#the beginning of the year and spring are always slow for me

[rinnwritess]

nanami kento x fem!reader.

chapter one.

the sakura trees had just started to bloom when you arrived at jujutsu tech.

tokyo was still brisk in early spring, the wind occasionally tugging at your uniform as you stepped off the train and made your way to the school for the first time. you held your acceptance letter close to your chest, fingers brushing the neatly-folded paper inside the envelope. it still didn’t feel real—being accepted into the elite jujutsu school, away from home, away from everything familiar.

you hadn’t spoken much on the train ride. you never really spoke much to strangers anyway. but the quiet, in this case, wasn’t lonely. it was peaceful. you liked watching the scenery shift from tall city buildings to the serene woods that surrounded the campus. there was something soothing about the trees, even bare and trembling in the cold.

the school gates stood tall ahead of you, and you took a deep breath.

a new beginning.

you met nanami kento and yu haibara your very first week at jujutsu tech.

yu haibara had found you first.

“hey! you’re new too, right?” he said, beaming, waving from across the training field. his energy was immediate and warm. you barely had time to nod before he ran up beside you, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a wide grin on his face.

“i’m yu haibara! what’s your name?”

you gave it quietly, voice barely above a whisper, but it didn’t deter him.

“that’s a pretty name! hey, you’re in the first year too? then we’re classmates!”

you were overwhelmed by how friendly he was, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was…refreshing.

he introduced you to nanami not long after.

nanami kento stood under the shade of a sakura tree, watching the two of you approach like he had better things to do. he was tall, lean, with serious eyes and a posture that said he already hated being here.

“nanamin! this is our new classmate!” haibara announced, throwing an arm around your shoulder before you could protest.

“…nanamin?” nanami said with a tired sigh. “don’t call me that.”

haibara just laughed. “he’s shy,” he whispered to you, like nanami couldn’t hear him.

nanami’s eyes shifted to you. “you’re quiet.”

you blinked, not sure if it was a statement or judgment. “i guess i am.”

he nodded once. “that’s fine.”

that was the beginning.

the three of you fell into an easy rhythm.

despite his sharp tongue and aloof nature, nanami was never cruel. he was precise. he noticed things. like the way you always hesitated before training with others, or how you preferred observing technique before trying it yourself. he never called attention to it, but when it was his turn to spar, he always made the first move slow—obvious—so you could see it clearly.

haibara was sunshine. he filled every corner with laughter and warmth, like it was impossible to be tense around him. he cracked jokes during cursed energy control exercises and always brought snacks to late-night study sessions. he made it easy to laugh.

with them, you were still quiet. but it didn’t feel like a bad thing. you could laugh. you could smile. and sometimes, when you spoke, they listened.

your cursed technique was nothing flashy. you weren’t born for raw combat. your energy allowed you to create temporary barriers—soft veils that could either protect or heal minor injuries if applied in time. it was subtle, support-based, but it had potential.

nanami respected it immediately.

“support-types are vital,” he said during one of your first practical exercises. “don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

you looked at him in surprise, nodding slowly. no one had said anything yet, but you’d felt the unspoken comparison—how others could summon flames or crush the ground, while you patched people up and shielded them for a few seconds.

haibara nodded too. “yeah! i’d be dead without you already. i walked into like three traps last week.”

you smiled. just a little.

spring bled into summer.

the dorms at jujutsu tech were simple but cozy. you shared a building with the other first-years, which meant hearing haibara’s laugh through the walls late at night, or nanami’s annoyed muttering when he stayed up to study longer than he should.

you found peace in routine. morning training, afternoon lectures, evening cooldowns. the world of jujutsu sorcery was terrifying, but here—between these two—you found a kind of safety.

and slowly, you felt something unfamiliar begin to bloom.

you weren’t sure when it started. maybe it was the way nanami always stood between you and danger during missions. maybe it was how he gave you the best part of his lunch when you forgot yours. or how his quiet voice softened when he said your name.

it was subtle. slow. like the way spring warms the ground.

you didn’t dare name it yet.

but it was there.

growing quietly in your chest.

just like the sakura trees outside, full of color and hope.

gojo satoru arrived like a storm.

you had seen him around before—his tall frame, the ridiculous blindfold, the way he seemed to float through campus like he owned it. but this was your first real interaction, and it came suddenly during a joint training session with upper years.

“hey, hey, hey! are you new?” he said, lowering his blindfold just enough to flash you those brilliant blue eyes. “you’re cute. what’s your name?”

you blinked at him, unsure whether to respond or run. “i—uh—”

haibara stepped in quickly, ever the buffer. “gojo-senpai! this is our classmate. go easy on her.”

but gojo just grinned wider, clearly unfazed. “oh, i’ll be gentle.”

behind him, you noticed suguru geto and ieiri shoko watching with varying degrees of amusement. shoko offered a lazy wave, geto gave a polite nod, and gojo continued to hover like an excited cat.

nanami appeared at your side not long after.

“she doesn’t need your attention,” he said flatly, standing just a little closer than usual.

gojo raised a brow. “aw, nanami-kun. didn’t know you were so protective.”

“i’m not,” he replied. “i’m efficient. and you’re wasting time.”

you didn’t catch the quick glance nanami gave you afterward, or how his fingers flexed slightly at his side like he was holding something back.

later, while walking back to the dorms, nanami surprised you with a question.

“you like satoru?”

you looked at him, startled. “what? no—i mean, he’s… very talkative. but he seems nice.”

nanami nodded once, his expression unreadable. “i see.”

you tilted your head. “why?”

“no reason,” he said.

but his hands were in his pockets, and he didn’t speak the rest of the walk home.

and for once, the silence between you didn’t feel easy.

it felt… complicated.

[catpersonponything]

constantly reminded that the best part of being an artist is getting to make whatever you want forever

ignis and my oc saphir based on this from better call saul

and bonus a sketch of saphir i made earlier this month

[logansdoll]

heat

part two of "cottontail"

CW: SMUT, SMUT, SMUT, heavily suggestive, profanity, bunny mutation + spring = fun times, girl imma do my best, this took forever, might be a little long, etc.

As much as he hated to admit it, Logan was worried about you.

In his two-hundred years of living, he had never met someone as hot-headed and brash as you—and that was saying something. But as your you-appointed new best pal, he resigned himself to making sure you didn't piss off the wrong people.

Though it was a nice change of role, seeing as he wasn't the loose canon for once, he couldn't help but begin to grow significantly concerned for your safety.

It wasn't that you were a bad person, far from it, in fact.

Always greeting him with a sweet mornin', Logan!

Always checking up on him after missions.

Always inviting him to "sparring sessions", which would inevitably turn into you two striking up conversation about anything and everything under the sun.

Not to mention you were a humongous flirt—Jean called it being "overly friendly".

She noted that you didn't flirt with any other guys like you did him.

You always gave him those cheeky smiles that seemed to irk him to no end, and put that flirty lilt in your voice when you spoke. Not to mention the constant compliments, which would stick with him for days, sometimes weeks.

But that all stopped about a week ago.

After a day of you acting incredibly off—no jokes, no laughter, little talking—Ororo said you suddenly came down with a "spring cold", but that you'd be up and at 'em soon.

Well, soon hadn't come yet, and Logan hadn't heard anything from you in days.

A spring cold couldn't last this long...

Was it the flu? Was it something else?

And why did everyone else seem so unbothered by it?

These thoughts swam in his head every time he passed your locked door.

Until he finally had enough.

The night everyone went out for a field trip to the county fair, Logan stayed back, opting to visit your quarters with a few choice words, and a container of chicken noodle soup.

When he reached your door, he gave it a soft rap.

Nothing happened.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Only after a third—more aggressive—knock, did you finally answer.

"Yeah?" you called, your voice low and croaky.

He'd never heard you sound so defeated, and almost... pained.

It made something pang in his chest.

"That must be some cold," he quipped, attempting to play off the feeling with humor.

"Logan?" you asked, sounding shocked. "What are you... What do you want?"

"I just came to give you some soup. Jean told me it's good," he answered, glancing down at the bag in his hand. "S'been a while since I've heard from you."

He waited for a response, but when you never gave one, he began to feel stupid.

This was a mistake.

"Look, I can just leave it outside the door if you don't wanna—"

"No," you interrupted, still sounding strained. "You can come in. Just leave it on my dresser."

A little confused by your tone, he entered nonetheless, boots clicking against the hardwood.

And what he found was concerning.

Your room was a mess—furniture askew, clothes and empty water bottles discarded on the floor, a rumpled mess of sheets on the bed.

The smell in the air was thick with sweat and something else. He looked toward the king-sized bed where a heap sat hunched underneath the sheets

"(y/n)?" Logan called, brows furrowed with confusion and worry as he placed the bag on the dresser.

"Don't come over here!"

You sounded so distressed, in such discomfort.

What's going on?

Why did you sound like you were in trouble?

Ignoring your warning, he slowly stalked closer to the bed, taking slow, tentative steps—now able to hear your soft whimpers and grunts of pain.

"(y/n)?" he questioned, firmly.

You stirred, reacting to his voice, breathing raggedly as if you couldn't get any air in your lungs.

"(y/n), what the hell is going on?" he demanded. "Whatever it is, I can help."

But you turned away, the sheets shifting with you.

"You can't," you whined, "You can't."

Patience running thin, Logan stormed over and snatched the sheets off of you. And there, under the covers, he saw you with his own two eyes.

You were curled into yourself, tail significantly fluffier than he remembered, and ears droopier than he'd ever seen.

Through your thin tank top, he could see your nipples were hard and perky, the shorts you were wearing barely covering your ass cheeks.

'Goddamn...'

When you looked at him, your face flushed red, pupils dilated beyond belief as you covered your face with embarrassment.

You trembled in your skin, tail twitching with discomfort and unease.

"I told you not to come over here," you panted, curling further into yourself. "Didn't want you to see me like this..."

You winced, squeezing your thighs together tight, looking to be in complete agony.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I'm in heat," you sighed, the cat pretty much out of the bag. "S'cause of my mutation. I can do everything a rabbit can, and go through everything a rabbit goes through. No matter how fucking stupid."

You wiped the sweat off your forehead, your curly hair soaked in it.

"S'why I've been hiding," you explained. "I've been tryna get through this, but I just... can't!"

Now he understood.

Your absence, your uneasiness, the smell of something in the air.

You were horny.

"How long's it last?" Logan curiously asked.

"Depends. Could be a week, could be a month..."

"A month?" he stated, surprised. "Are you in pain?"

Your face screwed tight, triggering something in his core.

"Yes," you groaned, hugging yourself closer.

You looked away from him, appearing so utterly humiliated and ashamed that it pained him.

He had to help.

"What can I do?" he suggested.

You turned to him, eyes widening. "What?" you asked. "What do you—"

"I wanna help you, cottontail," he cut in, already kicking off his boots and taking off his leather jacket to reveal his sexy, white wife-beater. "So tell me what I gotta do."

You watched him, looking completely stunned and mortified, but your pussy throbbed at the sight of his outfit.

"No, no, Logan," you protested. "Y-You can't... you don't need to do this."

But he stood firm in his decision, refusing to leave you.

"I know I don't need to," he firmly responded. "I can't let you go on like this."

"It's okay..." you assured. "It'll probably be done by the end of the week. You don't—"

Before you could even finish, his hand grabbed your face, pulling you close and squeezing your cheeks, his tone demanding.

"Don't protest. Don't argue. Don't push me away... Just let me take care of you, alright?"

His gorgeous brown eyes, filled with the promises of safety and acceptance, bore into yours.

How could you deny him?

"Okay," you caved, leaning into his touch.

"Good girl," he cracked a smile, lips suddenly swooping yours up in a firm kiss.

You let out a soft, eager moan as he scooped you up in his arms, the man letting out a quiet chuckle when you squeaked, your feet dangling off the ground.

While still kissing you, he sat himself down on the bed and plopped you in his lap. His soft lips and tongue made you squirm in his lap, brushing yourself against his quickly hardening cock in his jeans.

"Can I touch your ears?" he whispered, breathless. "'N' your tail?"

Gently, his hand moved down to your ass, caressing your cotton tail. Your toes curled, your body tingling from the sensation.

"Y-Yes," you shakily replied. "Go ahead."

And when his fingers began to lightly brush and stroke your bunny ear from base to tip, you nearly had a full body orgasm, your pussy growing wetter with each pass.

"Fuck..." you gasped. "Yes, just like that..."

Logan smirked as he watched your face contort in pleasure, his ego growing with each whimper.

"Like that?" he asked, teasingly, his cock throbbing at the sound of your pitiful whine in response.

Over these past few months, he'd had countless dreams about having you just like this. And now that he was, he could say with certainty that it was far better than any fantasy.

Gently, one of his big hands slid down between your thighs to pet your pussy through your panties, while the other continued to stroke your ears.

Your mouth fell agape, pleasure coursing through you.

"Oh, fuck," you moaned, tilting your head back as his fingers ghosted over your clit.

You began to shamelessly grind your pussy into his fingers, turning Logan on even more.

"Needy little thing..." he chuckled, amused. "Adorable."

Under his firm gaze and insistent fingers, you nearly came apart at the seams. But before you could, he pulled away, scooping you up with one arm, much to your surprise and arousal, and sliding himself further down the bed.

With a grin, he dropped his head into the pillows, shifting and forcing you to hover over his face.

"M'gonna taste you, now," he stated, as if it was a fact.

You whined in response, moving to grab the headboard as he pulled your panties to the side, giving your pussy a quick peck before completely dropping you on top of him.

"Logan!" you half-moaned, half-screamed, eyes blown wide with pleasure.

You tried to brace yourself, but it wasn't long before he made you a writhing, whimpering, whining mess.

"Ah, Lo, yes!" you cried. "Oh, fuck! Right fuckin' there! Right fuckin' there!"

You were loud and vocal, much to his enjoyment.

He was having the time of his life, massaging your ass and sucking your wet pussy, your juices dripping down his chin.

He even groaned and grunted into your pussy about how good you tasted, only making you wetter at seeing such a stoic man lose his shit over you.

"You want a finger, baby?" he growled, voice slightly muffled. "Talk to me. Tell me what chu want."

"Please," you whimpered. "Fuck me, Logan! Make me come!"

Logan smiled, slowly inserting one of his thick fingers into your hole while his lips gently sucked on your clit.

You nearly screamed, bawling at the pleasure.

"Oh, my God!" you sobbed. "Shit, Logan, I'm gonna... I'm gonna.."

Your orgasm slammed into you without a second thought, drawing a string of slutty moans out as you came all over Logan's tongue.

"That's my good girl," he smirked into your pussy. "So fuckin' good f'me."

Your orgasm was so strong that you began to tremble, the aftershocks taking over your body.

The release helped with the pain... but it still wasn't enough.

You needed more.

Suddenly, he took hold of your chin, staring into your eyes as if he could peer right into your head.

"Do you want more?" he asked, cockily.

Slowly, you nodded, tears pricking your eyes at how much to needed this.

"Yes, Logan," you pleaded, your arousal making you bold and unashamed in your need to be fucked. "Please give it to me. I don't care how you take me. Just please..."

That was all he needed to hear.

He gave you exactly what you wanted and more. The man fucked you, and he fucked you good. He gave your little body everything it needed to knock out those horny thoughts and relieve you of your heat.

In almost every position, too.

He fucked you in missionary while standing up, his hips pistoning into yours while your feet dangled in the air, his hands pinning your thighs apart and making you take each deep, long, slow stroke that had you seeing stars and frantically rubbing your clit watching his handsome face contort in pleasure. 

He fucked you while standing up, your little body bouncing in his arms as you fucked you up and down on his cock, your arms wrapped tight around his neck, your tits pressed flush against his pecs, and your lips locked with his in a passionate, sloppy, wet kiss. 

He fucked you on your side, his big body curled around yours and his cock nestled between your ass cheeks before sliding inside you again, your leg hiked up to get deeper. 

He fucked you on all fours, using your ears to pull you back on his cock, your back arched and ass stinging from random spanks while he pounded into the deep, wet heat of your pussy that squeezed and griped him for dear life. When you tried to rub your clit, he smacked it away and rubbed your pussy for you.

“Uh-uh,” he growled. “No touching what’s mine. All you need to do is cum. Can my little bunny do that?” 

You didn't even answer—you couldn't. But your loud moans and sobs bouncing off of your walls are all the answers Logan needs as he fucked you faster, harder, making your clit sing and pleasure zip through you.

When you felt your last orgasm of the night zip through you, you let out a broken whimper and came all over Logan's cock. 

Triggered by your orgasm and sweet little sounds, Logan gripped you tighter and pounded into you without mercy, until he finally released, too.

“Oh, fuck!” he gasped, his loud groans and grunts echoing throughout the room, triggering another mini-orgasm that made your pussy quiver and drip down your thighs. 

Logan came deep inside of you, filling you to the brim. He even had enough to give you on your ass, pulling out to spray your perfect cheeks with more of his seed, pumping his cock furiously behind you.

A smile stretched across your face as the aftershocks began, practically melting into the sheets. 

You were sweaty, winded, soaked, tired, and covered in cum...but you’d never been more satisfied or happier in your life.

Logan finally settled down beside you, turning you over to face him. He gave you a small smile, his face hot with stray hairs sticking to his forehead. 

“Better now?” he murmured, gently stroking down your back.

You wordlessly nodded, a small, tired hum leaving your lips. 

“Good,” he nodded, pressing a kiss into your hair. “Get some rest.”

And just like that, you were out like a light, softly snoring into his chest, your body curled into his side.

You couldn't wait for next spring...

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season

Azriel x Reader

An angsty little one shot. Azriel’s mate is tired of being at the bottom of his list of priorities.

Update: Due to popular demand, this is being made into a series!

Part 2

The air’s getting heavy and we both know why

There was a time when an evening like this brought solace to my weary soul.

Azriel’s hand wrapped around my waist, caressing my stomach, pressing soft kisses to the juncture of my neck and shoulder. His hair tickling against my sensitive skin as we hid under blankets absorbing the incessant melody of drip, drop, drip, drop and the echoing pitter patter of rain drops hitting the roof. His warmth seeping right through to the coldest depths of my soul.

I’d turn around, pressing my bare breasts against his muscled chest. Our breath hitching as his sunburst eyes of brown, amber, and gold bore into mine, his soft lips whispering promises of forever.

Say that this storm is just passing through

But Azriel wasn’t here. He hadn’t been for 6 days, 23 hours, and 50 minutes now. It would have been laughable, comparing the past to now, if it weren’t so damned sad. In the beginning there’d been long, doting love notes with risqué quips regarding his intentions upon coming home, little gifts that he couldn’t resist bringing back from his travels, and the stolen hours where he’d sneak in a visit during the intermittent downtime on his missions. As a realist, I knew that it was not sustainable long-term but relished in it as the gift it was. Newly formed, passionate love that exceeded anything I had ever imagined upon finding my cauldron-blessed mate.

As the years went on I understood when the love notes became briefs and the thoughtful gifts became pecks on the cheek as he hurried through the door to exchange his leathers for clean ones, wipe down his weapons, and rest before his next mission. But time went on, as is inevitable, and distant were the memories of stolen moments away from missions, the desperate caress of his hands roaming my body as if he couldn’t quite believe I was fully corporeal before him - needing to touch me to reassure him that this was real. Now the touches were detached, perfunctory, another task on his never-ending to-do list.

Drop after drop we’re destroying this house and eachother.

The boiling point had been simmering for a while, left on the fire with reassurances of “Things are just busy right now”, “It’ll slow down soon”, “I would stay if I could, love. You know I would. I have no choice.”

But we both knew all too well that there was always a choice. There were times when Rhys let it slip that Azriel had volunteered for missions that his other spies were perfectly suited for, times when all I wanted in the world was to be curled up and listening to the rain with my mate.

Missions became tasks with the Valkyries, “chaperoning” Cassian and Nesta, and emotionally supporting the lovely doe-eyed fawn - Elain - who was the delicate cherry blossom of spring opposite of my wild summertime storm.

It wasn’t her fault. The trauma inflicted upon her, the loss of autonomy that came with being thrown into the cauldron and having her mortality stripped away without her say. The powers she never asked for overwhelming her senses. Hell, maybe it wasn’t Azriel’s fault for responding to the traumas of his past and the need to overcompensate for every ounce of blood he’s drawn by saving anything and everything that needed rescuing.

The problem lay with the fact that where Elain is a “seer”, my ability to “sense” when things are amiss was strong and Azriel’s intentions with her were becoming blurred. Feelings of lust had become more frequent down the bond along with flutters of joy and adoration. When it began I thought maybe things would look up in our relationship - he was missing me, fisting his cock to fantasies of taking me over and over when he returned home - but he only became more distant. He’d return more often than not smelling of jasmine and honey. The strength of the scent coating him correlating with the increase in enamored feelings slipping through the bond.

Six days ago when I’d asked him to skip out on training with Cassian and Nesta and whatever it was he and Elain would do - that was when the thunder clapped and the sky opened. “I can’t just stay home and cater to you all the time. I have duties to this court. Why can’t you find a hobby to occupy your time? Nesta reads and trains with the Valkyries, Feyre paints, Elain gardens and she evens bakes! Why can’t you be more like-“

He caught himself too late, immediately reaching out to place a gentle hand on my shoulder and apologize but it was too late for that.

Please, make it stop

It wasn’t that I wasn’t a forgiving or understanding person. i appreciated his dedication to his court and family and those in need but…

“Why can’t I be more like what? You can stop mid-sentence but you already said it all.” I looked down, shaking my head as silver lined my eyes. Gods, I hate that I’m an angry crier. “You want to know why I can’t be more like Elain in your eyes, Azriel? Because I exist in your fucking blind spot! I have been helping Feyre AT the studio, volunteering at a food pantry in Velaris, and teaching self-defense classes to women and children at the park but you wouldn’t know because you never ask me what I’ve been up to while you’re gone.”

He started to speak but I wasn’t finished. “The reason I cannot be more like Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta is because I’m none of them. I am ME. And you know what? I like me. I don’t want to be anybody else.” Trying and failing miserably to hold my head high I pathetically fell to my knees, shuddering as tears of rage flowed freely.

Warmth enveloped me as Azriel knelt down to soothe my quaking form. I let him if only because I didn’t have the composure to tell him otherwise as he began pressing kisses to my forehead. “I’m so sorry. I have been a terrible mate. I love all that you are- I- I’ll stop with Elain. She’s doing much better and Nuala and Cerridwen can keep an eye on her, so can Rhys and Cassian, and her sisters. It will be okay.”

That consolation attempt only drove the blade of bitterness deeper into my heart. Elain had so many in her corner and who did I have anymore? My chronically absent mate? The family I left behind to move to Velaris with Azriel? There was nobody close by.

“I think you should leave.” I sobbed out.

Azriel ignored the shaky command, continuing to hold me. Fuck - is this what it took for him to notice me? Breaking my heart so he could stitch it back up again?

“Azriel.” I stated firmly.

He met my eyes.

“You should leave.”

His look grew puzzled. “I thought you wanted me to stay - to spend time together? Please, Y/N. Let me make this better.”

“I need space. Give me one week.”

“But-“

“One. Week.”

Azriel’s shoulders slumped, head hanging low for several minutes before realizing that my decision was firm.

“I love you.” He said before heading out the door.

——————

Like clockwork as 7 days, 0 hours, and 1 minute were up, the front door to our home opened and Azriel’s footsteps padded in behind me, my gaze remaining fixated on the rain falling outside the window. A lump formed in my throat as I avoided turning to meet his gaze.

So dance one more dance and tell one more lie.

Azriel stepped around me, wordlessly extending a hand, patiently waiting as I avoided his gaze a moment longer before taking it. His shadows began humming faintly, increasing their melody and reaching a crescendo as Azriel began dancing with me through the room.

Say that you love me even if it’s not true

I let myself melt into the warmth of his chest. The thick air remained heavy upon my soul but I could have this. I could let myself enjoy this moment.

We wordlessly danced through the room in the soft glow of the fae lights.

We made our way through the hall into our shared bed that had become so neglected.

“I love you, Y/N.” he murmured as he laid me down, stripped bare underneath him.

“I love you too, Azriel.”

——————

Wish I could just say it and words were enough to keep you from being the one giving up.

The middle of the night left me restless as he lay soundly asleep beside me. My senses tugged me toward his bag that he’d discarded at the entryway. I brought out his dirty clothes from the week only to be greeted with the fresh scent of jasmine and honey.

Like the sky letting go for no reason

I packed my essentials and voyaged out into the pouring rain. Its patter on my skin washing away the salty tears streaming down my face. Following my senses to where the love was true back to my Summer Court home, my family. As free as a summer storm.

It's just the rainy season.

—————————————

A/n - I know there are plenty of Azriel x Reader and Elain fics out there. It was rainy and dreary here yesterday and this song was in my head for the first time in like 10 years so…. I wrote this.

[lexirosewrites]

Day 9: Fake Dating/Courting

for @stmarchmm

“When in doubt, just smile and nod and say ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘yes, sir’ until they shut up. It doesn’t always work, but sometimes they’ll back off if they see you have good manners. And if that doesn’t work, then we—”

Eddie stares.

“Did I lose you? I can start from the beginning, but it’ll have to be twice as fast because they’re expecting us in the next five minutes and tardiness is not an option with them, Eddie. They’ll never back off unless I can prove that this is real,” Steve laments.

“But it’s not.”

Duh. He’s well aware.

“Yeah, I know that? And you know that. If we play our cards right, they never need to know that,” he reminds the alpha.

Eddie’s mouth does a weird thing.

Is he getting cold feet? That would ruin the entire plan. Steve can’t pretend to have a boyfriend without the “boyfriend” present.

“What’s wrong? I swear they’re not as bad as they sound, Eddie. I mean, they’re pushy and they will grill us both because they want me to be happy, but if we pull this off, it will probably buy me another six months before they bring up the arranged mating idea again.”

And now Eddie won’t meet his eyes.

Maybe he should’ve asked Robin after all.

His parents have been hassling Steve about her for years and he didn’t want to put her in a high pressure situation (she can’t handle pressure well), but she wouldn’t have backed out on him at the last minute.

“Man, if you’re reconsidering this, I can tell them we got a flat tire on the way here and call Robin in for back-up. She’s gonna hurl when she has to tell a lie, but she’ll commit to it if I ask her to.”

Eddie’s face finally budges. The half-assed smile he gives is beyond fake.

“It’s nothing, Stevie. Just— uh, nerves, yeah. I’ve never met your parents before,” he mumbles unconvincingly.

So weird. They don’t really have time for whatever this is.

“Okay. Well, this is all pretend anyway. So if you’re fine now, we really gotta go in before we’re late,” Steve reminds him.

Why does Eddie look so sad?

He really thought they were close enough friends that they could pull this off together, but Eddie is acting beyond strange.

Steve exits the car and waits for Eddie to do the same before grabbing his hand and leading him up the driveway to the front door.

Eddie’s palm is sweaty and Steve silently wonders if he always runs this warm.

“Don’t be so nervous. As far as they know, we’re both happily in love and on our way to a spring wedding and a litter of pups.”

Eddie’s hand tenses in his.

He never took Eddie for the skittish type.

Steve doesn’t even get a chance to grab the doorknob before his mom is in front of him and yanking them both through the doorway.

“Steven, you’re right on time! It’s so nice to have you here for dinner. Isn’t it nice to have our son home, Richard? Oh, and you must be Edward!”

He turns to face his fake boyfriend, sending Eddie a lovey-dovey look that used to work on girls back in high school.

But Eddie is staring dead ahead at Steve’s dad with fear in his eyes.

“Eddie?” Steve nudges him gently, trying to regain his attention and get him to focus on the mission at hand.

“Right, sorry. Um, it’s so very nice to meet you Mrs. Harrington, Mr. Harrington,” he squeaks out.

This cannot be the same alpha who used to walk on cafeteria tables and not bat an eye when he told basketball players that they were ruining society.

Eddie is choking. Badly.

“Aren’t you just charming?” his mom giggles, reaching out to flatten a stray curl that’s sticking out from Eddie’s head. “Your hair is due for a trim, but you seem to be presentable enough for our Steven.”

That’s as close to approval as they’ll get from her.

Now for his dad.

“Dad? How’s work treating you these days?”

Steve knows damn well his dad doesn’t care about Eddie, but his dad does care about his business and boasting his accomplishments.

“Well enough, son. Slow quarter, but sales should pick back up soon. What do you know about stocks, Edward?”

Nothing.

Eddie could not give less of a shit about numbers or finances. In fact, if it was up to him, he’d happily let Robin and Steve pay for all the expenses in their apartment.

“Plenty, sir. I check the DOW Jones regularly and keep a strict watch on my investments, as any wise man does.”

Who killed Eddie and replaced him with someone else?

“Atta boy. You’ll have to show Steven a thing or two. Been working since he was 17 and still can’t save a penny worth a damn,” his dad chuckles, cheerfully slapping Eddie on the back.

What Twilight zone did they fall into?

“Of course. Naturally, we’re eager to save up for a proper spring wedding so we can start a family as soon as possible. Every penny counts.”

Eddie recites the words like lines in a play, but Steve can tell he doesn’t mean them.

It hurts more than he wants to admit.

And they still have dinner.

Luckily, the rest of their actual dinner goes remarkably smooth.

Steve’s parents ask Eddie a question, Eddie pretends to be someone he’s not, Steve’s parents eat it up and heap praises on him, and they all eat his mom’s overdone meatloaf without complaining.

And then they leave.

They leave with words of approval and reminders to stop by for dinner again the next week and encouragements for Eddie to be good to Steve.

It’s all… very fucking weird and strange and wrong.

Steve hardly recognizes the alpha he spent the last two hours with as his good friend, Eddie.

Once they’re in the car, Steve can’t keep silent anymore.

“What the hell was that?”

Eddie looks sufficiently surprised by his question.

“What? I thought that went pretty well, considering the circumstances.”

Steve shakes his head, trying to stay on track here with his point.

“Eddie, that didn’t even sound like you. I know I asked you to polish up a little so they’d ease up on me, but you were a whole different person in there,” he explains.

Eddie’s face falls and Steve feels like he’s said the complete wrong thing.

He is grateful, just confused.

“You told me to act like we were in love and ready to mate and have kids. Is that not what I did?”

Yes. No. Sort of.

“But that wasn’t anything like you,” he protests.

Eddie bites his lip.

“Yeah… because someone like me wouldn’t stand a chance with you, Stevie. We both know that.”

“What’s that supposed to be mean? Of course you’d stand a chance with me? Aren’t we friends, Eddie?”

This isn’t making any more sense.

Eddie exhales slowly, not meeting his eyes.

“Right. Friends. That’s all we are… because that’s all you’ll ever see me as, Steve.”

What the hell does that mean?

“Are we not friends?”

Eddie’s mouth does the weird thing again.

“You told me to act like we’re in love and ready to mate and have pups,” he states again.

Steve nods. They’ve been over this already.

Eddie continues in a soft whisper, “That part required no acting from me, sweetheart.”

Steve is lost for words.

Robin had said it was a bad idea to ask Eddie to do this for him.

He assumed it was because Robin knew how he felt about Eddie. Maybe he had it all backwards here.

“Then kiss me like we’re going to have a spring wedding.”

Eddie kisses him like that and so much more.

[polarisjisung]

ꨄ FEEL IT THROUGH YOUR EYES ALL THAT I BEEN MISSIN'

LOVING JISUNG THROUGH THE SEASONS

wc: 0.9k pairings: jisung × fem! reader genre: fluff warnings: reader wears sundresses notes: jisungs cover actually altered my brain chemistry | library.

SPRING

The first time Jisung tells you he loves you, it’s spring. Wednesday night, a little before midnight, 11:19 to be exact.

You’re sitting on the swings at the old park near his apartment, your sneakers digging shallow lines into the damp earth beneath you as you rock back and forth.

The cherry blossoms are just beginning to bloom, petals drifting lazily through the night air, caught between the warmth growing in the atmosphere and the lingering chill of winter.

He nudges you with his foot. “Hey.”

You glance over at him, your hands gripping the rusted chains of the swing. “What?”

Jisung hesitates, then looks up at the sky like he’s gathering courage from the clouds.

“I love you.”

It’s not a confession. Not really. It’s casual, like an afterthought, like he’s been saying it for years and only just decided to let you hear it.

Your heart stutters. “You do?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. Always have.”

A laugh bubbles up in your throat, light and airy, as the wind picks up around you. “What am I supposed to do with that information?”

He loves that sound.

Jisung grins. “I don’t know. Maybe love me back?”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are warm. He’s staring at you like he already knows the answer, like he’s willing to wait forever if he has to.

You kick off the ground, letting the swing lift you higher. “I’ll think about it.”

But you both know you don’t have to.

SUMMER

Summer with Jisung is golden hours and sunburnt shoulders, melted ice cream dripping down your fingers and his laughter ringing through the thick, humid air.

It’s sneaking into fancy hotel pools that you don’t belong in, running down empty streets at midnight, breathless and wild and weightless. It’s his hand in yours, warm and sure, tugging you along like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

“You’re so slow,” he whines, stopping in the middle of the street to let you catch up.

You scowl, shoving his shoulder. “Maybe you’re just too fast.”

Curse his stupidly long legs

Jisung grins, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer. The streetlights cast a glow over his face, softening the sharp edges of him. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. Like you are the world.

“Wanna know a secret?” he murmurs.

You raise an eyebrow. “Depends.”

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I’m pretty sure I love you more in the summer.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. “Oh?”

Jisung pulls back, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah. Because I get to see you all the time. And you wear those cute sundresses. And you let me steal your slushies even though you pretend to hate it.”

You roll your eyes at his list, but the smile on your lips betrays you.

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you love me.”

You sigh dramatically, looping your arms around his neck. “Yeah, yeah.”

He grins. “Say it again.”

You press a quick kiss to his cheek before taking off down the street. “Catch me first.”

Jisung groans, but he’s already chasing after you.

AUTUMN

Autumn settles into your lives like an old friend.

It’s oversized hoodies and steaming cups of coffee, long walks beneath canopies of gold and red. You had tried pumpkin spice lattes, but they werent really your thing.

Autumn is Jisung dragging you into piles of leaves like a child, laughing as you shove handfuls of them down the back of his jacket.

“Remind me why I love you again?” he grumbles, shaking leaves from his sleeves.

You grin brightly, plucking a red leaf from his brown hair. “Because I keep your life interesting.”

He sighs, softly. “Yeah. You do.”

The air is crisp, the wind threading through your fingers as you lace them with his. Where they belong.

“I think this is my favourite season,” you admit.

Jisung tilts his head. “Why?”

You lean into his side, letting his warmth seep into you. “Because everything feels like it’s slowing down. It's not too fast not too slow, its steadying. Peaceful.”

Jisung hums, squeezing your hand. “Yeah. I like that.”

Truly, he'd like anything as long as you were part of it.

The two of you stand there, watching the leaves dance in the wind, the world quiet and still.

And for once, you don’t feel like you need to rush anything.

WINTER

Jisung kisses you in the snow.

It’s freezing, the cold biting at your cheeks, but you barely notice because he’s everywhere.

His hands cradle your face, his breath warm against your lips, and for a moment, the world fades into nothing but him.

You pull back, breathless. “My nose is cold.”

Jisung laughs, pressing a kiss to the tip of it. “Better?”

You scrunch up your face. “That’s not how it works.”

He shrugs. “Worked for me.”

You roll your eyes, tucking yourself into his chest. His arms wrap around you without hesitation, holding you close, holding you steady.

“Stay over tonight,” he murmurs into your hair. “We can watch stupid Christmas movies and eat way too many marshmallows.”

You smile against his jacket. “Sounds perfect.”

And it is.

Because by now, you know how this works. The seasons will keep changing, the days will slip by in a blur of laughter and stolen kisses, and the world will never stop moving.

But no matter how much time passes— Jisung will always be home.

And he will always be yours.

tags: @yizhrt @suzayaaa @nanawrlds @sinisxtea @dearlyminhyung @flaminghotyourmom @jisworlds @jenobubbles @nctdreamchaser @lotties-readings @mystverse @chenlezip @blondemrk

[sakkiichi]

CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

“Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

pairing eddie munson x female reader [long-term relationship]  summary on a slow evening in an even slower town, eddie asks if you'd like to get away—if only for a little while [fluff, 1.5k] a/n aka you watch the sunset with eddie

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Somewhere along the line, the days began to blend. They roll in one after another like frames on a long strip of film, each depicting unique moments while bound to a singular, unbroken essence. 

Once upon a time, you went out of your way to ensure spontaneity made its perfect work out of each day so they could all be different from the last.

It was an adolescent act of defiance against mundanity. Against the life sentence of boredom and unimportance, under whose shadow Hawkins resided. “Tomorrow” was always destined to be the best day ever.

You were so busy chasing the best day ever that you never considered the possibility of there being more than just one. 

The best days are the simpler ones, as you've realized over the years. The ones that initially slip under the radar, only to claim their glory in hindsight. 

As you sit at the kitchen table completing a crossword puzzle, the light of the evening sun pours onto the page. You’d found yourself in this position countless times before and would likely find yourself here again. 

Eddie soon pads back into the house trailed by a breeze. His silvering halo of fluffy curls has yet to stop complimenting his ever-boyish smile. The sage button-down he’s wearing pairs endearingly well with his jean shorts. The top few buttons are undone, revealing the silver chain around his neck and a dusting of dark chest hair. A familiar warmth settles low in your gut as he saunters your way. 

Rather than sitting, he stands behind you to look down at the crossword puzzle from above. You lean back into the warmth of his proximity, the small pudge of his stomach. He settles one gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Was Ms. Agnes alright?” you ask. 

“Yeah, she just wanted me to change a lightbulb.” There’s nothing unkind about his fond chuckle. A smile pulls at your lips as a comfortable stillness settles between you. 

“Fairy,” he says after a few quiet beats. “Number twenty-two.” 

You hum in realization, writing the letters into the correct squares. 

He goes quiet again, absentmindedly massaging your shoulder. “Hey. Wanna get outta here?” 

“Out of where?” Tell-tale embers of anticipation curl around the edges of your question. Something about that warms him like the beginning of July. “The house or Hawkins?” 

“Both,” he says. 

You look up at him, and his shoulders shake with a laugh. You wouldn't have believed the offer if it weren’t for his sincerity. 

“Got someplace special I wanna show you,” he says. “S’only a little ways outside town.” 

You’re almost sure you’ve seen it all, but you’d go almost anywhere with him.  

••• 

There aren’t many people out this evening. There hardly are in general these days. Following the mysterious events of 1986, those who fled never found it in themselves to return. Quite a few mom-and-pop shops suffered because of it, though the newer malls and department stores springing up in the surrounding cities could also shoulder the blame. With so many job opportunities gone, it only made sense for residents to seek them elsewhere. However, there were a few older individuals who were beginning to return. 

For all its misfortunes, Hawkins was hard to shake. There was something about it like Sodom and Gomorrah, like Orpheus and Eurydice—so much that screamed don’t look back, but you couldn’t help but want to. 

A wistful feeling creeps throughout your ribcage as you pass Earl’s vacated diner. The place where you and Eddie had your first date, and a couple of months later, your first kiss. The place that had seen many birthday dinners and post-Hideout meals back when Eddie played with the boys. It now stands as a shell of what it once was—boarded windows, graffiti-tagged, an unofficial dumping ground for unwanted furniture. 

Eddie notes it as well, eyes drifting over to you. 

“Remember?” he asks. No specifics, just one word that encompasses so much. 

“Yeah,” you murmur with a ghost of a smile. 

Before long, you find yourselves on the outskirts of town. 

𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘝𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘏𝘈𝘞𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘚 

𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘈𝘎𝘈𝘐𝘕 𝘚𝘖𝘖𝘕

A straight, wooded road stretches ahead as the wind flows through the windows. Eddie’s arm rests on the sill. 

“Is it a place?” you ask. “Where you’re taking me.”

Eddie purses his lips. “Not a building, if that’s what you mean.” 

He expects you to press further, but you only hum and close your eyes. The weight of his palm on your thigh and the wind on your face make everything else disappear. 

•••

The truck slows as you approach a turn-off onto a gravel road. It’s nearly overgrown, but the small pebbles are particularly clear in two parallel tracks where multiple tires have traveled. You wouldn’t have noticed it if Eddie hadn’t slowed. There’s no signage, no sign of a residence nestled somewhere in the distance. Gravel crunches beneath the wheels as you start down the narrow path. Tall trees continue to line the road, gradually thinning as you go. 

Half a mile down the road, you reach an expansive clearing outlined with sycamore trees, lying ahead like something from a dream. Eddie soon slows to a stop and gears the truck into park. 

He unbuckles. “Here we are.” You can hear the smile in his voice as you gape out the windshield.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you breathe. “How’d you find it after all these years?” 

“I’m finally starting to pay attention to things,” he jokes. “Pretty sure my brain didn’t turn on till about seven years ago. Eight if I’m being generous.” He chuckles when you give his shoulder an affectionate, chastising squeeze. 

“Don’t say that,” you smile. “I missed it too, so what does that say about me?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re a-okay.” You can hear the sincerity in his tone. “When I was coming back from Bloomington the other evening, a deer high-tailed it across the street,” he starts. “That’s when I noticed the gravel.” 

“Mr. Curiosity,” you lilt, fondness palpable. “You drove out here, huh?” 

He hums in confirmation. “Thought it’d be a nice place to catch the sunset.”

Outside, the two of you track leisurely through the grass as the sky turns ombre overhead, Mother Nature’s canvas. Eddie walks a few paces behind you to hide his smile as he soaks in your wonder. When you peek back at him over your shoulder, he puts his long legs to good use and closes the distance, taking your hand in his. Locusts chirp, tree leaves rustle, birds sing in the distance. 

Eventually, you make your way back to the truck. Eddie unlatches the tailgate and eases it down, biceps flexing. When you hop to sit on it, Eddie shuffles to stand between your legs, hands finding your thighs. He briefly smooths his calloused palms over them before they still into a light, steady weight, grounding you to the moment. He blinks slowly as he studies your eyes, your nose, your lips—like he has all the time in the world. 

The corners of your lips upturn with the slightest hint of shyness, and you raise your hands to cup his stubbled cheeks. 

“I’m not the sunset,” you say lightly. 

“No?” he murmurs with a playful furrow of his brows. 

His soft lips find yours with a tenderness that rivals the golden glow cast all around. 

Eddie kisses in the same way he admires: slow, easy, and unabashed. Somehow pouring out all of himself without ever overwhelming you. Warmth courses throughout you like a river finding its way, free-flowing as it dips and winds. Even as Eddie begins to pull away, it doesn’t wane. 

His eyes are more lidded than before, but he’s never seen so clearly. The brush of your thumbs over his cheeks makes him lean into your touch. You can feel the fan of his breath over your lips. 

Then he chuckles, a light, surprised sound that gently cuts into the air. Because he’s happy. Because he had no idea where he’d be at this point in his life, but he’s glad it’s here with you. Your confusion passes in a brief spell that eventually makes way for your own smile to bloom. With impossible gentleness, you run your hands through his hair, then tuck them beneath the curls to rest at the nape of his neck. 

You can feel each other’s smiles as you kiss this time. The gentle scratch of your nails makes Eddie feel like he’s floating all the more. 

Your breaths steady as he touches his forehead to yours. “Got so lucky finding you,” he murmurs. 

Your lips quirk. “Hawkins is a pretty small town.” 

Eddie huffs an amused sigh, gently squeezing your waist as he straightens. “Never gonna cut me a break, are you?” Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you shake your head no. “I mean it, though. Everything I am is ‘cause of you.” 

Those words wash over you with an earnestness that renders you quiet. 

Eddie keeps talking, “Sometimes I worry I don’t make it clear enough,” he admits. “Love you so much. Love this life we’ve built—know it’s not the grandest thing in the world.” 

“But it’s ours,” you say. 

And that’s enough. More than enough. Always has been, and always will be.

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

EDDIE MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

[thesassypadawan]

Spring Has Sprung (Master Anakin x FemPadawanReader)

Summary: This isn’t how you imagined your first time would be like. You thought it would be romantic, loving. That all changed though when your master was infected by a sex pollen during a mission. Taking what he’s always wanted, whether you like it or not, and…showing you a side of yourself that you never knew.

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because of all the lovely smut. Sex pollen, hair pulling, rough sex, age gap implied (20 years), and Ani’s big dick. Padawan Reader is of age.

Notes: Happy First Day of Spring, lovelies!

“I’m sorry, angel… So sorry… I promise to make this up to you… To give you the moment you deserve…”

Despite his compassionate words, Anakin’s voice was low. Filled with lust, laced with darkness. A darkness that sent a chill down your spine, straight to your soaking core.

You let out a small whine as he slid in and out of you. Slow, teasing; pushing you further to your limit each time his hips pressed against yours.

With your ass high in the air, Ani kept his steady pace. Brushing your cervix with his tip, making you whimper…causing him to growl.

From the way his grip on your hips begins to tighten and how his thrusts grew more forceful. You could tell that what little of his self-control was quickly slipping away. That he would no longer be able to hold back. “Don’t be scared.”

This isn’t how you imagined your first time would be like. You had always pictured, had always hoped that it would be gentle…loving…the most romantic moment of your life. Instead it was being stolen away; stripped and reformed into something entirely different. Something more twisted and ugly. All thanks to the pollen…the pollen that had infected your master.

Well, at least one piece of your dream had come true…

He grabbed the back of your neck. Squeezing hard, enough to cause you to gasp out in pain and terror. “Do you know how many times I’ve fantasized about this?”

Organic hand moved higher, burying itself into your hair. “About the way you’d look beneath me.”

Pulling harshly, he yanked your head up. Hips now moving at a brutal speed. Length slamming into you over and over while you whined helplessly. “The feel of you clenching around my cock.”

Mecho hand slapped your ass painfully and you cried out. A small flame of pleasure igniting inside of you. “The sounds you’d make as I break in your tight, virgin pussy.”

A moan spilled from your lips. “Yes…please, yes.” That broke off in a high pitched mewl as his cold fingers brushed your clit.

You can practically hear the smirk in Anakin’s voice. “Please, huh? Please, what?” He pulled your hair roughly, the burn on your scalp sending shivers down your spine.

He pinched at your sensitive bud, swirling around it. Your walls fluttered in response and a gasp flew from your mouth. “Master! Please, master! Break me in and make me yours!”

“Better,” he grunted, tugging even harder. “Now tell me, who does this pussy belong to?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the sting so overwhelmingly good. “You. It belongs to you.”

Removing his fingers, he lands another powerful smack on your ass. Pulling you up higher by your hair, he forces himself deeper. “What was that, padawan of mine? Couldn’t hear you.”

No words, all you manage to do is squeal in delight. Ani’s fingers were toying with your clit once more, his hips thrusting frantically. The sound of your obscene slapping only spurred you on, clinging to every inch of his rock-hard length,

Not answering him properly earned you a low, warning growl. Then a sharp tug, your neck snapping back. “Aargh! You, my pussy belongs to you!”

You felt his hot breath on your neck, followed by his teeth sinking into your shoulder. “That’s right, only your master’s. To cum and ruin whenever he pleases.”

No longer fighting your torn emotions, you let yourself get swept up in Anakin’s words. Your whole-body trembles, you clamp down hard. Fingers dig into the mattress and your toes curled. “Maaa…Master!” You wailed, your orgasm ripping though you.

Spent; you begin to fall forward, but are yanked back up. “Not yet! I’m not finished with you yet!”

His hand slid to your hip, squeezing it with a durasteel grip. He pounds into you without remorse. Bruising and abusing your poor cervix, while he chases after his own release.

It’s all too much, you’re so overstimulated. Tears stream down your face as the pain sets in. As the realization hits you…that you’re being used as nothing more than his personal cocksleeve. And maker help you, you have never been more aroused. “Cum! Cum, please! Want it! Need it!”

A loud groan filled the air. “Take it! Don’t you dare waste a single drop!” With one last forceful pull, he buried himself to the hilt. Cock twitching, shooting rope after thick rope deep inside of you. Filling you to the absolute brim.

Both panting, the hand in your hair slackened. Now gently massaging your poor overtaxed scalp. “I-I wasn’t too rough; was I, hatari?”

Anakin’s actions… His words… The pollen must have worn off...

Head tipping forward, you laughed softly. Relief with a hint of disappointment washing over you. “Nothing I-I couldn’t handle.”

Peace had fallen… Your Ani had returned to you… It was finally…

His grip began to tighten, hips slowly started to rock. And that voice; that voice filled with lust, laced with darkness muttered. “Good then you’ll be able to take much MUCH more.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @cacti5539, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie

[rosiesmuts]

Clandestine

BLACKPINK Lisa

Words: 2,200

Tags: 🍑

A/N: Late quickie.

It could only be described as paradise. The gentle rays beaming down, crystal clear blue water surrounding all around. A vast system of valleys and caves with not another person in sight. Yet the only thing your mind could process is the barely covered Thai idol–her skin glistening with beads of ocean droplets lighting up her already pale skin.

"Are you sure about this Lisa?"

"Just shut up and take the picture. I've been living under a microscope for the past 7 years."

She raises her arms above her head and poses for the perfect Instagram shot–the teeny bikini barely covering up her tight little ass.

"Let me see. Let me see." Lisa excitedly scurries over after hearing the shutter of the camera click. While she giggles and taps her fingers against her phone, you're left gawking at her ocean soaked body. Even with paradise all around, there's only one thing on your mind. Everything about Lisa was long and slender, every inch of her body from her fingers all the way down to her toes. Two tiny pieces of neon green fabric left almost nothing to the imagination; a thinly veiled excuse of a bikini. It's truly a magnificent sight, how could anyone be so toned yet soft and smooth.

"... And it's posted!" Lisa screams out energetically. Seven years of living under constant scrutiny, her contract is at an impasse while both sides remain under negotiations. Lisa was always a wild child, but now she feels the extra freedom with the weight of the company off her shoulders.

Lisa smirks, catching you staring like a deer caught in headlights. No point in denying it now, your slack jawed expression says it all.

"I'd tell you to take a picture, but you already did." Lisa teases as she catches you in the act. She walked towards you, a mischievous smile on her face, taking slow methodical strides with her long legs until she's nearly pressed against you. "Do you like what you see?" she whispers into your ears. Clearly a rhetorical question, one that she gives you no time to respond to. Hands and lips are all over you, lips nibbling at your collarbone while hands frisk at your chest. Lower and lower she goes, leaving a trail of kisses and light bites as she takes place on her knees.

She's in prime position, but she's one to play naughty little games. Over the protection of your shorts, Lisa gently grazes your shaft with delicate light touches. But that's not all, her full lips kiss the tip of your clothed cock–your desperation for her touch grows with each passing moment. Her cute face didn't match her lecherous actions, but this is only the beginning of what's to come. Her hands travel up to your waistband, her fingers sliding under the elastic. Painstakingly lowering your shorts until your friend springs into position.

"There's my favorite little toy." Lisa sing talks as she takes a hold of your cock.

"Excuse me? Little?"

"There's my favorite big toy," Lisa giggles at your bruised ego. "Now lay back and let me have some fun."

You do as instructed, laying flat on your back. Lisa straddles your right leg, leaning in to give your cock gentle kisses and licks, her soft tongue playing with your precum. She looks at you with her big gorgeous eyes, "Are you ready for some real fun Oppa?"

Her lips part and she sucks hard on your head. You moan out loud, your hips bucking upwards to meet her oral assault. Her mouth is warm and wet, it feels as though she's bathing your member in a pool of her own saliva.

"Mmmmm, I can feel you getting bigger and harder." She moves lower now, using her gentle fingertips to caress your balls. "I don't know if I'll be able to fit you in my mouth, but I'm going to try."

Her hair is getting in her face, so you hold it back. Your cock hits her throat, but she gets lower and lower each time. She gags a bit, but still manages to keep sucking away. Soon enough she's deepthroating you, her pink tongue swirling around your head as she looks up at you with a grin.

"You taste good."

Up and down she goes, taking the full length of your cock into her throat every time. The elicit noises of her gagging are the most erotic sound in the world. Lisa's stroking your thighs as she bobs her head, keeping constant eye contact. She pulls away and takes a deep breath before diving back in–holding herself down, her nose pressed against your pelvis until she turns red, tears running down her round cheeks.

She pulls herself off, coughing and gasping for air–a long trail of saliva still connected from your cock to her chin.

"I thought you said it was little." You tease as she struggles to catch her breath.

"Nope, it's big" She pouts. "But you're such a dirty boy, making me gag like that."

"I didn't make you do anything. You gagged yourself, you filthy little whore."

"Excuse me, I'm your filthy little whore." She giggles. "And I want more. Are you ready to stick that big cock into something tighter than my mouth?"

She bends over on her hands and knees, shaking her delectable cute ass in your face. As much as you love to slowly peel off her bottoms, there's no time to waste, pulling the knots on one side of her bikini and throwing the flimsy cloth into the sand.

You stick two fingers into her mouth, she sucks and licks, coating them with her saliva. Using your well lubricated digits, your tease around the ring of her ass. With great care you work your fingers inside, watching in awe as your fingers disappear into her tight hole. You continue on, twisting and twirling, spreading her out for what's to come.

"Just fuck me already" Lisa begs, always the impatient one when it comes to her ass.

"Your wish is my command, my Thai princess."

You grab ahold of her hips, moving her forward and then pushing her back. Your cock still slick with saliva, pressing your tip against her tight hole. Just your head penetrates when she lets out a scream of pain and pleasure.

"Keep going," she whimpers, her body relaxing to take more of you in.

You go slow, inch by inch, watching her as she squirms, trying not to move too fast. Her body relaxes with each pass, feeling her opening spread wider. Soon enough you're fully inside, your cock buried within her. Every inch of her is squeezing you tight. You've fucked her ass dozens of times by now, but each time gets better and better.

Your hips start moving, Lisa's moans blend perfectly with the sounds of the ocean.

"Harder, faster!" She begs.

You oblige, holding on to her hips as each slam of your hips gets faster. Every one sends shivers through her body, forcing a stuttering gasp to escape her lips. With a tug of the string to her top, it floats down into the sand–moving your hand upwards to grope her tiny tits, pinching her sensitive nipples in your hand as you pound away at her ass.

"Ohhh~" Lisa squeals, desperately trying to grasp at the sand.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes, yes!" She cries out. "More!"

With that you pick up speed, thrusting with everything you have. Your stamina has grown immensely since you started fucking each member of BLACKPINK. Her body tenses up, her ass clenching even harder against your shaft.

"Just like that. Just like that." Lisa pleads. "Give it to me. Fuck me Oppa!"

"As you please"

Your pace continues, slamming into her tight little ass. Her body writhes under you, her moans turn into shrieks threatening your ear drums even in the open air. Her tenseness immediately loosens up as she screams out, her orgasm ripping through her body.

"AHHH~"

Her back arches, her ass spasms around your cock. Her beautiful face is locked in a grimace of pure ecstasy. Lisa shakes uncontrollably, her mouth wide open and her eyes squeezed shut as she convulses. You keep pounding away inside, holding onto her hips tightly, your thrusts slowing down to prolong her bliss.

"I... I..." Lisa pants, "...I haven't came that hard since that last time you fucked me."

You chuckle, kissing her on the cheek.

"I'm glad I could help, you were amazing."

"I forgot how good you feel..." Lisa leans back into your embrace. "...But what about you, Oppa? You still haven't cum." She feels your rock hard cock still pressed against her cute little ass.

She pushes you on your back, her long body looking intimidating from below as she towers over you.

"You know it felt amazing when Chaeyoung gifted you my pussy for your birthday..." She giggles.

It was hard to believe, Lisa allowing you fuck anything but her ass on her own volition, but there was no time to harp about it. She straddles your waist, reaching down to grab a hold of your cock, lining up your tip to her wet, post orgasmic folds.

You grip her hips, guiding her in. Her tight little snatch opens up for you, allowing you to easily slide inside. Lisa squeezes her pussy around the base of your cock, massaging it with her insides. She's earned the title of main dancer, doing body rolls with you buried deep inside her.

"How's it feel to have my pussy wrapped around your cock again Oppa?"

"Amazing."

"Well get ready for a ride." Her hands plant on your chest, bracing herself upright. Her feet steady themselves in the sand, then she's off to the races, bouncing herself up and down, your entire length gliding against her silky walls.

"Mmm...so fucking full..."she whispers to herself, snapping her head back. Your hands sneak up when she closes her eyes, your thumbs circling her sensitive nipples. The sudden jolt of excitement only redoubles her efforts, the sound of clapping flesh carries in the wind. A subdued moan escapes her lips and her movements become erratic. Her fingers interlock with yours, her eyes fluttering and her leg start to quiver. With a renewed, intensity, your upwards thrusts match with her downward slams and she screams out in ecstasy once again.

"Such a greedy little one, cumming again when you were supposed to be helping me."

Rather than answer your playful little tease, she leans in and shoves her tongue in your mouth, moaning into it while she rides out her orgasm. Her lips pull away and she lets out a sly smile, still leant over, her small little breasts just inches from your face. Once again, she shows off her renown dancing skills, twerking just her hips up and down. Showing off her multiple talents, her hips never stop moving even while she reaches behind and tickles your balls.

Followed up are little whispers into your ear; "They feel so full Oppa. I want you to cum for me. Cum anywhere you want. On my tiny little tits or my toned abs. Maybe on my face, hell you can even cum inside of me if you want..."

Her words are just the motivation you need.

"You're gonna make me - " You cry out, trying to hold back.

Instead of slowing down, she speeds up her twerking. Her chest rubbing against yours as she leans in and nibbles on your ears. "Just let go. Cum inside me Oppa."

Her erotic words hypnotize you into submission. You thrust upwards into her, driving yourself deeper with each forceful stroke. Her velvety walls squeezing you hard, and you finally release inside of her with a hefty groan. She keeps twerking her hips, trying to milk you for all your worth.

"That's it" She coos. "You're a dirty boy, filling me up with your cum."

She leans back and smiles, spreading her legs apart, making a display of the spunk oozing out of her and onto the sand.

"I'm a mess Oppa, but I like it." Lisa giggles.

You sit up, taking her dainty hand into yours and helping her up to her feet. She goes ahead of you, leaving her bikini behind and proudly makes her way back naked to the beach house.

She turns around and screams back at you, "GET READY FOR ROUND TWO OPPA!"

You let out a sigh, laughing to yourself, watching Lisa skip away without a care in the world. You lay back in the sand before following her back, taking the stairs up to the second floor. As soon as you enter the door, you see the four girls sitting on the couch.

"Hi!" They cheerfully greet you...

[2i1han]

Slowly, Then All at Once

5.1 : finally (truth)

pairing: classmate!leehan x fem!reader│word count: 8.8k

genre: fluff, a bit angsty, slow-burn, young adult, romcom

tags: boynextdoor , non-idol au, high school/college au , first love , neighbor!leehan , extrovert!leehan , cold!leehan , extrovert!reader

characters mentioned : kim leehan , park sungho , sakai moka , kim minji , bae jinsol , lee jooyeon

warnings : no warnings! sfw

summary : you and leehan have known each other for years—classmates since ninth grade, always familiar but never really close due to leehan's indifference. but when his brother enters the picture, everything starts to change. unresolved situation that were once buried begin to surface, and leehan must decide: let go or finally take a chance.

a/n : the first half of the finale is here! i decided to split the last part into two since it took longer than expected. i had so much fun writing this omg! i hope you guys would love it as much as i do. happy reading!

playlist : wanna be/gfriend , serenade/boynextdoor , because you are beside me/yoon youngjoon , feel like falling in love/melomance , heavy heart/rio , so tender/say sue me , bad/wte , light/wte , can't go/ben , chocolate/bol4 , would you love me/stella jang , everyday/haebin

the ruckus finally settled with you, leehan, and sungho seated around a cramped four-seater dining table in their apartment, silently eating the beef stew sungho had prepared. the tension in the air was so thick you could probably cut it with a spoon. aside from the occasional clink of utensils against ceramic bowls, the room was dead silent—so silent, in fact, that if someone dropped a pin, you were pretty sure it would sound like a gunshot.

you glanced up from your bowl, only to catch the brothers shooting daggers at each other from across the table. sungho's jaw was tight as he focused on his food, while leehan, chewing on a piece of beef, had that smug look that made you want to either roll your eyes or throw a napkin at his face.

"wow, never knew you could cook like this," leehan sneered, pausing to flick a glance at sungho.

"thanks," sungho muttered, clearly unimpressed by the backhanded compliment.

the energy at the table was unbearable, so you decided to cut through it with casual conversation. you turned to sungho, hoping to shift the mood.

"i have a portrait project that's going to be presented at the spring exhibit," you began, tapping your fingers lightly against your bowl. "and i still need a model. would you be up for it? i can't seem to find anyone who fits what i'm looking for."

sungho perked up instantly, his eyebrows lifting in mild surprise before his lips curled into a pleased smile. but just as he opened his mouth—

"i can do it," leehan cut in, his voice way too casual for someone who had just rudely interrupted.

you blinked. sungho blinked. the room froze for a moment before sungho slowly turned to look at his younger brother with an expression that was half murderous.

"actually," sungho tried again, clearing his throat, "i can manage—"

"nah, pretty sure you're busy," leehan interrupted once more, tilting his head with feigned innocence. "jooyeon mentioned your band has a bunch of upcoming gigs. and competitions, too. next month's gonna be packed for you, huh?"

sungho's smile twitched. his grip on his spoon tightened.

you weren't dumb—you could see right through whatever leehan was trying to pull. but at the same time, he wasn't wrong. sungho's schedule was a mess, and while he looked like he was about to fight for his life at this dinner table, you didn't want to pile on more responsibilities for him.

still, sungho gave it one last shot. "i can still—"

"lock in, man. we're all gonna be watching you at the competition, right?" leehan continued, his voice seasoned with mock encouragement.

you could almost hear the way sungho ground his teeth together. he was seething.

meanwhile, leehan took another bite of beef and—oh, of course—grinned victoriously. "but i'm free, just saying," he added nonchalantly. "i can cover for him."

sungho sent him a sharp side glance, his silent rage radiating off his skin.

you hesitated, your eyes flickering between them. sungho looked like he wanted to argue, but you knew he was genuinely busy. as much as you wanted to respect the fact that he would make time for you, you also didn't want to be the reason he lost sleep over a project.

"well… alright," you finally muttered, stuffing rice into your mouth to avoid meeting sungho's pitiful expression.

"great." leehan smiled, looking downright pleased with himself. "just message me when."

and, after the painfully awkward dinner, the second you stepped out of their apartment and into yours just a few steps away, sungho shut the door behind you. then, in the blink of an eye, he whirled around, arms crossed, and shot leehan a deadly glare.

"you—"

before he could finish, he let out a dramatic groan and collapsed onto the sofa, dragging his hands down his face in pure exasperation. leehan, meanwhile, simply leaned against the wall, popping a stray piece of beef into his mouth.

"don't look at me like that," leehan said with a smirk. "it's not my fault you're busy."

sungho just hissed at him, rolling his eyes before sprawling across the couch. he upped the volume on the tv, just enough to really rub it in.

"oh yeah, by the way—just clean up the mess in the kitchen," sungho tossed over his shoulder. a smug grin all over his face

leehan scoffed, immediately getting on high alert. "what? no way. you cooked, i ate, we move on with our lives."

"uh uh," sungho cut in smoothly, waving a hand as if dismissing some lowly peasant. "i'm way too busy with my band practice. y'know, my jam-packed schedule and all that. can't do the dishes or clean the table." he sighed dramatically, like he was carrying the weight of the economy—or at least the weight of not having to do chores.

leehan's jaw clenched. he could already see where this was going.

"oh, and while you're at it," sungho added, stretching his arms over his head with a sigh, "give the laundry pile a spin too, yeah?"

leehan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "you’re kidding."

sungho gave an exaggerated wince. "i wish i was."

leehan scoffed, poking his tongue in his cheek in irritation. with a sharp exhale, he rolled his eyes before silently raising a fist behind sungho's head in a mock punch.

sungho, still casually playing his fifa, didn't even need to look before sneering, but then, it eventually faded into indifference as he's reminded that you'll be spending most of the time with leehan regrding the project instead of him.

the moment you stepped into your room, exhaustion hit like a train. you barely made it to your bed before flopping down, face-first into your pillow. a muffled groan escaped vibrated from your face, but after a few seconds, you rolled onto your back, stretching your arms before grabbing your phone.

your fingers hovered over sungho's chat. you had planned to type out a quick, "sorry i picked leehan, just being mindful of your schedule." but your thumbs hesitated over the keyboard.

sorry? for what?

it wasn't your fault sungho was busy, and it definitely wasn't your obligation to use only him as your model. with a huff, you backspaced the entire message and tapped into leehan's inbox instead.

"tomorrow at 4 p.m. sharp. art room in our building."

you hit send, then immediately turned your phone off and tossed it onto the bed beside you.

ding.

your phone lit up instantly. you squinted at the screen.

"sharp."

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the slight smirk on your lips. not bothering to reply, you pushed yourself up, changed into your pajamas, and crawled under the covers. tomorrow was going to be a long day.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

by the time the clock neared 4 p.m., you were already running on fumes.

the day had been nothing short of hectic—paint-splattered hands, brushes rolling off tables, and the scent of turpentine clinging to your clothes. minji and bae had already left hours ago, both of them free from the burden of last-minute exhibit work as they won't be participating. meanwhile, you still had one unfinished portrait standing between you and sweet, sweet freedom.

you stretched, arching your back with a groan as you wiped your hands on your already paint-drenched apron. you cleaned up your station and made your way to the painting area at the back of the room, where stacks of canvases leaned against the wall, and easels stood around. the last two students in the studio gave you polite bows before heading out, leaving you alone.

a glance at your wristwatch. 3:58 p.m. perfect timing.

you had just finished setting up your large 36x48 canvas, arranging your materials neatly on the side table, when a soft knock sounded against the door.

you turned around just in time to see leehan stepping inside, hands casually tucked into his jeans' pockets. his white shirt was slightly oversized, and the strap of his sling bag rested diagonally across his chest. he strolled over, leaning down onto a nearby table, his legs swinging slightly.

"you really took my message seriously," you teased, setting up the cylindrical stool for him.

leehan grinned. "i'm a man of my word."

"good. sit there." you pointed at the stool, propping yourself onto your own chair. you adjusted your position slightly, angling yourself so you could still see him past the huge canvas.

leehan swung his sling bag off his shoulder and settled into place, tapping his fingers against his knee. his eyes flickered toward the blank canvas before him. "that's a huge canvas."

"and your face is going to be on it for the entire university to see." you smirked, sharpening your pencil carefully.

he then let out a short chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "hope i don't ruin it."

you deadpanned at him before dragging your gaze back to the canvas. "you won't. unless you suddenly decide to grow a third eye midway."

leehan snorted, but then immediately straightened his posture, preparing to stay still.

you leaned in, squinting as you began sketching the rough outlines of his face. the problem? your vision wasn't exactly the best. you pushed your glasses up your nose and squinted harder. still blurry.

"leehan, can you—"

his head perked up at your voice, alert like a golden retriever.

"can you move a little closer? i can't see."

he let out a breathy chuckle but obeyed, nudging his seat forward until he was about a meter closer.

you nodded, satisfied, before refocusing on your work. your gaze flickered back and forth between him and the canvas. leehan, however, kept his eyes stubbornly locked on the wall behind you, refusing to meet your eye.

then, came the tricky part—his eyes.

for the portrait to work, he needed to look straight ahead. but his gaze was still glued to the wall, as if the fish encyclopedia was written all over it.

clearing your throat, you tried again. "okay, now… can you maybe, uh, look at me?"

as soon as the words left your mouth, you cringed internally. god, that sounded way too awkward.

"i mean, just look here," you clarified, motioning at your own face for emphasis.

leehan hesitated, but after a beat, he finally locked eyes with you. the moment his gaze met yours, his fingers started fidgeting in his lap, and—was that his ear turning red?

you bit back a sigh. this would've been so much easier if it were sungho.

even from across the room, you could see leehan overthinking his existence. his posture was stiff, his shoulders unnaturally squared like a soldier in formation.

"relax," you muttered.

leehan exhaled sharply, his shoulders immediately dropping. he hadn't even realized how tense he was.

the next hour then passed in silence. you worked in quiet concentration, laying down the basic sketch, while leehan sat there, completely still—physically, at least. mentally? his thoughts were screaming "she's so pretty. relax. she's so pretty. relax."

every time you leaned in to observe him, leehan would hold his breath. every time you tucked a pencil behind your ear, he had to fight the urge to look away. and when you casually blew a stray strand of hair out of your face? that was it. he was done for.

if anyone asked, he'd swear it felt like you were the one who should be getting painted, not him.

finally, after what felt like an eternity, you stretched your arms with a satisfied sigh. "alright, you can loosen up for a bit. i'll grab us some drinks from the vendo outside before we move on to painting."

just as you started to stand, leehan abruptly shot up as well. "no, stay. i'll go get it," he blurted out.

you raised a brow. "you sure?"

he nodded firmly. "yeah, what do you want?"

"uh… just a fanta."

"got it."

before you could argue, he was already making his way to the door. it shouldn't take long—there was a vending machine right outside the room.

a couple of minutes later, he returned, holding an orange fanta in one hand and a cola in the other. he handed you your drink wordlessly.

"thanks," you said, reaching for the can with a small smile.

leehan simply nodded, sitting back onto his stool, taking a sip of his own drink.

you cracked open the drink, taking a sip while glancing at your sketch. it was coming together, but you still needed to refine the details before painting. meanwhile, leehan took a swig of his cola, clearing his throat as he tried to shake off whatever nerves had been plaguing him the whole session.

"by the way," you started, stretching your arms before setting your drink down. "if you're tired, you can move a bit. just let me know before you do so i don't mess up the proportions."

leehan blinked at you, mid-sip. "you say that now? after i've been sitting like a stone?"

you snorted. "you literally could've just told me if you were uncomfortable."

"yeah, well," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "didn't wanna mess up your flow. you looked… focused."

you raised an eyebrow. "right. and not, i don't know, paralyzed with fear?"

leehan clicked his tongue, "please, i'm an excellent model. totally natural."

you gave him a deadpan look, but you were about to giggle, pointing at his still-too-tense shoulders. "leehan, your posture has been so stiff, i feel like i'm painting a renaissance prince posing for his royal decree."

he groaned, finally slumping forward, elbows on his knees. "happy now?"

you chuckled. "much better."

for a while, the two of you just sat there in the usual silence, you sketching, him sipping his cola. the awkward tension had mostly melted away, replaced by something more comfortable—well, at least until leehan decided to open his mouth again.

"so, uh, why'd you choose me as your model, anyway?" he asked, voice casual, but his fingers were fidgeting again.

you hummed, not looking up from your sketch. "i needed someone, and you were available."

leehan huffed. "wow, so special."

you smirked. "well, sungho was my first choice."

leehan scoffed. "keyword, was."

"uh-huh." you rolled your eyes before adding, "but he's busy, and you have a face that works for what i need, so here we are, also not to mention you were insisting."

"a face that... works?" he blinked.

you nodded. "yeah, symmetry, strong features. good contrast for lighting. the kind of face that looks interesting in a portrait."

leehan processed that for a moment before leaning back slightly, unusually feeling bold. "soo… you think i'm handsome."

you paused mid-stroke. slowly, you looked up, giving him the blankest stare imaginable. "that's not what i said."

"but it's what you meant," he teased.

you exhaled sharply through your nose, unamused. "do you want me to make you ugly in this painting?"

"whoa, whoa there now," leehan laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "i'll behave."

you shook your head, going back to your sketch. leehan, now more relaxed than earlier, watched you work for a moment before muttering under his breath, "still, if i'm gonna be immortalized in paint, i better look good."

you didn't respond, but there was a tiny, smile on your lips.

you kept your focus on painting the base, carefully layering each stroke of color. the sound of the brush swiping against the canvas mixed with the hum of the vending machine outside, creating a strangely peaceful atmosphere. but even as you concentrated, your mind wandered.

somewhere between blending the undertones and defining the shadows, your thoughts drifted to earlier today.

leehan had been laughing with you, joking around like he hadn't spent the last few weeks acting like he had a personal no-fun policy whenever you were around. like he hadn't been weirdly stiff and overly cautious since the membership training. but today, it was like none of that ever happened. he was back to being comfortable again, and, honestly? you were kind of enjoying it.

a small smile crept onto your face before you even realized it. just a tiny one, but of course, leehan had to notice.

"what are you smiling for?" his voice broke the silence, his tone was genuinely curious.

crap. you immediately wiped the expression off your face, blinking rapidly like that would somehow delete the past three seconds. "nothing," you blurted out, grabbing the first excuse that came to mind. "just remembered a joke minji told me earlier."

leehan tilted his head, clearly not buying it. "wow. that must've been a knee-slapper if it's got you smiling at your own painting like that."

you pressed your lips together, refusing to let yourself laugh. instead, you cleared your throat and gave him a pointed look. "focus."

"you're the one who started smiling at random," he muttered under his breath, but he leaned back slightly, letting you get back to work.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

hours passed. the painting was coming together better than expected—each brushstroke settling into place, the colors blending just right. even though you hadn't fully detailed leehan's face yet, the portrait already looked like something that could be hung in the exhibit.

you sighed before shifting your focus to his left eye. and, that's when it hit you.

for someone who thought he'd "ruin the painting," leehan was actually ridiculously good-looking.

like, annoyingly good-looking.

you leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing as you studied his features. his eyes had that naturally thoughtful shape, framed by long lashes that felt unfair. his nose was well-defined, and his lips—full and slightly parted had the kind of symmetry that artists spent hours trying to get right on canvas. his skin? smooth. his blonde hair? soft-looking, with a few stray strands that casually fell over his forehead perfectly.

this was absurd.

you were so caught up in analyzing him like some kind of high-definition character model that you didn't even realize how long you'd been staring—until leehan cleared his throat.

you snapped out of it so fast you nearly dropped your brush.

leehan wasn't just looking at you now—his pupils were slightly blown, his face a little too still, and, most importantly, his ears were red.

"the paint's gonna dry," he muttered, nodding toward the palette in your hand.

"oh- uh... right," you said, gripping your brush so tightly it was a miracle it didn't snap in half.

"i'm just, uh, memorizing the color of your eyes for accurate blending," you blurted out.

a bold-faced lie. a straight-up horrible excuse. but you said it with confidence, and that had to count for something. leehan blinked at you. for a second, it looked like he might call you out, but instead, he just smirked.

you turned back to the canvas in urgency, focusing way too hard on mixing paint. it's normal to find people attractive. acknowledging someone's good looks doesn't mean anything. this was just an artist appreciating her subject. that's all.

a quick glance at leehan told you he was still looking at you, his fingers lightly tapping against his knee. his expression was still, and his smirk hadn't faded entirely.

you exhaled, shaking your head. yeah, totally normal.

you tried to ground yourself, to shake off whatever weird spell had momentarily possessed you, but your hands. you fumbled with your brush, nearly dropping it onto the palette.

to distract yourself from your own nervousness, you did the most natural thing you could think of, checking your wristwatch.

"oh- it's already 7:30 p.m. do you not mind being this late?" you asked, glancing back at leehan.

there was a flicker in his face, like something had just clicked in his brain. "oh, right… i had practice."

you blinked. "you had practice?"

"yeah, thirty minutes ago—"

"why didn't you tell me?" you cut him off, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the floor. "leehan! you should've said something!" you hastily set your palette down, already feeling mildly guilty. "come on, i don't want to be a hurdle in your schedule."

leehan stood as well, brushing off his jeans like he wasn't thirty minutes late to a commitment. "it's alright, really."

"no, it's not," you huffed, crossing your arms. "go catch up to your practice. we can just continue this tomorrow."

leehan raised an eyebrow at you. "and you? will you be fine going home alone?"

you narrowed your eyes. "wow, since when were you this concerned about me?" you sneered, untying your apron and turning to carefully place the canvas in a secure spot.

leehan cleared his throat. "i'd be held accountable if something happened to you. i'm the last person you've been with." he looked away as he said it.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "wow, thank you for that warm and thoughtful concern. my heart is so touched."

leehan said nothing, just slung his bag over his shoulder. but then, before heading to the door, he hesitated. "but, really. will you be okay?"

something in his tone made you pause. his usual teasing edge, and indifference was gone. long gone, replaced by something softer, and genuine. his eyes gazed at yours, and for a second, you saw actual worry there.

your eyebrows furrowed slightly. "yes, i promise," you assured him.

at that, his shoulders loosened a little. "just… take care," he muttered. "and don't hesitate to call if you need anything." there was hesitation in his voice, like he wasn't sure how much concern was too much concern, but his worry overshadowed his cowardness.

you felt the corners of your lips twitch. "i will…" then, snapping yourself out of the moment, you clapped your hands together. "now go, go! you're already late!"

leehan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, but there was a sheepish smile playing on his lips as he turned towards the door. "see you."

you only hummed in response, watching as he disappeared down the hallway.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

after spending an estimated five minutes cleaning up the mess you made in the art room, tidying yourself up, and hastily shoving all your supplies into a large bag, you finally stepped out into the hallway. the evening light filtering through the windows cast a dim glow on the polished floors, giving the school a peaceful atmosphere despite your exhaustion.

as you adjusted the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you spotted sungho approaching from across the hall. his tall figure was easy to recognize, his casual uniform slightly disheveled as usual, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. the moment he saw you, his face brightened, and he jogged toward you with a wave.

"y/n!" he called out, voice echoing through the empty corridor.

you gave him a tired smile, rubbing at your temple. "hey," you greeted, your voice coming out lower than intended.

sungho slowed his pace as he reached you, his eyes instinctively scanning the space around. his head tilted slightly in curiosity before he turned back to you. "where's leehan?" he asked.

you kept your eyes straight ahead. "he left early. practice." your tone was flat, too tired to sound even mildly interested.

sungho clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "that prick. he presented himself like he had all the time in the world, but turns out he's just as busy as me." he huffed in mild annoyance, running a hand through his hair.

that made you chuckle under your breath.

"what?" he asked, his brows lifting slightly.

"nothing," you said, covering your mouth briefly with the back of your hand to suppress another giggle. "it's just funny seeing him like this."

"like what?" sungho squinted at you.

"like… actually existing." you shrugged. "he never really talked to me back in middle school. not until, well, the entirety of high school."

sungho suddenly came to a full stop, grabbing your sleeve to halt you as well. "wait, wait, wait—" his expression twisted in surprise. "you two have known each other???"

you blinked at him, his reaction catching you off guard. "uh… well, about that," you trailed off, biting your lip. you gave him your best starry-eyed look, silently pleading for him not to get mad.

sungho squinted at you. "and you're just telling me now???"

his dramatic reaction made you wave your hands defensively before patting his shoulder, trying to calm him down. "i was gonna tell you! but the situation between me and leehan was so awkward you wouldn't even notice that we've known each other for almost four years." you pursed your lips in, upset.

sungho stared at you for a second before scoffing. "yeah, well… i didn't notice." he resumed walking, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "leehan barely breathes around you—not until recently."

you huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "i don't know, but my first instinct was to deny knowing him the first time i found out he was your brother at orientation. i thought he'd just ignore me again and make me look like a fool, like—'oh yeah, we know each other!' while he just stands there like a statue." you rolled your eyes.

sungho hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "what do you mean by 'again'?"

you sighed, adjusting the weight of your bag. "we never really had any mutual connection despite being literal classmates for years. i kept trying to talk to him, but he was just… barely there? meh." you waved your hand dismissively. "it's just funny that he's finally interacting with me like a normal person."

sungho's face twitched, confusion passing through his face. it was subtle, but you caught the way his brows furrowed slightly.

he knew everything about his brother's social tendencies. every agenda, every thought that passed through leehan's mind—he always had an idea. that included the whole thing about minju. but now, as if a puzzle piece clicked into place, he suddenly remembered the unnamed girl leehan was whining about during the entire vacation.

sungho narrowed his eyes slightly. "you and leehan… never had any contact? not even, like, sns or something?"

you simply shook your head. "we exchanged about five 'hellos' in three years, give or take."

sungho muttered something under his breath—something that sounded suspiciously like weird. if it were minju leehan had been talking about, that would've been obvious. but now? sungho quickly shoved any forming conclusions out of his head. there was no way he liked the same girl his brother possibly liked. that was not in his bingo card. hell, he'd rather set the world on fire than entertain that thought.

he forced a chuckle, shaking his head. "guess he's been getting pickier with people as he grew."

"wow, so does that mean he doesn't like me, even in general?" you rolled your eyes, nudging his side with your elbow.

sungho chuckled at that. "if he doesn't, then he's the problem."

your smirk faded slightly, your expression shifting into wonder. you didn't say anything as you both exited the school gates, making your way to the parking area where sungho's white motorcycle was parked.

sungho picked up his helmet, pausing before handing it to you. "y/n."

"mm?" you looked up at him while already fidgeting with the helmet clasp.

he hesitated for a brief second before exhaling. "because i personally think you're likable."

you blinked at him, tilting your head slightly. "what do you mean?"

sungho held your stare, his expression unusually serious. then, without a single ounce of hesitation, he spoke.

"i like you."

you blinked at him, and suddenly the air was cold.

he just dropped it. no warning, no dramatic buildup—just straight-up dropped a confession like it was an everyday statement you almost thought he was kidding. his expression remained neutral, though you could see the amusement flickering in his eyes as he watched you process his words.

"you… me??" you pointed to yourself, brows furrowing.

"yeah, you." he nodded, this time with a smile on his lips. "i thought i was being obvious, but… wow. didn't know a socialist like you had no social cues when it comes to romance."

"wait, wait, wait." you held up your hands, as if physically trying to stop time. "when? were you obvious?"

sungho scoffed. "uh, i don't know, maybe when i first met you at the café last fall and slipped a note under your napkin—with my number and a compliment saying how beautiful you are?"

you opened your mouth, but he wasn't done.

"oh, and how about that time i bothered to ask for your name at the bus stop the same night? or when i took care of you when you were blacked-out drunk? bonus points if you even noticed how my face lights up whenever i see you."

with every sentence he stacked up, you pursed your lips tighter, slowly sinking in guilt as you finally saw the vision.

"i… i just thought it was because… i was your neighbor? and, you know, decency? friend things?"

sungho pressed his forehead with his fingers, clicking his tongue. "of course! because that's totally a normal way to make friends."

"but… why?" you chuckled nervously, leaning against his bike as he stood in front of you, arms crossed.

sungho tilted his head, smiling softly. "because you're insanely pretty. and, well… i got to know you. and you're kind, sweet, and fun to be with." his voice was so genuine, it's almost impossible to doubt his words.

you just smiled at him, clasping your hands together as if trying to steady yourself. "thank you, sungho," you muttered, your voice softer than you expected. "but i don't—"

"no, it's alright."

he cut you off before you could even finish, his tone was assuring, as if he already knew what you were going to say. "i just wanted you to know," he continued. then, as if catching himself, he added, "but, of course, that doesn't mean i don't want to take you out on a date." his smirk returned, teasing but not pressuring.

you let out a breathy smile, dropping your gaze to the ground for a second before looking back up at him. "sungho, i'm not sure about it... i'm sorry."

he lifted his index finger, stopping you before you could even get another word in. "and don't even think about apologizing, y/n." his voice was lighthearted, but his sincerity was undeniable.

you blinked up at him, lips parting slightly, unsure of what to say.

"just—just always remember that i'm here whenever you change your mind," he said, tapping a hand against his chest lightly. "always here." his smile held no hint of disappointment, only reassurance, and somehow, that made it even harder to respond.

any other person's heart would've fluttered at this. a handsome man in front of you, confessing his feelings with a soft voice, giving you space, reassuring you without a hint of resentment.

sungho had been a great friend. a constant. someone you could rely on, someone who made you laugh, someone whose presence had started to feel as familiar as your own shadow. but you only saw him as that.

at least for now.

some small, distant part of you wanted to like sungho the way he liked you, but no matter how you looked at it, you just couldn't. it wasn't that he wasn't enough—it was just that your heart had never leaned that way.

you inhaled deeply, then exhaled through your nose, forcing yourself to meet his eye. "i'll keep that in mind." you said.

sungho studied you for a moment before clapping his hands together, the sudden noise snapping the tension like a bubble popping. "alright then!" he grabbed his helmet from the motorcycle seat, swiftly securing it over his head.

"let's go?" his voice was slightly muffled through the helmet, but you could hear the grin in his tone.

you nodded. "yeah."

as you climbed onto the back of his motorcycle, he gave you a small glance over his shoulder. "hold tight."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

"thank you for always driving me home," you said, stretching your arms with a sigh. "i get to save money on bus fare, enjoy a fresh breeze of air, and—" you wiggled your eyebrows at him. "a handsome driver too."

sungho scoffed, placing a hand on his hip, unimpressed. "don't tease me like that just because i finally told you i like you."

"whyy?" you grinned, leaning slightly towards him. "you are a handsome driver." you wiggled your eyebrows again, pushing the joke further.

sungho's lips twitched, but he held his ground. "mhm, really?" he leaned against the wall beside your door, crossing his arms. his expression hardened slightly, eyes hooded with a smirk. "date me then."

your laughter, which had been bubbling out freely just a second ago, abruptly slowed down. you blinked at him before straightening your posture. "nope," you said, lifting your finger in playful way.

sungho let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "then stop being stubborn, hm?" before you could react, he reached out and gently poked your forehead with his index finger. your head nudged back slightly from the unexpected touch.

"ow," you muttered dramatically, rubbing your forehead as if he'd actually done some damage. "assault."

"yeah, yeah." he rolled his eyes, standing upright again. "now go inside before our neighbors start thinking i'm some rejected ex loitering outside your door."

you clicked your tongue and turned toward the keypad, typing in your passcode. "i am going in now." you gestured lazily to your door as it beeped open.

before stepping inside, you heard him call out again, "eat dinner properly, or i swear i'll kick your door open with a stew in hand."

you turned your head halfway, peeking at him from the edge of the door with a teasing smile. "yes, dad, i will." you rolled your eyes for extra effect.

still smiling, you stepped inside but lingered just long enough to poke your head out one last time. "thanks again," you repeated.

sungho's expression softened immediately. "always welcome."

you gave him a final nod before shutting the door, the soft beep of the lock echoing in the now-quiet hallway.

the moment your body hit the mattress, exhaustion swallowed you whole. your limbs went weak against the soft sheets, your face buried into the pillow as the warmth of your room lulled you into sleep.

meanwhile, in the next door over, sungho sat slouched on the couch, eyes fixed on the flickering tv screen but mind wandering far from whatever show was playing.

then came the familiar sound of the door keypad beeping, followed by the sharp click of the lock opening. the door swung open, then shut with a heavy thud. sungho didn't look up.

"had fun getting your face drawn?" he muttered, his voice was flat but full of sarcasm, except, there's no trace of playfulness with it.

leehan, fresh from practice, stopped in his tracks. his muscles ached, his head pounded, and the last thing he needed was sungho throwing a fit. he had barely stepped inside, and already his brother was throwing jabs.

he exhaled sharply through his nose, annoyance bubbling up despite his exhaustion. he knew sungho well enough to catch the underlying irritation in his voice, but tonight, it grated on him more than usual.

with an irritated sigh, he let his duffle bag drop onto the floor with a loud thump, the impact vibrating through the quiet room. his steps were heavy, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he stalked closer to the couch. "what's your problem?" his voice was edged with frustration, his patience running dangerously thin.

"not only have you been getting in my way recently, but now you're also bringing random girls into our apartment without telling me?" his fists curled at his sides, knuckles turning white.

sungho barely reacted—until the words hit his ears. his jaw tensed, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as a scoff slipped out. his once indifferent stare flicked up, burning with annoyance

"some random girl?" he echoed. then, quickly, he pushed himself up from the couch, standing tall as he faced his younger brother. "or are you mad because it's y/n?"

leehan rolled his eyes, glancing away toward the wall, trying to keep his composure. "you're talking nonsense."

"don't play dumb, leehan," sungho shot back, stepping closer, his voice gaining an edge. "was she the girl you wouldn't shut up about during vacation? the one you kept moping over? 'oh, boo-hoo, i didn't get the chance to get close to her, and now she's moved to busan'—was it her?"

leehan's posture stiffened hearing this.

"i don't know what you’re talking about," he muttered, but his tone went weak, giving off the lie beneath it.

sungho let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "she was, wasn't she?" his eyes darkened as he took another step forward. "don't even think about lying to me, kim leehan—"

"fine!" leehan snapped, cutting him off. his voice was raw with frustration. "so what if she was? what if she's the girl i've been in love with since middle school?"

sungho's expression shifted, the fire in his eyes dimming slightly, replaced by disappointment rather than anger.

"you're unbelievable," he muttered.

leehan let out a bitter scoff. "what's so unbelievable about it, huh?" his voice was quieter now, but no less tense. "why are you always up her trail?"

"because i like her," sungho admitted without hesitation, his voice was steady, and confident. "that's why i'm always up her trail." he tilted his head slightly, eyes boring into leehan's. "what about you? what have you done, huh? aside from pushing her away your entire life? crying over things you could've changed if you actually tried?"

the words hit like a slap. leehan's pride deflated, his lips parting slightly, as if he wanted to argue,but he couldn't. because sungho was right.

silence passed between them. sungho's shoulders, though still tense, relaxed slightly as he sighed. "why didn't you say anything to her?"

"because you already did!" leehan spat, his voice breaking slightly as his eyes snapped back up to meet sungho's. "don't you think i overheard you outside y/n's apartment? i was on the stairs! i had to run a damn lap around the block just to forget whatever i just heard!"

sungho clicked his tongue. "so? that never stopped you before."

leehan let out another heavy sigh, this one full of exhaustion rather than anger, and finally dropped onto the couch, rubbing his temple. he knew sungho was right—again.

a moment passed before leehan muttered, almost to himself, "she likes you, doesn't she?" his voice was calmer now, void of hostility.

sungho hesitated before sitting down beside him, mirroring his posture, elbows resting on his knees. he exhaled deeply. "no, i don't think so."

he then let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head before adding. "you piss me off, you know that?" sungho scoffed. "you're a piece of sheep."

leehan blinked. "what?"

"you heard me." sungho leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. a sheep. dumb, fluffy, lost in a field somewhere."

leehan let out a tired groan, getting up abruptly. "god, i can't stand you." he muttered as he stormed off to the door to grab his bag, and in to his room.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

leehan barely slept that night. he tossed and turned, one side to the other, then back again. his mind was stuck replaying his argument with sungho on a loop, each word poking at him like a needle.

by the time your second painting session rolled around, he looked wrecked. his dark circles were prominent, his hair slightly messier than usual like he hadn't even bothered running a hand through it. but what stood out the most wasn't his exhaustion—it was how strangely he was acting. not distant, not cold, just different.

as usual, he sat on the cylinder stool, positioned exactly one meter in front of you. you, on the other hand, kept shifting your gaze between your canvas and him, checking proportions, colors, and lines. normally, he'd sit still, lost in his own world. but today, every time your eyes flickered toward him, you found him already looking at you.

"you don’t have any practices today, do you?” you asked, eyes flickering between the canvas and his face as your brush glided over the surface. "don't lie."

"i don't, i swear."

you weren't sure why, but the way he said it made you look at him. his voice has a softness that hadn't been there before. there was nothing particularly special about what he had said—it was the way he said them, the smile that curled at his lips as he spoke.

"hm..." you nodded subtly before refocusing on the painting, dismissing the feeling before it could eat you whole.

the studio was quiet. the hum of the fan filled the space, the faint scent of paint and turpentine hanging in the air. the clock on the wall read 7 pm, and aside from the two of you, the room was completely empty.

your painting was already taking shape—his eyes were done, capturing their usual beauty. all that was left were his nose, lips, hair, and neck.

then, out of nowhere, leehan broke the silence.

"what's with you and sungho?"

your brush halted mid-stroke, pausing for just a second before you dipped it back into the palette. "what?" you chuckled lightly, hoping to brush the question away.

leehan didn't budge. "hmm…" he hummed, tilting his head slightly. "i just noticed him being different toward you lately… and, you know, the whole thing about the café."

your eyes flickered toward him again. "you knew about that?"

he nodded casually. "mhm, sungho told you during the orientation, right?"

you tried to recall, frowning slightly before shaking your head. "i guess not? he did mention the one about talking to you about me, though."

"mhm, that's that." leehan's lips twitched.

realizing you were now cornered in the conversation, you sighed and turned back to your palette. "well, you probably guessed by now that he likes… me." you scrunched your nose slightly.

leehan barely reacted. no shift in posture, no change in expression, just silence.

"but... i don't know what to say to him," you admitted.

instead of offering some deep, thoughtful advice, leehan simply shrugged. "then don't say anything."

you blinked. "what? why?"

without missing a beat, leehan tilted his head back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "he'll move on." his voice was so indifferent, it was almost annoying.

your gaze briefly trailed down to his throat, watching as his adam's apple moved when he swallowed. for some reason, that irritated you. maybe because he was acting so… unbothered.

"you might be his brother, but you don't know that," you pointed out.

at that, leehan finally lowered his head back down, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip. the usual laid-back amusement was gone.

"then, it's up to you."

for once, his expression was easy to read. he looked disappointed. upset, even. and that threw you off.

the silence passed again, heavier this time. you weren't sure why, but you just stared at him. and for some reason, he let you.

it was only when he finally noticed your gaze getting longer that he looked away.

"go back to what we're doing so we can finish early," he muttered, dismissing the conversation entirely.

your eyebrows twitched slightly at his sudden shift in tone. you hadn't expected him to shut down so quickly. and strangely, the way he said it left a dull ache in your chest.

but instead of pushing, you just hummed in response and turned back to your canvas.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

friday nights were sacred. no classes tomorrow meant one thing: slight freedom. the four of you sprawled across the living room in your apartnment. the coffee table had been shoved to the farthest corner to make space, the tv was playing some random variety show no one was really watching, and a large tub of ice cream sat open in the middle.

moka was draped over bae's lap on the sofa, twirling a strand of her own hair between her fingers. minji lay on her stomach on the floor, chin propped up on her hands, legs swinging lazily behind her. and then there was you—cross-legged in the middle of the room, absentmindedly stirring a spoon into the melting ice cream, deep in thought.

"so," bae broke the silence, leaning forward. "what was that thing you were whining about in the group chat?"

moka tilted her head to look at you, her cheek smushed against bae's thigh, while minji turned her gaze expectantly in your direction.

you sighed, letting the spoon drop into the tub with a soft plop before leaning your head against the sofa armrest. "promise me y'all won't overreact?"

all three of them nodded, far too quickly to be trusted. knowing damn well they would overreact, you rolled your eyes and exhaled. "well… sungho told me that—"

"he likes you?" minji cut in, deadpan.

you blinked. "yeah?" your face scrunched in confusion. "how'd you know?"

"oh, girl, we've always known." bae let out a short laugh, while moka and minji just shook their heads in mutual disappointment.

"how? did... did sungho tell you?" you leaned forward, pouting slightly.

"no, duhh," moka scoffed, shifting slightly in bae's lap. "he was crazy obvious. we've been telling you that for months, but you just kept going, 'oh no, he’s just a friend' like—ugh."

"yeah, we've just been waiting for him to spell it out for you since clearly, you were a walking blindfold," bae added, shaking her head.

"and don't think we forgot about the whole thing where sungho slipped his number into your napkin back in 12th grade," minji pointed her spoon at you, eyes narrowed. "which you hid from us for months, by the way. that was our last missing piece. at that point, we were just waiting for you to get a clue."

you sat there, lips pressed into a thin line, back slouched.

"not surprising, really. we're just relieved you finally caught up," moka said, still fidgeting with bae's hoodie drawstrings.

you sighed, rubbing your temple. "okay, but like." you straightened up, drawing their attention back. "leehan—"

as expected, that name alone was enough to snap them back into gossip mode. minji's head lifted slightly, moka sat up properly, and bae's brows raised.

"he's been off lately," you continued, narrowing your eyes slightly.

minji immediately groaned. "i swear if this is another he's ignoring me again rant, i am never lending an ear again."

"no, no, listen!" you waved her off. "he's been around more—like, a lot more. earlier in the art room, he straight-up asked me what's up with me and sungho. at first, i thought he was just, you know, casually nosy because it's a matter about his brother, but…" you paused, watching their expressions shift.

"but what?" bae leaned in slightly, smirk forming.

"i don't know, he seemed kinda… irritated? when i told him sungho liked me." you played with the hem of your sleeve. "and when i asked him what i should do, he just went all, then don’t tell him anything, like... okay?"

a slow, knowing grin crept onto your friends' faces.

"and then," you continued, glancing at them warily, "during the membership training, i asked him if minju was the one sungho was talking about, like, the girl leehan was grieving over. but he looked at me and went-" you adjusted your posture, lowering your voice to mimic him, "'it's not… i was just scared that i wouldn't be able to see you again—""

"and you're only telling us this now?!" minji screeched, sitting up so fast that her spoon nearly flew out of her hand.

"how could you hide this from us?!" moka clutched her chest. "valuable information like this!"

"i'm sorry, okay?" you threw your hands up. "the last thing i needed while drowning in stress was you guys picking on me about it."

"but hey." moka gestured between minji and bae before crossing her arms. "are y'all thinking what i'm thinking?"

the three of them exchanged glances, all nodding as if you weren't sitting right there.

you squinted. "what are y'all on about?"

"you're just gonna call us ridiculous anyway," minji muttered, shaking her head.

"we're just saying—" moka grinned. "both of them probably like you. hell, they've probably already fought about it."

"that's ridiculous," you immediately scoffed.

"told you," minji huffed, nudging moka with her elbow.

"you'll see eventually. we're always right," moka said before flopping back into bae's lap.

you let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling. were they right? they had been right about sungho, but leehan? that was a reach, right?

you shook your head, deciding you weren't about to let your friends' absurd theories mess with your brain. instead, you reached for your phone, unlocking it.

a notification minutes ago.

"do you wanna go out tomorrow before going to the studio?"

from leehan. you twisted your lips, thumb hovering over the screen. before you could even think of a response, you decided to check the earlier notification first.

"wanna swing by our band practice tomorrow? it’s gonna be fun :)"

it's sungho. your hand slowly dropped to your lap.

then, with a long, exhausted groan, you threw your phone onto the couch and flopped back, covering your face with your hands.

"great," you mumbled.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

"no freaking way. i asked her first."

sungho stomped into the kitchen, his socked feet sliding slightly on the tiled floor as he stopped beside leehan, who was elbow-deep in soap suds at the sink.

leehan didn't even bother looking at him. instead, he flicked his soapy fingers in sungho's direction without hesitation. a few stray bubbles and water droplets splattered onto sungho's shirt, making him jolt back with a disgusted noise.

"we have a session tomorrow," leehan said flatly, picking up another dish with an almost offensively calm demeanor. "you can't seriously be trying to mess with her important schedule."

sungho dramatically flicked the water off his shirt, shaking his head like a cat that had just been hit with a spray bottle. "it's in the morning!" he argued, throwing his arms up. "she'll be back way before she even has to go to the studio. what's your point?"

leehan finally turned his head, giving him an unimpressed once-over before scoffing. "yeah? and she's gonna spend the rest of the day thinking about your dumb band practice instead of focusing on her project. real considerate of you, wow. really."

sungho groaned dramatically, rocking back on his heels before leaning against the counter "you know what? whatever. i can't wait to see that miserable face of yours when she responds to my message." he smirked, spinning on his heel, and stomped back to the living room'

the apartment settled into silence as leehan just rolled his eyes back to the sink.

then—ping.

sungho's phone screen lit up on the coffee table, the notification flashing.

almost immediately after—ping.

leehan's phone buzzed against the kitchen counter.

their eyes snapped toward each other. a tense pause.

the air suddenly shifted, like two cowboys squaring off in an old western standoff.

then, sungho launched himself toward the coffee table, nearly tripping over the rug as he dived for his phone like a desperate contestant in a game show. his socks provided zero friction, and he skidded slightly before catching himself, fingers snatching at his phone in a scramble.

at the same time, leehan almost ripped the kitchen towel from the counter, aggressively drying his hands at lightning speed before snatching up his own phone.

neither of them breathed as they fumbled with their screens, thumbs moving rapidly.

then—another beat of silence as one of them muttered "damn it,"

to be continued

[ranunculussy]

enigma | part 04.

saturday

ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 05. | part 06. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, gunshot, blood, swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~3.3k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]

One of your best and worst traits was your competitiveness. You were able to turn anything into a race in your head. You loved the feeling of adrenaline rushing through your veins, making your blood pump and your attention sharpened. You always performed better like this, whether it was an important or a trivial matter. So, when you felt Reid was inviting you to tango by how he’s acted since Wednesday, you weren’t one to shy away from the challenge. You were sure that everything he did was to make you look less professional. You simply thought he was this childish, even in his late 30s.

There was a subtle but undoubtable shift in your relationship with the genius. Like, when spring was around the corner around mid-to-late February. You couldn’t exactly see the changes, but there was something different in the air. The feeling and even the taste of the wind got a bit gentler and more welcoming. Of course, around this time of the year, rain also became more frequent. Just the same as the weather around a new season, you two also became more unpredictable by the day.

Now, as the beginning of the auction got closer and closer, you’ve also grown more and more anxious. The pastel high heels made soft thuds as you paced back and forth in the bougie guest room of the lakeside villa that the FBI provided for the mission. This time, you were wearing a flowy, blush-pink dress with beautiful gold jewellery. The carefully created thin pieces were the fruits of exemplary craftsmanship and were closer to art than to simple products, in your opinion. It was a tactical choice, to dress yourself like this. This way you’d seem less threatening to the men by giving a false sense of naivety and harmlessness.

“My sweet-sweet sugar bomb, since your ears are like a fancy Swiss cheese, I was able to get some piercings with mics in them. It’s not much but at least this way I could stay in contact with you,” rushed into the room—which up until this point was only occupied by Hotchner and some AT unit members—and straight to you Garcia. “It’ll match your aesthetic, don’t worry.”

Penelope wasn’t lying but still. Your ears didn’t look exactly like Swiss cheese. Yes, you had a few piercings, but nothing over the top. However, people liked to tease you when you showed up with a new hole in your said body parts.

“Damn, how?”

“Oh, I just pulled some strings, nothing serious,” waved her hands and let out her signature giggles the tech wizard after she handed over the fake pieces of jewellery to you.

“From whom can I expect a complaint soon?” sighed your boss, who was sitting in an armchair, pinching his nose bridge. Similarly to you, he was already in a full formal set, looking handsome as ever, ready to head out. You were waiting for the rest of the team who’ll infiltrate the mansion of Jonathan Grace with you as servers.

“Nobody, sir. Pinky promise.” she grinned a bit too brightly as she held up her finger to further reassure the stressed man, but her attention quickly shifted towards the opening door of the room. The two other BAU members who will be undercover with you walked in, looking beyond annoyed. “Why hello, my beautiful behavioural analysts!”

“Help me out with this, dollface.” Morgan basically whined as he held up the black piece of clothing that needed to be tied into a bow and apparently, he was unable to do it by himself. A bit behind him stood Reid with the same defeated look on his face. Ah, this is wonderful.

Both of them looked great. Beyond great, even. They were wearing pristine white button-ups, black vests and black suits. The only missing accessory was the bowtie, and none of them were able to figure out the technique of it.

A small plan formed in your brain and without a second thought, you walked up to the genius. Your steps were deliberate, making your walk look elegant and eye-catching. Even though you were slightly panicking on the inside, you were way too proud to show it and let him win the contest of who can make the other more flustered, which probably only existed in your head. You stopped right in front of him and took the piece of clothing from his hand before he could say anything. “Let me help you with this.”

Reid wanted to say that there was no need, but he couldn’t. Not when you looked like someone out of a fairytale, with your pretty dress and carefully styled hair flowing around you so effortlessly. The makeup was a perfect touch, the cherry on top, the point to the letter ‘i’. Before he noticed, your tender hands were already around his neck, working efficiently. He tilted his head and found your eyes with his. You tried to ignore the blushing that kept creeping up on your neck and not break eye contact, but you weren’t exactly practised in this, so after a few seconds that felt never-ending, you lowered your gaze to his chest. Damn it, now I just look stupid. Get your head in the game, Y/N. Just take deep breaths and don’t think… about literally anything. Realistically speaking, only seconds have passed, I’m sure I wasn’t that awkward.

You were still halfway in your thoughts, reasoning with yourself when you finished with the bowtie and were about to pull your hands away, but he quickly caught your wrists and firmly held it in place.

“Hmm?” was the only reaction that you were able to muster out of yourself. You looked at the man in front of you with wide eyes as your brain short-circuited. Oh, how you’ll hate yourself for this in the future.

“Thank you,” he said in a low, slightly hoarse tone. From this close, you were able to smell his perfume which was a perfect match for him. It didn’t smell too strong or rich. It was more deep and refined.

“Ah, uhm. It was nothing, really. Everybody has their shortcomings, doctor. Maybe this is one of yours?” you asked with a playfully arched eyebrow as a sly glimmer flickered in your irises, not missing Reid’s attention.

“Let’s just say that my fingers are skilled in a different way,” he replied almost immediately, shattering that tiny amount of false confidence you were able to gather. You couldn’t believe your ears. Yes, you knew that the man wasn’t that innocent, lost boy that the others often reminisced about. You didn’t know Reid when he began his career at the BAU, but you heard he was different back then. Shy and even naïve when it came to topics like this. He obviously changed a lot. This job changed him. You knew that it cost him everything, like it did for most of the team. Also, he simply grew up, which was an unavoidable side effect of life. Still, this kind of suggestive talk was more like Derek’s style, not Spencer’s. You had no idea how to react cleverly.

Luckily, Penelope unintentionally saved you from having to come up with anything at all. “Look at that, boy wonder has finally learned something from you!” she teased the tall man while she pushed Morgan’s shoulder with her own. You took advantage of the distraction and pulled your wrists out of his massive hands, then took a few steps back.

×××

This case seemed so doomed by the narrative from the very beginning that you genuinely had no idea at which point things went diabolically sideways. But they did, and now you were bleeding out as if you had nothing better to do, as if you had so much free blood in your body.

At first, everything went smoothly. You and Hotch were able to play the perfect couple with awfully conservative values and noticeable dominant-submissive dynamics. Those assholes were eating it up and the only thing holding you back from frowning was the knowledge that they’ll all be behind bars very soon. Or you hoped.

Occasionally, you caught glimpses of the two other men serving drinks and honestly unappetising finger food that looked borderline inedible to the attendees while taking mental notes about their faces for later. Aaron’s left arm was constantly around your waist, keeping you close to him at all times. Both of you were sure as hell that the rest of the team will be up in your asses about this for months at least.

As the event lazily stretched into the sultry night, a strong sense of discomfort and worry sneaked upon your shoulders, making your stomach twist. Something felt off. You couldn’t quite explain it, but you were sure that there was something definitely wrong.

Jonathan Grace has never left the crowd, not even for a few minutes, which didn’t seem logical. Managing this many victims from different locations was extremely risky and required a high level of organisation. His attention was a crucial factor for the traffickers to be able to pull this off without complications, still, Grace seemed almost nonchalant.

You carefully looked around, searching for any prying eyes, but only found the occasional gaze of your unit members. This was good. You managed to avoid suspicion so far.

When you made sure you weren’t being watched, you wrapped your arms around your boss’s neck and leaned to his face, as if you were hinting a small peck on his slightly stubbled skin.

“We’re missing something,” you murmured into his ear.

“I know, Grace is too calm.”

“When the auction starts, go alone. Say that you’re testing my trust in you. I’ll look around.”

“Fine, but be careful, Agent.”

After this, you did exactly what you agreed on. When Jonathan announced that the auction was about to start and opened the way to a secluded hall, you stayed behind, like many other women and all the staff members. You tried not to worry about your boss, who just entered a den of snakes all by himself and instead, you slipped away from the small crowd.

“Garcia, can you pull up the layout of this place? Or some kind of surveillance footage? I’m looking for a private study,” you whispered, hoping that the incredible tech goddess would hear you.

“In a second, my gorgeous, sweet macaron!”

You already started snooping around while you were waiting for the directions. You felt like staying in motion would help in not getting caught. Echoes of footsteps broke the silence of the dimly lit corridor where you currently were, making your pulse quicken and your breath hitch. You turned around and were ready to come up with some bullshit excuse when you noticed those all too familiar hazel curls.

“God, you almost gave me a heart attack,” you mumbled but couldn’t help a smile spreading across your face as Derek and Spencer reached you.

Instead of reacting to your sentence, Reid said “We’ve missed something.”. His tone seemed normal, as if he was stating a simple, harmless fact but his expression gave away the anxiety he felt.

“Yeah, Hotch and I thought so too,” you nodded. A few seconds later you’ve got some possible rooms from Penelope, who was only able to find a ground-plan, and decided to split into three, all of you covering a place.

“Here,” before you all went in different directions, Derek grabbed your forearm and handed you a gun.

“Damn, I’m impressed. How did you manage to get this in?”

“Found a window that was left open while I was clocking in,” he shrugged and revealed another weapon, hidden at his ankle, which he gave to Reid. “Imma be honest, it’s a miracle that I didn’t get busted. These guys are throughout.”

“Regardless, I could kiss you right now,” you joked as a wave of relief washed over you. You were nowhere near wrapping up this case, but you felt much safer.

“What’s stopping you, pretty girl?”

“I’m married,” you sighed as you held up your hand, showing the fake wedding ring hugging your finger.

Derek laughed and ruffled your hair. “Be careful.”

“You too,” you nodded, then looked at the silent doctor, “And you too, Reid.”

He nodded, but nothing left his lips. His eyes did the talking instead, which were more expressive than anything he could’ve said. He was worried and filled with anxiety. He was never a fan of splitting up on the field when the area was unknown and they had no way of communicating, but now they had to be quick, so this was the only logical option.

Well, it’s safe to say that you weren’t careful. You reached the room that Garcia was guiding you to and slowly pushed down the handle, but the door didn’t budge. So, you did what any skilled agent would’ve done in this situation, which is taking out a hairpin from your decorated hair and fucking around with the lock until something would work out. After you heard a quiet clicking noise, you eagerly opened the door and stepped into the poorly lit study room, only to hear a loud noise and feel a sharp pain in your right side, above your hip. Your reaction was instinctive, aiming the gun in the direction of your attacker and shooting before a second thought.

You only stumbled after a loud thud let you know that whoever was in there, wasn’t alive anymore. You took a deep, shaky breath and lowered your gaze towards your waist, which was now covered with warm, crimson blood, ruining the dress that was probably more expensive than your monthly mortgage.

“Oh, the Bureau will hate me for this,” a painful groan left your lips as you tried to ignore Garcia freaking out at the other end of the line and instead walked towards the massive desk in the middle of the room. You were extremely lucky that the bullet missed every vital organ, but still, you were heavily bleeding. You knew you only had a few minutes before blacking out if you were lucky. You had to make this search as quick as possible.

You rummaged through every drawer of the heavy oak furniture with one hand while you pressed the other one at the open wound, trying to gain some conscious time. At first, you found nothing worthy, which made you panic. You were about to faint in enemy territory without any information. But just as you were about to spiral, your knuckles hit the back of one of the drawers, creating a hollow sound. With all your remaining strength, you tore the fake divider out of its place and found a folder behind it.

“Y/N please say something, I heard shots, what happened?” Penelope’s worried voice dragged you back from your momentarily dazed-out state which occurred sooner than you’d anticipated. You placed the folder on top of the desk and started looking through the files.

“Everything is fine Garcia. Look something up for me real quick, please. Since when does Jonathan Grace deal with transporting fish? We thought all his business was related to constructions.” you tried to sound stable to calm down the analyst, but your head was already spinning so you had to lean on the edge of the desk.

“Since never. There is nothing under his name or any of his aliases with connection to the fishing industry.”

“Then why…?” you mumbled to yourself, but the answer came quicker than you could’ve finished your own sentence. The other victims were never meant to be brought here, all of this is a fucking distraction. “Pen, alert the others. The victims are getting deported in containers, hidden under the fish, right now. There’s a contract for cargos to overseas, we’ll lose them forever if they leave the States.”

By this time your vision got blurry and most of your strength left your body, so you didn’t notice the two other agents hurriedly entering the room and rushing towards you. Only when someone’s arms secured your numb self and laid you down gently did you realise that you weren’t alone.

“Y/N, listen to my voice,” Reid’s firm tone slowly reached your brain as you tried to blink the dizziness away, with no success. The doctor placed his strong hand on the wound and pressed on it, trying to slow down the process of you, bleeding out. “Stay awake.”

“I’m fine, you should see the other guy.”

“Do you really feel like this is an appropriate time for your jokes?”

“If it annoys you, then the answer is obvious.”

The harsh, sharp sound of sirens that filled the air calmed you down. The place probably was being raided, meaning that the end of this tiring case was near.

“Reid, I’ll go look for Hotch. Make sure she’s okay.” Morgan's words almost sounded like an order, and even though it was meant for the agent who was a bit more collected than you at the moment, you held up your arm and showed a thumbs-up in the direction of the leaving man.

“Keep still. If your body loses more than 20% of its blood, you could go into haemorrhagic shock. That is when the heart slows down and can't circulate enough blood around the body. Blood pressure plummets when this happens and there’s a massive drop in body temperature. If the body loses more than 40% of its blood, all the organs start to shut down and death is likely.”

“I know, and you aren’t exactly calming me but don’t stop talking,” you mumbled. You were about to close your eyes when he gently grabbed your cheeks and turned your head towards him.

“Only if you’ll keep looking at me,” he said, his voice soothing but commanding. After a painful groan, you opened your eyelids and even if you had to narrow them so that you wouldn’t see two of him, your eyes still found his. “Good girl.”

Am I tripping that hard or did I hear him correctly? If you weren’t in your current state, you would’ve become a blushing mess at those two words. You were sure that it had no meaning behind it, not when it came to Reid. He was just probably trying to take control of the situation and didn’t even notice what he said. Yes, it must be it.

For a few minutes, Reid rambled about techniques that were used even in ancient times to prevent soldiers from bleeding out, and how many methods are used in modern days too. His captivating eyes were focused on your face which has slightly glimmered since you started sweating. You tried not to break the eye contact, but you felt more and more tired to the point that you were hardly able to control your heavy eyelids. As if your lashes suddenly weighed tonnes. He was about to explain in depth the history of cauterisation when the medics entered the room, taking you away from his warm arms and lifting you with a stretcher.

From this point on, you had no memories. Everything went dark and silent. In a sense, you felt comfortable.

thank you so much for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! taglist: @halfbloodwriter divider from @cafekitsune gif from @reidgif

[aphroditesmoon]

lacrymosa [part 1]

clarisse la rue x fem!hecatecabin!reader [boarding school au]

PART 2

summary: you were sent to a prestigious boarding school to be rid from your father as a burden, but when strange things begins to happen upon your arrival, you wonder what truly lies behind the school walls. And as you attract attention from an infamous student, your plans to lie low is disrupted for the semester.

warnings: basically pjo plot in a different font, wlw relationships and what that entails, artist!reader. warnings will be according to the chapter.

wc: 5.2k

a/n: part 2 will hv more clarisse, also I've never been good at finishing series, but here's to an attempt! Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

The violent wind coming from outside of the car window sent a sharp shiver down your spine. You readjust your sitting position, pushing your school bag further away from you.

"Would you like to close the window, miss?" The driver asked, sparing a glance to your way. "No, it's fine." You assured him.

You have always liked the cold, it calms your nerves in a way. And for a day like this, you need all the help you can get.

Your father hadn't even been home to see you off for the last time. But you were kind of grateful for that. Usually you'd find it upsetting. But it was a clear decision that he purposely wanted you out of his line of vision when he had registered you into this boarding school.

Prestigious and highly acclaimed, he called it. Those were just polite words for strict and overbearing.

You have stopped wasting time trying to figure out why he hates you. Your mother dying from your birth was only the tip of the iceberg. Your whole existence is a burden to him, no matter how hard you've tried to change it.

I wonder if I'll even miss the hostility he's always given me, or the empty white walls of his mansions that have seen me at my worst and at my best. Those thoughts shouldn't matter anymore, you told yourself.

You've never been happy in that house, but familiarity, sometimes, was better than nothing. You fiddled with your crimson red tie that came with the uniform. What you could tell from the way you're dressed along with the down payment your father had to pay for you is that this place is an exaggerated babysitting place for rich kids with attitude problems.

You've been sent to many places away from your father. Summer camp, Spring camp, summer school and all that. But nothing this far away.

As per your research, the school seemed to be located far from the city and near the mountains up north. There are two buildings divided by gender that stands a few meters away from each other. Not that it'd be a problem for you. You've never been interested in boys much.

It was sunny earlier on the road, but the nearer you are to your destination, the cloudier the sky gets. "Looks like it's about to rain." You mumbled to yourself.

"That's normal here, miss. The weather here's always cold." The driver spoke from the front. You hadn't realized that he heard what you said.

It was a few minutes later when you finally see a large building from a distance. The view lived up to it's reputation even from a far. You feel your heart sinking into a stomach, the anxiety worsening.

This was it. This will be your home for the next 2 or 3 years.

Your driver speeds up once drizzling rain begins to fall down from the sky. You allow him to close the window from his seat and lower down the ac.

Feeling your fingers pruning up, you rub your palms together for warmth after reaching for your bag, pulling it closer to you.

The weather wasn't going to be a problem, and hopefully the people here won't be too.

---

When the car slowed down in front of the entrance, you let yourself take in the view of it all, girls ranging from your ages to younger, walking past of sitting by the stairs. All of them wearing the same thing that you are.

You didn't mean to make the driver open the door for you, but he did anyways as you're too distracted to stop him.

He moves straight to the back to retrieve your other bags as you step out of the vehicle. Some of the girls stopped and stared at you, knowing how rare it is to have new students here.

You couldn't tell what lies behind their long glares and gazes, but you had a feeling that they were eyeing you up like a predator does to their prey. Focusing on the large cream and white colored building staring you down, your heart whispered out a hopeful wish that you could just get back in the car and drive off.

You fix up your plaited skirt and turn towards your driver. "Do you need help to bring these in?" He asks.

You shook your head, immediately taking them into your hands. "No, I got it. But thank you." He smiled warmly as he shut the car hood close. "Have a great year, miss." He tells you politely before walking back to the driver's seat.

And that was the last familiar face you'll ever see for the rest of the semester. You lift up your hand in a tiny wave as you watch him reverse and drive off from the school ground.

You see him wave back before he finally disappears for good.

The staircase made it harder for you and your bags, and if you were expecting any kind eyes to offer some help, none came to it. Instead they all looked at you like you were stupid.

You counted the steps under your breath, stopping when you reached number 5, and then starting back again from 1. It was also an effort to keep your anxiety together, but at certain times like these, you wondered if breathing exercises are all lies made up by a psychiatrist to worsen someone symptom and continue to drive them crazy.

After a couple series of 1 to 5s, you finally made it to the top of the stairwell and into the open doors of the school.

If the rain outside hadn't been freezing your toes, inside was much more brutal. The school is air conditioned, of course it is.

When you said you liked cold, you didn't mean the frozen kind. The strawberry pink socks you're wearing aren't doing you any favors either as you breath out a tired sigh, full hands dragging your bags with you until you reach a tiny counter with the label "office" above the glass.

A teacher, or a guardian, sits inside, working on some paperwork. She looked up when she heard the rolling sound of the wheels on your bag and offered a small smile.

"You're new here, I take it?" You nodded your head and pursed your lips tightly. "Can I have your name?"

You gave her the information needed, from yoir name to your birth certificate. And once she's done compiling the necessary paperworks into a file, she stacks it in the shelves behind her.

"Here's your class schedule, and here's your dorm key." You slid the key onto your pocket and slipped the paper under your arms as you listened to her explaining how the dorm building is in a complete other side of this place, and that you'd have to drag your bags back down the lengthy staircase and walk another 6 minutes towards the other building on the left of the school. Not to be mistaken with the boy's dorms on the right.

You ignored the continuous staring from the other student as you forced yourself down again, and into the left.

The road to the dorm was nicely designed, a straightly drawn black and white concrete pavement in squares with grass on its side. It made the place look more homely. But of course, it wasn’t really gonna fool anyone.

The dragging became easier on the ground. You thanked the gods once you got to the other building once you spotted an elevator. Your first thought was, oh thank fuck for these rich assholes. And your second thought was, oh these are some real rich assholes.

There are less staring here since mostly everyone is already in school. You took your time walking once you're out of the elevator, reading the large signs of the dorm level names.

There are 20 levels to be accurate. And yours, unfortunately, is level 20.

You stood up straight in that elevator for what felt like a whole 10 minutes until it dinged open. Finding your room was much easier, you didn't have to walk very far to find your door. You used the key given to you to unlock the doors and pushed your bags into the room first before you.

You halted for a minute when you met with two strange girls from the inside.

Your roommates apparently have not gone to their classes yet and are still here. They looked at you expectantly as you stared right back.

"Uh-" your daydreams broke. "I'm new here." You announced.

One of the two laughed slightly and shook their head. "We know, we were waiting for you. I'm Harper, and this is Olivia." They extended their hands and you shook them without question.

"So, where'd you come from?" Olivia asks. She had beautiful green eyes and wavy blonde hair. Harper on the other hand, had dark hair and bold blue eyes. Next to each other, the two looks quite the pair. You began rearranging your bags on your side and taking out important things needed for your classes as you answer their inquiries. "New York."

"A city girl, that's nice. The difference here must be jarring." You snorted whilst you hang your clothes on to your small closet. "Very."

They walked out with you once you were done unpacking, leading you back to the school.

"The teachers won't mind you being late, with you being new and all that. But make a habit out of it and you'll get a penalty for it." Harper explained. "Penalty?"

They both nodded and kept on walking up towards the entrance. "Attendance is very important, this isn't public school, lying about health problems to get out of class or skip and disappear for more than 3 times, you could get expelled."

That is insane, you thought. "I didn't know they're that strict." Harper smirked and shrugged at that. "Yeah, I mean unless you're a legacy student, or your parents donate a lot for the school, you won't get many benefits."

Of course, even among the rich, the most privileged still get to escape justice and fairness. "Are you both legacy students?"

"No." Olivia snorted. "What's your locker number?" She takes a peek at your papers and moved right to your locker, opening it with ease.

"Thanks." You tell her while shoving your books inside of it.

"There aren't many legacy students here." Harper spoke from your side, referring back to your question from earlier.

"There are only certain families with histories deeply rooted within the school walls, like Luke Castellan or Silena.”

Your brows raises at those names as the three of you leaned back on the lockers. "Let me guess, they're brats who can get you expelled?"

"Worse." Olivia corrected with a sarcastic smile. "They can do whatever shit they want to you, and will not get expelled for it."

"But don't worry, half of them are decent, just don't piss them off and they'll leave you alone." You nod in understanding, knowing that it was your plan anyways, even if they hadn't warned you.

"Luke's not even entitled or mean, he's actually pretty nice. He helped me take out a book from the library once." Olivia added, wiggling her brows.

"You're just saying that because you like him." Harper scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Even if I didn't, he's still not an ass." The bell rang the minute her sentence was finished. The two girls groaned and started saying their goodbyes before they parted ways to attend their classes.

"Meet up back for lunch?" Harper initiates. "Sure." You told her before following her directions to pre Calculus.

Your brain still hadn't fully registered what just happened. You just made two new friends, and that is a relief. Though you enjoy your alone time along with some quiet and peace, that doesn't mean you don't get lonely or feel isolated. Having bad social skills doesn't exactly equate to joy wanting a social life at all.

You walk into the half filled classroom and scan the space for an empty seat.

Some kids up front started whispering to themselves as they watched you from the corner of their eyes, but none of them tried speaking to you directly.

You flinch when you heard the teacher's voice, booming through the classroom as she enters right behind you. "You're the new girl?" She drops her bag onto her chair and looked you directly in your eyes.

"Yes." The teacher hummed to herself and turned towards her other students. "Do we have any empty seats at the back?" She asks loudly.

"There's one, but it's Chase's." A boy responded. "He's not in today, is he?" He shook his head at her.

"Alright, you can sit there temporarily, I'll ask the boys to bring in an extra table and chair for you tomorrow." You thanked her and walked right to your seat.

Grateful to be seated at the last row by the window, you slumped against the chair, relaxing your back.

The kids at the front stop wasting their time twisting their heads to stare at you, and as the class begins, you tell yourself that maybe this isn't as bad as you thought it'd be.

-

Your first class ever had been less exciting than expected. You had spent the last 20 minutes of the class trying not to doze off.

Barely any sleep came to you last night, considering how nervous you were for this day. All the worries you've had were for nothing, so far it's all been a bore, and all you wanted to do was to crawl back on to your bed at home and escape all of this strangeness.

Get your shit together, you scolded yourself. You've been all alone your whole life, how different is it now?

The girl on the seat next to yours had craned her neck in your direction, trying to peek through your notebook. Instinctively, you closed over it with your arm.

She did not need to see how there are zero equations in your notebook, all replaced with doodles of flowers and frogs.

When all is hopeless, your passion is where you turn to. Life is suffering in parts, but you find that being able to make it into art, makes the suffering less painful, or at least, more manageable.

Your father had never liked how you prefer to spend your time in art class over piano. In fact, when you were much younger, he even took the initiative to throw out all of your sketchbook. You had to find time to practice your drawing when you aren't at home, knowing his ignorance for your privacy.

But here, hopefully, you'll have ample time to draw and paint.

Once the class is dismissed, you make your way straight into the bathroom, trying to get into a booth before it gets crowded. You caught a glimpse of your reflection from the mirror and cringed at yourself. For some reason, even when you're not doing anything, the school air still finds a way to turn your hair frizzy.

You ran into the small space with open doors and knocked it shut as soon as you're in.

You could hear footsteps entering in right after you're done peeing. A cacophony of running sink water and empty chatter fills your ears as you stood up to fix your skirt and your socks.

The zip of your skirt seemed to have an issue getting stuck on a piece of string, holding it back from fully zipping up. You lifted it up higher and pulled the string out before using your teeth to rip it off of the zip and waving it onto the floor.

There was a moment of silence outside the door just before you were going to exit it. But a loud sound of slamming doors and laughter stops you at your place.

"Lock the doors." You hear another female voice command. She was not shouting, but she had a bold voice that seemed fit for a leader, straight to the point and confident.

Any noise of giggling or chatting immediately died down the moment the girl and her friends stepped in, and now you wonder if getting out would be a good idea at all. So you stayed quiet inside the bathroom.

Your palms are held against the door while you lean into it, trying to hear her clearer.

"What did I tell you last week?" The girl spoke again. She sounded upset or the second worst thing, disappointed.

Another voice rose up in response, meeker in comparison. "You said to have it by Monday."

"It's Wednesday today."

"But I have it now!" The other girl pleaded. "I don't care. I asked for it on Monday, you're two days late." The silence that came after her words was worrying. It was only when she spoke again that you felt your racing heart slowing down.

"You know what you're gonna do right now?" She asks. Silence. "You're going to hand me the money, and then you're going to give me 20 on the ground, right here."

20 what? You frowned in confusion. Money?

You expected resistance, begging, or even defiance from the other girl, but you only heard a resigned sigh from the other side of the door.

The door creaked slightly. You tried to balance yourself away from it when you accidentally slipped. Your fingers reach for the door handle to pull yourself up, and just when you thought it couldn't get worse, the door slams back on its hinges. You cursed yourself internally.

"What the fuck." The first girl snapped. "Booth number 2." She called out. "Get out of there right now or I'll break the door now."

Your breath hitches at the direct interaction and your hands hesitate to unlock the booth. But you'd rather get it over with than risk being taunted in a toilet.

You unlatch the lock with your fingers and slowly pull open the door. The first face you're met with is the one you assume who had addressed you seconds ago.

She had a naturally terrifying expression, with her brows knitted together and her hair pulled up in a ponytail. The bronze skinned girl connecting her gaze to yours.

The staring did not last as she soon started eyeing you up and down like she's analyzing every bad decision you've ever made.

But when she lifts her head back up to your face, you noticed that her frowning had lessened slightly. "You're new." She states aloud.

"How'd you know?" You ask her. "Anyone who's been here for more than a week would have the mind to run out of the bathroom as soon as they heard me." She answered coolly, taking a few steps nearer to you.

"What's your name?" She asks you. You tell her your first name.

She hums in acknowledgement before repeating your name, letting the syllables roll against her tongue. "I assume you haven't been making any friends yet, have you?"

You tried not to look to her side at the girl that was currently half squatting on the floor. "You're making her do push ups." You think aloud, ignoring her question.

"What? Oh, her? She's not important, and she's lucky i’m only making her do 25." The girl waved off like it's a silly joke. "I thought you said 20?" The other girl muttered under her breath.

She snapped her head at the younger girl and glared at her. "One more word and I'll make it 30."

Turning her head back to you, the anger she bore dissolved. "It's a good thing you've met me," she started. "In this place, it's all about making the right type of friends, just in case and not enemies."

"I don't plan on making enemies." You tell her. She was trying to intimidate you. Or at least, ruffle your feathers.

"No one does, but they just do it anyways without realizing." She answers with a shrug.

"And I suppose, if I'm with you, I won't fall down that road?" You didn't mean for it to sound insulting or sarcastic, but when she raised a brow in response, a ghost of smirk over her face, you realized that it was too late to take back your words.

"No, you won't. Because I am that enemy that you should be avoiding." You wondered if she is one of those people that's all talk and no bite, but the way she's folding her arms together as she stands inches away from you, radiated something much more sinister than you'd expect from a typical bully.

"I have to go." You say suddenly, a sense of urgency filled you when you remembered that Harper and Olivia would be waiting for you in the cafeteria. "I won't tell anyone about this." You added, trying to make sure there'd be no bad blood between the two of you.

"You can tell anyone you'd like, it wouldn't matter." She replies, stepping away from you to lean her back on the sink counter.

You clicked your heels away from her and made your way out, taking off the locks before you could swing the door open. You could feel her gaze on you as you left, but didn't twist your head back to confirm.

It didn't matter who she was. A few hours from now you'd forget you even met her, and just like always, you'll blend in with the crowd and be out of her sight.

---

"Where have you been?" Harper inquired once you sat next to her.

She had half a donut in her mouth as she asked this. "Don't talk with your mouth full." You chided her. She groans and mumbles something else you can't understand but chews the food until she's finished before she speaks again.

"We waited for like 10 minutes, you know recess isn't that long." You took a bite of your own sandwich and shrugged at her like nothing. "I was in the bathroom, there was a line." Harper nodded in understanding, but Olivia made a face of disgust as she toyed with her food.

"I hate the bathroom here, the dorm bathrooms are better." She said.

"What if you really need to pee?" You ask in disbelief. "I hold it in."

"What if you had explosive diarrhea?"

"Well, that would suck." Harper chokes out laugh, trying not to spit out her donut. You joined her with a chuckle, shaking your head at your friend.

"Your fear of public bathrooms will be the death of you." Harper quipped after taking a long sip of water. "I think it makes me stronger." Olivia argues.

"Well, I think it's gonna mess with your bladder." The brunette argues back. You listen to their back and forth until the bell rings again, indicating the end of recess.

You were a bit bummed that your classes aren't aligned with theirs, your nerves are much less triggered when they're around, a sense of familiarity of a sort.

Though, there was nothing you can do about it. You say your goodbyes at your lockers and parted ways again for your last 2 classes. The rest of school time was made bearable with the reminder that you at least shared rooms with your two new friends, and so there was nothing to worry about at all actually.

A part of you feels safer when you're around them. Though your mind is constantly bringing up the girl you've met in the bathroom. Her brown eyes and the way she looked at you.

She didn't strike you as someone admirable, but you had to admit, her features were remarkable. You had pulled out a pencil and a paper for a quick sketch of her eyes during Literature class.

It only hit you then, that you haven't even asked for her name. She knew yours, but you didn't know hers.

What would it matter? You asked yourself. If all goes well, you'll never see her for the whole semester at all. And she'd be nothing more than another face in your sketchbook.

You paid attention to the lesson, but your hands just needed something to work on while you were listening. Tapping your fingers repeatedly on the table was getting old, so you got productive and drew up a little something.

You had managed only half of her face on the paper by the time the class ended. Slipping the book into your tote bag, you follow the rush of students leaving class and heading back to your locker to switch your books for the last class.

-

It was 8pm when you were finally in the dorm elevator, back against the cold silver metal, relieving the warmth that radiated off of your body. The gym here is open all day and night, and even if the only equipment they had was a treadmill, you intended to utilise them fully.

Working out helps to take your mind off things, and it tires you out enough to help you sleep easier at night.

And so while everyone went back to their dorms, you stashed your bag by the gym entrance and tied your hair back up and went ahead for a good 40 minutes run.

You kept your eyes on the elevator level, watching the number get higher and higher until it eventually reached 20. It dinged open and allows you out with your poor tired feet and worn out expression.

It was quiet on the top floor, nothing like you’d predict what with the hour still being early. The small light bulbs above your head led you straight down the long corridor until you reached your room.

You took out your key and slashed it into the keyhole and heard your friends’ voices evolving from muffled noises into a clearer state as you pushed the door open.

You expected the girls to scold you over your absence again, as you do make it a habit of going places without letting them know, but what you didn't expect once you enter your dorm room, is for them to genuinely fret over your late arrival.

"You can't just disappear without telling anyone!" Olivia exclaimed, her large green eyes staring into your soul as you took your uniform off. "I was at the gym." You explained.

“In your school clothes?” Harper scrunches her nose in disagreement. “Hey, it's convenient.” You retorted.

"Were there other people there?" You shook your head no. "Well, maybe next time we'll go with you. I know you're not used to the unspoken rules here, but there are seriously more creeps than you can imagine in this place."

They were both sitting on their beds as they're talking to you, fully dressed in their matching pajamas like twins.

Harper had a face mask on as she rested her head on her pillows, her elbows used to help her sit up. They had music playing in the background, a song you recognized as Tourniquet by Evanescence. “I love this song.” You say randomly.

“Don’t change the subject.” You look over at them in confusion once you're finished changing.

"I didn't know it'd be such a big deal, I'm doing what everyone else does."

"I know, but I'm just saying, maybe we should all just play it safe for the semester. We don’t want another Samara accident." Harper reasoned.

You walked over to sit by the edge of her bed and asked her who's Samara.

"Samara Turner. She's a senior from last year. Some kid found her passed out by the back garden, her eyes were rolled back, and she was basically frothing from the mouth. When the ambulance came, it was too late. She was gone."

“Are you just making this up to scare me?” You ask them suspiciously. “No!” Olivia denies. “It's a real story, the teachers covered it up real good for future students, not even the news got a hold of Samara's fate.”

"Does anyone know what really happened?" You questioned them.

"The police ruled it as an overdose, but I can't imagine any type of drug running through her veins. And also, in the garden? That's just weird." Olivia says, shaking her head in disbelief.

"You guys think someone drugged her?" Harper shrugged and pursed her lips, inconclusive.

"Either way. It happened when she was alone. What was she even doing in the garden late at night? No one knows. But everyone will point their finger right back at her and say it's her own fault." You understood what they meant. This place isn't as picture perfect as it seemed, just like any other place, it has its holes and flaws.

"Okay, the next time I'm going anywhere other than my classes, I'll let one of you know." Harper and Olivia smiled and looked relieved. You could tell they were satisfied by your answer. "And if we're going anywhere, we'll tell you."

"Okay." You assured them.

You've never really known what it was like to have people worry over you this way. Most of the time, people were grateful when you minded your own business and hid away. And sure there is a little bit of annoyance that comes with being scolded like a child, but it also felt good to have someone care for you this way.

You folded your knees onto your chest, repositioning yourself on her bed. It is only after you move closer to her that you notice your sketchbook on her side table.

"Where'd you find that?" You jolted up, eyes widening..

"Oh, this is another thing we wanted to ask you about." Harper exclaimed, stretching her arm towards the book and passing it over to you. "Clarisse came over here like 15 minutes ago, said you dropped this."

"Who's Clarisse?" You frowned.

"Oh that's funny, you don't know who Clarisse is, and yet she's talking about you like you've been friends for ages." Harper says it like a mother hen catching her daughter red handed, but you're only further confused.

"No, seriously. Who's Clarisse?"

Olivia sighed from her bed and waved her hand exaggeratedly. "Curly hair, dark skin, looks like she can dropkick you in 6 different ways." Instantly, something in your brain clicked.

"Oh, her." Their expression changed into curiosity as they await for you to add more.

"I...met her in the bathroom. She was making a kid do pushups. But we barely talked, I just left."

"Yeah well, she asked where you were when she came by, and we told her we didn't know. And then she gave me this." You opened the book and found that the page with her face on has been ripped away.

Something eats away at your heart when you saw the torn pages, but you said nothing and instead just tossed the book onto your own bed. "What's her deal anyways." You huffed.

"Legacy students, they're all a little entitled like that, her more than others." Olivia answered.

"Oh, she's entitled alright." You muttered to yourself and rolled your eyes.

"I think I'm just gonna go catch up on homework now, unless there's anything else you two want to nag me on." Harper snorted and shoved you playfully but still smiled.

"No, no more nagging." Olivia concluded.

[oddinary4bts]

Be With You | ch 1

☆summary: who knew that the hot guy you've been paired with for a class project is also a kind soul? Certainly not you, and you feel yourself falling even though you know you shouldn't. Will it be your demise, or will it all work out in the end?

☆pairing: Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: slow burn strangers to lovers, college!au, smut, angst and fluff

☆warnings: this one starts with a memorial service, childhood/high school friend of brother died in car accident, mentions of flat earthers and other conspiracies, mentions of alcohol, cursing, a school project, Byeol <3, oc's birthday, san is cute and cocky at the same time, explicit content: grinding, dirty talking, jerking off, oral sex (male receiving), mouth fucking, he comes in her mouth, big dick!San, oc is a brat hihi

☆word count: 12.9k

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here

☆a/n: chapter one is hereeee hope y'all enjoy <3 and the beginning of this one might be a lil hard to some of y'all, don't hesitate to reach out if you need to talk! Last but not least, thank you to @moonleeai for your amazing work as my beta reader, I love you and am forever thankful for you <3

☆☆☆☆☆

Cold snowflakes Withered down Until you bloom As a spring flower I'll be with you

Be With You, Ateez (english translation)

☆☆☆☆☆

Sunday, September 22nd

You’ve been staring at a light ray for a couple of minutes, the serene ambiance of the church making you feel sleepy.

Or as sleepy as one can get during a memorial service.

Dust plays in the light ray, the stained glass colouring the light and dust in different hues of red, blue and yellow, with some green sprinkled into it. The priest is talking at the altar, relating a passage from the Bible that you don’t care to listen to, and all you can think about is the stupid project you have to do after this.

It’s not that you didn’t care about Nick - he was a friend through high school, but three years have passed since you graduated and last spoke to him. More than that, you’ve never been of the emotional kind, especially not in public. You cried when you got the news, but that was that.

Your brother shifts next to you, and you shoot him a look. He answers with a sad smile, and you pat his thigh, trying to offer him support.

Yunho was always closer to Nick. Maybe because they are both guys, and they were on the same hockey team for years. So, learning about Nick’s car crash hit him like a train, and he’s been a mess since you’ve learned. Luckily enough, your best friend Sydney has been here with you, and if there’s one thing that can cheer Yunho up, you know it’s her.

He’s been in love with her ever since he figured out what love was in middle school, after all. 

Sydney nudges you with an elbow, and you throw her a look next.

“You okay?” she mouths.

You nod but then motion towards Yunho. She leans forward just enough to catch sight of your brother, and a crease appears between Sydney’s eyebrows as she frowns. She then sits back, sighing, and you purse your lips before resuming your attention on the memorial service.

The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur of dust and amens and prayers, and then you’re walking out into the early fall evening, the rich scent of the forest surrounding the church hitting you head on.

Yunho walks with his head down, aimlessly kicking a rock, and you push Sydney towards him, knowing that she’ll be much better than you at cheering him up. She falls into step with him, hooking her arm with his, and Yunho throws her his “lovesick puppy” look that she never interprets.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he says.

“Of course,” Sydney answers back. “He was my friend too.”

You consider chiming in from behind with the same thing, but you let them have their moment, instead pulling your phone out of your purse. You’ve received a couple of text messages, most of them from the guy you’re doing your project with later.

[4:12 pm] San: still on for tonight? [4:39 pm] San: hello? [5:01 pm] San: please let me know [5:02 pm] San: cause if not i’ll plan something else😉

You roll your eyes, swiping up so the conversation opens, and you quickly fire back an answer.

[5:10 pm] You: chill, i was at a memorial service [5:10 pm] You: yes, we’re still on

You’re sitting on the back seat of Sydney’s car by the time San replies, and you sigh audibly as you read.

[5:14 pm] San: lol my condolences [5:15 pm] San: come to my place anytime

“What’s wrong?” Sydney says, and she glances at you in the rearview mirror.

“This dude is annoying,” you say, raising your phone. “And I’m fucking stuck with him for my populism and conspiracy culture class.”

“Not your flat-earthers class.”

You laugh. “Yeah.” You show her your phone. “And San is just this random, classic college fuckboy that the professor assigned as my partner.”

“Choi San?” Yunho lets out.

You frown. “You know him?”

Yunho glances at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, we’ve got friends in common.”

Your frown deepens. “You have friends?”

“Y/n!” Sydney chimes in, and you burst out laughing.

It wins you a smile from Yunho, and that most of all makes it worth it, if only so that he stops looking so devastated.

The rest of the ride is spent in easy conversation, though you all avoid the topic of Nick, the heaviness from the memorial service still lingering in the air. You text San to ask if you could meet at the library, but apparently it’s closed due to a water leakage.

When you get to the apartment, you follow behind Yunho with Sydney as he unlocks the front door, and then you climb up the stairs to the third level. Yunho opens the door, and you kick off your shoes the moment you’re in.

“You guys want to eat something?” you say to no one in particular.

Yunho shrugs, the grief clearly hitting him again, and you look at Sydney, before pointedly looking towards Yunho. Sydney gets the message, and she pulls Yunho to the living room while you head to the kitchen.

Though there are some pizza leftovers in the fridge from last night’s dinner - your birthday dinner, yet you don’t particularly like pizza - you decide to cook some mac’n’cheese for the three of you, seeking a meal you know always cheers Yunho up.

It takes you about fifteen minutes, but then you’re walking out of the kitchen with two bowls wafting steam, and Yunho meets your gaze as you stop in front of him and Sydney where they’re lounging on the couch.

Each on their own side, but you don’t miss the way Yunho is slightly leaning towards her.

“Eat this,” you tell your brother, shoving the bowl in his hands.

You hand the other to Sydney, who thanks you while Yunho just stares at the food. You narrow your gaze, tapping the top of his. “Eat, Yunho. You need the food.”

It’s like he snaps out of a daze, and he nods as he picks up the fork and takes a bite. You wait until he’s eaten a couple of them before heading back to the kitchen, where you grab your own bowl. You’re back in the living room in no time, and you sit on the floor with your back against the couch, eyes going to the TV.

“Are you guys really watching Love is Blind?” you ask, almost in disbelief.

Sydney laughs sheepishly. “I just thought it could be great to watch a dumb show for a little while.”

“I like the show,” Yunho deadpans, and you think of course he does.

Maybe it’s the hopeless romantic in him, but he’s indeed always liked dating shows. It’s something you and Sydney don’t relate to - there’s just so much human stupidity you can take before getting annoyed.

“You need to get better tastes in TV shows,” you fire back, and then you eat a spoonful of noodles.

“And you need to stop being a bitch.”

You glare at your brother over your shoulder, though you don’t miss the teasing glint in his eyes. You love to see it there, so you let the insult slide, instead focusing on eating and watching the show in comfortable silence.

You’re almost done with your food when your phone vibrates on the floor next to you, where you put it down when you sat. Your eyes slide to it to notice it’s San texting you again, and you keep your annoyance at bay as you pick up your phone.

[6:34 pm] San: are you going to be here soon?

You can’t help it - you sigh again, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Sydney.

“That guy again?” she asks.

You nod. “I don’t know why I said it was a good idea to do the project tonight,” you say.

Because of course you’d been the one to suggest it last Monday, though you hadn’t planned to have a memorial service today. 

Not that it’s something you can usually plan.

“I’m pretty sure he’d understand if you cancelled,” Sydney says. “It’s your birthday, and with what we were up to today…”

You shrug. “Ah, it’s fine. We celebrated my birthday yesterday.”

You did, and though you didn’t drink a single sip of alcohol, you still managed to have fun with your friends, Yunho even tagging along because you didn’t want to let him mope at home.

“Still,” Sydney insists.

You shrug again, and this time you don’t bother answering before texting San.

[6:36 pm] You: what’s your addy

You finish eating while waiting for his reply, and though part of you does find it strange that he wants you to meet at his apartment, you still call an Uber once you’ve put your bowl away in the sink, Sydney promising that she’ll do the dishes later.

“Do you want me to drive you there?” Sydney asks once you’re getting ready to leave.

You shake your head. “My Uber is already almost here, just stay here with Yunho.”

Yunho shoots her that same lovesick puppy look that she’s entirely blind too, and Sydney ignores it, as she always does.

“Do you need me to come pick you up?” she adds a heartbeat later

You shrug your shoulders. “Nah, I’ll just call an Uber again, don’t worry about it.”

Sydney narrows her gaze as she looks at you from where she’s standing by the kitchen, having followed you out after you put the dishes away. “Are you planning to not come home tonight?”

You snort. “No, I’m definitely coming home. But I want to get a lot of this project done, so feel free to head home before I come back.”

“I thought the plan was for me to stay over,” she says.

She’s right - you’d planned for her to stay after the memorial, though you’d then completely forgotten about your project when you’d planned so.

“True, true,” you let out as you put your shoes on. “Stay here then, and I’ll see you guys later.”

They echo the sentiment, and you finish getting ready, grabbing your school bag and making sure that the Uber is here.

“Don’t have too much fun,” Yunho teases as you get the confirmation that the Uber is downstairs, your hand already on the doorknob.

You cock an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that a project on the Illuminati will be a lot of fun, so I got that covered.”

Sydney chuckles. “I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

You don’t miss her wink, and you ignore it, rolling your eyes. “You guys don’t have too much fun without me!”

Yunho’s cheeks slightly tint with pink, and you don’t know how Sydney misses it. But then again she’s been oblivious to Yunho’s feelings for her ever since he started having them all those years ago.

A moment later, you’re sitting at the back of the Uber with your school bag next to you, and the car starts driving towards San’s apartment. You text him that you’re on your way, and then you look outside the window, enjoying the sunset and the gold that it paints the world with. The clouds up above are drenched golden, like they were dipped in liquid gold, and it’s a sight you’ve always loved - there’s beauty in endings like that of the day, or so you like to tell yourself.

You’re not quite sure there’s such beauty in the ending of a life like that of Nick, but you try not to think about it, not wanting to get emotional before you’re supposed to meet with San.

The clouds have turned to pink by the time the car drops you in front of San’s apartment, and you thank the driver as you grab your bag. You then get out of the car, moving towards the entry, though you stop out front to snap a quick picture of the sky that you send to Sydney.

You’re stopped at the second door of the building, this one locked despite the first one being unlocked. You eye the screen next to you - San lives in a fancier building than you first imagined. You search for his name on the screen, sighing in relief when you find it.

It rings for a few seconds, but then the door unlocks, and you walk in. You’re greeted by an older lady at the reception that nods at you, and you politely smile as you head to the elevator.

You press on the call button, and you scroll through your phone as you wait, stepping in as soon as the doors slide open. You click on the eighth floor, and the elevator shots upwards, coming to a halt quicker than you expected it would.

It takes you a minute to find San’s door, but then you’re standing in front of it, hesitating for a few seconds before you knock. You hear soft footsteps inside, and then the door unlocks, and San appears before your eyes.

The first thing you notice is the black tight-fitting athletic t-shirt he’s wearing - mostly because you’re almost at eye level with his chest. And the shirt leaves nothing to the imagination, so much so that you feel your cheeks burn as you look up to meet his gaze. He’s smirking, his eyes slightly crinkled at the corners, and his hair is unruly, a strand falling in front of his eyes even as he cards his hand through his hair.

“Hey,” he greets you with a smooth voice, and your eyes dip down just long enough to see that he’s wearing grey joggers.

“Hey,” you answer, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze, probably because your black dress pants and turtleneck combo does not match his look at all.

He’s the perfect picture of coziness, and here you are still in your memorial service outfit.

“Come in,” he says, and he steps aside so that you can walk in. 

You do so, and he softly shuts the door behind you, locking it and leaning against it. A second later he’s folding his arms on his chest, and you quickly look away from him.

“You have a nice apartment,” you say.

He does. It’s modern, with tall windows that currently show you the remnants of the sunset, and his living room is inviting, especially with the blanket abandoned on the large L-shaped couch. The kitchen is connected to the living room, and the island sports a marble counter that seems freshly cleaned, with some dishes peeking out of the sink.

There’s music playing, and you only understand why when you notice that the TV is currently on, the screen showing the pause menu of some videogame. A grey cat is sitting on a low table underneath the TV, its tail swishing from side to side as it looks at you with piercing blue eyes.

“Tha-” 

“You have a cat!” you let out excitedly, interrupting San. You immediately feel bad, but his soft laugh distracts you long enough for him to speak.

“I do,” he says, and then he’s walking towards the animal. He picks her up, walking back towards you, and you can’t help the smile that overtakes your lips when San stops next to you. “Meet Byeol.”

“Hi Byeol,” you coo, and you let the cat smell your hand before gently petting its head. “He’s adorable,” you say, and you meet San’s gaze before looking into the cat’s blue eyes again.

“She,” he corrects.

You wince. “Sorry for misgendering you,” you tell Byeol, patting her head. 

“She won’t forget.”

San’s teasing tone makes you narrow your gaze as you look up at him again. “Is that a threat?”

He chuckles, wetting his lips. “Maybe?”

Your throat feels dry, and all of a sudden, you understand San’s reputation - he isn’t one of the biggest fuckboys in your program for nothing. Indeed, there’s something effortless about his charm, about the way he glances down at your lips as if he knows he has an effect on you.

And he does. He fucking does, and it’s unexpected - you’ve barely ever spoken to him before except when the professor gave you the subject for your project, and he was clearly hungover then.

You clear your throat, taking off your shoes if only so then you don’t have to look him in the eye anymore. He puts the cat down, and then he’s walking back towards his couch, shooting you a look over his shoulder.

“You can grab the slippers by the door,” he tells you.

You glance at them, and you’re not surprised to see that he conveniently has smaller slippers, clearly for when he needs them for his… dates? 

Though you’re not sure he’s ever really gone on a date before. Not that you want to judge - he’s allowed to do whatever he wants to do, and it’s not like you haven’t had your share of adventures before.

If you can call them adventures.

You put the slippers on, and then you follow behind San, glancing to your left as you pass in front of an open door that leads to his bedroom. His bed is messy, black sheets in a bundle, and there’s an abandoned pair of socks on the floor. It’s boyish, yet it screams of comfort.

You push the thought away, shyly sitting on the edge of the couch while San gets comfortable under the blanket. He picks up a PS5 controller, and then he resumes his game of Elden Ring, as you can now see, his character riding a horse through the wilderness.

“Let me just finish this real quick,” San says, and you cock an eyebrow.

“Don’t we have a project to do?” There’s bite in your tone, and San’s eyes widen slightly before he bursts out laughing.

“Don’t get upset, I’ll be all yours in like two minutes.”

You don’t like the easy flirting in his words, so you don’t reply, busying yourself with getting your laptop out of your school bag and turning it on. Though it takes him a little more than two minutes, San soon follows your lead, turning off the game and the TV, then picking up his own laptop that was on the armrest of the couch next to you.

“So, what is this shit about?” he asks.

You snort. “This shit is about the Illuminati,” you answer.

“Sounds ominous,” he lets out. “What do you have on them?”

“The rich and elite are apparently part of them, or something of the sorts,” you say, tilting your head to the side as you scan the Wikipedia article you pulled up while San was finishing his quest, or whatever it is that he was doing in the game. “Some artists too.”

San peeks at your computer. “I don’t think Wikipedia is a good source.”

You side-eye him. “Just trying to figure out where to start is all.”

“Sure,” he lets out, and you don’t miss the teasing smile on his lips.

It’s strange - the teasing is familiar, easy, like you’ve been friends with him your whole life, and not only partners for a college project.

“You got a better idea?” you challenge him.

It’s like he was waiting for you to ask. He smiles, his eyes sparkling with male satisfaction, and then he opens a doc on his laptop, and your gaze widens as you see he’s already done a lot of research.

A lot more than you have, which amounts to absolutely none besides that Wikipedia article.

San shares what he’s found, and you help him reorganize it so that it makes more sense. He lets you do it, and it leads you to sit closer to him, your nose picking up the scent of the cologne he put on earlier today, or maybe yesterday evening.

He smells of something like whisky and vanilla, and though you’d never think the two scents would mix well, they do on him.

The sun is fully set once you finish going through everything that he already has, and you pull out the instruction for the first part of your project, which is a short report you have to submit by the end of September. 

“You hungry?” San asks as you’re trying to figure out the first sentence of the report.

“Huh?” you let out, your eyes begrudgingly leaving your computer screen to meet his gaze.

He’s closer than you thought he’d be, and you can’t help but notice the dimples on his cheeks. “I said, are you hungry?”

You purse your lips. “I ate before I came.”

“Weren’t you at some…” he trails off, motioning vaguely at your outfit.

He looks uncomfortable as you say, “At a memorial service?” He nods, and he seems even more uncomfortable when you add, “Yeah, I was.”

“There was food?”

This time you laugh - there’s something endearing about Choi San getting uncomfortable about something. The confidence he’d exuded earlier seems to have disappeared, and there’s a slight pout to his lips, like he’s wishing you wouldn’t be talking about that at all.

“I ate at home before coming here,” you explain. “But feel free to eat something.”

He seems relieved that you’ve maneuvered away from the topic of the memorial, and he shrugs his shoulders. “Nah, I can eat when you leave.”

“Does that mean you want me to go now?” you ask.

His gaze widens, his mouth falling open for a second. “Wait, no, what?”

You laugh at his bewildered expression. “You okay?”

“Yeah?” He chuckles, slightly shaking his head. “I’m actually starving. But you don’t have to go!”

“Well then, grab something to eat, I’ll just be here with Byeol.”

Byeol indeed has joined you on the couch, lying between you and San. You already like her - though you’re not usually around cats a lot, you just can’t help yourself.

“She’s supposed to be mad at you,” he reminds you.

You smile, and he looks down at your lips, a soft smile following on his own face. He seems to realize it quickly, and he shakes his head, putting his laptop away as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Does she look mad?” you tease, petting the cat. “She was lying closer to me this whole time.”

San chuckles, and you look away from him as he walks towards his kitchen. “You wish, Y/n.”

You don’t know why. But the way he says your name… 

You feel different, like no one’s ever said your name before.

“Calling me by my full name, I see,” you joke, as if trying to hide the vulnerability he’s ignited in you.

If it’s vulnerability, and not something else entirely. Something much more… unnecessary when it comes to a college project partner.

“What do you want me to call you?” He remains silent for a moment, but then adds, “I don’t even know you.”

“Ouch,” you let out, and you put your laptop down, effectively distracted by the conversation. You turn towards him, meeting his gaze. “We’ve had a lot of classes together.”

He smirks, eyebrows raising. “Have we?”

“We’re not going to that big of a college, you know that right?”

He turns away from you, grabbing something in the fridge. “I know,” he says over his shoulder. “I just think it’s funny that you remember seeing me in class when I don’t remember you.”

You roll your eyes, choosing to remain silent. You instead stretch, glancing at Byeol where she’s still sleeping next to you. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything?” San asks.

You get up, your slippers padding on the hardwood floor as you make your way towards the kitchen. “I had mac’n’cheese before.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Maybe just a snack?”

He grabs a plate, and you watch as he empties the Tupperware he’s holding. You’re not surprised to see it’s broccoli, rice and chicken - San seems like the kind of gym guy who only eats broccoli, rice and chicken, after all.

“Nah, I’m good,” you say as you stop on the other side of the island. “I ate a lot for my birthday yesterday and I think I’m still full.”

“Your birthday?” he says, stopping halfway through emptying his dish. “It was your birthday yesterday?”

You tilt your head to the side. “It’s my birthday today.”

There’s a short silence as he just stares at you. He looks dumbfounded, almost insulted, and you feel a little awkward standing there.

“You did not come here to do a school project on your birthday,” he eventually says.

Your cheeks burn. “I… did?”

“And you had the memorial on your birthday too?” When you don’t reply, only staring at him sheepishly, he puts his dish down. “That won’t do.”

He moves towards a cupboard, and you watch him, a confused crease between your eyebrows, as he pulls a box of vanilla cake mix from there.

“You’re lucky these are my guilty pleasures,” he says, showing you the box. “I’ll bake you a cake.”

“God, no,” you quickly say. “You don’t have to bake me a cake.”

He glares at you. “Just sit down and let me bake you a cake, okay?”

He’s determined, that much you can tell. “I feel bad,” you mutter, yet you do sit on a stool. “You really don’t have to bake a cake.”

He opens the box, shrugging his shoulders. “This is going to be a much better dinner than what I was planning to have anyway.”

You laugh softly. “Not too fond of the gym meal prep?”

“Who is?” he jokes. 

“Clearly not you.”

He laughs, and the sound makes you glance away, only to see Byeol trotting towards you. She rubs her head on your calves, and you bend down to scratch her.

“Your cat is obsessed with me,” you say.

San chuckles. “Hard to resist.”

Your cheeks burn, yet this time you choose to bite. Maybe because he’s baking you a cake, which is more than your ex has ever done for you.

“Am I now?” you tease, straightening.

A smirk tickles the corners of San’s lips while he busies himself with pouring the cake mix into a large bowl. “Maybe?”

You narrow your gaze, though you can’t help but snort. It turns San’s smirk into a smile, and you just look at it for a few seconds, hating how endearing he is right now.

It’s the dimples. It has to be the dimples.

“I didn’t even ask,” he says as he grabs butter from the fridge. “You do like vanilla cake, right?”

You nod. “It’s actually my favourite. Not that I eat a lot of cake but…”

He grins then, nodding once. “You and I are going to get along well.”

You match his grin, if only because you can’t resist. “Just because of the cat, though.”

He widens his gaze, and then bursts out laughing. “I’m wounded.”

You make a show of eyeing him up and down, which proves to be a mistake as your eyes inevitably get stuck on his chest, on the way his muscles stretch the fabric of his shirt almost to indecency.

“Where’s the wound?” you ask, trying to sound teasing, though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t miss the breathiness aspect of your voice.

“Maybe you’ll see it if you come closer.”

You wet your lips. “You wish.”

San tilts his head to the side before looking down, letting out a small laugh. He doesn’t answer for a moment, and you think he’ll let it go. But then he looks up, meets your gaze, and says, “So what if I do?”

It’s the way he looks at you. You feel seen, as if you were in a crowd before and suddenly everyone’s disappeared. It’s just you and him, and the air fills with electricity, your brain deciding to conjure up an image of what he would look like without that shirt on.

You feel bad, guilty, yet it makes you feel… alive. 

“You always flirt with girls like this?” you ask, cheeks burning.

He wets his lips. “Only the pretty ones that come see me on their birthday.”

You roll your eyes, slightly shaking your head. “I did not come to see you, Choi San. I’m here for the Illuminati project.”

He narrows his gaze. “And here I am baking you a cake.” He looks down at said cake - which right now is just a mixture of cake mix - and he scoffs lightly. “Maybe I should stop here.”

“And eat your plain, boring chicken?”

“I put spices on it!” he quickly says, and he makes a show of pushing the plate towards you. “I’m not that uncultured.”

You laugh, and the smile that blooms on his lips is like a flower in the spring sun, and you once again find yourself looking away, searching for his cat as if that will make you forget the dimples adorning San’s cheeks.

“Yet you want to eat cake instead?”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes, and then he’s popping his plate in the microwave. “I’ll eat both. Happy?”

He says it with a slight pout to his lips that just makes you laugh again. You can’t help it - you really feel like you know him, like you’ve known him your whole life. It’s easy complicity - understanding without having to say a word - and you bask in it.

If only to forget that you were indeed at a memorial on your birthday. At the memorial of someone just a year older, someone that should have had a long life stretched in front of them, yet lost it in a car crash.

“Okay,” San lets out a moment later, after he’s mixed eggs, milk and oil into the bowl. “I’ll put this in the oven-” His gaze widens. “I did not turn the oven on.”

You snort at his expression. “What an expert baker.”

This time when he laughs, his eyes close, his dimples flashing quickly. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“I take offense,” you say as you lay a heart on your chest. 

He just slightly scrunches up his nose as he glares at you, and then he spins around to turn the oven on. A second later, he’s pulling his reheated plate from the microwave. He opens a drawer, grabbing a fork and then closing it with his hip. 

“I’ll eat while the oven heats up and then we can work on the project some more,” he suggests.

You nod your head. “Sounds good.”

He sits next to you, and you let him eat in peace as you scroll on your phone. He ends up doing the same, and he’s done eating by the time the oven blares through the apartment, letting you know that it’s warm enough.

San gets up, and you’re dumbly aware of the way his arm brushes yours as he does so. You pretend that it doesn’t have any effect on you, yet a shiver shoots along your arm, leaving goosebumps behind.

San pours the cake preparation into a metallic dish - not before rubbing butter on it to make sure the cake doesn’t stick - and then puts the cake in the oven. You look up from your phone to watch him do so, and he catches your gaze momentarily, flashing you an easy smile before grabbing the plate from his dinner. He leaves it in the sink, and then rests his hands on his hips.

“Time for work.”

You stretch, nodding as you hold a yawn in. “Let’s do this.”

San ends up grabbing your laptop and bringing it to you so that you can work at the counter. He sits next to you again - too close for comfort, yet you don’t tell him to move.

Maybe because you don’t want him to.

Working on the project is easy. It really doesn’t make any sense to you. It’s like the professor knew San and you would work well together. Indeed, by the time his timer lets you know that the cake should be ready, you’ve almost finished the introduction for the report, and San declares it enough work for the evening.

“We’re on a roll,” you say. “Shouldn’t we try to finish it all?”

San shrugs as he gets up, and he remains silent for a moment. He instead grabs oven mitts to pull the cake out. You watch him stab it with a butter knife and quickly pulling it out, confirming that the cake is indeed ready, and then he finally looks at you.

“It’s your birthday,” he states. “We’ve done enough work for today.”

“We have to wait for the cake to cool down before we can eat it anyway,” you say.

He smiles. “Good thing we can watch a movie, mmh?”

You’re not sure it’s a good idea, but you keep it to yourself. Maybe because he looks cute like this, soft in a way you wouldn’t be able to explain even if you had a gun to your temple, and you don’t want to disappoint him. 

“A movie?”

He nods, his smile widening. “Yes. Or a show. Or anything really. It’s your birthday, you choose.”

“Mmmh,” you let out, chuckling. “Can I watch you game?”

“You want to watch me game?” he asks, as if not sure he heard you right.

You nod, offering him a smile.

“Wouldn’t that be boring for you?”

“No!” you say. “I love watching people game.” You pause for a moment, and then you smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief. “If they don’t suck, that is.”

He sees it for the challenge that it is. “You really are a brat, mmh?”

His voice is low, face more serious than you expected it to be, and red slowly tints your cheeks as they burn from the sudden heat in his gaze.

“Am I?” you innocently reply.

He breaks out character to let out a laugh, and then he nods his head. “You definitely are. But you’re the birthday girl, so I’ll do my best to impress you.”

You like that he wants to impress you. Like that he tells you to sit on the couch and offers you his blanket. It faintly smells like him, like vanilla and whiskey, and it’s warm, soft like you imagine his skin to be. 

“Do you want a drink?” he says after he’s turned his TV and PS5 on, and the game loads. 

“I don’t drink,” you admit. “But thank you.”

He purses his lips, then glances at the TV. “I can mix you a virgin drink, you know?”

You watch as his character appears on the screen again. You’re surprised he doesn’t ask you why you don’t drink - it’s usually the first question everyone asks.

“You’re being too nice,” you say teasingly.

He smiles. “Just today,” he says, winking at you. “I’ll go back to my usual self when it’s not your birthday anymore.”

You glance at the time on your phone. “You’re telling me I just have two hours and a half left?”

San shrugs, getting up from the couch. He hands you the controller, and you cock an eyebrow in question before grabbing in. He walks to the kitchen then, and you only understand what he’s doing when he grabs a large plate from a cupboard to put the cake on it. 

Once the cake has safely made it to the plate, San walks back towards you, laughing at your expression.

“What?” he says. 

“Why did you give me this?” you ask, waving the controller around slightly. “I don’t know how to play.”

“I can show you,” he suggests. “In the two and a half hours we have left.”

You smile and you don’t miss the way his eyes drop to your lips before the corners of his lift upwards too. 

“I really do want to watch you, though.”

He nods. “Then give me this.”

You do, handing him the controller back, and then he plops down on the couch next to you. He’s close enough for his arm to brush you again, and you slightly lean into the touch, if only because his gravity is pulling you in.

“So,” he lets out, and then he starts showing you the controls. 

It takes longer than you’d imagined it would, yet it’s easy, comfortable. There’s some sort of coziness to the moment, of easy familiarity you indulge in, and he ends up letting you ride a horse for a while. It’s fun, though you eventually fall from a cliff, which just earns you a fit of laughter from him as you profusely apologize.

“Don’t worry, I saved before,” he tells you, flashing you his dimpled smile. “You still want to play?” 

You sheepishly lean back into the couch, dropping the controller on his thighs. “You’re a lot better at this than I am.”

He chuckles. “You’ll get better in time, I’m sure.”

You highly doubt - you don’t have a PS5 at home, and you don’t think you’ll come back here anytime soon. Not that San is not good company - he definitely is, but you don’t want to get too close.

Not when you know his reputation, and when you have a semester-long project to do with him. 

San plays for a while longer, long enough for your eyelids to grow heavy. He doesn’t comment, but you’re sure he’s noticed the way you’re slowly sinking into the couch, the whole day and its exhaustion catching up to you despite you trying to focus on the screen. You end up dozing off, your head on his shoulder - when did it end up there? - only to wake up some time later as he gently shakes you.

“Hey, sleepy head,” he says as you open your eyes. 

You look up, meeting his gaze, and the world feels like it’s slowing to a halt. Like it’s pausing for you and him, to give you a moment to just admire his features from up close. To admire the way his eyes are soft, shining from within, and the way just a few inches separates you from those pretty, pink lips of his.

You’re struck dumb. Struck silent, struck with your eyes slowly widening, and you refuse to voice the tension that arises in your whole body. Refuse to give in to it, to even think about it. Instead, you straighten, stretching your arms. 

“Shit, my bad,” you apologize.

He laughs cutely. “Don’t worry about it. You looked like you needed it.”

Did you? You did, and your heart warms inevitably - of course he’d notice.

“And, you woke up just in time for us to put the icing on the cake,” he says, eyes sparkling still.

“Right.” You yawn, and then snort. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“Hey, it’s totally okay.” He glances at the TV - he’s paused the game, and the music is low, yet it sounds like he was in an important spot. “Besides, we only have less than an hour left to your birthday. Gotta make the best of it.”

You grab your phone, surprised that so much time has passed, yet he’s right - it’s 11:33 pm, and only twenty seven minutes lie between you and the next day.

“Before you get mean,” you tease, reminiscing about your earlier conversation.

He chuckles, though his gaze narrows. “What makes you think that I’m normally mean?”

You make a show of pondering, tapping your chin with a finger. “Maybe because you don’t remember me from all of the classes we’ve had together?”

At that he laughs, shaking his head. “You really are insufferable. Maybe I was just too busy paying attention to the class, mmh?”

“Or too busy chatting up all the pretty girls, right?”

He rolls his eyes, his lips curving upwards. “Only the pretty girls,” he says, giving in to your teasing. 

“I’m glad I make the cut, then,” you proudly say.

Byeol jumps on the couch between the two of you, and San pets her as she climbs on his lap. “What makes you think you’ve made the cut?”

Your mouth falls open, yet you don’t find any snarky comeback. All you do is watch him as he bursts out laughing, and you soon follow him.

“I thought you were supposed to get mean after my birthday was over,” you say with a pout when your laughter recedes.

He shrugs. “Just giving you a taste of it in advance.”

You like this. Like the teasing, the strange familiarity. The way that you put the icing on the cake together, talking about everything and nothing while San fights Byeol to make sure she doesn’t touch the cake. It’s domestic - a scene straight out of a romance movie. You want to hold onto it, but it feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.

Or maybe it’s just that the emotions you’ve suppressed the whole day are slowly creeping back in, nostalgia clinging to your heart like a second skin.

“There you go!” San exclaims once you’ve finally finished icing the cake. “Shit, Byeol!” He quickly picks up the cat, holding her at eye level. “Stop acting feral, we have a guest over.”

She doesn’t move for a time, like she’s waiting for the perfect comedic timing, and then she lets out a long meowl that makes you snort.

“I think she’s saying that she wants cake too.”

San shakes his head no, tutting. “She’s insufferable.”

You laugh, totally agreeing with him, and then you watch him as he walks to the couch, putting her down on the blanket.

“You stay there,” he scolds her, a fist on a hip while he’s threatening her with one finger. The scene is adorable, and you’re smiling wide when he turns back towards you.

He immediately grins and that, most of all, pushes the shadows back to the recess of your mind, shedding light on the day.

“Should we eat now?” you ask.

“Hell yeah,” San answers enthusiastically as he walks back towards you. “Just grab a plate and cut yourself a piece.”

You nod, and then you do as he says, grabbing one of the small dessert plates he’s already put on the counter. Soon enough you have a large piece of cake on the plate, and you hand it to San.

“For you,” you say.

His gaze slightly widens, and he lets out a small chuckle. “No, no, take it for yourself, I can cut myself a piece.”

You narrow your gaze, plate still extended towards him. He snorts, but he does grab the plate. “Good,” you let out. “That was too big for me anyway.”

You grab a piece for yourself, and then you walk around the counter so that you can sit next to him. Byeol thankfully has chosen to stay on the couch, and you can focus on enjoying the cake without having to watch her, sharing a light conversation with San.

“Yeah, I came here when I was in middle school,” San is telling you. “I grew up in Namhae.”

You don’t know a lot about Korea, even though your grandparents originate from there. So all you do is furrow your brows. “Namhae?”

“It’s in South Korea,” he explains.

You roll your eyes, though the shit-eating grin on his lips is all worth the teasing. “I know that,” you say. “I meant I don’t know where it is in Korea.”

“In the south.” He chuckles, and then he takes the last bite of his cake. Silence surrounds you while he chews and swallows, and then he adds, “It was a cultural shock when I got here, honestly.”

You can imagine.

“You seem to have adapted well.” You vaguely motion around you. “Look where you are now.”

That earns you a sweet dimpled smile. “I did. Not at the beginning though.”

You exchange a laugh, and then you finish eating your cake, the atmosphere comfortable despite the momentary silence.

“What about you, though?” San asks once you’re done eating. “Where did you grow up?”

You tell him about growing up outside of the city - about the school yard that led to a field where flowers grew in the summer, attracting all manner of bugs. You tell him about the small park where you and Sydney used to go because it had the best swings. You tell him about Yunho, and San listens with a small smile on his lips, like he doesn’t mind listening to you blabbering on and on about things that don’t really matter anymore.

“Annnd,” you say after a moment. “That’s pretty much it.”

“Loved the details,” he says, and you can’t resist. You punch him in the shoulder, and he bursts out laughing. He rubs at the spot, adding, “I’m just teasing you.”

“Of course you are,” you mumble, cheeks burning. “Sorry about that.”

He slightly frowns. “About what?”

“Mmh,” you hum, shrugging. “About dumping my whole backstory on you like that.”

“Hey, no, don’t apologize.” He fully faces you, tilting his head to the side. “I did love listening to you. You’re really cute when you tell a story.”

It hits you deep. Right to your core, and it seems he didn’t mean to compliment you. Indeed, his cheeks turn pink, and you reckon maybe this moment is surprising him just as much as it’s surprising you.

“Oh,” you let out. You chuckle awkwardly, your whole face burning. “Thank you.”

He wets his lips, nodding once, and then he straightens before getting up. “Liked your cake?” he asks.

“I did,” you say. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” he says as he grabs your plates to go rinse them off in the sink. “Happy birthday, Y/n.”

You smile softly, heart too warm for your own good. “Thank you. Even if I feel like I’m just repeating myself now.”

He laughs at that, and it eases the tension that had filled the room. It returns to the teasing familiarity that you’ve been growing accustomed to, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s because I’m the best,” he teases. “Of course you have to thank me.”

You snort, looking up at the ceiling. “Here we go again.”

He laughs at that, and then he glances at the time. “Birthday’s over though.”

It is - it’s ten past midnight, and you reckon you probably should head home. You have a nine am class tomorrow after all.

“What a shame,” you dramatically say. “I was getting used to it.”

“You’re greedy, aren’t you?”

You’re not sure what he means, but it’s said with that same teasing tone, and all you can do is chuckle as you nod. “Maybe I am.”

There’s a silence while you just share a look, yet you’re too much of a coward to hold his gaze, your eyes dropping to the counter. You know you should be leaving, yet you can’t bring yourself to say it.

Not when you know the shadows and emotions from earlier are just a second away from circling back to you, and you don’t want the vulnerability just yet.

“When should we meet again to work on the project?” you ask.

He purses his lips. “I think I’m free on Wednesday. And the library should be open then if you’d rather go there.”

You glance at Byeol, who’s now curled up on the couch, fast asleep on the blanket where San put her down. “When would I see her again?”

It’s said with a small pout, and you’re painfully aware of the way San looks at it before he replies. “You can always come over.”

There’s more to his words, a truth left hanging, and he looks at you as if waiting to see if you’ll catch. And you don’t know if you should. Really don’t think it’s a good idea to get involved with San, but there’s something in the air. 

There’s been something in the air all day, be it quiet grief and nostalgia and the realization that life comes to an end one day.

You don’t want to have any regrets later on.

“Can I…” you trail off, and you feel the blush creeping on your cheeks. “Can I stay a little longer?”

You tell yourself that you need it, that you need to feel alive for a little while longer. And perhaps that’s just what San’s been doing - acting as a reminder that there’s life, and that despite the grief you know your brother is going through, life always ends up shining.

You think San understands. You’re pretty sure he does - he nods, walking back to the living room and plopping down on the couch.

“Come here, let’s watch a show.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You get up, immediately making your way towards him. You’re forced to sit even closer than before if only so that you don’t disrupt Byeol’s peaceful slumber, and San takes it in stride, raising an arm to wrap it around your shoulder.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

As if he needs your permission.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He smiles, and then he grabs the TV remote. He maneuvers to HDMI 1, and then he opens Netflix. He hands you the remote then, letting you choose what to watch. You settle on The Office, seeking the comfort of a show you’ve watched a hundred times before already, and then you give him the remote back, offering him a sheepish smile.

“I hope you don’t mind watching this.”

“Not at all.” He leans his head back into the couch, and his arm tightens around you. “I’ve actually watched it before, though.”

“Who hasn’t?”

He chuckles as the episode starts. “I wonder what makes this show so famous,” San ponders. “I feel like it should be offensive.”

“I think that’s what people like?” you say like a question. “And Steve Carrey is hilarious.”

“That he is,” San agrees. “The show wasn’t the same after he left.”

It wasn’t at all, and you love that San agrees. Love that you end up talking for the whole episode, barely even paying attention to it. It’s just so easy - it flows naturally, like the river to the sea, and you’re surprised when the credits roll in, and you don’t think you’ve heard a single thing in the whole episode.

“Shit,” you let out. “We really can’t shut up, can we?”

That makes San laugh, a cute laugh full of dimples on his cheeks and smile lines around his eyes. It makes you look at him, like you’re proud you’re the one making him smile. He meets your gaze, and there’s a moment of silence as his laughter recedes, his gaze finding yours.

You think his eyes soften. You’re convinced they do, and then you’re leaning forward, pressing your lips on his.

Electricity shoots through your bloodstream, and if San is surprised, he doesn’t let it show. He kisses you back, his lips just as soft as you imagined they would be, and he cups your cheek before pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You sigh into the kiss, sigh into the life that it creates inside of you - the warmth, the sun, beauty like that of lingering summer, of a sunset painting clouds in gold and pink and everything in between. 

There can’t be shadows when the sun shines like this.

You tilt your head to the side, deepening the kiss. San follows your lead, his tongue teasing your lower lip, and you let him in. Taste him, tease his tongue with yours. His arm around your shoulder pulls you in closer as one of your hands lands on his thigh, and then you reach a little higher, putting it on his stomach instead.

His abs are rock hard under your palm, and you sigh appreciatively.

The kiss lasts for its small eternity, your thoughts scattering like dust in the wind as San’s hand gently grabs your wrist to pull you on top of him. You don’t resist, and you reckon you were expecting it.

Expecting to find yourself perched on the bulge in his pants, and this time your sigh turns breathy, more like a moan than anything.

It unleashes something in the two of you. San’s hands find your waist, and he makes you grind on him while yours cradle his face before moving to the back of his head, keeping him from pulling away.

You feel warm, hot, and nothing else matters than the way he sucks on your lower lip, slightly biting at it.

“Shit,” you curse against his lips.

He immediately leans away from the kiss, fighting against your grip before you loosen it. “Everything okay?” he asks.

He’s breathless. He’s breathless, his chest rapidly going up and down, and you struggle to get oxygen in your lungs again as you sit there, his dick pushing against you despite the fabric between you.

“Yeah,” you let out. “I…” you trail off, unable to break eye contact despite the redness flushing your cheeks. “Do you want to… to stop?”

You don’t know why you’re stuttering, why you’re feeling shy all of a sudden. He’s hardly your first, yet it feels different.

Perhaps because of the whole circumstances surrounding this moment in time.

“If you want to,” he murmurs. He takes a deep breath. “I’m down to keep going, but I’m aware it might be weird for you considering…”

You silence him with another languid kiss, and his grip tightens on your waist. You grind into him again, and he grunts, his dick twitching in his pants. And even though you want more, you can’t bring yourself to disconnect from his lips. Not when he kisses you so damn well, every swipe of his tongue emptying your brain until there’s just you and him and that whiskey and vanilla scent of his.

It smells of sweet addiction, and for tonight, you want to revel in it. Want to feel alive, want to remind yourself that you are alive.

Maybe that’s why you pull away, breathing raggedly, to ask, “Can I suck your dick?”

San gulps. “Shouldn’t I be the one pleasing you?” 

You furrow your brows, wetting your lips. “Why do you think sucking your dick won’t please me?”

This time he wets his lips, and a smirk slowly takes over his features. “You want it that bad?” He doesn’t give you time to answer, instead leaning forward to capture your lips into another embrace, and you roll your hips. He grunts, pulling away. “By all means,” he says, his voice low and husky. “I want to see your pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

You bite at your lower lip, circling your hips one last time, just so that you can see the way his mouth falls open, a pleasured frown taking over his face. And it feels good, far too good, as his dick rubs on your core, on your clit, shooting lightning along your nerves.

Once you’ve had enough, you pull away, kneeling on the floor between his legs. You run your hands along his thighs, appreciating the strength of them, while he just watches you through half-lidded eyes, his chest still moving fast as he keeps on breathing raggedly. Your eyes hold his gaze for a few more seconds before they drop to the imprint of his dick, and you gulp.

He’s big. That much you can tell despite the clothing, and when you run a hand along his length, you know he’ll hurt your jaw. Yet the way he arches when you touch him makes you want to please him, makes you want to hear the kind of sounds he’ll make when you’ll be choking on him, and you know you won’t stop.

“Can I take your pants off?” you ask, your eyes trailing back to his face.

“Let me help.”

He bends down, immediately pulling his pants off, though he leaves his boxers on. They’re tight, revealing even more of his dick, and you run your hand on his length again when his sweatpants are finally off.

“You took a shower today?” you ask as you crawl a little closer.

“Huh?” he lets out.

You cock an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side as you wait for an answer.

“Yeah,” he adds. “Yeah, I took a shower after the gym.”

You wet your lips. “Good boy.”

And then you bend forward, licking at his tip through the fabric of his boxers. You taste the salty precum that’s already stained the fabric, and you immediately want more. So you pull his boxers down enough to free his dick before wrapping a hand around his base.

His dick sits heavy in your hand, and it’s flushed with arousal, darker than the rest of his body. The head is stained red, looking ready to explode, and veins run up and down his dick, inviting your tongue. Most of all, he really is large despite not being too long, and you lose some of your confidence.

How are you even supposed to fit him in your mouth?

“Shit,” you let out.

“Mmmh?”

You meet his gaze for a few seconds before looking down at his dick. Before you reply, you slowly stroke him up and down, your tongue teasing his slit once.

“You’re so big,” you praise.

“Yeah?” He pushes your hair away from your face, holding it in a makeshift ponytail. “Don’t worry, baby. You can take it.”

It undoes you. It’s the way he says the word, with so much praise, yet so much barely concealed lust.

You want to please this man, and you won’t stop until he’s had his fill of your mouth.

You lean forward, swirling your tongue around the tip of his dick while holding eye contact. He doesn’t blink, only grunts lowly, his mouth falling open when you flatten your tongue and tap his dick on it.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath.

“How do you like it?” you ask, and you spit on his dick, using your saliva as lube so that you can jerk him off faster.

“I like it in your mouth,” he says. “Be nice for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, smirking. “Or what?”

You suck on his tip once, and his hips lift from the couch, seeking for more friction, yet you don’t grant it to him.

“You’re such a fucking brat.” It’s whiny, but the way his dick twitches in your hand tells you he likes it.

You tease his frenulum with your tongue. “Am I?”

His lips stretch in a thin line as he holds your gaze, and he curses, looking away. “Thought you wanted to suck my dick.”

“Oh, I definitely do,” you say. 

You dive in, wrapping your lips around him, taking as much of him in as you possibly can. But then you pull all the way out, stroking him fast instead, and San grunts in frustration.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, and he lets out a small moan as you take him in your mouth again, sucking on his tip as your tongue teases his shaft.

You think the moan rewires your brain. Because it unleashes you, and you start bobbing your head up and down, your hand following the motion, and soon San starts guiding your head, his hips moving up to meet you.

It’s no wonder you choke on him, and he lets you pull out just long enough for you to take a breath, and then you’re back on his dick, sloppily sucking him dry. You’re drooling, his taste inebriating, and you feel it on the back of your hand, dripping down to his balls. 

It’s only when you get that thought that you pull away so that you can lick down his dick, pressing a kiss on one of his balls. He fucks into your hand, moaning again, and you look up to see that he’s thrown his head back on the couch, the tall column of his neck the only thing visible from where you’re kneeling between his legs.

“Do you want me to suck on your balls too?” you ask.

“Fuck, Y/n,” is all he answers, and so you lick a large stripe between his balls, more tentative than anything else. That snaps him back to reality and he leans forward, cursing loudly. “Just…” He takes a deep breath. “Just be careful, they’re really sensitive.”

You nod, and you gently lick at them this time, before going back up his shaft to swirl your tongue around his tip.

And then you sit back on your heels and ask, “Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

He wets his lips. “I kind of just want to fuck you.”

You shake your head no, sucking on his tip again. The heady taste of his precum coats your mouth, but you want more.

You think you’ll always want more with him.

“Just my mouth,” you say after. “I don’t want to have sex right now.”

That’s a big fat lie if you’ve ever said one - you just don’t want to know how good he can make you feel, not when you know you can’t do this again.

If he looks disappointed he doesn’t say. All he does is nod, and then he says, “Move back.”

You do, allowing him to get up. He’s huge like this, towering over you as he looks down at you, and he gently cups your cheeks. You open your mouth, tongue flat to allow him space.

“Fuck,” he curses again. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Wreck me, San.”

He doesn’t need you to say more. Indeed, he grabs his dick, taps it on your tongue as you just patiently wait there, your hands on your thighs. You crave to touch him, but something about the way he’s looking down at you tells you he likes to have his control, likes to be the one seeking his own pleasure.

And you want him to use you. Want him to come down your throat.

“Stop me if it’s too much, okay?” he says as he rests the tip of his dick on your tongue.

You lick at his slit. “Okay.”

“Fuck.”

His curse is all he says before slowly pushing in. Your jaw is stretched, eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat, and then he’s slowly pulling out, eyes fixated on the place where his dick disappears inside of your mouth. He’s so large you know he has to feel your teeth a little, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. 

Maybe because you’re trying to use your lips to not hurt him, and it seems the sensation is driving him insane. Because the next time he pushes in, he’s faster, a hard thrust that you answer with a moan, and then he fully loses it, shutting his eyes tightly. 

San establishes a quick rhythm, grunting and groaning as he fucks your mouth, drool soon covering your chin. He tastes good, something heady, and the sounds he makes are music to your ear. He’s impossibly hard, and you think of how he’d feel inside of you.

You’d see stars, that much you’re sure of.

“Fuck, Y/n,” San says. “Your mouth feels so good.”

You moan, and he looks down at you. His cheeks and neck are reddened, his hair falling in front of his eyes, but you still feel his gaze piercing through yours, so much so that you feel naked kneeling there.

And maybe you are, in a much more important way than the physical.

“I think I’ll be able to come,” he says, and he pulls out, slowly jerking himself off. “Where do you want me to come?”

You lean forward, sucking on his tip. “In my mouth?”

It seems he was still holding back. Indeed, his gaze goes feral, lustful, and you prepare yourself as he grips your hair in a makeshift ponytail again, his other hand landing on the side of your head. And then he smirks and says, “Open up for me, baby.”

You do. You fucking do, unable to be bratty anymore. Not when he’s looking at you like that, and especially not as you crave him already.

He doesn’t disappoint. San pushes inside of your mouth, hitting the back of your throat so hard you choke on his dick. Your eyes water, a tear slipping free, and he dries it carelessly before fucking into your mouth again.

This time, you hold in the gag reflex, focusing on flattening your tongue, and then dragging it on his dick as he moves in and out. San moans, and you echo it. He pulls on your hair, hard, and you sit back on your heels, a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick. It breaks when he taps his dick on your cheek, and you just keep on looking at him, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

“I gotta admit,” he says, and he strokes his dick up and down. “I have trouble coming while standing. Do you mind going to the bed?”

There’s something cute about the way he asks, and you smile, chuckling. “Sure.”

Your voice is croaky from his dick fucking your throat, yet San doesn’t mention it, only smiles down at you before patting your cheek.

“Let’s go.”

He holds a hand out for you to take, and then he pulls you up to your feet. You wince - your knees hurt more than you were realizing - and San chuckles before gently leading you to his bedroom.

And the bedroom is simple, consisting of just an unmade bed with dark sheets, a small bedside table, and an open door that leads to a walk-in closet. San lets go of your hand, and then he plops down on the bed amongst the sheets, his eyes on you.

“Think you can suck me and make me come?” he says, a smirk on his lips.

So maybe he doesn’t need to be in control to come after all.

You move closer, kneeling on the bed next to him. San watches you as you run a finger on his abs, and then you hook it under the hem of his shirt, pulling up.

“Take this off,” you say.

He wets his lips. “And why should I? You’re still fully dressed.”

You cock an eyebrow, and then you take your shirt off, throwing it to the side. San’s gaze widens before dropping to your breasts, and you unclasp your bra, also taking it off. You put it on his abs, and then your hands return to your breasts. You pinch your nipples, making sure they’re all perked prettily, and then you say, ���Better?”

“Much better,” he says, voice so low it sounds like a growl. “Can I touch you?”

He makes to sit up, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “No.”

He groans in frustration, yet lies back down, awaiting your next move.

“Tonight is about me making you come,” you add after. “I don’t want you to distract me.”

He takes a shaky breath in when you run your finger along his sensitive dick. You bite at your lower lip, trying to hold a smirk in, but it’s to no avail.

“Then get to work again, baby,” he says. “Better make me come.”

You bend down, blowing a breath on the tip of his dick. “Yeah?”

He nods, cursing underneath his breath, but then you dive in, and his eyes flutter shut as he lets out a small, pleasured moan. And though your jaw is sore, you suck him hard, taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. It’s easier to hold the gag reflex in when you’re in control, so you go up and down sloppily, your spit coating his dick thoroughly. 

San soon starts to groan louder, the sounds turning into breathy moans that have you soaking through your panties. It’s hot, sinful, and for a moment, you wish you could just sleep with him.

Wish he wasn’t your partner in that stupid project so that you could just indulge.

But he is, and he’s gripping your hair, guiding your movements.

“Shit, I’m going to come soon,” he grits through his teeth, and you look up to see his throat again, the flushed skin of his neck beautiful.

You moan, and his dick twitches once before his hands move to the side of your face. He thrusts up twice before stilling, and the taste of his cum fills your mouth as he comes deep in your throat.

You suck him through his high, suck him dry, only stopping when he pulls on your hair gently. You let go of his dick with a satisfying plop, sitting back on your heels.

There’s a moment of silence only interrupted by San’s heavy breathing, and all you do is watch him as he lies there, his eyes closed. When his eyelids finally flutter open, San meets your gaze, letting out a disbelieved laugh as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Holy shit,” he lets out.

You scrunch up your nose, holding a shy smile in. “You liked it?”

He chuckles again, tilting his head to the side. “I think you just sucked my soul out of my body.”

You laugh, your cheeks burning as he grabs your hand to pull you closer. You understand what he wants as he scooches over to make space for you, and you lie down next to him, laying your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you.

“I’m glad you liked it,” you whisper, suddenly shy at his proximity. 

Not that he wasn’t close when he was deep in your throat, but this feels different, more intimate, vulnerable.

It’s the kind of thing you don’t usually do.

“Of course,” he says, and then he sighs in contentment. “I gotta admit this is the first time a girl has ever made me come by sucking me.” He chuckles, and it’s a low rumble in his chest, almost like the purr of a cat. “So yeah, I loved it.”

“No way!” you let out, pushing m up on an elbow to look at him. “I don’t believe that.”

He cups your cheek, then just gently pats it. “Well, it’s true.”

“Don’t you… sleep around a lot?”

He must not like your words. He frowns slightly, eyes narrowing, and his hand falls away from your cheek. “What does that have to do with this?”

“Sorry,” you immediately apologize. “I did not mean it in a bad way at all.” You purse your lips, looking between his two eyes. His features soften slightly, but there’s still a wary edge to them, and you hate it. “It’s just that I didn’t think I was that good?”

You say it like a question, because it frankly is. You’ve had your share of partners as well in the past - an ex-boyfriend, and then a line of ephemeral relationships that didn’t last more than a few weeks to a few months.

It’s the college experience after all, isn’t it?

“Are you getting insecure on me?” San asks, and his features finally earn that teasing sparkle from earlier. “Confidence looks better on you, Y/n.”

You blush. You can’t help it - there’s something in the way he’s looking at you right now, holding your gaze, that makes you feel incredibly vulnerable.

You feel too seen.

“My bad, then,” you mutter, and you put your head back on his shoulder if only so that you don’t have to look him in the eyes anymore. “I know I’m the best.”

He snorts, and his arm momentarily tightens around you. The silence prolongs for a moment, and you just breathe in time with him, listening to the beats of his heart. He eventually sighs, shifting until he’s on his side, facing you.

It brings your face right in his chest, and the scent of him engulfs you deeper, like a blanket wrapping around you.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to make you feel good too?” he asks in a whisper.

You nod against him. “I probably should just go home for real, now.”

He makes a sound that you can only interpret as a groan. It’s cute, endearing, and at the opposite of what you’d imagined Choi San would be like.

“Why don’t you spend the night?” he suggests. “It’s getting pretty late.”

You wince. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Even if I sleep on the couch?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Even if you sleep on the couch,” you say. “We have a morning class tomorrow.”

“We?” he says, and you hear the smirk in his voice. It makes you want to roll your eyes, yet you’re too comfortable right now to truly be annoyed.

“Yes, dumbass,” you answer. “We.”

“I have a friend that records all the classes,” he reveals. “I could get you the recording and then you could stay and we could sleep in.”

It’s weird - does he really want you to stay that bad?

“Thank you for suggesting it, but I’d rather just go home and go to class tomorrow,” you say. “Another time, maybe?”

He’s pouting. You know he is, partly because he pulls his head back enough to meet your gaze. “That’s boring.”

You chuckle, a little embarrassed. You don’t even know why you are. You just sucked his dick like there was no tomorrow, yet you feel like you need to flee the scene, like maybe a crime was committed.

You wonder, is it a crime to hook up with your project partner? Surely it has to be.

“Well then, call me boring, Choi San.”

He looks like he’s considering it, but then he says, “Nah. I get it, today must have been a wild day for you.”

It… was. You’re glad he understands, even though some part of you does want to stay over. It’s mostly for that reason that you make your way to the door after having grabbed your stuff, and San follows you, his grey joggers finally back on.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say, offering him a small smile.

He smirks. “I feel like I should be the one to say thank you.”

“I meant for the cake.” You roll your eyes as you speak, and San just laughs cutely. “And for actually being a decent project partner.”

He narrows his gaze. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” you say, and you chuckle. “I think I’m just getting really tired.”

He nods in understanding, and then looks behind himself. “Do you want to say goodbye to Byeol before you leave?”

“Yes please!”

You must be beaming because San grins, laughing lightly as he turns around to seek out the cat. He comes back with her, her tail swishing in the air, and you gently pet her, cooing at her like you would to a baby. San lets you do it, his smile everlasting, and when you’re finally ready, you look up to meet his gaze.

He’s close, and for a moment, you want to kiss him again. Want to stay, want to return to his bed so that he can hold you in his arms. The emotion is so strong you have to take a step back, and you awkwardly clear your throat, your gaze dropping to the ground.

“So,” you let out.

You don’t find anything else to say, and San saves you by saying, “Do you want to meet again on Wednesday to work on the project some more?”

“Yes.” You nod, relieved he found something to say.

Relieved he wants to meet again.

“Yes, let’s meet at the library,” you add. “Just to keep things…” you trail off, chuckling awkwardly.

“Are you afraid of what’ll happen if we’re left alone again?” he asks teasingly.

“Gosh, San.” You chuckle awkwardly. “You’re annoying.”

“I made you cake!”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re annoying.”

He pouts. “You’re mean.”

You look up to the ceiling, but it’s to no avail - there’s no salvation on San’s ceiling.

“Yeah, yeah, maybe that’s why I sucked your dick.”

He bursts out laughing, and it’s a little loud, so much so that he startles Byeol and she jumps out of his arms before trotting away.

“Right,” he says after having watched Byeol leaving. 

There’s another pause in the conversation, and it slowly fills with tension as you once more just share a look that seems to hold so many words unsaid you can feel their weight on your shoulders. It brings a light blush to your cheeks, and you look away, pulling at some dry skin on your lower lip.

“So I’ll see you on Wednesday?” you say.

He nods. “Yes. But also in class before then.”

“Alright then, Choi San. I’ll see you in class.”

He offers you a gentle smile, one that reminds you of why you kissed him initially - you wanted to feel alive, and you think his smile carries life, warmth, breathing vitality to your soul. It chases away the shadows from the memorial earlier today, and reminds you that you’re breathing. That your heart is beating, and that your neurons carry little sparks of electricity to make you into the full, functioning human that you are.

It’s comforting, reassuring, and you can’t help but echo the smile.

Later that night, when you’re finally in bed, you can still feel the ghost of that smile on your lips, and you fall asleep to the memory of Choi San’s lips on yours.

Teaser | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

hihihihi i guarantee that it is a slow burn lmaooo trust me <3 please let me know what you guys think!:)

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2025. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[frut1ger-aero]

medieval inspired purecacao au

had a brainwave while listening to cocteau twins and golden brown (someone ban me from writing aus)

In synchrony with the natural orchestra of the woods, were the pants of a man upon his steed, cantering through the undergrowth. He longed to strip off his steel and chainmail armour and bask in the dappled sunlight, but on the orders of the Vanillian King, he was to remain in the attire of a man his status—a knight. A higher ranking knight, as displayed by his sleek black horse, but a knight nevertheless, who had to bend to the orders of the king.

As of now, he was barely a few yards from his station, so he gently reined his horse in and they slowed to a trot. His sheathed sword clunked uncomfortably, and the urge to discard it amongst the leaves was profound. However, he stayed loyal to his orders and continued on through the woods, where spring was primitive and native creatures bounded out of the way. Insects clicked and clacked, and with the ever-present hum of bees, the area seemed to be pulsing with nature.

Though he preferred the harsh bitter of winter, with its swirling snowstorms and biting winds, watching summer unfold was undeniably beautiful.

He was beginning to sweat, however, and the distressed whinnies of the animal beneath him told him that she too, was suffering.

They had both hailed from lands where the cold was consistent, never divided into seasons like the Vanilla Kingdom was. The Dark Cacao Kingdom endured blizzards and high amounts of snow regularly. In fact, if it was warm, that would become an issue discussed at the Citadel.

It was foolish, but he found himself missing his home. He rarely gave himself time to pine, yet he could not stop himself from reminiscing. Four years ago, due to a political disagreement, he and four other of the best Cacaoian warriors were sent over to the Vanilla Kingdom to compensate for whatever the Vanilla King was angry about. A lowly knight like him would never be versed in political affairs, only a pawn to be traded.

He had seen and endured many gruelling summers, and revelled in winters that almost felt like home, but nothing could ever top the feeling of satisfaction that returning home would bring.

“Dark Cacao!” an anonymous voice rang out. He nearly jumped off his horse when he heard it.

Who had followed him into the woods? A messenger, probably. As was the custom, he bowed his head and waited for the person to catch up to him.

“Dark Cacao, it’s me,” the voice called, even louder this time.

Yielding, Dark Cacao turned around, and through the slits of his helmet, saw who was approaching him.

Instantly, he felt calmer as he watched the Vanilla prince, Pure Vanilla hurry over to him, casting wary glances around.

“What are you doing here? Where is your attendant?”

It was No secret that the prince was visually impaired, and due to this, he always had an assistant by his side. For some reason, he always found a way to escape them and tail Dark Cacao.

“I wanted to see you,” Pure Vanilla said, like it was perfectly acceptable to evade the person who was employed to assist his every move. “I overheard Crunchy Chip at the gate discussing where you were put to guard.”

“You have to get back,” he replied, looking around in a paranoid manner. It was only them in the woods, but he shuddered at the thought of the consequences if they were caught.

“I don’t want to. I missed you. Can’t you take your armour off for once?” Pure Vanilla muttered, in the petulant manner only a pampered prince could master.

“Absolutely not,” he refused.

“Why,” Pure Vanilla whined.

“Just because you’re a prince, that doesn’t mean you always get what you want. How am I supposed to explain you being here?” From atop his horse, Dark Cacao could see the way Pure Vanilla shifted at that.

“I’ll tell them the truth—that I ran off.”

“You’ll get into trouble and your father will monitor you even more closely.”

“I don’t care. Will you take your armour off now?” Pure Vanilla pleaded.

In truth, Dark Cacao deeply wanted to. It had been so long since he had embraced his lover without the weight of his armour. But he still held fear of the authorities.

“I promise you can put it back on when I’m done.”

“That sounds lewd.”

Pure Vanilla snorted in a very unprince-like manner. “It does, but you know you want to.”

He was right, actually. Somehow, an aristocrat like him managed to see past the layers of metal and muteness and understood the being that lay beneath awfully well. Pure Vanilla knew of his most raw, vulnerable feelings, and never once treated him as less or mocked him, though technically he was. So, to satiate Pure Vanilla and take advantage of moment of solitude they had, Dark Cacao swung himself off his mount, where he was still taller than Pure Vanilla.

“Fine,” he conceded.

The armour was silent as it hit the woodland floor, and he stripped, piece by piece until he could actually feel a soft breeze washing between the folds of his thin clothing.

“Finally,” cried Pure Vanilla, bouncing on the balls of his feet and landing a kiss to Dark Cacao’s lips.

As he was pulling away, Dark Cacao caught his face in his hands and pressed their lips together in a longer, more urgent kiss. He slipped his arm around Pure Vanilla’s waist, pulling him closer.

“I bet you’re grateful I ran off,” Pure Vanilla murmured into his lips, pushing Dark Cacao’s hair back and sliding a hand onto his cheek.

He pulled back, stroking the area beneath his bi-coloured eyes.

“I’m always happy to see your demanding little face.”

Pure Vanilla hummed, searching Dark Cacao’s face. He lifted a hand, and gently prodded a cut on his jaw.

“Is that new?”

“Probably. It’ll heal.”

“Well of course it will—“

“It might get infected.”

Pure Vanilla fought the urge to smile. “I know, but how do you even get one,” he wondered aloud, pursing his lips in concern.

Dark Cacao uttered something unintelligible in return, and continued to thumb the space underneath his eyes. He was focused, and though it seemed as though he was focused on Pure Vanilla, yet he didn’t register his words.

“Dark Cacao?”

His heavily-lashed eyes fluttered a little, and he sighed, leaning his forehead against Pure Vanilla’s. “I’m sorry my love. Your eyes are simply captivating.”

“Even though they can barely see,” he said bitterly. His voice took on a softer tone. “At least I can see you.”

“Half the time I’m wearing my armour,” Dark Cacao said.

“I can still distinguish you. Something about your demeanour and the way you hold yourself, the way you walk, makes you so much more distinctive. Everyone else fades away into a blur of colours. You really are the only one I have eyes for.”

It was times like these, when Dark Cacao wanted to unravel completely before him.

“I live for you only; I serve you only,” Dark Cacao whispered.

Pure Vanilla ran yet another hand through Dark Cacao’s hair, and pressed down on his broad shoulders, guiding him down towards the floor. He kissed his bare neck, his collarbone, his jaw, littering Dark Cacao with kisses as he gently pushed him to lie on the floor, and moved to lie atop him, sliding his hands beneath Dark Cacao’s head, lifting it to kiss him even more. He responded by wrapping his arms around Pure Vanilla’s back.

“I hate my stupid royale clothing,” he breathed, reaching around to loosen his sash and dispose of it somewhere in the foliage.

“Is there any kind of clothing you actually like,” Dark Cacao teased.

“Probably not. But armour hardly counts as clothing,” Pure Vanilla said, before he dove back into the kiss. This time, Dark Cacao felt his smile when their lips reconnected.

Pure Vanilla was warm, but it was a warmth he tolerated. No, more than tolerated. A warmth he craved, one he would forsake the cold of his homeland for. Strangely, he found it much more comforting than the conditions he normally loved, when it came from Pure Vanilla.

The prince sat back, disentangling himself from his lover, who also sat up, crossing his legs, Pure Vanilla leaned against his shoulder, resting his hand on Dark Cacao’s knee.

Behind them, Dark Cacao’s horse whinnied, flicking her tail.

That was a painful reminder to Dark Cacao: kissing the prince’s sun-soaked lips would not make his duties go away.

As if he could read his mind, Pure Vanilla spoke softly: “I wish I wasn’t a prince, and I wish you weren’t a knight.”

Often, Pure Vanilla would begin to talk of his inner wishes, fanciful dreams of a life they could lead where expectations wore neither of them down, and they could love as freely and as openly as they desired.

Dark Cacao understood those feelings. As a matter of fact, he shared in them a great deal, the desperate wishing that things were different. But he also knew, once he began to dwell on them, they would begin to grow, larger and larger until they consumed him and he would feel nothing else. So he less than encouraged it when Pure Vanilla got like this.

“Pure Vanilla,” Dark Cacao said gently.

“I know. Believe me, I know. But I can’t help wanting a quiet life with you.”

“This is all we have, you know that.”

“But I love you,” he burst out. “I love you so much and I hate that we’re so far apart all the time. I want to sit in sunlit fields with you for as long as I want, kiss you and hold you without a care in the world. Why is it that I have to bend to these ridiculous norms?”

Pure Vanilla turned to Dark Cacao, looking on the verge of tears. His eyes were glossy and he drove his teeth into his bottom lip with all the strength he could muster.

“I can’t even dream in peace. You’re everything to me, yet I can’t even have you, not fully,” he said, his voice cracking and his bottom lip trembling.

“I am always yours, my prince. All of me,” Dark Cacao said quietly. And he lifted Pure Vanilla’s hand from his knee, and kissed it.

A sob escaped him.

Dark Cacao lifted him, setting him down into his lap, whereupon he lay down, curling up and began to weep freely.

Twirling golden hair between his fingers, Dark Cacao stroked Pure Vanilla’s back. If his face was in view, he would have wiped the tears away.

“I wish it were different.”

As he looked down at the sobbing prince, Dark Cacao felt an ache begin to dull his senses, a fog born of love and desire and sorrow descending over him.

Distantly, calls and cries sounded. They were far, but seemed to be getting closer. Dark Cacao came to the realisation that they must be searching for the prince, and were on their way to the post—one he hadn’t even reached—where Dark Cacao should have been stationed, presumably to ask him if he had seen the prince.

“Pure Vanilla,” Dark Cacao urged. He shook his leg gently until Pure Vanilla lifted his head.

“I know it is ironic, but people are coming.”

He sniffed, wiping a hand over his eyes. “It’s not your fault. I’ll tell them you were taking me back, if you let me get on your horse.”

Dark Cacao wasted No time and immediately started pulling his armour back on, not fumbling once in his haste. He was accustomed to this, scrambling in and out of armour, going from a loving, affectionate man to a stoic, silent knight.

Right before he pulled his helmet on, Pure Vanilla stood on his tiptoes and clumsily planted a kiss on Dark Cacao’s lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replied. He meant it.

Then, he donned the last part of his armour, and his walls were back up. He mounted his horse, holding out a hand to help Pure Vanilla’s swing up and sit in front of him.

Having had its reins snapped, the horse sped into a gallop, carrying them through the forest.

Pure Vanilla leaned against Dark Cacao’s firm, armoured frame. To him, he was still the beautiful man he had kissed not even two minutes before.

He held onto that thought. The thought that, though he was forced to hide behind welded steel and metal all the time, Pure Vanilla knew what lay within.

And oh, how he cherished it.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Forgetting

Carol Danvers x fem!reader Warnings: established relationship, long distance, fluffy times, explicit language, implied sex (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word Count: 1.2k

Summary: It's been nearly a year since you've seen your girlfriend and almost two months since you've heard from her. And you're beginning to worry that she's forgotten about you. After all, the universe is a big place.

357 days. That’s how long it had been since you’d seen your girlfriend. You tried to think of yourself like a military spouse. After all, Carol did used to be in the Air Force. And she did travel to far-away, dangerous places to protect people, with very limited communication for long periods of time. It’s just that her dangerous locations were in other galaxies instead of other countries.

You were used to her being gone or, well, as used to it as you could be. The longer her absence went on, the more used to it you got, but somehow it also became harder. When she first set off on this mission, she’d been in your galaxy, so communications had come faster and with more regularity. Less space and time for them to travel through. But the farther away she got, the longer it took her messages to get to you. You were lucky if you got one email a month.

It wasn’t personal. You knew that. She was far away. Even with the best technology S.H.I.E.L.D. could provide to a civilian, her communication with you was still slow and limited. But, god, you missed her. You missed her laugh. You missed the warmth of her next to you in bed. You missed the way she propped her leg up when she sat down, no matter what kind of chair it was. You hung on every word of her emails, going over them so often you’d memorized them.

It had been two months since Carol’s last email. It was a long time to go without communication, even for her. The irrational part of your brain was desperately worried for her. There’s no telling what kind of high-risk situations she got herself into out there. But you knew that if anyone could handle themselves against all the forces of evil in the universe, it was Carol. You also knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. would have contacted you immediately had anything happened to her.

Another part of your brain–equally irrational but much harder to talk down–worried that Carol had forgotten you. The universe that Carol traversed was huge. Infinite, even. She saw things no one else had ever seen. Met people and experienced cultures that were so different from ours on Earth that we’d never even dream them up. Who’s to say she hadn’t found somewhere–someone–more beautiful than here, with you? She saw entire worlds, the neverending canvas of space and time. How could it possibly be that, of all the things in the known universe, you were the one worth coming home to? You always worried that maybe, this time, you weren’t.

As you climbed into bed, missing, as always, the feeling of Carol’s arms wrapped around you, the rise and fall of her chest as she slept, you once again pulled up her most recent email. From 61 days ago.

Hi, baby. I hope all’s well on Earth. I’m sad I’m missing spring–you know it’s my favorite season. Are there apricots on the tree yet? Or just buds? I’d give an arm for an apricot right now. I’m farther out than normal, so you might not hear from me for a while. One of the Andromedas. 2.7 lightyears away, if you can believe it. It scares me a little to be so far away from you.

I know I’ve said it before, but it gets lonely out here. Sometimes I wish you could come with me, but I know your body wouldn’t handle space-time travel like mine does. Superhero probs. Also, it’s probably not fair for me to make you put your entire life on pause just because I miss you like crazy.

It’s so beautiful out here in a weird, quiet way. I wish you could see it. Yesterday, I passed a pulsar. A star carcass, as I like to call them. They’re these gigantic masses of spinning light that put out radio signals (which might interfere with how quickly you get this, fuck pulsars). You’ve never seen something so big. So big it’s almost hard to believe it’s really there.

Anyway. I’m rambling. I miss you so much. I always miss you, but this time feels harder for some reason. I miss the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. I miss the way your hair sticks up in the morning. I miss kissing you. I miss doing more than kissing you. I just miss you.

I’m not sure when I’ll get home, but I think about you every day, every second. Nothing in this galaxy or the next or the next compares to you. Please stay safe. Don’t be sad. Snuggle Goose for me.

I love you.

Carol

You fell asleep reading through the email, again and again, your phone going dark in your hand beside you as you drifted off. You dreamed of pulsars. You dreamed of Carol.

Hours later, you jerked awake, gasping, as you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey!” a voice said, calming, reassuring. “It’s just me.”

You’d know that voice anywhere. “Carol!” you squealed, grabbing her and pulling her onto the bed with you, holding her as tight as possible so she could never, ever leave you for so long again. “You’re home!”

You felt her smile against you as she buried her face in your neck, wrapping her strong arms around you. She smelled metallic, almost like gunpowder; you knew it by now–the smell of space. “Hi, baby,” she whispered, breathing you in. “I missed you so much.”

Still holding you close, Carol sat up a bit to just look at you, just take you in. She ran her hand along your cheekbone and pressed a warm kiss to your mouth. A kiss you’d been so desperate for, you thought you might die from relief. Her lips tasted like space, too, the way metal smells after rain. So uniquely her. How many other people could say they knew the taste of space?

“Are you crying?!” Carol asked, alarmed, as she brushed a few tears from under your eyelids.

You sniffed and mumbled, “I thought maybe you forgot about me.”

Carol pulled you to her chest, running her fingers through your hair, lightly grazing her fingernails against your scalp. You shivered at the sensation.

“Oh, baby,” she breathed. “I could never forget about you.”

“But there’s so much out there.”

“Mmhm,” she said, kissing your nose. “And none of it’s as beautiful as you.”

When she moved to stand up, you grasped her hands. “No, no! Stay here and snuggle!”

She laughed, grinning from ear to ear, as she pushed your hair back from your face. “I have to shower, Y/N. I smell like an asteroid.”

You leapt out of bed to stand next to her, looping your arm and hand through hers and leaning against her shoulder. You couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t get close enough. You never wanted to let her go.

“Can I join you?” you asked, blushing a little. After all, it had been nearly a year.

Carol looked at you lovingly, smiling softly, a few of her own tears building. She squeezed your hand and dragged you after her into the bathroom. “God, yes.”