#please excuse his dry sarcastic humor

[nickjcnas-archived]

JULY TASK: QUESTIONNAIRE

@cityofdreamstasks​

What is your nickname?

If you want to get technical, “Nick” is a nickname of Nicholas. I don’t like being called “Nicky” unless my nieces are calling me that.

Do you have any pets?

I have four dogs. Gino and Panda are mine, Nash is Troye’s, and Lyric is our shared dog.

What are your hobbies?

Playing golf, playing softball (I have my own team), collecting and smoking cigars.

Do you believe in astrology? If so, what is your zodiac sign?

I mean, why not? Can’t hurt to believe in it. My zodiac sign is Virgo.

Are you more of an extrovert or introvert?

Can I be both? What’s the word for that?

What are two of your pet peeves?

People who don’t chew with their mouths closed, people who are impolite.

Do you like or dislike surprises? Why or why not?

Yes and no. It really just depends on what the surprise is.

If you could share a meal with any 4 individuals, living or dead, who would they be?

Prince, Stevie Wonder, Elvis Costello, Frankie Valli.

How would you describe your personal style?

Classic and modern with a little edge or twist.

What's one thing you can't live without?

Insulin.

What are your go to comfort things (items, places, movies, etc)?

My dogs and my recording studio.

When you’re in a bad mood, who is someone in your life that makes it better?

Troye, my daughter, and my nieces.

What is your biggest fear?

Losing my job.

What’s something most people may not know about you?

It might come as a shock to some people that I’m not as egotistical or serious as everyone thinks I am.

What is your most treasured possession?

God, I have so many that mean a lot to me. I know I’ve got a couple things from my grandfather that mean a lot to me.

Excluding essential items or anything with streaming/internet capabilities, what 5 items would you need/want if you were stranded on a deserted island?

How am I supposed to list anything if the question is excluding essential items or anything with steaming/Internet capabilities?

What is one thing on your bucket list?

Don’t get divorced again. Just kidding. I’d love to have another kid, maybe.

If you could only keep one song on repeat, what would you be listening to?

“When Doves Cry” by Prince

If you had to spontaneously get a tattoo, what would you end up getting?

Probably my daughter’s name, or something related to her.

If you could live anywhere for the rest of your life, except for where you currently live, where would it be?

Italy, for sure.

If you could have been part of any experience in the past, what would you have liked to experience?

I don’t know. This question is very vague. Come back to me in like, ten minutes.

What's the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of love?

Got engaged to someone after only two months of dating. Never again.

What has been your favorite movie theater experience?

What does this even mean?

If you could have anyone play you in a movie or TV show, who would it be?

Nobody can accurately play me, besides myself.

What is your favorite thing about your career?

Getting to do what I love everyday, obviously. Getting to see the fans, too, of course.

Do you regret any career moves?

The whole JONAS TV show for Disney. Fucking awful.

What is your dream project? Your ultimate career goal?

I got to play Frankie Valli last year which was an ultimate dream project. But ultimately, I’d really just love to do more acting.

If you didn't have the career you have today, what would you be doing instead?

I would be some type of professional athlete. Probably a baseball player, to be exact. But I probably would’ve considered football, too.

[ayanna-wild]

Broken Wings

Word Count: 2921

Pairings: Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, hurt, comfort

A/N: Request from Wattpad, for the sake of this story Lucifer and the reader will not be related, set somewhere between s1 and s2, and I have nothing against Amenadiel, but he was kind of a dick during s1 lol

Requests and Tag List are open

Summary: It was a simple matter of loving the wrong man, but you couldn’t control your heart. How was it fair for you to be punished? But life was cruel that way.

.................................................................................

You weren't an angel per-say. You had the wings, the immortality, yet you lacked the power that came with being a true angel. To be blunt you were a side project God had taken up before abandoning it to create humanity, more a helper to his children than anything.

The only of your kind.

With little other purpose you dutifully fulfilled your role as the aid, accompying the true angels to earth. A mundane existence, but one you tolerated.

Until Lucifer had taken an interest in you, life was so much better after that. So full of fun and laughter, he called for your help more than any of his brethren or sisters. Although he never really needed any assistance, it was all an excuse to steal you away for a while.

For centuries that was your life, and you were content with it if it meant spending more time with him. You two grew impossibly close and thought you'd be with him until the stars in the sky fizzled out.

But that was before, before the rebellion, before his banishment, before your existence dulled so drastically. Spending centuries, millenniums feeling as though you were missing out on something better.

Which is why you had so graciously agreed to accompany Amenadiel to earth. So he could once again fail at convincing his brother to return to hell. You masked your excitement surprisingly well, or Amenadiel was just incredibly oblivious. Either way you weren't complaining.

~

"You seem happy..."

Your wings fluttered a bit, unable to contain the smile on your face as you glanced at the dark skinned angel.

"Well it's nice to get out of heaven once and a while, you know?"

That was only partially a lie, you really did enjoy earth much more, but truthfully you were excited about seeing Lucifer after so long.

"No. Heaven is perfect. " Amenadiel stated bluntly.

You watched him walk inside from the balcony, hanging back a moment to mutter to yourself.

"For you maybe..."

Your wings folded into your back as you walked in, not the least bit surprised to see the brothers at each other's throats already.

"Such hostility from such divine beings."

Your sarcastic remark quickly drew the attention of the king of hell, who turned to you with a grin so wide you wondered if it hurt his face.

"Oh brother, you failed to mention you brought along this beautiful little creature. Y/N, it's an absolute pleasure to see you again."

Lucifer approached you with open arms, your smile matching his as he embraced you.

"It is her role to assist us." Amenadiel said as if that was the obvious answer.

Lucifer pulled away from you, noticing the way your shoulders sagged a bit at the elder angels words. The devil frowned a bit.

"Role? Are you still listening to such nonsense?" Lucifer scoffed.

Amenadiel rolled his shoulders, flexing his wings a little in irritation.

"It is our father's will. You should be following your role as well."

Lucifer clicked his tongue, strolling over to his bar.

"It became rather dull, so many years doing the same thing, a drab existence, isn't it angel?"

The ending was directed towards you, and you almost forgot yourself, almost allowed yourself to agree, in front of Amenadiel. It was a nickname he had given you centuries ago. His own way of telling you he saw you as his equal, unlike the others.

You were his angel.

"She's not a real angel Lucifer, don't try to fill her head with your rebellious nonsense."

His words stung a bit, but he wasn't entirely wrong, you weren't a true angel. That bit of fact didn't seem to lessen the blow to your pride though.

"With such exquisite wings as hers, who could tell the difference?" Lucifer winked at you.

You straightened your back, feeling proud of yourself, your wings always were your favorite feature. You took immaculate care of them. Just as quickly as Amenadiel tore you down Lucifer built you back, you supposed that was one of the things that had drawn you to him all those years ago.

"You're a disgrace."

You stepped between them, placing a hand on Lucifer's chest.

"Maybe I can talk to him? He was always at least willing to listen to me." You offered.

Amenadiel seemed to ponder this a moment before nodding.

"I'll return tomorrow, don't let him pull you into any of his schemes."

Lucifer scoffed at his brother's warning. You smiled softly.

"Of course."

With a flutter of wings he was gone, and you were left alone with the fallen angel. Without a moment to appreciate the silence, a cup of amber liquid was held in front of your face.

"Fancy a drink my dear? We have so much to catch up on."

~

You weren't sure how it happened, maybe it was the drinks, or the way he spoke to you, but you found yourself stumbling out of his bed the next morning. Panic surged through your veins as you hastily pulled your clothes back on, cursing softly. You regretted nothing, but there'd be hell to pay if any of the heavenly host caught you bedding the devil. Lucifer still slept soundly, and you tried your best not to wake him.

You rushed from his room, running straight into a broad chest causing you to stumble back a bit. Amenadiel stared at you with an uncomfortably blank expression, and your heart dropped.

"Amenadiel... I-"

Your world became a blur in the next second, and you fell forward as your feet unexpectedly hit the roof of a hotel.

"What were you thinking! Fornicating with Lucifer!"

You glanced up at him, snorting at his wording.

"Fornicating? For someone who comes to earth so frequently, your vocabulary is a little dated."

You couldn't help the poorly timed jab, humor your way if deflecting tense situations. Unfortunately for you that only seemed to make Amenadiel more angry.

"Have you no shame? You don't seem the least bit remorseful for the sin you just committed!" He shouted.

You flinched a little, sitting back on your ass as you stared up at him. Should you grovel? Beg for forgiveness?

That would be the logical thing to do, it was what he was expecting. But perhaps your short reunion with Lucifer had sparked something in you because you found yourself leaning back on your hands, staring up at the angel before you with no remorse.

"I regret nothing."

~

Blood soaked your once white shirt as you leaned against an alley wall, shifting most of your weight onto your side. Anything to avoid the crippling pain in your back. Tears stained your cheeks and burnt your eyes. Dry sobs shook your body, no tears left to cry.

He'd ripped your wings from your back, tore them from your body, taking your immortality with him. You barely registered the sound of footsteps, hardly heard the woman talking to you in concern. You just felt so tired, a feeling you weren't used to.

It'd be okay if you slept, just for a moment, right?

Chloe panicked as she saw your eyes close, waving frantically as the paramedics arrived just moments later. Her hands covered in your blood as she wondered who could have possibly done that to you.

~

You woke to steady beeping, and an uncomfortable feeling of something wrapped just a little too tight around you. Bright lights forced you to close your eyes almost as soon as you opened them. You took a moment to adjust as you sat up, looking around the unfamiliar room that you slowly realized was a hospital room.

It all seemed so... human.

The reality of your sudden mortality crashed down on you, and you carefully pulled the I.V. from your arm. You hissed as you quickly stood from the bed, the sudden movement causing pain to shot up your back.

You nearly collapsed.

But no, you had to leave, get out of this place before questions you couldn't possibly answer came. You gathered your ruined clothes, fleeing before anyone could notice.

You kept your head low as you left the building, the bandages on your back straining against your hasty movements.

"Hey!"

A voice called out, catching your attention and a blonde woman hurried over to you. You stared at her in confusion, and she looked you over with concern.

"What are you doing out here? You shouldn't leave the hospital yet."

It suddenly clicked and your body tensed as you vaguely recognized her as the woman who found you.

"I'll be fine."

She looked ready to protest, and you grabbed her hands in desperation.

"Please... I just can't be there..."

She seemed to relent a little, and you breathed a sigh of relief until she told you her name. Then you found yourself begging her not to tell Lucifer anything, and she promised not to utter a word, if you told her what happened to you.

It had to have been the greatest lie you ever told, a fabricated story about a scorned lover. She believed it nonetheless, offering to help you get a change of clothes. Something less covered in blood, you went straight to Lucifer afterwards, carefully hiding what had happened.

Perhaps he trusted you too much, or maybe you were getting better at lying because he didn't question your claim to want to stay on Earth. He seemed thrilled, and you hid your pain with a smile when he embraced you, thankful your new jacket hid the bandages.

~

For months that was the routine, a difficult dance to move to, especially with how close you two were becoming once more. But you'd stop his hands before they could trail up your back in your more heated moments, directed his attention to something else. You were so careful not to let him see your back.

Careful to never let him follow you into the shower. Careful never to sleep on your side, or let him give you a back rub. Always avoiding Chloe, lest she bring up your injuries. You were so careful, for months.

So why had you forgotten to lock the door while you were getting dressed?

"Should we order out again darling? Perhaps from that little coffee shop you so like much? I heard they have a new..."

Lucifer had barged into the bathroom, clad in only his underwear and robe loosely tied as he questioned what you wanted for breakfast. Your whole body froze, mind shutting down as his words came to an abrupt stop. The atmosphere of the room suddenly felt thick, and you could have sworn it became harder to breath.

Lucifer said nothing, staring at your horribly scared back. You held your shirt to your chest, refusing to turn and meet his eye. Worried what emotion you might find. He had moved so quietly, and so quickly that you jumped when his fingers were suddenly grazing your back. Just below the rough skin where your beautiful wings had once been.

"Who did this to you..."

It was more of a soft demand then a question, but you hesitated.

"I... I cut them off..."

He chuckled a dry, humorless chuckle, and he draped his robe over your shoulders. Probably realizing you'd be more comfortable if you could cover your scars. You muttered a thank you and his hands rested on your arms, rubbing soothingly up and down as you grabbed the silk robe, holding it tighter around you.

"Those aren't the scars you get from cutting your wings, I would know. No, those are harsh, angry scars, something tearing wings off would cause. Don't lie to me angel, who did this?"

His grip tightened on your arms ever so slightly, but it wasn’t out of anger, at least not towards you.

"Amenadiel..." Your voice was so faint you barely heard yourself, but judging by the sharp intake of breath, he had heard you just fine.

"What?"

"A punishment... for being with you..."

You caught his reflection in the mirror, the flash of his eyes, his face shifted, just for a moment, but it was enough for you to realize just how angry he truly was.

"Lucifer-"

He turned on his heel, leaving the room and getting dressed in a fury. You approached him cautiously, closing the robe around you and tying it into place.

"What are you doing?"

He finished buttoning his shirt before turning back to you.

"I need you to do me a favor my dear."

A frown pulled at your lips, but you slowly nodded.

"Pray to my brother."

You jerked back as if someone had physically slapped you.

"What?"

"You trust me, don't you?" He smiled, but there was something in his eyes, something that unnerved you.

"Of course."

He seemed so calm, contrary to what he had been just moments ago.

"Then pray to my brother."

He guided you into the living room and stepped just out of sight. You hesitated, shifting your weight from one foot to the other before finally doing as he asked. It only took moments before Amenadiel appeared in front of you.

He'd come so fast, probably expecting you to beg for forgiveness.

You had no idea how vastly unprepared you were to see him again. Your hands trembled, and you held the robe closer around you, taking an unsure step back.

You didn't have time to dwell on it and Amenadiel had no time to say anything before a sickening crack filled the room and the angel was sprawled out on the ground.

"Hello brother."

You blinked slowly, taking a second to catch up with the fact that Lucifer had just delivered a crippling blow to his brother's face and Amenadiel laid dazed on the ground. Blindsided by the unexpected blow. Lucifer gave him no time to recover, picking him up by his neck carelessly throwing him into a wall. You shielded your eyes from the debris flying by.

"I've just had the unpleasant surprise of discovering what you did to my darling little slice of heaven."

You wordlessly watched Amenadiel pull himself out of the now prominent hole in Lucifer's stone wall. He was unsteady on his feet, but that mattered very little to Lucifer who swiftly grabbed his brother's shirt, tossing him across the floor as if he weighed nothing.

"And they call me the devil." Lucifer scoffed.

Amenadiel managed to at least prop himself up with his arms, spitting out a bit of blood.

"You are the devil, Lucifer, and she betrayed heaven by being with you."

Lucifer took a step forward, clearly ready to continue the one-sided fight. But you quickly stepped in front of him, worried he might go to far, if his red eyes were anything to go off of.

"Just let him leave, you made your point. You're flogging a dead horse at this point." You uttered, refusing to glance at the angel pulling himself off the ground.

"She received a punishment fitting her sin and she still crawled back to you."

Your skin bristled at his comment, and you found your unease fading away to anger. You rounded on him so fast you surprised even yourself at the words spilling from your lips.

"My sin!? You think you're a saint, but you're no better than me! It wasn’t sin Amenadiel, it was free will, if humans can have it why can't I?"

Amenadiel narrowed his eyes as he stood, but you didn't back down.

"You sound just like Lucifer."

You found yourself laughing at that, and with a sudden burst of confidence you shoved his chest back a bit. His beating from Lucifer making it slightly easier to do so. Speaking of the devil, he watched you unleash your anger, gazing at you with amusement and satisfaction.

"Good! You know what, I should have sided with him during that rebellion! Because he seemed to have the right idea! Heaven might have been perfect for you, but it was hell to me! I was beneath all of you, an errand girl for you to degrade, treat like shit!"

Lucifer pulled you back a little when he saw the anger in his brother's eyes. You were mortal now after all. You let out a cruel laugh, though there were tears in your eyes.

"Do you want to know the best part it all?"

Your laughter died down, and you gave him a cynical smile.

"I don't owe the Silver City a goddamn thing anymore, you think you were punishing me? You freed me, you and all your kind can go to hell, because if anyone belongs there it certainly isn't Lucifer."

Amenadiel opened his mouth to say something, taking what he probably assumed was a menacing step towards. But Lucifer rested his hands on your shoulders, daring his kin to try something. You didn't seem fazed though.

"Run back home and lick your wounds like the obedient lapdog you are. I'm not wasting any more words on you."

Amenadiel clenched his fists in repressed rage, but said nothing, not in any condition to fight his brother. He was gone in a blink, and you felt all the energy drain out of you. Lucifer caught you as your legs gave out, and he smiled proudly at you.

"You were marvelous love, I'd nearly forgotten how sharp your tongue can be."

You laughed breathlessly, and he brushed your hair away from your eyes.

"How do you feel?"

You smiled up at him, the heavy feeling finally lifting from your shoulders.

"Free."

................................................................................

Tag List: @sallyp-53 @mizzezm @adira-secrets @we-are-all-alittle-strange-here @gingernarwal @im-just-along-for-the-ride @lifeshortbro @measure-in-pain @emiwrites3reads @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @kelly-n-russell @aiofheavenandhell @beththedemonhunter

[ghostietea]

Furuba autistic headcanons

With it being April, or autism acceptance month, I wanted to finally drop my list of characters from Fruits Basket that I read as autistic! This is based a lot on my own experience, as well as that of other autistics I know or have seen talk online. I hope some people can get something out of it, feel free to tell me what you think 😊, though please refrain from getting upset that I would dare suggest your fave is autistic.

Hanajima

Before becoming able to better control her powers, she would be constantly overwhelmed by the things she heard to the point that she couldn't even really go out in public. This reads a lot like sensory overload.

Constantly picked on in school because other kids thought she was weird. Eventually reclaimed this weirdness and turned it into a whole persona.

Seems to talk usually in a relatively flat tone.

Had trouble socializing with no friends outside her family until middleschool.

Has a very funny, dry sense of humor that I find very similar to a bunch of autistics I know, including myself.

Hatsuharu

Listen. You have seen the funky little man, you have seen the way he talks, the way he acts around others. He is, and I mean this in the best way, a weirdo. I do not know how you could look at him and see a neurotypical.

Once again, like Hana, Haru is funny in a way that feels very autistic.

Very flat, dry, tone delivery. Sometimes just Says Things that make everyone else go huh??? Suuuuper blunt. Doesn't emote facially a lot of the time.

When this man sees a social norm he doesn't get he WILL NOT follow it. Pierces his ears just because his hair got flak, defends Momiji wearing whatever he wants because sometimes y'know the social rules are just dumb and don't make sense. Especially dress codes.

Sometimes says things not befitting the current tone of the situation.

Represses (masks) a lot of his emotions, leading to outbursts that seem uncharacteristic.

His main childhood trauma revolves around adults branding him as "dumb" and ridiculing him. Haru, however, is super smart and wise!! Just in an offbeat way that not everyone may get.

Machi

Reads as very "flat" emotionally to the point that others would call her boring. Also has a flat vocal delivery.

Relies on specific habits or ways of doing things or else she gets super upset (her hatred of imperfection.

Has trauma surrounding adults completely misconstruing her intentions and thinking she's doing something malicious when she's not.

Generally behaves in a way that's hard for others to understand, one of her formative moments with Yuki was him saying he wanted to "see how the world looks" through her eyes.

Once again, trouble socializing.

Tries super hard to please her parents but in the end they still see her as somehow inherently "defective."

Listen. A lot of this one and the last two are mostly vibes, hard to verbally define. You just have to look at them and trust me.

Tohru

Displays behavior very reminiscent of masking throughout the story, a huge part of her arc is about how she hides a lot of herself and has a very controlled persona. I think it would fit very well if she had other autistic behaviors that she suppresed also it helps explain why she is relatively socially adept, it's learned behavior to make people like her more.

Yes she is very good at saying what others need to hear, but especially early on she is pretty blatantly imitating her mother's words. She only gets better at getting through on a more personal level later on (see her with Rin and Akito v. early series Tohru). She does this by relating her own experiences, a very autistic way of showing empathy that often gets us written off as self centered. The way she relays things her mom said could also be seen as this, and she even worries at a few points that she's being insensitive for going on about things like that.

While emotionally repressed she is hyper empathetic and feels other's emotions so strongly she cries.

Her speech patterns are all imitated from her father and she often copies verbal things from others (see Ritchan-san). Noted in canon that people think her way of speaking is slightly off/not befitting of someone her age. Additionally, her father was polite more sarcastically, while she plays it straight and sometimes takes things very literally or fails to get the message, indicating trouble with reading tone. Has numerous strange verbal tics, including saying parts of her internal monologue out loud without context.

Very expressive with her hands including waving them around and flapping them up and down.

Does have a bit of trouble with accidental insensitivity in social interactions, like how she constantly fixates on her mom and realizes that might bug the Sohma.

Has trouble paying attention in school since it doesn't have much to do with her interests

Her only friend until she was a middle schooler was her mom

Has a pretty unique outlook on things compared to others, people seem to think she's pretty eccentric. There's always a "this girl is nice but in an odd way, she's our weirdo and we love her" vibe.

Sometimes has an "inappropriate" emotional response to situations

Has a lot of trouble with change, similar to Akito. Which oh, look at the time, next hc coming up.

But first, a disclaimer. It is cathartic for me to read Akito this way, but with that reading comes the baggage that she would, mayhaps, be showing a more negative side of things... It doesn't bother me since it's a joint hc with other characters and she does develop at the end but yeah, general villain hc baggage. This is in no way me trying to excuse her being The Worst being autistic doesn't absolve you of being able to do wrong . Also, a lot of these points can and do have other explanations related to her upbringing, but things can be for more than 1 reason. With that said, she really strongly comes off as autistic to me, in a way that's sorta hard to explain. I wrote a lot more for her than the other, both because I felt I needed more to convince people and that this headcanon was more sensitive and I needed to be careful in my explanation. Also hey! She's my special interest within a special interest.

Akito

Shown to have a dislike of summer weather due to heat and brightness, could be due to sensory issues in tandem with sickness things. Also covers her ears when people raise their voice sometimes which is partially her trying to shut down opposition but also 🤔 can read a different way. She'd also avoids louder Juuni like Ritsu and Ayame because she can't handle them.

Wears pretty much the same outfit every single day. Said outfit is also pretty loose fitting.

Always seen sitting in a pretty unconventional way. Evidence:

Of course this is also the isolated in a cult thing and there is a level of her purposefully doing things to intimidate but: doesn't follow a lot of social rules (overly touchy with strangers, legit doesn't get that what she's doing is wrong, ect.). Repeatedly confused when people indicate she should act otherwise without explanation. Has a breakdown when this comes to a head and approximately says that "they" shouldn't expect her to know "common sense" if "they" never explained it to her, that the way that she was was her "common sense."

Often talks in a way uncharacteristic of her age when shown as a child in a more faux mature/pretentious way. Might just be the translation and idk how to explain it but her speech as an adult also seems off from what one would normally use in conversation. Additionally, when she tries to fake being friendly in her intro chapter, it comes of as extremely stiff and unconvincing.

Generally displays behavior that could be thought of as childish as an adult, but a lot of this behavior could also read as autistic (covering ears, emotional deregulation and meltdowns, ignorance of basic social norms, ect.). It's also important to note that she knows that this behavior makes her seem younger and more helpless to the older zodiac and uses it as a manipulation tactic. Has issues regarding people treating her like a child or only hanging out with her because of pity. While she does weaponize it, we can tell that this grates on her, as seen with her finally blowing up on Kureno, which is partially triggered by the maids saying some sorta infantalizing stuff about her. Irl, a lot of autistic adults and teens struggle with being infantalized for our behavior generally or treated as little babies that can do no wrong. Even in fandom, you see people doing stuff like jumping to call autistic adult characters, such as Entrapta from Shera, "minor coded." It is also common for us to have at least one bad experience with someone hanging around us out of pity. This is something that really gave me a similar feeling in Akito's arc. She's not a baby and she can understand and do better if she is given the chance to learn and break from all the freaky cult indoctrination she's been subjected to instead of just being constantly enabled. In the end, a lot of her growth is represented by her showing that she is capable of changing and being independent.

Shows particular difficulty with socialization, often sits by herself spacing out at social events. A lot of her fear is rooted in the fact that she doesn't know how normal relationships work, becoming overly reliant on the curse because she doesn't know how to make friends.

Clings desperately onto the notion of being "special" and in some way superior to others to be worthy and to make up for perceived inherent "flaws." It's the nd gifted kid burnout vibes for me.

Easily bothered by things that don't bother others. Feels emotions very strongly to the point of getting physically ill and has bad emotional regulation.

Relatively good at reading others in an analytical sense (though has more trouble when it comes to seeing how they feel about her since she's wildly delusional) but brings up her observations in a very cold, detached way and hurts people even on the rare occasion she didn't mean to. Has extreme trouble connecting to others and understanding their point of view. This makes her come off as pretty unempathetic even though that might not fully be the case. Also thinks that people like Momiji are trying to look down on her when they try to empathize with her. A lot of why Tohru can get through to her is that she manages to convince Akito that she's not condescending by relating shared traits and experiences. As I said earlier, autistics often empathize by sharing their own experiences with someone, and I know I often have an easier time confiding in other autistics because of a fear of being seen as lesser by those that don't understand me. I think the connection between these charachters and the way that Tohru manages to reach Akito like that while others couldn't makes a lot of sense through an autistic lense!

Additionally, when Akito herself gets around to trying to help others instead of just projecting trauma, she tries to reach out to the old maid by relating back to her own experiences. This however, doesn't work.

Has "cold" emotional reactions sometimes even to things that do make her upset. For example, how sort of calm and detached she acted after her father's death can make her seem uncaring. However, we know that this event did mess her up a lot and she is still (poorly) dealing with a lot of grief from the death of her father years later.

Copies mannerisms from others, the most blatant example is with Ren, who she directly parrots lines from as a child to Yuki.

Partly just her posturing, but gestures a lot with her hands when she talks. Also seen several times clutching her hands in her hair.

Deals extremely poorly with the idea of things changing to the point that it is a driving force of the story.

Does not understand when people tease her.

Ect. Ect. Ect. Listen, I could go on for ages but just trust me, the mean gremlin lady is autistic.

[ellsbclls]

" wow... you look... you look amazing. " for peter please? i love love love ur writing btw!

NOTE: This... ended up so embarrassingly long... i don't even know what the word count is, but i can bet it's a good 20%-30% longer than the average blurb.

WARNINGS: cursing, quirky🤪 mentions of drug use, implied making out (but can be perceived as sex, dear god please don’t perceive it as sex though), and some good ol’ fashion stark!ready x peter parker banter

They say, "never meet your heroes." Well, Peter wished he had adhered to that warning before he ended up here — a lanky, overdressed thumb towering high above the roof of the Avenger's Compound.

A semi-annual assembly of New York City's finest heroes that had little to do with their civic duties, and much to do with their inhibitions, and just how much alcohol it would take to release them — but there was one glaring problem.

Peter didn't drink.

He never saw the allure, especially when it came at such a high risk. He'd convinced himself that he refrained for the sake of Aunt May, the only remaining part of his family who put her life on the line to ensure his safety and overall well-being — the Spider-Man reveal already took some getting used to, he didn't need to add drunken night expenditures to her overnight fretting. Yet, when Flash's 'End of the Year' party had been raided by the police, a small part of him found joy in knowing he needn't fear the police or their breathalyzer test, even if he was deemed Pussy Parker for the remainder of that summer.

Even if he wanted to instill some liquid courage into himself, he hadn't the basic courage to let himself be vulnerable like that, in front of all the adults that made up the Avengers. Mr.Stark had already commented on his only suit, and how small he looked as it swamped his form, and the entire altercation made him wish the roof would just open up and swallow him whole.

Bullies, you'd call them.

There they were, New York's finest Defender's, huddled around the Mastrangelo like it couldn't put their entire life savings to shame, hosting a rousing game of beer pong upon its marble exterior. Your father was lucky your mother was still in Milan, tying up loose ends on a new line of bullshit you didn't concern yourself with. You just counted the days until she returned home, and you could soak up every ounce of her nurturing presence.

God, did you miss her.

It’s not like your father wasn’t just as nurturing, competitively so, to a point were you almost felt smothered — but you were too alike. In spaces where you both held too stubborn, your mother was there to mediate, and with ceaseless barrages of dry humor came her firm, unwavering severity, proving her love with candid remarks instead of jesting quips.

“Oh, free intern!” He dragged you from your nostalgic supercut with your endearing nickname, coaxing a fierce glare from your hues. “Run down to that place on 7th street and get some beer? And not that Miller Coor’s Bud bullshit, the upper echelon on Sigma Delta Nu delicacies.”

Jesus Christ.

You had caught glimpses of his argument with Steve, complaining about how stupid it would be to pour anything top shelf into a red solo cup — blasphemous really — but you didn’t expect him to do anything more than concede.

"Father of the year, everybody." You clapped just above your head, prompting the remaining company to join you. "I think you're forgetting that I'm not twenty-one."

"First and foremost, I know I am," Tony counters your triumphant grin with a sarcastic one. "Which is how I know that your fake ID says 21."

"Stark, it's fine. I can grab the beer," You thanked God and her impeccable timing once Steve interrupted, settling himself between the two of you with outstretched palms. "I could use the fresh air anyway."

You mimicked Steve's stance, cocking your brows toward your father. "See? Problem solved. Now leave me alone."

Losing interest in the company exponentially, you started to retreat, but groaned once your father's voice pierced the air again. "Nuh-uh-uh, Rogers. Why? So you can go to the nearest GNC and snort a container of protein powder? I don't think so."

You retreat to the furthest recesses of your mind as Tony and Steve bicker back and forth about honesty and friendly competition. Steve wouldn't know how to bump a rail if the U.S Army assembled a thorough, interactive training course on it, and his age quadrupled the life expectancy of most snow-packed socialites. Yet, on the other hand, you were shocked that your father even knew what a GNC was — ultimately, you were riled from your thoughts by an irksome realization.

"Are you fucking- Why can't old man Jenkins do it?" you gestured wildly toward the enhanced super soldier in question, blind to the obvious offense scrawled across his features. You seldom took your opulent lineage for granted, but when situations such as these presented themself, a selfish corner of your mind wondered what it would be like to have a run-of-the mill, cheesy-pun equipped, golf short wearing father. "You'd rather risk your daughter's own safety, and the sanctity of her criminal record, for a stupid game of beer pong?"

Natasha's incredulous laughter chimed between your incessant back and forth, spurred by the uncanny resemblance you and your father shared between every aspect imaginable — your dry wit just so happened to be in the spotlight.

"Yes," He didn't bother to meet your glare, already familiar with its scorching beam against the side of his face "Yes I would."

Hues practically rolled into the back of your skull, exaggerating your every move to a thespian level to make it clear, to even the boniest of heads, that you didn't take pleasure in this task. You were so excited to finally unwind at this event — slam down the sugary mocktail your Uncle Thor always "forgot" to order virgin, dangle your feet over the shallow end of the pool, maybe even shoot a few low jests at Bucky if there wasn't a carnal gleam in his eyes.

Your thrilling plans were now put on hold just to support your father's mid-life crisis.

"I know, I know." He tried to repeat the name of the wine stop n’ shop, only for you to wave him off. He wasn’t wrong — you had been abusing your fake ID in that very stop n’ shop for years, though you’ve recently come to the conclusion that the cashier was far more interested in your chest than your credentials. "If I get arrested, I'm bring you down with me. I'll tell Business Insider that FRIDAY's just one, big elaborate ruse for the underground Fake ID business you have on the side. They'll eat it up like-"

"Love you, honey! I'll venmo you!" He butt in, sending you off with a wave of his fingers.

You flipped him off, shouting an earnest 'I love you' in return. There was no denying that you loved each other, some would even argue that he loved you more than he loved himself — you just chose to show it in your own, eccentric way.

Mere seconds into your newfound task, you stopped dead in your tracks. You could make out that bed of chestnut locks anywhere.

"Parker?" Swiftly surveying his frumpy attire, you struggled to stifle the upward tilt of your lips. Even as he stood uncomfortably before you, visibly seconds away from crawling out of his own skin, he still managed to be the sweet, endearing Peter you knew and loved. "God, I didn't even realize that was you."

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you caught one fleeting glimpse of him at the very beginning of the festivities and thought he was a part of the catering company, nor did you feel a need to disclose the snide remark you whispered into your father's ear about the miserable staff. There was no sense in kicking a dead horse while it was already down.

His gaze weighed heavy against your frame, though, bolstered by an overwhelming intensity that forced you to wonder if he could read your mind. Though, if you could tap into his thoughts, you'd be shocked to find a reflection of your own — bewilderment, adoration, the tell-tale signs of a burgeoning crush, and the myriad of excuses that disputed them.

He could only manage to stumble over his words, complimenting you with sentiments that could never amount to the emotions welling in his chest. "Wow... you look... you look amazing."

And you couldn't argue, not with the way you were pampered hours prior. Mercier had smothered your hair in this honey-infused serum that made your curls bounce to life with each step, and the custom Jacquemus silhouette you were sporting hugged every ample curve enticingly so. You felt like a million bucks, and you probably cost that much give or take, so why deny it?

Peter, on the other hand — Well, he was very lucky that he was so cute, and his jawline could probably cut Vision's infinity stone straight out of his skull. It almost made up for the tragic shape of his suit, and just how tragically out of place it was at this event.

"You look, um-" Softness tugged at the corner of your eyes as they crinkled dotingly. "You look very cute."

"That was a very convincing half-truth." He chuckled, a subtle pink hue blooming over the valleys of his cheeks."

"Oh, so a part of you knows you're cute." You teased, enjoying the way the pink hue grew deeper.

"Oh! Oh, no... No, I mean, kind of? On the scale of confident perspectives, I think-uh-cute... Cute is on the lower end? And you know what? My Aunt May-"

"Peter, you wanna get out of here?" You interrupted him, hoping to save him from all the words he had yet to stumble over. "And then immediately come back?"

"Yeah," He vigorously nodded his head, despite being equally as confused. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Come," You offered your hand, a small gesture the two of you have woven into your complicated relationship. 

You'd tend to straddle a very thin line between friendship and something more, reaping all the warm, tentative affections of newfound lovers without explicitly considering yourselves so. The both of you, for as brilliant as your merits show, continued to convince yourselves that the hand holding, the comfortable silences, the mornings plastered against each other's sides, were simply happenstance. Despite the increasing willingness of each encounter, you'd only ever chalk it up to chance. So when you offered your hand out to him, he took it in stride — because the two of you would indulge in every ounce of attention you could get your hands on, at least until one of you inevitably came to your senses and found someone worth your time.

Your fingers were firmly intertwined as you led him to the roof’s exit, tugging him down the staircase and through the vacant halls of the top floor just in time to catch the elevator. You found no reason to keep his hand hostage once you were inside, so you begrudgingly retracted yours. You swore you could hear a pitiful huff come from his side of the elevator, but you chalked it up to wishful thinking. 

Now it was just you and Peter, left to your own devices, and roughly ninety-two floors away from your destination. Just enough time to do what you were aching to do.

“Peter,” You murmured, and his gaze flickered to your own without a moment of hesitation, drenched in a hopeful haze you failed to decipher.

“Y/N?” He echoed, tilting his body toward your own.

“You look...” You paused, unsure of which word accurately portrayed your thoughts. ”insane.”

“I know.” He whined. You tried to stifle the giggle that bubbled at his hopeless demeanor, brows furrowed together as he squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders slumped impossible low.

“It’s a good thing you have such a charitable friend.” And you made light work of his suit jacket, the air suddenly rapt with a thick air of electricity as you worked the offending article off his shoulders, haphazardly tossing it on the ground. Protests formed on the tip of his tongue, but he opted to swallow them in return for your help, going slack when you ran your fingers through his meticulously gelled hair.

Though he embodied the vision of a suave, debonair socialite alarmingly well, with his carefully quaffed locks, nothing suited him as well as the pillowy, fawn tendrils that made up his soft curls. You needed them back, needed a reminder of your sweet, darling boy, and patience was never your strong suit. 

You wondered if he was in need of the same reminder, seeing as he’d let you manhandle him without so much as a hum of discontent.

All done. Only a few revisions, and he was a completely different boy. Clad in a crisp, white shirt, sans its horrifying grey counterpart, you rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top three discs. The fabric was taut against his impressive set of muscles, leaving little to the imagination with each sweeping roll of his arms. You’d pat yourself on the back, but you were too busy drooling all over your work.

“Is- Is this good?” He broke the silence with a tentative query, peering back at you through his lashes.

"Yeah,” You voice came out strangled at best, distracted by the flurry of butterflies ravaging your stomach. There was something about this moment — maybe it was the glint of tenderness ridding his gaze, or your tight proximity, or maybe it was fate, finally persuading you to topple over that dangerous line — but regardless, you decided it was now or never. “but there's still something missing," 

“My jacket?” He breathlessly queried. His eyes frantically searched your face, like he couldn’t settle on just one feature to admire.

“No, no...” You breathed back, cautiously inching closer, until there was only a sliver of space separating your chests. "You need to loosen up, Parker."

“And what- What do you suggest I do?” His gaze flickered down to your lips shamelessly, and returned just as quickly. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

“Good,” You sighed, your breath fanning over his lips before you greedily chased its warmth, kissing him with such feather-light pressure, it almost felt like a dream — a thrilling, delicate dream. You had to tear yourself from his lips before you delved even deeper, hoping to find a mirror image of your relief, your satisfaction, in his own features. However, before your eyes even fluttered open, his palms swept under the curve of your jaw, and coaxed your mouth back to his, instantly qualming any of your fears as you both melted into the exchange. He tasted of spearmint, and cherries, and something so intoxicatingly him that you could barely restrain yourself.

You wanted him, God, did you want him, and for the first time, someone wanted you just as much, without an ounce of greed to it — He wanted you for you.

The remaining seconds of the elevator ride were filled with fervent kisses, and wandering hands, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck while his bunched the silky fabric of your dress. It was all smitten, indulgent brushes of your lips until the elevator dinged, and the doors opened up to reveal the fashionably late, dynamic duo —Sam Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes.

Their expressions were nothing short of priceless, one complexion green while the other ran pale at the sight of your interwoven limbs. You tried to open your mouth before they could comment, but you were far too late, buried in a booming wall of—

"This is a public space! You are defiling a public space!"

"I can't do this— I'm gonna take the stairs."

Their voices weaved into a messy, irritated harmony of disbelief, managing to still complement each other despite their varying levels of urgency.

An idea, a selfish, evil idea, popped into your head, and you enacted it before you could even unravel yourself from Peter’s hold.

"You just reminded me, I was about to text you! My dad needs a couple cases of Yuengling.” You gestured for Peter to press on the “Open Door” button, and by the time he started clicking the prompt, you’d already fetched your wallet, fishing your card out for Sam. “They probably have some at the corner store, but he’ll throw up if he finds out he was drinking alcohol from the corner store, so you’re gonna have to walk down to that market on Seventh.” You could feel Peter’s perplexed gaze gnaw at your shoulder, but you persisted in your impish pursuits, shoving the AmEx into his hand. 

“Chop chop, lover boys!” You hastily snapped your fingers in his direction, and yelled just loud enough to make sure Bucky accompanied him, parsing their punishment out evenly. 

Served them right, encroaching on such a perfect moment. 

Bucky’s groan echoed through the stairwell, followed by a childish stomp of combat boots, and you were pleased enough to shoo Peter’s hand away, pressing the “Close Door” button.

Sometimes it was nice being Tony Stark’s daughter — less backtalk from the sovereign throne of comebackdom.

“I thought you said we were getting out of here.” His brows were pinched together, the most adorable little frown forming between them.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” You replied, pressing the button for your floor. You could tell that the pieces weren’t clicking all the way, and you proceeded to spell it out for him, dropping a chaste kiss to the spot just below his ear. “We’re gonna go to my room. And then we’re gonna go right back to the party when we’re done.”

“When we’re done?” He mused, voice wavering beneath the soft caress of your lips, scattering even more tentative kisses down the column of his neck.

“When we’re done.” You parroted back, meeting his downward gaze through your lashes.”I think you still have some loosening up to do.”

[fett-djarin]

I posted this on the wrong blog omfg and i didnt realize til this morning but HI ITS PAZ TIME

Paz Vizsla x f!reader

Rating: 18+

Length: 3k Tags: Brief description of injury/blood, thigh riding, fingering, riding, multiple orgasms, creampies, cockwarming, please tell me if i missed anything!!!

NSFW under the cut!

When Paz visited, you knew you were in for a long night.

Usually a long night of steamy, messy sex that left you unable to walk straight the next day.

Tonight was a little different.

There was a heavy rap on your door that startled you awake from where you had been dozing on and off while watching holodramas. You pushed yourself up, nearly running to the door at the knock again. You pulled it open, expecting Paz, but you were surprised--it was Paz, but he had a hand pressed to his side, over the thick leather and padded cloth that covered where the beskar didn’t, and he leaned heavily against the doorframe to your apartment.

“Hey, mesh’la,” Paz greeted you, voice strained. Dark red seeped around his gloves.

“Paz!”  You grabbed his elbow, wiggling under his arm in an attempt to support some of his weight. Like you could do much for a heavy artillery Mandalorian warrior easily weighing 300 pounds with the armor on, but you would try.

You stumbled into your apartment, kicking the door shut behind you. Paz’s massive frame dwarfed your own and he leaned heavily on you, which never happened even when the big  Mandalorian showed up injured. Then again, no injury before seemed as serious as this one. He collapsed on to your couch with a groan, hand still pressed tight to the wound on his side.

You scrambled to your fresher, pulling out the medkit you kept stocked for cases like this--albeit, it was only a medkit, and you weren’t a medic or properly prepared to deal with an injury more than a shallow blaster burn. You knelt on the floor next to the couch, encouraging him to let you remove the blue-painted beskar plates, laying them aside on the floor. You frowned the blaster residue and new scuffs on them.

"Let me see." You placed your hand over his, pressed against his side.

He grunted in response.

"Let me see," you repeated, urging him to move his hand and you sucked in a tight breath at the ragged wound in the flesh of his side. "What happened?" You couldn't stop your horrified whisper.

"Vibroblade. Didn't--" he huffed. "Didn't see him behind me." His voice was raspy.

You cut away what you could of the fabric--the less damaged sections proving too thick for your little scissors. Stars, how was he still standing? It wasn't too long, but it was deep.

Paz breathed a deep sigh, seemingly relaxing into your couch.

"Hey, hey, stay awake. Paz, stay with me," you shook his arm, making him groan. "I know. But you can't sleep. Not yet."

The medkit tipped, spilling its contents across the ground. A bacta shot. It was small, not enough to close the whole wound, but enough to help. At the very least, slow the bleeding and ease the pain. It was your best starting point.

"Paz, I'm gonna give you a shot, okay? Don't punch me," you said, trying to be as gentle as possible. He hissed, large fists clenching as you administered the shot. When you smeared bacta gel along the raw edges, his heavy hand landed on your shoulder, squeezing hard enough to make you wince. The shot had slowed the bleeding like you had hoped, so the remaining gel should do the trick for the rest...so you laid a patch over it, and now all you could do was wait. A wound of that size would take a few days to heal without stronger bacta or a professional medic's care, but as long as Paz didn't die--in your apartment!--you knew he would be okay.

He better be, because how in the hells would you explain the corpse of a Mandalorian hunter on your couch.

“Fierfek,” Paz grumbled. You nudged the spilled medkit supplies out of the way with your leg, scooting closer on your knees and laying your head on his thigh, beskar cool against your cheek. Paz murmured your name. His hand came up, stroking over your hair and cheek, helmet rolled to the side so he could look at you. “Thank you.”

You caught his hand, twining your fingers together. “Of course.” You shuffled closer, so you could press your forehead to his helmet in a gentle Keldabe kiss. “Feeling better?”

“Now that the imminent threat of death has passed, yes.” Good, he must not be lying if his sarcastic dry humor was already making a reappearance. “You look good on your knees for me, mesh’la.”

“Paz.”

He chuckled, then winced as his side ached. You tutted, smoothing your hand across his chest in a soothing gesture. You could feel his eyes on you through the dark T-visor of his helmet.

“Can you blame me?” He tapped you under the chin with his forefinger, thumb rolling over your lower lip. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, pushing to your feet and planting a kiss on his helmet. He caught you around the hips, tugging you down on top of him. You squawked in indignation, terrified of hurting him, but he maneuvered you in a way that you fell on his uninjured side, half on top of his broad body and sandwiched between him and the back of your couch.

“Don’t hurt yourself!”

“Don’t insult me, cyar’ika,” Paz chuckled. His touch swept down your spine and he palmed a handful of your ass. “Was looking forward to seeing you...not exactly like this.” You were no match for the strength of the heavy artillery Mandalorian, so you resigned yourself to your fate of cuddling. Not that you minded, but you also couldn’t help but worry over the freshly-dressed wound on his side. Instead, you settled into his side, laying your head on his chest, which was currently free of beskar--a rare occurrence outside of your bed.

He continued to massage your asscheek, occasionally dipping dangerously lower and brushing against your clothed pussy from behind. You couldn’t help but squirm against him, feeling the spark of arousal flutter to life in your belly. He hummed, pulling you tighter against him, and you were practically sprawled across his chest. One of his thick thighs pressed between yours and you bit your lip to smother your sharp gasp. Your hands curled into fists in his undershirt.

Paz hummed, adjusting his body--probably would give the excuse of getting more comfortable--but it pressed the firm muscle of his thigh harder against you. It drew a little whine from you and he chuckled darkly. He used his hold on your hips to press you down, dragging your cunt against his thigh.

“Something you like there, mesh’la?” You could hear the grin in his voice.

Paz had been so serious when you first met. Gruff, intimidating...he towered over you, and honestly scared you half to death with his looming silent warrior persona, but once you two had worked together for a bit and you grew more comfortable with each other, he turned into a giant goofball. Sometimes when he put on his serious-scary-Mandalorian front when dealing with a quarry you forgot that that was how most people knew Paz. Nobody got to see the warmth underneath.

Right now, though, the way the muscle of his thigh dragged against your clit through your pants sent sparks dancing up your spine.

“Y-you’re hurt...don’t--” your breath left you and you stuttered as he rocked your hips down.

“Guess you’ll have to be on top, then, huh?”

You felt heat fill your face, wetness pooling in your underwear. You tugged the cloth covering his neck to the side so you could suck a mark into his skin, feeling the rumble of his groan under your lips. He smelled good, something earthy and the tang of plasma and something uniquely Paz. His thick arousal pressed into your thigh as you rocked against him.

“Kiss me?” Your voice was high, far needier than you wanted to seem. You pressed your nose into his neck, rubbing your thigh against his erection, which made him buck and growl. He paused, focusing on your face, and you obediently, deliberately shut your eyes, holding still. After a few moments you felt him shift around, and then warm breath was ghosting across your face and a hot tongue traced your lower lip.

You opened for him with a whimper, and Paz immediately turned it filthy, his tongue sliding into your mouth and tasting yours, swallowing all of the sweet little noises you made. His hand curled into your hair, guiding your head to where he wanted it, lips caressing yours and deepening the kiss. It was wet, hot, and made your core ache for more.

“Please,” you whispered.

He broke away from you with a huff of laughter. He lowers his helmet back in place and taps your chin, telling you you could open your eyes. “What was that, pretty thing? You’re beggin’ already and we just got started.”

He worked his hands under the waistband of your shorts, running down the front of your panties and brushing over your clit. You moaned as he began stroking soft circles over the cloth. You whined his name when he nudged your panties to the side and ran his thick fingers through your dripping slit, teasing lightly at your entrance.

You groaned at the loss of his fingers, but he tipped them up under his helmet and your eyes snapped shut out of instinct. You knew he was licking them clean and you shuddered on top of him. He was suddenly encouraging you to lift your hips and tugged your pants and panties down in one motion. You straddled his waist, his erection now pressed right to your weeping slit and giving you some much needed friction, but still nearly not enough.

You squirmed on top of him, rocking your hips down, the cold beskar of his codpiece sending a shock through you. He chuckled at your neediness.

“Calm down, baby. Gotta get you ready first.” His deep voice purring underneath you made you clench around nothing. He pulled his gloves off, fingers returning to your cunt, dipping down to your entrance. Paz slid two knuckle-deep into your wet heat, making you whine at the stretch. Fuck, his fingers were thick. Nothing in comparison to his cock though. He always took time to get you ready for him. He would be rough anywhere else you wanted him to be, but sometimes you wished he would just sink you down on his cock and make you take it, make that stretch bite and ache that much more brightly.

You tipped forward onto his chest, mouthing at his neck as the heel of his palm ground against your clit, his fingers curling into that bright spot inside you that made your legs tremble around him.

“You’re needy. So wet for me, cyar’ika.”

Your voice wavered as you answered, “Yeah, I’m the needy one, when you came here hurt and practically pulled me on top of you as soon as--” you yelped as his large hand laid a sharp smack on your ass, massaging the sting into a radiating warmth that made you want more. His fingers pressed into you faster, your nails digging in through his undershirt. Oh, that tightness was building inside you, shivers dancing up your spine as Paz brought you higher and higher. The way the heel of his palm rolled just right against your clit was driving you towards the edge, mouth falling open with a desperate whimper.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His voice was gruff, dropped even lower and you felt the rumble of it bones-deep.

“More, more, please--” You wiggled on top of him, trying to grind your hips down just so in time with the movement of his hand. He stopped altogether and you let out a frustrated noise.

“Please, Paz, please make me cum,” you whined into his neck, biting lightly and soothing it over with your tongue. “Let me cum on your hand.”

He clicked his tongue at you, and your pussy clenched around his fingers, still inside you. “You beg so prettily. Should I let you? Or should I make you beg some more?”

You let out a desperate moan, shaking your head where your face was buried at the juncture of his shoulder. “Been good, Paz, please….”

He hummed, seemingly mulling it over. “You have been good, sweet girl.” His fingers began moving again, thrusting in and out of you at a languid pace. It wasn’t fast, but it hit that spot deep inside you that made you see stars. “Go on then. Cum on my fingers.” You let out a relieved groan, which quickly turned into a high-pitched noise when he abruptly thrust his fingers deep, grinding his hand against your clit. Oh, fuck.

He did it again, and again, picking up speed each time, until you were quivering around him. His voice was rough, low and dark in your ear, and it felt like he reached in your body and grabbed your orgasm right out of you when he demanded that you cum, now.

It spread warmth from your core, down your legs and up your back, toes curling and legs shaking. His fingers continued moving in and out of you slowly, gently working you through the waves of pleasure while you clenched around him, until you jolted, riding the fine razor’s edge of overstimulation. The obscene slick noise as he pulled his fingers from you made you whimper, core clenching around nothing.

His fingers prodded at your lips, and it was his turn to let out a moan when you took them in your mouth, licking them clean and tasting yourself. You sucked on his fingers, running your tongue along every ridge and dip like it was his cock in your mouth instead. He pulled his spit-soaked fingers from your mouth, moving down to undo his codpiece and fling it aside. “Filthy girl.”

His thick erection slid through your folds. You sighed, rolling your hips, coating him in your slick. Shit, he was big. He always made sure you were prepared beforehand, but were you ever really completely prepared? You braced yourself on your knees and lifted your hips. Paz guided himself to your soaked entrance and you sucked in a harsh breath at the first stretch around the head of his cock. You’ve taken him before, dozens of times, but each time it felt like he would never fit completely. The push of his cock through your cunt, inch by inch, made your legs begin to shake as you took him deeper. He reached that spot deep inside of you, pressed right against the patch of nerves that sent raw electricity through you. You sank down on him slowly, little fretful noises pulled from your throat, as his hands ran up and down your sides in a soothing motion.

“There you go, baby, look at that,” he breathed out as your hips came flush with his. He ran his hand down your tummy, pressing lightly just above your pubic bone, making the tight fit of his cock in you even sharper, pulling a wrecked moan from you. “Yeah? Feel me right here?” His thumb stroked teasing lines below your bellybutton, and you clenched around him, making another noise at the feeling of him so deep inside you. “Take me so well, mesh’la, fuck.”

You tentatively rocked your hips, lifting up an inch and slowly coming back down. Fuck, that feeling was devastating. You wouldn’t last long. Paz’s hands settled on your hips, encouraging you to rise up on your knees and drop back down. It started slow, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside you, but his grip became more demanding. You may have been on top, but Paz was in control; lifting and pulling you down like you weighed nothing. You leaned forward slightly, now thrusting back into him, and you almost shrieked at the new angle.

This way, each thrust of his cock in your wet heat drilled that sensitive spot inside you with deadly precision. His touch was greedy, working you faster and harder, the slick sounds of your wetness dripping out of you and coating his cock only easing the way he filled you. The sound of skin meeting skin made you pulse around him and he bit out a rough groan at a particularly tight squeeze of your pussy around him. His breathing was coming faster and you were nearly boneless in his arms, head tipped back in pleasure.

“Fuck, you gonna cum again, pretty baby?” One of his large palms gripped your ass, pressing tight enough you knew you would have five fingertip-sized circular bruises tomorrow. You nodded wordlessly, and he took the opportunity to thrust up into you, wrenching a loud moan from your throat. His other hand dipped down to rub fast little circles over your clit, pulling you roughly down into him. Sparks of electricity ran though you and you seized up tight, reaching that high and being thrown right off it. Your orgasm wracked through your entire body, pulling a sound from Paz like he had been punched as you pulsed around him, impossibly tighter.

The debilitating waves of ecstasy washed over you, making you tremble in his grasp. Paz pulled you down to his chest and wrapped his arms around you, holding you while you squirmed and shook. You bit down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and he thrust into you hard, cumming deep with a gravelly growl of your name. His warm release in you made you shudder again, clinging tightly to him. Your chest heaved, catching your breath, eyes closed with exhaustion.

“Keep your eyes closed, cyare.” Paz murmured in your ear. You nodded, cheek squished against his chest, tucked under his chin. You felt his soft lips caress your hairline, then your cheeks, and you tilted your head up for a sweet kiss to your lips. Paz shifted under you and you made a noise of discontent, clinging closer to him.

“Lay with me,” he said. His voice came filtered through the modulator, helmet back in place.

You sighed, settling in, hitching a breath at the way it shifted his cock still inside your sensitive core. “Like I could move anyway.” Good thing he was a space heater.

Paz just chuckled, wrapping his big arms around you, holding you to his chest. “Get some rest.”

“You should too,” you mumbled, closing your eyes, pressing a final kiss into his skin.

[ateezmakemeweep]

mingi x reader x wooyoung

word count: 25k

angst, smut

(part 1)

even before your relationship with wooyoung ended the way it did, you always wondered what drove people to cheat? did they just never care from the start, basing the relationship off lies and fake smiles, or did something happen down the line? 

were there problems that only one person could see and didn’t feel comfortable enough talking about to the other? did they feel neglected or unloved, like they needed to seek out that affection and validation elsewhere?

or did they really just have no regard for another person, selfishly occupied with their own pleasures and needs while realizing, maybe, they didn’t care if they hurt the person or not.

if you asked your ex-boyfriend, he’d say it was none of the above - he’d say that it simply just happened.

that one second, he was in love with you and the next, he somehow found himself in a whirlwind of kisses and touches behind closed doors with someone who wasn’t you.

that while he knew it was wrong and unfair to you, a part of him felt like he couldn’t stop. like he could keep up this affair of being a sweet, loving boyfriend but also someone another person found desirable and attractive.

enjoyed the rush and thrill of doing something forbidden, even though it felt wrong.

but of course, he didn’t tell you any of this; you hadn’t talked to him since he cried outside of his dorm building begging you for another chance. 

the same way you cried on the whole ride home and into your pillow that night, the night after that, and the night after that for about two whole months.

you can even admit, looking back at it now, eight months later, that you handled the breakup in a very cliche way: crying into a box of chocolates in bed and swearing that love didn’t exist. it was sad to you then, to believe so young that what you once felt was the best feeling in the world didn’t exist.

but the more time went on, the more you saw maybe you’d jumped the gun on that.

because just a few short weeks after the breakup, blocking wooyoung on every form of social media and telling your parents to never allow him in the house, you heard a knock at your door.

you approached it warily, eyeing the spray bottle on the counter and debating on arming yourself with that, before you saw a tall, familiar head through the glass window that definitely wasn’t your ex’s.

“how do you know where i live?” was the first question out of your mouth, not being able to keep the bite out of your tone or annoyance from crossing your face at mingi’s dejected form in front of you.

he had tried to talk to you the first few days after the incident, begging you to just hear him out and insist he never wanted you to feel stupid or in the dark; but that’s exactly how you felt. 

how could you not, after knowing everyone in wooyoung’s life knew about him and lisa except you? everyone who saw you and him together, looked you in the face and smiled at you two together, while also being fully aware of what him and another girl were doing.

“nice to see you too,” mingi said, his hand toying at the back of his hair nervously, an awkward smile creeping up on his face as he tries to lighten the tense mood.

but you’re only a few weeks out of the gate of being cheated on and humiliated, the boy in front of you harboring that information until it all blew it up in your face in the most upsetting way; so you can only roll your eyes and slam the door in his.

or at least attempt to, before his foot slips through the open space and halts it.

“y/n, wait-”

“no, mingi. i have nothing else to say to you.”

“i know and i don’t blame you,” the boy says, his soft, kind voice a stark contrast to his large, looming appearance. “but you deserve an apology. just give me ten minutes to try and explain.”

you bite the inside of your cheek as you look up at mingi, annoyance flooding through your veins as you’re tempted to tell him to go fuck himself. that no explanation is gonna excuse him harboring that knowledge for months. 

and he must know it too, because his face twists into one of remorse as he mutters a quietly spoken “please.”

and a small part of you knows he’s not the one who deserves this harsh reaction. he’s not the one who cheated and betrayed your trust; he had some allegiance to you, sure, being that he was your friend, but not as much as wooyoung did. 

he didn’t promise to love you and assure you there was nothing to worry about that. that he only had eyes for you and wouldn’t even think about betraying your trust or affections. he didn’t look you in the face and promise he’d never hurt you because he loved you more than anyone.

and even so, he looks almost as pathetic and desperate as your ex did when he was begging you for a second chance.

“five,” you snap shortly, backing away from the door and watching as mingi’s eyes light up in surprise.

he gives you a small smile that would usually soften your heart but only proves to make you raise an eyebrow, leading him to the living room where he fills you in on the truth about the past six months.

how when they first kissed at a random party, wooyoung was shitfaced and didn’t even remember the next morning; it was lisa showing him a picture her friend had snapped in the span of a few seconds that reminded him, guilt flooding through him as he told the girl that could never happen again.

but it did end up happening again. when wooyoung wasn’t shitfaced and lisa was there in his dorm alone.

“he said that lisa was crying, something about feeling alone and upset, because all her friends had boyfriend’s and she felt like a single loser,” mingi says, remembering how down and confused his roommate was the next day when he came home. “and then before he knew what happened, she leaned in and kissed him and he...”

mingi looks up to gauge your reaction and sees you’re just watching him blankly, cold, emotionless eyes that don’t give away the fact hearing this is making you wanna cry and scream all over again.

“he was conflicted,” is what mingi decides on saying. 

“not conflicted enough though,” you say, a mix of sadness and humor in your tone as you shake your head. “they were still fucking for two months after that.”

“they never fucked,” mingi is quick to clarify. 

you raise your eyebrow and he nods his head as if to say it’s really true, your teeth sinking into your cheek again.

“they kissed and did...other shit,” mingi says, not thinking you wanna hear that wooyoung accepted far too many blowjobs from the girl. “but they never fucked. he said he...couldn’t.”

“wow. what a guy.”

you can’t even try to keep the dryness out of your tone and it causes mingi to press his lips together so he doesn’t smirk, instead looking over your face and frowning when he notices your eyes are puffy.

“i didn’t say that so you take him back or anything,” mingi says quietly, “i just... he told me all of this and i said he had to stop. that it wasn’t fair to you, even if it was just kissing and blowjobs.”

you wince upon hearing it put so harshly, mingi cringing as he realizes he let the details slip out.

“sorry,” he mumbles, a scoff leaving your mouth as you shake your head.

“it doesn’t matter. i’m over it.”

mingi’s eyebrow raises as he looks over your face again, not commenting on the puffiness under your eyes or the fact your hands are pressing into one another anxiously.

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you,” he says after a few silent moments, his voice laced with such sadness and sympathy you can’t help but meet his gaze. 

“i told him so many times to cut the shit, that it wasn’t fair and i was gonna tell you. but, really, a part of me felt like it wasn’t my place and i...i really just didn’t wanna make you sad,” he says, his voice and eyes honest and sweet even though you find his words incredibly stupid. 

“i know that’s so stupid,” the boy acknowledges, a dry, humorless tone in his voice. “but i almost...wanted him to get caught, you know? so you saw it firsthand and realized, like, your worth, i guess. even though seeing that would’ve made you sad too, so i... i guess i really just don’t fucking know. i didn’t know what to do.”

and you don’t know if it’s because of his rambling or the absurdity of the situation but you can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you, air leaving your nose that has mingi looking at you in surprise.

“you’re right,” you say a smile quirking at your lips that has mingi looking over your face carefully. “that is stupid.” 

“but it’s also stupid to be mad at you, i guess,” you say when he looks down in embarrassment, emphasizing your last two words sarcastically as you sit back on the couch and look him over. “wooyoung was the one who was supposed to be loyal to me, not you.”

“but kind of me, too,” mingi says softly, his arm reaching out to pluck a piece a hair off your shoulder absentmindley. his touch is gentle and warm and his long fingers linger on your skin, the move shocking you as much as it comforts you.

mingi had been touchy and affectionate after just a few weeks of you knowing him, one to pull someone in for a hug or wrap an arm around their shoulder opposed to a stiff, clammy handshake. it was something you liked about him immediately, how warm and innocently affectionate he was.

“wooyoung’s my friend but so are... so were you.”

you watch his fingers rest on the couch cushion next to you as you let out a small, shaky breath, something about his words causing you to look up and narrow your eyes.

“were?”

a pink, dare you say, nervous, blush crosses mingi’s face that causes you to hold back a laugh, his eyes wide as he shakes his head quickly.

“are. you are my friend,” he clarifies quickly, unsure eyes still roaming you. “i just...wasn’t sure if you still wanted to be.”

his stammered words coupled in with his pink cheeks and dark, wind-blown hair have a small smile stretching across your face, a sigh leaving your mouth as you shake your head at him and shrug.

“well, i guess i can’t lose you too, huh?”

you’ve never seen a smile as big as the one that crosses mingi’s face after you say that, his arm reaching out and pulling you into him; the boy really does underestimate his size and strength, though, dragging you right across the couch and straight into his hard body where he begins to stammer out more apologies.

“tell you what,” you say, craning your neck to look up at him. “the next time some asshole’s cheating on me, just tell me right away and i’ll accept these 200 apologies from you, yeah?”

“there’s not gonna be a next time,” mingi promises, his familiar scent and loud, happy voice bouncing off your living room walls. “because i’ll beat the shit out of anyone who hurts you again.”

you roll your eyes as you push him over on the couch, letting out one of your first genuine giggles in weeks as you watch him flop on the cushions like a fish out of water.

and you really think mingi’s what you got through the months that followed that conversation.

because if he wasn’t driving down every few weekends to hang out, you were texting and facetiming almost every hour of the day. 

he helped you through the rest of your senior year, when senioritis hit it’s peak and you all but refused to do any homework or projects. he was the first person you called when you needed motivation (or distractions), talking into the wee hours of the morning or falling asleep on facetime together.

he was also the first person you called when college acceptance letters came in, his deep, happy voice expressing how he knew you were gonna get in.

“and you’re gonna go to the one only thirty minutes away from me, yeah?” he asked playfully, your eyes rolling as you plopped down on your bed.

“yeah, right,” you giggle out, looking over the three pamphlets as you, really, try to consider how to even begin the process of choosing.

that’s another thing mingi ended up helping you with, weighing the pros and cons of each school with you and even suggesting you drive up to him so you can tour the college close to his.

you don’t know for sure but maybe that’s why you ended up accepting that offer, after seeing the beautiful campus in person, the friendly students and ‘spacious’ dorm rooms that looked a whole lot better than two out of state schools you’d have to wait until the summer to see.

but if you asked mingi, he’d say it was absolutely because of him - because now you could see him every day. now he could easily help move you in and bring you lunch and show you the spots off campus where they never check ids or question a bad fake.

and while all of those were certainly helpful, you especially liked that, when classes started up and nearly knocked you on your ass, mingi was there to help you some more.

“you said professors were nice!” you squealed, hitting him in the arm as you two walked into a coffee shop smack in the middle of your two colleges; it’s also the coffee shop you waited pathetically in this past valentine’s day, but you try to let that painful memory slip your mind.

“hey! i’m sorry, most of them are!” mingi defends, his eyes widening and a laugh nearly bursting from his mouth when he sees the five syllabuses you throw onto the table.

“oh? then what is this?”

and sure enough, almost every class lists required textbooks costing over $150, several papers throughout the year, and a strict two-absence policy that will result in a whole letter grade drop if broken.

“and then if we miss because of a death in the family, we have to bring proof! what kind of sick shit is that?” you squeak, arms flying and eyes nearly bulging out of your head; if you were already this fucked after only a week of classes, you don’t even wanna know how you’re gonna be when real work starts.

mingi takes a hold of your arms to stop your flailing, his large, warm hands seeping through the sleeves of your shirt causing you to look up at him.

“babe...you gotta calm down.”

you don’t remember when he started dropping little pet names like that, or when his touches got more frequent and lingered, but you only know it’s something you guys don’t comment on. how, sometimes, both of you can even hear the others fastened heartbeat if you’re close enough or will meet gazes before shyly looking away.

you look up at him with a pout, the teasing smirk on his handsome face making you wanna stomp on his foot.

“i don’t wanna take a picture with my grandma’s corpse,” you whine, knowing that if anyone were watching you both right now, they’d think you were nuts.

“and you won’t have to,” mingi says, an inappropriate laugh bubbling from his mouth that causes you to smack his arm roughly. “why are you hitting me!” he yelps, a soft, amused smile on his face. “i’m trying to help you.”

and because you’re whining and he’s laughing, amused eyes locked on one another while his hands run up and down your arms soothingly, you both miss the fact that someone was around to see you both.

someone watching with hard eyes and a sinking heart at hearing your familiar laugh, at seeing your eyes twinged with amusement and happiness looking at someone who isn’t him.

but he knows he doesn’t deserve to see that anymore. that he ruined that chance with you and he shouldn’t even be surprised that you were able to move on to someone better.

even if that someone was his friend, a fact that’s making his blood boil right about now.

“you good?”

yeosang’s voice pierces wooyoung’s ears the second they leave the coffee shop, a knowing look on the boy’s face as the other can only shrug.

“yeah,” wooyoung says quietly, looking back through the window to see you dragging mingi to the counter by the hand. 

your touches look comfortable and familiar, like you’d spent weeks, or even months, growing closer to one another; he knows that it takes you a while to warm up to people, only letting a select few in - which now probably worsened after the shit he did.

with that knowledge, he also knows that it doesn’t even matter if he wasn’t good (which he’s not, he feels it in the way his chest is aching and veins are burning) because he knew it was a mistake. 

he knew sneaking around and lying to you was leading him down a path that would cost him the best thing that ever happened to him. he was the one suffering without you while you’re, apparently, able to move on.

and evidently, he’s also the one whose always been selfish - hoping that there’s a way you’ll somehow forgive him and see that, even though he wronged you, a part of him still wants you.

and he always gets what he wants.

“y/n, c’mon pleaseeee.” 

it’s the eighth time mingi whined that sentence to you over the phone this week, a sigh leaving your mouth as you smack your hands onto your comforter. 

“mingi, i’ve said the same thing for the past four days! what makes you think my answer’s gonna be any different tonight?”

the first month of school had, admittedly, kicked your ass. 

it wasn’t even that the work was challenging or daunting, you liked what you were learning and you even made a few friends in your classes, but it just feels like you’ve never gotten a moment to yourself since this all started.

if you’re not surrounded by classmates or your roommate, you’re working at the coffee shop you and mingi frequented so much, they offered you a job. but with your roommate gone this weekend and you not on the work schedule till sunday evening, you intended to spend the next two days in bed.

catching up on shows, taking naps in between, taking some time to catch up on reading -  you were only gonna move when your bladder and stomach begged you to, not a tall, whiney man.

“because i’m begging,” mingi sighs, knowing with 100% certainty you’re already curled up in bed with your laptop in front of you. “how many fucking times are you gonna rewatch love alarm?”

your mouth drops open as your eyes fall to the screen, jojo and sun-oh’s faces staring back at yours causing your cheeks to flush; how the hell did he know that first of all?

“until season two comes out,” you whine back, a laugh bubbling out of his mouth before he sighs. you roll your eyes at the sound, pushing yourself to your feet to grab water from the mini fridge. “if you wanna hang out so bad, come over tonight and watch with me.”

“you know i would but i already told people i was coming,” he explains, a pout on his face he wishes you could see in an effort to persuade you (even though you’d probably just curl your lip in disgust). 

“then have fun and enjoy! i’ll be watching sun-oh whisk jojo away and-”

“i know why you don’t wanna go.”

the words die in your throat just as you hear him say that, his voice low and sympathetic that has you poking your tongue into your cheek; he only uses that voice when he thinks you’re about to be upset by something. 

and it’s not hard for you to gather what he’s thinking, given that he wants you to go to your ex-boyfriend’s campus party. 

“if you’re thinking what i think you’re thinking, then you’re wrong.”

because if he has this notion that you don’t wanna run into wooyoung, then yes, he’s wrong. sure, you don’t wanna particularly see him, but it’s been months. you’re over him and you know he’s over you, there’d be no reason to alter your life in hopes to avoid him. 

“what do you think i’m thinking?”

“we’re not doing this, mingi,” you groan, pushing yourself away from the counter and heading right toward your warm bed. “i’m not going for no other reason than i wanna stay in my bed for the next two days. you can come over after if you want but i’m not setting foot in that disgusting frat house. have fun and don’t drink too much!”

and with that, you hang up and crawl under the blankets with a content smile on your face. 

one that drops when you hear a knock on your door thirty minutes later, already knowing by the distinct pattern that it’s no other than the boy you hung up at the start of your episode. 

“that was a quick party,” you say when you open the door, leaning against the frame as you stare at mingi with a raised eyebrow. 

he looks the same way he did during the conversation that rekindled your friendship, his hand toying at the back of his hair and a nervous smile on his face. 

“yeah...” he laughs out awkwardly, the stare he’s giving you causing you to shake your head immediately. 

“you didn’t go, did you?”

“no. i wanted to pick you up first.”

he sees fury cross your face and your arm reaching out to smack him, his hand quickly catching it and pulling you into him.

“c’monnn, we’ll only stay for an hour. and then we’ll come back here and finish love alarm for the 700th time.” 

your eyebrows narrow at you stare up at the boy, so annoyed at him ruining your night you don’t even realize how close your bodies are pressed up against one another. his hard, toned chest against yours that would, without a doubt, make you flush if you realized. 

“please,” he whines, a pout on his face as he tightens his hold on you. “i don’t wanna go alone, i told them i was bringing a friend. and i miss you. we haven’t seen each other in a few days and-

“just shut up,” you growl, pulling him in your room by his shirt because you just know he’s fucking relentless. you close your laptop begrudgingly, throwing him a dirty look before you go to the closet to change out of your sweatpants. 

“you should wear the jeans with the-”

the look you throw his way immediately causes him to stop talking, a smirk crossing your face as you turn away and curse him out in your head for looking so handsome, maybe you couldn’t resist walking in with him tonight. 

but you also couldn’t resist the way your eyes roamed the crowded frat house forty minutes later, the familiar scent of alcohol and sweat invading your senses. 

there’s just as many people as last year when you came, a sticky cluster of bodies that is all too off putting when you were just bound to your bed in pajamas and fuzzy socks. 

you’re also all too aware of the setting that’s giving you flashbacks, beer pong tables and what seems like dozens of pretty girls with dark hair littering the house - it’s making you far more uncomfortable than you care to admit.

“y/n,” you hear a voice say, your neck turning toward the male presence. it takes you a few seconds to remember who he is, attractive features you remember thinking were so regal causing you to smile politely. 

“you should tell him it bothers you,” you hear yeosang say, looking over at the boy with a wide eyed gaze. he says it so straight forwardly that it causes you to grow nervous, biting your lip before you open your mouth to speak.

“what?”

he raises his eyebrow and you know he’s seeing through your lie. the lie that you’re not all bothered by being here and watching him play with another girl. a girl you’re almost positive has ill-intentions. and now you see where yeosang’s bluntness comes in.

“that him and lisa make you uncomfortable,” yeosang tells you, looking over and seeing them smile at one another in victory. “because you’re worried, aren’t you?”

it’s the first time it’s been verbalized and it makes your stomach squeeze painfully, sadness and anger and disappointment flooding through you. 

“should i be?” you squeak, since you know he sees you them a lot more than you.

“i don’t know,” he says, the both of you looking over in time to see lisa smack wooyoung’s arm playfully as she throws her head back. “should you be?”

that was the first and only conversation you had with the boy and yet he hinted more to you than anyone else in your life at the time; granted it was still early in but he had obviously saw something, too.

maybe a suspicious glint in wooyoung’s eye, lingering over lisa despite your presence a few feet away. maybe he could tell you weren’t gonna be enough to keep him loyal, maybe he-

you shake your head of these thoughts, reminding yourself that you’re over this.

you’re over him and the way he made you feel and everything about the whole breakup entirely; why would you want someone who, when it came down to it, didn’t want you back?

“hi, yeosang,” you say with a sweet smile, mingi greeting the shorter boy before someone else pulls his attention away. you let out a sigh and roll your eyes, a deep chuckle leaving the boy who pats the seat next to him.

he’s not surprised to see you but he is surprised that you came here tonight, of all places. where he knows wooyoung is lingering and knows when he sees you, he’s gonna come over with sorrow in his eyes and a voice to match. 

ever since the breakup, yeosang had been the one there for wooyoung. he knew what the boy was doing was wrong, and he felt bad for you, but he also knew wooyoung could do anything and he’d still be there for him.

he could disagree with him and find his actions and decisions questionable but in the end, he’d be there for him. 

that’s why he saw and tended to the breakdown wooyoung went through after everything happened. watched the boy become a shell of the person he’d been,  no longer happy and bubbly and, instead, drowning his sorrows with alcohol when he wasn’t doing the bare minimum for school.

yeosang had to tell him more often than not, with some tough love, that he had ruined everything between you two. and for him to wish that he could talk to you or get another chance was incredibly selfish. 

but through all of that, he was there for him. would stop him from drinking himself into a coma or take him out of the house to distract him any chance he got. 

especially because a few weeks after everything, mingi had started distancing himself. the boys had still lived together until the semester ended in may, but it’d been obvious the boy wasn’t as...tolerant of wooyoung as he was. 

and now he sees why. with the way mingi’s soft eyes are looking at you from across the room, watching closely as you sit down next to him and send a polite smile his way.

“so what, you loved these parties so much you decided to come to school here?” yeosang smiles teasingly, a deep chuckle leaving him when your face turns into a grimace.

you tell him how you go to the school just a half hour away, how it was the only school you were able to tour in person and how, with sinking suspicions, that mingi played a big role in you coming here.

“my roommate is so nice though,” you share with him, a happy smile on your face as you tell him about the girl whose face piercings and dark makeup are a complete contrast to her sweet, soft-spoken personality; you remember thinking when you first met that she was gonna rip your head off, especially because you came in jabbering with an even more excitable mingi.

but she loved him and you immediately and as far as roommates went, you couldn’t be happier. 

“and i work at a coffee shop now. i was a little thrown off the first few weeks but i think i’ve finally adjusted,” you giggle out, a small smirk on his face that you find far too endearing.

“that’s good,” yeosang says before he reluctantly adds, “i’ve seen you working there a few times.”

“oh?” 

your eyebrows pull together as you cock your head to the side in confusion; you’d never seen him in there before. and you think you would’ve recognized him immediately, even outside of this sleazy frat house. 

“yeah, the first week of classes we were there and saw you and mingi,” he says, “then i went back and saw you working behind the counter.”

you don’t comment on the we, because you have a good feeling about who he’s talking about, so you only nod and smile, telling him to say hi next time and you’ll give him a cookie on the house. 

“i know she didn’t just offer you a free cookie,” mingi says, plopping down next to you and throwing his arm around you. “i ask all the time and she laughs in my face.”

“because you come in every day!” you squeal, smacking in the stomach lightly. “they’d go broke and i’d be fired.”

“you’re a grimy fuck to even ask,” yeosang says, a laugh bubbling out of your mouth at the look on mingi’s face. you listen to the boys bicker back and forth as your eyes roam the room, everything about the scene so familiar but also different. 

you don’t feel uncomfortable or nervous for the same reasons you did a year ago, when the music was too loud and the scent was overwhelming and there were just too many people.

now you’re uncomfortable and nervous about just who’s lingering in this crowd, like you’re about to be met with something, or someone rather, that’s gonna hurt you. 

even though you’ve convinced yourself that you’re okay and you won’t care. you won’t care in the slightest if you see lisa under wooyoung’s arm across the room, if you see now that those months really did mean something to them and they were able to prevail.

nope. it won’t bother you at all; in fact, you think two people like that probably deserve each other.

but your roaming eyes say otherwise. the nervous knot in the pit of your stomach and the way you press yourself closer to mingi (in a way he doesn’t comment on but welcomes) says if you see them together, you might lose your shit just a little bit. 

“you good?” mingi asks lowly in your ear, his large hand falling onto your knee. you feel the warmth through your jeans and the indents of his rings against your leg, looking up at him with a forced, tight smile.

“i’d be better if i was in bed like i planned,” you say through clenched teeth, a deadly look in your eye that should make him fearful but just makes him laugh.

“oh, c’mon, aren’t you having fun? you got to see your old friend-”

“yeosang.”

and like the universe was showing mingi just how much fun it was allowing you to have tonight, a voice that makes your blood run cold finishes mingi’s sentence.

your eyes snap to the boy you haven’t seen in over eight months, a face that once made you so stupidly happy with his wide smile and sparkling eyes; you remember when you first met him, you were so confused by the look them. 

why he looked at you so fondly and made your heart flutter even though it shouldn’t have been.

and that’s the exact feeling you’re getting right now, seeing the boy who, the last time you looked at him was crying and begging and desperate, look at you with glossed over eyes and not a hint of a smile.

“hey, woo,” yeosang says, noticing his friend’s lingering gaze and your obvious discomfort; he doesn’t think an atmosphere has ever gotten so tense so fast. 

it takes him a second to stutter out the response “hi,” his eyes moving from yours to mingi’s hand on your leg before back to you. you can’t help the way you quirk an eyebrow at him, almost daring him to say something about mingi’s hands on you before he shakes it off and looks to yeosang.

you only listen to the boys speak as you look down at your feet, mingi’s arm tightening around you when you start to wiggle them. it’s a nervous habit he’s picked up on after these months of getting to know you and, apparently, he’s not the only one who remembers it.

“you do that every time i sit next to you.”

you peer up at the senior who’s insisted on spending lunch with you for the past three weeks, the ever-present teasing smile on his cocky face making your eyebrows pull together.

“do what?”

he nods his head down to the floor where you’re tapping away, toes wiggling in your shoes as the balls of your feet bounce up and down slightly. 

your cheeks flush and you shrug your shoulders, not wanting him to know that, while you’re confused by his company, it doesn’t make you any less aware of how attractive he is. doesn’t make the stupid little crush you’ve developed on him any less intense or you any less nervous.

“oh,” you say quietly, a blush creeping onto your cheeks that makes his teasing smile widen. 

“yeah, oh,” he mocks, his eyes lighting up with amusement you know it’s directed toward you. you narrow yours at him but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest, his foot hitting yours under the table playfully. 

“it’s okay, i think i just make you a little nervous.”

“nervous?” you ask, a scoff leaving your mouth as you shake your head. “why on earth would i be nervous?”

and with a playful cock of his head, a smile on his face that only grew softer and sweeter over time, he so boldly said “because you like me too, don’t you?”

you catch wooyoung looking at your feet and immediately stop bouncing them, putting your right sneaker over your left before looking up at mingi with a small smile. 

“i’m gonna go get a drink.”

“i’ll come with-”

“it’s fine, it’s right there,” you say, nodding your head into the kitchen only a few feet away. 

you leave before mingi can even respond, quickly getting up and scurrying away from the tense atmosphere you know is partially because of you. you need to just get away from all of that for a second, knowing that this was a possibility tonight but didn’t think it would happen so fast.

it’s easy to think you’re over something when you’re not presented directly with it but, now, seeing him makes all those masked feelings come to the surface.

how hurt and betrayed and upset you were by what he did. how you tried to convince yourself that you were over everything simply because you know you deserve better; and while you know that, it still doesn’t quell the memories.

doesn’t stop you from thinking about the nights before he went away to school, the two of you under the stars when he assured you he loved you and didn’t wanna break up with you. teased you for thinking he’d wanna break up with his high school girlfriend when he went off to college.

“i don’t wanna break up,” you whimpered against him, your hands fisting his grey sweatshirt as you hid your face in his neck. he pressed a kiss to your head, bringing a hand to your back as he rubbed up and down soothingly.

“who said anything about breaking up, my love?” he cooed, the term of endearment causing your stomach to swoop. 

“i-i just assumed you wouldn’t wanna be with your high school girlfriend in college,” you say quietly against him. “it would make sense, i guess, so i can’t say i blame you but-”

he brings your face to his as he places a firm kiss on your lips, melting into you as he palms your cheek softly. you kiss him back immediately, feeling your heart break at the thought of never being able to do this again.

“i don’t know why you’re thinking like that,” he mumbles once he pulls back, running his hand through your hair before tucking the strands behind your ear. “but get those thoughts out of your head. i’m not breaking up with you, baby. in case you forgot, i just told you i loved you the other day.”

“i know but-”

“but what?” he asks with a smirk, pushing you down on your back and rubbing the stray tear off your cheek. “you think i just say shit to say it?”

“no, but-”

“then stop. i’ll tell everyone at college i have a high school girlfriend and they won’t have shit to say about it.”

it doesn’t stop you from remembering how much his voice and eyes used to calm you, how, in a setting like this, one look from him would completely put you at ease and make you feel better. 

“y/n.”

you immediately grow tense at wooyoung’s voice saying your name, not having heard it fall from his lips in what felt like forever. 

you’re debating whether you even wanna turn around and look at him again, knowing you can just go on your way and completely ignore him. knowing you should go on your way and completely ignore him.

but instead you turn to him and give him a blank look, waiting for him to say something else before you turn back and rummage through the cooler for a soda. your hand searches through the freezing ice for a red can of coke, the tips of your fingers growing numb as you fish through the water.

partially because you can’t find one and partially because you don’t wanna turn back around and face him.

“you drink now?” 

your neck cranes up to look at wooyoung, his eyes soft and curious as he looks down at you. you hate how your body still responds to him, how he still looks so handsome but also like he lost a little bit of weight. 

you hate how a part of you is concerned about that, wondering if he hasn’t been eating well or is doing drugs harder than pot.

“no,” is all you say shortly, deeming your efforts for a soda useless and shaking the wetness off your hand. your eyes fall to his empty ones and you raise an eyebrow, surprised not to see some sort of can of alcohol near him. 

“i don’t really drink anymore,” he offers after a few silent seconds, your eyes raising to his before mingi’s voice plays in your mind - “wooyoung was so shitfaced the first time they kissed, he didn’t even remember. he didn’t know until lisa showed him a picture.”

“i didn’t really ask,” you say before you can stop yourself, his face falling before a sigh leaves his mouth. 

“i guess i deserve that,” he mumbles lowly, your teeth sinking into your cheek before you turn to leave. 

you begin to wonder why mingi and yeosang let him follow you in the first place before you feel a hand lightly touch the back of your arm, your neck snapping back and arm pulling away when he mutters your name pleadingly. 

“how have you-”

“we’re not doing this.”

“i just wanna talk, y/n,” he says quietly, the sad desperation obvious in his tone. “i haven’t seen or talked to you in months.”

“and why is that, woo?” 

you don’t even mean for the nickname to fall from your lips but it does, twists his stomach in a way that makes him feel even more shitty and defeated and guilty. 

tears prick your eyes as you realize you haven’t said that name since febuary, his own softened gaze on you making you shake your head and take a step back. 

“if we could just talk for a few-”

“we’re not doing this,” you repeat firmly, taking a step away from his looming presence. “i wasn’t even supposed to come tonight.”

“but you came with...mingi?” he asks lowly, like spitting the boy’s name out was the hardest thing he had to do in months. 

but you bet what you had to do over these past few months was harder. 

finish school while also dealing with the heartbreak that comes with being betrayed in such an awful way. building back up your confidence and worth and trying so hard to convince yourself you didn’t do anything wrong. 

that’s why you narrow your eyes at him and shake your head, holding back the slew of curse threatening to leave your mouth. 

“yeah. i did,” you say confidently, your eyes roaming back to mingi to see him making his way over to you. “and i’m sure there’s someone waiting around here for you, too.”

you watch his face crumble and mouth open to speak but you’re quick to shake your head and walk to mingi, rage filling your chest when you feel wooyoung’s warm, strong hand grab you by the wrist.

“y/n, wait-”

“don’t touch me,” you spit out, ripping your arm away from him harshly. 

you can see he regrets the movement the second you look at him but can’t find it in yourself to care, giving him one last look before walking over to mingi - his face, too, is apologetic but much more fearful than your ex’s.

“he said he was going over to-”

“love alarm. now. before i bash your head in and never agree to anything ever again.”

“we’ll pick up snacks,” he says, a hesitant, happy smile creeping up on his face despite your unwavering expression. “my treat.”

“no shit your treat,” you grumble, your hand snaking through mingi’s larger one as you pull him out of the frat house into the cool, fall air. 

it’s the much needed crispness you need after the sweaty, tense air you were just subjected to, you and mingi hand in hand as you walk to his car parked a few blocks away. 

there’s only a few moments of silence before he addresses the elephant in the room.

“did he say something to you?”

you look up to see mingi staring at you with a soft expression, a sigh leaving your mouth as you nod your head. he stops you both from walking, his hand moving to your hip as you two stand in the street.

there’s a soft glow on him cast from the street light, his eyes roaming your face making his heart pang in your chest. he can see your tense and upset right now, your lips rolling over one another like when you’re trying not to cry or scream.

“are you okay?” he asks softly, a question that would usually make you roll your eyes making your face soften; you know the boy has his faults, a little confused and naive and doesn’t always make the right choices, but he always means well.

he truly cares for people and doesn’t like seeing them sad.

“i’m okay,” you confirm with a small nod, a tiny smile pulling at your lips. “i...it’s over now, you know. it’s different seeing him after all this time. harder than i thought, really, but it doesn’t matter anymore.”

mingi nods his head as he squeezes your hip lightly, taking your hand back in his. they swing playfully in between your bodies, a touch that seems very juvenile and platonic filling you with a warmth you don’t think you should be feeling yet. 

you told yourself to wait a year. you even heard somewhere that, for as long as you’ve been with someone in your younger years, you should try to be single for the same amount of time afterward.

take a moment to focus on yourself and ‘soul search’ for the things you want in life.

but having mingi by your side has made that goal harder, or maybe easier depending on how you look at it; especially because his touches linger and make you want more. his eyes watch you so softly and the smile that lights up his face when he first sees you makes you happier than you’ve been in a while. 

“we’re not friends with her anymore.” 

you don’t expect him to say that but it makes your eyes widen. 

because for as long as you guys have discussed wooyoung and the situation, neither of you have ever addressed lisa directly. where she is now or if they remained friends - you told him a million times that you didn’t care.

and even after seeing wooyoung tonight, you want that to still ring true; but again, your actions don’t match your thoughts.

“oh?”

“yeah. a few weeks after that happened, woo refused to be in the same room as her. said it made him sick.”

a scornful laugh threatens to leave your mouth at that, since the last time you’d seen them together, their tongues were down each other’s throats and he was mostly definitely not sick by it.

“anytime we were with her and her friends, he’d leave and say he didn’t wanna be around her. then he just started to avoid us so we eventually just cut them all off. we didn’t really like them anyway, to be honest.”

it takes you a few moments to process his words but it proves to just be too much for your emotionally drained, distraught mind.

“why are you telling me this?”

mingi’s hand tightens ever so slightly on yours as you two continue to walk, his thumb rubbing against your cold skin as the silence remains. 

you can only hear the gravel beneath your feet and the last few cicadas that can stand the crip fall weather, looking ahead in the darkness and wondering if he’s ever gonna answer you. 

“because he’s waiting for you.”

your feet halt and you look up at him, eyes wide and shocked as he looks down at you. you can’t quite make out the expression on his face, maybe something like fear or hesitance that makes your heart lurch. 

“he...told yeosang he wants you to forgive him. and to give him another chance.”

a little bit of every emotion rips through you at this knowledge, rage and annoyance and outrage but also a little bit of sadness you’re not ready to address.

“he’s got balls, i’ll give him that,” you mutter, a smirk quirking on mingi’s lips as he nods his head. he doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything, torn between his lasting bits of loyalty to wooyoung but his feelings for you. 

because over these past few months, he’s wanted nothing more than to kiss you and hug you and make you see you can trust him - not only as a friend but a boyfriend. 

a much better boyfriend than the one you had; but he understands you need a friend and he’s okay with that - more than okay, really. though the looks you give him make his heart pound just a little harder, like when you lean your head on his shoulder during a movie or play with his fingers until you fall asleep on his lap. 

“but...i think there’s better people out there for me,” you say quietly, head cocked to the side as you start to toy with his long fingers. it’s flirty and daring and maybe a little vengeful after your conversation with wooyoung but you also know it’s genuine. 

that the feelings you have for mingi and the way he makes your chest warm is very much so real. 

“don’t you think?”

a smile lights up his face and he has to tell his heart to calm down before it explodes, a knowing glint in his eye as he looks over your face and nods his head. 

“i do think,” he says, tapping you on the tip of your nose in a way that makes you giggle. you watch as he turns and bends down, a smile lighting up your face as you immediately move to jump on his back.

“now what snacks do you want for tonight, little one?”

the next three weekends you’re deemed safe from any college parties, either your shifts at the coffee shop or mingi’s school work keeping you free from his whining or incessant phone calls.

but the second you heard a knock on your door one saturday night, your movie on in the background and popcorn popping in the microwave, something tells you that you’re fucked. that you’ve steered clear of that sticky, overcrowded house for far too long, and it’s like the tall, handsome boy at your door has realized it. 

“you’ve evaded me long enough.”

“sadly, i don’t agree,” you respond dryly, a smirk on the boy’s face as he lets himself in before you can close the door. you let out a groan as he helps himself to your freshly cooked bag of popcorn, throwing the pieces in his mouth as he tells you to get dressed. 

“now why would i do that?” you ask, hands on your hips and a snippy tone already in your voice. 

but it doesn’t deter mingi in the slightest; if anything, it almost eggs him on even more. his eyes squinting before he abandons the popcorn and charges toward you, large hands gripping your waist as he guides you to your closet and tells you to change.

the deep, commanding tone in his voice should make you angry. it should make you roll your eyes and tell him he’s not the boss of you. that you have no intentions of going out and he could either leave or stay for the movie. 

but it’s the contrast of that and the sweet look in his eye that always gets you. how he can be tough and commanding but then cute and playful. 

it’s always what gets that feeling of electric between you, his body looming over yours and eyes staring up at one another challengingly. a part of you always wants to tell him to fuck off but then know you wouldn’t be able to handle the sad, mildly pathetic look on his face. 

“it’s halloween-themed. but no costumes,” he says, tightening his hold on you and toying with the ends of your white t-shirt. “so match with me.”

your hands travel to his broad shoulders, his muscles under your hands affecting you far more than you’re leading on. a part of you wants to feel just how warm and soft his skin is, trail your finger over his collarbone until he groans or warns you to watch it. 

your nails dig into his back ever so slightly, your brow cocked and head turned to the side as you slowly start to step closer to him. his knees hit your bed frame just as you push him back, his butt plopping on your comforter as you stand in between his legs.

“no,” is all you say, a knowing smirk on your face as you watch his eyes flame with something like arousal and disbelief. 

he shakes his head and watches you walk to your closet, throwing himself back on your bed with a silent groan and a plea that, tonight, you don’t push him too much. 

but a few hours into the night, a few too many beers in mingi and your own growing attraction toward him has the night leading in that direction. 

you knew mingi was a good dancer, something you learned at one of these parties last year. it was the only thing that made you smile on those nights actually, watching the boy go from bumping and grinding to jumping around like a kid with a sugar high.

and lucky for you, tonight, he was going with the former. his body placed behind yours, not a stitch of alcohol coursing through your veins, as you guys dance and giggle and and talk to a few people from his classes. 

it’s something very casual, nothing innately sexual about your moves other then your bodies are close and you can feel his groin against you. but you’re both just moving to the beat, your head thrown back on his shoulder as a girl tells you all about mingi’s public speaking skills, or lack thereof. 

“he gets sooo red it’s actually kind of cute,” she tells you, the wink she throws your way making you both share a smirk; because anyone with eyes can see that, embarrassed or not, terrible at public speaking or not, he’s cute. 

“ehh, he’s okay,” you tease lightly, his hold on your waist tightening. you squeal when his cold hand touches the sliver of skin exposed from your shirt, elbowing him lightly before turning around and poking at his cheek. 

“what?”

“i’m okay?” he mocks, the look on his flushed face making you giggle into him. 

“well, what do you want me to say?” you ask, cocking your head to the side in a way you know is gonna cause trouble. but you wanna push him to that point, the excited warmth fluttering in your chest when he looks at you in a way that makes you feel wanted.

you hadn’t been able to see it at first, mingi’s clear affection and liking toward you meanwhile he thinks it was there even when you were with wooyoung; but of course, he knew better than to act on it, watching your smile and laugh from afar and hoping that wooyoung knew how lucky he was.

because he’s pretty sure since the moment he met you, when you came in holding wooyoung’s hand with a small, shy smile on you flushed face, he even wanted you then.

but now, it’s like the roles have switched. now, there’s a very drunken, very pissed off wooyoung standing across the room wishing he could be the taller boy.

he’d been watching you two since the moment you arrived, what sparked the alcohol he guzzled down in a matter of a few hours after he told himself he was done drinking.

yeosang told him to stop drinking beers so he moved to shots and that’s why he’s currently stumbling around and muttering under his breath, already the defeated, shitfaced boy no one wants to be at a public event.

he knows he shouldn’t feel it, the anger brewing inside his chest at seeing you and mingi pressed up one another flirting. but he is. he’s so fucking mad and jealous and seething, it’s only a matter of time before the slightest bit of sanity he has left breaks. 

makes him stomp over and grab you in a way he knows isn’t right. in a way he knows will make you hate him even more; but maybe that’s why he does it. just completely self destructing because seeing you again, and seeing you with someone else, has really put things into perspective for him.

that he’s not the sweet, perfect boyfriend he thought he was and, instead, someone very flawed and toxic. someone who hurt you and is now expecting a second chance solely because he loves you. 

someone who, after seeing his ex girlfriend try to move on and build up her confidence again, ends up stumbling over and grabbing her by the arm anyway. 

one second you’re looking up at mingi and smiling and the next your neck nearly snaps off, looking down at the tight grip on your arm as you hear a familiar voice growl to the taller boy that you and him need a minute. 

you don’t know why or how mingi allows it to happen but suddenly, you’re outside. the cold air surrounding you does nothing to calm your burning veins, ripping your arm from wooyoung’s grasp and pushing him back with all the strength you could muster.

“what the fuck are you doing?” you ask, not even have spotted the boy all night. “i told you not to touch me.”

“i know you did. and i know you hate me. and i also know i deserve that but-”

“no shit,” you snap, taking a step backward and looking the boy up and down who you barely recognize right now. he still looks like the person you once loved but his demeanor is so incredibly different, eyes hazy and bloodshot from the alcohol you can smell on his breath. 

“i miss you,” he mutters lowly, the drunken slur to his words making your stomach twist. “i just...i just wanna talk, y/n and if you still-”

“i don’t wanna talk to you.”

and if wooyoung was sober and in the right frame of mind, he wouldn’t have approached you to begin with. he wouldn’t have dared put his hands on you again and begged you for a second chance like he did that fateful afternoon.

but because he’s a mess, because he’s been a mess for the past several months, he looms over you and keeps his eyes on you as the next words leave him.

“but you wanna talk to mingi?”

“don’t you dare start that shit,” you spit out, every angry, red-hot emotion searing up in your veins - but you’re happy it’s not tears, at least. you think if you cried in this man’s presence again, you’d have to hide away for the rest of your life. “you don’t get to do that.”

“i don’t get to feel jealous that i can’t talk to the girl i lov-”

and similar to the slap you gave him that day, when you walked in and saw another girl in his lap, you can’t stop yourself when you do it this time either. have him taint that word and feeling for you anymore than he did when he lied to your face for months.

“it’s your fucking fault, wooyoung. you did this. you cheated on me and completely proved that that’s not true,” you snap, anger-filled eyes burning into his. “so don’t say that to me.”

“you don’t know what i feel,” he counters lowly, a slur to his words that has you knowing this is not the time for this conversation.” i’m telling the truth.” 

he stumbles closer to you and you’re so focused on staring him down that you don’t see his hand move to your waist. 

“you don’t know how much i fucking regret it. please, baby, if you’d just-”

“get away from me.���

“get away from me,” you say, attempting to rip your hands from his grasp. but he only tightens them and brings you closer to him.

“just please, give me five fucking minutes, y/n, so we can finally-”

“if you just listen to me, maybe you’ll-”

“stop,” you say, struggling to pull your hands free. you need to get away from him. you can’t hear him sound this pathetic and sad and begging.

“stop. let go of me, wooyoung,” you say, voice firm and strong despite how shaky and upset you’re getting on the inside. the familiarity of this scene is too much, his desperate pleas and your building sadness and hurt making a lump form in your throat.

“did you know i was drunk when it first happened?” he slurs out, his glossy eyes looking at you with such pathetic desperation. “i didn’t even know what the fuck happened the next morning. i didn’t remember anything, not even how i got home.”

you swallow down any response regarding the first incident, feeling tears burn your eyes as you shake your head at him; you can see she completely took advantage of him but...

“but what about the time after that? and then the time after that?” you ask, watching as his face falls and you feel heart break in a way it hasn’t in months; he may be telling the truth about the first time but if that really were the case, it wouldn’t have happened when he was stone cold sober on a friday morning. 

“what about those two months after, wooyoung?” you voice aloud, begging the tears behind your eyes not to fall. “were you shitfaced then?”

“no but i-”

“exactly,” you spit out. “you knew what you were doing then. so get the fuck off me and leave me alone.”

“i can’t, please just-”

“wooyoung, stop.”

it’s mingi’s deep voice that pulls you and wooyoung out of the heated discussion, your ex tightening his hold on you and attempting to pull you behind him. 

he doesn’t wanna lose you yet, you’ve been gone for months. even if you’re fighting and even if you hate him, he’s selfish and he needs you. he wants you still. 

“you stop, mingi,” wooyoung growls, a new type of anger flooding through him. he releases his grip on you and stumbles toward the much taller boy, seemingly unfazed by the size difference as he shoves him back.

“if anyone should be pissed here, it’s me. stealing my fucking girl like some little bitch.”

“she’s not your girl anymore,” mingi says lowly, his eyes and body tense as he stares down wooyoung. “if you weren’t shitfaced right now, you’d remember that. and you’d remember why.”

“you’re such a-”

“enough, woo,” you say quietly, the nickname that rendered him hurt three weeks ago when you said it making him snap his head back to look at you; and before you can see his softened, glossy eyes, you warn him to never do this again before you turn to go home. 

you hear footsteps follow behind the whole way, knowing that it’s mingi and knowing that his head is probably trained on his feet right now. you don’t stop walking until you’re at his car in the campus parking lot, leant against the side and looking up at him for the first time in twenty minutes.

he sees unshed tears in your eyes and his face immediately crumbles, about to take you in his arms when you hold out your arm and shake your head. 

“please... don’t ask me to come to another one of these.” 

guilt immediately consumes him and his adams apple bobs, a quick nod of his head before he pulls you into his chest. you sniffle against his shirt and inhale his scent. you couldn’t help in the beginning but compare him to wooyoung, the different smell of his cologne and broader chest under your head. 

it was a good different but you hate that, even after an exchange like the one you and him just had, your mind still goes back to wooyoung; you still think about him and compare them and maybe that’s why you’re crying right now. too 

“i’m so sorry, y/n,” mingi mumbles against your head.

you don’t even realize there’s tears on your face until he pulls back and wipes at them, that broken feeling within your chest so painful it feels like you’re about to collapse. 

“i hate him, i really do,” you whimper out, shaking your head and wiping at your red face. “i...why did he do it? i thought i was over it, mingi. why am i not...” your voice breaks and you shake your head, struggling to breathe and get the words out in the cold air. “i fucking hate him.”

mingi can only hold you and rock you gently, his warm arms never leaving you as he tries to mend your broken heart. it’s something he’s been trying to do for months and will continue to do, wanting nothing more than for you to be free from the damage wooyoung did.

and if it were that easy, he’d be able to look at this moment in a few months time and see this was when his love and affection for you shined through and helped you. helped you see that there are other people who want to help you and be there for you, who will try their best to treat you better than the boy who hurt you.

but, unfortunately for him, things are never that easy.  

you threw yourself into work and school in a way you’d never done before. 

if you weren’t doing study sessions with a few people from your classes or spending nights in the library, you were busting your ass cleaning tables and dealing with overly nice college kids who attempt to make up for the mean and bitter middle-aged. 

true to mingi’s promise that october night, he never asked you to go to another party again; instead, he’d crash your movie nights afterward, only ever staying at the frat house for an hour or two because “they get old real fucking quick.”

but he never says the same thing about your friday and saturday nights, even though they religiously consist of laying in bed, eating junk food and watching cheesy romantic dramas.

so whether you were taking pity on him or your study groups pleas to meet them at a bar down town finally got to you, you were en route with mingi and a far too chatty uber driver for a night of “much needed fun and drinking,” as one of your friends put it.

“i’m kind of scared,” you mumble to mingi, a smile pulling at his lips at your innocent confession. you’ve never been to a bar before, let alone one that is known to serve under age kids and is raided by the cops monthly. 

“i’ve never been here but i’ve heard it’s fun. the music is pretty good and there’s a live band that-”

“are you two a couple?” 

you and mingi eye each other suspiciously, a smirk playing on both your lips at the man’s awkwardly blurted out question. it’s almost as awkward as you saying yes when mingi says no, the taller boy’s face falling as his head snaps to you. 

“wait...i mean...yes?” mingi says, hand going over your mouth as you hold back a giggle. 

you both hear the man laugh out a response, you far too consumed by mingi’s shocked face while he’s still trying to process why the hell you had said that. he can see it’s all teasing and fun though, a glint in your eye that makes it obvious you were only saying that to quell an uncomfortably nosy question. 

but he’s not ignorant to the fact of how much he wants that to be true. 

“why would he even ask that?” you giggle out as you two walk into the bar, not a bouncer or real id in sight. “right in the middle of our conversation, no less. what a weird thing to do.”

a smile creeps up on mingi’s face as he already sees the effects of your three spiked seltzers from back in your dorm, his hand brushing your hair behind your ear. his eyes linger on your pink cheeks and he has to stop himself from laughing, the two of being pulled from the moment just as it started.

“maybe because he thought we looked-”

“y/n!” 

the familiar squeal of your lab partner’s voice causes you to jump, mingi’s body still close to yours as you say hello and introduce them to each other. 

“for tonight, this is mingi, my boyfriend,” you tease, the wink you throw his way causing him to shove you playfully. 

the girl can only watch with a smirk, knowing that when she drags you to the bathroom in 20 minutes because she broke the seal, she’s gonna have to ask you all about that. 

“hi mingi, boyfriend of the night,” she says, the shy but handsome smile he throws her way all too endearing. her hands falls into yours as she beckons you both to the dance floor, dragging you away just ahead enough to ask if you plan on keeping him longer. 

you only roll your eyes and push her playfully, looking back to smile at mingi who’s watching you in a way that makes you think, tonight, you’re finally gonna kiss him. 

or that could just be the alcohol coursing through your veins, another cup of vodka and something, you don’t even know what your friend asked for. but it’s good, cold and sweet and you’re gone enough where you can barely taste the sting of alcohol going down your throat. 

you wouldn’t say you were drunk, courtesy of the huge meal you and mingi had back at your room, but you’re definitely a little tipsy. tipsy enough to dance without a care in the world, not distracted by the big groups of people or much too stuffy environment. 

you were there to have fun and dance, any problems from school work or shitty customers or a lingering ex-boyfriend the last thing on your mind. 

you haven’t seen wooyoung since that october night, when he was far too drunk and far too emotional and made you cry far too similarly like when you first broke up. 

it’s always a sad, hopeless cry, knowing that you shouldn’t still be hurting but feeling it deep within your gut that, whether you want to admit it or not, you still were. you were still hurt by the betrayal of someone you loved so much, even though you wished you could just turn those feelings off. 

and despite all of these feelings inside of you, you’re surprised to learn that, in your impaired state, you’re not a sad drunk yet. you’ve been laughing and smiling and dancing, bouncing your attention between your study group friends and mingi who spotted a few guys from his classes.

which should’ve been the first indication that wooyoung was lingering around this bar. 

he spotted you a few times during the night but knew better than to go over, remembering the last time he saw you, he got a well-deserved red mark on his cheek. he also saw how mingi watched you, a soft fondness in his gaze that hurt him as much as it comforted him.

because he thought you’d be safe with him tonight. that he wouldn’t let you out of his sight or allow you to stumble off to the bathroom by yourself.

but when the several cups hit you all at once, an unpleasant pressure on your bladder, you told the group you were gonna go pee and walked off without any response. it was so fast, one minute laughing and dancing and hearing the pounding music in their ears and then the next realizing you weren’t there. 

“oh...my god, my hair,” you whined in the mirror as you washed your hands, brushing through the frizzy, knotty strands. 

“it looks bea-beautiful!” another tipsy girl smiles, stumbling over to you and holding herself up on the wall. “don’t be silly!”

a giggle bubbles out of your mouth as you look at her in shock, her three friends coming out and praising each other is a similar way. 

it’s an oddly intimate and sweet ten minutes in the girl’s bathroom but it keeps you smiling even on your way out, waving goodbye to them before you turn back around and bump into someone’s chest.

“oh, i’m sorry, i-”

“it’s okay, pretty,” a deep unfamiliar voice says, his voice far too brash and flirty for your liking. you look up to see glossed over eyes and a smirk covering his sweaty face, the faint scent of alcohol and b.o making you queasy. 

“how’re you doing tonight?” 

“i’m fine,” you say, every bit of you now sobered as you watch his predatory gaze. the bar is still pretty crowded but the bathrooms are dark and off to the side, something you hadn’t even noticed in your tipsy state. 

“you here with someone tonight?” the boy asks, eyebrow raised suggestively as he takes a step closer to you. 

you swallow nervously as you nod politely, a tight smile on your face when your heart starts to pound. something innate within you is scared, the dark vacant corner only making you more nervous when your back hits the wall behind you.

“you’re pretty. so i guess it’s a boyfriend, huh?” 

“yes,” you say shortly, wishing you could push him back or or yell or slap him the way you did wooyoung. “so if you’ll excuse me, he’s probably wondering where i-”

but before you can move around the boy, a clammy hand on your elbow pulls you back to the wall. you immediately feel your heart drop into your stomach, panic setting in as your eyes shoot up to the man’s face. 

you don’t like the look behind his beady, glossy eyes and if you can’t get away within the next few seconds, you’re probably gonna scream. 

“now hold up now,” he says playfully, the slur in his words and stale smell of beer on his breath only making this worse. “maybe i’m b-better than your boyfriend,” he hiccups in your face, breath wafting in your face and making it pinch together. 

“i don’t think so,” you hum under your breath, shaking your head as you pull your arm out of his grasp. “so please leave me alone now.”

but he doesn’t. 

“hey, hey, hey, wait,” he says, a crooked smile on his face as he blocks his bigger body with yours. “just give me a chance, yeah? let me buy you a drink?”

your eyes flare and fists clench at his persistence, the way he’s inching closer to you and not taking no for an answer really making you mad. making you ready to stomp on his foot and kick him between the legs.

“c’mon, your boyfriend doesn’t even know you’re gone,” he says, an attempt to sound sly and convincing only making your skin crawl even more. “he’s probably with some other chick. let me show that i’m much better than him, babe.” 

his hand reaches out to touch your shoulder, a clammy thumb running along your bare skin. “he doesn’t know how good he has it if he let a pretty little thing like you walk off alone.”

“i know how good i have it actually,” you hear a voice mutter, one that, up until this very moment, would’ve made you angry or sad; but now, you don’t think you’ve ever been more grateful to hear him. 

you hear footsteps coming closer and each one fills you with relief, the thought that he’s about to kick the shit out of him the least of your concerns.

“so i suggest you take your fucking hand off her.”

your eyes meet the tight ones of wooyoung over the boy’s shoulder, his jaw clenched and gaze calculating as he debates ripping the guy off of you and shoving him against the wall or tugging you behind him.

he goes with both. 

taking you by the hand gently but firmly, your body bumping his as he puts you behind him. and then similar to how you were caged in, wooyoung does the same to the boy an inch or two taller than him; but it’s like neither are even aware of that. 

wooyoung’s body is stiff and rigid, the vein in his neck popping out as he stares down the guy. what freaks the creep out the most is, even by how pissed and dark this psycho is looking at him, his gaze looks...careless. like he wouldn’t even hesitate beating the shit out of him despite the way they’d be thrown out of here in three seconds.

“didn’t know you were real, dude,” the man stutters out, as if that is a good enough excuse to pin you against the wall and harass you. 

and wooyoung must find it absurd too, a scoff leaving his mouth as he cocks his head to the side.

“would it matter if i wasn’t?” he growls lowly, his body hot and angry as he takes his shirt in his hand. he wraps it around it to the point of choking the guy, his body thrashing underneath his hold. 

“get the f-fuck off me you psycho.”

“you don’t like it, do you?” wooyoung asks, a sinister smile on his face as he steps closer to the boy. “being caged in by a fucking lunatic? are you scared now?” 

your eyes widen at the dark tone in wooyoung’s voice, your quiet call of his name falling on deaf ears. he’s too focused on not beating the fuck out of the guy in front of him, his hand tightening as he decides to throw him into the corner of the wall.

you watch the man’s head smack off the wood trim and immediately screech, a chastising call of wooyoung’s name that has him grabbing your hand and heading for the exit. 

you’re about to object until you see he’s only bringing you outside the bar, sitting you down on a bench outside and welcoming the cold night air; it’s mid-november, only a week until thanksgiving break, and it’s unsurprisingly very bitter out. 

he helps you sit down before letting out a shaky sigh, his hands running through his hair like he’s trying to calm himself down and not run back in to finish what he wants so desperately wants to. he’s pacing slightly and you’d be probably be scared if it was anyone else, watching his jaw tick and vein pop in his neck. 

“you’re jeaaalous,” you tease your boyfriend of three months, watching his eyes follow two boys who had talked to you after class; you’d become friendly with them the first day of classes, their bright smiles and funny remarks immediately making you feel comfortable with them.

“no,” he growls lowly, his hand wrapped around your waist the whole time you go to your locker. you bite down on your lip to hide your smile but it does nothing to keep your giggles at bay, your back pressed up against the cold metal as he looks over your face. 

you cock your head to the side and smile teasingly at him, your thumb soothing over the ticking vein in his neck. the feel of it under your skin makes you wince a little because it seems almost dangerous, like his head or neck is gonna explode. 

“no?” you repeat, cocking an eyebrow as he looks at you in disdain. “then what’s this?” 

his hand reaches out to grab yours, quickly interlacing your fingers as his other  rests next to your head on the cool metal. 

“nothing,” he responds dumbly, dipping his head and hiding the possessive flare in his eyes as his next words fan over your ear. “i just don’t like seeing someone with my girl.”

you shake your head of the memory and see wooyoung making his way over to you, the boy slowly kneeling in front of you as he meets your glossy gaze. 

“you okay?” 

you lick over your dry lips, a lump already forming in your throat at his closeness and the softness in his voice. you can tell by his eyes that he hasn’t had a stitch of alcohol tonight, everything about him looking so similar to the boy he was last year during this time. 

before things went to shit and before he started the double life you both still haven’t recovered from. 

you don’t know if you could get the words out if you tried so you can only nod, your cold hands in one another. it feels as if a little bit of everything about the past five minutes has sobered you, fear and comfort and the coldness that should be alerting you to get away from the boy looking at you the way he is. 

but you can’t seem to do that, lips pressing into one another when you feel that lump growing bigger and bigger. you think you stop breathing when he reaches up to cup your cheek, his warm palm on your face for only a few seconds before you let out a shaky breath.

you know this isn’t good. that you and him together alone right now isn’t good. months of telling yourself you hate him and that he should rot before seeing him before your eyes and knowing that a part of you still cares for him. 

“wooyoung,” you mumble warningly, that breaking feeling within your chest knowing you can’t have him touching you. 

his face falls at the same time as his hand, splayed out on your jean covered knee in a way that feels so foreign but familiar. his hands are smaller than mingi’s but there’s something about them that almost makes you feel more comforted, remembering the times like this he would hold you and make you feel better.

made you feel like no one would ever hurt you because he was there. 

“i’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice deep and full of genuine sorrow. 

but you don’t know what exactly he’s sorry for. for the drunken man, for him touching you, for what he did? you go with the first one, because you’re not ready for the conversation the other two need. 

“not your fault,” you hum quietly, trying to talk through the growing lump in your throat. “just a drunk asshole.”

“not about that,” he laughs out humorlessly, rising from his spot below you and sitting down next to you. he’s close enough to where you can feel the heat radiating off his body but your arms aren’t touching - just a few centimeters separate you. 

“i’m sorry about our last conversation. it...wasn’t fair of me to do that and say anything to you.”

you shiver as a biting gust of win blows past, your arms wrapping around yourself as you simply nod. you can’t really think of what to say. because you don’t wanna say it’s okay, it’s not, but he also seems genuinely apologetic. 

“i’m trying not to drink anymore,” he explains to you, not quite sure how to take your silence and choosing to fill it. you can hear some embarrassment laced in his voice, his eyes trained down on his dirty sneakers. “it’s...caused me nothing but problems.”

caused him to lose you and fuck up time and time again. misplace all of his priorities and transform him into a person who lost his happiness in the span of a few months. 

“i messed up that night obviously, though,” he chuckles out, not a trance of humor in his tone as he meets your gaze. usually it’d be him watching you be nervous but now he can feel the shift in dynamic. that even though you’re still uncomfortable and nervous too, you still have the upper hand.

you can decide right now if you’re gonna start this conversation or tell him to go fuck himself. 

“i’m sorry you had to witness that. i know it was really fucking shitty of me.”

“it was,” you agree quietly after a few silent seconds, wooyoung’s heart dropping in his stomach as he prepares to get his ass handed to him. “but i don’t know if that second slap was warranted.” 

that loud high chuckle you’d always complain was ear piercing bubbles out of his mouth and you can’t help but bite back a smile at hearing it, resisting the urge to giggle right along side with him.

“it definitely was. i was a dick.”

you only shrug your shoulders, something pulling in your chest the more you two sit down beside one another and actually talk. not curse or slur words at each other or put your hands on the other but actually have some sort of discussion. 

“it wasn’t right. what i did.” 

and then just as you were starting to feel good about all of this talking stuff, your heart falls in your stomach and you wanna run from away from this conversation. a part of you doesn’t wanna reopen these wounds but another part of you knows they were never really healed or closed. 

especially not after seeing him again. 

“i can’t even tell you why or what happened because i don’t even fucking know.   i missed you even though we saw each other and talked a lot but...she was just always fucking there. would never leave me alone and i was so stupid to not realize it.”

that’s something he always reflects back on, how you saw something the first day you met her but you both chopped it up to insecurities. 

“and then i think i just started to lie because i loved you. which doesn’t even make sense because you don’t lie to someone you love. but i was so selfish and desperate to keep you. i knew you’d leave me.”

“no shit, wooyoung,” you can’t help but say, the quiver in your voice one you can’t stop as you hear all of this from his mouth. “the first night when she kissed you drunk, you should’ve told me. the fact that you didn’t...makes me thing you knew it was gonna happen again. without alcohol.”

“i didn’t tell you because i thought you’d be mad. i know i would’ve been.”

“i don’t think you’d be mad if someone took advantage of me,” you confess quietly, something you now know was absolutely the case. “but truthfully, it wasn’t even that, woo. you lied right to my face when i asked you in my room that day.”

“we’re just friends,” he says and you bite the inside of your cheek so you don’t scream; you hadn’t said anything like that so why is he telling you that? “she only texted me for the schedule, love.”

you look up to meet his gaze and see a frown on his lips, his eyes trailing over every part of your face. 

“do you trust me?” he then asks suddenly, seeing all of the doubt and hesitation over your face. you immediately nod your head, feeling tears burn the back of your eyes at the idea of starting a fight.

“then why does it seem like you don’t?

“you made it seem like it was me. and that’s why i really tried to fucking hate you,” you confess, voice wavering and watery and you even hear how it sounds like you’re about to have a break down. “being with her was bad and me needing to see that was bad but you...lying like that was worse.”

he swallows the lump in his throat as tears sting his eyes, his jaw clenched and eyes on the concrete so tears don’t fall. 

“a part of me thinks i should hate you,” you say after a few silent moments, wondering if he’s even listening to your words anymore. “but i...” your voice breaks and the cold air stings your watery eyes, successfully (and thankfully) halting your words. 

and whether wooyoung noticed your shivering or saw your eyes, you feel him move beside you before his sweatshirt is placed around your shoulders. the scent of his cologne could make you burst into tears on the spot, the teakwood scent you loved so much further overwhelming you. 

“thanks,” you mumble quietly, his hummed response the only sound between you two for the next few moments. 

the muffled music and chatter from inside the bar could be heard from the street but it seems as if no one is out tonight. just you, wooyoung and the lingering silence that comes with sitting beside an ex who hurt you and an ex you’re still in love with. 

it just so happens that, for you, both of those are still the case. no matter how much you wanna deny it or pretend that’s not the case, him sitting beside you and giving you soft little smiles is making you weaker than you wished. 

you know you should get up and leave, tell him this isn’t a good idea and that you should go back inside to mingi and your friends. but it’s like your brain and your body are at a complete disconnect, welcoming the warm heat from his jacket and the strangely comfortable presence of him beside you. 

“i still love you.”

the wind blows by at the time he says that and, at first, you think you made it up. that your deluded mind is hearing things and you really are just far too vulnerable and upset right now. 

but the when you peak at him, you can tell by the look on his face he’s not sure if he said that either. actually confessed to you in such a way he knows is wrong and unfair but just couldn’t stop because to the core, he’s selfish when it comes to you. 

he always has been.

“i always will. i always did.” 

and when you feel yourself start to break, the tears burning at the back of your eyes coming to the surface, you feel the anger and spite finally leave your body and be replaced with a sad, pathetic version of it. 

“i don’t know how i’m supposed to believe that,” you whimper out quietly, your eyes roaming his face in a way that breaks his heart; your eyes look so sad and defeated, he just wants to pull you into him. “i don’t even know why you’re saying this to me right now, woo.”

but he knows it’s in the way you still call him that with ease, like you don’t even realize you’re saying it and it’s just completely natural, that that’s exactly why he’s saying it. 

that he wants you to see, even though he made a mistake, there’s still something to hold on to. 

“i miss you,” he tells you softly, his voice low in a way that makes you swallow the lump in your throat. “i really fucking miss you, y/n. and i love you.”

“you’re not being fair,” you whimper out, the tears brimming your eyes falling down your cheek as you look at him. that’s when it really hits him how much he hurt you, how much you avoiding him and blocking him out of your life was meant to shield you from this.

“that’s not fair at all, wooyoung. what am i supposed to do? just forget it? believe now that you love me? you said the same thing then.”

“and it was true then,” he says, his tone more desperate and tight. “it was a mistake, y/n. the first time and the times after that. they’re lousy excuses but i’m being honest.”

he reaches out to wipe your tears and you can’t find the energy to pull away, exhaling a shaky breath when his thumb wipes at your face. his touch is gentle and soft and makes this moment even more hard for you, the look on his face making your heart wrench in your chest. 

“please, baby. i know it’d be hard but if we could just-”

“don’t. please.”

you pull your face away and shake your head as you look at him, wiping your wet cheek with the back of your hand.

“you’re not about to honestly suggest we date again? are you out of your fucking mind?”

“no no no. not date,” he’s quick to clarify, his hands up in innocence. “if we could just be friends. friendly. not...avoid each other and argue every time we see each other.” 

he lifts his hands to your face again with a pout on his, swiping both thumbs under your eyes; you notice his own eyes are teary but don’t even wanna think about him crying in front of you.

it hurts you as much as it enrages you, remembering the last time he broke down in front of you. 

“i don’t want you to cry every time you see me,” he mumbles lowly, his gaze looking over your face with such affection you can’t bear to look at him anymore. 

“i don’t...i want...i...” 

“i’m never gonna trust anyone ever again. do you fucking realize that, wooyoung?” you cry, his voice ringing in your head from january, when now you know he had already been with her, asking why you didn’t trust him. “you were with her and turned it around on me and asked why i didn’t trust you.”

“i want you to trust me.”

but he says that like it’s easy. like you can just so easily forget everything and trust him blindly. like he didn’t do anything wrong.

“i don’t know, wooyoung.”

he sees the fear and apprehension flickering behind your eyes, a sigh leaving his mouth as guilt starts to wash over him. he shouldn’t be doing this right now. he shouldn’t be asking you to do this when he’s not even sure you’ve forgiven him yet. 

he shouldn’t be feeling this intense want and need to have you to himself again. 

you both hear the faint sound of the door swinging open but pay no mind to it, too lost in the intense gazes and buzzing air between you two. you know you shouldn’t be considering this just as much as he shouldn’t be asking but here you are, actually considering his words right now. 

“just...think about it?” he offers, eyes glinting with hope and affection that would usually soften you in a second. “i know it’ll take time but maybe we can just try?”

you lick over your cold, chapped looks as you look at him, every part of you knowing you should be saying a big fuck you and fuck no to him. 

“i’ll wait for you again,” he adds, a hint of teasing behind his words as he thinks about your first few months together. him sitting with you every day during lunch and you outright ignoring him for half of them. watching as your confused expressions and sneers slowly morphed into smiles and giggles. 

realizing that, he was right to think you guys were good for each other, because being with you was one of the easiest things in the world when he wasn’t being a fucking asshole. 

“you barely waited,” you grumbled lowly, remembering the events from high school a lot more along the lines of him buying you snacks, asking you to a different movie every weekend and not giving you a moment to yourself during lunch. 

“a whole two months actually,” he says, the amusement in his voice making a sad smile cross your face. he can tell it’s sad by the way it doesn’t meet your eyes and it makes his heart hurt just a little bit, his hand moving to yours so your cold fingertips brush. 

“i’ll wait as long as you need this time. and if you decide you don’t want to be friends...that’s fine, too. i’ll...accept it and never talk to you again.”

you hate the way your heart pangs with hurt at that idea, terrified and embarrassed by how fast things changed in three months. how three months, you never wanted to see him again and now the prospect of that is physically paining you.

but could you put yourself through this? should you put yourself through this? he could be lying again. he could just be-

“y/n?” 

mingi’s deep voice pulls you from your thoughts as you jump at the sound of him, your eyes meeting his confused, cautious gaze before quickly snatching your hand away from wooyoung; but it’s obvious he already saw how close you guys were, on top of the fact his sweatshirt is wrapped around your shoulders. 

“you okay?” mingi asks as he looks at you, his gaze shifting to wooyoung and hardening every so slightly. “why are you upsetting her? haven’t you done enough?” 

“mingi, it’s-”

“some drunk asshole was harassing her because someone let her walk off alone,” wooyoung says to the boy, standing from his spot next to you and walking over. it’s at that time your friends come out and their eyes light up upon seeing you, quickly rushing over and dabbing at your red, damp face. 

mingi and wooyoung continue to have a stare down as you’re bombarded by drunken coos and sticky hands, the taller boy watching you carefully before wooyoung clears his throat. 

“guy said she had a boyfriend but that’s not the case, is it?” wooyoung says, the shift in him to being conniving and mean at the way he sees the boy looking at you. “no matter how much your bitch ass wants it.”

“fuck you,” mingi spits out, “you don’t deserve to even speak to her after what you did.”

“you don’t deserve to give me advice after you tried to swoop in and steal her.” 

“she’s not something to steal, asshole. i’ve actually been there for her, wooyoung,” mingi says, his tone deep and gruff as he resists the urge to thrown him up against the wall. “watching her cry and get through the shit that you inflicted on her.”

the words effect him just as much as mingi wanted them too but he’d never let the boy know that, instead narrowing his eyes and shoving the boy backward. 

“our shit’s between me and her so maybe fuck off for once and leave her alone,” wooyoung says, popping his neck to the side as he watches mingi’s jaw tighten. “look like a pathetic little puppy following her around.”

“more pathetic than pining after someone you cheated on? you know you fucked up and now that she’s moving on, you’re pissed.” 

“who the fuck said she’s moving on you-”

“mingi, we’re gonna go.”

it’s your soft voice that breaks up their lowly growled conversation, wooyoung’s dark eyes changing as he turns back to look at you. you hold his gaze for a few seconds before meeting mingi and the boy can’t even lie in saying it hurts how much more comfortable you seem looking at him. 

wooyoung can barely hear mingi mumble his response, letting out a groan when the taller boy shoulder checks him and says “they’ll see him around.” the boy bites back a snarky comment as you meet his gaze again, flickers of hope and confusion and fear in your gaze. 

he can only assure you with a soft smile and hope that you really see he meant every word he said. 

“i couldn’t even tell if he meant it, you know,” you tell mingi on the walk home, wooyoung’s sweatshirt still hanging from your body. 

the walk from the bar to your dorm is only about twenty minutes, you and mingi’s hands bumping clumsily as you walk down the main road. 

“like he seems sorry and he just said we’ll be friends. but i can’t....actually trust him again. what he did was wrong and i can’t just forgive him.”

mingi’s been quiet during your rant for the past few minutes, only the occasional hum or nod assuring you he’s even been listening. but it’s when you crane your neck up to look at him you see his face is...unusual. 

expressionless, almost, in a way you never see on the usually happy and smiley boy. 

“mingi? are you okay?”

“hm? yeah, i’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head before his arms bumps into yours. 

your eyebrows pull together in suspicion, about to ask him if he’s even been listening before he beings to talk again. “do you actually feel that way, though? that what he did was wrong and that you can’t forgive? or do you just think you should feel that way?” 

“i-” 

the question strikes you more than you thought it would. because the answer seems obvious - you shouldn’t wanna forgive him. you should know what he did was wrong, know it in the way loyalty and trust is such a crucial part to relationships.

but forgiveness is where that line gets blurred for you. 

hearing him and seeing him look and sound apologetic was hard. thinking back on your relationship and remembering how good you guys were together was hard. trying to put yourself in his situation, although you’re not sure you would’ve been in it in the first place, was hard. 

and it’s not like he’s asking you to trust him and be his girlfriend again. 

you’re just gonna...slowly repair your relationship again, right? but when you utter that thought to mingi, his feet stop moving and he looks down at you with an unconvinced expression. 

“you say that, y/n, and i wanna believe you,” he says, his hand toying at your fingers as he tries to remain gentle and calm. “but...i don’t know. you guys looked...”

the softness and affection was obvious, the possession and love behind wooyoung’s eyes matching your soft but fearful gaze was eye opening. 

if he didn’t know any better, he would’ve seen a couple making up from a fight. a happy, loving couple who was able to get past a hardship in their relationship and would be able to thrive again. 

“what?”

“you guys looked like you were...together. i thought i interrupted something,” mingi says honestly, remembering how you jumped away and your hands and face followed. “kind of seemed like you guys were gonna kiss.”

“mingi, that’s definitely not-”

“and look, if that’s what you want, that’s fine. but, please, y/n. you have to be careful. you can’t forget how much he hurt you and really have to consider if he’s being-”

and maybe it’s because you just wanted him to stop talking about it. or because your mind is muddled and confused and still swirling with the effects of alcohol and the tension with wooyoung. or because, underneath all of this drama, a part of you also has come to like mingi.

or at least, the comfort and feelings of affection and desire he gave you. he’s been there for you since the beginning and after a few months, you always thought this moment was gonna happen. you just didn’t know when. 

you didn’t know when one of you was gonna grow the balls to kiss and see what happens after that. 

it takes him a few seconds to respond before you feel him kiss you back, lips parted and his hand in yours moving to your hips. he pulls you against him the more you kiss, like you’re pouring every emotion you’ve experienced tonight into him while he’s pouring every emotion he’s held back for months. 

he just doesn’t know that at the time. 

he just knows that you pull back and smile at him in such a pretty way, a blush on your cheeks and glint in your eye as you tell him you really are only considering a friendship with wooyoung. 

but you go home that night not thinking about the kiss or mingi’s sleeping body beside you. you go home thinking about how nice it feels to be wrapped in wooyoung’s familiar scent and jacket.

almost like, when you close your eyes, you can pretend the body next to you is his. 

truthfully, you didn’t know how that kiss was gonna effect the dynamic between you and mingi. you didn’t know if things were gonna be awkward or different or if now all of the expectations changed. 

but even that night when he dropped you off, and stayed for a sleepover which was not unusual, you curled up in bed with a bag of chips and your laptop as you each shared a headphone.

and nothing felt different.

you two just went along with your usual relationship, not even mentioning the kiss until it became something that happened a day ago. then a week ago, then two weeks ago, then over a month ago, until it kind of seemed like something you guys were never gonna talk about. 

but school and work kept you both busy anyway, the last few days before christmas break full of studying for finals, finishing projects and dealing with the holiday rush of customers stocking up on sugary desserts and espresso shots.

among those customers in the coffee shop was wooyoung, the boy coming in three times a week for his usual order of black coffee and a chipotle chicken club. 

at first, you could tell the remnants of your conversation outside the bar were lingering. you were both apprehensive, his eyes guarded and voice overly polite every time he ordered or thanked you. 

you kept up your professional attitude but still felt that familiar feeling of nervousness bubbling in your stomach, torn between giving him another chance as a friend or saving yourself the possibility of getting hurt again.

but it was in the little things he did over the weeks of him coming in that eventually wore you down. 

when a particularly unpleasant customer gave you shit, he was quick to jump in like a ‘good samaritan,’ share a not-so-nice few words that had you biting back a smile and instead telling him it was okay. 

he always ordered two drinks by accident, his black coffee and an iced coffee that would sit on his table for a few minutes before he came back over to you and your coworkers claiming he didn’t need it anymore. 

but he knew it was your favorite drink and he could tell you needed a pick me up, working well into the evening until the sky fell dark and streets grew empty. 

which brought him to his current predicament, the last person in the coffee shop while you closed up alone on the not so decent side of town; he noticed you closed alone on thursdays and it never sat right with him, watching it happen for two weeks before deciding he wasn’t gonna allow it anymore. 

“hey, we close in about ten minutes. can i get you anything else?” he hears you ask, his head snapping up from his phone. there’s a rag in your hand and a small, polite smile on your face, looking him over warily.

“oh nah, i’m good,” he says, a shake of his head and a small laugh leaving his mouth. you purse your lips to the side and nod unconvinced, going back to the counter to finish cleaning. 

you let out a small sigh when you realize you forgot to text your roommate to come pick you up, your car in the shop and god knows how much money down in your back account. but before you can even get to her contact, you hear wooyoung coming your way. 

“thanks again, y/n, ” he says, gesturing to his empty cup of coffee in hand. 

“you’re welcome! have a nice night, wooyoung,” you smile politely. 

you think that maybe saying his name over and over will remind you of what he’s done to you, halt the stupid butterflies in your stomach that erupt every time you see him enter the coffee shop or catch him looking at you.

he smiles but doesn’t respond, only looks you over before looking out the window and then back at you.

“so, how’re you getting home?” 

you press your lips together as you now realize why he’s been lingering tonight, a scoff leaving your mouth as you shake your head at him; he must’ve noticed your car not in the parking lot before.

“i was wondering why you were lingering,” you mumble, a chuckle leaving his mouth that makes a small, uncontrollable smile pull at your lips.

“knew you were on to me,” he quips playfully, winking as he goes over to the garbage and throws out his cup. “lemme drive you home.”

“i was gonna call my roommate to get me, it’s okay,” you insist, wiping out your phone again and scrolling to her name. you hear his footsteps approach you again, his hand reaching out slowly before gently falling onto your arm.

and even though you heard him, you still jump at the contact, what feels like an electric shock zipping through your skin you know is all in your head. 

“c’mon, y/n, that’s not necessary. i’m here,” he whines slightly, eyes pleading and soft with a smile you’re trying so hard to resist. you lick over your dry lips and narrow your eyes slightly, letting out a sigh when you can tell he’s not letting up.

and it’s late. it’s so late and you’re tired and still have two papers to finish and edit tonight. you might as well, right?

“fine.” 

he smiles happily before guiding you to the front door, watching you lock up before you silently walk to his car. he opens the passenger-side door and you give him a strange look, never having seen him do that before, before thanking him. 

the car ride is quiet and awkward and cold for the first few minutes, you softly giving him directions before he turns on the heat and you sigh in relief. he side-eyes you as you put your hands to the vent, relishing in the hot air on your cold skin and he can’t help but smile at the sight.

“hands are still like icicles, i see.”

you look over and see the smirk on his face, probably remembering how when things were different, you’d warm your hands up on his skin despite his screams. sneak your hands under his shirt when you’d star gaze at night or hold onto his arm and giggle as he begged you to take them off him but never made any move to get them off. 

“always,” you say shortly, a slightly strained but breathy giggle leaving your mouth that makes his heart pull in his chest. 

the quiet hum of the car surrounds you both for the next few moments, an unspoken tenseness in the car from the reminder that, last time you were alone, he said he still loved you and you had a breakdown. he begged to be friends again and you left him without an answer. 

an answer that’s now lingering between you two, trying to decide if this is gonna be something that’s able to be repaired in some way or you’re both gonna let the fond memories and old feelings die out.

you can’t even lie and say you weren’t going back and forth about it some nights, when your bed seemed too cold and memories were playing and, for some reason, your thoughts of mingi weren’t enough. 

but you were terrified. every part of you was terrified to open this relationship back up just to possibly be hurt again. put your time and effort into him and make more memories that could potentially be tainted again. 

you suppose that’s a risk with any relationship though, because mingi hurt you too and look at you two now; you don’t think your friendship with him has ever been stronger. 

you let out a sigh as you wrack your brain, so lost in thought and the building ache in your temples that you’re barely able to hear wooyoung call your name. 

“y/n?” he repeats, smiling softly when you look over at him in a daze and hum lowly. 

“you good?”

“y-yeah,” you stutter, cheeks flushing a warm pink that wooyoung’s always sworn is the cutest thing about you. even more cute than when you stutter over your words or lick over your lips when you’re lost in thought.

“i...i was just thinking...” you continue a few moments later, your heart saying fuck it because your brain seemed to have lost this battle a while ago.

“about?” wooyoung prods gently, looking over at you as he stops at a red light; he can see your apprehensive, your quietness and shifting eyes one of the telltale signs. 

“about...what we talked about the other night,” you say, peering over to see him watching you patiently, softly, so much like the way he’d watch you in the beginning. 

“about trying to be friends.”

his eyebrow raises and he can feel a lump already forming in his throat, the smile he puts on his face one to disguise how fucking nervous he just became. because he was serious, no matter how selfish he’s realizing he is, if you tell him you don’t wanna be friends, he’s gonna respect that.

no matter how much it’ll pain him. 

“and?” he asks, tightening his hand on the steering wheel when his eyes fall to your lips; watching as your tongue swipes over them before meeting his gaze again. 

the look in his eyes makes more butterflies erupt in your stomach, a soft intensity that momentarily makes you forget everything he’s done; it also might be responsible for the next words that leave your mouth.

“i...think we can try.”

and you didn’t know it at the time but that was that sentence that sealed your fate for the next two months, mirroring the happy smile wooyoung throws your way as your heart lurches in your chest.

his hand twitches to take yours in his but he knows that’d be absolutely inappropriate so he only grips the steering wheel tighter, thanking you softly and promising that he’s not gonna fuck this up. 

and for the next week, he doesn’t; you two fall into a schedule you would’ve never anticipated at the beginning of the school year. 

he comes in a few hours before your shift ends, studies for finals with cups of coffee and desserts until he’s the last one in the building with you. he helps you clean and close up, his signature high-pitched laugh echoing through the empty walls when you smack him with a rag or yell at him for trying to steal another cookie. 

he brings you home every night, your finger tips colliding as you warm your hands with the vents and smile shyly when the sensation from your skin meeting zips through you. 

it’s a dark and clear night tonight, what seems like darker than any other december night, and there’s hundreds of stars in the sky. it’s something you both notice but don’t have the hearts to comment on, both of you catching the other peeking out the window or admiring the sight above you at a red light. 

you bite down on your lip when he catches you, a blush creeping up on your face before you stutter out a question. the first one that comes to mind.

“you excited to be going back home?” 

the smirk on his face is so obviously teasing but you don’t have the stomach to be snippy right now, grateful when he decides to play it nice tonight and answer without calling you out. 

“how ‘bout you? your parents must be so happy.”

“they are. not happy that i’ll be using their car all break but i think they’re still happy,” you giggle out, wooyoung looking over at you an eyebrow raised.

“it’s still fucked?”

“yeah,” you sigh out with a shrug. “it’s okay though, it’ll definitely be fixed by the time i’m back for the spring.”

“that’s true but then how are you getting home tomorrow?” 

and that’s how you ended up driving home for christmas break with wooyoung, his pleas, your apprehension, your parents confusion and mingi’s utter disapproval making the trip a very questionable one. 

but it had made sense, you guess, saving your parents an hour drive to a destination wooyoung would be going to anyway. 

“y/n, are you sure you’re okay with this?” mingi had asked, sitting atop your bed as you folded your clothes into a suitcase. you noticed the way the smile fell from his face when you told him, your stomach twisting as something that strangely felt like guilt began to surface. 

but you shook it off and smiled softly at the boy, insisting that an hour with him would be okay. 

“he’s been coming to work and driving me home every night this week, mingi, and i haven’t had a breakdown yet. it’ll be fine.”

the boy doesn’t find your comment assuring in the slightest, narrowing his eyes at you and feeling something pull in his chest. he doesn’t think you’ve realized how much you’ve drifted this week, small things that maybe he’s being too sensitive about or thinking too much into it. 

but he’s wondering why you never asked him for a ride. or why the texts you’d usually send him about rude customers or funny co-workers have dwindled this week. he’s wondering why, for some god forsaken reason, your eyes are brighter and there’s a look on your face that just seems happier. 

ignorance is bliss though and that’s why mingi just nods his head at you and opens his arms, smiling into your hair when you agree to take a quick 30-minute break for an episode that turns into almost three hours of cuddling and giggling.

“that’s not what happened at all!” you squeal, hitting wooyoung in the arm as he incorrectly recounts meeting your parents for the first time. 

“there’s no way i did that!” he says, his lips quirked up and a laugh bubbling in his chest.

“you literally did! i almost died, that’s how i remember so well,” you screech, never forgetting that the first time you introduced a boy to your parents over dinner, he patted his lap and told you to take a seat. 

wooyoung bursts out laughing the same way he did then, your mom looking at you two half in amusement and half in shock while your dad didn’t miss a beat and patted his lap for his wife in return; you were both pink in the face and smacked their arms playfully. 

“your dad always liked me, i never understood why and now i certainly don’t.” 

you bite down on your lip to control your growing smile, the two of you sharing memories the whole ride down. 

it’s probably the worst thing to do at a time like this, where you’re both back in familiar settings, with a hundred different reminders and memories of one another. where you now only have each other and an old group of mutual friends with way too much free time you don’t know what to do with. 

“you were funny i guess,” you tease lightly, a small giggle leaving your mouth when he side eyes you with mock annoyance. “remember when you got him the toilet golf for christmas?” 

wooyoung throws his head back in laughter again and you both giggle and squeal for him to keep his eyes on the road, hitting him in the arm playfully as you tell him it’s still in his bathroom to this day.

“he’s probably real good now, too,” wooyoung says with a wink, the roll of your eyes making him bite back a smile of his own. “what’re you guys doing for christmas this year?” 

you share holiday plans for the remainder of the car ride, telling him that you’ll be going to your aunt’s a few hours away from christmas to new years day. there’s only about five minutes left until you’re home when wooyoung’s next words stir you into shock.

“maybe we could hang out when you’re back. go ice skating or something.”

you press your lips together as you look at him, his face relaxed and eyes on the road like the suggestion had been the easiest thing in the world. you don’t know that, internally, he was kind of freaking out. hoping he didn’t just back track all the progress you guys have made, just within this car ride even. 

ice skating was something you guys did last year together, your hand in his before you promptly fell on your ass but he saved you every time. you were still newly dating and it was all very sweet and pure, cheek kisses and awkward fumbling which were the telltale signs that you were a new couple in the honeymoon phase. 

“i....” 

the words seem caught in your throat, knowing you wanna say yes because friends ice skate. friend hang out like that, this shouldn’t be a new concept to you. 

he can sense your apprehension and quickly meets your gaze, his face falling before he’s quickly shaking his head. 

“only if you want to,” he smiles softly, an uncharacteristic shyness on his face and in his voice. “if you’re bored and got nothing else to do, ya know.” 

not because he desperately wants to be with you during this break. not because hanging out with you this past week has been the happiest he’s felt since almost exactly a year ago. 

“no, yeah, sure. that’d be nice,” you eventually stutter out, a smile breaking out across wooyoung’s face that calms all the anxiety and tension in your body. you can feel this attachment is wrong and unhealthy but it’s like you have no control over it anymore, blinded by him and the memories and the way he makes you feel. 

the way you watch his car drive off after he walks you to the door, already buzzing with excitement for your...friendly outing with wooyoung in the next few weeks. 

the holidays pass as quickly as they came and soon enough, you’re running around your room picking the finishing touches on your outfit as wooyoung is set to arrive in a few minutes. he had called you this morning after he woke up, telling you to dress warm and that he’d see you later tonight at six. 

you hear your door bell ring and your eyes widen, moving to the clock to see he’s, surprisingly, five minutes early. you deem your matching boots and jacket good enough, running down the stairs and to the door. 

you’re only faintly aware of the fact you can’t see his head through the top glass window the way you saw mingi’s when he came to your house last winter, shaking the memory from your head and smiling when you see wooyoung standing there with a cup of hot chocolate.

“hey b...y/n,” he smiles, his heart pulling in his chest so much he almost slipped up and forgot you’re only friends. but you just look so pretty and this feels a lot like a date, his stomach twisting and heart pounding in such a foreign way; he hasn’t been on a date since...

“hi! thank you, woo,” you smile softly, taking the cup from his hand and ushering him inside quickly. “just gotta find my keys. my parents are still at my aunts.”

“was hoping to see your dad, ask him about his golfing skills,” wooyoung teases, not coming to terms with the true anxiety and shame he feels knowing the older man definitely knows what he did to his daughter.

but if he does, you don’t make any indication of it; only smile at him and nod your head toward the couch, telling him you’ll be ready in a few minutes. he goes into the living room and smiles upon seeing your christmas tree light up with white lights and homemade ornaments. 

your house smells of vanilla and the fireplace is crackling, a perfect warm contrast to the cold, biting weather outside. he plops down and watches the fire crackle, the heat warming his face and making him lean back with his eyes closed. 

the warmth of the fire makes him melt further into the couch, sinking back into the comfortable couch until it almost feels like he could fall asleep.

you walk back in a few moments later and see the sight before you, your eyes widening and heart lurching because fuck. he has no right looking like that, sprawled out handsome and relaxed on your couch with the soft fire glowing on his face. 

your eyes rack down his body quickly, his eyes closed and legs spread, head tipped back against the couch in a way that looks like he... you have to shake your head out of the daze, your own cheeks flushing because you feel like an absolute gawking pervert right now.

even though you’re painfully aware of how long it’s been since you last...

you shake your head again and make you way over, his eye peeking open upon hearing your footsteps, your pink cheeks and wet lips making him swallow and twitch in his seat; you look so fucking pretty tonight.

“hey,” he smiles, voice gruff and low as he looks you over. “you look nice.”

“you too,” you smile softly, your eyes moving from him to the roaring fire. “do you like it?” 

but his eyes are still on you, roaming your body in a way that has his cock straining in his pants. he’s missed you and fuck has he missed those parts of you, too. he can see something behind your eyes but he’s not sure if it’s just his own lust creeping up on him, a hunger that he never thought he’d see again from you.

“like what?” 

his voice is deep and gruff and sounds so rough, you have to stop the shudder from going through you. you can only swallow the lump in your throat, trying to ignore the sensation ripping between your legs as you look at him watching you. 

with eyes so dark and lustful you can only hope that your own desire isn’t imagining it, staring back at him as you lick at your dry lips and remind yourself to breathe.

“th-the fire,” you say nodding your head toward the flames he was entranced by before. “do you like it?” 

“oh,” he laughs out, the lump in his throat and growing arousal far too much right now. “yeah, i do. it’s nice.” 

you nod your head as you look down and play with your fingers, bag hanging from your shoulder as you watch him from the middle of the room. the air is thick and the room feels 100 degrees, your heart pounding in your ears as you hear the whipping wind outside. 

that’s where you guys should go right now. in the cold. around people. not alone in a hot space that’s only getting more and more tense.

“i...should we go or?” 

he looks from you to the window to the fire and then back to you, a small pout on his face as he leans himself back on the couch. “five more minutes? it’s so fucking cold out and this is nice.”

you almost wanna say no because the tension is too thick right now but you also don’t know if you could move if you tried, nodding your head as a quiet “sure,” leaves your mouth. 

the room is silent and you’re looking at him while he’s watching you, the need to swallow becoming more and more prevalent before you cock your head to the side. 

“is it really cold out? should i wear something heavier?” 

you know you don’t have to. this is your heaviest winter jacket, you just need to say fucking anything before you do something you might regret. or not regret at all, anything to feel relief and remember the way his lips feel against yours. 

“no, that should be fine,” he says, smiling as he looks over your outfit and face again. “you look good. really good.”

a shy smile crosses your face and you feel a blush creep up on your face, looking down at your boots that may or may not be new. 

“thanks. so do you,” you say softly, meeting his gaze and biting down on your lip when he smiles teasingly at you.

“is that why you’re all the way over there?” 

your eyes narrow and breath hitches and you almost think he knows how much he’s effecting you right now. how long it’s been since you’ve had any sort of contact with another person that wasn’t completely platonic or pure. 

“shut up,” you mumble, taking a few small steps toward the couch but still keeping your distance. he raises an eyebrow almost challengingly and that’s when you feel yourself growing more suspicious, cocking your head to the side as you blatantly look him over.

you watch him roll his tongue over his lips before looking into the fire place, that familiar tick in his jaw and neck making you smirk before feigning innocence again. 

“you really like that, don’t you?”

his eyes raise to you, not a trance of teasing or amusement on his face as he look at you. it’s all dark and lustful and you don’t know where this is all coming from but it’s creeping up on you fast. 

“the fire, i mean,” you add, nodding your head toward the furnace again. 

his eyes narrow and jaw clenches, your teeth sinking into your lip to stop the smirk from creeping back up on your face; but it must not help completely because you watch a different sort of look cover wooyoung’s face.

one you haven’t seen in a long time.

“a lot of smart ass remarks for someone who’s standing across the room,” he bites back, eyes widening and cock twitching when you shrug your shoulders and are suddenly standing right in front of the couch. 

you can only look down at him with a small smirk on your face, eyebrow’s raised as if to say now what are you gonna say? but you should know by now that wooyoung is almost never speechless or action-less, spreading his legs out on the couch just a little bit more before a teasing smile crosses his face. 

he repeats the actions he did that first day meeting your parents, tapping his lap  again as he licks over his lips and tells you your seat is still here. he knows it’s a risk and so do you but it doesn’t stop you from looking over his body, everything in you screaming that if you do this, there’s no going back. 

you’re gonna be back to where you were months ago, caught in a cycle of worry and fear and all-consuming emotions, something dangerous and draining when a person like him knows they have power over you.

but right now, after the past three months of going back and forth with him and sorting through your emotions, you just wanna forget everything. turn your brain off for a second and do something, anything, that’s gonna make you feel something other than sadness and anger and confusion. 

“come here.”

the command is gruff and deep and makes your lower stomach swoop, your fingers falling to zip off your jacket before your bag lands on the floor with a plop and you’re straddling your cheater of an ex-boyfriend right on your living room couch.

your lips collide and he groans at the same time you moan into his mouth, a mess of open-mouthed kisses and tongues that feel so pent up and natural, it’s like neither of your brains are on. 

when you move against him and feel his hard cock under you, it only spurs you on to do it more. press your body into him and wrack your fingers through his hair. 

he growls into your mouth and places his hands on your hips, his finger tips digging into your shirt as he disconnects your lips for air and travels down your neck. 

his kisses are wet and sloppy but you throw your head back anyway, every part of your body burning and begging and aching to be touched by him. and it’s like he knows it, he still knows every part of your body better than you or anyone else in the world, sucking a hickie into your neck as his hands cup your ass. 

“jesus christ, y/n,” he growls into your skin, your eagerness and closeness and warm body against his making all the blood go right to his cock. you can feel it pressing harder against you and let out a whine, pulling his face away from your neck so you can crash your lips against his again. 

it’s a flurry of kissing and sucking and biting, your own hands ripping your shirt over your head before wooyoung’s face is in your chest and sucking hickies onto your skin. you lean your head back and let out a whine, your hand tightening in his hair before you push him back and pull at the bottom of his shirt. 

he can only smirk at the pout on your face, pulling you into him and placing a kiss on your cheek. “still so fucking good for me, aren’t you?” he hums lowly, waiting until you nod for him to pull his shirt off and place a smack on your ass. 

it echoes through your empty house and you let out a whine, pushing yourself against him before he takes your face in his hand.

“and you’ve only been good for me still, right?” he asks lowly, his voice deep and possessive in a way you’ve never heard before. it sends butterflies right through your stomach and in between your legs, wetness pooling in your underwear as he tightens his hold on you. “no one else has fucked you, right?”

and you know that should be the tipping point. 

you know you should rip yourself away from him and slap him again, ask him why the fuck that matters when you know for a fact he’s been with someone else too. he’s been with someone while lying to you and acting as if everything was okay. that you were never indebted to him after the breakup and you still aren’t now. 

but instead, you shake your head and look at him all wide-eyed and glossy, your breathy “only you have fucked me,” making him growl before flipping you over and ridding you from the rest of your clothes. 

he falls to his knees before pulling to the edge of the couch and devouring your dripping pussy, his tongue lapping at you in a way that makes you scream out and push yourself against him. your stomach is tightening and legs are shaking and you can’t stop the moans that are leaving your mouth, repeating his name like a mantra as he slips a finger in.

“oh god, baby,” he growls against your wetness, your hole so tight around his finger he can’t wait to be buried inside of you. 

“let- let me ride you,” you beg despite the way you’re still pushing yourself on his face. it’s a pleasure you don’t ever want to stop but you also wanna feel him inside you, missing so desperately what it feels like to be full of his cock. 

“ah, ah, you gotta come on my tongue first,” he demands lowly, curling his finger inside of you and making you cry out. “you’ve been such a good girl for me. don’t get bad now.”

“b-but i wanna-”

he sucks your clit into his mouth and you scream out, legs shaking and hips bucking into his face before your orgasm hits and you’re shaking against the couch. 

you barely have time to catch your breath before he lifts you up and pulls you on top of him, guiding you over his cock before you sink down on him and you  both moan out at the same time. 

“oh my god,” you whine out at the same time he grunts “fuck,” your movements slow and easy as you adjust to his size in you. but once the slight sting has dulled and he feels you relax slightly, he pulls your face to his and connects your lips. 

“now ride me, baby. i know you’ve missed sitting on my cock, haven’t you?” 

with your hands gripping the back of the couch, you nod as you start to lift your hips up and down, leaning forward every so slightly so you can feel something against your already stimulated clit. 

“answer me. who’s are you? who’s cock have you missed sitting on?”

“y-you, wooyoung. you. i’ve- i’ve missed your cock,” you whine, your hips moving more frantically the more you bounce up and down on him. your breaths are labored and the room feels at least 30 degrees hotter, his grunts and groans and your high-pitched yelps filling the festive living room. 

“you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting for this tight pussy again,” he growls out, when he feels himself getting close and needs you to come again before he can release inside of you. “i...you’re mine, baby. you fucking get that now, don’t you? you’re mine. and you’ll always be mine.”

“yes,” you whine out, frantically moving against him before moaning out when he starts fucking up into you. “yes, yes, yes. yours, wooyoung. p-please come, let me come, i wanna feel you-”

his last final grunt cuts you off and you feel your own orgasm take over, both of you riding out your highs and moaning each other’s names over and over until your ears are ringing and hearts are pounding in your chests. 

you’re faintly aware of his hand rubbing up and down your back, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your head before he pulls out of you and lays on the couch.you close your eyes and let out a tiny whine at his exit, a small smile lingering on wooyoung’s face as he grabs a baby wipe from the bathroom to clean between your legs.

you smile lazily at him when you see him between your legs, cheeky fuck he is placing a teasing kiss between on your clit as he walks away laughing at your squeal. 

he collapses on top of you when he’s back, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you completely and places another kiss on your neck. he peppers them down your skin and you can only smile, still on the high of your orgasm and feeling loved that you can’t register all the other emotions fighting to break through.

fear and confusion and maybe even slight panic, realizing you just gave in and fucked the life out of the ex-boyfriend you know you’re supposed to hate. 

the doorbell ringing is the first thing that brings you back to reality a few minutes later, jumping up and nearly smacking wooyoung in the head had he not also lifted his head. his eyes are wide but not as bad as you, a smirk on his face as he asks if you’re expecting company.

“i don’t think so?” you say, pulling on your jeans before you start to frantically search for your shirt. wooyoung’s quick to throw you his, a knowing smile on your face because you remember how much he loved to see you in his clothes after you guys had sex. 

and that hasn’t seemed to change. 

“it’s definitely not my parents, they’d just use their key,” you assure him, attempting to fix your messy sexy hair that wooyoung’s always thought was the sexiest shit. “i’ll be right back.”

as you walk through the kitchen and peer out the front door, it feels like time stops when you see a familiar head of hair through the window. it’s like an exact parallel of the day mingi came to see you when you guys made up, except you hadn’t just fucked wooyoung on your couch. 

and sure enough when you open the door, there mingi is with a handful of flowers and a large cup of tea in hand. 

“hey! sorry i’m late, i can’t believe how much-”

his face drops the moment he takes in your appearance, messy hair, flushed pink cheeks, hickies on your neck, and an inside-out t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination of what you just got done doing. 

“traffic there was,” mingi finishes quietly, staring back at your surprised, shocked face in a way that makes his heart drop in his chest - you didn’t remember. 

“i...hi,” is all you dumbly say, the high from before quickly vanishing as you stare at mingi who’s looking more broken-hearted and confused by the second. it’s already making you wanna cry, his usually starry eyes dim and confused as he looks you over. 

“did...you forget i was coming?” he laughs out, humor in his tone that sounds so horribly masked you have to hold back tears. 

“happy new year, y/n! let’s hope this year brings us-”

your aunts words are cut off by blaring of your phone, mingi’s name popping up on your screen making a smile break out across your face; you’re not surprised he’s the first one calling to welcome you into the new year. 

“you should get that,” your aunt smirks, a blush on your cheeks as you shake your head and tell her it’s not like that. 

but she thinks the smile on your face says otherwise, the giggles and laughs and the way you throw your head back as you talk to the person on the other end of the phone. 

“i should be back in two days, you can come see me then drama queen,” you smile into the phone, mingi’s whiney complaints that he misses you so much, he doesn’t think he remembers what you even look like. “i’ll be home around six, i expect you there with flowers and a hot beverage.”

“oh my god.”

guilt like you’ve never experienced rushes through you all at once, face pale and mouth open as tears build up behind your eyes. mingi can see them building and already knows what’s happening, a lump forming so tight in his throat he can only shake his head.

“it’s okay, y/n.”

because he saw the car across the street; he thought, maybe, it was a coincidence - ignorance is bliss, after all, but he knew your reaction was gonna be the only thing he needed to see. and the tears in your eyes makes it pretty obvious what’s going on right now.

“wait. no mingi, it’s not. please. just let me-”

“no, it’s okay, really. i- i should’ve told you i was still coming. how were you supposed to know?” 

“we talked two days ago. i- i remember talking and planning it, i just...”

wooyoung called me, too. wooyoung called me and asked to go ice skating and   it was like after that, everything else was gone from your memory. you were so consumed by that you forgot you were supposed to-

“it’s okay,” he assures again, a small sad smile on his face as he holds out the flowers and drinks. “consider it a special delivery.”

and when you don’t take it, just continue to stare blankly at him, he places the drink and flowers on the steps and turns around wordlessly. because he’s not about to break down and have this conversation with wooyoung in the house, have you explain yourself when he obviously misunderstood things here. 

he’s just about to his car door when he hears your footsteps running after him, his eyes closing tight to fight off the few small tears building in his eyes. 

“mingi, wait. please wait, i-”

“it’s fine, y/n. i...i was stupid,” he laughs out humorlessly, turning around and looking over your already tear-stained face. “i misunderstood and that’s okay. i...we never officially said we were doing hanging out and i-”

“you didn’t misunderstand anything,” you’re quick to tell him, your mind completely clear as you take in mingi’s dejected face; you know you’re both not only talking about tonight’s plans.

you’re talking about the past ten months together. the friendship you built and the lingering touches and smiles. the way you made each other feel so safe and content and at ease. the way you only ever really smiled and laughed around one another.

his face looks familiar now though. his entire demeanor looks familiar, except you think you recognize more because you remember feeling like you looked a lot like that last winter. like you saw something you shouldn’t have and felt hurt in a way no one’s hurt you before. 

and you think those might’ve been the wrong words to say because within the next few silent seconds, mingi’s face morphs from devastation to the smallest hint of anger you’ve ever seen from him.

“don’t say that.”

tears fall from your eyes and you feel like you can’t breathe, watching him grip the handle of his door like he’s dying to get the fuck in his car and away from your house. 

“if...if i didn’t misunderstand anything, y/n, then i... this...” mingi shakes his head because he can’t even fathom this whole situation right now. but he knew from the beginning your relationship was very up in the air, the two of you never officially claiming to be anything. 

“we never talked about anything. our feelings or the kiss, so i did misunderstand things,” mingi confirms again, because this rationalization is easier. not feeling the need to hate you and yell at you and ask what the fuck you were thinking is easier. 

“i thought you were just...you know, figuring it out still so i didn’t wanna pressure you. but maybe that was wrong, maybe you just never wanted-”

“mingi, please. no. i know this looks bad but we can-”

“y/n?” 

wooyoung’s voice makes you both freeze, you keeping your gaze on mingi while his goes to the boy at the door. you can’t see the challenging look in wooyoung’s eyes or the smug look on his face, mingi’s hand tightening on the door as he tells you he’s leaving now.

“what?” you cry out, eyes wide and watery as you shake your head frantically. 

you know you’re being unfair and you know this is over but you can’t help but hold onto just for a second longer, your heart pulling so horribly in your chest, you’re not sure you’ve felt pain like this before.

“i’m leaving, y/n. get away from my car, okay?”

he keeps his voice soft and sweet and quiet, begging you to just go back to wooyoung as he keeps his eyes trained away from the boy. because he knows if he looks at him again, he’s gonna run over and beat the shit out of him.

“mingi, please, i didn’t-”

“it doesn’t matter anymore,” mingi says coldly, voice a bit harsher and louder. “just get away from my car.” 

“i know it looks bad but please, mingi, please, i didn’t mean to-”

“get the fuck away from me.”

your face falls and lower lip quivers, mingi’s face crumbling before he runs his hand over his face. he takes a few deep, calming breaths before his large hand cups your face, daring wooyoung to come over and say something right now, as his thumb runs over your cold skin and wipes at the wetness. 

“i’m sorry. i just...i have to go.”

“i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you blurt out, knowing and seeing clear as day that’s what happened. “i didn’t know... we never said...i...” 

you don’t know what to say but you know this all feels very fucking wrong. you know that you feel like you messed up one of the best friendships and relationships you’ve ever had, the pulling feeling deep within your gut making you wanna vomit.

“i know, y/n, it’s okay,” he assures gently, his hand falling from your face and making you feel ten degrees colder. “i just gotta go, okay? please.”

your face crumbles as you find that you can’t look away from him, only backing away when he’s able to open the door and wedge himself in. 

he turns on his car and puts it drive before he can even put his seatbelt on, his eyes never leaving yours until he’s taking off down the block and suddenly the neighborhood is quiet. 

you hear footsteps making their way up behind you but can’t move from your spot, staring at the spot his car just occupied before arms wrap around your body.

you can feel now that they’re far too cold and far too short and feel far too wrong. how could you have not felt this before? known that this just didn’t feel right?

“wooyoung’s my friend but so are... so were you.”

you watch mingi’s fingers rest on the couch cushion next to you as you let out a small, shaky breath, something about his words causing you to look up and narrow your eyes.

“were?”

a pink, dare you say, nervous, blush crosses his face that causes you to hold back a laugh, his eyes wide as he shakes his head quickly.

“are. you are my friend,” he clarifies quickly, unsure eyes still roaming you. “i just...wasn’t sure if you still wanted to be.”

his stammered words coupled in with his pink cheeks and dark, wind-blown hair have a small smile stretching across your face, a sigh leaving your mouth as you shake your head at him and shrug.

“well, i guess i can’t lose you too, huh?”

“i’m happy you’re mine again,” wooyoung whispers in your ear, his breath ghosting over your lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “we can work through this, okay? you know how much i love you, baby.”

but do you really know that? what about when the next girl comes along, with dark hair and a pretty smile and makes him feel so desired, he just tells you that again because he knows, in the end, you’ll believe him?

the end

tag list: @mochibabycakes​ @atinyarmyx1​ @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwich​ @minbinwhore​ @chrryhwa​ @chogiout​ @marksflvr​ @bunbaebae​ @markleeyeosang​ @inkigayeo​ @nlost21​ @toffee-hwa​

[gayestnerdsinfiction]

bury your heart

cw: brain cancer and all its associated symptoms

read part two here

----

“Okay, here’s one,” Edward said. “When is a person like a piece of wood?”

“Hm,” Jonathan murmured absently, fingers running through Edward’s hair. He resisted the urge to make the first dirty joke that came to mind. “When they’re a ruler?”

“Good guess,” he murmured. He reached up to catch Jonathan’s long nose between his forefinger and thumb. “But, no. When they’re bored,” he revealed, grinning loosely.

Jonathan pulled away, swatting Edward’s hand out of his face. “Yes, Edward, I’m aware you’re bored. I’m not sure what you expect me to do about that.”

“Entertain me.”

“Entertain yourself,” he retorted. “Read a book.” Edward made a face at that, somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment. Realizing his mistake, Jonathan added, “Or listen to one of your stupid podcasts.”

“I keep telling you, the conspiracy theory podcast is not stupid and if you actually listened to it, you’d see that it’s very educational.”

“I’m beginning to understand why you flunked out of school if that’s what you consider educational,” Jonathan muttered. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out, a small reminder lighting up the screen. Meds. He disentangled his fingers from Edward’s hair and slid out of bed, making his way into the bathroom.

“I didn’t flunk out,” Edward called after him. “I dropped out. There’s a difference. They didn’t fire me, I quit.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes but he didn’t respond, instead choosing to focus on rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. He took out his own medications—Lexapro, Clozapine, Zoloft—and then Edward’s. Promethazine for the nausea, Lorazepam for the seizures, Tramadol and Hydrocodone for the pain. And those were just the morning set. Jonathan tucked his pills into his cheek, dipping his head under the faucet to gulp them down with a mouthful of water. Then he brought Edward’s medication into the bedroom for him.

It had been a few weeks of this routine. Bringing Edward his meds in the mornings, again in the evenings. Smoothing his hair away from his clammy face as he vomited, knuckles going white from gripping the edge of the toilet. Watching him struggle to remember things, complete simple tasks.

Jonathan had seen some pretty awful things in his life. Gruesome deaths and life threatening infections and overdoses and people clawing their own skin off during toxin induced hallucinations. He had seen all of those things and yet this was still hard to watch. Maybe harder than anything else. The only thing keeping him from spiraling entirely out of control were the few painkillers he was able to sneak from Edward’s prescription. It took the edge off, kept him from thinking too hard about the fact that his friend was slowly dying in his home, his bed.

“Here’s another,” Edward said, swallowing his pills dry. He was at least in good spirits today, chattering away almost like his usual self. “We’re five little items of an everyday sort; you’ll find us all in ‘a tennis court’.”

“Vowels. That’s an easy one.” Jonathan sat back down on the bed and Edward wasted no time before depositing his head in Jonathan’s lap.

“Well, excuse me for not being at the top of my game,” he replied sarcastically. “The cancer makes it hard to think, you know.”

He tried to muster some kind of joke in response but nothing came to mind. He didn’t mind when Edward made light of his own illness, but for Jonathan to do the same felt incredibly inappropriate. Because it wasn’t funny, not to him.

“Maybe we could go somewhere today,” Edward suggested hesitantly, interrupting Jonathan’s thoughts. “I’m tired of being cooped up in here.”

“Might I remind you that the reason you’ve been cooped up in here is because you’re too sick to stand half the time?”

“But I feel alright today,” he insisted. He sat up, getting out of bed with a labored groan to demonstrate. “See?” he said cheerfully, spreading his arms. The gesture just made it even more apparent how thin he’d gotten, how wobbly his stance was. “I’m standing. I might even take a few steps, really go for it, y’know?”

“I don’t know, you don’t want to go too crazy,” Jonathan said dryly. “You might hurt yourself.”

Edward crawled back onto the bed, kneeling beside Jonathan. The dark circles marring his pale, sallow skin were deep but his emerald eyes were bright, eager. “We could go play chess in the park,” he proposed. “That’d be alright, wouldn’t it? I could sit down, get some air. Get some sun, God, I could really use a bit of sun, look at the state of my skin.” He peered up at Jonathan. “What do you think?”

He nodded slowly. “Okay. Later, though. I have things that need doing before I can go out.”

Edward grinned, his upturned nose bumping against Jonathan’s cheek as his balance wavered slightly. Quickly, as if to cover the slip, he pressed a kiss to the same spot. “Can I sit with you while you work?” he asked.

Jonathan frowned. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. The chemicals—”

“I’ll wear a mask,” he interrupted. “Please?”

“Edward…” He sighed. “I don’t think huffing a bunch of toxic fumes is advisable if you want to still be feeling alright by the time we go out.”

Edward pouted, pulling away. “How about a riddle?” he asked, sounding thoroughly glum. He tucked his legs up against his chest. “When is a person like a piece of wood?”

Jonathan’s jaw tensed. “When they’re bored,” he answered, watching Edward’s reaction closely.

Edward just sighed, resting his head on one of his knees. “Gold star for Jonathan,” he said with a dejected twirl of his finger, unable to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

He swallowed. So Edward hadn’t realized. “You know you used that riddle before,” he said carefully.

His eyes darted over to Jonathan. “Really? When?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh.” The silence between them was thick, heavy. “So you cheated,” Edward joked humorlessly.

“I guess I did.” Jonathan draped a long arm across Edward’s narrow shoulders. “Maybe I can… I suppose there are things I can work on outside of the lab. If you insist on having my company for the day.”

“I don’t want to trouble you,” he mumbled.

“It’s no trouble.” He gave Edward’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s easier to let you watch me work than to come up with some other way to occupy your attention.”

He felt Edward smiling as he nuzzled against Jonathan’s neck. “I do require constant enrichment, after all.”

“Yes,” he murmured, “like a zoo animal.”

The comment earned him a swift smack on the leg from Edward. “Bastard,” he grumbled. “I have a terminal illness and this is how you talk to me? How would you feel if those were your last words to me, would you be satisfied with that?”

A lump rose in Jonathan’s throat. “No, I wouldn’t,” he said tightly. “And that’s not funny.”

“I think it is.”

He shot Edward an icy look. “I don’t.”

Edward balked, lowering his gaze as he relaxed against Jonathan’s chest. “Got to have fun somehow,” he muttered.

“Well I’m sorry it’s not fun for me to be reminded of your impending death,” Jonathan said tersely. “I suppose that is where our senses of humor differ.” He felt a flutter of something unpleasant in his chest and he forced it back down, forced his attention away from it. Jonathan started to get up from the bed, started to go to the bathroom to snag a couple painkillers. But before he could even make it off the mattress Edward’s fist had closed around the hem of his shirt and he was pulling Jonathan back towards him.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not,” he repeated. “I’m…” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. He was frustrated with Edward for being so glib about his own mortality and he was disappointed in himself for not being able to do more and he was downright terrified of what would happen when Edward was actually, permanently dead. “I’m worried,” he finished lamely.

Edward’s grip tightened around his shirt. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Jonathan pried Edward’s fist away from the handful of fabric, lacing their fingers together. “I don’t know how to stop.”

[purple-fireflies]

Lets talk about my personal favorite Soy Luna character, Matteo Balsano

So, to start off, we'll go through his character development.

Season 1 Matteo, simply described, was a playboy. He was in a relationship with a person he had no feelings for and viewed it purely as transactional.

In my opinion, season one Matteo, while he was not the best person to look up to for advice, he was really the best part of the episodes. The chemistry he had with Luna, the scenes with Gastón, and his humor and dry wit - he was a great character.

Going into his relationship with Luna, Matteo at first saw it as the thrill of the chase (she gave him no attention, this was extremely weird for someone like Matteo, ergo, he has to prove them wrong) but he slowly began to have real feelings for Luna, versus what he has with Ámbar. Luna was someone he was genuinely drawn to and her influence showed him how to grow beyond his faults.

Luna also sees through Matteo's mask of perfection, which I think is something he hasn't ever had anyone do before. She understands his past and lets him let down his guard and grow attached to someone.

What I like about Matteo's character arc in season one is that he's essentially still the same guy - he's funny, he's sarcastic, he's flirty, etc, only now he's a little more sensitive to others feelings.

Matteo's friendship with Gastón (throughout the show) is absolutely incredible. They both have really good chemistry on-screen and know each other extremely well. They bounce off of each other's strengths (I'm just sad we never got to see a double date of Lutteo and Gastina).

So that's all well and good.

Here's where I may have somewhat of an unpopular opinion in the fandom.

Part of my opinion, I do agree with everyone:

Season 2 Matteo was nuts and the writers didn't do him justice.

Some of the things he said to Luna were COMPLETELY OOC.

This is the guy who trusts Luna more than ever, who understands her past, who is so irrevocably in love with her.

Why would he be so horrible to her?

Why would he say such horrible things to her?

HE WOULDNT.

The writers really screwed his character up in the second season, and I would like to formally request that we just not pay attention to a lot of the incredibly OOC things Matteo did in season 2 and chalk it up to the author's error. Please and Thank you. :)

But in addition to that:

I understand some of the things Matteo did at the beginning of Season 2 (i.e, not telling Luna about going to Oxford).

Matteo's been under constant pressure with his father his entire life. He has also moved from place to place, his entire life. In Season 1, it's shown that Matteo purposefully tries not to get attached to anyone, but he tries and fails with Luna.

So, this guy knows he's going to end up leaving this girl he loves on top of going to a college he doesn't want to. He also knows that Luna will try to make the most of their time together if he tells her. (Let's also keep in mind that he's only 17/18 right now so it's not like he's supposed to be making world-class decisions).

With all of that, I can excuse him not telling Luna about Oxford.

The whole thing with Fer though? That was THE most OOC and incredibly stupid thing I have ever seen done and I don't think Matteo would ever do that to Luna but alas, his character was dealt with so badly.

Then the second part of season two (after Lutteo got together and was just SO ADORABLE), Matteo gets a record deal, and here's where things go so south it's just-

Firstly, with Bruno's manipulation, I have three points.

1) Matteo is an incredibly smart and perceptive human being, and he knows when he is being manipulated, why is it different with Bruno? It shouldn't have been. Matteo would've known.

2) Matteo's obsession with his record deal is somewhat understandable. He was essentially disowned by his father for his passion, and now he has a chance to prove to him that he can do it, and do it by himself. When this goes south, it's like the universe is telling him "Oh, your dad was right" so, to me, him freaking out and getting sad was a little understandable.

3) While him hating that the deal went south and becoming sad about it was understandable, THERE WAS NO REASON for him to say such horrible things to Luna (I believe it was something along the lines of "Now I'm going to only pay attention to myself"). I'm sorry - WHAT? Where did all of his character development go?

In season three, Matteo undoes all of what he did (and while Soy Luna loves itself the miscommunication trope, I do think Lutteo could've communicated better) and basically reverts to end of season one Matteo.

SO CONCLUSION (thanks to the poor souls who read through the entire thing) - Matteo Balsano is an amazing character with a lot of depth and some of the choices he made in Season 2 were simply the author's error and he should get more love.

I am so sorry I didn't realize it would be this long.

[waitimcomingtoo]

Hey lovey! Can I request some mutual pinning between tom and his athletic trainer (someone who handles sports related injuries like ankle sprains) or EMT or something pretty please 🧡🧡

Tear In My Heart

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Masterlist

“You’re back.” You smiled as Tom entered your office. He was sweaty from his work out and a tired smile crossed his face. Whenever he needed to get in shape for a film, he trained at the gym where you worked as an athletic trainer. Ever since 2016, he was a frequent visitor to your office. And ever since 2016, you had an ongoing crush on the actor. You’d treated a dozen of his sprained ankles, pulled muscles, sore joints, and whatever other injury he could fake just to have an excuse to see you. It took him a while to work up the courage to ask you to hangout outside of the gym, but once he did, your friendship took off. You kept in touch when we was filming, and he always came back to your gym when he had to train.

“Sprained ankle.” He said and pointed to his left ankle. You snuck a glance at it and didn’t see any swelling, but he had come in limping. In Toms defense, you couldn’t fake a swollen ankle but you can always fake a limp.

“Hop up on the bed. Let me have a look.” You patted the bed you had in your office before going to get some supplies to treat him. He watched you fondly as you gathered everything you needed to take care of him, appreciating how you knew exactly what to get.

“You got it.” Tom obliged and hopped up on the table. You returned to him with an ice pack and a brace.

“Leg up.” You instructed. Tom lifted his leg and you held on to his foot, resting it against your thigh. You hummed along to the song coming out of your speaker as you took his sneaker and sock off.

“I hate this song.” Tom teased you as you began to inspect his foot.

“It’s a good song. Unfortunately it’s out of my element to cure you of terrible taste.” You retorted. Tom chuckled, his chest pressing against his tight athletic shirt as he laughed. Your face heated up a little so you kept your head down, trying to focus on his injury.

“I like to think my taste is pretty good.” He commented, his gaze never leaving you.

“And I like to think this ankle is perfectly fine.” You determined. “Are you sure you sprained it?”

“Oh, uh, it was actually my shoulder that I hurt.” He said sheepishly and you rolled your eyes. You rested your hands on his thighs, looking him sternly in the eyes. He gave you an innocent look that made you crack a smile.

“You’re cute.” You said sarcastically and grabbed the ice. “You wouldn’t hurt your shoulder if you fixed your form. Your hands have to be directly under your shoulders if you’re in any sort of planking position. And I see you in that position a lot.”

“Do you like that position? Or is there another one you prefer?” Tom asked with a cheeky smile, wincing a little as you placed the ice pack on his shoulder.

“Don’t get fresh with me, Holland. I’m the one taking care of you.” You reminded him, though you didn’t mind his flirtations.

“Sorry.” He smiled, always loving to get a rise out of you. “What are you doing tonight? Would you be willing to help me run lines?”

“As fun as that sounds, I have plans.” You reluctantly declined his offer. You didn’t get to see him year round and you hated having to pass up an opportunity to spend time with him.

“Doing what? Watching Love, Rosie and crying?” Tom poked fun at your love of romantic comedies. You’d roped him into watching a few, and he never let you live it down.

“No.” You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling shy. “I have a date, actually.”

You looked up at Tom, nervous of his reaction. The smile that preciously dawned his face faded into a look of hurt, to anger, to confusion. Tom felt white hot anger course through his body, all the way to his scalp.

“A date? With who?” He said a little too quickly. While he had never officially made a move, he thought you at least liked him enough to not go out with anyone else. After 4 years of never hearing you mention a boyfriend, Tom figured he still had time to make you his. He was always waiting for the right time when he didn’t have to leave for filming, but that time never came. He tried to mask his disappointment as he listened to you.

“You don’t know him. I met him here.” You told him. When a trainer at the gym asked you on a date, you decided it was time to stop waiting for Tom to ask you out. The pining after him had gone on long enough and you weren’t willing to wait forever.

“What’s he like one of those scrawny little guys you treat who pull a muscle lifting a cup of water? You wouldn’t date a trainee.” He laughed at his own joke out of insecurity. “Would you?” He asked seriously when his laughter died down.

“If I liked him I would.” You shrugged. “But no, he’s one of the trainers. His name is Atticus.”

“I’m gonna be polite right now and not make fun of that name.” Tom let out a breath as he restrained himself. “What’s he look like? Is he bigger than me?”

“He’s probably the biggest guy I’ve ever seen. I think he said he was 6’3 or something.” You laughed and shook your head. Tom chewed his lip, knowing he was often found on “Shortest Men in Hollywood” lists. “And his arms are like the size of my head. I honestly want him to bench press me.” You joked and Tom faked a laugh. He genuinely wanted to be happy for you, but every word that you said was a dagger in him. The thought of someone bigger and stronger than him whisking you away was hurting him more than any injury he’d come to you to treat.

“What’s he like? Sounds like a real meathead.” Tom swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly feeling dry.

“No, no he’s sweet.” You smiled shyly and for the first time, your smile pained Tom to see. “He’s blonde and he likes to take walks. And he’s so friendly to everyone he meets. He can walk up to a stranger and become their best friend in seconds.”

“You’re describing a golden retriever.” Tom said dryly.

“Which just so happens to be my favorite dog.” You quipped and Tom balled his fist out of your sight.

“How well do you know this guy, though? What if this is a ploy to kidnap you and chop you into little pieces?” Tom asked and you laughed. He chuckled lightly, but he wasn’t joking.

“Now why would he do that?” You humored him.

“To make soup out of you? I don’t know.” He protested. “I’m not him, Y/n. I don’t turn women into soup.”

“Well I don’t think he’s gonna do that.” You chuckled. “And I don’t really know anything about him but that’s what this date is for. This is good for me. I haven’t gone a date in a really long time. This could be the start of something really amazing.” You hoped. “Or he could be a jackass and I have to avoid eye contact when I see him at work for the rest of my life. Who knows? Endless possibilities.”

“Why haven’t you been out on any dates for a while? Have you not found anyone you like?” Tom tried to change the subject to something that didn’t make him want to stick your medical scissors in his eyes.

“No, it’s not that. Definitely not that.” You sighed, remembering why you were going on the date on the first place. “I tend to fall for people who don’t return the favor. There have been boys who I would’ve liked to go out with but, I don’t know. Maybe there’s just something about me that they didn’t like.” You laughed shortly and shrugged it off.

“I doubt it.” Tom stated, a cold chill going through his body at the thought of even more boys having turned your head.

“Thanks. This is good for me. This is going to be good.” You nodded to yourself.

“You said that already.” Tom said, a little more bitterly than he would’ve liked.

“Sorry. I’m just a little nervous.” You tucked some hair behind your ear. His heart fell again as he watched himself losing you in real time. “I’ve been trying to get over someone for the longest time and I’m hoping this date does the trick.”

“So now there’s another boy? An ex?” He said, pursing his lips to keep from showing his anger.

“No. Just a crush.” You shook your head and finally got back to his injury. “Arm up.”

“Does he go here too?” Tom asked as he lifted his arm for you so you could wrap his shoulder. He had come into your office with a fake injury and was gonna leave with a broken heart.

“He might.” You looked around him through your lashes, but he was looking away. “Look that way.” You nodded towards the mirror. He turned his head and sighed.

“Have I seen him?” He asked, digging himself deeper into his hole of self pity. You glanced at him staring at himself in the mirror and chuckled.

“Yeah. You have.” You said honestly.

“That’s weird. I don’t remember seeing any total idiots around here.” Tom grumbled, making you laugh. He didn’t find it funny that anyone made you feel unwanted. He was too busy beating himself over letting you slip away to notice the way you were looking at him.

“He’s not an idiot.” You defended, smiling over Tom unknowingly insulting himself. “He’s the smartest guy I know.”

“He’s smart but he didn’t want you?” Tom scoffed. “I don’t know about that, darling. He sounds a bit like a dunce to me.”

“Well he is.” You insisted. “And who uses the word dunce anymore?”

“I do, when I’m stressed.” Tom sighed and looked you over, taking in everything he was about to lose to another man. “You really think Atticus will help you get over this clown?”

“I hope.” You told him as you finished wrapping his shoulder. “And he’s not a clown. I just need to move on.”

“Yeah.” Tom nodded and gave you a tight lipped smile. “Maybe I do too.”

~

At home that night, Tom tried to busy himself with whatever he could to keep his mind off your date. He tried to read through his script but couldn’t get past the first page. His mind wandered to you and what you and Atticus were doing. He wondered what dress you were wearing and how pretty you probably looked. Tom had only ever seen you in athletic wear or sweats, and you looked heavenly enough in that. The thought of you with another guy drive him crazy until he hit a wall. He punched his bedroom wall out of anger, immediately regretting it as he cradled his throbbing fist. He flopped on his bed and let out a groan, staying there until he fell asleep.

The next day, Tom went to your office immediately to get his fist checked out. He’d bruised his knuckles before, he knew you’d have the right tools to take care of him. He took a deep breathe before knocking on your door. He saw you smile through the glass as you walked to the door the let him in, and all he could give you was a nod.

“Hey.” He said sheepishly, feeling awkward around you for the first time.

“Hey Tom.” You smiled small, happy to see him but thrown off by his sheepish posture. “Ankle again?”

“No, uh, my hand.” He held up his right hand and this time, you could actually see his injury. His red knuckles looked raw against his pale skin. You took his hand and examined it, already seeing the purple bruises forming.

“What happened? Did the punching bag say something you didn’t like?” You joked, despite being genuinely worried about his injury.

“Something like that.” He smiled shyly. Even if your chances of being together were gone, at least he could count on your friendship. You silently tugged him towards the table and went to get a wrap as he jumped up. Neither of you were blind to the silence that was filling the room, taking the place of your usual banter. You wrapped Toms hand gently as you stood between his legs, holding it close to you to ensure it was tight. Tom watched you as you worked, taking in how close you were. He swallowed, wishing he could be the only one close enough to see you breathe. Even with the throb in his hand, all he could think about was how your date went. He couldn’t help but to analyze you, see if there were any marks left by Atticus or if you were acting happier than usual. To Toms surprise, you seemed somber and reserved today. He wondered if that had anything to do with your date.

“You okay?” You asked suddenly, making Tom snap out of his daze.

“Fine.” He nodded curtly. You finished wrapping his hand and held a bag of ice to his knuckles, leaving yours hands wrapped around his to keep the ice in place. He could’ve held the ice there himself, but you didn’t want him to.

“You can talk to me, you know.” You looked deeply into his eyes, pleading with him to be honest with you. “I know I’m your athletic trainer, but I like to think we’re friends too.”

“It’s nothing. And we are friends.” Tom squeezed your hand with his other hand to assure you. He scanned your face before asking what had been on his mind since the day before. “How was your date?”

“It was really nice, actually.” You said softly. “He took me to an Italian restaurant because he remembered that I said I wanted to go to Italy one day. He opened the car door for me when we got there, pulled my chair out for me when we sat down, and asked me all about my self. He didn’t interrupt me once. He actually seemed interested in what I had to say.” You laughed lightly. Tom clenched his other fist to contain his anger. Those were all things you should be doing with him, not Atticus. He tried to assuage the jealousy by reminding himself that you were practically holding his hand right now.

“He sounds perfect.” Tom tried to keep his voice level. You looked at Tom and pursed your lips before shaking your head.

“He wasn’t.” You said definitively and Toms head snapped up.

“Why not?” He asked, trying to bite back the smile that was dying to break through. You looked at Tom and took your hands off his, laughing to yourself and shaking your head.

“He isn’t you.” You shrugged one should as you leaned your arms on either sides in Toms knees.

“What?” He searched your face for any signs to prove you were messing with him. He’d never seen you look so serious than this moment. You even looked a little tearful as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Atticus was a perfect gentlemen. He likes the same music as me -the same music you hate might I add- and wants to travel to the same places. He likes all my favorite movies -those romantic comedies you can’t stand- and made a list of the ones he hadn’t seen so he could watch them later. We shared the same views, similar childhoods.” You laughed nervously. “We even ordered the same thing. If we had any more in common, I’d think he was a mind reader.”

“So what’s the problem?” Tom began to mindlessly play with the bottom of your shirt as he impatiently waiting for an answer.

“My problem is that I spent the entire date thinking of you.” You laughed sadly and backed away from the table, keeping your back to Tom. “All I could think about was what you were doing or how you were feeling. Do you know how many times I wished I had said yes to your plans?” You looked at him over your shoulder. “I was on this amazing date with an incredible guy, and I kept wishing I was in your room helping you read through a script. And when he dropped me off at my house and walked me to my door -because of course he did- and tried to kiss me, I backed away. I gave him a hug and a tight smile and told him I’d see him at work. And you know what he said to me?”

“What?” Tom got off the table and approached your carefully, placing a gentle hand on your hip.

“It’s Tom, isn’t it?” You repeated Atticus’s words as you turned around to face Tom. “That’s when I really started thinking he was a mind reader. He knew I couldn’t kiss him because of whatever I have going on with you. He knew.”

“Oh.” Tom said quietly, even closer to you now than he was before. Closer than ever.

“I tried to get over you. I tried to go on this date and get you out of my mind but I just can’t, Tom. You got me. That boy I said I couldn’t get over? That was you. And it’s still you.” You shoved him slightly and he smiled. “I don’t know what this is between us, and I definitely don’t know what it is to you. But my favorite time of the day for the past 4 years has been 2 pm because that’s when I get to see you.”

“Y/n-“ He tried to cut in.

“I like you, Tom. I like you.” You finally admitted. He stood there in happy shock as you went over to the table and sat down on it. Tom collected himself and turned around to face you.

“I’ve never sprained my ankle.” He admitted, making you look up at him.

“Wait, what?” You asked, knowing you’d treated him for a sprained ankle numerous times since he started at your gym.

“I know my form is off. And I know exactly how to fix it too. It doesn’t actually hurt my shoulder but it gives me an excuse to come see you.” He took at step closer with every sentence until he was standing before you.

“That’s sweet but you could also seriously hurt-“ You tried to tell him about the dangers of what he was doing but he held a finger to your lips, making you laugh.

“My turn to talk.” He said playfully as he took a seat beside you on the table. “I couldn’t handle the thought of you on a date with another guy, especially not after I’ve been pining over you since I started coming here. I think about you all the time. The movie I’m training for right now? It’s animated! I’m voicing a character, I don’t even need to get into shape.” Tom exclaimed and you laughed, urging him to continue. He tilted your face towards his with his pinky. “But I do it because I miss you every day I don’t see you.”

“I miss you too.” You breathed.

“You have any cures for a broken heart in that bag?” Tom nodded towards your medical bag, the one he’d seen you dig around in a thousand times.

“Yeah.” You climbed onto his lap and straddled his hips. “I do.”

You pressed a kiss to Toms lips, causing a squeak to emit from the back of his throat. He rested his hands on your waist as you tugged the curls on the back of his neck. You pulled away and rested your forehead against his.

“Are we gonna do this for real?” He whispered, looking up at you.

“I want to.” You confirmed. “Do you?”

“Of course I do. But it’s not going to be easy.” He told you, knowing dating him came with a lot of unexpected hardships.

“I’ve never been a fan of easy.” You smirked, making him smile and squeeze your hip.

“What if you came with me? I could hire you as my personal athletic trainer. I promise I’ll actually sprain my ankle this time.” His eyes lit up as he offered you a job. You laughed at his proposal and slid off his lap.

“You don’t have to go that far.” You chuckled. “But if you’ll have me, I’d love to come with you. I wanna go where you go.”

Tom smiled at your acceptance and pulled you into a tight embrace.

“And wherever I am, I want you there too.”

Tag List 🏷

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[jamespotterthefirst]

Enchant Me

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.5K (sorry!) Warning: None  Author’s Note: AU where Ethan is the one asking MC questions for the fMRI scan (book 1, ch 6).

Catch up here.

_____________

Green eyes meet his briefly before hurriedly glancing away, the movement so fleeting that he could have attributed it to his imagination. Except, the way his stomach flutters as a result is very real and very annoying to Ethan. When at last he forces his treasonous mind to the task at hand, he determines she is nervous, the tense energy radiating from her almost palpable in the bright imaging lab. 

Guilt takes root in his stomach as he begins to regret asking this of her. The flimsy request for her help, blurted out after he reluctantly turned down her party invitation, seems downright embarrassing now. What the hell had he been thinking? 

He pauses to consider that therein lies the problem: He hadn't been thinking. What a dangerous and inane side effect of being in her presence. What a humbling yet disconcerting notion that all it takes to disarm an intelligent, highly educated man is a pair of clever, emerald eyes, a lovely dusting of freckles, and a pretty smile. 

Ethan opens his mouth to offer himself up as the subject instead, but Lilac gives him a brave, determined half smile. Her cheeks flush and he can see the visible effort she spends in getting the words out. “There is no dignified way of saying this, so please don't fire me,” she begins, not looking at him. 

“I won't fire you for changing your mind, Rookie.”

Lilac shakes her head. “It's not that. It's just that I'll need an injection of the magnetic contrast media…” Her eyes swivel to meet his pointedly, as though expecting him to catch her meaning from it. 

Ethan is not following and that much must be evident in his face because she sighs. 

“I can't have any metal on me,” she continues, face growing bright pink to the root of her dark hair. “So I'll have to remove my bra.”

Silence. 

“I… Erm... That's…” Ethan's ears flare with heat, his throat feeling suddenly dry. “That's true. I'll leave the room.”

“No need,” she assures him, already peeling off her coat. Before Ethan can even react, she reaches behind her back and under her blouse. 

He is momentarily frozen, eyes watching her expertly work the clasps, before hastily turning his back on her and busying himself with the gadolinium. The way his heart clamors wildly at his ears is guarantee enough of the sinful thoughts his mind will torture him with later, thoughts of Lilac undressing in many different ways for him. 

Get it together, Ramsey. 

“I'm ready,” she announces to his sheer relief. 

That relief is short-lived, however, when his eyes catch a glimpse of the lacy, bright red garment on the floor, unsuccessfully concealed by her discarded lab coat. Every inch of his traitorous body reacts on sight, reducing him to just another weak-willed man, uninhibited by the mere sight of a bra. 

Lilac, meanwhile, watches him from where she lays on the table, decent enough in her loose fitting blouse. That lopsided smirk of hers makes a reappearance and it only makes his thoughts sputter further. 

“Stay still,” he manages to instruct, his voice quiet and gentle. 

When his fingers palpate the veins in her arms, Ethan struggles to think of much else but the feel of her soft skin against his, incinerating his fingertips. He makes the mistake of meeting her eyes, finding that all traces of humor are long gone as she watches him, lips slightly parted. A white hot current of tension crackles between them, dangerous and capable of consuming him whole. With a surge of recklessness, he finds that he wants it to. The blazing look she fixes him with makes Ethan wonder if she wants it too. 

Swallowing hard, Ethan forces himself to glance away. 

After a brief pause, she teases, “You do know how to perform an intravenous injection, don't you?” 

“Ha. Ha,” he returns sarcastically. Her own genuine laughter rings around the imaging lab. 

Ethan injects her with ease and presses the button to slide the table inside the magnet enclosure, hiding that infuriatingly distracting smile from view. Soon after, he sits at the workstation, checking on Lilac through the glass and powering up the magnet. 

“How's it looking up there, Doc?” 

“Like a brain,” he says dryly. 

“So...average?” 

“Very average.” 

“Ouch.”

Ethan allows a resigned grin, shaking his head and feeling a wide lightness spread in his chest. Silence ensues after their banter and he realizes she waits for his question. 

A thrill shoots through his core at the ocean of possibilities before him. At last, he can catch a true glimpse of the mystery she has proven to be. Isn't that what he longs to know the most ? Isn't the enigma that is Lilac Allende the true allure for him? Isn't that the reason he can't stop thinking about her? 

He can ask anything, and finally know the answer. 

“Do you prefer cats or dogs?” 

There is an anticlimactic pause and Ethan wants to slam his head against the console. 

Really, Ethan? Cats or dogs? 

Lilac is silent, so silent Ethan wonders if the speaker system is working. 

“That's the type of question you have for me?” 

Ethan rolls his eyes. “Just answer it, Rookie.”

The image shows activity in the temporal lobe at the use of the nickname. 

“I like them both,” she answers before Ethan can interpret the previous reading. “Though dogs tend to love me almost instantly.”

An uninvited mental image of Jenner, paws on her chest, tail wagging at blurring speed upon meeting her, crosses his mind. Ethan dismisses it as an impossibility, unable to think of a scenario where both creatures would meet. 

“We have a family dog back in LA named Lobo,” she continues. 

“Wolf?” 

“The third,” she adds cheerfully. “My parents name all of our dogs Lobo or Oso.”

The memory elicits notable activity in the hippocampus. Ethan is unable to see her face but he finds the reminiscent lull of her voice utterly endearing. Catching his own reaction with a flare of annoyance, he dismisses it, clears his throat, and moves on to the next question. 

“What inspired you to become a doctor?” 

The longest pause yet befalls them. Already there is activity in the right temporal cortex, peaking his own curiosity. Every second that she doesn't answer is agony. 

Finally, she says, “Pass.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I pass on this question. I plead the fifth.”

“Overruled.”

“You can't do that,” she protests, though he can hear the laughter in her voice. 

“Just answer the question, Rookie.”

There is a loaded, tense silence that slowly tapers to a boiling point, then—

“You.” 

Ethan blinks, speechless. 

“Don't you remember?” she says, an edge of embarrassment dripping from her voice. “You signed Landry's book for me.”

“Who?” he blurts out. Not waiting for an answer, he asks, “Wait, so you didn't keep that book, Rookie? I am offended.”

“No, my copy is much more worn, annotated, and well-loved,” she explains with a chuckle. 

A small whirlwind of emotions takes root in Ethan, who is still at a loss for words. 

“In a literal sense, your research inspired me to go to med school,” she continues, interpreting his silence as encouragement to go on. “I read your book from cover to cover as an undergrad and was so inspired, for once in my life I knew where I had to go. I wanted to be here, at Edenbrook, working alongside the best.” 

Ethan's throat is tight as he listens, the activity in the scan completely forgotten. 

“The more sentimental reason I was inspired to be a doctor is, of course, my parents.” Lilac pauses and clears her throat as a pretense. “They– They came to this country in pursuit of a better life, leaving their family and everyone they loved behind. All to be in a brand new place, not knowing the language or the culture, often taking up backbreaking jobs for miserable pay...to be looked down by many as inferior. All that sacrifice, for us.” Her voice cracks at the last few words. It takes her a moment to recover. “That sacrifice drove me through my worst days in medical school. It's what drives me today.”

She says this with a renewed, fierce pride that evokes a surge of admiration from him. It tears through his chest unlike anything he has ever experienced before, but then again, she is unlike anything he had ever seen before. Wildly, he wishes they were sharing something so precious face to face. His hand flexes reflexively as his mind imagines sweeping a thumb across the ridge of her cheekbone. 

“If not a doctor, what career would you have chosen?” He is surprised by the gentleness of his own voice, the sound foreign to his ears. 

When she speaks, she sounds almost like her usual, cheeky self. “A beauty guru.” 

“A what?” 

“It's people online filming their makeup routines.”

Ethan has never heard of anything so pointless in his life. “Be serious.” 

“I am! There might still be some videos online of my failed attempts,” she says, laughing. “But in terms of a realistic career, I would've probably chosen to be a homicide detective or a forensic pathologist.”

He raises his eyebrows at this, stunned for a moment at their shared interest in detective work. “Why?” 

Lilac mulls over her answer in a characteristic silence. “Obviously, there is the allure of gathering evidence and solving a mystery.” A deliberate pause, then—“But I always thought that was a bit selfish.” 

“Selfish?” 

Ethan can't help the outburst. After all, connecting the pieces of an unknown puzzle is precisely why he once considered that career. 

“Yes, some doctors want to deliver the perfect diagnosis in a self-congratulatory way. To help the patient, yes, but to walk away with the gratification of having conquered a mystery.”

His itch to argue is quelled by his curiosity and so he says nothing. 

“I wanted to be a detective to solve the mystery as a way to fight for the voiceless.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper as she admits this. With a rush of satisfaction, Ethan realizes he is probably the first one hearing this reasoning. “There is something sick about being able to name notorious serial killers without a problem, but we can't do the same for their victims. They are the ones whose stories should be told, whose memories should be celebrated. They are the ones who deserve the accolades and the justice of finally solving that mystery.”

Ethan has no rebuttal for the first time in his life. 

As his brain struggles to reconcile the young doctor's words with the inexplicable thundering of his pulse, Lilac laughs. 

“No offense, Dr. Ramsey, but I was expecting a different line of questioning here.”

Ethan forces himself to recover. “How so?” 

“If I were asking you questions, I'd be a lot noisier,” she says, unabashed.

Ethan allows a chuckle. “That's not surprising,” he comments. “What type of questions would you be asking?” 

“I don't know…” She trails off pensively. “Maybe your type?”

Ethan's mouth goes slack. He recovers enough to say something, though he is not sure what. Luckily, he doesn't have to know because she continues, “I'd definitely ask about relationships, past and current.”

By this point, his heartbeat is an uproar in his hearing. The brash comments should be concerning coming from a subordinate but he feels like a fraud when he considers chastising her. Though he would never admit it out loud, the answers to those questions intrigue him to the point of restlessness. 

“Fine,” he allows quietly. “Answer those.”

A surprised little laugh comes through the speakers. “Really?” 

“Yes, let the record show this was your idea, Rookie,” he says in what he hopes is a casual tone. “What was the first one you mentioned? Ah, yes—What's your type?” 

The image of her brain activity, which Ethan had forgotten to glance at until that moment, lights up at the amygdala. An emotional response. 

He can sense the reluctance in her silence. 

“Tall. Definitely taller than me,” she begins at long last, her voice dignified, as though she is forcing herself to push past any bashfulness. “Dark hair.”

The answer is exasperatingly vague. The descriptors easily fit the surgical intern he saw her kiss all those weeks ago and the muscular paramedic who glances at her with besotted eyes every chance he gets. 

“Intelligent,” she continues. 

The diagnostician in him almost discounts Lahela on the sole basis of being a surgical intern. 

Lilac clears her throat so subtly, he almost attributes it to static in the speakers. “Someone with a dry sense of humor and sarcastic to a fault,” she says, a lot softer now. “Someone who can keep me on my toes.”

The scan displays activity in the frontal lobe, similar to what he saw when he called her “Rookie”. The small media room, despite having the air conditioner at full blast, feels suddenly sweltering. 

“What did I say next for my questions?” she asks, saving his mind from traveling a dangerous path. 

“Relationships.” 

“Right,” she says with an exhale. 

Ethan says nothing, afraid even the slightest sound will discourage her. 

“Past relationships are… complicated and mercifully ancient history.” On his screen, he sees the most activity yet. A visible reaction in the right hippocampus, the amygdala, both sides of the prefrontal cortex, and the insular cortex— undeniable anger. 

Lilac, however, does not elaborate any further. Instead, she hurries on, “Current relationships are also complicated, frustrating, and nonexistent.” 

The words hang between them, like a pendulum. He is convinced they carry more meaning but Ethan's own brain feels abuzz with activity, too tumultuous to formulate follow up questions. When his eyes fall on the clock, he notes they have been at this for almost an hour. 

“I think we're done here,” he says. 

He leaves the media room, deliberately pausing outside the imaging lab to give Lilac enough time to put all of her clothes back on. By the time he enters the room, she is throwing on her coat, hands raking through her shiny hair. 

“Everything working okay?” 

“Like a charm,” he responds, mind still spinning. 

An incessant stab of dread begins to pierce through him as they prepare to go back to work. His mind wanders to Naveen, weak and alone in his room, and icy twines of fear take root deep in Ethan’s stomach once again. 

“Thank you… for the assistance.”

Lilac flashes him an easy smile. “Any time.”

Ethan manages an awkward nod turning to leave. Something powerful holds him back before he can take another step. As full fledged panic about facing Naveen's new symptoms grips him, he wants nothing more than to confide in her. 

He stops and turns to face her. 

Lilac tilts her head to one side, watching him curiously. 

The magnitude of what he is about to do hits him like a train and his newfound courage vanishes at once. With a grimace, he waves the idea off and exits the room. 

______

Author’s Note: A HUGE thank you to everyone who sent me questions Ethan could ask. I tried my best to include them here. 

“Do you prefer cats or dogs?”-- @drethanramslay

“What inspired you to become a doctor?” -- Anon and @scorpiochick8

“If not a doctor, what career would you have chosen?” @scorpiochick8

The not so subtle questions about her love life-- @eramsey28

Answering the career question wit banter, then with a serious answer. -- @whippedforethanramsey 

Ethan’s slightly jealous thoughts about Bryce and Raf-- @schnitzelbutterfingers 

Sorry if I didn’t include all requests! This would have been 20 pages long if I hadn’t trimmed some of it lol. 

I swapped some of the dialogue from the original. Also, I’m so sorry to @takeharryandgo​ for the horrible brain science here. Forgive me, Doc.

What Lilac said about her parents is exactly how I feel about mine. So I just had to include that here.  

Finally, I intend to continue these from Ethan’s POV. However, for personal reasons, I will keep my next few projects under wraps. 

______

Tags:  @openheart12​ | @ethandaddyramsey​ | @noboundariesplease​ | @silverlitskies​ | @infinitiestones | @flyawayboo​ | @paulfwesley​ | @hatescapsicum​ | @myusualnerdyself​ | @thatysn​ | @choicesyouplayandmore​ | @chasingrobbie​ | @trappedinfandoms​ | @togetherwearerapture​ | @nooruleman​ | @caseyvalentineramsey​ | @axwalker​ | @parkerattano​ | @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​ | @kaavyaethanramsey​ | @edith-eggs1​ | @choices-lurker​ | @jens-diamondchoices​ | @tefigranger​ | @ethanrcmsey​ | @coffeebeandragon​ | @senator-adrian-raines-wifey​ | @aestheticartwriting​ | @binny1985​ | @mvalentine​ | @sanchita012​ | @drethanramslay​ | @ramseysno1rookie​ | @takeharryandgo​ | @aworldoffandoms​ | @desmaranj​ | @ josieplayschoices | @magicalshepherdtreeprofessor | @oofchoices​ | @ethxnrxmsey​ | @octobereighth​ | @colossalpainintheass | @kopenheart12​ | @lilyvalentine​ | @honeyandsunfl0wers​ | @virtualrain202 | @enmchoices​ | @tyrilstouch​ | @rookie-ramsey​​

@dulceghernandez |  @lion-ess24 | @emotionalswift2 | @the-soot-sprite |

[cutesuki--bakugou]

Midnight Whispers

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC)

Story Rating: Explicit

Genre: Fluff / Angst / Romance / Domestic

Story Warnings: Arguments, Cursing, Makeup Sex (vaginal), Hair Pulling, Bakugou Cries, Self Esteem Issues and Self Degradation, Hurt / Comfort

Written for the @bnhabookclub​​ ‘s members bingo event! 

Crossed off: Thigh Riding

Bingo Masterlist

BTW, please blacklist the tag cutesuki-lemons if you do not want to see this content from my blog. I will no longer be tagging with specific keywords for this type of content.Thank you~

Due to the nature of this post, the characters are 18+

Art in banner by me

Daily bickering was a common occurrence between Bakugou and Koge, as it had been for their entire lives. A snide comment here. A bark to pick up socks there. A whine to not put that much spice in the food. Or salt. Depends on who was cooking, of course. With someone as headstrong and easily agitated as Bakugou as a lover, it was something that Koge had grown accustomed to, and she was easily able to weed out the serious issues from the complaints that had a tendency to leave his lips without a single thought. She wasn’t much better, and she could admit that, usually snapping right back at him with her own dry humor or sarcasm that would more often than not set him off into immediate frustration. But, as a married couple with three children to care for, bickering was bound to happen, especially if it had always been present between the couple since the first day they met. 

More often than not, it was just a split second of annoyance at something the other had done, before it was filed away in the back of their minds and they returned to loving each other with a final huff or kiss on the cheek to signify that the issue was over. Sure, it wasn’t always a quick fix or easily tamed situation, but they always came out of it together, with understanding and a commitment to change. They never went to bed angry, even if it was a problem that would take days, weeks, or months to fix. Anything that was wrong, they knew that they could conquer it together, and they had learned from experience that isolating themselves and trying to deal with their problems on their own only caused harm to their relationship. 

So the fact that Koge was laying in their bed alone was honestly quite astonishing to her. Nothing about the way they had argued this time had been right. What had started out as just a small comment to make sure he gets his clothes in the dirty bin and not just all over the floor blew up into a rage that she hadn’t expected at all. Sure, she could have dealt with his typical snide comment of “Yes, Master” or something more sarcastic. But what he had said made her snap back at him without thinking, and it all exploded in typical Bakugou fashion from that moment on. 

“Katsuki, really, can’t you just toss your clothes in the bin? It’s not that hard. You’ve been bad about it lately. I already have to pick up after the kids all day, I shouldn’t have to pick up after you, too.” Koge huffed as she snatched a pair of Bakugou’s sweatpants, boxers and a t-shirt from off the floor, glowering at her lover as he exited the master ensuite with a towel around his hips. He had just returned home from a late shift doing his hero duties, and he had been quite grumpy, but that didn’t excuse him acting like a slob. If it had just been this one time, sure, she could deal with it, but that wasn’t the case. 

Every day for nearly two weeks he’d come home late and act like a total mooch. He’d eat, shower, laze around, not clean up after himself like he should, fuck Koge on occasion, and then go straight to sleep. She hadn’t brought it up yet because she assumed that maybe he was just going through a funk, but at this point, it was exhausting. 

With an annoyed click of his tongue, Bakugou stopped at his dresser, pulling open his boxer drawer without even looking at her. “Well sorry for making your life as a fucking housewife so damn difficult, Utsuro.” 

Koge paused mid bend, her fingers lightly resting against the fabric of his jacket that he had also abandoned when he returned home that night. Her stomach churning in shock of his comment, she stood up straight, placing both of her hands firmly on her hips. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.” Bakugou glared at her over his shoulder. “What’s your problem? I come home from a twelve-hour shift, working to support you and the kids on my own, and you can’t even handle picking up some fucking clothes?” 

“Katsuki, that’s not-” Koge’s voice hitched as she grew lost in what to say to him. “That’s not fair! I spend all day, literally from the moment that you get up at four until we both go to sleep keeping the house clean, doing all the laundry, cooking, taking care of the kids. It’s not just picking up the clothes!” 

Bakugou gave a roll of his eyes, dropping his towel to the floor as he pulled on some boxers. “Oh yeah, because that’s just as hard as what I do.” 

“I’m not claiming that it is. This isn’t a competition about who does more, Katsuki. All I need is for you to take five more seconds to put your clothes away or put your damn dishes in the sink! I’m not asking you to break your damn back when you get home. Just… I just want you to stop acting like you’re nothing but a mooching roommate who gets free food and pussy when he feels like it.” Storming over, Koge snatched his towel up off the ground, glaring up at him even though his broad and muscular body dwarfed her. “We’re a team, aren’t we? That’s what we’ve always said.” 

“Tch, sure, yeah. A team.” Bakugou hissed through his teeth, agitated snarl on his lips. “We’re a fucking team. I go work my ass off all day and risk my life to bring in money, while you sit around playing and changing fucking diapers. What a team.” 

Feeling her chest beginning to tighten, Koge did her best to blink away the burning in her eyes, clutching onto the towel tightly with both hands. “Why are you being like this? You’ve never been so mean about me staying home! And it’s only until Atsuki is old enough, then I’m going back to work. I’ve only been staying home for two years!” 

“Yeah, two years. Two years of me busting my ass for you, and all you can do is be a little bitch about picking up after me!” 

“Don’t talk to me like that! And will you look at me, stop facing away!” Koge placed both hands on his shoulder, having to use quite a bit of force to get him to turn and face her. The dark and angry glare on his face brought a lump up into her throat, tears beginning to gather up in her lashes. “Just because you’ve been working so hard doesn’t give you the right to shit on me like this, when I’m the only reason you come home to a hot meal and clean clothes!” 

“I could do it all on my own without you, don’t think so highly of yourself.” 

All Koge’s anger was immediately crushed into nothing but a smoldering pain, the tears finally escaping down her cheeks as her entire body went numb with shock. His rough expression faltered for just a moment at the sight of her tears, but in typical stubborn fashion, he refused to back down. “Oh, here come the fucking tears, huh? You know, it’s always been about you, you, you. You’re the one that’s depressed. You’re the one that’s struggling to love herself. You’re the one who’s fucking weak-” 

“Stop it!” 

“Well what about me, huh? Over all our years, have you ever even thought that I’d be struggling? That I’m the one who needs help, support, or maybe just a little fucking appreciation now and again?” 

“You never want to talk to me about these things, it’s not my fault that you’re a fucking brick wall that even I can’t get through! You don’t want to let anyone more than elbow deep in your shit, what the hell do you expect me to do?!” Koge took a moment to wipe the tears from her cheeks, though that ended up being a fruitless attempt as more were quick to replace them. “I support and appreciate you always. I’ve always been here for you! But you’re the one that acts all tough and like nothing is wrong until you explode!” 

“You’re one to fucking bark about hiding your shit, don’t start with that.” 

“Then just talk to me about it,” a hiccup interrupted her, placing her hand tenderly on his bicep to try and pull him back out of his haze of anger. “I am and always will be here for you, Katsuki. Always.” 

“You don’t fucking get it, Koge.” Bakugou shoved her hand away with a nudge, turning back to his dresser to pull out some sweatpants. “Everything that I do. Everything that I’ve ever tried to do. Fucking pointless.” 

“It’s not pointless, Katsuki. Look how successful you are, and you have a family that loves you! I love you. That isn’t enough?” 

As he finished getting dressed, Bakugou didn’t spare her another glance as he headed into the bedroom, ignoring the fact that she was at his heels. Snatching his pillow off the bed, he gave a heavy sigh, ruffling his still damp blonde locks as he paused. For a moment, he stared down at the bed, as if he were contemplating everything that had been said and what he was about to do. 

“Koge… All of the love and success in the world could never make up for the shit I’ve done and the weak person that I am.”  

 Then he left her there, standing alone in their bedroom as he made his way down the stairs. Having closed the bedroom door behind him, his footsteps vanished quickly, leaving her aching for the sound of them returning. For the ten or so minutes she stood there waiting, the silence only grew heavier and heavier on her chest, until she was left sobbing into the damp towel she was still holding. In the end, she tried to sleep, but the empty space beside her was colder and lonelier than it had ever been. She could smell him on the sheets, and as she laid there in the darkness, she found herself waiting for the heat of his touch that wouldn’t come. 

All she could do was lay there and let her mind go crazy. Why had he gone off on her like that? And what did it all mean? Was he actually growing tired of her and his family? Had they truly become such a distraction to his goals, and did he feel guilty about that? Did he not feel good enough for everything he had accomplished? There were so many things that it could be, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever truly get a real explanation from him. 

Giving a heavy sigh, Koge turned her back to his side of the bed, looking at the digital clock that rested on her nightstand. The bright green color hurt her sore eyes for a moment, bringing her to blink a few times to alleviate the sting and clear the blur. It was just past two in the morning, meaning that she had been laying there awake and upset for almost four hours at this point. But, before she could try to contemplate what it was she should do, the small date on the bottom left corner of the clock caught her attention. 

Instantly, she felt her heart ache, pulling her blankets tighter around her as she realized what it was that could have set him so on edge. This past day had been the anniversary of not only his kidnapping when he was a first year in high school, but also the day that All Might - Bakugou’s hero and inspiration - was forced to retire during the fight to rescue him. For weeks and months afterwards, Bakugou blamed himself for what had happened, and Koge had been there for him every second that she could. Even now, at thirty-three, Bakugou still had bad dreams and memories that created an amalgamation of issues for him. 

He was strong and could hide it well, but Koge knew that it was something that he still hadn’t recovered from. The fact that it was the anniversary of one of the most traumatizing days of his life would surely explain why he had such a short fuse with her earlier. Did something happen that she hadn’t been aware of? 

Giving a small whine, Koge pulled the blanket up to her face, crying quietly into the fluffy fleece fabric. Even if something did happen… What he said was awful. I can’t just let that slip. But what should I do? 

Growing frustrated, the petite woman cried out and kicked all the blankets off her, rolling over onto her back to glare up at the dark ceiling. She couldn’t stand this! They never went to bed angry at each other like this. Why the hell hadn’t he marched up there to try and talk it out yet? Did he expect her to come down and apologize or something? She hadn’t even done anything wrong! 

Still, she knew him. She knew that stubborn, hardheaded brat like the back of her hand, and she knew that he wouldn't apologize first. He was going to avoid this for as long as he could, which would be until morning when he had to get up to head to work. She wouldn’t put it past him to try and avoid her all morning, too, putting it off even further until he arrived home again. That was something that she couldn’t stand the thought of.

She wanted to resolve all of this. 

Now. 

With a huff, Koge stood, snatching the baby monitor off the nightstand to take it downstairs with her, just in case Atsuki began to cry while they were down there. Gathering her resolve, she snuck down the hallway to the stairs, being sure to not let a single sound alert either her children or Bakugou to her presence. 

It was dark and chilly in the hall, with only the light from the windows along the stairwell allowing pale blue light to conquer the shadows. As she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped and listened, finding that there wasn’t a single sound outside of the ticking of a decorative wall clock in the living room space. While standing there, she couldn’t help but look over what she could see of her home, the moonlight creating such an ethereal glow over the modern decor. 

This home was so special to her. Bakugou had built it, for her and their - at the time - future children. It had been almost ten years ago, now, that she first walked through the beautiful blue front door. He had done this for them. There was no way he could be tired of her after everything he had done. It wasn’t possible. 

Blinking away the new tears that threatened to fall, Koge let out a quiet, trembling breath before starting to make her way down the stairs. About halfway down she paused as she heard shuffling, her pale blue gaze darting to the large couch in the living room. The back faced the stairs, so all she could see was Bakugou’s arms, which came to rest up and over the armrest. With the limp position and uncoordinated movement, Koge assumed that he had actually been able to fall asleep, which didn’t surprise her much. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and who knows how long he spent brooding over what had happened before he crashed. 

The theory that he was already asleep was confirmed when Koge got to the bottom of the stairs, able to hear his deep, steady breathing and light snoring. 

Jerk, Koge thought as she approached the couch. Able to be a bitch and then just go straight to sleep. He’s such a… mess? What is all that mess? Coming around the side of the couch, Koge’s eyes first landed on the coffee table, which he at some point had pulled up closer to the couch. Haphazardly placed upon it was his phone, his work planner that he kept surprisingly good track of, and a pile of crumpled tissue paper from the box nearby. 

Those tissues were the oddest things to her. He wasn’t sick, and she was pretty sure he hadn’t used them for anything weird. Had he been… crying or something? As if on cue with her thoughts, the man sleeping on the couch beside her gave a rough inhale through his nose, starling her. Finally looking down at him, she felt her heart soften, just from the absolute absurdity of his position and soft expression. On his back, both of his arms were up over his head, one tucked under his pillow while the other hung limply off the armrest. His face was turned to rest against his left bicep, cheek squished in and mouth open to accommodate his stuffed-up nose. As for his legs, one was bent at the knee while the other hung awkwardly off the couch, and it was very obvious that he had grown used to sleeping in a large bed where his body had all the room it needed. 

Shockingly, the fleece blanket he had thrown over himself to sleep was still in place, pulled up to his collarbone and covering his torso to his knees. Stupid boy… that blanket is too small for him. He does look comfortable, though… But his nose is all red. When did he fall asleep? Glancing back at the table, Koge put the baby monitor down quietly, before stepping in closer to him. The face that had been scrunched up in anger was so soft now, completely void of the harsh lines that creased his fair skin. She could perfectly imagine the moments in their life when he had looked at her so softly, holding her close and showering her with affection.  

Sniffling, Koge reached down to run her fingers through the soft tufts of blonde hair along his forehead, her fingertips lightly tracing along his temple and across his cheek. It was then that she could feel something she hadn’t noticed before, a wetness that he had neglected to clean up. He had been crying, self-isolated down here with nothing but his thoughts to torment him. Just like she had been. 

In that moment of wiping away the tear with her thumb, Koge knew that he regretted what he had said. She knew that he was upset with himself, that he was ashamed and would rather let out all his emotions alone than have to face her with his shame. Because he was stubborn and prideful, and he couldn’t let his weakness show, not when it was something that tormented him so. Although what he had said hurt her, she needed to push him to rectify this, and in the still of the night, she knew that they could do it. Together, hidden from the rest of the world, they needed to bare their souls to each other and forgive. 

There was a soft groan from his throat at her touch, his face turning more into his arm as his body tensed and stretched. Koge kept her hand on his cheek gently, softly stroking his skin to try and pull him into consciousness, pairing it with a soft cooing of his name. 

“Katsuki? Katsukiiii…” 

With a deep inhale through his nose, which rattled with his congestion, Bakugou’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, barely glancing over her figure in the moonlight before he rested his hand over hers. 

“Utsuro…” Turning his head slowly, he pressed his lips against her palm, kissing her skin softly as if he were waking her up on a typical morning. His softness brought a new round of burning to her eyes, her free hand running through his hair again softly. 

“Yes, Katsuki… Wake up, love.” 

He was still for a moment, nearly falling back asleep before his eyes opened again. This time, they stayed open, glancing around his surroundings with hooded eyelids. When his tired crimson gaze finally landed back on her, his eyes widened slightly, as if he were shocked to see her there. “What are you doing, Utsuro?” He pulled her hand away from his lips, tightening his grip on her hand as his brow furrowed with worry. 

“I couldn’t sleep. I… I wanted to come talk to you.” 

“No… fuck off.” He pushed her hand away and slapped the other out of his hair, glaring at her stomach through his sleepy haze. “Go back to bed.” Although he tried to sound threatening, his voice wavered, and the way his eyebrows furrowed upwards was a clear sign to Koge that he had heard it, too. He wasn’t going to be able to keep himself composed. 

“I won’t. I’m not letting you get away again. I forgive you, Katsuki, I want to talk about it-” 

“No!” Bakugou’s voice spiked with his frustration, but he quickly lowered it as he heard it echo through the open room, being conscious of his sleeping children. “You can’t forgive me so easily! Get away from me!” 

“Shhh, Katsuki,” Before he could move, Koge lifted and slipped under the fleece blanket, sitting on his stomach. 

“Get off--!” 

“It’s okay,” As his body began to shake with the last little hold he had on his emotions, Koge took hold of both of his cheeks, stroking them softly with her thumbs as she rested her body down against him. “Let it out, Katsuki. It’s just me.” 

With her touch and soothing words, Bakugou’s face further contorted with sadness, before the tears rushed down his cheeks with the rough release of his breath. The sight of him so broken like this instantly crushed Koge’s heart, but she kept her own composure, pressing her forehead against his tenderly. “Shh… I’m here, Katsuki. It’s okay.” 

“Koge… Fuck, I’m sorry-” Bakugou wrapped his arms around her like a vice, one hand buried into her hair at the back of her head while the other clutched her body close. Even his legs lifted as his body turned a bit towards the back of the couch, doing everything he could to make sure she was as physically close to him as possible. “I didn’t mean it!” 

“I know you didn’t,” Koge allowed him the time to release all the built-up emotions, wiping away the hot tears with her thumbs. To allow him in closer, she carefully wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him hide his face into her chest and soak her t-shirt with his tears. She stroked his hair softly, lightly rubbing and massaging his scalp with her fingers and her nails. “I know, Katsuki… It’s okay.” 

“It’s not! It’s fucking not!” Bakugou moved his other arm down around her torso, squeezing her closer. Even though his grip was tight, he held her like she was a priceless treasure, secure yet comforting and tender. “I told you I didn’t need you! I’m so damn stupid…” 

“Shh… You don’t have to explain yourself right now, Katsuki--” 

“You’re my everything and I talked to you like you’re a piece of fucking gum on my shoe. All because I’m fucking tired. I’m so tired.” 

Frown crossing her lips, Koge nuzzled her face into his hair, closing her eyes to try and control her own tears. “You’re my everything, too, Katsuki… I could never be happy without you. And I’m so blessed that I get to have you come home to me every day. I… I know that something must have happened to make you feel so bad about yourself. But I need you to know something, okay…?” Pausing for a moment to wait and see if he wanted to respond, she took his silence and sniffles as permission to continue. 

“You are not weak… And you deserve all the fame you’ve gained, and all the love you receive. You deserve your happiness. I love you. And even if everyone else turns their backs on you, I will be here. Forever. Always.” 

There was a moment of silence between them, with nothing but the clicking of the clock and the sounds of his congested breathing and sniffles. Eventually, he lifted his head up to face her, his cheeks flushed so dark that she could see it even in the dim light. Smiling softly, Koge used her fingers to wipe his tears away again, before using her t-shirt to get his nose. “Snotty.” 

Scrunching up his face in detest of her pinching and wiping his nose, Bakugou gave a click of his tongue. “Hey, I’m not one of the kids!” 

“Maybe not, but you’re still my baby.” Caressing his cheeks, Koge leaned in to kiss the bridge of his nose softly. “My Katsuki. I love you so much.” 

“But I… still need to explain myself. Why I acted out like a fucking asshole…” 

“Don’t worry about that right now, love. It’s late… Neither of us have slept. Well, you did a little,” Koge smiled against his lips softly as his hand curved up along her back to her side, slowly moving down her body to her hip. “You’re really cute when you’re sleeping.” 

“Yeah? What’d you do, stare at me like a weirdo?” 

“No! I can’t help but think you’re cute.” 

“I’m not cute.” 

“Yes, you are!” 

“Tch…” Bakugou’s still gleaming crimson eyes glanced over every inch of Koge’s face, his hand slipping around her backside before down along her thigh that was resting up over his hip. Koge knew that look and that touch, her cheeks flushing with heat as he parted his lips up against hers, only hinting at his urge to kiss her. With his rough fingers softly digging into the plush, cold skin of her thigh, she couldn’t help but tuck herself in closer, fingers lightly gripping onto his hair while her heart began to pound. “Koge…” 

“Yes, Katsuki?” 

“You know when you’re really cute?” 

Koge’s cheeks flushed hotter, giving a small shake of her head, her nose brushing lightly with his. 

“When you’re under me, blushing and squirming… and moaning my name.” Bakugou was barely able to finish speaking before he took Koge’s lips for his own, kissing her with a breathless passion that she had been missing. For weeks now, their love making had been reduced to basic and boring fucking, leaving her unsatisfied and desperately craving the affection from him that she adored. That passion that had smoldered down to barely embers became a raging fire with just the connection of their lips, burning Koge from the inside out. She knew that fire wouldn’t cease, that nothing but being one with him could extinguish the flame, and so she allowed herself to be devoured by him. 

A soft groan left his lips with just the taste of her, his hand sliding back up her thigh to pull her hips tighter up against him. Shifting her body to get closer, Koge let out a small squeak as his thigh pressed up between hers, firmly resting up against her sex. Legs intertwined and craving the new pleasure his leg provided, Koge let her hand slide around to softly caress his neck while the other stayed dug into his hair, all while her hips began to roll and grind against his thigh. With her first soft sigh of pleasure into the kiss, Bakugou kept his large palm placed firmly on her ass, squeezing the plush form. 

“Do whatever you want, Utsuro,” Bakugou spoke low against her lips, catching her gaze between the moments that their lips parted. “Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything for you.” 

Koge moaned sweetly, tightening her legs around his thigh as her grinding became more vigorous. She could feel the hard form of his cock digging into her lower stomach with each roll of her hips, being sure to purposefully push them further in so that he got some attention as well. “I just want you to love me, Katsuki,” Her voice hitched from the pressure against her clit, her skin tingling with the pleasure and heat rolling through her body from his touch. “Touch me. Hold me… And just let me in. Let me love you and comfort you, too. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” 

Bakugou’s hand slid up under her t-shirt to caress her back near her shoulder blades, pulling her in tighter against his chest as their lips met again. Meanwhile, Koge’s traveled down across his chest and around to his back, tracing the form of his muscles until her fingers reached one of the little dimples right above where the hem of his sweatpants rested. Just feeling his body like this made her movements more passionate, picking up the pace of her grinding on his leg. It had felt like an eternity since they had been so close together like this, every other moment for weeks feeling like there was no love or emotion behind anything they did. He had been so checked out of the relationship, his mind swirling in his troubles and struggles, and although she wished that he would have come to her sooner, Koge knew why he hadn’t. 

She knew, because this had happened only a few years ago, with Koge shutting down and blocking him from helping her for months on end. Back then, she hadn’t felt like she was worth his worry or like she was good enough for him at all, and she had said horrible things to him, too. And now, his internal struggles were exploding just as hers had, burdening him with feelings of inadequacy, weakness, and like he was undeserving. He didn’t have to say it. She knew, because their connection and understanding of each other wasn’t something that could be easily explained. It was deep and strong, powerful enough to get them through anything, as long as they were together. 

Beginning to be able to feel her heat and wetness coating not only her underwear, but her thighs and his sweatpants as well, Koge wanted to give him something in return. Her hand slipping beneath his sweatpants and boxers, her soft touch stroked across his ass and to his hip, tenderly cupping his hard and throbbing member after she set him free from his clothes. 

“Fuck,” Bakugou growled against her lips at the touch, pressing his forehead into hers to catch her gaze and watch her expression. “Your hands are always so damn cold. You fucking walking freezer.” 

Koge couldn’t resist a soft smirk against his lips, rolling her thumb teasingly around this tip to displace the leaking precum. “Well, someone seems to like it. You. You’re someone.” Shifting herself up a bit higher, Koge’s leg came to rest over his hip instead, giving her enough room to let his cock rest flush between her legs and up against her sex. “How’s that? Warmer?”

“Not quite warm enough,” His hand moving back down to her ass, he used his impressive reach to be able to pull her underwear to the side, the tip of his cock teasing her wet and aching hole. 

Nibbling at her bottom lip, Koge felt heat spread across her cheeks, her stomach bubbling with anticipation. She wanted him to be inside her so badly, to connect with her and be one, to share that love and sentimental passion that no one else in the world would ever see. Their love, although scarred with healed wounds and new scratches, could never be broken. 

“Katsuki,” Koge whispered out breathlessly, her hand once again caressing his cheek. “Please…” 

With only a slight shifting of his hips and some guidance from his fingers, Bakugou began to slip his cock into her, both of them sighing in satisfaction as they became entangled together, on their sides and as close as they could possibly get. One arm supporting her head with his fingers buried into her hair, the other hooked firmly around her waist, allowing Bakugou to hold her steady as he began a slow roll of his hips. The moonlit room was swimming with sounds of soft sighs and tender moans, surrounding them completely in a bubble of their own world that contained nothing but each other. 

Koge already felt like she was going to go mad from the heat between them, the strength of his body against her, and the slow yet consistent rhythm of his cock moving inside her. This feeling of being so close to him, so full and connected was something that she would never get used to, nor was it ever something she wanted to lose. As the desperation to keep him close swirled around in her belly with all her other fluttering feelings of adoration and longing, Koge kept herself clutched onto him tightly, her nails dug into his back and foreheads resting against each other. The closeness had their noses and lips brushing with every thrust, a kiss being shared here and there between moans and soft sighs. She could stay like this forever, staring into his crimson gaze, surrounded inside and out by his presence. 

“Mm, Katsuki-” Koge had to hold back a louder moan, biting down onto her bottom lip as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. “S-so good… You feel so good inside me-” A sharp gasp and a squeak cut her off as Bakugou’s grip on her hair tightened, pulling and bending her hair back just enough to add to her pleasure. He couldn’t resist a low groan that rumbled in his chest from her change in expression with the new pain, her brow furrowing upwards and lips parted in a restrained moan. The tears that she had been holding back since the beginning gathered at the corners of her eyes and in her lashes, shimmering with the moonlight and threatening to fall at any second. 

“Yeah, Utsuro? You like my cock inside you? Of course you do-” Bakugou answered for her when she was only able to give a meek nod, her voice hitching with increased roughness. “Ah fuck… You’re so tight. So fucking hot!” What was once tender morphed into a greedy craving of pleasure that was mutual between them, as Bakugou rolled them over so she was on her back. His hand still gripping her hair at the scalp, he kept his lips hovering over her open mouth, captivated by her expression shifting as her eyes rolled back. “I’ve missed that look… Fuck I wish I could hear you scream for me right now.” 

Keeping her legs wrapped loosely around his waist to let him move however he pleased, Koge allowed him to ravage her, doing everything she could to control the volume of her voice. He felt so good slamming into her like this, his thick cock filling up every inch of her and leaving nothing untouched. Her orgasm was quickly approaching, and she was sure to let him know that with his nails dug deep into the skin of his back and her uncontrollable subdued gasps. 

“That’s it, Utsuro,” Bakugou hissed against her flushed and tear stained cheek, his eyes never leaving hers. “Cum for me, baby.” 

The rare pet name slipping from his lips immediately set Koge off, more tears spilling from her eyes as her voice hitched with a moan and a sob. “Ka-Katsu--!” Right as her voice peaked, Bakugou’s large palm clamped over her mouth, releasing her hair to instead muffle her moans and uncontrollable sobs as she came hard. The feeling of her clenching and squeezing around his cock brought a hiss from behind his teeth, hiding his face into her shoulder as he helped her ride out her orgasm with slower, shallow thrusts. It took Koge a few minutes to finally fall back down from her high enough to take back control of her voice and her body, breathing heavily in through her nose and stroking his hair with trembling fingers. 

Moving his hand away from her mouth, Bakugou instead caressed her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away her tears while his lips kissed away the others. Without another word, he began to move within her again, though he didn’t pick back up where he had left off. Instead, his thrusts were slow and deep, much as they had been at the beginning, his focus entirely on her face and his gaze staying firmly locked with hers. As she looked back up at him, Koge couldn’t help but wonder how there could be so much love, so much absolute infatuation within his gaze. It made her heart - her entire body - melt into him like butter, and she could only hope that he could see it in her eyes, too. 

How much she loved him. 

How much she needed him. 

How happy he made her. 

How truly blessed she was to call him her husband. 

“Koge,” Bakugou spoke with trembling breath, his thrusts quickening as he grew closer to his peak. “I’m sorry. And I love you. I love you more than fucking anything.” 

“I love you, too, Katsuki. I love you-!” Koge tightened her grip on him as he kissed her passionately, clenching her eyes shut tightly to try and control her tears. Within moments, Bakugou’s thrusts became erratic, digging himself into her as he released hot ropes of cum inside her. Just the feeling of how hot it was made Koge tremble, sighing softly against his lips while he moaned in pleasure of his release against hers. 

“Mm, fuck--” Bakugou cupped both of her cheeks, placing kisses on her lips that soon traveled up the bridge of her nose to her forehead. “Damn it, I love you.” 

Smiling, Koge gave a soft giggle as his lips came down across her temple and cheek, able to feel the heat of his lips even against her flushed skin. “I love you, too, my Katsuki. Was I cute enough for you?” 

Bakugou gave a grunt, his final kiss on her lips rough and punishing for her teasing. “Don’t be a smartass.” Removing himself from her, Bakugou adjusted his clothes back into place on his hips before squeezing himself between her body and the back of the couch, laying down on his side facing her. Before Koge could even think about whining about being cold, he pulled the fleece blanket that had been pushed down near their feet back up and over them, tucking it up behind her back and under her side as she turned to face him. 

“Ooh, you know me so well.” Koge nuzzled her nose against his softly as they grew comfortable together. “Mm, so toasty. My heater.” 

“Fuck off.” Bakugou tenderly moved some of her hair out of her face and back behind her ear, his choice of words not matching his calm tone. “You leech.” 

“Your leech, you mean. Or should I say, your baby.” Koge couldn’t resist a smile as Bakugou’s face flushed, his brow furrowing as if he didn’t expect her to pick on him so soon. “You called me ‘baby’!” 

“Tch, so what if I did?!” His typical defensive snarl was paired with a hushed yell, as if he were scolding one of his children in a store instead of his wife. “I can call you whatever the hell I want to, Utsuro!” 

“Then do it! Please,” Batting her eyelashes innocently, Koge gave a playful pout. “Call me ‘baby’.” 

“You want me to?”

“Yes!” 

“Then I’m not going to. All you get is ‘Utsuro’!” 

“You can’t just give it to me and then rip it out of my hands like that, Katsuki!” Koge whined as she shoved her head into his chest, giving his body a punishing squeeze with all her limbs that were entangled with his. “It’s the worst!” 

Bakugou stroked the back of her head softly, giving a tired sigh as he closed his eyes. “But I like Utsuro…” 

“I know, but there’s nothing wrong with changing it up sometimes, love.” 

“But Utsuro is my name for you. And only mine.” 

Cheeks flushing, Koge nuzzled her face up into his neck, kissing his skin softly. “Mm… Because I’m yours.” 

“That’s right, baby,” Bakugou smirked against the top of her head as Koge gave a small, happy squeal, pressing herself in tighter against him. Though, it was quick to fade as the fight they had crept back up along his spine, and Koge was easily able to pick up on his sudden lax posture. 

Tilting her head back up, she caught his gaze, her hand coming to rest softly on his cheek. “You want to tell me about it now?” 

Brow furrowing deeply, Bakugou couldn’t seem to find it in himself to look into her eyes now, his gaze locked on the tip of her nose. “There’s nothing anyone could have done to me that would excuse the way I acted.” 

“It still upset you, love. A lot. Please tell me?” 

Bakugou fell silent for a moment, only the soft ticking of the clock through the quiet room giving Koge any sense of how many minutes went by. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, it was as if every little noise in the room hushed, from the ticking to the buzz of the electricity in the walls, and Koge couldn’t help but hold her breath. 

“I’ve dealt with not being appreciated like other heroes. Like Deku or Todoroki. Or anyone else, for that matter. Anything great I ever do is always latched to my attitude… and my failures. Controversies… All that bullshit.” Bakugou paused for a moment to move a strand of hair off her cheek, still unable to look her in the eye. “These past few weeks, I felt really pressured to… Prove that I was worth something. I’ve tried hard, and it’s worked, but I began to realize that I was starting to lose you. And the kids… I worried that… to get one thing I want, I’ll have to lose the other. And that scared the shit out of me. Just even allowing myself to think like that. Total fucking stupidity.” 

“Why were you feeling like you needed to prove something?” Koge couldn’t stop the small frown on her lips, which Bakugou was quick to kiss away gently. Finally, his gaze met hers, and the pain she had been familiar with since high school made itself clear. 

“Because of today. You know that every year since it happened, there’s a special about All Might’s final fight and retirement. And every time… every fucking time… The asshole reporters make it seem like it’s my fault. That I haven’t been the type of hero that was worthy of being saved back then. That his sacrifice was for nothing.” A moment passed as he gathered his thoughts, his fingers still working their way through her hair. “And still, after everything I did… Everything I tried to do lately, it still happened. And then I take it out on you… I’m weak. And like I said, nothing I can do will make up for the shitty things I’ve done.” 

Koge felt a burning build up in the back of her throat as new tears gathered in her eyes, placing her hand on his cheek. “Katsuki, that’s not true. You are an amazing hero, and so many people look up to you. They respect you and they adore you. There will always be some people out there with negative opinions, and you know that negativity gets higher ratings and views in the media. But those things don’t make up who you are. You are a great man. A strong hero. A loving husband and father. And there is nothing wrong with being weak, because you have people in your life who will support you and build you up stronger.” 

With a blink, her frustrated tear fell from the inner corner of her eye and traveled down the side of her nose, but Bakugou was quick to wipe it away with the rough pad of his thumb. Sniffling, Koge held his hand against her cheek, soaking in the feeling of his tender touch and his heat.

“I know it’s hard to accept, but it is okay to be weak. To be imperfect. Because you grow from these things. Never forget your accomplishments. You’re Japan’s Ground Zero, the number two hero. And you are my Katsuki, number one best friend, husband, and father to three little squids. I love you. Please don’t forget to love yourself.” 

Although there were no words, Koge could see the slight fault in Bakugou’s stern expression, though his face was buried into her hair as he squeezed her in close before other emotions could break loose. 

“You and your mushy shit, Koge… How do you always know exactly what to say…?” 

“Because I can see the truth, Katsuki.” 

“Oh yeah, you have like a third eye or some shit?” 

Sniffling, Koge pulled back from him, giving him multiple playful kisses on the lips in punishment of his teasing. Right as she was about to stop, Bakugou took over to kiss her tenderly, melting Koge to the core until she was like putty in his hands. With a soft hum in happiness, Koge smiled against his lips nuzzling her nose against his softly. Bakugou responded with one last kiss, giving his own sigh and small smile. 

“Thank you… Koge.” 

Tagging: @gallickingun​​ , @aizawasbedtimestories​​

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-Kim Seokjin 🎃

Halloween Series: Ghoul Kim Seokjin

It’s never a good thing to wake up restrained in an unfamiliar place. But it’s even worse when said place is the home of an incredibly good looking, hungry ghoul, who’s set on having you for dinner. And the catch? It’s up to you to convince said ghoul that you’d be better off fulfilling his other needs, rather than the emptiness of his stomach.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Halloween, Spooky Season, Kim Seokjin, Seokjin, Seokjin x you, Seokjin x reader, Ghoul Seokjin

Warning: VERY Brief mentions of drugging, cannibalism (Jin’s a ghoul 💁)

Genre: Dark Fluff, I guess? 

Title: Eat Me

(Image Credit: Art Luff)

It’s never a good thing to wake up somewhere unfamiliar. 

And it’s definitely not a good thing to wake up restrained in said unfamiliar place. 

You have no idea how you got here, wrists fettered above your head to the large oaken table that fills the small room, but you know, in your gut, and by the way your heart is pounding, that it’s definitely not a good thing. And it’s definitely not a coincidence. 

“Dammit.” You swear softly under your breath, as you yank at the chains holding you captive. They don’t budge. “Shit.” You swear again, trying to move your ankles, and realizing that they too are held down. 

There is a sound that echoes through the open doorway to your right, and you flinch, but no one enters the room. Another sound-this time, the sound of a pot being clanged against another, fills the silence briefly, before there is quiet once more. 

“Come on, come on.” You hiss between clenched teeth, twisting your wrists this way and that, but succeeding in nothing more than chafing your skin and pinching your wrists, as you let out a growl of annoyance and pain from between your lips. 

Whistling flows through the doorway now, lighthearted and content, and the sound of water running has you craning your neck upward to see if you can get a look into the other room from your bound and prone position on the table. 

No luck. 

“Dammit!” You say, a little more loudly this time, and the whistling from the other room stops abruptly.

“Shit.” You whisper to yourself, and the sound of footsteps sounds across the tile floor, headed in your direction. 

There is no time to do anything. And you couldn’t even if you had wanted to.

“Ah. Awake then?” The voice is silken, curling around your ears like sickly sweet honey, as a tall man appears in the doorway, apron tied around his waist, and damp dishtowel held between two large, long fingered hands. 

If this had been any other situation, you may have laughed at his almost comical appearance. 

Towering, slim, dressed in a dress shirt and slacks, dark hair slicked carefully back off his forehead, the man is intimidating, but his features-tan and open, and centered by two, beautiful, honey colored eyes-are incredibly handsome, and you find your breath slightly caught in your throat as you stare at him. 

The smirk that crosses his full lips, and the comically hideous fabric of his apron, as he steps closer to you, snaps you back to reality quickly, and you furrow your brow, as you shoot him a glare, and tugging at your chained hands, ask sarcastically, “Do you often treat your guests this way?” 

“Well.” The smirk widens, and he shrugs in an offhanded way, as he crouches down beside the table, and consequently your head, resting his chin on his folded arms as he stares intently at you with caramel irises. “Only the pretty ones.” 

You scoff, looking away from his deep, involved gaze, and swallow hard to wet your suddenly dry mouth. “I met you at the club.” You suddenly turn back to him, shooting him a hard look. “Did you drug me?” 

“Please, princess.” He rolls his eyes lightly, appearing slightly offended by your insinuation. “I’m not a barbarian.” White teeth flash past pink lips as he smiles, and holds up a syringe and needle between his fingers for you to see. “I tranquilized you.” 

“Oh, that makes it so much better.” You snap back icily, irked even more when he seems to find humor in your annoyance, his plush lips pulling back even farther to reveal the pointed edges of his teeth. 

A whistle sounds from the kitchen, and the man stands suddenly, offering you a look of apology as he says simply, “Excuse me for a moment. That’ll be tea.” 

He disappears once more into the other room, and your mouth drops open slightly in surprise at his sudden departure. 

What the hell is going on? 

Who is this guy? And why are you restrained to his table? And most of all, what does he have planned for you? 

The man reemerges, and crouching down once more beside you, he cocks his head curiously in your direction, like a cat watching a sparrow. “Now. Where were we.” He snaps long fingers together, and his eyes alight with remembrance. “Ah yes. Let me introduce myself.” He grins at you once more, and the tips of his teeth sink into the pale pink of his lips, making you shiver. “I’m Seokjin.” 

“Pleasure.” You say dryly, raising a brow in his direction. “Okay, Seokjin.” You spit his name through a clenched jaw. “Can you tell me why I’m here? And why you have me chained to your table like some medieval torturer?” 

Seokjin laughs, and you have to admit, the sound isn’t unpleasant, and the way his lips pull back and his eyes scrunch with the sound of humor leaving his mouth, is not altogether unattractive. 

“I like you, princess.” He tilts his head once more, and the smile falls from his lips, and his eyes grow suddenly dark and serious. “It’s quite a shame that I have to eat you.” 

Your stomach clenches at his words, but you don’t allow the fear to show on your face, as you swallow, tongue thick in your mouth, and manage to say flatly, “That is a shame. And just when we were getting to know each other.” 

Seokjin clicks his tongue in a remorseful sound, before he reaches out, and long fingers grasping your chin, turns your head slowly from side to side as he studies you, almost as if he’s picking out a premium cut of meat at the butcher’s. 

“It really is though. But you see,” His tongue, red and moist, darts out to flit across his lips, leaving them shining with a sheen of saliva, and his pupils are suddenly wide and dark with hunger and lust as his fingertips stroke down the sides of your captive chin. “You’re just too delicious and delicate a flavor to give up.” 

Seokjin’s fingers on your skin should terrify you, especially when he’s talking about eating you-but instead, they make your heart flutter in your chest like a trapped bird against your ribs. 

Odd reaction. 

“Really?” You ask, curious suddenly, what he means by his last statement. His eyes meet yours, seeming to break from his trance as you speak. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Seokjin rises from his crouched position on the floor, and sitting on the edge of the table beside you, leans over you without warning, bringing your faces inches apart. “You smell divine. And I bet you’ll taste even better.” His voice is low, almost a growl, but a surprisingly pleasant one. 

You try not to jump as his hands dig into the table above your head, so close to your own bound wrists that you can feel the heat from his skin, and he leans forward once more, the tip of his nose skimming down the line of your jaw, before following the arch of the column of your throat down to the hollow at your breastbone. 

Shit. He smells really good. 

“Okay.” You say, slightly breathless, but trying to hide how much his close proximity is affecting you. His scent is making you feel heady and a little bit out of control. “What spices do you use then?” 

“Ah. A cook are we, princess?” Seokjin glances up at you, eyes dark and bottomless, pupils blown wide with something you don’t want to name quite yet, his nose still brushing your skin. The corners of his lips pull up into the slightest smirk, and he sighs, before long fingers wrap around one of your wrists, fiddling with the chains there. “Fine. I’ll indulge you.” 

Slipping your hand easily out of the now unlocked restraint, he holds your arm out at your side, and leaning over you again, he trails his nose down the sensitive skin of the inside of your arm, pausing at the crook of your elbow to say, lips brushing across your skin, “Something warm, earthy-nutmeg.” He continues to run his nose down the rest of your arm, hovering for a moment above the inside of your wrist, as he takes in a deep, long breath, before saying, “Paprika. And maybe a dash of cinnamon.” 

“Are you making a steamer?” You mock, but the sharpness of your voice falls flat. You can’t quite muster up as much venom as you had had earlier. 

Seokjin smirks over at you, nose still buried in the delicate skin of your wrist, and then his tongue appears between his parted lips without warning, and laps across the flesh there. 

A shiver runs up your spine at the feel of his wet, warm tongue on your body, and you can’t help the slight, soft gasp that escapes from between your lips at the unexpected action. 

“Hmmm.” He lets out a sound, something like a mixture of a hum and a groan from beneath his breath, and when he looks at you, his irises are all but swallowed by the greedy, eager black of his blown pupils. “Just how I imagined.” 

“Okay, you’ve had your taste.” You quip back, outstretched arm still resting in his large palm, his mouth dangerously close still to your bare skin, breath balmy and stuttered as he exhales. “Now let me taste you.” 

Seokjin appears caught off guard by your request. He straightens, quirking his head to the side as he lifts one dark brow in your direction. “I didn’t think humans were into that.” 

The way his eyes rove over your features and then down across your body has your cheeks heating with a blush, but you don’t look away from him, his long fingers still wrapped around your wrist, as you say with a slightly embarrassed cough, “Well, we’re not into it in the ways you are.” 

“Oh?” Seokjin’s voice is laden with curiosity, but holds a slightly dangerous edge, as he leans in closer to you once more, his hold on your wrist loosening and falling away, as he plants his hands, palm down, against the table above your head once more. You cannot escape his close, hot gaze as he stares down at you, studying you, pinning you with his stare, his tongue appearing once more to wet his pillowed lips, before he hums out beneath his breath, “Whatever do you want from me then, princess, hmm?” 

You swallow. Your mouth feels suddenly dry, and your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears, that his voice sounds muted and distant, even though he’s literally on top of you, and you think-no you’re sure-you must be crazy for what you’re about to do next. 

But you do it anyway. 

Reaching up with your free hand, you pinch the garish fabric of Seokjin’s apron straps between your fingers across his broad chest, and use them to drag him down toward you, and ignoring the look of surprise that flashes across his ridiculously handsome features, and without another thought for the doubt that hammers loudly at the forefront of your mind, you slot your lips between his. 

Surprisingly, Seokjin does not pull away. And surprisingly, he’s not all that stiff either. 

And even more surprising-holy shit-he’s a really, really good kisser. 

There is a brief moment of hesitation on his part, and then his mouth envelops yours, hot and insistent. 

Seokjin is not a delicate, romantic kisser-no, he is rough-all edges and bumping teeth and dominant control. 

His hands, resting above your head, tangle into your hair, and without warning, he wrenches your head back, and his tongue slips between your parted lips to intertwine with your own, the combination of the two things causing you to let out a soft, breathy moan from between your teeth. 

Seokjin growls, low and primitive beneath his breath, in response to your obviously positive reaction to him, and he grows bolder, pointed ends of his teeth nipping into the sensitive skin of your already swollen lips. 

Your free hand cups the back of his neck, burying into the dark locks of hair there, as you desperately pull him closer to you, and your other hand-the one still restrained at the wrist-itches to be free and tracing down the sharp lines of his strong jaw. 

Seokjin must hear the jangle of the chain as your fingers grasp desperately at the cool metal, because he pulls back, just an inch away from your mouth, lips still brushing hotly across yours as he murmurs throatily, breath sending goosebumps across your skin where it brushes across your face, “Want me to let you free, princess?” 

“That depends.” You reply breathlessly, voice hitching slightly in your throat, as his lips drag across the path of your jaw and down to the juncture of your shoulder. “What are you going to do to me?” 

“Oh.” He smirks, you feel it against your skin, and his teeth, sharp and cool and wet, nip at the flesh at the base of your throat now, your heart pounding wildly beneath the touch of his mouth. “I’m still going to eat you.” 

Your breath catches, and he looks up at you, pupils black and bottomless, but this time, there is something else-something almost human-swirling in the bronze irises that encircle the ebony, endless holes. His pink lips pull back into a sharp toothed smile. “Just not in the way I had originally planned.” 

[namorthesubmariner]

How do you feel about the way Namor was written by Jonathan Hickman?

There’s a lot to unpack with Hickman’s Namor. Please excuse my ramblings as I’ve talked about this on and off over the years so I’m just gathering up all my thoughts in one post. Short version answer is: Hickman’s Namor is a mixed bag. Some good about him but the effects of his writing have lasted a long time and effect the character’s perception in some negative ways.

To start I have to say that Namor has undergone many changes to his character over the years, from the wild chaotic sea elf in the golden age, to the somber sea king in the silver age, to the sarcastic edgy modern Namor of today. So a writer taking Namor in a different direction isn’t bad per say because he is a fluid character who has adapted to the times better than other characters imo. However after 80 years Namor has a very defined character, you can tell when it’s being written out of character, the beats of his actions/words being off are noticeable to fans. I just want to point out how different Namor has been in the past before I get into Hickman.

Namor in the golden age is a much less regal character, I would classify him more as a slang talking fae like creature who has come to the surface world to cause problems and seek vengeance for the hurt the humans have caused his people. lol. He has his righteous anger at the surface world is interjected with golden age wackiness. He doesn’t shift into the Shakespearean regal prince until the silver age with Kirby & Lee’s revamp of the character. He still has his righteous anger but stripped away are the causal manner in which Namor acted. He is more stiff and rigid/much more a monarch. This is carried all throughout the rest of Namor’s characterization since then. However Namor has some very key points to his character which are:

- Honesty: he very rarely lies, believing lies to be beneath him - Protector: Namor is always on the front line, always the first one to step up to the situation if he believes its his place, and he will lay down his life for the people of Atlantis. - Avenging Son: He would hate if someone else took what he believed was his right at achieving vengeance. If someone has hurt him or his people personally then he would want to take care of matters himself. - Peacemaker/showing compassion: Shocking I know as most fans know Namor for his angry screaming as he punches people in the face. lol. However Namor has shown even his worst enemies leniency from time to time. He does seek to find a peace with the humans but it’s often messed up due to other things happening in the plot.

These are key elements to his character as well as his dry humor, his feelings of being an outsider, etc.

Now does Hickman hit this points? Yes. He writes a very good Namor in the context of that arc, which I may remind you is an arc about the end of life as we know it. At this point in the story Namor is slowly falling into desperation, his back is up against the wall and he is seeking any means he can to keep his people alive. This is Namor pushed to the edge of his mental/emotional being. 

Namor first attempts to solve the issue by siding with the heroes but when that backfires and he sees the heroes are not willing to do everything they can to save the world he leaves and sides with the villains. Now contrary to what most people think; Namor doesn’t like killing. He does it because it’s necessary and he has never shied away from killing those who he believes deserve their end. Namor is not a cruel character. In fact I would say Namor believes the only way he believes he can be useful is to be the weapon his family raised him to be. He does have a heart but as you have seen in Hickman Avengers storyline; Namor first tried to gain peace between Atlantis and Wakanda. Namor getting constantly blamed for his actions when he was possessed by the Phoenix while other characters are given a pass is very irritating but according to Marvel Writers: it’s good! (It’s not).

So we have Shuri & Tchalla betraying Namor’s talks of peace to attack Atlantis while it was undefended, then Namor is grieving his people when Proxima Midnight shows up and Namor directs her to attack Wakanda by lying. This is where I feel Namor is out of character. Namor is a very arrogant, very honor bound character. He would never admit to someone else being better than he is, he would never bow to anyone he doesn’t view as his equal, he would never hand over his own vengeance to allow someone else to take care if it for him. However as I said before while Hickman gets the core of the character down, he does have Namor doing things like this which make me go: hmmm don’t like that.

Hickman’s Namor is a mixed bag. Some good about him but the effects of his writing have lasted a long time and effect the character’s perception in some negative ways.

So when I said this, I meant: Hickman writes the kind of Namor that would be excellent for an undersea Game of Thrones levels of royal court intrigue, he is much less forgiving and much less honorable than Namor’s of the past. He is a tired king weighed down by failure and death. He is willing to do anything even destroying another world if that means his will be safe.

Now this is all very interesting and makes for great drama especially with his foemance with Tchalla, the two kings play off each other very well. 

However I ultimately feel that taking a step back from the story and seeing how it effects Namor’s character years after it concluded, we can see that while Tchalla is able to move on from this arc and not have his character affected by this Namor is still mainly remembered for being an enemy to Tchalla and Hickman’s writing cemented that in the collective minds of fans. 

This is the downside of Hickman’s writing, people still think that Namor is a villain/supporting character to Black Panther even though the events of the story (of Tchalla and Namor putting aside their differences to stop God Emperor Doom) are often forgotten and so then we get Marvel trying to keep pushing the Atlantis vs Wakanda rivalry. I dislike how Namor’s character keeps getting reduced to such a state when in his own right Namor is a character who has never had Tchalla as a major character in any of the Sub-Mariner comics. I dislike how he is constantly villainized for this plot arc. Otherwise Hickman Namor isn’t terrible, he just is another facet of Namor’s character, a colder version that has been around since the death of Namorita.

[thenightling]

Rules for writing a good Dracula

As I did not like the BBC / Netflix Dracula but I do love Castlevania and most depictions of Dracula (I also don’t like the NBC version) this is a list of rules for writing a good Dracula based on my own observations.  Note: This post is purely opinion.

1.  Keep the traditional powers.  i.e. turning into a bat, wolf, mist, and summon storms.  Stop trying to “modernize” by changing how those powers work or removing the powers entirely.  He’s not a skinwalker.   He’s Count Dracula.

2.  Let him have some sympathetic traits but also let him enjoy what he is.  This requires a careful balancing act.  You do NOT want to make Dracula too emo but at the same time romantic depictions can still be predatory and fun.  See Frank Langella’s Dracula.

3.   He should not look younger than thirty-years-old.  Dracula can age and de-age at will.  If you use the Vlad the Impaler backstory that means he died around the age of forty-five (at the youngest).   So that should be the “base” age.  The youngest he appears.   He is not Edward Cullen. He does not need to be a pretty boy.  

4.  Inventing new lore is okay.  Inventing new powers is okay.  However if the new lore makes no sense under scrutiny it probably should be scrapped:  .i.e. “The reason I don’t like crosses, sunlight, and need an invitation is because I’m afraid of dying.” or “My victims all turn into zombies so I keep them in tiny storage crates in my castle.  Even though a simple staking kills them.”

5.   Traditional weaknesses are okay and even new weaknesses are okay but he does NOT have to burn in the sun.  In the original Dracula novel he could walk about by day, he just could not shapeshift by day and it was his natural time of rest.  This is so rarely acknowledged now that it would actually be refreshing in film and TV.

6.   Dracula is not a snarky character. He can have moments of dry humor but jerry Lewis-esque “Laaadies!” and “I’m undead, not unreasonable” are groan worthy.   Using the excuse of “If you’re that old you’d be sarcastic” doesn’t fly.  Not every old person is snarky.    That goes right up there with Jerry in the Fright Night remake going “Your girlfriend is ripe!”  Just no.     

7.   If he cries someone dies.   This does not have to be taken literally but just know in most modern depictions of Dracula, whether Hammer Horror, Hellsing, Fred Saberhagen, or even Marvel Comics, if he should cry- that means he’s going to rampage in some way.

8.    Yes, Dracula IS bi or pan, you cowards.    Dracula is often bisexual in pop culture  If you’re upset by this, you really haven’t paid attention.  There was a reason Universal Studios said to not let him bite men on camera in 1931.   Marvel’s Dracula, Dario Argento’s Dracula, Frank Wildhorn’s Dracula das Musical, and various other depictions in pop culture have been confirmed as bisexual.   Seriously, guys, his predecessor, Carmilla, was a lesbian and written as a lesbian in 1870, so grow up.

9.    Fangs are not straws.  Fangs are for piercing the skin and then the lips form a seal over those wounds.  This is why he usually goes for major arteries.  You don’t need ‘straw teeth” when puncturing a major artery.  Also, where would the blood go?  That’s the upper jaw, you’d get blood in the brain.   It makes no sense and renders the digestive tract useless.   

10.   Dracula is not Satan, Cain, Abel, Judas, or any other Biblical figure.  Please stop trying to do this.  It’s not clever or new.  He can be warded with symbols of Faith, but that does not mean one specific Faith is truth and or that he’s the great adversary of that faith.  It has to do with the faith of the person using the symbol.  Note the line in the 1985 Fright Night “You have to have faith for that to work on me!”   Fred Saberhagen felt this was psychosomatic.  The vampire was accidentally psychically absorbing the belief of the person using the symbol as a weapon. In The Dresden Files Harry Dresden’s faith was in his pentacle instead of a cross.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

TodoDeku with a baby using prompt 10?

Guess who took this prompt and went way overboard with it? This dweeb! *points at self*

Also, Trigger Warning: Mentions/References to Experimentation on Children, Mentions/ References to Child Neglect/ Abuse.

Parenting was a strange, exciting event that, while Todoroki Shouto adored, occasionally left him grasping at straws.

His own upbringing had been anything but soft and comforting. There had been the brief moments of reprieve with his mother or older sister, but they were far and few between; especially after the scalding incident. As he grew up, however, he began to come out of his own shell and begin picking up the pieces from his shattered youth. He developed a very dry, sarcastic sense of humor that people seemed to enjoy. He went out of his way to bumble awkwardly through befriending people he admired, boasting a small but close social circle that his younger self had thought was only a dream.

And he fell helplessly in love with Midoriya Izuku, the man who started these changes in him, and the two had started a family together a few years after marrying.

He had been nervous but thrilled about the whole prospect. While his own experience with parenting was dark and scarring – literally – he felt good about how he and Izuku would manage. The two of them were a strong couple and were very vocal about their needs and wants. They had a great support system in their friends, Inko and All Might, Rei and Shouto’s siblings, and – to a much lesser and restricted extent – Endeavor. They had done their research into what options were available for them and then started on the grueling process of being approved through both means; the first being adoption, and the second being assisted by a medical professional with an accommodating Quirk. Due to reform acts in the justice system – and Shouto would forever be grateful for those changes, all things considered – the process was a bit more complex for Pros, and especially so for a married couple that were both Pros.

But, after a full fourteen months of paperwork, appointments, interviews and home evaluations, they received their approval letter. And then, a few months later, on November 12th, they brought home their son, Todoroki Satoshi.

Satoshi was born via the assistance of a Quirk user, meaning he was biologically related to Shouto and Izuku. Just based on appearance, his relation to the Todoroki family was clear; he had the crimson locks and steel toned eyes and pale complexion. His hair did, however, have that same natural curl that Izuku's did, making it a nightmare to tame as it grew longer. Aside from his appearance, though, as he got older, more of his behavior was also derived from his Papa. He had more confidence in him than either Shouto or Izuku had at his age but that was compounded by being incredibly emotional and a bit of a crybaby. Toshi was near as quick to tears as his Papa had been a long time ago, but a part of Shouto was grateful for it. He liked that he was comfortable enough with himself to be so vulnerable and transparent with his feelings.

And then, when he was just a few weeks shy of four, there had been the manifestation of his Quirk, which had been... Well, a shit show, to put it in the most honest of terms. They’d been over at the Todoroki estate so the kids could visit with their cousins, aunts, uncles and Rei, the little cluster of seven children running to and fro chasing a ball in the yard. Shouto had been pleased to watch his children get to play with their family, delighted by the excited squeals and shouts coming from them all. But then, after a few minutes, Satoshi had come running over, all watery eyes and choked wails about how his throat hurt and it was hard to breath, little fingers clawing at his neck as if that would soothe his pain. He and Izuku were immediately rushing to get him in his Papa’s arms for a leap to the nearest emergency room, when he suddenly squirmed and pushed away, putting a bit of distance between himself and Izuku, turned his head to the side and unleashed an impressive blast of fire from his mouth, scorching a large tree not too far off into nothing but smoldering kindling. He and Izuku had stared at the murdered tree before looking at each other and then down at their son, who had slumped back against his Papa’s chest with a small whine. “I thought I was gonna puke,” he mumbled sheepishly. They had nodded awkwardly, not sure how else to respond, before Shouto excused himself to get the little tot some water.

Rei had been the one with the most insight of how to help them manage his newfound abilities, citing how she had managed Touya and Shouto when their Quirks first presented and they hadn’t started training with Endeavor. She suggested some small game-like exercises that would help Satoshi figure out how to make the Quirk work when he wanted, as well as give him some insight to when his Quirk was activating and he couldn’t stop it. A few days later, Endeavor had approached Shouto with the information for a support tech group that specialized in making customized home materials - such as sheets and clothes and the like - for children still learning to manage their Quirks. “Let them know I advised you speak with them and they should offer you a discount,” he had said. And that was the end of it, much to Shouto’s surprised pleasure.

Furthermore, getting in touch with Izuku's father had been a huge help, too. Satoshi's fire-breathing Quirk was significantly stronger than the elder Midoriya's was, but it seemed the backlash was similar. Overextending the Quirk could lead to dehydration - which had been learned quickly, given how excitedly he'd shown his Quirk off initially - and, when pushed too far, had actually torn his throat up enough to make him cough up some blood. The bigger struggle with him was maintaining control of how far and large the blast was. Almost a year after the fact, Satoshi was still learning in regards to those aspects of it, but had made great strides in his ability to control when the fire was used. It had been a month since the last time his Quirk went unruly and almost set a fire while he was sleeping and that was no small accomplishment.

And then there was their daughter, who came home just a short while after Satoshi turned a year old.

She was found through work. Or, rather, Izuku found her as part of an investigation he was assigned to. Shouto didn't know the specifics since he wasn't one of the Pros on the mission, but he knew it was disgusting; something involving experimentation to see about accelerating the development process for Quirks. All 78 test subjects had been children - some as old as eleven and their daughter being the youngest at only three months old - and it had rattled his husband to the core, seeing the state they were all in and how they'd been treated leading up to the sting. For the next two weeks, Izuku went to the hospital every night to visit with the children, checking their progress and hoping for the best. Once Shouto found out why he was going, he would join him when he could.

It was through this he learned specifically of Girl 36, the label attached to the youngest victim.

Of the 78 children, only 23 ended up surviving the ordeal; and of that, only 7 were reunited with their biological families while the rest needed to be rehomed completely. Girl 36 turned out to be biologically related to two of the main villains involved in the whole experiment who were still at large. Neither side of the villains' families wanted her, though, seeing her as a reminder of where their bloodlines had gone wrong. Her fate had seemed further sealed when a doctor had told them outright that she, as the youngest, was least likely to make it much longer. "While she hasn't been subjected to as much experimentation as some of the others," he said patiently, "she is very young and very small. For an infant of her age to have been this mistreated and neglected, the odds of bouncing back may as well be negative digits. We'll keep doing all we can, but we're mostly just trying to make sure she is as comfortable as possible when the inevitable occurs."

And she had been so small, so fragile, appearing as if an odd look would be enough to break her, that Shouto couldn't blame the doctor for his assessment. He peered down at her, tucked away in a little incubator of sorts, hooked up to far too many machines, and saw her little eyes crack open. Pumpkin colored slivers stared up at he and Izuku, a small spark there, and he knew. He knew that even if no one else believed that she could pull through, that she was strong and she would beat those impossible odds. That night, Shouto suggested they apply to adopt her. Izuku had wept in joy, confessing he had wanted to ask but wasn't sure how to approach it, and they started the process the following morning. It took six weeks for things regarding the adoption to be finalized, and then five more after before she was medically cleared to be discharged, but it was all well worth it.

Her birth date was determined to be some time in early May, with the doctor deciding the tenth seemed like a good day, and she sat at six months old when she came home on November 24th. They had selected the name Momiji for her because with her red-brown hair and orange eyes she seemed to be the living embodiment of fall aesthetics. So, naming her after the leaves that fell in the season she came home in only made sense. It was a little difficult at first, balancing their work with two children under the ages of two and one who needed a bit of extra care and monitoring, but they figured it out and were happy. Toshi enjoyed having a little sister to play with and Momiji started to thrive under the watchful eyes of her new, loving family.

But Momiji was rather different than Satoshi as she got older. She was easily excitable and an absolute chatterbox and seemed to have boundless energy. Furthermore, despite how much she had needed to be monitored, she was already significantly more independent than her brother. Part of that, though, could have been a side effect of how early on her Quirk ended up presenting. She had just barely been two years old when it happened, and while not unheard of, had become rather uncommon. The doctor explained that this was most likely a side effect of the experimentation she’d been put through, as it was a recurring theme with some of the other younger children that had lived. It had happened while she was in the bath before bedtime, as she was squealing and happily splashing about while Izuku laughed at her antics. One minute, she was in the tub, and then she suddenly perked up, her giggles cutting off as she blinked. “Momi?” Izuku had asked, tilting his head at her.

She patted at her belly and looked up at him, as if that would answer the question, and then she was enveloped in a yellow-white mist of light. It was brief - less than three seconds, Izuku swore - but when it faded, Momiji was gone. In her room, however, where Shouto had been pulling out some clean pajamas for her, the mist-light appeared, and suddenly Momiji was there, sitting on her changing table and dripping water all over it. Shouto remembered the two of them gawking at each other for a full five seconds before she took in a little gasp and said, nonchalant as a toddler could be, “Oh, hi Daddy.”

Teleportation, it was deemed medically, but Izuku liked to call it Peek-A-Boo, given its sporadic nature.

They'd had to do quite a bit of research to better understand her Quirk; specifically in that they had to drudge up the files of her genetic donors, since Shouto refused to apply the word "parent" to villains like that. Their Quirks were called Locator and Mistafy respectively; one could pinpoint a person's exact coordinates with enough information about them, while the other could briefly transform their body into a faint mist to move around or past things. Learning the limitations of their powers helped give them more insight with Momiji's own Quirk. She didn't have a particularly large range and she was limited to places she knew the layout of to a certain extent, so they didn't have to worry about her poofing off the property, at least. There had been one scare, though, when she'd teleported herself into a small crawl space under the house, where she had apparently burrowed into during a few rounds of hide-and-seek before. She could poof from room to room when visiting Inko and All Might or Rei and Endeavor, what with her being familiar with their homes, but she couldn't just appear in a neighbor's home or something.

And that had been a huge relief, really. They'd had to start working on her Quirk early on to avoid her “peeking” - as they preferred to call it - herself somewhere she shouldn't, or somewhere dangerous like the time with the crawl space. They had done it using little games, just like they did with Toshi, and learned that she could also teleport small objects, as well as that overworking her Quirk would lead to fainting spells. She was also a quick study, picking up on the same ticks of her power that her parents had and taking their advice or warning very seriously. Despite being younger, she was better with her Quirk than Satoshi, having reached a point where she seemed to have near-flawless control of it. Her last incident of accidental peeking was nearly three months ago.

But her Quirk was also part of what had Shouto's mind working in overdrive. He had voiced his concern to Rei and Inko, but the pair of them had merely giggled about what a mother hen he was being, fretting over his little chick running the roost a bit more. It wasn't about that, though! It wasn't about her being able to brush her teeth on her own without needing to be asked, or getting herself drinks or anything trivial like that! Shouto was fine that Momiji and Satoshi were already showing differences in who they were growing to be. What he worried about was what the catalyst for her to be so self-reliant at her young age was. How much of her independence was just part of her personality, and how much of it was out of a perceived sense of necessity? Had the need to get a handle on her Quirk led to her feeling like she was obligated to be more responsible, more mature? Was she feeling the same way he felt growing up?

That was what scared him. That she was carrying far too much weight on her little shoulders.

The thought was still bothering him as he dragged himself home after a late night patrol. He knew that by the time he got home, Izuku and the kids would most likely already be in bed. It was a quarter past eleven by the time he came through the door. He made a beeline for the bedroom, being quiet as he did so, and took a quick shower. It was as he was finishing up her pre-bed route that he noticed a quiet rustling sound in the bedroom proper. He rinsed his mouth and poked his head out, flicking the light off as he did.

There was a small squeak of surprise and then the soft patter of footsteps rushing from the left side of the bed towards the door. For a moment, he almost thought it was Toshi, but the figure was a smidge too short. "Momiji," he called softly, resisting the urge to dart over and scoop her up. He kept telling himself to just let her do what she needed to do, to trust that she'd speak up if needed.

She paused in reaching for the door before letting out a whimper, charging at him, latching to his right leg, and started crying. He was stunned by the act for a second, his body wavering slightly. Normally when she wanted one of them, she'd use her Quirk to get to them faster. He shifted to pick her up and cradle her against him, tucking her into his right shoulder. He kept one arm looped under her legs while the other stroked her back, trying to soothe her some. The quiet rustle of covers caught his attention and he turned to see a groggy Izuku sitting up, rubbing one eye with the heel of a hand. The minute he realized what was going on, though, he was wide awake. "What happened?" he mouthed.

"I'm not sure," he mouthed back. He moved over to the bed, carefully slipping into his side while keeping her close. Once he was settled, Izuku moved closer so he could rest against Shouto’s left side and reach out to help soothe their little girl, the three of them all squished together. After a few moments of soft words and gentle reassurances, she settled down a little. Her tiny body still shuddered with each breath in, but her cries had quieted down and her tears had subsided to just small sniffles. “Feeling a little better?” he prompted.

“Mmhmm,” she mumbled, letting out another little sniffle.

Izuku reached over and gently wiped away the last few tears from her cheeks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I had a bad d-dream,” she said, a hiccup causing her to stumble over the last word. She peeked her little eyes at them before tilting her head to nuzzle further into Shouto, hiding her face. “I kept peeking over and over and I didn’t know where I was and I couldn’t make it st-stop and it was s-su-super s-s-sc-ary!”

Shouto tilted his head to press a small kiss to the top of her head as she started to work herself up into another fit while Izuku started wiping away the new batch of tears. "Oh, Momi, it's okay. It's okay to have scary dreams," Izuku cooed softly.

"N-Nu-uh!" she protested, burrowing her face into Shouto.

Izuku let out a small sigh as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, sweetie, everyone has scary dreams sometimes,"

"N-Not about their Q-Quirks!" she hiccupped, lifting her head to scowl at him. With the watery eyes and trembling lower lip, though, any attempt at intimidation was lost. "M-Mako-Kun doesn't g-get sc-scared of his Q-Quirk! A-And neither do Kaito or Reo or Isamu or Hibari!” The mention of Fuyumi’s kids was unsurprising, but the first one she mentioned did catch Shouto a bit off guard. Mako was the neighbor boy, a middle school student that occasionally walked Satoshi home and who helped his mom babysit them when neither Shouto or Izuku were going to be off of work on time or had anyone else available. His Quirk had something to do with generating poison and anti-venom, from what Shouto recalled, but he couldn't remember the specifics. Something to ask Izuku about later, since he'd most likely know.

"Well, Mako-Kun has had his Quirk a lot longer than you. I'm sure he was scared of it a little bit at first, too," Izuku chimed in softly, though he seemed a bit unsure of himself. Shouto knew that Izuku didn’t have any first hand experience with dealing with a Quirk at a young age, but they hadn’t discussed that fact with the kids yet. They were still only five and four, respectively, and they worried the pair would let the secret slip. They both knew that both kids tended to brag about who their dads were, after all.

Shouto hummed in agreement, carding a hand through her hair. “Papa’s right. Everyone's a little scared of their Quirk when they’re still learning about it. Why, I was afraid of my Quirk for a really long time,” he commented.

Momiji’s head snapped up lightning fast at that, looking at him like he’d just rocked the entire foundation of her world. “What? But you’re Daddy! A Hero! You’re not scared of nothing!” she squawked.

He laughed quietly, gently stroking her hair again to coax her to lie back down. “I wasn’t a Hero back then; I was little, like you. And even now, I might be a Hero, but there are still things I’m afraid of,” he mused.

“Like what?” she chirped, slowly settling back down, resting her chin on him and tilting her head so she could stare up at him.

“Well, I’m scared of something happening to you, or Papa, or Satoshi. I’m scared of not doing a good job as a Hero, or as a parent,” he admitted.

“And scorpions,” Izuku chimed in helpfully.

Shouto cast him a side glance before lightly pinched his belly in retaliation, causing the other to throw his face into a pillow with a muffled giggle. “Scorpions are icky!” Momiji agreed with a little shudder.

“Yes, they are,” he agreed, turning his attention back to her. “But back to the Quirk thing… I was very scared of my Quirk when I was around your age. I was always worried about hurting someone with it.”

“So what did you do?” she mumbled softly. “When you got scared?”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to tell her. He didn’t want to lie and pretend that he had parents that he could actively seek comfort from, but he also didn’t think that unpacking his childhood trauma on his daughter was responsible. His own childhood coping mechanisms also weren’t the best. But, he realized, there was something he could offer up. “Well, I would take a little break from using it,” It was a half truth at best, since he was pretty sure that ‘a little break’ didn’t extend to ‘nearly a decade of non-use’, but it was mostly true once he started actively using his fire. It had taken him time to get used to it and, sometimes, he’d struggle and get frustrated or scared. “I’d go do other things, like reading a book or studying notes, and just not really think about my Quirk until I felt ready.”

She hummed and nodded quietly, shifting to nuzzle closer to him again. “Mkay,” she said simply.

“Do you feel better, baby?” Izuku asked softly, resting his head against Shouto’s chest and getting himself comfortable.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed before opening her mouth wide in a yawn. She smacked her lips a bit and burrowed into Shouto, little hand curling in the fabric of his night shirt and her eyes sliding closed. “Can I sleep here?”

The pair of them exchanged amused looks. As if they were going to shoo the poor thing back to her room, especially when she was already so comfy and content. “Of course you can,” Shouto hummed, pressing another kiss to the top of her head.

“Love you, Daddy, Papa,” she yawned, eyes cracking open briefly as she flashed them a little smile before they fluttered closed again.

Shouto carefully curled his arm around her to keep her close while Izuku settled one of his hands on top of hers, thumb gently stroking the top. Once her breaths started to come in even, steady puffs, green eyes flashed upwards with affectionate exasperation. “This little girl, I swear. She just jumps from hysterical to dubious to exhausted like it’s nothing,” he chuckled.

“Well, she is our daughter. Emotional extremes are kind of our thing in this family,” he teased back, grin widening when Izuku whined and ducked his face into his shoulder. “And, I mean, I don’t blame her for being exhausted. Being scared can be very tiring.”

“Hmm,” Izuku agreed, turning his head to look at her again. She was completely peaceful now, little sleepy snores escaping her. “Do you think that part of it is because she doesn’t spend a whole lot of time with other kids her age? I mean, she has play dates with everyone elses kids when we can find the time, but the kids she sees the most often are bigger kids. Or perhaps it’s a matter of her Quirk being so different from the rest of the family and her friends? I mean, most of the other kids have more expansive Quirks that aren’t so directly tethered to their spatial awareness.”

“I’ll call Momo tomorrow and see what preschool program she and Kyoka are thinking about putting Shikako in. Perhaps being with a peer that she knows whose Quirk also has an element of unpredictability will help her feel comfortable. Or at least give her someone her own age that relates to help her feel better about it,” he commented. Shikako had been another of the rescued survivors from the same incident as Momiji, though she was a few months older. She had been living with a different family for the first six months after the incident, but then her Quirk presented. It turned out to be Projection; she could temporarily bring things she imagined to life. Because of how similar her Quirk seemed to work to Momo’s, she and Kyoka had immediately jumped to take her in when her first family admitted to not knowing how to manage her Quirk, happy to offer her a safe and loving home.

“You’re amazing,” Izuku said, leaning up to kiss him quickly before settling back down. Shouto smiled and relaxed into the bed, basking in the weight of his husband and daughter pressing down on him. There was going to be some phone calls to make in the morning and there was still work to be done, but he felt relieved to know their daughter wasn’t afraid to open up and seek comfort from them.

He held her a little tighter, though, just in case the lingering fears tried to disturb her again.

[vibing-and-writing]

Parties: Fun for No One

A/N: Hi! This is the second fanfic I’ve ever written, I hope you like it. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed and have an amazing existence. This fanfic is also loosely inspired by the song Prom Queen by Catie Turner. Enjoy! :)

Summary: You weren’t a party person. But neither was Bucky. So you guess it turned out ok in the end.

You've never been a party person. Especially a Tony Stark party person.

And this is exactly why your not a party person.

Because here you were, dressed to the nines, makeup on, flowing dress sparkling under the chandelier lights, and not one person has noticed you. 

You couldn’t blame people though, you did walk in with Natasha, her beautiful hair and even nicer dress catching the spotlight immediately. “I don’t know about this Nat...” you trailed off nervously. “Don’t worry about it Y/N, I said I wouldn’t leave you right?” she said, her gaze scanning the crowd for her favorite doctor. After a second, she grabbed your hand and practically dragged you to find Dr. Banner. “Evening ladies.” Dr. Banner said, locking gazes with Natasha.

And the next hour went by as expected when two those two get to talking, and you realized you turned into the C in an A and B conversion. 

You excused yourself to use the bathroom, but instead, you made a beeline to the open bar. Waking up with a hangover didn’t sound like a good idea so you got yourself water and parked yourself on one of the bar stools. ‘I’m having the time of my life!’ you thought sarcastically as you watched Natasha and Dr. Banner laugh and dance. And that’s when the self-consciousness started to settle in. 

You’ve never been the one in the spotlight, playing more the role of ‘supporting cast’ and less ‘main character’. Being center-stage was never really your thing, even as an intern at SHIELD. Not many noticed you in meetings or around the office unless they needed something. Needless to say, you didn’t have many friends other than Natasha, or at least any that were invited to Stark’s party. Your eyes started to water a bit, you blinking away your tears to not ruin your makeup. You gave a drawn-out sigh as you propped your head on your hand. Unbeknownst to you, a blue-eyed stranger was looking your way.

Bucky wasn’t a party person either. 

Steve had told him he would have “so much fun”. And as one could see, Bucky was not having fun. Until you walked in.

You, with your heels, beautifully done makeup, hair bouncing as you walked. Your dress was jaw-dropping, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was your smile. That smile was so bright it nearly blinded him. But not a few seconds later, Bucky saw that smile slide right off your face. And he wanted nothing more than to bring it back.

Bucky saw you say something to Natasha, you biting your lip as you introduced yourself to Dr. Banner. He tried to stop glancing your way, he really did; you were too beautiful to ignore. The next hour passed by that way, he constantly glancing your way, his shyness getting the better of him. Before long, he saw your excuse yourself and take a seat at the bar. You, an angel among men, with your dress barely touching the floor, soft lips pulled into a slight frown as he saw a sigh pass through your lips. You seemed to be very intrigued with the ice cubes in your drink to notice the former soldier’s blatant stares.

Bucky suddenly felt a slight nudge to his metal arm, turning his eyes away from you to see a very smug-looking Steve. “You should talk to her,” Steve said, knowing smirk across his face. “Instead of staring at her like some creep.” he finished, playfulness painting his eyes. Bucky narrowed his eyes at his best friend, shaking his head in finality. He couldn’t approach you. You were far too bright for him to even look at, let alone talk to.

But after a split second, he saw the change. The way your eyes seemed to dim, your shoulders slouching ever so slightly, your mouth twitching downwards, and before he could process what he was doing, he was at your side. 

Well, more like awkwardly leaning against the bar with his good arm, while trying to muster up an eloquent response. When he came up dry, all he could say was breathless, “Hi.” You looked up, eyes clearing and shoulders moving straighter, as you mustered an equally eloquent, “Hey.” ‘Good job at talking to her Barnes,’ he could practically hear Steve’s teasing in his ear. 

“How- Um- What’s a doll like you doing by yourself?” Bucky questioned, cringing at his stuttering. You considered him for a second, before a slight shade of pink dusted your cheeks at the pet name. “Trying to find a knight in shining armor to take away my boredom,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What about you, Romeo?” you asked, light and humor dancing in your eyes. Your lips quirked up into a smirk, even nicer than your smile. 

Bucky chuckled at that, your heart skipping a few beats. “Hoping to save a princess from a night of third-wheeling,” he said, motioning to the still talking Natasha and Dr. Banner, “I think I’m doing a good job, judging by her smile.” She giggled at that, hand hovering over mouth to try to hold in her amusement. 

He was good, she thought, too good. 

“I’m Y/N by the way, but I wouldn’t mind you calling me doll,” she said, a smile still bright and present, a darker pink now dusting her cheeks. “Lovely name for a lovely lady,” he said, swagger and butterflies bubbling in his stomach, “‘names James, but you can call me anything you want doll.” 

You gave him a longer than necessary once-over to drink him in. And was stunning. Hair down with a small halo braid, stubble light and adorable. A white dress shirt and a navy blue blazer, worn comfortably over his broad shoulders. His dress pants navy blue, and a nice pair of dress shoes, you had to admit the man cleaned up very nicely. His eyes reminded you of a puppy, excited and energetic. Bucky raised a brow at you (that was too attractive be legal), your head ducking slightly at getting caught in your staring. 

“What’d you say we leave and get some burgers from down the street? Parties aren’t really my thing,” you said, cocking your head towards the exit. Bucky gave you a heart-stopping smile, before bending down slightly and offering you his arm. “I’d be more than happy to doll,” he said, sparkles in his eyes. 

You both walked out of the party, arms locked laughter trailing behind. Natasha shot Steve a look, eyes meeting from across the dance floor. “You owe me $20,” Natasha mouthed, head jerking towards the retreating couple. Steve reluctantly grabbed his wallet and placed the $20 bill in her purse. “$40 says Y/N’s in Bucky’s room by morning,” Steve whispered back, now standing next to her with her purse, eyes challenging and humorous. Natasha threw him a playful glare, “$45 says he’ll be at her place by morning,” she whispers, grinning like the Chesire Cat. “Sounds like a deal Romanoff,” Steve says, finally leaving the party.