#the reader's character as well as insight into the the type of relationship she n lino will have and how it will likely resurface old wound

[subskz]

…i lost the tag limit war

the reader changing the subject the instant she feels seen by minho is such a subtle but valuable hint that i think says a lot abt the type of person she is, that moment really stood out to me! i know i literally just said this but right down to every minute detail, you've characterized both lino and the reader so masterfully it has to be the most enjoyable aspect of this story for me...and on top of that i just love how you write their conversations so much, they’re both such lil nerds…my intellectually stimulating smarties debating w each other even now 🥰 it all feels so comfortable and natural and draws me into their relationship w such ease!

their discussion abt colors is hands down one of my favorite scenes in all of invisible thread!! it's such an oddly heartwarming conversation and that perfect, out-of-the-box way of thinking that’s just so undeniably minho...it almost reminds me of synesthesia how he describes feelings through color! "the very essence of our humanity" "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean" the way you embodied each colors through emotions/experiences was so wonderfully done, i understood each one instantly like it was a picture being visualized before my eyes. it makes it even more touching that minho and the reader come to understand each other on a whole new level through that way of communicating their moods <3 and for some reason when he gives the example "i feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to" that really tugged at my heartstrings ㅠ it almost feels like he isnt just giving a hypothetical there, like he's giving a small glimpse into his true feelings without saying it outright. maybe he feels invisible deep down, too

them falling asleep together on facetime was so soft and tender ㅠㅠ leave it to lino to ramble abt sous-vide as a bedtime story and complain abt getting SCAMMED lmao the way that is actually smth he would say 😭 "he closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on" this line got me so good ): it seems at first that he's bringing the reader peace but she's bringing him peace in her own way as well...her feelings abt his eyes changing from fear to longing is such a lovely detail and HER COMPLIMENTING THEM!!! HIS STUNNED REACTION </3 "this is the first genuine compliment he's ever received" oh my god does my moss green theory actually have any merit.....does he really feel invisible to the world too...do not do this to me sahar ㅠㅠ but the way he thinks such lovely, adoring things abt the reader in that moment but instead of voicing them he whines abt being hungry....so endearing and so HIM i cant get enough of how youve written minho here ur singlehandedly reminding me why he is allegedly the love of my life

the kintsugi mention made my heart leap in my chest!!! "when you look at that vase, you know it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty" please...that sentence in itself is so moving when you apply it to the context of what the reader has been through her whole life, not just a single crack but repeated breakages. and for it to come from someone like minho; it feels like exactly what the reader needs to hear to truly begin to heal herself...he doesn't coddle her but is still so gentle, putting things into perspective like nobody else can w his unique worldview and mental strength ㅠㅠ and i think i just lost my mind realizing that this scene loops right back to the clay comparison you drew at the beginning of the story oh my GOD....the reader is like a clay pot molded by her mother, broken in places and repaired over and over to create smth still damaged but just as valuable...and lino is the gold filling in the cracks....sahar you are INSANE for this one im kissing ur brain and tucking it gently into bed

the scene w minho in the rain 😞 i was not prepared to see my meow meow upset...but i love the way you wrote it so much. how oddly quiet he is, even to the point where he's not commenting in class or teasing her, and that's the key detail that lets the reader know smth's off w him...i also love that nothing in particular caused his low mood. it's such a human quality, and he allows himself to be human and feel his feelings until they pass. "he knew his emotions would regulate themselves" i cant explain why this line stood out to me so much i really love it, i think it's just such a shining example of minho's mindset...not necessarily optimistic, but practical enough to not be completely swamped by the darkness either. it creates such an interesting contrast to the reader's personality to see how they both handle their emotions, w her pushing hers away and him letting them run their course. but the fact that he typically tries to retreat into himself until he feels better, yet strangely enough, he doesn't mind it as much as he'd expect when the reader catches him in a vulnerable state...my babies ㅠ i also really loved the part where he uses her shower and thinks abt the scent of her soap as he washes up, it's so so sweet n intimate i'm such a sucker for things like that ): there are so many small things minho notices abt her like it's the most natural thing in the world, they're both so attentive of one another

"you were both just trying to make it through the day" and "he knew he wasn't invisible. at least not to you" were critical hits to my heart...it feels like a breakthrough in their relationship—the first time the reader truly truly sees minho, all sides of him, and she accepts them all without question <3

the gradual progression of their friendship is so gratifying to read bc of how organically you made it all flow together!! i adore the entire sequence that shows us how they start to care for each other more and more…the casual intimacy of the reader applying her lip tint to his lips (and him not studying for his quiz on purpose 😭💗 come ON) lino worrying abt her eating enough, the reader tying his bangs out of his eyes, complimenting him so matter-of-factly, and him BLUSHING ALL OVER THE PLACE it’s so over for me x2 they are so tender in their actions even when they tease each other nonstop. it all leads up so perfectly to the point in the story where minho finds himself being drawn to her apartment without even realizing it when he doesn't feel well. the subtle shift from him initially trying to shut her out bc he's so used to managing his bad days on his own, to him eventually leaning in to her kindness and seeking her company instead...and the way she just understands what he needs immediately, allows him to sit in silence and simply exist in peace next to her. describing his mood as "too much of every color" really struck a chord w me as well...i'm just so so in love w the running theme of colors you included throughout this story, it's such a brilliant way to put emotions into words <3

the lil parallels here n there from the beginning of their relationship until now are so cute as well; how lino makes breakfast for her the first time and leaves before she wakes up, but this time, he promises to stay and eat with her...to not be invisible ㅠㅠ i think what's making me craziest of all is how they're both so hyperaware of each other's touch. like when their shoulders brushed while sharing the reader's umbrella, how the reader suddenly finds it difficult to concentrate on her book when lino holds her wrist as she shields him from the sunlight...and little does she know it's the exact same for him too, like when she rested her head on his thigh and all he could focus on was the sensation of her hair tickling him 😭 they are so enamored w each other and have become so tangled up in each other little by little...they don't even fully realize it yet but they've made a permanent place in each other's lives now

"you were already on the other side, you realize. his eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey" oh my GOD!!! ㅠㅠㅠㅠ her feelings abt minho's eyes changing from fear, to longing, to at last the comfort of getting to see the other side of those black holes...this line hit me like a truck it might be my favorite from the entire fic ㅠ i have a feeling i'll be saying that abt many more lines to come when you verbalize things in the most poetic ways imaginable heheh but this one truly got me so good, the delicacy in which you describe minho makes the reader's growing affection for him all the more heart-fluttering~

minho hesitating to wipe her tears )): the way he's so careful abt touching her in any unwarranted way bc he can sense that she shies away from skinship is so devastatingly sweet...and then him pinching her right after to make her stop crying NEVERMIND I CANT STAND HIM ACTUALLY. but the way he consoles her is so endearing and so so minho...very simple and sincere, he knows her well enough to immediately figure out the best way to take her mind off of the issue instead of dwelling on it. "you didn't care what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it" i've already pointed out so many lines oh my god i'm so sorry but each one is like another arrow through my heart ㅠㅠ i feel like this sentence is such a perfect testament to the reader and lino's relationship; they've both seen each other at their best and worst and it doesn't change anything abt their feelings, they care for each other unconditionally 😞 also the reader being afraid of physical touch bc she craves it is SO heartbreaking but so raw...i think it aligns so well w her past bc she's so used to either being invisible, or only being perceived negatively when she is perceived. it makes perfect sense how terrifying she'd find it to bare herself to minho when her whole life she's been deprived of genuine affection...you've really done such a phenomenal job of characterizing both her and lino i cant say it enough!

now...the entire final scene...where do i even begin...i had a feeling the climax of the story was going to hurt but not like this ㅠㅠ the reader's inner turmoil as she debates reaching out to her mother again, that conflicting mix of hating her yet somehow still missing her...it's such an inexplicable and confusing feeling for ppl who have experienced that kind of neglect but so so real and you captured it so candidly. it really added a whole new layer to the reader's humanity, for her to be unable to completely let go of their relationship no matter how painful it is to hold on to...for her to cling to the hope that maybe she could be worth smth to her mother if she did everything right ): i genuinely had the exact same reaction as her when you revealed that her mother had deleted her phone number...it felt precisely like a bucket of ice cold water to the head. the reader trying to pinpoint the exact moment in time where her mother stopped loving her was what really crushed me most...what a heart-wrenching sentence ㅠㅠ the fact that she's tried to hard to find solace in other places and people and tried to grow into her own person after entering university, but even so, those marks left from her childhood are still there...a vase full of cracks 💔 as much as it hurts to read, i love that you included this bump in the road of her healing journey and made a point to highlight that healing isn't linear

and minho 😭😭😭😭😭 the way he handled the reader's outburst is so touching...the way he's immediately able to recognize that her feelings are misplaced and smth much deeper is going on beyond what he sees on the surface...using that astuteness to put his own feelings to the side in the moment is so minho. this entire scene is just blossoming with powerful lines i can't forget, but i was especially affected by the reader saying "i'd need you and i can't afford to need someone else." it's such a tragic summarization of her in my opinion...how she went her whole life being unable to rely on anyone but herself, so the moment she's faced w minho, all her instincts say to reject it no matter how badly she craves that intimacy ㅠㅠ and lino saying "i'll be by your side for as long as you'll have me" is such a beautiful declaration of love...it's so selfless and unconditional, and it fits so seamlessly w how their relationship progressed throughout the story, how they were by each other's sides at their best and worst moments.

"the world doesn't stop because we need it to" "we'll make it stop" and then describing their kiss as like "seeing color for the first time"...i'm going to melt into an inconsolable puddle over all these callbacks to their first date together don't think i didn't catch the ways you weaved those in throughout this final scene..you made it feel so complete, like things have come full circle. i already mentioned how much i loved their conversation abt describing colors to the blind, so for their first kiss to be written that way, like the reader was blind to the true color of the world until she met minho....i am going to be ill that is so intensely romantic sahar ㅠㅠㅠㅠ

"he was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together." another heartaching line ): what a way to personify the quiet love minho provides...it may be invisible to everyone else, but not to her

i'm so sorry for my horrifically long comment haha but i'm just thrilled i was finally able to read this beautiful fic 😞 just as i'd predicted, you're a phenomenal writer!! the amount of love and effort you poured into it went above and beyond, i hope you're so proud of yourself for creating such a stunning work!! it's very clear to me how every interaction you wrote between minho and the reader was so carefully thought out and so meaningful to the overarching theme of the story, it's all done with care and purpose and there's smth special to be found in each line of dialogue! it's like you carefully stacked more and more on to the foundation of their bond until before we know it, there's an entire home there that they built steadily together. that kind of subtle progression is my absolute favorite thing. i'm also so blown away by how the reader's mother, though never actually making an appearance until the final scene, has such an heavy impact over the narrative. it's like she's a ghost haunting the reader's every action, every decision, every inner thought...i find it so impressive how you were able to incorporate that effect into the story without us even needing to meet the mother! and i must've mentioned countless lines that stuck w me throughout the fic, but just know that there are countless more i could've pointed out as well...you truly write so so beautifully. so poetic and emotive, but also not so flowery that it becomes hard to follow, i'm truly floored by your ability to achieve that perfect balance! on top of the story being so immersive in itself, your writing style made invisible thread such a genuine delight to read <3

this feels like the kind of story i'll be thinking abt for a long time after finishing it, the kind to revisit over n over bc i'm sure there are so many lil easter eggs you included that i may have missed! i'm positive i'll come back to it many times in the future hehe...but i can't wait to read more of your writing as well! ^_^

Invisible thread- one

pairing : minho x reader

genre : university au, academic rivals to lovers (rivals not enemies because they respect each other), slow burn, fluff, angst.

warnings : reader has a very bad relationship with her mother, insecurities, talk about murder but as a joke, mention of alcohol, reader has she/her pronouns.

summary : Your studies were your lifeline for as long as you can remember. What happens when Minho comes into your life and rips it away from you?

word count : 20k

Author's note : I've been working on this fic on and off for the past two months, so if you do enjoy reading, please let me know. asks, comments, reblogs i read them all and they truly make me the happiest <3 (also i based this off my own college experience, where we study two terms and there is one person on top of the class every semester)

part two

You have always been first in your class.

Not because you particularly enjoyed studying. You simply felt that your worth was solely tied to the marks on your papers.

You never wanted to crumble under the pressure of studies, to hole yourself up in your room for an assignment you won’t remember in a month. But achieving good grades was the only way for you to feel seen; to make someone stop in their tracks and acknowledge you. 

A simple “good job” that you preserved inside your mind, as a reminder that you did exist to other people. Considering that the majority of your life was spent in silence. 

Your mom put a roof above your head and food on your table, but she never asked about your day, nor did she seem to care. You felt as though you were no more important to her than the tapestry hanging on your wall.

At times, you imagined that if you stood close enough to that tapestry, you could merge with it as one. The intricate embroidery would wrap around you and draw you in. And your mother wouldn’t notice. She would regard you with the same indifference she showed towards that textile- a mere decoration, at times a nuisance when she had to dust it.

You always ate your dinner alone. When you scraped your knee, you tended to the wound by yourself. No one attended your childhood musicals, and you patted your back when you cracked an egg without dropping a shell into the bowl. 

You’ve come to learn since your young age that all your milestones, both small and significant, would be celebrated alone. 

On the rare times your mother would acknowledge your presence, she’d unleash a flurry of criticism your way as if she was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to strike you down. She'd toss crude comments over her shoulder as easily as a casual hello, leaving you feeling battered and bruised in her wake. 

You felt as if you were shoreline rocks, and your mother was the ocean. You never knew if she would be like a gentle tide, barely brushing against you, or an enraged storm, mercilessly crashing down on your being. And you weren't sure which one was worse: to be invisible or to be seen and despised.  

That’s why you grew up plagued with self-doubt. You made friends throughout your school years but you never allowed them to get close enough to really see you -you feared that they might glimpse the very thing your mother seemed to despise in you. 

Throughout your childhood, you were like soft clay in your mother's hands- pliable, and easy to mold. And she indented you, everywhere, carved in edges and dips where they should not have been ones. Handled you roughly when you should have been treated with care. And as the years went by, you hardened- much like clay, but her touch remained imprinted upon you. It was difficult at times to discern who you were and who she made you to be.

You tried to start anew when you went away to university; to rewire your brain into believing that you were enough- you exist and you shouldn't prove to anyone that you deserved to be alive. But her words haunted you, they were like skeletons in your closet- but the closet was you. You could never part from them.

So, you fell back into the same pattern of seeking good grades and congratulatory words from your professors. Every A+ you got infused you with a momentary sense of worthiness.

But unlike in high school, you weren't always the best. Your competition came in the form of a single man named Minho, who seemed to excel in every class you shared.

Minho was mostly quiet, but whenever he spoke, you found that his words carried weight. Your professors consistently agreed with his points, and you envied the confidence he exuded. You wondered what it must feel like to be so sure of oneself.

It wasn't until a month into the year that you had your first interaction with Minho. You were in your Constitutional Law class when your professor Kim brought up the notion of ‘Separation of Powers’. You were arguing that judges shouldn’t be included in the writings of law when you heard a scoff from the row behind you. You turned around, raising a brow at the culprit, "Is there something you’d like to say?" you asked.

And in response, Minho smiled lazily, an air of smugness surrounding him, "I just don’t agree." The professor urged him to explain himself, so he leaned back into his chair, eyeing you. "Judges are the ones who practice the law every day, and sometimes they find that none of the written texts fit their case. If they get involved in lawmaking, they can help address those gaps or uncertainties." 

"Who's to say that those judges aren’t biased or politically motivated? They’ll end up writing laws to fit their own preferences," you pointed out, raising an eyebrow at him. "We elect judges to interpret and apply laws, not make them. If they start writing laws too, we'll be violating the separation of powers between the legislative and judicial branches. That's what keeps our entire system from crumbling."

Minho rested his chin on his hand, tapping his cheek thoughtfully with his index finger. "Aren’t legislators prone to biases too? Your point doesn’t stand then," he challenged, tilting his head to the side, "and judges can participate without going overboard. They can provide input on proposed laws without actually drafting them. That way, we ensure that the laws are crafted with a clear understanding of how they'll be put into practice." 

"If your main concern is to ensure that the laws are impartial, we have people who work as consulting experts whose job is exactly that," you flashed him an innocent smile, firing back. "Also, wouldn’t these overstepping branches put the judges in a position to be perceived in a bad light? Is that what you want?"

Before Minho could respond, Mr. Kim intervened, putting an end to your debate, "Let's save this energy for your essays and see who can convince me more."

You gave a quick nod, swiveling in your seat without a backward glance. However, you could sense Minho’s gaze penetrating through your back- as if he was trying to read your most intimate thoughts. 

That was the first thing you noticed about Minho when he walked over to you. His eyes were brown, not a special color by any means. But they held a certain depth to them that seemed to draw you in like a black hole. You weren't sure what you would find on the other side, nor did you have any desire to find out.

He outstretched his hands towards you, stopping you in your tracks. "Minho," he introduced and your hand met his in a firm grip. The second thing you noticed about him was the coldness of his hand, as it wrapped tightly around your palm. 

Suddenly you were taken back to when you built a snowman for the first and last time. You were just seven and the ice was freezing, numbing your fingers as you worked. Your mother never told you that you should’ve worn mittens, or a thick jacket to fight off the cold when she saw you walking out of the house. The memory of your cold hands and the horrible illness that followed still left a bitter taste in your mouth, like an unripe fruit. With a jolt you dropped his hand, forcefully pulling yourself away from that memory. 

"Yn," you said back, and he smiled to himself, repeating your name slowly, each syllable dripping from his tongue.  

"We'll see who'll write the best essay, right?" he asked, clearly challenging you. There was a gleam of excitement in his eyes that reminded you of a child gazing up at cotton candy. 

That was the third thing you noticed about Minho; how expressive his eyes were. They moved with his every word, punctuating them. 

He was infuriating but also amusing. You've never had a clear competitor in your life. Or maybe you had, but you didn't notice them. You were always so reclined on yourself, trying to survive the day, you didn't pay enough attention to your surroundings.

"You want to compete with me?" You asked, and he smirked, leaning against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest. "What? Scared you’d lose?"

"Please." You rolled your eyes at his taunting, "Don’t come crying when I win."

"We’ll see about that!" He shouted after you as you walked ahead, leaving him behind.

This essay was insignificant. A simple way for your professor to assess your knowledge and work approach. And yet, you found yourself staying up all night to complete it. There was no way you were going to let Minho take this one thing from you.

Who were you if not the best in your studies? You were deathly afraid to find out. 

Later on that week, the professor handed you your grade back, 98%. You turned around to show Minho your mark, and so did he. You surpassed him, only by mere percents. "I told you so," you smiled cheekily and he pouted, holding a hand to his heart as if your grade wounded him.

"I'll beat you next time", he mouthed and you chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

✹✹✹

The first time you studied with Minho was in a cat café near campus, called Limbo, about two weeks after your initial interaction. You stumbled upon it serendipitously while strolling through your university town. You couldn’t study at home, since you were easily distracted in there, and the eerie silence of libraries often left you unsettled.

Limbo, however, offered the perfect middle-ground: it was calm, not overly crowded, and the buzzing of the coffee machine blended harmoniously with the occasional mewls of cats, which helped you concentrate better. 

You were sitting in a secluded corner table at the café's back, a sleeping black cat comfortably nestled in your lap when you sensed a shadow loom over you. You glanced up quickly to find Minho. He was clad in a grey hoodie sporting a bunny holding up its middle finger. You had to bite your cheek to suppress a grin at his clothing attire.

"What are you doing here?" He asked. 

"You know for someone smart you sure ask stupid questions," you remarked, already looking down at the papers scattered in front of you.

He huffed, taking a seat at the table right next to yours, "I can’t believe that of all places you’ve found this café to study in."

"My apologies, am I disturbing you, your highness?" You asked sarcastically, and in retort, Minho mimicked your words in a high-pitched tone. You threw the pillow right next to you at his head, and Minho swiftly ducked, easily avoiding it. He chuckled loudly while you glared at his laughing figure. That was the end of your conversation that day. 

From that moment forward, it became a routine for the two of you to study at Limbo, every Saturday, without fault. You didn’t explicitly plan on it, but it seemed that both of you found it comforting to work there. And you could also tell that, unlike you, it wasn’t Minho’s first time coming to Limbo. He was friends with the owner, a sweet middle-aged man who offered you pastries whenever you stayed there until closing. The cats seemed to know him too, they mewled at his feet whenever he entered and he always greeted them with a soft smile on his face. 

You didn’t talk much in those unofficial study sessions, the both of you were consumed by your own work. But you’d steal quick glances at him every now and then, the sight of him so concentrated only fueled you to work harder.

Admittedly, your competition left you feeling anxious for days on end at first. Each time Minho came out on top, you’d found yourself losing your grip. Your studies have been the one anchor keeping you afloat your entire life, and now, Minho was ripping it carelessly away from you. So, you resented him- you were human after all.

But then, you realized that Minho’s taunting wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t competing with you to hurt you, he was doing it for amusement only.

You've slowly started to learn that despite his relentless teasing, Minho had a gentle aura surrounding him. Glimpses of which occasionally emerged like rays of sunshine piercing through a thick cloud cover.

True, he chuckled when you accidentally bumped your head on the table while retrieving a fallen pen. Yet, you also noticed how he began to cover the table's corners with his hand whenever you bent down. He swiftly retracted his hand, seemingly believing you didn't notice, but you did.

During class presentations, he deliberately prepared challenging questions for you, urging you to study twice as hard to ensure no stone was left unturned. Yet, whenever the professor praised your performance, Minho offered a subtle thumbs-up as a gesture of support. He winked at you each time he got the right answer and you didn’t. However, when he noticed you struggling with a particular subject, he scooted closer and patiently explained it to you. He got up before you could thank him, swatting his arm in the air as if he didn’t do anything of significance. 

To show your appreciation, you bought him a drink that day he helped you—a simple gesture that sparked an ongoing game of "win a bet, get free food". You bet on who would receive the first mark on an assignment or who would finish an essay first- anything to further deepen the competition between you.

That's how you came to know that he loved puddings, among other things.

Curiously, as the months went by, your mind began to retain these little details about him. How his eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings when he blinked repeatedly during your conversations. How he glanced at the ceiling when lost in deep thought as if he was waiting for the answers to descend from the sky. Or how his lips take on the shape of an "o" while thinking of his response during one of your many debates. But you supposed that it was natural to take notice of such things when you spend countless Saturday afternoons with the same person.

You were still studying for someone else, in the sense that each time you stayed up working, it was solely to prove your worth to Minho. But at least unlike your mother, Minho's words never haunted you at night.

✹✹✹

Just like that, four months have gone by since you joined your university as a law major. It was nearing finals week and you were preparing it at Limbo. Minho was naturally present too, at his usual table right next to yours.

On the last weekend before the beginning of your finals, you were head-deep into your Criminal Law documents when Minho abruptly got up from his seat and settled in the chair in front of you.

"Yn," he whispers and you glance at him, "What?" 

"I have an idea."

"Keep it to yourself," you grin sarcastically, only for him to pick up your spoon and move it around in a threatening manner.

"Are you trying to scare me with a spoon?" you chuckle in disbelief.

 "Anything can be a weapon if you use enough force."

"Okay… that was creepy. What do you want?"

"The end of the first term is coming up. So, to celebrate our little rivalry-"

"It's not a rivalry if I’m always winning," you cut him off.

"Yeah, that’s why I have a fridge full of pudding."

"But-"

"Anyways, how about the top of the class takes the other out for dinner? A fancy one." He suggests, his gaze fixed on you.

"No, thank you. I already see you enough in classes."

"Didn’t think you wouldn’t up for a bet. Guess I was wrong," he remarks, a cheeky smile drawn on his lips. He knows you couldn’t possibly say no now.  

"Fine," you roll your eyes at his proud expression. "Prepare your wallet." 

"Mm, sure," he responds, before rising from his seat once more.

That day, you both lost track of time as you studied in Limbo until it closed down. When you finally stepped outside, stretching your tired limbs, you were met with the sight of falling snowflakes.

"Nooo, go away. I don't want to watch the first snow with you," Minho whines, referring to the superstition that watching the first snowfall with someone could spark love between the two of you. 

"As if I could ever love you," you laugh at the ridiculous idea, "that’d just be signing a death warrant."

You resume walking towards your apartment when suddenly something freezing and hard hits your back with enough force to make you stagger. Turning around slowly, you find Minho erupting in laughter, his body filled with uncontainable joy. He’s jumping and clapping excitedly, and for a fleeting moment, you can’t decide if your shock was from the impact or from how beautiful happiness looks on him. 

Snapping out of your daze, you swiftly retaliate by scooping up a handful of snow and hurling it at him. "Now you are cold too!" you shout, while he’s still laughing uncontrollably. 

Thus begins an impromptu snowball fight between the two of you. Unsurprisingly, you’re being competitive in this too, trying your best to strike each other before the other could recover. But Minho draws nearer to you, and in your desperation to win, you fall to the ground when he throws a snowball at your chest, gasping as if you’re in pain.

"Shit, did I hurt you?" Minho quickly kneels in front of you, concern evident in his voice. It surprises you for a moment- how worried he seems at the prospect of causing you pain.

But you shake that thought off and push him down to the ground, a proud smile on your face. In his fall, Minho instinctively reaches for you to steady himself, which ends up with you landing on top of him. Your faces are mere inches apart, and a soft gasp escapes your mouth at your sudden proximity.

Minho has a mole on his nose. You’ve never noticed that before. 

You quickly push yourself off of him, not enjoying being this close to somebody. "Why did you drag me down with you?" you grumble, shaking off the snow from your hair.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he cheekily stuck out his tongue, and you respond with the same childlike gesture before the both of you burst into loud laughter. The sound reverberates through your entire being, and it echoes in your mind long after the two of you go your separate ways.  

As you lay in bed that night, ready to drift off to sleep, a quiet realization dawns on you. This was the first time you've touched snow in since your childhood incident.

That unpleasant memory didn't cross your mind once. Instead, all you thought about was Minho’s infectious laughter, and the surprising warmth it stirred within you.

✹✹✹

You came first in your grade this semester.

True to his words, Minho texted you the name of the restaurant where you’d both meet to celebrate your win. As you got ready for your outing, you couldn’t help the nerves creeping up on you. Studying in silence next to Minho was something, going to a friendly dinner with him was another. You feared it would be too awkward and Minho would regret ever proposing such a thing.

So, as you sit in the refined BBQ restaurant waiting for him, you fidget with your hands, counting down to three in your head in an attempt to steady your breathing.

You were clearly not accustomed to existing with Minho outside of the confines of your studies.

"Did you wait long?" Minho asks as he finally pulls the chair in front of you and you shake your head no.

"Are you nervous?" he chuckles at your lack of words, and you frown, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why would I be nervous? This isn't a date."

"Who said anything about a date?" he smirks and you grab your fork threateningly, pointing it at him, "Don't say anything stupid or I will walk out."

"And stand me up on our first date? That's too mean.” He pouts, a hand on his heart and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You were ridiculous for being nervous. This was Minho, the one person you’ve talked to the most since the start of this year. 

"What will you have?" he asks and you smile mischievously.

 "Most expensive thing on the menu."

"So you are only here for the food." 

"Well, it's certainly not for your company," you wink and he chuckles, his bunny teeth on full display. 

"And here I thought we were going to be civil with each other."

"When are we ever not?" you gasp dramatically and Minho swats your hand with the menu. "Just order whatever," you finally answer," I trust your food judgment."

"I could poison you, you know?" He smiles proudly and you roll your eyes at him, "Can’t you be normal, for once?"

Minho calls over the waiter and places your orders. The food is quick to arrive and Minho starts to grill up the meat, while you cut the Kimchi into smaller pieces. 

"Here," he puts the perfectly cooked rib onto your plate first and you smile at him, "Thank you."

"Eat up, don’t wait for me," he tells you and you nod, tasting the flavorful meat.

"Wow this is really good," you compliment and he smirks proudly at your words, "I know."

Minho places four other ribs for you, without eating one himself. You start to feel bad, so you grab his chopsticks, pick up the meat, and move it toward his mouth, "Open up."

"What?" He asks confused and you wave the food in front of his face, "Come on, you haven’t eaten anything."

Minho parts his lips slowly, and you feed the tender meat to him, before eating one yourself. You notice how his cheeks are slightly tinted pink now, and you account it to the intense heat of the grill.

"Oh, let's not talk about studies, my brain can't take another debate with you," you tell Minho in between bites and he grins at you, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "If you were to dispose of a body, how would you do it?"

"I think our next celebration will be in an asylum." you smile too sweetly at him and he stares at you pointedly, "Please, I know you've already thought about it."

"Fine. Probably in a deserted land. What about you?"

"I'd cut their bodies and then bury each part in a different forest. In a different city."

His answer came too quickly, and you pause in your tracks, "Should I be worried?"

"You are too cute to kill." His tone is sarcastic and you make a show of gushing at his compliment, clasping both of your hands in front of your heart, "Growing soft on me, Minho?" 

"Yeah, I’m basically sooo in love with you," he replies with a smirk and you roll your eyes at him, an amused smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's your favorite color?" you finally ask, changing the subject.

"Purple."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"You'll buy me purple flowers?" He coos at you and you shake your head as you grab the utensil from his hand, to grill the meat your turn. 

"No. I'll paint your tombstone purple," you grin and he laughs loudly, eyes squinted close, and you can't find it in you to care that the people next to you are staring. 

"What's yours?" he asks when he calms down and you shrug, "Navy blue, I think."

"You do remind me of navy blue."

"And why is that?"

"When you look at it, at first glance, it looks like black. But the more you stare at it, the more layers you uncover. Just like you. There’s more to you than what meets the eye."

You grab your glass of water, gulping it down to hide the way your eyes just glossed over. You suddenly felt bare in front of Minho. How did he know?

You clear your throat, racking your brain for a way to move on from that question. "If you were to describe colors to a blind person, how would you do it?"

"Mm," he looks up at the ceiling as he mulls over your question, "I’d say that yellow is the feeling of eating ice cream on a sunny day, in an amusement park. Your fingers are sticky but your cheeks ache from how much you smiled that day."

"Yellow is carefree and happy."

"Exact. Now your turn, red."

"I’d say that... Red is the thrill that rushes through your veins when you do something you are passionate about, you know? It’s what makes our blood boil and our heart race. The very essence of our humanity."

Minho smiles softly at your words, seemingly agreeing with your description. "Don’t you think it would be easier if we simply asked, what color are you feeling today, instead of a 'How are you'?" He questions and you tilt your head to the side, "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could say, I feel like that moss green that no one seems to pay attention to. Or, I feel bright yellow as if the world's energy is stored inside me."

"And right now, how do you feel?"

"I feel orange, not the ugly orange." He precises and you chuckle, "the orange that paints the sky when the sun is about to dip into the ocean."

"A bittersweet orange, an ending that instantly strings along a new beginning. And you don't have time to rest."

Minho places his chin on his palm, eyeing you curiously, "Is that what you want? To rest?"

"Yeah." You admit quietly, "Don't you sometimes wish that the world would just stop, for a few seconds? Just like in a song, right before the beat drops. That silence, I wish I could live inside of it."

"I do too."

You both hold each other’s gaze for a while after that. You felt as if he was keeping you captive with his brown eyes, and he was slowly peeling each of your layers, in silence, as you were peeling his. For the first time, you think that you and he are similar, more than on a studies level. There was a part of his soul that understood yours perfectly. And it felt good, to be understood, for once.

"If you lived in this silence, what would you be doing?" he asks, breaking the serene quiet that surrounded you.

"I’d open a café that had books. And there'd be a little space, where people could paint. Or do pottery. And I’d have cats in there too." You reply excitedly, hands moving around in the air, you end up missing the way Minho gazes fondly at you before his smile morphs into a smirk.

"Please tell me you won't be cooking."

"Shut up. What about you?"

"I’d be a dancer."

"You dance?!" you whisper-shout and he frowns at the surprised look on your face. 

"Yeah. Why are you looking at me like this?"

"I just never expected it. Can I-"

"No." he cuts you off immediately and you pout. 

"I didn't even finish."

"I knew what you were going to say."

"Please, I won't make a sound I’d just watch. Pinky promise.” He grabs your now outstretched pinky with the tip of his index and thumb, lowering it down. 

"I’d only grant you this wish when you’re on your deathbed."

"Bold of you to assume you'd still be around."

"Death might be around the corner."

"Stop it."

"Close your door tonight."

"You are deranged."

Minho chuckles at the crestfallen look on your face, "I’ll think about it."

Just like that, three hours of talking have gone by, the conversation flowing easily between the two of you. And when you finally leave the restaurant, Minho grabs you a cab and you wave him off with a smile. You couldn't lie to yourself, you had a really good time with him. You liked to think that Minho was no longer just a rival, but a possible friend.

But now that you were laying in your bed, you couldn’t help but curse Minho in your brain. His repetitive talk about murder made you paranoid, and now every creak in your apartment made you feel as if death was really right around the corner. 

You decide to text him, figuring that if you couldn’t sleep because of him, you could at least disturb him for a bit. 

Yn : I hate you I'm paranoid from your murder talk

Minho : Poor baby

Yn : Is that you at my door?

Suddenly your phone rings, the shrill sound echoing around your apartment. It was a Facetime call from Minho. You panic for a few seconds, before remembering that you just spent your entire night with him. A call can’t be more daunting than a real-life meeting. 

"See, I’m in my home," he tells you as soon as you pick up and you laugh.

"It's pitch black, I can't see."

"Just say you miss my face." You can’t see him but you can clearly hear the proud grin in his voice. 

"What's there to miss?"

"Are you actually scared?" Minho asks gently and you clear your throat, feeling ridiculous all of the sudden. 

"There is a tree right outside my window and it keeps rustling from the wind," you grumble and Minho laughs at you. 

"Trees can't hurt you."

"No shit Sherlock."

"Close your eyes.” He instructs and you frown at his words. 

"Why?"

"I’ll tell you a story."

"Fine.” You close your eyes tentatively. It’s quiet for a few seconds and you feel yourself relax slightly. 

"So, I bought a sous-vide machine and-"

"Is your bedtime story going to be about meat?"

"Yes?” He replies as if it’s an evidence, “Now be quiet." You pretend to zip your mouth and Minho faintly giggles, before resuming his story. "So, I was saying. I bought one and I wanted to experience different kinds of meats. So, I bought a 30-day aged one and a 58-day aged one and I cooked them both."

"What did you use?" you ask quietly. 

"Just garlic, and thyme, I didn't want to overpower the taste of meat. Anyways I cooked them, but I didn't have plastic bags so I had to go out and buy them."

"Mm," you hum in acknowledgment. You could feel your nerves slowly dissipate with Minho's every word. His story might be ridiculous but his honey-coated voice compensated for it, wrapping around you like a protective cocoon. 

"And I found pudding there so I had to buy it."

"Obviously," you whisper. Sleep was knocking on your door, but paradoxically you tried to fight it off. You wanted to hear the rest of Minho’s story. 

"And I went back home and I cooked it, then I plated it nicely with vegetables that I sauteed with butter and garlic. Just mushrooms and potatoes, nothing too fancy. Again, my main focus was the meat. But there wasn't a difference between the two. They tasted the same for me, for some reason. And I didn't like this because the aged one was very expensive. Maybe I was scammed. Honestly, that butcher looked kind of suspicio..."

Your quiet snores make Minho pause in his tracks, and he laughs quietly. You did end up falling asleep. He can't see your face clearly, but he can see its outline and he stares at you for a while. You look peaceful.

He goes to hang up but his finger hovers over the 'end call' button. You aren't talking, but your hums are quiet enough that they fill up the space around him. It calms him down, and he lets his head fall on the pillow, his phone lying beside him.

He closes his eyes, thinking that maybe he just found the silence you talked about earlier on. 

You just made his world stop.

✹✹✹

The second semester had just started and with it the return of frat parties. You were excited at the prospect of going to one with your new friend Mina. You met her in the library when you both went to grab the same book. You quickly apologized but she waved you off, handing you the book with a huge smile on her face. She was bubbly, like a human serotonin boost, and she started gushing about how much she loved the author. You saw her again in the campus cafeteria, and she skipped towards you as if you've both known each other your entire life. That was the start of your friendship.

You walk into the frat house, both your arms encircling each other. The flashing lights of the party blind you for a moment, and it takes you a while to adjust to the loud music bouncing off of the walls. But you like it, it was like a shield from the outside world and its problems. 

You feel yourself letting loose in the crowd, swaying your hips to the music. Mina spins you around and you laugh, dancing with no care in the world. It was just the both of you in that instant. 

Mina spots Jeongin in the crowd, a friend of hers that she had an immense crush on. You couldn’t blame her- he was very attractive; his easy smirk and his blonde tousled hair earned him lots of appreciative looks from the people around him. But when his eyes locked with Mina’s, you found that his face morphed into a beautiful smile, that made his dimples look on full display, as if it was only reserved for her.

“Go get your man!” You shout in her ears, so she’d be able to hear you. 

“What are you talking about?” She yells back, but you could see the nervous smile on her face.

“He likes you! Go talk to him!”

“I don’t want to leave you alone. We came together!” She clasps your hand in hers and you smile touched by her kind spirit.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll go to the kitchen to get some drinks. Go have fun!”

“You are sure?” She asks, her eyes darting between you and Jeongin, who was still looking at her, and her only. 

“Yes! Go!” You say, gently pushing her away. Mina jogs up to Jeongin who greets her with a side hug. He quickly glances at you and you shoot him a thumbs-up, to which he grins. You loved playing Cupid.

With that, you decide to head to the kitchen to grab a drink. You pick a beer from the fridge, double-checking if the can is closed before opening it. 

You lean on the countertop, sipping on your drink while you watch the crowd, humming along each time a song you knew played. You enjoyed watching people dance freely from afar, with no apparent care in the world.

You feel someone stand next to you and you brace yourself, getting ready to tell the person off if they decide to bother you. You didn’t have the energy for mindless flirting. But then, you smell the cologne that has lingered around you for the past term- Minho. You haven't seen him since your dinner. That was a month ago.

"Fancy seeing you here," he greets as he leans on the counter right next to you, his eyes fixated on the mingling bodies.

You turn around to face him, faking an outraged gasp, "Are you following me?"

"Mmm. You look nice", he compliments and you smile cheekily, "I know."

"Won't tell me I look nice too?" he smirks, leaning closer to your face. "Someone didn’t get enough compliments tonight?" You pout, placing a hand on your heart in mock concern.

"I did, but I want to hear it from you. You’re the only sensible person in this room."

"You look nice. Now leave me alone."

"Come on, I know you can do better than that", he jokes and you roll your eyes, muttering “You’re annoying”, under your breath.

Still, you comply, placing your arms on top of the counter and leaning your head on them to get a better look at him. He does the same, smiling, and you both stare at each other for a while after that.

The strobing lights dance on Minho’s face, casting enticing shadows on him. You've always known he was a beautiful man; you've looked into his eyes far too many times in your heated conversations. But this time was different, there was no cheeky smirk on his face nor a furrow in his eyebrows. He was simply looking at you, and it made a pool of warmth huddle in your belly. You feel yourself relax under his gaze, everything around you seemingly melts away.

You weren’t wrong when you thought that his eyes were like a black hole, pulling you in. But this time, you realize that you didn’t mind knowing what was on the other side. On the contrary, you longed for it. 

"I like your eyes right now. They remind me of the night sky. Black, with tiny little stars littered in them," you finally say.

Minho is taken aback by your words, he wasn't expecting you to compliment him, let alone to tell him something so special. He can feel his cheeks burn red at your words, feel his heart hammering in his chest. He's afraid you can hear it too.

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he clears his throat, plastering a smirk on his face, "I heard better." He hasn't. This is the first genuine compliment he's ever gotten.

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh and he joins you. The music was loud and yet the only sound his ear seemed to pick up was your laugh.

"Are you here alone?" He asks, and you shake your head no, "Came with my friend Mina."

"Did she leave you by yourself?" He frowns and you feel yourself warm up at his worried tone. "I told her to go talk to Jeongin."

"Next time, don’t stay alone."

“Fine, Dad.” You chastise and he stares pointedly at you, "I’m serious, yn."

You take another swing of the beer before turning your body fully towards Minho. After a few beats of silence, you finally ask a question that has been on your mind for a while. "Why do you say my name this way?"

"What way?" He questions and you shrug, "Slowly. People used to always rush it but you don’t."

"Well, it’s a pretty name. It deserves to be pronounced as a whole."

You beam at his words; you smile so brightly it makes his heart skip a beat. This is the first time you’ve grinned this widely at him, no hand in front of your mouth as if to hide it. He did notice how you were a reserved person outside of class, as if you were afraid of taking up too much place. But he could tell you were slowly unraveling, growing bolder with each passing month. He wanted to tell you that if people like you spoke more, the world would be a far better place. 

But he couldn't bring himself to say all of this, so he forced those bubbling words down his throat. "I’m hungry," he whines instead and you laugh at his pout. "I'm kind of craving a greasy pizza."

"Should we go buy it? You can tell Mina to come so we can walk her back."

"I’ll ask her."

You shoot Mina a text, asking her where she was and telling her about your plan. She replies that she’s with Jeongin who just offered to take her home, so you could leave without her.

"We can go." You tell him and he nods. Minho shrugs his leather jacket off, gently placing it on your shoulders. His warmth engulfs you and you sink further into it. His arm hovers around your shoulder not touching you as he leads you out of the party. He has never touched your body, you note, it's like he was everywhere and nowhere at once.

You both walk to an open parlor near the frat house, and you order a Margarita pizza to share. You sit down on a nearby bench to eat it- the night breeze too liberating to pass up on.

As you both finish eating, a cat with white and orange stripes all over her body approaches the both of you cautiously, and you pat her head softly. "Aren't you the cutest thing ever?" you coo and Minho chuckles as he scratches the cat’s chin. She purrs at his touch appreciatively, and you smile at the soft look on his face. 

"Never knew you to be this gentle", you giggle and Minho shushes you, "Let's not do this in front of the cat."

"Why are you acting as if we are a divorced couple and she’s our child."

"Easy, yn. You make it sound as if you want me to marry you."

"Now you're just projecting," you chastise and he laughs, eliciting giggles from you. He had a melodic laugh, you noticed, and you always felt a surge of pride whenever you made him close his eyes and tip his head from laughter. You felt as if it's a sight only you can see.

"I have three cats", he says softly and you gasp, "Really? We spent all of our Sundays in a cat café and this is when you tell me?"

"I only tell my friends."

"So we're friends now?" You gush and he rolls his eyes at you, "I take it back."

"What’s their names?" You ask curiously and his eyes soften at your question- you could easily tell he loved them dearly.

"Soongie, Doongie, and Dori. They are rescues."

"That’s very sweet of you Minho."

"Most of my scars come from them though," he chuckles but you sober up at his words, quietly scratching the cat's ears.

"What’s on your mind?" He asks and you glance at him. It was scary how well he’s starting to know you. But it was also nice; to be known is to exist, after all.

"I just... Sometimes I wish that memories would leave physical scars on you. Because at least then, you could treat them, put a band-aid on, and watch them fade away day by day. Because when the scars are emotional, you can’t treat them, you know? And someday someone brings up a name or a place, or you smell a certain scent, and suddenly they reopen as if no time has gone by at all.”

Minho stays silent for a while, mulling over your words. You don't mind, you weren't expecting him to comfort you. You just needed to free those words from the mental prison you've held them in for so long.

"Do you know Kintsugi?" he finally asks and you shake your head no.

"It's a Japanese art. They put back together broken vases with molten gold. It represents strength despite our flaws."

"That sounds nice," you sigh wistfully and he nods. 

"It is. When you look at that vase, you know that it was once broken, but it doesn't take away from its beauty, on the contrary, it adds to it. Scars, whether they are emotional or physical are there for a reason. They remind us of how we pushed through whatever life threw at us."

"Am I supposed to be grateful I survived this?" You chuckle lowly, as your hand scratches the cat’s ear. Your fingers brush against Minho’s and you hesitate for a few seconds before moving them away.

"I wouldn't say grateful for what you went through," he speaks once again, "but grateful to yourself. At the end of the day, the reason why you're still here is you. You put yourself back together," he then bumps his elbow into your side softly, "and hey, even if your scars reopen there will come a time when they wouldn’t anymore. Sometimes, it takes a while to be okay again."

This was Minho’s way of telling you that someday it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That someday you’d be okay. And you needed to hear that. You needed to hear someone else other than yourself tell you that.

"Thank you, Minho, I needed that", you smile at him and he grins back at you before his smile turns to a smirk. "I charge 15 dollars for the hour by the way."

"Oh, come on! You didn't even say something revolutionary." You are lying. Minho's words will echo in your mind long after this night- a beacon of light to hold onto.

"Oh, so now it’s no longer ‘I needed that’. Tsk," he jokes a smirk still plastered on his face.

"Okay, Mr. Therapist. I’ll pay for your coffee tomorrow, sounds good?"

"I should have you as my client more often," he winks and you laugh, head tipped back. You were grateful more than ever for his teasing, loving how it wasn’t awkward between you after your discussion.

"You are a good listener." You tell him as you stand up, dusting your pants.

"I’m good at everything," he grins cheekily at you and you roll your eyes playfully, "And here I thought we were having a moment."

You both start walking side by side toward your home when Minho speaks again. His tone is quiet as if he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear him. "About earlier, your compliment, I mean. I suppose I didn't thank you. So, thank you," he scratches the tip of his ears and you shrug nonchalantly. "It's the truth. You might get on my ass but that doesn't change the fact you are a pretty man."

He doesn’t respond and you tug at the sleeve of his shirt playfully, "You won't tell me I’m pretty too?"

"But then I’d be lying."

"Asshole."

"Pretty," he replies without missing a beat.

You laugh loudly, hand tightly clutching your stomach and he joins you. There is a newfound lightness in your steps now. Unbeknownst to him, Minho just managed to lift a small weight off your shoulders, allowing you a brief moment of respite.

"This is me," you say when you arrive in front of your apartment block, "Thank you for walking me home."

"Of course. Don't dream of me."

"Idiot," you laugh waving him off and he does the same. "Oh, and text me when you get home safely!" you shout before heading inside.

For the second time this night, Minho is blushing profusely at your words. He sighs to himself, waiting patiently until a light turns on in your place to leave.

✹✹✹

It’s been two months since the start of the new term. You still went to Limbo, every Saturday with Minho- even when you didn’t need to study. 

Sometimes you’d just grab a book and you’d both read, a cat lazily lounging at your feet. You started sitting at the same table too; you figured it was easier since one of you always pays for the other. When you have a bet, but also randomly, when you notice that the other person is feeling down and you want to cheer them up without saying anything.

That's why you bought three bubble teas for Minho in a row. He was quieter these days, you noticed. He didn’t talk to you nor did he retort back in class. It was the first time you’ve seen him this way. As if he was a simple shell of the person he usually is. 

You were walking out of your Communications Strategies class, which Minho weirdly didn’t come to when you realized that it was pouring rain. You smile lightly to yourself, grateful since you thought about picking up an umbrella this morning. 

As you walk through campus, everyone around you running to take shelter, you spot someone sitting on a bench, completely drenched from the rain. Their head is hung low and you frown to yourself. They would surely get a cold if they stay there.

But then the person raises their head and you quickly realize it's Minho. You jog up to him instinctively, standing in front of him and shielding him from the rain with your umbrella.

He looks up at you and you feel your heart clench. His eyes are void of emotion and he stares blankly at you. "Are you okay?" you ask and he blinks at your words, as if his brain hadn't yet registered that you were there.

"Yeah."

"You don't look like it", you tilt your head to the side and he looks down again. You have to strain to hear his next words, muffled by the rain and his mumbling, "I don't want to talk, yn."

You decide to put away your umbrella and sit down next to him on the bench. The rain falls rapidly on both of you, and you feel yourself grow cold from it. 

"What are you doing?" He questions, turning to the side to look at you.

"Enjoying the rain. It is kind of stupid that we have umbrellas, right?"

"You'll catch a cold."

"I mean we always complain about the drought and then when it rains, we hide from it. But it's really beautiful."          

"Stop, I don't want you to get sick."

"Well, neither do I. Let's go eat some soup. My treat."

"Yn, I don’t-"

"I thought you were smart enough to know I won't take no for an answer."

"But I-" you cut him off again. "Also, I’m doing this for me because when you order for two, they give you a lot of side dishes. Now come on."

You stand up and he looks doubtfully at you, before following suit. You open up the umbrella again and hold it over both of your heads. He has to huddle close to you, and your shoulders brush against each other. Once, twice. Not that you're keeping count. But your body is always hyper-aware of Minho’s proximity. You also notice how he silently moves from your right to your left, this way he's the one walking right next to the speeding cars. Your hold on the umbrella tightens. You were still not used to those small attentions of his. 

You arrive in front of your apartment block and he hesitates. "Come up, I won't murder you I promise." You joke and he smiles lightly back at your words. Progress.

He enters your dorm and you can see him eying his surroundings. You know that if it was another time, he would have teased you about something- anything. But he stays quiet, and you find yourself missing the sound of his voice.

"Would you like to shower?" You offer and he nods, "Please."

You lead him to your bathroom and show him where the washing machine is. "Put your clothes in there for a quick wash and dry. You can shower meanwhile."

He nods again as you hand him a towel. "I'll be outside."

You quickly leave the bathroom to place the soup orders, and Minho discards his wet clothes, walking into your shower. The water is piping hot, and he leans his forehead on the cold tiles. He doesn’t move for the first ten minutes, too tired at the prospect of lifting his limbs.

Nothing particular happened. But he’d go through days when he’d quiet down because everything around him was too much. The feel of his clothes against his skin, and the sun streaming through his curtains. But it always passes. Minho was a realistic man and he knew that his emotions would regulate themselves. That’s why he didn’t like appearing vulnerable in front of other people.

But for some reason, he didn’t mind lowering his guard with you. He knew you wouldn’t judge.

He sighs, grabbing your cherry-scented shampoo and pouring it into his hands. He can clearly smell you now. The scent of your hair that always tickles his nose, whenever you are sitting close to him. Your body wash is next and he wonders if this is how your skin smells, like vanilla and jasmine, and something entirely you. 

Forty minutes later, Minho finally steps out of the shower. His clothes are clean and he quickly puts them on. He dries his hair with the towel as he walks out of your bathroom towards the living room. 

He finds you sitting on the ground, in front of a heater that looks close to giving up. He makes a mental note of giving you the one he has since he doesn't really use it. You changed out of your clothes too, and you are now wearing a pair of pajamas with little bunnies sewn into it. The sight almost manages to make him smile. 

"Still cold?" you question when you notice him standing behind you, unmoving, and he shakes his head no.

"Good, the soup is here." You say cheerfully, pointing at the steaming bowls sitting on your table. Minho hums in reply and you stand up, grabbing the towel from his hands to place it on the drying rack.

You come back, a soft green blanket in your hands. You sit on the couch and pat the spot beside you. Minho sits next to you, and you lay the blanket on both of your laps, before handing him his soup.

You start the show you’ve been last watching, as you both eat in silence, your legs crisscrossed. You make some comments throughout the episodes. You figured that it was a safe territory, to talk about something as mundane as this. He didn't reply but you didn't mind. You weren't here to have a conversation with him. You just wanted to distract him.

You realize at that moment that Minho always looked so put together to you. But he had problems of his own too. That much was obvious. It made you feel closer to him, in a sense. You were both just trying to make it through the day.

Two hours later, you get up to grab a book, handing Minho the remote to put on a show of his own. You curl in a ball in the corner, reading where you left off last night.

"Can you... Can you read out loud?" Minho speaks for the first time in a while and you look at him. His eyes are closed, his head resting against your couch.

"Sure."

You start to read, and Minho further sinks into the couch. He feels at home here. Because the blanket is soft and the light is dim enough to not hurt his eyes. Or it could be that he smells like you, a scent so comforting he wants to bury himself in it. Or maybe it's your voice that floats through the air, slowly clouding Minho’s every sense. He feels as if he could see the words you were pronouncing dancing in front of his eyes. You enunciated each syllable clearly, making sure that no sound was forgotten.

As Minho gently drifted to sleep, he felt as if he was part of the words you read out loud. He felt as if you were treating him with the same care, making sure that he knew he wasn't invisible. At least not to you.

When you wake up the next morning, Minho is gone. And his place beside you on the couch is empty. He made you breakfast, scrambled eggs, and freshly pressed orange juice. And right next to it you find a note, "Thank you for reading to me."

✹✹✹

Minho didn't believe in having a lot of friends. He was content with the two people he had, Chan and Changbin. The latter was his high school friend, he skipped a year and ended up being in the same class as Minho. They didn't talk at first until the day Changbin dropped a book on Minho's foot. The brooding man started apologizing profusely, and that was the start of their friendship. They've kept in touch since.

Chan was his roommate at university. It's not that he particularly wanted to befriend him, but Chan was a social butterfly and he quickly managed to pull Minho into his friendly trap. He annoys Minho the most, but in an endearing way. And although Chan is older, Minho still strangely developed a soft spot for him. 

And he supposes he has you too now. At first, you weren’t friends, rivals at most. He enjoyed reeling you up and having you frown at his words in your heated debates. He also liked talking to you, because your ideas were interesting and you always gave him a new fresh perceptive to see things.

That’s how he strictly saw you as, an intelligent human who he liked to debate with.

But then he started to look forward to meeting up with you at Limbo. He no longer minded the fact that you took his self-assigned table, from his high school days. And he laughed more freely with you, enjoying how you always had a witty retort sitting at the tip of your tongue. 

That’s how he started to notice things that friends most definitely notice. How you have a charm bracelet you always fidget with whenever you are nervous. How you stray away from physical touch. How you scratch your eyebrow when you are deep in thought.

But also, how you seem to have an obsession with cherries. Your cherry pendant, your cherry-scented shampoo, and your cherry-tainted lips. A friend would most certainly think that your lips are like red wine-stained glass.

He remembers one of the many times when you were at Limbo, and he saw you reapply your lip tint, or so you called it. You caught him looking and he swiftly averted his gaze, but it wasn't quick enough. Suddenly you were in front of him, a tiny red bottle in hand.

"Let me apply it to you," you smiled and he pushed your head away with his pointer finger. "No."

"Please," you pouted and he couldn't help but find you adorable. You sometimes reminded him of a small kitten. But he didn’t dare to call you by that nickname. 

"Never."

"If I score more than you in our environmental assignment then I will do it."

"Fine." he huffed so that you'd leave him alone.

Minho didn't study for that assignment. He blamed it on a headache, not that it's ever stopped him before. And two weeks later you were in front of him, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You applied the lip tint gently on his plump lips, carefully tracing over his cupid bow. 

Your face was mere inches away from his and he noticed how you were wearing a gloss today, for change. It was shimmering under the lights and he usually didn't like glittery things, but he couldn't take his eyes off your lips. 

"All done!" you clapped excitedly, snapping him out of his haze. You then shove your phone camera into his face so he'd look at the results.

"You should be a model. Your face is perfectly sculpted," you comment nonchalantly, before sitting back in your seat. 

“I know.” He replies confidently, but his hand kept fiddling with the tip of his now pink ears. He couldn't concentrate for the rest of the night.

You were his friend because he always worried if you were eating enough. That’s why he urged you to grab a bite in the convenience store near Limbo, whenever you finished up your studying late.

This was one of the many times you sat on the minuscule table outside, hot ramen bowls in front of the both of you. Minho huffed in annoyance between each bite, his bangs were getting longer, disturbing him when he leaned down to slurp his noodles. 

“Here,” you stand up from your place, a hair tie in your hands. 

“What are you doing?” He questions as you stand behind him. You don’t reply, silently grabbing his hair and putting it up in a tiny ponytail, this way it wouldn’t get in his eyes anymore.

“Voila,” you sit back down, resuming your eating. Minho was grateful for the dimly lit street because his entire face was burning up. Your fingers in his hair were gentle and he wondered how it would feel if you ran your fingers through it. 

This was something friends think about, right? 

"I’ll cut my hair tomorrow," he clears his throat. He didn't know why he told you. You certainly weren't interested in his hair endeavors.

"What?!" you yell, "Don't. Your hair is beautiful why would you cut it?"

"Because it's getting longer."

"But it suits you."

Minho also noticed how you always threw compliments his way. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a genuine one. He couldn't help but wonder what made you this way. Did you so freely give love to others because you knew how it felt to not receive it?

"I’ll still cut it."

Minho returned home; his hair still clipped back in a ponytail. Chan eyed him weirdly but he shut him off with a glare. The elastic remained at his bedside since.

He didn't cut his hair.

The moment Minho started to consider you a close friend, was when you invited him over to watch your show. You didn’t force him to open up that night, and he appreciated it, more than he let on.

That's how a week later, he finds himself walking towards your dorm again. The thoughts in his head got too much, and Chan was immersed in his makeshift studio, which meant he won't be free for the next four hours, minimum.

He didn't plan on going to you. It was late at night and you were probably asleep, but his feet naturally led him to the direction of your place.

He knocks softly on your door. He wasn't even sure if he wanted you to open. What would you think of him showing up at eleven pm? He should have thought this thro-

"Minho?" you call out, and he startles a bit, his feet already inching away from the door.

"This was a bad idea, I'm sorry," he starts to retract back but you grab the hem of his jacket to stop him. "Do you... Do you want to watch my show with me?" you ask, a soft smile on your face and he nods tentatively.

"Okay, come in," you open the door wider and Minho follows you inside. The look in his eyes reminds you of the day you found him sitting under the rain. You didn't like it, you wanted him to find his spark back, his usual demeanor. He wasn't deserving of anything but happiness.

"I’ve started a new show, this one's a bit more romantic, so don't go around imagining me as the main character," you tease and he scoffs at your words, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't reply, but you don't mind. There was this secret agreement between the two of you, you would talk and he would listen. He needed the distraction, and you needed the company. Sometimes the line between alone and lonely blurs, and on days like these, Minho’s presence fills the void inside.

You comment on the scenes and Minho hums in reply, you watch three episodes in a row, and your eyes are getting drowsy, so you close them.

"Minho," you call out gently and he turns his head towards you.

"Yeah?"

"What color are you feeling tonight?" You ask, referencing to what he told you on your dinner celebration. That felt like an eternity ago.

"Black." You stay silent and Minho fidgets with his hands before speaking once again. "I feel a lot at the same time, too much of every color. That's why- that's why I said black."

"How can I help you feel yellow?"

"You already do." His admission came softly and it made your breath hitch in your throat. You wanted to open your eyes and look at him, but you figured it will only make him close off even more.

“Okay. Will you stay for breakfast?”, you whisper. You were very sleepy, the soft chatter of the TV and your hushed conversation were like a lullaby to you. 

"You want me to?" he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable you can't find it in you to say anything but the truth.

"I do," you admit, and that's the last thing you remember before sleeping.

Your head falls near Minho’s lap on the couch, your hair tickling his exposed thigh. Minho shouldn’t feel this way, he thinks. He’s sitting on the leather couch and his feet are touching the cold floor and yet all he can feel is three strands of your hair tickling him.

He glances at you, at your now parted lips and your relaxed eyebrows. His hand hovers over your hair, but then he curls it into a tight fist. What is he doing? He thinks to himself as he drags an angry hand through his face. He sighs, before standing up and grabbing the blanket you had on the opposing chair. He gently lays it on your body before sitting next to you once again. 

You told him to stay for breakfast. He’ll stay.

✹✹✹

2 months later

"Yn!" Minho shouts in your ear as he plops down next to you. You startle, dropping the book you were reading. 

"I hate you," you grumble, picking up your book and he smiles cheekily at you, "No you don't."

You were laying on the grass of your campus garden, in between two classes, trying to kill the time. It was April so the weather was perfect for lying under the warm sunrays. You loved spring, it always held within it the promise of a better time. 

"What are you doing?"

"I was reading before you got here and started to annoy me." 

"Don't mind me. Do your thing." 

"And what are you doing?"

"Enjoying the sun."

"You couldn't find any other place to do so?"

"Nope."

"You're annoying" You try to sound mad but the smile on your face betrays you. You started looking forward to any moment Minho randomly shows up throughout your day. Sometimes it's late at night when he's suddenly craving sushi and he drags you with him because if he's not studying then you shouldn't be too. 

Sometimes it's during the day, when he takes you to a new garden where he found the quote "cutest cats in existence". Not as cute as his cats, of course. 

Sometimes it's late afternoon when he just knocks on your door, and he's there with Chan-his roommate who sometimes joins your study sessions- snacks in their hands. You've learned that what Minho doesn't say in words, he compensates by spending time with you. And you didn't tell him but waiting for these moments has been the joy of your life for the past few weeks.

It made you feel excited- like a child waiting up for Christmas morning to discover what gifts they are receiving. 

So, you resume reading, as Minho is lying next to you. You could smell his pinewood cologne and you wished you could pour his essence into a bottle and carry it with you everywhere. 

You notice how the sun is hitting Minho’s eyes directly, and how his eyebrows are scrunched up at the aggression. So, you grab your book with your left hand, and hover your right one over his eyes, shielding him from the sun. Minho's breath tickles your hand and you can feel goosebumps rising through your skin. 

It's as if every physical proximity with Minho made you feel hyperaware of every part of your body, and how he can lighten it with a simple breath from his part. It made you wonder what it would feel to have his hands on your skin.

As if Minho heard your thoughts, he gently wraps his thumb and index finger around your wrist, steadying your hand in place so it wouldn't strain your arm. You suddenly don't know what page you are in, too overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you. 

His touch is very featherlight and you are afraid to move, to break the bubble you are suddenly pulled into. 

"Read to me," he tells you and you gulp. You never understood why Minho enjoyed it when you read to him. 

"Like my voice that much?" you tease, in an attempt to hide how affected you are. You were so close to him; it would be easy to slide down and lay your head on his chest. You wondered how his heartbeat would sound. Was it steady, or racing just like your own? 

"Yeah, it's calming," he replies sincerely, catching you off guard. You didn't expect him to compliment you, and now you are racking your brain for a retort, anything to make you breathe again. 

"Growing soft on me Minho?" you say, the same question you asked on your first dinner out. The first time you truly saw him, the first time you felt as if you were two pieces of the same puzzle, just waiting for someone to connect the both of you. 

He doesn't reply. And you sit there, patiently waiting. His first answer came so easily, so naturally, because he was being sarcastic, "I’m basically in love with you", he told you back then. So why can't he say it again?

"Yes, I am." He finally replies and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You try to account it for your brain misguiding you. It wasn't Minho speaking, it was the rustling of the leaves and the singing of the birds that you just heard. But it was him, and now his eyes are open and he's looking at you. Your hand is still shielding his eyes and his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist. And you are suddenly feeling. You are feeling too much. You don't know what to do with those feelings cursing through your veins and you can't face them. Because they are scaring you.

"I'll just... Yeah, I’ll just read," you say quietly, too flustered by his intense gaze. You were already on the other side, you realize. His eyes pulled you in and you were stuck in there, swimming in a pool of honey. 

"Out loud," he says and you chuckle, "Fine, Min." The nickname slips out of your tongue naturally and you quickly snap your head towards Minho to see if he noticed. 

His eyes are closed, and there is a slight smile on his face, and you can swear that he just repeated the nickname to himself softly. 

✹✹✹

You've been so sick these past days, you barely managed to go to class. Your head throbbed with pain and your entire body felt as if someone thoroughly boxed it. 

You were grateful that Minho reeled down his teasing because you had no energy to retort back. He may have noticed how sick you felt and truthfully it would be hard not to. You stayed silent throughout the day, and you looked so pale, you avoided looking at the mirror altogether.

Though Minho didn't talk to you, he still silently placed water bottles and some of your favorite snacks on your desk. You'd down the water, grateful for the relief it brought your sore throat. And when you didn't touch the food, he'd immediately text you 'Eat up', followed by a simple 'Please'. Having someone else care for your well-being felt weird, but it warmed your heart beyond what words could describe. 

You only came today to pass your Criminal Law mid-term, but your head hurt so badly that you weren't even sure what you wrote on your paper. The words blurred in front of your eyes and you almost slept in the middle of your exam, exhaustion threatening to take over your body. 

You fucked up, badly. You haven't screwed up this much in years.

You thought that you were slowly getting better since Minho surpassing you no longer sparked an unworthy feeling within you. But apparently, you were wrong to believe so. Self-doubt crept up within you once again, and the ugly feelings it stirred slowly clawed at your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

It was one test, and yet it reeled you back ages ago. 

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes as you hurriedly walk out of your class. You make a beeline for the library, figuring that it will be mostly empty by now. 

You pull out a chair and sit on it, lowering your head down so no one will see you. Your tears are falling rapidly and you hit your thigh repeatedly.  You hated how weak you felt in that instant. 

"Yn?", someone calls out and you curse internally. You don't have to look up to see who it is, Minho's voice has become a part of you- you could easily recognize it between a thousand mingling sounds. 

You don't want him to see you, especially not like this, weak and vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down. So you quickly slip a pair of sunglasses on your eyes, before raising your head to look at him. "Hm?"

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone so soft it makes you want to cry ten times fold. You hated it, hated how attentive he was to you. You didn't deserve it. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just here to pick a book," you lie, abruptly standing up and heading toward the rows behind you. You desperately needed to get away from him. 

You pause in front of a random shelf and then you feel Minho standing behind you. You grab a random book and he peeks above your shoulder to see it, "Economics? You hate this subject."

"Why are you following me?" you turn around attempting your best to sound mad. When in reality, your heart was brimming with hurt. You wished you could get away from your body and seep into someone's soul to feel what it's like to love yourself.

"You aren't okay," he asserts and you hate it. You hate that he sounds so sure of himself. Was it that noticeable? Were you not fooling anyone?

"I am," your voice is shaking but you are adamant about contradicting him. You couldn't let him see you. What if he runs?

"Then..." he steps forward and you take a step back until your back is against the shelf. His left arm cages your body, but his right one stays by his side. He is leaving you an opening, you realize, an outing in case you feel uncomfortable. Against all odds, you don't.

 "Why are you hiding from me?" he asks, gently taking your sunglasses off your face, and placing them on the top of your head.

You don't look up at him, and he hooks his finger underneath your chin, gently raising your head. When your tear-stained eyes meet his, he frowns deeply, "Why are you crying?"

"it's nothing."

"Yn..."

"I fucked up, okay?! That was the worst test I’ve ever given in years." The tears start to flow at your words and you wipe them away aggressively. You despised crying in front of people. 

Minho raises his hand to wipe the tears away for you but he quickly retracts it- you probably wouldn't want him to touch your face. It was enough that he had grabbed your wrist a couple of weeks before this. He quickly racks his brain for something to do, because the sight of your tears is making his heart ache in a way he hasn't felt before. It's as if he's feeling your emotions deep within him.

In desperation, Minho pinches your arm and you yelp, startled. "What was that for?" you whisper-shout and he raises his hands in defense, "I didn't know what else to do."

"So, you thought about pinching me?" you chuckle in bewilderment and he scratches the top of his hair sheepishly. 

"I mean, it worked. Look, you stopped crying," he points out raising his brows at you proudly and you shake your head at him.

"Remind me to never cry in front of you again." 

Minho grins at you before his face turns serious once again. "Look, you are the smartest person I know," he pauses, adding with a cheeky smirk, "After me of course." Which makes you giggle against your will. 

"Shut up", you lightly punch his chest and he smiles. "One test doesn't define you. You always work very hard. I wouldn't lie to you."

"Mm," you hum and he frowns at your lack of enthusiasm, but still, he doesn't comment. 

"No more crying," he wiggles his finger in front of your face and you roll your eyes, wiping the rest of your tears away. "Fine. Pretend as if this never happened."

"What are you talking about?" he asks as if confused, and you can't help the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. It's as if Minho knows exactly what to say to cheer you up. 

"Come with me," he tells you, gently pulling you by the sleeve of your hoodie. 

"Where to?"

"I’m craving ice cream."

"And why do you need me?"

"You're craving ice cream too," he says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. 

"Only if you're paying," you add with a giggle and he whines loudly, "I feel so so used around you." 

True to his words, Minho takes you to the nearest ice cream parlor. It's a 20 minutes walk away and you are grateful for the distance because it helps you clear your head a bit.

Minho lets you pick whatever flavors you want, and when you hesitate between two of them, he tells the cashier to put them both into your cup. This is how you end up with a container of 5 scoops of ice cream. You insisted you'd share, and Minho begrudgingly agreed when you threatened to walk out and leave him.

You then walk to a deserted alley and sit on the sidewalk. You didn't want to be around people right now, and thankfully, Minho understood without you having to say a word.  

You munch silently on your ice cream and Minho does the same, the both of you lost in your thoughts. You naturally take turns holding the freezing container, so it wouldn't numb the fingers of one of you.

When you're done, Minho stands up to throw it away in a nearby trashcan before sitting back again next to you. 

Suddenly you feel him gently tapping your hand. You look down to find that you've curled your fingers into a tight fist, so much that there are crescent indents visible on your palm now. 

"Let's play thumb war," he tells you and you giggle at his words. You never knew what to expect from him. 

Still, as your fingers hold each other, and your thumb circles one another, you feel yourself calm down slightly. You play a couple of rounds, and you know he's going easy on you, allowing you to quickly trap his thumb down. 

No one has gone to such lengths to cheer you up, and you suddenly feel so grateful for Minho’s presence in your life. You didn't care in what shape he was in, you just needed him to be in it. Which in turn makes you think how bad it'd hurt if he ever leaves. 

You don't want Minho to leave. You've gotten so attached to him that the thought of not talking to him again makes your heart race in panic. 

Minho notices the change in your expression, suddenly melancholic once again. Your hand has gone limp in his, the thumb war long forgotten by you. 

He curses under his breath, before looking at you. "If I dance for you, will you quit being so sad?"

"Dance for me?" you repeat incredulously and he nods, "Yes. I’ll show you an upcoming choreography just... Please smile?" 

"Okay," you giggle, plastering a wide grin on your face. 

"Not like that you look scary."

"Get to dancing!" you clap excitedly and he rolls his eyes, standing up and looking through his phone for a particular music. 

"Oh and no comment!" he looks pointedly at you, and you nod, pretending to zip your mouth and throwing away the key. 

'Finesse' by Bruno Mars starts playing and you are left mesmerized by the way Minho dances. It's short but it leaves you yearning to see more. His body moves smoothly, hitting each beat effortlessly. He made it look as if dancing was second nature to him, that it came as easily to him as breathing. 

You were speechless, rightfully so. You wished you could build a world where all Minho did was dance. 

"That was-" you start when he stops the music but he cuts you off instantly, "I said no comment."

"But--" Minho places his finger on your mouth to silence you, seemingly not thinking too much of it. But the feel of his finger on your lips makes you dizzy. Minho quickly takes off his hand, a blush evidently creeping up his neck. 

"Let's just go home," he sighs in defeat and you laugh despite the intense feelings cursing through you.

You don't know if you are imagining it but you swear that your pinkies brush against each other on your walk back. As if there was this magnetic force pulling them together. You wondered what would happen if you just linked your pinky with his. Would he grab you by the hand or will he let go of you entirely?

You were too much of a coward to find out. You were scared of messing up anything with him. So, you'd settle for this. Stolen glances and random outings. You just need him in your life. 

"Thank you for today," you tell Minho once you arrive and he shrugs, as what he did wasn't a big deal.

"No, I mean it. Thank you," you repeat, trying your best to convey how sincere you were being. You take in a deep breath, before grabbing his hand and squeezing it, for a fleeting second, before dropping it again. 

Minho is sure that your hand will now be imprinted into his, that the lines tracing over your palm will merge with his as one. Your touch was barely there but it had electrocuted him. He wondered to himself if his body would be able to handle more from you. But he'd gladly burn in your fires for the sake of holding you. And he'd wait, unwaveringly, as time stretches alongside the two of you. He'd wait as long as it takes for you. 

"Yn, I..." he stammers, taking a step closer to you. His scent engulfs you and you shamefully close your eyes, inhaling it. When you open them again, you find Minho glancing down at your lips. You gulp, dazzled by his proximity. 

"You have a mole on your nose," you suddenly speak up and his eyes snap back to yours, an adorable confusion drawn on his features. 

"I like that mole," you continue and you wish you could dig yourself a hole and bury yourself in it. 

"Thank you," he chuckles and you nod vigorously, "You're welcome." 

"Can I ask you something?" he says and your breath hitches in your throat. "Sure."

"You don't like it when people touch you, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Can I ask why?" 

You want to confide in him, to tell him that it’s because you long for it, you crave it so badly. That this need has woven itself into the very fabric of your being. An ache so raw that it scares you at times. You’ve never known what it feels like to be held- it was uncharted territory to you. 

"Isn't everyone scared of the unknown?" you settle on saying, and he nods in understanding. Of course, he understood. No one knows you as well as him. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to know if I ever overstepped my boundaries."

"You didn't," you reply instantly. 

"Good. You'll tell me if I ever do, right?"

"I will." 

"Okay." 

"Um. I'll get going," you point behind you and Minho smiles at you, waving you off.

You walk for a few steps before coming back again quickly. You then grab Minho’s hand, gently squeezing it like before, "You are an amazing dancer." 

And then you drop it, running back towards your apartment block without waiting for a reply. 

Minho stays frozen in his place. You think he's an amazing dancer. And you held his hand for five seconds. 

That's four seconds more than the first time. 

Progress.        

✹✹✹

You haven't gotten out of your house for the past three days. 

Everything crashed around you rapidly, it made you realize that the ground you once stood on was only an illusion, elusive and fleeting. 

You were doing well; you were getting better. But then Monday came and you went out for a walk in the park near you. As you sat there, you saw a little girl playing on the swings, delightful joy dancing across her features. But then she fell to the ground and you instinctively stood up to help her, only to notice her mother running to her. 

The world stilled around you as you clearly saw it- how the little girl clung to her mother's embrace, her embodiment of hope and love. You never had that. You don’t even know what perfume your mother used because she never allowed you to get that close to her. 

You stood up abruptly, quickly heading back to your apartment block. As you ran up the stairs, you ended up bumping into one of your neighbors. You were quick to apologize but they ignored you, and the feeling of being invisible came back to haunt you ten times fold. 

You knew you shouldn’t have done it, you knew you should have deleted your mother’s number when she sent you away to university without a backward glance, relieved at the thought of you getting a full-ride scholarship and not needing her anymore. But you didn’t, you kept her number in the hopes that she’d call. On your birthday, on holidays, on a random Thursday to tell you that she did remember who you are. 

With trembling hands, tears welling in your eyes, you dialed your mother’s number for the first time in a year. You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe she regrets it. Maybe she misses you. Maybe she didn’t find the courage to mend her wrongdoings and that's why she never called. 

"Hello?" her voice rang through your apartment. Goosebumps erupted on your arms and your hold on the phone tightened. Her voice took you back to memories you thought you had buried. How you spent countless nights yearning to hear the sound of her voice, how you regretted it once she spoke to attack you.

You hate her. You miss her. You want to hang up. You need to ask if she's doing okay. 

“Who is this?” Her voice was devoid of recognition, freezing you in your tracks. You felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown over your head, dousing the flame of hope that flickered in your heart. 

She deleted your number.

You quickly hung up, placing your phone down on the table. The tears refused to fall. It was as if your body had long anticipated this outcome, leaving only your wounded soul to bear the pain. 

Healing isn't linear, you've read about it in books and heard it in shows and movies. One step back doesn't mean that your entire progress is gone. You know this, you've memorized those sentences. So why do you not believe them? Why does it feel as if you can never be free from the past? Why does it feel as if you’ll always seek something out of her? 

Those questions roamed your mind for the past three days, making you too tired at the prospect of lifting your limbs, let alone leaving your apartment. You sent your two friends a text, telling them that you're sick so they wouldn't worry. Not that you believed they would. Nothing made sense to you anymore.

You laid on your bed in utter silence- a tense quiet that was disrupted on the third day by someone knocking on your door. You didn't know who was there; you just hoped that they'd leave you alone.

To your surprise, you open the door to find Minho, some notes in his right hand and a coffee in his left. He sends an easy smile your way. You don't smile back.

"What do you want?" your voice is cold, but Minho doesn't bristle. A cheeky smile settles on his lips as he leans on your doorway.

"You didn't come to class for the past three days, so I brought you the notes. So, you wouldn't think our competition is unfair."

"Competition," you chuckle coldly, heading inside your apartment, and he follows suit. You start to pace around furiously, and Minho looks at you worriedly. "Competition?" you repeat, the word dripping off your tongue like venom. You turn around, marching towards Minho and standing a few inches from him. "You know what? Fuck you and your competition!"

"Yn-"

"Did it ever occur to you that I never wanted a part in this competition? That all I wanted was to be left alone?" you say, growing louder as you jab your finger into his chest repeatedly. "I never wanted any of this! Do you understand? I never wanted to be this way," you shout angrily in his face.

The worried look in Minho’s eyes snaps you out of your haze. You realize that you are being utterly ridiculous lashing out at Minho, when the one person you are mad at is yourself. 

Your anger quickly deflates, leaving in its trail an agonizing sadness. It's so sudden that it knocks the breath out of you, and you clutch your chest as if it could soothe the burn in your heart. Suddenly you are twelve years old again, crying in your room because you feel like no one has ever loved you.

But this time you aren't alone. Minho is in front of you, and his eyebrows are so furrowed you want to lean forward to ease the tension between them. His eyebrows, you liked his eyebrows, they were arched, and they framed his eyes nicely, and his eyes are brown and so big, and they always look at you softly and why is it getting so hard to breathe-

"Did I do something to you? Whatever it is I’m sorry," Minho panics, cutting off your frantic train of thought. But now, the weight of guilt adds to your overwhelming emotions. You shouldn't have lashed out at him, he brought you coffee and you yelled at him. Maybe your mom was right after all.

You shake your head left and right furiously, your words coming out in hiccups. Since when did you start crying? "It isn't- it isn't you."

"Then let me help you-", he steps forward, hand outstretched, but you take three hurried steps back and wrap your hands around yourself protectively. "Don’t. Please, don't."

"Why are you pushing me away?" his tone isn't accusatory. You've learned time and time again that Minho wouldn't do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.

"You won't understand."

"Then make me."

"Because I’m afraid!" the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. "I’m afraid if you ever hug me, I wouldn't be able to go back to hugging myself. I'd need you and I can't afford to need someone else."

You regret the words as soon as they fleet away from your mouth. He would look at you differently, he would find you pathetic and then he’d leave. And you wanted him to leave. But you also wanted him to stay. It was all so confusing. 

You felt as if your being was torn between two great forces, each one of them trying to win the war raging inside you. You wished someone else would make the decisions in your place, for once.

Minho places the coffee and notes on the ground before approaching you, his palms facing up in a gesture of surrender. "I won't leave you," he says softly. "I’ll be by your side for as long as you'll have me."

"Minho..." your voice catches in your throat as you utter his name- like a broken prayer. He stands before you, his eyes shimmering like the reflection of a river on a sunny day.

"Please, let me make it better." 

You nod tentatively and Minho comes even closer to you. He was treating you like one would with a wounded animal, giving you a chance to ultimately back out. But for once, you listen to what your heart has been yearning for. Your bones are aching to be held, to feel the warmth of a body against your own, to feel safe and secure. 

Minho embraces you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and bringing you to him. You slowly bring your arms up and lace them around his waist. You are afraid, deathly afraid. His grip is loose, and you almost can't feel him around you, but when you lay your head on his chest, he tightens his hold on you and you instinctively let out a sob. 

He's hugging adult you, the woman whose heart was once again broken by her mom. But he's also hugging little you, the girl who was craving affection from everyone around her. In that instant, Minho is hugging every single version of you that ever needed a hug. 

You were right to be scared because you don't want to let go, you want to stay in his arms because they feel safe, like a shield protecting you. You can't go back to not hugging Minho. 

The sensation is overwhelming and your knees buckle underneath you. But instead of holding you up, Minho falls to the ground with you, as if you are two inseparable pieces of one puzzle. He isn’t here to fix you, he’s here to break down with you and help you pick up the scattered pieces.

You think back to that night in the park when Minho told you about Japanese vases. At this moment, it dawns on you that Minho has found a way to become a part of you. He was the molten gold binding your broken parts together. He was the invisible thread stitching your wounds back together.

Who were you fooling? It was him; it was him all along. 

Minho rocks you gently as you cry and cry and cry. His hand finds your hair and he plays with it as you sob. He tells you you'll be okay, you'll feel better and you try to believe him, his words wrap around your bruises like a healing balm. 

"There, there, love. You are okay", he murmurs, tenderly patting your head. A fresh set of tears wells up in your eyes. Love.

"I’m sorry. I'm so sorry," you apologize as you pull away from his embrace. 

"Why are you apologizing? Is it because you wet my shirt? I don't mind," he reassures you with a smile and you shake your head. 

 "I was mean to you and you didn’t deserve it," you explain through hiccups.

"It's okay, you weren't mad at me, were you?" he asks, wiping your tears away so gently with his thumbs, careful not to irritate the sensitive skin.

"No. Still, it isn't okay and I’m sorry. I'm so sorry." 

"Shh, don't apologize. It's okay." you look at him doubtfully and he rolls his eyes playfully, "Here I’ll even do your silly pinky promise, okay?" he laces his pinky with yours, but then he suddenly leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your thumb pad. "There, sealed forever."

You giggle faintly as a blush dusts your cheeks, "That's not how it works."

"I know."

Your giggle was far different from the ones Minho was accustomed to. It was small, and it didn't brighten up your face like usual. But he was grateful for it nonetheless. He realized how much he missed your laugh, and how all the other sounds in the world pale in comparison to it.

In that moment Minho thinks to himself that he'd do anything to make you smile again. He'd make a fool out of himself if it meant making you happy. He'd settle for a simple tug at the corners of your mouth, anything but the sadness that seemed etched in your face, as if it was blended into the colors that drew you.

You tentatively move around, before laying your head on his lap. Minho's hand instinctively finds your hair and he starts to gently play with it. It feels as if you've done this a million times before, when in fact it was the first. 

There was something wildly intimate about laying on the floor with the man who just comforted you. It made you want to spill all your secrets to him, one by one, and have him hug you through them.

"Did you mean it? When you said you'll stay?" you felt so vulnerable in his hold, as if he could twist you whoever he liked. But you trusted him. You trusted yourself with Minho.

"I did. Your walls are always up. It's hard to peek behind them. But I don't want to tear them down. I want you to slowly unbuild them. I want you to do it for yourself."

To do it for yourself, it's hard to even know who you are anymore. 

"I want to tell you."

"You don't need to."

"I know, but I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, kitten." he pats your head gently, and you try to sync your breathing to the rhythm of his touch. You were grateful that you were lying on his lap since you couldn't see his face. It made talking feel a little less daunting.

"On my 9th birthday... I was very excited. I'd been on my best behavior that month, trying to please my mom in the hope that, for once, we'd celebrate my birthday. Like a normal little family," you smile sadly, you were so hopeful back then.

"My birthday came, I woke up, excited. My mom was still asleep, nothing out of the ordinary. So, I made my breakfast and walked to my school. I wore my prettiest dress and put on pigtails with hair clips. It was my birthday after all," Minho smiles softly at your words, his hand now resting on your own.

"I got back home and waited for my mom to come back. She remembered my birthday, I thought. And then, she came but she didn't talk to me. So, I thought, oh a surprise party!" you chuckle, but this time the smile on Minho’s face is gone.

"It was then 11 pm, and the hope had slowly died in me. So, in my stupid innocent self, I went to my mom, and asked her "Did you forget my birthday?". And I remember... I remember the way she laughed. Cruelly. Like I had told her the funniest joke in the world. And then. Then she looked me dead in the eye and said 'I hate the fact that you are born. Why would I celebrate that?'"

Minho sucks in a deep breath at your words, and you exhale one right out. It felt comforting, to have someone else stomach the hurt for you. To take the weight off your shoulders, allowing you a few moments to breathe.

"I confronted her about it one day, but she said she doesn't remember saying that. It's funny how it was a random Thursday for her, but for me, it shaped my life." you smile bitterly, "I remember how jealous I was of the way the other kids talked about their mothers. They said the word so lightly. It must have reminded them of sunshine and ice cream and rainbows. But for me, it held an uncharacteristic heaviness to it. I grew to hate the word."

"I drove myself crazy, Min", you whisper and he brings you closer to his body, "was it me or was it her? When did it start? Was it because I was too loud as a child or maybe too quiet? Did I not cater to her fantasies of a kid? I wanted to remember every single thing that happened throughout my childhood, thread through every single memory. I tried to pinpoint the exact moment my mom stopped loving me."

Minho squeezes your hand tightly in his, and you feel as if he was pulling you away from the memory that had long trapped you. You were now watching it unfold from outside of the window, your hand in his, safe from the hurt it had inflicted on you.

"It's not you. It could never be you. Some people are simply not fit to be parents. It's never their kid's fault."

Minho tries his best to keep his touch soothing, to make his voice sound as soft as possible. But he was angry, he was so angry at the world for not taking care of you when you were younger. His heart broke, thinking of 9-year-old you being told such cruel words.

He wanted to turn back time and tell you that you were enough. He wanted to make the pain that seemed so anchored in you float back to the surface, and dissipate like sea foam meeting the shore.

But he couldn't do that. All he could do is comfort present you.

Minho gently pulls you up from his lap, making you sit upright. He crisscrosses his legs and you do the same. Your knees brush against each other and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You didn't know that even knees could emanate such warmth.

"Yn, look at me. The world wouldn't be the same without you in it," he cradles your face between his hands, "You hear me yn? I’m so thankful you exist."

His doe brown eyes are sincere, and it made you want to believe him badly. That's a good start, right?

"I’ll be back," he tells you, letting go of your face and standing up.

You hear Minho rummaging through the kitchen and you take the time to calm yourself down. Sharing those parts of you with Minho felt therapeutic. As if you were healing parts of your inner child. You have never talked about this with anyone before, maybe this is why it still hurt as badly.

Minho comes back five minutes later, his hands behind his back. You raise a brow at him inquisitively and he just smiles secretly at you. "Close your eyes," he tells you and you giggle, doing as he says. He crouches in front of you, and you hear him shuffle in his place for a bit.

Then, "Open your eyes yn," and you find him, in front of you, a cupcake you had stored in your fridge in his hands, and a makeshift candle lit up. "Happy 9th birthday, love. You did well."

You stare at him in utter bewilderment. You couldn't believe your eyes. How could this man be so thoughtful? He was wishing you a belated birthday, to compensate for the 9th birthday you didn't celebrate.

You panic, at the look in his eyes. You've never seen it, never dared to dream of it, of someone caring for you unconditionally. So, you try to scare him, to push him away. You didn't want him to regret knowing you.

"There are things I need you to know um", you chuckle nervously, "When I... When I throw up, I hold my hair, and when I’m sick I nurse myself back to health, and when I have a nightmare I- I hold my hand in the dark. It will be hard for me to hold yours instead."

"We'll start a finger at a time, yeah?"

"It will take time."

"I have time," he speaks easily, as if loving you was effortless and not a strenuous task. You couldn't fathom it.

"You are too busy-", he cuts you off instantly, "Not for you." 

"The world doesn't stop because we need it to." Your voice is quiet; this is your very last try. You are tired of fighting. You are putting down your armor and waving a white flag.

"We'll make it stop. Here, the two of us. On this floor. We'll take as long as we need to."

"I never deemed you as an optimist", you smile a little, a hint of teasing in your tone.

"I’m not," he pauses, gazing down at the cupcake between his hands and then at you. "But I feel that we deserve a bit of happiness together, don't we?"

"We do."

"Then make a wish."

You close your eyes for a few seconds, before blowing on the candle.

"What did you wish for?" he asks a fond smile on his face.

The answer came naturally to you, you didn't even need to think about it. "I wished for you."

Minho's lips come crashing down on yours, and you imagine that this is what it feels like to see colors for the first time. To discover a new world beyond the one you've always known.

The kiss isn't urgent nor feverish, it is one of comfort. Your lips spilling the words you have not yet said to each other. "I love you," he kisses you, "I love you too," you kiss him back. "I need you to stay," you swipe your tongue across his bottom lip, "I’m never leaving you," he opens his mouth allowing you entrance.

As you kiss him, you remember a fact you once learned in high school. The human body possesses seven trillion nerves. And for the first time in your life, you feel as if each of these nerves is alive. You feel that even the smallest atom is electrocuted with Minho’s love and it’s all you know within you.  

You feel as if the pain, the hurt, and the ache you've been through are slowly unraveled, and in their place, a timid happiness is starting to bloom. You imagine that when Minho’s lips met your own, the seven trillion nerves inside you exhaled in relief 'We've made it', they said, 'we'll finally be okay.'

Epilogue

You've always thought that epilogues were useless. How can you resume the rest of your life in one sentence, boil down the rest of your existence in mere pages? Because life doesn't stop at the epilogue, and a new book can start once again, right where you left it off.  

But with Minho, you didn't mind an epilogue. On the contrary, you longed for a soft one. You wanted to rest on this last page, you wanted to lay your worries on the words and tuck them into the syllables. And you wanted to wake up anew.

And this wasn't the end of your story with Minho. A lot happened after it. But it didn't worry you, because epilogues are about the one thing that doesn't change throughout the long march of time. And luckily for you, that constant was Minho’s love for you. From that day he held you, he has never let go.

It took time, for his warmth to seep through your bones. It took time, for your heart to forget the cold. But you wanted to do it. With him. You wanted to love and be loved.

The sound of cats mewling fills your apartment, pudding can always be found in your fridge and you haven't felt invisible in years.

[princessmisery666]

Just Don't Say You Love Me

Summary: Dean believes you have a good thing going. When you tell him your moving on, he realizes he needs to reassess the relationship and his life before it’s too late.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, miscommunication, unrequited love, friends with benefits, implied smut, Dean doesn’t get a happy ending. 

W/C: 4,776.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Sam Winchester. 

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: Just Please Don’t Say You Love Me by Gabrielle Alpin.

A/N: I tried to fix the angst, but it’s not happening, so the unhappy ending will remain (for now). Special shoutout to @kazsrm67 and @pink-sparkly-witch for helping and offering words/comments of encouragement.

Betas: @deanwinchesterswitch // all mistakes remain my own. 

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

You knock on Jody’s door, taking a deep breath to calm yourself, some residual adrenaline still playing havoc with your nerves. It’s been a long and insightful day. 

Dean opens the door with a smile, but it quickly morphs into an appreciative grin as his eyes travel the length of your body. “Wow,” he says, “who knew all that was hiding under that uniform.”

You laugh, stepping through the door, not in the least bit phased by his comment. It's not the first time you’ve been told that. “Yeah, that uniform is like an invisibility cloak. I put it on, and no man sees me. Guess you're no exception,” you explain, turning to look at him again. 

“Well, I see you now,” he says, quickly lifting his focus from your ass to your face. “Um, they’re through there,” he gestures for you to go ahead of him. 

“There she is,” Jody says, embracing you with one arm while she places the huge bowl of salad on the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Guess I’m still a little shell-shocked, but I’m okay.” 

“Well, we’re all here to help you…adjust,” Sam offers with a kind smile.

Discovering monsters are, in fact, very real and not just a Halloween marketing ploy is definitely going to be an adjustment. But what choice do you have? These people have given you an in. They’ve let you into their secret club, and honestly, you feel privileged that they trust you and think you are capable enough to help.

If you weren’t capable, neither Jody nor Dean would be here right now, a fact Sam keeps thanking you for over dinner.

“Thank you for being so cool about this,” he says again, lifting his beer bottle to clink it against yours. 

“I’ll freak out later,” you joke, though you probably will. 

“Seriously, you rushed in there, no hesitation, and you held your own,” Jody adds to Sam’s praise. “You certainly proved I picked the right woman for my team.”

“And I can’t thank you enough for that,” you say, genuinely grateful for the opportunity to work with her.

You’ve had some awful bosses and equally shitty jobs over the years, so it's nice to have found Sheriff Mills. Okay, so you’ll be fighting real-life monsters occasionally, but what’s a little compromise? 

They answer all your questions, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a little overwhelming. Dean keeps flashing a tight smile in your direction, and you’re not sure if it's meant to be reassuring or if he’s biting his tongue and trying not to be rude. Regardless of his intention, Jody and the boys’ promises to help you come to grips with it all make it seem manageable.

“Am I going to get to hear the story of how you met those two?” you ask Jody in the kitchen later. 

“Definitely, but not tonight,” she explains, handing you a clean, soapy plate to rinse and dry.

Dean and Sam laugh in the other room, and Jody smiles wistfully. It’s so sweet and motherly it chokes you up a little.  

“The years have not been kind to those boys,” she says, focusing back on the dishes. “They keep their circle small, and I’m grateful that they let me be a part of it, and now you get to join it, too.”

“It’s a damn good-looking circle,” you confess.

Jody chuckles, “Ah, so you noticed Dean as much as he noticed you.” 

“Don’t go all matchmaker on me again,” you warn, “do I need to remind you of the disaster that was Paul?” 

“No, you do not. I’m just making an observation. The circle is indeed good-looking, and Dean has been doing a lot of observing of his own.” 

“Yeah, not sure that’s for the reasons you’re implying,” you say, “Dean doesn’t seem like he wants me to be helping out.”

Dean’s voice startles you, “You saved our asses.” You jump, twisting to look at him, “that’s enough.”

“But if I can do more…”

“The life of a hunter isn’t a life I'd recommend,” he explains, reaching for a beer from the fridge, “ it’s messy and painful and usually ends badly.”

“That’s life in general,” you counter, “and if something is happening and I don’t do anything to help, I’m part of the problem.”

“That’s fine,” he says, throwing his bottle top into the trash. “You’re a bigger part of the problem if you get into a situation you can’t get out of.”

“Dean,” Jody scolds, “take it easy. You said it yourself, she saved our asses today. She’s proven she’s capable.”

“All I’m saying is I’ll help where and if I can,” you explain. “I’m not going to go all Buffy the Vampire Slayer and start patrolling graveyards.”

It’s faint, but a slight quirk tugs his lips, breaking the building tension. 

“Besides, I’m sure our uniform makes us invisible to monsters as well as men.” 

He laughs properly at that, “Not invisible to me anymore,” his tongue sits behind his teeth, and you're suddenly jealous when he wraps his lips around the bottle.

“Good to know,” you say.

You hold each other’s gaze, perhaps a challenge to see who will shy away first. 

“Cool it, you two,” Jody warns, flicking water off the tips of her fingers at you both. 

“Sorry, boss,” you laugh. “And on that note, I’m gonna get going.”

“Need a ride?” Dean asks, a smug smirk in play. 

“I would love one,” you wink, but follow up with, “but it’s a nice night. Think I’m gonna walk, work off some of that wine.” 

“Why don’t you walk her home?” Jody suggests. 

Dean nods, “lead the way.”

When you’d balked, telling Dean you didn’t need an escort, he’d countered, saying he needed the fresh air, but you think it’s more to check up on you and maybe flirt a little more without an audience if your instincts are correct. It’s been nothing but small talk since leaving Jody’s until you're standing on your porch facing one another.

“So how are you really taking all this?” he asks. 

“I had a little freak out before I got to Jody’s,” you answer honestly, “but truthfully, it makes me feel a little better about the world.” 

He huffs a laugh, and his confused frown is adorable. “Okay, that’s a first.” 

“There’s so much evil in the world. It’s scary enough without knowing what I know now,” you explain, adding, “Maybe some of the unexplainable evil that’s all over the news is explainable. Maybe it’s not humans being horrible. Maybe it’s actually something evil.”

“Huh, I never thought of it like that.”

“I’m not saying I’ll remember that the next time a vamp is kicking my ass,” you laugh. 

“Hey,” he scolds, “you agreed, no hunting.” 

You hold your hands up, surrendering. “I won’t go looking for it, but if it comes to Sioux Falls, I’m all over it,” you promise, but your body has other ideas as an overall ache spreads through you as the day's events catch up with you. “Well, maybe in a few days when I’ve recovered from the last one.” Subconsciously, your tongue rolls over the cut on your bottom lip.  

“That hurt?” he asks. 

“I’ve had worse.” You shrug. The way he’s looking at you dulls the sting of the cut, and the tired ache in your bones shifts and reshapes into a simmering itch that needs scratching.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks, pointing over your shoulder toward your door. The implication of you being alone goes unsaid.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, trying not to roll your eyes. “But maybe you want to come in? Have a coffee or something, distract me a little longer so I don’t freak out too much?”

He smiles, wetting his lips. He knows that’s not what you're asking, and you wonder how often the offer of ‘coffee or something’ has been used successfully on him. He looks down at his shuffling feet, heaving a sigh. “I should get back.” 

The hesitation is clear, yet he doesn’t move. A surge of adrenaline spreads through you, and your heart rate increases. When he looks up, catching your eyes, the intensity of the long, loaded pause is enough to make you wonder, if monsters exist, then maybe that electricity everyone talks about is real, too, because it feels like if you touch your hand to Dean’s face, sparks will fly.

“Thanks again for the save today,” he whispers.

“Anytime,” you smile. 

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you're as one, mouths connected, exploring the other’s, hands groping and gripping, and your lip stings for a split second, but then Dean has you pinned against your door, and you forget about it.

He pulls away and kisses your neck, “Maybe,” he says, scraping his teeth against your jaw, “we should take this inside.”

Your arrangement with Dean works. No pressure, no expectations. Summer comes, and winter fades, but your relationship remains mutually beneficial. 

He rolls through Sioux Falls, that charming smile - that you’re not sure he knows quite how charming it is - “passing through,” but he stays a few days. He always claims it’s to catch up with Jody and the girls, but he spends most of his time at your place, and it’s too coincidental that you’re never on shift or scheduled for a few days when Baby pulls up outside.

Jody insists she has nothing to do with it. Yes, she's the sheriff, yes, she’s your boss, and makes the rotas, but “The only thing I swing is that I get to work with you,” she’d promised, winking. And you love her for that. Some of the men are still stuck in the past, and though they don’t say it, you can tell they don’t think women can do the job.

If only they knew. You’ve helped on a few hunts now. There’s no doubt in your mind that your relationship with Dean wouldn’t be what it is if you didn’t know about the real evils of the world. But each hunt ended the same: a dead monster and your body beneath Dean’s. 

You're in your room lacing up your little white summer pumps when the Impala’s engine announces his arrival.

You jump to your feet, quickly check yourself in your mirror, smoothing down the already smooth summer dress, and call out, “It’s open,” when his knock echoes around the house.

“Wow, look at you,” he says, freezing partway over the threshold to admire you as you bounce down the stairs.

You deliver your usual greeting, a swift kiss to his lips, and the unmistakable aroma of leather and cheap motel soap assaults your senses - damn, you’ve missed him - but you won’t say it. Instead, you show it, making the kiss deeper.

He shuffles inside, uses your hips to steady himself as he kicks the door closed, and then wraps his arms around your waist to hold you tightly against him. 

Your phone rings, and you fumble to find it on the table by the door, but as soon as you do, Dean releases you, kissing your neck and collarbone. 

“Hey, hi,” you answer. 

“Hey babe,” your best friend sings, and you know it's because she needs something. “Can you grab some ice on your way over?” 

“Yeah, sure, okay.” 

“You okay?” 

No. Yes.

Dean is kneading your breasts, nibbling on the skin that spills out the top of your sundress. “Yeah, just rushing, I’m running late.” 

“So late,” he mumbles into your skin.

“Well, hurry more,” she says before hanging up.

“Oh fuck, Dean, you gotta stop,” you whine. 

He groans, dulling the sting of his bite with a sweet kiss, and pulls back to look at you. “This a bad time, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling as disappointed as he looks. “It’s my friend's birthday. She’s having a barbeque.” 

He sighs, leaning his head on your shoulder and mumbling into your neck. “Damn it.” 

“I have to at least show my face,” you say, using your hands on his cheeks to pull his head up to look into his eyes. “But you can stay here, take a shower, watch a movie or something, and maybe in a couple of hours, I get a headache and need to come home.” 

Wetting his lips, he smirks before delivering a brief kiss. “Or,” he draws out the syllable, mild hesitation clear in his eyes, “Maybe I can come with you?”

Since Chuck is no longer an issue, Dean has been making an effort to live in the moment, opening himself up, if only a little. So you try to quell the shock of his suggestion. It quickly evolves to a pleased grin when your mind flashes to your friends' faces when you walk in with the infamous Dean. They will lose their shit. You like spending time with Dean but don’t want to cross any lines or make assumptions. “I’d like that,” you smile, “but you really don’t have to.”

“I’m sure I can survive a couple hours with your friends, and you know I can always eat.”

“Okay,” you nod, smile widening. “If you’re sure.” 

He kisses you again, a simple but effective peck on your lips. “But maybe we both get a headache in a couple of hours.” 

“Deal,” you agree, sealing it with another casual kiss. “Maybe lose a few layers. It’s summer.”

He laughs, shrugging off his jacket. “I’m sure I have a clean Fed shirt in the trunk.”

“Perfect,” you say, grabbing your bag and keys. “Want me to drive?” 

He rolls his eyes, jesting, “Did that kiss fry your brain?” as he follows you out the front door.

He opens the passenger door for you, and before you slip inside, you tell him, “Oh, and whatever my friends say I’ve said about you, it’s all lies.”

He grins smugly, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

The shower has done wonders for your developing hangover. Your friend's barbecue lasted longer than you had anticipated, but the day couldn’t have gone better. 

Dean fit in well with everyone and crushed it at beer pong. It was a success all around, and when you’d quietly asked if he wanted to leave, he’d said no, that he was having too much fun.

The fun continued when you got home, and Dean is undoubtedly still feeling the effects as well. It’s almost midday, and he’s still sound asleep in your bed when you enter your bedroom in clean sweats and your bra while you towel dry your hair. 

Dean is lying on his stomach, with his face smushed adorably against the pillow he’s hugging, taking advantage of all the space now that you’ve vacated.

You crawl across the bed, leaning over him, and he still doesn’t stir. You put your lips close to his ear and half whisper, “Morning.”

His brow instantly creases, and he squeezes his eyes tighter, groaning, “No, no, you have to go away.” 

“You gotta get up. It’s almost midday.”

“Nuh-uh,” he grumbles, eyes still squeezed shut. “You have to take your horrible talking, talky mouth away from me.” 

“Okay, you asked for it.” You laugh, sitting back and wringing your hair out so the excess water drips on his naked back.

“Ah,” he groans, arching up off the mattress.

You jump off the bed, laughing as you walk to the mirror to start doing your hair. Turning over, he rubs a hand over his face and then both through his hair, causing it to stick up adorably. He catches you staring in the mirror, and you quickly avert your eyes. 

“Damn, your friends can drink,” he says, sitting up against the headboard. 

You laugh, that’s an understatement. “They definitely know how to have fun.” 

“They seem like a good bunch.” 

“They liked you too,” you smile at his reflection, and he grins back. “Laura told me to invite you to her and Chris’ wedding.”

His expression shifts, staring off into the distance for a singular moment as if he’s imagining how that would play out. But as quickly as it appears, it drops when he scrubs a hand down his face to put the mask back on. “That’s cool, but I can’t make that kind of commitment.” He swings his legs off the bed, putting his back to you. “I don’t know where I’ll be.”

You hadn’t expected a solid answer, but the double meaning behind his words settles thick disappointment in your stomach. You’ve never asked for any commitment nor discussed the arrangement between you, but hearing him say it aloud singes the hope you always try to contain.

Dean quickly gets to his feet, swaying at the abruptness. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” He mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he heads to the bathroom.

It’s been less than ten minutes, and you’re sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through your phone, when he finds the courage to face you again. He’s talking to Sam on his phone, obnoxiously loud, as he descends the stairs, trying to make a point of his hasty need to depart.

He appears in the kitchen doorway, jacket in hand, hair dripping onto the shoulders of his henley. You guess you should be grateful he wasn’t cowardly enough to have just shouted goodbye from the door. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about before.” He moves closer to the table, eyeing you as he raps his knuckles on the polished wood. “It’s just that, even with Chuck out of the picture, I’m not sure how things are going to play out. I can’t make any, uh, long-term commitments. Sam and-“

“I get it, Dean.” The last thing you want is any tension between you, so you nip the growing uncomfortableness. “We don’t need to have any awkward conversations.”

He bobs his head, hope swimming in his eyes. “So, we’re good?”

You take your mug to the sink, and once your back is to him, you say, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“You sure?” You didn’t hear him move, but the air shifts behind you, bringing his warmth along with it.

Plastering on a smile, you turn to face him and nod. “Take care of yourself.”

The corner of his mouth curls upward, and he kisses your forehead before heading to the door, “Talk to you soon,” he calls before the door clicks shut.

Fools rush in. Dean is no fool. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like being one sometimes. Usually, it’s when he’s on the road, heading home from a hunt or supply run, he daydreams about how things could be with you. 

The daydream isn’t much different from how things already are. The sex would just be coupled with more official dates – dinner, movies, watching him, which for some reason turns you on, ‘do his thing’ as you call it when he’s hustling suckers at pool. Hell, even grocery shopping. He’d sneak unhealthy snacks into the cart because you promised Sam you’d take care of him, and you would. Dean knows you’d be good to him, that you are good for him. But he’s lived that life. He doesn’t need a wake-up call to know how it ends.

It’s a nice daydream. It gives him a much-needed boost of serotonin when he’s in short supply. But like the gas that fuels Baby, the thought has vaporized by the time he shuts off the engine.

Chuck isn’t calling the shots anymore, but that doesn’t mean the big bads aren’t still gunning for the Winchester's demise. Sam has it all figured out with Eileen, and Dean wishes he could be as sure about what he wants life to look like now. But he can’t be sure of anything, at least not yet. He’s still working on adjusting to a life not consumed by hunting. Trying to come to terms with the fact that there isn’t something lurking around every corner, that the choices he makes – good and bad – are truly his and not fueled by some life-ending curveball Chuck tosses at them. 

The doubts bore deeper, and as always, when he’s drowning in his own head, he thinks of you.

He remembers how you busted down the door with borrowed equipment from Sioux Falls. You’d looked frantic but still in control. Your mere presence had calmed him, and not because you were there to rescue him. You didn’t waste a breath with a witty comment like he would have. You let off two shots, dropped the ghoul about to take a chunk out of him, and then untied him.

You’d been cool and calm, checked him for injuries, but didn’t believe he was truly okay till he kissed you breathless. That adrenaline-filled, kiss-swollen lips, slightly frantic edge to your eyes, is the picture he conjures whenever he thinks of you. 

It’s been a while since he’s seen you. You’ve exchanged a few calls, but now that his mind is stuck on that picture of you, he has to see you.

He shoots Sam a text, telling him he’ll be in Sioux Falls if Sam needs anything, and then pulls an illegal u-turn to put himself in your direction. 

Dean’s not phased that you aren’t home when he shows up. It’s not like he called ahead. He never does. But now that he’s here, he doesn’t want to waste time tracking you down, so he calls. 

“Hey,” you greet brightly.

The smile in your voice brings out his. “Hey, yourself. I’m at your door.” 

“Shit, sorry, I’m not there.”

He chuckles, “Are you around, or does my timing suck again?” 

“No, no, it’s kinda perfect, actually,” you say. “I was gonna call you later anyway. But I need a half hour or so.”

“I can wait.” 

“Greasy Sal’s?” you offer. 

He smiles, already salivating at the thought of a Greasy Sal’s cheeseburger. “Throw in some curly fries,” he requests.  

“Okay, got it,” You laugh.

Dean sits on the Impala’s hood while he waits, head tilted toward the sun, eyes closed while he catches the day’s last rays. The sound of your car’s engine isn’t as distinct as Baby’s, but he knows it well enough that as soon as he hears it, he opens his eyes and watches you turn onto the street. It’s not until that moment that he realizes how eager he is to see you. Maybe Greasy Sal’s can wait; he has another hunger he needs to sate.

He waits till you shut off the engine to open your door, “such a gentleman,” you quip, taking his offered hand to step onto the sidewalk. “Or are you clambering for food?” 

“Not what I’m hungry for,” he says, guiding you against your car. He presses himself against you, feeling the coolness of the air conditioning on your clothes. He circles the tip of your nose with his own, whispering, “Hey,” against your lips before claiming them as his own. 

Frustratingly, you push a hand into his chest after the first brush of his tongue, and he pulls back to look at you. You're looking up at him from under hooded eyes, and he feels like his heart skips a beat, or maybe he’s just a little out of breath. But he knows that with you gazing up at him like he’s a beautiful sunset, he really has missed you. 

“Maybe we should take this inside.”

“Absolutely,” he says, slightly impatient that he can’t get you naked then and there.

He walks to the trunk to get your shopping bags and follows you up the path. He has a bag packed with his essentials but never brings it inside until the next morning. Something about bringing it in before you’ve had sex seems presumptuous, which is crazy because, as per the arrangement, that’s exactly what he’s here for.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, entering your kitchen with him close on your tail.

“Yeah, you too.” He genuinely means it. It’s like things fall into place when he’s around you. 

“How’s Sam?”

“He’s good,” Dean explains, placing the grocery bags on the countertop. “He’s taken Eileen away for a couple days.” 

“Good for them.” 

You unpack the groceries and take a beer from the fridge; as always, it's his favorite brand. Though he never warns you of his pending arrival there is always a supply cooling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks in the cupboards. 

He takes the open bottle from you, leaning in to deliver another kiss, but you turn to grab more groceries, and he realizes it's a not-so-stealthy way to give him your cheek.

It seems to be the day of revelations because he’s super aware of how easily you flow around each other in the small kitchen. Dean plates up the burgers, grabbing another beer for you from the fridge, and he’s surprised to see that it’s the only one left. That, coupled with the kiss avoidance, gives him pause. Something’s wrong. 

You sit at the table and take a large gulp of the beer. “You okay?” he asks once you’ve swallowed the beer and the nervousness you're exuding. “You seem a little…off.” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, then inhale deeply before adding, “Actually, no, I’m not. We need to talk. And I hate how cliche that sounds, but I don’t know how else to bring it up, and I don’t want to get all emotional on you, but I need to tell you something.”

He feels the panic fizz in his gut. You can’t be pregnant. He's seen you take birth control, and he uses protection every time. So it can only be one thing …you're about to ruin everything.

You're going to utter those three words, and it's going to be the death blow to all the good stuff between you. 

He takes a swig of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Please don’t,” he begs, looking you dead square in the eyes. “What we’ve got going on is good, we’re good…” 

“Dean, I …” you try, but he holds a hand up to cut you off.

“Don’t say it.” he pushes his chair back and rubs his hands on his thighs, palms suddenly sweaty. “I like what we have. It works, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to it or that I don’t miss you. But I just got back a little peace of mind and…” he pauses, clearly searching for the right word, “caring about someone…” he shakes his head, reaching to wrap his hand around his beer bottle. “...Loving me, even with Chuck gone, it doesn’t make it any less of a death sentence. So please don’t say it.”

You reach across the table for his hand, clenched around his beer, but he’s quick to pull back. “Dean,” you choke out, the remorse you feel slipping from your eyes in a single tear. “I’ve met someone.” 

He stares at you, mouth agape, not sure that he heard you correctly. 

“It’s still new,” you continue, rushing to explain as your tears spill. “But it’s going somewhere. Somewhere great, and I don’t want to mess it up.”

Of course, you haven’t been sitting at home waiting for his sporadic visits. You’ve been out living your life as you should be. The possibility of meeting someone else, someone you could say those three words to, and it be a life sentence and not a death sentence, had occurred to him more than once. It poked at him like a swarming gnat, knowing you deserved to find someone better than him, but selfishly, he swatted at it until it went away. 

He’s holding his breath and will get light-headed soon if he doesn’t find the ability to breathe again. 

“Dean,” you coax, “say something.”

He feels as if you’d blindsided him, come out of the left field, and taken his legs out from under him. Now he’s on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and waiting for the feeling in his limbs to return. 

Abruptly he stands. He sees the panic in your eyes and knows what’s coming. As you plead, “Don’t leave,” he says, “I gotta go.”

He strides quickly toward the door. You call his name as he goes, but he doesn’t stop. 

He rushes out your front door, leaves it open, and as he reaches Baby, he has a singular moment of wondering what will hurt the least - holding on or letting go.

“Dean, please,” you call from the door. 

He slides behind the wheel, deciding to let go.

Part 2 - The Right Guy On Paper.

Tags info

/ @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimallina87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @pank0w / @kmc1989/ @deans-spinster-witch / @spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

[exouniverse]

(My) Home

Pairing: kyungsoo x gn reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, non-idol au, chef!kyungsoo au

Warnings: although it is very fluffy, there are small conversations regarding some sensible topics such as the mention of a dead parent, and tough moments during enlistment; however, they’re touched from a healing perspective and not explicitly detailed.

Summary: since the moment Kyungsoo met you, he has felt that being by your side is just like finding solace in the warmth of home. With this realization, he has meticulously arranged a surprise to propose the transformation of that comforting sense of home into a tangible reality.

Word count: 8.7K+

A/N: it’s finally here! My heart needed this fluffy fic so I indulged, the characters took me in ways I didn’t see coming so it took me a little bit longer to post (this was supposed to be the first fic I posted here, but inspiration hit with the birthday fics lol.) I didn’t want any angst but still, some happy tears are shared between them.

MOODBOARD

Some vocabulary insights I think I didn’t get to explain:

Bujubangjang - 부주방장: sous-chef | Dulce de leche: caramelized milk spread, also named arequipe, manjar, or cajeta | Gyeran-mari - 계란말이: rolled omelette | Seoleim - 설레임: Korean ice cream brand | Yeobo - 여보: honey, darling, sweetheart (commonly used between married or engaged couples) | Yeobobangjang: word play term from yeobo (여보) and bujubangjang (부주방장), created for the story’s purpose | Yukgaejang - 육개장: it is a spicy shredded beef soup.

The memories imprinted on the photo albums never failed to bring a genuine smile to his face and make him reminisce; not even the dust that tickled his nose could ruin these types of moments. He flipped through the well-worn pages, letting memories wash over him. He knows he has changed a lot through the years, but his essence is still palpable somehow; nonetheless, he doesn’t feel the need to alter anything about his personality. He’s loved by the people around him and, for once, he is comfortable and happy with the person—he has come to admit—he has surrendered his heart to.

He smiled, wondering how it would have been if they had met as toddlers, maybe at kindergarten or at school, and gone on beach trips with friends during the summer. His smile would have brightened even more just by seeing you posing beside him, poking his dimples as you are already so used to doing. Kyungsoo just knows deep in his heart that you would love what he’s been planning; he can’t let that little evil voice of doubt and insecurity win this one. You are clueless so far about his plans, but hints from you have also been received and thought through, so that’s what moved him to plan his proposal for moving in together.

“Kyungsoo, son.” He heard his mother’s voice calling from the kitchen, snapping him out of his daydream.

He followed the sound of her voice, appearing quicker than she had expected, causing her to jump in surprise. “Sorry, mom!” he exclaimed, letting out a chuckle as he approached, eager to taste the Yukgaejang, whose enticing aroma had already made his stomach growl.

“Hands off!” his mother scolded him. “I can’t let you get creative with Yukgaejang; your father likes it this way.”

He only continued to chuckle at his mother’s expression as he remembered the last time he tried and failed, earning him a week of an indescribable, odd-tasting soup. Teenager Kyungsoo would have likely tricked you into tasting it as a prank, just to have an excuse to be together in the nurse’s office, but he would have completely regretted his antics the moment he came to realize he liked you.

“Do Kyungsoo, did you hear what I said?”

“Oh, sorry, mom, need any help? Sorry, what did you say?”

Because of his giggles and daydreaming, he could have been doomed at that moment had his mom not been aware of the reason why he was behaving that way, so she only continued to give him the banchan she had served for him to set on the table.

“Have you decided which photos to take with you already?” his mom wondered, noticing the albums on the sofa before she sat down to eat with her youngest son, who was visiting for the day with a peculiar excuse.

“There are a lot. You can tell me which ones you want to keep, and I’ll choose from the rest.”

“It’s okay, you can take as many as you want.” She paused to think. “But do leave me the one from kindergarten where you have that big smile of yours; I don’t get to see it often.”

“Mom, I do smile!” Kyungsoo protested, perplexed at his mother’s bluntness but still amused.

“I know, I know,” she giggled. “It’s only directed to a specific someone nowadays.” And just like that, she delivered her last joke, playfully teasing her son just a bit more.

“Mom!”

The way his eyes widened in surprise amused her so much that she couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “I love Y/N! I truly do, but you don’t visit us as frequently as you used to,” she revealed, honestly.

Kyungsoo put a piece of haemul-pajeon on his mother’s rice at the same time that he offered her the smile she missed. “Ok, I’ll try visiting you more.”

Content with her son’s actions, she continued to eat the seafood pancake with a smile on her face. “Bring Y/N with you too; I miss our drama marathons,” she encouraged.

“I’ll sure do, mom.”

“Oh, they’re here!” You glanced toward the front door, leaving the cookie dough unattended as you rushed to the entrance to let your little guests in.

Kyungsoo chuckled as he witnessed your surprising speed. He went to check on the dough to see if he could help you in any way; he is the one that’s mostly in the kitchen, whether it’s yours or his, but you specifically told him not to do anything since you wanted to share this new recipe with him.

“Uncle Kyungsoo!” your older niece shouted out as soon as she saw him. He waved at her and she ran to embraced him. “Are you making cookies? Can you make them blue like you did last time?”

The shower of questions gave him away, so he tried to plead innocence by giving you an honest smile, which only grew bigger as he saw your two adorable twin nephews next to you. They both happily ran to hug Kyungsoo’s legs.

“I swear I didn’t change or touch anything.”

His ears could have burned to the touch, even when he was telling half the truth, because he indeed didn’t do anything—only thought about it, and got very close to tasting the cookie dough.

“I know those eyes, what are you hiding?” You squinted at him.

“Is it safe to leave my kids with you two?” your sister joked as she closed the door at a dramatically slow pace.

“Ari, he’s hiding something, right?” you kept teasing.

“I’m not.” Kyungsoo couldn’t stop his laugh. It could have given him away, but you know the nuances in his expressions too well. Also, it’s a given that he wouldn’t have had enough time to change anything.

“I’ll give you one chance; you can add one ingredient that you think could make it better.” His smile was like a reward. “He’s been pretending to keep himself busy while I’m making cookies,” you explained the context of the situation before you.

“Kyungsoo-ssi, you’re a chef, and isn’t today your free day?” your sister asked.

He only giggled and proceeded to taste the dough as everyone in the room expected his feedback; even your twin nephews paid attention, probably expecting a taste too.

He surprised himself; it was hard to tell, but there was some kind of ingredient that his palate was enjoying but couldn’t quite figure out because of the sweetness of the sugar and the distinctiveness of the vanilla extract present in the mixture.

“Are these chocolate chips?” he asked once he realized where the new flavor came from. There was a sweet flavor there that just didn’t taste quite like chocolate.

“Nope, they are dulce de leche chips; Ari’s friend makes them.”

Kyungsoo was incredulous but mostly confused. “Uncle, you don’t know what dulce de leche is?” your niece asked even more incredulously than him, making everyone laugh.

At that moment, your nephews started to build up energy and tried to climb up to Kyungsoo’s arms to see what he was eating. It had taken a long time for them to turn hyperactive, but they had been too entertained with his bunny slippers before. Kyungsoo managed to lift both of them to help them grab some chips from the bag that your niece pointed at and let her grab a bunch first.

“Remember the Latin American Festival we went to a couple of weeks ago? We tried dulce de leche with those small crumbly cookies.”

“Oh oh oh, yeah, I remember now. Mhmm, this is good, so good. I’m not doing anything; you even added sea salt, right?”

“Yeah, of course I did!”

“Well, I’m sorry to be a party pooper, but I must leave now,” your sister announced.

“Come kiddos, say goodbye to your mom!” Kyungsoo took them to their mom, but the older one started crying, realizing his mom was leaving. He jumped on his mother as soon as he was close, and it wasn’t long before the little one started crying too.

Your niece approached to try to calm her brothers, but you remembered you had just the thing to distract them so your sister could leave.

“Let’s go play in the camping tent; there are tons of balls to play with,” you told your niece so she could help you convince her brothers since they follow her lead all the time.

“Yes! And can we have ice cream?” She got all of the adults to laugh yet another time, but at least she managed to lessen the crying and desperation so your sister could talk to them and remind them that she needed to go for a while and that she was coming to get them later.

“I’ll go get the ice cream,” Kyungsoo offered. “I can accompany you downstairs.”

“Thank you, Kyungsoo-ssi. You’re so kind.” Your sister accepted his help as she put your nephew on the floor so you could take them to the camping tent you set for them to play in.

Kyungsoo led your sister outside after he took his wallet to go buy ice cream for everyone staying in your apartment.

In the elevator, silence fell, but for the generic music coming from the speakers. Kyungsoo spoke first, "thank you in advance. This means a lot to me."

“You’re so sweet; nobody has ever done anything like this. Y/N loves you like crazy, I can assure you of that, it would totally be the best surprise.” She searched in her bag for an envelope and handed it to him. “This should help with your plans.”

“In exchange, I will take good care of your kids, I promise,” he assured her as he held the envelope and handled it with so much care.

“Of course, you two are a great team. You always do a great job!”

While Kyungsoo went for ice cream, you were doing your best to distract the kids. The twins were like the moon and the sun, so the easier task was to leave your niece to play with the youngest in the tent while you tried to control the middle one, who was throwing the balls and even the toys at your sofa. The space in your living room where you placed the tent expanded to the whole house in about two minutes; all of the toys and balls were all over the place.

Luckily, you had finished the dough and were able to refrigerate it before the baking process, ensuring the mixture remained untouched by the Poké Balls flying about. This allowed you to attend to the children on your own until your boyfriend returned from the store.

You didn’t even need to get your camera to recollect the evidence for your sister because she knew her kids. However, you still took some pictures with your phone to send them to her, as you caught the kids’ enjoyment when they started playing together.

As you were writing to her, your phone rang with a video call from Kyungsoo, and as soon as the kids heard his voice, they all came running to say hi to him. He let out a quick giggle while his cheeks turned red. He hadn’t expected to have so much noise coming from his phone at the convenience store; he even bowed at some people behind the camera, apologizing.

“You can turn it to just a voice call if you feel more comfortable that way,” you suggested once the kids went quiet, expecting to see what their uncle was going to show.

“It’s okay; it’s quick. Just wanted to show these two options I had in mind for the kids.”

“They love the cookies and cream Seoleim—“

“Oh, but I want the banana one,” your niece expressed, creating a double echo from the little ones.

“Uncle, banana,” said the youngest, making Kyungsoo giggle.

“I can bring both, and do you want some vanilla ice cream to eat with the cookies?”

“You’re a genius!” you smiled. “Thank you, jagi.”

Kyungsoo mirrored your smile and waved goodbye. “See ya all soon!”

It didn’t take long for him to come back, so he got to see the chaos you got caught in again when he arrived. He ran to the kitchen before he was trapped by the kids at the entrance, and he gave them their ice cream fast enough for them to run back to you. Kyungsoo quickly hid the envelope in his jacket and put the vanilla ice cream in the fridge to eat later with the cookies. Since it was relay time, it was easier for him to hide the surprise with his belongings when you came to the kitchen to finally start to bake.

Taking care of your niece and nephews was challenging; Kyungsoo couldn’t even lie to himself that it wasn’t, but they were quite adorable and funny. You’ve been doing this for longer than he has, so it seemed to be so easy for you when he first saw you interact with the kids. However, he has worked on it and gotten to improve fast. Such as when your nephew started a tantrum because he wanted to go out to play but Kyungsoo saw it was about to rain. You came into the room to help, but he waved off your help, determined to handle it himself.

With them, he had learned to let loose and have fun, even if he had to act cute or like a clown. Who would have thought he could pull out some moves? Singing was easier, and karaoke rooms were witnesses to that, but he learned to accept that dancing was also fun, and he really wasn’t bad at it. It could be that or the opposite, but your nephew’s laugh was a reward either way.

For you, it was not just the little one’s laugh but Kyungsoo’s enjoyment. His face shone so much when he smiled, and his big eyes turned into little half-moons of joy. You instinctively grabbed your camera and caught as many of those moments as you could. The peace and comfort that he transmitted were priceless. You were happy that it didn’t take too long for you to finish setting the cookie dough to bake because you got to join them just in time, joyful to be able to catch more of Kyungsoo’s dancing and silliness with the kids.

At the end of the day, once you bid farewell to your sister and her children, reality hit you in every cell of your body. The exhaustion from playing all day, cleaning ice cream from the floor and carpet, cooking, and feeding left your muscles aching. You knew you now had to clean up your apartment, but leaving it all for the next day seemed more appealing than tiring yourself more by tidying it up.

While you were going back up to your apartment, Kyungsoo was picking up the toys that the kids left unorganized. Your sister had tried to get them to pick up everything they played with before they left, but you let them go easily since they seemed to be about to fall asleep in seconds.

You contemplated him once you entered your apartment; he was only bringing up smiles from you lately. “I can clean up tomorrow. I’m too exhausted now, aren’t you too?” you asked.

“I am,” he giggled, but he kept picking toys up from the ground. “I wanted to help.”

“You work tomorrow; rest up,” you said gently as you approached him, until you wrapped your arms around him from behind and rested part of your weight on him.

He stopped, feeling your energy drop. “I’m okay; I’m used to being tired from running the restaurant all day.”

“It was your free day today, though. I made you work too much. Kids and food are not the same.”

“Yeah, they’re not,” he recognized and looked back at you from his shoulder.

You smiled at him and managed to grab his hand. “See, just come with me. Let’s just chill for now. Let’s watch some variety shows and rest,” you suggested as you guided him to the couch and then grabbed the remote to turn the TV on.

You found a traveling variety show you hadn’t seen before, and it got you interested. The hosts were indulging in many unfamiliar and mouthwatering dishes, catching Kyungsoo’s attention. It didn’t take long for you both to get lost in the scenery and seemingly delicious food they showcased, and your exhaustion finally kicked in as you started to feel your eyelids getting heavy.

“Come closer; you can rest your head on my shoulder,” Kyungsoo whispered, and you followed his instructions. He was too content and expectant already. His smile, if only you could see it, might have given something away. His eyes, illuminated by the light of the TV, were incredibly expressive. “You did well today; I enjoyed every single minute,” he continued whispering, gently stroking your hair. All the while, he purposefully concealed that smile and look from you.

“I did too.” You gently grabbed his hand, and he squeezed lightly.

“You can sleep,” he giggled softly. “I can feel you drifting away.”

“No, I’m okay. Got to be here with you until you have to go.”

Kyungsoo knew you were tired, but he was sure something in the tone of your voice sounded different, and he couldn’t ignore the sense of urgency it conveyed. Although he had already planned to stay to surprise you, the change in the way you talked made him more determined to be there for you.

“I can stay; take the day off tomorrow and stay with you,” he offered, without giving much away.

“You’re leaving the kitchen unsupervised?”

It seemed you were still trying to keep your humor up and that nostalgia or melancholy unnoticed, so Kyungsoo tried to keep it up too, saying, “yeah, I can. I’m the chef.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He giggled, seemingly more amused than he is used to, and planted a gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Believe me now?” he asked, his voice filled with playful affection.

“Don’t buy me with your sweetness!”

Like a defiant toddler, he didn’t listen and instead shifted his body to cuddle and have you wrapped in his arms. “I just want to cheer you up,” he murmured tenderly.

There was a pause in your reaction, and suddenly, you held onto his hand again. “How…” you began, your voice barely audible as it caught in your throat. The word trembled on your lips, reflecting a mix of curiosity, surprise, and perhaps even a touch of vulnerability.

“You don’t have to say it if you are not ready.”

“Soo—“

“Rest. I’ll get you to your room and leave if you fall asleep.”

That smell was familiar—the pungent, savory scent of kimchi fried rice—paradoxically evoking only good memories with the people you love. You even smiled before you could open your eyes, but curiosity quickly appeared when you realized you were supposed to be alone in your house at this hour in the morning. Your sister couldn’t have possibly come today after the news she got yesterday. It was the low humming accompanying the sizzling sound of the kimchi rice that made you jump out of bed. The bedsheets fell on the ground, almost making you fall, and the door made such a sound when it hit the wall that it made Kyungsoo jump. The mixture of emotions was a tiny bit overwhelming, but your smile gave away the happiness you felt by seeing him in your kitchen making breakfast.

“You’re awake.”

“You’re here!”

His shoulders slightly went up and down as he silently laughed, connecting his gaze with yours in a way only he could. Your feet were smarter than you, taking you to him to yet again hug him from the back, but this time sharing your happy morning energy with him.

“Careful, you can burn your hand,” he cautioned, moving you both away from the heat.

You pressed your head against his back, inhaling the lingering scent of his perfume on his shirt. “I have you here, so I don’t mind.”

“How can you not mind?” He was surprised by your reply. “It’s painful, and I don’t want you to get hurt. You might even get me to burn the rice, so move, please," he insisted.

You looked at him, squinting, because of his unbelievable-expected, hot and cold reply. His teasing was cruel sometimes, but it really only added to his adorableness. He also said please, so he is forgiven.

“So is this the kitchen you’ll run today?” You had your wits too, and you used them wisely.

“My yeobobangjang, help me out, please?”

“Yeobo?” you chuckled. You were amused by his accidental play with the words bujubangjang and yeobo. He can’t just deny his cuteness, and you couldn't help but be charmed by his playful antics.

"Yeah yeah... I did say that," he giggled, realizing that he had let it slip without much thought. He rarely calls you jagi or jagiya, but yeobo is a whole different level of endearment that you still didn’t expect to hear.

With your help, breakfast was ready a lot faster, allowing you both to sit down and eat together peacefully. It was not a special occasion to celebrate anything in particular, but simply having him there in front of you was enough to make you feel grateful and happy. You also knew that he needed an explanation about yesterday. He wouldn’t ask unless you took too long to say anything, but he would subtly check in to see if you were ready to let him know.

"Thank you, Soo," you said, offering a warm smile and a piece of gyeran-mari. "About last night—"

"Y/N, I don't want you to feel pressured into saying anything," he interrupted gently, his voice filled with understanding. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me. Just… just know that I'm here for you."

You shook your head slightly, trying to show him that you still wanted to share. That’s all you wanted to do last night when you went back to your apartment and saw him. “I’m okay. I was feeling just a bit… I don’t know, sad? Nostalgic, perhaps?” you explained, and you noticed how his eyes were focused on you and whatever you needed to say.

"When we were getting the kids into the car, Ari received a call. Jongseung's mom is sick and was taken to the hospital," you explained, pausing briefly. "I wanted to go with her, but she asked me not to. I felt so powerless in that moment. I think..." you trailed off. Sensing your pain, Kyungsoo reached for your hand across the table, offering as much comfort and support as he could.

"I was sad because it reminded me of mom. I hadn't even thought about her in so long," you confessed, as the emotions were building up inside you. "And then, I also thought about how much Ari took care of me after mom died. I always feel like I should repay her for all that she's done. So, I wanted to comfort her and go with her, or at least help her with the kids... but she just told me to go back home. She said she would update me when necessary."

Kyungsoo jumped off his seat to take the one next to you. He brought his bowl and chopsticks and placed them next to yours. As he settled down, he gently turned you to face him, taking hold of both of your hands. With a small smile and caring eyes, he said, “you do more than enough for your sister; she knows that. You are incredible, Y/N. I bet your mom would be so proud of the person you have grown into.”

The light in his eyes—you swear, it could warm you up for days with just one look. Being loved by him feels like peace and comfort; it’s exciting, and there’s fire and playfulness all at the same time. His kindness fills your heart with so much joy. The tears coming out were not just because of sadness but happiness because of having the best boyfriend in the world. You couldn’t even feel the cheesiness of that statement in that very moment, not when he was holding your every sorrow in the warmest embrace.

“Do you want to do anything today?” he whispered once you seemed calmer. “We can stay in, but if you want to go out, I will be more than happy to take you anywhere.”

“Did you really take the day off?”

Your curious question made him giggle. “Why so surprised? I’ve done it before,” he reminded you in his best attempt to hide his nervousness. Not that he is a workaholic or anything, but it was more due to the whole plan for the day and that he already wanted to tell you all about it.

You slowly let go of each other, and you just smiled at him, knowing how much he has done to schedule both of your lives so you can spend the most time together and never miss anything. It has also taken a lot of effort from you because both of your jobs have always been complicated with free time. “Let’s maybe go for something to eat for lunch; we can just cuddle until then,” you suggested while you held his cheeks and poked his dimples.

“What an adventurer, my love,” he joked at the same time that he carefully dried a couple of tears from your cheek, but he was the only one laughing when you playfully punched his arm. “I love it, I love it, I love you.”

“I love you, dumpling,” you exclaimed as you poked the dimple forming on his face.

“What?” His laugh echoed all over your apartment. “I haven’t heard you say that to me in so long!”

“What? Love you? Yeah… it’s been so long!” you said cheekily, but his antics still moved you, and you fought a smile by pouting.

“You dumb head!”

Your eyes widened at the audacity. “What did you just say?”

“You dumpling!” He also poked at your cheek.

“You didn’t sa—“ He cut you off with a kiss. You relaxed into it even when you wanted to just laugh out loud, but that translated into a smile, one that he mirrored while kissing you.

“We were eating,” he casually whispered while taking a small breath.

“We should probably keep doing so,” you whispered back, stopping him from getting any closer.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Well, then you can do the dishes when we finish.”

“Yah! Do Kyungsoo!” You crossed your arms, pretending to be mad. “I’m only laughing because you are too. I love seeing you laugh. Also, thank you for cleaning yesterday’s mess, how’d you like to be rewarded?” you asked, teasingly moving closer, noticing your apartment being clean and all in order.

“Ahh stop,” he blushed, holding a giggle. You noticed him clearing his throat. “Let’s finish our breakfast.”

You often find yourself yearning for more mornings like this, with Kyungsoo playfully teasing you and your laughter filling the room. The idea of living together with him has crossed your mind from time to time, but you’re too hesitant sometimes, thinking too much if you’re in the right moment to take that step. You’re also guilty of letting other people own a place in your mind that tells you that it might be too soon, that you should possibly think about marriage first, and that settling down could mean risking your job and whatnot. Those voices really need to be quiet because you don’t see anything wrong with what you two have. Your job couldn’t possibly be jeopardized; two years of relationship is enough for you, and you’ve known him for almost five years already, so you might as well dive right in there and then.

It’s even funny how Kyungsoo is not worried about what to wear to go outside since he has at least five outfits in your apartment, even for someone who is quite simple when it comes to clothing. He even has one of his chef jackets and an apron for his uniform.

All of the getting ready went so smoothly that you could easily picture it all far ahead, but you were easily brought back to the present when you connected the dots of Kyungsoo wearing his faux leather jacket and gloves. You were seconds away from grabbing your camera from your bag and capturing that moment forever. It made sense in a way since you ended up cuddling and doing nothing for so long that you two ended up deciding to go on a picnic in the afternoon, so the jacket would serve well for the cold night, but the combination was surely making your heart flutter.

“What?” He turned around with a smirk on his face after grabbing his helmet. “Got yours too,” he said handing you the other helmet that was next to his.

“For a second, I don’t know why, I forgot you own a bike—a motorcycle type of bike.”

“You make no sense.”

“Never mind, let’s go.” Your thoughts were better kept inside your head, so you just put your helmet on and hopped on the bike. You felt the chuckle in his belly while you were trying to hold on tight. You always enjoy how comfortable he gets, but at the same time, he has made you blush way too much in just one day.

The change from summer to autumn felt more present in the past few days. The ride on the motorcycle exposed you even more to the change, as the weather was feeling nicer and you were not feeling like your head could burn from the heat inside the helmet. You held on even tighter and closer to Kyungsoo as you felt more comfortable along the ride. Somehow, you suddenly had flashbacks to the very first time you hopped on his motorcycle. You were just friends then, but now that you realize it, the feelings were catching up to you, and that was one of the first times that you thought about him differently.

You reached the first stop, which was his house, so he could leave his motorcycle parked. You had nothing really planned for the picnic, but you decided you were having it at Yeouido Hangang Park, so you would take the bus instead of worrying about parking. Kyungsoo had suggested the picnic and going to the Yeouido Bamdokkaebi Night Market, which surprised you a little, but it sounded great since you two hadn’t really had a cute romantic date in a while.

“Could you go pick up Meokmul and Hoochoo at the daycare?” Kyungsoo asked once he took his helmet off. You got lost in his eyes for a second, but then you noticed the ends of his hair were slightly damp and his nose was a little bit sweaty. He looked like his dogs, so you giggled.

“Y/N?”

“Oh, sure! Yeah, I’ll go.”

He shook his hair, hypnotizing you once more. You were completely lost and hadn’t even thought of fixing your own hair, but his hand found the rebellious lock on your left side and patted it back down. The proximity made you shiver, which made him giggle.

“Wait for me there; I’ll just go for my bus card and some stuff for the picnic.”

He dared to approach and give you a kiss on your forehead. Kyungsoo might have suspected it, but there was no denying that he had you eating from his palm from the moment you realized he had gone all bad-boy-look with his outfit today, just to match his motorcycle, just to tease you, just because—you wouldn’t know, but you’re more than grateful for the blessed view.

Haeun was at the reception today, so she waved at you with a wide smile on her face.

“Hey, Y/N! How have you been? Are you here to pick Hoochoo and Meokmul?”

You nodded happily, and when you reached the reception desk, you gave her your ID. “Haeun! It’s so nice to see you again. We’re taking them for a walk.”

Haeun’s eyes widened. She really was like a puppy taking care of a lot of other puppies. “Oh, they’ll be so happy! Come with me,” she invited, handing you your ID back after processing the discharge and calling a coworker in to take her place at the reception while you two went to get the dogs.

You trailed behind her as she led you down the hallway to the seating room, where the dogs' belongings were securely stored. "Hoochoo has been asleep for about twenty minutes now," she informed you, searching for the dogs' leashes. "Meokmul has been playing with Toben and Vivi," she added, providing you with an update on the dogs' activities.

“Oh, they’re here too?”

“Yes, she was lucky to have them here to play with. They’re really the best of friends.”

“Did Hoochoo have fun too?”

“Yeah, she played for a while but got sleepy after eating,” she giggled and pointed towards the playroom to let you know she was going in.

It was nice to hear that they were having the greatest time while you kept their dad away for a while. When you met them, there was an instant connection between the three of you. It had only taken a few seconds, and Meokmul was the first one to like you. Hoochoo was initially shy, requiring Kyungsoo’s gentle intervention to help the little puppy open up.

Funny enough, Haeun was the one who had introduced you to Kyungsoo when you coincidentally arrived at the same time to pick up your dogs. The three of them were harmoniously playing since they had already been friends for weeks. It just so happened that the owners hadn’t met yet. The bond that you all created was so strong that the loss of your dog two years ago was truly felt by them, but that only brought you closer to Kyungsoo and his dogs.

Meokmul had possibly smelled you or heard you because the barks in the distance were definitely too familiar. The little one ran towards you, making Haeun struggle a little with the leash, and the special treat you had taken from their bag didn’t help either. You showed it, and she ate it before you picked her up.

“I’ll go get Hoochoo with the carrier in case she’s still asleep.”

“Yes, thank you, Haeun!”

“Meokmul-ie, how are you? Hello, little sunshine!” You heard a chuckle behind you after cutely talking to the hyperactive dog on your lap. It was Kyungsoo, showing his most joyful smile. He was holding a little picnic basket, which made you wonder just how impromptu it would actually end up being. Knowing him, it probably didn’t even reach one percent.

“She woke up; she’s energized now, so—“ Haeun entered and stopped when she caught sight of Kyungsoo. “Oh, Kyungsoo-ssi! The two parents coming for their little girls; how cute!”

The both of you giggled and smiled at each other before bowing your heads to Haeun. “Thank you, Haeun-ah,” you said as you grabbed the double carrier and Kyungsoo took Hoochoo’s leash. “Let’s have a coffee together soon, yeah?”

“Welcome! We definitely should, just text me when you’re free. Have a nice day!”

“Enjoy your day, Haeun-ah!” Kyungsoo waved goodbye before he held your hand and led you outside.

The afternoon skyline was gorgeous, looking like the sunset was beginning soon enough. You contemplated it and squeezed Kyungsoo’s hand, to which he reacted with a chuckle. The reason was not important; just hearing that low, sweet chuckle of his was enough to make you feel all cozy and calm. You strolled along the sidewalk with your two beautiful dogs until you reached the bus stop, where you had to get the pups in the double carrier.

Kyungsoo scratched Meokmul behind her ear as she looked a little anxious. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Promise it won’t be long, little one.” He talked soothingly to calm her down.

He kept scratching her ear on the bus ride so she wouldn’t start barking nervously, and you gave her some treats to entertain her. Hoochoo received some too, but she was at ease in the carrier, all warmed up and happy with the company of Meokmul. The ride was indeed short, but Meokmul calmed down easily thanks to both of your calming attentiveness.

Once at Yeouido Park, you got both of them out of the carrier so they could walk along with you. Kyungsoo smiled at them and then at you. The picnic basket was on the floor next to the carrier, so the two little dogs couldn’t help but inspect it with their noses. “Ready for our date, little ones?” he chuckled.

Meokmul and Hoochoo barked as if they were answering him, waving their tails expectantly. You managed to take a picture of the three of them right in that moment, and when Kyungsoo looked back up, realizing you just took a candid photo, you said, “they know something’s up. What have you got planned, Soo?”

Kyungsoo’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Ah, it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you. For now, let’s walk; we’ve got some food to gather for our picnic.”

“So there’s nothing in the basket,” you commented suspiciously.

Kyungsoo only laughed, shaking his head as he took the dogs strollers in one hand while the other searched for yours. He squeezed once he held it gently, looking for something in your eyes that made him smile so brightly. You were curious now, but you decided it would be even more entertaining if you waited for whatever he planned for the night.

You set off down the busy lane with one pup each, Kyungsoo not letting go of the picnic basket, and you holding the carrier. The street food market bustled with delicious aromas and a lively atmosphere filled with people’s laughter and small chatter.

You stopped at a tteokbokki stand once the scent translated into flavor in your mind. The draw was so strong thanks to the warm feeling it gave you just thinking about the taste of the soft rice cakes in your mouth. You asked the vendor for a medium serving to take away, and Kyungsoo put it inside the picnic basket. It was hard not to peek, but he was too fast at closing the cover, nervously giggling.

A dumpling stand caught Kyungsoo’s attention; he approached and looked back at you, smiling knowingly. You immediately poked his cheek. “What do you think about these dumplings, Chef Do?”

“They look delicious, right?”

You marveled at his expression, reminiscing on your requested class all those years ago to your newfound friend, who looked at you amused at your concentration with his cheek full of dumpling flour. Kyungsoo’s weakness was food. “I do see one delicious dumpling,” you teased, holding his gaze with fire in your eyes.

The words caught up in his throat, so he swallowed thickly before his voice could come out shaky. His ears heated up, and he tried to look anywhere else. He still giggled, knowing you were taking your chance at teasing him, just like he did earlier when he knew you were staring at him with those dreamy eyes because of his choice of clothing.

Luckily, the woman serving the dumplings caught his wandering gaze and asked for his order; otherwise, he would have melted in front of you. After ordering two servings of dumplings, one steamed and the other fried, he managed to pull off a playful smile at your teasing words once his heart settled. He found your gaze still lingering, your eyes glowing with glee and something deeper; he could only hope it wasn’t just his longing playing tricks on him. All of the surrounding noise drifted away, and he found himself present with only you there in that moment.

He wished to reach for you and confess everything he had planned for the night, but his question still weighed with uncertainty and insecurities, so he needed a moment of complete confidence and the setting he had already pictured. The crowd would make him nervous even when no one paid the minimum attention to them. There were still some more steps to take to reach that longed-for destination.

Kyungsoo was more than reassured when he felt your hand on his arm. You didn’t have to say a word; the slight scrunch of your nose when you smiled and the warmth of your gaze calmed his anxieties. With you, he felt not only seen but understood—a comfort that had been hard to find all those years before you came into his life.

Too soon, the order was ready. With a kind smile and a bow to the sellers, he thanked them and packed away the dumplings. Hand in hand, you continued your wandering stroll along the market, picking whatever snack you desired. Since you found some fried chicken and already had tteokbokki, you two decided to pass by the convenience store and buy some ramyeon for the perfect food setting.

It didn’t take too long to reach the camping and picnic area once you had all of your food. Kyungsoo found a great spot near a tree, where you managed to settle before the last bits of light from the sun touched the sky. He had come prepared, as you had expected.

“Let me rearrange everything; close your eyes,” he asked you as you finished getting the little ones in their carrier since both of them were tired from playing all day and walking along the market with you two.

You were surprised to hear that since you two had already set the blankets on the grass, and he had taken out his wooden house-shaped lamp and put it next to the picnic basket. You still carried on, hopeful for his surprise.

After setting the folding table and carefully displaying the indulgently selected feast with flickering candle lanterns and fresh strawberries he had brought from home, he asked you to open your eyes again.

You swiftly opened your eyes, and they mirrored the light coming out of Kyungsoo’s as you traced over all of the little details and felt your heart warming up. “Soo, jagi, it’s beautiful,” you breathed. “It looks even more appealing now.”

Hoochoo’s head popped out of the carrier, hearing the both of you laugh together. She now looked hungry, so before you started on with your meal, you gave her some of hers. Meokmul was fast asleep, it seemed, but halfway through your dinner, she woke up asking for food.

With full bellies and hearts lighter, conversation turned reminiscent, noticing how many moments you had referenced from your friends to lovers relationship beginnings. Although short and recent, you managed to get enough closeness that led you to develop such strong feelings for one another. Kyungsoo knew it was time now that the momentum was clear with your talk being about you two.

The sweet and careful touch of his hand over your cheek soothed you into a pleasant mood, interrupting your giggles with his gesture. Whatever he needed to say or was thinking about, you lovingly gave him all of your attention.

“Y/N,” he started. “I have a surprise for you,” he smiled.

“Another one?” you genuinely asked, immediately interested in all of the possibilities.

He nodded. “You could say so, yeah.” His hand lingered on your cheek, but with a light stroke on your cheekbone, he shifted towards the picnic basket.

From an outside bottom compartment, Kyungsoo reached for a gift box, carefully handing it to you. He looked expectant as you grabbed it, the corners of his lips forming a slowly growing, hopeful smile. His features were divine, lighted up by the candle lanterns, and you couldn’t wait long to see what he was gifting you.

You looked at the photo on the cover; you captured that moment just a few weeks ago at Kyungsoo’s house. It had been such an ordinary day, but you had matched sweaters on, completely unintentional. Meokmul was on his lap, and you were holding Hoochoo, who licked Kyungsoo’s chin and made you laugh. The view of such a lighthearted moment, as well as your guess at what could be inside the book, brought happy tears to your eyes almost immediately. As you looked back at him, you caught a watery shine in his.

“Why am I crying? This is just the first look at your gift,” you sniffled.

Kyungsoo chuckled, amused at your reaction, but he embraced you to try and soothe your crying. “It’s okay if you cry; just promise it is out of happiness. My intentions were never to make you hurt.”

“It’s happiness; I’m excited to know what’s inside.”

Kyungsoo was already beaming at seeing you so moved by just the cover alone. He dried your tears and planted two kisses on your forehead. “Open it,” he urged softly. “I hope you like it. I tried to do the most I could within my creative possibilities.”

You giggled softly. “You are creative, mostly in the kitchen. You’re a genius chef, and I’m so lucky to have befriended you,” you advocated for him, honestly.

“Befriended,” he simply repeated and chuckled.

You continued to open the photo album, still wrapped in his arms. He wasn’t stopping his surprises, it seemed. The first two pages of the book had photos of both of you as kids; you could see why he chose those pictures, and the caption soothed you and filled you with so much gratitude and love for him.

Were we destined to find each other? Our connection seemed to exist earlier than we could imagine, no matter where we were.

His sweet smile was timeless. You could see yourself meeting Kyungsoo as a kid at that beach, running around and playing on the shore where small waves washed over your feet. It wasn’t the same one, but something in the pictures looked as if they were taken at the same place, day, and time.

“I saw that picture at Ari’s house a couple of months ago. Undeniably so, I knew I had seen something similar before. I had my picture at home, so when I returned that day and searched for it, I could only think about how many more could show such similarities,” Kyungsoo explained, talking near your ear.

You lifted your hand to caress his cheek. “You’ve been crafting this since then?” you asked.

“Not right then, but I had been looking for pictures, and then the idea came. Mom and Ari helped quite a lot,” he chuckled. “Just yesterday, I finally got your childhood pictures so I could add them.”

You kissed his cheek and continued to flip through the pages. Pictures of you two at different schools but with similar smiles, different cities but the same colors in the sky, different dogs but the same pose. Your lives seemed somehow planned and destined to blend; your eyes kept pouring down tears of joy when you reached the page where your early encounters started to appear—all those pictures you took.

A picture of you two at the first New Year’s party with his parents specially moved you. You were still just friends then, but he invited you over since he was also carrying out the first celebration at his new apartment.

You told me about your mom two days before, and I wished with you that she was there with us. But you must be her mirror; I can see her in you from the little details you’ve shared with me.

Kyungsoo held you tighter. He hadn’t anticipated in the planning and crafting of this gift that you could be sensitive about your mom on this day, so he consciously kept you wrapped in his arms. He felt how you squeezed back, embracing the reassurance he was trying to give you.

“Thank you, Soo,” you managed to say, but while it’d be easy for you to find words to express your feelings, this time there were not enough.

“Turn the page,” he said, his voice cracking. You moved to face him, and he smiled through the tears. “I have something to say,” he managed to speak calmly, in spite of his rushing emotions.

You followed through and flipped the page. A carefully crafted collage portrayed the photos you sent him—while you took care of Hoochoo and Meokmul, or just a nice picture of a sunset you saw—along with letters while he was enlisted and some of the ones you took on his day offs.

Kyungsoo took a deep breath, and you carefully held his hand. “I…” he started but stopped when he felt his tears coming down; you cleared them carefully and softly smiled. “That time of my life was hard to get through. I don’t think I thanked you enough for being there and all that you did for me.” He finally found the right words as he brushed his thumb over your hand.

“All those letters, all those pictures, all those moments you shared with me—you gave me the hope I lacked. I told you many times that I had fallen for you slowly and carefully, but it was on my mind every day,” he smiled tenderly. “You have no idea how much I love you. I learned to say whatever is on my mind because of you; if I hadn’t said those words to you, I probably would have lost you.”

You slowly shook your head. “No, I was too head over heels for you already. I wouldn’t have let you lose me.”

He giggled and kissed you softly, taking his time to marvel at this moment with you and trying to release the last of his nerves. “Could you take a look at the last page?” he asked, breaking away for a moment.

Eager to know what that last page offered you, you turned it over and smiled. The last picture, a copy of one of your photography class projects where you captured the concept of “home,” greeted you; it was Kyungsoo’s side profile while cooking in his restaurant’s kitchen. Next to it was a photo he had taken of the two of you when you visited his friends in Busan.

You looked up at him, wondering, searching for the answers in his joyful gaze. Kyungsoo held your hand at the same time that the two little pups woke up. Both of you couldn’t help but giggle, thinking they must have wanted to be a part of your moment, so you grabbed Meokmul, and he put Hoochoo on his lap.

Clearing his throat, he began, “Y/N, I’ve been thinking about this for awhile. Whenever I’m with you, no matter where we are, I feel at home. You are my home and safe place, and I want to have you as close as I can… would you like to start living together?”

He was a mind reader; you couldn’t help but reach to lovingly cup his face. Meokmul wanted her space with the two of you, so she started licking your hands and Kyungsoo’s cheek in the process. The both of you laughed while Hoochoo wagged her tail. “Of course, Soo!” you exclaimed between giggles.

When you could breathe easily and the pups calmed down a bit, you ran your fingers through his hair. “You’re also my home. You’ve loved every part of me, just as I have loved every part of you. Would you believe me if I told you I have also been thinking about it?”

His eyes widened, and a silly laugh escaped him. “I would actually believe it, but how are we so in sync?”

“I don’t want an answer; I just want us to keep working this way,” you admitted.

“You’re so wise,” he kissed your cheek. “Thank you; you’ve made all of my dreams come true just by being you. I can’t wait to wake up each day and see your beautiful eyes and fall asleep staring at them too.”

You pulled him close, softly brushing your lips against his; he placed his hand on your neck, his thumb slightly brushing your earlobe. Your lips met softly and slowly, making you feel at ease, like coming home—him—your home. “Thank you for loving me; it’s the greatest gift I’ve ever known.”

[emelinstriker]

About those 3 Anon messages recently...

Yes, there's 3 now. Third on came up while I was finishing typing about the 2nd one.

tl;dr context: peeps defending a fictional 2D lego character, questioning the morality of esau (despite the lack of lore context), as well as for some reason a personal attack on me... also smol chinese jesus??? :'D

DISCLAIMER:

I respect y'all's opinions and headcanons and whatnot. It's all valid. However. I expect respect on my own opinions and headcanons return. That's literally all I'm asking.

That's common sense and I will from this point on just delete anyone else's anon asks if they try to argue with me about my standings on these matters mentioned in here. Or this post in general.

There's literally no point in arguing over words written in a story, or debating whether or not pixels on a screen are hot or not.

With that disclaimer being said...

Case 1:

I'm fully aware of the entire discussion thing of Nezha being eternally 12 and all that, but I'm also fully aware of how LMK Nezha is more of a parody on the original. LMK Nezha is more of an adult 2D character who took the characteristics of the source, but then was turned into an aged-up parody.

It's not weird with the context of how things even came to be in the AU. It does involve a form of "infection" that changes those that are infected. In ESAU it's just slightly different from my original story's OCs to appeal more to the Reader. There are people out there who seek comfort in their own superiority complex too, especially if they can never explore that part of themselves normally. If that doesn't appeal to you, that's fine. But don't assume it's weird just because you don't like it if a fictional master/servant relationship isn't for you.

Now, this ask wasn't really bad or directly disrespectful. That was just basic questioning on the general relationship of the AU as well as the LMK Nezha being 12 discussion. So I went to bed, cuz I didn't wanna respond with my rather aggressive response to the topic. Like, I ranted about it to my Discord server, but it was already around midnight and I knew I'd come off as aggressive, despite the logic and facts, if I just copy n pasted the way I phrased the rant. So I went to bed. But then I woke up to an essay in another ask...

Case 2:

I'm assuming this is the exact same person, based on the timeframe and the writing style..? Maybe even the same person who asked that question about whether I'd make Nezha's relationship towards the Reader romantic or platonic..??

For the sake of this entire thing being unworthy of an unnecessary discussion, as well as the fact that the person sending this isn't worth directly responding to if they hide behind an anon face, knowing they would get flamed, I will solely respond to these for my actual viewers, who do enjoy ESAU.

As in, I noticed how almost every single point is easily arguable. Like, they literally just made it up as if every single relationship between the Reader and their champions is romantic. Which couldn't be further from the truth. This is a point I wanna get more into due to how it covers the Master System more. A random anon sending me questions, or rather statements, like this doesn't deserve to get a detailed response to this directly either. My viewers do deserve more insight though. Be it to avoid more people thinking this is automatically grooming, or just to give interested people more lore dump.

To keep it short: Everyone who wants to be a Reader, is a Reader. I myself am a Reader of fiction, which is why I use my persona to fill in the Reader's space in any drawing I do for ESAU. Which is also why Macaque referred to their Master currently being female in that one drawing- Because in that moment, in my drawings, I'm technically seen as their Master.

So when you see the champions swap between their Master using non-binary or female pronouns, this is why. If you see me draw them referring to their Master as a "she", they're referring to basically their current Master in that exact moment. However, literally anyone else can also be placed in that spot.

Whenever I refer to a Reader's reincarnation, I usually mean either "the same person, but another life" OR "different people of the same/a different life". As in, the Reader can imagine themselves having had multiple past lives, or their "past life" is actually another Reader. We're all the Reader. That's why I kept saying the Master System is rather philosophical.

The Reader can imagine themselves if they met their champions as a child or as an adult. However, nothing in ESAU is forced to be romantic or sexual. If you were born as a prince/princess/royalty, that doesn't mean your servants are immediately destined to be romantic or sexual with you, right? That entire portion is up to the Reader to decide and imagine. I do not control what another person thinks of and imagines. If they chose to pick a darker path, the fuck do you want me to do about that? Unless it ends up hurting anyone, or they actively push the topic onto others, I see no issue with however a Reader wants to think up what happens in their life with their servants. All I do is create material for others to play with.

Except for the First Master, any other Reader can be considered either the same person or various people. That's up to the person behind the screen, whether they feel more comforted with one idea or another.

On the Nezha being 12 topic... Do people know what a parody is, I-

LMK Nezha looks more like THIS-

Not as young as THIS-

And he was never said to be 12 years old in LMK. Nor does he look 12, act 12, speak 12, sound 12... LMK needs to be seen and accepted as more like a parody AU of the original story, if that wasn't obvious enough. I find it funny how they brought up my own age though-

Cuz yeah, I'm 21, almost 22, and I do understand the difference between reality's religions, fictional 2D pixels, and the difference between the source and a parody. Wow. Shocker. I know.

Or as I said it in tags earlier today-

Also I'd just like to add… If we go by the theory of specifically LMK Nezha still being 12, despite literally thousands of years having passed, his body being depicted as a fully grown adult in basically every single goddamn aspect of his character within the show… Literally all he got is his paperwork saying he's 12. Like- LMK Nezha would literally just be one of those people that were born on February 29th. Just him not getting any birthdays. Do you assume after literal thousands of years, with his body and mind being mature, and only his paperwork saying he's 12, this dude wouldn't be tryna explore more of himself and his interests, wh-

Like- LMK Nezha isn't the original source Nezha. Simple as that. Just accept it's a parody and be done with it. If you don't agree with it, that's your opinion and I respect that. But don't you dare fucking push that opinion on others who do actually accept the show as a parody and wanna live out their fantasies in said parody.

Your opinion does not mean it's the opinion of others.

Like, the entire age thing in LMK is such a headcanon thing to the point where no one seems to have a solid age, besides maybe MK, who I've seen people calculate his age for due to his driving license and all that. LMK Nezha is confirmed to be depicted as an adult within the show, which is the headcanon I'm going with, regardless of whatever bullshittery people are trying to argue with.

In conclusion: Nezha may be eternally 12 in a story. But that story is NOT Lego Monkie Kid.

On a side note, something I found ironic and funny, is if an aged up character isn't allowed to be sexualized, then I guess if someone ages a character down, suddenly that original source of the character is no longer allowed to be sexualized either, just because that character suddenly has a younger version of themselves. It's not even the younger version that's being sexualized. That literally is the entire logic of this debate on not wanting a fictional character to have an aged up version of themselves.

Good job, nobody wins. I guess nothing can be sexualized at that point- But then again, Rule 34 wouldn't exist then.

Okay, but now this, THIS is where I got REALLY annoyed, cuz NOW we're getting into more personal territory of nitpicking at ESAU. And those who know me are aware of how I go Asian mom mode when my creations, or younger friends and mutuals, are being wrongfully disrespected.

In general, their entire point is a snowflake-behavior nitpick. Branding is also seen as a way to claim ownership over something. The torture part is basically just the pain of it. I could've also just have the champions have one of those toy stamps for lil children be slapped onto them if you really wanna snowflake it all for tHe PrEcIoUs cHilDrEn...

C'mon. I grew up with FNAF and Creepypastas. Which tend to be usually two of the first fandoms I see children get interested in and hyperfixated on. Mentions of brandmarks that have fully healed ain't nothin' at all.

Like, I literally met a boy who was 8ish years old, who was so happy and hyped about FNAF that he asked me to draw Freddy and Bonnie.

Creepypastas also might make one edgy for a while, but they do grow A LOT from it once they leave that phase. So far, everyone I've ever talked to about Creepypastas in the past became such a good person. Because they look back, and recognize morals so much better. They have seen what bad things can happen and we all know where to draw the line between what's fine, and what's not. Nitpicking on LMK Nezha and ESAU doesn't mean anything since it's just that, nitpicking. I know where to draw the line, but this line these people set is a line no one but themselves can imagine.

Show children bits of reality's darker side and they will know how to deal with the knowledge much better and faster as they grow. That wasn't even just about branding, but I'm tired of people saying how we need to keep children safe. Well yeah, keep them safe physically, but they will never fucking grow and become more independent unless you fucking let them think and process the good AND the bad for themselves.

Also on the topic of adding content warnings- Like, the fuck do you want me to even add? Those asks other people sent of the Reader being basically raised by their servants need no warnings, X Readers in general need no warnings, the brandmarks need no warnings cuz they're just there as aesthetic symbols for anyone not invested in the lore, LMK Nezha needs no content warnings-

Literally the only content warning I'd ever need to add is something like gore, which I do admit I didn't add on the ESAU!Nezha X Reader one.

And I'd just like to add a little something that made me raise an eyebrow: They complained about me going against "Wukong's celibacy vows" when they literally admitted to actively looking through the LMK X Reader tag. While that doesn't necessarily mean they would marry or bang Wukong, that means they're at least curious or interested in what a relationship with any of those characters would be like. Which by all means, would not be possible without it being fiction/fanfiction, and without them having some curiosity or interest in the 2D show of LMK.

Like you're literally telling me I'm practically hurting a fictional character's feelings on the matter, but then turn around and try to get with another character.

Fanfiction and AU's are a thing, man. It's all opinions, headcanons, and literally made up shenanigans. And there's nothing wrong with it when it differs from one person to another.

But dumping empty accusations onto me, someone who thinks more logically than emotionally, literally doesn't help your case. Like, you're debating whether or not this 2D character would actually give a shit if someone would wanna bang them cuz they look hot to the other person.

Case 3:

This one just got dropped into my inbox as I finished typing out the last paragraph and just- This is literally just a unnecessary and only somewhat personal hatred thing at this point- But I'm wheezing at the idea of a smol Chinese Jesus-

Bro, as someone who was forced to be Christian on paper, but never gave a shit about it, because Religion doesn't prove anything or form you, I really don't care. And even if that were the case, I wouldn't complain. It's all fiction dammit. You're again, defending pixels on a screen. Besides that, that wouldn't even be the original source character, again. Also in general, honestly, I see any religious story as fiction anyway. Cuz that literally is what a religion is- You put a belief onto someone over a being/a story-

If you're religious, I respect that. But so do you have to respect that I'm not exactly religious myself.

Case 3 was probably the most directly aggressive one of the 3, but also the most unmeaningful one and so unnecessary one... as if that would be the one to prove a point.

Anyway, rant over, I'm done with this.

If I see any other personal hate on me for not sharing the same fucking opinion on such a niche debate, I'll just ignore and delete it all. This is such a pointless topic.

ESAU is supposed to be a comfort zone for those who actually do feel connected to it. If you don't, that's fine, I fully respect it. If people believe Nezha is 12, I respect that. But don't push that onto those who literally are just here to have a nice time away from shit like this. If you wanna "keep the children safe", fucking keep them away from this sort of nowhere-leading discussion topic.

Literally look at Genshin's Twitter Community, this just feels like the exact same type of unnecessary drama I see there.

And no I will not tag these 3 anons. If they respect me enough, they will either just keep quiet or block me and move on. I don't mind. But I refuse to let this bullshit be a whole ass discussion when I'm just trying to have a good time connecting to my viewers after a long day at work. If they look for a fight for some reason, I won't give them one. They can pick someone else for this bullshit, it's not worth my time as it's all OPINION AND HEADCANON-BASED.

And such debates don't end in peace. So I'd rather be the bigger, more mature person and just say "This is the line. Discussion over. We're done here".

Have a nice day, anyone who actually is nice and respectful towards others and their own takes/opinions on things! Weekend's here now tho so y'all ESAU lovers might see some wholesome lil doodles! :D

[callalillywrites]

An Unconventional Pack Part 5 (Final)

Series Masterlist

Relationship: Alpha!Reader / Beta!Ransom Drysdale / Beta!Nick Vaughn

Word Count: ~3150

Summary: Ransom's never been all that lucky in finding a pack unlike his best friend, Angel. He does find some promise with one Alpha though, but even that becomes complicated when he realizes that her hidden other isn't an omega but another beta.

Warnings: abusive parent (Linda), implied past abuse, Ransom Drysdale (sad boy, soft, protective), Nick is a sweetheart, fiercely protective best friend!Angel, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort

A/N: This story was one of the hardest I've had to write so far in this series, and I'm still not sure I'm satisfied with it. Ransom is absolutely a lot softer than I originally intended, but he's what the story ultimately intended. I do heartily recommend reading Their Sweet Omega first because it'll give you more insight into Ransom's characterization for this story. Either way, I do hope you'll enjoy this angst-ridden but happy ending story.

I also do not give permission for my work to be copied or posted on other sites or fed into an AI machine.

*****

All Ransom’s plans to defend himself from their machinations fell by the wayside as the evening wore on.

He found himself going along with their change of venue, shooting a quick text to Steve to inform him of the change in plans. Steve had quickly sent back a thumbs-up.

“You have some great friends,” Alpha said, having seen him send the text. “It took me a bit to convince Jake that I wasn’t playing games with you. That’s not including Steve or your friend, Angel. She’s a fierce omega. Probably the fiercest I’ve met in a while. It’s no wonder your mother hates her.”

“You know my dear mother well?” He hated how much he needed to know her affiliation with Linda and what they could mean for him.

Alpha shook her head. “Oh, no, I’ve learned long ago the true nature of the Thrombeys and the Drysdales. Our families don’t exactly get along as you must be aware. Surely, you’ve heard the story about our grandfathers.”

He shook his head.

When she mentioned her family’s publishing company’s name, everything clicked then. The stories came back to him from childhood about her grandfather trying to ruin his when Harlan first started trying to get his books published. If not for her grandfather, Harlan wouldn’t have created his own publishing company to market and sell his books.

“You know Harlan’s books aren’t bad, either. I’ve read them as I’m sure you have. Even Nick likes them though he’s not the greatest reader.” She met Ransom’s surprised expression as she added, “It was Harlan’s attitude that cost him a contract with our company. Gramps considered himself a good judge of character, and Harlan’s haughtiness turned Gramps off. Not that Gramps ever really regretted not representing Harlan, either, despite how well Harlan did in his lifetime.”

“Your company is worth at least ten of Harlan’s. No shit, he didn’t regret it.”

Alpha chuckled.

Nick, too, bore a knowing grin.

“What am I missing?” Ransom finally asked, sensing they had some type of inner joke that made him appear the fool. He hated being the fool.

It was Nick who answered. “Her grandfather nearly bankrupted the company because his judge of character wasn’t as good as he thought it was. The only reason it’s worth so much today is because of Contessa herself. She’s done a lot of retconning on the company and making necessary improvements since she took over a few years ago.”

They arrived at their new destination as Ransom digested this new information.

Nick’s bandmates were exactly what Ransom had been expecting, but then, he didn’t really know what he’d been expecting.

The man Nick referred to as Bossman was definitely someone Ransom had never expected to be as much of a gossip as he was. It didn’t help that Ransom recognized Bossman as one of the best sax players and singers in the jazz industry. Hell, he even owned several of Bossman’s records, probably some that even featured Nick without realizing it.

Bossman’s first words when meeting Ransom were, “So this is the young man you haven’t shut up about, Nicky. Well, now I see why. Come, young man, let’s have a private chat for a minute before I get these layabouts back to work.”

Nick tried to intervene, but Bossman waved him off, his determination far greater than any protests Nick might’ve come up with.

Ransom, for his part, was curious what this man might have to say to him. It wouldn’t surprise him if Bossman threatened him about hurting Nick or Contessa. He’d seen the warmth Bossman had greeted both with even as his speculative gleam landed on Ransom until introductions were made.

What he didn’t count on was Bossman sighing as they took seats on the other side of the large studio. “I love Nicky. He’s a good musician, but he can be so dumb. So can Contessa. She’s a good alpha though. There’s no denying that with the way Nicky’s flourished under her gentle care. Has had his heart broken a time or two by some terrible alphas leading him on. I’m glad you’re giving them a second chance though. Not many betas in your position would. What they did was pretty dirty. I'd know, too, because I’ve played all the tricks in my younger days.”

“I’m not sure they meant to hurt me,” Ransom said, surprising himself by revealing an emotion he’d never admit to Angel, let alone the likes of his family. Even more, he couldn’t quite believe he was defending Contessa and Nick to their friend.

More than a little embarrassed and frustrated at how easy this Bossman slipped past his defenses, Ransom dropped his gaze to the cuffs of his sweater. It was a newer one he’d indulged himself into buying after seeing what Jake had done for him with Dennis’s help. The little savings cushion had really saved him in more ways than he could ever thank them for. He stared at the fine pattern and tried to memorize it until Bossman spoke again, ending his torment a bit.

“Well, I know that, young man, because I know them,” Bossman said with an obvious grin in his voice. “But it’s nice to hear you know that, too. Nicky’s really not stopped talking about you since that night. He’d kill me for telling you this, but he’s quite smitten with you. I haven’t heard him talk about anyone like he talks about you except for Contessa. Says your quite the master when it comes to quality clothing, too. Might just have to see that for myself one day real soon.”

Ransom knew his boss well enough to know landing someone of Bossman’s caliber could mean a promotion for Ransom. The prospect definitely had merit, which pushed Ransom to extend an invitation to Bossman to stop by the shop soon, promising his best efforts to prove Nick’s words.

At last, Bossman glanced down at his worn but high-quality watch. “Well, I think we’ve been gabbing long enough. Time to get these layabouts back to work. This record ain’t going to finish itself.”

When Ransom moved to stand, Bossman waved him back down.

“No, no, young man, you sit there and relax. After everything, you’ve earned yourself a reward for putting up with those two and their antics. It’s not everyday someone gets to preview my work before its release. You like jazz, young man?”

“Yes, sir.” Ransom nodded. His inner beta actually dared to preen under the pleased grin that spread across Bossman’s face.

“Definitely a keeper if these two can earn your trust. I like you, young man, and you can count on me stopping by that shop of yours real soon.”

As Bossman moved back into the sound booth, Nick dashed over and leaned into Ransom’s space. His hand rested on Ransom’s shoulder as he murmured, “You okay? Bossman didn’t do anything upsetting, did he? He can be a little overzealous with newcomers.”

Used to only Angel checking on him, Ransom didn’t know how to handle Nick’s concern other than to shake his head.

“You sure?”

“I’m fine,” Ransom said, figuring it was the quickest way to get Nick back to work.

He really didn’t want to see Nick get in trouble and have that come back on him. Sure, it wouldn’t be the first time in his life that’s happened, but he didn’t want it to be. Not that night. It felt too important to have him not be the reason for someone else screwing up.

Nick released a small whine, having picked up on Ransom’s change in scent. It was clear to him that something was bugging Ransom. All Nick wanted to do was soothe him, but he did have to get back to work. He’d make sure that Alpha did what she could though.

There was nothing more important to him than earning Ransom’s trust and regaining it for Alpha. He’d confirmed it that night at the gala event where everything went sideways, and he knew it still that Ransom was meant to be with them. They just had to prove it to Ransom.

Unable to do anything but return to the sound booth, Nick could only watch as Alpha approached Ransom on the small sofa, slowly earning herself a seat close to him.

The two of them talked though it did appear stilted at times though Ransom didn’t seem as closed off as he could’ve been. That brought some relief to Nick who finally let himself get lost in the music once more. If anything, he wanted to get this song perfected so they could all go home.

Meanwhile, Alpha has made some progress with Ransom, picking up where she left off with him at the restaurant earlier. She’d even made it to the chair next to where Ransom sat after ordering food for the band and them two.

Most of their conversation had drifted back to small talk over the deeper conversation they’d had at the restaurant bar. As much as she wanted to assure Ransom however she could, she also knew she couldn’t push him too hard.

He reminded her a lot of her first few encounters with Nick during their earliest days. His broken heart had made him a tough nut to crack as well. He’d been so desperate for someone to claim him, to love him as he was. It was always just out of reach for him. Not unlike Ransom from what Alpha could discern with the few pieces of information she’d gleaned from Jake and Angel.

She hadn’t been lying when she mentioned Angel being a fierce omega. It’d taken all of Alpha’s abilities to break through Angel’s defenses and show herself worthy of another chance with Ransom. That she never intended to hurt him as she’d done that night.

It wasn’t that she wanted to keep Nick a secret from Ransom. She just couldn’t deny how their seeking out another beta could be seen as unusual and even frowned upon. As much as society has moved forward and become more accepting, it still had ways to go when it came to certain pack makeups.

At one point, Ransom surprised her by asking, “Why another beta?”

Alpha knew he was really asking, Why him?

“I didn’t decide to pursue you lightly,” she said softly. “Nick and I talked about what we wanted. Designations don’t really mean a lot to us. Though, we both knew we had to consider them a little bit when we started seeking out our missing mate.”

Ransom’s gaze met hers, his expression open, curious.

“Alphas don’t like to share unless there’s a connection between them. I share no such connection with another alpha, so that rules out alphas.”

He nodded.

“As I mentioned earlier, kids aren’t my thing. I don’t mind older children, but babies scare the shit out of me. They’re tiny, fragile beings, and I’m never going to be parent material. I have no doubt Nick would handle children well, but he’s quite content with our life the way it is. He travels a lot, and I work long hours. It wouldn’t be fair to an omega or any children we might bring into this world.”

“Doesn’t rule out an omega though. Angel and her pack are quite similar though they aren’t against children if they happen.”

Alpha grinned, pointing out the flaw in his argument by saying, “There’s the difference. I’m sure her pack is good with children if they’re okay with it happening. Nick and I aren’t. We’re not willing to make those adjustments, so it’s just easier to steer clear of omegas.”

“And Nick is fine with always competing with another beta?”

Unable to stop herself, Alpha rested her hand on Ransom’s arm. It stilled the small fidgets of his fingers along the cuffs of his sweater.

“Who said he’d always be competing?”

This time, Ransom refused to look at her though his jaw ticked. A frown marred his features as she could only assume bad memories surfaced for him.

From what she knew of the Thrombeys and Drysdales, betas were a rarity in the family line unlike her own and others. Those that did become betas were either found insane or cast out in one way or another. She could only imagine what his younger years must’ve been like living under such conditions.

“I know very little about your past, Ransom,” she leaned closer and tapped his chin until he looked up at her again, “but I can promise you it would never be like that with us. If you give us a chance, I can swear to you that you’ll always be treated as an equal. What you want matters just as much to me as what Nick wants. I know Nick feels the same way, too.”

Ransom didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply listened. He sensed she wasn’t done by a long shot anyway. She’d been planning this from the way her eyes glittered with determination.

“Did you know meeting you in that café that day wasn’t a coincidence?”

He shook his head.

Alpha smiled, softening as she recalled that day with vivid clarity.

“I’d actually seen you with your friends outside and recognized you from the blurry photo Nick snapped the day you saved him on that train platform. The way he told it, you were a real hero taking on that pack of young alphas. It certainly piqued my interest in meeting you and thanking you for doing what you did. Nick is quite adept at talking himself out of some trouble, but you handled that pack with a few cutting words that really bowled them over. I was a little jealous by how much Nick talked about you if I’m being honest.”

“Bullshit.”

Alpha’s smile bloomed even as she shook her head. “It’s the truth. I really wanted a chance to meet this amazing beta who swept mine off his feet in ways only I’d done before. Then, I ran into you and your friends that day. With the cooler weather, it was an easy excuse to follow you into the café and nab a warm drink.”

The cogs in Ransom’s mind started turning. As a few puzzle pieces fell into place, he couldn’t help blurting, “You set me up with that group of alphas that day.”

It wasn’t a question, and Alpha didn’t treat it like one even as she confirmed his suspicions.

“It wasn’t too hard to get them to start trouble. They were already looking for it. Young alphas aren’t always the brightest.”

“Neither are ones who should know better,” Ransom countered, his face shifting into what Alpha could only describe as his judging face.

She had the nerve to chuckle, which earned her a scowl and Ransom moving to get up and possibly leave.

“No, you’re right. It was absolutely the worst thing I could’ve done, but I had to make sure you were the same beta Nick described.” Alpha’s hands came up to keep Ransom from leaving, only releasing the tension building within when he sank back down. “You didn’t disappoint, either. You were exactly as Nick described. By the time we parted, I was pretty taken with you myself.”

With Ransom now sitting down again, Alpha moved her hands until she could lace her fingers through his. Tugging gently, she made sure she had his full attention before she said, “You did it again that night at the gala, too. Willing to take on your mother for a beta you’d just met and your best friend. Linda’s alpha really could’ve hurt you, but you didn’t care. Do you know how rare that is, Ransom?”

Ransom shrugged, clearly unimpressed with what she was trying to say.

“Do you remember what I said to Linda that night?”

Ransom’s features pinched as they replayed that night.

It was clear to Alpha that the night still affected him with all that went down. She couldn’t be more sorry for her part or Nick’s, but she needed him to relive that night if she really wanted to make it known where Ransom stood with her and Nick.

“You said she messed with your beta. So?”

Tightening her hold on his hands, she tugged until he met her gaze. Her inner alpha sensed he recalled her words perfectly, but he wanted to test her as much as she’d tested him at the café that day.

“You’re right except I said betas, not beta. Linda had the nerve to mess with both my betas, and I saw nothing but red. She might be your mother, but she had no right to touch what I consider mine. If we weren’t in such a public setting, she would’ve learned just how far I can and will go to protect what’s mine.”

Oh, that had Ransom’s attention.

As much as he didn’t want to believe Angel that night and what Alpha was saying right then, he couldn’t deny how nice it felt to have Alpha looking at him like someone worth loving, someone worth protecting.   

Bringing his hands up, she brushed his knuckles with her lips.

“I want you to know that Nick and I are determined to do everything to win you over. Even if it’s taking everything one day at a time or a minute at a time, we want you in our lives. You are what’s missing, and we want to prove that to you. If you give us the chance. Will you at least consider giving us that chance?”

So lost in their conversation, they didn’t notice the band had successfully wrapped up their session.

Bossman was finally satisfied with the way their new single had been recorded. Ready to call it a night, he picked up some of the food that also arrived without their notice and bid the others a good night. He left after shooting a pointed glance at Nick, then at Ransom and Alpha. He wanted Nick to have the pack he deserved, but he wouldn’t allow it at the expense of Ransom’s free will and happiness.

Nick joined Alpha and Ransom after making them a couple of plates, setting them down near them as he caught the tail end of their conversation.

A part of him would understand if Ransom walked away. He and Alpha had messed things up despite their best intentions. But a bigger part of him really, really wanted Ransom to give them a chance to prove themselves.

He didn’t have to wait long as Ransom finally nodded, frowning at Nick and saying pointedly, “One day at a time. No promises. No guarantees.”

To Nick and Alpha, those words meant everything, and they would do everything they could to make sure Ransom wanted to claim them as much as they already wanted to claim him.

*****

Verse Masterlist / Main Masterlist

[niksfics]

↬ FATE

↬ PAIRINGS: kenma x f!reader (side aka rebound mention) miya atsumu x f!reader

↬ WARNINGS: a whole lotta angst, breakup, it’s an online relationship, kenma is cold and hurts ur feelings

↬ SUMMARY: your relationship with kenma really had felt like the last one. He was it, turns out he didn’t have similar feelings.

↬ A/N: alright loves!! This isn’t proofread at all it’s 2 in the morning I’ll edit when I wake up, butttt Thanks to my lovely ex girlfriend you are now being graced with this steaming pile of trash. (Lovely was not meant sarcastically at all she is in fact very lovely.) Ngl almost, if not all of this story is about my relationship with my ex gf. This is how I cope people. ￫ It’s taken me awhile to actually be able to right something that’s why things kinda stopped. Tbh after she broke up with me it’s been very hard for me to write so hopefully this helps! And I hope you enjoy!! I would also just like to say if it feels a lil weird it’s cause these are things I’ve actually written in my notes I tweaked it a little to fit the story but it’s straight from the source 😩

WC | 2.5K

You sighed as you opened your notes app. Your eyes scanning over all of the little facts and quirks he had told you about himself. All the stuff you’d wanted to remember. The stuff that had seemed so important to you before. Now it was meaningless, almost like facts about a stranger. Almost as if you hadn’t spent four months learning about and growing with eachother.

You scrolled down a little bit right under, how his favorite marvel character is Spider-Man and you chewed on your lip. Your fingers hovering above the keyboard on your phone. You looked over the facts again. The things he dislikes and the stuff he adores, the things he likes to collect to the way he feels passionately about a certain topic. You begin to type.

Friday June 25th 2022 12:22 Am

I cried again tonight, because I still love you. It’s been a month and six days since we broke up. It feels like there’s a hole in my chest. You seem to be doing fine though, so I’m happy for you! This is the second time since we’ve broken up that I’ve felt actual physical emotional pain in my chest. Remember when I told you how bad it hurt after we broke up? Remember how you didn’t even ask if I was ok? Didn’t even bother to answer. Do you remember that? I remember. I’ve thought about it every day since. I remember it being so bad I genuinely thought I was having a heart attack. Wasn’t until I’d called tetsu crying that he’d told me it was just emotional and I should probably try to relax.

I read through our old messages. I’ve never wanted something back so bad. Never wanted to beg anyone to stay till now. I wish you loved me like I love you. I wish I hadn’t grown so attached, wish I hadn’t fallen so deeply into love with you. I wish it wasn’t my fault that we broke up. I wish I wasn’t so fucking scared. I wish I was fearless. Wish I could rise into love bravely. I wish I was brave when it came to you. I keep telling myself it was me. It was me not you. You didn’t love me anymore. You don’t love me anymore and you’re just too nice to say that. So you told me in the only way I could handle. Except you hadn’t used the words you should have. You got bored. We both know it’s true. You were bored of it, and I don’t blame you. I know we’ll never talk again, and part of me is so glad. Another part of me forces myself to read through all our messages though. I wish I could just tell you one last time. I love you.

You sighed saving it before closing out of it. Tears you hadn’t known were falling finally became known to you as they streamed down your cheeks. Your eyes puffy as you wet your lips, the salt of them coating your tongue. You were bitter and so were your tears. I briefly wondered what he was doing right now. Probably playing a video game. You knew his schedule all to well by now. Probably testing out a new game for his stream.

A new set of fresh tears fell as you remembered how you used to call him right before he went on. Being lulled to sleep by his occasionally curses and the clicking oh his controller or his keyboard.

You never expected things to end this way. You really thought he was the last one. Yes it had only been four months, but the way he made you feel. The way that it had felt. It had felt final, and you’d been friends before you even started dating.

You sniffle moving yourself to the kitchen to poor yourself a glass of water as you remembered how nervous you were when you first texted him. You had acumulated quite the crush on him back in high school. As Inarazaki’s manager you were required to go to the games, and even after your team lost you had stuck around. Watched him play and cheered him on. Two weeks later you had begun to text, as friends of course. It wasn’t until four months ago that you’d gotten together.

Your anniversary was only two days prior to your break up. You both had never been one to even care about that stuff. You had agreed early on in the relationship that we wouldn’t do anything due to the distance, and the business of our schedules. You were never one for remembering things like anniversaries anyways.

He really did feel like the one. Sometimes you just know. Sometimes you can just feel it. Like, you know that feeling you get when you know something is off or you know for sure something is about to happen even without being told it’s going to. That’s what it felt like to be with kozume kenma.

You thought you knew, you thought this time, this time its for real. You thought it was finally safe to say, that he was the one. You both had even admitted to looking for each others initials in those stupid soulmate tik tok videos.

You were finally in a mature relationship with someone you could talk about anything to. You had gotten so caught up in it, that you didn’t even see the end creeping up on you.

↝

You’d finally gained the courage to text him again. Unfortunately it was in a drunken daze. Your hands shaking as you fumbled with your phone typing things you’d come to regret in the morning. You’d sent him a series of texts telling him how much you missed him, how you didn’t understand how he was so okay. You had been a wreck that night. One of your friends puking in her toilet as you cried. You were happy of course that he was doing so well, but you’d been a wreck for so long and he hadn’t even changed. You told him you wished you could be okay.

When you’d awoken the next morning hair knotted in a complete mess and wiping drool from your chin your heart had sunk even lower. His response was cold. You knew that kenma could be cold. You knew that it was just who he was, but this particular text had felt so unfeeling and unfamiliar, it was as if he hadn’t even sent it himself. He had only ever talked like this to you once and that was when you first became friends all those years ago.

Kozume ❤️

Hey, it’s okay. And yeah you see what I choose to put up. I could be better. But I choose to stay optimistic and busy. Sorry that things are this way.

You had never seen so many periods in a text before. He only used grammar like that when he was peeved, and maybe you were wrong, maybe he’d done that on purpose, but it had hurt so bad. It had caused an ache so deep in your chest that you weren’t sure if you’d ever even dated him at all.

Yeah.

It was the only thing you could bring yourself to respond back with. How were you supposed to respond to that? You’d stared at it for so long and after you’d sent it you wished you had said more. Wished you would’ve said something more insightful than a simple, heartbroken, “yeah.”

Not too long later there was another ping and you held your breath. His name briefly appearing across your screen.

Yeah. I could be better. But I hope you do well soon. I’m sorry that I can’t really do much to help out

And of course you did the only thing you could do. Deflect. Pretend like you hadn’t said what you’d said not even fourteen hours ago.

No it’s fine. I’m fine. You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry that you could be doing better.

He left you on seen. You knew you sounded like an asshole. At least to you, you felt like an asshole. Why couldn’t you have come up with something else. Why couldn’t you tell him the truth. Tell him how you felt. Tell him that you didn’t think you should be broken up anymore. That the month long cruel joke was over and you were ready to spend your nights falling asleep to him playing video games again. You didn’t though, and you never would. You’re not brave enough, too prideful to even try.

You swallowed down the bile rising in your throat as you realized even if you did beg him. Begged him to take you back. Tell him that you still love him. You were too late, and you just couldn’t be selfish when it comes to him. He is over you and it was so plainly obvious. You know that deep down. Know that he’s moved on, and it kills you inside. So you did the only thing you could do. Try and put it into words.

So as you lay in bed the warm body you let occupy your space sound asleep beside you, his toned blonde hair tousled slightly and you sighed. Finally away from the shenanigans of your friends you took a deep breath before you closed your eyes.

You opened up your notes app again and scrolled past the last entry. You swallowed again as you blinked the tears out of your eyes. Your thumbs beginning to move before you even gave them permission.

Wednesday June 30th 2022 1:39 Am

Here I am again. Stuck. Stuck in the same place I’ve been for so long. You know, I write so beautifully when I’m broken. I’m most of my best work is written when I’m being torn apart. But I just, I can’t seem to find the words. I can’t seem to put it into a document and turn out little story into a different story to cope. Can’t seem to write it out. Can’t seem to move on.

I hovered over the unfollow button on your page today, to keep myself from scrolling through your things again. To keep myself from getting hurt. So I don’t have to be reminded. I want to delete it. Delete where we officially met. On a chat through my screen. I wanna wipe the messages clean. And I’ve tried. Oh how I’ve tried. But I can’t.

I want to delete our conversations. The hours long talks we had, but then, what happens afterwards? What keeps the memories alive. I’d never been so in love with someone before. I’ve never actually…. Been in love before. I thought I’d been in love, but it didn’t feel like that, and losing them never hurt like this. Losing someone has never hurt this bad before.

I’ve never felt the emptiness you left so deep in my very being with anyone I’ve ever met before. I can’t seem to pull myself together. And it’s pathetic I know. It’s pathetic that I’m still here. In the same place I was a month ago. It’s about to be two months we’ve haven’t been together. I’m hurting. Hurting so bad. It’s painful to look at you.

I haven’t deleted the photos even though I probably should. They’re still tucked away in an album in my camera roll labeled “us <3” the one one I made specially just for you. The way I’d been so excited when I was finally ready to tell my friends. I even have this stupid notes folder from when we were dating where I wrote all the little things about you that I never wanted to forget. I find you so endearing. Everything you do. I just couldn’t help but right it down to keep it safe so it never leaves my mind. So that I never forget. But now, forgetting is all I want to do.

I never thought there’d be a time in my life where I was more emotionally stunted that I normally. So stunted I can’t even put this, our split up, into words. Make it something entertaining for somebody else to read. Write a book about it. My publicist keeps asking when the sequel for my book will be done. I don’t know if it’ll ever be finished. I can’t do the one thing I’ve always been good at. I’m crying as I write this.

And I wish it would just end here in this little notes app. Wish the love would die in here. I always think I’m over you and then I see you again, and nowadays your everywhere. A very big hit and I’m happy for you and your success, but seeing you makes my heart squeeze in my chest.

I think I’m over you until I play that stupid fucking game that causes me to scream at my phone, or my laptop in frustration, but I just can’t seem to delete it because I know it’s something that you love. That show we used to talk about. I know you know which one, I can’t seem to watch it without thinking of what was. You’ve ruined it forever cause now it only reminds me of you. I know you’ll never see this, but I like to imagine you can. That my time for closure has somehow come.

When you told me you were sorry that things were this way, it was a real slap in the face. It stopped my false hope. My wishing. It all came to a halt. I’m glad. Glad that you’re happier. That you’re better without me. But god, now I’m so fucked up and I can’t even talk to you.

You were the only person I had left. The only one who understood me. And now you’re gone. You took a part of me with you that night. A part that I’ll never get back. I should’ve known that you would leave. I’ve never been able to get someone to stay for longer than three to four months.

I thought I could let my guard down though. I thought we were in the clear. I’d thought finally. Finally someone is gonna stay. I thought you were my person. I still think that to this day. I thought we were gonna make it. And now I’m with this guy I don’t even like. He’s not you, he doesn’t act like you. He doesn’t like video games like you do.

He doesn’t talk to me like you do. Like you did. But you know how it ended I don’t need to put it here. Unfortunately I’ll always love you even if you don’t love me. This is so scattered, I’m sorry I couldn’t make you happy.

With that you closed the app and put down your phone. Plugging in it and as it dinged miya atsumu rolled over in his sleep. He reached for you his hands wrapping around your waist to tug you against his strong body.

His gravely voice whispering through sleep, “mmm finally decided to come to bed?” You hum moving an arm under on of his to wrap around his thin waist. “Mhm, thought you might need the company.” You began to draw little shapes and letters against his back as he chuckled, “oh yea? How thoughtful of you princess.”

Suddenly it was quiet and your closed eyes opened to his wide brown ones, his eyebrows furrowing .

“Did you just spell kozume on my back?”

[sincerelyasomebody]

Mama || Leticia "Letty" Cruz

(GIF: @angels-reyes)

A/N: This was created because I've seen some speculation that Letty may not make it to the end of Season 3 (😭🥺). My mind needed something fluffy to combat this and so this piece came about. Apologises for grammatical errors and please let me know if the Spanish translation needs correcting.

Characters/Pairing(s): Letty x Reader (mother-daughter relationship) ▪︎ Coco x Reader (mention) ☆ Mayans MC (brief mention) ▪︎ OCs (receptionist, mother and son duo) 

Summary: Just a mother protecting her daughter. 

Warnings: brief mention of altercation (male and female), description of injuries, fluff, language, nicknames, painkillers (reference to injury) 

Word Count: 1755

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ -

(Y/N) couldn't believe how busy the roads leading to the local high school were. It was a Wednesday, a little after ten and the streets were just packed with cars. She thought it was ridiculous considering people were usually at their jobs and children were in their age appropriate schools. There was no reason for people to be out and about. 

"The light's been green for five seconds!" she yelled and honked her horn, "move!" The driver in front gave her the finger before taking off, "you're so fucking lucky I've got somewhere to be, asshole!" she called out as she drove in the opposite direction. 

When her phone rang during her break, the last person (Y/N) expected to hear from was the receptionist for Santo Padre High School. According to the woman, Leticia (Letty as she was mostly referred to) had been in an altercation with another student and her parents or caregivers were requested to come and meet with the principal. Rachel, the receptionist, mentioned trying to reach her father but going straight to voicemail. With (Y/N) being listed as an emergency contact she was called. 

(Y/N) immediately asked about Letty, but was told that specific details couldn't be discussed over the phone. She found that odd, but accepted it (for the time being) and informed Rachel that she would be there as quickly as she could. After hanging up, she grabbed her belongings and told her manager she had a family emergency to attend to. She was cleared and (Y/N) informed him that she would be taking a week off as well and would keep them updated on her situation. 

From the moment she received the call to the time she pulled up in front of the high school, her thoughts revolved around Letty. Being with Coco for several years allowed (Y/N) to gain some insight to the type of life he had been subjected to. Through a lot of tears, constant reassurance and love (Y/N) was able to break through his tough exterior and get him to believe she was in it for the long haul. When (Y/N) was told by him about his daughter being in a similar environment to what he was in growing up, she demanded him to bring her home.

The second she laid eyes on Letty she saw Coco's features and personality shine through. (Y/N) didn't expect the teenager to respect or trust her right off the bat, but she made sure to let her know that she was here if she needed someone to talk to and gave her space. With every door slam, harsh comment and glare sent her way, (Y/N) continued being herself and showed Letty she wasn't a threat. It was challenging, especially when Coco left on runs, but she pushed through. Eventually the teenager began to accept her father's girlfriend without second guessing her. 

(Y/N) stepped into the main office and found a woman standing beside a teenage boy, who held some paper towels to his nose and had a couple of scratches on his face. She moved closer and realised the pair were towering over Letty who sat in the corner and was looking down at her lap. Clenching her jaw, she strode over to the trio. 

"Get the fuck away from my daughter!" she glared at the duo and turned around to Letty, who was now standing, "mi niña, are you okay?" she kissed her forehead and cupped her cheeks, "Leticia?" 

The teenager nodded, "uh… y-yeah, I'm fine," she went to move (Y/N)'s hands but winced, "completely fine." 

(Y/N)'s eyes widened at the state of Letty's hands. They were most likely bruised and what shocked her even more was that there was no ice-pack beside her seat. The boy clearly had been given assistance, but her baby girl hadn't and that pissed her off.

"Rachel!" she called out and a woman appeared around the corner, "you're the one who called me right?" 

"Yes." 

"And, you said you couldn't go over specific details of what happened over the phone?" 

"That's correct." 

(Y/N) nodded and gestured towards Letty's hands, "well I'm here now and would like an explanation on why my daughter hasn't been treated and that young man has?" When the mother tried to give a reason, she raised a hand in her face, "this doesn't concern you, this conversation is between Rachel and I." 

Rachel gulped and could feel the anger radiating off of (Y/N), "well… uh, he was bleeding and –"

"Were there other staff members present?" she asked and when she was given a nod, she continued, "why couldn't they have provided medical assistance to my daughter?" 

"She… didn't tell us she was hurt, ma'am, she said she was fine so –"

"Bitch do her hands look fine to you?" 

The mother scoffed, "at least we know where your daughter gets her attitude from." 

(Y/N) turned to her, "shut up, nobody asked for your ass to speak," she gestured towards her son, "the reason your son's looking like a fucked up tomato is completely justified I can vouch for that." 

"Are you kidding me?" She shrieked and pointed to his face, "he's most likely got a broken nose and there's scratches on his face!"

"Exactly, be glad my daughter didn't have a screwdriver on her." (Y/N) replied and almost laughed at the disbelief on the woman's face, "your son deserved every scratch, bruise and possible broken bone."

"Excuse me!?" 

(Y/N) ignored her and turned back around to face Rachel, "Letty and I will be leaving now."

"Mrs Fraser hasn't seen –" 

"My main concern right now is my daughter's well-being," she told her, "and you've got my details on file so I'm sure Mrs Fraser can contact me at a later date." 

Rachel spoke again, "please if you'd just –"

"No." 

(Y/N) picked up Letty's bag and walked over to the desk, with Letty trailing behind her. She quickly signed out on the tablet and the pair walked out of the building. Reaching her car, (Y/N) unlocked it and helped Letty into the passenger seat. Closing her door, she rushed to the driver's side and got in. 

She helped Letty buckle up, before buckling herself in, "everything okay, sweets?" 

"Yeah… uh, thanks." was the response she received, before she started up the car and pulled out of the school parking lot while explaining where they were off to next. 

-- ♡ -- ◇ -- 

"He's always talking shit," Letty explained to (Y/N) about the guy in the office, "it was about time someone shut him up." 

"And you were the person to do so?" 

She shrugged her shoulders, "he ran his mouth and then touched me, so I beat his ass." 

"Two for one special?" 

"Pretty much." 

(Y/N) chuckled, "when your hands heal up, we'll ask one of the guys to teach you a few moves in the ring, thankfully your hands are just bruised and not broken." 

"They still hurt like a bitch." 

"You've got another two hours before you can drink some more painkillers." 

"What would've happened if Coco answered the phone?" Letty questioned.

(Y/N) shook her head, "honey, I don't even think I wanna know what would've happened," she noticed the teen wince, "are you okay?" 

"Yes." 

"Are you sure?"

She huffed, "I'm fine, okay? I was fine when you picked me up. I was fine when we went to the doctor's office. I was fine at the grocery store and I was fine the last time you asked me." 

(Y/N) nodded and pulled into their driveway, putting the car in park, "I'm not gonna apologise about asking how you're feeling. I'm just – I just want to make sure you're okay. But, now I'll stop because I can see I'm annoying you." 

"Yeah, you are." 

She chuckled, "okay, I'll stop, but you'll tell –" 

Letty sighed, "yes, I'll tell you. You really take this parenting thing seriously. I mean… you've been referring to me as your daughter all day and I–I'm not. But you defended me –" 

"And I always will." 

" – against Kyle, his mum and even the receptionist. I–I've never had that before. And, even at the doctor's office you made sure I was seen by a female because you knew it'd make me more comfortable." 

"Letty?" 

"You treat me like I'm yours and you called me your daughter and I… I don't know, I just," she took a deep breath, shook her head and looked out of the window.

(Y/N) waited for her to continue, but she didn't. Thinking back on today's events, she realised she had referred to Letty as her own. She had been doing it in her mind for so long and didn't realise she had said it out in the open. Letty had heard her reference and it seemed to make her uncomfortable and that was something she vowed she wouldn't do. 

"When I started dating your dad he told me about the kids he had. He told me that he wasn't involved in their lives because being away from them was for the best. I asked him what would happen if one day a kid reached out and his response was "if they do, they do. I ain't gonna turn them away", (Y/N) spoke up, "and then you reached out, sweetums. You reached out and your dad took that as a sign. From the moment you entered our lives, it's been a whirlwind of emotions. We're not this picture perfect family, but we're our own version. Despite being almost an adult, Coco still views you as his baby girl. And, honestly, I've been viewing you the same way."

Letty sniffed and looked up, "really?" 

"Absolutely, gorgeous. The moment you stepped through that door you became mine as well," (Y/N) pointed at the front door of their home, before turning to her, "but that doesn't matter if you're not okay with it. I'm not trying to force you to be –" 

"I'm Coco's daughter," she cut in and smiled at (Y/N), "and now I'm yours too." 

(Y/N) beamed with joy and unbuckled her seatbelt, and Letty's, reaching over the middle console to bring the teen into her arms. Letty wrapped her arms around (Y/N), breathing in her (scent). The woman chuckled and kissed her cheek, "I love you, baby girl." 

Letty pulled her closer, "I love you too, mama." 

-♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ - 

Spanish Translations: 

Mi niña - my girl / baby girl

[starlessea]

Ultimate Guide To Writing Second Person POV

Y/N, You, and Everything in Between

Hey everyone, here’s another post for my writing tips series - this time focusing on how to write in second person.

As a lot of fanfics are written in this POV, you’re probably already familiar with seeing ‘You’ or ‘Y/N’ to describe the reader. But, I wanted to give a few tips on how to construct this type of character - keeping it accessible, whilst not making it too vague/general either.

1) The Reader Insert

One of the most common tropes in fanfiction is to use ‘Y/N’ in place of a character name. It is literally an abbreviation for ‘your name,’ and therefore allows the reader to insert themselves into the fic.

There’s a lot of debate surrounding the use of ‘Y/N.’ Personally, I think it’s fine, and I find it quite unfair when a lot of people show undeserved bias towards it. There is, by no means, any correlation between the standard of writing and whether or not an author uses ‘Y/N.’ It is just personal preference!

However, you must ensure the following things if you are going to use it:

Be consistent in capitalisation - it’s a pet peeve to see it rendered as ‘Y/n,’ ‘Y/N,’ and ‘y/n’ all in a single fic. Pick one and stick to it.

Don’t overuse it - something about the dash really sticks out like a sore thumb. I try to use it for emphasis mainly, like if someone is talking to the character in an emotional moment. But don’t forget that you can use VARIATION, too. Such as:

He called your name.

“Did you hear me?” She asked, and repeated your name.

“I’ve called your name three times now.”

“Y/N!” He yelled, over the sound of the engine.

If you’re writing a multi-chapter fic, keep in mind that although ‘Y/N’ is meant to refer to a general name, it shouldn’t always refer to a general character! What I mean by this is, nobody wants to read a long fanfiction where the main character lacks any distinguishable features, personality traits, or development.

Just because your pronouns and naming system is vague doesn’t mean your character should be! You need to give them distinguishable characteristics - even if it’s as simple as them liking music, having a specific family background, having certain speech patterns.

As much as we might be tempted to write as inclusively as we can, it is unrealistic to have a ‘one-size-fits-all character in EVERY scenario.’ One of the main points of criticism against ‘Y/N’ is that they lack DEPTH.

Another thing to note is that there are chrome extensions like InteracticeFics - where you can enter your name at the start of a fanfic and it’ll automatically replace ‘Y/N’ with it. You may have seen those little boxes on certain Tumblr posts that allow you to do this!

2) The Impersonal ‘You’

This is just a phrase I’ve coined to describe fics that replace ‘Y/N’ exclusively with ‘you.’ I almost visualise it as a sort of hierarchy of depth, or a sliding scale that goes from Y/N > Impersonal You > Personal You > OC.

What I mean by this is, if we think of an OC, they are often a fully fleshed out character. They’ll have a full name, age, appearance, background, likes/dislikes etc. Whereas, with Y/N and the Impersonal You, we can often get away with glossing over these things - or generalising them (but not TOO much, remember).

The Impersonal You is for those who don’t like the visual look of ‘Y/N.’ It is more traditional, and I find that it takes away from the reading experience less. However, there are still pitfalls with this form:

There is a lack of variation - unlike the previous example, here you can’t switch between ‘Y/N’ and ‘you.’ Often, you’ll find that your fics become completely littered with the word, since it describes both the PERSON (the pronoun, replacing he/she/they) and the NAME. So you may find yourself left with something like this:

You finished tying your shoes and look up at the man, already looking at you. “Are you done?” He asked. “I’ve been calling you for the last ten minutes.” You nodded, as he repeated your name to get your attention.

In that passage alone there was 8 instances of ‘you/your.’ In terms of correctness, there is nothing wrong with it. However, it leaves much to be desired stylistically.

You need to be aware of this if you’re writing in this form, and maybe carry out this visual exercise of ‘you’ spotting and counting to check. Instead, try to experiment with adverbs and playing around with syntax order. We could write something like this:

Tying your shoelaces, you looked up at the man to see that he was already looking at you. “Ya done yet?” He asked. “I’ve been callin’ for the last ten minutes.” You nodded, as he repeated himself to get your attention.

3) The Personal ‘You’

This form is the bridge between the Impersonal You and an OC. It is used to describe someone who is almost an original character, whilst still keeping them relatable. I like this example especially, since it allows for a lot of variation and style.

One of the fics I’m writing, for instance, is about a teacher. Therefore, although I use ‘you’ the majority of the time, I’m also granted the extra variety of ‘Teach.’ A lot of my other characters use that nickname to refer to her. So it’s a good idea to have some distinguishable features that can be used as identifiers - like a certain profession for example.

I’ve also read another fic about a doctor, where everyone calls her ‘Doc,’ and another one where the character is identified by the name of the gang she belongs to. So, it doesn’t always have to be a job - it can be hobbies, interests, an embarrassing secret, a pet name etc.

Here are a few examples:

“Hey, Sunshine.” He greeted, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Get over here, Teach!” She called, and you quickly ran over to hear people muttering your name.

“Well if it isn’t that biker chick I’ve heard so much about.”

“I want to get to know you better, Doc.” He said, and you started by telling him your name. “That’s pretty” He replied, trying it out for himself as he struggled to pronounce it.

4) General Points

Nicknames

As we’ve just gone through, nicknames, pet names, or little identifiers can be a great way to gain some variation - and give an insight into your character’s background. Even if you’re writing in the ‘Y/N’ form, you can use general ones like ‘sweetheart’ etc. to show the relationships between your characters.

Abbreviated Names

With these nicknames, or professions, try out the long forms but also abbreviate them for variation:

Doctor > Doc

Teacher > Teach

And have different characters say them in different ways, or use different ones to address your main character. For example, you might want to emphasise different accents.

Darling > Darlin’

A Nameless Character

It might even be fun to take a meta approach, where your character is consciously aware that they don’t have a name. I read an interesting fic where the reader ironically belonged to a group called ‘nameless’ - and that’s what people called her by.

Or, you could have a character with amnesia - and watch as other people give them an array of nicknames throughout your story.

That’s it for now! I hope you found this part helpful. Send me a message if there’s any other topics you want covered.

[coolgirlontheweb]

miu shinoda (NANA) - INTJ

although miu is a side character that we see briefly in the anime and manga, which leaves us with a relatively under developed character to type, from what we see of her, she is definitely an INTJ. the other sound argument would be INFJ but this fairly easily debunked by analysing her auxiliary Te. NANA may be one of the most emotionally heavy ani-manga i've ever seen and read. it's a situational drama with romance, substance abuse and sexual assault among a plethora of other harrowing subject matters. it makes sense that in this setting, miu would be fairly emotionally intelligent, offering advice and introspective quotes to our main cast, which is where most people mistake her as an INFJ rather than an INTJ. if you look closely at what she says and does, it's all indicative of Te rather than Fe.

when ren dies, she delicately but strategically works with yasu to fix the logistics of the group and get everyone to the funeral. all of the advice she gives is based on facts and logic, and she continuously puts factual information before her own personal expectations (like when she saw yasu carrying nana osaki into ren's funeral, and refused to be jealous in light of what was happening). miu remains relatively aloof from the group's emotional matters apart from when she is told. if she was a INFJ, her Fe would adapt better in social situations and allow her to be more generally caring and compassionate, and more open and trusting. (think of yasu: he once said he likes to keep his relationships quiet, but he still meshes very well with the rest of BLAST, Trapnest and their management. he consistently over exerts himself to make sure that nana osaki is well, and seems to act as a generous paternal figure - this is his Fe at work). conversely, miu's Te helps her stay objective and cool headed in her assessments of situations, and she is noticeably more dispassionate than yasu, which wouldn't be the case if she had Fe. extraverted thinking is objective and impersonal, choosing to focus on the outside world. rarely, if ever, do we see miu focus her thinking inwardly, we hardly know a thing about her apart from her relationship with yasu and her job. her Te can even be argued for in a literary sense, wherein her objective contributions from an untainted lens (in the sense that she doesn't have history with BLAST or nana komatsu) to the main cast could be the readers' own thoughts. she does seem to come up with solutions for perceived issues and i think that all readers of NANA would like to solve the characters' problems.

miu also has a history of self-harm, but she stops when she meets yasu. she is level headed and logical the entire time we see her in the ani-manga, yet her history of mental health issues and self-harm could be indicative of a former Se grip, which affects both maladjusted INTJs and INFJs. her presumed Se grip would cause her to overindulge unhealthy sensory pleasures (in her case, self harm and T/W: cutting). further more, miu overcoming her self harm speaks to a mature and developed Fi tert, in combatting a struggle that is mentally draining, she has built a greater sense of self and can use this stable foundation to help others.

this was more about determining her auxiliary which would make her an INTJ, but i find that examining her 4w5 enneagram is helpful in this case. type 4s are self aware, sensitive and reserved, and may tend to withhold themselves due to their vulnerability and defectiveness. whereas, type 5s are analytical, insightful and objective. i think it goes without saying that she is a 4w5, if you've read the manga you would see that she exhibits all of these behaviours. because of the emotional setting she is in, miu is able to give a refreshing viewpoint to the rest of the characters, whilst still being tactful and sensitive enough to recognise the subtle and complicated relationships between everyone. in NANA, the sensitivity of her 4w5 works exquisitely with the objectivity of her Te and her developed Fi to be a mature and well rounded voice of reason later in the manga.

A/N: a person and show you could equate miu and NANA to is effy from Skins. they're both INTJ 4w5s in a situational drama with romance, substance abuse and sexual assault among a plethora of other harrowing subject matters. effy in generation 1 of skins is a side character, she acts just like miu when we first meet her - sensitive, aloof and objective.

[shoezuki]

Tommy's prison/revival arc isnt well written actually

Anyways ive been wanting to talk on it a while for a bit here but havent had the Time or like. The thought to. But im gonna go off now.

First off im gonna say im ASSUMING this stream and plot of tommy being in the prison with dream is written entirely by tommy and dream. Wilbur May be involved in the latest stream but im not sure.

Bringing tommy back to life after only three days of him being dead did practically nothing to progress plot, the characters, or audience's understanding. In fact i feel that it damaged Other characters' potential and plot and already established plotlines.

The 'development' aspect

A really, really easy way to see if anything has changed or developed through an arc or plotline is to straightup just compare the 'beginning' to the 'end' in terms of the barebones situation. So;

Beginning: tommy is trapped in an isolated prison cell with dream, his own abuser who has hurt him in the past, for an unknown amount of time. He's terrified of dream and being stuck there with him.

End: tommy is trapped in an isolated prison cell with dream after being killed then revived by him, his own abuser whos hurt him in the past, for an unknown amount of time. Hes terrified of dream and being stuck there with him.

Okay. This is simplified obvious. But the point stands. ALTHOUGH the troupe of 'going back to the beginning' is common in the heroes journey its. It doesnt work here. Has tommy learned anything? Has he changed as a character? Is the severity of their situation any different? Have we, as the audience, learned anything new?

Im going to expand on that last point because i think it has the strongest potential argument. Technically for progression in literature and development of plot/characters, things can Change without them being Aware as characters. It can change just by the audience's perception changing or being challenge.

Slight example: i've been reading a webcomic called Your Throne. Its a fantasy/political drama about a noble lady who entered a competition with another noble lady to become the empress. The main lady lost despite her being a better fit, and the comic starts with the main lady trying to assassinate the empress. Its assumed and stated by the main lady that she 'ruined her life' and so thats all the readers know. However, later in the novel we see flashbacks to the competition itself and find that the two ladies were extremely close friends, neither wanting anything bad for the other, but it was the emperor himself who manipulated both of them for his own agenda. Those flashbacks gave us an entirely different idea of who the real antagonist is and completely changed the two main ladies' relationship. THAT is how the audience's understanding of the plot and novel can be used to change the entire story. We dont get such here though

Some things that were brought to light during tommy being dead/revived:

Dream is capable of reviving people infinitely

This was already implicated and assumed. The book dream has being a means of reviving people has been around Technically since schlatt's death. This just 'confirmed' what was known

Time works differently/feels longer in the afterlife

This doesnt really impact much beyond emotions and implications. If we had more insight into what the 'afterlife' is like beyond nothingness perhaps so. But really it just makes it so wilbur being dead for what feels like 9 years and tommy having been dead for 2 months appeal to emotions.

Wilbur is evil

This one fuckin sucks i cant lie HSKSHSISSGEGDV. Like i was gon go on bout it and i will but it jus sucks. We have nothing to go on besides tommy's word, no examlles of what Horrible things wilbur said could make tommy assume this, etcetc. Ill most likely make a seperate post on how this feels like we're just going to get 'wilbur is a horrible villain' type with him. But still. I feel wilbur Not Being Good isnt a new development.

Dream is going to revive wilbur

This doesnt feel new either, part because phil had wanted to revive wilbur before (ill get to that more later) and that tommy had kept dream alive/initially imprisoned him with the idea of him reviving wilbur.

Dream believes wilbur will break him out of prison

Okau this makes no sense to me actually. I cwnt understand How exactly wilbur would be able to do this? Or why dream believes he even Could? Mans been dead for like 9 years and all we Know of the afterlife is that its black... nothingness. How would 9 years of that make wilbur capable of busting the prison open?

So. Yeah. All in all this plotline hasnt done anything new, developed things, or altered people's perceptions. We just ended up back at square one. Back to tommy being traumatized, dream being 'evil' and horrible and doing villain monologues, and them being stuck together.

Other characters and plotlines

Im pretty damn sure tommy's revival fucked up a LOT of other characters' plotlines and potential development. Honestly i feel this has a lot to do with the writers not communicating with other ccs well enough. But Ill talk about specific characters from least to most fucked over in my opinion:

Sam

He's the best off. He hqd been there during tommy's death, had been close to tommy, had majorly blamed himself and his own mistakes for tommy's death. His grief and self hatred was actually really heartbreaking and well done. The attached character of Sam Nook being unaware of tommy's death and simply waiting for tommy to return was a really good parallel to sam's own grief and anger. like it really snapped sam the guy who cares for tommy and wants to do Right by him back together with him as the Warden of the prison. Mixed personal life with 'just business'.

I feel it wouldve been nice to have him like. Have more time to grieve properly and come to terms eith tommy's death and his own involvement/influence over the events. Him finding tommy alive again Could be a means of him like. Facing his own grief head on if done well.

Ranboo

Mostly in the context of him and sam's argument do i feel it got screwed over. The weight of them yelling at each other and trying to find who to blame and the implications that Maybe ranboo was the one who caused the security breach that closed down the prison on tommy just.... doesnt hit so hard anymore. Because how can there be blame and arguments and a 'who done it' mystery when tommy popped up all fine again?

Puffy

I dony know much of her involvement or how she found out tommy died (besides metagaming shhhhh) but i saw her monologuing of how they 'failed' tommy and like. Her whole 'he was so young we the Adults failed him' spiel is like........... inconsequential? Now??? Like no dont worry he died but hes alright now.

Philza

BET YOU DIDNY EXPECT TO SEE THIS FUCKER!!!!!! But actually though i want to talk bout how this ties into phil. A LOT. for Zalbr ❤. But also because i see ppl tying phil to tommy's death n like nah shutup u doin it wrong. Ill go off more in a Wilbur Post. But essentially: i dont like that dream is now going to revive wilbur. I feel they arent going to tie philza into this Despite phil having originally been trying to revive his son and studying on it and Attempting and Failing. But now suddenly dream can just. Say some magic words and Poof wilbur lives? So we're just going to Kill philza's revival attempts plotline and leave that hanging? This made his efforts seem pointless and Wack like oh why didnt you just Say The Magic Words phil????

Niki

I feel really bad for niki. She hasnt been able to do a lore stream during tommy's 'death' (she tweeted she wanted to but her computer wasnt working) and considering her entire character.... that shit is important. We seen it with Jack Manifold how tommy's death impacted Him considering he literally wanted tommy dead. And since niki is in a similar boat to jack of trying to kill tommy and it being her Only goal...... thats extremely important.

BUT. i feel there wasnt any communication. Did she or anyone even know tommy would be revived? Did no one consider they could At Least let her do a single stream on it? Like jack manifold????

We couldve gotten a Really good niki lore stream. I genuinely was so excited for it and i dont regularly watch her. But we seen it with jack manifold which is why i dont feel he got screwed because mans genuinely did So Good he could pop off with anything n i think it works in His favour. But now........ for niki. Canonically she never even knew tommy was Dead. So its like nothing even happened for her. Is she just supposed to continue on trying to kill tommy with no progression?

What i think would work

This is more me being like 'hey @ the dsmp writers let me in' type speculation sbosegussgs. But i was thinkin on a Really easy way to 'fix' this without rewriting lore and the streams.

Dream should kill tommy again now that he's been revived and Leave Him Dead.

More development for the characters who are affected by his death Especially niki. More time for grief and self reflection and development

A chance for the audience to figure out what the 'afterlife' really is.

Dream is supposed to be smart and a master manipulator or something right? Why doesnt he use being able to revive tommy as a bargaining chip with sam for his own freedom?

The audience would now Know dream's intentions with tommy better, that this death isnt 'final', but we could still see other characters' grief and reactions and coping without it feeling cheap. Ive seen some 'but people dont know tommy is alive so hes still dead in their mind' but that sucks imo.

We'd know more on dream's ability to revive people and that he can just Do It on a whim (which i think sucks but hey im trying) but no one else would know this canonically

Okay. Im done. If you read this. Thankyou. I love you. Hmu.

[michyreadsthenwrites]

Plain Bad Heroines - Let Me Give You My Thoughts On This (Character Analysis)

**major maaaaajor spoilers ahead**

(Here we begin with the handful of characters from Danforth’s sophomore novel that have found their way into my heart and apparently, this Word document. It didn’t hurt that they were all women that love women. And I mean, they really loved women.)

 ·   Merritt Emmons is easily my favorite character. She’s got that dry, sarcastic humor and air around her that makes it really easy to love her and hate her guts all at the same time. (If she were here, she’d tell us that this was a talent, not a flaw.) I felt personally affronted when characters in PBH didn’t like Merritt, like they were overlooking the diamond in the rough right in front of their faces. Then, like most things, it became pretty clear: Merritt Emmons could be one hell of a bitch at times. But it really only made me love her more. I realized that I identified with her. Yes, about being a queer woman that really fucking loves other women, but also because she was a writer that wanted her writing to stay true to how she wrote it, especially with so many people traipsing all over it and trying to make it into something it’s not. That was where I realized I loved her early on; when she pitched a genuine fit over who was to play Clara Broward. It was something so petty and childish, something so very me to throw a fit in a packed room of professionals when you have no idea about that kind of world and what it demands. But she fought for what she believed in, alright. Until she didn’t. This made me love her some more, incidentally. We got to see Merritt’s character development throughout the novel, and more specifically, we got to watch her bounce back and forth between the person she was too scared to be but wanted more than she could ever admit, and the person she spent twenty long years being; the person she was oh-so-tired of introducing to people. This constant shift between new-Merritt and old, crabby, prickly-Merritt was a very raw and vulnerable thing for us to experience as an audience. Merritt was certainly a lot more refreshing than every one of the overdone-Hollywood-types we became acquainted with within the book. She was mean and arrogant and wildly insecure, yet somehow confident and sure of herself, when it came to her work or her knowledge or anything that had to do with any book written, ever. A walking paradox, that one. Merritt was a good way to remember that real people, not built-and-put-together-by-Hollywood-people don’t always have their shit together, and they can’t always get it together by the end of a novel, albeit a long, six-hundred-page one. I think I’ll cut myself off here, friends. Not that I want to, but I feel we have a lot to get to in these pages, and Merritt Emmons can’t be the star of all of them (lord knows I’d let her, though). To sum it up: Merritt Emmons was the star of this book, for me at least. And I hope for you too. (This means go get your ass over to your closest B&N and buy the damn thing).

  ·   Harper Harper is somewhat of a mystery to me. She was a major character in the story, as well as one of our three protagonists, our three heroines, and yet I have trouble finding her as authentic and outlandish as she tries to come across. What I’m still having trouble deciphering is if this is an intentional character flaw created by our Miss Danforth, or if Harper Harper really has nothing to her besides being completely reinvented and marketed by Hollywood. Even in saying this, I know I have to give Harper credit where it’s due. She’s a proud queer woman in the movie industry, as well as openly queer online and really with just anyone and everyone she meets. She’s known for various flings and love-interests of the week, which is still a gross misrepresentation and stereotype of (masc?) lesbians and how they’re emotionally unavailable and unfaithful, which again is a possibility of the author’s intentional writing, something that we can leave for further discussion. We do get a bit of a glimpse into Harper’s life – her real-life – about how her mother is struggling with her sobriety, how her little brother seems to be caught in the middle of her mother’s messy relationships, and how she really has mixed feelings about how she fits into her new movie-star life. That’s about all we get from Harper, though. And it really is almost enough realness to take away from the fact that everyone else in the world sees Harper as the face of Hollywood, as this thing of beauty and money and badassery instead of a real person. But still not enough. And I could be wrong, friends. I could be pulling all of this out of my ass because Harper Harper is a badass queer woman that took over the movie industry with barely any experience under her belt. Harper Harper took every room she walked into by storm, and she made everybody pay attention to her, and she became the character we had a little crush on, simply because she was that big of a deal. But nothing of substance, not really. Not ever. But perhaps she had been her most real self with Merritt Emmons, in between the quiet pages that we didn’t get to read entirely. Merritt, our dry and arrogant and favorite heroine, had been Harper’s favorite, too. The most credit that I find myself giving Harper is her aid in Merritt’s character development. She brought Merritt out of her shell in a massive way, though at times she did have a hand in driving her back into the said shell. It was flawed, their relationship, which is another authentic Harper Harper insight we saw, as little of it there was. They were hot and cold, on and off, but always so enthralled with each other. And while Harper seemed to have had an impact on Merritt (among other factors), it doesn’t seem like Merritt had the same effect on Harper. I could be wrong and do feel free to correct me, friends, but Harper Harper did not come out the other end of PBH a changed woman. She was not burdened with the weight of a life-changing revelation. She was Harper Harper, as she always was, floating and untouchable, the kind of woman you wished to know, maybe to be, but also the kind you see right through. They’re transparent, friends, that’s what I’m trying to get at here. And they tend to stay that way. And I realize as I’m nearing the end of this, that I sound harsh in my critiques and analysis of Harper. I don’t mean to come off that way, friends, I really don’t. The truth is I love Harper, she’s everything we wish we could be. She’s gorgeous and sought after, can land any girl she wants with the bat of her eyelashes and a lazy smile. But you have to remember, she’s everything we’re not. I can only speak for myself, friends, and I encourage you to speak for yourselves if you find you have anything to add. I never related with Harper the way I did with Merritt’s character, but that doesn’t mean that Harper isn’t a beautiful enigma waiting to be unwrapped. I just don’t happen to be the kind of reader that would know where to begin unwrapping her, if that makes sense. And because I’m afraid it doesn’t, I do believe it’s time to stop with the metaphors and wrap this up nicely for you, friends: Harper Harper is number two on my list of favorite characters from PBH, and that is not something done lightly or by accident. She was one of our three heroines, after all. And a proper heroine she was, friends. Don’t you ever forget it.

  ·   Libbie Packard broke my heart more times than I count, friends. You’ll notice I have kept her maiden name, then. This is intentional, friends, for our Libbie never wanted to be a Brookhants, not really. It wasn’t towards the end of PBH that we learned much of what we now know about Libbie, and how it came about that she had been married (to a man no less!), as well as the very young principal of an all-girls school. Throughout their chapters in the book, Libbie and Alex, her Alex, were seemingly at each other’s throats constantly. There seemed to be a mysterious tension that we as an audience weren’t privy to – but it didn’t stop us from speculating. I found myself drawn to Libbie more than I did her counterpart, and I still can’t point my finger as to why. Libbie seemed sad, right from our first introduction, and Alex always seemed angry and cynical (as a queer woman in 1902, is there any other way to seem?). This might serve as a dual character analysis yet, friends. I’m not sure how much I’ll have to say about our Alexandra Trills, but Libbie Packard deserves a long sentence, or two. You know when something finally clicks into place and you can’t help but just let out a long “ooohhhhhhh”? That’s a recreation of how I looked when I read the explanation of how Libbie Packard became Libbie Brookhants. Learning that she had become pregnant with a baby she didn’t want was mind-blowing enough, and it filled in the blanks of how young, gorgeous Libbie had become the wife of a rich, old, old man. Libbie gave up her child was because she didn’t want to be a mother, and she had originally rejected Harold Brookhants offer of marriage because she didn’t want to be a wife, regardless of false the marriage was. And for a while, Libbie’s new life was amazing; she got to live with her Alex in a beautiful house and became the principal of a promising school. This was the life she’d always wanted. Or was that just what we wanted to believe, friends? Only at the end did we learn that Libbie had rejected Harold Brookhants offer (to live a quiet, queer life with her lover and without the child she clearly didn’t want) because she didn’t want to be tied down; not to Harold, not to anyone. If you think about it, friends, this was exactly the life that she had been living for years to come now. The tension with Alex had much to do with the circumstances surrounding them at Brookhants and the evil that was unfolding before them, but it seemingly had even more to do with the fact that Libbie Packard felt smothered. She was hiding secrets from Alex, secrets that she felt could destroy this already fragile relationship that they had between them. How vastly different it was to read and experience their relationship at the beginning of their love; playful and full of joy, both women giddy with the promise of something new and exciting. To compare that kind of love to the broken, tight-lipped, empty vessel of the relationship they now pretend to have is heartbreaking. And yet, completely understandable. Alex had fallen in love with the Libbie she wanted her to be, not the Libbie she was. Our Libbie wanted to be eternally young; playful and happy, bouncing from city to city with Sara Dahlgren in a sea of eligible bachelors (and bachelorettes!). It was almost a shock to discover that this life Libbie tried so hard to defend and protect was not a life she had ever wanted for herself. Despite this, she loved her Alex and her students, and devoted her life to them. There was that whole business with cheating on Alex with Adelaide the housemaid (don’t even get me started on that broad) but I’d like to extend to you, friends, the fact that I won’t comment on this. Queer relationships in 1902 are definitely not what they are now, complete with century-old curses and dead schoolgirls. Libbie Packard became the 1902-lesbian-headmistress version of our stereotypical bored housewife, stuck in a marriage that she secretly wishes she could be free from. And my heart broke for her, friends, it really did. But she was a heroine all on her own. A deeply intelligent and remarkable woman. Make no mistake, friends. Libbie Packard and Libbie Brookhants differ by more than just a surname. Our young, vivacious Libbie disappeared the moment she accepted Harold Brookhants’ offer, and this is indeed the sad truth of it, friends: Libbie Packard was gone before she could ever find herself. But Libbie Brookhants was our gorgeous, brilliant, queer heroine that never got what she deserved. So, friends, let’s all have a moment of silence for our dearly departed Libbie Brookhants… wherever she is.

·   Alexandra Trills is a character that I don’t know where to begin with. Her end is not one that I saw coming, at least not in the gruesome and deranged circumstances that came to surround it. Or maybe, friends, I just didn’t want to acknowledge the clear downwards spiral that our Miss Trills had seemed to be heading towards. Her steadfast and growing obsession with the death of Florence Hartshorn and Clara Broward was apparent in every page we turned, and the following death of Eleanor Faderman did not aid in absolving Alex of her obsession with the one, single copy of a book they had all possessed at one point: The Story of Mary McLane. Alex grew hysterical in her investigation of the novel and whatever evil she believed it had brought to the students of her school. I remember feeling a bit hysterical myself at times, following along with Alex’s scrambled train of thought that never seemed to find a place to stop. She was right, you know, my friends. And now what does she have to show for it? A gruesome death and an eternity of haunting the same grounds, day in and day out? I may not have liked her, and felt like she had been the reason Libbie was so unhappy and stuck in a life that she did not want, but the way Alex’s story had ended really did take me by surprise and break my heart. She deserved a better ending than what she got; she deserved to reconcile and fix her strained relationship with Libbie. Damn it, they deserved to live quiet, happy lives with each other. Neither of them got the endings that they deserved, and God, did they deserve plenty. This, friends, is the hill I choose to die on tonight.

 Alright, friends, this is it for my character analysis of Emily Danforth’s Plain Bad Heroines! I have a special place in my heart for book characters that you can relate with (or characters that just really make you love them). The way that Emily Danforth brought our heroines to life was remarkable and highly impressive (I say this because it’s decidedly been a while since any book character(s) have weaseled their fictional way into my little heart). It’s rare that I give a book five stars (check out my Goodreads reviews) (oh god, please don’t), and yet halfway through PBH, I knew that this book deserved it. Good book characters are the ones that stick with you long after you’ve closed the book on them, and our heroines are stuck with me. And believe me, friends, I’m certainly not complaining. 

[seokmingiggles]

rainbow.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x female reader

Genre: angst, some scattered fluff, established relationship, soulmate!au (where you can see colour from the moment you meet your soulmate).

5.96k words

Warnings: brief mention of alcohol consumption, [spoilers: unmentioned illness (however, I allude to Lymphoma [a type of cancer] that has spread to other areas), major character death.]

There are countless tales of the lengths people go to when finding their soulmate, yet significantly fewer of the aftermath. You thought your life began when fate led you to your soulmate, but why does it feel like it’s ending all of a sudden?

Alternatively, not all wishes come true. Even when Jungkook tries to convince you otherwise.

A/N: This piece is likely going to be my last longer one for a while as I’m returning back to school for my winter semester. Expect my updates to be significantly more sparse than they have been for the past few weeks. Other than that, I’m so glad I began to post my writings online. It’s still bizarre to me that actual people are reading them?? If you enjoy (or have constructive criticism for) any of my pieces, please, never be shy to let me know!! I absolutely adore hearing your opinion on what I’ve created. With that said, gosh, I cried while doing my research to write this one.

If you are looking for a cute, fluffy soulmate!au, this may not be a suitable fic for you. Yes, there are some fluffy moments, but it overall contains heavy themes that may be triggering to some. If you’re looking for a fluffy soulmate!Jungkook drabble, the first portion of 1k words contains no angst, along with the three italicized sections.

•• Your soulmate. Soulmate. Even the word sounded magical; a mate bound to your soul.

Growing up, you were the cliché little girl who would endlessly dream about seeing colour for the first time at the instant your eyes locked with a certain someone across the room. Just imagining some above force drawing you to them sounded magical.

And, to a certain extent, it did happen that way when you met yours.

Not-exactly in the storybook-way you pictured, but you felt strangely drawn to a particular boy back in your second year of university. Your childhood friend, Chaeyoung, had convinced you to attend some end-of-semester party on campus. To be fair, that's where you met your other closest friend to this day.

The boy was sat on a couch, looking uninterested and unimpressed by the events happening around him. Chaeyoung, as much as you love her, had run off with another one of her classmates, leaving you floundering in the pool of sweaty bodies and loud music. So, you made your way to the sofa and sat next to the expressionless boy, who you came to know as Yeosang.

You didn't expect him to begin talking to you with the blank gaze he was displaying prior to you taking a seat, but you're happy it turned out that way. After that party, Yeosang joined your duo with Chaeyoung; the three of you would come to have plenty of fun together.

Though, it was at that same party where you also met Jungkook.

After chatting with Yeosang for who knows how long, your small bladder eventually needed relief from the few drinks you had. You excused yourself and wandered around the unfamiliar house in search of a bathroom. It was a large space with multiple floors, perhaps belonging to one of your campus fraternities, but you found yourself walking like you knew exactly where to go.

You ended up upstairs, where it was significantly more quiet than the bustling main floor. Only a few scattered couples kissing in the hallways or leading another to someone's bedroom crossed your path.

You managed to find a vacant washroom, much to your delight. But upon opening the bathroom door after you had finished, you were met with a handsome—albeit unfamiliar—face.

And also with a flood of colour for the first time in your life.

You and the stranger were both dumbfounded for a moment. It was only until he broke the silence and said, "Look, you don't know how happy I am to have found you, but I really, really, need to pee. So, if you don't mind–"

Those were the first words that Jungkook had spoken to you.

And in that instant, despite the slightly awkward, non-picture-perfect meeting, you were nothing less than smitten from that day forth.

Things between you and Jungkook went swimmingly after your first introductions. You two were soulmates; after all, it was only natural to get along. You had more in common with the boy than you would have guessed.

Your first couple of dates were much better than anything you had imagined them to be. Despite the cheesiness of a dinner and a movie for your first date or the loudness of your second arcade date, you were already looking forward to spending a future with Jungkook.

The first time he kissed you was like nothing else you've ever felt. Fireworks were an understatement. It was like all the stars in the universe had aligned perfectly, and all you could see were each and every constellation in Jungkook's eyes the moment he pulled away.

You were far beyond smitten at that point.

But what you didn't expect upon meeting Jungkook was how your vision would be impacted so greatly. Yes, you had heard about how wonderful a world of colour was, and yes, that was one of the things you had been looking forward to upon finding your soulmate; however, you could never have imagined just how vibrant the world really was.

You knew you were lucky to find your soulmate in your twenties. There were too many people who went countless years or even their whole lives without finding theirs, and you happened to meet yours only after a couple of decades into your life. It made you excited to spend the rest of your time by Jungkook's side. It would be a future where both of you would admire the process of the sky: shifting its palette in the evening to paint the clouds in an awe-inspiring gradient. Or seeing the luscious ruby-red strawberries adorning his favourite cake on each of his birthdays as the years passed together. Seeing the swirling brown of his irises, too, was one of your favourite sights after being able to see colour.

Your life became nothing short of a rainbow. Every day felt magical being with Jungkook; being with your soulmate.

Before you knew it, you celebrated your first year together. Then two. Then a few more until you both graduated from university. You eventually found a little apartment to call home at around the same time; it made sense to move in together. Previously, both of you had roommates during your schooling years. Although now, living together only seemed natural when you knew you'd eventually get married one day.

And living with Jungkook was nothing but natural.

Waking up next to your boyfriend was better than you could have imagined. Seeing his cute, groggy face puffy with sleep was the most endearing thing to you, and he thought the exact same way when he'd wake before you on the rare occasion.

It was like a little insight into how the rest of your life would be.

Your heart would uncontrollably flutter every time Jungkook would approach you from behind and gently wrap his arms around your torso as you worked at the stove. Or the way he'd sometimes comb your damp hair after a shower, making sure to pepper little kisses to your neck or cheek in the process. Your heart had never felt so full until Jungkook had unexpectedly made his way into your life.

And you're forever elated that he did.

•

"Which one do you think looks better on me?" Chaeyoung held up two shirts to her torso.

You examined both pieces and felt the fabric before saying, "I think I prefer the red one," referring to the shirt on the left.

You and your two best friends were spending a sunny day off just wandering around the streets downtown. It was your chance to explore the little cafes you would keep driving by or window-shopping at the cute boutiques you'd see. Chaeyoung had dragged you and Yeosang into one of the stores when a mannequin's outfit in the display case caught her eye.

"No, I think the blue one is nicer," Yeosang interjected as he pointed to the second option.

You hummed, reconsidering your answer, "Actually, yeah, you're right. I think you should get the blue one."

Chaeyoung inspected both tops once more, "Okay, blue it is."

The three of you walked to the cashier for the girl to make her purchase, leaving the store shortly after to continue on your way.

"You're both so lucky to have found your soulmates already," she beamed at the two of you as you passed by another shop.

"You'll find yours eventually, Chae," Yeosang added. "Seeing colour for the first time will blow your mind."

You only nodded in agreement and returned their smiles.

Your stomach had been feeling slightly off since this morning, but you ignored the feeling in pursuit of seeing your friends for the first time in a while. Yet now, the unsettling feeling seemed to be growing stronger.

"Hey, guys," you rubbed the back of your neck, "I'm not feeling too well all of a sudden. I think I might be coming down with something. I'm sorry to ditch you so early, but I should head home."

"Do you want a ride back?" Yeosang offered, being the only of the three of you to have a car.

"No, it's okay. The bus runs pretty frequently. I don't want to bother you."

You waved goodbye before either of them had a chance to protest and began walking to the nearest bus stop.

You weren't necessarily feeling sick; that was a lie. Or, rather, you suddenly felt like you had been struck by a tsunami. An overwhelming sensation of swirling nauseousness and anxiety began brewing beneath your skin. You clasped your hands together to prevent them from visibly shaking once you'd taken a seat on the bus.

You were uncertain of what was happening to you so suddenly.

However, you did know that that shirt looked awfully grey, not blue.

Now that you think of it, the sky above you appeared duller too.

•

"Hey, Guk, come look at this!"

Jungkook followed the sound of your voice and turned down the neighbouring aisle, only to see you holding up a folded square of checkered material.

"It's on clearance, too!" you said with excitement.

Your boyfriend stepped closer to you and took the blanket into his hands. "What is it?"

"What do you mean, 'What is it?' It's a picnic blanket, you goof," you took the square and flipped it over to see the image on the cardboard package of how it would look unfolded. "I've always thought the idea of those picnic dates is adorable. Cheesy, but adorable."

Jungkook admired your smile as you continued to read the supposed 'features' of the blanket.

"It's got a water-resistant bottom all while the top is a thick and soft flannel. It's also apparently easily foldable with a carrying strap." You continued to scan the list of details, "And look, it's machine washable! I think it's a good one." You turned your attention to the boy stood next to you, "What do you think?"

Jungkook wouldn't have been able to wipe the adoring smile off his face no matter how hard he tried.

"You're so cute," he mumbled and pulled you into a hug in the middle of the store.

"That's nice," your voice was muffled against Jungkook's chest, "but what do you think of the blanket?" You wiggled your arm free from his hold to display the picnic blanket once more, examining his face for his reaction.

Jungkook felt the fabric before saying, “It's soft. Yeah, I think it's a good one.”

“'It's soft,'” you repeated his statement. "That's all you have to say about it?"

"I can't say I'm a connoisseur of picnic blankets or anything, my love."

"Well, neither am I, but I'm sure I can think of more adjectives to describe it other than 'it's soft.'"

The boy encouraged you to come up with some.

"For starters, look how colourful it is! It's like a plaid rainbow in a fun little bundle."

Your words made Jungkook laugh, causing you to giggle too.

"Okay," you admitted, "maybe I'm no picnic blanket connoisseur either."

Jungkook admired your rosy cheeks from laughing. "Let's buy it," he said. "Going on picnics with you sounds like fun." He pulled you close once more, "Actually, anything as long as I'm with you sounds like fun."

“Does that mean you’ll sleepover tonight?”

The boy pretended like it was some philosophical question before breaking out into a smile, “Yeah, I’ll sleepover tonight.”

•

You did your best to keep that instance of a colourless sky and grey shirt to yourself for days. When Yeosang and Chaeyoung texted you later that day to check on you, you told them you felt better after having a nap.

And it was true, but not the full truth.

You blamed what you saw on a lack of sleep. It was just your tired eyes playing tricks on you; it had to have been. That previous night, you and Jungkook had gotten distracted by watching a few episodes of a show together, not realizing how late it had become.

So, when you went to lie down upon returning to your apartment that afternoon, you silently prayed that when you'd wake, you'd be able to see a complete colour spectrum once more.

It only broke your heart when that wasn't the case.

You crumpled onto the floor after staring up at the monochromatic sky extending above you; not an ounce of blue could be found between the clouds, nor all the way to the horizon.

You were dreading talking with Jungkook about it.

The day you first were able to see in colour when you met him, never did you anticipate that one day they would begin to fade.

Could you have rushed into things too quickly? Did you love him more than he loves you?

Has he fallen out of love with you?

Regardless of the possibility, seeing the colours begin to disappear couldn't have meant anything good.

That's when you'd decided to hide it from anyone, especially from the boy you loved with nothing less than your full heart and entire being.

Perhaps feigning ignorance could make the hue return. At the least, it was wishful thinking.

When Jungkook returned home that evening, you pretended like nothing was wrong. When he'd asked about your outings with your best friends, you'd said how nice it was to see them again.

You even showed him the nail polish you bought for him when the other week he said how he was interested in trying some for himself; after seeing your nails decorated so prettily.

Despite the name of the bottle's shade reading Ebony Midnight, you found yourself doubting the colour. You second-guessed if it actually was black like you intended or some confusing and ambiguous tint of navy blue.

Jungkook kissed your cheek and told you how excited he was for the upcoming weekend when you'd have the time to paint his nails for him.

Yet, a few days later—on both of your days off—when your boyfriend came up to you with the nail polish bottle in hand, you found yourself brimming with tears uncontrollably.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong, love?"

You stepped back from Jungkook's advancement towards you.

"(Y/N)?"

His eyes held nothing but concern for you, and yet you still doubted his authenticity.

"Jungkook," you whispered, "what colour is that nail polish?"

The boy examined the small glass bottle. "It's black," he said like it was an obvious fact. He looked at it closer. "Wait, no, it almost looks dark blue in certain lighting."

All of the oxygen depleted from your lungs. You clasped your hand around your mouth as you wept, your eyes clamping shut both in frustration and in fear.

You felt Jungkook's arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest and gently rubbing your back.

"Please," his voice was small, "can you tell me what's wrong? If it's because you got blue when I asked for black, that's not a big deal, love. I'm so happy you remembered when I told you about it. And I still want to use it! I could barely tell when I looked at it–"

"I can't see blue anymore."

Jungkook halted his ministrations on your back, tensing at your words.

"And I'm afraid to know what it means," you continued, struggling to find your words. "Do you not love me anymore? Am I not really your soulmate?"

Your boyfriend pulled away slightly so he could look at your face properly; tear-stained and all. "(Y/N), please. I love you more than anything in this world. Never forget that." He brushed away a stray tear falling down your cheek.

"Then why are my colours fading? I've never heard of that happening before..." You furrowed your eyebrows in thought. Another reason suddenly popped into your head. "Unless–"

You didn't let yourself finish that sentence. Your eyes met Jungkook's only to find his expression had become more solemn.

"No," you whispered. "Please, no. Don't tell me– I-It can't be–"

Jungkook said nothing and pulled you back closer to him. You squeezed the boy so tightly, sobs shaking your body. He hugged you back as he silently began to cry.

"Could we not talk about it right now?" his voice was quiet. "We're still doing some tests to rule out what it could be, so I don't have much information for you."

You nodded your head.

The two of you stayed in each other's embrace. Jungkook swayed your bodies slightly: a gentle rocking motion to help calm you down.

"Can you still paint my nails today?"

You forced a smile on your face over the tears that had spilled and were threatening to continue. "Of course."

You took Jungkook's hand and made your way to the couch, swallowing nausea from the information with which you'd just been burdened. While it was vague, it was heavy, nonetheless.

That night, you were having difficulties falling asleep. Jungkook kept tossing and turning by your side; he'd kick and move the blanket around too.

"Hey," you whispered, finding his shoulder in the darkness. "Are you okay?"

Jungkook sighed and brought his hand on top of yours, "I'm really warm. Too warm."

You could feel the clamminess of his hand.

"And I keep feeling itchy," he added. "The blanket isn't helping—it's making me warm and itchy and–"

"Okay, okay," you soothed him before he'd become too frustrated. You sat up and removed the duvet from his body. "Do you think a cool shower would help?"

There was silence while Jungkook thought. He rubbed his tired eyes and replied, "I can try," before standing from the bed.

"Hey," you grabbed his hand before he could walk away, "I love you."

"I love you too."

You heard the smile in his voice.

"Now, get some sleep, beautiful," Jungkook leant down to place one kiss on your forehead, then one to your lips.

You listened to the sound of your boyfriend's footsteps receding from your bedroom. Shortly after, the faucet came to life, and finally, the sound of the shower curtain dragged closed.

What you didn't hear was Jungkook allowing himself to cry in the shower.

•

The weather had been stormier lately.

Jungkook was waiting to surprise you with an adorable, little picnic to celebrate your university graduation; however, the weather had other plans.

There were some days where he'd check the weather forecast multiple times to see if there would be an upcoming opportunity to see clear skies and sunshine.

But every time, he was met with that dull, grey rain symbol on his phone.

Jungkook had had enough. Screw the weather, he thought, we'll have this goddamn picnic if it's the last thing I do; indoors if we must.

You were sleeping in on the day after your last exam. It gave your boyfriend the optimal chance to set up your living room with the checkered blanket and wicker basket after running out quickly to get some flowers. The boy had an artistic eye. After pushing aside some of the remaining cardboard boxes from the move, he was proud of the final arrangement of breakfast foods and the occasional tasteful scattered petal on the blanket. He even took advantage of some of the smaller pillows from the couch to make the set-up even cozier.

Jungkook began to anticipate your reaction, growing gradually more excited. He carefully made his way to your shared bedroom to wake you from your peaceful slumber.

"(Y/N)," he cooed, brushing away some stray hairs that fell onto your face while you slept.

You hummed at the feeling of his touch, slowly adjusting to the light seeping through the curtains. Once your eyes finally opened, you were met with Jungkook's affectionate gaze at you.

"Good morning, my beautiful love," he leant down to peck you.

"Gross!" you pushed him away, jokingly. "You're not allowed to kiss me until I've brushed my teeth." You sat up with a playful grin on your face. You lifted your arms, "Carry me?"

Jungkook chuckled as he stood from the bed, "Oh, so you call me gross, but now you want me to carry you to the bathroom?"

Despite his words, the boy moved in to wrap his arms around your torso, effectively picking you up.

"No, I wasn't calling you gross," you said as he brought you to the washroom, "it was the act of kissing me with my yucky morning breath. That was gross."

Jungkook placed you down once you were in the room. His arms never left your sides.

"I don't suppose you're going to ask if I can brush your teeth for you too, are you?"

You picked up your toothbrush, wetting the bristles and adding some toothpaste, "So sassy today, Guk," and began brushing your teeth.

The boy only smiled, wrapping his arms around you once again and squeezing your smaller frame in his strong embrace.

Once you finished washing up, Jungkook told you to close your eyes as he pulled you into the living room, bursting with excitement.

"Promise me you won't make me run into the couch or a wall or box or something," you mumbled as he pulled on your free hand; your other one was covering your eyes.

Jungkook giggled but complied with your promise.

Eventually, you felt him stop in front of you, making sure you wouldn't crash into his back. Beneath your feet, you felt the cold wooden floor of your living room.

"You can open them now," he muttered into your ear along with a gentle kiss.

And when you did, you saw the beautiful arrangement of treats and flowers all sat upon the old picnic blanket, surrounded by the final few boxes you'd yet to unpack. It was the same blanket you bought before you moved in together when you claimed that you'd love to go on a picnic date with him one day.

When you made that purchase, never would you have guessed that its first use would be in your newly-shared apartment inside on a rainy day.

"What's all this for?" you felt strangely emotional at the sentiment.

"It's for you, (Y/N)," he pulled you into his arms once more. "Happy graduation. I'm so proud of you."

Jungkook leaned down to kiss you properly for the first time that morning. His thumb traced the shell of your ear as he smiled into the kiss, feeling the way one of your hands clasped the back of his shirt while your other one threaded through his hair.

"You're incredible, Jungkook," you whispered as you broke from the kiss. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," he returned the sentiment and gave you another quick kiss. He took your hand and led you onto the blanket where you sat side-by-side.

"You know," you began as he mixed around the assorted fruits he chopped up earlier, "if we had a dog like you said you wanted, all this food wouldn't have been able to be left out on the floor."

Jungkook stopped fiddling with the fruit salad as he processed your words. "I still want a dog," he said simply and continued to stir. "But you're right. It would be a lot more challenging," he fed you a strawberry, "like having a baby."

"Dogs are like big babies," you chimed-in with a smile.

The two of you continued to snack while sat on the blanket. Small conversations and giggles were all that could be heard within the walls of your apartment. The atmosphere was significantly brighter than the downpour that continued outside.

"Do you think we'll see a rainbow today?" Jungkook asked as you both were now leaning against the base of the couch.

You were still clad in your pyjamas and him in his leisurewear.

"Maybe, if this rain ever stops," you replied. "Maybe if the sun shows itself."

"Maybe."

Jungkook brought the back of your hand to his lips, then laced his fingers between yours while the two of you continued to watch the rain.

•

"Do you have any nail polish remover?"

You heard Jungkook's footsteps approaching you in your bedroom, looking up to see his figure appearing in the doorway.

"Are you tired of how it looks already?" you smiled gently at him.

The boy shook his head. "Actually, I'm not allowed to have painted nails for tomorrow when I go to the hospital."

Your smile faded. "Oh, right. T-that's right. Um..." you got off the bed and trekked to the bathroom with Jungkook in tow. You opened the cabinet beneath the sink to find the little bottle. "Here you go. I have some cotton balls too to use with it. Do you need help with this too?"

"No, I should be able to do it myself."

"Okay," your hand found its way onto Jungkook's back, your thumb rubbed his shoulder. "Make sure you do it in a well-ventilated area."

"Thank you," he smiled.

Yet, you could tell his expression was only fleeting.

You were afraid. No, you were petrified of what tomorrow would bring.

Jungkook had been going through more testing lately, although you were still in the dark from it all. He kept giving you the same statements: "We're still figuring out what it could be," or "We're still not sure yet."

They were all just different versions of "I don't want to tell you because I don't want to worry you."

You still worried regardless.

You and Jungkook stood by the front door where you hugged him before he left for his recurrent hospital visit.

"Maybe you could paint my nails again when I come home tonight," he suggested, inhaling the scent of your shampoo for his memory as he held you in his embrace.

"Maybe," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Before you knew it, Jungkook was once again out the door.

It was only when you were alone that you'd let yourself cry. You knew you needed to stay strong for his sake. Being on the receiving end of a life-threatening disease was hard enough; you didn't want to make his experience any more challenging. Although, you still didn't know for sure if that's what it was.

Jungkook exited his car once he arrived at the familiar tall building. He stepped into the elevator and pressed the familiar button, and eventually turned left down the familiar hallway to the waiting room.

He was shortly after ushered into his doctor's office, taking a seat in the squeaky and uncomfortable and all-too-familiar grey chair.

His doctor soon after entered the room.

"How are you feeling today, Jungkook?" she greeted him with a gentle voice, taking a seat in front of her desk in the corner of the room.

"My headaches are becoming more frequent," he began. "I also haven't had much of an appetite either, and sometimes, it's difficult to breathe," he stated with furrowed eyebrows. "I've overall felt more tired lately. That might be the biggest thing—my lack of energy."

Dr. Kim hummed and jotted down some notes. "Have you told your soulmate anything yet?"

Jungkook shook his head, "No, I try not to. I don't want to stress her."

The doctor sat upright once again, finishing her writings. "You may want to reconsider that choice," she cleared her throat. "Your cells haven't been responding to the antibiotics as we'd like them to. Perhaps, if we had caught it sooner–"

"But we didn't." Jungkook's voice was firm. "We didn't, and this is my life now. We try, and we fail, and we repeat the cycle over and over." He took a deep breath. "As soon as you told me the diagnosis, I suspected I wouldn't make it for much longer. I suspected that I wouldn't get to live the future that I've dreamt of." His features softened as you entered his mind. "The future that I've wished for." Jungkook paused, then considered, "Can I spend my final days—however long I have—with my soulmate?"

Dr. Kim's eyes remained on Jungkook's. "Are you certain? Because there's another procedure we could try. It would require you to stay here in the hospital, and there would be risks associated with it due to the stage you're in, but it's the last one we can offer you."

"I'm sure." The boy didn't hesitate. "I'm positive. I just want to be with her," he felt himself tearing up. "She already knows that something is wrong. I don't want to tell her that my MRI is practically all made up of black-voids." Jungkook bitterly wiped away the tear that fell, "She's losing her colours. She knows I'm dying."

"So you'd like to spend the rest of your time at home with her?" Dr. Kim clarified.

"More than anything."

•

"Surprise!"

Jungkook's hands lifted from your eyes.

"What's all of this?" you asked with a smile.

"For you, silly."

You giggled, looking between the array of treats displayed on the picnic blanket and your beautiful boyfriend. "I kind of figured that, Guk. But why?"

"Do I need a reason to treat you, my love?" Jungkook pulled you close to him, "I felt bad about the last time when we were stuck inside from the rain. I wanted to try again, properly, this time."

"But do you see all of this?" You gestured to the container next to you, "We couldn't finish everything you prepared last time, but you still got a cake for today! Do you expect the two of us to eat an entire cake along with everything else you've packed?"

The boy chuckled, "Come on, (Y/N), it's not that big of a cake. I'm sure we can finish it all no problem." He popped open the plastic container, eager to taste it. "And if not, then we'll have some to eat for tomorrow."

His logic was reasonable, you considered.

Jungkook picked up a fork and dug it into the side of the strawberry cake, only to bring the utensil up to your lips to give you the first bite.

"How is it?" your boyfriend asked, trying to gauge your expression as you chewed.

"Absolutely delicious," was your muffled response.

Jungkook reached up to wipe off the speck of whipped cream from the corner of your mouth before feeding himself a forkful.

"It is delicious!" he said with delight as the strawberry flavour danced across his tastebuds. "I may not know how to make a cake, but I sure know how to pick a good one."

"Ah, yes, picking good cakes is a valuable life skill to have," you playfully teased, admiring the way Jungkook continued to inhale more of the dessert.

The two of you laid back on the blanket after working your way through some of the treats (and about half of the cake; it was more than you anticipated you two would be able to finish in one sitting). Your head was resting on Jungkook's chest while he played with the ends of your hair as the two of you admired the heavens.

The sky was immaculately blue with picture-perfect white fluffy clouds decorating it. Jungkook was getting nervous when he woke up to rain that morning, knowing he had all of the preparations ready for the picnic. But now, the post-rain summer afternoon left a comfortable temperature with the sun high in the sky, warming the grass and gradually working its way to kiss the horizon.

"Hey, (Y/N)?"

You glanced upwards from your position on Jungkook's upper body.

His eyes remained fixated on the sky as he asked softly, "Would you like to get married?"

The grin on your face was immediate at hearing his question. "Without a doubt, yes."

Jungkook beamed back at you and hugged you tightly, kissing the top of your head.

"This isn't a proposal because I don't have the ring yet," he muttered into your hair, "but you already make me the happiest man alive. I can only imagine how incredible our future will be, (Y/N)." You felt him squeeze you slightly tighter. "There's nothing more that I want than to grow old with you by my side."

You felt yourself getting emotional at his words. "When the time comes that you do propose, know that it's already a yes." You propped yourself up so you could move to meet Jungkook's mouth with your own, caressing the side of his face while his hand continued to fiddle with your hair.

Jungkook grinned into the kiss. In all the years he's spent kissing you, the act never failed to pull butterflies from his chest.

You eventually pulled away only to see the light pink dusting across your boyfriend's cheeks with matching rosy lips. You could spend all day admiring him, and he, likewise, could do the same with watching you.

You once again nuzzled into his side with an arm around his torso, returning your gaze to the sky. It was beginning to shift into a radiant, golden-colour the lower the sun fell; the clouds reflected the light, displaying a gentle wash of coral-pink.

You're forever grateful for all of the dazzling colours which Jungkook brought into your life.

Goosebumps tingled throughout your body at the way the boy so gently grazed his fingers along your arm. The outside air was growing chillier with the depleting sunlight, yet being pressed against Jungkook supplied you with enough warmth to stay comfortable.

"Hey, look over there," your boyfriend indicated to your left. "Do you see that?"

You lifted your gaze to above where he was pointing.

•

There was a rainbow in the sky on the day that Jungkook died.

You received the dreadful phone call from the hospital early that afternoon. You thought he'd only stepped out for his usual testing. You had been admiring the way the sun finally broke through the dense rain clouds as you were waiting for his return home.

However, minutes before your phone rang, your whole world drained of colour. It was the difference between one blink. One split-second; one moment. You could see the golden sunbeams as they danced down to the concrete below, and then, suddenly, you couldn't. Everything became a varying shade of the asphalt; every hue vanished in that instant.

It was only a few weeks after you painted his nails for the first and last time. Of course, there was no way you'd have known it was the last time then.

Your heart tore into two at thinking how much pain Jungkook must have experienced near the end. He never once complained to you about any of it; he never told you what was wrong. You only found out afterwards from his doctor over the phone.

You nearly missed the sight of the rainbow after you set your phone down: the arc extended above the city in its monochromatic glory in the equally colourless sky.

You could recall the different hues that would make up the once pretty sight.

"You should make a wish, (Y/N)!"

"Make a wish on a rainbow?"

"You've never heard of that before?"

You pulled your eyes from the sight in the sky to your boyfriend's face, "No, never."

"Then today shall be your first."

"Hm, well, alright, Guk."

You sat up on the picnic blanket and clasped your hands together, pressing your eyes shut as you reiterated your wish in your head. Upon opening your eyes once you finished, you were blessed with Jungkook's delicate features gazing at you.

You brushed away some of his hair that fell into his eyes.

"What did you wish for, my love?" Jungkook whispered, leaning into your touch.

You exchanged his glance, admiring his beautiful brown eyes smiling at you, and inched closer so you could kiss him.

But now, you kind of hated rainbows.

"I wished to spend a lifetime with you."

They reminded you of your wishes that would, now, never come true.

"I wished for the exact same thing."

••

[doctorthreephds]

Synapses: Part 4

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 6.4k

TW: Death, sickness, blood, violence, typical Criminal Minds stuff, specifically from the episode “Amplification”

Summary: You find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with Spencer as your relationship grows. But, the calm is just before the storm and your job puts you in more danger than you signed up for. 

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​ @green-intervention​ @eevee0722​

Spencer made it easy to fall in love. You had little knowledge of romantic relationships besides a couple of elementary and middle school “relationships” that were barely romantic, just a couple of kids attempting to find their way in the world. Your experience with relationships, in general, had been difficult. Your father was estranged growing up and your mother was loving but constantly busy with work and her duties as a diplomat. She made time for you, though, and in the end, you wish you had made more time for her. 

Death is a fickle thing, it is the only thing that makes life worth living, and yet even as a forensic scientist, you wanted to figure out how to evade it. When your mother died, your relationship with death was complicated because you felt cheated. That she deserved so many more years of life and that you should have done more to help. You know that in your heart, you feel a deep passion for Spencer, that you want to get to know him and to cherish him as he should be cherished, but death still loomed overhead and it terrified you. So you hold Spencer at an arm’s length. While he had no problem hugging you and holding your hand occasionally, you made sure he remains cordial and platonic with you. Such a task was difficult, though.

Your feet ache as you walk over to the elevator, sniffling in an attempt to calm your runny nose. Spring had officially set in and so had your allergies; it seemed as if all the pollen in the world was coming for your sinuses. Pulling out a tissue to blow your nose, you barely register Spencer standing next to you. 

“I’m going to see Ponyo in theaters tonight, it’s a limited run and they’re playing it in Japanese. You could come with me, I could even simultaneously translate it to you,” he states and you jump slightly in surprise, not having expected him to be there.

“Sounds like fun, but I desperately need Claritin and I wouldn’t want you to miss the screening,” your voice is nasal as you speak, the pressure in your head making it pound with every step you take once you exit the elevator.

“It’s no problem, we can both head home and I’ll just pick you up with my car,” he suggests, and you look over suspiciously.

“You hate driving.”

“But I’d drive for you,” you sigh as the two of you make it out of the building and start toward the metro. “I’d just really like to see it with you, I think you’d enjoy it.”

You huff as the breeze picks up slightly, hitting you with another face full of pollen. Looking over at Spencer, his eyes were bright and full of mischief. He holds onto the strap of his bag as the two of you walk down the stairs and you try your best to read his face. Only pure content and joy, oh how this man has ruined you.

“Fine. Only if you pay for dinner,” you mumble, blowing your nose into another tissue as the train approaches. 

“Of course, it’s my turn anyway,” he states, a satisfied look on his face. The two of you often paid for each other when it came to food, remaining constantly indebted to each other. But this way, you always knew he would come back. Because he owed you.

Getting home was a relief, it truly serves as a place to escape and decompress. After being stuffy all day and having to work through several reports as you reviewed the evidence and possible threats, it had truly been a test of your patience. After taking Claritin and changing into something a little more suited to the weather, Spencer arrives right on time. The rest of the night goes off with a hitch and more often than not do you find yourself looking over at Spencer as his eyes take in every single little detail of the movie. True to his word, the two of you order cheap nachos and pizza from the movie theater and munch on it during the movie. He speaks translations to you in a low whisper, adding intonation and inflection to distinguish between the characters. Spencer never ceases to amaze you and while you love Ponyo, there’s just something so alluring about watching Spencer talk about things that interest him. At the end of the movie, he continues to process and talk about every little detail left to his whim. 

“While Ponyo is essentially a movie about a child’s innocence and familial love, there is an underlying theme that comments on the pollution of our oceans, as seen in the character of Fujimoto who is afraid of humans and constantly criticizes them,” Spencer says as the two of you walk into the foyer. 

“The ramen looked amazing, though. It makes me hungry for some real food,” you state as the smell of popcorn makes you crave even more food.

“Food in film, specifically films directed by Hayao Miyazaki, are a tool to show togetherness and family as well as human nature. The details of the food tell their own story in many of the other movies. We’ll have to check them out if they even come to the theater,” he continues and you smile, shaking your head.

“Or we can just watch them at my apartment. I’ll buy the whole box set and we’ll just have a whole binge,” you tell him as the two of you make it out onto the street, walking back to his car.

“That’s also good too,” he says as you bark out a laugh. “It’s a date.”

While such trivial words shouldn’t insight fear inside of you, it doesn’t stop you from spending the rest of the night thinking about it after Spencer drops you back home. It remains in your mind the next day when you go to work and find your way to the BAU during lunch, only to find that they were called away on a case. So, the rest of the week is spent thinking about the words “it’s a date.” Obviously, he meant a physical date, like the one on a calendar. But what if he wasn’t? He hadn’t been over to your apartment before and you had never gone to his. It was like a platonic line the two of you hadn’t crossed so that your relationship would stay strictly on the down-low. What did it mean that he wanted to come over to your apartment, then? On a so-called “date?” There wasn’t even an actual day you planned to have your movie marathon on, so technically it couldn’t even be considered a date. Just a plan. 

That Friday, you were getting ready to go home and crash on the couch after ordering take out when Penelope texts you.

From Penelope (5:46 PM):

I’m gonna need some reinforcements up here, the team is just getting back.

To Penelope (5:46 PM):

Hard case?

From Penelope (5:47 PM):

Like you can’t even imagine.

Sighing, you get up out of your chair and head to the elevator, going a couple of floors up to the BAU. When you get out, Penelope stands there with a face of anticipation as she sees you walk out. 

“Oh good, they’re almost here. Spencer’s not doing too hot,” she says and you frown, turning to face the elevator.

As if they were summoned, the second elevator opens up to reveal the team in several different states of fatigue and disappointment. Spencer stands in the back, hunched over slightly as he frowns and follows the rest of them out once the doors are fully open. You smile at your dad and pat him on the shoulder as he leans down.

“The gelato place downtown is still open,” he whispers and kisses your cheek before walking into the offices. You walk in front of Spencer and gently bump into him to break him from his stupor. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” you ask and look up at him, seeing the furrow in his brow and the dark circles under his eyes that look even darker. 

“Nothing, I have to work on my reports,” he mumbles and walks past into the offices.

“Why don’t we go get food and you can come back, just to help clear your mind,” you insist, following him as he collapses into his office chair, rubbing his temples to relieve a bit of the stress built up over the past couple days.

“I have too much to work on,” he brushes you off and turns to stare at all the papers stacked up on his desk.

“You can work on them this weekend,” you state and push the spinny chair so that he faces you. “I know something is wrong, we’ve known each other for several months and I can tell when something is bothering you. Now, I’m not going to ask, but I do know that you can complete reports faster than everyone here and that you can take them home. So, I declare today backwards day. Let’s go grab some ice cream.”

You smile your biggest smile in hopes of breaking him out of his spiral and the reference to Ponyo definitely helps. He smiles slightly, although it doesn’t reach his eyes, and shoves a couple of folders into his satchel before standing.

“Lead the way,” you smile at him and loop your arm around his in hopes of helping to keep him grounded. The two of you walk out of the BAU in silence, but you can feel a change in Spencer already. Hunting the worst types of people every single day as a job constantly gets to you, especially when it comes to this team who constantly look at the mind of unidentified subjects to catch them. With your father, he deals with it through good old compartmentalization and expensive alcohol. For Spencer, you would guess it’s not as easy. His mind was endlessly thinking and analyzing so any mistake made would be remembered and replayed. The best you can do is let him know that there’s a world around him other than everything going on in his head. 

After getting on the metro, you engage in simple conversation, telling him about what you’ve had the luxury of working on and the most recent book you had been reading: The Awakening by Kate Chopin. When you see the stop for downtown, you pull him off the train and begin to walk toward your favorite family-owned gelato establishment. 

“Where are we going?” he asks, looking around at the nightlife of D.C.

“It’s a surprise,” you wink and pull him toward a small shop full of freezers filled with gelato. His eyes light up at the sight of the gaudy decorations that are over the top depictions of Florence and Rome. 

“Gelato?”

“It’s backwards day!” you remark and order a medium stracciatella. 

“I’ll get a medium mint chip,” he asks and you reach out hand over your card before Spencer can get to the cashier. 

When the both of you have your gelato in hand, you both slowly meander down the street as you devour into your delicious treat.

“Did you know that the word stracciatella comes from the Italian word ‘stracciare’ and is also the name of the famed soup that is popular in the Lazio region of central Italy? The same technique is applied to the ice cream but instead of chocolate and ice cream, it’s broth and an egg-based mixture. It’s a western variation of the Chinese egg drop soup,” he gets out before spooning some of the gelato into his mouth. You can only smile at him as you admire how beautiful he looks in the dim lighting, rambling on and effectively getting him away from the horrors of the world, even if for a moment. He continues to talk about soup and how often eastern traditions are westernized and taken over, but all you can do is stare at him and think about how head over heels you are for him. 

Perhaps it is love. But your heart is stored in a box away from harm. Its defenses were weakening, though. Every word spoken by Spencer was like a small chisel working away at the precious marble box, artistic and masterful. You love him, yet in your mind, keeping it from him meant keeping him safe. Or, keeping yourself safe.

Quiet weeks are always appreciated at the FBI. Quiet weeks for you meant simple research and few reports, just enough to keep yourself busy. Quiet weeks for the BAU were just simple consultations and writing up all their fieldwork into manageable reports. But, before a tsunami, the ocean always rears its ugly face. 

You knew something was wrong when your director called you before dawn. A shrill noise jerked you from your sleep and you pull your phone to your ear even before checking the caller.

“Agent Montgomery,” you reply groggily, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you check your digital clock.

“There’s a suspected attack, we’re sending an agent to pick you up. The FBI is under strict media blackout rules so do not inform anyone,” Director Chase states. “There’s Cipro for you on arrival.”

Your heart beats out of your chest at the mention of anthrax. You had just started college when the Amerithrax attacks happened, it had been one of the reasons you wanted to become a toxicologist. Never in your life did you ever expect to face an actual anthrax attack head-on. 

Getting ready is a blur, you pull on suitable clothes and meet the other agent when they arrive. During the drive, you are given a very quick debrief. Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms with black lesions and lung failure after they had all been at the same park after 2 p.m. The strain of anthrax used was weaponized and reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs, odorless and invisible. At the moment, there are eleven dead with the number quickly rising. All remaining patients were moved to a special wing in Walter Reed Hospital with Dr. Linda Kimura from the CDC and her team overseeing the treatment of all victims. You memorize this information and how you would apply your skills, finding any evidence and analyzing it. The thought of working with the BAU is both exciting and terrifying. Your father would be at risk, and so would Spencer. The only peace of mind is the fact that you would be working with them so any harm that comes to them would go through you first. 

Once at the Bureau, you swallow the Cipro dry and take the elevator up to the BAU where several military scientists have gathered and move around the busy offices. Your director approaches you as you enter and glance around at all the chaos.

“Dr. Kimura’s already in the conference room with Agent Jareau and Agent Hotchner. You’ll be accompanying them to any possible active sites to try and gather a sample as well as oversee the response,” he states and you nod, climbing up the stairs and trying not to throw up the pills you just swallowed. Seeing JJ and Hotch helps to ground you a little but your heart still beats quickly.

“Dr. Kimura, it’s nice to meet you,” you smile weakly and shake her hand.

“You too, I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances,” she replies and you nod, turning to look at the file full of evidence. It was unlike anything you had ever seen, less than twenty-four hours and already fourteen people were dead. 

The rest of the team shuffles in and you meet Spencer’s gaze, seeing the worry build up in his eyes like tiny storms. You were sure that your face shared the same fear. As they are debriefed, you find yourself looking through at the lesions and pictures shared, trying not to grimace at the sight. College had its fair share of gross photos, but those people were either dead or safe. Time was not your friend.

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura and Dr. Montgomery to the hospital, interview the victims,” you tune in at your name and look up at Hotch as he delivers assignments. “There’s Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something,” Dr. Kimura huffs out as she raises the tray for everyone to take.

“This is really happening?” Emily asks. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Can such a weapon be real?

“We knew this could happen. We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it,” Hotch speaks the words as if they are a mantra as if the FBI knows everything. And while he’s right, the FBI does not know everything about this strain of anthrax. The unknown kills people, you just hope you can get to it before it kills more civilians. 

“Jin dan,” your father says. “May you live one hundred years.”

Your jaw clenches as you watch both your father and Spencer takes the pills. Your father is on the older side, you know that and he’s lived through a lot, but something like this would take him out in a matter of hours. And Spencer, he’s young and healthy, but this spore had killed fourteen people. What was another victim? 

As you follow Dr. Kimura and Spencer out of the conference room, your mind is full of statistics and chemical concoctions that could help you. It moves quickly and swiftly, distracting you from the escalation of the current situation.

“Why didn’t you take the Cipro?” Spencer asks as you stand in the office. 

“I took it when I arrived, I was here before you,” you respond monotonously, sighing as you turn and give him a reluctant smile. “Sorry, I’m just nervous. Never really been ‘in the field’ before.”

“You’ll be great,” he offers you a look of encouragement and squeezes your hand as you follow Dr. Kimura to the cars, waiting for Spencer as he grabs files from JJ. 

The car ride is spent talking about treatments and other specific details. You focus on trying to break down the creation of the spores as well as possible antidotes to combat it. Because there are no know samples just yet, you work through from the other angle. How does one weaponize a regular bacteria? Well, increasing its ability to quickly become activated and multiply would do the trick. To fight against it, our white blood cells would need to work just as quickly to get rid of the foreign bacteria that attacks our immune system, therefore an antidote would be able to target this bacteria and destroy it at the same rate. Just as a vaccine would. Arriving at the hospital is a bit jarring, you walk with Dr. Kimura and Spencer up to the wing where you break off and look at blood and toxin reports to fully understand what parts of the body are being attacks as well as what kind of chemicals makes up this specific toxin. 

“What’s causing her aphasia?” Spencer asks as they make their way back over to you. This piques your interest as you take notes on a separate piece of paper, jotting down everything you can think of to help understand.

“The poison is infecting the parietal lobe, impairing her speech. Some of the other patients displayed the same symptoms shortly before they died,” she states solemnly, and you sigh as you speak out.

“The only thing that can help them is if we find the antidote because unless we do a molecular analysis of the specific strain, we’re unable to understand how this works,” you grumble, the want to lash out angrily growing. “This can’t be his first attack, especially if he was a scientist. You run small trials before getting to human subjects.”

You continue to work with Spencer, sifting through ideas as Dr. Kimura makes calls and inquires about possible previous victims. It made sense in your little science brain, that one would not test on a bigger group before ensuring it was deadly with a smaller group--like vaccine or drug trials. As Dr. Kimura brings over a list of other patients, Spencer goes into another area to call the team as you cross-reference your notes with her. 

“So far, all we know is that this is anthrax. Do you think I can use blood and tissue samples in your lab for analysis? Maybe I can refine the strain and get an antidote or perhaps see how quickly it multiplies,” you ask and she nods.

“Of course,” she calls over another nurse and asks for blood and tissue samples from an already deceased victim and asks for it to be delivered to your lab.

As Spencer steps out of the closet, you look over at him and try to memorize every part of him. The revolver that sticks out of his hip, the badge, the long unruly hair, his violet shirt, just everything that makes him Spencer. Your heart was racing with nerves and all you wanted to do was take him out of harm’s way. 

“How are you feeling?” he inquires as you shake your head. 

“I feel useless. I’m no medical doctor nor am I any closer to finding the antidote,” you mumble and look up at the ceiling to try and stave off the tears. 

“You’re doing great. It’s a waiting game until we get more answers about the profile, you’re doing the best you can,” he reaches out and wraps an arm around you as you hug him, sighing as you deeply inhale his cologne. 

“Yet my best can’t stop all these people from dying,” you look over at the young girl that Spencer was talking to, watching as every breath in her lungs feels like the last. 

“You’re one person. And I know that when it gets down to it, you’ll be brilliant,” the two of you pull away slightly and you look up at him, your noses almost touching. You could kiss him right now if your lives weren’t being threatened, but the voice of Dr. Kimura breaks the two of you apart. 

“How’s she doing?” Spencer asks as the three of you walk over to the window, Dr. Kimura pulling up her charts.

“She’s a fighter. She’s held on this long because she’s young and strong. But she’s started to bleed into her lungs,” Dr. Kimura states and you stare through the glass, wanting to will this young girl to live. 

“One of four left,” you mumble and look over at Spencer. 

“We’re running into another problem. When next of kin have questions, what do we tell them about cause of death?” you look back through the glass as you ponder another unanswerable question. 

Once the samples are ready, you and Spencer go down to the hospital lab where you try to isolate the spore in each of the samples and look at them underneath the microscope as well as streak them on Petri dishes. Spencer helps with tools and supplies so you aren’t running around, but the most that the microscope tells you is that it is anthrax and the dishes won’t be ready for analysis any time soon because they need to incubate. Once done, you clean and sterilize everything before sitting down on one of the chairs and looking up at the fluorescent lights of the hospital.

“This is useless,” you mutter and shake your head.

“No, it’s not. They’re delivering the profile right now and then we’ll be able to find a suspect,” Spencer tells you as you look over at him, a small smile on your face. 

“Are you always this optimistic, Dr. Statistics?” you ask as he chuckles.

“No, because I’m usually running and forming statistics, but you distract me enough from the looming threat of death,” your eyes widen as he speaks as you let out a short laugh before his phone begins to ring. The conversation is short, but you gather that you finally have a suspect worthy of bringing in.

“That was Morgan, we’re going to a suspect’s house. His name is Dr. Lawrence Nichols and he tried to lobby for money to fund his anthrax preparedness plan but failed because it wasn’t feasible,” he says as the two of you grab your things and make your way down to the bottom floor, Derek meeting you as the three of you take off toward his house. He fills you in on Dr. Nichols’ past, his adamancy about wanting all families to have protection against anthrax as well as his inevitable job termination. Your hands shake with nerves as you think about having to be around people, specifically people that could potentially pose a threat to your life. This wasn’t what you did, nor was it who you were. You were far out of your comfort zone, but at least you could be helpful instead of sitting around in a lab. 

The three of you wait outside the small suburban house, waiting as the hazmat team goes through and ensures that there are no traces of anthrax that could threaten your life. 

“This guy just had people over for a charity event last month,” Derek states and you look over at the house, it was painted a robin blue. You would never suspect a serial killer to live in such a normal house. 

“We should probably take a look around anyway,” Spencer suggests as the three of you head toward the garage and behind the house. 

You stayed quiet and observed from a scientific view, looking over at the rose bushes and reaching over to touch the delicate flower. Though even the most beautiful flowers have thorns and you wince as a sharp point pricks your finger. Following Spencer, you stick the finger in your mouth to get rid of the blood. 

As you maneuver around the many plants, Derek’s phone rings and he puts Penelope on speaker as Spencer listens in. You, on the other hand, continue to look around for any evidence pointing toward him being the suspect. Perhaps a lab of some sorts. As you enter the smaller building behind the house, you instantly see the makings of a lab with the fumes hood and the surplus of beakers and Petri dishes. Stepping into the lab, your heart jumps in your chest when you see a shattered test tube on the floor with white powder. 

Behind you, Spencer calls out your name and you rush over the door to close it, the chill of the air conditioning blasting behind you.

“Spencer, get back! Get back right now,” you fumble with the lock, shutting yourself into the lab with the vial. 

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” he asks and pushes against the door.

“No, please, Spencer. Get away from the door,” you beg, tears forming in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? Open the door,” he persists as he stares at you through the glass. Was it enough? Was he infected? You couldn’t know for sure. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you mutter, a tear dripping down your cheek as you step back from the door. 

“Kid, what’s going on?” you hear Derek call out from behind Spencer as he backs up from the door.

“Call Hotch. Call an ambulance. Call everyone,” he tells Derek as the fear fills your veins. Your hands are so cold, why are they so cold? Spencer’s sweet voice isn’t enough to talk you down from the anxiety building up. This was the tsunami and you were caught in the tidal wave.

Spencer stands away from the door as you wrap your arms around yourself, staring silently out at him. Your phone rings as he calls you and you put it on speaker. 

“Tell me what’s going on, everyone’s on their way. You need to describe everything to me,” you can see Spencer’s mind going a million miles an hour and you could see the blame he put on himself. This wasn’t him, this was all you. At least you were right about anthrax getting through you before it did him.

“There’s a body here, I think it’s Nichols, and he’s dead. There’s also a tube that’s shattered. It’s full of white powder, I’m pretty sure it’s anthrax--Spencer,” you pause, staring straight at him. “I don’t want to die, please I’m so scared.”

You hear all the sirens as they approach and you shake your head, more tears falling down your cheeks.

“Sh, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he says and you can see that all he wants to do is wrap his arms around you. “This is where you can help, remember? It’s your turn to be the hero.”

You look up to him, the tears blurring his figure as you wipe them from your cheeks, nodding. 

“You’re right,” you mumble and take a deep breath before beginning to go through the lab. “You’re right.”

First, the body. 

Reaching down, you feel the skin of Dr. Nichols and see the blue-ish tint to his skin as well as the way his blood has pooled. He appears to be dead at least for a day or two, Livor mortis has already set in.

“Spence, he’s been dead for maybe one to two days. Blunt force trauma to his head,” you say just as Hotch and another man join Spencer and Derek. 

“Doctor, we need to get you to the hospital,” Hotch speaks and you shake your head.

“No, I can help. I’m the only one who can work the case here. I’m already exposed, there’s nothing they can do but give me morphine. I can do this,” you state and turn to the lab, looking around for any important information.

“Just get out of there, you need to go to the hospital,” Spencer insists as you continue to search his desk.

“She’s already infected. Now if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure,” the general says and you grab the papers off his desk, reading through his notes. 

“If I’m in here, I can find the cure, or I can make it. If I figure out how he made this strain then I can make the antidote with his notes,” you reply, hearing Spencer sigh with exasperation. “I can also try to see who killed Dr. Nichols, the answer is in here somewhere.”

“Say something to her, order her. She can’t stay in there,” Spencer’s voice cracks and you shake your head, now was not the time to get distracted.

“She’s right, her best chance is to be inside,” Hotch replies and you set your phone down as you read through his writing. “We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, I’m already infected,” you mumble and break apart all his lab reports. 

“Your dad is going to kill me,” Hotch tells you and you sigh, shaking your head. 

“He does his job, I do mine.”

Your mind reels at the information, but you force yourself to focus and read through the reports and how Dr. Nichols managed to make such a potent spore. In your mind, your best bet is a combination antibiotic and antibody treatment to combat the toxins and ensure that any remaining bacteria is killed off.

“I think there was a struggle, there’s glass spread out and clutter all over,” you tell them, looking around and finding another desk in the corner. “There’s also another desk in the corner that’s smaller and organized. It appears there are two sets of handwriting as well as instructions on how to sterilize and transfer spores.”

“Nichols would know all that,” the general states. 

“He has a partner, maybe even a protege,” Spencer suggests as Hotch and the general run off to go follow that lead. Your phone begins to vibrate and you see that your father is calling you. Picking up, you put the phone to your ear.

“Papa, I’m so sorry,” you mumble, feeling the tears well up once more. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sh, piccolo. This is not your fault. How are you doing?” he asks and you inhale deeply, beginning to feel sharp pains in your chest. 

“I’m fine. I’m working,” you let out a sad laugh and shake your head. “I’m scared.”

“You’re going to be okay,” he tells you and he says it with such conviction that you almost believe him.

“If I’m not--”

“Don’t talk like that,” he cuts you off and you shake your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“If I’m not okay, I just want to tell you that you were the best dad in the whole world and that I love you so much. I’ll tell mom ‘hi’ for you,” you hold in a sob as he begins to protest. “I love you.”

You hang up the phone and sob into your hand, breathing in as deeply as possible to try and stay afloat. Quickly, you call up Penelope as something crosses your mind.

“Hey, you,” Penelope mumbles solemnly.

“No funny quip?” you bite your lip nervously as she sighs.

“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” she says.

“Hey, Penny. Do you think you can record something for me?” you ask, glancing out the window to where Spencer is staring in.

“Anything,” you hear her type. “Alright, you’re good.”

“Hey, Spence,” you bite back another sob as it shakes through your chest. “This isn’t how I intended for you to hear this, but here it goes. I love you. So much. And I’m such a coward for not saying it to your face, but, if I’m gone then I want you to know that your brain and your smarts are so incredible, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I love you so much.”

A woman in an orange suit steps into the room and you quickly hang up your phone, smiling at Dr. Kimura.

“Dr. Montgomery,” she says as does her best to walk in the suit.

“You look nice,” you say and let out a shaky laugh. “How is everyone else doing?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she states and you nod as Spencer calls you back. You answer and put him on speaker. 

“Hey, it’s me and Garcia,” he tells you as a tickle in your throat bubbles up and makes you cough. “I think the cure is in there somewhere. Dr. Nichols was a former military scientist so he’s secretive and paranoid. Prentiss and Rossi don’t think the partner was a coworker.”

“Can you look for the cure while I help them?” you ask Dr. Kimura and she nods as you look around the room. “I’ve been through everything, Spence.”

“I know you’re not thinking straight,” his voice cracks. “But, we need you.”

 You clear your throat and nod.

“You’re right,” you rush over to his desk and look through his items. “There’s a picture of him teaching and a syllabus.” 

You think back to the instructions and think for a moment.

“Hold on,” you run over to the other desk and look at the content. “It’s a student, it has to be if he went through the trouble of writing lab procedures.”

Picking up the thick stack of paper, you instantly recognize it as some sort of thesis. Years of curating your own, you would never forget it. 

“A thesis, his partner was a doctoral student,” sweat drips down your hairline as you sift through the papers.

“He wouldn’t have let just anyone in there so perhaps he opened his lab to a student,” Spencer formulates as you read through the paper. “Check the sciences.”

“Uh, cross-checking with names of former employees or customers with grievances at the bookstore.” Penelope types away at her keyboard as you read through the paper, it mentions things like preparedness and less about the spores itself as well as scientific findings. “Nothing, my doves.”

“This doesn’t sound like a science student, this is all about city preparedness, and response,” you cough and try not to stress about the taste of blood in your mouth. 

“Check the social studies,” Spencer states. “Public policy, urban planning.”

“Hot to trot. There’s a Chad Brown, School of Public Policy at U. of M. matches a Chad Brown, former employee at the book front. I’ll tell Hotch,” Penelope hangs up as you stifle another cough, the pain in your chest worsening.

“You did it, now get out of there,” Spencer says and you turn to Dr. Kimura as you let out another cough. Blood splatters on your hand and you wipe it on your pants.

“You said the cure would be hidden somewhere we wouldn’t suspect. What about Nichols’ inhaler?” she walks up with the inhaler as you put Spencer on speaker. 

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you out here,” he says and you hang up as the two of you walk out of the lab and into the tent where people are ready to spray you down. You let the tears flow freely now that you’re out and the water rolls over you in an attempt to get rid of all the powder that might have stuck. Spencer is outside the tent speaking to Hotch and your father as you get naked and hosed down. Once they’re finished, you’re toweled down and put into a gown as you get on the gurney and are wheeled off to the ambulance. 

“Hey, you,” you mutter weakly to Spencer as he walks alongside you. Another cough bursts out of your chest.

“I’m seeing you off to the hospital, the team doesn’t need me,” he states and you nod, taking his hand as they get you into the ambulance. There is a sharp pain in your lungs every time that you move and you cough up blood more and more. The lights in the ambulance are too bright and you feel so hot as Dr. Kimura places her stethoscope on your chest.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Montgomery?” she asks as you fail to hold back another cough.

“I’m obey,” your eyes widen as the words in your head fail to come out of your mouth. “Obey. I fleel fin.”

Your eyes water as you look over at her and then at Spencer who watches you in terror. 

“Okay, that’s okay,” she mutters to you before calling out to the driver. “Driver, faster.”

The sound of your heart beating echoes in your head is nausea and dizziness loom over you, making you close your eyes. All the sounds, including Spencer who seems to be calling out to you, dissipate as you drift off into the darkness. At least he would know. 

[kneamet]

Reader x Adam. Reader is Adam's friend. She discovers Adam is a vampire. She tries to escape, but Adam stops her. He says she belongs to him. He calls her : his ray of sun and his sweet dove.He will never let her out.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere.

Word Count: 2658

Character: Adam/reader

Summary: you're Adam's friend. And you don't expect to find out his two little secrets at all.

POV Your

Looking at the old battered door, you were tormented by doubts about whether it was worth it? Should I go to him again? Bothering him with stupid questions, and then playing his instruments, knowing that he doesn't particularly like them to be touched. Yes, even a simple touch to them was always accompanied by heavy sighs and looks.

Raising your hand, you began to clench your palm into a fist and touched the door, starting to beat a slow rhythm. After knocking a couple of times, you didn't wait for an answer, immediately grabbing the handle and opening the unlocked door.

You were well aware of his habits; such as the fact that he rarely locked his doors. It just wasn't your friend's type. You bit your lip, hoping he wouldn't get mad at you this time. You knew that your relationship was always good, even though you often thought that your friend, Adam, was not particularly friendly to you. Most likely, he never needed friends. Indeed, why, if you can enjoy the unsociable silence?

You felt your fingers tighten around the case of the guitar you'd brought with you. Apart from the fact that Adam had a lot of them, but even he didn't touch them all, as if he wanted to keep them clean.

Taking your good relationship with Adam for granted, you began to worry more and more about his little ways: he didn't like to leave the house, although you put it down to the fact that he was just an introvert; his love of the night and the fact that he sleeps during the day; and those glasses that he wore on the street, even in the dark and depressing time of day. These were the very signs that always alarmed you.

As you climbed the creaking stairs, you thought about how you didn't have any friends before. Being a very unsociable child, slightly withdrawn in yourself, you preferred to be at home, alone, in an embrace with a guitar and a small notebook, where you wrote down the first rhymes you came across.

The guitar was your destiny. You knew this, and you always boasted to your parents that they looked at you with condescending eyes when you started any conversation about music. They looked at you the way Adam looked at you. Also insightful, also cold.

"You're early, Y/N..." a voice suddenly spoke from ahead of you, and you felt yourself tense up even more. Your hands are already sweating. You wanted to put your guitar on the floor. Get rid of nan and the observant gaze of the person you thought was your closest friend.

You nodded at his words, wanting to enjoy his sweet baritone voice. He was very kind to you and very serious. Such a contradictory voice that makes you want to apologize.

"Come into the studio. I've already connected everything, " Adam muttered, and you just nodded again, looking up at the men.

It never bothered you that he was naked. He almost never changed in his usual style, very often appearing in front of you either only in a bathrobe, or in jeans without a T-shirt. It was quite normal for your relationship.

Following his advice, you walked into his studio, noticing that one guitar was already plugged in, while the other was already plugged in. This means that today you will play together. And this means a way to show that you are very much improved in knowledge.

You sighed as you pulled the guitar out of its case, leaving it open and plugging the wire into the socket. Your shiny dark gray electric guitar. She cost you your life. Without her, your dreams would never have come true.

You looked around. Adam was sitting on an old battered chair in the kitchen. He sat with his eyes closed, his hands hanging down, letting them dangle and touch the old carpet with the faint patterns that had faded since the house had been in existence.

His house has always attracted you. It was the home of a real musician; the home of a person who really loves, and most importantly understands his business. It was huge, and you wondered how Adam didn't get lost here; even though he'd probably gotten used to it over the years.

You liked his collection: battered by time and people, books of past centuries with some autographs; photographs and portraits that hung in his room, in which he very rarely slept, basically, as the man told you, preferring to stay in the living room. Because that room reminded him of his lovely wife, Eva; a collection of guitars by completely different musicians. It was exactly what a true music fan should have.

Adam told you about Eve. He often said that she was the most perfect woman in the world, and they had lived together for many long years, enjoying the peace and comfort that reigned between them. However, he never went very deep into the subject, as if he didn't want to recall the hateful memories. What had happened to her? sometimes you were tormented by such a question.

You were very attracted to Adam's house by its silence. It seemed that this was exactly what you had been striving for for many years: the calm and simple silence of emptiness. You didn't want to prove anything to anyone. You didn't want to just exist. You just wanted to live.

When you made your way to Adam, you didn't want to disturb him. All you wanted to do at the moment was play music. Don't write the lyrics, just play the guitar. Even though you knew Adam didn't like it. He didn't want you to just ruin the guitar.

Through the silence that followed, you could hear your heart pounding, beating a slow rhythm. I could hear various pieces of equipment working; how heavily the speaker unit was loaded; how loudly and loudly the refrigerator was itching.

Thinking that maybe you should also lie down or walk around the house, it took you a while to realize that the refrigerator was working. Works. However, wasn't it broken last time?

Frowning, you walked resolutely to the side of the refrigerator, hoping only that your footsteps wouldn't be heard under the creaking floor. When you touched the household item, you immediately realized that it worked, since it was quite cold. Who in their right mind would make a refrigerator so cold that the temperature would be transmitted through a thick pile of metal.

Opening the door, your hand was covered with a herd of goosebumps, sending them in the back. Her eyes widened slightly, and her lips tightened.

Blood?

***

POV Adam

Taciturnity. Calmness. Indifference. This has been Adam's credo for the past few years. The devastation in his soul was also heartbreaking. Unpleasant, dark, and despicable thoughts visited his thoughts daily, pushing him into what he had always dreamed of.

About death. Death would have been a pleasure to him. The kind of paradise he'd earned after centuries of wandering the world with his beloved. The beloved who was the one who turned him. Turned from an ordinary person who was a second-rate musician at the beginning of the century before last, into an immortal being.

Adam has seen a lot of people in his long life. Someone was attracted to immortality, someone thought it was a gift, someone thought it was a curse. But for a man, it was something worse than a curse.

He wished he'd never found out who his beloved and deeply revered wife, Eva, was. He would never want to know that she was a vampire. A being whose years are not limited to a short period and those who can live a long, long life. Not the kind of life that ordinary zombies lived and existed, crying over simple problems.

Zombie. The thought of these despicable creatures that walked on the clean earth and "polluted" it always irritated him to the core of his heart, which had not been beating for two centuries and which was now just a piece of muscle that did not even affect him.

They always thought only of themselves. The zombies didn't care about people's tastes. They will always criticize them. They will not care that other, softer and more gentle zombies, that will not even be able to survive in this cruel world, will somehow be upset by the words that will flow from the lips of the interlocutor.

Adam took a deep breath, opening his eyes, moving from a serious state in which he was only thinking about how imperfect his life was, about how to get it over with as soon as possible. Just forget everything that was before and cease to exist.

Guilt suddenly crept into his head as he realized that he was going to die with the bullet Ian had brought him. The feeling that this would be a bad favor was unpleasant.

Adam then tried to push these thoughts to the back of his head, as if trying not to think about the time when the zombie died, which was, in principle, not bad. Not perfect, but he was a good conversationalist.

It was painful for the man to remember the time when he realized that he was alone. If he had previously thought about being after death, he knew that he would not be able to do it, since he still had Eve. The one he loved. The one who was the complete opposite of him.

Always with a smile on his lips, which was completely out of character for Adam, he remembered how Eve had convinced him that zombies were not so bad; that breathing fresh air that was saturated with gas was a pleasure; that he should interact with zombies more often. Adam, on the other hand, always found this concept not mutually binding.

"Adam," came a soft voice suddenly, caressing his keen ears. It was the kind of voice he could listen to for hours without even really listening to what the voice was saying. It was the way her voice sounded... it was such a pleasure. "Adam, what is this?" His eyes snapped open. His eyes were serious; there was a hint of worry in them.

Adam turned his head at the girl's call. The most wonderful girl he'd met in the last few years. She was the one who had saved him from the loneliness he had blessed for so many years. Like a ray of light breaking through the darkness. Adam, on the other hand, was like a moth that caressed the light, trying to take full possession of it.

The indifferent gaze that was directed at the girl, his favorite ray of light that saved him from the depression in which he was deeply mired, now became expanded to the fear of an animal, although Adam did not like such comparisons, saying that he himself was no different from a zombie.

Making sudden movements and seeing that his beloved dove was not looking at him, still trying to calm his feelings and understand why, or rather, what the fuck, in his refrigerator, which according to his own version, which he instilled in all the people who came here, did not work, at the moment there was blood in cans, with signed labels.

He was never a snob. However, it was a simple precaution to sign the banks, just in case you didn't get a serious shipment and die such a fucking stupid death. He began to do this after the incident, in the series of events of which, his beloved wife died.

He worshipped her: he put her above himself, he respected her, knowing that if she treated him that way, then he should, too.

"Adam, why... why here... is there bl-blood here?" the voice of his beloved dove was eerily frightened. He could literally hear her heart beating in an inexorable rhythm; how much her blood was now rushing through her veins.

He wondered what her blood had tasted like when she'd been scared. Normally, people who were scared would make their blood taste disgusting, and they could even eat it, but some zombies had blood that was so bad that it didn't even matter if they were scared or excited. And his favorite dove was just like that. It was exciting.

He was always worried about the question of why his favorite ray of light is never afraid of him, but on the contrary behaves risky and audacious. It's as if she doesn't even try to hold back her human nature in front of him, which never obeys the rules. However, the fright was certainly present, and the way her blood was churning was very disturbing to Adam's mind.

Suppressing the desire of the fangs that were already ready to break free and were ready to take possession of the blood of his cute dove. However, no, he will hold back. Not yet. He would still have time to enjoy her incomparable blood. The most delicious blood he could not often afford.

Abruptly, she stood up from the comfortable chair she'd been sitting in for a couple of decades, ever since he'd moved in with Eve. It was in good condition, probably because he rarely came to the kitchen except to feast on blood and ice cream on a stick that had the first negative on it.

He saw the way you flinched in fright, as if trying to avoid the touch and even the simple voice of Adam. His brow furrowed slightly. His eyes began to shine. He didn't like that you wanted to leave. After all, that's how he saw what you want to do. There was nothing but escape in your restless head right now. Sometimes zombies think too loudly.

His gaze shifted downwards and he noticed that you were beginning to move away with light steps. Seeing that you already want to run down the creaking stairs, which it is time for him to repair, Adam, with his speed, which was given to him by the nature of the vampire, quickly found himself near his cute dove. Near his ray of light that illuminated his path from loneliness to love.

The fingers of his left hand wrapped around one of your wrists; with his right hand, he pulled you down to his lean, bare abs. He always walked around the house like this, not even being shy when you came to his house. Without his sweet ray of light, his home was empty, boring. He definitely didn't want anything when he was alone.

"My ray of light," Adam murmured in a low voice, freeing your hand and pulling you even closer to him, stroking the now-free hand through the soft hair of the cute dove. It was so smooth, unlike the man's hair, that he found it boring to even brush it. He was just too lazy. "My dove," a languid voice, as he touched your hair, sounded.

"Ad-dam, let m-me go, p-ple-ease," even at such moments, the politeness of his ray of light never faded. She was always so perfect, so polite in his eyes.

He clearly felt your fear. He was clearly excited about it. And it aroused the vampire side of him a little.

"I could, Eve," Adam's voice broke through the blankness and silence. He looked at you with pleasure, feeling deeply honored that you agreed to be with the man he was. "I know you like what you see now. And though I still miss you, I will always love you!" the man spoke breathlessly, feeling the heart of his dear dove give a legitimate and fast rhythm; noticing that she was very excited about this situation; she was very afraid. "I remember your last words. And I will fulfill the task that you gave me."

Now he won't be alone.

[cestcirque]

HI OKAY SO I TOO ALSO WANT TO SHARE MY THOUGHTS AND THEORIES SO FAR SINCE WE ARE NEARING THE END OF THE CARDINAL SET AHHHHHHHHHHH 😦 (we’re in for a long message people 😳)

okay so ever since i saw you say these to other readers who have shared their theories and pointed out clues (continue underneath the three photos LOL):

i definitely thought at first that it’s a story of each yn ending up with each of the main setter (tl yn with semi, extrema yn with atsumu, screentone yn with akaashi) but now i feel that’s possibly not the case right? 😶

as of rn, i’m thinking that possibly atsumu ends up with screentone yn, semi ends up with extrema yn, and akaashi ends up with tl yn 🤔 BUT IDKKKKKKK AJXMSKXKSKXSI like I feel that their respective stories is really all about how both the setter and mc learn about love, relationships, what they REALLY want and need in a partner and the different stories just shows their pov of things??? they’re just constantly learning more about themselves and their potential love interest(s)

i also went back to read your psychoanalysis and clues for semi, atsumu, and akaashi that you released under aperture and seeing what kind of partner they NEED which also brought me back to this post that you released before and recently reblogged again:

i forgot to screenshot but someone else had the thought about how akaashi offers stability to tl yn since she can be volatile since akaashi does that to bokuto and the fact that tl yn has akaashi saved as le reve which translate to the dream compared to the name she has for semi which is le jouet which means the toy. tl yn has like a sexual tension relationship with semi but i know they’ve gotten closer after learning about each other’s ex. she also had “angry sex” with atsumu a few chapters ago but other than that, they don’t really interact so i don’t think they’d be interacting again any time soon. but when she’s with akaashi? idk what word to properly use but it’s like she softens up with him and kinda gives him adventure??? almost inspiring if you ask me and it seems like he offers her contentedness and companionship too

screentone yn has akaashi saved under as hopeless romantic and then i can’t remember what she has semi saved under but she has atsumu saved as like #11 right? and the fact that she sees atsumu on equal grounds and she doesn’t know too much about him other than his volleyball career kinda hits home? like that whole chapter of them talking and atsumu helping her realize what she really wants to do (career wise) was an endearing chapter and i felt that really connected them together. in your analysis, you said that atsumu needs someone who understands him because of his drive, i guess someone who will stand by him right? screentone yn is known to be hooked onto passions easily too so she can also understand atsumu on that level. when she interacts with semi, i don’t see any hope LMAOOOO like it’s not even in question other than their one night stand. when she’s with akaashi, she’s like very hesitant getting to know him personally vs talking to him about work. it seems like she wants nothing more but to keep it strictly a professional / friends only relationship 😗

finally extrema yn. i’m iffy about her the most LMAOOOOO like i’m sus especially since she’s a graduate of nohebi high 🐍🐍🐍. i can’t read her too well other than the fact i can clearly see how driven and ambitious??? she is, running too fast to care. i can also see how easy she makes it to truly be yourself around her. she easily did that with atsumu and semi. akaashi isn’t in question since they’re exes and she doesn’t want to talk to him at all LMAOOOOOO. since atsumu knows what her plans are, they work well in that sense but, i really like how she got to hear semi’s “real” voice, getting him to *mostly* be himself. after extrema chapter 16, idk how to feel about semi LMAOOOOOOOO. but it seems like she genuinely enjoys hanging out with him? compared to being with atsumu, she knows she’s doing it just for publicity because she wants to help atsumu with the relationship rule. and now she’s saying she doesn’t need anything else from atsumu? that definitely got me thinking she doesn’t actually care much about atsumu right now 😶

BUT ANYWAYS YEAH THIS MESSAGE IS HELLA LONG AND THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK LMAOOOOOOOO. I REALLY WENT OFF 🥴 I’D LOVE TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT MY THOUGHTS RN LOLOLOL. THIS IS SO FUN AND YOUR BRAIN FR WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS 😝

HI MY LOVE 😍 since this message is already long, I’ll put my answer under a cut ⤵️

A lot of people have been looking back to Aperture’s secret clues to find some kind of structure for these relationships, but remember The Cardinal Set already has its own structure: the full, cardinal set 😅

That is, the three points of a relationship—companionship, romance, and intimacy. Perhaps it might help to review Yukie’s insight from Layer 8 👀

Yukie also mentioned that Akaashi changed after his relationship w Aperture Y/N failed... perhaps the type of partner he needs would have changed too?

Anyway. All 6 of our main characters are lacking certain points of the cardinal set... but which ones?

And as for your feelings on Semi and Extrema Y/N, they certainly are the “least trustworthy” of the setters and Y/Ns, no? But do we remember what Aperture Y/N told Semi about trust??? It was mentioned again briefly in Trompe-l’œil. (This is really what I’ve been trying to nudge with my author’s notes about tRUSTING SEMI, I’m not trying to make you guys doubt him 🤣)

[aresrl]

I hihi I am!!! A little nervous w/ doing this bc I've never done this b4 so please bear🐻 w// me💦 May I request a match up? A vision, a romantic partner and maybe a friend and/or enemy? If that's too much feel free to just assign me a vision + partner, ehe/// Preferably male for a romantic match-up, but either gender is fine with a friend and enemy match-up^^ I tried to be as detailed as possible but I think I ended up just ranting, so im v v sorry if it's long! I sort of fluctuate when it comes to being an introvert/extroverted. W// strangers and irl, I'm very introverted and shy!! Rarely speak and if I do it's just the usual "Hi how are you? That's good. I'm good too, thank you for asking:)" yeayea I'm not too. Keen on social interaction irl. But I always do my best to be very nice!! I never wanna come off as mean bc wow what a bad first impression that would be. But with friends / ppl ik online?? Whew I am very very friendly n chatty ^^ Either very high energy or very chill, there's rarely any inbetween. Sometimes I like to jokingly tease my friends but I'd never go too far / make them uncomfortable!! And if I do I always apologize right away!! I like to say that I'm affectionate?? My strongest love language is def physical affection, if not quality time. Idk man there's just something about vibing with someone or hugging them that just aaaaa/// Although I usually display affection w// words of affection bc. Literally most of my friends are online friends so I can't actually hug them, sad times. Idk if this is needed/important info but I just remembered: I'm 5'6 around??? Need glasses bc. Whew i am blind (near sighted), I'm poc (specifically black) anndd, hm. Actually I think thats it for this section, aha. As you can see I'm, not really all that organized. Also I don't have the best attention span - while writing this I'm circling between 4 different apps - and I'm a bit of a mess. And also a little stupid. Just a smidge dumb. But I have my moments - I solved like. 2 puzzles in Inazuma by myself so I think that counts for something. I also find that I tend to talk a whole lot when I have an idea or smthn to say abt a thing I'm super interested in!! That's info-dumping. I info dump. Yes. I also really like to listen to other people talk abt things they like!!!! Its so nice :) I'm protective over people I care about!! I've never done it but 100% would bark at someone who messed with someone close to be. Arf arf yaknow. I tend to he impulsive. I'll do something, and be all "YEAH>:D" and then regret it later. And then I'll do it all over again in a fun little cycle :) I consider myself an optimist, but quickly turn into a pessimist whenever it concerns myself. Fun funfun. Should probably mention that I am. A very insecure person w/ dangerously low self esteem, which is super fun esp when you mix that with the fact that I'm rarely ever motivated to improve. Yayayay Also sort of a pushover?? Like most often than not I'll be convinced to do something, even if I'm not too keen on doing it. Also afraid of confrontation when it comes to my friends and strangers (that is, if it's concerning me!! I'll order smthn for my friend but if I need to order for myself?? uhh stutter time aha). I'm also a mega simp ahah! Srsly though if I fall for someone/get infatuated with someone I. Will be so obvious abt it even though I try very hard not to be. Would gush over that person probably. I don't really like mean people tbh. Like yes I'll be nice and civil with them but!!! I cannot stand!!! Rude people!!! Esp when they're mean for no reason like sir??? maam??? homie??? chill pls ty<3 People who aren't necessarily mean, but moreso have bastard energy and are just really "hehe>:D" but playfully are p poggers tho!!! I think I get along with kids!! I have a little sister,, around like. Nine? And we get along really well!! I also try and match a kid's energy whenever I'm tasked with looking after them. I take pride in the fact that kids like me >:].... even if they sometimes scare me-- Ok, interest time!!

I like art!! Quite a bit!! Less of a realistic artist and more of a cartoonist!! Idk there's just something fun abt drawing cartoons, hehe. I also like self ships - I have quite a bit of them, actually ! Idk its comforting drawings your fictional crushes loving you idkidk. I like writing too! Both original stories, and one-shots or personal fics that are associated with already created media!! Writing character backstories and personalities and stuff is also fun too! I've even made my own fictional world with a full fledged backstory n everything! It's very fun to think about. I'm a day dreamer!!! Yea remember when I said I write stories? I day dream abt potential stories even more. Mmm daydream world so nice so warm so fun I read aswell!! Mostly fantasy books, or stories where animals are the protagonists. Think Warrior Cats. But my favorite book series has got to be Guardians of Ga'Hoole. Fantasy owl books, anyway! X Readers are also things I enjoy reading :) Again, s I m p Also gaming!!! Is something fun I do sometimes!!! Although it's usually Genshin Impact, or Wii Sports/Resort w// my little sister. Oh, also pokemon! I rlly like Primarina, Vaporeon, Sylveon and Vulpix/Ninetails! I absolutely adore sweet foods, and baking is smthn I'm def interested in! Don't like foods w// weird textures though, like beans or mashed potatoes. Also I. Love spice so much. Mmm love it when my mouth burns so bad. Don't have a favorite animal but I've had three cats in my lifetime (btw not important but my current cat is named Sylvester and. He's my baby boy) so I am. A very big cat fan. Probably not needed but I really like sword and claymore characters. Literally all of the characters I main are either sword or claymore users. Although I did get Diona, so I miiight start forcing myself to learn how to aimmm. I see that I tend to like people/characters that are a little more extroverted than me. Upbeat, happy type beat!!! Nice sunshine babies, :) I think thats it! I hope this was good enough? Again, first time doing this (at 2am nonetheless) so forgive me if I got too rambly or did anything wrong ^^ Thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this! And I hope your day is good / you had a good day, depending on when you read this, ehe!

Hey! Sorry if the wait has been long! I also love Warrior Cats (I promise myself, one day I'll finish it.)

You received... A Pyro vision! Optimistic, enthusiastic, impulsive, reckless, and a lot of energy are the general characteristics held by the Pyro vision. • I hesitated between the Pyro and Hydro vision, but your energy distinguishes you from the Hydro vision. • You said you were impulsive, always doing something you might regret later but still doing it. • You react quickly: as you said, if somebody hurt someone you love, you won't think twice before barking. Your partner would be... Xingqiu! “This feeling was unexpected.” • At first, you were just friends, and Xingqiu really loved to tease you. Actually, you both teased each other. But eventually, a feeling of love towards you grew into Xingqiu. And that was reciprocated. • Your relationship is filled with teases, jokes, and good/funny moments where you mostly share what you commonly appreciate. • He also knows when to get serious: for example, he does everything to support you during your moments of struggle concerning your self-esteem. Your friend would be... Childe! “Luckily, I'm here!” • You two also share funny moments, especially during situations where your “stupidity” is overtaken by his insight. • Sometimes, he finds you cute. • He likes the fact that you get along well with kids. It leads you to great moments with him and his siblings. • You're quite the opposite in terms of self-esteem. I think it's a good thing because it makes you complementary. Your enemy would be... Albedo! A misunderstanding. • You wouldn't hate each other, but I think Albedo wouldn't like the way you use your energy, and when you're more in a chill mood (meaning you're more available for him to talk), he could get pissed at how much times he'd have to repeat himself for you to understand something. • He's very patient, but he understood quickly that his interests would maybe not be within your reach. • You would just be too different. Worth to mention • You and Venti are like drama queens in Mondstadt. You are good friends. But you both know that you can't be more, as it would eventually both drag you down (because of similar problems). • Klee is also your best friend: both of you share decisions that you definitely will regret later. Or maybe not. • Hu tao and you are kinds of silently competing over who's the best tease, and she beats you. My goal is definitely not achieved. I hope I can catch up tomorrow. And don't worry, it was surprisingly good for a first description!