try to gain as much distance as you can from her, straining every muscle in your body for any kind of relief, but she won’t let you take it, pressing you into the wall. “Where is he?”

    “I’m not sure where the general is right now, your highness,” you speak slowly, trying to gauge the direction of her anger, “I was under the impression that he’d gone to find you.”

    The moments pass in deathly silence, and the waiting stretches each second into a lifetime, but there’s nothing comprehensible in her expression. She’s wild, animalistic, the same fierceness you’ve seen in her as a leader now morphed into something frenzied and feral. It’s only a moment before it's lost, replaced with something extinguished and icy. Her grip on your arm tightens.

    “I know you’ve been fucking my husband.”

    You plunge into whatever depths she’s created for you, the shock of it short-wiring your brain and all you can do is gape at her, your mind refusing to form a single thought, let alone any string of words that might convince her to believe a lie. It’s too late anyway; your expression tells her everything she needs to know.

    “How dare you? Embarrassing me like this? I could end your life right here, and he’d have your replacement in his office tomorrow morning.” Each threat brings her closer until you can only see her in fragments—the corner of her mouth as she spits these vile words, the flash of fire in the depths of her eyes. Your heart rate spikes, a rush of adrenaline flooding your veins but your thoughts are still unfocused, without form or direction. Would she really kill you here, now? The look on her face tells you that she might.

    You struggle uselessly against her grip, but she’s got you pinned—one hand on your shoulder and a knee at your hip. Your body goes still when you feel the whisper of metal at your throat. You didn’t know she had a blade.

    “Gods, you’re just as pathetic as he is,” she laughs, quick and sharp, and the weapon quivers—you feel the gentle sting as it parts the first layers of your skin. The sting brightens as she pushes the blade further, leaning in close to whisper her parting words, “maybe you deserve each other.”

    A flurry of movement clouds your vision, and the pressure lifts; in the periphery of your thoughts you can hear the blade clatter to the ground. Your knees threaten to buckle as you lean more heavily against the wall, trying to find the source of your salvation.

The general is there, but as unlike himself as you’ve ever seen him. He looks like a storm, towering over her, shaking with rage. Like a force of nature—it’s the kind of anger you’ve never seen in him before.

Time stops. Understanding crashes into you. It's like you've been blindfolded, without even knowing it, and the covering has given way to an astonishing brightness when you first comprehend what this action means. The realization staggers you.

"You don't-" he can hardly get the words out as he seethes at Bristol, speaking through clenched teeth, "don't ever-"

Bristol quivers, aghast, and it seems that she, too, is seeing her husband with new eyes.

The hallway is filled with loud, echoey beats of a heart, and you're not sure who it belongs to. It strikes you, this sudden fear that someone might be watching these events unfold, that it might be their heart making these sounds, alerting you to their presence. You search the corridor, whipping your head from side to side but there are no prying eyes, no silent watchers, and your heart settles minutely.

You turn back to the general, wondering how he'll react to the news, but his eyes are only on you.

Bristol pulls herself from Hux's grasp and the tension reshapes itself as her mood shifts again, haughty as ever.

"So," she looks between you and the general, and as much as she'd like to hide it, her anger is not gone, "you've chosen the little whore. Interesting."

Hux ignores her statement, still watching you.

"I won't stand for this," Bristol goes shrill now, attempting to pull his attention but his eyes are locked in place and you burn under his gaze. He wants something from you, a confirmation, you realize. He wants to know that you're alright.

You nod—still hesitant, not entirely sure that this is what he's asking for—and only then does he look away, turning back to Bristol with a stare so cold you feel the chill. 

“The next breath you use to threaten anyone on this ship will be your last,” Hux speaks with an authority you’ve never heard him use around Bristol and she flinches, like she’s been slapped, “and you will stay away from my . . . assistant.” 

His eyes flash to yours again, full of unsaid things—a kind of apology for this lapse in language, but you understand perfectly. There are no words to describe what he means to you, either. 

Bristol laughs, one short barking sound, and you know she means to demoralize him, but Hux stands firm, unaffected. “You think you can scare me with empty threats? I’m sorry to say that I’m unimpressed. If only your father were here to see this-”

“But my father isn’t here,” Hux interrupts her, “he’s dead. Because I ordered it. And you should know,” he steps closer to her, his voice a deadly whisper, and she shrinks, “my threats are never empty.”

Bristol quivers slightly, unable to hide her fear and you don’t blame her. She gives up on threatening the general and looks to you instead, her eyes flashing with one last weak attempt to intimidate you before she stalks off, leaving the corridor empty. 

You search for something—anything—to say, your mouth gaping open as the general turns to look at you, but there’s nothing, your mind blank and empty of any feelings small enough to be condensed into a few words. 

There’s no need to shrink your feelings; before you can say anything, Hux has bridged the distance between you, pulling you into his arms with more force than you thought possible. It’s both suffocating and liberating—your lungs struggling for their next breath but your mind is euphoric when you can feel the press of him against you.

He has a hand around your waist, one cupped against the back of your head, and you can feel his whispered apologies as they brush against your hairline, followed by the slow drag of his lips. A low thrill crawls over your skin. How long had it been since he said he’d never touch you again? You’d live through that pain a thousand times if it meant you could experience this.

“Are you alright?” he pulls away slightly, just enough that he can look at you, the pad of his gloved thumb wiping away the thin streak of blood left by Bristol’s blade. His touch ghosts along the injury, but you still feel the sting, unable to hide the way you wince in response.

His thumb stills as soon as he catches the flicker of pain, and there’s deep fountains of regret pooling in his eyes, a sadness so complete you can’t fathom it.

“I’m- I’ll never be able to say,” he swallows, pulls in a shuddering breath, and you feel his hands threaten to part from you but you only hold him tighter, anchoring him to you, “how sorry I am for the way I’ve treated you.” 

The anguish spills over, and he’s crying in your arms a second time, quick tremors shaking his shoulders. You can’t collect the tears fast enough, brushing them away with shaking hands, silencing his fears with soft whispers.

“I love you,” he says through hiccuped speech, “and I always have. And, if you’ll have me-” you silence his doubts with a searing kiss. For you, there has never been—never could be—anyone else.

[yandere-daydreams]

Tanjiro insisting that his darling needs his protection. He’s used to being the hero so helping his s/o is just second nature. No matter how little they need his help.

It’s been too long since I’ve written for Tanjiro, especially as a classic Protective! Yandere. He’s just so caring… it’d be a shame not to accept his help, wouldn’t it?

Title: Simple Things.

TW: Implied Imprisonment and Mentions of Death.

~

Anger was a simple thing.

Blazing, bright and furious, but simplistic, not difficult to understand for someone as accustomed to it as you were. It was one of the few aspects of your personality Tanjiro couldn’t seem to snuff out, regardless of how much effort he put into keeping you smothered. You took pride in maintaining it, feeding into your rage and keeping it as scorching as ever, hot enough to keep anything more negative at bay. You didn’t have to think about anger. You didn’t have to try to be angry. And, more than that, anything Tanjiro did to calm you would only make you angrier. It was a simple, constant thing, and you cherished it.

Recently, it was all you had to cherish.

Tanjiro was good at that, stripping you of everything you were and replacing it with something more docile, something less substantial, leaving you with little to say and even less to do. Even now, it was all you could do to keep your head up, your chin resting on your fist as you listened blearily to him go on about his latest mission, his newest apprentice, people you would never meet and places you would never go, unless you finally managed to separate yourself from your self-proclaimed ‘caretaker’. But, you had your doubts that escape was still a possibility. Your last bout of freedom had ended with a new pair of shackles around your wrists and a broken ankle, neither of which you cared to revisit.

You’d hardly pulled yourself out of your thoughts by the time Tanjiro remembered to include you in the conversation, hardly glancing over his shoulder as he spoke. “Tea, love?”

You nodded, silently, and opened your mouth to give a verbal response, but a ceramic cup was already being slid onto the low table in front of you by the time your lips parted. Steam rose off the surface of a golden, translucent liquid - jasmine, you guessed - and without thinking, you reached down, moving to take a sip before Tanjiro stopped you, grabbing your wrist and pushing it back into your lap, only letting you go once you stopped trying to resist. “It’s too hot,” He explained, his voice strict, but gentle, as if he was explaining something to a small child who couldn’t know any better. “You’ll burn yourself, and neither of us want that. Wait for it to cool.”

“It’s barely luke-warm,” You mumbled, well-aware that the drink would, most likely, cause injury. That didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that he was trying to stop you, and you didn’t want to be stopped. “I can handle it, and I’ll deal with it if I can’t.”

That earned you one of Tanjiro’s rare frowns, the expression accompanied by a sharp glare out of the corner of his eye, your captor now seated a little too close to your side, but no amount of disapproval could quell the mounting resentment building up in your chest. It was a familiar feeling, an irrational desire to do anything save for what Tanjiro asked, and there was little you could do except lean into it, tend to it, let it overpower your fear of captivity or boredom or anything else he could do to you. It only got worse when he spoke. “I promised I’d take care of you,” He said, repeating his favorite mantra for the thousandth time since you’d first done something to displease him. “That means protecting you from yourself, too. I know you think you’re invincible--”

“It’s tea, Kamado,” You interrupted, as eager to end this conversation as he was to have it.

“It’s tea now, but do you know what’s next?” He shook his head, clicking his tongue, signaling that he didn’t want an answer, or any answer you would give, at least. “I’ve tried letting you take care of yourself, but… it doesn’t work. You need someone to remind you what’s possible and what’s not. I don’t mind, I like seeing you happy, but you have to work with me.” There was a pause, then a sigh. The hushed sounds of Tanjiro acting like he wasn’t dying to continue. “Remember what happened to your village?”

You bowed your head, narrowing your eyes towards the tabletop. Your discontent didn’t waver, but Tanjro pulled you into his side regardless, an arm wrapping around your waist and drawing you closer. His free hand came up, nimble fingers starting to card through your hair, and reluctantly, you forced out the only response you could think of. “I don’t want to talk about my village.”

“We have to.” He wanted to. You were the one being forced to listen. “Don’t you remember how it felt to see your home destroyed by a handful of careless people? How terrible all that pointless bloodshed was to watch?” He kissed the top of your head affectionately, his hand dropping to your cheek, cupping your jaw in his palm and holding you to his shoulder, just above his heart. The way he always held you, when he thought he was being kind. “I won’t let a demon touch you, not again, but there are other threats we have to be wary of. Threats that I can’t keep away if you run off every time I’m preoccupied.”

Your voice was small, almost inaudible. You could feel a knot forming at the back of your throat, your vision blurring ever so slightly. Suddenly, you wished you had ended up like most of your village. “Please stop.”

“You need to hear this. It keeps you grounded.” Slowly, you were pulled into his lap, and Tanjiro let you have a moment of silence to bury your face in his haori. That did little to drown out Tanjiro’s tone, though, so sickeningly patronizing, you could hardly stand to think he was talking to you. “No one would’ve been there to save you, if I hadn’t come. You could’ve been maimed, or killed, or worse. You still could be, if you’re too stubborn to accept my help.”

You pushed yourself away from him, intent on putting as much distance between you and Tanjiro as possible, but it was all you could do to straighten your back, to take a deep breath and choke down the familiar, merciless sobs threatening to overpower your resolve. You didn’t know whether you should be disappointed you still cared for a life you lived so many years ago, or relieved you hadn’t been desensitized by Tanjiro’s so frequent ‘reminders’. But, you knew you were angry. You knew you couldn’t stop being angry, even if there was nothing you could use that anger for.

Tanjiro loosened his hold on you, wordlessly permitting you to lean forward, to rest your arms on the tabletop and take up the long-forgotten teacup. He didn’t try to stop you as you drank, this time, only slotting his chest against your back, keeping you close enough to feel the broad, self-satisfied smile now pressed against your neck.

You were angry, but you didn’t do anything to stop him.

You supposed fear was a simple thing, too.

[blueluneacy]

Tears of the Abandoned

I made a kars/reader. Bc I could. Fucking enjoy

Warnings: kars wins Au, yandere, major character death, literal genocide, just general nastiness, blood, biting

You had been in the mountains for days. You were starting to wonder if all of this talk or a temple out here was a myth. Maybe it was all just supposed to be a legend for people like you to get lost in the mountains, unable to find any piece of hope. But you had to try, you had to. There was nothing else you could do.

You knew that there would be no one left there, Straizo had made sure of that, the sick bastard. But you hoped, prayed even, that there was some texts remaining there, anything to try and get information on how to defeat the menace that had come over your world. Joseph never returned after Kars became the Ultimate Being. You could only assume the worst for him, for your friends. When you thought about it, you tried to hold back your tears, holding onto what your teacher, Lisa Lisa had told you, how for generations Hamon was taught out here, that there might be some sort of hope to kill what was essentially unkillable, and now taking over the earth. It was hard to run from someone so powerful, but your head start was certainly helpful. You silently thanked Joseph for keeping Kars busy for so long that you were able to get out of there, to start your journey across the world. You had no doubt that Kars was after you, hoping to snuff you out like he had done to the rest of your friends. The last Hamon user, and it was someone as pitiful as you. That had to be the most pathetic thing you’ve ever heard.

But still, you had something on your side, and that was your own stubbornness. If you gave up, the world didn’t have any more hope. You loathed to think about what was happening to humanity now that it was in the care of that monster, about what this world would become if you didn’t figure out a way to stop him, and quick. So, you kept walking, kept following the river in hopes of finding it. Trying to keep your mind off the guilt you felt, the responsibility in your mind you knew you didn’t bear but your heart sang was yours. You tried not to think about Kars, about how his eyes always pierced into his soul, how when he first saw you with Caesar and JoJo, he merely licked his lips as if looking at the most delightful snack. How when the two of you fought, his words were confident, teasing as he always easily defeated you. Even with whatever you could scrap together from the temple, would it be enough? You couldn’t even go toe to toe with the Pillarman before. Now look at you. Alone in the wilderness, hungry and tired. It was hard not to think about it all. About the hopelessness that threatened to creep into your heart, to give up and let yourself give into whatever this new world order was going to be.

But all those thoughts were set aside as you saw a building in the distance, your voice catching in your thought. Finally, finally after all this time, days of being on edge, wondering if even sleeping was safe for fear that you would wake up with teeth ripping out your throat, you were here. You practically bolted over to the temple, uncaring of the footprints you had been so careful to hide before. You smiled as you saw the stone, the wonderful sight leaving unwarranted joy to sprout up in your chest. It had to be here, it had to be! As you got to the doorway, seeing how plants had weaved their way into the stone, a pang in realizing the signs of disuse. You kept moving, setting your things down as you took a moment to take a deep breath. On one hand, it sounded wonderful to rest for a moment, to look for food and get to recovering from your journey. On the other, you were running on stolen time as it is. No doubt was Kars looking for you, and finding this place would just be the cherry on top to him. You needed to find what you needed and get out of here, for the sake of the world. It dimly occurred to you that since you were the only one left, technically it would be your responsibility to train the next generation of Hamon users. Man, either way, the world really was fucked.

You treaded lightly, as to not disturb the dust too much, looking through the building. Your hope started to drain as you barely found anything, just the remnants of people who used to live here. Plates, old clothes, but not one scrap of paper. It was like someone had specifically tried to get rid of… Oh no. The realization dawned on you as you began to tear through the temple, hoping to find something, anything, that when Straizo destroyed most of the Hamon users, he didn’t destroy their knowledge with them. You found a doorway that seemed to be locked, leaving you to almost cry out in frustration, banging on the door until finally you gave in and gave it a sharp Hamon kick to knock the damn thing down. When you saw what was inside though, you wanted to wail.

Ash. The room was covered in ash, scraps of paper that were once part of books now nothing but tinder. Everything, it was all gone. The knowledge of generations, destroyed and lost forever. Ancient techniques with any hope of you finding a way to defeat the Ultimate Being now destroyed, you couldn’t help but fall to your knees…. And just sob. All this, all the sacrifices made. The way Caesar gave his life on his battle with Whamuu, the way Joseph and Lisa Lisa distracted Kars for you to get away in hopes that you would find something, anything, to save everyone… It was all gone. It was all for nothing. You cried, cried for everything that was gone, all because of him. All because of everyone, this toppling domino effect that you had the misfortune of being at the end of. The world really was cruel.

“I see that it’s gone. What a shame.” You tensed up as you heard the voice behind you, low and obviously satisfied as his piercing eyes tore through you, eating up your despair. You just swallowed, trying to pull yourself together. You knew that you were going to die, but you at least wanted there to be some sort of dignity in it. You would die like a warrior, not sniveling over what was lost.

“You’re faster than I thought. But would it kill you to knock before just barging in? I could’ve gotten ready and made us some tea.” You turned to face your enemy, this monster that threatened to ruin everything, who already had, in a way. You tried to ignore the puffiness of your eyes, already getting yourself ready for a fight. You knew you would lose, but it didn’t matter. At least, you might be able to see your friends soon.

“You’re already itching to fight? You should already know that it’s useless.” Kars told you, stepping forward into range of you. You growled, easily swinging your leg to hit him in the side with a sharp Hamon kick. Kars paused for a moment, simply grabbing your leg and gripping it tight, pulling your forward. You gasped and lost your balance, falling to the ground. You let out a yelp as your head hit the ground, your vision going just a little hazy as Kars took advantage of the moment, descending upon you and easily taking your wrists into one hand, pinning them above your head. It was like Kars just absorbed the blow, not even flinching at what you did. You tried to swallow back your fear, putting on a brave face.

“You’re stubborn, just like the rest. How poetic, the last Hamon user in the temple I once attempted to destroy thousands of years ago. There’s nothing left, nowhere left for you to run…” Kars purred into your ear, leaving you to gulp as his satisfaction from the ordeal didn’t feel simply like the satisfaction of defeating an enemy. Still, you let yourself grit your teeth, squirming and growling back at the terrible thing.

“I won’t be the last Hamon user. I know someone out there, somehow, will know how to defeat you. They will avenge me. They’ll avenge all of us, and most importantly, destroy you.” You replied, vitriol spilling out into your words. Kars just stopped, thinking about your words, before laughing heartily at your declaration.

“Oh, you poor poor thing. You’ve been in the mountains so long that you haven’t seen the state of the world out there. How pathetic.” Kars chuckled, leaving you to swallow as your eyes went wide, trying to convince yourself that it was a lie, that he wanted you to wonder what he meant, wanted to snuff out the hope in your heart before he finally ended your life. He was toying with his prey, and yet you couldn’t help but still ask.

“What the hell are you talking about? What did you do?!” You tried to sound fierce, angry, but in the end all you sounded was desperate.

“Well, I didn’t do anything. It just became terribly difficult to control my army once victory was secured. You know how they are, wanting to bask in their victory. There are a few small pockets of humans left, of course, but… Well, they’ve fallen in line quite nicely.” Kars’ voice was sickeningly pleased, leaving you just to swallow. God, did they really… Oh god, in just that short of a time? You weren’t sure you could take on Kars, much less an army. God, oh god, oh god, there really was no hope left. Not for you, or for anyone else.

“I… I hate you. You sicken me. I’ll see you in hell one day, Kars, mark my words.” You growled, before resigning yourself to death, awaiting Kars’ witty comeback before he slit your throat. You tried not to tense up when his sharp teeth got close to your neck, but… His teeth never tore open your neck like you thought they would.

“Oh, my dear, I think there might be a misunderstanding. You aren’t going to die, not today.” He growled, before giving into temptation and letting his teeth sink into your neck, easily drinking from you as you cried out and squirmed, trying to break free from his grasp. Oh god, was he planning to turn you into a zombie? What irony would it be if you became a mindless puppet, unable to resist his commands for all eternity? You growled, looking for some way out of this mess, before realizing where exactly your leg was situated. Kars had slotted your legs between his own to try and hold you still, but as he lost himself in the taste of your blood, his hold on them loosened, giving you a severe edge. If this didn’t work, well, that was gonna suck, but if it did… Well, no one can say you never went down without a fight. It was now or never, Kars was relaxed as his tongue began to run over the wound on your neck, lapping up the excess blood he had missed. You swallowed, reared your leg back as best you could, and straight up kicked Kars in the dick.

He hissed out in pain, his grip loosening as he curled over, and it was enough for you to quickly wriggle free, quickly running out of the room. You heard Kars roar your name, and you knew that he wasn’t that far behind you. But, you had the advantage of being smaller, more nimble, and in a facility built by and for Hamon users. You had no doubt there would be some sort of hidden door in here, or something only unlocked by Hamon, something you knew that Kars wouldn’t be able to get through. Kars would be lumbering after you, much larger than you and having trouble getting through doorways. You kept on moving, gasping as you heard Kars’ heavy footsteps behind you, running down a flight of stairs. I mean, you couldn’t just go out into the wilderness, Kars would oh so easily be able to just fly over and pluck you up. But you knew that he would stay here until he found you, unless he thought you had somehow escaped. But for now, you just had to figure out a way to beat him, to at least be free of him for a moment, so you could collect all the information you had obtained in your brain and try to come up with a game plan. You just gulped, panicking as you heard Kars coming closer, far too close to be comfortable, before just… Going behind a cabinet. Was it the best hiding place? No. Was it the only option right now? Yeah.

You heard Kars pause when he reached the bottom of the staircase, looking around and actually… Humming, as if amused by all this.

“It was impressive that you were able to get past me like this, but this hiding place is just poor. Did you really never train here? No wonder your Hamon is so lacking. You were never meant to be a master, dear.” Kars’ voice was so matter of fact, leaving you to just grit your teeth. He was weaseling his way into one of your biggest insecurities, about how you were the weakest of your group, and you hated him for it.

“Always so determined and stubborn, but not even your teacher could defeat me. You have never been able to even land a solid blow on me before, though your attempts were always cute. But that’s over now. I’m willing to make you a deal, to give up a lot more in comparison than what you have to give.” He spoke smoothly, carefully. You could tell he was trying to keep his ears perked up, to listen closely in case you gasped or moved. But you kept still, kept listening, hoping that something, anything would happen for you to gain some sort of advantage.

“There’s a reason why you aren’t already dead where you stand, sweetling. You’re meant to be mine, to be by my side. I know deep down, you know that too. Everything that has happened has led up to this point. To when you finally give in to me.” You felt Kars lean against the cabinet you were behind, beginning to slowly crush you, and you just tried to keep your cool, to stop yourself from gasping out in pain. When it finally seemed like too much, that maybe you were finally going to die or at least cry out from it all, Kars cursed to himself.

“A window? How could I have not spotted that? Damn brat…” You heard him grumble and pull off the cabinet, walking over to the other side of the room. There was some rustling, before you heard him just grumble again and pull himself up, before the sound of feet in the snow seemed to make you calm down. You let out a small sigh, waiting just a few more minutes before you stepped out from behind the cabinet, looking around to make sure this wasn’t a trap. You began to walk up the stairs carefully, becoming more and more confident as you moved through the temple. When you finally walked past the library the two of you started at, you felt just a little confident as you began to walk to the entrance to grab your things and get out of here. You grinned as you got to your bag, pulling it over your shoulder and beginning to step out the door, only for a hand to grab the back of your neck and pull you back inside. If this were a cartoon, you’d probably make a squeaky toy sound.

“Did you really think your little game of hide and seek was going to keep you away from me?” Kars growled, his claws digging into you as he pulled your body against his, your back against his chest, his mouth against your ear as he tried to hold back his anger. “I have you in my grasp now, so I suggest you stop struggling.”

“No! Never, I’m never going to stop fighting you! You can’t just take me for some sick victory fantasy you have, I’d rather die!” You yelled, leaving Kars just to scoff as he held onto you tighter, lifting you up as you kicked and squirmed.

“Oh, you will. You don’t have any other choice unless you don’t care about those humans you love so much.” He practically spat into your ear, leaving you to freeze up in Kars’ arm, giving him ample time to adjust and pull you into a princess carry.

“Oh, I have your attention now, do I? How infuriating.” Kars dug his nails, more like claws with how sharp they were, into your side. “But still. You will do as I say, or else I will slaughter every single one of the remaining people on this earth, do you understand?” When he spoke, you couldn’t help but squirm again. This was probably selfish of you at this point, but he couldn’t be serious. Could he?

“L-Let me go, please! Don’t do this!” You cried, at the point of begging. You weren’t begging for your life, you would much rather die than be in the hands of Kars. But perhaps he knew that, and used the fact to torture you.

“Oh darling, I wish I didn’t have to work in ultimatums like this, but you’ve given me no choice. If you try to run away, I promise you. I will destroy every last one of them, and I will find you again and let you know exactly what you caused.” He told you, leaving you just to swallow. You knew that the look in his eyes was serious, deathly so. You began to relax, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked away. You bit them back, not wanting to give Kars the pleasure of seeing them, of how hopeless this world has become. Kars just smiled, pulling you closer as he began to walk off to who knows where, taking you to some corner of the Earth you would never be able to escape from, both from your own guilt and the looming threat over your head.

“Oh pet. You’ll learn to adore me the same way I adore you.” Kars told you, his voice softer, more gentle as he pet your hair. Without any other choice, you simply wrapped your arms around the man, watching as the temple slowly disappeared out of existence. “I’ll have them destroy that tomorrow evening. Now then…” Kars leaned in, letting his nose just graze against yours.

“Kiss me.” He was demanding, and you knew that there was no way you could resist. So you leaned in, letting your lips press against his, gasping as he nipped at your lip, only for him to take advantage and shove his tongue into your mouth. You whimpered and just let Kars do what he pleased, gasping when he finally pulled away. You could see the smug smirk on his face, so pleased in seeing you falling so far. You just buried your face into Kars’ chest, doing something, anything to hide from his prying eyes.

You wondered if he felt the tears that were falling from your eyes.

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Ten) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual​

Request: None.

Warnings: Mentions of getting shot. Mentions of blood. Explosions. Mentions of kidnapping. Mentions of stalking. Literally the whole shabang.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 11066

Timeline: Season 2 Episode 01. Right after part nine.

HOTCH’S POV

Morgan came into my office just as the sun was rising over Quantico. The rest of the BAU, and really all of the FBI, was just starting to pour into the building for a long day’s work. He told me that Y/N went to get donuts and coffee for everyone, and offered me the chance to order something if I wanted. I stared at him with a blank face for a moment. No one went with them? We had an Unsub stalking us, and no one left Quantico with them? What the hell were Reid and Morgan thinking? Gideon made JJ hold a press conference almost two hours prior— which was a bad idea on its own— and now Y/N left without anyone with them? I didn’t doubt that they could handle themselves. I knew that they could. But this guy knew everything about us. We could afford to take such a risk.

“No. I don’t want anything,” I responded calmly. Morgan shrugged and nodded, patting the door frame before leaving. The second he was out of sight, I picked up my cell and started calling them. They picked up after the first ring.

“Morgan was supposed to call me with your order, Aaron.”

“I know, I know. Why did you leave without someone else?”

I could hear the annoyance and defiance in their voice, “It’s not that big of a deal, Hotch. I’m just going to Leonard’s for donuts and coffee, and then I’ll be right back. You won’t even miss me.”

I already missed them, though. And I was already worried about them. They should have just gone home or stayed at the office. They knew better. But they were also reckless, and they didn’t like to listen to me. It was fun for them to push my buttons, but this simply wasn’t the time.

“Leonard’s and right back. I’m serious.”

“You promised to not worry so much about me,” they sing-songed.

I couldn’t help it. They sprang the “I love you” on me just the other night, and it awoke something in me that I hadn’t felt since Haley. Actually… to tell the truth, it didn’t even feel this way with Haley. All my life, I thought I was going to spend it with Haley; but she got tired of waiting around for me, and I couldn’t blame her. Then Y/N came along, and something changed. I didn’t have to pretend or settle for them. This job was just as important to them as it was for me. Making it work rather than putting unfair pressures on each other made me feel comfortable and loved. And now they were telling me to not worry about them as if I hadn’t said “I love you” back to them the other night and in Jamaica yesterday. I loved them with every inch of me and I worried about them every second of every day. I earned that right when I saw them playing with Jack and getting along so well with him. I earned that right when we said “I love you” to each other. I earned that right when they became my partner. I knew our rules, I knew our dynamic… But none of my feelings just washed away whenever I would get to work, contrary to popular belief.

“I'm not worried,” I lied. “I love you.”

I could practically hear them smiling through the phone. “I love you, too.”

We hung up our call and I sighed. They would be fine. Leonard’s was just a few blocks away— not even a ten minute drive. They would be around people, in the public eye. No one would be able to take them if they were being careful. And then they would be back before I could even say their name.

I stood and exited my office to check on the rest of the unit who was just now appearing for work. They all seemed busy, yet entirely ignorant of what was really going on. They only knew what everyone else had seen on the news, and that was all they needed to know. Everything was going to be fine. Like Y/N said, I had nothing to worry about.

And then I spotted Anderson at the copy machine.

My brows furrowed as I hurried down the ramp outside of my office and called his name. He looked up from the machine and fixed his posture to stand at attention like a soldier would for his commanding officer. I asked him where Elle was, and he only responded with a confused look. I asked him why he was back already, and he still looked confused.

“You told me to take her home, sir.”

“I understand that, but taking her home is not the same thing dropping her off. We have an Unsub who’s stalking our unit. He knows all of our personal information, including our addresses. You can’t just leave her there. Get back there now.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but I glared and he silently retreated out of the building. I picked up the nearest phone, which happened to be on Y/N’s desk, and tried calling Elle’s cellphone. When she didn’t pick up, I figured that she must have let it die or left it in her purse when she fell asleep. So I tried calling her house number. Still, nothing. Shit. I kept trying to reach her. I wasn’t about to give up. Soon, she would finally get annoyed by the constant ringing and would get her ass out of bed long enough to pick up the phone and let me know that she was alright. Either that or Anderson would get there on time and he’d call to let me know that she was safe. But until then, I wasn’t going to stop calling.

“Agent Hotchner,” one of the secretaries approached me. I raised a brow at her while still dialing Elle’s number. “The delivery man from the news last night is on his way up. He just turned himself in.”

Shit. I put the phone down. “Thanks for letting me know. Do me a favor, keep calling Agent Greenaway for me until she picks up her phone.”

“Which Greenaway, sir?”

“Elle.”

“Right away.”

We separated in opposite directions. She returned to her desk, while I headed up to Gideon’s office to let him know about the delivery man. Reid was in his office with him, which saved me some time from running around to tell everyone on the team. Gideon was up on his feet the moment I mentioned a delivery man, he didn’t even need to hear the rest because he already knew. That was why he had JJ hold the press conference. It wasn’t to snuff out the Unsub, but our only living witness thus far.

I was the first one into the interrogation room where the witness was waiting. He matched the description that Jessica gave the sketch artist perfectly. As we entered the room, his terror filled eyes looked up at me. People only looked like that when they had something to hide, but I didn’t think that a guy like this could be our Unsub. He was too shaky and shy for that— Not to mention that our Unsub wouldn’t’ve turned himself in when we still had some kind of quest to complete.

I decided to be up front with him. No dancing around it. We needed answers and we needed them fast. “You delivered a packing to my ex-wife’s house yesterday, and it was addressed to my son—”

“Do I need a lawyer?” he questioned.

I continued, trying to move past the idea of calling a lawyer because that would only slow us down. “It was late in the day. You told the woman you gave the folder to that it was imperative that it get to me because a girl’s life depended on it. Ring any bells yet?”

“I— I guess I could check my logs, yeah,” he stuttered.

“No, you already know which one I’m talking about.”

“Listen, all I know is that a guy came up to me, asked me if I could drop off this package a mile down the road, and that a girl’s life depended on it. I was headed that way, anyhow, I figured what could be the harm?”

“And you didn’t find it at all suspicious that this guy mentioned that a girl’s life was at stake?”

The witness shifted in his seat uncomfortably, a telling sign that he was about to lie. “No, I didn’t think anything of it. I heard that a girl was in trouble, so I knew that I just had to help. Does that make me a bad guy?”

I chuckled, “So you’re a humanitarian, then?”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“How much did he pay you?” Gideon asked.

The witness looked at him and shifted again. “I… I don’t know what you mean…” He looked back at me, but I didn’t budge for him. He swallowed hard. “A thousand dollars in cash. Gave it to me when he gave me the folder.”

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. He had a big coat on and a big hat covering his face. All that I could actually see was his neck and his hands, and they were all fucked up. It looked like he had been burned everywhere.”

I looked over at Gideon. That was everything we were going to get out of this guy, and it was really all we needed. We silently left the interrogation room, but we didn’t release the witness yet in case we decided that we would have more questions for him later.

“Burn scars would explain why he seemed uncomfortable in the video,” I told Gideon.

“It’s also how we’ll find him.”

Reid smiled ear to ear after I complimented his good work— rightfully so, too. Together, him and Garcia had cracked a huge problem in the case. While we had earlier hit a wall with the numbers on the letter Jessica gave us, they had figured it all out finally.

Garcia opened her mouth like she was about to say something, likely to apologize again for her mistake. She knew that she had fucked up, and she knew that Gideon was the most upset about all of it. But as she was about to begin, a secretary joined us in the hallway to deliver a message.

“Agent Gideon, there’s a call for you on line 2.”

Garcia closed her mouth and let her shoulders fall as she hugged her files over her chest in order to put her guard up again. What little bravery she had mustered only seconds ago immediately disappeared and she was back to being silent and self-loathing again. Gideon sighed at the interruption, however, and asked who was calling and if it was really all that important. When the secretary responded that it was urgent and that the man calling had named himself “The Fisher King”, we all knew that something was wrong.

We all rushed to the door that led to the BAU wing. Gideon and I were the first to the phone; Reid, Garcia, and the secretary chased after. Gideon unmuted the call, put it on speaker, and introduced himself.

“I didn’t have any other choice,” the Fisher King said. It was the same voice which called me the other night when I was with Y/N. This was our Unsub. “It was distasteful and barbaric. But it had to be done. You forced my hand, Agent Gideon. I told you that there were rules, and you blatantly ignored me. So I had to make sure that you would never break the rules again. Agent Greenaway didn’t have to die like that, Agent Gideon, just remember that. If you would have listened, I wouldn’t have done it. Not like that. Remember the rules or there will be more consequences.” And then the call ended.

I looked up at Jason, my heart racing in my chest. Both Elle and Y/N were out. Anderson had just gone back to Elle’s place, which meant… No. I immediately reached for my phone and took a step away from the group as I began to dial their number. Straight to voicemail. I cursed under my breath as I dialed again.

Behind me, Gideon was instructing Reid to reach out to every nearby hospital in search of a patient with the last name Greenaway. The whole office was set in motion as everyone went to do their assigned jobs for when an agent was to go missing. Garcia hurried to her office to check the computers and Gideon went to grab his things— including his car keys. By the time he returned, I had called Y/N three times, and every time it went directly to their inbox. Either they were being an asshole and not picking up, or something truly did happen to them. I prayed that they were just being an asshole again.

“Hotch!” Reid called from the balcony. I looked over. “It’s Elle! She’s at Sentara Northern Virginia Medical Center!” He retreated back into the boardroom to sort things out while Gideon threw his keys at me as we both turned to the exit.

I immediately turned on the lights and the sirens after we pulled out of Quantico. I was speeding down the roads, trying to avoid all of the cars who weren’t moving to the side for us, while also trying to call Y/N to let them know what had happened. They still weren’t picking up, and I remembered that they told me not to worry, but I didn’t end up worrying about Elle, and look at what happened. So I just kept dialing while Jason watched me out of the corner of his eye.

Please just be an asshole and not dead. That was all I wanted from them. I wanted the excuses, I wanted the fighting back, I wanted the sass and bratiness that all came with dating them. I wanted to know that I would get to see them again, to just hold them in my arms and tell them that I love them again. If I could have, I would have never stopped saying it because I wasn’t about to let them get away like I had with Haley. They weren’t going to win that easily. But they just had to pick up the fucking phone first.

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. “Fuck,” I cursed under my breath.

“I’m not going to say it…” Gideon said, looking out the window to avoid my glare.

“Good. Then don’t.”

I knew what he was going to say. He didn’t like the idea of me and Y/N dating. He didn’t like the idea of anyone dating on the team because he knew what potential distractions it could create. But I didn’t care what he thought. At least not then when I just needed to focus on literally anything positive. So I tried to focus on how happy it made me to see Y/N with Jack. They were so good with him, and he took to them immediately. I had never seen him connect with anyone like that before. It was such a relief to me that they liked each other.

And then my phone started ringing.

I briskly flipped it open and brought it to my ear.

READER’S POV

I was busy juggling a box of donuts and a cardboard cup holder carrying four coffees when my phone started ringing again. Morgan had called me just before I started ordering inside at Leonard’s to tell me that JJ wanted a cup of cold brew, and that Hotch and Gideon turned down coffee, but Gideon would love a donut. So I ordered a dozen donuts— just to make sure there were plenty extra— and four coffees. Yes, four. I heard Morgan tell me that Hotch didn’t want anything, but I knew him better than that, and I knew that he would want it later, so I got him one anyways. I figured that even if he didn’t end up drinking it, someone else would. Maybe Elle would take it when Anderson would bring her back to the office.

My phone rang again on the way to the car, but I still couldn’t reach it with both of my hands full, so I just tried to hurry up to the car. It rang a third time and I groaned. It was probably just Aaron again, all worried that I wasn’t back yet. It wasn’t my fault that I got caught in the morning traffic outside of Quantico, and I didn’t realize that Leonard’s had some kind of deal on Sunday mornings which always drew in a huge ass crowd. It wasn’t like I made my trips to Leonard’s a common occurrence. I hardly ever went there, so I sure as hell didn’t know about any discount deal that somehow brought in half of Virginia.

The damn phone rang again and I cursed Hotch for making me practically run to the car. He was too worried about me since the other night. Granted, I basically had a breakdown yesterday when I saw my jewelry box, but we had our rules for a reason. I just needed him to calm down and wait until I could call him back. He had already called me three times while I was ordering, which I couldn’t answer any of those calls since I was already busy. Now he had called me at least four times on the way to the car, which meant that he wasn’t even waiting for it to go to voicemail every time.

I put the cupholder on the roof of the car so that I could have a free hand to open the car door. I reached into the car and set the box of donuts on the passenger’s seat, then went back to grab the coffees. They wobbled in my hands as one of the cups managed to slide out of the grip a little too far. I managed to catch it on time, thankfully, before it could spill all over me, and let out a sigh of relief before making sure the cup was put back all the way.

I slid into the car, closed the door, and put the coffees next to the donuts on the seat. When that was settled and I was fairly sure that nothing was going to fall over or spill everywhere, I reached for my phone to see what the hell was going on. Aaron had called me seven times. Seven. Either he was dying or they caught the guy and I could go home. Either way, I was going to kill him.

I dialed his number and called him back. It rang twice before he picked up. “I’m on my way, Hotch. Did you guys find something?”

“Why the fuck weren’t you answering your phone?”

“My hands were full. I couldn’t reach my phone. What’s going on?”

“The Unsub shot Elle.”

I stopped worrying about turning the car on and getting out of the parking lot in a rush but also satefly as he said it. I froze for a moment, just staring at the building in front of me. I tried to wrap my brain around what he said, and almost went to deny it, but I knew that he wouldn’t lie to me like that. So why had he said it? Maybe this was Gideon’s next ploy to try to weed out the Unsub, but they had to make it real, so they had to make me believe it. That had to be it. Elle was fine.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?” I hummed into the phone.

“She’s alive,” he clarified. My gaze fell from the building and to the car’s emblem in the middle of the steering wheel. I was slowly starting to come back to reality. “She’s at Sentara North. Gideon and I are headed there now. I can have Reid pick you up.”

“No,” I insisted, my eyes falling shut. “I’ll… I’ll meet you there.”

“Y/N—”

“I’ll be fine.”

I hung up before he could say anything. He didn’t want me driving. I understood. But what else were we going to do? I put the car in reverse and started backing out of the parking spot I was in. I was just trying to come to terms with how the hell this could have happened. Aaron sent Elle home with Anderson. She should have just been resting in her bed while he kept watch. So how the fuck did the Unsub manage to break into my sister’s home and shoot her? Where was Anderson?

I thought about how Hotch wanted me to go home, even if it was with Elle or Morgan. He just wanted me to get some rest since I hadn’t slept in nearly forty hours. But I turned him down selfishly because I wanted to focus on the case. I knew that there was an Unsub out there who had it out for my sister, and I chose to stay at the office with Hotch. If I would’ve just listened, I could have been with Elle, and maybe I could have stopped the Unsub. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the hospital at all.

Sentara Northern Virginia Medical Center was only a twelve minute drive from Leonard’s, I made it in nine. One of the Bureau’s vehicles was parked directly out front, and I knew that it had to be Hotch and Gideon, so I parked Hotch’s car next to it and hurried out the second I turned the ignition off. I left my purse, the donuts, and the coffees all in the car as I just hauled ass inside and ran up to the front desk.

The nurse at the front desk was taken aback by my panic and the way I was flashing my badge in her face, demanding for the floor number that Elle was on. After likely having just dealt with Hotch and Gideon perhaps a few minutes prior, the nurse already knew the floor to give me, and I was running again to the elevators where I kept pressing the up button like it would somehow make it arrive faster.

My foot tapped against the bottom of the elevator anxiously as I counted the floors I passed and the seconds it was taking to get there. For all I knew, Elle could have already been dead. Every second spent trapped in that elevator was one less second that I would get to be by my sister’s side when she needed me most. And I absolutely hated it. I hated not being able to make the elevator go faster. I hated that I didn’t pick up Hotch’s calls sooner. I hated that I didn’t just go home with Elle, instead I chose to get coffee and donuts like an idiot. Gosh, I was so fucking stupid.

The elevator dinged before the doors began to slowly slide open. The second the gap was wide enough, I squeezed past and ran into the bright white hallway. Ahead of me was a glass wall that divided the waiting room from the hallway I was standing in. Behind the glass, I could see Hotch sitting across from Gideon, who was working on a crossword puzzle in today’s newspaper. Hotch looked up from his hands like he could sense that I had just arrived. When our eyes met, he pushed himself to his feet and hurried to meet me halfway. I ran up to him and jumped into his open arms. My arms wrapped themselves around his neck and I cried in his shoulder. He tried to soothe me by rubbing small circles on my back with one hand, and whispering that it would be okay in my ear.

“She’s alright,” he told me. “She’s in surgery still, but she’s going to be alright.”

“I should’ve gone with her.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I should’ve been there. It should’ve been me.”

“No,” he shook his head. “No.”

“How did this happen, Aaron?”

I felt like I was going to be sick again. The whole car ride over, I was convinced that it was some kind of sick joke. I didn’t want it to be real, so I tried to pretend that it wasn’t. But standing in that hallway, wrapped in Hotch’s arms as I sobbed and he tried to calm me down, I knew that it was real. I could feel it. My sister had been shot. The Unsub promised that the other one was being taken care of, and we thought that it was over when we got Elle out of jail in Jamaica. But the Unsub was only just getting started. He saved his big moment for when we least expected it. When we were all exhausted, hungry, separated, and our anxieties had actually calmed down. It was the calm before the storm, and none of us saw it coming.

Hotch was trying to find the best way to explain without hurting me. He was treating me like a victim of a case rather than his partner, because that was all he knew how to do. With Haley, he thought that he knew what he was doing, but she shattered his idea of love, comfort, and romance when she left him suddenly. Now, he didn’t know anything about how to comfort me in the way I needed most. And it made me sad. I was trying so hard to help him. We had gotten so far together since he first asked me out, but this was the one thing that we hadn’t prepared for. This was the one thing we never wanted to be ready for because we didn’t want to imagine that it could happen. So now he wasn’t prepared and it broke my heart.

He did what he understood, though, and that was explaining it to me like a stranger in a case who just lost a loved one. “He went in through the back door, caught her by surprise, and shot her.”

“Where?” I begged him for more details. As both an agent and her sister, I needed to know more than just that.

“The living room. He went through the kitchen and into the living room, and shot her point blank in the shoulder.”

I squeezed his neck tighter and he pulled me closer. “Why didn’t we know sooner?”

“The Unsub took her badge and gun.”

I pulled from Hotch and he let me, but his touch didn’t leave me. His left hand trailed up my side and up my neck before he cupped my cheek. He wiped away one of my tears with his thumb.

“The crime scene— I’ve got to go look at it,” I said desperately, trying to make a move for the elevator.

Hotch made sure to hold me still as gently but as assertive as he could. “No,” he insisted. “You don’t need to see it. Trust me. Anderson’s there and he’s sending me photos. You don’t want to know, Y/N.”

“I can find this asshole. I can do it if you just let me.”

“You need to be here for when Elle gets out of surgery and wakes up. She’s going to need you.”

I wiped another tear that was falling down my cheek. “That’ll be hours from now. I have to go—”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere,” he whispered with more harshness to his tone. “He called us after he did it…” Hotch pressed his forehead to mine. “He said that ‘Agent Greenaway didn’t have to die like that’ and I thought that he meant you.” His eyes fell shut as he tried to stop himself from crying. “I thought it was you and I nearly died.” He kissed me tenderly yet eagerly, just wanting to know that I was still there with him and that he could still kiss me. He didn’t want to think about losing me and the opportunity to love me. “So you’re not going anywhere until we find this guy.”

My fingers found the back of his neck and slid under the ends of his short hair. I grabbed slightly, not enough to hurt, but just to be affectionate. “Okay,” I gave in. He didn’t want me to leave, and I wasn’t going to fight him on this one thing. It made sense and I didn’t need to get under his skin when there was already so much happening. “I’ll stay.”

He let out a sigh of relief, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It felt good to say it again to his face. It was the first time since the other night at his house. Just the difference between saying it against his lips compared to saying it into a phone made my heart flutter in my chest. Every time he said it, every time his face was so close to mine that I could feel his breath, and every time he looked at me like he loved me more than anything in the world, my day brightened just a little more.

Hotch escorted me to the waiting room where Gideon was pretending to still be focused on his newspaper, when, in reality, he had likely been watching Hotch and I in the hallway to get a feel for how serious our relationship was. I wondered what he thought about us. Gideon was always a softie deep down, and he was just another hopeless romantic like the rest of us; but he also held his own bias against coworkers dating, which made him view us differently. But I wondered that if after seeing us in the hallway and how we needed each other, he decided that maybe it was alright after all. Maybe he wouldn’t try to convince Hotch that it was a bad idea.

I sat down in one of the seats across from Gideon and Hotch let go of my hand. He wiped his face with both of his palms as he tried to recollect himself before turning back to Gideon. “Any luck reaching Morgan and JJ?”

Gideon shook his head, writing in another word on the crossword table. “They’re still out of cell range.”

“Keep trying.” He turned back to me, “Did you leave the drinks and food in the car?” I nodded. “Okay, I’ll go get them. You need something to eat.”

I whispered a thank you and slumped against the seat I was in. I watched him leave and step into the elevator. As the elevator doors began to close, he sent me a short, small smile. My head fell back gently against the back support of the seat I was in and I let out a heavy sigh. All I wanted was to be with Elle at her house, her asleep with me watching over her to make sure that she was alright. Maybe I just needed food and sleep like Aaron kept telling me. This whole time, while I had been fighting against him to make sure that I was constantly keeping up to date with the case, I had forgotten that I needed to take care of my body in order to keep pushing. And without having eaten anything in hours and I hadn’t slept in almost forty hours, I felt so weak. Even if Elle woke up or they found the Unsub, I felt like I would be of no use in the state I was in. It made me feel utterly powerless.

Gideon was still paying no attention to me— or at least pretending as such. He was purposefully doing it. No one could actually focus on a crossword puzzle like he was when one of the teammates was up in surgery and it was his fault. Yeah, I said it. This was all his fault. The Unsub gave specific instructions that we weren’t allowed to go to the media or any outside resources. He knew that there were rules, and he broke them, and I was sure that it had to do with Elle getting shot. Not only did the Unsub want Elle out of the way for some fucked up reason, but he wanted to make sure that we understood that there were consequences to breaking his rules. So he won by getting rid of Elle and proving a point to us. Two birds, one stone.

Gideon should have been more careful. He should have listened to Hotch about not holding the press conference. And that was likely why he wasn’t looking at me. He knew that I would be upset with him for letting this happen to my sister. He also knew that I wasn’t going to blame Hotch, even though he was the one who sent Elle home. He knew that I couldn’t do that, but I’d be looking to point fingers, and it all pointed to him. He was ashamed, and as much as I hated to think it, I was glad that he felt that way. I wanted him to regret his decisions. Because if he had just stopped to consider instead of going on a personal witch hunt, then Elle wouldn’t have been lying on a surgical table with doctors trying to pull a bullet out of her chest.

When Hotch came back with the donuts and coffee, I pushed myself to sit back up again. He took the seat next to me and handed me one of the coffees, another to Gideon, and one for himself. I knew that he would want it. I tried not to smile behind my cup. It didn’t feel like the time to smile about such a silly thing, but I couldn’t believe that I had him pegged like that. It felt good knowing him that well.

“I called JJ and Morgan, told them about Elle, but they're still heading out there,” Hotch explained to Gideon as he handed him a donut.

I raised a brow after accepting my own donut from Hotch. “Where are they?”

“They’re checking up on a lead about the victim and her family. They’re going North to talk to her family.” He relaxed in his seat beside me, “Anderson called as I was about to get in the elevator. He told me that they found a partial print at the crime scene.”

That was the best news we had all day. While we had been falling short of any real leads since finding the jewelry box yesterday, the Unsub leaving a partial print in Elle’s house meant that we were one step closer to catching him. One step closer to me looking at my sister’s attacker in the eyes as I got to read him his Miranda Rights and put him away for a very long time. That was a reason to smile.

“How did they get the partial?” I asked.

Hotch looked at me with soft eyes that spoke volumes. I didn’t want to know, according to him. But him not telling me only confirmed any suspicions I might have had about the crime scene. I saw what happened in Jamaica, I saw what happened with Frank Giles. Our Unsub liked to write messages in blood. “SAVE HER”, “IT’S BEEN HANDLED”, and “HERE THY QUEST DOTH TRULY BEGIN” were all apart of his M.O. He wouldn't have left Elle without completing his ritual.

So I wanted to know the truth. “What did it say?”

Hotch scratched his stubble and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He knew that I wouldn’t stop pressing for answers, especially when it came to Elle. His choices were to either tell me or find a way to travel back in time and stop himself from ever saying anything else about the crime seeing. Seeing as the second option was neither logical nor possible, he had to give me something. He knew that I had seen all of the other crime scenes first hand, and if he reused to tell me, I would just walk right out of the hospital and drive over there to see it for myself. It didn’t matter what promises I made to him. If I didn’t get answers, I wasn’t going to stick around long enough for him to start an argument about it.

“It said ‘RULES’... In Elle’s blood.”

“I’m going to kill him, Hotch. I swear, I’m going to kill him, even if it kills me.”

I was right about the Unsub and his reason for attacking Elle. Gideon broke the rules and the team had to pay.

“We still don’t have enough for a profile yet, though,” Gideon said quietly. “At least not a good one.”

Hotch picked up my free hand with his and held it tight. Even with Gideon in the room, Hotch was going out of his way to make sure that he was with me, that I understood that he wasn’t going anywhere. We had our rules. We knew that we weren’t supposed to touch at work— especially not like this. But something had happened to Hotch while I was at Leonard’s. He said that the Unsub called them to tell them that he had killed Elle, but he used our last name, and Hotch’s first worry was me. The fact that he called me on my way out of the parking lot to give me crap about leaving on my own, then all of the calls at Leonard’s, and his persistent need for touch all told me that the Unsub had really gotten under his skin by using me. The call when we were together the other night was the first step, and it kept escalating from there. The Unsub wanted us to be together at all times, for some reason, and he found a way to ensure that it would happen. All it took was stalking us, sending something to Jack, and scaring the crap out of Hotch about losing me on a thousand separate occasions.

Hotch’s hand squeezed mine. “Once JJ and Morgan finish up with Rebecca’s family, we’ll hopefully have another lead. Until then, there’s not much we can do. I think we should all get some rest.”

Gideon shook his head and flipped the newspaper pages to a sudoku puzzle now. He was really trying not to face me, and I didn’t blame him. I was sending him the worst death glare I could throw at him for what he did. But Hotch was at least right about the sleep idea. I was done with my donut, and the warm coffee was starting to lull me to sleep, even though the caffeine should have knocked me back on my feet. I guessed that I just was so tired that even caffeine couldn’t save me. And there wasn’t anything to do with the case or about Elle in surgery. Hotch had the right idea, and sleep was the one thing I couldn’t argue with at that point.

I peeled my hand from Hotch’s so that I could push myself to lean forward and put the cup of coffee on the table in front of us.  When I reclined back in my seat, I shifted to the side so that I could rest my head against his shoulder. My eyelids were already heavy to the point that they fell shut without any effort. Sleep felt so natural, I didn’t have to fight to keep my eyes shut or quiet my thoughts.

Everything was oddly peaceful in that hospital waiting room. The lights were gold and dim in order to comfort those who would be waiting around, just like we were. All of the newspapers and magazines that Gideon had collected in front of him just reminded me home and how my dad would lay them out the same way. The air conditioning was right above my head, blowing cool air that helped my heart rate slow down and find peace. It was just so quiet as though the room itself were inviting me to sleep for once. I didn’t mind the feeling at all.

“The press conference was the right thing to do,” Gideon said quietly, assuming that I was already asleep and didn’t want to wake me up. Hotch’s hand fell to my knee and his thumb started to draw slow circles over the fabric of my pants. “I mean, it forced the Unsub to come out, forced him to make a mistake like leaving a partial print. If I hadn’t done what I did, who knows if we would have that information. I did the right thing. I know I did. I was just doing my job. Elle will understand that and Y/N will forgive me.”

“Jason…” Hotch whispered, trying not to move the shoulder I was resting on. “It’s no one’s fault but the Unsub.”

“I know.” He sounded so unsure about himself as he stood to leave. “I know.” He carefully put the newspaper back down on the table. “Let them sleep. I’ll be outside if you find anything out from Morgan or JJ.” He patted Hotch’s other shoulder gently on his way out.

When Gideon was gone, Hotch kissed the top of my head clemently, “I love you.”

I nuzzled against his shoulder and picked his hand up to intertwine our fingers again. “I love you, too,” I whispered. He kissed my head again and I let out one last breath of relief and tranquility before I managed to fall asleep.

Hotch gently shook me awake about an hour later. I woke up carefully, rubbing the side of my neck where it was sore from being crooked against his shoulder for so long. He massaged my shoulder in an attempt to help with my tight muscles, but also to help me wake up from my nap. I didn’t think that I would be out of it for so long, but if I were just being woken up by Hotch, it meant that something had only just happened. Whether it was about the case or Elle, I didn’t know until Hotch was sure that I was entirely awake again.

I reached out for my coffee on the table, which was now cold, but it was better than nothing. I chugged the rest of it before setting it back down. Hotch threw his arm over my shoulders as I leaned back.

“The team identified the Unsub,” he finally said.

“How?”

“I don’t know. Gideon’s sending me to oversee the arrest.”

I jumped out of my seat. “I’ll go with you.” I was already fixing my hair back out of my face and making sure that my gun was prepped in its holster on my hip. I knew what Hotch was going to say before he even said it, and I already knew what my response was going to be.

“No. Stay here and wait for Elle.” Like I said, he was being predictable.

With my response already prepared, I grabbed my purse from the floor. “I’m coming with you, Hotch. I want to be there when we get this guy. I want to see his face when he realizes that he lost.”

Hotch stared at me for a moment before nodding, “Okay.”

He wasn’t going to win this one. I had gotten some food, coffee, and sleep. I was now at the top of my game, perfect for arguing with him. And while he usually enjoyed playing along, we were on a time crunch. So he gave in and we headed for the elevator. As we waited, I asked what we knew since I fell asleep.

Hotch told me everything the team had told him. Our Unsub’s name was Randall Garner. We stepped into the elevator. He was Rebecca Bryant’s biological father who had been severely burned in the fire that burned their family home down and killed everyone but Rebecca and Randall. When she was sixteen, Rebecca had been kidnapped by her father after he was released from a mental institution. He had been keeping her for two years before finally contacting us. Hotch wasn’t sure why yet, but he was sure that Spencer would have answers for when we would get to the office.

And answers he did have. From the moment we stepped into the office, everyone started bombarding me with questions about Elle, while Reid was trying to catch Hotch up with everything he had learned about the Unsub and the profile he had created single handedly while everyone was gone. Morgan and JJ were following me around with endless questions, even though I really didn’t know much more than them about Elle’s condition or the crime scene since Hotch refused to take me or tell me much of anything about it. I apologized for not having answers, and they seemed upset that they were just as helpless as I was. 

“He thinks that we’re modern-day Knights of the Round Table,” Reid explained to us as the group of us walked into the boardroom. There was a woman sitting in the corner, biting her nails, but I was the only one who seemed to take notice. “He thinks that he’s in a fantasy world where Rebecca is a grail that we need to rescue in order to save the day.”

“Do we know where he is?” Hotch asked, refusing to take a seat at the table.

Reid, Morgan, and JJ all looked through the files they had pulled and the notes they had taken, but there was nothing. His last known address was his home before it burned down in the fire— then, technically, the mental hospital. That was it, though. When he was released, he went off the grid. No one had any clue as to where he was.

“I have something,” the woman in the corner spoke up.

Reid leapt from his chair and hurried over to her, “No, mom, it’s okay—”

He came to a sudden halt when his mom pulled a photo from her purse and handed it to him. Spencer examined both sides before turning to all of us with wide eyes that told us that he suddenly understood so clearly. He handed it off to me and I took a look at it myself. One side was an address and the other was a picture of a large house in the middle of the woods.

Reid’s mom had this the entire time and she never said anything. The Unsub gave her another clue— the last clue— because he knew that Reid would send for her. To make sure that she was safe. He knew Spencer and the rest of us like he was us and could guess what we would do before we could even think of it for ourselves. He was ten steps ahead of at all times when he never should have even been a single step ahead of us in the first place.

I handed the photo over to Morgan. “Shiloh, Virginia?” he read the address. “That’s only ten miles from here.”

“Gear up quickly,” Hotch ordered, already heading for his office.

We all jumped to our feet and headed for our desks. Hotch was up in his office, calling the SWAT team for back up and giving them the address of where to meet us. Morgan tossed me another flashlight after I tested mine to find that it had died after Reid used it yesterday to find the jewelry box clue.

The five of us— me, Hotch. Morgan, JJ, Reid— all hurried to one of the FBI company black SUV vehicles and stuffed ourselves inside. Hotch turned on the lights and sirens before we even made it out of the parking lot and started hauling ass down the streets towards Shiloh. None of us said anything. We were all just focused on getting there and finally taking this guy down. We wanted answers and we wanted him to pay for all of the suffering he caused. It was high time he met his modern-day Knights of the Round table, just like he wanted.

The SWAT team Hotch had called in was already parked in front of the house when we arrived. They were all huddled around the trunks of their cars as they put on their gear and loaded their weapons. While we drove up the path with all of the lights off, they looked over to make sure that we were a friendly vehicle and not the suspect or otherwise.

Gravel crunched under my shoes as I jumped out of the car and walked around to the back where Hotch had popped the trunk for us to grab our bullet proof vests. I threw mine over my head and worked in silence as I connected all of the straps. Everyone was silent. The only sounds that echoed were from everyone’s boots compressing the gravel under us. If the Unsub were near a window or door, he likely would have heard us, even though we were all trying to be quiet.

When everyone was ready, Hotch traveled to the front of the group to lead us in. He gave a silent signal, and the SWAT team split into three small groups. One headed to the left, another to the right, and the one Hotch and I went with went straight for the front door. Our team split up, too. JJ and Morgan went to the left, Hotch and I down the middle, and Reid to the right.

We were still quiet as we ran up to the door and Hotch messed with the doorknob to see if it was unlocked. When the door opened easily, he gave us a silent signal to be careful because the Unsub was likely expecting us. This was his game, afterall. He had to know where the players were at all times.

Hotch and I went together towards the dining room while the SWAT members of our group branched off to check the kitchen. With our guns raised, Hotch and I ran into the room. We checked every corner, hiding spaces behind doors, cabinets, etc. but there was nothing. Rebecca had to be somewhere in the house, we were sure of that much, the only question was where?

I dragged a finger over the dining room table before bringing it up to my eyes. The table was caked in dust, just like everything else in the dining room. Around the table were six chairs, each covered by white sheets. From the other end of the table, Hotch whistled quietly to catch my attention. He was holding Elle’s badge and gun. So we did have the right guy’s house. That was some consolation.

“It’s Morgan. We’re clear on this side,” he said over the comms.

“Kitchen’s clear.”

“Living room clear.”

“Nothing in the parlor.”

“Dining room’s empty,” I said.

“I’ve got movement upstairs,” Reid said.

Hotch and I gave each other a nod before traveling together towards the staircase. Reid was halfway up, his gun and flashlight pointing at the hallway that diverted to the right of the stairs. He gestured with his flashlight that he saw someone heading that direction, and we followed him up.

The SWAT team ran past us, taking the lead in order to clear the upstairs rooms while we followed Spencer’s hunch. Reid, Morgan, and Hotch were in front of me, JJ behind me. She tapped my shoulder when we reached the top floor and she pointed towards the left, letting me know that she was going to look for Rebecca on the left side of the house with the SWAT team. I nodded an acknowledgement and continued to the right.

Reid jumped across the entrance to another hallway that turned to the left. He hid on the wall opposite Morgan, Hotch, and I. Morgan took point on that wall closest to the new hallway, meanwhile Hotch and I backed up for support. Down the new hallway that we had discovered, there was a room all the way at the end. The door was half open, and I saw a man pass by it. My blood ran cold as I gestured to Hotch that I saw Randall Garner.

“Cover me,” Morgan whispered to us.

“No, no, no,” Spencer insisted. Morgan stepped back from the corner. “Give me a second.” He raised his voice, “Mr. Garner? My name is Dr. Spencer Reid. I’m with the FBI. You were in the hospital with my mother. I think she may have confused you about who we are and what we do. All we want to do is help Rebecca— which is what you want to do, too, right? That’s why you sent us the puzzles and the clues. That’s why you wanted to see us.”

“Did you bring her?” Garner asked from his room down the hall. The sound of leather creaking echoed in the hallway just after I saw him taking a seat at a desk inside.

“Bring who? Rebecca? We don’t have her. You do.”

“No. No. The one Arthur loves. Guinevere.”

Hotch, Morgan, and I all exchanged confused glances. Arthur and Guinevere? We knew that he saw us as the Knights of the Round Table, but we didn’t know that he had assigned us to the specific character.

“We didn’t bring any Guinevere,” Reid played along.

Randall Garner huffed angrily from his office. “I was very specific that Agent Hotchner and Agent Greenaway were to be together the entire time. Did you not learn your lesson about obeying the rules?”

I suddenly realized that Aaron was Arthur and I was Guinevere. That was why he wanted us together. He saw our relationship and wanted us to recreate how he imagined the characters behaving in his delusion. We were only confused at first because he said “she” and that wasn’t what any of us were used to. The only “she” we brought with us was JJ, and she was off searching the other side of the house. 

“We brought Agent Hotchner and Agent Greenaway, yes.”

“Ask the question, dear Guinevere.”

I looked across to Reid for an answer because I didn’t know of any question. Was it in one of the clues that Spencer solved? It had to be. “He believes that if you ask the right question, then it will magically heal his wounds. That’s why he wanted us. He thinks that we have magic.”

“Do you know the question?” Hotch whispered.

Reid shook his head, “But I know what he wants. Fall back.” He held his gun out to me, which I reluctantly took. “It’ll be fine…” he told us before walking into the hallway with his hands raised. “Stay calm, Mr. Garner.”

“Ask the question, Ser Percival, if Guinevere is incapacitated.”

“I told you, I’m not Percival and Y/N isn’t Guinevere. My name’s Spencer and we work for the FBI. You know my mother, Diana, from the hospital. Do you remember?” He kept walking down the hallway, closer and closer to the room Randall was in. “I think she might have made you think that your daughter is a grail and that we’re knights sent to rescue her.”

“No. Your mother was very specific—”

“My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic who would forget to eat if she wasn’t reminded. She doesn’t know real from fiction, just like you, Mr. Garner. We’re not characters in a story. We’re real people who have come to help you and your daughter.” Reid finally reached the door and carefully pushed it open. I tried to crouch down low to get an angle on Garner, but Reid was entirely in the way. I couldn’t see anything. “Don’t you want to help your daughter?”

“My daughter doesn’t really exist. She never did.” Leather creaked again and I could tell that Randall had spun around in his chair, but I still couldn’t see him. “Ask the question!” he demanded with more force.

“Hey, guys…” Spencer called back to us calmly. “Maybe you guys should go wait downstairs.”

“What?” I hissed.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Morgan responded to Spencer.

“Ask the question! Heal me!” Mr. Garner shouted.

I couldn’t hear anything else that was being said. They were too far into the room and their voices had lowered so that their conversation was just theirs. I didn’t know if Reid was getting anywhere with Randall, and I didn’t know if we were going to get the location of Rebecca. Now that we had the bastard, all we needed now was to find his daughter.

Reid started running back down the hall, headed straight for us, yelling, “Run!”

Next thing we knew, the office Mr. Garner was in exploded, shaking the entire house. Reid dove to get further from the blast, and Hotch turned and covered my head with his arm. After the explosion, Hotch and I stood up straight again and made sure that the other was alright before looking over to Morgan and Reid. Morgan was putting out a fire that caught on Spencer’s legs while also helping him up to his feet.

The fire from the explosion started to spread along the hallway, making its way straight for us. We didn’t have much time before the whole house would burn down. I made a dash for the side of the house, calling for the SWAT team and JJ to hurry back downstairs, warning them of the fire that was spreading. Hotch and Morgan were pulling Reid along with them towards the stairs.

“What the hell was that?” Hotch asked.

“He had a bomb,” Reid responded, coughing the smoke out of his lungs. I went in front of them and started racing down the steps. “Wait— Stop, stop, stop, stop… Rebecca—”

“Reid, there’s no time for a search.”

Spencer shushed Hotch and pushed his hair out of his face so that he could think more clearly. “Randall was the fisher king, and this is his castle… Rebecca has to be here…” He snapped his fingers when a lightbulb went off in his mind. “The basement! She’s in the basement!”

Everyone started running downstairs, chasing after Spencer who decided to take the lead again. The boys ran into the basement while JJ and I made sure all of the SWAT team got out safely. We weren’t about to leave a man behind after all of this. Once they were all out, JJ and I stood on the grass in front of the house to watch as it burned. I was staring at the front door intently, praying that they would het Rebecca and come out soon, because if they were going to waste another minute inside, I was going to go back in to find them.

Just as I thought it, though, Reid and Morgan came stumbling out, but not Hotch. I ran back up to the front of the house and caught Morgan. “Where’s Hotch?” I questioned. He was coughing too hard to answer. All he could do was point into the house. “Hotch!” I called, continuing up to the door. “Hotch!”

When I was about to take a brave step into the house, Hotch came stumbling out with Rebecca in his arms. I moved out of the way and followed him back into the grass where he gently put her down. I grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face me.

“You okay?” I asked worriedly.

He nodded. “You?”

I nodded with a sigh of relief.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Morgan called. “Fire department's on their way! We should get Rebecca to the hospital!”

He was right. Randall was gone and Rebecca needed to get treatment. She had been trapped in that basement for two years— who knew what he did to her, even if she was just his daughter. The fact that his delusion was so strong that he couldn’t even recognize that they were family meant that he could have done horrible things to her. Things that I didn’t want to consider. So the best thing to do was make sure that some doctors could check on her.

JJ, Morgan, and Reid took Rebecca in the car we arrived in. Hotch decided that he was going to stay to make sure the fire would be contained and that the SWAT team would clear the area safely. In the car, however, there was no room for me when they had laid Rebecca down next to JJ in the backseat to make sure that she was comfortable. My only option was to stay with Hotch and wait to get a ride back into town.

When the fire department showed up, they drove onto the grass and tried to maintain the fire spread, attempting to keep it away from the woods surrounding us. As Hotch and I watched, my phone started ringing. I turned around, took a few steps out of the way, and answered the call.

“Y/N?” It was Gideon’s number, but it was Elle’s voice. She had woken up after surgery. She was okay. “Are you there?”

I didn’t realize how silent I had been while just thinking about the weight that lifted off of my chest when I finally got to hear her voice again. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here, Elle.”

“Did you catch the son of a bitch who did this to me?”

I glanced over my shoulder to look at the burning house. “He’s gone.” I bit at my nails and kicked the gravel under my feet nervously. “Are you okay?”

“Never felt better,” she laughed shortly before wincing in pain. “When can you come visit me?”

“I’m on my way right now. I promise.” I snapped in Hotch’s direction to catch his attention before pointing to my phone and mouthing Elle’s name to him. He nodded, said goodbye to the chief of the fire department, and came over to me. “Hotch and I will be there in a few minutes, okay?” Elle hummed an agreement on the other end. “I love you, Elle.”

“Whatever you say, loser. Just get here as soon as you can,” and she hung up.

I rolled my eyes and bit back a smile. The SWAT team had room for us in one of their trucks and offered to drop us off at the hospital. It was a kind gesture, one they really didn’t have to give us, but they said that they didn’t mind since it was on the way back to their office. In the truck, everyone was just as silent as when we first arrived at the house. Even when they dropped us off at the hospital, they only wished us goodnight in quiet murmurs before we closed the back of the vehicle and they were off again. Hotch and I didn’t watch them drive off. We immediately hurried into the hospital and headed for the room that Elle had been assigned to.

When we got to Elle’s room, I saw Gideon sitting beside her, reading something about the case, and she was staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. As Hotch and I entered, however, Gideon stopped reading and Elle broke her trance to look over at us standing in the doorway. She smiled at me as best she could considering the facts. She had only just gotten out of surgery and she was in a lot of pain, and she would be for a long time. The physical and mental wounds of being shot at point blank range wasn’t anything that usually disappeared overnight, no matter how hard Elle would try to convince herself and us otherwise.

Gideon squeezed Elle’s hand gently before standing from his seat and taking his leave from the room, still refusing to look up at me. Once he was gone, I stepped further into the room and took a seat next to Elle’s hospital bed.

“He’s dead,” I told her. My vest was still on and my hair was still pulled back out of my face, which was a tell tale sign that we had just gotten back from a scene, but the fact that Hotch was covered in soot was another sign that something had happened. “We found the girl. She’s going to be okay.”

“That’s good,” Elle smiled.

Hotch was still standing in the doorway, watching Elle from a distance as she slightly struggled to breathe with the oxygen they were pumping into her nose. He gulped and looked at the floor. “I’m going to head out and make sure that the rest of the team is alright.” He glanced at Elle shortly, like he had only mustered enough courage to do so for a few seconds, “I’m glad that you’re here. I’m sorry for sending you home like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Hotch,” she insisted, shaking her head to encourage her point. 

Hotch nodded like he was trying to convince himself that she was telling the truth, but it wasn’t quite sticking with him yet. He switched his glance to me, “Are you going to stay here tonight?” I nodded. “Do you want me to bring you a change of clothes?”

“If you don’t mind.”

The left side of his mouth curled into a small, shy smile. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” He waited for Elle to look away for a brief moment so that he could steal a second to whisper that he loves me. I whispered it back to him and his smile brightened before he left.

Elle looked at me with a grin, “So… Hotch, huh?” I glared playfully at her, daring her to be careful. “I can’t believe I owe Morgan $20. Is it too late to break up with him?”

I smiled but scrunched my brows in curiosity. “$20?”

“I thought that you would end up going out with him. He didn’t think it was possible. Maybe he knew about you and Hotch this whole time and just wanted my $20.” I hit her good arm gently. “Ow!” she laughed.

“It’s a good thing we’re in a hospital, otherwise I would have killed you.” The joke didn’t quite land the way I thought it would. “Sorry,” I doublebacked.

Elle squeezed my hand. “I’m just glad that you’re here and that you’re happy. That’s all a sister could ask for.”

“I love you.”

She smiled behind the oxygen and the pain coursing through her veins. “I love you, too.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXIX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

Words: 3,473

Series’ Masterlist

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Listen to: ‘Like To Be You’ -by Shawn Mendes ft. Julia Michaels

Chapter Seventeen: Resolutions.

"So here's the plan," Mel whispered to Hermione as they followed Hagrid deeper into the forest, "if things get out of control, make sure everyone goes back safely and I obliviate them as soon as we reach the castle..."

"Don't be stupid," Hermione said. "Now's not the time for jokes. Oh, I really hope Hagrid knows what he's doing!"

"Gather roun', gather roun'," said Hagrid. "Now, they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat but I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me..."

He let out a high-pitched shout and everyone stood there in anxious silence waiting to see what would happen. Mel's ears picked up the sound of dead leaves crunching, even though no one seemed to be moving. She heard a quiet huff and a few branches breaking.

"Why doesn't Hagrid call again?" Ron whispered beside her.

She felt someone press against her and she jumped lightly, Neville had found his way towards her and now was tightly gripping her arm. He was staring at some point a few feet away from them. That's when she remembered something from the first night back in the castle, when Harry had mentioned something about... what was it? A horse?

She turned to look at him, Harry was eagerly looking around, trying to see if someone else was noticing. Mel spoke up.

"What are they?" It had been a long time since she'd heard her own voice sounding so frightened.

"Oh, an' here comes another one!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Now... put yer hands up, who can see 'em?"

A total of three people raised their hands. Neville, Harry, and a Slytherin boy.

"Yeah... yeah, I knew you'd be able ter, Harry," Hagrid grumbled. "An' you too, Neville, eh? An' —"

"Excuse me, but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?" Malfoy sneered.

Mel watched the meat Hagrid had thrown onto the grass as it was ripped off piece by piece by some invisible creature, Parvati gasped.

"What's doing it? What's eating it?" She asked in terror.

"Thestrals," said Hagrid. "Hogwarts has got a whole herd of 'em in here. Now, who knows — ?"

"But they're really, really unlucky!" Parvati exclaimed. "They're supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once —"

"No, no, no! Tha's jus' superstition, that is, they aren' unlucky, they're dead clever an' useful! 'Course, this lot don' get a lot o' work, it's mainly jus' pullin' the school carriages unless Dumbledore's takin' a long journey an' don' want ter Apparate — an' here's another couple, look —"

Parvati yelped. "I think I felt something, I think it's near me!"

"Don' worry, it won' hurt yeh," Hagrid smiled. "Righ', now, who can tell me why some o' you can see them an' some can't?" Hermione raised a hand. "Go on then."

"The only people who can see thestrals are people who have seen death."

Mel should've known that a creature with such fame had to be related to death. Still, far from scared, Mel was intrigued, she knew what it would take to be able to see them, and yet, part of her wished she could.

"Tha's exactly right. Ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, thestrals —"

"Hem, hem." An unpleasant tension settled on Mel's shoulders. Umbridge had arrived. "Hem, hem."

"Oh hello!" Hagrid beamed.

"You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning? Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?"

Mel didn't like the way Umbridge talked to him, she clenched her fists and took a deep breath.

"Oh yeah! Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see — or, I dunno — can you? We're doin' thestrals today —"

"I'm sorry?" Umbridge dramatically leaned forward and put a hand on her ear. "What did you say?"

Mel gripped the hand that Neville kept firmly around her forearm.

"Er — thestrals!" Hagrid repeated loudly. "Big — er — winged horses, yeh know!"

Hagrid flapped his arms as if they were wings, Umbridge quickly started to write that down.

"'has... to... resort... to... crude... sign... language...'"

"Well... anyway..." said Hagrid, blushing a little. "Erm... what was I sayin'?"

"'Appears... to... have... poor... short... term... memory...'"

She hadn't been so rude to any of the other teachers and Mel was wondering exactly why was she giving Hagrid such a terrible time when it came to her. Of course, she hated Hagrid, at this point everyone knew he was a half-giant and Umbridge was the biggest piece of racist rubbish she'd ever met, she wanted to get rid of him.

"Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to walk" She pretended to walk. "among the students... and ask them questions."

"Neville," Mel whispered. "I need you to let go of my arm."

"Why?"

"Because if I blow up, I don't want to get you in trouble," She growled.

"Do you find that you are able to understand Professor Hagrid when he talks?" Umbridge asked out loud to Pansy.

"No... because... well... it sounds... like grunting a lot of the time..." Pansy was shaking with silent laughter.

"Don't do it, Mel!" Neville warned her. "If you get in trouble you won't be able to attend the D.A. this week!"

"Er... yeah... good stuff abou' thestrals. Well, once they're tamed, like this lot, yeh'll never be lost again. 'Mazin' senses o' direction, jus' tell 'em where yeh want ter go —"

"Assuming they can understand you, of course," said Malfoy.

Mel made a movement to reach for her wand and Neville gripped her arm with unexpected strength. That caught Umbridge attention, she walked up to them with a smile.

"You can see the thestrals, Longbottom, can you? Whom did you see die?"

"That's a personal question," Mel replied. "I don't think Neville has to answer that if he doesn't want to."

Umbridge raised a brow with disinterest.

"You can't see them, Miss Dumbledore, am I correct? Well, at least that's one mental detriment we don't have to worry about in you..."

"Excuse m—" Mel started, but Neville was quick to step in.

"My grandad," He retorted. "That's whom I saw..."

"And what do you think of them?" Umbridge acted like her insult to Mel hadn't happened.

"Erm," Neville glanced between Mel and Hagrid. "Well, they're... er... okay..."

"'Students... are... too... intimidated... to... admit... they... are... frightened...'" muttered Umbridge, scribbling it down furiously.

"No!" Neville frowned. "No, I'm not scared of them — !"

"It's quite all right," Umbridge patted Neville's shoulder and Mel glared at the woman wishing she could do something. "Well, Hagrid, I think I've got enough to be getting along with... You will receive... the results of your inspection... in ten days' time."

She lifted all her fingers, smiling in that cold way of hers.

"I'm sorry," Neville mumbled next to her. "I didn't want to..."

"It wasn't your fault," Mel said roughly. Neville flinched, and she immediately softened her tone, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze a little. "You did nothing wrong, Nev."

"That foul, lying, twisting old gargoyle! You see what she's up to? It's her thing about half-breeds all over again — she's trying to make out Hagrid's some kind of dim-witted troll, just because he had a giantess for a mother — and oh, it's not fair, that really wasn't a bad lesson at all — I mean, all right, if it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, but thestrals are fine — in fact, for Hagrid, they're really good!" Hermione rambled as they made their way back to the castle.

"Umbridge said they're dangerous," said Ron.

"What does that bitter fat rat knows about magical creatures?" Mel spat. "I'm with Hagrid here, those are all superstitions..."

"Well, it's like Hagrid said, they can look after themselves," Hermione nodded in agreement, "and I suppose a teacher like Grubbly-Plank wouldn't usually show them to us before N.E.W.T. level, but, well, they are very interesting, aren't they? The way some people can see them and some can't! I wish I could."

"Do you?" Harry asked carefully.

Hermione winced.

"Oh Harry — I'm sorry — no, of course I don't — that was a really stupid thing to say —"

"It's okay, don't worry..."

"I'm surprised so many people could see them," said Ron. "Three in a class —"

"Neville was extremely sweet, helping Hagrid out and trying to keep me away from detention," Mel lowered her gaze, her fists tightly closed. "I'm so sick of that woman..."

"Weasley, we were just wondering," Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were walking up to them. "D'you reckon if you saw someone snuff it you'd be able to see the Quaffle better?"

"That's rich coming from you,  you puny ferret— Did the beating Harry and George gave you whipped the memories of your lack of skill?"

Malfoy's smile faltered a bit, but it didn't vanish.

"Moody, are we?" He said. "I'd be too if I were losing my marbles..."

Ron made an attempt to move but Hermione and Harry held him back. Mel glared at the Slytherins as they walked past them.

"One day," She said through gritted teeth. "One day I'll get him... and Umbridge too."

"Peeves, this is my last warning!" Mel warned as the poltergeist attempted to strangle Ron with tinsel. "Go away or I'll make a fanged frisbee follow you for the rest of the year!"

Peeves stuck out his tongue but flew out of the Great Hall anyway. She was helping with the Christmas decorations, Flitwick had asked the prefects to lend a hand and so Ron and Hermione had been expected as well as Erick, though he had to keep his distance. Mel noticed he was more tired and jumpy than usual.

"You know, I have to admit it," Hermione said as she handed a few fairy lights to her. "I was worried about you dating Fred— Thought you'd get out of control, but you're getting better!"

"What do you mean?"

"She means you don't fight people as much as you used to," Ron replied bluntly. "By people, she means Harry."

"Yeah well, we don't talk at all," Mel shrugged. "Can we not discuss this? I don't feel comfortable discussing my love life..."

"I don't love talking about you snogging one of my brothers either," Ron scoffed. "Can't say I hadn't seen this coming though, I knew this would happen, Fred and George always flirt with you..."

"They flirt with everyone," She clarified. "They even tried to flirt his way out of detention with McGonagall once."

"That was different," Ron rolled his eyes. "They were joking then, with you it was clearly intentional."

"Clear, was it?" Mel snorted. "How come you're suddenly an expert?"

"I've always been good at it when it comes to you and my brothers," He replied matter-of-factly. "You were really obvious."

"You want to talk about obvious?" She glanced at Hermione to make sure she was distracted. "You really want to go there, Ronnie? I can list all the times you've been obvious..."

Ron's eyes widened.

"Either way," He quickly changed the subject. "Hermione's right. You're in a better mood now, and if dating my brother does that to you, then I have no problem with it."

"How kind of you," The girl replied distractedly

"You and I," Ginny sat down in front of her. "We're trying for the Quidditch team."

Mel choked on her pumpkin juice.

"What gave you that idea?"

"You have pent-up anger and being able to push someone out of their broom might help," Ginny smirked.

Mel lowered the book she'd been reading and thought about it. Hadn't she dreamed about trying out for the team a year prior? Well, yeah, but only because Harry said she could be a great addition. It didn't mean she was good... but it didn't hurt to try, though.

"Dunno, Ginny," She bit her lip. "I have so much to do already..."

"C'mon!" The girl insisted. "How many times have we stayed up till late talking about it? I know it's not exactly how we planned it, but we can't give away our chance!"

Hadn't she said she would find a way to get back at Malfoy and Umbridge? This was her chance, she could drag Malfoy's butt on the field.

"Oh, all right," Mel groaned. "But not a word of this to anyone! I don't want more people breathing on my neck, I have enough with them waiting to catch me and Fred snogging in the halls!"

"It's kind of weird how you never kiss," Ginny mentioned, a little giggle escaping her lips. "Never thought Fred wasn't into public displays of affection..."

"Oh, he is," Mel raised a brow. "But I refuse to give a show."

Most people were rendered speechless with Ginny's display, she had a natural talent. When it was her turn, Angelina asked what place she wanted.

"Er..." Mel shrugged. "I guess beater would be okay?"

"Really?" Angelina frowned. "You and Ginny are small and not too strong... the both of you are great options to be seekers."

"I suppose that's true," Mel looked back at her friend, who was watching from the stands. "Well, if you take both of us we can take turns to be seekers and beaters."

She'd meant that as a joke, but Angelina's eyes shone with excitement.

"You're right I could. You don't need to be all muscle to be a beater, you just need to have a decent aim... Okay, Mel, show me what you got and I might consider your idea."

First, she tried her skills as seeker and released the snitch at the other side of the field, throwing golf balls to distract her and see if she'd lose sight of the golden orb, but it was hard to miss its glint between a bunch of white dirty balls. She did this a total of four times. Nothing too impressive, two times the snitch was close to escaping, but she put up a good fight.

Then she was placed in the beater position, she was a bit clumsier with the bat and she didn't have the deathly aim George and Fred had, but she figured she could develop a decent one with time. It was up to Angelina though, Mel could only hope she hadn't looked like a complete idiot.

"Okay, gather round!" Angelina called after a few minutes.

Ginny and Mel stood side by side, holding hands and squeezing.

"Thank you all for coming," Angelina continued. "I've made a decision. It's my duty to choose those that did it best..."

Mel held her breath, already thinking about how the twins were going to tease her once they'd found out she'd been rejected.

"WE MADE IT!" Ginny was jumping around happily.

Mel was elated, she laughed loudly and let her friend do all the noise. She still couldn't believe she wasn't dreaming, she was part of the Quidditch team!

Officially, Ginny had the Seeker spot and Mel was beater along with Jack Sloper, but Ginny promised to take turns even if Mel had insisted on letting her take the spot completely.

"It's better this way," Ginny discussed. "If we practice in both, we'll be brilliant in more than one way!"

Mel was still flushed red and sweaty when she walked into the castle, she couldn't wait to find the twins and tell them the news...

"I'll go grab us something to eat on our the way to the D.A. meeting, keep going!" Ginny turned around and rushed to the Great Hall.

Mel kept walking, an easy-going smile on her face as she replayed the events of that morning, she felt herself floating, happier than she'd felt in weeks. Things were starting to get better, she was popular, and now she was part of the team, what else could she—

"Erick?" She watched as the boy appeared around the corner, his eyes glued to the parchment on his hands. "Erick, you won't guess what just happened!"

Forgetting all about discretion, Mel ran up to him ready to talk about the tryouts. Then, as she got closer, she noticed his face was strangely pale, and he was shaking.

"What's wrong?"

The boy looked up to her but his eyes were lacking their usual presence. His gaze was absent, when he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. Erick cleared his throat and tried again.

"I... I just got this," He said. "During lunch... I went to the owlery to send a letter to Joseph... though probably my parents sent a letter to my aunt as well..."

"What is it?" She insisted.

Erick blinked furiously, and it was then she realized he was trying not to cry.

"I... I have to..." He cleared his throat again and shook his head. "My grandad, he..."

"I'm sorry," She said, skimming through the contents of the letter in shock. "I don't know what to say..."

"Mel!" Ginny appeared again, holding two sandwiches. "There you are! C'mon, we need to hurry!"

Mel gave a start, but Ginny didn't seem to notice Erick as she ran up to her and caught her arm, dragging her away from the boy. Mel barely had time to return the letter before Ginny pulled harder.

"What are you doing? Hurry, the meeting starts in five minutes!"

Mel was going to protest and go back to the boy, she looked over her shoulder to call his name and realized he was gone, she didn't know how he'd managed to disappear so quickly. She let Ginny take her away, thinking that tomorrow she would hopefully have the right words to comfort him.

When they arrived at the room of requirement Mel had finished eating even though it all had tasted like cardboard. She was no longer excited for her new position as a beater, and she wanted nothing but to end the meeting so she could go and look for her friend. He needed her.

"Okay," Harry started. "I thought this evening we should just go over the things we've done so far because it's the last meeting before the holidays and there's no point starting anything new right before a three-week break. What d'you think, Mel?"

"Hmm?" She looked up, desperately trying to remember what the hell Harry'd been saying. "Yeah, that's fine..." She replied absently, Harry stared at her with a small frown.

"We're not doing anything new?" Zacharias Smith asked in annoyance. "If I'd known that, I wouldn't have come..."

"We're all really sorry Harry and Mel didn't tell you, then," said Fred.

"We can practice in pairs," Harry continued, realizing Mel wasn't going to be helpful that night. "We'll start with the Impediment Jinx, just for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again."

While the group divided into pairs, Harry pulled her away from the crowd discretely.

"Mel," He repeated, his tone urgent. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," She blinked. "I just... I ran into Erick a few minutes ago..."

"Did he upset you?" Harry scowled. "What did he do?"

"Nothing," She grabbed his hand and pulled it away from her. "He got a letter this morning... his Grandad... I just need a moment, I'll be fine."

"...You can leave if you want."

"They need me here."

"You need a break."

"Look who's talking," Mel said defensively. "Why do you care, anyway? You've been ignoring me for weeks, please continue."

Harry stepped back taken by her sudden outburst.

"Fine," He eyed her up, then added carefully, "...I heard you got a place on the team. That's excellent."

"Yeah," She said shortly. "I'm a Beater, like my mum."

"Angelina said you and Ginny were taking turns to be seekers. You'll be wonderful, I'm sure."

He was trying to be polite, he could see she was in distress and wanted to distract her, even if she was doing all in her power to upset him. Harry had to stop a groan from falling out of his lips, he had no idea of how to talk to her now, it was as if they no longer knew each other.

"You know," The boy continued over her silence, not knowing why he was trying so hard to cheer her up. "They've come a long way, haven't they? I think we're making a difference, even if it didn't look like it at first..."

Her eyes landed on Neville as he successfully managed to freeze Ron in place for a second time. She thought back on the little shy thing he used to be, and how confident he looked then. A small glimmer of optimism peeked through Mel's sense of hopelessness, and somehow, Harry felt it too.

"Yeah..." She smiled lightly. "I think you may be right..."

Next Chapter —>

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cavalika

[ ♫♫♫ ]

“Rinpa. Would you mind?”

Without any warning or fanfare-

the lights go out.

“Thank you.”

A chair creaks as its occupant rises. You know, naturally, who that voice was. And you know that, naturally, you don’t want to know what you’re going to see when the lights come back on. It’s tempting to snuff this charade out right here and now, fumble through the darkness, tackle them to the floor, cancel the inevitable conclusion-

(-maybe you feel vindicated. Maybe you feel hurt. Maybe you can’t even name the emotion you’re experiencing. Maybe, more than anything else, this feels familiar. An echo of a pattern repeated one, two, ten thousand times before. You know now that if you tried, if you just reached your hand out into the abyss, beyond the Beyond, you could touch time and space itself. Feel it corrode in your fingers. Because… it’s an echo, sure, but it isn’t a perfect reflection. Something’s wrong. Something’s so, so, wrong, and now you know why-)

-but you can’t bring yourself to move. Your body won’t budge an inch. The weight of the world, the weight of space, the weight of every timeline running parallel bears down on you. No vision, no movement, none of those luxuries are at your disposal in this agonizing moment. The only thing between you and a total absence of sense is sound. The sound of a lonely figure sighing, rising from their chair, moving towards the edge of the room. The sound of someone enunciating well-practiced words. The sound of...

“I’m not letting a cheap suit sewn by a robot dog upstage me, not when I spent so much time and money on getting these uniforms made. Did you know I had to cut up four of them for Ume’s custom fit? Four of them. And then she shredded it anyway!”

Seven footsteps in flat shoes towards a voting booth. A zipper being unzipped, followed by a jacket scrunching up into a ball. Silence. Further rustling. Then...

“Soooo, you’ve gotten it by now. Took you long enough, huh?”

One, two, three, four buttons get snapped up. The click of the fasteners echoes in the darkness. You wish you could say something, but you can’t. You don’t even know what you’d say.

“A failed attempt to put a present adult mind in a past teenage body condemns one sorry soul in Yoshioka’s Class of 20XX to a terrible fate. Erased from reality and thrown into an apocalyptic timeline, their only hope of returning to a normal life is the very game you’ve all just experienced. They steal a time machine from the person who did this to them in the first place and violently force their peers back to the past so that they can be remembered. Sound familiar?”

It does.

Now they’re seated on the floor, tugging new shoes on. Part of you wants to laugh. Really? Another dramatic costume change, here and now? You get a few moments to think about that before they’re done and they’re headed back to the table. The click of high heels on the boardroom floor only marginally surprises you.

They stop by Ume. Something is whispered in her ear. It’s hard to hear, but it sounds apologetic.

They stop by Akaji. Something else is whispered, but you can’t make this one out at all.

And then- a harsh laugh, barked out in the darkness.

“I’m sure it does. And maybe some of you remember this little moment happening to you, too. You got something to say about it? That’s fine, but hey. Let me cut you off for a moment. Rinpa, hit the lights again.”

“You cringe idiots didn’t even realise it was me until you had it spoonfed out? Seriously? You let the fuckin’ influencer run rings around you? What is this, amateur hour? Then again, I guess I can’t say shit. Thought seducing the chump who got selected to be the missing link this time would make things easier and it just blew up in my face. What a fuckin’ drag, right? What a- oh, what’s that line- pain in the ass? LMAO. Glad I won’t have to hear THAT tired turn of phrase in the future. Can you believe I spent like, what, two months pretending to like this boring asshole?” “Anyway. Suuucks that it has to end like this, don’t get me wrong, but gettin’ to see the stupid fuckin’ looks on your dripless mugs one last time’s a pretty good consolation prize. Cope, seethe, mald, whatever you gotta do to admit you got fucking clowned on by the world’s best actor, best scientist, best everything- CEO of the Tsaimeline Alteration Project, inventor of time travel, MEATCOPTER69, Lindsay Tsai.”

[honestsycrets]

The Whore and the Roach || [Geralt x Reader]

❛ pairing | geralt x fem prostitute!reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | ❝ she doesn’t want to be a prostitute. she just doesn’t know how to get out. he can help.  ❞

❛  warnings | whorehouse, prostitute, minor violence, geralt being a big good bully, protective!geralt

❛  sy’s notes | this is my first shot. it’s SFW. just a little sweetie shot mostly. gif by thewitcherdaily.

A soft wooden brush shifts over the study back of the muddy horse. He chomps on his supper of concentrate and hay to the swift rack of a brush over his back. His tail flicks periodically as he eats, suggesting that perhaps he has relaxed some over his long stay with you while his owner made a visit to Temeria. Your hand shifts over his long tail-- and you replace the soft brush in favour of a wide-toothed comb.

“Much better,” you say, standing off to the side of the horse. With one hand holding the top of the section, the other combs through his tail. The horse kicks out, and you’re suddenly a lot more happy that you were to the side of him rather than directly behind. “Keep still. You haven’t been combed in a while! Tell the Witcher he’s slacking. Better yet, I’ll tell him.”

The Witcher in question slips into the warm cozy stable. His large hulking body walks past you to settle his large hand on top of the chocolate strands of his horse’s mane. You glance to him, perking a small smile.

“You could at least brush him. It’s not enough that he has a foul-smelling Witcher on his back.”

“The pimp,” he states his question. You recognize the White Wolf for having come in some time ago. He spent three nights with someone else.

“Off with Mildritha for the night,” you gesture back. A long hmm slips from his lips. His large fingers weave through the horse’s mane, running his hand upon the side of his horse’s face. Roach, or so he affectionately calls the poor thing, looks up.

“Give this to him.”

The Witcher holds out a cloth bag. One look upon it and you realize it’s the missing coin. If you took it, you knew exactly what would come of it. No way were you taking that. Not on your life-- if something happened to it, you would be the one settled with paying off the Witcher’s debt. From the looks of it, it would be substantial.

“I can’t take that,” you say, the word seeming to snap off of your tongue. The Witcher deadpans and closes his glove around the bag of coin again. He prepares his things over Roach’s back and loin, unmoved by your words. It occurs that this man is perfunctory in every sort of the word. Once settled, he walks toward the door of the stable.

“Wait. Witcher!”

He stops, not bothering to turn. He’s listening, at least.

“Stay until morning. You could stay with me.”

He takes a step forward, clearly denying your request.

“You don’t know what it is like when he is angry. He’ll make me work again!” You say, like an absolute idiot. Living in a whorehouse wasn’t known for being a life of luxury, despite what the slinky red gown would tell others.

“So leave,” he rumbles.

You’re momentarily stunned. “It’s not that easy.”

Most women found it empowering: taking men for the coin they had. Maybe you would too, if there was no pimp to dictate how often you worked. So when your cunt was chafing and aching, you wouldn’t feel your teeth gritting like two hunks of rock sanding a sword. The best thing you could do that night was look exhausted and hoped men looked over you.

“Well. I mean. Some of us can’t choose our destinies,” you gesture humorously toward him. “Some of us are well renown Witchers. Some of us are whores in a house with an angry father. This is my life. I could never leave.”

He stops. Then turns to face you. In a way, meeting his brilliant amber eyes is something that gives you pause. Your eyes shift and falter, falling to the ground again. He lifts you under your arms and settles you up on the horse.

“What are you doing?”

“Keep her steady, Roach.”

It’s now, here, or never. Geralt walks out-- over to the whorehouse, forgetting everything you’ve said in the past. There’s a loud hey! from the inside. “What is he doing?” you whisper out loud-- then sit upright. The scuffle only becomes louder when your plump older father is corralled out with the Witcher lackadaisically, as if this whole ordeal is nothing to be really concerned about. You glance toward him, dressed in his unbuttoned dusty slacks and nothing else.

“Get off,” he motions, glancing over his shoulder. “Hurry the fuck up!”

Between his words and Geralt’s piercing gaze, you know which one of the two you’re paying attention to. Geralt seizes the reins and walks slowly toward the exit of town. There’s something to be said for the pimp’s stubbornness. “You can’t just-- you didn’t pay for her! Hey! Did you hear me, you dirty fucker!”

Then, he makes the wrong choice when he grasps at the other side of Roach’s reins. His chocolaty head jerks, clonking the old man in the face. Geralt stops with the loud splash of his head hitting a deep puddle, just enough to explain himself… somewhat.

“You have your coin.”

From there, there is no response. The town shrinks as Geralt walks on. Every wooden tavern, home, and whorehouse snuffs out their lights. Out of your age old home, there’s a moment. Just a small, lingering moment of uncertainty. You put out those thoughts with the fear and turn back around to the Witcher.

“You paid him for me?” you ask.

Geralt glances toward you. “Yes,” he states. Then, nothing. He’s not much of a talker, and maybe it’s your fault for being a prostitute. Most men only came to prostitutes for one of two reasons. Something told you-- Geralt had his fill of company a few nights ago.

“Then you’ve bought me. Why did you buy me?”

Nothing more than a dull hmm, a noise that indicates he’s at least heard you. Gone from one man to another, your eyes settle over Roach’s mane. Another thought hits you. The wind whistles through the trees on an otherwise quiet night.

“Where are we going?”

“A forest.”

“You’re dangerously talkative, you know. Seems to work out for you.” You glance over. Geralt glances at you at long last. He mounts Roach-- his strong muscles shifting around you to grasp Roach’s reins. His body affords the safety that you’ve gone without for so long, but you don’t want to give into safety. All safety was short lived.

“And what’s in this forest, anyway? Treasure? Another creature?”

“Women,” he answers. “The forest is full of them.”

Maybe he was a Witcher with a one-track mind. You think he has to be to be constantly on the move hopping place. The creaks of the forest aren’t every man’s friend. Unless you were something like him-- something that everyone despised. The bright lights of the town become dimmer and dimmer until they are specks in the dark forest surrounding you.

“That’s not it,” he rumbles.

Woop! There goes that.

“The women there will take you in,” he reasons. “You can’t come with me.”

A gamut of emotions ran through your face-- unsure which was worse or better. Living in the forest with no one you knew? Not even Roach? Though, if you had to guess, being used until your body was dry of the ability to have children was not the best life. You wonder, would the pimp have killed you after that point?

“That’s not exactly a great investment of your coin,” you say. “Buy a whore for nothing?”

“Losses and profits. Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Y-- well, no. It’s not my fault if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He’s unreadable. Partially because when he hovers behind you, with his warm and brawny chest behind your back, you can’t see his face. Maybe it was better that way-- being unable to see his deadpan expression, because some times, it’s like looking into the mirror.

“He was my stepfather,” you say. “Been with mother since I was a babe. I thought he cared, y’know, like a father?”

“Seems not,” he clips short. “Caring fathers don’t whore their daughters out for coin.”

No point arguing there.

“For someone that doesn’t have much company, you sure are a know it all.” You grumble, glaring off to the side. Your hand strokes over his mane, not really knowing if its at all for him, or soothing for you. Probably you. Roach doesn’t seem to give a shit one way or another. You carry on like that, making small quips he doesn’t pay attention to until he stops abruptly.

“What?”

“Stopping for the night,” The Witcher grumbles, pulling you off of Roach. He sets you down on crunchy leaves. You glance around, looking toward the tall arching trees, and you follow them to kiss the dark peppered sky. You had never slept outside before. Somehow it was more freeing than sleeping inside.

He’s quick to set up a makeshift camp. Nothing takes too long with the Witcher-- and you suppose that’s out of demand of a man who must run and rush wherever he goes. You stretch out by the crackling fire he’s arranged, glancing over tentatively when he crumpled beside it. It’s cool. Much cooler than you thought it would be. You run your fingers together, pulling your cloak around yourself for added warmth.

“Come over,” he rumbles.

“Come over?” you repeat as if your brain is as empty as the wind that carried through the leaves and chilled your skin.

“You won’t shut up,” he acknowledges from the ground, turning over to pierce you through with his amber eyes. “You’re cold. I don’t want to hear it all night. Come here.”

You lift, trudging his way to sit beside him. It’s not particularly warmer here, if only a little, but just as you gave it that thought, the Witcher dragged you down beside him. The ground is unforgiving. Harder than your back is used to. Maybe, in time, it would become accustomed to a rougher lifestyle. If it meant not being forced another another man, it was worth it.

“There,” he mutters, allowing you to rut close. His chest heaves slow, very low. You listen to the slow beat, his body serving as a shield from the small wind that carries through the forest. Your eyelids become heavy, unusually comfortable with a man. The Witcher-- even. “Now go to sleep.”

@kingniazx​

[ranma-rewatch]

Episode 27: P-Chan Explodes! The Icy Fountain of Love!

I’m...kind of sad to be here. We’re at the end of the Martial Arts Figure Skating arc. But all good things must come to an end, and I remember absolutely loving where this one goes. Will that till be the case? I have no clue, so next paragraph you can join me after I’ve rewatched the episode!

Okay so...that was still good. Definitely good. But...we’ll get into it later.

The episode once again picks off where the last left off, with Ranma making an epic declaration of his official relationship status with Akane and how he won’t let Mikado touch her. This tends Akane into a bit of a tizzy, but Mikado and Azusa laugh. It’s revealed that they’re known as more than just the Golden Pair, an unbeatable skating duo. They also have a reputation for splitting up the couples they fight.

They quickly set up their finisher which is made to do just that: the Goodbye Whirl (called the Break-Up Merry-Go-Round in the sub). It’s an absolutely ridiculous move that I love to death: it involves getting one of their opponents to grab the other, and then Azusa grabs one. Mikado lifts her and both opponents all into the area and twirl around as quickly as it can. The move always ends when one of the people in the relationship betrays the other, ending them flying in a bid to save themselves.

But that isn’t how it works this time around. While Akane is begging Ranma to let go of her, so he can be okay, Ranma refuses, making it clear he’s not going to let go. They hold on so long that Azusa gets busy and breaks contact, sending Ranma and Akane flying.

It looks like Akane’s going to be crashing into the rink wall, but Ranma maneuvers to take the damage instead. Akane cries over his seemingly unconscious form, calling him an idiot, when Ranma opens his eyes. It seems like he’s just fine, but just standing up causes him enough pain to make him start crying.

While all of that was going on, Ryoga managed to escape from his bondage and tries to pull off a cunning plan: dousing Ranma with water before jumping in and taking over as Akane’s partner. It only has one hiccup: he grab the wrong “girl”, and ends up throwing Akane out of the ring while taking Ranma in his cursed form as his partner.

The crowd isn’t happy with this change, even if Mikado is all too happy to fight this version of Ranma. They’re not upset about the substitution though, just that their costumes aren’t up to snuff. Luckily, there’s a whole fashion department waiting in the wings, who sweep in and fit the two for new outfits.

That done, it becomes apparent that Ryoga still doesn’t know how to skate, and so he and Ranma are easily taken into the Goodbye Whirl, and no matter what Ranma/Ryoga shippers tell you they don’t have the same bond that Ranma does with Akane. In no time at all, Ryoga socks Ranma in the face to betray him, and we get to see how the move is supposed to work: Azusa ensures the betrayer is smashed into the ice face-first, while Mikado picks up the “damsel in distress” to romance on the rebound.

Of course, this doesn’t really work well with Ranma, but even worse is that Azusa sees the collar on Ryoga’s neck and realizes that he must be Charlotte. This makes Ranma laugh, but sends Ryoga into terror. After all, Akane’s not far away, and he doesn't want her to know he’s actually her pet pig.

When Mikado tries to actually get back into the fight, Azusa smashes him with a mallet, since she doesn’t want Ryoga hurt now that she knows he’s Charlotte. (What a sentence.) The blow is so powerful that it shatters the ice rink, and sends Mikado out of the match on a stretcher. That means Ranma and Ryoga won...except now Ryoga wants to fight Ranma.

As the ice rink goes truly haywire, with water shooting out as geysers and freezing mid-air, they take the fight outside, ultimately going to a nearby pool. Akane follows, trying to get them to stop and demanding to know why they feel the need to keep fighting each other whenever they can. Akane falls into the pool, and when the fighters realize that she can’t swim, they dive down together to save her...with Ryoga realizing mid-jump that the water will activate his curse.

Akane wakes up later, recovering from nearly drowning, to hear that P-Chan helped pull her out of the water. Oh, and Genma in his panda form was adopted by Azusa as another cute animal named “Oscar” and he actually blushes at being called cute. End of storyline.

Let me try a compliment sandwich with this one. To start with, I just adore the chaos of this episode. Like I said before, the Goodbye Whirl is the kind of awesome, silly wonderfulness I come to Ranma 1/2 for in the first place. I love that we get to see it fail against Ranma and Akane, then succeed with him and Ryoga. The fact the fight quickly dissolves from there into utter nonsense, with the rink exploding and the fight going outdoors, it just feels fun and satisfying.

Speaking of satisfying, the fighting in this and the previous episode is all really well done. This is definitely a romantic comedy series, first and foremost, but I love how when they take the time for a martial arts match it can still feel kinetic and fluid and visually stimulating. The ice skating makes it all the more interesting, and just watching something as simple as Mikado circling the rink after being thrown aside is enjoyable.

It’s also a really funny episode. The conflicts between Ranma and Akane, Ranma and Ryoga, Ranma and Mikado, Mikado and Azusa, they all mix and spin and stir into a beautiful concoction, with both barbs and slapstick aplenty to amuse.

Now...into the less fun bits. To start with, as much as I enjoy the Ranma/Akane content in this episode, which yes I’ll talk a bit more about that later, there’s also a bit too much here in terms of jealousy and possessiveness, especially on Ranma’s part. I know it’s kind of a recurring part of the series, but I really dislike jealousy being framed as romantic, because it’s honestly not a healthy emotion and not a sign of a good relationship.

This next complaint is less solid, but it affects my feelings of the episode anyway. I...seem to have massively mis-remembered this episode? For some reason, I have very vivid memories that, once it becomes more Ranma vs Ryoga and the Golden Pair are out of the picture, that they fought on the broken rink.

Like, I can picture them struggling to stay on top of icy platform, with Ryoga especially trying to avoid falling into the water, and Akane interfering and like...what is going on there? Is that from another episode, and I mixed it up with this storyline? Or did my brain just make that up wholesale in the decade since I last saw this show?

Either way, it kind of sucks because...that felt more epic than what did happen? It’s strange to hold it against the show for failing to match the fake memories I made, but I dunno what to tell you, I can’t help being at least a little sad about this.

Okay, done with that stuff, back to what I like. Yes, there’s some tasty content here for my Ranma/Akane loving heart, and I ate it up. It was also nice seeing Ranma actually take damage from someone else’s move. He tends to be so much better than a lot of his opponents that they never really stand a chance of hurting him, but the Goodbye Whirl really came close to downing him.

Before we leave this storyline behind, it’s time to give a little Character Spotlight to the other half of the Golden Pair, Azusa Shiratori! Her Japanese voice actress is Naoko Matsui, and...the only other role I really recognize on her page is Monet from One Piece, but she’s been in a lot of stuff. In English, she’s played by Cathy Weseluck, who is also Shampoo. So check out Shampoo’s spotlight to see what other roles she’s done.

They both play Azusa pretty similarly, high-pitched and cutesy, but I think Cathy might actually play it up a little too much? But maybe that’s just because it’s the language of the two that I actually speak.

I was never a huge fan of Azusa to start with, just because she’s a bit...much. The combination of her high-pitched voice, third-person speak, repetitious dialogue, and extreme cutesiness is all just a lot. It’s just the type of thing that would grate on my nerves in too high doses, and the series tends to use a lot of Azusa when she does appear.

But, so far at least, I’m liking her more on this watchthrough. I still find her whole “naming things French people names and taking them” thing not especially funny, but I love the way she clashes with Mikado. They fight together wonderfully, but she has no problems kicking his ass or making him look like an idiot when she wants to. They’re a great double act.

Which is why it’s kind of odd that, while Mikado only has a few small appearances after this episode, Azusa will be getting more than that. They’re anime-only, but it seems she was popular, with fans, writers, or both, enough to get more screentime. I do wish she’d gotten a single-person move the way Mikado did, but that’s just one more complaint on how the show treats women to put on the stack.

So, this episode sadly didn’t quite live up to my memories of it. That said, it was still a fun mix of fighting and humor, so it’s definitely going to be in my top ten. But where exactly...hmm... I think it comes close to getting into the Top 5, but isn’t quite good enough to beat Shampoo’s introductory episode, sitting right below it and above the episode all about Akane’s haircut. That puts our current ranking at:

Episode 26: Close Call! The Dance of Death... On Ice!

Episode 7: Enter Ryoga, the Eternal ‘Lost Boy’  

Episode 25: The Abduction of P-Chan

Episode 12: A Woman's Love is War! The Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 15: Enter Shampoo, the Gung-Ho Girl! I Put My Life in Your Hands

Episode 27: P-Chan Explodes! The Icy Fountain of Love!

Episode 9: True Confessions! A Girl's Hair is Her Life!

Episode 2: School is No Place for Horsing Around

Episode 19: Clash of the Delivery Girls! The Martial Arts Takeout Race

Episode 6: Akane's Lost Love... These Things Happen, You Know

Episode 13: A Tear in a Girl-Delinquent's Eye? The End of the Martial Arts Rhythmic Gymnastics Challenge!

Episode 23: Enter Mousse! The Fist of the White Swan

Episode 17: I Love You, Ranma! Please Don’t Say Goodbye

Episode 20: You Really Do Hate Cats!

Episode 16: Shampoo's Revenge! The Shiatsu Technique That Steals Heart and Soul

Episode 8: School is a Battlefield! Ranma vs. Ryoga

Episode 11: Ranma Meets Love Head-On! Enter the Delinquent Juvenile Gymnast!

Episode 4: Ranma and...Ranma? If It’s Not One Thing, It’s Another

Episode 5: Love Me to the Bone! The Compound Fracture of Akane's Heart

Episode 1: Here’s Ranma

Episode 22: Behold! The 'Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire' Technique

Episode 3: A Sudden Storm of Love

Episode 21: This Ol' Gal's the Leader of the Amazon Tribe!

Episode 10: P-P-P-Chan! He's Good For Nothin'

Episode 14: Pelvic Fortune-Telling? Ranma is the No. One Bride in Japan

Episode 18: I Am a Man! Ranma's Going Back to China!?

Episode 24: Cool Runnings! The Race of the Snowmen

As much as I’m sad to see this storyline end, we’ve got another one of my favorites coming up! It’s training time, so next week we’re getting some more Ranma vs Ryoga action with "Ranma Trains on Mt. Terror". See you then!