#so one of them evidently has to be the one behind the wheel

[orbitfalls]

Regulus likes to write with his headphones on, noise cancellation on, no music. when he does listen to music, it's with a really crusty old pair of wired headphones (i'm projecting) because the stores don't sell wired ones anymore and he refuses to buy airpods.

Pandora listens to the last thing you would've ever expected upon looking at her, some sort of aggressive instrumental hiphop, Phonk Walker or something like that. She always manages to hum along anyway.

Barty listens to crappy pop music with zero shame, blasted on his massive ass sticker-covered soundbox whenever they're cleaning the dorm. The more you complain the worse it gets. (also, number one britney spears fan). got into måneskin before eurovision and never misses an excuse to rub it in dorcas' face.

Evan listens to classical music, volume high enough for it to be outright absurd. he knows too much about the artist and WILL infodump morbid stories about them when it's least expected. will get into the wildest shit, running from the police with ridiculously loud classical playing in his headphones and barty grinning and panting next to him (they're sharing the music, barty has Zero clue what they're listening to but he shamelessly pretends he does)

Dorcas is a pop/softrock girlie and gives the Best music recs. she will FIGHT for that music control on a roadtrip (and win, she's the only one who can get a hold of barty lol). she likes tina turner and some whitney houston and fleetwood mac. discovered måneskin via eurovision and is so unbothered by barty teasing her for it. her fav album is il ballo della vita.

[fxstpace]

the very first night

summary: the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

⇢ pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader ⇢ genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers au, roommates au ⇢ word count: 19.7k ⇢ warnings: profanity, alcohol conusmption, explicit sexual content (oral sex, fingering, protected sex) ⇢ a/n: title is the very first night by taylor swift. reposted from my old blog.

ONE

You think that all the decisions you’ve made in your life so far have all boiled down to this one moment.

Karmic retribution, if you will.

Despite the six months for which you and your ex-boyfriend have been separated, Kim Mingyu looks the same. The same floppy hair that never quite sits flat on his head—though he’s let it grow a tiny bit, and now it curls behind his ears—and the same tight-fitting black shirt you swear you tried stealing from him once. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and warm brown eyes that peer back at you. Pink lips which beckon you with a small, yet welcoming smile.

“Hey.” The word drags from his mouth, and he extends the last syllable for a second longer than necessary. “You’re here early.”

Shit. Even his voice sounds the same.

You heft your suitcase and place it by your feet just so you can avoid eye contact. Under different circumstances, Mingyu probably wouldn’t have let you carry your suitcase all the way up the stairs to the third floor—the elevator has been out of commission since before you even met him, and that doesn’t appear to change anytime soon. He probably would have lugged the whole thing upstairs, despite your protests and claims that you’re strong enough to do it on your own. But now, you can only sense his gaze on your figure as you place it securely on the floor.

When you straighten up, he’s still looking at you. He has an eyebrow raised and his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes are clouded, almost as if he’s built some kind of impenetrable fortress against you. You have your walls up, too—in the slight clench of your jaw and defiant raise of your chin—and it’s something someone else wouldn’t be able to notice, but you’re sure Kim Mingyu has.

“Yeah. Um.” You attempt to smile, pray it doesn’t visibly appear as a grimace, and gesture behind you with your thumb. “The packers and movers came by pretty early, so everything ended up moving faster.”

“I see.” He purses his lips, evidently running out of things to say. (Good for you, really, because there’s nothing for you to say either.)

You take the chance to glance behind him—a feat in itself, considering how broad his shoulders are—and observe the interiors of what is going to be your home for the next year. Beige walls, the ratty sofa he bought off a garage sale, the television set he originally used to play video games on but ended up using it to watch shows instead—and a potted succulent placed in the corner. That wasn’t there before.

Before you allow your lips to tug up amusedly, Mingyu speaks again. “Is that all? When’s the rest of your stuff coming in?”

“The movers said they’d have everything ready within two days. It might take me longer to get everything sorted out, though,” you reply, aiming your gaze downwards at your suitcase.

It’s an old thing, with fraying fabric and rusty wheels, but it currently contains a fraction of your belongings: Clothes, toiletry, a small pouch where you keep items that have a special significance to you. Only the bare essentials, really. Mingyu had assured you that the room was furnished, with a bed, closet and desk. His old roommate, Minghao, had moved out but left the furniture behind because he had no reason to take them with him—not when he moved in with his girlfriend in her own apartment. All that’s left for the movers to bring over is your bookshelf, your book collection, the rest of your clothes, the Ikea drawer you and your best friend, Park Jihyo, built together, and other smaller items like your desk lamp and office chair.

“That’s okay,” Mingyu says. “Take as long as you need.”

You nod, mumbling a “thank you”, then bend down to pick up your suitcase.

Mingyu moves aside, granting you enough space to roll it across the floor and head over to the side that leads to the Minghao’s old room. Right opposite you is the doorway that leads to Mingyu’s bedroom, and further to the side is the corridor that opens into the kitchen, the small space where he keeps a dining table, and the bathroom.

In a way, you’re glad your room is situated further away from those places. Ghosts of memories linger there, ones that you can’t bear to revisit.

No, it’s better this way; you’re away from everything that you used to consider a second home. Maybe if you close the door behind you, you can pretend like you’re in some kind of void where the only things that exist are you and the bed.

“Wait, Y/N.”

You pause, feeling… something. The way he says your name, so casually, as if it’s second nature to him (it used to be) and nothing has changed at all, has you on edge—not in the good way, but not in the bad way either. 

You turn around. “Yeah?”

“Um.” Your ex-boyfriend hesitates for a second. “I’m… going out for dinner with Minghao and some others, is that okay? It might be late by the time I come back.”

“Okay.” Then, feeling the need to clarify something, you say, “You—you don’t have to tell me that. We don’t… owe each other an explanation for where the other is.”

Mingyu stays quiet, and you look away, teeth worrying your bottom lip. You wonder if he’s going to say anything—or even show any kind of reaction at all. 

“Right. We don’t.” His voice is toned down with a kind of uneasiness that you don’t blame him for. Heck, even you feel a twinge of hurt rise up your throat at your own words. “I’ll… let you get some rest.” He nods once, places his hands in his pockets, and walks back to his room.

Your grip on the suitcase handle tightens. Once you enter your room, you let out a pained sigh. You shut the door and turn your back to the wooden blockade that separates you from the rest of the apartment.

This is not going the way you expected—but then again, what had you expected? That everything between you and Mingyu would just vanish and you could talk to him normally without feeling that tiny pinprick of bitterness stab your chest every time you address him? You and Mingyu have a history, filled with good times and bad times, and six months spent away from each other will do nothing to erase that. 

You think of what your old roommate, Jihyo, would’ve said. He’s just a boy, Y/N. Make him clean the toilet all the time so he’ll automatically get sick of you.

You smile to yourself, unlocking your phone. Jihyo is probably too busy settling down in her new home in the city she moved to, so she can’t pick up your call. You decide to send her a text message instead.

You switch to the food app, order your favourite dishes from the Indian place a couple of streets away, and toss your phone onto the bed. Kneeling, you unzip your suitcase and unpack the few items you have with you. As you move around, you can already imagine how to decorate the place, how to make it feel more like a home and less like you’re an intruder. The closet is just enough for all the clothes you own—the ones you’ve packed and the ones stored in cardboard boxes yet to arrive. The desk placed opposite to the bed is perfect for when you have to work on your laptop late at night; if you place your lamp on it, you might even forget that you’re not in your old apartment. The bed already has a mattress with clean linen on the bedspread. You place your old Looney Tunes duvet on it.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. You pause your unpacking to get the door and thank the delivery guy for the food. Mingyu has already left, judging by the lack of noise in the rest of the apartment. You just hope he doesn’t come back home drunk and shit-faced—that would definitely ruin the rest of your night, and the much-needed sleep you require. 

You decide not to use the kitchen table, instead opting to take the food containers into your room, where you can eat and watch a show at the same time. It’s lonely, but at least you can have your meal somewhere comfortable.

Your phone rings with notifications. You pick it up, carefully balancing the bowl of curry on your knee. 

(19:47) Jihyo: hows the apartment??? did u make mingyu clean the toilet yet?

(19:47) Mingyu: hey, i’m at a thai place. do you want anything to eat at home? i could get something packaged.

You smile at the first text, tense up at the second one, and place your phone down next to you. Not replying to either of their messages might be a bad idea, but right now, all you want is to have your spicy curry and naan in peace—your best friend and ex-boyfriend be damned.

TWO

It’s only after you move in with Mingyu that your separation from Jihyo truly sinks in. Now, there’s no one you can wake up at two in the morning because your period started and you ran out of pads, or gossip about that one campus couple who broke up in public at your favourite boba place.

Not to mention the fact that living with your ex-boyfriend is mildly awkward at best and stupidly melancholic at worst.

It’s been a week, but you and Mingyu seem to have figured out a way to work in tandem. It appears as though neither of you want to see the other—just yet, at least. He goes for a morning jog at six; your alarm rings at six. He comes back reeking of sweat at seven in the morning; you’re getting ready to leave for work by then. You do the dishes on the days he vacuums the apartment and vice versa. It leaves no room for conversation, other than the occasional greetings and small talk when you happen to cross paths.

In fact, ever since you purposefully ignored Mingyu’s text asking if you wanted anything from the Thai restaurant, he’s made a conscious effort at avoiding you.

You nearly jump out of your seat when someone taps your shoulder. “Hey.”

You turn around and meet your co-worker, Lee Seokmin’s eyes. He smiles at you, eyes curving into little crescents.

“Hi,” you say, smiling back automatically.

If there’s one person you can count on to bring a smile to your lips, even if it’s eight o’clock in the morning—at work, no less—it’s Lee Seokmin. His cheerful nature and lively personality is infectious. His happiness radiates outwards in waves that everyone gets swept up on. You might even consider yourself envious of how easily he sways everyone, with that exuberant smile and those good-natured compliments he doles out to everyone like they cost him nothing. (Which they don’t, you suppose.)

“Something on your mind?”

Your smile turns into a grimace. “You could tell?”

He gives you a little half-shrug, still smiling. “You had a weird, serious, think-y face. And before you come at me for think-y not being a real word—I’m very aware of that, thank you—it’s the best way I can describe you.”

“You chose think-y—” you bite back a chuckle— “as the best word to describe me? Come on, Seokmin, you can do better than that.”

“I can,” he agrees, “but only when the situation is appropriate.” His face turns grave, and he continues, “But seriously, Y/N. Did you have a rough night?”

His eyes roam over your face, evident concern shown in the curve of his lips and the slight dip of his eyebrows. You control your wince, wondering if the swollen bags underneath your eyes aren’t as concealed by your makeup as you thought. 

Rough week, more like. But you don’t say that to him. “Something like that,” you say.

“You moved out a while back, right? How’s the new place?”

“It’s… good. Close to the supermarket and all that. Everything is within, like, a ten-metre radius, so I don’t have to go very far to get things.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Seokmin says, and you can tell he really means it. “I bet you’re tired, though, with all that packing and unpacking and moving around.”

He bends closer, the front of his loosely tucked shirt just barely touching the back of your chair. This close, you can smell the faint scent of Seokmin’s deodorant and fabric softener. He taps his finger on the arm of your chair. “Do you want to get some coffee with me?”

“Um.” You look back at your laptop and the pile of binders next to it. Seokmin seems to know what you’re thinking, because he huffs and says, “C’mon, I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you took a coffee break.”

“I guess,” you return, flashing him a smile when he rolls your chair backwards to give you space to stand up.

Getting up, both of you weave your way to the third floor, where the only functioning coffee maker is housed. The elevator is too crowded and busy for you to use to get down from your position on the seventh floor, so you settle for using the stairs. Throughout the ten-minute walk (which effectively turns into a fifteen-minute one, thanks to him), Seokmin waves and greets every single fellow office worker you pass by. By name.

You roll your eyes and bite your lip to hold back your laugh when a young, female intern—probably still in college by the looks of it—flushes bright red because Seokmin complimented her barrette.

He catches your eye and grins. “What’s so funny?”

You shake your head good-naturedly. “It’s nothing. Carry on with whatever you were doing.”

“What was I doing?”

“Oh, you know,” you say airily, “making everyone fall head over heels for you because you’re just so nice.”

His grin only widens. “You make it sound as though being nice is a bad thing.”

“That’s not what I meant at all,” you protest. “I’m just— Greeting every single person you see? By name? How do you even know everyone in the building?”

“I just check their ID card,” he explains, shrugging slightly. “I read this WikiHow article that said if you speak to people using their name, it creates a good impression and makes you appear more confident than you really are.”

“Really?”

Humming, Seokmin nods, before adding slyly, “I’m not sure what you mean by making everyone fall in love with me, though.”

“Please,” you snort. “You’re way too charming for your own good—and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”

“You think so?” 

You can hear the smugness in his tone and you roll your eyes again. “Yes, I think so.”

“Then…” He trails off, gazing at the handrail.

Seokmin’s voice turns softer, more serious. Contemplation bleeds into his features, and when he speaks again, he lacks the bravado he had with all the other people he spoke to on your way down.

“Guess I better work on charming the right people, huh?” 

You blink, but before you can digest Seokmin’s words, he gives you another bright grin before rounding the corner and striding towards the coffee machine. You follow, the need for caffeine in your system overriding your instinct to mull over what your co-worker said. Unfortunately, it seems you and Seokmin aren’t the only ones who want coffee; a long queue runs ahead of you. Your coffee break might end up taking longer than you thought.

“So,” Seokmin casually drawls, one hand in his pocket and the other fiddling with his ID card’s lanyard. “Do you want to talk about your rough night?”

“I…” You pause and consider. 

Should you tell Seokmin? You trust him enough—you’ve known him for as long as you’ve been working in this company—and he’s always been friendly to you, offering you a ride home when both of you work overtime and paying for your food on the occasional visits to a café or a coffee shop. Besides, he’s the closest person you have to a friend, now that Jihyo lives in a different city and you can’t call her up whenever you feel like it. You decide to tread the waters first, only telling him the bare minimum.

“Hypothetically speaking,” you begin, “if you move in with someone you don’t like but have known for years, what would you do?”

“That’s a tough one.” He scratches his chin, pretending to think. “I guess it depends on the kind of past you share, y’know? But either way, I would try to… make peace with them, I guess. Like a ceasefire. Offer them an olive branch. Hypothetically speaking, of course.” He grins knowingly at the last bit and you shove his shoulder.

What Seokmin said makes sense. You and Mingyu are living together; your past relationship shouldn’t come in the way of talking to each other. But it does, so much more than it should. Try as hard as you might, every time you think of Kim Mingyu, the first thing that comes to your mind is all the kisses you’ve shared, the way his arms feel around you, how both of you broke the promises you made to each other—all because you were too proud and he was too stubborn. 

You still are proud. For all you know, Mingyu might still be stubborn. 

What a pair, you think drily.

You and Seokmin shuffle forwards. He stays silent, allowing you to process your thoughts and wonder how, exactly, you’re going to get over Mingyu and talk to him without feeling like your stomach is twisting into a million knots. 

Once you reach the coffee machine, Seokmin hands you a cup. “It’s hot,” he warns, before carefully handing you the styrofoam cup filled to the brim with the bitter brew. You cautiously take a sip, wincing when you almost burn your tongue and make a face at your co-worker when he chimes, “I told you.”

The walk back to your floor doesn’t take as long as the walk down. Before you part ways, Seokmin offers you a small smile and a pat on your shoulder.

“If you’re wondering how to approach your roommate,” he says, lowering his voice, “maybe start off by offering them food. Works like a charm every time.”

Food. Yeah, you can manage that. Dinner with your ex-boyfriend.

Should be a piece of cake.

THREE

Asking Mingyu if he would like to have dinner with you is decidedly not a piece of cake.

When he comes back home from work, Mingyu has only one trajectory: Travel in a straight line from the door to his bedroom, offering you a tight smile if he sees you along the way. His bag is always slung across one shoulder and his shirt is always untucked and his hair is always a wild mess. If his appearance wasn’t achingly familiar, you would probably laugh every time you see his unruly figure.

It takes a week for you to muster up the nerve to look Mingyu in the eye, after your conversation with Seokmin. He’s been pestering you incessantly, almost exactly like Jihyo. When you told her about Seokmin’s suggestion, she had been nothing short of enthusiastic. Your phone has been blowing up constantly with texts from her, egging you on and on and on to make a move first and raise the (hypothetical) white flag. 

“If you keep putting it off, you’re going to be very miserable for the rest of your immediate future,” was her reasoning when you called and spoke to her on the phone three days ago. “But also if you don’t fucking ask him to have a meal with you within the next week, I will fly over and have you both sit in a room, alone, and force you to talk.”

Both the options are pretty much the same. You didn’t have the energy to tell Jihyo that.

It’s on a Monday evening that you catch Mingyu and pop the question. A Monday evening that’s insignificant, really. Almost laughable at how normal the evening is. Mingyu unlocks the door, closes it while toeing his shoes off, and gives you the same tight smile—one where it doesn’t reach his eyes, his jaw is slightly clenched, and his lips thin into almost straight lines. 

“Mingyu.” Your voice comes out breathless, like you’ve been jogging for miles before coming to a stop in front of him. He pauses, wind-ruffled hair framing his face in cloudy wisps.

“Yeah?” 

“I—uh—” you force the words to tumble out of your lips, before you can overthink— “I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me?”

Mingyu purses his lips, looking at you warily. He’s careful, cautious, when he asks, “Is… there any special reason?”

You swallow. “No,” you say honestly, not allowing your eyes to tear away from his. “There isn’t. But I tried making lasagne today, and I would like to share it with someone.”

For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, only lets his bag fall into the crook of his arm. “Okay,” he says finally. “Let me just change and wash up.”

You nod, making your way to the kitchen to bring out the casserole. You’re not usually one for cooking—you prefer ordering takeout because it’s easier and they make the food better than you, anyway—but simply ordering food didn’t sit right with you. Lasagne is a dish you’ve made a few times before, and you would rather make something you’re familiar with instead of trying to whip up something new.

When you go back into the kitchen, you find Mingyu already there, bent over an open cupboard’s door as he fishes out some plates and cutlery. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and grey sweatpants, fringe falling freely over his forehead and obscuring his eyes. 

“Are our regular plates okay or do we need the china ones?” he asks, still bent over.

“Why do we need china plates? Wait, why do you even have china plates with you in the first place?”

He looks over at you and shrugs. “Dunno. Minghao had a china cutlery phase, I think.”

That does sound like a phase Xu Minghao would have.

“The regular ones are fine.” You don’t want to risk breaking Minghao’s precious cutlery.

While Mingyu wipes the plates with a dishcloth, you grab two mugs and pour orange juice from the fridge into them. You take one in each hand and follow Mingyu to the kitchen table, placing both of them on either side.

“Orange juice?” Mingyu’s eyebrows are raised.

“Yeah. So?” you challenge him, raising your eyebrows as well.

But he doesn’t say anything against your choice of beverage, only shrugs and mumbles, “We should really stock up on alcohol.”

Your lips twitch. You don’t allow yourself to smile.

Instead, you pull your chair back and sit down, steepling your fingers in front of you. Mingyu piles some food onto his plate. For some reason, you feel weirdly nervous. What if it’s not as good as you think? What if he doesn’t like it?

You shake those thoughts away. This is Kim Mingyu. Even if the food was bad, he wouldn’t tell you; he would only grin, compliment your culinary skills, and continue to eat despite everything.

“Is it… good?” you ask tentatively, after he takes a forkful into his mouth and chews deliberately.

He waits until he’s swallowed before answering. “It’s great. Really good,” he affirms, and you can hear in his voice that he means it.

Well, almost.

It’s the slight dip and intonation of his tone, but it’s one you’re familiar with. You narrow your eyes at him. Mingyu continues eating, oblivious to your glare. In fact, he shovels more lasagne onto his dish and eats with more gusto, pausing every now and then to gulp down some orange juice.

“Really?” you say casually. “I’m glad. Maybe I should try some too.”

Mingyu’s reaction is so instantaneous, it’s almost comical. His eyes widen by a fraction, and he immediately reaches for the casserole. “You should definitely try some,” he says. “But it’s so good, I wanna have some more.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, watching Mingyu stuff more food into his mouth before deciding to put him out of his misery.

“Mingyu. Tell me the truth. How’s the food?”

He pauses, swallowing the food in his mouth and answering with a subdued, sheepish smile:

“It’s too salty.”

FOUR

“Why are you leaving so early?” Jihyo’s voice crackles through your phone placed on your bed.

“Seokmin said he wanted to try out the croissants at the new bakery that opened nearby,” you reply, fiddling with the buttons of your shirt. “He also said he wanted to buy a baguette so that he could whack his roommate with it. Something about going all the way to Paris to buy it but his roommate used it to hammer a nail into the wall and broke it.”

A pause, and then, “Is his roommate okay in the head?”

“Good question.” You grin at your reflection in the mirror, pat down the hair at the back of your neck, and grab your phone. “I’m heading out now. I’ll text you later.”

“’kay,” your best friend says. “Tell Mingyu I said hi.”

“I will,” you say, but you already know you’re not going to greet him on behalf of her.

Things between you and Mingyu are… still pretty much the same, honestly. After that dinner fiasco, you’ve been too embarrassed to properly address him, and he’s not made much of an effort on his part. Or maybe you’ve been consciously avoiding him so much that he doesn’t get a chance to put his foot forward. Either way, your cheeks still burn up whenever you think of that night’s dinner, so for now, hiding in your room is quite possibly the only way you can prevent yourself from catching fire completely.

Stupid logic. You’re a grown adult, with the ability to make good judgements and make decisions. Unfortunately, your decisions are mostly borderline idiotic.

Shouldering your bag, you leave your room and head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. There’s a Post-It note stuck on the refrigerator. Peeling it off the fridge’s door, you read it curiously.

Got some cookies from Minghao’s friend’s bakery. I’ve kept them in the pantry. Enjoy! :) 

Mingyu’s familiar scrawl is branded into your head, and seeing the yellow square of paper makes nostalgia bubble inside your chest like a bath bomb dropped into a bathtub filled with water. You pocket the note, and smile so widely, your cheeks hurt.

Maybe he’s put his foot forward, after all.

Seokmin is already waiting for you outside your apartment building by the time you go out. He grins at you, his eyes crinkling in the corners and teeth flashing happily. 

“Hi,” you greet him. “Did you wait long?”

“No.” Your co-worker shakes his head, still smiling. “I just got here, actually.”

“I’m glad.” You return his smile. “Should we head out?”

Seokmin nods. “Of course,” he says, and you fall into step with him. 

He has a never-ending list of topics to talk to you about—and for the most part, you’re glad that he’s so outgoing. In twenty minutes, you’ve learnt almost everything there is to know about his roommate, Jeonghan, his older sister, his fear of ladybugs (you snort out loud at that particular anecdote), and his favourite anime (Haikyu!! and One Piece). In return, you tell him about that time you and Jihyo accidentally walked into the wrong restroom at a bar, and how you got dumped by your high school crush because he thought you were better than him at playing basketball.

It’s comfortable. Talking to Seokmin always is. 

But you still don’t talk about Mingyu. You try hard to stop thinking of him, but he’s always there at the back of your mind, an unopened gift that you don’t unwrap. 

Finally, you and Seokmin round a corner and find yourselves standing in front of the just-opened bakery. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafts through the open door. An array of different types of breads and other desserts is placed carefully on a display at the counter, and the owner greets you with a welcoming smile.

“What do you want to have?” Seokmin asks, holding your elbow and leading you in.

You eye the basket of croissants. The buttery confection looks delicious, but so does the tray of muffins placed next to it. And the bagels placed beside the muffins. “I can’t decide.”

“How about one of everything?”

You glance at him to see if he’s joking, but Seokmin looks completely serious. “You’re kidding, right?” you say, grabbing his arm. “There’s no way I’m going to let you buy one of everything in this store!”

“I would,” Seokmin admits, a flush creeping up his neck, “if you asked me to.”

You groan. “Seokmin. Please don’t.”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands in defeat. “I’m just saying, if you wanted me to—”

“One croissant, please,” you interrupt, addressing the owner. “To go. And he will have…”

“Make that two croissants,” Seokmin finishes. “I’ll have whatever the lady’s having.”

“How gentlemanly of you.”

“I know.”

Seokmin pays for his croissant, and you pay for yours. The owner wraps them up and hands them to you, asking you to visit again. Once you exit, you unwrap yours and take a small bite. The bread is soft and melts in your mouth, leaving a sweet aftertaste. You take another bite, and it’s only then that you notice Seokmin looking at you, a corner of his lips turned upwards in a crooked smile and one hand in his pocket.

“What?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have crumbs on my face?”

“No,” he replies. “I just… I would really love to do this again, Y/N.”

Oh.

Seokmin looks at you so hopefully. Like he’s been waiting for this opportunity for a long time. Like he needs to get something off his chest. Like he never wants this moment to end.

“...I’d like that, too,” you say.

Somehow, the words leave a bitter taste in your mouth, one that even another mouthful of the sweet snack can’t erase.

FIVE

It’s getting late, and yet Kim Mingyu is hellbent on getting you to keep him company. The worst part is that it’s working—though you would never admit that to him.

Being friends with your ex isn’t that uncommon. You and Mingyu can be friends. But how long are you willing to put up with this ruse before it all blows up in your faces? Friendship between two people who used to date isn’t that much of a big deal—but that’s just it, isn’t it? You and Mingyu weren’t just two people who used to date.

How did you even let him talk you into spending time with him? Or maybe that’s all on you; you’ve never been able to say no to him. One minute you’re looking at his face and remembering the lasagne gone wrong, the next he’s asking if you want to watch a movie with him. Except neither of you have updated your Netflix subscription, so this was a bad idea all along.

Maybe talking to Mingyu is a bad idea. 

Maybe you should go back to your old ways, locking yourself up in your room and only acknowledging his presence when you happen to cross paths. 

But the socialite in you nags, what if he thinks you’re some kind of hermit who only comes out to eat and drink? Besides, he’s here now, right next to you on the sofa—keeping a respectable distance between your bodies—as he watches a rerun of America’s Next Top Model because it was the least shitty thing playing on all the channels you scrounged through fifteen minutes ago. 

Normally, you would be elated at the idea of poking fun at random reality shows, expressing your exasperation at the poorly-written scripted drama and the even worse acting. But even if the showoff between two aspiring models both named Jessica and sporting the same colour of fake tan and bleached blonde hair was somewhat interesting, you find your gaze keeps wandering to your ex-boyfriend.

You trace the contours of his face with your eyes—the cheekbones that jut out only slightly, the furrow created on his forehead as his eyebrows kiss, the way his honey-brown eyes stare at the screen in front of him with a focused intensity. Even the way his lips curve ever-so slightly upwards, despite him pressing them together, has you recalling just how soft they felt against your own. 

His warm, soft skin. The prominent collarbone that you used to press small kisses to whenever you wanted to get his attention. The moles scattered all over his body, creating a canvas for you to paint on by tracing them with your fingers. The flex of his fingers as he bunches them into a loose fist.

Everything about him is so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time.

Even this semblance of friendship that has bridged the drawn-out distance between you both feels strange—as though somewhere in the back of your subconscious, you recognise that this camaraderie is either a really good thing or could go extremely wrong. You’re in the middle of that bridge, trying your best not to lean too much to the right or to the left, but even a slight misstep could lead to everything going downhill.

“Are you rooting for Jessice H. or Jessica C.?”

“Huh?” You blink, escaping your haze of thoughts. “I’m sorry—which one is which?”

Mingyu glances at you with a deadpan expression. “We’ve been watching them trying to one up each other for the past ten minutes.”

“Sorry.” You smile sheepishly. “Both of them look the same to me.”

“Fair enough,” he acquiesces, before returning his focus to the show. “It’s the fake tan, isn’t it? Although the hair is similar too… No wonder they’ve been arguing about who put on their mascara better—it looks identical.” 

You play along. “Or maybe it’s the supposed Gucci belts. I had no idea Gucci made handbags with fake crocodile skin.”

“The more you know…”

You laugh at that, and Mingyu looks at you—really looks, the same way he used to when you made a bad joke and giggled at it yourself. He looks at you with adoration written all over his face, in the upward twist of his lips and the crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

You clamp your mouth shut immediately, feeling a sense of nostalgia, longing and wistfulness seep into your skin, through your flesh and settle deep into your bones. 

Too much. It’s too much, and it’s way too early, and you don’t want to dwell on anything at the moment. So you do what you do best: You hide.

You tear your gaze off him and rub your palms on your old jeans. You hear Mingyu’s sharp intake of breath, but you force yourself not to look, not to think about him. 

“Hey, uh—I was supposed to call Jihyo right now,” you lie, and even you think it sounds lame coming out of your mouth, so there’s no way Mingyu can’t see through it.

“Y/N,” is all he says. 

You hate the way your chest clenches—just because he said your name—but what can you do? Escape the situation and never bring up the obvious elephant in the room?

Yeah. That’s exactly what you do. Making decisions isn’t your forte, but you’ll deal with the consequences of your actions later. Much, much later, if you can avoid it for as long as you’re living here.

You get up and make a beeline for your room, and Kim Mingyu doesn’t say anything to make you stop.

SIX

Whenever you faltered, Jihyo was your voice of reason. She would help you back to your feet, give you a solid nudge on your shoulder and list out the pros and cons of everything, allowing you to formulate your own opinion and come to a decision.

She isn’t being very helpful right now.

“Think about it,” she reasons. “Before, he was your ex. Now, he’s the guy you live with. You have to talk to him, no matter what.”

She’s right. She knows you know she’s right. You still refuse to acknowledge it, because pride comes before a fall, but you haven’t fallen yet. It’s more like you’re dangling off the precipice.

“How’s Jaehyun?” you say instead, referring to the guy she’s been crushing on ever since she moved to the new city.

Jihyo lets out an unimpressed sigh, the grainy image of her face on your phone screen contorting slightly. “Don’t think you’re being super smart by changing the topic, Y/N. And he’s fine. We went out for boba the other day.”

“Yeah?” You play with the fraying edge of the duvet thrown over your body. “That’s nice.”

Jihyo hums, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. “And then he asked if we could hook up.”

You guffaw. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She nods vigorously, affirming her statement. “I said no, obviously.”

“Why? Afraid he’s too much to handle?”

“Please,” your best friend snorts. “Have you seen him? I think I’m too much for him to handle. He couldn’t even pay for the boba without tearing his pocket because he was too enthusiastic in getting his wallet out.”

You smile thinly. Jihyo might be poking fun at the man, but you can tell from the twinkle in her eyes and the way her voice is filled with infectious joy that she’s enamoured by him. You wish you could meet him in person. Instead, you have to settle for checking out his Instagram profile.

“Anyway,” she continues, stifling a yawn, “it’s late and I have to head out tomorrow. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” you say. “Good night. Don’t dream of Jaehyun.”

She flips her middle finger at you and you roll your eyes, pressing the end button. Just when you’re about to fluff your pillow so you can lie down, you hear a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Mingyu sounds remarkably active, considering the fact that it’s currently fifteen minutes past midnight. “Are you awake?”

Curiosity compels you to answer honestly, “Yeah. Is everything okay?” 

You tread over to the door, swinging it open. Mingyu is in his sweatpants—a pair you know he only wears for bed—and a loose graphic T-shirt. You’re wearing pretty much the same attire, except your shirt is an old one, worn-out from your high school days, and it doesn't fit you that well anymore. You tug the hem over your hips consciously.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, everything’s okay. I was just…” He pauses, raising a hand and ruffling his hair. “Do you wanna get some ice cream?”

Of all possible things you expected Mingyu to ask you, this certainly wasn’t one of them. You blink, bemused. 

“Or—or we don’t have to,” he backtracks, when you don’t say anything immediately. “I was just craving something sweet, that’s all—”

“Okay,” you say, surprising yourself with your answer. Mingyu is trying to extend the olive branch you placed in between you both, and you have to appreciate that. Regardless of your personal feelings. Besides, Jihyo was right—he’s the guy you live with, and you need to be able to spend time with him. As friends. Nothing more.

“Okay.” He exhales, relieved. “It’s right across the street.”

“I think I know the one you’re talking about.”

The ice cream parlour is a ten-minute walk from your apartment, but walking with Mingyu makes time fly. He says something about mint chocolate being an underrated flavour, and you insinuate that it deserves to be, and just like that, conversation flows between you both as though your past is some kind of a fever dream.

Where Seokmin is a bright ray of sunshine lighting up your way on a cloudy day, Mingyu is moonlight, skittering over your figure and providing solace in the dark. Seokmin is infectious laughter and gleeful smiles; Mingyu is whispered jokes and shared silence.

Perhaps it’s those very qualities that made you fall so hard for the man next to you. You know for sure it’s those very qualities that still have you in his grip, even though he doesn’t know it. Maybe that’s why talking to him is awkward—because how do you move on from someone who captured your heart and kept it for safe-keeping but know that there’s one big, gaping hole in your chest where his heart is supposed to be? Even now, a small part of you belongs to Mingyu, like a little token which he’s kept locked up and hidden the key.

Six months is a long time, but neither you nor Mingyu seems to be able to bring up what happened. Maybe it’s for the best, you think. You would rather have a small bit of this domesticity that feels familiar than have everything blow up in your face because of the harsh words you exchanged.

You ignore the tightening in your chest and focus on the warmth pooling in your stomach when Mingyu grins and offers you a chance to redeem yourself when it comes to good ice cream flavours. You say mint chocolate is tolerable, but only because Mingyu likes it.

SEVEN

Seokmin drops by your cubicle almost every day now. He offers to drop you back home, too.

Each time, you smile but decline politely. You still feel guilty about saying that you would like to spend more time with him as well—but in your defence, you didn’t really lie; you do want to spend more time with him, but only as a friend. Seokmin didn’t specify how exactly he wants to go out with you.

It’s getting harder to say no, however. Seokmin is everything if not persistent, and his determination to take you out has you crumbling under his forlorn gaze and pleading words.

He doesn’t make your heart beat faster, or make butterflies erupt inside your belly. Being with Seokmin doesn’t come with bright fireworks or flashy songs. It’s finding the extraordinary in the mundane, and laughing yourselves silly over jokes that aren’t even that funny.

So. It’s not Mingyu, but Seokmin is nice and friendly and stable, and you think you can fall for him. You and Mingyu aren’t going to cross the threshold of friends ever again, anyway. There’s nothing stopping you from going out with Seokmin.

“Okay,” you say when he asks you again, a half-resigned look on his face when he assumes you’ll just say no again. 

The way his expression morphs to elation is worth it, you think. He surges forward, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into your ear, and the joy he feels is infectious—as most good things with Seokmin are—so it’s no surprise that your cheeks are already hurting from smiling too hard.

When you update Jihyo about the latest turn of events, she tuts disapprovingly and says, “Have you told Mingyu?”

“No,” you say, feeling defensive. “I don’t have to tell him, do I?”

Your best friend waits for a beat. “You don’t, I guess.”

Mingyu interrupts your call then, and you quickly tell Jihyo you’ll text her later. He stands in the living room, holding up a pair of button down shirts, one in each hand, forehead creased and mouth downturned.

You lean against your doorway, amused. “You called?”

His face clears as he looks at you, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I have this work event I need to attend tomorrow, but I don’t know what to wear.”

You observe the shirts he’s holding up. One is cream in colour, long-sleeved and ironed neatly. The other is black, with a thin white stripe along the collar and sleeves.

“The black one,” you say immediately. And then feel your cheeks heat up with your quick answer. In your defence, Kim Mingyu has always looked alarmingly handsome in black. Objectively speaking.

“I haven’t worn this one in a long time.” He brings it close to his face, squinting at it. “It probably stinks.”

“Smell it, then,” you say, chuckling at the mortified look on Mingyu’s face. “What? You’re telling me you’ve never worn your underwear inside out because you forgot to do the laundry? This isn’t that different.”

“I have never done anything of the sort.” He sniffs petulantly at you, before his eyes narrow. “Wait. Does that mean you’ve worn your underwear inside out?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Gross. I thought you knew me better than that.”

Mingyu tenses up at your offhand comment, and you look down, wondering why that even slipped out of your mouth in the first place. Of course you screw everything up just when things are going decently well. 

“I do,” he mumbles. “I do know you better than that.” When you look at him, he has a wan smile on his lips. “Which is why I’m going to trust your judgement and wear the black shirt. Even if it’s musty from sitting in the back of my closet for so long.”

“Oh, shut up,” you huff, walking over to him and grabbing the cloth out of his hand. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He only raises a single eyebrow at you.

That’s what prompts you to sniff at it. At his goddamn shirt. Like you’re one of those police dogs they use to find missing people.

It… doesn’t smell unpleasant. A little bit musty, like Mingyu said, but that can be attributed to him not wearing it often. Mostly, it smells of faint fabric softener and deodorant—and underneath it all, a scent that is solely Mingyu’s. (Pine and citrus and lavender, all mixed together, in a way that only Mingyu can pull off.)

“It smells fine,” you say, shoving it into Mingyu’s chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m not the one who grabbed it and shoved my face into it,” he says, “so who’s the real dramatic one here?”

“I didn’t shove my face into it!” You swat at his shoulder, but he laughs and dodges, eyes twinkling with playfulness.

“If you say so,” he returns, still chuckling to himself.

“When is this event?” 

“Tomorrow evening,” he answers.

“Both of us won’t be at home then,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “I… have a date tomorrow,” you explain, and regret it almost instantly. Why are you even telling him that? He doesn’t need to know.

“Oh,” is all he says, followed by a quieter, “Have fun.”

EIGHT

Seokmin picks you up at exactly six o’clock, wearing a loose button down shirt and slacks, and his hair styled carefully. He perks up as soon as you wave at him, jogging over to you with a smile.

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look good.”

You return his smile, tugging at the edge of your blouse and smoothing out your skirt. “Thank you. So do you.”

Seokmin’s grin brightens, which you didn’t even think was possible. “Thanks,” he says, and then gently takes hold of your elbow. “So… the plan for today is to take you out for dinner, and then a movie. How does that sound?”

“It sounds… good,” you say, letting him lead the way. It’s basic, yes, but you’re a firm believer in clichés—there’s a reason they become popular, after all.

He doesn’t stop talking, and neither do you. Throughout the entire half an hour dinner in some hole-in-the-wall diner that Seokmin discovered a month ago and serves the best blue lemonade mojitos you’ve ever tasted, and the entire two hour movie that’s way too boring for you to focus on the screen anyway, you and your co-worker keep up an endless stream of banter and silly anecdotes and you find yourself enjoying it more than you thought you would.

It’s refreshing, and when you and Seokmin finally make the walk back to your apartment, you find it difficult to let go of his hand. He pulls you to a stop in front of the building, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. 

His smile is as bright as ever, albeit tinged with slight disappointment. “So. I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, nodding. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” he returns. “Listen, I—”

He’s interrupted by someone stumbling across the sidewalk—not someone, you realise. It’s two people, tightly coiled around each other in a manner that is entirely indecent for the public eye. But as they trip around one another—still holding each other tightly—your heart sinks deep into the pit of your stomach.

One of them is Mingyu.

The other person is some girl, hair falling loosely across her face, Mingyu’s fingers tangled into her tresses, while his other hand bunches up the material of her dress at her waist. They kiss and kiss and kiss, and you don’t tear your eyes away until Seokmin makes a noise of disgust.

He turns around, blocking your view of them and takes both your hands in his. “I… I’ll call you. Okay?”

You nod numbly. “Okay.”

Seokmin leaves with a bright smile and a lingering kiss on your cheek. You plaster a smile onto your lips until he moves out of your line of sight, after which you begin the arduous trek back to your—Mingyu’s—apartment. Normally, the three floors you climb aren’t much of a strenuous task; tonight, however, every step you take makes you feel like your legs are made of lead. 

You fumble in your purse for your key, the image of Mingyu kissing that girl not leaving your mind. It’s not supposed to hurt, you’re not supposed to be bothered by it. But it stings, like the biting cold on a freezing winter morning, making your fingers stiff and your ears chilly.

You hear footsteps right when you twist the key into the lock.

The last thing you see before you enter the apartment is Mingyu clambering up the staircase, clearly drunk but surprisingly upright. He has a lipstick stain leading from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, his hair is tousled—no doubt from someone running their hands through his silky locks—and his shirt is untucked and wrinkled.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you grab the door handle and step inside, because the last thing you want to confront is the fact that your feelings for Kim Mingyu might not be as forgotten as you believe.

Which is fine, all things considered, except Kim Mingyu doesn’t give a damn.

You let the door slam shut behind you before Mingyu can get in. Technically, it’s his house. Technically, he’s the one who has the right to lock you out.

Technically, you’re acting like a child throwing a tantrum, and technically, Mingyu is allowed to kiss whomever the fuck he wants. 

You wish Jihyo was here. She would ground you, make you see everything calmly and rationally. But she’s been having boy problems of her own (Jeong Jaehyun, who is decidedly not as romantic as Jihyo was led to believe), and the last thing you want is to dump your boy problems on her.

Besides, it’s no big deal. Right?

Mingyu lives here. He should have his own copy of the keys. He’s also drunk. (Drunk and half-laid, your mind helpfully reminds.)

Before you start overthinking about letting the door close behind you, you decide that what you really need is a warm shower. So you let your feet lead you to the bathroom directly, and don’t allow thoughts of ex-boyfriends and overly friendly co-workers to enter your brain.

You don’t hear the sound of keys turning in the lock the entire night, but you shove down the guilt that bubbles up your throat. It’s Mingyu’s fault for not carrying them with him wherever he goes; you’re not his caretaker, anyway. 

Your phone pings with a text message from Seokmin, and you pick it up.

(19:47) Seokmin: I had a great time today. Thanks for coming with me :) 

Despite the fact that you only have a towel wrapped around your body, and the fact that your hair is dripping wet, you feel a tingling warmth creep up your chest. 

NINE

Monday is a horrible day.

You woke up half an hour later than usual, which led to you rushing through your morning routine. Your clothes aren’t ironed, which is fine usually, but the shirt you pick doesn’t tuck in quite right and you don’t have the time to change it. You almost tripped over the curb in your rush to get to work and nearly spilled a cup of coffee—which is far too sweet for your liking, due to the dollop of sugar you added by accident—all over yourself. Your manager, Choi Seungcheol, doesn’t approve of the project portfolio you compiled, and the deadline is fast approaching, which means more late nights for you.

And to top it all off, your car engine won’t fucking start.

You’re really not in the mood for Seokmin and his exuberant enthusiasm, which is something he probably catches onto, considering the fact that he stands silently next to you, waiting for you to finish cursing the piece of metal you call a car. Once you’re done resisting the urge to burn down the automobile, Seokmin places a placating hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, training a concerned gaze over your figure. “I can drop you back home.”

“No, it’s fine,” you mutter sullenly. “I’ll just call a cab or something.”

“Y/N, please. It’s no trouble.” He pauses, and you glance at him, at the sympathetic crease of his forehead and the genuinity reflected in his eyes. It’s touching, and Seokmin flashes you a small smile. “I was gonna head over that way anyway—I wanted to get some stuff from that bakery we went to.”

“I—” You hesitate, and he takes the chance to slide in.

“You call the mechanic. I’ll wait for you in my car, okay?”

He scurries away, leaving you biting your lip and staring at your phone. You should probably call Mingyu; he can help. Knowing him, he would probably want to help, regardless of who was asking him. Instead, you search up the nearest mechanic shop and dial in their number, giving them the details of where you are. They arrive a couple of minutes later, and you watch as they hook your car onto their big tow truck and drive away.

Seokmin waves you over to his car, a sleek Hyundai that's probably a few years old but still looks brand new. He opens the door to the passenger seat with a smile before grabbing the stack of folders you had kept clutched to your chest. You let him take them. You’re far too tired to argue.

Briefly, your mind wanders to Mingyu—what he would do if you had told him. Probably run all the way here, your brain supplies, prompting a wry smile to form on your lips. You press them together when you think of Mingyu with that girl immediately afterwards.

The drive to your house is silent, only the rumble of Seokmin’s car and the soft noise of some interview playing on the radio filling the silence. He pulls to a stop near your apartment, bundles up your work folders in his arms and gestures for you to lead the way to your flat. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to pull out your key. Mingyu stands opposite you, dishevelled—just woken up from a nap, it seems. His mouth parts when he sees Seokmin standing behind you.

“Who’s this?” he asks by way of greeting.

You shift uncomfortably, wanting to say something, but the words stick to your throat like you’ve swallowed chewing gum. Seokmin reaches out from next to you, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s positively beaming.

“Hi, I’m Seokmin,” he says. “I work with Y/N.”

Mingyu shakes his hand, eyes roaming quizzically between you and Seokmin. “Nice to meet you,” he says distractedly. “I’m Mingyu, Y/N’s… roommate. And ex—”

“Come on in, Seokmin.” You glare at Mingyu. He only raises an eyebrow in retaliation. Seokmin coughs slightly, blows out a puff of air, and follows you inside.

“You can just…” You wave your hand around vaguely. Gritting your teeth does nothing to bring you out of your haze. It only exacerbates it.

“Did something happen?” Mingyu moves aside, but you feel his eyes on the back of your neck.

“Y/N’s car broke down,” Seokmin supplies. “It’s at the mechanic’s right now, so I offered to drop her back home.”

“I see.” His next statement is directed at you. “You could’ve called me. I would have come.”

It’s only then that you turn around and face him. He doesn’t move, gaze locked unwaveringly on your hunched-over figure. It’s almost like he’s challenging you to say something.

“I know that,” is all you say, voice low.

Mingyu nods. “Good.”

You avert your attention to Seokmin. He appears lost, gaping at both of you as though he can’t quite catch onto what’s going on. “Let’s go to my room, Seokmin. You can leave my stuff there.”

“Okay.” Seokmin nods, giving Mingyu a hesitant smile. “It was nice meeting you, Mingyu.”

“You too.”

It’s a tiny exchange, but it’s enough to cause a fissure inside your heart. Seokmin is always so nice. He gives out niceness like he’s handing out free candy to toddlers. The only time you’ve ever seen him get remotely angry was when another co-worker of yours forgot a pen drive containing a crucial presentation to an important client—even then, all he did was level a glare at her before calmly asking for a backup drive to be brought.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is like a burning ember. Calm one minute, and angry the next—and it’s the reason you love him, but it’s also the reason you broke things off. You and Mingyu are far too similar, hot-headed and careless to a fault, like two candle flames competing to see who can burn their wick the fastest. You didn’t burn the wick. You ended up burning each other instead. Let it not be said that playing with fire isn’t one of your specialties.

Seokmin lets out a breath that sounds like a huff and a sigh simultaneously as soon as he enters your room. “You can leave the stuff here,” you say, pointing at your desk.

He obliges, carefully placing the stack on the table. “That’s your roommate, huh? Y’know, when you said that you were living with someone you didn’t like, I didn’t think you meant your ex-boyfriend.”

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s… difficult. I needed a place to live and he was the only person who offered on short notice. It just happened.”

Seokmin nods understandingly, lips pursed in thought. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” you agree. “One of the nicest people I know.”

“Yeah?” Your co-worker lifts one corner of his lips in an amused half-smile. “What does that make me?”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. You know Seokmin is expecting it. Hell, you’re expecting the words to just come out. The nicest guy of them all. That’s all you have to say.

“You’re… Lee Seokmin.” 

The words are flat on your tongue. Seokmin’s expression falls—just the tiniest bit, a crack in the foundation—but you feel a terrible weight in your stomach, pulling you down, down, down until your head sinks below the surface of the metaphorical waves and the water erases your existence. 

Seokmin is a nice guy—you know that, and you’ve reiterated it so many times. The only thing stopping you from being in a proper relationship with him is your ex-boyfriend, only separated from you by a wooden door and cement walls. Mingyu doesn’t like you anymore, not in the way he used to, and it’s clearly time for you to stop dwelling on what you had.

You swallow, looking at Seokmin directly. “And…” You take a step closer to him. “I consider myself lucky to have met you.”

Seokmin looks at you, his gaze unsteady, but he takes one of your hands in his. “Yeah?” His throat bobs when he speaks, and that’s how you know he’s nervous.

“Yeah,” you confirm, letting his fingers slip in between yours. 

He shuffles closer to you, and you can smell his woody cologne intermingled with sweat. You can count the moles on his face, see your reflection in his pupils. 

“Y/N, I really want to kiss—”

There’s a knock on your door, and you and Seokmin jump away from each other like a pair of schoolchildren getting caught doing something you’re not supposed to. Seokmin looks down at his feet; you clear your throat before letting out a hoarse, “Yes?”

“You left your phone outside,” Mingyu calls. “The mechanic just called.”

“Oh, um. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Seokmin, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Of all possible times for Mingyu to be a cockblocker, why now? “S-sorry about that.”

“No, it’s—you’re fine,” he stammers out, clearly as out of it as you are. “I should probably leave too, I still need to stop by the bakery.”

“Oh, yeah!” you say. “I forgot. Do you want me to come with you?”

“It’s alright,” he says. “It’s getting dark outside and you need to get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Thank you for today, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Cursed your car to oblivion, probably,” he teases.

You flush, heat creeping up the back of your neck and ears. “That—you didn’t have to see that.”

“I thought it was cute,” he returns easily, corners of his lips twitching. 

Against your will, your lips twitch upwards too. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

Seokmin opens your door, and you follow him out of your room. He gives Mingyu a grin, says, “See you around,” and lets you close the door behind him. 

Mingyu crosses his arms over his chest. You glance at him. His eyebrows are knotted together, lips pressed into a stoic line. You bite the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Hey,” he begins, voice soft, “is that… your boyfriend?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Does it matter?”

He huffs, shifting from one foot to the other. “Yes—no. No, it doesn’t matter. I was just curious, okay?”

You open your mouth, then close it, at a loss for words. Are you and Seokmin together? Not really. Both of you haven’t done or said anything to define your relationship—if there is one in the romantic sense, at least. Seokmin wanted to kiss you, but Mingyu interrupted before anything could even happen—it’s your irritation at the day being shitty, and Mingyu being an asshole after everything he did that makes you roll your eyes at him and snap at him. “It’s none of your business.”

Mingyu’s face turns stony, a hardness to his features that you’ve only seen a few times before—it was directed at you the last time, too. “Okay. Fine. Sorry I asked.”

“Are you?” you retort, and before he can say anything to retaliate, you storm back into your room and lock the door.

Your heart feels like it’s been split into two, one half yearning for the comfort and familiarity that comes with still liking Mingyu, and the other excited to explore what Seokmin could offer you—and what he already has offered. But for now, you decide to get some sleep. Your heart can wait.

TEN 

Jihyo is back.

Jihyo is fucking back, and she’s standing in your—Mingyu’s—living room, arms wide open and a grin on her lips so wide, her eyes crinkle in the corners. It takes all of your willpower not to launch yourself into her arms. Instead, you slow down, toe your shoes off, let your bag drop to the floor, and then launch yourself into her arms.

She laughs at your overzealous demeanour, and you giggle into her hair. God, you’d missed her. Texting every day and video calling every weekend can only do so much, and it’s nothing compared to seeing her in person.

“Hi,” she says, pulling back enough to escape your cage-like hold around her body.

“Hi,” you greet back, smiling so wide and so hard, you can feel your ears pop. “You’re back.”

“I’m back.” She confirms your statement by nodding. “Only for a week, though.”

“Ah.”

Your best friend lets out a sheepish chuckle, and you take a step back. Her suitcase is on the floor next to her, and she’s kept her backpack on the sofa. “Are you gonna stay here?” you ask.

She winces. “No, there isn’t much space here. I booked a room at a hotel nearby. It’s, like, ten minutes by walk from here and it’s not very expensive either,” she assures.

“Okay,” you say, a little deflated. If Jihyo stayed with you, at least the awkwardness between you and Mingyu might be reduced by a small fraction. Her overbearing nature and ability to make conversation with literally anyone would be a lifesaver, given the situation you’ve dug yourself into.

A situation that she knows nothing about.

You haven’t had the time to keep Jihyo updated about the latest turn of events—not when she was busy juggling a relationship with her sort-of boyfriend, Jeong Jaehyun. She doesn’t know about Seokmin, and she doesn’t know about your lingering feelings for Mingyu.

“Hey, you’re back already.”

Speak of the devil. 

You turn around and find Mingyu leaning against the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. You feel your breath hitch. He continues, “I guess Jihyo already beat me to it, huh?”

“You knew she was coming?” you ask him, almost accusatory. 

“You didn’t tell her?” Jihyo echos, a curious tinge to her tone.

He lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug, lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “Wanted to surprise you, that’s all.”

Against your will, you find yourself grinning at him. Mingyu dissolves in the slightest—a small hint of surprise—before he grins back at you, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling. Jihyo lets out a small huff from next to you, but you know nothing can put a damper on your mood right now. Not even your resurfaced feelings for Mingyu, nor your newfound ones for Seokmin.

Your best friend squeezes your arm. “I have some time before I need to check in at the hotel. Do you wanna check out our old place?”

You turn to her and nod. The prospect of going back to the place where you created cherished memories with someone so dear to you is enticing; then you remember your car is still at the mechanic’s. “My car is out of commission.”

Jihyo only turns and stares at Mingyu. He sighs resignedly, pushing himself off the doorway and heading inside his room. “Let me grab my keys.”

“Might as well stop for ice cream along the way,” Jihyo calls out gleefully to his retreating back. 

You gulp. This… might not be a good idea. If Mingyu tags along with you, this would be the first time since last week where you’re speaking to him normally, making conversation that isn’t just along the lines of “Did you do the laundry?” or “I bought some vegetables”. Of course, if you told Jihyo what happened, she would immediately make sure Mingyu doesn’t come. You chew on your bottom lip, but before you can come to a decision, Mingyu emerges from his bedroom, car keys dangling off his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks.

Jihyo grabs onto your arm, excitement so visible on her face that it prompts the tension in your own features to melt away. You let yourself get carried away by her giddiness, not noticing the fond glances the only male in the group keeps giving you whenever he’s sure you’re not looking. If you’d met his eyes once throughout the drive to your old place, you’d see the way his eyes still twinkle at you with the same intensity as they did months ago, but you’re too busy catching up with Jihyo to notice.

Mingyu pulls to a stop in front of your old apartment building—a dilapidated structure that’s not half as modern as the current building you stay in. At least the elevator is still functioning; you purse your lips to contain your laugh when Mingyu looks at it, eyebrows raised in visible astonishment. Jihyo grips your hand tightly when you reach your floor. You tighten your hold on her hand as well, feeling a sudden burst of emotion erupt inside your chest like lava escaping from a volcano.

You and Jihyo round the corner to the apartment that used to be yours, Mingyu following closely. The door is the same dull brown it was back then as well, but someone has put in the effort to redo the varnish. There’s a potted fern next to it as well. 

You let out a shuddering breath. Jihyo wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close; you aren’t sure if it’s just the wind rattling through the open window, but you hear something like a sniffle.

This is the place you lived in when you had your first boyfriend, when you had your first heartbreak, when you cried your lungs out at some stupid TV show that you were invested in at the time but can’t possibly remember the name of now. This is the place where you and Jihyo bonded over crappy supermarket deals and made a mess of the kitchen whenever you tried to learn how to cook something new.

This is the place where you first met Kim Mingyu.

You tilt your head at him, watch as he stares resolutely ahead of him, like if glares at it strongly enough, he can bore two holes straight through the wood. Eventually, his eyes land on yours.

His lips part but no words come out. He offers you a small smile instead, one so tender and heart-warming and achingly familiar. You blink, and the moment is gone. You’re left with the same sense of wistfulness and longing that you always feel around him. 

Jihyo squeezes your shoulder, eyes shining. “Should we ring the bell?” she asks, and then presses the doorbell before you can respond.

A muffled “Coming!” from inside, and the latch is pulled open to reveal a college student—a few years younger than you, perhaps, with sleep bags underneath his eyes and a cup of coffee clutched to his chest. He looks confused—as anyone would be, you suppose, when you see a random bunch of strangers standing on your doorstep—but his expression clears when Jihyo explains who you are and why you’re here.

He says he’s living here with his boyfriend and their pet cat—a beautiful Siberian who coils itself around his legs, tail upturned—and you feel your heart swell with the knowledge that your old haven is being taken care of well. Jihyo consistently badgers him with questions and he answers each one patiently, to his credit. 

A flicker of uncertainty crosses your mind, however. Does Mingyu not remember this? He was looking for apartments in this building, too, when you met him. Doesn’t he remember the old landlady conversing with you? Doesn’t he remember the way people constantly asked if you two were together, which is what even prompted him to ask for your number in the first place? 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts when you feel a slight pressure on your shoulder. Mingyu’s hand is on your shoulder. Your gaze flits over to him. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, ducking his head. “There was a mosquito.”

He’s lying. 

He remembers. 

ELEVEN

“Spill.”

“The… tea?” you ask cautiously, looking at Jihyo. She’s holding a steaming mug of tea in her hand.

“You think you’re so funny.” She rolls her eyes.

“I know I am,” you quip, and she rolls her eyes again, taking a sip of the beverage.

“You’ve been distracted since yesterday,” she states matter-of-factly. “Since we went to our old place.” Her voice quietens, “Is it Mingyu? Did he do something?”

You eye her warily, sitting down on the plush armchair opposite her. “No,” you say.

“Then what is it? Did—did you not want me here?”

“No.” You’re quick to alleviate her concerns. “Of fucking course I wanted you here. I missed you. So much.”

Your best friend smiles at that, swirling the tea in the mug. “But something’s bothering you.”

“...Yes.” You admit it slowly, playing with your fingers splayed out on your lap. “It’s not important. You’re here only for a few days, we should do something fun.”

“Y/N,” Jihyo says slowly, enunciating every syllable of your name like she’s speaking to a troublesome child, “if you’re worried about me feeling bad or anything, please don’t. I want to help you.”

You wave her away. “You have your own shit to deal with.”

“What, you mean Jaehyun?” She snorts. “I’m over him. I was over him ages ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just.” You look down at your feet. “You really liked him, didn’t you?”

Jihyo cocks her head to the side, studying you carefully. “Yes. I did. What about it?”

Your shoulder slump, dejectedness seeping into your figure. “How… did you do it?” You glance up at her, note the way she observes you carefully. Your voice is almost pleading when you continue, “How did you get over him?”

Your best friend’s expression clears, comprehension dawning on her face. She places her mug down, leaning forward and clasping your hand with hers. “It’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

You shake your head miserably. “Not just him.”

“There’s someone else?” She doesn’t sound surprised, only intrigued and concerned.

You take a deep breath, lock gazes with her—and everything comes spilling out of your mouth like the tide receding into the ocean. You tell her everything, about Mingyu and Seokmin and how conflicted they make you feel; how one is like the living personification of sunlight on a gloomy day, and the other reminds you of clouds providing shade on a hot afternoon. You tell her about how guilty you feel, as though you’re leading Seokmin to believe that you’re ready for a committed relationship when a part of your heart still belongs to Mingyu. You speak until the words end up garbled and slurred, and your breathing turns heavy and salt water streaks across your cheeks, your best friend rubbing them away with the pad of her thumb.

When you don’t know what to say, Jihyo pulls you into a hug—it’s an awkward position, your elbows locked around her arms while your neck is bent at an odd angle, but it’s comforting, and you let your eyes close tiredly. 

“Y/N,” she says, rubbing her thumb on your shoulder soothingly. “I know it’s hard for you to decide, but you have to know: What do you want?”

The question makes you contemplate. What do you want? 

“I don’t know,” is all you can get out, slumping further into her arms.

She hums softly. “But you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Will you? You’re not so sure. Maybe when the time is right. But for now, you rest your chin on your best friend’s shoulder and let her rub circles onto your skin.

You pull back when the position becomes too uncomfortable—you can already feel a crick in your neck—and Jihyo wraps her fingers around her discarded mug. She raises it in a half-hearted toast. “To sexy girls who don’t need men in their lives.”

You giggle, rubbing your eyes. “Men are pieces of shit, anyway.”

“Damn right they are,” she croons, falling dramatically back onto the couch. “We should just get married instead.”

“If you propose to me the right way, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Jihyo grins at you, and it’s infectious enough to make you grin back at her. “Consider it done,” she says. “I have a ring in my nightstand drawer with your name written on it.”

“If it’s not pure diamond, I won’t accept.”

“Tsk. So greedy.”

TWELVE

Introducing Seokmin to Jihyo was not a part of your agenda for the week.

But it’s Seokmin and it’s Jihyo, so really, what else did you expect? Both of them integrated themselves seamlessly into your life, and they have no plans of leaving anytime soon. Might as well get the introductions over with.

Ironically, it happens when you go to collect your car from the mechanic’s, and once they’ve exchanged names and small talk, Jihyo and Seokmin are inseparable. The former regals him with tales of your college shenanigans, while the latter listens enthusiastically, eyes flitting between you both amusedly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you hurriedly interrupt the conversation, right before Jihyo can go into the messy details of how you wanted to marry the toilet when you were drunk once and Mingyu had to physically carry you out of the house because you were convinced the white ceramic was proposing to you.

“You and Mingyu were together for a long time, huh?” Seokmin asks you quietly, once Jihyo is finished with her sulking at you interrupting her story. She’s at the side, conversing with someone on the phone, leaving you and your co-worker alone in front of your car.

You’re so startled by the question, you nearly drop your keys. “I—why do you ask?” 

Seokmin licks his lips, a seriousness to his figure that you haven’t witnessed many times before. “Just… curious, I suppose.”

You look down once, see how he’s twisted his fingers together—even the Lee Seokmin gets nervous, after all—and look back up at him. “Yes,” you admit softly, voice hitching slightly, “we were. We… were in love, I guess you could say.”

He’s silent for a minute, tongue darting out to lick his lips again. “And now?”

“I don’t know, Seokmin,” you answer him honestly. Your heart flutters inside your chest, while your stomach twists into tight knots—two reactions you didn’t think would go hand-in-hand, yet here you are, leaving your heart bare for Seokmin to take while gatekeeping a part of it to yourself.

He raises his head, warm eyes capturing yours. You see the smallest flicker of hope and sadness, two thin wisps of emotion dancing in his eyes—but even then, his lips are turned upwards, because it’s Lee Seokmin. 

“But you could try?” he asks, so softly you can barely catch the words.

You push down the emotions that threaten to swallow you whole, swirling around your entire body like the blood that flows through your veins. “I don���t know,” you say again, no less honest than the first time.

He opens his mouth, but Jihyo walks back to you both, mouth downturned. “My company said they need me back as soon as possible.” She says it calmly, but disappointment and bitterness seep into her voice.

For a moment, you freeze, and then ask, “When do you need to leave?”

“Tomorrow,” she answers with an apologetic shrug of her shoulders. “They’ve already booked the flight.”

“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll drop you to the airport.”

“I’ll come with,” Seokmin chimes in, and adds, in true Seokmin fashion, “Make sure Y/N doesn’t drive us all into a ditch or something.”

You shove his shoulder, muttering an “asshole” under your breath, and his smile only widens. Jihyo glances in between you both, lower lip caught between her teeth, before she sucks in a breath and smiles. “Good to know my best friend is in good hands.”

“The best hands, actually,” Seokmin teasingly corrects. 

You roll your eyes at the two of them. “Can we go home now, or not?”

“Home it is,” Jihyo agrees, “but first, I demand Taco Bell.”

“Fine,” you concede, letting her grab the keys from your outstretched palm. 

Seokmin grabs your hand once she clambers into your fixed car. His palm is broad, skin warm, and his fingers wrap around yours with ease. He squeezes your hand once, gently, and it feels like a promise and a farewell at the same time.

Seokmin asks you out again three days after Jihyo leaves. 

This time, he takes you out to an Italian restaurant. He’s dressed up in a suit and a bowtie—and actual blue velvet bowtie that sits snugly at the hollow of his neck—and he’s the perfect gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and pouring champagne into your glass like a professional. (When you compliment him on his drink-pouring skills, he just mutters bashfully about how his dad taught him that to please a lady, you need to be good at pouring drinks; it does nothing to ease the quickening pace of your heart.)

Lee Seokmin compliments your dress, says that that specific shade of pink looks beautiful on you. He recommends you try out their vegetable lasagne, says it’s one of the dishes the restaurant is famous for. He laughs about his favourite show, tells you he would love to rewatch it with you someday. He asks if you like gardens because his neighbour is trying to convince him to grow a rosebush outside his house, but he can’t look after plants even if his life depended on it. He wants to go out for ice cream afterwards, but the night is too chilly for the cold dessert so you opt against it.

Throughout, you play someone who’s on her first date, who thinks this is all there is and everything she’s been dreaming of has come true.

You would like to think you’re a good actor.

Kim Mingyu has seen you in nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts and he used to whisper praises against your skin, flushed with sweat and sweet words. He ate the shitty lasagne you made without complaining, no matter how bad it tasted. He watched whatever was playing on television with you, just because he enjoyed your company and wanted to be wherever you were. He’s not particularly good with plants, but he has a little succulent named Spurt, making sure it gets enough sunlight and water. He likes mint chocolate ice cream, and would defend the flavour with his life.

Kim Mingyu and Lee Seokmin: Two sides of the same coin.

Jihyo’s question resonates in your mind as you and Seokmin walk back to your car.

What do you want?

As you near your vehicle, Seokmin puts a gentle hand on your arm. “Y/N,” is all he says, and you hate the way your chest clenches at that—just because he said your name.

“Did you have fun today?” he continues, eyes roaming over your features like he’s committing you to memory. Like a soldier leaving his wife before he heads out to the frontlines.

“I did, Seokmin. I really did.” You place your hand over his, tracing the veins on the back of his hand, pressing lightly on his knuckles; you need him to know that you truly enjoyed today—desperate for him to know, because it’s the least you can do for him after everything he’s done for you.

“Good,” he says. “I—I had fun today with you, too. I always have fun when I’m with you, Y/N.”

He bends down. You can feel his breath fan out on the shell of your ear and it makes you shiver. He turns his head, and his lips brush against your cheek. A small, soft farewell. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t—” you begin, feeling your voice begin to wobble.

“Don’t be sorry,” Seokmin whispers, but he sounds firm. “We’re still friends.”

Your heart plummets deep, deep down, a free fall that isn’t orchestrated by gravity. You think you know the answer to Jihyo’s question now.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to Seokmin.

THIRTEEN

The light is on when you enter the apartment. Mingyu’s figure lies hunched on the sofa, head in his hands, a half-empty beer can next to him. You quickly shuck off your heels and drop your purse onto the shoe rack.

Your ex-boyfriend looks at you when pad over to the living room. “You’re back.” He sounds hoarse, tired. 

“Have you been drinking?” you say in return, raising an eyebrow. 

Mingyu glances at the can in his hand then back at you. “Yeah. Long day.”

“Me too,” you admit quietly.

Perhaps it’s the quiet ambience of your shared home—silent, despite the noise of the city outside—that compels him; or maybe it’s the idea of coming home to someone you think you know better than the back of your own hand. Either way, when Mingyu pats the cushion beside him, your feet move automatically and you sit down, letting out a weary sigh.

It’s quiet, but not in the awkward sense. Not like back then, when Mingyu thought you and Seokmin were dating. Not even when you visited your old apartment. Exhaustion makes its home in your bones, and you suspect it’s taken over Mingyu too; there’s no way this shared piece of night can be so comfortable otherwise.

“Want some?” he asks after a few minutes.

“No thanks.”

Mingyu shrugs and puts the can down on the coffee table. “Wanna talk about it?” He leans back against the sofa, arms crossed behind his head.

“No,” you answer, and then, “Do you?”

“No.” He clears his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Were you with… Seokmin?”

“...Yes.”

You don’t have to look at Mingyu to know he’s clenching his jaw. It’s a pure rush of adrenaline that makes you ask, “Why does it bother you so much whenever I’m with him?”

Silence.

You turn your head, cheek brushing against the back of the sofa. Mingyu’s eyes are closed, hair falling in loose strands around his forehead and neck. You wonder what he’s thinking.

His answer excites you—in the rawest form possible. Anticipation builds up in your chest, threatens to explode through your windpipe. You don’t know what he’s thinking, but when he opens his eyes and meets your gaze, there is nothing you can do to stop your heart from rabbiting inside your rib cage.

“It doesn’t,” he says finally, an air of decisiveness about him.

For the second time that night, your heart plummets, and you tear your eyes off him. “Okay,” you say. “That is, um, good information to have.”

“Isn’t he your boyfriend?” 

“How does it matter to you?”

Mingyu crosses and uncrosses his ankles, this time staring resolutely at the floor. “I don’t know. It just does.”

You purse your lips. He isn’t being fair to you. “What about you?” you demand. “What about that girl you almost brought back home, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “You saw that.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“I’m not blind, Mingyu,” you retort.

Your roommate lets out a sardonic chuckle at that, slowly dragging his eyes up. “I highly doubt that.”

“What do you mean?” You scowl at him, feeling your chest begin to heave. “You—you’re like some kind of a riddle, Mingyu. I can never tell what you mean by anything, and it’s even worse now that you’re drunk and—”

“I’m not drunk, Y/N,” he interrupts. 

“I don’t care if you’re drunk or not—” you don’t realise your voice is caving in, growing softer and softer by the second— “stop saying things you don’t mean.”

“I want to kiss you,” he says finally. “I want to kiss you and I may be slightly drunk, but I don’t fucking care. And I mean it.”

You swallow, blood pounding through your veins. “Say that again.”

“What?” he says, sounding genuinely confused. His gaze never leaves your face, every ounce of earnestness and honesty written plainly on his features.

“Say it again,” you repeat.

“I want—”

You surge forward, capturing his lips with yours, pressing them firmly against his even when he lets out a muffled gasp. He doesn’t kiss back immediately, but his hands find their way to your waist, gripping tightly and crumpling the flimsy material of your dress. He kisses you back then, mouth jutting insistently into yours, tongue sliding against your lower lip. You arch your back, scramble to find some balance in this precarious position, and your hands end up tangled in his hair. He tastes like beer and aftershave and something that’s so distinctly Mingyu, you want more.

You pull away when air becomes a necessity, blinking even as Mingyu’s arms pull you closer to him.

“This isn’t over,” you manage to get out in between huffed breaths.

“Tomorrow,” he promises, but his eyes are glazed. He looks at you like a man starved, and tilts his head and kisses you again, kisses you like he might never see you again. 

You let him. It’s Kim Mingyu, after all, and you’ve always been a little weak for him.

You don’t think of Seokmin; don’t let him come out of the tiny pocket you’ve preserved in your heart just for him. Instead, you wrap your arms around your ex-boyfriend’s neck, leaning into his chest and kissing him back with equal fervour, letting him know that you need him as much as he needs you.

God, you’d missed him. Way more than you thought. You’ve memorised his touch, branded it into your mind, but it still feels new. Like the first time you were with him, kissing like two teenagers with reckless abandon. 

His cold fingers find their way underneath your waist, hitching up the loose material of your dress around your thighs. You kneel on the couch cushions in front of him, almost straddling his lap but not quite. His fingers brush against your sides in a way that sends shivers down your spine.

He nips at your lip, asking for entrance to your mouth to which you accept, parting your lips enough for him to get a taste. As he moves his tongue around yours, exploring your mouth in every way possible, you can’t contain the slight whimper that escapes your throat. 

Mingyu groans, leaning his weight onto you as you both start moving together until you’re laid flat against the couch. He’s impatient, you can tell; his fingers dig into your skin, and he groans again when you bite down gently on his lower lip. He pulls back and moves downwards, kissing your jaw and behind your ear, suckling gently on a sensitive bit of skin with expertise. “Tell me to stop,” he says, whispering the words against your skin.

All you do is moan in response, rubbing your thighs together to get some friction with the way he’s moving his mouth against your skin. 

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, more firmly this time.

“Shut the fuck up, Gyu,” is all you reply with, the nickname falling out of your lips with familiarity. 

Maybe it’s the use of something that used to be your thing—something the two of you shared, the shortened version of his name—but hearing it come out of your lips again does things to Mingyu that he isn’t sure he’d ever be able to put into words for you. Trailing his movements down to your neck, he stops at your chest, a small smile spreading on his face. “Forgot how much I loved it when you called me that.”

Looking down at him, you hadn’t realised he’s moved further down your body and his fingers trace the edges of your underwear. Your dress is bunched up above your thighs, skin exposed to the cool air. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbles, pressing a tiny kiss to the inside of your thighs. He toys with the elastic of the waistband, chuckling when you shoot him an irritated glare.

He stares down at your clothed core, mouth watering while his hands move faster than you can comprehend. It takes him two seconds to hook his slender fingers underneath the waistband of your panties before he pulls them down to your ankles and tosses them onto the coffee table. 

You feel a wave of shyness overcome you—with the way he’s looking at you, desperate for your taste—and you try to close your legs, before his hands land on your thighs, halting your actions. “So pretty,” he murmurs. “I want to see all of you.”

Heat burns your cheeks and flows through your body. You turn your head to avoid his burning gaze as you feel him part your legs. He readjusts himself, laying as flat and comfortably as he can with what little space he has on the couch until he’s face-to-face with where you need him most. He tests the waters, leaning in with his tongue out, letting it graze your clit. You stifle a moan, biting your lip so hard, you think it might bleed.

He smiles, loving how you’re holding back. “So quiet, baby. Wanna remember how I used to make you feel.” Laying his tongue flat against your clit, he gives you slow and soft strokes—so gentle that it drives you insane. 

“You’re such—such a tease,” you gasp out, right when he swirls his tongue around the nub.

Mingyu only raises an eyebrow at that. “You haven’t changed.” But all the same, any plans he had to be patient with you go straight out the window; he wraps his arms around your thighs to pull you down further to his face. The sudden pull surprises you, and you gasp a little while searching for something to grab onto. He indulges in your pussy, tongue exploring your pulsating hole that clenches around everything and nothing all at once. He relishes in the way you feel on his tongue, groaning against your folds while bringing a hand up and rubbing his thumb on your neglected clit. 

You’re a mess under his touch, squirming on the sofa, loud groans and soft mewls escaping your lips wantonly. Your fingers find their way into his soft locks, pulling gently on his hair and scratching against his scalp. He lets out a moan against your pussy, lapping at your juices as if you’re his last source of water. “F-fuck, Gyu, ‘m gonna—” a gasp— “‘m gonna cum.”

This only encourages him to work his mouth harder, wanting to watch you fall apart just by his mouth alone. You tug harder at his hair, moans growing louder and more desperate by the second, and your thighs shudder around his head, feeling the rush of your high come so close, you aren’t prepared for it.

With two final sucks to your clit, you come undone on his tongue followed by a string of moans with broken pieces of his name somewhere in between. Mingyu looks up at you with bright eyes and a satisfied grin, as if he didn’t just eat out your pussy like he would never get the chance to again. The mixture of saliva and your juices dripping down his chin makes your eyes widen even as you squint down at him. 

With careful, deliberate motions, he moves away from you, the grin on his face replaced by a more serious expression. You sit up, leaning on your elbows. The aftermath of your passionate actions catches up to you; reaching over, you snatch your panties from the coffee table and swing your legs over. Throughout, Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He only watches, in that quiet, observant way of his, swiping at his mouth and chin with a tissue he grabbed from the tissue box next to the couch.

You glance at him. Is he going to say something? Or is he going to let you walk away again, with all the words you want to say to him lying on the tip of your tongue, always there but never released?

“Y/N.” He scrambles to his feet when you stand up, clutching your underwear in one hand and adjusting your dress with the other. He sounds… uncertain. Completely unlike the Mingyu who cockily asked you if Seokmin was your boyfriend, or who joked around with Jihyo like it was second nature to him.

You bite your lip. “Yes?”

“Do you… do you want anything? Water?” 

You melt a little at his words like an ice cream left out for too long. Kim Mingyu, always so kind, always so caring—you know that better than anyone. 

He can be cruel too, in the way he chips away at your already broken heart. He doesn’t know it but he does—lift your hopes only to let it all crumble down. Like how he broke the promises you made to each other, and how you broke the words you’d sworn to say to him alone.

It hits you again, how you and Mingyu were meant to be, and how lonely it was when he left. You wonder if he feels the same way—did he spend sleepless nights in bed, thinking of you? Did he ever think that if he could travel back in time, he’d do it all over again?

You shake your head no at him. He doesn’t say anything after that, but his lips part slightly. He watches you as you walk over to grab your purse and head inside your room.

That night, you don’t sleep at all—despite wrapping yourself up in your Looney Tunes comforter and the comforting weight of your pillow beneath your head that usually puts you to sleep instantly. 

Instead, it feels like the very first night you and Mingyu broke up all over again.

SIXTEEN

You don’t tell anyone about what transpired between you and Mingyu. It remains hidden between you both, a secret neither of you are willing to bring up.

Jihyo is back to work at her new city, now completely devoid of boy problems of any sort, since Jeong Jaehyun has shifted his affections to another co-worker. (“It’s better this way,” she tells you, “he didn’t want a committed relationship, anyway.” You can tell she’s truly not bothered by it, so you grin and agree.)

Seokmin doesn’t come around to your cubicle the way he used to earlier, either. Your days at the office are dreary and boring, now that your co-worker’s sunshine smile isn’t there to keep you company. In fact, the only person who still talks to you voluntarily at work is your boss, Seunghcheol, but even then it’s mostly just a sympathetic smile he offers you followed by a new deadline or a project.

You and Mingyu are back to whatever it was you had when you first moved in, before the lasagne fiasco. Not talking to each other, but not not talking to each other either. You swerve around each other in tandem, finding more and more excuses to avoid whatever happened in between you both. He lied when he said he would talk to you about it the next day, after he ate you out on the couch.

You can’t blame him completely; you’ve made no effort to reach out to him, either.

Weariness seeps into your skin with every passing second. You rub at your already half-closed eyes and hide a yawn behind a closed fist. The letters on your laptop screen swim in front of you. The stack of folders next to it drags a tired sigh out of your lips.

You’re so tired. Not just physically, but emotionally you’re drained out, all the liveliness sucked out of you like someone vacuumed up the inside of your heart. The lack of sleep is getting to you; the lack of someone to brighten up your days is getting to you more.

If you and Seokmin were still on a talking basis, he would have sauntered over to your desk by now, hands in his pockets and the same question on his lips: “Coffee break?”

He’s not here now, probably tucked into his corner of the floor. Maybe his smile is directed at someone else. Maybe he’s taking someone else on the daily ritual that you used to consider yours. Maybe it’s time you get out of your fucking swivel chair and get some coffee.

You’re not doing it alone, of course. No, coffee at the office—no matter how shitty the machine is and how long the line for the coveted caffeine is—is yours and Seokmin’s thing. Besides, he said you’re still friends; it’s time for you to step up.

Stifling another yawn, you blink slowly before pushing yourself off your chair. It occurs to you that you don’t know exactly where Seokmin’s cubicle is—he’d mentioned it was by Seungcheol’s room once. You decide to start there.

It doesn’t take you long to find Seokmin. You walk into him—literally walk into him. A startled gasp leaves your lips when you collide into someone’s chest, an apology already on the tip of your tongue.

“Are you okay?”

You blink once. The voice is familiar. You direct your gaze at the person you bumped into. 

“Seokmin,” you breathe out weakly.

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “The one and only.”

“I-I’m sorry I bumped into you,” you quickly apologise. “I was on my—”

“It’s okay, don’t apologise,” he interrupts. “I should’ve looked at where I was going too.”

“How… have you been?” The question spills out before you notice, and you realise that you’re genuinely concerned about his wellbeing. You’ve missed him, missed his companionship. 

Seokmin looks briefly surprised that you’ve asked him. He clears his throat, once. “Oh, um. I’ve been fine—y’know, the usual. Work, home, sleep and then repeat. How—how about you?”

“I’ve been better,” you admit. “You look tired, though.”

He lifts his hand and rubs his cheek with an accompanying embarrassed chuckle. “You could tell?”

He has bags underneath his eyes. His shoulders sag ever-so slightly. His usually perfectly styled hair isn’t as neat as it used to be. You nod. “You look exhausted.”

“Ah.” Another embarrassed chuckle; you can tell he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Coffee break?” you offer, a small, lopsided smile gracing your lips.

This time, the smile Lee Seokmin gives you lights up his eyes.

SEVENTEEN

“This is ridiculous!” you call out for the nth time, glaring at the door with as much intensity as you can muster.

“Jihyo’s orders!” Seokmin calls back, from outside the room. “I have proof that she asked me to lock you two up in order for you to talk it out.”

Mingyu huffs out a breathless laugh from behind you. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sheets crumpled and pillow on his lap. You turn around to level your glare at him.

“Give it up,” he advises.

“Don’t even.” You pinch the bride of your nose, closing your eyes in exasperation. “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? No one told you to tell Seokmin everything!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know he would go and tell Jihyo?” you splutter out, opening your eyes and bringing your hand down. “I didn’t even know they’d exchanged numbers!”

“Might as well get it over with,” Seokmin’s voice travels through the barricade once more. “The sooner the better.”

“I didn’t ask you, Seokmin,” you mutter.

“He’s right, you know.” Mingyu pats the space next to him, inviting you to sit down. “If Jihyo hadn’t forced him to do it, I would have found some way to do it myself.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you retort. “You’ve been avoiding me since the day we—since the day we kissed.”

“I would have tried,” he reasons. “But since you’re here now, can you at least please listen to what I have to say?”

“Oh, so now you have things you want to say,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. Regardless, you sit down next to him. You’re curious, you will admit. This conversation could potentially break your heart, or it could also change the trajectory of your relationship with Mingyu.

Your ex-boyfriend takes a deep breath before beginning.

“The other day, when I said I wanted to kiss you—I wasn’t lying, Y/N. I truly meant it. I’ve wanted to kiss you the minute I laid eyes on you again. I wanted to hold your hand, to take you places around the neighbourhood, to come back home to you.

“I thought we were making progress. I thought we were friends again, and I could somehow win your heart back.” A wry smile crosses his lips. “But then Seokmin came by, and you both just seemed so close. He—he brought back this life in you; your eyes sparkled whenever he was around, and you were always smiling when you were with him. I never saw that after we… after you moved in. You were always so jittery with me—understandably so—and I… I let my jealousy of seeing you with Seokmin get the better of me.

“That day, when I—” he pauses, glancing at you; his eyes are imploring, and you sense that he’s laying himself bare for you— “when you saw me kissing that girl, I did it on purpose. To make you jealous. And then I saw the look on your face, and even when I was drunk, I knew I’d fucked up. So I left her, and I followed you back inside—you closed the door just as I caught up with you. I called up Minghao, spent the night at his place. I think that’s when I realised completely that I—that I still love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. Your heart is hammering inside your chest. You can’t believe you’re actually hearing these words.

Mingyu swallows. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. Even after we broke up, even after all the things we said to each other—some part of me knew that I shouldn’t give up on you. I have loved you throughout. I will continue to love you throughout.”

He looks down, staring at his hands. In that instant, he looks so small. Vulnerable. As if giving his entire heart to you on a silver platter isn’t enough. As if he’s giving all of himself to you, mind, body and soul.

You need to tell him that your mind, body and soul have always been his.

“Mingyu,” you begin, watching as his eyes travel over to yours uncertainly, “you absolute fucking idiot.”

His lips twitch up briefly. “Wha—”

“I love you, too, idiot.” The words rush out breathlessly. “I never stopped.”

Mingyu’s eyes widen and his mouth opens imperceptibly. You continue, “I knew this would happen. The minute I stepped foot into your house, I knew I would fall for you all over again.”

You reach out and grip his hand, needing something to tether you against him. “And I did.” A watery laugh escapes your mouth. “I fell in love with you all over again.”

A pause, and then Mingyu’s free hand cups your cheek, skin warm against yours. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

Mingyu smiles at your confession—a full smile, with his eyes crinkling in the corners and his lips turning upwards. He leans forward. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You beat him to it, covering the distance between you both with one swift swoop. You capture his lower lip in between yours, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. He kisses you back with equal fervour, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you impossibly closer. You close your eyes and slide your tongue across the seam of his lips, smiling when he lets out a silent groan. 

He only pulls away once he needs air, but even then he doesn’t let you go. He pulls you forward, making you straddle his lap as he kisses your cheeks, your nose, the column of your throat. You relish in his touches, tangling your hands in his hair and tugging gently at the silky strands.

“We should probably stop,” you whisper, when a particularly sharp nip at your neck elicits a soft moan from you. “Seokmin’s standing outside.”

“Fuck him,” Mingyu says. He presses another kiss on your jaw, looking up at you like you’ve hung up all the stars in the universe.

You roll your eyes affectionately at him. “C’mon. I don’t want to scar him for life.”

“Who cares?”

“I care,” you say, slowly getting off his lap. Already you can feel the absence of his warmth. 

“Fine,” he agrees, once you stand up fully and brush yourself off. “I love you.”

Warmth shoots up your chest and onto your cheeks and neck. Your heart swells, and you find yourself grinning involuntarily. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Mingyu stands up and pecks your cheek. “Now let’s go save Seokmin from his misery.”

(Later, if you find Seokmin with bright pink ears as he pointedly avoids yours and Mingyu’s gaze, that’s no one’s business but his.)

EIGHTEEN

Mingyu sucks on a sweet spot right underneath your ear and you can practically hear his smirk when you let out a whine. You fist your hand in the sheets, feeling the soft material crinkle underneath your fingertips. 

“Such a tease,” you whisper out.

He lowers his head, nips at your neck and then runs his tongue over the spot, soothing it. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Your retort dies on your lips when he moves lower and lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones and shoulders. You whine again when his fingers find your nipple, pinching the bud lightly in between his thumb and forefingers. He moves lower, breath ghosting over your abdomen and belly button, until he finally comes face to face with your clothed pussy.

He hooks his finger into the waistband of your panties, nails scraping against your skin. You squirm under his touch, lifting your hips to help him pull the flimsy garment down your legs and toss it to the side. Mingyu sucks in a breath sharply when he sees your exposed cunt—despite already having seen it before, and you feel a rush of pride at the fact that you still have this effect on him. “So pretty,” he murmurs, eyeing your folds hungrily. 

Mingyu works on your clit expertly, thumb rubbing against the nub, eliciting a loud moan from you. He licks a stripe up your folds, grinning when your hand automatically finds itself in his hair again. When he finds you’re wet enough, he slides a finger in. You inhale sharply, hole clenching around the digit. He circles his thumb around your clit once more, before sliding another finger in.

You gasp at that, tightening the hand in his hair. Mingyu leans forward, swiping at your clit with his tongue one more time and pulling both his fingers out at the same time. He relishes in the sounds coming out of your mouth, feeling proud that you’re not trying to hide anything from him. You’re completely under his mercy, as is he when it comes to you.

He slides both the fingers back in, hissing when your walls contract against them, pumping the digits in and out a few more times. The way you moan—because of him—makes him finger your hole faster, enjoying the way your moans increase in pitch. When he sees your eyes beginning to cloud over, Mingyu quickly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss of his touch and he chuckles. “Patience, baby. Don’t want you to cum just yet.”

Your head falls back on the pillow and you mutter a string of incoherent words under your breath. “Look at me,” Mingyu tuts.

You lift up your neck curiously. Mingyu waits for your eyes to land on his lips before he slowly, deliberately puts his two fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digits and licking your juices off. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you bite your lip at the sight.

Once he pulls his fingers out, Mingyu bends down and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Are you even gonna fuck me, Gyu?” you grit out, and his eyes widen.

“Call me that again,” he orders. 

“Fuck me, Gyu.” Your voice is borderline a whimper, and, well—who is Mingyu to prevent you from getting what you desire? After all, he’s always been a little weak when it comes to you.

He gets on his knees, holding his throbbing cock in his hand. He pumps it a few times, groaning softly, before positioning himself at your entrance. “You’re on the pill?”

“Yes.” You nod almost desperately, waiting for him to slide it all the way in.

Mingyu enters you slowly—the pace is almost unbearable—but he shudders when he feels your walls against his dick. You grab onto his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh. A loud moan escapes your lips when he jerks his hips forward, his cock pressing into your cervix. Your eyes screw shut, and Mingyu grunts, pulling out and thrusting back inside with more force. Almost unconsciously, you wrap your legs around his hips, granting him more access to your hole and allowing him to push himself deeper inside you.

He leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth, rolling his tongue around the pebbled bud. You gasp out moans wantonly, and it spurs him to thrust faster and faster inside you. He watches you fall apart on him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips when your moans become interspersed with chants of his name. 

Your grip on his shoulders tighten and the muscles flex under your hold. Your cries reach a crescendo with one particularly sharp thrust; Mingyu can tell your climax is approaching.

He speeds up, pumping into you with as much strength as he can muster. Your nails leave white-hot trails along his back, his shoulders—you try to hold onto him as best as you can. You cry for more, beg him to keep going. A bit redundant, in his opinion—he has no plans of stopping until you’ve orgasmed. 

Mingyu thrusts into you one last time, throwing you over the edge. Your walls clench around his cock tightly, black stars floating in your vision as you cry out his name. He pumps into you weakly, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. He buries his face in your neck, breathing heavily, and when your walls tighten around him, he comes inside you, his movements coming to a pause. 

You stroke his sweaty bangs away from his forehead, both of you catching your breaths. He remains sheathed in you, even as he pulls you onto your side so both your chests are touching. 

“Feel good?” he asks, one hand carding through your hair gently.

You let out a tired, but satisfied hum, smiling softly at Mingyu. 

You spend the night curled up in his arms. He sleeps soundly next to you, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks and hands wrapped protectively around your figure. The steady thrum of his heartbeat sounds against your ear, and you smile, even in your sleep.

NINETEEN

“You have your thinking face on.” Your boyfriend saunters into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his lips. You roll your eyes at him. 

“You can’t tell me you don’t see it too,” you say pointedly, waving your wooden spatula at him.

Mingyu chuckles, moving over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your shoulder. “What, that Seokmin and Jihyo are meant to be? That smells amazing, by the way, love.”

“Yes,” you huff out, stirring the soup inside the pot boiling on the stove. “And thank you.”

From the living room, you can hear your two friends laughing over something you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. Jihyo still lives in another city, but she comes over to visit whenever she can. You and Seokmin remain friends, and he often comes over whenever you, Mingyu and Jihyo decide to hang out—though, you suspect his enthusiasm to join you three has more to do with one particular person rather than the entire group.

“If you say so,” Mingyu agrees. “I think they’re just friends.”

“Friends don’t look at each other that way,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Really? I seem to recall him looking at you the exact same way not too long ago.”

“That’s different, Gyu. Here, can you taste some? I don’t want it to be too salty.” Grabbing a large spoon, you dip it in the pot and offer it to Mingyu.

He obliges, letting you shove the spoonful into his mouth—and yelps almost immediately. “Ouch! You didn’t tell me it was hot.”

You only raise an eyebrow at him, but a small hint of amusement dances in your eyes. “How does it taste?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes at you but rests his chin on your shoulder; his hair tickles your ear. “It tastes amazing as always, love.”

“You’re sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“I’m offended you think I would lie to you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you deadpan, and it makes Mingyu giggle.

“I’m serious, it tastes good.” He smiles at you, peeling himself away from you. “Let’s go join the other two.”

“Coming.” You put the stove on simmer and grab Mingyu’s extended hand. His fingers slot in between yours easily. Your lips curl upwards on their own accord, and your heart feels so full, it’s close to bursting.

You’re there, in a room with all your favourite people, and it’s perfect.

The very first night you and Mingyu broke up is pushed to the back of your mind, never to slip out of the corner you’ve tucked it into. The nights after made up for it, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. You rebuild the promises you made and make new ones along the way.

You’d write it in the sky if you could, but you and Mingyu don’t need that. 

[spideyjimin]

Wait for your love | jjk (teaser)

—  pairing: firefighter!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: kind of exes to lovers, parents au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: sixteen years ago, your life was turned upside down when you surrendered to the temptation — none other than jungkook, the star basketball player on your school’s team. today, after all that time, you reunite under tragic circumstances; a car crash where he saves your life.

—  words: 577

—  author’s note: here you have the teaser of the fic i’m currently working on 🤗 you have a tiny little teaser below & i hope you’ll enjoy it ❤️

—  tag list: let me know in any way if you want to be tagged when i post this and if you are part of my permanent taglist, you will automatically be added ✨

Jungkook and his team got called for a car accident involving several cars, and when they arrived, the scene was horrific.

There are probably five cars pressed and smashed one against the other. There are people injured and bleeding walking around the scene. Paramedics are already taking care of them, but Jungkook is walking to the cars to retrieve the people stuck inside. His captain screams orders and tells him which car he should go to.

His eyes look around, his heart breaking when he sees everyone involved and still stuck in their cars. Visions like this are quite common for him, it doesn’t happen all the time but it’s still recurrent. At the end of the day, his job is to save people in this type of situation.

When he reaches the car, he was assigned to, he takes a look at how many people there are inside. There’s just one person, a woman behind the steering wheel. She has her hand on her head, clearly showing that she might have a headache. She doesn’t really move. Instantly, Jungkook tries to open the door, but it’s showing a bit of resistance.

It feels impossible to open the door, but Jungkook sees the woman’s head falling. He’s getting worrier; she’s slumping into sleep which isn’t a good sign as she was holding her head barely seconds ago. He then proceeds to break the window so he can try to open it from inside. There are other possible ways, but it would be harder and more dangerous to get her out of the vehicle.

“Ma’am,” he says with urge.

Eventually, he manages to open the damn door from the inside. A good part of the car’s front is crashing into her. Before even thinking of taking her out, he places a cervical collar to protect her neck and spine.

“Ma’am,” he repeats. “Can you hear me?”

She doesn’t answer at all. Jungkook gets closer, his fingers brushing the hair from her face, but when he finally gets to properly see the woman’s face, his heart skips a beat. This woman is none other than you. His mind can’t start to get lost in the past right now. He needs to focus on taking you out of the car.   

You’re in pretty bad shape.

There’s blood on your forehead, you most probably have a wound on top of your head. There’s also blood at the level of your stomach, turning your green shirt into a very dark color. He can distinguish a big fragment of glass shoved into your belly. It doesn’t look good. Your legs are also completely smashed by the front, causing the steering wheel to be very close to your body.  Hopefully, your legs aren’t too injured. He doesn’t even want to start thinking about all the bruises on your body.

Slowly, he places one hand behind your back while his other hand slowly pushes your legs. He’s trying to be as careful as possible to avoid causing any other injury.  His strong arms hold you once he manages to fully remove you from the car. His eyes look down at your face with evident pain. He notices how you’re trying to open your eyes which makes him think that you’re trying to fight the urge to fall asleep.

“Yn,” he says while walking to an ambulance. “Please, stay with me,” he whispers with despair. “I’ve finally found you, and I can’t lose you right away.”

[aha-chuu]

I love the absolute disparity in star rail's approach to aventio's canonical power levels

This comes up because I was thinking about Ratio, who despite being a good DPS is not actually intended to be a strong fighter in the lore at all. Like, he has no weapons training to speak of, no inherent powers as far as I can tell. He's physically stronger than an average person in our universe, but he should lose most fights we throw him into in game on account of trying to hit mechs with chalk or, at best, a book.

His ultimate move - the one with the Latin voice line where he drops a tower on the enemy - the translation of that is about perception changing reality. Basically, when he tips his hand from far away, it looks like he could crush the enemy under his finger. He's not actually summoning a tower here.

And then you have Aventurine, who (despite not being as buff) is a good fighter in every sense. He has actually got more legitimate hand to hand combat experience for one, but with the cornerstone he does have actual magical abilities that let him stand against the trailblazer squad before Acheron stepped in.

In the meta, Aventurine is the support and Ratio is the main fighter. But in the lore - both ability wise and in story content - Ratio is absolutely the support. He's moving around in the background to help with Aventurine's plan, he's not directly getting involved in the fighting, and he's the one trying to protect Aventurine with that final Doctor's note about the dormancy.

And like. You're not supposed to take either of their combat abilities too seriously. Like Ratio throws the chalk for a follow up because it's funny, unlike when svarog shoots missiles to protect Clara, or Blade slashes the whole field. Even Topaz throwing Numby is a more realistic reflection of what she'd actually do in a fight. Meanwhile, Aventurine's abilities are not funny, really, but they're all so thematic that it's hard to imagine he has the genuine capacity to summon a giant roulette wheel to stick the opponent inside.

And a lot of the characters have abilities that do make more sense for their in game capabilities. Like, Seele and Jing Yuan and Acheron are canonically fighters, so of course they can beat up the enemies as main DPS. Bailu and Natasha are doctors so they heal.

(Ratio is also literally a medical doctor and does not heal.)

And anyway I find this objectively very funny. My guy was involved in Aventurine's insanely dangerous plan in close quarters with Sunday, the main problem, and realistically his only means of self defense was jumping behind aventurine or trying to concuss Sunday with an encyclopedia. Even though we know Ratio is great at designing weapons, there is not one lick of evidence that he a) uses them himself, or b) would be any good at putting them into practice.

I get Aventurine had other things to worry about that whole time, but Ratio is not a good liar (he breaks character like three times in the quest 😭) and really realistically could have gotten them both murdered. I guess we were relying on the aventurine magic luck for that one.

Also if we're being lore accurate, every aventio bodyguard au is doomed if Ratio is the bodyguard.

[leclercsbunny]

maybe if you loved me ♡ c. sainz

part six ♡ masterlist

f1chai sainz and ricciardo allegedly got into a scuffle, sky news report. the two have come up on recent news due to their involvement with yn, as both drivers have been closely linked with the spanish socialite. the f1 management is reportedly investigating this matter, and are adamant to deal out swift and just penalties for both drivers involved. neither teams have expressed their side regarding this matter.

username i would pay good money to see them fist fight

username and nobody caught it on their camera ?? LAMEEEE

username see i would have screamed world star‼️

username hmmm arguing who's the daddy

username will forever be astounded of yn, bagging these men in the same breath

username yikes

username penalty for ocon!!

username don't let these men back on track fia (10392)

username so... private school fighting? pointing at eachother and then screaming?! 🤔🤔🤔

username "sainz and ricciardo had to be separated by several staff in a fit of blind rage."

username "the australian driver emerged with an upset expression, a bruising prominent on his jaw and a crimson eyebrow. the spaniard later on followed suit, an expression of annoyance evident, armed with a busted lip and a limp to his gait."

username so a fight FIGHT. they were scrapping to scrap 😳😳

username oh i know they were just swinging wildly

username ten bucks daniel would have laid carlos on his ass

username disagree. have you seen carlos's hands? he's punching to knock some sense into daniel

username yeah but daniel has the force of justice behind his blows

username not if he's the father. screwing your mate's ex girl while they're on the rocks?

username what do you mean on the rocks?? he cheated on her publicly. then they broke up. then partied like his life depended on it? 🙄🤨

f1chai daniel ricciardo adds fuel to the fire by posting a shady instagram story amid the controversy surrounding him today. several news outlet reports that the australian pilot have been fined a sum of 5,000 euros for recklessly behaving and have been reprimanded alongside sainz. to waive the penalty, the pair were urged to make ammends, and publicly acknowledge their wrongs for disrupting the peaceful atmosphere present in f1. his response is as follows; "i won't apologize."

username ATEEEEEEEEE

username stop playing with him 😳😳😳

username yeah that will tell them🤦🏻‍♀️😂

username they keep letting these men buy their way into being a decent human being... they'll cash out everytime !!

username i love when men are shady

username DANIEL WE ARE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU

username what if they used chairs ?? would that be atleast 10k ??

username that's spare change for these men 😭😭😭 who assigned these amount?

username it's a minor misdemeanor, it's already blown out of proportition🤭

username yeah but that's like what?? one tyre and a steering wheel ?? 😭😭😭

username so close !! steering wheels could go up to six figures 😂😂

username i stand corrected

username daniel: ... so can i pay in advance to throw hands? 🤔😂

f1chai both sainz and ricciardo have declined to elaborate regarding their public spat, and have expressed very little about their issue. no direct apologies were addressed to eachother nor was there any indication they regretted they came to blows. new reports claim that the reason of them being tight-lipped had everything to do with the paternity of yn's alleged baby, and although at odds with eachother, both sainz and ricciardo are adamant on maintaining her privacy at this delicate moment.

username enemies 4 life

username awww yn's boys🥲🥲

username the boys you speak of would push eachother on the track if given the opportunity🥰

username yeah boys‼️

username daniel probably talked maaaaad smack

username only reasonable explanation

username not necessarily, i would have been throwing hands regardless. like wym you've been comforting MY girl?!

username they broke up though

username on a break** this has been yn and carlos' dance since forever

username man shut up. yn deserves better than a man who has a very fickle sense of loyalty.

username he has some serious issues

username ALLEGEDLY okay ALLEGEDLY daniel took a swipe at matteo's parentage and said something along the lines of "you're gonna fuck up another kid's childhood just because you can't keep it in your pants?" non verbatim 😳😳

username YOOOOOOO

username that's WILD to even comprehend, imagine hearing it directly.

username ngl i would have been throwing hands with daniel aswell

username nicki type of line

username who's matteo's mom anyways 😭😭

username i know we're all mad at him but look at him 😩

username yn this isn't you‼️

username look away we can do this!!

[divinegrey]

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 / 𝐜𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

hi folks! it's good to be back and stretching my writing legs again. starting off with a caitlyn prompt! this could be read as a stand-alone or as a continuation of another caitlyn fic, broken pillars.

prompt: heyya! i'm absolutely in love with caitlyn AND your writing, so i was hoping we could combine the two :DD maybe something along the lines of cait x reader, a continuation of "broken pillars"? reader was injured in the blast, and Cait helps them/her (whatever you prefer) recover. maybe reader sees how much ambessa is manipulating her, and they end up getting into a fight over what's right?

words: 1162

warnings: mentions of violence, light angst, happy ending

“Caitlyn, this crusade is only going to end in more violence. You can’t possibly not see that!”

The Kiramman library has become something more of a battleground, in recent days. You were finally discharged from the hospital after extensive care to the leg you lost in what has been dubbed one of the worst terrorist incidents of Piltover’s history. And in those days since you’ve been home, you’ve become privy to every single thing that happened, everything that Caitlyn went through in her attempt to find Silco. 

Now Silco’s dead, and the whole of Zaun is in disarray. It only took one woman stepping in at the right time for Piltover to begin mobilizing; Ambessa Medarda. 

“It will be necessary for the safety of Piltover, our safety that we find Jinx and put her into Stillwater. She cannot be allowed to remain free for what she did to you,” Caitlyn says, standing at all too far a distance from you. She’s unreachable, has felt utterly unreachable ever since the explosion. Between tending to you, you know the gaps of time when she wasn’t at the hospital was spent sitting beside the famed warlord of Noxus. 

You’ve seen the change happen before your very eyes. It makes you scared. 

Pushing your hands on the wheels of your chair closer, you try again. “Cait, please, just listen to yourself. You’re suggesting arming an entire battalion of Enforcers and leading them into Zaun will fix the problem. You tried the strike team, it didn’t work the way you wanted it to, but that doesn’t mean—” 

“Until Jinx is behind bars, we are not safe.” Caitlyn’s stare is steely, but therein lies the exhaustion found in the bags of her eyes. Neither of you have been sleeping all too well; she comes into bed late at night when you’ve tired yourself out trying to stay up, and she rises before you have a chance to kiss her good morning. Caitlyn turns, hands on her hips. “You are not safe. I cannot stand for it.” 

“So, what? You slap a gun into every willing hand and shoot every Zaunite that gets in the way?” You sigh, leaning back against the cushion with a sigh. “And you’re fine with that? I know you, you’re smarter than this.” You wheel yourself closer to her side, taking her hand. “I know that this has left you distraught. Your mother in a coma, me in a wheelchair, but we are both still here, Caitlyn. An eye for an eye. You took Silco out, the Undercity is in chaos. People down there are scared. The Caitlyn I know and love wouldn’t be putting together weapons; she would be putting together aid, a plan to unite Zaun peacefully as possible.” 

Caitlyn doesn’t look at you. Rather, the fire that burns in the library hearth, the flames reflected and dancing in her eyes. She squeezes your hand, the callouses from shooting for so many years evident on her fingertips. Her throat bobs with a swallow. 

“It makes me scared, Cait. To know that Ambessa is saying these things into your ear and it feels like I can’t even get through to you,” you start, rubbing your thumb over her knuckles. “I’ve been friends with Mel long enough to get a sense of what her mother is like, I’ve studied enough politics to know what Noxus prioritizes. Strength and power. They see that in Hextech. That is all they want. They don’t care if they have to start a war to get it, because that is what they’re good at.” 

Caitlyn blinks, and for the first time in days, you see a tear fall from her eyes. Her chest rises with a heavy breath. “I failed to keep you safe. I had an opportunity to pull the trigger on Jinx. Vi, she— she weakened me. I wanted so badly to believe there was a way to end all of this with everyone alive, and the cost of believing that was nearly losing you and my mother.” A small scoff. “If my mother will ever wake up.” 

“Look at me.” You tug on her arm, and only then does she turn to you. You make a gesture for her to sit down on an armchair and she follows, slumping with an exhaustion you both feel in your bones. You take your hands and hold them tightly. “You can’t burden yourself with every ounce of responsibility, Caitlyn. You are one of the strongest people I know, but even you will crack under that pressure. Please, just give yourself some more time, give Mel and I some more time to try and put together a plan. The Council is angry. Ambessa has power enough as it is, but what she sees in you is someone to exploit. Grief is a powerful motivator; all I ask is that you don’t let it motivate you into something you’ll regret.” 

If it weren’t for you holding her hands, you might not have noticed the shake in her fingers. You know your girlfriend well enough to understand that the shaking only comes when the stress has built up so much that it reaches her hands; a sharpshooter can’t risk shaking hands when they need to take the shot. With something of a forlorn smile, you bend your head, trying to catch her eyes. 

“Love, I promise, you didn’t fail me. Nor your mother. I’m still here, and I still love you so, very deeply with everything I have in my heart. So please, if there is any guilt or grief you carry about me, drop it. Because I am with you, until the end of time,” you say, pouring every ounce of devotion that you possibly can into your words. What you see in turn is the exterior of Caitlyn’s armor cracking, the tears falling, and you cup her face within your hands, bringing her eyes to yours. “I love you, Caitlyn Kiramman.” 

Her hands hold your wrists tight; it’ll take time for her to lay down her guilt, and you’re happy to stand beside her in the meantime. You kiss her, soft and tender, the salt from her tears on your lips but you couldn’t care less. You survived death and lost a leg, a grief that will settle, but you count your blessings where you can find them. Your family is still alive, Caitlyn is still alive, and her parents are still alive. 

It will have to be enough. 

“I love you,” Caitlyn whispers into your mouth. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Your heart is safe with me, and mine with yours. There is a light at the end of this tunnel; we need only find it, okay?” You stroke her cheekbone with your thumb, wiping away the tears as they come. She nods, resting her forehead against yours. 

Only time will tell of what happens to Piltover and Zaun, but you breathe easier, knowing you have your partner at your side. 

~~~~~

A/N: thank you for reading! anon, i hope this was what you wanted!

[lover-of-mine]

Welcome to Anna writes another color meta because she's losing her mind.

I made half this point before, but season 7 has more evidence, so I'm gonna make it again, just stay with me. Buck wears a lot of red, right? Staple color for him.

And, well, the coma dream has many elements that make it uncomfortable even if we don't fully realize it, one of them is the way that Buck is wearing green.

(something else is the way he's wearing black vans when he usually wears white hightops, but that's not important right now, but 911 costume department, I worship you)

Why is the green part relevant? Well, red and green are complementary colors, that means they are on opposite sides of the color wheel, and the whole thing with complementary colors is to create contrast. So, since he's usually on this part of the color wheel, the green stands out, even if we don't fully register why.

But the thing is, they put Buck in green when something is wrong. The coma dream, yeah, but the talk with Ali that leads to the breakup, the whole thing with taking Red to see Cindy that completely backfires, and subsequently the conversation with Maddie about being the one who gets left behind, telling Taylor he cheated, talking to Eddie about how he's avoiding Taylor after the Jonah thing, breaking up with Taylor, the cemetery scene, the gym scene in 705.

Those are all scenes where something is wrong, Ali doesn't understand who he is, the whole thing with Red is Buck deciding to do the wrong thing over his idea of what Red needs, the Taylor arc is very self-explanatory, the cemetery feels like he's trying to convince himself of what he's saying a lot more than it sounds like that's something he actually believes, the gym scene he's stressed because he lied to Eddie, it's all at least Buck doing misguided stuff. I feel like at this point, it is very clear that they put Buck in green for this purpose. If Buck is in green, something is most likely wrong.

So, Buck has a something is wrong color. During season 7, I offered the possibility of the show using maroon with Eddie for a similar purpose. But where Buck is about doing misguided stuff most of the time, Eddie is about lying. In a sense.

Eddie's color palette is very earthy. I don't wanna say green is as much of a staple color for him as red is for Buck, but he is usually in army colors, he does wear his fair share of green, greyish-green stuff, it's enough to make sense to some degree if they use maroon to say something is wrong in a direct parallel of what they do with Buck, just going the other way.

But why the maroon during season 7? He's wearing maroon while daydreaming about an idealized Shannon and during the date with Kim. Both situations involve lying to himself, Buck, or whatever. There's also the maroon when Chris leaves. He's not lying, but to say he's pretending to be okay with the situation because it is what Chris wants is not that much of a stretch.

But, I just noticed this dude is wearing maroon when Lena takes him to the first fight, which triggers something dangerous for him. So now we're talking. We have bad shit happening to him and bad shit being triggered by him while he's in maroon.

It opens up a lot in the possibility of them using red in this way for him in other scenes he's wearing reddish stuff. First date with Ana, the nondate with Vanessa, the 612 talk, and I'm gonna throw in the Carla thing too because I need another screenshot lol

Granted, as long as the show doesn't come right out and say Eddie is gay or Eddie was lying about remembering the shooting, these are just speculation and wishful thinking for the most part, but Eddie is peer pressured into the relationship with Ana and ends up admitting he liked the idea of them more than he liked her, so lying to himself, and the Vanessa one, he just plain doesn't want to be there and is agreeing to lie to Pepa so, it's a stretch but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ the Carla thing, Eddie is at least hiding the Shannon of it all and he was lied to to get there, and while Buck does offer him the answer to a problem that scene, it is a problem he was struggling a lot with and pretending he had it under control. And I will live in a land where Eddie has been aware of his feelings since the shooting and it is lying to Buck about not remembering until the show explicitly proves me wrong, so in my head he is lying to Buck in 612. I'm not nearly as confident on this one as I am with the green and Buck when it comes to the whole show, but at least during s7, they did use it like that, and considering the way he was mostly in black or white during s7, the maroon has to mean something.

Now that we got that out of the way. Why am I telling you all this? It is not just because I think this is yet another way the show makes Buck and Eddie exist as mirrors of each other. It is because of the bachelor party.

Because Buck is in mint green and Eddie is in baby pink.

Buck is absolutely being misguided about what Chim actually wants during this, but I have no idea what Eddie would be lying about though. The interesting thing is that Buck loses the green and Eddie has the darker pink quite literally ripped out of him. Which is an interesting choice all things considered. And they get back to it once we find out Chim is missing.

This is pure speculation that even made me write a fic (self-promo if you feel like reading a confrontation about them almost kissing at the party), but the thing is, everyone involved in this damn show talked too much about this bachelor party for it to be a minute long montage with no lasting consequences and me to feel satisfied with it (rip karaoke scene you will always be wanted). Especially considering with the way we know the episode was actually 2 episodes long and they had to trim everything down (the fact that they tried to shove 18 episodes worth of plot into 10 is gonna make me mad forever, it was a reduced season, make a reduced season) and the ideal world madney's wedding would've been the 2 episode event it deserved to be and we would've gotten more. Do I think the show wanted something to actually happen between them, like a full-blown kiss? No. Do I think a "we are drunk and getting too close" situation was completely plausible? Yes. I mean, Buck was practically pulling Eddie to his lap. And it's not like this is something that can't come back to if they feel like it. Sudden triggers making them remember shit is a perfectly acceptable way to add some tension, push some realizations.

I don't know why, but Buck wearing green there will forever bother me. And with the added layer of Eddie and the maroon, I feel like there has to have a point for that particular costume besides making me want to make The Fairly OddParents jokes.

If we wanna go full conspiracy theory, considering the way the early renewal changed the way they dealt with 7b, I wouldn't be surprised if that party was going to trigger something and they decided against it. We'll never know unless they come back to it, but, nice to think about.

As always, if you read this, I love you.

Other color metas if you like my brand of crazy: blue and green masterpost, red and blue post, blue and yellow theory part one and part two.

[officialabortive]

Barbarian!Bakugou x FoxHybrid!Reader

Barbarian!Bakugou had already set up camp for the night under a canopy of thick tree branches. Finally finding some semblance of relief within the cool shade, when he was disturbed by jingling of rusted bells and worn out wooden wheels clacking against rough terrain. Of course, he knows before even looking, that it was the tell tale clatter of a wandering merchant. Bakugou makes haste, jogging over to see the available merchandise. Opportunities like this are rare, as merchants who travel so far out are few and far between.

The stallions —who are surprisingly well kept and very clearly well groomed— hauling the small wooden caravan came to a halt as the man holding the reigns gave a tug upon noticing a blonde figure jogging up. Dropping the reigns, the man swiftly hoped to the ground, ready to offer a sales pitch. Clasping his hands together, the merchant gave his best smile. It was obviously forced, far to wide and toothy to be genuine. Katsuki already pinned him as an obnoxious asshole.

"Ah! Hello, hello, good sir! Would you be interested in making a purchase? You've come at a good time, I have quite the selection at the moment!"

Bakugou grunts "maybe. What'd you have?" The cart was ever so slightly too elevated to see inside without needing to jump to look in over the edge

"Oh please do come take a look!"

Bakugou trails behind him to the back of the caravan where they can see in through the open back. Several hybrids sat on the wooden flooring, all of which having their gaze pinned directly back on him.

"I only carry the cutest and most unique hybrids! Even some exotic breeds! Only the best of the best! And I can assure you they are all perfectly family friendly!" He started pointing to them individually. "Here we have a beautiful teddywidder rabbit! This is red tailed deer! Over here is one of my personal favorites, a rare spot-"

"Got any hunters?"

The man began stumbling over his words. Now one ever wanted something like that, a possible threat. People wanted a nice cute hybrid to have around the house and be loved by children.

"I- uh- well, I do have this exotic snowy fox, who I'm sure is an amazing hunter. Foxes are known for their incredible hearing, agility, and stealth! All amazing attribut-"

"I'll take 'em"

There was an audible ting, Bakugou having flicked something to the man who fumbled to catch it, even with using two hands. Greedy eyes bulge at the perfectly circular gold piece in his palm. Gluttony has evidently long had it's unshakable grasp on his greed ridden soul.

—

You were fairly well behaved. Immediately inspecting the temporary camp, analyzing each item in the worn out bag that lay open on the dirt. Than coming to sniff at bakugou, poking and prodding, curiously tugging at each individual necklaces on his chest. He'd even noticed how you sat exclusively in shaded areas, and squinting whenever you weren't.

Yeah, he regrets not thinking further into the whole 'only liking dark areas' thing. Turns out foxes are fucking nocturnal.

Now, the sun had long gone in to hiding, yet here sits a very much wide awake, agitated barbarian. Slouched with arms crossed over his chest as he glares at nothing in particular.

"Can't believe I spent fuck'n money on this bullshit– QUIT IT!"

The sales basterd was right, you were definitely stealthy. And for Katsuki, it's annoying as shit. He can't even hear your approach when you pounce on him from behind, cackling when you successfully grab on to him mid-jump. Only after several hours worth of attempts to catch you, only for you to slip right out of his grasp, to have you apprehend and tired. Finaly he can get some damn shut ey- why the fuck are you burrowing under his cloak!?

Whatever. At least bakugou is confident in your skills required for hunting. Perfect.

MASTERLIST

[ellieslittleburrow]

Motorcycle accident

Summary : Requested by @a-lil-bit-nuts : could i request reader getting into a motorcycle accident and sam and dean freaking out when she calls them crying because her leg got banged up and she's in pain.

Warnings : road accident, mentions of blood and a little panic attack

A/N : 💀 this has also been in my drafts since day one so i literally had to force myself to post or else it wouldn't be posted-ever ahahahaha

---

It is said that riding a motorcycle is like flying. When you're at high speed, the scenery gets blurry and all you can think of is staying alive, somehow bringing serenity into your being, peace of mind, a bit of quiet.

You could not relate to that at the moment, as you found yourself sliding along with the bike all the way the sidewalk, the edge of the latter forcing the bike and your own body to a stop.

Cold and adrenaline rush through your body....it's....so cold-your back....cold and-you just-you- accident...

Phone.

You tug into your pocket and through the shaking hands dial Sam's number. Dean never answers. Sam answers instantly.

"Hey honey." His tone is sweet and confident.

"Sammy i-i-my leg is-i got into-i-" You stutter, waiting for a response but instead all you get is lots of noise, indicating swift moves. "Sammy?"

"I'm coming to you, honey. I'm coming. We're on our w-"

On Sam's side, papers suddenly fly at the speed of his mouvement.

"DEAN" He growls, heading straight for his brother's room. "DEAN" He doesn't bother to knock, too tense to think- "She-Sh-she's been in an accident."

The realization hits Dean like thunder and his whole face contorts before he jumps off the bed. "What-no-where is she?"

The older brother asks, his hands frantically searching for the keys. His swift motions doing him no good, only freaking him out furthur.

"DEAN!" Sam snaps him out of his thoughts and Dean notices the keys in his brother's hands.

As they both head for the door, Sam dials his sister's number. "Come on, baby. Pick up." He pleads...whoever. And when a puff emits from his lips, Dean understands that the ringing died.

"Try it again." The latter orders, a faint hint of hope in his voice. He couldn't tell though, if it was hope or desperation. His little sister not answering instantly means that something bad has happened. That's always been the case with Dean. Ever since he got her a phone. "Always have it by your side, i can't call you and have you not answer." A phrase she's heard and fought about a million times.

And just when his fist hits the steering wheel, her little voice comes over Sam's phone. It's faint, causing Dean to snatch the phone from his brother's hand.

"Kid, where are you-are you okay" The oldest of the family swallows the knot in his stomach, directly asking the question to avoid shuddering in front of his younger siblings.

"Deeeean" Your voice follows the evident heaving of your chest. "It h-h-urts so much. Please-I don't want to be here alone-i'm-it hurts so badly." You freely sob and Dean holds his breath in, swallowing the ache penetrating through his heart. His baby is in so much pain and he-

"Dean!" Dean swiftly turns his head to the side, eyeing the wide eyed Sam sitting beside him. "Drive, man! We have to get to her."

the hunter starts the car, handing the phone to his brother. "Put in on speaker." He orders his younger brother, heading to nowhere still.

"Honey, where are you-we're coming to get you-we're on our way-just tell us where you are"

Both men grimace at the noise around her, the blabbbering and the-

"I'm so scared. Please hurry-i'm only a couple of minutes away-it's right next to the gas station we always go to-"

"I see her!" Enthousism breaks Sam's voice when he spots a crowd and a bike, his heart sinking at the thought of what's hiding behind. "Honey we're here-Don't hang up"

-----

You didn't know which was more painful, the actual burning in your leg or the suffocating feeling caused by the crowd envelopping every inch of your space. You internally thank the tingling wetness in your eyes because it caused enough blurriness that people turned into faceless figures.

As a guy hoists you up. And consequently the road ahead starts to emerge and two familiar figures appear to be running towards you. You blink your tears away-they're here!

They're finally here.

-----

Lil nuts, i hope this isn't too dramatic and i hope this is what freaking out is to you. Kisses to you and thank you again for the request! ❤️❤️❤️🥀🥀🥀

[nwjws]

indebted to you - PSH 🎐

; PAIRING - sunghoon x gn!reader

; SYNOPSIS - every house at hogwarts has a student that doesn’t fit in. ravenclaw, known for intelligence and wit, had park sunghoon, who was neither. everyone’s always wondered how he ended up in the house, but when you follow him into the whomping willow one night during your patrols, you might just find out why.

; TAGS - one shot, hogwarts au, fluff, angst, healing each other, ravenclaw!sunghoon, ravenclaw!reader, book smart!r, street smart!sh, oblivious reader ; WARNINGS - reader gets injured and hurt pretty badly, not proofread and literally no planning whatsoever i winged this entire fic, just me and the voices

; WC - 5.1k

; AUTHOR'S CORNER! - this was requested! the req was pretty vague so i had a lot of freedom and it ended up longer than i planned LOL

every house has an odd one out. 

a gryffindor that’s too scared and cowardly; a slytherin that gives up easily; a hufflepuff that would sell out anyone in a heartbeat.

in ravenclaw, you had park sunghoon. 

he was everything ravenclaw was not. wit? nope, he was pretty slow. intelligence? honestly, he had about as much knowledge as a first year muggleborn (and he’s lived in the wizarding world his whole life). good grades? god, you don’t know how he managed to make it to 5th year when he was barely scraping by with As (acceptables) in his tests. even being best friends with arguably one of the smartest ravenclaws in your year, jake sim, he still fell short of others.

of course, that undoubtedly led to him being cast out, often sneered at and made fun of by others. how could he be a ravenclaw if he was so stupid? 

you didn’t agree with them when they’d call him names, and took the mickey out of the poor boy. there‘s a particular memory you have - in which he entered the common room all battered up and bruised, with jake at his side. 

you’d been horrified to see him in such a state, and hurried to help him by healing his wounds. jake had thanked you profusely, but sunghoon had fallen fast asleep on the couch. 

you scoffed at the other five students in the room that just stared either in shock or amusement. ravenclaws were never really known for their empathy. 

that’s why you weren’t surprised when your patrol partner derided him when you two spotted the oddity slipping out of the castle.

“can’t even hide himself,” he scoffed. “is there anything good he can do?”

“i’m sure there is,” you frown at the other prefect. “there’s got to be a reason the sorting hat put him with us.”

“maybe the sorting hat made a mistake.”

“the hat never makes mistakes.”

“park is a sure evidence that it does. maybe the old thing’s getting rusty in its game.”

you rolled your eyes and walked ahead, dismissing the guy and telling him you’d do the rest of the rounds on your own.

peering out a window, you watched sunghoon casually walk down the steps, towards the whomping willow, you realised. you left the castle and followed him down too, to warn him against visiting the violent tree.

when you got closer, you paused when sunghoon backed away as the tree came to life, and its branches started whipping in his direction. he reached into the book bag slung over his shoulder.

you hid behind a tree and watched curiously as he pulled out a little toy mouse and what looked to be a controller. where did he get that? sunghoon switched it on and placed it on the ground, before using his joystick controller to move the mouse around.

the mouse rolled on its wheels, and escaped the branches, rolling under them and to the base of the trunk. you gasp when the willow’s branches stop lashing out and wonder how he did that. 

sunghoon turns sharply when he hears you, and looks around, his stare lingering on the spot you had just been standing in. he reluctantly continues into the gaping entrance at the roots of the tree.

you stay in your spot for a moment longer, wondering if it was really smart of you to follow sunghoon into the tree, infamous for its violent tendencies to destroy anything within its range. 

but it’s your duty as a prefect to make sure sunghoon is safe, especially having caught him on his escapade during one of your own patrols. if you left him there and he was found dead or injured in the morning, you would be at fault. 

gathering your resolve, you decide to push forward.

nearing the tree, it comes back to life and starts to try attacking you. you have to run back and sit for a moment, wondering how to get through the branches. it’s not like you had your own little mouse and joystick - and besides, if you did, you wouldn’t even know what to do with it. you had no idea exactly what sunghoon did with his tools to calm down the tree.

you curse yourself for not finding out a way to calm down whomping willow trees, but can you really blame yourself? that stuff was NEWT level, only taught in sixth year. you were only in fifth.

you decide to suck it up and watch as the tree swishes around and around, waiting for the branches to leave an opening to the entrance.

when the opportunity comes, you quickly spring into action and sprint towards the open space, praying the tree doesn’t sense you in time.

that was a silly hope. of course it detected you, hell - it might have even purposely left the space open just so you’d come nearer. either way, it swung its arms at you and pushed you to the side causing you to fall and roll on your side. pain shot through your side, so much so you were pretty sure you broke a rib or two. you never knew how strong the tree was.

laying on the ground and waiting the pain out would have been preferable, if there wasn’t a tree trying to whack you to death. so despite the throbbing pain, you forced yourself to get roll onto your stomach (god, maybe you broke three ribs) and got onto your knees. 

you scrambled on the ground and ducked your head when another branch came flying by, and crawled (or at least, something like it) towards the hole sunghoon entered through.

as you lowered into the entrance, another branch struck at you, slashing through your uniform and into the skin of your back. a shriek ripped through your throat, and you slipped on the loose gravel of the entrance, sliding down into the tree.

“what are you doing here?”

you cracked an eye open painfully and stared up at sunghoon from where you were sitting on the ground, scrapped, injured, and grumpy.

“oh, nothing. just thought i’d get my ass whooped by my lovely friend, the whomping willow. nothing special, just your average sunday night, you know?”

he huffed amusedly and pulled you up by the wrist. you hissed at the pain, which had him faltering.

“are you okay? sorry, that’s a stupid question.”

“i’m perfectly dandy!”

“here, can you move onto the chair?” he asked, pulling a wooden and splintered chair closer to you. you stood up and sat on it, albeit wincing at every movement.

you pulled out your wand and pointed it at yourself, cleaning your body of all the dirt and grime. sunghoon stared at you contemplatively, concerned lacing his features as he tried to figure out what to do.

“not to disturb you from appreciating my face or anything, i know i’m drop dead gorgeous and all. however, i would really appreciate it if i got some help over here.”

sunghoon flushed red and rushed to your side, kneeling as he pointed his own wand at your ribs.

“i don’t think i need to tell you that this is gonna hurt.”

“what are you doing?” you ask curiously.

he ignores you, speaking an unfamiliar incantation. 

then followed: the longest, most agonising 15 seconds of your life.

the air was pushed out of your lungs, and your insides screamed as you felt your bones rearranging themselves. you thrashed as you begged for it to stop, for the pain to go away, or to just die right then and there, if only so the torture would stop.

as if the world was listening, it did stop. as abruptly as it started, it ended. hesitantly, you opened your eyes, to see sunghoon still kneeling in front of you, sweat rolling down his face, searching your face for any signs of further discomfort. 

“are you okay?”

you blinked, staring into his eyes. there was a light in them - from where, you don’t know. there was barely any light in the room, the only source being the moon from outside the window.

“what… just happened,” you asked, almost forgetting to reply.

“i performed a spell the sped up the regeneration of your bones.”

you blinked again.

“…so, i’m okay?”

“i’m asking you that.”

“right.” you stood up and felt your torso with your hands, twisting your middle to test for any pain. “yeah, i think my ribs are fixed.”

“probably not fully,” he corrected, rubbing his nape awkwardly. “i haven’t mastered the spell just yet, so your bones may feel a bit stiff in the morning. just don’t do that again.”

“okay, wait. i have so many questions right now.”

sunghoon looked like he expected it, inhaling a breath and sitting on the dusty bed. “a question for a question, ‘kay? ask away.”

“where do i even start?” you sighed. you realised you still had scratches, and the slit on your back. you worked quickly to heal them, while sunghoon went over to help you with your back injury, seeing as you were struggling to reach it.

“how about, what’s your skin care routine, sunghoon?” he joked.

“and they say you don’t have a smart mouth,” you scoff, but laugh anyway.

“they also say i have pretty good skin.”

“i get it, your skin is clearer than any blue sky,” you roll your eyes, sighing in relief as sunghoon  casts a (much more soothing) healing spell on your back. “okay, what are you doing here?”

“i was enjoying my peace and quiet, at least until you came.”

“you come to the whomping willow often?”

“i guess so,” he shrugs. “sometimes, when i can’t stand going back to the ravenclaw dorms, i go here.”

“oh.”

“your turn. what are you doing here?”

“to ask for your skin care,” you blurt out. sunghoon barks a beautiful laugh. “i saw you when i was on patrol and followed you when i saw you were going to the whomping willow. i wanted to tell you it was dangerous, and stupid.”

“and yet, you’re the one who’s hurt and injured.”

“theres a reason students are forbidden from coming here,” you say.

“yeah, so why didn’t you just call a teacher? you didn’t have to follow me all the way here, and you knew how dangerous it was.”

you stared at your lap. you didn’t think of just calling a professor, but now that seemed like the more logical thing to do.

“you must have been doing this a long time then, if you knew how to get past the tree safely.”

“about a year and a half,” he confirms. “do you remember that day i came back all messed up?”

“you remember that?” you ask, looking at him with wide eyes.

“how could i not? everyone looked at me like i deserved it, but you were the only person who did anything,” he furrowed his eyebrows.

“i thought you were beat up by other kids.”

“nope. that was the first time i tried to get into the whomping willow. i just hated the idea of going back to the common room, but i didn’t have a way of getting past the tree’s angry arms just yet. jake found me beat up and bleeding on the ground, and brought me back up to the castle.”

“he didn’t bring you to the infirmary? otherwise you would have been perfectly fine when you came back.”

“i asked him not to. even the nurse hates me,” he confessed quietly. your heart ached, and you hated everyone else at that very moment. 

how could people hate sunghoon so much for suffering in school? he, who was healing you right now in the dark room of the whomping willow tree. how did he even know that spell earlier?

“can i ask how you knew that spell earlier? i didn’t recognise it.”

sunghoon chuckled. “okay, but that’s two questions. you owe me two answers.” you’d forgotten you were playing some sort of game.

“fine.”

“sometimes, i like to read up on books from other nations. i used to do it only because i’d been searching for a spell to freeze a large body of water for ice skating - i like to do that too - but it turned into a genuine interest.”

“reading up on foreign spells? huh,” you thought out loud. “that’s actually really cool. i’d never thought of it. where was the one you put on my bones earlier from?”

“south asia. i practiced almost all of the spells i came across, but it’s not like i had anything to test them on. i wasn’t going to break some poor animal’s ribs just to see if i could fix it.”

“ah, so i was your lab rat, huh?”

“i guess,” he shrugged. “maybe if i had more practice, i’d have actually been able to fix them entirely.”

“don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “honestly, the fact you could even perform the spell so well without much practice is amazing. thank you, by the way. i’d probably be at the infirmary instead by now, slowly healing with a stupid magic hot pack the nurse always gives.”

sunghoon laughed at that. “the nurses always give those out. pretty useless, huh?”

“if you ask me, i think they’re just lazy at their job.”

you turn to look at the boy appreciatively, but instead you’re captured in a trance.

the way the moon illuminated his features made him look ethereal; you were jealous. how could someone make a person this beautiful, only to put them through torment from others? it didn’t make sense. it wasn’t fair.

sunghoon squeezed your hand, and only then did you realise he’d been holding it. was he holding your hand the whole time?

“let’s go back to the castle. i don’t think you’d want to spend the rest of the night in the whomping willow.”

“you’re right. but what about you? are you sure you want to go back?”

“i’m feeling better about going up, now that i’ve talked to you.”

“glad i served two purposes by being hurt tonight,” you jokingly saluted. you two shared a laugh before starting back up the path to the castle, being careful not to get caught being out after-hours.

when you two reached the top of the spiral staircase to your house's common room, you approached the eagle knocker on the door.

"when is ninety-nine more than a hundred?" the knocker asked.

you paused for a moment to think, looking to sunghoon for help. he only shrugged at you.

"on a microwave," you realised. "press ninety-nine, and it'll go for a minute and thirty-nine seconds. press one hundred, and the microwave will only work for a minute."

the door swung open after a moment, allowing you and sunghoon to enter.

"i can never answer those riddles."

you looked at him confusedly. "really?"

"really. i've given up trying to answer them since first year," he chuckled quietly to himself.

"but you have to answer them to get into the common room and dorms. how do you usually get back in, then?"

he smiled at you, flashing his fanged tooth. "that's your third question. i usually always come back with jake or sometimes jungwon, and they'll answer it for me. if i'm not with them, well, i'll just wait until they come."

"on the times they don't?"

"then i go to the whomping willow," he looks ahead. "tonight was one of those times, actually. it was the main reason i went out. jake's sick and he's been in bed all day. jungwon is out probably picking a fight with some other smarty-pants."

"oh. that sucks," is your intelligent reply.

"i always said that a password like the gryffindors would have been easier than riddles," he huffs.

ever since that night at the whomping willow, you and sunghoon were considerably. more acquainted and friendly with each other.

smiles shared across crowded hallways and sitting with the other in the ravenclaw common room became normal. sometimes, when you waited for your friends in the great hall for breakfast, sunghoon would strike up a conversation with you, and you'd happily converse with him (and jake).

neither of you had told your friends about the incident. or at least, you didn't. if sunghoon told jake, or any of his other friends (who the school called 'enhypen'), they didn't show any signs of knowing what went down between you two.

that didn't stop your own friends from raising an eyebrow when you said a quick hi to the taller boy, though. the same could be said for sunghoon's friends. there were countless times jake had (very obviously) pushed you two together with a grin on his face and a glint in his eyes. you and sunghoon just rolled your eyes and shared a secret smile - one that had your heart beating a little faster, unable to hold his gaze for a second longer.

that was weird, you thought one day. sunghoon had discreetly levitated some small chocolates to you in class, before you started feeling warmer and found it harder to focus on the lesson. maybe you were getting a fever.

on another note, your newfound friendship with ravenclaw's outcast meant that you often asked about what book he was reading and from where. sometimes you two would even study it together in the library.

"hey, i wanna practice a new spell i found," he greets you as he enters the common room (with jungwon).

"good day to you too," you reply. "do you need to break my ribs and test this 'new spell' on me?"

"if you're offering," he grins.

"i don't know what you're doing, y/n," jungwon starts. "but somehow, this guy's gotten better at comebacks."

"i guess your sarcasm is rubbing off on me."

"i do have that effect on people," you shrug nonchalantly, but let a smile pull at your lips.

the new spell definitely did not need any broken ribs. if anything, it would protect you from them next time.

sunghoon had cast a shield charm on you - one like an invisible bubble around your figure. nothing could get within a two meter range of you, the bubble following you around wherever you walked.

"this is pretty cool," you wow in amazement. you walk closer to the boy, only for him to be forcefully pushed back before you can even touch him. "no wonder charms is the only subject you're acing."

"well, that's why i have you and jake tutoring me on everything else."

"i should ask you where you even get the books for these spells. the international selection in the library isn't exactly that big."

"jake's parents work around the globe, and send me them."

"jake's really got your back, huh?"

"yup. that's four questions, by the way."

"oh, c'mon!" you roll your eyes and groan. sunghoon throws his head back in laughter. "just ask me your damn questions."

"hmm," he said thoughtfully. "why are you nice to me?"

you looked at him meaningfully. "i'm not nice to you, sunghoon. i just have enough human decency to treat you with the respect you have the right to."

he stared at you for a moment with an unreadable expression.

after a moment, he cast off the shield spell, and walked closer to you. he hesitantly wrapped his arms around you, making sure you were okay with it. you hugged him first, and felt him envelope you in an embrace after.

his warmth seeped into your clothes, which you welcomed wholly considering the cold february air. you could feel his heart beating fast - or is it yours?

with your chin sitting on his shoulder, you could see the great lake which had frozen from the winter temperature behind him, and remembered something he told you.

"you were looking for a spell to freeze large bodies of water."

"that's not a question," he mumbles against your shoulder.

"no, it's not."

"like i said, i wanted to go ice skating. it's fun, and i feel free when i do it. but you can't really go skating much at school when there's no ice rink."

"so you wanted to freeze the great lake? isn't there already some spell for that?"

"well, yeah. but that spell freezes it for a pretty long time, and i don't think the merpeople would appreciate their home being frozen for half the year."

"or that the school would allow it," you remind him.

"yeah, that too," he chuckled, his laugh reverberating through you. he finally let go and turned to the lake. "i wanted to find a temporary freezing spell - a few hours at most."

you hummed and stared into the cloudy sunset with him. you missed the warmth of his body, oddly enough.

"could i borrow the book you got this spell from?" you asked him. "that's not a question, by the way."

he smiled. "no, it's not."

maybe you really should go see the nurse. you don't think whatever magical hot pack she'll give you would help with your fever, though.

lately, you noticed that your pulse seemed to increase every so often. when that happened, you felt a bit more nervous - picking at your skin, bouncing your leg, etc. you were struggling to focus in some of your classes too, and you really needed to pick up your weight for your upcoming OWLs.

"stop biting your lip," sunghoon tells you one time.

"i'm not biting my lip. i don't do that," you look at him confusedly.

"you were just doing it. you've been doing it often," he tells you.

"you noticed?" you asked, surprised. his demeanour turned bashful.

"i guess so. here, i got you lip balm."

sunghoon reached into his bag and pulled out a small chapstick.

"for me?" he surprised you again. sunghoon nods. "your lips have gotten uneven and red from all that biting. this should help."

"...thanks," you say, taking the item from his hand.

you don't miss the way his breath hitches when your skin brushes against his. or the way you, both go quiet, unable to make conversation for once.

"so!" you clear your throat, looking in another direction. looking at sunghoon definitely wasn't going to help with your fever right now, or whatever it is you had.

"you still have three questions for me."

"i do," he huffs with a lilt in his tone. "white or dark chocolate?"

you consider him. you didn't understand this little game he was playing - wasn't it supposed to be meaningful questions? one that let you learn more about the other? sunghoon was always unpredictable - you could never guess what he was going to do next. he wasn't just a book you could read and learn from.

a laugh escapes you. "milk chocolate."

something you could read up on however, was the symptoms you were feeling. unfortunately, none of the medicinal books you read had answers that suited you.

you found yourself spending late nights at the ravenclaw library, scouring the shelves for an answer. did you have a new disease, or something?

"y/n?" you jumped when you heard jake's voice call out from below.

climbing down the ladder, you glare at him. "you scared me. what are you doing here? it's like two in the morning."

"it's almost three, actually." you wanted to laugh as he pushed up his glasses. "and anyway, i was going to ask you that question first."

you set down the books in your arms and start flipping through them.

"i was looking for something - a disease, maybe."

"oh? why's that?"

"i've not been feeling well, lately."

"i know a fair lot about medicine and sicknesses," he tells you. "shoot."

"well, i guess my temperature's been fluctuating. sometimes, it would get hotter, at random points in the day. i start to feel ditzy, like my mind goes haywire. i feel anxious when it happens, and it's a little harder to concentrate in class."

"uh huh..." he says thoughtfully. "do you ever feel that in history of magic?"

you look at him with wide eyes, nodding eagerly. "i always feel it during that class!"

"okay, i wanna ask you a question," he faces you. you scrunch your nose.

"you're just like sunghoon. always talking about that stupid question game."

jake just smirked at you. "nevermind, i already got my answer."

"what?"

"i think... the disease you're looking for, is feelings."

"feelings?"

"feelings for sunghoon. i think you like him a lot. you feel all that during history - a class you share with him," he thinks out loud. "i was going to ask if you think about sunghoon often, but you literally mentioned him just now, before i even brought him up."

jake made his way over to you and tapped two fingers to your chest, right above your heart.

"i'm not an expert, but i think this is an easily diagnosable case of love."

you gaped at him, slowly taking your seat.

"i like sunghoon?"

"how long have you been feeling this?"

"maybe a few months, now."

"wow," jake whistled. "i think you should tell him"

"i think that's stupid."

"well, not every ravenclaw can be smart," he shrugged. you glared at him.

"what are you doing here anyway? i don't suppose you're also looking for a diagnosis of love. if anything, i'd diagnose you with nosy."

jake laughed at that. "nah, i was actually looking for you. it's getting kinda boring seeing you and sunghoon pine over each other. thought i'd finally do something about it."

you threw a book at him, which he dodged. unfortunately, he didn't anticipate the second.

"ow!"

"like i said - nosy."

"i do have a pretty good nose - one you'll break if you throw another book at me."

"ugh, you and your friend are so full of yourselves," you scoff. you begin to walk out the library, refusing to see the grin on jake's face.

the sound of his laughter was cut off by the slam of the library doors behind you.

"bring your skates," you shout excitedly to sunghoon as soon as you run into the common room.

he looks at you in bewilderment from the couch, where he'd been playing wizarding chess with jungwon and jake.

"it's the middle of march, the ice has melted. where the hell am i going to skate?"

"just bring it," you smile.

you drag sunghoon down to the great lake by his wrist, both of you guys holding onto ice skates. the sun shines, sparkling in the water of the great lake.

you stop by the lake and fix your skates on. sunghoon follows suit.

"i still don't get what's happening."

"i found a way we can skate even when there's no more ice."

"really?" he gasps, a mix of surprise and excitement on his face. "you found a spell? from where?"

"actually... i didn't find one," you admit meekly. "i made one."

"you made a spell?" he asks, astonished. "how? when? why?"

"you only have two questions," you tease him. it felt good to get him back.

"remember when i asked for the book that had that shield spell?"

"yes."

"i had an idea - what if we could make the water freeze around us? like the way the shield has a range around you where no one can hurt you. i put that concept onto freezing water, and made a spell where the water freezes into ice only around you. that way, you can skate, without freezing the whole lake!"

"that's- that's amazing..." he gawked at you. "have you tried it yet?"

"yep! i wanted to make sure it worked before i got your hopes up."

the both of you stand up and stumble towards the water. you point your wand at the blades on both your shoes, and said the incantation for the spell.

sunghoon tentatively stepped onto the water, wowing when the water around him froze. you watched as he slowly begun to skate on the lake, following him.

"you're crazy," he exclaims with joyful laughter. "you're literally insane. i don't know how you did that. but you're amazing."

you blushed at his praise, his words affecting you way more than anyone else's would have.

being distracted and flustered, you lost your footing on the water (or ice?) and slipped. thankfully, sunghoon dashed towards you and caught you before you planted into the ground.

"careful," he told you. "although i would like to practice that regenerating rib spell, i don't want you breaking any bones again."

you smile shyly, clinging onto his shoulder as he wraps his arm around your back, making sure you didn't fall.

"thank you," you say. "you're always looking after me."

"you did the same for me."

"just once, though. this must be the fifth time you've helped me."

"well, you're kind of clumsy."

"only when i'm with you, it seems."

sunghoon paused, and turned around to look at you, finally letting go of you. you gazed back at him.

"what do you mean?"

"that's two extra questions," you smile at him. "you owe me two answers."

you took in a breath and looked away. you weren't sure if you wanted to see his reaction.

"i think i like you, park sunghoon. meeting you and becoming your friend was a total accident, but a good one. i'm happy it happened, and i wouldn't have changed anything. otherwise, i wouldn't have ever experienced this carefree feeling when i'm around you. i wouldn't have felt what it's like to have my heart speed up, or to look forward to seeing a person every day. and i wouldn't have that person be anyone other than you." serendipity.

you turned to look at him, whose eyes were blown wide, mouth agape. his eyes put his feelings on full display. you could see the disbelief, relief, and affection in them. it gave you courage to say your next words.

"so, you owe me two answers."

he closed his mouth and nodded, gulping down in anticipation. you skate closer, inches disappearing between you two.

"sunghoon, would you let me be yours?"

"yes. yes, yes, yes," he nods, grabbing your wrists and pulling you closer. "if only you'll let me be yours."

you giggle, and lean into him. your faces are now centimetres apart.

"and lastly, can i kiss you?"

he chuckles back. "you really don't have to ask that question."

"just wanted to make sure," you smile, before he crashes his lips onto yours.

; AUTHOR'S CORNER! it's 1am, and this fic is a product of running my imagination with barely any guidelines whatsoever LOL so idk how coherent it is 😁 btw i am closing reqs for now! so i can focus on other works :)

; TAGLIST - @lovelovelovebts @miyseung @babyy-bambii . @kflixnet @k-films @/k-labels

[krysalla]

hide me from the cleaver, i'll hang with you forever! - ii

thomas hewitt x fat f!reader

read on ao3

part one

word count: 4.9k

warnings: 18+ MDNI, kidnapping, implied necrophilia, violence, forced cannibalism, vomit eating, hoyt is an asshole and terrorizing reader just because he can, reader is NOT having a fun time

Family dinner and a first encounter.

Fuller, Texas. You look down at the map you picked up at a gas station in Austin, just a shitty state map you got even though David insisted all he had to do was follow the signs on the highway. You trace your route from Austin. You can’t find Fuller on the map. It could be a ghost town for all you know, just like those old mining towns back home that collapsed into ruin under the weight of financial problems. Of course, that would be just your luck, lost in the middle of Texas in the dead of summer with a dwindling supply of gas. You scratch at your forearm. Not a single car has passed by you or been trailing behind you. The last car you saw was nearly an hour ago. If David was going the speed limit, that’s got to be at least fifty miles. You draw a thin line of blood and hiss. Fifty miles to walk in one direction, and who knows how long in the other.

Anna is looking at the fuel gauge every thirty seconds, biting at her nails the closer and closer it gets to empty. David is white knuckling the steering wheel. Lucy and Bobby have gone quiet, their antics having earned them a harsh reprimand by David. No one dares to peek, frightened of David’s ire and the situation you find yourselves in.

“Thank god!” David exclaims.

You shift in your seat and look out the window. Up ahead, like a little oasis in the desert, is a gas station. It can’t be more than a mile away. That won’t be nearly so bad a walk if the van shits out on you now. You can handle walking a mile one way to get there and another mile back to haul back gas. 

The van comes to a spluttering stop about a quarter of a mile away. The walk will do some good after being cooped up this long.

“You got a gas can?” Bobby asks, sliding the door open.

“Nah, man.”

“Alright. Anyone coming with?”

Lucy immediately throws her hand up in the air with a giggly smile and bright eyes.

“I’ll come too.” You push yourself off the seat and shuffle through the small pathway that spits you out to the door.

The breeze feels nice after the air that sits stagnant in the van. The trees rustle above you, barely enough leaves on them to shade you, but it’s a welcome reprieve. You can’t wait to get through Texas–the state stretches on for ages, and though it’s only your second day driving through it, it’s still too much.

It doesn’t take more than two or three minutes to reach the gas station and by that time you’re already soaked in sweat. Your hair sticks to your face, your shirt to your chest. You glance, as subtle as you can, to Bobby and Lucy walking hand in hand. You look for any evidence that they’ve been sweating too. You relax a little when you see the shine on their skin and the dampness on their shirts. It’s always embarrassing when you’re the only one that sweats. It gives them another thing to rib you about.

Now that you're standing right out front, you are having serious doubts about this place–it’s so run down, peeled paint and dusty windows and rusted over gas pumps. It’s dark inside, as if it’s not inhabited. You don’t want to be the one that says anything negative and bring down everyone’s high hopes, but you see that they are thinking the same thing. Lucy is grinding her heels in the dirt and pursing her lips, just waiting to say something cruel and out of proportion with the situation, though you may give her a little leeway considering. Bobby is red in the face and arms crossed over his chest.

Bobby is the first to speak, “Think anyone’s in there?”

-

Hoyt hauls you up by your upper arm and angles himself to get right in your face, close enough that you can smell beer and tobacco on his breath, he parts his lips and reveals his dip stained smile. You wrinkle your nose up at him, squirming in his grasp, you don’t want to know what kind of punishment he has in store for you, what merciless words he has. You work your jaw and spit at him.

“Get your fucking hands off me!”

Hoyt wipes at his face and you see his eyes change, steeling themselves as his grin turns into a snarl. His grip on your arm tightens and he wraps his other hand in your hair, he tugs you with such a force that you fall back on onto your knees. You cry out when you hit the floor. Tommy watches it all play out, hand still gripping the cleaver, a puddle of blood forming around his boots. 

“Made me lose the only pussy I’ve had in a month, you know what that kind of a dry spell can do to a man?” He yanks you by your hair and manages to pull a few strands out from your head. “Gonna make that up to me, huh?”

That’s where Tommy decides to interject. His free hand wraps around Hoyt’s wrist, the one that’s holding onto your hair. He snorts, chest heaving, and pulls Hoyt’s hand free, taking out more hair along with it. You sob and clutch at your head, bowing down in supplication to the two men above you.

“Please, ‘m sorry!” You reach out for Tommy, hoping whatever stayed his hand last night will emerge and grant you clemency, fingers curl into his pant leg and you drag yourself to him to lay your forehead against his strong thigh. His pants grow damp from your tears and saliva, unable to control your wailing. Gone is the girl from last night, strong enough to confront the beast, now that you have some hope of life, you can’t help but try to make it out of here alive. “Tommy, please.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name and he whips his head to look at you. His breath comes out as a whistle from the nostrils of his mask, eyes softening as he looks down at you.

You go slack against him when you feel him pat the top of your head and his thumb tenderly pressing the wrinkle out from between your eyebrows. He offers you his hand. You take it. It feels like you’re making a deal with the devil.

“Don’t think I won’t get mine, girl,” Hoyt mutters. “Both of you get the hell out.”

You cry silently, looking over your shoulder at Lucy’s spent body. No one should be treated that way. You’ve pushed your luck enough. Hoyt crawls over her, unbuckling his belt as Tommy herds you out of that room and back to the beginning. 

You hate him.

He ties your wrists to the headboard with an old scarf. He binds them together and lays you on your side. He slips a finger between your flesh and the scarf, tugging once to test the strength of the knot he tied. Whatever freedom Tommy and his family had cautiously trusted you with is revoked. 

He doesn’t leave, just sits beside you and wipes away your tears with a reverent touch. It makes you cry harder.

-

You’re untied the next morning by the old woman. She peers down at you over her cat eye glasses, examining you for something. Her thin lips are drawn tight and her skin sallow. You think she may have been beautiful once. 

“Up you get. Breakfast is on the table.”

Your arms ache, the sensation of pins and needles running all the way from your shoulders to the tips of your fingers. The skin around your wrists is tender where the rough fabric of the scarf chaffed your skin and rubbed you raw until it felt like your nerve endings have been exposed to the air. The woman waits at the threshold of the door, staring at you with impatience. You scurry to follow her, not willing to piss off another person in the house.

You pointedly ignore the front door as you pass it and lead back to the dining room. Blood stained the lace of the table cloth and you can see some chunks of Anna that haven’t been cleaned up splashed across the wall. The blood has been allowed to dry up on every surface, nobody bothered to clean it.

There was a large spread on the table, but it seems you’re the last one to get the notice for breakfast. Plates and baskets are empty. A few leftover forkfuls of scrambled eggs and half a biscuit is all that’s left. The woman follows your gaze.

“Breakfast is at six. If you miss it, you get whatever's left. There ain’t nothin’ left, you don’t get breakfast.”

“What time is it?” your voice cracks.

“Quarter to ten.”

“What… What am I doing here?”

“Tommy likes you,” she says simply, like that's a good enough answer. “Sit down, eat what you can.”

You don’t want to eat but your stomach growls and rumbles, cramping up from the lack of food, you’re hungry but you’re too sick to eat. She waits. You scoop what’s left of the eggs onto a plate and take the half eaten biscuit. The eggs are cold and the biscuit is hard and dry without any butter or honey to soften it. The old woman gives you a glass of water to wash it down with.

“Mama, you seen my…” Hoyt rounds the corner and sees you sitting there, biscuit hovering right outside your mouth. He stomps over and grabs it right out of your hands, takes a large bite and begins talking. “You don’t need none a that, got enough meat on your damn bones.” He sprays crumbs of biscuit over you and you scrunch your eyes tight and shut your mouth to avoid it.

The woman frowns. “What’d you need?”

“Lookin’ for my hat.”

“Don’t know where it’s at.”

He finishes up the biscuit and heads out.

“Don’t you mind him, he’s harmless.”

-

The entire day is spent under the watchful eye of the old woman, who you’ve come to know is Luda Mae. She talks and talks about her life, about her family and the turn the town took, how she found Tommy in a waste bin outside the old laughter house, the life blood of the town. She waxes on about the good old days, between the prosperity after the second war and the Korean War when Hoyt was taken from their home and shipped halfway across the world, how it changed the man. She does not ask a single question about you, not even to find out your name. She just refers to you as girl or baby.

She watches you as you clean, content to take the backseat and just watch, not have to lift a finger. She must be relieved to have another hand to help her out. You blink the sweat out of your eyes and wipe your arm against your forehead and continue to scrub at the grout on the floor. Luda Mae chain smokes while you work.

Thomas comes by later in the afternoon with a package of meat wrapped up in butcher paper and tied up with a piece of twine. He drops it on the counter.

“Think we got enough to last us until winter?” Luda Mae asks, unwrapping the meat. You’ve never seen a cut of meat look like that. You wonder what it is.

Thomas nods.

You glance at him from the ground. Towering above you, he seems like a god, untouchable, unknowable. He has not spoken a single word in your presence. Can he speak? How are you supposed to know what goes on inside his head, if you make a wrong move or say something wrong to him? You won’t have a moment to find out, you’ll be dead the second you do, just like Lucy.

He walks away, footsteps echoing off the walls as he is swallowed up by the house.

Luda Mae cuts up the meat into rough cubes and browns the chunks in a cast iron skillet, throws a few potatoes and onions and carrots into a pot and drowns it with a broth from one of the mason jars. The meat follows after. The best you can figure is beef, but you hadn’t seen any cattle out on the farm when you ran, matter of fact, there was no livestock to be seen.

You clean while she cooks and when the stew is ready, she hollers down for her boys to come eat. They file in–Hoyt first followed by Monty and trailing at the end of the pack is Tommy. They all sit around the table, taking up their usual spots while you wait to see what's left for you, which happens to be a spot between Hoyt and Tommy, sitting straight across from Luda Mae.

Luda Mae serves each of the men, giving Tommy a healthy portion. She serves herself and leaves the ladle in the pot. You serve yourself. The stew reeks, the potatoes and carrots undercooked and while the meat suffers the opposite problem.

You stare down at the bowl as Hoyt says grace, thanking the lord for this bountiful meal. You hold your tongue. 

“Amen.”

They all break into their meals. Tommy eats with his hands, tearing into the meat with sharp teeth and rips pieces off, pops carrots and potatoes into his mouth, barely stopping to take a breath as he devours. He licks his finger and brings the bowl to his lips, slurping down the broth until only the dregs are left. He mops up the broth with a dry piece of bread. Everyone else eats with cutlery but they are hardly any better, eating like they don’t know when their next meal will be. 

A piece of meat floats up to the top of the bowl.

“Eat your food,” Luda Mae says.

“What kind of meat is this?”

Tommy, evidently fed up with you, grabs your chin and reaches into the bowl with his other hand, fishes out a chunk of meat, tears it apart with, and shoves it against your closed mouth. You squirm in his grasp, sliding back into your chair to escape it. He grabs your cheek, forcing your jaw open much the same like when he inspected your mouth, and when your jaw drops, he shoves the meat in your mouth and throws his hand over your mouth and plugs up your nose. You choke down the piece of meat. It’s not pork or beef. It’s not gamey enough to be deer or tender enough to be elk. Too dark for it to be chicken or duck. You eventually swallow. He shovels the food down your throat, breaking up the potatoes and carrots like you’re a child incapable of chewing your food. Whatever it is, it’s inedible.

He continues shoveling food down your throat and tears spring to your eyes as you're helpless against it. When you refuse to swallow even after he blocked off your airways, he pushes the food down with a thick finger while you gag around the intrusion. He goes too deep and you suffer the consequences, your torso rolling forward as your stomach clenches and pushes vile back up your throat. It spews out between Thomas’ fingers and he snatches his hand back. Your head hangs forward and you brace yourself with your elbows against the table. It burns just as bad coming up as it did going down.

Hoyt slams his spoon down against the table and stands. “Ungrateful bitch. We don’t waste food.” Hoyt scoops up the chunks of your vomit and grabs your head, ducking you down to eat out of his hand. “Come on, eat up.”

“Hoyt.” Luda Mae warns.

“Now what, Mama?” Hoyt looks up at her and sneers. “Gotta teach her some manners.”

Tommy doesn’t come to rescue you this time. He doesn’t even look at you, doesn’t acknowledge what Hoyt is doing to you. He curls into his seat, one hand petting over the dried out flesh of David’s face, right where his cheek would be, eyes down turned as he makes a noise in his throat. 

The acidic smell makes you gag and that gives Hoyt the opening he’s been looking for and shoves the chunks into your mouth, mirroring Tommy. He scoops, pours it into your mouth and holds your mouth and nostrils closed. You cry and wail, thrash against the seat, you burn in humiliation as you swallow each mouthful of the acidic sludge. 

He gets right in your face and whispers as if he’s telling you a secret, “Told you I’d get mine, girl.” Hoyt shoves you out of your chair. You hit the ground with a thud and curl into yourself, covering your head with your hands, prepared for a physical battering that never comes.

“I’m sorry!” you wail. That’s all you seem to know how to say now. How much more indignity will you have to withstand here? You’re no longer a person here. You imagine what would happen if you were to escape, how you would be hailed as the lone survivor, the lucky one, the one that should be grateful to be alive. It’s hard to consider yourself lucky or grateful to still be breathing when you are treated as nothing more than an unloved dog.

“Best not see you wastin’ food like that again.” 

Everyone at the table continues on as if nothing happened while you are suspended in time, curled up on the ground soaking in your bile. They chat about their respective days. Luda Mae scolds the man in the wheelchair for feeding his dog at the table. A hand reaches down to you, pets your shoulder gently. Tommy. You can’t stand his touch. What use was it to be chosen by him, to be the only survivor of a brutal slaughter, and he won’t even protect you from these punishments Hoyt has decided to debase you with? He can’t like you that much like Luda Mae claimed he did. He keeps on petting you. 

Dinner ends. Monty and Hoyt leave the dining room, not bothering to bring their dishes to the sink, and you can hear a television set turn on and Luda Mae clears the table. Tommy does not get up to help her, so preoccupied with you. He pulls you back into your seat, grunting at your dead weight–you refuse to participate anymore–and he cleans you up. He wipes the vomit from around your mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and licks his thumb to wipe at the dried spots of bile across your cheek and chin, picks at the chunks in your hair and on your clothes. Tommy nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head.

-

Luda Mae doesn’t want anything to do with you today. She ignores you when she unties you from the bedpost and leads you not to the kitchen but out the front door. You stumble at the threshold, wondering if it’s a trick, that if you take one step outside, Tommy will come running like a bat out of hell and mow you down with the chainsaw and serve you up on a silver platter. Luda Mae scoffs and pull you by the wrist outside.

“Monty, I’m goin’ down to the station. You watch her.”

Monty scowls at her and begins to argue. Luda Mae ignores him and begins her walk down the dirt road, off to the gas station.

He ignores you while his mutt growls and yips at you, annoyed by the stranger that’s taken up residence in its home, disturbing the careful balance of family life. 

Monty pulls out a carton of cigarettes and lights one up.

“Can I get one?”

He side eyes you. Up until now, Monty has pretended you don’t exist, hasn’t so much as spared you a glance or a word. He’s decidedly more bearable than anyone else. He pulls another cigarette out and hands it and a lit match to you. You light the cigarette, shake the flame out and toss the match out into the long grass.

You take a long drag. It’s been years since you last touched one and what a relief it is. The acrid taste of tobacco and smoke overwhelming you, the burn in your lungs when you inhale, familiar and homey, it relaxes you. The smell of cigarette smoke will cover up the scent of vomit, a decided improvement. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

You look at his legs. The ends of his legs are scared to hell and looks like the flaps of skin left to close over the old wound were crudely sewn closed. The skin is red and irritated. The dog steps close to the end of his left leg and you hear a hiss from Monty.

You lean up against the column and nod your chin in his direction. “What happened to your legs?”

“Huntin’ accident.” 

You hum. 

-

You wipe away the grimy window with your hand. Your palm comes back greasy and dark gray. The store is dark inside. And just as you thought from spending a minute looking at the outside, it’s abandoned, there’s no way anyone has been in there in ages.

“I think we’re outta luck.” You squat down and brush your palm along the dried up patch of grass and weeds. “I don’t see anyone in there.”

“Goddamn it.” Bobby kicks at the dirt. “I knew we should’ve stopped for gas at the last town. Fuckin’ David.”

“What are we going to do?” Lucy whimpers.

“I don’t fuckin’ know.”

The door to the station opens and shuts. An old woman with cat eye glasses and an apron tied around her waist looks over the group of you with an unimpressed glean in her eye. She looks mean, hardened by the years of the Texas sun and rural living. She takes a drag of her cigarette and points to the three of you with the lit end. “What y’all think you’re doin’?”

“We were just stopping for gas,” you offer.

The woman shrugs. “Ain’t got any.” 

“How?” Lucy squawks. “This is a gas station!”

“Girl, did you even look around when ya’ drove through?” She leans over the edge of the porch, upper lip curling in a sneer. “It look like I got people coming in here bothering me for gas every day?” 

“I know it’s a lot to ask but would you be able to give us a ride or maybe you could call someone to take us up to the next town to get gas?” you ask.

“Nearest town is thirty miles west. Ain’t nobody I know wasting gas like that, not with prices like they are. Best hope you got enough to get you there.”

Lucy stutters over her words and fuming until she goes red in the face. “Miserable, old hag!”

Bobby stalks up towards the woman. She doesn’t shirk under him, just looks at him as if he said something funny and it only aggravates him. He gets right into her face, throwing some kind of hissed threat at her that you can’t make out. She only laughs and blows smoke in his face.

“Let's get out of here.” Bobby mutters and grabs both you and Lucy by the arms, tugging you along back towards the van. You’re not sure who is going to be brave enough to break the news to David. These two have royally fucked it up. You rip yourself out of Bobby’s grasp, arm jiggling with the force you use.

“You guys head back, I’m gonna try again.”

“Dumpling, get back here. We aren’t wasting anymore time on that bitch.”

“Don’t call me that!” you shout.

Bobby raises an eyebrow and Lucy snickers, covering it up with a well polished hand. “Why should I?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Why try and reason with him? You knew this would happen. You are no longer the fun loving, self hating fat girl they want that goes along with their jokes and barbs, no longer just set decoration or something to fill the gaps in conversation. They won’t see you as a person, it won’t matter what you say. So you don’t. “I’ll be back.”

The old woman has retreated back into the station by the time you get back to the porch. You push open the door and knock on the door jam. “Ma’am?”

It’s darker than you thought it would be; the only sources of light come from the windows and the display case. The case is full of cuts of meat that have gone gray, infested with maggots and flies buzzing about, feast happily on their spoiled meal. Littering the walls are the most gaudy and grotesque trinkets, the most prominent being the moose head mounted against the wall, looming over you, its glass eyes watching you, warning you that something isn’t quite right here. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Someone is watching you.

You look around the room and toward the back you see the outline of a person swallowing up the doorway they stand in.

“Hello?”

They do not respond nor do they move into the light. You approach them even though everything in your gut is telling you to run, run as far as you can and never look back, but you crush that feeling under your foot because what the worst that can happen? Bad things don’t happen to people like you. 

The man shuffles backwards when you come to stand in front of him, You stop him with a light touch on the wrist. His fingers splay apart and then curl up into a fist before relaxing into their natural position. His fingers twitch. You let go. You can’t imagine that you make him nervous, not with his size and the strength he practically oozes. He makes you nervous, though most men do—you can never tell what they are thinking or if they will treat you with any respect or kindness, they take one look at you and decide right then and there, based purely on the way you look, how they will treat you, and more often than not it is with calculated disinterest or rudeness as they try to chat up other women, prettier women who don’t take up space like you do. He must know about what it feels to take up space with his wide shoulders and barrel chest, his stomach rounded off with a layer of fat and thick arms corded with muscle from manual labor. Maybe he will show you a shred of decency. He’s wearing a thick apron stained in blood—he must be the one that butchered the pig in the display case. His face is shrouded in shadow. He’s tall, taller than any man you have ever met before. 

“Excuse me, sir.” He perks up, shoulders drawn tight and back ramrod straight, making himself taller. You try to peer at his face. You can see the white of his eyes. “I was looking for the woman that works here.”

“What are you doin’ here?” the woman says from behind you. 

You jump at the sound of her voice and turn your back to the man. “I came to apologize for my… friends.”

She comes closer to you, crowding you closer and closer against the man. Eventually, there’s no place left for you to go, you don’t quite touch him but you can feel the heat radiate off of him in thick waves. You swallow hard, raising your hands up to placate her, but she takes no notice, expression growing sour as she sees your proximity to the man. His right hand hovers below your elbow, fingers twitching, itching to grab hold of your soft arm. 

“You leave my boy alone and get out of here.”

Her son. How could a woman so small spawn something so towering? 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak out and try to shuffle out between the two bodies. A hand grazes across the back of your shoulder blades. You don’t bother to turn back to look at the man. You’re burning hot from the sudden ambush of the woman and the humiliation of being so stupid as to think you could make amends for your friends and try to find a way out. They will laugh at you, see the way you hold yourself together and take it as a chance to tear you apart and break you down, take out their frustrations on you, the situation that they created, always the scapegoat.

The sudden shift from dark to light blinds you a moment as your eyes adjust. You start back to the van, kicking up dust behind you.

“Wait.” The woman steps out of the door and off the porch and moseys on over to you. Long gone is that scorn in her eye, replaced by something kinder. “I’ll call the Sheriff. He might have some gas to spare. I’ll have him come ‘round.”

“Really?” You smile and reach out to her, grabbing her hand in yours. Finally! Something is working out for you. You’re going to be able to get back home and bury this trip and your friends away deep in your memory. This is the last trip, last time you will see them. “Thank you, ma’am. You have no idea how grateful I am.”

“Go on, wait with your friends. It won’t take more than forty minutes for him to get here.”

“Thank you!” You turn back on your heel, feeling lighter than ever.

[wakacreations]

Kinktober Day 3: Raphael Breeding

Author's Note:

I don't usually write smut but what better month to learn how to during this month. I honestly spin a wheel to determine which infernal I write about so far it has been Raphael.

Pairing: Raphael x F! Tav/Reader

Content: NSFW - Dubcon, Choking, Breeding,

Word Count: 1215

Summary:

"Could the mouse honestly believe they can scurry away so easily?" Raphael catches Tav going back on their deal. What is the punishment for stealing back their contract in the House of Hope? Reminding them why they signed their name away the first time around. "The good thing is though, there's only one little voice you really should listen to. Mine."

“You were always my favorite client. Oh, how much you fought, begged and stole to keep your hide intact.” He purred.

“There is a tenaciousness to you little mouse.” The jingle of bells grew nearer with every step you took towards the portal.

“You have the audacity to defy the fates, to face the gods and to deny people of their rightful days of reckoning.” You feel the warmth of Hellfire pressed against your back.

“While I do not mind whatever chaos you leave in your wake, it is your realm after all. I am the Fox who warns and watches, a humble guide if you will.” The brush of a heated breath licks at your ear. 

“Yet, you chose to not heed the caution I bestowed upon you. I went through all the pleasantries as I am but the most gracious host.” A giant arm envelops you from behind, wrapping itself tight around your waist.

“There is only so much I can tolerate.” He growled, feeling the rumble of his chest on your back.

“You will pay for all your manners of conduct in this home, mouse.” His claws come to grip your delicate throat squeezing in warning of what is to come. A dark chuckle fills your ear as you feel him twitch alive at your backside. Your lower muscles clench at the contact. You desperately claw at his firm hand feeling your head grow lighter. Your vision blurring at the edges.

“I can easily snap you with the twitch of my palm. I still have half the mind to do so.” He rolled his hips against your plush behind. Your vision darkens the smell of cherries and smoke fills your nostrils. Flames licked up your body singeding you as the heat roamed, stinging your skin. You shivered at the cool silk brushes underneath you.

“I am in the business of being a savior than just being a mere devil,” releasing their grip on your airways. You take a deep breath in, feeling a flush of warmth spread through you as the sudden blood rush to your head. Colors danced in your vision all wavering and vivid. The softness of his cheek brushes against yours.

“Do not move, less if you have any ounce of self preservation or do. The outcome will lead to my own pleasure in the end.” The devil spoke into your ear. The bed groaned. The pressure on your back disappears, a tail wraps your ankle dragging you to the edge of the bed. 

“You enjoy our little games, mouse that much is evident. You fear what you crave.“ His hands grab fists full of your ass, your hips grind into the bedding.

“Always so eager to respond to temptation,” a smirk played on his lips as he parted your cheeks.

“Try as you might to escape me. Your arousal says otherwise,” rubbing his thick rod against your slick, coating his ridges.

“Admit you love my attention and pleasure,” sharply thrusting into you. You scream a high pitched wail clutching at the sheets. The searing stretch as his cock forces you to accommodate his hefty girth, his infernal ridges catching on your tight walls, pressing further till he's completely seated inside. A tremble shudders through you from a mix of your pain and arousal to his overwhelming punishing thrusts. Tears prickle in your eyes when you feel him kiss your cervix. You whimper into the silk.

“You will not hide from me, mouse.” A firm strike lands on your soft cheek, rippling before him. You yelp, feeling his heated hand print leaving his mark. His.

“Keep your head raised. You will not deny me,” rubbing his palm over your reddened cheek. He moves his hips inside you, pulling out and slamming back in. Through each long rough stroke, you feel him, all of him. The way his ridges rake against your quivering walls as you try to cling desperately for any amount of pleasure. A low groan escapes him in approval. His clawed hand reaches into your hair pulling you towards him.

“Derive any pleasure you can. Beg for it if you must. You will accept all that I am.” His voice gone ragged, his thrusts quickened as he chased his pleasure. You try to angle away from his punishing blows but his arm presses your hips down keeping you in place. Where you truly belong. A sudden rush of his burning seed spills into you, marking you within. Tears stream down your face as you feel him pump into you pushing his seed deeper.

“You know my appetite is insatiable, little mouse. You will come to enjoy it, won't you?” Another sharp strike to your cheek, you cry out. He moans, hips stuttering at your sudden clench.

“Yes! That is it, love. I will take you again and again till you know nothing else.” His tail whipping blow after blow on your backside littered your cheeks with bruising kisses. Moans fall from you in an endless stream, bracing yourself for each delicious sting. Your hips pressed back into the cambion's. His ragged breathing fills your ears.

“I will fill you to the brink, mouse. Your womb will know only I. You will ache, you will beg for my seed to take root deep inside of you. Isn't that what you want? To stay here within my walls?” Raphael pressed his weight into you. The warmth of his chest on your back. His arms come to wrap around you driving his cock to carve into you. The flap of his wings cast a shadow overhead. His face nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder.

“How long will you fight against me, Tav?” You whimpered, his fangs running against the column of your throat, sucking and biting as you shiver from pleasure. 

“You are mine!” His hips moving in a feverish frenzy, sinking his teeth into you. There will be no else but him. You cry out as you feel him collide into you with full force. “Nothing but you,” as you feel the growing tension build from within.

“That's right, such a good little mouse. You will remember. You will learn. You will never forget,” he roared, emphasizing with each buck of his hips. Your senses are assaulted by him.

The burning heat of his body that presses and melds with your own, the deep rich sultry voice that coats his words of deprive temptations, the weight of their ribbed cock that sits heavy in your stomach demanding you take in their wide girth, and the intoxicating smell of sweet cherries linger on your skin. What is there left of you in this body of yours?

“Who do you belong to?” His hands come to deliver a harsh twist to your nipples. The tension within drives you mad. You raise your hips to grind against him, to gain whatever pleasure he generously bestowed onto you. You feel his claws press on your throat, the familiar weightlessness returns. Whatever he desires. Your toes clench as you come undone, feeling his engorged cock filling you once more, spilling out of your abused hole. An inhuman roar piercing through the air. 

“Raphael,” you utter when their grip slackened. Three burning eyes stare down from above as your exhaustion takes hold.

[steddiealltheway]

Part two of The Danger in Romanticizing. Part One. Ao3 Link.

The entire time Eddie is over, Steve can’t stop smiling. There’s just something about him that puts Steve at ease and simultaneously keeps him on his feet with the continuous banter. And he brings out a side of Chrissy that he’s never seen before that makes Steve like her even more. Even Robin seems in constant high spirits around him, making jokes about nerdy shit that has Steve exchanging confused looks with Chrissy.  

But Steve also finds solace in Eddie whenever they become clear third wheels to the couple. And honestly, it’s nice to have someone else to share these moments with, and he doesn’t just mean Eddie. The four of them together fill a hole in Steve’s heart that he didn’t know was empty. 

When it gets late, Eddie and Chrissy begin to excuse themselves, and Steve’s heart sinks a little. But at least he knows he’ll at least see Chrissy soon. 

He moves toward the front hallway as the girls go into Robin’s room to have a private moment before they say goodbye. 

Eddie puts his hands in his pockets and smiles at Steve. “I’ve never had someone around for this part. Then again, usually I just go to my room.” 

“I do the same, but this is nice.” 

“It is,” Eddie agrees, taking a step closer to him. 

Steve takes a stabilizing breath as Eddie pushes into his personal space hardly for the first time that night. It seems like he’s incapable of keeping his distance, but Steve doesn’t mind. 

“It was really nice meeting you. Better than I expected,” Eddie admits. 

Steve laughs. “I would hope so, considering we were prepared for the worst.” 

“And it’s a good thing I was so I could be slightly prepared for the sight of your closet,” Eddie jokes, crossing his arms and leaning forward. 

Steve lightly shoves him back while rolling his eyes, but Eddie just chuckles in response and bounces right back into his space. Steve fixes him with a look and asks, “What are you going to do when you inevitably see me in my horrible clothes?” 

“Begrudgingly admit that you look good in them.” 

The comment takes Steve off guard, but as he’s searching for a way to reply, Eddie points behind him. Steve turns and finds that he’s pointing at a picture of Robin at her high school graduation in her cap and gown beaming at the camera as Steve pulls her into his side with a proud smile wearing one of his favorite striped polos. He smiles at the memory. 

“I don’t know how you do it, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in that.” 

Steve snorts and turns back to Eddie. “I doubt I could pull off your style either.” 

Eddie looks him up and down for a moment before saying, “If I wasn’t about to leave then I would say we should trade clothes right now.” 

“Maybe another time?” 

“Definitely, as long as there’s no photo evidence.” 

Steve laughs again and claps a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m glad we finally met.” 

“Me too,” Eddie says with a small smile. 

Steve isn’t sure why, but he lets his hand linger on Eddie’s arm for a moment, debating if it’s too soon to hug him goodbye. 

Unfortunately, Robin and Chrissy decide that’s the best moment to leave Robin’s room, so Steve quickly drops his hand from Eddie’s shoulder and shoves it in his pocket. He ignores the look Robin gives him and moves toward the front door. 

They go through the process of saying goodbye and Steve hugs Chrissy while Robin pulls Eddie into a hug. When they pull away, Steve can see Robin and Chrissy watching him and Eddie intently, so in a moment of panic he holds out his hand in front of him, going for a handshake and an awkward, “Good to meet you.” 

Eddie just smiles and takes his hand, shaking it once before letting go. Steve tries not to let his hand linger for too long and pulls it through his hair to give it something else to do. 

He watches sadly as the pair leave, understanding why Robin always lingers in the doorway for a little while after Chrissy leaves. 

He watches as Eddie turns back and gives him a final wave that Steve quickly returns before he gets into what must be his car with Chrissy. Once they drive off, Robin slowly closes the door. 

The pair linger for a moment then Steve rushes off to the living room saying, “I need to call Dustin!” 

He starts dialing the number before Robin can say anything about the evening, and Steve tries to ignore why he’s unwilling to reflect. Luckily, Dustin’s mom answers the phone quickly. “Hello?” 

“Hi Ms. Henderson, it’s Steve.” 

Claudia coos on the other line, “Steve! It’s so good to hear your voice. How is life in the city?” 

Steve smiles and sits on the arm of the couch. “It’s great! I’m really enjoying it here. In fact, I think Dustin would too. I was wondering if he could come visit one weekend. I could even get Robin to take him on a tour of the college.” 

“That sounds wonderful! I was just-” There’s a little commotion on the line as Steve hears Dustin ask who his mom is talking to then rustling as Dustin tries to take the phone from her hands. “Dusty-!” 

“Steve!” Dustin yells into the phone. 

Steve pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing a bit. “Hey Henderson, you’re never going to believe who I just met.” Robin shoots him a smile as she goes into her room and closes the door. 

“Carl Sagan.” 

“No. Wait, who?” 

“Carl Sagan,” Dustin repeats sounding annoyed. “You know the astronomer and astrophys-” 

“Let’s circle back to this later. But think about some of your favorite books,” Steve tries again. 

Dustin pauses before saying, “Well, Tolkien is dead, so I’m not sure who you could be talking about.” 

Steve sighs and gives up. “Eddie Munson.” 

There’s a pause on the other line then a gasp. “No way! He’s never put any author description or any way to contact him! How could you have met him?” 

“Friend of a friend,” Steve answers simply. “But guess what?” 

“He’s a total asshole?” Dustin guesses excitedly. 

Steve pinches his nose and dramatically slides onto the couch. “You’re killing me, Henderson. But no, he’s not an asshole. He’s actually really great, and he agreed to meet you. Plus, apparently, Maybe We’re the Same was originally a novel instead of a children’s book.” 

“You’re telling me that there’s more to the universe that I will directly be able to ask the author about?” 

“Yes.” 

Dustin laughs on the other line and yells, “Mike is going to be so jealous! Do you think I could bring some of Will’s drawings that were inspired by the book? He’s always wanted to get feedback from Eddie.” 

Steve shrugs. “I mean yeah sure. But I’m not sure what he’ll really be able to say.” 

“Dude, Eddie illustrated the book, of course he’s going to have a lot to say. I wonder if he could use some of Will’s art if he ever decides to publish the original novel! Oh! You should bring him to Hawkins whenever you visit so he can meet the whole party! Only after I visit though! I want to be able to have bragging rights.” 

Steve smiles as he listens to Dustin rant, but he gets stuck on the fact that Eddie illustrated the book and finds himself wondering what else he draws and if his original novel included more drawings that he had to cut from the children’s book. If so, how could he decide what to keep and what to remove? 

Steve shakes his head as he goes down a rabbit hole of more questions for Eddie that he wants to ask. It’s like everything new he finds out about him makes him want to learn more. 

“Earth to Steve. Do you copy?” Dustin says loudly. 

Steve blinks and clears his throat. “Yeah. Sorry, I was in my own world for a second there.” 

“I was just saying how I’ll have to ask my mom if I can visit during fall break which is about three weeks from now.” 

Steve smiles and sits up. “Yeah, I’ll have to check my calendar, but I usually don’t have anything planned for the weekends. I’ll also have to check with Robin, but your mom sounded excited about you visiting when I mentioned it to her earlier.” 

“Awesome! I can’t believe this! But hey, Suzie is going to call soon, so I have to go, but call sometime so we can catch up!” 

Steve smiles sadly and nods. “I’ll call when I can get some plans solidified. It was good talking to you. Tell Suzie I say hi.” 

“I will! Bye, Steve.” 

“Bye, Dustin.” Steve puts the phone back in its holder and tries to ignore the ache in his chest at the thought of all the kids growing up. He slowly stands up and makes his way to Robin’s door, knocking before pushing it open. 

She looks up at him from her small desk and puts her pencil down. “Dustin’s visiting?” 

“If you’re okay with putting up with him for a weekend.” 

Robin leans back in her chair and sighs, “I’m probably going to regret saying this, but I kind of miss the kid. So, I don’t mind putting up with him as long as I don’t have some big exam or paper coming up and he bothers me while studying.” 

“I may have also told his mom that you wouldn’t mind showing him around the campus,” Steve confesses, deciding to bite the bullet early on so she can’t complain too much later. 

Robin’s mouth pulls into a flat line before she throws her hands up and says, “Sure. Why not? As long as Chrissy can help because she’d be better at selling the place.” 

“Sound good,” Steve affirms with a smile, stepping back to leave Robin to her homework. 

“Wait,” Robin says and crosses her arms. “What did you really think of Eddie?” 

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. He thought he was pretty clear about how he felt. “He’s great. I mean, I can see why you would think we wouldn’t get along, but that’s just surface-level stuff.” 

“He’s not too much for you?” Robin presses on. 

Steve shakes his head and says, “He’s...” he trails off when he realizes the next word that comes to mind is perfect. He clears his throat and corrects himself. “He’s really great." 

It’s like a weight is lifted off Robin’s shoulders. She’s quick to ramble, “Okay, that’s great! Now we can hang out more as a group, and there isn’t this overbearing weight of ‘what if they hate each other?’ Because at first, we both agreed that you two would either hate each other’s guts or you’d absolutely...” she trails off and freezes. 

“Absolutely what?” 

Robin shakes her head and looks down at her nails. “You’d absolutely hit it off like you just did now,” she completes the thought, but Steve can tell that’s not what she was going to say. 

“Mhm,” Steve says, trying to pull the truth out of her. 

Instead, Robin just blazes on saying, “But you know I tend to assume the worst, and Chrissy sometimes does too.” 

“It’s like you two were made to worry each other to death,” Steve teases. 

Robin flips him off and turns back to her work staring at some type of worksheet. “I’m glad you like him.” 

Steve’s heart beats a little too hard at the comment. “Me too.” He steps out of the doorway and says, “Good luck with your work.” 

“I’m gonna need it,” Robin groans. 

Steve closes the door behind him and makes his way to his room, grabbing Eddie’s book as he sits on his bed. His fingers trace over the cover of The Boy as he looks off in the distance at the dragon coming to attack the town while Dart stands at his side. Steve has no idea how Eddie can be so damn talented and embarrassed about it. He wonders if he’s the same way about whatever instrument he played in his band. 

Steve sighs and lays back, trying not to think too hard about the man as he flips through the pages of his book with new appreciation for all his drawings. When he gets to the end of the story, he closes it and places it on his nightstand, staring off at his blank walls. 

Eddie was right, he needs to decorate. But he’s not getting rid of any of his clothes. 

Steve shakes his head and wonders how someone new can have such a big impact on his life in such a short amount of time. 

-:-:-:-:-:-

The next morning, Steve rushes to get ready, opting to get a few more minutes of sleep before going in. In his rush, he forgets to leave Robin a note to tell Chrissy to tell Eddie he says hi. But as the day goes on, he can’t help but think that the notion of the note could’ve been a little too ridiculous. 

He forgets it entirely when he gets in the tedious process of going through paperwork, but he’s glad that he has an excuse for staying away from the floor where Collin is swaggering around. Steve sometimes wonders if all his stories are lies to cover the fact that no one finds him as attractive as he finds himself. 

When the clock hits five, Steve immediately clocks out and rushes to get back to his apartment. As soon as he’s inside, he feels a sense of relief. 

Robin peaks around the corner while he’s taking off his shoes. “Hey, how was work?” 

“Same as always.” 

“How’s Collin?” 

Steve chuckles, “Same as always. How were your classes?”

Robin groans, “My sociolinguistics professor still talks too damn fast, but the class is literally about language. And I had my work shift without Chrissy today.”

“Tragic,” Steve teases, making his way to the fridge to figure out what he’ll make for dinner that night. 

“Oh! I nearly forgot. Chrissy wanted me to tell you that Eddie asked her to tell me to tell you he says hi.” 

Steve slowly turns around and squints at Robin as he processes what the hell she just said. 

“Eddie says hi,” she quickly clarifies as it finally clicks. 

Steve smiles, thinking that maybe the note wouldn’t have been so ridiculous after all. “Well, tell Chrissy to tell Eddie that I say hi.” 

“Will do,” Robin says, saluting him before making her way back to her room. 

The rest of the night goes by fairly quickly once Steve starts making dinner, opting for an easy enchilada recipe for two. Him and Robin fill each other in on the rest of their days over dinner like always, and Steve follows the tradition of hanging around the kitchen while Robin does the dishes, going on about random stuff like trying to plan what they’ll do when Dustin gets there. 

At eight, Robin makes her way to the couch and settles in next to their phone to complete her nightly call with Chrissy. Steve politely excuses himself (rolls his eyes and tells Robin to not be so disgustingly in love when they have thin walls) and puts on some light music to give her privacy. 

Steve sits on his bed and debates going through his latest sports magazine, but instead, he stares at his walls and tries to imagine hanging stuff up. He’s not sure why it’s so hard with just his room since every other place in the apartment is decorated just fine. But maybe it’s the combination of his childhood bedroom like he told Eddie and the fact that maybe his walls reflect how he feels about himself. 

He doesn’t mean for it to be a sad thought. But outside of high school, he feels... unimportant and uninteresting. And maybe a little bit stuck. 

His mind flashes back to his conversation with Eddie asking him why he doesn’t do something else. Honestly, he doesn’t know what else he would like to do. He makes it by at his dad’s dealership, but he doesn’t really enjoy his job. Sure, interacting with people can be nice, but the paperwork just gives him a headache. Or maybe it’s just Collin. 

He sighs and lays back on his bed. Maybe one day he’ll figure it out. 

There’s a light knock on his door and Steve props himself up on his elbows as Robin opens the door. “There’s a call for you.” 

Steve frowns. Usually people don’t call him. “I didn’t hear the phone ring,” he comments as he makes his way to the living room and picks up the phone. “Hello?” 

“What are you wearing?” 

Steve laughs as Chrissy yells, “Eddie!” in the background of the call. He can practically see the face the two of them are making at each other even though he has only known Eddie for a little more than twenty-four hours.  

“I’m wearing one of my green polos with khakis,” Steve answers easily. “No belt though because I took it off once I got home.” 

Robin freezes on her way to her room and turns around with a frown on her face. 

“That sounds horrible.” 

“Well, I could wear something like a button down, slacks, and a tie like my coworker wears if that’s what you prefer,” Steve replies, laying back on the couch with a big smile, ignoring the look Robin is giving him. 

“I’d actually prefer you in noth-” Eddie starts but is quickly cut off on the other line by Chrissy which is unfortunately muffled by what Steve assumes to be a hand over the phone. When the muffled noises go away Eddie says, “Chrissy told me I’m not allowed to be my flirtatious self with you yet.” 

“Once again, they’re trying to keep us from each other. But Robin hasn’t banned me yet, so I can ask what are you wearing?” 

“Nothing,” Eddie says with what sounds like a proud smile. 

“Nothing?” Steve repeats and whistles low. “You and Chrissy are definitely too comfortable with each other.” 

Robin starts waving her hands at Steve to get his attention. He glances at her and she’s quick to mouth what the fuck? Steve laughs and says into the phone, “Hold on a second, I have to explain to Robin that we’re not actually having phone sex.” 

“Oh my gosh, Steve,” Robin says and puts her head in her hands. 

Eddie gasps loudly, “We’re not? What a shame. That would be a fun first phone call.” 

Steve smiles and quickly remembers that he actually needs to ask him something. “Not to change subjects, but I was wondering if your weekends are typically free. Dustin said he might come up in a few weeks, so I was hoping you could meet him then. If you still want to of course.” 

“I would love to. And yeah, usually my weekends are free,” Eddie pauses before saying, “Saying that out loud sounds so sad.” 

“Don’t worry, my weekends are usually free, too.” 

Eddie dramatically sighs, “What a relief. I was really afraid of not sounding cool especially since you were a former jock.” 

Steve laughs and can practically feel his day shifting from mediocre to good. 

“Well, Chrissy is about to kill me because I promised I just wanted to briefly say hi,” Eddie announces. 

“Hi,” Steve says, sounding a little too flustered for his liking. 

But then Eddie practically giggles when saying, “Hi,” which makes Steve feel better. 

Suddenly, Eddie is quickly saying, “Okay, Chrissy is taking the phone now. Bye!” 

Steve doesn’t have time to properly say goodbye before Chrissy is on the line. “Hi, Steve. Sorry if he bothered you.” 

“Not at all,” Steve insists. “Thank you for giving up some of your phone time to let us talk by the way. I’ll give you back to Robin now.” He tilts the phone away from his mouth and says to Robin, “Chrissy is back.” 

“Thank god. I think I would’ve died if I had to witness any more of that,” Robin says as she grabs the phone and says, “Hi sweetheart. We never should’ve introduced them to each other.” 

Steve just laughs and makes his way back to his room. He turns at the doorway and says, “Tell Chrissy I said goodnight.” 

Robin tilts the phone away from her mouth. “And Eddie?” 

“And Eddie,” Steve confirms with a smile. 

As he gets ready for bed, he’s hit with the thought that Eddie’s “sort of boyfriend” is probably waiting for Chrissy and Robin to get off the phone so he can call Eddie. Or maybe he called before. Steve tries not to let the thought make him too sick, but he definitely has to add it to the list of questions he wants to ask Eddie. He wonders how much the list will grow as time goes on. 

Part Three

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[stylesluxx]

intro (end of the world) – a.hotchner

[warnings: emotional infidelity? i mean, she tries to fight it]

summary: in which you and hotch are oblivious to your feelings about each other. but when you’re put in a dangerous position, all you can think about is your boss, not your boyfriend – inspired by intro (end of the world) by ariana grande

word count: 2,123

main masterlist

"So how long have you and Evan been together?" Emily asked, sitting on your desk, her curiosity evident.

You've always been good at blending in. It's one of the reasons you were recruited to the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU) in the first place. From day one, you made a solid impression—polite, competent, quick on your feet. You listen more than you talk, and when you do speak, your insights are sharp and intuitive. Well-liked by your team, you built solid professional relationships but kept a safe distance when it came to your personal life.

Friendly enough to avoid suspicion, distant enough so no one pries too deeply. You deflect personal questions with ease, and most of your colleagues chalk it up to professionalism. But deep down, you know there's more beneath the surface. The last thing you want is for them to start profiling you.

"About seven years," you reply, shrugging as you flip through paperwork.

"And he hasn't put a ring on it yet? I might need to talk to this guy," Derek huffs, half-joking but protective.

You chuckle, shaking your head. If only he knew it was you who had been holding off on marriage. Evan always talked about it, but you would quickly change the subject whenever he brought it up.

Evan is sweet, always thoughtful—like today, when he brought you lunch after you'd forgotten yours. After long, draining cases, you'd come home to warm bubble baths and a home-cooked meal. He's perfect in so many ways. But he just isn't the one.

And that guilt eats at you, especially since your attention has shifted to someone else. Someone who's not your boyfriend—someone who happens to be your boss.

Maybe it's Aaron Hotchner's stoic maturity, or maybe it's something more shallow, like his quiet authority. There's just something about him that pulls you in, making you question the stability you've built with Evan. And every time you catch a glimpse of Hotch from across the office, you can feel your heart skip, your eyes trailing after him as he moves from his office to the kitchen.

You aren't aware of the way your expression changes when he's around, but Derek and Emily notice. They exchange knowing glances, watching you.

"Do you even want to marry Evan?" Emily asks, her eyebrows furrowing in genuine concern.

"Um... Am I the only one with paperwork today?" you snap, a little more sharply than intended, but they let it slide.

"Uh-huh," Derek mutters as he wheels his chair back to his desk, throwing you a suspicious look.

Days pass, and the unspoken tension between you and Hotch continues to grow, lingering in the air whenever you're in the same room. It's subtle, barely noticeable to anyone else, but Emily and Derek see it—the way Hotch's expression softens ever so slightly when he talks to you, the warmth in his eyes that doesn't seem meant for anyone else.

On the jet, during one of your cases, you sit across from him, flipping through files, pretending not to notice the fleeting looks he gives you. His focus appears to be on the case, as always, but there's something more behind those glances—a quiet intensity, a lingering warmth.

You remind yourself that this is Hotch, your boss. And more than that, you have a boyfriend—a long-term relationship, years of shared history. But despite all that, your thoughts keep drifting back to Aaron Hotchner.

Each day, you feel the pull between you grow stronger, even though neither of you acknowledges it. You find yourself replaying those quiet moments over and over, wondering if he feels it too.

—

You hear the familiar creak of the stairs as Hotch steps out of his office, his presence instantly filling the large space. There's always something about him—calm, controlled, but with an undercurrent of intensity that keeps everyone on their toes.

"Got a minute?" His voice is low, professional, but you can sense something else beneath it.

You nod, setting aside the case file you've been pouring over. "Sure, what's up?"

He steps further into the room, closing the door behind him. The move feels deliberate, as if he wants this conversation to stay between the two of you. Your pulse quickens slightly, though you keep your expression neutral.

"I wanted to talk to you about your performance on the last case," he begins, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "You did a great job. Your profiling helped us narrow down the suspect pool quickly."

You blink, a little thrown. Praise from Hotch isn't unheard of, but it's never casual. There's always an underlying purpose, some reason behind the compliment.

"Thank you," you say, watching his face carefully for any hints of what's really on his mind.

For a moment, he doesn't speak. His gaze lingers on you, and you feel the weight of it. There's something unspoken, something he's holding back. The silence stretches just long enough for you to feel the tension prickling your skin. You've worked with Hotch long enough to know that he doesn't waste time with unnecessary conversation. He's always direct. But right now, there's hesitation—like he's trying to decide whether to say what he's really thinking.

"I know you've been working long hours," he says finally, his tone softening just a fraction. "And I know the job can take its toll."

There it is. The concern, the acknowledgment that this job drains you in ways even you haven't fully admitted to yourself. You open your mouth to brush it off, to give him the same measured response you've given others a hundred times before, but something about the way he's looking at you makes you stop.

"Yeah," you say instead, your voice quieter than you intended. "It's... been a lot."

Hotch takes a small step closer, and you catch the faintest hint of something—empathy? Understanding? Whatever it is, it unnerves you. You've kept your distance from him for a reason, kept this professional line between you, because crossing it feels dangerous in ways you can't explain.

"I don't want to lose a good agent," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "If you need time, or space, you should take it."

You nod, but inside, you're reeling. He's always so composed, so unreadable, and yet right now you feel like he's seeing too much—like he's peeled back a layer you didn't want him to see.

"I appreciate that, Hotch," you manage, forcing a small smile. "But I'm fine. Really."

He studies you for another long moment before finally nodding. "Alright. Just... don't forget that."

And with that, he turns to leave. But even after the door closes behind him, you find yourself replaying the conversation in your mind. The way his eyes softened, the way his voice dipped just slightly when he talked about losing an agent. You can't shake the feeling that there was more he wanted to say, something just out of reach.

For weeks after, the encounter lingers at the back of your mind, resurfacing at odd moments. You think about the way he looked at you, the way his words seemed to carry more weight than usual. And even though you try to push it aside, try to focus on the cases piling up on your desk, you can't quite shake the feeling that something shifted between the two of you in that brief conversation.

Then, it happens. One night, you're caught alone in a warehouse, separated from your team during an intense takedown. The darkness presses in around you, thick and suffocating, as you try to stay calm. The unsub's footsteps echo in the distance, growing closer.

You're no stranger to dangerous situations, but this one feels different. The panic claws at you as you grip your gun tighter, your mind racing. They'll find me soon, you tell yourself, but it's a hollow comfort.

And in the midst of your fear, a face flashes in your mind—not Evan's. It's Hotch. His steady presence, his calm voice telling you to breathe, to focus. You can almost feel him guiding you out of the darkness, keeping you grounded.

Why is it him?

You shake the thought, but it's there—insistent. In this moment, when your life is on the line, it's not Evan you long for. It's Hotch.

The unsub's voice taunts you from the shadows, but you can't focus on his words. All you can think is Hotch. You push yourself to move, to fight through the fear. You will survive this. You have to.

And when you burst through the warehouse door, heart pounding, it's Hotch's face you see first. He's there, waiting, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappears. His eyes lock on yours, and you know—deep down, you've always known—it's not just one-sided.

"Are you okay?" he asks, gripping your shoulders with the same steady, grounding presence you've been clinging to in your mind.

You nod, barely able to speak. All you can think is, I made it. And when I thought I wouldn't, it was him I needed.

Weeks later, you find yourself sitting at home with Evan. The silence between you feels heavier than it used to, and you know why. You've been checked out of this relationship for a while now. Even though Evan is everything you could want on paper, he isn't what you need anymore. And the more you try to ignore it, the more obvious it becomes.

"I think we need to talk," you say softly, breaking the quiet.

Evan looks at you, his expression confused, then slowly understanding. It's not an easy conversation, but it's the right one. You can't keep pretending that your heart is in this relationship when your mind—and your feelings—are somewhere else.

At the office the next day, you throw yourself into work, grateful for the distraction. But you stay late, not wanting to go home to the empty apartment that once felt like a safe haven.

"Y/N, what are you still doing here? It's almost 2 AM."

You jump at Hotch's voice, surprised to find him standing beside your desk. He's usually long gone by now.

"I didn't hear you come down," you say, a soft smile tugging at your lips as your heart races.

He sits down across from you, his expression more open, more relaxed than usual. "You've been through a lot lately," he says, his voice quiet. "Do you want to talk about it?"

For a moment, you hesitate. This is your chance—your one chance to finally say what's been on your mind. To admit what you've been feeling all along.

"I ended things with Evan," you say softly, looking down at your hands.

Hotch's brow furrows in concern. "I'm sorry to hear that."

You shake your head. "Don't be. I've been checked out for a while now."

He's silent for a moment, then speaks again, his voice careful. "I never wanted to pry, but... if there's anything you need, I'm here."

His words, simple as they are, hit you harder than you expect. And before you can stop yourself, the truth spills out.

"Aaron," you whisper, your heart pounding. "There's something I need to tell you."

He looks at you, waiting.

"I've tried to push it down, but I can't anymore. It's not just about Evan. When I was in that warehouse, when I thought I might not make it... all I could think about was you. Not him. You. And that's when I knew. When it comes to how my day was, the only person i want to tell is you. When I'm scared for my life, all I can think of is you. If the world was ending, I'd want to be with you."

His expression shifts, surprise flickering across his face. He stands slowly, walking toward you.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. "I don't want you to regret what you're saying."

You meet his gaze, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. "I've never been more sure of anything."

For a moment, the world around you fades, and it's just the two of you. Finally, he reaches out, his hand brushing against yours.

"I've thought about it too," he admits, his voice rough with emotion. "I never wanted to cross a line, but..."

You don't let him finish. You step forward, closing the distance between you.

"I think it's worth a try," you whisper.

And with that, everything else falls away. The unspoken tension, the years of quiet moments, the what-ifs—they all dissolve as you step into this new chapter, side by side.

[AN: not my first CM fic. if you want to join my taglist, here’s the info page!]

[bullet-prooflove]

Pause: Mitch Keller x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dolphs-darling @Watermeezer @queenslandlover-93 @redpool

Companion piece to:

Her Name Was Lola - You meet Mitch's wife.

Lola becomes the third wheel in your relationship. There’s been a war brewing between the two of you since she turned up in Tulsa, a silent one that’s waged every night she steps into the casino and sits herself at the bar.

“Why haven’t you banned her?” You ask, furiously wiping down the counter and Mitch sighs as he adjusts his cap.

“Because Sunny, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.” Mitch explained and you’d clenched your jaw so you didn’t bite back with something truly scathing.

You understand the sentiment behind it, Mitch wants that divorce and he wants it as soon as possible but having Lola here, it’s detrimental to your mental health. Part of you wants to claw her damn eyes out and the other part wants to sob, because the evidence of the promise that Mitch broke it’s staring you right in the face, wearing his class ring.

The only solace is those nights when you’re on stage. You sit up there strumming a tune,  singing your heart out and for a moment Mitch’s entire attention it’s focused on you. You can’t express how good that feels, to be the centre of his world again, the only woman he has eyes for. It’s gone the instant you step off because he’s back to Lola, pleading his case.

“I feel like we’re drifting apart a little.” You say to him later that night when everyone else is gone and the two of you are putting away the glasses. “I feel like you don’t see me anymore.”

“That’s not true, Sunny girl.” He sighs as he places his hand on the bar. “I just want this so badly.”

“Well maybe don’t.” You say, your fingertips hooking on the loops of his jeans and drawing him taut against you. “Maybe just enjoy the time we have together, without her and wait the year it takes.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to marry me?” He asks as he looks into your eyes and you can see the hurt reflected in them as your palms come to rest on his chest.

“I’m just saying put it on pause for now.” You tell him.

“Pause.” He repeats, his hands clasping yours to his heart. “We’ve been on pause before and it damn near ruined us. I want to move forward, I want to marry you-”

“I want that too but this situation, it’s not good for us.” You whisper as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “Mitch, I can’t…”

Your voice breaks and he closes his eyes, his nose bumping lightly against yours.

“Sunny.” He says firmly. “We are almost at the finish line.”

“No Mitch, you’re almost at the finished line.” You say pushing him away. “I fell behind ten miles ago but you’ve just been too focused on the goal to notice.”

“Sunny…” He begins but you’re already drawing away from him.

“I have to go.” You say, picking up your guitar case. “I can’t be here right now.”

You leave then and Mitch, he lets you because he knows better than to follow you when you get that resigned tone in your voice. When he gets home that night the lights are off and there’s no trace of you, he realises there’s clothes missing, the overnight bag you usually take on tour.

It’s happening again, he realises. You’re leaving him because Mitch, he just doesn’t fucking listen. He hasn’t been hearing what you’ve been trying to say to him for weeks, you can’t cope with Lola being in his life, you can’t stand to see another woman with his ring on her finger.

You pick up when he calls, he hears the sound of traffic in the background and he knows you’ve already left Tulsa.

“Where you headed?” He asks despondently as he leans back against the door frame of the bedroom, his gaze fixed on the bed he's sleeping alone in tonight.

“Dallas.” You say softly. “There’s a couple of places down there that will give me a gig. Probably Houston after that, Memphis, Nashville.”

It feels like you’ve plunged a knife into his chest. With each stop you get further away from him and Mitch isn’t sure that you’ll ever come back.

“Will you come home Sunny?” He pleads, his voice breaking as he says the words “Please?”

“No Mitch.” You say, and he hears the resolution in your voice. “No, I can’t.”

Love Mitch? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Overtime 12

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss, Mr. Hansen, runs you ragged but you find solace in an unexpected friend.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Jake Jensen.

Author’s Note: This one is dedicated to my dearest @thezombieprostitute

Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“You’re a fucking natural critter. Must be the smell of grass,” Hansen scoffs as he checks the card. “Looks like I didn’t even need the handicap.” 

Your boss’ coolness is worse than his anger. His indifference to his assault not hours earlier has you even more humiliated. He cares so little, or maybe he enjoys that you can barely look at him. Each time you do, you feel the cut of his cleats in your chest. The evidence of his attack is still visible at the top of your shirt. 

“Sir,” you say. “Did you win?” 

He folds the card and sucks his teeth, “doesn’t matter. We had fun, didn’t we?” 

You stare at his mocking grin. You nod, “yes, Mr. Hansen.” The moment those words leave your mouth, you shudder. Your chest tightens. Why does he hate you so much? 

“Back to work,” he says as he approaches the cart.  

You follow him and get in the other side. He lingers behind the wheel, making no move to steer away from the last hole. The unstraps his glove, then the other, and peels them off. He stretches his fingers wide and flips his hands to examine his palm. 

He slaps one hand down on your thigh and another on the steering wheel. You yelp and he digs his nails in. You squirm but don’t push him away. Resisting only seems to goad him on. 

As he drives, his fingers curl, caressing your tender skin, and his hand creeps higher and higher. Despite yourself, you can’t help but tense and squeeze your thighs tight. He pinches the edge of your skirt and hums. 

“I want this much leg in the office from now on. New rule, sweetheart, and look at you,” he taps your legs as he rescinds his hand. “You love following the rules, don’t you?” 

Your mouth is dry, “yes, Mr. Hansen.” 

Every time you say it, it hurts. 

You just stare off across the green, into the yellow horizon, streaked with lazy clouds. The cart drones on and finally stops. You look up at the white facade of the club as Mr. Hansen gets out. You climb out your side as he hauls his bag and tosses the keys at a young man in the club’s colours. You follow your boss away, trying to hide in plain sight. 

You’re kept from receding into yourself as he hands you the keys again. You drive, following the GPS’ directions as he closes his eyes and yawns in the passenger seat. As you roll into the office lot, you glance over at him. He looks so peaceful even as your insides are at battle. 

You get out and check the back seat. That’s where he put your clothes but they aren’t there. As he comes around, you hand him the keys. 

“Mr. Hansen, my clothes?” You ask. 

“Trash. Had them thrown out at the club. You don’t need them.” 

“What?” You gulp. “But I can’t work in this--” 

“You can’t? Pretty sure I’m your fucking boss.” 

You seal your lips and nod. “Sorry, sir, you’re right.” 

“Now,” he reaches to play with the collar of your shirt, the edges tattered from his cleats. “I would send you off to get my coffee but I’d be just as good asking you to spit in my mouth. Kinky but not right now.” He smirks, “so you go and get to work, critter. Just like you always do.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He lets you go and nudges your chin condescendingly with his chin, “and big boss man needs to go talk business with Bodecker. Hold my calls.” 

“Yes... Mr. Hansen,” you agree grimly. 

He struts off and you follow a few paces back. The elevator ride is awkward as he forgets you for his phone but you’re grateful to be an afterthought. When you get off, he goes one way and you go the other. Before you reach your desk, you dip into the washroom. 

You pull up the shirt to examine your chest. Small cuts mark your skin, some still speckled in dry blood, others raw. You wet a paper towel and clean away some of the mess. It stings. You do what you can and put the shirt on again. 

You stare at yourself. You look ridiculous. Wearing that getup in the office. At all. You wouldn’t dress like this ever. You nearly crumple in defeat. What have you become? Just this pathetic little... critter. 

You go to your desk and take the cardigan off the back of your chair. You’re grateful for your own forgetfulness as you hug the wool around you. 

You unlock your computer and open the email up. You read and reread it before you reply. You confirm a time for tomorrow, during what should be your lunch. You will be certain to take it. 

Mr. Hansen can threaten you, he can hurt you, but he can’t stop you from trying. When he’s no longer your boss, you won’t have to worry about any of it. That’s all he is. He doesn’t control your life outside this office, you won’t let him. 

And if this doesn’t work out, you’ll look somewhere else. You have to. You can’t keep doing this. One day, you’re going to wake up and that weight in your chest is going to keep you in bed. You won’t let that happen. Not because of Mr. Hansen.