#loop voice Repeat That Last Part ?

[lanternlightss]

having loop and nameless bard interacting thoughts again. the rot

[ozzgin]

A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

[Part 2] | [More original works]

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

[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.

[livwritesstuff]

thinking about this again so here's a part 2

Eddie wakes up to rain. Heavy rain, the kind that keeps the morning sky dark and bounces loud off the roof and the walls and the windows.

The rain didn't wake Eddie up. What did it was a pair of big, warm arms wrapping around him and pulling him in close.

Steve’s arms.

Objectively, this should be a good thing, and past versions of Eddie (even twenty-four-hours-ago-Eddie) would be goddamn irate with him for feeling anything other than vehemently positive about it.

He’s feeling bothered. He’d gone to sleep last night feeling bothered because Steve had sacked out approximately three seconds after they’d hooked up for the first time, and now he’s being woken up by Steve’s big arms pulling him in close and that has Eddie feeling bothered all over again because this isn’t how he thought this would go at all.

“G’mornin’ Eds,” Steve mumbles, the remnants of sleep in his voice.

And then he has the audacity to press a soft kiss onto Eddie’s bare shoulder.

"Y'know," Steve says, "I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to the diner this morning, but…sounds like it’s kinda fuckin’ gross out there. I can make us something if you want.”

Eddie sits up, suddenly feeling like he’s been left outta the loop on some part of this because Steve doesn’t even seem surprised to wake up and find Eddie still in his bed.

If there’s anything Eddie hates more than feeling bothered, it’s feeling like he’s left outta the loop, like there’s a piece of all this that he’s missing.

"Uh, what are we doing here, Steve?" Eddie asks, and he regrets it the second he sees Steve's face turn all hurt and confused.

"I don't —" Steve starts, pushing himself up on his elbow into a half-seated position, "What...what are you talking about?"

And isn't that choice of words just completely ironic?

"Oh, now you're interested in talking? Or are you gonna fall back asleep the second I start to-"

"Wait –" Steve interrupts, his eyebrows furrowed, "Are you all pissed off because I fell asleep?"

"I'm not pissed off," Eddie mutters, fiddling with a loose string on the edge of the sheets.

"What the fuck did you want me to do?" Steve argues, "Break out a deck of cards and suggest a round of poker? It was late! I was tired! I don't know how else to say it, man. You, like — you did a good job. Really had me beat, or whatever."

And, sure, Eddie allows himself to sit with that notion for a second before he shakes his head.

"I needed you to talk to me!” he exclaims, "We fucked, and then you fell asleep, Steve! Like it was just a fuckin' hook-up to you or something."

That confused look is back on Steve's face, but instead of being laced with hurt, this time it's just plain bewildered.

"What — Eddie," he says, "We talked."

Huh?

“Huh?”

“We talked,” Steve repeats, “Before we…you know, and I said that I like you and I said that I’m not really into the casual thing anymore, and you seemed pretty on board with all that, man, I dunno.”

And yeah, sure, Eddie sort of remembers that.

He definitely remembers when Steve pressed him against his closed bedroom door, and maybe he’d also been speaking at the time, but they’d been so close together and Steve had kept doing these little glances down at Eddie’s lips and there’d been this intensity in his eyes and Eddie had been pressed against Steve Harrington’s closed bedroom door.

There hadn’t been a single coherent thought in his brain, obviously, and yes, that included comprehending any of those words Steve might have been speaking so everything that had come out of Eddie’s mouth in response had been yes, yep, uh-huh, you betcha.

Eddie feels heat rising in his cheeks and by the looks of the amused smile making a home on Steve’s face, he’s not blind to what Eddie is currently realizing either.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters, “I’m a fucking idiot.”

"Maybe," Steve allows even as he starts to pull Eddie back into his arms, "Breakfast?"

[acapelladitty]

Can we please get Cooper using that lasso to tie up his little Smoothie? 🙏🏻😩😩

abrasive

Summary: After a day of teasing, the Ghoul turns the tables and you find yourself bound up in one delicious hell of a predicament.

(warnings for: predicament bondage, rope play, sadism, abrasive play, clit torment, overstimulation, dom/sub dynamics, cruel teasing, cunt torment, nipple torment, hints of petplay, spitting, oral sex, slight dubcon)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

"Hands up before I pin them up there with my knife, little viper."

In the sweltering heat of the desert, the wood of the abandoned barn feels warm against your back as Cooper slams you against the wall - his gloved hand harsh against your chest as he plants his fingers between your exposed tits to keep you there.

"Only way to keep you from mischief, sweetheart. Maybe you'll take a lesson from this and learn what happens when you tease a man without mercy."

He wasn't wrong. You had woken up with a wicked game in your mind and his attention throughout the day had been claimed by your hands and body as you took every opportunity to tease him; from brushing against his groin with your hips to bending to the floor with an exaggerated arch in your back, ass displayed high in the air and in definite view of his gaze.

For the most part, he had ignored you, but as you passed this old barn, you found your waist gripped by his rough hands as his hard cock pressed up against your ass.

Time for a pitstop, cowgirl.

A growled line which instantly flooded your cunt as you allowed yourself to be marched to the interior of the barn.

Cooper is as dexterous as ever as his hands lock around your wrists and quickly loop the end of his lasso around the joints, the roughened rope feeling extra abrasive against the sensitive skin as it's pulled tightly. The rope is raised - taking your hands with it - until he hangs it off an old rusted hook, the height enough that you are forced to stand with your back straight to keep the pressure off your arms.

Exposed tits bouncing freely in the hot air, Cooper pauses his rope work long enough to smack at your left tit with a playful strike - his gloved fingertips catching your erect nipple like a lightning strike which sends pained arousal careening across your skin.

Yelping at the contact, he repeats the strikes until your nipples are reddened and peaking and your mouth is drawn into a tight line as you fight the urge to cry out with a mild howl.

"Almost like udders." Cooper mutters with amusement as he pulls your left tit up to his dipping mouth, sucking your nipple between his lips as you give a shuddering sigh. It only lasts a moment before the feel of his blunted teeth pressing against the sensitive bud forces your back to arch off the wall as your fingers claw against their restraints.

"Cooper, please." You whine, feet stomping against the ground as he keeps up the cruel pressure for another few seconds before releasing your nipple. His sunken cheeks appear even deeper as his face remains dipped and you can see the flash of his teeth as he offers you up a wolfish grin.

"Easy, pet. Any good cowpoke knows that sometimes you've gotta check the product from time to time."

"M'not a pet." You deny hotly, unwilling to let the name slide even as it sparks a fresh wave of pleasure across your belly.

"No?" Cooper frowns and his voice takes on a playful, dangerous lilt as he grips your waist roughly. "You don't want to be a breeding cow for me, huh? Think you're better than that. Well, I hate to piss on your parade, little viper, but I think you'll change your mind on that one."

A sinking feeling, one plagued by arousal, trickles down your spine and you gasp as Cooper's hands grab the remaining rope that hangs free of your hands and he offers you a roguish wink before setting the new part of his plan into place.

With a considerable length of lasso left, he's careful to pass it through your legs, grunting as he pulls it tight against your cunt.

"Can't have you slipping free now, can I?"

His fingers adjust the rope and you grind your cunt into his hand, making his task even more difficult as he fights your arousal to ensure that the lasso is centred through your slit - each small movement forcing the material to brush roughly against your revealed clit in such a way that it sends sparks of lightning up your spine.

"Cooper!" You whine, his name rolling from your mouth like a plea as you attempt to curl your body away from the pressure; a futile effort as he simply tightens his grip and follows your thrashing body without much difficulty.

"Keep struggling, darlin', and I'll add something nasty to that rope so you feel it even worse."

Stilling your body as you don't doubt his threats for a moment, you allow him to finish tying the ends of his lasso to the restraints around your wrists. Now, every slight movement in your hands or back causes a fresh heat of friction to burn between your thighs as the rope scratches along your most sensitive skin.

Groaning as the rope grinds against your slickened folds, the pressure is almost unbearable on your clit and you step to your tip toes to try and alleviate some of the discomfort.

"See you in an hour. Try not to move too much, sweetie. I need something left between your lovely legs to fuck when i come back now."

Genuine anxiety alights in your face as you watch him walk away, your jostling against the rope making your exposed tits shake and cunt clench against nothing.

"Hey! Wait! You can't leave me like this!"

"Says who?"

"What if someone else comes?"

"Hrm." Making a small noise in his throat, Cooper turns on his heel as he strides back to your position. His fingers wind within your hair and pull your head high, igniting fire in your scalp. "Then maybe I should mark my territory."

Hawking his throat, you flinch as he spits on your cheek. Gasping, you turn your head to the side as the liquid drips free to your chest - trickling down between your tits to leave a ticklish sensation in its wake.

"An hour." He repeats and you follow his movements with your head as he disappears through the barn doors, slamming them shut with such force that you feel the wall behind you vibrate.

x-x-x-x-x

Time slowing to a snails pace as you remain pinned to the barn wall, by the time the hour has passed - your sorry body is in some state.

Arms aching from being held over your head, your wrists have a rawness to them as they twist against the ropes restraining them in a futile effort to find some desperate comfort. A trickle of sweat rolls down your chest at the effort and you wipe off your forehead on the side of your arm. Tits continuing to hang free in the warm air, the pucker of your nipples refused to settle as the constant arousal of your cunt has left you a sweating, suffering mess.

Every slight motion of your lower half is torture.

As soon as Cooper had left, you had immediately tried to play the situation to your advantage. Rolling your thighs and standing on tiptoes, you were able to manipulate the rope a bit as it rubbed at your clit with a maddening sensation - enough to have your breath coming in short pants but nowhere near the stimulation needed to make you come.

But, try you had, and all your efforts had succeeded in doing was making your cunt a swollen and dripping mess which took every movement as an opportunity to spark a fresh sear of heat in your overly sensitive flesh. Even spreading your thighs further hadn't helped as it only made the rope tighten against your punished slit.

Almost driven insane by the constant flux of pained pleasure and wicked stimulation, by the time Cooper reappeared, you were ready to beg forgiveness for whatever he wanted.

You missed his silent entrance, his hand tilting your chin up from the floor startling you into a solid jerk which only served to draw the rope across your clit with a sadistic intensity; a jolt of sensation which is too much and has you crying out in place of a greeting.

"Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?"

His hand already clawing its way within his slacks as he frees his livid cock - the hard length jutting free of his body with obvious interest - the expression on Cooper's face drips with his arousal.

"No." Almost sobbing with relief at the sight of him, you very carefully straighten your body and push your chest out to him as you await him freeing you. "Please, Coop. Let me free."

"Not quite yet." Cooper rolls his textured hand along his cock, jerking himself as he soaks in the thoroughly ruined state he has found you in. "It's quite the view. And how are these doing?"

Grunting as he fists along his cock, Cooper brings his free hand to your exposed chest as he pulls and plucks at your nipples with a vicious pinch. His touch is like lightning, the sharp pain of his fingers melting with the burning discomfort in your cunt as you can't help but pull away from his hand - the shift of your body allowing the rope to chafe against your clit in such a way that it sparks fresh tears in your eyes.

"Hurts, Coop."

"Naw, it ain't hurting, sweetie. You've barely been up there an hour. Maybe I'll leave you til the rooster crows and then you can really tell me how it hurts."

His hand drops to your cunt and you bawl like an animal as he uses his fingers to stroke along the rope - simultaneously feeling the mess of your arousal and dragging out a wicked spike of pleasure from your abused, sensitive flesh.

Thrashing in place at the rough treatment, the worst of it is the throbbing, deep arousal which makes you press into his hand as much you try to pull away. Your clit swollen like crazy due to the constant scouring, his fingers feel like lightning as they rub gentle circles around the sensitive nub.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

"Y-yes!" You howl, the word coming out as a stutter as the extra stimulation sends every nerve into overdrive. "Please- FUCK, Cooper. I can't, please."

Cooper rolled the rope between his fingers, clamping the coarse rope around your clit so that every abrasive millimeter clung to your most sensitive nub. It was torturous as heat scorched through your whole cunt, the intensity making your eyes water and toes curl against the floor.

It was a violent orgasm; one marked by the howl in your voice as you rode his cruel fingers and pained pleasure tightened your limbs while you came all over his hand. Your soaked cunt quickly making a mess of his fingers and the lasso which bound you as you writhed against it - every slight movement only pushing your body further into overstimulation.

Cooper pulled away and you collapse in an instant, the muscles of your legs trembling like jelly as your hands remained elevated. You could only vaguely muster the energy to grunt and squeal lowly as Cooper started to untie the ropes and free you from your bondage. When his fingers loosed the rope which clung to your cunt, a small groan of relief followed and, even to your own ears, it sounded pathetic as hell.

Cooper chuckled softly, allowing you to fall into the solid heft of his upper body as your legs struggle to support you. His fingers grope at your hips, the dull ache of his hold alerting you to the small, purple bruises which will no doubt mark the skin for the next few days.

"Now, since I've been such a gentleman and there ain't nothing in life free, I'm gonna let you fall to those trembling knees and you can suck me dry. Eh, sweetie? How does that sound?"

Clutching his duster like a lifeline as the head of his cock bumps messily against your stomach, you stand slightly bowlegged to keep the pressure off your cunt - the flesh feeling sore and swollen in the warm air.

"Yes, sir."

His hand tilts your head up to meet him once more, blazing eyes holding your own as he pins you with heated features.

"You gonna wrap those pretty lips around my ghoul cock and take everything I have to offer? If I don't feel you're doing the most then I'll pin you down and fuck what's left of you." His accented syllables flowing over the threat, Cooper's voice is so low that it sends a fresh shudder coursing through you.

"Smart choice, cowgirl."

You wince at the thought of his cock slamming into your abused hole and nod with enthusiasm, gently slipping yourself down his body as you fall to your knees.

Pleased with that, Cooper's gloved hand locks itself around the back of your head as you wetten your lips and prepare to accept him into your willing mouth.

[adviceformefromme]

How to re-programme your subconscious mind…(tried and tested)

When the retreats don’t seem to have a lasting effect, you’ve done therapy, prayed, been to see healers, meditated… but for the life of you, stilllll have wounds so deep that they might appear to be resolved but the moment you meet someone who is wow you suddenly feel unworthy. Maybe not even suddenly, but your relationship wounds are running deep. Relationships trigger you. You end up feeling the same 90% of the time. Unlovable, unwanted, and rejected. The key to remember is that it started with you. With the mind, with your thinking. At whatever point in your childhood (or even later) you took on the belief that you're not worthy, your needs were not met. You took on behaviours that play out still to this day. Maybe it was hiding yourself, maybe it was lashing out? Whatever it is, the same way it started with you, with your thinking, with your processing of events. Is the same way you heal your self. Here are some steps: 

1] Forgiveness. Forgiveness is going to free you from your past. Write a list of all the people and situations that caused you pain from your earliest memory to this very day. Whatever pains are etched in your mind, write them down. Once your list is collated, start going through each scenario, sending love and forgiveness to yourself and whoever was involved. Imagine yourself as a loving carer healing the parts of you that were vulnerable, hurt and not safe. Visualise giving yourself love in each scenario. Creating peace. Once you’ve been through a scenario and feel truly at peace with the situation scribble it out and once you are completely done with the papers you can burn them and set yourself free. (this process can take weeks / months depending how long your list is but it's not to be rushed).

2] Whatever is still lingering, use your journal to clear this out. For example, if I asked you right now if the man of your dreams was to appear.. would you feel worthy? Right now as your are? It might not be a man, it might be a job, a salary. Whatever it is, start challenging your old beliefs. You might not feel pretty enough, you might not feel like you are deserving… whatever it is start questioning old ideas you have about yourself. Challenge them..

3] This is the most important step… Once you’ve done the above. You’ll start to see some themes, maybe in your forgiveness list you realised your voice didn’t matter as a child, and that you were silenced, and that you hid yourself as a way to feel safe…whatever you uncover. 

3.1 - You are going to write a script, in simple terms - something a child would understand and make sense of and you’re going to write out new beliefs to re-programme your mind. Example ‘I am willing to forgive those who hurt me, I am willing to forgive myself for the hurt I went through, I am no longer hiding myself from the world, I am choosing to be seen , to be celebrated, I am allowing my voice to be heard, my true voice, I matter’ - you want to cover all basis. Every old belief about not being enough, you need to re-write.

3.2 - Record yourself on your phone in a very slow peaceful loving tone reading your script. 

3.3 - You need to listen to this recording every single night for at least 1-4 weeks. (It’s usually 21 days, but I did a recording for 1 week on feeling safe and I felt truly healed as if it was a miracle). I was able to LOOP the recording using Mac...I sent the voice recording from my iPhone to my MacBook using airdrop and then opened the sound file in iTunes and pressed repeat. This allowed a short recording to loop all night as I slept. It’s really important to play this on a loop as you want to IMPRESS your subconscious mind with the new beliefs. It’s your own voice, its your own re-wiring. 

I hope this helps! The deeper healing work is crucial if you really want to remove those old wounds that seem to be stuck and not budging!

[thegettingbyp2]

Forgive Me

Part 2 of So Much More

‘You’re not going anywhere.’

You felt your blood run cold at his words as you looked into his eyes and saw absolutely no hesitation in his gaze. His fingers tightened around your waist as he pulled you even closer to him, closer than you thought possible and you couldn’t help but tense up the closer you got to him.

‘You’re hurting me,’ you said quietly, not daring to meet his eyes. Coriolanus instantly loosened his grip on you, moving his arms to loop around your waist, still not willing to give you an inch of space.

‘You’re mine, (Y/N),’ he said, ‘you’re going to carry on playing the part of my pretty little wife in front of every one and we’re going to fix this. Understand?’ When you didn’t reply, he brought one hand up to tilt your chin up until you had no choice but to look at him. ‘I asked you a question, love.’

‘I understand,’ you replied, resigned as your eyes shone with unshed tears.

For the following weeks, in front of other people, you and Coriolanus put on the front of having a perfect and happy marriage and, the moment the doors closed, leaving the two of you alone, you’d excuse yourself to the guest room, refusing to utter a single word to him. You knew that it was only a matter of time before Coriolanus got fed up that you were avoiding him and began to sort you out, but while it lasted, this felt like the only piece of your life you currently had control over.

Just like you had predicted, after about two weeks of you ignoring him, you heard a knock on the door to the guest bedroom before Coriolanus strode in, closing the door behind him.

‘I don’t want to talk, Coriolanus,’ you said, refusing to look up at him from your book.

‘We don’t have to talk then,’ he said, moving to sit next to you on the bed. ‘How long is it going to take until you forgive me?’ he asked, tilting his head to graze his lips against your jaw, smirking when he heard your breath hitch lightly.

His lips moved from your jaw down to your neck and you knew exactly what he was doing. ‘It’s not going to work,’ you said, still not taking your eyes off of your book but cursing yourself when you felt your voice waver as he began to press his lips harder against your skin, knowing that he would have picked up on it.

‘I’m not trying to do anything,’ he said innocently, turning your face to look at him, lowering his gaze to your slightly parted lips. ‘Can’t a husband miss his wife?’

‘Corio- ’

‘I love you, (Y/N),’ he said, cutting you off, his voice fierce. ‘I’ve told you that and I’m sorry that you found out about the start of our relationship but that changed into something beautiful, it changed into this.’ He pressed a barely there kiss to the corner of your mouth, leaving you instantly wanting more. ‘Come back to me, baby.’

It was those few words that had your entire resolve disappearing. You put your book on the bedside table and turned your body into him, connecting your lips. One of your hands made their way to cup his jaw as his hands almost desperately pulled your body against him. His tongue swept over your bottom lip, diving inside the moment he had a chance. The whimpers that he was pulling from you from just a kiss sounded like music to his ears.

‘Forgive me,’ he murmured into your mouth as one of his hands dragged your thigh to drape across his waist.

‘I don’t know if I - ’

‘Shh,’ he hushed, smoothly sliding on top of you, his fingers moving down to toy with the waistband of the sleep shorts you were currently wearing. Pulling them down your legs before tossing them into the corner of the room, he then moved down your body, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. ‘Forgive me,’ he repeated, his breath brushing against your pussy, making your whole body shiver.

Before you had a chance to reply, Coriolanus’s lips wrapped around your clit, beginning to suckle lightly. Your back arched off of the bed almost instantly, your fingers tangling in his hair. He smirked against you as his tongue began to trace his name on your pussy, marking you as his and his alone. He’d gotten to ‘N’ before you started shaking around him as your first orgasm raced through your body.

You let your body relax on the bed, your fingers loosening in his hair as you came back down. You frowned when Coriolanus wasn’t moving from his spot between your legs and your eyes widened when you realised that he wasn’t letting up and you quickly found yourself on your way to your second orgasm.

‘Coryo, I can’t,’ you panted, trying to push at his shoulder and inch up the bed, away from his mouth. Instead of moving away, Coriolanus draped one arm over your hips, pinning you in place as he slid a finger inside you.

‘Forgive me,’ he murmured again, crooking his finger just right so it brushed against that spot inside of you that had stars bursting behind your eyelids. His lips moved away from your clit, settling on your hip as his finger increased its pace. He watched you as your hands grabbed at the duvet, trying to find anything to ground you.

Keeping his fingers hooked inside of you, Coriolanus slid up your body, pressing his lips to yours in a bruising and intoxicating kiss that had your head spinning and your arms looping around his neck. ‘I love you, (Y/N), I was stupid at first, I know and I’m sorry but it’s all changed now, I love you. Please, forgive me, baby.’

‘I forgive you,’ you said breathlessly against his lips. ‘I love you. I love you so much.’

‘That’s my girl,’ Coriolanus said, smiling wickedly at you as he watched you tip over the edge for the second time. His hand came up to grip your chin. ‘You’re mine, don’t forget it again.’

‘Yours,’ you replied, clearly out of it while you were basking in your post-orgasm haze. Coriolanus moved until he was laying next to you, kissing your forehead while you tried to curl up next to him. ‘Where are you going?’ you asked, your voice small as you watched as he stood up from the bed, his back to you.

‘I’ll be right back, my love,’ he said, bending over to kiss you, ‘I’m going to go and grab something to clean you up with and I’ll be right back.’

Content with his answer, you settled into the bed, waiting for him to come back. You failed to see the smirk on Coriolanus’s face as he left the room, satisfied that his plan had worked and you were back to being his docile, pretty little wife.

Snow lands on top after all.

[crybaby-bkg]

“I thought I was supposed to be the old person in this relationship,” Toji’s voice rings out in the previously quiet atmosphere, makes your head whip up in surprise. your concentration is broken from your prior engagement, hands slowing as you can’t help the smile that grows on your face at his teasing.

“Crocheting is for any and all ages,” you snark back at him, taking in how he watches the way your hands still move rhythmically—yarn over, pull through two loops, yarn over, pull through the last two, chain four, repeat. “You weren’t talking shit when I made you that sweater for your birthday.”

“Yeah I did, cause it itched like all hell.” He teases, makes you stick your tongue out at him playfully. he wore that sweater everywhere, to the point you damn near had to rip it off of him to put it in the wash. (the only times he didn’t wear it was when he knew he’d get it dirty while doing his…business ventures, which you didn’t mind. you’d rather he go a day without wearing it than googling how to wash blood out of a crocheted sweater that took you weeks to make.)

by the time you snap back to reality, Toji has already crossed the room, standing in front of where you sit cross legged in the comfy recliner he brought just for when you crocheted. it takes you aback by how quickly he moved, so silently, face suddenly warm as you look up at him from under your lashes. his eyes are dark, shadowed by his fringe, his hands in his pockets, his head cocked to the side. he looks devious.

“What are you cooking up in that pretty little head of yours?” you ask him, finally pausing your hands as you rest them in your lap. but Toji doesn’t let you, no. instead, he holds them back up in front of your face as he sinks to his knees in front of you, his smile wide and evil, pulling your legs from under you as he settles them on his shoulders.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he croons to you, kissing the inner part of your knee, eyes still glued to your burning face. “Just keep doing your little old lady hobby while I busy myself.” without warning, he pulls your sleep shorts to the side, grinning when he’s met with the bare beauty that is your pussy. you shudder at the air that breezes past you, try to focus on chaining when he squeezes at your thighs with warm, veiny hands.

“But I can’t focus on counting my stitches when your face is between my legs.” you pout to him, hoping it’ll sway him to eat you out and then let you continue your project. but he doesn’t put his mouth on you until you start again, rewards you with a single wet, smacking kiss where you need it most.

“Guess you’re gonna have to learn how to multitask, sweetheart.” Toji grins before he licks a long stripe from taint to clit, your hands hiccuping in their movements. you can feel his smile more than see it, and come to the realization that he’s an evil, evil man. (you have to recount your stitches more than once, and even after you’re fucked out from euphoria and bliss, you still think you’re missing a few.)

[salmonskinrolltf]

Hey there. A little bit about me? I'm a tall, mostly attractive actor from Iowa now living in New York. My chest hair won't stop growing, and I'm always cast as the awkward, gay comic relief in shows. I guess that's why I'm here. It's silly but I've always had a crush on The Situation and most of the cast of the Jersey Shore. I was hoping to rent one of seasons before I have an audition for a more manly part I'm going in for.

[Thank you so much to everybody who submitted requests! I have nothing close to the bandwidth to get to all of them, so this is going to be my final Be Kind Rewind post for the time being. I’ve got so many other types of stories I’m excited to work on as soon as I’m able, but I do apologize if your request wasn’t selected! Here’s a bit of a long one though, as a finale.

This is a gay-to-straight story. If you’re not into that, feel free to keep scrolling, but I bet you'll like it anyway. Read my G2S ethos here.]

You eagerly rip open your Be Kind Rewind delivery and a die falls into your hand. Oh yeah, their weird promotion thing. You toss it on the coffee table, not noticing that it lands on 5. You’re too busy pulling out the Jersey Shore tape you ordered, excited to have access to one of your favorite guilty pleasures and use it as research for a particularly manly role you’re hoping to score, which could finally break you out of being typecast as awkward and effeminate.

As you push the tape into your TV’s built-in VCR (that you could have sworn wasn’t there when you bought it), you realize it’s already at the end credits, so you hit rewind. While you wait for the tape to be ready, you decide to run your lines some more.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, cringing at how utterly wrong those words sound coming out of your mouth. You sound like a nervous pre-teen at a school dance, not the overconfident douchebag that the part requires.

You clear your throat and repeat the line, trying to artificially deepen your voice when you say it.

��Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, your throat tingling as it delivers the words in a perfectly sultry, slurred bass, with a hint of a New Jersey accent. Holy shit! You nailed it!

“Hell yeah, bro!” you shout, pumping your fist, too excited to notice the uncharacteristic slang you unconsciously used. You decide to see if you can replicate the voice for the other lines on your sides, and each word comes out perfectly.

“You’re looking fly, my man,” you say, dapping up an invisible buddy. Fuck yeah, that line sounded even more perfect than the last one! The deep tones of your voice echo through the empty room. You don’t even notice as the color leaches from your pants and they grow baggy and thin. However, you can’t help but be aware of the cold sensation slithering across the back of your neck, wrapping around the front to form a tight circle that feels like a necklace chain. A golden metal knot at the end of the loop seems to be stretching the circle with its weight, pulling it down toward your shirt collar.

It never makes it to your collar. The neckline of your shirt begins to scoop lower and lower as the knot progresses downward, the crew neck becoming a V, expanding into a deep V, and eventually stretching into a drooping U that leaves your shirt loose and baggy, practically exposing your nipples. The necklace and the shirt seem to be racing toward your navel, and the shirt wins. The necklace gives up somewhere around your chest, the knot unfurling into a golden cross that rests between your slightly toned pecs. Conversely, your shirt collar goes all the way down to the bottom, splitting the fabric in two as the color fades to black and the edges sprout rows of metallic teeth, becoming a zipper.

Now, you consider yourself plenty attractive, but you still feel self conscious and exposed with your entire torso hanging out, even if you’re completely at a loss to understand how this is even happening. You link the zipper together and pull on the tab, trying to cover yourself with the strange new garment that has appeared on your body. But something stops you from zipping up too far past your belly button. You suppose you’re subconsciously afraid of getting your hand anywhere near the magical necklace that suddenly appeared on you. Sure, that must be it.

However, thinking of the necklace makes you freak out a bit, so you decide to try and take it off. When you reach up to unclasp it, your fingers thrum with energy and you feel a sudden urge to keep rehearsing your lines. Yeah… Maybe the getup will help you embrace the character.

“When you look like I do, bro, you don’t gotta fuck with dating apps,” you say. Although you were still perturbed, this line also came out perfectly. You decide to lean into whatever strange thing is happening because, even if it’s fucked up, you’re definitely getting this part. In fact, you’re even starting to move like your character. You just scratched your chest by reaching under the hem of your hoodie and exposing a strip of your abdomen in the process.

You repeat the line, hooking your thumbs under the open part of your zipper, flaunting your chest. As the last word rings out in a perfect, reverberating tone, your chest swells with pride. No, wait, it’s just plain swelling. Your toned chest becomes downright swole, like someone has taken a bicycle pump to your pecs. Six bulging abs surface from your stomach beneath them, forming neat rows while your biceps and quads inflate to twice their previous size.

Although the hoodie now clings more tightly to your expanding mass, you can still see your belly button if you look down. That’s how you notice the tribal tattoo inking its way in a curlicue pattern around your navel, licks of inking flame forming the shape of the Sun. You chuckle deeply. Thinking about the solar system, you laugh at the fact that this tattoo makes it seem like the world revolves around your abs. Hell, you think, if you had abs like that, you’d probably agree. Wait a minute… For whatever reason, you DO have abs like that. Fuck…

You walk over to the mirror, admiring your new physique. You flex, enjoying how your muscles bulge, even through your clothes. You’re flooded with a surge of confidence and you rub your crotch, thinking about how hot you look.

A deep tan color emanates from the tattoo around your belly button, engulfing your old skin tone in an orangey brown, spreading over your legs, chest, back, and even face. You give a little smirk, embracing the newfound changes. You notice that the expression is one your face has never made before. It’s contemptuous, commanding.

You’re an actor. You need to hone your craft. You try out a few more expressions that you’ve seen on sleazy guys at bars. Condescending. Seductive. Proud. Angry. Each one looks completely new on your face, yet perfect, probably because your bone structure has been quietly shifting to give you high cheekbones and a sharp jaw.

You rub your bulging muscles one more time, annoyed by how much hair covers them. You’d have to wax at least once a week if you wanted to show off this definition properly. However, as you rub, there is less and less hair rustling between your fingers. You lift up your hands to see baby-smooth patches of skin beneath where they rested. Enthused, you scrub your hands up and down your body, the hair vanishing like marker from a dry-erase board. Once, you’re done, you admire your perfectly smooth and shiny figure.

However, that hair as has to go SOMEwhere, as it turns out. Your armpits, which were feeling more and more resistance as you moved your hands, are now bristling with jet black hair. You lift up one arm and give a tentative sniff, your nose flooding with a ripe musk. You try to swipe the hair away with your hand, but it won’t budge. You shrug. Nothing a little Axe body spray won’t fix.

That thought surprises you, because you’re pretty sure you use a different type of deodorant. However, you suddenly can’t remember the brand. And the mist of Axe floating around the room certainly suggests you use it all the time. Oh well. Chalk it up as one more weird thing about this afternoon.

The hair growth as clearly also affected the top of your head. Your hair is growing out into haphazard spikes that jut from the top of your head, forming tapered cones that begin to shine as if they’ve been coated in a year’s worth of gel.

You look… ridiculous? No. Douchey? No. Fucking hot? Hell yeah, bro.

You return to your script, fiddling with your hair to give it the perfect spiky muss at the back.

“Bros before hoes, dude! You know that!” It sounds like your character really believes that line as it comes out of your mouth. And why wouldn’t he? Hoes might be a good distraction for a night of fun, but bros are for life. Your memories of dancing the night away at gay clubs begin to morph. You’re still dancing with a group of men, but now they’re all spray-tanned, juiced-up Jersey Shore rejects rather than fashionable young gays. And you’re still rocking a half-chub in your memory, but it’s from watching a female go-go dancer shaking her moneymaker on a platform, rather than you grinding up against some cute twink or other.

You groan deeply as the memory tugs against the core of your identity. You look hot now, and you’re gonna get the role, but you don’t want to lose EVERYTHING. But it’s too late. It feels like your mind is expanding, but not in a Limitless kind of way. Instead, each individual thought you have becomes much, much bigger, taking up more brain space than it used to. Your memories of ex-boyfriends, Pride parades, and anything even remotely gay begin to circle the drain of your cerebellum, washed away by just a few base urges. Partying. Playing beach volleyball. Hitting on chicks.

You grab your script again to recite a few more lines, but the words start swimming in front of your face. It’s not that you can’t read. It’s just that, suddenly, reading is the last thing in the world you want to be doing. A sudden craving for beer pops into your head. It's the biggest thought yet. It shoves almost everything else out, and you drop the paper on the ground, where it vanishes into thin air while the room around you transforms into a beachside cabana.

You emerge into the dusty sunset of the Jersey Shore, admiring a few hot babes in bikinis who wander by while you make your way to the store. You lift up your shirt to show off your abs to a few of the hottest ones.

You pick up two six-packs of beer at the store and, why the fuck not, a pack of condoms, along with some other snacks and supplies. You decide to hit up the clothing store on the way back for some new threads, because your impulses are ruling you like never before. As you head to the checkout, you spot the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You almost drop your beer, she’s so hot. Your dick is already stiffening as you say, “Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?”

[yuri-is-online]

And Your Name Is? (Deuce, Azul, and Floyd)

After successfully resolving whatever was causing NRC to be trapped in an endless time loop of overblotting and disaster, one last reset should give him a chance to experience a normal school year with you. But instead you find yourself trapped in the here and there, appearing as a vague shadow around the school that vanishes as soon as he catches up to you. The kind thing to do would be to allow you to be forgotten in the chance it lets you return to your world.

But this is Twisted Wonderland where the kind thing is seldom done, and he wants you back as much as you want to find him again.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, we are back in business bby, these three are by request, next up are Lilia, Jamil, and Grim! Angst with the intent of comfort, if you like this please consider checking out my masterlist for the previous three parts.

Deuce

"Don't go where I can't follow."

Deuce has said that many times before.  He wonders if you thought he didn't mean it or had taken it as a joke, and truly he cannot decide which is worse. He had foolishly thought when he first woke up and saw the school year begin anew that he could relax knowing he wouldn't need to chase you across an ocean into the depths of S.T.Y.X. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy, his memories of you might have been scattered across time and space but he knew with certainty this set back did not surprise him.

"Are you alright?" Trey's concern does not go unappreciated, but Deuce can't really bring himself to respond out loud. "You seem a bit distracted." There are countless wishing stars hung above him in the trees, he wishes he remembered if any of the wishes he heard had been the same. He knows his no longer is.

"Let him be." Idia surprisingly in the flesh, but still draped like a wet cat over the drums. "We can afford to take a break anyway." His seniors move away as Deuce remains staring up at the wishing stars. Yuu is sort of the same color as them now, and just as ephemeral.

"Do you remember this?" The starsender robes don't feel as special anymore, he wants to be proud that he was really meant for this task seeing how time itself has seen fit to make him repeat it. "I only remembered to ask you what your wish was after... I think you passed it off as me being dumb but I don't think that's what happened now. Somehow I knew if I asked you to make a wish what you would say." A gentle breeze sways the little lights above his head as Deuce tries to spot the star Trey had helped him make. "I meant what I said, I want you to see just how cool I'll look in my officer's uniform. I want to make my mom and grandma proud, and I want you to come home and be proud of me with them." Sometimes he swears he can feel your head leaning on his shoulder, your arms embracing him from behind, your voice carried by the breeze drowning out shouts for him to come back to reality and pay attention to his surroundings. There's a legend in Twisted Wonderland about a man that dives into the Underworld to rescue his beloved, you had told him your world has the same story but it has a different ending. Deuce doesn't want to think about that as his hands curl around where yours should be, just over his rapidly beating heart. "I wish," he already has but he swears the star twinkles with magic in response all the same "for Yuu to come home." He squeezes your hand and jumps when he finds purchase, your weight forcing him to stumble forward and crash as he rapidly tries to turn and see your face.

Idia and Trey make noises of surprise, he thinks that they're talking but he can't seem to hear them above the sound of your heavy breaths. "I'm back Deucey." You whisper softly into the evening air.

"Welcome back Yuu." He hopes you never make him let you go again.

Azul

There is a mournful song flowing through this strange cold place you have found yourself. It's familiar, but you swear you have never heard it before, perhaps it is the voice you find yourself stumbling towards and not the music itself.

"There you are." It's pleased with itself this voice. "Come to spend some time with me again?" You don't know, you can't even really tell where you are. It looks like an office, but it is bereft of papers or any light. You feel more than see the desk at the center, the smooth grain of the wood chills your fingertips as you run along looking for something. A sigh rattles the room as you are dragged away, back to the mirror chamber by frighteningly cold darkness and you grope wildly around for the person you thought had been there with you. "Goodnight Yuu. I will see you tomorrow."

"Why can't you see me today?" You swear you speak but you hear no noise. And in the solid space you've left behind Azul leans back against his chair and studies the ceiling above him. He should be pleased. He had a theory and the tattered scraps of paper in his hand would seem to have proved it. Azul should be angry that your state demands such a sacrifice of him, he should be weighing the potential cost of this decision. Of saving you.

But instead he laughs.

"Yuu. Yuu, Yuu, Yuu. I wonder if I ever stood a chance." He knows the answer of course, but he wonders if it is as ingrained in your soul as it is his. ~~~~ "Do you believe in other worlds Yuu?" The voice is asking you a silly question, and you chase after it determined to tease. "And I don't mean like yours, I mean completely other realities where things even mages would find unbelievable exist." You manage to push yourself through the waters and begin to wander the purple and grey hued halls, desperately searching for someone you swear is here, his name on the tip of your tongue. "I admit it's not something I ever thought too much about, but after we got together the first time I would lie awake thinking about it. You and I meeting was never a guarantee, so why did it feel so much like fate? I think I asked you once."

"Don't underestimate me." You can hear yourself now, and the walls around you are coming into more solid focus. There is only one door between you and the person you have been searching for now. "I will find you in every lifetime." Delighted laughter moves towards you now, as the door opens to reveal the outline of a man, shimmering just like you.

"Yes that's exactly what you said." His hand is cold, you reach to catch it worried it will fall through you and almost sob as you both find the familiar sensation of the other's touch. "And I think I said, 'Well that's not threatening at all!' Because in my mind there was no other way for us to meet than as adversaries, but that didn't need to be true did it?" Azul's coat and scarf is slung over the back of his chair, your breath catches in your throat at the unusual sight of Azul in just his tuxedo. He preens under your attention, guiding you carefully towards the couch, hands trembling in equal relief, excitement, and still small fear that this was all a painful dream. The shredded remnants of carefully counted contracts can remain scattered across the desk behind you, yet he finds himself surprisingly unconcerned. He curls himself around you, sighing in content at the return of the warmth of your solid form. "I found you this time." You return his embrace with a half sob, the memory of the here and there cementing itself within your fears alongside the sheer relief of Azul's presence. "If other worlds do exist, if time gets re-set again, even if you are forced to return to where you came from, please don't underestimate me either. We found each other once, and we will in every timeline we exist." He kisses your hand and dares reality to prove him wrong.

Floyd

"Man every day's a party when I'm with you. I can't get enough!" He had really meant it, but he could see the doubts still flickering behind that smile.

"Glad you had fun Floyd."

Had. You were glad he "had" fun not "was having." It was an odd thing to get caught up on, Floyd didn't fully understand why it soured his mood so much himself. There was always this carefully crafted barrier between the two of you, carefully built up by you that he never noticed until it was too late. Until little shrimpy was just Yuu and the nickname became a facade to deny the depth of his emotions.

It was silly to think that he was the only one lying to himself.

"Y'know you can't stay all ghostie like that forever." He tries to poke you, disappointed in how you shimmery form neither disappears nor wavers. "It's not good for your health." Floyd has never had the smoothest of emotions, they tumble around his chest like waves, but he knows them to be consistent. He hates standing in place and doing the same thing over and over, he loves it when people make stupid mistakes and he gets to watch them blow up (sometimes literally) in their face, and he hates how predictable he has been. The jumbled memory of countless looping timelines and never once did he do anything more than maybe chase you around a little and come up with excuses to monopolize your attention. Floyd wants to squeeze himself, that's what this entire situation already feels like anyway. "Say do you know what humans used to say about merfolk?" His mood twitches back to something like happiness as he rolls his head up from lying on the library table up onto his hands. "They thought that when we died we turned into sea foam cause we didn't have souls. Isn't that silly! Say Yuu, which one of us looks like foam now huh?" Floyd hasn't cried since he was a fry, but these past few days he feels like he has done little but cry and sleep. In his dreams he gets to re-write his impossible memories to be a little lighter, he gets to drop the nickname and call out to you and have you cry out to him in return. In his dreams everyday is still a party and not a waking nightmare. Your hand, or maybe he is delusional and has begun to dream yet again, reaches towards him, fighting its foamy nature to try and touch his head.

"I like you." He had said it into your neck while you died that time, still lying to save himself some face in case that was the last thing you wanted to hear. "C'mon dance with me Yuu!" He had tried hyping himself up in his head, all words dying in his throat when he finally spun you away from Crabby and Mackerel calling you shrimpy once again.

"I love you." Why is he only brave enough to say it now when he swears it won't actually matter? "I think I've loved you since the first time ya tricked Azul and then immediately every time I saw you after. So come back yeah? I thought I had all the time in the world but I don't, and I ain't ever gonna be board of having you around..." The foam flickers, and for a brief delusional moment Floyd thinks he sees your proper face. "You know that, right?"

"I love you too." It's watery, he feels the answer somewhere in his soul rather than hears it as you crash under your own weight back into reality and onto the hard wood of the NRC library. His laughter cackles up and out across the whole school as he leaps across and over to catch you up and soothe your bruises with soft kisses, not at all the activity Jade expects to find him engaged in when he follows rather than flees at the noise.

"Mine." He kisses your pulse point and you wonder, not for the first time but with much more joy than sorrow, why it was his hand you were searching for. "My Yuu." Floyd purrs, a dangerous tittering laugh of genuine relief convincing you of his genuineness more than anything else.

If he was going to get bored of you, he would have done it timelines ago.

[kaiijo]

PARALLELS — OIKAWA TOORU

pairing: oikawa tooru x reader content: gn! reader, long distance relationship, light angst, fluff

when the cherry blossoms bloom, you think of oikawa. of days spent hunting for beetles at the base of the trunk when you, he, and iwaizumi were kids. afternoons in middle school when oikawa would roll his eyes at you and repeat again: “parallel lines will never intersect” and ignore your “what if”s. the evening when oikawa pulled you aside during your three-way graduation party and kissed you under the canopy of brown branches and pink flowers.

“oi,” iwaizumi’s gruff voice breaks you from your memories and he asks, “thinking about him again?”

“missing him, more like it,” you say. you glance back at the cherry blossoms, petals translucent in the light of the setting sun. you breathe in the fresh scent. you loop your arm through iwaizumi’s and drag him close to you for a selfie. he offers a small smile to the camera, a dim contrast to your beaming grin.

“we’ve gotta hustle,” he says, checking his watch. “gonna be late for the team dinner.”

“right.”

iwaizumi has the two of you power-walking down the street, thought it’s more like a light jog for you given your friend’s long, steady strides. you pass a convenience store down the street and you do a double take, stopping to stare at the magazine display in the window.

your boyfriend’s face is plastered on the glossy cover, his argentina uniform fitting him in all the right places. he smiles up at you for the paper, the blurb next to him promising a tell-all interview with juicy details. your eyes lock in on the words “love life” and “latest fling” and you can’t help but frown, stomach flipping slightly.

you know all of it is tabloid fodder, nothing but eye-catching headlines, and you trust and love oikawa with everything in you. still, you can’t deny the jealousy you feel when you see him cozied up with a beautiful, leggy model for a photo shoot. jealous that she gets to be physically present with him and you’re halfway around the world.

you hear iwaizumi urge you to come and you quickly catch up with him, your boyfriend’s blindingly white smile flashing through your mind.

the beach makes oikawa think of you. when your parents would take you guys there and you’d all run off to the tidepools and gawk at the starfish and crabs inside. when you two buried iwaizumi up to his neck in sand. when he would scoop you up and dunk you in the salty water, despite the shrieking pleas you let out, begging him not to.

oikawa sighs heavily. he leans against the balcony that over looks the seaside, watching the crystalline water ebb and flow. his phone pings on the small, glass-topped table behind him and he picks it up.

a notification lights up his screen: @.officialhinatashoyo mentioned you in a comment: we’re coming for you @.oikawatooru!!

oikawa opens his phone and finds hinata’s comment underneath a photo of japan’s national volleyball team enjoying drinks and food together.

he swipes through the photos, a bunch of group shots with other players (bokuto and hoshiumi are notable making stupid faces in many of them). oikawa stares at the last picture. hinata’s got his arms thrown around your shoulders and he’s clearly said something that has you giggling right at it was taken.

hinata’s tagged you but he also mentions you in the caption, thanking you for taking these pictures and every other photo of them as the official photographer for the team.

oikawa tries to push down the hollowness spreading in his chest, zooming in on your face. you’re glowing — you always are — and he’s happy you’re happy, but there’s the undeniably envious part of him that wishes he was there. making you laugh and smile. maybe sneaking in a kiss or two in between.

he loves playing for argentina; he likes his teammates, the country, and is grateful for how he’s grown, but he’ll never stop missing you when you’re this far away.

oikawa thinks his thumb moves on its own, dialing your number with practiced ease. he memorized it right after you got your phone, begged his mother to let him get a phone so he could input your contact immediately.

you pick up on the first ring and oikawa can’t hear your very well. he assumes that you’re still out with the team, ears straining. you say, “wait, hold on, tooru.”

he thinks he hears atsumu in the background, “ooh! you’ve got a boyfriend! you’ve got a boyfriend!” and he definitely hears you reply, “this is why you get no bitches, ‘tsumu.”

your voice gets clearer as the background noises fades. “hi, love,” you say, and oikawa can’t help but grin at the words.

“hi, baby,” he says. “you picked up quick! you must really like me, huh?”

you chuckle, “something like that. everything okay?”

“yeah, i just wanted to hear your voice.”

“now who’s the one who likes who?” you tease.

his smile only grows. “you know it. i’m obsessed.”

“right back at you, love.” there’s a short lull in the conversation, but it’s not uncomfortable or awkward. it never is with you two.

oikawa’s alarm breaks the silence, the buzzing of the alert sending vibrations through his hand. he frowns. “i’m sorry, baby, i’ve got to get ready for practice.”

“alright. i miss you and love you, tooru. have a good practice. we need you in top form for internationals.”

he laughs. “yeah, you better tell the guys to watch out. especially ushiwaka and tobio.”

“i let them know.”

“i miss you and love you two.”

“we’ll talk later.”

“promise?”

“i promise.”

[ravencincaide]

The word that made the difference 

Summary:  You knew you had to get professional help even if you did not want to, Dazai’s words and actions made it absolutely clear to you he wouldn’t tolerate anything else, and Chuuya seemed to silently agree with him. Still the answer you got was not for the question you asked; but that one word was enough to make you reevaluate everything. 

Pairing: Dazai x Chuuya xfem! Reader (skk x fem!reader) 

Author note: An independent continuation of Desperate times series, and next part of  Happy unhappy home! Check that series out if you’d like more angst, skkx reader, new parents, all that and see more of what happened right before this scene! 

Warning: Cursing, depression/postpartum depression, New parents/exhausted parents =bad choices/reactions, Angst,  

Enjoy~

Pregnant

The word felt unfamiliar- surreal- like a misdiagnosis wrapped in excuses, wrapped in women’s issues and wrapped in reasons to get you out of the office. Yet it was as if that singular word explained everything you had experienced lately and nothing at all. Maybe it explained the hopelessness, the darkness, the unbearably tense existence that has become your home; but it could not explain the way you felt about the twins. The inability to connect with them. Or the inability to feel any warmths from Dazai and Chuuya. Perhaps, at this point, you were so ruined and wrong that you could not connect with anyone. Not the twins, not Dazai and not Chuuya. 

We think you have postpartum depression

A part of you wanted to stand up, run out of the medical office and into the waiting room right outside where the four of them were waiting. To rub it into the two mafioso's faces that they were wrong. Ha the geniuses were not genius enough to sidestep medical school, and it wasn’t as easy as to use some template they took from god-knows-where and assed you by it instead of talking with you, asking you, helping you. They were wrong- you were right. You won. 

But what was your prize? 

“ I have never had a reason to hit you. You’ve always been a smart girl- don’t give me another reason to do it. Again. If you’re sick- get help.” 

Dazai’s words from a day ago rang in your ears. His tone, the iciness in his gaze as he brought you down to the knees in cold standing water with a single slap repeated itself in your mind. Like a never-ending loop it played before your eyes. Your mind, the twisted bastard, hadn't left the image unchanged, but rather conjured up the way it must have looked from all angles; from the side, from above and even from below. Driving in the humiliation further. Like some dramatic exaggerated scene out of a soap opera, a middle aged housewives tv-series, and the act was meant to be a huge burden for the main stars in season one but then it gets solved three episodes later. 

Forgiven and forgotten.

But this wasn’t a soap opera, this wasn’t some lame drama created to satisfy lonely women as they waited for their loving husbands to come home from golf. This was reality. Your reality- your life. And soon, not only your own. That one realization grounded; it was enough to escape the clutches of shock and confusion and placed you back inside the small, simple medical office and the woman opposite you.  

“ Well yeah, it’s no wonder you’ve been feeling like shit the last few weeks. I’d say congratulations but really— “ 

Yosano’s voice faded into the background again; your mind tiffany twisted, drowned out her words as more flashbacks pulled you under the surface of reality. Simple things, comparisons like the joy last pregnancy brought and the dread this one carried. How caring, sweet and gentle it started but how difficult the previous one ended; and how difficult this one started while the thought of it getting worse filled you with dread. 

Blood rushed to your ears; your pounding heart overshadowed all sounds, dulled the quiet medical office into an obnoxiously loud space. Your vision blurred, tunneled and span. Inadvertently you pressed the fingers of your shaking hand to your eyes and rubbed them, then shook your head to try and clear the dark dots which played in your sight. 

You wondered how and why it happened. You couldn’t fathom the idea that you were, yet again, carrying a life inside you. No, it was absurd. Surely Yosano was mistaken, it hadn’t even gone that long since the twins were born and– 

All at once the reality came crashing back down again. You were back on the hard chair, back opposite Yosano and suddenly very aware of every inch of the office. And the continuation of her displeased rant; the way her tone grew louder, annoyance sipped into every syllable. The barely held back curses which evidently played on the tip of her tongue. Yet she tried to look casual, head rested in the palm of her hand, body language open and turned towards you. But the anger was undeniable in the way her second hand gripped the pen, almost snapped it in half and poured the goey black onto a pile of papers- the results that signaled your doom. “ I told the damned bastards to–” 

“ – But I thought you couldn’t get pregnant at least until 18 months have passed after birth” you interrupted her, your voice a fraction away from hysterical. You looked at Yosano expectedly, begging her for the confirmation that this was some weird biological fluke. A mistake that no one of you could have predicted.

You jumped as she slammed her fist against the wooden desk. 

“ Where the hell did you hear that bullshit from?” Yosano took a deep breath, slipped back into her composed doctor mask and did you the courtesy to reply to your questions calmly and professionally “It’s not recommended to get pregnant earlier than 18 months after delivery, to give the body time to heal. However, biologically speaking, there’s nothing preventing you from it once you’ve gotten your period. Some can get pregnant as early as four weeks after.” 

You bit your lips to hold back a curse, and hung your head at your own stupidity. “ But one time..” you mumbled absentmindedly as memories of an unromantic quickie on the same night the pair returned home from their months long mission ran through your mind. A disappointing act that drove a rift in your relationship. That became a silent fight you never openly addressed; just picked up your things and moved into the shoe-sized spare bedroom. Something which neither part of double black seemed to mind. 

If anything you swore your absence in the bedroom brought them relief. 

To your surprise, Yosano rested a comforting hand on your shoulder. “ Sometimes one time is plenty. Now then to break the news-” She moved away from you and began stomping towards the door which separated her office from the rest of the medical bay. And ultimately, the space where your so-called lovers waited with the twins. 

“ No wait!” you cried. In an instant up on your feet, both hands wrapped around Yosano’s arm. Although she was undoubtedly stronger, the action was shocking enough to halt her movements. She turned to face you, surprise edged into her features. But you couldn’t meet her eyes. No, you did not want her to see that the seemingly perfect relationship had been reduced to shambles. A broken thing which had become filled with responsibilities and fear. The thought made your cheeks redden in shame; never ever in your life would you have thought you’d be fearful of your lover's reaction to seemingly joyful news. And even more shamefully, feel the need to make excuses for it in public. 

“ Tell me honestly Y/N” Yosano’s voice was low, the accusation unmistakable. 

“ It’s Dazai’s” You answered in a heartbeat, met her gaze full on with the most earnestness you had ever displayed in your life. “ Undoubtedly his.” 

You dropped your hand from her arm and brought it back to your side, wrapped it protectively around your stomach. You forced your lips up into a smile, hoped it looked innocent yet nervous. Then mellowed out the look in your eyes to the point the blush looked more shy than guilty. “ W-well, you know, Dazai’s been wanting a child of his own since the twins and I.. just want to break the news to him in a special way.” The lie rolled smoothly off your tongue and Yosano seemed to buy it. 

She laughed at you, teased you for the still corny behavior while lightly reminded you this wasn’t your first kid as she sat back down and began going over essential medical information with you. Information you took in with a smile, nodded in appropriate places without really listening. But who could have blamed you? 

Your mind was for once on your side as it formed second by second a feasible plan for you. Not easy, but manageable. Drunk on thought that you, YOU, the innocent little weak dove had gotten away with such a blatant lie gave you the courage you needed to indulge in those thoughts. The thoughts you hadn’t even dared to think of before. Now they felt so close and so real. 

Although, admittedly, the lie you uttered wasn’t a complete lie. Indeed, you intended to make sure he would find out this news in the most unforgettable way possible. 

You just never said the surprise was going to be good… 

Author note: The first part of this chapter is dedicated to each and every person who thought A Hit Beyond Rock Bottom was not heavy /angsty enough and Dazai’s actions weren’t too bad.

The second part is for us who can see that the reader is strong and it's time to see that strengths manifest itself into something useful. Well hope you enjoyed this and until next time~

Click here for: Part 1 , part 2 and part 3 or Check out Raven's masterlist.

©ravencincaide 2024. Do not copy/repost/translate or spread my work(s) without my explicit permission. If you see any of my work(s) reposted/copied anywhere else without my consent, please inform me!

[leclercss]

Tainted Love, Part 10 (Charles Leclerc ft Lewis Hamilton)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8,

Part 9

Masterlist

plot: in an attempt to fix your marriage, you've reluctantly agreed into being in an open relationship with your husband. so far, it's only been your husband that has taken advantage of your recent arrangement until one night out you meet a man who makes you begin to question your marriage.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader, lewis hamilton x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating and some swearing

authors note: the final part. it's been 84 years since i first started this fic. thank you for the love.

word count: 7k

taglist: @ironmaiden1313, @ru-kru, @buendiabebeta, @flwr-quicksilver, @ravioli19, @julesandro, @hornedravenclaws, @thatobsessedreader @pinkangelavenue, @queenofshinigamis, @notleclerc, @paullinne, @bisexualbith, @tempo-rary-fix, @bbygrlllllll, @teenagedreams-cl, @lunamelona, @leclerc16s, @palomaxaxaxa @viennakarma, @cmleitora, @angeliquekalampoka, @mirrae, @amalialeclerc, @roseseraj, @glow-ish, @janeholt3, @eviethetheatrefreak, @toppersjeep, @miniemonie2001, @angelwithoutmywings, @nichmeddar,

"[Y/N]!"

You don't really hear your name being called at first. You've been stuck in your own thoughts for the last five minutes, staring at something in particular.

"[Y/N]!" The voice is closer to you this time a round but it's still not enough to knock you out of the deep trance you've found yourself in. It's only when the plastic stick laying on the counter top in front of you is snatched away that you're pulled out of your trance.

"You can keep looking at that test all you want, it's not going to change the outcome".

Your eyes immediately shoot up as you see Lewis standing on the other side of the counter with a wry smile on his face.

"What? Huh?"

His smile softens as you struggle to muster up a few words. His sudden appearance and the sudden disappearance of the pregnancy test has clearly caught you off guard. So much so that your cheeks are slightly red at the fact that you've been staring at the negative pregnancy test more than you would like to admit.

"I said, you can keep looking at the test all you want. It's not going to change the outcome," he repeats. You're pretty sure the humour in his voice is to hide the disappointment (or relief) in his voice.

"Unless, you want it to be positive?"

You immediately shake your head. "No, oh God, no!"

Lewis chuckles once more, "It's okay, [Y/N]. If you don't want to have babies with me you can just say i- Owww!"

His hand immediately shoots up to his now sore bicep. No thanks to the punch that you've just thrown at it.

"It's not funny, Lewis," you try to stifle a laugh but the look Lewis is throwing at you as he rubs his bicep is only making you fail.

"And no, I don't want it to be positive," you continue. A lot more serious this time. "The last thing any of us need right now is a baby in the picture. Life is already a shit show, I don't need to add literal baby shit on top of that too".

Lewis smiles at you softly. He's still rubbing at his tender bicep. Drama queen.

"I know," he responds. "Would have been a cute kid either way though".

Because you and Charles are some of the most attractive men I've ever laid eyes on?

But you held back on expressing that thought out loud. The situation at home was still extremely raw. The fact that you and Lewis were having a conversation like this was almost a miracle. Especially after you learned that Lewis and Charles had a face to face meeting while you were spending some time in your home town. A conversation which Lewis had initiated. How he ever got Charles' contact details was something that you were too scared to ask about. Some things were better not knowing.

And while you were thankful that both of them left their confrontation without any physical bruises, there were clearly some internal bruises that still hadn't quite healed. Especially when Charles had looped you in on the conversation, distain in his voice any time that he mentioned Lewis. He was so agitated after the meeting that Charles had unintentionally ratted both Lewis and himself out on the fact that neither of them covered themselves in glory. Both of them using their sexual experiences with you to try and get one up on the other.

He didn’t ask you whether or not you had sex with him before you went to Belgium. When you had confronted Lewis about the meet up, he volunteered that information himself. It was his way of “being more honest in our marriage” before he ranted about Charles being arrogant and entitled. How ironic.

You were initially angry at their behaviour but you somewhat understood it. It was childish and pathetic for the both of them to use you having sex with them as some sort of dagger into the other's heart but they were desperate. Trying to salvage whatever they could from your relationship. And who was to say you wouldn't behave the same way if the roles were reversed?

You feel your breath catch in your throat as Lewis is staring at you.

"Because that kid would have the most beautiful mother," Lewis finished his sentence, his voice ever so gentle.

His words leave you without any words of your own. You feel your heart strings tug as his words sunk in.

You hadn't realised a tear was running down your cheek until Lewis wipes it away with his thumb. His eyes meet yours and you begin to feel your body slowly melt as under his gentle touch.

While, to his credit, Lewis was there for you when you began panicking about your period not arriving and offered his support, this moment was so delicate and intimate. And it had been the first moment like this since you had returned from Belgium a few days ago where you could almost feel you give yourself to him.

And while your relationship was still at one of its lowest points, it felt nice to have a moment like this and appreciate that deep down, you've always loved each other. Even if at some stage in your relationship you had grown to dislike one another.

As the two of you are still looking at one another, you feel your hand reach up and lay it on top of the land Lewis has rested against your cheek. Your fingers eventually lacing into his.

You were savouring this moment with him.

You stood like this until the two of you were interrupted by Roscoe. He'd clearly been missing some attention from the two of you and decided that dropping a slobber-coated toy onto your feet was the way about getting your attention again.

"Thanks for that, Roscoe," you joked as you kneel down to pick up the toy and begin to play with your beloved pet. And as you do so, you can't help but notice that Lewis' eyes remain fixated on you.

As you played with Roscoe, your mind drifted to what lay ahead for you. You weren’t ready to let go of Roscoe. Surely you’d come up with some arrangement either with Lewis but you weren’t sure how emotionally ready you were for all of this.

You placed a kiss on the tip of his nose before Roscoe decides that he’s ready to lay back on the sofa for a while. You decide to follow him with Lewis not far behind.

As you sit on the sofa beside Roscoe, you’re a little surprised that Lewis decides to take a seat on the other side of you. He takes your left hand and intertwines it with his own. He’s smiling to himself but he looks sad.

He stays silent for a moment, before finally letting you know what he’s thinking. “It’s weird holding your hand and not feeling your wedding ring”.

You let out a little sigh before resting your head on his shoulder. “I know. I feel naked without it”.

Lewis begins to play with your fingers. He’s touching you as if he’s remembering every last millimetre of your body.

“Why do you think your period is late?” he asks you quietly.

“Probably stress,” you tell him. “High levels of stress can affect my cycle”.

He nods. His tattooed fingers are tracing the palm of your hand. Memorising every little line.

“Have you told him?”

He doesn’t want Charles’ name mentioned in your home any more. He told you this before you left for Belgium a couple of weeks ago. And out of respect for your marriage, with what little hope there was left in it, you obliged with Lewis’ wish.

You sigh once more, “No. I haven’t”.

He doesn’t think you catch it but you see the glimmer of joy that quickly flashes across Lewis’s face. For him, it’s a small victory. When you found yourself in a state of panic last night, realising that your period was over a week late, it was Lewis you had come to. You had trusted him to get you a pregnancy test this morning. And you had trusted him to wait with you while you waited the two minutes for the result.

“Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out,” he had told you.

You had nodded, not saying much. Once the negative result showed up on on the test, he had pulled you in for a hug as he waited for your reaction.

He didn’t know what outcome he would have wanted. The possibility of you having a child with him excited him. But then the realisation that it could also be Charles’ angered him. And so he said nothing.

But as he sits here now, with your hand in his and your head on his shoulder. He feels some sort of hope. Maybe he was delusional. You had taken your wedding and engagement rings off after all. But you were here with him. And it was him that had supported you through the pregnancy scare. Not Charles.

You looked around the living room, taking in all of the furniture and decor that you and Lewis had bought over the years. Wondering how you were going to divide it all up. It was a job you could save for another day. But you didn’t have long before you had to figure it all out.

“Are you excited about the idea of New York for a year? Work must be happy that you said yes”.

You feel Lewis let out a deep exhale while your head still rests on his shoulder.

When you had returned to London a few days ago, after a couple of weeks at home, Lewis had received a call from work about an opportunity in New York. They were expanding operations and needed a man on the ground to oversee the project. And as Lewis spent a lot of time in the US over the years, they felt like he was the perfect man for the job. And they needed someone ASAP.

And with your marriage in tatters and having spent the day before looking at Charles' smug face, Lewis seized the opportunity without a second thought. That was until you arrived home and he broke the news to you. He was moving across the pond. After a heated discussion, Lewis finally admitted that he didn't know what that meant for the two of you. He was keen to fix things between the two of you but he couldn't go back on his commitment.

If only the commitment of a lifetime together had meant just as much when all of this started almost two years ago, you thought.

“Yeah, I mean I love New York. It’s my second home. But there’s just so much to do before the move in six weeks,” he replies. “My mum said she’d take Roscoe for us. Until I figure out if it’s a more permanent move”.

“That’s good”.

“You can visit whenever you want though. She doesn’t need me there to want to spend time with you,” he continues.

You look up at him and smile.

“I think she prefers you to me, anyway,” Lewis scoffs, causing you to let out a giggle.

“Not possible, Lew”.

You pause before asking him, “Did you tell her everything?”

He shakes his head. “No, not everything. But she knows that we’re separated,” he tells you. “What about you? Did you tell your mum everything?”

“No. Same as you. I’m not ready for the lecture she’d give me,” you sigh.

Lewis half-heartedly chuckles.

“So she doesn’t know about him?”

“No, she doesn’t,” you sigh once more.

Your hand has still been in Lewis’ the whole time, his fingers still tracing every millimetre of your skin.

“You know, work said they’d be able to get a visa for you,” he tells you quietly.

You lift your head from his shoulder and look at him.

“You what?”

He looks at your hand in his for a moment longer but finally lifting his eyes to look in yours.

“They said they’d get you a visa for the States. So you can come to New York with me. We can start fresh,” he sounds nervous. “We can start a new life. A new city, a new beginning.”

You don’t say anything. You’re just trying to process what he’s told you.

“We've always dreamed about New York, baby. This could be our chance to make things right. I want to make things right.”

-

Your mind flashes back to the first time that you stood outside Charles’ building. You’re just as nervous this time around as you call Flat 807. Charles has made sure that Joris and Riccardo weren’t home, he’d save you from their rathe for today. He just wanted you to himself. It’d been long since he’d been able to do so.

As you’re buzzed into the building and make your way towards the lift, your conversation with Lewis about New York is still rattling around in your brain. Well, it was more of a proposal from Lewis rather than a two way conversation.

He’d told you about an apartment he found in Greenwich Village. You were a big fan of the show Friends so it was the perfect area in Manhattan for you both. It had an extra room, perfect for a walk in wardrobe for you both. Or even a nursery if you guys were ready to start a family. He’d clearly taken inspiration from your recent pregnancy scare. He then told you about how Roscoe could eventually move over and how you could spend winter weekends skiing in Vermont with spring and summer weekends spent in Miami or the Bahamas. It was your choice for a do over. The past forgotten. The future full of possibility.

Just thinking about it made you feel dizzy. And you couldn’t allow it to occupy your mind any longer. Especially not when you were about to see Charles for the first time since he came to see you at Whitney’s.

You pushed the idea of New York to the back of your mind and made your way out of the lift as you reached the 8th floor. You see Charles waiting for you at his front door.

Your heart skips a beat at seeing him again and you immediately run towards him. He’s just as desperate to see you as he pulls you in for a hug, burying his face in your neck. Indulging in the feeling of you again.

"I've missed you, amour," his voice is so gentle in your ear.

Your hand makes its way to the back of his head, your fingers already getting lost in his long locks.

"I missed you too, Charles".

You embrace each other for a little longer. It's the closest you've been in so long and it feels so fulfilling to have him cling onto you like this.

As you fingers softly massage his scalp, you turn your head slightly to place a gentle kiss on his ear. While subtle, the kiss causes Charles to lift his head so he can look at your face and your eyes immediately connect with his.

"Hi, baby," you whisper. Your fingers are still lost in his hair.

"Hi, amour".

The smile that's on his face is almost enough for you to just want to grab his hand and run away with him forever. He looks so happy. It's the smile he gave you when you told him you loved him for the first time.

Despite what your body is telling you, your mind flashes back to a couple of days ago when you had that intimate moment with Lewis. And you were almost ready to give your everything to him. And that's how you feel now. But you can't help but feel guilty.

"Are you okay, amour?" Charles asks you. A hint of concern in his voice.

You've gone quiet for a few moments and so you nod to reassure Charles. You need to get Lewis out of your head. And so you lean in and kiss Charles.

The feeling of his lips on yours soon allows you to forget about your husband. As Charles' hands make their way to cup your face, you feel the image of Lewis in your mind drift away.

The two of you slowly make your way into Charles' apartment, lips still attached. You stumble your way into the kitchen where Charles lightly presses his body against yours so you're backed up against the counter. He eventually peels his lips away from yours.

"Merde, I don't think you realised how much I've missed you," Charles says with a light chuckle. You can't help but smile.

"I know, I've missed you too. I can't believe it's been almost three weeks since I've seen you".

"It's the longest we've ever been apart, amour".

You can't help but let out a light-hearted laugh. It felt good to see him after all this time. Bar from having to behave in public around your friends and, erm, husband, yourself and Charles could barely stay apart from each other once you were in close distance to each other.

You always seemed to find a way back to each other. And here you were once more, in his arms. His face ever so close to yours. The smell of his aftershave subtly lingering in the air. He was intoxicating.

"How was Belgium?" he asks you.

"It was fine," you respond. "Nothing ever really changes there though. But it was nice to see my mum. It'd been a little while".

He nods. "Yeah, I know the feeling. It's been a while since I've been back to Monaco," he says before pausing for a moment. His eyes quickly scan your face before continuing, "Did you speak to your mum about what's happened?"

You shrug your shoulders. "A little. I mean, I told her things haven't been great between Lewis and I. That we were spending time apart".

Charles nods once more. "How did she take it?"

You let out a sigh. "I mean, she was upset that I've been having a hard time of it. But honestly, I think she's a little relieved. Her and Lewis didn't always see eye to eye".

Charles can't hold in his laughter.

"I feel like I've heard that once or twice before".

You roll your eyes playfully. The grin on Charles' face right now is bordering on smug.

"Yeah, well, he's a polarising character. You either love him or you don't," you sigh while crossing your arms across your chest.

Talking about Lewis in front of Charles is a lot harder for you this time. The memory of the last few days is coming back to the front of your mind again. The pregnancy scare, Lewis, New York. Talks about babies and new beginnings. The nervous feeling is growing in your stomach once more.

Your mind continues to race. Only when you feel Charles place a hand on your cheek do you snap out of it.

"Amour?"

"Huh?" you ask, suddenly started. "Did you say something?"

Charles shakes his head. "Don't worry about it?"

"No, Charles, what did you say? Sorry, my mind went blank," it's a little bit of a lie. You can't tell him that your mind keeps drifting back to Lewis.

He lets out a little sigh before asking, "Do you still love him?"

Fuck! You so weren't ready to answer this question.

And the longer that Charles looks at you, waiting for answer, the more nervous the feeling in belly grows. You lick your lips. And as you run hand through your hair, hoping to find the courage to answer Charles' question, you notice his eyes move towards your hand.

Your left hand.

While you're caught off guard, Charles grabs your hand and pulls it towards him. He inspects it closely, taking in a sight that he's never seen before. You're ringless.

"Charles," you begin but stop as he looks up at you. You're unable to read the look in his eyes.

"You're not wearing your rings?" he asks, his voice almost silent.

You shake your head, you need to find your words.

"Charles... I have to-"

Charles saves you from having to find any more words. You're ringless and for Charles, that's enough proof and the answer he'd been looking for.

Your hand still in his, he lunges towards you and catches your lips in a sloppy kiss. The desperation of being apart from you for so many weeks is getting to him. And now, seeing you without your wedding rings, he can't be without you any longer.

The kiss is messy as the two of you grow more and more hungry for one another. Your tongues have found their way into each others mouths as you claw and grab onto one another in any way that you can. Your hands in his hair. His hands on your ass. Your hands under his shirt, the feeling on his chiseled abs being glazed over by your finger tips. His hands kneading your breasts.

At one point, Charles' hands make their way to the back of your thighs as he lifts you up. Your legs instinctively make their way around his waist. Lips still very much attached, Charles leads the two of you two towards his bedroom. You're slow in navigating the hallway. Banging into walls and furniture along the way.

As soon as Charles manoeuvres his way to the bedroom, he kicks open the door before placing you on the bed. His lips never leaving yours.

The desperation of needing one another only intensifies as the two of you begin to strip one another. Clothes are being pulled off one another in record time, finding themselves in every corner of the bedroom. Your lips even stay attached as Charles fiddles with the hook on the back of your bra while you pull down his boxer briefs. His penis didn't take long to become hard and fully erect. The absence of your body for three weeks and the lonely nights of imagining your touch was enough to have him hard and ready.

"Oh shit," you gasp as you feel Charles fingers graze your folds. You hadn't even noticed him remove your panties from your body.

You hiss again as he pushes his fingers past your folds before his fingers begin to make circling motions on your clit.

"Mhhmmm," you groan. Charles' warm breath is hitting your face and you open your eyes to see his face practically against yours. He's looking into your eyes, watching you as you begin to squirm and groan at his gentle touch.

"Did you miss me?" he whispers, applying more pressure onto your clit.

You nod as you let out a groan, your head falling backwards. As you shut your eyes once more, you see a flash of Lewis' face and immediately open your eyes.

You're grateful that Charles is toying with your clit as you let out a squeal at the image of Lewis.

What the fuck is happening? you ask yourself. You've had sex with Charles, more times than you can remember and yet Lewis never came into your head before. But today, he won't leave you alone.

Needing to occupy yourself, you wrap your hand around Charles' member and begin moving your hand up and down with consistent strokes. Your thighs jerk at the sound of Charles growing in your ear.

"Shit," Charles groans at your touch.

Your lips find each other's once more in another wet and sloppy kiss as you both play with one another.

"Do you want me to lick you out?" Charles grunts into your ear before he begins sucking your lobe. Occasionally licking at the skin beneath your ear.

"Yes," you pant.

Charles wastes no time and quickly makes his way down to the bottom of the bed. He doesn't spend time playing with your breasts or with teasing you any longer. He's hungry and he wants to hear his name roll off your tongue again.

You look down at Charles as he takes a familiar position between your legs. He makes sure his eyes are connected with yours before he leans forward to suck on your clit.

"Oh, God," you instantly cry out as you feel his lips on you. Your thighs jerk once more.

Charles releases your clit from in between his lips so he can give your pussy a long, wet lick.

"Say my name".

You moan at the sound of his voice, so deep and commanding.

As you open your mouth to say his name, Charles takes your clit between his lips once more.

"Oh my god, Charles," you squeal.

Charles begins his assault on your pussy once more and your hands find their way to his hair so you can release some of the tension by pulling at the strands. His face is practically buried against your thighs as he devours you. He's takes in the sight of you squirming before him. Your moans are like music into his ears. He pushes your hips back down towards the mattress before sliding two fingers inside of you.

"Oh, fuck. Charles, I can't," you whimper.

Your pussy is throbbing as Charles' fingers move in and out of you.

"Can't what, baby?" he teases.

Your eyes immediately shoot open at the sound of Charles calling you baby. He never calls you baby.

"Shit, I-," you begin but he plunges another finger into you.

"Do you want to cum?" he chuckles. However, his laugh is anything but innocent.

You nod, hoping that your orgasm ends whatever the fuck is going on in your head right now.

And it does, as you moan and let your body reach it's peak, you look down between your thighs once more as Charles laps up all of your juices.

He puts aside any opportunity for you to return any oral favours as he climbs on top of you, positioning his body in between your legs as he prepares to push himself inside of you. But before he does, he looks at you for permission.

"Are you okay to go?"

You nod, unable to find your words as you come down from your orgasm.

Charles wraps your legs around his waist before lining his dick up against your still throbbing pussy. He takes a moment before he pushes himself in side of you. The both of you moaning simultaneously.

While you adjust to his penis inside of you, he places his hands either side of you head. His face close to yours once more. Your juices glistening his lips and stubble.

His hips move slowly at first, aware that you may still be sensitive from your recent orgasm. As his hips begin to pick up a rhythm, Charles leans down to place a kiss on your lips. As your lips move against his, you let your hands roam across his chest and torso. Letting your fingers dance along his skin.

His movements are finding some momentum as Charles is thrusting in and out of you. Moans rolling from your tongue as you feel his cock moving deep within you. You're taking in every movement and thrust, letting him kiss you however he pleases.

"I... I love you, amour," Charles whispers into your ear.

Tingles run through your entire body as he confesses his love for you. At first you moan at his response, after all he is fucking you. But you let one of your hands run up to his cheek, making sure that his eyes are looking into yours, before you tell him,

"I love you, too".

It's enough for Charles to pick up his pace and begin thrusting into you even quicker than before. The two of you moaning more and more frequently.

Charles takes you by surprise as he takes your hand. It's your left hand. And he's wrapping it around his throat so you're lightly choking him.

You look at him, surprised. But he doesn't let it stop him. If anything, he fucks you harder.

You've never choked him before. You notice that he's running his fingers over your hand that's over his throat.

Wait.

He's not just wanting him to choke you, he wants to feel your hands on him because you're no longer wearing a wedding ring.

You try not to let this phase you. After all, you've thought about Lewis more times than you would like since you came to Charles' place. You won't let him get into your head as Charles makes love to you.

"Merde," you hear Charles groan. He's clearly enjoying the feeling of your hand around his throat while you have no idea how you feel about this. It’s all so new and out of character for Charles.

"I prefer it when you choke me instead," you joke. You feel a sense of relief as Charles laughs.

"Anything for you, amour," he pants as he lets your hand go before he gently places his hand on your throat.

"I don't want to go this long without you again," Charles grunts. The movement of hips becomes more sloppy as he nears his peak.

"I love you, Charles," you whisper as you feel yourself reach your own high. A knot tying in your stomach.

He leans down to place another kiss on your lips before he tries to pick up the pace.

"Fuck, I love you," he moans. He thrusts into you a couple more times before finally releasing himself inside of you.

Charles collapses down on the bed beside you. The room is also silent aside from the two of you panting, recovering from your orgasms.

As you lay on your back, you feel Charles' arms wrap around you, pulling your body against his. He places a gentle kiss on your temple.

But you can't seem to get rid of the feeling that's in your stomach. And the longer the two of you try to recover, the larger the knot becomes.

You almost flinch at the feeling of Charles' fingers brushing your hair out of your face.

"Sorry, amour, didn't mean to startle you," his voice is so sweet and so warm. He pulls you closer to his chest, not wanting to let go of you.

"I... I can't believe it," Charles begins.

The knot in your stomach won't go away.

"I, I wasn't actually sure if you'd leave him, you know," Charles continues. "When you left for Belgium, I thought it'd be okay. But when I met Lewis that day, I was a bit sceptical. He said that the two of you had sex before you left. I tried not to believe him but the longer you were away, I started to believe it may be true".

It's like he has word vomit. He can't stop talking. He's so relieved that you're here.

"But then you said you were back and you wanted to meet. I was a little hopeful but you never know how these things go. But when I saw you get out of the lift and when I saw your face, I just knew it was all going to be okay."

He leans down to place a kiss on your lips. He's so excited.

"And then I saw you without your rings. I... I can't quite believe it. But it's real. And you're here, with me and we-"

"Lewis is moving to New York," you blurt out.

Fuck, that isn't what you wanted to say. But Charles is so happy and he can't stop talking.

But now he has, and he's looking at you. He's a little confused but he's still happy.

"He's moving to New York?"

You untangle yourself from his arms as you sit up against the headboard. Charles follows suit.

You look at him and nod. Charles can't help but smile as he takes your hands in his.

"That's good, right?"

You gulp. "He's moving in a few weeks".

Charles nods. "Okay, well if you need somewhere to stay, you can always stay here. We'll figure it out, okay? We'll get somewhere of our own if you want? But the important thing is, we can be together".

'Charles..."

"What’s wrong, amour?"

You let out a sigh as you close your eyes.

"I... I ... Lewis is going to New York and he wants me to go with him".

The End.

(There will be a sequel please don’t kill me)

[slashbitch2]

blood, betrayal and granola bars PT1

Summary: after a routine takeover of a HYDRA base goes terribly wrong, Natasha Romanoff finds herself stuck with her worst nightmare...you. Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader W.C: 5.7k Words part two

An explosion to your left sent shrapnel and debris flying through the air. You quickly tucked your face into the crook of your arm, too distracted by the task at hand to take note of whether anything had pierced your skin. The sound of not-too distant gunshots motivated you onwards as adrenaline pumped throughout your body and numbed the injuries you were sure to have acquired. 

Another blast, this time to the right and a lot closer. Shockwaves had you stumbling backwards, falling to the ground and catching your breath. The explosion was intense enough to have penetrated the outer wall of the building, now exposing you to the frigid environment that lurked outside. You felt a gust of wind encircle you, carrying a chill with it. You shivered, watching as the flakes of snow drifted inside now.

An obstructed voice crackled in your earpiece. “ALL REMAINING PERS-NEL TO LAND- BAY ONE.” You rose to your feet, cringing at the pain that shot through your right side. “I REPEAT--- LAST AIRCRAFT CLEARED FOR TAKE OFF—LANDING BAY ONE.”

The aircraft hanger wasn’t too far away, but common sense told you there was no way you would make it in time. Even then, the likelihood of it successfully taking off in these conditions and without being shot down was slim. You leant against the wall, ready to sink back to the ground in defeat.

A distant boom sounded, followed by the very walls around you shaking and groaning as if barely able to hold up the remaining structure. Then a clunk, and suddenly the fluorescent white lighting switched off. You were thrown into an obscurity which matched the darkness outside. It seemed as though the night air was seeping in through the gap in the wall, shadows suffusing across the maze of corridors.

And then, ironically late, a siren rang out. It started quietly elsewhere, then grew louder and louder until the sound was echoing around your end of the base. A second later and the accompanying red emergency lights turned on, drenching the grey walls, ceiling and floor a bloody red.

Your eyes scanned the area, thankfully deserted, head whipping from side to side as you tried to work out where exactly you were in amongst the chaos. Your gaze fell upon a sign engraved into the wall reading NW12, the corridor you were currently in. Despite having spent the last couple months stationed in the base, your mind was blank and muddled. You desperately scoured your mind for if there was anywhere nearby which could possibly help your situation.

The storage room. 

It was just at the end of the corridor and to the left, tucked away in a corner hopefully no one would have found yet. With a new motivation pushing you onwards, you set off at a jog, boots clanging against the metal ground at an uneven pace. Muffled gunshots, screams and footsteps continued playing in the background in a horrifying loop. As you turned the corner, you prayed nobody was round the other side, but didn’t dare to spare a glance.

The emergency protocols meant all locks had been disabled, but pure exhaustion and desperation had you all but slamming yourself against the storage room door. It gave way under your body weight, and you rather ungracefully stumbled through the doorway.

Most the shelves were barren, with everyone having grabbed what they could as the invasion began. But hidden away on the bottom corner shelf you caught sight of a First Aid kit. You lunged towards it, willing to take anything you could. To your convenience, someone had abandoned their backpack in the room, so you grabbed hold of that and shoved the kit inside. The backpack contained a jacket, gloves, pencil and an empty water bottle, so you stole those too,

Was it still stealing if the owner was probably already dead?

There wasn’t much left in terms of weapons. You had a gun on you when the conflict begun, but by now most of the bullets had been fired. All that remained in the storage room was a taser, which you opted to take anyway. It was better than nothing.

With replenished supplies, you decided now was as good as any time to leave. There was an underground garage with several vehicles equipped for tough terrain, and so that was probably your best bet if it hadn’t been raided by now.

The base was located quite literally in the middle of nowhere, with only one road in and out: a straight dirt track that was likely covered by a thick layer of snow this time of year. It was never busy as the base was relatively new and unknown amongst most HYDRA agents. To have been stationed here was an honour, and the fact that the base had been discovered by SHIELD was almost unbelievable.

Brandishing your gun in front of you and ready to fire at will, you began the journey to the garage. For a couple minutes, only the alarm and an eerie silence accompanied your passage through the base. With most the building being in ruins now, the conflict appeared to have been taken outside. SHIELD versus Hydra. Both attempting to evacuate while both making a last-ditch attempt at stopping each other from escaping unharmed.

They were as bad as each other…

Opting for a riskier approach, you lowered your weapon in order to start sprinting. Monotonous grey corridors turned into a blur around you, marked only by the occasional splatter of blood and lifeless body left to rot. Or even worse, the ones still conscious that called meekly out for help. You felt sick to your stomach. SHIELD and HYDRA agents lay alongside each other, unintelligible from one another in death.

Onwards you charged into the very core of the base where bullets were still being fired. You ducked around them, miraculously making it through unscathed. Instinct guided your movements; left then right, left again and straight ahead. And then you reached the final stretch, a concrete staircase winding down to the underground level. You halted for barely a moment to listen out for danger and heard nothing but your own heartbeat thundering.

You took a frantic step, ready to descend when something solid crashed against your chest and sent you soaring backwards. Your thudded pathetically against the wall and fell down, watching as a figure swung herself down from the stair rail above.

You fumbled for your gun and aimed it at the woman. She kicked it out of your grip before you had a chance to fire. While she was unbalanced, you shoved yourself forwards and kicked her leg out from under her. She grunted, hitting the hard concrete ground. You scrambled to retrieve the gun, but she was too quick, grabbing you by the shoulders and dragging you back.

In one last attempt, you seized the taser from where it was tucked in the side pocket of the backpack and dug it into her side. There was a buzz, a flash of electricity and sizzle. She cried out in pain, loosening her grip enough for you to escape.

You didn’t bother to get the gun but leapt over her body and down the first set of stairs, then jumped down the next, and the next. A gunshot resonated through the stairway, the bullet bouncing off the wall right where your head had been a second ago. You glanced up to see the redhead catching up now, aiming the gun and about to shoot again.

You dodged another bullet, descended another level. Another shot rung out, this one nowhere near you. There was no time to celebrate the ground you had gained as another ricocheted off the metal handrail right next to your hand. And then, a faint click. She had run out of bullets, and you had almost reached the door to the garage.

Without the gun in hand anymore, the woman leapt over each rail and masterfully swung herself down, skipping the stairs. By the time you were grasping onto the doorhandle, she was kicking you in the stomach. The door swung shut again as you flailed backwards. She had you cornered, your last chance at freedom now gone, yet she didn’t immediately attack.

At the same moment, you both heard it.

From the other side of the wall, a harsh beeping, its pace getting quicker and quicker.

“Shit.” You glanced at your attacker, who’s horrified expression matched your own.

The beeps grew louder, less distance between each as you remained paralysed, waiting for the bomb to implode.

She sprung suddenly at you, throwing both your bodies to the ground.

A shuddering blast.

Overpowering heat.

And then, darkness.

The first thing Natasha became aware of was pain. It started as a dull thudding in her head, then spread to a terrible ache all over. She was exhausted in every sense of the word, and endlessly grateful for the comfort of the mattress beneath her. A high-pitched ringing in her ears drowned out all other thoughts, becoming gradually louder and contributing to the pounding headache she had.

But what was that sound?

She tried desperately to think what could be causing it, or perhaps more importantly, where she currently was, but her mind came up blank.

The mattress shifted beneath her, a spring suddenly poking into her stomach. She tried repositioning herself to avoid the discomfort, and in doing so inhaled a lungful of dust. She coughed and spluttered, untangling herself and trying to sit up. Her body felt as heavy as lead, but something here wasn’t right.

Fighting against the agonising pain behind her eyes, Natasha finally took in her surroundings.

Pale sunlight was filtering in through the broken structure, reflecting blindingly off the snow that had found its way inside the remaining shelter. All around her was piles of shattered concrete, with metal pipes and other indistinguishable objects poking out. Snow had begun to cover everything in a crisp white blanket, as if hiding the damage done, reclaiming the site.

It all came back to her rather abruptly; the HYDRA base, the mission, how everything had gone wrong. The person she was tasked with capturing had escaped, and the mission was taking a turn for the worse. An order had just come in over the intercom for all remaining SHIELD personnel to escape, so she had been attempting to make her own way out when she’d run into-

Natasha realised now that the mattress that had cushioned her fall was in fact not a mattress.

You lay face down underneath her, unconscious where she had knocked you to the ground before the bomb had gone off. Despite how the world around her spun, and how every muscle called out for rest, Natasha was quick to push herself off you, sitting back on her heels to observe your current state. In response, you groaned, slowly but surely coming back to life.

She hadn’t gotten a good look at you previously, only now allowing her eyes to scan over your face, which was littered in small cuts and bruises. Yet underneath it all, she was forced to admit you were rather beautiful. She almost regretted inflicting such injuries on you- like damaging a skilfully sculpted statue. Her gaze continued roaming over your body, taking in the basic protective gear you were wearing and concluding you were at least partly battle trained, and definitely still a threat.

The taser you had used against her was still tightly gripped in your hand, and she shuddered at the memory of how much it had hurt. She decided there was no way she was leaving you with it and leant over you to take the weapon from your grasp.

Suddenly, your elbow flew back, smacking into her face and throwing her off balance.

“Fuck!” Natasha cupped her nose, spluttering through the pain.

You had turned yourself over onto your back and were holding the taser out like a sword. There was recognition in your eyes, but you appeared just as disorientated as she felt- only without a freshly broken nose. You were breathing heavily, eyes darting around the destroyed stairwell and recalling what had happened.

You finally looked back at Natasha, expression softening ever so slightly as you took in the blood pouring from her nose. “Truce?” You suggested apologetically.

Natasha didn’t respond, her mind too busy racing over what was the best course of action in these circumstances.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows and stared at her. “Did I break your jaw too or do you not speak English?” Then sighed as she continued being silent. “Tregua? Перемирие? Trêve?”

“Yes, I speak English.” She harshly answered at last, putting an end to your rambling.

You watched her curiously as she took a deep breath, bracing her hands on either side of her broken nose. Natasha knew the best thing to do was pop her nose back into place. She closed her eyes, mentally counting down from five and then pushing harshly inwards. There was a load pop as she grimaced, waiting for the agonising feeling to subside.

“You couldn’t have done that, I don’t know, not in front of me?”

“You’re the reason my nose was broken in the first place.” Natasha muttered, shooting you an unimpressed look.

“It was an instinctual response!” You stated, loosening your grip on the taser. All things considered, neither of you were fit to fight one another. “But I’m sorry.” You conceded, eyeing up the current state of her nose.

Out of all the things she expected from you, an apology wasn’t one of them. Natasha reconsidered you for a moment. You were in a more dishevelled state than she was, with dark red stains starting to seep through patches of your uniform, and a nasty gash along your forehead. With every small movement you winced, leading her to conclude that perhaps you didn’t pose as much of a threat to her anymore, apart from the taser which you were reluctant to let go of.

“If that’s your reaction to waking up after a bomb’s just exploded then I don’t want to be near you on a normal day.” She quipped, summoning the resolve to stand up fully.  

Despite everything, you smiled and joined in. “Yeah, I did wonder why none of my relationships lasted past one night.”

Natasha didn’t respond, instead scanning herself for injuries. A bullet had nicked her shoulder, but otherwise every other cut was small and inconsequential. The main sufferance was the general ache that encompassed her whole body. From head to toe she felt beaten and bruised and knew it was only going to get worse. The stillness that enveloped the base meant that any chance of rescue was minimal. With SHIELD evacuations likely having finished hours ago, she would have to make her own way back. Somehow.

The wall separating the stairway and underground garage was now nothing but a pile of rubble. She could see that roof had collapsed in on itself and destroyed any remaining vehicles, resigning herself to the fact that the journey would have to be made on foot. Luckily enough, the structure of the building had taken the brute impact of the explosion instead of falling inwards and crushing you both.

Although unlikely that any survivors or supplies remained, Natasha decided to search the remnants of the base. She started to climb up the fragmented chunks of concrete that had once formed the ceiling when you called out after her. “Wait, where are you going?”

She didn’t bother to slow down or face you. If she was to make progress, then there was no time for delay.

“Hey!” You quickly followed the route Natasha had taken, clambering up after her. “Wouldn’t it make sense for us to stick together? For now, at least.” You proposed between breaths. You were already exhausting yourself trying to keep up with her.

“That depends. Do you plan on tasing or elbowing me in the face again?” After hauling herself up one last block, the ground levelled out into a gentle slope. From here she was able to overlook the barren, colourless scenery, broken up only by the demolished structure.

“You attacked me first!” Crunching footsteps in the snow alerted her to the fact you had caught up. She turned back to see you walking over determinedly, occasionally slipping on the icy, uneven surface.

“I attacked a HYDRA agent, don’t make it personal.”

“Yes, and then you saved a HYDRA agent.”

Natasha halted. “What do you mean?”

“You pushed me to the ground before the bomb went off,” You explained with a shrug. “And I highly doubt it was because you wanted a softer landing.”

Natasha nodded. “I did.” She hadn’t really thought of it like that, but in retrospect, she had probably saved you from some life-threatening injuries.

“Why?”

“Force of habit, I guess.” She sniffed, refusing to meet your probing eyes.

“Well, intentional or not, thank you.” You said sincerely. “Let me make it up to you.”

“How, by slowing me down? Turning me in to HYDRA?” She scoffed.

“No. By sharing my supplies,”

Natasha glanced briefly at the backpack hanging from your shoulder. After being stood still for a minute, she had become acutely aware of the snow falling softly all around her. Everywhere she looked was a mix of white and greys, with a line of dark green trees in the distance. The base appeared already devoid of everything, in the process of being reclaimed by the unpredictable wintry weather.

As if reading her mind, you added, “trust me, you won’t find anything useful in the wreckage if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Natasha didn’t say anything, feeling rather defeated.

“Look, I have a first aid kit. I can treat that gash on your shoulder.” You placed the backpack down to rummage through. “And I have a jacket in here. I can see you shivering.” You held up a sandy coloured jacket. It would hardly provide much warmth, but it was a start.

“Fine.” She surrendered. As much as she didn’t trust you, there was also no point in going separate ways. “But only if you drop the taser.”

You frowned, shaking your head. “What if we run into trouble? This is the middle of the Russian wilderness. You think you’ll be able to take down a bear, or a wild boar with just some showy Karate Kid tricks?”

Natasha smirked. “Karate Kid?”

“You heard me.” You quirked an eyebrow challengingly, shoving the jacket back inside the bag.

“Fine,” She folded her arms. “Then give me the taser.”

You froze for a second, pursing your lips thoughtfully. “You really have trust issues, you know.” With a sigh, you hesitantly placed the taser in her open hand. “Try anything and I’ll hit you with my backpack.”

“I’m sure me and my Karate Kid tricks can handle that.” Natasha examined the small weapon. It wouldn’t do much damage, but you were right, it was better than nothing. She tucked it into her belt where she usually holstered her gun.

“Alright. Truce, Miss…?” You extended a hand, which she shook cautiously.

“Natalie.” She lied. “Natalie Rushman.”

“That’s not your real name, is it?”

“Nope.” Natasha didn’t bother to elaborate.

The location of the HYDRA base you had called home for the last few months was incredibly convenient for running undetected by most major governmental bodies, but as you soon realised, it was possibly the worst for wilderness hikes. You relayed this thought to Natasha, who stubbornly insisted on walking a few paces behind you. “To keep an eye on you,” she had said.

“I’m not sure walkability is usually taken into consideration when deciding that sort of thing.” She said in all seriousness, though you were certain you heard a smile in her voice.

It had been a few hours since you’d formed your impromptu truce and left the destroyed base. The sun was now steadily rising through the pale blue sky, the clouds having parted and snow discontinuing its assault. Still, enough of it crunched under foot that an uncomfortable puddle of water had invaded your boots.

“If I were in charge on designing military bases, I’d have them built in the middle of busy cities.” You stated, thinking out loud.

“Oh yeah?” Natalie prompted, thoroughly uninterested.

“Yeah. Inside of Starbucks’ or something. Somewhere no one would suspect.” You chuckled to yourself. “But I guess that’s why they don’t let me make the decisions.” You lied.

Despite finding Nat’s company to be relatively enjoyable, at the end of the day you were on different sides, and you were reluctant to let her discover your true role or identity within HYDRA.

“Well, that is a pretty stupid idea.”

You put your hand on your heart and turned back to her acting offended. Your gaze lingered on her for a second longer than necessary. Amongst the endless, flat fields of snow, Natalie provided respite for your eyes. The striking red of her hair and inky black suit stood out like artwork on an otherwise blank, white canvas.

After a beat you turned to face forwards again. “You’re the one with the taser. I think I should be making you walk in front.”

You heard her exhale loudly, but otherwise she said nothing.

“Or what if I tried to make a run for it.” You continued. “I know the area better than you do.”

“I thought you were just complaining about how un-walkable it was.” She retaliated.

“Doesn’t mean I haven’t walked around before.”

“Fine. When we make it to those trees, we can walk next to each other.” She pointed towards the approaching forest of evergreens.

“Wow, what an honour.” You said sarcastically. “Or is it because you know I could hide so easily in there?”

“No, I’m more worried you’d try to run and smack straight into a tree. I don’t want to have to carry a concussed agent round with me.”

You chuckled. “Why? Bad for your image?”

“Exactly.”

Upon entering the forest, the snow became a lot deeper and harder to wade through. The green of the evergreens was darkened by the shadows of other trees standing tall, and so all around you was a scene of black and white- like motionless static in which your mind played tricks on you. Every so often, you swore you saw movement out the corner of your eye, as paranoia began to press down on your chest and rendered you silent. With the taller pine trees blocking sunlight from penetrating the layer of foliage, you found yourself feeling a lot colder after only a couple minutes of walking through it.

“Hold on.” You called out to Natalie and placed the backpack down to dig out the jacket and gloves.

“What happened to sharing resources?”

You looked up at her, pulling on the gloves and feeling instantly a lot warmer. “You should have asked earlier.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t complain.

As you unravelled the jacket fully, a bright green wrapper fell out of the pocket. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes- or luck, as a granola bar fell into your lap.

Unfortunately, Nat saw it too. “I call dibs on the granola bar, then.”

You looked up at her, exasperated and unimpressed. Food hadn’t been on your mind but seeing the snack suddenly brought to light the gnawing hunger in the pit of your stomach.

She simply shrugged and reached down to snatch it out of your lap. “You get the clothes; I get the food. It’s only fair.”

You rolled your eyes and watched as she tore open the wrapper. ““I would argue but I don’t have the energy. I’m too weak from hunger.” You stood up and walked onwards without her, determined to ignore the sound of her crunching behind you.

“Wait.” Nat’s voice was suddenly too serious for your liking, a horrible prickle at the base of your spine convincing you to listen to her.

You stopped in your tracks, allowing the silence of the forest to resonate all around you. There were no birds chirping, no branches snapping or wind rustling leaves. It was eerily still.

Static. The crackling of a radio in the distance. “Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me.” An unfamiliar person was speaking into an intercom, met only by more static and silence.

The sound was coming from behind you, growing steadily closer.

“Requesting immediate assistance.” It was a different voice this time, but they had no better luck in reaching out for help.

Your mind was racing, your heart beating in your chest yet you didn’t dare to breath. They could be fellow HYDRA agents willing to join you in the search for safety. Or they could be SHIELD agents, left behind like Natalie and ready to kill you.

Should you reveal yourself and pray they would help? Or stay silent assuming they were the latter?

A quick glance at Natalie revealed the same indecision in her expression. You realised she was in the same situation as you, wondering whether to risk it and trust them, or to continue alone in your unstable truce.

Regardless the fact remained that, if you called out to them, one of you wouldn’t survive.

At this realisation, your mind came to an answer: you would not contact the strangers. Although Nat was your enemy, she had unknowingly saved your life earlier, a debt you were willing to repay. Any desire to fight with her had faded, replaced by the desire to cooperate, and to a certain degree ensure her safety.

“Y/N.” Natalie hissed your name, drawing your attention back to the matter at hand. The voices were steadily growing nearer and nearer, your view of them obstructed by the thick row of trees surrounding you. They hadn’t seen you yet but inevitably would.

Nat inclined her head to the right, eyes widening in an attempt to convey her plan. You followed her gaze to a fallen tree a few metres away, quickly assessing what she meant for you both to do. Relief filled your body as you recognised that she had come to the same conclusion not to turn yourselves over to the strangers,

Careful not to make too much noise, you ducked down and tiptoed over to the fallen tree, hearing her softly following behind. Having recently fallen, the leaves were mostly intact, and you were able to lean back into them and hide. Snow balancing on the branches fell onto you while the shark pine needles stuck uncomfortably into your back, but you ignored the discomfort to shift over, allowing Natalie to settle wordlessly down beside you.

Both of you held your breath and listened out, praying they wouldn’t see you as they went past.

The crackling static grew nearer, interrupted only by the same phrase repeated over and over. “Is anyone out there? Hello? Requesting immediate assistance-“

The footsteps stopped where you had been standing barely a minute ago. There was a dull thump of something hitting the snow, then an agitated. “Just give it up! No one is out there, and nobody is listening!”

The man who had previously been speaking into the intercom sighed. “Well what else would you have us do? Continue wandering aimlessly?”

“Better than listening to your stupid, fucking whiny voice over and over.”

“Yeah, and who made you team leader?”

“Can you two just shut up? Please?” A third exasperated voice interrupted the heated conversation between the two men. “Arguing isn’t going to help us. We’re stuck, the base is gone and HYDRA isn’t coming back to safe us so why don’t you just-“

You zoned out from the rest, too caught up on what he had said. They were HYDRA. They could help you. A sinking sort of feeling enveloped your stomach, previous hunger quickly forgotten and replaced by regret. You listened as the group continued onwards, their voices slowly fading, and with it; your regret only grew.

You glanced to the side, seeing how Nat was watching for your reaction with concern in her eyes. She expected you to run after them and leave her alone, or to call them back and have her ambushed. She must have seen the remorse on your face as her expression hardened, her fist clenched ready for a fight.

Without thinking, you placed your hand over hers and shook your head in way of silent communication. At your assurance, she seemed to relax slightly, so you removed your hand to stare straight ahead and wait for an all clear. Nat continued to impassively observe you until the voices had dwindled, and the forest fell into silence once more.

Darkness was descending upon the forest when you decided to stop for the day. You had made a fair bit of progress, but hunger was gnawing away at your patience, tiredness slowing down your limbs and the cold night air sending pain shooting through all your injuries. Yet in spite of all the negatives, you found you were getting on well with Natalie. Apart from the occasional meaningless squabble, you worked well as a team, and the only issue you had so far was the granola bar peaking teasingly out her pocket.

Currently, she was gathering as much dry kindling as she could find in the fading sunlight, while you were tasked with trying to keep the fire going. Under the shelter of particularly thick evergreen tree, you had brushed away the thinner layer of snow and set up a small pile of twigs. Then you had used the lead from the pencil left in the backpack as a fire starter and gotten Nat to spark the taser against it.

You were rather proud to see flames burning tall barely a moment later. Although, the evergreen pines burnt away rather quickly, hence Natalie searching the area for better materials.

Exhaustion caused your eyelids to droop and your vision to blur as you stared at the fire, hypnotised by the orange glow that danced through the still air. The warmth it emanated felt like a luxury, the light it provided was your saving grace. As much as you loathed to admit it, you found the forest ominous at night, preferring to focus on the way the smoke burned your eyes.

“Hey.” Nat reappeared before you, clutching onto armfuls of sticks which she set down just out of reach of the fire.

You simply smiled at her, too tired to think of anything to say.

“I found these as well.” Nat extended a handful of berries toward you. They were dark in colour, and you couldn’t help but be suspicious. Although you were certain you had been cooperating well, perhaps Natalie didn’t feel the same. Perhaps this was some big ploy to have you killed.

She quirked an eyebrow at the obvious suspicion laced in your expression. “They’re buckthorn.” She explained. “I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.” You mumbled, though there was no real weight behind your words. You were starving, and at this point, willing to eat anything.

Carefully, she tipped the berries into your cupped hands. Hesitantly, you ate one.

They tasted fine.

You devoured the rest.

“So how come you know so much about Russian-wilderness gastronomy?” You asked eventually, changing the topic from your obvious distrust of her.

She regarded you with curiosity, surprised that you had thought to ask and considering how much to say. “I was born here.” She put simply.

“And what, you were a Russian girl scout?” You smirked, prompting her to say more.

The corners of her lips lifted up in a smile, then fell back into a serious straight line. “Not exactly.”

You could tell she was avoiding saying something, and you decided not to press her for an answer. Seeing the reminiscent sadness in her eyes, you felt the sudden need to apologise for having brought it up in the first place. “Sorry, just I’m trying to work out how you go from Russia to SHIELD.”

“With great difficulty.” She tilted her head amusedly. “What about you? How did you end up with HYDRA?”

You sighed, slumping against your backpack and debating how much to say. From Nat’s honesty, you decided she at least deserved a truthful response. “Accidentally.” You chuckled humourlessly. “Believe it or not, working for a secret organisation founded in a Nazi ideology wasn’t exactly first on my careers list.”

“Did you accidentally stumble across one of their secret bases located in a Starbucks?” She jokingly asked.

You laughed tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “No, that would’ve been too easy.”

Both being equally exhausted as the other, you allowed the conversation to end and settled back to sleep. The ground was freezing beneath your body, the fire only providing so much warmth. You were using the backpack as an impromptu pillow, which made the sleeping situation slightly more bearable, yet it was still impossibly uncomfortable. You could hardly imagine how intolerable the night would be for Natalie.

Right on cue, you heard her hiss in pain from beside you. She was clutching at her shoulder, suddenly jogging your memory that a bullet had nicked her.

Your head lolled to the side as you faced her. “Do you want me to bandage that?” You asked quietly.

“I was waiting for you to offer.” She snarked.

You rolled your eyes and sat up, your muscles already aching from the two minutes you had spent laid down. You thumbed through the mostly empty bag to retrieve the first aid kit from the bottom. Beside you, Nat pulled her suit down enough to reveal the gash. You were unable to stop your eyes from lingering on the exposed skin; pale from the cold and covered in dried blood, yet your gaze still traced the way her collarbone jutted out. Your mouth felt suddenly very dry.

“I don’t mind doing it myself.” She commented, a smirk crossing her lips as though she had read your mind.

“No. Its’ fine, I’ll do it.” You shuffled towards her, examining the wound and preparing the necessary equipment to treat it.

She said nothing more as you set to work, your hands surprisingly warm despite the weather.

Softly, silently, you tended to the cut. Softly, silently, Nat basked in the warmth of the contact.

> PT2

[bettyfrommars]

Ring of Fire

a biker Steve au

Part 1 || I went down, and the flames went higher

18+ONLY || afab!Reader, eventual smut, alcohol consumption, allusions to dirty deeds, smoking, allusions to sex with someone other than reader (not cheating), allusions to violence/fighting, bloody knuckles, eventual breaking & entering, biker!Eddie, biker!Hopper, reader and Steve are in their early 30's. Please read warning for each part.

masterlist playlist

Summary || You haven't set eyes on Steve Harrington since the 8th grade, but you have no problem recognizing him almost 20 years later when he steps back into your life. A lot has changed in Hawkeye, the town you grew up in, but a lot has stayed the same.

word count: 5k

A/N || This is my version of Hawkins, a town called Hawkeye, and it is a desert town surrounded by tumbleweeds, agriculture, and junkyards. Even though Steve is a biker and a mechanic, I try to maintain his "essence". I plan for this to be a shorter series, like 3 or 4 parts, but those are always famous last words from this lyin', cheatin' mouth. This is a niche fic, and for the ten people who will appreciate it, I love you.

The bell on the door dinged to let you know you had a customer, but you didn’t look up right away, you were too busy trying to figure out why your till was a few bucks short for the day.  Donna would not be happy.  Heavy foot falls made it to the counter and then the person in question cleared his throat.

“Ten on pump 2 and a pack of reds, please,” the voice was deep and scratchy, like he was recovering from a sore throat.

You closed the cash register and glanced up for the first time.

The sight made you inhale a sharp breath and hold it.  The man had on a thick motorcycle jacket zipped up halfway over a white tee, atop blue jeans that were a dark denim wash, faded over time, with a tattered hole in one knee.  There were tattoos scattered over his flesh, peeking from his collar, and down his hands.  Letters on his knuckles spelled something that you couldn't quite make out, and he had a luscious mop of maple syrup hair on his head that looked like it had once been gelled into place but lost the fight hours ago.  He raked a big hand through it slowly, pausing halfway through the movement, and tucked his chin to pin you with an anticipatory stare. 

The last person you every expected to see again was Steve Harrington.

He pushed his wayfarer sunglasses up to reveal hazel eyes that were just as sad as they were electric. Swiping the tip of his tongue over his top lip, he repeated himself.  “Pump 2?”

You gave a flustered wave of your hand.  “Yes, of course,” turning to pull a soft pack from the wall behind you.  “Matches?”

He shook his head, and then, “just a sec,” before sauntering over to the aisle on the other side of the potato chips.  

Tossing a back of Magnum condoms on the counter next to his smokes, he dug his wallet out of his back pocket and said a polite, “those too, please.” The wallet was as worn as his jeans and connected by a chain to one of his belt loops.  

The cash register made loud click-clack noises as you punched in the numbers and gave him the total.  You weren’t expecting to see the wad of bills that fanned, but then he handed you what you needed.

“You new here?” He asked as you passed him his change, rolling a piece of bright green gum from the inside of his cheek to start chewing it again.

You stumbled over the question.  “New to this store or Hawkeye?”

A smirk lifted up one side of his mouth.  “Both, I guess?”

He was well aware that you were new to the corner gas n’ sip because he’d been a regular customer for years, and he definitely would have remembered you. 

Definitely.

Yet, something about you felt very familiar. 

“I grew up here,” your delivery was dry.  

Steve tilted his head back to assess you down the bridge of his nose and frowned like he didn’t believe you.  You noticed that his hands were rough and stained with evidence that he did some vocation of hard labor for a living.   

You decided to humor him with a clue.  “I left Hawkeye right before my freshman year.  My hair was different back then, and my mom drove a big, white Buick LeSabre—-”

With an unblinking stare, he blurted your name, repeating it a few times in disbelief as the memory seized him. 

There you were, the one who’d haunted his middle school dreams.  The first notable crush he ever had, standing a few feet in front of him 

“Shitttt,” he continued, scooping his purchases up in one hand, huffing out a breath.  He searched your face, and you watched the light in his eyes intensify. “You were a year older than me, right?  I remember you were always so bossy on the playground.”

You sealed your lips over a chuckle.  “Well, someone had to keep you and Eddie from dismantling the playground equipment to sell to the salvage yard.”

Steve chomped down on his lip in a smile, his hip finding the edge of the counter, trying to get closer to you.  “Copper,” he corrected with a one-eyed squint.  “We wanted to dismantle the lampposts.  Copper wiring could earn a pretty penny back then.”

“You’re still good with your hands I see,” gesturing to his calloused digits, the moons of his cuticles stained from motor oil, knuckles slashed with white scarring.

He flexed his right hand into a fist and then opened it again, deliberate and slow, watching you as he did so.  “I do all right.”

He was leaning over the counter at that point, elbow resting next to the cash register,  hip jutting out behind him, holding his mouth as if he were about to say something—-

“...and then, do you know what Ned said to me? Nothing, that’s what. Three days and I barely get two words out of him.  Before you go, there are two crates that need to be put away in the back—-”

56 year old Donna, your boss, approached the front desk from the back room, buzzing with conversation.  She stopped short when she saw Steve there, and tucked some silver, permed hair behind her ear.  

“Oh, hey Steven,” she greeted.  

“Donna,” he gave a twitch of a smile, standing to full height again, slipping his wallet into his back pocket.  “I was just catching up with an old friend.”

Donna had on bright pink lipstick and heart-shaped, baby blue clip-on earrings.  “You know Steve?”

“You could say that,” you stared at him as you said it.  “I’ve tried to put it behind me.“

Steve ran his tongue over the ridge of his teeth at that, and you could see that the left incisor was gold.  

Donna crowded in behind you, trying to get to the styrofoam container with her food inside that was on a stool just below the rack of caffeine pills.  It was leftover burger and fries from the diner across the street and the smell had been making your mouth water.  

“How’s Eddie?” Donna asked, and it was obvious she was talking to Steve. “Haven’t seen him drop by here in a while.”

Steve pulled his sunglasses out of his nest of hair and slid them back down to his nose before giving you one final look.  You backed up against the cigarette display to watch him go.

“He’s been busy,” Steve gnawed his gum, addressing your boss.  “Business at the garage has picked up since the only other mechanic in town split.  I work there part time when I’m not—” he swallowed back whatever he was initially about to say.  “---when I’m not doing other things.”

Donna shoved the corner of her sesame seed bun burger in her mouth, chewed it and kept talking.  “I saw Robin yesterday.  Her and Ratchet back together?”

In the past few days of your employment, you were learning that Donna was a pillar of gossip in the community, and she wasn’t afraid to ask the tough questions.  

Steve scratched the stubble on his chin, possibly contemplating how much he should share.  “I think they have an understanding,” he chimed diplomatically, stealing another glance in your direction. 

“Say hi to Wayne for me,” Donna added as Steve pushed his way out the mostly glass door.  He waved over his shoulder in response, nodding that he would.  

You shimmied further along behind the counter, pretending to organize the pens, so that you could follow where Steve was going, see what he was driving.  

To your surprise, he pumped gas into a hulking, coal black motorcycle with ape-hanger handlebars and blue ghost flames on the tank.  You were staring with your mouth slightly agape when Donna’s voice broke your concentration.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, cheek of food again.  “That boy is adorable, but he’s bad news.”

“Why?” The question was out of your mouth before you were cognitively aware of it.   

She thumbed ketchup from the corner of her mouth.  “You ever heard of the Coffin Kings?” 

Your gaze flicked to the side, catching Steve as he kicked a leg over to straddle the bike.  “I don’t think—it doesn’t ring a bell.”

You were lying; of course you’d heard of the Coffin Kings.  How could you forget the horde of long-haired bikers who cruised through town when you were a kid, a few of them stopping by to pick Eddie and Steve up from school on occasion.  Eddie’s uncle Wayne was one of the original members, and most of the teachers kept their manners around the boys for that reason alone.  Sure, Steve got detention for carving his initials into one of the school desks, but little did you know that it was only because he knew you would be in there too.  

Steve revved the bike to life until it was growling, idling in place with his back to you while he strapped his bare bones helmet on.  

“How do you know him?” Donna asked, not afraid to be pushy. 

“Well, I—” you thought about the specifics of that question.  “I don’t know him at all anymore, really.  We were just kids. It’s been a long time.”

“You want my advice?” Donna wiped her mouth with a tissue from a nearby Kleenex box.  

You didn’t, but you knew you couldn’t stop her from giving it to you.

“If you’re looking for a bad boy type, his friend Eddie is a much better catch.  Runs his own business, works hard, stays out of trouble.  Steve? Well, let’s say Stevie is just—-”

You turned to her as Steve hit the main road and shot into the distance.  “He’s what?”

You waited while she rolled her lips together, wetting them thoughtfully, turning her gaze to the ceiling.

“He’s a nice kid, but he’s trouble,” she sighed.  “He’s not the type you’d want to get serious with, if you know what I mean.”

Coincidentally, you did know what that meant.  You were a bit of a connoisseur when it came to trouble; not only could you sniff it out, but it flocked to you like seagulls on a parking lot french fry.  

But what Donna didn’t know was that you were no angel.

You scoffed at her suggestion.  “I’m not looking for a relationship any time soon.  I plan to stay single for a while.”

Donna dumped the rest of her dinner in the trash under the cash register.  “In that case, you and Steve have more in common than I thought.”

—-----

Steve had the rest of the evening off, he should’ve gone straight home to have a beer in his boxers in front of the TV and try to pass out early. He’d been slinging wrenches at Munson’s Garage that day, a double shift to help Eddie out, and his hand was throbbing so hard he had to take it off the throttle and shake it out. 

But also, who was he kidding?  He hadn’t slept more than a few hours that whole week. He needed a distraction, he needed people, he needed to forget his gut-wrenching loneliness for a while.  

He revved the throttle, shooting himself faster along the empty highway, passing nothing but flat alfalfa fields and the odd farmhouse every mile or so.  The low, desert hills rolled like sleeping giants on the horizon as dusk descended.

The Blue Light Tavern was housed in a brick building built in the 40’s, located between the truck stop and the Rosebud Motel, about a mile or so from the center of town.  The only way anyone passing by would even know it was a tavern was due to the neon Pabst and Jameson signs in the two tiny front windows.  There were already two motorcycles out front when Steve pulled up, and he found a spot at the end.  

The bartender that night was Angie, and she greeted him by name when he strolled in.  He asked for a beer, picked some songs on the jukebox, and started a game of pool with a fellow MC member, cigarettes bobbing from their lips as they played.  

That's when you walked in. 

He took a drink from his pint glass, pausing it there, watching you scan the room before making your way quietly to one of the stools at the far end of the bar, on the corner, closest to the door, as if you might have to make a run for it.  You were in the same clothes you’d had on at the gas n’ sip, but now you wore a zip-up black hoodie, hugging it around your ribs as if you were cold.  

The guy Steve was playing pool with was known as Big Jim around Hawkeye. Head of hair slicked back with generous sideburns down to his jaw, and a white scar making a thin indentation from the corner of his mouth to his ear.  He wore a long sleeve red and black flannel under his Coffin Kings kutte with the name Hopper patched on one side.     

Hopper said something to Steve and he appeared to ignore him, but finally blinked a few times.  “What did you say?”

Hopper held his pool cue across his lap as he sat on one of the tall swivel chairs against the wall, long legs braced wide.  “It’s your move, Romeo,” he drawled, plucking his smoke from the ashtray to take a drag. .

Steve suddenly got very confused, frowning when he turned to his friend.  How could Hop know he was interested in you? 

Hop gestured to the green felt under the Budweiser chandelier with his chin, exhaling, framing his lips to make an “O” with the smoke.  “Your turn, pipsqueak.”

“Right,” Steve huffed, shaking his head as he pushed off the wall.  

—--------

You waited outside, staring up at the Pabst neon that was missing the “b”, trying to work up the nerve to go in.  The Blue Light Tavern had been around so long, you remembered it from the rare occasions when your dad met up with his buddies, back when it was called The Hideaway.  Before the accident, back when you were a kid and considered Hawkeye your home.  

You were officially a resident once more, but you weren’t sure if you’d feel at home anywhere ever.  You weren’t sure if you’d ever feel safe again.  You weren’t sure you’d ever feel again.

When you finally opened the door, smoke billowed out, and the low-lit, grimey ambiance felt like a familiar friend.  You weren’t in the mood to drink, necessarily, you just didn’t want to sit at your apartment alone.  There weren’t many public places open in Hawkeye after 9, so you’d just been walking around aimlessly for the past hour.  Your tiny rental above the Gas n’ Sip was empty but for a mattress, two kitchen chairs, and five or six boxes you still needed to unpack. It all felt too dismal and overwhelming to tackle after your first full day at your new job.  

“What’ll it be darlin’?” The brunette bartender asked, using a white rag to wipe down the bar in front of you.  There was ice melting in a tumbler, a few used toothpicks, and a sticky ring on the woodgrain.  She scooped it all out of the way and then stared at you with a hand on her ample hips.

You were flustered and said the first thing that came to mind.  “Can you make a gin and tonic?”

“I think I can handle that,” she winked, moving out of the way to grab a glass.  You could hear the billiard balls clacking together over the music of Bringin' on the Heartache by Def Leppard , but there was a jukebox and a length of partition in the way, so you couldn’t see who was at the table. Including you, there were only a handful of customers that night; one surly man with a long gray beard at the bar, a couple at a table looking up at the mounted Zenith TV on the wall playing a muted episode of the Twilight Zone, and another two were throwing darts at a well worn target.  

Angie placed a white cocktail napkin before setting your drink down.  “Someone bought you this,” she had tiny veins of red around the cracks of her bare lips, as if she’d been wearing lipstick earlier.

“Someone?” Disbelief came first, and then it made you paranoid.  The last thing you wanted was to get hit on by—-

“It was him,” Angie gestured down the end of the bar to where Steve caught your eye and bucked his chin at you.  

The universe really did have a sense of humor.

—-----

A few minutes later, once he finished his game and let Hopper win just to move things along, he sauntered over to put his booted foot up on the bottom rung of the stool next to you. His white tee had a V-neck, exposing a tuft of chest hair.  “Are you following me?”

You swished your drink with a red stir stick, and then sucked it clean.  “I won’t let this freebie go to my head, Harrington.  I bet you buy drinks for all the new women in town.”

He gripped a fresh cigarette between pursed lips and lit the end, looking up at you from under his furrowed, James Dean brow.  “Yeah, but you’re not new.”

“Shhh it’s a secret,” you snipped two fingers in the air like a pair of scissors and he grinned at that, offering his pack of reds for you to take one. One of his ears was pierced, and a small silver hoop curved there.  

“Since when do you smoke?”

“I don’t,” you answered flatly, leaning over so that he could light the end for you with his plastic blue Bic, inhaling so that your cheeks hollowed.  

“You want to read my palm again?”

“Again?” You exhaled smoke to the side.

Steve straddled the stool and got comfortable with his elbows on the bar.  “You read my palm once when we were kids,” he straightened his arm, locking his elbow, so that his palm was open in front of you.  “I think you said my love life would be troubled, but I’d live a long life.  And then you made some crack about how I’d let the right one get away.”

You huffed a laugh and chomped onto your bottom lip to keep from smiling too big, staring at his strong fingers as they wiggled in front of you, veins popping strong in his forearm. 

“I can’t believe you remember that.” Tilting your head to the side, you took another sip of your drink, cringing a little at the strength of the alcohol; it was a glass of gin with a splash of tonic.  But maybe Angie’s heavy hand was a blessing that night.  

The gold in his tooth flashed like lightning in a storm. “I remember everything,” his voice was soft and deep, and you had to look away before he turned you into a brainless, lovesick zombie from his vampiric-strength powers of persuasion. 

Clearing your throat, you squirmed a bit under the weight of his stare.  “My palmistry days are behind me. I’m out of practice.”

He slid his hand back, but slowly, hoping you might want to touch it or grab it or—-

“But I am curious—”

Fingers flexed flat again as an invitation.

“---what does it say on your knuckles?”

“Oh these?” He made two fists and twisted them to read it himself as if he wasn’t sure, and then put both palms flat and slid them back in your direction, fingers splayed.  

Murmuring aloud as you spelled it out, you realized that the right knuckles spelled LOVE and the left ones said PAIN in thick, capital lettering.  

“My turn,” he pulled back his shoulders, taking another drag, squinting, before resting his cigarette butt back in the ashtray.

“Your turn for what?”

“Questions. What is that key around your neck for?”

You slapped a hand over the metal piece dangling from a chain, not realizing it had escaped the confines of your shirt collar, fingering it thoughtfully as you thought about what type of story you should make up.  

You could tell him the truth, but you weren’t sure you were emotionally equipped to answer any further questions.  You made a fist around the key and started massaging it with your thumb, when another hulking biker with a thick mustache cupped a meaty hand onto Steve’s shoulder.

“Bones just paged, we gotta meet them at the junkyard,” the big man shifted his kind, blue eyes to you, blinking with a nod of his head to acknowledge your presence, and offer his silent apologies all at once.  

Steve stood without argument, clearly duty bound, but his attention remained on you. He motioned Hopper ahead, and then he idled there, internally stumbling over his words.

“Any chance you’ll be here again tomorrow night?” He flicked the spark on his lighter a few times as he spoke out of nervous habit.

You tucked the metal key into your shirt.  “I work the late shift at the gas station tomorrow.” 

His mood seemed to lift slightly at knowing where you would be.  

“Taz,” Hopper hummed from the door where he braced it open with his broad back, offering a blast of fresh air to the nicotine saturated walls. Taz was Steve’s nickname in the club, but that was just one more thing you had yet to learn about him. He adjusted the collar of his leather jacket, gave your bicep a tender squeeze as he went by, and leaned down to whisper, “it’s good to see you,” at the shell of your ear, giving you goosebumps.  

Once he was gone, the tavern suddenly felt emptier, the sound of George Thorogood singing about drinking alone pounding much louder as you stared down at the glass in your hand.  

You finished your drink and then you made the trek back home, hugging yourself against the crisp night breeze, wondering how you would occupy your time for the next couple hours before you found sleep.

—------

The roar of their two engines cut through the dry June night like a knife, affording no illumination but their headlights and the moon.  Steve had replaced his leather jacket with his own MC leather that said TAZ on the front from one of his saddlebags, bare flesh of his arms exposed to show the scattering of tattoos there as he gripped the handlebars.  Both riders wore clear safety glasses to protect their eyes from the wind and the kamikazee bugs.  

Snipes Junkyard loomed menacingly in the expanse of desert, shrouded in cobalt night.  Heaps of twisted metal wreckage, smashed cars all piled on top of each other, and a high fence made of corrugated metal with curls of razor wire along the top ridge.  

There was a group of bikes parked out front when they arrived and two of the Coffin Kings Prospects, Riot and Krebs, guarded the gate to the place.  

Both new arrivals put their helmets on the end of their handlebars and tucked their safety glasses into their front pocket as they approached.

“What are we walking into?” Hopper asked, and Riot was already shaking his head in answer.

“The underground tunnels were breached,” he said, tucking a strand of curly black hair behind his ear.  “Crater isn’t happy.”

Crater was a Hawkeye native who got his nickname because of the chicken pock scars that covered his cheeks and jaw. He was also President of one of the other MC’s in town called the Skull Crushers.

When tensions were high among the gangs, there was always a good chance someone would pull a gun or start punching, so Steve and Hopper shared a weary look, bracing themselves before entering.

—------

Just as you were about to step up onto your block, you caught sight of someone coming out of the mini mart that you lived above.  A side door led up a flight of narrow stairs, and the top room was all yours; it was the size of a tin can, but it was shelter and you were grateful.  

Through the soft glow of the front window, you saw Donna’s husband Ned behind the counter with his half-moon reading spectacles on and a novel open in front of him.  Which reminded  you to make sure you brought some material to entertain you on your shift the next night.  

Somewhere not too far off in the distance, a group of coyotes yipped their excited whines.

The person who’d just come out paused on the sidewalk to light a smoke, and you sank around the corner of the building to watch the guy in the jeans, leather, and thick boots stroll over to put some gas in the tank of his Harley. Bulkier than the one Steve rode, this one was glossy obsidian with chrome pipes and a sissy bar in back, as if he usually had a rider with him.  His hair was unruly, long and dark, and once you caught a glimpse of his profile from the dim beam above the pumps, you knew right away that it was Eddie Munson.  

You thought about getting his attention to say hello, but then realized that your social battery was tapped for the day.  The cigarette dangled from his mouth when he took off, and you waited until he was down the street before darting to the stairs of your apartment.

—-----

A few hours later, Steve’s left hand with the PAIN held a black payphone receiver to his ear while the other hand rolled the numbers on the rotary dial.  His knuckles were freshly spit and bleeding, since one of the Skull Crushers had come at him during a misunderstanding at the meet earlier, and he was forced to lay the guy out.  He felt wired, like rest had somehow become his enemy, something he ran from as it tracked him ruthlessly.  

A woman who went by the name Lorelei picked up on the second ring.  

“It’s me,” he coughed and tasted that familiar copper tang. “It’s Steve.  Are you busy?”

It was almost 4 in the morning, but Steve had been a regular customer for a few months and, also, she didn’t mind his company.  He wasn’t like her other customers; he didn’t want the typical things from her.  

His hand haphazardly bandaged with a red handkerchief; he hugged it to his chest when he knocked at the door of room 8 at the Rosebud Motel.  When it opened, Lorelei stood there with a silk, periwinkle kimono wrapped snug around her curves, and motioned him in. There were two lamps on in the room, both of their shades draped with floral scarves, and a candle burned on the nightstand, smelling of essential oils, bergamot and lavender.   She didn’t live at the Rosebud, but she did stay a few nights in a row there when she was working.  

Steve's relationship history thus far had been a blur of endless disconnect, a series of hit and runs that left his heart empty and his eyes vacant.  It was easy for a guy in a motorcycle club to get laid; their parties were always crawling with eager pussy.  But after a certain age, that wasn’t what he craved anymore. He often worried that the parental dynamic he’d witnessed growing up, or lack thereof, had fucked him up to the point that he would never be able to have a normal relationship with a girl he liked.  

A while ago he’d given up on love, figured that he was broken. But he still had urges, and making them transactional helped him to disengage further.  

“What are you in the mood for?” Lorelei hooked a finger into his belt loop and pulled him closer, searching his face.  “Same as last time, hmm?”

Steve lowered his head, internal exhaustion making him dizzy.  He held her arm, thumbing the delicate material of her robe.  “Not tonight,” he swallowed thickly.  “Just the stuff that…comes after.”

Nodding that she understood, she cupped his chin so he would look at her. “Will three hours be enough?” One look at him told her what he needed was 24 at the least, but three was all she had to give.

Over the years, Steve had come to realize that his insomnia was somehow cured when he could sleep next to someone.  To roll over and have them there, to hold them.  Alone, his mind raced, and nightmares plagued the inside of his eyelids. With Lorelei, they mostly slept side by side, and the weight and familiarity of her was somehow enough to calm his nervous system down to a reasonable level.

“Come,” she sat him on the edge of the bed and knelt to unlace his boots.  He wrestled to pull his wallet out of his back pocket, ready to pluck some bills out, but she put her hand up to stop him.

“After, okay? I trust you,” she whispered, tugging off the first boot by the heel, rubbing the ball of his foot a little before moving to the next shoe.  

Steve’s head bobbed on his neck, and then he rolled it back to center, eyes heavy.   

He always refused to undress fully, and Lorelei suspected it had something to do with how vulnerable it made him feel, but she never asked questions.  He scooted up to find the pillow with his head, and by the time she crawled in next to him and put her hand on his thigh, he was out.  

-------

Thank you to my darling readers who love biker Steve!

[the-insomniac-emporium]

She's The Skeleton In My Closet (Mia Winters/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil/Resident Lover Genre: fluff? and whatever is a step down from smut Rating: T? not quite horny enough for M. Warnings: Brief, non-descriptive mentions of death/bloodshed, and relatively minor choking in a sexual context (it's more of a hand position than actual choking). Reader is referred to as a girl once by a side character. Summary: It's the end of another loop, and Mia allows herself to get closer to you... through a game of Seven Minutes In Heaven. Notes: Inspired by two pieces of art by @vivi-ness, specifically this and this. If you want to skip to the part of this fic that actually takes place in the closet (aka the making out part), start reading after the second section break -----. I did not mean for the lead-up to be as long as it ended up being. Also might make a part 2 with actual smut?

Alone. Curled up with the brazen darkness wrapped around her like a blanket, Mia’s eyes straining, as she glanced over her notes by candlelight. Less than thirty feet away raged a party fit to shake the heavens. As with every semester, the Umbrella Sorority felt inclined to celebrate the end of exams. Blaring music, countless games on rotation, enough booze to drown the world (or set it all ablaze). Even the theatre kids know to defer to the sorority for this evening. Normally, Mia would not hesitate to join in, downing shots of whiskey and kicking ass at every other game, all the while keeping keen eyes on interesting people.

Ah, but not tonight. Not with the reset looming in the distance, date preselected. Another loop on death row. There was plenty of work to be done, mostly preparations for the ritual, but Mia’s focus was on… other matters. Scanning through old tomes, searching for something that may prove useful in the next rotation. Maybe not enough to finally end the cycle, no, of course not, just something to influence it. Push it in the right direction, despite Miranda’s many protests regarding “interference”.

But there’s a knock on the door, and Mia pauses, unsure if it was simply the bass speakers thumping the walls again. A beat passes before the knock repeats, louder this time. Off-tempo. Quickly, she places her journal aside without marking her place (she remembers, of course, that it is page 28), then blows out the candles. Even as the darkness swallows the last sanctuary of light, her movements are smooth, flowing. In one motion she flips the light switch and unlatches the door.

“What’s up?” She asks, sickly sweet and every bit faking it, staring down at the unexpected visitor. They’re a sophomore, she thinks, a small woman whose name starts with an A. Or an E, maybe. Most loops have her just barely in Mia’s peripheral, sharing a single class but never really interacting. Definitely not the person she would have wanted to come knocking at her door. Only a brief moment passes before the woman replies, her gaze briefly (and unsubtly) scanning the room, voice filled with the unironic enthusiasm that made her grate on Mia’s nerves.

“Well, we’re one person short for 7 Minutes in Heaven- we had enough people, technically, but a few left after Cassandra got picked early, you know how it is- and so I was wondering if you’d join? It’s so weird not having you at the party, anyway, really feels like we’re missing an integral piece of the vibe, you know?” Alissa (if that was her name) says, offering a lopsided smile. Faint pink dusts her freckled cheeks, only some of it being makeup. One of her hands starts to reach for Mia, to rest a flirtatious hand against her shoulder, but the flash of something darker in her expression makes Alissa pull back.

“Oh, I would love to play, but technically my exams aren’t finished,” Mia answers, sporting a half-assed pout, dragging the words out. She lets her tongue click on the t in technically for emphasis. It’s not the best excuse, especially considering Elise (or whatever her name is) also still has one final left. All because the student council took one day too long to remind a certain professor that he couldn’t force students to complete a ritual as part of their exam. Not that Mia would have minded a little school-sanctioned bloodplay, especially since she knows (from experience) that the ritual Dr. Wesker had in mind wouldn’t work.

“C’mon, Mia, we both know you don’t need to study for our Occult Sciences class; you could probably teach it at this point!” Anna (Áine?) chimes, grinning wide, blissfully unaware of the true accuracy of her statement. Mia could teach the class, far better than the actual professor, although at that point it would be considerably harder to keep the university’s secrets. But that doesn’t mean she has any interest in joining the party.

Her reluctance must show, because the shorter woman (whose name may or may not be Enya) squints, lips pursing before she abruptly straightens up and switches tactics.

“Besides… your favorite person is playing,” she adds, leaning in to stage-whisper, glancing down the hallway as if checking for eavesdroppers. Despite the confidence in her voice, Mia stares at her blankly. As much as she definitely has a favorite, the one her very soul is bound to, she finds it unlikely that Eliza would know… right? It’s not like they’ve even spent that much time together this loop. Surely she’d been able to keep her cards close to her chest; it’s not like Eliza was terribly observant anyway. Unfortunately for Mia, her thoughts get cut off by another high-pitched exclamation. “Don’t play dumb, Mia! The girl with one earring, roommates with Angie and the youngest Dimitrescu?”

Well. Fuck. So much for being subtle…

-----

Turning down Anamaria (no, not that one, the other one) became impossible the second Mia’s eyes lit up, all at the mere mention of you. Within a minute she had relented, murmuring a few choice words under her breath, allowing herself to be all but dragged to a crowded living room. It takes all of her willpower to maintain a guise of boredom, lips drawn tight as she scanned the partygoers for familiar faces. A slight tension formed in her chest as she intentionally avoided looking at the center of the room, having caught a glimpse of familiar clothing, saving the sight for last. 

Caldwell is by the back corner, playing some complicated boardgame with a mildly enthused Stanley (and a confused but nonetheless supportive Jasmin), positioned where they can keep an eye out for trouble. All three of the Stans could be found hovering by the alcohol, debating whether to leave now or wait for Cassandra to inevitably grab a refill. Somehow Anamaria (yes, that one) was half asleep, tuckered out from one too many party games, curled up against a blushing Livia. Both were chatting with Angie, who was perched precariously on the back of the couch. The only thing keeping the short girl from falling off was a hand clutching one of her belt loops, pulling as necessary to rebalance her.

As Mia’s eyes traced the hand to its owner, she inhaled sharply, the slightest flare to her nostrils. There you are. Eyes crinkled at the edges while you laugh at one of Daniela’s jokes, the sound barely audible past the music, your mouth open in a genuine, shameless grin. Mia allows herself a single moment to admire the view. Luck plays a trick on her then, your gaze suddenly shifting to her, eyes widening when you meet her stare. Immediately you look away, warmth in your face contrasting the way your shoulders tense.

If Mia hadn’t torn her gaze away, flinching like she got burned, she would have seen the way your friends reacted, the way they jumped at the opportunity to tease you. Instead, she lets herself get tugged over to a spare chair by the woman hosting the game.

“Damn, Iris, I didn’t think you’d actually convince Mia to play,” Nicoletta says, trailing her eyes up and down Mia, appreciatively, before turning to the one who had dragged her here. Guess her name doesn’t start with an A or an E after all, Mia thinks, before shrugging off the attention. None of these people know her terribly well, beyond reputation, and she can’t be bothered to unpack why they wanted her here.

“I mean, I kind of had to, with how hard Iris was begging me,” Mia says, pointedly ignoring their gazes in favor of inspecting her nails (short, smoothed over, no polish today). Protests stream from next to her, while a few chuckles rise up around the room. A smirk crosses her lips as she makes eye contact with Iris. Before the woman can explain that Mia only agreed because you’re playing, she speaks up again, propping her feet up on the coffee table as she does. “So, are we drawing names from a hat or what?”

“Close, half of us already put a trinket or whatever in the bag. Anyone who didn’t put one in gets to draw one at some point,” Iris explains, eager to move past the embarrassment from Mia’s lie. “Since you had to be… convinced, you can go ahead and be the one to draw next. Once the lovebirds in the closet are done, that is!”

Nodding, Mia withdrew into herself again, content to sit in silence until her turn. Why had she agreed to this, exactly?... It’s not as if she’s ideologically opposed to party games, but she’d always been more of a fan of the ones that involve drinking. Maybe spin-the-bottle, if she was in the mood for it. But Seven Minutes In Heaven? Too time-consuming, and absolute torture if one got stuck with the wrong partner. What were the odds she’d even get paired up with you? Was that even what she wanted?

Something about this particular loop was messing with her head. Every other one so far involved you falling in love with somebody, even if it ended poorly. But this time?... She had been sure you’d end up with Daniela or Angie, with the way you pushed studies aside for parties, never officially joining the sorority but being a frequent guest at their dorm. Living it up, only getting serious when you helped break Daniela’s curse (not because you loved her, but because you love her, the same way you pour your heart into loving all of your friends).

That’s why the reset was looming overhead, of course. Your faith in Miranda lay shattered, if it had ever existed in the first place, your distrust a crime she considered worthy of oblivion. Any life where you would not love her was, to Miranda, a life unfit to continue.

Mia gets pulled out of her thoughts by a door opening, old hinges squawking in protest. Two flustered women readjust their clothing as they exit the closet, both sporting bright red cheeks, utterly oblivious to the fact that they had swapped shirts. Naturally, they are not allowed to remain ignorant for long, a chorus forming of drunken cheers and teasing remarks. Not everyone focuses on the couple, however, and Mia feels the weight of someone’s gaze on her.

Once more she looks to you, just in time for you to look away, although this time she notices something odd: You aren’t wearing your earring. How interesting. Suddenly she finds herself itching to take her turn, but she suppresses her thirst, not wanting to earn any gentle ribbing from the others. Another minute passes before the paper bag actually gets passed to her, Iris winking as their fingers brush up against each other. Maintaining eye contact, Mia reaches into the bag, offering a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

There are still five or six items inside, some of them in familiar shapes. A watch with a cracked face, one of those tiny skateboards (a Tech Deck, maybe?), a basic bracelet… None of them interest her, but it only takes another second for her to grasp her target, the cool surface smooth under her touch. Carefully, she retrieves it, ensuring the earring doesn’t snag on any of the other items.

With a triumphant smirk, she holds it up in the light. Although disappointment shows in Iris’ face, Mia can’t help but notice the way Daniela nudges your side with a knowing grin. Even Angie turns to whisper something in your ear, almost tumbling off the couch with how hard she laughs at the instant flush to your face, exasperation clear in your posture. Nonetheless, you rise on shaky legs, not meeting Mia’s gaze as the two of you move towards the unoccupied closet…

-----

“Have fun in there! Seven minutes starts when the door closes,” Iris chimes, having readopted her mask of overexcited joy, all but pushing you in after Mia. There’s a sharp click right after, the door settling into place. Another click, softer, and the small space becomes sparsely illuminated. You blink a few times to adjust to the dim lighting, glancing up in time to see Mia… on her phone? Before you can question her, she taps a button and sets it down on one of the shelves behind her, and you catch a glimpse of a timer on the screen.

“Six and a half minutes,” she says, as if that was all the explanation needed. Then she’s leaning forward, expression blank, hands reaching out to-... put your earring back where it belongs. It’s an oddly intimate experience, feeling out of place in a game that focused on a different kind of intimacy. If only it lasted longer than a few moments. Once she pulls away, there’s a noticeable flush to her cheeks. “Wouldn’t want anyone to catch us in a compromising position, right?”

Despite her words, Mia makes no further moves to touch you. One hand fiddles with the hem of her jacket, the other tucks her own hair behind her ear, the movement awkward in the cramped space. It’s easy enough to mistake her countenance for a kind of nervousness. Playing wasn’t her idea, after all, and you feel a twinge of guilt for being so excited about getting paired with her. Could she tell? Was she worried by the thundering of your heart, by the warmth of your presence?

Internally, however, Mia is struck with the sudden urge for her favorite brand of intimacy: Violence. Of the last eighteen times she was this close to you, with your breath just barely ghosting her skin, sixteen of those meetings had ended with homicide, attempted or otherwise. Gods, it was her curse, to only know your touch when she initiated it with heavy hands. To be so well acquainted with the feeling of your blood on her skin that it has become more familiar than her own. When was she last able to touch you without the many promises of pain? Can she even trust herself to love without consuming?

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, I know you probably weren’t planning on this tonight,” you say, softly, offering a weak smile. Now you’re the nervous one, rubbing your arm as if the sensation might smooth out your anxiety. It’s not until you feel Mia lean the slightest bit forward that you dare to meet her gaze. Something haunts her expression, lying beneath the flushed cheeks and hooded eyes. Before you can even blink, she’s brought her hand back up, cupping your chin and making sure your gaze never leaves hers.

“And if I do want to do something?” Mia whispers. One of her fingers shifts, gently tracing over the front of your throat. If only you knew how excited she got by the feeling of your heart racing beneath her fingertips. In contrast, she is all the more aware of the way your breath hitches at her touch. The way you look up at her with dilated pupils makes her every bit hungrier. Just one taste, she thinks, eying your lips. How was it fair that in all these loops, she had never once gotten to kiss you? “Tell me you want this. Say it, or I go right now, game be damned.”

She knows it’s not fair to put that pressure on you, to make you choose that very second. But she doesn’t care, not at all, not when she knows you’re already on the brink of giving in.

“Please, Mia,” you say, voice almost whiny from sudden need, a hand moving to clutch her jacket. More words get stuck in your throat, a part of your mind still keenly aware of how swiftly the mood has changed. Had Mia ever been nervous? Maybe, maybe just not the way you had interpreted her to be. No traces of hesitation can be found in her expression as she slides her hand lower, fingers resting on either side of your neck, only enough pressure for you to really feel her. A silent urging for you to spill the rest of your plea. “I want you.” You swallow hard, trapped by her touch, yet desperate for more. “I want this. Please. Please kiss me.”

In an instant she’s pulled you forward, lips crashing against yours; her hand on your throat is the anchor tying her to you. All other thoughts are crushed under the weight of her messy embrace. There’s just her. Instinct drives your movements, all of the desire that had built up this semester coalescing into a kiss, into the way your hand ends up fisted in her hair, the other sliding beneath her jacket to grasp at her shirt.

Mia’s fingers never tighten around your neck, never put any pressure on your windpipe, yet they still hold power over you. It’s her movement that changes the angle, that deepens the kiss until your lips part for her. You swear you can feel her hunger, the need radiating from her, and yet you have no idea how much she is truly holding back. Every bit of your hunger was matched and exceeded by her.

Your feelings, hidden until now, had gnawed at your heart for half a year. Hers had hounded her for countless loops. The hand on your throat is a warning to herself, arm a barrier to keep her from coming any closer. It’s not enough, her free hand itching to touch and tug, to begin unraveling you. Mia presses the hand to the wall behind you, clenching it into a fist. That might have done the trick… if not for the way you shift a moment later. As soon as your thigh starts to slot between her own, she throws out any sense of caution, giving in to this one chance to be with you.

“So eager for me,” Mia murmurs, having pulled back for just a moment, finally pulling her hand from your neck (you miss it, miss the warmth, miss her guidance). There’s a split second where you think you see love in her eyes- and then your back is flat against the wall, both her hands on your hips, her mouth pressing open kisses along your jaw. A tug encourages you to move your thigh again, letting her seek out that friction she so desperately needs. “So fucking good to me,” she whispers, breath hot against your cheek.

Then she’s practically nipping at your throat, relishing your gasp, only to eagerly soothe the skin with gentle kisses. Something like a growl leaves her as she starts to grind against your thigh, grip on your hips growing tighter. Each moment has the kisses growing more intense again, paired with more soft bites, making it harder and harder to keep yourself from moaning. When her hands start rubbing circles against you, it becomes impossible to stay completely quiet.

Both a blessing and a curse, your sound comes at the same time that Mia’s phone starts to vibrate, signaling the end of your time together. Instantly she’s peeling herself off of you, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, muttering a few swears in between shaky breaths. Following her lead, you try to smooth out your clothing and collect yourself. But that’s much easier said than done, neither of you satisfied at leaving things here, both itching to finish what you started.

“You should stay,” Mia starts to say, shrugging off her jacket. Each word sounds like she has to force it out. “After the party ends. I could… I could use the company.” This time the words come easier, accompanied with a crooked grin, and she doesn’t hesitate to drape her jacket over your shoulders, covering up the marks she definitely left all over your throat. More than that, it’s her way of making sure everyone knows that you’re with her tonight.

The door swings open before you have a chance to respond to her offer. For a moment the light feels blinding, and when you reopen your eyes you see that Mia’s already started walking away, ignoring the reactions of other partygoers. You would be disappointed… but this is the first time you’ve seen her without a jacket, and now you find yourself with a new appreciation for her arms, already picturing yourself getting pinned beneath her. Something to look forward to later tonight, you suppose.