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htchnr · 3 months

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♰ 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬 ༻ 𝐀𝐬𝐡 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬.*ೃ˚ 01.

✮ꜜ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭. ✮ꜜ 𝐛𝐮𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞!

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 mention of Ash's injuries ⋆ mention of stitches ⋆ slight tension ⋆ Ash catches you mid changing your clothes ⋆ slight technical canon divergence ⋆ this is set at the end of AoD, where Ash instead opens up portal back home ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 AoD!Ash x Witch!Reader.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 the air felt off, and when bright lighting flashes across the sky, the bizarre swirling clouds drop a strange young man into your pumpkin patch. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 3,9k.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 you guys i am SOOOOO hyped to finally post the first chapter/part to this little (might grow big) series!! these two characters have been living in my head rent free ever since me and bestie @morrrrow first started coming up with ideas (all creds definitely go to him!!) but Ash and Witch!reader are my babies and i love them SO DEARLY.

the air changed as you stirred through the pot of pasta on your stove. you pause your movements, glancing out the window above the cluttered counter — the sky was dark, strange clouds swirling above. something felt wrong.

you turned your stove off, pulling your apron off as you move to stand closer to the window, your eyes watching a particular swirl of clouds. when suddenly, lightning flashes, loud thunder following. and in the blink of an eye you grab a vial of salt, shooting through your front door and out to your yard.

you search around, eyes flitting across the garden in search of what was causing everything. you push through the small gate to your large vegetable patch, your eyes trying to check every inch of everything.

you're turning around, ready to head back when a hand drops from behind the shed, falling against your shoe. you let out a shriek, jumping back to see the possible threat. when you look down you blink widely — a young man, not much older than you, covered in scrapes and cuts, laying face first in your pumpkin patch.

you huff, groaning at the sight of the crushed and dirtied pumpkins beneath the rather handsome man. you give his strange metal hand a kick, scolding the unconscious man. " you couldn't have dropped anywhere else?! " you open the vial, chucking some salt onto him. you wait, but the man doesn't appear to react to it.

you let out a deep sigh, hands on your hips as you stare at him. you look around, the sky had calmed down significantly and had returned to its usual boring and cloudy grey — not a single peculiar swirl to be seen. you look back at the man, huffing. " you're lucky you're not melting, mister. " moving down to lightly slap the man's cheek to try and wake him. but he doesn't.

you sigh, rounding the man to stand by his feet. you bend down, grabbing both his ankles and groan as you try and drag him out of the patch. you look down at the heavy man, realising his face was scraping across the dirt with each pull. you drop his feet, stepping beside him as you kneel down. you push against his hip and his chest, pushing the man onto his back with great effort.

your eyes flit across his figure, lingering on his torn shirt, his toned stomach very visible. you swallow, cheeks flushing a little as you pull your eyes away drom his exposed skin and get up again. " lets get you inside. " you grumble, grabbing his ankles again as you start pulling him towards the gate.

you pulled him through your front door with a loud groan, dropping his ankles once his whole body was inside. you shut and lock the door, turning to rest your back against it as you look at the stranger. " oh what the hell have i brought in? " you whine, dropping your head against the door.

though the drag to and into your home had been anything but smooth, he still hadn't woken up yet. you kneeled down beside him, fingers hesitantly pressing against his pulse — feeling a slow but steady pulse. you let out a relieved breath, " thank the stars i didn't drag in a dead man, " you laugh breathlessly.

you move to your bathroom, grabbing a few washcloths and a bucket to fill with some warm water so you can start to tend to his injuries. there were a lot of them.

♡✩°｡⋆🦇

Ash awoke with a low groan, his head pounding as he came to. he pried his eyes open, slowly adjusting to the dim and warm light around him. the first thing his eyes are met with is the worn wooden ceiling of the room he was in. he could make out the faint flicker of a candle that he assumes is lighting the room.

he tries to sit up, only to drop back down with a loud, pained groan. his eyes take in the rest of the room, clearly a bedroom, decorated with various pieces of art and dried plants, the shelves on the wall covered in books and clutter.

the door shoots open, Ash's wide eyes landing on your figure, your eyes equally wide. " you're actually alive, " you let out a relieved breath, though mixed with a tone of surprise and shock.

Ash grunts as he tries to sit up straight again, but you rush to his side, pushing him down by his chest. " if you rip your stitches, they'll be the last of your concern. " you huff, lifting the blanket to look at the stitched wound on his side.

he looks up at you, wide, dark brown eyes flitting across your figure. " who are you? where am i? and when am i? " he throws the questions at you in a rush, his voice raising a little out of slight panic.

you cross your arms, the look on your face enough to catch him off guard and stop Ash's rambling. " listen mister, you're in my home and it's 1994. you came crashing down into my pumpkin patch — so i think i'll be the one asking questions, okay? " you squint at him, one brow raised. he almost looks like a scolded child. he nods, visibly relaxing a little.

he lays back down, " ask away i suppose, " in interesting look in his eyes. " just don't get mad if you don't like the answers. " he shrugs.

your squinting increases, and Ash shut his mouth. " first you can start off by thank me for taking care of your injuries. " you huff, in crossing your arms and resting your hands in your lap as you sit down on the couch facing the foot of the bed.

Ash sighs, he does suppose a 'thank you' is in order, he did feel and look better than when he was last awake. " thank you for taking care of me, " it comes out somewhat forced, though you can still sense a genuine hint to it.

you offer him a smile, taking Ash slightly aback as your face doesn't return to the frown again. " now, who are you, and where did you come from? "

you watch him take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second. he opens them again, deep brown eyes back on yours. " the name's Ash, " you nod along, " and uh, i just came from the, middle ages? " you blink at him, that accusatory squint back in your eyes. " hey now! don't give me that look again! "

you sit back against the cushion of the couch, pulling your knees to your chest. " how'd you get here? "

now it's his turn to squint — no questions about the middle ages? no joke that he must've hit his head too hard? okay then, he'll bite. " by reading a passage from The Book of The Dead to open a rift back home. " his eyes carefully watching you.

your eyes widen a bit, " nothing followed you back did it? cause if you bring damn Deadites to my front door-! " you start, but Ash interrupts you.

" no, nothing followed me back-! wait, Deadites? you know about 'em? " he tries to sit up, grunting in pain as the stitches tighten.

you shoot up from the couch, pointing a finger at him. " you stay down, or i'll tie you down, got it? i will not stitch you up again. " you stand beside him. he drops down in defeat, nodding. he honestly felt too weak to fight it.

you step towards the doorway, looking back at him. " you hungry? i've got some stew on the stove, " and before Ash can answer his stomach grumbles loudly. " i'll take that as a yes, i'll bring you some. " stepping through the doorway and out of his sight.

he glances around the room, dark eyes scanning each inch that he could. it was cozy, a big fireplace in the corner furthest from the bed, the room well lived in and cluttered — from what little he's seen of you, very you.

a few minutes later you return, two bowls with spoons in your hands. you set them both down on the bedside table, moving over to help him sit up. he groans as the stitches tense, but you make sure he doesn't rip any as you help him move. you hand him one, which he gladly accepts. he stirs through the bowl, watching you blow on a spoon full before you swallow down a few bites.

he waits a minute, watching for any kind of reaction. though you don't look up from your bowl, you sigh, " if i wanted to kill you, i would've just left you out there. i didn't poison the damn stew. " you mumble with a mouthful.

Ash grumbles something, before bringing the spoon to his lips. the moment the stew hits his tongue his eyes widen a little at the how good it tastes — comforting, warm and delicious. in a mere second after swallow the first bite he shovels spoonful after spoonful down. you smile into your bowl, listening to him scarf down his food.

in a few minutes he's done, wiping his lips with the back of his flesh hand, setting the bowl down on the bedside table. his eyes are you as you're still eating. " i take it you like it? " you peak up, seeing Ash nod. you pull your knees back up to your chest, resting the bowl atop them. " so what did you do in the middle ages? " you ask, pushing another spoonful in.

Ash blinks, how you were so normal about this all the moment he mentioned the Book of The Dead. " you really don't beat around the bush, do you? " he grumbles, crossing his arms with a flinch.

you shrug, " people waste so much time, i never cared for it. " you answer him, looking up at him with an expecting look.

he sighs, " i fought an army of Evil, along with a Deadite version of myself. " if he was being honest, it was kind of refreshing to talk about it so blatantly. he watches you as you nod along, pushing in bite after bite as you listen to him. " how are you not laughing at me? calling me crazy? "

you shrug, swallowing a bite. " v'seen my fair share of strange things out here, " you scrape the last few pieces together, " it takes quite a bit to weird me out. " you smile at him. you scoop up the last bite, chewing and swallowing it down. " i will say, having a man crash out of nowhere and crush more than half of my pumpkins is a first though, "

Ash sinks into the pillows, he'd forgotten about that for a moment. " 'm sorry about your pumpkins, " he offers.

you shake your head and wave him off. " honestly it could always be worse, hell, you could've landed on one of my fences and been impaled, " you shrug, setting your bowl aside as you direct your full attention back to him. " so, tell me more about your 'trip', " you rest your chin atop your knees, wrapping your arms around your legs.

you listen in wonder as he tells you all about the middle ages, about Sheila, about Evil Ash, the Delta tank they built. he pauses as he looks down at his metal hand, looking back up at you. " hey, you didn't happen to find a chainsaw and a shotgun with me, did you? " you blink, thinking back.

you shrug, " don't know, i could look once it's light out if you'd like me to? " you offer. he nods, accepting that offer. you yawn and stretch, glancing out the window to find it long dark. " we should get some sleep. "

you get up from the couch, stepping outside the bedroom for a minute before returning with a pillow and a big knit blanket. you prop the pillow up on the couch, laying down and pulling the blanket over you. Ash blinks at you, " you okay with me taking your bed? " he asks, finding himself ready to try and get out of it.

you wave him off, " don't bother, " you pull the blanket up to your chin. you sign, closing your eyes. " sleep tight, Ash. "

Ash yawns, your sleepiness infecting him. he scoots down with sharp breaths, turning his head as he settles down. and to Ash's surprise, it doesn't take long for sleep to overtake him.

♡✩°｡⋆🦇

it's a few days later, you had indeed found a shotgun and a chainsaw not too far from where you had found him, which now laid on a shelf in the pantry. you weren't the biggest fan of shotguns in your home.

Ash was recovering well, clearly — as he had been cramming every sentence with a bad pun or lame pickup line.

and much to your dismay, you found them kind of working.

the two of you were in your kitchen as you made breakfast, bacon and eggs frying in the big skillet as Ash sat at the table quietly watching you. a low grumble could be heard in the air, giving Ash a weird feeling. he watches you pause the flipping of the bacon, clearly having noticed the slight change in the air. " you felt that too? " he asks, brows furrowed.

you turn your stove off, setting the fork down and pull off your apron. " yeah, i felt it. " you hang the apron over the chair beside Ash, grabbing a vial of salt as you move towards the window above the counter. you look outside, eyes finding a small wisp of smoke dwindling by the shed. you grumble something under your breath, Ash barely making out 'you did bring someone along.' before throwing the front door open.

he pushes himself off the chair, dashing for his shotgun in the pantry before painfully jogging after you. " hey now! " he calls, stepping down the steps of your porch in his socks.

Ash nearly slams into your back as you stop by the shed, his eyes landing on what was causing the small stream of smoke — a Deadite, leaning against thin air as it sizzled against some invisible barrier. " what the? " he mutters, watching you merely stand there with your hands on your hips.

you grumble, twisting open the vial. " put the damn gun away, Ash. " you huff, chucking what looked to be salt at the Deadite. the moment the grains hit the creature it lets out a hissing scream, slowly melting against the barrier. Ash watches with a beyond bewildered look on his face.

you watch the Deadite completely melt, before turning back to Ash. " what? i thought you've seen them before, mister. " you squint at his stupid look.

Ash snaps out of it, stumbling over his words as he gestures at the puddle that once was a creature. you just blink at him, waiting for his meltdown to pass. " what did you throw on it?? " he sputters.

you give him a concerned look, looking around you. you lick your teeth, " uh, salt..? "

you watch in real time as Ash seems to break at that information — hands slack at his side, shotgun dropping into the leaves. " Ash, honey, you doing alright? " you ask, starting to get a little concerned.

" salt-?! " he exclaims. " you mean to tell me, that all this time i've been carving them up like Christmas turkeys, and you throw some DINNER SALT on them and they fucking MELT?! "

you're trying to suppress a smile as you watch him freak out. " also, what the hell was it layin up against?! " he gestures at the barrier.

you glance down at your feet. for a man who had gone to the middle ages and back, defeated an army of undead creatures and an evil version of himself, he was reacting surprisingly poorly to this. " first of all, it would be Thanksgiving turkeys, second, it's a barrier? " you offer, brows furrowed in both amusement and concern. " do you uh, want to sit down? maybe you should eat something, "

you step towards Ash, leaning down to pick up his shotgun. you grab his flesh hand and pull him back up the path to the cabin. Ash lets you pull him along as he follows you blindly as he tries to process it — he had found it odd how nothing had come after him, but having witnessed the protective barrier, it makes sense.

you pull him up the porch steps and through the front door, closing it behind you two. you lead him back to the chair he had sat in, pushing him down to sit. you rummage around a few jars, looking for a specific flower for his tea to calm him down. " hey, Ash? " you call out, turning your head to watch him flick his soft brown eyes up to you. " want some tea with your bacon and eggs? "

he shakes his head, contemplative eyes flitting across your figure. you shrug, turning back to fix the two of you plates of food. his eyes drag across your form, watching your movements as you move through the kitchen. he blinks, snapping out of it as you walk over with two plates of breakfast, a few big slices of bacon on one side and an omelette with tomatoes and cheese on the other side. he'd be lying if he said it didn't smell amazing.

he watches you as you eagerly break apart the omelette with your fork, shovelling in bites. it takes him a minute, then he too digs in. and boy was it delicious. it had to be the best homemade breakfast he's ever had.

he looks up from his plate, soft brown eyes on you. " f'you wanna ask somethin', jus' ask, " you mumble with your mouth full.

he blinks, shoving down a bite of eggs. " who are you? " he takes another bite of eggs. " and what is this place? "

you swallow the bacon and eggs left in your mouth, clearing your throat. " i'm who people turn to for all kinds of things, " you shrug, sipping your tea. " f'you need remedies for various things, or a totem to protect you, or if somethings not right in your home, " you list off, eyes focused on your tea. " and i apparently take in stray strangers that fall from middle ages and crush my pumpkins, " you laugh into your mug.

Ash breathes out a sheepish laugh, " 'm still sorry about that, " he swallows down the last bite of food, pushing his empty plate forward.

you wave him off, " honestly, they weren't looking too good this season anyway. " you finish your last bite as well, sighing as you get up to grab his plate.

though, he pulls it away from you. " let me at least do the dishes, you constantly cook and take care of me, it's makin' me feel bad, " he gestures his plate towards yours, wanting you to put it on top of his.

you shrug, stacking your plate on his. " as long as you don't overwork your side, the healing's going so well, i'll be livid if you mess it up, " you laugh, though he understands you're serious about it. he nods, bringing the plates into the kitchen. you watch him awkwardly glance around your cluttered counter and shelves for a second, before finding a sponge and some soap.

you leave him to it, making your way to your bedroom to change out of your sleepwear. you open your closet, eyes glancing at various things before settling on a long patchwork skirt and pulling out an easy thin strapped tanktop.

" heya, where'd you want the clean dishes- " you hear Ash ask from just beyond the doorway, cutting himself off as he enters the room, wide eyes glued to your naked back as you had just pulled your sleep shirt off. he can just make out the swell of your tits on each side of your torso.

you pull your tanktop over your head, the blush on Ash's cheeks deepening as he catches a good glance at your tits while your arms are raised. you adjust the top before turning around to face him. you try so hard to suppress your grin at his deep red cheeks and wide eyes. " you can leave them to dry on the counter, i'll put them away in a bit. " you smile at him, closing your closet.

you move past him to the bedside, lifting the covers up to pull them straight across the bed. he watches you, frozen in the doorway as you let out quiet grunts as you neatly make the bed he had been sleeping in for the past few days.

you let out a huff, standing straight as you turn to meet his eyes again. you smile, " you know what you can help me with today? " you offer him, resting a hand on his chest as you slide past him and out of the bedroom. " cleaning up the pumpkin patch, " you throw him a teasing smile as you make your way to the big closet you keep your garden supplies in.

you swing the door open, pulling out a pair of gloves that you chuck at his feet. he watches you curse and dig for something, only to the turn around with a lopsided smile. " oh wait, " you hold out one glove, " guess it doesn't matter that i can't find the right one, huh? " you laugh, chucking the glove with the other pair. you close the door, bending over in front of him to pick the gloves up.

you look up at him, handing him the one glove. you smile as he takes it, putting it on. " c'mon handsome, let's go clean up. " you pat his shoulder, grinning as you make your way to the back door.

Ash follows closely behind, letting out a deep breath. his healing journey and his time here with you so far, has definitely been interesting — dare he even say it, almost safe feeling now he knows about the barrier and your capability to handle yourself and Deadites.

#⋆୨🩷©2024 htchnr #ashley williams x you #ash williams fluff #ash williams oneshot #ashley williams imagine #ashley williams x reader #ash vs evil dead x reader #ash williams imagine #ash williams smut #ash williams x reader #ash vs evil dead #older!ash williams #older!ash williams x reader

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harryforvogue · 7 months

Text

Epilogue

February 1920

Greenwich Village, New York

Harry, who has just turned 26, and I lay in bed, his head on my chest, his breath soft on my sternum. He groans approvingly every few seconds when my fingers run through his hair tiredly, both of our eyes closed and about to welcome sleep. We're both full of food and love.

Harry shifts his head so his nose rests against my neck, soft lips kissing my jaw slowly. "Annaliese," he murmurs, rubbing his hand over my rib.

"Yes?" I whisper, scratching his scalp. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just realized I didn't say thank you for such a good birthday."

One eye opens to glance down at him. His eyes are still closed though, breathing evening out.

"The cake was atrocious."

The corner of his mouth lifts up. "Yes, it was. You're very bad at baking."

"So are you."

"No, I'm good at it."

This is true. Harry's culinary skills are far better than mine, even still. He should have been the one to make the cake, but what kind of wife would I be if I let my husband make his own cake for his birthday.

"Did you at least like the fruit tarts?"

"The fruit was sour."

"They're out of season, Harry. What do you want me to do about that?"

Harry nuzzles his head further into my neck while I try my best not to jostle him as the tickling sensation nearly makes me giggle.

"Don't want you to do anything about it actually," he says, sighing deeply. "I liked them. I like everything you make."

"Liar. You barely touched the cake."

"It was crumbly," Harry argues quietly. "Cake isn't supposed to fall apart like that."

"You make it next time then."

"For my own birthday?"

"Yes, since you want to be so smart about it."

Harry's body trembles with laughter and he picks his head up, glancing at me. His sleepy eyes open, lashes fluttering against my skin. I can't help but laugh at this sensation, pulling my head away.

"Thank you," he says. "I'm really happy."

I bend my head down and softly kiss his mouth. "You're welcome. Are you tired, mon cœur?"

"You have no idea," he sleepily grins, moving to his side of the bed. "I can sleep for days I think."

My body automatically follows him to his side, pressing my body against his, his arms easily wrapping around me. "I'll miss you if you sleep for days."

"I've got work tomorrow anyways, so it's not like I'll be able to."

"On your lunch break then."

"I've got some kids..." he trails off, yawning loudly, "coming by for some extra help. I think I'll be home late too."

I like this. Harry and I have a routine and it works for both of us. Since we're both working, it's as if we don't spend much time together, but in actuality, he's spending more time than ever with me, now that he's moved back into our room. To my great happiness, nothing tremendous has changed between us. We talk regularly and are slowly beginning to argue more, to both of our delights.

Harry passed his examination in August, just two weeks after we returned back home. He'd cried that night, but for the first time, it was out of happiness. I did the same.

When I turn to say something else to him, I find him asleep, his arm slung over my waist and his foot pressed between my calves. The crease between his eyebrows is gone, and his hair is pushed from his forehead, white scar barely visible in the darkness.

I lay my forehead against his and close my eyes.

***

I have a peculiar dream in which Harry, his family, my family, and I are in a botanical garden, surrounded by flowers that tower us by at least six feet, all different colors. Harry's hand is in mine and he's wearing his army uniform as well as his dog tags that stick out from his shirt, resting along his chest. He smiles warmly at me and slowly releases my hand when he sees his mother, nodding her head to her to acknowledge her. He goes to embrace her. My own mother is walking besides me with my father, their faces more distorted. Thea's there too, her face as clear as the moon.

My mother runs ahead to greet Harry's mother. A soft gust of wind carries through my hair, waving my scarf in the air, my body nearly lifted off the ground. I giggle with delight, turning to show Harry that I'm about to fly, but when I glance over, Harry's not there.

I look to my other side. My father isn't there either. I call their names out, muddled in the dream-like state, but my voice isn't audible.

The next thing I hear is an alarm, a loud shrill of a whistle, and then thunder. Through the tall flowers comes my mother, panic and horror on her face that makes her eyes bulge. She grabs my frame and shakes me. "Help!" she screams so loud, my eardrums pop and I wince, trying to put my palms over my ears. "Help him! He's dying! Help him!"

"Nobody is dying!" I distinctly argue back. "It's over!"

"He's dying! Help him."

She continues shaking me until I feel dizzy, however, when I ask her to please release me, she doesn't. Suddenly, she throws me onto the hard ground and turn to run. Harry emerges from the tall flowers next, spots me, and then collapses at me feet. The next scream is mine, another shrill one.

Something violently shakes me awake and I know it's real because the pain from the person's grip travels down to my hands.

I haven't been asleep for long, so I drowsily rise, listening to the loud shouts in my ears. Upon opening my eyes, I see Harry, sitting on his knees in front of me, face dark with shadows.

"Annaliese!" He's yelling. "Annaliese, we've got to go. Get up! Come on!"

He physically lifts my body up and makes me sit upright. He's still shaking me hard. When my eyes focus, I see him a little better.

"Annaliese," he repeats, "come on! We've got to run!"

"Harry," I murmur tiredly, resting a palm on his face. "What is it?"

"They're coming," he says, grabbing my shoulders roughly. "Let's go! Let's get out of here! We have to check on Mum and Thea. God, get up!"

I feel tears on his face and suddenly I'm more awake, leaning into him to cup his other cheek. "Harry, who's coming? I don't understand."

"They're coming!" he cries again, squeezing me tightly.

"Your mother and Thea are in London. Harry, you're home. Hey." I pat his cheek a little firmly. "Listen to me. Stop pulling me."

"You're not getting up! Let's go! I don't want you to die!"

A plane is passing by, riding a little lower than usual. At the sound of the engine, Harry freezes, his eyes wide and terrified. The expression on his face frightens me too, and I slip out of bed and sink to my knees in front of him.

"It's just a plane," I quickly say to reassure him. He begins trembling. "Harry. Harry, listen to me. It's okay. It's just a regular plane. It's just--"

"I don't want to die," Harry whispers, covering his face with his hands. "I want to go back to my wife. I don't want to die here. Fuck!"

I lunge and wrap myself around him tightly, my heart thundering in my chest. He must be having flashbacks because he's never talked about physically being there even though he's at home now. His head immediately falls to my neck where he audibly begins to cry, tears drenching my skin upon impact.

"Annaliese!" he sobs violently, desperately clutching my waist. "I want to go home! I want to go home! Please take me home!"

"We are home," I insist, my throat tight. I'm rubbing his back slowly. "Stop, baby. Stop crying. Harry, you need to breathe."

"I don't want to die!"

"Harry. Please listen to me. We're safe." I reach for the water on the side table and hold it out to him. "Here. Drink."

"But I don't know how to keep you safe!" Harry cries, taking pauses between words to catch his breath. "I don't know how to keep myself safe. I just want to go home!"

"You are home," I urge, pressing the glass to his lips. "Drink. You're home and I'm never letting you leave again."

Harry's breathing continues to be labored as he slowly drinks, some water pooling at the corner of his mouth, dribbling down. He pushes the glass away with his cheek when he's done and inhales sharply.

"I don't want to go back." He picks his head up, messily knocking it against my chin. His eyes are red and face wet, hair sticking to his cheek and forehead. "Annaliese, please don't make me go back. I don't want to go back. I want to go home!"

I quickly cup his face and nod. "I know, baby, I know. I'm not making you go back. They can't get you now."

"I don't want to die here! I want to go back to my wife!"

Harry seems to alternate between being present here and being in France. His eyes are unfocused, his hands still clutching my nightdress tightly.

"You will go back to your wife," I whisper, wiping his face again. "I promise. I'm going to put you on that train myself."

"But," he sobs again, breathing ragged. "I got hurt."

My eyes trail up to the scar running through his eyebrow. I gently touch it. He flinches back at my touch, but lets me follow his head and touch it again. I soothe my thumb over it as if it can be wiped away with such a simple touch.

"You did get hurt, but you're okay. It's not going to kill you."

"What's going to kill me then? Do you know?"

"Nothing will because I'm here and I'm going to protect you. Look at me, Harry. It's me. Annaliese." He picks his head up and lets me palm over his eyes. "Stop crying, please. I want to help you. You're at home. You're in New York." I take his hand away from my shirt but his eyes blaze with fright.

"No!" he shrieks, scrambling to lunge forwards and force his body against mine. "No! I will not go back! You can't make me!"

"I'm not making you go back!" I insist, trying to pry his heavy body off of mine. "Harry, I can't breathe. Please stop--"

"I am not going back!" His voice turns cold, body paralyzing me.

I raise my knees and mutter a quick apology before shoving him back with my knee caps. He falls onto his palms, staring at me with great sadness and rejection.

Once he's on the floor though, it's easy to hold him down. I've had to do it on multiple occasions. I press my palms to his shoulders and shove as hard as I can until his back is on the floor and then I straddle his chest with my knees on their side of his body.

His stare turns to panic mode, but I grab his wrists before he can push me off and push them onto the floor.

"Harry," I demand loudly, forcing him to look me in the eye. "You're not going anywhere until you calm down. Stop fighting me!"

"I want to go home!"

"Okay. I will take you home once you calm down. Take a deep breath. Stop struggling!"

The last part comes out a bit louder than I wanted, but it's effective because he pauses immediately and his eyes widen, head falling back against the floor. Slowly, I release one wrist and take his hand. I put it over my heart and take a deep breath with him, having to do it at least five times before he catches on and tries.

The first few tries are painful, but after a few wheezes, he's finally able to take a full breath and then continues. His eyes slowly soften and his body underneath mine relaxes. His chest rises and falls normally after two minutes of breathing in silence and when I let him go, he doesn't move, eyes closed, the rest of the tears sliding down the side of his face and onto the floor.

"You are home," I repeat firmly, causing him to open his eyes tiredly. "You're in New York. You're safe. I am safe. Thea and your mother are safe, do you hear me?"

Harry stares at me blankly for a few moments before numbly nodding.

"Say it to me," I order.

"They're safe," Harry whispers after a moment. "Thea and mum are safe. We are safe."

Satisfied with this answer, I crawl off of his body and place my hand under his neck for support as he pulls himself off the floor and onto the bed. He staggers and stumbles, but lands on the bed regardless.

He doesn't just sit there, though. He holds his hand out and waits for me to take it, bringing me to his side where I sit in silence, letting him gather his thoughts.

"I thought," he begins hoarsely, embarrassed, coughing into his sleeve, "that I was in France. Are you upset with me?"

I turn my body fully towards his and place a hand on his cheek, shaking my head. "Of course not. This is only the second time this week, Harry. You're doing much better than before."

"It's pathetic."

"It's just something we have to deal with."

"I'm tired of dealing with it."

I sigh, pressing my cheek to his hard shoulder. His hand touches the back of my neck and softly begins to massage to show his appreciation.

"I know, but we can't do anything but face it. A little progress is better than none at all, wouldn't you agree? I think it's good that it's only twice a week, and I think I've gotten better at helping you. Is that true or would you like me to do something else?"

Harry rests his own head on mine. "Well, you sat on my chest."

"I didn't!" I laugh. "I hovered."

"You sat." There's a smile in his voice. "Like my childhood cat would."

"I know I did not sit on you, Harry."

We've taken out all the clocks in our room and only kept one in the hallway. We can see it from our room, but the noise is less irritating, especially during comfortable silences like this.

Finally, Harry picks his head up and kisses the top of my head.

"Let's sleep, my love."

As he gets settled, I fill up the glass of water halfway and set it beside him on the table. Then, I lay down in his arms and let him cover me with the blanket, tucking my body into his. I comforted him as he slept before, but now I'm completely surrounded by him and I love it. I wish I could pull him in even more.

"I love you," Harry murmurs before he falls asleep, his voice vibrating in his chest under my ear.

I press closer to him, eyes filled with both sleep and stinging tears. "Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime."

Our lives have been anything but easy these past two years, but laying in his arms on this cold winter night and being kissed by him makes everything okay.

We still have a long way to go, but with the small achievements already under our belt, I know that Harry and I are invincible and that our story is not done yet. We need to heal and we'll make progress just to take steps backwards, but what matters is that I know Harry and I are not giving up on each other and while the day may not be any time soon, I know that we will be okay.

THE END.

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naminethewriter · 2 years

Text

Hurt No One Knew About Chapter Ten: Remus

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Story Summary: Logan has been acting weird for the past few weeks and the others aren’t sure what to do about it. When Janus appears looking for Remus they strike a deal: He figures out what’s going on with Logan and afterwards they’ll help search for Remus.

Turns out the two problems are more connected to each other than anyone thought.

Content Warnings: Injuries, Exhaustion

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patton’s eyes fly open at the sound of Remus’ voice. The hammer is only inches from his face. Lilith had frozen mid-swing and is now shaking with the effort of keeping still. Her teeth are gritted and her eyes still glow orange though not as intense as a moment before.

“C’mon, Lili. Put the hammer down.” While his first shout was a command, this time Remus speaks in a much softer way. And slowly, very slowly, Lilith pulls the weapon away from Patton’s face and lets it fall to the ground where it bursts into a bunch of black feathers. Now that he isn’t in danger of being suddenly attacked, Patton looks over to where Remus stands.

The Duke is standing in the doorway Lilith had entered from earlier. He’s wearing his usual outfit though it’s wrinkled and seems to hang more loosely on his frame than before. In general, Remus looks more haggard with dark rings around his eyes that could rival Virgil’s, his cheekbones visible. He props himself against the door frame, looking ready to pass out at any moment.

Hadn’t Lilith said that he was sleeping? He looks like he hadn’t slept at all the last two weeks.

“Rem,” Lilith whines, looking over to Remus, “you can’t let them wake him up. You can’t.”

“Come here, Lili,” Remus sighs, waving her over. She doesn’t look happy but walks over and lets herself be pulled into a hug. They start whispering to each other and Patton, not wanting to eavesdrop, looks to see how his friends are doing.

Janus had managed to stand up and is now helping Roman, though he still leans on his hook. Roman is still holding his stomach with his bandaged arm while letting himself be pulled up by the other. While they both don’t look well, Patton guesses they can take care of each other for a moment, so he focuses on Virgil, who is sitting on the ground, cradling his arm against his stomach as well and watching Remus and Lilith pensively. Patton walks over to him.

“You okay, Verge?” Startled, Virgil looks up at him.

“Oh, Pat. Yeah, I’m good. My arm just hurts a bit and I can’t put pressure on it but that should go away as soon as we’re out of here.”

“It’s not broken, is it?” Patton gasps, leaning forward to get a better look though there isn’t much to see considering Virgil’s hoodie isn’t even torn.

“It’s fine, Pat. I’ve had worse and those vanished as soon as I left the Imagination. We just need to get out of here.”

“Right, okay.” Patton looks around, fiddling with the cat hoodie around his shoulders before he has an idea. “You could use my hoodie as a sling! Y’know, to stabilize your arm.”

Virgil’s eyes that have wandered back to Remus and Lilith, flicker to him for a moment. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine, Pop Star. I think you’ll need it more than I do soon.”

Before Patton can ask what he means by that, Remus clears his throat.

“I know you have a lot of questions, and we can get to that in a moment, but first Lilith has something to tell you.” He gently pushes Lilith forward. The glow in her eyes has vanished and now she looks like a proper teenager, reluctant to speak up and unwilling to meet any of their eyes. She simply stands there for a few seconds, chewing on her lip before Remus pokes her in the back.

“Fine!” she hisses at him before turning to the four of them again. “I’m sorry for attacking you. It was wrong and I had no right to do it.” She turns back to Remus. “Happy?!”

Patton exchanges a glance with Virgil who seems to be just as lost with the situation as he is. A look over his shoulder shows him that Janus and Roman are both standing again, watching the scene with guarded expressions.

“Good job, Fire Storm,” Remus praises, petting Lilith’s head who grumbles but doesn’t fight his hand. “Now help me to get over to the bed, I need to sit down.” Though her face shows reluctance, Lilith doesn’t hesitate to sling one of Remus’ arms over her shoulder and they slowly walk over to the raised platform Logan’s bed is on. Patton uses the time it takes them to get there to help Virgil stand up. Janus and Roman come over to stand by them as well, all of them silently watching Remus struggling to take the few steps up to the bed.

Finally, Lilith helps him sit down on the bed’s edge, next to Logan’s head. Logan hasn’t stirred even once since they’ve been here and doesn’t react this time either. Remus’ eyes fall closed as he sits down, and he looks like he is on the edge of passing out. But he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again.

“Thanks, Lili.” Lilith hesitates, chewing on her lip again but she doesn’t say more, just nods and steps to the side, off the platform and goes to lean against a wall not too far away.

“Anyway,” Remus sighs, turning to look at the others, which seemingly stops his train of thought. “Ah, sorry. How rude of me to let you stand.” He waves his hand and four chairs flicker – literally, it takes a few seconds for them to truly manifest – into existence behind Patton and the others.

Virgil eyes his, as if he is waiting for it to disappear again. Patton and Roman also hesitate, but Janus sits down immediately, though he keeps his shepherd hook in hand. Following his example, Patton takes a seat as well, followed by Roman and lastly Virgil.

Even after they’re seated, Remus doesn’t speak up again. He simply stares ahead of him but doesn’t seem to actually see anything.

“Remus?” Patton prompts after a moment.

“Hm?” Remus hums, his eyes slowly moving to Patton. He blinks twice before his brain registers what’s happening. “Right. Sorry. Just summoning those almost made me pass out.”

“What the hell is going on, Remus? You look like death,” Roman says, staring at his brother intently. Remus’ eyes wander over to him and for the first time he seems to actually take in Roman’s appearance.

“Damn, Ro-bro, you were put through the wringer! Wasn’t all Lilith, I hope.” He says it with a smile, but it lacks the usual teasing undertone which makes Roman even more worried than he already was.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Good. Good.” Remus nods, his movement getting sluggish again as his voice trails off. Keeping him on track is going to be a hard task, they all realize.

“Where have you been, Re?” Roman asks, more insistently.

“Next door, sleeping. Woke up when I heard you fighting.”

“If that woke you up then why is Logan still asleep?” Virgil hisses. Remus blinks.

“Right, Lolo,” Remus mumbles, looking to the sleeping side beside him. A small smile appears on his lips as he watches him slumbering peacefully. Janus fears Remus drifted off again, but he shakes his head a moment later, clearing his throat.

“He can’t wake up because he’s missing too much.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Questions like that won’t get us anywhere, Virgil. We need more information about what happened before they came here. Remus,” Janus calls and waits until the Duke’s eyes are on him before continuing. “What is going on? Why is Logan here?”

“Logan is here because he wanted to take a break. He was more stressed than a woman giving birth to triplets, so he asked me to find a way for him to take a break but with his function still being fulfilled.”

“And in response to that you made the robot?” Patton asks. Remus starts to nod before stopping and tilting his head to the side in thought.

“Yes and no? I first wanted to clone him but that got too complicated, so I thought shapeshifter maybe but Roman would have clocked that immediately, and then I thought of the robot idea.”

“Okay,” Janus says, now understanding that Remus’ thought process is even less filtered than normal and that he will go off on tangents if they aren’t careful. “You made the robot to take over Logan’s role for a while. And you brought him here to rest?”

“I brought him here to get away from you all. Because he seemed kinda scared that one of you would try and get into his room or something.” That is a disturbing revelation but before any of them can really react to it, Remus keeps talking. “Was kinda hard to understand him while he was panicking and all that, and he didn’t seem to feel safe in his room, so I brought him to the safest place I’ve created so far.”

“Panicking?! Why was Logan panicking?!” Virgil demands, jumping from his seat.

“Maybe you should start from the beginning, Remus,” Janus suggests while Patton pulls Virgil gently back into his seat. “Why did you visit Logan and when was that?”

“Oh, sure. Uhm…” He drifts off for a moment, staring at the ground, eyes almost falling closed before he jerks suddenly and lifts his head again. “Right. I was bored so I went to Lolo to get some questions answered that I had about how starfish have sex. Or if they have sex at all. I still don’t know, I forgot to ask the question in the end. Maybe I should write it down…” His words get quieter the longer he talks before he’s just mumbling to himself.

“You went to Logan and then what happened?” Janus prompts. Remus blinks quickly a few times which seems to help him focus enough to get back on track.

“I dropped on his bed and barely got out a ‘hello’ before he just started losing his shit,” Remus recalls, looking slightly more attentive as he remembers the scene. “Yelled about why no one would leave him to do his work in peace if we all insisted on throwing a wrench in his plans and making him redo them. He went on for like five minutes and was barely breathing between all the shouting, it was so hot honestly.” Patton makes a face at that but doesn’t comment.

“I was pretty much speechless when he finished, just said ‘wow’ or ‘damn’ or something along those lines. Pretty sure Lolo only then realized who I was. He apologized. Said that he had a stressful day and… and that he didn’t know how to deal with it. So, I offered my help. Told him he could vent to me, I didn’t mind, I’m used to the worst thoughts Thomas has, that he couldn’t really say anything more disturbing that I had thought before.

“He took it. Started talking about how he feels useless, that none of you seem to listen to him, that he feels like Thomas is avoiding him, that he can’t sleep, that he has nightmares and he kinda worked himself into a panic attack. Got scared that any of you would hear him and think even less of him.”

By this point, Patton is nearly in tears, Virgil is staring at the floor with his lips pressed together tightly, Roman is watching his brother with a guilty expression and while Janus keeps his face neutral, his grip on his hook is tight.

“That’s when you offered to bring him here?” he asks for clarification.

“Yeah.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Oh, uhm…” Remus furrows his brows, trying to think but not coming up with anything. “The days ’ve been kinda blending together, I’m not sure…”

“Two weeks,” Lilith calls over, still leaning against the wall. Remus sighs.

“Yeah, that sound about right. Thanks, Lili.” He says it with heavy sarcasm. Lilith doesn’t respond but Virgil, whose eyes settled on her when she spoke up, sees her frown slightly.

“You brought Logan here to calm him down. What happened then?” Janus asks, going back to the topic at hand.

“It may not be exactly correct to say that I was trying to calm him down. I mean, yeah, I wanted him to stop panicking but I thought that maybe we could use my rage room or something down here. Get it out of his system and what not.”

“You have a rage room down here?” Virgil asks with a raised brow.

“The thing about this place is that it’s designed to become whatever I need it to be in the moment, so if I need a rage room, I’ll have a rage room. Those passages you took to get here aren’t much different.”

Patton tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that when you fell into the first trap, the structure picked out your insecurities and designed a challenge around them. It’s like an A.I. that generates a video game level that is the most challenging for you personally.”

“But how did it know what we’re insecure about?”

“I’m in charge of intrusive thoughts, Virgil. I know about all the parts of Thomas he pushes down so he doesn’t need to think about them. Of course I know which part of yourself you all try to deny. And you’re in my realm right now, it’s not that hard to do.”

For the first time since they’ve seen Remus today, he has a grin on his face that is actually reminiscent of the Duke they all knew though it is still far away from his usual unsettling presence. But he does seem to be more aware of his surroundings which is a plus for them.

“So you didn’t set up the rooms yourself? They were created by the pyramid itself?” Roman clarifies.

“I mean, I had ideas, sure. But they were just suggestions the A.I. could use, it didn’t have to. It has a wide variety of settings, creatures, and objects to choose from. So, no, I didn’t set up your trials. Well, except for Janny’s. That one I had a plan for. But there are variants for that as well.” There is a moment of silence as Remus and Janus just stare at each other for a moment, holding a silent conversation for just the two of them. Patton interrupts them.

“Then, what happened to the creatures I met?” Remus meets his eyes and shrugs.

“They’re gone. As soon as you leave, everything resets back to zero. If you go outside and back in again, you will find an entirely different scenario.”

“Oh,” Patton says quietly. He had really wanted to go back with Remus and find a peaceful way to live for Fuzzy and the others but that isn’t possible then. So he abandoned them after all. He knows they aren’t real but still… He can’t help but feel a little guilty about leaving them behind.

“This is all beside the point,” Janus reminds them. “We’re here to talk about Logan. What happened when you got here?”

Remus lets out a deep sigh. He pulls out a pair of glasses – Logan’s glasses – from somewhere and fiddles with it, eyes cast towards the ground.

“When we got here, Logan started to calm down. He wasn’t as frantic anymore and I did a breathing exercise with him, like the one we would do with Virgil when he was panicking, back then.” Patton glances at Virgil but he is staring at a wall, keeping very still. Remus continues talking: “Pretty much as soon as he had his breathing under control again, he basically collapsed. Said he was exhausted. That he just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up for a while. He looked so sad, I just wanted him to go back to the Logan that wasn’t bothered by my questions, that could deflect my attacks like they were nothing, so I asked why he didn’t just go to sleep for as long as he wanted to.

“Of course he was confused. Said that it wasn’t possible. But this is the Imagination. My side to be exact. Anything is possible as long as I want it to be. I told him that I could put him to sleep for as long as he liked. That we could try to transfer his functions into a proxy that would keep up his work while he rested. He was skeptic but agreed to think it over, he just wanted to go to sleep in that moment. I let him have this room and left.

“I spent some time working on a project of mine until Logan came to find me. He managed to sleep but only for a few hours. He still looked like shit but was ready to discuss my idea. We brainstormed how it would work, what we could use as a proxy, how we would do it without you all interfering and what Lolo ultimately wanted out of the whole thing.”

Next to Remus, Logan mumbles something and turns on his side, facing the others. They can see part of his face, relaxed. He’s hugging a pillow, burying the lower half of his face in it. Remus smiles. He keeps Logan’s glasses in his right hand, resting his arm on his leg while his other hand carefully cards through Logan’s hair.

Art by @thecrowslullaby, ID here

“We ended up settling on a week and decided to use the robot. Logan helped me design and create it which made it harder for Roman to detect my aura on it. It was supposed to mimic Logan’s behavior just enough to fool all of you for the week and fulfill Logan’s function as Thomas’ logic. I was supposed to put Logan to sleep, connect him to the robot and let him rest like that for said week.

“But after we finished building the bot, Logan brought up a concern. He said that he was struggling with nightmares so he asked me if I could make sure he didn’t have any because otherwise it would defeat the whole purpose. And while that is something I can do, it takes a lot of energy that I couldn’t spare because I needed to keep up the link to the robot.

“Logan’s solution for the problem was to get rid of his emotions for the duration of his rest. His reasoning was that if he didn’t feel anything, then whatever dreams he may have wouldn’t influence him. I argued that it wouldn’t be as restful then because while his physical fatigue may go away, his mental stress wouldn’t lower by much because he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. So, he asked if it was possible to just remove the negative feelings.”

Remus pauses for a moment but doesn’t look up to see how stiff the others have become. Janus’ knuckles are white, his grip on his hook is that tight. Roman is frozen in his chair, staring at Logan’s face. Patton next to him is in a similar position, tears in his eyes, wondering how he missed the amount of hurt Logan seems to have carried with him for so long. Virgil is still staring at the wall, but his uninjured hand is curled around the edge of his seat, holding on tightly.

“I wasn’t… enthusiastic about the idea,” Remus continues, no longer smiling but looking at Logan with deep concern in his eyes, “but at that point Logan was getting frazzled again and I just wanted him to rest. So I agreed, foolishly. I put him to sleep. I created the link with the robot and was about to extract most of his negative feelings – ‘cause if I took all of them, it would make his positive emotions very weak as well –when I realized that I had nowhere to keep them.”

“Keep them?” Patton asks, his voice shaky.

“Emotions are volatile and not easily contained,” Roman starts to explain, giving his brother a moment to rest. “They’re like a storm, if you don’t secure them properly, they’re going to break free and go rampant. Especially if it’s a lot of negative ones. We can’t just put them in any old glass jar.”

“Exactly. And I was already using so much energy to keep the link and spell on Logan that couldn’t really create anything in the moment to put them into, but I also didn’t want to break my promise to Lolo. So, I used what I had and managed to secure them. Since the robot isn’t functioning anymore – which I guess has something to do with you all – Logan’s functions as Thomas’ logic are returned to him. But I haven’t gotten back his negative emotions yet and he can’t wake up without them.”

“Where are they then?” Virgil asks, eyes on Remus again. The Duke’s eyes glance to the side.

“Lilith has them.”

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rememberthisham · 2 years

Text

All He Ever Wanted Ch. 14

The first day Dib still didn't see Zim in Skool wasn't surprising. He'd finally returned to his base after several weeks of imprisonment, he probably had to take a day or two to contact his leaders and…take a shower? Could Zim shower? Dib didn't know but he tried not to focus on it.

By the fourth day, it was all he could focus on. The entire week had gone by without Zim's return and Dib was starting to worry. More for himself than for the alien, he knew after so much time fighting him he couldn't rightfully be killed. Dib was worried about himself and the venomous glances he was still receiving from Miss Bitters.

He was beginning to worry about the gradually increasing whispers of his classmates as they all drew the connection between Zim's mysterious disappearance and Dib's constant paranoid threats to his fellow classmate. He was beginning to worry quite a bit when no one threw their lunch at him in the afternoon, instead skirting around him and Gaz fearfully as they sat at their usual table. Dib stirred his peas and relish with his spork, absent of appetite.

"Gaz, you said I could tell you about…stuff… right?" He croaked, his voice a bit weak from not speaking all day. Gaz groaned dramatically and didn't look up from her intense boss battle on her game slave.

"Yeah, I guess I did, huh." She admitted.

"Well it's just that I had a big breakthrough in the alien case lately and it's kinda torn a huge hole in everything I thought I knew and now he hasn't been back to skool even though I let him go and eventually people are gonna think I did something to him and then I'll be arrested and dad will think I'm a failure and he'll be all 'eef only aid done somthink soonar aboot your insanhity' you know? Am I being crazy Gaz? Gaz?"

"Yes."

"Oh…" Dib deflated, after rushing through all his problems in a few seconds they really did seem much smaller. Gaz sighed at his defeated posture and stopped messing around in her game, killing the boss and finding the safe point to put down her controller.

"Dib, did you kill Zim?" She asked. Dib looked up sharply.

"No! Well…maybe for a second, but he's ok now!" He argued. Gaz rolled her head on her neck in a gesture that would indicate an eye roll if her eyes were visible.

"Look man, even if you had done something to Zim, dad would just fix it." She pointed out lazily. Dib rested his head in his hand.

"He can't fix everything."

"Pretty much everyone does what he says, if he says you're innocent they'll probably publish an article on his genius deduction or something." She picked her game back up, seemingly deciding the conversation was over. Dib didn't argue, not having much else to say. Her logic wasn't wrong, but it didn't make him feel better. He was still worried about himself. Worried about what he didn't know, he liked to know things. He went back to stirring his peas.

The weather was more like spring than winter as Skool let out for the day. It seemed the cold snap that caused the snow day was a temporary weather phenomenon. Dib walked out of Skool and didn't board the bus, and neither did Gaz. They both walked down the sidewalk in silence for a few blocks until they split off in equal silence. Gaz heading in the direction of their house and Dib heading the opposite direction towards the woods. The 'School' excuse had been holding and every day after his usual Skool Dib walked down to the woods and learned something from the witch. Sometimes he was a kid like Dib when he taught but most of the time he was the old man Dib had originally met. Dib left the sidewalk and felt the mud and grass squish under his sandals. It was getting a little cold for sandals, but the witch had this idea that "shoes are part of humanity's obsession with elevating itself above nature and therefore alienating itself from the very fabric of its own design and all the connections it once had to the grand enlightenment" or something. Dib wasn't gonna go around barefoot in fall, that's how you lost toes, but he'd concede to wear his sandals a little longer while he was learning.

As he came to the treeline he made sure to touch all the trees' bark as he passed. They were solid and impressive but they just felt like trees. It was as he did this for many days in a row that he found they didn't feel different, but the way he thought about them began to change. He began to more consciously conceptualize the idea of them as plants; they were giant plants that humans lived amongst, no different from ants living amongst the grass. At first glance to a young boy, they seemed more related to rocks or buildings. They were structures. They were landmarks built specifically for casting shade or filling out someone's front lawn. Yet so casually and frequently visiting their own place where they live naturally makes one confront that they live at all. They grow from children and they move to follow the sunlight. The witch says there is just as much tree below the ground as there is above, and thinking of a tree's roots so large and spread out as the tree itself makes one feel much much smaller. Every single tree is secretly twice as big as it looks. Giants in real life.

The witch says they talk to each other like people, but Dib doesn't think it's quite as complicated as human communication.

As Dib walked he touched the trees and listened to the crunch of leaves beneath his sandals. Were they more like hair? Or more like skin? He supposed they were neither since they were leaves. He walked the path until it was time to leave it, he knew the spot through practice, and found the witch's house.

Knock knock knock knock

The door swung open and the young witch greeted him. Eye to eye he invited Dib in as he did most days, however, Dib didn't take off his shoes as he usually did.

"So uh…are we doing something outside today? Counting grass? Communing with squirrels?" He bounced on the balls of his feet. The witch had opened his mouth to say something before Dib interrupted him. Now he changed his greeting.

"You seem excited." He said suspiciously. Dib didn't notice as he turned back towards the door.

"Yeah, it's nice out. I wanna learn stuff." He dismissed. The witch pursed his lips.

"You're not excited, you're nervous." He observed easily. Dib rolled his eyes, swallowing the heart that had jumped into his throat.

"What's the difference? Come on, it's a nice day, let's go."

"Nope" the witch walked leisurely to his couch, flopping down and saying nothing as he waited.

"So…so we're doing an indoor lesson?"

"Call it what you want, you're telling me what's up." He said. Dib grumbled. He was tired of telling people what was up, they always said he was making something of nothing.

Then again, the witch had been surprisingly solid with his advice, however, he pried.

"Fine, if this is what we're wasting the lesson on then sure." Dib conceded. He sat on the floor with a huff and a less-than-comfortable silence lapsed between them.

"Well?"

"It's Zim."

"It always is." The witch laughed and Dib shot him a side-eyed look. "What? You're obsessed with him, that's not news."

"I am not obsessed with Zim." He argued, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm not obsessed with him. I don't even have to care what he does anymore cause he's not actually going to take over the Earth!" He shouted.

The witch stared at him for a minute before idly examining his hand. Dib rolled his eyes and continued.

"What's bothering me is everyone else. Zim hasn't been to Skool since I let him go and he wasn't in Skool when I had him in my lab so if he doesn't show his ugly green face soon, people are gonna suspect that I did something to him."

"You did do something to him." The Witch pointed out unhelpfully.

"Not anymore!" Dib tried to impress the difference. "What happened to him? Why isn't he in Skool? I'm not holding him hostage so is someone else? Is he planning something? Is getting me blamed for his disappearance his master plan? Haa!" Dib shot up suddenly from the floor. "Oh my God, I have to go." He turned for the door.

"Sit down."

"No! I just realized what he's done." He pointed accusingly at the witch. "It was so dastardly, he deceived me into believing his tallest banished him here." The witch stood from the couch and approached Dib as he ranted. "That's it, he planned the whole thing to make me let my guard down. I will not be a fool."

"Breathe dude," he put both hands on Dib's shoulders to stop him from stepping away. Dib gasped sharply when he realized he'd said all that in one breath. "You're being ridiculous."

Dib felt the words smack him like a hand. The one person who believed him finally stopped.

"Let go of me."

"No just think about it." Dib stared at the floor in hurt, unhearing, and unreachable for several minutes. He let his anger and his nervous energy calm over the course of a few minutes, trying to put into words why his revelation made sense.

It didn't.

Zim didn't know he was being manipulated, that much was obvious, to him he was a hero who was beloved by his people. It didn't make sense that the armada was moving away or that Zim's mission had no aid and no set timeline for the invasion.

Dib deflated again, his scythe flopping forward a little into his face. He blew on it a little bit, but he didn't have the motivation to actually move it back into place. Slowly, the witch dropped his hands from Dib's shoulders.

"When are you gonna stop coming into my house and having breakdowns?" He muttered. "Without chasing Zim you're chasing your own tail,"

"What do I do?" Dib asked the floor. "I can't just…he's an alien. The first extraterrestrial life ever to contact Earth. I can't just let him go forever."

"You know where he lives?"

"Yeah,"

"You should go talk to him."

"His base is heavily guarded."

"You can't knock on his door?"

"Knock?" Dib at long last looked up from his own shoes.

"Go knock on his door, ask him where he's been." The witch suggested with a shrug.

"I can't…" Dib flushed in embarrassment. "I can't just knock. "

"You're obsessed with him, you're worried about him, go talk to him." The witch said firmly as he turned Dib around and pushed him towards the door. Dib started at the turn of events, fighting weakly as the witch opened the door.

"But, what about the lesson?"

"You're dismissed early, do your homework." He smiled smugly and led Dib out, shutting the door behind him.

Dib stood by himself for a second, looking at the door. The wind blew lightly across his skin making him shiver. He turned, the quiet sway of the woods calming him and making everything else feel insignificant for just a second. How did it do that?

With a sigh he trudged onward, he supposed he had homework.

"This…is stupid." He muttered to himself as his hand hovered a few centimeters from the green metal of Zim's front door. The Gnomes pointed threatening lasers at his back but didn't fire. He clenched and unclenched his raised fist as he contemplated knocking. "This is so stupid." He muttered, equally to himself. He closed his eyes and pretended he stood in front of someone else's door.

Knock knock knock knock

He did it.

There he did it and there was no taking it back. Maybe Zim wouldn't even dignify the gesture by opening the door? Maybe he wasn't even home? Dib shifted nervously from one foot to the other, waiting for enough time to pass for him to justifiably walk away and say he tried.

Crash

An echoing cascade of falling objects that gradually increased in volume could be heard and Dib froze, suddenly contemplating running. The crashes culminated in a small bang on the other side of the door followed by it quickly swinging open.

The undisguised robot minion of Zim faced him on the other side.

"Are you my pizza?"

"Uh…" Dib had spoken to GIR a few times, but he knew how it went when he tried to be reasonable. He decided to try something different. "Yes?"

"Whoooohooo!" GIR yelled triumphantly, moving to the side and waving Dib in. Dib took a tentative step forward before freezing. Minimoose floated ominously in the living room, round lifeless eyes trained on the intruder.

“Squeak.” He asked, but it wasn’t in a questioning tone.

“I just wanted to talk to Zim.” He admitted. It felt strange to say, and even stranger to attempt, something so casual towards his nemesis. The moose didn’t change outwardly, yet still noticeably seemed to soften.

“Squeak.” He revealed. Dib didn’t know what to do knowing Zim was occupied in his lab, should he leave?

“So…he’s unavailable?” He asked. The moose moved up and down where he floated and nodded to GIR.

“Squeak.”

“Okie Dokie!” The robot saluted with smiling bright blue eyes and waved for Dib to follow him.

“Oh! Oh, ok…” Dib followed the robot through the uncannily decorated living room and into the kitchen, quietly thanking Minimoose as he passed. He was going to Zim’s lab? Down into his secret base? Was Zim aware of this?

Dib had a hundred questions and that wasn’t even including questioning why there was a toilet in the kitchen. He honestly didn’t know what else he expected as he was led by the whistling GIR up onto the back of said toilet to stand on its tank. GIR flushed the plunger and Dib felt his body jolt as he was suddenly being lowered on a platform down into the floor.

He’d be lying if he said he had never seen the deeper recesses of Zim’s base before. He had his spy drones and his covert missions, but to just walk in and take the entrance was so…nice. He could stare openly at all the intricate tubing lining the corridors and wonder at all the various glowing buttons and cranks. Where did those wires go? Where was all this steam coming from? Dib Asked GIR these questions without really expecting answers. His expectations were met as GIR responded with things like “To the umbrella cabinet” and “Oh that’s where the lasagna gets made”. When he was certain GIR was leading him in circles completely devoid of purpose, he finally rounded the final bend of a long and twisted corridor. The mouth of the hallway opened up into a large room that could possibly be described as a Laboratory, but was more akin to a high-tech government-funded research facility on the moon. Every wall was lined with heavy machines, each more large and unnecessary than the last. Shelves were stocked with tools, supplies, samples, and what looked to be ingredients. The many island work tables were scattered with beeping trinkets and stray wires, jars of unearthly brain-goo, engines in various sizes and states of assembly, model trains, different color hairs stretched over lengths of wood and carefully labeled by species and edibility, large test tubes of liquid ranging from water to arsenic, complete taxidermy projects of many small animals at a dining table enjoying a meal, a fully decorated three tier cake, a spiked metal doomsday device with the broken countdown flickering between three seconds and four, the list went on.

Dib opened his eyes as wide as they could possibly be opened, and still, he felt he wasn’t seeing everything. His dad's lab at home seemed so mundane by comparison, and his workstation in the shed felt like an actual joke. He whipped his head around the room, never had any of his expeditions into Zim's liar revealed his Laboratory, he had no idea what he’d missed until now.

Beep beep beep beep beep

“Wheeeeoooo!” GIR charged headlong into the mess, diving without hesitation into the three-tier cake. Dib looked to the ceiling, wondering what the sudden beeping alarm could mean.

“Sir?” The voice of the computer was small as it addressed Zim, who finally drew Dib's attention as he sat up straight from his slumped posture in the corner. Amongst all the new sights and movements he had been nearly invisible hunched over his PAK on the humble counter.

“Yes yes, eight minutes.” He muttered, raising his arms at his sides as the disembodied hydraulic arm in front of him raised the half-open PAK from the counter and fastened it to the metal socket on his back. He sighed tiredly and slumped back over, sliding into a waiting nearby chair.

Dib very suddenly wanted to back out. He was suddenly certain Zim didn’t know he was here and he was about to embarrass himself. He wanted to run back up the hall and out the door and go home knowing Zim was fine, just busy. He almost convinced himself to do it when the computer blew his cover.

“No sir, uh, you have a…visitor?” The computer sounded just as confused.

Zim whirled around in his swivel chair, and his eyes found the human who’d intruded on his home without his knowledge. Dib didn’t know what he’d expected as he faced Zim for the first time in days, maybe anger? Suspicion? It wasn’t the expression Zim had for him just then.

Just then he looked defeated.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #zadf #iz #fanfic

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aurora567 · 29 days

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Lyrical Abstraction Ch. 9

Warning: this story will contain mature content such as but not limited to sex, cursing, blood, violence, kidnapping, torture, ptsd, trauma, depression, mentions of death, Aoi is anti hero and anti hero society.

Summary: Izuku learns a little more about his neighbor as he spends his day with her.

Word count: 3728

Last Chapter Last Chapter

Dinner had come and gone quickly and once again Aoi was cleaning up the dishes, though this time her guest was still sitting at the table watching her as she did something as simple as washing dishes and putting everything back where it belonged among her almost empty cupboards. It once again hit home to Izuku the fact that on closer inspection the woman did not have a lot. She couldn’t be lazy even if she wanted to because just to cook for them both used up almost all the pots, pans and dishes she had. He had completely assumed she was just the kind of person to clean up after herself. But now it seemed she really had no choice if she wished to use any dishes for the next meal. He shouldn’t have been surprised it was already made clear to him that she worked a dead end job and even picked up other odd jobs in order to have more money.

Which now had Izuku thinking about how he could repay his nice neighbor for her kindness. The first thing to come to his mind was a gift. But of course he had to worry if the woman would accept a gift if he offered it. She reminded him a lot of Bakugou both stubborn and pigheaded. So of course his brain had to worry that she would deny any gift he tried to offer. Though that did not stop him from still looking through his phone as what is supposed to be top of the line cookware. Then again as he scrolled through the options online he just found himself comparing brands. What made one worth so much more than another? They all seemed to be made similarly.

His lack of kitchen skill had him second guessing if he should just buy the most expensive option and call it good. But then again he feared she would see something clearly expensive and turn it down. So going with the most expensive one didn’t seem like such a good idea any more. But still what made one set different from the other? Was it simply the brand name? The materials? If so, what one material made a better pot or pan than the other? Izuku was just confusing himself at this point as he decided to try and ask for a little help. Though he may have made the wrong decision on who to ask for help this time when he sent a test to Kacchan asking which two sets of dishware was the better one?

It took less than three seconds for the first reply to come in and of course it had nothing to do with his original question from the angry blonde and was instead ripping into the current number one hero who had been missing out on work the last two days. Seemed Bakugou did not approve of Izuku taking the time off. But it seemed once the blonde was allowed to get that off his chest with a few angry typed out texts he finally sent a random last one that told Izuku to get one particular brand of kitchenware that at least the blonde liked personally. Well at least he got his answer along with nearly a dozen other texts in the span of a few minutes.

“What did you do? piss off a fan?” the owner of the home asked, smirking playfully as she teased him while she was drying off her hands after finishing washing the dishes and eyed up the phone that had been vibrating almost consistently in his hand for the last minute.

“Huh? Oh uhm no it's a friend,” Izuku answered the woman even as he felt the phone vibrate in his large hand. Which in turn drew his eyes away from her as he glanced at the screen of his phone to read at least the start of the text that was visible in the notification. Now Kacchan was questioning why Izuku needed new supplies for his kitchen when Bakugou knew very well that Izuku did not do a lot of cooking himself.

“They must be pretty worried about you if they are blowing up your phone like that,” She said laughing as she could hear the ever so soft buzzing from his cell phone.

“Not really this is just how Kacchan texts. He usually blows up a phone when he does reply to someone’s text,” Izuku said as he placed his phone down not feeling the need to answer his friend at that exact moment as he turned his attention to the woman who had moved to sit in the other chair at the table.

“So he’s just always an asshole, great to know,” she said, simply not sounding all that impressed with Izuku’s friend. Of course the poor man could tell the woman sitting across from him really did not like the loud blonde hero that they were currently talking about.

“He’s really not that bad when you get to know him. Is it just Kacchan you dislike so much? Or is it hero’s as a whole?” He asked though he regretted asking it the second the words slipped out as he watched her frown and scrunch up her nose.

“I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I don’t hate all heroes. But I can not say I like your profession as a whole. Far too many heroes, even small time ones, love to push their weight around. I’ve had a few different run-ins with some. It’s never been fun. Try not to take it personally but I am not a fan of heroes,” she answered honestly in a soft tone. Bakugou Katsuki was just one hero who was top of the leader board and was openly loud and obnoxious in her opinion. So she had no issues openly hating the man, but she also shared similar open thoughts about other heroes like good old Endeavor.

Izuku couldn’t help but rub the back of his neck and shift his weight around. He was not overly surprised to hear her opinion. It was very quickly becoming clear to him with her living in the neighborhood she did, mixed with the important knowledge that she had been kicked out of her home at a young age. It didn’t take a genius to assume she has not had an easy life. And if she was really unlucky she may have even run with the wrong crowd as a kid and could have seen her far share of heroes from the less than great side. After all it's not like anyone he has arrested would be his fan either. Though now he was curious if he was sitting with a criminal in her own home. But that was a question he knew better than to ask out loud.

“That’s fair. Not everyone likes hero’s. I see that a fair bit when I'm working. Though usually those people hate me because I’m arresting them. But I'm not saying that's why you may hate heroes,” Izuku’s ears started to burn and he suddenly found himself in a rambling apology as panic struck him after he had tried so hard to remind himself to not say anything that was offensive and he felt like he just shot himself in the foot with what was rambling form his mouth as he sat there embarrassed and struggling to stop the word vomit.

It wasn’t till she started to laugh lightly that the man was finally able to force his mouth to stop, though it was more like his body had frozen up unable to keep anything else stupid from escaping his mouth.

“You don't need to apologize or get so nervous. You’re perspective and smart. I have had my fair share of run-ins with hero’s and it's never been fun. People don’t like being arrested even if they have done something wrong. But we tend to dislike it even more when a hero arrests someone just because we piss them off. It is also no fun being man handled by a hero on a power trip. Like this one time Endeavor arrested me after I got in his face or tried to damn that man was tall or I'm just really short. But anyways I let my dumb mouth rip into him. He did not enjoy being ripped into by some teenage girl and I found my ass in handcuffs. It didn’t last long since there was really nothing he could have done. But still it was not fun spending a day at a police station waiting to be released,” She said laughing lightly at the memory of her younger self giving Endeavor an absolute tongue lashing once in the middle of a busy street. She couldn't remember what had exactly set her off. Probably something about how he treated a fan since she always had hated the way he was so cold to people even those who supported his stupid ass and helped him to be the number two then number one for a short while. She remembers walking up to him and completely poking him in the chest even though she did not even make it to the man's shoulders at her highest point at the time. And in order to even look at his face as she was yelling at him she had to crank her neck back. As much as the endless hours she spent handcuffed it had been so worth it. And she would have done it again to watch the look on that man's face as it went from shock to anger as she embarrassed his ass. And now watching Izuku gawk at her she could hardly keep herself from laughing even more at the memory.

“Please tell me it’s a joke?” he asked as he watched a grin tug at the woman’s lips.

“Nope. I really did that. And to be honest I would probably do it again if I ever had a chance,” She said a little too proudly as she placed an elbow on the table and placed her chin in her palm before she sobered up at least a little.

“Honestly I never could understand how that man had made it to even the number two spot before All Might's retirement. It's just one big popularity contest isn't it?” she asked as she looked across the table who could actually answer her question since he himself was currently number one.

“Well it's not really that simple. Our track records for hero work also come into play. Hero’s. Those with more arrests, or big busts often end up with better ratings than those who do less or chase after more lower level crime,” Izuku said slowly even though in a large part she was not wrong. Being seen, being in the news, being well liked and popular did allow a hero to climb the ranks faster.

“So you're saying those with bigger agency’s, more employees, more news coverage are the ones who rank higher. That still sounds like a popularity test with a little bit of money tossed around to help,” She said bluntly as she watched him rub the back of his neck telling her she must be pretty accurate as he became uneasy with how to answer back.

“Well you're not completely wrong. But I think you're assuming it's a little more corrupt than it really is. You do not have to have the biggest agency to be a top rank. I know a number of top fifty hero’s who operate smaller agencies and are easily able to hold their ranking. But in a sense you're really not wrong there are some who pay out to help themselves get higher in the ranks. There were always rumors that Endeavor liked to pay for his problems to disappear. But I can not really think of any younger newer hero who does the same. Of course that doesn’t mean it doesn't happen but I don't think it's common,” once again the young man had started to ramble as he tried to explain how she wasn't wrong but she also was not completely right. Luckily for him she was growing too tired to feel like arguing with him, though she probably wouldn't even if she had the energy to as she watched him seem to struggle to not just ramble off about his profession. It also made her gut twist at the thought of assuming or trying to accuse this sugar cookie of a man; was some sort of a corrupt or greedy hero who held his number one title using money or his power when clearly that was not how this man held his high rank. He was genuinely nice and kind, no wonder people loved him. He had the power to save hundreds and the boyish charm to make people love him.

“Calm down, I'm not trying to accuse you or anyone but Endeavor,” She said as she softly waved her other hand at him before she found herself yawning softly. She was tired even though she had done nothing but basic house work. The less than great sleep she had was catching up with her already. Oh well this should be the last night she has to sleep on her floor. Watching the woman across from him yawn had him calm down and recall how he had found her during the early morning hours that morning.

“You didn’t get a lot of good sleep last night did you?” He asked frowning softly at her.

“It was not perfect but it could have been worse. It’s not like one or two bad nights of sleep will kill me,” she said with a soft shrug of her shoulders. She was more mellow when she was slightly tired. She did not have the energy any more to argue with people.

“Still it doesn’t sit well that I have stolen your bed from you,” he said shuffling slightly in his seat as if he had more to say but seemed unsure.

“It’s fine. If it wasn’t I’d have kicked you out a long time ago,” even though she said that Aoi really didn’t mean it. She may be a little rough around the edges but her heart was too big for its own good. She could never turn down a hurt person or animal.

“Still it makes me feel bad for taking up your bedroom,” Izuku mumbled softly. She had noticed his large scarred hands bend and flex slowly. Some did not seem to have the best mobility. Which made sense as she looked at his rough hands. A body could only take so much abuse and his hands clearly showed the signs of being abused at some point in his life. Then again she remembered the view of his bare chest that morning when he was in nothing more than a towel. She had tried not to stare but she had noticed the scars that littered his body as well as the large one along his one arm. It was a sobering reminder that this man would risk his own body and life to keep others safe.

“You can feel bad all you want. It's not going to change the fact I will not let you sleep on the couch in your shape. I’d probably need a few of your hero buddy’s to come and get you off my couch if you sleep on it now,” she said trying to crack a joke though her less than enthusiastic energy did not quite let the joke work as well as it may have if she was a little more energetic. Instead she was greeted with a frowning man as she finally pulled her eyes away from his hands and looked up at his face.

“You know my offer from last night still stands,” He said as his entire face started to go beet red and now he could no longer meet her eyes as she looked up at him. He coughed when she did not right away say anything as her brain was processing the fact that he was once again saying they could just share her bed.

“I mean it is your bed. And I feel really bad taking it from you. And it's not like I would do anything,” He was rambling again as the words very quickly started to escape him faster than her slow brain could comprehend the words. But she did have to ponder why did she not like the idea of sharing a bed? He was already so embarrassed over simply bringing up the subject. The thought that this rambling shy boy would even dare to touch her was almost enough to make her laugh. So he was not actually the problem. So then what was stopping her from being able to sleep in her own bed? It had simply been her own stubbornness that had sent her to sleep on the floor last night, which her back was also arguing about. Jeez she wasn't even thirty already and her body was unhappy with its unpleasant sleeping arrangement from the night before. She slept like that many times as a teenager and she did not remember her body arguing so much back then.

“Okay okay just stop your rambling. I can not understand you any more,” She said, trying not to laugh as she watched the man instantly shut his mouth after a quick apology to her. Yep an innocent and stupid sugar cookie. She wondered if he had ever even slept with a woman? He seemed so shy and innocent she had a feeling the answer to her question was no. Maybe that was the reason she didn't actually fear or have any concerns with the idea of sleeping beside him. Midoriya didn't look like he would touch her in her sleep even if she wanted him too.

“Fine you win, hero. I’ll take you up on your offer. But if I hog all the blankets and you freeze your ass off tonight you can not blame me,” She said playfully even though she really was not sure if she was a blanket hog. It wasn’t that her past partners were dine and dashes themselves, it was more so she herself never stuck around. Maybe that was where her uneasiness came from, she never stuck around with her own lovers yet was now going to share a bed with a man who would not be naked nor would she be. It still had her oddly unease for some reason she couldn't exactly explain at the moment.

“Oh uhm great, or I mean okay,” He stumbled around his words as it seemed his entire face was so red she almost couldn't see his freckles any more and the redness was even spreading down his neck.

“Down boy,” She said, unable to help but tease him lightly even as she watched him become even more flustered if that was possible as he quickly started apologizing. Which now had her laughing as he apologized for doing nothing wrong.

“Well then you may not be tired but I am,” She said as she let out another yawn before slowly punching herself to her feet before offering him a hand to help him up.

“I hope you don't mind heading to bed so early,” She said as she helped him up to his feet then offered him a shoulder to lean on as the two of them now started to slowly shuffle their way towards her bedroom.

“Well my hero work does tend to get in the way of my sleep. But I don’t mind, I am sure I’ll fall asleep,” He said, simply giving her a small smile as the two of them slowly made their way through the small apartment and finally into her room. With her help he was able to get himself to the end of the bed where she helped him to sit down. Once he was sitting she stepped back and moved to start sorting through her clothes looking for something clean to wear to bed. Grabbing some shorts and a t-shirt Aoi paused and pouted for a second while her back was turned to the man. She was tired and had little desire to go and walk to her bathroom just to change. But she imagined just stripping down in front of the man may give him a heart attack and she had no desire to kill the idiot after she did so much to see him live.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t fall off the bed,” She called out over her shoulder as she walked out of her bedroom with a light laughter as she heard him call out that he wasn't that incompetent.

It only took a few minutes before she had returned to the bedroom, dumping her dirty clothes into her now empty hamper before she turned her attention to the man who was still sitting on her bed. Of course the look of how red his face was she almost laughed. Was it the tiny shorts she was wearing or was it the fact she had ditched her bra that made the man look so embarrassed. Either way watching him blush and look away from her quickly as she first walked into the bedroom was still entertaining. At least giving him some reprieve she flicked the light off to her bedroom using the screen of her cell phone to light up her path to her bed before she sat down on the other side. She could feel the bed shifting as she listened to Izuku slowly dragging himself into the bed as she plugged her phone in and then proceeded to also do the same.

“Good night Midoriya,” She said as she laid down along the edge of her bed as she kept her back to the man. Suddenly her exhaustion seemed to disappear and now she seemed almost hyper aware of the warm body beside her even as he bid her a good night as well. She could feel the warmth from his body under the blanket with her, his breathing seemed a little fast but then again her own breathing was refusing to calm down as well. This was going to be a long night for them both.

Next Chapter

#boku no hero #mha #no beta read #izuku x oc #mha izuku #izuku midoriya

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grislyintentions · 1 year

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@ofhope : A thud, thud upon pristine clinic floors, joined by soft patters. "Searching database," echoed a voice, "Subject found: Natasha--" a static scratch, not to do with programming. "Occupation: Caregiver. Leader of Wildfire." There's… a grimace appearing on Clara's face, noting the past hostility between the pair. "Clara is due for a check-up. I am incapable of computing this command." Could a machine project annoyance? -- Svarog seemed able. Regardless of reluctance, he let Clara's hand fall free from his own, gesturing toward the doctor. "Due to numerous battles, Mr. Svarog lost the ability to detect early onset, uhm…" a pause, before an ah! "Fevers. We… haven't been able to find parts to replace the damaged ones. Mr. Svarog got worried." A glance up. "But… I told him you're, uhm… a very kind person. We - we won't stay long!"

Since access to the Overworld has been re-established by the newly crowned Supreme Guardian, revitalisation processes in the Underworld are no longer an impossible task. And with Wildfire at its helm, aid is slowly but surely distributed where it counts.

Natasha herself was able to borrow that convenient excuse to start replenishing the clinic’s inventory as well as furnishing it with more up to date equipment (no one has to know where all of the funding necessary for such improvements to her clinic came from). While the doctor’s clinic appears largely the same, those with a keen eye would definitely be able to see the upgrade in its essentials.

And it is to these slow but steadily improving circumstances that Clara and Svarog will be stepping foot into.

Their visit is greeted with visible surprise from the doctor, whose head shot up from her pile of documents the instant she recognises the distinct voice of the automated control unit.

“Clara and…Svarog.” Despite her initial shock, Natasha is largely successful in containing her bemusement as she rose from her seat to meet the pair.

“It’s rare for the both of you to show up together in Boulder town, is something wrong?”

Clara’s grimace is not lost to her and she surmises that the child must be feeling uneasy, considering that the last time they met, it was under unpleasant circumstances. Knowing so, it makes the fact that they both came to her even more meaningful. She has nothing to fear from neither Natasha nor the other members of Wildfire, as far as the doctor is concerned.

What the people of the Underworld wanted was a chance to return to the surface. And they got that. What other reason would there be to fight? At their core, everyone is just protecting one another the best way they could, just in a different way. And there is no denying that Svarog has done a lot in terms of keeping the vagrants safe too.

“I see. That’s alright, the two of you can stay as long as you like.” Her reassurance is accompanied with a smile.

Pausing, Natasha contemplates on her options briefly before she begins retrieving supplies. "I have some ideas for obtaining the parts necessary but, how about we take your temperature first for starters? Come take a seat here, Clara.”

The doctor gestures to the visitor’s chair by way of an invitation to sit before she excuses herself to retrieve two hand held thermometers. One of which she undoes the casing for.

“Now, can either of you two tell me what temperature ranges are considered abnormal and feverish for children?"

#ofhope #[this is so late but thank u! i hope this is okay ;w;]

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haru-natsuka · 2 years

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First step (Leona Kingscholar x Female Reader)

Genre: Romance

You thought the idea of being arranged married with Leona was loathed by him due to his lack of attention to you until the day your daughter fell sick, you discovered something new...

The picture is not mine. Credit to the rightful owner, karasumai. Here is the link to the owner's Twitter :-

___________________

Before you knew it, it was already midnight. The click sound of your hills quickened. The moon was already, clearly visible in the sky as the hall was lit by its very light, the path was palpable but your mind was in turmoil. The meeting was longer than before as if the councils insulted your hectic situation. You had asked for being excuse and yet they just brushed it off and you could not even vent out your anger. Not when you were entitled with being the second prince's wife.

You thought you would not be this busy but you were proven to be more wrong than ever as the work kept on increasing as time passed by. You need to analyse the household income, decoration, maid and servant, and tea party. You did not get enough rest for yourself and you could not even imagine what Leona got in his hand. After all, he was the head of this house which means he had a lot more work than you and somehow, he still managed to sleep most of the time. What were his tricks really?!

The intent to learn from him had long fruited in your heart and yet you could not confess anything to Leona or even worst held a long conversation although he was your legal husband. Both of your marriage was entirely arranged by both of your parents and you just went along despite all the bad rumours that lingered about Leona. Most of it was about his laziness and you loved to treat rumour as just what it was.

It could be said both of you did the duty of husband and wife perfectly despite the lack of communication. After one year of your marriage, you had conceived a child, your now 4 years old daughter but still, it felt more like a part of the job you need to do and an obligation rather than the affection between a married couple.

The lack of loving touch was evident in your eyes and yet it did remain hidden in public as we could not have more awful rumours about Leona when his brother was widely known for his happy marriage. You craved for your dear husband's affection too, greatly. The urged you to do every typical cheesy gesture being held in your heart as you could only picture it in your brain or childishly even dream about it.

He and you, sharing a kiss in the morning, being in each other arms until fall asleep, braiding his hair, rubbing his soft ear and much more. However, knowing Leona after all these past years, he might found it bothersome and pondered over sleep more but it was just your speculation, that's all.

Most of the time, you were the one who took care of your daughter. You had never really seen your husband spend quality time with her and yet you still remember your little girl always preferred Leona than you. Was the lack of attention made her hopeful? You hope it was not the case. You could not bear for her to be disappointed too, like you

Normally, you would come to your daughter's room with a book in hand for her bedtime story. However, today, the routine needed to be excused as it was replaced with a basin filled with cold water as you need to wet her head to cool down her fever.

Slowly, the knob was being twisted without any sound so you would not disturb your daughter in case she was asleep. You peaked inside and indeed, she was sleeping with her table lamp as her accompany making the room dimly lit.

With only 3 steps into the room, your legs immediately stopped themselves as you just noticed another figure present inside the room, sitting beside your daughter on the chair. His drowsy eyes glanced at you for a brief moment and yet it was enough to hitch your breath while you held the basin tighter.

"That was a long meeting" Leone was the first one starting a conversation which very rare occurrence and it was enough to leave you almost speechless due to the sudden shock. What happened to your brain right now when the opportunity was laid in front of you.

"It was, dear- Leona..." The answer came out shorter than you hoped and you even mistakenly addressed him as you usually would when both of you present in public eyes. You continued your steps, slightly feeling awkward and still trying to act as normal as you could. Meanwhile, Leona stared right into you as and was aware of your bad acting. Sighing in defeat, he stands on his two feet before snatching the basin from you.

"Th-that. Give me-"

"I had fed her, gave her medicine, change her towel. You can just go straight to sleep, Y/N" As seeing you did not even bulge from your place, he put the basin on the near table and teleported the two of you to your shared chamber.

Without getting the time to contemplate anything from the situation, your husband had already laid you on the bed while he took the spot beside you and snuggled you towards him.

Leona slightly bared chest was right in front of your face. Eyes frequently averted to anywhere else, trying not to imagine further than what you should. You blinked once and twice even as you much in need to think about anything else or you would not inhale any air due to the invisible lump in your throat. The blush slowly crept further up and covered your face, neck and ear completely.

Leona could just smirk at your panicked state as it was the first time he witnessed this. Usually, he would have skinship with you when you were much more unaware, mostly during your sleep time but a change would not be hurt and fun in a while. If he , you was lucky, he might even hold you openly in public, his only wife.

"The night is cold or do you want to catch a fever too?" Leone already knew your answer as he mentally laughed in his mind due to your cluelessness.

"Thank you, Leona" Your heart melts with his kindness. Before this, you might be blind to discovering the truth. He was more caring and sensitive than you believed.

You, did not know what to do with your hand just end up clutched tightly on his cloth and snuggled closer with him. Every development needed to start with a step toward progress. In the midst of your drowsy state, you faintly heard his whisper in his last breath,

Anything for..., my dear partner...

Other Savanaclaw's one-shots :-

Next: Last step part 1 (Leona Kingscholar x Wife Reader)

Stolen (Ruggie Bucchi x Female Reader)

Fetish (Jack Howl x Female Reader)

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #savanaclaw #savanaclaw x reader #leona kingscholar x you #leona kingscholar x mc #twst #twst x you #twst fluff #leona twst #leona twisted wonderland #romance #leona x reader #leona x y/n

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softukiyos · 3 years

Text

the enemies to lovers project | lee minho

𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙩𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵; 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘱𝘴𝘺𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 -- 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘩𝘰, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: ~18𝘬+

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘢/𝘯: 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺!!! 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘩𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 >.< 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵! 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥!

prologue.

“You know I despise you, right?”

“Oh, despise. Such a big word, baby,” Minho drawled with an obnoxious smirk, the one that simultaneously made you want to rip his hair out and kiss those perfectly delectable lips of his, “If it's any consolation, I abhor your presence as well.”

“Wonderful,” you crossed your legs, a smile creeping onto your face as you leaned backward in your chair, “So why exactly are you here?”

Minho laughed, “The same reason I presume that you’re here for. A hundred dollars to put up with you is a tempting offer.”

You couldn't help but laugh, and you glanced over at the camera pointed at you and Minho, with your mutual friend, Han Jisung, directing the operation. Right, both you and Minho would receive a hundred dollars if you participated in his little social experiment about love. Of course, he'd wanted the two of you to do it for free, but neither of you would budge unless there was at least a little bit of monetary incentive. You loved Jisung, you really did, but you weren't going to willingly spend time with Minho unless there was something else to gain.

“Alright, let's get started before the two of you claw at each other's throats like a pair of angry cats,” Jisung clapped his hands together as he stepped out from behind the camera, “I assume the two of you have a basic idea of the experiment?”

“Of course not, Sungie. It's not like you ran through your proposal to me through FaceTime twenty thousand times before presenting it to your professors,” Minho replied with a pleasant smile.

“And it's not like I read through your written proposal double that amount before you had the courage to hand it in,” you supplied with a similarly saccharine expression.

Jisung sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingers, “Why are the two of you genuinely the nicest people I’ve ever met but somehow turn into demons when you’re together?” He muttered, mostly to himself.

“It’s not too late to get rid of us and find some other test subjects, Sungie,” you called out with a smile, “We know we’re hard to handle.”

“No way. The two of you are perfect for this project, and I’m not going to let either of you slip out of my fingers after I worked so hard to get you two here,” Jisung refused your offer. Clearing his throat, he decided to begin, not wanting to give either of you more time to get hostile.

“Alright, so you’re both familiar with the basics. The experiment will take about one month, and the data will be recorded in these notebooks,” he said, the camera behind him recording his verbal instructions as he walked forward and handed both you and Minho a small, leather bound notebook, “These will serve as your diaries for the duration of the test.”

Minho perused through the empty lined pages with a snort, “What are we supposed to do, write our undying confessions on these pages?”

“You’re going to write your honest feelings about each other. And by honest, I mean really do mean honest. Neither of you are ever going to read what the other person writes about you, so you don’t have to worry about your reputation or whatever,” Jisung explained, “I’ll be extrapolating information from your entries and your entries only.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at Minho as he closed the book and and leaned back in his seat, “So that’s it, right? We date for a month and write down whether we still hate each other after every encounter?”

Jisung threw a weary glare at him, “Theoretically, yes. The purpose of this experiment is to see if the actions of love will foster any actual feelings of love to appear even if there weren’t any in the first place. The two of you will go on dates, leave each other cute notes, anything that you would do with your significant other. And after each of these, you will write down a diary entry about how you feel about that person. At the end of the month, I’ll collect the two notebooks to write my thesis. Any questions?”

You glanced at Minho, who raised a questioning eyebrow at you as if waiting for you to speak first. After a long moment of palpable silence, your lips curved into a smile, “A bold move of you to find the two people least likely to develop feelings for each other, Sungie.”

Jisung dropped his psychology major professionalism for a moment and smirked, “You know I never half-ass anything. So no questions?”

Minho raised his hand obnoxiously, speaking before Jisung even bothered to call on him, “What happens if one of us falls for the other? Do we win something?”

“No, you competitive little shit. No one is winning or losing anything. This experiment is just to document the progression of romantic feelings or lack thereof,” Jisung glared at his best friend, “You’re not trying to prevent yourself from changing your feelings about the person one way or the other, got it?”

But Minho was no longer paying attention to him, his annoyingly beautiful smile now aimed at you across the table, “You’re going to fall in love with me so quickly, Sungie’s little experiment will be over in a week.”

Your competitive edged roared to life at the provocation, and you smirked, flipping the pen around your fingers, “Your diary is going to be filled with love letters to me once I’m through with you.”

“Oh dear,” Jisung groaned to himself as he walked over to shut off the camera, a weary expression visible on his face.

This was going to be a very long month.

You never once thought there would come a day that you would walk out of your apartment to see Minho waiting for you, nonchalantly leaning against his blood red accented motorcycle and his famous leather jacket.

“What is this?” You asked suspiciously, as if poking at his intentions with a ten foot pole.

Minho rolled his eyes, “I'm taking you to class? Why else would I have dragged myself out of bed at ass o’clock in the morning?”

“You're taking me to class on this?” You gestured toward the motorcycle with a hint of disdain, but Minho saw right through you, his lips curling in a smug smile.

“There's no need to be scared, baby,” he sauntered towards you and patted your head, “I'll always protect you.”

Scowling, you swatted his hand away, “Don't do that. It's so weird,” you huffed, fixing your hair.

“You know that's the point of this whole damn thing, right?” Minho said with a hint of annoyance as he felt churlishly irritated by your constant resistance. Did you really hate him that much?

“No, the point is to do these actions in a genuine and heartfelt manner. Everything you say is fake,” you said plainly, looking him straight in the eye.

Minho couldn't help but scoff, “How is it supposed to be genuine when I don't feel anything for you?”

“You start off with basic friendship. That's not as hard, right?” You said as you reached into your large bag and pulled out a container of milk bread, “Here. This is my Day 1 gift for you.”

Minho’s face went slack as he took the container gingerly, treating it like a live explosive, “You made this?”

“Yeah, made two loaves last night,” you answered, surprised by the sudden softness in his tone. Okay, this was awkward, and you couldn't help but cringe as you extended your hand, “If you don't like it, I can take it back—”

“Hell no,” Minho yanked his arms away from yours and pulled the plastic container to his chest defensively, “You gave it to me, so it's mine!”

You blinked in surprise, your hand falling to your side, “I see,” you said before shifting on your heels and nodding, “Okay, I'll see you later, whenever that is,” you took the chance for a quick escape, turning and beginning to walk to class.

“Wait.”

A gasp left your lips as Minho grabbed your wrist, making you turn back around to face him, “I have a helmet for you, okay? And I'll drive slower,” he muttered, his eyes trained on the floor and darting around anxiously, “I won't get you hurt, I promise."

You studied him carefully, his tone of voice, his posture, anything that would give away some hidden agenda, but there was none. Looking down at his hand still wrapped around your wrist, you relented, "Alright, I'll go with you."

Minho nodded, leading you over to his motorcycle and grabbing the extra helmet from behind. Before you could take it from him, he moved it out of your grasp, "Have you ever even used a motorcycle helmet before? If you put it on wrong, it's not going to do you any good," he said snappishly as he adjusted a few of the straps and fitted it onto your head.

Unconsciously, you held your breath as he leaned towards you, slipping a finger between the strap and your chin before snapping it shut, "It's not too tight, yeah?" he asked as he pulled away, and you could only shake your head mutely, "Good."

Swinging a leg over, he climbed onto his motorcycle, easily putting his own helmet on before turning to look at you as he pushed up the visor, "Here. Climb on behind me."

You eyed the motorcycle with a hint of disdain as you approached it, “And what am I supposed to hold onto so I don’t fall to my untimely death?” You asked dryly.

Unfortunately, that was the wrong question to ask, and the gleam apparent in Minho’s eyes told you that, despite his surprising show of kindness, Lee Minho was still Lee Minho, and Lee Minho was a fucking asshole.

“Why, you hold onto me, of course,” he said pleasantly, “Unless, you’d rather fall off the bike and shatter your bones. The other option is to walk, but seeing that it’s almost 8:30 already, you’d probably end up being late.”

Clenching your jaw so hard you were sure it was going to be sore for days, you stalked over to the motorcycle and swung your leg over it, climbing on haphazardly. You’ve seen the movies; you knew how you were supposed to ride a motorcycle from behind, and your arms tentatively wrapped around Minho’s midriff, avoiding as much bodily contact as possible.

Minho snorted, “You know, if you hold on like that, you’re gonna fall off anyways.”

“Mind your own business--fuck!” A squeak left your lips as Minho suddenly revved the engine and the motorcycle lurched forward. Out of pure instinct, your arms tightened around him, and you buried your face in his back. The time could not have been more perfect, and you felt a rush of anger as you realized that he was just messing with you, “Don’t fucking do that!”

The asshole just laughed, “Aw, come on, I wouldn’t have done it for real. But you seriously need to hold on, okay?”

You huffed, scowling underneath the helmet as you kept your arms locked around his waist, begrudgingly learning your lesson, “Just drive.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Minho revved the engine again and started the journey, albeit with a much smoother start as the two of you began to speed down the street and towards the literature building.

When you arrived at your destination with Minho pulling up right to the front of the building, you were practically squeezing him like a life-sized plushie, your eyes squeezed shut and your face smushed into his leather jacket.

“You can let go now, darling,” he chuckled as he used his foot to push out the kickstand. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you detached from him like two magnets of the same pole, getting off the motorcycle.

“I am--” you gasped for breath as you yanked off your helmet, “never doing that again.”

Minho laughed as he took the helmet from you and put it in the container at the back of his bike, “Hey, you’re here with five minutes to spare! If anything, you should be thanking me, sweetheart.”

Your glare was frightening as you finally relented with a huff, “I’m grateful for the ride here, but next time, no motorcycle, please.”

“Next time? Who said anything about a next time?” The boy positively giggled as you realized your mistake. Minho never said anything about a next time! What were you thinking? Now, he probably thought you wanted him to take you to school every morning, which was absolutely not the case!

“Oh, whatever!” You snapped, utterly fed up as you threw up your hands in total exasperation and marched up the staircase without so much as a goodbye.

Minho’s smug laughter echoed in your ears as you stepped into the building, “Love you too, sweetheart!”

(name): day 1

action(s): drive to school

notes: utterly infuriating. an arrogant, smug, flirtatious little shit that thinks he’s the king of the world. he brought his motorcycle out of the blue to pick me up when he knows i flipped out the last time i rode one with jisung (yes, sungie, i am still mad).

i did get to class early though, because of him, and that’s rare for me. silver linings, i guess.

lee minho: day 1

action(s): drive to school

notes: a stuck up little princess as always, whining and complaining about every little thing that doesn’t go her way. shouldn’t she be happy enough that i came to take her to her class? nope, she just kicked up a fuss about it being a motorcycle. did she think i was going to remember when she had a meltdown riding it last time? (it was funny, sungie, don’t mind her.) i barely got so much of a thank you when i got her to the lit building, early, no less.

the milk bread was good, though. maybe i’ll try to convince her to make me another loaf.

ii.

First dates were always weird. First dates were even weirder when you were about to go out with your fake-social-experiment boyfriend that you didn’t even like.

What were you supposed to even wear? Were you supposed to dress to impress (not that Minho would ever be impressed with anything you do)? Or were you supposed to dress like you just rolled out of bed? In the end, you opted for something in between the two extremes, hoping that you weren’t going to face the embarrassment of being over or underdressed.

Luckily, Minho didn’t change his daily look too much for the date, opting for a pair of ripped black jeans, a loose t-shirt, and--of course--the leather jacket he never left home without. At this point, you were honestly convinced that Minho was having some sort of romantic relationship with that jacket.

But what was out of the ordinary was the small bouquet of vibrant carnations that he held in one hand as he browsed his phone with the other. They looked wildly out of place in comparison to the rest of his get up, and the contrast was so amusing to you that you couldn’t help but smile as you walked over to him.

“Are those flowers for me?” You asked sweetly, clicking your heels. Minho glanced up from his phone, his eyes darting up and down, and you knew he was assessing your outfit the way you had assessed his.

“No, these are for my other social experiment girlfriend,” he said with a dry smile, handing them to you, “I heard from Jisung that you hate flowers, so of course I had to get you a bouquet for our special day.”

“Carnations are actually my favorite type of flower, so thank you very much,” you replied, sniffing at the bouquet before glancing around, “Where’s your motorcycle again? In maintenance?”

Minho’s face twitched for a split second before he nodded, “Yeah, I scratched it up real bad. We can just take the bus again.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion, but you said nothing more about the topic as the two of you walked to the nearest bus stations. After the first day, you had never seen Minho’s motorcycle again despite the fact that he walks you to your class almost every other day (he skips the days when he has work). What was even more suspicious was that he always had an excuse for not bringing it: he crashed it and it needs maintenance, he forgot to fill the gas tank, Jisung was borrowing it, etc.

They weren’t bad excuses, but it’s been almost a week, and you were beginning to suspect that there was more to the missing motorcycle than he was telling you.

“Who recommended this place?” Minho asked as you took the seat at the station and he leaned against the wall.

“Jisung did, actually,” you laughed a little, pulling out your phone and clicking into the link of the restaurant Jisung had sent you, showing it to Minho.

The boy scrunched his nose with distaste as he glanced at the restaurant images, “Did you really think it was wise to leave our first date in the hands of the man who’s never actually had one successful date before?”

“He said it was a control variable or whatever,” you said, placing your phone back in your purse, “Besides, I checked the reviews, and most of them only had good things to say. Why? Is this not your ideal first date?”

Minho scoffed, lips curling into a smirk, “I don’t really do first dates, sweetheart.”

“Oh? So what do you do?” You asked with a hint of annoyance clear in your tone, “One night stands?”

The boy shrugged, “Mostly. Why put the effort to try and create something concrete when it’ll fall apart soon enough anyway?”

You couldn’t help but scrunch your nose at his words, once again being hit with the realization that you and Minho were as different as people came, “That’s a rather morbid way of looking at things.”

“It’s realistic and it’s safe. That’s all I really need at this moment,” Minho said shortly as his eyes darted down the street, and he pushed himself off the wall, “The bus is here. Let’s go.”

Without stopping to wait for you, he walked to the edge of the sidewalk as the bus pulled up to greet him. There was nothing you could do but silently follow him, wondering what Minho had gone through to adopt such a cynical mindset about love.

“What about you?” Minho asked rather suddenly when the two of you had arrived at the restaurant, settled into your table, and were already waiting for your food to arrive. There had been such a long interval of time between the previous conversation and the current one that you didn’t even process the intention of his question for a long moment.

“I’m sorry?”

Minho bit his lip, and he looked like he was regretting the fact that he couldn’t contain his curiosity, “What are your experiences with first dates?” He asked, resting his elbows on the table, “You have had a few, right?”

With a questioning eyebrow, you swirled the small amount of red wine in your glass, “I’m not quite sure whether your question is a genuine one or just another insult.”

“Why can’t it be both?” Minho asked innocently.

Rolling your eyes, you sipped at your wine before answering, "I've had a few first dates, fewer seconds, and no thirds."

Minho considered your words, "What went wrong? Clashing personalities? Scheduling conflicts?"

You scowled, placing down your glass as you grit your teeth, "You're a nosy little shit, aren't you?"

“Hey,” Minho raised his arms in mock surrender, “if I'm about to be your social experiment boyfriend for a month, I should know what I'm getting into, for my sake and yours.”

Leveling a withered glare at him, you couldn't help but begrudgingly admit that Minho had a point. If the two of you couldn't be honest with each other, this experiment wouldn't work. Like the mastermind had said early on, honesty was a key part of the project. Damn you, Han Jisung.

“Eventually, every man gets annoyed by the fact that they'll always be second in importance,” you finally spoke as you swirl the wine again, “They say they understand, but in the end, they'll never settle for a woman who puts their passions over their relationships. They want attentiveness, constant coddling, constant affection. They want to be nagged, they want me to be the one that messages first, and I'm just not the type.”

For the first time, Minho’s gaze upon you was devoid of arrogance and that giant defensive wall he’d always had up. His expression had turned almost thoughtful in a way, as if he was really looking at you, really trying to see you for who you were, and you couldn’t help but cringe slightly under his stare, smiling bitterly, “Did I scare you off, too?”

Minho seemed to jolt out of whatever daze he was in, a laugh leaving his lips, “Nah, princess, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he chuckled, putting down his wine glass as he spoke again, “It’s not your fault that they felt inferior dating someone that was more driven than them. It’s their loss, honestly.”

“Really?” You failed to hide your surprise, not expecting to find support in someone that was so different from you.

“A relationship isn’t supposed to hinder you from doing the things you love. You’re supposed to do them in tandem and support each other during the process,” Minho said, and as you searched for the punchline, for the part of the conversation where Minho would bark out a scathing laugh and point at your disappointed face, you realized there was none. You suddenly had a strange revelation that you may have misjudged the man sitting across from you.

“If you have such a wise impression about love, why do you never try it out?” You asked softly, studying his expression like always, but you stopped searching for something malicious about him, since the search had been fruitless so far. Now, you were simply curious, slowly trying to learn more about him.

Minho shrugged with a wry smile, “Just because the solution exists in theory doesn't mean it truly exists.”

"You don't think you'll ever find someone like that?" You asked.

"Well, if they're out there somewhere, they haven't shown up in my life yet, so..." Minho trailed off, his expression rather nonchalant at first glance, but you were slowly getting better at reading him. He felt wronged, probably by someone in the past that didn't support his endeavors.

You let the conversation drop as your food finally arrived, and the seriousness of the evening seemed to dissipate as the food took precedence. When the bill was finally paid (the two of you split it after a long discussion), you walked out with your arm looped around Minho's, and despite yourself, you didn't hate it all that much.

“So, we're gonna beat the shit out of Jisung for forcing us to go to such an expensive restaurant, right?” Minho hummed as the two of you walked back to your apartment. You tried not to focus on the fact that Minho hadn't pulled his arm away, keeping you snug against his side.

“I like the way you think,” you laughed, your heels clicking against the ground, “Tell you what, how about the next date, you pick somewhere you normally go to in your free time, and I’ll do the same for the date after. That way, we don’t have to spend an atrocious amount of money unless we want to.”

Minho stopped short, and for a minute, you wondered if you’d overstepped his boundaries. Then, he turned to look at you, a surprised, almost soft, smile on his face.

“You want to see me that much?”

It would’ve been so easy to dismiss his words as sarcastic teasing, like the rest of your conversations have been for the past year that you’ve known each other. But his tone, his expression, it felt almost genuine, like he was pleasantly surprised that you were willingly offering up your own time to spend it with him.

And at that notion, your cheeks felt unnaturally hot as you averted your eyes, “Well, the experiment is supposed to last a month,” you mumbled, finding a very interesting divot in the ground, “What type of social experiment girlfriend would I be if we only went on one date?”

Unbeknownst to you, Minho’s smile dimmed ever so slightly at the mention of the experiment, but he still felt that weird, fluttery feeling nonetheless. He knew you were probably just too shy to admit anything truthful to his question, and he didn’t fault you for it. It wasn’t like he was being very honest either.

“Well, I rather enjoy our little escapades, so I suppose I can spare a little effort to plan the next date,” Minho said with faux weariness, making you elbow his side playfully.

“I swear, if you drag me to another horror house like you did when we went out with Jisung--”

Minho let out a laugh at the memory, “Didn’t you punch the zombie that jumped out near the end?”

“Not a word.”

“And I think you screamed at one of the ghosts, too?”

You frowned, reaching up and messing up his perfectly styled hair, “Not a word!”

Minho didn’t take any of your threats to heart, teasing you relentlessly about that incident all the way back to your apartment, but to be totally honest, you didn’t mind it all that much.

(name): day 6

action(s): first date (control)

notes: the date wasn’t bad except for the ridiculous pricing. we actually had rather interesting conversations about our interests, outlooks on life, and had a rather heated argument about whether prisoner of azkaban or the order of the phoenix was the best harry potter book.

minho’s nice. i know you’re probably laughing at me as you read this, future jisung. but he’s nice. the flowers he got were really pretty. he’s a good listener, too, and he doesn’t give false comforts. he tells it to me as it is, whether it’s good or bad. i like that about him. he also looked really good for the date, but that’s rather surface level, right? whatever. i hope this is even minutely useful to your project, jisung, bcs it doesn’t feel like it’ll be much help.

lee minho: day 6

action(s): first date

notes: han jisung. the meal was $150 and we both ordered the cheapest things on the menu. fucc you.

the date was alright, though. (name) actually got dressed up for the date, so i felt a little bad. she’s putting more effort into this project than i thought she would, and i don’t know whether its because she genuinely wants to know me better, or if its bcs it’s your project, jisung. (i know she used to like you, it was obvious). whatever. she’s easy to talk to when we’re not at each other’s throats like usual. she makes me feel understood, which is a good feeling i guess.

this absolutely does not mean anything special. it just means that she’s not as stuck up as i thought she was. the bar is still incredibly low.

i wonder where i should take her for our next date. the horror house is tempting, but she’s probably going to get sued if she shows her face there ever again. oh well, i’ll figure it out.

iii.

“Why are we heading towards the direction of the horror house?”

“I promise you, sweetheart, it’s not the horror house,” Minho said for the umpteenth time as the two of you walked down the busy downtown streets together.

You remained suspicious, and as a chill blew towards you, the winter wind seeping into your bones and making your teeth chatter, you brought your hands to your mouth, blowing on them in an attempt to get them warm.

Minho let out a dramatic sigh at the sound of your silence, “Do you have any faith in me at all?” He asked, taking one of your hands and lacing your fingers together before shoving it in his coat pocket without faltering for a moment.

He seemed unfazed, oblivious even as the two of you stopped at a crosswalk, but you...your poor heart did a feeble stutter that certainly wasn’t the product of any social experiment. You knew the feeling well enough from your past experiences, and the fact that it emerged right at this moment made you worry.

“What?” Minho’s voice invaded your thoughts as he followed your line of sight to his coat pocket, where your hand was snugly fitted inside his.

You tried your best to salvage what was left of your pride, “Aren’t my hands cold?” You asked weakly, “You don’t have to hold them.”

“Yes, your hands are like fucking ice, that’s why I’m trying to warm one of them up, dummy,” Minho rolled his eyes at your lame question before turning to check on the light to make sure it was still on red, “We’re almost there. The place is cozy, I promise.”

Nodding, you slowly felt your composure return to you, “As long as we get out of this cold, I'd consider it a successful date.”

“Oh dear, you've just ruined my plans for a picnic up in the mountains,” Minho said with a deadpan expression just as the light turned green.

“You're ridiculous,” you said, rolling your eyes, but there wasn't any bite behind your words anymore, and Minho’s jabs at you had slowly lost that hard edge to them. Could it be possible that the two of you were really warming up to each other?

It was true that the two of you were getting along better, and in tandem, you began to be more present in each other’s lives. Minho still walked you to school on the days that he didn't have work. In return, it's become a normal routine for you to make two loaves of milk bread every other day since Minho always devoured his portion ridiculous quickly.

Not in a romantic way, absolutely not. Both of you would cringe at the very idea. But as tolerant friends, maybe.

“Ah! Here we are,” Minho said pleasantly as he guided you off the busy street into a smaller, quieter alleyway filled with various cafes and antique shops.

“A cafe date?” You smiled, “I didn't know that was your style.”

Minho stopped short at a particular cafe, taking his hand and yours out of his pocket as he reached forward to open the door, “Well, it's not just any cafe.”

You quickly realized exactly what he meant as you walked in, your eyes lighting up with pure elation and joy as you squealed, “It’s a cat cafe!”

Unbeknownst to you, Minho’s eyes lit up from behind you as he shut the door, keeping the winter cold out of the cozy establishment, “You like cats?” He never knew that about you.

“Like cats? I love them!” You practically gushed as you shrugged off your large coat and Minho signaled for a party of two, greeting a few of the waiters with a suspicious familiarity.

“Do you come here often?” You asked curiously as the two of you found a nice little corner to sit down in, complete with beanbags, blankets, and little wooden surfaces that were meant to serve as tables.

Minho almost didn't need to answer your question, since the moment he sat down, four cats passed over towards him, the sound of gentle meows filling your ears. You didn't think you'd be able to hear anything more sweet, until you were proven wrong when Minho let out a soft giggle, his expression unbelievably fond as he stretched out his hand, petting their heads and scratching their ears.

When had you ever heard Minho giggle? No, not that psychotic little witch giggle he did when he was feeling diabolical. This childish, almost innocent giggle that burst from his lips.

“I come here at least twice a week,” he said as one of the kittens clambered into his lap, “I have three cats back at home with my family, and when I miss them, I come here.”

You nodded, surprised that he was divulging information about him without being prompted, but you didn’t mind it one bit, “That’s nice. I’m sure they miss you, too,” you said, smiling as one of the more curious cats went over to you, sniffing at your hand before pressing their head against your palm.

“I’m sure they do. I was basically their servant,” Minho laughed before turning to you, “Do you have pets?”

“Oh, I wish,” your voice was forlorn and wistful as you began to rub the cat’s belly, feeling a rush of pride as they laid on their side. It was rare for any cat to do such a thing, and you treasured the moment dearly, “I had a kitten when I was very, very young, but they died only a few months after we got them. I haven’t been able to muster the courage to adopt another pet since.”

Minho pouted at the way your voice trailed off, your expression faraway, and he suddenly felt an urge to gift you a kitten right then and there just to make you smile. He was long used to seeing you angry, he was getting used to seeing you when you were at peace and smiling, but he’d never actually seen you look so wistfully sad before.

“Well, you’re always welcome to use my membership card here if you need a break from school,” he offered rather awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the cats so he wouldn’t have to feel the brunt of your expression, which was probably weirded out.

“You’d let me?” You sounded hopeful, giggling to yourself as a cat jumped into your lap, curling up and burrowing against your stomach.

Minho smiled, turning his head to see the way you were coddling the little kitten, stroking her fur with utmost delicacy and with nothing but pure adoration in your eyes. He was suddenly hit with the realization that you were incredibly beautiful, and his brain almost immediately imploded.

Wait, what? Lee Minho?! Who the fuck are you turning into?!

Unaware of his current struggle, you glanced at him when you didn’t receive an answer, and he scrambled to clear his throat, “O-of course,” he said, “You’d get a 15% discount on drinks. Super handy.”

If you noticed his strange behavior, you didn't comment or make a face, only gazing down at the kitten in your lap as you asked teasingly,, “Does this girlfriend benefit only last the month?”

It was a joke, not at all different from the ones both of you made on a daily basis, making jabs at your rather intriguing situation, this one seemed to really hit Minho. What was going to happen when the month ends? Will the two of you go back to hating each other and fighting every moment of the day? Will all these little acts of love, the way you would occasionally drop off a bento box at his dance studio and the way he’d pick you up after your late night classes so he could make sure you were safe, would that all disappear like a dream?

“Hello? Earth to Minho?”

Minho blinked out of his daydream, tilting his head towards you to see you already looking at him with a concerned smile, “Are you alright? You seemed pretty faraway.”

“Nah, I’m good. I just remembered that I have a coding assignment due tonight,” he lied, a light tinge of rouge on his cheeks.

“What?!” you yelped, scaring the cat in your lap as they meowed in discontent, jumping off you, “We should get going then--”

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Minho grabbed your arm as you stood up, and with your balance tilted, you fell back onto the beanbag couch, although this time, you were much closer to Minho than you originally were. To stabilize yourself, your hand jutted out to press against his chest, and his breath hitched in his throat.

What sort of black magic was Han Jisung doing to him with this experiment?

“Sorry!” You squeaked out, your embarrassment clearly visible as you tried to push away from him, but Minho kept you close until the two of you were almost cuddling on the beanbag couch.

Minho only hummed, feigning nonchalance even as his heart was doing strange backflips in his chest, “It’s fine. You’re still cold, right? I saw you shivering a bit. You can just sit here,” he said, shrugging off his coat and placing it over your legs.

“I guess...thank you,” you said rather quietly, not trusting your voice to hide the emotions that were raging in your heart: the confusion, the giddiness, the childlike excitement, and the fear, “But what about your assignment--”

“Don’t worry,” he patted your head lightly, “It’s just a simple one. Won’t take more than an hour. I’ll just do it when I get home.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Minho emphasized the last word with a teasing smile, his heart slowly coming to terms with these new, tingling emotions that he was feeling, “I never knew I’d ever experience you babying me.”

Your cheeks grew warm as you smacked his arm, “Shut up!” You complained, bringing his coat up to your face and shielding yourself, “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t flunk out of school!”

“Don’t lie, you’ve fallen in love with me, haven’t you?” He asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief only to receive another angry smack on the arm.

“You wish. I don’t fall in love with jerks like you.”

“If it makes you feel better, I am honored by the attention,” he said with a teasing smile as he nudged your shoulder.

Another kitten came to your position, rubbing against your thigh as you petted their little head, “You better be,” you muttered almost to yourself, “After all the bentos I’ve made for you this last week.”

Minho let out a yawn, stretching out his arms and very cautiously wrapping one around your shoulders. To his luck or misfortune, you were too enamored by the kitten to notice, and you curled into his side without much consideration. The poor boy wasn’t sure whether he wanted you to notice and confront him about it, or whether he should be allowed to feel a sense of fondness knowing that you were dropping the defensive walls around your heart with him.

He won’t tell you, but he was truly honored to be cared by you, to experience your worry, your encouragement, and your little acts of love. It came so naturally to you that you probably didn’t even hold any of those actions to any significance, but to him, the one who was always the lone wolf, the one who was always defined by his looks before his personality, it was nice to be truly seen by someone.

Even if it wasn’t going to last.

iv.

Lee Minho was late, and you were going to kick his ass if you didn't happen to be frozen by the time he arrived.

You stood outside of the computer science building awkwardly, trying not to focus on the weird glances from the students walking in and out, all of whom were obviously wondering what a literature freak was doing at the center hub of the sciences. It was absolutely mortifying, and you briefly wondered if Minho ever got such stares while he waited for you outside of your building. If he did, well, you felt slightly more grateful than you did previously.

“Hey! (name), right?”

You looked up with panic in your eyes as you quickly tracked the sound of the voice to one familiar stranger, a particular boy on campus that you never actually ever thought you'd have the opportunity to speak to.

“That's me, and I assume you're Hyunjin,” you said, getting straight past formalities. After all, you weren't really in the mood for chitter-chatter. You were just in the mood for a nice hot chocolate to warm your body.

But unfortunately for you, Hyunjin’s disarming smile was a clear indicator that there were no escape routes plausible, “Wow, no wonder Minho snatched you up quick.”

If you had a tail, it would've bristled at this very moment, “Excuse me?” You asked, keeping your tone decidedly cordial.

Hyunjin’s smile only widened, “What is he like as a boyfriend? Does he treat you well? Or are you just another piece of disposable garbage for him like every other girl he’s fucked?”

The final question shouldn't have fazed you, but it did. Why did the idea of such a thing send your heart into cardiac arrest? Why did it scare you so much, when you knew none of this was real? Wasn't it all just manufactured by the conditions of the experiment?

Your face must've given away more than you thought, because Hyunjin’s cheshire-like grin only widened as he took your vulnerability as a chance, “You don't have to be with him, you know. Don't you think we'd get along a little better—”

“Really fucking low of you to be trying to hit on your friend’s girl,” a hand suddenly snaked around your waist from behind, making you gasp as you felt your back pulled against someone's firm chest.

“Especially my girl,” Minho’s eyes showed not a hint of amusement or politeness as he rested his chin on your shoulder almost protectively, as if daring Hyunjin to try again.

Hyunjin regarded the two of you with cautious intrigue, his eyes darting from Minho’s hand on your waist to his face now nuzzled in the crook of your neck, and he lifted his hands up in mock surrender.

“Just wanted to make sure you know how lucky you are,” he smiled at Minho pleasantly, leaning forwards as his eyes sparkled when they met yours. Now, you may dislike Hyunjin, but you couldn't deny his beauty, and at such a distance, you couldn't help but feel a bit flustered as he purred, “And how easily that luck can be taken away from you.”

Minho bared his lips in a threatening snarl from behind you, making Hyunjin scoff as he turned away from the two of you without another word. A moment of tense silence screamed in the air before you cleared your throat awkwardly. This was definitely not a good way to start off a date.

“Well, that was weird,” you laughed, detangling yourself from Minho’s hold so you could face him, “I never thought I’d see the day where Hwang Hyunjin would flirt with me while he’s sober.”

“He’s such a fucking asshole,” Minho suddenly spit out with a surprising amount of vitriol in his tone, enough to fluster you for a moment, “Going after someone who’s obviously dating, he just doesn’t have any shame anymore! Plus, I was literally walking behind you. He definitely saw me before he made a move.”

Finding his behavior utterly bizarre, you stared at him for a long moment before you could even speak, “Are you...pretending to be jealous?”

“What?” Minho blinked, as if suddenly realizing that you were still there witnessing the extent of his ranting. And then, your question hit him like a ton of bricks, “What the fuck? I’m not pretending to be jealous, I--”

He stopped himself before he could do any more verbal damage to his own reputation, but inside, his head in shambles.

I’m not pretending to be jealous, I am jealous.

What was happening to him?

From the look on your face, Minho could tell you were a mixture of confused and suspicious, but you didn’t press him for more details or to finish his sentence. That was one thing he really appreciated about you. If he didn’t elaborate on his words, you trusted that he didn't say more because it simply didn't need to be said.

"Well, we should probably get going," you said, slipping your arm around his, "I was freezing my ass out here waiting for you."

"Then, perish."

"You're the worst social experiment boyfriend I've ever had!" You complained, your pout clear from the sound of your voice as Minho let you lead him to whatever date surprise you had in mind.

“I’m the only social experiment boyfriend you’ve ever had,” he pointed out reasonably, resting his head on yours while you waited for the traffic light to change.

You let out a huff, trying to push him off you, but it was rather fruitless to make Minho do anything, really, “You’re still the worst,” you said, trying to tickle your way out of the situation.

Minho only chuckled. Two could play at this game, he thought smugly as your attacks failed and he wrapped his arms around you from the side, pulling you snug against him so he could nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, tickling your skin with his hair and making you shriek.

“Lee Minho, I swear to God!” Despite the slurry of curse words that left your mouth, you were laughing and made no genuine attempts to pull away from him. You’ve noticed over the last few weeks that Minho was never one for blatant physical affection, but he was being abnormally clinging today.

“Admit it, kitten,” he teased, peeking up at your expression as he smiled, “I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

The world around you seemed to freeze as the weight of that question fully sunk in. Was Minho the best boyfriend you’ve ever had? You thought back to every awkward first date, every time the guy looked strangely disappointed when you said you wanted to head home by yourself, every time one of them awkwardly mentioned that they wanted you to cheer them on at the expense of your own passions. You thought through all of those memories before you realized oh my god Minho was the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.

“Hmm? Oh, come on, I was kidding,” Minho seemed oblivious to your plight as he took your silence as a rejection, beginning to let go.

“You are.”

The words slipped out of your lips before you even realized what you had said. Minho’s eyes widened rather comically as he tried to make sure he was making the right mental connections in his head.

“I am?” He repeated slowly.

“You are...the best boyfriend I’ve ever had,” you muttered the last half, your face burning as if you’d eaten a whole bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos.

Minho blinked, his entire system short-circuiting.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you said, awkwardly shuffling on the heels of your feet before you found your escape, “Oh, green light! Let's get moving!” Your voice was bright and overly cheery as if you didn't just drop a bombshell of a revelation on both Minho and yourself.

Minho practically stumbled over his own feet to catch up to you, “H-hey!” He grabbed your hand before you could pass the halfway point of the large intersection, where the light was manually turned red by one of the buses.

You glanced down at your intertwined hands and back up at his face before answering softly, “Thanks.”

He nodded in response, trying not to put too much attention to the way your fingers curled around his, trying not to put too much attention to the way your hand fit in his, and asked, “So, where are we going?”

“Well, you brought me to the place you like to go to destress, so I figured I would do the same,” you answered, reaching into your back pocket and pulling out a key that looked suspiciously like Jisung’s access card to the music building.

“Tell me you didn't steal Jisung's access card.”

“It's not stealing if I'm returning it before he knows what happened,” you shrugged.

“Um, yes it is.”

You glanced up at him with a playful smile, “You gonna rat me out, darling?”

That name of endearment shouldn't have affected him so much, but it did, and he physically had to restrain himself from holding your hand tighter as he scoffed, “I'm no snitch, especially not when it comes to my beautiful social experiment girlfriend.”

You let out a laugh, “You’re definitely the king of heart fluttering pet names.”

The rest of the walk to the music building was filled with idle chatter as the two of you slowly got back into the rhythm of your usual banter. At some moments, it was even easy to forget about the way you’d hug his arm to your chest as if shielding yourself from the cold. It was even easy to forget about the way his hand would gently squeeze yours if he felt you shiver too violently beside him, a silent check up on you. It was far too easy to call all of these little actions as normal, as if he was actually your boyfriend.

“Are you sure we're not going to get caught?” Minho asked as the two of you walked to the side door of the music building. Although, he didn't sound very concerned about potentially getting in trouble, only slightly curious.

You slid Jisung’s card into the reader and the door unlocked with a click, “I've done this for years. Even if people do check the rooms, there's lot of places to hide.”

The boy only chuckled, holding the door open so the two of you could walk in and escape from the biting winter cold. After wiping off your shoes using the doormat, you gingerly took his hand again and lead him up the stairs to the end of the hall where you pulled him into a dark room.

“Kitten, if you wanted to find a private little place for us to have some fun, we didn’t need to go all the way to the music room,” Minho said, amused, “I know plenty of lockable closets around the campus—”

“That’s so gross,” you said as you turned on the light, revealing that the two of you were in one of the group music rooms, with a piano sitting at the center of the room and a couple of instruments stored on the sides.

Minho placed a hand on his heart, “Mean,” he huffed accusingly at you. He was mostly kidding, of course, but a part of him felt a genuine despair at the fact that you didn't seem to be remotely flustered or enticed by the idea of being with him in that way, with such intimacy.

“Don't worry, Min. There will be plenty of fish out there desperate to jump into your arms soon enough,” you flashed him a wry smile as you grabbed one of the guitar cases and brought it to the carpet near the piano.

“Min?” He repeated, the nickname making him feel slightly better even as your words dampened his spirits. Did you really think he would be that eager to go back to his normal “no-strings-attached” routine after this month?

For the first time, you looked a little flustered as you sat down on the soft carpet, opening the guitar case with a few clicks of the locks, “Sorry. Do you hate it?” You asked sheepishly, “I just figured that you give me so many petnames, I should try to give you one, too. But if Min isn't good—”

“It is!” The boy interrupted a little too eagerly. Catching your surprised expression, he immediately controlled himself, clearing his throat awkwardly as he sat down across from you, “Yeah, Min is fine. Min is good. It's just...new.”

“No one's ever called you Min before?” You asked with a curious expression while you pulled out the guitar with what Minho noticed was practiced ease.

He shrugged, “I don't think anyone’s ever given me a nickname before.”

I don't think anyone’s ever reached that level of closeness with me, was the unspoken follow-up to his statement. After all, what type of one-night stand would ever result in names of endearment or genuine emotional attachment?

“Hmm...maybe I should take it up a notch and call you Minmin,” you said absently, testing the tension of the strings and being totally unaware of the spiral you just send Minho down on.

Minmin? Minmin? The poor man was turning into a pile of mush before you and you didn’t even know what you did. Minho was sure that if you ever called him Minmin, he’d throw away everything to do as you asked.

“If you want,” he said, shuffling awkwardly as he sat across.

You glanced up at him, giggling as you finished tuning up the instrument, “So this is my de-stress room,” you said, “I like occasionally coming here to write songs or just play the instruments here.”

“You play instruments other than guitar?” Minho asked, sounding rather impressed.

“I used to play piano as a kid, actually,” you explained with a smile as you checked the A string, “Jisung taught me how to play guitar in our first year here.”

Minho bit his lip, struggling to keep control over his expressions, “Right.”

Never before in his life did Minho ever think that he’d be sitting across from you and feeling jealous about Han Jisung’s relationship with you. It wasn’t secret knowledge; he knew you used to like his friend, and you used to like him very much. It wasn’t like Minho minded; you were the one of the decent ones and you genuinely liked Jisung for who he was. Something must’ve happened in the middle of the second year, because you gradually seemed to pull away from Jisung at least in a romantic manner. Minho never thought much of it. But now, he was beginning to fully realize how close you and Jisung actually were, and how much that was beginning to bother him.

Did you still like Jisung? That was the question that always haunted his mind. Were you doing all of this for the boy in your past when Minho was here falling harder every single day?

“Hey, Min?”

Your voice broke into his thoughts as his ears perked up, “Yeah?” He answered with an uncharacteristically gentle voice. There was something about the way you spoke that felt hesitant and uncertain, rather unlike you, and he wanted to make sure that you felt comfortable being here with him.

“D-do—“ you swallowed nervously, “do you want to hear one of my songs?”

Minho’s eyes widened. As a friend of Jisung and the other two famous producers on campus, he was no stranger to hearing music that they produced. But because of that, he knew how much these songs meant to the people who wrote them. How personal they can be, and how terrifying it could be to share them with others. And the fact that you were willing to bare that part of your soul to him was a gesture of trust that he’d never expected.

“Do you want me to listen?” He asked with caution, “You really don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“I do!” You blurted out before your cheeks grew warm, “You shared a big part of yourself with me when you took me to that cat cafe, so I wanted to do the same.”

Minho felt a little speechless, so all he could do was nod and give you an encouraging smile. Taking his gesture as acceptance, you cleared your throat softly and began to strumming out a simple chord progression.

The poor man was immediately entranced. There wasn’t any hope for him anymore. The moment you opened your mouth to sing, Minho fell into silent awe as he let your soft, soothing voice flow through his body. There was something so present about your voice, about the lyrics you sang. Everything just felt so raw that all he could really do was watch and listen with a gentle smile on his face.

When you finished, you opened your eyes and hesitantly turned to face him, “Well?” You prodded, a hint of nervousness slipping out of your lips.

It took Minho a few moments to put his thoughts together, and even then, they weren’t totally coherent. Nothing like the smooth-tongued, cheeky persona he always embodied, “That was--wow,” he stumbled over his words.

To his luck, you didn’t seem bothered by his failure to string his words together, but only smiled encouragingly, “A good wow, I hope?” You asked.

“Definitely a good wow. The best wow,” he nodded fervently as you laughed, waiting for him to continue, “Did you ever take classes like Jisung and Chan?”

“Oh, no. I definitely don’t have the extra money for that,” you said, resting your arms on your guitar, “But I’ve always loved to sing, and I’ve always loved hearing other people sing, too. My first childhood crush was this really cute busker who sang Hey There Delilah once near my city’s shopping street.”

Minho’s lips quirked up in a smirk. This was much more comfortable territory for him, especially when it means teasing you, which is honestly all he ever did, “A childhood crush, huh?” He drawled, stretching out his legs, “So you have a thing for people with good voices?”

“Absolutely,” you nodded, “If anyone has a good singing voice, I’m at least 40% more inclined to fall in love with them.”

“Wow,” he let out a laugh, “That is an incredibly significant statistic. I’m almost worried about how shallow you are.”

You let out a noise of indignation as Minho only laughed harder, fending away your useless attacks, “I am not shallow!” You snapped, your cheeks feeling warm, “Having a good singing voice is just an added bonus!”

“Sure, sure,” he teased, even going so far as to pinch your cheek playfully, “Is that why you fell in love with Jisungie?”

“I’m not in love with Jisung--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you aren’t now,” Minho waved his hand dismissively, even though deep in his heart, he didn’t actually know and that was why he approached the topic in the first place, “But you were in love with him back then, right?”

The withering glare you gave him was weak at best, and you sighed, hugging your guitar to your chest as if it was your own personal shield, “Yes, I was. But that was years ago and we agreed to be just friends. It was awkward in the beginning, but I’m content with the relationship we have now.”

“You are?” Minho asked, trying to sound casual as he picked a piece of lint off his pants.

You nodded surely enough for him to see that you were being genuine, “I am. Jisung is just a friend, nothing more.”

Why Minho seemed so interested in the topic that he’d ask not one, but two follow-up questions about Jisung, you didn’t know. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was jealousy or a way of making sure that you were emotionally available, but you did know better, and you knew that Lee Minho wasn’t that type of person.

Trying to bridge what was becoming an awkward silence, you cleared your throat and asked, “Do you have a favorite karaoke song? We could do a jam session here if you’re comfortable with singing.”

“You want me to sing after hearing how good you sound?” Minho scoffed in disbelief.

You visibly pouted, and Minho’s defenses immediately weakened, “Aww, I promise I won’t judge! And besides, Jisung said that you sounded good the last time you two went to the karaoke bar. It’s just the two of us, Min,” you smiled encouragingly, “We’re just here to have fun!”

Fuck everything. Fuck you and your gentle words, your soft smiles, your teasing eyes. Everything about you just made Minho want to lower all his walls and embrace all that you want to do. Letting out a sigh, he relented, “Fine. Do you know Congratulations by Day6?”

“Uh, I think the question is who doesn’t know Congratulations by Day6.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Minho scowled as you laughed, shifting the capo slightly higher on the neck of the guitar to the right tuning. Giving you time to get ready, Minho pulled up the lyrics on his phone to make sure he didn’t mess up unnecessarily in front of you. It shouldn’t matter, of course, but there was a weird fluttering in his stomach that made him almost believe that he was nervous.

When the two of you were finished fiddling around, you glanced up at him, smiling, “Ready? I’ll give a four count,” Minho nodded, and after you rapped your knuckles against the body of the guitar four times, he opened his mouth and began to sing.

His voice and your playing blended together almost magically, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared as he continued to sing, disregarding his phone since he seemed to know the lyrics by heart. All you had to do was follow along with your gentle strumming, listening and keeping up to the natural inflections of his voice. The room felt cozier, the sterile fluorescent lights felt warmer, and you were getting lost in the ethereal picture of Minho when--

“Why are the lights on in the hallway?”

The two of you immediately stopped as you glanced at each other, eyes comically wide. It seemed like, much to your luck, the security guard happened to choose that very day to make his rounds, despite skipping every other day during the week.

“Put the guitar away! I’ll turn off the lights!” Minho hissed at you as he bolted to the wall of the room and you went to place the guitar back in its case as quickly and carefully as possible. Luckily, the music room didn't have any windows on the door, and the guard couldn’t see what was happening inside unless he actually entered the room.

The two of you just managed to put the guitar back in its original state and turn off the lights just as his footsteps neared the door. In a split second, Minho grabbed your arms and yanked you into one of the bass storage compartments, closing the closet door right before the guard opened the door to the music room, looking around curiously.

Neither of you could even breathe in the crammed space of the closet as you tentatively waited for the guard to check the room. The storage compartment left almost no wiggle room, and Minho’s arm stayed wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest so the two of you could fit.

Oh god, this was too much for you. The thumping of his heart against yours, the tickling of his hair against your ear as he had to dip down to avoid thumping his head against the top, the grip he had on your waist as his thumb rubbed your side, an instinctive attempt to calm your nerves.

The silence screamed in the room, and the two of you held your breaths before the footsteps exited the room, and the door clicked closed. Even still, both of you stayed totally quiet for a few moments longer before Minho let out a soft chuckle.

“This is definitely a closet I haven't explored.”

You swatted at his arm, “Now is not the time to make dirty jokes!” You scolded, but Minho accepted your angry hands, happily holding you snug against his chest as he laughed.

“If not now, then when?”

“How about never?” You rolled your eyes as you lifted your head to glare up at him, but your intentions seemed to die out the moment you realized just how close the two of you were. Minho’s face was not inches, but centimeters away from yours, your noses almost brushing and your foreheads so close that you could practically count his eyelashes.

Minho gulped, staring down at you in panic and awe as he struggled to maintain his composure. There was so much he could do, so much he’s done before; this position shouldn’t be all that shocking for him. As he’d said before, he has had his fair share of sloppy closet makeouts and even a little more than that. Cramming into a storage closet with his arms around you shouldn’t be enough to send his mind and heart into overdrive.

But they were, because he’s never met anyone that set his heart alight like you did. His eyes trailed obviously to your lips, the way that yours eyes did to his, but he couldn’t find it in himself to make the first move. There was something holding him back, an irrational fear that prevented him from moving too quickly, a fear that he might scare you away.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly, your hands finding their home on his chest as neither of you made moves to pull away.

“About how this date took a rather strange turn,” he answered instead, his eyes glittering with amusement.

To his surprise, you look flustered and a bit ashamed at his words, “Ah, I am sorry,” you apologized, “I didn’t think it was going to turn out like this. They never check the rooms, and I just wanted to show you a place where I--”

A gasp fell out of your lips as Minho pulled you forward until your body collided with his chest. He engulfed you in a tight hug, his face buried in your hair as he mumbled with what you could discern was a hint of trepidation and shyness, “Don’t be sorry. Thank you for showing me this side of you.”

Your hands stilled behind him, your eyes widening as you felt him hold you tighter. You could feel the beat of his heart, the trembling in his breath, and the remainder of the walls around your heart all but collapsed as you snaked your arms around his midriff, snuggling your face into his shoulder and marveling at how perfectly you fit against him.

“Thank you for giving me the chance,” you murmured, your voice muffled by his familiar leather jacket as you smiled, “You know…”

“Hmm?” Minho answered absently, holding you close.

“I like this better than fighting.”

Minho couldn’t help but giggle at the sheer simplicity of your statement, and he couldn’t help but feel inclined to agree with you.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Fuck!”

Minho let out a trail of belligerent curses as he ran to the nearest bus station, holding his leather jacket over both of your heads to shield the two of you from the sudden and pouring rain. As the two of you were walking in the middle of the flower garden right before the weather took a sharp turn for the worse, both of you were soaked to the bone by the time you found shelter.

As you clutched at your chest, gasping for breath, you huffed grumpily at the boy beside you, who looked way too dashing for someone who was doused like a wet dog, “Weren't you supposed to check the weather?”

“Well, if we went to the arcade like I'd suggested instead of the park, we wouldn't be in this predicament, would we?” Minho retorted, running a hand through his damp locks.

“It’s a Friday night. The arcade would’ve been packed to the brim and you still would’ve been all pissy.”

“It’s better than being soaked to the bone and freezing our asses off at some random bus station.”

The two of you maintained your angry tense glares for only a moment longer before you caved, rolling your eyes as a smile crept on your face, “It seems like nothing has changed, even on our last date.”

“We're destined enemies. The universe has decreed it long ago, sweetheart,” Minho chuckled.

The most humorous thing about both of those statements were how utterly false they were, and how aware both of you were about that fact. Anything and everything that existed between the two of you had changed during the course of the month, and both of you knew it. Minho had changed from a necessary annoyance to an irreplaceable pillar in your life, a source of honesty and comfort that you've grown to relish. Even though the two of you still bickered like cats and dogs, there was something good-natured about it now.

“Well, our garden date is fucked and we can't exactly go to the arcade like this, so what do you suppose we do?” You asked with a grimace as you wrung the excess water out of your hair, “This is the last day before our project ends.”

Minho sighed, shaking the droplets of water off his jacket as he bit his lip, turning his gaze to your side profile. You were happily oblivious to his stare, continuing to twist the water out of your hair as you stared out at the rainy street, humming softly to yourself. He could tell immediately that you were cold and doing your best to keep yourself from shivering.

It was definitely a pet peeve of his that he’d grown more and more annoyed over as he spent the month by your side. You never liked to wear jackets or bring them along, despite the fact that you were literally cold-blooded and tended to match the temperature of whatever weather was going on around you. It got so bad at times that Minho had already developed a habit of bringing you an extra jacket or scarf so you at least didn’t catch a fucking cold while you were spending on dates with him.

Unfortunately, the forecast had predicted clear skies and warm weather for the whole day, and Minho didn’t think about bringing that extra jacket around this time, so all you could do was perish in your cold, soaked clothes.

“You could come over and hang out at my place.”

The words tumbled out of Minho's mouth before he could really consider the consequences, and all he could do after that was look as nonchalant as possible.

As expected, you gawked at him as if he'd grown a second head, “You want me to hang out at your apartment?”

“Don't make me repeat myself,” he grumbled, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot, “We could dry up there and maybe watch some Netflix or something."

You let out a scandalized gasp, dramatically covering your chest with your arms, and Minho's face burned as he gave you a hard shove, "Not like that, oh my god!" He sputtered in total embarrassment, fully beginning to process the implications of his words.

As the poor man dissolved in his own misery, you cackled, relishing his suffering as you ran a hand through your wet locks, "I'm kidding, genius!" You said with a laugh, "Gosh, who knew you were actually such a prude on the inside."

If you took Minho seriously at all, his glare would have sent you six feet under. Unfortunately for him, one month of fake dating taught you that the man was a lot more bark than bite. You were basically Minho-immune at this point.

“You know what?” He closed his eyes, grabbing at whatever supernatural patience he had not to just shut you up with his lips smashing against yours, “Offers’ off. Walk home yourself.”

“Aw, alright I’m sorry!” You laughed, ruffling his messed up hair as you walked out of the bus stop and into the pouring rain, “Come on, please? I promise I won’t make fun of you anymore.”

You promising not to make fun of him sounded about as genuine as Jisung saying that he’d stop procrastinating on his homework, but what was Minho going to do? Make you walk home by yourself in this type of weather? It wasn’t that he was giving you any special treatment; this was just what any good samaritan would do.

With a roll of his eyes, he stomped over to you and flung his leather jacket over your head, “Let’s go,” he muttered. Smiling playfully, you followed him home, using his jacket to shield you from the rain as you stared at his back with a hint of bittersweetness.

The jacket still smelled like him, you thought absently as you walked in his shadow. As much as you’d tried to deny it to yourself, Minho smelled good. He smelled like Febreeze and citrus. You were going to miss the warmth of his jacket very soon, when he’d no longer be obligated to take care of you or make sure that you won’t catch a cold.

“Did you die back there, sweetheart?” Minho called behind him, “You’ve gone all quiet.”

“If I died, how exactly was I supposed to answer you?”

“Oh, my bad. I was really only asking out of courtesy,” he smirked, throwing his head back as his eyes sparkled with a mischief you’ve grown out of hating. Seeing the few feet of distance between the two of you, he extended his hand, chuckling, “Seriously, what are you doing all the way back there? Come on.”

You felt yourself grow quiet, taking a few large strides forward before you let go of the jacket and slipped your hand into his. Minho’s fingers laced with yours as he continued on his way, leading you down a couple streets before you made it to the familiar apartment complex.

Now, you’ve been to Minho’s place a couple times, so you didn’t feel too overwhelmed as the two of you rushed into the lobby area sopping wet and trying your best to dry off your shoes on the mat. However, it was always just a quick stop, like standing in the lobby area while he went up to grab something, or meeting with him downstairs before going on a date. You’d never actually been into his apartment before, and as the two of you stood in the elevator in a deafening silence, you couldn’t stop your heart from racing a little faster than normal.

“Alright, now I’m worried,” he said as the numbers on the elevator screen went up slowly, “You’re being abnormally quiet. What’s up?”

You blinked in momentary surprise, not expecting him to pry, since he wasn’t ever the type, “Oh. I’m just wondering what your place looks like,” you said, smiling.

Minho didn’t buy it for one second, but he only gave you a strange glance as the elevator doors opened, “I see. Well, it’s nothing special. It’s just like any other dumpy frumpy apartment.”

“I didn’t mean like whether it looks expensive or not,” you said with a soft laugh as the two of you walked down the hallway towards the door to the left, “I’m just wondering whether it would be clean or messy, if you like to keep it warm or cold. Those sorts of things.”

“Oh,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck, and for the first time, he felt a little nervous about twisting his key and opening the door. What if you had higher expectations about it than he could actually meet? Wait, did he pick up those boxers off the floor before he left that morning? He did, right?

“What are you waiting for?” You asked in amusement, watching as Minho seemed to have gone very still after he pushed his key into the keyhole. When he didn’t budge, you moved forward to turn it yourself, only for him to angle his body in front of the door.

“Uh, maybe this isn’t the best idea,” he said with a pleasant, saccharine smile.

You blinked, “Minho, we’re literally at your door,” you said just as a loud boom of thunder sounded in the distance, “And it’s thundering. Your room can’t be that horrid, right?”

“It might be a bit messy,” he argued.

“We’ve both spent game nights in Jisung’s hell hole. I think I can handle however messy your apartment is.”

That was a fair point. Minho couldn’t really find an argument against that attack. Lowering his head, he sighed, “Let me head in to tidy some things first.”

With a raised eyebrow, you crossed your arms, “No problem, but I seriously don’t care, if that’s what your worried about.”

Minho could only nod suddenly before he turned the key, unlocked the door and slipped in faster than a ghost before slamming the door shut. Just like he’d predicted, his boxers were lying nonchalantly on his bedroom floor, and he shoved them in his hamper before cleaning--more like hiding--the rest of his junk in record time.

You were beginning to think that Minho had just locked you out of his apartment when the door opened once more, and he walked out with a towel in hand, “Did you hide whatever dirty toy you needed to hide?” You asked with a smirk.

“Get your head out of the gutter,” he retorted, throwing the towel at you and leading you inside.

The apartment wasn’t far from your expectations. Clean, but not meticulously so, a little bit on the chilly side, and a sense of homeliness with the warm lights and lamps that he chose from the living area. You found yourself growing fonder and fonder of it by the minute.

“It’s cute,” you smiled, wrapping the towel around your neck.

Minho tried to ignore the way his cheeks warmed at the simple, but genuine compliment that fell out of your lips, “Thanks. I laid out a change of clothes for you in the bathroom. You can also take a shower if you feel like you need to warm up.”

“What a gentleman,” you said teasingly as you placed your handbag down on the floor as you headed to where Minho had gestured to the bathroom, “Do you have people over often?” It was an easy question, not even close to brushing the real question that sat in the back of your mind.

Is what we have special? Do I mean something different to you the way you mean something different to me?

“Actually, besides Jisung, you’re probably the first,” Minho answered, grabbing a towel to dry off his own hair as he walked towards you, “I don’t really like strangers or acquaintances in my space.”

“Oh, I should be honored, then,” you said, trying to contain your surprise as turned to face him, studying the way his damp hair framed his face and the way his eyes seemed to burn with an intensity that you could never read. You could never tell what that gaze wanted, what that gaze meant, but you knew what it did to you and your foolish little heart.

Minho’s head tilted ever so slightly as the silence hung in the air. Then, he smiled, brushing the tip of his finger under your chin, “Well, being my social experiment girlfriend has to have its perks.”

The trance shattered, and whatever moment of tension and unexplainable attraction you felt disappeared into the air as you marched towards the bathroom, “I’m glad I got to make use of it before my membership expires tomorrow,” you said, your voice tinged with sarcasm as you shut the door.

A laugh left Minho’s lips as he shook his head, walking into his bedroom and quickly getting into a change of clothes before flopping onto his couch. This experiment has proved to be one of the most difficult experiences in his life. All this time, he always knew what he wanted, and he always knew how to get it. If he wanted someone, he got them. If he wanted to pursue something, he found himself being able to achieve it with just a bit of hard work on his part.

But with you, he didn’t know what he wanted, nor did he know how to obtain it. When he met you as Jisung’s other best friend, he never once imagined that the two of you would form such a strange yet irreplaceable relationship in such a short amount of time. He liked you, he liked you a lot. But as he found himself falling further and further, he realized that the reason this was so difficult was because he cared about you. His way of living with no strings attached wasn’t going to cut it anymore, especially since he was beginning to notice that many of his strings were tightly wrapped around your fingers.

And despite this, the two of you were going to have to cut them all off when the morning came.

“Fuck you, Jisung. You probably knew this was going to happen, you little shit,” Minho sighed, lying down on the couch and closing his eyes. Whatever, he didn’t want to think about the goodbye. He’d deal with it when it came.

“Uh, Minmin?”

“Hmm?” Minho answered you absently, his eyes still closed.

“You can shower if you’d like,” you offered, the couch dipping under your weight as you sat beside him.

“Nah, I’ll just shower tomorrow morning,” Minho said, opening his eyes and physically having to fight back a blush as he saw you, his hoodie practically engulfing you whole and his sweats going past your feet. Oh fuck, did he even think things through when he picked out a spare set of clothes for you?

You caught his stunned gaze, your cheeks immediately reddening, “L-look, they’re just a little big on me!” You said defensively as you grabbed one of the pillows and shoved it in his face, “Can’t you stop staring?”

Minho laughed, fending off your relentless pillow attacks with his arms, “Sweetheart, I swear! You actually look really cute!”

“Shut up!” You shrieked, swinging your arms relentlessly as Minho finally had enough letting you win. Lashing out with his hands, he grabbed both of your wrists, stopping their movement and forcing you to drop the pillow as he yanked you forward. With all your momentum going in one direction, your body had no choice but to follow, and when you opened your eyes, you were sprawled on top of him on the couch, his hands still locking your wrists in place.

“Um,” you looked around, further procession the rather awkward position the two of you had taken, “did you mean for this to happen?”

Minho didn’t, but he was nothing if not an opportunist, “You can think whatever you wanna think,” he shrugged, letting go of your wrists as he wrapped a casual arm around your waist, “What? Not comfortable?”

The more you thought about it, the more you realized that the position was actually quite comfortable. Minho was always built like a personal heater and whatever chill you felt from running around in the rain just seemed to melt away as he held you.

Stop it, the little voice in your mind whispered as you tried not to focus on the fact that your face was inches from his. This date was for you to say your goodbyes, not fall farther into the black hole.

“Comfortable? Hardly,” you scoffed as best you could, pushing yourself up with your hands and curling up on the couch beside his stretched out figure, “You’re all muscle from dancing so much. It’s like sleeping on a rock.”

“Ah, these abs are hard as rock,” Minho nodded very seriously.

“I wasn’t talking about your abs.”

“Then what else can be hard?” He blinked for a moment before his smile turned unbelievably devilish, “My, my, (name)...I didn’t know you were so--”

You grabbed the pillow you’d previously discarded and shoved it into his chest, “Can we watch something?” You interrupted him pleasantly, pretending not to have even heard the beginning of his less than appropriate joke.

Minho huffed, throwing the stupid pillow to the floor as he scooted next to you, “Sure, want popcorn?” He asked, handing you the remote after turning on his TV, “Just find something on Netflix.”

“Anything you don’t like to watch?” You asked, browsing through the selections.

“Nothing horror related,” he answered as he pushed himself off the couch, heading to the kitchen.

His reply felt strange to you, and you frowned, turning around to look at him, “But don’t you love horror movies?” You asked, remembering very clearly that Minho and Jisung had first met because they both went to the same viewing of a new horror movie that you refused to go to.

“Yeah, but you don’t, right?” Minho pointed out before shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly and disappearing into the kitchen area as you were left reeling at his almost blasé answer, struck by how much he’d grown to learn about you and how much he'd grown to take your feelings into account.

Now that you thought about it, you realized how much Minho's personality had changed and affected the way you did things, not in a controlling way, but in a way that you found yourself thinking about him when making decisions. When you made your weekly batch of bread, you tended to lean towards milk bread because it was Minho’s favorite. When you went out for dinner together, you thought about what he enjoyed before picking a cuisine. When you browsed for cute accessories, your taste gravitated to cats because they reminded you of him.

Holy fuck, how deep in were you?

“You didn't pick anything yet,” Minho noticed as he poked his head out from the kitchen, waiting for the popcorn to finish.

“O-oh right,” you fumbled with the remote in your hands as you scrolled through the selections.

Minho hummed, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, “Hmm…? What were you thinking about, kitten?”

“Nothing, stop being nosy,” you answered with an annoyed edge as you found something that piqued your interest, “Hey, wanna watch Bridgerton? I heard some good things about it from my friends.”

"I heard it's a bit of a shitshow," Minho commented as the microwave beeped and the smell of buttered popcorn filled the room. Grabbing the bowl and taking a few pieces for himself, he returned to the living room, jumping over the couch and plopping down beside you.

You tried to ignore how casual it felt for him to just throw an arm around your shoulders to pull you close, focusing on the TV, “Wanna check it out to see which review is accurate?”

“Sure, whatever you want, kitten.”

As the two of you powered through episode after episode, it became clear that both reviews had some merit, as the series was a bit of a shitshow, but one that you wouldn't be able to stop watching. Minho and you found yourselves rather invested in the story and the characters, letting out a huge “finally” when the two leads confessed their genuine love for one another.

“Another episode?” You asked after a short bathroom break, falling into his arms even more so than before and practically snuggling into his warm chest now.

“Go for it, sweetheart. I have all night.”

“So do I,” you chuckled, and pressed the play button.

However, things started to take a weird turn after you reached the middle mark of the series. Bouts of contained love had been released, and there were beginning to be many scenes that weren't quite appropriate for general audiences. You quickly realized that this was probably not the show you should've picked to watch through straight-faced with your lovely social experiment boyfriend.

You held your tongue for most of them, just wanting and wishing for them to be over as soon as possible, but when positions started to turn towards an even more peculiar direction, you couldn't help but make one rather underhanded comment.

“Ugh, forget the literal fanfic fake dating trope they had going on. This is probably the most unrealistic part of the whole show,” you said with mild disgust as you watched the female lead gripping on the rails of the staircase.

“Oh?” Minho perked up at your comment almost too eagerly. Like you, he had also been suffering from the tragic case of watching a dirty scene with his totally-fake-but-also-somehow-real girlfriend, and felt a crash of relief when you spoke up about something, “And why is that, kitten?”

A noise of disbelief choked out of your throat as you gestured at the scene before your eyes, “I mean, look at them! Can you possibly expect me to believe that she feels comfortable in that position, much less enjoy it?”

Minho shrugged, “You’d be surprised how much you can ignore when you’re in the moment.”

“I don’t believe it,” you scoffed, grabbing a handful of popcorn, “At least, I’ve never had such an experience before.”

The conversation was dropped then and there, and the show continued without further criticism. But halfway through the next episode, you began to feel that you were being watched, and sure enough, Minho was gazing at you with an unreadable expression, deep in thought.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, chuckling awkwardly, “Do I have something on my...Min?”

Your eyes widened comically as Minho suddenly shifted on the couch, leaning impossibly closer to you and gently cupping your jaw with his hand. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck fuck fuck. Had he lost his mind?!

Minho seemed to answer your silent question as he stopped right before his lips could brush yours, and his eyes searched for any fear or hesitation in your expression, “Is it true?” He asked hoarsely, his words no louder than a faint whisper.

“What true?” You murmured back, looking up at him through your lashes.

The man gulped, trying to hold onto whatever semblance of control he had left in his body, “What you said earlier...about never having such an experience before.”

Oh, your cheeks reddened as bright as apples, “Why do you have to bring it up again, idiot?!” You felt your voice fail you as Minho tightened his hold on you.

“So it’s true?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, “Yes, it’s true! What does it have to do with you, asshole?”

Minho sucked in a breath, studying your face as his eyes shone with gentle adoration and tenderness that you didn’t even know he could possess, “Can I kiss you, (name)?”

Your name. It was your name. Not sweetheart. Not kitten. Not any other petname he could give anyone that he pleased. He uttered your name. He was asking for your permission. And like a sailor drawn in by the siren’s song, you had no hope of escaping now.

“Yes.”

Closing the gap, your lips met as the two of you finally succumbed to the growing tension that festered with every meeting, every touch of your hands, every quip thrown both ways. Minho caressed your cheek as your hands slid to his shoulders, reveling in the kiss that was such a long time coming.

When he finally pulled away to let both of you catch your breaths, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes blown wide as he stared at you underneath him. Swallowing, he brushed the hair away from your face, his heart warming with unrestrained affection as you leaned into his touch instead of pulling away, “Can I give you that experience you’ve been lacking?” He asked, a coil of anxiety rolling in his stomach as he studied your face for every miniscule reaction.

Any inkling that you didn’t want to, any inkling that you were only going to along to please him, he’d end it all. Minho knew very well that he was walking on a tightrope of maybe losing you forever.

But to his surprise, you didn’t look fearful or uncomfortable, only a bit uncertain, “T-this is our last night though, a-as…” you trailed off, not wanting to make those thoughts a reality, just like Minho had been actively avoiding the topic as well.

“I know, I know,” he sighed, stroking your cheek absently with his thumb, “Maybe...we can think of this as a goodbye.”

You smiled, “It’s one hell of a goodbye,” you teased, making him chuckle. It was definitely one hell of a goodbye.

“Do you want it?” Minho whispered, hovering over you, “You say the word, and I’ll back off. Promise.”

Sucking in a breath, you decided not to live by your head anymore. With Lee Minho holding you close, kissing you silly, what was there to refuse?

“I want it,” you murmured, “I want you.”

This was the right choice, you told yourself as Minho carried you to his bedroom, treating you with a delicacy and gentleness that you’ve never experienced before. It was the culmination of your feelings for him. Maybe, when the morning comes, these feelings would wash away with your bouts of pleasure. Maybe, when the morning comes, you wouldn’t be as deeply in love with him as you were now.

Right?

epilogue.

When you woke in the morning, the rays of sunlight spilling in through Minho’s dark curtains, you were almost stunned by how very wrong you were. As you turned your head, finding yourself face to face with Minho, fast asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, you knew that you were not only still in love with Minho, but you were more in love with him than you were the night before.

And boy, did that terrify you to your very core.

Fuck! This wasn’t supposed to happen. The experiment was over, right? There wasn’t a purpose that pulled you two together anymore. There wasn’t a purpose for Minho to feel any sort of attraction to you anymore.

Too terrified to face the love of your life when he woke, you did the only thing you knew how to do.

And you ran.

Detangling yourself from Minho as gently as possible, you slipped out of his bed, grabbing your clothes from where they’d been haphazardly discarded around the room. You changed in record time, anxious to avoid making sound or staying around until Minho woke. It was only 8:30 in the morning, though, and you knew that Minho naturally didn’t like to wake before 9:00, so you had a bit of time.

You wanted to leave as soon as you finished changing, but your guilty conscience wouldn’t let you disappear without some form of gratitude. For the night before or for the way he’d treated you the whole month, you didn’t know. But either way, you grabbed a couple of ingredients that he had in his refrigerator and fixed him a hearty breakfast before heading to the door. You only looked back once before officially steeling yourself to disappear from Lee Minho’s life, at least until you’d be able to resolve these naive and yet deep-seated feelings you had for him.

For the rest of the week, life went on as normal for you, as if your one unforgettable month with Minho had all but faded into the wind as you had hoped that night. You finished your final entry in the diary and handed it back to Jisung the day after the experiment ended. If he had questions as to why you’d disregarded the original plan to hand yours over along with Minho’s at the same time, he didn’t bring them up.

“Did you at least have fun, (name)?” Jisung asked before you could turn around to leave.

You hesitated, quickly realizing that the fact that you couldn’t answer the question immediately gave away your uncertainty. After a long moment of thought, you nodded.

“Yeah, I did.”

You really did, though. There was no point lying to yourself about that when you were already having such a hard time pretending that your very real feelings for Minho don’t exist.

Speaking of Minho, you spent much of the week trying to cut him out of your life as much as possible, which was proven to be rather difficult since the two of you had such a close friend in common. You could tell that Jisung was getting a little sick of seesawing between his two best friends without knowing why the two of you were acting this way. Even back when the two of you were basically the worst of enemies, neither of you ever actively tried to avoid seeing the other.

But now, you were avoiding Minho like the plague. You avoided his school building entirely, and if you happened to see him walking down the street by some unlucky miracle, you’d bolt in a random direction and hide in a store until you were sure he was gone.

It was a lot of effort, and you weren’t even sure if it was working, since your feelings for him seemed to grow even stronger the more you were away from him.

There was just worry that festered within your heart, this genuine concern you had over his wellbeing now that you weren’t able to check on him every day. Was he eating well? Was he skipping breakfast now that you stopped giving him your milk bread? Did he pass that exam he was worried about?

It seemed your feelings for Minho were going to need a little more than distance to disappear.

After two weeks of moping and frustratingly obvious heart sickness on both sides, Han Jisung finally had enough with his idiotic best friends.

You opened your door in surprise as Jisung stood at the entrance of your apartment, an unusually angry expression on his face, “U-uh, Sungie? You good?”

“Do I look good?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “How the fuck do you expect me to be good when I’ve been fucking tiptoeing between you and Minho for the past two weeks?!”

You flinched at the very mention of his name, “I’m sorry. I promise everything will go back to normal soon.”

“With the way you’re doing things, I don’t think that’s going to happen, (name),” Jisung rubbed his eyes tiredly, and you finally noticed the deep eyebags he had, indicating several all nighters, “I finished writing my thesis paper.”

“Oh, congrats.”

It was easier to muster up a smile at that statement, since you were genuinely proud of Jisung for such a daring project.

“I also read both of your notebooks.”

Fuck. That was a necessary part of writing that paper.

You nodded, trying to keep your cool, “Okay? Did they not have enough information?”

“Forget the stupid project for one fucking moment, please,” Jisung interrupted before sighing, “At first, I thought the awkwardness came from the fact that you still hate each other, but it turns out it’s just the opposite.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jisung threw you a long look, as if silently weighing several options in his head. You could practically see his thoughts running a mile a minute, and all you could do was stand there as he finally reached into his bag and pulled out a familiar notebook.

“This--” Your eyes widened as you gazed down at the name written in Sharpie, a name that decidedly wasn’t yours, “Jisung, you can’t--”

“Yes, I know that as the operator of this experiment, giving out information that I’d originally stated was confidential is absolutely against everything that science stands for,” he said wearily, “But as your friend and Minho’s friend, this is the right thing to do.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Read it, dummy. I could tell you what’s inside, but I don’t think you’d believe me unless you saw it yourself.”

Jisung grabbed your wrist and pressed the little notebook into the palm of your hand, “I think you’ll know what to do after,” he smiled gently, his eyes filled with earnest care as he gave you a quick hug and made his way down the hall, leaving you to stand at your door holding Minho’s grey project notebook.

With nothing else to do, you entered your apartment again and plopped down on the couch, notebook in hand. Did you even want to see it, Minho’s unadulterated truth? A part of you wasn't, but curiosity always killed the cat, and you found yourself gingerly opening the first page.

Nothing was far from what you expected at first, since it matched quite well to your own experiences. First blatant dislike, then grudging respect, and finally, a growing fondness. You found yourself smiling as you read about how much Minho actually adored the bentos you made, even though he never made his thoughts on it entirely clear to you.

Then, you finally made it to the last page: Day 31. You found yourself stopping short, your heart beginning to race again as your eyes scanned the first few words.

lee minho: day 31 + 2 days

action(s): last date

notes: yeah, i know this entry is late, but i just needed some time to collect myself.

she left in the morning before i could wake up. i can’t say i was surprised, since i told her the night could be our goodbye, but i’d hoped in some part of me that she’d stay, that we’d just carry on with the rest of the month like the ending date didn’t exist. she made me breakfast, though, so at least i know she wasn’t disappointed or upset with me about how far things went. at least i hope.

fuck, jisung, i can’t stop thinking about her. it’s been two days already and nothing i do can make me forget her. the last night just made things infinitely worse. i played with fire and im getting burned for it. i can’t get the way she felt out of my head, the way she would also look into my eyes and see me for what i am inside, not just what i look like. i miss her milk bread, i miss seeing her outside the dance studio.

jisung, i think i love her. no fuck it, i do love her, and there’s nothing i can do anymore. she clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me based on how she’d been avoiding me like the plague whenever i see her on the street. and now, i don't even know how much of what she felt, how much of what she did for me was real. did she put in so much effort because she wanted you to be happy? or was the way she hugged me, the way she spoke to me, was it all real?

it doesnt matter now.

By the time you made it to the end of the page, your eyes were filled with tears and your vision blurred over. Minho...he loved you? Had you been so absorbed with wallowing in your own misery that you failed to realize that your actions were hurting him?

Panic filled your very being, and as Jisung had predicted, you knew exactly what you had to do. You had to make amends, apologize for your actions, and at the very least, express your own feelings to him directly, even if it was too little too late.

With the notebook clutched tightly in your hand, you grabbed your purse and rushed out the door, still putting on your boots as you hopped to the elevator. Which bus did you have to take to get to his apartment? First the #2 and then transfer over to #13...right.

You bolted out of the lobby, feeling the rush of cold air seep through your bones, but you hardly found it in yourself to care. You ran to the bus station, anxiously shuffling on either feet as you waited for the next #2 line bus to arrive. When the bus finally arrived, you were already standing at the edge of the sidewalk, too jittery to sit. The doors slid open, and before you could barge inside, your jaw went slack as a familiar figure stepped out of the bus, his own eyes widened as they caught yours.

What was most interesting, however, was the familiar grey notebook that he clutched in his hand, one that was painfully identical to the one you were holding.

The two of you stood in an awed silence as Minho got off the steps, and the bus drove away. Immediately, you felt a wave of concern as you looked him over from a distance. Did he lose weight? Was he getting enough sleep?

In the end, Minho was the one who spoke first, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Judging by the notebook in your hand, I’m assuming that Jisung fucked us both over?”

“Y-yeah, sort of,” you answered, surprised that your voice didn’t completely fail you in such an important moment.

Minho seemed to wait for you to continue, but when you didn’t, he spoke again, “Um, I read it. Your diary entries.”

That wasn’t a surprise, of course, see that you read his, but you couldn’t stop the wave of flushed embarrassment from washing over you as you thought about all the embarrassing things you wrote about him, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking sheepish, “Do you really think I sound like an angel when I sing?”

Oh, if you could hide yourself six feet under, you would have. But you could nod shamefully, “Yeah.”

“Do you really like it when I cuddle with you and pull you onto my lap?”

Was this your punishment for not being honest upfront? “Y-yes! Now can you please shut up--”

“Do you really love me?”

The wind was knocked out of your lungs as you finally looked up to stare at Minho, whose face was unreadable as always. He held up the notebook and repeated his question when you couldn’t find it in yourself to muster up an answer, “You said in your final entry that you were in love with me, that you loved every part of me inside and out, and that our final night together just made everything so much more real. Is it true?”

Your eyes filled with pain as you choked out softly, “What will you do…if it is?”

Minho’s expression didn’t seem to change, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes seemed to return to their usual sparkle just a little bit, “If it is true, then I’d call you an idiot for ghosting me.”

“R-right--”

“And then I’d walk over to where you’re standing. I’d wrap my arms around your waist like the way you love, and I’d kiss you silly. I’d tell you that I’m totally and completely in love with you, as you probably already know from my diary entires, and I’d ask you to be my real girlfriend,” Minho spoke, his voice filled with meaning as his grip on your notebook tightened, “Now tell me, is it true?”

You couldn’t even remember how to breathe as you stared at him, the cold winter wind making his cheeks so delightfully rosy that all you wanted to do was to kiss them gently and warm them up with your mittens. And as he gazed at you, the sincerity pouring out of his posture, his words, and his eyes, there was no way you could continue lying to yourself.

“It is true,” you said, your eyes filling with unshed tears as you gripped at his notebook, “I’m in love with you, Lee Minho, and it’s tearing me apart just like it’s tearing you apart. I want to love you for real, I want to date you for real, I want us to be real.”

Minho took three large steps forward before he was right in front of you and his lips crashed against yours in a breathtaking kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist like he’d promised, and yours cupped his cheek as he kissed you with unrestrained fervor.

Wow, he really did kiss you silly.

“No more rules, no more of this social experiment bullshit,” he murmured against your lips as he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, “Do you want to be my real girlfriend, (name)?”

What was there to refuse?

the enemies to lovers project: [success]

#stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz x y/n #skz x reader #lee minho imagines #lee minho scenarios #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids x reader #dream type: oneshot

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : your sugar daddy boyfriend is finally out of prison and he brought a few friends to show you off to.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : just over 4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex, oral m receiving, spitroast; sliiiight dubcon???), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink, ‘daddy’ kink, pussy spanking, one regular spank, orgasm control, overstimulation, creampie, a bit of cockwarming, exhibitionism, possessiveness (kinda? but also not at all lmao it’s hard to explain), a bit of degradation but plenty of praise as well, subtle cuckolding but without the usual power dynamics there, shitty reconstructed “sokovian” (I wrote it in the latin alphabet but the cyrillic and translations are at the end), unexpected and unnecessary fluff, very subtle angst (basically all in a flashback anyways)

You were needlessly anxious as you waited for him to arrive. It had been your own idea to wait in the jet, and yet you spent every other second glancing out the tiny window, desperate for a glance of the man you missed so dearly.

If someone had told you all those years ago, when this arrangement first began, how easily he would have you wrapped around his finger… you couldn’t have believed them. It’s just about the money, you would’ve told them, but you would’ve been impossibly wrong.

For a lot of women in this sort of situation, it really was just about the money; likewise, for a lot of men in his situation, it was just about the sex. But the two of you had something entirely unique, nearly indescribable in fact, that very few could ever understand. In the beginning it became clear to you that he was more in need of a companion than a lover or girlfriend, specifically. He was still grieving his wife, still devoted to her completely, but lonely right to his core… angry, even, at the prospect of a life without his family. You were a shoulder to cry on, first and foremost.

You thought maybe he enjoyed spending money on you because it was his way to protect you, in a way he felt he had failed to protect his family before.

And it was you that fell for him first, for his passion and his kindness before his riches or looks. Just when you feared that he’d only ever see you as a status symbol or dress-up doll, he returned your affections in spite of his guilt at first and the two of you were inseparable ever since.

Except, of course, when you were separated, and he was imprisoned, and you were left on your own again. Not that spending his money wasn’t fun or anything, but his loneliness was more sympathetic with each night you spent in that massive bed by yourself, wanting just to feel the warmth of him beside you again.

So, it should be understandable why you were so on edge in anticipation of his arrival. Your painted fingernails toyed with the hem of the dress you remembered he liked on you most— the silk one that barely covered your legs and was only held up by absurdly thin straps crossing at your back.

The night he bought it for you was clear in your mind like it was only yesterday; his voice in your ear telling you how he couldn’t resist taking such a thoughtful, intelligent woman like yourself and dressing you up like a mindless drolja… or ‘slut’ as it might be said in English. Just remembering the way he said things like that sent a shiver down your spine as strong as really hearing it, your thighs clenching together on top of the plush leather seat.

Just as you thought you might go crazy waiting for him, you saw the car pull up— your Helmut at the wheel and his two associates in tow— and your heart soared.

Longer than all the years apart combined was the minute you spent waiting to descend the jet’s staircase, hoping to meet him on the taxiway at the exact right moment. You made sure the jewelry around your wrists and neck was laying just right before finally making your appearance.

The way he looked up at you as you started to walk down towards him… it wasn’t so different from the way he’d looked at you through the glass for the past few years, really, but it felt different. He certainly looked different to you, without the prisoner’s uniform and looking rather imposing with that massive coat instead.

You were careful to still walk slowly, since you were wearing stilettos and all, even when you wanted more than anything to run to him and jump into his arms. Instead, you came face to face with him, loving that confident smirk which never seemed to leave his expression, and slipped your arms around his fur-adorned neck.

“Dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi,” you hummed, pressing your lips to his and almost letting out a squeal of surprise when he immediately slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you aggressively as his gloved hands gripped you at the waist.

He was rarely so bold, but then again he had been alone in prison for so long with only your words to try to satisfy him. As much as you cherished being in his arms again, you also got the impression that this wasn’t just about making up for lost time— if that were true, he would’ve skipped the kiss entirely and taken you in the back of his car the moment he saw you. No, this was a show of dominance, and not only for your benefit; that was clear when one of the men with him cleared his throat loudly and Helmut still didn’t stop.

But that was very much like him: he was never finished with you until he was satisfied, and not a moment sooner. His power over you was so effortless because you didn’t mind at all being his plaything… so much so that it was you leaning in for more when he pulled back, making him laugh softly.

“Did you miss me, lutka?” he purred, and you nodded as you bit your lip slightly.

“Always, Helmut,” you nodded, finally taking a moment to look away from him and at the visibly uncomfortable men at his side. “I heard you freed him,” you said to the man you knew to be James Barnes, “thank you.”

“I’m still not over that,” the other— Sam, as you’d heard— added with a scoff.

“Come on, darling, let’s board the jet and we can talk there,” Helmut suggested, and you nodded as you turned to let them follow.

Of course, you couldn’t be totally sure, but you were pretty confident you could feel three pairs of eyes on your ass as you climbed the stairs. Honestly, with how short the dress was, there was a risk of your thong being exposed as well, exactly the sort of almost-subtle teasing your Baron loved the most.

Once inside, Helmut showed James and Sam to their seats, and took his own as he instantly pulled you into his lap. You caught the other two men glancing to the empty fourth seat, knowing there was plenty of room for you two to stay apart, but could they really blame you after how long you’d been alone?

Throughout the takeoff, one of his strong hands rested comfortably on your crossed legs as the other held his glass of champagne, and Sam’s gaze was attached to the way his thumb gently stroked your thigh while James seemed to be doing his best to look literally anywhere else.

“I noticed you haven’t introduced us to your… friend…” Sam trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, yes,” Helmut chuckled as if he actually forgot, “this is the woman who has been managing my estate in my unfortunate absence.”

“You’re trying to tell us this is your accountant?” James grumbled.

“She’s also my lover,” Helmut relented.

“Obviously,” Sam replied, unamused.

“She’s beautiful, no?” Helmut prompted as he ran his fingertips higher up your thigh, only glancing at the other men as he focused mainly on nuzzling against your neck.

“Yeah, the finest money can buy,” Sam quipped, earning a cold glare from you and your man.

“Are you with me for my money, draga?” Helmut asked you quietly as he planted a gentle kiss to the spot right where your neck met your shoulder. You smiled and shook your head, staring right at Sam’s nervous expression.

“No, sir,” you answered aloud, and the title clearly made both of the other men uncomfortable… if, perhaps, in different ways.

“Uncross your legs,” he demanded, though his tone was still soft, and you obeyed right away as he started to lightly move his touch between your thighs.

James began adjusting in his seat and never really stopped, tugging at his jeans in an obvious attempt to conceal the growing bulge between his legs, but you only laughed at his clear embarrassment.

“See how respectful she is?” he cooed his praise, addressing the other men but keeping his eyes on you. “I know exactly the words to make her obey to my every whim… James, you and her share that quality.”

The man sneered as you suppressed a giggle, squirming in Helmut’s lap impatiently.

“She’s loyal, too, unendingly dedicated,” he continued. “You know she visited me weekly in Munich, at the very least? Always by my side… like any good pet.”

A whimper escaped your throat at that term, your gut burning with need as he balanced praise and degradation effortlessly. You didn’t find it truly demeaning only because you loved being his plaything so much, and because you knew mutual respect was at the core of your relationship with him. But, still, it was nice to feel small when he was there to keep you safe.

James watched with a small snarl and Helmut slipped his hand into your panties, and Sam licked his lips but shifted his stare to your face instead, just as your eyes started to roll back and your head fell weakly on Helmut’s shoulder.

“And such a precious little pussy as well,” he added darkly, giving you a spank between your legs to make you choke on a squeal. “Sweet, delicate… much like a Turkish delight, but even more addictive.”

“Please, sir,” you whispered under your breath.

“You want more, don’t you? Tako očajno…” he chuckled. You nodded, already starting to soak through the lace and rock your hips. “You want to be fucked, yes?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Be polite and take care of our guests first, draga,” he encouraged, kissing your neck one more time before releasing you from his embrace.

Although you were most interested in being with the man you loved, you were happy to obey whatever he wished— and, frankly, sinking to your knees on the jet’s carpeted floor to crawl towards James wasn’t exactly lacking in its own appeal.

James’ eyes narrowed as Sam’s widened, and you sat up between the spread, denim-clad thighs as you blinked up at him and licked your lips.

He tensed up slightly as your hands delicately slid up his legs, his Adam's apple bobbing with a dry swallow when you grabbed his belt buckle and began to open it.

“You… you don’t have to…” he mumbled, apparently too distracted to finish his sentence.

“Yes I do,” you denied. “Because he told me to.”

Sam winced and looked away as you unzipped James’ fly and pulled his jeans and boxers down to expose his cock, already hard and leaking a bit from the tip. You smiled proudly, but chose not to tease him for his eagerness and instead just get right to work; you gripped him at the base and gave a few kitten licks over his shaft, savoring the taste of his precum and looking up at his expression that was equal parts shocked and sultry.

You only spent a moment suckling on the head before skipping right ahead and deepthroating him all the way to base.

“Oh, fuck,” James choked, reaching up grab the seat behind his head as his back arched, making you want to smile though you thankfully kept it down.

“Well-trained, isn’t she?” Helmut interjected proudly.

“Y-yeah,” he answered, his other hand grabbing your shoulder tightly as you began to bob your head.

Occasionally, in your peripheral, you caught Sam looking, and it made you wiggle your hips with the desire to rub your throbbing clit against the floor.

You got a chance to breathe whenever you pulled back to suck the head and stroke the rest with your hand, and in a few minutes you had already found all the little spots that made him moan the loudest, or made his legs quiver a bit by your sides.

“Stop,” Helmut instructed, and you were already starting to pull off when James hissed and grabbed your head to hold you down.

“N-no, please,” he blurted out.

“She’ll come back to you but Sam is looking rather lonely in the corner over there,” Helmut explained, and James hesitated but let you go. You wiped your lips and started to move towards Sam, but he shook his head.

“I don’t roll like that, man,” Sam explained, “I don’t want her doing it just because you said so.”

“Darling, won’t you tell us how badly you want to service your new friends?” Helmut challenged, and you swallowed nervously because you were a bit embarrassed to say too much and potentially anger him. But the sparkle in his eyes didn’t seem like he was leading you into a trap… even if the other two men were confident that was what it meant. “You find them attractive, don’t you?”

“Um, yes, sir,” you answered hesitantly, “I… saw them, and I wanted to know what their cocks looked like. And tasted like.”

Helmut smiled and leaned forward, giving you a spank of approval through your dress (which was riding up to show most of your butt anyways).

You looked at Sam expectantly. “May I please suck your cock, Mr. Wilson?”

His eyes darkened and you knew you were on the right track. “What happened to ‘sir’?” he asked coyly.

“I only call Helmut ‘sir,’” you explained, “but I could call you something else.”

His finger curled to encourage you to come closer and you crawled up to sit between his legs.

“Call me ‘daddy,’” he finally instructed, opening his belt and pants for you.

“Yes, daddy,” you nodded, keeping your mouth slack for him to push his cock into. You hummed as the head slid over your tongue, looking up at him as he bit his lip and thrust back into your throat.

“Shit, that’s good,” he whispered, guiding your head at the speed he wanted. “Who taught you how to suck cock so good, baby?”

Helmut raised his hand and James snorted.

Sam was a bit longer but he was still no challenge to swallow all the way down, and you heard him breathing through his teeth but let your eyes fall shut to focus on your work.

“Is this… how you treat all your guests?” Sam asked tensely between heavy breaths.

“Only those who are at the right place at the right time,” Helmut answered cryptically, but you happened to know this sort of occasion was incredibly rare. Although it might seem counterintuitive to some, this was his way to re-stake his claim over you, and after so much time apart apparently he felt he had a lot to prove. “Keep going, but don’t let him come,” another instruction echoed from behind you.

You pulled back to stroke Sam’s length while you croaked: “yes, sir.”

Helmut had you go back and forth for a while, keeping both men on edge and occasionally allowing you to stroke one while you sucked the other, your own need growing so quickly as you dreamed to have something inside you, anything really.

Obviously, he knew exactly how much having a cock down your throat made you wet and desperate. And he knew that such a taboo act of, in a certain sense, breaking fidelity with a man as he not only watched but commanded you to do it would get you right on the edge in no time.

He had gotten in your head so quickly after meeting you, memorized everything that made you tick, and not once had he forgotten.

“I-I’m close,” James warned as you sucked his head, making you slide the tip of your tongue over his slit before you took a break to suck his swollen balls into your mouth. “Fuck, can I come?”

“Not yet,” Helmut instructed sternly.

You felt him tug you back and into his lap suddenly, and he quickly yanked your dress down to expose your breasts to the men in front of you.

“Her tits are hard, no?” Helmut prompted them, and you watched them both nod as a warm hand reached around from behind you to tweak your hardened nipples. “Yes, she really loves to get on her knees and choke on cock. I’d let her do the same to me but I have greater plans for her…”

As if it weren’t obvious what those plans were, he pulled your skirt up to your waist as well, spreading your legs and pulling your flimsy panties aside.

“Is she wet?” he asked the men and they nodded again.

“Drenched,” Sam chimed in.

Helmut gave another spank to your clit as you shuddered, then rubbing slowly as if to soothe the sting. “I’ll teach you what happens when you get wet for another man, little girl,” Helmut growled against your ear, “not to mention two. And they’re Americans, do you have no shame?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whispered.

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he corrected. “I love seeing you act like a whore all for me.”

You hadn’t even realized he’d taken his cock out of his trousers until you felt the thick tip of him prodding at your entrance. It was already a lot just by itself, but then you had these strangers staring at you and for some reason it only turned you on more.

That ‘some’ reason of course being that you loved your Baron taking ownership over you for anyone to see. Clearly, prison had given him much more creative ideas than just fucking on a balcony or against the glass of a window.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked in a hushed voice against your skin which seemed to be burning hot all of a sudden.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

It took a lot not to cry out as he pulled you down and filled you in one deep stroke, your nails digging into the leather of the chair’s armrests at either side. But more than the sting of pain it felt so perfect, so fundamentally right, and just after your gasp of shock was a sigh of relief.

He sighed along with you and let his forehead fall between your shoulder blades, clearly a bit overwhelmed at being inside you again for the first time in so long. “Draga...” he breathed, “not that I ever doubted… but you must have been faithful to me; you’re so tight, I know no one has touched you since I left.”

“Only you, sir, nobody but you,” you agreed breathlessly, eyes falling shut.

He kissed your back as he started to move your body on top of his, the hands at your waist tightening and tugging on the remaining fabric of your dress. “Tako dobro,” he hissed, “you feel so good, darling, you can’t imagine how long I spent dreaming of being inside you again.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, and it would be impossible to say for sure what caused it— a little bit of everything, really.

Opening your eyes and noticing the way they were staring at you, you leaned forward and took each of the other men’s hard cocks in your hands, stroking in time with the way you bounced your hips on top of Helmut’s.

The both of them had been on the edge for a bit too long, Sam already biting his lip as James thrust himself up into your palm.

“Fuck, please,” James moaned, “I need to come in your mouth.”

“Come closer then,” you breathed, watching him stand up and bring his cock right to your lips which you eagerly gagged on, any pretense long gone as you sloppily sucked and stroked while Helmut thrust up to slam into you.

“Ohh, fuck, that’s it— gonna come,” he grunted as he reached up to press his hand against the ceiling of the jet, and it all must have hit him rather unexpectedly since the moment his musky taste began to coat your tongue, you heard a clanging sound and realized he had pushed up so hard that he bent the steel interior, his other hand tightening into a fist in your hair.

You moaned happily as you swallowed every drop, still sucking even as James’ moans became loud and higher in pitch.

“Fuck, don’t stop, oh god,” he whined, cock throbbing even after he stopped filling your throat with come. You reached between his legs and squeezed his balls a bit and you could tell his knees nearly buckled, causing him to finally pull back and tilt your chin up to stare down at you. “You’re somethin’ else,” he panted, taking a moment to catch his breath before falling back and slumping into his chair.

You looked over at Sam and saw his hand was still lazily guiding yours to stroke over his cock although come already painted his abs and dripped down from his swollen head over your fingers. “Can I clean up your mess, please, daddy?” you asked, voice a bit hoarse though you couldn’t be sure if that was from the deepthroating or just how hard Helmut was fucking you now.

Pulling your hand back, Sam’s eyes followed as you lapped the thick, hot come from your hand, moaning openly at the taste. You sucked your fingers down into your throat, not leaving a drop behind.

He leaned back in his chair and began to catch his breath, both of them now staring at you with that exhausted, glazed-over expression. They looked satisfied, and you considered it your reward for a job well done.

"A belly full of come and a pussy full of my cock, you must be feeling ecstatic," Helmut presumed.

"Yes, sir," you agreed quickly.

All at once he began to fuck you faster, harder, deeper which you hadn't even realized was an option. He growled a string of the filthiest curses in your ear, in Sokovian so the other men wouldn’t understand, with one hand wrapped around your neck as the other pinched your clit almost too roughly. Even in your native language you could barely understand it: how could you when he was so deep inside you?

“Will you come, draga?” he finally asked, voice rough with his own desperation.

“Not until you let me, sir,” you moaned, and he chuckled a bit.

“Good girl.”

But wow, the way he rubbed your clit was impossible to ignore, like he was trying to make your promise impossible to keep. You tightened your jaw, moaning through your teeth now as you fought to keep your orgasm at bay.

“Please sir, I need to come, please— so close, I’m so close,” you mewled.

“I won’t be much longer, either,” he warned. "Too long without you has taken its toll, I need to finish."

“Inside me, sir, please,” you begged, “come inside me.”

You felt him nod against the back of your neck. “Come for me,” he instructed simply, and as obedient as ever, you felt your walls pulsing as pleasure overtook you. Not even meaning to, you threw your head back, and he had to hold you tightly to keep you from shaking too violently as the waves of sensation washed over you.

The heat of him spilling inside you warmed you from the inside out, making you smile happily through the fog of your high and intentionally tighten your walls around him. He hissed and throbbed within you, his fingers digging into your hips now as he held you down against him.

He gave a few more lazy thrusts until finally slowing to a stop, both of you catching your breath eventually.

"My... accountant will be keeping my cock warm for the remainder of the flight," Helmut informed the other men, "I hope you don't mind?

"No, no, go ahead," James approved as his head fell back against his chair.

It was still quite a ways to your final destination so it wasn't much of a surprise that you ended up falling asleep in the Baron's arms, something you used to do every night that had been only a dream for years. Perhaps this afternoon wasn't the reunion you expected, but it was somehow even more perfect than you could've ever wished for.

///

dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi = добродошла назад, љубави = “welcome home, love”

lutka = лутка = “doll”

draga = драга = “dear/beloved”

tako očajno = тако очајно = "so desperate"

tako dobro = тако добро = "so good"

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky barnes smut #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson smut #sambucky x reader #tfatws fanfiction

5K notes · View notes

rinstars · 3 years

Text

「 CRY FOR ME 」 ♡ ACT VI : LIE TO ME

PAIRING : Suna Rintarō x Reader.

GENRE : Angst.

TAGS/WARNINGS : NSFW. Fake Dating. Unrequited Love. Profanity. Enemies (not really) to Lovers. Friends with Benefits. Not very canon compliant.

SYNOPSIS : You have been in love with your best friend Sakusa Kiyoomi for as long as you can remember. The problem? He is in love with somebody else. And for you to snag even the tiniest bit of his affections, it seems like you would willingly go through drastic measures.. Even if it means teaming up with his lifelong rival, Suna Rintarō

PS PS PS PS PLEASE LOOK AT THIS NOTE : 6k words. The paragraphs that start with a bold word (like this sentence) is Suna's actual feelings/POV. They are very small glimpses but it's just to make things clearer. The reason for the title of this act is in the end note. Listen to this song for the experience hehe thank u for the wait and likes/rbs mean the world to me ily all ! <3

TAGLIST : CLOSED

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The ground below you felt like it was falling apart, walls closing in on you as your eyes keep zooming in on the silhouette of Suna with another woman. You desperately wanted to look away but your pupils stay glued to them as you savor the feeling of your chest tightening in pain—a great reminder that you weren't dreaming, neither are you insane. The vision is clear, it's real—so is the shattering of your heart that almost deafens you the longer you stay unmoving. The sting in your eyes another thrust to reality as you refuse to blink at the way she leans even closer to him, his hold on her waist tightening.

Osamu holds you by the wrist to forcibly turn you around, his eyes skimming your face in worry before slowly softening along with the tightness of his grip on you.

"Should I take you back to the cabin?" He asks you hesitantly, slow and cautious like he doesn’t want to say the wrong words and possibly make you even more upset than you visibly are—no matter how hard you try to hide it.

Shaking your head in decline, you tiredly smile at him—shaking your arms away from his fingers, "It's fine, 'Samu."

He looks at you in hesitation, worry in his eyes slowly melting as he receives your message clearly. It wasn’t that you were uncomfortable with Osamu, it’s more on the fact that you know he is a dear friend to both of you and you weren’t too big of a fan at the thought of revealing all your weakness to him—albeit you trusted him. The conflicted emotions bubbling inside you were real despite the fact that you haven’t come to terms with accepting it yet.

Not to mention, it was humiliating. To be in the middle of a club, alone, while your boyfriend sits on a couch with another woman. Recovering from the initial shock, you refuse to even sneak a glance any longer—the image burned into your mind strong enough for you to recall it with every blink of your eyes

Looking around, your first worry would be if any prying eyes of your friends also saw the scene. You could take the humiliation, the embarrassment would probably dissipate as soon as it came. The idea of Suna being labeled as a cheater, something he's not, does make you flinch inwardly. You weren’t a saint. It's not that you’re trying to play the martyr who worries about other people instead of yourself. If anything, you're probably too selfish. You didn't want to hear the accusations fall on him as the price of what being with you requires.

He is supposed to be a free man. Suna Rintarō is a name everybody heard in these types of scenes and it wouldn't be a surprise to see a new woman on his arm every single week. Perhaps if you weren’t so insistent on locking him to you with your foolish requests—for your selfish benefits, maybe he'd have a better time. You couldn't imagine being tied down to the false responsibilities that come with fake-dating a person you didn’t even love.

Suna isn't like you. He's far from being someone like you. He wouldn't fall in love with you so easily as you did with him because he’s loyal to the woman he swore to steal back when he joined your hands together in agreement. He knows what your place in his life is and wasn’t fooled by the delusions that make everything seem so real. You, on the other hand, fail to recognize all the lines—all the boundaries.

Sighing in relief, it seems as if a load was taken off your chest at the relentless partying of your friends—oblivious as they keep themselves occupied with drinks and ladies. This night has done enough to wear you out, the last thing you want is finding excuses to feed the boys who would probably collapse at the reality of your situation. Osamu is one thing, but you don't fret over him too much—he's always been open-minded, understanding, never looking too shallow or too deeply into something before the truth is laid before him.

"'Samu," you begin, fidgeting slightly in your seat as he cranes his neck to you. "Just— Can you.. can you please not mention this to anyone? Let me handle it myself, please?"

He stays silent at that, cogs turning in his head before opening his mouth—possibly to ask you why you would want something like that until he closes it back in understanding, a smile on his lips as he nods along. "Of course, YN. If you need help handling him, tell me, yeah?"

"Of course."

You wouldn't but the gesture was too kind for you to decline. If anything, you would hate it for any more people to be involved in the web of troubles you've weaved. Knowing Osamu, he would probably be extremely willing, a mediator of sorts that stands between you and Suna—yet it still leaves a bitter taste in your tongue, an uncomfortable itch you couldn’t seem to shake off at the thought of absolutely anybody else knowing.

Not even a minute later, Suna comes around in the corner of your eyes—feet lazily dragging himself to the direction of Kageyama and grabbing him by the shoulders to whisper something. Lifting his head up, your breath hitches in your throat at the way your eyes meet even for a few seconds—the intensity of his golden-green irises too strong for you to simply brush off and ignore. The look on his face is passive—nothing but a small fleck of emotion beneath, restlessness and annoyance if you could tell.0

Eyes widening, you couldn’t stop the way you sit straightly at the realization that he’s walking straight to you—making a beeline through the crowd until he's right in front of you, eyes cast down before slowly whispering in your ear. "I'm not feeling well. Come back to the cabin with me?"

The request sounds almost too powerful to make you bend, the soft slur of his voice on your ear—deep and hoarse along with the cold blow of his breath on the skin of your neck. Osamu stays silent beside you, fingers twirling the ice on his glass as he gives you side-eyes every few seconds.

If this was a regular night, you would have your arms wrapped around Suna—face on his neck with his own arms around your waist. If you weren’t so confused and hung up on your feelings, you wouldn’t even think twice about it. However, the earlier incident still stings beneath your skin, the pits of your stomach churning in a fiery burn and it does anything but make saying yes an easy thing.

Suna looks and acts casually with you. Confidence radiating over his whole being as nothing gives away the fact that there had been another woman in his arms a while ago. Well, it’s how it should be, isn't it? This was a game. You weren't dating, weren't in love. He warned you that this was dangerous, and like a moth to a flame, you ignore all of that.

It's unfortunate, however—the rejection coming immediately after you admit your feelings with yourself. He was right to look at you with so much pity that day. You are pitiful. The luck all spent in you as you continuously fall in love with men who want nothing to do with you. As you keep fighting for all the feelings brewing inside of you for them, they're caught up fighting for a woman you barely stand a chance with.

After everything he did to warn you, you find yourself right in his very trap. You couldn't even hate him for it, even if you tried, even if you so badly want to. Who blames another for their own faults? He toys with seduction too easily, treats you with gentle care. Maybe it was the fact that you've never really been on the receiving end of those things your whole life. Maybe that’s why you’re making a fool of yourself as you fall right at his feet. You're helpless in front of the strings that keep pulling you to him.

Now, with your eyes on each other, connecting in such a way, you wonder how much of you he’s starting to unravel again. If he’s ripping your pages open like he always used to and figuring out that despite the way you act so tough around the idea of falling with him, your heart is harboring the feelings you’re not supposed to. He can look at you for a second and see through the deepest parts of your soul—no matter how cliché that sounded. Looking at you now, is he at least seeing the way your heart beats for him?

You hope so.

Courage didn’t come easy for you, opening your mouth with a shaky breath as you decide against the idea of staying with him tonight. Tomorrow is going to be a long day, you know.

"I'll stay for a little longer," you finally breathe out, eyes looking anywhere but him in fear of getting found out—the truth about how badly you wanted to come with him, sink in him, get lost in him no matter how stupid it sounded.

He doesn't immediately reply, eyes dragging over you and Osamu who gives him a reassuring nod—a silent message that says he'll take care of you at least while Suna isn't around. From your peripheral, you see Suna sharply inhale, a quiet goodbye falling from his lips as he walked towards the exit.

Bye, Suna.

Last night was denial, the pain that comes along in the form of a knife that feels like it’s sucking all of you—yet you couldn’t bring yourself to find a reason for the hurt. Because you knew that if only you were a little stronger and refused the building feelings inside you, you wouldn't be hurting as much as you do now.

You're angry—both at yourself and him as the fresh remnants of last night sink into you the moment you open your eyes. Angry at yourself for getting dragged along, letting yourself get played like you always do. Angry at him for making a fool out of you, getting so easily strung by a beautiful woman when he was in this stupid scheme with you. Your emotions felt like it was spilling everywhere. You felt like a goddamn drama queen who couldn't handle watching her crush get with another woman even when he wasn't even hers, to begin with.

The heavy feeling in your heart intensifies as you leave the bed you're supposed to share with him—his side cold and abandoned as he failed to stay beside you even for one more night. He's not stupid. He could probably tell of the dilemma plaguing you last night, and still, you wished you felt him wrap his arms around you—a reassurance that you at least meant a little more than what you make yourself to be, no matter how immature that sounded.

Today's plan was simple: eat your breakfast, talk to Suna and settle everything about the boundaries of being in this fake relationship. Maybe even end everything if it comes to that.

What wasn’t included in the plan, however, is you bumping into Omi on your way down the stairs.

Cursing in your head, you're once again put in a tight spot as a result of your stupidity—mind too incredibly preoccupied that you didn’t notice someone colliding with you. Wobbling at your feet, you immediately lose balance at the collision and impact of someone's hard chest—sending you back until familiar hands were suddenly gripping your elbows, steadying you against him.

You could tell immediately who it is—drawing a deep breath as you slowly glance up at the man before you, eyes and vision shaky as you try to avoid meeting the inevitable. With much uncertainty, your eyes connect almost painfully, veins spiking at the face of the man you were so used to loving and running after. And he still looked as beautiful as you remember him to be.

The strong cool scent of his cologne whiffing your senses as he stares down at you, onyx eyes narrowing at you as the waves of his hair frames the sides of his face as captivating as it's always been.

He doesn't speak immediately, eyes taking in your appearance and the obvious distraught in your head. Along with that are the hesitations that play in his mind—of whether he was ready to face what he’s been avoiding for months. Perhaps it was finally time to let go of the attitude that holds him back from having you back beside him.

The grip on your elbows tighten and loosen as the seconds pass, Sakusa grimacing to himself as he lets out a breath—cough forcing its way out of him, snapping out of his reverie.

"Omi—"

"Excuse me," he shakes his head, as if breaking out of a trance before letting go of your wrist as he advances up the stairs. Empty, overbearing feelings flooding your body at his refusal to settle whatever it is that's dampening your friendship.

You couldn’t even blame him—even if you tried. You couldn't imagine how you'd feel if he were to suddenly start dating a person you've never been in good terms with your whole life. You felt as if you ruined whatever trust and expectation Sakusa had for you. People would say he's being too much about it, that your choice in men shouldn't be that big of a bother to him as long as you're happy. But if anything, you doubt it was the fact that you were "dating" Suna. Rather, it's probably the way you left him in the dark—no communication of something that you knew would be a big deal to him. Your friendship with him has never been so shallow but you grew up bare with each other—every corner and detail about your lives known to one another, so whatever it was about Sakusa was justified in your head.

It pained you the way things turn out. You want nothing more than to stop him as he moves past you, rest in his arms as you restore the treasure you shared with him. But if it was more time he needed, you'd give it to him.

Walking along the road, the cold breeze that hits you brings you back to the way Sakusa touched your wrist. It felt so strong, firm, real. He was beside you then, encasing your skin so closely with yours and yet the absence of the feelings you were expecting to feel puts you in a loop of both disbelief and confusion.

There wasn't the electricity in your veins the same way you feel when Suna brushes his skin with yours. Not the butterflies and heat that spreads throughout your body when his eyes follow your movements. The sparks that never seem to end when he speaks to you not making even the slightest appearance with Sakusa. It was confusing, to say the least. Maybe you shouldn't even look for those feelings in a situation as tense as your encounter with him, but you know those are mere excuses.

More than anything, it was terrifying. It wasn’t a phase, not a simple moment of confusion in your distorted feelings—not because you've gotten used to getting the affections from Suna when you couldn’t with Sakusa. Even if you tried to escape it, you knew it was genuine—every smile, blush, tears you’ve ever shed for a man who sees you as nothing but a tool he'd use for another woman, much like what he was to you just a few months ago.

Deep down, it has always been nagging at the back of your head—how you wished to be the one in his arms, texting him good mornings and goodnights forever, but you didn’t allow them a second thought. The convenience store trips stopped being a normal thing to you a while ago, holding every destination close to your heart as you let yourself feel special every time he's sliding in your bed using the spare key you've given him of your home—slowly nudging you awake as he asks if you want to come with him.

You always said yes, the butterflies inside you erupting when he would teasingly tell you how it almost feels like we're really dating, yeah? with a sly grin on his face.

He's right. It all felt too real. Now, you’re stuck in a delusion that you were two people in a normal relationship—free to love, free to get jealous. That he was yours as much as you were his.

Reentering the house after an hour of wandering around the town, you return to find an empty living room. Voices of the people you’re sharing the cabin with coming from a distance. With the sliding doors of the backyard slightly ajar, you slowly make your way outside—ignoring the hard beat of your chest.

The moment you step into the backyard, your eyes automatically find the very first person you wish to see. He has changed into a much fresher set of clothes—white shirt beneath one of his jackets with the ends of his hair dripping with wetness, a small detail that tells you he had just gotten out of the shower. Despite the way your heart breaks, you couldn’t help but gape at the way he looks—breathtaking, beautiful, perfect as one can be. It was almost cheesy, straight out of a description in a romance novel but it all felt so right with Suna. He was every single bit of the term beautiful personified.

Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad. Because you knew you wouldn't be able to have someone so beautiful in your arms in your life. You were simply the type of person who didn't deserve it. Sakusa was enough of an example and this time, you didn't want to hope any longer, didn't want to take any more chances.

It takes a lot for your attention to be taken off of Suna, but a figure beside him does the job way too quickly. If anyone were to ever be the perfect piece to stand beside him, it would probably be her—you could tell as you look at them from a distance. She's close to him, way too close, for your liking. It wasn’t that she was doing anything that threatens your position in his life, she wasn't even looking at him, but her mere existence pushes you three steps back every single time. Every single time you think you have a chance, she breaks them too quickly.

Yura.

Her eyes gleam the way you always remember it to, giggling at something Atsumu said as she throws her head back—hair falling on Suna's shoulders at the proximity shared between them. His eyes follow her every movement, lashes flickering with every smile she sends on someone's way and an upturn on the corner of his lips whenever her eyes would so much as fly over to him in a split second. He doesn’t turn at the creak of the sliding doors as you tug it close, attention solely made for the woman beside him.

Omi is a little farther from the pair, helping Osamu as they both barbecue the meat in the grill on the corner. The rest of the group sits huddled together around one of the fire pits in a circle.

Only when you start sitting across from him did he notice your presence, head jerking a little at the shadow that falls in front of him—eyebrows slightly rising when he sees you. Yura and Sakusa have arrived a day earlier than you were expecting them to be, dread settling in your stomach as you wonder what that might mean for you and Suna. Just how much time do you have before he ends this show?

You ate your food in silence, his eyes stuck to yours in an intense stare but you ignore him—letting the chatter of the others fill your mind. Bokuto's loud voice along with Atsumu and Hinata's serve as a very good distraction and a great way for you to avoid questions on why you and Suna aren't acknowledging each other—a direct contrast to Sakusa who sits on Yura's other side, hand around her waist as she leans back and nuzzles on his neck.

"Is it just me or is there some weird tension around here?" Bokuto suddenly interrupts without much thought, shrugging his shoulders before pushing up meat with his chopsticks on his mouth—making his next words a bit gurgled, "You know, like at the party?"

"Bokuto-san," Akaashi whispers next to him, voice low like a warning.

"No, yeah, YN's been actin' weird since this morning, 'eh?" Atsumu agrees quickly, laughing a little at his statement before Osamu pinches his arm—making him yelp out in pain.

"Ignore him," Osamu looks at you apologetically, eyes knowing as the only witness of what happened the night before while Kageyama looks anywhere but you, tensing at the realization that whatever is about to go down probably wouldn't be too nice.

Suna looks back at you blankly, leg bouncing beside Yura's who also looks at you with wide eyes. It wasn’t rational, to say the least. It was immature of you, foolish even. It wasn’t your character. But the longer the silence stretches over the seconds, the longer he stares at you beside the woman he loves with a face devoid of emotions even while you continuously break inside, the more the feelings swell inside you—threatening to burst.

You felt angry. You knew it was more to yourself than him but perhaps your denial was stronger than your reason, you keep finding in him the faults that wouldn't even exist had you not involved feelings. There was nothing to blame him for. He played the part when he had to, stuck by your side for months. But now, all you can do is blame him—even if it was wrong, even if you shouldn't.

Gritting your teeth, you sigh gently before looking up to meet Suna's eyes directly—the scenes of last night playing in your mind clearly. "Sorry, it’s just—" you stop yourself, drawing a deep breath before saying firmly, "I hate it when people don’t think about their actions and risk something for those that aren't even worth it."

Now you have definitely ruined everything. Taking last night as a catalyst, you pretend as if it was the only thing wrong about this whole thing. Pretending and fooling both yourself and him that it’s what driving this anger instead of the feelings brewing inside you. The place to tell him what’s worth it or not isn't even yours to claim.

With furrowed brows, Atsumu presses the topic. “Ya mean Sunarin? Are ya two in the middle of a fight or somethin'?”

The blonde-haired twin might have found it humorous, but you didn’t. Not in the slightest as Suna's eyes on you further grow in intensity, narrowing like he’s trying to think of what is causing the rift between you. Osamu lowly hisses at his twin, muttering a you never know when to shut up, do you? with a nudge to his side. The rest of the circle looks at you either with confused stares or doing all they can to avoid being involved.

"Is everything alright?" Yura asks sweetly, grip on Sakusa's arm tightening as she leans her head down to look at the expression on Suna's face, then yours.

For some reason, the sweet tone of her voice always makes you want to gag. The kindness laced in every word she says is just another slap to your face on why everybody would always like her more than they like you. Your attempts to open your mouth, a reassurance threatening to fall from your lips as you try to lie your way around by saying you were joking gets interrupted as a voice you haven’t heard of the whole day cuts through the thick tension in the air.

"Ah," Suna humorlessly chuckles in realization, clicking his tongue with his head hung low before turning over to you. It seems his hunch was right. You did see what happened last night and it's what's causing this attitude. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous?" The mockery in his face is strong, determination to hurt each other clear in both of your words. "Didn't expect you'd be so possessive. Not sure how I feel about that, baby."

It takes a lot to aggravate Suna. Usually, he'd be someone who would rather brush such matters off. But somehow, with you, he feels as though he could burst right now and it still wouldn't be enough to contain whatever it is that burns inside him. He flinches when he thinks of you. He feels choked up, heart in his throat every single time he looks at what situation he has put both of you through.

Your eyes narrow as it snaps up to meet his face, lips curling in faux amusement as your vision blurs in frustration. He, on the other hand, seems incredibly relaxed—not a trace of uncertainty as he tries to keep pushing your buttons, taunting you. This is the problem with Suna. He was much too determined to win every game both of you would ever play.

"Well, I'm sorry I seem to value communication and trust, Suna," you bite back sarcastically with a glare, words slipping through your teeth as you notice the way Osamu tenses in the corner of your eyes. "Didn't expect it'd be too much to ask of you."

He tips his head sideways at that, hair falling on his cheeks as he lifts a brow. You could almost hear both the heartbreak and regret before he could even open his mouth, "Weren’t you aware of this thing called, I don’t know YN, limits? The tone in his voice makes you swallow, emphasis heavy on the last words as he holds fluent eye contact with you. "Sometimes, people need to learn how to back off," he spits, tongue slipping past his teeth before slowly nodding at you. "I think now’s a good time for you to practice, yeah?"

The words die in your mouth, the message of his words clear and delivered. He's telling you to fuck off about his business—your eyes stinging with a glare as his face gleams with annoyance.

Everyone else in the circle looks around in confusion. Nobody daring to speak in fear of making things worse. Sakusa's eyes don't leave yours, watching every expression that crosses your face so much that it makes you want to run over to his arms for whatever comfort he has left to give. Yura looks between both you and Suna in worry, eyes laced with an expression you couldn’t exactly tell apart as your vision starts blurring.

Unable to bear the tension paired with the eyes of the people around you, you stand up abruptly—exiting the balcony as you make a beeline for your shared bedroom with Suna, not expecting he’d stand right up to follow, feet creating a sound heavier than what it originally sounds in your head as you mentally prepare. The moment he closes the door behind him, it's as if the emotions poured out of you.

It was embarrassing. How you're breaking apart so messily for him. The glare you send his way is not nearly as threatening as your eyes mirror the pain behind it.

"I wish I was as big of a dick as you to find a hot guy in a club and flirt with him in front of my supposed boyfriend and all of our friends, Suna. I really wish I was," you tell him, throat tightening as you try to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. He definitely thinks you're crazy. You've lost your goddamn mind being angry at him like this, but what are you supposed to do? Cry for him and his nonexistent feelings for you? "But I'm not. Fake relationship or not, I actually care about us."

You were almost choking out the words, Suna's eyes turning into slits as he scoffs at you, "You fucking saw me with a woman once and really thought I was about to fuck her? Not everyone is like you."

The last line makes you flinch, a reminder of your first encounter with him a few months ago being thrown at you so painfully this time when you used to always tease each other about it just a few weeks prior.

"Maybe you weren’t going to but I know what I saw and you know what the consequences that would bring for both of us. I'm not stupid, Suna," you take a step forward, the blood in your veins spiking by the second as your nerves feel like reaching their limit.

He mirrors your action, taking another taunting step at you as well, "Unlike you, I respect the feelings I have for Yura, YN," he bites back, words much harsher than you would've thought he was capable of. His voice isn't even rising, not like yours is, but it was slicing right through you as if it was. "I don't go throwing myself to just anybody," he makes a point, the next words to fall from his lips, something you've already anticipated, seeing the direction this conversation is going to—but that didn't make it all hurt any less. "Have you ever thought about how much you claim to love Sakusa and yet your first thought was to sleep with me?"

He should just shut the fuck up. Suna knows the words slipping out of his mouth were words he didn't mean. He never minded how you approached him, didn't care that you were throwing a fit over seeing him with another woman, he could so easily put an end to this. But he’s stubborn. He refuses to put out the fire and is instead adding fuel to it, burning you as much as it burns him. He might as well be out of his mind, he thinks, with how much this whole thing is fucking with his head—messing him up much more than he would ever like to admit.

If you weren’t so used to hiding your emotions, holding back the tears with how many times you've done it in Sakusa's presence, you were pretty sure you would have broken down by now—having reached your limit as you endure the truths coming out of Suna's mouth. He must have thought you were so easy and it was funny how you were getting mad at him for something you were so used to doing.

"At least I have self-respect, Suna," you offer your last rebuttal, words flowing out of you without much thought as you let your emotions carry the words for you, eyes stinging as you dig your nails into your palms. "I don't go around doing whatever the hell I want and make a fool out of myself for being so careless, so easily swayed, to the point that I couldn’t even consider how it would affect others." You were barely hearing the words coming out of your mouth, ears ringing so loudly in your head. The only thing you were certain of is the fact that you'd regret all of this the moment you calm down.

Except right now, you couldn’t really care less.

His eyes turn dark, clearly not liking your choice of words as he speaks at you with much venomous tone—laughing darkly as he finds the right spot to hurt, the right buttons to push. He has always been able to read you so well, he's hardly ever wrong about anything when it comes to you. Maybe that’s why breaking your heart was so easy for him. He probably knew you were dancing right at the palm of his hands and he would take advantage of that.

"Self-respect?" He throws his head back, eyes narrow and firm as he says the final blow to you—a damage that made you release the choke you've been holding back. "I am not the one letting myself get dragged along like.. this by a man who doesn't even give a fucking damn about her. Especially when it’s so clear he's only using her to get the woman he really wants," he almost spits the words out, pain crossing his eyes so quickly that you were pretty sure you must have just imagined it.

He was thrusting the truth right in front of you. Saying the words clear enough to snap you out of this delusion you've made up in your head—seriously believing you had a chance. That things were going to work out. A part of you almost wants to be thankful, that he’s making it clear before you have a chance to distort it all in your head again.

"How much self-respect do you really have to keep," he searches for the words, pausing as he swallows thickly at the look on your face. "hurting yourself like this on a guy who doesn’t even like you enough to take you seriously?"

Suna knows it hurts. Suna knows you're breaking as he watches the crumbling look on your face. He should've stopped a while ago. He should've told you about how desperately he was pushing that woman away as she tries getting with him relentlessly. How he was telling her to back off because he has you and you were around. He's a taken man albeit fake, staged.

However, Suna also knows. The fact that you’re toying around the line he wouldn't dare to cross with you and you're so dangerously close. A little more push and you would’ve been in that danger zone, risking yourself for what he wasn’t sure he could protect you from. He thinks it'd be better for you to trip right now and if it meant pushing you back from that line, he found he'd do whatever it takes. To him, you meant much more than he’d care to admit. If the price he had to pay was to feed you with words he never meant as he watches you cry in front of him, he thinks so be it.

The sight in front of him drains the energy in him, legs giving out as he sits on the bed he left you alone with last night. Turning your head down, you slowly move from your position—no arguments left to give as the dryness in your throat would probably betray you anyway.

Your mistake was falling in love with him. Acting like a girlfriend he was supposed to stay loyal to and getting mad at the nonexistent commitment both of you made with each other. It was a pity, how you had to bring up things you knew he could counter you for and now you're left to pick the broken pieces of your heart as it falls beneath his feet.

In Suna's head, he thinks of a billion ways he could come up with an apology, racking his brain for whatever he can do to stop you from leaving—even while knowing he wanted this, he caused this. Because you were right, he was a fool, who couldn't handle situations like this well enough. He would always be carried by his emotions and he would always say the wrong things.

As your fingers reach for the doorknob, a voice calls out to you—a small whisper of your name yet stern and firm. A determined promise and a desperate request as you get yet another rejection from the man you want.

"Don't fall in love."

END NOTE : Title of the chapter is from this song and the lyrics that go "I know that you don't but if I ask you if you love me, I hope you lie to me."

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