#just repeating a set of tags i wrote a while ago

[lovelyhan]

— again and again ⟢

pairing: mingyu x reader

summary: your mother calls one day, asking if you’re bringing mingyu along for chuseok this year. in your panic, you end up giving her an affirmative—never mind the fact that you and mingyu have stopped seeing each other over half a year ago.

word count: 15.7k words

tags: exes, fake dating, mutual pining, idol!gyu, vet!reader, mild angst, fluff, smut

warnings: medical jargon, mentions of shots (for pets), mentions of snake bites, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: i wrote this with bss' 7pm on loop for two straight days. nothing like the sweet taste of yearning <3 this also wasn't extensively proofread, so if you spot a few mistakes, i implore you to ignore them EJWHJHSDF

this is part of the doting on you! series.

smut tags: vanilla, mingyu is super whipped, praise kink, service top gyu, dirty talk, nicknames (babygirl, sweetheart, sweet thing), overstimulation, multiple rounds, unprotected sex, creampie, heads up that the filth is at the very end tho

taglist: @cherrycheolie1995 - @ashkuuuu - @potatofrieswithketchup - @christinewithluv - @fancypoisonapple - @odetoyeonjun - @minnie-mouser22 - @etherealyoungk - @davoraciousreader - @mariondior - @hella-sirius - @coveyland - @marlow234 - @dobomiyeon - @belysusonrisa - @wonderfulshinee - @misssugarlips - @yourfavoritefreakyhan - @jeanjacketjesus - @just-here-to-read-01 - @hanihans - @venusrae - @taestrwbrry - @seoksoop - @dreamhannies - @renjunphile - @thvhannie - @kkooongie - @acgyu - @gae-uls - @pluviophile-xxx - @lenireads - @gaebestie - @ryusha-rose - @yutadae - @smileyjimvn

additional notes: you might want to check your visibility settings if you can't be tagged!

When you hear the telltale ring as the call connects to its intended recipient, you wonder why you even considered this idea in the first place. Not to mention, you’re getting a nasty case of phone call anxiety—one that you haven’t felt in god knows how long. Maybe it’s because of the identity of the person you’re calling that your nerves are all over the place. 

In fact, you’re not sure if he’s even going to answer. There are a million and a half reasons why famous superstar Kim Mingyu won’t be able to pick up your call. He could be shooting for a music video or some fashion magazine. He could be in the middle of an interview. Or he could be out spending time with his members like tends to these days if his recent Instagram posts are anything to go by. 

But you try anyway because your mother sounded so hopeful in the phone call you just hung up on five minutes ago (The rice wine he got for us last Christmas was splendid! He’ll bring some again for Chuseok, won’t he?), that you just didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.

So, because you can’t take back the pretty white lies you uttered (Uh, of course he will. Gyu told me he missed everyone back at home, too. Especially Namja), you’re attempting to rope Mingyu into the charade even if the odds are against you.

The first call doesn’t go through. Neither does the second. 

By your third try, you’re about to accept the fact that you’re going to have to make some due corrections to what you told your mother until you hear a groggy, “Hello?” on the other line. 

You nearly fall off your seat at the throaty sound of Mingyu’s voice, but you’d rather not get weird looks from your receptionist, so you breathe in as deeply (and quietly) as you can before mustering a smile that he won’t even be able to see.

“Hey, Mingyu, it’s me,” you begin, a bit proud of how your voice didn’t even falter. “It’s been a while. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

He doesn’t respond for a while, and the prolonged silence makes you bite the inside of your cheek. Did the call fall through? Did he not hear what you said? But just when you’re about to repeat the words—

“Kind of,” Mingyu grumbles, and you try not to think about how sexy his morning voice sounds despite it being two in the afternoon. “We finished taping a variety show today and I figured I’d get some sleep. It’s midnight right now.”

Well that’s news to you.

“Oh. You’re not in Korea?”

“Nah. We’re in New York for some brand collaborations,” he says, and you hear some rustling in the background, followed by a yawn. “Though I doubt you’ve been keeping tabs on us.” 

Okay, he doesn’t have to call you out like that.

Sure, you still catch posts from Mingyu, as well as the other twelve members of SEVENTEEN from time to time, but…after breaking up with him (on good terms, promise!), you thought it’s best if you didn’t see too much of them anymore. The block and mute buttons are your best friends, and while you didn’t use them on the members directly, gossip outlets were your regular targets.

So to speak, it’s been a peaceful six months since your break up with Mingyu. 

Until now.

“Do you need something?” he asks, and you realize you didn’t respond to what he said last. “Whatever it is, I might not be able to help you out right away. We’re holed up here until next month.”

Well…that’s all the confirmation you needed.

“I see,” you sigh, trying not to sound too disappointed. “It’s— It’s okay.”

“So you do need something,” Mingyu points out, voice much clearer now than it was two minutes ago. Like he was more awake. “What is it?”

“Nothing you should worry about, Gyu,” you reassure before making a face, not realizing how easily the old nickname just slipped out. “I’m sorry for waking you up. You should go back to—”

The sound of him whining at the other end sends another rush of vertigo through your entire being. “Come on, I’m awake anyways right? You know how hard it is for me to fall asleep again.”

“If I’d known we weren’t in the same continent, I wouldn’t have called altogether,” you say before quaintly adding, “Shit. This counts as an international call, doesn’t it?”

There’s someone else in the room with him, you think—a quiet drawl of Mingyu-hyung, what time is it? You immediately recognize it as Seungkwan. 

“Five minutes past midnight,” Mingyu says, and Seungkwan asks another question that you aren’t able to catch. “Who am I talking to? Bookkeu and Bobpul’s worst enemy.”

“Hey!” You scowl at him. “They never even whined when you and Seungkwan brought them to me for their shots!”

“Noona? Why are you calling this guy?” Seungkwan says a bit more loudly for you to hear. “Didn’t you dump him already? Good choice, by the way.” 

This time it’s Mingyu’s turn to utter out a semi-offended, “Hey! Mind your own business, Seungkwan-ah.”

A few minutes of bickering with his dongsaeng later, you figure that Mingyu must’ve gone outside of their hotel room for some privacy. You can vaguely hear the sound of the wind blowing on his end before he heaves a deep sigh.

“Sorry about that.” He coughs awkwardly. “Anyway, if you’re not going to tell me about what you needed help with, how are you? Is the clinic doing well? Did your receptionist finally ditch her shitty boyfriend? Does that one guy with a husky still hit on you?”

You’re a little overwhelmed by the sudden influx of questions. Last you checked, you haven’t spoken to Mingyu since you greeted him on his birthday over a quick text message. But then again, your ex does have a talent for completely ignoring the time that exists in between interactions. Mingyu’s always been amicable for conversation, idol or not, boyfriend or not. 

The mere thought that he hasn’t changed at all makes your heart ache in more ways than one.

You manage a quiet laugh. “I’m fine. The clinic’s fine. Chae has a new boyfriend now. He even helps us sort out new products on the shelves sometimes.”

At the mention of her name, your receptionist whips her head in your direction, one brow raised. You shake your head with a smile, gesturing that this is nothing she should even be remotely concerned about. 

It’s just Mingyu after all.

“Okay, how about the guy who—”

“I turned him down when he asked me out for lunch last week.”

He whistles. “Ouch. And he’s been trying to get with you all this time.”

“I don’t usually date my clients, you know.”

“Yeah? I must be special then.”

Then comes the silence—so thick, you can cut through it with a knife. 

“Uh, so I have a patient coming in an hour for a castration procedure,” you tell him a bit awkwardly. “Gotta prepare everything before the owner arrives.”

Mingyu sighs, and you can almost imagine him pouting. “You’re really not gonna tell me? I can still help you with whatever you need even when I’m out here. Unless it requires me to, you know, physically be there.”

You chuckle. “That’s the thing, Gyu. You can’t help me because I need you to actually be here.”

“Oh. Why? What for?”

You inhale sharp breath through your nose, closing your eyes as your face warms with embarrassment. Chae is definitely looking at you funnily from her station now, but you tell yourself not to give it too much thought.

“Mom asked if I was bringing you with me for Chuseok,” you admit. “I haven’t been home since Christmas, so… They kind of have no idea that we aren’t together anymore.”

Mingyu falls silent for a while yet again, and you realize that your anxiousness spikes whenever he isn’t talking like there’s no tomorrow. You wonder if he’s figured out what you’re trying to insinuate and is silently berating you for the lapse in judgment. But when Mingyu bursts out laughing on the other end, you suddenly don't mind being on the receiving end of his silence after all.

“No way,” he gasps between chuckles. “You were going to ask me to pretend to be your boyfriend over the holidays, weren’t you?! One of the fans wrote a story about the exact same thing once, except it’s between me and Wonwoo-hyung. It was in English though, but Vernon translated it pretty well.”

…Kim Mingyu admitting to reading fanfiction about himself and Wonwoo aside, you groan. “What am I supposed to do? My family loves you. I’d rather not dampen the Chuseok spirit by saying their favorite son has unfortunately made his unannounced exit half a year ago.”

“So you’re willing to pretend we’re still together just to keep them happy?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not like you’re an ex I should be ashamed of, Gyu.”

“Because I’m an idol that millions are vying for?” 

You roll your eyes. “No. It’s because out of all my exes, you’re the only one that Namja actually likes. That’s pretty much the highest honor you can receive in your entire life.”

Your heart does a little flip when Mingyu barks out another light-hearted laugh. You tell yourself that you’re only reacting that way because…it has been a while since you talked to him. That, and Mingyu was always so smiley whenever you brought up your ten year-old retriever.

“Point taken,” he says. “I’d totally be down to help you out, but…yeah.”

“I knew you would be,” you reply, a sad smile ghosting your features. “That’s why I called.”

Silence settles over the line once again, but it’s, by no means, awkward. It’s more…sentimental. Like two old friends reminiscing about the good memories you shared. 

Huh. You’re friends with Mingyu…

“Anyway, thanks for catching up with me, Mingyu,” you tell him before you end up saying something you’re not supposed to. “I’ll get going now. Good night.”

“Hey—”

You end the call before he can have the chance to make you falter.

Right behind her desk, Chae looks up at you with a knowing look. You flash her a smile that silently pleads for her not to say a word, but your receptionist has always been on the frank side.

“Something’s telling me you’re still hung up on him, boss.”

Sighing, you push yourself back to your feet, tugging on the lapels of your crisp white coat. That might be true to some degree, but it’s not like you can do anything about it.

You and Mingyu live in two completely different worlds. It’s something that you both came to terms with when you broke up. You just had to accept the fact that there’s simply no efficient way to work around his busy schedules and the appointments you need to attend to at the clinic. 

It was the most unproblematic breakup you’ve ever had, and it’s with a famous idol. Who would’ve thought. 

“Anyway,” you tell Chae before nudging the door to the operating room open. “Care to help me look for the anesthetics? I can’t remember where I put them away last time…”

Your receptionist is most definitely judging you inside your head, but despite how straightforward she can be, Chae still knows when to drop it. After a few clicks on the clinic’s desktop computer, she joins you on the hunt for that pesky bottle of anesthesia without asking any intrusive questions.

You make a mental note to treat her to some coffee tomorrow.

…

One of the reasons you seldomly paid your hometown a visit is the hassle that comes with the entire commute.

First you have to endure the long queue to get tickets before sitting through an eight-hour train ride to the seaside town of Haenam. Then comes navigating the local bus routes and schedules that always seem to change every time you go home. 

When you made it out of the train station for this year’s Chuseok celebration, you didn’t even bother stressing yourself out with taking the bus back to your parents’ house—flagging down a taxi that definitely charged you a ridiculous rate in exchange for your utmost comfort instead. 

You try not to think about how easier it was last Christmas, when you and Mingyu took turns driving one of his company’s cars on the way here—laughing and singing along to their songs on the road like nothing else mattered.

The scent of salt hangs heavy in the breeze when you unload your baggage from the trunk of the taxi. You had the foresight to make the trip before midnight, so you’re rewarded with the sight of the sunrise breaking through the nearby ocean—light glittering across the horizon like it means to say welcome home. 

That’s what you should feel; like you’re at home. But the fact that you’re about to bring some disappointing news to the table regarding your breakup with Mingyu isn’t doing your peace of mind any favors. 

You contemplated coming clean about it to your parents over a phone call, but it seemed too…impersonal with how attached they’ve gotten to your ex-boyfriend. Having a significant other that your family absolutely adores seems like a double-edged sword now that you think about it.

Once the cab hits the road again, you stand in front of your family home with a wistful sigh. It’s barely past seven in the morning, but your father must already be at the pier—sorting out today’s catch with the other fishermen in town.

Your mother loves taking walks in the market even if she doesn’t have anything in particular to purchase for the day. They’re early risers by default. 

You can’t really say the same for your younger brother, Haneul, though. That one likes to sleep until noon. 

When you ring the doorbell outside, you expect to hear the sound of excited barking from the other side of the gate. Namja was always the first to welcome you back whenever you’re in town, and just thinking about reuniting with him quells your anxiousness a little. But surprisingly, you don’t hear the telltale noise of your family dog’s excitement. 

What you do hear is the sound of the screen door opening and slamming back shut—slippers being hastily slid on before the gate creaks open, revealing Haneul still sporting a bedhead as he rubs his eyes.

“You’re back,” he says a-matter-of-factly, like he isn’t even thrilled to see you, but you’re too surprised to see him up so early to quip about it. “Mom said you wouldn’t arrive until noon.”

“I wanted to make the most of my vacation leave,” you explain before looking around the garden inside. “Where’s Namja? Did Mom take him for a walk, too?”

Haneul hums before taking your luggage. “Hm. You can say that.”

“What does that even mean?”

As if on cue, your ears perk up at the sound of a familiar bark resounding from the end of the road. You quickly whip your head around to see your beloved golden retriever, Namja, wagging his tail excitedly at the sight of you before letting out another woof when you call out his name in glee.

However, the moment you realize who’s holding his leash, you suddenly feel like you got struck by lightning.

It’s Kim fucking Mingyu.

The sight of your ex-boyfriend just...standing there when he told you he was on the other side of the world sends a million thoughts surging through your head all at once.

You try not to think about how gorgeous he looks in the early morning light. Loose, long sleeved shirt that still emphasizes his muscular build despite. Hair having grown past his chin, curling slightly at the tips. And those stupid fucking canines that peek from his lips every time he grins. 

The bastard is just standing there with zero disguises, as if his existence in this place, at this point in time, doesn't throw a wrench in all of your plans.

What the hell is he even doing here?!

“Oh, sweetie, you’re back!”

The sound of your mother’s voice is, thankfully, enough to snap you out of your impending mental breakdown. You were so taken aback by Mingyu’s presence that you didn’t notice her standing next to him, carrying the bag she usually brings for her early market visits as she flashes you a warm smile. 

You can only stand there in shocked silence as your mother makes her way back to the house with your dog and ex-boyfriend in tow. Haneul was already inside, so you can’t exactly glare at him for not giving you a head’s up. But given that you still have no idea what on earth is going on, you’ll play along. For now.

“Are you surprised?” your mother giggles before patting Mingyu’s shoulder. “Mingyu here said he got off work for a while so he could celebrate with us!”

“Gee, I didn’t know about that,” you say dryly, unsure of what expression you should even wear. “I thought he was going to be in New York until next month.”

She laughs again. “Oh, he told me and your father to keep it a secret that he’s going back to Korea anyways. Seems like the surprise worked, didn’t it, Mingyu-ah?”

The culprit himself agrees with a minute nod before loosening his grip on Namja’s leash. 

Your goldie immediately bounds towards you at the first sign of freedom, bracing his paws on your stomach as he attempts to lick your neck. It’s enough to distract you from the current predicament at hand, making you sigh in defeat as you sink to your knees and receive Namja’s slobbery affection in its entirety. 

As you snuggle up to the family dog, Mingyu says, “What can I say? I missed Haenam a lot. The scenery, the family, Namja, but of course…”

You can only sit there in growing disbelief as Mingyu mirrors your movements. He crouches low enough so that your gazes are leveled before caressing your face with a tenderness that’s both familiar and foreign at the same time. 

“I missed her the most.”

This is all a charade—that’s what you can confirm from the limited clues he’s dropping for you to pick up on. You can try to figure out why he’s suddenly here in your hometown—having arrived earlier than you, from the looks of it—a little later.

What’s important is that Mingyu, ever-so helpful, is actually playing along with the act you not-so-jokingly told him about on the phone.

You should be glad. 

…But why do those words make your heart ache anyways?

“Of course you do,” you sigh before peeling yourself away from his touch, carrying Namja in your arms as if he doesn’t easily weigh thirty kilograms. “Come on. Let’s get back inside and help Mom prepare whatever she’s planning on cooking for lunch.”

Mingyu’s smile doesn’t falter despite your obvious dismissal of his affection. You remind yourself that he’s racked up a lot of acting gigs throughout his career, so it’s normal for him to be a natural at this. 

But even if you know that this is all an act, you can’t help the way your heart lurches when Mingyu scoops Namja out of your grasp—the mere brush of his skin on yours more electrifying than it should be.

Namja whines in your ex’s arms, pawing at his chest before licking a long stripe across his cheek. Mingyu bursts out laughing as he coos at him, and your chest burns with an indescribable feeling.

A few moments later, your mother starts gushing about how excited she is to have both of you in the kitchen with her again as she leads you back inside the house. But all that rings in your head is a broken mantra of Mingyu saying I missed her the most.

As if repeating the words enough times will make them come true.

...

It’s one thing to know that Mingyu is in Haenam when he’s supposed to be overseas.

It’s another thing to see his usual overnight bag at the foot of your unmade bed, making you realize that he definitely came here much earlier than you anticipated.

Mingyu is currently in the kitchen, helping your mother out with lunch prep while she insists that you get some sleep first. Though the trains that led to the southern provinces were designed to be more comfortable than the ones contained in Seoul, nothing defeats the comfort of your old childhood bed. 

Except when you’re made aware of the fact that your ex-boyfriend probably slept in it after making the trip all the way here. 

The sheets even smell like him. A hint of that expensive fragrance he never seems to get tired of laces your pillows, and warmth rushes to your face when you realize you’re breathing it in a bit too much. 

So what if Mingyu slept here, right? Your parents’ house doesn’t have a guest room, and this was probably the only room available.

Oh, and in your family’s eyes, Mingyu is still your boyfriend. There shouldn’t be anything weird about your boyfriend, who went out of his way to quote-unquote surprise you, sleeping in your room, on your bed, without your knowledge.

And there definitely isn’t an issue with having to sleep next to him on said bed come nightfall.

You totally got this.

An attempt to dissuade all these intrusive thoughts is made as you unload the contents of your luggage into your old cabinet. It works for a while because all the old clothes you still kept tickled some memories from way back in high school, when becoming a vet was nothing but a pipe dream you came up with after Namja became sick on the day of his first birthday. 

In fact, as you look around further, you’re reminded of just how much time has passed since you moved out. The paint on the walls is starting to chip, and the floorboards creakier than you remember. Even the bed that was too spacious for your liking seems to shrink when you imagine Mingyu sprawled all over it with a blanket thrown over his large form. 

But when you recall how you two somehow made the sleeping arrangement work last Christmas, you figure that there isn’t much to worry about.

Aside from the fact that you’re not together anymore. Fuck.

“Hey. Are you awake?”

You jolt at the sound of a soft voice coming from the door. Mingyu’s handsome face peeks from the crack before he opens it all the way, lips pressed together in a hesitant smile.

“Your mom asked if I could fetch your father at the pier in a few,” he says. “Do you want to come with me or do you want to get some sleep first?”

“Do I want to—” you cut yourself off, throwing your hands up in disbelief. “Mingyu, what I want is for you to explain what you’re doing here.”

He cranes his head. “You said you needed help.”

“Yeah, but I was going to be honest about the breakup anyway!” you whisper, not wanting to attract unwanted attention from outside. God knows this house has paper-thin walls. “But then you’re suddenly here, cozying up to my family like we haven’t been ignoring each other for months already.”

“Hey, I’d never ignore you.” Mingyu pouts. “I even picked up when you called me at ass o’clock in the morning, remember? If someone’s ignoring anyone here, it’s you, sweetheart.”

You hate how you bristle at that little pet name. Mingyu doesn’t seem to notice how you react to it, so you steel yourself instead—refusing to give into his unintentional charms. “That’s not the point and you know it, Mingyu. You can’t blame me for reacting this way when you told me that you wouldn’t be able to help me out.”

“But I’m here, right? I thought you’d be a little happier to see me, but I might have been overestimating myself.”

You are. You are happy to see him. 

But having to live with the knowledge that Mingyu is right here, close enough for you to touch, yet can’t because your relationship has long expired? 

You weren’t ready for that. You don’t think you’ll ever be.

“Look,” he starts with a tone that’s meant to placate you, “you were right about not wanting to ruin the holidays with the breakup. I’m just here to help you out since you’re obviously not ready to break the news to your family. It’s not a big deal.”

You scowl at him. “Mingyu, it is a big deal. You are literally an idol with a packed fucking schedule. You can’t just play house with me here when you’re expected to be somewhere else.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Listen to me first, okay? We were all given the weekend off because of Chuseok on short notice. You don’t have to worry about you unknowingly stealing me away from work because there is no work. Besides, I told you I’d still be here when you need me, right?”

How can he say all that with a straight face? Like he still thinks of you as anything but an old flame that’s long been snuffed out?

The problem with Mingyu is that he’s too earnest for his own good. Always wearing a spectrum of emotions on his sleeve. Always so honest about what he feels about certain things. It’s so fucking difficult to stand your ground against someone who’s nothing but forthcoming about every aspect of his life. 

But it’s not like you could ever resist him to begin with, right?

“Fine,” you grumble. “Give me a few minutes to prep. I don’t want to go out in the docks wearing this many layers anyways.”

You hate how your chest warms when Mingyu’s eyes light up at that. Fight back, maybe?!

He looks like he’s about to say something when an abrupt knock disturbs the quiet atmosphere of your room. From how annoyingly long it lasts, you single out your younger brother as the perpetrator.

“You better not be making your firstborn in there,” Haneul drawls from the other side. 

Mingyu flashes you a mischievous smile before cupping the sides of his hands over his mouth. “We might be making our second born for all you know.”

You won’t survive this weekend. You really won’t.

…

“Remember when we used to eat ice cream by the Han River?” 

You flash Mingyu a perplexed look as you climb out of the car he used to drive all the way to your hometown. It’s a mystery how his manager allows him to go places with their company car with no supervision, but it’s not like Mingyu has done anything in the past to warrant that kind of surveillance anyway.

Besides, if he’s spending the entirety of Chuseok with a bunch of bodyguards lingering around your house, you might actually force him to go back to Seoul altogether.

“Why’d you bring it up?” you ask. “I thought you didn’t like those kinds of dates ‘cause you had to amp up the disguises and everything.”

Mingyu pockets the keys to the car before leaning against the metal railings installed along the pier. Your father is yet to show up at your rendezvous point, so you figure it wouldn’t do anyone harm to entertain Mingyu’s attempt at small talk. 

“Hmm. While I did prefer just cuddling in the dorms and at your place, it always felt a little different whenever we went out together,” he muses, the wind tossing his hair around slightly before turning to look at you. “How about you? Do you have any favorite date of ours in particular?”

You sigh, unsure why he’s even asking you all of this. Yet you indulge him anyway with, “I don’t think it classifies as a ‘date’, but I kinda liked it whenever you hung out with me in the clinic while I tended to some patients. Even if your presence there is an occupational hazard in itself.”

He snickers to himself, and you know damn well he still remembers the flock of fangirls that ran into him in the waiting room when Mingyu paid you a visit out of boredom. Thankfully, they were the respectful kind, and promised not to divulge information about Mingyu’s whereabouts whenever they catch him at your clinic.

“The dogs are always happy to see me,” he chuckles. “The cats, not so much. Oh, but remember when someone brought in their pet snake? I think that one had a crush on me.”

You do, in fact, remember the day Mingyu got bitten by a boa constrictor named Yujin. Her owner is one of your regulars, since other vets in the city don’t have reptiles under their area of expertise. Yujin hasn’t bitten anyone since she first came for a checkup, so you figure that Mingyu must have done something pretty stupid to provoke the aggression. 

“You better be glad constrictor bites aren’t venomous,” you point out with an airy laugh. “Not even a true love’s kiss can cure a venomous snake bite.” 

“It can cure a handful of other things though.”

You turn to glance at Mingyu with a miffed look at his attempt at smooth-talk. He’s always been this way, so it doesn’t particularly faze you. But it still feels surreal to be talking with him right next to the open sea in your hometown as you both wait for your father to arrive.

“I never really got to ask,” you murmur, eyes still trained on a flock of seagulls huddling together near the docks. “How are you? You’re not burning yourself out again, are you?”

You don’t see it, but Mingyu smiles to himself. “It’s in our job description to push ourselves past the limit, you know. But…honestly? It’s been pretty lonely.”

You make a face at that. “Lonely? You’re literally with twelve other guys, like, eighty percent of the time. How does it ever get lonely?”

Mingyu hums before leaning further over the railing. He looks up at the clear blue sky, breathing deeply with his eyes closed, and for a moment, you’re a bit taken aback by how breathtaking he looks under the spill of morning sunlight. 

“You can still get lonely in the middle of all the noise,” he murmurs. “That’s why I was kind of glad I got to go back here for a while. I know I said I meant to help you out, but there might’ve been some selfish reasoning behind the choice, too.”

Your gaze softens at his words. Mingyu is one of the most intensely passionate members of their group, so it’s not hard to believe that he’s also one of those that ends up feeling this way. You remember having a similar conversation with him during a quiet night in your apartment, limbs tangled together under the sheets as he wonders if your lives would be different if he wasn’t an idol.

But of course, it’s your job to remind him that, even if it could become exhausting at times, he once dreamed of being where he is now. 

“They probably miss you already,” you say. “Don’t you guys usually film content for Chuseok?”

“Yeah, but all of that’s prerecorded. They’re all with their families right now, too.” 

“Really? What are you doing here then?” you tease.

Mingyu tilts his head to the side, lips curved into a lopsided smile that reminds you how it felt to catch feelings for him the first time.

“Who ever said you aren’t family?”

Unfair. He’s being so fucking unfair right now.

But you can’t even think about pushing him into the sea because your father has already made his entrance, waving at the two of you despite his hands being full of fishing paraphernalia. 

He sulks about how it took you so long to go back home, and you had to explain that things have been extra hectic at your clinic, especially when you inevitably earned the reputation of being ‘SEVENTEEN Mingyu and Seungkwan’s trusted veterinarian’ despite neither of them having dropped by since the breakup.

You don’t tell them that last part though. The last thing you need is for Mingyu to have something to gloat about.

“It’s a miracle how those nasty paparazzi folks from Dispatch haven’t caught on yet,” your dad says before climbing into the backseat of Mingyu’s company car. “Unless you’re already in cahoots with them? Remember, Kim Mingyu, leave my daughter out of any celebrity gossip! She’s already built a good name for herself.” 

A throaty laugh rumbles in Mingyu’s chest as he pulls out into the street. “You don’t have to worry about that, sir. Protecting her has always been my top priority.”

Your father nods, seemingly pleased with his response. “Damn straight.” 

You don’t express any outward reaction to what Mingyu just told your dad, but you don’t resist when he reaches for your hand over the center console. 

The moment you he squeezes your fingers, you squeeze back. 

…

The rest of the day is packed with preparing lunch and dinner options for your other relatives in town. Having Mingyu on board is an undeniable asset, since the man knows his way around the kitchen even better than you do. It’s a little endearing to think that, even if it’s the first time he’s meeting your aunts and uncles and cousins, his personality makes him fit right in. 

Turns out, one of your cousins’ daughters is a huge fan, and she couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw Kim Mingyu smoking fish in the backyard of your parents’ house. She made him promise to sign one of her photocards before they leave—a request that your ex is all too happy to oblige. 

By dinnertime, most of the guests have already left, and it’s just you, Mingyu, and Haneul sharing the rice wine Mingyu brought for the occasion, with your parents having already retired for the night. You didn’t even tell him that your Mom wanted another taste of it, yet he delivered anyway. 

“How are you guys doing it?” Haneul whines, a bit red in the face since he’s already had a few beers before your cousins all left. “When my ex-girlfriend moved to another city, it only took two weeks for us to break up. Long distance is the bane of everyone’s existence.”

“Everyone but ours,” Mingyu says before clinking his glass with yours. “You just have to communicate with each other constantly. If you’re honest about everything both of you are feeling, then it’ll be easier to work things out together.”

It’s so easy for him to say these kinds of things. As if your relationship didn’t go to ruin because of the long distance that always kept the two of you apart. You feel a bit bad for having Mingyu lie to your brother right in his face, but you tell yourself that you’re already here anyway. 

You’ll just have to fake it until you make it.

“But what if the other party doesn’t want to talk about it?” Haneul sighs, tracing the rim of his own glass with his finger. “I wanted to make it work. I really did. But she… She didn’t even want to try anymore. Lost faith in us so quickly, I could hardly believe she even loved me.”

You know Haneul is just drunkenly rambling about his grievances with his ex. He called you about it a few years ago, long before you even met Mingyu, and you consoled him by saying that his ex-girlfriend never deserved his love in the first place.

But even if you know the circumstances that led to your split with Mingyu are completely different, you can’t help but find similarities between the stories. 

You broke up with Mingyu on the first day of spring. When the snow was just beginning to thaw, and the wind started to bring in a warmer climate. They’d just gone back from tour, and you know you’re not the only one feeling the tightly-wound strings of your relationship beginning to fray at the seams. 

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but I don’t think we’re going to work, Gyu,” you murmured, not having the guts to meet his eyes. “I think it’s best if we just focused on our careers.”

You thought he’d throw a fit. Or at least ask you a bunch of questions. Did he do something wrong? Is he not enough? Yet Mingyu simply flashed you a sad smile before nodding right back at you.

“Okay,” he said with a kind of resignation that breaks your heart to hear. “Thank you for being with me all this time.”

In the present, Mingyu shifts beside you on the table—abruptly startling you out of that impromptu trip down memory lane. 

“Then, you’ll just have to take it in stride, Haneul-ah,” he murmurs before throwing back the rest of his drink. Mingyu manages a tight-lipped smile that pains you to look at. “If you really love her, you’ll respect whatever choice she’s come to make in the end. Even if that choice doesn’t involve you anymore. Even if it hurts to see her walk away after everything you’ve built together.”

When Mingyu turns to look at you, you feel like there’s cotton sticking to the roof of your mouth.

“It’s a good thing I never have to experience that with your sister, though. She loves me too much to let me go.”

Haneul huffs from across the table before rising to his feet. “You two are so in love it’s actually disgusting. You know what, let’s just go to sleep.”

Half an hour later, you find yourself standing in the middle of your bedroom as Mingyu gets ready to sleep. He seems to be talking to someone on the phone inside your bathroom, but you purposely decide not to listen in. It was probably his manager or one of the other boys checking in on him.

You don’t wait for him to finish when you climb under the sheets, leaving enough space for him to occupy on the mattress, should he decide to share it with you tonight. There’s also an extra blanket folded on his side of the bed, since Mingyu’s a notorious blanket hogger, and you’d rather not wrestle that six-foot hunk of muscle for warmth. 

Mingyu takes so long on that phone call of his that by the time he finishes, you’re already fast asleep, curled up while facing the wall so you wouldn’t have to face him. He chuckles, lingering just a few seconds longer by the doorframe of the bathroom. How long has it been since he’s last seen your face under the peaceful guise of slumber? 

It’s been too long, and he isn’t about to pass up on the opportunity to commit the sight into memory.

…

Sometime in the middle of the night, you’re rudely roused by the sudden drop in temperature.

It’s only the beginning of autumn, but you noticed that it’s a lot colder than usual. Even if you already have a cozy blanket draped right on top of you. You sigh, shifting on the bed to get more comfortable before realizing that you’re not exactly alone. 

Much like yourself, Mingyu is blinking out the drowsiness in his eyes as he turns to look at you with a question in his sleepy gaze. You shake your head in a wordless attempt to tell him not to worry. 

“You’ve been tossing and turning for thirty minutes now,” he says, and hearing his throaty voice in person doesn’t even compare to that phone call you shared a week ago. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “It’s cold, and it isn’t even winter yet.”

He looks at you for a while, as if thinking of what to say before he reaches out for you and tugs you into his arms. Even if you’re practically half-asleep, the sudden action kickstarts your brain into motion, and you struggle against his grip all while whispering, “What the hell are you doing?!”

“You told me back then I’m as good as a furnace on cold days,” he mumbles as he tucks you into his chest—making you hyper aware of every ridge of his toned chest through his shirt. “If it bothers you so much, just think of it as a favor from one friend to another. How’s that sound?”

Friend. You know that’s all that Mingyu is to you these days, and all you are to him, but even in this drowsy haze you’re in, the word still feels like an insult. A word meant to scorn the time you’ve spent as lovers. 

Just thinking about Mingyu as a friend leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, so instead of answering him, you cave and burrow yourself into his warmth—something that he seems pleased with, if the satisfied sound that rumbles in his chest is anything to go by. 

He holds you in his arms the same way he did last Christmas, but there’s an unfamiliar sense of possessiveness sinking uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. You know you shouldn’t think of what he’s doing as anything but a favor between friends. You’re perfectly aware that, as the person who officially ended things between the both of you, you have no right to yearn for something you already gave up on.

But when Mingyu tilts your head up so you can meet his sleepy eyes, you don’t even put up a fight when he presses his lips to yours.

It doesn’t seem like he planned on doing anything beyond that. In fact, you don’t think he meant to do it at all. Just a heat-of-the-moment decision that the two of you could just forget about come morning. 

However, the moment he starts to pull away, you force a hand across the back of his head, crushing your lips back together as you hook one of your thighs across his hips. Mingyu groans into the kiss, large hands migrating to your waist as he reciprocates your newfound hunger like you knew he would. His touch leaves trails of fire tingling across your skin, and every time his canines graze your bottom lip, you quietly moan into his mouth.

This is stupid. You’re both being incredibly stupid. The walls are anything but soundproof, and your parents are sleeping just across the hall.

Yet you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when Mingyu is making your body remember what it feels like to have him all over you like this.

You missed him. His heat. His touch. His kiss. Everything. You missed him so much that it hurts. You missed him so much that when Mingyu’s fingers start to glide along the exposed flesh of your thighs, you detach your lips from his before pushing him away.

You missed Kim Mingyu with the intensity of a dying star collapsing in on itself, of black holes tearing through reality, but this isn’t how you should go about it.

“Let’s…” you whisper, not quite trusting your voice to carry out your message. “Let’s just sleep.”

Mingyu doesn’t argue. He rarely does. But neither do you when he tugs you back in the caging embrace of his warmth. 

For the first time in weeks, you find yourself drifting off into undisturbed slumber.

…

The next morning, you’re set to go back to Seoul, and by some stroke of luck, so is Mingyu. Still, the two of you decide to stick around until lunch time—neither of you breathing a word about what just happened last night.

But while Mingyu starts to load both of your things into the trunk of his car, your mother asks you for a favor at the last minute.

“Can you bring Namja along with you back to the city?” she asks. “He’s been really listless before you and Mingyu arrived. Your father and I were starting to get worried, and figured you might have to do a check up first.”

You raise an eyebrow at her claim, not really noticing anything amiss about your retriever’s health, aside from the usual signs of age. He’s ten years old, turning eleven this year, so it isn’t such a mystery to see that Namja isn’t as hyperactive as he was as a puppy. But then again, your mother has spot-on intuition about all the strangest things, so you indulge her request in the end. 

Besides, having a pet of your own to keep you company doesn’t sound so bad.

Fortunately, Mingyu is more than hospitable when you ask if you could bring Namja along for the ride—promising that he’s car-trained, and won’t make a mess as long as you pull over from time to time. In fact, your ex seems more elated with the idea of your goldie joining the road trip than you are.

“I can come visit Namja in Seoul whenever I want now, right?” he asks with a soft laugh, and you wanted to reply with, Yeah, if you aren’t always so far away, that is, but choose not to. 

The two of you take shifts in driving as usual. Whoever isn’t behind the wheel is in charge of entertaining Namja in the backseat so he wouldn’t end up whining for attention the whole drive back. It’s a setup that you’re pretty okay with, since it minimizes any sort of window for you and Mingyu to have a conversation. God knows you’re not exactly ready to talk about…whatever happened last night. 

So instead, you ask him about a bunch of trivial things so he doesn’t get any ideas.

“You sure your manager is okay with you returning the car while it reeks of Namja?” you laugh before switching lanes on the freeway. “He might not take the news that he sheds very lightly.” 

Mingyu chuckles before scratching behind Namja’s ears. “I promised I’d have it cleaned before I returned it to the office building. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hm. Whatever you say.”

By your third stop-over, you decide to give Namja some food and water while Mingyu gets takeout for the both of you at a nearby fast food chain. You stretch out your limbs while your retriever happily laps from his water bowl, wondering how much longer it’s going to take before you reach Seoul. 

Before you have to part ways with Mingyu again.

You’re startled out of your train of thought when you see Mingyu practically sprinting back to the car, his sunglasses nearly falling off the bridge of his nose. Namja glances up at him quizzically, and you have to stifle a laugh.

“Yeah, a bunch of fans spotted me in line, so we might have to get food back in the city instead,” he explains hurriedly as he helps tidy up Namja’s food and water bowls. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

After his meal, Namja is sated and sleepy—content with resting his head on your thigh as you watch the streetlights blur past the windows. Mingyu is a much faster driver than you are, so he’s able to cut the travel time shorter than it would have been had it been you behind the wheel. But the lack of anything to do has you quietly staring at Mingyu from the backseat while his eyes are glued to the road.

You can’t help but let your gaze linger on his strong arms, and the fact that you were tucked safely between them the night prior. But that’s your first mistake because now, you’re thinking about those desperate kisses you shared in the privacy of your room. Touching each other like you both feared the other would disappear if you didn’t pull them close enough.

You shake your head. No. This isn’t how friends should think about each other. 

Whatever happened back in Haenam, you’re just going to have to leave it there.

It’s already past eight in the evening when Mingyu eases the car into your neighborhood, and you try not to think much of the fact that he still knows where you live. 

“Guess that concludes our weekend getaway,” Mingyu says the moment he finishes helping you carry your stuff back inside your apartment. “Though it seems that someone’s getting pretty cozy really quickly.”

Namja is already familiarizing himself with his new home, wandering around the living room all while sniffing everything in his path. You stifle a soft laugh.

“Yeah. I guess it is,” you murmur before managing a kind smile. “Thanks for having my back, Mingyu. It…means a lot. Really, it does.”

He laughs softly, eyes trailing around the living room with a curiosity that isn’t so different from Namja’s. “You have your first boyfriend with you now. I can rest easy knowing you’re in good company.”

Your face flushes at the thought that Mingyu still remembers the reasoning behind Namja’s namesake. Namjachingu. When he was still a puppy, you said Namja was your first boyfriend, and that you didn’t need anyone else. 

He lived up to his title for years, too—always acting hostile around past boyfriends that you did end up bringing to your parents’ house despite coming from a friendly breed. The only boyfriend that your first boyfriend seemed to approve of is the man standing right in front of you, just when you thought you would never see him again within the four corners of your house.

“You know,” Mingyu begins, hesitation crossing his face for a split second before he meets your eyes. “My family’s in Seoul for Chuseok, too. I told Minseo to bring Bobpul and Baptori, and you might want to schedule a little playdate between my kids and yours.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Where’s Aji?”

“Too old to travel around,” he chuckles. “But I’m sure the other two can keep Namja company just fine. Join us tomorrow for dinner. What do you say?” 

You hesitate. This should’ve been where you drew the line. Mingyu has already helped you out of your initial predicament. You really shouldn’t create any more problems for yourself by joining his family for a late Chuseok dinner. In fact…

“What, you haven’t told your family that we split either?” you ask, half-jokingly, half-seriously.

“No, they know.” Mingyu shakes his head. “But they’ve always liked you too, so I see no harm in getting everyone to hang out in one place.”

You shoot him a pointed look. “You know this is just going to make things more complicated, right?”

When he flashes you that toothy grin, you already know that this is a losing battle. 

“It does, but it’s still going to be fun,” he says. “So, are you coming?” 

Sometimes, you wish you never met Mingyu at all. Maybe your life wouldn’t be so fucking difficult.

“Fine.”

…

The next day, you bring Namja to the clinic, and Chae is more than happy to see the brand new addition to the workforce. But while she’s giving your goldie more pets than he probably deserves, you ask if you have any clients coming this morning that called in advance.

“Oh, there’s this one guy who’s bringing in a maltese today,” she says, laughing a little when Namja whines at the fact that her attention is divided. “I think his name was… Seungkwan? Something like that. He has some records from last year, but he hasn’t been back since.”

Seungkwan’s coming today? Huh. Talk about coincidence.

You tell Chae about how Seungkwan and Mingyu belong to the same group, and your receptionist is adept enough to catch on to what you’re trying to say. She’s all too quick to suggest plans on how to mitigate the fans from flocking the entrance to the clinic, like that one time when Mingyu was too lax in disguising himself from anyone who could recognize him. 

But when Seungkwan arrives at your door, you remember that he’s one of the members that doesn’t particularly like being crowded by people, even if they are his fans.

He’s dressed discreetly—dark shades, a beanie, and a black face mask—while carrying an adorable pet carrier that’s probably worth half your monthly salary. Seungkwan is so straight-to-the-point with carrying out his business with you, that it’s hard to believe you and him used to joke around like old friends a year ago. 

But for some reason, when Chae excuses herself to answer a phone call, the façade he puts up falls apart in seconds.

“Noona, you have no idea how much I missed you!” he wails before throwing his arms around you. “Other vets just don’t cut it for Bookkeu! They’re always either too mean or too lax with her. You handled her just right today. Can’t believe Mingyu-hyung always calls you her worst enemy.”

You chuckle before patting his back, and Seungkwan pulls away with a pout on his face. “Hey, you guys are the ones who ghosted me after Mingyu and I broke up. You’re always welcome to come back to have your pets checked—non-showbiz girlfriend or not.” 

“That hyung of mine is stupid,” Seungkwan scoffs as he scoops Bookkeu into his arms. “Well, you’re kind of the same way, but I can’t exactly call you stupid or you might take it out on Bookkeu—”

“I would do no such thing, Seungkwan-ah,” you complain. 

“Okay, it’s just my personal opinion that maybe you two didn’t have to split up at all,” he huffs. “Mingyu-hyung has become more and more listless since you broke up with him. He might look like his usual self on camera, but when we’re not recording anything? He’s always so lost in thought! It gets on Coups-hyung’s nerves sometimes.”

Listless, huh… 

Your mother said the exact same thing about Namja. Speaking of, your gaze drifts over to your goldie who’s staring outside the door to your clinic, like he’s waiting for Chae to come back and shower him with attention again. 

Is Seungkwan insinuating that he and Mingyu aren’t so different?

“Maybe he’s just going through a blue period,” you suggest before writing up a prescription for the vitamins that Bookkeu will have to take for the next two weeks. “It’s been so long since we broke up. I doubt he’s acting that way because of me.”

Seungkwan breathes in deeply, like he’s just barely able to contain the urge to slap some sense into you. “Noona, listen to me. Kim Mingyu is catastrophically in love with you. When you called that night when we were sharing a hotel room in New York, it was the first time I saw him look so genuinely happy for reasons that aren’t related to our music. But that hyung of mine is too selfless for his own good.”

You startle a bit when he suddenly lifts Bookkeu closer to you and points her adorable face in your line of sight. 

“He wants you back, but he’ll never admit it, especially when you made your choice clear all those months ago,” Seungkwan says before pushing his maltese even closer to you. “But now, something tells me that you’re still hung up on him, just as much as he’s hung up on you—if all the things he told me about your trip to Haenam are true, that is.”

Huh. That time he took so long in the bathroom… He must’ve been talking to Seungkwan.

“Okay, but why does it feel like you’re using Bookkeu to threaten me into doing something?” You laugh softly. “Seungkwan, our time is up. And it’s not something we can just take back whenever we feel like it.”

“Wh—! Don’t you think things are only that way because both of you are making it more complicated than it should be?” He sighs, exasperated. “Also, yes I am using Bookkeu to threaten you. Promise that you’ll at least talk to Mingyu-hyung about this? We can’t stand seeing him so out of it anymore. Come on, you can’t resist those cute puppy eyes, right?”

You sigh, half-considering pointing out that Bookkeu is, by no means, a puppy anymore, but then again, you still call Namja that despite being more than a decade old.

“Alright, alright,” you relent. “I’m meeting his family tonight for dinner anyways. Might as well clear the air.”

Seungkwan gasps, a comical expression rooting itself on his face. “See! You’re having dinner with his family, too?! If you’re not back together by the time we fly back to the U.S., I'm never talking to either of you ever again.”

Now, it’s your turn to pout. “Who are you going to go to for Bookkeu’s check-ups then?”

He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again before letting out a petulant huff. You can’t help the snicker that bubbles in your chest as Seungkwan tilts his chin up with indignance. 

“Point taken,” he says before narrowing his eyes and pointing his index finger at you. “But I’m expecting Kim Mingyu to come back to the dorms later, happy and not heartbroken. Okay?” 

You raise your hands before handing him your written prescription. “No promises.”

When Chae returns inside the clinic, you physically have to hold Namja down just so she can give Seungkwan a receipt for today’s visit. Your mother was right, he definitely was growing lonely back in Haenam. You haven’t seen him this excited in years. 

Seungkwan bids you another, more formal goodbye, now that you're not alone anymore. He doesn’t need to reiterate what he asked of you out loud—the look in his eyes is already telling enough. 

Given that today is a bit of a slow day, you decide to run a few diagnostic tests on Namja just to confirm whether or not he’s silently carrying some sort of disease. But all his results came out normal, except for a clinically insignificant but still noticeable increase in his body sodium levels. Might have to cut down the treats for a few days. 

Otherwise, he’s happy and healthy ten—going eleven—years into his lifespan. The reason for his lethargy back home must have something to do with innate loneliness after all.

Then you remember what Seungkwan told you about Mingyu. How he hasn’t really been himself since the breakup. You never really felt that during your time together in your hometown. He’s still the effortless charmer that you once fell in love with. The big softie that can get along with anyone and everyone, given the right circumstances.

Mingyu has always been a people pleaser. The last thing he wants to do is inconvenience others. So it’s kind of hard to believe that he’s been so out of it that even Seungcheol is starting to get pissed with his behavior. 

The sound of Namja barking jolts you out of your thoughts before your goldie pads over to where you’re seated behind your desk, whining as he nuzzles your hands as if he knows you’re thinking a bit too hard about something distressful. You let out a quiet laugh, scratching behind his ears just like you know he likes.

“I wonder what I’m supposed to do,” you chuckle. “Maybe I should’ve been born as a dog instead. Thinking about all of this is giving me a headache.”

Namja growls before barking again. Like he doesn’t approve of the idea of not having you as his fur parent. You let out another laugh that’s a lot less quiet before you decide to pull out your phone and shoot Mingyu a text.

Are you picking me up later or not?

…

Dinner with Mingyu’s family is splendid

The outdoor restaurant his mother booked in advance probably serves the best songpyeon you’ve ever tasted in your life. Add that to the fact that they accommodate pets in their alfresco area, this could easily be one of the next places you’ll take your own parents for a meal when you bring them to Seoul for a quick getaway. 

Namja is a bit shy around other animals—a result of being around no one but your family for so long. But when Minseo introduces him to both Bobpul and Baptori at the same time, the two little rascals easily coaxed your senior citizen goldie out of his shell. Next thing you know, they’re running around the outdoor dining area like a bunch of energetic pups.

“Unnie, are you back together with this guy?” Minseo asks in the middle of dessert, pointing her spoon accusingly at Mingyu. “You can do so much better than him, though.”

Their father laughs at their youngest’s comment, and their mother rubs Mingyu’s back as if she agrees, yet still wishes to console her son regardless. Mingyu is simply scowling at his family for how quick they are to throw him under the bus.

“Shut up, you sound just like Seungkwan,” he whines. 

“Well, we’re both right.”

You let out a laugh of your own before scooping some ice cream into your mouth. Then, tentatively, you say, “Don’t say that. Gyu wasn’t that terrible of a boyfriend, you know?” 

“He’s always so busy though. Doesn’t even have time to come visit Bobpul and our other dogs anymore,” Minseo sulks. “He even missed my graduation! Can you believe it?”

Mingyu pouts. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” 

She huffs. “Not sorry enough!”

“Well, for starters, even if he is ridiculously busy, he still makes sure to call me before he goes to bed after a particularly tough schedule,” you say. “He also answers my calls even if our time zones are different, and it’s an ungodly hour where he currently is. Then when he finally comes back to Korea, he’ll give a bunch of gifts that reminded him of me on his trip overseas.”

You don’t know what compelled you to do so, but the words just gush out naturally. It was a little difficult the first time Mingyu had to hop on a plane to some other country to film some content with the boys, but you eventually got used to it, and managed to make a couple work-arounds.

Now that you think about it, if you were so used to it, why’d you decide it was best for you to part ways when he got back from tour? It’s been so long that you don’t even know the logic behind the reasoning anymore. You just remember feeling like it was the best decision at the time. And you were right—your careers have definitely thrived even after the breakup.

As you continue telling Minseo and their parents about how much of a catch the eldest son of the Kim family really is, you fail to notice the way Mingyu’s eyes never leave you the entire time. Soft, with just a hint of yearning that you’ll only be able to notice if you knew what you were looking for. 

“Ugh, fine,” Minseo huffs, and you don’t think she and Seungkwan are all that different from each other. “This is the first time I’ve seen a couple that’s broken up months ago talk about each other so fondly, still. You sure you two aren’t secretly dating again?”

“Minseo,” their mother scolds before flashing you an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about her. Minseo’s just been really snappy lately. Must be because she missed Mingyu here very much.”

She rolls her eyes. “As if I’ll miss that credit-grabbing punk. He didn’t even acknowledge me in his latest Instagram post!”

“Speaking of dating again,” their father interjects before taking a sip of his wine. “Minseo’s right about one thing at least. You and Mingyu still have chemistry after so long. What’s stopping you from getting back together again?”

At your side, Mingyu flashes his father a cautionary look. “Dad, that’s a really inappropriate question, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, of course. My apologies. This old man is really just…curious, so to speak.” 

He bows his head slightly, and you make a little gesture that insists you took no offense. But the inquiry definitely made you think for a moment.

It’s like everyone you know completely supports the idea of you and Mingyu just burying the hatchet and rekindling your relationship. But didn’t they consider the logistics of it? You’re a full-time vet and Mingyu’s a full-time idol that travels out of Korea at least once a month. Though you’re a bit unsure of it now, that still played a part in why you called it quits in the first place.

Even when Mingyu took it upon himself to drive you and Namja back to your apartment, his father’s question still lingers in the back of your mind. 

What’s stopping you from getting back together again? 

The answer is pretty simple, but it’s not something you’re ready to face just yet.

It’s you. You’re the only one keeping yourselves from reigniting what you once thought was already lost. Your guilt. Your regrets. Your fears. You didn’t need a verbal confirmation to know that Mingyu would drop everything in a heartbeat if it meant you’ll take him back again. But as much as your friends joke about how you deserve better than Mingyu, you’re convinced it’s the other way around.

Mingyu deserves someone who can reciprocate the love he’s so willing to give tenfold. Someone who doesn’t flake out when he needs them most. 

Someone who isn’t you.

When he pulls over a red light, he lets out a sigh as he checks the text messages that popped up on his phone. After a few scrolls he says, “Oh. Jeonghan-hyung texted about some party in Gangnam. Do you want to—”

“Gyu,” you whisper, eyes riveted on the busy street. “What are we doing?”

He blinks. “Celebrating Chuseok together?”

“But we’re friends right?” You laugh somewhat bitterly. “Friends don’t normally celebrate the entirety of their Chuseok weekend bonding with each other’s families. Friends don’t make out with each other in the middle of the night. And…”

You let out a shuddering sigh before adding, “Friends don’t look at each other the way you look at me.”

You can clearly hear the sound of his breath hitching even if you don’t turn to look at him. It seems like he was about to say something in return, but the stoplight turns green, and he’s back to pulling his focus on the road instead of you.

In the backseat, you can hear Namja whining—ever the empath, that one. You immediately feel him pawing against your seat, as if silently asking what’s wrong. Turning around, you give him a few reassuring pats, not wanting to get claw marks all over Mingyu’s borrowed car.

The two of you are completely silent as he walks you back to the front door of your apartment. You know he didn’t have to, yet he did anyway. How Mingyu of him.

When you finally muster the courage to look up at him and bid him good night, Mingyu grabs your wrist—forcing you to meet his desperate gaze. 

“If I told you I wanted you back, would anything change? No, right?” he whispers, voice tinged with so much emotion, you can feel your own heart ache at the sound of it. “So I’m sorry if I’m being selfish for inviting you to every place I could think of. If I want to spend as much time with you as I can because I know I won’t ever get the chance to do so if I let this pass.”

When he presses your foreheads together, the look in his eyes is so smoldering, you can’t bear to look away. This is what a man that’s been yearning for you for months looks like, it seems. 

And you don’t think you can keep resisting him for long.

“Before I get thrown back into that haywire of a schedule again,” he whispers, and you feel every breath fan across your skin, “can’t you at least let me have this? Let me have you?” 

You don’t even know who it is that lunges in for the kiss. The next thing you know, Mingyu has you pressed up against your front door, devouring your lips where all your neighbors can see. But you don’t care. Not when he’s desperately holding your body flush against his as you reclaim what’s always been yours.

He whispers a bunch of things along the column of your neck as he loosens the strings holding your dress together from behind. Some sweet, some endearing, and others a touch too filthy for others to hear aloud. You stifle your little gasps when he wraps a strong arm around your waist, nudging your thighs apart with his knees so you can feel the hardness straining against his middle.

“It’s you,” he murmurs against your feverish skin, teeth grazing across your flesh ever-so lightly. “It’s always been you. And it will always be you.” 

You know Mingyu is a good actor. But it’s so earth-shatteringly different to hear the raw desperation in his voice. How earnest he is in telling you just how much he still loves you without saying the words outright. You can only dream of being as honest with your true feelings as he is. 

But tonight, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with letting yourself fall.

In the midst of your mounting desire for each other, though, a lone whine in the night snaps both you and Mingyu out of your newfound vigor. You nearly forgot about Namja, who’s impatiently waiting for either of you to open the front door so he can finally take a nap. You glance at Mingyu, and he glances right back, before the two of you burst out laughing like a couple of teenagers without a care in the world.

Once you’ve gotten your needy retriever settled outside, Mingyu practically tosses you on the bed the moment the door to your room clicks shut—all too eager to cage you between his arms as he continues where you left off. 

The suit he wore tonight looked a bit too good on his frame, but now you want nothing more than to claw it off him. He chuckles, sensing your desperation as he shrugs off his coat and unbuttons his dress shirt along the way.

“I don’t remember you being this desperate for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning down to grasp your face as he strokes your heated skin with his thumb. “I can’t say I hate the development though.”

“Mingyu,” you whimper as you guide his thumb to your lips, suckling on it in a way that you know makes him lose his mind every time. “Please. I want you.” 

It’s so easy to be honest with yourself. You wonder why you’ve struggled with doing that for so long, but then you remember that your brain is fogged with desire for the man that’s currently staring you down like he’s doing everything in his power not to fuck you into the mattress right away. 

But at that moment, you throw all logic and caution in the wind in exchange for taking even more of Mingyu’s thick fingers into your mouth.

“So good for me,” he whispers when he sees you inch your knees apart to welcome him in between. The hand that’s not being fellated by your tongue finds its way to the apex of your thighs—cupping your clothed heat in a way that makes you moan around his fingers. “How badly do you want me, sweet thing?”

“So, so badly,” you manage to wrench out despite your mouth being full, rutting your hips to introduce some friction between your aching pussy and his hand. “Please, Gyu…”

When he’s satisfied, his free hand migrates to your thighs, spreading you further apart as he brings his lubricated fingers to your sopping core. There’s something so fucking hot in the way he just nudges your panties to the side—groaning when he finds you already soaked for him. 

“You need something to stretch out this pretty little pussy, don’t you?” he murmurs into your ear, nipping at the lobe just the way you like it. “You want my fingers or my cock, babygirl? Better choose wisely.”

You want to say that you’re too fucking horny for foreplay, but also remember that each time you had sex with Mingyu in the past, the stretch of his massive cock can be quite uncomfortable if he doesn’t prep you. With how long it’s been since you’ve laid in bed together, you don’t want to rush into it without thinking of the consequences after.

So, you mewl, “Fingers first. Then your cock.”

Mingyu laughs—a deep, sexy sound—before planting a kiss on your nose. “That’s my girl.”

He carefully eases one digit into your hole, eyes never leaving your face as he gauges your reactions. Part of you wishes to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry so much. That you still trust him with your own body even after all this time. You don’t say anything aloud, but Mingyu seems to get the gist from the look in your eyes either way, surging forward so he can press his lips back onto yours as he loosens you up.

“You’re always so quick to get wet for me, baby,” he sighs, stifling the noise that escapes you when he slides in a second finger to test the resistance of your walls. “You’ve no idea how much I missed this. Missed you .”

“Gyu, I—” Your breath hitches once he curls his fingers just so, making your legs rise involuntarily off the mattress, but Mingyu pins one of your thighs down with his free hand. 

“What was that?”

He’s teasing. He rarely ever does that. You shoot him a petulant look before taking his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging hard enough to coax a groan out of him. 

“I missed you, too,” you whisper. “You’re the only one who can make me feel this good.”

A dozen emotions flit through Mingyu’s face in the span of a millisecond, but the one that remains is something not so different from longing. You hear him sigh a couple of words that you don’t quite catch before he’s taking his fingers out of your sopping cunt and pulling away from you. Just when you’re about to voice out a complaint, he starts undoing his trousers, kicking them away to some uncharted part of your bedroom before working on the rest of his dress shirt.

Not-so-newsflash: your ex-boyfriend is still fucking hot. 

But he doesn’t seem to notice the way you’re reacting to the sultry way in which he peels his clothes off—dark eyes still trained on your pliant form on the bed. As Mingyu palms himself through his boxers, you can’t help but press your thighs together in anticipation of what’s to come. 

There was a time when he railed you so good, you legitimately couldn’t walk straight the next day. You wonder if he plans on reenacting the whole thing tonight.

“Let’s get you out of that dress, sweetheart,” he breathes before gently guiding you back into a seated position, tugging at the hem of your dress before tossing it to the side. 

You feel your cheeks warm when he stares at the underwear set you have on tonight. Plain cotton panties and plain cotton bra. In your defense, you really didn’t expect to get laid tonight. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Mingyu chuckles. It’s either he can read minds or he still knows you well enough to figure out what you’re thinking. “I’m taking everything off anyways.”

As he makes quick work of what’s left of your clothing, you distantly remember the last conversation you had with Seungkwan. How you told him you’d ‘clear the air’ with Mingyu right after having dinner with his family.

You’re pretty sure what you’re doing right now is only blurring the lines even more, but you don’t really fucking care right now.

You let out a hushed moan when Mingyu latches his mouth onto your nipple, massaging your other breast as he swirls the appendage across your sensitive skin. His free arm snakes itself behind the curve of your waist, pressing you against his firm body while rutting his hips against the bed. 

He’s just as desperate for you as you are for him, and it fills you with a heady sort of hunger that only Mingyu can alleviate.

“Can I?” he whispers.

You feel his teeth graze across the skin of your chest, making your toes curl with anticipation. It’s been a while, but you can’t easily forget how much of a biter Mingyu is in bed. He loves leaving his marks on your body, and even if you always complain about how hard it is to cover them up, you let him do as he pleases every single time.

“Yes,” you whimper, rubbing your bare pussy against the ridge of his abs. “Do whatever you want with me, Gyu.”

The sound you let out once he finally bites down is caught between a yelp and a moan, your fingers threading across his hair as he suckles on your skin. He’s such a talker in bed, too—whispering all sorts of endearments that are too soft for you to hear, but add fuel to your growing desire regardless.

“So fucking pretty,” he says once he detaches himself from your breasts and marvels at his own work. The fruit of his effort is yet to become visible, but he’s left enough angry red marks on your skin to guarantee the lovebites they’ll turn into come morning. “And it’s all for me.”

Lacing your fingers around his nape, you mold your lips together in another kiss, tongues dancing to the rhythm of your erratic heartbeat as you grind yourself against his toned stomach. 

“Mingyu,” you whimper against his mouth—hot and heavy. “I need you inside me. Need to get stretched on your cock.”

He groans again, fisting your hair so that he can kiss you even deeper. As he busies you with his mind-numbing kisses, Mingyu gets rid of his boxers in a flash—positioning himself between your thighs. You nearly cry out when you feel the fat head of his cock sliding against your soaking slit. When he grazes your sensitive clit, you could’ve sworn tears started together in the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck, babygirl, so fucking wet for me,” he sighs as he lays you back down on the bed and eases your knees further apart. 

You bite your lip at the sight of his cock, still as long and girthy as you remember. Mingyu pumps his length all while sliding the head across your cunt, but you let out another desperate mewl to just fuck you already. 

“Shhh,” he says, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Let me take my time with you, sweetheart. I want you to commit all of this to memory. Gonna have you feeling me inside you for days.”

And you don’t doubt that. Kim Mingyu has a knack for making it hard for people to forget about him, and if he plans to fuck the shape of his cock into your pussy, who are you to complain?

When you feel his cock catch across your entrance, you genuinely wonder if it’s going to hurt. Mingyu’s attempt at foreplay was cut halfway through because he got distracted by his sudden desire to leave a trail of love bites all over your breasts. But the thing about having sex with Mingyu is that your comfort is his top priority. 

He would never do anything that he knows can hurt you.

“I’ll go slow, alright?” he whispers, and all you can manage is a nod. “Words, baby. You have to talk to me so I’ll know if you really want it.”

“Gyu,” you whine, arching your hips in a feeble attempt to get him to fuck into you. “I’m alright. Anything you do is alright with me, just— Please. Please fuck me full.”

He sighs, staring down like he doesn’t know what to do with you before finally, finally, you feel his dick breach your entrance—pushing inch by delicious inch inside you with restrained hunger. You fist the sheets at the familiar stretch, but it’s not so uncomfortable that the sensation burns. You’ve taken Mingyu’s cock dozens of times before, and it seems that your body still knows how to accommodate his ridiculous size.

“Pretty pussy’s happy to see me again,” he chuckles, his grip on your thighs tightening ever-so slightly. “Still made to fit me so snuggly. Did you miss my cock, sweet thing? I can feel you pulsing around me.”

“Yes,” you drawl. “Missed your cock so fucking much, Gyu. Fuck—”

You feel so hot, so full. It’s like Mingyu’s the only thing you’ve ever known—surrounding you in every direction until all that floats in your lust-addled mind are the letters of his name. Once he buries himself to the hilt, Mingyu doesn’t move right away, still so attentive to your reactions that even if you want nothing more than for him to rail you into the mattress, he won’t press forward until he’s sure you’re ready.

“Is it too much?” he whispers, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Do you need more time to get used to me?”

Something similar to a growl reverberates in your chest as you stare at Mingyu hard. “What I need is…for you to fuck me until I black out.”

Mingyu’s lips turn up into a grin as he shakes his head. “Baby, the last thing I want to be is some sex-deprived savage after we’ve been apart for so long. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Then, he leans forward on the bed again, bringing his lips right next to your ear.

“But I can still make you feel good.”

He prefaces the words with a powerful thrust that you don’t expect, splaying your thighs further until they’re flat against the mattress. The slide of his cock still feels so unbelievably good that even if the sudden stretch should’ve been uncomfortable, you’re too blindsided by the pleasure to notice. 

Your eyes trail across the beautiful man above you as he fucks you in his favorite position. Mingyu has always had a thing for missionary—something about wanting to see your face as he wrecks you. You think you’re starting to share the same sentiment because not only do you get to see his fat cock slide in and out of your sopping cunt, but you can admire all of him at once, as well.

The exertion in those toned arms with every forward thrust. The conspicuous outline of his pecs. That toned fucking stomach. That gorgeous fucking face, so lost in the velvet heat of your pussy—

Why did you ever think letting someone like this go was a good idea?

“You’re going to laugh at me for this but,” Mingyu breathes, chuckling to himself. “I think I’m kinda close.” 

You do laugh, but it’s quickly silenced when one of his fingers finds your clit, rubbing it in quick, precise circles like he hasn’t forgotten how to get you off after all this time.

“I am, too,” you tell him. “Cock so fucking good, you can make me come in minutes.”

Mingyu lets out another guttural noise as he presses your knees to your chest, throwing your legs over his shoulder with a look in his eyes that promises nothing but pleasure. Though his fingers have departed your puffy clit, the angle he has you bent in has his cock easily grazing your g-spot with every thrust—reducing you into a pathetic, mewling mess underneath him.

“Your pussy’s a fucking drug, babygirl,” he sighs. “Haven’t wanted anyone else after you.”

Even in your cock-drunk haze, those words bring forth some semblance of clarity within you. But it’s immediately snuffed out when Mingyu amps up the cadence of his thrusts, fucking into you with the intention of bringing you to completion at the same time he achieves it. Your eyes are screwed shut, fingers finding purchase across the ripping muscles of his back as you babble an incoherent mantra of yes, yes, so close, so fucking close, love how you fuck me, love how you make me feel full—

And then, it’s over—a white hot flash like stars bursting behind your eyelids. You curl into Mingyu’s embrace as your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, and he’s all too glad to help you ride it out, pistoning inside your spasming walls with a rhythm that’s starting to stagger. 

“So goddamn tight,” he growls. “Where do you want my cum, sweetheart?”

You’re still too blissed out to give him a proper response, but from the way your legs tighten themselves around his waist, Mingyu figures that that’s the green light he needs to make a mess out of you. Mingyu sighs, burying his face in the crook of your neck before biting down—his cock twitching in the heat of your cunt as his release gushes into you in thick globs.

He comes so much that when Mingyu does pull out of your abused pussy, his essence trickles out of your hole as you do your best to catch your breath. The world is just starting to return to its normal axis in your vision, and the first thing that your eyes focus on is the sight of Mingyu smiling at you so fondly, it makes your heart hurt.

The look scares you. Like he’s about to say something that you don’t know how to respond to. 

So instead of giving him any leeway for conversation, you tug him back down into a tongue-filled kiss, rubbing your ruined pussy across his still hard length as you mewl against his lips.

“More,” you whimper. “I need more, Gyu.”

And he’s all too happy to oblige.

Mingyu slides himself back inside you with an ease that wasn’t present earlier—your mixed arousal acting as a good enough lubricant to accommodate him. His erratic breathing as he fucks his cum deeper inside you only serves to turn you on even more, making another orgasm creep ever-so slightly beneath your skin. 

“Babygirl can’t get enough of this cock, can you?” he sighs. “Seems to me like your pussy never wants me to leave.”

“Yes!” you hiss, moving your hips in time with his as you desperately claw at his back. “Love your cock so much, please—”

“Come for me again, sweet thing, I know you can do it.”

It’s unbelievable how a few choice words can get your body to submit to his whims without much thought. Unlike your first orgasm, the second one that Mingyu coaxes out of you singes through every functional nerve-ending in your body—sending you into a flurry of overstimulation that has you twitching under his touch. 

Just when you thought Mingyu’s finally done with you, however, he suddenly flips you onto your stomach—pressing your chest against the mattress while your ass is high in the air. The sudden change in positions makes your head spin, but you’re too dazed to protest.

When you glance over your shoulder, he’s showing you that same smile you fell in love with a lifetime ago.

“You can give me a few more orgasms, right, baby?” 

When he slides his still hard cock along your swollen cunt, you groan into the sheets—having momentarily forgotten that Mingyu’s stamina can go until morning. If you don’t stop him now, he might actually fuck you until you black out, despite his earlier refutal.

But honestly? You’re not against the idea. Not one bit.

…

When you wake up the following day, it’s to cold sheets and the startling clarity of Mingyu’s absence.

You never minded living alone. You’ve been doing it since your first year of college here in Seoul. You’re used to waking up with nothing but the silence of your room to keep you company.

Even when you eventually got together with Mingyu, lonely mornings have always been a staple, especially on days where he has early schedules. It fills you with a sinking feeling to see that he isn’t with you, but you’ve learned to take it in stride. 

Besides…it’s not like you’re together anymore now.

This is what you wanted, right? For him to not treat…whatever this is as if it’s a relationship thing. The two of you were just heavily pent up, and caved into your mutual desires last night. There’s nothing more to it.

However, when you pad outside the bedroom after shrugging on a flimsy oversized shirt, the scent of pancakes and frying eggs fills your nose. When you see Namja sitting right next to a tall figure hunched over your stove, you can hardly believe your eyes.

He doesn’t notice you right away—too preoccupied with making the perfect breakfast to pick up on your presence. Namja, however, is more perceptive, glancing behind and perking up at the sight of you. He lets out an excited bark before skidding over to where you’re standing, and you crouch down to the floor so you can give him a tight hug.

“Oh, you’re awake!”

Mingyu faces you with a smile that’s nearly blinding in the morning light, a spatula in one hand and a kitchen mitt in the other. It’s the exact same scene that you’re greeted with during lazy weekends where he doesn’t have any work to do, and your chest twists yet again at the memory.

“Yeah, I am.” You smile, rubbing Namja’s belly when he sprawls himself on the floor. “What are you still doing here? Don’t you have to go back to New York tonight?”

“Yes, but it’s still morning,” he points out, and you roll your eyes.

A few minutes later, Mingyu starts to set the table while you wash your hands. He tells you about how Seungkwan doesn’t want to room with him anymore over breakfast because Mingyu takes so long to close the lights when he’s binging a new drama. You tell him to be more considerate of his roommates or they might just dropkick him off the hotel room balcony in his sleep.

When you help him put away the dishes, the sight is so…domestic, it gives you whiplash. Bumping shoulders, splashing water, stifling mutual laughter... Being with him like this, tucked in your own little pocket of happiness makes your heart soar in ways that not even mind-blowing sex can help you attain.

You pray that Mingyu doesn’t breathe a word about it, but of course things don’t always go your way.

Just when you’re about to turn around to give Namja her morning fix of dog food, you find yourself trapped between the sink and Mingyu’s arms—unable to escape the fondness in his eyes even if you tried.

“I think,” he whispers, “we can still make this work. You and me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Gyu…”

You think so, too. With someone as understanding and compassionate as Mingyu, you know nothing’s impossible if you just quit being so stubborn. You were so afraid of him attempting to bring your relationship back to life last night, but…

Seeing him bathing under the sunlight in your kitchen after months of getting used to being alone again… 

Maybe it isn’t so bad to let him back inside your heart.

“O-Of course, you don’t have to answer right away,” he says, turning red in the face. Cute. “You can tell me when I get back from New York. How’s that sound?”

You’re about to open your mouth to respond, but the moment is quickly shattered by the sound of Mingyu’s phone going off. He sighs, releasing you from the figurative cage of his arms as he leans against the sink right next to you—fishing his phone from his pocket before answering it in loudspeaker.

“Kim Mingyu, where the hell are you?!”

“Good morning to you, too, Seungkwan-ah,” he chuckles. “Why? What’s wrong? I told Jeonghan-hyung I won’t be coming back to the dorms until noon.”

“Well, Jeonghan-hyung must’ve forgotten to tell everyone else because the entire dorm panicked when we realized you didn’t make it home!” the younger man squawks. “We thought something bad happened! You weren’t answering your phone last night either!” 

You and Mingyu exchanged knowing looks, and you have to stifle your laughter if you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Seungkwan’s rage, too.

“Sorry about that, I was a little…busy,” Mingyu supplies. 

“Well, whatever you’ve been ‘busy’ with, you better get your ass back here! Manager-hyung is looking for the car you borrowed, and if you don’t bring it back soon, he’s going to give all of us an earful.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll be back in thirty. Bye, Seungkwan.”

“Hey—!” 

Mingyu ends the call with little remorse before letting out a long sigh. When his eyes dart back to yours, they flicker momentarily to your lips before he leans forward. You meet him halfway this time, pressing your mouths together in a firm kiss.

“I’ll be back,” he murmurs. “I hope you’ll still be willing to accommodate me when I do.”

Though it pains you, he peels himself away from your touch, leaning down to kiss Namja’s head as he gathers his coat in his arms. It just occurred to you that he’s been eating breakfast with you donned with the outfit he wore last night while you’re dressed in nothing but a loose, oversized shirt. The knowledge makes you blush a little.

When you hear Mingyu’s car drive away, you sigh, running your hands through your messy hair. Namja pads over to you, tail wagging as he anticipates another round of petting. Of course you indulge him.

“Kim Mingyu is such an idiot, isn’t he?” you tell your goldie, and you like to think the small huff he lets out means he’s agreeing with you. “Why wait until he comes back when I already have an answer for him?”

This time, Namja actually barks out loud, making you shake your head with a laugh.

You don’t mind waiting for Mingyu, really. He obviously doesn’t mind waiting for you. At this point, you’re at peace with the fact that you might still love him. Maybe, you never stopped loving him at all. Once he lands back in Korea and comes home to you, you promise yourself that you’ll definitely show him.

Again and again.

this is part of the doting on you! series.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Extra cream and sugar.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 5295 Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Frankie is your barista, every morning you walk into his café asking for a tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. He dreams of giving you another kind of cream… Tags: Frankie's POV, brief description of reader and what she wear but no mention of her skin tone, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described (she's you, baby ♥︎) , reader has her own business, pining, yearning, slow burn, Frankie is eager for you, masturbation, obviously mention of coffee and sweets, a side of Christmas (just a glimpse), soft!Frankie, kinda rom-com vibes but we go smutty 😏, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), cream pie, nipples play (At this point you know me so you expect it, right?), reader rides him cowgirl style (yeehaw!), teasing, Frankie wants you to tell him exactly what you want from him, pussy pronouns, Frankie is smitten with you bb, no age gap, mention of alcohol, derogatory pussy eating (because it's Frankie, you know), oral (m! receiving), masturbation, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, some more filth I probably don't remember. Please, excuse me, I'm posting this almost 2 am as the usual mess that I am LOL. If I forgot something I will add it asap. I wrote a temperature in Celsius degrees somewhere in this fic, I don't know anything about Fahrenheit, sorry, I'm Italian. A/N: This fic is my Christmas gift to all of you who support me and have loved my Frankie so much in the past, I really didn't think so many people would like him 🥹 And it's especially dedicated to @baronessvonglitter who gave me this prompt around November, I promised her I would do something with it and this is the result 🤭 No beta, no proofread, no nothing, we're going down with this ship, please have mercy. I really hope you like it and I wish you happy holidays, love you all ❤️

Frankie had been noticing you for weeks. You would arrive every morning at 10:30 and ask for tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. 

He thought you looked lovely, with your sexy dresses, a dainty necklace around your neck, little makeup except for a red lipstick on your gorgeous lips. 

You were the highlight of the day. He had decided to open a café after retiring from the army because there was nothing he wanted more than to live a quiet life. He had seen enough pain and destruction for two whole lifetimes, all he wanted to take care of now were coffee blends, foamed milk, blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies. 

He loved arriving in the morning and quietly opening his place, arranging the pastries in the display cases, turning on the coffee machine, setting up the tables, and getting everything ready while waiting for the city to wake up and the customers to start arriving. You were his favorite since you first appeared before him almost 3 weeks ago, but who was counting?

You were pretty in the truest sense of the word according to him, radiant, elegant without striving, charming and nice.

He had started waiting until 10:30 just to see you, with butterflies in his stomach in anticipation and his heart pounding in his chest as soon as you walked in the door.

The first time you had spoken to him he had been enchanted by your eyes; he could have sworn they were the most beautiful he had ever seen. He had not heard a single word you had said and had made you repeat the order, apologizing. 

You had laughed, and your sweet laughter had resounded in his ears like music. It had never happened to him, not even once, but at that moment it was as if everything else in the world had stopped and only you existed. 

“One tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please,” you had patiently repeated.

You looked so pure that it seemed almost immoral to him the way his jeans had suddenly become tight. 

He had shaken himself, trying to come to his senses, hurriedly headed for the coffee machine. He had prepared your cup to go and set it on the counter in front of you "cocoa? sprinkles?" he had stammered, awkward and nervous. Heck, he'd spent years in the military, he could fly a damn helicopter, his business was going strong, but in front of you he felt like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Uhm..sprinkles, thank you," you had smiled.

He had sprinkled colored heart-shaped sprinkles on the cream -- so pathetic, he had to admit, but they seemed to suit you --, closed it with the clear plastic lid and handed it to you, all with fear of spilling something and making a mess. 

"It looks so yummy, thank you" you chirped handing money to him.

“Thanks to you, um, come again,” Frankie had stammered, running his sweaty palms over his apron. 

He had watched you leave, your ass swaying deliciously wrapped in your skirt, and a whiff of your perfume had reached his nostrils, filling them with a heavenly flowery scent. 

It had taken him a few seconds too long to pay attention to the next customer, a rather impatient middle-aged man who had ruined the magic you had brought into his café.

He had hoped you would come back all evening, and the next morning he woke up even earlier than usual, showered, stood several minutes in front of his closet thinking about which of his shirts you might like best, even wasted time adjusting his beard. He had even contemplated not wearing the cap he always wore with fear that you might find it silly, but in the end habit won out. Besides, he had thought, I might as well show her who I really am. That is, assuming she comes back. And if she doesn't come back? He had felt so disappointed at the idea. Maybe you hadn't even liked his coffee in the end. Once at the café, he had kept himself as busy as possible so as not to drown in false hopes, but he had found himself staring at the clock more often than he would have liked to admit. 

At precisely 10:30 a.m. you had entered. You were even more beautiful than the day before, wrapped in a little flowery dress, your beautiful legs exposed, your sweet scent in the air.

He knew absolutely nothing about you, had barely spoken to you and yet his palms were sweating again, his throat was as dry as a desert, he nervously switched his weight from one leg to the other, standing behind the counter as he watched you approach.

“Good morning,” you had said, with a sweet smile spreading across your face.

“Uh...good morning,” he had stammered, ”what would you like this morning?” 

“Tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please.” 

Your melodious voice had again gone straight to the crotch of his pants. 

“Same as yesterday” he had said ”coming right up.” 

“Oh, you remember!” you sounded surprised. How could he have forgotten the most beautiful creature who had ever set foot in his café?

“Um, yeah, it's my job after all” he had clutched his shoulders. He didn't remember orders from customers who had been coming to him for months, he had memorized yours instantly. He didn't need to let you know anyway. 

“That's so cute,” you had observed while continuing to give him that amazing smile.

He had turned to make your coffee feeling your eyes behind his back, he was so nervous that he almost burned himself pouring the coffee into the cup. 

He had managed to avoid it by a whisker; he would have hated to look clueless in front of you. 

“There you go,” he had smiled nervously at you, ”be careful, it's very hot.”

“I will, thank you” you had answered him softly. 

You had paid him and headed for the exit, turning to look at him before pushing open the door “Have a good day” 

“Oh, thank you, you too” he had replied, his voice hoarse with excitement.

That evening he had surrendered to his lowest instincts and as soon as he had jumped into the shower after a long day's work, he had allowed himself to close his eyes and think about you. 

He had tightened his hand around his cock and thought about your scent, your smile, how your dress deliciously enveloped your tits, showing off your cleavage.

He had imagined kissing you and feeling the softness of your lips, lowering a hand between your legs and discovering that you were not wearing panties, running his fingers over your wet folds and then bending over in front of you and making you come with his tongue. 

He had lingered in these fantasies as he pumped his cock faster and faster, stroking the tip, imagining that it was your delicate hand doing it, your red-enameled nails wrapped around its length. 

He had come in his hand, soiling the shower wall, uncontrolled, totally enraptured by the wonderful vision of you in his head.

____________________________________

He had continued to play it cool for three weeks, but by now every time you came in his head was just thinking “say something more than ‘good morning’ and ‘be careful not to burn yourself’ and ‘have a nice day,’ you idiot.” Ask her something, find out if she's involved with someone.”

So one morning he finally had attempted “Do you work near here?” he had asked, handing you your usual coffee. 

You had hesitated a moment before answering, “Actually, yes, just a stone's throw away. You know that jewelry store that opened three weeks ago? That's mine.” 

“Oh, great,” he had said, straining not to smile like a sucker. 

“Yeah, I'm a jewelry designer, I finally got to open a store with my own brand, I'm very excited.” your eyes twinkled with pride and Frankie had thought you were so incredibly beautiful that he wanted to kiss you there and then. 

You had held out your hand to him and said your name, and he had shaken it with his heart in his throat. 

“Nice, and nice name by the way” he had replied instead, ‘did you make that one?’ pointing to your necklace. It had a small star-shaped pendant. 

“Yes, do you like it?” you had asked, brushing it with your fingers. 

“I like it very much, it looks good on you.” 

“Thank you,” you had replied, smiling, ”well, if you have to give any gifts to your girlfriend or wife, come by and see me.” 

“Uh, actually, I'm not married or even engaged.”  He babbled, looking at you embarrassed.

“Oh. Well, I see.” and then in a lower voice and winking at him you had added, ”Can't say I'm sorry.” 

Holy fuck, you were flirting. 

His cock had twitched at your wink; he couldn't believe that all this time you had been reciprocating his silent interest. 

“I have to go back to work, now. Have a nice day, Frankie,” you said, smiling and heading for the exit. 

He was dumbfounded a few seconds wondering how you knew his name, since in the heat of the moment he hadn't even told you. Then he had looked down at his shirt, where his name tag was pinned.

“I like your cap, by the way,” you had said before you left.

“Oh. Thank you. I like your dress," he had replied a little too loudly, so much so that people at the tables had turned around cackling.

You looked at him one last time with a smug expression before disappearing down the street.

____________________________________

Christmas was coming, as much as it may have felt like Christmas in Florida with 26 degrees during the day. Frankie had decorated the café with small silver decorations at the windows, a small Christmas tree near the counter filled with lights that were also silver. 

While decorating however, the only thing he was thinking about was you. He had done everything early in the morning, before opening, wondering what you were doing, if you had just woken up and were stretching in bed with your hair tousled and your eyes still clouded by sleep. He wondered what you were wearing to sleep, wondering if you were a babydoll type or more of a T-shirt and shorts type. 

Or maybe you were sleeping naked. He daydreamed of your florid body wrapped in your sheets, the soft curve of your ass, your breasts, your nipples brushing against the cotton fabric.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, realizing that he had dropped one of the balls he was putting on the tree, which had ruinously fallen to the ground, splitting into a thousand pieces on the floor.

He rolled his eyes as he went to the closet to get a broom and dustpan.

Maybe it was time to stop fantasizing and get moving on asking you out. 

He was terrified that you would say no but he had to do it before someone else tried. Someone like you wouldn't be alone for long.

You had entered the venue at the usual time, admiring the decorations. Frankie felt a small surge of pride in the middle of his chest as you approached the counter. “Oh wow, this is so festive, I love it.”

He knew he had just smiled like a dork but he didn't care. 

In your brief little chats you had mentioned that you were not originally from Florida so he took the opportunity to ask, “Are you going to visit your family for Christmas?”

You had smiled, squinting slightly, with that look that was now familiar from when you noticed his true intentions. You had given it to him with every attempt he made to flirt with you.

“Um no, actually Christmas is the best time to work for me. So I'm going to stay here.”

He had felt his heart do a little jolt in his chest as he struggled to find the right words to ask to take you to dinner.

He felt like he had never been so awkward in his life, but the truth was that he really liked you and made him nervous with your innate confidence and the sensuality you exuded. 

 “Well, if you'd like to go out sometime, I'd be happy to” he babbled.

“Gladly.” you had replied, looking at him -- he would have sworn -- mischievously.

“So...um...how about Saturday? Is 7 okay?”

“Perfect. You can pick me up at the store.” you had replied, fiddling with your pendant. 

“Okay, well...see you soon then.” 

You had leaned over the counter for a moment, signaling him with your finger to come closer, and when you had been close enough to his ear you whispered, “It's about time.”

You had left while your voice still rang in his ears like a siren song.

On Saturday night Frankie was so nervous that he had changed his clothes four times. Finally he had decided that a blue shirt and a pair of jeans would do. Maybe. 

You had said you liked his cap but he had decided it was not appropriate to wear it to take you to dinner, so he had left his hair wet and styled it back with a little gel.

He arrived at 7 parking in front of your store and entered looking for you. 

You weren’t there. He had looked around and the place was just like you, elegant but not overly so, bright and warm. 

There were small display cases filled with bracelets, rings, necklaces, watches even. 

All very fine, carefully crafted things, not that he understood much about jewelry but they looked well made and high quality to him. 

You had put little window decorations similar to his own, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at them.

Not only you were beautiful and funny, you were also talented and smart enough to run your own business,  a strong independent and brilliant woman with ambitions.

He felt a jolt down his spine feeling unworthy of you with his simpler and quieter life. 

You had appeared from the back after a short while "Oh there you are! Hello!” you had greeted him with a smile, approached him and kissed his cheek. He had brushed your arm as you leaned closer, feeling your soft skin under his fingers and his heart bouncing in his chest. 

"So what do you think?" you had said, gesturing to the place.

“I can't say I'm a connoisseur, but it looks like a beautiful store to me,” he had said. 

“Thank you. I really like your café, too.” 

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to this” he brushed off. 

“I don’t think so, your coffee is so good and that cupcake I tried the other day? It was heavenly. I would say you did a great job with it” you insisted and he felt suddenly better.

"Well I actually… I don't bake them, I get them from a supplier.” He had admitted.

“You have good taste anyway.” You had shrugged, smiling.

The hold you had on him was ridiculous at that point, you could have said whatever to him and he would believe you without hesitation. 

“Let me get my purse and close the store and then we can go.”

___________________________________

Frankie had tried to behave like a real gentleman, had opened the door for you, complimented you on the dress you were wearing  -- continuing to ogle your thighs while you were sitting next to him -- , asked you things about yourself, your studies and your life while driving to the restaurant. 

The more you chatted the more comfortable he felt, you were witty, subtly flirty, exactly what he expected. 

Truth was that he would have jumped on you immediately but he was trying to control himself so you wouldn't think he was a creep. 

His cock however was of a different opinion, his jeans were starting to get really tight and he was afraid you would notice. You had a smirk on your face, something that made him think it was possible that you were desiring him as much as he was desiring you but he didn't want to risk making a wrong move.

“I'm sorry not to see your cap tonight” you had joked and then added ”your hair looks good though.”

“Thank you.” 

“And I like the shirt,” you had said, lingering with your gaze on his outstretched arm holding the steering wheel. 

He had decided to take you to one of his favorite restaurants, nothing too fancy because he wouldn't feel comfortable, the place was warm and familiar and put him at ease. 

He had asked for a table with settees, to have a chance to be closer and talk more easily. 

Maybe even reach out a hand to your beautiful thighs, if he had any luck.

You had ordered and he had chosen a wine, you had continued talking, and you had asked him several questions, very politely, without making him feel like you were interviewing him.

“So you were in the army...and you can fly a helicopter. Heck, I never would have guessed that. I like a competent man,” you had cooed, and he had felt his neck and face on fire. God, he wanted you so badly he felt like he might explode at any moment. 

“Yeah...apparently,” he had replied proudly.

“And how did you end up opening a cafe?”

He had become serious, feeling that he was about to open up about something very intimate “Well...I actually couldn't take that life anymore. It's very hard, you know. When I got discharged, I thought all I needed was to live a quiet life without slinging a rifle for hours and playing with danger 24/7.”

You had nodded, “sure, that's perfectly understandable. It must have been brutal.”

“It was. I decided to open a coffee shop because well... basically, I love coffee.”

You had burst out laughing, a full, lovely laugh that had made it difficult for him to keep his hands in place resting on the table.

“It makes perfect sense,” you had agreed immediately afterward.

You had kept talking until you had said, “So, Francisco Morales, I have a question for you.” your expression was enigmatic and he didn't understand where you were going with this. 

“Go ahead.” 

“Why haven't you kissed me yet?”

He had chuckled, “Good question. And I really want to do that. I've wanted to do it from the first moment I saw you,” he had admitted.

“Then do it,” you had urged him. 

He had moved closer toward your lips, breathing in your perfume mixed with the scent of your skin; you smelled good, clean, like a sunny morning in spring.

Your lips were even better than he had imagined. Soft, delicious, inviting. You were incredible. 

Everything around was suddenly gone, there was only you and the way your lips encouraged him to continue, the way they had parted at the approach of his tongue, your intoxicating taste on his tongue. 

Your fingers lingered on his biceps, wandering over his shirt and down his forearm, while his hand wrapped around your face caressing your cheek.

He had pulled away from you a moment before putting on a show inside the restaurant, his hands tingling with the urge to touch your breasts, reach down between your legs, get rid off your dress and finally feel your body against his.

“God...maybe we should go,” you had whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. 

“I think so, too,” he had breathed.

He had stood up trying to keep at bay his erection pressing impatiently against his jeans.

He had paid the bill and escorted you out, despite your insistence to go halfsies. 

Once you reached the car he had not resisted and had kissed you again, pushing you against the door. “I want you so bad,” he had whispered against your skin. 

“Take me home,” you had replied, looking into his eyes in a way that drove him crazy. 

Once in the car, you had placed your hand on his leg squeezing it from time to time. At a stoplight, you had moved your hand to his hard-on, massaging it slowly. “God, you are naughtier than I thought.”

"Is that bad?" you had asked feigned innocence.

“Not at all, baby...if I'm being honest...fuck...” he had interrupted when you had squeezed harder on his cock ”Christ, I can't wait to rip that dress off you.”

“I’m glad to hear that” you had replied in a honeyed voice. 

_________________________________

The instant you had entered the door he had dragged you into the bedroom. 

He had pulled down the zipper of your dress, letting it fall at your feet, and pushed you onto the bed. 

“You're so beautiful.” he had whispered, almost more to himself, as if trying to convince himself that indeed everything he had imagined in previous weeks was coming out of the territory of his wanking material.

“You too,” you had replied sweetly, ”why don't you get rid of those clothes and come and get me?”

Frankie hadn't had it repeated, standing naked in front of you in an instant; he had never undressed so quickly even when he was in the army and had to observe a curfew. 

He had stretched out beside you, his cock semi hard, his hands roaming over the bare skin of your hips over your panties, reaching up to graze your lace bra, brushing against your exposed neck as you lay limply sprawled on his bed as beautiful as a goddess. 

“Tell me what you want me to do, baby,” he had whispered.

“What you want, I-” you had tried to answer but he had interrupted you.

“No, tell me, please. I would like to hear it. I would like you to tell me exactly what you would like me to do to you.,” he had urged you “is that okay?”

“Yeah” you murmured 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I like it…so uhm…Undo my bra and play with my titties, first. Would you?” You cooed.

“Of course, honey” he replied

You got up to sit to ease it, and then you lay down again as he tossed the bra to one side.

Frankie's eyes were fixed on your exposed breasts, he reached out a hand surrounding one of them with his palm, marveling at the softness of your skin.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen anything more perfect” 

Your skin exuded an enveloping warmth that flowed through his body and merged with him. He moved a finger closer to your areola, circling your nipple very slowly and then pinching it suddenly, making you gasp.

“Too much?” 

“No…go on” you sobbed “please”

“How?” He pressed you gently, continuing to brush your nipple with his fingertip. 

“With your mouth…” you murmured.

He was full hard at that point, his cock grazing at your thigh while he lowered himself on your of your tit, sticking out his tongue and making you arch your spine as soon as he kitten licked your nipple. He smirked “mmm so sensitive, baby” before wrapping his lips around your bud and beginning to suck slowly, his beard pinching lightly against your skin.

His tongue brushed over you in short thrusts as he sucked greedily, his hand slowly descended over your torso, over your tummy, down to your mound and had stopped there, just above the hem of your panties. 

You groaned beneath him, melting at his touch, he could feel your body slowly becoming more pliant to him.

“Yes - oh my god - go on like that” you whined and he couldn’t help but smile on your skin. 

“What more do you want me to do?” he had asked, and to your discomposed groaning he had replied ”with your words, remember?”

He liked that you were slowly losing control, your barely half-closed eyes glazed with pleasure silently pleading with him.

“Touch…touch my pussy. Please”

He had moved his fingers down from your mound, slowly, over your folds, feeling your body tense deliciously. 

His index and middle fingers had slipped between them, bathing in your essence. 

"God, you're soaked," and you had panted. 

You looked like a dream to him, your hair disheveled on his sheets, your legs spread wide for him, your breath coming in short gasps, your little pendant that rose and fell on your chest as he worked in your cunt with his fingers, lingering on your opening, going up to your clit and barely touching it, leaving you eager and hungry, just as he wanted.

"mmm more, please" you had begged and a smirk had unfolded on his face "be more specific, baby" 

“I want ... fuck ... I want you to put them in me.” 

"Yeah? You want me to finger-fuck this pretty cunt?” He purred, while stroking your labia, gently circling your clit with his thumb.

“Yes” you had sighed and he had easily entered you, slipping into your arousal. 

He had curled his fingers looking for your special spot as you squeezed them hard “Oh damn...right there...God Frankie...right there” you had whined as a swell of pride was spreading in his chest and his cock throbbed. 

You had the sweetest pussy he had ever been lucky enough to see, the obscene wet sounds coming out of her as he never stopped moving his fingers inside you was heaven.

You were magnificent, just magnificent, his cock was begging for mercy but he had no intention of rushing it. He wanted to fill his eyes with you, he wanted to see you sink beneath him, to lose your inhibitions completely. 

Every fiber of his body longed for you but he stifled his need to take care of yours first; it was too good to see you like that, your pussy clenching convulsively, your mouth half-open, your moans filling his ears.

“I need...your mouth...”

“Where?” he had asked feigning naivete.

"On my clit...please" you had cried. 

He had moved, taking down your panties, lowering to reach for your clit, passing his tongue flatly all over it.

“suck it,” you had said in a whisper, ”please.”

And so he had done, taking it between his lips, savoring your taste on his tongue as you cried your last wail and broke down in shattering pleasure.

Your back had arched, your hand had flown through his hair as the other gripped his sheets tightly, and your hips pushed against his lips, your lips bent in a grimace of pleasure that radiated into your eyes, your pupils dilated, tiny droplets of sweat beading on your forehead.

“Yes… fuck… YES”

He had continued to lick and suck and push on your spot until you had calmed down.

But you were not yet satiated, as soon as you had regained the ability to speak you had whispered, “I want your cock.”

“Mmm baby” he had said arching an eyebrow, scrutinizing your face unmade with pleasure and your eyes still glazed with your orgasm.

“Really. I want it.”

You had accompanied this last sentence by wrapping your delicate hand around his length "he wants me too," you had said with a smirk, beginning to massage him, running a finger over the tip to collect the pre cum dripping down profusely from it. 

“who am I to say no to you...do what you want, baby” he had granted you. 

As much as he had tried to dominate, he had to admit that he was completely subdued by you, and he didn't mind it, he didn’t mind that at all.

You had gotten up and gently pushed him onto the mattress, settling between his legs, locking your gaze with his, a glint of desire in your eyes as you began to lick his engorged tip, sliding down his shaft humming in pleasure “mmm you taste so good” you cooed.

"God, baby, if you do this I'm not going to last long." 

He had craned his neck not to miss any of your moves, but he already felt he was on the verge of bursting, had tried to control his breathing and stay right on the edge, without plummeting down.

"Hold on a little longer, I want you to finish in my pussy. Please, Frankie?” You had purred.

He had let out a long sigh as your mouth descended on his cock, enveloping it as much as you could, continuing to stroke the rest with your hand. You had red nail polish, just like in his fantasies, but the reality was even better. Your mouth was incredible around his cock, your tongue vexing his swollen veins, your saliva sliding slowly going to pool on his crotch. 

“Please, baby,” he had grunted, and you had hummed in response, vibrating on his cock.

Your tongue had swirled over his red, swollen tip, then you had pulled away and said, "Please what?" glancing at him.

“Sit on me, please, I can’t…” he had groaned.

You had moved warily, straddling him, taking his cock back into your hand, aligning it with your entrance.

You had lowered yourself slowly, moaning "you are so thick" as he felt your cunt open up for him, your walls stretch and your essence coiling around him mixing with your saliva.

“And you are so tight ... fuck, baby, it’s so good.”

The instant you had sat completely on him had been unreal, he felt so deep inside you he swore he was pressing against your cervix, and you were squeezing him so hard he had thought he would lose his mind. You began to roll your hips over him, rubbing your clit with your fingers while your other hand was anchored on his hip. 

He had begun to move his hips in rhythm with yours, thrusting inside you “harder” you had urged him “please, Frankie” 

He was lost in the instant he had seen you bring one hand to your tit, kneading your breast as you continued to ride him faster and faster, pinching your nipple while rubbing your clit with the other. 

“I’m coming…fuck..where, babe?” He had stammered and you cried “inside, please, I’m on the pill.” You had thrown your head back immediately after, your eyes closed, your mouth open, your disheveled hair falling over your neck, seeing you so totally ravished had made him explode inside you, painting your hot, soaked walls with his cum. 

You were collapsed on top of him, wrapping yourself around his body while he was still pulsing inside you. You had waited for his breathing to return to normal by peppering his neck with little kisses, going up his jaw and ending on his lips.

He had hugged you tightly, reveling in your warmth, the softness of your breasts on his chest, your legs wrapped tightly with his, and the intoxicating scent of your skin.

You had hummed in the crook of his neck, then looked into his eyes and moved a lock of hair from his sweat-beaded forehead, kissing him one more time, his mustache tickling your cupid's bow. 

“From the first time I saw you, I knew we would end up like this, you know?” you had said with a proud undertone.

“Oh yeah?” he had replied, wryly raising an eyebrow, ”how were you so sure?”

You had looked at him with the look of someone who knows very well what she is talking about and had replied, “For three reasons. First, I noticed right away how you were looking at me, second, I wanted it too and usually when I want something I get it, and third, you never charged me for the extra cream.”

bb tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @harriedandharassed @milla-frenchy @almostempty @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites @lemon-nomel

I would like to add a couple of special people that I am starting to know a little bit better and I like them a lot: @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk @gothcsz @msjarvis

archive: @pedrostories

[lc-holy]

Conférence Masterclass 808 (Translation)

I've taken the liberty of translating the conference that took place last year with the writing director of Miraculous (Sébastien Thibaudeau). It was only made public when someone posted a video of the conference a short while ago.

In this conference, Sébastien Thibaudeau will talk about the creation of Miraculous and his work on the series. He is joined by Chloé Paye, a new scriptwriter working on Miraculous season 6.

Sébastien talks a lot and repeats himself a bit, so the summary can be a bit confusing.

I strongly advise you to go and listen to the video if you understand French. There are a lot of details I'm going to leave out, and Sébastien is very funny.

Photo belongs to mlbfanfr on twitter.

Please be respectful in comments or tags. If you want to debate on things related to this conference, please make your own post. I apologize if there are any mistakes, I'm French and I'm not fluent in English.

-12 years ago, Sébastien arrived at Zagtoon, a studio that was just starting out and had yet to produce and broadcast any series. The producer (Jérémy Zag) and Sébastien hit it off and decided to start working together. Zag decides to give Sébastien total freedom over his projects. Sébastien then decides to put the spotlight on scriptwriters, because in this profession they are unfortunately poorly paid and never stay on the same projects.

So they produced a cartoon called Kobushi. A little-known series that did rather well, even if it didn't stay on the "Gulli" channel for long. The scriptwriters and producer were happy with the end result, as it was produced in a very short time.

Jeremy Zag then proposed another project, which he thought was quite good, but which he was unable to sell to broadcasters. At the time, the project was called "Ladybug". No one was interested, as the project was aimed more at an adult audience than a children's audience. Sébastien had to make sure that the project could be broadcast on Disney and TF1.

There was only a "trailer" also called "Ladybug" (but you'll find the video under the title Ladybug PV) animated by Toei animation. At the time, Sébastien had not yet been hired by Zagtoon. It was Jérémy Zag who convinced Toei animation to work with them (no mean feat, since Toei animation doesn't work with anyone).

So Sébastien started working with Thomas Astruc (the man who wrote and created the "Ladybug" project). At first, he didn't want to work on this project because he found it complicated. Thomas wanted to make a series for adults, but at the time, it was very complicated to make a cartoon for adults. What's more, they didn't have enough money to take on such a project. Sébastien finally agreed, but there were some changes to be made, which Thomas accepted.

-What Sébastien appreciated most in this project was the romantic comedy, the love square between the two main characters.

To meet the requirements of the cartoon industry, "Ladybug" had to be set in a neutral universe, in other words, in an imaginary country or the USA, but Zag, who loves Paris, declared that the cartoon had to be set in Paris.

In the end, Thomas Astruc's entire project was discarded, leaving only the love story between the two heroes and the city of Paris, where the story was to take place.

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

-Sébastien explains how he writes Marinette's first dialogues: He says he talks a lot in real life, so he writes Marinette like him. She says out loud whatever she's thinking.

For Chat noir, he makes him tell his father's jokes. Something TF1 doesn't accept. The TV channel went so far as to refuse to validate the Bible (a collection of information on the series and episodes) until it had removed the sentence: “Chat noir makes jokes”. Sebastien has therefore removed the sentence, but will continue to make Chat noir tell jokes.

-The writing director's job is to get the producer, creator and broadcaster to agree. The series broadcast on TF1 and Disney are very different. TF1 wants series whose story can be told in a single episode, unlike Disney, which wants series whose story spans several episodes.

Sébastien and TF1 agree that Miraculous will be a series with one story per episode, a "Formula Show".

He cites the example of Dora the Explorer episodes, where every episode is the same: Dora goes on an adventure from point A to point B, she has to find 3 clues, then she meets Swiper, she sings a song to make Swiper go away, she uses the talking map to get from one place to another, then Dora manages to get to point B and the episode ends.

This episode format is used for children, to give them a reassuring framework, as they build themselves up through repetition. That's why series like Dora work so well with young children.

So Sebastien sold the Miraculous series to broadcasters as a formula show. A person gets angry, is akumatized, then marinette transforms into Ladybug then frees the person from the akumatization and… The End.

It's also for this reason that Marinette tries to confess her love for Adrien in every episode, but is unable to do so.

But he tried to go against what he had planned with TF1, by slipping little extra stories into certain episodes. Audiences were receptive to these slightly hidden stories. The TV channel even asked Sébastien if there really were hidden things in the series, but he denied everything. Thanks to the positive reception from the public, TF1 agreed to develop the characters of Marinette and Adrien and flesh out the universe a little more.

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

-Once the bible is written, they have to write a script. But first Sébastien, as writing director, needs to know the mood of the series, and to do this he calls on Thomas Astruc, the series creator. Thomas is a great fan of classical painting. A single painting can tell a complex scene with lots of detail. He wants the episodes of miraculous to be like these paintings, there will be very few shots, but in a single shot a lot will happen.

-Sébastien explains that one of the things Thomas wanted to convey in the series was emotion. They didn't want to do what a lot of children's cartoons do, which is to beat the bad guys and win at the end of the episode. They wanted to tell kids that it's normal to have negative emotions. We can also become better people, learn from our mistakes and so on. It also reassures TV channels by setting up scenes that are repeated in every episode: people get angry, people akumatize then people deakumatize, end of episode...

Once the TV channels had been reassured, they set about writing a script.

-Sébastien asks Thomas to write the ending, as they're not sure the series will work. They also wondered what the aim of the series was, and what they wanted to say to the children. The two of them sat down in an office and wrote the ending, which turned out to be just the end of an arc. He even adds that now that they've written a lot more, it's important for them to write in advance so that everything is clear to them.

-The first season was written by 19 authors, from home. He found it interesting that the series was written by several different authors, even if some of them didn't quite understand the premise of the series. One episode that Sébastien particularly appreciated was written by two “autrices” (I think it's weird to say “two female authors”, so I'll use the French word): the refletkta episode, with the story of Juleka who couldn't get into the photos. (Note that all the episodes were proofread by Sébastien and Thomas).

After that, they kept a few people on to work together on the scripts for subsequent seasons.

Sébastien explains that he keeps a close eye on the production of the episodes, to make sure that everything that goes into the picture is as faithful as possible to what they've written in the script.

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

-The kwamis exist thanks to Toei, who wanted funny little animals to sell plush toys. So the scriptwriters had to find a way to integrate kwamis into the story.

-(Again, Sébastien advises people to check out the Kobushi series if they can still watch it somewhere, or ask the leaker who leaked the whole of season 5 to give them the episodes (that's a joke, of course)).

-Sébastien talks about the Ikari gozen episode, which could have been a total failure because the storyboarder didn't fully understand the scenario. Sébastien asks Zag to redo the storyboard, which will add 10 weeks to the episode's deadline. The storyboarder admits that he's always done storyboards mechanically, without worrying whether the episode is good or not, whether the jokes are funny or not. Eventually, the episode was redone by the same storyboarder, resulting in the episode we all know today.

- They still have a lot to tell with Miraculous, to the point where they're wondering if they'll have enough seasons to tell everything they want to tell. Sebastien says there will be a season 6 and 7, and probably a season 8 and 9.

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

- Chloé Paye met Sébastien when she was looking for an internship. She had never worked in animation, and knew nothing about Miraculous. She tells us how the scriptwriting team works. Each time, all the scriptwriters in the room have to be convinced of the script. They can sometimes spend hours on details to get everyone to agree.

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

- The driving force behind the series is that there must always be a secret between Marinette and Adrien. The lovesquare can never be broken, otherwise there's no series. Sébastien knows that some people are worried about this. Will they continue the lovesquare for another 4 seasons or more? How will they evolve? Sébastien says not to worry, they know where they want to go.

-It takes them 14 to 16 months to produce an episode, but it's often much longer due to unforeseen circumstances. And they don't work on one episode at a time, but on several at the same time. One episode takes a long time because of the 3D animation.

One of the things that's complicated with Miraculous 3d animation is that they can only display 3 characters at a time on screen, whereas the series requires them to display many more characters. It's also very difficult to correct animation errors, as this takes a lot of time.

-The TV networks were very surprised by the success of miraculous. They didn't think adults and children alike would watch the series. The TV channels were a little confused because they usually make series for a specific age group, but since miraculous had people of all ages watching, they weren't sure what to do.

- Sébastien says he's very happy that miraculous inspires a lot of people to create things, like writing fanfiction, however he's not interested in it because he doesn't want to be influenced by certain fans who would love to see certain things in the series.

- Writing direction also means paying attention to how the characters speak. They all have their own way of speaking. For example, Adrien will never say "j’te parle", but rather "Je te parle".

- During the writing process, the writers sometimes act out scenes to make the dialogue more natural. This is what happened with the episode "Gang of secrets". They felt that, with the success of the show and the pressure it was generating, they needed to write something to relieve their stress. So they wrote about Marinette and the enormous pressure she was under to keep all her secrets. The final scene, in which Marinette tells Alya that she's Ladybug, came naturally when they performed it together.

[seasonalflowerr]

24? 👀

24. Holding onto you by Twenty One Pilots "I'm taking over my body, back in control, no more shotty I bet a lot of me was lost, T's uncrossed and I's undotted I fought it a lot and it seems a lot like flesh is all I got Not anymore, flesh out the door, swat!" HIIII ELLA HIIIIII. i have. gem and pearl for you!! this is the first time i've ever written them so i'm sorry if it's not great- but i know you're a pearl fan so i thought i'd try it out :D the connection between the song and the fic is kinda... odd... it's not the most obvious. i'll probably leave an elaboration in the tags/below the fic if you're curious. but i just wrote the first scene that came to my mind after listening to the song on repeat for like half an hour and staring off into space. i hope you like it and i hope you're doing well <3 thanks for sending one in! spotify wrapped ask game

Pearl is patching a hole in an old hoodie.

She hasn’t always been the best at sewing—but she could manage enough to fix tears or pull at a seam or two. The red fabric is set in a rippled little pile in her lap. Her elbows dig into it as she works, warm and pilled and familiar. The needle pushes through it, dragging with it the only thread she had available to her: a bright green. 

Pearl could manage. It’d do the job. 

The poor thing is.. riddled with random stains. It’s torn in ten different places, the cuffs loose and coming undone in thin strips; overused, overworn. 

She couldn’t understand what compelled her to take the thing out and fix it. It’d been shoved to the bottom of a chest. Even still, the moment she touched it again, a strange comfort overcame her. It didn’t feel bad, but it didn’t feel good either. 

All Pearl knew is that a few minutes ago, she hadn’t wanted to look at it for a while. But..

She pushes, tugs the needle through again. 

The fresh green pops against the dull crimson—odd, but not unwelcome. The little lip of fabric from a decently sized tear, slowly but surely, is reattached to its original home. It isn’t straight; in fact, the whole thing looks a little janky. It must be curling underneath, not flat enough. Ironing would be useless now; the damage was done. 

A weird buzz washes over her with that. She shakes her head and refocuses. 

Push, grab, tug. Gently. Not too gently though, the needle won’t go through. 

Then, if it’s too hard, the needle could break. The thread could snap. She’ll have to start over again, and again after that for sure—she didn’t have the gentle hands, it just didn’t feel like it anymore. But she’d manage, Pearl was always very good at managing. Especially when the cards weren’t good. But she’d fix this, she’d solve it by next time and-

And.. Pearl has sufficiently thrusted the sharp point of her sewing needle unfortunately far into her finger. 

She yelps, yanking the tiny sliver of metal out and shooting her hand out, shaking it a few times out of instinct. It throbs, she bites her lip. There are a few scattered footsteps tracking across the room. Pearl glances up. 

“Pearl,” Gem says, taking a knee in front of her and grabbing the assailed hand, “Did you poke yourself?”

With a throat too tight—-when did that happen?--Pearl can’t do much but mutter something and nod. Gem’s eyes scan over her hand, nose scrunched up and eyebrows furrowed in concern. She singles out the wounded finger and sighs. 

“What did I say about being careful?”

“I-I was careful,” Pearl says, clearing her throat a bit, “It’s nothin’. Just wasn’t paying attention.”

“Well, you should do that better.” Gem smirks up at her, obviously teasing. “You could lose a finger.”

Everything feels tight in Pearl’s shoulders. Gods, she’d really gotten herself worked up. She forces a breath. Out of Gem’s pocket comes a band-aid. She unwraps it quickly, holding some of the spare wrappings in her mouth as she wraps it around Pearl’s finger, careful not to push too hard. 

“‘ere we go,” she mutters between clenched teeth before dropping the papers into her hand, speaking clearer the second time around, “All better!”

At that, Pearl’s chest tightens again. It really isn't all better—the hoodie is still in her lap. The needle is long gone. Her finger hurts. She huffs hard, like a sob was hiding in the back of her throat and she wanted to keep it there. 

“Hey. What’s up?” Gem asks, her hand resting on Pearl’s knee, “I heard ‘I’m gonna patch my hoodie’ and then silence for like.. 15 minutes.” 

Pearl avoids Gem’s gaze, thumbing at a drawstring. “Just focused.”

“Sure, Pearl.”

“What?”

“How about you look at me and tell me that?”

She doesn’t. Gem snorts. 

“Come on,” her voice softens, and she takes Pearl’s hand in hers, “I can tell you’re upset.”

When Pearl does look up, she sees Gem’s green eyes staring back at her hard. Her friend’s face holds concern, though it’s buzzing behind pink cheeks and a half-smile that feels reassuring. Out of some habit—maybe instinct, Pearl smiles a little too; not too warmly, or kindly, but bitterly.

“I can’t sew this thing.”

“No?”

“No.”

“That’s okay. There are other things you can do.”

“No- I really should fix it. It’s such a mess.”

Gem squeezes her hand. “Pearl.”

“It can’t go back into the box like this, it has to be ready for next time.”

“Next time,” Gem starts knowingly, “Isn’t in the next five minutes. You can try again another day.” 

Pearl lets out a little frustrated growl, squeezing her eyes shut. Her hands shake. She can still feel the weight of the thing in her lap. Clearly, it won’t be easy to let this idea go. It didn’t help that Gem was also stubborn and wouldn’t let it go either. Not till Pearl came to a conclusion that would ease her distress. 

“...And who knows, maybe you won’t need it,” Gem says, glancing away as if she’s afraid she’s saying something wrong, “Things could go differently.” 

“But they won’t. We both know they won’t.”

Gem doesn’t like this response, visibly pleading. 

“Pearlll…”

“Gemmmm…” Pearl mimics, unable to hide her sad smile even as she tries (and fails) to distract, “It’s fine. I just- I can’t let it go today. I need to fix this.”

Gem narrows her eyes. 

“Okay. If you feel so seriously about it, we can do it together then.” 

Pearl’s face twitches, visibly taken aback by the suggestion. 

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? I let you borrow my thread already. Might as well let me help you at this point.”

Before Pearl can even object, Gem stands up and moves to Pearl’s side on the bench. She uses her hip to nudge at Pearl’s shoulder, a silent ‘move over’ before plopping herself on the seat next to her. 

“Gem, I can do it.”

“Oh, hush. Let me see it.” 

Gem’s hands dig into the red pile and Pearl feels her fingers clench it tighter before she realizes what she’s doing, and forces her hands to relax. Even as Gem pulls it apart slightly to get a better look, Pearl won’t let it go entirely. 

“Your stitches are too tight.” 

“You have other projects.” 

“They can wait. Here, let’s get a new needle and thread.” 

Pearl knows when she has lost a battle. Against the hoodie, against the Gem (those battles were particularly easy to lose). After a few minutes, Gem has managed to give Pearl a step-by-step refresher in how to mend something, even if she didn’t really need it. Pearl fiddles with a tiny gash in the side, near a seam. The needle feels a little less like a weapon this time around. 

Gem still prattling next to her, Pearl smirks down at their shared project, fingers and hands all tangled in thread and fabric. 

“...Thanks, Gem.” ~~~~~~ i have really strong feelings about Pearl's hoodie from Double Life being a metaphor for her mental stability and physical form. Especially after being broken down and left alone for a lot of DL. it's fine. i'm fine. i also love Gem not hesitating to, in a sense, help her put herself back together a little bit. yeah. idk if ANY of that came across but even if not, i thought this was a fun little snippet. :) - rose

[leviismybby]

Once a thief, always a thief

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, there's a lot going on, it's very bittersweet.

A/N: I wrote this while doing my essay today, the idea seemed too good to just let it go, let me know if I should do a part 2! :))

Taglist: @the-milk-anon @youre-ackermine @levisbrat25 @yakaaamoz @levisgreyeyes @notgoodforlife @ackermendick @laraackerman If you want to be tagged just let me know!

Levi's eyes followed as the scouts trained, every single one trying to impress him more than the other. Next to him, Miche is doing the same, hawk-like eyes watching their every move.

"Levi." He hears Erwins voice behind him, already on alert by the sound of it. Levi turns around to face the blond man, arms crossed against his chest. "We have a problem I'd like to discuss with you."

Without a word Levi follows Erwin to his office, something is telling him that it's about you, again. As they enter his office, he sees Nile sitting in one of the chairs visibly upset.

Levi sits down opposite Nole, his face stoic. Once everyone has settled, Erwin turns to Nile, already annoyed with the man. "So Nile, please repeat to captain Levi what the issue seems to be."

"Name has stolen from us again, this is the fifth time in three months. She needs to be put behind bars for good." There isn't any mercy in Nile's words, you had been a pain in his ass for a while now.

"Why are you telling me this?" Levi almost scoffs the words out, he would lie for you again however this time, he really doesn't know where you are.

"You have lied for her before, I have no reason to see why you wouldn't do it again." It was about a year ago when you had stolen a pretty expensive necklace from one of the nobles, when shown a drawing of you, Levi lied that he didn't know you. Too bad for him, Nile had already caught on by then.

"I have nothing to do with her anymore and I don't fucking care that she stole from you. Train your dumbass soldiers better and maybe they would be able to stop one woman from stealing." But you're a tough cookie, always have been since Levi met you all those years ago.

You used to be kids in the underground, Kenny had thought Levi many things but not how to properly steal, Levi got that from you. Somehow, be it luck or skill, you always got away with it. He remembers when you stole a whole bag of fruits from smugglers without being seen, that was the day he was introduced to apples.

The two of you grew up together and he watched you grow into a woman. When you were taken by the scouts you took it well, even got praised by the commanding officers for your impressive stealth, until Furlan's and Isabelle's deaths.

That was where you snapped and the next day you vanished. Levi lost it all in a span of two days but he grew from it, learned to adapt to the scouts, and became humanities strongest soldier.

As soon as he heard that there was a mysterious robbery in a dress store, he knew it was you. He knows you like the back of his hand.

Arrogance was always your big problem, how many times has Levi had to save your ass because you were too stubborn to quit?  He could count on his finger just how many times he lied not only to the military police but to Erwin as well, all to keep you out of trouble. Yet you always manage to get yourself into bullshit and Levi is getting tired of it.

"How about we set up a trap? What does she like Levi?" Erwin turns his attention to Levi, noticeably curious about what his answer will be. "I don't know, anything that can make her a bit of money."

A lie. He lied again. You loved diamonds and different stones, you kept a shelf in your old room full of them.

"Something from the king, perhaps his robe, that would be worth a bunch on the black market." Of course, all of these suggestions by Erwin are for the benefit of the scouts again. If his plan works, he will be awarded by the government.

"The king? What makes you think he would want to help?" Nile's body is now tense, even though he wouldn't want the king involved in all of this.

"A skilled thief is on the loose, she got past your security what makes you think that she can't get through to the king?"

"The king doesn't interest her, trust me. She is skilled but she never bites off more than she can chew." Of course, you hated royals and their selfishness for normal people, while they starved, the king and his men ate like pigs.

"So what do you propose Levi?" Erwin's eyebrow slightly raises, he is interested in hearing what Levi has in store.

"We wait. She will strike again I'm sure."

Levi doesn't want to complicate things, he simply doesn't want you to get caught by the government. If it means that he has to come up with a plan alone, then so be it.

__________________________________

And so it was, Levi waited for three hours to see if you would be interested in the new jewelry shop that opened not far away from the capital of Mitras. It was dark, only moonlight illuminating the empty streets, the smell of after rain was present, creating an unusual atmosphere.

No matter how many times he has told himself to hate you, to forget you, he couldn't do it. You were his first everything after all. How many times has he hoped that he would see you somewhere happy possibly married and even with a baby in your hands. Levi would hate that man with his whole being but he would know that you are safe.

All of that is far from reality, Levi knew that you never even thought about marriage let alone a child. You weren't mature enough for those things no matter how quickly you had to grow up and fight for survival.

Finally, he sees a hooded figure climbing down from one of the buildings onto the roof of the jewelry shop. Every one of your steps is calculated, at the moment when you concentrated the most is where Levi had caught you off guard.

Suddenly you weren't walking anymore, instead grunting in pain as you felt your arms being pinned behind your back. You tried to wiggle yourself out of the grip but to no avail.

"Name stop." You stop moving, eyes going wide. Levi. When he sees that you have relaxed under his touch, he slowly lets you go making you know that he can catch you should you try to run.

You get up from the ground, taking your hood off. "Heh, I should've known you would be tracking me. I felt eyes on me for a while now."

"I wasn't tracking shit, I just happen to know you." As blunt as ever I see. "Good for you then. Now please excuse me I have a store to rob."

Just as you were about to walk past him, Levi grips your arm halting you in place. "Are you an idiot? Can't you see that it's a trap?" Damn it. He wasn't supposed to tell you that. It was what Nile came up with after he had left Erwin's office.

"No kidding." You smile sarcastically, breaking your hand away from his grip. "You knew."

"Of course I did. A new shop opens out of the blue in the middle of Mitras, do you think that I'm stupid?" Your voice is raised and you don't even notice it. For all that you thought would happen in the future between you and Levi, this wasn't one of them.

You have always thought that he would be your partner in crime for life, it seemed so before anyway. But things have changed, he has changed.

"So why the hell are you here? Do you want to get caught?" The answer was no and yes, no you didn't want to get caught, yes because you wanted to see if the military police have learned from their past mistakes.

"Even if I do, what about it? I'm just a thief aren't I?" Levi scoffs at you, after so long of not seeing each other, he thought you would at least be more responsible.

"Don't test me name." He says eyes searching yours. it's clear that whatever happens on this roof tonight, you two are far from over.

"Or what? You're gonna scold me?

"I'm trying to protect you. You brainless idiot." Levi almost spits out those words, how can't you see that he has been doing it the whole time?

"How nice. Somehow everyone you tried to protect is now six feet under." Those words make Levi's eyes shoot open, you don't seem to realize what you just said until you see Levi grow mad.

Before you can move, your back is already harshly pinned against the stone wall, breath is almost knocked out of you. Levi's hand is gripping your shirt, pulling it up until your noses are almost touching.

"How childish do you have to be not to understand that I have saved your ass so many times? Do you even know how close they were to locking you up? Do you know what it means to be behind bars as someone who is from the underground!?" His voice is harsh but he isn't yelling, it's a mixture of hurt and worry.

"And why do you even do it? I didn't ask that from you! You just joined the scouts, you didn't even try looking for me after I left! Do you know how hard it is to see you after all this time?" Levi softens his grip when he sees that your eyes have been filled with tears.

"Let me go Levi!" A tear rolls down your face, Levi is frozen, stuck between his heart and mind.

"Levi! I said let me g-" Lips suddenly crush to your own and you blink. Without much hesitation, your hands are in his hair and you are kissing him back.

Neither of you are thinking, the only thing you're focused on is Levi. You have missed him so much. His hands run down to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

And you let him, let him savor this moment while it lasts. Your hands wander from his hair to his neck, tongue entering his mouth. Levi moans softly, kissing you passionately.

You're teenagers again, the same ones that clumsily had their first kiss, the same ones that used to cause trouble.

Levis hands move down to your hips, squeezing them, a moan escapes your mouth when Levi pulls away and starts kissing your neck.

"Levi...." You take his face into your hands, kissing him once more before pulling away. "Not here and not now..." He nods, aware of his surroundings again. Pulling away from you, his cheeks grow red.

"You should go. The military police could be here any minute." You nod taking the opportunity to kiss him again and he doesn't budge, fully accepting your kiss.

"Here is my address." You slip a piece of paper into his belt before putting your hood on and running in the opposite direction.

Levi is left on the roof, mouth agape, still trying to process what just happened. Only when he hears footsteps is he brought back to reality.

He will make sure to see you again, he takes the paper from is belt but notices that one of his knives is gone, Levi smiles slightly.

Once a thief, always a thief

[pennyserenade]

ONLY BACKWARDS

pairing: dieter bravo x you, dieter bravo x reader rating: explicit (oral sex (female receiving), pinv, references to unprotected sex, hate sex, light dirty talk (not degrading) tags: angst, age gap (reader is 34 and bravo is 48), hurt/comfort  word count: 2.8k+ summary: it has been 6 months since you last heard from dieter bravo. this time he comes back to you with a black eye and he asks for too much. it is just like always.  a/n: i wrote this in about a day so if its a little funky, that’s probably why. unbeta’d. songs i recommend you listen to while you read (if that’s something you enjoy): american dream by lcd soundsystem, sculptures of anything goes by arctic monkeys, californication by red hot chili peppers, and conversation 16 by the national 

Fourteen years and two days. Depending on the way you look at it, that’s either a long time or too little of it. 

As you take a good look at the man who you share this age gap with, you aren’t sure where you fall on the spectrum. 

Dieter looks like shit. Beneath his right eye is purplish yellow, no doubt the reward he got for committing one of his heavily repeated mistakes. His eyes are reddish, bloodshot and he looks like he made some attempt at looking nice a day or two ago, but what he’s left with is stubble on his cheeks and hair gone greasy from too much product. You used to want to nurse him in these states, to hold his head between your hands and speak to him tenderly. 

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own age for once?” you say to him, pushing your sunglasses up the bridge of your nose. Your voice doesn’t possess the vitriol a sentence like that needs to really land. He squints against the sun, waiting. Your fingers press into the steering wheel. Be good, do good, you tell yourself. You can’t pick up a grown man’s baggage for the rest of your life. You don’t want to. 

He doesn’t attempt to charm you. “I just want to take a shower and a nap and then I’ll never bother you again.”

“Why can’t you do that at your own house?”

Dieter pouts out his lips, looking above the hood of the car. In the other corner of the studio lot, there are people making a ruckus, laughing, talking too loudly. He looks back at you, brown eyes devoid of any real emotion. “I don’t like my own home.”

You think of all you’ve got to do. A script to write, a meeting in the morning, a date at 9. You really think you could like the guy too—a salaried television writer who lives in a sizable house and graduated from somewhere like Princeton. Your friend who set you up says he’s the perfect match for you: handsome, sweet, smart. Reliable. 

“One shower and a hour nap, Bravo, and then you’re out.” He nods his head gratefully. “I mean it,” you say, voice serious. “No silly business this time. I’m doing this because I’m feeling charitable today.”

He makes his way to the passenger side and you take the time to glance down at the car clock. It’s two o’clock.A familiar pang of regret hits you. Seven hours seems like an eternity to you now. 

You decide it then: fourteen years is too much, even if you are thirty-four and he is forty-eight. It matters to you today, because you know if you don’t let it, you will be picking up his baggage forever. It is an entire ocean separating the both of you today, because it has to be. 

———

Dieter’s hair is still soaking wet, the towel you set out for him abandoned at the head of your bed. It hasn’t even touched him, didn’t get the chance before he settled between your legs. As he presses his warm tongue to your cunt, cold droplets fall from his head onto your thighs. You are keenly aware of the way they make their slow descent down, onto your freshly washed bed spread. 

You don't know why you let these things happen. It’s as if something takes hold of you when he’s around, makes you foolish.

The worst part is that you know it’s your fault. For once in his goddamn life, Dieter was being good. He didn’t make any passes, didn’t even say much aside from a few pleasant “Thank you”s. You couldn’t stand it, which makes you on par with him, foolish and reckless and self absorbed—and oh God, his tongue feels good. 

Your legs are draped over his shoulders and his fingers grip into your hips, pinning them down before they even get the chance to lift. Because he knows they will, knows because he’s made them do that before, many times. As he parts you with his tongue, lapping up your juices and making more of them, you watch him. His long nose barely grazes your sensitive clit and you moan openly siri want—too giving for so little effort. 

Dieter works with patience. You will give him this: he is a good pussy eater. He licks you open and leaves you wanting, pressing into every part of you except the parts you desperately need him to. He works you for so long, his warm tongue pressing hard against your lips, the place above your entrance, the place just below your clit. You are so sensitive beneath him that you feel like you might explode from the anticipation. You feel everything: the coldness of his wet hair as it presses against your thighs, your lower stomach, where he’s moved one of his hands, the fabric of the bra on top of your pebbled nipples. 

Dieter knows how to overwhelm you so well that it’s the center of most of your fantasies when you’re alone. You’d never tell him that, God forbid the ego it’d give him, but you relish the fact now. You’ve touched yourself so many times thinking about his tongue, the way it drinks you up and splits you apart, and here is he, doing it better than you remember. It’s like hearing a favorite song live after only listening to it on a scratched, over-loved vinyl for too long: exactly how intended, and better than it should be. Your toes curl and he doesn’t even come close to what aches the most.

You’re not going to make your date. It’s the fate he writes out with his precise tongue. He watches you as he spears the tip of it inside of you and he draws out the show he wants: that open mouthed, silent moaning that comes from feeling too much pleasure all at once. It’s the type that makes you tip your head back, flooded with a pulsing desire that causes your knees to try to draw together. He does it again and again, swirling around inside of one. You clench around nothing when he abandons it to run his tongue through your lips again, with no real destination. 

“Don’t make me beg,” you whine, voice low, tugging at his hair. Water drips out into your hands but you don’t care. He listens, attaching his mouth to your sensitive clit and he presses his tongue down, making you struggle, trying to lift the hips he’s got pinned. He takes it into his mouth, sucking at the tender flesh. You feel split open all the sudden, not vulnerable - not really - but laid out just for him, your body craving only what he can give. It is an embarrassing amount of desire that covers the entirety of you, and yet you aren’t embarrassed by it at all. 

For a moment, it is better than all the love in the world, which is exactly why you end up like this. You know that. You shouldn’t lie to yourself about it. That one second where he is enough - more than enough - can sustain you until the next time he will inevitably fail you. 

He draws the orgasm out of you quickly this way. The heels of your feet dig into his back, unable to stop the way you grow stiff with ecstasy of it coursing through you. He doesn’t stop when it hits, his tongue lapping up all your juices until you’re tugging at his hair, almost raw with oversensitivity. 

His lips glisten with your slick. You urge him forward, tugging at his forearm, letting him kiss you on the mouth before he has the chance to wipe you off of himself. He likes that, you know. You’re so blissed out for a moment, you forget the seas that part the two of you. Suddenly he is not Dieter Bravo, the man you have to rescue every six months, but Dieter, the one who knows you better than you do yourself sometimes. 

As his eager tongue meets yours, you allow him to position his hips between your legs, opening them up wide to fit his body. 

His weeping cock presses against you as he kisses you, hard and desperate to be touched. As his fingers gently skim over your jaw, down your neck, you think about how easy it would be for him to slip inside of you. How in one fluid motion, he and you could be so close, the thickness of him satisfying a greedy desire you have to take all of him. Fucking him all of the sudden seems like the very simplest solution to all your problems. It’s a primal thing that he inspires in you. His soft tongue drew out desires hidden in you and now that they’re out, you can’t put them back. 

You wrap your legs around him, pressing him closer. You want him to flirt with the idea in the same way you do, to crave it so badly he stutters asking for it. He freezes against your lips, overcome with the way you press against one another. Everything, everywhere, is warm. Tense. Taut. 

He kisses down your neck but is careful not to move his body, perceptive of the fact he is pressed to your cunt and with one accidental motion, will rub against it. He is wanting, sensitive. You want him to beg. 

“You’re so good, Dieter,” you tell him, hands intertwining in his drying overgrown locks. “I’ve missed this. Missed you,” you add, your breath against his ear. 

He pants against your neck, unwillingly pressing himself into you, rubbing slightly. He stops kissing you, focuses fully on not doing what he shouldn’t. He is being good, telling you to take the parts of him you want, saying sorry in the only way he really knows how: by clumsily handing himself over to you. 

You lift your hips into his, forgoing your need to hear him beg. His eagerness is akin to soft pleas. It is enough just to be wanted, and you know he does: he can hardly contain himself, pressing down when you finally press up. You wet his cock this way, letting him rub up and down, up and down, gathering you up and relishing what warmth of you you’ll give him as the mattress groans beneath you. 

“I could cum like this,” he pants, bringing his lips back to yours. He kisses you hard, enough to make your lips swollen, red. 

You shake your head. “Don’t cum,” you tell him, panicked. You stop moving and he stops too, eyebrows knitting together. “Fuck me, Dieter. I need you to fuck me.”

There is a vulnerability in his gaze as he takes those words in. You are pinned between his arms, beneath his solid body, surrounded entirely by him, and yet it is this look that makes you feel the closest to him. You share a feeling, not an agreement but an understanding: this is it. It is everything you are to each other, and perhaps all you ever will be. 

You hate him for that. You need him to tear you up, split you in half, make you feel the residuals of his affection through the quick snap of his hips and guttural moans you will feel in your bones. You don’t want understanding. 

Because you are angry or perhaps because you’ve gotten a little wiser since you last saw him, you tell him, “Condom,” evenly. It’s a barrier, some precaution you don’t usually make him take. He had told you once that he had never fucked anyone without one, that in all of his recklessness, he had never failed to do that. So of course you gave it to him, let yourself be his first. Now you’re taking it away. 

The purplish yellow of his under eye reassures you that this is right. He didn’t get that being good, being kind. Probably, he fucked someone’s wife, someone’s husband. He hadn’t called you for two months before today. He isn’t kind. Not always. The bruise is the violence he tears through life with. A marking of his wreckage. 

Dieter doesn’t protest about the condom, but you can tell he is wounded. He moves almost dutifully as he opens your bedside table and takes one out. 

You don’t watch him put it on. You look up at the dark of your ceiling, your heart in your stomach. 

“Okay,” he says with finality, wrapping a hand around your ankle. Your eyes soften as you look at him; he is blotted with desire, patchy with remorse. When his dark eyes gaze upon you with open tenderness, you feel your anger dissipate. 

When you open your legs wider for him, he crawls back on the bed, nestles between your thighs. His hands slide beneath you, groping your ass, lifting you to himself. When your bodies connect, his cock sliding into you, you feel all of it. The thickness of his head, the shake of his body as he eases in slowly, the way he settles in you as he bottoms out, trying not to lose control. It is tender, soft. It curls up in your chest and softens a resolve you need to survive on scraps. You don’t want it. 

You dig crescent-shaped moons in his ass, urge his hips forward as they begin to find a rhythm that is quick, angry. Your lips find each other clumsily, teeth clacking against teeth like inexperienced  teenagers. When you move your head away, he kisses the side of your mouth by accident, and then stops trying altogether, burying himself in your neck. He’s never faulted you for not wanting his affection and won’t now. Calloused fingers continue to grip at your ass, pushing you up to meet his hips; it is hip to hip, his cock pushing into the deepest part of yourself, filling you to the hilt with a shared frustration. 

You moan his name, a quick succession of Dieter, Dieter, Dieter, and he grunts helplessly, his body no longer his own, overtaken by desire and anger and disappointment. You are angry with yourself, angry you told him to put on the condom. You want him to fill you with it now—want the sticky substance of his desire to run down your legs and outlast the bitterness. 

He eases you into the mattress, fucks into you with the slow, lazy roll of his hips again. His hands slip away from your ass, travel up to your hands. He interwines your fingers together, pins them above your head. 

You whine, ache. “Harder,” you urge, your hips rising to make up for the lack of speed. You expected him to speed back up once he repositioned and the idea that he won’t fills you with dread. Fuck me, you echo again, hoping he understands. 

He pushes into you, more focused, like that is what you mean when you say harder: more focused. It isn’t. You mean harder. You paw at his hips, shake your head. “Dieter,” you plead. 

He draws back, snaps his hips into you. You gasp. Yes. You whisper it against his hot skin, and he does it again and again and again. Does it even when you sputter, voice straining, hips rising, rubbing against the patch of his body that meets your clit. He fucks you as you cum around his cock, lets your sensitive body feel the fury with which he takes you. With which you asked him to. 

He continues this pace even after he fills the condom, lingers over this spot in time and allows your cunt to suck him dry, to take pieces of him until he is gripping tightly to your hands and overdone with pleasure. He exits you quick, draws back like he’s going to snap forth but doesn’t. You miss the feel of him immediately and you understand the craving you’ve got has to do with far more than sex. 

Your eyes roll back, look at the clock on your nightstand. 3:30. You have time, but you won’t take it. 

Dieter discards the condom in the bathroom and comes back out wearing his underwear and a t-shirt. He offers you a towel and you take it, wiping your connection away. 

He helps you put your underwear back on and you let him climb back into your bed, lay yourself on top of him. He rubs your back as you listen to his heart thud in his chest. 

“Dieter?” you say, voice quiet. 

“Hm?”

“What happened to your eye?”

When he doesn’t respond, you tilt your head up. His eyes are closed but he’s not pretending to sleep. 

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs, not opening them. 

“It’ll make me mad to know?”

He nods, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Why can’t you just be good?” Your voice is so quiet - timid - nearly inaudible. But he hears it, winces. 

“I don’t know,” he tells you honestly. You’ve touched upon an open wound; he shifts beneath you, moving you to his side. But he still wraps himself around you, holds you close. “Let’s sleep.”

“Are you going to be here when I wake up?” 

He holds your head to his chest. “If you want me to be.” 

“Please,” you manage, before closing your eyes. 

[seeminglydark]

hi! is there are reason that you decided that cassette tapes would be john’s chosen form of physical media? how would john organize his music (i.e., genre, band name, release date) and what would john keep his cassettes in? i can imagine him either having stuff in old shoe boxes or a cassette case that he hand-painted himself!

Yes! It's my personal favorite form of media, I'm really partial to cassettes, i think from growing up in the early 90's when it was the norm, so imprinted on my brain. I love mix tapes, jumping up to smash the record button when my fave tune came on the radio, so id always miss the first 10 seconds haha, my first several cars had tape decks. i love Walkmans, it was such a HUGE thing in my life to be able to put headphones on and take my music with me for the first time. I translate a lot of that nostalgia to john. I always imagine him with his Walkman and headphones, or small portable stereo, in bed with all the lights off except the white christmas lights that criss cross his ceiling, Creaky on his chest, listening to the episodes on repeat.

John organizes his music by How Much he Currently Likes A Band, grouped by band name and then oddly enough by album color. (so if he had several cassettes by say, Social D, they'd be next to each other in rainbow or light to dark.) He does most things by color, he's slower at reading and alphabetizing is a bit of a chore and makes him feel self-conscious and stressed. He doesn't mix music and books on tape, they each have their own shelf. He does rearrange a LOT.

Right again re: shoe box and painting the cases! I actually wrote a little snippet of this a long long time ago that didn't make it into the comic, but you can have it now, under the cut.

'Caro eyes a shoe box on the shelf curiously, its covered in stickers, anti fascism and punk rock bands. 'Can i look at this?' they ask, he nods, his back to them. They pull it down and settle it in their lap, lifting off the top to discover... cassette tapes! Oh wait, John did say Maddie recorded their show for him onto cassettes. There were at least 40, all lined up in the order of episodes. Caro pulled one out, the white paper inside the case was filled in with bright colors and shapes, elaborate images of ghosts and snakes and monsters. They pulled out another. A cartoon portrait of the little blond, violet eyes wide at the barrage of brightly colored spirits hovering behind them. 'Is this me?' they ask out loud. John turns to look and freezes. 'Oh….' embarrassed. 'Uh yeah…' 'Wow the art is so…?' they murmur, pulling out another, this one done in greens and blues with metallics. 'Ive never seen anything like these before?' They saw a lot of fanart, but this was different somehow. It felt more personal. Like the person who made them really put their soul into it, like it wasn't just fanart to the artist, but something really deeply important. 'I…um….' Johns face is bright red now..' um…I mean, you know I dont have social media..' he reminds them softly, rubbing the back of his neck. 'Wait.' Caro looks up, he's so flustered now, shuffling his feet, ears on fire. 'These are YOURS? You did these?' Somehow they've forgotten he used to fill up notebooks with colorful drawings, street art and tagging. Liquid letters and cartoon animals with thick black outlines. 'Sure.' He shrugs and turns away, back to them again, 'I would draw on them while listening, you know. It just felt kinda sad to leave them blank. Maddie showed me some of the fanart online, and the box set of the first season. I can't do the same kind of art, I'm not good like those other people, but…I didn't want to leave them blank, so I made my own I guess.' he pauses. 'I'm sorry…you must think I'm so fucking weird.' 'I don't think its weird…' they murmur looking at the tapes. 'I think its really cool. I didn't know you were such a talented artist.' He laughs, a short bark that sounds like a cough. They put the box gently back on the shelf, and sit on the bed, deciding to spare him. They can see he's smiling though, even if he's trying to hide it with his fist pressed against his lips.'

[rjthirsty]

Just Once

Jin/Dahlia (OC)

Words: 3.8k

A/N: I wrote this for Smutember last year. You can find a full list of tags on my ao3 post. Dahlia, at the time, was still canonically MC, but she has evolved since then. CW: Smut, smut, smut.

Jin led Dahlia through the gardens, deeper into areas so overgrown it looked like no one had been there in years. The scent of roses grew thicker as the world around them grew dimmer from the canopy of plant life blocking out the afternoon sun. It was like they were wandering into a wonderland, and Dahlia couldn’t help but look around in awe at the difference this place felt compared to where she had been studying with well manicured shrubbery and picturesque floral arrangements.

Jin pulled a sucker from his pocket and popped the candy in his mouth, rolling it over his tongue and letting it click against his teeth as he tucked it into his cheek. His sharp eyes watched the woman in the garden who was completely unaware he was perched near a tree, covered in the shade offered by it from the midday sun. She was absorbed in a book, sitting on a settee, and judging from the way she hadn’t lifted her teacup since he had begun observing her, it was likely empty and she had been there for a while.

Dahlia had come to the palace a few weeks ago and was recognized as Belle for the process of choosing the next king of Rhodolite. It was a custom the kingdom held where a commoner with a pure heart would see the truth in the princes eligible for the throne, and pick who would be next to rule, getting rid of the scheming and backstabbing that had taken place in fights over succession a long time ago. While it had worked for dozens of ascensions, Jin couldn’t help but worry about a repeat of the last Belle.

So, he had taken it upon himself to watch over Dahlia and prevent another series of unfortunate events from befalling such a lovely young woman.

Dahlia let out a long sigh. Jin could tell she wasn’t even aware she was doing it, clearly the studying was getting to her. Deciding it was time to encourage a break, Jin moved back onto the path and leisurely strolled towards Dahlia.

“Now what has a pretty young lady like you frowning so deeply?” He called out before he got too close, giving her time to acknowledge his presence so as not to startle her.

Dahlia looked up from her book and blinked at the sunlight that showered down around Jin, instantly smiling when she recognized him. “Nothing your company can’t chase away.”

“Mm. You’re sweet talking me already. Looks like I’m not the only one feeling lucky we ran into each other.” He sat down on the settee, taking up a spot close enough to Dahlia that he could hook an arm around her shoulders.

Dahlia had grown accustomed to Jin’s constant flirting and friendly behavior. When he set his arm on her shoulders today, she didn’t push him away or move elsewhere like she had when they first were getting acquainted. She’d learned that while he might say some incredibly lewd things, he never physically crossed a line once it was drawn. It was an odd pairing, the way he seemed to respect her (and other women) and yet he was the biggest womanizer she had ever met.

“Jin, if I say good morning to you, you think I’m sweet talking you.” Dahlia said pointedly with a smirk.

“It’s the way you say it; everything sounds sweet when it comes from you. Sweeter than Yves’ desserts.”

“Come on, I know you’re just being nice. No way you’d ever give up a dessert from Yves.”

“For you, I would.” Jin looked down at her with a look that felt more truthful than his usual teasing. He looked… serious.

He was serious. While they hadn’t known each other long, the more Jin got to know Dahlia, the more he felt a desire to protect her and her smile. If something as little as giving her his slice of the pie would keep her happy, as much as he really loved pie, he’d give it to her. It was a small price to pay.

Dahlia broke eye contact, glancing away and tucking her hair behind her ear in an attempt to hide behind her hand. The implication in Jin’s gaze was too much for her to bear at the moment and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.

They fell into silence, despite the awkwardness that she was feeling at his words, the quiet was comfortable. The day was warm and the sounds of the world were soothing. Tension melted off her shoulders and she leaned against Jin, his heat and proximity a soft blanket for her to fall into.

“What do you say we do something a little more active?” Jin murmured above her ear.

Dahlia raised her eyebrows but didn’t look up at him. “Are you propositioning me again?”

“If that’s how you want to take it, I’m willing and ready.” Jin’s smirk could be heard in his voice. “But I meant stretching those legs a bit.”

Dahlia nudged Jin in the ribs with her elbow. “You’re such a tease, Jin. But I could use a walk. I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here.”

Jin set his large hand on Dahlia’s head and gently brushed his fingers through her hair, taking a moment to enjoy the way they sat together pressed against each other. Dahlia made no move to stand while he pet her, and he liked that. He was developing a soft spot for these little moments of intimacy between them, and for just a little longer he wanted to stay in this moment.

“I’ve got just the place in mind.” He untangled himself from Dahlia and hoisted himself off the couch. Like the perfect gentleman, he turned and offered a hand to Dahlia, who took it with a smile.

Jin led Dahlia through the gardens, deeper into areas so overgrown it looked like no one had been there in years. The scent of roses grew thicker as the world around them grew dimmer from the canopy of plant life blocking out the afternoon sun. It was like they were wandering into a wonderland, and Dahlia couldn’t help but look around in awe at the difference this place felt compared to where she had been studying with well manicured shrubbery and picturesque floral arrangements.

“Where are we even going, Jin?” She asked in a hushed murmur, feeling the enchantment would shatter if she spoke too loudly.

“There’s this place back here. A long time ago one of the kings built a little hideaway where he could meet his mistress.”

“Why am I not surprised you know that?”

Jin gave an easy laugh before stopping and turning towards her. He placed a hand over his heart and knit his eyebrows together. “I’m hurt, Dahlia. What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying you are the type to lead women to secluded places made specifically for a tryst.”

“As fair as that is, I haven’t brought anyone here yet. You’re the first.” He smiled and resumed their journey, his hand holding hers and Dahlia felt another flutter in her heart in his promise of her being special.

Jin released Dahlia’s hand and inspected an old looking gate. With a hefty push, it groaned open giving him enough space to duck inside, and more than enough space for her to make her way through. On the other side were the remnants of a secret garden. Benches and outdoor furniture carved from smooth stone were set under a trellis that had long since become a thick veil to block out prying eyes.

Jin and Dahlia both slowly wandered the area. It must have been beautiful once, they could see the original design under the years of miscare. Even now it still held a solemn tranquility. The dappled light that came through revealed several varieties of flowers, not just roses, and there was a soft babbling of water somewhere off in the distance.

“I didn’t know there was a stream near here.” Dahlia whispered in awe.

“I have to say I’m impressed.” Jin spoke in his usual register, but something about his voice felt right in the area, like he belonged there.

“You haven’t been here before?” Dahlia spoke a little louder, trying to match Jin’s volume.

“I never had the reason to.” Jin wandered a few more steps into the shrouded alcove, looking around before his eyes came back to meet Dahlia’s.

Dahlia watched him. Jin was often hard to read, a contradiction between what he said and what he meant. She had spent a few weeks with him and the other princes, and something she had learned is that he often had his own considerate and caring reasons hidden behind acts that seemed selfish and self-serving. But figuring out what those motives were was the hard part, because he painted his behavior as something carefree, not calculating as the case was.

“What’s the reason today, then?” Dahlia asked cautiously. Curiosity had her wondering if everything he had been saying today was the usual Jin, or if the hints at her being special was closer to the mark.

“Isn’t finding a quiet spot for the two of us enough of a reason?” Jin asked in return. It wasn’t really an answer, but another way for him to flirt while creating an emotional distance between them.

He enjoyed his time with women, and he showered them with affection while they had their fun, but he was always up front about not falling in love or making a good time a repeat occasion with anyone. Deep down, he didn’t want to burden someone, or himself with the expectations and heartache that came from relationships and attempting to create a bond with another person. People were complicated and messy, and he knew he was enough of a mess for anyone to easily handle.

“It is… if that is the reason.” She punctuated her words with her doubt.

Jin smirked and crunched the sucker in his mouth, tossing the stick aside as he swaggered over to her. “Think about it, Dahlia. Out here there are no prying eyes, you can let go for a while, stop worrying about everyone watching you and judging you. You don’t have to be Belle. Just a woman.”

The thought was enticing. Comforting even. Her life had been so ordinary before coming to the palace, and every day since had been burdened with expectations of etiquette and requirements of proper behavior. It was rare she had a moment to just exist without the pressures of the task she was beholden to.

Dahlia tilted her head as she watched Jin move closer. “You know I know you’re more kind than you like others to think you are, right? I see through your act.”

Jin laughed. He hadn’t expected her to come out and say it. He had a feeling with the way she looked at him on occasion that she saw the truth of him. That was what Belle was supposed to be able to do, or so they say. But still, he hadn’t thought she’d tell him straight that she knew he put more thought into his actions than he pretended.

“I had a feeling. You’re sharp. And smart. I’m really no match for you.”

“Jin… don’t flatter me. I don’t need you to dress up your words.”

“Alright. You work hard, Dahlia– too hard. I wanted to treat you.” Jin’s smirk faded. He let the charming, breezy mask fall. Care and concern were reflected in his wine-colored eyes. Little did he know this only made him more charming.

“So you took me out here. Just you and me. And then what?” Dahlia slowly laid her thoughts bare, giving Jin the same honesty he was showing her.

“Nothing expected. I can even sit outside the gate if you’d rather be alone.”

“No.” She answered quickly before he could offer any further help in the form of isolation. “Please. I like your company.”

Jin felt a pang in his chest. It had to be incredibly hard to have your life upended and stuck in a place with a bunch of strangers while the entire country’s future was put on your shoulders. He just wanted her to breathe a little, not feel so overwhelmed with her obligations.

He was standing in front of her, looking down at her and she met his gaze. He brought his hand up to her cheek and lightly brushed his thumb against the apple of it, cupping her face in his hand to offer some form of comfort. If she was willing, he would have kissed her. In the arms of a lover, comfort was easy to find. There was nothing a person had to hide when in the throes of passion. But she had turned him down before, and he hadn’t pushed since.

Dahlia layered her hand over his. She was touched with his consideration and thoughtfulness, and a vulnerability was threatening to expose itself from within her. His warmth spread through her, both from his hand and his words that had touched her heart.

Time slowed to a crawl in their secret garden. Two people escaped the responsibilities foisted on them by the world. They stood face-to-face, silently connecting.

“Dahlia… can I kiss you?” His voice was a husky whisper.

She nodded. Her hand ran up his chest, finding the fold in his lapel and closing into a loose fist around it. He was so much taller than her that she leaned to lift on her toes to make it easier for them to make contact. He bent forward, letting her fist in his jacket guide him closer.

The way their lips touched was soft and sensual. A whispered symphony between the two of them. The sound of their shared breath started the sonata. The soft scratch of fabric in Dahlia’s hand as she clutched Jin tighter was the second movement. The rustle of Jin’s fingers through Dahlia’s hair as he moved his hand from her cheek began the minuet. Their kiss blooming into tongues stroking and twining brought on the rondo allegro.

When they finally parted, they hovered near each other. Dahlia sighed and Jin attempted to breathe it in, the sound as erotic as the taste of her. He pulled away after a few seconds, looking into her eyes with desire in his and need in hers.

“... What now?” Dahlia breathed.

“Whatever you want.”

Dahlia kept her eyes focused solely on him. While no sound passed through her lips, the way she was looking at him was telling him so much. She pressed her lips together, keeping her thoughts from being voiced before she was ready to act on those carnal desires. Jin waited, giving her time to work through what it was she needed to before they left matters like this or moved to more illicit affairs.

“Just once, right?” Dahlia posed a question Jin hadn’t expected.

“It’s one of the rules I live by. If that isn’t your thing then–”

“No.” She interrupted. “I want it to be just this once. No expectations beyond now.”

Jin’s eyes went wide for a moment, he also hadn’t expected her to say that. “You’re sure?”

Dahlia nodded, biting her lip. The way her teeth dragged across her rosy lip was arousing in a way Jin hadn’t seen her before. He tore his eyes away to glance around their surroundings, his sight setting on a stone bench. He stripped his jacket off as he made his way to the steady slab, draping it over the weather-worn and time encrusted bench. Then he took a seat, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and untucking it to let it sit loose and open, baring his chest.

Dahlia timidly followed, eyes dancing over his body. She stopped in front of Jin, toying with the collar of his shirt between her fingers. Slipping off her shoes, she pulled the hem of her skirt above her knees and straddled his lap. Her heart was racing faster than it ever had. She could feel the flush in her cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from anticipation.

Jin set a hand on the small of her back, helping to keep her on his lap. “Hang on, hold still.” He said as he slipped his other hand between the two of them.

For a moment Dahlia thought things were already starting since Jin’s hand went straight to where they were connected, but as she felt him moving against her she realized he was unbuckling his belt. She burst into ringing laughter, the tension she was feeling slipping from her like her shoes had a minute earlier.

Jin smiled, watching her relax in his arms. “That’s better.” Seeing Dahlia let go of that coil that had been tightly wound inside her was rewarding on its own. He touched his fingers under her chin, bringing her attention back to him where he could see the light shining in her eyes. “You have no idea how radiant you look right now.”

“I said I didn’t need flattery, Jin.”

“It’s the truth.”

Dahlia lightly gasped, and Jin pressed his mouth against hers. He kissed her deeply, wanting to leave her breathless. She answered back with equal enthusiasm, letting him explore her mouth while she swirled her tongue against his. Jin’s hands deftly undid her blouse, carefully gliding down the row of buttons to pull her shirt open like his was. His large hand squeezed her breast, corset be damned - he didn’t seem to care about the extra material between his grope and her body.

She let out a moan, the pressure and heat from Jin’s firm cupping of her breast began to build a pressure and heat in the pit of her stomach. Dahlia rocked her hips against him, looking for the sweet brush of his manhood against her.

Jin kissed the side of her mouth, peppering smaller kisses down her chin and neck. She leaned back to accommodate and Jin withdrew her teat to end his line of affectionate pecks on her nipple. Her nipple perked, stiffening from the sensation and cool air. Then Jin’s mouth was on it, tongue twirling and stroking as he sucked, squeezing her bosom in his hand.

Dahlia undulated in Jin’s lap, feeling his erection harden from her grinding. She clutched at his shirt, using him for leverage while he ravaged her breasts with his mouth and hands. He moved from one nipple to the other, giving each equal attention, but the adoration lavished on her chest was rendering her frustrated. Her cunt ached, her clit demanded attention, and the relief she was seeking in this clandestine coupling was being held hostage with Jin’s favored foreplay.

“ Jin. ” Dahlia begged. But Jin didn’t relent. He enjoyed the way his name sounded in that heady and desperate voice. He liked the way she was dragging herself against him. He wanted to savor the build up. Until he felt fingers in his short hair and Dahlia tugged his face away from her breasts.

Another surprise he hadn’t anticipated, and he stared at her. She was panting and looked at him pleadingly. He couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips seeing the need in her eyes, the need for him. “Alright,” he breathed against her, capturing her mouth once more.

Jin moved his hand to her back again, offering support for the both of them as he leaned away from her enough to snake his other hand between her legs. He hooked his fingers under her panties and rubbed her slick pussy. Toying with her clit, Dahlia began to moan in earnest. He almost didn’t have to do anything as she worked herself against him, both his hard cock beneath his pants and his fingers inside her underwear.

Dahlia’s voice was growing louder, and he was suddenly struck with the desire to see how loud she could go. It was unfortunate they didn’t have room to maneuver where they were, everything was caked with decades of neglect and he honestly didn’t want to dirty Dahlia’s clothes. He kissed her again and again, stealing her moans to claim as his own. The sound of her was provocative, inviting a haze of lust that blanketed his senses.

Jin dragged his hand from Dahlia’s sex and freed his dick from his pants. He tugged her panties to the side and probed her wet folds with the head of his penis, spreading her lubricant on himself. Dahlia rose to give him room, lifting from his lap to position herself ready to sink onto his cock. He held himself as she rocked his shaft into her, slowly taking all of him and pausing once she had returned to his lap. She throbbed against him, squeezing him between labored breaths.

He took Dahlia’s waist, grasping firmly to lead the dance that was to come. She wove her arms around him, nails grazing Jin’s skin as she brought her hands to his back under his shirt. With the two of them set in their positions, Jin began rolling his hips to pump into her, his hold on her hips guiding and dragging her against him with every receding stroke, and excited thrust.

Dahlia dug her nails into Jin’s meaty shoulders. She clutched at him, desperate to keep hold on something that would keep her grounded and prevent the wave of pleasure from overwhelming her. Jin moaned in response, and it seemed her attempt had backfired as she rolled her eyes back on hearing his enjoyment because of her.

She raked her fingers down his back, and Jin only grew more savage and bestial, his groaning and grunting overtaking her. Dahlia grew louder, too. They built off each other, each sound and movement layering over the previous, rendering them a gyrating mess of scratches and thrusts and gasps and sweat.

Dahlia had lost all sense of reason, bouncing on Jin’s cock and hugging him to her. Jin was in the same state, pushing into Dahlia’s cunt until they were grinding pelvis to pelvis and still feeling like it wasn’t close enough. The marks she was rending on his back called a primal urge from within him to make her his as she was making him hers.

Dahlia peaked. Her back arched and her nails bit into his flesh even deeper. Her walls convulsed around Jin’s dick, animating him further into an unsteady rhythm that drew out his orgasm. His sticky cum roped into her and he throbbed deep inside her, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

He was too high to come down easily, and he nuzzled against Dahlia, not wanting the feeling to fade so quickly. His hands caressed her back, gently petting to try to calm her as well. Dahlia was collapsed on his shoulder, her hands smoothing against the marks she had made on him.

They sat like that for a long time, long enough that Jin had grown soft and when he finally fell from her pussy, they stirred and began disentangling themselves from each other. Neither spoke a word as they righted their clothing, putting themselves back together. Dahlia’s hair was a matted mess, and Jin combed his fingers through it, setting it into something close to presentable. It was a far cry from a proper brush, but it would have to do.

He gently pressed a final kiss against her forehead and took her hand to lead her back through the gardens to return to her life as Belle. Dahlia followed with a soft smile.

[bettsfic]

ooh, that sick thing reblog is making me remember it! i'm surprised there isn't a lot in the sick thing tag like there is your other fics... i remember, vaguely, you saying you weren't the proudest of it (which is totally fine, as writers, we've all been there. tho personally i loved sick thing!) do you mind sharing what was going through your head / your process writing that fic?

okay before i get into that i want to share this anecdote about Marilyn that is VERY related to sick thing.

context: i'm reading an 800 page biography of Marilyn Monroe as research for a story i'm working on, not *about* Marilyn, but. well, it's complicated.

anyway, Joe DiMaggio (the baseball player) was Marilyn's second husband, and he was an asshole to her because his star was falling as hers was rising so there was a lot of resentment. they divorced and she went on to marry (and then divorce) Arthur Miller.

shortly after she divorced Arthur Miller, she was involuntarily institutionalized by her psychiatrist. at this point in her life, everyone she knew had a personal stake in her fame and so she was just constantly manipulated and mistreated. her psychotherapist in particular, Ralph Greenson, destroyed all of her healthy personal relationships and was controlling every aspect of her life. this is about 500 pages into the book. it has taken me a while to get to this point, because it is exhausting reading 500 pages of an innocent person being taken advantage of and horribly mistreated.

allow me to set the scene: Marilyn Monroe is institutionalized in a godawful facility and completely helpless. no one will let her use a phone or have any contact with the outside world. to get somebody's attention she breaks a window with a chair, an idea she got from one of her first roles. a patient eventually sneaks her into an area with a phone. Marilyn calls everyone she knows but no one picks up.

she has no choice but to call ex-husband Joe DiMaggio, whom she hasn't spoken with since the divorce 6 years ago.

Joe immediately calls her psychiatrist and says that if Marilyn isn't discharged within a day he'll "take the hospital apart brick by brick."

and so Marilyn was then discharged and conceded to treatment at a different hospital, which she only entered on the condition that Joe could visit her every day. and he did.

even though they'd divorced on bad terms, he was basically destroyed by their breakup and spent their years apart working on himself and getting therapy so he could eventually ask for her back.

for years Marilyn endured emotional (and physical) abuse by Greenson. i can't emphasize enough that she was just his puppet. if he told her to stop seeing someone, she did. he planted a housekeeper to spy on her. but Marilyn's breaking point, the line Greenson finally crossed, was that he told her to stop seeing Joe. she finally had someone in her life with her best interests at heart, who had no personal stake in her fame or money (and who was in fact one of the few people in the world who had *more* fame and money than she did), and they fell in love again.

this is basically a full-blown Mrs. Kennedy & Me moment where i'm reading an actual real story of the tropes i write in fiction and going a little insane about it.

okay back to the ask!

for sick thing, i was working through a lot of personal fears about my own mental health, having finally gotten off a really bad med that turned me into a, i don't know, like a vacuum of a person. just empty. i wrote it in 8 very intense days, with a 5 bullet point outline scrawled on a piece of scrap paper and Hotel California on repeat.

my main criticism of it is that i resorted to very Stranger Things-y writing moves that feel cheap to me. flat antagonists with no nuance, love interests who don't have their own individual conflict or growth, over the top high school shenanigans like in a 90s teen movie, a glaringly obvious authorial self-insert with a personally cringeworthy level of wish fulfillment. i like to think that in most of the things i write, i'm pretty hard to find? or maybe not, but sick thing is just my id on a platter. was, rather. a lot has changed since then.

sick thing i think was the final work of a long held aesthetic, and dirtbag was the beginning of the era i'm in now, writing stuff far less driven by personal crises and explorations of self. i can't quite put my finger on what exactly is different other than the fact that i write much more slowly now and put more thought into my stories (at the cost of heart, potentially), and i also feel far less compelled to be read. it's been so long since anyone's read new work of mine that posting my bikeriders fic has been a real trip.

[lavendelhummel]

20 Questions about writing 2.0

One year ago @lilolilyr tagged me in this ask game and I answered it. I thought it might be fun to take the questions again and see what has changed and what hasn’t (probably most of it), since this past year I have actually interacted with fandom and not just been shy in my corner. Here is what I said last year (it was a year and a week ago, okay, but this last week was interesting because I had something huge that kept me from writing the past few months happen the week before and I am now trying to recover and wrap my head about the fact that my life changed quite drastically), let’s see what I’m saying now:

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

16 ;) quite a few more than last years 7, but most of the new ones are one-shots, only one finished multichapter and one multichaptered WIP (Jump).

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

209,412 words. Last year it was 125k and seeing as there are quite a few WIPs waiting in my folders for a while I thought I’d actually end up writing 100k words of fic this year, but seeing as I moved 4 times during that time and kind of finished a degree (hi I am a doctor now, someone remind me to delete this, I don’t want to doxx myself but need to repeat it so I can actually believe it), I think it’s kind of okay to only have written what I have and I am a it vexed that I did let this self-set number stress me in addition to the pretty big stress I had anyway. I think I wrote some nice things and certainly developed as a writer! (As well as as a… ah best not say it twice in one paragraph)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Last year I said Moiraine and Siuan from The Wheel of time here, which I wrote less for this past year but I’d still count, I have 1 1/2 wips for them and updated one of my fics in that fandom last spring. I also have one fic in the WoT verse with different characters (exciting)! I also said that I once wrote for I Care A Lot, and well, it’s still true that that was my entry to posting fic, but also I’m not going back (nope, not happening). This past year I wrote mostly Bering and Wells from Warehouse 13! That was great fun! I am also playing with a few ideas for Star Trek: deep space 9 at the moment, but haven’t yet written anything. 

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

 The first three are the same as last year (the I care a lot - one shot collection, Siuaraine medical school AU, other AU for them). The other two are the the first door for last years B&W advent calendar (coolest project ever, see below), and my coolest fic: mermaid B&W AU (only Helena is a mermaid. She arrives in Myka’s apartment above her bookstore via her old-new washing machine from Pete’s laundromat. Bathtubes are not very comfortable to live in.)

I should add that neither of these two has many kudos, none of my fics apart from hat ical one has, which shows that it’s extremely fandom dependent because that one is by far worse than my newer ones - just in a fandom with very little fic. 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

YES! Why?! Because I like talking to people! And getting a comment is the best so I want to tell people that they are the best! Also I like talking and talking and try to make me shut up, it’s harder than you think! (Last year I had a screenshot for the weirdest comment I ever got here, from a guest who named themself „weird ass“ and said nothing but „tea snob“, I still don’t know if they meant me or Moiraine, so I asked them. So yeah I reply. Even to the weird asses)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Most of what I write has a happy ending, yeah I am boring like that. But for Laundry Day, afore mentioned Mermaid AU, I left two possible endings, one in which Helena learns to live with what she’s lost, but it is clear that there is grief, that she is still a fish out of water and that while they make it work, it is not easy going. And then, because I wanted to wrap the mystery fantasy part up and needed the satisfaction of bundling up all loose threads I added an epilogue, a sugary, ‚happiest ending of them all’ epilogue… so yeah. Other than that I only have the one I mentioned last year about Helena dealing with her grief by reading Jacques Prévert’s poetry, which also ends on a soothing note but, I mean it’s Helena, and it’s Prévert. Let’s be honest, we all know why I absolutely adore Prévert, oh god, make me shut up now before I start (do you want to know which cool rare books of his I found?)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Well. Happ*iest*. I did just mention that the epilogue of Laundry Day is the happiest ending of them all, right? I also think Pretty Picture has a pretty fluffy cozy ending (winter, go read it now ;)) ending. Flower crowns is just pure fluff, so that doesn’t count as *ending*, it’s just happy in its entirety. 

The medical school AU: would have been nice to get them all the way through it so they could celebrate at the end right? Though I had plans to make it go on after the ending of uni so Lan could come in and after a time jump the ef5 as well, so not the actual ending but a *moment*. Anyway that didn’t work out, and the ending they have is very nice and rather happy as well. Think about it, that is a much happier ending than I am feeling having actually finished medical school now (but let’s not talk about my inability to celebrate myself, nor my exhaustion). 

8. Do you get hate on fic?

I did already mention "weird ass", right? Yeah also mentioned last year how the very first comment I got was pretty discouraging. But I wouldn’t call it hate, no. I mostly get very, very, little reaction to my fics anyway, so missing the positive kind but not the negative kind. 

9. Do you write smut?

No. Not because I don’t like reading it, but because I am incapable of it. Sad, but it is what it is. I did get closer than ever, in Fly Me To The Moon! Everyone gasping, yes scandalous look how close I am alluding to it!!! But yeah, still nothing happening, if anyone ever wants to pick up where I left off, feel free, that’d be fun! (I also have a few other fade to black scenes, but this is *different*… kinkier? in a not on page happing way?) 

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nope, also don’t read them. It’s simply something that doesn’t interest me. 

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No. Or at least, not as far as I know. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. My fics are not very well known, so someone wanting to base a work on it/translate would be surprising. 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! One with @lilolilyr , which was super cool, but mostly we did the advent calendar last year!!!! That was super duper duper duper fun! Seriously guys, I enjoyed it so much and wish it had worked out again (I did have a cool idea for it, as I laid out on discord, but in the end it was simply not possible for me to do anything writing/fandom related (or basically anything but survive) in November and even now in December I do not know yet if I’ll be able to. Depends on how well this resting thing I’m trying out works, because at the moment my brain is still fried. Even writing this is giving me a headache right *sad emoji*)

But yes, writing that together was amazing.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I’ll just name the same ones, Moiraine/Siuan, Myka/Helena and recently I’ve come to like Kiradax, but that’s obviously not all-time material yet, since, well 'recently'. 

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

Hmm, I do hope (and think!) I’ll finish all those that I once worked on seriously. Wait, the Helena reads Astrid Lindgren one, I’m not sure… There is also one super short Siuaine one, but that was never serious. 

Hm, maybe I also won’t make the Nyneave&Semirhage one??! I do hope so, but it is a bit out of my league… HMMM

Mostly there are some fun ideas that I thought I’d write, a lot actually, but what I seriously wanted to do was Siuraine Mermaid AU, and B&W MRI AU, and I don’t think they’ll happen, alongside a few others. But that’s life! 

Last year I mentioned the Uni-AU here, and I do consider that one finished now, not as I envisioned originally but it has an ending that makes sense and is an ending and I probably won’t write more (never say never). 

16. What are your writing strengths?

Urghh that question. Someone important (professionally, not personally to me) said „Why not simply believe in yourself?“ To me the other day. Well I couldn’t very well tell him about my incessant selfdoubt across a conference table with 3 other very important, and three somewhat less important people, watching, could I? So I will try this again and also try to say something else here than last year. 

…

@rinari7 said my dialogue feels alive! I think I am also able to get into the heads of people and write thought-strands pretty realistically. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I think those thought-strands sometimes can get too much, and I loose myself in them. In general my sentences are way too long, for that I blame Cicero, who was a very forming influence to twelve year old wannabe-writer me. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

 Haha. Yeah. Yeah. It’s good. We are talking other language than English right? I love making my characters speak French. I also love adding German puns. It’s what’s happening in my head! I’ve been thinking disturbingly much in English last year, but at the core that’s it, my brain is wired in Frallemand (Freutsch just doesn’t work, we all agree, right?) and I cut most of it out because I want other people to be able to read it but, speaking multiple languages is very normal for me. I have friends with whom I speak certain languages and others others, and who have yet others with each other. I am rather limited with only my three fluent ones, but only one? Yeah, no, that’s very unnatural to me. So I won’t overuse it in fic for the sake of readability but I do appreciate it when it comes my way.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

As I said I care a lot. You will notice that it was my first right away and… don’t maybe. I have nicer newer ones. 

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Ouhhhhh. Pretty picture? One of my most recent ones, so maybe I’m biased. 

Laundry day!!! Yes, that was incredible fun! 

I also want to mention the Prévert fic (The earth that spins and spins and spins) again because I still like it and not a lot of people did. 

And I also have a Siuaraine Mermaid fic and it’s fun and weird and thus my fav for that fandom (not even AU, somehow?!)  

I am just gonna go ahead and tag people even though I took this ask game out of its original setting: @lilolilyr if you want to reflect on the past year as well, @trollocks-in-my-bollocks @lakeofsilverpike @purlturtle @cozcat @onaperduamedee @anandabrat @thatordinaryoddity maybe you have fun with this, if not there obviously is no pressure to do it!

[ameftowriter]

FINALLY I WROTE THIS AFTER 2 AND A HALF DAYS!!

Whew... I'm sorry for it being so late on this one.

But I did my best after being inspired by this wonderful art. Thank you @k-chips and @zomandfriends and @wyrdle .

Also this is based off @k-chips 's Dadvell AU yes xD

Thank you for reading and I hope you like it. I apologize for any errors as well.

Under the cut cause it's a bit long and also spoilers.

EDIT: I forgot to add some important tags I'm so sorry also some information cause I rushed to post this and I'm forgetful

Title: But what about you?

Tyme walked through the hallways to speak to Clavell at his office. Everything was going well so far she thought to herself. Everything was going smoothly and even issues that rose were quickly fixed and resolved. She was happy to report to Clavell that there were many willing volunteers to help set up for the first Academy Ace Tournament this Friday and the participants for the battles itself have all signed up.

But as she opened the door to the Director's office, she saw the one last big issue to resolve.

Clavell continuously paced around his office. Back and forth, back and forth, over and over again. He stopped and looked like he thought of something.

Then he grumbled and began pacing around again.

Tyme sighed to herself... There was indeed one last thing that had to be dealt with first.

And perhaps she's the only one who can resolve this problem.

She approached Clavell who kept going and going, as he didn't realize who was already there next to him.

"Director...." Tyme began.

"And there's still the board meeting...." Clavell muttered to himself as he walked away, not noticing Tyme.

"Director Clavell..." Tyme repeated herself as she walked to follow him.

"The Tournament is this Friday... I still need to get a speech prepared..."

"Clavell."

"But of course... I still need to provide more support for Arven and his friends..."

"Clavell!"

"Oh!" Clavell quickly turned to see that Tyme was standing next to him with her hands at her hips and looked at him with the most annoyed expression.

"M-Miss Tyme..." The flustered director spoke, "My goodness... I didn't see you come in... How long were you--?"

"I just got here, Director Clavell...." Tyme shook her head. She could feel the tension within him.

"I must apologize then, Miss Tyme.." Clavell bowed at her, "I have been quite busy with various affairs."

"I'm sure you are, Clavell..." Tyme sighed as she dropped the title, "Though I believe you may have overloaded yourself with too many affairs."

"... Do you think I have?" Clavell wondered, a lot of events have occurred in this school year alone after all. But he was the director, a lot of things are his responsibility. 

"Definitely." Tyme nodded, "You need to take care of yourself once in a while, Clavell. You won't be able to help anyone in your state. "

"I suppose you're right but I..." Clavell paused for a moment as he thought of what he needed to do. "Ever since I found out the truth about Team Star and around two years ago... I have to make sure these kids are doing well for themselves now and the school isn't giving them too much trouble ...."

"Yes ..." Tyme did not want to be reminded of that shame she felt when she was told of the truth behind the entire incident. But she has noticed then that the Team's members have started coming back to classes and have been opening up to the teachers and other students... Especially her student, Penny...

"Then the Academy Ace Tournament is this Friday... We need to make sure everything is set up and we got the proper permissions for the location and the shops..."

"Of course..." Tyme and various volunteers have already gotten the permissions needed to set up the Tournament. Chairwoman Geeta already compiled it all for them. She wanted to tell him this, but the man kept on pacing...

"Jacq needs assistance in his classes and his Pokedex as these Paradox Pokemon that Sada brought in have a lot of information to bring up and even to other Pokemon Professors..."

"That's not a rush then is it?" Tyme tried to reassure him, at least to lessen the burden.

"Speaking of Sada, and the Paradox Pokemon..." Clavell already changed the topic as the thought of the incident that happened a couple of months ago, "Dear Arceus... Those kids... I still need to check up on them and their well-being... A couple of months have passed already, I dearly hope that they are still doing okay since then..."

"I'm sure they're doing all right, Clavell..." Tyme remembers seeing the four students in question, enjoying each other's company and having quite a loud yet joyful chat in the cafeteria yesterday. She was quite happy to see that.

"But also Arven...." Clavell clutched his head as he counted in his mental checklist, "I have been worried for him since the incident in Area Zero.... When we found out that his mother had been gone far longer than we realized, then down there to meet the AI and... And..."

"Clavell!" Tyme had grasped his shoulders firmly, and jolted the man awake from his self induced trance, "For Arceus's sake, settle down."

"I... I apologize..." Clavell muttered.

"I know you have a lot to do, but please take care of yourself first." Tyme pleaded with him with the softest look possible, "I worry about you."

"I..." Clavell felt his face heat up by that. "I'm really sorry Tyme... For making you worry for me."

"You've gone through a lot under a span of a year, even more than anyone should." Tyme reassured him again, "You don't have to be sorry for this."

"I know but I..." Clavell began to remember his mental checklist again, "I feel like there is still much more to do..."

Tyme sighed, here we go again.

"I still need to check on the kids...." Clavell counted, "And Arven... He still needs my help, I need to be there for him more..."

"Clavell..." Tyme spoke softly.

"I'll also still need to talk with Team Star, I want to make sure they're doing well too..." He counted it again.

"They're all right...." She reassured him again even though it fell on deaf ears.

"Jacq needs help as well..." Once again he does it.

"That can wait. Even though he knows it's not a priority..." She continued.

"Then there's the tournament... I can't just leave it..."

By then, Tyme had enough and pulled the man to her and enveloped her arms around him, hugging him so tight.

"But what about you?" She says to his ear, "You silly old fool..."

"Tyme... I..."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again... You need to take care of yourself. If you don't then I will... For your sake ..."

"Tyme..." Clavell repeated, as he was unsure of what to say or do. "You don't have to..."

"But I want to." Tyme answered back, "You need this. At least for now..."

Clavell could feel the tears well up in his eyes as he brought his hands upward to return the hug she had given him... "Yes... Yes, please... And thank you."

The two remained like this for a good while as Clavell quietly sobbed as he grasped Tyme's sweater. He was grateful to have her around at his moment of weakness and felt himself relax for once. Tyme rubbed circles on his back as she, herself tried to hold back her own emotions. She hated seeing him like this. When she found out about everything this poor man had gone through in just the course of this school year, she brought it to herself to accompany him more and help him more than ever. It was the best thing she could think of right now. So despite it all, she was relieved that she could finally help him.

As the two finally went silent, Clavell sighed, "Thank you Miss Tyme... I needed that..."

"Good! Now that wasn't so bad, is it?" The two let go of their hug but their hands still on each other. Then the two stiffened.

The realization that they're so close to each other had clicked in for them and they have once again fallen into silence.

"I...umm..." Clavell was the first to speak, with his face flushed red and his hands letting go of Tyme's waist, "Th-thank you Miss Tyme... For that support..."

"O-of course..." Tyme felt her face heat up, and her heart skipped a beat... she never really realized how... good looking... Clavell is up close like this...

"Is there something else wrong, Miss Tyme?" Clavell managed to speak as he felt his own heart rate speed up after being so close to her like this. "You still have your hands on my shoulders..."

"Oh... oh! I... I apologize, Director Clavell!" Tyme quickly removed her hands from him as she felt flustered, "I'm... I'm just glad to help!"

"Of course!" Clavell gave her a soft smile, as he still felt relaxed and happy to be by her side. "If you have time then, shall we have some tea?"

"That would be wonderful!" Tyme smiled at him back. The two are simply delighted to have each other at this time of vulnerability.

"Oh... My... Arceus....." Penny muttered as she peeked through the office door. She was actually there to try to meet up with Director Clavell to talk to him about the STCs and its steady progress and various records with it. But instead she had just witnessed something she definitely wished she could have recorded.

"Well... This can wait..." She said to herself as she slowly closed the door as silently as possible to not get their attention, "Priority one is to gossip this to Riley, Arven, and Nemona.... They're gonna be so happy to hear about this!"

She then silently walked away from the office ready to head back to her friends.

[catgrassplantdad]

New Year's Ask Game for Fic Writers 🤍

I was tagged by a couple of pals to do this a few days ago, and i'm finally getting to it! thank you @ardent-fox @suzy-queued @energievie 🖤

To close out 2023…

1) What fic did you have the most fun writing this year and why? Or, if you can’t decide, what was most fun about writing this year for you?

the most fun i had was while writing honeycomb, because julissa @heymrspatel and i got to play with our horny psychic link again and it was the BEST.

2) What’s a scene/story that you finished and felt “wow, I really accomplished that, that actually went so well”?

let them see. writing ian and mickey fucking with an audience and making it believable was HARD. i'm still not sure how well i accomplished that, but i'm proud of it.

3) What helped provide the most inspiration for stories, if anything? Was it poetry? A song on repeat? A gorgeous gifset? A walk outside? A book you read that made you want to change everything? Whatever it was! Tell all.

i listened to infinite granite by deafheaven on repeat. i just think it's beautiful, and it's good music for zoning out and imagining. lyrics from that album sometimes serve as working titles for my fics before they get real titles, and in fact i did name a fic after lyrics from that album. waiting in the light

4) What is something you want to share about what you’ve written this year? A particular line, a comment that made you feel really good, a scene that was difficult to write — you get to choose! What do you wish someone would ask you about when it comes to what you’ve written?

i just wanna talk about feels like a dream. setting the atmosphere for that was so fun. i wrote it so quickly, i could see it all so clearly in my head. i wanna talk about ian sucking on mickey's tongue. i wanna talk about the moment ian puts the collar on mickey and how he gets him to tell him why he wants it. i wanna talk about how ian talks to him and takes care of him and makes him feel owned. i wanna talk about how mickey sucks ian's dick like he needs it to live. i wanna talk about how important the atmosphere is in that moment, how even they felt like they didn't want to move too quickly and disturb what they had built up that night. i wanna talk about how mickey's so sleepy while ian's fucking him that he wonders if his orgasm is going to jerk him awake or make him even more sleepy and blissed out. oh god, and mickey calling ian daddy throughout. i just think it's sexy. i wrote it in september but i posted it at the very end of kinktober when people were likely just burnt out on it, but it's there and it's dreamy and it's kinky and i like it.

And to start off 2024…

1) Do you have any writing/creation goals for the year? What are they?

yes! i just want to post more fics. i still want to participate in kinktober and i want to format it differently this year. i want to write a multichapter au as well.

2) Is there a fic or idea that you’re really excited to be able to continue to work on in the new year (shout out to my fellow fic writing folks who take forever to finish wips, sometimes it’s nice to be able to continue working on something even if you wish you’d gotten it done! Now you get even MORE time with it!)

yeah, that multichapter au idea! i had written quite a bit for it and i HATED the direction it was going in and it made me want to scrap the whole thing. i had a helpful conversation about it with bee a few weeks ago and i've got new ideas for it, so really i want to tackle that. it just feels daunting because i've written thousands of words that i feel like i need to get rid of. i basically need to start over to make it work. but it'll happen!

3) What’s something new in your writing you want to try/are going to try? A different writing style? Different fandom? Darker works? Fluffier? Longer or shorter?

baby's first au! also i think i mentioned this before but i wanna try writing destiel smut. like deeply emotional, feral, inhuman, otherworldly reunion fucking. we'll see if i ever get to it though.

4) What’s something you love about your own writing that you will continue to appreciate in the new year?

i think i'm good at writing physical sensation. i find smut really fun and i think i'm pretty good at it. not just because i'm good at describing physical sensation, but for all kinds of reasons. i think i'm reasonably good at keeping ian and mickey in character while they're doing all kinds of things, and i like that. i think i'm good at setting a tone and atmosphere. i don't know man i just like it to be a sensory experience, and i think it often is.

i'm late but i'll tag a few people anyway! @whatwouldmickeydo @whatthebodygraspsnot @gallawitchxx @sisitrip @thisdivorce if you guys are interested in playing/haven't done this yet 💚

[sunset-peril]

I'm tagging myself -

Here we go

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

AO3 says 23.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

Currently, 227,092

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, The Legend of Zelda only. I do have Ace Attorney and Sonic the Hedgehog fics on my AO3, however. Poke around at your own risk.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Trial of the Zora Armor

Saying Goodbye

The Battered Princess (I'm rewriting/reworking this one due to heavy lore changes so while I won't recommend it to people anymore, the original version is still online because a lot of people apparently love it)

Ashes Remain (Ace Attorney - Dual Destinies)

Guilty as Ganon

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always try. I want to encourage people to interact with the fics, so I always try to interact back. Sometimes I just... have no clue what to respond to a comment.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uh, probably Saying Goodbye. It's literally a short story about what happened between the "Zelda's Awakening" memory and Zelda confronting Calamity.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Honestly, now that I think about it, I have a lot of semi-angsty endings. I guess the fic I wrote for Shiptober 2021's Day 5 prompt has the happiest ending overall, while it appears that Successors has the happiest non-short-story ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Honestly, what is truly the definition of "hate" anymore? Everyone seems to have a different definition. I've never had someone (at least that I can remember) tell me to stop writing or die in a whole or anything, if that's the definition we're going with.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind.

No. I really don't find it necessary to advance the plot. While I have many T fics and a few M rated fics, none have smut.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've tried, but I've given up on it because it always gets to complicated. The closest I've gotten recently to a crossover is simply extra lore for Successors, where Link and fam are descended from TP Link and the Guardian of Wisdom technically originates from Lorule. I probably will only do crossovers of two or more Zelda games. A TP/BOTW one does sound appealing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I'd cry tears of joy if someone wanted to/did

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, a long time ago. I don't think it exists any more. I don't think I'd repeat the experience, unless a family member wanted to co-write.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Probably ZeLink. No matter how many fandoms I hop, I always come back to them.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

That title used to go to Battered Princess and Guilty as Ganon. However, I finished those. I guess I can pass off the title to the Princess rewrite, which currently has a working title of "I Told Her" (I was listening to this song while I was setting up the document, lore and all that jazz for the rewrite and just slapped something in the title spot haha)

16. What are your writing strengths?

Making people cry. 👍

(Sometimes I get really poetic, but I can't do it on command. I'm honestly not sure what my strengths are. Other than making people cry.)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Scenes where dialogue timing is important and variable. Also slow-paced domestic scenes.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I wouldn't write a fic entirely in another language, currently. I don't mind spattering various languages into a fic, but I wouldn't write an entire fic in something other than English. Mainly because my non-English word bank is not large enough to support anything more complex than a children's picture book.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I don't remember which one exactly, but it was either My Little Pony, Epic Mickey or Wings of Fire. This was long enough ago that Epic Mickey is the only one that's still worth a side glance (in my opinion).

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Trial of the Zora Armor, with Successors as a fairly close second. Armor was so fun and easy to write and it was the first time where I actually had a lot of engagement and it was the first one I ever finished. However, its sequel (Successors) required a massive amount of worldbuilding and the worldbuilding was so fun to do.

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you to my talented friend @linksthoughtbrambles for the tag!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Five. I write sloooow

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

182,205

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The Legend of Zelda

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

The Calamity of Link's Cargo Shorts

Sacrilege and Sororities

The Mushroom Risotto Incident

Cross My Heart

In the Blood

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always. People take the time to comment, so I will always take the time to respond. I sincerely appreciate people taking the time to comment, since it makes my day and fuels my fic writing.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm allergic to unhappy endings, so I'll never end anything truly sad. In the Blood is the angstiest one so far (that will have a happy ending), but I also have a Hylink fic in the works that will probably be the most sad (but will still have a good ending imo).

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Cross My Heart. They go get hitched in "West Hyrule"/California and live happily ever after.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Thankfully not yet. Everyone has been very kind so far.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind.

All of my fics on AO3 are rated E, so... Yep. But I don't write it without plot. I have to have the plot and character development.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No, but I'd love to do some silly ones. I did draw a lotr crossover that would be fun. And HTTYD. And Star Trek!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. I was not happy about it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not, but I'd be honored if that ever happened!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, not officially, but I am writing a fic that my friend Newt and I came up with together. Selkie AU let's goooo

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

Ooof I would have to say zelink/hylink, but I am also BIG into Xena/Gabrielle, Kirk/Spock, Mako/Raleigh, Rauru/Sonia, Jon/Martin, and Achilles/Patroklos (from the Iliad solely and specifically!).

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have way too much faith in myself that I'll finish fics. But I was thinking of writing a silly ice skating/blades of glory AU that I will probably not get around to.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Humor and emotional resonance I think? That's what people seem to enjoy and what I try to convey too.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm terrible at setting the scene. Description is noooot my thing at all. I try to work on being better at it though, especially with more atmospheric writing like in my zombie apocalypse AU.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'm not sure if I understand this question correctly. Like lotr style making up an entire new language, or contemporary writing using a different modern language and not translating it? I don't foresee needing to do either with any fic for loz, since it's not like I'm going to have Link or Zelda bust out some untranslated Elvish etc for funsies (since that wouldn't be fun for anyone). If I was writing something and wanted to specify it was in another language, I'd probably keep it in English and italicize it so the reader knows, like I did in Cross My Heart.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I think I wrote some Grade A Absolute Crap fanfic that never saw the light of day for star trek. A simpler, still very embarrassing time.

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

Cross My Heart. I liked the plot, the weird structure, and the revenge narrative. It's near and dear to my own heart

[varietysky]

Kitty and Mary in a classic Kitty And Mary Mess-Around and Fanny getting roped into it but making things worse >>>

[flamehairedwritings]

Do Not Touch

Characters: Jim Hopper x Female Reader 

Rating: E, 18+ ONLY

Words: 10k

A/N: My take on your friend and mine: sex-pollen! I started writing this two years ago, isn’t that wild.

Tags: s3 Hop’, dub-con because of sex-pollen, fuck or die situation, Hopper being a huge dick at first, swearing, masturbation, dirty talk, thigh-riding, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, doggy-style, creampies, hand on neck/throat but no choking, gentle-mdom Hop’, more submissive reader, slight praise kink, slight cum play.

Summary: A visit to Murray’s house of wonders provides a lot more than you bargained for.

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites.

—

“... fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“They’re tapping your phones, Jim, how can you not see it?”

“‘cause it’s not fuckin’ true.”

“Oh, right, so...”

As Murray sets off on another rant, you raise your eyes to the heavens, or rather the dirty, damp ceiling, and tip your head back against the wall, exhaling a long, long breath.

You knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Not impossible, but not easy.

And even Hopper had known Murray was your only hope with this kind of thing.

This kind of thing being that neither of you speak Russian and Murray does.

You’d heard the message over the Hawkins Police Radio two days ago while you and Hop were working late in his office. He’d been adjusting the frequency, fiddling, more like, when the voice had suddenly come through, delivering a short message. You’d both stared at each other, then it had come through again. You’d realised it was the same passage and had quickly grabbed a pen, repeating it to yourself as you wrote it down phonetically on your notepad.

Neither of you had known what to do, so you’d just carried on with your evening, working on your new case. But it had weighed heavy on your mind when you’d left; with the strange things that had gone on in Hawkins in the last couple of years, you are suspicious of everything. Hopper apparently had shared your thoughts as, the next morning, he’d called you into his office, shut the door, and asked if you’d kept the note. When you said you had, you’d both then decided that deciphering it would put your minds at ease.

... Except it was really fucking hard because none of the words sounded close to anything you recognised.

Barely ten minutes later, Hopper had shoved his chair back and hissed out curses.

“We’re gonna go and see Murray,” he’d muttered as he’d strode out of the room to get more coffee.

You’d watched him go, irritation prickling at you because everything needed to be done right now with him these days. In the four years you’d known him, he’d never exactly been a very patient man, but this was different. In the last few weeks he was quick to rile, short-tempered, irritable, yelling more often than not, and you were starting to get sick of it.

So maybe it’s a good thing that he can let that all out on Murray now, who can give back as good as he gets, often, actually, better.

Not that you don’t stand up for yourself when Hopper is in one of his new moods and snaps. He never yells at you, he never has, just raises his voice slightly or gets unnecessarily snippy or even borderline patronising, but your usual tactic is to just walk away, leaving him to stew until he comes to you and makes his kind of apology (offering you a hot drink or a pastry), or you try and lighten the mood. That’s just getting tiring now, though. 

And it’s also a huge turn-off.

Yeah, okay, fine, you’ve admitted it to yourself, you’re attracted to him, but it’s a line you don’t like to cross; he’s your boss and your close friend, too, considering everything you’ve both been through with El, Joyce and the kids.

Now, though, you’re not even sure you want to be his friend.

You’ve tried to talk to him, ask him why he’s so God damn angry all the time but he just brushes you off or says he didn’t sleep well. The latter is nothing new, he was a mess when you’d arrived in Hawkins, sleeping for a few hours at a time on his couch in his trailer, but he’d really come into his own since then, especially when he’d had to start taking care of El. The former is new. Living through life or death situations, spending many late nights working together, and the town being small has brought you two closer together, and you’ve confided in him and he in you, so it stings when he brushes you off like you don’t have a history, like you aren’t his friend. Like you don’t matter.

“Do you know what it fuckin’ says or not?” Hopper thunders in the next room, and the patronising edge to his tone has your nose wrinkling.

“Of course I do, you neanderthal, if you give me the fucking piece of paper then I will be able to write it down for you.”

For once, and you never thought that you ever would, you’re on Murray’s side.

There’s the muffled sound of cursing, then a patronising ‘thank you’ from Murray, and then it’s quiet, except for the sound of a chair squeaking as one of them sits down. From the huff, probably Hopper. Folding your arms across your chest, you exhale another breath as you let your gaze travel the room.

It’s exactly how you’d imagine Murray’s place would be. There are... things everywhere, on every surface, some things you don’t even recognise like devices and folders with foreign writing on them, all just strewn around. To your left on a counter there’s even a corked jar marked ‘DO NOT TOUCH’, filled with a russet-coloured liquid, an unfamiliar, what was once probably red, flower head submerged in it. It looks rather like a lily, but there are strange, swirling patterns on the petals that you don’t recognise.

Your attention is diverted by the sound of the chair squeaking again, boots on wood, and then Murray’s voice.

“Ah, ah, ah, what do I get, Chief?” 

“What?”

“What do I get for my services?”

“What do you get? You don’t get a fuckin’ broken nose, you asshole.”

There’s the sound of paper sliding against skin.

“... What the fuck is this?”

“It’s what was written for me, word for word, so unless you got something wrong, then that’s it.”

There’s silence, then the sound of Hopper striding closer to the room you’re in.

“You’re welcome,” Murray calls as Hopper exits the room, and you press your lips together at his thunderous expression.

“Thank you, Murray,” you answer for him, raising your voice a little.

“Ah, you’re welcome.”

Dropping your arms as Hopper nears, you raise your eyebrows. “So?”

“It doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense,” he mutters, thrusting the note towards you.

Taking it from him, you read it, then frown as you read it again.

The week is long. The silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west. A trip to China sounds nice if you tread lightly.

Inhaling a long breath, you shrug and look up at him. “Yeah, that makes no sense to me.”

“Yeah, I thought it wouldn’t.”

You make yourself interpret that in a kind way as you look at him, watching him lean against the counter beside you and take the note from you, shoving it into his pocket.

It’s complicated. It doesn’t make any sense. He’s not making a comment on my intelligence.

Licking your lips, pressing them together for a moment, you open your mouth, then close it... then open it again, your voice low, “Do you think this maybe has something to do with what Joyce was saying about the magnets? And the lab?”

If his expression was thunderous before, it’s just full on pissed off now. His gaze darting up to you, you can see how tight his jaw is.

“We don’t know that.”

“I know we don’t, but it’s a little suspicious—”

“Or it could just be some people communicating via code.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s suspicious, isn’t it—”

“Not necessarily—”

He goes to put a hand on his hip as he huffs out a breath, but his elbow knocks against the jar, pushing it off the ledge, and your eyes widen as your hands dart out in the same moment Hopper’s do. Both of you acting on instinct, it fumbles in both your hands for all but two seconds as you try to catch it, in the process the cork top sliding off and some of the liquid spilling onto your hands and his arms and you’re waiting for it to sting and burn but it doesn’t and then— 

And then it’s falling and smashing on the floor.

You stare at the spreading liquid, the flower resting limply on it before your eyes dart up to meet Hopper’s, your mouth open. His is closed firmly, his hands, like yours, still raised.

“What was that?!” Murray calls, and you hear him approaching, your eyes now darting to the archway.

“Uh, it—”

“Nothin’, bye, Murray.”

Hopper grabs your hand and pulls you towards the front door, shoving it open and leading you out into the fresh air. He releases you and pulls his car keys out of his pocket as you head for the passenger side of the Blazer, both of you swiftly climbing in once he’s opened it. He’s starting the engine and turning the Blazer around before either of your seatbelts are on properly. Good. There’s only so much shit a human being can take from Murray.

Your seatbelt secured, a glance in the wing-mirror shows you the man himself, waving his arms frantically and faintly yelling for you to come back.

Absolutely fucking not.

Whatever it was, you’re sure it’s replaceable. Sure he collects weird things but it was just a flower, how precious could it be?

You hear Hopper blow out a breath as you head back to the main road, both of you relaxing. Leaning your head back, you keep your eyes on the road, letting the riddle swirl in your mind. You’re certain it’s connected to Joyce’s theories; in all the time you’ve been working at the Station you’ve not once heard someone speaking in code over the radio that wasn’t one of your own or kids, and as for Russian? You’d be very surprised if anyone in the little old town of Hawkins spoke it.

You want to broach the subject with him again, but maybe not now when you’re stuck in a hot car with him and only just starting a nearly two hour drive.

Boy, is it hot.

It’s just gone noon and it’s already sweltering. Rolling the window down, you tilt your head towards it, expecting some kind of breeze. There’s a light one, but it does nothing, so you grip the front of your shirt between your thumb and forefinger and waft it, trying to create some air. The way the shirt moves against your skin... every time it touches against it, slides against you with the movement, you’re hyper-aware of it. Maybe it’s just because you’re more aware of your body in general considering how hot you are.

God, it is uncomfortably hot.

You’re about to ask Hop to put the aircon on when he does so, angling a few of the grates towards himself. Glancing at him, you notice a few beads of sweat at his hairline.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?”

“Hm.”

Oh, well, that’s that conversation over.

You give him the benefit of the doubt, assuming he’s probably thinking about the riddle, too, so you return your thoughts to it, repeating it, turning it over and over—

It’s so hot it’s actually quite hard to think. 

Blinking and widening your eyes a little, you say each word of the riddle slowly in your mind, but they just end up being words, and when you try and say it all together again you just end up stopping halfway through, forgetting it momentarily.

Just wait until you’re back, you can have a cool drink, whack the aircon right up and think about it until you go mad.

You angle the grates on your side so one’s sending a cool breeze to your face, the other your body, and then drop your hand into your lap—

Jesus Christ.

Your leg jerks a little, involuntarily, as you register the sensation of your fingers on your clothed inner thigh. You quickly move your hand to your side but even that, your fingers gliding over your leg, makes your stomach muscles tighten.

It had felt good. Far better than it usually did.

You’re just hyper-aware of yourself because of how hot you feel, it’s fine.

You shift a little in your seat and— 

You catch yourself before a sound escapes you.

Fucking hell, that had felt good. So good in fact, your pussy is actually starting to ache.

Usually when you’re turned on, very turned on, the smallest of touches can have you gasping but... Are you turned on? You take a moment to consider it and find... Fuck, you are. Where the fuck has this come from? 

Hopper clearing his throat pulls you from your thoughts, glancing at him. He’s sweating a little more and he’s gripping the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles almost white, but that’ll just be the heat, another thing that pisses him off.

You need a distraction from... whatever this is your body has decided to feel.

“Maybe it’s from another town.”

“What?” He says it so sharply, almost like you’ve said something completely ridiculous.

“The message? Maybe it’s from another town and just carried over—”

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

Your mouth closes tightly and you return your gaze to the road, staring at it.

Take a breath. He’s in one of his moods. Murray has riled him up. Just let him ride it out... Fuck that, I really need to say something to him about his attitude.

It’s the perfect distraction, planning in your mind what you’re going to say when you get back to Hawkins, coming up with retorts and come-backs to whatever he could say, acting out the conversation in your head and going down every route imaginable. You get so in to it, in fact, that you manage to just about forget how warm you are, and you don’t notice that Hopper is sweating profusely, his hips shifting every few minutes.

—

Your clothes are sticking to every inch of you. Your entire body aches.

What the hell is going on.

You’ve been in the car for a total of thirty minutes now, but it feels like a God damn lifetime. Thinking about arguing with Hop had only gotten you so far; it had channelled some of this weird energy you’re feeling but then suddenly you’d thought about ripping his shirt off and shoving him onto his God damn uncomfortable couch and sitting in his lap while you told him all about how God damn annoying he is.

And then the aches, the bone deep aches, had started.

Fuck, do I have the flu?

You just feel awful. Your elbow rests against the car door, your hand supporting your head, and you stare out of the window, taking slow, deep, steadying breaths. You feel nauseous and your skin is on fire. You’ve tried to keep quiet but you actually think you might be sick, and between throwing up in his car and asking him to pull over, you think the latter will annoy him less.

“Hop’.”

“What?” He doesn’t snap this time, instead he sounds... strained.

“Can we pull over soon? I don’t feel well.”

“Yeah.”

Wow.

Okay.

That hadn’t been so hard. 

His voice is still strained and short, but, again, that could just be the heat. He doesn’t pull over immediately and as you glance up you notice a sign for a motel not too far ahead.

Oh, good.

Ten minutes later, the tyres of the Blazer are screeching as he turns sharply into the parking lot of the motel. You have to grip at the handle of the door as he swings in, parking swiftly and braking hard.

“I’ll get rooms.” The words are said so sharply it’s like they’ve been punched out of him.

God, he really doesn’t want me to throw up in here.

Wait, ‘rooms’? Are we staying for a night? That’d be nice.

You both climb out, and you’re almost dizzy from the action. Hopper’s already striding towards the reception booth and you slowly follow after him, wiping the sweat from your brow. You have to walk with your legs slightly apart because your thighs rubbing together... What the fuck is going on? By the time you reach Hopper he’s already got a key and is turning on his heel, walking back behind you.

“C’mon.”

As he passes you, his elbow brushes against your arm and you both flinch because, fuck, a weird little electric shock thing happens. Except, whereas when that usually happens you only feel it on your skin, this time you feel it all over your body, spreading down and curling somewhere in your lower stomach.

And it felt good.

Beads of sweat run down your arms, back and chest as you follow him up a flight of stairs to the first floor. It takes every ounce of energy you have to get up there, whereas Hopper’s almost running. The door’s open when you finally reach it and he’s got the aircon on high which you’re grateful for. Closing the door behind yourself, you’re about to thank him when you look over at him and you notice that he’s drenched in sweat, just as you are.

He glances up and briefly meets your gaze before he runs a hand through his damp hair, his eyes sweeping the room as he paces, his eyebrows raised.

“Only one room left. Sorry.”

You shake your head, the action just increasing your nausea, as you shrug. “No, it’s okay. It’s not like we need to spend the night. Just... think I need a nap, or something. Feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

There’s a short silence in which you sit down on the nearest of the two double beds, your hands on your knees.

“Me, too.”

You look up at him, your brow dipping. “What?”

Hopper gestures at himself before he drops his hand, exhaling a hard breath. “Feel like... feel like I’m gonna be sick, too. Feel so fuckin’ hot, can’t think straight.”

“Yeah, me as well...” Your frown deepens. “Are we both sick?”

“How’s that possible?”

“I don’t know. It came on so suddenly, too, only after we left...”

You meet his gaze as he presses his lips together, following your train of thought.

“That son of a bitch...”

Crossing the room, he grabs the phone from the bedside table and dials Murray’s number. At any other time you would have laughed that he had it memorised. Like they’re pals.

His tongue darting over his lips, your eyes following it for some reason, he holds the phone to his ear, his jaw clenched.

Murray answers on the first ring.

“Hey, Murray—”

You can hear the other man even from where you’re sat.

“You broke the jar, didn’t you.”

“Uh, yeah, but I can—”

“Oh, you fucking idiot. Is she with you?”

Hopper’s eyes briefly dart to you. “Uh, yeah, hey, I’m sure it’s replaceable, I can pay—”

“One, no, it’s not, and two, it’s not me you should be thinking about, you ass.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, are you feelin’ a little weird, Jim? Huh? Is your lady friend?”

“Uh...” He glances at you again before turning his back, lowering his voice slightly. “Yeah, why?”

You stood up instantly as he turned, and, ooff, there’s the dizziness again, though you manage to move closer to him, a frown pulling at your features as you tut, so you hear Murray’s humourlessly chuckled reply.

“Oooh, hoooo, you’re both in for quite a day.”

“Why, you fuckin’ asshole?”

“Let’s just say you’re going to be feeling certain urges... or maybe you’re already feeling them?”

Hopper glances at you yet again before turning his back away from you again. You hiss and move closer, brushing against him, which just makes you both grimace because there’s the electric current again. You try to stay as close as possible without touching him.

“Just tell me what’s fuckin’ goin’ on, Murray.”

“The best and most polite thing to call it would be an aphrodisiac.”

You frown as you glance up at Hopper, but he’s just staring at the wall.

“What? Why the fuck do you have something like this, Murray?”

“I was going to dilute it to sell in certain markets.”

“As what?”

“An aphrodisiac, dumbass.”

As Hopper snarls and opens his mouth, you grab the phone, your fingers brushing together making your stomach flip and something clench inside you.

Holding the phone to your ear, you swallow before exhaling a breath and murmuring, “What do we do, Murray? How do we stop feeling awful?”

He sighs, and you’re surprised and also slightly unsettled by his tone softening a little. “There’s not much you can do, except what you have wanted to do for a long time that neither of you will admit.”

Before you can speak, Hopper calls, even though he’s right beside you, “And what the hell does that mean?”

“Fuck each other!”

Your mouth drops open as you think your heart stops, and Hopper freezes beside you.

“I’m sorry... what?”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean—”

“No, Murray, I mean,” you quickly cut him off, rubbing at your damp forehead as you lick your dry lips, your cheeks burning. “What did you, why would we need to, uhm, do that?”

"It’s the only way to ease the aches and pains, honey, that—”

“Pain?”

You’re aching, yes, but you wouldn’t say you’re in pain.

“Stop interrupting me, Jesus...” You press your lips together at his exasperated sigh, before he takes a breath. “The pollen from that flower is like an instant aphrodisiac. If it comes into contact with your skin, that’s it, kiddos, you’re horny. I was diluting it so it’s less lethal, hence why it was in that jar marinating in that liquid. I’m assuming you got some of it on you when you oh so cleverly broke it for no reason?”

“Yeah, but we didn’t mean to—”

“What did I say about interrupting? Depending on how much you got on you, you’re gonna feel hot, then your whole body’s gonna ache, then’ll come the urges and the pain, and once those hit, hooo... so you two had better get to it.”

You feel like you’re having some kind of a fever dream. Rubbing your forehead again, you close your eyes for a few moments as you almost trip over your words, “What, hang on, w-what do you mean by lethal, what happens if we don’t, you know, do anything? It’ll just wear off, won’t it?”

Murray’s silent.

Oh... this is bad.

“C’mon, Murray, answer her.” Hopper’s sudden voice makes you jump.

There’s a quiet sigh. “You gotta take care of each other, together, or... or you’ll die.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard Murray speak in an entirely gentle tone.

You don’t know what stuns you more; that, or his words.

“... What.” Your voice is so quiet.

Hopper is silent.

“I don’t know how much you were exposed to but no matter how much, the need and the pain, if nothing is done, can get so bad that your organs start to fail and shut down. If it was just a little, it’ll take longer, if it was a lot then I’d say it’s only a matter of time.”

“No, it... it was just a little. Few splashes. I think.” Your voice sounds far away to your own ears.

“Well, you’ve got some time, then. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable so get to it.”

“Right... Thanks, Murray.” You place the phone down, feeling so far out of your body, hanging up before he can say another word.

Silence.

You look up at Hopper as he clears his throat and moves away, being very careful not to brush against you, his hand running through his hair again. As he sits down in the armchair, you sit on the edge of the bed opposite, staring at the floor.

It’s... it’s... You don’t have the word for it. Wild. Outlandish. Crazy.

“He could be lying, right.” You look up at Hopper as he speaks, meeting his gaze. “He could be mad that we broke somethin’ of his and is just makin’ this all up.”

“Yeah,” is all you can think to say.

“This could just be a reaction to it.”

“Yeah...” You shrug after a moment, blowing out a breath. “Pretty fucking bizarre thing to make up.”

“Well, that’s Murray.”

You both fall silent as he stares at the wall and you stare at the bed. It’s got a patchwork blanket on it, all red squares with other panels of red floral designs. It reminds you of the damn flower. It’s like it’s taunting you. As are the beads of sweat sliding down your spine. And the new, faint, throbbing in your cunt.

You believe Murray.

It’s... wild and bizarre and you don’t understand it at all but, yes, you believe him. Your lips are suddenly dry, either from the realisation or the flower, and you lick them as you lift your gaze to Hopper. He’s still staring so intently at the wall, hands gripping the armrests.

His eyes flick to you as you speak gently.

“I think we should stay the night. Until this wears off. Don’t want to infect anyone else, if that’s possible.”

He nods curtly, expressionless. “Okay.”

Thankfully, Joyce has El for the night, Hopper having asked her to take her in case you both stayed longer than you thought you would, so that’s one less thing. You think about saying that out loud to him, then swiftly decide against it. Of course he’ll already thought about that, will probably take offence at you asking and think it implies you think he hasn’t.

You hate the silence of the room, though, hate the space it provides to think, so you continue instead with, “We’ll just... ride this shit out. It was only a few drops. We’ll be fine.”

Hopper may be expressionless, but what you can’t see are his blunt nails digging into the fabric of the chair. 

“Okay.”

—

It was a mistake, turning the TV on.

It’s too loud, too bright, but, fuck, you need the distraction. Your eyes are fixed on it like you’re possessed, and your shirt is soaked, sticking to your skin. Uncomfortable. Your skin is slick, you can feel sweat sliding down your face, arms, back. A loud commercial comes on and you grab the TV remote, turning it off as a wild burst of irritation suddenly flashes through you.

Focus on the room. Two double beds. Bare desk. Mini fridge. Bathroom. Standard motel room. Boring. Plain. Dull. So dull. Think about how dull it is.

It doesn’t work. It hasn’t been working for the last twenty minutes. Has it been twenty minutes? Longer? Less? You don’t know and you don’t want to know. Your body is aching, not only physically but with need, like you’ve never, ever felt before. You feel almost drunk, too, unchallenged words on the tip of your tongue, your brain doing the bare minimum to stop them from coming out... but they’re not just words, they’re pleas.

Touch me.

Kiss me.

Fuck me.

Your eyes dart to Hopper. He’s not moved but his shirt is soaked, too, the hair on his chest, peeking out the top of the grey, flannel button down, damp. That hair... You stare at it. How far down does it go... What would it feel like if you ran your fingers through it...

Your pussy clenches around nothing and tears start to sting at your eyes.

Fuck, I need to be touched.

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, thick with unshed tears. “Hop’, I feel awful.”

A muscle in his jaw moves. “It’s just a reaction to whatever it is—”

“Yeah, and what if it’s the kind of reaction he was talking about?”

Hopper finally looks at you, brow dipping. “You believe him?”

You hate the way he says it, all disbelieving, making you feel like you’re an idiot. 

“Yeah, I do. Why would he lie, especially about something like this? Yes, he’s a dick, but he’s not this much of a dick. He’s more likely to just rip into us and go on and on than make something up.”

“You can’t say that, you don’t know him.”

Brushed off. Again.

Your chin rises slightly, meeting a challenge you might be imagining. “I’ve known him long enough.”

His jaw moves as he arches an eyebrow. “Oh, you hang out all the time do you? You best pals, know everythin’ about him?”

“No, it just doesn’t seem like him—”

“Doesn’t seem like your good pal Murray? How would you know? You can’t just make assumptions like that, he is a—”

The words lash out of you. “Oh, just shut the fuck up, Hopper.”

He pauses, lips still parted, his own words dying on his tongue... until new ones return, his eyebrows raising as his head tilts. “... Excuse me?”

Anger feels good, it channels some of this increasingly restless energy swirling inside you. “Just shut up, you’ve been a real asshole all week, all month, all the time I’ve God damn known you, actually—”

“You didn’t think I was an asshole at the Christmas party.”

You freeze, staring at him.

Last year’s Station Christmas party.

Why did he bring that up.

Was he thinking about that.

You know he was thinking about that.

Because you’ve been thinking about it, too, minutes earlier, intently. It had suddenly come rushing back to you, his hands on your waist, your lips on his, tongues stroking at each other, the moaned sigh you’d released as he’d pressed against you.

You’d both been drunk, though, and lonely and alcohol makes you horny so you’d wanted him to kiss you and he’d spent the last hour before it looking like he’d wanted to, too, your eyes constantly finding each other, looking, really looking, and then you’d just bumped into each other as you’d come out of the bathroom, but it seemed like he’d almost been waiting for you and then you’d talked, no, you’d flirted, he liked your dress, you liked his comically festive tie, and you were both laughing, your hands somehow on each other, maybe to steady yourselves, and then you’d... then you’d kissed.

Neither of you had brought it up, ever, until now. You’d been so horribly hungover the next day that you hadn’t even remembered it until late in the evening and you’d felt so embarrassed. You’d fretted for the rest of the night, wondering if you’d ruined your friendship and a relationship that meant so much to you, but when you’d gone into work the following Monday he hadn’t said a thing, hadn’t even looked at you differently. You’d been so incredibly relieved, but it had come back to you every now and then; how good his lips had felt, how passionate the kiss was, how his hands had felt on you.

All this time you’d thought he had just forgotten it... and it appeared that wasn’t the case at all. 

Your already warm face becomes warmer.

“I was drunk.”

He’s got a fucking smug look on his face, like a fucking petty bastard.

“You kissed me.”

“I did not.”

“You did, you pulled me in.”

“Oh, just shut up, Hopper, it doesn’t matter or count anyway because we were drunk.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I saw the way you were lookin’ at me—”

“Why does it matter so much to you?” you snap, staring at him.

He pauses, the smug look quickly fading. Then, he shrugs, the corners of his mouth turning down. “It doesn’t.”

“Good, shut up, then.”

Silence descends.

And you fucking hate it. At least while snapping at one another you don’t think about how your panties are now soaked and you just want to feel some fingers against your cunt and a cock deep inside you...

A strained groan slips from your lips.

“You okay?” he mumbles, and you blow out a harsh breath.

“No, I’m not, I just—”

Oh, fuck.

You were just about to say it. You were just about to ask him to fuck you. Rolling your neck, your breaths slightly shorter, ragged, you lick your dry lips again.

What the fuck do I do, I’m literally about to ask my boss, my friend, the absolute pain in my ass to fuck me so I don’t, possibly, die.

Then, it comes to you.

“... You just what—”

“Just need the bathroom,” you cut him off exasperatedly, every intonation of his voice prickling your skin, and not in an entirely unpleasant way.

“Jesus, fine,” he mutters, and you hope he doesn’t notice how quickly you turn your back to him as you stand, striding towards the wooden door to the bathroom.

Closing it firmly behind you and turning the lock, you step back from it, releasing a breath that has your shoulders relaxing minutely. You catch your reflection in the mirror to your left and release another breath at your expression; sweaty, tense, and, yes, there’s a trace of panic in your eyes.

Just do it. Do it then you’ll stop thinking about it and then it’ll be over and you’ll feel okay.

Your fingers, seemingly of their own accord, move to your jeans, fumbling with the button and zip. In your haste, the zip catches on the material and tears fill your eyes again.

Oh, come on, come on, come on, please...

You don’t realise you’re murmuring the words out loud, so fixated on what your fingers are doing. Finally after a moment or so you can shove them down, your panties with them, and then you’re spreading your legs as one hand braces against the door and the other slides between your pussy lips.

You can just about muffle the moan that falls from your mouth as your finger tips glide back and forth over your clit, your teeth sinking into your lower lip.

Oh, fuck...

It feels heavenly, unlike any pleasure you’ve felt before from a first touch. You’re dripping, too, so soaking wet that you can hear it as your fingers quicken their pace... but it’s not enough.

How is it not enough?

Tears are slipping out of the corners of your eyes as you grit your teeth, a need so desperate coursing through you that it’s painful.

What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck... Why isn’t it working?

You slip two fingers inside your pussy, hoping filling yourself even a little will help but... no. It just makes you crave a cock inside you even more, increasing the aching that’s running through your entire body.

Oh, please, come on—

Two gentle knocks sound against the door. You freeze again, mouth open as your fingers stay buried inside you.

A throat clears on the other side, and then Hopper speaks, voice slightly muffled.

“Hey, uh... I’m sorry for snappin’, and for my shitty attitude, I... I know I haven’t been the best to be around lately...”

His words just become sounds as a kind of white-noise, ringing starts in your head.

Oh, no, no, no... No...

Your cunt is throbbing. You can’t help but think about him murmuring those apologies in your ear as his cock thrusts slow and deep inside you, as he tells you he’ll make it all up to you, everything, that you feel so good around his cock and he wants to make you feel so good all the time...

As your hand drops and you straighten, you don’t think you have absolute control of your body anymore. 

And you don’t fucking care.

Unlocking and yanking the door open, you instantly meet Hopper’s gaze, watching him blink as he abruptly silences whatever he was saying.

“Woah, you okay?”

How is he so normal? Yes, he’s sweating, profusely, but that’s it, seemingly. What a sight you must look in comparison. You watch his gaze travel down you, settling on your jeans and panties that are around your knees. His eyes dart back up to yours, and you watch his slick throat bob as he swallows hard.

“What the hell you doin’.”

You can hear your own breathing, ragged, short. Staring at him, you don’t know if it’s sweat or tears running down your cheeks.

“Hop’, I need you to touch me.”

It’s as if you’ve just asked him to detonate a bomb. His eyes widening, his mouth moves but nothing comes out for quite a few moments.

“I... Hey, now, hang on—”

“Please.” At any other time you might have been embarrassed for sounding so tragically desperate. “I tried, I tried to touch myself and it didn’t work, I’m aching so bad, please—”

“Sweetheart—”

That nearly has your knees weakening, a faint sound emitting from the back of your throat. He swallows again at hearing it and runs a hand down his mouth, shaking his head.

“I mean—”

“Fuck, Hop’, please. Don’t you feel it, too? I feel like, my, my, my whole body is just in pain, it fucking hurts, Hop’.”

You don’t know whether he feels it, too, or he’s just pitying you, because confliction is rife across his face.

And then he takes a step back, and he might as well have punched you in the stomach with the gasped breath that releases from you.

No, no, no, no...

“Hop’...”

He takes another step back, unable to stop his gaze from flicking down to where your hands are pushing your jeans and panties down and off, your shoes with them, kicking them aside. Then, he looks away, so sharply and suddenly, his fingers flexing by his sides.

“I can’t.”

“Why.”

You can’t think of any reason that would be damn good enough right now.

Hopper can’t look at you as he shakes his head again. “It’s not right, you don’t want this, it’s just the flower—”

“I want this, I want you, Hop’, I need you...” You’ve stepped towards him, your hands on his chest, sliding over his damp shirt, fisting it in your hands. “... I need you inside me...”

His jaw is so tight, his whole body is, you can feel his muscles underneath your hands, and his breathing is harsher. He raises a hand, which you don’t notice is shaking until he places it on one of your forearms. You wait for him to try and pull it away, but he just grips it lightly.

“You... You don’t want me really, this, this isn’t right—”

“I do, I do...” Your chin lifts and your lips brush against his jaw, and you swear you hear him groan quietly. You cling onto it, even if it isn’t real, and the words tumble out of you. “... I’ve thought about you before, inside me, making me cum, I’ve fucked myself imagining it was you before, so many times, please, Hop’, I’m begging you...”

He must have groaned because now his head is tilted against yours, lips against your cheekbone. His thumb is brushing against your inner wrist, too, so lightly. You press against him... and feel it.

His cock straining against his jeans.

Maybe it’s not just you, then. The arm he isn’t gripping moves, your hand dropping to settle on his thigh, your fingers caressing.

“Please, Hop’...” you whisper.

You know he groans this time, his lips so close to your ear. You know he’s seconds from crumbling, too, his hips angling towards your hand, his hand sliding from your wrist to your bicep, head turning closer towards yours, lips inches away—

Then, he freezes, a breath hissing out through his teeth.

He doesn’t move away but, staring at him, you can see the confliction return and even some anger that washes over his features.

“Hop’—”

“This isn’t the way I wanted it to be.”

You pause, lips parted so your harsh breaths can escape audibly. He hadn’t wanted to say that. He’d hissed the words out, eyes unable to meet yours, in fact he’s now closed them; regret swirling inside him.

But you can only think about one thing right now. 

You’re shaking with relief and anticipation. “... You’ve thought about me, too, then.”

A statement, not a question.

His eyes open, finding yours. “Yeah.”

You relish every word you say. “Then fuck me like you’ve wanted to.”

Any last restraint he has crumbles.

And he must have be in just as much pain as you because it happens in mere seconds.

Hopper’s hand grips the back of your head, holding you close and tight against him as his lips crash against yours. A combination of a sob and a moan emits from the back of your throat as you grip at his shirt, desire burning through your veins. His other arm wraps around your lower back and part of your brain is grateful for his strong grip because then he’s suddenly turning you and walking you back towards the closest bed.

The backs of your legs knock against it and you fall back on the soft covers, and it’s like he didn’t let you go at all as he’s already on top of you, one arm by the side of your head, the hand of the other resting on your torso, fingers splayed. One leg is between yours to hold himself up and your brain is working so fast, trying to find any way to soothe what your body is crying out for, that it takes you a moment to initiate its plan. Shifting down, your back arching with the movement, you start to rock your bare cunt against his thigh. The moaned cry you release is swallowed by his mouth, but he gives a groan in return.

“Fuck...” he hisses, feeling how wet you are as you’ve already soaking through his jeans.

The material is rough but that just makes it more heavenly against your swollen, aching clit and folds. Gripping his biceps, your lips tear from his as you tip your head back with a loud moan, eyes closed tightly. It’s not enough but it still feels so fucking good.

It takes you a few moments to realise he’s pushed your shirt and bra up, and his lips instantly descend upon your hard nipples, kissing, licking, sucking, pulling with his teeth slightly.

Tears are sliding down your cheeks in relief and a smile is pulling at your lips because—

“Yes...” you gasp, fingers curling tightly into his hair, tugging at his scalp.

His hips jerk as you do, and his grunts tell you just how much he likes it. So you do it again, and again, and again... and realise he’s grinding his hips against your thigh, just like you’re doing to him.

“Fu-uck...” he growls against your chest, his mouth moving in a deliciously sloppy way up your skin to your neck.

You whine as he kisses you there, your head tipping back, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

It’s so, so fucking good... but it’s still not enough.

“Hop’, need more...”

“Shh, don’t worry, baby, I know...”

How can he string words together? You had just about managed to breathe yours out.

What delicious words they were, though.

You must have done something in response to them, bucked your hips a certain way or made a sound, you don’t quite know because your mind is starting to feel like liquid, because he’s suddenly smiling now.

A lazy, smug smile that makes you clench.

Gazing down at you, his hands splay across your waist, and he presses his thigh a little harder against your cunt, which has your back arching.

“You like when I call you baby, huh? When I talk to you?”

“Yeah…” is all you can so eloquently answer with.

“That’s good to know.”

How is he capable of this much talking? Does the pollen enhance sexual characteristics that are already there?

Whatever it does, you can’t think on it much further because the hand on your waist is now travelling down your stomach, and you’re about to complain at his thigh suddenly disappearing when they’re now replaced by his long fingers sliding over your cunt.

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp as he groans, your eyes falling shut.

“Jesus, baby, you’re so fuckin’ wet, you’re fuckin’ dripping…”

You don’t even bother trying to respond. Gripping at his shoulders, all you can do is moan as three of his fingers drag up and down your folds. When they move over your clit, you don’t know whether it’s a sob or a moan that falls from your open mouth. Either way, pure pleasure courses through you. Maybe at any other point you would have cum right there and then from how intense it is, but you need something inside you. Whatever is happening, that’s all you know.

“God, Hop’, please…”

“I know, baby…”

And as he says the words, he pushes two of his fingers inside you.

“Yes…” you cry, your hips pushing down so they slide all the way inside you, but if you’d been coherent enough to you would have bet he would have done so anyway.

“Jesus…” he hisses, tone strained, and he instantly starts to slip them in and out of you, sinking them in as far as he can each time. “… You’re so fuckin’ wet…”

He groans again when you clench down on his fingers, and it seems to break whatever kind of resolve he was still holding onto, however the hell he was holding on to it.

A pitiful whine of protest escapes you when his fingers pull out, and he just nods swiftly, strands of hair falling over his forehead as he rises up onto his knees.

“I know, sweetheart, I know, just let me… Fuck…”

Lifting your head, you watch him shift backwards until his boots can touch down on the ground, but it’s only a moment before he’s kneeling on the floor and then his hands are wrapping around your thighs, widening them, and then he’s lowering his head and then… and then…

Your mouth drops open wider as your hands dart to his hair, plunging in once again as his tongue licks a long, wide path up your folds.

“Just needed to fuckin’ taste you…” he mumbles against you, the vibration of his voice making you mewl.

If his hands weren’t keeping your thighs apart you would have wrapped them around his head. All you can do, though, is rock your hips and grind against his tongue. He growls with pleasure, and just as you inhale a breath to beg for more, he pushes three fingers inside of you.

Three.

Three of his thick, long fingers slide inside you with no resistance or pain at all, and you throw your head back with a loud cry as you clench around them.

“Fu-uck...” he groans, curling them a little, stroking inside you. “... Look how fuckin’ easy that was, huh... How fuckin’ easy are you gonna take my cock, baby? Huh? Is it gonna slide right in? Fill you all up on the first stroke?”

Again, at any other time, you would have cum right there and then, but... somehow it’s just not enough.

Gritting your teeth, because while it’s not enough, the pleasure is still so fucking good, you release a sound between a sob and a moan.

“Hop’... Fucking need more...”

“You want my cock in you, sweetheart, huh?”

“Please.”

He groans again, and then you hear it.

He’s stroking his cock in swift, firm movements, and you want to be doing that, you want to be touching him, tasting him, pleasuring him, and—

“Want you to cum on my tongue, wanna fuckin’ taste you,” he mumbles against your pussy, lapping at you again, and you have to take in a few ragged breaths before you can speak.

“... Can’t... Not enough... Need your cock...”

“Christ...” He exhales a breath that closely resembles another growl. “... Do you know what hearin’ those words does to me, huh? Oh, you’re gonna cum on my cock, baby, but I’ve fuckin’ dreamed about you cumming in my mouth so you know what you’re gonna do?” He lifts his head, and you open your half-lidded eyes to look at him. “... You’re gonna cum on my tongue.”

And lowering his head again, he sucks hard at your aching clit.

And maybe it is just enough, because your back is arching and you’re pulling at his hair and he’s having to tighten his grip on your thigh and tears of relief or maybe it’s beads of sweat are sliding down your cheeks because yes, yes, yes...

You don’t realise you’re chanting the word as your climax builds, and when it rolls through you, a blissful serenity follows it...

That lasts all of a few seconds before you’re squirming again, the throbbing in your core somehow sharper, more desperate.

Hopper, however, is sucking and licking at you still, lapping up your release as he moans, an arm moving to settle over your lower stomach. Opening your eyes, you gaze down at him and see his hand working over his cock still and you want to move and touch him but his arm is keeping you down and his tongue is continuing to move so deliciously against your cunt.

And then he’s releasing short, sharp groans, and his hips are jerking and his hand is starting to slow, and then he cums, and you can only watch as it trickles down his fingers.

No, no, no, you want to feel him cum, you want it inside you—

He lifts his head, licking his lips, and the hunger still burning in his eyes steals your breath away.

He rises, and you can only watch with ragged breaths as he kicks his boots away and pushes his trousers and boxers off. His dick is still hard, pressed flat against his stomach, tip red and weeping.

“You want my cock? You want my fuckin’ cock inside you...?” he’s murmuring, and your eyes dart up to meet his as you release a breath.

“God, fuck, yes, Hop’...”

“C’mere...” He’s suddenly on top of you, then, cupping the top of your head with his large hand as he props himself up on his elbow. It eases some more of the pain a little, having him crowd you, feeling his skin on yours, but you both know exactly what you need.

His eyes are boring down into yours, and your nails are digging into shoulders, and then, finally, you feel the tip of his cock against your cunt.

“Mhm, yeah, fuck, inside me...” you’re breathing, pleading, half out of your mind with need as you nod.

And then, without any more teasing or talking, his thick cock slides all the way inside you.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you cry out and your back arches. Pure pleasure and relief and bliss overwhelms you, and you haven’t even cum on him yet. In fact, he can’t move yet because you’re clenched so tightly around him, your slick walls gripping at him like your cunt doesn’t want him to ever leave.

His breaths are short, sharp, strained, and his hand has moved to rest under your head, a gesture that, at any other time, you would have recognised as tender.

“Oh, fuck, baby... Fuck... Feel every inch of my dick... You feel it, huh?”

Words aren’t possible anymore, so you can only nod, eyes still shut tight, and your breaths fall away into moans as he kisses at your neck, all of them sloppy, uncoordinated, needy, and you suddenly realise he’s murmuring to you.

“... Wanna fuckin’ move, wanna make you feel so fuckin’ good, wanna cum in your wet cunt and feel you cum on me, want you screamin’ my fuckin’ name...”

As if his words were the key, you unclench around him with a whine of desire, and, with a hiss, he instantly draws his hips back and then snaps them forward, sinking fully into you once again.

Fucking lighting zips through your body, you’ve never felt anything like it.

He must feel it, too, because he doesn’t stop for one moment, drawing all the way back and thrusting right back into you to the hilt, each time harder than the last and, distantly, you can hear the headboard smacking against the wall.

“... Good girl... Good fuckin’ girl...” he’s growling through gritted teeth, and you realise you are because you’re doing exactly as he wanted.

You’re shouting his name amongst your moans.

And not even just ‘Hop’ or ‘Hopper’; ‘Jim’ is falling from your lips, and each time he hears it his hips snap forward just that little bit harder.

“Yeah, baby, good fuckin’ girl... Good girl... Fuckin’ Christ... Can you hear how fuckin’ wet you are? Listen to how fuckin’ good you take my cock, baby... Take it... Fuck, take it...”

Nevermind listening, it’s how he feels inside you that’s making sparks skitter across your skin. He fills and stretches you perfectly, dragging and sliding against your sensitive walls deliciously each time. You’re not going to last much longer, the last coherent part of your mind knows, and it nearly makes you sob with both relief and dread.

You never want this fucking feeling to end, it’s all so good, so fucking good but you know it’s just going to feel even better when you cum, when you feel him cum.

Managing to open your eyes, you find his gaze still on you, flicking from your parted lips to your chest.

“... Cum...” you whisper, voice hoarse, and you have to swallow before you try again. “... Cum inside me, please... Want to feel you cum... Fill me with your cum...”

“Yeah?” His jaw is tight, eyes boring into your own again. “... Wanna feel my fuckin’ cum fillin’ you up, baby, huh? Want my fuckin’ cum leaking out of you?”

“Yes”, you chant over and over and over breathlessly, gaze fixed on his, unable to look away because his hips are stuttering in their rhythm, just slightly, but enough that you know.

He’s close.

“Cum, cum for me...” you start to plead now, “... Wanna feel you cum, cum inside me, Jim, please... I need it...”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ need it, baby?” he grunts, voice low, gravelling.

“Yeah, give it to me, please...”

“Take it, fuckin’ take it, take my cum...” He groans sharply then, mouth dropping open. “... Fuck...” His hand darts out from under your head and grips at the bedcovers, and with a few more thrusts, he then buries deep inside you and cums with a shout, eyes shut tight.

And euphoria spreads through you.

You feel his cum spill inside you, and the pleasure that courses through you from the sensation sends you spiralling into your own release. Gripping at his arms, nails digging in probably to the point of pain, you throw your head back and cry out.

It’s unlike any bliss you’ve ever felt before.

For a few moments you may even black out as it rolls through you in wave upon wave upon wave.

Hopper feels closer, as well, as if he’s collapsed slightly but just about managed to hold himself up in time. His lips are against your jaw, and you can feel his panted breaths, his lightly trembling frame.

Oh, you’re trembling, too, can hear it in your own breaths.

At least you can try and calm your heart rate, now, because it must be over, it has to be. It’s been done now, it’s...

It’s...

It’s...

It’s still there. That strange energy, whatever the hell it is. It’s not as intense now, but it’s there. Enough so that you lick your lips and gaze up at him, finger tips gliding down his arms.

“Hop’... I can still feel it.”

It’s a few moments before his eyes open, and when his gaze meets yours, and you realise he’s still hard inside you, you know before he speaks what he’s going to say.

“... Me, too.”

Neither of you speak, or move, just gaze at each other. Enough sense has returned that you take these few moments to breathe, but not enough that when those moments do start to stretch on... you just can’t help yourself.

Teeth sinking into your lower lip, you start to slowly roll your hips.

His eyes fall shut with a guttural groan, and your involuntary mewl answers him.

When his eyes then snap open, you also can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of your mouth.

“You not satisfied yet?” he murmurs, voice dangerously low, and you shake your head as your tongue glides across your lips.

“Fuck me again, Jim.”

His thumb and forefinger are suddenly gripping your chin, and his lips hover over yours as he exhales a breath.

“It not enough that my cum is fillin’ you up? You need some fuckin’ more?”

“Yeah...” you breathe, trying to lift your chin higher so you can kiss him, but he holds firm.

“You want me to fuck you again, sweetheart?”

“Please, Jim...”

His lips brush against yours, and it’s the lightest of touches, but it’s enough to have you moaning as you rock your hips again.

“Please...”

“Well, seein’ as you’ve been a good fuckin’ girl...”

Pulling back, he rises up onto his knees, and pulls out of you. You mewl softly at feeling empty now, but you’re instantly distracted by his hands gripping your thighs, keeping them parted wide, and the fact his eyes are fixed on your cunt.

“Fuck... Your pussy looks so pretty with my cum spilling out of it...”

Fucking hell.

“Hop’, please, fuck me, I need you again, I need your cock—”

“I know, baby, I know.” Your words have his gaze tearing away and returning to your own, and he releases your thighs with a groan. “Turn over. On your stomach.”

You don’t need telling twice.

Except you have your own demand.

“Take your shirt off, I want to feel all of you.”

When his fingers fly to the buttons of it and start undoing them, then you roll over onto your front, resting your cheek against the covers.

You hear him toss it aside, and then his fingers are sliding down your back, over your ass and to your cunt. His fingertips caress your pussy lips lightly, gliding up and down, and your eyes fall shut at the gentle waves of pleasure that pulse through you. He’s toying with your mixed cum, gently pushing it back inside you and spreading it along your cunt.

“Jesus Christ...” he breathes, half in awe, half aroused.

Any other time you would have left him indulge himself for as long as he wanted, but the desperate need inside you is growing once more.

“Jim... Fuck me...”

You’ve only just finished pleading him, when his cock sinks inside you, this time in a slow, long thrust.

As your mouth drops open in a high moan, your fingers gripping onto the covers, he releases a long groan, eyes fixed on his dick disappearing inside you.

“Fuck, look at that...” His hands grip your ass, spreading you open wider. “... Take me so fuckin’ good... So fuckin’ good...”

Your eyes nearly roll back when you close them, as he starts to repeatedly give you slow, long thrusts, watching his own cock spread your soaked lips apart. You’re nearly delirious with pleasure, cunt pulsing around him, and when you feel him move, you can’t even open your eyes.

He settles over you, holding himself up on his forearm while his other hand slides under your neck and grips it gently, making you lift your head, tipping it back a little.

And now his lips are right against your ear.

“Fucking perfection... Like you were fuckin’ made for my cock, huh, sweetheart?”

You can only moan in reply as his thrusts speed up a little.

The position you’re now in somehow makes it feel more delicious than before, like his cock is somehow filling you even more. You now focus on the lewd sounds caused by how wet your pussy is, too, and it’s so lewd, so filthy and hot that it’s making your stomach clench.

You must clench around him again, too, because he inhales a ragged breath before speaking.

“You gonna cum for me again?”

“Yeah...” you breathe, mind starting to turn blank.

“Gonna cum on my hard cock? Soak it and the fuckin’ bed?”

“Please...”

It feels more intense this time, the mounting pleasure, and your fingers twist into the bed covers as you try and ground yourself. He’s murmuring into your ear still, hand on your throat still gentle.

“... what a good fuckin’ girl you are, taking my cock so good, gonna take my cum again, huh? How many times can I cum in this pretty little pussy, how many times can I fill you up until you’re satisfied, huh...”

It’s all too much, too good...

Your orgasm crashes over you.

Your brow dipping, your mouth dropping open, a scream is pulled from your throat, and the world goes dark.

—

Your eyes snap open.

Oh, fuck.

There’s a slight pounding in your head, the beginnings of a headache most likely from dehydration.

Annoying.

When did I last have a drink, though? Or eat? Must’ve been...

Oh.

It all comes flooding back to you.

That... That actually happened?

Releasing a soft groan, you lift a heavy hand to try and rub at your forehead—

Another hand catches it, and the space beside you dips slightly.

“Hey, hey, woah, you okay?”

Your gaze darts to the source, and you find Hopper sat there, concern etched across his features. You don’t have time to think about it or answer, though, as he swiftly releases your hand and a glass of water suddenly appears before you.

“Here, drink this.”

Sitting up a little, you drink deeply, your throat dry, raw, actually, and the entire contents is nearly gone when you finally lower it, gasping a breath in.

He takes the glass from you, placing it on the bedside table, and as you lick your lips and adjust against the pillows, he watches you, fingers rubbing against his mouth.

Clearing his throat after a few moments, he ask quietly, “You okay?”

Is it too soon to tell him that was probably the best fuck of your life?

Raising your eyebrows, a light smile pulls at your lips. “Yeah. A little sore, but...” Your smile fades as he looks down at his hands, his jaw moving. “... Oh, Hop’, I didn’t—”

He can’t look at you, his head shaking. “I am so... I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Hey, no, don’t be.” Leaning forward, you place your hand on his arm, hating that he stiffens. “We couldn’t control ourselves—”

“I could’ve, I could’ve held out longer, I could’ve locked myself in that fucking bathroom, I just...” He looks fucking devastated.

Shifting closer, you wrap your other hand around his arm, tightening your grip. “You shouldn’t be sorry. I mean it. I...” Well, it’s now or fucking never, and all things considered... “... I wanted it, Hop’. Even without that aphrodisiac thing. I wanted you. I have for a long time.”

Your face is burning and your heart is pounding but relief settles on your shoulders the moment you finish speaking.

His head turns towards you now, gaze darting to meet yours, searching it. “You... You’re not lyin’ to me?”

Your lips lifting again, you shake your head before murmuring, “No.”

Hopper exhales a breath, his hand setting over both of yours. “I’ve... Fuck, I’ve wanted you, too. Just... I imagined it going a little differently.”

You give a soft laugh as delight overwhelms you, and his thumb brushes against your skin. “Yeah, we really skipped the first date, didn’t we.”

“In the traditional sense.” He smiles as you laugh again, but it’s gone just as soon as it arrived. “... You sure you’re okay?”

You don’t care how foolish you look, with your tender smile, gaze openly filled with affection. Probably because his gaze is exactly the same.

“I am. Really. It’s a good sore.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your teeth graze over your lower lip. “I wouldn’t mind getting used to it.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’d hoped you’d say that...”

Cupping your cheek, he closes the gap between you and kisses you tenderly, the pad of his thumb brushing against your skin gently. It’s sweet, gentler than you had ever imagined him to be.

It’s perfect.

When his lips leave yours but he remains close, you smile again. “I guess we can give Murray a thorough review, then.”

He growls quietly as he brushes his nose against yours. “Don’t talk about that man right now...”

As he moves closer, laying you back on the bed, your arms slide around his neck and your smile widens.

“Yes, Chief.”

—

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[aquilamage]

anyway here’s the “deleted” scene from my hk fic I mentioned in the tags of the link post; because I wrote this for me but I also like sharing. and attention ^^. takes place during ch4, although other than missing a bit of the context I’m fairly confident it makes sense without having read it.

.

They snuck a few quick rests on the benches along the way, and the rain woke them a bit as they made it into the City, but they weren’t going to get all the way to Ogrim and back to Ze’mer without a proper rest. It would be more than cruel to ask Ogrim to wait once they’d told him, so it should be now.

They wove their way across the city until they reached a familiar building. They could have crashed in any number of places they knew were safe, a random building that hadn’t been touched by Infected, or one of the couple benches (all of which they had done before), but they went to where Lemm had set up shop. It had become a habit to go through and clear out any Infected bugs nearby, napping in further rooms so he wouldn’t notice them. Their last visit had been a little while ago (they’d sold him all their relics at once in a fit of paranoia he was catching on that they were deliberately spacing them out), and he would be a reassuring constant after the past few days.

They’d walked through the open doorway before they remembered the closest thing to a relic they had on them was Ze’mer’s books, and while she might not miss them, it still felt rude to sell them. Not that they had much time to consider how to address that, as they subsequently noticed Lemm wasn’t actually in the room. They took another step forward to get a better look and flinched back when their foot touched parchment. It was a note to the effect that Lemm would be out for a while.

This hadn’t been the first time they’d come across something like this, they reassured themself, pressing the note to their chest. The problem was, though, in the past the door had been closed and locked (they’d only tested out of impulsive curiosity. They didn’t know how Lemm found a place with an accompanying key without breaking and entering first, unless he’d just fixed that part. The simple key they’d had on them hadn’t worked either – that test had been deliberate curiosity). Ghost spun around to inspect the door and frame. Neither showed any signs of being forced.

That didn’t actually reassure them, since it just meant they had no clue where to go from there. Especially as they circled the room and found nothing out of place besides Lemm’s continued absence. They paced to the window, then to the doorway, where they peered out into the hall.

Spinning around, they were about to repeat the pattern when they heard a sharp curse in what was definitely Lemm’s voice. They dashed towards the sound to notice a narrow doorway in the corner made smaller by the shelves crammed on each side. Right. They knew there had to be at least one back room for Lemm to have living space (and more storage, based on the one time he’d gotten so worked up he’d left and come back to the shop area with several relics to illustrate just how stupidly complicated his current avenue of research (soul totems) was getting. That time, they’d listened to him for almost four hours before he’d looked at a clock, flinched, and told them to scram), but it was easy to forget about when they’d never been back there.

As they rounded the corner, they clipped one of the shelves, destabilizing a stack of journals. They caught them before any could fall to the floor, shuffling them back into the space and hoping Lemm wouldn’t notice if they’d disrupted a sorting system.

“...These old buildings make all kinds of ominous noises even when there aren’t Infected bugs stomping around.”

Ghost’s head whipped in the direction of his voice. The room they were in also seemed to be filled with relics; they didn’t pay much attention once they figured out it was unoccupied too. Whoever Lemm had been speaking to responded, too quiet to understand but loud enough to follow through one of the doorways into a kitchen.

Lemm was sitting in a chair, rolling his eyes at-

Quirrel.

After they’d woken up from breaking Monomon’s seal, he’d asked them to give him some time alone, and they had. A while after, they’d run into him at the Blue Lake by accident. Seeing him recovered from his (minor, compared to theirs, but he didn’t come back) injuries fighting Uumuu was an immense weight off their shoulders, as was then being reassured Quirrel had no bad feelings towards them for breaking the seal. They’d sat with him for a long time, listening to him talk and eventually just resting until they’d fallen asleep against his shoulder. When they woke, they’d jolted away, but he’d laughed softly and said he didn’t mind, but if it was exhaustion, they should take better care of themself. And that had been that.

It wasn’t a problem until after they’d left, when they finally registered Quirrel’s suggestion he was thinking about leaving Hallownest. That had been a long time ago, and the more of the kingdom they’d crossed without finding him, the more certain they’d become that he’d already gone.

They came out of their shock in time to see Quirrel glance in their direction, register someone was there, and jump out of his seat. A second later, he recognized them, relaxing his hand from the spot his nail would usually be to grab the back of the chair. He looked like he was about to say something, but was interrupted as Lemm turned.

“What-” He winced, clutching his side.

Ghost ran to him. It was only as they skidded to a halt next to him, stifling the urge to reach out, that they noticed he was bandaged – or at least was in the process of being.

“What are you doing here?”

They ignored Lemm’s question to point at his injury, staring him down.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

They turned to look at Quirrel.

“He’ll be fine,” he glanced over, tone lowering, “if he stays still and lets me finish.”

Carefully folding his arms out of the way, Lemm made a derisive noise. “And he needs to sit down before he falls and gives himself a second concussion.”

Whirling back around to Quirrel, they held their arms out in exasperated questioning. When he shrugged, they pointed at him and then smacked both hands on the seat of the chair.

Lemm chuckled as he sat. When Ghost’s attention turned back to him, he sighed. “What do you have this time?”

They shook their head.

“Then scram.”

They shook their head more vehemently and, crossing their arms, plopped down onto the tile.

Now it was Quirrel’s turn to laugh. Ignoring the withering glare Lemm directed his way, he reached over and resumed work on the bandages.

Ghost had intended to start questioning them, but once they’d sat, exhaustion had rolled back in full force. It was all they could do to keep their head upright…

---

They woke slowly, feeling more rested than in quite a while. Confused, they attempted to roll to the side only to get tangled in the blanket tucked around them. They had a brief moment of panic before remembering where they’d fallen asleep, confirmed by a glance at their surroundings and the soft noise of Lemm and Quirrel’s voices from another room. They got up and followed the latter.

The two were sitting in the shop area, in deep discussion of a King’s Idol that Quirrel was turning over in his hands.

Neither had noticed Ghost’s approach, even as they lingered experimentally in the doorway. Watching made them feel as though a sparkler was going off inside them – which was a terrible metaphor considering their void composition, but whatever. They went back to where they’d been sleeping and retrieved the pillow from the couch. It took them a minute to figure out the perfect spot, but eventually they laid on their stomach across the pillow, head propped in their hands to observe the conversation from a safe distance.

In the time those actions took, it had shifted to Deepnest textiles. Ghost idly wondered how long it might take for Lemm to recognize that Quirrel knew far more about pre-Infection society than any normal bug should. It probably depended on how easily he would believe anyone from then could still be alive. (Selfishly, they contemplated bringing it up themself. It would be one way of making sure Quirrel didn’t leave for a good long while still. They knew it should be a good thing, that he would be getting out of this godsforsaken place, but...)

Somehow, they’d wandered to the agriculture of a country they’d never heard of, which progressed to a heated debate about archival classification systems. (Ghost had always thought telling two bugs who were arguing to ‘just kiss already’ was dumb and made no sense. They still thought that, because there was no way those bugs meant it in the way they were thinking it now.) Lemm got up to pace, and in the motion finally noticed them. “What are you doing?”

Sighing to themself, they waved enthusiastically. They got up and walked to him, signing “You good?”

“Like I said before, I’m fine. You-”

Remembering full well he only time he’d actually chased them out had been when they’d gone a little too far jokingly threatening to put the Defender’s Crest on, they dodged around him towards Quirrel to repeat the question.

Taking the cue from them, he also ignored Lemm’s sputtered protest and answered them. “I must admit, I am feeling much better. You, on the other hand…” he leaned towards them, hands on his sides. “I thought we talked about proper resting habits.”

They imitated his posture, then pulled out some paper. “I was planning on sleeping when I got here, but you two were very distracting,” they wrote.

He laughed. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Looking between the two of them, they signed, “how?” and pointed to their respective injuries.

Quirrel’s laugh was drier this time. “There was a...minor misunderstanding.”

With a growl, Lemm crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “Forgive me for assuming every bug I find pacing a random corridor is Infected.”

“Yes, given the circumstances, it was the decision of one who stays alive down here. And, well...I simply responded in kind. I suppose we’re fortunate I hadn’t had a nail on me, or things might not have gone so well.”

“Hmph,” he muttered, but without much venom in it.

They shook their head, then went back to writing. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you as well. It’s been some time, my friend. I-”

Leaning backward to see what had given him pause, they found Lemm attempting to read over their shoulder.

“What?” he snapped, “if you’re going to insist on catching up in my house, I might as well get the whole conversation. And quit getting ideas!” He waved at Ghost. “The only reason I didn’t kick you out is because I knew this one would be a sad grub about it and that would’ve been even more annoying.”

Like he couldn’t have just forced Quirrel to leave as well. “Thank you,” they signed.

He huffed, and walked off into the back.

“Is he always so charming?” Quirrel asked, with a grin to his words.

They hoped they got that intent from it, at least, as they nodded. Sometimes they still struggled to tell with him. Then they wobbled their hand, and reached for their quill. “He really doesn’t like being around other bugs. He mostly just puts up with me because I keep bringing him relics.”

When he finished reading, he looked off into the distance for a moment. “I think you may be selling it short.” Dropping his volume, he continued. “He did flinch when you passed out. And while he complained at me for clearing a spot for you, it seemed a token effort at best.“

They sat there, unsure of how to react. It would be too much to get into all the reasons that would be bad, actually; especially with someone who might understand what that implied. Eventually, they managed a shrug.

Quirrel was watching them with something they couldn’t quite place, but then he shrugged as well. In a quieter voice, he asked, “How have...things been getting along?”

Where to start. They’d put off Herrah’s seal because then they would have to go right to their sibling, and, well, neither them or Hornet had come up with any reason why what they had now would be enough to end things in a way that wouldn’t cause them to...

It was getting harder and harder not to think about it, as the days ticked on, but oh they were trying. And in the meantime, while they’d been searching for answers and distractions, they’d-

Oh, shit.

“I should go,” they wrote, instead. “There’s someone I need to help.” And before they could stop themself, “I can come back after.”

“I- yes. Although if Lemm kicks me out before then, we may have to meet somewhere else.”

“What’s this about me?” He reappeared in the doorway.

Quirrel stood. “Ghost is leaving.”

There was a second where he stared at them, then, “No chance of him going with you, is there?”

Ghost shook their head, gesturing at Quirrel’s head with the hand that wasn’t trying to fold up the paper before Lemm could get closer to read it.

They were glad when Quirrel didn’t object to their reasoning. “Perhaps when they’re finished with their current objective.”

“Hm. Well, don’t get yourself killed, then.”

That would be more of an inconvenience, but they hadn’t explained that to either of them before and weren’t interested in doing so now. They gave Lemm the usual parting nod (which he returned, again, after the slightest delay), and turned to Quirrel.

They’d see him at least once more, they knew that now, but a residual ache in them had them extending a hand instead of waving. It was a tiny warmth, for only a moment, as he took their hand, but it lingered with them even as they stepped back into the chill of the rain.